Art

I am in love with good design. It makes me swoon a little to see beautiful objects or environments that have been thoughtfully planned for maximum function and sensual appeal. That is, for me, a breathtaking combination. But even though my eyes are drawn to beauty, my life is not about consumption and has made a most drastic shift in the other direction in recent years. Instead, I find myself delighting in the art of living. And, there is an art to daily existence.

Here are some of my favorite works:

bathing. Those who know me well realize that I have a passion for good soap. The warmth of the water coupled with the delicious fragrance and suds of the soap are a daily feast for the senses.

tea. I love wrapping my fingers around a warm mug of tea, inhaling the steam.

laundry. I find that there is beauty in a neatly folded stack of towels both in the uniformity and in the lingering aroma of the lavender soap in which they were washed.

vacuuming. In the same way that the Japanese sand gardens comfort and delight, for me there is something quite appealing about the tracks that my vacuum cleaner makes in the carpet.

Cooking. Chopping, stirring, and tasting the fruit of my labor

I am learning to fully appreciate the beauty of ordinary things and the intricate steps of this dance that we are all engaged in. It is the dance of creation.

Busy

It feels good to finally sit down and say something. November was a blur. I drafted one post and also fully intended to write something thankful last week, but somehow neither of those two things came to fruition. One remains in limbo: a draft. The other, a lingering sense of gratitude.

I have been busy...breathing in and out enjoying this miracle called life, together with the various tasks that comprise that miracle.

We did have a wonderful Thanksgiving! I hope that you did, as well.

Compost

I recently began composting after reading about the many beneficial nutrients that it adds to the soil. Not having a bin, I started small by saving eggshells and coffee grounds in a covered bowl on the kitchen counter. My hope was to eventually invest in a good receptacle. So, as I rounded the corner on my morning walk the other day, I was elated to find a compost bin on the sidewalk with a "free" sign on it. (Thanks, Lord!) Better still, the neighbor who was discarding it emerged and allowed me to move it into her driveway, so that I could continue my walk without fear of it being adopted by someone else.

After I'd planted the container in our yard, I headed online to research exactly how this whole composting thing works. I sometimes wonder if those who write about gardening make a conscious effort to complicate even simple processes; to convince us novices that we are inept to grow so much as a tomato. But, I figure that if my ancestors managed to feed themselves without advanced degrees in agriculture, botany, or horticulture, I can figure out how to layer food scraps and yard debris to make compost. I will keep you posted.

What I've learned so far is that successful composting requires the right mixture of ingredients coupled with the correct temperature, sufficient moisture, and oxygen. It's all scientific. I plan to throw in compostable things, stir them up and hope for the best. I've heard from others that they have been successful with that formula. Like I said, I will keep you posted.

After I got to thinking about the whole concept of compost (how all those scraps mixed together in the right way creates "black gold" coveted by gardeners for what it adds to the soil),
I thought again about how the natural reflects the spiritual. Doesn't God take all of the by- products of our life and mix them together so that "all things work together for the good of us who love Him and are called according to His purpose"? And doesn't He know just how much of each ingredient we need? Doesn't He allow us to be formed in the heat of the furnace, and then rain on us to refresh us? Doesn't He breathe new life into us again and again? And doesn't He know just how much time it takes until the process is complete? I am so grateful that I don't have to understand His formula. Rather, I just have to give Him all of me (past, present, and future) and allow Him to do His work.

Vacuum

In a nation that celebrates mavericks and hedonism, we often fail to remember that we do not live independently of each other. As such, one's personal life may not be so personal. The words of John Donne remind us that life is not lived out in a vacuum. He stated that, "No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less..."

Over the weekend my hubby and I had the opportunity to attend a local production of the Arthur Miller play, "Death of a Salesman." It was my first time seeing this work and the theater company executed it beautifully. In the play, adolescent Biff Loman is derailed upon discovering that his father, whom he idolized, is having an affair with another woman. This revelation comes late in the second act. In the initial act, we'd become fairly well acquainted with Biff the young man, who has lost his way. This new information helps us finally understand that the consequences of his father's actions have left deep scars in Biff; accounting for the restless man that he has become.

As unpopular as it is, our actions are not remote. They have consequences that extend beyond ourselves effecting countless others in unforeseen ways. As such, we are very much our brothers' keeper. I pray that my life is a source of encouragement to my fellow travelers, rather than a stumbling block.

