Joy Within

A new day.  A new journal.  My previous journal sported a brown cover with a solitary lighthouse gracing the cover – a picture of loneliness.  I frowned a bit each time I reached for the repository of my inner thoughts and ideas.  Sadly, I judged the book by its cover.  And I judged it harshly.  I was more than pleased to fill the final page and set it aside for something different.

Today I begin a new journal.  This journal quips, “Joy Within” across a flower-bedecked cover.  Flowers, joy, color . . . “Whatever is lovely, think on these things”  These things of beauty delight me and bring a smile to my face each time I see the journal’s cheerful, or should I say joyful, cover.  It’s a small thing to note, but worth noting.  For, joy lies in small and unexpected places, in lowly places, in humble places.

I welcome any sense of joy these days.  The world news reeks of sorrow, war, imperial pressure, and defeat.  This Lenten path we call life wends through the Valley of the Shadow of Death . . . but wait!  Death has been defeated!  I know that full well.  I cannot forget that the victory has been won for tomorrow.  I live in a warring today, but I am destined for a peaceful place for all of my tomorrows throughout eternity.  The lonely lighthouse on a brown journal will be replaced with an abundance of flowers and joy within.

A smile creeps ‘cross my face.  I am surprised to be smiling.  I set out to fill the journal and find joy within.

* * * 

“Good morning,” chirps the first to ascend the stairs to greet me; following with another morning greeting, “What does your day hold?”

“Joy, I hope,” I respond brightly.  “I hope I am surprised by joy.”

* * * 

Of late, world issues, social pressures, and commonplace worries crowd into our daily arena with To Do Lists and expectations that trample the humble things beneath trudging feet.  Joy resides in the dust – choked.

Our family has bowed in prayer regularly for those oppressed in Ukraine.  We have watched anxiously for God’s fingerprints amidst the muscle flexes of bullies and the wagging jaws of man.  I have wept as I pleaded for peace, respect, and freedom.  At times, I wondered if God has heard.  And then . . . SURPRISE!  JOY!  Natalie forwarded this photo of peaceful protesters kneeling in prayer as they endure humiliation through invasion.   

A nation once ruled by Atheism has knelt in prayer in the main square of their endangered country as the whole world looks on.  A nation once ruled by an iron fist behind an iron curtain has chosen to kneel as God’s child, trusting Him for the outcome.  Surely He has heard.

God blesses those who are humble,

for they will inherit the whole earth.

Matthew 5:5 NLT

 My worries and anxieties melt when I kneel down and pray with these faithful Ukrainian sisters and brothers.  I pray for peace alone.  My thoughts and fears about “right,” “wrong,” “precedent,” and “war” have buried my joy in the dust beneath pacing feet.  My prayers for peace bring me down to a humble place where joy lives.  I scoop it up hungrily.  I am starved for joy.  I am empty and He fills me.

Instead of filling with expectations, 

the joy-filled expect nothing – and are filled.   

This breath!  This oak tree!  This daisy!  This world!   

This sky!  These people!  This place!   

This day!  Surprise!

C. S. Lewis said he was “surprised by joy.”   

Perhaps there is no way to discover joy but as surprise?

~~ Ann Voskamp ~~

One Thousand Gifts Devotional

 * * *

So, what does my day hold, you may ask?  Peace and prayer and lots of joy.  I will be turning away from the global eye and the booming internet voice; I will be kneeling and resting in the quiet of God’s palm – right here, right now, this.  I will kneel often and rise up with a fair dusting of joy to be found right here on earth this very day amidst the cries of war and the shouts for freedom.  For, I have found joy within.

This is the day that the Lord hath made, 

I will rejoice and be glad in it.   

Psalm 118:24

A Closed Door. An Open Window.

For the first time in many weeks I omitted a particular plea from my prayers.  I haven’t given up in despair; rather, I have heard the answer:  And it is no.

“No,” He said.

A flood followed the simple two-letter utterance – like a flood gushing through a cleft rent by a recent quake.  A persistent rumble.  A daily fixation.  An unending string of wondering.  And then, “Crack!  Whoosh!”  The water flows.  Tears:  of disappointment, of surprise, of relief, of hope . . .   Tears wash away the debris.

