In His time, dear one, In His time

This has been a lousy year for Monarch butterflies...at least in my gardens.

There was one in the early Spring, and one several weeks ago who met his Maker on the same day I found him.

I've done everything I can to lure them in, but ultimately the problem is that they are endangered and there just aren't a lot of them out there.

I'm not going to go into the reasons why...suffice it to say I am humming the song, "Oh When Will They Ever Learn?".

So when I found a post on the Birds and Blooms Field Editor FB page of a Monarch cocooning and hatching out, I was drawn to it like...well...like a Monarch to Milkweed.

I remember years ago, when Monarchs were abundant, watching the same process take place in my yard.

I would diligently mark each twig with yarn that had a cocoon on it, count the days, watch for telltale signs that their emergence was imminent...

And then sit there all day watching them come out.

Yes, it does take a lot of patience...but that glorious moment when they broke free, wrinkled and shriveled and shaking?

I would sing the "Hallelujah Chorus" to them as I gazed on in absolute wonder.

Only God.

But today, as I watched the video, I saw it a little bit differently.

Maybe because of where I am in life now.

And what some days feel like.

Today I watched with different eyes.

Yes, the glory and wonder were still there.

But this time there was some weird kind of anthropomorphic identification thing going on,

Big words for, "I feel your pain, buddy."

I had to wonder, "Does he ever feel afraid?"

"Wonder what is going on?"

"Raise his little tiny eyes up to his Maker and hope He sure knows what He is doing?"

I would.

At 2:31 into the video, when he's shaking and his world is changing and he can't turn back...

And he can't see the future...

And the darkness is coming...for many, many days...

I wonder...

Melting down in the wilderness

Last week I had a meltdown.

Not the kind that come from being too hot...though that would be a good excuse this summer.

It was an honest-to-goodness...like-a-two-year-old...meltdown.

Yup, and all over a pizza...

A Frozen. Gluten-free. Cheese. Pizza.

The kind no one should have to eat when they want a pizza.

So let me paint the picture for you...

The weekend before we had traveled up to Lookout Mountain, GA for 3 days to see our son and his family.

No problem there...it was totally fun.

We arrived home very late Sunday night and I woke up early Monday morning to Vacation Bible School.

I'm glad it's already capitalized or I would have to do it...such a momentous undertaking deserves capitalization. Two hundred people together for five mornings...picture it...and me, an introvert amidst all the chaos.

So, Monday- Friday, kitchen labor at VBS.

The next Saturday morning we head out yet again for a different part of GA, this time for our Grandbaby's first birthday celebration.

More fun. More people. More commotion.

I thought I could handle it...but my thinking was a little cloudy by then.

It wasn't until Sunday dinner time, when my gluten-free pizza decomposed in the oven, dripping its gooey ugliness all over my daughter's oven that my own meltdown began.

Now in order to to fully paint the picture I need to let you know there were 15, yes, 15! ordered pizzas piled up on the counter near said oven...all warm, and fragrant, and ready to eat.

But not for me.

No, my dinner was melting down in the oven...a precursor to what was to come...

So what does a meltdown look like, you ask?

Flinging the smoking pizza out of the oven and into the sink, and then beating the life out of it with a spatula.

And then, with tears running down my face, grabbing the nearest Gluten-Full pizza and scarfing it down.

That's what a meltdown looks like.

Okay, so that was a fun story wasn't it?

Except it's not...fun...at all...

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?