Moving! It takes a Village!
Call these times crazy, call me crazy, but what I know is that --
In these times when decisions come at me hot and heavy, and the gray matter leaves with the same intensity, I NEED THE PEOPLE AROUND ME!
Once again in my current life challenge, I am aware that IT TAKES A VILLAGE! To wit: my adult son Tony is moving in with us this weekend. Life has thrown him a curve ball or two in the past year, and we all bit the bullet, took a deep breath, and said "We can do this!"
Everyone who moves knows in their BONES the agony of sorting, boxing, selling, lifting, breaking, tired beyond reason, and while I have not had to go through all of that -- I've faced the spatial dynamics of moving, squeezing, bloodletting stuff, and waving down strangers in the street to make a home for all of my house plants, saying good-bye to china I never use, and
downsized again in the house 1/3 the size of the house we moved out of when we downsized the first time. REALLY?
Because -- WHERE DID I GET ALL OF THIS STUFF? And, someone is moving in here?
My God in heaven! Help!
After sweat, blood and tears, albeit with much prayer, today, I look at my now empty office--- 18 shelves cleaned out, files, oh dear God in heaven help me sweet Jesus!, 13 years of Mary Kay inventory relocated, desks, journals, stacks of paper of my half-finished novel, 137 pens, two boxes of envelopes left over from the depression, three boxes of stationery begging for one of those pens to hit the paper, and not a few tears.
My sweet friends are praying, really praying because they know me, they know Tony, they know Brian, and they know this will be a new journey for all of us.
My dear neighbors are rooting for us, because in one way or another, they've been through this journey, and another is storing the treasures ready to go somewhere else in his garage. It takes a village.
My cat and dog are nervously eyeing the piles of boxes, and desks, and computer monitors suddenly appearing in the dining room -- home of my new office.
Well, no more dinner parties for awhile. But another team of dear ones are the event planners anyway -- threw a birthday party for me last summer to end all birthday parties. In short, not my strong suit, but I am blessed by theirs. It takes a village.
I strode into the room just emptied - I said a prayer, cried a few tears at the life lived in that room, at the gifts the Lord had given me in that space, took a deep breath, and smiled.
Register me ready. For the journey ahead. For more life to be lived. For more lessons to be learned. Yes, Yes, the process of sifting, shifting, is moving to stabilizing --
the next season of our lives. Thank you Lord. Thank you.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Sacred Tea Time with My Friend Kathleen
Recently another writer friend and I shared tea -- difference was that:
It was my morning, her evening
Rain pelted on my window and snow fell quietly in her yard
My house cleaner speaks English -- hers does not
My doctor is in the neighborhood - hers is in a major city four hours away
You might have guessed by now that this is a friend of mine who is in another country.
Skype is our best friend right now. Truth is that a year ago, she had a health crisis which scared us both. Most of you know by now, that I am on the back roads when it comes to technology. She is not. Thinking that she did not have much time left, she pleaded with me to get onto Skype.
My husband bought me a new computer for my birthday last year and set me up again with Skype. I have had it in the past, but computer issues rendered it useless until now.
So now we meet for "tea" every Tuesday morning. God has given us sacred time.
Our sacred time.
She is the one who insisted on traversing to England as a missionary, married an Englishman after many years serving in England, and don't ask me the story, ended up in Latvia, first on a sheep farm where they built a chapel on their land, and then as Kathleen's health got worse, moved to a home in a small Latvian village.
We have been good friends, closer than sisters, for 25 years. Talking through e-mails, snail mail, long-distance (not cheap!) then cell phones. We didn't do homing pigeons. All in all, we have only been in the same country for four of those years.
But God.
When my husband and I lost everything in the recession 15 years ago and Brian struck out in an 18-wheeler to scrape together anything that resembled money, I stayed behind in our family home of 28 years, packing, crying, waiting for the big bad wolves to repossess our home.
Play the violins, it was Christmas. Kathleen, God only knows how, flew into Portland to console me. First thing she insisted was that we put up a Christmas tree amidst piled up boxes, and pregnant sadness everywhere.
Really!!! ????? I asked. A gleam in her eye, she took me by the hand. (She adores Christmas). Like a trooper possessed, we picked out a tree, bigger than we really could handle, managed to erect it, decorate it, and ignored the fact that it listed perilously to the left.
