Drinking it in

It's raining today: a steady, soaking rain. After a fairly dry summer - we had to water our garden to keep it growing - the trees, grass and shrubs are enjoying the rain.  They are drinking it in gratefully, the leaves perking up where they've been drooping and the grass seeming greener than before.

All of us need that experience of a good, refreshing, cool drink of water ... whether physical or spiritual ... to keep us supple and nourished inside and out. 

It got me to thinking today about what nourishes and feeds me. I have plenty to eat, and clean water to drink, which makes me far richer than over a billion people in the world.  I also have a roof over my head that keeps the extremes of cold and heat out, and more than one outfit to wear - again, more than what billions have - and most days, I take these things for granted!

Photo "Autumn Gold" courtesy of Simon Howden
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

But as Thanksgiving approaches, I find myself feeling gratitude bubbling up from within, for many of the things I normally don't even think about. 

I have so many blessings, not the least of which are those loved ones who live with me: my husband and family (including the four-legged kids too!) who always believe in me, and always look out for my well-being. As Dory said in Finding Nemo, "When I look at you, I'm ... I'm home!" I can't begin to express the degree to which their presence in my life brings me a sense of joy and completion. I only hope that someday they will get an inkling of how important and amazing they are to me.

Sharing the little events of each other's days, the joys and the sorrows, the ups and the downs: these are blessings. Living in the moment, just as creation does, loving every raindrop, every sunbeam, every bit of provision from the Creator, is curiously rejuvenating.  Experiencing all of this with the people I love is quite the trip, and yes, I am drinking it in, like a refreshing thunderstorm after a dry spell. It restores me, makes me whole, and gives me a boost to keep going. I need that, just like I need air ... just like the plants need rain. 

New Pathways

I am treading the last few yards of a familiar pathway. I know this pathway; I have been on it for decades. And ahead, I see all that is not familiar, all those things I have dreamed of but have never dared to imagine could be real. 

It is getting closer and closer the more I step forward. The fear of the unknown is mounting. And then I see signs of safety and security as I move ahead. There is a bridge over a boggy place. It is a sturdy bridge - if narrow - with handrails to guard me and support me in case I slip. 

I got this photo free on Pixabay! Check
them out at www.pixabay.com

The view in the distance is peaceful and inviting, even though I cannot see every step ahead of me. I hear the voices of those who will be my guides into this new territory. Their voices give me strength. I hear behind me the encouraging voices of those who have been with me for years, people whom I trust and who will be supporting me emotionally - even if they won't be there physically. 

My trembling heart steadies itself. Even though I will be alone physically in some ways, I will never be alone in spirit. This fact gives me courage, like the handrail on the bridge, an assurance that my steps will not falter.

I cannot see what the path looks like beyond the next bend. But ... I have solid shoes from my mentors, and a backpack full of training to sustain me, and I know that I will have what I need when I need it, and someone to watch over me in case I stumble. I am ever so grateful for that, because in the path ahead, there will be many opportunities to make mistakes. Just knowing that I will have a guide close by me is comforting. 

I know that I will have some important steps to take in my own personal journey. Part of that journey will be the alone part, learning how to stand on my own two feet and not let others do for me what I can do for myself. A big part of it will also be shedding the baggage of the past, throwing off the coping mechanisms that served me well as long as I was in danger from people who held power over me. Now that I am aiming to be someone to whom people will come for help, I need to get rid of all of those old left-over attitudes and behaviors like the rest of Lazarus' grave clothes. I need to "not be trapped in the patterns my life has set for me" anymore, as Russ Taff sang many years ago. (Okay I just listened to that song on YouTube and ended up in tears - it's been years since I heard it and wow, was it just what I needed!) 

The path ahead will not be easy at times. I know that. However, I believe that it will lead me to a better place, to more secure footing, and to a position where - instead of feeling helpless and dependent on others - I can come alongside and help them instead.

The View from Here

A dear friend of mine called me yesterday morning to ask a favour - which I gladly granted - and we got to talking (as we usually do) about everything and anything, sharing the things on our hearts, and so forth.

It got me to thinking about how many (easy and hard) things I have experienced in my life, and wondering how much more there is to experience.  Ten years ago, if you had told me that I would be doing the things I am today, holding the opinions I have today, feeling as blessed as I am today, and planning the career I am planning today, I would have laughed SO hard.  Never would I have believed you.  

