I Like Rocks ***elsie challenge***

today, elsie flannigan did a challenge over at creating keepsakes .
the idea was to scrap a page about something you find beautiful . . .
something that is simple and ordinary and everyday.

there are so many things . . .
kids playing on the playground
the flowers in my front yard
the vintage looking label on the brand of coconut milk i buy . . .
my husband's silly smile that he makes after he has made a joke and is waiting for the perfect pause in the conversation to say his next joke . . . .
the beautiful old wooden floors in our home . . .
so many many things . . .

but there is one thing that came to mind front and center -
(maybe because i had a picture printed and ready to go!?!?!)

the truth is . . .
i really love rocks.
when i go somewhere special, i pick up a rock.
when i am having a hard day, i pick up a rock.
if there is something i want to be sure to remember,
you get it . . .
ROCK!

we have a small and growing menagerie of these memories on our window sill.
there is the flat, round one i picked up one day and sat on the top of my computer at work - i wrote "strength" on it (just as a little reminder that god is my rock and my strength)
then there is the one my sister picked up on a walk back in 2003 over thanksgiving - when we celebrated our last holiday with our beloved aunt sara a few weeks before cancer took her body.
there is the heart shaped one i picked up in hawaii for herb the first time i realized i was in love with him . . .
and the little tiny castle shaped one from our honeymoon that reminded me of the watch towers that dotted the amalfi coast (you know, to protect the city from pirates!?!?!?!)
. . . our most recent addition is the two small white shiny stones we gave to each other during a ritual at the marriage conference this weekend.
it is my version of a modern day karin (not so sure of the spelling on this one)
the way i understand it, "karin" is the irish practice of stacking stones to mark a special moment or place or time.
ancients used to collect and stack rocks when they found some sort of victory.
the isrealites used to pick up a stone when god showed himself faithful . . .
then when they started to wonder where he was again . . .

(and i understand this can happen from time to time
when a three day trip ends up taking 40 years
and your god may or may not show up
in the form of a cloud, a bush, or an ass.)

. . . they would just pull out their rock and remember his faithfulness,
trusting that he will indeed be faithful again.
personally, if i was living a nomadic lifestyle, i am not so sure that my first thought would be "rock!"
but hey, they where under a lot of stress . . .

so, there you go.
a little random tidbit about what makes me tick.
rocks.
they remind me to god's faithfulness,
things i am thankful for,
and things i hope for.

Reduse, Reuse, Recycle

Here is a post I found while looking back into my archives today.
I really like it so I will post it again here today.

"What Do Your Signs Say?"
Originally published on 3/25/2006

I found these signs during my snowshoe hike yesterday.
I have signs like these . . .
ironically placed in just the right spots to keep people (or even myself) from acessing and enjoying the most beautiful, stunning parts of my heart.
I have signs like these . . . destructively keeping me from entering real life.
Real beauty.
Real freedom.
Signs that cause me to stop short of running into the arms of my Savior.
Signs that cause me to look at Him and Life through binoculars.
Wondering, dreaming.
My faith and my salvation have given me abundance. Yet, I stay seated at the perimeter . . .
obeying these signs that keep me from diving in.
Looking at beauty from a distance but believing the signs that are there to keep me out.
Looking at beauty in the face and feeling forbiden to touch it.
Who taught us to erect these signs?
Whose idea was it to take us right up to the edge of real life and then say, "Don't touch!"
Our mothers?
The media?

Or perhaps it lies deeper within.
As if the result of Eve's "apple gone wrong" fiasco altered our very DNA.
As if from the moment we are born, we are inclined to engage life right up to the fences of the wild and the uncharted.
We will live and engage and play and explore . . .
as long as it is safe, and known, and guarenteed.

I don't want to look at pictures of beauty in magazines.
I don't want to read postcards about peace.

I want to run past the signs and the orange cones.

Don't give me decaf or splenda or reality TV.

