The kitchen you wear



There's a lovely window in Rachel's kitchen in Ohio; a potted olive tree sits on the sink, reminiscent of Spain. 

The kitchen is small and square- the kitchen you wear, like a tutu, says Brett.

We're traveling again, motoring to the north and east.
Last week I watched my husband skillfully load the VW with our varied cargo:
books and memorabilia, keepsakes from grandparents, clothes labeled for younger cousins, a flat of white coffee mugs, a snow board and gear, 2 extra bicycles, and more. . .

So, stop after stop- North Texas, Tennessee, Ohio, New York-  we're distributing our cargo.
And loving the visits. . .

soon the VW will be emptied out, except for 1 small suitcase, 2 backpacks, 2 bicycles.

Then we'll be home again, just the 2 of us.

his consolations

A few weeks ago I took my little granddaughters on an outing to the yarn shop;
Selma surveyed the mercerized cotton, the palette of bright colors; silently I hoped she would
choose the lovely green . . . after all, green is a good color for red heads.
But Selma chose pink, she adored the pink, and so I bought it.
I knit it up quickly, on the train, in the car, beside the river, and the night before she flew home to Mexico City, Selma wore her pink shrug to bed. I think she likes it.

Today I'm thinking how a knit stitch is always a knit and a purl stitch is dependable like that too; knits and purls in the right combination create something beautiful, almost always- it's predictable.
Life is bumpy, confusing. . .so I knit away and  remember that for the Christ follower, heaven is predictable, totally predictable.
When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, your consolations cheer my soul. (Ps 94:19)

I'm working on a list I call God's consolations:

His mercies are new every morning; great is his faithfulness. . .He is on his throne and his kingdom rules over all. . . His understanding is beyond measure. . .Jesus is and was and is to come. . .nothing, absolutely nothing can separate me from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus. . .

When my soul needs cheering, I review God's consolations; the list is growing.

Last week my family ate breakfast together- grown ups and kids around the table, bagels, cream cheese, coffee.
"So, Mom, what was your favorite California food?" (I love eating other peoples food!)
hmmm, apricots, apricot pie. . . and clam chowder.

My sister, Beth,  remembers how I love this coast- gusting wind and sand, jagged rocks, tides advancing, then retreating; she planned an outing to Bodega Bay; I snagged a fleece that hung around my knees like a cozy dress.

 We picked up clam chowder at Lucas wharf-and at home we ate our chowder with oyster crackers, slowly, just four grown ups around the dining room table that belonged to our parents.
Over hot tea I shuffled through a box of photos of John and me, of our children, stacks of pictures that Beth had saved from our mother's house.
We talked about our mom, the memories. . .and we laughed about the funny, quirky things.

Treading into the sixth decade of my life,  I notice those quirky things in me too. . .and maybe I understand her just bit better.

from fertile fields

One morning last week we rolled out of Fresno- sun barely lit the new sky.  
"From the fertile fields that feed our nation", boomed the local radio voice.
fertile fields indeed, and the apricots--oh my, I ate more than any small woman should . . .

The previous evening I helped my old friend pick ripe fruit-
Laden branches and leaves muffled our voices and again my friend talked about her heavy trial.

 "When we suffer, God is working to create in us a deeply affectionate, caring heart." I shared.

Then we walked down the path, buckets of fruit pulling on our shoulders and my friend stopped,
"That's true," she responded, "Can you tell how He's working in me?"
mmmm, dear friend, I can tell. . .