Walking a labryinth

Soon before I left Manassas, I went to the Linton Hall Benedictine Monastery and walked the labyrinth. This arial view shows just a corner of one of the amazing silos standing vigil.  They took two ordinary grain silos and transformed them into quiet prayer and meditation "rooms". Complete with stained glass and a sky open to God above. This farmer's daughter is grateful for a reminder of her childhood and a reminder of the amazing creativity of God's people.

So what's a Pentecostal Protestant doing wandering a labyrinth in a Catholic monastery?  She's slowing  walking, with a heart that needed to be quieted. She's walking in gratitude to the Body of Christ that values beauty and contemplation.  She's doing it 'cause it's open to the public and no one cares if I'm Catholic, Protestant or heathen.              Come and walk.

"It is not talking but walking that will bring us to heaven."
-  Matthew Henry

I'm mindful of a deep need to slow down, connect my head, my heart and my spirit, to participate in all that God has for me.  I need peace for this rocky part of my journey.

So I walked.  I arrived on a day when a handful of women were tending the beautiful gardens around the labyrinth and silos.  As I walked, their voices grew to murmers in respect of my walk.  I know they must accomodate people all the time but it gave me a sense of being in my own space but within the larger space of their garden, within community.  We do essentially walk alone- we are in our own relationship with Jesus, we are separate from what is outside us.  But at the same time, we are always in community - for the hour that I walked, I was part of their community. A portion of the larger Body.

All alone, all connected. Part of the mystery.

As you walk a Chartres labyrinth- modeled after the floor in the cathedral at Chartres, France- you walk stone pavers that form the interconnecting serpentine pathway. You begin and following the stones, winding through the pattern, at one point certain the next series of turns will surely bring you to the center.  Suddenly you find you are not in the center at all but instead you have followed the path to the opposite site.  Left brain, right brain - appearing divided but connected by the path. You haven't arrived yet. You have the whole other side to calm your self and walk, thinking, praying, wondering.

"This is taking a long time. How can these be connected? Oh, I see where it goes. Someone was very clever.  Someone should also pull these weeds. Is it spiritual to stop and pull weeds out of the cracks?  What would happen if I just stepped over the line- I could cut off a bunch of walking? I think I got lost- can you get lost on a flat surface? Why can't I focus? God, are you here?"

But as I slowly continued, one foot behind the other, staying on the path, ignoring the weeds, welcoming the breeze- my heart calmed. My thoughts collected.  In this journey of life, there are often moments when I cannot see a connection between my current path and my desired end.  I am hindered by distractions- weeds in my path.  I am tempted to take short cuts.  I wonder if I've lost my way.  I cry out, "God, are you here?"

                And in life and in the labyrinth, He answers, "Peace. Be still and know I am God".

 Suddenly, I have arrived in the center. I have stayed the course, I have walked all the paths and made the right turns.  Really you can't lose your way in a labyrinth unless you walk blindfolded or and refuse to look at the path in front of you.  And I believe you cannot lose your way in life- unless you blindfold yourself and refuse look at the path before you.  I believe that God has a good path for each of His children and no two paths look alike.

Sometimes it feels like we  must have lost the way. Sometimes it feels like there is no rhyme or reason. And sometimes there is a glimpse of of clarity as the pieces line up for a moment. Or you feel like you can reach out the touch your goal but the path then takes you a long way away, away to a new place. Trust Him for the journey. Then there are times when a shortcut tempts us, who would know? ...
Stay the course.  One step, one day at a time.

It would be all so simple if there was a labyrinth or a personal yellow brick road in front of me at all times. How often have I said, "I'd do His will if I knew what it was." Well, I do know.






In Luke's Gospel, Zechariah dedicated his son, John, with these words, "....the tender mercy of our God,

by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness

       and in the shadow of death,

                                                 to guide our feet into the path of peace.”

 He desires me to be faithful. Not demanding a road map. Satisfied with His presence. 

Peace. 

"Be Still and Know I am God."

Once, as I prayed for direction with a friend, she had a picture for me.  In her picture, I was moving from foot to foot, impatiently waiting. A path was before me but it  was quickly obscured by weeds, broken down and then gone altogether. Then she saw a man kneeling in front of me, carefully laying the next section of the path. A smooth path, a level path, a clear path. 


