Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Lines from April, Part 1

Lord Jesus Christ. Please give me wisdom and grace. I need more than I possess. Can I offer anything to You, or take communion, before we are reconciled? Please speak to my spirit, show me truth.
I want to be obedient to You. And I want long-term health, not just an easing of my conscience. I don't know that I can reach him. But You can, Father. By Your powerful Name, break through.

Maybe I'm blind-boating again.
"My milky mouth, my winter lungs;
don't tell me what cannot be done..."
(Innocence Mission).
You are always guiding.

The other day I noticed a couple walking in sync and thought how beautiful it is for two people - even two unremarkable, middle-aged people - to be so used to one another that they function together unconsciously.
And I've noticed things with Mom and Dad, too. Yesterday Dad said he wouldn't eat lunch, not even soup, because of his headache and how ill he was feeling. Mom heated all the soup anyway, telling me he might change his mind and have broth, at least.
She offered broth to him at the table, and he refused it, but when he went into the kitchen for something, he looked in the pot and said, "Is this the broth?...Maybe I will have some." And Mom gave me a look (amusement, triumph, tenderness).
This morning Dad called Mom to tell her that he was on his way home, and Mr. M would be stopping in with him. He made sure to mention that part. Mom and I laughed about it, because it was clearly more than a warning to prepare mentally for socializing; it was a signal to put on "real" clothes.
(They know each other so well).

Well, I couldn't do it. I am rightly humbled, and I don't want to write in pink.
And I've been repeating these words over the last minute, until I found a thin brown pen.
I thought I was healing. I thought I was letting go.
I think the early morning is part of it, part of why I feel so nervy and weak.
I haven't been guarding myself well today. Have been feeding too much on what isn't good for me.

Why are people like this? "Good" but shallow and untried, or "Wise" but hardened and bitter, or "Beautiful" but terrified and cruel?
You still make me believe You are everything right and lovely, and that I'll have some future worth living.
Keep me open to every painful truth. I want so much to snap shut and pity myself for a while.

This was a merciful day. I woke early enough to paint, "Vulnerability is Courage", and Mom was big-hearted enough to work with me even though I was turbulent, moody and taciturn.
We invited L over for lunch (which Mom shared with me, too): chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, roasted carrots, sourdough rolls, and later some fresh chocolate chip cookies.
We were all a bit off, tired, but it was still worthwhile. The food did us good, and the conversation warmed up. I'm going to miss her.
I took a beautiful sad walk in the rain. Ordered tickets. Got a few things done, barely any art though. The highlight was driving to the R's and going with them and L to see "Dispatches from the Front: 9" in Ambler. It was hosted by Westminster, with free popcorn and drinks, and B had packed us a lovely picnic dinner for the car, so the whole trip seemed like a gift. Food, company and conversation, and such an encouraging and stimulating film. Felt like I was on a family field trip.

Of course it's late now. And I'm still feeling an edge of off-ness, disappointment. But it's OK.
You're real, and doing things, and you can't help giving life and hope and love to people who cling on Your robes. So I'm doing that.
Please help me. Open the way. Plant things in me that You want to grow, start desires and dreams that You want to fulfill in this world, for eternity.
This little brown plot is all Yours.

Went with Papa to run errands, went with Mrs. H to pick up A from the airport, went to G park to wait (and witnessed enough drug dealing that I went to wait at the S's instead, where T and I talked about life & YAs, and prayed).

Praise You for this new stretch of uncharted forest, and room to heal and dream, and feel sick with vulnerability and second-guessing.
You've got to help me with that.
You are such a feast. A love feast. Work up my hunger for You and feed me, feed me.

Thanks for helping me today. Good, cozy home day. SNOW.
"Free" lunch from Mom and Dad, of leftover Nav food. So much MEAT this week I almost couldn't enjoy it!
I went and said goodbye to L. The dogs were so sweet and affectionate. Hard to say goodbye; it just doesn't feel right.
All glory to You, Righteous One. I want to spend my life on You. Use and bless bless bless tomorrow.

Today was punctuated in goodness. Full & rich & long.
Help me trust You. Only You know what that means;
make it wholly realized in us.

Such a different day from yesterday. A good day. A home day, a BB's day. Writing notes, drawing, hula hooping, reading, sharing songs, praying, planning.
Help me not be so preoccupied, with myself or my plans. I'm full of myself, I really am. I'd be praying more, otherwise. Slow me down, Lord.
You'd rather have my attention than my busywork, I know that.
You are my only safety. My mind itself is a frightening place, although I've tried to make it homey. Help me feel Your delight. Spirit, move. Bring revival in me, in us. Kiss us where it hurts.
Please give me a new profile pic, and a new heart. Please give me fruit & vegetables this week, and especially You. Let me down on everything but Your promises. Tenderize my heart for all people. Don't leave me.

Kindly, Kingly One,
Gloria. Here I am at the end of a Wednesday, quarter to midnight, brushed teeth and a contented tummy, AC undulating the makeshift curtain. My Narnia shirt from Creation '05, Indian pants from Orvieto market, undies from the thrift store. More hair on my head than ever since 10.31.14.

Here I am in the lap of love, floating and just feeling the power of the water all around me; I add nothing, I only sense and appreciate.

Thank You for "War Room" tonight; I don't even have the heart to criticize it, because there was so much humbling helpful truth. No. I'll hold my tongue, and praise You, and ask You to move me toward You and make me soft and teachable, so that You can work.

Thank You for Dad buying ice cream for us to share. For the chance to pick up sticks in the yard, and make tandoori noodles and vegetables, and do yoga and write R. Thanks for Mrs. L calling Mom to tell her about C's first grandbaby being lost, and for Mom going up the street with Tulsi tea and a tiny bouquet of violets, to say only "I couldn't stay home" and hug her and cry.
Thank You for prayer with Mom in the hallway tonight, and enough cash to pay J tomorrow, and so much yogurt.
Praise You for truth and confession.

What a year You've brought me through. What a glorious invitation, to be alive.

Today was sweet and rapid. Morning at A's, running errands and talking, praying, eating lunch. I bought frames, and got the portrait board from J. We talked about his baby boy. The emotion of parenting. The noisiness, and fear of harming such a little body. He showed me a gorgeous walnut table with ebony bow ties. We talked briefly about how life-giving it is to do personal, or small-scale projects, rather than big corporate productions. Letting the wood show its beauty, and not spoiling it.

I listened to all the Frances the Badger stories in the car, and felt that warm rise of fondness and nostalgia. Laughed, too, at the wit & goodness of it.
I organized, gessoed, read "Screwtape" with L, walked with Mom, baked bread, and read a little of "Home" with warm buttery slices.

Move me. Lift off the ceiling, show me the stars. Heal my weirdly peeling feet, and make them beautiful with Gospel.
Show me how to behave. How to love these many immortals. How to sense You deeply, delight in You. Jesus. 

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