This is the Day

"Listen to your life.  See it for the fathomless mystery it is.
In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness:
touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it,
because in the last analysis all moments are key moments,
and life itself is grace."


~Frederick Buechner, Now and Then: a Memoir of Vocation

 Some days I'm just trying to maneuver through the crazy that life throws at me.

The calendar is full of scribbled reminders of where to be and who does what and when.

Still... I forget, I mess up, I drop the ball.

Other days I'm home, but not really here.
I'm off wandering around in my head and in my heart,
looking back and missing what was,
longing for what could have been,
mourning over what will not be.

But more than anything,
I waste my todays wondering about my tomorrows.

I've been told that I'm a patient person,

 but what I really want to be is a
 present person.
Present in the present.

Today is where it's at.
The right here.  The right now.
Tomorrow doesn't come with guarantees.

But today?

Well, it's a gift still waiting to be unwrapped.
And the Giver knows exactly what we need.

I spy with my little eye...

There is no event so commonplace 

but that God is present in it,

always hiddenly,

always leaving room for you to recognize him 

or not to recognize him...

~Frederick Buechner

(In case you didn't catch it, there's something hiding in the water!)

I'm Learning

God lays things on our hearts that don't always make sense in the moment.

I often doubt His voice and blow it off like it's nothing.

Other times I listen, but waver in my obedience.

But I'm learning.

A few weeks ago I felt led to draw a picture for Joy, my blog friend.
 Joy had asked her readers to pray for the adoption of her foster daughter, "Pie."
(That would explain the button on my sidebar that says "Pray for Pie.")
I would pray! Still, I kept thinking about drawing something special for her.
I knew just what it would be. I loved a picture Joy had posted of her
little Pie reading books on the floor with light streaming in through the window.
It was beautiful to me--not just the composition and lighting of it,
but the way the picture expressed the peace, security, and joy this child has known
 in the loving family and home God chose for her.

So I  prayed and I drew,
but I never sent it.

I opted for a safer gift--chocolate.

I happen to know that she loved her chocolate surprise in the mail.

(You can read about it here.)

Yet there in my studio sat a finished drawing that I was too chicken to send.

Time went by and trials continued to come to my far away blog friend.

I kept praying for her and wishing I could do something like

make a meal or take the kids for the day.

You know,
something helpful.
And normal.

Then God suggested the drawing.

I scoffed at the idea...

"What? Really?"

"She'll think it's weird. I hardly know her."

 "What good is a drawing going to do?"

Then comes this:

"Why do you doubt your gifts?" 

He knows me so well.

Tears flow.

It's true. I do it all the time.

I doubt my gifts,
or more specifically,
that my gifts matter.

But I'm learning.


I put on my brave girl pants and sent the drawing.
 I think maybe she likes it.

May it bring glory to the One who gave me hands with which to draw
and may it bring joy to Joy.


~ ~ ~

Click on over to Joy's blog to meet this sweet and sassy southern friend and read her side of the story!  

One Glorious Day

When a glorious long awaited spring day like yesterday finally comes, 

I just can't be inside. Especially if it's Sunday. 

Growing up we were not allowed to do much of anything on Sundays, but my Dad loved to go for a ride in the car.  Many times it was a combo--a ride to one of his childhood haunts where we would climb out of the car AND go for a walk.  This one place in particular stands out in my memory as VERY exciting.  Okay, family... I was pretty little and easily impressed, but was this not the most thrilling Sunday afternoon destination?

I don't remember much about this place but for the crossing of the stream.  There was this old remnant of a bridge and in order to cross the stream you had to shimmy sideways across a narrow metal beam.  You can't see it well in the picture, but there was a rusty rail to hang onto. Look at my Mom--I love it!  She never wore pants for anything.

I don't know if I ever crossed by myself.  In my memories, I'm always riding on Dad's back--terrified and excited as he confidently made his way across.  I loved it.  I loved Sundays.  I'm sure I complained that it was an excruciatingly boring day.  But looking back, it really was my favorite day because we were always all together.

Last night, after I tucked Jacob into bed, he was sad because we didn't get to spend much time together during the day. Now don't feel too bad. He choose to spend the afternoon playing with his neighborhood friends.  He just gets sentimental at bedtime.  It's an effective ploy to get me to stay a little longer and rub his back and tell him stories.  So there we sat in the dark and I told stories about walking down to the corner Dime Store with Julie and getting a whole bunch of candy with just one quarter.

Then he says out of the blue,

"Do you miss your Dad?"

"Yes, Jacob, I miss him very much."

More than words can say.

But here's the thing.  

It's only temporary.  

We'll all be together one long awaited day,

 more glorious than the most beautiful spring day you can imagine. 

We'll walk together and hold hands again, I just know it. 

And we'll never ever have to say good-bye.