I want the real thing
and I want to stand right in the bossom of it all
with head tilted high
and righteous fists raised
and glory dripping from my wide hips and oversized teeth
and say to the spinner of all lies . . .
the one who loves war and death and fashion from the 80's:

"This is mine! This is where I belong! My God sees me and knows me and likes me and loves me and He wants me right here! This is MY time and MY place and I will have peace and I will shout "NO!" to anxiety and I will shout "NO!" to being a whiny victim and I will no longer be a whore to depression & self-hatred and I will find kindness between the cobwebs of my cold, dank heart and then splash that stuff all over the place!
I will sing and dance and weep and shout
and write and cook and breast feed when the time comes
and wear pigtails & the color pink
and I will french kiss in public and talk to strangers if I want to
and go to the little kid's waterpark to ride the Lazy River beacause it brings me joy
and I will love my neighbors
and make love to my husband
and be made love to . . .
and don't you dare try to keep me out again, ass hole!"

Snapshot

(a shot from yesterday)


in seminary, we talked about spiritual formation in the context of "knowing, being, and doing".

so . . .
today . . . .

knowing:
i am loved. by god. by herb. by friends. it is a good thing.
it is okay . . . it is all okay.
a little bit at a time, for a long time produces great progress.
there is grace for me and for me to give to others.

being:
patient
nervous
wound up
trying to enjoy
grateful
filled with joy
quiet

doing:
painting & art-making . . . lots of experimenting and giving myself permission to just create without expectation
volutneering at the hospital
inhaling and exhaling
swimming
margarita drinking

have a great day!

WHERE Has That Girl Been?

Well, the OCD monsters seem to have crept in and taken over these past few weeks . . .
I said I was going to engage in Advent and blog about it every day . . .
and then I missed a day.
and then another one.

and then the voice inside that says,
"If you can't do it just right, then don't do it at all!
What's the point?
Oh, and by the way, because you are a Christian, by nature,
you believe that NOTHING can be done just right."

And then you KNOW nothing happened after that!

SO, I was MIA for awhile.

here are a few little thoughts and tidbits . . . .

I have now tired three times, and failed, to make Christmas candy!
I had a group of ladies over last week to make candy with me . . .
three types of candy were on the roster . . . .
I was in charge of one of them.
It ended up in the trash.

So, we enjoyed the other two kinds of candy for a few days.

And then I decided that a toffee recipe should not be able to stump me . . . .

So I tried again.

This time, I wised up and didn't triple the recipe.
This was helpful in making it more manageable when stirring . . . .
and also when throwing it away -
again!!!
At least I didn't have THREE pounds of almonds and THREE pounds of butter to throw away this time!
That was a $20 Christmas candy mistake!

So, I decided to make something more simple today.
Peppermint Bark.
Easy.
Couldn't be easier.
Melt white chocolate.
Crush up some candy canes.
Stir together.

Well, I somehow managed to burn the chocolate.
On top of that, it didn't melt.
It just didn't melt.
Is chocolate that picky? Can it choose when to melt and when to clump????

But if there is one thing I am, it is determined.
Mix that with a mild (maybe make-believe) case of OCD . . .
and well, I am not finished!
I still have fudge and macaroons to make!

We'll see.

This year I made my own Christmas cards!
That makes the list of "things learned the hard way"!
We made 100 cards . . .

and next year . . .
a 20 pack from this great place.

But . . .
they did turn out great!


Today . . .
it is snowing.
Really snowing.
So bad that Herb didn't even take the Mini out today.
It is all public transportation all that time for that boy today!

I think I heard him yelling at Mother Nature as he left the house today.
Sort of a "bring it on" thing!

He was as a giddy as a school girl as he left to "go on an ADVENTURE!!!" (his words!)

I am doing laundry . . . . and things like blogging and making yet another unnecessary Christmas stocking stuffer for my mom . . .
putting off the things I don't want to do . . . like paying bills and filling out my billing sheet for work. Keep in mind, I don't have that many clients. This is not rocket science! But, I have a little bit of self-sabotage mixed in with that OCD!

I have an art project that I am working on . . .
being paid to do!
she is buying the supplies . . .
and instead of paying me for my time, I asked her to display the piece in her shop with my name and number displayed.
She is a small business owner with a LOT of creative souls (and soles) tromping in and out of her doors all day!
I can't believe i am being paid to do this!
I have been praying for something creative to do for work . . .
Counseling is something I am good at, but don't always have space in my head or heart for it.


