Lamp Unto My...Living Room

My living room is pretty spacious and has this lovely ginormous window that looks out onto some trees. These trees, in addition to looking all pretty in their tree way, block a good bit of the sunlight.  As a result my lovely living room is a bit dim.

I don't know about y'all but I am not really okay with dim. I like it bright. I like all the lights in the room on, and maybe a few in the hall just for good measure.  So, in addition to the one overhead light by the fireplace, I had pressed a desk lamp into duty on the floor by the couch.  It definitely helped, but being as it was so low, about fifty percent of the room still had sub-par lighting.

Well, today I got a message that my lamp had arrived at my local Wal-mart store. I'd sort of forgotten I'd ordered it, but I picked it up, brought it home, and screwed the pieces together. Thirty minutes later, light beamed all over the place from an "alabaster" lamp sitting a stylish six feet off the ground. I liked it so much I got online and ordered another. 

Shadow-shmadow.

The issue of perspective is one that sounds deceptively simple.  I was not shocked when the real floor lamp put the sad little desk lamp to shame. But, for whatever reason, I forget this simple physical and spiritual reality when it comes to bigger things.

I had a lovely talk with my sister today. We have impromptu phone prayer meetings sometimes, and did so today, which started my Labor Day brighter (obvious, unapologetic pun.)  And while we were talking this issue came up, about how God is sooooo big. How his love is soooo mighty and vast. It is truly the most powerful force on earth. I've been reading Job and its' a stark reminder of that. That the God who made stars and invented evaporation also feeds raven chicks and lion cubs. He is vast, and yet vastly intimate.  

All the stuff that seems permanent in my life, all the problems that overshadow me...its largely a matter of my puny desk lamp perspective shining on this life. I am so grateful that God is above it all. And he's not even a floor lamp, he's the freaking roof yanked off and the sunlight burning down over the whole space.  

Lord, remind me always. Let me not get lost in the shadows when your light always shines.  Burn in my life, through my life. Open my eyes. And when I'm trying to find my way by my own power, remind me of you and all that you are.  All my love.

Growing Sage

Well, I'm officially renewing my commitment to blog three times a week. So of course this first week, I'm way late with the third blog, but I'm doing it anyway.

I have what you might call a brown thumb.  I excel at taking vibrant, living plants and ushering them through the pearly gates in short order.  But a few months ago when Whole Foods had herb plants on sale for a dollar a piece, I couldn't pass up trying one more time to cultivate green things.

I bought sage, basil, two kinds of oregano, and marjoram.  I'm not sure what I'll ever use the marjoram for, but it was pretty. And as for the others, I figured if I did straight up kill them I would have gotten my money's worth if I dried at least the leaves that were on the plants at the time of purchase.

I'm happy to say the herbs are still alive and in fact flourishing...well some of them are.  It turns out they don't need much water, so when I forget for a few days its okay, and they like a lot of sun.  And, when you clip them to use some herbs, they actually grow back better.  Which is probably why the marjoram looks pretty much the same now as it did two months ago.

Without writing an essay, let me say that a parallel did not escape me.  Life can be rough. No matter who you are, or your situation, you'll face hard times. Some people get cut more than others, more than seems fair or even tolerable. But when you see those people who have ask the Creator of all to come into their broken places, you can tell. Because they don't just heal, they flourish. And their lives have that much more flavor and depth to enrich the world around them.

Thank you, Lord, that you are the Redeemer, and you will never let evil or pain have the last word in the lives of your children. Thank you for herbs and for how sturdy they are and how wonderful they smell in a saute pan. Thank you for flavors in life, both in taste, in experience, in sound, in color, in people.  You are a God of accents and variety and richness and I love that about you.  All my love.

Ole!

I'm grateful for avocados. Just because they taste so darn good.

Communing

Dry.

Hollow.

Void.

Not really fabulous adjectives. Particularly when it comes to one's soul.  But, I admit that is where I spent part of last week.  I know C.S. Lewis had eloquent thoughts on the intent and value of these spaces where the God I know is there is so hard to sense, but I prefer Brother Lawrence's approach of a constant closeness.  

Of late, I confess there have been more days when I felt the Sahara in my chest than when love and awareness of God rushed forth.

