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.

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.]

Hello, again

Hello out there, to whomever might be dropping in to visit me. November has turned out to be sort of an odd month for blog postings. Had some emotional ups and downs regarding family stuff. Prayed my way through and feel pretty peaceful.

[here's one of my geraniums, brought inside a couple of winters ago and blessing me with neon-pink blossoms all year round.]

I'm glad to feel peaceful--however, the aforesaid mentioned ups/downs played havoc with some of my plans, like more frequent postings here. And my personal Writing Challenge . . . oh dear . . . I am now officially 14 days behind in the daily writing. But hey, hope springs eternal, at least here in my home. I fully intend to catch up before year's end.

[I trimmed a plant and stuck the cuttings in a pitcher. Doesn't the sun make them beautiful?]

And yay for me, it's Day 29 of the Poem-a-Day challenge, and I am current through today. Writing a poem every day, to someone else's prompt, and then posting that rough draft for all the world to see: that is QUITE a brave feat, as any writer will acknowledge. So far, I have noticed a definite change in my whole relationship with writing poetry. It seems much more like breathing. I can summon the muse and not wait, endlessly, for her to visit. And I can be less attached to each poem, more ready to slice and dice if need be. December will see several of us working together to edit our work. I'm really eager for that.

Here's my poetry wall--each day's offering gets posted here as well as on the official blogsite.

Another great accomplishment was getting my roof replaced. It was a task with emotional entanglements, my having received my house in the divorce over two years ago, along with its needed repairs. It feels very good, on many levels, to be going into winter with a new roof over my head. Lots of new beginnings.

My love and thanks to all who visit my blog and read what I have to say. A special thanks to those who leave comments. It means more than I can express.

What next?

Oh my. For 100 days I had a structure for this blog. Paint every day. Post nearly every day. And now that glorious adventure is over.

You know, even as I wrote "had a structure for this blog," something pinged in my thoughts. I think I stumbled onto this whole idea of blogging, back in January, as a way to break loose, break free. Of what? I'm not sure. Maybe if I knew more clearly, I'd already BE free.

Anyhoo, instinct tells me that holding to some "structure" for these posts would be antithetical to the original inspiration.

So . . . . . . here's what I'm thinking right now ("Now" being nearly 1 a.m.--waaaaaay past my bedtime . . . .) : I'm gonna do my best, my very best, to share the real me here in these posts. No, that's not a new commitment--I've been as honest as I know how, from the beginning. [oh poop. Tears. Gollygeewhiz, I'm sooooooooooooooooooo tired of crying.]

I'm casting about for words to accurately say what I'm trying to convey. But they dance at the edge of thought. They tease me. I LOVE writing. LOVE finding just the right word. But right now, words are NOT cooperating.

At this moment, I'm feeling all bits-and-piece-y. The last two weeks have been a physical and emotional roller-coaster, taking responsibility for getting my 88-year-old aunt moved from one assisted living facility to another, from a private room to a shared room. Making her new tiny space accommodate her myriad of needs. What she couldn't take with her is now scattered throughout my living room, single garage, double garage. Do I share it? Sell it? Toss it? I am inches away from drowning in STUFF, hers and mine.

I see her mired in memories, many of them sad. Even though her fiestiness usually prevails, much of her time now seems shaped/crippled by her past.

What do I want to do with the rest of my life, so that when I am 88, joy predominates? Every day overflows with crossroads, many taken unconsciously. This way? or that? Right this very moment, I am walking my way into my future. Which direction am I headed?

No more "quiet desperation."

No more holding back.

No more shushing myself.

No more shame.

The lovely flowers shown earlier, all arranged in a vase, came from this tangle of sunflowers growing in the cracks of my front sidewalk. They weren't planted. They weren't on purpose. They just started whereever they found themselves, grabbed onto whatever soil was available, made do with whatever water came their way, and they grew. And grew. And grew. They didn't ask for space. They didn't apologize for blocking the walkway. They just grew.

They shall be my teachers.

After the Rain

All night the sky wept. When I woke to today's gray wet morning, Love surprised me by also waking me to a heart brimming with quiet hope.

She who loves sunshine more than words can say, rose from a sweet night's sleep, tore the lid from last night's pizza box and painted a list of possibilities for today.

Third on the royal purple list was "weed." I needed to make room for the flowers I'd bought yesterday.

I went outside, ostensibly to just turn on my fountains, but I didn't come back inside for two hours. Without any conscious intent, I bent over one of my gardens and pulled a handful of grass.

Delighted at how easily it gave up its hold, I pulled another clump. Then another.

The night's rain had not only watered last year's seeds and bulbs. It had also made it nearly a joy to pull the weeds that were choking out the perennials and those determined enough to reseed themselves.

As I worked my way through first one garden, then another, I thought of all the tears I'd shed these past few days, mourning the loss of a friendship that had, in many ways, sustained me in the nearly two years since an unwanted divorce had become final.

