Yes, Really.

I am currently praying about a number of things that I won’t share.

A familiar prayer to most is where we ask for serenity to accept what we have no power to change. Seems to me that request covers a whole lot. I have uttered that prayer a gazillion times lately.

This was such an odd week. Some awesome moments, but some stressed out ones, too.

When I disconnected the garage door, finding myself `trapped` inside, that might have been my first clue. Me plus car inside garage led to a small freak out. Add a missed , important appointment, and 5 days with a migraine.

Then yesterday arrived.

In 100′ heat, my air conditioning went out. Seriously. Oh, and at a company lunch yesterday, a crown fell out.  Really.

My good humor was on the run, and the temptation to cry was too much.

I cried…and cried. I might have stomped my feet, too.

Thankfully, in recent years I have learned a lot about accepting what I can’t change. I have extremely limited power. Extremely. Circumstances are what they are. Emotional feelings are what they are.

In circumstances that threaten my equilibrium, I might cry. I might . And I do. Crying works:-)

But I also know to ask God what He’s up to. And I know to call a friend. And I know to remind myself that this too shall pass.  That there are opportunities in every crisis.

Steve, the air conditioning guy, is here fixing the AC. The crown is back where it belongs. The appointment is rescheduled and I am headache free.

I love my messy life:-) And I love the God who reigns over my circumstances.

I can touch.

When I’m ready to hear, I am really really ready. It often takes me a looong time to get there, though. But I do get there. Working on shortening that chasm of wasted time.

When moms or dads are sick, stories seem to magically resurface. We are very busy telling stories. I love when my mom laughs, and she’ll usually interject something I’ve long forgotten. We are a family of funny and precious recollections. I love that about us.

When I was little, I had summer after summer of swimming lessons. Most were in the pool at the local middle school, but one terrifying summer was at a lake near our house. It was there that I learned to dive.

Despite pleading, wheedling and outright begging, my mom would not give in. I was going to learn to dive. She wouldn’t give in to my fear. She wouldn’t let me give in to my fear.

The thing is, at the pool the water was clear, chlorinated and predictable. The lake water was dark, and had fish and sticks and stuff. AND it wasn’t heated. I mean really cold.

I couldn’t see the bottom, unlike the pool, so I had to believe the instructor when I, shivering and crying (I think) did dive, and trust that it was deep enough for me to go in safely.

Back then, I just wanted to know where the bottom was, and that I would be able to touch it when I needed to.

Life hasn’t changed that much for me. I still want to know where the ground is, and I still feel most secure when I’m touching bottom. But my life often feels like the lake water. Dark moments, sad moments, uncertain moments, scary moments that propel me to frantically search for level ground.

How deep is God anyway? I’ve asked that question through the years, as I wander through…whatever. Currently, “wandering” has uncertainty and unpredictability in the mix.

But I always come to the same conclusion…no matter how deep I dive, God is deeper still. No matter what path I am called to take, no matter what I do or don’t do, no matter what happens or doesn’t happen. No matter.

God is deeper still.

Feels Like Home

I’m feeling like a daughter, finding my way home.

Intertwined and pain.   How can any of us know what’s in front of us?

I looked around yesterday at my mom’s house.  Everything is in place.  Seems to never change even a little.

Yet seismic changes have swept in on the wind.

Dad is gone.  Is mom leaving? We don’t yet know.

Preparing for inevitable.  Lonely journey indeed.

In a very real way,she feels like home to me.  My house and children are home, but not the home in my mom.

A mom’s pat as I cried yesterday in church on Father’s Day, my mom’s comforting hand on me was home, familiar, sure.

Although I know home is always right inside us, I’m afraid to lose her. So lately we have been remembering, recalling and telling memory stories to each other. Practicing.  Comforting.

Our shared experiences help to find our way there…back home. As near as telling each other the stories.

In the way

I’m an expert at getting in my own way.  Do you ever feel that way?

I have highly developed skills that lead nowhere good.  And I’ve been in my own way many, too many times.

Not all that long ago I decided that it’s just not how I want to live.

Self-protection is one of the huge lies that we (me) buy into.  It’s a lie because we can’t do it…our behavior will always give away what  we desperately try to keep hidden from view.  And it’s a lie because self-protection keeps me imprisoned.  No wings to fly when all I can see is me.

As Audrey Assad sings, my desire is to “disappear into a deeper Beauty”.

It’s that disappearing thing that captivates me…not actually, but where I’m not afraid of my own frailties.  They show despite my best attempts to keep them all to myself.

I went into the gulf when at the beach this week.  Into the actual water.  Me.  Did it.

I realize it wasn’t graceful.  I live with the difficult of my reality every single day.  Not easy getting into that water.  Not easy getting out.  The current and waves were one thing, and my self-focus threatened to get the best of me.  I was sure I was being stared at by all the perfect :-) people on the beach.  Which is probably true.

But, getting out of my own way was lovely. Casting aside that self-focus for the joy before me was worth it.  God has healed me.  My heart is fully restored and I believe that.  I do, however, live with reminders of the battle fought, and that itself brings joy.

I did two things at the beach.  I trusted a friend with my vulnerabilities  and I might have inspired some of the people who watched me.

Imagine the power when we risk…ourselves.

To the right, to the left

Solomon said “Better is one handful, with tranquility”

Andy Stanley says, we live in the land of –er.  We want to be rich-er, thin-er, cool-er, happy-er, pretty-er…..on and on to endless. Never-ending.

As the years have passed, I say I want less, but I think that’s a lie I tell myself. The truth is that the insatiable desire for more sometimes has me by the throat.   And if I go there, it will choke me to death..

When my children were little, we talked about comparison.  I tried to teach them that comparing will always leave us miserable.  If you compare yourself to someone who seems to have more or better than you, you will feel cheated and envious.  If you compare yourself to those who appear to have less, you are left with arrogant pride.  Neither are very appealing, are they.

Being a big fan of applying the lesson,  we made a game out of gratitude. At Christmastime, we would go look at lights on often enormous homes. When we  would pull into our own modest driveway, I would sometimes say “Oh look at that house!  Who gets to live in THAT pretty house???”  They would say “We do!!”.

Silly, maybe, but the intent from my heart was to massage little hearts with Truth.

I need that heart massage, too.  An infusion of truth and a perspective of gratefulness.

Looking to the right and to the left won’t do.