What I'm clinging to this morning...

When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. "Lord, my servant lies at home paralyzed and in terrible suffering."

Jesus said to him, "I will go and heal him."

The centurion replied, "Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, "Teacher, don't you care if we drown? Lord, save us."

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Peace. Be still." Then the wind died down, and it was completely calm.

He said to his disciples, "Why are you so afraid? Do still have no faith?"

They were terrified and asked each other, "Who is this? Even the wind and waves obey him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Father of an ill child: If you can do anything, take pity on me and my son.
Jesus: If you can? Everything is possible for him who believes.
Father: I do believe. Help me overcome my unbelief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, "If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed." Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering.

At once, Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?"

"You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you ask, 'Who touched me?'"

But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet, and trembling with fear, told him the whole truth.

He said to her, "Take heart, daughter. Your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering."


************

My prayer this morning is short, simple, and desperate:
"Lord, please say the word and let her be healed.
Give her peace. Give her rest.
Help her to be free from her suffering.
Lord, have mercy. Christ have mercy."

Thankful Thursday

It has been a very long time since I have expressed my gratitude in a post.
Here goes...

* I am grateful for this six or seven-year-old laptop that keeps me connected to the internet and gives me a private and safe place to store my photos and documents.

* I am grateful for the external hard drive where I back up all the things I have on this laptop. After all, it's not going to last forever. (But it has lasted longer than our two-year-old Mac - which had to have its hard drive replaced earlier this week! So much for my naive belief about Macs not having major problems like PCs... )

* I am grateful for the study in which I am sitting, a small and sacred space where I can sit quietly surrounded by my books and my journals, and filled with my questions, dreams, and thoughts.

* I am grateful for the big red couch in the living room downstairs. I get to climb into its cozy lap every morning when the children and I start our homeschooling day.

* I am grateful for the previous owners of this house who, upon moving out seven years ago, left their extra refrigerator for us in the garage.

* I am grateful for the refrigerator and freezer we have in our kitchen. The extra one in the garage died this week, and we had to transfer its contents into the kitchen.

* I am enormously grateful for all the food we have in this house and in our bellies, perishable and non-perishable.

* I am grateful for indoor plumbing and running water and electricity and windows that open and close and brick walls and doors that close and lock and grass and trees and birds and falling leaves and cloudy skies and starry nights and the full moon.

* What else am I grateful for today?

- for easy and quick access to medical help.
- for the doctor who put the two stitches in my finger last week.
- for my family's help around the house when I was unable to do my usual tasks.
- for the health and strength and happiness we share as a family

- for our extended family, those we are in contact with and those we have fallen out of contact with. (I do love you still and pray often that you and those you love are well. I pray that your daughter's wedding goes well and that she is tremendously happy in her married life.)
- for friends, far and wide, who have changed my life in profound ways and whose lives I have influenced as well. You will never know how much I love you - and miss you.

- for our two functioning automobiles.
- for the fact that our roof isn't leaking during these days of heavy rain.

- for journals and markers and magazines and scissors and glue dots and stickers
- for books and websites that encourage me to live fully, deeply, with joy, with gusto, without apology, without reservation, without rancor, without resentment.
- for a camera that captures mostly ordinary and occasionally extraordinary moments and places in my life.
- for the many albums that hold those photos, my memories, and great joy within their covers.

- I am grateful for art and music and poetry and novels and non-fiction books too. I am grateful for coffee and tea and ice water and soy milk and orange peach mango drinks from Trader Joe's. I am grateful for rosemary olive oil bagels with butter and an egg on them. I am grateful for thick socks and sweatpants and heavy robes and soft pillows and down comforters. I am grateful for Sweet Mint Lifesavers and Burt's Bees lip balm sticks and Kleenex and Dr. Bronner's soap and Clean Day laundry detergent and Harris Teeter fresh-baked whole wheat bread.

- I am grateful for my neighbor with her pink raincoat and pink and white umbrella, outside chasing her two sons who I would imagine insisted on riding their bikes and scooters in the rain. She has no idea how beautiful she is and how much her smile lights up my day every time I see her.

