A Quick Summer

I had great intentions to post throughout the summer but somehow I ran out of time. Every day. 

Writing with a deadline forces me to write every day. 

Which is wonderful. 

But hitting deadlines means no writing for fun. Not to say getting a check for writing isn’t fun. Just a different kind of fun.

So instead of posting all the things we did over summer, here’s what we did last weekend.

Hiked at Cheesman Reservoir. Camped in the mountains. Watched the sunset. Watched the sunrise. Played a lot of Yahtzee. Talked around the campfire.

The sky was so beautiful, the lake so clear that it reflected the sky as well as the mountains

In all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:6

Strange thoughts

What a strange spring we have had. Rain, hail and multiple snow storms. The last day of school we wore winter coats. I went to two graduation parties. One I froze at and the other I melted. And life moves forward.

June brings Father’s Day. June brings a longing for my dad. I think to myself, I wish I would have hugged him one more time. But I did at every opportunity.

I wish I could see him again. But I saw him as much as I could when he was here.

So it just hurts. It hurts that we live in a world that embraced sin and turned from God. It hurts that sin brings death. Only God brings life. Each of us every day, we are slowly dying. We live in a sin filled world –always turning away from God and pursuing things of this world that are fleeting.  

A friend of mine told me the doctors have given her one year to live. The nastiest of words, cancer will take her life. She does not want to leave this world. I don’t blame her.

This world even as it is -- is a beautiful place. Our families are so dear and so amazing. The ties that bind - bind magically. And life even in a sin filled world has its beauty.

“If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?”    Luke ll:13

Class of l955

This weekend I went with my Mom to her Alumni Banquet. Class of ’55. There were over fifty people there. We met in the cafeteria of the new high school. Each table had flowers on it and tablecloths in the school colors – either orange or black. 

The featured classes were those years that ended with a 9. There was a man from the Class of 1949. Maybe 8 people from the class of 1959, my uncle being one of them. And then anyone who graduated from the high school filled the rest of the tables. 

It was a homecoming of sorts.

Before the banquet, Mom and I went to the old high school which has been made into a museum. They have done an amazing job. I was so glad to share this afternoon with  my Mom – such a privilege to go back in time with her.  

Watching the interactions of old classmates was like watching these people become school kids again. Remembering teachers, places, sleep-overs, bus rides. Some still remembered basketball games and baseball games, classmates who could not make it or have gone ahead to heaven.

Something about being there lingers with me. 

I can’t really put my finger on it. Maybe since I was included in their revelry, I became a 

part of a time long ago and a place since past.

Misunderstood

Have you ever been misunderstood? 

I know we all have. But there’s something about being misunderstood that makes you want to shout out the truth to help that person who has misunderstood you know what they are thinking isn’t right. However the more you run the scenario over in your mind, the worse you look.

This happened to me this weekend. And if I told the reason behind why I said what I said, I would have been looked down upon even more than I already was. And so I took the wrong judgment and then went home upset. 

But this morning I realized, I could forgive. I could forgive the woman that judged me wrongly. I could join in forgiving just as God forgives me when I judge him wrongly. Now with a new perspective, I am not weighed down by a wrong perception, I am free.  

So If the Son has set you free, you are free indeed. John 8:36

Sunrise

Watching a sunrise on a spring morning is similar to writing a story. In a matter of minutes the brilliantly painted sky has changed. Second by second it becomes a completely different creation.

In writing, you start with a blank page. Once you put a word down, the story begins. It continues to change. Every time you work on it, it changes. Sometimes the first words you wrote are hidden beneath or within the story.

I will never create something as brilliant as the beauty of the sunrise. However, in creating a story, I join in the creation of something that never was.

You answer us with awesome and righteous deeds, God our Savior, the hope of all the ends of the earth and of the farthest seas, who formed the mountains by your power, having armed yourself with strength.  Psalm 65:5-6      

SPRING 2019

In Colorado in spring daffodils bloom. Snow falls. Daffodils heads are plunged into the cold white blanket. Rarely do they ever return their gaze to the sun. More times than not, their blooms remain down for the duration of their short lives.

It always makes me sad. I want to see them return to their former glory. As usual, this year twenty daffodils bloomed. The next day 3 inches of snow fell on them. Not one has lifted their head.  I don’t want to be like the beautiful daffodil although I wait all year to see their beauty.

I want to be more like the tree. It waits. Its gnarly branches endure winter. It weathers the wind and cold. It sees spring is here. It does not change. It waits. The factory is open on the inside beginning production of coming out of hibernation. But on the outside it waits. Its branches rise above the trunk. It is prepared for leaves. It waits. It waits until the right moment. Then it is glorious. Leaves drink in the sunshine. It lasts throughout the end of spring, all summer, and into fall.  

Then Jesus said to them, “I ask you, which is lawful on the Sabbath; to do good or to do evil, to save life or to destroy it?”

