Lets Get Real...

Pose - assume a particular attitude or position in order to be photographed, painted, or drawn.

I am late to the blogosphere.  Though, I've run this little blog for several years, I haven't really grasped the immensity of blogging until the past year.  I've discovered a few favorites that I follow.   At first, I was swept off my feet by the life-style ones.  The gorgeously decorated homes, the mouth-watering meals prepared each day with the fresh vegetables from their gardens, and the stylish outfits, even when painting!  And the children! Athletes, actresses, dancers, cheerleaders, honor-rollees, all fashionably stylish with impeccably clean bedrooms!  As mothers, these women are the fountains of wisdom:  never a scream escapes their lips, and if they cross the line into "bad-parenting," (which would be considered giving unwarranted advice), they quickly catch themselves and amend their  ways!  Oh, and the husband?  He is referred to as MrHandsome, MrHandyman, or MrBlueEyes, you name it.  He has immense patience, talent, and major power-tools.  Not only does he have a job that produces BIG money to fund all of the home-improvements, vacations, and expensive clothing, but he spends his week-ends turning ordinary trim into timeless architecture!

These blogs have tens-of-thousands of followers.  They are the women we emulate.  Why?  Because they seem to meet the criteria of the American dream, some even have the white-picket fence!  Most are professing Christians - they are the Proverbs 31 women.  Theirs is a world of prosperity, where the flaws are few and beauty abounds. 

Sigh.

I am glad that blogs weren't there when I was young.  How could I have reconciled my life with these images of perfect?  Though, I love the home-arts and have always worked  hard to create warmth and charm in my homes, it was always on a shoe-string budget. My husband had no interest in spending his week-ends engaged in home improvements, nor was there money for costly renovations. My oldest son was hyperactive and was the one who bit the other children.   Our honest attempts at gardening were generally overtaken by weeds, deer, and bugs by mid-July. 

How I longed for that picture-perfect family, only problem was my son would never stay within the gilded frame and I was usually seething, rather than smiling at my detached husband.  Life happens that way.  We raise our children with certain values and they grow to disregard them.  We marry with dreams of ever-after and wind up divorced.  We dream of the house with flowers and a white-picket fence and end up in fore-closure.  Age brings perspective.  We all reach that age where our dreams meet reality ... when what we hoped for becomes "what is" or "is this all there is?"

I had a long conversation recently with a young man who is defining his philosophy for life.  His goals are noble and I admire his clear-headedness and ambition.  As he talked I heard the optimism of his youth, his belief that life is linear;  he believes he will reach his goals by doing A-B-C.  Sometimes that works, but most often, it doesn't.  There are many impediments along life's path.

Working with the dying has allowed me a stark glimpse into life.  I worked with a 19-year-old, whose dream was to become an engineer, he had his A-B-C plan, as well.  The only difference being that he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma during his freshman year of college and died a month after turning twenty.  Then there was the young mother of two preschoolers.  Her life seemed much like the ones in the blogs.  She was beautiful, an artist, married to a doctor, and lived in a stylish home in an affluent neighborhood.  She was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died at the age of thirty-six leaving her young family devastated. 

I still read some of those blogs; however, they've become portraits of fiction to me, much like reading a novel or watching a movie.  I still hope, somewhere deep down for that type of life, where everybody is happy and life is as it should be.  However, I am tempered enough to know that I will only experience brief times and seasons of it in this world.

Life is so temporary.  Eternal life beckons.  While here, we are called to partner with God in the work of redemption and restoration.  That can't happen if we are posing.  We have to be real.  He desires truth in our inward parts.  We have to be willing to show our messy rooms, our marital woes, our children's less than stellar performances, and the weeds that grow among our herbs.  James told us to "confess our faults to one another that we would be healed."  Healing occurs when the truth is told in the context of trust.

My prayer is that rather than striving to emulate perfection, we strive to have honest hearts. My prayer is that the less-than-perfect woman in the less-than-perfect marriage with the less-than-perfect children know that hers is what real life looks like.  This is what Christ came to redeem.  This is why we need a Savior.

Selah

Musical Inspiration:  Broken Spirit, Psalm 51

Beauty for Ashes

Beauty for Ashes

My mentee and I recently went to see the new movie, Cinderella.  I enjoyed the new take on this classic tale that is told from one generation of girls to the next.  What is its appeal that draws the female's attention and never seems to get old or outdated?  What is the common thread that weaves itself through the hearts of girls, both young & old?  What is it about the story of an orphaned child left in the care (or lack thereof) of a cruel stepmother that resonates within us?  What makes a young woman subjected to daily beratings, forced servitude, and life among the ashes, with rodents as her only companions, our hero?

Well, I think in short she is US.  She is me, she is you, she is every girl, and every woman since the creation of Eve.  Females with tender hearts living in a cruel, cruel world, often discarded to the ash-heap of life.  We want so terribly for her to win, we want to see her rise from the ashes and claim her rightful inheritance in her father's house.  We long for love to find her, we want adoring eyes to see her value and worth hidden beneath the smudged face, the calloused hands, and the tattered clothing.  This is a story that goes deep to the heart of our feminine wound, the deep soul injury created by our first mother's act of disobedience in reaching for that forbidden fruit. 

