“Praying and Believing” — a re-post for Michelle DeRusha

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I am not writing online about my journey with my mom these days. I’m trying to gather it all into something approaching a book, so after the new year, much of my time and energy will be devoted to that particular kind of gathering. 

My connection to my mother is deep and important and our time together is complicated, lovely, difficult and an ongoing part of my daily life. She is still a heroine to me, even in the throes of dementia. Why? Because what remains of my mother is beautiful. Quite stunning, actually. And that is a gift. Yes, I wish she had her memory. Yes, I wish we could enjoy the kinds of deep conversation and belly laughter that we once did. But as we walk this path, I am struck by the ferociously glorious light that shines out of her face and her spirit. 

As I said, what remains is beautiful.

So when my friend, Michelle DeRusha, wrote and asked if she could re-post my contribution to her “Faith Heroine” series, I said yes. Because sometimes it’s good to remember what was.

You can find that piece by clicking here.

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Remembering

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As this 31-Day Challenge draws to its close, it seems fitting to go back to where we began: with a picture of my littlest grandgirl’s shoes.
They’re not resting on our warm wooden floors in this shot. Instead, they’re sitting on the concrete deck of the swimming pool at the condo we rented on Maui. You can see some mud stains from all the rain puddles left over from tropical storm/hurricane Ana, which almost truncated our trip before it began. 
I remember when that original photo triggered the idea for this entire series, and when I do, I am grateful for the inspiration, and even more, for the process of writing each of these small pieces. I cannot remember a time when I’ve had more fun blogging than I have this past month.
It’s a really good thing to remember, isn’t it? Scripture admonishes us to do that very thing — over and over again. To recount our story, to tell it to our children and our grandchildren.
And it’s that idea which is behind the Ignatian practice of examen, a daily discipline that has been adapted in all kinds of ways by all kinds of people in the last few centuries.
Because of the particular journey I’ve been on the last few months, my nightly version is short and sweet. As I drift off to sleep, I call to mind every blessing of the day just past, beginning with small things and moving through to the bigger ones — like my husband and my family and my faith. 
It’s just a small thing, this nightly remembering, but it has been the single biggest part of my own recovery, both physically and emotionally. Spending those few minutes being grateful has done more to restore health and sanity than any other single thing I’ve done. 
And it starts with remembering . . .
Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Shared Moments of Delight — a Guest Post!

One of the sweetest things about this internet world is the connections that can be made — connections across time and distance, life experience and life stage. One of my dearest ‘finds’ has been Kelly Chripczuk, who writes beautiful words over at “A Field of Wildflowers.” Turns out she is a licensed pastor in the same denomination in which my husband was raised and with whom we served in Africa over forty years ago. She wrote this sweet, small piece and asked if I thought it might fit in with this 31-Day series. YES, indeed, it does! Delightfully. Thank you so much, Kelly.
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Kelly Chripczuk is a Spiritual Director, Writer and Speaker who lives in Central Pennsylvania with her husband and four kids.  She writes and speaks on the topics of identity, anxiety, transition and the practice of noticing and receiving the love of God in the midst of daily life.  You can find her blogging at www.afieldofwildflowers.blogspot.com or follow her on facebook athttps://www.facebook.com/AFieldOfWildFlowers.
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It’s a rare Sunday evening with no school on Monday.  To celebrate, we’re having a “pizza party” in the living room, the six of us gathered around the lap top with paper plates filled with pizza and chips.  The older kids, my husband and I line up along the old leather couch and the three-year-old twins sit in front of us in little plastic chairs, their plates resting on the old scarred piano bench. 

The kids watch the movie and my husband I alternate between watching the movie and watching our children.  We share looks over their heads as entertained by their perceptions of the show as we are by the movie itself.  Then this little exchange, so precious and sweet, takes place between the twins:

“Yours yummy?”  Isaiah asks, holding a sour cream and onion potato chip in one hand, his faced turned toward his brother who doesn’t hear him.

“Yours yummy, Yevi?” he persists, raising his already loud little boy voice and replacing the unpronounceable “L” of Levi with a “y.”

“Huh?” his brother finally replies, turning to look him in the eye.

