A single moment . . .

Posted on December 1, 2014 by oct17

I can do this; I can blog today–I know I can.

You are busy–after all, this is December 1, and the Christmas season has begun.  So you may not have time to read this, but I must write.  Words, thoughts, sentences–ideas to share  literally smother me these days.

Then why the vacant blog?  I will not apologize for the lapse of  words these past weeks.  But I just might.

I think my first blog years ago had to do with enjoying the moments–no matter what happens. Look for  little moments in the day to be cherished.  Even in the pain, the heartache, the hurt . . .

Well, you know what?  Some days just cannot be enjoyed easily –and I am learning that is OK, too. It is difficult to relish a single moment sometimes.

Tom and I had a lovely trip to the Northeast in October; much color was still visible, even though the peak had come and gone and so had all the tourists.    I mean we even saw snow on Mount Washington and were unable to drive to the top–one of our “musts” on the trip.  Every moment was fully appreciated.

How does one hike mountain paths, steep ones, walk up a slippery flume, get soaking wet standing  in awe at Niagara Falls and come home and catch a falling suitcase on the big toe the very next day?  I have tried to figure that one out for weeks now.

That’s not all—

Because of the type of break in the big toe which gives balance to walking, the Ortho doctor put me in a short boot preventing me from using it for that balance.  OK.  I can still enjoy the moments–after all, the only problem is that my shoes won’t match for a few weeks.

Listen to this.  The day AFTER  the  right boot became part of my fashion, I tripped over a concrete guide in a parking lot–just not accustomed to my shoes not matching.

I broke my patella–my left kneecap–a hard, very hard fall, the doctor said after an MRI.

I tried, I really did–to continue enjoying the days.  It didn’t matter that the knee brace was cumbersome, weighty and doesn’t exactly match my clothes.  I can walk.  And once I figured out how to get in the car and drive with it, I thought ,” I have this made; I can do this, too”.

After a few days of getting adjusted to a new way of walking, a new way of bending or not, I noticed  extreme lack of focus and creativity.  Guess it takes more energy to teach an old dog new ways .  And that is my apology!  🙂

Thanksgiving was different this past week.  Have you ever thanked God for a working knee?  The journey for me has taken a short detour; I only hope it doesn’t lead into a rut of despair.

“With your help, I can advance against a troop; with my God I can scale a wall.” Ps 18:29

I cannot run towards anything, and I , for sure, cannot climb over a wall–but with God as my source of strength, I desire to walk close enough to hear his whispers.

I want the pain, the parenthesis– to mean something, to somehow bring honor to my Lord’s great heart.  But I don’t know how to do that . . .

Not yet . . .

Oh, the soft words of Silent Night have just now filled my house for the first time –the season is here.  I will cherish this moment–now.

 

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It’s raining today . . .

Posted on October 7, 2014 by oct17

. . .this  morning  is saturated with moisture like thick  grey soup–a good day to be inside, dry, not stirring the heavy wetness.

“Into every life some rain must fall.”

I remember hearing a preacher say that, oh, so long ago when I was a teenager.   I have no remembrance of anything else  said  that Sunday morning; certainly an impressive spiritual truth was revealed.   I do remember that my heart was pierced with expectant pain—oh no, what storm will come? When?

I had always loved rain. Storms with loud claps of thunder and downpours sent me scurrying for safe haven, snuggling with a book.  Content in childish dreams, I listened to sheets of rain pelt the metal roof  of my grandfather’s hay barn.  Rain was that sweet relief on hot, humid days,  settling the dust–gifting us with  playtime in puddles.  How could it be something to fear?

I quickly made the transition from wet dripping rain to an ominous fear of life happenings.  Those words lingered long, causing worry as I expected and waited for the rains of discipline, heartache and sadness—even necessary rain dropped for growth. I must have heard only the negative side of “rain” that summer cloudless day.

Seasons of rain and sunshine brought balance on my journey, and I began to weather the rains of life as I had the rains in the dust without fear.  I was not strong enough to ask for rains that would spur growth or cause discipline, but at least I learned to survive the storms.

The rains fell . . .

It wasn’t long after those fearful words found entrance into my heart, I discovered it is possible to stay above water.  You can ride out a storm.  My parents divorced that year causing torrents of  sadness and heartache .  A few years later, Tom and I lost our second child at infancy, a small son with thick black hair just like his father’s. . . I plodded through more puddles.

Yesterday I addressed six notes, writing to friends in the middle of drenching storms.  Six– bombarded with a deluge of  pain, living in a flood zone of tears.  If I shared their storms, you, too, would sob–but you, too, could tell me stories of those you know who are drowning.

