Wait

Waiting.  I could write the book, but you wouldn't be impressed.  No, it's been a long, hard, haul full of whining and pining and the wait continues. Waiting has been the bane of my existence, the rock in my shoe, the proverbial dangling carrot.  God has promised me a husband and I have dutifully sat tight (but not too tight, 'cause I'll test the waters ever so often just to make sure the pie is still cooking) waiting for the green light and, at 47, I'm still sitting.  

I wish I could tell you that during my 25 year (yes, 25 years) long wait, I've been heroic and patient - a real Joan of Arc - but that's not the case.  A great many of my moments have been pockmarked with debilitating impatience, fits of anger, pouting and other unsavory cajoles to quicken the delivery up just a tad.  None of which has worked.

I'm not proud of how I've handled the wait.  At times, I've humiliated AND disappointed myself - it just hasn't been a pretty sight.  On more than one occasion, out of rage, I've chosen to regard the Father with disparage and scorn to punish Him.  Needless to say, it has availed nothing.  One time, things got so bad that He literally told me I was nanoseconds away from choosing evil over good, for good and to decide wisely.  I listened.  At the end of the day, I love God and want to obey Him so I snapped out of it, but its been an uphill climb...   

I've had to learn what it means to become patient, to lay down my desires at His feet and simply to trust, time and again.  These have been near excruciating lessons to apprehend (for who, in this day and age, wants to be patient?), but they have been necessary.  Had I been given what I so dearly longed for years ago, I would have destroyed it.

I've had many false starts with partners, the endings of which have often been brutal.  This time, I'm doing things differently.  I haven't dated (not even online) in a chunk and I feel readier than I ever have in my life to meet someone, in fact, I feel primed.  We'll see what happens.        

        

  

Freebie

I’m a late bloomer, what can I say?  Everything in my life has taken and is built upon its own sweet time but the irony is that at heart I’m an extremely impatient person.  God knew what He was doing, however, when He brought everything in my world to an almost complete standstill after I got saved.  Forward motion for me has thus consisted of tiny increments imperceptible to the naked eye and it’s still that way.  Rare and few are the times I can look back and see speedy changes and timely results.  He has always delivered, but almost always chosen UPS ground when it comes to the outcome.  Now I see the logic, as there was a time where I barreled forward to my destruction at the speed of light with no brakes in sight.  Thank God for His wisdom.  

I’ve had to learn (oh God have I learned!) patience and waiting and simply chopping wood, carrying water on a consistent, steady basis.  In other words, doing the next right thing in front of me while I wait for the package.  But in hindsight, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  That He cares enough to tailor a method to teach me the lessons I so dearly need to learn and show me how to savor the moments of my time with Him is gold.  I wouldn’t have it any other way, even though the seemingly geriatric pace has often been the bane of my existence.

Ultimately, I believe we get what we need, not what we want (in large part) and thank the good Lord for that.  None of us truly know our own best interests and are therefore incapable of mapping out a master roadmap for ourselves, if not out of selfishness.  God knows what He's doing, so don't worry and enjoy the ride.      

About Time

Sitting in my room listening to the quiet patters of falling rain, my thoughts turn to growth.  Not  physical growth (I'm holding steady in that respect), but the change in my inner being, psyche and thinking, which has been nothing short of miraculous.  As I look out the window at the grey, dreary afternoon whose daylight is wrapping to a close, I marvel at how even keeled I feel.   

There was a time when I’d look outside during the dark winter months and feel my soul shrink right before my eyes.  I was always so moody and prone to reacting to outer stimuli, whatever the source, that looking back, I liken who I was to a giant barometer.  Things like the weather and peoples moods once had the power to send me reeling as I had less control over my reactions and, was much more prone to internalize everything I came across, including my own emotional landscape.

I won’t say that I’ve arrived, as we are always morphing as human beings, but it is good to put the proverbial stake in the ground and sit for a while, recounting the changes and steps forward I’ve taken, guided by the invisible hand offered me so many years ago now.  My moods have gentled, thoughts become more even keeled, as opposed to jagged trains of words I’d have to catch and unravel with some effort.  I’m more composed, confident and, I feel whole, not like before where I felt I was made up of so many pieces just trying to hold it all together.  And people notice the change.

Scene shift:  it’s 6:00 Wednesday morning.  I’ve just had coffee and breakfast and am back in the saddle of my writing chair.  Settledness is a sensation I can honestly say I’ve never experienced on a regular basis, until now.  The swiftly tilting planets within me just never let up their motion and I had no choice but to follow behind like a dutiful pooper- scooper running after a horse.  The emotions and moods that sloshed around inside me like an ocean during a storm were always threatening to bleed into the fabric of my day and often did. 

