Trading My Chucks...

It almost brings tears to my eyes to even type that.  Indeed, the chucks are being demoted to the back of the closet.  In exchange?  I look at these dastardly beauties that I haven't worn in so terribly long and I wonder what has gotten into me.  

I'm going back to work... I'm going back to work...

I'm going back to work!

I know I shouldn't yell but I just can't seem to hold it in.  I can't say exactly what's at the source of the noise in my heart, only that it bursts out in deafening blasts.  

What I know is there's a lot of fear mingled in there:  

Fear of not being available to my kids all day, every day... 

Fear of not being able to remember how to do a job I haven't done in four years...  

Fear of driving myself to insanity by taking on too much...

So, WHY?! 

Somewhere under all this anxiety there also lies a current of anticipation.  Somehow, without any understanding or clarity, there's a sense of the ground moving beneath my feet...that I'm expectantly stepping out of my comfort zone, away from my safety net, with a big smile on my face and butterflies in my stomach.  The question is, what am I expecting?  

That answer is nothing, and in that void of expectation lies all the joy I've ever known.  

This is not mine to direct or lead or plan.  

This is not mine.

I do have a job, I don't deny that.  I do the work.  I relearn all that I have forgotten (or at least thought I had).  I smile.  I converse.  I commit my attention and my ability to the task in front of me.  

But above all, I confirm that I have to strength to remain "me" outside of the sheltered life I have lived for the past four years.  

It is in that I gratefully find my direction.  

I was not looking for this...

I had all but given up on this part of me and I had thus far been successful in avoiding it.  

Perhaps that's the exact reason it is the path I now walk.  

Here I go...

 ^"This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children."
Romans 8:15-16 (The Message)

Your Will Be Done (I think)

This is an old digital journal entry I came across tonight.  It was something I wrote this past summer while I was unable to connect to the internet.  My goal was to get it posted when I got home.  I forgot.  Normally I would have just let it fall as a missed moment, but tonight I feel pressed to post it anyway. 

Here goes...

Last night, I prayed.  It was a desperate prayer full of wrestling with God.  I was praying for a miracle.  To be specific, a miracle of MY choice.  The wrestling came within myself as my words,  insisting on healing, and the words of Isaiah 55:9 fought to drown each other out.

Father, heal him!  

(As the heavens are high above the earth...)

LORD, you are good and faithful... Heal him!

(so are my ways higher than your ways...)

God Almighty, to you all things are possible!  Nothing is impossible!  Breathe your life into him!  Wrap him with your protection!  Heal him, Father!  Heal him!

(so are my thoughts higher than yours.)

And so it went... Until the question, “Are not my ways better?”  

A more rhetorical question there never has been to my knowledge.  

It exposed the truth behind my quarrelsome stance:

But God, Your will sometimes hurts...

I’ve felt it in the past.  

I prayed “Your will be done,” and my nephew passed away...  

I prayed “Your will be done,” and my husband lost his job...  

I prayed, “Your will be done,” and my friend’s marriage still ended... 

Granted, I have seen the increase in fruit with each of these tragic events but oh, how I hate the valley!  

My prayer turned honest and vulnerable.  I began spilling my fears and anxiety; all that hurt and pain from circumstances past. 

“God, I trust You know better than me.  I trust Your plans are to prosper your children, not harm them.  I believe that You are faithful to carry us through anything and promise great joy on the other side.  I trust Your will for us is perfect...  It’s just LORD, Your will sometimes hurts...”

Jesus simply smiled, held out his hands and said, “Tell me about it.”

How are you?

“So, how are you?”

Have you been asked that question lately?  I have.  At least a half dozen times today alone.  It would have been nice to be able to have an easy answer but the problem was that most often I don’t really have an answer that I can put words to.  As the inquiring mind sits and awaits my response, my mind battles how to respond.  I could give the proverbial nod and smile, “Doin’ alright” response but honestly, I’ve become a little sick of such trite conversation.  

I guess what I battle with most is a question of my own:

“Do they really want to know?”

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t live a horrible life and it’s not my habit to complain.  It’s an imperfect life that I love and wouldn’t trade for anything.  

My kids keep me busy, my home needs a good cleaning, my hands long to start a new painting even while I have a dozen other projects that need to be done first.  I’ve been fighting with my mental focus and my ability to hang onto details, and it’s driving me nuts!  

How much do you want to know?

Do you want to hear that when you ask that question, my mind explodes into a jumble of activities and circumstances that quickly fades into a fog of indistinguishable happenings?  Do you want to know that while each of my days is highlighted with beauty and joy, they all seem to just run together?  

Ask me how I am and wait.  I’d like to try to explain the connection between the fog of my mind and the swirl of my heart but really all that would come out would sound something like:

“Well, you know...  I feel.”

End of story.  Can you hear the crickets chirping?  Exactly.  The more I think about it, it becomes stranger and stranger...  Even stranger is that I become calmer and calmer.  

So there it is...  I feel.

So, I now ask, how are you?

Know Me Please?

