Going Great Heights One Step at a Time

Butterscotch bars filled with toasted walnuts bake in the oven while the sparrows squawk at one another in the background fighting over the food I put out for them. I bake and plan supper while waiting for my husband's return from his Mt Whitney trip. Backpacking to the pinnacle of Mt Whitney with a few friends has been on the horizon since January. Months of preparation: training hikes, making lists of needs, being fitted for and purchasing new hiking shoes, ordering supplies and packing and repacking the backpack until everything fit just right.

And now the week has come and gone. They all made it to the top and back and now he is on his way home. It was a grueling adventure to mark the end of his 60^th year in this life. It is a joy to celebrate his accomplishment and a real blessing to celebrate the man whose shoes I cannot fill.

The breeze tosses the palm leaves about and rustles through the tangerine tree as daylight begins to slink lower in the sky. I wait. I hurried about earlier to water the plants outside and feed the birds, all jobs Jim does when he is home. I kept forgetting plants and having to backtrack, and while writing I looked out the patio door and noticed I forgot to put bird food in the gourd feeder. He has such a fine tuned system and I fall short. But the plants are still living and the birds are still fighting over what I gave them and the butterscotch bars smell great.

It seems as if a lot of time has passed since the morning hours, the time I had begun to worry a little. I knew I might not hear from Jim once they started the hike upward, but I had expected to hear from him last night. Finally late this morning I got the call they were about an hour from the Mt Whitney trailhead; they didn't make it down before dark the day before and had to camp on the mountain another night. He said, “We are a little beat up, but we made it to the top and that is all that matters.”

I am thinking about the difficulties in life I allow to keep me from making it to the top. Sometimes the things holding me back aren't really so tough, but with a little negative thought to blow things out of proportion I am soon overwhelmed and doubting I can reach my goal. A friend and I had a heart-to-heart chat this week about the ways we get overwhelmed and brew up a good dose of doubt as to whether or not we are truly cut out to be the counselors God has called us to be. We were able to talk one another back to a place of truth; we just have to get back to the basics and believe God will make us able to do what He has created us to do.

Brussels Sprouts roast in the oven filling the house with their nutty, bitter scent, and I get a message saying they've gotten caught in traffic and will arrive later. So, I slow down the process and watch the light in the sky soften into a dusky glow and listen as the bamboo wind chimes make their woodwind music. I love this time of evening. No matter how long the delay, my husband will arrive home this night, piling camping gear by the door and throwing a big bear hug around me. The timing will be just right. He will have reached his goal.

Later...

And as you can see he made it home.

Sacrificed Hours Sent in a Box

It came in a box delivered by the postman. It was heavy and required my full embrace to carry it. I love getting things in the mail, don't you? My friend, Terri, had told me several months prior to its arrival she was working on something special for me. Nothing I had imagined could have prepared me for the tremendous, sacrificial gift of love she had created for me. I opened the box. On top was a lovely embroidered drawstring bag and two cute cloth purses. Terri had made all of them. But these items weren't the heavy weight present inside the box. When I saw the cover of the prayer journal I was dumbstruck. Gently I lifted it out and laid it in my lap. I read the letter she had written of how she had prayed for me and my family everyday as she created the 30 beautifully themed pages full of colorful and beautiful details. I slowly turned each page of this interactive artistic prayer journal and found a page dedicated to my husband and one to each of my girls. Terri had learned things about each person and added personalized touched to their pages.

Tears came into my eyes. I could not remember a time when anyone had gone to so much trouble for me. Me, the girl who had spent too many years fearing I was too much for people. This dear friend had been prompted by the Holy Spirit to put hours into creating a beautiful gift for me. Every detail in this love soaked book tells me my friend has taken the time to truly know me. I still can't fully find the words to express how deeply this expression of love has moved me. It is as if I had thought for so long I was just a ragtag girl and found out I am a princess. This wasn't a gift from Terri, though she poured over it with her heart and all the creativity in her fingertips released an imaginative vision in hard copy, but it was a gift from God. He validated my worth in whispered words of grace through this exquisite and dazzling gift. I have added photos to give you tantalizing little glimpses of this precious labor of love.