- I am grateful to be alive and happy and healthy and stitched together and held together and loved and even liked on this cloudy Thursday afternoon way down south in Charlotte, North Carolina.

*** We are tremendously blessed.
And I am deeply grateful.
Thanks be to God.

Two stitches holding me together...

Yesterday, Kristiana and I decided to make a large and lovely pot of vegetable, bean, and barley soup. Delectable. Delicious. Dangerous.

Well, the soup wasn't dangerous. But the knife that I sharpened in order to cut the sweet potatoes was.

Well, the knife wasn't dangerous. But when I stuck my hand into the soapy water in the sink to grab something to wash, the blade of the knife was facing up, my right pinkie was facing down, and they met.

Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

Blood flowed. As did my tears. Steve rushed home from work to take me to urgent care. By the time we got there, the bleeding had stopped. I expected the doctor to say that they could just bandage it well and send me on my way. Nope. They advised me to get a tetanus shot and then proceeded to close the gap in my finger with two stitches. And for the foreseeable future: no dishwashing.

It has proved much more difficult than I expected to let go of the reins of doing housework.
To ask for help with simple things.
To type without my pinkie.
But I am learning how to swallow my pride and let things go, accept the help of my family, and stop apologizing for needing emergency medical attention.

As always, the first thing I did when we were back at home after my little adventure was give thanks to God that it wasn't any worse than it was. I could have severed a nerve or a tendon. I could have been burned by the soup pot. Our house could have been damaged as a result of the horrific gas leak at the end of our driveway this past summer. In all of the times I have washed dishes in the past, on all of the car rides and train trips and flights, in any or all of those ordinary but potentially life-threatening moments of life, tragedy could have befallen us. We could have faced yesterday's little incident without the rich blessing of health insurance to cover our costs. If that had been the case, I would probably not have gone for help and would have faced the possibility of infection and deeper damage to my finger and an even larger bill for later assistance.

So many possibilities.
So much protection from harm.
So much for which to give thanks.


After a terrible car accident involving five young women she knows, Jen Gray wrote a moving piece the other day that speaks to the sacredness of life, the need to put and keep the big things and the little things in their proper perspective, and to take time to honor and celebrate the miracle that is this life we live.


Every time that I look at this damaged pinkie over the next ten days,
every time I change the bandage and apply antibiotic ointment to the wound,
every time that I think of the two stitches that are holding me together,
I will remember Jen's words:

"This life is holy.
This life is sacred.
This life is to be cherished."



PS. I am sure many of you appreciate the fact that there are no photos with this post. After all the years of me looking at countless cuts, bruises, puddles, and piles that they have endured and produced, my husband and children flatly refuse to look at my stitches. Wimps!!!

Home away from home...

Without question, without any doubt, without apology, I know and proclaim that the place my heart and soul find deepest rest and peace is in the country of Spain. When the wheels of whatever aircraft I happen to be on touch down on the tarmac at Madrid's Barajas International Airport, I practically burst into song.

Until breakfast at La Uni Cafe in Valladolid, Spain, this past September 16th, I hadn't heard the song that ought to be playing on my ipod every time I land there: "This is Home." (Unfortunately, I have not been able to find that particular version of the song on Itunes as yet, but I'm still searching.)

I was born in New York City nearly 44 years ago and spent the next 17+ years there. Since then, I have lived in Massachusetts, Connecticut, and North Carolina, but Spain is my home. My heart's home. My soul's resting place. Until I can afford to own or rent a place there, however, my place of residence, my soul's layover point, if you will, continues to be Whatever City, USA.


Someone filled and left that black journal there for others to peruse and marinate in. It is laying on top of my journal - into which I copied many questions and statements and words of wisdom gleaned from reading my new favorite "little black book."
***************

Less than a month ago, I discovered my heart and soul's home away from home. It's a converted warehouse space in a part of Charlotte I had only driven through on my way to one of the groovy, artsy-fartsy parts of Charlotte. A part of Charlotte I have only driven through as quickly as possible.

