A Christmas Carol ~ Bookshelf No. 8 ~ December 2020

   Charles Dicken's backstory is one not to miss.  As he is widely  appreciated in literary circles, I won't try to retell his story, but will suggest one  considers it before dismissing him or his books. Not only do his books tell stories of unique and brilliant characters, they tell of what  may be our own future if we are to look closely enough. For there really is nothing new  'under the sun.' The stories may have different customs and styles, but there is the  constant thread of humanity, both the broken and the victorious and the choices his characters have made. 

According to the church calendar, it is the 5th day of  Christmas, 2020. While I do not officially follow that calendar, it is a point of reference I've begun to appreciate. After the hustle and bustle of pre-Christmas Day events, the world slows down,  and if you don't rush to put away your chotchkies and decorations, those representative lights can illuminate an almost lost opportunity to embrace some of the most beautiful traditions ever. 

Our little family is well acquainted with A Christmas Carol . Each year, we have either watched or read the story in part or whole. There are numerous cinematic offerings. My favorite is the 1931 black and white, but from trusted friends, I've heard the Muppet version is good also. I'll have to take their word for it. Not gonna happen. But my favorite scene is one Eric shared with our church family one Christmas Wednesday evening in Baton Rouge. Scrooge has just become aware of Marley's ghost and his presence has overtaken the room. Marley is a visage, but  to better understand  him, Scrooge invites him to sit, if he can. Like most of humanity, we don't understand what the after-life is really like and Scrooge is no exception. 

I will not argue Dicken's theology, but I'll use it as an example of what the human mind can understand. Our lives are not a pointless experiment, like Elton John once asked in song, in which we have no say.  Marley describes his 'traveling' after-life, with, 'no rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse.'... Holding  up his chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again. 'At this time of year, I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow- beings with my eyes  turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!' 

In the twilight minutes of 2020, we are blessed with the reset of a new year.  Llike most, I remember from the past few months a few 'paper-bag ' moments where the room wouldn't stop spinning, where everything felt lost and would never be recovered. I noticed this year, while watching  'It's a Wonderful Life,'  similarites to 'A Christmas Carol,' --the feeling of relief when what was familiar and beautiful came back into focus or was revealed a new, in the case of Scrooge, at the end of each story. 

Last year at this time, I was mid-year in a Life Mentoring class with Edie at Life In Grace. In bold letters across a journal, I wrote like all the other classmates, '2020 - Best Beautiful Year.' Yup. I did. What a joke-- or was it? Would I trade all that has happened? or the  transformation and growth that has come. I crossed through those seemingly bogus words at one point and wrote in the margins of my dream/ planning/journal I'd carefully curated, 'All is not lost, they(hopes) are still there, and they are good.' I don't know about you, but every fiber in my being was tested this year. Every nerve and synapse found places I didn't know existed. I found myself like Scrooge, facing the unknown on my knees with my hands in my pockets, reflecting and thoughtful,  desperate, wishing for the mortal, temporal rest in the comfortable, for the easy.  But easy doesn't create change or growth.  

'Reset' is a charged word these days. But a reset, like Dickens has offered to us is one I'll take.  Scrooges eyes are opened. And  I would assert like no other new years eve, my eyes have been opened too-- to the brokenness of my life and the world, but also again to the opportunities of victory as well. 'Do it scared,' has a whole new level of meaning. But as every generation who has gone before would agree, like it or not, the new year has come, and the choice is mine. What will I be reflecting on in a year? In many ways, it feels like we have no choice, but that isn't true. We do. We always do. 

My chalkboard Wall

Seabiscuit, An American Legend ~ Bookshelf No. 7 ~ December 2020

  While I was in middle and high school, I owned, at the cost of  one pick up truck and one thousand dollars, a horse named  Apache. He was a beautiful paint horse with a classic coat of white, black and brown scattered across his back. He was 15 hands high and gelded to a easy going pace of life. But he  was young and full of a good gallop. The gift of owning a horse, getting to know it,  and experiencing the ride and the strength of a horse is priceless. To interact with a creature with that strength is something I'll never completely understand how it has impacted my life. 

My first book about horses was by Walter Farley, The Black Stallion.  Luck would have it, a movie would come out right about that time. It is a magnificent piece of cinematic art. Run- don't walk to that selection on your streaming device. But definitely read the book first. I never read much past Farley's first but I did move into a couple of Dick Francis's books which leaned more towards an adult audience. I never read Anna Sewell 's,  Black Beauty and I believe I never will. 

 Fast forward about 20 years: movies began to notice stories of  triumph by the underdog. Stories that would encourage the American soul began to appear. Enter Laura Hillenbrand to the landscape of the movie world via her amazing retellings of what I call her 'twin sisters ' on my shelf:  Unbroken  and Seabiscuit.  I read the first which was written about 8 years after the magnificent tale of the horse named Seabiscuit. What I remember most is from the movie, so I am challenging myself to read her book. Unbroken I actually read from cover to cover, and now continue to share with any person who will read, giving often to high school graduates. It is riveting with detail that brings the story to life. 