After the flood, the mopping up commences.  And then I look around, assess the damage, tabulate the cost, and (last-but-not-least) accept the gift – the gift of knowing where I stand, even if I find myself behind a locked door.  For, every “no” contains the seeds of a “yes” to something else in a tomorrow awaiting its chance to become my today.  Each closed door provokes a pause in my journey, but the journey does not end behind this sealed venue. 

"Whenever God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."

~~ Reverend Mother from Sound of Music ~~

"When one door of happiness closes, another opens;

but often we look so long at the closed door

that we do not see the one which has opened for us."

~~ Helen Keller ~~

"When God shuts a door, He opens a window."

~~ Jewish Proverb ~~

And they that went in,

went in male and female of all flesh,

as God had commanded him:

 and the Lord shut him in.

~~ Genesis 7:16 ~~

Now when Daniel knew that the writing was signed, he went into his house; 

and his windows being open in his chamber toward Jerusalem, 

he kneeled upon his knees three times a day, 

and prayed, and gave thanks before his God, 

as he did aforetime.

~~ Daniel 6:10 ~~

Today I sit beside an open window next to a closed door, gazing at a cornflower-blue sky.  The most recent storm passed over us with thunder and lightening and water, water, water everywhere.  For me, the stormy nights bring the greatest challenge.  I find it hard to lie down and rest during a tempest, be it out there, in here, or in a teapot.  “How much longer?” I have been known to wail at each passing peal.  “How much more must I endure?  If only I knew how long it was going to last!”

And then . . . s-i-l-e-n-c-e . . . it is done . . . the storm has passed.

After a weather episode of wind or rain or heavy snow, I immediately enjoy the peace; but soon, I survey the landscape for damage and direction.  Downed trees, flooded flower beds, leaking fissures . . .  Grab a -------- and let’s get to work!  As we work, side-by-side with loved ones or as a solo instrument, the eyes wander to and fro finding gifts amongst the grit.

“Oh look, how beautiful that snow looks as it clings to those branches!”

“Well, we needed to get rid of that dead branch for some time; 

guess the storm took care of it for us.”

“Hey, look what I just found over here!  I misplaced this ages ago!  Well, what do you know!”

In and among the damage and the gifts lies true loss and often pain; but seeds of hope carpet that barrenness in due time . . . if only I wait and watch with hopeful eyes.  In the waiting space I can sit by the open window and pine, or I can live bathed in the streaming sunlight, breathing in the fresh breeze, waving to passersby as their journey continues unabated.  Some may stop in for a cuppa and a chat, entertaining me with tales and exploits as they chase dreams and dodge arrows.  Others hurry by at a  pace that affords a mere wave.  Most scurry by my window, unaware of me at all, hidden in a blind hurry to make the next appointment.  I see myself in their eyes, I know their anxious scuffle all too well, and I wonder when I will once again mount up and ride out toward a new adventure or battle or sunset. 

For today, I sit contentedly by a window flung wide to the fresh breeze of promise blowing the gift of hope my way.  (And I giggle as I imagine God breathing a sigh of relief now that my barrage of pleading has ended with a smile for me and some peace and quiet for Him . . . for today, anyway.)  I love you, Abba Father.

A Quiet Time

I have stood in a silent place and listened.

I have sat in the shade of a mighty wing and rested.

I have danced in a sweet meadow with no one to see me but God.

I have lived quietly . . .

And found it nourishing, satisfying, and, above all, blessed.

* * * * *

As a child, I loved those cozy books with glimpses down a rabbit warren or peeks behind the walls into a mouse house.  I pored over each heavily-detailed page depicting life among a mouse family dressed in period togs, seated by a warm fire, reading a story to sleepy babes, while sipping bedtime beverages from floral-sprigged china.  The picture of bliss:  Home Sweet Home.

While I love a robust adventure or a romantic saga, a cottage-cozy tale replete with tasty meals, tufted ottomans (why isn’t it ottomen?), and a tumbling garden always gets my vote.  I have a burgeoning collection of “bedtime reads” that coddle and comfort before I drift off to sleep.  Finding such joy in the quiet spaces of my day sustains me and breeds contentment.

Once upon a time, I sought, sought, sought fulfillment through events, acquisitions, and goals.  I worked hard at being, doing, and achieving.  The “rewards” flowed steady, but I was often too tired or overbooked to enjoy the sweet fruits of the sweaty labor.  I craved rest but had a hard time scheduling for it.  I “collapsed” now and again, naming it rest.  In due time, I would drag my still-crumpled and weary body back onto life’s treadmill and plod along.