But one day back in early October, the kids and I drove through "that part of town" more slowly, in search of 24-7. We found it. Across the street from an unfinished condo complex, a sign of the real estate and financial crisis that has gripped this nation for more than a year now.

We approached the rather unremarkable door, pushed it open, stepped inside - and I began to weep. Immediately.


A self-portrait taken at 24-7.
*********************

We all know that it doesn't take much to make me cry, but these tears were different. These were the tears of a child returning home after several weeks at summer camp. A child that has had fun at camp, made new friends, gone on hikes, eaten hot dogs and smores around the fire, and had a wonderful time.

What the child doesn't realize until she returns home - and what I didn't realize until I stepped into that sacred place - was how much she missed home. How much she needed to return to a place where all was peaceful and quiet and welcoming and warm and there were no expectations for clever banter or malicious gossip about the weakest link in the camp cabin. I desperately needed all of those things, more than I knew.



The writing on the wall. An invitation to come away and rest. I said, "yes."
************************

Stepping into 24-7 was like returning home. Rediscovering the place where quietness and peace reign. Private alcoves to sit and read and pray and cry and take communion and look at the drawings and paintings created by other visitors and read other people's words in journals and on the walls, and add my own to theirs.


This is what that lovely metal table looked like after I unloaded all my loot and took up temporary residence last Saturday. Many pages of collages and journaling and prayers were composed on that table in the midst of that mess.

I sat there quietly for nearly three hours. Emptying not only ink cartridges but also the satchel of shame and pain and resentment and loneliness and fear that I didn't realize I was carrying. And somewhere in the midst of all that, while draining my large water bottle and refreshing far more than my dehydrated body, I heard my soul whisper something faint but unmistakable -

"This is home."

She's Sixteen...

She's beautiful...


and she's mine.


I stand corrected: She's ours.

Happy Birthday, KB.

Hearing voices again...

"Some years into our spiritual journey, after the waves of anticipation that mark the beginning of any pilgrimage have begun to ebb into life's middle years of service and busyness, a voice speaks to us in the midst of all we are doing. There is something missing in all of this, it suggests. There is something more.

The voice often comes in the middle of the night or the early hours of morning, when our hearts are most unedited and vulnerable. At first, we mistake the source of this voice and assume it is just our imagination. We fluff up our pillow, roll over, and go back to sleep. Days, weeks, even months go by and the voice speaks to us again: Aren't you thirsty? Listen to your heart. Something is missing.

We listen and we are aware of... a sigh. And under the sigh is something dangerous, something that feels adulterous and disloyal to the religion we are serving. We sense a passion deep within that threatens a total disregard for the program we are living; it feels reckless, wild.

...

Sometime later, the voice in our heart dares to speak to us again, more insistently this time. Listen to me - there is something missing in all this. You long to be in a love affair, an adventure. You were made for something more. You know it."

Taken from the opening page of The Sacred Romance by Brent Curtis and John Eldredge
**************************************
Much of my morning time these days, much of my evening time these days, a whole lot of my thinking time these days is spent in conversation with this voice. This voice is telling me that longing for more, for adventure, for something deeper and more passionate than what I've been doing lately - that my heart is meant for more than "principles and programs and efficiency."



It's not about running away with the circus or hunting down another man or finding a new family. It's more than reading books about being a better wife and a stronger Christian and or a more inspired cook. It's far deeper, intrinsic, and transformational than that.

This voice is calling me to come away for a while, by myself, to rest. To listen. To be touched. To be held. To be made new. To rediscover passion for the world and its people, for my world and its people, and for myself. To reawaken my love for art and music and conversation and food and wine and laughter and sorrow too. It is not enough to simply live; I long to live abundantly again. I am determined to do just that.

Unfortunately, I know many people who say that my constant longing for more is selfish at its root. There are people who say that if I follow my feelings and emotions and longings, if I admit to hearing these voices and taking their utterings seriously, then I am going to plunge myself headlong into a life of debauchery and licentiousness. (I am not exactly sure what those words mean although they certainly sound mean - the words as well as the people who utter them. Therefore, I stay away from those people as much as I can.)

