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.



 

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.









    

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.

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.

Miss P

Inspirational moments?  Tears well up in my eyes, my heart pounds or I get goose bumps.

When sentiment flags me down during normal events, I am ready to take it all in!  Often, however, there are "other" little sparks of inspiration that hit me.  Like little foxes, they spring up, and I am almost shocked at how connected I am to them. Those moments.

Such was the moment when I tuned in to the finals of the Westminster Kennel Club Show last week.  I love dogs mind you, have always had a canine companion for most of my life, can tell dog stories until my cohort's  eyes glaze over, but this was no ordinary evening.  There was a "sweet spot" moment coming.

 I settled down to take it all in on the last night, the big finals.  It seemed pretty pro forma, as the judge took center stage to run the six finalists through their drills. The regal line-up included a Portuguese water dog named Matisse, a big standard poodle with an audacious poof, a high-brow shih Tzu, an elegant springer spaniel, and  a little 5-inch beagle named Miss P. The suspense built as the judge took a full 20-minutes to survey the line-up, the commentators whispered low, and the audience applauded their favorite, an English sheepdog named Swagger.

I felt the goose bumps.  God only knows why I was riveted, but I was. The judge took his time to build the suspense, and the audience audibly gasped when he announced the winner, obviously to most a surprise, Miss P the little 5-inch beagle.

I LOVED IT, BECAUSE MISS P WAS MY FAVORITE TOO! Why? I asked myself? Because this
little beagle was spunky. SPUNKY. 

She was surrounded by high fashion, grooming that didn't quit, and mounds of experience she didn't have. She looked plain in comparison, and she had no hair to cover her short legs. She only had what she had, and she went for it.  She held her head high, and every time the judge asked her to trot around the ring (which was more than usual), she pranced at a tricky gait--not too fast, but at a pace that said, "I'm going for it!"

Maybe that's why I loved her. I could see her spunk and I respected her for it.  I suppose you can see where I COULD go with this, i.e., "just be who you are, and don't compare yourself to the other show-stoppers around you,"  or, "just because you are plain doesn't mean you are not special, or " you don't need hair to cover your short legs."

Nope.  I am not going there, though those things are true.  A few months ago, I noted that I was, in 2015 going to write about the connections in our lives.  Miss P, a little beagle spoke to me as I sat down wearily to watch something "fun." As I regrouped last week and reflected that I need three of me to walk through my calendar these days, I think I needed to stop and smell the roses.  God always uses what endears me in this life to speak when I need to hear, or relax, or relish.

I think it was her spunk that did it, the head held high, the "I'm going for it!" gait, the pure joy of doing what she loved to do; she knew she did well, you could see it in her posture, in her spirit.  The judge saw it, and I think I needed to see it too.  God always has a way of speaking to you in the way that you need, in the very time that you need.

Thank you Miss P. Thank you. 

CHRISTMAS ALREADY?

Wow!  Christmas AGAIN?!  My thought as I peered at my December calendar. Instead of my usual Yuletide fervor, dread reared its ugly head.  I comforted myself.  Surely it is because I worked so hard on the turkey!  This apathy will pass.

Still no enthusiasm for me, but my husband bucked up with good cheer, and endured the cold to mount the roof against all odds to string Christmas lights.  The outside of our house now looks so much like a Christmas wonderland that I even suggested that on Christmas morning, we open our gifts in our driveway.

My husband, un-amused, tried to spur me on by stringing some lights around our French doors, and when he finished, lit them up with glee.  Still in my curmudgeon state, I peered at them above my specs while lounging in my easy chair and reading a delicious novel set in the summer months in Cornwall England.

"Oh nice," I mused, "very nice."

He looked wistfully at the little strand of lights and asked hopefully, "So, have you changed your mind about getting a tree?"

I looked up again, this time with a look that suggested he ask this again at some other time, perhaps next year.

"No," was my short and to-the-point answer.

Not understanding where else to go with such directness, he left me to my summer in Cornwall.  Later in the evening, warmed by the breezes wafting over Cornwall into my heart in Portland, Oregon, where the east wind howled, I admitted that perhaps, whether I felt like it or not (I am an adult, right?) I should arise and take the challenge that faces every woman  this time of the year.

Decorate! Bake! Shop! Wrap! Give! Entertain! Visit orphans armed with gifts! Visit the sick and elderly singing carols! Write on glittering cards a year's events distilled to three sentences to friends scattered all over the world!  Let the aroma of spiced cider waft through the house, and ribbons adorn Fluffy and Fido!  Let the music of ye old Christmas carols fill hearts of all who visit!

Aha!  No wonder escape into Cornwall looked so good. I had forgotten!  That Jesus is the reason for the season.  That my gifts are because of my Savior, my king! That my efforts are not in my flesh, but in my Spirit, and that because of Him, this season can be full!  Truly full.

That spicy cider, gifts to the poor and lonely, connections with friends far and near, carols reminding us of Jesus' birth, the gift of giving and receiving--It's all because of my dear Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Hmmm, I am smelling the sweet scent of hot spiced cider and the real love of the season.  Thank you Jesus.  Let the celebration begin!

CONNECTIONS OF THE HEART

Connections, whether human or technological, can cause conflict, delight, pause or excitement. We, like sheep, herd together to rejoice or rant about life or death, and everything in between.

Starbucks, or the office coffee bar? Both "watering holes for the soul." We do tend to gravitate toward gathering places -- could it be, in fact, that we need each other?

Since the death of our oldest son a year and a half ago, I have been forced to pull back from my normal activity because grief has its own demands; sometimes you remain on top of it, other times, not so much.  I see that, as I stop, rest, cry, wait, I am reflecting more. Aha!  I find clear thoughts amidst the emotional fog! New glimpses of reflection, and questions emerge.   I ask myself, "Am I really connecting with the ones I love, remaining true to the ideals I hold dear, and pressing in to the God I serve?"   I had unsettling answers. For example,  I am shocked at my inhospitality, my overwhelm in political issues (well, come on, really!), my stubbornness in writing!

Hence, this blog. Hence, Over the Coffee.

I don't have a plan per se. All or nothing does not work here-guess I won't run for office or write the definitive American novel this week.  But, I can gently re-emerge into those places of heart connections which are familiar and not so familiar.

So, armed with well meaning, and a full heart,  I wrote handwritten notes to people rejoicing and mourning.  I delivered flowers to a community leader who works hard! I made homemade soup, and cleaned my house (whew) for a renewed acquaintance who came to lunch. And, dear friends, I wrote to you all.   Over the next few months, I am going to focus on connections, with myself, with my family, friends and community, with my country, and with my God.  Hope you can join me.

Over the Coffee.