Walter White, Livy, and Ultimate Authority

 Walter White died last night. Again. Unlike the days of 'Who Shot J.R.?,' a story on television, such as, 'Breaking Bad,' can be viewed and relived independently by an infinite number of viewers, an infinite number of times. The conclusion of the tragic story will be the same, but the experience is fresh and new for the viewer, in all the broken ways. I began it a few years ago, and stopped. I put it on the 'do not enter' shelf of my movie/television viewing library. But recently, it surfaced. And once you get sucked in, you have to know what happens to Walter White. What I really wanted to know was what was going to happen to Jessie Pinkmon. I won't spoil it for you, completely.   Although I do not recommend it for the soul whose mind is not prepared to witness the broken underworld of drug cartels and those who partake of its goods. While addiction may be a relatable part for some watchers, the beginning of the story is what draws the average person in, making them wonder what can make someone fall down such a dark and twisted rabbit hole. 

Livy of ancient days, (59 B.C. - A.D. 17) is often quoted as he writes about the fall of Rome, 

'We can endure neither our evils nor their cures.' 

Directing his comments to the more ancient Romans, he asks the reader of his most thorough history of his beloved Rome, The Early History of Rome, to 'trace the process of our moral decline, to watch first, the sinking of the foundations of morality as the old teaching was allowed to lapse, then the rapidly increasing disintegration, then the final collapse of the whole edifice, and the dark dawning of our modern day when we can neither endure our vices nor face the remedies needed to cure them. The study of history is the best medicine for a sick mind; for in history you have a record of the infinite variety of human experience plainly set out for all to see; and in that record you can find for yourself and your country both examples and warnings; fine things to take as models, base things; rotten through and through to avoid.' 

I think back to the beginning of Walter's story, and he is so relatable. He's a gentle, reticent man, outwardly simple, chemistry teacher, who has been diagnosed with a dreadful disease. His wife is pregnant. He has a son with disabilities, and their financial situation is less than promising. Everyone around them seems to be successful in their own way. 

It is clear this show will not be a beacon of (G)ospel truth. But I believe this is the brokeness about which Livy laments: the lack of Lasting Foundations and Eternal Things, exemplified in the lack of guidance by father's and father figures towards noble and godly virtues. 

There is a deceptive level of 'fineness' in Walter's concern for his family's well-being. But at what and whose expense? Those who will be impacted by his new industry, for he becomes a meth 'cook', impacting the safety of his family-- and what of those who use his product perpetuating the endless cycle of addiction?

At each turn in the story, when he returns to his 'normal' life, Walter seems to be a loving father and husband, giving us a false sense of hope. But as his involvement in his drug career and subsequent success heightens, his lack of moral foundation becomes exposed. His words of care about his family well-being become less in alignment with a true sense of care, and more about feeding his new found sense of power. 

At one point he expresses the loss of knowing his own father, and how this impacted himself. He is constantly trying to present a positive role model for his son, wanting to be present and a part of his life. And yet he leads this double life, eventually creating irreparable damage. He has made decisions creating almost no way out of this path. 

Jessie Pinkmon, a willing but highly coearst drives home the point of the generational lack of eternal moorings. For while he has a father and mother who expect him to do without drugs and live a conventional life, they have no reason to offer in their cameo appearances. Even then it is only his mother who comes to deal with him as they severe ties. 

There is one father who tries diligently to keep their child from drugs. While he seems to be the most pro-active, his potential for success is ultimately lacking. I would propose this is where the subtle absence of spiritual moorings becomes most obvious and most painful. He has tried to do what he knows to be right, but he comes up at a loss. For the loss of physical life is clear-- it is tragic and senseless. But the apparent lack of spiritual relationship with a Divine Creator has long been left in the proverbial dust, just as forgotten as the scattered particles of the substance used that ruined the life lost. 

We can say -What does it matter? It's just a show. And I respect if you are asking 'Why should we watch at all?' Humor me a bit longer as I process out this culturally relevant story. We can all see how desperate Walter White was, and how much he needed and wanted o care for his family when he would no longer be able to provide for them. He would become powerless, disabled, impotent. 

White begins with one objective but meets on his way another desirable and truly relatable outcome. He begins by nobly wanting to provide for his family. But he finds that he likes who he becomes, a powerful and respected cog in the feared underworld. This new world he lives in plays outside the rules he is continually constrained by, and he keenly experiences the power that comes with his new found position. His learned skills of chemistry set him apart from all of the others. He becomes highly valued, untouchable. I say relatable. Yes. To work in our combined learned and natural gifts is a blessing. But this is where it becomes acutely clear that White is untethered from essential virtues and ultimately from his Creator. 

