Eclectic Waters

Archive for February, 2008

On Christian’s prompt, “What burdens your heart so much that until you do it you will never be free.”

Albatross -

If I were not free, although I am, I would not be free until

I was heard,

until I see my words as a whole,

a story on your shelf.

I would not be free until each day

has been picked up

and sipped like vintage wine.

I would not be free until I have

loved deeply and given myself completely to the ones I love -

until I hear my children’s laughter

and look into their eyes.

I will not be free until I am overswept

by God’s love – freed from who I think I should be -

to be who I am.

I will not be free until I have made my home a place of art and beauty -

a gift I invite friends and strangers into.

——–

My freedom comes

each time I behold the stillness of profound beauty

the cliffs on Saturday

the ocean whispering to me from below

when I help someone by

my presence

my words

my love.

It comes each time I forgive the person causing me intentional or unintentional pain.

I used to think I would die inside if I did not do something great – achieve something beyond myself.

I still desire this, but my clawing, trying to pull myself up slippery slopes has ceased.

My freedom came with a friend’s words:

Your greatest gift is who you are.

To deepen myself – to allow God to grow me – to be unafraid of the woman I see in the mirror -

to commit to being myself, although I see the shortcomings, fear and failure -

this is the act requiring all my courage

and if I succeed it will be my greatest accomplishment.

———-

Besides this -

I will not rest or be free until I know I have been sculptured by the Potter’s hand, wielded by Him

to heal

to listen

to laugh

to help

the people around me.

I will not be free until I have unshakable joy and laugther in my soul.

She leans into the railing looking across the ocean, hoping for a dolphin or a flying fish. Against the inconstancy of her surroundings, her internal world remains the same. Her dreams and the color of them does not change. Each moment of beauty she experiences simply adds another dimension to them.

bringing mercy at dusk.

Sitting in the third to last row of Koby’s worship recital, God found me.

Unworthy.

I found myself whispering,

and yet when he raised my head,

L O V E D.

Jesus is mercy.

“Jesus said to them, My Father has enabled me to do many good deeds – I have shown many acts of mercy in your presnence.” John 10:32

God desires mercy and not sacrifice.

The old man waited for me.

He picked up my bags after the train doors opened and asked me, “Where do you need to go?”

—

The red shirt on the shore waving frantically at us as we swam toward danger. When we returned to safety, in part because of his prodding, we could not find him.

—

When I meet strangers, I try to pick out the divine from what they say. But some are pearl-less. The old lady who rambled in circles, overcome with fear. “I planted these palms. See how tall they are? That’s how long I’ve lived here. But now they’re trying to kick me out.” She rattled on.

The old man sharing his life with me. The details of his life with his wife. His shattered memory kept only the most vivid images. The rest had vanished in the sand of his past.

Each stranger holds a story -

a web of memory.

If you stop to open the door, you will find yourself caught in the frayed edges illuminated droplets of rain.

Each stranger a treasure chest

some empty

some rich

but you’ll never know

until you dig and open them.

I like that he thought about his death and what he would like to die for.

How often do we think about our own death?

It brings a mirror to my face – what do I want to accomplish and do -

what would I die for.

I want to die old with a chest of memories and an ever expanding family.

I want to die young before I’ve been forgotten in a home – myself forgetful.

When I think about my death, it inevitably brings thoughts about my life.

How do I want to live?

communicating beauty and truth

the full collage of experience

bitter and lonely

openhanded joy

ever deepening circles of love.

—–

Mike reminded me of that this weekend.

who I am

love

The unspoiled beauty of a moment next to a fireplace.

A friend.

He scraped the chaff of these last weeks away, allowing me to breathe deeper

see the transcendence of trees swaying in the wind.

That moment was the gift I prayed for;

the connection I wanted made tangible.

Twenty words later it was.

—–

Who I want to be?

An old lady

with wild hair and

paint splattered clothes

laughing at her infirmity and forgetfulness.