Painting with words

I have fifteen minutes to write something amazing before I'm back on duty.

Here I sit in my room of blue. I don't know which is my favorite room in this house, but I certainly love this one with its blue stained walls. It's one of the two end rooms which means it has windows facing ocean and bay and the cross breeze is beautiful. I think I have slept best this year with 3 cozy blankets. Most years I am far too hot.

The fans are off now and I can hear the ocean waves making their way to shore. I can hear the cry of a gull, but I can also hear the traffic on the boulevard. I've already written about the traffic. It is not noisome and annoying like some traffic might be, but it is the sound of people on vacation. Coming and going. It makes me cheerful to think of people arriving here.

But my attention goes back to the window on my right. The horizon is so straight. Blue on blue. Light against dark. It's like someone cut two sheets of blue and carefully pasted them together so the line was as crisp as can be. Beneath the vast expanse of sky blue lies the gentle sea blue. As vast as the ocean is it cannot measure up to how vast the sky. Smaller still are the two rolling dunes with their splashes of green. These were not cut with straight shears, rather hand-ripped paper to achieve the bumpy hills and sporadic grass, layering dark greens over the sandy mounds to create the piney bushes.

One minute left. Words are slipping away with the time. I must run. But I shall return.

Rambling rain

Describe all the things. Weave in and out of nonsense and poetic writing if you have to, but write. Every once in awhile I fall upon something I actually like. Too often I don't like what I write, but I can't even begin to like it if I don't first write it. So I will write and it doesn't matter if it's good or bad.

The window is moving. It's crawling with rain. Crawling isn't the right word, but I don't know what the right word is. The glass itself looks like it is perpetually flowing and yet the glass stays firm and it its place. The birds don't seem to mind the rain. I can see them circling the dunes, riding the wind currents home. Or perhaps they are being pushed violently away from their homes. They are all floating the same direction. There are strong gusts of winds. I can hear it whistling through cracks and whipping around the corners.

Why is it that I would much rather talk talk talk? Describe a conversation rather than describe the weather or my surroundings?

Maybe it's not worth analyzing. I just need to strengthen different writing muscles.

I love this weather. It doesn't make me sad. It makes me feel cozy and comforted. I'm enjoying being in a brightly lit kitchen looking out on the wind and rain.

Weak. I don't love this writing. But I don't have to. The end.

Cars in the distance

It was a cool evening. Not cold, but cool enough to warrant being wrapped in my cozy sweatshirt in August. My favorite summer evening weather! I sat on the deck listening to the crickets and the sound of waves breaking on the other side of the dunes. The occasional distant sound of a car reminded me of my childhood. There was something nostalgic about the rumbling sound of car tires rolling along the pavement. It reminded me of pulling into my grandparents' house after a long car trip. The east coast is alive with night sounds. You can hear bugs if you listen for them. The west coast didn't have so many bugs. It was weirdly quiet. Of course there's always a trade off because here you get eaten alive. I remember nights in California, lying on the grass at night and not being afraid of the bugs. Yes, that was childhood, but it was also San Diego.

I remember pulling into my grandparents' driveway and half waking up. I remember the porch light and the screen door greeting us with a squeak. And there were the lightning bugs. Such a magical part of visiting my grandparents' home. And the smells. The smells of the night air and the smells of their kitchen. I specifically remember the smell of Cracklin Oat Bran wafting from the pantry stairs: slightly sweet, with a hint of nutty earth smell... probably mingled with a bit of rancid. I don't know if they ate it themselves or if it was there for us, but we didn't visit often so I hope that it was in flux.

We didn't visit often and yet, the sound of a lone car on the road reminded me of arriving after a long trip in the car. I must have a specific memory that all the other memories hang on, for it wasn't a frequent occurrence.

Sitting now, close to the shore was a more frequent happening. I could hear the crickets and the waves and yet my ears were tuning into the cars passing infrequently along the boulevard. That dull hush of passing cars will always remind me of the end of a long trip. That sound is the end of a long day. The sound that draws you in and says "Welcome traveler. Rest now."