While Livy does not directly point to the God of the Hebrews nor to the Father of the Christ that would shake his present history of his own world, Livy does remind us that in the record of civilization, one 'can find both examples and warnings; fine things to take as models and base things; rotten through and through, to avoid.' Avoiding mind altering addictive substances and the activity of producing such is a given to 'avoid.' But what example of 'fine things to take as a model' are absent, an absence so keenly felt in this not so impossible to believe story? 

Ultimate and fundamental authority is a theme worthy of its own exploration. The brokenness becomes clear because we eventually find ourselves thinking outside the realm of law abiding ideology. The relativity of 'right and wrong' are on clear display, and the discussion of fundamental divine authority are never broached- but are they? There is something in Jessie Pinkmon's role in this tragic story that keeps bringing us back to the sanctity of life. His circumstances and experiences keep involving innocence lost and we see him embrace his long disabused sense of morality only to have it challenged and crushed again, and again. When an encouraging word could have propelled him to a new life, that ultimate Authority is no where in the memories of anyone's experience and the climax and denoument are 'rotten through and through.' 

Most in this story do not 'endure their vices,' nor do they know the Cure. I say White is relatable because he is. The statistics of this award winning television's show are astounding. Perhaps some watched because it is so far fetched, so well written and entertaining escapism. But it is also relatable. Up until 20 years ago, one didn't have the standard $500 upcharge of the cost of living for all of the electronics and entertainment packages that are now an assumed part of life. The White family are typical, average, even having a memory of what might have been a financially life altering success story. They are mainstream. The absence of the Cure, the knowledge of one's Creator is no less important- it's just not within reach. The stretch is too far to find a redeeming outcome.

Here is my question and my take away: Years ago, I wondered why the Brady Bunch never went to church, and I went 3 times a week. It should be no surprise that a story like Walter White's is even broadcasted- this is just the natural progression of 'the disentegration, the final collapse of the edifice' of our collective moral soul. But 'The Cure,' the Balm of Gilead is no less effective in saving men's souls than it was when Livy wrote his history of one of the most eventually corrupted empires of the known world. 

Mankind will ebb and flow to and from its Original Source and Designer. 

Ultimately it is up to me to seek the Ultimate Authority about any story or experience I may hear or have.  The chroniclers of our day are not reliable to remember Our creator. But the brokeness is real and He is needed in every real or conjured experience. 

My point is not to persuade you to watch a broken story, but to urgently on the daily, hourly and each moment, look to the One who is able to heal the brokeness of all our stories. He is able. He is worthy of our attention. 

God be honored in all things. He is worthy. 

 **Be advised: Published in the haste of life. Grammar and composition are on the level of a coffee shop conversation or late night kitchen snack run. 

Calendars, Confidence and Christ ~ November 2021

 I had to look back, but it's been 3 years since I began seriously caring for myself and my health. It 's been 3 years since I began the journey out of the black hole I had fallen into.  It's been 5 years since grief over losing Dad stirred embers that were seething, and my struggle against a better way was in full swing. What I remember of the 2 years in between, mostly, I want to forget.

Inside cover of my first ‘It Starts With Food,’ and my old-school purse calendar. 

Fast forward: It has been 200 days since I drank any alcohol or  hfc sodas/cokes. 211 to be exact, but that's what a habit built upon a #doitscared decision for long term success looks like at 211 days. You blow right past it, because the memory of success is serving you so well. 

November 2018 was the first time I  #quit and #started. I had decided I would do a 'whole 30' and that involves no alcohol, no sweets, and NO cheating. When you cheat, you start over. For real. I did it though. I marked it down. And when I don't think I can go one step further, I have that memory of success to look back on.  For real. That's how confidence works. 

Confidence is the memory of success. 

2019 I joined Athens Fit Body Boot Camp. Yup. Again. I marked it down. I knew I could do anything for 30 minutes, 3 times a week. For Real. Instead of being self-conscious, I became self-confident.  I began to trust myself to make good choices. 

