Staying out of the Weeds

It is so easy for me to step into the weeds these days, and find myself out of sorts.

I can fall over an emotional cliff easily -- am I sane? Or, insane?  Hard to tell some days.

Personally my stuff is probably not yours, but we all can face a similar question.  How do we stay out of the weeds?  How do we stay afloat?

Many of you may have seen "African Queen" --a Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn classic that takes place during WWI in a German colony in Eastern Africa. A missionary  (Hepburn) is forced to take a battered, seen-its better days river boat (the African Queen) out of a village under fire by Germans who are ousting British influences. The captain of said African Queen (Bogart) is as battered as his boat, but he is well seasoned with alcohol and experience.  Hepburn, a prissy, British missionary has a higher goal than just getting out of the burning village.  She pesters the whiskered, alcohol-fueled  Bogart to steam up the Ulana River with endlessly branching streams which go nowhere but impenetrable swamps. Hepburn has God on her side, Bogart not so sure, but the goal is to reach  Lake Louisa in order  to take out a huge German warship with a torpedo constructed by the sobered-up Bogart. The climax finds them exhausted and facing death as the African Queen has run amok in one of those swamps, stuck in thick mud and weeds, unable to move anywhere.

The visual hits home for me as I navigate through my days, determined to stay out of the weeds.
My solution may not be yours.  But the climate of our vexation is the same.  It was oddly reassuring to read Thomas L. Friedman's book, "Thank you for Being Late --  An Optimist's guide to Thriving in the Age of Accelerations."  Co-incidentally (or not), I bought the book at the airport after missing a flight.  Not the airline's fault -- my own when upon exiting my house, my husband asked me if I had my boarding pass. "Yep," I answered smugly, "all ready to go."

Not so much.  Misread the pass, missed my flight.  So, I had a day of wandering the airport waiting for either standby, or a later flight.  Much later.  One silver lining was purchasing Friedman's book.  Captivated by the title("Thank you for Being Late") which I certainly just experienced,  I was pleasantly surprised to find a really good read. For me, it's always reassuring to know I have company in my self-wondering, "Am I peddling faster, and getting no-where slower?"

Friedman in very readable terms explains his thesis.  That Moore's law (technology), the Market (globalization), and Mother Nature (climate change) are accelerating all at once, and transforming the workplace, politics, geopolitics, ethics, and community (all at once).

Okay, so there is an explanation besides my senior status.  I pondered my everyday glitches which Friedman's thesis helped me to clarify.

Technology -- the bane of my existence!  Hours spent wading through technological weeds?  Please!
 It is time well spent for me when I step back, and understand it is not always my fault, and that I am learning not one new language, sometimes 3 or 4.  And by the time I learn those languages, new technological advances pop up, and I grab my IPhone for technical assistance -- wait!-- more weeds as I plow through thick accents to listen to instructions I don't understand anyhow.

Climate change?  Sweater and jeans one day, cotton t-shirt and shorts the next due to a 30 degree upswing in 24 hours.  Forget seasonal wardrobe closet changes.  Stuff wool and cotton together, call it good.

Politics?!  On any given day, I walk in the company of people who are loving, good, wonderful, ethical, spiritual people. And a political conversation with any of them, both sides of the political aisle, can take me into the WEEDS within seconds.

Ethics? Any discussion relative to abortion, assisted suicide, transgender issues, homosexuality, cloning humans, seem "out there" until you are smack dab in the middle of those issues with family, neighbors, and ordinary people who on the outside look far removed from any of the above issues.  Until you find yourself at the other end of a conversation with them,  wondering, "Do I really know what to say to them that is honoring, kind, true and comforting?" Weeds I see you up ahead. 

 When my stepson committed suicide four years ago, my personal angst and ethics were challenged -- "Did I do enough when his health was eroded by drugs he used to steady mental challenges he faced his whole life?"  Should I have fought more aggressively in a mental health industry where answers are sparse? 

I am not alone. Many parents face complex issues which require decisions they don't feel equipped to make.   Pastors, doctors, teachers, counselors can daily  head into dilemmas where solutions evaporate in the tension of competing needs. Staying sober-minded ethically in the midst of the complexity of daily life is required to remain true to our values and ourselves.

