Crazy, I Know!

 Growing up, I didn’t have a lot to spend on luxuries of any sort. I certainly didn’t buy clothes since most of what I wore were hand-me-downs or bought new by my parents. I was trying to remember as a college student and young adult whether I bought clothes then. Hmm. I did buy those purple hot pants and leggings when I left college to sing full time, second billing to a hard rock band. (Never wore them on stage, though, since long hippy dresses were more the thing in Christian rock circles.)

No, I didn’t shop a lot. My biggest expenditure other than food and rent was stationery and empty journals. There was just something about the blank page.

As a young mother busy raising kids, I didn’t buy much for myself. Part of it was thrift, part of it was busyness. I did sew some, but my needs weren’t great. When I got into quilting, I did spend money on fabric, but that is art, so it doesn’t count. Maybe.

When my husband and I retired, we allotted ourselves mad money accounts, and most of that has gone for photography equipment, which is indeed a luxury. But every expenditure came with a twinge of guilt–like this was unnecessary, and what about all those worthy causes out there, and what about all the needs and wants of my kids and grandkids.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought myself an air fryer. I don’t need an air fryer. I mean who needs another appliance to cook a better French fry? I have gone back and forth about its usefulness, my worthiness, my . . . who knows what! But I have decided it is just plain fun to have something new–something to experiment with. I went on Amazon and bought myself two 100% cotton nighties (not made in China!). And I am thinking that though I don’t need it at all, I may just go out and buy myself some expensive non-stick frying pans! And I may even buy the domain for this blog rather than just using the freebee.

It’s not that I am throwing caution to the wind, but I have decided I might deserve a little extravagance that goes beyond need. Crazy, I know.

Grey Moments of Life

 

The whup, whup of the medivac helicopter matched the beat of blood, pulsing in my ears. I couldn’t breathe. My hands were clenched in front of me. A position of prayer, I think. A blur. Help, Jesus.

They were talking to him in his shredded blue Grand “Was.” He was alive, but he looked dazed, moving in slow motion, or else I was seeing in slow motion.

The officer kept asking me stupid questions, keeping me from running to the car. I answered with one part of my brain as the rest of my soul and mind searched the accident scene for hope that my boy was going to be okay.

*********************

It was a long journey, but he survived. That was one of those grey moments of life, though, when peace and ease are exchanged in a moment for panic and desperate prayers.

I Want to Return

 

I want to return to that place—

the comfort and ignorance of childhood,

the rooftops, the trees, haylofts, and attics,

the fast river and railroad tracks that led nowhere and everywhere,

green fields and barbed wire fences, and salt licks for sampling.

Free days.

I remember the scent of my father, the oil and hay, stale manure, and Old Spice.

In church, I explored weathered hands with blackened nails,

sucking Lifesavers while adults thought about Jesus.

I remember mum in floral house dresses with sensible shoes,

baking cookies, tender crusted pies, and fried bologna we thought was a treat,

berry picking and chauffeuring to Jeffrey’s Lake for a muddy swim with leeches.

Free days, happy days—at least for a child.

I want to return to that place before the angry shouts of opposition parties,

the heated debates about border, fentanyl, and sex trafficking,

the hot tears and anger with mass shootings and invasion robberies.

To the place with unlocked doors and no coded security systems,

to the place where every neighbor was a friend and helper and

not suspected of being on some sex offender’s registry.

Free days, ignorant days.

But there is no going back, I guess;

there is no unknowing and unseeing what the world has become,

and we would desperately protect our own,

hold off the darkness as long as possible; but

somehow it seems we have dragged our little ones along to this troubled place.

But I would return if I could.

 

 

Color Me Winter

 

Respect

 

I have been thinking about respect lately—given and received. I guess I often thought of it as shouldered up against love. The admiration and thoughtful regard that had any meaning, any authenticity, would be so close to love as to be almost indistinguishable. But I have changed my mind about this.

Someone can love me and yet show disrespect in how s/he treats my ideas, my feelings, my needs. I have felt the distinction, and I’m sure have been guilty of doing the same.

