It was a smokey, hazy morning. Dear husband and I were preparing to drive two hours north to our family’s place in the hills. We thoughtfully packed in case a day trip unexpectedly turned into two or three, a survival impulse my husband holds from years of teaching and practicing such things. It was a Friday, so we could stay over, but had too much going on with family and home to do so.

It had been a very busy week for both of us – hubby woodworking in the garage, me writing furiously in my office. We were both in our happy places doing the creative things that bring us great joy and satisfaction. Though our bodies are aging, our minds and spirits feel young and yearn to keep living, now and on past this life. It is a privilege to walk these years of “maturity.” Of course maturing is a process, and I must disclaim that I am not fully there yet! Evidence of that fact comes to me at times with astonishing clarity, much to my chagrin.

This particular morning was another case in point. Perhaps from years of hospital work, walking long halls, I have learned to save steps, endeavoring to carry all that I must in one trip to wherever; today, to the car. It usually works well, unless I fail to pack securely. Bundling gear in both arms I was able to navigate locking the house door, and open the car door. Putting things inside the car was the coup de grace: my iPad slid from my arms, flew open and face-planted perfectly on the hard concrete.

I have seen the results of such accidents with other’s electronics; cracked screens, broken glass falling out, annoying visual disparities clouding the screen. Dumping the rest of the things into the car, I gingerly picked up the iPad, and examined it. Yes, there was evidence of brokenness. I had became a member of the cracked-screen club. Even more astounding was the tantrum my seventy-plus year old, supposedly mature self, began acting out. Evidence of that original fall of man. With pouty lips and furrowed brows, I rushed back into the house to see if I could fix beloved iPad. With no explanation given, I’m sure dear husband was left wondering. The crazy glue didn’t seem to do much, so with screen saver holding all in place, I soldiered on, irritated and grumpy for the next hour or so as we traveled north. You’d think I was two, or maybe four. Definitely childlike in an unpleasant way. And struggling to get my child self in control! Goodness, woman! Grow up! Be thankful the iPad still works!

When these evidences of my fallen nature jump out to remind me of my deep, ongoing need for the Savior, for One to transform me, to grow me from my infantile ways, I am thankful for God’s unfailing mercy, grace and forgiveness. Do I revere and idolize, value my iPad above the relationship I have with my husband, and with God? I surely hope not. Yet, when I watch our young grandchildren stomp away in anger or frustration over something to their dislike, I recognize the same stomping attitude I had just displayed. Praise God that He can pull us from this mire of clay! 1 John 1:9 (NKJV) promises:
9 If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

I have seen evidence of this over and over in my life, and though it grieves me that there is still much dross to be skimmed off of me, it is with great relief that I can look for restoration through forgiveness from those I’ve wounded with my stomping, and transformation of my nature by God’s grace as I humbly confess my messy self to Him. It is a process. And for some incredible, unimaginable reason God has not given up on me, or any of us, yet! Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!

I’ve walked the paths of discontent 
Trailed roadways seeking peace 
Trudging ever onward on 
Wonder where my steps would lead 

I’ve held the hands of dying ones
Soothed the brows of fevered heads
Held new hope in my arms 
Heartened those where grief has bled 

I’ve known the trials and the joys 
Of wedded bliss as two are joined
As gears refining, trying to mesh
Personalities, becoming one 

I’ve walked the trail of motherhood 
Rejoicing times, then deep in prayer 
Hoping those four gifted me 
Overcome the trials they bear 

I’m walking too the Nana glade 
Seven loved ones to uphold 
Some are close, some far away
Still upheld in prayer each day 

All along the timeworn path 
Others too have joined this trek
To help and be helped as we go 
Walking t’wards what new days beck

It matters no more where I go 
For as I walk the path I trod 
I’ve learned to walk my hand in His 
I’m on my way back home to God 

The joys of kite flying are immeasurable! I was reminded of the timelessness of such pursuits recently when our granddaughter rushed outside to launch her first kite of the season. Racing barefoot through the pasture grass, arms held aloft, waiting for the wind to catch the plastic kite just so, she persisted with unfettered expectation that her kite would indeed lift up and suspend in the air for however long. A successful launch ended in a nanosecond, capricious winds swirling and turning, crashing the kite to earth. Over and over again she ran, determined to fly that kite high, to feel the tug of wind through the string, the slender thread that kept it hers, lest it fly away. Her running paused only for the catching of her breath; then on she ran, kite chasing up and down and all around ‘til finally it flew again.

“Hurrah!” we shouted, elated to share in the success, remembering days when our suntanned toes dug into sand and surf, or hilly field, anchoring us firm against the wind that carried our kites aloft. Whether the kite was homemade or store bought, the tail had to be just so for the kite to fly right. The string secure, and long enough, was wound around a toilet paper tube, stick, or special reel that let it unwind as the tethered sail grabbed hold of the gusts and soared. What fun those days were when many kites danced in the sky, colorful ornaments of fluttering butterflies, boxes, dragons and unicorns stretching towards the clouds. Fabulous flying things that took our dreams and imaginations with them high beyond our earthbound plight.

Where are our kites of years ago? Those dreams, imaginations we once held dear? Grown up now let’s dig them out, unwind the string, and let them climb! Even from our rocking chairs, recliners, or cloistered studios, let’s open wide our windows and let them free! Revisit that wonderland, dare to soar again! And perhaps, join our grands and chase the wind with them.

