It's another stormy summer evening. Summer storms are delicious, except when they wreck and ruin your prize umbrella which in turn caused you to shed tears more than once; they crop up quickly, beautiful and powerful, and they bring a restlessness to my soul. I want to watch and listen, hear and see, but instinctively, I want to chase it. I want to harness those lights and create beautiful things, I want to feel the excitement and rage of thunder, well, I could wax poetic but basically I want to go on a rampage like the game "Rampage" that I played in 1988. Nom, nom, eat some people out of the buildings. Slam, slam, crush it and destroy it.
I imagine the possibility of riding a storm. High on the clouds, like a chariot, running the sky and unleashing the soul. Storms give me a raw, untamed feeling and it's like I know I've met my match.
I can't tell you the number of times I have heard that I am "too upright" and I should "loosen up." "Don't hold your tongue." "Speak your mind." "Relax and enjoy."
You know what I think?
The storm is who I am. I am instinctive, reactive, strong willed, passionate and you will not beat me back. Even when I have lost, I will fight. I will do battle long after I have been told to quit.
Remember that firework I was telling you about?
The firework lights up a summer night.
A storm ravages it.
With the help of Jesus, perhaps I'm somewhere in the middle. Along the way I am still learning to temper...
But on a hot, humid summer night, I want to unleash the soul and light up the rain.
Raw. Powerful. Beautiful. The words and emotions that would swirl and blow through the trees as the thunder answers back.
I am a storm contained in a pair of size two shoes. I am lucky enough to be loved by a few good people anyway.
Monday, July 29, 2019
Sunday, July 21, 2019
The Death of Aloe
I have an aloe plant. I got it for more than one reason, but mainly as a living decoration that seemed to brighten and cheer up the space. It didn't require dusting as an object would, which in my house, frankly, if you are an object that needs dusting you might as well hang up your hat; so, it doesn't require dusting and it doesn't require much water, and it always brings a smile to my face when I am at the sink.
This week as I was checking on my aloe friend, I reached out to touch one of the new shoots and the entire plant fell into my hand. I was rather bummed at the turn of events but brought the pot into the kitchen and disposed of the plant. Moments later as I was preparing dinner, my son drops through and says, "Ahh, so you found out about the aloe plant, huh?" and he continued on his way.
Let's take pause right here. Basically this is all you need to know about parenting.
Everything eventually comes to light. Maybe in 47 years or 47 minutes.
I followed him and inquired about my beautiful, still green but dead, friend. "You knew the plant was dead and you just propped it up and left it there?" "Yeah, sure, I just didn't know what to do with it, so I tried to rebury it."
I think this is not unique in life. I encounter death more than I am willing to acknowledge or admit. It comes in many forms: relational, spiritual, physical, mental. I am quick to either 1)ignore it or 2) prop it up a bit and assume it will hold. Sometimes death occurs at such a long and slow pace I am not even aware it has happened. When was the last time I opened my Bible? When was the last time I cleared my calendar for a friend? Now, I really wanted to phone a friend before I typed more so I would be good there but isn't that exactly a "prop it up" scenario? That certainly doesn't fix anything, and the trite response lends to an even deeper truth, "if that is my fix, how much does it mean in the first place?" Motive is important. I submit that motive is often more important than action. The numerous people who have heard an empty "I love you," can attest. Don't say it unless you mean it, right? We all know that. If your intent and heart are not fully there than the action and words mean nothing.
My aloe plant is in the garbage.
The flower pot is siting forlornly in the kitchen waiting for me to remove the dirt and begin anew.
I'm letting it sit there.
It is reminding me to more carefully tend what is mine.
Aloe 2.0 will cost less than $5, but what of the value of friendship? What of the value of our physical health? What of the value of God who has so clearly demonstrated his love for us?
I have consumed three bottles of water today. You can only gauge the significance of this if you are a personal friend. I drink very little fluid on any given day and water is the last thing I would choose. I am making an extremely conscious effort to improve this for my health.
I have not phoned a friend, but I had meaningful conversations with my children and husband.
To Jesus, whom I should surrender all.... I've not had a lot of conversation today. Spiritual death is the worst and yet the easiest in this life. We rush and rush doing all sorts of profitable "busyness" and crash into....nothing.
I'm going to keep the empty flower pot in my kitchen a little longer.
Propped up relationships mean little.
Read that Bible. Phone a friend. Oh, and sneak in some sweet tea. I heard from a friend that water is overrated.
This week as I was checking on my aloe friend, I reached out to touch one of the new shoots and the entire plant fell into my hand. I was rather bummed at the turn of events but brought the pot into the kitchen and disposed of the plant. Moments later as I was preparing dinner, my son drops through and says, "Ahh, so you found out about the aloe plant, huh?" and he continued on his way.
Let's take pause right here. Basically this is all you need to know about parenting.
Everything eventually comes to light. Maybe in 47 years or 47 minutes.
I followed him and inquired about my beautiful, still green but dead, friend. "You knew the plant was dead and you just propped it up and left it there?" "Yeah, sure, I just didn't know what to do with it, so I tried to rebury it."
I think this is not unique in life. I encounter death more than I am willing to acknowledge or admit. It comes in many forms: relational, spiritual, physical, mental. I am quick to either 1)ignore it or 2) prop it up a bit and assume it will hold. Sometimes death occurs at such a long and slow pace I am not even aware it has happened. When was the last time I opened my Bible? When was the last time I cleared my calendar for a friend? Now, I really wanted to phone a friend before I typed more so I would be good there but isn't that exactly a "prop it up" scenario? That certainly doesn't fix anything, and the trite response lends to an even deeper truth, "if that is my fix, how much does it mean in the first place?" Motive is important. I submit that motive is often more important than action. The numerous people who have heard an empty "I love you," can attest. Don't say it unless you mean it, right? We all know that. If your intent and heart are not fully there than the action and words mean nothing.
