Flourish

So, once a great long time ago I lived with 5 women. Five is a mighty much to be put in a place of small surroundings. But we were close, and not just in that ironic you've got to be close when you're in an apartment of that size kind of manner.

There they gave me a name, for a flower. They Christened me a Rose. It made sense I suppose. I am red. I like to smell nice. They thought I was pretty like a rose. And while they never seemed to notice the metaphor went deeper, to a very soft center, tender and fragile hearted, with thorns long and poisonous protruding out to protected it.

That's what I am. But it's not what I would be. I would be a Sunflower. They are bright, yellow and red, happy things. Some are dark, some grow very tall. Some give seeds you can eat. They grow in the wildness of deserts. Glimmering gold in the dry landscape, they firmly grow making the hardest, desolate places beautiful. Smiling up at you, occasionally even down on you.

But all the sunflowers, in their great variety have one thing in common. They follow the sun. Truly, it's not mistake. Each morning they turn facing the east, greeting their beloved rising sun, and follow him through the day till evening, as he sets they face him in the west.

Well I used to want to be a firefly or a light bulb so I could shine light wherever I went, I'd now rather be a sunflower, more like venus than a star. If I could point you to the true source of light each day....well let me say, Christ, the Savior is the Son of God. The living waters, the light and life of the world. If you want to be happy, look to Him. If I could point you anywhere today, I'd point you to Him.

Now never with wishing could a leopord change his spots. And I cannot seem to give up my heart, but many a day I would shed the thorns. The Lord makes the roses and the sunflowers both. The wilder the rose, the sweeter the smell, and the more numerous the thorns. There is no smell I love so much as wild roses. But if a rose I must always be, I will be a rose like you never see. I will crane my neck each morning east, and point you to the sky all the day long. If that is all I can do to show you His light, I may not be yellow and sunny and bright, yet if only you can see that He brings everything good to be.

Interestingly there are a great number of proverbs on roses in every culture (the ones with roses and proverbs that is). But I like the French one best.

It is the belief in roses that makes them flourish.

Cheerful and Grateful

It's Thanks Giving and I'm home with my parents. It's been a crazy Fall for these two. 

My father had a knee replacement surgery last week. He's still got staples in his knee and using a walker. Recovering from knee surgery takes a long time. He decided to walk out to the mailbox together to get a bit of air and exercise. I rather like my father and went along for the walk down our long driveway with him. As we returned I commented on his the many challenges that had come for him this fall. 

"You know Dad, you've had a lot of really rough things this fall." 

His reply? "Well, the meningitis wasn't that bad."

Yep. That's what he said. The meningitis wasn't that bad. Let me tell you about that meningitis. It was in September. He was having Grand Mal Seizures, and the doctors had no idea why. He had trouble walking, and serious short term memory loss, was in the hospital for three days, and had to be returned after only two days home. Is brain was swollen, he was put on anti seizure medication and not allowed to work for drive for over a month afterward. 

What a man my father is. Through all of that time he'd smile at me, tell jokes, always looking on the bright side. Today was just the same. "Oh it's not so bad." he'd say, showing off his scar, determinedly doing as much for himself, and anyone else, that he can. 

Oh how I love my father. He tells me he believes women are made out of finer stuff.  

He followed up that statement on meningitis with "It was much harder on your mother."  

I told my mother about our talk. She, in her faithfulness said, "The Lord has been polishing us." 

What cheerful, grateful, faithful people my parents are. If imitation really is one of the most natural ways to learn, maybe there is hope for me yet. What a blessed life I have to grow up under their tutelage and examples. 

