Saying "Thank you" Saves My Life

 Once again, Sarah Bessey is bringing writers from here, there and everywhere to share our stories. To share the things that are saving us, bringing us hope, and helping us put one foot in front of the other through each and every day.

As I've written before, I confess to being discouraged and disheartened. Truth be told, those words feel small for what I've been experiencing. It would be so easy to let the darkness of those feelings get the best of me. The only thing, and I mean only, that helps me find light in the darkness, the only thing that's saving me right now is gratitude. Pure, simple, deep gratitude for the things of God, as He enters into the mess we've made. Thankfulness for the things that are good. And looking for them. Focusing on them. Watching for them and putting them in front of anything and everything that could, and does, disable me from the inside out.

And so I try to breathe in the air of thankfulness.

I'm thankful for my husband who loves me deeply. I'm thankful that he makes me laugh and laughs with me. Thankful for kisses, for his hard work at his job to provide for his family, and that he thinks I have skills I don't even see. He is my biggest encourager. He gives me freedom to speak my mind - in whatever colorful words I choose - and shares his too. I know that is a gift. I love his heart. I'm thankful that he cuts the grass and makes the bed, that he is okay with my quirks and loves the great outdoors. I'm thankful we enjoy the same kinds of TV shows and for cuddles while we watch them. I'm thankful to work side by side in the garden or around the house with him.  I'm thankful for time with him. When a week has gone by (again) in which our shifts at work have been completely opposite and we haven't seen each other awake in days, I'm especially thankful for time spent. Together. And I'm thankful for us and the gift that he is.

And there's so much more.

I'm thankful for two blonde girls who have entered my life and brought so much with them. They have taken up residence in my heart. I'm thankful to call them family.

I've rediscovered (how did I forget!?) that music is the language of my soul, speaking deep to my soul and for my soul.

Novels, the stories of others, have helped provide the perfect amount of distraction and escape and I'm thankful for those that have taken the time to imagine new worlds, new times and new places for me to live in, even if just for a moment. I love books. I love the pages. I love starting a new book and anticipating all that is to come. I love the race to the end, turning each page and wondering what is around the corner. I even love the end, when a sort of stillness (or is it sadness?) takes over and I'm left wondering what on earth I'll read next.

I'm thankful for hot yoga. Breathe in, breathe out. Stretch. Pushing harder and becoming more than I thought I could. Reaching past my own limitations. Clearing my mind and focusing on the alignment of each pose, trying to make it a little more than the last time I was there. Listening to my body and learning how deeply connected the body, heart and soul truly are. Aching the next day and knowing that I've done something good for my body and my soul.

Can iPhones be good for the soul? Mine is. It's through that little gadget I stay connected to friends and family both near and far, especially when work is what it is, and let me say, I'm thankful for them too.  And it keeps me organized...sort of. Lists upon lists, calendars and apps help me juggle when there's simply too many balls (on fire!?) in the air.

Perhaps a picture truly is worth a thousand words. If that is the case, in the last couple months, I have written novels. My Canon and I have become reacquainted and I'm ridiculously thankful for a creative outlet. We truly are creative beings, in His image, aren't we? Somewhere deep down we long to make something. For me, it's capturing moments in color. It's playing with light and color and composition to honor the beauty that is out there to be found if only one is willing to look.

Oh, and summer. Summer and outside and ice cream and gardens that grow seemingly before our eyes and the bbq (did I mention that my husband is king of the grill?...he makes yummy food and I get break from the kitchen!) and the smell of sunscreen and cold adult drinks on the back deck and flowers and bike rides and coffee (always coffee) and awesome power of thunder and lightening and packing picnics and fresh fruit and veggies and fun with friends and shorts and bathing suits and laughter. Lots of laughter. I freaking love summer. Summer is definitely saving my soul.


And so it's gratitude through which I see every gift, every instance of grace, every hope through which my soul is being saved.

