Ebenezer

Wow. The last couple of evenings, I've spent re-reading much of my blog. I've read most of the published posts, and some unpublished ones as well. I've remembered thoughts and circumstances which lead to thoughts which led to the writings here. And I've been amazed.

What an ebenezer, this blog is.
And it is a good thing for me to see this ebenezer, this stone of remembrance.

An ebenezer is a stone raised in a certain place, so when others see it they can ask what it stands for, and can hear and remember the stories it represents. Ebenezers of God's grace and goodness and mercy.

In the path and rush of life, it is so incredibly easy to forget these mercies and graces and answered prayers. Its so easy to forget the thousands of blessings and gifts. It is necessary to remember these things. Its necessary to look back and see the beauty of God's presence.

I used to keep a prayer journal, and go back periodically to date when things happened or prayers were answered. It was amazing to see it in black and white. Now I am looking back at this story, and am amazed at the views I've seen and the miracles that have happened.

God is ever good.
God is ever present.
Here I raise my ebenezer. My stone of remembrance for all He has done.

A Global Story

I just love nativities. My favorite of all time is the one my grandmother made of ceramic and painted many years ago. We lovingly place it in the most visible spot in the living room every year. For as long as I can remember, I've gazed and contemplated Christmas and Christ through the weeks it was displayed, and it still brings me back into the story of His birth when I look at it.

A couple of years ago I decided to start collecting nativities, but not just any nativities. I decided to collect them when I travel world wide. And I wanted small ones, the size of my hand or smaller.
I think collections should be carefully selected, with items chosen because they invoke feelings or memories or thoughts. I think collections should be small enough to be enjoyed, each piece known and loved.

This is a photo of my collection.

The nativity in the back is special because it is a little house, with doors that open and close. Inside the holy family sits, and below the shepherds reside with their sheep. I was fascinated by the house, and it traveled home with me from Bolivia, my first trip there.

On the right the donkey is tired, but carefully led by Joseph, with Mary and babe perched on his back. I love how the figures have no faces, but allow for imagination to take over. I can picture a "Mary" I know, who said, "let it be according to your word!" and a "Joseph" who courageously accepted what seemed impossible. Faces I know can replace the ones the artist would use. This is made of olivewood and bought in Jerusalem. I haggled with a Jewish man who had just given me fresh orange juice, the freshest I've ever tasted. He declared I was starving his children, but when I left his shop we were both satisfied.

And on the left, is my latest one, bought in Santa Cruz this year. I love how the family looks so Bolivian with a tabor tree behind them.

I think I am fascinated because I love the ethnicity of them. I love seeing how people in different cultures represent Jesus, and how they take their artistry and weave it into the global message. I love seeing Jesus portrayed in different color skins, different cultural details telling a story to people in familiar ways. It fascinates me to think of how different places in the world view Jesus and His story, how they clothe Him in their clothing, how they picture his setting like their own. And I wonder about what I add to the story, unknown, from my own setting. Perhaps my Jesus was born in a shed in the middle of a cotton field. Its really a beautiful thing, how we can all read the same story, written thousands of years ago, and all from different times and cultures, and yet are united by the same story of salvation for all. Grace and strength for all.

Its a global story for all.

Reflecting

I'm feeling kind of quiet and reflective. I've had a lot going on the past few weeks, and its all coming to a point soon. I've been mulling over some things and looking back and rethinking. Its draining and exhilarating at the same time. One of those moments when the next breath might change your course, never to return and make a new decision.
In the midst I keep trudging on with every day tasks and thoughts, and take out these others during repose or moments of respite.

I've been thinking of re-reading my blog and journals. Every year, near the start of the new year I like to look behind at where I've come from in order to gain some perspective of where I might be going. The path behind is often indicative of things that are patterns or directions that might be missed if we never reviewed them. Its time for this review, time to take stock and see where I am and who I am.