Sound and Distant Friends (NOT FINISHED)

If anyone could prove to me that Christ is outside the truth, and if the truth really did exclude Christ, I should prefer to stay with Christ and not with truth. -Fyodor Dostoevsky


I love the writings of Dostoevsky. He died hundreds of years ago, but he feels like a close friend. It's different from how I feel about other Authors. Reading C.S Lewis, for instance, is like coming home. And when I read Louisa May Alcott it's like I'm in the backyard, sharing a shady spot with my mother under a tree. 
Few things have ever shaped my heart the way this did. It set me on a track, infusing into me a thirst to understand Compassion and Christ. Now, I came to love many great Russian Authors that semester in Dr. Kelly's class. And make no mistake I'll be telling you about Pushkin and Tolstoy another day. But my connection to Dostoevsky was set. I felt it so strong that the following semester I took a class on him from Dr. Mark Purves. What a class, and by the way WHAT professors. Each taught me so much. There isn't a class I have recommended more, or even as much, as I have these. 
Now many people see Dostoevsky's writing as cold and atheistic. And why not? He writes of Patricide, Prostitutes, Poverty, all the while his characters making very reasonable arguments against God. The Grand Inquisitor in "The Brother's Karmazov" is the most thrashing argument I've read thus far. Indeed I even listened to a minister quote and site that chapter, as part of his explanation and justification for choosing to become an atheist. 
But I think they see only what they wish. And while I admit the same may be true of me as well. I would rather learn, in fact I crave to understand, what Dostoevsky thought himself.  He said in one of his notebooks "It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt."
"Even those who have renounced Christianity and attack it, in their inmost being still follow the Christian ideal, for hitherto neither their subtlety nor the ardor of their hearts has been able to create a higher ideal of man and of virtue than the ideal given by Christ."

   But Dostoevsky is something else. Something in the blood as it pumps through my heart tells me I need to hear what he was trying to say. And that in some small portion what he wrote was written so I would read it. Somehow, over 200 years and thousands of miles, he wrote to me. 


I first had the inkling when listening to this talk by Dr. Michael Kelly, a professor of Russian at BYU. He spoke on loving kindness and compassion in Dostoevsky's writing. 

Make your Mark

It's a good sign, to be missing. And to be missed. We go far and take each our ways. Ah, our inherent gravities draw us back, to crossing points. Intersections are the loveliest points. Those we live for.

Lullaby

After spending a weekend playing "Parent" to some of my nieces and nephews it gave me a lot to think about. These are really good kids. In fact, I admire these kids. 

All my life I've disliked sleep. Fear of the dark is common among children, and I was just like the rest in that respect. My parents would leave the hall light on and the door cracked for me. I snuck many an evening to see what the older kids were up to. But those adventures will be saved for another day. 

 As far back as memory serves, indeed I remember such a night in a crib, when fear kept me from sleep my mother would come gently back to my side and sing a hymn to me. It's probable that all children love their mother's voice, but our mother truly does have a soothing sweet voice. She painted for me pathways in the mountains, the seaside, rose petals, breezes, lilacs, and meadows. But most of all she taught me of Christ. 

Now all of my nieces and nephews know at least one song by heart. I am a Child of God. It is our family's lullaby by tradition. A tradition that we all thank our mother for. 

Pillage the Village

Family is something that is often underrated in the world. But I can't think of anything that brings me as much joy except for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and the Gospel and my family are very intertwined. I grew up in a family that had prayer together every night and went to church together every Sunday.

Few things stick out in my mind the way that family prayer does. With 6 crazy kids it was never easy. Runners were sent to gather their siblings, but usually we'd just end up yelling "Greg! Time for family prayer! Sharla! Family prayer!" If we took to long Mom would say, "Last one there's a rotten egg!" So we always relished when Mom entered the living room last, and rubbed it in as children always will. 

Then we would all kneel on the floor together, sometimes leaning on the couch, sometimes sitting in someones lap, sometimes we'd even circle up and hold hands (though this was much less often), and Dad would ask someone to pray. As a child I always messed things up instead of asking God that "no harm or accident would befall" any of my family, I would ask that "no harm or accident would fall before us." I'm not joking. I said it every night in my personal prayers too. (Which my parents taught me to do when I was so young that I don't remember a time before I said my evening prayers.) 