 While my memories are from the movie, 'Seabiscuit,' I don't struggle with going backwards from movie to book. I believe the story of the owner, the rider, and the proverbial 'dark ' yet magnificent horse are what can inform the soul way beyond the movie viewing. The profundity of the time period, a period so devastating to the American landscape of culture and economy it is called 'The Great Depression.' All of my grandparents lived through it, so I can imagine the normal person with hopes and dreams being side-lined by events beyond their control. I would love to know what they knew about this horse or the story, because it was  a headline everyone knew about, and every one could relate. The crash effected every American, and each player in this story felt the impact in their own unique way. I propose that reading about such an amazing story is an opportunity to reflect on the human heart and what hope and relationship can do to buoy up one from despairing.  

Just as confidence is a memory of success, I believe hope begets hope. The muscles of our memory are stretched through experience and emotion. While every story does not directly shine a spotlight upon God's direct hand in our lives, calling  Him by name, and putting HIS name in the movie credits-- I believe God is present in every event and every place and every story.  Why do I say that? Some of the greatest stories of holy virtue or glory that can only descend through a faith heritage in Jehovah God  never mention that faith. It is up to us the synthesize the layers and not to isolate  the secular from the sacred. Gather it up, sift it out, stay in the Word. He is in every story, but it is up to us to return to the ultimate story of the ultimate Hope. 

'...there is the bringing in of a better hope, through which we draw near to God.'

Hebrews 7:19

Uninvited /The Best Yes/ Love Does ~ Bookshelf No. 6 ~ December 2020

 A few weeks ago I participated in a gathering of friends food and fellowship at Debbie's. We were to bring a book to swap. Hello. Yes, please. We were instructed to write a  brief 'teaser' passage on the wrapping without giving it away. I knew some of the group would be gardeners and foodies, so I selected    Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. I keep a handful of these, thrifted and like new books so I was ready to go. But this was after much deliberation. I also knew this crowd to be powerful mamas, and might appreciate another author that made a difference in my life at a challenging time. 

Our books all wrapped before the Swap

Dad passed away in September 4 years ago, and by December of that year, I was a hot mess. Loss and grief have a way of resurrecting old wounds, hurts you thought had turned into scars. But they weren't and I was what Dad often referred to as 'the walking wounded.' This came back to me hard this week when I learned of a teammate of Henry losing his mother  two days ago. Parent loss is.... ageless, timeless. Losing a loved one, as a dear sister said, is like losing a part of your hedgerow that blocks the winds on your heart. Weakened is an understatement for where I found myself. I was Christmas shopping with the boys and had stepped into Christian Books on Epps, before it closed, and saw  Uninvited, Living Loved When You Feel Less Than, Left Out, and Lonely by Lysa TerKeurst.  I snatched it up, paid the bill and forgot what else I'd needed to purchase(not an uncommon phenomenon in my life-purchasing books instead of milk, eggs, TP.) I'm pretty sure I ordered pizza, put the boys in front of 'Elf,' and read the entire book.  Some of the brokenness in my life heard passages anew such as Psalm 23. The Lord doesn't remove us from our hardship, but He prepares a table, He provides for us what we need in the moment. He does. Chapter titles like, ' Moving through the Desperate In-Between,' made sense to me. Considering how the enemy could use my weakened state to play upon my fear, this passage was highly marked up: 'The enemy loves to take our rejection and twist it into raw, irrational fear that  God really doesn't have a good plan for us. This fear is a corrupting companion. It replaces the truths we've trusted with hopeless lies. Satan knows what consumes us controls us. Therefore the more consumed we are with rejection, the more he can control our emotions. our thinking, and our actions.' 

Fast forward. Still thrifting books, I recently found Lysa TerKeurst next book, The Best Yes. I have since participated in therapeutic counseling as well as Life Coaching with  Edie Wadsworth at Life In Grace. So many things have happened in four years, but I've found investing in taking care of yourself mentally, as well as physically and spiritually, is crucial. On my chalkwall is largely written, 

'A Year From Now, You'll Wish You'd Started Today.' 

But what if you are in the midst of life and you don't know what you should start - or stop? And not to add any pressure, but often self-help books are written by highly accomplished women with businesses and ministries known world wide. So taking great caution with who I let into my head is important. There are a million people who will offer suggestions of ways to use your mind and talents, but being able to listen to God's voice along side intuition and make wise, informed decisions is priceless gift. I've mentioned before one of my favorite quotes from  The Best Yes:  

'You won't ever be able to keep up with unrealistic. 

Unrealistic demands lead to undercurrents of failure.' 

 This isn't the typical 'Obstacle is the way' type rhetoric you hear in the average motivational book. Yes, that book is great too! But what if you are burning out, and you really need to assess that to actually say yes to? 

Another favorite quote in Lysa's book comes from Bob Goff, from Love Does. 

'The world can make you think that love can be picked up at a garage sale or enveloped in a Hallmark card. But the kind of love that God created and demonstrated is a costly one because it involves sacrifice and presence. It's a love that operates more like a sign language than being spoken outright... The brand of love Jesus offers is... more about presence than understaking a project. It's a brand of love that doesn't just think about good things, or agree with them, or talk about them... Love Does.'

Can I just say- if you are suffering from 'analysis paralysis,' and want to get off that treadmill, Lysa is a good guide. She is not just another writer; she has walked some fearful paths unexpectedly and still found her 'Best Yes.' 

