He is Risen. He is Risen Indeed!

Tea today: Green with pomegranate

Little Girl. Pink Shirt. Big Tears.

Today in church the Sunday School kids got up to sing a song - "We Want to See Jesus Lifted High" with all the arm motions and the whole nine yards. The usual suspects were there. The shy ones, the talented performers who you know will be performing long into their adult years, and the ones who are craving attention and exaggerating all the movements. Not looking too cool, but making some great footage for the graduation highlight reel. The kind you know will need to be peeled off the wall the rest of the afternoon.

And then there was the little girl in pink.

I never saw her face. She was in the front row, right beside the hyper kid in the Bears fleece vest who definitely got all the chuckles from the congregation.

But she stood there, her head looking straight down at her tennis-shoed toes and her hands in her tiny pockets and her silky blond hair falling covering any facial expression that might reveal her heart. And she didn't move a muscle the entire song.

After the song she slowly moved down the steps, slower than anyone else in the group, and she wiped obvious tears from her eyes, head still down.

My heart just ached. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened in the few minutes before an obviously well-rehearsed performance that would make her feel so seemingly invisible. It was almost like she didn't think we could see her because she wasn't looking at us. Like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. Like perhaps, it already had.

After the song, the kids gathered for the children's sermon and she had her back to pastor, continuing to dry her tears with her little pink shirt. I had all I could do to not run down there from my perch in the balcony and whisk her in my arms, stroke her hair, and tell her how much He loves her. To tell her that nothing will separate her from His love. To tell her that yes, everything will turn out all right.

But obviously her parent(s) were somewhere in the congregation - she didn't get there by herself, and it certainly wouldn't be appropriate to do anything at that point, because perhaps her mother was thinking the same thing. I just prayed that she had a loving embrace waiting for her.

I looked for her after church and never found her. I wanted to tell her how pretty she is and how much Jesus loves her. That she can be a princess or a ballerina or anything she wants to be. But I never saw her again.

My heart still breaks that little hearts break and don't understand why.

I left church praying that the rest of her day goes better and that she feels some comforting arms around her.

We have all at one time been that little girl in pink.

I hope the next time I see her, her eyes are focused upward.

Will you pray for her with me?

Tea today: Republic of Tea Beginners Mind

Cleaning my house heart for Christmas

Let me be very clear. I love Christmas. I am not a Scrooge. Sure, I pester Ron Burgundy about the enormous excess of lights and decorations while he feverishly competes with the disordered electrical chaos of Clark Griswold every year, but I also know that's one of the pleasures he finds in the Season, and that it really isn't about "the lights" so much. He considers it a gift to the many who drive by with ooohhs and aahhhhs. (But please, this year, can we put the manger with Sweet Baby Jesus next to Mary and Joseph rather than among the reindeer???)

I really do love Christmas.

And the peace that's supposed to come with it.

But...

I stress over some of the baggage the holiday season brings, and I don't like the fact that the passion of the celebration has moved from the manger to the mall with multiple stops in between. Black Friday. Massive gift lists. Overeating. Time constraints. Getting the house ready (as in the yearly cleaning). It just takes away from the passion of how I intend to celebrate the birth of my Savior better this year.

I'm getting some perspective.... old habits die hard.


Tea today: Green with Chinese flower

Out of my body and into Him

***Update - original post is below***
Church services this morning were perfect. From 9-12 I cried, albeit holy-grace-and-mercy crying. "Why?" you ask?

1. Glorious One
2. So High
3. How Great Thou Art (as only the PLC praise band can do)
4. Made to Worship
5. You are Mine (Jan sang it just like she will will sing it at my funeral. Ever felt like you were crying at your own funeral?)
6. Pastor John's sermon - Game on, Fuller. (Praying my family will listen to the audio or watch the video online)
7. Saw an old tennis friend I haven't connected with in months. In a service of 700 people, how would it come to be that she sat right behind me? Coincidence? I think not. Someone put her there.

So I'm much better now than the post I did earlier, and I'm ready to tackle this messy life, one dog hair and laundry load at a time.

All. Is. Well.

