Ok

It’s not okay, it might not ever be.  I will find a way to live and breathe around the heartache.  I will squeeze your hand extra tight.  Maybe this will become less painful, somehow.  “And if it doesn’t?”  I sigh, – “I know” – But actually we both know, I’m not to walk that far down the road yet.

And then there is my little boy’s heart smile, and my older boy’s blue as the sea eyes.  There’s my daughter, resting her head on top of mine.  My hubby, arms like a blanket on a stormy day.  There are a handful of trees, a big blue sky.  Always a full belly and slumber.  And You.  There was and always will be You.

As tears run their path on my cheek they meet a smile.  My life is full and wonderful.  I am hopeful and still.

I will wait.

“I say to myself, the Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.”  Lamentations 3:24

an unexpected route

Psalm 118:17 -18 ”I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the LORD has done.  The LORD has chastened me severely, but he has not given me over to death.”

No longer estranged, but chastened from the one my heart loved & is re-learning to love.  Taught, molded gently as a potter working with hard clay.   He is breathing love back over the wounds and fear, a heart raw from unmet expectations.

I would have died doubting – but I will not die.  I will live.  I will proclaim what the Lord has done.  In the chastening, He has become my salvation.

When & There

When I first saw Him I ran to Him. He was everything I wanted so I curled up in His lap, certain He would indulge me. And I talked to Him, and He stayed there.

And time moved forward and I cried to Him when everything was awkward and out of place, and He held me. I laid my head in His hands and He calmed me there.

When joy came sweeping in as new love grabbed my hand, I twirled the daisies He had grown for me.  I ran with abandon through the meadow and He raced me there.

And time moved forward and I knelt to Him when everything was false and flat and fearful.  I said sorry, took His strong hand, and He changed me there.

When I looked I could not see Him. I longed for His lap, His arms, His presence, and His hand. In desperation my heart failed me there.

And time moved forward and I struggled to breathe, to believe, to hope, to see.  I held out my empty hand and talked to the sky.  My face searched, my voice yearned, and I choose to believe anyway there.

When He stooped down to gather me from ‘round His legs and washed me then clothed me, I knew He had been there.

Now time moves forward and He offers salve, and to clothe me in white.  I lay my head between His shoulders and I listen to His mighty heartbeat.  I dance in His love and He leads to the home He has prepared for me there.

By His Wounds

“I took you from the ends of the Earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, ‘You are my servant’; I have chosen you and have not rejected you.” Isaiah 41:9 (NIV)

A few years ago I drove through Yellowstone National Park. Amazed, I pressed my face to the window as I scanned the trees that had been destroyed several years earlier in a wildfire, still standing without limb or leaf, strangely rugged and beautiful.

I have an older friend, a lover of God’s gift of nature, who studies wildflowers. She enchants those who walk with her as she points out lovely Indian Paint Brush or yellow Balsam Root. The wildflower that most captures my imaginings is the Fireweed, tall and willowy with red blossoms. It fills Yellowstone, as the first flower that blooms after a fire. When stem, leaves, and flower are destroyed the heat causes the roots to go deeper in search of water.
The hands that created the Fireweed are the hands that created me, able to sustain life that is seared.

The loss of a close friendship, a rift in my family that I do not know how to repair, my children’s sore hearts as they bade home, family, and friend goodbye for a move across country, are the fires that have burned in my life. Feelings of rejection are trying to cripple me. Yet, I can feel my very soul being wooed by my Creator. I greet Him wide-eyed wondering that in the midst of smoke and ash I find his hand extended toward me, beckoning me. In the darkness He whispers, “by my wounds you are healed.” Perplexed, I ponder that, wondering how His death brings healing in broken relationships. But then His word begins lighting my mind and the dark passages in my heart, as He whispers why He bore the wounds and what love really is. Showing me that true love says I will love you whether or not you love me. True love does not hide from rejection. It says I will be here when you are ready. True love empties itself of pride and is willing to be the least and the last. And those who give true love give, confident that his love is enough.

