Wednesday, August 11, 2010
A New Day
My temporary job helping teens be employed through the summer is ending today. I feel all the possibilities are unfolding before me. There are so many paths I'm interesting in pursuing. I know not which to take. It feels like a walk down a path not totally untravelled, that someone many years ago pointed out, is less travelled. I'm grateful to have loving folks to walk the path with me, friends to hold my hand, so I know I'm not alone. My cup runneth over.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Truth
4/1/2010
A few days ago, I noticed that I would wake up relaxed and rested, but the efforts of getting up and getting Jesse off to school left me exhausted and tense. I felt the same way after social interactions with others, no matter where they were, on the job, at Church, in the marketplace. I placed my consciousness on this and pondered why this would be. It came to me that I exert a great deal deal of energy trying to be a certain way: chatty, upbeat, positive, encouraging, micromanaging the details of my son’s preparation for school; putting on a certain face to meet the public, even my very best friends and family. I soon saw that I was not being honest. I was lying in every moment and it was draining my life’s energy from me. I resolved in that moment to be more honest, and not because it was the “right thing to do,” but because it made me happy, peaceful and relaxed. This resolution has allowed miraculous changes to happen for me. I enjoy my interactions with everyone much more. I feel closer and more connected to people. I feel less afraid. I am able to respond to people in an honest open way instead of trying to figure out what and how I’m supposed to be.
Now I have more energy to give to others, to be concerned about the needs of others. I am happy and I want to share that, I want others to be happy, too. It is no longer a burden to carry about my façade, so now I may try to lift the burdens of others.
The Truth is becoming much more evident as I navigate the terrain of my day. Other people’s responses to me, the ones I used to use as road markers for how well I was doing, completely putting my self opinion in the hands of others, became information about them. If they are angry, accusing, critical or angry, I can see that that has nothing to do with me. Now, this is not something that I had never heard before, but I’d always just hoped it was true and never truly believed it was. What a wonderful way to go through life! Now when I observe someone who is angry, I know they are just afraid, afraid they won’t have enough, be enough, get enough done. I have enough to offer some of what I have. How cool is that? “And you shall know the truth and the Truth shall make you free.” John 8.32
A few days ago, I noticed that I would wake up relaxed and rested, but the efforts of getting up and getting Jesse off to school left me exhausted and tense. I felt the same way after social interactions with others, no matter where they were, on the job, at Church, in the marketplace. I placed my consciousness on this and pondered why this would be. It came to me that I exert a great deal deal of energy trying to be a certain way: chatty, upbeat, positive, encouraging, micromanaging the details of my son’s preparation for school; putting on a certain face to meet the public, even my very best friends and family. I soon saw that I was not being honest. I was lying in every moment and it was draining my life’s energy from me. I resolved in that moment to be more honest, and not because it was the “right thing to do,” but because it made me happy, peaceful and relaxed. This resolution has allowed miraculous changes to happen for me. I enjoy my interactions with everyone much more. I feel closer and more connected to people. I feel less afraid. I am able to respond to people in an honest open way instead of trying to figure out what and how I’m supposed to be.
Now I have more energy to give to others, to be concerned about the needs of others. I am happy and I want to share that, I want others to be happy, too. It is no longer a burden to carry about my façade, so now I may try to lift the burdens of others.
The Truth is becoming much more evident as I navigate the terrain of my day. Other people’s responses to me, the ones I used to use as road markers for how well I was doing, completely putting my self opinion in the hands of others, became information about them. If they are angry, accusing, critical or angry, I can see that that has nothing to do with me. Now, this is not something that I had never heard before, but I’d always just hoped it was true and never truly believed it was. What a wonderful way to go through life! Now when I observe someone who is angry, I know they are just afraid, afraid they won’t have enough, be enough, get enough done. I have enough to offer some of what I have. How cool is that? “And you shall know the truth and the Truth shall make you free.” John 8.32
Monday, March 22, 2010
If he knocks on the door, answer it.
If he wakes you up at 3:30 a.m., get up and get a pen and paper.
