Sunday, August 28, 2016

Lines from July, Part 2

Thanks for all the sleep last night. And for all the grace today, with Mr. N reminding us to pray, and with more than enough help, and with the quiet evening!

Thank You for being my lifeblood and grounding my haywire mind. Please help me be attentive, humble and watchful, not lax, not a gossip, not self-absorbed. Delight me on Yourself.

Mom and Dad visited! It was short, but so sweet. Their reactions to the Army Navy Board were priceless. I didn't expect them to be so surprised or pleased. Mom said, "You painted that?!", Dad put his arm around me, beaming, and began to tell me what kind of ship it was and about the guns.

The T.R.I.B.E. is gone. R is here, and helped me pick wineberries, and her Mom is out of the hospital.

Thank You for a blissful walk. I might not have been paying enough attention to warrant the word "blissful", but I know I was surrounded by holy goodness and beauty, even if I didn't take it in. I took in plenty of wineberries, perfect and filmy, tart-sweet and tender. A few honeysuckle flowers. Saw a cohort of girls riding bareback, with a friendly accompanying dog. Bullfrogs, green herons, a dull-eyed dead fish. A picturesque sunset while I did yoga on the dock. A few moments to play piano in the chapel, before scooting back to shower.
I don't want to lose all this. I am terrified of missing out on what You are, what You are doing, what You could be doing if I was willing and ready. Please help me be ready. All that matters is that I'm Yours.
Please let me be Your carrier pigeon.
Give me another good night of rest, if You like.
As You Wish.

Three good nights of sleep!
The door is filling up with notes, postcards and prayer requests. Today was a smooth day in the office and store, for me anyway. Tonight I skipped the cookout and picked a quart container of wineberries.
Something else happened, but I forget what it was. Thank You for doing things for us without our noticing. These blessed sandals. My hair growing out. J's message... more than I could handle after a cup and a half of coffee. I was jittery when I went back to the office.
I remember. John 11.

"When he heard this, Jesus said, 'This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it....'
'Lord,' Martha said to Jesus, 'if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.'
Jesus said to her, 'Your brother will rise again.... I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die, and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?'
'Yes, Lord,' she replied, 'I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is come into the world.'

....Then Jesus said, 'Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?' "

-John 11:4, 21-23, 25-27, 40 NIV

Please keep us soft and open and teachable to You.
Help me (be willing to) swim.
Make strength out of our weaknesses.
Protect and establish the tender vitality of the things You are doing in our hearts and minds. Heal us.
Healing can be such long, slow, messy work. It is worth it.

P.S. Thanks for the songs You brought to mind and ear today, including "It's You I Like".

Oh God. Guard us. Guide all our hearts and affections. Help me; I'm not a good listener, even, let alone a wise counselor. Oh, how badly I want to be. Make me, at least, an effective intercessor. Stand in the gap again for me? Give me a whole heart for You.

H   O   M   E.
It's a sensation like climbing up onto land after swimming, or stepping down after an amusement park ride. It took me a bit to get my spacial bearings - I felt too big, or like everything had shrunk (I realized it was, in part, because I was wearing shoes).
I helped Mom cut up apples and zucchini, staying in the main parts of the house and the yard, mostly. My room was dessert (or, shall we say, a black hole? Always things to absorb my attention). I was surprised by the garden(s). Oregano and cilantro gone to crazy seed. Borage flowers mild and delicious. Poppies little winks of red and orange amidst the weedy profusion. I waved to the neighbors. Mom brought me a knife, and I carried in my massive zucchini singing, "The Boar's Head". Dad laughed.
I played piano, and we tucked in to pork, applesauce, and zucchini, finished off with fresh cherries. I ate most of mine while we watched an old classic film. The first movie (non-documentary) I've seen in over a month. It's been about 5 1/2 weeks since I've been home. It is so good. And a little overpowering.
I paused reading a letter, and heard Dad's footsteps thumping up the stairs to bed, and it was like heartbeats, weighty and fleeting. It always is, every day. We miss so many chances.
I want to see them all wrap up in You. I want You to finish all my dreams.
Thank You for protecting Mom on Wednesday, when the radiator failed. Thank You for making her such a steadfast woman, and for caring for her always. For all of us. Help me believe in You, and keep praying. Help me sleep, and wake refreshed and serve You with my entire being, free and true and delighted.

You are brimming with surprises, with veiled blessings.
I want to learn Your ways.
Thank You for keeping me up last night, for making a placid little pool of time in the wee hours for me to copy quotes, buy music, and mix and burn CDs. Without that, I doubt they would have been sent out today. And they are one of the happiest endeavors of the time at home.
Thank You for time to pray, and think, and collect things to bring back. Thank You for stimulating and directing my brain.
Thanks for a tiny nap, for strawberries, for a storm as we picked up hotdogs from Harry's, for the Wild Game dinner and the company if proffered.
Thanks for finally showing me it was time to swim, and making it a welcome, sweet, short experience.