Thankfully, I am not the only one who wants all this passion and joy and fullness of life for me.

In John 10:10, He said, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they might have life and have it to the full."

John 15:11 ~ (After talking to His good friends about love and abiding together in an ongoing vine-branch-sticking together relationship,) Jesus said, "I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete."

So, yes, I am hearing voices again. Well, One Voice actually. And that voice is inviting me to dance and sing and live fully this adventure called life.

Wait, I think I hear the coffee pot singing a welcoming song.
It's time for me to go dance my morning caffeine dance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later the same morning after the caffeine has taken effect...

I am on a journey. Sometimes I call it my life journey. Sometimes I call it a journey to the garbage dump of my life, the smelly dark place, the lonely and frightful place. Sometimes it feels like a journey to the highest heights, the brightest lights, the best of everything. It feels repetitive and cyclical much of the time. It feels like deja-vu over and over again. And that is the nature of this life, with its cycling and recycling.

When the walk thru the valley is longest and darkest, I yearn for the light, for music, for feasting, for love, for passion.

When the light is bright and the way is wide and welcoming, I forget how dark the darkness can be and feel.

Very soon after my return from Spain, while I was still unpacking the souvenirs along with the great memories and lessons learned, darkness fell once again, all too quickly. One friend reminded me a few days' walk into this current valley: "We fall down. We get up. We fall down. We get up."

This morning, I find myself once again in the getting up phase. And for that I am grateful: for the ability, the willingness, the deep desire to get up again. To find my way back onto the path towards peace and joy and rest and another phase of the incredible lightness and rightness of being. To grope my way out of this present darkness back into the kingdom of Her glorious light.

Wanting it both ways... and getting it

Most of the time, I don't think of myself as a greedy person. I am (usually) willing to give up the last bagel or piece of pie if someone else wants it. I am (usually) willing to let someone skip me in the supermarket line if he or she has fewer items and seems to be in a rush. You want the parking space badly enough to glare at me across two car hoods and dashboards? By all means, take it. Even when I am the airport waiting to board a long-anticipated flight to the place where my soul finds rest, if someone seems adamant about getting onto the airplane before me, if someone's urge to use the cramped, smelly lavatory exceeds my own, I gladly and patiently step aside. "Go right ahead. I can wait."

But when it comes to matters of the heart, when it comes to relationships, to love and friendship, to peace at home and abroad, when it comes to health and safety, I want it all. I want it now. I don't want to wait my turn. I don't want to allow anyone to get at "it," whatever "it" is, before me.

I want it both ways.

I want to share love and give love freely to others.
And I want a whole lot for myself.

I want plenty of time to spend with my family and friends.
And I want plenty of time for myself by myself.

I want to reach out to others, with email, text messages, snail mail, phone calls. And I want them to reach out to me likewise.


I want empty times, empty spaces, empty days.
And I want days and places and moments that are filled to overflowing.

As a (relatively) rational, clear-headed, spiritually-minded adult, I understand that fullness and emptiness, that bounty and want, that sunshine and rain, that calm seas and stormy ones, that joy and sorrow are cycles through which I will pass throughout the course of my life. Sickness comes, and sickness goes. Strength abounds and then it abandons me. Loneliness ebbs and flows as well - even in the midst of a busy household and surrounded by loving, caring, attentive friends. I get that. But still...

But still, there are many times over the course of the average year/month/day/hour, when I find that my soul is hungry, my bones are tired, and every part of me is profoundly lonely. As a woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, I often feel unappreciated and disrespected and forgotten. At those moments, I begin to wish for things and people and situations and relationships that are not mine to have. I lust. I long for. I crave. I covet. I fantasize. I plan my next escape. And next time, I promise myself, I will buy a one-way ticket. No more round trip passage for me.

I promise myself that things are gonna change.
Enough is enough.
I'm out of here.
For real.
Cause this sucks.
I've had it.
I've been so good for so long.
It's time to be real, to be true, to live out my dreams.
On my own terms.
I want it all.
And I want it now.


Deep breath. Deep sigh.
Deep sorrow. Deep cry.
Deep remembrance.
I already have it all.
I have absolutely everything I have ever needed and most of what I want.

