Wonder and Lightning

I watched him descend the stairs at the ice forum this evening, his lanky frame sauntering in characteristic fashion and making me smile at memories of watching him walk across parking lots and down mall midways and across rooms for more than thirty years now. I watched him until he disappeared around the corner and into the corridor below.

I sat back and breathed deeply, the noise and beautiful chaos of a professional hockey game surrounding me like a comforting blanket and warming me against the chill of the ice below. The bellowing of horns and yelling of fans with arms and hands flailing in giant waves around the arena only deepened my sense of happiness.

This is my life. And it is a beautiful life.

On the ride home I could not stop smiling. We considered stopping somewhere for pie and coffee, then reasoned that we could pick up whole pies at the store and make our own coffee for less money and enjoy it (and whatever else our imaginations might dream up) in the comfort of our night at home alone.

Our reasoning was perfect.

Lately I've been giving more thought to enjoying each moment for what it is, for what it offers, for the beauty it holds, rather than worrying about other things or thinking about much of anything outside that teaspoon of time. Tonight I could feel that deep appreciation for every tiny detail of our evening together, like the way the scrapers left little mounds of powdery ice for the shovels to scoop up, the way the Zamboni hummed across the surface and left it shining like glass, the smiles and shrieks of delight from fans caught by the camera and displayed on the giant screen overhead.

Our team lost, but neither of us seemed to care.

The walk from the forum back to the car, stopping to listen to the street musician drumming on paint buckets, listening to old favorite songs on the radio, chatting about plans for the next few months...all of it was a gift.

What a blessing, this life. This simple, lovely, beautiful life.

The truth is in the details.

I write my truth at my desk in the little office space off the kitchen, with windows all around but often closed to keep out much of the light. There is something comforting about semi-darkness, not to hide me but to allow calm for thinking.

I write my truth in my head nearly every waking moment, doing what nearly every writing coach and book tells the writer to do...to notice the details, the specifics, the things our senses only pull from our surroundings when we engage them. My senses are engaged. Always.

Anne Lamott says, "There is ecstasy in paying attention."

I have often thought of myself as odd for paying such close attention to detail in my surroundings, in the people I encounter. I take people-watching to new heights. It makes it very easy to create character profiles when I have a million characters wandering around in my mind all the time. But there is another value in paying attention, in looking more closely. In noticing. There is a validation of worth that is whispered or spoken or screamed aloud when our details are noticed.

Somebody cares enough to see who I really am.

Our truth is in our details, and our truth deserves to be told. Why else do we live, except to love and to adore the Creator for all of this...for every blessing, for every moment, for every detail, and how else do we express this living except through the tiny pieces of the whole, the textures, the aromas, the beauty of our day?

There is nothing ordinary about this life.

There is nothing mundane, nothing plain, nothing uninteresting in this beautiful life.

It's time we told our truth, but we have to notice it first.

I want to be here, now, ever present in this moment, noticing and describing the details as though my very life depends on it. Because the memory of the life I've lived truly does.

God, keep me present in the moment with a pen in my hand.

The Simple Woman's Daybook (1/1)

What a blessing to participate in the Simple Woman's Daybook blogging connection.

FOR TODAY
Outside my window...the clouds sprawl grayish across the sky as far as I can see. It is my favorite kind of day, or at least it will be when the rain comes and I can hear the thunder pushing its way through the billows.

I am thinking...that my passion for writing has only grown stronger over the years, and I only see it growing stronger still in the years to come.

I am thankful for...my husband, who last evening turned my chair to face his, placed his hands against my cheeks, and spoke softly but insistently, "I am glad you are writing again. It makes you happy, and it makes me happy."

From the learning rooms...my daughter has not yet opened her math books that arrived today. Math is a struggle for her, and it makes her feel inferior. If only she could understand how genuinely gifted she is.

From the kitchen...Things have been quieter today. It will get busier later when I don my apron and start preparing our dinner of sesame ginger boneless chicken wings.

I am wearing...soft black capris, my green USF t-shirt, and sandals.

I am creating...pathways of memory to explore and then word, one by one, reaching backward to pull them forward and share them in some way with the world. Memories are stories waiting to be told.

I am going...nowhere for the remainder of the day, which means I will be at home, my favorite place in the world.

I am reading...A Writer's Book of Days. I will be reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts as soon as it arrives.

I am hoping...it storms through the night.

I am hearing...the chirping of Mama's bird clock. It always reminds me of how much I wish she was still here.