This season of Christmas is often filled with entirely too much choice over what to do and how we will spend our time. I'm exausted. Really. This year has been more than I can handle at times. But each time I reassess, regroup and consider what is really my 'best yes,' I'm better for it and my family benefits from the best version of me I can be. When I am more centered and aware, when the chaos of my people-pleasing ways goes away, I am able to be more present, be a presence for good, do in the most meaningful way. 

Hope Believes All Things ~ Bookshelf No. 5 ~ December 2020

   'I couldn't put words to it, but Swede, as usual, could.  

"Afraid we're being impertinent?" 

 "Yes." 

"Presumptuous? Arrogant? Blasphemous?" 

This still happens with Swede and me. I'll lack a word, and she'll dump out a bushel of them. 

  "You called Jonah a griper---"

"Well, you read about him. After the whale he goes to Nineveh and tells the pagans to repent or God'll burn them to death, and their cows too. So the pagans repent---- ashes and gunnysacks from the king on down! And you k now what Jonah does?" 

"No," I admitted. (R euben)  Actually, I thought the book ended when he got coughed up. 

'He mopes! He marches off in the desert and asks God to burn those pagans anyway, and their cows." 

"Well, that wouldn't be fair,"I said. 

"That's what  God said too, but Jonah sat there pouting. Lip out to here! He didn't want those pagans to repent; he wanted a barbecue." 

 

 I love this book, Peace Like A River by Leif Enger.    I love how Swede and her brother, the narrator, Reuben Land, sort things out, talking things over. They ask the big questions, reference timeless standards and stories, and come to their conclusions.  Until the next day  when they are faced with a new challenge, maybe bigger and more difficult than anything they might imagine. Their stories inform their souls then too. 

I don't believe 'books teach us lessons.' In a sense they do, or can but that's a distilled conclusion. A writer worth his salt sets out to tell a story that will convey what he or she knows to be worth telling, the remembrance they wish to share with their children or their community, shaping future generation's culture. Enger does this through the voices of Swede and Reuben. At one point Reuben reflects on Swede's perceptive observations: 

    "Well, we all hold history differently inside us. For Swede such episodes retold themselves into a seamless and momentous narrative; she had a Homeric grasp on the significance of events, and still does; one of her recent letters asks, Is it hubris to believe we all live epics? "

I heard a politician in our heated Georgia climate say yesterday, he had picked an unusual time to get into politics. Yes, yes he did. But there he is. How do we govern our hearts when we are called for 'such a time as this?' It's not for me today to assess him or his heart, but it is for me everyday to reflect on my own. While marking wrong doing and weighing matters of justice and right, it is the easy path to be swept up in the heat of the moment. Like Swede and Reuben, it is for us to wrestle with what we know to be true and stepping back to see a broader picture. 

A few years ago, a friend graciously asked me to attend the Kupendwa Ministries Dinner here in Athens. She was hosting a table and I was blessed, along with my friend Debbie who came with me. I saw Amy Washington,  the visionary,  and her family who have given their lives to 'the least of these.' I heard Bob Goff speak, the author of Love Does, Discover a Secretly Incredible LIfe in An Ordinary World. He spoke of an usual time in his life when he was presented with an opportunity and he had no idea from where the resources would come. His laughter and engagement was contagious! We laughed so hard and cried with him in joy over the success of the 'extraordinary ordinary' that he had seen manifested. 

I am also reflecting on passages like this from Lysa Terkeurst,  The Best Yes,  Making Wise Decisions in the Midst of Endless Demands.  

'You won't ever be able to keep up with unrealistic. Unrealistic demands lead to undercurrents of failure. So don't allow the unrealistic demands of others to march freely into your life. Resolve instead to make decisions based on what is realistic-- not on trying to earn the approval of or impress another." 

I would offer Swede's approach to synthesize what we know, instead of living by one slogan or mantra. I must be realistic about what I can do on my own. But I must lean into the unknown with faith and hope, like Bob and Amy, who have relied, like Lysa also, upon God and HIS miraculous power.  Swede and Reuben go on in their conversation to bring up others from the Old Testament who trusted boldly. 

Bold belief, bold hope leans into faith which leads to confidence (' a memory of success'.)* Realistic becomes empowered by informed faith and hope, and my worries calm down. I worry less about the wrong and focus on the right, and what the right can even do. My lack of confidence or lack of faith are empowered by what God can do, in my life and even in the life of those with whom I disagree, or worse- those on whom I might wish 'a barbeque.' 

Hope. Real, true Hope. 'Hope... believes all things.' 'Lord I believe, Help my unbelief.' 

What words do I live by? 

The Thrill of Hope ~ Bookshelf No. 4 ~ December 2020

Almost every Christmas, I pick up a book I've had my eye on and read it cover to cover, reading until I can't hold my eyes open, avoiding every  unnecesary task, praying no one will notice. This Christmas has brought me to a second title by Kristin Hannah, Winter Garden. It falls right in my favorite novel genre, historical fiction, specifically World War II. To me there is nothing more engaging   and encouraging than reading about the numerous resistance efforts throughout Europe,  the hope on both sides,  and the people who lived and endured the war between the Axis Powers and Allied Forces. 

