Tearbitten

News of a dear soul passing to heaven reached me early this morning--the third of such people in recent days and weeks. I spent my waking hours tearbitten.

Tearbitten is my new word. I saw a word from scripture translated as hungerbitten. It doesn't need much definition, does it? Those hunger pangs nibble and bite. That's how tears feel this morning, a cry in response to the heart pangs.

Now I will say that the joyful side of heavenly entrance is very much a reality. And my tears are definitely selfish. I know this. :-) There is a beauty that resonates of a much different nature on that side of the scale.

If my cries could have resurrected someone, I would welcome that! They didn't even rouse my cat. It was all my soul pouring itself out. I'm not sure what I even want to say about that other than I want to write about it, and this is simply a draft at the moment. I may just need to acknowledge the moment while I can.

Something unfinished ... that's the ragged edge to my tears. Not just this morning, but in all three recent situations. For each one, my heart had previously been wanting to reach out--specifically, I wanted to write a letter (or text in one case). Regrets of the undone are the pangs, the piercings, the haunting sharpness.

Why am I so slow to respond? Why do I bow to procrastination? When did it get power in my life? Since when is my piddly day more important than reaching out to another human heart? Why am I timid about it?

Maybe the whys aren't important. Maybe just my recognition and awakening to this awful inversion is what counts.

I took it to the Lord in communion this morning. I judged myself of not following my inner urge to write when I could have shared my heart while a person was alive. (Not that my heart was important! Dear me. No! But that another person's life is important, and for me to take the time to acknowledge that and express my thankfulness for them.)

As I was trying to find words for a new commitment I could make with the Lord's help, I wondered silently why it was even a hint of a problem for me as I had a flashback to the times when letters from me were unfettered--free and lengthy outpourings of my heart. In that moment as if in response, I also recalled many experiences that targeted my words, hurt deeply, and caused me to restrain or second-guess (ultimately silencing) myself.

It answered my why.

As I sat with my communion elements, this time the breaking of the bread took on the significance of breaking that power over me. The body of my Lord broken for this ... for freedom from self-intimidation. After judging myself, I asked for forgiveness. I forgave those who contributed to the pressure that I responded to and shut myself down. I declared that power broken in my life. All in a gentle atmosphere of humility--acknowledging that I have no power in myself, but it's all God's doing and I welcome His work in my life to bring change, spark life, and spread His love.

I'm seeing such value (and challenge) in connection. We sure do need one another.

I want to look back and say that today is the day I leveled-up in life when it came to other people. It's another chip in the hermit-wishes (my mind gravitates toward being a hermit)! But most importantly, it's another day to step into the world bravely and see the hearts around me. It's another day to pick up my pen, put it to beautiful paper, and celebrate someone's life.

Hope

Words of the soul
finding voice
finding light
finding peace in the night

When daylight comes
they find peace
like a prize
I breathe in the wind
and take shelter in shade
counting my blessings
in another new day

Colors awaiting
like art in a dream
they bring life to hopes
uttered within

It's Gonna Be Alright

Very uncanny week ... started with "Letting Go" at the single mother's breakfast at church and a very poignant letting go at Jeff's memorial yesterday afternoon.  This afternoon, prayer came like it hadn't for years, and as much as it was for another, it made my heart break, too, because I wasn't sure I could ever get back there.  And I even feel like I heard God speak inside me ... "THIS is what you are supposed to be doing. All that other stuff can wait."

I cried at every turn, too, it seems ... Nicole's passion as she read the scripture, Jeff's life now missing in a big jubybean-shaped hole, questions about auditions that I've been too afraid to commit to, a message on the heart that hit home, suddenly praying like I used to long ago (and so humbled that God could still find enough to work with in me), reminders of past relationships, and the great awareness that if I want to move forward, I have to do some letting go.

Of course, so many little music things keep cropping up again.  And it seems to happen with the seasons, so it isn't new.  So when I heard that Dennis Jernigan was going to be at Victory tonight, I knew I wanted (maybe needed) to be there.  And I did. 

This song captured my heart tonight ...

It's gonna be alright, child
Even through the darkest night, child
I'll even use the darkness
To teach you how to hear Me
It's gonna be alright now
Even if you don't see how
I'll even use your failure
To help you to draw near Me

Hear Me, I am calling,
"Child, come falling deeper in love with Me."
Trust Me, you must let go
Or you will never know any deeper love in Me

It's gonna be alright here
If you will let Me hold your heart near
I'll even use your sorrows
To teach you how to love Me
It's gonna be alright, child
I'll hold you really close and tight, child
I'll even use your woundings
To help you know more of Me

Hear Me, I am calling,
"Child, come falling deeper in love with Me."
Trust Me, you must let go
Or you will never know any deeper love in Me

Why do you hold on to the things of your past
Let go and cling to Me and love that will last
How can you know Me if you do not trust My love
Let go! You'll find My love is more than enough.