Life isn't a static labyrinth that we can all carefully march with the same turns for each of us. Our shared goal as His followers is to bring glory to Him.  We can learn much from sharing in a pattern laid by others for parts of our experience.  But when it comes to our lives, our walk, we have the Master mason who only lays out one section at a time.  As I chose to stay close to Him and trust Him for the next piece, the next season, I know Peace and I am still. 


I stood for a moment in the center of the labyrinth, my heart quiet. Then I retraced my steps. This time with a renewed understanding that the path was trustworthy, the way was smooth. I could leave with peace. Peace to share. 

Mexican train and life

I'm back form almost a week at the beach.  Beach people do what real people do on vacation- they eat, they sleep, they play games.  At the beach, many games and some meals involve sand and salty water. Actually, many beach people also have sand for their sleep- you see groups and singles of beach people sleeping under piers and special beach umbrellas. The rest of us bring the sand home to add to our sheets. The inexperienced beach people are the red ones sleeping in the noon sun.  

 I am the one hiding under the pier. The sun is not my friend.

But when the sun goes down, the kids are tucked in, the table cleared and the glasses refilled, the real games begin. And we played Mexican Train.... turns out beach people play it just like Mountain People.  You pick twelve random domino tiles and build "trains" or strings of dominos based on whatever domino is the "engine" for that round. You start with 12s and go down to 1s- although even beach or  mountain people rarely finish an entire set of twelve.  That's a lot of dominos to mess with. Refill the glasses.


I figured out how to import an image from the internet! Yippeee...



So... the game goes on. And on. Depends on if you're winning or not. And sometimes it feels like you are clearly winning until one stupid hand and you are dumped off the winner podium and that sneaky player who has been quietly sitting there has won. Drat.

So what is the point?  Let me examine some of the facets of the game of Mexican Train and the game of Life.  

You may think you are choosing but really even your choice is random. You don't know what the tiles will be- will you be able to cleverly line up all your dominos? Will they be a mess of random tiles? Will you be able to just quietly mind your own business and play out your little hand in peace and quiet?

 Just what we think we choose our pieces to play life. We choose a good spouse and he or she turns out to be a flawed human.  Who expected that!          You adjust and line up your life pieces- kids, a minivan or never a minivan, a...... fill in the blank- it's still about control.  You will buy a house or never get trapped in that rip off.  You plan to work as a ....  until you retire.      Or retire and live at the beach, in the mountains, on a golf course or even on the mission field.  You have your train all lined up.  


Mexican Train has some sneaky ways to mix the game up. There are double domino tiles- two twelves, two elevens, tens, etc. So if you have a double and you play it on your train or WORSE, someone has to play it on their train  AND cannot immediately add to it, you are involved!  The game stops while everyone either messses up their trains to pull out a tile to put on the "open" train, gleefully uses a random tile they didn't want in their hand anyway or horrors, draws more dominos. Those new tiles may or may not fit into the clever train you have planned.

You see the life application.  There you are just going along "playing life" quietly. Planning your train. Lining up life. And someone else's train intrudes.  There are no end to the interruptions- in fact, if you haven't had your life interrupted you probably aren't fully living and certainly not in community. And you must not have children.  They are the ultimate interruptions.  So are broken down cars, ear infections, business trips, broken air conditioners,  cancer.  Life is suddenly put on hold while everyone has to respond.

And it's all about the response. In a lively game of Mexican Train, the chatter is as much fun as the game. And in life, when your carefully constructed plans and ideas of how life works are interrupted, challenged by a new arangement, it's all about your response.  When the choices you made suddenly seem to not fit together and you can't even see a train, a logical pattern. A reason.   When it's all about the interruptions and less about your control, that's when Life begins.

This week has been a test of my character, of how I respond when I am not in control. I've had to stop other people and ask for help. I've had to wait for others to respond to my inquires. I've had to attempt to make decisions without all the information I need. I've been tempted to stand up and dump the table, yell and stamp my feet.

"It isn't fair. I'm playing the game right. I had my train lined up. I don't want to mess it up with having to interact with you. Go away and let me finish my ... MY. Me, mine."

Life isn't Mexican Train. It's a silly example. But it's a reminder that life, like a game, has pieces that I cannot control, has a pace that I cannot always set. It has other players that I have chosen to be with and sometimes their train needs a response.  Playing games is all about being a good sport- not kicking over the board when you lose, speaking with our kind voices, treating others like you want to be treated, not cheating when you might have a chance.

Sounds like good response to life. 

http://i228.photobucket.com/albums/ee179/holazola/MexicanTrain.jpg

Focus on the in between.

