Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Great Expectations

Naked and screaming we slide into this world. Breath fills the lungs and we howl it out our first cry. What is it in that moment we feel?  Why do none of us remember? Science makes sense of the mystery and labels it answers but a part of me thinks those startled infant moments are the very first accusing question of life. "Is this it?"

With blankets they cover us and sooth us with milk and quiet us with locked eye and mother love. Until we cry again. Linked in to the circle of life, a cycle of cries and covering, quieting.

In a little over two weeks my life will once more come full-circle and the day of my birth will be remembered. Thirty, I'll be thirty. Inside out is how I come. It's normally easy for me to peel back the layers and lay bare my soul. Though sometimes even my honest hungry soul stands startled at truth. All these numbers later and I am still the babe naked and screaming questioning life, questioning God, "Is this it?"

Spiritually speaking I cover, I quiet my selfishness with attempts at gratitude, I grasp at the truth my life could be so much worse. I compare and come up with the better end of the stick. Until the thanks and self will slip around my feet and I'm raw before my God.

A normal Tuesday happy phone call to a friend recently un-did me. A river of tears sweep me away. Tears flowing down I looked baffled at the mirror a reflection of the girl I said I wouldn't be. I'd turn thirty with eloquence, gracious, grateful. Mirrors hold no secrets they show us what is. As I stared my tears in the eye this question rose in my spirit, "How do you really feel?"

Broken, disappointed and angry that life at thirty is far from my girlhood dreams is how I really feel. I want to be loved, chosen. I want a baby to hold. Gray strands are daily plucked as the crow's feet stare back at me.  I live in a basement and my car is old. My arms are flabby. And that is only the surface of my insecurities.

People say expect little, give much, but what I can't figure out is how to expect little and still remain hopeful?  Should I raise my hand at the roll call for hard to please I know others would nod approval. It's a trait I wish I could cast off like dirty shoes but it's a magnetic force that attaches to me over and over.

As hard as I am to please I am equally eager to please. I work hard at pleasing others, but even then I let them down. And myself, I let her down too.

What is the answer? Is there any hope? Jail cells, grave yards, hospital wards and a thousand other small hurts and crushed spirits tell on life. Life isn't fair echos from the preschool halls.

Great expectations dashed again and again. Selfishness fuels my questions, feeds my disappointment why type it here? Isn't that un-Christian? One of the greatest comforts of my walk with Him is knowing He has no great expectations for me. He expects me to fumble, fail, and rail fits. That is why He gave us Christ. To trample our trespasses and breath life into our dead souls incapable of being satisfied, incapable of succeeding.

When I'm in a million pieces from disappointments from others, from myself I remember who holds them all together and I take heart. He, Christ is the way, the truth and the LIFE. He breathes life back into counting thanks the locking eye with one we are dependent on, the one who joys in us.

This memory plays often on my mind's reel. The day is done and so am I the car is parked and I'm disheartened again. Weighted head sunk to the steering wheel and "All I wanna do is cry." The radio croons, "Some sweet day we'll be together, yes we will, yes we will."

There is hope, there is life in Him now, there is life everlasting and it will beat in your heart the promise to be fullfilled. One day I'll breath my last and slide right out of this world, clothed and home.

If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world. C.S. Lewis

Quote read in Desire, A life changing read for me-I highly recommend it.

Monday, May 2, 2011


"Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it."
- Georges Duhamel

Find those words so true when i finger type the thanks i've written on the invisible mind's list they've faded, smudged when I dig to recall. There is a goodness found in turning thanks into history, a record for my mind whose memory slips right quick. "The eyes of man, 'the eyes of mine' are never satisfied," so I seek to wash them and fill their blind spots with thanks to remember.

553. for honeysuckle scented walks
554. for wild roses and yellow weeds
555. for watching an old house be made new
556. for tree tops split that splinter my heart
557. for the community's outpouring for those whose tangible lives were stolen by the storm
558. for safety in storms
559. for big, fat, sloppy Ivy who comes to visit
560. for frozen yogurt
561. for tonight's delicious thrown together salad

562. for the royal wedding
563. for connecting with a co-worker over wedding bells
564. for pots of tea
565. for enjoying being a girl
566. for fresh food

567. for cadbury eggs
568. for Ben selling my computer-woo hoo!
569. for sleeping late
570. for decorating talking and an afternoon with Amy
571. for a best friend home for a moment
572. for cheap princess rings
573. for conversations with three year olds
574. for jaunts through the south fresh market
575. for heavy whipping cream, i could drink a pint or twelve
576. for scripture memory renewed
577. for tears to wash the eyes
578. for trees painted golden by the setting sun
579. for the sun that trails me through the morning trees driving to work
580. for whopper easter eggs
581. for family easter dinner
582. for laughing and being with family
583. for Him who gives all good gifts and all these 603 and countless more.