So This Is Christmas

And what have I done?
Another year's over
And a new one's just begun.

And so this is Christmas
I hope you had fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young.

A very merry Christmas
And a happy new year!
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear.*

I'm grateful for this year past with all its blessings and its trials and looking with hope to the coming year.  Jesus came that we may all find our everlasting hope in Him.  I pray that each of you may know Him and His peace through this season and all those to come.  Merry, blessed Christmas and Joyful New Year!





So This Is Christmas, John Lennon, slightly modified

Untitled

It's just two days later.  Two days after the event that should have stopped the world.  She, my oldest granddaughter*, is about to sing on stage at church for the second time in her young life.

I keep remembering Thursday afternoon, how she and I practiced her song, watching other kids perform the same one via youtube videos.

Thursday night, how I woke up all through the night feeling afflicted with worry for the coming grandson.  "Why? Why can't I stop worrying about the child," I asked Him in the wee, bleak hours.

Friday morning when she rearranged the nativity, leaving Jesus alone in the manger, turning away the momma and daddy and shepherd and wise men.  At my inquiry, she told me that they were all watching the tv.  Two hours later, I heard the news.

The news that should have stopped the world.

I have not the vocabulary to express the pain and grief I feel.  I'll borrow Leonard Cohen's "it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."  Mine is a broken hallelujah.

With deep gratitude to these who can compose themselves, I share:

Advent: Prepare, Jay Kim "Our words do little good and our greatest efforts to comfort fall so far short. But we must give what we can. We must send our love and pray our prayers, from up close and afar, because this is what we have to give and to not give it would be to coalesce into the destructive powers of apathy."

Anger, grief, and love. Feelings (not thoughts!) on a tragedy, Margaret Felice  "I love you, amazing, broken world, and lament that I cannot love you back into wholeness."

The Truth About Sandy Hook: Where Is God When Bad Things Happen?, Ann Voskamp  "Could we sit in hushed silence, hold hands in this vigil, hang together in this suffering solidarity? What if we wordlessly groaned this prayer that Cain would stop killing Abel, that Rachel wouldn’t refuse comfort, Rachel in Ramah, weeping for her children here no more."

When Parents Have Nightmares, Lisa-Jo Baker  "We are the Sunday morning, eyes still swolen from weeping people."

It's Sunday morning
and this baby is supposed to sing
and I am prickly with my old fear.
 
What if something happens to her?

It has required my vigilance, my obedience, my reliance on everything He is in order to push through these last two days.
  
His presence. 
His strength. 
His promise of the peace that is to come.

There was an interlude on the way to the church when she, out of the blue, decided that she didn't want to be on stage.  At this, I had to call her momma.  Her momma had to be the strength in that moment, convincing the baby that she did, in fact, want to be on stage, and convincing the meemee that everything would, in fact, be okay.

It is some deep part of me that wishes the world could stop, would stop, even if but for a moment.  I want the world to look at Newtown, to see every baby's face, to hear every hero's name.  If but only for a moment, I wish that every one of us could carry, would carry, the unimaginable burden of grief felt by those left behind.

But the world does not stop, cannot stop.





And so this child,
she leads me on.

 












*I am grateful for both of my granddaughters and my coming grandson and for all the ways that I am blessed and taught by each of them.

Faith Without Works

As I told it in A Watery Grave, I had to start with a new Bible some time back.  The Book that is gone from me had so many things that seemed to matter so much:  notes from loved ones, dried flowers, pictures.  But what I might have missed the most, at least for a while, were my highlights and personal notes about the Scriptures themselves.

It was so much easier when I could just flip quickly through my pages and come to precisely the verse I wanted ~ because I'd already done the work.  The highlighting, the underlining work, that is.

But this Book is organic and its work is never done.  It lives and breathes and has the power to speak something different to us each time we read it.  "For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart." Hebrews 4:12 (NIV)

As I have been reading the book of James again, it's difficult to imagine that I hadn't highlighted all of James in my previous Bible.  However, while it's all so penetrating and I could as easily highlight the whole thing, particularly as I've come to the "faith without works" passage, there are but two words that have pierced me this morning.

Don't ya know?

That's how I've known the verse all these years...'Don't ya know that faith without works is dead?' (my paraphrase.)

But that's not what it says.

That's certainly not what it said to me this morning.

James 2:20 says,
"But do you want to know, O foolish man, that faith without works is dead?" (NKJ)

Don't ya want to know?
Don't ya want to seek until you find it?
Don't ya want to work until you grasp it?

Obviously, I could have written an entire treatise about the message and meaning of "faith without works," but, before I can understand any of what He's saying to me, I have to want to understand. 




Thank You, Lord, for speaking to me this morning.  I pray that I will always want to hear You.  And I pray the same for any who read these words.

