God’s gifts — Page 10

A Prayer for the Weekend — and for this year

January 18, 2015 By Diana

I am blessed to be part of worshipping community that I love, where the music is varied, the preaching is solid, and the lay leadership is invited to participate. Each week, our community prayer time is led by a member of the congregation — old, young, male, female, erudite, humble — we get a rich variety. And each one is a blessing, an invitation to remember that we belong together, as different as we are. That we stand together, in the presence of a Holy God who chooses us, over and over and over again.

Our pray-er this morning was Dr. Richard Pointer, Professor of History at Westmont College and an all-around great guy — known to us all as Rick. He took the three scripture passages for the morning – Psalm 139:1-18, John 1:43-51, and Philippians 2:1-11, plus some words from a favorite old hymn, and wove them together into a beautiful tapestry of petition and praise. It is with his permission that I post it for you tonight. (May I humbly suggest that you pray it aloud? Speech that is written feels different when we hear it than it does when we read it, don’t you think?)

Lord God, the Psalmist tells us that you search us and know us. You know all about us — that’s very good news. You knew us from before we were conceived; you will know us to our final breath; you will know us for all eternity. You knew Nathanael enough to call him into discipleship.

Lord you are acquainted with all our ways and with all of our needs. You know I.J. in his need right now for healing from cancer surgery.

You know A. and A.B. in their need right now for a new measure of strength to face a third round of cancer.

You know dozens of hospice patients across Santa Barbara right now in their need for mercy and peace.

You know thousands of beautiful kids and teenagers in Uganda and Kenya right now in their youthful exuberance and promise but also in their poverty and need for hope.

You know the Christian believers in Niger whose churches have been burned in the last few days and their need for courage and perseverance.

You know every one of us gathered here for worship today better than we know ourselves.

Lord God, you search us and know us, and know all about us – that’s very scary news. You know all our insecurities, all our anxieties, all our small jealousies and not-so-small prejudices.

We confess that we don’t always want to be known. Lots of times we just want to run and hide from you and ourselves. But this Psalm reminds us that we cannot go anywhere where you are not with us. Your love and grace and forgiveness pursue us even when we don’t want to be found – and then when we do, your love rescues us.

And then Lord, in this text from Philippians you audaciously ask us, command us to be like you – to have the mind of Christ. How is that possible when we are so broken – broken in spirit but even more broken by our sin?

Some of the time we think too little of ourselves; save us from forgetting that we are your beloved.

Much of the time we think too much of ourselves. We are swelled with foolish pride that we are better than others — better because of what we own, or where we live, or how we look, or what we’ve attained, or how much we know, or the color of our skin, or the national heritage of our family.

What could be more different from your example, Jesus, than us proud ones who have allowed our pride to make us so arrogant, so complacent, so silent, and even worse, who have created systems and structures of injustice that look to our interests and not the interests of others? Forgive us, Lord.

On this holiday weekend, may we be inspired anew by Dr. King and countless other believers who have cried out, “Let your justice roll down and let your glory and righteousness fill the earth as the waters cover the sea.”

And then like them, let us go and actually do something to bring about more of your kingdom reign on earth. Save us from our self-absorption, from our selfish ambitions, from our vain conceits – set us free from being captives to the trivialities of our lives, to the banalities of our culture, to the false idols of our age.

Instead, help us to put on your mind, the mind of Christ.

Re-shape our attitudes.
Purify our motives.
Teach us what to think.
Refine our beliefs.
Show us what to value.
Help us to know the truth.
Make us wise enough to obey.

Lord, we know we can’t do any of this on our own. I can’t do any of this on my own. So this morning I simply pray:

“May the mind of Christ, My Savior, live in me from day to day, by his love and power controlling, all I do and say.”

Amen.

The morning light blazes through our east-facing Holy Spirit window, creating a beautiful reflection on the wall. Yes, it’s distorted, wavy, not as crisp and sharp as the original. Yet, is still beautiful, in its own unique way. Every week when I see it, I am reminded that the Light shines through Jesus to us, and though our reflection is incomplete and inaccurate,
it is still lovely.

Do you know how lovely you look with Jesus shining through you?