Winter Garden moves slowly into the historic portion of the story. The main characters are living with someone who survived, but bears the results of living through such a time.  For-shadowing of a very layered story tells the reader, 'She hasn't enough of herself left to share.' And  in another part of the story (no spoiler's here), families of 'criminals,' 'can recognize other families of criminals. They move like victims, with their shoulders hunched and their eyes cast downward, trying to make themselves smaller, unremarkable. Unnoticeable.' 

Tragic is not a word I would ever use to describe my life. But in every persons life there are moments that are classically tragic in nature. The expectation and  hope are pitted against  mortal odds unsurmountable. This post is not a tale of 'done-me-wrongs ,' but relatable moments, without stories that cast a martyrial shadow. This one is more humorous. 

Eric and I became 'us' when we moved to Louisiana. We knew no one, and no one knew us. As much as we loved everything about Louisiana, I learned to be realistic there, make some compromises, and even drop my expectations. We learned to depend upon each other more fully, even if we didn't need to. My mind looks back to Uncle Mike meeting us in the Atlanta airport, because he could get through security in uniform, when we adopted Henry from California. Our family is ALWAYS there for us. Yet everyone has some dark passages that no one knows nor is it easy to share. The Lord only knows how much I would need resilience in future days, but I can most humorously  convey this with a story  about my church attire. 

I LOVE sweaters . Textiles, yes, but knitted cables,  the yarn, the feel of wool. Love is the only word. But wool and Louisiana do not mix.  Once while sweating through church, a kind sister told me afterwards to ,  'Give it up. Just buy you some Christmas Sandals and summer clothes in fall and winter colors and move on.' Best advice I think I've ever received. 

I have not spent all of my life in the South. I did a spell in Ohio, learning to appreciate snow, ice, and that cold which cannot be shaken. I learned how to skate on a pond, by myself in subzero weather. I wore long underwear to school from October to April, and we selected our Easter parkas just like my kindred sister from Louisiana  advised us to -- adapt, compromise,  have realistic expectations. But there was something about those sweaters, something in my psyche that insisted it was what one should wear, how one should prepare, what expectation, nee- advent- should look like. 

Within the book, Winter Garden, there are just such moments displayed in what seems to be senility, but the one challenged by change and true tragedy is remembering how to  cope and how to survive.  Her actions seem as crazy as wearing a wool sweater in 70 degree weather. She packs food in her overnight bag instead of clothes for the trip.  Her daughter finds packs of butter in her coat pockets. She's always concerned about the cold. And always concerned about food.  

This is my favorite period of history because so many faced what appear to be insurmountable odds. They are faced with starvation, exposure to the elements, and corruption in powerful places. They seldom know who they can trust, and they often suffer some loss that leaves them changed forever. I walk away wondering how would I survive,  measuring up my coping skills. Introspectively, considering my odds. 

Our collective challenges may not seem to look as dire as this on the outside, although 2020 has brought its 'A Game' to the table. But if you were to ask the average person today if they could relate to characters like these in the books, I'd bet they could easily blow your hair back. Those times do come, when something we hoped for doesn't happen, or happen the way we thought it should. That is life. Living fully, engaging with humanity. It would seem 2020  is the year so many find themselves, myself included, moving the bar back, moving the mark lower, when it comes to hopes and dreams. But the surprise has been to feel resilient-- and still feel off balance. 

A couple of years ago, a friend reminded me of good advice. She participates in the trapeze classes here locally- yes, she is boldly 60 years old and exercises with trapeze. But she reminded me as my world was spinning out of control-- 'Find a place on the wall and look for it every time-- find your point of focus.' She was right. Even when the hope is deferred, when they keep moving the goal post, finding that one thing and focusing is the way to survive. 

My reaction to reading this book at the half way point is two-fold. After one of the most tragic moments of revelation, the mother responds to her children when they ask what they should do? How they will go on? Her response is the epic. Live. Adapt, compromise,  have realistic expectations. This is where God feels our pleasure and delight in His creation. Live. Hope boldly with dreams and beliefs in what God has given to us- the blessings. 

Secondly, and most importantly, rely and depend upon the most miraculous Provider. When nothing seems possible, we are brought to our proverbial knees. It is then that the cosmic Christ is revealed from cradle to grave, the Father 'that sees' is beheld, and we are able to not 'lay aside the cares of this world' but handle them with a strength that comes from a supernatural and miraculous point of focus - God the Trinity. All of our messiness is doable, nothing cannot be handled by the One who began his mortal life in a manger found  in a dirty stable. And there is no wound or loss our God cannot heal with the never changing Hope He has set in our hearts- if only we will embrace it. 

Nativity from Jerusalem ~ Gift from Dad, 1996

Nothing to Envy ~ Bookshelf No. 3 ~ December 2020

 

This morning while I deep cleaned my dishwasher, rinsing all the awkward components in my sink with the broken faucet, I contemplated two passages from two unique books. I'll be as brief as I can, because the publisher is waiting, and the day must roll on. 