When I cleaned out my life, I cleaned out my closet.  And as I really looked at the clothes I loved, a pattern emerged. I like black. I like neutrals.  I love teal and turquoise.  And that's an easy combination.  I don't have to think about what matches except textures.  I don't wonder if I have a bottom for that cute gold, chartreuse, purple, blah, blah, blah, top.  

People asked if I was required to stage my closet- that question reveals how completely staged the rest of the house is. Nope, did that before and I'm liking the clean, simple look.  A couple of years ago I prayed for "order"- the lack of structure and the abundance of stuff I had to maintain was overwhelming.  Well, I have order. And what's left of the abundance is all orderly packed in boxes in the garage.

While I'm waiting for my Father to give the order to move on, I escaped to the beach.  The ultimate  "there's no order - hang out and eat fish, lay in the sand and chill" place.  I don't beach well.

The record breaking heat wave hasn't completely spared the eastern shore and yesterday I sat in air conditioning until after dinner. I read most of  Barbara Kingsolver's novel, "Poisonwood Bible", set in the Congo. I contemplated the demise of central Africa under the hands of diamond miners and the CIA and the demise of a American family under the fist of a lunatic Baptist evangelist hellbent on converting  Africa.
Light, escapist reading.  And a great read.
   http://www.kingsolver.com/books/the-poisonwood-bible.html




But this was the day to rise early and go to the beach. I walked along the shore line at low tide. It's a wide sandy beach, held back by sturdy dunes topped with waving sea grass.  Lovely, a great place to vegetate.  So I walked.  And I found my focus for today.


I surprised me to realize that  I have spent quite a few years of my life within a short drive to a beach.  We discovered the Atlantic while Bill discovered the Marine Corps at Quantico.  We marveled at the Caribbean while Bill marveled at flying.  I hauled three babies to the North Carolina beaches as our family grew.

And I found shells everywhere.  With small, eager boys I scooped shells  from the coral sands of the East China Sea. On the Isle of Capri I picked lovely sea glass off the Mediterraean shore.  I was always looking for something. Something to focus on. Something to show for the time spent at the beach. Something to show for my life perhaps.



So while I am not a beach person, today I strolled and I looked for something.  My whole life feels like a search.  A search for me. What a egocentric, un-Christian thing to think, let alone write for the world to read.  I love Jesus. I want to be like Jesus and He didn't seem to spend much time wandering around looking for Himself.  Looking for bits and pieces that would show His identity to the world.  But maybe He never lost Himself. He grew into the fullness that was His from the beginning. He retreated to spend time with His Father and "grew in wisdom, stature and favor with God and man".


Maybe it's not so blasphemous after all to seek. To seek to grow into the fullness that is mine from the beginning.  To look for the parts of me that are buried under the sand, mixed with the crushed pieces of life. Examining what was and what it is becoming.


Over the years, I have collected tiny little perfect shell bodies of tiny little dead sea animals- dozens fit in a teaspoon.  Tiny and perfect. Invisible without careful scrutiny in a handful of common sand.   I also have a collection of tiny little earrings that migrated to the bottom of my jewelry pile. I thought of making a collage and titling it, "Once I Was a Tiny Woman." Maybe I'll find a piece of safe pink polester to unravel- there must be potential beauty in the things that were once safe and are now discarded.

Now I wear  linen because I love the feel of linen and don't care anymore if it wrinkles. I run my hand along the thrift store shirts and find the organic cotton. I wear buff camel oatmeal tan sand biscuit cream ecru mushroom but never beige.  I love black even if I'm not supposed to look good in it.  I buy big, chunky, ethnic jewelry.  I focused and found the pieces of myself that came to the surface. Pieces that God put there and knew in His good time, they would fit me.  They would be me. Fullness.






Today as I walked, I saw... bits and pieces of broken scallops and clam shells. It isn't a pretty shell beach. The shells are common, indistinuishable. Temporary homes of the creatures of the sea being crushed to form the silky sand of the dunes and beneath my feet.  But in the midst of that process, there are pieces "in between".  They are no longer whole. It's hard to see what they once were.  And they aren't what they will be- a particle of anoymous sand.  Right now they are lovely in their in-between-ness. 


They are buff camel oatmeal tan sand biscuit cream ecru mushroom.  They are flat and smooth. They are square, rectangle, oval, round. They call out to be touched, handled, rubbed.  They are lustrous, silky bits of leftovers. And they are beautiful.


