Good For You!

The wild rose bush overnight has gone crazy with color and even more, tiny cups of buds are straining up towards heaven for more.

My mama called ’em “knockout” roses, they like to “take over, take off on their own.”

The two bushes we have will grow and grow, come close to blocking the open door.

Not held back, who can imagine hindering the bloom?

“Therefore do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭10:35‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Would you be unconcerned with the blisters on the tips of your fingers if you found yourself so very close to the perfect chord?

Every single morning brings new cliche it seems, assignments mine if accepted.

Steady streams of affirmations meet me in the morning, some Biblical and others captured and kept.

I’m bleary-eyed in the kitchen and it comes to mind, “What would you do if you knew you could not fail?”

The words meant to thrust us all towards some dream, goal, unmet challenge.

Athlete, Actor, Artist, Author.

Then another, “You can’t manufacture happiness.” countered the lofty motivation, got me thinking.

What would you do if the chance of failure did not matter, if you simply knew you must do…?

me

Would you forget your fear of drowning and don the clothing of a diver and plunge to the bottom of the ocean knowing you might find a treasure left somehow for you?

Would you answer yes to creating with your heart and hands something you’ve never tried before?

Would you abandon the ingrained nature to say no and be noticed by your yes causing yourself to be known?

Would you let your feet take you places your soul says go and go unconcerned with the mark left by your walk?

Would it not matter the strumming, the seeking, the saying yes as far as depending on what others might see or think?

Would it matter only that you had the courage to do the things you only know are yours to do for God,

for you and for the fluttering in your sweet being when you do.

You might finally understand God and creation and that it is good.

It is good for us, His intent.

“Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good.”

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭1:31‬ ‭NLT‬‬

All good.

Good for you!

 

Happy Way of Life #7

The page is marked by words that meant something sometime and now, again, a torn off strip of paper, a verse.

“God will make this happen, for he who calls you is faithful.”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:24‬

The pages shimmy softly under the swooshing breeze manufactured by hovering above fan.

I read what I somehow had not read before, yet left the blue torn slip in this very place.

A poem:

“The World I Live In”

I have refused to live

locked in the orderly house of

reasons and proofs.

The world I live in and believe in

is wider than that. And anyway,

what’s wrong with Maybe?

You wouldn’t believe what once or

twice I’ve seen. I’ll just

tell you this:

only if there are angels in your head will you

ever, possibly, see one.

Mary Oliver

Believe.

Believe and see.

Amongst One Another

I suppose it might be possible.

That there might be some amongst us who don’t know struggle, haven’t had it woven intricately in the layers of their skin, embedded deep deep deep in the pits of their tummies.

I saw someone last night and I remembered how she’d been real with me and I, with her.

How I’d said yes to her unexpected invite for lunch, just wanting us to know one another more.

First of all, how often are we so honest? How rare are women that brave?

She shattered my illusion of her life more sublime than mine. She told me her story.

And, I mine.

I guess over a year or more ago. She listened as I shared the colors of my Bible, my story.

And I saw her and I told her what that meant to me, her opening her heart, her curiosity of mine.

What if we did that more? What if we left each other loved and uplifted, caressed on more than typical passing platitudes?

We’d know more the feeling of being amongst one another. We’d be more generous with our giving of time, less greedy for dominance in conversation.

Another friend made me cry when I held her and let her cry. It was hard.

Then soft.

She said it, what I already knew.

“I think I just saw God.”

I read a beautiful prayer this morning, a prayer by a French Archbishop whose name I can’t pronounce. It was a prayer asking God to find us when we can’t find Him.

Take my heart, for I canst give it and when thou hast it, oh, keep it for Thee and save me in spite of myself. Archbishop F’enelon

Someone mentioned feeling as if in an abyss yesterday and we then talked about the “cliff”.

If you’ve ever been in a deep place feeling like you can’t pull yourself out or if you’ve found yourself on the edge, on the cusp of disastrous choice worn out and miserable over what’s come your way, having to get real quiet or real loud and maybe say God, come near, be my rescue, remind me again.

Save me, yet again.

The Lord is my strength and my song. He has become my salvation. Psalm 118:14

We’re not made to cower.

Happy Way of Life #6

Creativity is either bliss or burden.

No one might ever understand, your own little ways,

Only you.

I found old beaten down wood, peeling white chips on muddy tinted grain, a “2 b’ 6” the shop owner said.

I decided it must’ve come from a little place in a house in the country, a kitchen with a window that looked out on wide, wide field the same color, the field, a cushion of green.

I asked my husband to make three of the one and I’d forgotten sort of.

Until home from work today and he’s done, the pieces leaning against the back door for me saying, Here, I did this.

For you.

