Walking Dead – the New Little House on the Prairie?

I remember reading “Night” by Elie Wiesel around the same time our eldest daughter was expecting their first child. If you haven’t read it, you should.

Had I known how disturbing the book was I probably would have set it aside for another season. The reason being, there is a chapter that describes Jewish babies being murdered. That being said the Holocaust happened, and I wanted to remember for those who lost their lives. I wanted to read it, so I could be a better person. I whispered a prayer of gratitude, that the world in which I lived was not in the grips of evil as it was then, or is it?

When we brought our babies home from the hospital I was in awe, at the overwhelming privilege of nurturing a new life, but mostly I was in awe with God, and why he would entrust us to such a sacred opportunity.

As our vehicle got closer and closer to our children’s home, I tried to imagine what it was going to be like when I looked into my grand-daughter’s eyes for the first time, and when she looked back at me. Nothing can prepare you for what takes place. It’s like the beginning of time starting all over again inside of you, and it swells, and swells until you think you might explode into a new universe. And in some ways that is exactly what happens. Not even the stars look the same.

Today I wonder why we’re doing all we can to snuff life out? Have we progressed since the holocaust, or are we getting better at justifying death?

We weep with families who have lost loved ones in shooting rampages across America. A few days go by, and we go to the movies and watch our heroes shoot up the screen, and tell ourselves we are in no way applauding violence.

We weep, on a cold Monday morning, driving to work as we hear the news about those who have lost loved ones in wars outside our borders. After work we tromp down to the television, and tune into more war, only in the form of a cop show, or a navy seal drama, and our sensitive souls are fed what exactly?

We’ve gotten so use to justifying the story, and the spilled blood that we don’t see the person anymore. Reality and pretend are no longer blurred, they share the same time slot. “Walking Dead” in the near future will be the new “Little House on the Prairie” -guaranteed.

At some point in time something has got to change, and we can start by talking about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Settling for Shade, When you can Have…

Went for a walk today. I have this favourite trek all mapped out, one that allows me to avoid traffic eighty percent of the time, and disappear into nature while still in town. Thanks to my specific route I can tell you where the deepest purple lilac bush grows, and the bluest blue spruce. I’ve found one of the longest living row of trees that line the north face of a hidden park. Today I needed their shade.

As I made my way home on the last stretch I noticed something different, a piece of nature that wouldn’t have been there a week ago, and won’t be there the next time I round the bend.

One lone pink rose. The unique thing about this rose was how it had its head stuck through a metal fence. It was smiling in full bloom despite its predicament. The metal fence had those plastic inserts which hid the rest of the bush, and the yard in the shade. But this one rose wanted the sun and left everything behind to get it. Everybody else was settling for status quo, but not her.

I think she knows it won’t be long and the wind is going to take a swipe at her petals. Sticking out so far into the unknown is risky, but settling for shade when you can have the Son? There’s nothing like the Son.

…..raking leaves

My plan was to use the treadmill and have breakfast before starting work in the studio.  That plan changed when I walked out into the unusually mild fall weather and saw the dancing leaves.

Many of my neighbors had been sweeping the leaves off their driveways and raking them off their yards, while I had left them carpeting our property with their festive yellow hues.  I marveled at their color and the sound of their voices whispering to me as I swished through them ankle-deep.

The forecast for the next day was rain.  Dry leaves are a joy, wet leaves get really messy.  My morning plans shifted.

As I swept large piles of my yellow friends from the sidewalk into the gutter, I noticed a lady out walking her dog.  To my surprise she waved and crossed the street towards me.

She called out to me by name, and I nodded.

She had seen me leading worship on Thanksgiving Sunday, and recognized me from across the street.  She and her husband were new in town and were attending our church.  She was very pleased about living in the area.

While we chatted she noticed a bird, a white breasted nut hatch, is what I think she called it.  The bird was peeking at us from a nearby branch.  As I listened further, I learned they can go backwards down a tree, and their call sounds like a “sick duck”.  Her words, not mine.

Our conversation shifted to her family.  Sadly her adult sons had suffered issues at Bible School.  Her children shared the same gift and love for music I did.  One of her sons was finding life quite difficult, in a city nearby.  I asked for his name.