Food, shelter, clothing.
Health, strength, safety.
Love, friendship, connection.
Laughter, music, dancing.
Peace, hope, a future.


My appreciation for the beauty of a calm ocean is deepened after passing through a stormy night. My appreciation for good health is heightened after passing through a season of illness. Solitude means much more to me after days and weeks of ceaseless activity and tending to the needs of others above and before myself.

When I step back from the striving, the pushing, the determined efforts,
when I look back at all the people I have met and known and loved,
at all the journeys and resting places that have defined my life,
when I take a few moments to prayerfully consider the wonder of life
and the beauty of this world,
when I still myself enough to hear and see and truly notice my life as it is
right here, right now, at this moment,
it is then that I realize that empty or full, lonely or surrounded,
ravenous or satiated, angry or at peace, exhausted or well-rested,
remembered or abandoned, welcomed or rejected,
at all times, in all places,
I have all that I need.

I am blessed in heavenly places - and earthly ones too.
And I am grateful.
Thanks be to God.

My New Theme Song

It's called "Through the Fire." It is performed by the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir and the Crabb Family. I've listened and cried to it several times today.


So many times I've questioned certain circumstances
Things I could not understand
Many times in trials, weakness blurs my vision
Then my frustration gets so out of hand
It's then I am reminded I've never been forsaken
I've never had to stand the test alone
As I look at all the victories, the spirit rises up in me
And it's through the fire my weakness is made strong

Chorus - He never promised that the cross would not get heavy
And the hill would not be hard to climb
He never offered our victories without fighting
But He said help would always come in time
Just remember when you're standing in the valley of decision
And the adversary says, "Give in,"
Just hold on, our Lord will show up
And He will take you through the fire again

I know within myself that I would surely perish;
But if I trust the hand of God, He'll shield the flames again.

He never promised that the cross would not get heavy
And the hill would not be hard to climb
He never offered our victories without fighting
But He said help would always come in time
Just remember when you're standing in the valley of decision
And the adversary says, "Give in,"
Just hold on, our Lord will show up
And He will take you through the fire again.
*******************************

My daughter discovered this song on my ipod (yup, my ipod) the other day. I had never heard it before. Twice we started listening to it in the car, but for one reason or another, we never heard it in its entirety. Earlier today, on my way home from dropping Daniel off to play tennis, I tried yet again. I am glad I was in the car alone because I was crying before the first verse was finished. By the time the chorus ended, I declared, "This is my new theme song." I proceeded to listen to it three more times before pulling into the garage.

This gem is a perfectly timed discovery, I realize,
as we are walking through a fire of our own,
carrying a particularly heavy cross,
climbing a high hill,
and fighting a serious battle - all at the same time.
But on some level, isn't everyone???

Here's to getting thru to the other side.
All shall be well.
All shall be well.
Amen?


PS. This is the second time in the past year that "one of my theme songs" has been discovered on my own ipod. How is it possible that I have songs on MY ipod that I have never heard before? Truthfully, the answer to that question does not matter. What does matter is that these songs have discovered me at just the right time. The right song at the right time.

Where I'm hanging out these days...

I'm spending most of my time seeing after these two beautiful people I live with and who are doing a great job raising me.


I'm trying to give up this title. I took the photo of the mugs at a bookstore in order to avoid adding more stuff to the surface of my already messy desk and life.


Robert Benson wrote that Ed Farrell said that sometimes we go away on retreat to "walk the shoreline of our own being and see what has washed up in the night."

That's exactly what I am hoping to do next week. I'm heading out for a few days of quietness, prayer, walking by the sea, listening, learning, preparing myself to hunker down and press through the remainder of the fall, winter, the holidays. I'm heading off for some spiritual exercises, to strengthen these weary shoulders.

(Addendum: Trip was cancelled. Will be walking the shoreline of my life this week, but right here at home...)
*************************

Sometimes life happens so fast, so furiously, and then so slowly, so grudgingly that I find it difficult to put much into words. Those are the times when I marinate in other people's musings. Here are a few I have been pondering recently...