We bought Christmas socks, a favorite tradition of hers. She loves Christmas socks! We had Christmas dinner for those close to us, we prayed for Brian as he took his 18-wheeler through New York City on Christmas Day, we attended a Christmas luncheon honored as guests of Luis Palau (don't ask), and she held me in her arms many times as I cried over my uncertain future.
I traveled to England several years later when an intercessor friend footed my travel expenses with the exclamation, "You've been called to England!"
Indeed!
A golden time of ministry and friendship; a golden time of gathering with English pastors, intercessors, saints warring against impinging terrorism, as was the U.S. shortly after 9/11. It was still a time when allies stood together, as did brothers and sisters of the Lord and we all felt God's presence as we lived those glorious three weeks. Prayers flew across the pond to my husband and son, still struggling to regain stability during the recession.
As is always true, sisters don't always see eye to eye.
We've had those times too. Living in different countries doesn't always mean you skip over the hard parts. You just navigate differently.
As writers, perhaps we look at life differently. Sometimes more reverently. Sometimes with brutal honesty. Maybe because we are in the latter stages of our lives, continents apart, time is a very precious commodity. The gift?
Intimacy. Freedom. Love.
Loss is shared, hopes dashed, pain, physical and emotional, ejaculated into a plain of solidarity, and finally, laughter! I am in her bedroom, because that is where she spends most of her time-- her dog jumps up and smiles in the screen; Gunther, my Australian shepherd, will have no part of it. But my cat Maggie, spends much of her time walking across the screen, oblivious to the intimacy.
Ian, her Englishman husband, who I have met in person only once, is now more than a brother in the Lord. In the last round of Kathleen's battles with her health, we met over Skype, cried, cried and cried some more, prayed and prayed some more.
Kathleen came home again, but in great pain.
This type of intimacy has its price.
I have watched my friend's physical pain, as she winces, as she puts on a brave face, as she bares her heart, questions and all. She, too, has been there for me, as I have travailed through tremendous loss, different than hers, but intense. She was here in the states to see my son Chris for the last time before his suicide -- again God's provision when she was not all that well.
But God.
We first met years ago when we were called to lead a ministry called "Heart to Heart." Although she was physically challenged even then, she led a full life. We met in her apartment, decorated with the special "Kathleen" touch (the girl has style), we shared a cup of tea, talking nonstop. At once it was apparent we were kindred spirits.
We did what kindred spirits do! We bowed our heads to give ourselves to God and to "Heart to Heart."
And after lives of bumps and grinds, jubilation, hope, faith and prayer, wonderment and wondering,
we know the gift of heart to heart.
Truly and very truly, we can say thank you! and"Amen."
It was my morning, her evening
Rain pelted on my window and snow fell quietly in her yard
My house cleaner speaks English -- hers does not
My doctor is in the neighborhood - hers is in a major city four hours away
You might have guessed by now that this is a friend of mine who is in another country.
Skype is our best friend right now. Truth is that a year ago, she had a health crisis which scared us both. Most of you know by now, that I am on the back roads when it comes to technology. She is not. Thinking that she did not have much time left, she pleaded with me to get onto Skype.
My husband bought me a new computer for my birthday last year and set me up again with Skype. I have had it in the past, but computer issues rendered it useless until now.
So now we meet for "tea" every Tuesday morning. God has given us sacred time.
Our sacred time.
She is the one who insisted on traversing to England as a missionary, married an Englishman after many years serving in England, and don't ask me the story, ended up in Latvia, first on a sheep farm where they built a chapel on their land, and then as Kathleen's health got worse, moved to a home in a small Latvian village.
We have been good friends, closer than sisters, for 25 years. Talking through e-mails, snail mail, long-distance (not cheap!) then cell phones. We didn't do homing pigeons. All in all, we have only been in the same country for four of those years.
But God.
When my husband and I lost everything in the recession 15 years ago and Brian struck out in an 18-wheeler to scrape together anything that resembled money, I stayed behind in our family home of 28 years, packing, crying, waiting for the big bad wolves to repossess our home.
Play the violins, it was Christmas. Kathleen, God only knows how, flew into Portland to console me. First thing she insisted was that we put up a Christmas tree amidst piled up boxes, and pregnant sadness everywhere.
