Always found

After Christmas confession:

This has been the worst Christmas for me ever.  It's now over so I hope it's safe to say that.  My favorite part of the season was the  Shabba-Chanukah party we attended Friday night.  Does that tell you anything?

Christmas Eve day, I tried desperately to keep it together while taking care of my last minute wrapping and keeping the kids entertained but clean and ready for service.  I was painting a smile on my face but when I realized that six gifts had gone missing(?) I lost it. Not in front of the kids, but alone, the tears came.

And I started thinking.  Maybe, there were tears that Mary cried on the day before Jesus was born.  Or in the months leading up to.  She would have been hormonal, right?  And stressed even.  She was pregnant with God's son. Not Joseph's.  They were journeying far.  And they arrive at their destination only to find 'No room at the inns.'  Maybe she broke down a little.  So, perhaps, waiting for Jesus, it's okay to cry under the pressure, wanting so badly the relief of his arrival.

And then I thought some more.  I remembered the song 'The Little Drummer Boy'.  And I prayed that me letting the kids make gingerbread cookies and ornaments would be enough for Jesus. He knew my heart wasn't in it this year.  But I did what I could.  I gave what very little I possessed.

And then I found the presents.  And we made it to church.  And that was beautiful.  We ate Chinese food and read a Christmas story before bed and all in all it turned out okay.

Christmas morning, I tried to keep things jolly as well.  We opened presents, and messed the house royally with polly pocket shoes, puzzle pieces, and play-do and at noon when the kids left, I again let the tears come.

But it's okay.  Jesus is here.

We never did find the thumbnail Jesus from our nativity.  And the last few weeks, every store I've been in I've looked for a replacement nativity....with no luck.   I found one finally, on Saturday.  So I bought it.  It's still in its packaging to save it from the three year old's violent hands but I may just open it and take out baby Jesus.... to hold Him, to remind me that He can always be found.


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Dwell in the source

December has felt a little mooney, a bit blah.

In fact, I can't quite believe we're this close to Christmas.

Circumstances in my life have shifted considerably and I'm already feeling the 'after Christmas blues'.  Maybe, because November, in many ways was very special. In other ways it was very rough, but within that difficulty I could really hear God. And I'm not hearing Him as well this month.

Last night, a friend and I were talking and she said that she prays and she does her readings but one thing she just can't get is the meditation part.  Meaning, her mind continues to wander whenever she attempts. I almost had to laugh, because she said it as though, she were one of the only ones with this problem.  I told her that I was fairly certain most people had this problem. I'm reading Letters of the Scattered Brotherhood right now and it's a treasure of a book. It speaks quite a bit on going into the silence, hushing the outer man.  If the Desert Fathers recognized the difficulty in meditating, certainly, we in our busy lives will find it near impossible.  But I think that the more we practice, the more we discipline ourselves, we will find that God is waiting to meet with us in the silence.

This section really spoke to me.  This is something I am certainly in need of practicing:

"May I say here that the mind cannot remember easily when it is full of criticism; you cannot afford to take umbrage, to have prejudices, nor hold to yourself these violent human emotions which flare up in human contacts.  Let them go and dwell in the source of all love, infinite love"

The only way I have managed at all during this time is to pray for those I resent.  To try to stay above the human drama and enter instead into the drama of Christ's love for me.  The drama of His birth, His death, and  enter, too, into my own dying to self for Him.

".....Prepare yourselves to be sons of God, rise to your full height and live most of your life in spirit while in the material world....The discipline of the body and the spirit is an exercise as old as time.  The conflict of body and spirit, joy and sorrow, has been an accompanying mystery;"


I am practicing this picture of my inner man rising above. Staying above with the peace that surpasses all understanding.  I heard a suggestion recently to breathe in with the thought, 'I am' and out with the thought, 'Peace'.

"I will give you a talisman to use in times of pressure, of drabness, of temptation.  Say, 'There is no measured time at this place, no future, neither is there a past.  I am in the eternal moment, the limitless, infinite, now.'"


