the escape hatch

make some NOISE!

2012-01-27T09:14:00.000-08:00

Are you quiet or loud?

I was a very loud child. But as I grew older...I became quiet. Convinced no one was interested in what I might have to say.
...I used to be quiet.

In many ways, I still am...I only speak when I have something to say. I suppose that means I have more to say now than ever before. I am convinced that, like me, you also have something to say. Someone needs to hear what is going on inside of you. Someone needs to be encouraged by your struggle. Someone needs to know that they are not alone. Someone needs to know that you've been there, and you got through this.

If you have something to say and you're bursting at the seems with silence...the time to release what you've got is now.

When you have gone through your time of pondering, being hidden in your quiet place where ideas grow and formulate...find your footing and stand firm. Then tell someone around you where you've been. Encourage someone. Talk about it. Make yourself accountable. And when you stumble, cry out for a hand...it's closer than you think. Don't stay silent. Call out for it. We all need each other. We need to hear your story.

Check that the foundation under your feet is secure. When you see it, be amazed. It's an extravagant gift. He won't let you be put to shame. When you choose to open your gift and stand, don't keep your mouth shut...MAKE SOME NOISE!!!

People need to know what you've found. What you've discovered. I want to see what is planted inside of you because it is precious, unique, and powerful. Share it. Breathe life into your progress by telling someone else.

"Preach it all...Preach the entire message to them...[let] the noise reverberate all over the earth; everyone everywhere hears it.'"

Jeremiah 25:30 (MSG)

The fight that's worth it.

2011-12-19T22:28:00.001-08:00

“For my birthday I got a humidifier and a de-humidifier...
I put them in the same room and let them fight it out.”

-Steven Wright

Last week, after school I was presented with a ticket to a very special hockey game that was about to commence in the Upstairs Loft, Row 1, Seat 1, in short order. The ticket was from my seven year old son, Isaac. He also made a separate ticket for Eden, and one for Roxy, the dog.

While he was waiting for us to “arrive” at the game (I needed time to make tea), the players practised on the “ice.” When we arrived, I realized that there was no one to sing the National Anthems (gasp), so I grabbed a nearby drumstick and stole the honour for myself. Isaac waited patiently for the ridiculous part of the show to end, feigning interest. After I was done or mostly done (no...I don’t know all the words to the "Star Spankled Manner"), I took my spot in the seating area.

ã 2011 Isaac Bedwell, All Rights Reserved
As you can see from the ticket, the Montreal Canadiens were playing the Bruins. Or something like that. It gets complicated from there because there is only one player and he has 10 different names, and 6 different positions. At any point there could be a handful of players in the penalty box and no one ever knows where the referee really went. I do try to pay attention.

But my biggest challenge is trying to figure out which team to cheer for because I can’t tell whose side my Isaac is actually on.

Isaac is a “fighter.” You see, he can be on anyone’s team at any time, and because he transfers his enthusiastic play-by-play to favour whomever is winning at the time, it is difficult to focus. On one hand, I suppose it makes for good entertainment because you never know who is going to win, but personally, I find that I really enjoy the intermission: This is the part of the game where Roxy is allowed on the ice to play (I make circus music while she chases the ball).

I’m getting to my point. You almost have to see it to believe it. It happens when the offense goes in for the score. The most impressive part is the interaction between the offensive player and goalie. Isaac will actually stand in net and chip the puck backwards towards himself with his stick and dive to save it with his body.

My point is that on that day, Isaac was fighting against himself.

Some days we are not much different. We beat ourselves up over things that we can not possibly control and were not responsible for.

You see, although Isaac is always scoring, he is also always being scored on.

And every day you fight for something.

Some fight themselves.
Some fight those around them.
     Some fight to stay alive.
        Some fight to believe again.
          ...And some fight to live with JOY.

I get it. We all do. It’s part of being human. You were born to fight for something.

But sometimes in our "fight or flight" spontaneous reaction, we can fight the wrong thing.
...Sometimes we forget, and save our punches for people who are on the same team.

Today...save your energy for the battle that matters.

“My heart and kidneys are fighting each other; Call a truce to this civil war.”

-Psalm 25:17 (MSG)

I want change.

2011-12-11T20:57:00.002-08:00

Routine is a cherished commodity in my day. Peace and Joy dance alongside when it happens, and it welcomes my day with the kiss of predictability. Uhhh...well, on the days that it exists, it does. Admittedly, there are a few pressing times a year that the life of my routine becomes threatened like a goldfish cracker in a room of pre-schoolers:
Christmas and Summer.

This time of year is wonderful, don't get me wrong. Every year my routine is challenged, I get better at rolling with the punches, but, I have to admit, this has taken practice.

Case in point: A few nights ago I decided that I was going to challenge my routine: Tonight, I am going to sleep on my back, I decided. Why? Simply because, I never sleep on my back. I was stuck in a routine. And, this one was harder than I thought to get out of. It didn't feel natural. I kept wanting to roll to my side. I couldn't get sleepy. All for the sake of challenging my routine, I refused to give in, and I am happy to announce that I have successfully fallen asleep on my back for three entire nights. Just because. And, no, I didn't stay that way (I'd need different tools if I were going to challenge my unconscious mind)...but I fell asleep that way, and thus, survived.
Did I like it?
NO!
Was it good for me?
Sure.
Let's say it was.
I'm challenging my sense of control this year...by intentionally losing it, one day at a time.

Some might say: "Mayhem! Anarchy! Pointless challenge!"
I say: Baby steps, people, baby steps.

Yesterday my son's advent calendar was driving me CRAZY. I think most, if not all of the little doors were open. OPEN!! We're talking 11 days of doors here. Just to demonstrate to him how I felt, I opened all the cupboard doors in the kitchen and told him that what he was doing with his calendar was like if I left the kitchen like this.

His reply: "So, what's wrong with that?" (Apparently he has missed the memo that says a kitchen with all the cupboard doors shut is a happy kitchen.) I had to explain that if doors were meant to be open all the time, they wouldn't be needed. I'd like to say that he has had a revelation about the "why" in door-keeping duties, but after leaving the front door of the house wide open tonight for over an hour, I realized that I was the one being challenged here.

So I...instead of trying to bring him over to my side (because who says my way is the only way?), have been faced with the reality that I must first change myself.

I guess you could say I have been inspired by the daily journey of the wisemen in our house. They started their trek towards the star 11 days ago. Every year, they travel around the house (at night of course, that's the only time they can see the star)...and it takes the poor lads the better part of the month to find the baby. Already the journey has been treacherous: there has been no semblance of routine for them. They don't even know where they are getting their next meal from! Already they've travelled aboard pirate ships and housesat at Barbie's house, and one of them keeps losing his head. Twice. But they're not dead yet (ie. the dog hasn't got them yet). And, although they make the journey every year, not even the routing is predictable. Each night they have no clue what to expect.

And although I am far from a wooden wisemen, I am learning to let a little spontaneity fill my day a little bit more during this season. It's my gift to myself.

"Later, a great many people from the Gerasene countryside got together
and asked Jesus to leave—
too much change, too fast, and they were scared.
So Jesus got back in the boat and set off."

(Luke 8:37 MSG)

I don't want you to miss out on what God has for you because you are afraid of change. God help us.

Buh-Bye Ol' Buddy Ol' Pal

2011-11-25T14:10:00.000-08:00

November 22nd was like any other day, except that it was my last day with glasses. I sat down late that night to write a tribute in my journal that I would like to share with you, and ask you to join me in saying
farewell to a very, very old friend.

I can say that I will miss their sense of style - even waaay back in the 80s when they were larger than tennis balls and thicker than pop bottles, with a thick red chord tied behind my ears to keep them from slipping down my (then) tiny nose.

They were always there for me, even when I couldn't see them. It wasn't their fault they got lost when they were only inches away. That would have been hard on anyone's ego...let alone a pair of glasses whose entire purpose of being noticed, seen, and assisting in sight was what they were created for. There were quite a few misunderstandings about this over the years, but we always moved on without much of a fight. After all, at the time, we were made for each other.

It was the day that the dog got them and chewed through the arms that I knew their life was limited. Those ones were brand new. I couldn't keep doing this. It was a sign that their presence in my life, their importance, my total dependence, was somehow waning, and a new alternative option was becoming very evident.

Two days post surgery I sit here on my computer and laugh because of all the things that seem to be the same, and all the things that have changed. My house is dirtier. The Christmas lights at night are prettier. And when I see myself now, I've changed. There is nothing in between me and the mirror anymore, it's just me. No smudges, scratches, dirt. I blink, and I'm still clear. Well, I mean, there is dirt on the mirror that I never noticed before...

I'm soooo happy. But an old friend of mine is sitting in front of me in a tiny black coffin, and I don't know what to do with them. A life has been lived with them, like it or not. They have held a place on my (growing) nose for over 27 years. I have cleaned them, bent them (bad dream), broke them down the middle (cold day), replaced them, popped the lenses out of them (raking), scratched them, lost them, and found them again. Many years of sight have been made possible because of them. But now what? Do I keep them? Frame them (pun intended)? Throw them away? Give them to a poor blind soul who wouldn't mind the scratches, dog-chewed arms, or customized, one-of-a-kind very high prescription? I don't know. I hold loosely, yet I treasure the sight made possible once upon a time...

Yet, too soon, I will forget a life spent with old limitations. Now, the same. But different. Vulnerable in an entirely new way. Possibility is now at my doorstep. New things, great things, are on my bucket list that were never there before. Like running in the rain. And I can't wait to reach what was once very difficult before.

What is your old limitation...once a friend, now a reminder of the past? How much does your new possibility have in store for you?

First item on my list: run in the rain.

"He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it."
-Phil. 1:16

just doing what it takes to get the fish

2011-04-28T23:17:00.000-07:00

Clumps of mud fall off his too-big too-blue gum boots as David carries his "load" of goodies to the middle of the bridge. Gingerly, he places the full pail of tackle he "borrowed" from his dad on the bridge. With this much bait, he'd better catch something good, and he just knew that today was
...his day.
He shrugged off the pressure as he began to tune into the sound of the rushing stream flowing underneath him, and the excited feeling of potential calmed his twisted tummy better than eating a handful of jelly beans.

Pulling the specially selected fishing stick out of his back pocket, he felt guilty for only a brief moment as he pulled a strand of yarn out of his bucket that he had snagged from his grandma's knitting bag. Ahhhh...beautiful bucket...full of...
worms.

Adventure wasn't a word he really knew the definition of, and he didn't know how to spell it either (neither would he have really cared that he couldn't unless his sister kept reminding him)...but he knew he was on one.
A big one.
So...Tying one end of the string with the best knot he knew how to the stick and then around a big juicy worm, he flung it over the edge of the bridge waiting to hear the sound of the plop, just like dad's.