If we could see from up above
Patterns that our friendships make 
Mantilla shawls our twining be
Our woven lives like gauzy lace

Some strands drawn closer tighter here
While others open up the weave 
Though near or far all are secure 
Make up the pattern one does see 

For reasons hidden to the strands 
The way of weave unknown to them 
Together for some fresh design
Beauty in their friendship stands 

And while the woven thing is thrown 
O’re shoulders near or far away 
The weave holds firm where’re it be 
Connected strands tied beautifully 

Who knew the strands to be so long
The weaving started years ago
The strands still meshing over time 
Friendships strong where’re they go

And as the woven lace grows old 
The strands some frayed, grown more soft 
The beauty of the lace much more 
The value far beyond the cost 

The strands remain yet strongly tied
Secure in their relationships
Hearts there warmed and burdens shared 
Beneath the weave of living lace 
   
                                                                                                    

Among a stand of stately pines
A tree grew slowly in their midst 
With gnarled trunk and twisted limbs
‘Twas not the same but different 

It grew from seed that was like kind
In soil rich on mountain side
With rains and sun and starlit nights
The same pristine environment 

But oh this tree found challenges 
Growing straight though it tried 
It still bent and turned and curved 
Ever upward towards the sky

And try it might to figure out  
Why it was a bended tree 
No answers came to make it tall
As it grew on, gnarls and all 

In that forest wide and vast
The tree was host to many things
Creatures perched on twisted limbs 
And home for birds to nestle in 

Squirrels scampered joyfully 
Up and down the knotty trunk 
Young ones finding this one tree
Their favorite in the forest sea

It was not perfect or austere 
Staring down from lofty heights 
But shared its lumps and bumps with them 
Sheltered them through darkened nights

Humans loved the tree as well 
Sitting on its crooked trunk
Taking respite on their way 
To pastures higher there to play 

The tree endured for many years
Knowing it was different 
Still possessing something strong 
A refuge sure though it was bent 

And so the tree grew on and on
Each gnarl and twist a testament 
Of strength born out of keeping on 
What e’re the storm, what e’re it meant 

What happened to that little girl?
Stop, years! You’re flying by too fast!
She rode on Gigi’s walker seat
Just yesterday she toddled past

Now she runs the Kitchen Aid
Making butter out of cream 
Just yesterday she was a babe
Just yesterday was but a dream 

Eleven young, yet older still 
Her mind and spirit sprinting on
Wait! Slow down! Let me catch up
Turn back the clock before I’m gone 

It seemed just a flash as I passed by, a shiny newer model golden-tan sedan turning on to Ustick. It appeared the chassis had been elevated a bit, above four wide white wall tires. I laughed out loud exclaiming, “A car with bobby socks! And a high water one at that!”

Having grown up in the 1950’s and ‘60’s, sounds and visions of Doo Wop, leather jackets, poodle skirts, penny loafers, and saddle shoes played on my mind like old movies at the drive-in theaters we frequented on lazy summer nights. Vinyl records, Chubby Checker, the Twist, Teen Canteen, American Bandstand, Blackjack gum . . . my heart warmed just thinking of that time. And covering everyone’s ankles were bobby socks. Remember? The white ones with the turned down cuff, “anklets” in today’s world. They were the standard. Every girl wore them, and it seemed all the guys wore white socks, too. We were very cool.

Over the years white socks became less popular as colors and patterns took center stage, white looking like a neon sign peeking out above one’s shoes, and especially when worn with dark trousers. Usually old people were the ones who clung to their white socks, and that was ok. But for us cool kids white socks ran their course, then ran away.

This car looked so odd, like seeing those snazzy white socks from long ago. White walled tires were the norm back in the day. Some more narrow striped, some wide. Put aside by car fashion gurus years ago, nary a white wall would be seen on the roadways for a long long time. A modern car sporting wide white walls was so surprising. Oh, to have a picture to share!

I lost sight of the car as I drove the opposite direction, but in its wake a lasting impression was left, and remembrances of treasured days awakened. I wondered at the owners of that car, and why their decision to jack it up high and give it socks. Maybe, just maybe, they, too, were (literally) driving down memory lane.

Father’s Day comes quickly again this year. I turn around once or twice and we have zoomed from winter into the throes of summer. It seems our Idaho weather has skipped most of Spring, or maybe my memory has faded a bit in the bright sun. All I know is that it is near the end of June, my younger brother is turning seventy on Father’s Day, and somehow my husband turned seventy-seven a few months ago. Time is indeed marching on, unrelentingly, with no care of it’s effects on us temporal folk. Our children are grown, most with children of their own. The grands growing up are like measuring sticks of the years speeding by.

Happily, there are still timeless things in this world that one may celebrate. I imagine that when the holidays to celebrate mothers and fathers originated, the basis was for the sheer honoring of good parents who loved and raised their children well. Some of us were blessed with that experience in our young lives; many definitely were not. In a broken world full of broken people, even in those homes where true kindness and love towards one another reigned, inevitably conflict, hurt, or tragedy occurred, sneaking in to try to ruin the pie. So what do we do with that, when celebration may bring much joy, but maybe memories of other stuff we’ve “stuffed” as well.

For me reviewing memories of what was, celebrating what is, and dreaming of what can be enriches my life. Perhaps in our elder years the propensity to “practicing memory” is a necessary exercise! I know it has brought me much joy as I focus on those good and positive things that have been given me. A protective, loving father who provided for our family formed a great part of my foundation, as did my mother’s gentle nurture and care. Both came from hard working, faithful, large families who looked out for one another, stood together. When I faced stormy parts of my young life that unfailing love and trust helped ballast my boat to keep me afloat. And those memories that are not so sweet? The hard work of facing them with God’s help, seeking truth and healing has brought much relief.

My husband’s family experience gave him an especially deep connection with his dad. Dad Y. always provided for the family; they were his top priority. I hear my husband’s deep respect for his dad as we reminisce of his years growing up, the challenges he faced. The many years we and our children enjoyed Grandpa Y. after he moved to our town proved him a gentle man, with a great love of family and friends. I hold him in high regard as I hear how he fathered his children and honored his marriage. He and my dad both shared that same virtue of care and protection for their own. And they both lived it well.