Yesterday I went to a small diverse church I've begun visiting.  We sang some songs that were uncomfortably close to the top of my range, including In Christ Alone, which always stirs me. Then we had communion. 

I love this.  I love the idea of ingesting Christ. I want to breathe him in, and exhale myself. I want to absorb him like the sun's rays on my skin.  And, I want to take him as bread and wine if it will bring me even a little closer to him.  And it always does.

When I had been unable to sense him in less tangible ways, I was fully able to grasp this sacrament. Literally, I held the little piece of bread, prayed with my brothers and sisters in Christ as the pastor blessed it, and then took part, joined through time to all believers clear back to the twelve who lounged around the table eating Passover when Jesus reached out, picked up a flat piece of bread, and then rent it as he said, "This is my body, broken for you."  

I think its pretty well established by the rest of that evening's events that the disciples didn't know what He meant.  They probably figured it was Jesus getting all deep again and they should just go with it. Maybe they were glad no one else was there to hear it and think he was weird.  

But I bet a few days later, when all hell had literally broken loose and their leader had seemingly lost the war, that simple act came back to them. Cowering together in a shuttered room, eating the simplest of food, if they could eat at all, someone reached out and tore a piece of bread....and remembered.

Jesus had known. He was not surprised by death. He had planned ahead, an act so simple that it would be part of life, so poignant that the symbolism could never be lost.  It was a reminder at every meal that their Lord was with them.  Death had not beaten him, as they would soon find out, and nothing could truly separate Jesus from those who loved him. Nothing. Ever.

As I dragged my weary soul to church on Sunday and saw the elements on the table, so simple and so rich, I smiled.  I remembered.  And I was refreshed. No matter how vague, how silent, how dry my soul, it will not wither. It is cupped in the loving hands of Jesus.

Thank you, Oh Lord, for your faithfulness. Thank you that emotions are just that. Thank you for the incredible blessing of belonging to you. And thank you for communion, for knowing we would need a tangible reminder of what you've done for us.  All my love!

Strong

I've been called many things in my life. Some good, some I'd like to forget, and some that I'm not sure what to do with. For example, intimidating.  Occasionally used in conjunction with independent, or strong, this title is given with some feeling, but I'm never sure what kind. I mean, it's not like someone called me a booger, but its also not the same as, say, brilliant.

I don't try to be intimidating, and I used to try to figure out what to do about it, but I've given up. The thing is, I just do what needs to be done. As a single gal, if the trash needs to be taken out, I do it. If the lease needs to be negotiated, I do it. If a mini-van plows into the side of Dirk the Blue Impala, it is I who must exchange information with the perp and wait for the cops. I'm not complaining, there are definitely a lot of great things about being the sole decision maker, like eating pizza five days in a row, or buying the good shampoo that costs a lot more, or watching a corny movie featuring The Rock. It's just that I am used to taking care of myself.

Which is why it is so refreshing in those rare times when someone does stuff--be it difficult or routine--for me.  Pops was in town this weekend to visit.  He visits all us kids on his way to and from a big meeting each fall, and this year he scheduled his stop in Little Rock to coincide with my move from one apartment to another.  The movers had just finished hauling the last of my furniture up three flights when I left to pick up Pops at the airport.

After a brief froyo stop, we went straight to work, and didn't really stop all weekend.  We unpacked my kitchen, my books, and cleaned up the old place so I will get my deposit back.  He even did the vacuuming which is my least favorite chore!  And as the pile of full boxes in the new place became a pile of empty boxes, he hauled them downstairs to the trash bin. Over. And over.

To get this kind of help, I would gladly buy meals and entertainment.  But, Pops sprang for dinners and  groceries and even some household goods. I'm thinking of putting a plaque by the guest bathroom trash can in his honor.

I don't know if this sounds like a big deal or not, but to me it was. For once, I could let go of the responsibility. I didn't have to be strong, or independent. I could lean on my dad and, as always, he took good care of me.

This independence thing seeps into my relationship with God, too. And like my loverly earthly Pops, God says, "Don't worry about it, I got this."  He's willing to do the heavy lifting, willing to provide, and even to treat me. I don't need to be strong enough or work hard enough for him to love me or even to like me. He just does.

I was reminded of this truth over the weekend. And I will try to let go. Over. And over.