How about these AMAZING earrings I received in the mail this week from Herb's folks!?!??!


And . . .
Our "first" Christmas decorations:

None of Us Our Free

Today's Song: None of Us Are Free
The Voice: Solomon Burke

The Thoughts:


as we enter into Advent, we try to put on our old school jewish hats . . . we try to imagine what life was like as they anticipated the messiahs first arrival.

again, we look back and see a people who spent generations in exile . . .
then in slavery . . .
then wandering . . .

they lived a life without a foundation. without safety.

there is a long history of unfortunate things that happened TO the jewish people . . .
but there is also a long, painful story to be told of the constant push and pull between god and his people.
from the beginning, we see this.
and all through the old testament.

i remember sitting in my old testament class during my second semester of seminary . . . i had just graduated from college, where, despite (or perhaps because of) my high involvement in a campus ministry, i left feeling completely disillusioned in my faith. it was rattled. i had arrived at a place where i had too much evidence to deny god's existence . . . i even saw that he was good . . . and that he loved people . . . but i had too much evidence to the contrary to believe that he loved ME.
still, i left college and went to seminary to study the bible and counseling.


i sat in that class, and for the first several months, i was overwhelmed by god's harshness.
the way he punished.
the way he doomed.
the way he cursed.
and even destroyed.

line after line. chapter after chapter.
i was disgusted.
with him.
but the more the people messed up, the more he gave them a second chance. consistently . . .

what an interesting sensibility our god has.
he really took the spiritual, internal reality of his beloved people . . . spiritually enslaved.
and he caused them to have a very external, tangible experience with it.
wow.

we are spititual slaves to anything that is not of god.
on top of their unfaithfulness to god . . . their adulterous hearts . . .
they would eventually become actual, physical, human slaves to an empire that did not, and would not confess god's name.

that is like the ultimate object lesson.

they were enslaved
and they longed to be free

it makes me wonder . . .
what am i enslaved to?

I Am An Orphan Girl

My hope is that this pursuit of Advent's meaning can become an open conversation . . . whoever you are, if you read this blog, throw in your two cents. Let's explore this together.

Todays Song . . . .

We all have a wandering place inside. It is in our souls. It has become a part of our DNA, even, I think. Really. I think that somehow, if it is possible, the results of sin (a spiritual reality) have influenced and changed our physical reality. I know this is not a new thought - but it still just kind of mesmerizes me! We are so intertwined - body, mind, and spirit. Those guys at the YMCA really knew what they were talking about!

That wandering place is different for everyone . . . but it all goes back to "the big apple caper" that I talked about yesterday. Let's not blame Eve . . . . if she didn't do it, I am sure you or I would have. That must have been SOME apple . . . no, that was some lie that she believed! She believed that God didn't really loved her - that he was not setting limits to protect her, but rather to deceive her. Oi! So she bit in . . . and now there is a breech between Him and us.

And so we wander.

Like Jacob and his tribe.

Like Moses and his stragglers.

We wander.

Even though we are connected . . . to others. Even, now, connected to God again . . .

We wander.

As we walk into these first days of Advent, I think it is only right to get in touch with that wandering side of ourselves.

The Israelites, after they entered the Promised Land, still had to wait about 400 years before the promised King would arrive. They anticipated. They yearned.
And they had been yearning for generations.
That is an entire lineage - generation upon generation - of wandering and wondering and yearning and even some disappointment.

And just like disease has found its way into human DNA, I believe that after all of those years of feeling unconnected and unfulfilled . . . first in Egypt, then the desert, and finally "safe" but waiting for a king . . . a wandering heart and a constant feeling of being lost has also made its way into our physical makeup.

So, let's not skip ahead to the elation of longing being fulfilled that comes on December 25 . . .

I think we can really appreciate his arrival more if we first get in touch with how much we long for him.

We won't know the impact of his redeeming qualities if we are not aware of what it is that needs to be redeemed.

And now, the creative therapist in me gets to ask some questions . . .

