Thanksgiving

What a joy, on Thanksgiving Day, to host the gathering at my home. Daughter Amanda and husband Jason, son Ben and wife Jodi, son Matt and roommate Dave, Great Aunt Marge and I all shared a precious afternoon and evening.

We didn't lack for desserts!

After the meal, we chatted and played games around the table.

But just a few days before, that same area was completely torn up and "under construction." Many times I wondered what in the world I was doing, ripping up carpet and scrubbing walls, so close to company time.

But the desire for reconstruction of my home was too powerful to deny, or, evidently, even to delay.

The deconstruction part was nitty and gritty.

Housecleaning has taken a back seat in my life the last few years (or longer!), but even I was surprised at the amount of dust (allright--let's call it what it was: DIRT!) uncovered.

Dust. Dirt. Whatever you want to call it, every speck had to be uncovered, faced, cleaned up.

Into the bucket went every bent, rusty nail. Every scrap of worn-out, shredded wood.

Every old and broken dream. Every abandoned and outgrown hope.

No shortcuts. No easy way. Just inch-by-inch, slow and steady. Out with the old, to make way for the new.

Deconstruction. Reconstruction. Not necessarily easy, but oh my . . . how healing. How good for the soul.

For all this, and more to come, I give thanks.

[this is the end of the post. For some reason, I have a h-u-g-e amount of black space before the post ends. Sorry about that. I'm at the limit of my knowledge of how to fix it.]

Once Again, Ouch

Well, golly darn and gee whiz. I'm in Ouchland again. After my last post, I was intending for the next one to be upbeat. Jolly. Full of joy.

Oops. Didn't quite make it. That's why I put in this oh-so-lovely picture of the last bouquet of California poppies of the season. I'm trying to make myself smile. It's nearly impossible for me to be sad, when I look at these beauties.

Along with some hard work on my house, like ripping up carpet, moving heavy furniture . . . .

. . . and painting walls . . .

I'm also doing some renovation of the soul. Some reconstruction of the heart. And it's hard. I pricked my fingers on some carpet tacks earlier this evening. I can handle that. What really hurts is the follow-up email I just sent in which my bruised heart spoke.

In my half-century so far, I have not accumulated a very good track record with men. I do my best to give honesty and kindness, love and compassion. But so far, that sort of offering has pretty much backfired.

I won't give up. That's just not in me. But I do wish I could learn more of what I'm doing wrong.

In the meantime, I'll pull up some more nasty old carpet.

What are you working on in YOUR life?