So, refreshing as Friedman's book was in defining the reason life seems so complex these days, I didn't go to his book to find the solution to decisions I had to make which hung heavy in the air for me currently.  I sat in my favorite chair, and picked up my favorite book --

the Bible.

In these times, when the weeds are the thickest, God has clearer and clearer revelation to those who have eyes to see and ears to hear.  He, after all understands better than Friedman, the complexity, volatility, and acceleration of our lives -- and the reasons!

I took my daily perplexities about my current issues to Him.  It always astounds me that God, the creator of heaven and earth, always takes time to have tea with me, his daughter.  He takes all the time I have and need, for me to understand His explanation to my problems and then, the solutions and the disciplines He wants me to instill into my life to help me joyfully arrive at those solutions.  This week He directed me to  the books of Timothy, Ephesians, Romans, and Revelation. Staying out of the Weeds!  Taking me into the living flowing water.

Which brings us back to Hepburn and Bogart.  As Hepburn prayed for them to accept death gracefully, the rains came, and

released the African Queen from the weeds into the deep blue waters of Lake Louisa.  It didn't end there.  Another obstacle around the corner, but another answer.  Kinda like our lives.  One prayer answered -- a deeper perspective -- then, another challenge around the corner. 

But wait!  Another answer!

Out of the weeds!

My conversation with Madeleine L'Engle, author of "A Wrinkle in Time"

My life was shaped greatly by Madeleine L'Engle both as a writer and as a follower of Jesus Christ.  Lately I've spent time pondering my own personal testimony -- about the many ways I see God's hand shaping the course of my life -- through individuals, and circumstances.

The testimony of how L'Engle entered my life and her ensuing influence is one that ranks right up there.  And it comes more into focus now because her greatest novel, "A Wrinkle in Time" opens as a major motion picture this Saturday, March 9.

Hopefully, Hollywood stays true to her book, because by her own admission, "A Wrinkle in Time" was from God, "a good work." Published in 1962 after being rejected by publishers for ten years, "Wrinkle" is a story about three children who fight an evil force threatening their planet.

My testimony of my writing career being shaped by her is one for another blog.  L'Engle has been dead for eleven years, but it is a great testimony to her, and her writing that "Wrinkle" is surfacing as a movie after all of these years.  I didn't read this book until I was an adult and felt the impact immediately as to the depth of her message, and the simplicity and grace of her storytelling, and I feel in many ways the timing of this movie is the Lord's.

 My meeting with her happened rather randomly.  Don't all divine appointments fall as a suddenly?  This one did!  It happened nearly ten years ago when she was in Portland conducting a writer's conference. At the time I didn't have the money to go to the conference, but I did go to her free Friday night "open to the public" session at the Old Church in downtown Portland.

But, I had NO IDEA THAT I WOULD HAVE LUNCH WITH HER! FOR 2 1/2 GLORIOUS HOURS! God had a plan for me!

Initially, I balked at attending the "open to the public"session. I thought of a thousand reasons why I should not go.  Too hot, old building, no air conditioning. Did I really want any lecture on writing fiction?  I was a journalist for heaven's sake! But my writing mentor's urging won out -- she believed I had a novel inside my journalistic self, and thought an evening with Madeleine could shake it out of me.

But it was not the writing that bonded me to Madeleine L'Engle.  It was her passion for Jesus Christ.

So, in spite of hot and muggy,  I entered the Old Church with not much expectation, sat down, and proceeded to peruse the audience.  It was filled to overflowing with people who were chattering with excitement. Seemed to be a writing kind of audience I surmised, but would she teach for free on this night with a whole week-end full of paid-up participants who were signed-up months in advance for a writer's conference?

Before much second thought on my part, and after an introduction filled with accolades, she strode out to the podium, a puff of purple.  Though she seemed to float to the podium, her presence spoke of confidence and strength.  She smiled, graciously acknowledging and scanning the packed crowd both on the ground floor and balcony, and stood a few more minutes in silence.  It brought an uncanny shift to the audience atmosphere, almost as if their excitement turned to a wonder of curiosity.

She spoke. "I know most of you have come tonight to hear my experiences as an author, and about my life as a writer."  She paused, again perusing her listeners, "But tonight I am going to tell you all about the real author of this author -- Jesus Christ."

And, she proceeded to give the gospel of Jesus Christ, how He found her and loved her, and how it changed her life and her writing, her love for creativity, and her love for teaching writers, yes, her love for writers!

