A Songbird in His Court

Sing out, Louise!

2011-09-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

I know, I’ve been quiet. First I was busy, focused. Then I was tired, bone deep weariness from the let down of nerves. Alternating pool soaking and book devouring with running around town taking care of various lovies: both the furry and the human variety. Still quiet. This week I’ve been cranky. The floating sensation had turned into untethered and lost which left me feeling a bit scared. The fog of discouragement swirled around me as I wondered if I would ever stand on solid ground. Silly really, to fall again for the lie that now is permanent and that my emotions alone can accurately assess my life. In panic I began to lash out, inside at first but the vitriolic fluid can not long be contained in my heart before it sloshes out of my mouth, haphazardly spewing pain. And frankly I didn’t want to sit down and share the loathsome details of that kind of week with you my friends. Not when some beautiful wonderful things have happened. Not when battles have been fought, giants faced and a few victories have been enjoyed and losses have been honorably sustained. To come back with nothing but complaints seemed wrong somehow. And yet a joyous victory song was not on my heart either. Then I walked into a room of friends and strangers last night and remembered. Remembered that I have tools to sort out the maelstrom of my emotions, tools that help me face and tell the truth to the One who knows but wants me to tell Him anyway. I have people who care to know what I am feeling even when it is not clear cut or pretty. People like you. And I always, always have the option to be grateful. In fact I always have the mandate to be grateful because thankfulness and discontentment have a hard time living together. And regardless of the message hissed in the dark I have far more to be thankful for in my life than reasons to shed tears. So tales of battles won and lost will wait for another day. Now I will push back the quiet and sing out!

448. my car runs beautifully
449. I don't have to pay for my groceries.
450. I have a roof over my head.
451. My parents love and support me even though I'm not currently working fulltime.
452. I don't have squeeze these new things in while working fulltime.
453. Jesus loves me even when I'm cranky.
454. Singing Success
455. new dance classes
456. people who want me to succeed
457. DBB loves me
458. new mornings to start fresh
459. a break in the glaring heat
460. Bull Gator getting as sentimental over the old family coffee table as I was (rare!)
461. small cramps remind me of '08 surgery success
462. possible afternoon with a friend
463. a plan for new stuff next week
464. a new blog post
465. deeper peace than I have felt in days.

Fully

2011-07-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

Leisurely I sit, meandering through the books and websites I use to focus me on Him, the One who gets me through my day, Jesus. And I read one of my favorite writers and discover this quote, so meant for me.

Henri Nouwen suggests that “[t]he word patience means willingness to stay where we are and live out the situation out to the full in the belief that something hidden there will manifest itself to us.”

And the kaleidoscope turns, revealing a new facet of beauty as I turn to the light of my past. I thought this long journey, these last twelve years were just about grueling character building, the exhilarating yet sometimes agonizing process of healing and layers being added to the love story that is He and I, but now I see that while I recognized that I was learning to release my plan I didn’t see that I was also learning to stay in the here, the now, no matter how it feels, and open myself up to Him and sweet treasures masterfully hidden.

Miscellany and I Love Libraries

2011-07-20T19:43:00.000-07:00

I know I should tell you something you don’t know. How about, where I’ve been. Well nowhere, actually, but ever since I’ve decided to tend that little flame life has been relentlessy busy. It almost feels oppositional. But I’m committed. Trying my best to prioritize and work on these new tasks consistently. I have little hopes and dreams growing, just little green seedlings really (I know, I switched metaphors again) and I’m trying to nurture them. The funny thing is that a lot of the time I’m spending working this dream garden is the time I would normally spend on blogging. Not just the writing and editing pictures for my own blog but taking the time to make the rounds to visit you and comment and email, you know be present. Please know that when I have a chance I have been whisking off to lurk. It just seems to be a transitional season. But hey, that's what you get when the tagline is “the story of a girl trying to find her place in the world.” You never know where those kinds of journey may lead. But I’m still here, just in smaller doses. And I may be sneaking around your blog, reading, pondering, giggling, and just not commenting.

Today my heart is just grinning. You know last summer I was so grey. I don’t know why. (If I looked for reasons I could probably find some but they weren’t really the reason for the doldrums) I guess it’s just the vagaries of an artistic temperament. Sometimes moods show up and decide to settle for a little while, even without permission. But today I realized just how sunny I felt. No real reason why, just sunny. I like this soul weather. I mean if I looked I could find some reasons. Thanks to house and dog sitting I will have spent over a month in the close company of sweet little furry creatures who adore me. I had some new (little) things fall into place today in this new direction. Nothing huge, and my fears are still so intimidating (and scary loud) so when I see little things come together I treasure them like secret love notes from God saying, “Its ok, keep walking, I’m just steps ahead of you, clearing a path.”

So today, I went to a new library to find some sheet music that I needed and can’t afford to buy. A library in the city next to me had it. It’s a stunningly beautiful old library. I found one picture that I liked but clearly I’m going to have to go back and take a ton of pictures to show you. Because with the exception of the picture below, Google did not come through for me today.

via

This 1920’s beauty just fills me with excitement. I even got to get a new library card from them this morning. Sigh. I love library cards. My mom used to take us to the library as soon as we moved to a new house (we moved a lot.) Then I left there to visit my regular library where I discovered a cd of one of the songs I’m trying to learn, just sittin’ there, waiting for me, like someone had made sure I’d be able to get it. (I also found three wonderful new books at the Friends of the Library shelf: 3 children’s books for a dollar. Can’t beat it!) So I’m enjoying the soul weather. Trying tenaciously to clear my schedule but also be accepting that blogosphere participation may slow down a smidge. And I’m desperately, purposefully (confessional: not completely successfully) trying to not predict the weather down the road just because today is nice. In prose I’m trying not to predict that all my new goals will fall neatly in place just because today did. Trying to keep realistic expectations and an open heart for whatever He has for me next.

Well, I don’t really have a tidy wrap up but hey, this is a post entitled “Miscellany,” There is no neatness in miscellany.

So stay tuned (but be warned it may be a Superbowl long commercial break),

7DS: Trademark Infringement

2011-07-12T00:04:00.000-07:00

Yes, you read correctly, I am blogging about trademark infringement. On Day 3 of the Seven Days of Silly I thought I’d give this subject the respect it deserves, at least as far (and only as far) as the note I just found at the end of a UPS notification email.

Sadly, it would seem that displaying the color brown is now the exclusive right of UPS drivers and their trucks. I’m actually surprised that dirt didn’t file an objection to UPS’s trademark application. Maybe it had other things to do, like grow stuff and stain clothes. And I’m shocked at the number of scofflaws running around out there.

via

Don't they know the consequences of violating U.S. trademark law. Have they received their cease and desist letters yet? Even on my recent trip up the coast I saw flagrant violations.

For shame Mrs. Heifer, what kind of example are you setting for the calves?

These sequoias have an entire forest of colors to choose from, but they just have to pick the one color that is now off limits.

This little guy is such an unrepentant trademark violator that he is actually sticking his tongue out at me. Have you ever? Such cheekiness.

And this coral bush (is that right Gift?) is so brazen that it has stripped off its outer bark and hiked its foliage way up high so it can flaunt its crime for the whole world to see.

I am so sorry UPS. I have read your warning and done my very best to spread the word. Now please deliver all of my packages extra early from here on out.

a dutiful customer,

Summer Math

2011-07-08T22:21:00.000-07:00

Pop quiz! Can you calculate the following equation?

(1happygirl + 1joybird) America’s Finest City =

happy happy

joy joy

happy happy

joy

Yes, I finally had my first blogmeet, you know, when you actually meet someone in the 3d world that you were introduced to in the blogosphere. She’s hanging out in San Diego for a few days and while SD isn’t exactly nearby anymore, it will always be my college town. And it’s so beautiful, so I raced on down to give Happygirl a tour of my San Diego. She was a total sport as I drove her around my college campus dropping fascinating tidbits like, I lived there, I danced over there, I stubbed my toe while walking to a mid-term over there. You get the idea. Since she was such a great sport I thought you might be, too. So I’ll share the some of that same intriguing information with you.

This amazing spot has the uniquely obvious name of “the Cliffs.” Actually I think it’s officially called the Knoll but in all my years there I only ever heard it referred to as the Cliffs. This was within walking distance of my dorm and I loved coming here to unwind, or vent, or watch the sunset, or dance by the light of the moon, or watch these guys

or just gape as they built this little cottage I like to call my future retirement home.

Then HG and I went down to the La Jolla Cove and you know this was the only picture I took.

I don’t know when I visited the Cove and only took one picture. Frankly that is completely a testament to HG’s sparkling storytelling skills. I had so much fun getting to know her I forgot to take pictures of one of my favorite places on earth.

From there we drove around a bit more and then ate at one of my favorite SD restaurants, Old Town Mexican Café. The carnitas are delish but the real reason I eat there every time I drive far enough south…

homemade tortillas! There is nothing equal to a freshly made tortilla. A-maz-ing.

Finally we walked around Old Town and I remembered that I’m still a blogger and I pulled out my camera.

As the sun began to dip I sadly had to say goodbye, in the 3d world at least to Happygirl. I was nervous to meet her but so thrilled to spend the day with my new friend. She’s funny and honest and determined to choose positive, just like she is when I read her blog. Thanks Happygirl for spending a whole vacation day with me!

On my way back to the freeway I saw the sun setting the harbor ablaze and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. So I did what any good blogger would do (again forgetting my frightful oversight at the Cove) and I whipped into a parking lot to take a million sunset-y pictures.

With love for my college town and much happy happy joy joy for time with Happygirl,

Red, White & Blue

2011-07-02T16:43:00.000-07:00

Happy ~~go through your computer and post random old pictures day~~ 4th of July!

Tending the Flame

2011-06-30T13:32:00.000-07:00

“Decide you will stop retreating from fear and step through it instead. Write down your decision, post it and don’t throw the note away until you have taken your first step.”
The Dream Giver p 95
Bruce Wilkinson

When I was fourteen, I had a dream. I dreamt of being a great actress. Common? Perhaps. Trite? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I pursued that dream through study and practice for 8 years. Then the flames of burnout which hungrily devoured my last year of college consumed my dream, leaving ashes behind. Years later the dry bones would form sinew and achingly come back to life but by then insurmountable obstacles seem to pen it in. Finally I would do a small play here or there and my heart would burst into bloom, but then the giants of fear, injury, weight, lack, age and insecurity seem to block the dream from swimming anywhere but very small puddles. (I know that I’m hopping metaphors terribly today. Please bounce with me.) I became reconciled to the muffled quiet and the emptiness where this dream once resided. And then awareness, a whisper on the breeze of wait, there is purpose in the emptiness: a realization that the great healing He has been doing in my heart has been necessary if this dream should ever grow. So this dream smoldered in the dark and the quiet, tucked away.

In the meantime other dreams came to lead with blazing fire, one especially. I could not understand how if each of these dreams were lit by Divine Flame they could co-exist in one future. I could not spread my mind wide enough for ands and not ors. Then suddenly the blazing fire I had been following guttered, spit and seemed to go out. Weeping, I handed the smoking torch back to Him not knowing if there are any embers left hiding for another time, or if acrid incense is all that is left. For a time my hands were too wet with tears to carry any flame. I simply needed to mourn the loss. But eventually I sat up and looked about me understanding how wide the horizon is when I am not following one single light. A slight crackling caught my ears and out of the corner of my eyes I glimpsed a ribbon of smoke prancing in the wind. So I have been seeking permission to tend this flame. Not wishing to take up a lantern that is to light a different part of my path. I don’t feel the fiery passion I had at 14 or even at 20. Time and disappointment have taught me caution. But they have also taught me to trust the Light Giver over the light. To understand that I may be asked to give back this fire at any time and though I may feel abandoned in the dark, I am not. To recognize that even if the fire becomes a bonfire of glory it is a mere shadow of His light. So I follow and tenderly nurse the flame.

But how? In prose not poetry what is the concrete step I need to post so I step through the fear? I am already clearing away some wonderful commitments to give me a few more bits of time for this. And now I am working on two general audition monologues. My goal is to have them edited, memorized and crafted by the end of the July. There in plain, detailed English is what I am working on now. Now I've posted it and I promise not to throw this note away until I have completed this step.

Shifting

2011-06-22T23:06:00.000-07:00

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. Does anyone know that song? I think I have it on a random soundtrack somewhere but I’m pretty sure it’s from before my time. Anyways...I sense some shifting in my life and it feels a little chaotic. Not quite like the recent earth shaking, more hopeful but unsettling nonetheless. This year I’ve faced some (seemingly) dead ends and laid dreams down on His altar…all of them. I sat down with the One who births all good dreams and handed each of mine back over which left me wide open and bare. Several have been handed back but they feel different. One feels like a tiny treasure, a seed pearl to store away in my heart until it is time to bloom.

The other feels like work. Finally, some tasks to sink my hands and time into. But oh, it will involve battling fear, too. This dream comes with many boisterous, loud fears. And they must be challenged. I sat down this morning and gave a few of them voice in my journal. Then I asked Him to please give me truth, to please breathe courage in my heart to confront each lie. And He did.

All of this has blossomed in the last month or so. My fabulous trip and time with my Gift played a part in that. I feel that after years of waiting I have a step, a first step forward. But as soon as I got home I was buried in obligations and schedules and the need to work and commitments to serve and frankly I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I think some reshuffling of priorities and commitments may be ahead. Or maybe that’s just the reaction to coming back from vacation. But somehow I think that I won’t be able to invest in or pursue this dream without letting go or even leaving behind some very good and right things. I have no idea what this will look like. But if this week is any gage I will need to purposely carve out time.

Speaking of time I’m slowly Picniking my way through the hundreds of Big Sur Remix pictures. Hopefully those posts will be ready more quickly than the Big Fat Big Sur Road Trip posts. In the meantime I’m sharing a few of the beauties that surround me. (And yes Waiting4Daybreak, your kids rock! How I love them, and they make excellent subjects.)

I'm Back

2011-06-20T00:08:00.000-07:00

I'm back, simultaneously tired and refreshed. I've got tons to catch up on here, new challenges that it is time to embrace and 670 (yikes! I promise not to ~~inflict~~ share them ALL with you.) pictures to edit. But here are a couple of Big Sur Remix pics to tide you over.

Off to bed to do some California dreamin'

Road Trip

2011-06-12T22:06:00.000-07:00

How those words make my heart sing. (We took many road trips when I was young, including four cross country treks. How big is Texas? Seriously? The Bull Gator and my mom know how to lead a interesting, stop filled, fun road trip.) After a fabulously full weekend with out-of-town family (someday I'll have to tell you just how large my extended family is. I believe I can safely vouchsafe over 100 cousins.) I'm going up the coast again.

Yay!

There's something about a good road trip that makes me all nesty and organized, turning my (newly washed) car into a little home.

the role of my suitcases is being played by my sweet cousin Destiny

My sweet birthday Gift is traveling to the Monterey Peninsula and I'm going to join her. June is very different than September on the California coast so it will seem entirely different than my Big Fat Big Sur Road Trip. I think we can expect more fog and scenes of mystery. Actually, I'm just hoping the coastal highway opens again by Monday. This is what winter can do to that road.

photo by CHP Officer Ben Grasmuck

photo by CalTrans

Hopefully the trip will also be just what is needed to chase away any remaining writer's blahs. I plan on having fun and reconnecting with one very dear to my heart. I may even blog while I'm there or I may just disappear for the week. Who knows? I will bring you back ~~hundreds~~ some pictures and miss you all.

PS. As soon as I published this post I stopped avoiding Him and a few other things as well. It really helps me to get going when I tattle on myself to all of you. How I love your comments! You have brought a wholly unexpected source of joy to blogging.

Joybird's Library: The Mother Daughter Book Club

2011-06-10T00:06:00.000-07:00

I'm curled up on the floor; quietly typing in a room darkened but bathed in the warm glow of sunlight burning through rosy curtains listening to the hushed whiffles of a napping two year old. She tried so hard to go to sleep by herself, squeezing her little eyes crinkly-shut but left alone her crooning lullabies turn to raucous playing. So "stay," she asked, "stay Täti." And I sit on the floor next to her crib turned big girl bed, savoring the sweet joy of a child's love: simultaneously content and hungry for a little girl of my own. But these moments, these please stay moments are not the whole story. Just as often I hear "NoooOOOOooooo" and "No help, Täti." All her life this little girl will push away and draw back the women in her heart: her mommy, her grandmas, her täti, and her friends. This dance of negotiation, security versus independence, will continue.

I think that may be what touched me in The Mother Daughter Book Club, this exploration of the female dance of friendship. My local library (bookstores are not an option right now) had the first three in this series by Heather Frederick Vogel: Mother Daughter Book Club, Much Ado About Anne, and Dear Pen Pal. As you would expect the series follows a book club of middle school girls and their mothers who all know each other from yoga class.

Since in my experience middle school girls are drawn to drama like paparazzi to red carpets much angst ensues. The friendships are very fluid as well as tempestuous. Megan may start off disliking Emma, and then become her friend only to not be friends again after a fight; confusing but realistic. I remember this, H not liking me only to become my best friend and then suddenly mad at me again. Navigating middle school relationships was akin to riding a roller coaster on roller blades. Much of the fluidity in these books is aided by the narrator switch with each chapter. Each girl gets to share her point of view. What a great way to show that in every conflict there are as many sides as there are participants and what seems clear cut when looked at from one point of view may still not be correct.

Learning this skill has helped me to develop more compassion and acceptance. I also find it refreshing that the conflicts between the girls aren’t always tied up with a neat little bow. There are a couple of mean girls in the series and while putting forth an effort to understand them does reveal possible friends, those newly transformed friendships can still be unstable.

I thought this was pretty true to life. I want to teach my kids that compassion, kindness and understanding can go a long way but the truth is that many of the people they meet are hurting and will lash out regardless of their actions.

