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.

I'm Back

Tonight's eastern sky, just before sunset.

I have no idea why so many weeks have elapsed between my last post and now. Or why, tonight, at 10 minutes after 10pm, I am suddenly here, writing. But here I am. I'm tired and ready for bed, and yet parts of my heart feel as sweetly fresh as this soon-to-be-blossoming lily, dressed in morning dew.

I feel as though I have been "in transition" forever and a day. Sometimes I honestly wonder if I will ever make it beyond transition. Will I ever grow to the point where old hurts are mainly healed? Will I ever manage to do much more than survive emotional crap?

Then I remember my new gratitude journal which gets written in multiple times a day. I remember the sharp sweetness of praying for friends in need these past weeks. I remember holy times of stillness recently when I have listened long enough, and deep enough, to feel God's presence so strongly I can almost touch it.

This, then, is enough. More than enough.

P.S. I've said it before, but will repeat it: it means a great deal to me when people leave comments. You don't need to say much. Just a "Hi there" means a lot. :)

Yes, YES, Y. E. S. !!

Like so many, I've trudged through a long winter this year. Snow and ice have brought their own unique beauty, but my heart has longed for nourishing warmth, for the freedom to be outdoors without the confinement of coats, mufflers, boots, and gloves. Like this scraggly persistent geranium, I too lean toward the light and press my face against the glass.


I can get so mired in my own difficulties. To offset that, I pray daily, often hourly, for God to keep my heart and soul tender towards others and their journeys. I ask God to help me fulfill what Jesus presented as the two great commandments: to love God with all our heart and soul and mind, and to love our neighbor as ourselves.

The people in Haiti. In Japan. A friend whose husband and life-long dance partner just passed away. A mother who cares for grandchildren because their daddy--her son--is in prison. I ask God to help me pray for all these people. And I ask Him to help me have the courage to do whatever it takes to see healing in my own life, to keep hope alive when progress seems measured in 100 steps forward and 99 steps back. Help me, God, to cherish that one step forward.

God answered those prayers this morning by nudging me out the front door, to inspect my gardens. Here, after just a little elbow grease (well, maybe more than just a little), fresh flowing water will sparkle and bubble.












Here the sun has kept watch all through the winter and tells me to turn him around, so that he can bring a fresh smile.




















Here, just out of sight underground, extravagantly fuchsia peonies are gathering themselves, ready to spring skyward and burst into glorious bloom.











Here, daffodils and tulips, lilies and irises, all quiver with new life and listen for their time to emerge.

And here, oh wonder of wonders, at the far end of the garden, in the spot nearest the sun, poised to get the most warmth and light of all, tiny blades of hope show their face and make me almost cry with joy.

Spring doesn't "begin" just when the growth shows. It lives inside us during any long winter of the soul, out of sight perhaps, but ever growing, through cycles of blossom and rest, renewal and flowering. We must never give up hope. Never give up believing. The day will arrive when the growth finally shows above ground and we can glory in the visible beauty. But until that day comes, the whole world needs us to keep believing. Believe in what we can't yet see, but what our heart tells us is still alive, still growing, deep inside us.

How Sweetly . . .

"How sweetly this day nourishes and inspires."

That's the quote for today on my daily calendar. And here's the picture that accompanies, both art and words courtesy of the artist Robin Pickens.

Isn't that just a luscious image? And don't her words leave you feeling thoroughly hugged? I hope so, since that's the effect they have on me--as though the Creator of this one-of-a-kind day has handed me (Her one-of-a-kind Maureen) a gift (which She has), and I've just unwrapped it and am in the midst of a happy sigh of acceptance and gratitude.



Perhaps somewhere in the world, right now, people are experiencing temperature warmth and garden beauty, as hinted at in that calendar artwork pictured above. For me, I'm standing at my front door in my jammies, shivering, taking some pictures. Here's a view of down the street and up onto Crow Peak, my personal mountain.












Slightly to the left, here's a view of where I sit when weather allows, under my willow.













The chair I curl up in is around the corner, blown there by the last winter storm, or two, or three. The chair pillow is up and over the deck, buried in the last snowfall, or two, or three. Right near my knees is the outdoor thermometer, proclaiming 9 degrees at mid morning, and the high today is supposed to still be in the single digits.



And if I turn just slightly more to my left, here's a current view of my living room.