Somewhere along life’s path I found tiny moments to steal away and hide from the taskmaster I called life.  I felt guilty as I soaked in a tub without an instruction book clasped in my damp hands.  Guilt whispered harshly when I lay down and cuddled a child in the shadow of a billowing laundry basket.   In fact, guilt hissed at me so often and from so many places that I began to just ignore it like the distant hum of a neighbor’s leaf blower.  “It will pass,” I assured myself as I stopped up my ears with laughter and celebration in a tiny moment spent tickling a beloved tummy.  These random moments of pure fun or sweet quiet began knitting together to form a shawl of beauty and warmth to wrap round me as I rambled through the busy days as wife/mommy/daughter/sister/friend.  Little pearls of wisdom and joy threaded through the fabric of my daily mantle adorning, as well as, strengthening its fiber.  Peace and contentment grew in the shadow of these loving, nurturing moments woven by and through and around me.

I have no idea when I first noticed that I could no longer hear guilt’s guttural grumble; nor do I wish to retrace my steps to find such an unwelcome companion.  Instead, I greet each day with a cuppa tea and a quiet time, fresh and ready for joy to meet me.  Some days I read, others I write, and often I simply gaze in wonder at the freshly-sprung day and all its blossoming beauty.  One need only pause and look to find once barren twigs come to life with floral frosting or a simply threaded web hosting a dewy dressing rivaling a Tiffany display.  Life stores unmatched artistry in the quiet corners of our life.  We need only open our eyes as we rest our hands and our mouth.   This wondrous cape of life and love wraps me up in readiness for whatever I may encounter as I sojourn on this earth.  I may keep my shawl closely pulled on those chilly morns, and later pillow it behind my head on a warm bed of grass beckoning me to cloud gaze.  I used to run through the day chasing bossy To Do’s and anxious checklists, but now I step softly and listen, for there is so much to be found in a quiet time.

  

And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:  And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. 

1 Kings 19:11-12

A Post for Lydia

“Mom, you need to write on your blog so I can read it,” said Lydia recently.

[  I smiled.  : D  I have a following.  ]

Today while scribbling in my journal, my pen drew an arrow from the printed page to the virtual screen. 

This one’s for you, my sweet reader, Lydia .  . . and all the rest of you out there in bloggyland.

 * * * * *

Time Out.  Time Off.  Time Away.  

Time for Joy.

I’ve rattled, racked, and wrung my heart, mind, and spirit lately.  So much to process, decipher, prepare, deliver . . .   The world spins so out of control these days and I am simply trying to live without succumbing to dizziness and fatigue.  I’ve found a simple antidote:  Joy.

Today, I’m taking a time out, for some time off, with some time away from my regularly-scheduled ways and making time to stop, look, and listen to all the joy in and around me.  I want to really drink it in and hold onto that feeling of sweet peace that comes from knowing I can relax and live life rather than exhaust myself by wrangling it into a corral for safe keeping.

The sunshine outside and the roaring fire within make me smile at the crazy way a California Winter behaves.  I love the sunshine!  It’s so much easier to face the chilly morn when rays of gold greet me:  a picture of hope.  But I must admit, my favorite time of day is sunset.  Maybe it’s because I am a squeeze-the-last-drop-out-of kinda gal.  I can be brutal on an exhausted tube of toothpaste or beauty cream; I turn each liquid receptacle for shampoo or detergent on end into a funnel before retiring it to the recycle bin; and I watch movies until the last credit rolls.  I guess I’m a pretty committed “finisher.”  I like tidy.  I get a “thrill” out of finding a place for everything and then putting everything in its place.  Thus, it is with great surprise that I find myself becoming such a free-spirited dreamer these days.

Nowadays, my children often find me embroiled in a book, hunched over a writing project, or simply gazing out into the great beyond, whilst a pile of dishes tip precariously in the sink awaiting attention.  What has happened to Miss Tidy-up?  Has she retired?  Has she lost her mind?  Has she been taken over by sloppy aliens?  

I, too, wonder where that other gal vanished to (usually when an unpleasant task crops up in my path).  It seems mid-life has crept up and encouraged me to pry open new doors and venture out into greater fields of freedom.  I plunge into life with more honesty and openness, more readiness to reach out and embrace life and all those within it.  Where fear once dogged my steps, I now dance with such crazy abandon these days that I think fear finds it harder to follow me.  (Who knew freedom thwarted fear?)

