What season are you experiencing?
Are you able to accept that this "is" now?
That kel, always making me think.
It's been a long, dark, cold winter. Everything has been asleep while cold has been howling and killing.
But I've survived, asleep somewhere, and now maybe there's a break in the clouds. I feel like my old self sometimes, a little wiser and more careful, seeking the sun. But then, life strikes again--this week I will attend the burial of my 16 yr old nephew, killed accidentally, senselessly, tragically.
I had a hold on life, confident of my place, my space, my calling--it feels like I got hit by a truck while I was singing to my favorite song, hit first with the suicide of my friend and and then...well, everything else. What my sister must be going through is unimaginable.
It's not my thing to reach out, ask for help. Obviously, I disappear if I don't have an encouraging word, a wise observation to share. I'm not one of those weak, needy people that need a lot of hand-holding.
Oh, who am I kidding--I really need everybody to hold my hand right now. It won't make the winter go away, but I will feel a little warmer.
Monday, December 14, 2009
What season are you experiencing?
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Advent (from the Latin word adventus, meaning "coming") is a season of the Western Christian churches, the period of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus.
Tradition instructs us to practice Advent during the four weeks before Christmas Day, but my reality is that I have been waiting for six months for the Star to light up my sky and lead me to the Answer. I wonder if those Wise Guys ever got tired while they were trudging across the land and had a doubt or two (or five) that the Promise really existed and why was it so far away. But of course, that is what kept them going--the Promise. The Promise of freedom from slavery, of deliverance from darkness, the King of Kings who had a star created in His honor. But still, after a full day of stubborn camels, sprained ankles, cranky servants, and spoiled food, I imagine at least one wise one taking a walk away from the camp just to get away for a minute and gather his thoughts. He probably got just far enough away that he couldn't hear the hubbub of the others, far enough away that he could hear his own breath and footsteps on the path. Maybe he sat down on a rock, or on the cold ground, or maybe he just lost the will to take one more step of faith and dropped to his hands and knees, telling God "Enough!" And in that one word, he confessed his humanity, his limits, his need, his failure to live up to the expectations of the the title "Wise Man" and felt the world crash down around his head. Surely he cried, because in his tears was the sparkle of starsong, singing him to the little hut right down the road. He ran there and found the Promise, new and fresh with that little baby smell, and held Jesus as close as he could, renewed, redeemed, reborn.
2 The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death [a]
a light has dawned.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
My mother is dancing now.
Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat
And if that billy goat won't pull,
Mama's gonna buy you a cart and bull
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mama's going to buy you a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark,
Mama's going to buy you a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town
Friday, May 29, 2009
I feel like a lone traveler
until someone catches me
when I stumble
I've been watching my own feet
unaware that you are here
walking along with me
Holding me up
with words written on a page
But more than that
A strong arm
A cup of cold water
A song by a campfire
Bread for strength
And we get up, walk on
Watching not my feet
but on the lookout for those who are weary
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Almost two years ago, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. The bad kind that no one survives. I talked to the doctor--told him to cut the vague BS because I'm smarter than I look--he had mercy on me and told me the truth; no one survives this. She has done all of the usual things--the radiation, the chemo, the experimental GEMZAR that made her want to die just to feel better--and now the treatments are over because the cancer is everywhere, on the move, taking over her body. Now she is waiting, using morphine and fentanyl to ease the pain.
My siblings are grief-stricken; they expected the doctors and the meds to work, for God to perform a miracle and heal their mother. They look at me with suspicion, wondering why I don't fall apart when they do--they LOVE her, that's why they cry--I must not LOVE her.
I dreamed about this years ago. The terror, the tears, the grief that takes the strength out of your legs and breath out of your body--I've done it already. There was not one minute that I thought she would survive this--where is my faith? They have been praying daily for her healing, laying hands on her once a week for healing--they believe and wonder Why? Why doesn't God heal her?
Isaiah 55:8-9 (New International Version)
8 "For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the LORD.
9 "As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Of all the gifts my grandmother passed to me--gardening, stubbornness, my birthday--the one that would really like to return is the ability to make a mountain out of a molehill. A day wasn't complete without something to worry about, to obsess over, to suck the good right out of the morning, afternoon, and night. I learned well from my grandmother.
These days are busier than ever; I've started my practicum along with the last required classes before graduation, there are three teen-agers in the house now, and Mr. P's business is growing. Someone is constantly needing something RIGHT NOW--clients, kids, pets, school, bills, laundry--and with my keen sense of mountain--building, well, dirty laundry isn't just dirty laundry, it's klieg lights and sirens highlighting my failure as a mom/wife/human being. My children will need therapy to restore their self-esteem after going to school wearing dirty socks.
Well, I understand that this kind of thinking will get me nowhere except and early grave or the doctor's office with migraines, all by my lonesome because neurotic people are MISERABLE to live with, so I've been asking. A LOT. It goes something like this:
"JESUS HELP ME! I'M GOING TO BE THE HEADLINE ON THE FOX NEWS CHANNEL TONIGHT IF I DON'T GET SOME RELIEF!"
That's not a question, I know. I always intend on asking for help, it just comes out a little different.
And then it's time to make dinner. Again. I have a thing about plain food--if I serve plain food, I feel like a---say it with me--failure. My cookbook collection is a little overwhelming. Does anyone else have pickled ginger or kefir lime leaves on their condiment shelf? Asking Mr P doesn't help--
"What kind of potatoes do you want with your hamburger? Hash browns, scalloped, twice-baked---"
"Just put boil them and put some butter and salt on them. You don't have to waste energy going all gourmet on the potatoes!"
The clouds parted, sunshine flooded the room, and the angels started singing.
Not really, but that's how it felt.
If I can just go all gourmet on the potatoes, I CAN put all of my energy into this one thing instead of 400 little things. I CAN MAKE IT ALL ABOUT THE POTATOES!
And it works. Life is much more about living because I have a place to focus my neuroses--
say it with me-It's all about the potatoes.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Long, long ago, I had a dream. As my house burned, I turned away from the destruction and faced a dark forest. There was one path into the darkness--and my daughter, Abby, was lighting candles and placing them along the path.
For all of the candle-lighters along the way--thank you.
I am finally home.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
What are those lyrics again?
Time for you to go out
to the places you will be from.
Every new beginning
Comes from some other beginning's end."
No more digging through the past to try to connect the dots that answer the question "WHY?"
I already know the answers.
No more rehashing/reliving/what was done/who did it/how does it effect me now?
The only question I am interested in now is "Why not?"
What are those lyrics again?
Update: Seconds after I hit "Publish Post," I moseyed over to Heather's blog to see what's up with her...a little bit of Jesus, that's what.
"I am done reliving the past."
Do you hear Him laughing?