Really!!! ????? I asked. A gleam in her eye, she took me by the hand. (She adores Christmas). Like a trooper possessed, we picked out a tree, bigger than we really could handle, managed to erect it, decorate it, and ignored the fact that it listed perilously to the left.
We bought Christmas socks, a favorite tradition of hers. She loves Christmas socks! We had Christmas dinner for those close to us, we prayed for Brian as he took his 18-wheeler through New York City on Christmas Day, we attended a Christmas luncheon honored as guests of Luis Palau (don't ask), and she held me in her arms many times as I cried over my uncertain future.
I traveled to England several years later when an intercessor friend footed my travel expenses with the exclamation, "You've been called to England!"
Indeed!
A golden time of ministry and friendship; a golden time of gathering with English pastors, intercessors, saints warring against impinging terrorism, as was the U.S. shortly after 9/11. It was still a time when allies stood together, as did brothers and sisters of the Lord and we all felt God's presence as we lived those glorious three weeks. Prayers flew across the pond to my husband and son, still struggling to regain stability during the recession.
As is always true, sisters don't always see eye to eye.
We've had those times too. Living in different countries doesn't always mean you skip over the hard parts. You just navigate differently.
As writers, perhaps we look at life differently. Sometimes more reverently. Sometimes with brutal honesty. Maybe because we are in the latter stages of our lives, continents apart, time is a very precious commodity. The gift?
Intimacy. Freedom. Love.
Loss is shared, hopes dashed, pain, physical and emotional, ejaculated into a plain of solidarity, and finally, laughter! I am in her bedroom, because that is where she spends most of her time-- her dog jumps up and smiles in the screen; Gunther, my Australian shepherd, will have no part of it. But my cat Maggie, spends much of her time walking across the screen, oblivious to the intimacy.
Ian, her Englishman husband, who I have met in person only once, is now more than a brother in the Lord. In the last round of Kathleen's battles with her health, we met over Skype, cried, cried and cried some more, prayed and prayed some more.
Kathleen came home again, but in great pain.
This type of intimacy has its price.
I have watched my friend's physical pain, as she winces, as she puts on a brave face, as she bares her heart, questions and all. She, too, has been there for me, as I have travailed through tremendous loss, different than hers, but intense. She was here in the states to see my son Chris for the last time before his suicide -- again God's provision when she was not all that well.
But God.
We first met years ago when we were called to lead a ministry called "Heart to Heart." Although she was physically challenged even then, she led a full life. We met in her apartment, decorated with the special "Kathleen" touch (the girl has style), we shared a cup of tea, talking nonstop. At once it was apparent we were kindred spirits.
We did what kindred spirits do! We bowed our heads to give ourselves to God and to "Heart to Heart."
And after lives of bumps and grinds, jubilation, hope, faith and prayer, wonderment and wondering,
we know the gift of heart to heart.
Truly and very truly, we can say thank you! and"Amen."
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
PATIENCE
I am not sure if I want to pray for patience or not.
Most of us who pray know full well that if you pray for patience, you will have to enter the "Patience is Required" Room.
Two aisles are evident as you enter this room, one that veers to the right, the other, to the left.
Hmm, which one to choose?
Some clues are evident. The aisle to the left is cluttered with broken articles, chips of pottery, disjointed computer components, a rusted carburetor. Farther down the aisle lie scattered pages of paper. Strewn alongside are unfinished paintings, and violins with sprung strings.
Broken dreams perhaps?
The right aisle beckons. The shards of pottery are fewer, there are still pages of paper, but they are stacked neatly and they are filled with words and musical notations. Paintings propped on their easels have dried, magnificent in brilliant color, architectural drawings are rolled in perfect scrolls.
And at the end of the aisle, a newly-refurbished car stands clean and gleaming.
You, dear reader, know where I am going with this.
Impatience destroys. It demands selfishly "My Way!" "My Time!" It leaves behind unfinished business.
I almost fell victim to the unfinished business of impatience this very morning. Coffee in hand, I strove into my office with purpose and resolve. I excitedly sat down to hammer out nuggets of wisdom.
Alas, a battle ensued with Microsoft Windows 10. " My Way! My Time! " I cried. "Nope!" sneered Windows 10. "Not today!" So I grappled, I tangled, I commanded, but to no avail. I muttered unwholesome words, and stormed out of my office, announcing to my dog, who was laying on the hearth in a dead sleep, "I AM THROWING THIS COMPUTER OUT! I am not writing one word on this thing today!
