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...
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
words I love
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
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)
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
killing time
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.)
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.)
(Oh...and Misty, that means there is no fear in losing control over your speed either. Next time enjoy the ride.)
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Get real.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Front porch night
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.
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.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Peace of Cake
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
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
Sunday, August 29, 2010
the History of Famous Inventions
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.
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.
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