First of all, the dazzling Jen Gray.
Then there is the ever-thoughtful Launa, telling the truth as she is finding it playing out in her life.
Lisa often finds a way to capture the struggles that capture my attention so often.
Before the last several big events, trips, and otherwise important moments of my life, I have turned to this beautiful piece by Jen Lee to help settle my jitters and go in peace.
One of my favorite pastors, Jonathan Scott, must have been reading my journals before he wrote this piece on prayer and doubt and weakness and wondering when it will be my turn to get God to do what I want Him to do.

That's my boy!

He's just as happy spinning and swinging a tennis racket


as he is preparing to dive into a dish of strawberry shortcake and ice cream on a date with his mom.

Yup, that's him making it into the local newspaper too. Click on the link, then scroll down to page 6.

A day of extremes...

On Sunday morning, my husband and I played hooky from the Spanish congregation at church and went out for breakfast, just the two of us. At the table next to us were a father and son duo. The son was wearing a Charlotte Latin jacket - the most expensive and most highly regarded private school in Charlotte. They were eating. Drinking. Talking. Flipping through a catalog and deciding which handgun the son wanted. Stainless steel or black? With a pearl handle or without? With or without a laser? ("No," the dad said, "you shouldn't get a laser. That gives someone else something to shoot at.")

On Sunday evening, my daughter and I went to hear Shane Claiborne speak. He talked about how the Amish community, just days after that deranged gunman entered their school and killed several of their children, gathered around and prayed for and supported the family of the man who murdered their loved ones. Money that the Amish received from concerned outsiders was used to establish college scholarships for that man's children.

He talked about approaching gun store owners in the Philadelphia area (where he lives) and asking them to consider signing a pact that they would not sell more than 100 guns to any single buyer. He and his friends have yet to get the store owners to make such a commitment.

Shane challenged us to reimagine how we live and move in the world, how we face down our enemies with love, with grace, with mercy, with forgiveness - even while facing the barrel of a gun. He challenged us to stop thinking that violence and killing will ever stop violence and killing. He was never more convinced of the need to stand against violence than when he was in Iraq in 2003. He met many fellow followers of Christ there - who told him that they are praying for Christians here in the US. They expressed their disbelief that there are those in our country who name the name of Christ as their Lord and Savior and also think that bombing and invading Iraq and killing its citizens can be done with Christ's blessing. Some questioned Shane about whether there is any difference between killing in the name of Allah and killing in the name of God.

Shane said he was surprised at how many Christ-followers he met there and expressed his surprise to them. The pastor of the church responded, "Why are you so surprised? This is where Christianity was founded. You didn't invent Christianity in the US; you only domesticated it."

Here are a few suggestions I gleaned from a booklet I received that night:
Dismantle a bomb. (Can't do that.)
Dismantle a theological argument that justifies bombs. (The dismantling must start within me.)
Dismantle an ideology of security that requires bombs. (This one, too.)
Love according to a greater standard than the world's. (I'm gonna need a lot of help on this one. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.)


Breaking the stunned silence we shared as we listened to that father-son duo casually discuss what sounded like an imminent handgun purchase, Steve said, "What a legacy to leave to his son." Indeed.

The Blessing of a Filthy Carpet

The carpet was a mess. Pet stains. Food stains. Life stains. Along came a great deal: the Happy Feet carpet cleaning company offered to clean four rooms for $100. Staircases, extra. So I picked the four worst rooms. Both staircases were a nightmare.

In preparation, I had to pick up everything that could be moved and put it someplace else. I had to vacuum thoroughly, especially around the edges of the rooms.

On Wednesday night, I began to move things. One huge box of my journals. Another box of photographs. File baskets. Piles of books, mail, and bags of bags. Dumbbells. A cricket bat. Perfect push-up gadgets. An exercise ball. A medicine ball. Packs of stickers. Dozens of computer cables and several power strips. I had clearly lost track of how much stuff we have.

