Hurricane Sandy is approaching.
We all mob the stores for milk, bread, or our own personal emergency supplies of choice (chocolate, for instance, or sardines, or pretzels). Excitement and dread transform the checkout lines: everyone is a friend with whom to discuss the weather and your preparations. Facebook abounds with photos and commentary, predictions and confessions.
Our bathtub is full of water, the trampoline is weighted down with pellet bags, the pantry and fridge are stocked with no-prep foods, and the children are going stir-crazy.
I feel a certain poetic obligation to regal you with tales of how we all gathered in the kitchen today to bake chocolate chip cookies and play board games together .... but alas, it would be pure fabrication. Mostly I tried to block out the piping voices of four excited, house-bound children - no, wait, they weren't even entirely house-bound! We actually sent them out into the storm this morning to play for a bit (well, sort of: they were allowed to dash through the rain to play in the barn for an hour, and they took a walkie-talkie with them for communication purposes).
Power outages do give me warm fuzzies, sort of. Preparing for them, not so much. Candles and story-telling and singing are the stuff of memories .... but as long as the lights are still on, the noise levels tempt me to use my Farmer's target-shooting earplugs.
Just sayin .....
Monday, October 29, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
drops of rain
The talk at church this morning was as much about Hurricane Sandy as it was about communion, almost. Facebook was full of it (as usual). After lunch, I hard-boiled the eggs, filled water coolers and five gallon buckets, baked a gingerbread, and, feeling a little crazy, invited a friend's family to come for supper.
Outside the window, the sky was overcast but calm, the windchimes far from frantic, yet.
Our last-minute social plans fell through, and we gathered around, just us, for our usual simple Sunday night fare: popcorn, fruit, pretzels, cheese, trail mix, and - just for tonight - my gingerbread & applesauce.
Night fell quietly, and Sugar & Spice laid aside their earlier squabbles to play Mancala. Nice & Lil' Snip made their own peace, and built forts out of the sofa cushions. My Farmer strummed his banjo thoughtfully and I peered over my book at my lot in life, spread out across the livingroom.
I'm low today, a little. Ungrounded, adrift. It anchors me to watch my children play, to hear their happiness, to bear their fighting, even. They're mine. They came from me, and God knows where they'll go.
A night of family shores me up, fills in the cracks of dryness in my soul.
The rains begin, outside.
Outside the window, the sky was overcast but calm, the windchimes far from frantic, yet.
Our last-minute social plans fell through, and we gathered around, just us, for our usual simple Sunday night fare: popcorn, fruit, pretzels, cheese, trail mix, and - just for tonight - my gingerbread & applesauce.
Night fell quietly, and Sugar & Spice laid aside their earlier squabbles to play Mancala. Nice & Lil' Snip made their own peace, and built forts out of the sofa cushions. My Farmer strummed his banjo thoughtfully and I peered over my book at my lot in life, spread out across the livingroom.
I'm low today, a little. Ungrounded, adrift. It anchors me to watch my children play, to hear their happiness, to bear their fighting, even. They're mine. They came from me, and God knows where they'll go.
A night of family shores me up, fills in the cracks of dryness in my soul.
The rains begin, outside.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
wasteland no more
Reading in Isaiah this morning:
{ch. 33:5-11}
"... for I have hidden my face from this city because of all their evil.
Behold, I will bring to it health and healing,
and I will heal them and reveal to them abundance of prosperity and security.
I will restore the fortunes of Judah and the fortunes of Israel,
and rebuild them as they were at first.
I will cleanse them from all the guilt of their sin against me,
and I will forgive all the guilt of their sin and rebellion against me.
And this city shall be to me
a NAME OF JOY,
a praise and a glory
before all the nations of the earth
who shall hear of all the good that I do for them.
They shall fear and tremble because of all the good
and all the prosperity I provide for it.
"Thus says the Lord: In this place of which you say,
'It is is a waste without man or beast,'
in the cities of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem that are desolate,
without man or inhabitant or beast,
there shall be heard again the voice of mirth
and the VOICE OF GLADNESS,
the voice of the bridegroom
and the voice of the bride,
the voices of those who sing,
as they bring thank offerings to the house of the Lord:
"'Give thanks to the Lord of hosts,for the Lord is good,for his steadfast love endures forever!'