And yet, as I look around me, I have a sober and fully present soul-mate: my husband has been returned to me and we have enjoyed to the full his last six-plus years of sobriety.  I have his love and the love of my children (one here, one in Heaven).  I have the loving care of my dearest friends who are like family to me.  I have a job that is fulfilling and that pays me enough money to pay the bills and go to school at the same time.  I have a second career planned in connection with that schooling, and I have a renewed sense of self-respect and self-care that has allowed me to rid myself of excess baggage and stress in my life. Or, maybe, getting rid of the baggage and stress has allowed me to have more self-respect and self-care; I don't know.  

Photo "Monarch Butterfly" courtesy of
Liz Noffsinger at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I have been in this chrysalis (cocoon) for a long time.  It feels as though who I was ten years ago has been slowly liquefied and another being has been forming, irrevocably changed at a fundamental level.  I cannot go back to who I was.  It is unthinkable; I am not her anymore.  I am "becoming a person" as Carl Rogers would say.

That catches me off-guard occasionally.  In a way, I don't recognize myself sometimes anymore; I do and say things now that I never would have done or said back then. Some of them are not as "polite" or "nice" as before, but then again, back then I was terrified of people not liking me, so I held back.  Not so much anymore. My fears are vaporizing, one by one.  I know that I do feel freer, more comfortable in my own skin. 

I miss certain things, certain people.  However, in some cases, the need for some of those people and things has served its purpose and it has passed, and I can do nothing except move on.  (I can hardly believe my ears as I say that. It's such a radical difference, coming from the "hang-on-for-dear-life" queen!)  I am growing and developing as a person.  Mind you, I have quite a ways to go yet, but I am improving.  

I don't think I am quite as self-righteously judgmental as I used to be (I still have some distance to cover on that at times).  I talk with people I would have crossed the street to avoid ten years ago.  Some people that I was drawn to back then (specifically the super-religious and super-ambitious types), I am repulsed by now because ... I guess ... their attitudes and speech remind me of where I used to be and what I thought was "right" - the problem was, I was more interested in being "right" and being seen favourably than I ever was about caring about people. That is changing ... thank God.  When I hear people being racist, or fat-ist (prejudiced against fat people), or elitist (prejudiced against someone based on their bank account or their bloodlines), or able-ist (prejudiced against someone for having [or not having] a visible disability) or homophobic, I am far more likely to speak out against it, rather than stay silent (or worse yet, laugh along with it.) 

I realize with some surprise that I have slowly allowed myself to take up space, and to have a voice, in the world.  Before, I wanted to disappear, to blend into my surroundings: I was a chameleon. It is a perfectly good skill to have if you are in an abusive relationship from which you cannot escape.  But ... I don't live in that atmosphere any more, so I am learning new skills. I still have those old skills if I need to use them, but I am seeing less and less of a need to do so.  I have learned that - as an adult - I have the choice to walk away from a relationship if it is abusive.  Or I can expose the abuse, since it tends to crouch in dark corners and avoid detection (that is how it survives.  Why not shine a bright light on it?). I - who avoided confrontation at all cost - can stand up to something that hurts me or hurts someone I love.  Huh.  Who knew?  

The view where I started, at the base of this mountain, was pretty daunting. It was littered with random boulders and strewn with debris and the occasional shrub.  I could only see in my own immediate vicinity, my own little irritations and pet peeves, my own futile attempts to climb. Overhead, dark clouds loomed, and the sun seemed very far away. 

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but I do know when:  about six or seven years ago, I started shedding the chameleon skin (in therapy) and it was like someone from above threw me a rope that was anchored into solid rock, and attached to that rope was some climbing gear - it was a mess for a while until I figured out (mostly) how it worked and started climbing.  I am nowhere near the top now, but occasionally, I am able to put a knot in my rappelling line and turn around... and the dark clouds don't seem so ominous anymore.  I can even see a few rays of light ... and more square mileage than just my own little corner.  The things that previously seemed so random look more like a great mosaic, pieces of things put together that when you get far enough away from them, look like a work of art. 

I see others in the distance, other would-be climbers who are stuck in their own little corners, and I know that eventually I will be able to throw them a rope and some gear, too. I find myself looking forward to being able to do that, to trust my own gear enough to be able to help them use theirs.