To say that you could hear a pin drop -- was an understatement.  She had the audience in the palm of her hand, not because of who she was, but

because of Who Jesus is.

I fell in love -- with her grace, with the power of her message, and I was humbled that I had almost missed the evening!  But God was not done with me yet.

As she closed, lines started forming to talk to her.  I briefly considered going up to shake her hand, and mumble my admiration, but I left the church instead.

I didn't get far. Stopped dead in my tracks for no human reason. Standing under the boughs of an old oak tree situated in front of the Old Church, I heard a still small voice, "Go back in and tell her you would like to interview her."

 I grabbed the bark of the old oak tree to steady myself.  I knew what I had heard, but hoped I hadn't. With what I can only define as gut-wrenching obedience, I made my way back inside, waited in line, and stuttered a question, something about me being a free-lancer, and yes, I know you don't have time, and, but, well, can I interview you?

There was never a waver in her eyes, her voice, or her resolve.  "Yes, Oh Yes!  I'd love to meet with you!"

The women who put on the conference had other ideas about her time.  "No Madeleine," one chimed in promptly, "You have no time to meet with anyone outside the conference!"

Velvet and steel, yes? L'Engle turned to her, and very sweetly said, "Oh my dear, but I do!"
She turned to me, we set up the time, and voila, my time with Madeleine was set for lunch the next day.

I felt like I was having lunch with an old friend instead of interviewing her.  We ate grilled cheese sandwiches in the conference building's cafeteria, and talked about many things.  She explained about how she found her way into the Christian faith. It began with her reading Einstein's "Theory of Relativity" in beginning to research for "A Wrinkle in Time."  She described her initial deep musings into whether there was a God or not, and in her journey of research for "Wrinkle", she  began to find God.  Her journey, as most of ours, took some time, and as she explains it in her non-fiction book, "A Circle of Quiet,"  an Anglican bishop finally "loved me into the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and settled the issue for me once and for all.  All the theological books my friends had given me didn't matter.  The love of God through this man in a time of a deep personal need brought me to the understanding of who God is."

We talked about things big and small.   She never once questioned that I was not a part of the conference -- instead, she seemed relieved that she could just be, and not teach.  In talking about "Wrinkle", she explained that it never occurred to her to doubt whether children should not know that evil existed.  And always when pressed, she insisted that she didn't write children's books, she wrote for everyone.  We talked about prayer, and she said she gave her more conservative Christian friends credit for teaching her about prayer, really deep prayer, that took her into the heart of her God.

We talked about her love for her husband, Hugh, who was an actor -- and she laughed unabashedly about how clumsy she felt (she had one leg shorter than the other) around him, and how he loved her into feeling totally graceful, kept her humble, and when she almost gave up writing during the ten years of waiting for "A Wrinkle in Time" to be published, Hugh chastised her about all the books being published that weren't half as good as hers, and encouraged her to stay the course!

She was adamant about being available as a mother, and would put her children to bed and stay up in the middle of the night to write, until her children, when they became older, gave her permission to write  during the day (please mother!) because she was grumpy otherwise. She believed in commitment and mused that when they bought an old farm house in a small rural village to raise their children, she rued,"I get so frightfully bored sometimes, and oh, the plumbing!"  Then a laugh, "My floors are a wreck, I can't bake a pie, but I can cook, thank God!  And write!"

It was Madeleine that impressed upon me for the first time -- you are a writer --God created you.  You have Him as your partner.   She was the first to admit that the process is not always a clean one -- it can get messy, but it is yours and God's.  It is good.  It is right.  And it is a fight.

And fight you must.

She believed in both the good and the evil.  And she believed in the fight.  And she believed that the fight can be won.  She believed in enjoying life, strong values, commitment, and honestly questioning and wrestling with God in questions, both big and small.

She squeezed my hand at the end of our interview, hugged me, and said, "Oh what a delight you are! Here is my phone number.  Call me any time!"

I am sure she had said that to thousands of writers, but how grateful I am to have been one of them.  "A Wrinkle in Time" reminds me of my time with her, and the kinship of our similar passions.  I am honored to have known her, and perhaps share a part of her with you dear readers.

For such a time as this?

I think so.  Read the book, and make your own decision about whether Hollywood got it or not.

Time to Breathe?

A new year. A clean slate.

