Quiet

For a lover of words, it's ironic to say I’ve grown to believe talking is overrated. As a counsellor and helper this becomes even more tricky.  I’ve yet to read the book, “Quiet”, but the title speaks to me, soothes me, and relaxes shoulders as I meditate just the five letters. 

I share a 10 X 6 office space with my colleague and friend of over seven years. We joke that it is the longest relationship I have ever had. In the tiniest room, like a crucible.  We spend a lot of time counselling parents on the phone and it can sometimes look like an act of acrobats as we bend and twist and adapt between and within our dual conversations. Sometimes....often... I find myself on sensory overload.

In our Western culture we rely so heavily on the intellect; a picture I envision as talking heads aside decapitated bodies, hearts aimlessly wandering about.  Trauma experts tell us that the pain of a memory itself, or more often the felt experience of the memory gets stuck in the visceral experience of the body blocking out the actual content of the trauma story.  This works to protect our fragile minds from the gory details that serve to decimate wellness. The problem is we try to talk it out.  Make sense of it. But the process of talking, without first attending to the body and the heartfelt experience, is akin to asking an infant to solve an algebra equation.

Sometimes I have no words for God.  I find in my longing and in my heart experience, I want to connect with Him, but like a 10 X 6 office space, with the noise and chaos of my daily surroundings, I just want to put on headphones and sing. The two dimensional world of my prayers can feel empty and cardboard. Heartstrings are deadened, needing Him but through words alone, falling short and stuck in my embodied experience. 

When I acknowledge this with Him, and to Him, a strange thing happens.  Here is where He calls me.   Meets me.  Tugs at me. Beckons. "Be still and know that I am God".  In whispers, and feeling.  In unexpected moments. In silence and solitude.  In napkins on laps of buzzy dinner conversation.   And even in office space crucibles. "Anointed one", "Beloved", He sees through and grips me.  "Daughter".  Here in this place and in this time I bring myself.  Embodied, awakened. Quiet. 

"But the Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent before him."

~Habakkuk 2:20

Sunday Scripture {Be my everything}

"Christ is the visible image of the invisible God.  He existed before God made anything at all and is supreme over all creation.  Christ is the one through whom God created everything in heaven and earth.  He made the things we can see and the things we can't see-kings, kingdoms, rulers and authorities.  Everything has been created through him and for him.  He existed before everything else began, and he holds everything together.  Christ is the head of the church, which is his body.   He is the first of all who will rise from the dead, so he is first in everything. "

~Colossians 1:15-18

Sunday Scripture {promise}

"Never will I leave you.

Never will I forsake you."

~Hebrews 13:5~

He is always with us.

Leaving Eden

She demanded French toast.  It was how we started the day. Composed and regulated I shuffled back downstairs throwing back eggs as an option.  “We don’t have time this morning.” Mutters and disgruntled banter echoed from upstairs.  She does this.  This fighting with herself. Trying desperately in all her four footed’ness, to make it about me.

It was going to be a difficult morning.

The dried out mascara brush coasted across eyelash and it continued.  From breakfast option, to wardrobe. Loss of television shows, hurling complaints my way. Deflecting. Redirecting. Anger rising.

Time out….

She threw a few more jabs my way, and retreated finally back to her corner.   Defeated by her opponent’s precise blocking. Covered jaw, bobs and weaves. Boxer’s stance strong, engaging core and maintaining my balance.   I would not be dragged in. Because she needs to stand on own two feet and own moods and bad mornings and the not getting of the way.

A little later, with earrings clipped on, and face painted, it was then I found her.  Piles of crocheted blankets strewn across coffee table and couch.  Bare leg and painted toe nails jetted out from under.   Bits of Lego friends accompanied her. “Mom don’t move my fort while I’m at school”….she hid there, sheltered and safe.  Contained in her own little world, regrouping and reshuffling the play list of attitudes and behaviors in preparation for the day.