Somehow, the girl who started out this year feels so different than the one ending it. I'm almost afraid to look at who she was, and cringe a little at what I might see. I hope its a better version of Katie at the end of the year than at the beginning. I hope its a deeper and more mature Katie, one showing growth and change in a positive way.

There have been so many adventures, so many dark places, and yet a lot of light, too. I feel like I climbed a mountain, took in the view, and now...what's next? Coming off the mountain top experience can be sort of like getting the breath knocked out of you. But it is a view everyone should experience and remember vividly. Its a vision, really, of where we should be aiming to live. A big picture viewpoint.

So as this year winds down, I begin to reflect and revisit places in the path, ebenezers and markers, to see where I've been, and catch a glimpse of where I'm going.

Most of all I want to follow Jesus. Where ever that might lead.

A Journey of Faith

Faith. Like a mustard seed, so tiny it is lost in the palm of your hand. And yet this is the chosen symbol from Jesus' mountain sermon. The people gathered there looked around them on that rocky hill and understood, for all around them were the mustard plants. It was imagery that was fresh, that used pieces of their reality. It was imagery that symbolized that a small insignificant seed could produce a tree, a miracle to be reckoned with. A symbol of the kingdom of God.

A journey of faith can be just as doubtful as looking at that mustard seed. It can be impossible at times to look at that seed and really believe it will produce anything worthwhile. That anything will come of it.

I am in that doubting moment. I doubt that the seed of the calling God has spoken in me will really come to anything. I doubt that water will come and sun will come and nutrients will come to bring that seed to fruition. I doubt that money will come to pay for what it requires to follow Jesus. I doubt that ministry will open up, that strength to follow through will be found. I doubt that these God-given dreams which I cannot escape will become reality to be reckoned with.

But I was reminded today of the journey so far. Remembering where I've been, where I came from, the innocent and unsuspecting beginnings. The beginnings that gave no hint of what was going to happen next.

My whole life has been woven and spun with graces and mercies. With strengths and unasked for provisions to accomplish what I did not suspect I would even ever do or become. Throughout, it has been intertwined with the golden sparkles of God's love and gifts.

And yet I sit here doubting.

If I have been called to something, if a ministry or mission has been given to me, if I am made for greater things, how could I think that I was then expected to achieve it on my own? Foolish thought! But a very real and even disquieting one.

Faith, looking into the spiritual dimension to see what God says about a matter, and then doing it.
Faith, believing that somehow, someway, God will move and the impossible will be possible.
Faith, hanging on and refusing to give up, refusing to accept the second rate offering.

Faith is stepping out, even with no idea of where that step will take us. Faith is not being discouraged when the rain feels late, when the knots are big, when the way is long.

Faith is a journey, I am learning. A journey towards living in peace and quietness, fearlessly trusting that God, who sends you, will also arrange for the message to be delivered. That God, who is weaving the story, who is controlling the threads, knows the pattern. That God knows when the rain and when the sun is needed.

Hebrews 11:1-3 Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for. By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God's command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible. 

How?

How do I sort out the pieces of my heart, and fit them all together?
How do the drops of rain fall in pattern?
How do the leaves know when to change color?

How do I count the stars at night?
How do I explain the shine of the moon's face?

How do I account for the dreams I have so deep in my heart? How do I find the courage to keep on toward them, and not lose sight of the end in the confusion of the way?

How do I name the thoughts and feelings? How do I write what I desire in so many words, when what I want is so big and beautiful?

How do I explain the innermost workings of my heart to others?
How do I grasp hold of a flickering light and make it shine brighter?

How do I speak of things never uttered, only felt?
How do I believe that nothing is impossible?

How do I remember who I am a midst the babble and confusion?

How do I find who I am a midst the babble and confusion?

How do I take one step at a time?

How do I trust?

Psalm 88:12-13
Are your wonders known in the place of darkness, or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?
But I cry to you for help, Lord; in the morning my prayer comes before you.

Psalm 121:1-3
I lift up my eyes to the mountains- where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip-he who watches over you will not slumber.

