Can you hear His voice?

Epiphany epiphanies

For the last couple of years, I've kinda leaned back toward my Anglican/Episcopal roots at the beginning of Advent. I've pulled out the lectionary, Advent readings and participated in #adventword, the global Advent calendar.

This year the word prompts at #adventword, like "wild and prune," were unexpected. They seemed to connect language from the heavens to my Instagram feed as I pondered and wrote about how each of them relates to our relationship with Christ and the waiting of Advent.

In the midst of it I realized this truth: we. move. so. fast.

There is so much to accomplish, to get done, to do.

As I noticed this, I allowed this year to slow down. I did a little less with and went more slowly in the Christmafying of the house. Some greens went up, a few lights and the tree, but it was all related to pondering and looking forward, not the mad (read: commercial display) dash. There was Advent.

I lit the lovely candles of Advent almost daily and considered ideas from Jen Naraki's Slow & Sacred Advent and some of the considerations from Tsh at The Simple Show. Along the way, I found Advent resources at the Homely Hours, and Sacred Ordinary Days (they sell a wonderful spiritually based planner enticing me into study and daily practices of consideration). I immediately felt a slowing, began noticing and drank in some quiet.

These are my intentions, connection to the King each day, each hour, seamless connection and slowing to breathe in all He's placed around me which leads to the quieting of my spirit. Quiet.

I observed 12 days of Christmas this year. If not making it a planned thing - a doing thing - I just made it so clear, Advent is 24 long waiting, preparing, wanting days before Christmas. And when it arrives, Christmas is the celebration,  12 days of vacating our work lives and enjoying the gifts of time and family and friendships.

Surprisingly, the Christmas Eve service we attended at our church this year was different. Led by our gospel choir and team, it began with Christmas songs and carols and quickly moved into worship songs - deep and heartfelt and oh-so-appropriate for Christmas, but rarely the norm. It was longer than normal. Different than what I'm used to and very relevant to my heart. It moved me, blurring the line between celebrating Christ's birth and worshipping Him as the alive and day-to-day Savior He is. It was good tension. It made Christmas about worshipping the living King. It played into my shift this Christmas. Or drove it further.

So on to Epiphany - the epiphany of Jesus himself, right in front of me and also, the Feast of Epiphany. I chalked my door, asking for blessing - (something I need when I'm off with my Dear to drive my college girl to the airport). And I find myself enthused. Not to remove the tree and the house lights, but to walk forward from Christmas and into the season of Epiphany.

My eyes and heart are open to recognize more of who Jesus is. To grow in Epiphany.

1 Peter 5:7::Cast your care.

1 Peter 5:7  (NIV)
7 Cast all your care on him because he cares for you.

I have been struggling for a while. Living in big and small change. Brilliant successes and some significant strife seem to be the sign posts on my path for now. And, I confess, I've felt a distance in the way I approach God. I allow so many little things to get in the way of the deeply needed deep connection.

I woke early this morning and mindlessly picked up my phone to check the old Instagram and saw a favorite sister in the faith's post. It's all about trusting God. Allowing the Author to be the Perfector.

Oh. Yes. That.

I think I distilled my early life training to the core idea that I might have to figure it out myself. I know this is wrong, but I've muscled through and made it right for years and years and years. I've also proven it quite wrong. So what do you do with that? Why is this the default when I have so much evidence in the opposite direction. Well? I forget.

This morning what I did is remember.

I remembered my table is never set for one. It is always (at least) me with God.
Today, I slipped out of my thinking, and let Him bring deep words of deep connection through a devotional reminding me to cast my care/anxiety/frustration/confusion in His direction -- on my Father's altar. Maybe even on His lap.

The way I see it, He woke me. He let me get to that place in the IG world. Then He whispered - grab the book and meet me at the table.

I remember.
I am my Father's and He is mine. He has never said to me: figure it our yourself. Rather, He whispers something lovely from His Word sounding like: come on Sweet Girl, I have this side of the yoke. Slip your head in here and let my strength lighten the load, the burden and maybe, let's talk about the thanksgiving and gratitude you have for who you are in me. Perhaps we could start there and watch the path smooth a bit. You can trust me. You can choose to cast those cares in my direction. I care about you.

Praying. Boldly.