2018 came in much as 2017 had progressed.  I reconnected with long-lost relatives, absorbed the blows of life as institutions imploded, and as dear friends faced their own trials.  Thinking I was withstanding  the roiling emotions which life brings these days, another event "popped in."

My knee popped out.  OUCH!   And, I was, in a word,

Immobile.

Leveled by the physical pain, I quickly discounted that there were lessons to be learned here, and plunged into the tyranny of the urgent.

Delegating became my second name.  The list of what has to be done, what isn't being done, and dear God in heaven what can be done? was answered immediately by a knee that said, I AM DONE!

Those dear ones around me quickly found their own mantra, "Uh, that does not HAVE TO BE DONE!

Gradually, as the voice of reason nudged into my panic, I began to understand how hell-bent I am to HAVE my own way, DO it my own way, and THINK in my own way.

Once again, my friend Jesus in that still small voice quieted me with a beckoning,"Come let me show you new discoveries!  About me, about yourself!"

Captured by His gentle luring, I began to take stock of those lessons.

In the midst of my busyness,  I had lost my ability to see the gift of receiving from those who love me. Gradually, I relaxed in the love of their help.  Had I hardened myself so much? Or had Jesus' words, "Giving is better than receiving" turned into a stumbling block for me? Did I forget that to give to others, I had to receive the gifts Jesus had for me?

I began to breathe.  Ridiculous as it sounds, I learned to sit and be. And breathe.  Again, a peace -- the peace that passes all understanding begin to bathe me in a sweetness that had been clouded with my pain. As I relaxed, peace prevailed and a new attention to detail of my surroundings and those I love began to overtake my pain. A miracle relearned.

I have written much in this blog about my struggles to dispel my prejudices as I work in my neighborhood which is changing rapidly, sometimes with challenges not to my liking. And ONCE AGAIN, I learned a deeper lesson as I obeyed my doctor's advice to swim more. Not knowing that this would be another lesson to dispel prejudices, I limped off to my neighborhood gym. Entering into the pool area, expecting to swim quickly and exit, I instead found a crowded pool and spa. Me, a Russian body-builder, a young Hispanic boxer,  a Middle-Eastern young adult, two Hispanic teen-agers, and a Chinese doctor were in the spa, in the pool, and in the sauna -- not always in that order.

Quickly, I discerned that I had no choice but to go with the so-called program and swim, in spite of the crowded spa and pool. Fill in the blanks dear reader -- in the midst of it all, I found out much about my companions that afternoon, there was laughter, sharing, and yes, I did swim, and yes it helped my prejudices, and my knee.   Hebrews  12: 12-13 hits me, literally. "Therefore, strengthen the hands that are weak and the knees that are feeble, and make straight paths for your feet, so that the limb which is lame may not be put out of joint, but rather be healed."

As you can note dear reader, I am healing.  I walk short distances now, but I am nudged more into swimming, I drink lots of water (as I have been resistant to do for years -- too much running to -- well you know).  I listen to the Lord, and to my body.  Stop, sit, enjoy, rest, write, love those around you, and watch what I AM DOING!

Writing is flowing in greater measure.  I have time to sit more and peruse old journals.  I am aware that the path of my life has been laid meticulously out for me by my Lord, and that I know my path.  A miracle above all miracles, and I am blessed.   Helping others pen their stories, and finding my own.

Nuggets.

As you are dear readers.  Thanks for walking with me on my journey.  Stay tuned.  Next month I am posting an interview I did with Madeleine L'Engle 20 years ago.  Her book, "A Wrinkle in Time" is coming out as a Disney movie March 9th. 

Another nugget.  See you.

WOW! ANOTHER BIRTHDAY!

On my desk, perched to the left of my laptop is one of those clever cliches, rather glib I think.  It says, "YOUTH IS A GIFT. AGE IS AN ART."

Before I go off, waxing the incredible wisdom that I have gleaned from living so many years, just let me say,

I'm still working on the "AGE IS AN ART" part.

Birthdays usually trigger me into contemplative moods. In my imagination, I visualize my life as  a room full of many doors -- doors that have opened in the past, and I have walked through them or doors that have been shut and I ignored the obvious, and blasted right through them anyway.  But --

There are doors that are still standing open, right now one in particular.  And I am tiptoeing around the threshold, hesitating to commit to the dance, one foot in, and then, whoa, one foot out.   Kind of like the two-step at my sixth-grade box social. Not fully committed to walking through.

