Hurricane

Current life events led me to turn to last February’s journal. I am both sobered and hopeful at where the seasons of life continue to lead.

New soil. Springtime ready to grow, but there is nothing in the current ground of my heart. It is empty. What little green sprouts will choose to grow there—weeds or beautiful wild flowers? It feels so desolate right now. A hurricane has come through and decimated the land. There is trash and death all along the shore. The birds and wildlife have not returned. Desolation on the beach—the same beautiful, glorious beach that held sparkling diamonds only moments before.

When will life return? What will the resurrection look like? Even those small words feel hopeful for now. I know I cannot rush springtime. Growth and restoration take time and great care. Who will care for me in this time of grieving?
--February 27, 2006

Still

Oh winter, you are here, but my heart still plays in the sun.
His rays have kissed me deeply & now warm my soul as the frost nips at my nose.

The Wall Between Two Gardens

“Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.” Khalil Gibran

It is late Christmas day. It has been a good day, a quiet day, and in the stillness of the afternoon, l have spent much time pondering sadness. While sadness may seem like an unfit topic for this day of celebration, it is, nevertheless, a feeling that abounds during the season. Often juxtaposed against the expected emotions provoked by “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays,” sadness can be buried amidst the stack of holiday cheer.

Today is a day to be celebrated and for which to be thankful. So, what is this “wall between two gardens” of which Gibran speaks? For some reason, I am reminded of another quote (by Mother Teresa, I think) where she speaks of having her heart break wide open so that the whole world may fall in. I sense this breaking of heart in myself while at the same time there is a sense of peace and thankfulness. Must we break wide open to find peace?

How can the two co-exist? Is this the paradox of love? Of God? The garden of heartbreak and the garden of thankfulness. The wall of sadness between humanity and divinity. The human part of me wants to focus on the sadness and where I don’t feel like my desires are being met, but the holy will not let me rest there. The divine requires me to remember that ALL my needs are fulfilled and I am never alone even when I may feel lonely. God is with me and I hear the words, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

So why the sadness? Why the wall between the gardens? Images are evoked of the joy of the birth of a new babe and the sadness of his death on a cross—before his resurrection. Ahh—maybe that is the wall of sadness; the sting of death before resurrection.

It seems that this is the place we live today—having not yet experienced our own resurrection to glory, but having tasted it; known the glory in brief moments—the birth of a child, the smile of a stranger, the gift of a song. These reminders start to fracture the wall of sadness and meld the gardens—the garden of birth and the garden of resurrection. This Christmas day, hope is tangible. It is a time to celebrate and experience the glory of God. And, it is a time to sit with the sadness between the two gardens and be thankful. Merry Christmas and Amen.

photo by bill hughlett

A Charlie Brown Christmas?

I can’t seem to “do” Christmas this year. As I sit here less than two weeks away from December 25, and time as well as the light of day grows short, I know that I have purchased 4 stocking stuffers. Period. No Christmas tree. No presents. No cards. Only the twinkling lights on my Ficus tree (a year round tribute to the dark Seattle nights) show any sign of festive spirit.

The odd thing is that I am excited about the holiday season and what it truly represents. I am not, however, excited about the commercial pressures and expectations of what the season “should” look like. Each year I have felt myself pull away a bit more from the hubbub and must do’s of the season. I find myself more enlivened by purchasing a simple unexpected gift rather than one given out of obligation, or taking a walk in the winter rain and seeing God’s splendor all around, and best of all, spending time with a friend I have not visited in awhile.

Maybe the change in focus has something to do with my children getting older. The 17 year old seems quite indifferent about the season and the younger one is caught between a mixture of “I don’t care” and wondering with anticipation when we are getting a Christmas tree and what we’re doing for the holiday. Gone are the school holiday pageants of days past. Our annual trip to see Santa faded out a couple of years ago and our celebratory relatives and friends seem to have gone their own ways. I have more time to think about what Christmas means to me.

I have made several attempts to get into the "normal" holiday spirit. I have perused Christmas cards for purchase and listened to a few carols. I considered shopping yesterday, but opted for a holiday movie instead. Today, I saw a little Charlie Brown tree and actually turned the car around to go see about bringing it home, but alas my cell phone rang and one of my teenagers was in need of immediate attention.

Maybe these interruptions are telling me something. Slow down. Take in the season. Enjoy the music. Smile at the neighbors’ lights. Do your own thing.
Or just maybe, I am already “doing” Christmas exactly as I want to do it—savoring the darkness and anticipating the “coming”.

For now I think I’ll just call things good, sip my tea from a holiday mug, put on a Christmas CD and enjoy waiting here in the dark. Waiting with anticipation for what may come next.

Changing Seasons

Drawn to fire. Bursting color—red and yellow.
Texture. Shape. Bounty. God’s creativity.
Drawn to the messy versus the neat and tidy.
The composting leaves playing in water together.
The occasional blue leftover from summer—tranquil and calm.
The red is alive saying, “See me. Look at me.”
The branches of trees providing shelter. The old knobby trunks, gnarled with age.

The freshness of water. The cleansing of rain. The saturation of ground.
A pathway of color—neat and tidy—messy and composting.
Earthy browns. Spring greens. Changing autumn.

Waiting for winter. Welcoming the darkness.
Saying farewell to the brilliant light for a season.

photos by lucy