And I thought for a moment, if it weren’t for adulthood and responsibility, job to get to and school drop off to make, I would have crawled right under there with her.  Under the covering, in that safe walled domain.   Where French toast meets seamless socks and favorite pasta sauce stained shirt.  Where needs are met and bills are paid and true love prevails. Where friendships are easy and houses are clean, and sleeps are sound, and parents are healthy.  Under markered-coffee table wonder. In our very own Eden. 

By the time she came out, she had left it there mostly. Brushed bangs aside, and settled on outfit and reverie. We embraced and reconnected. Amongst winter jacketing and mitten bearing. Door closed behind us, Eden awaiting our return from the battle and the barriers,  the triumphs and the victories. 

   He will cover you with his feathers,

    and under his wings you will find refuge;

    his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

  ~Psalm 91: 4

Covered

My first grandfather passed away sometime around my eleventh birthday, leaving my grandmother a widow for the last two decades of her life.   I only really remember her as a single lady.  I imagine her alone in her apartment, devouring the daily newspaper, while sipping on tea and munching butter tarts.   She preferred her solitude, in part I think due to a life long hearing condition.  She was an introvert by nature, and though weak in constitution, lived a hearty 95 years, several past what her family had anticipated and prepared for.   She was greatly loved and inadvertently created a legacy of little women and gentle men. 

This year for the first time, I heard the expression: as you get older, life gets inevitably more complicated and painful. You experience more loss, more setback, and greater disappointment. But you learn (hopefully) through age and wisdom, to weather the storms with increased grace and understanding. With expanded patience, and a more open heart.   It is a tricky paradox, two conflicting experiences competing for our attention.

I remember her couch; her “chesterfield” on those sleepovers.  Jersey fitted sheet pressed tightly, almost sterile expanded perfectly over flowered cushion. Westminster Abbey chimed in on the hour, at great volume, which she may have heard faintly, cradling her as a comfort reminding her of home and routine. My synapses recorded the smells of her Ivory soap, and Charlie perfume.  They photographed her laundered sheets, and perfectly pressed “slims”. Together, legacy bearer and granddaughter wove memories on scrabble boards and cherry wood tables with seven-up glasses and old dutch chips. 

I knew her as grandma, not woman.  I was unfamiliar with her heartache. She sheltered her longings and unmet dreams, to put on a pedestal, her family and theirs.   Without fail, her smile, her lit up blue eyes would greet us each as we met with her.  In apartment walls, in hospital beds, and in her last home. Tucking away her dark times, her struggle, grasping for something bigger, something more lovely that stands the test of time.  Her paradox also present and fighting.  The dreary and the mundane, the injustice and the unfair, with the birth and the beauty and the loveliness all held together in one.  Ninety five years of loving on.  While living in the struggle.

I know we glorify in death. We lift up and erase brokenness.  We illuminate only beauty. But I think it's  okay for us to do this as He tells us, it is finished. It is written. We are covered. In our blank spots, and in our peanut brittle states, where he has us reflected back in His perfection.    He calls us here up from weakness to lift our heads and look to Him who is greater, who is bigger. Him who has the paradox.  Who won it over. Who loves us in it, who calls us through it. And reminds us, child, in this I am enough for you.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

~2 Corinthians 12:9

Sunday Scripture {Waiting}

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope... 

~Psalm 130:5

Sunday Scripture {Take Heart}

~I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me.  Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows.  But take heart, because I have overcome the world~

John 16:33

Sunday Scripture {Keep On Keeping On}

  ~Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer~

Romans 12:12

Dry Bones

My daughter, she’s 6 now, has the love language of touch. She adores being cuddled and caressed. She prefers being near in down time; to watch movies, read, or even just to eat dinner, sitting at my side. The physical contact settles her breath and grounds her in a way my words or reason cannot. Attachment theorists refer to this physical touch as a way we remain attuned or connected to one another. She gets this leaning from her mother. Or perhaps, our Golden Retriever.  But sometimes...often...my thought bubbles etch in, “I need some personal space...” Because the cuddling, and the pawing, and the constant closeness, can sometimes feel too much. 

