The way that I should go

This weekend I met with a bit of unexpected freedom.  I was too busy to blog.  And I was okay with that.

"You're only here for a short visit. Don't hurry. Don't worry. And be sure to smell the flowers along the way." - Walter Hagen

I know that sounds silly but because of my somewhat obsessive nature, I had placed this regulation upon myself months ago that I would blog every day.   I make up imaginary rules for myself, sewing patterns of  pointless, restrictive routine.  Taking the fun and the good out of it all.

I haven't figured out what all prompts me into these sort of actions but I'm guessing it has to do with some need for control.  And perfection.  And that perfection drive was dealt with these last couple days as well.  Trying to calculate my final grade for the class I'm in, I realized that I'd forgotten to turn in two homework assignments two weeks ago.  I had completed the assignments but never submitted them.  Fifteen points in the class gone.  My 4.0 wiped out.  And, yeah, that's a bummer.  But I think there's a lesson there.  Striving for perfection is just plain stupid.  I'm not perfect.  And why do I need to be?  What is a 4.0 going to matter in Heaven?  Or even in life for that matter?  Why do I add worries and requirements and rules to my life that God doesn't?

At times (many times) by brain seems to feed off chaotic, flitting and compulsive thoughts.

My soul and my body do not.

And so I'm choosing to take heed what God taught me this weekend.  To slow down, to take off all that hinders, to let the Spirit rather than the flesh lead.

And this means my blogging may be spotty.  So what.  Nothing depends on it.  I will come here but only as the Spirit leads.


"Let me know the way that I should go,
   because I long for you...Teach me to do your will, because you are my God.
May your good Spirit lead me on level ground.." Psalm 143: 8,10


"...let us throw off everything that hinders..." Hebrew 12:1






playdates with God, the creative exchange, capturing beauty my perspective

Annika

This is my Annika.  My second child.  The one I feared I would never have.  But that's another story.

She came and she is a joy.  Her Nana calls this one, her sunshine, an apt description.  To know her is to love her.  Really.  She can make most smile.  She makes me smile every day.  She amazes me, as they all do but in different ways.

There are times, I think she is the most like me.  This is flattering myself.  But she is the little actress, the artist, the reader, the learner.  Wow.  Superstar.

 And she has the most amazing heart.  She will work for hours making a book, illustrating it, writing it.  And then announce she wants to give it to 'someone with cancer'.  She plays cooking games online.  Games with soft yoga music in the background and slow directions which require patience and which have no seeming goal.  She'll happily create crepes with these games.  She learns cooking tips online and knows more about cooking than I do, even though she's only six!

She's always encouraging.  She writes letters to her friends telling them that they are 'kind'. She teaches and sings to her little sisters.  She is her older brother's biggest fan.   She tells me every day that I'm the best mommy in the world.

I want to be like Annika when I grow up.

 Submitting at The Creative Exchange Wordless Wednesday Sweet Shot Tuesday  and Communal Global On Your Heart Tuesdays

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

Submitting at

a holy experience
macro monday
the creative exchange

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?  
Submission at