Dynasty

Who watched it ~
that 80's tv series with all the ...
I'm totally kidding. 
This has nothing to do with any tv show!
This one's about this dress. 
Well, mostly.

So I'm gonna go out in the pond here and guess that those who were with me when I found this dress probably thought I was some kind of fashion quack.

It's been around since probably before the Dynasty (tv series) era and it has its share of flaws.

For instance, the print's not properly matched at the seams.  Therefore, I couldn't wear it in a high-lighted scenario.  Like to the grocery store, just for instance.



But hey!  Just look at the print, would'ya!
This is a veritable duck empire dress!



Anyhow, seein's how I was going to the annual Bargain Box Christmas dinner, it only made sense to wear some of my finest finds.  My dress was the customary dollar.  So were my shoes.  And every bit of my jewelry (costume, btw) was thrifted but, as our jewelry gets priced more fair-market-like, and as I've collected it over the years, I'm not quite sure how that part adds up.

But I do know that I spent a load less than retail and that...
that's what I'm talkin' about, jack!

 

The annual Bargain Box Christmas dinner is the one time of year that we can get all* of our volunteers into one space at one time.  Our service through this ministry is for His glory alone...





It just so happens that being a part of this ministry also makes us happy, happy, happy.



That's my youngest girl there, front and center.
A friend wisely noted that she's carrying a member of our next generation of volunteers.
For a good story about that, see A Son Is Coming.






One last picture and,
while I could say one thousand words about this,
I'll just say

Faith, family, and facial hair.**







*These are but a few of the 75 plus volunteers who serve.
**Duck Dynasty.  Okay, maybe this had a little somethin' to do with a tv show.



Clearance Rack

Or Christmas ornament. 
This could have gone either way.

This one, though, is about the jacket, the one that's hung in my closet for more than its six months' allowance.

It was time to make some clearance so I may as well have worn it at least once.  You know, to get my dollar's worth.

...

I wonder if anybody ever wonders about these absurd "poses."  I certainly do!  But out of the average 173 photo attempts per post, I just have to settle on the one where I look most like a human and it doesn't appear as if the sun has just made earth-fall.

...





Anyhow, you can see it, right?  How if you wadded this up into a ball, you could hang it on the tree?  Maybe not my tree but if you happen to be in the right place at the right time this week, you could certainly grab at least the jacket for hangin' on yours! 

A Son Is Coming

We're expecting the third g'baby this month.

That's right ~ it isn't right. 
I'm really only just now old enough to have kids (I keep telling myself.)

Anyhow, this is a Girl Family.  I come from a mom and one sister*.  I had two daughters.  My husband comes from a mom and three sisters*.  He had a daughter.  (We're blended, obviously.)  Two of our daughters had daughters.  Our dog is a girl.  And while our cat is a boy, we tease him as we do my husband, noting that they both like chic flicks and have a peculiar sense of fashion.**

Girl. Family.

But this third girl's about to give us a boy.

I have marveled about this since seeing the dingle dangle at the first ultrasound screening. (And thank you, special friend, for that form of reference.)  What?  What are we supposed to do with a boy child?!

Ohhh, I'll learn and I had what I believe was one of my first teachable moments this morning.  As my daughter sat next to me in church, belly big and low, I caught myself thinking, "Oh man, what if this kid comes early?  What would I do if he came this week?  I have work, so much to do."

And then we lit the first candle of Advent.  And it hit me that

he is coming
and
I am wondering how to make time for him.

"The Gospel of John speaks of Christ as the true light coming into the world. In commemoration of that coming, we light candles for the four weeks leading to Christmas and reflect on the coming of Christ. It is significant that the church has always used that language—the coming of Christ—because it speaks to a deep truth.
Christ is coming. Christ is always coming,
always entering a troubled world, a wounded heart. And so we light the first candle, the candle of hope, and dare to express our longing for peace, for healing, and the well-being of all creation." processandfaith.org

He is coming
and
I am having to make time for Him?


me, my youngest girl, my mom

It cannot be overlooked that our family's first boy child is due on December 26th, that we await his arrival during what is already the great season of anticipation and wonder.

These are good tidings of great joy.
A son is coming.
The Son is coming.

"Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”
Luke 2:14

Let our haste be made toward the manger. 
Let our eyes be fixed on the wonder of His coming.
No other earthly thing will bring such joy as this.
Glory to God in the highest.



One account of Jesus's birth can be found here, in Luke 2:1-21.


*My husband and I both had the benefit of relationships with our fathers, but for different reasons, these are the best descriptions of our first families.

**My husband is the man.  Just sayin'.

Something Weird This Way Comes...

...and it's not this sweater...

 

 

...but it might be me trying to convince you that it's not this sweater!

 

 

How does this happen?!
You have a couple of g'babies

and suddenly there's no such thing

as an ugly Christmas sweater?!

