frayed edges

John and I drove 8,000 miles this summer and finally wandered back to Texas; we arrived home one day
and John started teacher training the next. He even made the local newspaper-my husband wearing a fancy bicycle jersey, swinging a golf club.

And me? I've been divesting all summer, visiting friends, family, grandchildren and then leaving them behind. (Or they leave me behind!)

  I'm thinking about the next thing,  peering at change-some pulling back, some stepping forward,
 and I wonder how it will all work out?
I'm sort of squinting at the future.

There are seasons in a woman's life when every morning she rolls out of bed and heads to school
 or work or care giving or shepherding her little ones, or a combination of  such worthy pursuits.
 Then there are times when her life may look like a piece of silk with frayed edges-still beautiful silk
 but not so neatly clipped.

The woman in Proverbs 31 smiled at the future; when her life looked like like frayed silk she pressed
 on to know the Lord.

 "And now (soul) what does the Lord your God require from you, but to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways and love Him, and to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul. . ."

Rolling out of bed each morning, that's how I'll pray. . .

Sweetness of a friend

Oil and Perfume make the heart glad,

 and the sweetness of a friend comes from his earnest counsel 

I love how Proverbs 27:9 addresses both the woman giving counsel and the one receiving it:

One gives earnest counsel because she loves and cares for her friend; the other receives counsel 

with a glad and humble heart-

A few weeks ago I shared some concerns with one of my girls.

"Mom, maybe you need to be more patient.  . ." she said, gently, earnestly.

She was right. . .really, the earnest counsel of a friend (or daughter) ultimately gladdens the heart like perfume (even though it may be hard to hear!)

"God has willed that we should seek and find His living Word in the witness of a brother, in the mouth of man. . . the Christian needs another Christian who speaks God's Word to him. . .again and again."  (Bonhoeffer)

I cling, He upholds

The days and nights are pleasantly cool in New York; in fact, the day time high temperature in New York
matches the night time low in Texas, imagine that?

School starts for John next week-we're headed home.

Part of me is home already. I've been dialoguing with a friend. . .from here to there I encourage her,
Trust God. . .trust that's possible only because of the Gospel, because of the character of our King.

Then, I remember that in a different arena, I must trust God too--now, every day, when trusting is hard.

Sunday morning during the congregational sharing of the church, I listened to the application Psalm 63:8.
I opened my Bible and there it was, Psalm 63:8, underlined and dated. . .

My soul clings to you, your right hand upholds me.

I cling to God and He upholds me- a divine mystery
Today I'm thankful for truth-and for the church, here and there.

To listen long and patiently

I travel with my favorite backpack stuffed on the floor, squeezed between my feet.
John laughs at me, but he loads up my important stuff just the way I like it-
My bag holds books, new, re-reads, and the ones with torn paper bookmarks. . .like
Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer; I'm creeping through the "Ministry" section.
Recently I've been reading, tearing bookmarks, thinking. . .
about the ministry of listening.

Speaking comes easily for me, listening not so much-
It helps to think of listening as ministry, "The first service that one owes to others
in the fellowship consists in listening to them. . ."
Perhaps loving my brothers and sisters  really begins with learning to listen to them.
And listening as ministry impacts my relationship with God, because . . .

he who no longer listens to his brother

will soon be no longer listening to God either,

he will be doing nothing but prattle in the presence of God too.

(Bonhoeffer)

Ah, Lord, keep me from prattle, may I be that woman who listen long and patiently.

(we are enjoying upstate New York and our sweet family!)

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.