My aloe plant is in the garbage.
The flower pot is siting forlornly in the kitchen waiting for me to remove the dirt and begin anew.
I'm letting it sit there.
It is reminding me to more carefully tend what is mine.
Aloe 2.0 will cost less than $5, but what of the value of friendship? What of the value of our physical health? What of the value of God who has so clearly demonstrated his love for us?
I have consumed three bottles of water today. You can only gauge the significance of this if you are a personal friend. I drink very little fluid on any given day and water is the last thing I would choose. I am making an extremely conscious effort to improve this for my health.
I have not phoned a friend, but I had meaningful conversations with my children and husband.
To Jesus, whom I should surrender all.... I've not had a lot of conversation today. Spiritual death is the worst and yet the easiest in this life. We rush and rush doing all sorts of profitable "busyness" and crash into....nothing.
I'm going to keep the empty flower pot in my kitchen a little longer.
Propped up relationships mean little.
Read that Bible. Phone a friend. Oh, and sneak in some sweet tea. I heard from a friend that water is overrated.
Sunday, July 7, 2019
Going Forward
It is a particularly cool summer afternoon after a very hot and humid holiday week. It feels perfect for retrospect and writing because as you know writers write when they have something to say, and when it's time to talk, you might want to sit a spell and listen.
Have you ever stopped to consider that life is lived in expectation of the future? I might have always known this and maybe this isn't the first time I have slammed into this realization like a wall. Nonetheless, I am sitting here with an overwhelming fear of what is next.
If I have lived my entire life going toward something, what starts to happen when the future is the now and nothing seems to lie ahead...?
I grew up.
I got married.
I had babies.
I graduated from college.
I moved from place to place.
I mostly raised my babies.
What then is the next large yet future event? Death? Yikes.
Death hardly seems like an appropriate topic on such a mild, sun soaked afternoon.
The middle years are tough. Struggling for purpose, struggling to understand place, letting go, trying to retain beauty, and all the while hoping you appear successful. Can I share a small secret? I feel like I am fading. A life probably doesn't shine from start to finish - there are moments of brilliance and glory and there are patches and pieces of hum. I am in the right place at the right time; I still feel that way; but, I long to see down the road just a fair piece.
Are my big moments all gone? Are pictures and frozen snapshots of time all that remain of a life lived in pursuit of the next?
I don't want to find myself emptynesting and lost. And, yet, I know that is absolutely, exactly what I will be. I will be sad, empty, joyful, exhausted. And lost. (One can only hope I will also feel a measure of success in the launching of my children.)
The middle years are so busy that parents, particularly mother's, neglect to plan for what happens next. Will I just be staying in the same job? Will I move? Will I dust off a goal or two? I'm afraid as I sit here in an empty house with let-down-post-holiday-gathering blues. Is this what the future looks like?
I can't see down the road a fair piece. But I already have a feeling that the path is not straight and as perfect as I could write it to be. It will rise and drop sharply. It will be filled with pain. It will be covered with rain and clouds and strewn with the most beautiful red, yellow and pink memories. I will struggle to find my identity as it winds. I will need more love and understanding than has heretofore been necessary, for living vicariously through life events will become a thing of the past.
You hope when you reach the middle that you have made some friends that will carry you through this part of the journey. Good, solid friends. The ones that know the stories.
I hope they're here.
Because I'm afraid of the middle.
Have you ever stopped to consider that life is lived in expectation of the future? I might have always known this and maybe this isn't the first time I have slammed into this realization like a wall. Nonetheless, I am sitting here with an overwhelming fear of what is next.
If I have lived my entire life going toward something, what starts to happen when the future is the now and nothing seems to lie ahead...?
I grew up.
I got married.
I had babies.
I graduated from college.
I moved from place to place.
I mostly raised my babies.
What then is the next large yet future event? Death? Yikes.
Death hardly seems like an appropriate topic on such a mild, sun soaked afternoon.
The middle years are tough. Struggling for purpose, struggling to understand place, letting go, trying to retain beauty, and all the while hoping you appear successful. Can I share a small secret? I feel like I am fading. A life probably doesn't shine from start to finish - there are moments of brilliance and glory and there are patches and pieces of hum. I am in the right place at the right time; I still feel that way; but, I long to see down the road just a fair piece.
Are my big moments all gone? Are pictures and frozen snapshots of time all that remain of a life lived in pursuit of the next?
I don't want to find myself emptynesting and lost. And, yet, I know that is absolutely, exactly what I will be. I will be sad, empty, joyful, exhausted. And lost. (One can only hope I will also feel a measure of success in the launching of my children.)
The middle years are so busy that parents, particularly mother's, neglect to plan for what happens next. Will I just be staying in the same job? Will I move? Will I dust off a goal or two? I'm afraid as I sit here in an empty house with let-down-post-holiday-gathering blues. Is this what the future looks like?
I can't see down the road a fair piece. But I already have a feeling that the path is not straight and as perfect as I could write it to be. It will rise and drop sharply. It will be filled with pain. It will be covered with rain and clouds and strewn with the most beautiful red, yellow and pink memories. I will struggle to find my identity as it winds. I will need more love and understanding than has heretofore been necessary, for living vicariously through life events will become a thing of the past.
You hope when you reach the middle that you have made some friends that will carry you through this part of the journey. Good, solid friends. The ones that know the stories.
I hope they're here.
Because I'm afraid of the middle.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)