Sparkle is my Color

Photo by Alexandr Podvalny on Pexels.com

The Road Less Taken is Colorful, or, How about Being a Human Being?

I’m promised great and marvelous outcomes if only I join the 10-item capsule wardrobe crowd, the minimalists, the organized and responsible ones; if I am oblivious to what I like and adore, in favor of what everyone else is liking and adoring.  My heart isn’t meant to sing, it’s meant to follow the leader in gray.  In grey (for our purposes today gray is a color, grey a state of heart and mind).

I once had a grey heart–charcoal, dead.  I saw it, lying on a weed-infested sidewalk crack.  That was the result of following, being untrue to my true self, untrue to God.  It was, and is, SIN.  Sin is, after all, defined as missing the mark, or forfeiting God’s best—color, light,  LIFE. Satisfaction.  Peace.  Trusting myself as I first trust my Maker.  

Much cleverer than heeding and trusting people who so assiduously look, talk, act and walk like everyone else.  Human, but AI.  Artificial “intelligence” is artificial, yes, but intelligent—I think not.  We are told that pink is in, blue (or is it brown?) is the new black, or whatever.  Who has time to worry about it?  Worry is unintelligent.  It’s the devil’s programming.

But I am encouraged even as I impatiently await the light to penetrate those who are, to quote the Eagles, “programmed to receive.”  Hotel California goes on to say, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”  But people are leaving, exploring the forbidden territories of authentic living, starting with the clothes on their backs.  Floaty florals and vintage high-waisted jeans call to remembrance that pair of pastel plaid, cuffed bell-bottoms I had in high school.  The other girls didn’t look at me with jealousy, they looked with hopeful sighs, and gleams in their eyes.  They, too, were going to dress like that. With a twist—their very own spins.

So, “you can never leave” is a lie from Hell.  You can begin checking out of this Culture of Grey right now.  Go change into something that makes you feel like you want to feel today.  If that happens to be the gray of sophisticated style, thoughtful quietude and understated elegance, that’s great.  Just beware that it’s not the grey of a drizzly, damp, depressed state of mind—grey begets grey. 

I admit there are times for such as this, but cozy yourself against the elements.  Yes, go weeping and walking in the rain, but choose a red umbrella, or a bright scarf, and a good hanky. Sit alone in the darkness, but light one candle, or turn on a small lamp and begin to read a beautiful book, such as Little Women. The unutterable sadness of the death in Little Women is cocooned and made bearable by Jo’s sparkling authenticity and color-filled antics, delivering you, Dear Reader, away from the tortuous landscape of apocalypse-grey living.

And now back to the Levis and such: add lipstick, lift your head, and make like the child scripture exhorts you to become.  This means that instead of getting rid of most of your clothes, you gleefully explore the possibilities:  give something away to someone who will look great in it, put a thing or two in the trash because it’s not worth sharing, iron what needs ironing, and maybe organize by color—this is good, cheap fun.  Say, “So there!” as you ignore the mandate to “get rid of anything you haven’t worn in the past year.”

Now it’s time to shop your closet.  And if you can’t imagine going out with the wacky outfit you come up with (or if you’re like me, the Levis and white man’s shirt with big gold hoops), then stay home with your new and happier, more human self. 

If you’re feeling brave by now, Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Seger will suit your dancing feet, or maybe begin more gently with Thank You, Jesus by Charity Gayle and some crooning with Vince Gill, or praise God with and for CeCe Winans.  What’s your almost forgotten old favorite, or that song your friend likes?  Mine would include some in-your-face-to-Grey with Dwight Yokum, or Midnight Train to Georgia.  A fine finish would be Freedom by Michael W. Smith and Soldier by Phil Driscoll.

It is, after all, a fight to be free from mindless following, so that you are of real use and benefit to those who don’t yet know how to.  It’s a call and a challenge worth meeting—being human.  A Human Being.

Human is better.  Human responds to color and light, to movement, rhythm and grace, and especially to the uniquely beautiful, enchantingly lovely, and quite colorful.  You.

Better Late than Never

I really did have my act (YouTube video) together as promised, by 11:00 this morning. But this was the day when our new internet was (supposedly) being installed and THERE WAS NO INTERNET BETWEEN 9:00 and noon! But it’s there now!

V is for Victory and P is for PLEASE Pass this on!

Life is Good. Worry is bad.

I live with kind and undemanding folks, which sounds like a very good thing, right? But it can cause me to get a bit selfish and too into my own thing, which never seems to satisfy my soul. So, in my recent adventures in doing less and going my own way more, I am reminded of what I should KNOW by by: There is satisfaction in sharing, satisfaction in sacrifice.

And I am reminded of my mantra: A smart girl like you oughtta be able to figure this out. Of what am I speaking? I am speaking of the lack of shared meals happening of late at House of Parker.

