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

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

The Daily Gift

My eyes fluttered awake long before the sun arose. I turned over and smelled sweet lavender – a hint of the calming drops laid upon my pillow before rest. I prepared to drift back to the foggy world of dreams: flying, soaring, wonderful adventures in the realm of rest. But, alas, I could find no cozy nook, nor welcome slumber. Though darkened skies remained, I arose to be on hand to greet the new dawn.

Feeling no apprehension, nor anticipation, I padded out of bed and on downstairs to sit in front of my favorite window, “picture, picture,” to await the show.

Deep indigo sky wrapped me in an inky wonderland between rest and routine. The peace of the glowing fire invited me to watch a chilly dawn without the discomforting chill. A CD singing out in joyful moods from Bach, Mozart, Grieg, and a host of soulful composers mingled with the fragrance of lavender emanating from my teacup creating a most precious mood of sweet peace.

Two eggs, home-laid – one chocolate brown, the other sweetly pink – broke open to reveal vibrant yolks, so easily folded over into a delicious break from my fast. Gently cooked eggs atop a thin slice of home-baked deep nut-brown bread surrounded by succulent petals of local mandarin added palatable delight to my visual feast as the sky lightened to lapis, then royal, and on to cornflower blue, matching the transferware plate that accompanied me back to my favorite chair as the pageant of blue marched on in the prelude to the star of the day.

Suspended I sat, slowly chewing and tasting the awe of God’s majestic color palette. My childhood memories of green and gold crayola treasure boxes never held so many hues labeled blue . . .

The books of poetry lying ‘round my feet, even the blessed Scripture at my elbow, enticed me not from the pageantry of a new day’s dawn.


No needs, no worries, no sorrows, no tears in this purest of blue moment.

Not a breath of breeze, not a song of bird (save that silly rooster who takes his sunrise duties most seriously) filled the air. Only icy blue silence.

All is calm,

All is (soon to be) bright . . .

I marveled at the thought that this magnificence plays worldwide yet never exactly the same way in the lineup of moments strung like pearls encircling me with beauty. Ah yes, beauty all around . . . though often I fail to see it and give thanks.

Each day finds me further along life’s path. The fine lines of time etch onto my heart and visage, writing my unique symphony of life. I pray it be a thankful composition.

Frosty white mingled with icy blue as the gardens glowed in the final beams of the fading moonlight. Still I sat riveted in childlike delight.

Pachelbel’s Canon in D built to a slow crescendo in the peace-filled moment and I fondly recalled my wedding day – a day of much planning, careful arrangement, and an exhausting array of tasks that melded together and played out in wondrous splendor and true joy over 25 years ago. I found myself suffused in a fairytale moment of pure love, joy, peace, and so much beauty as I set off down the aisle to meet my soulmate.

Today the sunrise, the sweet peace, the security, and the soul seeking love I cherish fills this day with the same wonder and joy of that wedding day, and yet I had not a hand in the planning or crafting of such a blessed gift in a new day. I simply noticed the beautiful gift.

These past days without interenet access at home have gifted me with freedom in exchange for power. As I let go the power, I soar. In my life I daily struggle with a quest for freedom as I grip vise-like to what little power I perceive I possess. In most cases I yield in a tear-stained and weary form. I long to be free, but I loathe relinquishing power to trust. It is so hard to be free when you hold onto fear . . .

But, today my Lord’s gentle prodding to arise in an uncharacteristic darkness proved devotional. I sat in complete powerlessness and freely received a most awe-inspiring gift: a new day dawning without a jot of help from me.

Clouds now appear in the palest of blue beauty, reflecting even more of the glorious fire of the dawn. Childlike glee felt at parades and fireworks displays wells up in my heart, filling my eyes with tears of joy and thanksgiving as I greet the day.

“All is well,” reads the early morning greeting card.

“I possess the power, so you may freely live."

Love, God

* * *

Who laid the corner stone thereof . . .
When the morning stars sang together,
And all the sons of God shouted for joy?

Job 38:6-7

Hemming My Day with Quietness

H[er] thoughts said,
What if I have not much time to gather my portion?

His Father said,
Hast thou only one minute?
Hem it with quietness.
Do not spend it in thinking how little time thou hast.
I can give thee much in a minute.

