God Found In The Everyday

God Found in the Everyday — No Comments
8
Apr 12

Up before the sun.

Sunrise service.

This is my favorite service of the year.

But to be somewhere to see the sunrise means you have to wake up before the sun.

My children were not very happy with me.

So they pouted for a little bit.

Today I noticed not only the beauty of the surroundings but in the silence I noticed the birds.

The outdoors were alive with their incredible sound.

As the service ended, a friend asked,”Is it over? It was so peaceful.”

Maybe it’s just an age thing.

I mentioned to my daughter that Easter starts to mean a whole lot more the more that you’ve lived.

When you are young, life seems like it will last forever.

Age brings more miles in the rear view mirror and an eye on the horizon.

She didn’t get it. How could she?

Only through traveling through peak and valleys — experiencing trials and triumphs — can we fully grasp the the depth and joy that comes from knowing

He lives.

God Found in the Everyday — 3 Comments
6
Apr 12

What’s so Good about it?

Good Friday.

Those who don’t have a faith in Christ might not understand this post, that’s fine.

This isn’t coming from my family of origin, not from where I was raised. Though I was raised going to church.

It’s not meant to persuade or convert.

It’s just who I’ve become.

*** * ***

Way back when I was married living in Atlanta before children, we attended a very large, Methodist church. I loved our minister; I loved our friends.

One year on Good Friday, the church was hosting a community service. With the church less than a mile from the high-rise where I worked, I ran down there for the service.

I dashed quickly down a side aisle sneaking onto pew down front as the service began.

The packed church stood silently for the processional. So different than the familiar booming organs and large choir on Sundays.

Then I saw the cross held high like every Sunday, only on this day, the gold crucifix was draped with a black mesh cloth.

I don’t know why seeing that cross covered in black affected me so. Maybe it was the silence, I can’t say.

It was if there had been a death.

Then it hit me.

Duh.

I didn’t like it. Not one bit. Where was my bright, loud, joyful church?

The light extinguished.

In The Hunger Games, President Snow summed it up with a question to Gamemaker Seneca Crane.

“Why do we have a winner?” Snow questioned.

What do you mean?” Seneca (with the funky beard) asked again not understanding his point.

“I mean, why do we have a winner?” Snow repeated.

He paused, then answered,

“Hope.

It is the only thing stronger than fear.”

* * *

I don’t like feeling dark, empty.

The thought of the sun going down tonight and never rising again.

No.

I don’t do dark well.

Musing on Who Are You and What Have You Done With My Daughter?

“Little clean houses for you and me…” insert John Mellencamp voice and music.

My theme for the last few days.

Travelling and work this week (along with the needs of a family of five) have left our house in critical condition and in a slow state of recovery from holiday decorating.

As I lay awake at 3:30 this morning, I ruminated on two things.

1. My mother had a person help out with the house two days a week.

2. And a few years ago, as a new writer, I attended the Florida Christian Writer’s Conference. I sat in on a multi-day devotional workshop with long time Upper Room Editorial Director, Mary Lou Redding.

At lunch after one of the sessions, I asked her the universal writer’s lament: How do I find time to write?

Nice woman that she was, she listened to all my todos and to-don’ts.

And this is what I remembered in the middle of the night.

Talking a bite of an apple she said, “Find some help cleaning your house or let it go. There is no other way.”

DANG. That’s like hearing God talk.

Let it go.

* * *

7 p.m. a very tired Mr. Miles came through the door.

We jettisoned plans to go to gym, poured some adult beverages and sat.

“I sat there with Johnny. We sat there, we two. And how wonderful it was we had nothing to do.” Except talk and drink.

After a bit, we noticed the house was quiet. Too quiet.

Our daughter ran in breathless.

“I’ve got something to show you. You have to come together.”

We walked to our closed bedroom door.

Then it hit me. Just like it hit me the second before Johnny asked me to marry him.

She’s cleaned our bedroom.

The door opened and I had a Publishers-Clearing-House-knock-me-over moment.