* Imagine that your "wandering orphan" lives in a part of your body. Where would your orphan be? What color are the walls there? What does the temperature feel like? What does it look like? Is there a smell? Any sound?

* What is your wanderer looking for? How would your wanderer know they have found what they are looking for?

Before I leave you with the song. . .
I found this website yesterday . . . looks like they might be writing a weekly advent meditation.
(jennifer, is this where you went to church in nashville????)


Orphan Girl
I am not sure who wrote this . . . it is sung by Gillian Welch and Emmylou Harris . . . . and others, I am sure.
I suggest you find this on iTunes . . . it is good to hear the aching in these ladies voices.

I am an orphan on God's highway
But I'll share my troubles if you go my way
I have no mother no father
No sister no brother
I am an orphan girl

I have had friendships pure and golden
But the ties of kinship I have not known them
I know no mother no father
No sister no brother
I am an orphan girl

But when He calls me I will be able
To meet my family at God's table
I'll meet my mother my father
My sister my brother
No more orphan girl

Blessed Savior make me willing
And walk beside me until I'm with them
Be my mother my father
My sister my brother
I am an orphan girl

Days of Anticipation

"And do this, understanding the present time. The hour has come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed. The night is nearly over; the day is almost here. So let us put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us behave decently, as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature."

Today is the first day of Advent.
Growing up this meant that the songs we sang in choir at church began to change.
It meant that at some point, our family would probably be asked to walk an embarrassing, long walk down the long red carpeted aisle of our 100 year old Presbyterian church; one of us, probably my dad (he is the man, after all) or me (I was the one who enjoyed the sound of her own voice) would read a passage from the Bible.
Then one of us, probably my brother (because he was little and cute), would reach up to the elaborate brass candelabra and light a candle. White or purple, depending on the week we were asked to participate.

Advent, they say, is a time of preparation.
The only preparation I took part in during this season was making sure my lipstick matched my tight red sweater.

As the trees loose their leaves and the sun peaks later and sets earlier, they serve as vivid symbols of what happened with Israel before Christ was born.
Quite literally, there was famine and war, due to the lack of a king.
Life was sparse
and dark
and lifeless.
There was a yearning for more.
Much more.

In my soul,
and maybe yours,
there is also famine and war.
It is colder.
Darker.
Much more stark than other times in my life.

And so I find great hope in the promise of this advent season.
Maybe hope like Israel found when they heard that after hundreds (400, I think) of years of leaderless war, that a the promised king might finally be arriving.

It is a time in my life . . . as it was for Israel . . . that is filled with anticipation
wonder
desire
and perhaps a little fear.

What if the king is not coming?
And if he does,
what if he can't help us?

In the end, we find out that it is a bastard baby child that is the promised king.
Not quite what they were hoping for.
And then, later he rides into town on an ass . . . just like the ones he was born amongst . . .
instead of the white horse that a king would ride . . .
and then to top it all off, he gets killed.
Well, not just killed.
Crucified.
The death that is saved for the most vile of criminals.
Super.
Kind of sounds like a trifecta of disappointment and even more despair.
Turns out, it actually is not.
This God of ours has a wild imagination and He gets his work done in the most interesting of ways.
After all, He IS the Creator . . . an artist . . .
and us creative types tend to be a little reckless and unconventional in getting to our intended destination.

But we are not there yet.
Let's not skip ahead.

Right now, we are in a season of promise.
We don't know what is to come . . .
But we hope.
We anticipate.

Things are darker . . . quite literally, as our sun comes for such short visits these days . . .
and for some of us, things are darker inside.
Death.
Disease.
Disappointment.
Depression.

And as we are surrounded by stark darkness, we hear a quiet promise . . .

Things are about to change.
A Savior is coming.
THE Savior is coming.

Here was stand, surrounded by darkness . . .
Yet, we can, should we choose,

anticipate . . .
wait for . . .
watch for . . .

a bright, abundant source of light and life.

Today, should you choose, think about a way you might choose to participate . . .
to daily hope and watch . . .
during this time of waiting.
This time of watching.
Should you need ideas, let me know.
I have a few.

For me . . .

I have a few books stashed here and there.