I see these same traits in my brother and my husband. And am thankful that our children and their cousins have experienced faithful fathers who have done their best to grow, love, and care for them. Fathering must be a tremendously weighty experience for some, when the realities of caring for others while working in highly stressful careers, and navigating unexpected life challenges, present situations that seem not to resolve. I wonder how God feels at times. He is the perfect Father, yet a great part of His creation totally ignore Him, or are in rebellion to His ways of living love. He is, after all, where real love comes from. (“ . . . for God is love.” See 1 John 4:7-11).

Each of us, every one, has so much to learn about what life is really all about. As I grow more secure in relationship with God personally, reflecting back on those past and present men in my life who have modeled fathering, it brings me to a place of deep gratitude. For those men who have not been able to traditionally carry out fathering their children as one would expect or like, my prayer for them this Father’s Day is that they will receive grace in their situations as well. Even the best of fathers are imperfect, and we are all still children in need of our Heavenly Father to show us the way to truly love. May your Father’s Day be rich in joy, memories, relationship, forgiveness, gratitude, and love. And with thanksgiving that God is not finished with any of us yet! His true love never fails! Blessings to you!

“Consider this,” a new thought suggested recently: “What if hurtful words said to you are a reflection of pain in the speaker; not really meant to wound you at all, but to actually defend themselves? What is behind their behavior? Think about that before jabbing back!” 

Finding myself pondering reasons for why I am so repetitively hurt in some ways (truly a conundrum in my mind) opened a new door. “Get Teflon,” our son wisely admonished me one day when thinking about how easily my spirit sometimes feels the verbal spear-tip. This has resulted in a process of becoming more objective about the spear-thrower, rather than receiving the thrust subjectively, personally. I will admit, I have to keep practicing this new dance, for just as surely I win the match one day, I am bruised the next. It has given me more insight into the experience of jousting. Admittedly, it is no fun when it seems to be at my expense! I hope I am learning to dance in a way that the one whose words wound me will not be wounded in my response. One can be strong and victorious without crushing another. It is more fun when both parties win!

In nursing school we learned that “all behavior is meaningful.” That sounds a bit like a no-brainer, yet says to me that behind words that hurt is a larger story. When I am irritable and out of sorts, and answer a loved one rudely just because I’m grumpy, how sad it is that I may have hurt them unintentionally by my tone of voice, facial expression, out of control response. Scripture states, “But no man can tame the tongue. It is an unruly evil. . . Out of the same mouth proceed blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not to be so” (see James 3:1-12). Even if I have not had actual cursing coming out of my mouth, wounding words or attitude still war against those around me. It truly seems like a losing battle. And would be, but for forgiveness.

I have found that the more I nurse my wounds, hold a grudge, feed my resentment of those who have wounded me, the more bitter, angry, depressed, tired, and separated I become. I presume my withdrawal from that person does not effect them really, by avoiding the hard stuff of trying to get real and reconcile. Yet, I imagine the truth of it is, I am hurting myself much more, emotionally, physically, and spiritually in negative ways, than if I would but deal with the issue. Not only with what it is that’s bugging me inside, but also those problems I might have with someone else. Risky business, for sure, yet oh, so beneficial for the trying.

A bit like tightrope walking, it can be totally terrifying, not knowing how the other person will respond to my olive branch. And bumpy, too, with emotions guarded, both parties unsure, getting weary of the awkward dance. Happily, I have found I do not have to do this uncomfortable job of reconciling alone. I have a Helper to go with me, the Comforter. Because I have been forgiven so much in my life by a God who willingly died to save and redeem me, I am learning, by doing, how to forgive, through love, others who have hurt me.

Spending time getting real with God has helped me risk getting real with others. I am learning more of who I am, where my promised value comes from, about God’s trustworthiness and unchangeability, and as I grow more confident in Him I find I am becoming more sure of me. My value does not depend on the opinions of others, no matter how wonderful it is to be loved and affirmed. Conversely, if others’ opinions of me are negative and demeaning, usually what wounds my soul, it is, in truth, not the reality of Who or what measures my worth. Only God does that. His death and resurrection for me (and you) prove His love in action towards us. He has forgiven my rejection of Him, my misuse of His blessings, my wounding of others of His creation, the list goes on and on. Through His patience and transforming grace I am seeing the results of forgiveness as I try to practice towards others the grace He has given me. Like dumping a backpack loaded with rocks, it lightens my load each time I look beyond the person to search for where they need forgiving and healing of their pain. I hope, too, as I ask for forgiveness when I am wrong, they will do that for me!

Awakening to the vague pulse of life breathing around me, I linger in bed just thinking of the dreams dreamt, slowly opening my eyes to a new day. No matter the time, for I have no schedule and no responsibilities other than myself this morning. In our retirement, dear husband and I usually arise at different hours, and over the years have found our solitude a place of nourishment for our souls. We have found it is OK to be wired differently. Our together time will resume a bit later. For now, I can enjoy this time freely.

My ideal day is one without conflict. Free from pressure to do things I really do not wish to do; yet, still nurture and remain connected to those relationships that are vital. Also to honor myself with time I need, while caring for others as well. Unless I have been previously summoned to help, I am free to take this day as it unfolds. Inspiration might be to finally pull the paints out again. Write more; study Scripture. Read an uplifting novel just because I enjoy doing so so much. Or put my thinking cap away and purge closets, install sliding drawers, get rid of clutter stuffed in hidden places. Tend to routine chores. Or take a walk, go for a drive, write letters, maybe be enthused to cook a new dish. Serve others in ways I have not expected. Or . . . parasail! Though I have yet to do so, I imagine the view must be grand!

On those days when schedules rule, I conform myself to be on time and in place. Structure is a necessary framework. Yet knowing the essence of floating jelly-fish style in life has its merits, too. God does provide! And as I come before Him to listen, invite Him into “my” day, all manner of interesting things might occur. There is a freedom that is both wondrous and disconcerting in following after God . . . being free within a great set of God-given boundaries allows one to find internal freedom and peace increasing and increasing, no matter what life might bring, as one practices obedience to God’s precepts. A fabulous and amazing reality of living in God’s kingdom! “And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free (John 8:32 NKJV).