Filed Under: Blessings, community, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, prayer

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

December 19, 2014 By Diana

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.

Filed Under: Beauty, Encouragement, Enough, family, God's gifts, grief, hope, Light, memoir, personal journey, The Journey with Mom

A Prayer for the Second Sunday in Advent

December 14, 2014 By Diana

I wrote this prayer for community worship in 2009. And then I folded it into a small, home-copied book of community prayers that I gave as gifts to the members of our congregation when I retired at the end of 2010. Periodically, I am going to publish those prayers in this space. If anyone wishes to use any of them in worship, just let me know. Please do not print and distribute without written permission from me. Thank you.

We had just listened to the beautiful song about Joseph, “A Strange Way to Save the World,” written by Mark Harris.

“A strange way to save the world,” indeed.
If we’re really honest with you and with ourselves, Lord God, we don’t completely ‘get’ what you’ve done for us in the coming of Jesus.

We get pieces of the puzzle, and we celebrate joyously what our limited imaginations can grasp.

But we, too, can easily join the chorus of,

“Why him?” “Why here?” “Why her?”

And I, for one! (and probably many others in this room might join me in this) I am very often one to second-guess what angels have to say!

I try, and fail, to wrap my mind around

the mystery of the incarnation,

the mystery of salvation,

the mystery of faith itself,

and I second-guess everything … a lot!

It sometimes seems like a highly visible, high and mighty, fully-grown military leader extraordinaire might fill the bill as savior a whole lot better than a red-faced, squirming, squalling very needy, tiny baby,
who makes his grand entrance on the scene
with no one but animals and shepherds
and dirt-poor parents for company.

And when my second-guessing takes me down that particular road, it’s time for me…
to stop, to slow down, to step back,
to breathe in and breathe out, and be still.

Still enough to hear your voice of love through all the garbage in my head.

Still enough to allow your Holy Spirit to re-capture my imagination.

Still enough to remember that You are God and I am not.

To remember :

that you always do things in unexpected ways,
that you continually confound those who are wise in their own eyes,
that you choose to make yourself visible in
the weak, the lost, the little, the least;
that you are not in the business of taking over the world by force;

you are in the business
of wooing your human creatures
in ways that are subtle and strange, surprising and mysterious.

And for that, we most humbly say, “Thank you.”
And for that, we most humbly ask, “Woo us, O Lord.”

For we’re here in this place today, God, to say that
we need a Savior, we need a healer,
we need a companion on the way.

Many of us are dreading these days ahead –
we’re missing people from our family circle, through illness or death or divorce;
we’re struggling with illness and pain ourselves;
we’re tired of the overhype and the overkill;
we’re broke and we’re frightened about the future;
we’re struggling to find our place in the world and we don’t quite know where to put our feet next;
we’re facing into exams and papers due and not enough time or energy to do any of it;
we’re facing the harsh reality of aging, failing bodies and we yearn for heaven.

We’re a mixed up, crazy bunch here, Lord.
And we truly don’t ‘get it’ a lot of the time.
BUT – we deeply desire to get YOU.

Through all the questions and all the wrestling, and all the sighing and all the wondering – we want you.

We want you to be – in us and through us – the God who surprises people with grace.

We want you to be – in us and through us – the God who welcomes the stranger with words of hope and peace.

We want you to be – in us and through us – the God who comes to us as one of us, tiny and squalling, poor and needy.

The one who cries tears of compassion over our lost-ness.

The one who heals our diseases and feeds our souls.

The one who lives a fully human life,

and dies a fully human death,

and who is resurrected by the power of Divine Spirit,

and who will come again to bring justice and mercy where justice and mercy are due.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus! Amen.

Filed Under: Advent, Aging, biblical reflection, Christmas, community, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, hope, Mystery, prayer, worship

An Advent Journey: When God Became Small — Day Two

November 28, 2014 By Diana

1 Thessalonians 4:1-18, The Message

One final word, friends. We ask you—urge is more like it—that you keep on doing what we told you to do to please God, not in a dogged religious plod, but in a living, spirited dance. You know the guidelines we laid out for you from the Master Jesus. God wants you to live a pure life.