That's a good feeling.  For now, though, I think I see the next foothold. And above that, a ledge ...

Same same

There is a [word-] sign used by the local deaf community that means "Same" - it looks like the ASL sign for the letter Y - as shown - but the hand is not raised up but facing the floor (in other words, palm side down). The hand goes back and forth horizontally a couple of times between the two items or people being compared, as if sliding back and forth on an unseen table. If the deaf person talks when he or she signs, the words that come out are "Same-same." 
The idea usually is that the thumb and pinky point toward what or who is involved in that comparison. 

That doesn't mean that differences don't exist. It just means that at some level, there is something essentially the same about those two things or people. 

Illustration "Sign Language And The
Alphabet,the Letter Y" by
taesmileland at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And that sign can be a complete sentence when the second component is added - facial expression. Take for example the comparison between two people. I've seen my deaf friends sign "same-same" over the years with amazement, sympathy, sarcasm, boredom, delight, disgust, and a whole host of other reactions that convey tone of voice - something that (as yet) the printed word cannot do very well. 

I was thinking about this sign a couple of days ago and it came to me that no matter how same-same people think they are, there is always something that is different. And not just different, VASTLY different - just like the pinky and the thumb point in nearly opposite directions. 

And no matter how different people are, there is always something that is the same between them, just as the pinky and the thumb are part of the same hand and signifying (in their differences) that they are same-same. Basic feelings are the same regardless of gender, gender identity or socioeconomic class; the colour of the blood is identical regardless of the colour of the skin. 

I might feel uncomfortable around someone because of our differences, but looking for common ground helps me to accept that person and acknowledge his or her right to take up space. And ... (this is a more subtle but just as important a distinction) just because I might share an identity label (same workplace, same church, same family relationships for example) with someone else, it doesn't give me the right to assume that this person thinks or believes or has the same values as I do. 

Or that the person can automatically be trusted because of that one similarity. 

Or that someone of another group is automatically untrustworthy because of the differences between us. 

"Peoples is peoples," a wise man once said. (Pete from Pete's Diner in Jim Henson's "The Muppets Take Manhattan", haha). More and more, I'm coming to live my life on that simple principle. Each person is capable of both good and evil. 

My quest in recovery from the chains of my own limitations is to find the people in my life that I can trust, the ones who help me be truly me (without trying to make me exactly the same as they are in every respect), and then surround myself with them. And to discover those - while I might care about them - who are toxic to me, who try to manipulate or control me ... and to distance myself from them. To make sure that the "sameness" between my circle of friends and myself is concentrated in the things that matter most to me, and to let go of the differences that would tear me down and hinder my growth.

It's a tall order, but no other human being has the right to do it for me.

Clearing the decks

A couple of days ago at work, I started gearing up for a two-week vacation that is coming up at the end of August.  I figured it would take me about two weeks to get rid of a few niggling (and time-consuming) things that I've been putting off doing and which have slowly been piling up.  Not so much work-related things (although there IS enough of that to keep me busy too!) but just little papers I never filed, notes I took at meetings and never put away, clutter I allowed to build up (okay, six empty water bottles is too many ... and how many used post-it notes can one person produce??), and general organizing, filing, and getting rid of waste and inefficiency. 

Found this photo HERE

So the last few days I've been setting a little time aside to 'clear the decks.'  I don't want to leave anything behind, sitting, waiting for my return, when it could be done before I leave. 

Two weeks doesn't sound like a long time but it can mean the world of difference for someone waiting for a decision I could make, that may bring them some much-needed cash.  So one of my goals is to finish every file that is still sitting on my desk, and then only bring one file at a time to my desk after that. Another is to be able to see at least half of my non-computer-related desk surface.  

I've made some changes to how I do things which have improved my ability to find what I want when I want it. 

The whole time I have been doing these things, I've felt guilty for "not working" ... until I reminded myself that by taking this extra time to streamline my work station and to make things easily accessible (and get rid of the non-essentials) I'm actually going to be able to work faster and better in the long run.  

And it's starting to pay off.  

