blogging my way through the everyday

Posts tagged “musings

I’m a Node, You’re a Node

It was blizzardy when I left class early. The wind pelted the few exposed centimeters of my face and jabbed at my eyes as I followed the other wayfarers into the warm refuge of the bus terminal. Still half an hour before departure—I thought I’d spent more time at the drug store than I had.

The grime accosted me the first time I had to wait inside—months ago; but now it seems normal, inviting even.

I walk around and look through windows at nothing in particular. I watch the others without trying to be obvious or ill-mannered—people make me curious. I check my phone to see if my daughter messaged me and take a seat along the back beneath the window; that way I can catch what’s going on. Also, there are a few empty seats in a row.

Mostly it amazes me. The cacophonous quiet. That so many people could be in such a small space and only a spattered few are engaged in some kind of conversation. There’s a double row of seats facing me like someone set them up to play musical chairs. People slip in–trying not to make contact with the person next to them, as though they might detonate. Some are pacing, some passing through—but almost all are busy button pushing or scrolling across the lighted screens of their gadgets. I’d like to blame technology for our lack of horizontal contact, but if I’m real honest, I don’t need technology to keep me from not striking up a conversation with a complete stranger. Still, there’s something surreal about seeing so many people hooked up to the heavens—completely oblivious to what’s going on around them.

I think about what I was reading in computer class—about networks. They can be hierarchical or peer-to-peer; and all the devices connected to them are nodes. A woman walks by in front of me looking like an angel, her face glowing from the notebook device she’s looking into as she goes. She’s a node, I think to myself with a smile. We’re all nodes, connected to something.

I enjoy being here today; watching people go by, waiting for my bus. Sometimes I listen to sermons on my Mp3 player, but for the moment I’m contented just holding God’s hand with my heart. His is a secure connection–hierarchical and peer-to-peer at the same time. And I’m just a little node… learning to be content, even when the ride (as it often will) takes me places I’d rather not go.

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Hanging On My Prayer Line

This morning, as I was hanging my laundry on the line in descending order of weight and size, I took my time to drape the last few articles—with stains—facing the sun. Nothing can disintegrate mustard spots and fade the vilest blotches of blood like a June morning’s piercing rays. Last week I hung a white tunic up with a mango mark that hadn’t come out in the wash, and hours later I reeled it back in without spot or wrinkle. Okay, it still had a few wrinkles­—we’re at the mercy of the wind for that—but the yellow fleck had forever fled from the sun’s penetrating gaze.

That wasn’t the first time this morning I’d aired my dirty laundry, though.

I hauled my basket full of soiled cares and sullied concerns to my prayer place and washed them in the water of His Word. I let His mercy pour healing agents into the rinse as I scrubbed every anxiety over the washboard of His wisdom and commands. Ours is no quick-cycle chemical cleansing—prayer is a ‘roll up your sleeves’ kind of rewarding work.

Sometimes I get up from on my face before God fully cleansed and refreshed. Other times, like this morning, I find there are things that just don’t come out in the wash.

So I hung them up on my faith-line. I tethered them to mercy, and secured them with trust—carefully positioning each one before the Son’s face. He sees them, I know. They don’t stand a chance against His penetrating gaze.

Clouds might get in the way, this is true. But out there they will stay until He comes through.

I like to think that prayer is a little like doing my laundry. I have to keep up with it or I don’t have anything to wear. Sometimes a gentle rinse cycle is all I need. Some requests get put through the wringer. And some things just have to hang and dry.

purify yourselves and change your clothes. Genesis 35:2


Let the Little Children… Not Number Our Days

So I’m sitting outside the other day with Loco and one of the neighbour girls who often comes over to visit, and she turns to me and asks, “Can I have your dog when you die?”

Ah, I’m thinking to myself, the innocence of children. She thinks my little Loco (who’s already nearly ten in people years—making her eligible for Old Age Security in dog years, if they actually paid it out to dogs [I’ll have to write a letter to Peta]) is going to outlive me.

“Oh,” I say, “Loco’s ten years old.” But she keeps looking at me for an answer, so I continue, “She’ll most likely only live to be about 15.” She continues to look at me as I rock back and forth in my porch chair, feeling now like I should be knitting socks and pulling a shawl over my shoulders.

“Um, do I actually look to you like I’m going to die before that?”

She nods. And with childlike sincerity adds, “Yes… well, except for your hair.”

