Escape

A poem inspired by my sweet kitty, Tito, who enjoys to play with danger. He escapes, only to be sought with love and brought home again. Reminds me of how our Heavenly Father does the same with us.



Escape

A crack, the light, welcoming,
Curiously, to peek.
A chance to explore from what's confining,
To break free from what seems bleak.

Pry with determination,
The door suddenly ajar.
Racing towards the future,
The desire growing to reach afar.

The cold, the rain, the darkness
All greet loudly with a sneer.
The hope, the courage all soon falter
And long for what was dear.

The warmth, the familiar, softly tender,
In memory short and fleeting.
Fright in panic, a cry in parting,
The heart rapidly beating.

A coo, a whisper, hope returns;
Timidly the eyes meet.
A shiver, a step to leap,
The scoop in arms, the kiss so sweet.

When God answers prayers...

Ever notice that when someone exclaims "God answered my prayers!" it's usually because the prayer was answered in the way that that person wanted it answered? Seldom do we hear "It's totally opposite of what I wanted, but God answered my prayer." "Praise God, I wasn't healed!" or "To God be the glory, my life is falling apart!" When I watch the news about a catastrophic event where lives were lost and innocents suffered, and I hear that one particular person exclaiming their adoration for God because she survived, I wonder how many family members of the non-survivors are praising God at that same moment. It seems somewhat unkind to say "I’ll pray for you, not for what you want, but for what God wants for you". Are you ready to receive the blessing, even if in reverse? Am I expecting a miracle because I claimed a promise? What if I suspect that God’s response is the one that I don’t want and so I keep the problem and try to handle it myself? Where is faith in all of this?

I strongly believe there are consequences to our actions that we must pay. There is a thing called mercy and grace, and it does abound. But I’m such a realistic, black-n-white kind of person, that sometimes mercy and grace become lost in the deserved penalty. Recently I had two personal episodes, both related, that made me question my superwoman abilities. I try so hard to hold it together, in private and especially in public. In my profession, my job is to point out things people are doing wrong. And so when I show signs of weakness or normality, it’s devastating. Too much pressure for a simple, want-to-fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. And so to counter my apparent perfection, I do stupid things. Twice in one month this time.

My heart sank through my stomach and I lost it. Sobbing. I’m such a failure. Should I pray about it? Why would God want to hear me? Perhaps my human nature is what keeps me from believing that God has enough time to help me with what weighs heavy in my heart? Why should I bother Him with such insignificant problems that stem from the root of my carelessness, my pride? Surely He’s got better things to do, people to heal (or not), children to feed, nations at war, empty hearts starving for love and acceptance… I meditate on His beautiful miracle of deliverance from my sin and wonder why He would consider my speck of worry and trouble? Is it because my heart is heavy and my soul is troubled? Perhaps He knows how much a positive outcome to my foolishness would mean to me. And there’s that thing called mercy and grace that He seems to be so good at. This state I'm in is because of my own doing, stupidity in its most educated form, carelessness, pride – I don’t deserve deliverance, but I long for it.

And so my prayers were answered. The answer was not a positive outcome. There were consequences that I had to pay for my actions. But I needed deliverance from something bigger than consequence – I needed deliverance from myself – my self, that self that gets me in trouble every time, the self that is the beginning part of selfish. I prayed that I would accept, with a joyful heart, whatever outcome God declared was the best for my growth and journey with Him. I grew and I continue to journey. At peace. A prayer answered.

Inspiration, apprehension, and me

"Tell two truths and one lie about you." That's how my professor began her class this past week. I was person #3 and had mere seconds to quickly come up with something interesting enough that would entice my fellow classmates to further explore my coolness, depth of thought and overall winning personality. I failed miserably, sounding totally vain and materialistic instead. I mentioned my cars, the number of colleges I've attended, and the number of years I've been married. Blah, blah, blah. Who cares that I get a new car every 5 months. Or that I've attended 6 colleges and universities. Smart and rich, which I'm really not, is how I came across. The other students had much more interesting things to say. One young lady was a child stroke survivor. Wow - it took her 6 months to learn how to use the right side of her body again. Another was a kindergarten teacher with 24 students. Another was a retired army paratrooper and had made over 50 jumps. Definitely people I would enjoy talking to and getting to know better.

So let me take another stab at this. Two truths and a lie. Okay, I think I'll skip the lie. Two truths about me that I would like to be known by. I enjoy having the sun caress my face. That's why I love convertibles, walking, running, and leisurely riding my bike. Sitting on a park bench, laying on the beach, walking on the sidewalk - are all activities that relax my mind and slow my heart. I commune with God the most when I'm outside. I don't have to necessarily be out in nature, just being outside is enough for me. And the second truth - I'm grateful for a second chance at life. I don't think about it as much as I used to, but after surviving that carbon monoxide accident from almost 4 years ago, life is precious to me. Not just my life, but my husband's, my brother's, my parents', my in-laws', my friends'. I value life and most importantly its Source.

