Author Archives: Denise

Rainy Morning Chaos

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wet leafI could hear the rain falling.  Well, truth be told it wasn’t in the falling but rather in its landing.   Clink, clink as incessant drops hit the siding and the gutter.  Into this clamor I awoke today and surprisingly, it felt gentle in all the noise.  Rainy mornings are like that – gentle.

As I settled in my chair, with coffee cup in hand, I couldn’t help but think of the cleansing that was happening.  Nature being bathed in this glistening liquid and at the same time, it was washing awake in me a restlessness.

I wanted to go out and walk in the downpour – to be bathed in its falling liquid wonder.  I craved to smell the freshness as it was being poured out but I found myself instead sitting dry in all my wishes.

Not for long, though.

I am not one to wander on the wild side.  Ask anyone who knows me.  I don’t walk in the rain because of the inconvenience it causes – wet clothes and bad hair.  In a life that loves order inconvenience creates chaos.

But friends, this has been a week – a very good one – full of opening and shutting with lots of purging in between.  This week I have purposely sought to disturb all that has settled these last few years.  One can get quite comfy when life accumulates around you.  A little welcomed chaos does wonders for the home and for the heart.

So as I sipped my coffee, I pondered the rain and my current state of cozy dryness.  I came to the conclusion there was no good reason to sit here dry in my wishing while there were many to go and risk the soaking.

So, I did.

I welcomed the chaos.  I walked in the rain.  I stood face up in its downpour.  I can say with clothes and hair clinging wet, friends, I was right.  It was worth the soaking.

Ugly Beautiful

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Her words sliced the air between us.  To the casual observer these words would appear innocuous at best but between her and me they sliced deftly as newly sharpened knife.  Her anxiety and frustration found release in her words and dredged up something long since forgotten in me.  It was as if these words were a scalpel in the hands of skilled surgeon.  One who knew exactly where to cut to cause the most pain.

While I am sure she knew the bite with which she spoke. I doubt if she will never know the depth to which those words cut.  Now, I am left struggling with the aftermath in silence.

Yet, I know my silence, in this moment, is for the greater good – hers, mine and ours.

Community isn’t easy because it is made up of us – the broken and the fractured.  Amidst the splinters and the shards perfection will never be.  Yet, even in the most brittle bits the ugly-beautiful is sure to be found.

“The cure for pain is in the pain.”  (Rumi)

Her anxiety mixed with my past was heavy laden and if Rumi is right, the healing is there for the both of us.  It requires the moxie to dive in and hunt for it.  To get wet or get dirty is a necessity to lay hold of the needed cure and we can’t find it for anyone else but ourselves.

Community demands more of us for the love of others.  In the more, we must give less.  Less of our baggage, our hurts and our ills because if we are carrying those what can we really give?

Community pushes us past our limits.  It breaks open out hearts – splays them wide for all to see.

And yet, even in the mess it is ugly-beautiful.

 

 

 

 

The Velveteen Me

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I sit here in the waffling mix of emotions.  Tomorrow bears the pain of a friend.  Yesterday bore the weariness of my soul.  Today is just a mix of all.

Life is too short.

And yet, I sit here.  Midway, if not more, in my life and wondering if what I have done is good enough and if what remains will be full of more than I can ever imagine.

Midlife does this to you.  It is a mind game of wonder.  Introspection and regret becomes a dual edged sword.  It cuts through to the soul to expose the real and the lie.  The pain comes not from the cutting but from the discerning.

Who am I?

Some lies I have held so long their roots tangle deep.   It is hard to distinguish their forgery.  They have settled long and appear too real.

Yet, they are not – real.

Oh my God.

You whose artisan hands created me in the recesses of my mother’s womb – You who numbered my days and set my course – You who breathed life into my lungs – You who have carried me through my days, my years – forgive me.

Forgive me for settling for a less than existence in a more than life.

Forgive me my holding tightly to the whispers of “not good enough” than standing in the promise “in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”

Forgive me for choosing to live a guarded life when You have destined me to live abandoned.

Cut the pretense and the self-protection away.

Expose the real.

This is who I have longed and yet, feared to be.

Welcome…

I am looking forward to getting to know you.

 

 

A Morning Hymn

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The bullfrog’s bellowing has ceased and in the absence, a symphony of birdsong arises.  Slowly, gently the sun kisses the horizon and the music of the night is quickly replaced with a morning melody.  For these creatures – bellowing frogs and singing birds – their hymns continue day and night for the length of moment they can call their own.

Man, on the other hand, we are an odd lot.  Our songs too quickly fade in the midst of the living.  We lose the “awe” at the wonders ever before us.  Our eyes and ears become dull.  Schedules fill and slowly life empties away from us – a lingering dance of burnout and death.  Our hearts beg for revival and yet…

 

Each morning carries the hope of resurrection as the dark of night gives way to the bright of day.

When the quiet hush of the night breeze passes and songbirds awaken a slumbering world.

While the eerie mist hanging in a darkened sky quickly burns away in the warmth of a rising sun.

Joy comes again to hearts that are fading.

 

May our heart this day be resurrected into the fullness of our Creator.

May our mind experience a new birth of thought and intention.

May our hands and feet find new ways to express a Savior’s love.

May our life today be better than yesterday as His breath becomes our own.

 

The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns,

where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.

Psalm 65:8

To those who are outside looking in (Mother’s Day)

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peony

This is for you.

You who have longed for days, weeks, years, a lifetime to feel the kick of life within but find yourself empty still

You who have outwardly smiled and laughed celebrating their joy while inside your pain was with knife-like precision stabbing your heart

You who have endured the questions, the suggestions and the comments from those who will never understand the depth of this emptiness

You who find yourself “less than” in a world where we can have everything

You who look “fine” on the outside but find yourself broken and bruised on the inside

You who long for this one day to quickly pass for it is not yours and may never be

This is for you who want to hide away avoiding the awkward moment where it is easier to smile empty than explain “I am not”

This is for you because I know

Because it is also for me….

Oh sweet friend, may we find the comfort in the only One who understands our broken places.

May we hold tight believing in His greater purpose even when we know it has never been our plan.

May we give up this invisible burden and hang on to His amazing grace.

May we dare to trust Him in the pain and yearn with hope to the future.

May we find comfort in knowing that every tear we cry is seen by

His loving eyes and captured by His loving heart.

On this day when we find ourselves left out…

May we find the strength within to move beyond this empty dream

and whisper thanks for all that is.

 

Uncontainable, immeasurable grace