Definitely not getting the dog. And, although I did enjoy the rest of our time together (I have THE most darling neighbours), all I could think about was getting back inside so I could look in a mirror and scrutinize the latest attack the aging army had launched against me unawares. Should I have invested all that money in a good straightener when a set of curlers was more my speed?

Suddenly, how old I looked to the rest of the world mattered very much to me.

I have to admit, though, getting older isn’t the struggle I thought it was going to be—it’s those other areas of my life where people’s opinions have either validated or demeaned who I am; those areas set in stone, cemented into something sculpted by what others have said about or to me–and I find the Christian life is somewhat of a perplexing paradox at times.

We have within us an inner witness to the forgiveness, life and promises of our Creator—while outward circumstances bear down with such force they threaten to snuff it all out. And, if that isn’t bad enough, those looking on can threaten to annihilate us completely by their erroneous assessments—judging who we are by our situations.

True, we sometimes bring the storm on ourselves, and often we’re just reaping what we planted—but even then, when our hearts are repentant God is with us, and we must hold on to that truth without ever letting go, because that, alone, is our lifeline to getting through. We must learn to swim against the onslaught of opinion.

A man who’s fallen overboard and is floundering to keep his head above water in the middle of the ocean does not worry about how his hair looks as he clings to the lifesaver tossed out to him.  God is not concerned about how well we impress others as we ‘work out our salvation with fear and trembling;’ clinging to what His Word says about us as the umbilical cord keeping us securely connected to the womb of faith.

Joseph had to do it. So did Job. David did it, too. All of them looking pretty insignificant in the eyes of their contemporaries—suffering scorn and contempt. One thing they didn’t do, though, and that was listen to popular opinion, not even their own. They believed what God said about them; they chose the path less travelled—and that, like the famous poet said—made all the difference.

Feeling a little boxed in by other people’s opinions? Don’t give up, God has a lot to say about who we are…

even when the rest of the world has our days numbered.


Spring Cleaning

Ah, spring—and a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of…

Mud, of course.

The snow’s finally beginning to melt around here, and underneath it all is lots of muck—in my front yard, anyway.

Looks like there’ll be a little more excavation going on, and in the meantime we get to enjoy everything the bulldozer trudged up.

I’m saying enjoy because the neighbourhood kids and I have been finding really cool rocks to paint. We spent the afternoon out front with newspapers spread across the patio blocks–and painted everything from ladybugs and bees to Easter eggs and each other.

I must say, Haley’s execution of me is remarkable—it looks just like me. Of course, Sammy doesn’t think so, but these children are too young to appreciate the beauty of painting a fresh face on every morning.

I figure, if you’re stuck with a front yard full of rocks and dirt, you might as well make the most of it.

We sure did.

It’s going to take some work, though, to get the lawn looking good again—wouldn’t want the front yard like this the rest of the summer. Want to go back to the way things were, before it all got dug up.

I’m wanting some other things to go back to the way they were, too–before some things inside of me got all dug up; when nothing was more important than the nearness of God.

“If you, Israel, will return,
then return to me,”
declares the LORD (Jeremiah 4:1).

We’ll have to rake up all the soil, dig out the rocks and get rid of the weeds and other debris that was churned up.

“If you put your detestable idols out of my sight
and no longer go astray…

It will all need to be levelled out before planting grass seed,

   “Break up your unplowed ground
and do not sow among thorns.
Circumcise yourselves to the LORD,
circumcise your hearts…

 

Spring’s a good time to get things ready; to realize–some of those mountains that just won’t budge?

Can only be taken out one little stone at a time…


A Few Good Eggs

I love me a good egg.

I love dipping my toast in a couple almost every morning. I love them over easy, in a salad or whipped in heaping piles atop a lemon meringue pie. I love the way they line up neatly in the carton and stack conveniently in the fridge. I like that you can even put the ground up shells in your compost.

They’re bursting with heart healthy nutrition, low in saturated fat—and have very few calories.

Recent studies reveal a plethora of reasons to include eggs as often as you can in a healthy balanced diet. Turns out they’re not just good for your heart, they’ll help you have the right kind of cholesterol. They contain high quality protein, and all 9 essential amino acids.

They’re good for your eyes, brain, nervous and cardiovascular systems, and are one of the only foods that contain naturally occurring vitamin D.  They lower your risk of breast cancer, promote healthy hair and nails, and may actually help prevent heart attacks, strokes and blood clots.