A Collection

I'm staring at my screen, my brain racing and attempting to collect my thoughts. Writing is relaxing to me, and I am needing to wind down from a busy day and crazy week and organize some thoughts and bring the adrenaline rush down.

And so, a collection of thoughts.

Collections kind of fascinate me. I wondered why people do it, and then I realized I have collections, too. But the thing I think about most is tiny collections. Some people collect a certain item or subject until they have hundreds or thousands.

And some collect until they have three or four. They choose carefully, and wait until just the thing comes along that draws out the beauty from inside them and reminds them of it whenever they see it. Something special and because there are so few of them, they can actually get to know each piece well and recognize each part.

That's what fascinates me, the tiny collections. The big ones become unwieldy  and you can't have them all out and loved without losing something in the masses.

Maybe its because I tend to be a detail sort of person, and like to get to know each detail well. Too much makes it hard to do that, and I get overwhelmed and frustrated.

I have been struggling with a lot of things lately, but one of them is school. Ever since my summer off (ok, it was way before then...but we will say thats when it started) its been difficult to find the groove of studying again. Finally this week I feel like I've had a breakthrough and have made progress in three areas. The first area, the one I felt most encouraged about, was math. A good and patient friend sat down with me on Saturday and helped me conquer some real problems. Hooray for people who actually understand math! Math feels like mind games to me. Hopefully not too much longer until I will be finished with this! The second area was the current examination I am preparing for. I finally took a practice test and found I am not too far from being ready! After nearly a month, its about time. And then there's Spanish, which fills my heart with delight. I'm still throwing Spanish out there randomly to poor folks who do not understand, but smile politely anyway.

Which leads me to another random thought of the day. Last night, during a late night run to Burger King (I know, I know, I didn't choose the location, okay?) I noticed two Latino families eating dinner together. It was all I could do to contain myself and not go over and start talking like some gringa loca. I had to keep reminding myself that they didn't know me, and would probably NOT be as excited to talk to me as I was to talk to them. I did do a bit of eavesdropping just to enjoy the music of their language.

And that reminds me...its now been two months since I returned home from South America, and the culture shock is just beginning to wear off. I still have moments when I look around and suddenly wonder why there are so many gringos, or moments when I start speaking Spanish randomly, or moments when all the stuff we have and the way we live just overwhelms me. I wonder what it'd be like if I had lived there longer...And in one way I don't want it to ever wear off.

Anyway, just a collection of thoughts bouncing around my head and off my fingertips.

Accepting The Gift

Sunday I attended a large church service to celebrate and welcome a new bishop in our conference of United Methodist churches. It was a beautiful service, full of meaning and symbols, full of worshipful beauty. The pentacle of the service came towards the end, when we were celebrating holy communion together. All I remember is the beautiful music, of voice and organ. It was music that lifted higher as it went on, voices raised upward toward the One they were worshiping. They worshiped with excellence and thoughtfulness.

The music lead us toward the front, and we walked quietly, taking it slowly and holding our hands in readiness to receive the gift of Christ's body and blood. I remember the line of people ahead of me, each eager to be there, looking for a place, and all with hands held out, palms open to receive what God has offered. There is a beauty in that symbolism, if anyone takes a moment to recognize it. Christ was a gift to us, a gift beyond comprehension. And we can receive that gift, as if we deserved it. We offer our hands, out stretched and palms upward to accept the gift offered, to feel the bread given, a symbol of Christ's body. To accept the bread and dip it in the cup that represents Christ's blood.

I saw it all in a flash, a moment in time as I stood in line to receive my gift. My gift of redemption, my gift of freedom from the sin that causes me such heartache. My gift of a relationship with Christ. My gift of experiencing the kingdom of God here and now. My gift of grace.

And everyone, together, received this gift.We did not pluck it from the hands of the giver. We did not grasp it and take it from His hands by force.

