Daisies in June
I love surprises. For the most part. There is always a slight fear of not knowing what is about to come around the bend and sometimes that is a good thing and other times not. Roller coaster rides for instance, give me the kind of fear of which I’m not a fan. I’ll go on them, but it’s not going to be my idea to get in line again. On the other hand, when I was pregnant with my first child, I really wanted to wait to find out the sex of the baby and I have zero regrets because that was the biggest and most joyful type of surprise. No, the nursery wasn’t painted and yes all of the baby clothes were yellows and greens but I loved it. I found out the sex of one of my next two but kept the last one a secret again. It was the ultimate example of icing on the cake.
Enjoying a good surprise is letting go of the need to be in control.
When the freeze of the century happened in February, we did not know what in the world to expect out of our gardens and landscape plants. It has been so fun to see what we thought were goners, begin to show buds of life, like it’s April! We lost some beautiful old oak trees but just saw new life out of a stump of agaves we thought were toast, just last week. I have bluebonnets still popping up in the wettest areas of our home yard. The historic low temperatures were out of our control and so was knowing what was going to survive and what was lost. We had low expectations and with that came lots of surprise gifts. My shasta daisies were certainly not expected to return after such a deep and prolonged freeze but what a delight to see them bursting with pride, after all the rains. Healing rains.
Maybe nature is on to something. Unpredictability is sometimes a great stabilizer. Give it up to the powers that be and watch the earth unfold. <3
Sunrise on the Second Floor
When you live in the same house day after day, week after week, year after year for 20 years, you know instinctively from where every shadow is cast, what sticks of furniture to avoid in the middle of the night to not stub a toe and you’ve memorized the exact placement of the sunsets or sunrises in any given season.
I was awakened one early morning with an orange-pink color washing across my semi dark room and not being used to seeing this, ever, I got up to see who in the world was playing with lights so early in the morning before the coffee was even ready. You can’t see the sun rise from any point in my house because the trees get in the way. Determined to see this unusual color emanating from my room, I stepped outside my second-floor balcony and had to twist my body over the railing to look almost behind the house and there I beheld the most exquisite sunrise my home had ever known.
How could it be that I had invariably missed this vantage point for 20 years? Why this day in early February did the sky decide to open up my eyes? Yes, I ask those kinds of questions. All the dang time.
What an example of how living day to day over time, we get far too used to our ways, our routines and our comfort. Perhaps it was a reminder to waken early, to crane the neck every once in a while, to glimpse the unknown secrets of beauty that lie in wait.
Perhaps there are secret treasures in those we love, whose lives we think we know but maybe we’ve just become too complacent to think there is any surprise left. But I would argue that I myself behold a certain amount of allure, not yet known to others who’ve not yet asked the right questions. Point being; never stop searching for truths in the darkness, never stop questioning the deep passions that reside in every heart and always be willing to explore the tired places.
Wax and Wane
On the Cusp
Hope Chest
When my brother was in middle school, he was in a wood shop class and decided he wanted to build me a hope chest. It’s a large (3’ long x 2.5’ wide x 2.5’ tall) box made entirely of cedar that is now over 40 years old and rests solidly on my bedroom floor next to my bed. It is crammed with mementos of early childhood toys long forgotten but held lifelong in comfort, baby blankets, soft terry cloth animal shapes with windup nursery songs, a few items of clothes that remain precious to me, and buried deep within its borders are the treasures of a pregnancy that ended in stillbirth.
Two sweet baby girls that lived and danced only from within, never making it to the outside world, and never getting the opportunity to witness the joys nor sorrows of the last 30 years. I have their tiny footprints on their birth certificates, the sonogram pictures of the stages of their growth and I have an album full of condolence letters from friends and family some of whom only heard of our story and felt compelled to share our grief.
The pain of those days and years to follow engulfed our family and I quite frankly never thought I’d know happiness without paralyzing fear, ever again. But God was faithful then as He is now, and our lives plodded forward one day at a time until joy returned in fits and starts and finally took up residence in our chaotic lives. Those dear rosy faces and the permanence left on our family will never die out completely for they are but part of the definition of who we became. Once broken, we picked up those sharp pieces and let them roll a lifetime in our hearts until the edges were somehow dulled like sea glass tossed in the ocean.