Deep in the recesses of my technological angst a still small voice whispered, "But there are words today for you to write."
I took a deep breath, prayed "Help", and walked slowly back into my office. No nuggets of wisdom remained, nay, no excitement.
Ah, but a new resolve rose up inside of me. As I looked around, I realized I had entered the "Patience is Required Room." Had I taken the aisle to the right where patience has its say, where perseverance fuels active resolve? I heaved a long sigh, wrote my piece and asked the One Who Knows how to navigate the technological challenge my new Windows 10 application posed. Turns out in my resolve, I learned something new. (What a concept).
Mind you, the prose is not the beginning of the next great American novel. But I won a battle with impatience. I walked down the aisle to the right, and placed my page of words on the tall, neat stack in the "Patience is Required" Room.
For today, I ran the race, and patience won. For today, that was enough.
Most of us who pray know full well that if you pray for patience, you will have to enter the "Patience is Required" Room.
Two aisles are evident as you enter this room, one that veers to the right, the other, to the left.
Hmm, which one to choose?
Some clues are evident. The aisle to the left is cluttered with broken articles, chips of pottery, disjointed computer components, a rusted carburetor. Farther down the aisle lie scattered pages of paper. Strewn alongside are unfinished paintings, and violins with sprung strings.
Broken dreams perhaps?
The right aisle beckons. The shards of pottery are fewer, there are still pages of paper, but they are stacked neatly and they are filled with words and musical notations. Paintings propped on their easels have dried, magnificent in brilliant color, architectural drawings are rolled in perfect scrolls.
And at the end of the aisle, a newly-refurbished car stands clean and gleaming.
You, dear reader, know where I am going with this.
Impatience destroys. It demands selfishly "My Way!" "My Time!" It leaves behind unfinished business.
I almost fell victim to the unfinished business of impatience this very morning. Coffee in hand, I strove into my office with purpose and resolve. I excitedly sat down to hammer out nuggets of wisdom.
Alas, a battle ensued with Microsoft Windows 10. " My Way! My Time! " I cried. "Nope!" sneered Windows 10. "Not today!" So I grappled, I tangled, I commanded, but to no avail. I muttered unwholesome words, and stormed out of my office, announcing to my dog, who was laying on the hearth in a dead sleep, "I AM THROWING THIS COMPUTER OUT! I am not writing one word on this thing today!
Deep in the recesses of my technological angst a still small voice whispered, "But there are words today for you to write."
I took a deep breath, prayed "Help", and walked slowly back into my office. No nuggets of wisdom remained, nay, no excitement.
Ah, but a new resolve rose up inside of me. As I looked around, I realized I had entered the "Patience is Required Room." Had I taken the aisle to the right where patience has its say, where perseverance fuels active resolve? I heaved a long sigh, wrote my piece and asked the One Who Knows how to navigate the technological challenge my new Windows 10 application posed. Turns out in my resolve, I learned something new. (What a concept).
Mind you, the prose is not the beginning of the next great American novel. But I won a battle with impatience. I walked down the aisle to the right, and placed my page of words on the tall, neat stack in the "Patience is Required" Room.
For today, I ran the race, and patience won. For today, that was enough.
Friday, December 11, 2015
MY OFFICE. A PLACE TO THINK?
To you who know me, and to date, that is all four of you who follow this blog, I am far from a linear thinker. I am more serendipitous, which bleeds copiously into my lifestyle.
My office is certainly a reflection of wow, a cluttered mind? Perish the thought! My calendar is buried beneath trinkets, journals, old cards (uh oh, new cards!), library books, and reminders to book appointments, one for a colonoscopy and another for cleaning my teeth. Care to guess which one I will book first?
My husband Brian, who is a very linear thinker, has built up the structure of my office -- shelves, two solid tables aligning the main desk, and a cabinet on the wall. Stellar work!
But he will receive many crowns in heaven for being --
My computer guy.
Bearing the burden for many years, he set me up recently with a new laptop, believing his technical assistance calls may well be over, (at least for a while).
I, who began my writing career in college with a Royal typewriter, never grasped the confidence that I could make a go of it on the computer. But I stumbled along, singing a song, as Brian, with the patience of a saint, assisted me through various calamities.
