Living the Story

As the year 2013 lingers to say,  “Good-bye on December 31^st, my thoughts of the last twelve months jostle for space.  It has been a year without any writing achievements. Writing makes me feel alive, feel purposeful and yet I’ve failed to complete all the wonderfully promising stories I started.

 My report card could really read: “Could do better”. I enjoyed the transitions of my nieces graduating from high school and college.  I did not realize that when I went to Atlanta for the party of my eighteen year old niece that I was  going to have such a fantastic time; although I had crashed in bed before the congenial police arrived. Their arrival at my staid brother’s house created a legend.

In another unfinished story, I remember the phrases of pathos overcrowding my mind struggling for coherence as I visited a sick friend.  Watching his thin face contoured by illness, I reflected on other times when we sampled wines from a dozen countries, enjoyed hill top holidays and slept within the sound of a gushing stream, which fed the loch. During the visit, he toasted us removing himself from the wishes for longevity. This omission rips my heart, suggesting that he had already confronted the reality of an early death. We said nothing to fill the heavy silence that had descended on us. Reliving healthier times reminded us of how much we shared, how close we had become and how much we had to lose.

Blood is thicker than water may be a truism but in my life the loyalty and love of unrelated folk have astounded me. This year I realized how extraordinary my life has been but my thanksgiving chronicles remain unwritten.

As the months have sped on and I have been absent from writing, I have missed the pleasure of painting pictures of the mind. However, Chris, my fiancé, and I have been busy creating a love story written by actions. I have great hopes that this might be my best story yet.  Truth can be stranger than fiction and one day I will write in words our narrative of love.  In the meantime, as our need to know more about each other takes priority over other activities,  I feel that I’ve started the best story of my life and I hope to write another chapter in 2014.

God , the author of our Faith  continues to write His will in  my life  and  I join Him with expectancy as the narrative unfolds.

A new yardstick

It seems that a few weeks ago, I was thinking of New Year’s resolutions.  Now, the months have flown by and taken Easter with them. The year relentlessly does its job with ruthless impartiality to give us each day just twenty-four hours.

At the start of the year, I planned for so much but became becalmed by yet another transition. Forming a new relationship is not always an unmixed blessing. The debris of past failures seemed really gone until I realize that I’m no longer as trusting, accepting or hopeful as before. Experience requires change to grow but I truly wonder if my decisions are not influenced by my mistakes rather than by judgment. It is so hard to be really impartial in the aftermath of personal experience.

When I’m inclined to doubt someone because it is risk to believe, when I question rather than accept, when I probe under the pleasant surface to identify potential conflicts, I know that I’m using the past as the meter of truth. This yardstick is not necessarily unreliable. After all, my history teaches me. However, every true measurement is based on an objective standard.  Jesus commands us to love our enemies, to do well to those who seek to exploit us, to forgive times without number, to turn the other cheek. I do think that I have the right to protect my emotional health but not at the cost of becoming distrustful, cynical or hard-hearted.

I realize that however, cautious I am, I can and do make mistakes.  I am still dependent on God’s love and protection.  It is His intention that I live a life of trust and hope, not crushed by failure or limited by fears. Therefore, I will open my heart and my life to the challenge of the new. 

Enjoying the day

Another birthday but I do not worry about the passing of the years. Today, I do not want to reflect on what have been, the highs and lows, the friendships gained and lost, past adventures or escapades enjoyed or endured.

 I want to concentrate on this day, this time.  I want to savor the life I have now. This morning I waited for my alarm so I had time to read a whole chapter in Hosea. I absorbed the message that we should learn from the mistakes of others: but realize that millennia ago, the Israelites did not learn and after all this time, human beings have not still not mastered the art of learning from history. It seems that each generation asserts its right to recreate its own mistakes.

This somber reading ended in a quick prayer of thankfulness to God for His blessings and supplication for the sick or bone weary.

Then I grudgingly started my exercise routine because it soothes my joints. As the melodious voice of the handsome young man coaxed me into squatting and stretching, I was grateful to be able to keep up. I was rewarded with  the exhilaration of the cool down exercises that lasted all of today.

To have your day sandwiched by the Birthday chorus because people cared deeply enough to remember makes me really grateful, My face book friends on both sides of the pond brought me real joy because aging is a glorious process when celebrated.

To be thankful each moment because I am   loved and cherished creates a celebration . God has been good indeed.

Comforting rituals

The choir in their grey and red robes had filed in. A booming voice commanded us to rise. As we stood, a procession in solemn single file started the funeral service to the intonation of  “in my father’s house are many mansions”. The reading continued until all were seated in their assigned places. Funerals do leave us helpless, not knowing how to comfort and hurting if we are the ones bereft. The tears of the bereaved as the coffin was closed were a vivid reminder of why we were there.

Yet as the service progressed, I found comfort in the familiarity of a church service. The beautiful music soared above our grief as our feet tapped to the rhythm in spontaneous joy.

Today as I hear the bad news of my cousin’s health, fear grabbed my heart. A dark cloud of dread descended. I prayed for her and I gave thanks for myself. I am enjoying the luxury of spending a day in bed so that my blood pressure, which has been uncharacteristically high, would return to normal. If it doesn’t, I guess, my medication would be changed. How trivial this is in the light of someone’s fading life?  How meaningless my life could be in the context of the final stopwatch.

Of course, I’ve tried to be authentic but I’ve been distracted like Martha by too many things. I’ve allowed myself to be dazzled by the glare of people’s faults and failures, their superficialities and superciliousness.  Yet, the Christ in me longs to share His compassion, His indulgence, and His benevolence. We are all children of God made in His image.  I forget the extent of God’s grace to me that brought me thus far and the older folk who helped along the way.  So I pray to always remember as I try to live with meaning each day. Living with meaning involves taking meaning from simple rituals and allowing myself to believe that whatever happens, I can have joy.

 The choir in their grey and red robes had filed in. A booming voice commanded us to rise. As we stood, a procession in solemn single file started the funeral service to the intonation of  “in my father’s house are many mansions”. The reading continued until all were seated in their assigned places. Funerals do leave us helpless, not knowing how to comfort and hurting if we are the ones bereft. The tears of the bereaved as the coffin was closed were a vivid reminder of why we were there.

Yet as the service progressed, I found comfort in the familiarity of a church service. The beautiful music soared above our grief as our feet tapped to the rhythm in spontaneous joy.

Today as I hear the bad news of my cousin’s health, fear grabbed my heart. A dark cloud of dread descended. I prayed for her and I gave thanks for myself. I am enjoying the luxury of spending a day in bed so that my blood pressure, which has been uncharacteristically high, would return to normal. If it doesn’t, I guess, my medication would be changed. How trivial this is in the light of someone’s fading life?  How meaningless my life could be in the context of the final stopwatch.

Of course, I’ve tried to be authentic but I’ve been distracted like Martha by too many things. I’ve allowed myself to be dazzled by the glare of people’s faults and failures, their superficialities and superciliousness.  Yet, the Christ in me longs to share His compassion, His indulgence, and His benevolence. We are all children of God made in His image.  I forget the extent of God’s grace to me that brought me thus far and the older folk who helped along the way.  So I pray to always remember as I try to live with meaning each day. Living with meaning involves taking meaning from simple rituals and allowing myself to believe that whatever happens, I can have joy.