Friends aren’t the only complicated female relationships present. Each daughter comes with her own history and emotional baggage which often complicates the relationship with her mom. Cassidy has lost her father, Sarah’s parents are separated for a time, Megan is the polar opposite of her granola crunchy mom and each of these scenarios offer up much angst. Although the main conflict in each book is usually neatly resolved, like the friendships, the mother-daughter conflicts aren't perfectly wrapped up, at least not from the middle schooler point of view. Though the books are written for young girls and from their perspective it is clear that there is a different story going on in the adults’ lives which I only glimpsed as it affected the daughters. But the moms’ stories definitely impact their children. This element, the rhythm set by the generation ahead is a part of the dance.

There is another group of women who dance their steps in these books as well: the authors who wrote the classics the Book Club explores. Their lives and their art have a voice here. These books- Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, and Daddy-Long-Legs-provide plot parallels and speak to the characters about both their circumstances and the roles they play in them. The conflicts and joys present where two or more women are gathered together are not new; they‘ve been explored and described by gifted women whose tales layout choreography for generations to come. This is a very old dance that the Book Club daughters and mothers, sweet little Tea and I all twirl within.

Avoiding

2011-06-08T17:17:00.000-07:00

I'm avoiding Him. Not some general time in the past but right now, even as I write. I have some questions burning in my heart, questions I am afraid He will answer. Questions that may mean change which I usually find uncomfortable. And I sit in a house gloriously quiet. So I am reading, commenting, listening, editing pictures, writing a post even if it is the second one in the same day...avoiding. The anxiety is building. I need to stop, turn and face Him. But will I?

Joybird's Kitchen: Herb Roasted Almonds

2011-06-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

Last Christmas I gave our neighbors Pioneer Woman’s amazing cinnamon rolls which have as promised won me great acclaim wherever served (PDub, you are a complete genius in the kitchen!) and my own Herb Roasted Almonds. I was utterly surprised that I was asked for the recipe for the almonds more than the cinnamon rolls which have in the past, elevated me to hero status. Now once in a while I have a complete Eureka moment when a fully formed mouthwatering recipe just arrives in my head. But more often my own dishes evolve over time. This delightful snack began in my lovely friend Dale’s (Look for her on TV! She pops up all over the place.) kitchen. Her Rosemary Almonds are delish and so easy, but then I watched Alton Brown roast almonds and decided to start messing about a bit with the recipe myself. This is the result. Heads up: I may have mentioned this before but I am a very instinctual cook. I did measure out the ingredients for you but I‘m a bit sloppy and often simply measure to taste. Feel free to mess about in the same way.

Ingredients: raw almonds, extra virgin olive oil, fresh rosemary, fresh thyme, fresh garlic, pepper, ground mustard seed, ground coriander seed, smoked paprika, turmeric, salt

First preheat the oven to 425. Then rinse and pat dry the fresh herbs.

Next pour ½ cup olive oil into a medium mixing bowl. Do not pour the oil onto the counter. It really does no good there. Pay close attention and do as I say not, clearly, as I do. (Oh and I used ¼ cup olive oil and ¼ cup grapeseed oil due to said spill.)

You will need to close your eyes and imagine this next step as (oops) I forgot to take a picture. Peel garlic cloves, crush in a garlic press and then mince. I have no idea how many cloves but you want to end up with about 2 tablespoons of raw garlic. If you so rightly adore garlic (or need to ward off non-sparkly vampires) add a bit more. I love garlic.

Strip the rosemary leaves off of the stem

and finely chop.

Remove the thyme from the stem and chop as well. If you get the little tender stem tops in the mix, that’s fine. Just mince them up. You want to end up with around 5 tablespoons of chopped rosemary and 5 tablespoons of chopped thyme. If you add a bit more, that’s ok since in the end the chopped herbs and garlic form these magical little bits of yumminess.

Next everybody in the pool and let them swim about, playing Marco Polo, while you’re prepping the almonds.

These jelly roll pans are one of my favorite new kitchen tools (totally affordable at Smart and Final.) Spread one pound of almonds on each pan. I recommend putting silpat underneath if you have it.

Toast the almonds for 10 minutes, swapping the trays between racks halfway through. You want the almonds to be hot and just starting to brown.

Remove them from the oven and dump into the bowl. (The dump method is probably my favorite cooking technique.) Gently but thoroughly stir. The hot almonds will make the oil start to lightly sizzle and the herbs and garlic begin to cook which will smell marvelous (especially if you use a very high quality olive oil) and sting your eyes (thanks, rosemary.) Turn the oven down to 375.

Add approximately ½ teaspoon of freshly ground pepper (or more if you like, I don’t like so much.) Then add tons (2 teaspoons) of ground mustard. The mustard gives the almonds a dry bite. Next add 1 teaspoon of ground coriander seed which has a bright almost lemony flavor. On a whim I decided to add a bit, ½ teaspoon, of smoked paprika. The ½ teaspoon of turmeric gives a slight golden shade and is very very healthy. Turmeric is an anti-inflammatory. Finally add salt to taste. Mix it all together trying quite carefully to not fling oil or nuts around the kitchen or down your shirt. (Uhhmm you all do that, right?) In fact perhaps step one should really read “put on a cute apron.” I’ll show you mine someday. They’re beyond sweet.

Moving on. Spread out the almonds in a single layer, dividing them evenly between the two trays. Place in a 375 degree oven for about 15 minutes, CHECKING OFTEN. You are looking for the nuts to darken some but not blacken and the herb bits to get all crispy. I find that I tend to undercook one tray and over cook the other which balances out when mixed. But DO NOT BURN. Since the almonds have been toasted once already, under roasting them tastes far better than burning them which may make you cry with disappointment.

Remove, cool and devour. You may even want to share. But you don’t have to. I won’t tell.

Herb Roasted Almonds

2 lbs whole raw almonds

½ cup extra virgin olive oil

2 Tb crushed and minced garlic

5 Tb minced fresh rosemary

5 Tb minced fresh thyme

½ tsp fresh ground black pepper

2 tsp ground mustard seed

1 tsp ground coriander seed

½ tsp smoked paprika

½ tsp turmeric

2 tsp salt (or so to taste)

Preheat oven to 425. Rinse and pat dry the fresh herbs. Pour olive oil into medium mixing bowl. Crush and mince fresh garlic and add to oil. Strip and chop rosemary leaves. Strip and chop thyme leaves. Add to oil and mix. Pour 2 lbs almonds evenly onto jelly roll pans and toast in the oven for ten minutes. Remove hot almonds from the oven and add to herbs and oil. Mix thoroughly. Turn the oven down to 375. Add pepper and spices to almonds. Mix. Add salt and stir. Dividing the almonds evenly between pans, spreading out in a single layer, and return to oven to roast for a maximum of 15 minutes. Remove and cool.

PS I think I have the kindest, sweetest group of readers. Really, you guys blow me away. Thank you for all of your encouragement.

Writers Blah

2011-06-06T11:53:00.000-07:00

Hi all! Just wanted to pop in and say “Hi.” I know I’ve been really quiet but I think I have writer’s blah. I have so many half finished posts that I’m just kind of blah about. And I haven’t had the time and energy to read and comment to most of you so there’s that, too. Just kind of blah. I shall blame June gloom. Hopefully my blahs will leave before it does.

7DS: American Gothic - Blueberry Edition

2011-06-02T11:24:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, the joys of babysitting. Introducing the new American Gothic - Blueberry edition.

sharing my giggles as well as my tears

10 Years Ago Yesterday

2011-06-01T00:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Bee,

Ten years ago yesterday I was working with you, one of my best friends. We’d get our exercise walking the trail after work. Once we discovered an owl hidden in the tall eucalyptus. Ten years ago yesterday your parrot, Sammy, would call me names with your voice when I sassed her. Ten years ago yesterday Stinkerbell lived at your house. Ten years ago yesterday I was studying to be a real estate agent and we were going to open a business together. Ten years ago yesterday I lived on my own miles away from where I lay my head tonight. Ten years ago yesterday I planned to go to the beach with you after we prepped the shish kebobs for a leasing event. Ten years ago yesterday you told me how much fun you were having planning dessert for your son’s birthday. Ten years ago yesterday my car broke down and I decided to take it in for repairs rather than go to Costco with you. Ten years ago yesterday I had no idea how in the space of a phone call my whole life could change. Ten years ago yesterday I didn’t know that I should have hugged you goodbye.

Ten years ago today you didn’t come home. You went Home.

Today it feels like forever since I whispered a teary goodbye in a cold hospital room and yet like no time at all. Today it seems normal to not talk with you. Today your dog seems far more mine than she was yours (as I did own her almost twice as long as you.) I loved her so much. I did a good job mothering her. You’d have been proud and perhaps a little surprised. But of course you know that now as Stinkerbell has joined you. After your friendship Bee, she’s the best gift you could have ever given me. I never became a real estate agent. I still like houses but that business only seemed fun working with you. I’m a pretty good cook now (although nowhere near as good as you.) You definitely inspired me. And I found a Philly’s Best near me. I think of you every time I eat a cheese steak. I’ve even been to Philly, at least the airport. I’m still following God the best I can, still making choices that would confuse you if you were here but now probably make more sense to you than to me. I have great friends today; loyal, trustworthy women that you’d like if you met them. I’ve grown up a lot Bee, although it’s hard to see unless you listen closely. But you would have seen it. Sorry, I don’t play the political game any better now than I did before but I’m more comfortable in my own skin and more accepting of other people in theirs. I think that’s probably what you were trying to explain in that last long chat. I hope your men are thriving and

I expect that they are. They’re good guys and you loved them well. Even though I’m sure they’ll always grieve you, I hope their lives are strong and good and filled with love. I pray for them once in a while.

Bee, I know that you are beyond words like happy now. Even this very minute you are relishing every good thing I ever wanted for you and so much more that I can’t even begin to imagine. I guess what I want to say most is thank you for being my friend. I still miss you. I always will. But I will also be forever grateful that you showed me for a little while what it’s like to have a big sister.

Love until we meet again,

your Junior

Obscured

2011-05-31T02:10:00.000-07:00

As early summer-soaked sunlight streams though my window I quietly list all that comes to mind to thank Him for, the good and the bad, when I stutter over this thought.

424. HOPE - You are taking me somewhere even if I cannot see through You - I know You are leading.

And I flash back to the Israelites crossing the wilderness one day at a time. The throng tromping across hard scrabbled earth following a cloud by day and a fire by night, stopping when He stopped and only moving when He moved. So often I have judged these desert walkers for their lack of faith, after all He was in front of them. The God of the Universe, the Creator of All made Himself visible. Even if it took the form of cloud and fire, they had proof with their own eyes, right? How I've longed at times to just see. But did they really see? After all a cloud more often tends to obscure and a blazing pillar of fire in darkness could blind. How wide did this cloud or pillar stretch? Could they see through God to where He was taking them? Could they see around the billowy white mist or the crackling light slashing

the dark to know where their feet would fall before they stepped? So is it really all that different from my own life? This place where I am so often asked what my plans are after 2 years of no full-time vocation only to answer I don't know, I am just trying to follow Him and do the good I see in front of me each day. As I chase the fog which both hides and illuminates my path I pursue the One who obscures, clinging to who He is not my unknown destination. And though I stumble, I do not fall, the One in the Cloud holds me tightly by the hand.

linking late with Jen

sharing my epiphanies while counting with Ann

7DS: Tink

2011-05-28T00:22:00.000-07:00

I love Tinkerbell.

Have I ever told you that? I know this will come as a shock to you. After all everyone dresses their full grown Dalmatians up as Tink for Halloween.

Don’t they? I think it was sometime in high school when I realized how much I admired Tink. We had so much in common. Blonde…check. Petite, she’s tiny

and well, I have to hem petite pants to get them to fit…check. Body issues …

check. Tends to use anger to cover more vulnerable emotions…

check. Loves to laugh and is slightly clumsy…

check. Attracted to cocky boys who crack her up but are determined to never grow up

uhhmmmm….plead the Fifth.

But really, I think it’s her personality where I feel the most kinship. If you think about it, Tinkerbell is the most developed of the Disney heroines (hhhmmhhh, personality wise.) Her choices aren’t always wise but they are choices. If someone comes along to steal her man, she doesn’t sit around waving her wrist crying waiting for an animals deus ex machina to rescue her like some characters I can name.

Yeah it’s instrumental but you know the story, I couldn’t find the English version on YouTube.

No! Tink flies faster (because hello they can all fly due to her not some wishful thinking) and tells the Lost Boys to shoot the Wendy-bird down. So maybe her ethics need some help, (I’ve never hired a sniper myself and I don’t recommend them, just sayin’.)

And later on when she’s hurt and rejected by Peter, Tink’s manipulated by Captain Hook to betray him.

But we’ve already established that she has issues. Doesn’t that make her more vibrant and interesting? Far more real than the abused yet perfectly patient and kind princess (cough Cinderella cough). And she made choices, sometimes bad ones, but actual choices. The story follows Tink, she doesn’t follow it. I just love that.

So now Disney is waking up to the fabulousness of Tinkerbell and building a brand (cause that what they do best folks, build brands.) Borrowing on the prolific talents of Gail Carson Levine, Tink now has a profession, friends, she’s actually mourning the loss of her relationship with Peter (Tink has found recovery, y’all) and there’s a new guy. Terence likes her for who she is, is slightly more appropriate in size and just wants to be there for her; ~~even if he is lamely called a sparrow man~~ I like him.

So will Tink ever wake up and find love? I don’t know. This pixie’s got issues but she’s got tons to offer, too. After all she’s held audiences spellbound for over a century. But if she ever does I have the perfect gift for her. Can you believe it, while crawling the internet I found a bridal gown for Tinkerbell!

This lovely gown is not my style but I can’t even fathom more ideal bridal array for my favorite fairy. I have no idea who designed and created this dress. Perhaps dressmaking fairies clandestinely market through madeinchina.com. But I’ve stumbled onto their secret. Can’t you just imagine Tinkerbell floating along a balmy May breeze in Meadow Vale? It would be a wedding to make all of Pixie Hollow proud!

Word Women Wednesday: Three Pesky Little Words

2011-05-25T00:07:00.000-07:00

*Today I'm guest posting (for the first time...yikes!) at Word Women Wednesdays with the oh so kind Tiffini at the House of Belonging. (Isn't that a scrumptious blog name?) Please join me.

The holy LORD God of Israel has told all of you,

"I will keep you safe if you turn back to me and calm down.

I will make you strong if you quietly trust me."

Then you stubbornly

Isaiah 30:15 CEV

I’m memorizing scripture with the Beth Moore’s Siestaville this year. This is the first time I’ve systematically committed the bible to heart since I was a little VBS’er. Interesting experience. I’ve never found scripture to be so vital or challenging. In a year when my feelings and interpretation of events say some pretty harsh things about God these verses have been freedom filled correction: guardrails in this steeply winding portion of my journey.

Isaiah 30:15 drew me because of the words safety, strength and comfort. I was attracted to the translations that talked about resting and quietness, those are messages I often like. But there was something about the straightforward directions in the Contemporary English Version that captured my attention: turn back, calm down, quietly trust. When I was searching for this last verse I felt as if my whole life was being shaken and possibly turned upside down. This was not a moment for gentle as much as it was for clear and direct.

But then there was that weird half sentence at the end... To learn more about my deep-seated issue with unfinished sentences please pop over to Tiffini's House of Belonging, read and leave some love behind. While your at it, feel free to explore Tiffini's gracious home. It's a sweet spot.

holding friends' hands and diving in deep

Seven Days of...

2011-05-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Is it just me or has it gotten really heavy around here. Sigh. See, right there, that sigh. There has been way too much sighing around here. It's just not balanced. Now I realize that this is just where I've been lately. 2011 has not been what I expected so far and I'm not gonna lie; there has been a whole lotta hard. And I tend to be introspective when I write. Scribbling brings out the deep thinker/layered observer in me. But I need some sort of break here. So I have been pondering how to let a little more light in and I've discovered an ancient remedy, a magic spell of sorts that just might do the trick. All together now...

you put your right foot in
you put your right foot out
you put your right foot in and shake it all about
you do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around
that's what it's all about!

Yes, I feel a little better already. How about you? Did shaking it all about free you up a little? I think I need a bit more of this.

Smilin' yet? I still think I need more, June gloom can be thick (especially when it begins early.) This nest requires more levity and light. But how to be consistent when I'm running a little glum, hmmmmm. I know a series. I like series and I tend to follow through when I m accountable to you. So ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it is my sheer delight to present to you...

TA DA!!!!

Legal Disclaimer: Seven Days of Silly do not mean seven consecutive days of silly or even seven consecutive silly posts as the blogger has already written her very first ~~please come visit and comment~~ guest post and it is Word Women Wednesdays not Seven Days of Silly although the alliteration may lead to confusion blogger is not responsible for said alliteration confusion. Blogger makes no guarantee of actual silliness or laughter resulting from said Seven Days of Silly Series as she is posting what tickles her fancy and she is an acknowledged odd duck. By reading this series reader agrees to indemnify blogger from any injuries due to unexpected spasms of laughter, shortness of breath resulting from giggles or guffaws and embarrassment arising from snorting in public. Read at your own risk.

Judging Hearts

2011-05-18T11:04:00.000-07:00

Judging hearts. I've been judging hearts. I believe we can discern the right and wrong of some actions. God gave us His Bible which lays out some clear directives of what each looks like. But a heart, that’s a different matter. My eyes have no x-rays and I can’t definitively state a motive though I sometimes try. And I have been judging hearts, and I'm a harsh judge. Lately I've spent sometime with someone who makes me uncomfortable. When I am around them the scar tissue from healed soul bruises throbs somewhere deep. And I try to practice the new confident tools of knowing and acting as one accepted and loved exactly as I am, in Him complete. But old survival skills rise to the surface and do battle with new leading to a general sense of disturbance. And this is just what is going in within me. Add that to the awkwardness of a relationship built strained with one who has never offered me acceptance, safety or friendship without stringent terms, choking obligations and expectations I can't meet without surrendering who I am and how He has shaped me. In the subtle withering breezes of a relationship I long to run from/be accepted into I begin to judge a heart that does not pump life in me. Analysis pops up longing to dig deep into a psyche with tainted surface data. I cry out help! And He is there reminding me that I am His beloved. That I can listen without either arguing or accepting what I hear. In fact I can even choose to not ruminate on what was said but quietly accept the differences without taking an inventory of them. I can pray lavish blessing: all that I want, all that is best, for them. And I can release, to you and to Him. Accept. Bless. Release. Repeat.