And so as I consider how to live today I search for the peace that passes all understanding, and endeavor to view my day through that lens. Since I have trusted God to guide and direct my life I have never ceased to be amazed at what possibilities and realities might unfold. For who knows better what is best for my day than the One who created me. “A man’s heart plans his way, But the LORD directs his steps” (Proverbs 18:9). Whether He teaches me a new truth, brings to mind a wrong I have committed that I need to correct, motivates me to be His hands and feet serving others; no matter how the day unfolds, with the LORD as my guide, every day becomes, in truth, an ideal ideal day!

As I think back over the years I see a constant thread that has woven its way throughout my life, that of yearning to be perfect. Repeatedly I have learned that in an imperfect world perfection just cannot be achieved, try though one might! Even daydreaming of what my ideal ideal day would be is challenging, for it will still be incomplete, not fully ideal. Oh, to just relax in being an everyday girl. “Just be yourself!” the LORD spoke to me one day long ago. It’s hard to be a worm when one wants to be a butterfly! “Help me savor all there is here, LORD! And become all I need to be before You give me wings to fly!”

Maybe that is just it . . . my ideal day is one when I do not have any concerns about what it is I should be doing, freedom from overthinking, willingness to tackle with joy whatever the task set before me, one without dread of what is to come or what could have been, one where I am just enjoying the day with enthusiasm again.

Perhaps I would fly to France and live there for awhile. Somehow embody the the depth of life I felt on our visit to Laon a few years ago. Linger in the outdoor cafes in the shadow of the Notre Dame de Laon towers. Or stroll the market streets beneath the canopy of opened, colorful umbrellas strung high overhead. Shop for marionettes, and purchase at least one. Linger there a little longer than just an overnight on a scheduled journey. I would be able to truly enjoy a full-bodied dark red wine, without the tannins giving me a headache, for maroon is a color that speaks depth and love to me. I want to drink it in, let it fill me up. Dear husband would be there, too. Young in spirit though our bodies have aged, we would be as we were when we were newly in love. Savoring each adventurous moment, still climbing the hill, rather than have crested the top and viewing a shorter path to our finality. “Living at high noon” we know our lives continue after our time here on earth . . . it has just gone by so fast. We long to fly, yet feel the remorse of having to let this life go.

Perhaps just today is my ideal ideal day. My husband is near, my mind seems clear, and we are working on projects simultaneously and together. The children and grands all speak to us, there is peace in the valley where we live, my heart overflows with gratitude and fond memories, and the sun is shining. All is well! I am thankful for whatever this day brings. Yes, today is my ideal ideal day!

Sometimes I choose to not step out. Hiding is easier, safe it seems. The sun is too bright, I feel exposed, and I run back to my covering. It’s safe in here. My wounded self has been so wrapped up in that identity, it’s hard to throw it off . . . for will I lose a part of me?

Years ago I became new, Christ offering His life for mine. How could I not respond? His gift of sacrifice, forgiveness, eternity incomprehensible! I have known my shame and depravity. So for many years I walked with my burdens left behind, and my self somewhere, too, as I looked to and learned of the LORD, as I focused on others, their needs.

One day it came as a quiet thundering roar, the need to visit self once more. And I began to explore me . . . who is that girl again? Perhaps it would have been easier just to forget, walk on, leave me behind. But I did not. Like with my shadow tethered well, I picked up self to start again. And so began internal work, the thinking deep, the wondering. Examining the where’s and why’s, unveiling depths of suffering. I truly do not wish to dwell in there, but let God’s light bring to life the healing needed for parts of me that have been wounded, are not right. That just do not understand.

I hope that is not selfishness. I’d rather hope by example to invite others into freedom, too, as they find it’s safe to lean into the truth of who they really are, with the LORD to guide them through; even through those darkest valleys of their soul, those awful awful places one fears and chooses to avoid.

God has never rejected me. It is absolutely beyond amazing that as I prattle on and on, keep spinning in that same spot, His patient endurance and forbearance of me remains. He gently walks me on. He is good to go at my pace, my choice it seems; other times He carries me. I know He is the one in control, and I am grateful. His view of my situation is bigger than mine. He is the One Who changes me. So, perhaps this hiding is ok. A place of rest, renewal, new birth taking place. For somewhere deep inside I am in grand company! God has come to dwell with me!

Standing naked, unclothed 
Opening eyes, really looking 
My imagination and reality  
Collide 

How do I accept this truth
Of who I think I am
But am not 
And live with it 
Pull it off 
Or let it rule me 

Honesty feels scary
The painful excision of shadows 
And lies that bind, twist, restrain 
Tether me from flying 

Yet I think that is who I am
And perhaps it is 
My ego, long suffering 
Still wanting to reign 

So why stay in those chains 
When with fearful trembling
I stand miserably revealed 
Needing to be cleansed again 

In nakedness we were fashioned
For open relation, transparency 
Our Maker Creator designing
Honest communication 

When e’re that want of hiding
In attention captures me 
I know tis time to dive once more 
Into Love’s redemption 

Honestly stand before my LORD
Accept, confess the reasons 
Let Him skim off my molten dross 
Be freed to fly again 

“Mama Mia” blared aloud 
As we jigged and jagged about 
Sweeping arms and bobbing heads 
Moved in rhythm as were led 
Laughing right out loud 

The child in me was joy in full 
Playful happy freely still 
Though my aging body looked 
Truly weird when I took 
A peek at me later dancing on 

The mirror on the wall indeed
Was not kind at all to me 
Is this what my darlings see
When we’re dancing gleefully? 
The picture’s not so pretty 

Who cares? It’s fun! I’m dancing still 
Who I am inside this body will 
Never be an aged thing 
But me who’s dancing as with wings 
Dancing on and on 

I now know why grandchildren come into our lives when they do. Or puppies, small furry kittens, hedgehogs named Tulip, ponies named Strawberry and May, or any number of little people or animals that burst upon our lives with their boundless energy. Oh, sure, along with all that cuteness comes a pile of taking care of, feeding, cleaning up after, and watching over. Yet the fun and fabulous part of all, is the boundless play.