What a joy to feel composed.  What a treat to feel empowered and competent in my own skin, to not constantly feel like I have to prove and demonstrate the validity of my being, my worth, because I already know it deep down inside.  People take me seriously now, because I am doing the same.  I never thought I’d arrive at such a state of personal wellbeing.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was beginning to thrive and at almost 48, it’s about time.       

Ode to a Cat

Ode to Gracie

Gracie she is and Gracie she'll be,
kitten and princess and muffin to me.
She's fluffy and puffy, chubby and cute 
with gigantic eyes and funny to boot.

She squeaks when I touch her and makes little sounds,
she startles easily and hiding abounds.
She'll test out my vitals by checking my breath
to see, when I'm sleeping, if I've passed to death.

Once certain I'm living, she'll stretch out a paw
and scratch on my hand with one tiny claw.
"Come feed me" she'll say in her own kitten way
"Wake up from your sleep, I'm hungry, obey!"

The thing about Gracie, she'll pester and nudge,
then politely bow out when she sees I won't budge.
I couldn't ask for more
she doesn't scratch, hiss or bite,
she's a sweet little kitty all cuteness, no fight.

She might not enthrall with her antics so small,
or make you laugh 'cause she won't chase a ball,
but if you fall back and give her a chance
and not expect any big kitty dance,
you'll see that her ways of being and meowel
are O so funny, that you'll fluff up a towel
and ready a bed in the midst of your heart,
so she can curl up, forever to start...

God, a Fugue in A Minor

So, I love Him, but it wasn't always that way.  No, I remember the era of slinking through the underbelly of SF counting on a prayer to some conjured "batch of the day" god of my imagination to help me make it through the night.  Each day, it seemed, I'd whip up a new flavor of divine assistance, depending on my mood, to help ease me into those twisted moments of yore that proved to be so nasty.  Some days it was music I venerated, others the Buddha.  And still others, perhaps, a rock.  I realize now that everything I tried to find my solace in was created, whether being, object or sensation and, in and of itself, utterly useless to my wellbeing (can the inanimate give birth to life?).  In short, I hadn't yet reached the end of my rope and so willingly grasped at every harebrained "path" that flew my way instead of the maker Himself.

It wasn't until I sat at a table one day with my last and final meal in hand, ready to oust myself a bite at a time, that I realized I'd truly reached the apex of my misery.  Had a friend not called me, "coincidentally", at exactly the right moment, I would have been lost to all avenues of hope.  Her voice, warm and friendly, parted the rapidly closing curtain around my soul and, for an instant, I saw life.  I must've chosen well, 'cause here I am almost 15 years later praying to a God, this time, who I can't hear, see, smell or touch but that is more alive to me that anything I've ever experienced.

Like the woman at the well who sat with Jesus in the noontime hour and, astonished, ran to tell a whole village of the Man who told her everything she ever did, so am I.  Stunned and humbled by this love, I too, run a race against myself to spread the good news proclaiming Jesus is real, and that He loves and calls us by name.  What else is there?

My life today differs vastly from the disjointed, fragmented ball of wax that was my previous existence.  My moods have improved, mind has cleared and a joy has taken up residence in my spirit.  I've a score of thriving friendships and can count on myself to show up responsibly and thoroughly to every event of my days.  It's been this way for years and just keeps getting better.  My journey with Jesus has kept me grounded, sane and anchored in safety - plus, it's been fun.  And as for the experiences that haven't been peachy, the brutal ones that've knocked me off my feet, that invariably knock on the door no matter who you pray to?  Well, lets just say I now have someone to fall back on...

God is real, He is good and He is love.  As for the fugue?  Here's the last of it.



        

  

         

But Now I See

So my trip to Bethel was awful.  A W F U L  Aside from lengthy travel time (it took 24 hours to make what should have been an 8 hour trip with all the layovers, stops and whatnot), my journey was filled with creepy looking folk, stomach issues, a painfully cramping backside due to the prolonged sitting, fist fights, theft and other pleasantries.  