Throw out the plan, stick to the Plan

I'm at the shore! It's only been a day and it feels much longer. Some things shifted the entire schedule today which normally would stress me out. It's day one and the schedule I spent a bit of time orchestrating is already thrown out. I normally would be kinda frazzled, but I'm at the shore, with lovely humans so it's really so much easier to go with the flow and make everything work.

Secondly, I mediated a few disputes about stolen matchbox cars and chalk drawn roads and feel pretty pleased about that too. The kids weren't listening to each other and I didn't fix it, I made them talk to each other and listen and I think it worked.

At one point one of the kids yelled something like "He shouldn't be mad!" and it just got me thinking about my "Are all feelings valid?" post that I'm still working on and hope to post soon!

I don't know why I think that life is so good, but it is. It really is just wonderful! I have wonderful family, wonderful friends, and I am currently in one of the most lovely places on earth! I feel quite happy with the Plan today.

Crazy is a good place to be

More crap. I have been holding off writing because I want to write at the shore, because it's beautiful and inspiring. But I have to write, even when it's not inspiring and I am not inspired. Inspiration will only come if I start writing. So even if I'm just writing the crap, I must write.

I'm packing. I'm SO excited for the shore. It's going to be so much fun! All the fun people and dishes and bacon and coffee!

I always pack too much stuff, but oh well.

Plans are crumbling around my ears! I want things to stay sane. I'm going crazy, but it's okay. Crazy is a good place to be sometimes. I just have too many expectations for how things could/should go and when they don't I can get stressed out and angry or sad.

Expectations for the day, when I'm going where, what other people are doing, but I can't control things and that's a good thing.

Then there's beyond my current day and week, and thinking about all my life and the future and not knowing how things will look in a few weeks, in a few months, in a few years. Not knowing who I will still be really good friends with and who will drift in and out of my life.

I hate not knowing things. And I hate not having control. But it's useful and necessary. Knowing the future would suck more than not knowing it. Being in control of my life would be so much worse than not being in control. It's supposed to work this way, and it scares me.

Looking toward the shore

There is nothing more lovely than sitting on the beach in the early morning, hearing nothing but the Lord’s wind and waves. I love that peace. I often sit with His Word. Sometimes just holding it for a while, feeling prayers before I open and read.

The beach is my favorite place to be alone. I just want to sit in the near perfect silence with only the roar of the waves, the morning birds and the breeze. I hear the Lord’s voice in the roaring of the waves and I picture looking out over the waves at my Human God, holding out His arms, welcoming me into His embrace.

There is nothing so perfect as that morning peace… unless it be holding a baby. Picking up a sad child and having her nestle into you arms in comfort, and immediately fill your arms and heart. That soft puddingy weight as they melt into your arms in trust.

I don’t like comparing myself to my Savior God, or putting myself in His place, and yet we are meant to emulate Him. And He compares Himself to a mother hen gathering in her chicks. He IS our Father. So wondering at the tiniest bit of what He must feel when we come to Him must not be too bad.

The open arms over the sea inviting me in. I long for that feeling of comfort that an innocent child feels when they melt into the safety of someone’s loving arms; the feeling in my heart when a baby’s head rests against it.

I wonder if I will ever feel that safety and that comfort and that sense of belonging; to feel completely safe with someone, to feel that deep feeling of peace.

I think the closest I come is when I am kneeling at the Holy Supper railing in the cathedral, very close to the open Word, tasting the bread and the wine, feeling the Lord’s hands on my head as I hear the words “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face to shine upon you. The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.” The words are whispered to me in a promise, and for that moment I feel the Lord’s love on my heart, and I believe in everything that He promises me. I feel safe, loved, wanted, needed. In short, I feel like a real human, created in the image and likeness of God.

I wish I felt that more often. I wish I could hold on to that feeling.

It’s unlovely and scary, but I guess the way for Holy Supper to feel lasting is to examine myself more, and remove the evils standing in my way. Repentance is the way to the Lord.

“The saying of God came to John the son of Zacharias in the wilderness. And he came into all the countryside of Jordan, preaching the baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet, saying, The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord; make His paths straight.” Luke 3:2-4

It is through repentance that we prepare the way for the Lord in our lives. I can approach Him, and feel close in the Holy Supper, but it won’t be a lasting feeling of living in Him unless I choose to actually live my life in Him, and that is only possible through repentance.