learning not to trust everybody

My grandchildren live with me. Lily is almost five months old. She has rubbery legs which are always kicking, and eyes bluer and rounder, larger than you expect. Her dark hair is wavy now that's it nearly long enough to cover her ears. She has an older brother, Lucian, who is over three and study on his legs which are always running, everywhere, down the hall, through the kitchen, and even to bed. Mostly he has been very gentle and kind to her and she is smitten with him and can watch him with his colorful Jedi sword for hours. She coos and chortles and laughs when he pops back around the corner of the kitchen, after hiding from her. But today, left a lone for a few moments, he, angry at her fussing, did something to her, hit her or pinched her, and she cried that angry, hurt, startled cry. Red faced,howling that someone she loved had mistreated her.

She finally was comforted. But she was wary now of her brother at the supper table. And he was ashamed, and not very happy, not his usually, chirpy, bubbly self. In time, they will work out their peace. But for me watching, it was the serpent in the garden. A reminder that we live in a fallen world where we are disappointed and worse, where we disappoint others.

How wonderful it is that a solution has been found. God comes to rescue us from our falleness and to restore us in our relationships to Him and to others through the sacrifice of His son on our behalf. And He brings us the vision of a world that has been restored, every bit of it. From the ecology, to its institutions of civilization and to the arts and culture. All of it redeemed. One day we will see that "peaceable kingdom" where the lion lies down and sleeps between the paws of the lion, and a little child like Lily will lead the wild beasts like Lucian plays with Margit's retriever. Trust is restored. May that day come quickly.

Fellowship Offerings

I wonder if I have ever truly brought God a "Fellowship offering"? I don't know how I've missed it all these years, but I never remember hearing a sermon on these offerings specified by the Old Testament. (Ex.29 and Lev. 7) Highly personal, these were not required or specified as to time or day--they were totally volitional. Like an outpouring of love and worship to Almighty God for His goodness, these sacrifices were for three situations. One was a sacrifice of Thanksgiving, which we hear about in song mostly, and it was to be offered, and consumed in one day. It couldn't be a left over...It makes me think that my thanks giving to God should be a daily worship experience. Often it followed God's deliverance from danger, or His healing an illness, or His provision. The second category of Fellowship offerings was the payment of a vow. Possibly Paul was bringing an offering as repayment of a vow to the Temple in the account in Acts. I have heard people promise to serve the Lord, or to do certain things. This offering seems to be thanks that God has empowered someone or allowed them to perform or see certain things. And then--the FREEWILL offering. This is like the "love gifts" my very poor mother used to sacrifice to give my brother and I when we were grade school kids. She would leave a gift on our pillows or in our school bags--a special treat, ceramic parrots (reminding us of a favorite parrot we had loved in Brazil) or stuffed bunnies. "Just because I love you" she would say. No reason. No day. no obligation. Just because I love you. And I think that these offerings are like that! Now days we just think about money when we think of offerings...or grave solemn offertory music played by pipe organs, But maybe the offering of time, talent, or presence in someones life could be offered to God --just because we love Him. The joy of our fellowship just makes you want to "jump"--or SOME thing! Shout a word of thanks! pay a vow with joy; give of yourself to others because you Love Him! Bring those fellowship offerings in!

Sestina for Afghanistan

Night-time traffic winds through Kabul’s bazaars in a current of electricity.
Cement-colored mountains that cradle the city are stark, austere in their beauty.
Giant cauliflowers, pyramids of melons, pomegranates, spices-- Afghan food.
Like smoke, the call to prayer rises from the mosques filling the air with unquestioned truths.
Suited workers, burqua draped women, school boys-each wants to return home in safety.
After three decades of war, drought, and poverty, the only thing missing is hope.

Youths learning English in internet cafes are the foundation for some small hope.
People want services—safe water, decent roads, consistent electricity.
Who will build houses, factories, or schools unless they can count on their safety?
Talibs slashed many paintings, pulled down their Buddhas, destroyed everything of beauty.
They banned kite-flying, music, dancing, the sound of women’s feet in the street speaking truth
about gathering water, firewood, serving all, being the last to eat food.