Such is the way I seem to view this year of 2020. It is a year of upheaval, of unimaginable turmoil and stress. A great deal of loss of life and livelihood. And yet I want to choose joy. I want to remember every moment because it too will define a part of our collective character. It should serve as a reminder that life is messy, never fair and ultimately a choice between succumbing to devastation and fear of what lies ahead and grabbing hold of the preciousness of life and daring to live boldly in spite of what seems out of control.
I went on to have 2 more children, both boys this time and they have asked over the years if the girls, Adrianna & Hannah had lived, would we have gone ahead with more pregnancies and had them? It’s a valid question and one I cannot answer. God saw fit to bless us with them all regardless and each has had their own immeasurable and indelible mark left upon us. And I am convinced I will see, and hold, those baby girls again.
One who has known the loss of a child can attest that you’ll never look at a life quite the same. Much the way a cancer survivor looks at the days still left and embraces each as a new opportunity to grasp and cherish all the more. 2020 came in like a freight train that jumped its tracks leaving an incredible swath of upheaval in its path. It took with it a bit of arrogance, an air of entitlement toward what remained and a sigh of relief that there may not be much left.
Marriage is the epitome of the example of a life well lived. At once so exuberant and worthy of dancing in the streets, a yearning of intimacy and connected hearts and yet challenging beyond description and often sorrowful. The back and forth of good and bad, of joy and of pain, of success and of failure and grief and of grace. It molds us. It creates within us an ability to be human toward another.
I hope not to wish that 2020 would end for that would mean that I hastened another day away in my life of only so many, only to realize I count less to come.
Capture this day, this month of December, this end to yet another year. Hold tight to it for it will not come ‘round again and I promise you, if you look for it, you’ll see the gifts that were wrapped so tightly within it.
Merry and bright,
Elaine
Romans 15:13 “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirt”.
Still Waters
Interesting that I’m writing on this day, a day of great anxiety for so many. It wasn’t intentional but rather a byproduct of a busy life. Sometimes, folks just need a word of stability, a word of care and compassion.
I liken my life sometimes to a small boat that has been pulled off its mooring and is floating about in calm lake waters, only to start swaying back and forth, softly at first from a gentle breeze and then more frightening as the waters around me find waves of strength and might as though from the sea. The winds pick up and seem to casually toss me around without so much as an asking of permission. But then, just as quickly as the roiling began, the waters calm again, all the while I’m trying to keep standing upright. My bet is that you can relate.
Relationships can often feel like we’re at the mercy of the deck of cards dealt that day, dependent on the change of wind direction, certainly dependent on mood and circumstance. We often feel as though there is no constancy, no consolation, no oars to guide the boat. And that’s exactly when it’s necessary to hang on to the one thing that does not change.
Each passing generation has been rocked to its core with internal and external division, wars followed by peace, calm followed by chaos. This season is no different, though it is ours to fret the outcomes of votes cast, prayers prayed by both sides. Yet One remains. He is faithful and true.
I offer a simple blessing; one of hope, one of absolute truth. Psalm 23 was written by King David over a 1000 years ago. Read that again. One thousand years ago. It gave peace then and I hope it gives you peace today.
“The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.”
This election too shall pass, and no one will remember in 1000 years. He however, will still sit on the throne.
Elaine
Endurance
There are runners on the track, running swiftly around the red rubber topped asphalt lanes, the wind blowing them either forward or back, the sounds of the masses in the crowds completely blocked out. They have trained for this journey, they know exactly how many paces are measured with each breath, how fast or faster to go depending on the length of the race and their bodies have learned over a lifetime of strength training, the pounds of pressure put on the pavement and what it does to their feet and knees and hips. Their defined muscles reveal the time spent in the weight room and the power behind the ballet movement of grace that marches them down to the finish line. But they weren’t always the warrior they appear to be.