Yes, Virginia, while there may be a Santa Claus, there are definitely NOT Christmas elves who come along after and clean up all your gift-making mess while you sleep. And yes, folks, I am well aware that it is over two weeks since Christmas. And perhaps by someone else's definition, any self-respecting person would most certainly have restored order to their home by now.




Yeah. Well. To that I say . . . (I can't spell out the sound for blowing raspberries so I'll have to substitute.) . . . phooey. My last two weeks, which from a calendar point-of-view bridged last year and this new year, have been wonderfully full of spiritual growth (see previous post). God has taken me on some incredible journeys of the soul, which haven't left much time for much else. And believe me, if you ask me to choose between traveling with God, and cleaning up my house, it takes less than a heartbeat to decide to grab His hand and hold on for the ride.



Here's one joyful benefit that I'm finding comes from standing ready, each moment, to follow God: the other stuff gets taken care of, too. Last night I kinda reached a saturation point with the mess in the house. I had new projects to start, and my house wasn't functional for them, since it was covered (literally :)) with the aftermath of some wonderful Christmas holiday art/gift-making. Well, tonight is the time I have invited my kids over to "receive" one of their Christmas gifts from me: a pizza party. Handmade-to-order personal pan pizzas, some munchies, some desserts. Not our usual potluck gatherings, but all made by me, for them.


Since we will be gathering in the living room--yes, that room I just showed you a photo of--I will definitely be spending some time today not only baking and cooking, but tidying. So by tomorrow, I'll have memories of a lovely time with my kids, and I'll also have a home ready for new growth, fresh exploration.

I wish each of you a day overflowing with His grace and joy.

And if you feel so inclined, leave me a comment.

I truly love seeing evidence that you've visited my blog--that you and I

have "chatted" for a while.

I'm gonna close with what opened this post:

that warm and lovely,

tender and luscious photo and thought.

Hello, 2011

It's almost 1am, and long past any sensible bedtime for me. So if you ask me why I'm staying up even later to post here, I'm not sure I could come up with an answer other than . . . . "because."

"Because? That's it?"

Yep, pretty much. I last posted early in December . . . had a dozen great ideas for posts since then, but none of them actually came to fruition. The end of last year, and the beginning of this new year, have been kind of smooshed full of emotion for me. A recent awareness of tremendous growth during 2010 has left me, at times, breathless with gratitude. But it has also left me sort of dizzy, if that makes any sense.

I've been sad for so long. Healing has been taking place over several years, but much of it has been like the bamboo plant, with growth underground, invisible. Now that tender green shoots are poking up here and there, I am glad beyond belief. But it's so different. Wonderful, but different.

Don't get me wrong. I still have mountains to climb just about every day. But I look around me. I touch the formerly broken and bruised parts of my life and the horrible pain is gone. Really gone. Faithful prayer over countless days and nights has brought me, inch by microscopic inch, finally to this place where I can see joy. Feel joy. Believe in joy.

As I mentioned, over these past few weeks some terrific ideas for "wonderful, inspiring" posts have flooded my thought, but not quite made it into print. So I'm not at all sure why I am writing NOW. Nothing unusual has happened to finally prompt me to post.

Except maybe this quiet, very quiet, whisper that is saying: Maureen, don't let one single more day go by without saying, in some public way, that your days of mourning are over. Really over.

Yep. That's it. That's the "because."

And as much as I adore having photos in my posts, I can't think of a single image that would be adequate to express whatever it is that I'm trying to say here. I can barely find words for it. As I said, I'm in unfamiliar territory now. The land of joy.

Unfamiliar, yes. But not for very long. Because this is my home now.

Welcome, April

I'm not quite sure where I disappeared to, since my last blog post on my birfday . . .I'm not gonna spend much time, here, analyzing WHY I haven't posted in so long. Many journal pages already have tons of footprints from the zigzagging journey of these past few weeks.


Suffice it to say that I am here, now. And here's a picture of me that I ended up quite liking. It was sort of a "before" picture for an assignment in an e-course I took. And when I saw it, I said to myself, "Self, look at those legs . . . look at their strength and curve . . . " I can't remember the last time I so thoroughly enjoyed the sight of myself in skin-tight clothing.


Another assignment in this e-course was to define ourselves through images and perhaps a word or two: again, I surprised myself by what I chose. It actually took a lot of oomph to "name" myself this so publicly. But hey, I think I am beginning, teeny step by teeny step, to allow myself to love the best of me.