We waited until it was placed there. We waited until it was given. Just as there were thousands of years between the promise to Abraham, and the fulfillment of Jesus, we waited, time suspended until the gift was given, and we accepted it and it entered us and Christ entered us, and we tasted the ground wheat and the crushed grapes.

That was the pentacle of the service Sunday. That we accepted the gift given to us. The gift of Christ is accepted every time we accept communion. We experience the grace of Christ's love and power every time we accept communion.

Beautiful.

Let us accept the gift always.

My Bolivia

These are some of the faces I remember fondly from Bolivia. And these two, especially, are sweethearts I was thrilled to see again. I played with them, and colored with them, and danced with them two years ago...this visit I only got to see them for a little while, but it was still so exciting.

Only Jesus!

Father of grace, You’ve sacrificed
Your only Son for us, the crucified Jesus
Enlarge our hearts to love Your Son
O grant to us the grace to walk with Him always
To make Him our great delight 
Bringing worship with our lives 

Only Jesus! Only Jesus! 
Give us Jesus, we cry
Only Jesus! Only Jesus!
The Pearl of greatest price

Spirit of grace, You’ve shed Your light
Upon our darkened eyes, unveiling Jesus Christ
Come change our hearts, conform our ways
To honor Jesus’ Name, His glory our refrain
Let His love compel our own
As we worship at His throne

Jesus, our great Savior,
Lord of heaven, Son of God


By Doug Plank "Only Jesus", Valley of Vision. 

Sent

I just returned from annual conference. Came in the door, set down my suitcase, ate a bite, and grabbed my laptop.
I have to process what I heard, and writing is one way I do that.


All weekend the focus has been on sending out those to accomplish the mission of making disciples. It was reflected in the messages of what churches are doing, in the ordination service as they prepared those entering ministry, and in messages by leaders. Bishop Willimon's sermon was titled, "Sent" and he described an errand he was sent on as a young boy, an errand that an adult should have been sent to handle. In conversations around me, I heard a repeated comment about being called into ministry, and knowing that you're called being the only thing that keeps you going during the tough grind of everyday ministry. When the hard days come, you can grit your teeth and keep going because you know you're called to this job, to this task. 


Of course, I immediately think of the errand I am called to accomplish. While a little fuzzy on how it should exactly look, it is to gain a greater understanding of mission, of discipleship, of following Christ and helping others find Christ, too. It is an errand I am ill-equipped to handle, and errand that will cause me to depend on God's strength to accomplish.


I don't know exactly how it will look or where it will lead to. But this weekend, I heard that I am sent, and that in the midst of that, God has called and is sending. 

Thoughts

It's an afternoon of reflection.

Quiet, peaceful. Sun playing through the shady leaves of the trees out my window. Music soft in the background.

And thoughts bubble up. Up and out of the deeps of my heart and mind. It's like a fountain, or a spring of fresh water. Deep down thoughts begin to form and eventually they bubble up and out burbling like a spring, flowing out and eventually reaching the blog.

I sit and stare at the words, or gaze out the window as I type, thoughts becoming real under my fingers, thoughts taking form before my eyes.

Thoughts are sometimes to be pondered in the heart. Thoughts are sometimes to be kept quiet and thought about when washing dishes, or mowing the lawn, or when busy doing other mundane tasks that fill up the day. Thought about and pondered softly in the soul. And never shared, never spoken. Just thought and felt.

Thoughts are sometimes to be shared. They deserve to be written about and talked about and given life by giving them language and form. They bubble out to others who can in turn think and ponder and share.

I wonder how many of our thoughts are not really ours, but given by the Holy Spirit. Whispered in our ears at night as we sleep, in our hearts as we ponder, the scarlet thread of thought weaving in and out of our existence and minds. Scarlet threads of thought from God.

It's funny how you can share a thought without exchanging a single word. It's funny how you can share a feeling and idea and not even speak.

And it's funny how you can talk using a barrage of words and never get the thought across, never communicate the idea. Emptiness filling up the space with noise.

