Second Night-sky

Although I am hemmed in by the comforting quilt-like folds of rolling mountain ranges, the ocean's landscape still fascinates me.  On the one hand, the immensity of oceanic space overwhelms me with fear.  If I were pinpointed upon the silken skin of the most remote water, that expansive fluidity would appear as mind-boggling as the distance from Terra to her sun.  The cold sweat common with delusional illnesses, when clouded nightmares prickle neck-hair and the body projects itself from the dream by sitting in shivers stark-straight in bed, provokes the edges of my mind when I mentally thrust myself on the horizon of the sea.

And yet, on the other hand, I imagine the rhythmic current, constant on my limbs and back, the support of the seawater, and the under-viewed beauty of nature's puddled tears.  Consider the multitude of sea creatures, whose shimmering glow mimics the stars that shine above, so as to create its own map of constellations.  And, there, pressed at the point where two night skies meet, I imagine the stories above and the stories below that thread these stars together.  Or, consider the brewing clouds, whose fullness brings a silent snow or heated thunderstorm battering upon the land, but also glistening onto the flourishing ocean.  What would it be like to see firsthand snow sift onto ocean-dunes?

Friend, does something terrify you?  Perhaps you have an impending decision or a looming deadline; perhaps an illness caters that which you want not or a past experience emerges from the depths?  Regardless of the fear that threatens to overwhelm, try to turn your eye in a way that sees beauty where you dread.  Remind yourself of the comfort of a friend or love, and cautiously peer at that second night-sky to imagine the beauty there to see.

Reeling shadows

In the waning sun, light sprays over a frost-bitten hibiscus tree, whose leaves wrinkle into brown and yellow chrysalides—but ones hanging like hollow wombs. Instead, those leaves proffer life to a shadow display, which holds the essence of Impressionist work in a slowly moving reel. It falls on the light cherry laminate, on the walnut-stained baseboard, on the white-wash wall.

The animated painting seems to breathe, even as the day fades. And amidst this dying, a whirlwind of white noise, like the sharp murmur or the speckled texture of out-of-tune frequencies, amasses and works to consume that shadow. This swarm, friend, resembles the multitude of love-negating happenings that infiltrate life. Harsh words, pride-filled sins, torturing memories, aging aches—all those heart pangs that press like weights upon our backs can easily overtake even our most engaging attempts at grasping the way we want to live. We try to hold and contemplate and experience beauty and truth, but in so doing, we smear them with our fingerprints, so that our faulty vision is further skewed by our humanness.

Do you feel this way, friend? Does the day seem to convolute into little tornadoes of negative emotion: anger, pain, despair, anxiety? You do not need to experience these things alone. We are meant to be communal creatures. Who do you trust? Who can show you love beyond the layer of common colloquy? Reach out to them, today. And know that you can be a source of light to others, too. Even in our mutual brokenness, we can cast shadows that proffer a projection that dances with a love ready to withstand the chaos that envelopes the day.

This little light of mine...

When I was very young, like my sons are today, myriad people reprimanded me for being a loquacious and hyperactive child. I still recall the day a pastor stopped mid-sermon, cast his eyes earnestly in my direction, and told me to settle down. In kindergarten, my cheeks blushed fire-pink when a teacher shamed me for wiggling and whispering from my padded mat at nap-time. Other elementary experiences left me in fear of a particular teacher, who admonished me to stop talking when a girl beside me was the guilty party, who denied my request to use the bathroom during her mathematics lesson and smirched me for the result of a pungent puddle on my plastic chair, whose overtone - even when she was absent from the room - led me to clean up my own vomit (that I unintentionally let loose one day upon arriving in her room) so that I would not have to experience her humiliating gaze.

These experiences remind me of the quote sprawled across the wall of the Dotheboys Hall schoolroom in the movie-from-a-Dicken's-novel, Nicholas Nickleby: "Fear him who formed thy frame." This quote, for me, exudes the knowledge of Psalm 103:14, "for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust." But, the mercy and compassion bolstered by scripture is completely lost on the schoolmaster that wields such a weapon against his school children. For God holds pity on mankind; God knows our limits and does not seek to break us.

Reflecting on the pains of the past and resolving to live differently are fundamental to showing and experiencing love in this world. My pains have caused me to become a contemplative spirit. Charged with being shy, I take things to heart. And yet, I want to interlace my actions and way of living with the careful observation needed to show compassion for others. Perhaps this derives from that sensitivity.