Don't get me wrong.  I'm never going to be the kind of person who has absolutely NO clutter on her desk ... or in her house.  My husband and kids will testify to that!!  I've always believed that a spotlessly clean desk (or house, or garage) is a sign of a sick mind, perhaps even obsessed with control and domination.  But too much disarray can also clutter the healthy mind ... and the last few weeks, I was starting to feel hemmed in! (Which, if you know me and my high tolerance of the 'slob factor', is SAYING something...) 

And it seems that while the mess has been accumulating, my inner mess has as well. When I started clearing the decks ... I felt something resonate inside and the desire is growing - exponentially - to set my own spiritual house in order. Again.

Funny how that happens.  

Here we go again.  :D

Carried along

The landscape was peculiar; rocks and trees jumbled together in a nearly impossible to navigate path before her.  She'd been told that the creatures in the wood could take her to where she wanted to go - but it meant letting go of her need to be in control.  All around her, inside her head, she could hear the voices of those who had urged her to go and stand in this place.  

She pondered her decision.  She could go back.  She could choose the safety of what she'd always known.  Or she could decide to call upon those foreign creatures she'd only heard about, who, surefooted as they were clever, would take her safely there - if she held on tight.  She wondered how they would know how to find her. 

Finally she thought, "Yes.  This is where I would like to go.  I need to find one of those crea-"

Immediately, she felt a gigantic, broad beak darting between her legs from behind, and scooping her up.  She slid on her buttocks, terrified, down the long, narrow, stubbled neck and onto the broad, feathered shoulders.  From atop her perch, the dangerous rocks below looked so far away and she was gripped with a sense of panic.  This was too soon.  This was too high.  She didn't know the way.  And what (God forbid) if she fell off? She slid back a bit, and tucked her legs under its warm wings.

Instinctively she gripped the bird-creature's torso with her legs.  It squawked and began to move, deftly navigating with its sturdy, long legs the sharp rocks that would most certainly kill her if she fell on them from this height. The speed was so much faster than she imagined.  She gulped, and grabbed the base of the wings with her hands to help her balance.

No turning back now.  She leaned forward to compensate for the bird's rapid acceleration, blinking rapidly to release the tears that the wind brought to her eyes.

It was two weeks ago. 

"Yeah, you'll make a good one, that's a great idea!  Why don't you go for it?" this one person urged me. 

I was still unsure, wondering about this scenario or that one.  "You could always ask the 'what if' questions.  You'll never know unless you try." No matter how I tried to escape it, that logic kept coming back.  Finally I decided to at least ask my questions.  They were all answered - patiently. My co-worker didn't push me and respected my right to make a decision on my own. 

Thus began my reluctant induction into the halls of representing my colleagues before management - also known as being a union rep or in the organization's jargon, a steward.  I had no idea what I was getting into.  But I had asked my questions and objection after objection had disappeared.  I was faced with one question - whether I thought I could make a difference to my peers in improving their work atmosphere.  

When I finally decided to 'go for it' - I was surprised at how quickly the wheels started turning after that. I was invited to meeting after meeting - all in the space of a few weeks.  It was all a little - well, not quite overwhelming, but almost.  My short description, above, describes many of the sensations I felt.  

This is way outside my comfort zone.  I am not by nature a confrontational person; I know some who thrive on it ... but I am not one of them.  Having to "raise concerns" before people who have the right to have me dismissed, is all a bit much for me.  However, I am confident that what my guides tell me is true, and that we will eventually arrive at our destination.  

I know that this experience will stretch me.  Of course, "stretching" hurts.  I'd briefly (and conveniently) forgotten that.  Yet I have the assurance that this process will give me a unique perspective, help me see the big picture and be involved in some frank discussions with senior executives without fear of reprisal. 

I must admit, that assurance of equality does intrigue me.  I wonder if I'll be able to overcome my fears and act appropriately on behalf of those I represent.  I guess I do need to remember that I'm not in this alone.  I have the support of those stewards who have gone through this before, and I also have the support of my peers.

I know that this is but one more step in becoming all that God has been leading me into the last few years, and that He will continue to be faithful, to be with me, to continue to lead me one step at a time, one day at a time.

I just wonder when - or if - or even where - this particular ride will end.  But I'm willing to give it a go. 

Off Centre

One of my favorite things to do with my school supplies when I was going to school was to play with my geometry set.  I'd trace around the protractor, the two triangles, and draw circle after circle with my compass.  

