The Beautiful Ugly

It is the deepest and most wonderful of all mythic truths, unveiled in the original Beauty and the Beast, written by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont. The Transformation. A creature that no one could bear to look upon is transformed into a handsome prince. That which was dark and ugly is now glorious and good. Is it not the most beautiful outcome of any story to be written? Perhaps that is because it is the deepest yearning of the human heart.

John Eldridge 

Lately I've been pondering Ann Voskamp's thoughts on the Ugly Beautiful. When I saw this quote by John Eldridge today, my mind shot back to the way Ann describes the concept of the beast turning into a prince, the ugly duckling becoming a graceful swan. Isn't that what we all long for? Isn't that what we become in Christ?

I wonder how aware I am of the way God transforms what we might consider ugly into something we would call beautiful. And aren't we back to perception once again, with one's unseemly being another's beautiful?

My perceptions of beauty have been changing slowly over the past month. It is no coincidence that this metamorphosis has bloomed as I have counted gifts and given thanks in everything, for everything. As my journal fills, so does my soul with gratitude for every breath and everything my life holds between those breaths.

Only He, by His grace, can make beautiful the ugly of our fallen world.

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

(Gungor)

The Best Gift

The list continues, counting in the hundreds now and always seeking, always looking for a well. I write this evening in solitude, alone in the house for a time while the family is busy elsewhere. They bustled out only an hour ago, me tucking herbed chicken into Ciabatta just out of the oven, wincing at the heat and quick-wrapping sandwiches while Dancer waited at the door trying to be patient at the delay. I was worried they'd be hungry.

I am hungry, always hungry, but it isn't a craving for sandwiches. Fresh, soft, warm bread is a good gift, but this is a longing for more of God, for more awareness of His presence, for more gratitude for every good and perfect gift from His hand. Always for one more thing to number among the others in my gratitude list journal. How glad I am to have it always close at hand.

I don't want my family to have hungry tummies, but I do want them to hunger after the Bread of Life, to always be aware of Him, grateful to Him, in love with Him, seeking to know His heart better with each moment alive.

That kind of hunger drives me, drive us all, to keep reaching and noticing and thanking. It is well with my soul. My very soul is a well that can only be adequately filled with His spirit, His purpose, His love flowing from me outward to all whom He loves. To simply love is a very big thing. The best gift of all.

 

131. Heather Roemer, for sharing Ann with me
132. Computer fixed by amazing friends
133. Love notes left for me to find
134. Homemade teriyaki chicken with broccoli and green beans, green & red peppers, mushrooms, and red onions over rice
135. Dishwasher humming
136. French vanilla coffee, very sweet
137. Ciabatta fresh from the oven
138. Homemade chocolate glazed donuts
139. Homemade chocolate icing, right out of the bowl
140. Coffee sipped from my Dick and Jane cup
141. Warm February days
142. New tap shoes for a beautiful dancer
143. My beautiful friend, Giselle
144. My husband's arms snug around me
145. Gold bracelet and watch, gifts from Mama
146. There is always a well. All is well. (Ann Voskamp)
147. Dance costumes in colors bright, sequins, bustle, hats, nets, sparkles, shoes...and the ability to alter and embellish where needed
148. Pats taken that I thought were mistakes
149. Note to my daughter from one of her friends: "You are the serenity in my life."
150. Moments to calm and focus on peace deep down
151. Cookies
152. Italian meatballs in sauce with shredded Mozzarella on fresh Ciabatta packed with love in husband's lunchbox
153. My "I love my mommy" pencil cup
154. Places of discomfort that open our arms (and hearts) to God's comforting
155. Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra

Scribbling In the Sand

Does a life ever run out of words? Could I ever run out of things to write? Sometimes I feel like there is no ceasing. I write in my head all the time. All the time, the thoughts rush through and dance around my face and through my hair daring me to catch them. I love catching them.

I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I smile at the way my mind wanders and races and slows to ponder and weigh out a thought.

Ann’s words are sometimes too much to measure at once. I read a paragraph, a few sentences, a singular thought and my mind screams, “Stop! Don’t go on yet. Savor. Read again. Understand.”

And so I do. I take the time, much longer than it has ever taken me to read a book, and I quietly pray that God will show me everything He wants me to see. It’s so much more than just me seeing. It’s me sharing. It’s me sowing.

And the mind wanders to how they might have found me. “We found Mama sleeping in her chair, her hands stilled and pale and her writing staring back, the breeze blowing off the Gulf and all the words she had caught and arranged so carefully now floated past where we all as we stood numb.” I grimace at the morbidity and then grin at the whimsy of being an artist and with an over-active imagination.

I can’t imagine not writing any more. Odd how that is harder to imagine than not living any more.