And then this…

She organized my desk. <<< Scream. Stomp feet. Clap hands. >>>

Yesterday, I wrote a reply on Facebook that “Mommy’s only get paid in love.”

Well, seems as if love turns into action when you least expect it.

And when you need it most.

God Found in the Everyday / Uncategorized — 1 Comment
7
Jan 12

Musing on the value of a George Washington.

Buying champagne at the grocery.

That’s how this tale started.

“What’s your birthday?” the clerk asked.

“Seven, thirteen, nineteen sixty-something-or-the-other,” I replied.

“I’m a Seven-Thirteen, too” chirped the young fellow slipping the bottle, along with fruit, pretzels and a Coke Zero into a bag.

“I bet your year’s a lot different than mine.” My standard reply.

“Oh no,” the young guy smiled.

He smiled a lot this young fellow. We talked while he bagged. A permanent grin tattooed between his lower cheeks. The kind of smile that showed all teeth and most of his gums.

Once again shows there’s nothing to that horoscope cr*p.

That lovely thought goes through my head. This guy and I share the same birthday and he’s obviously one of these people who are perpetually happy. A guy making a few bucks while going to college who will be a success in life because he always sees the positive in every situation.

We head toward the door. He’s pushing my cart so I continue to babble.

For we are kindred seven-thirteen souls. I owe him that much.

“Hello sir,” young smiling Seven-Thirteen says in the direction of someone getting out of a car. (Someone with probably a very different birthday — five-seventeen or something).

“Nice guy,” happy young Seven-Thirteen says…edged with sarcasm.

Odd. Why would nice, grin-so-the-gums-show grocery-bagger care if someone didn’t respond to an attempted hello.

“He didn’t say anything?” I offer.

“No, he kind of snarled at me.”

“Was he old?” I ask. Knowing how young Seven-Thirteen can’t yet know what it’s like to be toward the end of life, feeling beaten up every day. And know the pain of looking at a young smiling fellow with the strength of 65 old fellows in his youthful left pinky who just told him “have a good day.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he probably doesn’t feel all that great,” I offer to the young Seven-Thirteen.

We get to my car and he begins to transfer the bags from cart.

As he works, I root around for some money for a tip. I never have cash. EVER. But I happened to find a few dollar bills.

He pulled the back window shut and I handed smiling Seven-Thirteen a George Washington (Two, twenty-two).

At that moment, his grin pulled back three-times wider as he said,

“Thanks so much. That made my day.”

His comment caught me so completely off guard, I smiled and mumbled something like, “Sure thing, us Seven-Thirteens got to stick together.”

And he was gone.

He was gone before I could tell him his words of “thanks” just made mine.

Two days made in about fifteen seconds. Total cost = $1.00.

I bet you could even make somebody’s day on a lot less, don’t cha think?

Change — 9 Comments
5
Jan 12

Any change in 2011? Musing on deep dark resolution evolutions.

Contrary to my husband’s view and honestly contrary to my own,

We can change behaviors.

But first we must change our thoughts.

That’s the really, really tough part.

Oh sure, at first it’s easy.

I will spread nothing but love, peace and joy to all those I encounter.

Then I come through the door with an armload of groceries to cook a fabulous-sit-and-talk-about-your-day meal for my family only to find my daughter heating a can of soup, my teenager polishing off half a meatloaf from night before and the youngest, well he’s nowhere to be seen. Seems last time anyone saw him, he was slipping Cinderella (the tortoise) in his book bag and heading for the door.

I’m sorry. I’m finding my 2012 resolution of becoming the High Priestess of Peace, Love and Joy utterly impossible to sustain for more than 30 minutes straight. (That’s if I didn’t encounter a human, then it drops to 30 seconds.)

So writing off of Mama Kat’s prompt, how did I do in 2011?

My big resolution was to change. I even wrote a column about it. One of the metaphors I used was being a middle-aged woman stuck with a bunch of high-waisted jeans in her closet. That seemed to be all that anyone took from the column.

Which was fine.