It was hard work and chaotic to get us all there, but there was something very special about having prayer together in our home, thanking God for all He'd given us, and asking for His protection. Our home was a better place for it, and we are better people for it. 

After prayer there would be 3 minutes of chaos as we each zipped about making sure to hug every other member of the family, and to give our parents a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Now, I'm the youngest girl, and while for a number of years as a teenager I strove to seem as tough and strong as I could, the truth is still that I'm sensitive type girl, and a huggy one. So, being one of the very youngest, and comparatively small, I had no trouble darting about in the chaos and getting two, and sometimes three hugs out of people before they noticed that they'd already got me before. It was a challenge, and I loved it. Then my brother's and I would wrap ourselves around our father's strong legs and hold on for dear life as he gave us "foot rides" down the hall to tell us stories and tuck us in to bed. 

To this day when I come home my Father still calls us all to the living room each evening so that we can pray together and thank God for all He gives us. 

It just occured to me that I have my father's eye shape and my mother's smile. I really am their kid :)

underthoughts

.No. I don't have to publish this. I love this house. Might've just called it Charlie.  I love the colors of the walls, the wind in our trees, the big windows in the living room, the way my roommates are spread over the place, napping like felines. There is something magic in the view from the yellow hammock, currently giving trial to the name Lemony Snickett. Let me tell you about that view. It's got by blue jeans, my green nail-polished toes, the deep yellow ropes, a bar of dark rosey wood, the dark green and purple of the periwinkle, the peeling white paint of the old tipsy shed, then rising up the greens and silvers of the trees lit up with a soft yellow from the sun sparkling through against the blue of the sky. Life's soundtrack grows ever more enchanting here. Tonight we head to the lake with Chinese food. Check that moment off, though it's not the same without the originator, but she's good. Great even.  More than anything I wanted to go jump a train today. I better do that in the next few years, because I'm bound to get more practical. ...though the radical is still there, like a sleeper cell. I suppose part of it is just wanting the adrenaline rush, and the accomplishment of getting on. It's a big part. But I want to ride through the country side, those big doors thrown open, and the warmth of the day lightened by the air rushing past. I want to see the fields, green and golden. And then I want to jump off and land running before the cops can get me, because their never gonna get me. Eat it boys.
    And there's another thing too. I want a broader perspective. I'm so self centered. So self focused. So caught up inside my own head. A man cleverly pointed out the other day, that every person on earth had a completely different set of experience than I do. Even people I've been close with, even when we stood side by side, we stand apart in our feelings, thoughts, backgrounds, even body's.
    I am continually surprised by my ego. Even now, talking about myself, talking like I know. I don't have the answers. I just don't. I expostulate plenty. But the truth is, I don't know, and I don't know where to go to find out.

   So tell me instead: Who are you?

   
Life flies by. Yeah. It does. But it does beautiful. Lightening and laughter. And round here we pack it in, because we're young enough to feel the freshness of it, and old enough to know that there isn't too much time.

Silver and Grey

I find thunder storms fascinating.

 (start here)

 I crave them like most ladies crave chocolate. Maybe more so. Hard blowing winds, dark shadows, all grey and purple and the clouds roll in against the western sunset. Changing winds and winds that change. 

The quiet moment, somehow stiller, just before the lightening bursts open the sky and thunder comes rolling over you like a wave. It's like a rest in the middle of a song, and then they come back with a vengeance, turn and building. That quiet moment of the storm gives you half a chance to prepare for what's coming your way.

 The trees sway, the rains come pattering down to a beat and the world opens up and speaks to you. What you find, well that's your own business Fredgar. 

I'm thinking the electricity of it is what's getting me, reaches up under my ribs and thumps my heart in that way.  I think God intended it that way. 

     I hope by now you've made it to Spoon, cause it goes so well with...well..

Yeah....we did. 

 I felt tough, I can tell you that much. 

Better than most days? 