Current Read

The Charlemagne Pursuit, Steve Berry

For a few hours a little debate went on (in my head, of course) over whether I should jump right into the sequel to A Wrinkle in Time or if something else in my pile was more where my mind was at. As much as I always love a good look at the good vs. evil battle, I admit that my current state of mind called for guns and intrigue and adrenaline. It called for distraction. Another Cotton Malone international thriller seemed like just the ticket. Nazis, ill-fated submarine voyages, a navy cover up, cryptic journals, the President of the United States, murder, and intrigue. Nothing remotely close to my reality. Yes, just what the doctor ordered. Here we go....

The dark Thing

Meg's eyes ached from the strain of looking and seeing nothing. Then, above the clouds which encircled the mountain, she seemed to see a shadow, a faint thing of darkness so far off that she was scarcely sure she was really seeing it. 
Charles Wallace said, "What's that?"
"That sort of shadow out there," Calvin gestured,"What is it? I don't like it." 
"Watch," Mrs. Whatsit commanded.
 It was a shadow, nothing but a shadow. it was not even as tangible as a cloud. Was it cast by something? Or was it a Thing in itself? 
The sky darkened. The gold left the light and they were surrounded by blue, blue deepening until where there had been nothing but the evening sky there was now a faint pulse of star, and then another and another and another. There were more stars than Meg had ever seen before. 
"The atmosphere is so thin here," Mrs Whatsit said as though in answer to her unasked question, "that it does not obscure our vision as it would at home. Now look. Look straight ahead." 
Meg looked. The dark shadow was still there. It had not lessened or dispersed with the coming of night. And where the shadow was the stars were not visible. 
What could there be about a shadow that was so terrible that she knew that there had never been before or ever would be again, anything that would chill her with a fear that was beyond shuddering, beyond crying or screaming, beyond the possibility of comfort? 
Meg's hand holding the blossoms slowly dropped and it seemed as though a knife gashed through her lungs. She gasped, but there was no air for her to breathe. Darkness glazed her eyes and mind, but as she started to fall into unconsciousness her head dropped down into the flowers which she was still clutching; and she inhaled the fragrance of their purity her mind and body revived and she sat up again. 
the shadow was still there, dark and dreadful. 
Calvin held her hand strongly in his but she felt neither strength nor reassurance in his touch. Besider her a tremor went through Charles Wallace, but he sat very still. 
He shouldn't be seeing this, Meg thought. This is too much for so little a boy, no matter how different and extraordinary a little boy. 
Calvin turned, rejecting the dark Thing that blotted out the light of the stars. "Make it go away, Mrs. Whatsit, " he whispered. "Make it go away. It's evil."

(A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L'Engle, pg 71-72)

I used to think that things like bitterness, anger, selfishness, entitlement and greed were such sad sins. Given an inch, they grab hold of the individual, perhaps even making them think they are a victim, and cloud every bit of who they are. Every perception, every dream, every thought held captive by the sin that so easily ensnares. So you're angry. The focus of your anger doesn't even know so who else does it hurt but you? I thought that those sins were about that person. And I felt sorry for them. Poor sad person caught in sin (aren't we all?!).

The older I get, the more the world around me is teaching me that that isn't the case...at least not the whole story. Bitterness and anger spread like angry, black tar oozing and engulfing all that's in it's path. The dirty fingers of selfishness, entitlement and greed reach and grab everything within reach; choking, strangling and stealing all the life they can. No one is exempt. No one is free. The black Thing reaches, shadows, covers and darkens.

Remember that old kids' movie "Fern Gully?" If you don't, that's fine. Just don't tell me. It's not really that good by today's standards and, well, was a long time ago. Long story short, there's a rainforest and it's full of life. Not so far off the truth. As is the case in rainforests, there's someone trying to cut it down to make a buck. Again, not so far off the truth. Cutting down the forest, kills the life. Still with me? Now here's where it gets a little bit fantasy. Some of the life in the forest is a whole fairy civilization. Anyway, there's a character in the movie called Hexxus. He's an evil spirit (I think) and he/it thrives off of the pollution created by the machines used to cut down the trees. He becomes this dark, black ooze, destroying life and blocking out the sun.

It's that picture of a Hexxus type creature that comes to mind when I think of what such deep seated bitterness can become.