This season, so much sifting, so much being cleaned out, so grateful for Em and friends to share it with.

A Hoarder's Prayer

2011-05-16T14:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Jesus,

There is this room in my heart with ______________’s name over the door. I need help. When I’m in here I'm surrounded by festering wounds of rejection and disappointment, empty unmet expectations growing bitterness and resentment, anger and envy, sadness and discouragement. There’s even a self-pity luau raging in the corner over there.

Jesus, I need you to come in here and clean it all out. I’ve tried to do it myself, really I have. But each time I lift one thing up to throw it away anger comes growling over to remind me of how all of this stuff got here in the first place. Then I feel justified in my hurt and I can’t bring myself to toss it out.

And I’ve just got to get rid of this stuff. It stinks and the odor is beginning to permeate my whole heart. And this isn’t just my room. This is the room where ______________ lives in my heart: their guest room. I can’t have a guest room this messy and maintain a clean and honest relationship with them.

I’m sorry for treasuring the hurt and self-righteous resentment. For taking rejection and carefully displaying it, rehashing the grievance tales until it becomes permanent and insurmountable. And I was wrong to try and change ______________ when I need to be the one changing. Jesus, I’m sorry for being mad at you when Your restoration in______________’s life doesn’t look the way I wanted or even seem to include me. I confess that I’m being an envious sibling to Your prodigal child when You are wrapping them in grace that I wanted for myself. Please forgive me for all of this.

And quickly, help! I’m hoarding hurt while I really need your healing. Please scrub this room spic and span. Open the windows wide to let the sweetest room freshener I know fill the place-Your love. Can we repaint their name over the lintel so they know they’re welcome? And will you help me to stock it with gifts just for them? Acceptance, forgiveness, generosity, short hurt memory, long love memory, mercy, peace, grace and joy; I’ll need You to provide. Thank you. Thank you.

Love, Your messy girl,

linking for the first time with Jen and friends

Embrace...

2011-05-13T16:33:00.000-07:00

I’ve been sitting on this post for a while; other stuff just keeps coming up. But now I'm ready, so let's start with a story.

Years ago I was in a real bind. Stinkerbell and I were moving because, quite frankly, I was broke. It was a devastatingly stressful time. Then a woman who had only met us once opened up her home and invited us to stay with her for a few weeks. Just gave me a time to rest, to get away, regroup and refresh…one of the very best gifts I’ve ever had; Nancy if you ever read this, you really are the best. This writer/college professor lived in a vintage bungalow in a quaint town at the base of the San Bernardino Mountains. For two weeks I read, prayed and just remained as well as exploring and hiking in the mountains with Stinkerbell.

In a neighborhood of painted ladies, the home we stayed in was a unique little charmer with a completely custom and unexpected layout filled with classic books and art. I was so impressed at all of the original art. I have no idea if any of the pieces were particularly valuable but up until that point it hadn’t crossed my mind to own original art. So when I began perusing the blogosphere I was enchanted to find so many talented artists blogging. Earlier this year I purchased this piece and was thrilled. Then when Bev began following my blog I was delighted to discover this in her Etsy store.

I added it to my Amazon wish list and hoped that at some point I could afford to buy it. Sadly, a little while later I checked on it and it was gone. So disappointing. I loved this piece: the blue and green, the vintage details, the little bird and the message.

See, it is my distinct pleasure to mentor a couple of precious women and I've told them that you can’t fight a lie directly; they're slippery and sneaky and it's easy to get all tangled up. I’ve found the best way to defeat a lie is to embrace the confronting truth, repeatedly. And the most powerful truths I’ve found are in the Bible.

So I'd recommend identifying the lie, then searching out the truth and hanging on for dear life. I shared an example of this (in a kind of long post) early in my blog.

But it seems that whenever I share an idea out loud, a pop quiz always follows. These last few months I’ve needed to cling to the truth with all I have. If you’ve been tracking the verses that show up on the sidebar you’ll see where I’m struggling. I pick verses which challenge me the most, challenge the lies. So art which says embrace his truth….awesome. But it was sold and not to me, bummer.

So how did it end up here? Well, I had a birthday and DBB read my wishlist. (And actually approved of it. Normally he reads my wishlist and says I don't want you to own any of that. Brothers!!!) So he's the one who made my painting disappear. Which brings me to the (tons of very similar cause I love evening light in my backyard) pictures that I'm finally sharing with you. Embrace His truth! (And buy local blogger art!)

The Language of Tears

2011-05-11T00:09:00.000-07:00

You bottle them, It says,
they are precious to You.

is the cabinet with my name on it getting full?
I’m sure it’s overflowing by now
for at times I think I'll drown in salt.
but I have learned to worship You
in this language of tears.

the first language
the most primal sign of need
though as I grew, I learned to speak another
the language of protection, harsh, loud, obscene,
fist breaking drywall, stoic silences flaying heartflesh deeper than words
soon the tears were locked so deep inside that only privately could they be freed.

but You wooed me back,
in song laid open
I could not hide the need
my first language again broke through, Sunday after Sunday.
softening my heart I began to see
that tears were not my enemy.

now relieving waters so easily flow

the old tears,
discovered hidden away, biding their time in torment, released from the deep to final relief

the frustrated droplets
shed so that my body can express the impatience or anger with a tongue stilled and damage averted

the weeping with others
on page, on screen and most poignantly, vitally, next to me.

sadness, longing, joy, disappointment, tenderness, fear, moment by moment feelings
baptized

and always the awareness of You prompts worship bathed in brine;
the bowing of my knees seen glistening in my eyes.

PS I'm ok. Still pretty peaceful. I just noticed how often I type "it made me cry" and it got me thinking.

Pondering with Em' and friends

A Glimmer

2011-05-07T23:05:00.000-07:00

Finished reading this week’s Imperfect Prose offerings today, kind of late, but like I said yesterday, I’ve been busy. There was a definite theme to all that I read today; a sacred echo in each post. I listened, I noted and I want to share it with you. I have some big dreams but there are humongous mocking giants I cannot slay. Not alone. And I’ve had some dreams that I thought were from God, but now I’m not sure as they seem to be dead ends. That hurts. No answers there. But I read this post by Flower Patch Farmgirl and it just brought all that’s been brewing today together. So I wanna share part of my comment with you. (Is that weird? Oh, well)

“...my heart has been whispering that God is "God of the Wild-Goose-Chase" and not God of "This Will Rock Your Socks Off." I think tonight I want to lean into that and ask God to prove my heart wrong or change it. Not for me exactly, but because I want to worship and follow and do believe in the God Who Rocks My Socks Off and fulfills dreams that will make my toes curl. What I've been hearing all afternoon is to let my not enough bring me deeper into His abundance.”

That ladies and gentlemen is what I want tonight, my not enough enfolded into His abundance. And truly not (just) for me, but because I can’t do and be what He wants without it, without Him. I think finally I might be getting a glimmer of understanding into Philippians 4: 11-13. A slight glimmer.

Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.
Philippians 4: 11-13 NLT

Off to bed

acting early in the morning

love ya more than my supercute luggage (which has a sweet story I just might tell you one of these days,)

Guess, Go on and Just Guess

2011-05-06T23:53:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all, I'm all tied up this week with rehearsals. Our kids are putting on the sweetest little Mother's Day Musical. And there's this tiny little number in the middle sung by characters inspired by a certain classic sitcom. Guess which one I'm playing.

via

And Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there!

Blogger Public Service Announcement

2011-05-04T00:06:00.000-07:00

original via

I just thought you all should know (especially if I ever comment on your blog) that when it comes to typing my fingers are dyslexic. That is all. Over and out.

PS. That is never all. If that was all I would tweet. I'm doing a bit better. My earth is still trembling but my heart has a little more peace. At least right now. Plus I went for a nice walk and my BFBSRT playlist + 3 miles in balmy darkness = happy little endorphins.

The Song of the Quake

2011-05-03T12:21:00.000-07:00

As Lent drew to a close I was longing for the freedom, the fun to return to my blog. I had a least one post half ready and was bubbling over with more ideas to explore. But I became quiet. A rest, I thought while waiting for the fun to bubble back up; maybe a small rest. Then the walls began to shake. The supports around me are quivering, threatening to buckle under. Some have already cracked and crumbled, never to be rebuilt. Others seem to be holding firm but with web like fissures exposing the need for repairs. But some walls are still trembling and I do not know if they will hold or break. Funny, most of these walls are not mine. I did not build them. But as much as I'd like it I am not a lone cottage by the sea. I am a row house, crowded in and buttressed by community and family. Around me I see painful changes and potentially painful changes and though none of them are about me, all will directly effect me. None of them point a way to those dreams most dear to my heart or the promises I have received. So I am feeling abandoned in the quake. Jericho’s walls groan and I thought I was on the side of the conquering warriors but perhaps…and the anxiety builds and there are no words in this heaviness.

Last week I curled up in my room and whispered in low tones to a young one I cherish about the constant symphony of my emotions; the soaring arias and the crashing crescendos, the awkward lulls, the harmonies found in the disorder. I tried to explain the simple melody in the lowest register, the notes I can usually only hear if I carefully listen. Peace, hope, joy, they all sing their plaintive messages in the foundation of my emotions. They are not my composition but the song of Christ within me, proof of His Presence. I am longing to hear those notes, that song which will delight me, but the buzz of anxiety drowns everything out but sadness and fear.

So I arise after a restless night filled with heartbreaking dreams heavy and in such need of Him. Come, He says, do not delay. You need me now. So I drag my tired self over to the living room, heavy with want and fear, and sit. I pick up the book which walked me through Lent and read again about the hard eucharisteo: the giving thanks for what is, even if ugly, knowing that God is always present. The thanksgiving in hopes of seeing not just a miracle but the miracle Maker and the miracles that have always stuck with me are those He has wrought in my unwieldy heart. So though I am recording the beauty I see in a book just for Him, today I share a portion with you. That and memories of dust motes circling like fairies in a hushed church glowing with autumn sunlight are all I have to offer.

353. turmoil – in it I value Your faithfulness

354. shaken security – reminds me to only build on You

355. lack of words – You are in the silence most active

356. exhaustion – You will have to be my strength

357. harmful songs blasting on my soul iPod – only you can turn them down and now I’m willing to ask

358. bad dreams – I get to wake up

359. heartbreak – You will bind me up

360. 2 year old giggles

361. 7 year old hugs

362. a leader I can trust

363. crushing anxiety – drives me into Your arms

364. breaking down the strongest parts of my life – making room for Your blessing (?)

sharing the symphony still disordered with Em and friends

joining with bookeepers of glory

A Circle of Women

2011-04-26T14:58:00.000-07:00

I wasn’t going to write today. I was going to rest, recharge and let my blog lay fallow for a few days. But then I read this post and my heart stretched open in thanks. She writes to the women who have been hurt by women and how we, yes we, close ourselves off and try to become invisible until one or two safe souls decide to love us and suddenly we blossom. As a girl, I too had been so hurt by other girls that by the time I entered college I purposely or instinctively, I don’t know which, developed a loving circle of friends who did not know each other. My friends rarely if ever met, the only thing they had in common was me: a rimless bicycle wheel with me at the hub. See, I had learned that women in groups were dangerous. They eat their own.

Four years ago I entered a tranqil room with misty green walls, a church nursery with no babies in sight. For a year a group of women sat in a circle emblazoned with late afternoon sun and shared our hearts. Wounded sisters whispered fears, entrapping failures, shame filled secrets, hissing lies and eventually tender new hopes. We wrapped each other in warm acceptance, gentle love-spoken truths, fierce loyalty and uncompromising encouragement. Their love changed me. And my love for them changed me. Even now I can pick up the phone, as I did Saturday, and choke out “Help. I’m drowning in my own emotions and I can’t see a way out.” and they are there. They have my back but don’t spare my ego. They are priceless. And I pick up their calls.

The love I received from them allowed me to open up and trust the God whom I had worshipped and served but did not truly believe could or would heal my broken heart or protect me. I learned to trust Him and receive his healing in this sacred circle of trust.

His love allows me to cherish those college spokes still connected to me in a whole new way, focused on giving not getting or keeping. It welcomes new women into my life as friends, in a posture of openness. Love gives me the sweet joy of encouraging a few precious women who are just now stepping into their own new sacred circles of trust. It gives me the courage to reach out and embrace, pray for, and love on you, women and men, friends I only know through your words and pictures afloat in the blogosphere. This love, like rushing water even compels me to accept, shield with forgiveness those whose own wounds lead them to lash out. I cannot heal. I will not hang out to be abused. But I will allow love to rush out and soothe rather than dam the flow, turning fresh love into stagnant pools of resentment. And so much of this I learned from Him in them.

If you have time, I highly suggest reading Ann’s post today. I bear witness to the truth of her words.

Linking up with Em and friends

Scenes from Easter

2011-04-25T01:10:00.000-07:00

The finale to my Late to Lent series.

Easter was lovely. It was definitely more than another Sunday with special music and decorations. See, I didn’t get to hear the special music and just peeked at the decorations. I didn’t even get to hear the teaching and yet I‘m full.

But first let me back up to yesterday’s terrible, no good, very bad day. I wrote that post and then, well, the day got worse. I know hard to believe. But it did. Without going into all of the minutiae I’ll say that I have no idea what time I finally went to sleep because I couldn’t stop crying. I know I seem to be crying a lot lately, but crying myself (not) to sleep is rare and generally reserved for more tragic blows. I was so desperate and so tired that I did something I haven’t risked in over two months. I asked Jesus to please speak to me; I needed a concrete comforting thought and a picture. I’ve heard Him once in a while in these last couple of months, but I haven’t actually sought Him out like that. I’ve had my reasons and they’re a big part of why I had to give up anger at God for Lent. Then in the middle of this restless tear filled night, He was there. Scraps of Matthew 11:28-30 drifted through my head along with a picture so clear and instructive that I got up and took out my colored pencils to draw it. This all may sound weird but to me I broke through a wall that had been up around my heart for months; a wall whose purpose was to keep God out or at least contained. And even though I was still sad and shed a few more tears, I slept.

And I woke up feeling like complete and utter crap, at least physically. I was shaking I was so tired (and I’m sure had completely exhausted my adrenal gland.) So I prayed and did the only sensible thing, I went back to bed. After another hour’s slumber I was able to get up and go to church. We had three services today. (Am I boring you? I’m afraid this might be the most boring post ever but I’m too tired to edit. Sorry.) I was teaching 3 & 4 year olds in the third so I planned on attending the second. But it didn’t work out that way. I pretty much just taught the class. Even in that I saw mercy. I didn’t get my Easter commitment until Thursday, after I had devised a menu and a plan. I’d serve/attend in the first two services and then run home and start cooking. When I saw I was scheduled to teach in the third I tried to change it which did not work. On the way to church this morning I marveled at how much kinder and smarter God is than me. No way could I have done either of the earlier services. I’m not even sure I could have safely driven to church. So days before my sucky Dead Saturday, He provided for me.

The kids rocked. My 3 & 4 year olds were hilarious and so high energy. After reading the story to my gaggle of pastel colored Easter Ducklings, I reviewed with the cheerleading jeopardy method which means this entire conversation happens at a small yell. Visualize pom poms.

me: Jesus is…

Easter ducklings: God…

me: And He did what on the cross?

Easter ducklings: died

me: And they put his body into a…

Easter ducklings: tomb

me: And what thing as tall as this room did they put in front of the tomb?

Easter ducklings: a stone

And here is where it get’s interesting.

me: And when they went to the tomb what was in there?

Easter ducklings: Jesus

me: Uhhm, when the stone was rolled away, what was in there? (flapping wings)

Easter ducklings: angels

me: And where was Jesus?

Easter ducklings: gone

me: And why was He gone?

Easter duckling 1: 'Cause the angels took His body away

me: Nooo, why was He gone?

Easter duckling 2: 'Cause He wasn’t dead, they lied.

me: Interesting answer but, no, why was Jesus gone? Because He was a…..

Easter ducklings: LIVE

So I may have needed to review a little more about the actual essential point of Easter but we came a ways from their original answer to “What is Easter all about?”…candy and toys.

After church was probably the best part of my day. I got to spend time with a prodigal child who dropped into her old home to find out what kind of welcome she would receive if she returned. I don’t know what she’ll decide in the next days or months but it was deeply satisfying to spend time with her, listening, encouraging, challenging and praying. I’ve missed my friend.

Finally the rest of the day was spent as I had originally hoped, with my family. It's the last Easter we will all spend together as Grams is moving in just a few weeks. That’s kind of hard to write, but my feelings about this are another post. Suffice to say I enjoyed time with them, especially when my Grams began to tell touching stories of the early days of our family.

So I’m at the end of this particular pilgrimage and the finale was not all bells and whistles. I didn’t explode with happiness or blossom overnight. But I’ve found some things deeper and more lasting. Mercy to cover someone who has unapologetically wounded me with my own acceptance and forgiveness. Grace that provides for my needs before they are needs. Faith to reach out and ask God to speak to me even when I’m afraid that I can’t rightly discern His voice. Hope that even though I see goodbyes ahead, there will also be hellos. Self-control to consistently practice a fast. Truthful eyes that see my own desperate need for the alive Savior. And joy in the journey.

Late to Lent Extra: Dead Saturday Sucked

2011-04-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

So it turned out that I had a little more to share. Lost? Directions here.