Regatta

re·gat·ta (r-gät, -gt) n. A boat race or a series of boat races. [Italian dialectal, a contention, regatta, from regattare, to contend, perhaps from recatare, to sell again, compete, from Vulgar Latin *recaptre, to contend : Latin re-, re- + Latin captre, to seek to catch, frequentative of capere, to seize; see catch.]

I am now a three year veteran of this wonderful thing called a regatta ... but NOT as a sailor!  I am the one capturing the images.  I loved this definition and word origin.  Capture.

These beautiful crafts capture one another.
The Center (a non-profit behind this particular regatta) captures support.
I capture pictures.
The lake captures me.

I love how everything smells like the lake when I get home.  I don't want to wash anything!  The nostalgic side is so strong.  It brings me back to the land of 10,000 lakes and growing up in Minnesota.

While I am too tired to be eloquent, I did want to make sure I shared at least one adventure of my own.  This is one of the highlights of my year!  Even Miss M looks forward to it and now has two years under her belt as my sidekick.  Thanks to one of our boatmates who was playing sneaky paparazzi (and of course she would, she "IS" the media!), I actually have a photo to share!  (Yes, that is me as the scarf-wrapped, photo-snapping masthead.)

Blooming

Bloom where you are planted ... that's what they say.  I think "they" are right.  But the key is being planted.

For many years, I have not been completely planted.  I've had the hope of being planted, but one can only flourish in small ways while hope is held at bay.  Proverbs was right ... "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." (Proverbs 13:12)

All this rightness is something I've missed for quite some time.  I kept thinking I could catch up, make up, adjust, connect, somehow get right again when my world was right again. But I kept losing my footing along the way, limping in a sometimes-lovely limbo.  But loveliness was a bit of a mirage.

So, I'm planting myself.  I think my dwindling roots had been loose and ready for quite some time.  But hope does not easily let go.  So when the time came, though the pain of change was sharp and hard and reverberating, drawing from rich soil has brought new life.  It's been two months and deep places are reviving from the inside and beginning to spread.  And now?  I'm finally feeling right, too.

Blooming is not without its challenges.  But it is infinitely better than lying dormant.  I think again of Proverbs 13:12 ... Blooming is longing!  And my longings are beginning to find fulfillment.  There is a sense of awe in the air, and I don't want to miss another moment to breathe it in.

So here I am ... before my beautiful Creator ... amazed by the beauty growing from what I thought I had neglected to the point of destruction.  It would have been enough just to breathe, but now I am blooming.

Toeholds and Saplings

Toeholds and saplings ... small but determined holdings.

Sunday I felt a toehold in my soul and it was the sunshine of my day.  Then Sunday night it seemed as if all was demolished.  Like the day in the Secret Garden when we felled these trees and cleaned the branches.  Before you knew it, the slender branches and trunks were lying in piles.  The "destruction" was quick ... but it was a good thing.

They had been taken from areas where they were intruding, laid to the ground, stripped and sectioned ... ready to be used.  These beautiful and bare branches just hours before reaching to the sky but draining the soil where the grew wild were now the building blocks of restoration and design.

They were put up, taken down, reworked, redesigned, and after all the prototypes were built and torn down, found their place in the project as the centerpiece of serenity adorned with art.

Tonight that sunshine moment started to peek through again.  That toehold in my soul which was the first glimmer after months wasn't extinguished long.  And even if it was torn down in repeated swaths of broken hearts around me, it is an opportunity to prepare the fallen ... to clean and make beautifully bare these new building blocks life created from the things that were growing where they were never meant to grow.

It's like beauty from ashes.  Maybe my life will be a picture of this ... and end up in the centerpiece of a clever, efficient design bearing the artwork of many hands and bringing serenity to the future.

Daddy, where are you?

Most days seem to hold everything but peace ... instead the days are a blur as I race through trying (and failing) to do everything that is crying out for attention.

I am reminded of a day when my son was racing around in circles on his Big Wheel in the basement.  Those things are notoriously LOUD, and he was doing a good job of stirring up the noise.  But above the clatter of the wheels, I could hear him yelling over and over, "DADDY! WHERE ARE YOU?"  His father was answering him every time, but there was no way he could hear him over the noise he was creating. 

The picture seems a lot like me when life is so busy that I feel like I'm going around and around in circles.  I am!  And I'm probably making so much "noise" in my life that I can't hear the answer to my heart's cry ... whether it is to know where "my daddy" is, know my purpose, feel connected, or simply taste the sweet relief of peace.

How simple would it be to stop for a moment and ask those questions in silence?  Maybe more simple than I realize.