It must have been pure bliss in his imagination, because the sound of the plop was juuuuust right, so when he waited 30 seconds and hadn't caught a fish yet, he wondered what could have possibly gone wrong! He climbed up the side of the railing to get a good look at the situation.

Narrowing for his inspector eyes, he analyzed the situation for a brief moment. He couldn't see that the worm was slipping off, the string didn't reach the water, nor that the jelly beans (yep they were real) were starting to color the water funny shades of blue and green...and niether did he care. He had waited all his life for this moment and no one could take away the pride he'd feel from catching his first fish all on his own.

This couldn't have been more glorious.

Well, except for the fish part. Or lack of fish part.
Patience.
He popped another handful of jelly beans into his mouth so he could bear waiting another 45 seconds tops. Oh yes, he was patient.

Without further adieu, he cast worry aside and began to reel in on his imaginary Lamiglas extra fast action rod and breathed a sigh of determination: Nothing could hold this boy back...for he was going to catch a
fish.
And he had an idea.

No sooner had the (brilliant) idea popped in his head than he had flung the bucket of worms over the side of the bridge, dumping them all (yep...all) into the water. He climbed up on the railing again to watch them squirm, bob, and float. He marveled at the way they seemed to swim downstream, beckoning the fish if they dared.

What happened next can only be told in a story like this one. We can't be quite sure it actually happened. While no one was looking, David could spare no more time.

In a moment of sheer insanity, he flung his stick to the side, grabbed the empty pail, and ran to the bottom of the bridge. At the edge of the water, he paused only long enough to wonder how proud mom would be if he wore his boots in the biggest puddle ever. And in he went.
All in.

The water was cold. He didn't notice.
He lost all his worms. He didn't care.
The fishing rod of his wildest imagination didn't work. He didn't worry.

Carefully, he pushed the bucket under the water, watching it fill up quickly with cold water, a worm, green swirls, and...a minnow!

Fish: captured.
Mission: accomplished.
Adventure: cold. wet. messy.
Childhood: restored.

He could hardly wait to eat it.
His fish.

THE END

"Just think—you don't need a thing, you've got it all!
All God's gifts are right in front of you
as you wait
expectantly
for Jesus to arrive on the scene for the Finale.
And not only that, but God himself is right alongside to keep you steady and on track until things are all wrapped up by Jesus.
God, who got you started in this spiritual
adventure,
shares with us the life of his Son and our Master Jesus.
He will never give up on you. Never forget that."

(1 Cor 1:7 MSG)

The sooner you give up, the better...

2011-03-09T14:16:00.000-08:00

What is a flaming arrow?

I'd have to say most of the time (for me) they are bad thoughts.

Many times when we are sent flaming arrows from the enemy, we turn our backs to them, because they are shameful and hurt our pride. It seems like a good enough protective stance, after all, if a bear were attacking, this is the position we would naturally fall into.

However, because we are facing the wrong way, what the enemy says about us begins to seep in. We take on what he says as though it is truth. When you begin believing the lies, you will begin feeling these things:
    tired,
          overwhelmed,
                         confused,
        guilt & shame,
and lack of time to do what you want to do.

Although it is human nature to think you are protecting yourself by turning your back to the flaming arrows, you are actually just suffering silently. For a while, your shoulders seem to tolerate the burden. After all, the temptations are ugly, and they stink like garbage. Nobody would want to know. But because our backs are facing the wrong direction, the enemy keeps us silent. When we are silent, he has us isolated. Alone. Heavy. And suffering.

God allows it because you're shouldering your own burden, and you haven't realized you can't beat it on your own yet.

This is just a call to turn around!! NOW!!!

I just want to encourage you to turn around and face the enemy. That way the glory of God can be your rear guard. Call out what you're feeling. Call out the crap. Tell the truth and admit what you've been thinking. Confront the lies and confess what you've been dealing with. Tell God how you feel. What you lack. How needy you are to push through, and how you can't get any better on your own.

When you do this, you are resisting the devil, and he has no choice but to flee.

Take a load off.

Give up.

Give in.

finally showing partiality...

2011-02-20T21:05:00.000-08:00

Today I discovered why I call this blog my "escape hatch" (it takes me a while, but eventually my brain catches up to my fingers). I want to write about how life feels like standing on the latch of a trap door that will release at any moment. But that door is actually not a trap, it's an escape. A welcome Paradox in it's primitive form.

For instance, having "preferences" is one of those areas that I thought was a trap, but lately I've been experiencing it as an escape. In the past, I felt GUILT for having "Preferences"...I was suckered in by my own comparisons that seemed to tell me that I needed to embrace a wide array of colors in order to be open-minded and approachable. Anything else was just intolerance...or so I thought.

Meanwhile, trapped by my overgrown garden of "everything"...I never stopped wondering why I felt so inspired by Simplicity. And Uniqueness.

In the name of Maturity, I thought I had to like everything. I steered clear of ever becoming a hateful favortist (new word) engaged in snobbery of the worst kind: knowing what you like. After all, if I knew what I liked, then that means there's something I don't like, and that means that I'm being cruel to something.

But lately, I've allowed myself to embrace a preference or two, if just for the fun of it. I mean, if mosquitoes can have preferences, why can't I?

In the meantime, I've had a lot of scary fun.
And discovered that having preferences means I'm different.
Embracing them means I'm weird.
...And sharing them means I'm now okay with it

So I'd like to introduce you to 3 things I like and don't like...in celebration of my new sense of Maturity. Don't be alarmed. I'm not a snob...I'm just discovering who I am.

1. I prefer the Thesaurus over the Dictionary 100:1
2. I prefer dark chocolate (85% cocoa) over any other kind (55% is like fake DARK)
3. I prefer Starbucks to...anything else. The day Tim Hortons makes me a decaf tall soy extra hot americano misto light water with foam and half sweet caramel I'll re-consider

OK. Those were the only three I could think of. I'll work on getting some more.

Inspired? or Disgusted?
I promise I'll still love you if you want to meet at Tim Hortons for a double-double and white chocolate. If you bring your Dictionary maybe you could teach me a new word and I'll expound upon it for you...

words I love

2011-01-17T21:41:00.000-08:00

these are the words I love
and why
I do:

scuttle: is more than a word. it's a thing that reaches deep inside like a tickle and frolics around my house like popcorn that is never eaten up

storm: because it describes in one word what is going on with a flood of emotion that could not be otherwise described

longing: the hunger for more that never goes away. I carry longing like a spare pair of shoes that fit every situation...whether sweatpants, jeans or dress

thesaurus: describes an old house filled with empty rooms of potential...of which there is always more...And it's alive like a mischievous mouse that screeches when you catch it! Gotchya!! you rapacious rat

red: is the color of expansion (there is always room for red)

recipe: the villian I love to hate. secretly, I mull it over with momentary consideration...but my favorite part of this word is the JOY that comes from conquering its suffocating contract of mere suggestion

wonder: because there is always time to stop everything for it

promise: the substance of what I cling to but don't deserve to have. always remembering, hoping, reminding, and pursuing

"His words are kisses,

His kisses words.

Everything about Him

delights me,

thrills me

through and through!

That's my Lover..."

(Song of Solomon 5:10, The Message)

killing time

2010-12-01T17:01:00.017-08:00

Mario Andretti once said "If everything seems under control, you're just not going fast enough."

November was that month for me...and today marks the offical farewell to it forever (honest...it was true when I started writing this and now it's 4 days later).

So, in tribute to time, I was marveling how SPEED is something that terrifies me.

Once, when I was skiing with my brother, he told me to go straight down this hill in order to maintain enough momentum to get up the small hill just ahead. He took off, like brothers do...and made it look easy. I started out okay. Really. Until I decided that I was now going "too fast" and I needed to get off the ride. Now.

So, at the fastest point of my descent, I sat down. (Shortly thereafter I turned into a glistening snowball...)

There's something to that "not being in control" stuff that hurts just as much. I'm fully aware that being in control is really only a facade anyway. It's something we convince ourselves we have in order to feel secure. Ultimately, I know I am not in control of anything (except for my attitude).

But acknowleding that I am not in control is still scary. Especially when it starts to snowball (like my body did that day), and when I realize the universe actually has always existed without my control, and will continue to exist without my control. The point is...only One really has it all wrapped around His little finger. God does. Nothing surprises Him. Not the flu, not stolen cars, not your brand new allergy to dairy. (He even knows where your missing keys are.)

He is in control of everything we are not. (All who trust Him enter a corporate sigh of relief here.)

THE END

(Oh...and Misty, that means there is no fear in losing control over your speed either. Next time enjoy the ride.)

Get real.

2010-11-18T13:21:00.007-08:00

Today I was doing some research.
My project was to write a monologue for the Christmas play about "going through the motions." I began my search on-line by looking for a blog because I assumed that would be a place where real people would share their thoughts and struggles on how mundane the ordinary can be at times. Instead, what I found was the author of every blog talking about how "those people" need to "do this" and "fix that." I didn't find one place where the author acknowledged that they currently struggled with it in any way. What is a blog for if you can't admit your failings? Why do they think we can heal themselves by pointing out how to fix everyone else's issues? I thought a blog was a place of being real.
Confess.
Discuss.
Fart.
Slam your finger in the door and tell the world your life is out of control.

Apparently it is also a soapbox with no burden of authenticity.

Front porch night

2010-10-31T19:03:00.010-07:00

Sun light off...Porch light on
Another year has come and gone
On this day, I am never more aware of footsteps on my porch.
Stomp. Stomp. Ding. Dong.
Gimme candy. Sing a song.
Blue beards, green foreheads, and rumpled wrinkles greet me with toothless grins and eyeballs patched
Expressions of fear, exhuberance, and sorrow are matched
with varying ages,
and decomposed stages
Begging me for candy with crackled voices, pillow cases, and
suspect faces
Screaming in the distance!
Yet so much persistence...
Illegal fireworks, crisp leaves, running feet
jumping on my porch to meet
my very placid, skin-colored, normal face.
Still they come.
To meet the dead flowers still in pots
Two pumpkins with low watts
I scuttle to my door again
and scratch my brain
on no other night but this
For memories of my childhood call me to
reminisce.

Peace of Cake

2010-10-24T16:42:00.029-07:00

I don't know about you, but at the core of my being, I long to please God.

This is more easily done than said
(It's awkward to say, feels selfish, demanding, spoiled.)
But it's true, nonetheless, for I love Him, and I want to know if He is pleased
with me...?

Something else lingers at the core of my being
It's confidence,
a quiet place of contentment,
where I know that I do please God.

For no sooner does the question leave my lips then I just know
He is smiling.
It has nothing to do with my actions, but everything to do with
who I am.
And who He is.
For I am His beloved. And He is mine.

Thus, my thoughts form a rippled reflection of the fruit of PEACE in my life...
a pocket-sized portion of its manifestation in my walk.