It is not easy, though. Not easy to disagree emphatically without showing a disregard for a person’s feelings and particular point of view. The tricky thing is that when disrespect is consistently practiced, love diminishes. It becomes a word used in meetings and greetings, but a word that weakens with use because the soul food that nourishes love is poisoned by the criticisms and insensitive barbs.

Respect is the doorway to real relationship—the foundation of genuine love.

 

Poets in a Blender

 

I think my barbaric yawp can sound

not only on Walden’s Pond,

in a metro, or

beside a red wheelbarrow, but can also sound by a mended wall,

near a road less travelled, and even in front of Herbert’s altar.

Nameless here and evermore one of Emily’s grand nobodies.

Roseate Spoonbill in Motion

 

Winter Wonder

 

The Limping Church Triumphant

L-ife is to be lived with love as our mandate; but too often,

I-maginations are soiled with the cares and constraints of bolstering up this

M-ansion here, rather than the one

P-prepared for us. Wishing to stay and wishing to go

I-s for those closest to heaven’s door and

N-ot for those distracted with position and purpose,

G-rounded, it seems, in earthly things. And we wound each other with

C-areless words; and we

H-arm the weak and disarm the strong, without

U-nderstanding we are servants one of another, chosen not by destiny but

R-edeemed and uniquely

C-hosen by Christ. He is the One we serve—not ourselves—with grace and

H-umility, forgiving one another, seeking each one’s best.

T-herefore, as God’s people, let us clothe ourselves with compassion; let peace

R-ule our hearts, forgiving all grievances, responding

I-n love as Christ has loved us,

U-nfettered by ambition and pride and blind passion.

M-aster of all, Lord of Your church, it would seem our faith

P-aralysis is not a reflection of You but our

H-alf-hearted devotion, our crippling sins.

A-rise in our hearts; revive your chosen ones that we might

N-ot be so earthbound, but set our hearts on

T-hings above. This is my broken prayer.

***

Colossians 3
Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. 2 Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. 3 For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. 4 When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

5 Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. 6 Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. 7 You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. 8 But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips.

9 Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices 10 and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. 11 Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.

12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. 13 Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

14 And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

15 Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. 16 Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. 17 And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Seeing with New Eyes

 

I had cataract surgery done a week and a half ago. I chickened out last year–something about a knife near the eyes bit! But I was getting desperate, so I did not read any contraindications and just went for it. I had not been able to drive at night for over 2 years, and even daily activities were becoming a strain. I probably should have asked more questions, though, because rather than a piece of cake, this “routine” surgery was more like liver and onions–more uncomfortable than I thought it would be.

I am very chemically sensitive, so having gotten through the procedure with fairly minor and endurable hiccups, the worst part became the reaction to the steroid drops which are needed for speedy healing. This is a five-week process, and I have quite some time to go, but I hope the worst is over.

That was the bad and the ugly. The good part is that somebody turned on the lights! Whites are whiter and colors are brighter, not to mention that everything has distinct edges and not fuzzy, ever-changing ones. The green in the traffic light is . . . well, green green! It is almost like a different color. It is not preferred by me to undergo any surgery, but given the positive change in my sight, I think it was worth it!

My eyes are blue blue again. Haven’t been like this since forever! You don’t think about it because the discoloration and hardening happens slowly over time. Even my own photographic work is brighter and more colorful. And I have discovered I am a much better photographer than I thought. 🙂

We don’t become aware of the hardening process that alters so much of what we see because it happens bit by bit, year by year. And only when it cannot be ignored any longer do we even recognize it is something to be dealt with. I am thinking that is kind of like what happens with our hearts. If betrayals and loss, disappointments and disillusionment build up, then over time the hardening becomes something to radically deal with. It interferes with our ability to prosper and see life and mission clearly. But it starts small, and it builds layer upon layer. I am not sure how to prevent that from destroying my joy, but my desire is that I would become aware of the hurts that bind and settle down into my spirit.

May I hold lightly to pain and hold tightly to renewal is my prayer.