"For I will restore the fortunes of the land as at first,
says the Lord."
Monday, October 22, 2012
blinded, mostly
God is up to something.
Of course He is - He always is. But -
- sometimes He peels back the curtain a bit and invites us to look in. It takes my breath away, every time. Even before I understand what I'm looking at.
It makes me realize that He's always up to something, and it's always more than I could comprehend in my wildest dreams, and it's always good.
Just sayin.'
Stay alert. Watch, and pray. Your prayers matter, more than you think. You are part of the plan, and when He's ready, He will reveal the little bit that you can handle in this lifetime, and if you look closely ....
.... maybe you'll see the twinkle in His eye.
Of course He is - He always is. But -
- sometimes He peels back the curtain a bit and invites us to look in. It takes my breath away, every time. Even before I understand what I'm looking at.
It makes me realize that He's always up to something, and it's always more than I could comprehend in my wildest dreams, and it's always good.
Just sayin.'
Stay alert. Watch, and pray. Your prayers matter, more than you think. You are part of the plan, and when He's ready, He will reveal the little bit that you can handle in this lifetime, and if you look closely ....
.... maybe you'll see the twinkle in His eye.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
tapestry
*sigh*
A good day, a long one.
Up at 6:14, fully thirty-nine minutes after my alarm clock was supposed to have gone off.
Shower fast, grateful that I loaded the van with my pottery and table the night before.
Eat breakfast at a bad-for-my-digestion speed and I'm outta there.
Set up table with 35-degree fingers late-nervous-fast to be all ready just in time, and then - finally sit down. On my wet camp chair.
Relax anyway. (but, standing up).
Spend six hours on my feet (except for when I thought my camp chair had dried out, and tried it again...) smiling at people who mostly bought no pottery, but sometimes (thank you!!) did. Memorize their faces, these people who loved my pots.
And eventually, visiting with my friends, neighbors, God-family, without glancing back at my table for customers, just looking into eyes and feeling spirits expand as they unload themselves of a little piece of who they are, trusting it into my hands. Stand in that sun, warming my jeans, my hair. Soak it up. Soak it in deep.
The rush of the morning, the coming crush of evening's appointments, all fade in the sun, in the warm crowd of people, mingling souls.
: : :
"I wonder," wrote Dr. Frank Crane nearly a century ago, "if it is written just which souls, of all the millions, shall touch ours? And each one whose personality impinges upon ours, even in the least, leaves some particles of flavor of himself upon us, and we upon him."
I believe it is. And I believe that someday we will see the beautiful tapestry that has been woven of all the miscellaneous threads of our meetings.
I did some weaving today.
A good day, a long one.
Up at 6:14, fully thirty-nine minutes after my alarm clock was supposed to have gone off.
Shower fast, grateful that I loaded the van with my pottery and table the night before.
Eat breakfast at a bad-for-my-digestion speed and I'm outta there.
Set up table with 35-degree fingers late-nervous-fast to be all ready just in time, and then - finally sit down. On my wet camp chair.
Relax anyway. (but, standing up).
Spend six hours on my feet (except for when I thought my camp chair had dried out, and tried it again...) smiling at people who mostly bought no pottery, but sometimes (thank you!!) did. Memorize their faces, these people who loved my pots.
And eventually, visiting with my friends, neighbors, God-family, without glancing back at my table for customers, just looking into eyes and feeling spirits expand as they unload themselves of a little piece of who they are, trusting it into my hands. Stand in that sun, warming my jeans, my hair. Soak it up. Soak it in deep.
The rush of the morning, the coming crush of evening's appointments, all fade in the sun, in the warm crowd of people, mingling souls.
: : :
"I wonder," wrote Dr. Frank Crane nearly a century ago, "if it is written just which souls, of all the millions, shall touch ours? And each one whose personality impinges upon ours, even in the least, leaves some particles of flavor of himself upon us, and we upon him."
I believe it is. And I believe that someday we will see the beautiful tapestry that has been woven of all the miscellaneous threads of our meetings.
I did some weaving today.
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