“Yours yummy?” Isaiah wants to know.

“Yeah, yummy!” Levi replies with unmistakable enthusiasm.  “Sometimes me dip it on my pizza like this,” he adds, demonstrating his method of scraping a chip across the top layer of pizza.

“Yeah,” says Isaiah, turning back to the show with the satisfaction of their shared pleasure evident in his voice. 

Witnessing this from behind, my husband I smile with our hands over our mouths, our hearts savoring the bond of companionship so deep, so sweet, in ones so little.  We’re delighted by their delight, our hearts awakened to joy through this small moment of pleasure shared.

 

What small moments of delight have you experienced lately?  

Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Monotones

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When I am in a garden space, I’m used to looking for the most brilliant color I can find. I love colors! And lots of them, too. But one day a couple of weeks ago, I was feeling tired and little bit blue, so I went outside for an hour or so.

I sat in a comfy chair, put my feet up and laid my head back, talking to God in a very general way. And then I was quiet.

I often find it helps to stop talking. Somehow it makes room for the other, maybe especially so for the Other. 

So I began to practice one of my favorite quiet meditative practices — I took out my camera. And I just looked around my yard for something interesting to shoot. These berries caught the sunlight at just the right angle, and I was mesmerized.

Sometimes my desire for lots of color robs me of the opportunity to enjoy God’s gift of one color. Monotones, I’m discovering, can be very restful. Try looking for something in your yard that has different textures, but is all one color. Then sit and stare at it for a few minutes, contemplating the angles, the way the light falls, the innate quiet of a single color.

What did you discover? 

Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Sparkles

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What is it about sparkly things? Little kids, even babies, will instinctively reach for things that are shiny and sparkly. And I’ve never outgrown that. 

I love to wear jewelry that sparkles. I enjoy fireworks, as long as they aren’t too loud. And I adore watching the sunlight play across the breaking waves of the ocean. Adore it.

I love the ocean in any kind of weather. Truly, I do. But when the sun is high and shining brightly? When the waves are breaking just so? When the birds are calling and dipping into the midst of the sparkles? Well, that’s heaven right there.

Sparkles are by definition little things. But when you see a whole lot of sparkling going on, that shiny stuff can seem very large, indeed. 

I want to be a sparkly person. Not a fake one — human beings need to experience all kinds of weather, too. And they need to be honest about it, always. But overall, I’d like to sparkle. It’s just a little thing, but I think it’s quite wonderful. 

Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Prickly Things

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On a drive last spring, I got out and took a walk at Morro Rock, about two hours north of here. And right there, in the shadow of that great rock, I found this glorious thing. A cactus, in full bloom.

The rock is huge, but this plant was just a small thing, almost in its shadow. But I took a picture of it — and not too many of that rock. It was too big for my viewfinder for one thing. And it’s just a big ole rock, for another.

But this? This was lovely. From a distance. I had absolutely no desire to get up close and personal with it, no urge to see if the flowers had a fragrance or not (some cactus flowers smell heavenly). It was just big enough that I didn’t want to chance leaning in too closely. Because those spines? They can hurt.

There are some good things in this life that are best seen and experienced at a bit of a distance, aren’t there? I loved the vibrant color of these blooms, and the quirky way they popped right up out of the edge of those leaves. But looking on from 15 feet away was just fine by me.

There have been times in my life when I’ve thought something was totally safe and it turned out not to be be. It was still good or beautiful or educational or helpful, but it was not to be enjoyed too closely or too much.

Life does have prickly things, you know? And some of them are little.

Or at least, littler than Morro Rock!

Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Special Places

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When I know I’m going to be visiting our former hometown, I often try to find just a little space to make an extra stop. There is a florist in Pasadena that has long been a favorite destination for me. It’s called Jacob Maarse Florist, and is located in a huge warehouse-like building just off the main business thoroughfare in town. 

When my kids were in high school and beginning college, I went to a half day Dreaming Day at our church. A couple who did career counseling were there, and I had a fun time taking tests and reading booklets about possible things to do now that my children were leaving the nest. Out of that day came the desire to work more with flowers. 