I am reminded of another friend who received a large box labored over with love. My friend Caity and I follow blogger Kristen Strong, http://chasingblueskies.net, and for her 40^th birthday Kristen sent 40 boxes full of thoughtful gifts for military wives. Caity was blessed to have gotten one of these boxes delivered to her front porch. When she shared with me I was so blessed and thankful someone out there who doesn't know Caity personally blessed her in such a personal way. It was a God-gift processed through a lovely lady full of heart for women making sacrifices while husbands sacrifice and labor long hours here and there for our freedom.

Sometimes the mail delivery brings us heavy things, often the kinds of things to weigh down the heart and drain the bank account. And so much in the mailbox these days is just plain junk. Sometimes I have to order some little fun thing just to get a pleasant surprise in the mail. We don't write letters much anymore and so many of us miss mail: cards, letters and packages. What is the best thing you have had delivered to your home via mail? I would love to hear about it.

FYI: Kristen Strong has a book coming out in September. I am privileged to be promoting it on my blog. Be on the look out for more information.

Mercy Deeds for the Vulnerable

An old-fashioned letter arrived in our mail box; it included an introduction of the author and a polite request to attend our home fellowship. She informed us she lived on our street and thought it would be convenient to attend; she no longer drives. As it turned out we don't meet in our home, but we offered to take her with us each week. The following Friday as we backed the car out of the drive heading west on our street to pick up our neighbor, we noticed her quickly making her way up the sidewalk in our direction pushing her walking ahead of her. She seemed excited to be going with us.

For several months our elderly neighbor joined us on Friday nights, sharing the frustrations of living in a residential home. She wasn't happy. With some encouragement she found another residential home, and though she finds living in small quarters with strangers difficult this has proved to be a better situation. And she still lives close by so we can still pick her up on Friday nights when she is able to go to Bible study. She is enjoying our group; they opened their heart to her and take her concerns and difficulties seriously. It helps her to know we pray for her.

We soon found out our friend has no family living in the area. Her brother who lived a few hours away would come and visit on occasion, but now he is moving to another state. When she asked her brother what she was going to do when he is so far away, as her health is failing, he said, “You are smart, you will figure it out.” She has been weak and unable to come to Bible study for several weeks now. There is no senior ministry at her church. What happens to the elderly who are alone, in a strange house with strangers and losing strength, feeling vulnerable and stuck both mentally and physically? I ask myself this and similar questions several times a week.

I am bothered by all this. We live in a world where people are living longer leaving us with a much larger population of seniors. I am challenged to begin searching for resources and wondering if this is a forgotten group. Does anyone out there care about the elderly the way they did when I was growing up next door to my grandparents.

My grandma worked a full-time job and grandpa worked long hours farming. When my grandpa's mother had one stroke after another it became evident she was going to need someone to care for her. My grandparents took her in and she lived with them for a number of years. While grandma worked during the day, Gail Middleton, who was older than my great grandma, would come and take care of her. While she was living and active, my grandma visited the sick, regularly called shut-ins to check on them, and visited friends and family in the nursing home. She often would take my brother and I along. These were often odd and uncomfortable experiences, but they helped us to value the elderly—full of experience and knowledge—and to see their great need to be remembered. Years later my grandma cared for my grandpa until he passed away, and then her kids hired help and cared for her in her home until her death. I grew up in a family where the elderly were not forgotten and left to figure things out on their own.

When our elderly friend needs our help I often think about what my grandma would do; I feel I have such limited resources for helping her, but I am challenged to consider folks like her as the neighbor Jesus tells us to love as ourselves in Luke 10. Tony Merida writes in his book titled, Ordinary, “Therefore, I would define love something like this: Love involves compassion that leads to action. Jesus' compassion drove Him to wash His disciples feet, to serve others, to weep over the city of Jerusalem, and to die as a substitute for sinners. . . . Again, Jesus' life and death exemplifies such love . . . He loved His neighbors; He loved the least of these; and He loved His enemies. In Jesus, we know what love is; it's the ordinary expression of one neighbor to another.”