I wonder about my thoughts sometimes. Are they really empty? Are they really fluffy? Perhaps nothing wonderful, but they are mine. Some of them are here, bubbling out. Many many more are quiet in my heart. They will not be shared here. They are just for me. And perhaps others.

It's easy for thoughts to get out of control and start going in a direction far far away, far away from righteousness and truth. Thoughts that bring darkness and hell to haunt our minds and dreams. It takes self control to bring them back to the thoughts of Light and truth and God. Thoughts of beauty, loveliness, goodness and virtue.

I don't want darkness to exist in my mind, in my thoughts. I want sparkling light, and colorful beauty.

Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love Thee, and worthily magnify Thy holy Name: through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Surpassing Power

2 Corinthians 4:7-10

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.

Afflicted,

not crushed.

Perplexed,

not driven to despair.

Persecuted,

not forsaken.

Struck down,

not destroyed.

Because the surpassing power belongs to God,

not us.

A promise we can remember,

not forgotten.

Food Is Essential, I'm Finding

I've been learning about the importance of eating lately. Now, this may seem elementary to most people, and something that others would say "duh!" when I bring it up. But I've learned it's really, really important to eat. Like, really.
For me, eating has been a struggle for some time. I just really don't like to do it. I like to talk about food, and talk about eating, but when it comes right down to it, I tend to forget or avoid it. It's not that I want to avoid it in order to stay slim, either. I'm just lacking that lovely natural mechanism that kicks in called "hunger" that reminds me that food is essential. And when others are eating things, I'm just not as interested in it. I'm really pretty good with just one bite. I don't have to eat the whole piece in order to reach that satisfied feeling of taste. One or two bites, and I'm happy.
But I'm finding that one or two bites of food a day just won't keep me alive. I can't go for long periods of time without eating. It's a long story, but I've learned that it's really essential to eat more than a snack a day. Like, really.

The past two weeks have been all about the food. First thing in the morning, I eat. I get to work and eat, and then eat again. Then I come home and guess what? I eat again! But the impact of all that food has really taken me by surprise. The amount of energy and emotional stability it has produced has astounded me. I didn't realize I was literally starving.  I didn't realize that life cannot be maintained without proper sustenance. I didn't realize that just eating healthy food would do so much for my mood and emotions, either!

This kind of reminds me of another essential food we need: God's word, given to us by the prophets and the law through inspiration of the Holy Spirit. If I have been starving myself by not eating, then what happens when I don't read the Bible? What happens when I go long periods of time without that essential addition to my spiritual well-being? I become dry and emotional and swept along with the strongest wind of doctrine that blows.

In addition to falling into a habit of never eating, I also found myself in the habit of never reading the Bible, either. It's easier to do something else. It's easier to check my cell phone, or look at Facebook or yes, even blog than spend time storing up energy from time reading and thinking about God's word. Those essential spiritual nutrients were falling into a depleted state.

So what to do about it?

Make time to read. Make time to sit and think about what God is saying, especially when I don't feel like it. When I feel like it least, is the most important time of all to partake of the goodness in front of me.

My goal over the next few weeks is to increase the time spent listening to and reading and thinking about the message God has sent to us, which coincides with the goal to increase my food intake.

Not only will my body and mind benefit, but my soul will, also.

Healing

A broken heart. I know how it feels. I know the intense pain so deep and strong. At times barely able to breathe. At times blinded, vision blurred with the force of the pain. Reeling from a roller-coaster of emotions and memories. A broken heart, a thousand pieces, and shards within causing internal bleeding.

Oh yes. A broken heart, with darkness all around. And thinking there is no hope- thinking the pain would be present forever.

And then slowly, like a cool soothing balm, God's Spirit touches that brokenness. Touches and heals, putting the pieces back together, making it whole again. God's finger, writing joy back into our hearts and lives.

