Shades

On my trip to Savannah I forgot to take contact solution. I didn't realize it until I had washed my faced, donned my PJ's, and was ready to take out my contacts. Boo. So, I thought, "No biggie, I'll just sleep in them and get solution tomorrow."
That sounded like a good idea until midnight, when I was blinking my dry eyes furiously and counting the minutes I away until I had to get up again. So, I gave up, chucked them in the trash, and conceded to wearing glasses for the next few days.
There's nothing conceptually wrong with glasses. But I did face two issues. First, I would catch my index finger poised an inch from the bridge of my nose, ready to push them back up so I could see. And in that moment, my inner geek reigned. I try to keep her under wraps, but glasses make her bolder.
Second, and this is the kicker, it was impossible to wear sunglasses. I squinted from Savannah to Atlanta today. So, I'm grateful for a number of aspects of my usual eye care situation. But given four hours of a wrinkled brow, I'm particularly grateful for sunglasses. Not only do they spare me the wrinkles and discomfort of scrunching my forehead, but they look cool. Super cool. (Take that, inner geek. Who's eating lunch at the cool table now?)

Sail Away

I am in Savannah today for business. It was a long day. Not at all bad, just long. And by the time it got done I was ready for dinner and some mental cotton candy. So, I scooped up a new book I've been looking forward to and tucked it in my red purse, zipped my coat up to my neck since it's roughly the temperature of Siberia, and headed toward the river to a little Greek restaurant for an evening of light reading and heavy food.
The stairs that go from Bay down to River are narrow and old, so I kept my head down to watch as I descended. It wasn't until I was safely on the cobbled street below that I glanced up and saw it. An old-fashioned ship, complete with masts and a crow's nest, and it's name, Peacemaker, etched along the prow in gilt letters. (Prow? Stern? Bow? Poop deck? I'm not sure what you call the back....Prow sounds the best in context, though so we'll stick with that.)
It rode sedately there on the water, just behind one of the ornate fountains that decorate River Street.
For half a second it was two centuries ago.
I love it when you get a magic moment that transports you out of the mundane. They are all the more precious because they're fleeting and rare.
Thank you, Father Dearest, for the little reminders that you are timeless, ageless, and magic. For moments of refreshment and wonder that remind me I am not of this world, nor bound to it forever.

Pass the salt!

If I had to be a flavor, one flavor, I would be salt.
I. Love. Salt.
It is not only a standalone winner, but it actually makes everything else taste better when added. Well, maybe not peaches, but it is vital for a proper chocolate chip cookie, not to mention all snacks and most entrees.
And, it's natural! Sea salt. Sounds exotic, doesn't it? Tastes pretty darn good, too. I'd hate to think of a world without salt. I'm sure I'd be a lot lighter, but still, it would be so....bland. God was mighty thoughtful to put an enhancer in such vast quantities all over the earth. I wonder if He did it just because He knew, back before there was land and sea, that Jesus would say "You are the salt of the earth." (Matt. 5:13, fyi). That would be just like our extravagant Father to provide an example of Christianity that tastes good. And, it really is the perfect analogy. Salt is natural, free, plentiful, and always enhances its environment.Wouldn't it be grand if people thought of us the same way?
Thanks, God, for seasonings that are universally delightful. And please let me be a bright flavor in the lives you let me touch.

Send

I have a meeting tonight in the burbs, which for a city girl is kind of like driving to Timbuktu in traffic, and then hanging a left. I came straight up from the office so I could beat the after-work rush and arrive some time before Thursday... which I have.
The up side is I didn't have to sit and stare at miles of angry red tail lights. The down side is I have a bunch of time on my hands.
Which leads me to today's bright spot.
I ran a few errands and then thought, "Gee, wouldn't it be nice if I had someone to talk to?" And thanks to a little forest green piece of plastic in my purse, I can. Yes, my cell phone. Was it less than twenty years ago that answering machines were the wave of the future? Less than ten that I had to go back to my college dorm to see if anyone had called?
It's hard to even remember what that was like. But now I just scroll through the digital phonebook and I get to talk to my Dad about the apple harvest of the Northwest among the other goings-on of life. In a world, job, and passion where its easy to feel isolated, my ghetto green phone keeps me from getting too lost in my own head.
Thanks, God, for family and friends and cell phones with which to talk to them.

