God On The Gravel Roads

There is home, there is work, and there is in between. At either end my mind is occupied with business, and busyness. At either place I am strong and hold it together. In between is where I am neither strong, nor together. There on the gravel roads I speak with God. It's there I weep over hurts and worry over challenges. I marvel at the beauty and I wonder over the majesty. And, there, I let go a little.

If you are like me, letting go is a herculean task. Most times it doesn't feel safe to let go.  Oh, I know I should.  Don't get me wrong.  I know, and still I struggle with it.  Letting go means trusting something else is in the works.  Letting go is believing. Letting go is opening up, looking up and sometimes giving up.

Even thoughts in our head's are hard to let go. I've been working on changing that.  I tap myself on the forehead and say, nope, let's switch over to the positive.  I love that I always answer myself, and my answer is always right.  

Just as I love my God moments on the gravel roads.  I know He is there, as much there as in mighty cathedrals.  He is there is the dust, in the corn, the beans and the red tail hawks.  He is there in the deer, the crop dusters and the grain bins.  

So during that time, as I travel the gravel, I let go. And God washes over me.

Letting Go

Letting go. The opposite of holding on. Let go and Let God, comes to mind immediately.  Boy howdy, do I struggle with that one. I like to hold on, I like to give chances, I like to wait for transformation.  I like to invest. But sometimes, you have to let go.

Case in point, my beloved pointer Mickey. Aka MickLovin, Mickey-Poo, Mr. Mick. Mick has been in residence with us for over 17 years. He has been on the sofa for most of those years, with brief visits to the bedrooms.  He chewed a hole in every blanket I've owned. He's dashed through the yard with a hot pink bra flying in the wind behind him. He's given comfort as a therapy dog. Been comfort to those whom he shared the sofa with. He's been a mentor to all the foster dogs who have brought us laughter, graced our lives and sometimes tried our patience. Several times he took advantage of an open gate, door, or an distracted HuMom and went on great adventures.  He loved those trips, I aged because of them. 

You know where this is going. It's going to the part of letting go. It's the day no one wants to see arrive. It's about making the choice to let go before only bad days remain. The end result is a gift. Yes, it's a tear filled gift. No, it's not a decision made easily. In my heart I see him trotting solidly across the yard as only he could at the ripe age of 18.  In my heart I see him snoozing on the sofa. In my heart I hold on, even after I've let go.  He wouldn't want it any other way, neither would I.    

Pass With Care

Pass with care.  I see that daily on a sign in a construction zone nearby. Funny how that applies on the road, in the workplace, at church, in the garden.  We should definitely pass with care.

Everyday I walk the garden, to see how things are growing.  I pass with care, the flowers and the veggies.  What's thirsty? What's blooming? What needs care. Ummm, we all do. You may not see the growth from one day until the next, but maybe the garden sees me checking on it and is encouraged.  You may not see growth from one day until the next in people either, but we do grow daily. Depending on what we feed ourselves. Therein lies the challenge.

Today I foraged, fed and harvested, yes, in the garden and in life too.  I pickled some garlic scapes to treat us later, and in the process fed my soul.

 
I picked Elderflowers for an summer cocktail infusion.  It would have been more fun with a friend along to wade into the ditch with to pick the flowers. That would have involved giggles, shared confidences and questions of our sanity. Instead it was a solitary endeavor, done quickly in the heat of the day. When it's a finished product I will pass some of it, with care, to a friend and share the joy of the memory.

So I have to ask what you have passed lately. Does it include works in progress and is it fed by faith? Will it feed you in the days ahead? Will it blossom under your watchful eye or will you plant the seeds and let the growth take it's own path. We need to do that sometimes. Pass with care, and watch for growth.  Knowing, all the while, there is only so much we can do.  And trusting, it is good.   

What Is And What Isn't

I read a great quote this week. "I learned friendship isn't only about what you can give, it's what you're able to receive". Brilliance credited to Sheryl Sandberg.  

What is true is that I am a giver.  What is true is I weep easily. What is true is receiving is hard. Even when you know you need help, want help and it's available it's hard to receive. Some people, we'll call them "our people" are bonded to us enough that receiving is as easy as breathing. They do for us, we do for them. Lately I've realized there are way more of "our people" than I knew. They just want to be there. It's humbling.