Around the house...are candles of varying scents, mostly homey aromas that invite the heart to open and rest and be a child again.

One of my favorite things...is the way my precious friends have gathered behind me in support and encouragement of my writing. It's hard to express to them the impact of their kind whispers. They can't know how much it means.

A few plans for the rest of the week: A meeting, making sure Rosie gets to and from dance rehearsals and a friend's sleepover, a trip to the meat market, maybe lunch at Brocato's, church on Sunday followed by dinner at Nana & Papa's to celebrate two of the family birthdays. It amazes me that our oldest son turns 30 next week.

Here is picture for thought I am sharing...

Photo: I took this through a 1"-thick pane of tinted glass. I love the way it
colorizes the entire image. I didn't see a need to edit it in any way.




From my heart...
Lisa

Remember Me?

I know this with a certainty that applies to few things in my life. God gave me my beautiful family--my husband and children and grandchildren--at least in part to bless and fill an empty that has been part of my life nearly from the beginning.

See, throughout my life I've found myself wondering

Hello...can you see me? Do you remember me?

Ironically, this didn't happen nearly as often with friends as it did with some of my own family members.

It hurts to have to beg to be a sister. I just wanted to be a sister. And of them all, one chose me. One chose me as his sister and he was my brother and we were family.

He left this earth far too young and I was left emptier than before. I miss him.

I hold his journals among my most treasured possessions. Sometimes I bring them out and read them just to feel close to him again, to hear his funky laugh, to hear him sing his deep, mellow baritone or make odd faces that made us all laugh.

The others are busy with their own lives. I understand. I'm not angry. But I do feel the empty where they should be, should have been all along. All along while I cried out mute like a bad dream where no one can hear and life goes on without noticing the need. A few years ago I stopped crying.

I hold my husband and my babies close and I bless God that they can see me and hear me and that they love me as much as I love them.

Love fills the empties.

They may not remember me, but I will always remember them. And I will always know, somewhere deep within where I still think about it just a little bit, the sister I could have been to them, given the chance.

In the end, if they ever do remember me, I pray they know that I loved them.

Because I do.

My Comfort

Looking back through blog entries from years past on my old faithful Xanga blog, I came across one I had nearly forgotten about. I haven't forgotten the intensity I felt the day I wrote it, though. I can't forget that.

March 3, 2003

I want to freeze this moment and save it for a million more moments in my lifetime when I want or need to revisit it and touch its magic and taste its sweetness and hear it in this preciseness.  I lay there in his arms and the tears came so suddenly...an emotional response to the intensity of our sharing, our bodies connected perfectly as God dreamed them. 

Confusion and concern crossed his face as I shook my head, reassuring him nothing was wrong...no, everything was right.  It was just...right.  He brushed my hair from my face with a tenderness that took my breath away, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse into my heart.

Tears commonly betray me, met with a fierce resistance from the depths of my resolve, but tonight...tonight they came and I welcomed them.  I cried and laughed at the same time, embracing the paradox of feeling coursing through my being at that moment, capturing the love and desire and relief and bliss of being there with him in our perfect moment. 

His arms tightened around me, holding me to himself like a priceless treasure.  We didn't need any words.

Phrases from the love song playing in the background floated through my consciousness, their words unobtrusive and strangely comforting.

In this sweet madness...oh, in this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees...when you're pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie...you're in the arms of an angel; may you find some comfort here.

I will rest in the arms of an angel tonight.  Morning's light will find me nestled safe there, and then a thousand mornings to come, each sunrise graced, kissed, perfectly traced by the finger of God.

I've found my comfort here.

Eight years later I still feel it, this twinge in my heart when I think of him.

I am my beloved's and he is mine.

One Thousand Gifts (the first 100)

[More coming in future entries]


#100: Our beautiful, comfortable canopy bed and soft cotton sheets

#99: Potatoes

#98: Deliverance

#97: Fierce family loyalty


#96: Despite Distance

#95: Books to read

#94: Matt's funny impressions

#93: Laughter at the dinner table

#92: Steve's touch

#91: Katelynne Hayman is feeling better

#90: My new black canvas bag from Steve

#89: Eucharisteo

#88: Snuggle fabric softener

#87: Random Mattie back-rubs

#86: Life lived slowly, savored

#85: Hope that springs eternal

#84: Candles in homey scents

#83: My wedding rings

#82: Photography

#81: Mid-70's in winter

#80: A low electric bill in February

#79: Cold Pepsi

#78: Safety

#77: Second chances

#76: Bev Brandon @ The Fray

#75: Giving thanks gives me time.