Furthermore, I am in today.  Today only.  Only God know what tomorrow holds, so here and now, I am able to trust.



submitting at Playdates with God

Deeper

Update:

This last week has been rather magical.  I've been happily wallowing in writing time  As I go deeper into my story, I go deeper with God. And I am loving my searching main character. I have just a hint of what she finds and I'm excited for her. I just feel God's hand over me as I write and if nothing else, this is for me and Him.



"What is a novel if not a conviction of our fellow-men's existence strong enough to take upon itself a form of imagined life clearer than reality and whose accumulated verisimilitude of selected episodes puts to shame the pride of documentary history?" - Joseph Conrad

submitting at Playdates

Church

"Prayer is a strong wall and fortress of the church.."  Martin Luther

God is good.  All the time.

 Yesterday I wrote about my struggle with church going.  And then I prayed like I said I would.  And I went to night service at a new church.

And it was wonderful.  And I knew.  Knew that this was God's plan.  That He had answered my prayers.  That He had met me where I was.

The sermon was just what I needed.  Exactly.  And even what was spoken on was confirmation to my struggle.

How many prayers does He answer every day that I fail to notice?

 I love when He opens my eyes.  And I pray for continual sight.

Counting:


Words, spoken and unspoken
Answered prayer
Hearing God
Confirmations
birthdays
homemade anything
boys reading
girls playing




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Following the Rules

"I say this because there is an uneasiness in things just now. Waiting for something to be over before you are forced to notice it. The pollarded trees scarcely bucking the wind and yet it's keen, it make you fall over. Clabbered sky. Seasons that pass with a rush." -John Ashbery

Glad to be in a new week.

Contented, even, to be in a new season, though the shift of seasons can be rough.

Seasons, so metaphorical for a reason.

As the air, the leaves turn, so we do and our children.

We skipped church yesterday.  That is, we passed on the hoopla that can sometimes surround worshiping in a church building.  We stayed in and did church at home.  We read about the Ten Commandments and we played a Bible board game.

And we learned.  A lot.  Mostly about sin nature and how it always fights against rules.  The game was played and the game was won. It's all fun and games till someone loses.

 And one of the children could not handle the fact that they were not the winner.  The names, 'Cheater' and 'Liar' were thrown out against the winner. And I was faced with this child asserting an attitude I had not yet noticed in his years here.  I was faced with a problem which required wise parenting.  Really, I could just not believe that this anger was coming out of my son...over losing a game.   And so.... a discussion ensued.

We talked about truth and winning and losing and making up rules to suit our own desires.  There were tears but it was an important lesson we all learned.  I feel like God knew something needed to be addressed in this growing boy.  Something needed to be tamed.  So we fought that battle.  But the war wages in us all continually, only to be won by prayer.


Counting:


lessons learned (even the hard way)
church where you're at
tears that change you
revelation

Time

There never seems to be enough time in the day.

But this I know- there are hours in the morning which I could utilize and I don't.   Because I'm sleeping.

I'm tired.  Very tired.  And I let the illness excuse me from the morning opportunity which I know is a fruitful time for me.

So, I sleep in and I take a couple of cups of coffee to get going and by the time we start our day, it is late.  Later than I'd like.

And I've had whiles when I've woken early, before the kids; and fatigued or not, my day goes better.  Yawning smiles.  Because the quiet time, the prayer, has happened deliberately.  The discipline.  And I'm built up for what may come in any given day.

And this is not a legalistic thing.  Because I don't feel condemnation.  God can work with me wherever I am and if I give Him these afternoon hours while I blog, I'm sure He's fine with that.  But I know in my heart, that mornings for us are better.  I've even asked Him in times past to waken me in the morning, early.  And He did!  For about a week.  And I kept going back to sleep.  That's okay.  Rest, He gives me, too.

But when I come back to the thought, that there's not enough time in the day for all that must be done, the reminder of the morning comes.

Naturally, I am not the best with time management.  I don't need to be.  But if I start my day off on the right foot, chances are, I'll hear His voice more clearly through the day, be guided more easily into right priorities.

Maybe soon, you'll find me here, early.


