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.