Yet one more assignment in this e-course that I've just completed, was to have a photo that could serve as an advertisement for ourself. Instead of creating something new, I ended up taking a fresh look at a wall in my living area that, piece by piece, has accumulated over this winter, to end up being a pretty accurate depiction of me.




I'm conscious that this post, so far, might seem to be all me/me/me/me/me. And aren't we so cautioned about getting wrapped up in self? But here's the thing: this post doesn't reflect the all of me. Actually, I spend most of my active time helping others. During this month of being off-line with my blog, I've been with an elder relative every day during her two emergency room visits and ten days in the hospital. On behalf of a friend in deep need, I was awake all night and prayed, except for a brief hour+ nap. On a day when my own heart was hurting and felt in need of comfort, I went instead to another friend's bedside, took her flowers and loving thoughts.




I don't mention ANY of this to say "Woohoo, isn't Maureen wonderful." Those actions I told you about were just some of the ways that God uses me. They result from my surrendering myself to God and asking Him to guide me. They are ways that He stops me from being so sad over MY life, and has me reach out to others.



But another thing that God is doing in me, is causing me to realize, in very practical ways, that the only way to truly "love my neighbor as myself," is to love myself as well. And that means being just as joyous about Maureen, as I am about others.



So actually, the first paragraphs of this post, where I WAS talking about me/me/me, I guess that I really WAS saying, "Woohoo, isn't Maureen wonderful." [ARGH!!! that was so hard to type!!! Little itchy voices all through my head are screaming "you are SO stuck on yourself!]



Hey you guys . . . aren't we ALL wonderful??? Truly wonder-full?? Do we have to wait for someone else to say it about us??? Can't we gently, lovingly, joyfully, acknowledge that we are indeed, an asset to the world around us? How are the rest of you dealing with this? Are you able, in some public way (meaning not just in the silence of your thoughts, or on a private journal page), to say really nice things about yourself? I'd love to hear what you think on this.

Day 12 of 100

Today I wanted to paint joy.
I'm not quite happy with the results, so I will try some more another day. Not a bad assignment, to work more on an expression of joy.

Today I experimented with subtle variations in technique--the difference between letting a drop of paint fall off the brush onto the paper, and making a dot by touching the brush to the paper. Letting the paint set up a little before blowing with the straw. Putting the straw varying distances from the wet paint.

Such apparently minute differences yielded significant variations in the end product.

Made me think about how just the tiniest difference in how I treat people, including myself, can make a noticable difference in expression, connection. A broader smile, a touch on a shoulder held a few beats longer. A moment of silent appreciation and contemplation before responding to someone's words.

Tiny variations . . . potentially big results.

Hanging onto Joy

This morning I am hanging onto joy. It's been a liquid few days. By that I mean that tears have flowed freely, with resulting puffy eyes and slimy snotty upper lip and chin (ewwwwwwwww!!)







But through it all I keep finding my way back to a smile, a laugh. True, these start as a grimace and a rumbly grumble, but eventually, within minutes (okay, within hours sometimes) they are almost recognizable as signs of a heart growing lighter once again.

What caused this recent descent into the valley of the shadow? I reached out, finally, to a friend who had been out of touch with me for several weeks, asking why there had been no responses to my previous efforts at contact. Was he okay? The response was, in essence, that he'd moved on, found someone else "better. "

Half my heart said, "Well, poop on you." The other half said, "Why wasn't I good enough?" Yet another half said, "What can I say or do here that will promote healing and growth for both of us?" Still one more half moaned, "Why me, God? Why me? What's wrong with ME???"

Yes, I'm well aware that all my bits of hearts add up to more than one whole. But that's the way I feel. God has given me a huge heart with which to care and feel and ache. And sometimes I want to give it back to Him and say, "Take back my heart. I don't want it. It hurts too damn much."

And then I realize: giving my heart back to God is precisely what He requires of me. Oh.

In my prayers lately, I've come across many Bible verses that tell me to give my "whole heart" to God. I always assumed that in addition to meaning "entire," "whole" also meant a heart in one piece. What God breathed into my sadness yesterday was that it simply meant ALL of my heart. It's okay if it's broken. Just be sure that when I hand my heart to God, I give Him all the pieces. Every single shard. Okay.

P.S. The pictures accompanying this post are more of my beautiful flowery friends. They remind me to keep blooming, no matter what. Blooming is NOT a choice for them. It is what they are designed to do.