He's been trying to wake me up for years, same time, same place. Most of the time I roll over and go back to sleep. Occasionally, like today, I get up and get the paper/pen. Today he told me much. Does He talk to me? Thoughts come. If they are kind and loving I'll give Him credit. Today I felt the Light, I felt like I knelt in it. I felt like I wanted to live in it forever. Anyone who has ever felt the Love knows what I mean. I looked for it for years and when I finally found it, I asked, "What took so long?" His reply: "You were looking for me where I couldn't be." I've since learned He can't live in unclean places. Someone told me a story the other day, "Pretend someone is making your favorite chocolate cake. They are going to put a little poop in your cake, not much, just a bit, you probably won't even taste it. How much poop do you want in your chocolate cake?" Well, I don't know about you, but I don't want any. Yet, most of us, including me, tolerate different degrees of uncleanness in our lives, even believe we must have it, contention, worry, pornography on any level. Fear permeates all we do and we wonder why. Today I knelt in the light and know that I never want to live in the darkness again. In the light there is safety and wisdom and direction.
Yesterday someone handed me a 3 X 5 card with this on it:
"The character of Jesus is resplendently and constantly shown in all the accounts we have of Him. In fact, it is precisely because of the matchless luminosity of his character that Jesus truly qualifies as the light of the World. It is by means of his light that we should view everything else. When our view is so illuminated we can truly see 'things as they really are.' (Jacob 4:13) Little wonder that the more we understand and experience God's and Jesus' love for us, the more we want to please them, to be more like them and to be [one] with them." (Neal Maxwell, Increase our Faith)
It helped me on my way, I hope it helps you on yours. I hear that pilots spend more time off course than on and still reach their destination. I've spent much more time off than on, have you? Our destination is love and He is the source. If you've not experienced it yet, I hope and pray you do. You pray you do and you will. His promises will not fail.
He's been trying to wake me up for years, same time, same place. Most of the time I roll over and go back to sleep. Occasionally, like today, I get up and get the paper/pen. Today he told me much. Does He talk to me? Thoughts come. If they are kind and loving I'll give Him credit. Today I felt the Light, I felt like I knelt in it. I felt like I wanted to live in it forever. Anyone who has ever felt the Love knows what I mean. I looked for it for years and when I finally found it, I asked, "What took so long?" His reply: "You were looking for me where I couldn't be." I've since learned He can't live in unclean places. Someone told me a story the other day, "Pretend someone is making your favorite chocolate cake. They are going to put a little poop in your cake, not much, just a bit, you probably won't even taste it. How much poop do you want in your chocolate cake?" Well, I don't know about you, but I don't want any. Yet, most of us, including me, tolerate different degrees of uncleanness in our lives, even believe we must have it, contention, worry, pornography on any level. Fear permeates all we do and we wonder why. Today I knelt in the light and know that I never want to live in the darkness again. In the light there is safety and wisdom and direction.
Yesterday someone handed me a 3 X 5 card with this on it:
"The character of Jesus is resplendently and constantly shown in all the accounts we have of Him. In fact, it is precisely because of the matchless luminosity of his character that Jesus truly qualifies as the light of the World. It is by means of his light that we should view everything else. When our view is so illuminated we can truly see 'things as they really are.' (Jacob 4:13) Little wonder that the more we understand and experience God's and Jesus' love for us, the more we want to please them, to be more like them and to be [one] with them." (Neal Maxwell, Increase our Faith)
It helped me on my way, I hope it helps you on yours. I hear that pilots spend more time off course than on and still reach their destination. I've spent much more time off than on, have you? Our destination is love and He is the source. If you've not experienced it yet, I hope and pray you do. You pray you do and you will. His promises will not fail.
"Echoes from the Hills"
“I’m a long ways from home, and that blue mountain dome, still I hear the echoes from the hills.” My father’s favorite song from my childhood. It seemed that every time we got in the car, he’d comment on those beautiful hills and launch into song. It’s an old folk song you can find on youtube now, by the Elderly Brothers, no kidding, you’ll be showing your age if you get the second pun in that one.
I grew up in the hills. We picnicked at the Pocket: mayonnaise and white bread sandwiches with pork ‘n beans on the side. I never like beans until then and they’ve never tasted as good since! We camped in Blue Ridge and hung snake skins from the trees. We always went for Sunday rides in the “mountains” when the laurel began to bloom. Rides were a treat for a generation not raised buckled into carseats and chauffered from one activity to another. Going for a drive meant getting to hang our heads out the windows like only dogs get to do now, and an occasional 11-year old boy allowed to be wild. We would pluck the blossoms from the trees and daddy would place them in his handkerchief (always with him, another dying custom) and crush them so we could smell them all the way home.
I know I’m not alone in longing for my childhood home. Many of us grew up exclaiming, “I can’t wait to get out of here.” It’s the call of the wild, the vision quest, the rites of passage so missing from our modern times. I had to break out, get away from this hick town, see the world. But, everywhere I went, I found myself longing for the smell of red Georgia clay, the sound of crickets and katydids, the feel of warm humid southern nights.