Each year I eagerly awaited this Rogers & Hammerstein version to come on TV

One thing I liked about this new movie is that it gives the audience more background information.  We are introduced to the little girl, Ella (her name before life in the cinders), who lives with her wealthy parents on their beautiful estate.  She is a carefree child who is warmly nurtured and loved by her parents.  From her earliest memories, her mother's words to her were to always be "kind" and have "courage."  When Ella is 12-years-old, her idyllic world comes crashing down when her beloved mother dies.  On her death-bed, the mother calls for her child and asks her to promise to always be "kind" and have "courage."  The child, with tears streaming down her cherub face, promises.

As the story progresses, it tells the tale we are all well acquainted with.  There is the wicked stepmother, the evil step-sisters, their cruel behavior, and the humiliating nickname they bestow upon her out of jealousy, Cinderella.   We witness the young Cinderella stay true to her promise.  She remains kind in the face of indignity.  As hard as they try, they are not able to break her spirit.  She courageously continues to believe in goodness, love, and in dreams come true.

During one scene, as the stepmother lashes out at Cinderella in a fit of envious rage, she reveals her own heart wound.  The deep disappointments that she has experienced through the deaths of not one, but two husbands.  She fears her waning beauty and her financial future. She expresses displeasure at the lack of natural beauty and feminine charm in her own two daughters.  As she vents her bitterness, you come to understand that Cinderella represents everything to her that she had hoped for and lost. 

Of course, the ending of this story is a happy one.  Cinderella experiences a transcendent moment with a fairy-godmother and is transformed into the princess who wins the prince's heart.  All the girls and women in the audience let out a collective sigh as they rise from their seats with a smile, all is redeemed and as it should be.

This movie provides us with the portrait of two women, each deeply wounded, and how they respond to the cruel blows life inflicts upon them.  The one becomes full of rage and bitterness.  She is defensive and full of jealousy.  She is hard-hearted and cruel; and in the end, she is never heard of again.  The other responds to her loss with "kindness and courage."  Courage to keep her heart open and to continue to hope, even in the midst of her own suffering.  She is somebody whose own pain enlarges, rather than diminishes her capacity to love and feel compassion.  She lives happily ever after.

On the way home, Markita and I had opportunity to talk about the words, " kindness" and "courage," and how we might apply them to our own lives.  How do we respond to hurt?  What does a vulnerable feminine heart look like?  What of a courageous one? Actually, I think the lesson was more mine than hers.  Life has been tough on my feminine soul and at times I've caught myself raging in response.

This movie serves as a metaphor for the Kingdom of Heaven; and therein lies its appeal.  Written into the very fiber of our DNA, we know something terrible has occurred.  We have lost claim to our inheritance and are living in a world ruled by an evil authority.   We are all longing for the embrace of a true love, for the restoration of all things, and for the dream that really does come true.

"Will love ever find me beneath the soot?" The question that reverberates throughout the hearts of all women throughout all ages.

We long for thy kingdom come ...on earth as it is in heaven.

He has come, the prince has come and all has been restored!

The Spirit of God, the Master, is on me because God anointed me. 

 He sent me to preach good news to the poor, heal the heartbroken,
Announce freedom to all captives,  pardon all prisoners.
God sent me to announce the year of his grace, 

a celebration of God’s destruction of our enemies—
    and to comfort all who mourn,
To care for the needs of all who mourn in Zion,
    to give them bouquets of roses instead of ashes....

  

Isaiah 61:1-3:  (The Message Bible)

Oh, come, great Prince

You who sees beauty beneath the soot

Come and quench the longings of our heart

With your great love

Beauty for ashes 

You restore all things.

Musical Inspiration:  Beautiful Things by Gungor 

Period

For the past 5-years I have been very busy.  I have driven thousands and thousands of miles.  I have provided thousands of massages to hundreds of hospice patients.  October 31st was the last day of my contract.  Complimentary services were discontinued due to financial constraints imposed by the new healthcare law.

 In November, I moved and spent the next month cleaning, repairing, painting, and creating a space that fits our lifestyle.  Then came Christmas.  Boxes that were just moved into the basement were lugged back upstairs as we "decked our halls."  Last week the last of the glittery adornments were again put away.

Its January.  Its winter, the temperatures are frigid and the skies are gray.  What now?

The book-nook I created in the living room

The period punctuation mark is the most used in the English language.  It indicates that a complete thought has been expressed and the reader is to stop.  I remember as we learned to read out loud in grade school, the teacher constantly needed to remind us to stop and pause when we came to the period.  As young children, we were prone to run all of our sentences together resulting in a jumbled mix of words, which muddied the meaning and message of the author's narrative.

When God devised time, he structured it with a natural rhythm of starts and stops. Genesis tells us that he placed the lights in the sky to separate the day from the night.  The rising of the sun awakens us and invites to engage the outer world; while the setting of the sun, like a period at the end of the sentence, indicates that it is time to stop. 

