Category Archives: Spiritual
Traveling
“What is traveling? Changing your place? By no means! Traveling is changing your opinions and your prejudices.” Anatole France (1844-1924)
Hmmm…… What opinions have I changed? What prejudices? Hmmmm……that’s very expensive travel.
A Very Special Lady
Bobbie’s eyes sparkled above her mischievous grin as she rolled up to me, holding out her leg.
“Here, carry this darn thing , will you? It’s been killing me all morning.”
Open mouthed, but speechless, I took her prosthetic leg. We were coming out of the restroom into the main lobby of the Renaissance Center, where people were coming and going to plays and art exhibits and classes.
Bobbie propelled her wheel chair expertly toward the door, smiling at everyone as she stopped to embrace friends with her usual joyful warmth.
I followed behind her, joining in her amazing humorous acceptance of all that life had dealt her, by carrying her leg over my shoulder, like a rifle.
When we reached the car, she swung herself up into the driver’s seat, as I stowed all her transportation aids in the trunk.
“Boy,” she said. “Isn’t it great that I still have my right leg, so I can drive. Let’s celebrate with a cappuccino. My treat.”
The Spirit
At first, it seemed as if God walked
through the garden of my life
on velvet kitten paws,
gifting me with fleet impression
of brushing soft caress,
leaving feather light prints
in the tender earth
of my spirit.
In later times, God climbed
the granite mountain
of my stubborn will,
using painful stake and hobnail boots
to gain each foothold,
bringing about His kingdom
through the thundering voice
of circumstance.
Then, recently, I sensed God lost,
absent on Sabbatical
of undetermined length,
leaving only fading echoes
in my memory.
Until, at last, in desert night
and aching loneliness,
I faced my emptiness.
And discovered Her –
within.
Pouring the Wrong Cup
I follow a blog called Spilling the Happy Cup.com. The author, Jacki, shares simple happy moments in just a few words and photos. Her special rainy Saturday morning meditation had been baking banana bread. I could smell the banana bread, hear the steady rain, and feel the grace of being focused on a simple pleasant task and living in the present moment. Lovely.
Then I had to laugh. I too spent that Saturday morning cooking. I was trying out a new recipe for a brunch I was having on Sunday. I had a class at noon, so I was feeling pressured for time. I had the ingredients scattered around the counter; beaten eggs, cream, melted butter, grated cheese, browned sausage, and onions. Old age seems to bring on A.D.D., so when my husband asked me where my checkbook was, I pointed to it, and then poured the melted butter into the mixture of sausage, cheese, eggs, and cream.
Unfortunately, the butter was supposed to be used to saute the onions. Of course, I blamed my husband for distracting me. He quickly disappeared, taking refuge in balancing my bank statement, and considering it karma when he got to tell me I was $40 dollars off.
I debated throwing it all out and starting over. But the $40 checkbook mistake was not in my favor. The recipe didn’t call for bread, but the day before I had brought home some yummy garlic cheese biscuits from being treated to lunch at the Red Lobster. It suddenly occurred to me to crumble the leftover biscuits in to absorb the extra grease. I could cook it and taste it when I got back from class. That way, if it was too horrible, I could go to the store and make it over that night.
Short story, long: it took draining grease off a couple of times during baking, but it was actually edible. In fact, everyone went back for seconds. Though the two Saturday morning cooking experiences played out very differently, the grace for me was having the biscuits on hand and managing to save the casserole and the money.
Thanks, Jacki, for helping me notice God in both Spilling the Happy Cup and Pouring the Wrong Cup.
The whisper (Edited)
I hear my name whispered
in the new day’s softness.
I hide in the shadows,
perhaps it was birdsong.
I hear it carried on the wind
much clearer now.
But, I’m old and tired,
I pretend not to hear.
I have a longing in my heart,
a hunger in my mind.
But, I’ve tried and failed so often,
I cling to where I am.
I glimpse a narrow path
winding in the mists.
Abram and Sarah
are there beckoning.
But still I hesitate,
too afraid to follow.
Finally, I see a face
with eyes that see
into my soul,
a smile so warm
it melts my frozen heart,
a hand that reaches out
to grasp my own.
Jesus calls my name.
Here I am, Lord.
Top of the Morning
Sunshine spilling through the trees with peekaboo glimpses of it sparkling on the lake. The first sip of coffee. A hawk glides over the lake. Quiet. Lovely. Blessed.