 But I do know this much.

On this birthday, I am truly grateful.  Exuberantly, extraordinarily and exactingly GRATEFUL! Is it because I am old or because I am a writer, all three adjectives mean something special?  You dear reader can decide.

Exuberantly thankful! For my love of eating! Smelling the aromas of homemade bread and white cake wafting from the oven, and mouth-watering plumes of barbecue smoke from steaks and ribs on the grill.  The joy of crunching into corn on the cob dripping in butter, a vine-ripened Iowa tomato bursting with flavor only heat and humidity can produce (my Midwest roots) and finally, who can pass up a plate of steaming pasta piled on a plate with homemade marinara sauce,  grated garlic and Parmesan cheese melting on top?

For music!  All kinds.  Cranked up.  Lots of drums! Cellos yes!  Dancing in my living-room in my sweats, barefooted, no make-up, and my dog howling at the top of his lungs, thinking it is one big game!

For good books! Curled up. In my favorite chair, hot Irish breakfast tea, cat on my lap, journals and a book close by. I call it exuberant peace. Do I scoot out of my chair onto my knees with prayers of gratitude?  Often.  Very often.

Next --EXTRAORDINARILY!

Extraordinarily humbled by my marriage to Brian. God has brought us through!  The fruit?  So much, but for us, talking and listening and learning how to do both -- has been a constant. Used to be over a beer, but now? A cup of  his freshly-brewed coffee in the comfort of Saturday mornings, talking as only people the same age and married 36 years can share. Deep, superficial, laughing, crying, praying, sometimes all at once.  We ponder often these days -- what life at our age should look like? What is God doing in our lives?  What should we be doing in His?  (And, really, is it the same thing?) Is the next house project worth the energy?  Did the dog just run right through our new patio screen door!!??  Shall we go out for ice cream like NOW!?

Extraordinarily thankful that I could be a mother when I wasn't sure whether my body was up to it.  Even more grateful that I birthed a kid that I not only loved, but that I liked. Tony shares the family bonding agent -- humor. Laughter with him, always!   He has surpassed his mother in cooking skills. Cooking with him is a joy -- letting him cook and then eating the deluge of texture and goodness that he prepares is even more of a delight.  Grateful I can be a part of his journey and watch him navigate the complex challenges he faces as a young man.   I learn from his journey, oh boy, do I learn.

Extraordinarily sobered is truly the word  that comes to mind as I ponder the deep colors of my friendships. The fine workings, the sometimes rugged terrain, the peaceful oases, the fight, the companionship of love, pain, confusion, despair, and hope which I experience with people who truly share their hearts and lives with me takes my breath away at times. Some are kindred spirits, others walk their own journey though they don't share my beliefs, but they honor me anyway.  And I, honor them.

A special hug to my inner circle.  You know who you are. And my life is enriched because you are my family, because I need you, and you need me.  A circle of unending love -- it pours in from places in our hearts where we expect it to come -- but it also surprises us when wow! God takes us into unexpected treasure troves to bless us one to another.

To my mentors, those who guard me in prayer, and keep me on the path where I belong -- I must make special mention.  Dr. Virginia Phillips, Dr. Mark Strong, Pastor Marla Strong, Pastors Bernis and Betty Dorsey, and the dear one I just lost, Lottie Thurman. To you all, well, there are no words strong enough.  Thank you from my heart.

And finally, we come to Exactingly Grateful.  Interesting adjective, and perhaps one that is a little puzzling. This is the threshold of the door(s) I'm afraid to cross. A scary place. Hesitant, fear, and insecurity follow me here.  I've been here many times -- as an awkward sixth-grader at my first dance, a teenager shaking in the wings as I await my turn in a state competition, in pain as my first love told me he was in love with someone else, devastated as I pulled a D in my first college exam, after studying forever, scared as a new wife, and a new mother, and leveled at the loss suffered in both of those roles. So, have I earned the right to be hesitant?

As I practice Exacting Gratitude, I understand from the past, that I've passed those thresholds of "scary" before.  They are guideposts of where I've been, because by the grace of the good Lord, I have purposed, EXACTED myself on the path that Jesus has already laid for me. For every fear and battle scar,  there is restoration and reconciliation. Where there is mystery and fear and insecurity, there is opportunity to stand, to have more courage, and to walk from shaking to assurance.