I probably heard about  this book, Nothing to Envy, Ordinary Lives in North Korea, on The Close Reads Podcast. While we read together books and are guided by the best guides about specific books, numbers of other excellent reads surface, stimulating constant research into the virtual and tangible stacks of libraries and bookstores everywhere. I digress. With constant discussion in the US about Communism and Socialistic ideas run amuck, this book jumped out and into my sanitized library hands. I like to pick books that relate, but are perhaps more parallel. Seeing an issue by looking at it from another perspective will shed alot of light where there might be sore spots, blind spots for the reader, the student, the citizen. For when I read passages like the following, I might hear one parallel, while another person, say a person of color in the US might hear another. This passage relates an interview with a defector to South Korea, over a lunch meeting. "I had asked Mi-ran to lunch in order to learn more about North Korea's school system. In the years before her defection, she had worked as a kindergarten teacher in a mining town. In South Korea she was working toward a graduate degree in education. It was a serious conversation, at times grim. The food on our table went uneaten as she described watching her five-and six year old pupils die of starvation. As her students were dying, she was supposed to teach them that they were blessed to be North Korean. Kim Il-sun, who ruled from the time the peninsula was severed at the end of the World War II until his death in 1994 was to be revered as a god, and Kim Jong-il, his son and successor, and the son of a god, a Christ -like figure, Mi-ran had become a harsh critic of the North Korean system of brainwashing." There will be no turning back in this book. Because the details are too vivid to pass by, and they touch on too many thoughts I have in the world in which I live. The local and the world at large. For even in the wealthiest counties in the United States, there are still children who age out of foster care, and there are still Veterans who come home from serving in the military who can't seem to get started. There are still orphans among us, and faucets still break. There are still persons of color who are treated wrongly because of their color, and there are still race-peddlers who prey upon the innocent and brain wash those same Image-bearers to believe they have no seat at any table. 

But this book isn't a 'pick - a - side' book. This story, collection of stories, about former North Koreans makes me think about the human spirit, Divinely created, that can learn to  appreciate a forced opportunity of utter darkness, a slower cadence and rhythm of life, one that the average consumer finds almost impossible to escape.  (And that same soul able to crave excellence and greatness...) Even if the individuals who are granted opportunity to tell their unique story  through this book, don't believe in their own Creator, which remains to be seen, I find passages found in devotion books of Scripture compelling in the parallel. From Grace ForThe Moment, collections by Max Lucado. 

 Take Jesus at His Word ~ When it comes to healing our spiritual condition, we don't have a chance. We might as well be told to pole-vault to the moon. We don't have what it takes to be healed. Our only hope is that God will do for us what he did for the man at Bethesda--that he will step out of the temple and step into our ward of hurt and helplessness. Which is exactly what He has done...I wish we would take Jesus at His word...When He says we're forgiven, let's unload the guilt. When He says we're valuable, let's believe Him... When He says we're provided for, let's stop worrying. God's efforts are strongest when our efforts are useless. 'In all these things we have full victory through God who showed His love for us.' Romans 8:37. 

Even in the midst of beauty and abundance, the voice of doubt will creep up, Screwtape, the evil-one. Fear, doubt, despair... But living in a world of brainwash is like a double dose of satan's lies. I wish we would take Him at His word. The only Source who can supply the answers and the spirit of victory is the Creator Himself. Whether the former North Koreans interviewed know or believe hasn't been revealed to me yet- but they have the revelation of the stars in the sky, as do we all. Last passage and the day must move along...

      "The night sky in North Korea is a sight to behold. It might be the most brilliant in Northeast Asia, the only place spared the coal dust, Gobi Desert sand, and carbon monoxide choking the rest of the continent. In the old days, North Korean factories contributed their share to the cloud cover, but no longer. No artificial lighting competes with the intensity of the stars etched into its sky..... Years later, when I asked the girl about the happiest memories of her life, she told me of those nights." 

 Nothing to Envy - Ordinary Lives in North Korea, by Barbara Demick 

'Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. 

Ecclesiastes 3:11

 

Love Hopes All Things~ Bookshelf No. 2 ~December 2020

 In  March, I read  'The Secret Garden. ' While I   am well acquainted with Frances Hodgson Burnett's,  ' A Little Princess, ' I had never read the famous story of a secret garden. So I put myself to it, to be rewarded by such passages like this one  I stumbled upon again just  yesterday: 

 'I'll tell you who would put you in the humour, perhaps,' said Mary, reflecting. She felt as if she would like this to be settled one way or the other.  'I believe Dickon would. He's always talking about live things. He never talks about dead things or things that are ill. He's always looking up in the sky to watch birds flying - or looking down at the earth to see something growing. He has such round blue eyes and they are so wide open with looking about. And he laughs such a big laugh with his wide mouth - and his cheeks are as red - as red as cherries.'  She pulled her stool nearer to the sofa and her expression quite changed at the remembrance of the wide curving mouth and wide open eyes. 'See here,' she said. 'Don't let us talk about dying; I don't like it. Let us talk about living Let us talk and talk about Dickon. and then we will look at your pictures.' .... It was the best thing she could have said.' 