To what do I attribute this influx of . . . well . . . ummmmmm . . . joy?  I’m not really sure, but I know it has to do with letting go the reins of control and allowing life to wash over me without fearing what might come my way.  Sometimes I stumble, often times I fail, and sometimes big unexpected things knock me off my feet and swirl me around in salty waves of tears; but fear and fret make me tense and cause additional pain, so I'm learning to relax and just let it come – I simply hold out my hand and trust . . . that God is good.

The results of this zany abdication of the foolish notion that I can control my destiny (and the destinies of those I love) speak through my experience.

I no longer fear rejection, for I have been rejected in the most devastating way and not only survived, but flourished.

I no longer fear loss, for I have lost a child to death and discovered that he will never truly be gone from my heart and that is where the best of life collects.

I have known poverty, and found the "fear" of poverty to be more overwhelming that the actual state of being without.

I have known financial bounty, and found the "thought" of riches to be far more enjoyable than the actual care and feeding of a bank balance. 

I have told lies for protection, and found myself imprisoned until the truth set me free.

I have compromised to save a friendship, and ended up losing both my good name and the friend.

I have failed to notice a needy one in my very midst, and then needed to fail in order to correct my vision.

I have been blind, deaf, and dumb as I strove for knowledge, and then discovered the greatest gift of insight when I admitted my ignorance.

I have learned that a smile serves as the shortest path to an attitude change.  Like a single candle in the darkness, a simple smile changes an entire face and everything it sees.

I have learned that “The Smile Game”  (also known as:  Smile at everyone you encounter) can be played anywhere, anytime, with anyone and WE BOTH WIN EVERY TIME!

Most of all, I have learned that I will learn something new every day, every hour, every minute of my life (good and bad, pleasant and painful, abundant and barren . . . ) if I keep my heart at the ready to love, accept, and share every single thing my Lord sends my way.  How can I be so sure?  How do I know this?  Madeleine L’Engle said it best:

Now I see that time has gotten away from me, caught up with me, and called out to remind me: 

 Time’s Up!

Now it's Time For:

 

Time Out

Time Off 

Time Away 

 

Time for Joy!

Before I go, I was wondering . . .

Does any one care to join me for a rousing round of 

The Smile Game? 

I’ll Start!

: D

  

Where Quiet Bloggers Go . . .

Someone recently remarked that they had my blog figured out.  She boldly stated, “You blog when you are happy.”  I laughed and wondered how I had left such an impression on one who sits with me in real life and witnesses the beauty, joy, and true happiness I enjoy every day.  As we sipped tea, listened to the girls share their gifts of music, and laughed recounting life’s goodness I tried to explain that I do not go away from the blog to sulk, but rather to think, live, be, and learn.  Sometimes I feel called to share the pages of this life’s journal; sometimes it is enough to simply write in my journal or think or just sit.  Sometimes I am called to be quiet.  Quiet is good.

Sometimes I find my joy

In laughing out loud

Sometimes in quiet. 

Still . . .

I count it all joy.

The following pages of my journal filled from my overflowing pen this morn.  Maybe this will help my friend see that a quiet blog does not mean a disquieted heart.

* * *

3-24-2011

These morning hours of quiet, prayer, study, and writing enrich my life like a frame setting off the canvas upon which God/Christ/Spirit paint me . . . my life . . . my message to the world. 

“Essential,” I write, knowing that a day (such as yesterday) without this quiet beginning lacks something vital,  like bread baked without salt (an oversight I commit when baking under hurried or distracted circumstances).  A day without quiet contemplation resembles a salt-less loaf over-risen becoming full of air, splitting at the edges, losing beauty, tasteless, blowsy and frail . . . in short, unsatisfactory to serve.  It falls to bits when the knife comes, rendering it useless save for breadcrumbs; even then it must be dried out to be of any use.  How sad to see a loaf set aside while still fresh and warm and eager to be enjoyed.  Patiently the crumb dries and waits to be ground into meal that will shore up a heartier fare such as ground beef destined to become a succulent loaf – the centerpiece of supper.  The breadcrumb sees her vital role even if she has been hidden away into a new kind of loaf.  Others may not see her, but she is present and presently used.

Proverbial, prophetic, poetic. 