Up in Barek Aub we pass out cooking oil, salt, flour, tea, spices for Afghan food.
When I see little girls and boys, the same size as the bags they carry, I hope.
I am hopeful; when young leaders speak of what life is like and they speak the hard truth.
The class stops, and everyone debates passionately-- I feel the electricity.
One says he wants to start an eco-tourism business in Bandi-amir’s beauty.
When ISAF armor patrols the city It feels safe; for a time we dwell in safety.

My wish for Afghans is that they dwell in their homes in quietness, joy, and safety.
That their tablecloths be covered with Kabuli pilau, kebabs, an abundance of food.
Roses of every shade scent the wind, in their well-watered gardens flowing beauty.
In courtyards, behind iron gates, brightly colored finches warble of love and hope.
May they harness the sun and wind, to light mud villages with electricity.
In their homes, workplaces, in the city square-- let the pearl they value, be the Truth.

This is a turning point, the valley of decision, will Afghans choose lies or truth?
If they cede power to poppies, or violent pulpits, there can be no safety.
Trust before investment, peace before aid, stability before electricity.
Land that grows blood— brings down the curse of drought-it can never, ever, grow enough food.
Grow forgiveness instead of Badal; choose trust, weed out prejudices, nurture hope.
Pledge your lives and your sacred honor, to build this nation, and preserve its beauty.

In the snow dusted Pamirs, lakes- are the wide turquoise eyes of the mountains’ beauty.
The eagle screams his need for space, understanding--the hooded falcon’s silent truth.
In the desert sands of the Shomali plains, the smallest of wildflowers hopes.
The bright-eyed Kuchi children scamper under black tents, like goats scattering for safety.
In the high mountain passes, the black panther waits, crouches, trembling for her food.
New year starts, when red tulips thrust through white clouds to jolt blue skies with electricity.

White doves rise from the Blue Mosque, wheel in hope, that the phoenix will rise in beauty
from the blood-red ashes with alacrity, stretch out its golden wings, singing truth
speaking wise words as banners for safety, leaving its egg of myrrh as spirit food.

On Fire proofing a Marriage

It's still strange for me to go to the movies alone. You'd think after a year of widowhood, I'd be used to it. But as awkward as that can be, I want to support efforts that are made to make movies with a Christian Worldview.

"Fireproof" is a great example of a movie that has a message that can transform lives. The theatre I went to was full--mostly of couples--all ages. And the place was still as a mausoleum many times, as the film addressed the pressures on marriages today and acknowledged how much work it takes to work the way it was designed to work. I think the main point is that we can't love anyone else until we truly understand how much God loves us...and that it is only out of that overflow of love that we can love others.

I liked the idea of a book-- "The Marriage Dare" --a 40 day plan to save a marriage, but it is not credible to believe that a marriage so far gone could be saved in such a short time. The models of long term marriages, where there was loyalty even in the face of illness or challenges, were so helpful. Those were models we surely don't see in current Hollywood offerings.

After 32 years of marriage, I have reason to say I know how difficult it can be on some days. But also, how wonderfully rewarding!

The hard part for me is finally, recognizing that the marriage vow reads "till death doth us part"--and my husband kept that vow. and is gone. --

I am still here. how to begin again to look for someone to love like that? I loved the words to one of the songs in the film, "While I wait I will worship, while I wait, I will serve"-- That summarizes what I am doing.

Saudade

"Saudade" is a word I learned in Portuguese that doesn't have an easy translation into English. It is the remembering with longing or imagining with longing. It is wanting but not having. But not a discontent that is bitter or demanding. more like a sweet memory of something that is gone from reality but remains-- in the haunting half-phrase of a tune that arises like a vapor in your mind. It is a fragrance you only vaguely recognize. Its like when the deer pauses in the meadow, bathed in golden light, and flicks its ears, and looks for something, then returns to her grazing. i awaken some mornings, with that sense that there was something I am supposed to remember, something important that eludes my conscious mind, that tugs persistently at the edges of my brain. I can't make out if it is an image, a word, a feeling, ---something. Like Dali's "persistence of memory" it warps out of recognition, hanging from the table beside my bed, behind the netting that veils my bed. It is a stranger I think I know, who attracts me. but no one I know. A face I cannot see.
It is sweet, but not altogether happy. It is sad, but not full of sorrow. It is an empty place, like a missing tooth, that has become familiar. Hollow,hallowed.

