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A Season of Crying

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I felt it coming as I was reading that morning, and it did several times. The words on the page set the tone for the whole day. The tears came again as I gave Mom a good morning hug, and again in church, and again as I talked with my friend, and oddly, again when I stopped to “air up” my tires at the WaWa station.

I’m brought into these seasons of crying not by hormone imbalance – that I recognize and this isn’t it. It happens when I realize that I’m on to something important, maybe life changing, certainly life enriching.  It happens when I become aware that I’m learning something, not by my own doing, by through God’s hand, his methods, his inspiration.  It’s so cool, it makes me cry.

Suddenly, I feel kind of raw, hyper-aware of people and circumstances around me.  There is possible meaning, potential meaning in EVERYTHING because I feel God in action and I have no idea what he’s going to do next.

I guess, to start with, I’m just so impressed that he’s dealing with me, on a personal level, giving me something I didn’t have before.  That happened, with the aforementioned book.  Later, the same subject came up with a little more to think about as I listened to the sermon. And the friend thing…  I think it’s pretty common to lose it when a friend who knows you well notices that something is going on. All it took was a sympathetic word and I was crying again.  Sorry Christine (haha, and thanks).

The hyper-awareness part comes when I realize that I’m being taken care of by someone in high places who is listening in on every conversation, every thought and is literally everywhere around me, even as close as the air I breathe. Small favors are no longer coincidences, they are blessings and assurances.

How does the gas station work it’s way in there, you might wonder.  Lately I seem to be searching for air pumps at gas stations all the time.  I felt pretty lucky when I started finding that they accepted credit cards and I didn’t have to hunt for change.  But last Sunday when I pulled into the WaWa, I found an air pump labeled FREE AIR! What unexpected generosity…  It was a sweet machine with good instructions.  It gave me a digital reading for each tire before it pumped it up to the amount I punched in.  And I was crying again because it was cold and raining and I was grateful for something that worked, worked well.

Today, to match this season I’m in, the sky is also crying and I feel somehow aligned with it. We were made to have seasons, the sky and I, and I’m glad for that.  Just sayin’…

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lots of tears out there…

Grass

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20160104_083019.jpgConsider grass, the perfectly rounded tips of new blades, the translucent greenness as the light shines through.  Consider the unseen numbers of tiny cellular factories actively converting the sun’s energy into growth.  This far surpasses any technology we call “awesome”.  Whoever is behind the idea of grass is the real “awesome”.  Just sayin’…

Rainy Day

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it was gray, which I like, and wet

which I don’t.  the umbrella was

a sail.  it pulled me along

and I thought of Mary Poppins and Grabbit Rabbit,

although I hadn’t thought of them in years.

all because it was a rainy day,

and very good for thinking.

 

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(Most everyone knows Mary Poppins, but who remembers Grabbit Rabbit? Let me know if  you’ve heard of him…)

A Lesson Through Family

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family blog postAnd by “through family” I mean through the experience of having children and to some extent by being a child.  I can hardly begin to name or number the  “aha!” moments when something going on between me and my children has caused me to stop and wonder if I am being taught a lesson.  I have so come to believe that the family was intended to be God’s school of life, teaching us how he wanted us to view him in his role as father, teaching us how to grow strong, smart, productive and fulfilled as children.

So lately, I am alongside a few family members who are struggling with feeling significant, cared about and noticed.  They are on my mind daily, sometimes hourly and sometimes for every minute of the hour.  I want them to know I love them.  I’m not a person who routinely stalks others or obsessively calls or texts (well, maybe a little too free with the texting…) but I do get desperate at times – wanting them to know how I value them for just being themselves.  I love them.  I want a word better than love to describe how I feel.

For these reasons, something in my reading today just leaped off the page for me.  Here it is: “Love always wants to be known.”  Have you felt the truth of this?  It’s also true that I want to be loved but this is talking about the giving side of the equation, not the receiving.  I somehow feel that if I could communicate love to someone, it would help them.  They would not view their circumstances in the same way.  They would not feel alone. They would have their “I AM LOVED” armor on and it would protect them.