Thrift

While I am not a big shopper in the traditional sense ( I do not enjoy spending hours at the mall ) I do very much enjoy a good treasure hunt at thrift stores. It always amazes me to see the what people have discarded and I love to rescue useful things to repurpose for my own use. In addition to saving money and resources (recycling), I usually find one-of-a- kind things not readily available elsewhere. The things that I find thrifting are often my most favored possessions.

I believe that God is the ultimate "thrift shopper." He spots treasure amongst what has been been abandoned, discarded, or unused and gives it new purpose for His glory. I am so glad that He saw potential in me and put me to use fulfilling the purpose for which I was created.

Seasons

I thought that I had better get something posted on my blog before I am listed MIA. It's been a while.

Fall is in the air and the children will soon be returning to school. It has been a wonderful summer and I have squeezed every drop of goodness out of it, savoring long morning walks, sweet berries, fragrant blooms, sun tea, warm evenings on the deck listening to the frogs sing, and the unhurried pace. Now, I am looking forward to favorite sweaters, raindrops against my windows, crisp fall apples, coffee dates with friends, and the routine that the school year brings.

I love the seasons. I appreciate the rainfall so much after experiencing blisteringly hot summer nights during which it is nearly impossible to sleep. Likewise, I appreciate the warmth of spring after being snowbound by record snow fall. Every season has its wonderful advantages that make me long for them, and challenges that make me grateful for their departure.

I am also loving this season of my life. I don't know what lies ahead but I know that according to Jeremiah 29:11, its something good.

Abundance

Last night, several friends gathered on short notice to celebrate my milestone birthday with me. My husband and another one of my dearest friends insisted until they finally wore down my resistance and I conceded. I'm glad that I did because as much as I tried to avoid having this gathering and being forced into the spotlight, it blessed me. In fact, I will still be basking in the memory of the evening for years to come.

The two party planners did an amazing job! The hosts created a welcoming oasis in their park-like backyard that could easily have graced the cover of any home and garden magazine. My sweetheart also worked at this project with unmatched enthusiasm and delight; running errands, making phone calls, and relishing the opportunity. Together they pulled no punches. As we share a mutual admiration of all things cake (www.communitycake.wordpress.com ) they even asked each guest to bring one. It was a cake extravaganza!

Once everyone had arrived, I took a moment to make introductions telling how I had come to know each person there. But as I reflect on those words now, they are grossly inadequate descriptions of the amazing individuals that I am blessed to have in my life. I wish that I could have taken hours to describe who each one of them is to me:

the constant friends who I have now known for more years than I didn't know them, with whom I have shared adventures too numerous to count...

the ones who drove well over an hour to be there last night, and also drove 15 minutes in the middle of a September night in 1995 to care for our son, while I labored with, and delivered our daughter...

the ones who drove nearly as far, despite debilitating health issues...

the ones who remained in contact over the years and over the miles, as we followed my husband's career across the country, so that our friendship never missed a beat...

the ones who make it a pleasure to go to work each day...

the friends who have quickly established their place in my heart and become part of the fabric of my life...

my Daddy who has always been in my corner cheering for me....

my handsome, teenage, nephew who I am told is sometimes surly but has never shown me anything but love and respect and who took the time to come and wish me well...

my own two teens who I have seen surly on occasion and have the privilege of watching grow into amazing individuals that I am thankful to know...

my sweet husband, with whom I share this privilege, and who is the salt in my life enhancing every part of it, making the journey more flavorful...

and all who have shared my laughter and tears, prayed with me and for me, opened their hearts and homes to me and mine, countless times, as well as graced our home with their presence.

Though there was an array of cakes, I barely touched them. What I really craved was more time to sit down and fill up on that buffet of beautiful friends that feed my soul. I am honored to have such abundance in my life.

40!

Besides being serenaded by many different voices using various arrangements of the standard, I have also been asked by several people over the last few days how I feel about being 40. I thought that the best way to address that question, is to blog about it.

Forty, so far, feels amazing! It's like life 4.0 (the enhanced version of my life at 20). In this season of my life, I am more at ease, more comfortable in my own skin, and beginning to enjoy the harvest of things that have taken years to cultivate. I wouldn't trade where I am now for anywhere that I've been so far (even if it included reclaiming my girlish figure). Every season of my life has held wonders that I would hate to surrender. This is good stuff.

I've also been told more than once that "it's all downhill from here." To this I reply that I certainly hope so! Riding up hill is the hard part. Down hill is just coasting... and there is usually a great breeze!