Extra

I planned to finish this series up with Easter. And I still will. But I need to add this extra post. Yesterday when I was writing I was so full. It was like the pinnacle of my Lent. I wrote both of those days in one sitting because I just had so much on my heart. I was marinating in God's love and lovin' it. Then something happened later on that day which got me a little hurt and then a little bit more codependent (people pleasing.) You know, by late last night I’m trying to pull out my emotional tools to sort this out when some completely unrelated pain and resentments, which have been quietly simmering away decided to erupt. So I took some time to pray. I finished reading Imperfect Prose and many of the posts totally addressed these issues but I still woke up Not Happy. It didn’t take long for Not Happy to turn into Utter Meltdown. I’d like to say I was just celebrating Dead Saturday (if Good Friday and Easter have
names, I think Saturday should too) with the disciples, huddled in a corner, crying, lashing out and overwhelmed. But yeah, there was nothing really holy about this. And it just sucked. I’m better now, I journaled, I talked to an accountability partner, I’ve addressed directly the two simplest problems and I’ve taken Excedrin. Tantrums give me migraines. Law of Consequences I’m sure, but they suck, too. (I know. I’m saying suck a lot tonight.) I realize that I have some deep seated resentment against someone close that I need to address, first with me and God and then when the time is right directly with them. Also a lot of things in my family are going to change in the next year and I thought I was all good with that, and it turns out I’m not. So, yippee, more stuff to process. The very worst part of today isn’t all of that though; it’s how I treated my Mom. I vented to her. I mean my entire meltdown was with (which feels like at) her. By the time I was almost done she was just sitting quietly slumped over. I felt awful then. It’s so hard to share this but I want to be honest with you guys about this entire Lent journey. And officially today is still Day 40 of Lent. My venting hurt her. I’ve apologized but it’s still the worst part of a sucky day. So I’m going to enter Easter Sunday having gone through a long and tiring journey of confronting and processing my anger at God, the high of being blown away by the immensity of His love for me and the raw ugly truth of how much sin I still revel in. I need the resurrection because my old stuff is not only dead, it is stinky dead: decaying rats in the ceiling dead. I’m so glad tomorrow is Easter because I urgently need to celebrate an alive Savior and the promise of new life in me.

Late to Lent: Days 39-40

2011-04-23T00:18:00.000-07:00

Last one, can you believe it? They all hang out together here.

Day Thirty-nine

I feel as if this whole journey has been drawing me to this day. I’ve even been looking forward to this, the celebration of the crucifixion. Writing random notes all week under the heading Day Thirty-nine. Why? Why am I drawn so adamantly here? In what other context would I anticipate remembering, even celebrating murder? For in one sense that’s what I celebrate, a murder. But then there is the voice of the One I love saying He could call down a legion of angels if need be. He did not lose His authority with His humanity. He chose. That truth’s so large I’m not sure I can really take it in. So today I’m just going to share some of my scattered impressions at the cross.

Jesus’ mother, his aunt, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene stood at the foot of the cross. John 19:25 MSG At the foot of the cross stood His mother. I have always thought of the agony of that from Mary’s point of view. It’s only this year that I see mercy and grace even here. In mere hours Jesus’ Father, God, who has always been in relationship with Him, turns away from the Son shrouded in sin. But grace is given to the Bringer of grace. Jesus is not left orphaned. His mother watches, longing to comfort. When I hurt I want my mama. God gave Jesus His mama in that moment. So I wonder if it was comforting to have her there. Or was it more painful to watch her pain? And for Mary, God gave her sister. Have you ever noticed that? Jesus aunt, his mother’s sister, stood at the foot of the cross, as close as they could get to Him, and wept. Sister comforting sister, mother trying to comfort son, and son providing protection for mother, as He asks John to care for her. Even in utter devastation God reveals himself as relentlessly relational.

Jesus prayed, “Father forgive them; they don’t know what they are doing.” Luke 23:34 MSG A few years ago I heard a pastor talk about this verse in such a fresh way that I will never look at it the same way again. The bible says that sins are removed, washed away because of Jesus’ blood. At this point He had been tortured to a bloody pulp. He wasn’t even recognizable as a man when they nailed Him up high. Before the wood was done rocking in its base the red life was soaking into the grain, mercy dripping down. And Jesus did not want to wait for death. Forgiveness, this was the point. He anxiously anticipated the pay off being released. Father, my blood is flowing, release the forgiveness. Let the flood of amazing grace drench them now! To see Jesus in agony anxious to love, to forgive, to make this all worthwhile wrenches my own heart with love in return.

At three o'clock, Jesus groaned out of the depths, crying loudly, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" which means, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" Mark 15:34 MSG This is the moment when the fabric of the universe was torn asunder. The ever living, ever-loving God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit: broken. And Jesus was abandoned to die. Yes, there was a plan. But Jesus was 100% God and 100% human. I can only imagine that in this moment He didn’t feel a plan, just the harrowing pain of rejection and abandonment. God retreated from the Son; turned His weeping back and walked away. No connection, no comfort, no love just empty darkness. In the echoing void Jesus had to throw those words, “It is finished… Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit,” based on faith alone. He no longer had any sense of connection to God or proof that the relationship would be restored. Jesus had to blindly obey in faith. So every rejection I have felt, every lonely moment, every betrayal, every abandonment by those I thought would protect me, He has been there. When I have felt abandoned by God, He was. The whys and the how could You's, He has been there. The obedience in the dark with only a chosen belief that God is all that He says He is in the bible with no supporting evidence, Jesus did that too.

Truly, how could I stay angry when faced with such towering love?

Day Forty

Today is the day that Jesus’ body lay silent, broken and unmoving in the dark. His soul already laying claim to the keys of death and hell, his body just lay; even in death, observing the Sabbath. So on the seventh day He rested from all His work. Genesis 2:2 But his friends were also in the dark, hiding. The disciples had all run to ground. And can you imagine their fear of discovery, Will they kill me next? Their deep and consuming grief, He’s dead, they just murdered Him. He’s gone. Their confusion, This wasn’t how the Messiah thing was supposed to work! And so they cowered, in back rooms, dusty closets, obscure guest quarters, scattered across Jerusalem, perhaps in twos or threes. Can you see them huddled around banked fires, whispering? Do you think they began, even then, to tell each other the stories of what Jesus had done, what they had seen with their own eyes as they tried to put their shattered hopes back together piece by piece?

As we wait today, quiet in memory of all that was so seemingly lost; will you hunker down with me in a darkened room and listen to a story? This is really a Good Friday story, but truthfully, I can’t imagine that their own Good Friday story left the disciples minds for a moment that Sabbath day.

My story begins with the shrill ring of a phone early in the morning. I bury my face deeper into the pillows, resentful of this intrusion into my final high school spring break. Suddenly my bedroom door opens and one of my parents walks in, kicking aside the clothes that always piled up on the floor. Funny, I don’t remember if it was my mom or dad, probably my mom. “That was a social worker, “she whispers, her eyes urgent, her voice strangled, “your brother has been in an accident. We have to leave now for Palm Springs. They said he hit his head.” I jump out of bed tears already stinging my eyes and walk out to the dining room where my dad is getting ready to leave. His face is grey, etched with worry. The doorbell rings.

Our neighbors from down the street stand on the doorstep, tense and hurried. They offer to carpool to the hospital over an hour away. They’ve already spoken to their own son, the driver. DBB was thrown, he said, out of a window. No seatbelt. Panic rises; threatening to cut off my airways as in the background I hear the angry expletive fly with a fist slamming against a table. I know that I am not the only one overtaken by terror. With an “I love you” and “We’ll call as soon as we get there.” my parents are gone and I am left alone in the suddenly silent house to wait.

Hours go by. I have made the difficult and necessary calls to kin. And now I wait, sure that they’ll just pick him up from the ER waiting room, bandaged and chagrined. The shrill ring again pierces the silence and the voice I long to hear, my mom, says, “It’s ok. He’s on a respirator and they’re taking him for a CAT scan and MRI now; they don’t think his back is broken. But they want to be sure”

They don’t think his back is broken. The words hang in the air like icy daggers aimed at my heart. I have only one brother and at 16 months apart, irish twins, the scars and the passion between us is immeasurable. I’m the big sister. It has always been my job to protect him, and now they don’t know if his back is broken!

Later my mother calls again. He is in the ICU resting in a medically-induced coma; another body laying at rest, but this one breathing, with help. My dad won’t leave his side. "There is no spinal injury," she says, rejoicing, "but they don’t know yet how much reconstructive surgery he will need on his face."

Again my air is snatched away. I slump on the family room floor, staring up at his school picture. I like his face, the straight nose, the strong cheekbones, the roguish, teasing blue eyes. This is my brother’s face. I like it just the way it is.

What baffles me is that every time she calls my mom sounds as if she is relaying good news. And with each announcement my sense of danger grows. I didn’t walk into the hospital 100 miles away with them. I did not see their boy lying inert, clothes torn and bloodied, asphalt ground into gashes and long burns. I did not beg the Lord at my son’s bedside “Lord you gave Your Son, let me keep mine.” My shock did not flood in. My pain arrived in waves, with each shrill ring of the phone.

There’s more to this story: parts too long to share here. Mercy after mercy. After flying through the back window of a rolling SUV, my brother had no permanent injuries. Not even one broken bone. And then there’s this testimony from the other two guys in the car: DBB was thrown out on the first roll, the car barrel rolling toward him to crush him when for no apparent reason (an angel or maybe even the hand of God) the SUV turned to roll in another direction, missing him completely. That year we celebrated Easter with my brother being released from the ICU. I spent the day in the hospital talking with my swollen, orange brillo-pad headed, beautiful brother. Resurrection of hope all over again.

Late to Lent: Days 37-38

2011-04-21T22:09:00.000-07:00

And I'm walking, and I'm walking (hummed to the tune "Just Keep Swimming.") Walk with me here.

Day Thirty-Seven
One of the books I have been reading is this little wonder. This week’s reading is about hope, a virtue I desperately need and equally mistrust. What I read this morning reminded me again how thankful I am that I don’t walk alone and that many sojourners throughout history have been willing to share their insights and struggles from the road. So I truly cannot think of anything more profound to share with you than what I read today.

God must bring us to a point-I cannot tell you how it will be, but he will do it-where, through a deep and dark experience, our natural power is touched and fundamentally weakened, so that we no longer dare trust ourselves. He has had to deal with some of us very strangely, and take us through difficult and painful ways, in order to get us there. …But then at last it is that he can begin to use us…We would like to have death and resurrection put together within one hour of each other. We cannot face the thought that God will keep us aside for so long a time; we cannot bear to wait. And of course I cannot tell you how long he will take, but in principle I think it is quite safe to say this, that there will be a definite period when he will keep you there….All is in darkness, but it is only for a night. It must indeed be a full night, but that is all. Afterwards you will find that everything is given back to you in glorious resurrection; and nothing can measure the difference between what was before and what now is!

Watchman Nee
p. 38, Devotions for Lent from the Mosaic Bible

Glorious hope!

Day Thirty-eight

I’m all abuzz tonight, distracted. I temped today in the same office where I spent years working, the same office I was laid off from in complete peace. But as always, old problems linger and worn out baggage tumbles down trying to trip me. I’m finding it hard to be still, inside, where it counts. I close my eyes and hear Him whisper,

Come. Disrobe and leave it all behind, the worry, the fixing, the trying to control, the managing. Allow me to clothe you in peace, in hope and in joy. My shirts are soft, my slippers fluffy, my pants silky and breathable, and everything I offer is crystal white; it is the only color I have to give. Wear my pajamas, tonight.

Calmed with His love. So I don’t think I’ll write anything more just now. I’m going to change my pjs, curl up and rest.

Late to Lent: Days 35-36

2011-04-20T00:08:00.000-07:00

I'm almost at the end of this journey. If you want to see if I've changed at all you could read here.

Day Thirty-five

some days I feel so empty I'm afraid of being swallowed whole

it's not the food I'm forgoing in the evenings

it is the dwindling bank account

it is the unfulfilled giving commitments

it is the abandoned dog crate outside the kitchen window

it is the blank in the fill in the blank Profession:__________

it is the silence in ears that ache to be called mommy

it is the arms tightly wrapped around a cold pillow in an empty bed each night

some days I feel so empty I'm afraid of being swallowed whole

and then I see the mountains

so impossibly green in my arid land

with dusky sunlight and shadows frolicking in the crevices, playing tag

my heart opens hungrily

drawing the beauty in with ragged breaths

exhaling praise with parched lips

I swell with the bounty You have prepared for my eyes

the words You tenderly hand feed my soul

and for today,

for today it is enough

329. It is always today and You will always be enough.

Day Thirty-Six

Do you know of any writers who soften your heart? The ones who wielding words disrobe their souls so plainly that you would blush but for the awe and the kinship it engenders. Intimacy, openness and searching, always seeking to glimpse His face; these are rare and precious gifts. I have a few who do that for me and tonight I am so appreciative. Thankful that to really fulfill my Lenten task, to not only give up anger against God but to follow Christ, I can not walk alone. Alone my heart empties, dries up and hardens. I get worn out by the doing and the waiting and the thinking and the feeling and the life. But then I halt, reach out, open a book, pull up a blog, pick up the phone and I bathe in the love, truth, seeking: refreshed by the mere company of my fellow sojourners.

That may be a reason for this journal, to remind me that this walk is not alone. I am accountable to you who take the time to read. My commitment to meet with you every day has kept me real and present in this walk. If I took a day off, decided to let Lent go, what could I tell you? There is not a whole lot of room to fake it. And yet on those days when I think, “What on earth am I going to write about?” you are there: in your own blogs, in the pages of books long and lovingly labored over, sitting across in a meeting, side by side in a service, in an email, in a comment.

One of the joys of dying and coming to life again in Christ is that the resurrection involves becoming family. His Spirit, now living in me and in you, binds us heart to heart. That family, locking arms and walking, seeking to worship and give and love and share and expand, that’s the Church. And today I see that I can not follow alone. I have to do Lent, this journal and life with the Church, or I will not be able to do it all.

Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble. Likewise, two people lying close together can keep each other warm. But how can one be warm alone? A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 NLT

locking arms with Em' and friends today

Late to Lent: Days 33-34

2011-04-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

So there's a whole lot of other posts kind of like this one. They hang out here.
Day Thirty-three

LORD,
I’m not even sure how to discern what is going on in my heart today. It feels a bit torn up, like a wet lawn that has been driven over by careless cars. I simply need You. And I want to want You as much as I need You. I’m tired of trying to figure things out with so little information. Forgive me for all of the times when I want what You can do for me more than I want You. I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t think I can. Please do it for me.

I have to confess that I don’t believe Philippians 4:11-13 at all. I’m not content. I don’t know how to live in every situation. And I believe Christ can do everything, but not in me. Like I’m the one great exception. I’m sorry. Forgive this pride in disguise. You have spent so much time listening to me prattle on about my dreams but are they Yours too? Is what I want what You want for me? If it's not I ask you to strip them away. But please be gentle. My heart is very small and tender. And it needs dreams. So if you take the ones I have now away, please give me new ones. Let me dream with You. Since you created me, You know; I was born to dream. Father, You know what is on my plate today. I’m feeling so foggy about the rehearsal this afternoon. Help me to serve well. I’m just filling in, but I want to be prepared and I haven’t been disciplined at all on this so far. Thank you for the sunshine and the green out my window. It’s so pretty. As is the birdsong being warbled next door. This really is a lovely place to live, I’m sorry I am so ungrateful at times.

And You have even given me the time to rest I begged for and yet I chafe in that too, wanting what’s next, fearing being left out, fearing being judged or misunderstood. I hear the ugly hiss that I’m defective and a loser, and I'm afraid it might be right. I know you hate this hiss. Please let my ears hear your songs. Drown out the hiss. I want to hear You. Thank you for loving me even when I am such a

difficult child. You are so loyal. Even when You are telling me that I’m messing up, I know it is because You love me and You want good for me. And You are so much bigger than anything I can imagine. I know You see all the beginning and the ends and how they fit together. I want to rest in You. Please hold my hand today as I walk. I’ll try to lean close enough to hear Your whispered instructions because I love you.

your songbird

Day Thirty-four

Tonight I’m feeling poured out. Between stuff I’m doing at church, preparing for the stuff I’m doing at church and helping my Grams to pack, it’s kind of crazy. And I’m feeling poured out when in fact I’m mid pour. I have two more jam packed days to go. You know I’ve been writing those words often lately:

empty, dry, parched, poured out. I wonder if it isn’t meetings and rehearsals and chores for Grams. I wonder if dried up and emptied out is exactly where I am supposed to be in this journey. Is this moment part of the withering that has to happen before death and a harvest of new life? And isn’t that what Lent is celebrating? This time of fasting and repentance, what does it really mean to me…now? In laying down my anger I am choosing to allow His perspective (which I don’t actually see but have to take on faith) trump mine. I am dying to my right to be mad because none of it, of life, is going the way I dreamt and planned. I am letting my heart winter over, settle down, submit, believing that spring is coming with fresh verdant shoots of life. By fasting this week I see how powerfully loud my body is and how difficult it is to obey. I’m reminded not only of all that Jesus gave up but that His sacrifice can feed me. Wow, that sounds so mystical and obtuse. How it actually works is that my tummy rumbling in the evening, craving a snack, is a reminder to tell Jesus, “I depend on you. Thanks for being there. I’m hungry. Please be here for me now.” And that too is a sort of dying. My physical cravings dying to a larger soul plan. Even this journal has been a death of sorts. I haven’t been able to be easy, breezy free-wheelin’ on my blog; posting whatever took my fancy, whenever I want. I’ve had to be disciplined, write almost every day, and put off other posts if I only have time to work on one. So I guess I’m feeling a bit crumbly at this point, worn thin and frayed at the edges. I can’t help but believe that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be, tired of the “law” so to speak and ready for a little grace and freedom. But lean in close so I can whisper a secret. Easter is coming.