Merida writes in another chapter, “Christianity is personal, but it's not individualistic. It's corporate. . . . It is easy to get excited about a cause, but never actually [be] doing anything for a real person. . . . Whose needs are you meeting with deeds of mercy?”

So I am challenged to do what I can to show compassion to a woman, not related to me, but alone and in need of care. Though I do not always know what this looks like, it isn't always convenient and at times I am certain there must be more I can do. It keeps me on my toes and my “knees.” I am not a hero here, it is my call as a believer to attempt to live the way Jesus lived and this is just one way. Also, I am reminded one day I may be an elderly person and there are no promises of the condition I will be in or the circumstances in which I will live. Both my husband and I find ourselves in relationship with elders who are suffering, vulnerable and sometimes afraid. We pray, we visit, we pick up supplies and we give rides. The elderly are only one vulnerable group in our culture in need of deeds of mercy. We all need to ask ourselves, “Whose needs [am I] meeting with deeds of mercy?”

Do you find the elderly being cared for in your community? Who do you know who is caring for an aging parent or frail spouse in their own home? Can you lighten their load in any way? What have you found to be some of the greatest needs of the elderly you befriend? I want to say a big thanks to my maternal grandparents and to my mom for teaching to respect and value the older people who cross my path.

Encouragement, A Gift to be Received

In a world when there is so much hate directed towards Christ followers can any encouragement be found? In a time when many behaviors and choices once considered shameful have morphed into platforms for pride and boasting, can any encouragement be found? In an age of longer lifespans and more conveniences we find life more stressful and more of us feel lost and alone. Can there be any encouragement? In the midst of this storm of darkness brewing around us everyday, I was challenged by the women at http://www.incourage.me/ to write about what encourages me. I am often around folks who spend more time focusing on the doom of our day than the eternal hope. Today I want to share a bit of what encourages me even when all around seems to be falling apart.

Encouragement comes in the mail. It is a big box filled full of a beautifully made prayer journal. My dear friend, Terri, spent weeks pouring her creativity and prayers into this lovely gift. I believe the prayer journal deserves a complete blog post. More on this later.

Encouragement comes as an unexpected benefit from encouraging someone else. I am greatly encouraged when I have been able to lift someone's spirit. My husband calls this a boomerang blessing.

Encouragement is coming home worn thin and finding my husband has prepared a tall glass of ice water for me. I cannot explain it, and he doesn't understand why, but this small, nurturing act is a big encouragement to me.

I am encouraged by nature; all of God's beautiful creation I have ever had the privilege of immersing myself into has always been an encouragement to me. I am calmed by nature and I find myself feeling pulled in closer to the Father while standing in the woods or on the peak of a mountain with a panoramic view below.

Encouragement comes in arms around me. Hugs from those I love is the sweetest kind of encouragement. There are so many hugs of encouragement:

• the tight hug of my husband with his scratchy beard nestled against my neck
• being greeted by hugs from my grownup daughters
• the hug of a friend I haven't seen in a long time, a hug filled with assurance the connection has stayed warm between us
• the trusting hug of a small child

Remembering encourages me. You may wonder how this can be when our thinking can be overwhelmed with the kind of remembering that drives anxiety to unbearably high levels. I do not know how many times the Word of God tells us to remember, and when I take time to journal about how His presence worked through the difficulty of a day or a week, and brought me to a place I could not have imagined, I am encouraged. Listing blessings, the gifts I've been given outweigh what I think is missing, encourages me.

Encouragement surrounds me, but being encouraged is dependent on me opening my heart to the possibility something good is happening in all of this and I am loved. Encouragement happens when I allow my heart to be open to more than the obvious. And when I pay attention, I am encouraged at how well every single detail of this life is carefully planned out and held together personally by the Father who is greater than creation and yet He lives inside such a small and insignificant being such as myself.