Celebrity

I was shocked and saddened to learn of the death of Michael Jackson last week. Like millions of little girls who grew up in the 1970s I had a crush on the littlest member of the Jackson 5. I memorized every lyric and audible gesture on his Off the Wall album that dominated the eight- track player in my parents car. I watched in amazement as "the gloved one" effortlessly glided across the stage at Motown 25 introducing the world to the moonwalk. And, I squinted with one eye open at the horror that was Thriller. He was a spectacle to behold.

In spite of this, my grief doesn't stem from the loss of a childhood heartthrob or the realization that I will never again see his fluid movements grace a stage. In fact, my grief for Michael Jackson began long before the news announced that he had suffered fatal cardiac arrest. Deprived of a childhood and lacking a Godly foundation his life had become a slow-moving train wreck. The ongoing voluntary mutilation of his face provided visible evidence of a deeply trouble soul. I have grieved for Michael for a long time.

But now I grieve the fact that I was unable to tell my childhood friend that the metamorphosis that he sought couldn't be found in the hands of even the finest plastic surgeon on Earth nor by willing the "Man in the Mirror" to change. This transformation that he needed and longed for is found exclusively in the surrender of power, not in its pursuit, to Jesus. I grieve that he didn't experience the rebirth that is possible when one comes to know Christ as Saviour and Lord. I am saddened that Michael was unable to realize the unconditional love of his Heavenly Father, in who's image he was created. And I am incredibly saddened that the shallow, temporary, fame and fortune of this world are of absolutely no value to him in the end, no matter how many fans pay tribute to him now that he is gone, "for what does it profit a man to gain this whole world and lose his soul?" Mark 8:36

Passion flower

A few months after my family moved into the house where we currently reside, a neighbor gave us a passion flower that he had removed from his yard. He explained how he had tried to rid his garden of the plant (as it tended to grow rampantly and take over) but continued to find it growing there. He also assured us that , if we grew it in a container, it would remain manageable. Having a newly constructed home with not much in the way of landscape, I was excited. I planted the vine in a large pot and stationed it where I believed that it would most enhance the garden. It quickly acclimated to its new surroundings and began to grow lush greenery. Over the next few growing seasons, it stretched and crept up the trellis that I had provided for it and I watered and fed the plant looking forward to the promised blossoms. Those never came.

During one of my aforementioned morning walks last summer, I noticed that another neighbor a few blocks over had a passionflower, in full bloom, in their front garden. In addition to the flowers, their vine also had also began to fruit. I was astonished, not realizing prior to that, that obtaining passion fruit in this climate was even a possibility. For the duration of the summer, I continued to faithfully water and feed my vine hoping to one day find a bud developing. But, my much sought after blossom never materialized.

Last fall, when my disappointment had reached its peak, I took aggressive action. I whacked the plant back and moved it to a new location with full sun. I believe that the other spot was too shaded. As beautiful as the green foliage is, I want this plant to exhibit all of the beauty that it was created to. Anything less is a compromise.

In John 15, Jesus states,"I am the vine and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit...if a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me he can do nothing." My experience with gardening deepens this illustration for me. The passion flower vine at present adds nice greenery but is more decorative than purposeful. The flowers would lend additional eye-candy appeal. But fruit would elevate the plant completely from merely being a showy specimen, to a source of nourishment. When God calls us into fellowship and we respond to that call, He does not do so solely for our own benefit. While it is true that we avoid the wages of sin (death and hell), we also are to mature into useful, fruit bearing parts of the vine that feed and nourish with the fruits of spiritual maturity yielded from remaining in "full son."

I really hope that my little passion flower blooms this summer, but more than that, I hope that my life hangs heavy with the Fruits of the Spirit.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." Galatians 5:22-23 NIV

Handmade

The other night, I was preparing to make mashed potatoes for dinner when I realized that my potato peeler was missing. I was saddened. It had been a great little tool, faultlessly shearing off thin strips of skin while leaving the tuber below intact. I had owned it for over ten years and it still performed effortlessly. I must have inadvertently discarded it with the vegetable shavings the last time that I used it.

I searched online for a replacement and discovered that the company from which I purchased my beloved Swedish peeler had eliminated it from their product line. In lieu, the company now offers one made in a large Asian country (that shall remained unnamed) which is responsible for the lion's share of the world's mass production at great detriment to the health of it's citizens. I grimaced and continued my search. My sorrow soon dissolved when I found an instrument made by hand in a small, French, village. It has a beautiful wooden handle and was reasonably priced. I'd found my new peeler.