Because of my job I met a beautiful mom named Christie and learned about her life with a sweet boy named Brooks. Brooks is going to be a first grader next year and he's living with the aftermath of a Wilm's tumor. This is, apparently, the kind of cancer which shows up in early childhood, and should, with early diagnosis and treatment, be brought into remission. Brooks finished fairly aggressive treatment and was ready to start back with fun things like baseball and school when his family learned that, rather than remission, there were new tumors.
His family are following the next directed medical steps with surgery and therapies.
I, am called into this only because of God's love and grace.
I met Brooks mom and his grandma and I immediately loved them. (This happens when you meet generous and kind people, right?!)
So here I am, connected by the thin thread of meeting which is strengthened when the God of the universe calls you into love.
I'm praying and I'll live out my journey here and I'll even ask you to join me.
Because:  we're called to love.
And love is often action.

Worshipping and finding.

I recently had the opportunity to speak to a women's group about worshipping God.

In the process of preparing I found myself thinking about how distracted we really are. We're called to worship the One revealed in Revelation 4 -- the One who is brilliant like Jasper and Carnelian, with the 24 elders surrounding Him, casting their crowns and singing Holy, Holy, Holy.

I find this to be the best reminder that how we worship God matters. This is our way into His presence, where life exists.

There is so much about God that simply requires our response. Our response in worship is to Him, His majesty, His holiness, His Oneness. Not the music, or the singer, or the song or the tempo. To God, our worship -- in the midst of our distraction and suffering and frustration and lack and -- well, you make the list.

We worship Him to be with Him. Our LORD in found in the midst of our worship.

Sing loud.

Surprised by art

Ok, advanced upon by the Holy Spirit to create, which feels like play is getting to be rather funny.

First, I've found that I have more supplies than I'll ever need. Yes, over time I've collected things. I'm guessing I believed that in purchasing these elements, I was also purchasing time. Or permission to play rather than work. Ughh! Life is a process. A journey. A long walk. And now that I'm paying attention to what I'm hearing, I'm having an awful lot of fun and finding an abundance of joy and love along the way.

So, today, I took the day off so my mom and I could use theatre tickets for a matinee of Harmony at the Ahmanson. My dear husband suggested the Wednesday matinee. (He was born on the left coast but he's more like a New Yorker without the subway tokens. Every theatre on Broadway has a Wednesday matinee, so L.A. must, goes the logic.) I snagged the day. Mom was in. The kids had plans and rides, so off I am. I planned breakfast with my Dear, then a little art time, then, the shower and the drive to the Ahmanson.

On a whim, my darling checked the time and, surprise!, we'll be seeing the Saturday show. Los Angeles does not have a Wednesday matinee. All of this is simply to say that here I am, with a free day to play with the art and reorganize a few supplies I've recently repatriated.

Along the way, I made this cute book for my friend Joan.

I'm all so joyously surprised that I feel the call to artishness and, that I'm obeying.

So I continue to wonder, "What's He doing?"

Seriously

I'm cleaning a corner of my room. Deep cleaning and what do I find?

Yep. I've had this book a long time. But really, now I find it? God is rather clear!

She calls it creative calisthenics

I have to report that on the quiet, God pursuing me journey, I came across this amazing video by accident (perhaps). If I share with you, quite easily, how to warm up to write, or how to do writing practice for journaling or for more formal writing I'm happy. I've learned lots of ways to get at the page. But when it comes to creating in an art journal, well, not so much. I see lots of blank paper.

Enter Dina Wakley's video.

She calls it creative calisthenics. And just watching I was ready to go.

Oh do watch. Her method of "waking up creative juices" is fun and doable and where did those spray ink spritzers come from?

Must find. Now.
Oh! I must go paint too.

Falling into place.

Yesterday my soon-to-be-new boss brought a reading from the book, "A Million Little Ways," to our meeting. He plans to promote space and stillness in our meetings. I like space and stillness. I need space. I need stillness. As he read, I heard words about the art created between us. I caught my breath. My soon-to-be new boss is using God's words with me. Art. Write. Relate.

I had to stop and note this. This is an advancement on me. Pressure. Pressure, especially to find the tools, pick up the tools, and do what I'm dying to do. (Living to do?)

I wrote the name of the author down on the back sheet of my notepad and continued to listen and ponder the what in, "What is He doing?"

