Stuck in a Rut?

A couple of years back, I remember reading a story about a Wisconsin driver whose impatience prompted him to go around a road barrier and make his own rules. A long line of cars backed up behind him did the same thing, blindly following him as if he knew what he was doing.

On the other side of the barrier was a newly paved roadway. The report read:

As many as 10 vehicles drove around barriers and onto freshly poured concrete on a busy thoroughfare during rush hour. "Once someone goes around the barricade and busts through the tape, others follow," Sgt. Tony Restivo said

Maybe this driver believed in Hannibal's brand of leadership:

We will either find a way or make one!

I laughed my head off the first time I heard that story, but the truth is, it's not funny. I recognize that impatience all too well in myself. Sometimes I'll step off the beaten path before giving it enough thought. In my impatience, or driven by creativity, I take off on my own course and end up stuck in gooey concrete. Then I dig myself out and begin again.

What are you stuck in this week? Ambition? Problems? Deadlines? The expectations of others? Take a deep breath, and if you dare...ask God to teach you something in the process. Whenever I take my time instead of forging ahead, I often recall Psalm 46:10, one of my favorite Bible verses: "Be still and know that I am God." I like my own personal paraphrase even better:

Be still and know that I am God...and you're not.

Debris

Spring has brought days of rain, so when sunshine broke through this week, I ventured out to clean up some of the winter debris. My backyard would horrify a perfectionist, because I let everything go during the cold months. All the plants that bore beautiful blossoms last summer now stand brown and bare.

But the birds loved them. They didn't know they were pecking at lowly debris. They swooped in to gather leftover seeds like decked-out diners at a formal dinner. It was my way of caring for them, plus it bribed them to stick around.

This word, debris, captured my attention and sent me on a word-origin chase. I discovered that debris in its literal sense means "garbage" and "broken refuse." It didn't show up in the English language until 1708. But get this: According to Charles Hodgson at Podictionary, debris has an older English parent word that came from the French of the Norman Conquest 900 years ago. "The bris meaning 'broken' had a more subtle tone to it than just something that was broken; the mode of breakage was by crushing."

Debris is also related to the word "bruise." I know a lot of folks these days who are feeling bruised and broken by job loss, serious health issues, and an uncertain future. One woman is dealing with her son's bone cancer. He has two young children, and is not expected to make it. An elderly couple are buying their groceries by credit card. A friend is caring for her 89-year-old father, who has Alzheimer's disease.

My mom had a small framed plaque that sat on her dresser. It now sits on mine. Its words are as soothing to me today as they were the first time I read them as a young child:

Before you go to bed, give your troubles to God
He will be up all night, anyway.

Seedplanter

Life in Measured Steps

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“The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph... I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow.” - Thomas Paine


I was coming out of Joanne's Fabrics, where I buy my polymer clay to make beads for jewelry that will eventually end up in a shop at Etsy. I should have stayed put that day, but I needed a certain shade of brown to complete a project. So, I ignored a nagging headache and headed out in the wind and rain.

The store was crowded, and everyone seemed to be trying to beat the next storm. Good! They had several shades of brown, plus lots of other light Spring colors, all on sale. I grabbed a handful of clay blocks and headed for the checkout, where six or seven people waited their turn in line.

Nobody talked. Nobody made eye contact. The store was eerily quiet, except for the approaching tap-tap-tap of an elderly man's cane. He walked in measured steps, holding his wife's arm, gently guiding her to the door.

They walked as one, like a couple who knew their place in this world, and loved the rhythm of their dance together. I'm not ordinarily a gawker, but I couldn't look away. He reminded me of my grandpa, who passed away when I was 19. The way he wore his tweed hat, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. I hoped he would glance up, and he did - just in time for me to catch the upturn of a radiant smile. This was a face that smiled from chin to forehead. That smile is unforgettable; tatooed in the silver lining of my memory.

Life is walked out in measured steps. I hope when I'm their age, I'll remember to walk in gratitude and to pause long enough to give away smiles to strangers. I hope I never forget the blessing of being able to move about, even with a cane, and to share moments like that with people I'll most likely never see again.