Our social and cultural standards dissuade individuals from such sensitive and reflective living. Constant motion, egocentric striving, and characteristics of mania are endorsed, as the blogger of Forever Becoming also purports, but not a quieter and more-intentional way of life. Friend, let us encourage more contemplative and meaningful living. Dare to talk less and observe more. Dare to consider the impact your words, your demeanor, and your way of life have on others and on the world. Dare to be a source of encouragement, rather than a source of denigration.

Autumn Unveiled

The color splash of autumn is inspiring. A mix of fresh blue from sky, soft white of cloud, rust-red-auburn-vibrant-orange of leaves is like a master-made painting, where each brushed stroke adds a bit of soul; or a richly-woven tapestry, whose colors and cloth-materials work in harmony together; or a musical composition in which the notes tickle your ears long after the piece is played; or a person devoted to God in such a way that produces selfless acts, both tangibly love-based and life-altering.

Imagine the brightness of a stained glass window - one with colors so mellifluous that they seep into the very soul of the viewer. Truly rapturous moments do not happen every day. And when they do, they are written on the heart. Remembering such moments, especially when the evils of the world have brutalized one's senses, is like flashing a flood of unveiled heaven before the eyes. When trees unveil their colorations without chlorophyl, the enchanting beauty that results connotes that same spiritual spark that spirals us onto a journey to know God. When lichen and moss kiss silver bark on a fallen tree, it seems to signify the life-filled possibility in ourselves even when we feel broken. When we are juxtaposed with moments that exude God's presence, we yearn for more as soon as they are gone.

Today, friend, I pray for your eureka moments. I pray for your soul to be cleansed by the light-giving burn of a candle during prayer or the mesmerizing marrow of hallowed words or the immense peace of spending time in nature or with a forever-friend, all the while engaged in the moment.

Today, friend. Today.

Sharing apple slices

"I'm not an expert or anything.  But I think I did a good job," Joey said.  Since I was in another room at the time, his proclamation sparked both alarm and curiosity into my head.  I quietly went into the kitchen and saw two little boys with their shaggy-haired heads close together.

A butter knife in one hand and a juicy apple in the other, Joey was slicing the apple for Ezra to eat.  Not only did he have a cutting board covering the work surface, but he even fished the miniature shape-cutters from the gadget-drawer to use in popping stars, hearts, and ovals from the cream-colored meat of the fruit.

Have you ever counted yourself unqualified or unable to do something?  Have you ever felt you were unworthy for a particular hobby, station, or other life experience?  Often, I downgrade my own worth because I don't think I'm making a difference in a tangible way - do you ever feel that way, friend?

Perhaps you'll never win a Noble prize or travel halfway around the world; maybe, your life is filled with the routine of caring for children or fulfilling responsibilities at work.  But, this doesn't mean that your life has little worth to those around you.

You would be surprised how the choices you make each day can impact others when you least expect it.  Smile, savor the view your life holds, and know that you are not alone.  We - each of us - can be a benefit and joy to one another.

Cocoa-induced warmth

Steam whistles from the kettle.  Picking it up, I pour a slender stream of water over the cocoa granules nestled within waiting mugs.  Silken milk cools the drink enough for a toddler's tongue.  After stirring the hot chocolate, I settle the cups in front of my sons.

"Oh!  It's a good day to drink cocoa!  I'm going to drink my cocoa in front of the fire," Joey says with eyes filled as much as his face with smiling.

So, two little boys warm their toes by the kitchen's black-belly stove and sip warm chocolate until their day defrosts.  The gray clouds continue to drizzle, here, while reminding us that winter's chill is just beginning.  The tug-of-war between two seasons brings us an almost disorganized mingling; and yet, we somehow sort out the day.

Friend, do you feel disorganized like the weather?  Perhaps, a warm cup of cocoa by a radiant warmth will help your day feel more relaxed and set your perspective in a better state to do what you need to do.

Car wash

Splash - plink. 

"Ha! Car wash!"

Looking up from reading the morning paper, I notice that Ezra smiles widely in his joy.  His fingers, which recently were running a frost-blue car over the table, now flail open as if trying to use The Force in order to direct an object back to him.  That object is his car, now front fender down in his water glass, which of course is full of water.

Ezra wears his newspaper hat, painted blue.

My two-year-old son is full of funny puns these days.  He'll laugh, saying "I tooted."  Or, chuckle when he sees Daddy make a fish face with his pursed lips puckering hollows into his cheeks. Or, pull out laughing peals more quickly than painted strokes on canvas. And the result is as Van Gogh's sunflowers, whose vibrant yellows contrast upon themselves a sense of happiness, even if the world dances to darker notes.

Friend, do you feel the wash of laughter lighten your soul each day?  Let it ring out today and, for even just a moment, lift off the burdens that weigh upon your heart.  If you need inspiration, just think of Ezra's car wash and picture his smiling face.