Lucky 13

So, most writers get involved in a critique group in which they share their work with each other and, as you might have guessed, critique it. It matters a LOT who is in your group because these people have the potential to build you up and hone your skills. Their feedback can highlight your habitual gaffs and spot it when you start to slump or your character has a personality crisis. And, the coveted :-) in the comments box makes me go, "Yes! Maybe I can do this!"
Of course, if they're incompatible partners, who don't get your style or don't care enough to be honest, you could end up with your 'writing voice' hacked to bits or a manuscript that is not your best work.
It matters.
And that is why I am so thankful for mine! Shout out to ACFW Crit13 (Heyo! Holla back y'all). We have the occasional quiet week, but for the most part I hear from these girls regularly. We started off last week with a "what's that word" email that led to heeelariousness. The kind where you sit alone and laugh out loud and don't even care when the other Borders patrons give you the fisheye. Later in the week though, stuff came up and I got emailed prayer requests and added my own reply to the chain confirming that we were, as a group, ringing God's phone off its hook.
I've had times when I was just beat down by the daunting task that God has called me to, and these gals encouraged me to keep at it, made the elusive title of 'author' seem like a possibility.
And when I gave them my precious baby (that's how we writer types talk about our manuscripts) to evaluate, they did so honestly but with love. So, it wasn't always fun to read the comments, but worth it? Oh yeah. My baby had some ugly spots that are much better now.
Proverbs 27:17 says, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." If I had written it I probably would have referred to platinum, or silver at least. Much more flattering to think of oneself as at least a semi-precious metal. But, the point is still there (no, not an intentional pun, though it works with my humor, no?). They make me stronger. Not just as a writer, as a Christian.

Peewee has a new outfit

My older sister sent me a picture today. In it, my one year-old niece (whom I affectionately dub Peewee) has ladies undergarments draped around her neck and a smile that has a dash of mischief. Maybe two dashes. Julia said she was folding laundry and Peewee kept taking unmentionables out of the basket and pulling them over her head.
It's one of those adorable pictures that could be stashed away and, in about fifteen years, shown to potential boyfriends. I say could because I don't think we'll do that. I don't think we really should. I would hate for the sweet little girl grinning like an elf in the photo to be embarrassed for her antics, for wanting to wear mommy's clothes and be noticed. I want her to look back at the photo, if she ever sees it, through the eyes of those who love her and were enthralled by the cute, and goofy things she did.
I love that Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." I think its very hard sometimes to forget whose watching or worry about what they'll think. It stifles our joy, our willingness to be goofy just for fun and to smile fully as we enjoy something just because.
I know there's a lot of times I'd like to play and I stop myself. Being naturally ungraceful, it's in my public image's best interest to sit out most athletic events. But how amazing to be free of that. To live in a single moment, unwary of the perception of this earth as I play in the presence of my God. I think in heaven we'll play dress up and turn cartwheels. We'll worry not at all about looking suave and instead be caught up determining exactly how much joy a single moment can hold.
Thank you, God, for childhood. For nieces and their smiles, for your affinity for the childlike, and that however old I may become, I can come to you undignified and know you'll smile.

Ensconced in heaven itself

I have a spot on the futon (read: poor girls' couch) that has a table at the elbow to put a cup of cocoa on. I prop my feet on the coffee table and read. It's a lovely way to pass a Saturday morning or any afternoon, as evidenced by the fact that it is six thirty now and I have moved for the first time in a couple hours. I do love to read.
Now, while I love the apartment I live in, I hold no illusions about the quality of craftsmanship involved in its construction. When you get within six inches of the windowpanes, you feel the air temperature drop by at least ten degrees, same with the door. So, it takes some work for our shoddy heater to raise the temperature to seventy. Today I had to nudge it up several times until it reached seventy six to make that happen. This is not a big deal, other than I had to set down my book, painfully wrenching my mind and imagination from the story that entwined them.
This would not have been the case if I'd gone to my room, instead of the thermostat, and retrieved my down blanket when I first grew cold. There is NOTHING like a down blanket. The way it is infinitely soft, and almost instantly warms you. The way its soft weight seems not just to trap warmth but to generate it. More than once I have stayed curled up for longer than I meant to just to avoid leaving the nest of a down. I envy ducks, they must be so comfortable with down against their skin.
It gives a whole new meaning to Psalm 61, I long to dwell in your tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of your wings. If just a blanket can feel so nice, what of the gentle embrace of my God? I long to curl up in the downy safety of shelter of His wing, nestled close by His side, warm, dry, safe.