Suddenly, you're diggin' those digs?

 

What's next?

Purses with actual purpose?

Kitchen aprons, perhaps?

 

Oh, for the love...
For the love of g'babies, yes.

Weird or not, whatever makes 'em smile.

Lady In Waiting

 

I was telling the truth about not having to have anything they were selling this weekend but I went out in that mess anyway!  Not for purchasing but for perusal. 

 

I spent most of the day going from place to place just looking*, just enjoying being out and about, without agenda, without a schedule.

 

Ahhhhhh.

 

HOWever, there was one** little thing on my 'if I just happen to come across...' list that might have initiated a purchase had I found it.  As some of you know, I have a peculiar proclivity for "hairy jumpers," as can be seen here and here.  I might, on a bad hair day, surmise that no-one but me still thinks they're groovy as they're no longer to be found in the usual places.

 

I know, though, that I was really just meant to wait for it.  Wait. for. it.

Because when I walked into you know where, it happened that in just these last few days, some sweet lady had discarded her kritter ~ the reason for which I cannot fathom ~ but I have given it a new home, am thinking about naming it. 

 

You know how I know the thing was meant for me?  Just look at how it accompanies my sweater. (As if one had waited for the other for all its existence.)  That's an Izod sweater.  Izod was pretty iconic when I was a teen and prone to pining but have you seen the price of those things lately?!  I've waited.  I've waited more than 25 years and, at last, I own a gator thingy sweater...that I purchased for $1.  Add to it, the $5 flurry (admittedly, hefty hefty hefty for thrifting), my $1 jeans, my $2 boots... I came out smellin' like a ... well, like a $9 rock star.

 

But total truth be told***, none of this is what this is really about.  See, I have things to say at The Bending Tree but I'm having a remarkably difficult time finding the right words, constructing them in ways that even I can understand.  It matters to me - the balance between these short and shallows and the ones I really need to lay down.  My working at it hasn't worked, however, and so I'm waiting for it now.  He is faithful to me, always, so I'll get it when it's good. 

 

And as long as I'm waiting, I may as well tell you what I know for now.  Whether it's hip or hideous.

 

 

 

*I did do the g'babies Christmas gift thing.

**My eye is Ever-Watchful for the leather pants.

***Wouldn't be total truth without * & **.

Thanksgiving*

For days and days, I've been watching as my friends post the things for which they're thankful.  I love** every post and love this whole idea, this practice of daily seeking and speaking out those ways in which our lives are blessed. 

And yet I've not participated.  I think that I thought somehow that I'd make some kind of statement by not making any statement.  You know, "I'm grateful Every Day, dont'cha know?!"

I'm still this plain ridiculous sometimes.  Will I ever stop embarrassing myself this way?!

However, strangely, in an entirely different vein of thought - or so I thought - I recently had one of the clearest realizations of my entire life and for this - the realization and the realized thing - I am thankful.  Immeasurably thankful.

Sometimes I wonder why I do this, write these words, tell these things to ... that's just it.  Does anybody read this?  Does anybody care?

Would you believe these questions really don't matter to me?

What I really want is to make a difference, a positive difference, in other lives.  I want to share the joy and hope I've found in Jesus Christ in such a way that others will want to know Him too. 

I don't know what purpose this thing serves, who reads it, if it lights a path.  But I keep writing because I have faith.

I've been intrigued by some of the big life questions:
"Why would a loving God allow suffering?"
"Why wasn't my prayer answered?"
"What about the kid in the Amazon who's never heard the gospel?"
"What about the scientific evidence that supports ___ or ___?"

But there's never been a question to which I've required the answer in order to know that He is there.  God is alive.  He is present.  He loves me.  He loves me so much that He manifested Himself in the person of Jesus Christ to walk this planet, to suffer and die and rise again so that the penalty for my human depravity would be paid and that I might have from now into the never-ending blue of heaven to spend with Him.

I have had this faith for all of my life.  That's not to say that I haven't struggled with things or that I haven't been angry with God or that I've never tried to ignore Him.  It's that there's never, ever been a portion of my life that was not measured against Him - because I have always known Him to be there.

And oh my, God, how great a gift!  How many times have I read,

"There are different kinds of spiritual gifts, but the same Spirit is the source of them all. There are different kinds of service, but we serve the same Lord. God works in different ways, but it is the same God who does the work in all of us.

A spiritual gift is given to each of us so we can help each other. To one person the Spirit gives the ability to give wise advice; to another the same Spirit gives a message of special knowledge. The same Spirit gives great faith to another, and to someone else the one Spirit gives the gift of healing. He gives one person the power to perform miracles, and another the ability to prophesy. He gives someone else the ability to discern whether a message is from the Spirit of God or from another spirit. Still another person is given the ability to speak in unknown languages, while another is given the ability to interpret what is being said. It is the one and only Spirit who distributes all these gifts. He alone decides which gift each person should have." 1 Corinthians 12:4-11 (NIV)

without realizing that I have been given a very specific gift, by the Holy Spirit Himself, and for a purpose?