Sometimes Peace doesn't come until I quiet myself
But it is always there,
waiting for me.

Other times Peace weeps for me
as I struggle against its current,
fighting,
striving for it,
not realizing I am already
immersed
and would flow freely if I just
rest
trust
go

If Peace is a river, I am baptized in it.

Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.
I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be
afraid."

But I fear what I do not
understand.
And when I stand at the edge of a
swiftly flowing river
it appears chaotic and scary
because I don't understand
the flow of the currents.

Once I begin to recognize that the
currents of Peace
are made up of distinct features…
pathways begin to open up in the middle of life's chaos.

The pathway
is not passive
Nor is it aggressive
It's deliberately
in between
conquering
anxiety and doubt
Always flowing
around the rocks
the currents
deep and shallow
fresh and foul
lie just beneath the surface
edges defined clearly
yet surging in season
spreading life
wherever it goes

"You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast,

because he trusts in you."

Ps. 26:3

the History of Famous Inventions

2010-08-29T17:50:00.012-07:00

Do you ever wonder who first discovered popcorn? I think about it all the time. In fact, I'm convinced it happened when a dirty, naked man in a bat cave threw his cob of corn into a fire and...POP! was followed by SCREAM! ...then...ahhhhh...melted butter and salt.

Just yesterday my daughter proudly proclaimed that I was an Inventor because I had just baked muffins out of nothing. While every mother longs to hear that she has been endowed with the honor of just having invented something profitable to the human race, it left no smirk of pride on my face. While it is true that a "Muffin Recipe" is merely a formality to which I owe no debt, I did not feel the same sense of accomplishment that she did. Where has my sense of awe gone?

So today, my friends, with a fresh squeeze of lime in my eye, I am taking back my awe.

Join me in support of a freshly composted Campaign for Apprehending your Imagination to Recognize the Inventor you have Wrongfully Brushed Aside.

I...Am an Inventor. Yesterday, I took some flour and agave syrup and berries, and made magic with them.

My daughter is an Inventor. Within hours proceeding my invention, she invented the first hand-stitched, twist-tie purse made of rags, string, and colored with markers. Brown on one side, yellow on the other...so that you can change it depending on your mood. (There is even a hole for getting rid of those pesky pennies nobody wants.)

My son is an Inventor. As I write this, he is in the midst of inventing another language. It doesn't matter if you are a pirate or knight or princess; you can understand this language. But if you're regular, plain, and boring as white bread...you will be stung with the blank stare of disbelief.

I have a Friend who is an Inventor. He sees me as I am, but also as I should be. With Him I am encouraged to be myself without being afraid of what that looks like and whether it fits in or not...He invented
Love
Fire
Mercy
Flying
Rain
...and popcorn kinda pales in comparison.

A little tweet

2010-08-06T20:11:00.004-07:00

As I go out in the evenings to water my garden, I can almost taste the bitter dust of drought as I see the birds sitting on my fence posts, pining...
wishing they were brave enough to
drink.
shower.
swim.
If they had tongues, I'm sure they would pant.

I don't have a bird bath
but I have pity
And with this pity
and my hose
I have chased away
many birds

But tonight was different
...I wasn't thinking about birds as I watered.
Nor was I thinking about my garden.
Nor water
nor wind
nor evaporation
I wasn't even moving back and forth to cover the ground evenly.
I was just standing there.

Briefly I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and then there suddenly was a hummingbird bathing in the spray of my dormant hose

This time I held still
on Purpose.

I felt honored that the little dude picked my hose to have a shower under. But it didn't last long.

This reminds me of a dream I had about an orange bird that came to visit me on the patio one night.
We became friends.
It was not afraid of me, and I was not cautious.
As the night wore on, I became very aware that I could not keep this little orange bird.
It did not belong to me
and the moment was brief.
It was a temporary blessing,
a fleeting glimpse of the colliding of two very different worlds ...one in which I knew little about.

The hummingbird
is a symbol for accomplishing that which seems impossible.

Connected

2010-08-04T09:18:00.005-07:00

There is an unexplainable
connection
when someone just
gets "it"
with little explanation

sees the picture
understands the concept
feels the emotion

like-minded
close-hearted
familiar-spirited

friend.

Then there are the times
and places
and situations
and people
in which
you need to
explain
strain
exclaim
retain
ascertain
and
sustain
the connection

It is not always easy
You are not always understood
Not always pure
Not always sure

But the lesson
is always
valuable.

Discovering Life

2010-07-15T11:09:00.005-07:00

I'm happy.

I want to swim in a puddle, cuz it's impossible.
I want go on a hot walk.
That's when I walk on hot sand and burn my feet a little.
I want to sing while I am whistling.
Because somebody has to be first.
I want to spend more money on Time.
I want to go behind the scenes and bring my spirinoculars.
(That's a combination of seeing in the spirit and seeing with binoculars.)
I want to squirt you with my kids' water gun.
And run.
I want to play dress up with Perspective.
And design my own costume.
I want to scribble.
I want to push the rules a bit.
Nudge.
Bump.
See if it's a real rule.
See if it's God's rule.
Or man's rule.
Perhaps that's why my kids do it too.)

Color Code, Arrange, Label, Shelve

2010-06-26T19:48:00.008-07:00

My life is like my Pantry.

There is a certain order to things, but if you look hard enough, you could find Dust. Efficiency and Deficiency share a shelf on the left side at about eye level while the Blender and Coffeemaker cuddle on the lower shelf, peering from below with seditious eyes.

Clutter Flutter:

There's some stuff in there that I got on sale, that I still haven't tried.

There are some new seasonings I thought would make me a Capital C for Chef... but they didn't work, so now they're taking up space.

Imaginary Helpful Tips & Tricks:

There's a broom! I feel good. But I really need a Mop. So instead of mopping, I wipe with Paper Towel. But there are no paper towels in my Pantry. The Paper Towels are under the sink. (It made sense at the time.)

There's a stepping stool to see what's on the highest shelf, but no flashlight so I can see or acknowledge what's on the bottom in the corner.

The Metamorphosis Within:

The things I like, self-duplicate with little to no effort what-so-ever. I have full confidence that I will never run out of them. Like popcorn. And Raisen Bran.

There are things we need that I don't like, but I get because someone else likes them. These, too, go in the Pantry alongside the things of greater Value. These things I don't like, I run out of. Somehow I knew enough to get them the first time, but I fail to recognize when I'm lacking in them.

I cannot go on without mentioning that there is a very tiny spot for the things that I Really like. It's a tiny spot because it is also a Hiding Spot. I need to hide them for two reasons. 1. They have a special place in my heart. 2. They have a not-so-special place under my skin.

Inventory Shminventory:

Some things are in my Pantry, and I have no idea how they got in there.

Some things were supposed to be in there, and I have "no idea" how they went missing.

"Under Construction" :

Didn't I just fix that? Didn't I just move this? How did it get back over there?! The answer: It has a mind of its own. Moving. Switching. Removing. Ditching. Packaging and unpacking. Sometimes I take the detour around the Construction area because I'm on a schedule and have no time for this. Other times, I plow through without realizing that the speed fines double. Once or twice I would have benefited from procuring the required hard hat because the falling objects were bound to hit at least some part of me.

Attitude or Gratitude?:

One thing I know for sure is that my Pantry is a place I can't avoid. It's condition relies solely on my Disposition.

"My Pantry's not a place, it's an Attitude."

Yeah, yeah, yeah...I'll think about that next week.

2010-01-26T10:56:00.010-08:00

So many different aspects of my life I can relate to what it is like to climb a mountain. It's such a vivid analogy to me right now, that I'm sure I could even equate eating breakfast in the morning to it. But, for this moment, I would like to talk about how drawing nearer to God is like climbing a mountain.

Starting out. I can see the bottom. It's where I'm at. The very bottom. Everybody's ahead of me, nobody's behind me. When I look up, I'm not even sure I can see the top...I just know that it must be up there somewhere. Must be in the fog. Yeah, that's why I can't see it.

If I already know I can't make it to the top in one day, then why should I even bother starting today? I don't have enough energy. Snooze. I'm not good enough at climbing. Excuse. I'll need to get new shoes first. Ruse. I could most likely probably be somewhat just as happy looking at the pictures. Reduce.

Somehow something inside of me starts the "one-two" and I begin the hike. A breeze blows, and I realize this could be kind of nice. I smell the fresh scent of a place I haven't been in a long, long time. Seduce. Why did I think this would be so much work again? News.

After a while, I'm gaining momentum, but decide to take a break. My muscles stiffen up and begin to feel sore. Bruise. I look around me to see if anyone can see I've taken a break. No one is around. That fresh scent of trees that was once so refreshing is now closing in around me and I realize I'm all alone. I didn't realize I would be the only one climbing. I thought I could see so many people ahead of me. Now I see no one. Recloose. Am I willing to do this if no one goes with me?

The break really wasn't a break at all. It made my head spin. Confuse. It was better when I didn't have so much to think about. Where am I going? Which direction is it? And how am I going to get there? Out of the corner of my eye I catch a vision of a stream, so I walk over to absorb its beauty. Instead, I find my feet sinking into the earth as I get closer. I quickly realize that the closer I get, the more I will sink. I reach out my hands and wash them. The water is frigid. It wakes me up from the outside in. I tremble.

I shake. I cast off my baggage. In a moment of clarity, I don't want it weighing me down anymore. I let go. I feel lighter, and energy surges from a place inside me and my legs become stronger. Infuse. I stop looking around and press in for more upward hiking.

Higher.

About halfway up I run out of words. My thoughts become simplified because I am getting short of breath and need to focus on the most important ones. The air is also getting thinner. The distractions begin to fade as each step takes me higher. I am suddenly determined. Suddenly able to focus. Pushing forward. Breathe. No stopping. No going back. I refuse.

With the determination the pain comes back for an encore as if to make sure that I'm really sure this time. It came suddenly out of the dark, out of nowhere. I am blindsided. Abuse. Noose. I stop to analyze and realize I am not alone. I can feel a heaviness like a thick fog around me. It gets closer and quieter and surrounds me in its mist. In the stillness. I rest. Truce.

Break loose. When the fog is gone, I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of the view. I see it but for a moment and then it's gone. Back to the climb I make my face like a flint. The trees begin to diffuse during the last few miles, and I begin to see the footprints as the path narrows...impressions made from the feet of those who have gone before me. They have left messages written in the dirt:

"It's going to be worth it."

Tears light my cheeks like a. Fuse. I press in knowing that I am not alone. My faith increases like the light above me. I'm almost there. Anticipation. Life. Joy.

Produce.

When I get to the top, I realize quickly that I cannot see through the light with my eyes. Surprise. I close them and open the eyes of my heart. An exchange is being made. Beauty for ashes. Joy for sorrow. A garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. There's a fullness that cannot be contained and I find myself laughing and weeping and singing...right at His feet. I don't want to leave.

an offering--
I bring.

my broken pieces
to the king

I am heard
seen.