They catch my eye. They are my focus. For I too am in the in-between-ness.  I am not an eastern, suburban mom. I am not a western, wandering nomad.  I have two houses and live in neither.  I am a mother of adults who need me less and less. I am no longer what I was; I am not what I will become.  


But I can be lovely in the process. In discovering the fullness in between.

Why me? For His glory....

In the last nine months, I have deconstructed my house and eliminated a third of my stuff. Stuff like old furniture and clothing and my beloved's tools and uniforms.  Stuff like the contents of junk drawers and  sink cabinets, tupperware and my children's memorabilia.  It's been bittersweet and freeing.
 I've cried again when I thought I was done with tears.

And after three months of spending all the money I should have been spending for the last six years, the maintenance, painting, replacing was done. The house was staged and looked....
amazing. Weird but amazing.  It was not longer my home but a model home waiting for Barbie and Ken to come home.

Or the perfect buyer to make the perfect offer.

Which happened twice....

but I reminded my realtor - a SALE means I get money, she gets money, someone ELSE lives in the house.  Not happening.

When Bill was first diagnosed this song was popular on Christian radio.

Voice Of Truth
   ------Casting Crowns

Oh,what I would do to have
the kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is,
And he's holding out his hand

But the waves are calling out my name
and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win,
You you'll never win

But the Voice of truth tells me a different story
the Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the Voice of truth says "this is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth
Oh, what I would do
to have the kind of strength it takes
To stand before a giant
with just a sling and a stone
Surrounded by the sound
of a thousand warriors
shaking in their armor
Wishing they'd have had the strength to stand

But the giant's calling out
my name and he laughs at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The giant keeps on telling me
time and time again
"Boy you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the Voice of truth says "this is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth
But the stone was just the right size
to put the giant on the ground
and the waves they don't seem so high
from on top of them looking down
I will soar with the wings of eagles
when I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus
singing over me

But the Voice of truth tells me a different story
The Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
And the Voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me (calling out to me)
I will choose to listen and believe (I will choose to listen and believe)
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth

I don't know how many times I sang that. And it was comforting.  All the confusing voices in that tumultuous time. Do this, try that, take him here, pray this, meet with this... doctor, healer, Indian chief. 

And after his death, the voices of 'what if...', 'why didn't you...', 'if only....'  echoed in my head and I tried to listen and believe the only Voice I could trust.

Now it's been five years. Life has regained balance. Life is good. But can't I move on. My kids are moving on.  I heard the Voice and bought a house in the West.  All that  is needed to finish this season is to sell this house.  And this house is the voice that mocks my plans and my dreams. 

Sometimes I refer to my "status" and pull the widow card. It can be quite effective and sometimes it embarrasses me to manipulate people with it. Other times I just don't care- Verizon comes to mind. "I need the details of this account and need it in MY name. My husband is DEAD." 

And in my prayer life, the widow comes up more than I'd like to admit. "Really, God, You promise to care for the widow. ( I skip the orphan part since I'm not an orphan but they are usually linked) And He has shown Himself more than able to provide for my needs.  It's for my wants and my timing that He seems to ignore that whole plight of the widow thing.  Then He treats me like any other daughter. 

I will listen and believe

I will listen and believe the Voice of truth

I will listen and believe 

'Cause Jesus you are the Voice of truth

And I will listen to you.. oh you are the Voice of truth

And I have to remind myself, to talk to myself, to listen carefully for that small Voice-  I am his beloved daughter, His delight, His joy. He loves me and looks upon me with good in His heart. But....

His thoughts are just not my thoughts, His plans are not my plans. 

I love the lines -

"But the Voice of truth tells me a different story.The Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"

And the Voice of truth says "this is for my glory" 

My ideas of His glory are not always His ideas.  Again, I'll admit with embarrassment my feeble prayer in 2008- in the summer, not the fall.  "Please God, keep the economy strong. Show how You care for widows. (In other words, don't let bad stuff happen to me...)  And his Voice was clear - "My glory will be shown when I care for the widows DESPITE the economy".  And within weeks, that was true.  So blame me for the economic meltdown - God wanted to show Himself big to the widows and orphans. And He has. 

So clearly I learned my lesson and would never pray, "God - sell my house (quickly and for top dollar, if possible)- for Your glory (of course)." But then it happened!  Hurrah! That was easy. Thank you, Jesus! 