I briefly told her about a pattern that had been developing as of late.  I pray for one of my framing customer’s sons, and she prays for mine.  All young people experience challenges as they move out into the world and find their place and purpose.  If it was alright with my new neighbor, I would pray for her son as well.  She nodded and commented on the importance of prayer.

We both embraced on the end of my driveway, and waved goodbye.

I didn’t tell her how my Grandmother’s prayer had saved my life thirty-three years ago on Thanksgiving day.  That’s another major God moment story for some other time.

Trust Remembers the Rainbow…

What to do when we are hurting or someone we love is in pain?  Humanity falls so short of who God is and how he responds to our pain.  As believer’s we pull out the trust card, but realize we can’t find it.  The storm has come and the wind has blown our trust away.  All we can see is the fog.  All we can feel is frozen.

We sink into despair.  Despair is close at hand and can be found.  Our minds keep weaving webs of blame, “what did we do wrong?”, when we should be asking “who is God?”  God is faithful, and someone we can trust.

Trust is not searching frantically for our umbrella to keep us dry.  Trust is standing in the pouring rain knowing He is beside us.  Just as the rain grows the fruit of the field, so our pain can grow the fruit of the spirit, if we trust that God is indeed in control.

Trust is knowing He loves us soaking wet with tears, or dry to the spiritual bone.

Trust is not trying to be who we think we need to be, in order to forge a future, but asking God to be our future.

Trust is stepping aside, because His plans are better than our own.

Trust exists in the midst of pain.  Like folded angel wings it waits.  Trust remembers the rainbow, the cross, and Easter morning.  Every pang and sting grows fainter as we….

…”Trust in the Lord with all our strength and lean not unto our own understanding, but acknowledge him in all our ways, and He will direct our path” Proverbs 3:5,6

Who is God?  He is our creator.  If He can give us life, He can sustain us.  If He can raise Christ from the dead, He can heal us.  If He is preparing a place for us in eternity, then he most certainly can help us find our place here on earth.

And so we pray for our beloved who is in pain…

Colossians 1:9  “…from the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will, in all spiritual wisdom and understanding”

Creating a Collage of Achievements

Knee surgery, among other less invasive issues, has kept me from my spring cleaning.  But it didn’t stop us from  having a house concert with Ben Rogers, Dan Zepick, and our daughter Julie Palin!  Class act indeed!

After the dust settled and Monday morning came, I hobbled slowly down the stairs to choose another forgotten object off the shelf.  This time – a Fire Fighter license plate.  My husband volunteered with our hometown Fire Department for fifteen years.  Once he recognized (in his own words) that he wasn’t getting quality time with his toddler children, he quit.  Everyone thought I put him up to it, but he made that decision on his own.  I think he decided being part of his children’s lives was just as important as saving lives.  He may have stopped putting out flames, but having him home kept the home fires burning.

Recently I framed his Carpentry Apprenticeship Certificates and hung them above the desk he made for his final project.  This license plate is going to add to the collage of his achievements.  However, rather than frame it just because I can (we own and operate a custom framing business called; My hometown Framing), I thought hanging it much like a sign would be the trendy thing to do.

I visited http://www.pinterest.com and pinned a few of  my “license plate” choices on a new board called; license plate art.  The selection is vast and varied, but I selected only those that suited our home.  One in particular stood out, with a black background.  I was actually looking to find choices with the plate standing alone (without a frame).  If I decide to hang the plate without a frame, I want to use the same hardware you would use to fasten a plate to your vehicle, but only a false front look, as you don’t want big nut and bolt holes in your wall.

Next, I searched pinterest for ideas on hanging different kinds of art on the wall together.  It is one thing for me to create a collage of art on our art rail, and a whole other story to create a collage above my husband’s desk.

We have a letter “P” that my sister gave us one Christmas.  I noticed that many of the wall collages contained different shaped frames with an object or two, like a “letter/alphabet” to create interest.  I’ve decided to hang the letter in the collage as well, since it represents our last name.  The letter was designed with an inset hanging device on the back, so a simple nail should do.

I’ll be sure to pin a picture of this collage – to my pinterest board, http://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=hanging%20art%20collages

 

 

METAL is IN and Apparently SO is SHREDDED Paper!