Seedplanter

The Assignment

Several years ago, my pastor challenged us to ask God for an assignment, then watch what happens. It was going to be risky, for sure, because it would upset my carefully laid schedule and might even nudge me into doing something I wouldn't ordinarily volunteer to do.

I went home enthusiastic, but I grudgingly asked for an assignment. In my heart, I hoped he wouldn't answer, because my week was already full with deadlines and appointments. Of course, God knew my thoughts and he's the best reader of my motives and intents, too. So he must have gotten a good laugh out of my halfhearted attempt to open myself to an assignment I didn't really want.

That afternoon, it arrived in the form of an envelope addressed to someone named Bob McKinley. Five houses down from us lived an older couple I'd never met. Oh, I'd waved to them as they passed, if I happened to be outside weeding flowers or getting in or out of my car. Didn't know their names, though. Who has time for names of people who live halfway down the street?

The envelope sat on my kitchen counter for a couple of days, until I felt that unmistakable nudge. So, are you going to complete your assignment? God whispered into my thoughts. You did ask for it, you know.

That afternoon, I took the envelope to the address on its label, and knocked on this stranger's door. I had every intention of handing over their mail and heading home, until a sweet eighty-something woman opened her door and greeted me with a wide grin. "Well, well, well! Look who's here, Hon'," she called over her shoulder.

A male voice responded with, "Come on in!"

Their names were Bob and Miriam. Nice old couple whose children lived several states away. Bob's words came in measured doses, and an oxygen tank sat at his side like a spare leg. We talked about trips they'd taken, and hobbies they'd grown to love. At one point, Miriam motioned me into the kitchen to help her pour tea for the three of us, but she really wanted to fill in the blanks. "He has cancer," she whispered. "Terminal." A retired oncology nurse, Miriam had been caring for him there at home. Her first husband had lost his battle with cancer, and she said she was thrilled when she and Bob had found each other five years later.

"Bob was my high school sweetheart. Can you imagine? Seventy years later, we reconnected. Both of us had lost our spouses." Her eyes clouded. "And now this," she said, patting my arm. I thought I was going to cry.

We visited for well over an hour, and when it was time to go, I promised to return in a few days. Sunshine warmed my neck as I walked home, and I found myself thinking, If Bob's mail hadn't been delivered to the wrong house, I would have missed meeting this dear couple.

Three days later, I learned that Bob had died in his sleep. His passing made me more aware of the world outside my door, and how little it takes to make someone happy. Stranger or friend, neighbor or internet acquaintance--everybody needs a touch every now and then.

God knew I needed that specific assignment, and I'll be forever grateful.

Seedplanter

A Simple Solution

Image via Wikipedia

One of the things I love about children is their innocent assessment of any given situation. Three and a half years ago, when my oldest granddaughter was six, our conversation turned to storms.

"Grandma, are you scared of thunder?"
"Nope."
"Were you scared of it when you were a little girl?"
"No, because you can't have thunder without lightning. And I really, really liked a big lightning storm, especially when the electricity in my house went out."

I explained how my mom would gather plain white candles from the cabinet above the refrigerator, light them and place them on a high shelf at each end of the living room. Shadows would dance across our faces as the candles flickered. We'd huddle together and tell stories or munch on snacks, and after each lightning flash we'd count to see how long it took the sound of thunder to reach our ears.

I sighed at the memory, because my mother had passed away recently. "But then the storm would pass and suddenly all the lights would pop back on. I was always disappointed when our together-time had to end."

My granddaughter's blue eyes brightened. "Well Grandma, why didn't you just switch the lights back off?"

"Simplicity is the glory of expression."--Walt Whitman

Seedplanter

Everybody Has Stuff

I met someone new yesterday, at a little bead shop where I stopped to have a look around. I've been designing jewelry lately, combining elements from vintage pieces (circa 1930's) with new beads and charms that fit in well with the overall look I hope to achieve. I hoped to find some unique beads to work into future projects.

So I met a woman there at this cute corner shop. She appeared to be in her early forties, and her smile was so contagious, I'd have never suspected she was wrestling with sadness. She greeted me with a friendly handshake, introducing herself by first name the moment I entered.

