Another Graceful Morning (2-16-11)

When I was little, I had a terrible fear that strangers would climb in my window late at night to steal me away.  My parents prayed with me often and set up a nightlight (though I can't stand the extra light now...), and Dad reassured me that he'd hear any intruders and race to my rescue.  I never doubted him at the time. Yet, in times when I've looked back, that I've thought...Dad, you're quite the sound sleeper, and I know how your back aches; surely you couldn't have meant that...

But I was wrong...

With Dad asleep on the couch, I was trying to be quiet as I snatched my coat from the front closet this morning.  I'm pretty good at tip-toeing...but in a hurry...with my then-empty plate balanced on my water glass, things went down-hill rather quickly.  I managed to spill only part of the water on my coat, but my reflexes were not quite quick enough to grab the crumby plate before it shattered--partly on tile/partly on carpet.  

Poor Dad...he sat nearly straight up before I could even turn around--eyes wide and questioning.  I didn't know he could wake so quickly and be so alert at a moments notice.  So much for my attempts at silence... He later told me he'd been ready to fight someone. :)

With 15 minutes until take off time for school, I managed to sweep & vacuum, get my teeth brushed, and pull myself into a suitable state for teaching.  

I think I'm destined to have accident-prone children.  I feel like I've been less-than-graceful in recent years (though I do enjoy ballet moves, yoga, tai-chi... :)  I've been given much grace (and not only for my butter fingers), so I owe a whole lot.  

God's so good to teach me like that...and I feel good when I can extend it well to others. 

Beauty in Patches (2-5-11)

Sometimes I'm too frugal (I'm often reminded of this by someone I love dearly).  But I'm posting my recent handiwork anyway...for because of this little masterpiece I am reminded that,

1 The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, 

   because the LORD has anointed me 

   to proclaim good news to the poor. 

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, 

   to proclaim freedom for the captives 

   and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a] 

2 to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor 

   and the day of vengeance of our God, 

to comfort all who mourn, 

 3 and provide for those who grieve in Zion— 

to bestow on them a crown of beauty 

   instead of ashes, 

the oil of joy 

   instead of mourning, 

and a garment of praise 

   instead of a spirit of despair. 

They will be called oaks of righteousness, 

   a planting of the LORD 

   for the display of his splendor.

Somedays it would be easier to despair.  At times, it seems that the one we need to love the most is the one we would much prefer to hate.  It would be easier to throw out an old gardening skirt than to discard the stains and replace them with color.  Yet sometimes, though patches take work, they are truly for the best. Patches with God?  With a friend or loved one?  Some may think you're foolish, but beauty flows from ashes...and sometimes patches.

If you drive by in Summer, you may see me out gardening in what I deem a lovely (& incredibly flouncy) skirt.  Of course, I've been told already, "you'll never catch a man in that!"  But I don't care.  This is a patch-job I plan to thoroughly enjoy.

Coming Up...

Just a Heads up:  my next several posts will be taken from my Facebook Notes.

Ramshackle Rose

Ramshackle Rose--it's my favorite fiction book.  I have read it many times.

The story is about a 20-something spinster who secretly blesses those in her community out of her abundant wealth--all the while, living as a "ramshackle" pauper.  In her service to others, she hardly notices her tattered garments and the locks of hair which never seem to stay in their "proper" place.  She is quite okay with her single status, despite the exceedingly high expectations for marriage in her day.  No one in town would ever suspect that their dear, yet wild, rose could be behind the many mysterious gifts which bless so many.

She is my fiction hero.  I admire her spunk and wit and ability to simultaneously notice the endless need around her, all the while refusing to be overcome by a stifling mold of "propriety."  In the end, everyone loves Rose--simply because of who she is--in spite of their notions that she must be a bit daft.  She is loved because she is authentic and genuinely loving.

She is the woman I long to be...a woman who loves well.  A woman who loves like Jesus.