How does one find shelter in the rains?  Is it possible to stay dry?

Yesterday morning as I walked in the rain, a soft drizzle in the darkness,  I heard a rooster’s crow blend with doves’ melancholy morning calls; other birds soon joined in the unrehearsed pre-dawn chorus.  As morning came to light, their music erupted in a peak of praise.  And I thought, “they praise the Lord even when it rains.”

We can not stop the rains on the earth–wherein would we be nourished and flourished?  We could never live a rain-free life.

Nor can we escape the storms.  Yes, into every life some rain will fall, often with stormy circumstances.

But oh, the joy of being sheltered  under the umbrella of  a  God who cares, who loves with an unfailing love—even while allowing the rains to come.

“Does the rain have a father?” the Lord asked of Job. (38:28)

And yes, it does.

 

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A robin’s rules of order . . .

Posted on September 30, 2014 by oct17

 

163

Today, it’s empty.  The nest, shabby and lopsided,  sets like a permanent fixture in the branch of a fast fading crepe myrtle.

Only a few weeks ago  the summer flowering bush had been alive with countless comings and goings as Mama and Papa Robin gathered supplies  to build a snug retreat  right out my bathroom window.  My own reality show was about to begin   A  couple of days later when mama bird began nesting in her new home, I decided to snoop around and see how many babies would soon be chirping at the window.

I approached,  step-stool in hand,  as Mama  flew off with loud shrieking  and  considerable flapping of wings.  She was letting me know to stay away from her potential family.  Imagine my surprise when I saw no eggs–not one single egg  in the newly constructed nest.

Not one. . .zero . . .

The scene changed little the next days. She rarely left; I decided it was time to check again as she was regularly nesting.

No eggs, not one. . .

I suspected that Mama Bird may have laid them the first day or two.  And sometime between then and my first peek,  a snake, a blue jay, who knows what? –someone  enjoyed Eggs Benedict.   Perhaps, the brooding female  was spending an extra day or two  grieving.  Then she would  flee, pretending  nothing had happened.  Life would soon be back to normal.

BUT NO –she stayed alone in the leafy retreat for weeks.   Mother Robin  was  attentive and faithful to an empty nest, only leaving it  when I opened the window or came too near the bush.

What was she doing?  What  was she waiting on? Was she indeed grieving?  Do mother robins have an innate instinct that forces them to sit long, too long, on a nest of aborted babies?   Google could not answer my questions.

One predawn morning three weeks later , I  “asked” my routine, daily  questions of her as I opened the window.  For days now,  she  had refused to fly off and would look at me with saddened eyes –I  think  I may have  imagined those– 🙂

This particular morning those same questions suddenly stormed around me.  It was as  if this bird asked me.  What are you waiting on? How many times have you waited, held on to something that will never happen?  Remember how long you waited for an answer,  refusing to give up?   You kept hoping  –

you waited on your nest–.

Later that morning I watched the robin  hop to the edge of the nest, perching there for some minutes, seemingly letting go of memories, hopes–what was it?  Next, she was gone.   She never returned.  I think she must have known the principle in Isaiah 30:  “you will be delivered by returning and resting; your strength will lie in quiet confidence.” v15

Waiting–

The average American spends 38 hours a year stuck in traffic (more if you live in Los Angeles).   We all wait, wait, wait for somebody, something.      Waiting as the robin did  is a good waiting, a productive waiting.

A waiting  on God . . .

Sue Monk Kidd, a best selling author,  tells a story that reflects our often mistaken viewpoint on waiting.  She spent some time in a retreat at a monastery.  One day  she noticed a monk:

“He was sitting perfectly still beneath a tree. There was such reverence in his silhouette, such tranquil sturdiness, that I paused to watch. He was the picture of waiting.

“Later I sought him out. ‘I saw you today sitting beneath the tree—just sitting there so still. How is it that you can wait so patiently in the moment? I can’t seem to get used to the idea of doing nothing.’

“He broke into a wonderful grin. ‘Well, there’s the problem right there, young lady. You’ve bought into the cultural myth that when you’re waiting you’re doing nothing.’

“Then he took his hands and placed them on my shoulders, peered straight into my eyes and said, ‘I hope you’ll hear what I’m about to tell you. I hope you’ll hear it all the way down to your toes. When you’re waiting, you’re not doing nothing. You’re doing the most important something there is. You’re allowing your soul to grow up. If you can’t be still and wait, you can’t become what God created you to be.’”

I’m not sure about Mother Robin.  Was she wasting time, doing nothing–dreaming of  ‘what might be’.  Or did she need her heart, her soul, to grow up?