Now I'll be honest here and tell ya...I might have picked healing, or miracles, or prophesying*** - something that would seem immediately and obviously and magnificently powerful and world-difference-making.

But then the Amplified Bible calls it a "wonder-working" faith.

There have been moments since my epiphany that I've felt the pang of guilt.  In this very moment, for instance, I feel great sadness for those who wrestle with those same and other questions and who need to have answers.  Maybe God will someday give me wisdom or knowledge so that I can help with resolutions.  Til then, I pray that my words demonstrate the kind of peace that is attainable through communion with God.  And I have faith that this thing has a purpose, that He will somehow use these words for His own kind of wonder-working.  And that's all I need to know and for that, I am immeasurably thankful.


*so two posts are named the same.
**we water down and misuse this word but that's for another time.
***He equips and gifts as necessary and that can change but that's also for another time.

Hello Kitty!

yes, there's a picture of a kitty!


 

I brought this sweet little sweater home like some folks would bring home, say, a stray kitty.  It was soft and cuddly and I just wanted to hold it and hug it and...

...one of my daughters told me that wearing it, however, was out of the question.

 

 

I mean, heaven forbid someone think

I'd joined this bunch of weirdos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The easy solution - for me, anyway - was to turn that kitty inside out but it left me with an unusual problem:  exposed tags.

 

As it turns out, however, some of my odd habits ~ such as saving things that have no fore-seeable purpose, such as iron-on patches, for instance ~ have reasonable payoffs. 

Like here, for instance:



I had "before" pictures but I don't just take bad pictures.  I lose pictures.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anyhow, thank goodness!  Possible catostrophe averted!!  Nothin' but normalcy up in here!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the way, meet my cat. 

He was a stray and

who wouldn't wanna take him home?!

And hold him and hug him...

Mighty

I "got saved" (a phrase still too church-y ) when I was a child but I didn’t understand what that meant, didn’t understand salvation until many years later, as an adult.

There’s this verse, Romans 5:8, that says, "But God demonstrates His own love toward us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Or in other words, God says, "I loved you at your darkest."

I’ve seen a lot of darkness since I was a child. I’ve had the great misfortune of having to witness my own dark side at work. And I’ve been down in a pit so deep and so dark that I’d lost all hope of ever seeing daylight again. I never could have dug myself out of such a place. But God...

God made all of this ~ everything ~ and that’s pretty powerful. And He made me too. And He loves me - in spite of everything I’ve ever done, in spite of everything I ever will do.  And, well, that’s pretty powerful too.

Left to my own devices, I would just keep digging. I would eventually cover myself over in my hole. Left to myself, I would destroy myself. But God is mightier than my will. He is stronger than my self-destructive nature. His love for me is more vast in every direction than the deepest pit of hell and He sent Jesus to raise me up out of it. All I have to do - all any of us ever have to do - is just reach up and accept His offer.

I was given a very special opportunity to speak these words into a microphone along with a couple of my very most favorite friends.  To See this message rather than just read it, click: Mighty To Save.

"The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.
And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined."
Matthew 4:16 (NLT)

Third's A Charm

First, it was an ashtray.

 Then, somebody turned it into a candle.

For weeks after finding it, I considered attaching this little dish

but the proportions just weren't right.

 Then I found this little saucer.

 

 Pretty sure this is what was always meant to be.

Total cost:  >$2



The Day I Dyed

This first....thing was headed to the bailer*.  I (naturally) failed to take a picture which aptly highlights how gross it looked.  You may fairly make out the fade in the armpits, presumably the result of industrial strength deodorant w/bleach.  

Trust me, those stains are much more obvious than this picture conveys.

 

 

I was happy, though, to pay the usual $1 for it.

It's Eileen Fisher.
The closest comparison I can find online is upwards of $125.

So for an additional $3, the cost of a box of dye, the fade/stains are gone and I have something that nobody else has!

It went from very washed out grey to more like denim.

Having gained so much confidence from this first success, I decided that since I hadn't yet found my perfect pair of $1 jeans in the latest IT color, I could just create them.

I wasn't quite right on that count, but hey! 
I still have something that definitely nobody else has and it still only cost me $4!

Overall, I'm pleased with all of the results.
It was worth the extra money (for dye) just to prove that
we can change things
and that
the end may not be the end, after all.


And as long as we're talking about dying, here's one about rising up: 
Why I Believe In God

And another one about dying:
Dead's Dead, Baby



*at the Bargain Box, when we receive clothes that are beyond (ordinary) repair, we send them off to be bailed and shipped to third-world countries, where the material is broken down and made over completely into something new.

