Storing up the good stuff – that’s what I’ve been doing. Some days, I do it well; some days, I need a re-do.
I don’t have much organization about me right now. Maybe it’s a free-write, a stream of consciousness, a jumble, a mess of ideas, a written patch-work quilt that needed a quilting-kind-of writing, a bunch of windows with pieces and parts views of what’s going on in my blue cotton soul.
“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again” ~C.S. Lewis in the forward of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was a birthday gift, a set of all the books, which I’d never read. It was like God was telling me, “Don’t give up on the fairy tales – keep on believing – because I’m the knight in shining armor . . .”
Why do people ever think they are too old for fairy tales? One of the best birthday gifts ever was when my mother gave me a book of fairy tales a few years ago, and it had my very favorite fairy tale: “The Goose Girl.”
Travel soccer season has its charm. My boys’ cleats aren’t the only things with a lot of wear and tear. One evening, though, all my boys gathered to play a game on the home turf – and it was the best game of them all.
One Saturday morning found me in my aunt’s front yard, in my home town on festival day reminding me of different time, a different group of people stepping out of houses into community – when my grandmother and grandfather waltzed in the festival twilight to a swing orchestra on a slow song.
My granddaughter trying on hats, playing pretend where she’s the mommy and I’m the little girl doing pirouettes and pliés in the back yard when, suddenly, she bursts out, “Muddy, I love you so much” – and my heart stops and melts at the same time.
Boys growing into responsibility, stretching beyond themselves and finding they can without ripping or breaking a part.
Hours gluing boxes shut because someone else made a big mistake – and the silver linings are boys come together, and friends, too, talking about big and little things, little and big – moments filled with laughter, revealing that sometimes buried in a slog of work are silver-lining blessings.
After more than 10 years of growing trees, digging out flower beds, building raised vegetable and herb beds, raising lemon balm, chocolate mint and lavender, splitting bulbs, throwing zinnia seeds and learning faith lessons from blue hydrangeas – the squirrels came across the street to live, build nests, bury seeds – and cause crazy-intense, brain-zapping joy to Sadie, the golden retriever.
Blue jays on a tree limb, hummingbird battles over sweet elixer, and a porch frog that comes out at night.
Over three-mile walks by the coffee shop, through the historic district, into the heart of the university, over the railroad tracks, past the ice cream shop, back to the coffee shop, to my car, to home – and I am stretched, too, as the world shakes and grumbles under blood moon warnings.
A time to live intentionally, walk new paths, sit long and talk much about big and little things, bake daily relief cookies or celebration cakes, and I look into eyes watching whether they look directly blinking naturally or slip away right, and praise God for all the ways boys grow.
I’m learning to release them, these boys . . . . to their own story (see Sharon Sharing God for more on this).
. . . and I’m learning about living with wider margins for gentleness. I know how to be a fighter, to live courage and not-give-up-ness – but there’s a seed of gentleness that needs to grow – Lidia at Crown of Beauty put words to something brewing within me.
and, then one day, I read this: “Those of us who are strong and able in the faith need to step in and lend a hand to those who falter, and not just do what is most convenient for us. Strength is for service, not status. Each one of us needs to look after the good of the people around us, asking ourselves ‘How can I help?’” (Romans 15:2, The Message)
I gathered 5 red tomatoes from my plants today and felt a peace deep inside.
God’s extravagant love is all around, quiet and loud.
I go tomorrow to meet my mom in Atlanta. We’re going to see a cancer doctor about these cancerous tumors she’s got that need getting rid of. She’s driving 6 hours; I’m driving 3.5. I so love how she’s lived the last 10 years – she’s found joy, discovered that God loves her, and, one day, a black angel, she says, saved her life on the roadside while she was gasping from an asthma attack, unable to breath and unable to use her inhaler, and this last summer, she worked at vacation bible school – she loves helping others.
I’ve dreamed dreams this last little while, one in particular where my husband and I were given a house – just the style we admire. I was so happy – he had a perfect office/library for him in this house. As I was being shown around the house, a door was opened – and there was a thinking room just for me, for books and reading and work, too – exactly my hearts desire. I didn’t have to ask. I didn’t have to plan. It had already been designed for me.
This post has been a mess of a jumble – a beautiful mess of a jumble. That’s just where I’m living right now.
“I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, ‘Jump,’ and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing” (1 Cor. 13:2)