As I do . And how long do I wait?  Until I have become all God created me to be.

Nesting, waiting–becoming. . .waiting.

 

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More or Less . . .

Posted on September 22, 2014 by oct17

hummingbirds 2 I know why hummingbirds are the smallest birds–weighing less than a nickel.  A smaller  species’ weight is  under a penny.   It  appears  they rarely eat!  I know, I know–supposedly they eat more than  their weight in nectar daily, but the ones at my feeders and flowers are fighting family more than they are feasting.

Hummingbirds have the highest metabolism rate of any animal other than insects, and therefore, these tiny flying miracles  are continuously hours away from starving to death. They are able to store just enough energy to survive overnight.

So because they are always starving, this species of bird must protect its food sources;  they are constantly on guard for an intruder as they try to get a quick gulp of sweet liquid. Fiercely territorial, competing for food, they have no desire to share with anyone.

This morning was a frightening day of bedlam at the feeder.  Evidently, migration has begun when extra weight is required for the small birds. This is not the time to be nice.  There was ample sweet nectar; plenty of places at the table–but  no bird got near the feeder for hours.  Six tiny birds went at one another like Kawasaki bomber pilots; they soared only to return in savage force to attack an approaching  hungry hummer.  I was in the cross fire trying to bring calmness–it didn’t  work.

Two male Ruby throated hummingbirds collided head-on and landed at my feet.  I couldn’t believe all the pandemonium over food–isn’t it much safer to share?  I guess if you live in a perpetual state of starvation,  you might fight over a morsel.

I wasn’t sure whether to smile at their antics or cry at their selfishness.  All the fighting seemed entirely futile–there was enough sweet nectar for  each one.

Now these beautiful, fun to watch guests in my garden are just made that way.  It is their innate nature to be exclusive, miserly and self-centered;  they can’t help what they do and how they act to protect their food source. .  .

but can I?  What about my disbelief and disobedient foolishness to protect me–to guard mine?

Does my  heavenly Father laugh or cry?

Competition can  keep me from enjoying sweet nectar. How much  would I share if there were ‘just’ enough?   I want to believe that this journey to now is not a journey for more. . .

“Better a dry crust with peace
than a house full of feasting with strife. ” Proverbs 17:1  (Message)

Dare I live contented . . .

(If you click on the picture to enlarge it you can see the “hum” of wings  of both 🙂

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Time . . .lost or found

Posted on September 15, 2014 by oct17

Where did it go? I am so upset! I spent hours writing thoughts to you last week re. a mama robin sitting weeks on an empty nest, and now it is no where to be found –the blog, not the nest:-)

Whatever will I do as I am surely missing you these days? While I try to reconstruct that blog or try to find it somewhere in cyber space,  I will send  one that I wrote another day after a prolonged absence from blogging:

It has been weeks since I have written a page on this journey of life. Time is that one element in life that gallops like flames on dry desert plains. It claims everything in sight, leaving charred remains. The blackened horizon will, in time, bloom with fresh life–days and relationships renewed, restored and refurbished. But for NOW,  disserted embers smolder among the desires of dreams and imperatives.

Time–a raging fire, knows no boundaries. Good things consume days until there is no room for the best. Disappointments and sorrows, too, take a toll, and smoke dark can obscure the sunshine even in the day time.

So this journey of weeks past  has been found or lost  with issues of life –trivial, yes, even important, good, mundane. Oh, but how often, the best was left hidden and undone.

The day is beautiful here. Grass is Irish green. Birds feed and frolic at the feeders outside my window. It is one of those days that declares: “God’s in His heavens; all’s right with the world.” (Robert Browning) And I know–we know— that is will be true–ultimately, one day.

The one place time moves slowly is in my back yard. And often, I am found just wandering there.

But I am much too introspective–too much with the hurting of those in my ‘sphere of love’ to go tripping through these racing hours without time spent grieving with and for them. I have allowed myself the privilege of getting off the merry-go-round of expectation (my own) and acceleration (all I want to do).

Solitude has been a sweeter companion.

Can you imagine that in three months it will be Christmas time? I so desire that my days, this gift of time– be spent in hallowed relationships, in bringing smiles to saddened lives, in nurturing the famished.  In timely blogging 🙂

Sitting at the feet of the One who loves me most and loves you most–this extinguishes the lapping flames of urgent demands and allows me time to  . . .

“Be still and know . . .” Psalm 46:10

Let be and be still . . . (Amplified)

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Remember the best . . .

Posted on August 25, 2014 by oct17

“It was not homesickness,” my daughter began. “It was a sense of sweet memory that grabbed me and held me tight. Mom, suddenly, I wanted to be eight years old again.