So again, assume not that it is the end,
but possibly the time for something new.

For the cardigan, I used, denim.

 

For the jeans, I mixed a little bit of navy blue into a full pack of scarlet.

 

My idea was to "prove" I did the work by the stains on my fingers but alas!  You cannot see that because I cannot take a picture for squiddly.

 

How Bad Can I Be...

when a g'baby is watching my every move?!?

Breaking Bad

Biker bad, I mean. 
With my boots, I mean. 
I'm breaking [out the boots] bad. 
I don't care how hot it still is. 
It's the middle of October, people!


You may note, however ~
Because it is still hot as all get-out, I'm pretty sure that before the day was over, I was smelling bad.

That's Hot...

...but that's because it's like 80 gazillion* degrees outside and still I've commenced the layering.

It's fall, y'all!  It's boooooot season.

So chances are that - regardless of the balmy Florida temps - I'll be any day now trading out the open toes for my favorite footwear of the whole year long.



            Details...










*Yes, it's only 80-something.  And I love 80-something. 
But "80-something" just wouldn't have gone with this ensemble.

Thanksgiving

thank You for deep, unsettling conviction.
thank You for thinking me "grown enough" to figure it out for myself.
thank You for waiting patiently while i dilly dally, for reminding me when i procrastinate.
thank You for making things clear to me when i am too stubborn to submit.
thank You for never leaving me where i'm at and for never failing me ...

... no matter how many times i may fail You.
thank You for loving me that much.

and please, God, help me to remember these words when i start another day. help me to remember them an hour from now, moments from now, when the world and my own stubborn self would have me cast my gaze on other things rather than recognize and be grateful for Your endless Presence in and will for my life. amen.

An Exact Copy

I so dig this dress.

Not just because it cost me $1,

Or because it's one of the least complicated wardrobe events I've had all year,

But mainly because it looks exactly like a dress that I'd pinned just the day before I found it.

Okay.  So maybe it's not exactly like it but it is awfully close ... okay, close enough to make me happy ... to a dress featured by my favorite fashion blogger.*

And so it made sense to deliberately copy her poses too.

  Obviously, I'm even better at this when I'm doing it on purpose.

And I've never come closer, I think, than right here:

 

 

It's nearly an exact copy!

Right?  Right? 

 

 

 

*Kendi's at KendiEveryDay.com

 

Share Much?

 

Marriage.  That's the subject most sensitive to me and my references to it almost always, always send me into meditation.

Specifically, I mean that every time I share publicly in any way regarding my marriage, my mind wanders off then to think about all the folks who struggle with their own, or whose marriages have ended for one reason or another, or who want to be married but aren't.  The list does go on.

But other lists are developing.  For instance,

• When I talk about my kids or grand-kids, I wonder if I'm hurting someone who wants them but doesn't or can't have them.
• When I make references to my work, am I hurting those who can't find work?
• If I'm friends with this person, am I offending that person?
• If I'm sharing about my struggles with this or that, I wonder if I'm triggering someone else's struggle.
• When I share my accomplishments, such as with my recently recovered habit of walking, does it cause someone to be sad because they can't do the same?
• When I tease about rice krispie treats and cookies, am I causing someone to be distracted?

To be clear, nobody's ever made any such complaints to me.  But I do wonder...

And yet, I keep talking.  As I hoped to imply (at least in some part) in my last post, I do truly, whole-heartedly believe that there is purpose in my sharing.  But am I over-sharing? ...

Tucked away in my secret, "Must Read Later" file, are several recently discovered articles concerning the topic of sharing too much, talking too much, networking too much.  I'm holding off.  I'm concerned that the level of conviction I find there will require me to alter my very comfortable lifestyle and who really wants to do that?  I mean.

One of these mornings, though, and probably by accident - because that's usually the way I do the most beneficial things I do - I'm going to read them.  What will come after, who knows?  Maybe I'll finally make a list, draw up some kind of schedule which only permits me to Facebook once per week or from 7:01-7:18 a.m., Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday.  Who knows?

But just in case my abundant sharing may be drawing near its conclusion, I want to put out these last few too personal bits of information.

I never, ever, ever, ever want to hurt or harm someone.  I'm drawing up now from the deep deeps:  this has been a looming fear over me for a very long time.  What you see of me, how you know me has been shaped and fashioned around my fear that I may be a source of pain to someone else.

By contrast, however, and causing pain (and genuine confusion) to my own self is the plain fact that I happen to be one of the most selfish, most self-centered people that I know.  Case in point, I often say what it is I want to say regardless of any other lingering thought or conviction I may have.

I am ever hopeful for the resolution to this bit of human-ness.