It reminds me of the broken heart of Christ, when rejected at crucifixion. His was a heart broken from rejection from His Father. His was a heart broken because of the mistakes and evil things thought and acted by others. His broken heart made possible the healing of our hearts. His heart, resurrected, allows our hopes to be resurrected as well.

A broken heart can seem so impossible to put together from the many bits and pieces. But the Creator of the universe can create anew our souls. He creates a new heart from the pain, a new soul. And where the cracks were is made stronger and more unified than ever possible before. And how do we get this healing?
It's simple. We ask.
We ask and we receive.

I know of healing. I know at times it creeps along slowly. One atom at a time, one vessel at a time until a whole organ, a whole soul is revealed. I know that healing has to be asked for, and worked toward, sometimes. We ask for it, and it is simple. We allow Christ to heal us. I know that it is real.

Healing will come.
Broken hearts remade.
Broken lives restored.
Broken worlds made new.

Why? Because God heals. And that is sure. Something to hang on to during everything.

It's true. I know. Because it is happening to me.



~

Psalm 30:1-12
I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up, and did not let my foes rejoice over me.
O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me.
O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit.
Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name.
For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.
As for me, I said in my prosperity, "I shall never be moved."
By your favor, O Lord, you had established me as a strong mountain; you hid your face; I was dismayed.
To you, O Lord, I cried, and to the Lord I made supplication:
"What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the Pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness?
Hear, O Lord, and be gracious to me! O Lord, be my helper!"
You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever.

2 Kings 5:1-14
The story of Naaman, asking for healing.

1 Corinthians 9:24-27
Running to win the race.

Mark 1:40-45
The leper is healed.

Secret Houses

When I was little, just about the only thing I could draw was houses. Houses with many windows, curtains, a chimney and smoke billowing out. Over and over again I'd draw houses, because I was fascinated with them, and because I wasn't good at drawing much else.

Then I became a little older, and one day I found an old children's book about houses. Our own, secret little houses where we can go and be at rest.

Like under the table, hidden by the table cloth. Like when your Mother is lying on the couch, and closes her eyes. She's going into her own little house. Like a box, with windows cut for light.

I remember when I was much smaller, Dad's big desk was in our study area. This desk was made by my grandfather and has a huge opening for knees and feet. So big, that I used to drape a sheet over the opening, put a blanket on the floor inside and make it into a house. I remember sleeping in there once or twice, too. My desk at work has a similar opening, and some days I have a wild urge to hide inside that opening and relive the fun of those childhood games, escaping the reality of an adult world where it's just a desk, not a cottage for a little imagination kingdom.

I love closed in, little spaces. I like places to squeeze in, or spaces that aren't very open. I like secret houses, secret little places where I can go and be alone. 

Sometimes I have secret places and secret houses in my mind. Places deep within that I only know and explore. Secret houses of hope or dreams or wishes or ideas. There's something appealing to entering the doors of the secret portals, and knowing only I have admittance. I can be present with others, and yet in my secret place at the same time.

Sometimes, when I know someone very well, I'll invite them into my secret places. 

Sometimes, it's places that I hold in my heart between me and God. Sometimes, it's ideas and thoughts that we have between us, God and I. A glance of knowing, and common pleasant thought to share, and a feeling of hope that it might become real one day in a different manner.

Secret houses of thoughts.

This is a secret house.

On Being Single

Hi. I’m Katie, and I have a dream world. It includes a husband to cook for, to help, and make happy. A family with a new name for me, and a life with my man, together serving the Lord as we fulfill His calling on our life. A man and his woman, in a dreamy little house, having dreamy little children. Working together, living together, and laughing and dancing in the living room, and sitting down to our own table. A fire in the fireplace on cozy nights at home, grand adventures as we travel with little ones in tow. This is my dream for the adventure of life.

This is what I think about. That picture, of a smiling, happy little family all my own, with pink haze around the edge framing the faces still blurry.

Blurry because it is not real- yet. It’s a dream. A perfect little dream world.