Keep yourselves from sexual promiscuity.

Learn to appreciate and give dignity to your body, not abusing it, as is so common among those who know nothing of God.

Don’t run roughshod over the concerns of your brothers and sisters. Their concerns are God’s concerns, and he will take care of them. We’ve warned you about this before. God hasn’t invited us into a disorderly, unkempt life but into something holy and beautiful—as beautiful on the inside as the outside.

If you disregard this advice, you’re not offending your neighbors; you’re rejecting God, who is making you a gift of his Holy Spirit.

Regarding life together and getting along with each other, you don’t need me to tell you what to do. You’re God-taught in these matters. Just love one another! You’re already good at it; your friends all over the province of Macedonia are the evidence. Keep it up; get better and better at it.

Stay calm; mind your own business; do your own job. You’ve heard all this from us before, but a reminder never hurts. We want you living in a way that will command the respect of outsiders, not lying around sponging off your friends.

And regarding the question, friends, that has come up about what happens to those already dead and buried, we don’t want you in the dark any longer. First off, you must not carry on over them like people who have nothing to look forward to, as if the grave were the last word. Since Jesus died and broke loose from the grave, God will most certainly bring back to life those who died in Jesus.

And then this: We can tell you with complete confidence—we have the Master’s word on it—that when the Master comes again to get us, those of us who are still alive will not get a jump on the dead and leave them behind. In actual fact, they’ll be ahead of us. The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God’s trumpet blast! He’ll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise—they’ll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we’ll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words.

It’s just a small phrase, a few words carefully chosen by Eugene Peterson when he was doing his wonderful paraphrase (based on real knowledge of the languages) – a living spirited dance.

And what is he talking about with that fine phrase? Working together with God to bring God (and ourselves) pleasure — true pleasure. He’s talking about the life of faith.

As a dance.

My fundamentalist grandmother would roll over in her grave!

I, however, think it’s an absolutely perfect description of what God invites us to do when we turn our faces in God’s direction: to partner with God in this dance of life, to dance the kingdom in!

One of the most graceful kinds of dancing I know is the hula. About three years ago, I had the privilege of watching a lovely Benedictine nun do a hula of her own creation, set to a song of praise to God; I wept at the beauty of it.

It was the perfect picture of what this life of ours can look like — worship and work, faithfulness and beauty, offered in a spirited dance to the God who made us.

Oh, Lord, help me to dance with you, to follow your lead and to enjoy the process. As I wait in this season of Advent, looking forward to celebrating that wee baby, give my feet extra measures of grace and freedom. Give my heart a new sense of commitment. Forgive me when I make our life together into a ‘dogged religious plod,’ trapped by expectations and guilt. Help me to inhabit your presence with joy and thanksgiving. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, church year, Delight!, Encouragement, God's gifts, Laughter, Light, Mystery

An Advent Journey: When God Became Small — Day One

November 27, 2014 By Diana

Happy Thanksgiving, dear friends.

It’s been quiet around here for a while; there have been very few words available to me for some reason. But as has been my custom, I am doing a daily Advent reflection this year. I cannot think of a year in which the spirit of Advent is more needed than this year. With the verdict in Ferguson coming on the eve of the season, and so many friends living with broken hearts and endless questions, we need to sit in this Advent space and intentionally ‘work out our own salvation,’ examining our hearts for ways in which we contribute to that sadness, those questions. May the Spirit speak to our hearts with hope and conviction. Most of these pieces were written in the early days of November, yet the breath of the Spirit is, as always, evident in the poignancy of the texts and the ways in which they have raised questions in me.

So . . . TODAY is the first day of Advent. Sunday is the first Sunday — the more familiar beginning marker in the minds of most of us — but today marks the beginning of the season, which extends through Christmas Eve. Each of these daily posts will include a photo, one of the scripture three texts from the Common Lectionary for that day, a brief reflection on a single phrase in the day’s passage, and prayer. That’s it. I so loved doing my October series on “Looking for the Little,” that I’m doing an Advent version of that — hoping to encourage myself (and maybe you, too?) to be intentional about keeping-it-simple during this crazy-making time of the year.

Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19, NRSV

Give ear, O Shepherd of Israel,
you who lead Joseph like a flock!
You who are enthroned upon the cherubim, shine forth
before Ephraim and Benjamin and Manasseh.
Stir up your might,
and come to save us!

Restore us, O God;
    let your face shine, that we may be saved.

O Lord God of hosts,
    how long will you be angry with your people’s prayers?
You have fed them with the bread of tears,
    and given them tears to drink in full measure.
You make us the scorn of our neighbors;
    our enemies laugh among themselves.

Restore us, O God of hosts;
    let your face shine, that we may be saved.
But let your hand be upon the one at your right hand,
the one whom you made strong for yourself.

Then we will never turn back from you;
    give us life, and we will call on your name.
Restore us, OLord God of hosts;
let your face shine, that we may be saved.

The picture at the top of this post probably should never have been taken. I was shooting directly into the light, something a professor in Photography 101 would say is a great, big no-no. But I loved what I was seeing and wanted to try and capture it.

Of course, it’s not possible to capture the sun. But this photo does capture some of its mysterious majesty and brilliance, I think.

“Let your face shine,” the psalmist cries as we step into this waiting season of Advent. “Let your face shine that we may be saved.”

And here’s the truth of it: Jesus Christ is the shining face of God for us. He took the dive, made the leap. From the heavens to the womb of the virgin, from the cosmos to the molecular, from the divine to the oh-so-human.

God’s face shines on us still, even though there are those days when it surely doesn’t feel like it. Over my life, I have learned that what it ‘feels’ like is never the end of the story and it is not always the truth of things. Because no matter how we may be feeling about life, God shines on us.

God shines on us in the face of that baby boy, the one who grew up to be a fascinating man, the one who gave his life away for the likes of us, the one who rose, victorious over death, the one who lives forever as Eternal Light in the heavenly places.

And also? In the smallness of our hearts. Alleluia.

Ah, Lord Jesus, light of the world. Illumine us as we take this walk again this year. As we move steadily toward the stable, help us to keep our focus on you, the one who became small for us. Amen.

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, church year, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, Looking for the Little, prayer, Wonderings in the Word; photos with scriptures; Advent

Designed for Work: The High Calling Synchro Blog

October 31, 2014 By Diana

There are seasons in life, I am learning. And sometimes the rougher seasons are the very ones in which the work we do can be a source of inspiration and solace, a place of ministry and renewal. The details of this part of my story have been shared before, but it’s good for me to remember and to celebrate.

The six year stretch between 2005 and 2010 was a tough one for us. At times, it felt as though my family was riding a dangerously out of control roller coaster, careening from side to side, tilting on one very narrow edge as we rounded some treacherous turns and corners.

Here are a few ‘highlights’ from that season:

My dad died in February of 2005, leaving my mom both exhausted from care-giving and desperately lonely for her partner.

My husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer two months later, enduring painful and debilitating surgery and a long, rocky recovery.

Our son-in-law was applying for long-term disability, literally fading away before our eyes. His wife, our eldest daughter, was beginning an intensive 12-month master’s degree program in special ed — after almost 20 years of being an at-home mom. Their three boys were struggling to find their bearings in this new universe.

Our middle daughter’s 3rd boy was born in distress, tiny and in the NICU for 5 days.

Our daughter-in-law needed a slightly dicey C-section for her first-born, just weeks after her cousin’s difficult entry into the world.

Our son-in-law entered the last year of his life with multiple hospitalizations, and a miraculous six-month respite, giving us all some memories that were lovely and lasting. That year, 2008, ended with a devastating pneumonia that took his life in a matter of hours.

My youngest brother landed in the ER with a severe leg infection, requiring a long list of care-giving efforts from all of us.This began a hard, downward spiral of missed diagnoses, homelessness, sober living residences, heart surgery and eventually, sudden death in 2009.

The very next month, our beautiful town was hit by the first of two wildfires requiring evacuation from home and church, plunging our worshiping community into emergency mode for months on end.

As I said, it was a difficult few years.