A flower
in the
spring

I cling.

"Who may ascend the hill of the LORD ?
Who may stand in his holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
who does not lift up his soul to an idol
or swear by what is false.
He will receive blessing from the LORD
and vindication from God his Savior.
Such is the generation of those who seek him,
who seek your face, O God of Jacob."
(Psalm 24:3-6)

JUMP. (and don't look down...)

2010-01-07T09:41:00.015-08:00

"I trust God"
is really quite easy to say.
But NOT so easy to do.

Practically speaking...it's easy to say anything. Because saying something doesn't require acting upon it when you're not being honest with yourself. If you wish to stay in the comfortable appearance of "trusting God" without fully committing to what that means, then stop reading here.
(Come back when you mean it.)

I'd like to suggest that "trusting" God is not a state of mind, but rather it is an act of the will. Your will. My will.

After all, how can we truly trust someone, without the "leap" over the edge of your "presumed" security (I say "presumed" because all the security we can provide for ourselves is)?

Who told us that trusting God would be EASY and why have we believed that there is something wrong when it isn't easy? I'd like to suggest that there is something wrong when you are comfortable in your "trust." I'd like to suggest that trust is not comfortable until you are fully not reliant on yourself.

Yeah, yeah, I trust You God...
But don't ask me to do that.
And don't ask me to say that.
And don't ask me to go there.
Or deal with this.
Because I am not prepared for Your plans.
And I'm too weak to face the outcome if it turns out to be difficult.
Or scary.
Or causes change in my life.
I don't really like change, God. You know that.
I trust You to make my choices transform into the best You have for me.
And I trust You to do things my way.
And, you know I can trust You to let me control You.

Is that even close to trust? Let's be honest. You either trust Him or you don't. There's no middle ground here. God wants everything. everything.

"But I just can't. I'm just too weak to trust in God."

Who said you had to be strong in order to trust in someOne else? It's only when you are weak and needy that you can draw from His stability. He's the only One who knows what is best for you. No, you can't see it all the time. You wouldn't have to trust Him if you could see what is coming in the next month.

What this means for me personally is that I choose to take each thing that comes at me as though it were directed by the hand of God. After all, if He's not surprised by it, then why should I be? What I choose to do is seek Him in it. See what He's saying, what He's doing, and seek how I can grow and change and lean more fully on His Reputation.

"I know your deeds;

you have a reputation of being alive,

but you are dead."

(Rev. 3:1)

Let's stand up and stir ourselves up. Strengthen what little remains. I pray that your faith would be increased and your confidence would be set in Him. His yoke is easy and His burden is light.

Sometimes our own burdens feel strangely "good" because they are familiar and we can convince ourselves that we "deserve" them. But the Bible says that the TRUTH will set you free.

How free are you?

When you trust the One who created the wind to carry you, you will fly. He has amazing things planned for you this year. Hold fast.

the fickleness of fairness

2009-12-17T17:14:00.024-08:00

Today I had a bug flying around in the house. Not a ladybug or a butterfly or even a pesky house fly. It was minding its own business until I got the fly swatter out and showed it who was boss. Only when it was flattened and juicy on my window did I begin to dissect its character.

"It's not fair."

My kids consistantly try to hold me accountable to this mysterious "fair bug" and I although I have refused to let it bite me, today I dug a shallow grave for the little guy in an attempt to finally put it to rest. The truth is, I make regular attempts to reveal to my children how their faces change the instant they compare themseves to someone else, in hopes that they will see how they were content the brief moment prior.

Being a child of God, I like to think about how He parents me and then ask myself if my strategies are consistent with His. If it is true that He doesn't have "favorite" children, He sure has an uncommon way of showing it. Mary (the Mother of Jesus) was deemed "favored among women," the farmer in one parable paid the farmhands who began their work at the end of the day the same wage as at the ones who worked all day long, and only a select few were raised from the dead. And those are only a few Biblical examples. Sam, down the street, well, his house is bigger, his children are better behaved, and he just doesn't seem to get sick as often. If I didn't understand God's heart, I would see that, by means of comparison, no two receive the same perceived blessings or gifts. Instead, each one is given according to his need.

But God, I need more money, and a better job and I need...don't you know what I need?

Yes. He knows. In fact, He knows before I ask. And He knows better than I.

If you didn't know that God's heart was for you, not against you, you might...after analyzing His blatent neglect of you, be convinced that life isn't fair. And therefore, God isn't fair either.

Well, my friends, it's true. There is not much in life that is fair. But that is very different from convincing yourself that God loves you less just because you decided to compare yourself to someone else and get unhappy.

For those of us who "get this" concept already...then WHY do we, at Christmas time...make extra effort to be fair?

It's just easier, isn't it? And when something is easier that means it's better for you and those around you, right? Hmmm...

I think about what God does with His children. Surely God gives everyone the exact same gift so that no ones feelings get hurt and no one has to feel uncomfortable or jealous, right? Surely God is concerned with fairness. Isn't each person given the exact same "measure" of faith? Isn't each given the same "gift"? Oh my. What kind of God would we have...who would allow Himself to be confined by our definition of "fairness"?

A few years ago, I watched how crippling this false sense of "justice" is when my grandmother felt she was unable to support a grandchild going through very difficult financial trouble because, in order to give him money, she would "have to" give all of her grandchildren the exact same in order to not show favortism and be fair. Her hands were tied, and she herself tied them in the name of "fair." How sad her heart must have been to not be able to help a child in need!

Today the discomfort of "unfairness" was put to the test in me strongly. I had an arrangement with a friend of mine that this year we wouldn't be giving each other gifts for Christmas. Well, like a good rule-follower...I kept the rules emphatically.

But...guess what? Everything was fine until...she didn't keep the rules. Can I tell you how hard it was to receive a gift from someone knowing that I had nothing for her? My heart screamed injustice, and although I wanted desperately to find something...anything, to give in return to balance the table, I had nothing. My hands were empty and I was out of time. It was an uncomfortable blessing, and I think I grew about 12 inches after eating my own words!!

Complete, unfavored, unconditional love cannot be fully received if it is constantly being compared. We need to learn to receive, be blessed, and fully loved.

"Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD; trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him."

Psalm 37:4-6

don't cry over spilled milk tomorrow

2009-10-20T14:33:00.006-07:00

So there it sits in front of me. The "new post." It's sitting here blank except for this first sentence. Just staring at me. What do I need to say?

I read this morning something that said, "business death or life." I know it doesn't make sense. But it pulls two subjects together. Business. And death or life.

It made me think about my life's "business" or purpose. I wondered if life is coming out of it or death? Well, I certainly hope the answer is life! But there are certainly areas that need to break off of me and die. They are bearing no fruit.

Or milk.

Or maybe too much milk.

Let me explain. I am always thankful for opportunities to practise the fruit of the Spirit. (You know...love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control.) After all, without practise, how can it grow?

Yesterday morning Eden spilled her milk. No, it wasn't just a spill, it was a side-swiped, splatter, swish, slam, spill-dunk. The pause and silence that followed is comical to me now as I think about it because years ago she would always cry after spilling her milk. Now, appearently, we just look at it on the floor.

Anyway, I was hungry, so I finished eating my breakfast before saying anything. Then I got her a rag to clean it up herself. I knew what a terrific job she'd do cleaning it up herself (yes, I'm being sarcastic), but it was important to me that she knew that spills are work (or should I say "business"?), and this particular morning, I was okay with her doing the work. (Normally my sticky-control-freak jumps up before it can even say "spilled milk" and it's cleaned. I always promise myself that I'll get her to do it next time).

I can't remember why I left the room, but for some reason, when I returned, my son was standing in the middle of the not-very-well-cleaned-up spilled milk puddle with his socks. And I lost it.

Now, it's true to say that I "normally" don't lose it. And when I'm about to lose it, I usually get a sense that it's coming, so there's a bit of a ramp. I don't usually just jump off the top like that. But he had to know he was standing in a puddle of milk, didn't he? He's five. Come on.

So I yelled.

And he cried.

And then the pride in the "we-don't-cry-over-spilled-milk" slogan we were beginning to perfect was once again lost in translation.

So what happened?

I think my business was failing. My focus was on the cumulation of sticky. I was learning to be okay with only one sticky, but two stickies back-to-back I was simply unprepared for. I suppose I should rejoice that the fruit of patience had the opportunity to grow. I had graduated to a new level of patience. Yay me.

So I ask myself, Is my business creating life or death? My business is with my family. Let me do a check on them...are they exuding life or death? I'm not saying I'm responsible for their emotional state. I'm saying I'm responsible for mine. I need to breathe life into them no matter what their current state is, sticky or not. Rational or not. Needy or needless. Life.

Today I choose life. Yeah, so a little death fell off of me. Good riddence. I'm not waiting until tomorrow to start over, even though one of my favorite sayings is "God's mercies are new every morning." I'm not waiting until the morning today. I'm going to breathe in His grace. Rest in it. I'm going to cry and let it out. Let that chunk fall right off. Then start over again with New business that's on the agenda for today.

My business will be life. I'm choosing it.

playing. the fiddle.

2009-09-24T17:38:00.004-07:00

It's been a while since I wrote! I think I'm in a "blank" phase of life. Like "writer's block" just with a "blank" instead of a "block." I'm trying to convince myself that I'm just soaking up inspiration from all around me, but it's going straight inside and not coming out. I wonder if it's getting lost inside of me somewhere...with all of this, shouldn't it be coming out? I guess there is a season for gaining and learning. Hopefully it's making me ready for the next thing. Not sure I'm preparing to the best of my ability. Most of the time I feel tired. Too tired to play. Only enough energy to work. But I have enough energy for other things. It's unpredictable because eventually I won't want to work and just play. Hmmm...now that I wrote that, I wonder...don't think it's true. When was the last time I just wanted to play?

Going along for the ride

2009-08-15T14:59:00.016-07:00

There are few things in life more contesting and regenerating than when I discover something about myself that needs to change. Occassionally, the problem and the solution present themselves simultaneously, exposing a glint of ease, if for only a moment. Even in those brief segments, a dream is laid bare against a nightmare, and my soul is summoned to choose an answer.

I have had the opportunity to feel the twisting and pulling and dunking of these changes in my life this past week. It's like I'm at the top of a wild waterslide looking at the only way down and the only decision I really have to make is how long do I shiver at the top.

...the twisting is what happens to my stomach when I realize I am not what I thought I was. Before this moment, I didn't know that my attitude wouldn't volunteer for the ride.

...the pulling is when I begin my descent sprawling out with hands and feet, trying to stop myself on the way down...Before this moment, I didn't know that my fear was stopping me from experiencing the joy of breakthrough. Finally, the water overtakes me; I can no longer control my speed and it's a slippery ride.

