Lorelei

Today I heard the call of the Lorelei from my seaside haven.

She laughed

as she caressed skin with her warm breath

summoning a land dweller

to her Calypso blue waters

as I longed

to answer her.

Paradise found

Aloha!

I am blogging from the beautiful island of Oahu. Several of us have been planning a ladies get away for close to a year now - all to celebrate this dear friend:

who is turning 40.

Pretty great way to celebrate 40, don't you think?

4 of us came a little early and then were joined by one more. Then, the real party kicked in when the other 4 showed up. My pictures of the whole group are being finicky about uploading. I will supply more pics when this techy thing cooperates.

Here I am with Tonya (birthday girl) and Miss Eva on Waikiki beach. We decided to rent surfboards. We all did a little surfing. Sorry, it was just the three of us and no one to actually capture a picture of us up on our boards. We all got up and looked great with our mad surfing skills - you'll just have to take my word for it.

I snapped this photo of my feet the very first day we went to the beach. I sent it via my cell phone to my hubby and friend, Lana, who was still at home in cold Wenatchee. Minutes later, I jumped into the water and body surfed with friend, Sara. I felt something sting my foot, but assumed I had scraped against a piece of coral. It began to sting pretty good so I got out of the water, looked down, and found long, black spines sticking out of my foot. Apparently, I stepped on some sort of sea urchiny creature called "vauna". I hobbled over to the life guard who pulled the spines out and sprayed me down with vinegar. The spines are barbed and break off once they become embedded in the skin. He warned me not to dig them out and to soak it in vinegar when I got back to the hotel. A local surfer stopped me and told me to pee on it. I opted for the vinegar treatment. The photo of my spiny foot is on someone else's camera - will try to upload later.

All that to say, after soaking my foot in hot vinegar and taking some ibuprofen, within a day or so the spines disappeared and I was pain free.

Here we are - the first 4 travelers:

Patty, Tonya, me, and Sara

We have only two days left of our 8 day trip. I feel blessed to be included and so thankful for this little break in such a beautiful place. I will blog when we get home and include pictures of the whole group and offer some perspective on the trip. Right now, the beach is calling me.

Aloha!

The Gift

Racing around the kitchen, I gathered the rest of my books and miscellany as I prepared to run out the door when I heard my love say, "you've got to read this poem."

I stopped short because I can recall on one finger the number of times the man I've been married to for over 20 years has uttered these words. So naturally, I was curious. He began reading The Thorn. I was particularly moved by the beauty of the language and truth, but unaware of the import this simple poem would have later this very day.

I am so thankful God does not care about my schedule. When He wants my attention He finds a way to get it, even when I don't realize He has it.

He provided. Before I even threw my hasty prayers to Him on my way to school that morning, asking for my words to be His words in the parent conferences, He answered.

Through the words in that obscure poem, He already had provided for situations yet to occur; the healing balm of Gilead found in the words to a troubled heart.

I passed back a failed geography test to one of my hard working students. This young one struggles with a form of dyslexia which make certain aspects of visual memory quite difficult for her. I knew this would be hard to receive and I wanted to protect her heart, but I also recognized that this was the reality for her. I put my arm around her and told her not to be discouraged. The poem suddenly appeared in my mind and I shared it with her.

"God gives good gifts. This is what He has for you. He is fitting you for His service. Do not be troubled. He is doing something mighty in you with this thorn."

She hugged me, teared up, smiled and said, "I know. Thank you."

Later that afternoon I met with several parents for conferences. One of my conferences was with a mom whose son also struggles with learning disabilities. Even though the disabilities are mild, it is clear how deep the wounds are for this mom who daily carries the burden of watching her son struggle with concepts that seem to come so easily for others.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as I shared the words of the poem that had already once been a salve to a heavy heart. This momma routinely carries her son's thorn, living with the pierced skin and tasting the blood it leaves behind.

The thorn allows a glimpse into the suffering of Him who gave everything. It is the gift of love - the gift we would not ask for, but the gift that most fashions us after the giver. The thorn is the gift of abundance, of blessing, of healing, of union with the one who partook of the gift, never uttering a complaint. It is the gift that gives us precisely what we need. The perfect gift that saves us from ourselves.