And every week, except for vacations and emergencies, I went to work. Many people wondered why: why do you want to step into other people’s difficult situations? Why do you want to visit the sick? Why? Haven’t you got enough on your plate already?

I don’t know that I can fully answer that ‘why’ question, but I will try to write a coherent list of possible reasons here:

work grounded me;
work reminded me I was not alone;
work taught me about community;
work provided an external focus;
work brought at least the illusion of order to my terribly disordered world;
work brought relief from the weight of worry that
was a constant companion;
work allowed me to stay in touch with the
creative parts of me as well as the care-giving parts;
work gave me a different place to look,
a different place to reflect,
a different space in which to be me –
the me that was called and gifted and capable.
As opposed to the me that was helpless, impotent and
overwhelmed.

My life was spinning frantically out of control,
at least out of my control,
heading down deep and dark crevasses that terrified me.
Work was more easily containable,
expectations were clear,
contributions were valued.
Work was grace for me during that long,
long stretch of Job-like living.

Work was a gift,
a gift of God to a weary and worried woman.
And it brought me into contact with people
who could bear me up,
who could tend my gaping wounds,
who could be as Jesus to me,
even as I tried to be as Jesus to those
I loved most in this world.

I did not do any of it perfectly. Lord knows, that isn’t even possible and it surely wasn’t true.

The end of 2010 brought the end of my ‘official’ work life. I have missed it at times. But I am discovering that even in the different structure, schedule and, yes, ‘work’ of retirement, God is underneath. And around and in between. Just as God has always been. And somehow by the grace and goodness of God, we are still here, clinging to the sides of that coaster car, doing our very best to enjoy the ride.

I am linking this with The High Calling’s bi-weekly synchro blog, this time on the theme, “Designed to Work.” Please check out the other posts in this link-up, and while you’re at it, read the fine articles published by THC this past week. They do such good work there!

Filed Under: community, Confession, death, God's gifts, personal journey, The High Calling

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Remembering

October 31, 2014 By Diana

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 . . .

<div align="center"><a href="http://dianatrautwein.com/category/31-day-blogging-challenge/" title="Just Wondering"><img src="http://dianatrautwein.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/DSC02765-last-round-31-days-e1411750071820.jpg" alt="Just Wondering" style="border:none;" /></a></div>

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, Beauty, Blogging, community, daily devo, Encouragement, God's gifts, Grandparenting, Looking for the Little, personal journey, Spiritual Formation, The Little Things

A Deeper Story: Stepping Into the Holy

October 30, 2014 By Diana

I can’t even begin to put into words how grateful I am to be a small part of the Deeper Story community. Ours is a rare and wonderful space on these cyberwaves, filled with honest story-telling and great conversation. Please follow the link to read all of this post over there . . .

It washed over me in a flood yesterday afternoon: I really love my life. Even when it’s hard, even when things I did not choose interrupt my forward progress on the way to where I thought I was going, even when I’m tired or sick or injured — I love my life.

I wasn’t doing anything particularly memorable at that moment. On the contrary, I was doing the usual — pulling together something resembling a meal for me and my husband. But there was this lovely, cool breeze flowing through the open kitchen window, the sun was shining, the wood floors were warm and smooth, the pantry was full, even the fridge was relatively well-organized and clean.

We’d had a surprise connection with our son for lunch earlier in the day, my mom was stable and smiling when I’d seen her the day before, the rest of our family was well and relatively happy, my foot was slowly healing. And, out of nowhere, I experienced a holy moment, right there in the middle of my green kitchen. So I stopped for a moment and I breathed a heartfelt, “Thank you!”

But here’s the flip side: even when I’m flooded with thanksgiving and delight like that, I too often find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Do you know that feeling? That insidious inner warning bell that says, “Yeah, you be careful there, honey. Don’t be too happy. Sure, you can be grateful — but do it with a note of caution, all right? Things are going well right now. But just you watch. Right around the corner, something terrible is going to happen and then where will your ‘happy song’ go?”

And that sad little ‘ding, ding’ inside my spirit can sometimes keep me from fully appreciating the beauty that is right in front of me. That anxious feeling, that superstitious thinking, can too often torpedo my contentment, IF I let it.