Scripture (Matt. 5:13) calls for salt to season life, to add flavor, to preserve with integrity.  So what of the unseasoned? Unsavory?  God finds use for the salt-less loaves, does He not?  Surely He has taught the housewife all she knows, had He not?  Ground to meal, salted and seasoned, ready for use in a new way she gives to life.

Some disparage my choice to forgo accolades from lectures given in Ivy-ed Halls in favor of hearth-side service.  Where once I dreamed of audiences vast for my excavated treasures, I changed course and followed God’s call like a desert Amma.  In quiet surrounds I pray, read, write, learn, teach, nurture, give, live, love. 

My life exceeds my dreams. 

My loaf of life is seasoned, leavened, baked, and served 

by His recipe.

And it is good . . . 

 

albeit quiet at times, 

like when I am chewing a big mouthful of Daily Bread.

The Gift of a New Song

* * *

I waited patiently for the LORD; 

and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.

 He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, 

out of the miry clay, 

and set my feet upon a rock, 

and established my goings.

 And he hath put a new song in my mouth.

Psalm 40:1-3a

* * * 

The only way we can be of use to God

is to let Him take us through the crooks

and crannies of our own characters. 

 It is astounding how ignorant we are about ourselves!

How many of us have learned to look in with courage?

~~ Oswald Chambers ~~

My Utmost for His Highest

(January 12)

* * *

Blessed is that man that maketh the LORD his trust

Psalm 40:4a

* * *

This is the day which the LORD hath made; 

[I] will rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24

 

Another business trip, another sweet note.  : )

Brokenness

Brokenness

Being Broken

I Am Brokenness, Lord

                                                         . . . fix me.

I am empty, Lord

                                                 . . . fill me.

I am lonely, Lord

                                                . . . meet me

I am sad, Lord

                                                            . . . collect my tears

I am confused, Lord

                                                                     . . . “I Am that I Am”

I am

                                    . . . Yours, Lord.

* * *

The day broke early for me.  I tossed from one dream to the next . . . lost passport nightmares . . . ailing children nightmares . . . unrest.  I rose in the darkness and found a note from my sweet husband, whose LA-Tuesday business trips separate us by space, but not by heart.

“Have a relaxing day,”

he wrote.

I cry.

Oh, how I want to relax . . . need to relax . . . pray to relax.  But . . .

I think I lack the relax “app.”

Oh, how I long to shrug.  Yes, shrug – just let things fall away with a flick of the shoulders, a toss of the head.  Gone.  Next.  Aaaahhhhh.

My sweet son Andrew could never shrug.  His little shoulders and neck fused so painfully into solid little blocks.  He couldn’t even lift his arms.  His brain had so locked up those muscles in cerebral palsy’s firm grip.  Yet, the clever little boy learned to laugh.  And when he laughed he relaxed – and soared.

He sought and found a fount of joy that carried him beyond the straits of disability.  The unleashing came in great peals of laughter; laughter like church bells ringing across a bucolic valley for all to hear and celebrate with him.

I can still hear his guffaws.   

His belly laughs.   

His infectious giggles. 

I want to laugh and dance with him in my arms just once more.  I want to feel his velvety cheek next to mine as we twirl and spin and laugh.  I want to feel a butterfly kiss once again from lashes so long that strangers would stop to comment.  I want  . . .

. . . what I cannot have.

I awoke in darkness today.  I broke a teapot.  I smeared my journal with tears.  Is this a good day?  Am I defective?  Inadequate?  Broken? Are you there beside me, Lord?  Do you see what I see?  Do you feel what I feel?  Am I ready to relax?  Am I ready to let go?  Can I shrug and move along as some have suggested?  Do I want to?  Must I?  Will I lose something if I run from tears and sadness when I meet them along the pilgrim’s path?   I wonder . . . Oh, how I wonder . . . 

I am always wondering . . . 

and I call it prayer.

Some will never understand me, but those who love me do:  He who made me, he who married me, they who grew from that love, and those who have melded hearts with me along the way – these gather me to their hearts and love me in an understanding way.  My world grows by heartbeats, not shrugs.

I still sit here in this quiet, empty room but the sun has broken the dawn with a watery light that struggles through a wall of clouds.   

 The silence cracks with the stirrings of the newly-formed day.

My tears have dried, but my teapot lies beyond repair.  My arms ache, but my child lies beyond their reach.  My tension fades, but I remain unable to shrug.  I am created with needs beyond my abilities.  My brokenness cannot be repaired by my own hands or skill, but by His love.