So I decided to start a small business, primarily as an excuse to save a few dollars on the flowers for our eldest daughter’s wedding when she was 19. I would go to Jacob Maarse and hang out, watching the designers carefully, trying to pick up tips. I loved every minute of those trips!

And I still do. It’s a small thing, just a side-trip, but it brings me such joy and satisfaction to see talented people doing spectacular work.

Are there any side-trips that you like to take to special places, just little ones?

Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Surprises

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I volunteered to be a spiritual director for some faculty and staff from a nearby college who were on a one-day retreat near where I live. I was both anxious and excited about this opportunity to listen to people I did not know and prayerfully see where God might be moving in their lives.

Because my recovery from foot surgery is still progressing, I was also nervous about the grounds of this retreat site. We would be meeting outdoors and I still have some difficulty navigating uneven ground.

When I got there, I soon saw that there was a small, concrete patio behind the retreat house, already waiting with two chairs and a small table. Perfect! Thank you, Lord.

One of the things I’ve been learning throughout this long recovery is that I must carefully steward my energies and stamina. So I signed up for two directees, in the mid morning slots. About six slots were available and I chose just those two.

Between my two sessions, I sat back in my chair and tried to breathe deeply and release all the pent-up anxiety in my body. And I began to look around this small space. Just to my left, I caught this glimpse of a pepper tree, berries in full bloom.

Something about those small red berries, hanging so beautifully amid the feathery pepper greenery brought such sweetness to my heart. I find them quite lovely and am always surprised when I discover a tree in bloom with them. Clearly, it doesn’t take much to make me smile. Just a serendipitous reminder that God’s good work of creation is ongoing and lovely. It’s the little things, you know?

Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: The Angle of the Light

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It was early August, just about six weeks after my foot surgery. Our eldest daughter and her family had rented a beach house nearby and they invited the rest of the family over for a swim and dinner. I definitely did not swim, but I did sit and enjoy the scenery. Oh, yes, I’m good at that!

The house they rented was just back from the sand. In fact, the front yard was filled with the stuff! But all around the edges were several beautifully landscaped succulent gardens.

This one was right in front of me, in the chair where I set up shop, with my newly acquired walker-with-a-great-seat holding up my booted foot. As the afternoon began to darken, the angle of the mid-summer light caught the petals of this rose-shaped plant and made me gasp. Who knew a succulent could be translucent?

People who have never lived in California tell me that they would miss having seasons, would be bored by weather that is too similar year-round. But we do have seasons here, they just don’t look like the traditional ones. And those seasons are marked by the angle of the light, as well as by falling or rising air temperature and/or rainfall.

It’s one of the ‘little’ things I enjoy most in my life: observing how the sunlight changes how things look, depending on where the sun stands in the sky. The shadows lengthen, and the sun sets directly over the ocean in the fall and winter months. Only then.

Ask me how I know this! (I bought my first good camera in May and drove 60 miles trying to find a sunset over the water. NOPE. But in January? Spectacular.)

Just Wondering

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Seeds

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Have you ever cut a papaya in half? They’re filled with hundreds of small, round, black seeds! And they are beautiful.

For much of my life, I couldn’t be bothered with papayas. I thought of them as strangely shaped tropical fruit that grew on really weird trees. And they smelled just a tiny bit like dirty feet!

But then one vacation, we ate at a breakfast buffet where they featured slices of fresh papaya, and I was hooked. I especially love these large, red ones from Mexico. Total yum.

But the day I cut this one open, I was fascinated by the little stuff inside the fruit. So I took this picture and I’ve loved looking at ever since. Seeds are miracles, you know? Just tiny things, but containing within themselves a whole new life.

But of course, in order for that life to take root, the seed itself has to disappear. It has to die. It has to open itself and be completely transformed into something new. 

So much of this life of faith is like that, don’t you think? We, too, must ‘die,’ in a sense. At least our false selves need to die — those personas we carry around to show the world that we’re-just-fine-thank-you, that shell that we protect ourselves with. It’s gotta go.

Because it’s only when we let that shell slough off that the beautiful newness the Holy Spirit is growing in us can be seen and experienced. 

Yes, I love seeds. Even though they have to sacrifice something in order for new life to flourish. Maybe especially because they do.

Just Wondering