I share this not to be pretentious, but because I find that there is joy in using an instrument so lovingly handcrafted by a master artisan, rather than some gadget haphazardly stamped out by a machine which creates widgets and pollution in equal measure. The fingerprint of the maker stays with the object long after it has left the master's hands. It is apparent that such things are created thoughtfully, with love and purpose. Such things, I treat with reverence and enjoy using them all the more for being a beneficiary of such artistry.

So it is with us. We are "fearfully and wonderfully made" with divine purpose and precision. I am surrounded by incredible individuals in my life who, regardless of whether they acknowledge the Creator or not, bear His markings in the gifts and talents that they exhibit. In fact all of creation with its diverse complexity loudly sings in harmony of the Master Artisan from which it is derived and should be treated with reverence. For, despite our best efforts to mass produce the created things, we fall miserably short, making only ineffective widgets and deadly pollution, in equal measure.

Bottomless

The lyrics to a favorite song of mine begin, "There are wonders in the Ocean that the beach cannot know..." The song then reprises, "I must go down deep to know the sea." I have always loved the song but last weekend I had an opportunity to witness first hand some of those hidden wonders of which the songwriter speaks.

My sweetheart and I celebrated our seventeenth wedding anniversary at Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast. It is a favorite spot of ours and one that I have frequently visited since I was a small child. While we were there, the waiter at our bed and breakfast informed us that the tide was low and that we should drive four miles to Hug Point and check out some fascinating landscape. We heeded his advice and were not disappointed. There were caves to explore, sea creatures to photograph, and a waterfall cascading down the rock wall that, according to a fellow beachcomber, was featured in the film "Goonies." The next morning we checked out of our hotel and decided to take a last stroll on the beach. I have walked that stretch of beach near Haystack Rock numerous times and photographed it almost as often. This time with the tide being low, we were able to see an entire "Marine Garden" that we never knew existed near the base of the rock. As it turns out, Haystack is the largest of a number of rocks in the vicinity and each barnacled rock teems with life.

I see once again how the natural world emulates the spiritual. It is possible to live on the surface with the Lord and never discover the wonders that are hidden in Him. And, unlike the ocean, He is bottomless.

Absolutely!

I try to take a brisk morning walk several times a week in an effort to give my heart some love and to minimize my thunder-thighs. I was out this morning on one of the walking trails that I frequent, when a woman approached pushing a stroller, accompanied by her small, black, dog. The dog was wandering unhurried along, sniffing everything within view. As she neared me she called to the dog, "Come here, Sadie." He did not respond but continued inhaling the shrubbery. While Sadie sniffed my shoes, she smiled and commented to me with a chuckle, "He is not obeying today." I returned her smile, greeted her and the dog, and continued on. As I did so, it struck me "neither is she." Sadie was not on a leash. That is a blatant violation of the parks' code posted on signs throughout the area.

Normally, I might not have given any of this a second thought but lately, the occurrences of this relativistic mindset are rampant. Just a few months ago, the local paper (in light of the latest political scandal) ran in bold lettering, on the front page, the headline, "He's a liar...but aren't we all?" I cringed at the mere sight of it and felt obligated to send a letter to the editor emphatically declaring that, "No. We are not."

Increasingly in our culture, there is an assumption that there is now a "standard quo" in addition to a "status quo." There are no absolutes. Everything, including truth, is relative, transitory, dependent on the whims of human desire and emotion. That is a frightfully slippery slope. But the truth is true whether we acknowledge it or not just as God is God whether we, as a nation, honor Him or not. He is constant; the only sure foundation; the rock upon which I build my life.

S-T-R-E-T-C-H-E-D

As I mentioned before I am nearing forty at warp speed. I am not troubled by this. I have lived through training wheels, training bras, platforms, leisure suits, gauchos, hammer pants, Jheri curls (had a few of these), mullets (but never went there), 8 tracks, 45s, Walkmen, boom-boxes, Pong, Paperboy, disco, new wave, low-fat, low-carbs, The Brady Bunch, The Cosby show, pop rocks, pop quizzes, childhood, and childbirth. The list could go on. I should be forty by now. I have earned the gray hairs that dance wildly on my head. I am very comfortable being forty.