Encouragement comes to me everyday when others break open their lives and tell me how God has orchestrated their stories and helped them face and overcome things I am not sure I could handle. I am glad for the many blogs written by courageous women who have made themselves vulnerable to remind the rest of us we are not alone. Encouraging and inspiring! Just before the disciples would be jolted from their worldly view of the kingdom of heaven by the death and resurrection of Jesus, the Son of Man said to them, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) Take heart! Be encouraged! What encourages you? How are you keeping your eyes focusing on eternal hope in this wounded world?

A Rainy Day Shift

Three times in the past few weeks I have started writing a post and now I have three different unfinished posts. I can't seem to get enough focused time, at least that it is my excuse. Today the plan was to finish one of the partially written posts, but it started raining. Now you may wonder what raining has to do with completion of a post. Oh but it does; it changed the course of my day.

It doesn't rain a lot in southern California and it almost never rains in the summer, but today we had a downpour. It's great writing weather! I could hear the kids across the street laughing and playing in the rain; I went to the window to watch one of them riding a board down the street in rushing water. My husband asked, “Do you want to take a walk in the rain with me?” That was when everything changed. I don't see my husband as especially spontaneous so I sure wasn't going to pass up his offer.

We both donned sandals and shorts, him bare-headed and me tucked under the umbrella. We waded up the street splashing and feeling a bit like two kids in a world absent of grown-ups out of doors. It was a joyous little jaunt around 3 blocks. It reminded me of warm, summer rains in Ohio. My brother and I would race outside in the rain to splash in every puddle we could find; sometimes we splashed bare footed and other times we sprayed water riding our bikes through the pooled water. I love rainy days.

To think we were supposed to be camping this weekend with my husband's family. I have camped in the rain and I, for one, can say I am so relieved we decided not to go. Unless you are camping in a trailer it is the worst kind of stuck feeling. At least in my opinion.

Several summers back my family spent a rainy week camping in the Colorado Rockies. I had just finished a challenging master's program and we were planning on celebrating. Fortunately the trip wasn't a total wash out; my mom, step-dad and sister's family had rented a small house with a large porch. So while tents sat dreary and unwelcoming in pools of water, we spent hours huddled together playing games, eating, laughing, talking and reading. We spent more close moments together on that trip than on any other. Rain has a way of huddling everyone together in a relaxed sort of way. I love the rain! What do you like to do on rainy days?

Summer Delights

Summer slipped in day before yesterday and Father's Day came with it. We gathered alfresco to celebrate fathers, our dads. Not all our dads were there. One sister-in-law's father completed his life journey one summer a few years ago. My friend's dad, living on the other side of the country, visited her a few weeks ago. Little one's dad is deployed to the Middle East and my dad was home in Arizona. And yet we celebrated! We celebrated dad's and family and friendship. And we found joy in the curiosity and delight of a toddler.

How the child tests limits. Throw Elmo in the dirt and see what happens. Hand out, inviting an adult to swing her in the hammock. What is the response? Run, crunching gravel under shoes; do it again to hear if it sounds the same. Over and over she does these things to learn what will result from the doing and how the people around her will respond. She tests to determine the limits and she steps out in joy to discover. It makes me want to be the child again; to delight in the simple things and discover anew.

“To lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” - John Lubbock

I heartily agree with John Lubbock. I once made a list of the things making summer days celebratory, and I asked myself how I could bring a few of these into this summer. How can I take hold of the moments and make meaning instead of letting the summer slip through my hands without so much as a nod? Here are some of the bright spots of my childhood summers:

fireflies

Dairy Queen

picking wild flowers

climbing trees

splashing about in water

reading under a tree (or in one)

the county fair

brown cows (my grandma's name for a Pepsi float)

candle light dinner when the power went out after a storm

evenings on the porch swing

snapping beans and pitting cherries

home made ice cream

strawberry shortcake and berry pies

family reunions

picnics

riding bikes

Fireflies do not make an appearance in southern California but I can add twinkly lights on the porch or in the living room around the sliding glass doors. Of course root beer floats and berry pies are easy enough to replicate. It is much harder to quiet the dutiful grown-up voice and slather a few simple pleasures across an hour. Reading a good mystery or two is on my list for the summer. I even enjoy rereading a childhood favorite. Won't you share with me the wonderful ways to bring child-like delight to the summer months for you and your family? Recipes, book suggestions, and lazy day ideas are most welcome. What were some of your favorite summer pastimes?