The thorn is a hard gift. But it is a gift of mercy. Thank you for the thorn. Someday we will lay it down and receive a crown in its place. Until then, teach us to love the gift.

Changed?

My schedule has been busier than usual. For the past few weeks I have taken a couple of classes off of the hands of this man.

You are probably wondering how this guy got into teaching in the first place, but that is another story.

Here is a picture of him with his family. (They're our neighbors and I happened to be out taking some pictures when I saw them and snapped this one.)

Corey, the man in the above pictures, was trying to convince the children who were with him to sled down a pretty steep hill. The kids were not entirely sure that this was a good idea. So, Corey - the consummate teacher, decided to demonstrate the safety of sledding.

Unfortunately, I do not have any pictures of the moments following the sledding safety lesson. If I did, they would involve a hospital ride and several fractured vertebrae.

He is okay now - pretty much anyway. He is back in the classroom and I am back to my normal class load which allows me time to - you guessed it -

BLOG!

I forgot how much I love my schedule. With my first class beginning at 10, I am able to have some time to schlepp around in my slippers in the morning.

I have really missed schlepping.

I picked up 2 of his classes, covering his 6th grade math class and his 11th and 12th grade Civics class.

Yeah - I know, civics?

I'm not that smart.

But then, look who I was covering for:



On my first day of teaching Corey's civics class a student put her head down on her desk in something similar to despair.
It didn't help that the student was my own daughter.
I knew I had to quickly regroup or this would be a painful two weeks for all of us.

So....I begged and pleaded with this man



for something else to do with this group.
I waited to speak to him about changing the schedule until I was certain he was heavily medicated.

In all fairness I really should throw in a normal picture of our beloved Mr. McEachran. He really is a wonderful teacher and my kids are lucky to have him. Here he is when he's not dressed up as a beggar for some sort of school function.

(This is Corey with his sweet family when we celebrated Advent at our house this past November. Very normal and delightful family.)

Now - on with the story.

I was able to teach 2 weeks of literature during Civics in which we explored society and politics. The books we read were:

Killer Angel: the biography of Margaret Sanger


and

Fahrenheit 451


Both were excellent books, entirely different from one another.

On my final day with the Juniors and Seniors we dissected Fahrenheit 451 over coffee at Cafe Mela. (It's a small class of 8 students and that is how I roll, occasionally.)

As we explored themes, symbolism, biblical allusions, etc... I asked them what they thought of the book. One of the girls said she really didn't like it. She felt it was a "downer." I explained that a world without books would, in fact, be a "downer." I asked my small group of students if perhaps we were asking the wrong question. Rather than asking, "did I like this book?" maybe the real question should be, "was I changed after reading the book?"

That, to me, is the mark of a good book.

I have had opportunity to think about that comment all weekend and into this week.

"Am I changed after reading this?"

God offered me a gentle reminder this weekend in the echoes of my own words.

"Do you leave changed, beloved?"

This question has pricked my soul the past few days. How is it possible to enter into the presence of the Holy One and remain unchanged?

It isn't.

And yet time and again I do.

Still, His voice calls to me~
Come and be changed.

How often do I meet with Him and read words of life into my barren and thirsty soul, and yet leave His presence virtually unchanged?

And still He whispers words of love to me. He does not storm out of the room, as a wounded lover might, or even ought. He bears with me and bares my soul in the process.

It is in this gentleness I am changed.

Because it is so unlike me.

And so my soul cries out, do not let me leave again unchanged.

May this year, this day, this moment find us changed and fitted into the image and glad service of the One who gave all as He bids us,

~Come and be changed.

Reflections

I found this note and gift on my porch the other day~





Such an unexpected blessing
from someone who has walked this road already
and has not
forgotten.



(Here is my dad holding me with our childhood dog, Miss Royal.)


I opened another letter, almost a year ago now, and read what I believed to be just another kind sympathy note, when the words,

"Welcome to the Orphan's club"

caught my breath and my attention.

It was just a year ago when my father unexpectedly traveled on ahead to his "forever home." It has been a year of process for me as I walk every day as a daughter no more.



(Yes, that is me -sporting my fish with my hand on my hip- not at all camera shy! My sister is the cute little one with the groovy plaid pants and boy hair. Okay, my hair also qualifies as boy hair so I can't say too much. There is my beautiful mom and my dad in the background. The other two are friends of the family. )

The sender conveyed exactly what my heart knew but my lips refused to verbalize. With the loss of my mom, 28 years ago now, and in the wake of my father's death, I found myself not only grieving the loss of my dad, but also mourning my existence as a daughter.