Thankful for many things. Some truly peculiar things. We don’t have carpeting or rugs because of allergies. Our house is tucked into the woods, no real yard, so lots of leaves and pollen get tracked in regularly, particularly by my husband’s shoes that have some sort of pattern that grips the leaves even though he wipes his feet on the door mat. Last trip to Walmart, I found house slippers with cloth threads like a dust mop on the soles. I wore them yesterday and it’s like walking on pillows and my floors are soooo clean! I’m thinking of buying several sizes and leaving them at the door like they do in Japan. The grand kids will love sliding and dancing around in them and will be cleaning my floors instead of leaving scuff marks. So, this morning I’m thanking for Walmart and funky mop house slippers. Who knew?
Fear and Faith
I am definitely in God’s Learning Disabled Class. I am so afraid that I am letting God down, that it is hard for me to accept the challenge of people who have outgrown where I am.
I have admitted that I am a wus, a devout coward, a congenital worrier.
Yet, I experienced God’s gift of faith, when I was aware of panic in the operating room during my surgery and at the same time I experienced my energy level sinking rapidly, so assumed I might be dying. It was ok. God gave me faith and peace at that moment.
Several times my husband has had near death events and God gave me faith for the crises, even enough to drive him seven miles to the hospital in an ice storm dodging trees and downed power lines on ice encrusted back roads.
But, I still don’t manage to trust for dangers that I imagine in the future. These are not imaginary or unlikely dangers. They are real. But no matter how many times God has rescued me and my family, I still worry.
I have a friend who frequently cheerfully proclaims to one and all, that she has faith, so she doesn’t fear anything. I find that intimidating. It makes me feel like a failure, so I tell myself that she’s in denial.
Yesterday, I told her that and for a moment, we glared at each other across the abyss of my accusation.
I learned long ago that grace is for the moment, not worries about future possibilities, even probable ones. But, in reflecting on yesterday’s conversation, I finally let myself hear God challenging me to develop the habit of faith. He has shown me over and over that He is with me in every situation. I know He loves my family more than I ever could.
I don’t need to believe nothing painful will happen. I just need to believe He will be with me and them in those times and can give us the grace to not only endure them, but to persevere and grow from them.
I don’t need to just trust His words, “I will be with you always.” I have experienced that over and over and over.
And knowing that, even wus that I am, I don’t have to live in fear of my own weakness and inadequacies, for His grace is enough.
He knows I’m a wus. He accepts me as a wus. But He expects me to trust not in my own understanding or my own strength, but in His faithfulness, which He has proven over and over in my small life.
Gifts of Age (Part Six): Aging Like Fine Whine
Some years ago I regularly visited several elderly people in our local nursing home. They frequently complained that their children didn’t visit them very often. Since, at each of our visits, they itemized and complained about their numerous aches, the quality of the food, the noise level, the dullness of most television, and the weather, I developed a pretty good idea of why their children’s visits were few and far between.
It reminded me of the joke about the young man who joined a monastery committed to silence. The monks were allowed to speak briefly to the Abbott every two years. After the first two years the monk said, “My bed is too hard.” After four years he returned and said, “My room is too cold.” Then, after six years he said, “The food is awful.” Finally, when he returned after eight years, he informed the Abbott that he was leaving the Monastery. The Abbot responded, “I’m not surprised. You’ve done nothing but bitch, ever since you came here.”
As my friends and I became older ourselves, we realized we were singing that all too familiar song, “My knee bones disconnecting from my leg bone; my back bone is hurting my hip bones, and my ears don’t work anymore. Can’t even hear the Word of the Lord.”
Those older ladies’ complaints of years past, though annoying, we now knew were legitimate. So, several of us decided to try to minimize the fallout from our own problems of aging on others by limiting the amount of whining we did.
We decided that everyone does need to whine sometime, even God’s people. Think of the Israelites in the desert; whine, whine, whine all the way home.
So, we took some liberties with the Scripture to cover this challenge. We began to spread the word that “Monday is the day the Lord hath made for whining.” Now, in order to not be too legalistic, we allowed for a moveable feast when we did not whine on Monday. In that case, you could whine on another day of the week. Whenever we noticed each other slipping into whine mode on a non-designated whining day, we would remind each other that, “Today is not Monday.”
This has had a salutary effect on the quality of our conversations and our popularity with younger generations.
So, remember, Monday is the day that the Lord hath made for whining.
Laughter: Carbonated Grace 