But I was serious about analyzing my behavior. Doing things that pushed me out of my comfort zone. Nothing crazy, nothing immoral, cruel or down-right stupid. (No matter what you say to me, jumping out of an airplane with a glorified cloth umbrella will always be stupid. )

So how did I do?

Did I CHANGE?

Yes.

Now, unfortunately is not dramatic tear down the old 60′s ranch and build a McMansion change. No, it was and is the kind of inward change not seen by the eye.

We have a history of buying old houses. When you buy a old house inevitably before you can redo kitchens, baths, all the wonderful things you can use and everyone can gape over — there usually is a lot of time and expense place on replacing wiring systems, plumbing, replacing all the crumbing duct work, new roof, air conditioning, insulation, repairing rotting wood and porches. Believe me. You can spend years and thousands of dollars rehabbing parts of your house that NO ONE will see.

But it’s necessary to make your home safe, temperature-controlled, energy-efficient and able to last another 112 years.

That’s the kind of change that I made in 2011. Changing the wiring of my brain toward positive energy, the holding of my tongue, the trying new things that scare me — but looking like it was no big deal. Saying positive little things to complete strangers even though at first it felt terribly odd.

Holding my tongue was big.

So I did keep my resolution somewhat — a change for the better down, deep inside.

What about you?

Children / Faith — 1 Comment
29
Aug 11

Musing on the Fourth Commandment. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree.

Yesterday, Sunday — the SABBATH — I had work to do.

Deepest conflicts of my soul Number 1,893:

I spend the majority of my Sunday afternoons in front of the computer.

Those of you who work from home can relate. It’s wonderful for many reasons, but you never rinse out your coffee cup, shut down the computer, and tuck your chair under your very tidy desk (because the desk in my fantasy office on the 79th floor of glass and steel is so neat it doubles on weekends as an out-patient surgery table).

You never leave.

For some odd reason, it’s been on my heart that I have been a blatant violator of the Fourth Commandment.

This seems rather odd. But really, what isn't these days? (And for once. I have nothing to do with this typo.)

“Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God.”

Before no adultery and no murder. No work on Sunday.

Like most things in bible, it makes perfect sense.

All that work, rush, mothering, wifely-business 24/7 earns you is a spectacular view from a corner rubber-room at Bedlam.

* * *

Alas (though all psyched to honor the 4th Commandment), I worked yesterday…stepping over the contents from attic down the street that I still need to carry upstairs into our attic.

* * *

Deepest confession of my soul Number 592: Children are plants not moles.

They need to be out in the fresh air running free, getting sun-burnt and sweaty — not pale-faced and carpal-tunneled playing video games.

So Sunday, I slammed shut the television cabinet, opened the back door and said, “Be creative.”

* * *

They were quiet and I worked. And worked and worked and worked.

Then I began to worry because it was so quiet.

I went into my son’s room. Do you see the Christmas tree box pictured above? In his room, its contents were a blaze and the floor littered with bits of construction paper – castoffs from ornaments they were busily creating.

The only reason that tree won’t be up from now till December 25 is because they couldn’t find all the legs to make it stand.

* * *

See what happens when you break the Fourth Commandment?

* * *

What have your children done while you were so happy, working away because they were quiet? Too quiet.

Faith / Fish / Uncategorized — 3 Comments
19
Aug 11

Oscar is Gone. (A Muse gone sad.)

Yesterday morning I went into my son’s bedroom.

Each morning Oscar greeteth me (Oscar, the white Oscar fish.)

He gets exciteth to see someone’s shadow falleth across the tank. For that meaneth food.

Wiggling, cavorting.

Yesterday there was no wiggle, no giggle, no white wriggling fish.

No Oscar.

Immediately I deduced something had gone terribly awry.

My son turned over every shell in the tank. He lifted Squidward’s house.

No Oscar. I looked on the floor. I looked and looked.

Then I saw…eeww.

Child started crying….I ran to get a bag. Our Oscar had grown big.

Now he was big, lifeless and sticky.

* * *

I dropped the kids off and headed to Wal*Mart.

Oscar was gone and I wanted a replacement NOW.

First off, I bought an aquarium topper. (No need to witness that carnage again.)