On Thursday morning, I told the children to grab everything they would need for the entire day and bring it downstairs. Homeschool materials. Clothing. Cell phones. Headphones for ipods. Books to read. Journals. Cameras. Textbooks. Bibles. Pens and pencils. The computer they use for homeschooling. My computer.

Do you need all this stuff, Gail? Really? Really?

I decided that I would not replace any boxes or piles of anything until I had gone through it all. No matter how long it takes, I told myself, I'm gonna go through the files and boxes and get rid of the junk.

Several discarded armloads of graduate school readings, old magazines, indecipherable ramblings, dusty exercise equipment later, the second floor of my house is far less cluttered. There are fewer piles. There is less to stumble over in the middle of the night. A few pieces of furniture have been rearranged. A rug has found a home in another room. I rediscovered a few goodies that I had forgetten about, and I am going to repurpose a few goodies that I no longer need.

I pulled out one of the journals I kept during my first trip to Spain back in 1986. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have loved that country since the first time I set foot on its soil - even though the conductor on the overnight train that transported me from Spain's border with Andorra to the city of Madrid groped me in the middle of the night. I didn't sleep much after that frightful encounter.

I pulled out the journal I kept during the summer before Kristiana was born. Until I began to reread those cracked and yellowing pages, I admit that I had forgotten what my life was life before I had children. Since the noisy arrival of my darling daughter in the wee hours of the morning of October 30th nearly sixteen years ago, my sleep pattern has never been the same.

Looking back, I don't think I would trade those sleepless nights for nights of uninterrupted, adventure-less, childless sleep. I wouldn't trade the filthiness of our carpet for a pristinely kept home. I would trade the piles of dirty dishes, the hampers full of dirty laundry, or the bathtubs with their dirty rings for an unused, empty, untouched home. My home buzzes and beeps and spills over with messiness because this is where we have grown up together, grown closer together, and are growing towards each other every day. This is where we laugh and cry and learn and teach one another all kinds of things. This is where we play catch and tennis and Last Word and bingo and poker and canasta and chinese checkers. This is where we sit at the table to eat and sit in front of the television to eat. This is where we make up stories and read stories and write stories. This is where we sing and dance and trip and fall and create art. This is where we make promises and then break them. Whenever we return home from our various adventures, the first thing we do is take off our shoes because this blessed home of ours is holy ground. Apparently, we bring messes in on our socks and our bare feet because, after all, we still need to get our carpets cleaned.

No, it isn't always easy or smooth or perfectly choreographed, but this is our stained, dusty, topsy-turvy, disorderly, unplanned, unpredictable, delightful, spirited, active, funny, exhilarating, bountiful, beautiful life.

At first it seemed like a good idea to get the carpets cleaned. Then the hassle of cleaning up the place before the cleaners threatened to dampen my spirits. Being reminded by the rediscovery of dozens of journals and hundreds of photos of the amazing life I have lived makes all that inconvenience more of a blessing than a hassle.

This is my life.
And I am enormously grateful.

Ordinary. Perfect. Holy. Still.

Many are the days, the hours, the moments that are perfectly. ordinary. wholly. holy. Those are the days, the hours, the moments when I feel and go deeper. still.

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Here are a few such moments from my time in Spain.

Coffee and digestive cookies for breakfast.


A burger, fries, and lemon soda for lunch.


The view from a city bus I rode in Madrid.
On my way to a child's 3-year-old birthday party.


Bathtime for Alvaro.


In the car on the way back from the beach. Talking. Telling stories.


On a walk in Sevilla - just before dinner.


Eating dinner later that same night.
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These are the days, the hours, the moments that make my life so outrageously, magnificently perfect, ordinary, holy, deeper, still.

In deep denial...

I have procrastinated and postponed and waited and held off. I don't want to face the facts, to tell the truth, to 'fess up. But here goes:



I'm home. Back from Spain. From yet another adventure across the sea.