The Genesis account of time also tells us that God placed a period at the end the week.  After six days of creating, God stopped on the seventh day and rested from all of his work.  The seventh day was called the Sabbath and was the day specifically blessed and sanctified by God, indicating the value he places upon stopping.

We are also told in Genesis that the sun and moon mark and delineate the seasons. Four seasons of the year, each bearing forth distinct characteristics that shape how we live and engage our world. The full days of sunshine in summer beckon us to activity from morning to night. Winter, on the other hand, by its very nature imposes upon us a stop. 

Metaphorically, our lives are referred to in terms of times and seasons. When we are young, we are in the spring time of our life, and when middle-aged, autumn.  When new things occur, it is a "dawning" and when they end, the "dusk".  When we are in prolonged periods of confusion or depression, it could be referred to as the "dark night" of the soul.  When we are in transition, our "season" is changing.

Winter is the season that beckons us to turn inward.   Winter, who invites us to life under the blankets with a good book and our journal, or in front of the fire with a bowl of soup.  Winter, who only allows us short periods of time in the outside world.  Winter, whose harsh winds and snowfalls say, stop!

Out my window on a winter morn

 Though we moan, complain, and feel a bit blue, there are gifts that this season brings to our lives.  It provides us that break in time which allows us introspection. We can examine our path, are we headed in the right direction?  Is there anything we should change?  What are the subtle messages our hearts have been trying to convey, but we've not heeded because of the demands of the outer world?

We are responsible to discern the seasons of our hearts and lives.  Unlike the clear signs of the natural seasons, understanding the times and rhythms of the inner movements of life is far more mysterious.  What does this sense of restlessness mean?  This anticipation, for what I don't know?  What of the persistent sadness?  Or, the exhaustion that is not cured by 8-hours of sleep?

I have had many people on my massage table who were unaware of the pain they were carrying in various parts of their bodies until the touch of my hands brought it to their attention.  The busyness of their lives did not allow them to "feel."  They were just a bundle of "doing."  Living entirely for the outer world, rushing to meet deadlines and to fulfill the myriad of the obligations that had their schedules overflowing.  Once on the table, experiencing a period/ a pause, they were finally able to pay attention to the message their bodies were trying to convey.


When we don't comprehend the pauses in life, like the reader who does not grasp the importance of the period, we are apt to run-on and on, jumbling and obscuring the message and meaning of our lives.

This is where I am at right now.  I am at a period.  I am pausing at the end of a complete work season to discern where to next.  I am celebrating the stop.  For I know that as the world turns, we shall not be in any one season for too long.  Before long, spring will call and I will douse the embers in my hearth and turn outward once more.

"What a severe yet master artist old Winter is ...

No longer the canvas and pigments, but the marble and the chisel."

- John Burroughs, "The Snow-Walkers"

Granny's Hands

Yesterday was New Year's Day.  As with almost every first day of the new year throughout my life, we celebrated with pork and sauerkraut.  This German tradition was passed down to us by our mom and grandmother.  As we celebrate this meal with friends and family, we tell them once again about their grandmothers and grandfathers, reminding them where we came from and who we are.  

My son, Jared, wrote this during his college years.  His assignment was to write a story based upon a memory from his childhood.  It had to be written from a child's perspective and in the language a child would use.  He wrote about his Granny (my grandmother), who was one of the greatest storytellers I ever met.  

 

Granny's Hands

My granny is my grandma's mom.  My grandma died and granny is still alive.  She is really old.  She says sometimes she thinks God forgot about her.  I don't think he did.  He just wanted me to get to know her.  I visit my granny every week.  We sit at her kitchen table, just the two of us.  She drinks her black coffee and her fingers fold her napkin over and over again.  She will tell me stories about what happened a long, long time ago.  I don't tell her that she already has told me this story because she gets happy in her eyes.

I saw a black and white picture of my granny from a long time ago.  She looks the same way back then.  I think she must have always been old.  But that can't be true.  I've seen a REALLY old picture that my mom has where granny has brown hair like us.

Granny has crazy white hair and big bushy white eyebrows.  Her eyes always look like they are dancing.  And her smile is always on her face.  She wears a green house-dress most of the time when I visit.  She shuffles around the kitchen floor wearing the pair of slippers my mom bought her last Christmas.

The thing I like best about Granny is not her stories, because I have heard them all one billion times and I could tell them to her.  The thing I like best are her hands.  They are like two pillows.  On the finger of her right hand she wears a ring that was my grandma's.  On her left hand she she wears the ring she got when she was married. I never met my great grandfather.  I hear he was a bad guy.  He ran out on my granny and left her with three little girls, my mom told me this.  Granny has never said anything but nice things about her bad husband.  I wonder why.

My granny worked in a bakery for forty years.  She worked at night.  She kneaded the dough with her bare hands for all those years.  That's why her hands are so soft and fluffy.  I think she knows I like to play with them because she always puts them in front of her and smiles as she talks, and I listen.

"Grandparents are a family's greatest treasure, the founders of a loving legacy, The greatest storytellers, the keepers of traditions that linger on in cherished memory. Grandparents are the family's strong foundation. Their very special love sets them apart. Through happiness and sorrow, through their special love and caring, grandparents keep a family close at heart." ~author unknown