Inspiration Falling

On a cold and wintery day like today I sit in front of the computer and write. With a cup of tea on my desk and my fingers typing like there is no tomorrow. Inspiration falling over my shoulders. Doesn’t that sound lovely?

But the reality is much different—papers cluttered all over my desk. Dust on every vertical surface that is not already covered. Books haphazardly jutting out at all angles under various papers. An essay I’m working on glaring at me. My Spanish lesson begging to be recited and memorized. 

I’ve just polished off the last dregs of bunny tracks ice cream. I hear the wind howling through a small crack in the window above me as the cold air forces me to put on another sweater.

Snow is falling outside. Not the beautiful Christmas kind, but the mean hard cold pellets that announce the date of the first day of Spring may be drawing near but winter has its hold over us still for months.   

And yet, I’m loving today. Loving the moment. Loving being able to write. Hoping for inspiration but realizing writing is more hard work than anything else. Everyone has a story. But I have this moment. And in it I’ll write my story. It is truly a wonderful day.

But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold. My feet have closely followed his steps; I have kept to his way without turning aside. Job 23:10:11

Valentine's Day

I love – LOVE.

But I have never liked Valentine’s Day.

I have never liked the feeling of wanting more and getting less.

I’ve never liked hearing what other people got and feeling inferior.

So in my teens I stopped. I stopped celebrating a day – I don’t believe in.

Now I am free.

I can be happy when other people do celebrate. 

I appreciate the many ways that other people celebrate the day.  

I’m not above it or below it.

I just don’t have to be a part of it. 

It is a wonderful place to be.   

“A new command I give you; Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:34-35

WINTER

Last year as winter set in, it reigned in my soul. This year, I find I am free. You would think I would be happy, and I am. But in a way I am not. Below is a small portion of how I felt last year.

I am in winter.

Winter’s in the air. Winter’s in my soul.

In past years I have heard the words of Silent Night or Little Town of Bethlehem and cannot stop the tears. This season I hear them and their warming rays are not able to penetrate my frozen and cold heart.

I am in Winter. Cold blasts surround me and keep my heart frozen. Music, the kindness of friends and the beauty of God’s earth are streams of heat, but they too aren’t able to melt the ice encircling my heart.

An arctic blast of cold, troubles, only add to the fortress that makes my heart impenetrable.

The only One who can melt this heart of mine is with me and has told me in time I will feel again. Just not today. We walk this road together. I am assured that He is with me. I do not feel Him, but I know He is there. He is my Comfort and my Strength.

This peculiar heart of mine does not act like a normal heart. I can see a leaf caught on a breeze fall slowly to the earth and bawl like a baby. I can hear of a child who lost his battle with pneumonia and not shed a tear. I am in unfamiliar territory.

My God has walked this road. He is guiding me. I must trust for I can no longer see the path. I have heard of people that never quite recover from a freeze. I wonder if I am one of them. Every month as the date of the day of loss comes, tears follow me everywhere I go. Sobs catch in my throat and my shoulders shake with the burden of, “it’s never going to be the same.”

But when that day ends, I am frozen once again. Like an addict, I don’t want to recover. I cringe for the day when I no longer weep. I do not want these days to end as well as I can’t allow them to remain. I am caught in Winter.  

  

God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth. John 4:24

Each New Year

Every January as I turn the calendar to the New Year I have a longing to work on my Colorado Book. A novel that is in disarray. When I start to read the beginning chapters I say to myself, "This isn't so bad." I enjoy it, I think I might actually be a great writer." (Notice I say great right off the bat, and not good.)  

Then it gets a little rocky as I head into the 3rd, 4th and 5th chapters. I wade through the next few chapters trying to salvage pieces and knowing there is still a small bit of potential. By the eighth chapter, I realize there are so many varying plots and cheesy characters that the whole thing needs a rewrite. But now I am in March, I suddenly stop. I need to start planting an indoor garden that will bloom and thrive, so that in May I am ready to plant the outside flower and vegetable gardens. 

I look at my notes and the a revised outline and get weary. Soon somehow those pages get lost in piles of other papers as summer hits. They collect dust. 

In August,  I think, "Hey, wasn't I working on that old book." I dig through piles until I find it. I say to myself, "This is the year. No excuses."

 But the cold blows the long summer days away and as the days shorten, I realize, I need to start working on Christmas.   

Before I know it, the year is gone, and the same longing to work on my Colorado Book permeates. 

I hate to say it, but I feel it right now, deep in my bones. That book has been a good friend to me. Maybe that is what I miss  . . . that friendship. There were many friends, daughters and sisters that helped me with that book. Giving their comments and advice. 

Maybe it isn't the characters in that book at all that draws me to work on it. Maybe it's the closeness of the people that used to corroborate with me on it. Maybe it is those friendships that have changed that I miss. Maybe I think of them with a longing of  the past. Opening the Colorado book is like opening back that period in time when family and friends were very close to me.  

For my days vanish like smoke; my bones burn like glowing embers. My heart is blighted and withered like grass; I forget to eat my food. Psalm 101:3-4