I am growing slowly as my roots search deeper for His presence, His will, His glory, His love.

Confession

Sometimes I wish I were catholic.  I would like to go to confession….I honestly would, at least once a month.  I’m not catholic so my reference points on this are Sound of Music and Zorro…sorry.  To sit in a booth and be really honest about who I am, confessing my sins and being healed, well that’s appealing.  To have someone else know what ugliness protrudes from my soul but still bless me?  That would be extraordinary.  But I am protestant & I cannot remember ever being asked to “fess” up about those things that plague me.

Last fall I wished to be Jewish while celebrating the fall feasts.  I sat along a stream and confessed to God in His creation while collecting my sin stones.  I then rattled off what each stone represented to the three women gathered with me.  I love those women.  I know what their sin stones represented too.  I felt true and clean as if I had dipped in the water my stones were thrown into.  With each truthful word spoken by a sister my tongue was loosed to be honest about myself.  And what I thought should feel shameful became a joyful celebration of a sinner who had fallen into the hands of mercy.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.” Mt 5:7

The Mentor

If you’ve been part of a church for more than a millisecond you’ve realized there’s an in crowd.

At times I’ve been in, all the right lingo pouring out, right smack in the A list.  At times I have been out, splitting my time between figuring out how to get in & convincing myself why I don’t really want to.

I met a woman I considered a mentor.  Of course she had no idea who I was.  But I tried to move into her life anyway.  The problem was other people wanted to move in too…and before I knew it the only spot left was the basement closet…not exactly the hotspot.  Not a place the owner visits much, just here & there when looking for holiday decorations or an old pair of boots to lend out.  On those rare occasions when she’d visit me I sat on the edge of my seat hoping she would see something worthwhile in me, hoping she’d invite me to the living room.  She’s something & if she likes me, maybe I’m something too.  The only  thing worse than never meeting someone you greatly admire, is meeting them and realizing they could care less.  I vacillated between feeling like a circus performer trying to juggle every new act just to get her attention, and a sell-out.  In private I told myself what a weenie I was to go after approval that way.

One night I laid in bed for hours trying to understand why she went out of her way to spend time with everyone else….I was the really spiritual one after all.   I was able to sleep only after concluding that she missed her God given opportunity to get to know me.

The Creator, the one who organized every living being, blowing breath on dust, didn’t just invite me over for an afternoon of conversation & coffee.  He asked if He could move right into me.  To be honest, I cannot quite get over it.

An Off-Brand Life….No Comfort On The Cross

Can I tell you what I want out of life??  Do you have a minute to pull up a chair?  I want a smallish house with beautiful plants surrounding it & a roof made of shakes.  Smells that welcome visitors and make them want to stay for the cookies in the oven.  Sounds of kids laughing, while I strain to hear all the darn cute things they are coming up with.  Permanence….same house, same garden, new friends are okay, same stores, same streets.  But ahh it seems that it is not to be.

My heart feels a little tattered tonite.  Like a rag flappin’ out on the line.

At about age 13 I told my mom I did not want an ordinary life, oh how I wish I could go back and muzzle that big-mouthed girl.  There is plenty of adventure in books….

So here I am, another house in another state, hundreds of miles from those I love best.  I feel my life is an itchy sweater with seams that keep twisting up my body.  The tag at the neck is driving me to distraction, it’s fixating.  I cannot breathe right, I do not feel right, but I just keep yanking at that tag.  It is easier than learning to live in it, or around it.

If God put His hand on my head my whole body would still be squirming.  There is only one conversation I am looking to have….and He keeps bringing me back to where we started “Set your heart on pilgrimage”.

I don’t much like being a pilgrim, and it doesn’t strike me as a very family friendly lifestyle.  Should the created tell the Creator “no”?   At the heart of this conflicted life lies a deep desire to see the extraordinary, even if it means traveling to the ends of the earth.  In love, I will set my heart on pilgrimage….trusting a God whose knowledge spans beginning to end.  Trusting a love that gave all to love me, I will endeavor to give too.

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