It is so easy in our grownup seriousness and juggling of responsibilities to lose that playful part of ourselves. Especially in a world bent on destruction. Or at least one that would rather focus primarily on the hard things of life, with little thought or recognition of those things that bring joy. I must admit to being one of those who naturally focuses on a project ‘til its completion, hard to let it go in the process, to interrupt the flow. This becomes more than difficult when a “project” or responsibility is a living thing, one with a mind of its own! So enters the gift of play, the release valve in an over-pressurized world.

I remember the first day I let loose and danced around with some of our young grands. Our daughter was astounded. It had been so long since those days when she and I played. How had I let those times slip away? Yes, I did give her up to playing with her half-siblings who came to live permanently with us, after the death of their mother. Soon after came the birth of their brother, to round out our clan of two boys and two girls. Somewhere in there, in all the busyness and responsibilities, I must have lost my play. And as I look back I am regretful for that.

Play brings permission to forget oneself and just enjoy. In-joy. Let joy come into oneself. How often we think it, or watch it, but forget to actually do it. Children, puppies, kittens, ponies, tiny hedgehogs, so many blessings of God’s incredible creation invite us into that experience. As I grow older and the busyness of adult life falls away I find myself longing for that playfulness, that innocence of childhood. The unburdened living in the moment, without all the extra baggage. I deeply respect my cousin who did play extensively with her young children throughout their growing. She and her husband still do. Where did we lose our play?

My hope is that in becoming more childlike as I age, and continuing to regain a sense of the playful me, that the joy in me will leak out, overflow into a dark and hurting world, bringing lightness not only to me, but to those around me, too. That I will float in the river that brings life and nourishment to all it touches, and in-joy the journey on the way. Fun!

In an online conference recently we were blessed to listen to a woman of ministry ask a prayer of healing over nearly 650 listeners. Through the responding chat it was evident many had received immediate physical healing. While waiting for reports to be collected, one lady testified of relief from swollen, painful joints: she now had full range of motion in her previously very restricted shoulder; and was able to easily stand and straighten her knees, one previously swollen, now noticeably smaller in size. Though at the time of the speaker’s original prayer I had not lifted up concern of the macular degeneration in my left eye, and cataracts in both, the thought occurred a short while later. And each day since I have wondered, “LORD, will You heal my eyes, too?”

Another woman of ministry for whom I carry much admiration and respect is Jennifer Rothschild. Blind with retinitis pigmentosa since the age of fifteen, she is a vibrant wife, mother, grandmother, and friend to many with a robust speaking, conference, podcast, music and writing ministry. She’s fun, funny and upbeat. While laughing she says it’s just part of her nature, her maiden name being Jolly. She has prayed for healing of her blindness; yet her physical eyes still do not see. Her husband’s arm helps to guide her as she walks with a signature white cane. She counts steps to help orient herself in her home; and has the gadgets that enable a blind person to live more independently. She does her own hair, applies her own makeup, manages her household. And though she is living life fully and abundantly, she admits she is challenged at times. She has asked God to heal her, a woman who is His faithful, joy-filled servant; and still He has not.

Wrestling with this issue of prayers that seem to go unanswered, new clarity dawned in my mind as I slowly awakened this morning, checking one eye then the other to see if my vision had cleared. Checking to see if God had done His job. (What? Where did THAT thought come from?) No, checking to see if He had chosen to bless me in that physical way, yet. As I lay there remembering the many affirmations of His love for me, and thinking of Jennifer’s book “Walking By Faith: Lessons Learned in the Dark”, my vision became crystal clear. I could see with joy, with a wide grin plastered across my face and soul, into bright eons ahead. And, like Jennifer, one who knows God has purpose in His timing and reason, I could see.

The glimpse was so lovely I jumped up to write about it, not waiting to hold still a little longer to keep looking, to sink into it farther, to let it imprint more deeply in my brain. I saw brightness and light, joyfulness, delight, like a roadway going forward ever on, without sides or barriers, yet with definition, the brightest light at the far end of the road. All was filled and formed with light, nothing else was needed at this point. The light was, and is enough. The purity of the vision, the clarity so brilliant as it burst into me, was like an invitation, a breakthrough. Clarity, light, freedom from whatever darkness I have been in. The kind of vision I have been seeking all my life. More and more clarity. Was it physically visual or all in my mind? I’m not sure.

Walking into the Kingdom of God where no darkness of any kind resides, comes through the door of Jesus Christ. It is true! He has lived, died, rose again and continues to overcome, push back, slay the darkness. In John 8:12 Jesus declares, “I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.” I accepted His invitation to walk through that door in 1970. The journey has been one of continual learning, and growing to trust Christ with every aspect of my life. Like layers of an onion, there is always more to peel away as He and I go deeper into the core of me. As the light of life shines to clarify my vision of who I am and how to walk this road, there is always something more to learn in navigating relationships, embracing my imperfections and failings, addressing the awful grip sin had on me, receiving forgiveness, healing from dashed expectations and pain, wrestling with the unexpected and with disappointments, figuring out how to move forward, learning how to really live out “new life” in Him.