And then I get it, suddenly, a richer, wider view of God.  This is what he wants me to know, really know.

 He loves me.  That’s where my experience of him is supposed to start. 

Okay, there is Jesus giving up a previous position, going through the human thing and dying for my sin.  That’s big, but honestly, I sometimes have trouble relating to it.  I sometimes miss the “why” behind it all.

 He loves me and wants me to know it.

In his book “The Divine Conspiracy” Dallas Willard quotes another writer, Julian Norwich, “…for God wishes to be seen, and he wishes to be sought, and he wishes to be expected, and he wishes to be trusted.”  In my frustrating, doubting times,  I’ve wondered how I could become convinced of this.  More often, I’ve wondered how I could convince others of this.  I think I know how it’s happening with me.  Again, Dallas Willard explains it in a way I totally understand.

“Persons rarely become present where they are not heartily wanted. Certainly that is true for you and me.  We prefer to be wanted, warmly wanted, before we reveal our souls — or even come to a party.  The ability to see and the practice of seeing God and God’s world comes through a process of seeking and growing in intimacy with him.”

I have to want God, want to be loved by him and to know him. And maybe that is the question for many.  Who is God that I should want to know him?  Is that your question?

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I Really Want To…

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I was listening as my friends were talking about Christmas. “Have you been able to slow down and enjoy the season?” was the question. Amid various reasons why it had not been possible or only momentarily possible I detected this mixture of wanting to slow down and yet not.  I mean isn’t Christmas always like this – too many things we love to do and we must race to get it all done?  I was almost afraid they would ask me if I was ready, and they did.  I would have been content to listen, but they asked.

“I haven’t done any shopping for gifts.  I’m allergic to stores during this season.”  I then went on to explain that I have had some traditional Christmases but I’ve also not “kept” Christmas for many years.  It can be done, even if you’re a Christian.  If I really want to slow down, I know how to do it.  Unfortunately, I felt like I’d thrown a wet blanket on a lovely fire and the conversation ended feeling uncomfortable (hello Scrooge). I think I can understand that people don’t really want to hear that the season is not about all that busy-ness that they claim to struggle with.

You know how ideas, culture, custom can kind of take on a life of their own? The idea of what Christmas is begins to be pushed on us in October actually.  It’s purely a marketing ploy brought on by the custom of gift giving.  People like to get gifts and give them as well (but especially the getting). By November everyone is talking about programs, their holiday schedules, their travel plans.  By December it’s all in full swing, and the non-stop Christmas music starts, the decorations, the baking, the parties.  If you have been raised in this culture, not doing all these things leaves a very obvious, gaping hole in your December experience.  You have built a large backlog of Christmas memories and a hefty expectation of what future Christmases should be.

And you are ripe for disappointment.

Expectations can be hard to fulfill.  When the finances aren’t adequate, when illness or death interferes, when family can’t or doesn’t want to show up, when everything doesn’t turn out picture perfect, when the stress of it all makes you start to wonder “why do I do this?”…

Back to the conversation with my friends – I did not mean to introduce a spirit of judgment on them for celebrating and I hope that is not what they were feeling.  I see where they are coming from and I have heard them speak their heart.  They know what Christmas is really about.

I won’t accept a spirit of judgment for myself either.  It is fairly common knowledge among Christians that December probably wasn’t when the birth of Christ took place and that most of the customs of modern Christmas have been added for various reasons, not all of them holy.  And I can take comfort in knowing that I am doing everything Christ asked to be done for his birthday.

 I am being thankful for it.

Every day.   

If it’s really about Christ and what his coming means for me, I don’t have to worry about Christmas being disappointing.  If it’s really about his plan to make a way for me to have a relationship with God then I don’t have to worry about being lonely during the holiday.  If I know he’s provided a way to make things new for me, I don’t have to worry about things being perfect now.  If I know he loves me, I don’t have to experience the hollowness or the ache of unmet expectations.