As an honorary club member, I was joined by two other dear ladies who felt the sting of loss and death of not only a parent but of daughterhood. As painful as it was to read my new club membership title, it was helpful to know others understood the grieving that my soul felt. However, this is one club I wish I did not belong to.

As my mom faced her own death, she told my dad that she knew the Lord would be a mother to her daughters. I can honestly say, on the other side of the loss, that my mom's faith was well placed. God provided for her lack in ways that were real and soul sustaining, that softened the edges of our loss and simply held us.

That is the best description I can give - that in the middle of this young girl's loss of her mother, I felt "held" by my God.

Now, at the one year anniversary of my earthly father's passing, I know I am held, but I feel my loss more significantly. The sadness creeps in and covers me, threatening a freeze that whispers to destroy this tree, with its questionable root system. It is here in the deep freeze that a warm breeze blows in my mother's simple words of faith and I am reminded by the very One who carried me through so many valleys that I do belong, that I am still held, that I am not orphaned.

Sometimes I am appalled at how little progress I have made as a traveler. I expect to weather these storms better and believe I should experience sadness but it should be relegated to a two week period of grieving at which point I should be able to move on with words of wisdom and healing for all who are watching.

Instead I can only offer broken words, small steps, and invisible scars that still ache at the most unexpected times.

Today I finish this post on the first day of a new year.
I look to a new year full of certain lessons and I pray for grace to keep my roots from becoming brittle. And I am thankful for those who have been instruments of grace to me this past year and have kept me "held."

May you be "held" this new year and may you know his strength and comfort in the valleys.

Birthday Girls

These are some of the most wonderful ladies I know. When we get together I am reminded again how much I love each one of them. We have many differences - the four of us - but when we come together for our "birthday club" the differences remind me how diversity in the body of Christ is beautiful and necessary for continued growth.

I am at a time and place in my life where I am surrounded by people who surround themselves with those who are just like them. I have watched our church go through a metamorphosis as of late and unfortunately diversity among the body is not one of our strong suits. I watch as my family and I find ourselves on the periphery of our body at large - we do not "fit" into an "acceptable" category- our children are not home schooled, we do not spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about or discussing the benefits of grass fed versus corn fed cows or whether the chicken we had for dinner was free range or not. We wear deodorant that contains aluminum and I do not lose sleep. I do not press my own wheat when I make bread - I actually do not make bread and I know I am suspect.

What I love about my ladies is that we are all at different places in our spiritual journey, at various stages of motherhood, and we do not all worship at the same place, but this is what makes our time together such a gift. We are a conglomeration of hilarity, tears, prayer, and forgiveness. We are an unlikely mixture of organic only- junk food eaters - naturopathic and immunization free - pass the Tylenol please -"Survivor" contestant -fragrance wearing -steel ground oats only -taco bell loving- hodgepodge of ladies.

The conversation I have with these dear women of faith is some of the richest, most thought provoking, and meaningful in my life. We are in no way perfect. We are the seekers of the One who is perfect - and this we do imperfectly. I am loved and accepted with these friends. I do not have to be something I am not - in fact, I am pretty sure they would call me out if I tried it. These are the ladies who make me better. I know it without a doubt. Our vast differences temper the extremes in our personalities and provide an appreciation and great affection for the "other than". And so, in this busy season I want to pause to recognize the gift of friendship. As I age I understand its rarity. I thank God for these women who grace my life with themselves and I thank the Giver for them.

The season of Advent

Quiet presses in
the silence of winter's first snowfall,
light juxtaposed against the blackness of night.

Water reflecting multicolored lights
dressing homes across landscapes
as we drink in the symbols of the year.

Flames bent, dancing to keep up,
music reminding my soul
that light
dances.

Small treasures in tissue unwrapped-familiar friends
welcomed home for their yearly visit
to grace our tree,
reminders of time passages
and lives built
together.

My children can reach the tall branches now,
the ones I cannot.

The season of advent is
the living, the giving-thanks for, the hope reminder, and yes,
the waiting,

light juxtaposed against the blackness of night.