After I finished with my appointment (which, by the way, was stellar - the only redeeming part of my trip) and took an Uber back to the Greyhound station to catch the bus home, fresh horrors awaited me as I stepped out into the stifling, smokey 105 degree heat.  I had a lag time of 2 1/2 hours to wait for my bus, which I wasn’t feeling at all.  There was no sheltering building with air-conditioning awaiting me or the other passengers, just an open air design with a few benches, so I parked it on a cement seat and began to watch the minutes crawl by, bemoaning my infernal wait. 

As I sat, it suddenly occurred to me that I should reach out to God.  As elemental and basic as the epiphany may sound, I was so knee deep in the uncomfortableness of my trip, that I had neglected to lift my eyes heavenward for any sort of help or guidance.  I guess you could say I’d been white knuckling it up until that point.  But desperate as I was to find a reason for the perpetuated misery I was in, I finally came to my senses and asked Him to give me His eyes to see the situation with, ‘cause I was fadin’ fast.  

No sooner did I pray, that with a jolt (as much as one can be jolted in 105 degrees, that is), I became aware of an elderly lady sitting next to me.  Her wrinkled arms, thin as toothpicks rested on the handlebars of a walker that looked like it carried all that she held dear in the world.  She asked me my name and gave me hers.  I tried to spark a dialogue with her after that, but she looked away so I left her alone.  Just then a security guard passed by asking her how she was doing and I heard her tell him that her toes had just been amputated.  I looked down at her slippers and winced.  She finally got up and shuffled across the way to catch her bus.  I wondered where she was going and what would become of her…

Soon after, a man with two big plastic garbage bags full of clothes came and plunked them down where the lady had been sitting.  He looked clean and honest, if not homeless, but I keep an eye on him anyway - I was more than a little fearful in my unfamiliar surroundings.  The dude didn’t look like he wanted to hack me, however, so I chose not to change seats and continued to bide my time, open to whatever dialogue might come up between us.

He circled the sidewalk for a while, looking like he had much on his mind then stopped and asked me what the good word was.  I responded with a comment about God and he nodded, continuing on with his pensive pacing.  He eventually tried to buy a ticket to Oregon, but his card was declined.  I could see that this was a very big deal for him and watched as shock and disbelief indeed filled his face.  Collecting himself, he made a phone call to someone and explained why he wouldn’t be coming to visit, exhorting whoever it was to hold strong and not give up.  It sounded like a desperate situation.  I couldn’t help but think that here was this down and out guy encouraging someone else when I’m sure he himself could’ve used the cheer…  

Continuing on with my eavesdropping, I found out that he had just gotten out of a shelter and that in lieu of Greyhound, his next step would be to get on local transit and ride around, in the hopes that something would come up.  My heart broke as I watched him heave up his bags and slowly walk towards the bus, I wished I could’ve bought him the ticket.

At this point, I needed to stretch my legs - I’d been sitting for almost 13 hours straight - so I took a slow, cautious (as there were lots of ahem, shady-looking elements in the vicinity) stroll around the station, trying not to pass out from the heat.  I didn’t make it far before I decided to sit down again.  This time, I chose a spot close to a dejected-looking young man with a duffle bag next to his feet who had previously asked me for some bus money.  I’d given it to him though secretly I’d wondered where it was  really gonna end up…  I guess he’d been honest though, because there he sat, waiting for Greyhound.

I lowered myself down with an unceremonious plop and proceeded to study him out of the corner of my eye.  He looked to be about 20 with a mop of brown hair that poked out from underneath a baseball cap and a mustache.  Sitting hunched with his elbows resting on his knees the way he was, it looked like he had lost all his fight.  

At this point, I felt a tug to reach out to him even though I didn’t want to (beat by the heat as I was).  I ended up opening my mouth and asking him if he was thirsty.  He turned to me looking surprised that someone had actually acknowledged him and I could see that he was indeed parched by the saliva that had dried up on the sides of his mouth (is it any wonder?).  And In a voice barely louder than a whisper he said that he was, so off I went to buy him a bottle of water.  Before I left though, I made sure to fish out the remainder of my food and give it to him.  He took it with gratitude and a few moments later when I tapped him on the shoulder with the ice cold liquid, his eyes almost popped out of his head.  Looking like he had just won the lottery, he shyly reached out his hand for the drink.  I had the sense that he had been going at it completely on his own for a chunk, just trying to survive.  

The young man’s surprise at my small act of kindness had caused me to wonder if anybody had reached out to him or any of the others like him I’d met that afternoon.  Probably not was my guess and this, not out of a maliciousness or callousness, but when things happen and we’re in survival mode, it’s our tendency to only look out for our own and not zero in on others people’s plight.  Combine this with the fact that we usually live in our own bubbles anyway, is it any wonder our society is so broken down?     