This season of my life, has me thinking about ways that God speaks to us despite the complexities of how we have been created.  The intricacies and the minute detailed wiring of our brain, the vastness and awareness of our minds, the mystery and beauty of our souls, and the power and majesty of our bodies. Each its own entity.  Each its own wonder. Each connected to Him as a source of electricity and life. Each with its own needs and ways of experiencing renewal, of feeling joy, and being at peace in the world and with one another. Staying on top of even one of these areas be it exercise, relational connection, intellectual stimulation, or honing your spiritual life can feel like a full-time job.  We are a complicated bunch. Or perhaps it’s just me.

But sometimes, if we are to be honest, it can all feel too much.  And the pulling up of bootstraps, and the power of positive thinking doesn’t always do justice.  Doesn’t always prevail. On the dark days.  On the weary ones.  In the moments when we feel like dry bones. Dead and vacant. Groundhog day wanderings.  Feeling alone in our strivings. Without hope to muster.

I know about dry bone days.  Dry bone seasons.   I know about gasping for breath.

The good news, or so I’ve learned, is we love a God who is faithful. Who breathes life. Who is all about restoration. Second chances. Third chances. Moments of failure. Weary hearts. Burdened minds. Confused souls. And dry bones.  And He speaks in to all of it.  “Stand in the ways and see, and ask for the old paths, where the good way is, and walk in it; then you will find rest for your souls” (Jeremiah 6:16) 

He tells us He is familiar with our ways.  Our weakness. Our walls. And our weariness. He promises to comfort, to strengthen, to advise, to make new, and in His time, to breathe life into faithless bones. 

Then he said to me, "Speak to these bones and say, 'Dry bones, listen to the word of Lord.  This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Look! I am going to breathe into you and make you live again. I will put flesh and muscles on you and cover you with skin.  I will put breath into you, and you will come to life."

~Ezekiel 37: 4-6~

Sunday Scripture

~Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you who belong to Christ Jesus~

1 Thessalonians 5:18

For when you forget who you belong to...

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
    your walls are ever before me.

~Isaiah 49:16

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers”. (Anne of Green Gables)

I’ve gotten away from running lately. Not that I am sitting on the couch eating bon bons…I’ve just had other fish to fry, other activities to tend to. But, as luck would have it, the skies opened up and allowed me to pound pavement yesterday afternoon. And a little piece of heaven joined me that October day, as leaves fell before me pouring like snowflakes, sun beaming on cheeks. Feeling called to lift hands, to drink joy in for the moment, all in. Despite headphones of motivation, I could still hear the crunching, the shuffling of elm leaves parting, making a way, and carving a path down evergreen lane. Inhale, exhale. Breathe….

As the neighborhood worked through confusion of pumpkins and sprinklers, pansies poked heads through piles of brown and orange wonder. Stretching out strength , persevering through covering and today, in this moment, in this place, and in this time, I didn’t feel forgotten. I felt that He had me, all of me. Circumstances, mess, heart strings, doubts, and failure. But here I was safe in it. Held. Covered.

Do you know that he has you? Here in your moment? Whispers of promises, “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe....

“He will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love.”  (Zepheniah 3:17)

Running forward, weary muscles. Sweaty tired forehead....

“I am familiar with all your ways.” Psalm 139:3

Not needing to hide or mask weakness. Broken pieces and cracks let in light, and are His Masterpiece.

“You were not a mistake, for all your days are written in my book.” Psalm 139:15-16

His book, not my book. His good and perfect ways.

And as I run the loop back home, I’m renewed and refreshed and soaked in His love. Held in his hand.  Here He reminds me I’m carved in His palm. My name. My story. From beginning to end. October beauty as backdrop for God’s artistry.