When you were a child, you were spastic in nature with no ability to regulate caution or time or gesture. You were adorable and gave out unconditional love. But you were infinitely needy and your exhausted parents remember remarkably little of your childhoods but memories of chubby dimpled fingers and wet kisses sustain even the most blurred of days.
Then you grew into a smart (alecky) teenager who was gangly and secretive, incapable of self-discipline or wise choices, you slipped in and out of child/adult phases by the hour but you could hold surprisingly intelligent conversations and you developed an wicked sense of humor and there were hints of hope that one day, you would remember some of the training in how to eat without shoving food whole into your mouths and to possibly remember a birthday that is not your own.
Training and education and a mother trove of love have finally paid off when her adult children turn into compassionate and giving human beings fully capable of sending another generation into orbit and thus begin again a next generation greater than the one before.
We endure. Our children endure. One. Day. At. A. Time.
In marriage, in addition to the date nights and the cuddling on the couch with Netflix, shared holidays, vacations and everyday life experiences, there are often disagreements where you feel like you’ve gone ‘round and ‘round on opposite sides of the same argument and you think you can’t go ‘round one single time more. But you do. Something enables you to move forward, to pivot, to extend the branch of peace another time. Endurance allows you to soften your stance and not dig in your child-self heels, to see the other’s point of view. You love deeper, you grow stronger.
Ask any parent of children over 13 and they will tell you that the days are long but the years are short. For those over 50, the days become shorter still and the years are mere whispers.
Jesus wants us to forgive 70 times 7, because He knew that’s how we would grow in faith and grow in love and because He did it for us first.
Endurance. It is what propels us forward to another day. It is what ignites in us an energy born of just an ember to set free a blaze if we would just softly blow into the heat, and fan a silent flame.
A runner does not look at the finish line when he runs. He sees only a blur of what is directly in front of him. A couple in young love cannot possibly fathom what a 50 year anniversary would encapsulate in celebrating. A lifetime of compromise earns a lifetime of honor and loyalty and friendship and deep, deep resolve. A young mother cannot comprehend what joys that grandparenting awaits as a reward for enduring the tired and “terrible two’s”, “threes”, “thirteens” and beyond.
Endurance is but one stronghold at a time. We cannot see what the future of post covid can look like. We cannot see what jobs may await the newly unemployed. We can’t possibly see how we can end up on the other side of the unknown. But we know the right here and now. And it may be excruciatingly difficult and it might look like giving up is the only alternative but I implore you to hang on. Give it your might and give Him a nod if you can’t seem to right the boat in the tossing waters. It might take a herculean effort to rise and meet the day or maybe just a prayer. But it is here for the taking and it is ours to capture. Today.
Endurance will happen whether or not you’re in support of the ride. You can embrace it or fight it. Just like when you were little, your dad said, “we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but it’s gonna get done either way”. We will overcome this just as He has overcome the world.
Hebrews 12:1 “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us”.
Peacefully,
Elaine
Unchanging
The past week has been a roller coaster of emotions and within a single day, I went from content to sad, to depressed, then anxious and on to confused but elated to comforted to exhausted. Can you relate?
Covid-19 has left in its wake, in addition to case statistics, a loss of life, loss of jobs, loss of what we knew to be normal existence. It has created a sense, for many of us, of unexpected chaos, unmanaged expectations and a feeling that nothing is as it should seem. We can’t seem to count on anything these days. There is no such thing as normal.
My husband Steve and I found ourselves alone on the 4th of July, the first time in our 18 year marriage not to go out with friends & family to the city park and celebrate with homemade ice cream, Popeye’s Fried chicken, 100 degree weather, wild-eyed kids and way too many people we don’t know. For the record, I still made my ice cream but we decided to go perch ourselves on the porch of our venue, which overlooks the city lights and see if we could see random fireworks from there.
Surrounded by neighbors evidently taking matters into their own hands, we were indeed privy to lots of firework sounds, and small splashes of color bouncing in the distance for the good part of an hour. But the best part was looking long into the face of a full moon as it rose among the tree branches.