To give unto them beauty for ashes,

The oil of joy for mourning,

The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;

That they might be called trees of righteousness,

The plantings of the Lord,

That he might be glorified.

Isaiah 61:3

Christmas Presence

 

December has arrived.  

Peace reigns in our home.  

A gentle transformation takes place  around here

as buds of beauty unfurl from roots sunk deep into our hearts.

* * *

“Hush.”

“Listen.”

“He is coming.”

“Prepare ye the way.”

* * *

Preparations begin with flashing needles that knit hearts and hands together for a gift to wrap around a loved one.

Preparations begin with carols in hand and strings tuned up to plunk or plink as a prelude to concerts shared.

Preparations begin with furniture shifted and books relocated to feather our nest with spots for gentle reading this advent season.

Preparations begin to sparkle, twinkle, ring, and sing out with 

the joy of the season . . . the joy in the reason.

* * *

“It’s here!”

“Christmas arrives!”

“Get up and dance!”

 “Celebrate!”

“Sing sweetly!”

“enJOY!”

“Christ is born!”

* * *

Around Wisteria Cottage the girls plan and prep behind closed doors.  “Don’t come in!” I hear as I tap.  “Okay . . . you can come in now,” follows a bustling and bundling away of hidden treats.  Gary hauls boxes to and fro as Pilgrims pack and leave to make way for the Christ Child.  Matthew partners with us in the celebrations as he conquers his autistic need to be alone and joins in the fun as we dance to the delightful Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack (his favorite).  I slip off quietly with pen in hand to drink deeply of the peace and joy and love flowing freely in this home.  Though great losses have rocked our world through the recent years, a house built upon The Rock withstands the storms; and the family within the standing home rises up to celebrate in the midst of the torrents.

Once I thought Christmas needed to be planned, orchestrated, budgeted, and executed like a battle.  I fortified against commercialism and dilution by immersing my family in pageants, programs, parties, and all manner of participation to celebrate the Christ Child’s birth, lest any forget and just make merry.  I exhausted myself and often missed the “Peace on Earth” part.

I no longer work to celebrate.  I simply do it.  I simply pause to ponder all the memories and happiness and sweet joy stored up in our traditions.  I no longer fear I will “miss” something as I stop and kneel in the presence of a season filled with so much to ponder.  I wonder as I wander . . . and it is wonder-filled.

We call our Christmas tree a “Memory” tree and we laugh and joke and even wipe away the tears as we unwrap each bauble infused with a meaning all our own.  

* * * 

“Baby’s First Christmas!” . . .  we tell our stories.

“The very first ornament mommy gave to daddy before they were even married!” . . . we tell the story. 

“The Baby Jesus in the manger!”  . . .   we tell HIStory.

* * *

I no longer worry about missing something at Christmastime for I know full well that a Christmas without a tree or a wrapped gift or even a Crèche would still fill us to overflowing with pure delight in gathering our hearts together (even distance between cannot deter us) as we celebrate with the true Presence of Christmas.

Quiet Treasure

A friend wonders (and worries, methinks):

"Where have you gone?"

I reply:

"Treasure Hunting in a Quiet Cave."

* * * * *

Pages from my Journal:


July 9, 2010

I have found this quiet niche. Silence flows around me as the heat of the day persists into evening. I will write . . .



July 18, 2010

Sweet Silence.

Quiet. I love the sound of the word “quiet” as it slips past my lips – hushed tones, sweet invite to peace.

I have been blessed with quiet these days: A way through the forest of life. A silent path taken by many a pilgrim throughout the ages.

With feet firmly tethered to my homestead for this sun-kissed season, I nestle down in the cool afternoon retreats, I stroll in the twilit evenings, and I sit quietly in the hours following a new day’s dawn.

No parties. No guests. No busy-ness. Simply quiet days that I fill as I go. This has been a most marvelous gift. I cannot recall such a time in my life . . . EVER! All health is good, worries flat, outside calls null. Without a landline to home I have not even the blinking box of recorded robo-nonsense to handle. Without a sodden schedule of “musts,” I find freedom to be . . . as I am . . . just as I am . . . and it is wondrous good.