Maybe that morning will come when I'll shut it all down and have nothing more to say - or I'll have it to say but I'll keep it because I will have learned something new.  Maybe I will have found that subtle nuance between living out loud and living loudly, that perfect spot where I can fling the doors open wide - but without squishing you against the wall in the process. 

Ever hopeful.  Evvvv-er hopeful.


 

You Can't Write If You Can't Relate

I’ve told this one before, but not often. Not with much clarity. As I sit here now, tapping finger to chin, wondering why it’s been archived, I think I deliberately edited it out for the purpose of character development.

If my mom reads this, it might be the first she’s ever heard of it. If so, I’m sorry, Momma. I really hate it when my kids do that to me - tell me years later about the things that could/should have killed them. (Do I really need to know?)

Anyhow,

When I was twelve years old, I became the fourth to join a circle of girls. Good girls. Church-going girls. In fact, it was they who sought me in my "lost-ness" and got me a’goin’ to church. It was in their presence that I met Jesus, that I was baptized. For as much of my life before that time as I can recall, I’d had no place. I fit nowhere. I was like no-one. I was awkward in every respect and could not fake an otherwise or edge my way into any clique perimeter. Till them, that is - the church girls. They accepted me as I was and then guided me toward something better.

For a good long time (for a twelve-year-old), I was on top, having a confidence founded in Jesus and bolstered by three very good girlfriends. And then...

I was thirteen. And I met a boy.

I fought to stay my course and my friends fought alongside me, all of us knowing that I was at a very, Very important crossroads. Right choice: Jesus and blessing. Wrong choice: I was about to find out. I kissed the boy.

The days that followed with my friends grew more and more strained. How much of that was their frustration at my failure to heed their wise counsel and how much of it was their refusal to participate with the person I was becoming, I cannot be sure. But finally the day came when, sitting in our circle on the floor during class to do our group study, they would not speak to me at all. They would not return any words to me.

So I fished around in my book bag and found a bottle of aspirin. I tested my friends then, narrating my "exit from this miserable world," one word, one aspirin at a time, till the bottle was empty.

It’s really weird the things I remember after that. The bell in the hallway after I’d called my dad to pick me up, how my hair seemed to stand up and vibrate with the ringing of it. The way that I stayed focused on the top jamb of my bedroom door more clearly than most any other thing through the remainder of that afternoon. All I could think was that I’d be moving through it as I passed from this life to the next.

Aside from the friends who watched me do it, no-one else knew about the aspirin.

It’s why I can’t take aspirin today...it still makes me sick all over again.

Could the aspirin actually have killed me? I don’t know and won’t look into it because what matters is that, as a naive’, confused, scared thirteen-year-old girl, I thought I was going to die. What’s worse, I’d wanted to. I’d try to implement it.

Can I say that what's even worse is that my friends watched me do it?

Because I should say right here that this is not intended to be a poor reflection on my friends’ characters. They were also thirteen and did their best as well. I know this. I also know that I probably don’t always remember myself entirely and I was entering a season of change. I’m not sure how much patience they’d had to practice with me before that day.

I also know what it’s like to feel responsible when someone commits suicide.

There are (at least) two sides to this and I’ve sat on (at least) two of them. I’ve been the girl miserable, hurting, wishing to exit, finding no-one who seems to care quite enough. I’ve also been the girl watching the train wreck, trying desperately to halt its progress, finding myself inadequate.

I’ve been the outsider, the dark blot. I’ve also been the church girl.

I wouldn’t be here, right now, writing this, if it weren’t for those three girls who saw me where I was, who brought me in, who did their best. That has greater measure to me than their human inadequacy in a terribly difficult time.

It sure does seem as if this should make me a better seer. Too often, though, in my talking and telling, I’m failing to see and hear others in their own terribly difficult times.

To be entirely honest, there are times that I do see, I do hear, and yet fail to know how or am afraid to try to intervene. Sometimes, I am just afraid of the experience. This has been of deep conviction to me these recent days.

As I’ve written this, I’ve counted, cringing, my use of "I, I’ve, I’m, my, and me." I wholly, sincerely believe that relating what I know is (at least a part of) my purpose. I’ve been prompted to write this. I’ve listened and I’ve responded in the way that I’m sure I’ve been called.

And then I tried to make this be about that ~ tried to use this story to resolve my shortcomings ~ tried to somehow explain away my failures by means of my experience. But LISTEN. That is next. That is from here on out. Whatever is my issue, I promise that I’m trying to work it out.


And see what I just did?
I made it about myself again. 
Soy un perdedor, baby. 
But thank God
I'm still trying to work it out.

HI-LOng Time Coming

I bought this skirt more than a year ago and, believe it or not, before the black polka-dot skirt thing and before the high-low thing too.  (At least before EVERYbody was doing it!)