So Kind

2011-04-16T22:27:00.000-07:00

You are all so sweet to wish me well in my new home but I did feel the need to clarify that I am not moving. I'm helping my Grams to pack. She's moving back to her home state of Tennessee after 62 years. I'll scoop up all of your love anyways, with grateful, open arms. And I'll pass it on to her. You guys are the best.

Late to Lent: Days 31-32

2011-04-15T02:35:00.000-07:00

Three-quarters of the the way through my first Lent, can you believe it? Check out the beginning here.

Day Thirty-one
I am soooo tired. It’s 9:25 pm (early for me,) I'm struggling to stay awake and only now getting to this journal. I tried reading through this week’s Imperfect Prose, hoping something would inspire me to write but by link 18 my brain shut down and I had no words to comment to a perfectly great post. (Sorry Lori, I’ll return tomorrow when I’m fresher.) That’s pretty much the point when I know to put the blogs away to peruse another day. My day was good and I even took time to start the Gospel of Luke over gluten-free pancakes this morning before rushing out of the house. But as soon as breakfast was done I, finally virus free, took off to my Grams’ house again. I realize most days I process the Lenten season with words on a page, thoughts in my mind, emotions in my heart, and an incredibly slow laptop. But today I celebrated with my hands, wrapping that weird (and unbelievably handy) green packing plastic around precious photos and art,

taping boxes, sloppily writing F-R-A-G-I-L-E over and over again;

with worshiping knees bent on carpet wrestling glass shelves and puzzling frames into boxes with towels for cushioning. A newly learned praise chorus harmony part, needed by next Sunday, hummed through my lips as I offer my oblations in a small suburban living room quickly being stripped of its sweet personality.

And you know what, it’s all good.

Day Thirty-two

For the LORD your God is living among you.

He is a mighty savior.

He will take delight in you with gladness.

With his love, he will calm all your fears.

He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

Zephaniah 3:17 NLT

I find it in the last chapter of One Thousand Gifts, this verse that trips me. With eyes suddenly blinded I cannot find my way past it, so I close the book. Why does this verse slice so deep, separating bone from marrow? I read the Twilight books this last year and a bit of fan fiction (keep your guffaws to yourself, please.) Somehow these stories go deep, taking up lodging in me and I wondered why. Protection. There were many times growing up when I did not feel safe, times when I wasn’t safe. So I did what I could to guard myself in my own small way. I became a warrior or I recruited others and asked them to do the impossible task of keeping my heart secure. I tried broken methods in a broken world and they were just broken. This image calls to me, the mighty warrior, the brawny hero looking at me with eyes of adoration calming my fears, luxuriating in my presence with singing. It soothes my heart, even now.

Delight, the word brings me back many years, to early in my time with Stinkerbell. I heard Him whisper, I take delight in you, the same way you delight in her. To some of you that may sound silly, but I understood; He was speaking my language. Then last week I was driving when out of nowhere the loss of her just t-boned me, as grief will and I began to weep. That polka-dotty dog adored me from the moment we met, years before I owned her. For twelve years her eyes lit up when I entered the room. She thought it was always worthwhile to leave a good nap to cuddle with me. She hated watching me cry and would do her best to clean up the tears with rough kisses. And she would have died to protect me. “Lord,” I wailed, “no one will ever again love me the way she did.” And then He said it again, only inverting the idea this time. You are loved that way now. Her love is a mere reflection of my love for you.

via

And I saw a picture of the moon, the glorious moon which sends thrills down my spine, bathing the night in ethereal light. This beautiful orb, the subject of poets is only a rock hung in the sky. Moonlight a weak image of the strong, ferocious, life-giving light from the sun. Stinkerbell’s brave and beautiful love for me was a mere nightlight to point me back to the source of overwhelming love, still and always mine.

There is more I think, churning in my heart over this verse, but I don’t have words yet to ascribe to the feelings and thoughts there. Cindy at 12 Tribes wrote on it a few months ago and I loved that post enough to print. For now I’m simply going to swaddle my soul in these words and listen closely for His song.

Late to Lent: Days 29-30

2011-04-13T01:19:00.000-07:00

you probably know the drill, but if not, you can catch up here

Day Twenty-nine

Empty, I feel dried up and depleted tonight. It’s probably what I’ve been feeding myself. I mean today wasn’t a bad day but like most Mondays, I got up and rushed out the door a little sleepy after staying up late to read fluffy fantasy novels. After babysitting, I ran errands for a couple of hours, ate lunch while checking out a few blogs and then spent the next three hours make a boatload of mushroom soup and compound herb butter. (Note to self, always, always halve soup recipes.) Did I really just give you a play by play of my boring Monday? Told you I was kind of empty. Notice I didn’t really have a quiet time in there? That’s what I mean about feeling dry because I wasn’t nourishing myself today. I prayed a little on the run, had some worship music on with the kids and while driving, but otherwise it has kind of been mental junk food, which is all fine and good in its place but I can’t live a whole day on it. I am going to go read in a little bit, maybe finish Mark, but I think this is what I am supposed to write about on day twenty-nine. I need to confess to you so that I do not forget that if I don’t plug in each day, I go empty. I can’t skip my soul rations and expect to have anything to share. I believe it was in A Woman’s Heart, God’s Dwelling Place that I heard Beth Moore say “Bread of Heaven, served fresh daily.” I fasted the wrong thing today.

Day Thirty

It’s another odds and ends ADHD sort of day. After yesterday’s barrenness I begin my morning with a time of devotion, of setting aside my agenda to focus on a little soul food. Ann wrote about service being the natural and right result of eucharisteo thankfulness. And I reflect on how often this last week my service to my family, the day to day contributions of living with other people, has been miserly measured, compared, complained about and grudgingly given often with some sort of demand in return for services rendered. It seems that there is no end to rough edges in my character longing to be smoothed out. But there is a healthy truth in that awareness. When I rightly see myself, without self-loathing or self-righteousness, I am more graciously able to accept those around me and cognizant of our constant, unfailing need for God.

Moving on I finish reading the Gospel of Mark, finally. For such a short Gospel it seemed to take me a while to complete. I’m reading in the Message and after a lifetime of hearing these verses I relish the fresh perspective the translation offers.

Jesus told them, "You're all going to feel that your world is falling apart and that it's my fault. Mark 14:27a MSG This verse rings in my heart. I know this feeling, like all is crashing around me when I was depending on Him to keep it up and to build it in the first place. Abandoned by God. That is such a hard place. I haven’t considered that the disciples felt this abandonment. It’s so easy to be calloused reading these accounts several thousand years later. I mean Jesus told them point blank that He would be killed and then rise again in 3 days. But living that, it would seem so impossible, or as if there was a poetic spiritual truth in those words that they must not understand. He couldn’t actually mean killed as in dead and raised as in alive again. So they felt their world falling apart and it was Jesus’ fault and today my heart goes out to join them.

He came back and found them sound asleep. He said to Peter, "Simon, you went to sleep on me? Can't you stick it out with me a single hour? Stay alert, be in prayer, so you don't enter the danger zone without even knowing it. Don't be naive. Part of you is eager, ready for anything in God; but another part is as lazy as an old dog sleeping by the fire." Mark 14:37-38 MSG Ahhh Peter, how I love that man. So nice to see me represented as a disciple. Part of me is eager, ready for anything in God but another part is a lazy dog sleepin’. Yep, I think that is pretty darn accurate.

Four beatings! Jesus endured four beatings before being killed. Mark 14:46, 65 and Mark 15: 15-20 MSG My heart hurts for Him. Can you just imagine knowing Him walking here on earth? That gentle strength, wholly kind and wholly masculine, in the flesh. And they beat Him and mocked Him. All of Hell lined up to finally take their shot at God foolishly becoming vulnerable, mortal man; all of Hell working through us. Then at nine in the morning He is nailed to the cross. I ‘m struck by the wood; a carpenter killed on rough hewn wood. I don’t think I ever noticed that it took six hours for Him to die. Six hours of agony, of burning searing pain, of ragged, elusive breath and all this after a night of betrayal, rejection, humiliation and beatings. Six hours seems so long to me. And yet it was short to Pilate. Mark 15:44 MSG The monstrosity of man, of us. And Jesus hung dying for six hours subjecting Himself to our devastating cruelity to rescue us, the brutal, from our own brutality. It is more than I can take in on a bright, sunny Tuesday morning.

And then at the end of Mark, Jesus sat down beside God in the place of Honor. Mark 16:19 MSG He sat down because the work was done, finished, the victory His and through Him mine. And the words to the new song I will perform on Sunday slowly rise to the forefront of my mind:

You took the nails. You bore the crown.

You hung Your head, Your love poured out.

You took my place. You paid the price.

So Jesus now I will give my life.

As I lift my hands open wide to let the whole world see

How You love . How You died. How You set me free.

Free at last I surrender all I am

With open hands with open hands.

"Open Hands"

by Matt Papa and James Thiele

"Winning"

2011-04-11T14:01:00.000-07:00

Or is it bi-winning? Sorry, couldn't resist. (note to self: It is not funny to laugh at overpaid celebs with mental issues. It is not funny to laugh at overpaid celebs with mental issues.) Thanks everyone for your well wishes. I really want to send all of you this awesome cd but, sigh, no can do. So without further ado...

Late to Lent: Days 27-28

2011-04-10T00:06:00.000-07:00

to start at the beginning

Day Twenty-Seven

Sinuses on fire
Icky icky ick
Colds suck
Kicking myself for not being able to meet the day’s obligations

or

Slowed down by Divine allowance
In His care even now
Cherishing my health through the temporary diminishing
Knowing this too shall pass

Also

in other news

the blue,

the green

and the white are back.

My favorite colors

strewn

across the world.

Day Twenty-eight

All eyes; this journey which I frankly thought would be about my mouth, has been all about my eyes. How do I see life, how do I see Him, how do I see me. I sit in my favorite chair, the old reclining love seat in the open, airy living room, the one with a view to my distressed white Drexel Heritage chairs (still in process), the roses and grapevine in our garden and the glorious mountains beyond. Hair, still dripping, tied up in clips; I pull out the tools of my morning warfare. First, I record a quick gift that I received a few days ago but only saw this morning: a phone call to Target customer service, an operator beaten by words with a pounding headache answering, a chance to make amends in absentia to all of the customer service reps I have self-centeredly bullied when life was not going my way, forgiveness received and the joy of her headache healed. I go to open Ann’s book but keep finding my Bible in my hands. This happens several times before I notice; here in the Word must be where I’m supposed to start. I have been reading through the Gospels but the book covered in the soft teal print-a banner gone wrong recycled by a church in Cambodia, then sold to my BFF who gave it to me-falls open to the heading Moses Blesses Israel on the Plains of Moab. And I halt to stare, really paying attention now.

I may have shared here, or it may have been in comments on some other blog, maybe even yours, that since graduating college over ten years ago my life has been a journey through the wilderness. That’s not to say it has been all bad, or heartbreaking or a perfect graveyard of buried hopes, though I have thought that a time or two. It has simply been wilderness: slightly barren, wild and unpredictable, traveling, never quite reaching a place to establish or build, full of fears and flaws faced and always this sense of having to follow Him closely because on my own I am completely lost. The first Sunday of the year I sang on the worship team. We had just rocked Desert Song when my pastor asked what season are you in. I asked the Lord the same question. To my eyes the wilderness all looks kind of the same. I don’t have the ability to pick up the subtle landmarks. In response I saw the children of Israel camped at some sort of oasis on the edge of the Promised Land. I went home and began reading that the last stop before leaving the wilderness was the Plains of Moab. And this, He said, is where I am now camped. So while I don’t usually prescribe to the falling open bible study plan, today I begin to read. And I stumble over this verse, tripping headlong, trying to jump ahead but it has firmly caught me.

Moses called all Israel together and said, You’ve seen with your own eyes everything that God did in Egypt to Pharaoh, and his servants, and to the land itself-the massive trials to which you were eyewitnesses, the great signs and miracle-wonders. But God didn’t give you an understanding heart or perceptive eyes or attentive ears until right now, this very day. Deuteronomy 29: 2-4 MSG

But God didn’t give. God didn’t. These perceptive eyes I am trying to develop, even they are a gift from Him. I can not manufacture this although I can refuse. It is His Spirit working within me, deeply and gently. Ephesians 3:20 MSG Then I read Ann and weep as she describes the world she sees through God-given eyes, the stark beauty of the shared humanity between a farmer’s wife and a homeless recovering crack addict. Those eyes to see more of who He is will also allow me to see Him in those it is easiest to not see at all. These eyes, these I want. These I need.

Joybird's Library: The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic

2011-04-09T00:21:00.000-07:00

I'm the kind of girl who looks for connections: gossamer threads joining seemingly random parts of my life. So when I curled up Sunday night to read a book, The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic hit a home run for me.

It’s the story of ten year old Persimmony who starts out daydreaming of daring deeds when her sister, Prunella (don’t ya just love those names,) interrupts her, causing Persimmony to throw a broom, break a pot and eventually save her home, the Island at the Center of Everything. This delightful tale of what happens in between broom throwing and island saving involves a spoiled kingling, a starfish, a giant, an underground city, poison tongue tortoises, a little man who has shrunk from worry and pepper, lots and lots of pepper. As in most quests the journey reveals to our heroine secrets from her past and missed truths from her present. But you could probably figure most of this out from a good Amazon review. Why did I like it?

Good question. I’m so glad you asked. Well first of all I thought it was a rollicking good tale. Very fast moving (I read it in one night) and not too heavy. I also liked the way Jennifer Trafton plays with words like she is writing with alphabet soup; for example “This was distressinglydismallydolorouslydisastrouslycalamitouslyagonozinglylamentablyirredeemablyinsupportablynightmarishly bad.” And Mount Majestic is illustrated! When’s the last time you saw a new children’s novel illustrated on the inside and not just on the cover or a few small pictures on the chapter headings? I miss interior illustrations and Brett Helquist’s are charming. But mainly, I think it was those gossamer threads.

Sunday, my pastor spoke on the giants of fear, negativity and doubt. The sermon was such a strong exhortation to me that I definitely had giants on the brain. So reading a fairytale with a giant in it just seemed right. And then there was this scene. In the middle of destruction, Persimmony picks up a broom.

As she squished and slid and swung and swept, Persimmony had two thoughts.

The first thought was this: If she had swept the cottage floor as Prunella had told her to, she wouldn’t be sweeping up this mess now.

And the second thought was this: If she had swept the floor to begin with, she would never have broken the Giving Pot. And if she hadn’t broken the Giving Pot, she would never have lost her hat in the woods. And if she hadn’t lost her hat, she would not have heard the Leafeaters’ plans. And if she had not heard their plans, no one would have gone to stop them. And if no one had gone to stop them, the giant would have woken up. Yet she was surrounded by people-unstomped, unsmashed, uncrushed, unbroken, unruined-miraculously, wonderfully, whole.

…”What is she doing?” murmured someone in the crowd.

“She’s sweeping.”

“No, she’s dancing.”
The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic, pp 319 - 320

Lately much of my time has been spent evaluating my perspective and here in the middle of a fairy tale sits this, waiting for me to respond. Oh, to stand in the midst of ruins, pick up a broom, see how all of the choices, mistakes and brave deeds come together to make a bad situation so much better, good even and then to dance. That is redemption.

wanting a heart that dances,

Late to Lent: Days 25-26

2011-04-08T00:10:00.000-07:00

Still trekking along. Feel free to join me on the ride.

Day Twenty-Five

The sweat begins to puddle around my scalp, creating squiggles where once carefully straightened locks lay flat. Responding to the music pounding in my ears I quicken my pace, stretching arms out wide to feel the breeze that always blows down the coast as if I am a kite and if I could just walk fast enough, with my arms at just the right angle I would catch the wind by its tail and take off, flying. As my eyes slide over million-dollar bungalows and mansions to priceless views of sun, sand and endless surf, my soul feels at rest. Having enjoyed a surprise visit with my BFF I feel wrapped in the quiet acceptance of an old friend who loves me for who I am and I gladly give her the gift she needs, even in a 24 hour space, some time alone. So I walk the miles and realize that maybe I need this speck of solitude, as well.

I walk about four miles when on a whim I decide to turn right and walk down the Manhattan Beach Pier. Something draws me deeper over the blue, out into the unknown and I relish the gusts blowing stronger away from the windbreak of plaster and stone. And then I see him, well, them actually. They float on either side of the pier, bobbing on waves, waiting, waiting on the ephemeral ecstasy of the next ride. Looking like sleek seals in a herd they cluster together south of the pier, where the ocean will take them down and away from barnacle encrusted pilings.

But he is on the other side of the pack, paddling alone on the north side of the pier. His quick splash on the water catches my eye. I notice he is wearing some sort of head gear and I stop to look closer. In addition to the black neoprene wetsuit he is wearing some sort of neoprene helmet. But it doesn’t seem to be attached, like a hood, as I see long straggly hair flowing out the back. The lone surfer rests his palm on the water, feeling the waves coming in and begins to slowly paddle, turning towards the shore, preparing. Shocked, I realize that not only does scraggly hair flow down his back but his front. His beard, grey, long and dripping, sticks to the front of his wetsuit. Ridiculously I think of Gandalf on a board. Or of Merlin waterskiing in that long ago watched Disney film, The Sword in the Stone. Even Harry wondered where Dumbledore went on holiday, perhaps here. As my thoughts trip along in this frivolous vein I am also aware of admiration growing. Quite frankly I’m impressed that he is still braving the icy cold Pacific to catch that wave.

He is almost right under me now, bending over the board, shifting his weight from side to side, preparing to race the curl when I notice something else off. I watch his legs trying to figure out why they seem unbalanced. Then it strikes me as if I am the one dancing in the surf and I have just been taken unawares by a rogue wave, filling my mouth and nostrils with brine. The lone surfer has only one leg. One leg, strong and lean, circles in the water. The other neoprene wrapped limb, a stump cut above the knee, rests glaring contrasted with the white of his board. How? How can he surf safely through the pilings, how can he surf at all with just one leg?