“I was preparing breakfast for my family on a Sunday morning and suddenly I was frozen in time. I wanted to be at home, my home– with my mother and daddy and my siblings –getting ready for church on Sunday morning. I remembered how exciting Sunday mornings were; I loved to go. I loved to hear my daddy preach. I am not sure why, but all the comfort and security of being loved and in that home brought tears and an instant longing to “go home again”.

And I cried too, at the sharing in her moment.

But Thomas Wolfe says “you can never go home again.”

Some things in the world do stay the same– they are always home: the waves in their relentless pursuit to find the shore, the sun in its eastern morning trek to its western rest; the moon on its unbroken cycle. Multiple moments in life are steady and unchangeable; they calm our days –giving us security that all is well.

Last week I passed a vintage car from the 60’s. For a moment, I wanted to be a teenager again. I wanted to go back–to relive those unhurried, all important, carefree years.

Even though the beautiful now moments are peppered with sadness, anxiety, heartache–would I really want to go anywhere other than here, now? Memory is a beautiful gift–if we remember the good, the best of moments we were given.

The word “remember” is used again and again in the Bible to remind us to remember days, a covenant, the goodness and unfailing love of God. Remember, remember . . .We are reminded in Jeremiah 6 to remember the ancient paths; not only are we to ask for them, we are told to walk in them. And then in Isaiah 43 we are told to forget the former things and to be open to something new. Where is a balance in going home and being content in today’s moment?

To live content is to live in the moment, in the present. But how precious are memories, those tucked far away–. Sometimes we need to pull back the curtain, remembering sights and sounds-smells that hug us. And we smile; we feel secure–all is OK. Covered with a warm security blanket, we can re-enter our busy everyday world.

 

And always remember this . . .

We will remember we will remember
We will remember the works of Your hands
We will stop and give You praise
For great is Thy faithfulness.
You’re our Creator, our life Sustainer,
Deliverer, our comfort, our joy.
Throughout the ages You’ve been our shelter
Our peace in the midst of the storm . . .
(by Tommy Walker)

Remembering the best–forgetting the rest.
 

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To see – or not to see. . .

Posted on August 12, 2014 by oct17

Mirror, mirror on the wall, do you see me when I laugh . . .?

I have been rehearsing this blog for days–and was going to share thoughts on focus when wearing glasses. I have noticed it takes me much longer cleaning the kitchen when I wear my glasses–much longer. I “see” more dirt left behind than I saw without glasses. Those smudges, smears and spots go unnoticed when I “clean” –even fiercely, without proper lens.

But—I lost my glasses yesterday at the grocery store. Retracing my steps, searching shelves and checkouts without success–I am somewhat “seeing” challenged.

This morning, I sit here at the computer screen thinking not of glasses, but of Robin Williams. Last evening, news quickly touched us all concerning his death. Once noted as the funniest man alive– today, Williams is dead. Media glimpses a life filled with depression and addiction.

Through drugstore ‘readers'(what Americans call cheap glasses just for reading), I look deeply into those blue eyes staring back at me. Hundreds of images on the web from Williams’ movies, interviews, live shows reveal the struggle if you look intently, soberly–

in the eyes.

I see a childlike innocence, a gentle asking –“someone tell me what life is all about? Is it more than laughter? Have I missed something?”

I loved his gentleness, his kind heart depicted in Patch Adams. Seeing past the scenes, we get a peek into the comedian’s heart. In hindsight, we may have discerned his questions- those he wrestled with if we had noticed. Williams made us all laugh–

while he was crying.

A few pictures among the many feature him in glasses. But the eyes still depict sadness–the glasses didn’t help. Williams allowed us to see into his troubled life as he openly admitted his struggles through the years.

The psalmist David cried often to his God, “I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God.” Psalm 69: 3

Even though I have lost my glasses, I pray I have clear perception to focus on those around me who may be crying–not with noticeable tears, but with tears hidden beneath the laughter.

20-20 vision. That’s what I desire on this journey–to see with His eyes.

(I just may blog on glasses and focus next week.)

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Beginning . . .

Posted on August 9, 2014 by oct17

I wonder if you are like me when Saturday comes.

I awaken with a nightmarish chill from the leisurely breakfast I am enjoying on the deck with Tom and the birds. I suddenly remember my to-do list of the week and realize most dreams and plans scribbled in hope and anticipation on Monday are not checked off.

A friend remarked this week, “it is so sad that life gets in the way of living.” Everyday life — urgent, priority, demanding stuff— appointments, schedules, meetings, laundry, dinner preparation, shopping for dinner–the list is endless– but it just happens.