...the dunking...oh, that splash of cold water at the end! Before that moment, I didn't know I would be smiling at the bottom.

And that's the best part because it's over and I just did it.

It happened.
That wasn't so bad.
And for a few brief moments I consider
going
again.

Where perspective is...

2009-07-22T13:12:00.005-07:00

I don't know what I'm going to write about today. Just want to write.

Lately I have discovered how amazing perspective is...yet it is so wonderfully fleeting.

If I grasp for it, I turn into a whimsical cartoon character who is trying to catch a dragonfly. I run frantically to get that super-bug-catching-net that's around the corner...But by the time I have the net, the dragonfly is long gone!

And when I have an attitude of waiting, expecting to hear...perspective lands perched on the tip of my toe in the perfect time.

"So if you're serious about living this new resurrection life with Christ, act like it. Pursue the things over which Christ presides. Don't shuffle along, eyes to the ground, absorbed with the things right in front of you. Look up, and be alert to what is going on around Christ—that's where the action is. See things from his perspective."

Col. 3:1

Who are you racing against?

2009-07-13T10:52:00.016-07:00

You win. That makes you the Winner. I lose. That makes me the Loser...right?

...am I just a sore loser?
...or is there something about this voracious appetite to win that we need to reconsider?

Is there anything in the Bible that says "competition" with each other is good? We compete with each other when we're playing games and sports...it's innocent enough, right? If it is, I'm sure this combative, antagonistic behaviour is endorsed in the Bible...so I ask...

...Who invented it?

Definition of Competition:

the act of competing; rivalry for supremacy, a prize, etc
a contest for some prize, honor, or advantage
Sociology. rivalry between two or more persons or groups for an object desired in common, usually resulting in a victor and a loser.

When I look for the word "compete" in the Bible, I see phrases like, "They compete in the race to do evil" (Isa. 59:1) and "'Your leaders...compete in crime (Ez. 22:6)." I see that "Human strength can't begin to compete with God's "weakness" in 1 Cor. 1:22. But is there anything good about competition?

The desire for competition in us comes from our sin nature, not God's divine nature. God didn't become bored one day and come up with an idea to bring evil into the world so that He could have a fight, and maybe win if He was lucky. It was not God's design that Satan rise up as a competitor for first place.

Where does the striving come from? When a spirit of competition rises up in us, who are we identifying ourselves with more? God? Or Satan? Read this about Satan's "loss":

"How you have fallen from heaven, O morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations! You said in your heart, 'I will ascend to heaven;
I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on
the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain.'"
(Isa. 14:11-13)

So if Satan invented the idea of competition, and we are to rid ourselves of these urges, how do we behave as though it does not exist?

First, there is room for all of us in Christ. That means all of our gifts, even though they may seem similiar, are unique. The room to spread out and grow is enormous and should not feel threatening to you as though you will become less because of their growth. Weakness becomes an honor, because of what Christ can do with it:

"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made
perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my
weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me."
(2 Cor. 12:9)

Secondly, let's become aware of how we regard "competition" in our hearts today. Let's practise being content with second place:

"So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God
picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline.
Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offense."
(Col. 3:12-13)

When turn our eyes to Jesus...look full in His wonderful face...the things of earth (winning?) will grow strangely dim...in the light of His glory and grace...

"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're content with just who you are--no
more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of
everything that can't be bought...
"You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family."

(Matt. 5: 4, 5, 9 MSG)

2009-07-03T14:20:00.004-07:00

Linger. Create. Drink. Refresh.

Trust.
Wait.
Simmer.
Glimmer.

Chop.
Pull.
Burn.
Turn.

Remind.
Unwind.
Know.
Grow.

Favorite flavor of favor

2009-06-10T15:32:00.008-07:00

I'm the least likely person who should start a business for herself. I don't like promotions, especially when it means promoting myself. Naturally, I assume this will set me up not to succeed, unless God has other plans. So the name is finished, and the logo is next. This all seemed like a brilliant idea when all I had to do was think about it. Now that it has become more like work...it feels like work. I need inspiration to arrive at my door with about as much spontenaeity as it would take for a butterfly to land on my finger.

But I press in. I bought a new flash for my camera. Not only is it a new flash, it's actually my first flash...I have survived this long without the need for one because I shoot in the studio and have learned how to adjust other settings in order to get a natural shot without a flash.

When the package arrived on Sunday (last day on sale), I opened it. Gulped. Then I sat down for a read through the manual. Why do I even bother? I must have been reading the Chinese translation...nope, it was indeed English. This is the point at which fear decided to inject itself into my lack of understanding. If I can't understand this, WHY am I a photographer again?

Three long days. Wonderful husband checking in...have you tried your flash yet? Same response...No, I'm afraid.

Well, today was the day before the photo shoot and I had no more time on my side. So I hooked it up and began taking photos like it was the easiest thing in the world. Uhhhh...how did that happen again? I don't get it. I can't even explain to you how my fingers work on my camera...they just know what to do. It amazes me...probably because my brain has nothing else to do but wonder how my fingers know what to do.

I guess that's what favor is like. Hard to describe. Undeserved. And better than you could do on your own. It's like putting a piece of seafood in your mouth and tasting chocolate. Today, I am blown away, and so thankful for it. What a nice surprise indeed.

Pick.
Such a heavy brick.
Sick.
Don't understand
this card trick.
Quick!
No! Sick.
Flick!
No! Too thick.
Tock...Tick...Tock...Tick...
One little Flick.
Two little Kick.
Three I Stick.
Breathe. Click.
ooooooh...Slick!

Having things removed

2009-06-03T10:02:00.006-07:00

Today I am going to see a plastic surgeon.

That makes me laugh. Sounds so....so...hah...like a dream come true! Hah!

Well, I just have this darkening mole or freckle or whatever you want to call it that is right in my hairline, and my family doctor thought it should be removed. He thinks it's kind of tricky because it's in my hair...so...off I go to the plastic surgeon.

Since this could be the last time I'm visiting a plastic surgeon...I should enjoy it while I can.

If only it were so easy to remove things I don't need from my life.
Selfishness.
Pride.
Being quick to speak. Slow to listen.
Wish I could just go to the Sin Surgeon and have that removed. Oh wait...I can.

Zech. 3:9 "...and I will remove the sin of this land in a single day."

Who designed "slow growth"?

2009-06-01T18:53:00.008-07:00

Not sure how to put this into words.

This weekend I was in a conflicted state. In my spirit I was seeking God....but it was mixed in with moments of pure selfishness and controlling out of immaturity. What a sorry mix.

But looking back on the events of the weekend, I can suddenly see clearly. This is how it played out...

I met a man who used a phrase that I had heard before, so it was able to shoot past my ears and go straight into my spirit. He said:

"Character is more important than giftings."

He went on to explain how a man whom he respected, who was a powerful man of God used to manifest God's presence tangibly in the prophetic and miracles...fell.

I listened to the story. Sounded familiar. Hmmmm...maybe him but not me. Right God? I'd never do that, would I?

Within hours of soaking in God's presence and asking Him for more of Him, and hearing this reminder about character, I was exposing all sorts of immature behaviour. Basically, I was trying to control something that didn't need to be controlled. God allowed this behaviour to surface so that I could see how easy it is to "fall" into bad character...and, as usual, His kindness led me to repentence...again.

But it continued, because although I "heard" Him...I didn't hear deeply enough. It wasn't personalized yet. Still sitting on the surface. Not deep enough.

So this morning, God let one of my biggest, tallest, strongest trees...fall over.

This bugged me. NAGGED at my heart because He KNOWS how closely my garden symbolizes my spirit. And you read what I wrote on Saturday...how did I phrase it...?

"GGGGGRRRRRROWWWWW!!!"

Well, God knows what is best. This tree actually fell because it grew too fast. The roots didn't go down far enough (we don't have a lot of dirt) and couldn't support its rapid spring growth.

So...you mean slow and steady is what God wants for me? Growing to fast can actually be bad for me? God wants to work out my character flaws before He gives me the gifts He has planned?

Days like today when the message is sooooooo incredibly clear...and a tree had to fall over so it could soak in just a little deeper. Yes Lord. I hear you. I am willing to wait so that You can form your character deep within my heart.

How is your garden growing?

Dig, Plant, Water, Fertilize, Sun...then... WAIT

2009-05-31T13:52:00.005-07:00

I stood at the window on Saturday morning looking over my garden and felt this crazy ache inside my heart for these little lives to "GROW!!!" I must have said it out loud in my stirring. Grow, grow...grow!! I can't water enough, fertilize enough, do enough for them to grow faster. The only thing they need now is time.

This morning, I must have gone over to the window in the same fashion as I had yesterday morning, tore open the blinds and looked over the yard. Instead of hearing it come out of me, my son yelled from behind me...

GRRRRRRRRRRRRROWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!

Making babies

2009-05-28T20:31:00.007-07:00

In the fall two years ago, I planted bulbs. Dug holes. Plop. Down under. Into the dirt they went. Then covered up. More dirt. I really had no idea what I was doing, or why bulbs had to go under like that, but I had hope that in the spring, and without much effort, they would sprout into something lovely.

Thus began a season of hiddenness in my life. Like the bulbs, I went down under...thriving somehow mysteriously in the cold, wet, dark, ground. No one could see me. Yet I knew I belonged there for a season. I knew it would be uncomfortable. But hope hung on because the spring always comes.

When spring did come, I found myself afraid to look. I refused to go into the back yard to see if anything had happened because if nothing came up, I would know that was symbolic of me and I didn't think I could handle it. Eventually, I did look. And there were my little plants. Babies. But green and growing. My heart lifted...Suddenly it seemed effortless.

I have no idea why life is like that. Jesus said that unless a seed falls to the ground and dies it will not bear fruit. Its His master plan. It's only after death that life comes. And the growing part happened without a single ounce of effort on my part...I just had to have enough courage to dig a hole, bury my seed, wait, then look.

I've been thinking lots about seeds and plants and weeds lately. You see, this year, in my garden, I have discovered a multiplying going on. It was totally unexpected and made my heart do one of those leap things where it almost comes out (God invented skin for moments like those). So I have been collecting the babies and finding new homes for them...and the anticipation continues, but in a whole new way...these are babies I can already see. What a glorious season! This time, my plant reproduced out of fertility, not death...and opportunity expanded without boundaries.

So many different kinds of seeds. So many different seasons in life. All of them worth while. Full of purpose. Some hidden. Others spreading.

Guess that's where I just have to make sure that I have room. And when I run out of room, I must share. And when I see a weed creeping in, I grab my shovel and yank it out to preserve that which is precious...My heart is precious. Your heart is precious. It is molded by the seasons. It needs to be guarded. And let loose. And spread around.