And I anticipate that God is going to do something awesome today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday was a horrible day for me. I can't explain it, but this morning I'm bound and determined to make it a better one. I felt so "not of this world" that I was in. I was extremely tired, puffy, and nauseated all week long, and yesterday was no different and perhaps worse. I felt profoundly lonely, though there were family and friends around me all day long. I know everyone has days like that - some people can just blow through them and usually I can, too. But yesterday was deeply different. I was with people to whom I should have been more affable, more gracious. But I felt like my spirit and legs were knocked right out from under me and I couldn't function. I had not one ounce of energy. I felt robbed, broken, and left at the side of the road.

All. Day. Long.

I'm convinced that Jesus uses dark days to bow to Him, to bring us closer in our relationship with Him, and submit to Him things that darken our hearts and minds that the "average Joe" wouldn't think He could fix. I went to bed very early and read and listened to His word before drifting off to sleep. It was probably the best nights sleep I've had in a couple of weeks, and when I awakened long before sunrise today, I felt extreme gratitude for that (the good night's sleep, not the "before sunrise" part).

This morning I'm going to church-hop for 3 hours of nothing but Him and me. I'm going to try to put some semblance of order to my emotional and physical houses. Both are in horrible disarray.

Yes, it will be a better day.

Despite still being puffy. And nauseated. And lonely.

Again.

Tea today: a Salada green something or other, free sample, it will do

I heart prayers.

I've been listening to a series of sermons (I don't like the word "sermon"- more like teachings, because I've truly learned). The first two were on prayer and really struck a nerve with me. I can hardly wait for the next two. Things I know, things I've learned, but things I, as an imperfect human, need to be reminded of. When I think of the prayers I've sent up to God over the last 57 years, I realize how crude, rude, and extremely selfish I've been. Yes, I've actually lied to God. (Sure am glad for that Grace gift). Made promises I didn't keep. Like He didn't know that?? I mean, He knows what I need, He knows what I want, and He knows it before I ask Him. He knows sometimes I am asking for entirely the wrong thing. He will give me one of three answers every time: Yes, No, or Not Yet. I must trust that His answer is the right one. So as I listen to these teachings again, I fully recognize the bold, raw, unmistakable truth - prayer doesn't change my situation. It changes me. Over the past few weeks, it's been huge. He has brought me to a point I wish I'd arrived at about 39 years ago, or even 2 years ago. But I am grateful that I am here now. Peaceful. He's got my back. He's a lot smarter than I am. God is really BIG. And tonight, at least for tonight, it feels really, really good. It is not an option for anyone or anything to change this feeling for me right now. I didn't feel like this 2 weeks ago. I knew I'd turn a corner, I just didn't know when. I'm in a different place. Now I'm off to practice because I'll never get good at this prayer gig if I don't practice, practice, practice. My first two words will be "Thanks, Abba!" Perhaps "You da Man!" will follow.
Tea tonight: Arizona Green with pomegranate

Only a song today: How You Live

One of my all-time favorites

Tea today: Tazo China Green Tips

Back in His arms (again)

My friend Judy's funeral was today. Typically I don't like funerals, but this one put me in a whole different place. I think this is "the place" one is supposed to be at a funeral. Peaceful. Uplifting. Forgiving. (Can't omit tearful). Perhaps it was the way she died and how she lingered. Perhaps it was how she lived, always basking in Christ's love. On Mother's Day they took her off the vent and it was week before she landed safely in God's arms. Back to where she belongs. As I looked around the church and visited with so many people I hadn't seen in a very long time, I was reminded me of how disconnected I've become in the last couple of years with so many people I enjoy and who bring joy. Old friends, really old friends, and old "forever" friends. When I took my salad to the kitchen, I thought to myself "This is where I want to be...in the church kitchen, communing and cooking with some of the most delightful, selfless, and giving women I know." There is so much therapy in a church kitchen. Something sacred and promising about stirring a roaster full of scalloped potatoes and ham.

John Lennon knew:
Life is what happens
When you're busy making other plans.

I'm really praying for life to "happen" right now. The days are so full, so busy, so worrisome sometimes, that I feel like life is just something that's happening outside of myself. I'm an observer and not a participant like I so long to be - like I used to be. My life is running me, and it's running me ragged. Autopilot, GPS not included. Oh, to get away from the demands of the daily grind and to share my time with God's earth, the dirt, the spring, the tennis court, the bike trail....I don't want excitement. I don't need to be entertained. I just want to stir the scalloped potatoes and bathe in the joy that God intended.