Don't think for a second there were and are not still challenges. Not just this year, with hubs getting ill,  but all along the way, there have been obstacles.  That first day back in 2018, the day after Thanksgiving, that day I decided to bite the bullet and buy my YL starter kit- that day I committed to fixing my train-wreck body. The least suspecting obstacle almost beat me. It was the water bottle I'd put in the refrigerator,  prepping for my exercise and good habits. It was a Tervis Tumbler with the oddest sharp edge on the cap. Starting out with  such good intentions- It fell from the fridge and clipped my toe just right. Day one I was bleeding all over the kitchen and sobbing. What were my thoughts? 'Woe is me, look how hard I'm trying and look what happens to me! See what happens when you try to do good!?! And look at those boys-- those good for nuthin boys barely even blinked. Including my hubs!! I'm trying so hard... whah... 

Mel Robbins would say--

 'Nobody's coming for you.' 

 'Nobody's coming for you.' And she's right. This isn't a declaration about the absence of God, not hardly. It is a clear declaration that  *No one* can do what you must do for yourself.  No one can stop self pity, self absorption, selfishness.  Oh, good company can support good habits, but friend, you've got to own your own mess. It doesn't matter how nice your family is, your friends are, the community you live in, the cyber chats you contribute to--Nope. That's all on you- It's all on me. 

But is it? That is where I must interject what is often left behind. Right after the 5,4,3,2 1 , podcast, Marco Polo, Facetime, Habit tracker check-off- I have likely forgotten The One to Whom all these great guides and good company point. Christ. The Firstborn of all creation, Ruler over all principalities, Redeemer of all lost causes- including me. If I am a part of the church, the Bride of Christ, then my first thought should be to Him and what He would have me think about things, including trusting in Him to redeem what I cannot. Will He give me more than I can handle? Yes, and He anticipates and is ready to hear my prayer, my request to gain His perspective and His direction for my life. Does He always lift the burden? No. Does He love us? Yes, He's proven that over and over, in His patience and kindness. He's not marking an earthly timetable or spreadsheet. That's for us mere mortals. He needs no such thing, for

 His grace and mercy are immeasurable,

 His love is endless, and his plan for our souls is eternal. 

Will I continue to stack good habits? Yes, indeed. Will I fail- you know it's true. But that is where my Redeemer has my back. And over all the things that I could do, where He spreads his arm and covers us in safety, If we choose that shelter.  That is where I put my hope. 

My hope is not in this world, 

but in the One who made it.

 The good news - I tend to forget- is in the 'letting go.' I can only work within God's plans. I can't force them. I can't control them. I fool myself and mess about when I believe I'm in control of anything but my attitude. My actions can follow if opportunity is there- but my heart is what He's after. I may ask and ask for favor, but If I've asked God to do it, to open that door or make that  path, I best take my hand off the door knob and trust He will make the way clear. 

There's alot of 'doing' in the Bible, stories of folks taking action. Maybe it's dipping in a pool of water for healing, maybe it's taking up stones against a giant, perhaps the ultimate challenge of #doitscared.  Our stories right along with those of ancient times can and do point to confidence enough to take action. We share in that story,  in the ultimate Story of success. For now, I'm going to keep on marking the days, checking the boxes, to keep me going in a direction that best honors God. But most importantly-  I will go confidently in the knowledge that I serve in those actions, the God Who Sees and Knows all things. He is in the twilight of emotions between the successes of my day and the perceived failure of my plans. I hold up my calendar with missed days and plans gone off the rails. He gathers me up and comforts me, serves me what I need-be it admonition or another obstacle-, even in the presence of my enemies. He is a loving Father, who gave his only Son, Christ Redeemer for all. Creator. Sustainer. Redeemer. 

Science and The Pieta ~ July 2021

'Science is real,' say the signs on the roadside  these days. And the longer I live, the more I believe it is so. Sitting with a table of Ladies' Homesteaders in Athens the other night, my friend Debbie and I expressed our fear of teaching Chemistry to a Master Gardner before her guest presentation. After she had begun,  I realized how ridiculous we must have sounded, as she schooled us in  biomes, nitrogen, ph levels, microbes and nematodes. My Google button was worn out after that evening of true enlightenment. I 'm much more comfortable in the verbal nuances of a literature book or art appreciation. There are reasons I never completed some of the more applicable career possibilities of my degree- Interior Design, Pattern and Dressmaking - numbers on a ruler stump me. Yet they, like the composition of the soil I so regularly dig up and often ineffectively utilize, are the most beautiful and profound witness to the Master Gardner who designed it all from the very beginning. 