John 14:26-27 "...The Holy Spirit whom the Father will send at my request, will make everything plain to you. He will remind you of all the things I have told you. I'm leaving you well and whole. That's my parting gift to you. Peace. I don't leave you the way you're used to being left—feeling abandoned, bereft. So don't be upset. Don't be distraught. "

Mommy...I've got voices in my head.

2009-05-16T18:15:00.009-07:00

Today when I was assembling my son's Sloppy Joe on his plate, I asked him to move his hands out of the way. I had a big spoonful of hot & sloppy sauce and didn't want him to get burned. He moved them for a second, but just as I started to pour, he put his hand back under the sauce to catch some of it and cried out in pain when he burned himself. Frustrated, I said, "WHY didn't you listen to me?"

"My heart said to put my hand there..." came his innocent reply. The juicy tears were rolling down his cheeks.

So incredibly adorable. I hope he learns his lesson and never does that again.

How many times does my heart tell me to do something, and I end up in pain? Just because I think it's a good idea, doesn't mean that it is a good idea. Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial. And neither can my heart be trusted.

Examples? How about ME in a store with a good sale, rationalizing that even though I was saving my money, I just cannot pass up this opportunity? How about ME spending hours working on a logo for my "new company name that God gave me" only to find out that it's already taken and I can't use it after all? How about ME with 2 hours of free time, squandering it on work??

Silly, easily misled, and vulnerable: H-E-L-P. My heart is no better than my four-year olds. If my heart alone should not govern my actions, what should?

Sometimes I am amazed at how loudly the "things" in front of me talk.

The floor says, "Sweep me."
The flour says, "Make something yummy with me."
Then the cookies say, "Eat me."
The children say, "Play with me."
The garden says, "Weed me."
The computer says, "Work on me."
But the quietest voice of all, compells all these other voices to submit their priority. This voice says, "Seek me."

Following God requires my full attention. I am amazed and perplexed at how to do this. He says that as I "keep company" with Him, I will receive rest because His yoke is easy and His burden is light. In the Message translation it says, "I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you."

So when my heart tells me to stick my hand out under "hot sauce," I can't blame the burn on God.

If He truly is the governing Voice in my life, I must keep my eyes fixed on Him. Make sure that His message conveys the loudest words in my heart. Lead confidently only because I am following confidently. Seek Him passionately and allow myself to be found. Love unconditionally and allow myself to be loved when I feel unloveable...

"When Moses went and told the people all the LORD's words and laws, they responded with one voice, "Everything the LORD has said we will do."
(Exodus 24:3)

Where did the time go?

2009-05-06T13:50:00.003-07:00

There is always work to do.

And even when there is no work to do, there's always dusting. (Even if you've just finished.)

Being busy is a state of mind. An excuse. It keeps us from doing the things that are really important to us.

If something is truly important to you, you will make time for it.

Did Jill really climb that hill?

2009-05-05T18:23:00.005-07:00

I am stuck. Stuck on this one piece of scripture and I can't get past it. Can't go around it. Gotta go through it (or maybe over it).

Finish the sentence:

"When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds, he..."
A. Knew He was becoming the flavor of the month and enjoyed every moment of it
B. Decided now was a good time to stir them up and get them all excited about the Kingdom
C. Spoke louder so they could hear him in the back
D. Climbed a hill

I am in awe of how he dealt with his popularity...if you guessed that Jesus "climbed a hill" you were right. He literally made it even more difficult for people to follow him. He was "content with obscurity" and "content with second best" and when he became more popular, he weeded them out by making it physically difficult for them to follow.

I am just amazed at that.

And then when he got to the top of the hill, the first words out of his mouth were: "You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope"...

I think there were more than a few people at the end of their rope as they trudged all the way to the top of that hill...I can almost hear the huffing and puffing...

But then he just delivered this promise so difficult, yet mixed with profound comfort...and he continued, "...when you're at the end of your rope...with less of you, there is more of God and His rule."

I'm kind of thinking that there must have literally been less of them...their sweaty armpits and foreheads must have exhausted at least a few pounds of water from their bodies. More of God.

More of God. More of God. Less of me.

Do I want more of God and his rule? Am I willing to do what it takes to come to the end of my rope? Some days it happens quite naturally. But the days when I am content are perhaps the most dangerous days because those days I am not climbing the hill...I'm choosing to stay at the bottom where the water and food are. And savoring my own strength.

My life for Yours.
My heart for Yours.
My strength for Yours.

2009-04-25T15:24:00.004-07:00

"Hormones are not an excuse for bad behaviour."

But what do I do when I desperately need the excuse?

I just napped for an incredibly long time. I can't say how long, because for once I wasn't clock watching, but everytime I woke up I went back to sleep.

Then I ate chocolate. No...the chocolate was first. No...it was both before and after the nap. I was soo tired. Now its popcorn. Why am I allowing myself this indulgence?

What else can I fit into my afternoon?

How one historic night changes everything

2009-03-29T14:35:00.007-07:00

Jesus didn't die
just so we could be saved.

Didn't die so we could for once
be well-behaved.
Not because He caved.
Or waived.
Or was enslaved.

He came for life, not just eternal.
To change our inside, not just external.

The veil was torn, ripped right in two
And what was behind that veil came through.

No longer are we compliant, cold and separate
But the very presence of God became closely knit.

Inside, alongside, beside...Bride
Our desires now with His collide.

Concerning, yearning, our hearts burning
The tables of strength are finally turning

Surrender, we long for His glorious splendor
Yet fully in Him, our hearts we render

Perspective fleeting
Clarity daunting
I cling
I sing
Refusing the taunting
I know
I glow
His Spirit in me
To move
As He moves
I now have the key

The very presence of God that was separated from us as symbolized by the veil in the temple is no longer hidden. Therefore, what began with salvation must not end there. If Christ is in us, the Hope of Glory...then I must live to
tell the story.

"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. "
(1 Cor 1:18)

2009-03-29T14:35:00.006-07:00

Why do lily pads make me so happy?

But for a moment...

2009-03-29T14:35:00.005-07:00

Well, it's Thursday again. I have always known that inspiration cannot be faked, and it is true yet again today. With the pace of life sometimes comes the inability of pure focus.

A moment of clarity comes: I must change.

Many moments of "blank staring" stay and play: But how do I change?

All I know is that I need and want so desperately not to be left the same. I hear the words echoing in my heart, "if you want to change, then stop doing what you hate."

And a glimpse of clarity reigns again...for a moment.

When you blow your nose...something will always come out

2009-03-26T19:32:00.001-07:00

I usually write on Thursdays.

But what do I write about when it's Thursday and I have nothing to say?

Do I feel pressure and squeeze myself like a tube of toothpaste until the blue and red colors get all mixed together and slooshy green comes out...cuz, after all, it's still toothpaste. It will still clean my teeth when it's the stuff at the bottom of the tube, won't it?

What else do I do under pressure...

I write letters to my grandma. Her memory is failing, but she notices. She likes thank you cards for her birthday letters. And she lives two floors above my other grandma, who forgets my birthday every year, so when SHE finds out that the other one got mail...she probably wonders what she did wrong. Is remembering my birthday a precursor to sending a grandma a note? Obviously it is to me, because she hasn't heard from me in a long time. Then again, somehow we are attached through her prayers and tears...and her remembering my birthday has been exchanged with glorious things I will know nothing of until I reach heaven.

Speaking of prayer, sometimes pressure is the only thing that gets these things accompished with any form of intensity. I read my Bible and pray more when I'm about to lead worship. Or maybe the prayers just become more desperate at that time and thus seem to qualify more as real prayers.

What does it mean to qualify anyway? What qualifies as something in my mind is nothing to the Lord. And what qualifies as nothing to me is the very miracle of God when He takes that nothingness and creates life.

"May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer." (Ps. 19:14)

Just one day a year

2009-03-23T20:36:00.000-07:00

As of this very moment
I'm the oldest I've ever been (insert melodramatic, wrinkly face here).

When I was young,
I used to hope for
the neglect
and
the forgetfulness
of friends and family
on my birthday.
Being forgotten
meant I had a free-ticket
to wade in the deep puddles of self pity.
Buck naked.
In winter.
In a one-treed windy forest of misfortune.

Like a fading dream
I can hardly remember
How odd
How immature
How...how...
I used to be.

A picture of the present
contains a slight maturity
like black hair dye
over steel grey hair
And as I consider
precious
drawings of Mickey Mouse
and sticker-covered cards
and heart-centred
cupcakes
and
phone calls
and
visits
I wouldn't trade it
for all the self-pity
in all the world.

It only took me 33 years to get here.

Unchained harmony

2009-03-11T10:29:00.001-07:00

When did I stop being weird? When did life become so serious?

As I grew up, I remember the ways in which I desperately tried to look and act like everyone else did. I adopted tacky fads. Spoke stylish words. Poofed my hair with the highest of poofs. I was still me...somewhere. Whenever she would emerge, I would make sure to tell her how to talk and act in order to be noticed the least.

I bet it was then that I discovered there was little use for creativity.

Perhaps that's why there is nothing scarier to me than the thought of a blank canvas. The blank canvas symbolizes to me all the ways in which I blend in. Blank is good...right? To take that first step, the first stroke, to deliberately not choose white, to exercise the first bold tickle of PINK means that I am no longer just white anymore. I have taken on weirdness at the risk of standing out.

What happens next could be...gasp...or could not be...great.

I look back on that part of my life with wonder...What would I have become if, instead of hiding who I was, I expressed myself without reservation. Well, I can't change the past. So that leaves only one time zone to change...gulp.

God created me to be...different. And you...to be different from me. But in His perfect plan, we live peacefully together. Why didn't I see it?

Today I realize the profoundness of a blank canvas on my heart. And I long to color and play, whimsical and peculiar. Colorful. Escaping. Refreshing. Splash. Weird.

If I were totally free...free to be as weird as God made me...what would change about my canvas?

I think I would dress differently. Without looking around to make sure I'm still in style. Maybe I'd shower less. Dance and scream when it is not expected. Explore more. Control less. Play like it wasn't a waste of time. Nap when exhaustion hits instead of pushing through it.

Proverbs 6:5 "Free yourself, like a gazelle from the hand of the hunter, like a bird from the snare of the fowler."

Eat more

2009-03-05T16:28:00.000-08:00

We are all hungry for something. The thing is, nothing in this world can satisfy my crazy appetite. My thought for the day is, How do we realize that our dissatisfaction is a gift from God? When we try to fill that insatiable hole that cannot be filled with the things around us...it is then that we realize there's got to be more.

Chocolate. I've learned that one first hand. Oh, I'll just have a little piece, I lie to myself. Not only do I not only have just one piece, but even two pieces don't satisfy...The guilt doesn't kick in until later when I realize that even when I eat without reservations, I am still not satisfied.

Matt. 5:6 "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled."