I say this with no condemnation or judgement. There is no pride in me as I think through these things. I have lived it. In some ways, I am still living it. That person that I was angry with? Well, they didn't know I was angry with them, right? It didn't affect them at all. But oh, how it affected me. Deep down in the depths of my soul it changed me. Made me something different. Discoloring my view of the world and my perception of truth. Holding on to the ugliness brought no satisfaction, no joy, only a desire for more anger. And it wasn't limited to me. Those I care about most were painted by it's blackness. It colored their view and their perspective. It was with that realization, the hurt I was causing them, that made me begin the difficult work of forgiveness and letting go. And let me tell you, it is difficult, gut wrenching, painful, a few steps forward and a few steps backward kind of work.

But let me tell you this, light is in the work. Truth is there.

I live on the other side too, where the mire of someone else's bitterness and, heaven forbid, hatred not only keeps them from moving forward but the rest of us too. We are all held back, bound, by the reaching arms of unforgiveness. And it hurts. The pain is far deeper than the painful work of letting go.

Light can be there too. 

Again they focused their eyes on the crystal ball. The earth with its fearful covering of dark shadow swam out of view and they moved rapidly through the Milky Way. And there was the Thing again. 
"Watch!" the Medium told them. 
The Darkness seemed to seethe and writhe. Was this meant to comfort them? 
Suddenly there was a great burst of light through the Darkness. The light spread out and where it touched the Darkness the Darkness disappeared. The light spread until the patch of Dark Thing had vanished, and there was only a gentle shining, and through the shining came the stars, clear and pure. Then, slowly, the shining dwindled until it, too, was gone, and there was nothing but stars and starlight. No shadows. No fear. Only the stars and the clear darkness of space, quite different from the fearful darkness of the Thing. 
"You see!" the Medium cried, smiling happily. "It can be overcome! It is being overcome all the time!"

(Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L'Engle, pg 91-92)

It can be overcome. The darkness, the ooze of bitterness, the ugliness of hatred and unforgiveness can all be overcome. There can be light and freedom and hope and joy again for all.

Photo from http://draco6767.deviantart.com/

art/Hexxus-from-FernGully-140499382

Current Read

A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L'Engle

While it seems like everyone is all caught up in the hype of the Fifty Shades of Grey crap (read here for a blunt review...as long as you don't get weirded out by "language"), I plowed through what's supposed to be a fantasy classic instead. It was a quick read, a fun read, a good for the heart read. I love the battle between darkness and light and using the weak, the small, to defeat the powerful.

Source: sawdustcityllc.com via Donna on Pinterest

I'm not a morning person by nature. If I could, I would stay up late and sleep in.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world doesn't work that way.

Fortunately, my body adapts.

I'm now much more able to get up at 4 to go to work early and, as long as I have a quick shower, function quite normally. Weird, I know. My normal schedule, if someone working on call can ever have a normal schedule, has me up early and to bed early. It's taken discipline but the internal rhythms of my body have shifted to adjust to the necessities of work and play, so much so, that sleeping in on the weekend is difficult.

Here's the catch. This week my work schedule switched. Instead of early mornings and evenings to share with my family, I'm working nights.

I don't like it.

My body doesn't like it.

My heart doesn't like it.

Oh, to be reminded that I am such a creature of habit, grasping at any bit of routine I can in this crazy life. Cherishing evenings in the back yard with my husband. And sleep. I already miss sleep. I worked till 11 last night. There's unwind time when I get home (much to the chagrin of my poor husband who had to be up at 4:30!). At 6:45 this morning, the road crew was working in our back alley. The world around me wakes up regardless of whether I am ready for it and off we go again. I'm not good at relaxing in the morning - I feel like if everyone else is at work, I should be accomplishing something too. Never mind that when I'm at work, the rest of the world will be relaxing. My bad.

The view last night as I was leaving work.

I think if I did it on a regular basis, I would adjust, we would adjust but I can't help but wonder if long term it would be healthy for my body or our marriage. In the meantime, I know it's only a few weeks. There will be some morning shifts scattered in there. We'll make it. I'll enjoy morning coffee without the rush and hustle. I'll enjoy quiet mornings at my house by myself. I might get some things (read dishes, laundry and errands...ug) done. I'll go to yoga. And then I'll go to work. And I'll try to be quiet when I get home tonight so my poor husband can get some sleep.