Hereabouts reading becomes diving expeditions wherein the seeker finds treasure and delights in recounting the journey, displaying the jewels uncovered, and dreaming of those still to be found. Evenings suffused in gentle candlelight under the starry skies entice all to linger, and in lingering we relax, relate, unwind, blossom. It is a way of life gifted to me . . . us . . . all who pause . . . and wait.

The silence carries immense quantities of treasure; but sadly, all too often the flurry of hurry in life masks sight and the treasure lies overlooked.

Now that I have tasted of such sweet, unhurried peace and quiet I hope NEVER to battle the flurry of hurry again. Now when loss occurs, I will sit still. When pain stabs, I will sit still. When fear grips, I will sit still. I want to hear His voice.

. . . and after the fire a still small voice.
1 Kings 19:12

Wind, earthquake, fire . . . He was not in these. His voice rested in a quiet moment after the passing of the clamor. I have sat amongst the rubble in quiet . . . I have found that the voice remains still small – ever constant. My silence bears more fruit than cries or activity or pleas ever have. My silence says it all . . .

Thy will be done.

The peace surpasses all.

Each “need,” “want,” “hope,” and “hurt” fades in the midst of this incredible peace. I cannot comprehend it . . . as He knew I wouldn’t:

. . . the peace of God, that passeth understanding . . .
Philippians 4:7

I do not understand it, cannot describe it, will not try to peddle it to seekers. Instead, I will remain at peace with the doorway open to all. I have no monopoly. I judge not the merit of others. I only know this peace – unlike any I have ever known.

Am I in a chrysalis? Have I walled away from the world? Am I swallowed up in sorrow? No, I’m in His presence . . . abiding . . . nourished on manna . . . protected by His wings . . . satisfied by His promises.

When I step into the world and taste/see/smell the tangled ways of life, I recoil. The many LOUD, bright, noisy, competitive calls for attention buffet me; without my cloak of peace I must don armor. I must resist the temptation to walk in the old ways: judge, compete, outshine, perform . . . The pull, the memory, the natural inclination tear at my very fabric. What do/will/have I gain(ed) from this fleshly walk? How have I changed at rest in the peaceful place? Can I retake my old stage? Do I want to? Questions tumble. I hear others goad and chide me for “escaping,” for failing to reach out. It stings. The barbs seek and discover my prideful need-to-please nature and lobby me to abandon my peaceful treasure.

Thoughts rush to my lips (or pen). The queries provoke me to launch a defense, but I hesitate . . . look back to the peaceful place . . . savor the memories of truth . . . and drop my weapons . . . drop my defenses . . . step back to peace. I have no wish to battle. I have nothing to gain by hacking down another’s Babel so soon after I have dismantled my own. I risk my peace and tranquility to gain only bloodied bruises.

The still small voice in my heart whispers,

Be still and know I am God.
Psalm 46:10

Tears fall; I sink with relief (or is that re-life?) back into the quiet – the “wings” of life’s stage. My soliloquies will not ring throughout the theater of life. I will not reap applause and adoration on a grand scale . . . only peace and quiet here in the wings with the One who loves me.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness offstage, I see shadowy forms all around me. Silently I reach out and touch. A touch returns and grows into an embrace . . . and another . . . and still another . . . These wings brim with other quiet ones. I never knew . . . I never knew the quiet held so much and so many. Knowing hands clasp and unclasp over time and space, but no words break the silence – hearts do not need vocal chords, or microphones, or even blogs . . .

I settle into the dark, quiet realm . . . and live . . . at peace.

At times the noise of the hearty applause showered onstage snags a memory and a wistful sigh escapes – a wondering – but the quiet hugs me close. When I hear the plaintive wail of a broken-hearted one I part the curtain and beckon, but often times the lure of the applause on a stage tugs at the hurting one, and I have no desire for a tug-of-war. I leave the curtain parted, a shaft of backstage light seeping through – a beacon bathed in dust motes . . . a retreat – and return to the shadows. Having played my time upon the stage, I know the applause fades, the roles lose luster, and the foundations of the stage give way with time; whereas, the quiet never fails.

No one needs hear my treatise. Many will never comprehend the difference between a shamed or depressed retreat and a quiet-seeking journey. I will not waste breath or ink to tell the tale. If the Lord sees fit to call me centerstage, He will use His still small voice – I best not be bellowing my own hot air, lest I miss a true calling.

So here I sit . . . silent and still . . . smiling.

I am here.

I have not gone.

I am silent and still.

I am simply being.

I am . . . with I AM.