The Shed, Part 1

At the beginning of summer I sat with a beautiful group of women where we were each asked what one of our goals was for the summer. I don’t know about you, but quickly I ran through in my mind a zillion goals, what I felt comfortable sharing, and what I might actually accomplish.  Immediately, I thought of the ‘shed project’.  Now mind you, this is no ordinary project. At least not for me.  This is a shed whose contents embody and span decades.  Literally. My childhood toys, memorabilia from my children, AND, the ‘inheritance’. Being a significant (and sometimes, sole) recipient, sorter, and keeper of the remains of others in my family.  We are not talking ‘remains’ as in cremation, nevertheless, ‘leftovers’ from people who no longer walk this planet.  Dad.  Mom.  Sister.  Grandma.  How did I get this job?  And what in the heck do I do with all this stuff? In the box I sorted yesterday were bits and pieces of toys from my young childhood.  I was instantly taken back –I could remember playing with these things - even down to the little doll-house table I hand made from a block of Styrofoam and a swatch of fabric.  It felt like it opened to me memories long forgotten.  The good with the not-so-good.  It was then I realized I was at an intersection, if you will where a number of paths have converged.  One, bringing me into deeper levels of release…letting go of things of the past that were out of the realm of my control…things that I COULDN’T then and CAN’T now change.  What felt the most significant, though, was how most of us have ‘sheds’ of ‘stuff’.  If they aren’t an actual structure, perhaps they are compartments of our lives that we close off with walls and doors.  We have every good intention of getting back to that ‘project’ at some point.  Let’s face it.  It can be painful, confusing, overwhelming.  If I want to be truthful, it takes a willingness to look honestly into hidden places.  Maybe dark corners.  Places that definitely need a light to shine so the contents can be revealed.  I resolve, once again, to go there.  I realize that this isn’t completely foreign territory…It is just an opportunity to go deeper, release a little more, be healed in new ways.  I can do this.  Armed with the Light, I will forge ahead…

It Matters

It matters. It.Matters. IT.MATTERS.  When He spoke that to me, I thought that while what I was planning was fun, it was perhaps inconsequential. After all, a silly, spur-of-the-moment party couldn't matter all that much.  Or could it?  Thoughts rolled through my mind of years of little things.  Little things I had done for others, as well as things that had been done for me and my family.  Then the reminder of how He has been showing me that so often in the past I drew such a distinct line between the ‘sacred’ and the ‘secular’, between doing things that I deemed ‘spiritual’ or ‘worthwhile’, and then ‘all the rest of life’ and ‘duty’.  Now I’m beginning to wonder if there really is a dividing ‘line’ after all.  Such a silly gladness came over me.  In my mind I was planning the party and He was gonna be there.  After all, isn't He everywhere with me?  Of course He is.  Then I thought of my friends, others just like me, facing a similar struggle.  Wondering, what matters?  Is it only the ‘churchy’ things I do? The answer was so clear.  It all matters.  Having coffee with a dear friend.  Homeschooling.  Playing Legos. Teaching a Bible Study. Smiling at a stranger.  Holding open a door.  Slipping a few bucks to someone who needs it more than you. Enjoying creation. Reading the Bible. Reading the comics. Reading classic literature. Grocery shopping. Back-to-school shopping. Visiting a neighbor. Making a meal for a family. Going to the movies. Reading the same book to a 2 year old for the 1000^th time.  Doing laundry.  Bathing the kids.  Flea-dipping the dog. Writing a note of encouragement.  Swimming at the river with friends. Serving in the church nursery.   Driving a friend to the airport. Sipping tea as the sun rises. It all matters. Such a tremendous relief washes over me as I soak in the truth.  I no longer have to strive to accomplish something of importance.  My life has meaning because He lives in me.  I allow Him to flow out of everything I do, whether I am alone or with others. I get to live my life in big and small ways that says He is real, He is good, He lives, and above all else, He loves. So, I will get back to the preparations for my Shark Week party with all the enthusiasm of a hyper, sugar-laden 3 year old, knowing that this too matters.  While I still have another breath I get to love the people around me and make an impact. Because it really does matter.