I feel a lot like Paul when he said he did what he didn’t want to do and never did those things he wanted to do. (Of course, he was speaking of more spiritual matters–or was he?)

Necessary is just that; it has to be. Oh, but how often I neglect the truly special, soft tender moments of genuine living for the urgent. I want to make time for those things that give reason, purpose and joy to the pressing minutes of my day.

Early morning quiet times give focus and clarity with the Father, but then frantic takes over. You wouldn’t believe that blogging is important to me, would you? I appreciate you that “follow” my journey to now; your comments connect us on the journey. I so want to check in with you each week, to share an insight, a moment of reality in a day. Dare I make a promise to you and to me? I will check this one important work off my list every week.

But right now, I am running out the door to mow the back yard. I will meet you on Tuesday next.

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Trapped–for a time . . .

Posted on July 16, 2014 by oct17

Bang–the metal door snapped shut. I felt as guilty as an accomplice in a terrible crime.

The squirrels had become a nuisance in the yard and gardens; now that they seemed to have lost their fear of the trap, we were on a mission to relocate them to a better place.

Earlier I had baited and waited for that door to shut.
I had not anticipated the remorse I might feel as one after the other cute little rodents lost their freedom. Well . . . for a short time.

I watched the first squirrel cautiously grasp the sunflower seeds placed at the entrance to the trap. His cravings overcame any sense of suspicion of the metal cage. The determined animal soon accelerated that process— grabbing as many as he could. The plump squirrel had no idea he had unsuspectingly entered the point of entrapment–until the door banged shut. There was no way out. He panicked for a moment and then returned to satisfy his immediate desires.

Really, you can’t blame him for following the seed trail. After all, squirrels love those seeds. But curiosity and appetite led him unknowingly into the trap. As long as there were plenty of seeds within the prison walls or until the rodent was completely satisfied , the squirrel didn’t mind the locked door.

But—after feasting on all remaining morsels, the caged animal went wild. Racing, panic-stricken back and forth, he screamed, “Get me out of here; I promise, I’ll never eat another seed.”

My calming words, informing him that he would soon be free–free in a more wooded area, did nothing to placate him. He was stressed, frantic and aggressive. The longer he was trapped his behavior became totally erratic.

It was only later in the woods when I released the secure latch, allowing him to run to the nearest tree that the squirrel knew freedom and stopped his wild behavior.

While watching this live set up, I was abruptly made aware of how easily and innocently I can be trapped. There are moments when selfishness and cravings overcome any sense of reason. Time and again my curiosity and appetite entice me into moments of pleasure and temporary satisfaction.

If I listen to the Deceiver and take the bait, then I am trapped. . . there is no way out.

I panic, I cry, I promise . . .

As my desperate cry of genuine repentance and helplessness reaches the Father’s ears, he hears. Immediately He releases the trap door, and I return to freedom.

“Free me from the trap that is set for me, for you are my refuge. Psalm 31:4 In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free. Psalm 118:5

Frantic for freedom!

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Smelling God . . .

Posted on July 1, 2014 by oct17

“We ignore the smell of Deity”, warns C.S. Lewis in Letters to Malcolm concerning appropriate adoration to our God. He says it is the inattention we give to events and pleasures all around us.

We each ‘wear’ our own personal scent–some joyfully sweet, others painfully obnoxious. My grandchildren equate various scents to me. Two of the girls were driving through garlic fields in California last year and suddenly shouted, “Oh, this smells just like Gram”. I question that is a sweet fragrance!

How do you describe a fragrance? A rose–well, it smells like a rose–sweet, perfumey. What about fresh bread from the oven? One of my favorite smells is the first burst when “opening” an orange. It evokes memories of long ago Christmases, but the smell–it is just orangey. Describing a scent is notoriously difficult.

So how does Deity smell?

God’s presence hovers the atmosphere. It is more than the fragrance of sweet peas and lilacs. Or freshly mowed grass, Or rain and wind. Can you smell the sun? I have a “sun-shine” closet–linens dried in the sun fill the shelves, and I breathe deeply of Deity. We must see pass the “thing”, the event, and simply adore God. There is no place for analyzing and dissecting.

For me, early morning is heavily seasoned with the scent of His security, His comfort. His great love is bound in the whispers of the wind, stirring the leaves. I walk, holding hands with the Creator. I inhale–celebrating this moment–Now.

God’s presence permeates all of life. Never do I want to ignore the “smell” of His presence. I desire to fully see, smell, taste and feel the goodness of my Father while I walk this journey.

“Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered (smelled and adored, my words!)) by all who delight in them.” Psalm 111: 2

Inhaling Deity . . . today.

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