"Send out your light and your truth;
let them lead me..."
Psalm 43:3
joining the quiet Sunday community
and Still Saturday
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Your Light
Psalm 43:3
joining the quiet Sunday community
and Still Saturday
Friday, March 8, 2013
He is Home
Five Minute Friday, once again. The prompt this week, the word, Home. Write, five minutes, free and easy, listening to the words, tapping them out on the keyboard.
Home
Our lab has insecurity issues. The times we are gone, which for her sake are infrequent, she can be a real basket case, a bundle of nerves. Yet, when her boy is home, she relaxes and life is good. Fortunately, he is home most of the time.
We were discussing the other day, how she pouts when he is gone. Her whole demeanor changes. It is not a visible face pout like you or I would make, but her whole body pouts. She tolerates the rest of us, she knows she is not alone. But when he walks back through that door, her whole body smiles. Life is good. Same thing when Dad walks through the door after work. She wiggles and wags, content to have her family all home, together, again. Now she can relax and enjoy life - which means go to sleep on her comfy blanket.
Time is up.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Change the World (A Bit)
This is one of my short shorts, a 500 word short story, with a different theme than I would normally use. It's fun to experiment, try new things, see how words work together to create an effect. If the clutter on my desk is any indication of project overload, I have a few things to finish. This one has been floating around, waiting for brilliance. I decided instead to call it done and send it out.
Hope it makes you smile and think (a bit).
Hope it makes you smile and think (a bit).
“Jimmy, get up now, or you’ll be late.”
“So what?”
His mom stood outside his door, her arms full of laundry.
“So what? So the bus driver will hit the car that would have been a minute
later if he didn’t have to wait for you to cross the street, still fiddling
with the arm of your jacket.”
Jim sat up in his bed, rubbed his eyes and scratched the
back of his head. “What?”
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
What to Spend
"THE BEST THING TO SPEND ON CHILDREN IS YOUR TIME."
My sister-in-law had this quote as a cross-stitch on her wall. Several years ahead of us in the child raising years, she lived these words. She home-schooled before it was a thing, simply because it allowed her to spend more time with her two children and it enabled them to work together, learn together, be together. I attempted to follow that example.
I made up a pattern, designed the cross-stitch, and it sat in my project pile for years. I wanted to put it on my wall, just like she had it. I have to admit (with a grimace), that I think it is still downstairs in a project box, moved from house to house, how many times? I am not even going to go look.
At this point, I wish I could say that I didn't spend the time to make that cross-stitch because I was too busy spending time with my kids. Maybe, maybe not. But it has helped me keep a focus on priorities. It is not all the things that make a rich life. It is time, together.
More important than putting that cross-stitch on my wall, it is important to write those words on my heart, making them come alive in my life, and playing them out in our children's days.
"Mom, will you play a game with me?"
"I'm busy doing [this]. Why don't you go play the Wii for awhile?"
What good mother would ever say that? Ahem... I don't want their memories of me to be of my back, turned toward some busy project. I want their memories to be of my face, available to listen and spend the time with them that they need. Balance is important here, too, though. One of our sons would take all my 24/7s if he could. Obviously there has to be a line.
Having this quote speaking in my head, reminding me of my choices and priorities, helps me keep my focus less on stuff and more on time, all the minutes and moments with this family God has given us.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Terms of Measurement
"Measure thy life by loss instead of gain;
Not by the wine drunk but by the wine poured forth;
For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice,
And whoso suffers most hath most to give."
-Ugo Bassi
"Jesus looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the offering box, and he saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins. And he said, 'Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.'"
-Luke 21:1-4
What terms of measurement do we use? Do we measure by loss or by gain?
joining the quiet Sunday community
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Halcyon
My one word theme for 2013 is quiet. I meant to write more about it, delving deeper into various meanings, but this past month I have felt, well, quiet. Haven't posted as much as usual. Not sure exactly why, but my excuse is practicing quiet.
When I think of my ideal quiet day, I think of the beach. The beach, however, is not a quiet place: waves pound on the shore, wind roars across the sand, seagulls screech, sand blasts against your face, your clothes are blustered and hair whipped by the wind. I had to laugh when I thought of it that way. Why do I think of the beach as a quiet place? Perhaps because it marks some of my favorite get-away destinations. Visits with families who had a beach house gave us moms time to chat and breathe while we kept a quiet eye on the kids. House-sitting opportunities at a beach house gave us the luxury of living in a place we could never afford. There are memories of beach-side hotels that offered pleasant retreats for my husband and I. Visits with distant family meant beach trips in Hawaii and the Gulf of Mexico. One house where we lived was close enough to the beach to take frequent afternoon trips for the kids to play in the water and the sand. Even with the wind howling, the waves crashing and the seagulls screaming for our food, beach days were quiet days.