Upside-down World

When what was and now is not happens in a wisp of a moment,

when friends become foes, exchanging their trust for biting and isolating words,

then it is plain to see that we are living in an upside-down world.

When conversations meant to break down barriers instead erect the worst kind of walls,

when what I see and what you see suddenly are

oddly at odds

to the vision once shared,

then it is pain to see that we are as much a part of this upside-down world as everyone we have observed from afar. Tut, tut, what a shame it was. And is.

We are in it, of it, and yearning for all to be made right.

What makes it worse is that the reflection is somewhat like what we hope for; but

in its rippling distortion and everchanging color, what’s hoped for seems like some cruel illusion.

Far off, unattainable, yet present enough to hunger the soul.

======================

Proverbs 13:12 (NLT)

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

3-24-18

Have Mercy

Oh, Lord of the broken and heartsick,

of the world weary and tumult tossed,

have mercy.

Oh, Lord of the fractured and failing,

of the wounded and flailing,

have mercy on us.

May our beliefs align with Your truths,

and may our weakness not hinder Your kingdom work

here in this battleground

between earth and heaven,

between the cross and the crown.

Oh, Lord of the blind and beleaguered,

the willing but wanting,

have mercy on us here below.

May our hearts break for the living lost

and our hands be quick to holy tasks

here on this hallowed ground

between world and wonder,

between sacrifice and song.

Oh, Lord, have mercy on us here below we pray.

Once Again

These witchy trees, bare and lifeless, cold and leafless:

One might wonder where life has gone and if all hope is gone,

receded into the dark earth. But

in one moment, that gifted second,

a nub of green sprouts, a speck of promise appears, and the sleeper rises,

stretches to the sky. Renewal happens once again—

from death to life.

That these dormant praises in me would rise again, unchained.

That these sleeping sermons once more would reach my mouth that I may speak of Your wonder,

once again.

These Carnal Threads

I look down at my hands and know that within those tissues and cells, blood is coursing,

coming from,

going to,

minute after minute, circuit upon circuit. But where is my soul in this pink, freckled flesh? Where is my spirit in this troubled, pondering life?

Is the soul hitching a ride on red blood cells as they careen by the white?

Is my spirit holed up in one of my vital organs? My brain, maybe? Concentrated in a command center, overseeing all my worldly cognition. 

Perhaps soul and spirit share space, intertwined in the four chambers of my pulsing heart.

But when the soul is gone, the hands are still there, and even the blood; but what stops really when we say life is gone? As the flesh cools, lying motionless, is the me-part that is really me immediately absent,

or hovering, waiting for further instructions?

It is said to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord, but I am wondering when the absent happens. What changes in that one fragile second to another when what was thought alive is now

dead

and these carnal threads release their hold?

3-9-18

Surrender

Surrender feels like failure.

It feels depressing, like giving up.

There is a darkness to it, a weight to it—the unwilling outmanned, outmaneuvered, surrounded, and pressed to defeat.

Surrender feels like exhaustion.

It feels compressing, like yielding up the last breathless bits of me.  

And yet You call me to this laying down of arms jazz

in exchange for Your loving arms.

And I find that surrender to You is not as much giving up as over—not as much failing as falling into a tender pull,

deference to one more wise and able, after all my best ideas have faltered and failed,

after all my excuses have dried in my mouth,

after all my tears have washed away nothing.

It is the unclenching of a fist, the unmasking of a façade.

It is the baring of a war-torn will, the stripping of all that chokes and hinders.

And I find that surrender to You is not as much like crying “uncle,”

but more like a hallelujah.

Willing To Be Defeated

I used to be cocksure,

willing to trample fragile souls for the sake of being right. And

it hurts to think I was so unlike Your sacrificial kindness, so unlike Your bleeding, selfless truth.

May I be willing to be defeated to win one. May I grow accustomed to embarrassment to at least appear humble as the pride prickles are chiseled away—one by one, by weary one.

My kingdom looks ever dim in the bright hues of Your shining presence—and may all see You

in spite of me.

If I would feed on Your words more than I feed on my need, I would be so much more nourished

with life to give.