(Let me take a moment here to suggest that I might very well have the best husband in the world. Well, he's certainly the best husband I have ever had. He is also the only husband I will ever have... but that's a story for a whole 'nother post. I have the only husband that I know of who that buys tickets for his wife to travel. Some of you may think it is because he wants me to go away, and perhaps you are right. But even if that is the case, not many husbands who claim to want to get rid of their wives actually buy the ticket! Anyway, back to my darling husband, Steve: he buys the airline ticket, plans activities for me to do overseas, and then also plans special activities for himself and the children here at home. Yes, he takes time off from work to hang out with the kids. Yes, he's a keeper. Definitely a keeper.)

I returned to Charlotte Douglas Airport late Monday night to the smiles and hugs of my hubby and children. Bright and early on Tuesday morning, still under the influence of Madrid's timezone, I got up and wandered around the house. I swept the kitchen floor. I cleaned a few toilets. I folded some laundry and put it away. I organized the homeschool table. I made myself a cup of coffee (with grounds I had brought back from Madrid) and sat down at the kitchen table to journal - in my travel journal.



This is a self-portrait: reading and journaling at a gem of a cafe in Madrid.


I did the same thing on Wednesday morning: up early, cup of Spanish coffee, journaling in the travel journal. On both days, I spent inordinate amounts of time calculating what I was doing a week or two ago at the same time. I read my journal entries for those days, trying to re-place myself in the scenarios I inhabited back then and over there.


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These two photos are indicative of the way I carry myself in Spain. In public, when others look at me or take a photo of me, I am collected and calm and serene.

When I am by myself, I am laughing and smiling and trying to capture how great I feel in my reflection in the mirrors of closed shops.

Here is a question I often ask myself: What is it about Spain that causes me such joy, that heals me, that recenters me? After 23 years of visiting there (and nearly that many visits) I still do not have an articulate answer to that question.
*********************************

Yesterday morning, it hit me. I was in denial. My body is here at home. But my soul hasn't caught up yet; I'm experiencing what Nikki Hardin, publisher of Skirt magazine, aptly named "soul lag."

flying home, starting over,
having soul lag, waiting for it
to catch up with my body, the
dislocation of being Here There
Somewhere Nowhere, of being
between heaven and earth, of
flying and landing and waiting
and taking off and going in
circles, when every new wait-
ing room is filled with middle
of the night regrets and yester-
day's news and strangers and
you're a stranger too, flying
so far you break the barrier of
your own fear, flying so high
no one can reach you, flying
home and learning to kiss the
ground I step on every day.


Last night, I decided it was time to put the travel journal up on the shelf and pull out the regular, every day, "this is my life" journal. No regrets. No deep sighs. No resentments. Resolve. Gratitude. Peace.


Here's how my typical re-placing myself fantasies go: This past Wednesday morning, I replayed last Wednesday morning's events in my mind as I sat at the breakfast table. For the next several Wednesday mornings, when I sit down to breakfast, I will replay that moment in my mind.

Last Wednesday morning, September 16th, I sat in a cafe in Valladolid, Spain, with one of my dearest friends in the world, and a song came on the radio that had as one of its most repeated phrases, "This is home." As I sat there, nursing that perfectly brewed cup of coffee (see photo above), eating a grilled croissant with apricot jam (why don't croissants get split and grilled face down here!!!???), tears sprang immediately to my eyes. It was true: "This is home."


At that moment, at that table, and again at this moment, at this table, I declare to myself: There is to be no more living in denial. I choose to live in truth. Here is one of the deepest truths of my life: this place, wherever I am sitting or standing, right here and right now, wherever I am, I can be at peace, trusting in the divine timing and providence of God.

Wherever these meandering feet and this wandering soul go,
right then and there, right here and now, this is home.



PS. There's also the minor issue of having fallen in love again...

Confession Time...

I have taken up drinking.



Alone at a favorite watering hole, one I discovered originally in Rome back in 2001.


Alone at the kitchen table of the apartment where I am holed up.
(The title of the book is To Go on Pilgrimage: Outward and Inward.)


And because I have heard that it is not good to imbibe alone, I have gotten together twice with a niece who also likes to toss one back every once in a while.




I have met up with friends on occasion as well.
There is nothing quite like bellying up to the bar, ordering "the usual,"
and enjoying the fruit of the vine.

I can already tell that this is going to be a hard habit to break.