Thank you, Lord, for Pops and what a wonderful example of you he is.  Thank you for the family you've blessed me with!  Thank you for being strong for me, that I needn't be independent because you are always dependable.  All my love.

The Blueberry versus the Kroger

About three weeks ago Dirk the Blue Impala and I were turning left, when a gray minivan didn't notice the red light in front of them.  It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.  I escaped injury free, however, Dirk's left rear door was kind of mangled.  Well, I called my insurance and two weeks after that, they finally said I could take Dirk in for repairs.

On the way to the Enterprise for my temporary ride, I'll admit I prayed for another Charger. Those things are so fine.  Instead, I got a Taurus.  Not just any Taurus, a tricked out Taurus in an electric shade of blue.  It's like driving a blueberry with a cockpit.  I love it while I'm inside, but every time I climb out I feel the need to explain to those nearby that I didn't buy a car that bright.

Anyway, one of the many cool features of the Blueberry is one of those back up cams that lets you see what your taillights do, and beeps if it thinks you're being a bit optimistic about the turning radius.  I have a hard time trusting this technology. It just seems too...I don't know, easy.  So when I was about to back out of my Kroger spot and the little bell started dinging away--even though I could see nary a car or shopper from the window-- I almost ignored it. I had to fight the urge to gun the engine a bit and show the bell who's boss.  But instead, I put it in park and climbed out into the heat to check.

And lo and behold, a cart had snuck behind the Blueberry and positioned itself in a prime spot to claim injury and file a lawsuit.  I was so relieved because, what with an unusual rash of accidents (only a few of which are my fault,) I've been branded a high risk driver by my company. The nerve! And if I'd taken out a shopping cart, as wily as it may be, my track record would be further tarnished.

Then tonight, I was again at Kroger, again pulling out of my spot, when the bell went nuts.  I stopped, looked over my shoulder and this time it was no cart. It was an actual car.  A regular size car that had slithered into my blind spot when I wasn't looking.  Needless to say, I no longer curse the bell and camera system.  In fact, it's a huge blessing.  Neither of the Chargers I have had the pleasure of renting had back-up cams.  If I'd gotten my first pick, I would have felt very cool until I made impact.

If it had been Dirk and I in those parking lot situations, its safe to say that at least one incident would have resulted in a scratch.  But the Blueberry is the kind of safety I've needed this week. Too bright to hit, and too smart to let me hit other things.  Timing is everything, they say, and I am so grateful to be blessed with a rental this week, when I needed it. And not any rental, but one that is very very smart.

Thank you, Jesus, for protection!  For safety even in car accidents, and also for stopping me from having them to begin with.  Thank you for the Blueberry and the fun it is to sit in a black leather seat that cools your tush.  Thank you for a company car at all.  Please, let me see you in my days. Let me hear your warnings fervently.  Be too bright blue for me to miss.

All my love.

I will not be boxed.

Of all the things to buy, one of the worst is gift bags.  Really? Four bucks for a bag that will get used once and then trashed? I don't care how much glitter you put on it. It's still a bag.

And just below buying gift bags is buying boxes.  I like to buy things in boxes, but the cardboard itself should come free.  Unless, of course you're trying to move. Then you must shell out serious dough for a temporary product whose whole point is to transport the things you care about.

You write fragile on all the boxes so the corrugation won't get smashed. After all you spent on them, they're gonna get willed to someone some day.

I've been packing tonight.  On Friday I will swap my address for another, a whopping five miles away. But still, everything I own has to be  evaluated, and the stuff that makes the cut must be boxed and labeled clearly with the items and destination room. You never really realize how much STUFF you can cram into a measly apartment until you try and get it all out again. This girl, as simply as she may think she lives, needs a lot of boxes.

Which makes me grateful for The Ridge liquor store. Besides purveying fine wine, they also get a lot of cases they unpack and no longer need.  So while my living room looks like the lair of a very wealthy person with a problem, I have yet to spend any money on boxes.

Thank you, Jesus, for the fruit of the vine and the wonderful things time will do to it. Thank you, too, that fermented drink always comes in heavy glass bottles that require a sturdy cardboard box to ship, and for the friendly people at The Ridge who happily have given me stacks and stacks of these. Thank you for taking care on the days I have fragile written on me, and while I wouldn't say you've made my outsides of cardboard, you definitely treasure what is within the most.  All my love.