And Next, Please.

He's holding out his hand.
Steady. Strong.
I'm shivering on the shore.
Questioning.

And today I stepped out. There is more life to be lived. I am done glancing back.

"Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt-marvellous error!-
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures."
Antonio Machado

The end.

How do you say good-bye?
I offer blessings for a sweet life.
Truly, I wish you the best.
But you and I cannot continue.

I've said good-bye.
And you?

One Inch Frame

I've been cutting out one inch squares from magazines. My goal is to paint the same image as a much larger square. It's challenging to find a good composition that's part of a larger picture. To help me, I've cut a frame with a one inch opening. I can slide it over a photo until the design is just right, trace it off with a pencil and cut it out.
If I look at my life through a one inch frame, I don't get quite so overwhelmed by the intensity and complexity of it all. For example, today was a frustrating day at work. I was assigned to go on a field trip, but given no particular job. No one seemed to know what was going on or who needed to be where and when. But, when I slide the one inch frame over the day, I see the few moments I got to sit with the Kindergartners while they showed me their fossils and shark's teeth. They carefully extracted their treasure from their pocket for me to admire. If I slide the frame to the left a little, I see the butterfly garden with fuchsia berries, bean trees, and ceramic sculptures. The sun was dancing through the soft breeze while I talked with a couple of master gardeners.
Maybe I need to practice cutting out one inch squares from my day to day life.

Returning to the story

I've missed this blog. Tried to create a new one, but it lacked the presence and history of this one. The layout annoyed me and for the life of me, I couldn't seem to get the login correct! So, here I am.

Been thinking the last couple of days about adventure. Donald Miller's new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years is meshing well with this place I am in life. I wonder what my life is about? At the end of the day, what drives me? What fills me? Who have I affected? What is my story? I am the leading character within this drama, although most days the drama contains a basket full of yawns. What choices can I make to change that? Or, on the flip side of that question, what makes the nothingness of day to day living contain meaning and purpose? A pile of question and not a lot of answers. Sometimes, I think the answers are more stumbled upon than decided. But I am also the protagonist in this story. I need to make things happen and to believe that other things are worth making happen. At the end of "Once upon a time" I want to find meaning and purpose.

Wonderings

What makes pumpkins rot?
Why do kids want to touch everything?
How can a spider hang upside down from my ceiling?
Where do fruit flies come from?
How do I get paint on me and I wasn't even painting?
What makes a sweet potato sprout?

Where does stubbornness come from?
How do you laugh it off?

All the right answers

As I walked through the last two years, I have experienced many things I was taught could be healed through repentance and a greater devotion to God. For example, depression is a sin issue. You are thinking too much about yourself. Confess and get busy serving. And of course, panic attacks are a sign that worry has built a stronghold in your heart. Confess it and memorize a few verses. Prior to walking through these valleys myself, I would have used that exact counsel for others. Funny how an unexpected journey into depression and panic attacks can change one's perspective.

Last night I was reading a rough draft of a friend's book on pain. He shares some of his journey through Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but then the preacher in him comes out. He holds out all the right answers for pain. Do this and God will do this. Believe this and you will be rewarded with this. I know that his faith is woven in a multicolored tapestry, but his answers read as just that. Answers.

In my own pain, my own valleys, I can't stomach someone with all the answers. I am drawn to those who will walk beside me living out the journey with me. Christians are not a lucky minority who happen to hold all the answers. Jesus is not a panacea for our pain. There are no magic pills to dull life's pain. But there is great comfort and strength in companionship, both earthly and heavenly.

Progress

There's something about putting my fears out there that shrinks them down somewhat. My studio is clean - or rather cleaner/neater than it was. I began cutting apart old sweaters and sewing the scraps together. I actually am liking the crazy quilt pattern more than I thought I would. Last night, I fell asleep dreaming of ways to incorporate this piece into a twin size quilt. How would I back it? What would I back it with? Batting?

I did find a monster in my studio, just as I feared. It reared its ugly head when I came across some artwork from college with my professor's comments. "You don't try hard enough. You are satisfied with the first solution." And I remembered. . . all the times the direction were handed out on a half sheet of paper, read to us, any questions were discussed and then the professor would leave the room. Occasionally, he would come back lean over my shoulder and grunt "interesting." That enigmatic word. Early in my studies I would ask what that meant. It was never defined. Did it mean good? bad? mediocre? Yes, I needed to try harder - but I also needed someone to set an example for me. I needed someone to stretch me. I needed someone to teach me to think.......to think with me, not think for me.