You and me, God

This day--this unique gift from God--is holding me so gently. Just after sunrise, I snuggle in bed with prayer and daily Bible study. Then I pray some more, asking God about the morning bike ride. My two biking buddies had called in, unable to ride today, and I 'm not at all sure about going out on my own.

"Sweet daughter, you are never on your own. I am ever with you."

Oh, God . . . thank You for that reminder. And off I go, into a town washed clean by several days of rain, down a bike path often within eye-and-ear-sight of one of the most beautiful creeks I've ever seen.

Back home, I take time to notice the flowers in my yard making their presence known, completely forgiving of the fact that I haven't given them any gardening love yet, and weeds would try to choke them out . . but weeds fail. Blossoming beauty is just too strong, too insistent . . . as is mine.

This precious awareness of God's with-me-ness--and my beauty in His sight--continues to wrap me in comfort, this very moment.

In just a few minutes, my son and a friend will be here to take away this king-sized bed . . . the family bed . . . the one I've been alone in these past 8 years. This Sunshine room will become my sewing room, as a love of working with fabrics resurges after years of dormancy.

Later this afternoon, a brandnew, full-sized bed will be delivered, destined for the Kiwi room. Soon, this place will be my new bedroom, dressed and decorated in a way that shows my soul is at home here.

I am so deeply grateful for a growing, sturdy sense of being complete in God . . . of being whole and loved and needed by my heavenly Parent.

May you, too, feel the beauty of your child-of-God-ness unfolding from deep within you.

Cracking Open

In the previous post I made reference to "years and years of hardshell hurt cracking open." The past few weeks have been gloriously, painfully, messily, joyfully more of that same newbirthing.

These precious tulips, right outside my front door, open up to the sun, just like I've been doing.

Here's what's left of my heirloom peony bush in its original space. Because of needed repairs to my house, it has to be relocated to another part of the yard. Last fall I excavated as much as I could, but this clump remained, its heartroot exposed all winter.

And yet despite all my rough shoveling and an inhospitable winter, nothing stops its persistent growth.

In just a few weeks, these homely stubby shoots will bear the weight of the most glorious blossoms, a fushcia and marigold explosion of joy.








These sturdy flowers will have to survive more transition, though. Their home for nearly 20 years needs to be relocated. So in this spring warmth, I will go out and dig as deeply as I can, yet as gently as I am able, and move them to another garden.

I have no doubt that they, too, will find a way to survive . . . to blossom . . . to thrive.

Well, hello there . . .

Here I am again, after a nearly 7-month silence. My last posting, titled "Room to Grow," may have been prescient. Some dear family members went through some upheavals and I was deeply involved in their resettling and finding new stability. I have no clue, though, why that resulted in my absence from this blog, which I love.

So what brought me back, you ask? Why, this . . . .

And what is this, you continue to ask?

There it is again, against my luscious peachy front door.

Still puzzled? Okay . . this should explain it . .

Yep, that's me, in my brand-new, favorite-of-all-time, bathrobe. We won't mention that it is 1 in the afternoon . . .or that I'm still unshowered . . . Let's draw attention, instead, to the post-it note captured in the photo, which reads, "Ah . . . you never give up." I'm proud to be able to claim that as a truth.

Okay, let's get real. Why, with all the struggles in the world, am I writing about a bathrobe? And why in the world would that be the reason for me to finally start posting again here on my blog, after more than half a year away from it?

Well, if you expected some high-flown, straight-from-a-Zen-mountaintop answer, you need to look elsewhere :) . I'm as surprised as the next person, to find myself downstairs, at the computer, posting this message. It was absolutely nowhere in my conscious thoughts.

Ah . . . but underneath the surface of those everyday, usually rational thoughts, now teems a whole ecosystem of fresh hope, burgeoning joy, renewed faith. As if years upon years of hardshell hurt is cracking open. As if the real and pure child-of-God me is finally finding her way into the light of day. Not just peeking into the light, but moving out into the glorious center of it.

Thanks to my dear daughter's keen eye, I bought the pink robe yesterday at a quarter of its original price. Snuggled in it last night. Laid it near my pillow and played with its luxuriant softness during wakeful times in the night. Drew its comfort across bare shoulders in the pre-dawn chill of those last few hours of sleep. Got up and zipped myself into its embrace and have cuddled in it all morning.

I can't effect world peace. I can't undo decades of heartsore aches and pains for myself or others. I can only greet the day with child-like trust in my Creator. I can pray with a heart and soul open to possibility of healing. And I can give thanks for the sweet and simple joy of a raspberryluscious, cuddlywarm robe, wrapping me in the remembrance that we are all deeply, deeply loved.