And I am going to go find a few Paperwhite bulbs today to plant . . .
in rocks . . .
to remind me that life can come even in the most desolate of environments.
And I am going to watch those ugly bulbs everyday . . .
and see what they might do.
I am going to plant them in a glass container so I can watch their roots begin to grow.
Anticipating,
believing,
that they will in fact . . .
come to life.
No, they . . .
we . . .
ARE alive here and now . . .
we just don't appear that way.
We just don't feel that way.
Instead, we hope they (and we)
will bloom.

I also have the desire to put a big old piece of butcher paper up on a closet door for doodling and writing words and verses that stand out during this season of anticipation.
Have not passed that one by Herbie yet . . .
we'll see how he feels about having a collage on the front closet door!

And, finally, I am going to try . . .
to write in this blog daily throughout Advent.
About what I see as I wait.

How do you think you might posture yourself during this time of waiting for the Christ child?

It might be easy.
Your life might be dark and dizzy and volatile.
So, the promise of a peacemaking king might make perfect sense to you.

But maybe you are enjoying life.
Maybe things are easy and breezy.
How nice for you!
And if they are, what might you do to listen to that voice deep inside,
quiet as it may be right now,
that says,
"I need a Savior"?

Marriage: A Tool For the Depraved? VOL. 8

When I worked in the treatment center, we had a young man who came from an abusive family. We're talking unimaginable amounts of trauma and damage. This boy was wounded. Deeply. To the core. He didn't weigh more than a 100 pounds, and yet he was so disruptive and destructive that we could not control him. Eventually, we got to a point where we had to hire an extra person to work the milieu so that there would always be an extra pair of hands to make sure he was taken care of. That is a big deal. In a place where the client to staff ratio was 1:4, this child had 1:1 attention during every one of his waking hours. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for him. We told him I love you. We joked around with him. He was loved. He was given choices. And second chances. And 17th chances. And three meals a day. All luxuries he had not been afforded before.

After several months of treatment, and a month of very good behavior, I got permission to take him out for a reward. We went out to a mexican restaurant. He ate fried ice cream until he could eat no more. He was accelerating in the program. Growing. Healing.

Three days later, he ran away and was brought back to the facility in handcuffs. He lost control that night and had to be physically restrained. After spending the last of my fun money that month on chimichangas and fried ice cream, I was called horrible names and even bit so hard I had a large bruise.

It was like he did not know how to get better. Like he didn't want to get better. And the people who wanted to help him were his enemy.

Melanie's comment from last week about the paralytic in John 5 is beginning to make sense.

In so many ways, I am that teenage boy. I have everything I need before me for full life. And yet, I flaunt my battle wounds (small in comparison to those of other people) as an excuse to stay stuck . . . to resist change.

Last week Herb and I were joking around about scapegoat . . . "Sorry, I had a bad day, so I can run this red light." "You know, I just got in a fight with my boss, so I am going to punch you in the face." "I had a colonoscopy today, so, I just wanted to let you know I won't be paying my taxes this year . . . and I am going to put whoopie cushions on the chairs of all of the judges in the Supreme Court. But don't blame me, I had a tiny camera shoved up my buns today. It isn't my fault."

This week and last, my prayer book has been guiding my to scriptures and sacred readings about our part in the process of God's healing and forgiveness. Melanie was right . . . there is a level of responsibility in healing. At some point, we have to say:

"I want to get better."

Simple Pleasures

I am realizing how I MUST MUST live in the "right now" of it all.
I must take joy and peace and pride in what is actually happening . . . actually right now.

Today . . .
Went to the library; saw lots of kids walking and riding bikes to get there . . . some came in with their helmets on.
Ate a crepe with wonderful blue cheese inside.
Helped an old man put a watermelon in his trunk . . . and then he pointed to his groin area and explained that he just had surgery.
Bought and arranged two beautiful bouquets of flowers.
Smiled as a I pulled out a beautiful yellow bowl from my cabinet to defrost chicken in.

Simple pleasures people . . . I have forgotten how much they soothe and feed and nourish and grow and heal . . . keep your eyes open . . . they are all around . . . and my attentiveness is just begining.