The second I saw it, I knew that when the time was right, I would wear it backwards.  (I bought it at the end of a season.)

But as the right time was obviously approaching, and then here, and then passing me by, it was all too clear that Just Backwards wasn't going to cut it.

So I cut it first and then I wore it backwards!

All but the shoes came from the Bargain Box.

 

Labor Day...

As I was figuring this out the night before, my family told me I was funny-looking ~ which is fine.  It usually means I'm at least headed in the direction I want.

Unto The Hills

Have I ever told you the story of how I came to be here ~ on this street, in this house, I mean? It’s a favorite and I feel as if I tell it or at least refer to it once a week.  In any case, for prosperity’s sake, I’m recording it here as well as expanding some of my insight.

A few years back now, between the sudden downward slope of the housing market (which hit us from all angles, being that my husband owns a stucco company) and the (husband’s) heart attack, Terry said, "I think we need to sell our house."

These were piercing words to me at the time. Not only did they come in the midst of my dad’s final year (as he contended with terminal lung cancer), they mixed in with my pre-existing fears about the emerging market conditions and would become the prompt of recurring discussion, even as more and more trial and trouble stirred at our feet.

This was our home, our hideaway, our refuge from the rest of it. We’d drawn the plans; we’d literally labored in its construction; we’d blended our families into it; we’d weathered so many storms there already. It was my art, my masterpiece, as I’d taken such time and care in decorating every last niche. And God was telling my husband that we needed to sell it?!

God was telling my husband that we needed to sell the house.

Our talks went on for about a year, surfacing now and then amongst the many other waves of deep distress roiling 'round us. Each of us, it turns out, was praying for God to change the other’s heart about whether or not we should leave that place...until the strangest and most accidental thing occurred. I can just about see, as through a dim haze, that moment when I prayed - and quite before I realized what I was doing, mind you - that rather than change Terry’s heart, God would change mine. I asked God to make me into the supportive and trusting wife that my husband deserved - even if it meant leaving my home.

Oh, that I could tell you here and now about all that God did to get us from there to here! And I mean the practical, legitimate, tangible ways that He paved the road before us. I think, however, it will be necessary to keep some back for later tale-telling. The summary: we live now in a house that’s nearly half the size, with ceilings one foot lower, having central heat and air but lacking all those other centrals, having not a scrap of granite in the place ~ a fairly rectangular house on a street that is not a cul-de-sac in one of the town’s older neighborhoods which has likely never had a set of covenants.*

Let me be abundantly, screamingly clear: I feel no sad longing for that former place. I am grateful, to be sure, for God’s provision and for all that He taught and allowed us to accomplish by our being there. But it is here - where pirouetting in my living room, I can see every far reaching corner of this home - that I am overcome by emotion.  My joy, satisfaction, gratitude, comfort, and peace in this place, this home which God has provided - all are beyond measure.

But this is where new insight begins to emerge.

As sparkly as I may have looked had I just packed up at Terry’s first impartation, I halted his progress at Haran.  (See Genesis 11:31-12:3)  I have to tell you plainly that I have no regrets about it all. Terry and I are both aware of God’s working even through my stubborn interference with His plan and we’re grateful for every bit and measure of the whole experience.

The question I must ask myself is, "have we yet reached God’s promised land for us?"

I’m not implying so much that we may be called to move again, though I also can’t deny the possibility. I just don’t ever want to hold us short of His promises again. The next time that He says "Go," I want to do so more quickly, more readily, with more certainty and trust.

Our former neighborhood was an ideal terrain for walkers. There was a wooded park at the center with trails leading out to every level street and it may have been the one thing I lingered over when leaving. It’s taken me some time to regain my walking habit, partly for legitimate reason and partly for sorry excuse - but I am back at it, at last. And I measure my morning walks now, not by miles or by steps, but by hills.

There is a street adjacent to my own and from which quite a number of steeply inclined cul-de-sacs extend. I started my walks by going just around the block but now every couple of weeks, I add a hill. Increasingly, my legs are stronger, my endurance is greater, my confidence is improved, and my ambition is to go further and higher.

photo source:  ninbra.tumblr

This is how it works as we follow God into His promises, how we go more readily at each call. One step and then another and then at a quicker pace. Lack you any certainty that you can make it to the promised land, look up into those hills. From there your Help shall surely come.




*We are blessed beyond measure.  I pray never to forget those who live in so much lesser abodes or who may not have homes of any sort.

I'm...

too preppy for my skirt,

too preppy for my skirt,

so preppy that...

well, you get the idea.

You'd think I'd be pointing out my mixed prints - my animal and floral prints, specifically - since I've been trying for six months to get the nerve to do it!

But alas!  I must recognize my sweet thrift shop friends here who, on spotting me with that skirt in hand, proclaimed that I would not wear it.  I believe there was something about the skirt's genre' not quite aligning with my style aesthetic. 