Entangled I study him, waiting with bated breath to see what will happen next. The water gently rises, announcing the arrival of the next set. Leaning flat over his board, the man begins to pump hard. At just the right moment, he leaps up, foot on the board, long leg bent at the knee, balancing with the stump doing its share of the work, and rides the crest of the wave, in and out, up and down, dancing a daring minuet with the pilings to emerge safely in the billowing surf.

In awe I long to simply take off my shoes for I know this is holy ground, a sacred moment, a gift. In quiet reverence I listen for the lesson and whisper, “If he can, then so can I.”

I finish circling the pier and walk the two and a half miles to the next. As I lean against the railing of the Hermosa Beach Pier I notice the dancers, bright orange and pink, circling each other in the sky. As they bow, dip and cavort seemingly unfettered, the kites beckon me to fly with them. To untether from the worries and the fears and all of the “buts” stopping me. Again I whisper, “If he can, then so can I.”

Day Twenty-six

Sin is on my mind today. I’d rather not talk about it, it’s such a bummer of a subject but, sigh, it is what is on my mind. I struggle with the same tenacious sins and today I’m feeling like they have my face pressed to the mat and a ref is counting me out. If Christ has come to overcome sin how do I enter in to that? How do I go from cravenly, boringly, repeatedly, stubbornly sinning the same way over and over again to life? I want to lay these defects of character/brazenly rebellious deeds down to die this Lent and never pick them up again. Never. I am so tired of them and the law induced guilt that I feel a bit like Sméagol in the Lord of the Rings when he tells Gollum to “Leave now and never come back!" (If that reference went right over your head, do I have a movie for you.) I want to say, “leave now and never come back.” I think I needed a longer quiet time today.

Father, speak to me and forgive me. I am being so stubborn here and these sins are becoming my focus. I don’t want them to be my focus. I want You to be my focus.

Yes, yes, make Me your focus. When I am your focus these sins will fall away, like the dead things they are. You follow me, now.

Again I am too small to fill my sight large and still see. I am like the disciples and the Pharisees and all who were so large in their own eyes they blocked out the Son. When I am my focus, I block Him out. When sin is my focus, my wounded pride, so disappointed at perfection lost, shuts my ears to His voice. Oh to walk quickly into my Heavenly Papa’s room, mud caked and bloody, to climb onto His pristine lap and tell Him all about it. How I was wrong and why: to cry the tears and take any consequences and to promptly, openly ask for help. For it is this I am skipping, inviting Jesus into my sin. He took it on Himself at Calvary. Why would I think it would be foreign to Him now? Jesus is more intimately acquainted with my failings than I am. Is this how to enter into His life today, by inviting Him deeper into mine. Does He who makes all things new and clean and white again need my permission? Why do I forget or forgo this step? Because I’m terminally selfish and prideful. Because I still haven’t given up the desire of doing it on my own, of bringing Him something worthwhile I have crafted with my own hands. But my hands, gifted at so many things, were not created to shape a heart. Only One I know sees so clearly, touches so gently and molds so powerfully. And I am not He.

linking with Emily and other broken wanderers who are not lost

Late to Lent: Days 23-24

2011-04-06T22:13:00.000-07:00

the story starts here and you have a few days left to enter my Blogiversary giveaway.

Day Twenty-Three
I have thoughts pinging around my head like little Pac Men freed from the constraints of black boxes. They nibble away but don’t seem to be connected, at least not that I can see. So I’m laying down trails of little white dots between them to see if I can make anything meet up.

Sometimes I go to church and feel warm and embraced, and then there are the other days. The days when I feel the much needed course correction: when the sermon seems to burn in deep and I stare wide eyed trying to absorb because I am hungry and this is the food I need. My pastor taught on perspective and giants, and what happens when I look at my life through eyes of fear. It’s not pretty. I know because it exactly describes what happened to me Saturday, what I’ve been struggling with for a while now. The alternate choice proffered Sunday was to view life through eyes of faith, eyes that believe that whatever challenges I see, God can meet if I am following Him. For over two years I was marching, hard and strong, with eyes of faith, doing all I could to partner with Him to heal, grow, serve and prepare for what I believed was next. What I was so sure I heard. But now, it just seems that I heard wrong, and the disappointment is so heartbreaking that my faith is rocked. How do I walk when I am no longer sure that I can see clearly enough to follow? There is a song that plays often in my car right now and the lyrics describe this place so well.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation
You build up hope but failure's all you've known

This let down hurts so much that it is hard to grab onto faith and walk. Fear creeps in and settles over my eyes and my heart. I see the future through the lens of fear of pain. That in itself is painful. These eyes of fear turn my feet to stone and my heart to mush. I want eyes of faith again-eyes that expect that God is for me and He has good things for me and to do through me. And He will teach me the way I should go. Psalm 32:8 I don’t want to be one of the ten spies whose fear goggles cost a generation the promise land. I want to dance in the fields of milk and honey. I want the spirit of Caleb, a different spirit; one that follows God passionately.

Ann is still keeping me company while I quiet my day and seek Him out. She writes “Expectations kill relationships-especially with God. And that’s what a child doesn’t have: this whole edifice of expectation. Without expectations, what can topple the surprising wonder of the moment?” One Thousand Gifts, p.169 Without expectations? How can I walk in faith without expecting something from God? Yet I have also been taught that expectations breed resentment. But that usually refers to me expecting people to act as I want them to, not as they have always done. Me expecting them to change. So is the problem not having expectations of God, but having expectations that God will do what I want or what I think He will do? Was I following Isaac, not Jehovah? The promise and not the promise giver? But how do I passionately follow the promise giver without believing His promises?

The perspective of a child, there is something in that. I don’t agree that children don’t have expectations. I spend a fair amount of time with kids and even the sweet two year olds I watched this morning have expectations of me. They expect me to know where the snack is, to change their diapers if it’s uncomfortable, to give hugs, kiss owwies, play when asked, and help when needed. But they don’t have an overarching plan as to how our time will go. They don’t walk in with an agenda. Sammy and Wesley find joy in the moment by moment discoveries we have. Maybe this is where the little dots allow the Pac Men to meet. Perhaps I am supposed to expect that He will meet my needs, fulfill His plans, show me what to do and when, all while allowing Him to set the agenda, the time, the how and the details. I let Him be big and I’ll be small and I’ll follow Him, asking Him for my snack and to kiss my owwies, help carry toys I can’t lift and hold me when I need to be held. Will this lead me back to delight in the moment by moment surprises of what He brings me? But first...

Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go
Let it go

“Iridescent”
A Thousand Suns by LinkinPark

Day Twenty-Four

goodnight,

telling tales with Emily and friends

Playing with Picnik

2011-04-04T15:11:00.000-07:00

Today's post will be life changing. Ok, maybe not life changing but definitely fascinating. Ok so fascinating is still probably a tad overstated. How about today's post will be published. Yes, I can absolutely guarantee that today's post is published. Now that we've resolved that matter let's move on. Without further ado allow me to present 5000 pictures with only the minutest differences.

What, not life changing or even fascinating, you say. Well if you refer to the paragraph above you will see that my guarantee was not for life changing or fascinating but published.

And there are very small differences. Yes, I basically sat my camera on the balcony and took picture after picture without moving it, but I'm publishing them, so you have to look at them. You have no choice. Muhahahahaha

Wait, what's that, you have a choice; you could just close this tab and move on. That's right. You can just close the tab and move on.

Please don't go. I'm sorry. I'll behave. I like you, really I do.

As I was saying before Dr. Horrible took over my blog, enclosed are 5000 pictures of the same scene.

But I changed them up with the cunning use of Picnik (a bit like Britain’s cunning use of flags.)

You don't know what Picnik is. Picnik.com is my broke girl's substitute for Adobe Photoshop. And it does wonderful things. You should test it out.

Now it would be great if I could tell you each effect I used, but I only have sketchy memories. I did these a few days ago in the wee hours of the morning. If you have a specific question I'll give you my best guess.

I know… this blog post is basically a complete waste of your time, but thank you for wasting time with me.

As I said before, I like you. And if you click on the flag link you might giggle (please see disclaimer 1). I do. But then, I am an odd duck. If you didn't know that before, you do now. I think I've made it pretty clear.

a bit punchy,

Disclaimer 1: Eddie Izzard cracks me up, but if you are sensitive about foul language (Mom) he may not be your cup of tea.

Disclaimer 2: Picnik does not pay me, nor do they know me…well, that’s not true, I log in, so they do know me, just not in the paying me money to advertise way.

Late to Lent: Days 21-22

2011-04-03T00:19:00.000-07:00

feel free to read from the beginning

Day Twenty-One

Day Twenty-two

Bright morning sunshine filtered through a blanket opens my eyes, warming my skin. A chorus of birds sings loud and strong. The mountains are crisp against a blue sky laced with tattered clouds. Alighting in my favorite chair I spy golden-orange and deep coral roses, newly bloomed. After my reading I flip back through my book of gifts when I see it. 179. snakes hidden from sight, and there a few days later, 198. not being bit by the scary rattlesnake. A mere nineteen gifts listed between the thanks for protecting me from my fears to thanks for bringing me through my fears. This is poignant to me because there are other pairs in this journal, my list begun before my heart was shattered. Oblations before and after the breaking. Thank You for giving me this gift, this hope and preserving it, followed not long after by thank You for tears and comfort and hope in Your goodness in a season of loss. First the gratitude that He has kept me from danger and pain followed by the gratitude that He has kept me through danger and pain. This pairing of praises, the offering and the sacrifice, is it always the way?

And then quickly, so quickly, clouds move in hiding the sun, obscuring the mountains. The birds react, muffling, but when no rain arrives they again pick up their song. A chill breeze billows through the still open windows. As I sit paying (or more to the point not paying) my bills the grey clouds my vision as well. I pick up my journal; write a hard thank you, one I’m not sure I even believe. The impotence frightening, I long to lash out, harsh words to untroubled souls I find hard to keep back, so I flee to my room to release a torrent of tears. Muffling sobs, I sit with the fear, the helplessness, the hopelessness, the envy and the pain. Kleenex piles up next to me as I type to find rest when tears are not enough. How can He bring me through this? How long must I wait? Where is my sacrifice of praise? I find it very hard to bring to my lips. Outside of my bedroom window a dark magenta rose fluffs out its petals and lifts its face skyward to the sun I cannot see. 135. my bills are all paid this month!……281. a bill not paid, yet-opportunity for You to stretch my faith 282. words when tears are not enough

via

"What do you fear, lady?" he asked.

via

"A cage,"

she said.

"To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire."

The Return of the King

by J.R.R. Tolkein

"The Passing of the Grey Company," p.58

lifting my face,

Late to Lent: Days 19-20

2011-04-01T01:51:00.000-07:00

Halfway through. Feel free to catch up here.

Day Nineteen

Today was a good day. I have a bit of a headache, but it was a good day nonetheless. I experienced a lot of peace. I was able to just roll with the punches. I awoke knowing that today I planned to spend with my 83 year old Grams (who looks about 70). She’s packing up to move back to her home state of Tennessee after living 40 years in Southern California. I had stayed up late last night to ensure that most everything I wanted to accomplish today was already done or would be quickly. This way I could focus on serving her. Somehow I think that word, serving, is key to my peace today. I didn’t pursue my own agenda (except for the fact that I do want to enjoy time with her while I can) but followed hers. My goal was to be of service, whether that meant wrapping pictures or running errands. Last night I noticed that I was so quick to huff and puff when someone interrupted what I wanted to do. My (self-serving, just owning it) agenda trumped the feelings of the people around me. People I love. Today there was none of that. I think in the serving I become more pliable and more interruptible. I noticed when I came home how quickly I was willing to respond to emails that needed answers from me rather than putting them off. How willing I was to check out the Easter project I agreed to help with at church. In general I was just surprisingly flexible and responsible. Maybe it was just a good day. Or maybe my attitude does have something to do with it. Plus I got to see this tonight.

Yes, today was a good day.

Day Twenty

I use anger to mask more vulnerable feelings. Have I told you this before? I do. Fear, doubt, anxiety, sadness, rejection all feel very scary, so I’ve learned to cover them with anger. Anger feels active, smart, powerful. Anger feels like a pretty good way to make sure that Life doesn’t mess with me or someone will pay. Problem is that many some ones pay for this, including me. And anger is rarely powerful and effective. It’s usually just scary, unpleasant and easily manipulated.

This is something that the last few years of recovery have revealed to me, so it's no great epiphany. But I’m reading my way through this week’s Imperfect Prose and something alittlebitofgrace wrote about her own anger at God in brokenness got me thinking. Do I get mad at God because I am afraid to be vulnerable with Him? Do I purposely block intimacy with Him by being angry at Him? Is it easier to be angry than to tell Him how sad I am, how I feel confused, a little betrayed, disappointed and rejected. How some days feels so blessed and others feel like I’ve been sent to cosmic time out and I don’t know why. I don’t know. Just a thought.

I guess half way through this Lenten journal has me wondering what purpose my anger at God served. Where was my pay off? What exactly is it that I'm laying down? And how much has it cost me to carry it all these years? I think back to my musings on Day Thirteen. I was so moved by the leper and the blind men. What broke my heart and won my admiration was there absolute, desperate willingness to be nakedly needy with Jesus. There was no pretence, no posturing, no blame, just hearts and bodies thrown at His feet in hope. And He healed them. Is this what He is asking of me in these 40 days. Take off the armor, throw down my weapons, step out of my fortress (it’s only cardboard with a little paint anyway) and come to Him. Tell Him my needs, my dreams, my desires and simply wait. Feels so dangerous. To be so uncovered. To risk His no.

And the Word comes breezing in For all of God’s promises have been fulfilled in Christ with a resounding “Yes!” And through Christ, our “Amen” (which means “Yes”) ascends to God for his glory. 2 Corinthians 1:20 I notice this doesn’t say all of my desires are a yes, but all of God’s promises have been fulfilled in Christ with a yes. And then my so may it be comes back to God, again through Christ. I have been given promises. This verse applies to me. But I don’t have an amen stance if I am always defending against an expected no or the dreaded wait longer. It would seem that I’m not living in a posture of agreement but one of conflict and negotiation. Hmmm. That might be worth pondering.

A Songbird's Year

2011-03-30T01:19:00.000-07:00

It’s been one year since A Songbird in Your Court went live. Can you believe it? Happy Blogiversary!

It all started when I read Mindy’s blog to keep updated on her pregnancy with twins since she was on bed rest. Then I fell in love with Siestaville. Soon after I discovered that my friend Brigetta blogged, as did her BFF Krista whom I also know and love. It started, this teeny little dream to have my own space on the internet, my own little nest. But I didn’t have an angle, a story, or even a name. All I had was me.

Then I was driving to a vocal lesson one night. I was going to be singing in front of a few people who make me nervous so I was practicing and praying. I was trying to surrender my jitters and my need to be impressive when I heard that beloved whisper, “you are a songbird in My court.” And my blog was born.

I opened with this question which no one responded to, so I guess I’m the only one. But I can live with that. I came to accept my weirdness long ago. I began to chronicle spring days and my own struggles. Some of those early posts were lo-o-o-ng. But then so are some of my Late to Lent posts. I like to talk, big surprise. It may be why I have my own blog. I’ve cooked with you (ok I’ve mixed liquids but more cooking is coming. I can cook! I made that cake in the first pic from scratch.) I’ve ~~dragged~~ invited you to show and tell. And even begun to share (albeit very sporadically) some of the books I love. Together we’ve traveled to New England, Florida and of course, Big Sur, in the process conquering my fear of flying.

I got to introduce you to the furry keeper of my heart. And you all loved on me as I had to say goodbye. Man, that still hurts to write.

I’ve shared my hopes, my dreams, my fears and my heartaches. And you have listened. In return I’ve found the most wonderful, supportive community. You all rock! Really you do. You make me cry, gasp, giggle and sometimes even snort with laughter. So I think the only fitting response is a giveaway.

Allow me to introduce you to my friend Jessica Ripka. The first time I heard Jess sing, (6-7 yrs ago yikes! Jess is that right?) I was blown away. Girl has some pipes. She also has style. I mean she was rocking tights and cute galoshes 6 years ago. Way ahead of trend. I’ve had the distinct pleasure of watching her unfurl her wings and learn to fly as an artist. Now check her out.

Isn’t she awesome? I am offering Jessica’s album Don’t Listen to My Face to one randomly chosen commenter. If she is in town (Jess has some gypsy blood in her so you really can’t predict how long she’ll be around) I’ll even get her to autograph it to you.

The rules (like almost every other giveaway out there) are as follows.

1. Leave a comment to this post. Any old random thing that you want to say. I’m listening. This will give you one entry.

2. If you want a second entry become a follower and leave me a comment stating that you are a follower. If you already are a follower please still leave an extra comment stating that you are already a follower! That is two entries.

3. If you want a third entry, post about my giveaway on your blog, Facebook or Twitter and leave a comment telling me that you are posting about my giveaway and which site you posted to. That is three entries.

Important: You need to leave a separate comment for each entry!!!

The give-away ends Saturday April 9th at 12:00 pm Pacific Time.