Drawing the circle was tricky on thin paper because it was so very easy to allow the central point of the compass to shift in the middle of drawing it. The result would be anything BUT the circle I intended. The ends wouldn't meet, and it would look sloppy.  It took practice to get it to stay put while the pencil went around and formed the circumference, touching exactly where it started. That central point was the anchor of the whole thing.  It was tricky to get it to work!

Spirograph art - here's the link

A similar diversion was my old Spirograph set. Yes, I had one!! I eventually lost the pins to hold the anchor bracket down to the paper, but that set of little plastic rings, cogs, pins and pens brought me more hours of "whoa-isn't-that-cool" than almost anything else in whatever free time I was allowed to have growing up.  

But the problem with the cogs and the ring was the same as with the compass. It depended on everything staying where it was supposed to stay.  I ruined countless Spirograph artworks because the cog - or the pins - slipped out of the anchoring ring.  The result - usually a dark mark bisecting the entire masterpiece - was not salvageable.  And that was in the days before erasable pens.  ;) So, I found the best way to do it successfully was to make sure it was all anchored well before starting, and to take my time while allowing the cogs to carry the pen - while I concentrated on keeping the pressure against the wheel steady.  Just as I had learned with the compass.  

Everyone needs an Anchor that won't slip away or shift.
I know Who mine is.
I wonder what - or who - is yours?

Get a good grip

You probably would not guess by looking at me, but I love to golf.  I'm not very good at it, but I love to do it.  (I haven't been able to lately for two reasons: my health and my finances). 

One of the first things you learn to do is how to hold the golf club so that the ball will fly straight and long.  It's a delicate balance - you want to hold it tight enough so it doesn't slip, but loose enough so that you don't throw off your whole swing (and sacrifice both distance and accuracy) by tightening up your muscles.  Once the club is pointed in the right direction, a perfectly great golf swing can be ruined by a poor grip.  Too tight and you hook or slice the ball... or you lean back and try to give'er - as the saying goes - and end up "topping" it so it only dribbles off the tee and bouncing about thirty feet ahead.  Not good.  Too loose, and the ball might go a long way, but the club will turn at the point of impact and send the ball in the wrong direction!

I will never forget what the person who taught me said about this. "Balance. Relax your core and keep your shoulders square, your feet lined up to where you want the ball to go.  Your stance should be natural, not contrived. Keep your eye on the ball at all times through the swing.  And remember above all things: it's golf, not baseball. It's not going to go farther if you lean back and put yourself out of balance. Finesse is more important than power."  

Here's the link for this photo!

Great life lessons!  

So is this one - courtesy of my husband.  "Don't compare yourself to the other player(s).  Golf is a contest but not with them ... it's with yourself. If you flub a shot, learn from it, let it go, and move on.  You're here to have fun, not to beat up on yourself."

But of all the things that I had to learn, the grip - I believe - was by far the most important, because it would complement or throw off everything else about my game.  Knowing how to handle that club was key for me to not lose my ball in the rough or miss hitting it altogether.  The reward for a good grip was that satisfying "sssnICK!" as the club face hit that ball right on the sweet spot... and my gaze would follow that ball straight down the fairway. Usually with my mouth open in amazement.

And at first - it felt so incredibly unnatural.  Grip it tight with these fingers but let those fingers flex with the shot.  Hook this finger around that one. No, not like that, like this.  (It was easy to tense up by this point).  Keep your wrists cocked until you get to the bottom of the swing and then straighten them out for impact and let them go again as you follow through.  Confusing?  OH yeah!

It was that way in my own journey of inner healing too.  I had to learn new skills I never had before.  Yes, keep holding on to this but let go of that.  Put this priority over that one, keep it there, no, now it's too far - tighten up this a little, loosen that, adjust your sights, now practice a bit.  See how that feels... (it felt ruddy awkward!!) Ah, you see? that's a good grip! (Really? how do people live like this?)

Eventually though, after a few successful swings at life - seeing the far-reaching results of even my own feeble efforts to live life without trying to beat it (or me) to death, I got a bit more used to the new normal.  And my life-game started to improve.

By no means have I broken a hundred yet.  But at least I'm getting a good grip.  I just need more practice.

Taking the red pill

I was reminded one evening recently, through something someone said, of the premise of the movie called, "The Matrix."  Okay that was a REALLY freaky movie, but it has almost a mythic truth to it.  There are so many applications ... but they all have one thing in common: stepping from a life you thought was genuine, into a whole new world that represents reality the way it is, even though that might be something totally opposite to what you thought was the way things were.