I’m certainly not trying to elevate myself to Mother Teresa status here, as there have been plenty of times I’ve turned a blind eye (more than plenty in fact) to the needs of my fellow man.  But I’ve always felt that when there is a call it is our obligation, if at all possible, to fill it.  Proverbs 3:24 comes to mind:  “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act…”  Never before did that passage ring as true as it did on that hellaciously hot August afternoon.   

    

More tales of woe continued to unravel themselves before my eyes as I sat waiting for my ride outta hell, too many to recount.  Maybe it was because the heat had gotten to me, or the fact that I could see that the fires, which had devastated most of the surrounding area, had dipped the morale to a dangerous low but I felt such a resigned desperation as I sat at that station - as if I was literally experiencing it on my own skin, right along with everyone else.  

Musing, I realized that the travail along my trip had served to break down all my defenses, allowing the reality of the moment to seep into my blood in a manner that it wouldn’t have any other way.  The long, angsty hours of my journey, the emotional appointment I’d had at Bethel and my own innate compass for compassion towards the disenfranchised and homeless had all served to magnify the desperation and hopelessness that screamed at me in the station.  

I know my eyes were opened that day for a reason and I feel that reason was for me to get a little taste of the plight of the needy, so I could do just what I’m doing now - highlight their drama.  Later, as I sat in the cool of the bus, I thought about the people I’d met and how I wished I could have helped them, I mean really helped them beyond just feeling bad and buying someone a water...  

There is a crisis.  Many are not doing well in our society and it’s up to those of us who have the power to act (and most of us do) to step up and do something about it.  Otherwise, we’ll have completely missed the point of what we profess to stand for as Christians and as human beings.  Dear God, open our eyes to see and anoint our hands to do your work, amen.  

          

  

     

The Dancer

Can I just toot my horn for a sec?  Frenzied gyration, dizzying twists and mind bending moves, insane synchronicity and complete rhythmic symbiosis - all this and more as I danced my youth away during those wild years of infamy.  My body became an instrument that I used at will for my enjoyment, rapture and thrill as I threw myself into the music whilst clubbing and frankly, whenever else I could get it.  Back in my glory days, when I went where the wind blew and then some, dancing was my religion - the only true pleasure I had as my life unravelled helplessly between my fingers.

I remember the excitement I used to feel as the anticipation of a night spent perusing and partaking of nightclubs coursed through my veins.  I'd prep to step out in my hotel room at the Golden Eagle, that cesspool of humanity, while beats would hit me from the cheap radio that was perennially by my side.  As I sit in my maturity now and peck out these words, I still listen to those beats.  House music, my love my passion, the fuel to my rhythmic fire, alas, is now only a stint between worship tunes and peaceful melodies, but I still get it in there as it continues to and always will be in my bones.

Back in the day, I was the queen, the star of the night as I rocked with my Sicilian stilettos, a madwoman in invisible chains nevertheless for a moment free with the ecstasy of total surrender to motion.  You must understand, however, that everything I experienced was heightened to the umpteenth degree by this little thing called chemistry.  My body failed to produce what my brain needed to be happy, so my mind went a little cuckoo.  This translated to an enhanced dancing experience that frankly, blew people away FYI

So what of it?  As my mentor John Really would say "all that and a nickel buys a 5 cent cigar, if you smoke cigars".  Even though I don't really dance anymore, my life today is immeasurably deeper and more satisfying since I met Christ.  And nothing has the corner market like peace, stability and the maturity I'm grateful to now have - not even dancing.  I am thankful to have grown up, even though it has meant leaving certain pleasures behind but God never takes without replacing and I lack nothing.   Still, deep in the recesses of my soul there lies a bag of glitter and a dance floor, waiting.

Brother

Pockets of grief linger in my heart,

the organ that's been torn all apart.

This country night I've not much to do,
so I sit on the porch feeling like goo.

I'm watching my brother wash off his car, 

and marvel at how thorough his efforts are.

He scrubs and he soaks and wipes patiently,

sweating with work and spent energy.

The strains of the music that fills his ears,

mix with the moment erasing my tears.

It's cloudy and muggy and windy tonight

but somehow watching my brother makes it alright.

I wish we could talk like we used to do

when we were little and all things were new.

But we struggle, we fight and argue so much -

it's really a shame we're so out of touch...

My brother, my comrade, my partner in crime

lets hang out lets talk more, it's certainly time.