You must never stop. Open wide my mouth, and flow down my throat, gently over lips and teeth.
Help me love You and trust You like a child again, and be ready for everything coming.

I feel like things have hit such a "normal" that they almost aren't worth writing about. But I'll try. There were some small things today...

Rain. A thunderstorm, actually, and it influenced my dream: Mom, Dad, and I were storm chasers, and Mom was throwing glowing blue pills out the vehicle window. When a tornado sucked up a pill, it would burst and the whole funnel would blaze electric blue.
I met J, the Nelson's deliveryman, who makes the Monday delivery.
I videochatted with A. So, so, so good to talk. I love her. I miss her. It is wonderful to have technology, and You, to bind us together. Thanks for the generous time we had. I walked to the office to talk (for the better wifi), singing in the rain in my red poncho, with a mug of tea.
When I came back, R was mixing up frosting, and D's cake was cooling on the hearth. We talked and worked for a while. She is now asleep on the couch.
The store time today was great! You gave me enthusiasm and presence I would not have had on my own. Please make it a week of joy and generosity.
I stayed in and made pancakes for myself this morning. And they were scrumptious. I ate one with A's strawberry jam, one with a melted chocolate truffle.

I need You more than anything ever. I need You to endue me with much strength. And with sleep and healing. And hope. And wisdom, and love. A love that wills and works for the Good. For all. Specifically and intimately and unconditionally.

Please protect and guide the Dem Nat Con.


Today was splendid. Thank You.

This was a long day. Coming up against myself again, and Your backbone inside of me. I'm thankful for Your precision, especially with the timing of everything. I had just enough time in the morning to prep for the store halfway, so when we needed to open early, it was actually feasible. And chaotic, and fun.
My head was so ready for silence and privacy, though, that I wasn't sure how I would survive the rest of the day. I'm still not sure how (or if) I did.
But I'm coming to You now, washed and folded, and wanting to be tucked up into You for a long, dark, quiet time, until I am ready to be used again.
C's visit was a very good thing. 2+ hours with someone who has known me almost half my life. Who has such a beautiful soul. Thank You. Thank You for Mama and Papa, married for 32 years today.

P.S. DayCamp quote from Tuesday: "I already have 'obtain' in my vocabulary; sorry."

I think I remember this feeling. I think it has happened before, at college. At times like this, I would wander off in the woods. I might get lost, and appreciate the way it kickstarted my introversion metabolism and made me hungry for people again. Right now I'm torn. I want real depth and connection, silent understanding, trust. I want no more brushed shoulders. I would rather be alone - alone -  a    l    o    n    e .
I just want to dissolve in Your mouth, pressed against Your tongue. I want to know that everything eating away at me is You, not Your negligence.
You hefted me through the afternoon, prevented my light-headedness from blooming. But I am still tired. Not excited about You. And I want to be. Maybe I don't need to be; maybe I just need to keep looking at Your face. "Eyes looking into eyes looking into eyes." (W. Berry)
Lord, You have given me so much. Don't let it be stolen, don't let it be spoiled. I am spoiled, refresh me.

It's nearly midnight, but I'm glad. Glad for a long, clarifying walk, and time guarding. Hearing about 13 decisions this week, and what You're doing in the A family. Spirit, move without restraint. Soften the hearts of these girls. Protect them; they've been hurt. Heal and open them. And us, here in Lurch. And J, at home. And me.

It's a lot for a heart, this life.
I need Your cherishing & protection.
Guide me, only as You will. Help me TRUST You. Go before us this week.

They were funny night hours, again. Finally slept around 2am. But tonight I'm feeling ready to sleep, and it's scarcely 10:30. I took Benadryl around 9, and painted, and spun. In a skirt, in the living room, listening to "Dream 13: minus even".

Tonight was so sweet. Even with the sickening scare of Dad's hornet encounter. We had fresh air and music. Fresh air, though clingy as silk. Swinging was wine.

     "And though the last lights off the black West went
      Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward springs  - " (Hopkins)

The allergy conversations went pretty smoothly, and I got to talk to lots of people, and hold a tiny, smiley, completely edible baby.
B and A are engaged.
R left, with tears in her eyes, leaving sweet notes behind. S sent me a precious text. T is back for the week.
D uncovered a root of oppression. Lord, break every chain. Like the song said in that baptism video at church this morning, which actually made me emotional. Keep making "a holy fool of me" (mewithoutYou).
Bless this week with every blessing.
Open our hearts.

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