At one beach house where we visited friends, a storm moved in. The tides were predicted extremely high, swallowing the sand, up to the low brick walls protecting the patios. Over the afternoon we watched the ocean turn from blue to green to gray to violet to indigo to navy blue to black, and the storm was on us. A quiet afternoon? Not in the forces of weather, but the kids all played outside as long as they could, tossing the tennis ball into the water and watching for the waves to toss it back, their sweatshirts wet in the cold spray.
From our house where we lived in the central California coast area, we would drive to the Pacific Coast Highway, turn north, and travel about thirty minutes to Pismo Beach. It was a great kids' beach. A long, slow, gradual slope, waves that came in gently at low tide, hard-packed sand perfect for playing and building. We loved to go mid-week, a benefit of home teaching, after the morning school work was done, a quick lunch packed, and often, the beach was practically deserted.
One drive, I don't remember why, we turned a different route off the Pacific Coast Highway, left on a street named Halcyon. At that point, we were still on the bluffs, the homes high, overlooking the coastline. After a block or so, the road appeared to drop out from underneath us. It plummeted, seemingly straight down for several hundred feet. The kids all screeched, some in panic, some in delight, like on a roller coaster ride. (I admit, other times when we drove this route, I would crest the top of the hill and let off quickly on the gas pedal to create a greater feeling of anti-gravity and increase the fun.) The road dropped quickly to sea level, to fields of strawberries, lettuce and broccoli, crops that flourished year-round in that perfect sea climate. Never too hot, never too cold, ideal for growing.
Halcyon looped across the green fields and joined the road that took us along the coast to the section of beach we liked. The dictionary says the word halcyon is from the name of a legendary bird that "had a peaceful, calming influence on the sea at the time of the winter solstice." The afternoons at the beach created for us a calming influence. A time to relax and play, to enjoy being with each other. I would take a book, but rarely read it, choosing instead to gaze at the waves and the kids playing together, and watch for the occasional dolphin or sea lion. We loved to go in the winter when the beach was pretty much guaranteed to be empty. The water was too cold to swim, but they would play, tossing a football or frisbee. Or, they would build sand creatures or castles. Or sit and enjoy the scenery, no responsibilities, nothing to do but relax. Or collect seashells. Or bury each other in the sand and take silly photos.
"Halcyon days," is a phrase from literature and music, denoting nostalgia and remembrance. Our granddaughter, when she was little, knew to go to her "happy place" when something frightened her. We were at a lively restaurant with animated animals displayed in the jungle scenery. When the elephant above our table trumpeted, she quickly retreated into her happy place, her eyes shut tight, humming a little song to herself. Then she cried and a kind waitress let us move to a table less populated with four legged creatures. For me, the beach is my happy place, a place where the tranquility and beauty soak into my soul, creating a sense of deep quiet.
When I realized, however, that the beach is really not a quiet place, I also realized that the sense of quiet can be achieved in the middle of a normal day's chaos. The noise of a normal household, the clashing personalities, the challenges of learning and growth, the demands of duty and responsibility all create wear and tear, like the waves pounding out their rhythm on the ever-changing sand. Even here, there is calm and beauty and peace and halcyon days.
We do not live near the beach anymore. I am learning that a state of quiet is from within - not a result of idyllic external circumstances. It is rooted in a tranquil heart. At any time I can choose to retreat to my quiet place, a place of trust and love and being loved and grace and being deeply grateful. There, always, there is quiet. My biggest surprise in understanding quiet is that it is not about stillness or quantity of words or volume of sound. There is an energy in quiet, like the ocean waves surging deep below the surface, powerful. And I still have much to learn about quiet.
When I think of my ideal quiet day, I think of the beach. The beach, however, is not a quiet place: waves pound on the shore, wind roars across the sand, seagulls screech, sand blasts against your face, your clothes are blustered and hair whipped by the wind. I had to laugh when I thought of it that way. Why do I think of the beach as a quiet place? Perhaps because it marks some of my favorite get-away destinations. Visits with families who had a beach house gave us moms time to chat and breathe while we kept a quiet eye on the kids. House-sitting opportunities at a beach house gave us the luxury of living in a place we could never afford. There are memories of beach-side hotels that offered pleasant retreats for my husband and I. Visits with distant family meant beach trips in Hawaii and the Gulf of Mexico. One house where we lived was close enough to the beach to take frequent afternoon trips for the kids to play in the water and the sand. Even with the wind howling, the waves crashing and the seagulls screaming for our food, beach days were quiet days.
At one beach house where we visited friends, a storm moved in. The tides were predicted extremely high, swallowing the sand, up to the low brick walls protecting the patios. Over the afternoon we watched the ocean turn from blue to green to gray to violet to indigo to navy blue to black, and the storm was on us. A quiet afternoon? Not in the forces of weather, but the kids all played outside as long as they could, tossing the tennis ball into the water and watching for the waves to toss it back, their sweatshirts wet in the cold spray.