This who Katie really is: a single girl, working part time and going to school full time. An occasional weekend away with friends, coffee shop runs when I feel like it. A girl with time to travel the world and see new places, time to dabble in hobbies, and focus on ministries I’m passionate about. The world is open and before me and I can do anything and go anywhere. This is today. This is Katie. This is Katie’s rich and full and vibrant life- today.

Today is all I really know. I remember yesterdays, and imagine tomorrows, but today is reality. Today is what I can count on, and the life of today is what I must focus on. I can’t spend my time and energy in my dream world, living on pink clouds of what-ifs. Today is sitting at a desk and typing up attendance reports. Today is spending cozy evenings at home studying for a degree. Today is noticing the real people I really know and being present and active in their lives. Faces sharp and clear around me, not blurry from the unknown of dreams. Today is the real deal.

I’m working right now on becoming balanced and healthy in how I view where I am in life versus what I wish I was doing in life. I can’t say I’m there yet, but I am re-training my heart and mind to be content with today, with living right where I am. And living happily and creatively and vividly there. Not just slogging through, wishing and waiting to begin to live the day a golden band is slipped on my finger.

Its easy to think of those pink what-ifs, and to think that today is worthless because it doesn't include those dreams and ideas. But I'm finding this is false thinking. Where I am, my quiet life, is an adventure of life worth living. I have so many good things from God right here, right now. So many people to know and love, so much He would have me do. It's wrong of me to become unhappy because it doesn't match my fantasy dream world.

I am not giving up that dream of husband and family. Of picking up toys and socks, washing endless dishes, making soup in the crock-pot and the adventure of the grocery store being the highlight of the week. I'm not giving it up, but I'm putting a frame of "one day" around it, and standing back to put it into the perspective of today's bigger picture. The picture of where I really am, and the joys and happinesses I have right now, right here.

"I am still determined to be cheerful and to be happy in whatever situation I may be, for I have also learnt from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions and not upon our circumstances"- Martha Washington

"Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." - Apostle Paul, Philippians 4:11

Writing

I sit down to write and stare at a blank screen, the white almost blinding as pictures of thoughts dance across it faintly, tantalizing and daring me to catch them and frame them forever in black and white. Words itch to break free from my fingertips, to splash across the screen and join the others in the celebration of communication. And yet, they are silent, waiting impatiently for my bidding to begin.
But I am still.
And nothing comes and nothing comes and nothing comes.
The click of the keys begin at last and fingers hesitantly and cautiously begin to type, only to stop and erase and begin again. Begin again and again and again.
Ideas come and go, too quickly to catch, impressions that are too shallow and too faint to bring to life. Ideas to be communicated and shared, emotions and feelings to express are dancing around in my brain, heels and toes tapping faster and faster, but not matching the slow touch of my fingers on the keyboard.
Slowly, slowly, slowly.
Words build on top of each other, building deeper and deeper, building understanding and comprehension. They mount up, building word cities, the black characters forming traces on a page, lines like a city skyline, stretching on and on and on.
Words and phrases, satisfying and delightful, rolling off the tongue, rolling from my mind, rolling along to reach another's eyes and soul.
The rate of my fingers picks up and the typing forms a staccato like the steady beat of a drum, calling attention to a subject and topic, calling attention to sit up! and notice. They take on a life of their own and unbid, they strike and form words, striking and hitting and ceaselessly moving until ideas are captured and held tight in place, a period like a nail on the end of the sentence.
Fingers that fly and fly and fly.
Fingers that take to the air and catching imagination they're away on the wing, away to form ideas and thoughts I never knew I had until it stares at me from the page, from the screen, from the mirror of my heart.
And sitting back, I stare in that mirror, a glimpse of my heart, and look to see what it means. Look to see what it says, look to see what is there.
Then, exhausted, my fingers tumble over each other, finally coming to rest. The tumult ended, the words are found and put into place.
And silence reigns again.

