Just Be

Wasted Time Keith Urban drives me crazy with all of his wasted time. I want to buy it back.  I know I had wasted time too but I at least regret it. At sixteen, time was tangible, staring, anticipated yet ticking unexpectedly by.  I didn’t feel time like I feel it now. It just was. I spent it. I almost always had purpose only because I had big goals. I experienced as much as I could in every day as I knew these experiences created parameters around my goals and gave me perspective for the next steps. I wanted to go somewhere, do something, be someone. There was a world to be discovered and I wanted to see it. Explore it. I wanted adventure! Then I was robbed. Robbed of all that expectant time. Wheelchair life is the killer of so much time. My day to day living exhausts me. It’s my morning goal to make “getting ready” happen as fast as it can so living can begin. But sometimes getting ready and a load of laundry is pretty much all I can accomplish. It is my daily frustr...

I hate being told I cannot.  As a toddler and right on through my young twenties, "you can't" immediately transformed into "watch me".  I'd set my jaw, get creative, and prove someone wrong, with tunnel vision as my best friend. But the hard truth is, there are things I cannot do and my will cannot make it happen, no matter the effort.  I hate it, and I've had three year old adult fits because I simply cannot do.  It makes me so angry.  We grow up believing we can do whatever we want to do.  We grow up with possibility and dreams.  With hard discipline, these birth into beautiful realities, relished because of the sweat broke and the dedication instituted to bring them about.  But what happens when your goals cannot, no matter the grunt and the time and the planning, cannot be realized?  What do we do with that?  How do we reconcile the unfairness?  How do we drench the fire of anger and dream again?  Who do we become?  ...

I have been longing to write this all day.  My blessed grandmother, at the beautiful age of 96, went to be with Jesus last night.  My mind floods with her memories... her and Grandpa's as they were in love, inseparable, and full of life.  My childhood is a weave of their giving and laughing and rebuking and spurring.  I vividly remember going to the nursing home that they owned and having big wheel races, doing gymnastics, singing Christmas carols, and being forced to kiss Great Grandma's cheek and it didn't matter that I was queasy at the thin, wrinkly skin or the odd smell in the room.  We were to honor and cherish and love, beyond appearances and comfort.  At the age of ten, eleven, and twelve, I got to have slumber parties  in her basement.  They had a full basement with a kitchen and a shuffle board in the tile floor.  We were never allowed in the World Relief room, which was also in the basement, where Grandpa and Grandma were forever ...

Ah. Another birthday.  Another reflection. Another spurring for something more, something greater, something deeper that registers who I am and where I'm going. Oh, that we might grow, might change, might become something different for humans' sake.  Stagnancy begets apathy, generating unproductive contentedness. Being stagnant is death.  Moments still tick, but days fly with no accounting of life.  Make moments count. Count your moments . They establish days, numbers in time that stand firm, solidifying existence and personality and character.  I don't want to be sixty and still struggle with insecurities.  I want my securities to be met, head on, with grace.  Challenged and combated.  Let them die with humbleness when I'm still 40.  I don't want my judgments clouding my hope of people.  Let judgments fall away, leaving only wonder and intrigue.  I especially don't want my scaredy cat self dictating my movement, now or in 20 y...

I once shopped at a local grocery store called Cub Foods.   You are required to pack your own groceries there, which I’ve always hated and because the counters are so high, it’s very hard for me to do.   Regardless, we still need to eat so I venture to Cub with my three year old in tow.   I stuff my cart of groceries, grudge to the checkouts, and wait to be scanned.    By this point, I’m tired, sweaty, and so glad to be almost done.   My daughter, with that ever loving loud and energetic mouth of hers, begins inviting everyone in the checkout line to our house for dinner.   Uhg.   Inside, I’m saying “zip it, kid” but outward, I’m smiling like she’s adorable and don’t we all just love her.   Grocery shopping was never a fun event in my week, but I could do it and it was a conquering every time I did.    I whip my groceries on the belt knowing in a couple seconds, I’ll be whipping them in bags and BACK into my cart.   ...

Immeasurably more...  Ephesians 3:20 “ Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,” “Ask” or “imagine”.   Ask implies we’ve thought about and voiced a want/need.   Imagine implies dreaming.   Asking will certainly get off my chest an issue or anxiety and I ask so as not to worry.   Oh, but what I really like is the dreaming.   What if?   What if the sky was purple?   What if we got to live in a castle with British accented housekeepers?   What if every home owned a drone?   That was for Maxwell.   What if Korean was a language option in High School?   That was for SunYoung.   What if, every day, houses stayed magically clean and all children used “yes ma’am” and “yes sir”?   Dreamy, take me away goodness.    Our problem is reality slamming in the now that we can’t allow our finite minds to relax past our hurling...

Instead of last year, it has now been three years but as I reflect and take stock of my love of life, I'm forever reminded of this foundational fact: I will always be more when I am less. Red Pencil I have this red pencil in my makeup bag.   It was left there from a stint I did in the hospital last year.   I look at it and think: sadness, hopelessness, dependency…. Sounds depressing.   And it is.   Why keep it?   Have you ever been on the side of want?   Wanting so badly, you ache?   Have you ever had to bring yourself to “humble” with the act of asking?   Stripped of the little control you’re pretty sure you had?   Cried b/c you’re so desperate, it’s humiliating?   This is why I keep it.   To remind me of my want.    Ultimately, my surrender….. Remind me of the place my now should hold.    So, a little bit of background….   Had back surgery.   Have been in bed for 5 days… lots of pain a...