People. We are all fallible. When place our trust in a human being, we will be disappointed. When I go to people first for their advice and affirmation when I should be seeking God and depending on Him leaves me feeling like no one understands me. But that's because there's only One who does...

Prov. 3:5-6 "Trust in the LORD with all your heart and

lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him,

and he will make your paths straight"

Things. I have a pair of black shoes that, sure, they were cute in their day. But when I wear them, I compare them...and frankly, they are not in style anymore. Does this cause me discomfort? Why? It doesn't change who I am inside. Do I really need a new pair of shoes...? Wasting my energy on feeling strange that I don't meet the current social standard is not helpful.

Phil. 4:19 "And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus."

So have I realized yet that there is only one source for everything I need. And when I'm needy for more, He actually gives it freely. More hope? If I'm hoping in Him, I won't be disappointed. More love? He's gives it without measure. More blessing? He wants to bless me more than I will ever realize. More understanding? He knows me better than I know myself.

When I ask Him, He fills. But when I think what I really want is chocolate and I'm not asking Him to fill my soul's cravings, I am left empty.

Can it really be so simple? I think so. Only the truth can set us free. If we're bogged down, it's because we have not fully realized the truth.

I don't get how easy it is to see these words on paper but how difficult they are to actually do. What is He saying to me today? What am I craving?

Rom. 4:17 "...God ...gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were."

The lost cost

2009-02-25T08:22:00.000-08:00

Finally, a breath of fresh air. Sniff...so this is what it feels like. I'll take it, even if it comes with a little snow. So, for a few moments while my mind is clear, I wonder about myself: WHAT happened there?! And as I chew on one thought, another bubble pops and with the sticky on my face, a kalidescopic formulation begins to build a massive sculpture of colorful wads of bubble gum...tasted, chewed, then saved for nostalgic value. (Pop.)

I wonder if I care too much what others will think before I speak or act...

Does it matter to me what people say about me? ...

The answer to this question will influence my choices, words, and relationships. Is that freeing me or costing me? (Pop.) I want to explore this attribute of humanness and search out the truth in order to restore freedom back to life.

Jesus once said, "The truth will set you free..."

Truth results in freedom because it exposes, separates, and stabilizes the core issues. To sit on the fence and chew gray bubble gum may be unthreatening and colloquial; however, in essence, it is just that...gray. Uninviting, indifferent, diseased. I fool myself to think that this is peace when in actuality it is the only action done by pure lazyness. (Pop.)

I threw a party. The invitation was to those who were willing to come dressed their worst in clothes that they already had in their closet. Basically, it was a challenege for guests to ruin their reputations for one night by changing their outward appearance alone. The turnout was surprisingly good. What happened that night was that freedom was given room to just be. Each of us had come at a cost and had laid down our pride, and we talked with a new openness and vulnerability.

But generally, I squirm under truth like this, although it ignites me inside. I want to believe that truth is core in my life and I will pay for it at any cost. But truth at the cost of my reputation...(pop.) Am I willing to walk in this kind of freedom...

I have learned new information in the past few weeks. I have seen people hiding and lying in order to preserve their reputation. Instead, it actually cost them their reputation. And I wonder why I cover myself up when what I really need is to know that I am loved just as I am...
Broken. (Pop.)
Weak. (Pop.)
Unworthy. (Pop.)

Reputation is fragile. Truth is foundational.

John 15:19 "If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you."

I have learned that being hated does not mean there is something wrong with the way I'm doing things. I have learned that Jesus did not defend His reputation. In the moments that He was being accused, He remained in love and truth, and remained confident in who He was and what He was here to do. (Pop.) Am I remaining in His love? Foundational in His truth? Confident in who I am and what I am here to do?

My heart longs to say yes.

I choose to pay the cost of freedom. To live no longer gray. (Pop.) Lord, help me.

Ezekiel 2:5-7:
"And whether they listen
or fail to listen...
they will know
that a prophet has been among them.
And you, son of man,
do not be afraid of them
or their words.
Do not be afraid,
though briers and thorns
are all around you
and you live among scorpions.
Do not be afraid
of what they say
or terrified by them,
though they are a rebellious house.
You must speak my words to them, whether they listen or fail to listen..."

After all, the only alternative is a free piece of gray bubble gum disguised in peace.

Today I choose...

2009-02-22T14:24:00.000-08:00

If I were a pet, the kind of pet I would be is the kind that is locked in the basement in the dark (while the sun shines on all the others outside) with just enough water to survive. It is receiving nothing to meet its needs, and is on either the verge of death or a revolution.

Well, that's melodramatic.

I know. But it is real to me today. It's the picture of a hidden room in my heart. And I need to get out of the basement, out of the dark, find a new owner, and get some food. Or... burn that room down and let the little rodent die, bury it and move on. Because the snack I had yesterday isn't enough food to last me for today. And the sun that shone on my face yesterday, can't fulfill me for today when I`m locked in the darkness.

Now, that's realistic.

"By wisdom a house is built,
and through understanding it is established;
through knowledge its rooms are filled
with rare and beautiful treasures."

Proverbs 24:3

Overcoming the need to be GREAT.

2009-02-16T16:53:00.002-08:00

Goodbye greatness. Hello humility.

It has been an interesting few days.

First, the family News. The convincing clues of innocence formed a menagerie we all wanted to believe in. Pushing all doubts behind us and choosing to be intentional about believing, we allowed ourselves to be persuaded.

After all, Love always believes the best. Always trusts. Always hopes. Always perseveres.

Wow...talk about making yourself vulnerable enough to looking like a gullible idiot!

Are you seriously supposed to believe the best even when there is a possibility that you are being lied to and manipulated? Even when there's a possibility that this situation will end up with even more pain? You mean, you don't accuse because that's what Satan does and you might end up consipiring with him?

Yes. Because there are no conditions for loving that way: No room for it in unconditional love. This is vulnerability in its purest form. Willingly submitted to the point of humility. To the point of death. And reputation. Because herein lies the secret to the "unconditional" part.

As you may already suspect, although the weekend started with Belief, it didn't end that way.

Initially, the performance came along for a while, and it was a good performance. And we so wanted to believe, and it became easier. And then, the Truth came in the sting of betrayal and mockery was pushed aside in favor of forgiveness and shadows of love (as we still know it).

What have I learned?
I have potential for failure. This is not morbid or sad. It is reality. The tip of humility. The moment I think I am any better than the least of these is the moment in which I fall from grace.

I have also learned practically how words hold the power of death and life. Specifically, I'd like to talk about lies. Lies are typically spoken to me when there is something I want to hear. That's why they're so powerful, and they're so easy to believe. They clone themselves as though they were to spread life, when they do not. How can I learn to tell if there is life or death coming from words when "love always believes the best"? Is it that extent to which I must humble myself to the point of becoming a fool?

Did people think Jesus was a fool? Yes. Did He defend or fight for His reputation? No. Not with words. He fought with His actions. He layed down His life for His friends. So does this mean that believing the best means laying down my reputation to fight for someone else's?

All I know is that Jesus already did the work. And words that are followed up with action are the only true words. Words that wash up on the shore are only seaweed: Of the sea, but not in the sea. The heart is in the action.

So how do I make sure I am loving not only with my words but with my actions as well? It's an overwhelming task fit only for a servant who esteems her master's tasks far more than her own. To extend His Kingdom before her own. To extend His arms within her own without conditions to liars and thieves.

So today I wonder, what is He asking of me?

To love
beyond my ability
I need His stability
to find nobility
Lower
Lesser
No longer
hiding under
the turbulent wind of
my reputation
my ego
my right to be right
But
serve sinners
just like me
and make dinners
without a fee
And love them
like He loved me
And to let my
words
be
few
and my actions
many.
-------------
This is my selfishness washed up at the edge of the sea...
to love with my heart and less debris.

What's love anyway?

2009-02-12T11:23:00.000-08:00

Love.

I am convinced that if I were to truly know what love meant, it would change me completely.

I am convinced that I have created countless bucketfuls of "love sand castles" in which I have proudly presented what love is and what love does to myself. For instance, I know that it hugs when it feels like it and, well, sometimes when it doesn't. I know that it tries to humbly let someone else go first, even when it wants you to just hurry up so we can get this over with. It speaks softly, not rudely...even when the words still sting. But when the feeble conditions of my love-towers have been kicked over after a long day at the beach, what I have seen is that these "sand fortresses" are merely a shadow of the unconditional love that I have craved to have.

Transforming, unconditional love. I am still convinced that I don't understand this. But knowledge alone puffs up; it is love that builds up. So am I searching for "knowledge" alone or digging deeper than that?

Enter: Commercial Break
Right now, I am wondering why the picture of sandy beaches and sand castles are playing a role in my heart's forensics. And I don't want to answer that either.
Sand. There is no substance to it. Nothing can be built on it. It can sustain only: nothing.
Sand castles. Castles are supposed to be fortresses. Strong towers. Sure, if they're not made of sand. That is plainly ironic.
The beach. A place where sand is...and I am. I am at the beach. But where must I go to find the kind of love that I need so desperately for new ground? My heart needs a new picture.
End: Commerial Break.

I am convinced that love is not knowledge.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." (1 Cor. 13:13)

So love is more impressive than faith. But...what?...how can this be?...Faith only the size of a mustard seed can move a mountain! Is love really stronger then that?

...what is love moving in my life?

And love is more compelling than hope. Hope doesn't disappoint. Hope will never be put to shame. Through hope, strength is renewed.

...how is love being satisfied, unashamed and strengthened in my life?

Enter: New picture

So I had this picture one day that I was on the absolute tip of a mountain peak. The peak was so tiny that everything I had carried with me to get up there was falling off of me...back down the mountain. I looked down and almost went with it the load I carried. I needed something to cling to because I was losing my balance. Looking down would send me down.

I looked up. And in the picture, there was a foot extended towards me from above and I grabbed onto the big toe and clung as the last pieces of me rolled down the mountain. My life was saved. Just barely. And I squeezed as though my life depended on it. It did. And I somehow knew what I hadn't known before. That I was somehow safe as long as I was clinging to...

His foot.

Love begins

generous

with a new address

birthed at the base

and extending

upwards

towards

the peak

Where all my pretenses,

defenses

packages

and sandy castles

roll away

because I can hold them

no longer

and all that is left is

looking up

Take me to this place

Where I will

and love

with

no conditions.

Painting with BLUE

2009-02-05T11:07:00.000-08:00

I still remember one of the saddest poems I ever heard (from a pizza commercial). It started with a small child, who walked out of darkness under a solitary spotlight as though doing a monologue on stage. Her eyes, her voice, the hole in her heart...commanded my attention as though it were real...

"I am a gaping void

where loneliness resides

The song in my heart

Turns mournful

and off-key

Where have you gone?

Where have you gone?"