As I wandered around the shop, I saw her handing out the gift of time, lingering over customers as if each person were the only one there. One lady had a question about a broken pendant, and she showed her how to fix it. Another admitted to knowing zero about jewelry crafting. The shopkeeper encouraged her with, "Everyone starts somewhere. Let me see if I can teach you something simple to begin with." And she did.

When it was my turn to check out, we chatted about gardening and life and family and beading. In a brief few minutes, I learned that she'd lost her dad and her best friend all in the same week, just last month. I shared how I'd lost both parents within a couple of years, and how it sent my life into a tailspin as I worked through my grief.

As I drove home with my package of pretty handpainted beads, I felt as though I'd made a new friend--an unexpected sparkle that God had dropped into my day. And with that sparkle came a thought that has stuck with me:

Everyone carries a load of secret Stuff.

It's true, you know. Too often people go about their day, shouldering a secret burden so as not to dampen someone else's mood. We've all been there, haven't we? We become experts at wearing a happy face and we greet each other as if we're fine, just fine. And when we hear the same from people around us, we accept their words at face value.

Once in a while, though, we experience an invitation to step into someone's real world. That's what happened in that little bead shop on the corner, and I left feeling as if I'd been handed a rare gift.

It's a beautiful thing when we're the target of someone's trust. Wouldn't it be wonderful if every day held a sparkle like that?

Seedplanter

*Image via Wikipedia

Dixie-Cup Love

"A kind heart is a fountain of gladness, making everything in its vicinity freshen into smiles." -- Washington Irving

I've toured 15th-century castles in Europe, where royal families dined at thirty-foot-long tables surrounded by gilt-edged mirrors and wall murals. I've enjoyed catered conference meals with groups of writers, and shared a plate of peanut-buttered crackers with a contented 97-year-old widow who didn't realize she was poor.

I've had the pleasure of touring the White House, as well as the Catacombs in Salzburg, Austria, a dark cave on a hillside where early Christians buried their dead and also gathered secretly for worship services.

Both appreciation and misunderstanding have visited my life. Happiness and sorrow. A quiet peace, and room-pacing worry. I've been on the receiving end of beautifully wrapped gifts, but have been equally WOWed by a Dixie-cup bouquet of wildflowers from a granddaughter who loves me unconditionally--no strings attached.

Life is a myriad of experiences, a hilly road that meanders across uncharted territory, through blind intersections, and around sharp corners. None of us knows what a day will bring, but I do know this: A little Dixie-cup love goes a long way, anytime.

The Adam Bender Story

It's easy to grumble about little inconveniences in life. Life is often difficult and unfair.
Then along comes a story like Adam Bender's, a little boy who was born with cancer, and all the petty annoyances and inconveniences dissolve.

This video blessed my heart. It's a good reminder of what's really important in life, and how we can rise above anything, with God's help.

Music for the Soul

One of my favorite composers is Andrew Bocelli. His music lifts my spirit and brightens any day. One of my favorites is The Prayer. Here's a video in which Bocelli and Celine Dion perform together.





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The Warmth of Home

Some things take longer to thaw than others. A stubborn determination...frozen will...an icy heart. But with or without our permisssion, God aims light exactly where he wants it. Like mid-morning sunbeams weaving through the woods, he lifts shadows and awakens his world. He has a gentle way of exposing selfish motives, stirring up passions and gifts, and massaging half-hearted commitments. God's light transforms everything it touches.

Our God is the first hint of dawn through tightly drawn blinds, and the last sunburst before dusk pulls the shade on Today. And whether we choose to acknowledge him or not, he remains the Alpha and Omega--the Beginning and the End; the thawer of hearts and the Rescuer of lives & souls. He is the glue that holds this fragile world together, and the net that catches us when we fall.

God notices our comings and our goings, our times of soaring and times of waiting; and our appointments with joy and sorrow. He satisfies our hunger and thirst, provides shelter and clothing, and walks Tomorrow's path before us. He was there long before "Once upon a time..." and will be there to punctuate all of Eternity.

When icy winds blow (as they're bound to blow from time to time), God invites us inside, to warm ourselves around his toasty hearth. May each of us feel the warmth of Home today.

"God's word vaults across the skies from sunrise to sunset, Melting ice, scorching deserts, warming hearts to faith." --Psalm 19:6 (The Message)

Seedplanter