Remodeling Project

I was left with a fishing boat, a nice red-and-white Lund, and a boat trailer and no idea how to hook the lights up to the pick-up truck. I gave the Honda Ridgeline to my son. Sold the trailer and boat back to the dealer. Gave away another car, and ended up with a detached garage full of old skis, poles, boots, a weed whacker, a wheel-barrow, bags of lawn fertilizer, old paint, and field mice.

So I decided that it was time I created a real studio for myself, rather than working out of a bedroom. It took about a month to get the proposal through the local architectural review board. Another month to get it cleared out and then the fun of remodeling began.
Studs went in, thick pink blankets of insulation were wrapped around the new bay windows. Replaced the garage door with a set of french doors so that large projects or sculptures can be made and still make it out the door. Sky lights toward the north end shunt the weak northern rays deep into the room. A row of cabinets along the back will hold art supplies--the never ending collections of found things and colorful paints and pastels. There will be a deep sink for cleaning brushes, and a bath. The space that will be my desk has a view of pine trees and blue sky. One wall holds a Walker system to display finished work. There will be a mirror to check the painting in reverse. Laundry lines that pull across like you find in some hotels, will be a place to hang prints or works on paper. The electrician has pulled the wires across from the house and promises me power on Monday. Soon the walls will blush into a warm ivory; and the fanlight will stir the air. Light wooden planks will march across an expanse that was only concrete...The easels will go into place under the skylights. I will load up my brush and start a new work in this new space. I hope to dedicate this space--as I have everything I own, to the LORD who has given me the gift of seeing and the opportunity to learn art. Mainly, I hope to create work here as long as the Lord allows me strength. I hope it will be a place to lodge the weary; to teach young artists and to learn from the experienced; to encourage and display the work of my friends who are artists or photographers; and to be a part of the Jesus House experience. (more about that in another blog.) Now that we are nearly done, this team of craftsmen and workers, I celebrate the wonder that what is old can become new. It makes me smile, to stand in what was a dirty, disordered garage and see such beauty and serenity. Makes me wonder what else needs attention?

How does my garden grow?

Right now, the grass is yellowing and brittle from too little rain. Just as I set out to put sprinklers on the lawn, the drizzle began--most welcome. The day lilies by the front walk are starting to swell, ready to burst. The pink-purple petunias cascade from their baskets, the front ones full of blooms where the afternoon sun catches them. The basket in the back by the swing, is in too much shade and while it has verdant leaves, there are few blossoms. Sun, it needs.
The Burgundy mums, are massed by the white picket fence. Two white mums on either side of the green front door are welcoming I think. I need to change the door wreath from it's cheery, summer Flowers to more fallish selections. Maybe tomorrow if there is time, i will rummage in the basement and replace it.
I peruse the fall garden catalogues...and read a magazine article on "top Fall Projects"--My remodeling project is coming to a conclusion and the new bay windows overlook a rocky ledge, lined with large stones, perfect for a bed of perennials--Daffodils would be an obvious choice because of the flocks of deer who come into my yard nearly daily to graze, steal crab apples from the lower boughs, or to dispense seeds from the bird feeder. Maybe irises --tall, and sculptural, elegant royal blue tissues that unfold like origami into petals.
Then I think of the things it would be fun to incorporate over the next years, if the Lord tarries--a labyrinth for meditation and contemplation? Perhaps a small scaled water feature, adding the sound of water to the cricket's song and to the peepers call. I love the natural sort of rooms that are already emerging. I'm not sure why a garden is so satisfying? Perhaps because there is a Jungian symbol --GARDEN--that is imprinted somehow in our heart/ some information encoded in our DNA and handed down through the centuries--the need to know--even taste the earth. To tend it and from our efforts to receive fruit--colorful, fragrant, or flavorful....Our return to the garden to eat and to fellowship--to be known, to know, to belong--to celebrate--that great feast for which we long--That garden is what keeps us going when the beetles eat the rose petals, or the sun scorches the ornamental grasses, or the wind whips the willow tree. Gardening is a leap of faith, I half think.