Sunday Scripture

~Give your burdens to the Lord, and he will take care of you.  He will not permit the godly to slip and fall~

Psalms 55:22

Coming Home

We made it through September. The backpacks, back to schools, shutting of cottage doors. The harvest collected, passports closed, and starting of all things new. Traffic is busier this time of year. Vehicles crawl in rush hour jams. “Mommy, what’s a traffic jam?” a voice pipes in from backseat wonder, wisps of brown caramel tucked behind ear, “I have to pee...”. Crock pots on high alert, held at a level of accountability so high, they dare not let us down. That 6 pm meal is everything, and if I have to do one more thing... just one more thing, I may collapse.

I’ve gotten better at these times. The living in the now.  The to-do list as friend, not nemesis, glued across dashboard drive. Groceries. Check. Gas. Check.  Errand. Check. A day’s work behind me, left hand cramping from age.  Mind still reeling, thinking about the call. Mulling over mundane. Feeling on the heartache. Swimming there, I drive.

Gears put in neutral, gravel crunches, sunglasses fumble and I shut the door behind me.  I step toward the school doors. Little coats and rain boots lined beneath parent committee notice and shiny hallway floors. The janitor smiles from downcast eyes as she works and focuses. Dancing with her mop, I pass by excusing.   Heels click as they follow the yellow brick road.

Chairs turned on tables, neatly. The classroom echoes and I realize the field outside, the playground is where they’ve been called. Where they’ve been beckoned.

And at first I can’t see her as the rays block the vision, and the fogged head still clears from its preoccupations. But the anticipation heightens and I feel my face soften, lips part, and I prepare for her joy.

It’s quick that I hear it. Hear her in a single cry, “Mommy!” and she runs quickly.  Little legs carry, green raincoat open, its tails fly and want to stay with after school friends.  Her gate gets quicker, determined, more focused, hair dances carelessly, open, and free.  The vision gets clearer, and the wide toothed grin is all that carries her before our eyes meet, shining, connected, reunited.  We come Home.

As we embrace and I lift her, little jeaned legs wrap around me.  Both my heart and everything in me now is at peace, and for a moment nothing else matters. Security is found, in this little being, and in our coming home. 

And these are the moments I feel Him most clearly. Almost as if He celebrates with me, watching us in wonder.  He speaks through her love of this I’m most certain. Longing to pour out His love on my baby and me. So be blessed today, like children He says, receive Me, run to Me. Child, just come home.

~The Lord bless you and watch, guard, and keep you; the Lord make His face to shine upon and enlighten you and be gracious (kind, merciful, and giving favor) to you; the Lord lift up His [approving] countenance upon you and give you peace (tranquility of heart and life continually).~ Numbers 6:24-26

Sunday Scripture

~Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.  Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves.  Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord.  Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ~

Romans 12:9-12

The Light Keeper

Some seasons of darkness last longer than others. Some seem to pass like the tide, waves washing quickly, clearing out sand and seashells, making all things new.  Others, linger uninvited.  Hanging around like a virus, seeping through pores, invading the insides.  When all you can whisper is an, “I’m too weary, I need your strength” before slipping off cliff, legs kicking wildly, stomach sinking, falling endlessly, throat raw from screaming. 

I’m fortunate, beyond measure, to have a good dad. He’s got my back when it's a target. He oversees from a distance, and comes in close when I flounder. He believes in me. And if that isn’t fortune enough, he's handy to boot. When you own a three-quarters of a century home, this is more than useful when sinks get plugged, furnaces falter, and electrical seems to be a science experiment in the making.

And today I watched him, up on the ladder, clenched hands and fingers, tired from arthritis holding the light fixture, turning the screws. What should have been an easy project, turned into a three hour challenge, with muddled instructions, and Youtube how-to's on stand by as we installed a new chandelier in my new dining room.

As his hands shook, and his breath became heavy, I became overwhelmed by the time that he took, the time that he takes, to bring light into my world.

And what an example, of how God does too.  To be the keeper of the light. To illuminate our darkness. To stay steady when all beneath is quaking.  To create new paths even when shadows are cast. To unravel confusion and clear out the mud and mire.  And beyond that, to love us completely.

Today my earthly father, pointed me back to my heavenly father who came and still does come, to bring us light.

~ I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them. Isaiah 42:16