These recent tears at times felt like molten pain, searing my insides. But they also served to cleanse and clarify.

Late last night I was finally able to acknowledge that yes, many sharp and sweet joys came out of that friendship. But this good was, sadly, more than counterbalanced by acts of hurt and betrayal.

I am ready now to accept that I deserve better.

My weeding showed me that the rain loosened the soil, making the removal of what did not belong nearly effortless. In the same way, tears had soothed and softened my bruised heart, allowing the removal of old growth, roots and all.

Once the weeds were removed, several clumps of flowers were able to show their sweet faces.

Space was made for new flowers to be planted.

And so also do I feel tiny buds of love and tender hope stir in the soil of my soul . . . watered, yes, by tears, but also warmed into blossom by Love's constant embrace.

And I too am ready for new love to take root and bloom.

South Dakota Spring

All throughout the Black Hills this morning was heard a mournful wail: "Noooooooooooooooooo!" That was me, raising the rollshades in my bedroom, only to see my newly-greened lawn covered in fresh snow. Just yesterday I had read out in the backyard, lounging on a lawn chair, in shorts and sleeveless top. I'd actually pulled the chair into the shade 'cause the sun was too hot!

I threw on a bathrobe and raced outside to check on my daffodils. Made several trips to cut a couple dozen of them for a huge bouquet, trying to save as many as I could, yet not wanting to strip the bed entirely in case they could survive . . .

Later, when the snow slowed, I went out and tapped the snow off each of the remaining blooms--another couple dozen.

I know they are just flowers. I know the weather will eventually warm. I know many people are suffering right now from far worse than a spring snow and the possible loss of a few flowers.

But for me, today, my efforts to save these beauties help me feel hopeful about the nearing end of a long winter, not just in my town, but in my heart and soul.

Hold on to Hope

My heart is overflowing right now. My morning was filled with the sweetness of seeing progress in a personal relationship. That joy was tempered this afternoon by news of a suicide. A dear young woman who sponsors an artists' blog (ThursdaySweetTreat) shared on that site the loss of a family member. Comments on the site offered comfort, also revealing how many of them had also been touched by "the echoes of suicide."

My desire here is to reach out to anyone struggling, either with their own thoughts of suicide, or in the aftermath of someone else's attempt or successful act. Whoever you are, know that you are loved. I send my love out to you right now, right here.

I'm sharing some photos of my flowers here. That might seem silly at first. But we've had a really harsh winter, and I would have expected these little guys to have given up. But they didn't. Today was the first day they finally bloomed. Let their persistent beauty wrap you in the warmth of love, in hope, in the promise of a brighter day.

Hang on. I love you.

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.

Who'da thunk it?

I'm happy with today.

I still feel totally at sea concerning relationships with men. Never imagined in a bazillion years I'd be single after my kids were grown. Never imagined I--once a confirmed teenaged wallflower--would find myself dating immediately following an unwanted divorce. Never imagined that in one year I would connect with someone, break up, then reconnect, only to have them fall and hit their head and die. Never imagined I would become involved with two other men with so much emotional baggage a semi-truck couldn't hold it all.

Never imagined I'd feel so open and honest and real. Never imagined I'd think seriously about drinking. Never imagined I'd pray so long and so hard and feel so close to God.

Life's full of surprises.

Renewal

Fresh start. What an incredible feeling. Much prayer the last few days. Deep sorrow layered with a heart open to God. The scraped rawness was also tender skin exposed to healing warmth.

I made some decisions about relationships. Played with colored pencils and tissue paper and glue sticks. Helped my mother's sister celebrate her 88th birthday. Helped teach a dance class. In the middle of a very long and sometimes bitter winter, sat outside today in the winter sun and smelled hope on the breeze.

I will never give up on love. Never. No matter what.

Amen.

Hope

Gotta add a P.S. before this month ends . . . my last posting was really teary and depressed. Honest, but depressed. Part of me thinks I should apologize to The World for having whined. But the reality is that I started this whole blog thing for myself. Maybe other people might read it at some point, but I'm doing it for me. Proof that I believe in myself.

And the truth is that I feel better after posting the last entry. Eyes gummy with dried tears and nose still dripping snot, but on the inside, I feel better.

Being me is not pretty most of the time. I try so hard to take the focus off myself and think of others, and a lot of the time, that's a good thing.

But I also need to take better care of myself. I need to stop thinking that there is some "perfect" way to deal with difficult times. I need to stop setting up expectations for myself that are impossible to meet. I've had some ugly stuff happen to me and I'm ready to ramp up my efforts to see healing. Might get a little messy. That's okay. I might fuss and whine some more. That's okay, too. If somebody other than me ends up reading my moaning and groaning and doesn't like it . . . well . . . that's okay, too.

Enough is enough with all this suffering. I insist on joy. If it takes more tears to get to the joy, that's okay, too. Whatever it takes.

What if . . . what if this is the year I set myself free?