 Last year, I read along with a writing group, Stephen King's , 'On Writing; A Memoir of the Craft.' I have no need of any of his other books, and only one movie,  based upon one of his works of fiction, 'The Shawshank Redemption.' The story of Andy Dufresne, who is falsely accused of a murder and sentenced to life in Shawshank Penitentiary, delivers us an opportunity to meet 'Red' who is also a 'lifer.' Red shares in the story how he would guide his younger self, who made a poor choice,  suffering the exponentially awful consequence of  prison life in the 1950's. But his philosophy is one I hold sacred: 'Get busy living, or get busy dyin.'  Red and Dickon have much in common.  Red found ways to look for things to hope for, meaningful ways to keep himself occupied and invested himself in a safe group of friends and collegues. Dickon lived with his family in rowdy houseful of children, but found his way to a garden to work and make things beautiful, even without employment or even the ability to read. Meaningful work in a garden which is the epitome of hope. 

So today, I'll put up the Christmas tree. I'll finish the decorating and complete the tasks at hand. Our tree is one that Mom passed along to me- one now whose 'pre-lit' lights no longer work, but have been clipped and replaced with strands of white lights for each layer. I've narrowed down the ornaments to one  large box. I'll put a few strands of icicle lights on the outside of the house and we will embrace December looking  up to the stars and down to the dirt lying quietly until Spring returns. We will live with a confident hope that there is life worth living- and we will be busy living it. 

If you are Christmas shopping and books are on your list, I highly recommend Goldberry Books, and independent Bookshop, opened in November 2020~~ the essence of hope in 2020. A beautiful anniversary copy of 'The Secret Garden' illustrated by Tasha Tudor would be an amazing gift for someone special on your Christmas List. 

'Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things...' 

         

Spray Paint Might Save the World ~ Bookshelf No. 1 November 2020

  If we've never met, you may think I'm a bit shallow. But once you run back through a few posts, you'll  realize I'm not shallow, just layered. Picture the layers of the ancient city of Troy, Trojan horse and all. I  don't pretend to be as capable as many of my peers. But I have my skills, like-- I can see through a pile of fabric anywhere and spot the block printed French cotton a mile away. Yup. I'm a #wickedthrifter over at #littlebirdtextiles

So when I say,  spray  paint might save the world, take heed.   I was old(er) when I had kids, through adoption, and much like that, nothing has gone according to plan, in my unique universe, or in the world at large. And there is nothing a good dose of green (my preferred color) spray paint can't redeem.  For example, the basket from Goodwill that will hold a variety of things. It could have been trashed- yet, for .99, I have a new catch-all basket to make my activities more efficient as well as colorfully encouraging. 

Before you start to trip out on Goodwill--  I'm also a capitalist. Do you know the  cashiers at your Goodwill? I do. Somebody had a good idea. Donate stuff. Employ people to organize and shelve it. Sell it. 'But what about those bad folks up at the top who make the big paychecks?' Those folks are the risk takers who invest in the rehab of the big-box stores that nobody uses anymore(our local store was a Best Buy.) So now, the once empty big-box store employs folks who work hard. Often they are folks who might not find a job elsewhere. And you know the bonus? They actually have an employment office in the store. Dang. Can this get any better? While I didn't look at the yearly statement for this company, I don't lose sleep over it, because I know the lady who checked me out today, who often shares her happy experience with me, and she will receive a paycheck in a timely manner. And that was enough for me. I left with a .99 basket that is now green that will  hold my dishtowels(I have many green baskets), while I make brownies for my kids.  And I will think happy thoughts about the redeemed item that was not put into a landfill.  Yup. Even recycled.  And even more about the happy lady who has meaningful work. 

Sounds like a win-win to me.  #green #recycle  #community

Which of course leads me to a book. It would seem that such an insignificant experience might not be worth the recounting in such a jaded, confused time in our world. Yet, for literally centuries people have been waking to the same sunshine to decide how they will live out their day. I have a favorite author whose books don many of my shelves. Alexander McCall Smith. He is my go-to for book recommendations because he introduced me to Mme Precious Rmwatswe. I believe everyone should know her. She determined herself to be the proprietor of  The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency and therefore, Smith wrote at  least 15 books about her and her community. Her stories are filled with gentle appreciation for her modern culture in Africa, with a regular glance backward to her most noble father who is 'late,'(passed.) (My own introdueced me to these stories.<3) But one I found on my own after meeting her(and her writer) was of another unique period of time and is a stand alone worth every minute. La's Orchestra Saves the World,* asks exactly the question that every person must ask themselves when they wake each day. Is what I do really meaningful, does it matter, and consequently, do I matter. I love the action she undertakes to  move forward in an uncertain time. In a twist of irony, I have had a student who plays French horn, a featured instrument in the book, and a very unique instrument, one that if played well takes one to another level of orchestra and appreciation of the world of music. He, my student, is that type of person and is equal in exceptionality as the instrument of his choosing. His mother commented one day, after lesson number 595, about whether the  playing of the French horn really could save the world-- and I replied, I believed so. For it is is the learning by heart 'something' which trains our minds to seek excellence-- yes, to sense that traction of success, and therefore propels us to hope. And having hope is the essence of that which will truly save the world. 

The books I've mentioned have links to Goldberry Books, an independent bookstore in Concord, North Carolina. The proprietors have opened a brick and mortar store I can't wait to visit. Visit their link to support small business! Their opening in Fall 2020 is the definition of Hope! <3 

 

Perspective ~ August 2020

As I have many times, I took this picture on the way home from dropping the boys at school. This isn't a well planned photo, nor did I use an exceptional camera. I snapped it with a fairly new cell phone at some distance back from the road, and through my front windshield. In times past, I have gotten out of the car on the side of the road, even walked across, standing just a little bit higher

 than my seated position in the car. 

