Love Always Wins

It was a trying day. A day that stalks your patience, your peace, strength and stamina. It was the morning  after the Presidential debate. My emotions ran high like a tsunami wave, and pacing and fretting only worsened my heightened condition. I fired up right fast SOS prayers for help, for deliverance from this anxious state. Help me please! I am undone! I cannot believe this is happening in the USA! The clock ticked fear, text messages on the cell pinged doubt and the news on the television shoveled worry into my disheveled being. I practiced taking those long inhales of faith, of courage, and the thoughts continued their relentless assault.

Later that night, after much hand-wringing and fretting, I lay on the floor to stretch out the pain. And to pray. Did you hear me today? I know you did, but I'm not feeling the relief.  How do we step through all this with peace? My pleas met with silence and I closed my tired eyes.

In spite of all appearances to the contrary, God has a plan for this bankrupt world...This earth of ours, He still wants as a theatre for His grace and glorious direction.

~Helmut Thielicke~ 

My eyes shuttered open. And what hugged the ceiling above my quaking body caused those shivers to spill all over the carpet, a puddle of released doubt seeping through cracks of trepidation. My husband's birthday balloon now void of its white curly ribbon, this symbol of happiness and joy, it gifted me clarity in that moment. I forgot to choose you! I forgot to grab for joy! I forgot to trust you!

And the following day I noticed the balloon had drifted a little further across the ceiling. A trailing tweet from above. Forming a mental note to make love choices this day, vowing to curb the inner qualms with truth, I stepped into the unknown, aiming for the right target this time.

#Love Trumps fear # Love Trumps hate #Love always wins

Why We All Need A Time Out

I step outside on this first day of fall, my very favorite season, the debut of all that splendid color and the shifting change. I see the first glimpses of all that could be in the landscape, the air sparks transition and it stirs quick inside, this renewing, everlasting promise.

Easing into retirement, the days now void of alarm clocks and lunch bags, the hours stretch out into vibrant splashes of fresh choices, slow mornings, and shorter lines at the grocery store. I look outside at the first hint of varicolored hues, those dazzling oranges and reds dressing the leaves, and I breathe it all in. This unhurried pace that kisses the soul. Thank you for this time out. Thank you for the slow. Thank you for this peaceful inhale.

I want to guard this discovery, suspend this fraction of time and sweep my gaze from the droning  television, social media, the ticking kitchen clock and all that buzzing noise competing for this inherent peace. The upcoming days will fill I know, and the maple leaves in the backyard will soon carpet the cooling ground. But in this moment, I rest from the all that scares me, all that terrifies my quaking spirit, pluck the slivers of fear from this beating heart. The television is silenced, that man's voice rendered mute. And I turn my attention to  two birds nipping at the seed in the feeder, and I begin tunneling through to the light, hunting for that awesome, heart pumping joy. Cracking open my husband's birthday present, I flip the pages, searching for the tiny species taking their fill on this day, this first day of fall. More joy. More peace. More time out.

And I nestle into the Promise once again, exhaling renewed hope, this truth that trumps all my fear. I see Him in the orange-red breast of the bird I can't yet name, the dancing leaves that will soon shoot glory beams into unsuspecting souls, the unknown hours, moments, waiting patiently up ahead. I hear it all over again and I stamp an imaginary sticky-note on the still scared places, reminding myself of this unshakable wild and crazy truth.

He's telling His changeless story all over the earth. Weaving the thrilling chapters together, one page, one change, one season, one moment at a time. 

If God maintains sun and planets in bright and ordered beauty, He can keep us.
~F. B. Meyer~

The Gift Of Five-Year-Old Speak

We drove in the car that day, me humming to a tune on the radio, the refrain slipping from my lips much like a lyrical mantra. He asked it matter-of-factly, this brown-haired grandson of mine, his tone a curious question mark. "Grandma, what does that mean?" My off-key singing halted abruptly. Carefully, ever so cautiously, I adopted my wisest, grandmotherly voice. "It means that God is in control of everything," a thoughtful swallow, "and we should always try to do our best and trust Him, always." Unusual Kindergarten silence invaded the atmosphere. A quick peek in the rear-view mirror told the story. Looking like Batman searching for his missing cape, eyebrows scrunched right tight and his quizzical expression quickened my plea. Please help me get this right! I don't know if I truly understand anyway so please, please give me five-year-old speak! Now please, thanks! "It means that you try to be nice to the other kids at school. Be thankful. And it means that you listen to your mom and dad and always try to behave." An elfin pause. "You mean that I always have to be nice?" A smile crept across my face. "Yes, you should always try your best to be nice, even if you don't feel like it. I think God would like that." Blond-haired boy finally chimed in, "We need to be nice." And as the song faded into childlike memory, fresh curiosity formed in this five-year-old brain. "Can we have Burgerville for lunch?"

Thy will be done

Thy will be done

Thy will be done

I know you see me, I know you hear me, Lord

Your plans are for me

Goodness you have in store

Today, that same song, it threads through my psyche like an old vinyl record, the needle stuck in the groove. And I cash my last payroll check, me heading into retirement, I hum it all over again. Heading back to my car a man approached, tattered sleeves and a canvas bag of sorts he carried, and he asked for a dollar to get something to eat. Glancing back at the bank, I hear it again, pulled out some cash, asked him where he slept and handed him the money, all the while studying his pained, done-with-life expression. Thy will be done.

And as I start to do my back stretches, unwillingly feel the familiar ache and want to wail, it comes like a missive from above, Thy will be done, and I'm on the edge of discovering the many variations of five-year-old-speak. Oh, the plethora of chances to raise the white flag, surrendering to the invisible One who understands it all, to just get this one thing right. Recalling our car ride that day, I muscle up a bit of youthful chatter, aiming to let Him know I'm on His side, at least for this one precious moment.

OK, I'll play nice now.

My Friend In The Clouds

I look out at the maple tree, how the leaves shimmer and shake with the September breeze. The pregnant gray clouds readying to spill their bellies. I take a long inhale of that first hint of fall permeating the air and my mind trails over the past few months as if I am a pioneer trekking along a vast unknown. How do we keep going when we don't know the way? Which turn is right and what if I get lost? The ground is hard, my bones grow weary and which step will lead me further along the road?

"What a revelation it is to know that sorrow, bereavement, and suffering are actually the clouds that come along with God! God cannot come near us without clouds-He does not come in clear-shining brightness."...

And I glance at the warming sun sneaking a peek between the clouds. Shading my eyes from the bright, I wonder at this grit in my eyes, at this journey that has clouded my vision and I know that without the hard you can't recognize the beautiful. I breathe again and swipe at the grit.

"Through every cloud He brings our way, He wants us to unlearn something. His purpose in using the cloud is to simplify our beliefs until our relationship with Him is exactly like that of a child."

~Oswald Chambers~

The sky darkens once again, the soft rain, it brushes my shoulders and I begin to see a pattern. Lifting my gaze toward the heavens, I ask my question and wait. And it is there that I begin to pray, standing in the middle of the pause. Like a child He says, so I continue to talk to my friend, not knowing the answers to the questions, but believing the invisible has it all under control. Friends take care of friends.

Planting my feet right firm in Grace, chatting under this blanket of clouds, I open once again this book of learning. And I turn the tattered page.