Still, I must confess that there are times when the absurdity of me writing this blog becomes evident. I log on and check to see if anyone has commented, if anyone cares, if what I am saying is relevant to anyone. The goose egg in the comments spot is no comfort. At those moments, I feel like the grandmother wearing the micro-mini skirt that is in desperate need of being selected for "What Not To Wear". Where are Stacy and Clinton when I most need them? ... Then the Lord gently reminds me that it's not about me! This is for His glory.

I can imagine Sarah in her third trimester at the ripe old age of eighty shopping at the market where the other, much younger mothers, were also shopping with their toddlers in tow. I am sure that she caught the occasional gawker in her periphery and I'm sure that she experienced a bit of discomfort . But I am equally sure that she understood the task to which she had been called. I'm sure that she took her dis-ease to The One that had called her to that task, surrendered her pride, and allowed Him to comfort her. And, I am also sure that we who have read her story have benefited from her obedience and willingness to be uncomfortable.

Lord, give me a heart like Sarah's.

Spring

After an unusually cold and seemingly extended winter, I was drawn into the garden last week by the warm, sunny weather. I wanted to assess winter's toll on the plants and see if anything interesting was coming to life. The daffodils that bloomed a few weeks prior were reaching the end of their time on stage but were still upright, having yet to take their final bow. The hydrangeas were exhibiting leafy, greenness near their bases. And, though the winter Daphne did not bloom this year, they have matured and survived the cold. Having already resigned myself to the loss of my beautiful lavender plant, and my fuschia, I went to have a last look. The skeletal remains of the lavender confirmed my belief that it had indeed lost the fight. The fuschia however, to my surprise, had begun to unfurl tiny green leaves at its base. New Life! Where there had been death!


I love how the natural mirrors the spiritual; How God reveals Himself (the unseen) in the things that are seen (Romans 1:18-20). And I love how He takes those things that we have surrendered to death, believing them lost to the biting cold winter of our trials, and speaks life causing them to blossom once more. For our heavenly Father has declared, "Behold I make all things new..." (Revelation 21:5). That is spring, indeed!

Ferris Wheel

I remember taking a road trip when I was in high school to Hood River with my sister and one of her friends. While we were there, we attended a carnival that offered the usual trappings including the Ferris Wheel. Though I have never been one for thrill rides I, for reasons that escape me now, consented to ride it this time with my sister.

By the time we reached the top, my wet palms were clutching the bar , my eyes tightly shut, and I was screaming with all that I had within me. This was my (and my sister's) posture for several revolutions of the giant wheel. Exhausted, I finally stopped screaming, took a deep breath, and opened my eyes. A breathtaking, panoramic view of the area unfolded. As we descended, I found myself anticipating the next turn that would hoist me into the clouds to offer me more. I stretched my neck to see as a much, and as far as I could. And when the ride ended, I realized that it took me moving completely out of my comfort zone to gain a viewpoint unavailable to me from below.

Over the years, I have found this to be how God works in my life. While I enjoy feeling the earth firmly beneath my feet and the sense of security that it brings, when my Creator whispers to me that He has more for me, I long to sail into the clouds and catch a glimpse of the splendor that lies beyond the safety of where I currently stand. And as I obediently move in the direction of His calling, despite my apprehensions, he gives me the grace to withstand the ascent. He gives me hinds feet. (Habbakkuk 3:19)

Just imagine where God would take His people if we weren't afraid of heights.

Surrender

My husband recently told me that I am one of the most private people that he knows. This is probably true but, it's not because I have anything to hide. It's simply because in this world of rapidly advancing technology where everyone has almost unlimited access to everyone else's activities and where abouts, I choose to maintain a lower profile. I prefer to share myself on a more personal level; over tea, at my house, with fresh baked bread ...or at least in person, not in cyberspace. I am not on Facebook or Twitter and only own a cell phone so that my children and husband can find me in case of emergency. I don't have a "Second Life" (but am very much enjoying my first one). I still pay my bills with a check by mail and know the names of my neighbors as well as many of the employees at my local grocery store. All of this despite that fact that I am not yet forty (though increasingly close).


So here I am starting a blog; an intimate guide to my thoughts; a tour of my head. Me, "Miss Private". Its not because I find myself infinitely fascinating and want to share the wealth of my greatness with the masses. Rather, as I stated in my profile, I feel a tug to serve as scribe for The One who breathed His breath into my nostrils, giving me life, and calling it good. This little blog is a simple act of obedience to the prompting of the Holy Spirit. His call trumps my right to privacy and comfort every time.