A Limping Life

I heard your whisper in the wind, and

I leaned to listen; but

my lisping voice rose rough and rasping, replaying all the shame moments,

the named moments—over and over,

owning their bite.

I glimpsed your face in the green breeze of spring, and

I opened my eyes wide to see and be seen, but

the haze of doubt drifted down like a curtain, so I was unsure of what was there; and

blinking long and hard only tired my eyes,

my heart,

my will.

I put my knee to ground in weakness,

convinced that my limping life would never be anything more than this,

that tears would ever flow; but

you met me there

where

words are soft and

light is clear and

belief is birthed from unbelief.

*****************

Be still and know that I am God. ~Psalm 46:10a

Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. ~Mark 9:24b

Renewal

Renewal always sounds bright and shiny, like a beautifully restored vintage car or a vibrant blossom in the spring bursting from what had looked like a lifeless branch. But the problem with renewal is that something has decayed in order for it to require a new life. So restoration is a good thing. Right?


But renewal comes with a hitch. What is new is chained to what is old. When I walk in fresh ways, my past self is not dismissed like a cast-off piece of clothing. My past is the chain tied around my ankle, reminding me that whatever lies ahead, whatever bright, polished penny-of-life has brought new life and vision, I am only separated from what has gone before by my willingness to step intentionally onto a new path.


Sure there are helps in people and programs. There is spiritual renewal that comes from the supernatural. But as long as I walk in this skin and bone, my whole story is part of me. Deaths, accidents, betrayals, and sufferings, both physical and mental, do not suddenly and totally disappear in the presence of some mysterious regeneration of self or circumstance. Glass-half-empty does not of its own accord morph into glass-half-full. Renewal is the gritty process of intentionally looking to what is ahead. It is the planting of one foot in front of the other, heading toward a brighter prospect. It is the recognition that what is really real will become actually real when faith becomes sight.


In faith, I may be a new creature and all things may become new in some spiritual sense; but in truth, renewal here requires the commitment to press on in weakness, not forgetting the other chapters of my story, but putting them in the grander perspective of the whole story.


“Now I know in part; then I shall fully know, even as I am fully known.” ~I Cor. 13:12b          

Preface to My Profound Political Speech (Keeping It Real!!!!)

First, thank you to all my fans and the planted vocal support placed throughout the crowd to give the illusion that I have more going for me than I do. 

I would like to thank my speech writers for the rousing, articulate diatribe I am about to recite. As politicians from the last century and this can testify, without you, the world would know that my handlers think I am incapable of presenting cogent arguments on this stage, let alone present truths that are worthy of electing me to the power and position I so earnestly crave. Of course, if they plagiarize the content, I have plausible deniability since I only saw the speech last night, and my views are so fluid they assume I will need to include material that has already had a favorable hearing.    

Thank you also to my handlers who coached me as to when I should raise my voice, sweep my hand, and shed a tear. The subtle pinch I give myself at various points is a very effective way to generate a tear without feeling that much emotion. (Pulling out nose hairs works, as well, but is harder to do in public.)The tight knot in the tie at my throat enables me to get very red-faced and sweaty at moments of righteous indignation.  The "pause for effect or laughter" notes on the teleprompter are also a great help in reminding me to give space for my "plants" to insert the proper response, and by imitation and inspiration, influence the innocents around them into brainlessly jumping on this popular bandwagon.

Please know that if I had to write my own material, I would not have become this successful, so join me in giving credit where credit is due--as long as they do not get my substantial paycheck and as long as they also take all the blame for any errors in construction and content. And now to begin . . .

******************

It is with great humility and transparency that I accept your rallying support, adulation, and finances on this historic day! . . .

It Doesn't Take Much

It doesn’t take much to shake confidence.

Brick by brick, you structure a world with truths and practices you trust are best—

sure—

guaranteed with positive outcomes.

And then the slight shift,

the murmur of doubt.

It doesn’t take a crushing blow—only the soft winds of uncertainty,

the weighted air of disappointment. And collapse threatens.