For the Taking

Do you ever get to a place where life is good. God is good. His blessings fall easily, like late Autumn apples, sweet and effortless.
And I enjoy them and glory in Him, and are humbled by the knowledge that I no more earned the ripe blessings than made that tree bloom.
And then it happens.
I start to try to earn it. Try to give back to God. It starts sincerely and rightly as an effort to bless Him. And slowly it degrades, like that same apple left untended on the orchard floor. Instead of an act of pure joy, it becomes something owed. The sheer bounty of his blessing becomes fearsome. After all, I have not deserved this. Not earned it. Done nothing but receive.
That can't be enough.
I have to give. Have to be. Have to abstain. Have to somehow deserve. It's simply not fair, otherwise.
And instead of smiling in the sunshine and letting sweetness fill my mouth and dribble down my throat and down my chin, I start working. Hauling water, when the tree grew well enough with the rain. Reaching for fruit that has yet to fall so I might hand it out to others, though it's time and perhaps theirs has not come.
And as I stretch for a fruit, as I strain the muscles in my side, as sweat rolls down my temples, and my toes bite the earth, the sun fills my eyes, dominating my sight.
And so does the truth.
And the breath of a breeze caresses all of me, bearing a Voice, low and rich and sweet. "My dearest, stop striving. Sit in the shade of the tree I've made and eat the fruit I've gifted you."
"But...I can't. It'd be too dangerous. I, just me, am not enough. And I'm afraid you'll realize that. What if you see me taking, resting, and you realize I have done nothing to earn this?"
A beam of sun wraps like a blanket around me, warm, gentle, and undeniable. "I did not give this to you because you earned it, Beloved. I gave it because I love you and I want you to have it. The truth is, I love to see you bask in the shade. I love the little noise you make when you slurp the sweet juice. I love the way you wipe your chin on your wrist when you think no one is watching. I just love you."
"But what if tomorrow that changes? I have to be fruitful. Indispensable. It's true in any organization. You have to create value to have value. I want to matter. To know that you'll love me always, because of what I can do for you."
"My dearest, I'm so mad for you that nothing you do can grow that. This love is too big to grow. And until you see that, I will not give you any tasks, ask for any help. Just sit in the shade I've given you, while I've given it to you, and enjoy what comes your way."
"So it won't always be this way? I'll get to be productive again?"
"Of course. But even then, the work we do will be greatest when you do it with me and not for me. Not a debt, not a bribe, just a partnership. Two twined spirits, walking through this land together."
"Oh. Are you sure?"
"I Am."
Dearest Jesus, my precious Lord, you possess my heart, my life, my all. I will revel in the gifts you've given today. And I'll rest in you. And when the day comes that you ask much of me, I will not walk without you. Not give to earn you. I will, by your grace and your spirit, walk with you.
All my love.

Happy President's day

Today I'm extra aware of how blessed we are to live in a free country, with leaders who have limited terms and finite power. For the guaranteed rights this nation is founded on. And for the men and women who put their lives on the line to protect us!

Booyah!

It's Friday!!!
And if that weren't reason enough to be grateful, the moon is hanging like a ripe grapefruit in the sky!
And furthermore, I ordered a brick-oven pizza from this fabulous little place without mushrooms. But, woe among woes, the one they baked had mushrooms. So, they made a new one and, joy among joys, they offered me the mushroom-infested one free in addition to my untainted pizza! I can decontaminate a free pizza.
And it's Friday!

I heart Gillette

I had a conversation today about the tradition of shaving legs.
Don't ask.
I am totally pro-shaving...but in winter, lets just say my routine is less stringent. Why? Because I know it can only get bad to a point and then level off. While hair on our heads can grow as long as protein and patience allows, body hair stops at a preordained length.
Go ahead and gag a little as you imagine the ramifications if this weren't true. We'd all be walking Cousin Its. Or it could go the other way, and our little heads and faces would get cold with a thin coat of fuzz.
I love that God, who imagined galaxies and flowers and love, is in the details. Even the hairy ones (um, totally lame, I know, but it was right there.) And Praise his name forever that he is!
Thank you, God, that I live in the era of the disposable razor and that it does the job. Thank you that you thought of things like the fact that long hair is best worn on the head, so I don't have to buy stock in pruning shears. I'm sure there's a better reason for it, but I'm just glad because it looks better. All my love!

Psalm 139

You have searched me, LORD, and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue
you, Lord, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, "Sure the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for the darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand--
when I awake, I am still with you.

If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.
Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
I have nothing but hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.
Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

There's a plot afoot

Today we got seven inches of snow. (That is a rough guess. I haven't actually gone outside to check the actual depth.) Here in Little Rock we're calling it The Big Snow.
Due to this weather event, I had a day off of work. Maybe two.
And that meant I spent today with a good book, a few DVDs, facebook, and...drumroll....
a new plot!
That's right. My next novel is still in it's infancy but it is finally more than a twinkle in my eye.
And that to me is a great thrill. I love how when you tug on a ribbon of thought, sometimes the whole spool uncoils and you find your mind's eye witnessing your characters taking leaps and risks and facing challenges you didn't even know were in their path.
It's a beautiful thing. Makes me just stop and shake my head at how crazy creative God is. He is managing billions of intertwined plots at the same time and never drops one or forgets the theme: His glory.
Lovely! I can't wait to get to the other side and see it with eternal eyes.

Have my fig and eat it too

If you've never had a turkish fig, you are probably normal.
But, I went a little nuts in the bulk food department at Kroger and came home with six little baggies of different dried fruits.
Turkish figs would never win an award for their looks. In fact, it was kind of a growth moment when I forced myself to overcome my apprehension and eat one.
But I was glad I did.
Turns out the Turks grow a mean fig.
So, I'm grateful for the Turks, their fig trees, impulses that lead to good things, and the fact that even the ugliest dried out fruits can yield sweetness.
I will not dig into the metaphors that abound, I will just enjoy my fig.