There was one lone Oscar.

As white as our dear Oscar was — this guy was black.

I bought him.

I brought him home.

He almost died. If you count laying on his side at the bottom of the tank a bad sign.

Our pest control specialist, Steve, came by to rid the house of bugs.

“In heavens name, I’ve killed another fish,” I said…wringing my hands. “And this one’s been in my care about two hours.”

Steve suggested I bag him and carry him down to fish department for a refund.

He was the last one.

He had to live.

I prayed.

He lived.

My son asked what his name should be.

I nameth him…

Felix.

Have you ever prayed over a fish, frog…or any wee vertabrate?

(Don’t know if I would prayeth to heal a sick invertabrate. Only if it was really cute or had lots of personality.)

Faith / Life in Madison / WOF — No Comments
11
Aug 11

Today’s Muse. If you snooze you lose a Woman of Faith ticket.

Once again I have over-committed.

Okay. That’s coming from my spin-master self.

I mismanaged my time with commitments and won’t be able to attend the Woman of Faith conference at Philips Arena tomorrow, Friday, August 12.

Shelia Walsh, Luci Swindoll, Natalie Grant, Mary Mary, Steve Arterburn are among those who will be speaking and performing.

I hope to go Saturday, but there is no way I can go tomorrow. Someone PLEASE take my ticket and go.

It’s a gift.

You will be sitting amongst a great group of women — some of which were pictured in yesterday’s post.

If you can go both days, that’s great too.

I trust the Lord in all things….and I know he knows I’m a mess when it comes to planning ahead for deadlines.

There is someone He has in mind for this ticket.

Please leave comment, DM on Twitter or Facebook — or call if you’d like to go.

God bless all.

Now “Hi Ho, Hi Ho”… back to work I go.

Faith / Running — 2 Comments
4
Jul 11

Musing on complete honesty.

I always try to be completely honest with you.

Even if that may not hold me in a flattering light.

I did not run the Peachtree Road Race for the umpteenth time this morning. Say this with sincere apologies to Stork who fixed my car yesterday so it would be ready at 5 in the morning when I needed it.

I didn’t sleep in either. I just didn’t get up at 4 and drive into Atlanta to start the race with my wave at 9:05.

I woke up in the middle of the night and thought of all the work that I wanted done before family comes to visit in a little less than a week.

It would be afternoon before I got home — then I wanted to do something holiday-ish with my family.

So not a lot of writing today if I laced up my Vomeros and headed into the city.

I chose to get up early and write.

I felt sad like a wet noodle for a minute. Especially when my husband acted surprised I didn’t run.

He usually encourages me not to run these things. If he was surprised, D*mn, I surely made the wrong choice.

Life doesn’t go as planned. I’m more flexible in my spirit. Things that used to make my inside ball up like some mass of twine at the bottom of my grandfather’s utility closet flow through me now.

This morning sadness about missing the race dammed up inside for about 20 minutes — then it spilled over the wall — leaving me free to work.

I didn’t need another incredibly cool Peachtree t-shirt anyway.

How are you these days?

Dammed, flooded or flowing peacefully…

Faith / Life in Madison — No Comments
24
Jun 11

Musing on God’s timing.

Today was one of those days I was here and there, everywhere in my car.

Lost in thought about what I had to do, I left my rather large (you can’t miss it purse)in the shopping cart at the carrel in the Walmart parking lot. Some nice man throwing away a bit a trash called to me about it — after I was already in my car about to sped off.

If the man didn’t walk to the trash can at the cart carrel at the time I was leaving — later on today I would have experienced that wonderful creeping panic that starts when you realize your purse is not within the four wall of your house or four doors of your car.

After retrieving my purse, I run downtown to deliver something to a friend.

Then I drive home, turn off the car, then spy a library book. (an overdue library book.)

I crank up the car to go to library and

dead battery.

Thank God I was in my driveway and not on the square downtown or in the Walmart parking lot.

I could have been without my purse, downtown with a dead battery trying not to have a large, raucous pity-party.

Sometime God is just so very good.