The story of Jesus’s birth is beautiful, amazing, mysterious, something only God would do, and I love it.  I sing the songs about Bethlehem and the angels and Mary and Joseph and Jesus.  I feel loved and I feel loving. I’m just saying that it can be about Jesus, not just on December 25th but every day, and I (or you) can slow down and enjoy that fact – if I really want to.

Second Verse, Same as the First…

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Four generations of sons

Today, walking around in the yard, I met a jet black cat with one long white tooth visible on one side of his closed mouth.  I had seen him other times and to this point he had always made himself scarce when he saw me noticing him.  Today I stretched out my hand and spoke softly and he immediately turned and approached me.

Years ago, as I remember it, our neighbor who was doing yard work, came to us to report finding a batch of feral kittens.  He knew there were die-hard animal loving children in our household and figured we would help solve his problem. He was right, of course.  We raised this batch and my daughters named them after famous people.  One that became a favorite of Julie, my oldest, was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.  He was Hammy, for short, and continues to live with her today.  His unique characteristics are that he is small and compact for a male cat, has a sociable nature in a cat-like way, and is mostly black with a few crazy white marks.

In shape, size and nature today’s kitty was a match for Hammy and I wondered what genes they might share and if they had both started life in this same neighborhood.  The tooth was a little unnerving but other than that this little guy was fun to pet.  I think we have a bond going and I am calling him Snaggletooth.

The theme continued later this morning as Mom and I were conversing about our family relationships and how they also do replays.  My dad often told stories of his early years at home and the influence his dad had on him.  Even as he married and went out on his own, his dad was always involved in some way, giving feedback and support.  Interestingly, my dad also has a very similar relationship with one of his sons.  And taking it one step further, that son has a very close, remarkable similar relationship with his only son.  And by now, it is almost beyond surprising, that this third generation son is very much the same with his fourth generation son.  The sons may not have always agreed with the fathers (how rare, right?) or the fathers with the sons but there developed a high degree of compassion and appreciation in each case.  After a few generations of repetition these things start to jump out and be noticed.

Further on in our talk Mom’s early childhood came up.  She had a younger brother who was born last in the family and spent a lot of time with her.  They were often together as children and she would pass the time making up stories to tell him.  Their mother died when they were still young adults which added another layer of closeness to their brother – sister relationship.  As she talked about it, I noticed how much it sounded like the way I feel about my youngest brother.  Another comforting familial replay…

I’m not sure what all of this means, except that awareness of family influence and nurture might cause us to think more carefully about our parent – child interactions.  Seeing patterns over such a long time period might give new meaning and strength to biblical references about blessings or cursings that last to the third and fourth generation, or longer.  Just saying, it is interesting and food for thought.

The Real Stuff

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I’m not snobbish about many things.  I feel there is a time to be meticulous and a time when it makes sense to take short cuts.  I’ve done both.  But I can think of one thing that is so much better when it is the real stuff, that the substitutes don’t even come close to satisfying.

Whipped cream.

I made some tonight and was reminded of how beautiful it can be when it’s just right (when it’s not beaten into hunks of butter or so thin that it separates).  It is so soft, almost luminescent, gently curving and swirling in the bowl.  A little dab of it will sit pretilly on top of that chocolate cake or surround dark red strawberries with creamy white visual contrast.  Who would have guessed that combining fat and air could make this magical stuff? I love it.

A little sugar.

A little vanilla.

Real whipped cream. Sorry. Nothing else comes close. 

Oh. My. Goodness
Oh. My. Goodness.

My Visual World: This Weed

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You are just too cute!

I saw this little weed in a flower pot yesterday.  Doesn’t it just jump out at you because of it’s detail, symmetry, and well, it’s just plain pretty!  I couldn’t pull it out. I want to see what it looks like when it grows up. It is my visual for the day.  Something to wonder about. Finding it felt like a message and a gift from a creative, somewhat playful, imaginative mind. Yeah, that’s what it was. Just sayin’… glad I was looking.