Up Close and Personal

I love to sit in the window seat on an airplane; I love the birds-eye view. On one trip I looked out the window as the plane descended in preparation for landing and saw beautiful lavender trees dotting a popular southern California city. This was a pleasure trip for me; I would be visiting my daughter. But it was the first time I had visited when these trees were in bloom. I leaned over to ask the man next to me if he was from this city. He was. Did he know the name of that trees with the beautiful lavender blossoms? No. I sent a text message to my new friend (now husband) and asked him what the trees are called. The Jacaranda trees? Yes!

After landing I was relaying the conversation to my daughter and her husband; he said he had never noticed the trees. She had seen them, though. I was stunned! How is it people who live their lives in a beautiful climate surrounded by trees and plants taking turns blooming year round don't recognize or see it? I was captivated by the joyful color distracting me from concrete and traffic. Now it is not my desire to be critical of these two men who didn't notice or recognize the trees; we all are susceptible to being too busy to notice the truer things in life, things of substance.

Richard Louv wrote a book titled, Last Child in the Woods. He quoted Edward Reed's thoughts from, The Necessity of Experience, “There is something wrong with a society that spends so much money, as well as countless hours of human effort—to make the least dregs of processed information available to everyone everywhere and yet does little or nothing to help us explore the world for ourselves.” Louv adds, “According to Reed, we are beginning 'to lose the ability to experience our world directly. What we have come to mean by the term experience is impoverished; what we have of experience in daily life is impoverished as well.'”

Before we get too far and you perhaps assume I am writing only about our disconnect from nature, I am not. Another time maybe. This is more about the disconnect I see and experience all around me. Our experiences with nature, with everyday ordinary life and with people often happen without any awareness. It seems to be getting less and less personal; our senses and our hearts have been muted by over-stimulation and with the artificial.

It happens even in our churches. We can spend years within a church body, appearing to create community, and not be connected – not really knowing one another. As much as it surprised me that a native southern Californian would not be familiar with trees blooming boldly all over the city year after year, dropping delicately scented blossoms upon the sidewalks like flower girls scattering petals in preparation for the bride, many who look belong to a particular group of people aren't personally connected. How can that be? Activities announced fill the Sunday bulletin and spill out all over the days of our lives in churches. But I have to ask: like the world of technology creating impoverished versions of experiences with the natural world, are we relying on impersonal experiences in our churches to give the illusion we are connected as the body we are meant to be?

In The Jesus Way, Eugene Peterson writes, “Jesus is an alternative to the dominant ways of the world, not a supplement to them. We cannot use impersonal means to do or say a personal thing—and the gospel is personal or it is nothing.” Peterson challenges the Church to consider whether or not we are following Jesus the Way and is He transforming the way we live and do church or are we conformed to the way of the culture. We have to be intentional on this battle front for it constantly seeps in around the door frames of our churches and confuses our thinking. Bob Benson puts it this way, “The influence of mass economy—standard operation procedures, checklists, symbols, signs, style, slogans, contests, and other activities—begin to lead the church subtly away from being a place of substance.”

This isn't a witch hunt to discover what groups are cloaked in the cultural facade; the culture has left marks on all of us and it keeps us from being personal. Oh, and if we get personal we might just learn a thing or two about one another. This is certainly a scary idea, so lets just go back to doing and not being with one another. Sadly in my work as a counselor, I have bumped into a lot of lonely Christians. Granted, I challenge them to consider the role they may take in keeping themselves lonely, but there are times when even I feel as if I am riding around in a bumper car version of Christianity. We bump into one another at church or the hospital when in crisis, we do the right things; all the while we have this big padding of bubble wrap around us to keep from being vulnerable, to keep from being personal. Relationships take a lot of energy and sometimes they hurt and sometimes I think I don't really need all this mess. But what about the Way—the way Jesus does relationships?