Round here, probably just as good. 

Dark Rider on a Butch Horse

A lake, two girls, the night time, the sky.

some fish, much splashing, lots of laughs, one good cry.

A bicycle, a flashlight, singing and then,

a Dark Rider on a Butch Horse came trotting in.

The girls they fell silent, the fish wouldn't splash,

the bikeman's light went dark, hope he didn't crash.

For the Rider on the Butch horse came out on the dock,

and the look of his face made everything stop.

He seemed quite distracted, off in other place,

but deep sense of longing painted clear on his face.

The horse was a light one, white and cleaned off,

but it's rider a dark one, like a strong smelling quaff.

Still, he'd not been drinking on this starry night,

nor was he ailing to open a fight.

He stared deep the waters, for to see the cure,

yes, his heart was quite broken, after love had been pure.

And the girls, they both new it, as the man on the bike,

and the fish, and the dock, and the lake and star light.

They cried out, Please no further, for you'll surely drown,

but the man on the horse seemed to notice no sound.

The dock started cracking, the two girls moved fast,

as the rider dismounted and kept walking past.

He stared all the harder, at a watery star,

and on the edge of his breath came the words, So...so far.

When to his surprise, the man on the bike

knocked the cowboy right backwards, then turned on that bike light.

He said, Buddy, I've been there. I've seen what you've seen,

now you've got to keep going, not remain in this scene.

You and I, we're both travelers, though we take different ways,

and the love in your heart, it is true, always stays.

But there's more to see out there, along the bike trails and paths,

and the horse trails, so get going, but don't go too fast!

For along all the seaways and byways and sides,

there will be another, kind hearted, who rides.

 And when you meet up, she'll start going your way,

then, friend and traveler, look back on this day.

Despair and darkness will soon have you stuck,

but if you get up, and get riding, you will soon find some luck.

You've been taught a great lesson, and it won't be the last,

but you've got to get where you're getting, not stay stuck in what's past.

So the rider, stunned yet thankful, took back to the shore,

then our biker to a path he'd not ridden before.

And the girls ate chinese food, and shared with the fish,

because fish like chinese food. It's a good tasty dish.

Rain Dance Maggie

Dani California

Can't get enough of em. 

What Has it Ever Meant?

Can't even write about it kiddies. Once upon a time there was a kitten. It was black and cute and fuzzy, and could have been terribly fun to play with, except it was mean and mangy and diseased  so no one wanted it. Even the people who would have taken it to the vet so it could feel all better, wouldn't take it home because it would only hiss and scratch and bite. 

One day a child came by who was very patient and very kind. The child loved all animals. It had pity for the kitten. So the child came every day to see the kitten, and care for it. It hissed at the child, but the child came back. It scratched the child, but the child came back. It bit the child, but the child came back. The kitten was getting sicker and sicker, and the child knew it needed to see a vet, or it would die. So the child brought it home.

Seeing how wild and mean it could be, the child's parent did not trust the kitten. They were afraid it would bite the child, not knowing that it already had. So against the objections of the child, who wanted to keep the kitten and care for it, the parents put the kitten in a carrier and took it to a shelter.

In the office of the shelter a man came to take the kitten to the back. While the parents finished the paperwork loud noises came from the back as the man unsuccessfully tried to remove the kitten, who was growing rather larger, from the carrier. The child knew this was the problem, and went back to help. The kitten would hiss and scratch and bite and the man could not get it to move. He even tried shaking the carrier around, but the kitten wouldn't leave it. "Don't touch it", said the man, who wore a pair of thick leather gloves. But the child simply walked up to the carrier and gently picked up the kitten. The child quietly pet and comforted the kitten, who did not bite, or scratch, or hiss. The man and the child's parents made the child put the kitten a pen and leave it. Too late to change, too late to save the kitten.

The child learned that the only reason it was too late for the kitten,  was because the parents and the man thought it was too late. So the child decided that it would not give up on anyone, because it never wanted it to be too late.