I sit here in a little copse of palm trees while Matt and Rosie tan on a quilt a few feet away, their laughter and playful banter breezing back at volumes going up and down. A friend told me on Sunday that he loves how our family loves one another, that he wants that for his own family—to love like we love. His observation could not have blessed me more.

Tiny granules of white sand accumulate near my computer screen, and I drape my jacket a little farther over it for protection. I can’t help but be a little bit amused at the sight I must present, seated in a chaise lounge under the trees, white sand all around and waves lapping the shore a stone’s throw away, clicking away on my keyboard in dotted sunshine. My mind takes in everything as I grasp at wording it all, feeling rather pitiful in my attempts as the fronds sway above my head and the gulls yawk and screech.

“Are you writing a book, Mom?” Rosie asks me.

“I think maybe I am.” I hear myself answer. And then I think about that. Am I? Steve has been asking me to write one for years, but I always assume it’s just an extension of his love and support of me. He has always celebrated who I am.

Not long ago when he mentioned it for the thousandth time, I quipped, “Ann already wrote it.” He leveled a glare at me and I dodged his playful swat.

And then I started thinking about the writing of a book, and could I do it, and would I have anything to say that others would want to read, particularly enough to want to pay for it in book form. And then I thought about what my “message” is, my approach. What would I write about? Then I thought about how Ann wrote her book on living fully alive every moment, and thanksgiving being the basis for that full living. What do I want to say? What do I want the world to know that is uniquely mine to share?

I’ve been thinking hard about that.

Counting up to a thousand and beyond...
101. New hair growing in where the old falls out
102. Mattie putting away clean dishes
103. Reading to my daughter, then talking about current events
104. Sharing Ann's writings with people I love
105. The way Andrea thanks God for everything--EVERYTHING--all the time
106. My old trooper of a computer that is hanging tough and is getting a rebuild from good friends
107. Britt hanging out and chatting
108. My new friend Vicki @ A Wild Notion
109. The sweet white-haired angel-man who helped us unlock Luke's car in the store parking lot
110. Found the tickets!
111. Steve rubbing lotion on my feet
112. Rosie started her own 1,000 Gifts journal

113. Sharing OTG with Lindsey
114. My new book club friend Amy
115. Skyping with Trisha
116. Ellen's Chocolate Ecstasy recipe
117. Mattie will be home tomorrow for three days
118. You make all things new
119. You let us ask why
120. You write things through Ann and Bobby to show us how to distill the moments in our lives.
121. Your Word
122. My blankie
123. Awareness that everything is Yours
124. You chose me.
125. Scars that remind me of places you have healed
126. Jim and Laura
127. A peaceful heart
128. Beach with teens
129. Writing and reading in the warm sunshine on the beach in February
130. Seeing friends' faces from far away

Making Sense

“Somehow, in the midst of our mourning, 

the first steps of the dance take place.

Somehow, the cries that well up from our losses

belong to our songs of gratitude.”

--Henri Nouwen

As has become common of late, Ann's blog inspired me again this morning, her words reaching in, intriguing, drawing out wonderings and questions that delve into the mystery...for what? answers? or maybe just for thinking. Maybe it's all for the thinking and the thanking and the dawning of some semblance of sense out of things that have happened in this life.

I'm finding that more and more things make sense when I slow down to thank Him for every tiny thing. Because I'm starting to wonder if maybe the "sense" it's supposed to make isn't the kind of sense I once looked for.

I'm wondering if maybe this is yet another facet of the paradox that is God.


In my questioning, have I always wanted His answers, or what made sense to my own limited little human brain? Have I sought after His will, His plan, His unfolding of the Mystery...or just some earthly explanation that fit the mores and the preconceptions of my own finite understanding?


I cannot understand God, but I can understand that He is God and I am not.


This is important, I think.

No Small Thing

"  It is no small thing
when they, who are so fresh from God,
love us."
--Charles Dickens

I have always loved children. My own, other people's, familiar, strangers, it doesn't matter. I see a child and I love him or her, effortlessly. This does not make me special. This makes me grateful that I have been given the opportunity to love some rather amazing children throughout my life.

In the spirit of noticing the gifts in every moment, I've been thinking a lot lately about how my children are no longer children. This is new territory for me. I've been a mother for 30 years, and it's only been the past few that I haven't had young children running around the house. I find I really miss that.

So I smile at all the kids in the grocery store and exclaim over the cool toys they are holding or the light-up shoes they are kicking in furious tantrum (which almost always stops them mid-fit, much to the relief of their parent) or tell them how epic it is that they are being so helpful to Mama while she shops and how lucky that mama is to have such a great kid. Yeah, I'm a total dork but at 47 I have not only come to accept my dorkiness but to embrace it. It's part of my irresistible charm. At least that is what I tell myself.

I will always love those who are so fresh from Heaven, whether or not they carry my blood in their veins. So fresh from Heaven, they must still carry a bit of gold-dust in their hair, and it's lovely glinting when the sun catches it just right.

