My Mom - A Woman of Valor: Guest Post at RHE

My beautiful mom, picture taken by my sister-in-law, Sandy Gold, on Thanksgiving this year.

It is my honor to be posting in Rachel Held Evans' series on Women of Valor today. Last month, I told you I would give you a link to this essay when it came up today, and I will do that in just a moment. 

I submitted two essays to Rachel about mom - one outlined her wonderful life with a list of facts and tidbits. The second, which you will find if you click on this sentence came pouring out of me after I had submitted the first one. This is the one I believe the Holy Spirit wrote in me and it tells more than facts, it tells truth in so much love. I love my mom more than I can even begin to put into words - she has been an anchor in my life for all of these nearly 68 years. So watching her fade into this fog has been agonizing on many, many levels. But she is THERE still and some part of her always will be. And all of who she is, her story, her present, her future --- all of it is held safely and lovingly by the Shepherd she has followed since she was a teenager. Thanks be to God.

I invite you to read more at Rachel's place today. Thanks so much.

P.S. I was wrong! This is not the last essay in the series. It will continue until year's end. Such a wonderful list of valorous women!!

Breathing in the Beauty - 2008 - Archive-Diving

This post was originally written about four years ago and was probably the first time 

I wrote about the restorative qualities of time spent at Butterfly Beach.

I kept personal posts off of the blog until the beginning of 2011 and am now 

editing a few of them as I prepare to transfer my blog to a new site.

You'll note that we were both still working at this point in time.

You'll also notice that I write about some of the very same themes today.

Last week, the weather turned warm and balmy. Dick had been in southern CA working from Tues-Thurs and it was Friday, with an afternoon off for both of us. I came back from errand running and said, "Let's drive down to the beach!"

We each picked up a book to read, drove the two miles straight down the hill and parked on the slope of Channel Drive, just above this old cypress tree. With both front windows down, the moon-roof open and the seats leaning about as far back as we could get them, we slowly sank into the beauty of this place in which we are blessed to live.

Winter is the best time of the year at the beach in Santa Barbara. No tourists. No crowds. The sun sets directly over the water, the dolphins and sea lions come in close to the shore and the birds hang out in droves.

We are both tired, the kind of tired that seeps into your bones. The kind of tired that has little connection to how much sleep or exercise you're getting. It's the kind of tired that builds up over many months of watching people you love suffer greatly. It's the kind of tired that comes from grieving the death of someone dear, and the related losses that come with that: the death of dreams and hopes and plans.

We know where this deep tiredness is coming from and we know it cannot be avoided. It's part and parcel of living to have to deal with grief and it cannot be gotten around, only walked through. But last Friday afternoon, we were so grateful for a chance to just sit and breathe in the beauty of God's world for a couple of hours.

Dick napped a little, I read a lot, and I just sat and looked out at the ocean a lot. The sight, sound and smell of the ocean is like medicine for what ails me - it truly brings healing and comfort. And a reminder that there is a bigness to God and to God's creation that can handle all the pain and struggle we suffer in this life. Perhaps even more powerfully true than that, it is a reminder to look for the beauty around us, wherever it can be found. And to take a little time to savor it and let it speak.

Of Sunshine and Seasides and Hope - A Photo Essay

See that girl in the pink?

She is the best medicine in our lives just now,

and we had ourselves a good, healthy dose yesterday.

Last week's visit to my mom was hard,

and the road ahead will continue to be so. 

This end-of-life journey will be fraught with 

confusion and loss

and I will hate it.

A lot.

I am talking to God about it,

often yelling while I do,

but also coming back round to center,

remembering that no matter how lost

my mother feels to me,

she is never lost to God.

Never.

So. Yesterday was a school holiday for our girl,

and we were given the gift of being with her.

The.Entire.Day.

She sprang through our door about 8:45 a.m.,

dressed from head to toe in HOT pink,

complete with sequins lining the pockets of her fleece jacket.

A new outfit from Target, picked out by herself. . .

and of course, it had to be pink.

And not just pink, but PINK. 

We pulled out the Lego bins, filled with

colorful bricks that once belonged to her dad,

and she dug in with gusto.

Almost three hours for this 7-year-old

of creating, disassembling, re-arranging

and fun. 

I sat at the table, 10 feet away,

reading blogs and email,

 enjoying her easy company and occasional conversation.

Then we piled into the car about noon,

and headed out to the wharf.

It was a stunning day.

Crystal clear, about 60 degrees, 

with warm sun on our shoulders.

We went to the local Sea Center,

a small marine museum, featuring exhibits

about the creatures which inhabit these coastal

waters in the Santa Barbara channel.

This is a very bright girl,

eternally curious and actively engaged with 

whatever is going on around her.

From tiger sharks to sea stars,

from restless Garibaldi to the breathtaking view 

out the back wall,

she explored it all.

In the 'wet room,' where buckets are dropped 

directly into the ocean through a large hole

in the wharf,

she watched, intrigued,

as several students older than she

put the contents of a bucketload through a 

sifter and then a microscope.

Upstairs was a small exhibit of jellyfish,

those brainless creatures of grace and transparency.

You can just make her out to the left of

the observation window, 

momentarily entranced.

Against a very dark wall, there was a slide

of moving shapes and colors

and Gracie wanted a picture in front of it.