I’ve added white sheathed gowns to all three, shades of peachy pink on soft tilted faces will come later.

But for now, the green on old wood, the white paint thick and the shape of shoulders, hinting a disposition.

Brings me joy.

We decided today, a friend and I that creativity makes you vulnerable, you try and feel fulfilled or you attempt and over attempt and wonder

oh, my goodness why do I continue?

But, you go back to the place where you tie the apron thick with paint around your waist or you sit and take a deep breath until the authenticity of you comes through in nouns and verbs and considerations.

And you know, you know God made you different, made you to not cower; made you to create.  Me

Made you unafraid,

Of you.

I’ll go back to the old desk covered in splattered thick colors and I’ll return just as soon as I can to the desk neatly sorted, copies of my words on white sheets and I’ll write there.

The desk that looks out on the birds.

I’ll have the courage to become me again, the one who paints angels without faces without caring who wonders why and writes stories about hope lost and found and grace.

my happy way of life

more to follow

Impatient Wonder

Two or three things stuck last week, adding to the mix even more this morning and now, afternoon as well.

The first is the perspective changer that uncertainty is a gift, an absolute gift.

Uncertainty, held by grace.

And wonder.

Last week, I berated myself out loud to another, her commentary brought new perspective, brought me to consider a kind response.

To realize I had not been “resourced” back then to choose alternate responses.

Too much wrong food, buying stuff just because and giving in to a pattern as if there was no other way but back and so scared I might be moving in reverse not forward.

“Coping mechanisms” she called my overindulgence(s).

You’re self-aware, you’ve called yourself out this time, that’s progress.

You’re not stuck.

“Oh.” I remembered later, what a gracious choice. What a gracious idea giving permission to mess up and even more so, a prompting to step surely and rightly again.

I’ve been talking about turning 60 for months now, anxious that I might not do the things I said I was gonna do when I was a year younger than I am now.

I’ve got about 30 months to 60 and I guess about 900 days. I’m no math person, let me use my words.

Words are my thing, not numbers.

Wondering if I will, uncertain if I can.

Impatient to see what I will.

Stuck.

If you’re Southern you might remember a ready reply your mama, your grandma or grandpa would give in reply to whether and when.

Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise!

What might happen depending on God being willing and I imagine whoever started this go to reply, the road might have been impassable, their door might have guarded the way out and they may have decided not today, gotta wait for the creek to settle, gotta wait for the water to flow back downstream to the river, to the sea.

Gotta wait for the settling.

Today, I read about the woman in Proverbs again, the passage that tells a son what to look for in a wife. The verses are filled with guidance, the descriptive nature often causes wonder of worth.

Today though, one part stuck.

“She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭31:16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The part about considering, about patient wonder, about tentative even proceeding.

About waiting patiently for an undertaking, taking graceful steps towards uncertain yielding of creative crop.

Giving myself a pass on not perfecting.

I hadn’t cooked for days. My husband was having omelets, pb&j’s and pizza from a box.

I’ve a meal in the oven now, rosemary roasted turkey, potatoes and carrots to be beside asparagus drizzled in butter and warm grain rice.

An assignment for a magazine had me insecure and regretful, due tomorrow, 1000 words for a hundred.

I find a little teacup and steep the bag in steam and down the hall I go and I pray

Father, help me to write the words that someone is needing, that they read my words and begin to be better.

Because of mercy, Amen

Me

I go back for the tea, meet the waiting laptop and the notes scribbled and scattered and I read, I read before I write, the little teeny words on a square on a string I’ll tear off and keep.

And now, the article is done, pool time and blueberry creamy coolness to be followed by dog walking and sky studying.

Sunday, oh, Happy Day you have been!

Happy Way of Life, #5

As if he might know somehow, crazy to think it possible, his knowing.

We pause, we move from pavement to grassy overgrowth bordered by rotting fenceposts and barbed wire, rusty.

We pray the subdivision doesn’t take over.

I promise, there’s no way a Labrador might know.

The way the cousins expected in between pickin’ berries and lookin’ out for snakes and snake holes to jump from red clay rutted dirt road hearing the roundin’ roar of engine.

But, we did when my grandma said so,

We “HIT the ditch!”

And so, when the big brown lab causes the pull of his leash towards shallow grassy valley bordered by fence,

I go.

We go. We linger, unconcerned over passerby’s questioning over a dog and a woman just standing, “sitting”, pausing in the ditch.

This, my friend, my follower, my one curiously intrigued is this Georgia girl living elsewhere’s happy way of life.

We go, we consider it happy, this little bit of remembering, we’re happy in it.

And oh, the joy of the careless acknowledgment of such simplicity and perhaps, simple minded.

Oh, joy!