A Blank Page

I meandered through the store, touching, caressing books, so many ideas, thoughts and stories transported on the pages. Signs were posted above the shelves, identifying the current sale prices. My heart sank as I strolled through the departments. I felt like my best friend was moving away. To Iceland. The diminished inventory reminded me of the second day of a garage sale. As I have stated before in my blog, I love books. I enjoy looking at my own copies, occasionally lifting one from the shelf for no other reason than to fondly recall, to appreciate. Imagining Good Night Moon on a diminutive screen sends chills up my spine. Little children perched around the elfin book, mesmerized by the grayness of it all. With the closure of Borders, I wonder what the future holds for the written word and for the publishing industry in general. Understanding change is good, and besides I don't really know the CEO of Borders so making a phone call would be pointless, I know I need to make peace with this deal and move forward. Perhaps drive to Powell's. Dust off Who Moved My Cheese? Or publish my own story on-line. Like a blank page neatly arranged in a typewriter, waiting for the first click of the key, there are still stories and tales to unfold, to be shared with a willing, eager audience. How they will appear to the public, the pages, the words themselves, remain to be seen for many authors. If the on-line world and the publishing companies agreed to marry, a seemingly perfect union in my eyes, we could have the best of both worlds. Books to hold and cherish, stores that cater to the tactile loving public and e-books that honor the ability to download scores of inexpensive titles while texting your spouse a grocery list. A blank page is an opportunity, a risk, a chance to make a difference. I wonder if the words will mean the same if I discover them on a Kindle. Will they leap out, capture me in their originality, hold me hostage for days as I dwell on the richness, the meaning, the creativity. Maybe. A blank page is a blank page.

Comfort Zone

Is it easy to step out from our comfort zone? Our satisfied, snug, contented, I-know-this-well-so-why-should-I-do-anything-different zone. Maybe that means taking another route to work. Two days in a row. Eat yogurt with raisins for breakfast instead of the familiar oatmeal. Or write a kind note to someone who drives you absolutely nuts. And give it to them. Several weeks ago I visited a store at the mall with the intention of handing the sales clerk the exact name of the item I wished to purchase, pay for said item and be finished with the errand in good time. When I told the nice clerk the name of the clothing piece I had dutifully memorized, she said, "Oh, we don't sell those any more." A pregnant pause. "We sold those quite a while ago. Here, let me show you the newer model, much nicer than the one you have now."  My heart thudded to the floor. She whisked me away to a shelf which displayed the newer version. I scrunched my face. "Umm...I'm not sure. I really like the one I have." My words spilled into a transient conversation, and I was quickly patrolled to the fitting room, introduced to Bambi, and from then on, I felt transported into a world I had never anticipated re-visiting. Getting fitted for an undergarment. She ignored my protests, whipped a tape measure around my chest and announced my current bra size to which I adamantly disagreed. "I've never been that size!" I almost shouted. "Oh, the tape measure doesn't lie," she countered. Before I could kindly suggest to her she might find a new profession, her perfectly sculpted backside retreated through the door. Soon after, I looked in horror as Bambi placed a plastic bin filled with the dreaded items she thought would be ideal for me. After trying a few on, and stealing quick glances in front of the mirror, I tossed them back in the bin and pushed the white button for her to return and help me find something I liked better. After a few long moments, she stepped into the room and asked how they fit. I told her the truth. "I really like the one I have. Don't you have a more similar model?" Bambi cleared her throat. "Well, yours is comfortable from being so stretched out," she said in a chastising tone. I looked at my article of clothing longingly, giving a silent thanks for being so faithful and suitable. Sheepishly, I picked up one of the garments from the bin and purchased it out of fear. Fear of being perceived as a frumpy, old-fashioned middle-aged grandmother. A week later, I returned it. On that same day I walked into another store at the mall, made my way down the aisles and came to a sudden halt. There it was! Excitement pumped through my veins. Rushing to the rack, I touched and felt, tried a few on, breathed a heavy sigh of relief and chatted happily with the clerk at the sales counter. On the drive home I got to thinking. In this life there are tangible goods that offer us comfort and peace, some of which I find myself unwilling to compromise on or give up. Like my purchase, or a favorite pair of pajama bottoms. Perhaps I will  stretch myself in another manner, like riding in a helicopter, take swimming lessons, or volunteer in a homeless shelter. Life is full of possibilities.

Family Ties

In his book, Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller talks about community. About having people "bugging me, and getting under my skin, because without people I could not grow, I could not grow in God and I could not grow as a human." He also says, "Jesus wants us interacting, eating together, laughing together, praying together." I thought about this today. I have a large family and it continues to expand. I consider my family to be a community. After having spent the past week with various family members I came to some very profound observations. I need other people. I truly require the kind of people who make me angry or hurt, sometimes so much that the word balloon above my head requires censoring. Then the good part of me remembers we are related and share a past. That truth enables me to practice letting go, and open up to nurturing rather than handing the microphone to the wrong voice. I need to love. When I step across my own selfish desires and reach out to another to listen, to help, to lead, I know that I have succeeded once again at pleasing God, maybe even causing him to dance. I need to laugh. Each time I giggle like a two-year-old while playing with my grandchildren or laugh at a funny joke, I know that my heart is smiling a happy-face and that makes me feel just plain good. Lastly, I need to forgive. We all carry baggage slung over our shoulders like stolen loot from a burglary. It weighs heavy. And if I take a moment to consider that the other person could be nursing unhealed wounds, some of which I might even share, then I am better prepared to forgive a hurtful comment or extend a kind word rather than a caustic remark, or allow bitterness to take root. I love my family and I tell God every day how thankful I am. With our entire brood wrapped in the arms of a magnificent God, our past, present and future tied together, ribboned in grace and love, I think I have a greater opportunity to follow in Jesus' footsteps.

Blossom Time

They teased me with their bowed heads, their delicate petals facing toward the ground. Several times this week I have gone out to the same dahlia bush, my faithful bloomer, with red-and-black shears poised, ready to cut the stems for my bouquet. Yesterday, I paused in front of the bush, examining its readiness for display in my cobalt blue vase. I perused the  tightly closed buds, the coral petals tucked inside the green stems. The early summer sun, a phantasm in Oregon, reigned in the cornflower-blue sky, giving me hope once again. I just needed to be patient. The flower simply required a bit more time, I thought. Maybe a little more nourishment.  My gaze swept the cloudless sky and I sighed into the comfortable atmosphere. Just like me, I pondered. Those buds. It felt like God was up in one of those skywriters, those airplanes that write messages in the sky, the engine exhaust spreading the missive high in the air for added emphasis. I curled my mind around the epistle, allowing the graceful message to adorn my heart. I think God sees me just like those buds I am eager to pick for myself. When I close up tight it gets awfully difficult to open my eyes, the first rays of dawn becoming me to rise, to glorify. I snuck a glance at the sky once more. Yes. Even when I am not quite ready to release my hold, He stays right by my side, tending to me, grooming me, fertilizing the deepest part of me. An elongated sigh caused my shoulders to drop an inch.  Practicing patience, I placed the shears back in the drawer, trusting that in its own time, the coral bud will surely transform into a beautiful blossom.