The Scents of Running

To some, running makes no sense. When I mention that I'm somewhat of an avid runner, some have retorted "Well, you better start running real fast if you ever see me running. That means someone's chasing me!" Or my favorite, "I only run if I'm trying to catch the ice cream truck!" Cute. To me, running makes all the sense in the world. It's my way of destressing after a long hard day at work and school. I also enjoy communing with God, talking to Him, listening to Him speak to me through the songs I listen to on the iPod. There are bunnies I encounter on my path, kitties, even horses sometimes that speak of His creativity and love. Flowers, trees, beautiful blue skies - a work of art created for my enjoyment.

And so it makes perfect sense to run. How else would I enjoy this scenery? And then there's the scents attributed to running. Every day I encounter new and interesting variety of smells that add a whole new dimension and texture to the landscape of my favorite pastime. Some are pleasant, some make me gasp for air, others revolt my stomach, and there are few that make me stop dead in my tracks and take it all in. There's the occasional dead squirrel, decomposing in the hot Southern air. The smell of freshly cut grass on a humid day - it's invigorating. One of my favorites is the smell of the wet earth in the morning as the sun begins to sip its moisture. There's honeysuckle and blossoming trees in the spring. And then there are the dump trucks on the other side of the trees - being downwind when they're parked in the evening always makes me run just a little faster. I encountered a new smell the other day - cigar. Wow - someone exercising and puffing away. I can't understand the logic in that one but it did make me run faster to get away. I can always count on Ricky's Drive-In for some good southern greasy smells. Add the smell of the dumpster next to the restaurant and that explains why I've never had the urge to eat there. There's a candle/lotion/soap-making plant on my trail and occasionally in the evenings as they mix their concoctions of the sweetest nectar, I get a whiff of synthetic beauty.

All five senses play into my running routines. But somehow my nose always sets the pace.

Restlessness

Nothing to write about, no intense words to share, but I still feel a burden in my heart to pen a phrase or two. Every once in a while I feel the need to evaluate my life and accomplishments; not necessarily at the end of the year like most people do. And I’m coming up a little empty lately. Living from deadline to deadline, timelines, project gateways, due dates- is that how my life is defined now? I remember someone using the illustration about not remembering every single meal his wife prepared in the 30-plus years of their marriage, but he was strongly assured that they were deliciously nutritious because he was healthy, nourished, and happy. I try to apply that lesson to my life and wonder if I am leading a fulfilled life, even though I can't remember many extraordinary events besides big ones like my baptism and wedding (which actually were 2 weeks apart!)

Speaking of extraordinary events, I’ve had a horde of friends and acquaintances announce pregnancies and have babies in the last 12 months. I wonder if this has anything to do with my restlessness. Yeah, that’s a good word. My state of mind is not centered around unfulfilled dreams or discontentment. It’s restlessness in my heart, an impatience if you will, similar to when a piece of clothing doesn’t quite sit well and for the whole day you feel disturbed. Maybe it’s because I’m 38 years old, a healthy and emotionally strong woman who has a nurturing and happy spirit and has decided that having children is not her thing. Nothing wrong with that, a lot of people tell me. But they still ask: why, when, how come? Why can’t I just be me without being compared to someone else? Even I am guilty of this – I compare myself to those who are having / have had babies all around me.

I can’t explain it – my biological clock doesn’t tick. I can hold and love a baby for hours, give him/her back to mommy and not feel the need that I have got to have one. And I’m good with kids – they like me and seek me out. So why this feeling of restlessness? It’s because I don’t like being told what to do and when to do it. Enjoy your moment, but don’t ask me why I don’t want to share in your moment. I’ll have my moment on my own terms, when I’m good and ready.

So let me bask in your pregnancy glow. I’ll go to your showers and ooh and ahh over the cute and sweet gifts. I’ll visit and hold your precious little baby, have him/her wrap their perfect little fingers around mine and kiss their soft skin. I’ll pray for you, for wisdom and patience and restful sleep. But don’t ask me why and when. Let me deal with my restlessness and come to terms with the plans God has for my life.

Where has my heart gone?

12,182,400 seconds. That's how long it's been since I've last sat down and written down thoughts for my enjoyment. Way entirely too long for someone who likes, okay needs, creative outlets for day-to-day frustrations. Calculating the amount of time since my last blog post until today was no easy feat. But doing so made me ask "What did I do in the meantime?" Even my running has dwindled to a minimum since that time. The skeins of yarn lay quietly near my bed anxiously waiting to be twisted and twirled into a treasured gift. How in the world have I maintained my sanity? I don't know. This has been a hard 4.5 months. Challenges at school and work, living among kitchen renovations and all the chaos - it has not been easy. And Joy has not lived by her blog title and has not indulged in her simple pleasures that slow the heart rate of her inner peace. Sounds like a good start for the year, don't you think?