Current Read

Venetian Betrayal, Steve Berry

Another Cotton Malone adventure to enjoy in the summer sun. I'm starting to work on the earlier ones that I've missed, filling in the blanks. It's fun.

Sometimes it's hard to see God. Sometimes it's easy to lose faith. Not belief. I know God exists. I know God is real. But sometimes life seems to hurt and keep on hurting in an ulcer inducing way; not the big world hunger, earthquakes killed thousands and war devastates sort of way but in the up close and personal sort of way. When you feel a bit like you're drowning and safety doesn't seem within reach. When all you want to do is stay in bed. When you wish those who's actions help create the chaos would JUST. GO. AWAY. When every angle of life seems a bit off kilter. When a little cabin in the woods seems like the only way to find any peace. When it feels like life is just a long string of those moments. It's then that it's hard to see God and even harder to believe that He would act, even though I know He can.

And that's when memories can serve us well. Memories of when He has acted in very real and clear ways. I hold onto those, knowing that He is the same yesterday, today and forever. That just because I can't see Him, doesn't mean He's not there. Choosing to be thankful instead of hovering in hurt. 

Thankful for our home and our backyard oasis. Time spent there with family and friends is a gift.

Thankful for small things...

...and for big things.

Current Read

Fire, Kristin Cashore

Diving in to another world of fantasy, politics, war, royal families, treachery and magic. Oh, and a strong, if not slightly tortured, heroine.

The truth is, sometimes these worlds of fantasy and fiction are the most perfect summer escape from the things of the real world.

How does our garden grow...

One of the small joys in my summer (so far!) has been our back yard. I've joked often that it's my favorite room in the house but, honestly, it's no laughing matter. I love my yard. I love my garden. I love watching the growth as life blooms in our little oasis. 

Raspberries. We put the canes in last year and have been pleased to see the fruit of our labor.

Lavender!

Tomatoes on the way!

Peas.

Dill, already making an appearance in whatever delicacies we whip up.

cilantro. I'm dreaming of salsa...and cilantro lime grilled chicken...

Oregano

Green onions.

Slightly stunted cucumbers

Tiny tims making an appearance, one by one.

Riding Along

My back yard

Current Read

For someone who loves to read books, hunt for books, talk about books, look at books and wander through shelves of books as much as I do, finding this online friend's blog series was just about as good as that good ole' proverbial candy shop. All this week, she's posting 10 books a day (each day has a theme of some sort).

And my list goes on.

 The Amber Room, Steve Berry

 I just finished this one. Plowed through it, really, thanks to warm week nights, a back yard that feels just as much like home as the inside and a long weekend. It was okay. The thing is, it certainly wasn't my favorite of Berry's and I truly do enjoy his stuff. Truth is, if I had read this one first, I might not have kept going with his other ones. So there. It was okay. Okay.











The Diamond of Darkhold, Jeanne DuPrau

This one is just to finish off the series and see what they do with it. A quick young adult fiction read seems like a good choice in a week where I'm doing a lot of class prep and the summer sun is calling me outside.

Go, Marissa, Go!

Our sweet girl is in Chicago this week competing in the North American Irish Dance Competition. She recalled in her competition this morning for the first time ever...that means she did well...also means she'll dance again...this afternoon.

Marissa and Colin at the last local competition of the year.

Good luck, Marissa. Daddy and I are excited for you and very proud of you!

Current Read

Mad Ship, Robin Hobb

Marketing geniuses write in trilogies so that when you get suckered in by the first one, they are guaranteed to pull you into two more books. Suckers like me fall for it every time. For real, though, we have serpents, pirates, dragons, ancient cities, magic, rebellion, civil war and political intrigue...with great characters. I'm totally in.







Ship of Destiny, Robin Hobb

When I finished Mad Ship, I immediately picked this one up and was relieved to see that it picked up exactly where the last one left off. I feel like I'm a part of what's going on - feeling the heartache, excitement, hope and fear of the characters involved - and know I'm going to experience more than a bit of my own sadness when these are done. Oh, the first world problems we face.

A Splash of Color

The Calgary herald book drive and sale

This is one of my favorite events of the year in calgary! For more information, check here.