A Lesson On Thankfulness

I remember the cut of the cold wind. The ground was muddy, and with the sun behind clouds, the day was dreary and bone-chilling. I was in Bolivia, visiting a small community and a school where they worked with the poorest of the poor. The school director was taking us for a walk around the neighborhood to see some of the good work they had done to help families live a better life. We viewed pigs and goats that allowed single mothers to have a chance to earn money so they could care for their families. We saw where they were learning to garden more productively and heard how many of the parents in the neighborhood had learned to read along with their children. Then one of the mothers invited us to her house. She was excited about the good things that was happening in her life because of the ministry the school was doing. She wanted to share a little of her gratitude with us.

We stepped away from the roads, deeply rutted and difficult to navigate because of the deep mud and entered a little area where I saw this:

I remember thinking we were first going to see perhaps where her animals lived.

But no. This was her house. Where she lived with her children. When we entered, the children were in the bed and the interpreter told us they were there because it was the warmest place to be on a cold day like that.

As you can see, her home was tarp and tin held together with a few rusty nails and rope. There were plenty of cracks to allow the cold wind to blow through. Chickens wandered in and out. These pictures show everything she owned. Yet the most striking thing about this encounter was not the hovel they called home, or the fact that she had so little. It was her gratefulness. She was overflowing about how grateful she was for God being with her and giving her so much. She talked about how good God was, and about how thankful she was for a home and children, and for the ministry she could be a part of at the school. She was so overwhelmingly grateful. That stuck in my memory more than anything else. I would have been devastated to learn I had to live in these conditions. Yet she was so joyful and full of gratitude. At the time I had just moved into a much smaller house and was concerned about closet space. She was grateful for dirt floors.
A lesson on thankfulness. She took it to a whole new level for me. It was truly humbling to see her heart of thankfulness for what she had, and to learn the lesson before me of gratitude and being content. A lesson I still remember and will never forget.

A Life Of Thankfulness

I've been thinking lately about how to adopt a lifestyle of thankfulness. You may have noticed the twitter feed on the right that frequently mentions what I am grateful for. I want to notice and identify how I see Jesus coming, and the many gifts and blessings that exist in my life. Some days it feels that there are none, and that it's been a blank, a hardness for as far back as I can remember. Then I look back at the list here and in my journal and remember the truth. The truth is that there are many blessings in my life. The reality is that there is plenty of goodness and grace brought into my way. By taking a moment to share this, it helps me remember continually to look for what God is doing, and to be thankful.

Thankfulness is recognizing what you have, and appreciating that. It's a necessary part of being contented, and contentment leads to real happiness. Thankfulness is looking deeper, beyond the surface and finding the intangibles, the important things to be noticed and remembered and shared.
Thankfulness is an exercise that should be practiced often, and I have found as I practice it becomes easier and easier to continue.

Thankfulness is something I will be thinking on for the next little while. Perhaps there will be more blog posts coming on this subject.

Meanwhile, I am thankful.

Heartbroken

From the journal...


Heartbroken because my face is turned away.
Avoiding his eyes, walking a pathway
the opposite direction.

Heartbroken because my voice is quiet.
Silence filling the riot
of emotions.

Heartbroken because I do not believe
and there is nothing to relieve
the hurt.

If I feel this heartbroken over relationships and friendships that have seemingly gone astray, then how must my Lord feel when I forsake Him? When I forget Him, or fail to think of His part in my life?
How forsaken and hurt must He feel when I look for my fulfillment in other ways, with other things, idols that take up the room in my heart that should be His?
If I feel heartbroken over wrongs and hurts that really amount to nothing at all, how much more must He feel when I fail Him and hurt Him by hurting others?
If I feel heartbroken because I feel so much goodwill for someone who will not return it, how much more must He feel when He's the one that made me, and He's looking for my recognition and returning love?
If I feel heartbroken with disappointment because someone else fails me, how much more must He feel when I disappoint Him?

Heartbroken?
How much more so is my Lord.