Well, ok that deal fell through. But then another buyer- hurrah. That was fast!  For Your glory! 

But now my prayer is - "Do you really know what You're doing?"  Inspections, reinspections. Appraisals, more appraisals.  Water tests that expire. Two contracts broken.  Angry people. Destaged house, restaged house.   I'm tired and I want to be done.  Where is the Voice? Where is the glory? 

His thoughts are just not my thoughts, His plans are not my plans. 

Elijah stood in the windstorm and didn't hear the voice of God. He heard it in the small whisper after the storm.  And this season feels like a storm - a storm of emotions and discouragement.  But the whisper is there.  "Be still and know that I am God"

I am learning that God's glory isn't shown in the times when He spares us, it's in the time when He sustains us. We have a great cloud of witnesses and our tenacious clinging in the dark to the Truth revealed in the Light speaks to the watching world.  We become His voice as we speak trust, as we speak peace.  And we speak to our own souls as we repeat what that Voice speaks- 

The Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!" 

And the Voice of truth says "this is for my glory" 

So I am not just a widow trying to sell her house.  I am His daughter trying to live faithfully. I am His daughter and I will not be afraid.  I am His daughter and I will trust His plans and His ways.  And He can decide about the Glory. 

His thoughts are not my thoughts, His plans are not my plans. 

An Imperfect Circle

I have run away. I left behind the perfectly staged house, the newly manicured yard, the hustle and bustle of Northern Virginia.  I am going back to a personal beginning place in my life. I'm at the beach.

I am not a beach person. I don't sleep easily- heat, sand and bugs don't make sleeping on the beach any easier.  I sunburn without ever really tanning. The sun in my eyes makes reading difficult.  I'm always a bit nervous in water. There are no mountains. Why am I here?

This time it's because our best friends are here for a family celebration and I'd go to Antarctica to join them. Except they'd never ask me or go to Antarctica themselves. They're beach people. And they happened to plan their celebration at a beach I know.



 Another life ago, Bill and I were in our first year of marriage and experiencing our first summer on the East Coast.  Our first summer of heat above 85 degrees and humidity above 20 percent. It was shocking after Colorado summers. "Let's go to see the Atlantic Ocean."

It was a disappointment to say the least. We had honeymooned in San Diego. I had sunbathed in Southern California. That was an ocean. This was small and had no waves.  The beach was shallow and had lots of small pebbles and weird prehistoric helmets crawling in the dirty sand. It smelled funny. There were no seashells.  "This is the Atlantic?"

Well, no actually, it wasn't.  We had launched off the road a bit north for the ocean and landed on the shores of the Delaware Bay. The thin sand strip between bay and marsh.  That first trip we traveled another five miles further south and found Cape Henlopen, the hook of land jutting into the Atlantic.  Wide, sandy beaches, waves.  But still no seashells. Maybe a few small ones.


Over the years, I have collected hundreds of seashells from dozens of beaches.  Beautiful and fragile.  They have been wrapped and unwrapped, stored in sturdy plastic boxes, handled with care, shown with pride and concern. They are beautiful and fragile.

Like my life.  I handled the first half of life concerned I would break it or it would break me. Beauty was elusive.  I felt as fragile as the thin shells and delicate coral.   The memories of perfect beaches became preserved in plastic storage cases- sanitized and held at arm's length.


 It has been thirty-three years since I was last at the Delaware Bay. It's still narrow and lacking in shells. It can smell funny when the wind blows from the marsh. But I am older and wiser and the beach is full of beautiful stones.  Stones tumbled in the relentless waves.  Rough stones becoming smooth ovals, gemstones of nature's actions,  as close to perfect circles as rocks will become. 

I've come my own circle- an imperfect circle. I'm still the woman who came here three decades ago but I am no longer searching for fragile, elusive seashells. I am no longer fragile. Life has tumbled me. Worn off my sharp edges. Smoothed my restless soul.  Created beauty for ashes.



I am back at the same beach and looking forward, not to finding the ocean that I sought as a young woman, but to the beauty in the ordinary. The comfort of smooth rocks that will not break but are smooth to hold,
useful for anchoring flowers,  pretty piled in a glass.












Sometimes it's good to return. To circle back. To see how far you've come. To see beauty in today.