I am absolutely certain, from the way he literally skipped out of my office after setting me up with this laptop, that he thought --
Well, that his work was done!
I felt hopeful too. Up until,
I pushed another button telling Microsoft to Yes! Go Ahead! Advance me to Windows 10. As I was to discover, it was an "uh oh" moment."
"You did WHAT?!" His voice rose a few decibels. Quickly I discerned that this option was NOT a good thing.
We have been married for 35 years. In this time, I have learned that at these critical junctures, I must come up with a LINEAR answer.
Truth is, the linear answer would have been that the cat strode over the keys of the computer to peer out the front window, and in my distraction, I did push the button. Doesn't Microsoft know what they are doing after all?
Linear or not, this did not appear at this critical juncture, to be the right thing to say.
Instead, I chose,
"I don't know."
His brow furrowed, he challenged, "Katy, I wish you would call me before you do these things."
(I am thinking, gosh, what things?)
Gratefully, I saw an out. "I did try to call you, but your phone was off." (I did try to call him to pick up a quart of milk on his way home.) I handed him a cup of tea, and said, "Don't worry, I will call technical assistance tomorrow and work this out on my own. You won't have to worry about a thing!"
I thought that was a pretty linear line.
He took the cup of tea from me, sighed, and wandered back to my office. Little did he know 14 more crowns would be coming his way.
My office is certainly a reflection of wow, a cluttered mind? Perish the thought! My calendar is buried beneath trinkets, journals, old cards (uh oh, new cards!), library books, and reminders to book appointments, one for a colonoscopy and another for cleaning my teeth. Care to guess which one I will book first?
My husband Brian, who is a very linear thinker, has built up the structure of my office -- shelves, two solid tables aligning the main desk, and a cabinet on the wall. Stellar work!
But he will receive many crowns in heaven for being --
My computer guy.
Bearing the burden for many years, he set me up recently with a new laptop, believing his technical assistance calls may well be over, (at least for a while).
I, who began my writing career in college with a Royal typewriter, never grasped the confidence that I could make a go of it on the computer. But I stumbled along, singing a song, as Brian, with the patience of a saint, assisted me through various calamities.
I am absolutely certain, from the way he literally skipped out of my office after setting me up with this laptop, that he thought --
Well, that his work was done!
I felt hopeful too. Up until,
I pushed another button telling Microsoft to Yes! Go Ahead! Advance me to Windows 10. As I was to discover, it was an "uh oh" moment."
"You did WHAT?!" His voice rose a few decibels. Quickly I discerned that this option was NOT a good thing.
We have been married for 35 years. In this time, I have learned that at these critical junctures, I must come up with a LINEAR answer.
Truth is, the linear answer would have been that the cat strode over the keys of the computer to peer out the front window, and in my distraction, I did push the button. Doesn't Microsoft know what they are doing after all?
Linear or not, this did not appear at this critical juncture, to be the right thing to say.
Instead, I chose,
"I don't know."
His brow furrowed, he challenged, "Katy, I wish you would call me before you do these things."
(I am thinking, gosh, what things?)
Gratefully, I saw an out. "I did try to call you, but your phone was off." (I did try to call him to pick up a quart of milk on his way home.) I handed him a cup of tea, and said, "Don't worry, I will call technical assistance tomorrow and work this out on my own. You won't have to worry about a thing!"
I thought that was a pretty linear line.
He took the cup of tea from me, sighed, and wandered back to my office. Little did he know 14 more crowns would be coming his way.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
LAYING LOW, GOING WITH THE FLOW
Last time I left you dear reader, I had grabbed a copy of Andrew Murray's WAITING ON GOD, my journal and my Bible. No GPS, no expectations, no agendas, just to lay low, go with the flow.
I discovered, at a deeper level, to listen.
To be still.
To be all right with silence. Lots of it.
I sat with pain.
I sat with restlessness.
I sat with guilt. Shouldn't I be doing something?
I sat with anger that I was still grieving, that I didn't understand, and that this "feeling stuff" takes so much time! Doesn't the Bible say not to let the sun go down on your anger? Really?
I let myself wonder. I let go of political correctness. I went to the Lord to let Him do the transforming work.
I slept in.
I watched lots of Hallmark movies.
I read lots of books.
I didn't answer my phones always.
I deleted huge blocks of needless e-mails. Whew!