A few weeks ago I was running some errands and in my usual fashion, one of my first stops was at the nearest coffee shop.  (my girls seem to think I have a bit of a problem but that's a discussion for another time :)  
I ended up at a familiar place that I hadn't stepped foot into for over a month, waiting in line and contemplating my order.  Suddenly, a friendly face pops up from behind the counter and asks me if I would like my "usual."  Needless to say I was surprised and honestly, a little embarrassed to be recognized in such a way but as I walked away with my "usual" in hand, I couldn't stop smiling.

Not only had I been recognized but I was known.  A complete stranger had payed enough attention to me - to ME! - to be able to predict what I was looking for.
I can't deny, that one simple fact made my afternoon.

I sat down at a table, enjoyed my coffee a little more than usual, and eventually made my way into the store I had come to the mall for.  As I wandered the aisles I was met by a woman.  I side-stepped to allow her to pass when she reached out and grabbed my elbow to stop me.
"Do you know me?" she asked.  "You look very familiar, but do you know me?"
I searched her face and my memory for cues but all came up empty.
"I'm sorry," I had to say, "I don't think so."
She apologized for bothering me and went on her way.  As I went my way, I found myself wishing I could have said something more positive.  Something less dismissive...  Something that could have had her walking away smiling like I did after I paid for my coffee.

What is it about recognition?  Why is it that simply being remembered can shine light into my day?  What is it about being known that leaves me satisfied?  Fulfilled?

Today was the last day of school for two of my children...

Both received a special note in with their report cards from their teachers.  Both were brought to tears as they read the words written just for them.  

Someone had seen them.  Someone had known them, took the time to reflect that knowledge back and they had felt every word...

I'm left asking:
Who do I see?  Is there someone who needs to know they're known?  Is there something that I to reflect back to someone I deem special?  Do those closest to me know they're seen?
A friend?  A neighbour?  A stranger?  My children?  My husband?

Encouragement.  Affirmation.
A simple smile and a wink that says, "I see you."
All priceless gifts we can give to each other and yet too often seldom seen or heard.
May we learn to be generous.

Painting Flowers

My latest watercolour.  One of two that completed the very first commission I had ever been asked to do.  I could have been really lost in the stress of having it turn out right but at the same time I kept telling myself,  "It is only flowers."

I love painting flowers, I've discovered.  They are not perfect and yet their beauty is undeniable.  They are the natural colour in an otherwise green landscape.  Each one an original.  Each one destined to fade and wilt and fall.

It's so easy to get lost in the details.  Slight bends at the tips of the petals.  Deep dark shadows at their core.  The reflections and unexpected pieces that are so easily overlooked as I walk past.  In passing, the big picture dims the intricacy of each bud but sitting in stillness, it's easy to get lost...  To forget that they exist together.  

I like this picture.  As I moved through it, I liked the impression of the passing of time.  Some faded, some brilliant, some buds whose beauty was yet to be seen.  

Life.  Summarized nicely in this one shot.

I'm happy to have had the time to see it. 

Summer Blush (J.Lee, 2013)

Please Don't Doubt

How do you make them feel loved?
How do you build a young child who is already showing signs of wear and tear from this world?

Too young.  Just six years old.
To afraid to ask for gum, afraid the answer might be no.
Not able to comprehend that the answer is a definite no if the question is never voiced.
But already afraid of "No" - how does that happen?

So much of life still ahead.
So many heartbreaks yet to be weathered.
So many rejections waiting to rip and tear.

How do I, as a mom, even begin to repair the damage?  Do I have any hope in figuring out how to reinforce against future attacks?  How do you say, "You are worth 'Yes!'" to a child so young?

Honey, you are worth "yes" even in a world full of "no."  
Don't fear asking the question.  
Sometimes a "no" is a gift.  
Sometimes it leads you to a "yes" that you never even thought of.
Don't fear the question.
Ask - Full voice - Head held high.
You are worth "Yes."

Someday I will tell her that.  Someday when her six year old brain will understand...
Until then, I pray actions will speak as loud as the cry of my heart.

Too Loud

My life is loud.  So loud.
How do I know?
My ears ring when things get quiet.
When things are silent, my ears buzz like I've just walked out of a rock concert.  Weirder is that my feet tingle too.

No where more so than at the lake.  Away from traffic, planes, ambient light and city buzz.  Out where you can hear a dog bark from a half mile away.  Out where only a full moon can mask the immensity of the stars.  Out where the buzz comes from bugs and the tingle from the nip of fresh air on your nose.
There's space here.  Room...
To breathe.  To run.  To challenge.  To listen.
To be still.  To do nothing.
To pray.

There's peace here.  Yes, and quiet too, but not that kind of peace.  The kind that hits you like a falling snowflake when you step out of the car.  A little sparkle as it lands on your nose, only this doesn't melt away.  It remains.  It grows.  It encapsulates you.  Like a warm blanket around your shoulders and a cool stream over your bare feet at the same time.
Refreshing, relaxing, renewing...

My life is loud.
That's why I like it here.