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Rescue me

I was never a good swimmer.  But when I was invited to a friend’s pool party, I begged my mom to go.  The pool looked mammoth to me and all I needed to know was which side was the shallow side.  The safe side. So that’s where I parked myself.  But after a while, I noticed I was the only one at that end of the pool.  The other girls were experienced swimmers and were bouncing around in the deep end. Longing to fit in as much as possible, I was determined to somehow get to the other side. I carefully navigated my way across  by tip toeing on a narrow ledge along the perimeter of the pool.  I used it to make the journey over to the deep end, and I felt pretty satisfied for making it there successfully.  Then my foot slipped.  I felt my body slowly drift just far enough from the edge of the pool where the security of the ledge disappeared.  Suddenly, I had nothing to hold on to that would keep me safely attached to the edge of the pool.  I tried hard to keep my head above the water, but

A Living Prayer

To be seen by God “Do I believe in God?  Yes!  When I am at work I feel like I am assisted by someone who leads me to do things that are greater than myself, greater than what I have done before.”  Henri Matisse Close to the end of his artistic career, Matisse embarked on creating “The Chapelle du Rosaire de Vence” (Chapel of the Rosary), a chapel in France.  He considered it the most significant work of his career, and perhaps one could say that something outside himself caused him to create this masterpiece.  As I read his thoughts, I am certain there was something more to why he created art of any kind. On the outside, his long-standing friendship with Monique Bourgeois, who he met as a young nurse, engaged and motivated him to take on this work.  Their friendship developed over time and lasted for years.  They remained friends as she became a Dominican nun, and his work took on life and breath when he began designing the chapel.  But was it more than this friendship that moved h

Facing the Elements

My husband has a knack for finding used exotic cars.  Head turning cars priced to where the average Joe can afford them.  And he’s done this a few times.  One of those cars was a beautiful Jaguar.  It was luxury beyond what I’ve ever sat in and we enjoyed that car for many years.  He appreciated it because of its fine qualities and features.  Everything about that car was top notch, inside and out.  He knew every aspect of the car and meticulously cared for it, especially its signature British Racing Green paint job.  Over time, the elements started to invade the paint and caused it to breakdown and fail.  It began to fade and discolor in areas and the luster of the paint was completely missing in many spots.  The only thing that would truly help “fix” the erosion was a restoration.  The car really wasn’t worth putting that kind of money into it.  Reluctantly, he sold it.  We can be affected by so many things in our lives.  We are a one of a kind creation that comes into the world

Tailor Made

I had a personal tailor growing up.  Sounds a bit posh, doesn't it?  But I really did.  My father was a tailor (always will be a tailor), and of course the best tailor around.  All my life, he took care of my alterations with expert care. He knew how I was built. One arm just a tiny bit longer than the other, one hip a little off, and an ever fluctuating waistline. He altered my clothes perfectly and instinctively. Over the past few years though, his eyesight has dimmed and he can't tailor the way he could when his vision was sharp.  I remember shopping with confidence knowing he could fix anything that didn't fit me quite right. So, I wouldn't hesitate to buy things that needed altering. I knew he would be ready and willing to make the necessary changes to my clothes, transforming them to fit my crooked body.    This is my sewing machine.  It belonged to my dad. Now a days, I know I can't run to my dad to make alterations for me.  I miss being able to go to hi

Making the most of my messes

The painting was really sad. It was supposed to depict a cluster of grapes, but it looked like a diseased raspberry instead. I’m talking about an experience at one of those painting parties, where you follow the instructions of a talented teacher and your great hope is that yours will look as good as hers. Oh, and did I mention they served wine at this party?  I think it was supposed to help?  Hmmm, not so much. I am not being hard on myself. I am being a realistic critic, and my completed painting really was a mess.  I took it home and tucked it in a corner where I would not see it.  Face down, out of sight, out of mind.   Not too long ago, when I was cleaning my space, I came across it and I cringed.  Instead of putting it away again, I did the next best thing.  I painted right over it.  Yep, covered up the evidence, covered up the mess. I felt relief. Not a single grape existed anywhere on that canvas.  With a few quick brush strokes I had a “new” canvas that I could use for so

I almost missed it

It was the end of the day and I had one more stop to make before heading home.  I was tired, but then I noticed the sky.  It caught my eye and it was a captivating view.  A rare display of clouds like I had not seen before.  Clouds held together by ribbons of pink shadows.  Stunning.  I parked my car and went into auto-pilot mode, making a fast trek to the grocery store entrance.  Then I stopped.  Something was tugging at me.  I turned around to absorb the view.  But that still wasn't enough, so I walked to the far end of the parking lot and stood in amazement.  I was in awe.  What tugged at my heart?  What called to me so loudly that it made me want to stop and take it all in?  The Bible talks about how we yearn for God.  How our heart seeks him.  It is not a coincidence that we find connection to him in his creation, or as I call it, his canvas.  So, I took in a breath, and took in the awesome view. And here we are.  It’s Christmas and I am wondering if you might be in a

When I said yes

When I said yes to God, I had no idea of the path it would take me on.   My heart and the broken places inside of me were a mess, yet I found hope in God and I was “all in.”    I found a God that offered a way through truth.   Truth that I was truly forgiven and fully loved.   Thirty years ago, I said yes, and looking back on the path, I see the inclines that have given me spiritual muscle.   I’ve seen grace and miracles come through pain, growth, beauty and love.    These days, though, I’m tired.   Because I often think that after all this time, I’d have some kind rest, maybe a little coasting.   But just like the physical body, if we stop working it, using it, we die.   Atrophy sets in.   Spiritually, I sometimes feel atrophied.   My spiritual laziness makes me feel even dead at times.   It is a place so easy to get to.   I rest on my own “goodness,” whatever that is.   And that’s the beginning of a new path that takes me absolutely nowhere.    Today.   Now.   I say ye