I listened to my body. Too stiff? Too hungry? Too bored? Too sleepy?
I took my Bible to quiet places, and spent hours on favorite passages, digging in with new ones.
I took note of all of the technical things I did not understand. And after awhile, I acknowledged (begrudgingly) that I really yearned to know more, and took steps to learn.
I dared to get into my bathing suit at my heaviest weight, and go swimming in a public pool. Proud of myself.
Not so fast! Time to be humbled when I then forgot which guest locker was mine and stood, soaking wet, in the public lobby of the gym waiting for rescue. Made new friends as others, who experienced same dilemma, laughed with me, and patted me on my wet head.
I took long walks, and marveled at my dear joints for still moving.
I decided to be a big girl, joined a writing class, and wrote with abandon.
I allowed friends to love me in many, many ways. I took time to embrace those wonderful gifts!
I let myself struggle over the surrender to God, of my son, of my husband, and of myself! This seemed easier when we were all younger!
I let myself speak my heart.
Often.
Was this floating in uncertainty a good thing? I decided to give myself permission not to know if it was or not.
But one day as I walked with my dog Gunther in the delicious heat of a summer day, I realized --
that I relished looking ahead again,
that perhaps the anger and fear of life that comes with grief,
might be ebbing away for awhile,
and that with all that comes with the chaos of loss,
new sprouts of fun and excitement again spring up in my soul,
I laughed at Gunther's yank on the leash as he lurched at a squirrel in our path, and understood --
that God had bestowed upon me, a wondrous vacation, time and space to experience a new depth of living.
Thank you Jesus!
When even in the midst of "life", we can receive the unexpected wonder of You!
The greatest gift of all measure.
I discovered, at a deeper level, to listen.
To be still.
To be all right with silence. Lots of it.
I sat with pain.
I sat with restlessness.
I sat with guilt. Shouldn't I be doing something?
I sat with anger that I was still grieving, that I didn't understand, and that this "feeling stuff" takes so much time! Doesn't the Bible say not to let the sun go down on your anger? Really?
I let myself wonder. I let go of political correctness. I went to the Lord to let Him do the transforming work.
I slept in.
I watched lots of Hallmark movies.
I read lots of books.
I didn't answer my phones always.
I deleted huge blocks of needless e-mails. Whew!
I listened to my body. Too stiff? Too hungry? Too bored? Too sleepy?
I took my Bible to quiet places, and spent hours on favorite passages, digging in with new ones.
I took note of all of the technical things I did not understand. And after awhile, I acknowledged (begrudgingly) that I really yearned to know more, and took steps to learn.
I dared to get into my bathing suit at my heaviest weight, and go swimming in a public pool. Proud of myself.
Not so fast! Time to be humbled when I then forgot which guest locker was mine and stood, soaking wet, in the public lobby of the gym waiting for rescue. Made new friends as others, who experienced same dilemma, laughed with me, and patted me on my wet head.
I took long walks, and marveled at my dear joints for still moving.
I decided to be a big girl, joined a writing class, and wrote with abandon.
I allowed friends to love me in many, many ways. I took time to embrace those wonderful gifts!
I let myself struggle over the surrender to God, of my son, of my husband, and of myself! This seemed easier when we were all younger!
I let myself speak my heart.
Often.
Was this floating in uncertainty a good thing? I decided to give myself permission not to know if it was or not.
But one day as I walked with my dog Gunther in the delicious heat of a summer day, I realized --
that I relished looking ahead again,
that perhaps the anger and fear of life that comes with grief,
might be ebbing away for awhile,
and that with all that comes with the chaos of loss,
new sprouts of fun and excitement again spring up in my soul,
I laughed at Gunther's yank on the leash as he lurched at a squirrel in our path, and understood --
that God had bestowed upon me, a wondrous vacation, time and space to experience a new depth of living.
Thank you Jesus!
When even in the midst of "life", we can receive the unexpected wonder of You!
The greatest gift of all measure.
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Listening/Part 2?
The crises? We all have them, some seasons fuller of them than others. A mixed bag of life offers up
circumstances that make our hair stand up on end, or fall out-- news where we either kick up our heels, or dig them in.
Personally, I am facing the second anniversary of my son's death, feeling loss of long-time neighbors moving on, and watching my husband and son embrace new adventures in their lives. If I have a new adventure --
I DON'T SEE IT.