What is it about containers that fascinate us?  The material they’re made of can tell us something about our personal taste.  That being said, my personal taste has got to fit in the “eclectic” category. I have every kind of container under the sun, but as you know I am about to change that.  Cleaning up, throwing out, or is that throwing up and …..anyway – I’m getting the job done one day at a time and blogging about it!

My photo boxes are usually cream with some of kind of warm antique feel as if I’m gravitating towards my grandmother. But who really needs all their photo boxes to match?  I guess I do.

My storage boxes, no big deal, but usually plain cardboard.  I do like that raw quality, and a place to label what’s in the box.  Perhaps that means I’m an earthy anal combination?

What about the metal kind of container? It appeals to my sense of clean lines, looks professional, and did you know?  Metal is in.  I think it’s a classic type container, like navy and red in fashion.  Never goes out of style.  In actuality I believe we bought the metal containers for fireproof reasons to store important paperwork.  And indeed, I looked inside and found paperwork dated 2001.  I have heard from reliable sources that you can throw your personal paperwork out after seven years.  If I am wrong I apologize, to whom ever I need to apologize to – because I am shredding the paper as we speak.  I know, multitasking, two hands on the keyboard and big toe on the shredder power button.  Kidding.  Be careful using a shredder!

The shredding lasted for about five minutes.  It has got to be the most mundane chore in the world.  And what to do with it after it’s shredded?  We can use it to pack boxes, or recycle it.  I highly doubt any lurking criminals at the recycling station would want to piece my top-secret information together – but you never know.  So…. maybe a craft?

I betcha it wouldn’t take me long to find something on Pinterest,  handmade and spectacular, and out of shredded paper?

You may want to visit me at Pinterest and check out what I found!

http://www.pinterest.com/cindysouljourn

one of my own creations at http://www.pinterest.com/cindysouljourn

Living Vertical in a Horizontal World

Good morning Jesus. It has been an interesting week, holding on tight to your hand and walking with you while you open my eyes and lift my chin gently upwards with the tips of your fingers.  You keep me living vertical.

Windows and doors open all around me, revealing images of this world’s reality, of our perilous soul condition.  Objects of desire are blotting out the Son, blind sheep still wander.  The weight of it wraps around my feet and threatens to keep me horizontal.  The pain of it tries to drown me, but you severed my ball and chain on the cross, and we walked into freedom from the tomb.

Since you joined the Father and left your Spirit here, there’s a lot of seeking going on, but not for you.  Your truth has been traded for brighter lights, bigger toys, man’s temporary fascinations.  As if we can compete with you and your design, your purpose and your plan? Have we forgotten the cycle of history repeating itself?  Our struggles and our triumphs are not original, or the first, or the last, but You are.

You hand crafted our intricate, brilliant minds in your image, kissed our lungs with air and yet some can’t even bring themselves to speak your name.  So much safer and hip to use the buzz words of the day, so non-committal, so plastic intelligence, empty, and most of all – powerless.  But my soul is not downcast.

You delight to say my name and called me before the earth felt the warmth of the sun.  The realization that I even bleep on your radar slays me, that I am so much smaller than the stars, yet matter more to you than the entire universe put together.  I am but a speck of star-dust orbiting around you.  You are a mystery magnet I cannot explain. I am in awe of you and go deeper, past the velvet curtains of your solar systems to the beginning and the end, into your heart.

How do I know you are real?  How do I know there is one God, and that you love me?  How do I know I have nothing to fear when I put my trust in you?  You have proven yourself over and over and over again.  Every living cell bears your seal, every generation has witnessed the majesty of your handiwork.

The closer I come to you, the faster you run to me.  I don’t need to see the exact lines of your face to feel you here beside me.  I am not ashamed, and I will not apologize for believing in a baby born in Bethlehem, born of God and born of man.

As the world grows darker, as the pages of time draw to an earthly close, even though my body may lie down before the trumpet sounds, keep my spirit living vertical.  I love you.