Room to Grow

Over the past several years,  this tree has grown from a spindly random sprout into a giant, towering over my home. Countless hours have been spent in its shade, semi-secluded from neighbors, thinking, writing, reading, laughing, praying, crying, eating, wondering.

A few springs ago, I woke to a freak May snowstorm that had dumped a foot of heavy wet snow over everything newly green. My dear tree, my shelter from life's storms, had split down the middle.

A tree-fixer person gave me a plan to save it, which a friend executed. This tree has done much for me over the past several years as I've been learning to live alone. I will do much for it in return, to help it survive its own battles with whatever would threaten its existence.  

.

This afternoon, I got out my saw and removed chunks of the 18-year-old bench that had been installed a decade before this tree even dreamed of sprouting. Two other times I'd taken a sliver out of the bench, but recent growth had the tree beginning to dislodge the planks. As my saw bit through the final inch of lumber,

I swear I heard the tree sigh in relief.

My tree taught me that sometimes things need to be cut away, in order to give room to grow.

What in your life is squeezing too tightly?

Still More Joy

The power behind these words steadies me:

Don't postpone joy

until you have learned all your lessons.

Joy is your lesson.

~Alan Cohen *

I'm home now, after five days away--five days overflowing with God's transformative teaching. I'm unsure where to start this day, what task to put my hand to.  How do I allow what I've learned this past week to inform my daily life?

Still unsure, I listen. And listen some more.

Gratitude bubbles up for the beauty immediately surrounding me.

And I turn to this poem by Violet Ker Seymer, #16 in the Christian Science Hymnal:

As sings the mountain stream, Past rock and verdure wild,

So let me sing my way to Thee, Thy pure and happy child.

O boundless source of might, My praise must e'er increase,

For Love is Life eternally, Whose blessings never cease.

I sing my way to-day, My heart is joyous, free,

For what is Thine is ever mine, I find myself in Thee.

And I do find blessing. Peace. The courage to take one step forward, into this day.

* for a ridiculously wonderful overflow of joy, visit PersistentGreen.com

Joy, Freely Given

Today I dedicate this blog post to a fellow artist whose generosity of spirit overwhelms me.

Amanda, persistentgreen.blogspot.com, has long been a source of inspiration to me. Her commitment to a vibrant, juicy, artistic life spurs me to aim for the same.

On Amanda's blog for today, persistentgreen.blogspot.com, she has launched her first e-book and wonder of wonders, is offering it as a gift. Wow.

My copy is already downloaded and printed out and displayed, eye level, at the nexus of my home.

I plan to change the pictures often, as the spirit moves me. In fact, as I was taking these pictures, I switched out the pages--look closely and you can tell!

Already, after only a few hours of walking past these vibrant pages, the level of joyful expectancy bubbling in me has risen markedly. I am finding joy everywhere, even on the sticky wrapper from a recently slurped down waffle cone :)

Amanda, sister artist, lovely  human being, fellow child of God--I salute you. And I thank you.

Fresh Start

Hello, dear ones.


This spring for me has been juicyfull with growth and new beginnings. I do so hope you have been having the same. Don't get me wrong: a lot of that growing has felt like the hacking of a hoe as it breaks up winterhard ground. Given a choice, I would have wanted to decline, except for the knowledge, hard won, that prepared ground receives seed far more easily.


During the past couple of weeks, I've been away at a Bible study conference in California. Deep diving into the Book of Books, at Asilomar ("refuge by the sea") on the Big Sur coast . . . for me, it doesn't get much better than that.



I've been home a handful of days now, spirit-saturated with an overflowing of gifts from the Divine: peace, direction, possibility, wonder, gratitude, hope, and so much more that dances just beyond the reach of words.


I'll let these images of the vision board I made yesterday speak to what I'm feeling. If the text is too small to read, try clicking on the image--that should enlarge it. [Nope, I just tried clicking and nothing happened. I'll add the text.] [Ah . . a lesson in dropping perfectionism--the first image was supposed to be last, but it got jigglebumped into the first spot, and I can't move it. Okay. I surrender. Happily.]

that big pink "empty" spot insisted on remaining "empty"

(the whole picture)

Something beautiful is happening.

Rediscover

. . . you owe it to yourself to experience

a true breakthrough

effortless and fluid

as if lit from within

emerge

lean into the mirror and say . . . wow

Dear fellow journeyers: may you feel God's tender touch today. Share with me, if you like.