Amen.

Self-Portrait

Yes, odd as it may seem, except to those of you who really know me :), I'm considering this lovely bloom as a pretty accurate picture of yours truly.

This is one of a cluster of geraniums I had growing outside last summer, and which I pulled in before a frost killed them. They have wintered beautifully indoors, right next to my "sit and think and read and write" chair.

As they inevitably grew toward the sunlight in the picture window, they would lean over my shoulder and drop luscious petals of hot pink and lipstick red, some on my lap and many more on the beige carpet below.

Nope, I didn't vacuum these petals. Too pretty. Too much of a gift of bright and brillliant beauty during a loooooooong winter.

I pinched off the tops of the several plants, thinking to "manage" their growth--hoping for thick versus leggy, concerned that leggy might snap off . . .but my sweet plants had their own ideas. They continued to strain toward the sun and shot out new splindly sprouts.

I surrendered my efforts to tell them how best to grow and just took a little easel and upended it in their soil and provided a couple loops of cotton twine to loosely secure the tallest stems. They seem safe enough now.

At last count, 9 clusters of buds are in various stages of bloom. I've never had so many at one time.

I've also never felt so much bud and blossom in my own life.

Yes, the winter of my journey has seemed very long and drear, but all during it, I also insisted on blooming. The light has also irresistibly drawn me toward it. During times when I just wanted to give up, God was there to reassure me: "Even if you let go, dear one, I'm still holding on to you." And dear friends and family have also reached out to express very specific love and tender encouragement. For that, I give my deepest thanks.

Hello world

Good morning, world! When I sat down at my laptop just now, I thought I was just checking a few sites . . . had no overt intention to post anything new here . . . nothing specifically gnawing at me, nothing pressing to be thought about. Now that's not to say if you checked my journals, that you wouldn't find me still in the midst of tremendous transition and growth, accompanied by messy and noisy growing pains.

It's just that right now, this morning, this hour, this minute, is an oasis of calm. True, several tasks lie ahead the next few days, filling many of the hours. A handful of "big" things still need my thought and ultimate decision. A couple problems persist, needing fairly immediate resolutions. The landscape of my personal relationships still rumbles and roils around me, a raw and uncharted wilderness.

And yet.

Right here, right now, under my skin lies contentment. A soft smile curves my lips. Rain that fell here in the foothills last night lies now on Crow Peak as yet another layer of fresh snow. Mist that shrouded the hills surrounding town now dances solo across the western horizon. I've just stepped outside to check on my flowers. They are not letting the current coolness halt their growth. They have not surrendered to this winter's record-breaking harshness. They are insisting that the process of bud and bloom must survive even the most inhospitable environment.

I join my gentle teachers in their dance of persistent joy.

rode hard and put up wet

Oh boy. I did it again. I trusted somebody, asked them for help. I leaned on them and they weren't there. Ouch. Double ouch.

So now I'm picking gravel out of my face, nursing my bruises, cursing my weakness and stupidity.

I am so damn tired of crying.

But look at that giant sunflower. Beat down by hail. Gnawed on by grasshoppers. Does it stop? Does it let a building get in its way?

No way. No how.

Straight for the sky it goes. It grows.

As do I.

As do I.

Oh-so-ready for spring

And here I thought I was headed to bed. But the insistent joy in the last posting sent me to my digital picture files. Here in the dark I scrolled through dozens of color bursts masquerading as flowers.

Most precious, at present, are these beauties, this liquid sunshine. Oh, how I long for their appearance this year. Yet just this morning, this finally warm morning after so much cold, I leaned over my deck rail and whispered down to the leaf-covered flower beds, "Not yet, dear ones. Not yet. Be patient. I will keep waiting."

And meanwhile, I dream of daffodils.

Deep Breath

Oh me. Oh my.

Almost 10:30 pm. Bedtime.

Don't know whether this is a bad time to write, 'cause I'm tired and might not guard my words. Or a good time, 'cause I'm tired, and might not guard my words.

Let's see. I cried mid-morning, cried early evening, cried mid-evening, could easily cry now.

And in between the tears, I sang, prayed, worked on writing, prayed, sang some more, went for a walk, painted a rock, and prayed still some more.

Sometimes I can hardly bear to think of all the sadness I've known. Sometimes I can hardly find words for all the joy I've known.

I believe in the joy.

The joy believes in me.

I'll keep keeping on.