A huge factor in recent months has been recognizing how many lies I have been hearing and believing from voices in the world, lies that attack my value and worth as God sees me, lies in my mind to keep me from believing. Lies like the original one hissed by the father of lies in the Garden of Eden: “Has God indeed said . . .? You will not surely die” (see Genesis 3). As I grow closer to the person of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Truth, I am learning how to banish those lies, and to live joy even when life seems to be crumbling all around me, my loved ones, or the world. How to keep on keeping on in those hard places that just do not seem to change, despite prayers and my efforts to fix the things. Like Jennifer, I know this earthly life truly is but a blink in eternity.

So I blinked, then blinked again, one eye, then the other. Yes, that shadow in my central vision still floated there, sometimes more, sometimes less. Yes, the blurriness of cataracts appeared to remain. Yet my vision is changing. I am seeing more clearly. The light of life is shining brightly in me, a beacon, a lighthouse through all the tumults of this worldly walk. I am seeing a brilliant path ahead. Thank You, LORD, for the vision You give! For all the light I need to walk with You through every step of this journey home! Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!

“No!” screamed my mind, “I don’t want to go out to pull weeds!” “But, why?” asked my body. “I’m in sore-full need of exercise, and weeds only get worse if not tended to.”“Because,” lamented mind, “I want to think, mull, turn over and inspect all that stuff in my head. It is so interesting, bewildering, and mysterious. I just can’t let it go!”“It’s ok,” crooned body. “Come on, let’s go. You need a little breeze to blow the cobwebs out and let some light in. It truly will do wonders for you. Remember? We’ve done this before. We won’t leave anything important behind.”

Mind really had not much choice, divided as it was. One part insisting to stay in the cave, the other ready for an adventure out the door. Was it a left brain, right brain kind of thing? Or just that daily tug-o-war decision-making over what one wants to do versus what one should do? Oh, the dilemmas of such a mind. So many choices, like spilled water running in all directions at once. No wonder ‘focus’ was such a big word of the day. Without it the mind would go nowhere, just drain into the ground, sucked up by wanton earthly things.

“Ok,” mind agreed bravely. “Let’s get this thing done!” Off they went, mind and body on the same page, though admittedly mind was still complaining some, trying to convince body to turn around. “Nope!” body admonished. “Keep going!”

Body had spoken before to mind many times. The aches of sitting too long said, “Time to move!” Muscles tight demanded, “Stretch me!” Overtired, body insisted, “Enough already! Go to bed!” And so the conversation went day by day. Today, finally outside in the sun, body was happy for a change of scenery. No matter the task at hand, being bent over to pull weeds still allowed the sun to shine in, eyes to see wonders of God’s creation, hands to stroke the soft fur of the neighbor’s cat, and mind to think fresh new thoughts. It really was a win win situation, mind beginning to agree this was a good idea after all. So on went the weed pulling.

After a good long while of accomplishing much, for when mind started a project it did not want to quit til finished, body began to exclaim, “Ok, now, I think we’re done!” “Oh, no,” said mind. “We still have those two little flower beds to do.” “But I hurt!” exclaimed body as it slowly straightened to a standing position. “It won’t take long. There’s just a little more to do!” mind admonished. “Remember, you’re the one who wanted to come out here. Let’s get it done!”

“Oh,” groaned body to itself. “What have I gotten us into? Will I ever recover from this relentless mind? Once it sets its ‘focus’ I’m the one who’s done, it seems!” On it went, mind admonishing, body bending and pulling, eyes seeing just one more weed to pull. It was exasperating, yet body submitted to mind’s will to “get ‘er done.” By the time body finally convinced mind, “Enough already!” mind was ready to be finished, too, wisely knowing if it wanted to ever get back to its snug cozy cave, body would have to carry it in. Yes, certainly, both had won the dance.

A ray of light begins to dawn 
Peeking faintly o’re the rise
Harbinger of things to come 

Mist wafts gently past my face 
Gauzy offerings to the day 
Beseeching light break forth 

Perplexed, on point there I stand
Walk in wonder swirling round
Await the light to fully shine 

Stillness reigns the hallowed hour 
Bidding shadows fall away 
Come, I pray, illumine me 

She stood at the crosswalk, a dog near her feet barking at something unseen. The traffic roared by, and with the change of lights, slowly came to a stop. She could cross now, but for some reason was hesitant to step off the curb and cross to the other side. It was as though the crossing would require her to leave behind everything that she had known here on this side of the street. Things she was loathe to give up or forget. She was not quite ready, yet.

And so she stood, frozen in place. Afraid, perhaps, to move forward. The light changed again, the traffic moved on, and still she stood, frozen.

Why now does the story of Lot’s wife come to mind? Fleeing the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot and his family were told to not look back at the horrible scene. The instruction was explicit. Do not look back. And yet, Lot’s wife did look back, and instantly became frozen in that spot, a pillar of salt. Her life ended there. Why did she stop from fleeing from destruction towards new life? What captured her that she became a lesson for all who vacillate, procrastinate fleeing the destructive things of this world? Why did she hesitate?

I wonder what went through her mind when Lot’s wife looked back. I do know that with faith I must look forward, fleeing destruction. It is when I look back that I, too, become frozen. In Luke 17:20-37 Jesus speaks of the kingdom of God that is within us, not one that comes with observation. And of that day when the Son of Man, Jesus returns finally to a new earth, the old earth passing away. He admonishes us to, “Remember Lot’s wife. Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it. (Luke 17:32-33)

I pray that I will not hesitate in that day, not look back to collect my life of this earth, but leave behind all that should be destroyed, that is not needed nor fit for God’s kingdom. Perhaps that girl at the curb is considering those things as well. Only when the light shines her direction, and the dangers stop, does she confidently step off the curb, and walk through parted waters to the other side, safe all the way. Even the dog at her feet has quieted, knowing all is finally well.