		The Spirit of the Lord GOD [is] upon Me, Because the LORD has anointed Me To preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives, And the opening of the prison to [those who are] bound; To proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD, And the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn. To console those who mourn in Zion, To give them beauty for ashes, The oil of joy for mourning, The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; That they may be called trees of righteousness, The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified." Isaiah 61

In Four Years, I'll be Sixty

There's a sobering "Happy Birthday to me!"  first thing in the morning. 


Today's my birthday and I'm 56. How did that happen? I'm not sure how 56 feels but I don't feel it. Most days I look in the mirror and I don't think I look it although people haven't said, "You can't possibly have children that old...." for a few years. Menopause bites.  But most days, I just don't think about it. 


But today is my birtday.  Our family didn't and still doesn't do up celebrations very well.  One of the nicest surprises of the last few years was when Paul mentioned how well we did do birthdays.  Really?  God bless your memory!   Oh, I tried usually- I did the cakes, parties every few years, "It's your day- what do YOU want to do?" questions.  I just don't do gifts well.  I try and I try and so rarely did I hit something JUST right.  Something that says, "I KNOW you and I KNOW this will just be perfect for you."


So if I was KNOWN.... what would my birthday gifts be? 


I'd wake up to soft sunshine and singing birds- well, thank you, Lord. I do wish the view out my window was of golden hills turning pale green in a western spring but I can't complain about the view out my Virginia window.  Pale light filters through all the shades of green and the dark greeny, brown tree trucks march out of sight into the verdant depths.  I just read a writer's article that said to never use verdant but it's my birthday and I'll do what I please.  And maybe figure out how to easily add a pic... later.


I'd open a card from a friend.  A real card from the postal service. An eloquent card of friendship. Not a birthday card- just a "thanks for lunch and talking" card.  You bless me, Lynn.


I'd plan to ride horseback and thank you, my friend Mary, who just invited me!  I rode a little Arabian / Welsh pony when I was a girl. My dad got Lark when he was just a yearling and in return, Daddy provided milk for a year to the family of horse breeders with six or seven girls.  Two long years  I cared for him and talked to him but could not ride - Arabians aren't broken to ride until they are three.  But it's what he could afford and it was the dream of my heart to own a horse.  So for my birthday, I'll plan a nostalgic ride.


I'd plan to join friends for something social, preferably outdoors with food involved.  Thank you, Donna, for suggesting the farmer's market and lunch in Manassas.  Looks like a lovely day to be together.  Thank you, Noreen, for taking time from work.  I miss you.


I'd dig in my garden with a friend.  Thank you, Beth, for our plan to do just that this afternoon.  I will miss this mess of green profusion when I move to a drier climate. It'll take some time to adjust from my current habit of ripping out bunches of plants, knowing that something will quickly grow into that open space.  I'll miss having an abundant of greens just outside my door to cut and add to any blooms of the season. 


I'd see at least one of my kids, if not all. The recent memory of having all four together this month will have to suffice for the all part but thank you, Drew, for coming down tonight.  I will miss being this close to you.  You have been a faithful help in so much of this process. This process of growing old, growing up! I have loved parenting you and your siblings; I cherish the frienships I have with each of you know as you grow into your own adulthoods. 


I'd talk to family and hear familiar voices. Birthdays have, for years, been events to share with my extended family over the phone, not around a table. It's a rare treat to be together.  Thank you, Mr. A Graham Bell, for inventing telephones!  Could you have foreseen a generation or two with constant attention to your device?  I don't sleep with my phone but it is usually pretty close by.


Well, look at that. Someone knows me. Someone is gifting me in ways that are simple yet precious to my soul.  Someone sees me and knows what I need today and every day.  Someone loves me. 


The simple truth is I've always been known. I just didn't know it. For most of my life, I have struggled with the feeling that no one really knew me. I considered myself transparent and vulnerable but not really known.  Like there was a part inside me that I didn't know how to let out or if it was safe to let out. That "What would people think if they really knew me?" place. If they  knew my dark secrets. My many insecurities. My petty thoughts. My irrational moments.  My grand thoughts! My dreams. 


And I took much of my frustration out on a long-suffering husband. Who, frankly, knew himself as much as he wanted, thought he knew me and  voiced, "Really, is life that complicated, Kathy?"  Yeah, for me it was. 




Was. 




Last month Abby went to Camp Lejuene, North Carolina, to check out her new home with her handsome, Marine husband. She called from the piney, coastal plains along the swamp that the USMC chose for their home base. "Mom, I CANNOT imagine YOU living here."  I can't either... now. 