#74: Calls from my love

#73: Matt's home tonight.

#72: Time spent talking with Rosie

#71: Fuzzy jammy pants

#70: Spiral honey ham in the crock pot

#69: Coffee

#68: I found our Easterling Family Journal

#67: Rosie playing with my hair

#66: Cookie dough

#65: Jeff's 30th birthday party was epic.

#64: My Suburban running well

#63: My cell phone

#62: My computers

#61: My cameras

#60: Good health

#59: Prayer

#58: People who read my blogs

#57: Steve's goodnight kiss

#56: Christo's Restaurant (and staff)

#55: Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts

#54: Steve's help with the pots and pans

#53: Rosie's help with cleaning this morning

#52: Remembering things the kids said when they were little

#51: Family dinners

#50: Broken places mended.

#49: Warm bodies snuggled in a giant canopy bed, its pillowy softness cradling, soothing, surrounded by soft brown mosquito netting like in a movie.

#48: Chocolate pudding, smooth and creamy, in big spoonfuls with silly faces from internal kid.

#47:Phone calls from long lost friends who still love us.

#46: Two beautiful people we don't know yet, a girl for our boy, and a boy for our girl. He already knows who to bless.

#45: Beautiful "daughters" being added to our family one by one, woven into the family and sewn into the lives of our beloved sons.

#44: Big bags of chips, my favorite kind, dipped in queso and fresh salsa.

#43: Teens still innocent blushing crimson at mentions.

#42: This book. Oh, this book.

#41: Music loud rehearsed with stops and fixes and tries and laughter and retries and high-fives and up-late family time together.

#40: Third son, middle son, fulcrum son here for the night.

#39: Sweet little pale baby bellies with outie belly-buttons.

#38: Chipped beef with brown gravy over toasted Ciabatta.

#37: Bagfuls of red, green, and white party supplies to celebrate the 30th birthday of the child of my childhood.

#36: Warm coffee mugs in cold hands.

#35: Our Suburban responded quickly to my stomping on the accelerator pedal today, and we missed being broad-sided by the semi-truck that couldn't stop for the light.

#34: Our firstborn son turned 30 today. God, you saw him, didn't you, that day I stood shivering by the car, 16 and pregnant, clinging to Steve so I didn't slip from consciousness? You saw him ten years later and twenty and now thirty, strong and brave and faithful. You saw him reaching millions of people through education, and saving the lives of two toddlers, and bringing light to more lives than we can count (but you have numbered). You knew it would all be okay, even as we stood there unsure of how it would all come together. It did, and I am grateful. Eucharisteo.

#33: Dark chocolate sensation hot cocoa mix with dark chocolate cream coffee creamer added for the perfect touch. This is good stuff.

#32: I am so grateful to have discovered Ann Voskamp. I don't think I could ever get tired of reading what she writes. I found out today my book has been delayed, but I'm praying it won't be for long.

#31: Having a dishwasher is something I did without until about until about 3 years ago. Now I can't imagine life without it. I'd be okay without one, of course, but I really love having it. It does save a lot of time and energy, and the dishes (usually) get really clean and sanitized.

#30: My mother's bird clock chirps away marking the hour, hanging on the wall just above and to the right of my desk. It needs to be reset, though, because it's two hours off what it's supposed to be, and my internal bird recognition goes haywire with the wrong bird chirping the specific hour. A small thing, but it needs adjusting. I've grown accustomed to the chirps every hour, but I always, always think of my mother.

#29: I love Papermate stick pens. The plain ones that you can buy for 10/$1. They are the smoothest-writing pens available, I think. Why do I even bother with more expensive pens?

#28: We've only had to turn the heater on once in the past week, for about 20 minutes just to get the chill out of the house. That saves so much money on our power bill, and I am loving the warmth of FL winter. The truly cold (what most people would consider cold, since anything below 60 is cold to me) days have been very few in number thus far, and I am truly grateful.

Note: I ordered my copy of One Thousand Gifts today (Jan. 26). I can't wait for it to arrive. I also joined the Bloom community so I can do the book study with women from all over. Several of us at the Haus are participating, so we'll be able to talk about it in the group. It starts Feb. 6.

27: Wal-Mart is close to our house. As in just over a mile away. It's a small thing, but having it so close is really convenient.

26: I could listen to my kids make music for hours on end, day after day. I love that they are all musicians and that music is woven into their fabric. Steve says he is the only "hack" in the family, but I scowl at him when he says that. He is not just the roadie. He is their daddy, and I refuse the idea that they got all of their musical talent from me.