~~ Amy Carmichael ~~
His thoughts said . . . His Father said
[emphasis mine]

Lately, it has been less than quiet around here. Storms and power outages joined by a phone outage (dare I admit that I actually enjoyed that outage?) took us by surprise last weekend. Then sunny skies made an entrance and I spun such wonderful plans of being in the gardens each and every day with plenty of time available for my regular baking and yogurt making and marketing and all the rest . . . but . . . SURPRISE . . . another power outage in the clearest of weather (How inconvenient!) just as Gary and Rachel and I made off for a trip in to “The City” an hour away for a re-supply mission. We stopped, returned home, set up the generator and awaited the return of the grid. I grimaced. I fretted. I had a timeline and it included a youth meeting for Lydia at 6 pm. How could we manage it all?

I plunked down in my favorite chair and stared out the window, a pout creeping over my face. I reached down into my reading basket and picked up a little blue volume of Amy Carmichael’s thoughts/prayers. I read the quote from above. I paused. I read it again. I set the book back in the basket and kept the furrowed brow. Gary came in to announce that the power outage could be an extended one. Either power or another update would be along in a few hours. Grrrrrr . . .

I gave up thoughts of making my Costco run. I resigned myself to a misaligned day. I made myself a cup of tea and a sandwich of butter and cucumber with a dash of dill. I slunk back down into that favorite chair. Gentle music emanated from the armoire, which cleverly hides all of my 21st century entertainment gadgetry in an antiquated cabinet now powered by another new-fangled gadget – the generator, but I barely heard it. I sulked as I sipped. Slowly my feathers unruffled as I began to taste the tea and sandwich basted in strains of Mozart and Grieg . . . slowly the bile receded.

One by one the children came through the sitting room, plopping into this comfy chair or that as we carried ourselves away on conversation and laughter. I completely forgot about my powerless situation as we spun ideas for the springtime gardens and delighted ourselves with plans for all the rest of the sunny days that would surely come our way as Winter passed the torch to Spring.

Refreshed by the nibbles and tea and laughter, we all set about preparing for another prolonged power outage. I set a soup pot to simmer filled with potatoes, rutabagas, carrots, and more. The girls made off to practice music and fulfill duties that require light. The day began to take on a new shape . . . a nice, peaceful shape hemmed in quiet rather than worry.

All at once my husband ran through the house at an excited pace. “Power’s back up!” he called in passing. “If we leave now we can still do the shopping but there won’t be time for a restaurant stop.” I jumped up, satisfied by the recent repast and thus willing to forgo the planned visit to the Olive Garden, and prepared to dash about in frenzy; but just as I began to wring my hands and wonder if we could manage it all, the words of Amy Carmichael’s Father echoed in my heart:

I can give thee much in a minute.

I had just enjoyed a timeless moment of tea and chat with my children that had found no entry in the To Do list. Then my carefully segmented routine for the day flexed most generously, just as He promised, and dinner had been prepared. I sighed. I paused to thank Him for the generous minute and I handed over my anxiety in exchange for peace.

The drive through the beautiful Sierra Foothills on a gloriously sunny day after days and days of rain, the fun of playing “merchant ship from afar” with Rachel, the joy of a trip to a BIG craft shop for a fresh supply of origami paper and yarn, and all in the company of my dear husband who set aside a pressing workload to join us . . . well, need I say more?

We arrived home in plenty of time for Lydia to make her evening meeting. Elizabeth had tidied the house most thoroughly and folded all laundry while here in charge of Wisteria Cottage. The pot of soup I set upon the stove had simmered into a delightful dinner. Matthew greeted us with a smile. All felt in order, leaving me with the peaceful gift of a free evening and plenty of time for more hemming of the day in quiet.

And so today I sit at the window, watching another storm roll in; but I’m not worrying, I have my basket of devotional readings, my teapot at hand, and a generous moment for stitching quietly. And I do.



* * * * *

p.s.
The recent spate of power problems has flummoxed my internet repeater, thus I have sporadic and limited internet with a very weak signal. I had hoped to post the much-requested tutorial by Rachel regarding Claymation, but will hold off until I have proper internet access for including pictures. (You probably noticed this post arrived without an accompanying pic.)

Stay tuned for an exciting adventure into the mind of an 11-year-old, a blob of clay, and a camera. It’s fascinating!