Today coming back, it seemed particularly beautiful, bright even after such a rain as we had last night. The weather is oppressively hot and steamy, which is why I probably stayed in the car. But I wanted to capture this picture. It's a part of a contemplative habit I have developed to revisit same places and reflect, photograph, think, stop and reset, or even prepare for the remainder of the delayed morning. 

The photo did not demonstrate or reflect what I actually saw. It didn't capture the mist, the sun beaming subtly through the clouds. It  highlights the street sign and misses 

the natural beauty I try to see and focus on 

when I make this stop. 

I look at this picture and contemplate the confusion over perceptions, photo/video, angles, details, life experience, and what is really going on in this picture. Then the #currentevents bombard my brain. I stop when I come to: why is a child in a place where they might witness what Jacob Blake's son witnessed? How did Jacob Blake get to that point. 

All the thoughts, but that is miles away from me, if only geographically. 

This year has brought no end to chaos, even in my small unremarkable world. I have felt the feelings of hopelessness more than once, having nothing to do with a country in shutdown or a virus or cultural crisis. Unresolved goes the question, 'How did we get to this place?' Sometimes it (chaos in my life) really had nothing to do with my actions, yet, if I am unfaithful in the details of my small world, I'm not supporting and contributing to what good 'could be.' Do I say, 'I just can't.' or 'I can't even.'  Have I thrown up my hands, stepping away to yet another glittery, tasty, reductionist distraction. 

There are so many things I can not change with sweeping grand-gesture-like motion. But I can change and do what is right before me. The least I can do is follow through with that.

That sounds rather wholesome. Down right 'Mother Teresa.'-- Her birthday was yesterday. So inconsequential could she have been, if she had just taken a different path. But she didn't and so she is widely known for simple single acts of love. Loving the one right in front of her was her trademark. She knew, like we say  'know by heart,' that purpose is not always grandiose, and usually it only shows up on the grid and statistics chart after a long succession of small acts over a long period of time. Was her purpose far from home? I believe she didn't live (Calcutta, India) where she grew up, but she did settle down. At some point we settle down in our souls, and we learn that  our purpose is where ever we are to do what is the next right thing. And it is from those faithful habits we can draw support when the times get tough. We have in our storehouse moments of beauty to support our moments of sorrow. But it comes with choosing our perspective. And looking at the circumstance with determination to control our thoughts. If I depend upon the perception of the one isolated picture of how things seem,  I am missing out on how things could be, and likely the reality of the good will escape me altogether. 

Same stretch of road, different day, same camera. 

Glimpses ~ June 2020

The color of the flowers at my wedding were a disappointment. In that many thought the event was miraculous in itself, this seems a trivial detail. It was a lovely occasion over all. One that we determined was appropriately elaborate for two 30 year old types who might have never matched up in another lifetime. After 23 years though, when I see the color I desired for that day, I take notice. I remember how my Mom asked the florist if there was anything he could do. She's faithful that way, as Dad was too. But there was little to change the color of that flower. Although that florist tried, and when my bouquet was returned to me, unanimously everyone agreed how much better they looked, worried the bride was going to snap. 
But I didn't and we proceeded into our life together, with no idea what delights and disappointments lay ahead. 
Yesterday the perfect flower appeared at Publix. People refer to these type of sightings as 'unicorns,' as do I. I also think of them as 'glimpses' into perfection. Too many at one time and a circus will inevitably occur, tickets must be sold, lights too bright must be illuminated. But these by the wayside 'glimpses' are a gift. 
It would have been ridiculously ungracious of me years ago to have truly complained about the roses, especially in light of the effort to which everyone had gone to in order to make the day so special. I look back on how my parents graciously endured many disappointments- their own, or theirs shared- throughout their lives. If you talked to them, and still talk to Mom now, there is always, always something for which to be thankful. Glimpses, I believe, are what kept them going. Glimpses of Eden and glimpses of Heaven. 
I find myself in the in-between, maybe even the shadowlands. Sorrow will cloud our ability to see the glimpses, especially if we only feed the sorrow. Again, I think about my parents. I am thankful for their persistent effort to press forward into everyday with a renewed spirit, to try to fix the little things, while handling the bigger things in life with patience and perseverance, sorrow or celebration. 
There are so many things I cannot fix right now-- in my home, in my community, in the world. But because tragedy seems to be everywhere does not mean all that was once good - wasn't good. Because unrest seems everywhere, doesn't mean we don't still need rest. We need 'glimpses', moments where the proverbial, yes, spiritual light shines bright. And in that light we may see a 'broken reed' upon which we've been leaning too long, and see behind the bush a ram the Lord intended the entire time, the 'glimpse', the provision, the gift. 