You never know what these angelic creatures will say or do. Once when Trevor was two, he prayed, "Dear God, thank you for...five, six, nine." I'm pretty sure God smiled. I did, too. My little prayer warrior is now nearing twenty and as I type is playing a screaming guitar solo and melting all our faces off from the rehearsal room. Now he prays and leads worship for hundreds at a time, still fresh from Heaven and delighted to lead others to the throne in praise.

Stylish Blogger Award

One of my favorite people awarded me the Stylish Blogger Award. Lizzy and I met several years ago through a journaling group, and I have enjoyed doing life alongside her (though at a great distance). I wish to thank her from the bottom of my heart for thinking of me, and for always being so outspokenly supportive of my writing.

Since this is the award that keeps on giving, I am to bestow it upon 7 of my favorite bloggers. It's hard to pick only 7, but I'll give it a go. I didn't pick the more famous ones (who have plenty of awards from people much more important than me), but the ones who, like me, blog their hearts and do their best to stay real on the page so we can all take part in some small way in their lives.

Bev Brandon at The Fray
Bev is one of my favorite writers. I have only known her for a few short weeks, but I already love her. We met through the book study on Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts. Her comments alone read like poetry, so reading her blog is an extra special blessing.

Rhonda Schrock at The Natives Are Getting Restless
Rhonda captured my heart through a comment she made in a discussion of Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts. One visit to her blog was all it took to keep me coming back to read more.

Lady G at A Glance Into My World
Lady G is one of my best friends. We joke that we are twins separated at birth because we are so much alike. I adore her family and everything this precious woman stands for. She is also a vital part of RealHaus and I can't imagine life without her.

Trisha at Just a Pastor's Wife
Trisha is a very dear friend whose heart comes through her writing with an authenticity few possess. She's been through a lot of disappointment in her young life, and reading her blog reminds me that God has our backs even (especially) in the hardest of times--and that we can trust Him always, even when His people let us down.

Carol at artmusedog
I met Carol in the Write, Pray, Love Blogfrog community. Her wit and wisdom are delightful, and I am blessed to have found her in the great big blogosphere.

Suzanne at Random Thoughts By Suzanne
I fully believe one day Suz and I will find out we are related by some bizarre genealogical twist somewhere back in our ancestry. She is dearer to me than I can find words for, so naturally I love reading the thoughts she shares, as random as they might be, as often as possible.

Valerie

[This entry is still under construction while I gather the appropriate information for linking.]

Living in the Now (Gratefully)

As I wrote out my thoughts on chapter 4 of One Thousand Gifts earlier today, I could feel God here with me. The concept of slowing down, of noticing, of counting blessings, of naming Gifts...these are not entirely new thoughts, but they have certainly been presented in a whole new way. I feel challenged, inspired, invited. How could I say no to this?

My Gifts List Journal is well under way, lying open nearby and waiting for more gifts to be added, and then more and more. A thousand and more, because His gifts cannot be limited. They can, however, be named if we care to notice and put them into words.

I am comfortable alone. I love being with my family, make no mistake. I live for time together, all of us, the noise and music and laughter and silliness a wild and wonderful cacophony ringing through the house. But I also deeply appreciate solitude. I am comfortable alone, because even alone I am not lonely. I feel God with me all the time, talk to Him constantly because living in Him means the Amen never has to come.

I was thinking today about how much I love being at home. Maybe that is one reason why it isn't difficult for me to notice and describe the simple blessings, the ordinary things that really aren't ordinary at all: because right here, right now, in the moment, is where I live. Honestly, I think what Ann did for me more than anything was put into words what I've been living and feeling for most of my life.

Steve said something interesting to me this evening. "You know...and you can commence the eye-rolling any time now...this writing, this book...it's what I've known you could write for years now."

I tried really, really hard not to roll my eyes. But I did grin. "I'm not rolling my eyes," I said. "And I have to say that while I wouldn't dream of putting myself in the same writer's camp with Ann, I do think her style is very me."

He grinned a cute "Ha! I win!" grin.

"Not so fast, mister. I still don't consider myself worthy to sharpen Ann's pencils." That is when he rolled his eyes.

I've never met this woman, and I think it's a safe bet that I never will meet her in person. But I can say with complete honesty that I love her. And part of the reason for that is because she allows herself to be real, to be seen as she truly is. No pretenses or masks, just out there raw and open and vulnerable. No wonder we can all identify with her so completely. She is all of us.

And I really, really do want to be that real. As a writer, and just as a woman. Living in His grace and truth, there is only the real. There is only the now. I have to say it feels good to slow down and be fully present in the moment, thanking God for every good and perfect gift one by one. Ann is right: time really does seem to slow down.

And I like it here.