Rainy Days and Faith, and Orange Plaid Rubber Boots

I sat in bed against all our fluffed up feather pillows with a “faith” cup I was given for my birthday – full of coffee and cream of course.   The curtains were open just enough for me to see the sky’s expansive shower head, rain down in a westerly direction.  Every now and then between whispering prayers and reading Psalm 73, I looked up into the darkest parts of the trees to see if God had turned the tap off.  It’s easier to see the translucent rain drops that way.  It was still raining, a lighter pressure than before, and the naughty branches were quarreling with each other.

It’s a good day for rain I guess. Life must go on, even though everything is a bit more difficult to do, umbrellas, plastic bags, rubber boots.  Mine, are shallow orange plaid so I can’t go wading in the deep puddles.  Maybe that’s why my husband bought them for me, orange so he could spy me from a mile away, and shallow to keep me on the sidewalk.

I feel like a little girl who needs to be told to keep out of the puddles.  I feel like a little girl most all the time. I keep her close to the surface in everything I do, that way I hear the birds sing, and watch for what God is going to say next.

What are you going to say today, Lord?  When the sun is out I think we run off and play without consulting you, but when it rains everyone is a bit more unsure of how to proceed.

O Promised Love

When I witness one more abandoned soul, one more broken promise , one more casualty of love, I ache inside.  I long for justice.

For one fleeting second I wonder – does God see the injustice?  Does God care?  Why isn’t He doing something?  And then I remember.

God did not reach down and yank the whip away from Christ‘s flogger.  God did not reach down and tenderly lift the crown of thorns off of his son’s head.  God did not reach down with might and fury and prevent the hammer from driving the large spikes into Christ’s flesh but he did do something.  He reached down and intervened for his son’s killers by letting his son die because God knew that only that kind of love would save us from ourselves.  The innocent for the guilty, the grace for the undeserved.

Thousands of years have fled the earth like falling stars flee the sky,

since they lashed their claws to bare the bone

And he let them – for you, O promised love whom we discard

Thousands of years have passed overhead like wisps of clouds gone by,

since they crowned his brow in broken glass

And he wore it – for you, O promised love whom we molest

Thousands of years have circled the earth as the earth chases the sun,

since they drove their teeth into his veins

And his wrists burned – for you, O promised love whom we leave for dead

Love chose our name when he poured out the seas

Love called our name when he writhed his last breath

Love carried our name in the fold of his arm, near the song of his heart

When he marched from the tomb, and he did it for me, he did it for you

O promised love – whom we adore!

We are not abandoned!

©May 4th, 2013 Cindy Palin

 

 

 

 

Orange and Blue

Was kneeling beside the bed talking to God.  I looked up and saw the dead orange maple seeds clinging to the bare bone branches.  But there in behind was that incredible, trustworthy blue sky backdrop.  P.S.  We don’t live in Vancouver.

I think that’s what I must look like when I am walking in my own strength, dead and orange and clingy.  And there’s the Lord in all His grandeur, vibrant and true blue, waiting in the wings to envelope me in His arms when I finally learn to trust.

Orange and blue.  Those colors go together amazingly well, something you don’t see much of in home decor.  I smiled as I looked around our bedroom, blue and orange.  I know it sounds crazy but I had inadvertently designed our bedroom after the pattern outside our window.

I’ve been feeling kind of sorry for myself, discouraged about some of the gifts God has given, not being used.  And yet, as soon as I released that thought I heard Him say something.

You’re right, Lord, I am using them, they are just not fitting into the box we live in.  But we don’t LIVE in this box.  I’d rather our relationship be ALIVE than do something simply for the sake of doing it, or because it is the trendy thing to do, or for someone else’s approval.

Then I thought about some of the people I’ve been discouraged for, and I heard Him say something else.

You’re right Lord, discouragement is a sign we’re walking in our own strength again.  Trusting in our own wisdom.  And it’s not even close to wise.  Wise people don’t write people off before the end is even here.  “It is a good thing you don’t do that to us” I sighed.

“I’m sorry” I said out loud.  I got up off my knees and went out into the living room.

I trust you Jesus with what you’ve given me.  Thank you for what you are using it for even if I can’t see that right now.  I trust your timing and I trust you with those people you’ve put in my life.  And as I learn to be more like you, as I talk to you and practice being ALIVE in you, I trust that you’re going to show me some amazing things.  You already have.

Orange and Blue.