That's what Judy's doing now.
Tea today: Double Green Matcha

Sam, Chuckie and Harold: It's not easy being green

I'm trying to save a $12 hibiscus I bought at Sam's several years ago. "Sam" got tossed about during our thunderstorm this week, and is looking a bit battered and bruised. Sam will make it - this is how I know...

When I was very young, my dad, on a typical one of his accountant-type days (same breakfast, same time, same coffee cup, same ashtray for his Tareyton - he'd "rather fight than switch") discovered that a seed in his breakfast grapefruit had sprouted. Teeny green spot on one end, with a little root on the other. In his infinite wisdom, he put the seed in a pot of dirt. Fast forward 12 or so years, and we were wrangling a 5 ft tall grapefruit tree in the Pontiac Catalina to take me back to college. He wanted me to care for his tree that he had so lovingly nurtured for so long. I had it for a long time, for several years after we were married. I thought it was dying every year until I figured out it was deciduous. It moved from Iowa City to Davenport to Waterloo, where interestingly (but somewhat sadly) it returned home to die. It was time. All of God's things have a circle of life, and this tree, whom I lovingly called Chuckie, had met his Maker in that Great Grapefruit Orchard. I have no doubt dad is caring for Chuckie once again.

Now understand that for the past 8 or so years, I can count on one hand the number of times I have NOT had a red grapefruit for breakfast. It's a ritual I got into, and I never eat one without thinking of Dad. I sort of look at it as a way to honor him, as well as lower my cholesterol. That's a lot of grapefruit - like almost 3,000! Today, there it was. A sprouted seed, a faint green stem, and for some reason it escaped the edge of the newly-honed santoku knife as I halved the fruit. Wow. For a brief (shining) moment, I was that little girl again. I fully expected to look up and see Chuckie there with his coffee and yes, cigarette. I put it in a dish of water, and later today will find some rich black dirt to see if it will flourish. I pray that it will. Which brings me to Harold.

Harold was our next door neighbor growing up. He and his wife Grace loved plants, and had two beautiful old jade trees on their breezeway. In the summer, they would come outside and get taller and plumper (the trees, not Harold or Grace). The trees finally got to the point that they were too large for these frail, elderly people to care for them, so they gave them to my mom. She kept one and gave me the other.

I didn't disrupt "Harold's" routine. I set him outside every spring and brought him in at the sign of the first frost. After 10 years or so, the man Harold became very ill with his diabetes. One Saturday morning Mom awakened me with a call and said that Harold had gone into the hospital and had to have both legs amputated. This saddened me so - to think of this strong, vibrant man becoming frail and so immobile. I remember laying in bed for a while, listening to Ben babble from his crib, thoughts drifting to the usual gift in his morning diaper I was about to receive. Babbling, stinky babies take precedence over disabled old men sometimes, but Harold was in the back of my mind. I changed Ben's diaper, cleaned him up, and took him out to the kitchen for his breakfast. And then I saw it. Right next to Ben's high chair - Harold. In his same spot by the deck door, but I gasped. Every single limb on that beautiful jade tree had fallen off - limbs were scattered all over the floor. HAROLD!! I bent down and looked at the limbs. They looked healthy, fine, it's just that something, Someone, had made Harold's limbs fall to the earth. And then I thought about neighbor Harold, waking up that morning with no legs. What does this mean?? I looked around, expecting someone to explain it, I saw the explanation in the blue eyes and pounding fists of that clean little boy in the high chair, bedhead and all, waiting for his breakfast. That circle of life, again.

After breakfast, I cleaned out the pot, filled it with fresh dirt, and one by one, gently buried each limb a few inches into the dirt. For days I watched it - the leaves remained green and firm, and with a few weeks I was able to put Harold (who had now transformed from a tall tree to a full bush) to his usual spot on the deck. He flourished over the summer, and remains huge and a pain to move in and out every spring and fall, but is a testimony to TLC, inner strength, and sheer will. Every now and then a branch falls, and it's simply a start of a new plant. I've probably given away a hundred of them to friends and family. But the patriarch is still going strong. Today might be the day that we (it takes 2) move Harold to his special spot by the front porch. A spot that was landscaped especially for him when we built our home, a horribly humble version of intelligent design.

Props to Sam, Chuckie, and Harold, and say a prayer for Chuckie Jr. A poignant reminder on this beautiful Sunday morning - HE LIVES! And as Kermit well knows, it just isn't easy bein' green.
Tea today: GoodEarth Green with lemongrass