Case in point, our church family.  Now I was raised Catholic.  I went to a rocking Catholic Church.  I barely new my bible, but I knew my church. It's taken a long time for our current church to feel like home. And, find my way around my bible. That's my fault, not theirs. I was stuck in what it wasn't and resisted what it was. Our church family supported us last weekend, and yes I cried. Most of our church family barely know us. We are newer to this community. As we struggle with financial issues from medical bills, they said you are "our people" and we will help. 

So while they say it is better to give, it is also good to receive. What it's about is opening your heart, about accepting your challenges. What it isn't about is pride. Accept the gifts offered. Be our people, we'll be your people too. That's friendship and faith in action.

Planting Seeds

I have been planting seeds.  Sometimes it's all you can do.  Come to think of it, I've done this all my life.  Lately I've been planting seeds of beans, dill, seed potatoes, spinach, nasturtiums, morning glory, four o'clocks and seeds of hope and faith.  I wish I knew the germination time for seeds of hope.

It's not easy.  But it feels good to get my hands dirty.  Sometimes in life you hardly need any seeds, other times, like recently, there aren't enough seeds available to get you through the day.

Still you plant. Still you weed and prepare the soil.  Sometimes the soil is your heart, your energy, your faith.  Sometimes it seems so uncertain. Where is the rain when you need it? Why is it cold and windy when we need sun and warmth? Why must we dig so deep.

In so many ways seeds I scattered along the way have blossomed for me this season.  I seem to water those with tears of thanksgiving.  You know who you are and I thank you.

 

Other seeds have been sown and I have to let them go. Letting go is a struggle, patience is not my strong suit.  I may shake my fist at them and fret at the uncertainty of it all.  Like that helps the process even the littlest bit.

So I wait, and I plant.  On the good days I trust that work is happening beneath the ground, and will bear fruit down the road.  So I wait.

Upheaval

In the blink of an eye life changes.  If we so choose, we change with it.  In the moment, and in the fall out, the undertow is overwhelming.  The familiar is gone, the future is uncertain and all you hold on to is faith, family and friends. Sometimes it doesn't feel like enough, but the truth is it is more than enough.

Sound melodramatic? Possibly, unless you have experienced it.  I have found, of late, that my support system is larger than I ever dreamed.  I believe my lesson from this is to be more available to those in need.  To take time to reach out, to listen, to put love into a tangible form.  It may be in the shape of banana bread, or a card full of good wishes, it may be a shoulder to lean on, a heart to hold another's pain.  It may be as simple as taking out someone's trash or packing them a lunch..  It is absolutely gentle arms holding another person in need of consolation and strength.  It is knowing that when you whisper to another "I don't know how to get through this" that they will help you find a way.

It is not what I can't do, after a life changing event, it is what I can do.  What I will do, and what I actually do. It is taking responsibility, making amends and moving on.  The past is gone, and the here and now looks different. Upheaval pushes us to grow.  Tears flow. Life goes on.  And I am grateful.

Rest, I shall rest.

On the seventh day, God rested.  Ever notice just how hard it is for us to do that?  At least for me it is. I struggle with getting enough done, doing it well, and get blind sided by all the other "to do's" next in line.

I get sucked into the "well, one of us has to" and it's usually me.  Even today I'm wrestling a bit with that.  The list of what I should do is long.  I should get up, the dogs need out. We should go to church, I should do laundry, baking, cleaning.

What if I let go of those expectations, and embrace what feeds my soul and nurtures my body? What if I prayed and gave thanks from the comfort of my sofa, in my robe with a dog snuggled next to me? Would God approve? I'm thinking so.  Not that I'd feel the sense of community that attending service brings, but sometimes embracing rest is important too.

Lest the dogs worry, meals will be served, they won't starve and all will still be well if I take a day of rest.  If the house doesn't get cleaned, all will be well.  I can pick and chose where I expend my energy.  Something I clearly need more practice at.  The dogs rest when they are tired, why can't I?

No doubt because I always try to get it right, ok, I try to get it more than right.  Some people never try because they believe they will never get it right. My pendulum swings the exact opposite.  Find the balance people, find the balance!

So today my balance will be softer.  I'll embrace with less frenetic energy. I'll savor more and push through less.  I will rest, some.  It's a very good start.  Wishing you the same.