And way too often, I do let it. I tone down the enthusiasm, I look for the hard/bad things in my life to offer as a counterweight to all the good vibes, I try to ward off impending doom with a strange kind of interior bargaining, struggling to keep the cosmic scales in balance.

Why is that, I wonder? Deep down, do I think I don’t deserve happiness? Am I living in a state of perpetual angst-ridden anxiety? Do I think “God is out to get me?” I’m not sure of all the deep-seated psychological and/or spiritual issues that come into play to create this strange little interior dance. I just know I’ve grown very, very tired of it. . .

Filed Under: A Deeper Story, Blessings, community, Confession, Encouragement, family, God's gifts, Grandparenting, personal journey

31 Days of Looking for the Little: Serendipity

October 28, 2014 By Diana

Because we are traveling the last half of this month, I’m working way ahead on these October posts. And it’s been so much fun!

We’ve been experiencing a particularly harsh heat wave here in southern and central California as I write, and sleep is sometimes difficult. The French doors in our bedroom face east, and they are usually closed with blackout shades in place. But because of the heat, we kept one door open all night last night, and the light streaming in woke me earlier than usual.

I am not a morning person. Let me repeat that. I am NOT a morning person. But every once in a while, I get a glimpse into why it might be a good thing to be one.

When I grudgingly cracked open my eyes today, this is what I saw. The rising sun coloring the clouds, silhouetting the trees behind our home.

It was just a minute or two — sunrises never last as long as sunsets — but it was pure glory all the while. A small moment of serendipity, wouldn’t you say?

Maybe I could get used to this early morning routine. . .

Nah!

<div align="center"><a href="http://dianatrautwein.com/category/31-day-blogging-challenge/" title="Just Wondering"><img src="http://dianatrautwein.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/DSC02765-last-round-31-days-e1411750071820.jpg" alt="Just Wondering" style="border:none;" /></a></div>

Filed Under: 31 Day Blogging Challenge, God's gifts, Looking for the Little

SheLoves: Tuning In

October 25, 2014 By Diana

Once again, it’s the last Saturday of the month and I’m joining the amazing crew at SheLoves Magazine. This month, we’re writing about listening. I took a very personal slant on that idea this time around . . .

I took a short walk at the beach today, the first time since early June. I was slow, my stride was short, my right hip hurts, my left heel hurts, but . . . I took a walk at the beach today. You have no idea how much freedom is contained in that short sentence.

I took a walk at the beach today.

I’m sitting in the shade this afternoon, enjoying the clarity of the water, the light fuzziness of the skyline, the crowds of local people, enjoying the beauty of the beach. It’s very nice to be back in the school routine, not the tourist routine. There is parking!

There is room for me once again.”

These are journaling words from mid-September, written about 48 hours after being released from a heavy boot and the restrictions of a walker. I was finally able to wear TWO shoes after a long stretch (almost 14 weeks) of one-footed-ness while in various stages of recovery from foot surgery in early June.

It was that day that I knew I had turned a corner. Why? Because something about being near the ocean invites me to listen differently. To listen to the scene around me — the rhythm of the water against the shore, the call of the gulls, the splash and squeal of children getting wet, the gentle conversations of friends and family in different configurations along the water line. And to listen to the sweet voice of God, reminding me that I am seen, I am loved. All of it was welcome, familiar, comforting, a reminder that there is a bigger world than the confines of my bedroom. There is a bigger God than the one I had been imagining while confined!

When you are ill, or in the midst of a long recovery of some kind, listening well becomes problematic and strangely difficult. There is solitude to be found, that is most certainly true! But it’s a strange kind of solitude, not intentional, but enforced by circumstances beyond your control. And sometimes that enforced solitude can mean turning inward in ways that are not always healthy.

I am discovering that there is a difference between turning inward to hear from the gentle voice of the Spirit and turning inward to be assaulted by the anxieties and struggles of my own sick self. Finding my way through that particular thicket has not always been easy during this stretch of time.

Please follow the link on over there, won’t you?

Filed Under: Aging, Blessings, Confession, Encouragement, God's gifts, personal journey, SheLoves