How To Be You Bravely

She shared with me her various workout routines; step class, spinning, weights, elliptical and stationary arm machine. Sweat branded her upper lip. I have known this fellow gymmie for a number of years, a woman around my own age, another person sharing my affinity for fitness. I waited for the familiar patrolling groan, that inward voice intoning, you-need-to-try-harder, you-have-to-be-perfect-or-you-will-fail-fast. Studying this woman's face, I listened intently, nodding my head in encouragement. "I'm not competing, I'm not trying to build huge muscles. I do it to maintain good health," she added. My left foot cramped and low back shot tight. Smiling, I affirmed the good work she was doing, all the while I waited for that competitive inner shout to affix itself to those moments. To whine and complain of the injustice of it all, like after getting a super-bad haircut. As she stepped away I clicked on my iPod, readying to stretch, searching for a song to drown out that sure-to- surface nagging noise. The clock on the wall, it told me that minutes had passed since our conversation. A pregnant pause. Then it struck like a majestic blazing orange sunrise stretching wide across eastern horizon, kissing the bleary-eyed on morning commute. The voice was silent. Inaudible.Voiceless. Powerless. Punching the volume button higher on iPod, I began to hum along, sing even. And a song by Kutless, it played across across my mind same as the other day, winging a message from above, reminding me of the ugly beautiful, those circumstances which require me to muscle up all the thanks I can, in everything. "Even if the healing doesn't come, and life falls apart, and dreams are still undone, you are God, you are good, forever faithful one, even if the healing doesn't come..."

 I have asked a plethora of times for Him to remove my pain, to take away the hurt and limitations. To make me new again, undo what has been done. But perhaps in these recent years and moments, the unanswered questions and in this thing, He is in reality teaching me to Unlearn. To put on the Brave and create a new normal. Give thanks even in this. Wearing my Brave transfigures the ugly beautiful, unleashes supernatural power to transform the unbearable. Searching for the good when I would rather utter a grievance. A cocoon for hard life. So I unhinge an old thought, fight for the light, letting go of what this thing should be. Practice your brave. Listen for the silence. A new normal will find you, one courageous, crazy choice at a time.

~God does not allow pain, unless something new is being born.~

All The Light We Cannot See

We had waited for this news since our nephew shared at Christmas his desire to propose to his girlfriend. The specially crafted ring, gold melted down from a Krugerrand he received after my mother-in-law died. She hid the coins in an antique hope chest, later discovered by my husband as he cleaned out cupboards, closets, anything with a pocket. We waited through the summer, time waned and the sun now rises lazily, sets too quickly. On Labor Day his text message appeared on our cellphones. He wanted to share before family took that swipe on iphone, ipad, clicked black mouse on desktop and set hungry eyes on stunning ring. We told my father-in-law who was seated in a comfortable blue lawn chair during our picnic at Sauvie's Island, reminded him of his connection to this grandson. He nodded, seemingly understanding yet I knew that tired brain of his had not heard at all, that when my mother-in-law died, certain neurons in his brain disappeared, trailing after her like an upside down question mark. Her name he still mentions and it ricochets off four white walls, informing us she must be in the bathroom, the hall or kitchen of his Foster Home. I gaze at the photograph again of beautiful ring on Facebook and I hear my mother-in-law's hearty German laugh, and the accent she never lost still hums fresh in my ears, a melodious memoir. Did you ever think one of your hidden coins would bring such joy? That love would triumph, tunneling its way through that dark wooden space, ensconced it was and now shining free. As I reflected on this past week; our future niece, the familial thread of love embedded in gold, of how our minds can lose elasticity with loss and aging, I wondered at the marvelous process of renewal. And with the birth of our newest grandson in same week, a name we had waited patiently to discover, a tiny body delivered thousand miles away from Oregon, I said, thank you for future generations, healthy babies and electronic devices with HD.

"Whatever we are waiting for-peace of mind, contentment, grace, the inner awareness of simple abundance-it will surely come to us, but only when we are ready to receive it with an open and grateful heart." ~Sarah Ban Breathnach~

Waiting is hard life. I am eager for the wedding. Five weeks until I hold baby boy, kiss creamy perfect skin. But an elderly demented man, a German woman who clutched money tight, a nephew who loves big, a newborn grandson I've yet to hold,  they all teach me that thanking for now is the bride of possibility. And all this time of waiting, of incubating, maybe it's simply God's way of protecting our eyes from all the light we cannot yet see.