I am not exempted from the journey because I am old.  I must exact myself in new disciplines (love to walk as much as I love to eat!), learn new levels of my gift (I DID after all give up my good old Royal typewriter), and position myself to surrender.  Reads easy, works hard.

Can I say I am no longer scared?

No, but I can say this --

I am no longer a sixth-grader doing the two-step at a box social.

I am an adult, replete with the richness of my own life lived sometimes with success, sometimes with failure, and sometimes with everything in- between.  I am alive, kicking, moving along, singing a song, eyes wide-open.

So, I ask myself, is this what "AGE IS AN ART "means?

We'll see!

I have my dancing shoes on, and I hear music just beyond that threshold.

Happy Birthday to me!















































   

GOOD-BYE MY KITCHEN TABLE FRIEND -- Lottie Thurman March 16, 1936 - May 20, 2017

Good friends are precious gifts from God.  As I grow older, so does my gratitude for those closest to me. And as I say good-bye to this dear one with whom I have shared so much, again I am aware –

That intimacy takes time and effort.  At times sweat and tears.

Sometimes those efforts and blessings are accomplished over years.  Other times, God plants people in our path, allowing the Holy Spirit to do not only a “fast work” but,

A “deep work.”

In my life – Lottie Thurman fell in the latter camp.

I only knew her for 7 years.  We accomplished much in those 7.  We prayed together on Wednesdays as a general rule, but prayer time for us was an adventure.  We could count on it!!

And, it was always done at Lottie’s large solid oak table. Chattering began as soon as I crossed over the threshold of her front door, often dashing to her bathroom to relieve my “aging bladder.”  Didn’t distract our line of sharing the week’s events one whit – I cracked the bathroom door and we talked and chuckled even as I sat on the throne.  Nothing was outside the purview of discussion.  Obama vs. Bush, war versus peace, barbecue versus well – no discussion

.

 Our Wednesdays started with talking about our week, our general condition, what we were cooking, how smoothly life was going (or not), the garbage man out front, the neighbor renovating the house across her street, the new woman who moved in next to me, and where were we going for lunch?

 We hung out on the front porch in the summer, cackling and howling with laughter, often, -- just because.  Because it was a joy to be together.  Often in restaurants people would approach us and ask if we were related to one another – another woman came up after an event we had attended and said, “You two are having so much fun, have you known each other all of your lives?” Once when we were waiting in a doctor’s office, a woman also waiting beside us said, “You act like best-friend sisters!” Lottie, of course did not miss a beat, “We are sisters!!  Sisters in the Lord Jesus Christ!”

 For those who don’t know.  Lottie Thurman was a black woman, born in Marks, Mississippi to sharecroppers, who married a military man,  birthed four boys, was widowed, and went on to become a registered nurse, and also earned several other degrees enabling her to serve as a school nurse for 27 years in Dayton, Ohio. In 2003 she came to Portland, OR, whereupon she immersed herself into life in the Pacific Northwest, which included in a big way, Life Change Church.

And for those who probably might know, I am a white woman, born in Chicago, Illinois, raised and educated in the Midwest until I came to Portland, OR in 1976. I am twice married, birthed one son, lost a stepson, and earned a degree in Journalism. Though writing always was a part of my life in some fashion, I never held a job for more than seven years, and began attending Life Change Church in 2009.

In short, we were from different cultures, had vastly varied experiences, and yet –

People viewed us as sisters.  I have my own view of why that was true.  Fun and everyday life we shared; but prayer truly was the bond.

Lottie enjoyed life.  But in everything, with everything, and through everything, God stood strong in the center.  She was an intercessor at the very core of who she was.  And as a fellow intercessor, I enjoyed partnering with her, learning from her, and watching with her. 

As a fellow intercessor, I would be truly remiss if I did not speak about my joy of interceding with Lottie, and her joy as being an intercessor!  As with any intimate relationship, conversation and connection is key.  And so it is with prayer.  Lottie knew how to connect, how to listen, with God and with other people.