The first time I left was for the West Coast. In 1977 in Oregon, it was the year of the drought. I enjoyed an Oregon like no other, beautiful sunny days with a crisp breeze blowing off the Pacific Ocean. So, after that year, there was no going back, that Oregon was gone. It rains daily now.
Next stop Cali. Life in the fast lane left no time for chit chat in Silicon Valley. It was hard to find Prince Charming when he was barreling down the coastal highway in his “Beamer” doing 90 to nothing or stuck in traffic jams that made Atlanta traffic look like a walk in the park, if you don’t mind a slightly-mixed metaphor. The weather forecast was “another day in Paradise” which, quite frankly got boring after a while. And earthquakes aren’t nearly as predictable as tornadoes! There is no southern hospitality in southern California. And, when you are raised on it, nothing else will suffice.
In Utah, it was so dry, in southern colloquial lingo: spit would dry before it hit the ground. My tears would dry long before they finished their run down the contours of my face. I packed it up and came home. After thirty years gone, there was no band playing at the airport, no crowds to herald their joy at my return, but my heart is at peace now, no longer do I roam… I’m home. I no longer have to struggle to remember what the air feels like, or how the honeysuckle smells, or how katydids, crickets and july flies sound, I only have to sit on my porch. They are the only welcome home I need.
I grew up in the hills. We picnicked at the Pocket: mayonnaise and white bread sandwiches with pork ‘n beans on the side. I never like beans until then and they’ve never tasted as good since! We camped in Blue Ridge and hung snake skins from the trees. We always went for Sunday rides in the “mountains” when the laurel began to bloom. Rides were a treat for a generation not raised buckled into carseats and chauffered from one activity to another. Going for a drive meant getting to hang our heads out the windows like only dogs get to do now, and an occasional 11-year old boy allowed to be wild. We would pluck the blossoms from the trees and daddy would place them in his handkerchief (always with him, another dying custom) and crush them so we could smell them all the way home.
I know I’m not alone in longing for my childhood home. Many of us grew up exclaiming, “I can’t wait to get out of here.” It’s the call of the wild, the vision quest, the rites of passage so missing from our modern times. I had to break out, get away from this hick town, see the world. But, everywhere I went, I found myself longing for the smell of red Georgia clay, the sound of crickets and katydids, the feel of warm humid southern nights.
The first time I left was for the West Coast. In 1977 in Oregon, it was the year of the drought. I enjoyed an Oregon like no other, beautiful sunny days with a crisp breeze blowing off the Pacific Ocean. So, after that year, there was no going back, that Oregon was gone. It rains daily now.
Next stop Cali. Life in the fast lane left no time for chit chat in Silicon Valley. It was hard to find Prince Charming when he was barreling down the coastal highway in his “Beamer” doing 90 to nothing or stuck in traffic jams that made Atlanta traffic look like a walk in the park, if you don’t mind a slightly-mixed metaphor. The weather forecast was “another day in Paradise” which, quite frankly got boring after a while. And earthquakes aren’t nearly as predictable as tornadoes! There is no southern hospitality in southern California. And, when you are raised on it, nothing else will suffice.
In Utah, it was so dry, in southern colloquial lingo: spit would dry before it hit the ground. My tears would dry long before they finished their run down the contours of my face. I packed it up and came home. After thirty years gone, there was no band playing at the airport, no crowds to herald their joy at my return, but my heart is at peace now, no longer do I roam… I’m home. I no longer have to struggle to remember what the air feels like, or how the honeysuckle smells, or how katydids, crickets and july flies sound, I only have to sit on my porch. They are the only welcome home I need.
The good old days...
I remember when I was in, maybe, the 2nd grade. I got the mumps and measles and chicken pox all within a year or so. I can still see the view from my mom's bed, feel the crisp clean white sheets (that's the only color they came in back then!). I can still see old Dr. Dawson coming in to check on me (what, wait a minute, did doctors really make house calls???). No, we weren't rich, far from it. He lived right up the road from us and SERVED our community, til the day he died. He was far from perfect, I've heard of his flaws, but he had a sweet, dry sense of humor, funny how those memories remain.
I've also heard stories of how country doctors accepted pigs, chickens, eggs, whatever anyone had to give, in exchange for services. I can just imagine me, nowadays, walking into Urgent Care with a chicken.
I've also heard stories of how country doctors accepted pigs, chickens, eggs, whatever anyone had to give, in exchange for services. I can just imagine me, nowadays, walking into Urgent Care with a chicken.
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