It is written - and I believe - that Christ was full participant of the Creation. 

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.

For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him.

And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist. 

Colossians 1:15-17

 A glimpse. We are given glimpses of the magnificence of the Creation. Our portion may be full of joy, exhilaration or it may be full of seemingly insurmountable trials, one right after the other. Most people experience seasons of both, layered with drought and deluge. But for some, the drought seems endless, filled with moments of disbelief.  How, and why, and please, Lord, no more. 

I was gifted this 'Pieta,' statuette. The original stands in St. Peter's Basillica, in Rome. Like others, I can't get past the profundity of loss in this glimpse of history. The original now stands behind bulletproof glass. So many historic and ancient artifacts and artistic endeavors represent the soul of man, the deepest longings and challenge the one who would destroy it. But unlike the temporal nature of the statue, the cosmic nature of the Moment this particular piece represents cannot be destroyed. But it is up to the individual to remember and embrace what is really going on. 

I've never 'born' a child from my body, but I am a mother. Of course I identify with Mary, who 'held these things in her heart.' Her holding all the hope and promise of the world in her arms, having no way to fully understand her small part in a larger plan, in THE Greater Plan. 

It is said, 'We plant trees, in whose shade we will never sit.'  Reflecting on Mary, and upon champions of faith through struggle,  I am  instructed how little I understand and must endeavor like they, to finish well. For even in this moment of loss, the Creator of the Universe  understood loss.  Shamed and despised. Misunderstood. Loved by a young mother, the simplest of participants in this cosmic moment of grief. 

Surely He has borne our griefs
And carried our sorrows;
Yet we esteemed Him stricken,
Smitten by God, and afflicted.

Isaiah 53:4

As this young mother grieved what she could not understand fully, I look at her along side those I watch struggle with loss and grief of losing a child. The daily magnitude of grief in cacophony with the design and  resilience of the uniquely female body and soul is testimony to the fall.   The demonstration of God's gift of his only begotten  Son is testimony to His understanding the need for the remedy.  I believe He gave us Mary to personify just this moment, whether in our own lives the child was lost at birth, later in life, or who still walks among the living. It is for us to see the grittiness of His birth, His humanity, His breaking away from His mother to fulfill His destiny. And for her part,  ladened with the physical and emotional weight that only a mother can feel. 

In this modern world of Science turned on its ear, I reverently and unashamedly embrace this moment in history. This divine moment where the intimate nature  and essence of woman is presented fully exposed. The fragile yet indomitable woman, in her most broken and vulnerable state, holding her Child, flesh of her flesh,  the Cosmic Christ, created yet Creator. For this image, I am thankful. I am thankful to the One who has carried our griefs and holds all the hopes of tomorrow and the unseen fruition of the broken mother's heart. 

Who Taught You to Be a Boy-Mom? April 2021

When life was passing out kids, I never saw boys in my future. I never had any idea what that future would look like beyond baby -hood. Naive. Oh, I'd  read every book, I'd even taught boys, exclusively, at all boys schools. But somehow I made it out of those experiences with NO CLUE.  The intensity and apathy, the fierce nature and the emotional capacity of a boy. The maleness of the persons in my house. 

My Dad was exceptional in many ways, but most will remember that his vast (seriously vast) wisdom came from the miles he' d spent reading. Reading every book, all the books, and then some more books. He had a favorite home-town sports team, yet the major sporting events on television were usually eclipsed by the PBS adaptation of a popular classic book. Quiet. Calm, even in adversity, stillness and patience are my memories of Dad's parenting style. 

Enter Drake. Drake's objective was to break my mom's will by 10:00 in the morning. He dressed like Daniel Boone expecting even his teachers to call him 'Daniel' in the classroom. I was every character who enhanced Daniel's profile when we played in our backyard on Buckeye Road. It was my playhouse Dad had built that was sabotaged with B'Lou's fireworks and then rescued by Daniel. 

We watched him jump like Evil Kinevel in the  '70's and watched him stomp through the grass  down to the creek passing cotton mouth snakes to play 'lookout' or just dig in the bank.  While I set up house in the abandoned chicken coop, Drake was creating adventures fortified with every conceivable challenge available in our wildish places. 