When one has the Holy Spirit dwelling within, a grand and marvelous thing occurs. We are given all the sufficiency we need for a life of godliness, pleasing to our LORD, for He Himself is our sufficiency. Like the girl on the curb, this is a lesson of learning to be meditated on, allowing one’s mind to be renewed with God’s way of thinking. In this world our sufficiency is touted to be found in our efforts, accomplishments, comparisons to others as we race to bigger and better, more excellent things. To be recognized, praised and lauded for who we are, our wisdom, our abilities, our delightful personalities, all that makes one look good in this life. And yet, eventually, if one is truly honest with oneself, these things become empty, hollow shadows of the true, deep desires of one’s heart. That God-shaped vacuum that can only be filled and satisfied with God Himself.

It is hard living in a broken world when the promise and walking toward fulfillment is always just another step ahead. To be patient with the process of refinement that comes with endurance, trials, sorrows, the challenges one must face each day. To find peace in the process when one sees their own conflict within. Yet, with the sufficiency of Christ we can rejoice in the hope of things to come! And even now, to hesitate not for the God things that are greater than the things of this world!

As the need for acceptance 
Rises from the deep 
Raging waters cascade down 
Carve gorges in the steep 
Exo- and endo-skeletons of my soul 

When the sense of rejection meanders 
Close to my watching mind 
As runlets fill dried gorges 
And trickle steadily down
I anticipate the flood 

This time I’m more prepared though 
Many floods have passed this way
Have swept away my confidence 
Held identity in its sway 
But I am stronger now 

The strength of my Redeemer 
Inside of me He walks
Shows me signs to watch for 
How to navigate the rocks 
And to understand the waters 

I pray about what’s causing 
The rise of fear in me 
Face in truth the telling 
Open eyes to see 
What it is that’s frightening

So as I face the questions 
The quandaries in my mind 
I’m watchful for the currents 
The paths of rising tides 
To move out of their way 

And with the One who saves me 
Examine rifts within 
Build bridges over caverns 
Make secure the way again 
So I can walk on 

I can choose the path to follow 
Rise above impending floods 
Find the way through any waters 
Walk on with Hope above 
Any presenting situation 

When past the dangerous places
Breathe again the calmer air
With praise and much thanksgiving 
To the One who led me there 
Who gives me safe passage 

And with joy again infilling 
I treasure time we spent 
Assessing, fixing, building 
Repairing what was rent 
Shoring up and healing my brokenness within 

The undulating valley floor lay before us, stretching for miles ahead. We gazed from above, as we sat on a rock outcropping catching our breath from the hard climb up. As clouds moved across the sky, the light playing across the land brought sharp focus to the ravines and hillocks that lay hidden at first glance. This was cattle country, fences bounding vast upper mountain meadows and pastureland, old homestead buildings dotting the landscape. Water was aplenty, the river having been dammed years before, a great reservoir laying in the low areas, the watery grave of older homesteads and pioneer towns. Today cabins and fancy mountain lake homes could be found nestled in the yellow pine forests that marched down the mountainsides to the lake, thirsty for drink. Fishing and boating were popular with those who visited the lake, but from our vista view we saw bigger things, the majesty that surrounded the valley below.

It had been an arduous climb, my life long companion, my husband, knowledgeable in the ways of rock climbing and outdoor survival. We had both been through our own challenging climbs before we met, and our journey together brought new wonders and demands to navigate. Sitting on this outcrop now gave pause to the long journey of marriage, parenting, and careers, time to step aside from our microscopic, tunneled views of everyday life to see the bigger picture. To see us as part of a grander, more marvelous reality than before. Perhaps that is why God brought us together. To help us help each other balance, walk through the inner and outer treks we would encounter. To dive deep within ourselves to explore new understanding, mine for true lasting treasure placed there by the same Creator who created the vast mountain vistas, to learn to renew our minds by the truth of who God says He is and who we are in Him. It is quite like mountain climbing. One suddenly turns a forested corner, and there it is laying before you! Understanding, as clear and beautiful as the most resplendent places on earth. Or perhaps even more so, for the price that was paid for a gift of unmerited favor.

Catching our breath we relished this time to pause, to gaze, to be thankful for this beautiful place to rest and reflect. Like ants scurrying nonstop, their whole hill alive with frenzied motion, life had a way of pulling us this way and that, scrambling our thoughts with so many demands one was hard pressed to know what to do, except explode! Or implode. No wonder emotions, like a pressure cooker gone awry, could overpower and blast one into behaviors uncontrolled. Or if turned inward would erode and carve deep wounds like torrents of rushing water sculpting sandstone canyons. Yes, my mind still needs renewal every day, for I have known the highs and lows of emotional tides. Some might enjoy the adventure of such rides, perhaps in a seaworthy sailboat, but inside one’s mind I prefer the thrills of smooth sailing and revelation of new glorious vistas. Pausing on this high mountain perch, a special place that my husband has visited many times before, reminds me of the importance of going to high mountains, for rest, reflection, renewal. To a place where one can breathe rarified air, see past the clouds or pollution, gaze far into panoramas that go on and on and on, never ending vistas that inspire, refill one’s soul. And to remember again the indescribable grandeur and glory of Him who has gifted us His renewal, inside and out. To sit there with Him, and be thankful. And then walk with Him into the valley below.

Trudging on the road of life 
Occasion brings gifts of surprise
A person with a heart that can 
Truly listen, understand

How oft when words are flung out loud
Meaning’s lost in vocal air 
Translation haps before the thought 
Has fully landed on listener’s ear 

To listen well one must set aside 
Opinions, preplanned thoughts, retorts 
To hear the heartbeat of the talk 
To catch the meaning e’re it’s lost 

LORD, give me ears to truly hear
What’s being said when someone speaks 
Make a way for truth to shine
Bring solace to our hearts and minds 

And as we unpack burdens long 
Held tightly, stuffed down deep inside 
A lightness, spirit freedom comes
Joy begins to magnify 

Give us courage, LORD, to share 
To rid ourselves of grievous woes
With wisdom bring those hearts who care
To speak new life, new hope to bear 


Note: References about listening are from Madeleine L’Engle, Trailing Clouds of Glory, pg. 47:
   “We have become over casual in our rituals of greeting and leavetaking, blessing and even reviling. We focus on our own gesture, rather than the need, intent, response of the other . . . 
The scribes and Pharisees tended to look at people and see where they ought to be. Jesus looked at people and saw where they were.” 