I am adrift. My begonias, sit on the front stoop, drooping, crying out to be watered, (or even better, PLANTED!) My dog smiles up at me, coaxing a walk -- he prances along as I shuffle. Days drag on endlessly -- (where was all this time when I needed it?!)
Feels like God is saying, "You can now move freely about the cabin."
My answer: "Am I even in a cabin?"
Truth to tell, I AM learning. My opine is not always divine. So listening is up front and center.
Lazy summer sounds are high on my easy listening list. Lawnmowers humming, (not mine unfortunately), trees rustling in a gentle breeze. Fighter jets crashing through the sound barrier DO NOT make the list, but the midnight train peeling down the tracks at midnight as I drift to sleep DOES.
Listening to myself is high on my list. As I pour through WAITING ON GOD by Andrew Murray, I once again learn that this process is not cut and dried, short, or predictable. Courage to sit in my own silence, gently sorting through emotions which pour in without bolting takes some discipline, strength, and a measure of focus.
I just didn't count the cost.
But I will. With Him, I will.
And in the process I hope to understand more of myself, of new friends and old, and of the One Who Knows. Methinks that the pen of my heart is being sharpened. Much is finding its way to paper, some of which is surprising to me. The new adventure? I suspect much more to follow.
Hope you come along.
circumstances that make our hair stand up on end, or fall out-- news where we either kick up our heels, or dig them in.
Personally, I am facing the second anniversary of my son's death, feeling loss of long-time neighbors moving on, and watching my husband and son embrace new adventures in their lives. If I have a new adventure --
I DON'T SEE IT.
I am adrift. My begonias, sit on the front stoop, drooping, crying out to be watered, (or even better, PLANTED!) My dog smiles up at me, coaxing a walk -- he prances along as I shuffle. Days drag on endlessly -- (where was all this time when I needed it?!)
Feels like God is saying, "You can now move freely about the cabin."
My answer: "Am I even in a cabin?"
Truth to tell, I AM learning. My opine is not always divine. So listening is up front and center.
Lazy summer sounds are high on my easy listening list. Lawnmowers humming, (not mine unfortunately), trees rustling in a gentle breeze. Fighter jets crashing through the sound barrier DO NOT make the list, but the midnight train peeling down the tracks at midnight as I drift to sleep DOES.
Listening to myself is high on my list. As I pour through WAITING ON GOD by Andrew Murray, I once again learn that this process is not cut and dried, short, or predictable. Courage to sit in my own silence, gently sorting through emotions which pour in without bolting takes some discipline, strength, and a measure of focus.
I just didn't count the cost.
But I will. With Him, I will.
And in the process I hope to understand more of myself, of new friends and old, and of the One Who Knows. Methinks that the pen of my heart is being sharpened. Much is finding its way to paper, some of which is surprising to me. The new adventure? I suspect much more to follow.
Hope you come along.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Can I just say? Listening? I've worked on this blog for two months now. I've strained my ear, stretched my focus, used plenty of Q-tips, reviewed my CD's, reminisced about my childhood favorites, stiffened as I recall sounds which signify fear, death, and destruction, and those that go bump in the night. You get the idea.
I've racked my brain about how to describe sounds in a bright and brilliant way. Birds that go chirp? C'mon! For years now, I've searched for the word about how I felt when a gang member stuck a gun into the small of my back, and cocked it. Not much else sticks in my mind but that sound.
Obviously I lived to tell about it.
The reason for this exercise you may ask?
A crisis of conundrums. A map too frayed and worn to give me any direction. A mind fraught with overload. A life, too quickly changing. Once again, I had to pull up camp, go higher, clear off the calendar, pick up my journal and my Bible, and,
Watch, wait, and listen.
I've racked my brain about how to describe sounds in a bright and brilliant way. Birds that go chirp? C'mon! For years now, I've searched for the word about how I felt when a gang member stuck a gun into the small of my back, and cocked it. Not much else sticks in my mind but that sound.
Obviously I lived to tell about it.
The reason for this exercise you may ask?
A crisis of conundrums. A map too frayed and worn to give me any direction. A mind fraught with overload. A life, too quickly changing. Once again, I had to pull up camp, go higher, clear off the calendar, pick up my journal and my Bible, and,
Watch, wait, and listen.
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