But I was a different woman then. Competant on the outside, insecure inside. Battling depression; covering that battle with sarcasm and jokes. Scared.  Pregnant with hopes and dreams and three babies in my six years there.  Pregnant with fear that I wasn't enough. 


I vacuumed the house when my new "will she be my best friend?" neighbor came over for a visit. She wouldn't have even done that if her wildly sanguine husband hadn't called and invited themselves.  Good thing he called. That way I could vaccuum.  I look back and laugh. Rick and Jan have indeed become a life long relationship, our best friends. And I no longer vaccuum. 


I no longer battle depression. I won that fight. Now, on the rarer occasions it creeps in to my vulnerable soul, I scoot over and allow it to briefly remind me of my fragility. But I'm firm now- "soon, very soon you will have leave". And it does. And I'm stronger, again. 


I'm not insecure.  I'm not always scared.  I am finally enough. 


And it's because the person who didn't really know me... was me. 




I told Abby, "I'm not the same woman who lived there." And I'm not.  Years of experience, godly friendships, time in the Word and some judicious therapy has revealed me... to me.  


And I'm ok. Sometimes I'm still insecure, irrational, emotional, fragile.  Always complicated. But chiefly I'm a sinner saved by grace. I'm a child whose Father looks at her with love, with favor, with only good in His heart.  I've been broken but I'm mending. Too often, I'm afraid but I am chosing to trust. I'm enough only because He has made me His child and He is enough.  I am confident of a future and a hope because I can look back at a past of His mercy, provision and faithfulness. 






She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. KJV




Well, maybe not laugh... but certainly-




Strength and dignity are her clothing, And she smiles at the future. NASB 


or


Strength and self-respect are her clothing; she is facing the future with a smile. Bible in Basic English.


or










Wesley's Notes

Proverbs 31:25 

Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.

Strength - Strength of mind, magnanimity, courage, activity. Her clothing - Her ornament and glory. 

Rejoice - She lives in constant tranquillity of mind, from a just confidence in God's gracious providence.

I assume Wesley is John Wesley, son of Susanna Wesley. A woman who had amazing confidence in

"God's Gracious Providence".

So today is my birthday. I will chose to smile at the future, maybe laugh, or at least chuckle at the days to come. I will rejoice in a just confidence in God's gracious Providence.







Happy Birthday to me! 

Traveling in the Westtt

I left the Black Hills behind and am being slowing drawn back to the work of the East Coast.  Luckily, I can control the timing a bit and we headed south and WEST  before we'll head east.  It's been such a joy to have my wonderful friend, Donna Baker, with me.  She has never been west except to fly over to Arizona or California.  It's like having a kid in a candy store or a coma patient wake up. Well, that's an exaggeration but she has been so amazed at the beauty and difference of South Dakota.

I remarked how grateful I am to have someone to share in this and she asked me who else knew the me in this context, this western life.  My lifelong friends, Rick and Jan Hamme, came and shared in Bill's memorial time and they understand a bit.  My family of course- who can't understand why I'd live in the East.  But few others understand me in the fabric of the west and in my core, I'm a western chick.

I see the colors I have chosen for my house in the vast high desert landscape as we drive through Wyoming. I revel in the big sky and ever changing cloud formations.  I marvel at people who live in such splendid isolation and wonder at their stories.  I rejoice in long open, empty stretches of road to explore. I love the west.

Now we are back in civilized West. We're staying a night in Fort Collins- routinely voted one of America's top small cities or large towns to live in or retire in. It's the home of Colorado State University and it's hip and cool (although every Coloradoan would quickly say it's not as hip as Boulder and the University of Colorado).  It's family friendly, it has a cool walking court with artisan shops and a fountain.

And it was my home town for high school and college. I point out the church where we were married, my high school (converted to a performing arts center for the university across the street), my grandmother's small house. It's like coming home but not. I was a different person here all those years ago.  There has been tremendous growth in my home town - all those people who read the articles about where the best places to live decided to move here.  The downtown was scary when I was in high school and now it's thriving and busy.  There's so much to see and yet, I'm nervous about seeing something, someone from the past.  Maybe it's better to leave the memory solid and move on.

So we'll head a little more west and a little more south and we'll explore safer terrain. The neighboring cute town of Loveland, the artsy Estes Park at the edge of the Rocky Mountain National Park, maybe some downtown Denver.  Tonight, I'll cocoon at my beloved sister's place south of Denver. Safe. With someone who knows me. Me, that western chick.