For those who haven't seen the movie, our hero, Neo, is a computer hacker, and one day he is kidnapped by some really strange people who take him to see an even stranger individual.  This person tells him that the world he knows is not the real world.  He has suspected something was amiss, but he's given a chance to find out for himself.  His contact from the real world gives him a choice: take the blue pill and wake up in your bed and never remember any of this bizarre experience, or take the red pill and find out the true nature of existence.

Neo takes the red pill - and is instantly and literally plunged into reality - a very disturbing reality which is far beyond anything he could have envisioned.  

He learns that human beings are actually "farmed" by a master alien race who provide a virtual reality dream-state for them to experience (the Matrix) while all the while, the life is slowly sucked out of them; when they die, their bodies are converted to fuel to feed the other humans who in turn feed the aliens.  The whole concept is very disgusting; it goes against everything we hold dear.  

The moment that Neo wakes up in the real world and sees how incredibly helpless he and his fellow human beings are in those little pods of slime, he is totally confused and doesn't know who to trust.  Fortunately his link to the "collective" is severed ... and he is again rescued by the one who opened his eyes.  He is nurtured and re-educated, allowed to rebuild his atrophied muscles, and given the chance to join a resistance movement to free his fellow human beings, one at a time, from this unwitting bondage.  He has to learn a whole new way of living, a whole new mindset, to be able to re-enter the Matrix (knowing that it is only an illusion), and to overcome the aliens and their allies through a computer interface.  

That period of transition, which starts with a willingness to be shown the true nature of living (taking the red pill), is always confusing and usually painful ... at first.  The new way of living feels unnatural, uncomfortable.  It takes a while to get used to and we are constantly in the process of un-learning and re-learning things we thought we knew.  Things we thought were true, aren't. Things we thought were our imagination turn out to be real.  We need to learn new boundaries, venture out toward new frontiers. 

It's not easy.  There are bumps in the road, and there are those who have been on the path we are on, who may have been there so long that they have become bored with or tired of the struggle - and they sell out to the evil entities  who would blind us to their existence and lull us back into that dream-state.  These changing allegiances is also part of the experience, though it is a painful one; only a friend can betray a friend - a stranger has nothing to gain (as one songwriter said).  Learning to deal with and then let go of those things is part of the new reality.  

Finally, when we "take the red pill" - we learn three important truths which remain, no matter how our world changes around us in the new reality.  (1) We are born into a world at war. (2) Things are not what they seem.  And (3) we have a vital part to play in waging that war.  

It's scary.  But we are loved, we are treasured, and our Rescuer believes in us and will never abandon us.

On the Cusp

In a discussion with my hubby last night, I told him that I felt like I was at the beginning of a new phase in my life.  I outlined some of the things I mentioned two posts ago - how there are changes happening in my life and I'm not really sure where they will take me.  

I feel as though I am on the cusp of a transformation.  

It's exciting. It's uncomfortable.  It's terrifying.

I like the word "cusp" to describe this feeling because it means "sharp point" - and carries with it the idea of (1) not being able to go back, (2) not being able to see what's next, (3) not being able to stay still (since it's sharp, it's not all that comfortable a place to stay), and (4) requiring a great deal of faith to take the next step into what appears like nothingness.  
 

Photo taken from this website:
http://andrewsidea.wordpress.com/2011/02/04/
indiana-jones-and-the-last-crusade-new-testament-imagery/

Like Indiana Jones did in The Last Crusade.  The defining moment in the film for me is when Indy (having passed two of the three challenges) takes off his hat, clutches it over his heart, takes a deep breath, puts his foot out in mid-air, and takes a step out into what appears to be a deep chasm.  

Talk about a leap of faith.  All Indy had to go on was a dusty old book with some cryptic instructions as to how to safely reach the room in which the Grail was kept.  "Only in the leap from the lion's head will he prove his worth."  