Daffodils and Atomic Habits ~ February-April 2020

The daffodils came and went in the blur of February and March. The were stunning though. They are God's surprise when you think you can't take one more bleak day of winter. Their fragrance is incomparable. Their color and diverse shapes so unique. 
In the month of February, I determined to use my kindle more. I've been working through some  habit building non-fiction and found it easier to complete if I used the electronic platform. While there I actually downloaded a copy of British Edition, Country Living, which included a full feature on daffodils. Packed full of loveliness, it is almost as good as having the hardcopy.  A last thought about daffodils: It is a unique effort to have a field of daffodils. They are planted, one by one and must if the best impact is to be achieved, be planted in large groups. Then there is the waiting- waiting for the spring to see them come up and bloom for a short time, before becoming a leggy undesirable spent bloom. But they are worth it. 

Emma Bridgewater Mugs ~My new favorite for Tea & Coffee

Setting Goals this year has been complimented by the observable accomplishments we see in our yard turned garden. Over the years, we have bit by bit carved out spaces with plantings, requiring patience to see the overall outcome. But we are beginning to see the fruits of our labor. Literally. A few years ago, Eric picked a peach from a tree in our neighbors yard, and planted the pit in soil. We didn't think much of it, but it is now in our yard, complimented by another we purchased from the nursery. It's really amazing and this year we may have fruit from that very tree. 

Atomic Habits is an idea as well as a book I borrowed from the library. I committed last year to borrow more books than buy them. This is one that while it is excellent, I needed to reserve the dollars for other things. 

Current situation: It will be May in a day and I'm sorting out where/how I'm going to spend my time, and what I hope to accomplish with these new 'habit' skills. March came in like a lion, only to be followed by a stampede of unfriendly elephants. The 'shelter-at-home' order has been one I never imagined to be such a challenge. Our household dynamics are our own, but I'm sure relatable to everyone. Everyone was and continues to be challenged by their unique circumstances. I allowed grace to be given and felt, to know there are some things I really can't change, but dealing with them and experiencing them must be given the time and attention required.  But  I MUST remember-- these are *just* circumstances. I can choose to take charge of my thoughts or let them rule me and my daily habits. Having completed the academic year (September through April) of 'Life Mentoring School,' with Edie Wadsworth at Life In Grace, I am well armed to move forward in a much more settled and confident way. I would say it has been life changing, like no other class or counseling I've received or participated in. So I wrap up this year, such that is has been. Whatever side-hustle or hobby is completed will be so, and that which has not will be shelved for the for-seeable future. It is time to chart the calendar and accomplish some of the things that were derailed by the virus this spring. Back to eating well, wearing clothes I can button, and exercising so that I can fit into something besides yoga pants! 

Forget-me-nots and Polka-dots ~ December 2019

Watching Miss Universe last night was noteworthy in many ways.  The pagentry of all of the costumes representing their countries and their unique cultures was amazing. Miss Ukraine (Eric's family heritage) was stunning, as was the winner, Miss South Africa. So beautiful, truly breathtaking were each of the women who had made it to the world stage to represent their country. What was even more amazing were the accomplishments of each of these women. Some were lawyers, some were spokespersons for profoundly important charitable organizations. In a moment though, they were quick to remind the watcher they were once thought to be unqualified by their ethnicity and dark skin. Dismissed. 

Miss South Africa mentioned specifically just this, while her grace and glamour inspired watching youth of color around the world. She inspired me, this white middled aged mom of Quaker, English decent. 
I knew my sister-in-law Catherene, would be watching. I found myself rooting for Miss Phillippines, knowing 'Cat' would be cheering too. On Thanksgiving, we all went to Jeff and Cat's house and savored her homemade Lo-mein and Spring Rolls, filled with pork and chicken. We had all the customary 'traditional' foods too, but the first to go is always the spring rolls. They were especially tasty as her mother, Conchita, visiting from the Phillipines, prepared them.  Every year brings change, including my nephew  Angelo, reminding me how important it is not to get stuck in the past, but to move forward, with bravery-- if required. We must accept change, and seek beauty where ever it shows up. We must train our eyes to see beauty and opportunity and life!  Our minds will look for safety and familiarity, *even if that familiarity is ladened with grief*, but think of what we'll miss, if we stick to our ruts and never venture out. If there is anything Cat has taught me, it is this-- to venture out. I can't imagine what we all would have missed if she hadn't. 

Jeff and Cat were married very soon after Dad passed from this life.  It would seem, that year, I was starting all over, hanging on more tightly to familiar things, thoughts, moments. Fearful.  Grief does that. I clung to broken ways, fearful methods. Time heals though. I now hear him  (Dad's voice in my mind) cheering every new goal met, every challenge embraced, and most importantly(haha), I hear him asking if there is any left-over Lo-mein. (The man loved tasty foods.) The laughter may rattle the sorrow out of its rut, but its so easy to teeter back into the cavern. 

In June of 2019, I listened to this TED Talk, as about 51 million others did.  

"We don't move on, we move forward."

For a special family occasion, I wrapped presents in polka dot paper, and Cat was so pleased, for in the Phillipines, polka-dots represent joy and happiness. I am reminded again how choosing to see joy in little places is really *our choice.* Attitude is everything, Being gracious to ourselves in our moments of challenge and weakness is vital, but being our own coach to train our thoughts to see beauty is essential. Holding our 'forget-me-nots' while moving forward is the key. 
*I add this today, in honor of Cat's father who just passed this week. There is a time to mourn. Mourning is a part of life. I pray that you feel God's comfort and heal with good memories.