sunsets and more

No matter how many times I see a beautiful sunset, it feels like the first time. A more beautiful one doesn't come to mind. I am in the moment, in the beauty of the spectacular that makes me wish I didn't have to blink because I don't want to stop taking it in. It reminds me to live life in the righthererightnow. While we're here, life is an inexhaustible well. Even in this fallen world, we get gifts of captivating sunrises and sunsets; we never run out. So cool to think that there is more where those come from--the so much more of Him!

at the end of the day

At the end of the day, I count my many blessings and consider this quote: A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle (~Erin Majors). Did I shine a little? Did I matter? Did I pour any life into someone? I want to give more than get, live more than get by, get on with joy rather than ruminate over how to get some. I want to live simply, fully, and well. That is a life well-lived. Which brings me to the second quote that comes wafting in at eventide: The glory of God is man fully alive (~St. Irenaeus of Lyons). O, worthy aspiration! †

such life

There is so much LIFE out there. It screams, it whispers, it incites, questions, argues, and ruminates. How can we come up against something that is righthererightnowrightaway…..? It is a runaway train, a black hole, an enigma, an anomaly. It chest bumps the tried and tested; it slaps the rump of the familiar; it high fives the out-there. I cannot contain it.

I sound like someone on drugs. My mind races. There are pictures I want to capture in words, or if I cannot capture them, then at least reflect their measure. Will it still be truth if it’s just a fragment of how I can translate them? Doesn’t matter…. just try.

[“No try—only do.” ~Yoda]

I see my friend’s face. Life dances in her eyes. The rhythm of grace and joy reflect in her smile as she sees me. We hug and we are not two ones, but ONE. Everything we speak is Life and Love. I could stay there in that moment for as long as the snow falls, and it could cover us completely in its silence and beauty until we recognize only tranquility and space and communion as we were meant to know it. I see only her face and the multiplied meanings of her expressions. I am aware of her in her children’s’ faces and completely oblivious to my surroundings. It is only when I am back in the car that I am asked to recall anything of the building in which this all took place.

It is a tittle of the beauty, size, and usability of the meal hall proper. And yet my friend’s face far outshines the greatness of that facility. I am locked on to her and would not trade her joyful surprise for a hundred million gold bricks. Her smile is His. Her laugh is His. Her hug is His.

Thank You for this day. Thank You for the eternalness in the moments You forged frontward. They rise to the top like gold leaf. They shimmer and blaze in silent glory, like unto the sun… the Son… Oh yes, thank You. †

desire -- AGAIN

This whole "desire" thing refuses to die. Thought I was pretty much done with it a couple of years ago, but here it is again. It's like one of those never-ending songs--you can crank up the radio in a panic attempt to keep it from getting stuck in your head, but in the end, it just does not--shut--up.

Kev held up a book at a store and asked if I'd read it. Desire: The Journey We Must Take to Find the Life God Offers. Never heard of it. Who wrote it? John Eldredge. Another "desire" book? I picked it up and perused it. This is the same book. He just renamed it. I wonder why...

A week later I find myself rereading it. Some of the same lines I'd underlined last time still say something to me, along with new lines. I feel risings of emotion on every other page. I don't like this. I don't want this. I'm doing this again.

I remember back to a time when Jewelee and I walked step for step, not because our experiences were similar but because we shared what we called "DNA of the soul." We were so like-souled that what she felt, I felt. The sentence she began, I could finish. A subtlety in someone's tone, we picked up at the same exact moment, and with one look we conducted an entire conversation.

All this came at great cost, however. Others were outsiders, not excluded purposely, but simply because they did not share the "one-and-a-half brains" that were ours. That was not the great cost though. It was the loss of her husband in a tragic road accident. It seemed he'd just been starting to come around after a lifetime of utter stubbornness, starting to soften just a smidge and consider what God might want to be saying to him. The reeling loss left her in a kind of free fall. But we grabbed hands and held on, knowing we would do this together, no matter what. She tried to excuse me several times, but like Sam Wise, I made a promise, "and I intend to keep it."

This is the life I have. Is it the life I hoped for? Is this the marriage I dreamed of? Am I the person I want to be? It keeps coming back to that never-ending line from that never-ending song, "This isn't how it's supposed to be..." Lines in the book like "I hate hoping" and "I'm starting to hate hope" resonate. Anesthesia--of all types--has been a stupid tool for too long. I need to grow up. It's time. But the shmoo inside wants to stay nestled under the covers behind doors that only open when they must. What's so ultimately impossible to reconcile is that I don't have a life that comes close to being bad! I've even been accused of having "your perfect little life." HAAAA!!! If they only knew what it's like to live inside my head, they'd not only apologize, but they would genuflect!

my Uncle Al

I gathered the letters I’d saved from Uncle Al and put them in chronological order, then tied a green ribbon around them and set them on the raised counter. Pity that the earliest one I have is from 2000, unless there are others in places yet unknown or unremembered. The last is postmarked May. I must not have saved the rest. It’s only in hindsight that I realize how I might have saved them and been comforted and cheered by his words and warmth toward us. But it’s too late. I would’ve loved to have spoken to him one last time, tell him how much I love him and am grateful for his unconditional love for us, to have seen him one last time and gotten one of those enormous hugs. Kev wanted to call him on his birthday, but I didn’t want to. What a fool! Kev doesn’t insist on things like that unless there’s some good reason, a reason he probably didn’t want to share with me at the time and maybe didn’t even recognize.

Too late—two of the saddest words ever put together… Lord, I’ve wasted so much time, left great voids of zero and worthlessness in my path. Help me to love the simple things in life like Uncle Al did and to treasure family and friends and the time You grant us here. He wouldn’t want me to kick myself this way. He’d want me to say a kind word to someone, hug my kids, hold hands with Kev, to be happy and thankful. And perhaps think of him sometime in the warming colors of a fall aspen, cherish family and friends, and to raise a glass to Life…

Lord, my God, thank You for my Uncle Al. He always remembered our birthdays, our anniversary, all the holidays. He sent us real Wisconsin cheese on a regular basis. It was more than the cheese that I loved. It was the tremendous love & joy behind it. Thank You for his life, for his love for us, his love of laughter, and his zest for the simple things in life. Thank You for his consistent encouragement and the power of his generosity and thoughtfulness.

Wow, I couldn’t go on. Had a little unscheduled meltdown right there… The sound of my own sobs even sound unreal.

One Humble Soul

Did You tell her to do that? Or is she so in tune with Your Holy Spirit that Your prompt and her desire meet and move as one…?

To the outside eye, she might be a woman to be little noticed. They don’t get out as much as they used to, she doesn’t drive, doesn’t have a job, and reads and writes a lot--quiet pastimes.

Yet the effects of her ministry reach far beyond the walls of her home. The words of life she shares with us, her “girls,” draw us up to met the Lord Jesus, and there is nothing in all the whole wide world like it. That contact and communion then has its influence on our own friends and families. The pebble tossed with divine, purposeful intent into the water, reverberates in ever-widening, concentric circles to resonate the unending Truth of Him whose gracious Hand let fall the tiny stone.

The poetry that is her life evokes a celebration in my soul that must be only an echo of the gala in Heaven, where the great cloud of witnesses, Your servant hosts, and Your own great heart call out not only notice, but honor, great worth, and esteem for one humble soul poised toward You, devoted, and trusting.