It's hard to escape the symbolism - but I won't go there today ... ;)

It is a scary and somewhat heady feeling, being on the cusp of so many new things all at once; I've noticed that at least in my life, this is what God does.  He lays groundwork for months, sometimes decades.  Then, as He gets closer to putting it all together, there's a feeling of anticipation, of uncertainty.  One step of faith at the right time, and then bang-bang-bang - all of a sudden I'm facing in a totally different direction than the one I thought I'd be facing ... and marveling at how He has caused things to fall into place.  Well, I am pretty sure that very soon, things are going to be at the leap of faith juncture.  I can feel the anticipation, the hesitation, the sense of not knowing how it will all turn out. Before, that feeling would drive me NUTS because I had to have things planned out 5 years in advance - and the "not knowing" (lack of security) was quite maddening.  In the last couple of years though, by means of this process of healing that I've been going through, my faith factor has increased.  As I trust God more, I find I'm better able to let go of my need to control the outcome - even if I AM scared.

I guess I don't need to know what's ahead anymore.  But I'm sure glad He does.

Hope Preferred

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I unequivocally hate the winter.  Everything about the winter.  The cold.  The snow. The ice.  The wind.  You get the picture.

But I don't think I would complain about it so much if I lived in say, southern Ontario, where winter lasts the length of time the calendar says it lasts.... you know, three months.

Not in Atlantic Canada.  

No, the cold weather starts in early November; the first snowfall is usually then, and it gets colder and colder until the first major snowstorm around New Year's Day.  Throughout the cold snap and thaw in January and the February deep freeze (the longest month of the year for me), and then the bitter winds of March, followed by the freezing rain / ice storms of April, the weather doesn't get warm again until nearly the first of May.  Almost six months.  It's not that we get a LOT of snow here.  Sometimes we do, sometimes not.  It's just that winter lasts such a LONG time.  If it wasn't for our maples and our other friends, I don't know what I'd do.

The maples are the first harbingers of spring.  They very slowly, very deliberately form a little bulge on the tips of their branches.  The promise of a bud.  It's then that I start listening, straining with my subconscious ears, for the next sign: the sounds of Canada geese, like little John Allen Cameron wannabes, returning from the sunny south.  And once I've heard that, I start looking out our living room window.  Not out at the lawn but down - down near the place where the house meets the ground, where some heat has escaped and made a mini-ravine behind the snowbank left by layer after layer of snowblower's leavings.  

In that small ravine I look for the hardiest, pluckiest souls of spring: the crocus. I try not to think about how they usually meet their end - in a howling Nor-easter that deposits ice half an inch thick on all the tree branches and bows the crocus blooms in humiliation to the earth for their optimism.

Once they have made an appearance, though, it does give me more hope. And hope is preferable to the despondency that sets in during the deepest, bleakest winter months of January through to March.  Once the crocus blithely poke their way through the snow, I know that there are only a few more weeks until my own personal official sign that spring will have finally arrived: when the last pair of robins has to settle for our now-budded maples in which to make their nest.  The robins in general avoid our property like the plague because we only have an indoor cat, and therefore every other outdoor cat in the neighborhood makes our garden its litter box; the smell of cat is everywhere to those sensitive bird nostrils.  

In the meantime, between the crocus and the robins, I thrill to the sound of mourning doves cooing on our rooftop early in the morning, as they speed-date their way to a nest full of eggs.  

Yes, that feeling of hope is preferred.  It means that the cruel and punishing icy gales are going to stop for another season, we'll be able to put away our bulky winter coats and enjoy more hours of daylight.

Some days, that hope, that assurance, is the only thing that gets me through the tough times when I wonder if winter will ever end.

It always does. Spring always comes.

As the Deer Pants

"As the deer pants for the water, so my soul longs after You..." (Psalm 42:1)

I used to hear this verse and have this picture of a deer peacefully drinking from a still lake at sunset.

But the picture is far from peaceful. A deer usually only pants when it has been running for a long time, pursued by hunters (usually with dogs). It heads for the water, deep into a river or a stream (the deeper the better) so that its scent can be hidden. It runs at top speed and will exhaust itself trying to get to the water - for only there can its life have a chance of being preserved. It will only quench its growing thirst from the water itself, after it is safe from its attackers.

The Psalmist had this mental image in mind when he wrote those words. He knew that only in God could he have a hope of having a real life. This is a picture of desperation - of intense desire, of knowing that God was his only source of safety.

I wonder - in this western culture of affluence and instant gratification - if we can grasp the concept that our only chance to truly live is in the knowledge and the awareness of the presence of God?