From our house where we lived in the central California coast area, we would drive to the Pacific Coast Highway, turn north, and travel about thirty minutes to Pismo Beach. It was a great kids' beach. A long, slow, gradual slope, waves that came in gently at low tide, hard-packed sand perfect for playing and building. We loved to go mid-week, a benefit of home teaching, after the morning school work was done, a quick lunch packed, and often, the beach was practically deserted.
One drive, I don't remember why, we turned a different route off the Pacific Coast Highway, left on a street named Halcyon. At that point, we were still on the bluffs, the homes high, overlooking the coastline. After a block or so, the road appeared to drop out from underneath us. It plummeted, seemingly straight down for several hundred feet. The kids all screeched, some in panic, some in delight, like on a roller coaster ride. (I admit, other times when we drove this route, I would crest the top of the hill and let off quickly on the gas pedal to create a greater feeling of anti-gravity and increase the fun.) The road dropped quickly to sea level, to fields of strawberries, lettuce and broccoli, crops that flourished year-round in that perfect sea climate. Never too hot, never too cold, ideal for growing.
Halcyon looped across the green fields and joined the road that took us along the coast to the section of beach we liked. The dictionary says the word halcyon is from the name of a legendary bird that "had a peaceful, calming influence on the sea at the time of the winter solstice." The afternoons at the beach created for us a calming influence. A time to relax and play, to enjoy being with each other. I would take a book, but rarely read it, choosing instead to gaze at the waves and the kids playing together, and watch for the occasional dolphin or sea lion. We loved to go in the winter when the beach was pretty much guaranteed to be empty. The water was too cold to swim, but they would play, tossing a football or frisbee. Or, they would build sand creatures or castles. Or sit and enjoy the scenery, no responsibilities, nothing to do but relax. Or collect seashells. Or bury each other in the sand and take silly photos.
"Halcyon days," is a phrase from literature and music, denoting nostalgia and remembrance. Our granddaughter, when she was little, knew to go to her "happy place" when something frightened her. We were at a lively restaurant with animated animals displayed in the jungle scenery. When the elephant above our table trumpeted, she quickly retreated into her happy place, her eyes shut tight, humming a little song to herself. Then she cried and a kind waitress let us move to a table less populated with four legged creatures. For me, the beach is my happy place, a place where the tranquility and beauty soak into my soul, creating a sense of deep quiet.
When I realized, however, that the beach is really not a quiet place, I also realized that the sense of quiet can be achieved in the middle of a normal day's chaos. The noise of a normal household, the clashing personalities, the challenges of learning and growth, the demands of duty and responsibility all create wear and tear, like the waves pounding out their rhythm on the ever-changing sand. Even here, there is calm and beauty and peace and halcyon days.
We do not live near the beach anymore. I am learning that a state of quiet is from within - not a result of idyllic external circumstances. It is rooted in a tranquil heart. At any time I can choose to retreat to my quiet place, a place of trust and love and being loved and grace and being deeply grateful. There, always, there is quiet. My biggest surprise in understanding quiet is that it is not about stillness or quantity of words or volume of sound. There is an energy in quiet, like the ocean waves surging deep below the surface, powerful. And I still have much to learn about quiet.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Just Me
The prompt this week for the Friday Five Minutes is "ordinary." Five minutes, words flowing, unrestrained, unplanned, unedited.
linked with lisajobaker.com
Plain and ordinary. That I can do. Just me. Some may be motivated by fame or fortune. Fame does not interest me one little tiny bit. No siree. Fortune -well, that would be fun to try, at least, for awhile...
Just ordinary me.
The face the son wants to see when he wakes up in the morning.
The master meal cooker.
The kitty litter cleaner.
The make sure the trash is out on the right night person.
The one who notices the weeds.
The one who notices the dust and clutter scattered on the table.
The one who knows where the feather duster is (didn't say I got it out and used it, did I...)
The inspired pile sorter, and the inspired pile maker, and the piles-on-my-desk dreamer.
The book reader.
The word writer.
The dog walker and cat lap.
The heart that wants to love and understand and grow and thrive.
The mind that wants to learn and understand and grow and thrive.
Yup. Just ordinary me, making it through the ordinary days.
source - Mary Engelbreit calendar
linked with lisajobaker.com
Plain and ordinary. That I can do. Just me. Some may be motivated by fame or fortune. Fame does not interest me one little tiny bit. No siree. Fortune -well, that would be fun to try, at least, for awhile...
Just ordinary me.
The face the son wants to see when he wakes up in the morning.
The master meal cooker.
The kitty litter cleaner.
The make sure the trash is out on the right night person.
The one who notices the weeds.
The one who notices the dust and clutter scattered on the table.
The one who knows where the feather duster is (didn't say I got it out and used it, did I...)
The inspired pile sorter, and the inspired pile maker, and the piles-on-my-desk dreamer.
The book reader.
The word writer.
The dog walker and cat lap.
The heart that wants to love and understand and grow and thrive.
The mind that wants to learn and understand and grow and thrive.
Yup. Just ordinary me, making it through the ordinary days.
source - Mary Engelbreit calendar
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