It reminds me of something I read in a book about modifying your child's behavior that an unhappy child is a healthy child. It seems paradoxical, but they said it because they feel that:
"unhappiness motivates change."
True enough. That knowledge has often changed the way I view temper tantrums. Instead of feeling sad as I walk away, I know that it is a pivitol moment forming their future choices.

But child behavior is not my point. My point is adult behavior. More specifically, my behavior. When I feel sad, is it just a self-pityful, whiny, temper tantrum? Or am I using it for the basis to motivate change within me.

Another cup of coffee
mind swirling
around the mug
Another attempt to bury
emotions curling
just needing a hug

Don't be threatened by thoughts
just change them
exchange them
renew the BLUE
with thoughts of Who
can rearrange them.

Just decided to do a little dusting over here, don't mind me...

2009-01-29T20:02:00.000-08:00

I look through a gallery of paintings done by a friend and smile. She must feel complete, I decide. What a blessing it must be to do what it is you are created to do.

And so I think. And wonder. And ask. What is it that I have been created to be? Will I know it when I am doing it? Will it come easy and be easy or will I have to work at it to get it just right? Will I be generous or secretive? Will it be all for Him or is it meant to be shared?

It seems like I spend so many moments waiting, watching, hoping...and not enough reflecting, rejoicing, being. I have been given an incredible gift. What is it. What am I doing with it? Has it changed me? Has it changed the way I interact or does my lack of constant perspective cause me to counteract it's supposed powers of freedom...

Thinking. Prayerful. Wonderful God. So many thoughts to be marvelled at. Being romanced, embraced, loved. Just as I am. Really? Now?

Secrets for my heart waiting to be told on His baited breath. Then, a whisper, a heart, a confirmation extends my feeling of faith. But faith is not a feeling. Neither is grace. A moment of clarity is followed by hours of mystified silence. I balance them between my spirit and fist. Remind. Rewind. Entertwine. And then try to mesh two totally opposite arguments together inside my spirit...Collide!

A stride in the right direction. A narrow road.
Vines.
Mines.
Signs.
I grab my blanket and crawl into this. Bliss. Reminisce. A moment so clear. Tomorrow austere. I cling. Sing. Bring. An offering. A heart. To trust His heart.
Dust.
Must.
I thrust my head upon His shoulders.
Combust!
The dream forms notes of fragrant music...from within me.
I cannot control it, but it must not stop. Don't stop now. Show me how. To live. Fully. Yours.
No more scores.
No chores.
Just open doors.
And Your chest of drawers...filled to the brim for me.

The ABOMINATION

2009-01-26T19:50:00.000-08:00

TONIGHT my cooking was
Purely Inedible
The fact that they all agreed…
That’s Incredible
Perplexed, I try to analyze
The spontaneity
In which I had devised
the tender glaze
of my demise…
Cuz I know it wasn’t the way
With which
I fried the noodles
Without a hitch
And it wasn’t the zuccini
Frozen and thawed
That truly made the dish
Become flawed
Perhaps it was the sausage balls
Wetter than Niagra Falls
Soggy, raw, and hardly meat
They gave away that I did cheat
Or maybe it was stale bread chunks
I threw right in
Thinking proudly with a grin
That surely this will make me win
Italian salad dressing truly
was a unique flavour
Although not enough to fully savour
When mixed with the tomato treat
It stubbornly professed defeat
Surely it was the combination
That created this abomination
As I sit back and think, think, think
It’s not ONE thing that made it stink
But nonetheless there was not one link
To keep it from the kitchen sink
Don’t know whether to laugh
Or cry
But tomorrow I shall
Give it another try…

Perpetual Checkmate

2009-01-17T16:59:00.000-08:00

If my life were a game of chess, with Whom am I playing? Would I be trying to win... or if I started to realize I had no chance of winning, would I join the other side, start another game, or just give up and go home? My life isn't a game. But every once in a while there is a coveted sense of God's closeness, and my hands, although willfully submitted, are also fully tied. Checkmate.

There are only two teams. We're either for Him or against Him. Do I want what He wants? Then I actually want the checkmate. I embrace it. It is a cover of humility that I carry around with me that reveals a submitted heart to the One who is going to win the game.

"Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant..." (Phil. 2:5-7)

Rows and Rows of Nothingness...

2009-01-08T20:11:00.000-08:00

Money to spend. Only me to spend it on. But the racks of clothing offered vague condolences. It was as unfulfilling to flip through rows of shirts as sorting through a haystack. So much straw. Not enough needles. Sure, I could use a few more shirts for variety in my daily life. But nothing spoke out, and I was lulled to listless discouragement at the repeating patterns and lying "sale" prices. Nothing spoke. Nothing called. And certainly nothing "jumped out."

I toyed with the idea of the seemlessly selfless act of giving it all away, leaving the responsibility to spend the gift of money behind me. But no one in the store jumped out at me either. Frankly, if they had, I'd probably hold more tightly to my purse.

So I faced a paradox today. To give...to spend...to hold. None of it felt right.

Meaningless. It's all meaningless.

Are you listening?

2009-01-02T13:30:00.000-08:00

I assume that no one really hears when I speak. Sometimes I am okay with that. Other times I am mad at myself for assuming the worst. I speak briefly. With no detail. And. Summarize. Quickly. Before anyone can change the subject or get distracted. Because surely if that happens to me (again) that is a sign of disinterest. Neglect. That they don't care. Worthless banter. Again. And I wonder...

Yes, it is clearly in my childhood. I replay a video tape of a little girl repeating a comment over and over again as the adults in the room ignore the floating fragments like a stinky fart that wafts to and fro until it's power subsides and then extinguishes.

The irony is that no one would ever know that I feel this way when I speak. Around those with whom I know well, I speak freely and with confidence. It's not an issue.

But around groups? And I am going to be in a group tonight. And I am often in groups of people. They need to hear what I have to say. But my tongue cramps up and my brain turns off. Tongue-tied with nothing to say, I behave properly and don't waste anyone's time.

But when I am on stage...I suddenly know that I am heard. And believe that what I have to say affects the lives of those who listen. Surprisingly, I do not even wonder or blink. In fact, in most circumstances, I am even unbothered if no one is listening. There is an intimacy between me and God and a vulnerability that appears when I am on stage. It if it exists purely between the two of us, I do not care. And it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

But why does it take a stage to effect this change in my personality? To others, they might assume I am a hypocrite...so quiet in groups, and so bold on stage...

Muffled words
uttered quickly
sickly
As though you do not want to hear
I appear
sheepish
cheapish
Behind my useless lips
In another moment
I become changed
My fear exchanged
with careful carelessness
Abandonment
to purpose
Oblivious
to your time
or my time
But being there in
just the right time.

"Don't jump out of the minivan...we're almost there!"

2008-12-27T14:48:00.000-08:00

Hope floats.
Like a basket
with a baby inside
Lilypads
waving on the pond water
A canoe
with a red haired girl rehearsing poetry
A bird
quenching its thirst
They come
to the water
to be filled
refreshed
replenished
Hope is restored
When it once was floored

"What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient?" (Job 6:11)

"Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him," (Ps. 42:5)

"Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the LORD." (Ps. 31:24)

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful." (Heb. 10:23)

"No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame, but they will be put to shame who are treacherous without excuse." (Ps. 25:3)

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him." (Ps. 62:5)

"I hope you will put up with a little of my foolishness; but you are already doing that." (2 Cor. 11:1)

"There is still hope for Israel." (Ezra 10:2)

Am I a good mother?

2008-12-19T15:56:00.000-08:00

I asked my daughter early this morning (before I had thought too deeply about it or I would have surely not asked the question) if she thought I was a good mother. "Sometimes," she responded honestly, likely recalling all the times I had refused her more sugar and the last time I raised my voice.

I was immediately sorry that I asked. Not sorry because of her answer, but sorry because it shouldn't matter. I'm going to mess up. I'll have good days, bad days, and medium days. The most important thing is that I'm serving them like Jesus served and giving them an example of love that they can follow.

That means reflecting joy. Not being so overworked that I can't smile and tell a joke. Peace. Requiring it of my heart and showing them that it's worth fighting for. Patience. Ahhhh...yes, the one with which I ask them to pray for me to have more of. At it's core, isn't patience putting them before myself? Why is it so hard to be late for school? Why must I always be coaxing them to go faster, be faster, do faster. Kindness. God's kindness leads me to repentence. How does my kindness compare with that? Goodness. I'm really at a loss about goodness. I have a friend who says my "goodness" makes her mad sometimes. I just can't see it. It's undefined for me right now. Faithfulness. My heart quickly clings to God's faithfulness. As a mother, my body is faithful to the midnight calls because I'm in their room before my brain has had a chance to wonder what just happened. In that way, faithfulness is like "magic" to me. It's supernatural. Can't plan it. And yet, there are times when you choose not to walk away. Gentleness. I have noticed that the more gentle I am in my tone with the kids, the lower their tolerance is. "Mom, be gentle with me..." they'll say when I reprimand them. Not sure gentleness is fully understood by me yet. Self-control. Ouch. There's another one. Especially this time of year. If I'm "sneaking" into the pantry, chances are it's not the first one I've had today. How can I require self-control of my children when I'm not displaying it in the simple area of "treating myself"? And what does self-control have to do with love? I guess it means loving myself enough to know that even though it tastes good, it's pleasure lasts for a moment.

So what is it that makes me a good mother? The way I think of it is whether or not I am loving. Love never fails. The problem? I am uncapable of loving in such a capacity. If I have not spent time quietly receiving the fullness of God's love for me...chances are my tank is dwindling. Where do I go to receive more love? That is also an important question...I am learning that God alone has what I need to be filled.

Does it matter that my daughter thinks I am only "sometimes" a good mother? Not really. She's six. There are things she won't even realize until she is an adult. Ways she was shaped by my misbehaviour as well as my behaviour. What really matters is what God thinks of me. Is my ambition to please Him or my daughter? I'm in deep trouble here if my ambition is to please her...the jury's still out on me as far as she's concerned. But if my focus remains on pleasing God, my motives and direction change. And they won't wander far.

"Christians make such extraordinary claims, but live such ordinary lives."

I want to live a life full with love...what extraordinary things will happen when my ambition is to please God alone and look to Him to fill up my heart with His love?

2008-12-18T19:56:00.001-08:00

What is a blog and why would I want to do it and why has it taken me so long to ask such questions? I suppose a blog is for thought. Does it have to be complete or can it be random and wandering and uncomplicated? Is it for opinions or for the simple minded? Is blogging for me?

(I think it's not for me. )

The only reason I'm on here is because I like to check if my friend posted something new. In order to leave a comment I had to join, but when I joined, I never left a comment. It seems odd. Is it fate presenting itself in an odd way?

If it is, why fight it any more? And who is going to read this? Anyone who wants to? Will I invite friends to read about my simple thoughts or will I just leave it for the random and wandering eye...

oh my...