Not bad for such a humble little powerhouse of provision, who’s had to stand up against a bad rap for so long. They’ve had to fight incredible odds against the barrage of misinformation assaulting their good reputation.

But truth is always truth; and once the air clears and misconceptions are shown to be what they are, truth stands as it had all along. It doesn’t cower to consensus, and it doesn’t blush with shame at the false accusations–it is a pillar planted in the roots of eternity past, present and future by God Himself, who will bring all truth to light in His time.

And in the same way you can’t put a good egg down (pun intended), eventually lies and deception will give way to truth in our own lives.

Sometimes I buckle under the weight of misconceptions, slander and half-truths–thinking it has all obscured me even from God; that He either doesn’t see what I’ve been buried under… or He doesn’t care. But often, in that obscure place He shines the light on my own misplaced motives, judgments and accusations of others–and I wonder if it’s all scrambled eggs from His point of view.

If I fail to see the ‘good’ in those who harm me, am I doing the very thing they have failed to do, as well? What a mixed up carton of eggheads we can be sometimes.

And, from this place of improved perception, I am learning to release, one by one, all the hurtful and damaging things, real… and imagined, maybe–and finding the benefits of a few good eggs in my life is very much worth the weight of any harm done in the process. And the hard shells of past offences?

They make for a richer soil to grow in when I grind them all up and toss them away.


The Perils of Slaying a Giant

While everyone may have been thrilled about Goliath going down, not everyone was thrilled about who God chose to accomplish it, and his unyielding faith. David’s brothers despised him, and later Saul’s envy was so out of control David spent years in hiding and constant flight.

Are we willing for God’s deliverance to come through the faithful hand of someone else? Someone whose life might cast a shadow over our own–and might that shadow look a little like envy or contempt?

 

Then he took his staff in his hand, chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd’s bag…

 

I go down to the valley
where Goliath begs to be felled;
from where he is a mite
scaling the footprint of God.

But he has become a giant,
and I find solace in the crowd;
comfort in the collective
cowardice. All of us
tethered to the same insecurities;
fastened by familiar fright.

United we stand
against our own success.

Pity the poor lad who dares
divide us asunder

with just a fist full of faith
and  a pocket full of rocks.


Life in the ‘Loco’ Lane

I’m hoping to be just like my dog, Loco, when I grow up. Not that I want to bark at strangers and follow myself around the house all day—just that I’d like to be as consistently happy as she always is.

From the moment I surface beneath my mound of blankets to hit the snooze button for the first time each morning, until I submerge again into the sandman’s shadows—she’s happy. And she’s not just ‘happy’ happy, she’s ecstatically thrilled about everything. If I get up from reading, a wagging tail propels her into spirals around my feet. Any sudden movement brings on a whole new carnival of contentment; a gala celebration.

If she goes outside she’s overjoyed. When she comes back in she tears up the floorboards with her enthusiasm. Even if she’s sound asleep and I slip quietly by, her tail—as if stirred by my overwhelming presence—wags at my passing. She’s no less enthusiastic about everything life has to offer than she was nearly a decade ago when she christened the threshold of every happy moment at the altars of our affection, with her wiggling wee bursting bladder.

Everything with her is as new as a freshly spanked baby’s bottom—she lives on the delivery ward of blessings about to be birthed; the cusp of perpetual penchant.

She’s the sound of an ice-cream truck on a sunny Saturday morning. She’s new furniture and old books, slapstick comedy, clowns and every happy thing you could conjure up.

If she were a drink she’d be champagne; if she could fly she’d alter the earth’s orbit. She lives life like it’s some huge pie eating contest—gobbling up all she can before time runs out.

And, it’s not as though she’s any stranger to hardship, either.

 

 Oh, the troubles she’s seen…

 

She just knows how to bounce back from it is all. She doesn’t know anything about letting circumstances keep her down.  

         

So, yeah—that’s pretty much the way I’d like to embrace the rest of my life. Living like it’s a walk in the park, because truthfully—sometimes it’s more like a walk down the plank.

And as much as we’d like them to be—trite and shallow canine comparisons, however clever—are not enough to keep some of the very sobering situations and circumstances from seeping inside and petrifying the very marrow of us.

We can’t always tear up the floorboards to the next adventure when the next adventure is another disappointment or letdown.  Sooner or later, exuberance buckles beneath the last straw. It’s not all that easy to wag your tail in that place, much less sit up and beg for more. But God doesn’t expect us to, either.  He promised to find us wherever we’ve been scattered to—bring us back, bind up our injuries and strengthen us.  That’s where I’ve been lately—getting all bandaged up and better.

