Sunday, March 18, 2018

This Day is Not Wasted, January 19 2018

This day is not wasted if I come to You. It feel flat, unproductive, guilty.

Show me how to think about it. Is repentance called for? Always. Here I am wanting thrills, and You want to hold my hand. You want communion. You want obedience and praise, not fireworks. Help me celebrate and name what I can. Help me change, and become compassionate. Become open and receptive, a child, as I once imperfectly was.

"Everything comes close, nothing comes in". I feel that again. Let something small and true come in. Something that will take root. Give me Your words, and I will eat them. They will taste like honey, like something made with olive oil, like the finest of wheat. Help me, because I am afraid of not finding them enough. "Jump, and the net will appear."

Guard my susceptible mind tonight. Thank You. Thank You for giving me a soul that hurts, that isn't quite dead yet. Tell me a new story about my life. There will not be a whimpering end. You are not finished. 

Let the Blessing Remain, February 22, 2018

Let the blessing remain. Let God Himself persist in loving me, blessing me, and telling me who I am. May I hear and listen and believe Him.
And love Him by living. 

Open Windows and Pancakes, February 21, 2018

Probably the highlight of the day was reading Gaudy Night on the back deck. In the sun. I'm a little sunkissed, and I love it.
The clouds have rolled in, and we're supposed to have rain for the next 4 days. I decided NOT to "take advantage" of the good weather for my projects, but rather for mind & body & soul.

Lying on the deck, my legs propped against the rail and pants rolled to the knees, feeling the fresh air blowing through the unshaved fuzz, and stretching my arms, I felt alive and lovely and wild as I haven't in a long while.

I helped Mom out, here and there. Wrote letters. And made myself pancakes from Dad's spiced whole wheat waffle recipe. This should be remembered: the fresh, sweet air in our house today, from open windows and pancakes. 

The Slow Death of the Close-Fisted, February 11, 2018

Blessed Quinquagesima. The last Sunday before Lent. Ash Wednesday on Valentine's Day, wot!

I don't know if I'm really ready to face the changes of responsibility to another person. I'm lonely, but I'm afraid of closeness, too.
I'm afraid, but I'm not going to hide, I've decided. I'm not ready to die the slow death of the close-fisted.

The Oddest Hours, 4:13 AM, February 10 2018

They've struck again: the Oddest Hours. Only I didn't sleep yet. Been far too nervy and crowded in mind. A little while ago I resolved to take a Mental Health Day tomorrow, so I've cancelled all my appointments. That feels better than I expected. Like the relief of throwing up when you're nauseous.

But I'm still lying here, hyper-nerved and weary and very very awake. I had less than half a mug of caffeinated coffee, and that was about 12 hours ago. I don't know... except I DO know that I've been trying to do too much. Here I was boasting about everything I crammed into the day... I crammed myself out. I'm rebelling against myself. My eyes are bigger than my heart, or my mind than my body, or something. My calendar is bigger than my soul. I don't want to be so uptight, rushed, tired. I need to paint. I need to sleep. My skin shows it. I need quiet muddling, moodling time. I need to be able to write music, to hear things bump around in my head. This is why I need a very patient husband, or to be single always. I am a bird alone on a roof, and there are no shortcuts.
A plaque in the restroom at the coffee shop said,

"Don't try to rush things that take time to grow."

And I was held quiet - for a moment.
Apparently, I haven't learned that lesson yet.

I've just been eating seed crackers and drinking milk, and saying to myself, "The body of Christ, broken for you. The blood of Christ, shed for you." Was reading verses in 1 John that I forgot were so roilingly good. 

Trust, Again, January 27 2018

It's strange to be here, at this time, in this place. Having talked about a lot of my favorite films. But it feels too exposed, and insufficient.

This is not who I am - or all I am, at any rate. And I'm not good at knowing who to trust. Or how far to trust people. But I trust You, Jesus. I do without trying, I can't help it. And when I don't, I want to. You are the foundation of my life, and I'm thankful for that when my convictions scatter, and when pretty answers are flimsy. You are true, and I don't need to be afraid. Help me to trust You for the whole package. Full knowing, full delight, full life, in You. 

A Weird Dream

I had a weird dream. Trying to find Water Street Mission was part of it, but the weird part was about watching a movie in a bar. It was getting a little too racy, and the preteen boy needed to be told not to look up the sequel later (though I think he did anyway).

The bearded princess and the dragon went too far. But it didn't work out for them. That is, I didn't finish watching the sequel, but they were definitely estranged and damaged by their poor choices. They both looked like Indian men, but the princess had a gorgeous silk gown, and was mooning in a hothouse in downtown Lancaster.