Return to Sender

No reply today. But I heard this great song, Perfect Now, by Sarah Blasko. I wouldn't freeze time, because as good as things have been, there is only more to come. I wish there had been a bit more snow, but I look forward to the spring thunderstorms, I don't mind the birds being back so early, and though I don't know all that it will bring, summer is always an adventure.

Roots

We all come from somewhere, the products of our families, friends, choices and experiences.

 I was thinking about my dog today. He stayed with me through most of high school. I named the poor little fellow after a dog from a movie. My brothers and sisters wanted to keep Peach, the one that looked like she had some golden retriever in her. But as I was the youngest my parents let me choose, and I've always favored the underdogs. 

He was so good. His walk reminded me of a choochoo train and he was so patient and fun. He followed us around, and joined in on adventures. He was good herding chickens, and hunting gophers, and raising kittens. They would curl up right next to him like he was their own mother. He was so timid. I watched a newly captured wild kitten scratch him right on the nose once, and he just took a couple steps back. But no big dog or person who was under suspicion was big enough to make him back down.

 Once, after a good solid white washing from my brothers he came up and licked the tears off my face till it tickled so much I stopped crying and just laughed. 

He just popped in my head today. One more wonderful thing in life to be grateful for.

Gentlemen

They say a few good men are hard to find. But I'm known for being exceptionally lucky. And it seems the legends must be true, because I found a fair few. 

If there is one thing I'm not looking forward to about leaving, its this.

Lets do one more of these before I go. 

Jonah's Prayer

 Then Jonah prayed unto the Lord his God out of the fish’s belly, And said, I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the Lord, and he heard me; out of the belly of hell cried I, and thou heardest my voice. For thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; and the floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over me. Then I said, I am cast out of thy sight; yet I will look again toward thy holy temple.  The waters compassed me about, even to the soul: the depth closed me round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head. 6 I went down to the bottoms of the mountains; the earth with her bars was about me for ever: yet hast thou brought up my life from corruption, O Lord my God.  When my soul fainted within me I remembered the Lord: and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine holy temple.  They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy. But I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of thanksgiving; I will pay that that I have vowed. Salvation is of the Lord. And the Lord spake unto the fish, and it vomited out Jonah upon the dry land.

This became one of my favorite passages a few years back. Prayers from the belly of the whale, or well, and the pit of despair. 

For a Friend

Three seemed appropriate. 

darden road asks, have the stars all left your eyes?

Lack. 

I saw this sunrise the other day. It happens, and wasn't really happenstance, that I happened to be driving down a back road. The kind that's paved, but only just. The farms were nestled in between the hills, and the fields were all layered in snow. Light has a special way of moving at morning. A bluish caressing that lights upon the surface and seems to sink in for a moment before evaporating into clouds, and leaves it with a softening glow that waits and lingers, just to make sure you caught it. 

As one saying, blessing I will bless thee. Go on. 

An hour before, there was naught but the dark, and it was the heavy kind, that weighs your lids and your heart down. I could barely sustain. But then such a curious thing came Glowing brightly in the east. It was small, single and slender. But it came as a promise and sign. Night does not last. 

Soldier on, soldier. All the stars are shining on you, hope is coming and you will make it through.

...

Still don't know? Try 1526.

Lining

Storm clouds are the sliver lining of my life. I love all they bring. I love wind, the way it feels, the way it sounds. I love rain drops wetting me through, or watching them drip. I like watching them drop from branches and race down window panes. Thunder, like the deep voice of a good friend, calls out. And lightening, well it's like god has made a fireworks show that puts our independence day attempts to shame. I even like the power outages. Candlelight and whatnot.   

Some people don't like this kind of weather. They only like it when it's sunny. I like that too, but too long in the sunshine and  even the most resilient shrink and shrivel. 

I'm just saying, those stormy bits let you see the silver, the hope of what grows after you battle it out and show nature you are equal to the task.