And,

They knew it.  Part and parcel of who she was, a light shining on a hill, people came to her to depend, and partake, of her light through who she was, and how she prayed.  I was no different, and as we partnered in prayer, God was faithful to us as a team, and as sisters, one to another.  We learned much about love – we went to the mat with those things we felt strongly about—mostly culture and politics, and when neither of us backed down, we took a deep breath, walked about the house, and sat back down to either work through the matter at hand, or to agree to disagree.

 

But prayer always followed.  Always. 

And God always answered.  Always.

Good-bye my friend.  Good-bye.  I will revel in seeing you on the other side.

SUNSHINE!

Sunshine!  I am sitting at my computer, reveling in a scarce commodity these days.  My body and mind and soul feel more alive and I wonder at the preciousness of it.

And I feel during the dark days of winter, the absence of it.  Tired, grumpy, unmotivated – dead.

The harshness of this winter has taught me anew the importance of light in my life, and the difficulty to feel truly alive without it.

If you read the fine print, it says, DO NOT TRY THIS IN THE DARK!

Jesus tells His followers to be salt and light to those who do not believe, and in my grumpy state, I wonder at my ability to be light to anyone.  There are many lessons here, but a simple take-away for me this day is that I NEED THE LIGHT!

Walk in the light, and you will see the light.  Walk in the darkness and you will see the darkness.  Amazing what happens when you turn out the lights,

--You run into walls

--You cannot read

--Nope, no computers or cell phones either!

--You can’t recognize who is beside you

--Are those flowers on the mantel still there?

You get the picture. 

But you also cannot see the dust bunnies across the room, Aunt Phoebe’s picture on the wall, and the stains on the white sofa you thought you had to have before kids, dogs, rousing jump-a-thons with said pillows.

As a sitting elder to myself, I see both as I take spring inventory – the ways I spread light, and the dust bunnies in the nooks and crannies that have to be swept away. And I am well aware that without Jesus, I can, even as a sitting elder to myself, do neither.

And, to be honest, turning on the light of your soul and spirit can be risky. There is fine print here as well- BEWARE OF BRIGHT LIGHT! JESUS WILL APPEAR AND ASK YOU TO DO THINGS YOU MAY NOT WANT TO DO! HE MAY LEAD YOU INTO A MORE SATISFYING LIFE, ADVENTURE, FUN, AND TRIALS. SIGN UP HERE!

As I survey my life today, I’d pick the light every time.  It’s the only win-win on the boards.  For the satisfying?  I get to be who God created me to be.  For the adventure? Well, He parted the Red Sea for Moses, and God knows that life has many “red sea” challenges. Adventure? God will give you as much as you can take.  HE LOVES ADVENTURE! Trials? In the thick, He shines the brightest, and you know that you know, that He has your back.

And the fine print in my God portfolio?

I love you beloved daughter!  Come dance with me today in the light, come play with me, and let me show you greater things than you can imagine!

Beats stumbling around in the dark any day. 

Even in the Woebegone -- Merry Christmas!

Woebegone? Definition:  of woeful appearance; looking sorrowful, mournful or wretched.

What comes to mind at this time of year is Charlie Brown’s little Christmas tree.  Listing to the left, bereft of branches, and, but a single ornament or two. 

Lately that is how I have felt.

 

Listing to the left.

Bereft of branches,

Only a single ornament or two.

2016, a year of surprises, quick turns, not flip flops exactly, but bumper cars without the safety walls.  It’s been the smoothest year of not smooth I’ve ever encountered. I’ve had my share of “open doors of opportunity”, “didn’t see that coming,” or experiences where the only response was, “Uh?!”

For those who read me, you know that mostly I am not alone on this journey – mostly I am with the God of my understanding, God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

But as with any healthy relationship, there is mystery, there is a deepening, and for me, generally, there is a get-down with God about the “Uh’s”?  I know from my relationship with the Lord, that there is ALWAYS something to learn – about myself and about my God and what He is doing.  And in this Christmas season, I have noticed my listlessness and wondered about my lack of wonder.

I have walked with Jesus for 34 years.  And as I have pondered about the ups and downs of this year, I spent time reminiscing about my first Christmas spent as a born-again Christian.  And the true WONDER, awe, and excitement about it! 

Looked pretty woebegone on the outside for sure.  I was separated from my second husband, a single parent, no money, on the verge of losing the roof over my head– do you hear the violins?

For the record, the little drummer boy was my favorite Christmas song. And the poignancy of that song, still resides in my heart today.