Being a human means there isn't enough of me to go around; I can't be best friends with everyone but I can be personal and show a genuine interest in those who rub elbows with me in the church pew, in the check-out line, on the bus or anywhere God gives me opportunity to connect with another human being. Being connected means I make time to get to know a few well and to bear each others' burdens and to rejoice in each others' successes. Laura J. Boggess, author of Playdates with God, says, “Research shows that the happiest people are those who invest in experiences and relationships—not status, not stuff.” Happiness isn't my goal, but the plan I have to climb out of the safety of the bumper car and invest in relationships the way Jesus did means I will experience more joy. I encourage to get to know someone better and allow someone to know you better: get connected. In the process you might start noticing the lavender petals scattered about your feet.

Broken to Bloom

Just a few weeks ago, a day on the calendar gave declaration of the arrival of spring. Some of us are lamenting the absence of seasonal gifts—strong indicators spring has truly arrived. In our part of the world it has been spring-like for months; winter often feels like spring here. Even so, there is something about the longer days filling a week with hope and bird-songs that move me to consider new plants. Spring also takes me back to cold chilly March/April mornings in Ohio when grandpa would call just before the school bus arrived and say, “The lambs were born.” We would race down the road as fast as we could into the barnyard and take a peek at the adorable, wobbly, wooly lambs. To me it was so magical, but for a ewe who had labored hard all night it was anything but magic.

When springtime arrives full of fresh beauty begging to be noticed, I find a joy bubbling up inside of me at the sight of sparkling, bright color flung about on trees and shrubs. It feels a bit magical as well, but spring struggled through a hardship, not unlike the ewe in labor, in order to run through its cycle of death to life, from rest to renewal. I am fascinated by the trauma described by Cynthia Occilli, “For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.”

Of course being broken open isn't the end of it; once a plant has pushed its way through the hard earth, deepened its roots and sprouted, then comes the periodic pruning. The Father cuts away the unproductive places in us, places that are not healthy or functional, so we can thrive. I am convinced that most of what is good in life is the gold nugget found in a painful process. We are blessed and changed by all the big and small things causing us to surrender and die to self in order to be His vessels of life and grace. I am not trying to be an Eeyore here, but think about it: we are daily setting aside fear, hesitation, tiredness, time, who we think we are for who we are becoming, our dreams and plans so we might minister to someone. And the list goes on. Humans break open in order to be transformed and made strong.

It is gloriously painful! But oh so amazing. Coming undone so we can grow and become is common to all human beings; and somewhere on the journey each of us feel the pain of breaking open when changes take place. What is so amazing is that any one of us would choose to let this process renew our hope and allow ourselves to blossom under the duress. There are times we fight against it and long to be rescued from the painful struggle of becoming the beautiful creation we were intended to be. It is like a story I read about a person watching a butterfly struggle for release from its cocoon. The person couldn't stand by and just watch; so putting their big fingers into the cocoon's opening, they freed the butterfly and in the process brought its demise. It is in the process of struggling from the cocoon that the wings of the butterfly are made strong for flitting from blossom to blossom, feeding and pollinating for more blossoms.

There have been friendships forged out of cracked, wide-open spaces in my life. The painful and hard work of a move has expanded my view of the world and helped me grow. Divorce and being left behind were areas of brokenness I thought would destroy me, but over time beauty made its way into the cracks filling my life with things I had not expected to ever be able to experience or enjoy. The irony of pain and struggle is when we let go of controlling what will happen we often find a place inside us that breaks open to a beauty we could not have imagined. What beautiful thing has resulted from a difficulty in your life? The creation of a book, a painting, a home, a garden, starting a company, getting married again; all of these and more involve a painful process of learning, growing and letting go.

Tumbling Thoughts

Thoughts jumbled up and tumbling over in my head as of late:

• Shame, it paralyzes the soul from living in hope and freedom. Shame never aids us in doing the right thing. As a matter of fact it most always takes us to a dark place.
• How the deep wounds from a painful childhood block a person from having a healthy view of God. Wounded we come to Him with our shield in place – all self-protected, ashamed and feeling unworthy. Our trust is undermined by the lies we make agreements with in our hurt.
• Acceptance often comes by way of a wrestling match; we tussle back and forth between accepting truth and denying it until finally truth plants a flag of victory and claims the heart free and clear. Until the next round. We humans make things so hard.
• What kind of person do I want to be as I grow older? How can I glorify God in even the most difficult elements of aging?
• The significance of surrendering daily all of me, my whole being, to the Spirit so I may be more aware of God's presence. I am trying to learn the best way to make this a daily discipline.