LAUGH or CRY

Today was one of those days where I felt like I was balanced in the middle of a 'teeter-totter' and at any given second I could give way to laughing hysterically or crying hysterically.  Maybe it was just the situations I encountered, coupled with a good dose of unpredictable, middle-aged hormones.  Several seemingly simple errands didn't turn out so simple.  How hard could it be to go to the OFFICE SUPERSTORE (for the 3rd time) to purchase the same desk.  Of course, the desk was out of stock, so I had to 'order it'.  Simple enough.  Well, not really.  One clerk, two clerks, me backing up the line of customers...well, you get the picture.  Turns out if you purchase a desk which has to be ordered, you can't pay for your other supplies on the same check, which happens to be one of only two that you have.  So, cash it is.  Oh, yeah, I don't have cash.  Well, it's only some 50 cent pens and 1 cent back-to-school-bargain paper.  She rings me up, and I can't even come up with the 2 something to pay my bill.  My son loudly announces that I am embarassing him, as I have to put back one pack of pens.  Whew, survived that one.  We head back to the black interior of my car, realizing I forgot to put my sun shade in the window, and it is 150 degrees in the inside of my car.  I feel sick.  But I do have my bargain paper and pens.  Well, at least one pack of pens.  I now realized that my pack of pens took the two quarters that I was saving for my Wednesday paper with the store ads.  Not happy.  Oh, well.  So, the video store should be easier than this.  I decide to send the one with young legs to run the video in.  He's just gonna be a minute...I know double parking is wrong... I didn't realize I was blocking the handicapped parking spot until a very unhappy handicapped person almost ripped the side mirror off my Dream Cruiser, at the same time giving me her best 'death stare'.  Mr. Young Legs returned momentarily, and off we went.  Surely the library will be easier than this.  Now, if you're not a local, you won't know that our library is under construction, so they have moved a small pittance of books to a 'house', called a temporary library.  I momentarily 'teeter' on happy, when I realized I can read the daily paper for free at the 'temporary library'.  Young Reader finds some things that will do, and we sit for a spell.  That is until some nice man asks us to move, since we are sitting next to the only outlet in the joint for him to plug in his dinosaur laptop.  We oblige. I get a nice phone call, and step outside as a courtesy.  I tell Young Reader to go check out his books.  He returns to tell me that our outstanding fine is too large, and we can't check anything out unless we give them the moola.  She doesn't realize my Office Superstore encounter left me with only 37 cents.  I send him back in, asking him to tell her 'Please', that I know I have a fine, and I have every intention of paying it...just not today.  Still 'NO'.  I tell the Young'en I'm gonna go ask.  He discourages me, saying she will say no, AGAIN.  I tell HIM, never underestimate the power of 'favor'.  I say a quick favor prayer and head inside.  I ask about my son's books, and she points me to a tower of reading material large enough to last an entire summer.  Shoot, I was hoping for just one book or two.  I ask Hesitant Library Clerk for myself.  She says, you have to pay something...even if it's just a dollar.  I recount my Office Superstore experience, and literally show her the 37 cents I have to my name.  She says she'll take it.  I give her 37 cents, and she gives me 3 cents back.  I guess she felt bad taking all the money that some poor, middle-aged, obviously hormonal woman had.  I smile as I reap the reward of my 'favor prayer'.  O.K., one last stop - MEGA MART.  Few food items, bandaids, stain remover, should be a snap.  I see plums, and decide they are a good idea.  I grab my plastic sack, and put my plums in.  I realize I am blocking access to the sack roll, so, being the courteous type, ( and my previous experience in blocking an unhappy person not long ago) decide to step out of the way so the sacks are available.  Step in, Oblivious Patron.  It shouldn't take so long to put 3 plums in a bag, but while I am still standing there, Mr. Patron yanks a string of plastic bags long enough to wrap at least once around the globe.  He turns to leave, not realizing that his 'yanking' set into motion my final calamity of the day.  The roll of vibrating plastic bags jiggled the scale, which in turn shook off an entire jug of cran-apple juice that Lazy Patron had left where it didn't belong.  Jug-O-Juice hits the floor with such force, it is like Mount Saint Helens erupting. The juice literally explodes under my cart, saturating my items, covering my feet, up my capris, the front of my shirt, and lastly, splashing in my face.  I know it sounds unbelievable, and I wish none of this was true, but unfortunately, it was.  I try to look innocent, but people are staring, and I know what they are thinking.  I literally say out loud, "I didn't do it".   Meanwhile, the Nile River is covering the main walkway, and all I can think is that some one's broken leg will also be my fault.  Long story short, I tried to communicate with Bakery Cake Lady, to aid in my dilemma.  You know, 'Clean up in the produce department' kind of aid.  Kind Produce Man rescued me from gigantic puddle-o-juice, and released me to leave the store.  Relief.  I made it home with no further incident.  Later in the evening, while visiting with some delightful friends on their deck, I realized that flies kept circling me, and were landing on my legs in droves.  It was then I remembered that I hadn't even stopped long enough to wipe the residue from my earlier adventures.  It was then I decided to laugh.  What a day.  How was yours?

Truly FREE

Freedom.  Liberated from slavery, released from captivity, made whole, complete. Set free.  It is my personal opinion that one cannot truly appreciate freedom in all it’s fullness unless they have felt the depths of bondage.  Bondage.  It’s like a small cell, say 3’ by 3’, too small to sit or lay.  You can’t ever be truly comfortable. There is no window, but a peep hole to the outside world.  The walls can even be painted with pretty pictures, yet you know you are confined.  The smell at times is overwhelming, putrid even.  There is a door – bolted, chained, padlocked.  You feel inept, powerless, unable to open it to procure your own freedom.  You could be here at the hands of another, or on your own accord, it doesn’t matter.  You are here all the same.

I think a lot about freedom.  Not just the 4^th of July kind of freedom, although I am grateful for the liberties that this free country affords me.  I mean the freedom of one who says I once was bound, but now I am free. Remembering what it was like to be locked in a cell with no apparent way out.  Remembering what it felt like to be overwhelmed in thought, emotion, and body.  Pressed on all sides, longing for true freedom.  That person was me. I have experienced that freedom to great depths.  So on this Independence Day, it is my hope, my wish, my prayer that wherever you are bound, you would experience freedom.  True, deep, lasting freedom.  There is a way.  He is the way…