25: Watching my daughter dance is one of the delights of my life. For the first 12 or so years of her dancing, I watched nearly every class. I would be standing at the viewing window for three or four hours at a time, taking in everything she did, every correction, every smile, and sadly every time she was overlooked. I wouldn't trade those hours watching her dance for anything. 

24: My Suburban, Jack. How I love that car! He saves us so often, and he's such a workhorse I don't mind that he needs so much fuel.

23: Pens. I love them, and I collect them. Fortunately my husband doesn't mind, although he does tease me quite often about it. I may have actually already mentioned pens, but I'm thinking with listing 1,000 gifts there are bound to be repetitions.

22: Kitchen gadgets of nearly every description. See #21 about me inheriting my mother's "thing" and her supply.

21: I am blessed with a variety of staplers, hole punches, and tape dispensers. I'm pretty sure I got my thing for office supplies from my mother, and now I have hers as well as mine.

20: I love photographs so much, and I am surrounded by them. On my computer, in little stacks and in bins around the office, and a few even in frames around the house. I'm really bad about framing, and I don't think we've hung a picture in the last three houses we've lived in.

19: Hershey Kisses are one of my favorite comfort candies, and Mattie and Steve usually keep me supplied. Mattie even helps me eat them.

#18: He delivers us from evil in many ways that may not at first seem so obvious.

#17: There are few people I trust with my whole heart. Valerie is one of them.

#16: Clarity can be danged painful to acquire, but Truth is always preferable to lies.

#15: My Kells makes my heart sing, and it sounds kind of husky and low with a slight accent.

#14: Photographs are beautiful reminders of cherished moments in this life.

#13: Bagels.

#12: Ciabatta is lovely daily bread.

#11: I have all the ingredients to make Teriyaki chicken.

#10: I'm pretty sure my sweet little granddarling, Belle is the most beautiful baby on the planet.

#9: The time I get to spend with my beautiful granddaughter, Morgan blesses and enriches my life and reminds me what a treasure it is to be a grandmother.

#8: I so love chocolate.

#7: God's patience with me as I grow and learn (I think He mostly uses my kids to teach me) humbles me.

#6: My precious baby girl, my Rose who turned my world pink and my sky completely, beautifully blue, stunning and brave and wise and witty. You hold us up.

#5: My baby boy, Mattie, superhero, knight of the great kingdom, mama's boy and proud of the title. Man of honor in every word and deed, a sage old soul in the body of a teen with a Zippo and a pocket watch, ready to help, ready to forgive, ready to rescue, ready for anything.

#4: My middle child, the fulcrum of our family, Trevor. My Sam, my counselor, my friend.

#3: My sweet, gentle boy, Luke Steven. His compassion and wisdom warm me to the depths.

#2: My lovely firstborn son, Jeffery Morgan. How I love him and totally dig him and the way he lives out loud.

#1: I have the most beautiful man imaginable by my side for life. Thank you, God, for the treasure of my heart.

One Thousand Gifts

This week I came across the book One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. It took me a little while, after reading the first chapter of the book online, to even begin to try to word my response. I'd like to try to utter it, though, somehow.

I will say more about that later, but for now I just want to say I want to start regularly listing gifts of my sweet Abba. Call it part of my "Simplify", my "coming home", or something like that.

I have a gift card to Barnes & Noble that Trevor and Amanda gave me for Christmas. I was saving it until something really special came, feeling I would know it when it came. This is it. I wish the book was in the store now, but I can wait another week.

This is For Him

It really doesn't matter how roughly I am challenged on this point: My relationship with God is deeply personal. It is pervasive. It is intimate. And while I have the utmost reverence for His deity, I don't spend a lot of time stressing over whether or not it is okay with Him that I call him "Daddy", or "Dad", or play it safe and just say "Abba". He knows my heart because He knit it together.

It is hard to word, this bond between us.

But it is more than worth the effort to try.

There is no need to justify it to anyone, not even those whose opinions I respect--and certainly not to those whose opinions have over time proven themselves inconsequential and have faded like a mist at midday. There is no need to ask for permission to adore my Abba, and to joy in my connection with Him and communicate with Him in ways that cannot be worded.

I hope it's okay with everyone that I love Him this way. But if it isn't, I will still pursue it.

Because as much as I love all of you,

This love, this relationship, this adoration, this eyes-dancing-in-the-sunshine...

This is for Him.