We all have differing schedules, dietary preferences, and priorities–one person gets up at 3:30 a.m and is home any time between noon and 5:00; another gets off work at 11:00 p.m. The easy thing is to just say, “Who cares?”

The voice plaguing me says they don’t know or appreciate what it takes to put healthy meals on the table; it takes too much time; we’re in a new season and it doesn’t matter that much anyway. “Reason” continues: If I cook what they want it’s too hard to stay low-carb; let them cook their own–they know how.

And yes, they can and often do “cook their own” with the attendant continually messy kitchen, use of ingredients meant for other things, formation of unhealthy habits, and a general state of culinary chaos.

But that isn’t “the thing” really. The thing is that we no longer have “Table Share”. When I read a beautiful quote, or hear an amazing tale which simply must be shared for the joy and edification of all parties, for the common bond created via the ensuing good conversation, the best opportunity for doing so–while enjoying a meal–is unavailable.

What then shall a smart girl do? Give up? Sigh? Call someone and gripe (true friends share joys, not gripes)? No, she changes things here and there. She calls a family meeting first of all, enticing everyone with milk and no-bakes (chocolate oatmeal cookies cooked stovetop with plenty of butter, vanilla, salt, maybe some peanut butter and almond flavoring, and a bit more salt than called for).

In this meeting it is discerned that everyone is fine with her having more time to “do whatever” she wants, and that she should just “make herself happy”. And so . . . the hope that they will tell her what to do, how to solve this issue about which she is apparently the only one who cares, fades into more of the voices: It doesn’t matter; no one cares; you’re the only one bothered by this.

I own it. I am bothered by this, and that’s reason enough to do something about it, and I will find a solution.

So here it is: Breakfast together will be in the form of a weekend brunch; we’ll have dinner together (sort of–when it’s possible) and I will have beautiful times alone, as well as lovely times with only one of my beloveds at a time per their schedules, and on those marvelous times we’re all available, it will be all the more beautiful and lovely for the rarity.

And I will relax, and live in the unforced rhythms of grace given by my Creator. Because it always comes down to this: As smart as I am, He is smarter. He cares about what I care about, and He cares about me.

So rather than losing my creative juices via fretting, I will stop. Rest. And make my darlings happy by making myself happy. I will live each and every day without a plan or a goal, except to receive what God has for me–peace and love and joy–and pass it on. If that happens to be over a meal, so much the better.

Life is good. Worry is bad.

Pentecost, and all Things Richly to Enjoy

 

creek 2

Taking a walk in the cool not-quite-summer breezes the other morning an old question popped into my mind:  Which of the senses would you miss the most, were you to lose it?

Loss of sight would mean no more color, no more iridescent, translucent, sparkling, proof-of- God color.  No more looking into the eyes of my beloveds, no more laughing at a child’s guileless smile.

Not good.

Loss of smell would mean I couldn’t smell this sage I’m crushing in my fingers and thereby being lifted, transported.  Same for the juniper, pine, spruce, fir and cedar on the heavenly breeze.

Loss of smell would mean roast beef and vegetables and gravy and hot buttered homemade bread would be irrelevant.  Also not good.

Loss of smell would mean I wouldn’t notice the clove on John’s breath when he kissed me.

A kiss.  A touch.  Not being able to feel the kissing face, or hugged neck, or the touch of a hand of another of God’s children.

marmot

Hearing.  A marmot is sounding the alarm because the dogs are busy sniffing out his rock pile, and the spring snowmelt has made the creek practically roar as it rushes out of its banks, but not above my favorite creekside blessing rock.

And I couldn’t hear His praises sung from the depths of the hearts of His children in church this morning, on Pentecost Sunday.  This thought makes me catch my breath from the sudden glitch of alarm, the actual physical ache, in my spirit.  But, on this day of all days, I am choosing not to think about “what ifs” and possible losses.  I am thinking of my utter inability to even begin to grasp the magnitude of the Love of God.  This is the sense I want to exercise, increase, develop.  This is the realm into which I want to delve more deeply.  More richly.

He has given us all things richly to enjoy.  I call the dogs off and they happily dash off to the next thrill, all senses alert.  He has given us all things richly to enjoy.  This thought again wafts into my mind and I think of how all the senses will be alive and blessing me at once if I simply take this walk with a loved one, sit by the creek eating roast beef on homemade bread with also homemade mayo, and watch steam swirl up out of a thermos of tea as we sip and smile at each other.  And as we see on each others’ faces peace.  How beautiful, how marvelous.  Oh, Lord, our Lord, how majestic is Your Name in all the earth.

In all the earth.  He has given us so much to enjoy.  Let us not, in pursuits of manmade enjoyments and entertainments, forgo, forget, become blind to, the wonderful world He has made.  In all of our seeking, with all of our senses, let us tune into Him.  Let us daily live a life of Pentecost.  Amen.