Heavy stuff, right? But then again, here is what I am reading:

• The Utter Relief of Holiness, John Eldredge
• Lectio Divina, the Sacred Art, Christine Valters Paintner, PhD
• Anatomy of the Soul, Curt Thompson, M.D.
• God Attachment, Dr. Tim Clinton and Dr. Joshua Straub
• Pursue the Intentional Life, Jean Fleming
  
  

  

Hopefully some of these thoughts will blossom into creative work to take effect on hearts needing healing. On the brighter and lighter side I am taking a trip to England via Susan Branch's book, A Fine Romance: Falling in love with the English Countryside. Delightful! A nice balance to all the heavy contemplation. And of course I am reading my new issue of Bella Grace, a magazine inspiring thoughts of beauty and creativity. Where is your reading taking you? Or maybe you've had some new training for your job that has challenged your thinking. I would love to hear about it.

A Little Lost in Another's Pain

I sit at the keyboard and move about in cyberspace visiting one blog after another, reading what other people are writing about this week. A few people write about Lent, another about her current book and still another about decorating her bathroom. I certainly don't know what to write about today. It isn't because I have nothing to write; I think it is more that I am flooded with feelings about other people's hurts. As my husband might say, “You are a counselor, you should know how to work through these things.” Maybe I do, maybe I don't.

Sometimes I am just too up close to let go. There are times in our lives when too many people we care about are hurting all at once and we just plain get flooded with emotion. First I must pray: I pray for my mom and step-dad who are making their way through the rugged terrain of Parkinson's and its surprising but strategic attacks on various bodily functions. My heart is heavy for my mother as she describes the day's progress or regress as she observes the slow process of moving from this life to the next. I am not trying to sound morbid, but I grew up in a family who accepts death as a natural part of living, though the hard journey is not necessarily anticipated with great joy.

There is a client for whom my heart weighs in heavy. Can I help her? Does she even want to be helped right now? Though it is best to remain detached I find it difficult to care enough to get invested in someone's painful story without getting a little bit lost myself. You may find this unhealthy; I think it is just one of the pitfalls of being a counselor (or human being) who cares. I must not let it overtake me, but sometimes it takes longer to detach. I do my best to let go for a few days and remember God has her in His hands.

At the end of the week there is Saturday, a day for self-care and little projects; Friday and Sunday, bookends of the weekend, offer a much needed pause from the care-taking of others to do home things giving my mind and heart a break from the heaviness. I don't stop caring, merely refocus my energy. There is something about mundane home tasks: cooking, cleaning, puttering, bringing bits of order here and there, reading and doing a bit of handwork that washes comfort over a tired spirit like a warm cup of tea. It soothes me. It brings perspective to these sad stories I drop down into throughout the week. It is up to me to find ways to open the pages of renewal and hope so that I may come back to bookmarked difficulties with an objective, untangled and hopeful heart.

You know what gives me joy? It is remembering I serve the Living Hope, 1 Peter 1:3. No matter what we face in this life we serve the Living Hope, the resurrected Christ, the joy of Easter. I was challenged last week by Jennie Allen's questions in her Chase study: “Do we just confess an intellectual belief in God or is He real enough to impact our circumstances? . . . When life closes in, what will you believe about God, and what do you believe Him for?” So when the burdens seem heavy, people's stories take a turn for the worse, and I am feeling inadequate, I must ask myself these questions. And then I must open my eyes and watch in eager anticipation as His Spirit works to make beauty out of brokenness and pain. Do you have a worry or heartache weighing you down? I pray you will find peace and hope by opening your heart and allowing it to be poured out into the Creator's hands, the One who weaves everything into His perfect and beautiful master plan. And watch in eager anticipation to see what He makes of it, or of you.