And counting:
paths and journeys
God whenever
Here
cuddly dogs
boy on the trampoline
September

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How Many Times

There are days when words don't roll in easy.  Not because of lack.  No, the words whisk inside my brain, they just don't always make much sense when strung together. I cannot knead them into smooth form. There is no outline.

And, too, I get to a place every now and then, when I'm just sick and tired of my words.  Sick and tired of a lot of things.  My words, my moods, my surroundings.  And then I figure out that it's me I'm sick of.

Sometimes, the meeting of God means the ushering in of tears.  And I thought I was ready for it all but it's hard, healing.  I've cried more in the last week than I have in the last year.  These words written are what I fear.  Which bring apprehension and sometimes self-condemnation, even self-hatred. That fear I can taste that I'm opening myself up to sympathy I don't want.  Because it touches such a sore spot for me, letting you in.  To exhibit any weakness, to show raw truth.  But if I don't, then what?  I only postpone the pain.  So, I come here and I choose courage and I share because I'm asked to and then I can more easily let it alone.

Yesterday, I skipped church.  I shouldn't have.  I wanted to isolate and be sad, I guess.  I wasn't choosing joy.  And this morning I had a dreaded doctor's visit.  Not dreaded because of any news or tests, just a routine visit to get set up with a doctor now that we've moved.  I didn't want to go.  I'm sick of my sickness.  I'm done with it.

What does this mean?  That I've allowed God to heal me or that I've decided to not let it define me?  No, unfortunately.  It means I've stopped taking my medication.  It means I was tempted to sabotage my appointment by not registering online. It means I listened to the doctor outwardly but inside was really hating him because it's somehow his fault that I have to be there.  And he listed about a million things he wants me to do.  And I said okay.  But I don't feel okay with it.  I'm angry.  I'm angry that I have a disease that means I have to do anything.  And when those stupid tears came in the sterile office and then we had to have the dreaded conversation about anti-depressants I felt like dying.  Wow, dramatic much?

Okay.  My ten second ( I know it was much longer than that) pity party time is up.

So, I came home and I was still mad.  And I had so wanted today to be okay.  I wanted yesterday's pain to be done and over and yet here I was in my tomorrow, still feeling ick.  And then I read Ann Voskamp's blog like I usually do.  And it was about Sara, whose heart I only last week discovered.  And she chose joy.  And, I, who am mostly fine, too often do not.  I need to.  How many times do I have to be reminded?

So then, now I've had my little rant.  Yeah, life's not fair.  But what did I read the other day?  It's not fair for all of us therefore that makes it fair for all of us.

So, I pray and I write and when sick of myself and my words, I listen to what God is trying to tell me.  I accept His words because they are gentle.


Counting the gifts:

His gentle words,
poetry
doctors
healing
tears
hearing what I need to when I need to

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a holy experience
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Today - Play

Today I am not inclined toward handstands.... but maybe I need to be.

Today the kids want to play.  I say, "It's Monday, there's stuff to do."

But what if I gave up stressing? Gave up the worry, just right now and said, "It's okay that you all have built a fort in the living room, that there's a million barbies everywhere, that you want yet more toys out...so what,  let's just play."

What if these were my words, my thoughts for today rather than the financial worries, the schoolwork tensions.

 Would it be so unacceptable if today I remembered to be grateful that my kids are still young enough to play and that this time is short. What if I just changed perspective?

Grateful today for:


living room forts
cartwheels on carpet
baby sentences
the cooling weather
a job in today's economy
prayer
casting my cares on Him

On the Cusp

It's the surprise of these threatening tears that prophesies a breakthrough, beautiful and painful.

Submission for Write on Wednesdays and The Creative Exchange
So much recently has shown me that I am just on the cusp.  That there is so much further to go but I have to be willing to look back at my past and face it. Shed light to see light.  And in my silence, God challenges me to let the tears run, but I hold them back, thinking this strength. But this is an illusion of strength.  I am weak.  I am afraid to look where He gently turns my eyes.  I hear Him challenging me on my concept of forgiveness.  And when it's close enough to grasp, I recoil.  "What will happen to my pain, if I choose to forgive?"  He answers that He knows, He sees, He understands, is that enough?  
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