A little bit too dark, however, 

and the flash obliterated the slide on the wall.

In the upstairs gangway, there was a small puppet theater,

which enraptured her. 

She had such fun entertaining us with

each and every one.

Each.And.Every.One.

Smile.

One look at this sweet girl's face

and all the sadness just sort of lifted

away like a cloak,

dropping to the floor around me.

This guy apparently inflicted some pain!

But the dolphin was sweet as could be.

We took her to lunch at Longboard's about 90 minutes later.

She loves the peanut barrel there,

where you can scoop up as much as you want,

eat as much as you want, and --

wait for it! --

toss all the peanut shells right onto the deck!

How cool is that??

We finished our adventure with a trip to the

ice cream shoppe -

single scoop of Cotton Candy on a sugar cone, please.

It even matched her outfit.

She ate every last bite, too --

without spilling a drop on her new outfit --

until that very last bite, when the cone

broke. . . and there was a bright blue

spot in the middle of all that pink.

As we sat in the sun, enjoying our ice cream,

this catamaran came within about a stone's throw,

gliding through the sea,

loaded with inquisitive tourists,

eager to view the coastline and enjoy

their afternoon on the water.

I took a deep breath, trying to capture the moment.

A beautiful grandchild - one of eight such

magnificent gifts in our life.

A spectacular day - in a magnificent location.

And we get to live here,

fifteen minutes from this girl and her sister.

The older kids live one to three hours south of here,

so these are the kiddos we see most often

and are graced to care for from time to time.

This, this is gift.

And I am grateful.

And for a while, as the sun shone down,

and the water sparkled,

and the glory-girl grinned her toothless

grin at me while her Poppy watched with love --

for a while, that hurting place in my heart

was healed right over.

Thank you, Gracie, for being you:

God's gift to all of us.

Signing on with Michelle DeRusha, Jen Ferguson, Laura Boggess and Ann Voskamp. Sad to say good-bye to Seedlings in Stone this week - but trust that Laura Barkat's fine work will continue to show up in some other sparkling setting - I know it will show up at TSP!

   

Quiet for the Weekend - November 2-4, 2012

 "God spoke: 

'Lights! Come out! 

Shine in heaven's sky. 

Separate Day from Night.

Mark seasons, and days and years, 

Lights in Heaven's skies to give light to Earth.'

And there it was."

Genesis 1:13-15 (MSG)

As the sunlight caught this golden bough,

I gasped and said, "Thank you!"

I'm grateful for seasons,

even if they're subtle.

Probably why I love this tree - 

not a subtle thing about it.

(Nor about the sunset that night, either.)

May your weekend be blessed with sunlight,

whether real or imagined, striking or subtle;

may you find time with those you love,

enjoy worship that makes your heart sing,

and stretch out in moments of true rest.

Happily joining with Sandy and Deidra and Cheryl 
(whose badge I cannot manage to capture.)

 

31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty - Day 31

We're at the end of the month,

All Hallow's Eve,

and fall is definitely in the air.

We lose the light this next weekend

and I, for one, will miss the longer afternoons.

Living in a Mediterranean climate,

the signs of fall are more subtle than

in many parts of this great country.

You see it in the changing angle of the light,

you see it on country drives,

as hay is harvested and rolled.

You see it in the bigness of sky,

the sharp horizon line, unmuddied by summer fog

lying just off shore.

Around our home, you see fall in some of our trees.

The birches, just outside the front door, 

turn golden,

shimmering and shaking 

their heart-shaped leaves

in the afternoon breeze.

And you see it in the gingko tree,

that ancient traveler across time,

found in fossil form

around the globe,

its fan-shaped leaf distinctive

and lovely.

Our tree is misshapen and not large,

but its leaves are magnificent,

whether on the tree or off.

The birds love it either way.

We have a small, octagonal window with beveled glass,

one that we salvaged when we added onto this house 

about ten years ago.

We placed it at the peak of the high ceiling in

our bedroom,

where I can look up and out

as I wake each morning.

The gingko branches against the sky

tell me what season we're in.

I love that.

Bare branches in winter,

nodules bursting into chartreuse in spring,

deepening, thickly-covered branches in summer,

and bright, bright yellow in fall.

As they fall from the tree,

I find them in the nooks and crannies of our yard 

and I marvel.

They die every year.

To make room for new life.

And they scatter themselves everywhere,

in one last hurrah.

I was here!

LOOK at me.

And I do.

I do.

I am a beauty-hunter,

seeking always for evidence

of love and hope and joy

in the world around me.

A friend had this quote on his blog 

last week and it has stuck with me

ever since.

"As soon as beauty is sought not from religion and love,

but for pleasure, it degrades the seeker."

- Annie Dillard

But here's what I believe:

if we seek to find beauty around us

because we are indeed 

looking for signs of the Source

of that Beauty,

then we will also find pleasure.

Yes!

I believe that.

Pleasure is not the goal,

but it is the by-product,

the glorious gifted by-product. 

And in exactly that way,

we are saved by beauty.

Thank you, Lord.

This has been a challenging month on many levels, but I have enjoyed looking for beauty each and every day. I will join this last post in the 31-Day Challenge with Jennifer, Duane, Ann and Emily on this Wednesday and Thursday: