A Conglomeration of Books

Books are my biggest weakness, well besides coffee and dark chocolate. My favorite present to receive is a book I have been longing to read. The only trouble is my momentum for collecting book is at a more accelerated speed than my reading, though I read everyday. I have always had a voracious appetite for well written words – words to inspire me to a truer version of myself and fill my imagination to overflowing with beauty, joy and hope which is then poured into my life and the lives of others.

Long ago a woman I barely knew visited my home and complimented me on how I decorated with books throughout my house. I confessed it was out of necessity; I do not have enough book shelves. My husband will attest to the lack of book shelves, or excessive number of books I own. For two years in a row I have requested book shelves for my birthday or Christmas. When I moved here nearly four years ago so we could get married I parted with several books I had read and reread; I was sure I could part with them at the time. Oh how I have lamented several volumes no longer in my possession.

But I know, and my husband reminds me, I cannot keep every book forever; we would soon run out of room for ourselves. Yet books have a way of creeping in and stacking up on tables, under tables, in book shelves and, well wherever they can barter space with an item deemed lesser in importance. Some of you have a headache right now from shaking your head up and down emphatically in agreement; you welcome books in like a sticky spot on your counter beckons ants. You cannot get enough of them (books, not ants) and you angst over parting with any book, even books you know you won't read.

After beginning this post, I began wondering about my obsession with books. As a child my mother read nursery rhymes to me. I would memorize them and pretend to read them to others. But I do not recall bookshelves in our home or owning a lot of books; we rarely went to the library. I recall during the school year buying books from the scholastic book club or checking out a book from the school library to read and return the next day. When desperate I would scour my grandparent's bookshelf for something to borrow. Once I begged my mom to let me join a book club via mail. Every two months I would receive a new book in the mail. I still own one of my favorites: Professor Diggins Dragons. We didn't have much money so it was a sacrifice for her to give into me. The library would have been cheaper.

When my parents started attending church regularly and following Christ, books gravitated to our home. There were spiritual books, but there were also lots of self-help books. As a teen I was reading self-help books driven by my voracious desire to learn, focusing in on how to fix what was broken in me and my family. Maybe those were seeds planted bringing to full bloom the call to counseling. Who knows? I just know I had to have something to read to feed my imagination and my hopes, and to learn all I could about God, myself and others.

At times I am overwhelmed by the stack of books under my bedside table yet to be read. But I never stop longing for the next read. One of the things I found fascinating about my husband when we first became friends was his passion for reading. Like me, he has a stack he is reading through and a stack waiting to be read. It was so wonderful to meet someone who would understand the desire to learn and the joy of reading a well written story.

What are some of your favorite childhood stories? Black Beauty, Little Women, and Up a Road Slowly come to my mind. As an adult I discovered Anne of Green Gables and read all 8 volumes, plus many other books by Lucy Maud Montgomery, including a favorite character Emily of New Moon. What are some of your favorite books? And what impact have reading and books had on your life?

In the Dark With No Instructions

It is a balmy day and the wind blows bringing with it the dark clouds. I wonder if they will relinquish and give up the weight of their gift to our back yard or move on to a better location. This year I am giving myself up to learn to listen, truly listen. I wait to hear words, a nudge, a knowing. Without a doubt some of what I hear will blow in dark clouds, but I know His eternal plan means for all this to be for good. While counseling a client, I share how God does not give us a detailed blueprint for our lives with no surprises. But His plans will be better than anything we can imagine, even when we are looking at the dark side of a cloud. I do not mean to minimize anyone's painful journey, but from my own experience I have found He gives gifts in the darkness; He is there.

I came across this quote rereading Bob Benson's book, He Speaks Softly, “And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown. And he replied: Go out into the darkness and put thine hand into the hand of God. That shall be to thee better than light and safer than a known way.” M. L. Haskins

I like to see where I am going – to know I am going to get there and to know the potential hazards along the way. There is something in me holding fist-tight to the idea that I can bypass the hard stuff if I plan well and carry a light for the darkness. I have come to realize something and truly believe it the more of life I experience: We don't get to see the complete blueprint. We are better off taking the hand of God in the dark.

I had a fun challenge stamp this on my heart: trust in the process, God is in it and good will come out of it. My daughter, Laura, requested I make a quilt as a gift for her college graduation. She found a picture of one she liked with no pattern to be found. The fabric layout was random and I had no clue how much yardage I would need. I have sewn a lot over the years but not without directions and measurements. I agreed to make it.

 

Laura and I shopped together for the main pieces of fabric, but the other random pieces and the layout was up to me. I have to admit I was a bit anxious without instructions. I worried I would invest time and money into something that would turn out to be a disappointment. And I wanted to please my daughter as well. I wanted her to have a sense, when she wrapped it around her, that love had been stitched into this randomly pieced, one of a kind quilt. I wanted to delight her.

So I took the risk and started sewing. It was a long process; I would get the courage to add a piece or two of fabric and then I would have to lay out other pieces and mull it over, deciding what piece belonged next to the other. The pieces weren't put together as a patchwork, sewn together then attached to batting and backing by quilting; they were attached directly to the batting and backing. It was scary. Bit by bit, more fabric chosen and purchased without her input, and finally after six months of waiting I was able to give her the quilt yesterday.

Waiting. A few days passed and the text I received said, “Love you and love love love my quilt!!! Ah, what a relief! Though I am overjoyed I have pleased her with a love gift created without instructions, the seriousness of this accomplishment was not as great as trusting the hand of God in the dark. But I do love these ordinary, earthly reminders when we step out in faith with only a Hand and not a plan we will eventually arrive at a delightful place. There are many areas of our lives in which we won't see the pattern all pieced together with purpose until the other side of this life, but He continues to graciously remind us the blueprint is in His hand and we need not be anxious, even in the dark.

P.S. Thanks to Laura for the photos! 

Blurry Seasons

“The soul that projects itself entirely into activity, and seeks itself outside itself in the work of its own will is like a madman who sleeps on the sidewalk in front of his house instead of living inside where it is quiet and warm.”

I am fascinated by this powerful word picture and all it conjures up in my mind. These words written by Thomas Merton in No Man Is An Island flash a warning light for me to stop and consider if my activities are of my own will and need for identity, or are they the things the Father sets before me to do. To know where the heart's intent lies amidst the busyness requires quiet for listening to His voice. There are so many voices confusing the issue.

While I was out and about one day this month (January) I took photos of autumn trees. In southern California the seasons get blurred this time of year. You see, winter looks like autumn with spring splashed about running together. Around town the tulip trees bloom while autumn leaves cling to the few deciduous trees chosen to fool us into thinking we almost have four seasons. It baffles me. The succulents dress in spring's bright blossoms in our yard while the wisteria drapes itself in the golden glow of autumn.

The two seasons side by side reminds of how the difficulties of life's challenges veil our clarity about whether or not we are like Merton's madman sleeping outside his own warm house. There are those spots in life where we are smashed between two seasons and the busyness cannot be helped except to let go of things we absolutely do not have to do presently. Some of the letting go includes things we've enjoyed for a number of years. I am thinking of a generation of working folks whose aging parents require a lot of help, a generation with children in college and grandchildren to pour into the wisdom years of experience. These busy seasons blur our clarity about how our energy should be spent.

There are no easy answers. Each season asks us to release some things in order to find some semblance of balance as we daily move back and forth between “autumn” and “spring,” whatever that holds for each of us at the moment. When I don't know what to wear in this place of dual seasons, my husband says, “layers.” I am finding when the seasons overlap I need to get quiet and listen; I need direction about what layers to allow on my calendar. Only by listening to the Father can I learn to live in the moment; and living in the moment is essential to my sense of peace, keeping me focused on the love-task at hand whether it be mothering, elder care, grandparenting or helping the broken He brings my way. We cannot do this perfectly but we can keep our ears open to the One who knows for sure if we are sleeping outside the house wrapped in our own creation of self or inside where His warm breath whispers the truth of who we are in Him and how we are to live no matter what season we've been plopped into.

The Benson Influence

As I set up to begin crafting another post, the ice cream truck in front of our house has been playing Turkey in the Straw for nearly 20 minutes, and I am about to crawl out of my skin. Even shutting the front door could not drown out the unwelcome tune. The lovely weather in southern California promotes daily rounds in my neighborhood from this “year-round-music-box-on-wheels-full-of-cold treats” playing its repertoire of songs including a Christmas song and Happy Birthday. Where I grew up the ice cream truck was seasonal and not out and about in the icy, cold winter.

I know I am getting older because I say, “when I was growing up” more often. Just this past week I had a wonderful “when I was growing up” come full circle. When I was in junior high (called middle school now) my mom discovered a little church she was determined our broken family would attend. While attending this little church I first heard a soft-spoken man by the name of Bob Benson; he captured my attention with his beautiful word pictures, sensitive heart and holistic faith. He shared a faith walk without compartments; a spirituality wrapped up in everyday living. I read his books and I learned to sit on the front pew and listen hard to his whispered messages whenever I had an opportunity to hear him speak.

Bob Benson died of cancer in his 50s so it has been at least a quarter of a century since he wrote a book or spoke at a retreat. But not too long ago I came across a book by Robert Benson entitled, Dancing on the Head of a Pen. The subtitle is The Practice of a Writing Life. An inspiring and practical book by the way, including well crafted word pictures to draw one in, to tease out a few laughs; it is written like a straight forward chat over coffee about what it is like for one writer to bear up under the insecurities and delicacies of being a writer. Only a few pages into the book and I suspected this Robert Benson just might be related to Bob Benson. I text my brother to share with him, and of course he wants to read Robert Benson's book; I imagine he wants to borrow mine.

After doing a little research I discovered Robert Benson is Bob Benson's son. This morning I decided to take a photo of Robert's book with one of his dad's books. I pulled out He Speaks Softly: Learning toHear God's Voice. If you read my post about my one word for the year, you may recall it is listen. I felt a tug on my heart to reread this book. I opened the book for old times sake and hit a speed bump at the dedication page. “To my two eldest sons, Robert . . . and Michael . . .” the words of Bob Benson confirmed Robert to be his son. Now this all sounds kind of weird as if I am looking for some lost relative, but I am a bit sentimental about those who helped mold me spiritually when I was young in the faith. My home life was chaotic so creative Christians like Bob Benson poured crystal clear water, re-hydrating a parched place in me craving hope and encouragement.

I wish I had the words to describe how moved I am to be mentored by another Benson. At this crossroad on my journey I am delighted Robert Benson came along side to challenge me as a creative person and to speak to my soul. I plan to read as many of his books as I can get my hands on. I would love to hear about the people who stirred you to be a better and truer you – the one or two people who left a significant mark on your spiritual formation. There have been several in my life and a larger number of them I only met through print on a page. Thank you wherever you may be!

My husband, my editor, challenged me to bring something more to the ice cream truck opening. I had to laugh at my response because I told him I grew up in the country so my only ice cream truck experiences as a child happened when visiting my cousins in Cincinnati. It is as Bob Benson writes, "A person's montage of memories and impressions are peculiarly and particularly his own." I imagine it is more the memories of raising my children in the mid west influencing my thinking about ice cream trucks. No matter, the Pied Piper-like draw of its music for the neighborhood children overwhelms me still.

 A Full Moon Adventure
 
Oscar Wilde penned, “With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon who could not be happy?” Add a little chocolate and coffee and I would totally agree. Although I am a morning person I have always been mesmerized by the moon. The consistent cycle of the moon, waxing and waning every 29.53 days takes my breath away as it reappears in its full, impressive bulk hanging low upon the horizon and glowing golden. This glorious, glowing orb works together with the sun and the earth, all contributing gravitational pull, creating the tides of the mighty ocean waters upon the earth.

When the full moon shines into my bedroom window I often feel as if I am being nudged to go outside and see what mysterious beautiful shadows take shape and prowl about in the backyard, though I rarely go. The moon beckons; I sleep. But responding to the temptation to being in moon light shadows is exactly what my husband and I did last Tuesday evening. Though it was planned, not spontaneous, we joined a small group of people for a full moon hike on Cowles Mountain. It isn't so grand as far as mountains go, but the 4 mile round trip hike was exciting and fun. A wonderful bonus was the REI instructor, Sarah, brought trekking poles and we had an opportunity to try them out. I am sold on trekking poles. What a difference it makes! My middle-aged joints were spared on the steep climbs and descents, and my upper body had more of a workout.

The invitation my husband gave to go on this hike was met with, “Let me think about it.” I don't dive right into anything requiring me to stay out late and be awake or squat behind a bush to tinkle. After a day or so of giving it some thought I agreed to go; I knew it had the potential to be a good memory. But as I often do in advance of a new adventure, I angst over every aspect of it. “What if I hurt as badly as I did on the last hike we took (which was quite strenuous)? What if I need to go to the bathroom? What if I am too tired to see clients the next evening?”

On and on went the questions and the need to process. I do not fully understand why I seem to have to go through this to get to a good place about a fun opportunity that may have a temporary effect on the way I feel physically. But I do. My poor husband. I reminded him I will get to a good place, I just need to talk about my concerns and get them out of my system. I almost talked myself into feeling too badly to go.

I am oh so glad we went. Besides Jim and I, there were 2 guides and a woman 10 years my senior. We all made it and did quite well. The older woman told us her first hike ever was to the top of Mt Whitney, the highest peak in CA. Now I am not so impressed with my own willingness to make this moon light hike. The whole adventure reminded me of another full moon hike I took 5 or 6 years ago with friends from work. It was an idea inspired by me. I told you the moon lures me out, and occasionally I respond to its bidding. We were to meet near a remote wooded area after dark; I arrived first. There I sat in my car exposed by the full moon and wondering how safe it was to be out here alone. I locked the car doors and called my friends to make sure they were coming.

As we all gathered and began the hike, we chatted. Somehow I thought this was going to be a quiet hike. I guess I had imagined admiring the moon in silent awe and listening to the night sounds. A summer night in the Missouri woods can be quite noisy with cicadas and crickets. For the most part I heard only the voices of my friends on this particular hike, at least until the moment when someone said, “What was that noise?” We paused to listen. We all heard a sound none of us recognized. After a bit of nervous deliberation we agreed to turn around and walk back over the portion of the trail where we had entered the woods. In spite of not walking the entire length of the trail we still felt adventurous outside in the dark woods late at night soaking up a bit of moon light.

Oh the moon, the glorious moon. The moon inspires poems and stories. Remember when George offers to lasso the moon for Mary in the movie It's a Wonderful Life? Harold and the Purple Crayon is a story about a boy who decides to take a walk in the moon light and he draws the moon, though not full, and himself outside until he grew tired and longed to return home. And then there is the sweet book by Margaret Wise Brown, Goodnight Moon, a bedtime story I used to read to my girls while snuggled up with the sweetness of their fresh bathed, pj clad little bodies. People are drawn to vacations in the sun, but the moon has the lure of romance and the mystic lure of nighttime adventures, at least for those with good intentions.

Need to Listen Exposed

Oh how quickly I was put to the test after I committed to make a change. Have you ever been humbled and embarrassed just on the other side of a conversation shining a good light on you? Well, I have; the most recent happened just yesterday. Let me start at the beginning.

I have given up making New Year's resolutions. I do like to look over the previous year and pray about areas in my life needing fine-tuning and to make lists. But last year I latched onto the one word idea. For those of you new to the one word concept, you choose one word, the word that depicts an area of your life you need or want to grow. I wasn't sure about choosing a word this year, but while reading through Job I realized God wanted to improve my listening skills. As a counselor I do a lot of listening, but when it comes to God, I need some work. I find it easy to talk to Him about stuff, but then I rush into the day and forget to stop and listen to what He has to say. Yes, this is leading to the humbling part of my story.

Yesterday I was reading the writing of another blogger and she had posted about her one word. She requested others to respond with their one word. The inspiration for responding was the opportunity to receive a free gift. So while I was in the midst of an eloquent response, stew bubbling on the stove, my husband comes into the kitchen and asks if I wanted him to turn the heat down under the stew. If you know anything about me, when I am processing in any way, it is as if I dropped down deep into a rabbit hole. When I hear a voice from above, it takes awhile before I really pay attention to what is being said, and even longer to surface from my personal space of contemplation to respond. Or, as I did in this case, I snapped, “I am trying to write.”

I eventually surfaced and turned down the heat, all the while my husband stood by watching and commenting, “That is too high.” I snapped again, “I know how to cook.” He was just trying to help and if I had listened in the first place, I could have answered, “Yes,” and returned to my writing. Writing completed and fully aware of my surroundings I was suddenly hit with this thought: while writing about my one word and the passage in Job I believe God had given to me, elaborating how I even hoped to learn to listen better to my husband – right in the middle of all my spiritual babble I am tested. And I failed. Ouch! How quickly it was confirmed: I desperately need to learn to listen better to God and to my husband.

I chuckled at the irony, but was grieved about hurting my husband's feelings. I made a confession and an apology was given to my husband. And I had to give him time to get over the sting of my disrespectful words. What a way to start out the new year. The one word commitment is more like a mirror reflecting my great need to submit my listening skills into the Father's hands for adjustment.

I would love to hear how you seam together the past year with the new year. Do you set goals, make resolutions or make lists of new things to be accomplished? What are you looking forward to in 2015?

Happy new year, friends!

P.S. Watch for my next post to hear more about the photo.

Slow Down and Savor

Slow Down & Savor

Staring at the bulletin board above my desk, a sense of disloyalty washes over me. The autumn pictures that give me such joy will soon be replaced by Christmas ones. I wonder what it would be like to extract every bit of sweetness out of each season, not allowing man-made holidays to push me along. Winter doesn't begin until December 21^st by the calendar year. What if the snowman collection crowding the top of the pie safe didn't make an appearance until the changing of the seasons? Of course I do favor autumn over all the others, but why must we rush along as if we were about to see our favorite celebrity. The One who made the seasons is the greatest of all and He didn't rush, but methodically made a plan to inhabit the flesh of a baby, grow up, make fishers of men, die on a cross, raise from the dead and lift up the hearts of believers everywhere in anticipation of His return.

'Tis the season when all the details of my days are blurred together and my holidays begin to look more abstract than intentional and meaningful; full of moments meant to be noticed and celebrated, each day meant to be anticipated and celebrated. Last week I worked hard to savor and create memories with my husband, daughters and their friends. It was no small feat since we celebrated two birthdays and Thanksgiving in a short seven-day week. Packed in the middle of cooking, baking, cleaning and wrapping, a special event for our church staff gobbled up most of one day.

At times I felt overwhelmed and unsure of how I would manage, but I do know something about savoring: a beautiful magazine, a well written book, looking into the sparkling eyes of a loved one as they tell their story, the exquisite prayer journal by a dear friend, or a delicious piece of dark chocolate. These are things I slow down and savor. I am tempted to absorb these treasures all at once, but usually I am able to take my time and truly enjoy each picture, each bite, each story, each phrase, and each prayer. Why does this time of year, with all the twinkleling lights and sweet treats, seem so devoid of the leisure needed to relish in its meaning and significance? I could blame it on consumerism or on others planning too many events designed to commemorate Christmas; I suppose all those things have an influence on me. But I am the one who chooses whether or not I will be deprived of savoring the special moments between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have helped complicate Christmas with all the trappings and expectations I put on myself.

Don't misunderstand, I enjoy some of the trappings of Christmas: the happiest music, gift giving, decorating and extra baking. The point is I do not want to get so caught up in the trappings that I forget to think about why I cherish each person for whom I wrap a present. I don't want to miss out on meaningful fellowship. I don't want to disregard how the garnet-colored

pomegranates hang heavy like ornaments on the pomegranate tree. I want to watch the hummingbirds sip nectar from the Aloe Vera blossoms. I want to sip coffee with my daughters and hear about their daily doings. I want to enjoy the process of decorating the Christmas tree and not feel as if I must do this, but that I delight in doing it. I want to watch Christmas movies with my husband without worrying about all the items needing crossed off my list.

As I read back over this post, I realized I have a theme going: I am not wanting to miss the meaningful moments in life. Being intentional about paying attention is hard work sometimes. I am looking for ways to make room for more joy, less drudgery. I choose to spend less time and energy worrying about getting everything done and more time enjoying the process of preparing to celebrate the incarnation and what it means for all the people I love. I would love to hear how you strip away some of the "shoulds" of the Christmas season and find ways to delight in the moments made with the people you love.

Reviving a Hummingbird

There he sat on the patio, calling my name, wanting me to see the tiny life cupped gently in his hands. “What do you think I should do with her?” he asked of me. I peered into the hands of my husband, the man who chooses life, and saw a female Anna's hummingbird breathing in the softest gasps of air, eyes closed. I reached to stroke her; I had never touched a hummingbird before.

It looked as if she may have knocked herself silly against the patio door, but she would die if left on the cold cement. “I don't know what to do with her,” I spoke without putting much thought into saving this amazing little creature. “Wrap her in a towel and lay her on the patio table. I have to finish vacuuming.”

He stayed planted in the Adirondack chair, hands cupped warm around this fragile bird and with one finger gently straightening her ruffled wings, he breathed life into her through prayer. He was touched by her helpless plight enough so that he stopped the cycle of chores to keep her warm and wait. While I on the other hand was entrenched in a to-do list and could not see the life of this hummer as a high priority.

Several minutes later I checked on the two of them. The hummer was gone. My husband's eyes shined bright throughout the telling of how this little bird stood wobbly in his palm and then took flight. Before going far, she turned back and hovered in front of him in gratitude. I missed it! I missed this miraculous moment because I was too busy vacuuming! The whole precious event only took about ten minutes and I let the opportunity slip by because I had something to do that would need doing again in few days.

It was a Charlie Brown moment for me. Good grief, I missed it! How could I have been so foolish as to trade in this tiny pocket of time filled to overflowing with the miraculous for the managing of the never ending daily dust and dirt. Ugh! I was impressed with my husband's perseverance and disappointed in myself for not being there to share the joy of the little bird opening her eyes, arising on thin legs, and then on beating wings with a pause and a glance of thankfulness.

There are these blessed moments, God-given gifts to stop us in the middle of our daily drivenness to fill our hearts with awe at the Creator's immense thoughtfulness of the tiny details in our lives. And so often we miss out, too busy with necessary but meaningless tasks. It is my husband's story because he was the only one there to see it; I only have the second-hand version since I chose to be a Martha not a Mary in those few beautiful moments. Periodically a female Anna's will leave the feeder and hover before my husband; he is convinced she is still thanking him for saving her life. And I believe the joyful reward my husband gained by waiting in these moments with her were nearly as wonderful for him.

I encourage you not to stand around, Charlie Brown-like, mourning the moments you've missed. Listen. May the lost moments inspire you to pay attention to the still, small voice of the Creator saying, “Look over here, I have set something aside to share with you.” It would bless my heart to hear your stories of being stopped in the middle of your headstrong direction and taking time to treasure the beautiful, inspiring details that filled your heart with awe.

P. S. I am still learning a lot about blogging. If you are following this blog you already know I do not have a regular posting schedule yet. So you don't miss a posting, sign up to receive posts in your email. Thanks for all your support and encouragement.

This morning my husband made me this extra special latte. He had already made our usual cups, but I often feel the need for one more. The tired of the week had me in its clutches and warm cinnamon coffee, with a bit of chocolate stirred in, thawed the stiffness left behind by the sitting and listening and bearing of burdens. My dear husband can support this fact: I am mostly delighted by simple pleasures. I am overwhelmed and worn out by too many choices and complicated schedules. So much so that at times I have to start cleaning closets.

Do you know what I mean? When life feels complicated and my control over it is limited I look around and see what I can manage. Over time and hurried days the stuff in cupboards and closets starts to co-mingle and soon it drains too much time out of my life as I search for one, specific, misplaced item. I decided when I want to be creative or get dressed there needs to be a more logical flow to the way I store things.

Monday my husband came home from work to find each bedroom closet open and stuff spilling out on the floor and taking over the beds. It is great therapy for me to clean closets, cupboards and drawers: pulling things out, trashing or bagging unwanted items, and putting what's left back in purposeful order. Somehow the whole process lifts a weight off my shoulders and allows me to regulate my breathing. It calms me.

My recent trip to visit my mom opened a storehouse of ordinary days full of ordinary pleasures via pocket calendars left behind by my Grandma. She knew how to edit life down to the best and most important events; the few lines scrawled daily captured more than most people could in a chapter. Of course having lived next door to her for most of my childhood, I can see the details between the lines as her words pulled up pictures from my memory bank.

Nearly everyday she would report the weather; it was a good day if the sun was shining even if it was too cold for her. Captured in the daily scribblings, I find her doing ordinary chores like: laundry, hanging clothes on the line, baking, gardening, and regular visits with friends and neighbors. Days filled with completed tasks seemed to give her a sense of satisfaction and regular visits with friends and neighbors brought her joy. It was an era when people made time to swap howdies and check in on one another. Here are a few excerpts.

May 1, 1992 49° AM 69° hi

“A pretty day with wind, clothes dried fast. We got the patio cleaned & the geraniums moved down from upstairs. Joan came to stay all nite. Her, Terri & I walked.”

September 11, 1992 50° AM 72° hi

“A nice day. AM was cloudy. Picked beans & tomatoes also cucumbers from the garden. Went to town in afternoon. Baked pies for Stevens sale.”

October 15, 1992 64° AM 67° hi

“Cloudy & rainy day. We put in some storm windows. Bible Study here with 8 of us. Had ice cream & hickory nut cake to serve for Ralph's B.D. Joan & Alton called at 10:45 PM.”

In my mind's eye I still see a clothes line near the large cedar tree and the lilac bush. Old fashioned metal lawn chairs rested beneath the elm tree near the garage where I often found my grandparents snapping beans. Walking upon working elders required one to join in and lighten the work load. I see the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window next to the refrigerator covered from top to bottom with family photos.

Grandma's daily calendar full of ordinary tasks are jewels strung together with my closet cleaning days; memories of lessons learned from the women in my life over the years fills my heart to the brim with gratitude for the wonderful folks I call family. Though my chores differ in many ways, spending a few minutes plopped down in the middle of her day's work calms me and... requires less energy than cleaning closets.

I would love to hear how you bring calm back into your life. What memories of ordinary days do you enjoy thumbing through?

Where has the time gone? I've returned home, unpacked, and hosted a chili supper in our back yard for about 20 people. The unpacking did take a couple of days; but I came home with an extra bag. Once I put everything away I forgot what it was I bought requiring the extra bag. Isn't that how we sometimes deal with our hurts, pushing them back into a dark corner of our mind so we can forget about them. It is tougher unpacking unresolved things than extra stuff picked up while out of town. Of course some of us have been hiding away from our pain for so long we have several bags full to unpack. One at a time will do. I promised to share reasons for unpacking and here it goes.

Note: If you are one of those rare and blessed people who had a fairly pain-free childhood and an adult life free from deep hurts then read the following so you may develop a greater understanding for those who did not.

• Without an awareness of how your past has affected you it will most likely sneak up on you in similar situations or control your responses without your awareness. There are occasions when something will trigger my need to stay out of the way, to become small. My husband will point it out by saying, “You are acting small. I don't want you to be small in my life.” I know what it was about my growing up that makes me feel this way, and I am then able to remind myself this particular behavior is no longer necessary.
• Unresolved or unprocessed wounds from the past are like an infection; they poison the way we think about ourselves, others, and God. Unprocessed pain can leave us holding onto heavy lies drowning any hope of rising above the torturous cycle we circle through day in and day out, making the same poor mistakes over and over.
• Unpacking the past gives us freedom to be who we were meant to be and shines the light of understanding that offers us freedom from taking responsibility for the behavior of those who caused pain in our lives.
• Addressing the issues that hurt and confused us within significant relationships helps us to begin to let go of behaviors and beliefs that are hurtful to us and to others in our lives. It is a little scary at first because we do not know what else there is to hold onto. I can assure you it is better than you can imagine.
• When we ignore our pain we often resort to numbing our feelings. We numb ourselves with food, alcohol, drugs, shopping, intense relationships, video games, internet activities, exercising, hobbies or adrenaline-producing thrills. Some of the things we use to numb are good things misused, others are unhealthy or illegal. And the big surprise when numbing is the method: suppressing pain also means suppressing joy, hope, etc.
• Unpacking the past frees us to forgive others and ourselves. I am in no way a follower of Buddha but some of his words were quite reasonable. For example: “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

This is weighty, and if you were going on a plane you might find yourself paying extra for excess baggage. As mentioned previously, unpacking may require professional counseling. I think it is important to remember we can be free from allowing our wounds to identify us. Each of you is a unique and special person with a special purpose; the wounds of the past have affected you, but you do not have to let them define you. I am writing about things that happened to you, not because of you.

If you are a follower of Christ then you have the power of His Spirit within to set you free. This does not mean we are exempt from the work; the work of tearing down the lies and replacing them with the truth of His Word. God made us to heal; healing requires acknowledging the pain we carry.

I'm wondering what pictures pop up in your mind as I write about unpacking hurts. Is there any situation that has you chained to the past? Or a person who has power over your emotions because of an unhealed wound? Those of you who have gained freedom from deep hurt, what worked for you?