Have fun and thanks for making this last year so memorable.

big hugs,

Late to Lent: Days 17-18

2011-03-30T01:15:00.000-07:00

*Today marks the one year blogiversary of A Songbird in His Court. I'm celebrating with a giveaway. I'd love it if you joined me.

follow this journey from the beginning

Day Seventeen

Trust. It’s such a small word and such a big task. I’ve seen God show up, come through for me so many times and yet I often return that point where I have to lay down my expectations, my understanding, even my perception of the world around me and trust Him. Trust that He sees more than I do, knows more than I do and this is the crucial one, loves more than I do. He loves me more than I even love myself. Yet He knows me better too, my strengths and weaknesses, and will stretch me further than I would. It says that He has prepared good works for me long ago. These deeds have the power to change the world, in ways large and in small. But in order to complete this quest I must walk a far more difficult road, this road that He has mapped out for me, than the one I would choose. In fact I would probably choose to simply build my own cozy hobbit hole and tend to the woes of the world only as they happened

http://www.john-howe.com/

to cross my garden path, never venturing out, never building endurance, never gathering resources of character or experience; having a story that is uninspiring and useless to anyone in need. Having no adventures I would never tackle challenges far larger than I can face alone; never find the hidden wounded, the lost and the neglected. If I wrote my own story I would be respectably wasted. But I don’t write it. I follow not a script, but a Beautiful Author, tucking my hand into His and walking alongside Him. That is, on my good days. There are the other days when I drop His hand and stomp my feet in the dust. Sometimes I just sit down in the middle of the road and cry. For the road is too steep, too long and I see no curves on the horizon and I am tired and seem to be getting nowhere and so often new sights just mean new difficulties. In my anger joy flees and the foggy despair sets in, blinding and paralyzing me. I think I get angry because His plan is hard and I can’t stop thinking of the warm hobbit hole life I imagined. In those moments I can see I haven’t fully surrendered and I trust my own understanding over His heart. So what will my life journey look like if I decide to lay down my anger not only for Lent, but after? What if I continue this seeking to have my sight transformed rather than hungering to only change my views? Will I see joy and beauty even in the painful, parched or barren stretches of my path?

Day Eighteen

The start of my day again finds me quietly reading. The Holy Spirit nudges me, brightening my eyes, bolding print and I read “Thanks is what builds trust.” Yesterday comes flooding back, the echo of a melody, how often trusting God came up in what I read, what I said, what I heard and what I wrote. Especially clear is the conversation with a friend, asking how I was, knowing I had been struggling but not knowing why. As I shared in generalities the words from my heart surprise me, though I know they have been gently growing there. “I don’t understand this situation and it’s painful. But I believe that however I ended up here, through my mistake, someone else’s, or no mistake at all, God has this for me, this difficulty and this pain. He wants to do something in me here. This spot is not accidental. He is in it, He is here.” Is this trust soaked declaration a fruit of thankfulness; a result of laying down anger and picking up a journal to record beauty in the midst of my heartbreak? For I have been joining Ann in recording one thousand gifts. But contrary to my normally open nature I have been writing privately in a small journal, just for God and me. Ann writes that my memory of how God has acted assures me of what He is doing and will do. The stones I build, collected from the middle of the rushing Jordan remind me of the God who can make a bridge of dry land for me to cross the impossible into the promised. So when I find myself crouching in fear or spinning in frustration is thankfulness the way out? Or more to the point is it the way in; the way in to joy and peace and courage and trust? I hope so. I hope so.

hoping and quietly counting,

Hoping with friends, never alone...

Late to Lent: Days 15-16

2011-03-27T00:14:00.000-07:00

read the beginning of the journey here

Day Fifteen
I went down a rabbit hole today. (The internet is full of them.) Now I’m not asking anyone to fall in after me. And I’m not going to describe Wonderland or what drew me in. But a hookah smoking caterpillar made a statement that sparked my interest and I want to talk it through.

The contention is that how a person lives is more important than what he or she believes. Many will immediately claim that we need both or that orthopraxy flows from orthodoxy. Most in the emerging movement agree we need both, but they contest the second claim: Experience does not prove that those who believe the right things live the right way. No matter how much sense the traditional connection makes, it does not necessarily work itself out in practice.

“Five Streams of the Emerging Church” by Scot McKnight

Christianity Today

This is a really strong statement. And it has me thinking, especially in light of a Lenten fast of both an attitude and actions. Is what I do more important that what I believe? How are they connected? Straight off I’m going to admit I have a strong opinion. My own experience says that what I do comes out of what I believe. My actions don’t come out of nowhere. My mind formulates ideas; my heart gives me the permission to carry them out. Good or bad starts there. What I believe in my heart, my will, determines what thoughts I will allow to blossom into actions. For example, yesterday I stood on a bridge overlooking a torrential stream, brimming over with recent storms. The thought crossed my mind, what would it be like to fall in that water? My will spoke up and said, I could die in the fall or drown and I do not want to die. My belief about the likely consequences of that possible action, tied with my belief that I desire to live pair together to stop that thought from turning into reckless action.

I have spent the last four years partnering with God to recover from some habits I used to cope with early hurts. Examining not only those painful events but also the lessons I learned from them-truths and lies- led me to discover or admit behaviors that flowed out of those beliefs. Pain led to belief led to protective actions led to more problems. My behavior is changing only as God heals my wounded heart and changes what I believe about myself, the people around me and most importantly, Him.

I know that my natural inclination to sin is a factor in this discussion, too. I’m not a computer that can simply run the right equation to get the right action. Even Apostle Paul said, I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. Romans 7:19 But if I’m being honest when I choose sin, I usually think I'm justified or I can get away with it.
Next I consider acting as if; the practice of acting as I wish to, even if my feelings don't match up. Isn't this a perfect example of what I do being more more important than what I believe? I don’t think so. Acting as if contains a belief that some actions are healthier, nobler, more worthy, more desirable than others, even if they clash with my own instincts. So I can choose to pursue healthy actions rather than follow unhealthy (or sinful) instincts.

So how does this relate to Lent and my fast? God asked me to give up my anger at Him and all the actions and words it fuels. And to follow His Son. How can I lay down the anger without choosing to change how I look at the situation? When I let angry words fly, or sink into despair, my heart is crying out I do not believe You, God. You are not good to me. You are not fair. You are not truthful. You are not trustworthy. Your Word is not true. I’m not saying that is the root of all anger, or your anger (if you have any) but right now, it is the subtext of mine. And that is really painful to write. God knew what He was asking me to give up. He’s asking me to lay down my treacherous beliefs. And then what did His Son say about this? A good person produces good things from the treasury of a good heart, and an evil person produces evil things from the treasury of an evil heart. What you say flows from what is in your heart. Luke 6:45

Whichever way I look at it I just can’t get away from the notion that what I do stems from what I believe and not the other way around. So I can’t change my actions without first changing my beliefs. Now this isn’t to say my actions aren’t important. They’re vital. In fact they are the only reliable evidence of what I believe. But they have a source, my beliefs. Orthopraxy follows orthodoxy, to use caterpillar speak.

Day Sixteen
Yesterday was pretty head driven. So today I’m just going to offer you a picture of my heart. This is hard to write. It may be some of the most vulnerable sentences I have put into my blog, so much so that I’m closing the comments for this post. I spent my first 9 months as a blogger with a random comment here or there but mostly I published in silence. That began to change with joining Imperfect Prose. As I began to reach out numbers grew some, comments poured in and I love it. But then I started this Lent series and it has been just plain awkward. At first I journaled every day but only published once a week. The posts became so long that they were hard to absorb in a blog format. Kind of overwhelming, is what I was hearing. Then I tried posting daily. It only took two days to see that was overwhelming in a whole different way. I like some time in between my posts. To let them sit and breathe a little. Now, the comments on the Lent posts seem to be drying up. And with 40 days to write there will be a lot of them. So it stings a bit. I love that feedback. I miss it. But then I heard that small voice in the breeze.

Why did you start this journal?

For Lent

Why are you observing Lent?

To die to me, to draw close to You. To lay it down and surrender so that this Easter I can feel the resurrection I so desperately need, inside.

And isn’t this that moment? The laying it down. When I continue this practice, this fast and the journaling discipline I chose to accompany it even when it doesn’t feel good. When in fact I fear that I’m becoming so boring or dour that soon I may again publish to silence. Isn’t this when the rubber hits the road? And maybe the reason I chose to blog this experience was for this day; the day when I die to comments, to compliments, to encouragement and (again) to the vain pursuit of popularity. The day I choose (again) to surrender, to follow without stopping to double check the price.

Late to Lent: Days 13-14

2011-03-25T14:18:00.000-07:00

So I didn’t like posting every day either. Let’s see if I can find a happy medium. Thanks for sticking with me as I muddle through. Read this journey from the beginning here.

Day Thirteen
Bits and pieces, that’s what I have today.

I read these lines and they strike a chord deep in my heart, reverberating through my bones. “For God is happiest of all. Joy is God’s life.” Is this echoing gong agreement or challenge? Do I really believe that God is happy, that joy is His life? I look around and see so much pain and remember that Jesus was a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, and I wonder. But is God not the maker of all I find satisfying and beautiful? Can I not imagine that in the pain He sees the grace, the mercy, the healing He has planned? That the Ancient of Days, who sees the beginning and the end at the same time knows that there is more to rejoice in than to mourn.

Starting to read Mark, I notice that Jesus calls Simon (we know him as Peter) and his brother Andrew a few yards before he call James and his brother John. I wonder if this means that Simon Peter and Andrew knew James and John before they all followed Jesus? It was probably a small community and they were working in the same occupation on the same beach, so I think it’s likely. But here’s my real question. Do you think they liked each other? James and John were known as the Sons of Thunder (sounds like tag team wrestlers.) They don’t sound like naturally peace & love dudes. And then there’s Peter (love Peter!), the ADHD disciple. Seriously, look up the indicators of ADHD and then look at Peter, ding ding ding. So Peter is a leader and mouthy, impetuous, no filter, and quick to anger. Do you think he naturally got along with the Sons of Thunder? Hee hee. I don’t know why but the idea of them all suddenly thrown together on rollercoaster Jesus makes me giggle.

In the first chapter a leper (sick and outcast) throws himself at Jesus and says, “If you want to, you can cleanse me.” Mark 1:40 My eyes tear up for the nakedness of this man’s need. It’s so raw and exposes my own heart, for see the implied doubt, the subtle lie confessed. “If you want to,” the fear that perhaps God does not want me healed but sidelined by pain. I remember reading last week of the two blind men who would not leave Jesus alone, but followed Him in undeterred desperation. When Jesus asked, “What do you want from me?” They said, “Master, we want our eyes opened. We want to see!” Matthew 20:32-33 The bare plea in that line, We want to see! In each case Jesus responded the same way. It’s some long Greek word that begins with an “s” (ok, splagchnizomai, told ya) and it translates moved with compassion. But when I read the definition it means to move from the bowels, which is where the ancients believed pity and love came from. That picture is so clear to me. When I am in deep pain my stomach feels like a bowling ball and I’m tied up in knots. When I am yearning to comfort, fix someone’s pain, deep inside it’s as if some anxiety is longing to be freed to release love. And this is how Jesus felt when confronted with the ravages of pain and disease and naked pleas for rescue. He is not disgusted or interrupted but moved so deep His body hurts with them…with me. And it doesn’t stop with His feelings. He moves on those feelings by healing and transforming forever, broken lives.

Last thought. Jesus compared walking with Him to being present at a feast Mark 1:18-19. I wonder, do I consider my life in Christ a feast or a fast? Kind of depends on my perspective, huh?

Day Fourteen
Instead of reading this morning I decided to take a walk; to worship with my senses.

I risked the rain

and instead found glorious sunshine,

light glinting off of snow-kissed peaks,

and dollops of meringue impossibly large floating in a sea of blue.

Wind dancing a jig with my pony tail,

whirling a herd of leaves across the street like skittish colts,

soaring remote control airplanes to dizzying heights

and carrying a surprise whiff of orange blossoms.

I gulp lungfuls of crisp air as I walk

ignoring whining muscles, slower than normal to warm up .

I gaze around me, all eyes and sometimes cell phone.

Sunlight warms my skin and freckles my face.

A squirrel glares at me suspiciously before scrambling to find his winter hoard.

I practice smiling

and like it.

I risked the rain and instead found

glorious Sonshine.

Stylish Blogger Award

2011-03-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

Yay, a blog award! Thanks Mountain Mama. (And is that how to spell yay? I've been spelling it that way for the last month because y-e-a-h looks like yeah as in a slangy yes. But I may have made up this spelling.) Here's how this meme works. I tell you seven things you probably don't know about me if you only know me through my blog and introduce you to 15 recently discovered blogs (I love referrals) to whom I will pass this award. So here goes:

7 Random facts or anecdotes you may not know about me

1) I have a very sensitive sense of smell.

2) My first job (outside of family or babysitting) was a photographer for Santa at the mall. (We all wore these horrible Laura Ashley corduroy jumpers so we looked like Santa and his pregnant teenage elves.) One evening I could have sworn I smelled rubber or wires burning. (See #1) I told my manager who blew me off. Later that night the set burned down due to an electrical fire.

See, looks like Santa and his pregnant teenage elf.

3) I had family living in America while we were still British Colonies. On the other hand, my Great-grandmère Camille immigrated here from France as a 15 year old war bride during World War I.

Ok, so these aren't really my ancestors, but you get the idea.

4) In the middle of my first year at UCSD I became the mouthpiece of a student led political movement to regain monies to remodel our dance studios. I helped organize the protest, spent the day educating students and asking them to join the dance in, spoke at numerous meetings both public and private, contacted all of our sister UC dance programs and spammed the chancellor, all while having taken only one and a half dance classes. (Thank God for the more knowledgeable juniors and seniors who educated me and sacrificially fought for a building that would never directly benefit them.) We won 3 million dollars to build a new facility! I sat on the building committee overseeing its construction and eventually had the privilege to dance in the beautiful new studios.

via

5) I've personally seen three U.S. Presidents speak.

6) Throughout college I spent my summers and holidays working at Disneyland. While I can't officially tell you what I did, I can say that I worked very, very closely with a certain big cheese and his similarly sized pals. (wink wink)

A couple who look suspiciously like my parents with Mickey...uhmm...they're big fans.

7) God told my parents at about the same time, in separate rooms (Bull Gator was in the chapel & Mom was in her hospital bed) what name I was to be given. So really, God named me.

And a blogger is born.

15 Some (fairly) recently discovered blogs that I name as Stylish Bloggers

(if they so choose to accept which of course they are under no obligation to do)

1) Elk Farmer's Blog - exactly what it sounds like, an Oregon Elk Farmer's blog. Completely fascinating. my fav post: Flying Squirrel

2) Bflatminor's Blog - the adventures of an itinerant singer & songwriter discovering what it means to live Occupation: artist. Also Jess is a wonderful friend. my fav post: Tiny Pop Dancer

3) Learning - April is coming later to marriage and motherhood than she planned and traveled there via a few years in Romania working with at risk children. There is just something about her heart in her writing that draws me. my fav post: Romania II

4) Albatross Fables - Arnab is a dreamer in New Delhi. I love getting glimpses of his world, beautiful and heartbreaking, like all of our worlds. my fav post: A Grand Relationship

5) The Simple Things in Life - a tender view into the everyday life of a family in New Zealand. I've always loved this country and something about this young family reminds me a bit of my own childhood. my fav post: Weekend

6) WayStationOne - Brian's words are strong, like cappuccino, some days they can almost crush my soul other days he just plays ping pong with them. my fav post: exorcising demons

7) The Screaming Kettle at Home - David, too, loves his words. He can craft a story with power and while we don't always see the world in the same way I trust his heart. Plus his daughter Yosi, is a crack up. my fav post: I don't like the juice of beetles.

8) Ostriches Look Funny - profound and clever insights from the sometimes mundane sometimes ludicrous world of a mom to pre-schoolers. my fav post: A Mother's Prayer vs. The Dark Side

9) 60Piggies - Nic's photo's are gorgeous, her heart is so open and to top it off, she's just really encouraging. This artist-mother also sells gorgeous jewelry to raise funds to bring their youngest, who currently resides in Ethiopia, home. my fav post: a recipe for antifreeze

10) 12 Tribes - Cindy is a thinker and an artist who can get into the Word. I means she breaks down the meanings of the words in the Word and then sees them weaving through her life. my fav post: Celebrate-with Zephaniah 3:17

11) Olsonomics: Old Ollie is the kind of storyteller that makes me think of a warm fire after a hard day's work. His tales of Bruce Fish, French and Pancake breathe. They are short and alive. my fav post: looking into French's notebook

12) Finding Serendipity - Patty's photography is stun-ning. You have to go look. Of course I love landscape and macro nature shots and she is very good. Go be inspired. my fav post: Photo a la {M}ode {5} :: sure signs of spring

13) A Thousand Words - Kati is a world traveler and beautifully chronicles the people and places around her. Her words can bring a land I've never stepped foot on to life in my head. And she's also pretty a pretty honest questioner of life; one who is not always satisfied with simple answers to complex issues. my fav post: Hope...Women on Display

14) Hope Whispers - When I first visited Carrie I was rapt with attention. From her header to the quotes sprinkled around the page I loved it. Then her poetry sealed the deal. my fav post: The Callused Knees of Mercy

15) Being Happy - happygirl is new to blogging and has hit the web with unbridled enthusiasm. You know what I like about her? She is honest. She doesn't hide her feelings and I admire that. my fav post: I can still perform an act of love

16) The Curious Acorn - Jodi lives in the USA but there is something distinctly British about her in my opinion. She is an artist and I love the way she looks at the world. Her illustrated journals are amazing. my fav post: As We Sing

17) Little Moth - totally cool design blog showcasing creative and interesting children's rooms. So inspiring. my fav post: Just Because

18) Love Wins - EloraNicole goes deep but writes so clearly you can follow her path. And I want to follow her path. I want to see where she ends up. She also wrote a great series of notes from Idea Camp: Orphan Care. my fav post: He Knows

19) Rista-ree's Mysteries - I love Rista's contradictions. She loves Jesus with a pure heart and loves dark gothic fantasy. We bonded over George McDonald. my fav post: After the Happily Ever After...

Have fun checking out these cool blogs, including Mountain Mama, and tell me what you think!

Late to Lent: Day 12

2011-03-23T10:20:00.000-07:00

Start from the beginning here.