May Flowers

Current Read

The Jefferson Key, Steve Berry

I just finished this one. Ate it up. I needed a break from Robin Hobb's fantasy world and Steve Berry's Dan Brownish style was perfect. Note. I feel like all the hooplah over Dan Brown's books a few years ago is still enough to warrant using his name to describe a style. The only down side to this whole situation is realizing, more and more with each book I read, that Berry has written his books, with the exception of a few stand alones, chronicling a character and are best read in order. Guess what? I have read 1, 6 and 7. AND, I'm pretty sure, but not 100%, that I have picked up at least one of the gap filling required reading for $1 at some book sale somewhere but have it packed up with half of our personal belongings in boxes in the garage. I am so thankful for a husband who also enjoys books. There is no judgement in him when, upon hearing my dilemma, offers to dig through the boxes on a long weekend Sunday afternoon to find out. That's a good man.

Ship of Magic, Robin Hobb

Back into the world of fantasy I go. I'm only a few pages in but I'm already getting the impression that this trilogy will be far more magical and fantastical (I'm allowed to make up my own words once in a while) than the last trilogy. Okay, sure the last one finished with dragons and magical powers of connection but this one started off with serpents (aka dragons in the water), oracles and magical treasure.

Do you ever just want to take a day, call in dead and read stories all day long? I do! Thank goodness for long weekends and a family that sleeps in. It might not be all day but a good hour will do.

I created this blog years ago to write. For me. All sorts of random things that were on my mind over the years, I have processed here, some of them deep and some of them ridiculously shallow. I enjoy writing. I enjoy the puzzle of putting words together to express things well (hopefully). I enjoy the expression of it. I strive to be thoughtful, reflective and considerate of others when I write being that it is simply another expression of how I hope to live, choosing my words and topics carefully and respectfully. I consider it a bit of a purging, too, forcing out the fragments of thought, processing them in black and white. There have been times when there would have been no rest from the musing if it hadn't been for a place, for this place, my safe place, to write them all down. I don't write for anyone. I write for me. If there are those that read it - and I know you're out there. Thank you! You help keep this fun - but still, I write for me.

Lately, however, this place hasn't been as safe and so, you may have noticed, I have been a bit more absent or, at least, a bit more superficial. At first I blamed it on time. "I'm just too darn busy!" Then, I blamed it on the depth of hurt and difficulty the last 16 months or so have brought into my life.  I believe it was a wee rabbit that said "My momma said if you don't have anything nice, don't say anything at all." Many a venting post could have been written if I hadn't held that to be true!

While those two excuses have some merit, the truth is, I've been afraid. This has not been as safe a place as it once was. While most of you have been encouraging, or at least taken the rabbit's words to heart and been silent, there have been the odd one who, reading something I have written through their own perspective, have taken it upon themselves to reprimand, condemn and otherwise criticize me for something they have read. Something they have taken out of context or read through the lenses of their own perspective. As a perfectionist and as someone who does not want to cause offense, I have taken these criticisms to heart. I have questioned my motives and the words I have chosen. I have been afraid to write for fear of causing offense.

Part of the healing process I am journeying is to evaluate those things that are freeing for me. Outlets that help me find peace or joy. The truth is, writing is one of those things. Collecting my thoughts here is good for me. Whether I like it or not, I am being forced to face my fear. Forced to face the criticism and evaluate whether it was justified or simply someone lashing out of their own "stuff." Forced to investigate my words and my intentions. Forced to realize that yes, indeed, I have been a big, fat, chicken. Pushed forward to find some peace and remember how this all started. I write for me. In order to heal, I need to continue to write for me. I am thankful for my husband who loves me in it all. I am thankful for bloggers like, Kathy Escobar, who have written extensively about the healing process of this kind of thing and have reminded me to be myself since everyone else is taken.  I am thankful, too, for friends who send packages in the mail with quotes like this one on the package:

Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.  ~ Dr. Seuss

So here it is. No more being a big, fat chicken. Or even just a little bit chicken. If words in black and white are going to be part of my journey then they will be honest ones. Appropriate, respectful, humbled, broken and sometimes colorful words, sometimes deeper than others, but always honest, always truthful and always me.