It was there in the midst of a warm July evening, in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, that I found my peace. The moon phases don’t change for pandemics and neither does the One who created it.
The trees over the years have sprung new life in some and lost limbs in many others. The grass struggles in the summer but is lush in the winter rye plantings. The wind changes direction and rains come and go, my emotions riding each wave because I allow myself to attach my joy to something not grounded in certainty. What a mighty test this is, but there is abundant hope.
He is the same yesterday. The same today. The same forever.
Joy is found in the peace, in the constant unchanging nature of, He who brought us to this place.
I Corinthians 14:33 “For God is not a God of disorder, but of peace”. May you and I rest there.
Elaine
It Matters
Growing up in middle America in the 1970’s, I attended a high school with exactly one African American student in a class size of almost 700. I don’t remember thinking much about that except thinking that the low number must have been because of the relative proportion of blacks to whites in general, not bothering to really do the math. To this day, I remember his name.
I don’t really remember discussing racism at home, but the general concept of loving everyone in spite of color was. I was raised to think for myself, and whether it was nature or nurture, I questioned just about everything, parental authority included.
In college, I went on a couple of dates with a black guy and later defended an old high school friend who got pregnant by a black boy and whose dad threatened to kill said father-to-be. In college, I was exposed to diversity and I had friends of all colors. Later on, I taught preschool to four-year old’s and had one black little girl that sat among 4 white children and one Hispanic boy. I distinctly remember marveling that four-year old’s don’t see color. All that doesn’t feel like racism. To a white person.
To really affect change for the better, one must, I must, look within. Everyone needs to check the pulse on the truth of what they espouse. I had the occasion to have a serious heart to heart discussion with a couple of black, Christian friends just on the heels of George Floyd being killed and the aftermath of anger that boiled over. I left that discussion forever changed.
There was a story (link) that spread on social media of a black man taking his little girl on a walk in the evening. Holding her small hand in his one hand and the leash of their family pet in the other, they headed down the street. In the story, the man explained that he only goes on walks with both his child and his dog because as such, he’s seen as a loving dad and family man out for an evening stroll. But if you take away the dog and you take away the child, he’s left with walking in his neighborhood as a lone black man. In one scene he is not questioned for being in his surroundings. In the other one, he is not only questioned but his reality knows that life can change on a dime. He simply doesn’t go out for walks without his two companions. That changed the fabric of how I saw my black friends and colleagues and what they are up against on a daily basis, a lifelong existence.
As a woman, I know I need to be careful when I’ve gotten out of my car late at night, making sure I had a key in my hand to use as a weapon if needed, or mace, or look around to make sure no one was going to come up behind. I’m careful what time I shop or where I park my car. As a woman, I know there is a real possibility of becoming another statistic of rape. It’s a story no man understands. I don’t fault the man for not having to find the weapon key, or not needing to look over his shoulder wherever he walks, or getting to park anywhere he wants, oblivious to his surroundings, but I do hold him accountable for understanding where this threat comes from for the women in his life and making sure he is part of the solution by educating young boys into being caring, respectful and gentle, men.
But see, my being a woman might come with a small chance of violence dependent on where I work or where I hang out or how late I happen to go someplace or any number of factors. Being black is a skin color that doesn’t change according to circumstance. The threat remains the same. All because he or she is a different COLOR. That’s the MATTER part of Black Lives Matter.
I speak up for these friends of mine, those who should not have to even ask their white counterparts to do so, but it’s where we are but hopefully not where we’re going.
This dialogue doesn’t diminish one iota of my love and respect for every officer I know and hold dear. It has no left or right leaning, it is not red versus blue. It is black only. The older I get, the less political I become, the more I rely on the teachings of one humble man named Jesus and the more people I embrace. It is this collective body of all people that makes us the body of one.
If I ask you to do one thing, I ask that it be that you stand up and speak up. Use your voice to squelch the hate. If you can’t speak up, I implore you to listen. Ask to hear the stories of your black friend or associate. Lean in to their pain and just listen. We don’t have to agree on politics or religion, but I sure hope we can agree that the world needs more love.
Be kind to all,
Elaine