It’s sad the walls and fortresses
One builds around one’s self 
To hide, protect, justify 
To keep the peace, so not 
To have to open doors 
That have been firmly closed 
Content without relationship 
Than trekking brambled shores 
Losing precious fellowship 
That still could be restored
If one would take courage 

What makes those hurtful attitudes 
That somehow seem to say 
I know better than you do 
Pushes folks away 
Then at attempts to reconcile 
Forgiveness is not given 
Labeled forever ugly
Again, again, again 
Though in the first offense
The truth there may have been

Perhaps behind the ugly 
Is a shield from being hurt 
An effort to defend oneself 
From wounds or even worse 
The pain of deep rejection 
And the conflict of disdain 
Perhaps behind the ugly
One battles not again 
Just repels the lot 
Stays in control
Maybe even wins

Recently in an online video a speaker commented on making choices through fear or faith. It caught my attention for it succinctly stated the reality of how we live most of our lives. It seems many of those deep-seated angsts from childhood center around the nauseating fear of rejection, ridicule, or humiliation. Interesting that such challenges to our core being that arise when we are so very young may last a lifetime. When I think of the decision-making process that rolls in my head I wonder, what is fueling that engine? Fear or faith?

It really matters not so much what the fear or the faith is, it seems the age old dichotomy between the two is the point. The world system, the cultural voices that dominate our community and social systems, our media and information sources tout a fear-based agenda it seems. Or messages that instill, promote fear in the masses, rather than inspiring us to have hope and rise to greater heights. Faith on the other hand must be carefully considered. For the object of one’s faith is best chosen with care.

“Faith” according to Webster is essentially loyalty, belief, trust. Throughout my life when challenged with many fearsome situations, the choices in how to to respond were always the same: in fear, or in faith. Fear and trembling were not foreign concepts. Fear sneaks in, just like it did in that garden where it all began. Fear of lack was born there. Fear that what Adam and Eve had been given was not enough.

“Not enough!” Such a loud shout in today’s world . . . or a whisper. Like a barnacle welded on the thing it refuses to let go, it’s tendrils sunk deep into the fabric of our psyche. It taunts and shames, incites doubt, breeds fear til we are left grasping for something or someone to believe in. We are, after all, creatures meant to walk in faith, in relationship with a good God who has only our best in mind. Are we willing to search out that relationship? To spend time finding the goodness of the God who created us, or in fear will we run to more tangible sources that seem to have the answers we want? We do all walk in faith . . . in something.

Over the years of seeking to find that good God that the historical Jesus Christ told so many about, I have found the something/Someone to believe in who has proven to be trustworthy and true. He has never lied to me, put me out or down, humiliated me (I’ve done that on my own!), or used me in any nefarious way. He has given me hope, renewal, value, worth, forgiveness, confidence, family, friends, and even dwells in me through His Holy Spirit. I am never alone. Sure, I might have questions, my own random fears that arise, loneliness when I am focused on what I might not have rather than what I do have – Him. Yet in all these normal human experiences I have Someone I can run to immediately anytime, any place for solace, answers, direction. This is the Person I choose to believe and trust with my faith; faith being “walking to the end of all the light we have, yet still going on” (I remember a preacher making a statement like that about fifty years ago). The richness of God’s provision is astounding, and I shall never be able to understand it all with my finite mind. Yet this I know, He is real, He is Love, and He died and rose again (a historical fact) to tell me so.

Fear or faith? I have found God of the Bible (not “religion”, but God Himself) to be the place of faith I can securely go to in my fear. His voice and counsel will never lead me astray, and His peace that passes all understanding envelopes me in a chaotic world. I need but “Be still and know that (He is) God.” (See Psalms 46:10a, NKJV.) And to learn of Him and His wisdom so I may face my fears with hope, assurance, and faith (see Romans 10:17).

Her mind was twirling, the day beginning to spin before she had had her morning meal. Usually a cup of chocolate bone broth, and a few spoonfuls of ricotta cheese with her meds, took care to keep her stomach comfy. Thoughts pinged: “This house is a mess, I really need to get this taken care of before someone comes over. Dust the black TV base – it’s the worst! Move the piles of mail that are still waiting to be put in the recycle bin – I must look through each piece first. Disheveled! I must do something about this! And that Zoom meeting at 1:00 – am I ready for that? All the other gals are so gifted – I think I know what to share, but . . . ?” And on her thoughts ran, along with her feet to dust off the TV base and move the piles.

Mixing her powdered bone broth with the boiling water from the teakettle, she mused again, “This is how I feel – all mixed up!” In her hurry she began gulping down the ricotta. Oh, she loved the creamy taste, and the fact it was a no muss, no fuss fast breakfast. While her mind swirled as she gulped away, a thought dawned above her chaos: “This is what happens when you overeat. You are swirling in your head instead of paying attention and experiencing what is going in your mouth!” At that very same moment a near choking sensation arose in her throat. “Of, gag!” she thought with alarm. “Am I really going to choke on this ricotta? Have I just packed my throat full so quickly that I haven’t really swallowed? Can I swallow now? Can I swallow now? Can I swallow now?”

Happily, swallow she did. It caused her pause, slowed her frenzy down. Taking her hot drink to her office she settled in her quiet chair to really begin her morning. To ask the LORD into her day, to consciously praise and wait on Him. And to write what ever came to mind. “Well, that was close! Thank you I am still breathing, LORD! ‘Death By Ricotta’ has a catchy sound to it. If I were a mystery writer that could be interesting. Hmmm. . . “