Sara Owen's Bridal Luncheon, Memphis, TN 2021
Daughters on Back row, 'Steele Magnolia's' on Front -Just missing Gwen

Last week, I sat at a table of celebration  with other 'boymoms' - those who face the brave frontier of parenting in the post-modern world. The measures of safety and fearful things out there are only complicated by our unique children. I mention these ladies because they all knew Drake and I when we were young, when we were those wild kids, when they were those wild kids. We are all facing the new world, this challenging often times, soul-less time in parenting. There was alot of  'sharing' that usually happens in later hours of the night, but we knew our time was short. We told of successes, we told of sorrows, we told of things we never dreamed we'd be offering our kids as bribes, and that we'd actually tried to bribe them to do and be what we wanted or hoped. Some were holding back. The story is still too hard to tell- yet. 

But, we gazed sideways and looked at our mother's, - the YaYa's, the 'Deaconess's,' -the 'Steele Magnolia's' of our lives, and savored a moment that may never come again. We were reminded of the mothers who taught us to dig in, hunker down, and be the best parent you could be through un-numbered and often unimaginable circumstances. It was my mom who sewed the stripes on Evil's pants when he made those death defying jumps, and it was my mom who sewed a real squirrels tail on the back of Daniel's coon skin hat. It was my mom who prayed as he ventured away towards the cotton mouth covered creek and didn't beg him to stay close to home. 

Leaving Sacramento  Photo taken in Neal and Nancy Sullivan's home

Drake was not a 'prodigal,' but the lessons found in that story from Scripture are, at times, a part of any parents arsenal.  Once not too long ago, I googled,  how to love a prodigal son. The first thing to come up was from 'Focus on the Family,' a Biblically based organization, that I would consider for sound, solid advice. The first answer -- 'let him go.' 

'let him go'

There comes a point in parenting where the roots must do the work of tethering to the early guidance given. The guidance we may give after that point will only be a roaring in their ears, repelling them away. 

So what can I do? What should I do? One foundational thing is shoring up my own life, and catching up on my personal growth and maintenance that's fallen by the wayside. 

Secondly, be available when the kids show back up- be available to talk, be confident in who I am, WHOSE I am. There's a part of both the  prodigal and the older brother in all children, in every person. That 'letting them go' doesn't mean they don't come back, or that they don't watch the other leave.  Strength in the Eternal Power that sustains our faith when they are little, will feed the next season of parenting, and in an altogether stronger way. For we'll be looking back to the roots and wings that sustained us too. I'm so thankful when I look back, I see the  Steel Magnolia's - 'The Sisters.' Between them, they've raised Real Estate Leaders, Corporate Leaders, Photographers, Airplane Pilots, Obstetricians, Teachers,  Research Scientists, Architects, Dentists, Chefs,  Bronze Star Recipients, Track Coaches, Historians, Entrepreneurs, Mothers and Fathers, both- parents of every type of child, with every type of struggle or interest.  Their collective history is beautifully intertwined  elements of sorrow and success, but they've always, always been there for each other, and on their own, persevered in ways beyond comprehension. Like the other daughters, I've been watching and remembering, my mother didn't bow to every changing wind, but moved to meet the challenges of family, confidence in the Lord, and relying on her friends and community to be strong enough for that day's challenges. 

Thirdly-- Today is Dad's birthday. While we would celebrate him, he would turn the camera lens to Mom, and say how proud he is of her. Drake and I both knew and continue to know how Dad prioritized his relationship with Mom, and she visa-versa. While their affection for each other was never up for question, they are not super human. They had their share of lack of agreement over many, many things. But their marriage to each other was first in the family. I remember the vows he would request of many a bride and groom during the wedding ceremony he might conduct. There was always a point made that there would come a day when the deceiver would present a stumbling block. But I remember most the idea of laying down one's life, daily, not in a grand gesture, but with each thought for the other. 

 1966, Mom and Drake  in Sierra Nevada's - Dad's taking the Photo

Drake and Mom, Memphis January 2021

It would seem that the best things in life, do not happen over night. There is no magic wand for the 'boy-mom,' or for any childhood. The good, the best things are a slow progression of attention to details, acted out over a lifetime. Occasionally, we see a glimpse into the outcome, celebrating a moment in our collective history,  a triumph. I celebrate the beauty of these friendships, and their gumption. I hope for another birthday lunch for these fun souls, and strength anew each day, while we live out this mortal thing called life. Celebrate, redeem the time, live. Repeat.  

I'll take it. 

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? 

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...' 

         

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.