So to y'all I express my thanks now.  I may never have left the house this way had I not sensed some sort of challenge!

As long as I'm thanking people, I should mention my sweet husband who, every time he's asked to take these ridiculous photos, though one of his eyebrows is twitching and his exhalations are just slightly more audible, he does this for me.

And the explanation for that is over at Synchro-Intimacy.

Dead's Dead, Baby

FREEDOM:  No More Bondage
In both Old and New Testaments, freedom refers to liberation from slavery, whether in a socio-political sense (see Joseph's imprisonment, Genesis 39:20-23), a spiritual sense (Galatians 4:21-5:15), or with regard to our mortality (Hebrews 2:15).
     Given this context, our freedom - whether political or spiritual - depends on God's initiative (Micah 6:4; Romans 8:2).  When Adam and Eve sinned, God came to them (Genesis 3:8) with the promise of freedom from sin's curse (Genesis 3:15).
     This promise was fulfilled when God sent His Son to be the Way to eternal freedom (Luke 4:18, 19).  We do not have to be slaves of sin (John 8:34), for the Truth (that is, Christ) can make us free if we will accept the price of deliverance (John 8:31, 32).  Paradoxically we are freed from sin's bondage for a purpose:  to become "slaves of God" (Romans 6:22).  We are free from the judgment of ourselves and others (Romans 5:9) and, at the same time, free for service to Him and others (Galatians 5:13, 14).  Ultimate freedom, that is, being ransomed from the slavery of sin, is vital to any understanding of redemption through the blood of Christ (Romans 6:15-23). ¹

From as early as I can remember, I was raised up to call myself a Christian.  I was taught it ~ right along with my gender, race, nationality, etc., but it was in my early teens that I met Jesus for myself, and so began my personal relationship with Him.  It was peachy for a bit.

By my early twenties, life was anything but peachy and I'd become quite cynical of most everything within my sphere.  How I got to that is for other pages.  Suffice it to say, there was no shortage of encouragement to go astray.  Or, I should say, further astray. 

Chief among my sources was an author to whom I took a particular liking and who I will characterize as "liberal hippy rebel enchanter."  He shall remain otherwise unnamed.  I read - and was changed by - everything he wrote.  But there was this one book that seemed to climax in this profound sort of postulation, the essence of which was along these lines:

"If God really loves us so much, why enslave us?  If our end is either to serve Him forevermore or to burn in hell forevermore, no true freedom is to be found."

I cringe even to write that out now, but back then I bought it ~ hook, line, and sinker.

I never said, "I am an atheist," or "I hate God," (again, cringing) but I did decide to stop having a relationship with Him.  I chose to stop considering Him at all.

Years passed and here I will just point to Why I Believe In God.  One of the very first and deepest revelations that I had in those early returning days was that I had become very much a slave to my own destructive ways. 

These were, after all, the days when, just before, I'd been going to a different store every day to buy my 12-pack so that no one person would realize how much I drank.  These were the days when I would stumble to bed every night swearing that it was my last to do so - but knowing by 10 o'clock the next morning that I had to have a beer.  These were the days that I was afraid for most of my waking hours - consumed by the fear that I wouldn't be able to quit drinking.

I had the typical, accompanying lifestyle.  I smoked cigarettes, wasted money, neglected my kids - just to hit the highlights.  Any may call it what they like ... but I was living a deeply sinful lifestyle ... and I was under its rulership.

Now, I am no sage or learned scholar.  I read the Bible and I read the commentaries and the blogs and I listen to the messages about the meanings.  But what I am doing here with this space is telling you about my personal experience and I must do it with my own words.  God knows I pray to tell you rightly about the ways that God's grace and freedom work.

So here's what I've come to understand...

"God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8 (NIV)

Acknowledgement of that truth is the fundamental, elemental start of it, this liberation from the life which leads to death.

"When you were slaves to sin, you were free from the control of righteousness.   What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? Those things result in death!  But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life." Romans 6:20-22

"Set free from sin..."  This part, or the nuances of this part, to be quite frank, I continue to ponder.  If you know me or have read previous posts, then you know that my struggles didn't end with the drinking.  (see Live Free or Die.)  There's still much that I don't understand about my own human nature.  There's infinitely as much that I still don't comprehend about God. 

But I'm thinking on it.  And I can do so with a sense of peace and security because, "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,  because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death." Romans 8:1-2 (NIV)

If freed from sin, then slaves to God.  But if slaves to sin, then freed from what?  To put it as simply as possible, every one of us will serve a master and we're free to choose which it will be.  The choice we make determines whether or not our freedom is everlasting.



1 The Woman's Study Bible, (Thomas Nelson, Inc., 1995), page 1440