Day Twelve
I get up and start the day right, yesterday’s lesson not lost on me. And through all of my morning reading the theme's so clear it may have well been titled Eyes to See. First one book discusses the Holiness of God, how it cannot be separated from His Grace. Without seeing His Holiness I can not properly value His Grace. It tells of Isaiah who saw a vision of God in His throne room splendor, immediately understood his own baseness and craven nature and then received forgiveness. Seeing God allowed Isaiah to properly see his own need for forgiveness. Ann, too, meditates on the eyes, the eyes to see His Glory around her, the hunger it creates to see more to know more deeply. And again the awareness that the more the Holy Spirit enables her to see God, the more clearly she sees that only grace affords her this privilege. On her own she can not become worthy. I see that in the light of holiness all good in me and my life is grace.

So I pray, give me eyes to see more of who you are. And I open Matthew. I hear Jesus warning his friends that he'll be arrested at anytime now and they will flee. Even after walking with the Son of God for 3 years they argue with Him. (But then how long have I walked with Him and petulance is still so often my first response.) They are determined that they would never desert Jesus. I wonder, what gives them their confidence? Could it be that like the proverbial plank, they loom so large in their own eyes that they can’t rightly see who they’re arguing with?

Then the priests discuss what to do with the blood money a remorseful Judas flung back at them. The callousness of their words floors me. “It wouldn’t be right to give this –a payment for murder!-as an offering in the Temple.” Matthew 27:6 They are so focused on the legality of where the money goes they miss that they are the ones who paid for MURDER! Their complicity is never addressed as if they are somehow at arms length from this transaction. How large do they loom in their own eyes to miss this broken commandment?

My Lord dies; and the earth splits open, graves spill open, the veil separating the Holy of Holies tears open. What is hidden revealed. And the soldiers who pounded the nails, saw, truly saw, exclaiming, "This has to be the Son of God." Matthew 27:54 Next I read of the women, Jesus's friends, coming to the grave. In Matthew it says they were keeping vigil, eyes open and still loving when the angel appeared to them, announcing Jesus's ressurection. They had eyes to see and so glory was displayed.

My time following Jesus in Matthew ends with a post resurrection reunion between Jesus and his friends. The moment they saw Him they worshiped Him. Some, though, held back, not sure about worship, about risking themselves totally. Matthew 28:17 MSG After all of that, after all that time seeing, some still held back from worship because they were afraid to risk themselves totally. Is it possible that they somehow still loomed too large in their own eyes to fully see Him, the risen Jesus? What about me? How well am I seeing? It depends. Twelve days into Lent and I do believe this, when I am focused on my own disappointments and my own seemingly hopeless dreams my anger at God blinds me. It lodges like a great big stone in my eye and I can’t see around it. Open the eyes of my heart, Lord. Open the eyes of my heart. I want to see you.

Late to Lent: Day 11

2011-03-22T11:22:00.000-07:00

I tried posting these journals once a week but they have already become pretty dense and unwieldy. So I'm going to try posting each day this week, on top of anything else I want to write, and see how that goes. Read the rest of the journey here.

Day Eleven
It’s midnight and I didn’t have a quiet time today and you know what, I feel it. I feel as if my heart is gunked up. Usually I read some sort of devotional book, scripture, practice my memory verses, listen to the Daily Audio Bible, add to my gratitude journal and try to apply. Today, I just got up and went. Hours later I feel like my heart has been running on fumes. I am amazed at how this discipline which confounded me for years (perhaps due to having to be at work early added to my deep distaste of rising before nine at the very earliest) feeds me. This simple time of study, reflection, prayer and worship changes my day. I mean, nothing huge happened today, in fact it was a nice day, but somehow I feel as if I was munching on McDonalds all day, kind of greasy inside. Like I’ve had a low grade crankiness. And now I’m tired. So I’ll probably read a short scripture, maybe finish Matthew and then go to bed. I’ll let you know if anything interesting comes up in my reading.

So I’m reading in Matthew 26, it is a few days before Passover, when Jesus and his friends were eating and a woman comes in and pours her nest egg, her treasure, an expensive jar of perfume on Jesus. Giving Him her very best, worshipping Him without shame in front of the critical eyes and grumbling mouths of a room full of men. They felt she should have sold the perfume and given them the money to give to the poor. Jesus protects her, and corrects His friends. In fact He says that where ever His story is told, this woman’s actions will be remembered as beautiful. It is so precious, her risk and His honoring of her. Yet what struck me was the way these verses flow together: “You can be sure that wherever in the whole world the Message is preached, what she has just done is going to be remembered and admired.” That is when one of the Twelve, the one named Judas Iscariot, went to the cabal of high priests and said, “What will you give me if I hand Him over to you?” Matthew 26:13-14a MSG I wonder what it was that set Judas off. Clearly something in this situation was the last straw for him. Was it just the loss of the money the perfume would have brought (Judas was embezzling funds) or was it something more? Was it how Jesus esteemed this woman, declaring she had a prestigious place in His story? Was he jealous of that recognition? Scandalized that Jesus would so elevate a woman? Appalled at how Jesus allowed her to sacrifice in her worship of Him? Or is greed really the answer? After all his first words to the high priests were "what will you give me." I don’t know. I just thought it interesting that witnessing this extravagant act of worship sparked betrayal in Judas’ heart. I wonder what it would have sparked in mine?

Late to Lent: Days 5-10

2011-03-20T10:57:00.000-07:00

I am late to Lent in more ways than one. In this time I was asked to give up my anger against God and all of the words and actions fueled by that anger. And to follow Jesus. So I'm journaling through this, my first ever Lenten season. You are welcome to start the journey with me here.

Day Five
I am still on a high from last night’s gift. It’s hard to come down to enter into Lent, but maybe that’s a wrong hearted idea of Lent. I believe Jesus embraced His moments walking here, our Emmanuel, God with us. So I can embrace the joy along with the pain. Yesterday in church, as I once again sang with our worship team, we belted the Revelation Song. I saw a picture of Jesus, leading me into a throne room to see our Father. I found comfort there, some things were said to me that I don’t quite understand, and I brought Him my grief, my shattered dreams and was cherished. So this morning with a thankful spirit I wanted to start on the ‘do’ part of my Lent: the part about following Jesus.

While I wait for the devotional delayed by shipping, I decide to read through the gospels; to trail Jesus as He left footprints in our dust. I start by reading the first two chapters of Matthew and I’m struck by Joseph. I don’t often think about him-Baby Jesus, Mary and oh, yeah, Joseph. It seems to me that Joseph’s dreams were shattered by God’s plan. Who dreams of marrying a pregnant fiancé carrying someone else’s baby when (almost) everyone around you thinks you a liar or a fool? I can only imagine that he dreamt of looking into his first son’s face and searching for his own eyes or a familiar wrinkle of the nose. And he didn’t get that. Yes, he was given something far greater, far more majestic, but first he had to surrender his dream. And Joseph was given a choice as to whether he would join in God’s plan, but no one asked him to give up his own hopes. They were wrenched from him by force. He had no say.

Then I read about Joseph being warned in a dream to flee to Egypt in order to protect Jesus and the enormity of his responsibility flattens me. Joseph was the guardian, the shield, the earthly protector of Jesus! He provided food, shelter, affection, social status to the One through whom the universe was created. God became vulnerable and put Himself into Joseph’s care. Who was this man that he would be given such a momentous task? What if he had decided the angel’s dream warning was just bad fish? How could Father God entrust Joseph with so much?

As I type this, the words I heard Him say to me Sunday, which I did not understand, come floating back across my mind, “I trust you.” Awe, reverence and I don’t mind saying a little bit of fear.

Day Six
Stones and bread. The refrain repeats before I leave my bed. (Hey, that rhymes...kind of) I’m still reading Ann, savoring her gift sharing, and she writes, “it’s the Word of God that turns the gravel in the mouth to loaves on the tongue.” Memory stirs.

Truth, I asked Him. Truth is what I need from you. I do not want to open my heart, invest my emotions into something that I created. I have no desire to spend time on crazy train. Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?...If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! Matthew 7:9, 11 And I rested, only to awake several years later to a backpack full of stones and broken teeth.

I turn back to Matthew and find myself in the desert with Jesus, hungry, tired, tested. Immediately, the enemy begins with taunts, temptations of stones and bread. The Word allows God’s Word to respond. It takes more than bread to stay alive. It takes a steady stream of words from God’s mouth. Matthew 4:4 Is Ann right? Is it not whether something in my life began as a stone but what I allowed Him to do with it? Do His words turn my stones into bread?

Next, Matthew 5 should ring familiar. I recite these verses every Friday night with friends, trying to walk in health. But the translation is different enough to hit me anew, soothing balm.

You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you... You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.

Matthew 5: 3-5, 6

Day Seven

Devotions for Lent arrives and in it I find this poem.

Awe-full

Great and Holy God
awe and reverence
fear and trembling
do not come easily to us
for we are not
Old Testament Jews
or Moses
or mystics
or sensitive enough.
Forgive us
for slouching into Your presence
with little expectation
and less awe
than we would eagerly give a visiting dignitary.
We need
neither Jehovah nor a buddy-
neither the “Great and Powerful Oz” nor the “man upstairs.”
Help us
to want what we need…
You
God
and may the altar of our hearts
tremble with delight
at
Your visitation
amen.

-Frederick Ohler
Devotions for Lent from the Mosaic Bible page 9

Yes, God, forgive me for slouching into your presence, so sullen, and help me to want what I need…You.

Day Eight
I’m not sure what to write today. I feel empty, dry but not parched. I read of kabod, usually translated glory also meaning heaviness and a chase to catch the moon to feel His glory and it moved me but today I do not share in the experience, just observe. I read but I am quiet. I am not angry; I don’t think I'm protecting my heart, just quietly uncomfortable. 213 on my list of everyday gifts reads unsatisfied heart-keeps on seeking but what does that even mean? I had thought of a search for beauty, a longing to understand, a desire to go deeper in His embrace but a mere ten minutes later I feel all muzzy, wrapped up in cotton and I wonder, are these just empty words? Perhaps I will write more later. When the fog lifts from the mountains, perhaps it will lift off of me as well.

I read offerings of Imperfect Prose, that community of artists and seeker and followers, and while the fog still shrouds the mountains in a thin haze, daylight begins to stream into my heart. When I finally read SuzyQ’s words “Embrace your journey. It won’t look like most journeys.” the light falls, illuminating another layer of shadow. I have said these words or something like them often recently, with great bravado. But in my heart have they rung true? Or was I just acting as if? Is this anger towards Him another volley in a long standing war against my own difference? Why, why can’t it be easy for me what seems to be so straightforward to all whom I see? My heart has cried this complaint in one situation after another for thirty years. Why did You make me and my story different when what I longed for was to be the same? My different has not even seemed brilliant or outstanding but, in my eyes marked, by failure. And I blame Him. Light falls on the ugly truth crouching in the shadows. I blame Him rather than accept, embrace my journey. It doesn’t look like most journeys.

Day Nine
Today I visit my hometown, Disneyland. I simply let the day unfold, relaxing in the generous love of a friend, and the ecstasy of a 5 year old at the Happiest Place on Earth. Late in the evening, my friend asks the question that leads to the tale that is the source of this anger He has asked me to lay down. I find I am able to share without fiery heat rising. Even when I share the feelings and perceptions I first had, I am trying to be careful that the angry words are not used; the accusations against Holy God are couched in a historical context, not as how I choose to see or speak now. But for the most part my heart is at peace, today, embracing His gifts to me.

Day Ten

if i do not worship You i will worship emptiness

and come up empty every time

if i do not worship You desert winds will overtake my heart

until the rock of it crumbles into dust

if i do not worship You poisonous bitterness, rage and resentment will steep in my life

leaving pools of deep death

if i do not worship You i will breathe my last

having never breathed at all

if i do not worship You

Today I want to see, serve and worship.

That was this morning. By the time I left the house in early afternoon to run errands a squall of frustration left me spent with salty tracks running down my face. This discontent bubbles up over something small, starting with missing items, seethes at a packed garage full of my house in boxes, a tiny room from which I run my full sized adult life and soon boils over into self-loathing and anger at God. I break my fast.

Oh His mercy in the midst of my failure. My final errand before meeting up with a friend (to borrow her dog) finds the two of us serendipitously at the same library. I join her and her kids to watch a puppet show. Witnessing a room full of children bursting with delight and fully entering into the joy of the moment, the storm clouds in my heart begin to break up. My eyes begin to clear.

Then tonight, as I choose and edit the picture for this week, I hear Brian pray “and so may we do our part well. May we be very conscious of what it is our role and our part is. May we have a deep understanding of the season of life that we’re in; of our current assignment in life, knowing that even if we are unsatisfied right now, there is work to accomplish before You will bring us into the new season. And so rather than focusing on the things that we don’t have, may we focus on the things that we do. And one of the things we do have is Your precious Holy Spirit to guide us. So we invite You, Holy Spirit, to come, lead us.” I agree and a downy blanket of peace settles on me. He sees, He knows my frailty; He still loves me and has purpose and use for me …now. May my focus shift onto the largeness of that truth and there remain.

Brave Girl

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I usually spend my birthday with my Mom. After all we began my birth day that way so it just seems appropriate. This year I wanted to take a long hike on this trail we’d recently discovered only this time I wanted to make it all the way to the end. The day before the weather was a balmy 68 and there was some nice cloud cover when we left the house. So it should have been enjoyable. Half a mile out the clouds blew away and it got hot. But I was determined and as my tummy hurt because my heart was pounding (I don’t like aerobic exercise) I kept telling myself that this was good for me. At a stream crossing we saw a mountain lion paw print in the mud. Honestly, it didn’t freak me out at all. Finally, we hit the point in the trail that was new to us

and here it got really tough: switchbacks with a steep incline that clearly hadn’t been groomed in a while.

The run off from winter storms had etched deep gullies in the trail, sometimes on either side, at others down the middle. But still we keep marching. The plan was to have a peanut butter picnic at some point and then come home. I hear a whirring noise, look up and quickly shout a warning to my mom while clearing the way for a mountain biker racing downhill. I spot a point that may not be the end but looks like a nice stopping place about 15 feet or so above us. I turn the corner, determinedly climbing, when I hear it, the noise I have dreaded ever since my parents moved to this neighborhood 12 years ago. The fierce rattle of a rattlesnake ricochets off of the hard mountain walls like gun fire. Instinct kicks in and I run, screaming, up hill. Then I stop and look back to see that the snake is now coiled under a bush between my Mom and I and I just want to cry.

Now please understand I’m not just squeamish. From the age of 5 until I was 23 I had recurring nightmares featuring snakes. I really, really don’t like snakes. Especially snakes that I know are poisonous and are a little hacked off at me. You can tell me that it was more frightened of me than I was of it. I just don’t buy it. In my case at least, that’s not true.

So here I am 2 miles up a mountain with my worst nightmare sitting in between me and my mom and the way home. My mom’s carrying a walking stick so she feels some sense of protection and she offers to walk past the rattlesnake to come to me, because that ladies and gentlemen, is my mom: the woman who will brave deadly creatures to come to her ~~little~~ girl’s aid. But my rational side has not completely shut down. I still have to get home. I don’t have enough cell service to call 911 and ask the rangers to send a helicopter to fly me out. I’m also not sure they would actually come. (The fire department would but that is a story for another day.) I’m trying to figure a way out and it’s not easy. One way or another I have to get past where that snake is coiled in order to get down the mountain. At least now I can tell where he is. Through all of this the snake is frantically shaking a tail that sounds like a rain bird sprinkler in a microphone. And it doesn’t help that my mom who is still offering to hop on over is telling me how huge this snake is.

I can only see one way out. I fix my eyes on the bush where it is hiding until I spot the whirring tale. Keeping my eye on the rattle, fighting back tears and desperately praying for protection I slowly come down the path. As soon as I am safely past the snake, I dash down the hill. Half a mile I run gullies or no. We come to flat corner with some shade and stop to recover.

I try to eat but it turns out that adrenaline and appetite don’t mix for me.

Actually, I think I already knew that. But we do catch our breath

before hiking the next mile and a half out which was fairly uneventful although the lizards made me a little jumpy. And I love lizards.

Anyway, that is my brave girl birthday moment. I think that was seriously the biggest pair of big girl panties I have ever had to pull on. Am I grateful God protected me? Absolutely. Am I a little proud of myself? Yeah. Have I conquered my fear of snakes? Uhhhm…no. Will I hike that trail again? That would be a no…at least not until, say, November, when all good snakes go to sleep.

Have you pulled on your big girl panties and faced any fears lately?

I wanna know,

Happy Birthday Joanne and ...

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perhaps someone else you know whose name begins with a “J.”

Who is Joanne you may ask? She is a wife, a mother, a writer and a Follower who suffered a massive stroke two months ago. Read about this ordinary blogger facing an extraordinary challenge here and at her blog, The Simple Wife. Joanne has a charm bracelet that she loves so much it is the header on her blog. As usual with charm bracelets each charm has a special story or meaning. I’m not a charm bracelet gal, but like Joanne I’m sentimental. Trinkets can be imbued with emotion when they represent people I love or memories that are dear. In her honor I am going to share with you three of my favorite charms. (Disclaimer: Please excuse the freckled, pasty white skin. I am a Western European mutt living in Southern California. Freckles happen.)

I’ve had this Tink charm since my college days when I worked at Disneyland in the Entertainment Department. I love Tinkerbell. I’ve always related to her feistiness and her determination as well as her stature, body type and insecurities. But more on my love for Tink another day.

This Aquamarine heart charm was a thank you gift from a friend for helping to throw her daughter’s birthday party. It’s my birthstone and I absolutely love it.

Finally my black pearl was inherited from another friend. I was given some of her jewelry at the same time as I was given her precious pooch.

It’s amazing how valuable the simplest object can become when it reminds me of my own history and the friends who have scrawled across the pages of my life. I can only imagine that Joanne may feel something similar when she looks at her bracelet. Please drop by The Simple Wife to wish Joanne a Happy Birthday and PRAY, please, please pray today for her complete healing.

With much love,