Along with the profound remembrance of how precious the birth of Jesus was to my heart and the excitement of wanting to celebrate His birth!

Not able to afford a Christmas tree, I had an idea that I wanted a Jesse tree, which is a little tree with branches bereft of leaves, so that only homemade decorations could adorn it – ornaments truly born of a heart and hands to celebrate the season for which we sing, “Holy, Holy, Holy!”

Walking my two-year old around the block on a cold, windy, day two weeks before Christmas, I had one thing on my mind – GET HOME!

Behind me I heard a loud crack, and the sense something had fallen.  I turned around, and there it was—

My first Christmas tree – a Jesse tree.  I knew.  I saw the gift.

I cried and picked up what was a paltry little set of branches blown from a large tree moaning from the wind.  But it was perfectly proportioned.  I hurried home, stroller, baby, little branches and all.

I am not particularly a crafty person.  Well okay, my friends are reading this.  I can’t craft, period.

Didn’t matter – Bible verses written on parchment, little red ribbons, homemade angels, stick figures fashioned out of a lot of things – it was a beautiful little tree, fashioned out of my love, out of my heart, out of a life filled with woebegone, for the one I loved.

Jesus.

Last week in an ice storm trees split and lay torn all over the city.  I struggled with my motivation to feel the Christmas spirit. Was my heart weary from my  life changing beyond my control, experiences I didn’t and don’t understand, a world around me with people I love, grappling with challenges beyond my ability to fix?

This morning I looked upward, and bowed down.  On my knees.  Words of my condition stuck in my brain too easily wanting to fix it all.

I couldn’t. I can’t.

But, on my knees, I cried out the one thing I knew in my heart.  “Thank you for coming Jesus, thank you!” Woebegone or not, when I arose from my knees, I felt peace.

My prayer?  A whisper of my first Christmas with Jesus, a fanning of the flames of my heart of my portion of faith which was Jesus’ gift to me.

Though I didn't expect answers on that day of prayer, they came.  

It was a Jesse tree type day! 

Ornaments of my feelings of barrenness hung on a life with crooked branches, but in perfect proportion to God’s plan.

 I received exciting news from a good friend about refreshment and empowerment – a “happening” which just that morning exploded out of a prayer group at my church.  Was it their prayers that led me to my knees in the first place?

Later, I hurried to grocery shop before snowflakes turned to a “weather event,” but I stopped, jumped out of my car to hug and say good-bye to my neighbors as they loaded their U-Haul truck to leave a house lost to hard times.  Hugs and tears, they thanked me for loving them.

Then, as I loaded groceries into my car, a crippled homeless man in a worn jacket approached me in a now steady snowfall for “spare change.” My heart broke for him, and for my own inability to give him anything more than a paltry hand-out. I gripped his hands to warm them in mine and said in a faltering voice, “Jesus loves you.”

Another miracle.  We hugged in the now heavy snow fall, and with steady bright eyes, he smiled at me, “He loves me every day.”

 Awestruck, I climbed back into my car aware that this homeless man had given me the greater gift. Heavily falling snow and traffic jams once again took my focus on the burden of daily living!

Finally home, groceries unloaded, and sitting in my “chair” with a cup of hot tea, tree lights twinkling, I felt a stirring in my heart. Suddenly, quietly, but definitively, God was speaking.

  

Instinctively, I bundled up again to walk around my neighborhood in the silent beauty of newly fallen snow, Christmas lights gently welcoming the freshness of a blanket covering fallen branches of only a week ago. 

Just like the Jesse Tree.  I trod in the snow, looking at the houses, for the most part knowing who lived there.  Their joys, their sorrows.  This was not my turf.  It is God’s, and He has placed me here -- to live, to breathe, to commune in victories and sorrows with my neighbors.  To pray for them, and let them be who they are to me.

A peace fell upon my spirit as I walked, once again, understanding that in the woebegone, life is there.  Because of Jesus.

My questions of how to respond, of my angst at not having enough to spread around in this hurt-filled world, and how in my aging body, I can do anything, were suddenly, clearly answered.

I stopped in the beauty of the moment of God’s creation.  Full circle? Is it so simple that in my barrenness, answers, ornaments fall where they may, where God intends?  Is it so simple to surrender to daily life where we live and breathe, and resurrect a naked little tree with our love and ornaments?

I think it is.

Merry Christmas!