Choosing to walk the talk

I should be cleaning my kitchen...at least clearing the counter so I can make dinner tonight.

I should be doing laundry, watering plants, preparing for tomorrow.

I should be chipping away at whatever it takes to keep things rolling here during a busy VBS week.

But I can't...not right this minute.

I have to write this blog.

Some call it the "Muse".

I call it the Spirit.

And when he calls, I have learned to Stop. Look. Listen.

Like a train racing down the track, my mind is headed for a destination that will only unfold as I write.

But I do know this...

It's going to be a one-way trip and there will be no turning back.

Talking cats and what we can learn from them

I have a cat.

Well, four cats, but I only want to talk about one of them today.

Because he is the one that every morning speaks to me about Jesus.

I used to think he (the cat, not Jesus) was a pain in the neck.

But not anymore.

Let me tell you why...

Like most of you, I had established a morning ritual of what, at its best, could be called "Devotion Time."

I like that phrase...it lends an air of credibility to my attempts to draw close to God.

I knew what Devotion Time should be, but that's not always what I did.

What I did do was a little of this, a little of that...always accompanied by a strong mug of coffee...

Some Bible...

Some inspirational reading...

Some meditation...

Some prayer...

Some sitting-and-staring-out-the-window.

Everyday it was different, a jumble of whatever I felt like doing that day.

I feared I would fail the "what-a-spiritual-person's-Devotional-Time-looks-like" test.

And for the longest time I struggled with that.

So, I would gird up my loins and try harder. (See, even I can talk the talk!)

Until that day my cat talked to me, 

And I finally understood.

Repeat after me, "I am a beautiful butterfly!"

I must be out of my mind.

But I read something this morning that blessed me so much, I have to share it with you...

In spite of the fact that my kitchen is half-painted and totally torn apart, cabinet contents in boxes scattered throughout the house...

And I have a Bible Study tonight...

And I am leading one tomorrow night and and need to prepare for that...

And I have company coming for the weekend.

Nothing like a little motivation to get things done!

Anyway, back to what's important.

This morning I read something for the study tonight that was such a beautiful visual I have to share it with you.

It comes from the book, The Good and Beautiful God, from the chapter, God Transforms...

I got that joy, joy, joy, joy!

I don't know how it is where you are, but it's been crazy hot here lately. I think today I'll take one of our eggs up to the road and crack it open and see if it's hot enough to cook it. Just for the fun of it. I'm getting desperate...

Our chickens are sadly hilarious, walking around with their beaks open wide and their wings outspread. I'm thinking of giving them a bath, but that may not end well.

No rain in the last three weeks means the hose and I are spending way too much time together....dragging it around like a dead carcass, muttering what I wouldn't give for an irrigation system.

And the flower containers I joyously spent the springtime filling? Their cries for help send me scurrying outside into a wall of heat at least twice a day, moving them from place to place, hoping to hit on the right combination of sun and shade in an effort to keep them from giving up the ghost, and me from losing my sanity.

But what's a person to do?

On going home

Today is going to be tough.

I don’t like goodbyes.

What I like is the anticipation and excitement of a “hello”.

Yes, I know another hello will come after a goodbye, and you can’t get one without the other, but still you can’t convince me to like them anyway.

Tonight we fly home.

For eleven days now I have anticipated this moment...homesickness has been washing over me like waves on all the beaches we have visited recently...the gravitational pull for all I know and love growing stronger every day.

The only problem is, I know and love what I have here also.

My heart is divided, and no matter which way I look, it hurts.

We have been crazy busy. We haven’t stopped since the plane set down in CT eleven days ago. Non-stop memory-making has been our goal, and my body and mind and emotions tell me we have succeeded.

Now there isn’t anything left to do now but tie up loose ends here, get on the plane, and go home.

Home.

I was talking with someone the other day about home...about how wonderful it is to want to go home. To love your home. To have a home.

And then this person asked me, “But what about when you don’t want to go home...when you would rather not go home?”

And I stopped. And thought. And this weighty question has been heavy on my heart for days.

What then?

Seriously, God?

Sunday afternoon...my absolute favorite time of the week...a Mayberry-kind-of-feeling.

We were all in a semi-conscious state after a busy week, so I thought a movie was in order.

Flicking our way through Amazon, we found something that looked interesting...Rabbit Hole. We read the synopsis, pressed Play and off we went.

By the time it was done, there was dead silence. And a desire to weep. And hug someone.

And never let go.

I couldn't stop thinking about it.

And now I really can't.

For later that day I heard that a worship leader from a nearby church, Gentry Eddings, and his family were returning from a wedding when an 18 wheeler plowed into them from behind. Their 2 year old son was killed and his wife, Hadley, 8 months pregnant at the time, was rushed to deliver their baby at a nearby hospital. And it looked like he would make it.

This tragedy put flesh on what Hollywood had only dreamed up.

If I hadn't seen the movie, I don't think I could put my mind around the valley they were entering...the raw pain of what was thrust upon them.

So I prayed. And wept. And thanked God that by His mercy their unborn child would live. That there would be some consolation in this tragedy.

But their unborn son didn't live. They got empty arms. Again.

Seriously, God?

Ending well and other cemetery musings

Endings.

I hate them.

Well, not always. Sometimes, like a visit to the dentist, they are a mercy.

But other times, not.

Other times they put a period where you only want a comma.

Take this book I am reading for example...Soul Gardening, Cultivating the Good Life.

From the moment we met, in a used bookstore in Charlotte, I knew we would be the best of friends.

For over a month now I have carefully doled out the pages to make it last as long as possible. Every morning it became an act of my will to put it down when I longed to read on.

I knew someday our relationship would have to end. It was inevitable. Yes, I could make it last longer by limiting my reading to sentences, and then words. But that is no way to end a glorious read.

Laugh if you must, but I had tears in my eyes this morning as I drew it to me one last time. I was about to say goodbye to a friend who had brought me joy and insight and laughter.

Endings.

Whether it's a good book or movie, friendship or life. They hurt.

Recently we vacationed on Hilton Head Island. We've been doing it for years, along with our children and now their children. A glorious week of family, fun, and memory making.

In the midst of all the festivities, I always make time to bike to a favorite spot of mine...