I can’t help feeling more exuberant about life again, though I’m nowhere near altering the earth’s orbit yet. Some of those circumstances and situations are just as foreboding.

Still–I aspire to live life like my loco little dog–in a carnival of contentment; on the cusp of perpetual penchant–bouncing back from the brink like it was just a nasty old bath or something.


Blessed

This is a cleave poem. I was first introduced to them while spending a lot of time on a writing/reviewing/critiquing site. This genre, created by Phuoc Tan-Diep, was introduced to the site by a very talented writer. I’ve since discovered that the art of combining more than one poem (I read one that had four poems in total) goes back well before cleave poetry. But, since that is how I learned it this is what it will always be to me.

I also like the ‘cleave’ concept–that each thought leans into and is dependant on the other. We are left with a tapestry of words to wonder over; woven works of art having something truly unique to ponder  depending on which way you look at them. And when you read one all together it is like taking a step back to gaze on the complete picture.

Last night I was thinking of Job, and how much better his life was after his suffering was over. God blessed the latter part of his life more than the first. Sometimes we forget that suffering will end, and that, if we are truly trusting it to a faithful heavenly Father, our lives can only be all the better for it. That’s what inspired this one.

Read it through first as one complete poem; then read each side separately. There are three distinct poems or variations of thought in this.

Blessed

If Job became                                   blessed

more than he was before                       are

the cruel arrows of                            those who

plunder wasted, should we                           mourn for

the suffering, despair? Knowing—                 they

rise up now and                                                        shall

in the end                                                     be comforted

 

 

 


Poinsettia Regretta

In case you were thinking of asking me to take care of your plants while you were away for the holidays, there’s something you might like to know.

This is what my poinsettias looked like only hours after bringing them home last week.

When I’d spotted these lush plants on sale as I was scooting down the aisle, I couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful they would look on the piano. Since it was my last stop—just a moment’s drive from home—I scooped them up, and off we went.

But we live in a dangerous part of town (what with KFC being just across from Canadian Tire) and after my senses were assaulted on the way to the van, we were taken captive and somehow I found myself in a line-up handing over a ransom for supper.

By the time Shopper’s Drugmart enticed us in for a little pick-pocketing fun I’d completely forgotten all about my plants. It wasn’t until we started to unload the van, and I saw the cavalcade of wilted petals weeping between the passengers seats like a funeral procession, did I remember I was supposed to get them straight home—out of the cold. I had, once again, assassinated another houseplant—two this time around.

That meant I needed to plop them atop the piano for a while.

Part of me secretly hoped they’d bounce back. They didn’t. Part of me wanted to be reminded of how beautiful it would have been… if only. And part of me thought I should remind myself of my mistake. After all, wouldn’t it be living in denial if I didn’t? Having to face up to them for awhile might make me feel rotten enough about wasting all that money to never do it again.

I felt the need to explain it to my friends when they were over. Susan, of course, thought it gave a sort of ‘Goth’ look to my Christmas decorating. They all thought it was a funny, unfortunate mishap.

But every time I saw the dead plants, I only felt worse. It was just another one of those ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’ reminders tearing away at my confidence. So, yesterday, when I happened upon this gorgeous poinsettia (on my very last stop), I decided to give myself another chance.

This morning I threw the dead ones out.

Sometimes we keep little reminders of our shortcomings around. But what we really need to be reminded of, is that life is already hard enough. We have to be intentional about not letting all the things that go wrong (even when it’s our own fault) flash-freeze us on our way to where we’re going.

But if they do?

For goodness sake, throw them out! Don’t set them up somewhere in front of you where you’ll always be reminded of them.

It’s okay to start over.


I Bring You Bill

 

balance sheet ok

*I just haven’t been able to blog as often as I’d like to lately, and today’s Plinky Prompt looked like a lot of fun. Write a 100 word story WITHOUT using the letter ‘e.’ Why don’t you give it a try?

Publish a story without that worn-out, paltry digit? Okay. Though, you must know it will subsist of concoction only. Any analogy drawn or similarity to your own conditions is wholly fortuitous.

I bring you Bill, who, for motivations unknown to most, was apt at adding (computation living within at full-mast as air constrains a living soul). So apt was Bill at adding that many a good company was wont to hunt his approval on all things involving a tally, rallying round to watch summations grow. Until that fatal day, not a soul did fathom that Bill would compound and burn.

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