After the meeting I hopped onto my computer, ordered the book and dashed to another meeting. Later, I reopened the search for the book and found that Emily Freeman is the author, and she's also the author of a blog I have loved, Chatting at the Sky. It's not been on my radar for a while. I was surprised, joyfully, by the synchronicity of the morning.

Later in the day someone asked me what I thought I needed most. (People ask things like this when a new boss is coming and we're all trying to gain perspective before new perspective is brought into town.) I replied, space to breathe. This is packed with much more than the toss off line, breathing space. I really am seeking to declutter shelves and corners, boxes, drawers, my brain, my office -- to release things which neither extend joy and peace in my life or help with the process.

So today, I returned to read the Chatting blog, (eagerly awaiting my book) and what do I see but the author's personal description: Emily Freeman is a writer who creates space for souls to breathe. She is the author of three books: Grace for the Good Girl, Graceful (For Young Women), and A Million Little Ways.

Really? Space for souls? Is that what I need. Space. Breath. A connection to my soul?

Clearly, the Creator of the Universe is moving me into His lane.
How about you? Are you experiencing the voice, the interruption of God in your world?

Do share.

Journaling - a fun opportunity

I'm more than a little excited about sharing the joys of journaling at this all day retreat.

One of our lovely leaders, Teresa, called me on a quiet Saturday -- on my home phone no less, to ask if I'd be interested in leading a break-out session on a book. I'd been posting online about my friend Janice's recently published (and now best-selling!) book - Paris Letters, which I think made my dear Teresa pop the question. (The book is marvelous. Buy it!) After a few minutes, we were all set on the idea, and I even suggested we start a book club at church. That's when I asked, "so what else are you doing for these sessions?" She mentioned our friend Nora would be training on Praying in Color, (super cool, go on, try it) and she shared the sad fact that the woman who was going to lead Journaling isn't available. I leapt, offered another friend for the book club, and immediately shared all the many ideas I have for journaling. I see it as a journey of talking with God, or talking around or near Him, or simply writing in His presence.

I've been journaling in spiral bound notebooks since I was a senior in high school. I moved on to other lovely journals, hard bound (not my favorite, they don't lay flat) fancy as they may be, and Moleskins, my first Moleskin journal is a treasure. That season of writing saved my life. God was busy reshaping me and that wasn't easy. Journaling was a necessity. In that season I was clinging to the WORD, and to that journal, noting all I could about where I saw God, so visible, in my life. Journals? I've got tons of them.

And it isn't just about gathering words on pages, I've actually spent some time honing the craft. When my husband and I were first married, he took us to a writer's seminar through the Pacifica Institute. We woke up early on a Saturday morning and sat in a room where Russell Lockhart, Natalie Goldberg, Allen Ginsberg (yes, that Allen Ginsberg) and Annie Dillard taught us about how they approached writing. I thought I was there as an observer with my writer husband. A tagalong of sorts. But each of them, Natalie and Russell the most, called out the writer in me and gave me wonderful, useful practices for writing that I'm held tightly too all these years. Allen Ginsberg, in his beard and blue and white seersucker suit shared the practice of meditation leading to the word on the page. He had us write and I did after sitting with my hands on my knees, just like him, until a sentence had to be out of my head and onto the page.

I learned the most from Natalie Goldberg. She taught about writing practice. Just writing 20 minutes at a time about a subject or an idea without stopping NO MATTER WHAT. She started a particular writing session with, "I remember..." as the prompt and I proceeded to write out one of the deeper, tougher memories about how the sound of my grandmother's milk glass jewelry dish signaled the start of a day, ready or not. There was much more, but you'll go look at her books and web page and get a sense of her if you like. I still keep the Samuri Editor at bay. Her idea. Her words. My freedom. Russell Lockhart is a Jungian analyst and spoke much about dreams, dreaming and writing. He shared much, but the two things echoing these twenty years later are the truth that a pen-to-page is really a heart-to-hand connection. We learn much. We hear about our core. He also suggested that if we ever want to get to know ourselves very well, we should go away to a hotel and write for 3.days.straight. I haven't done that yet. I'd like to. Maybe soon. Finally, Annie Dillard spoke about her writing. Her style and she did a wonderful reading. What I remember most about her was the suggestion that we pitch our journals when we fill them. She relieved us of the notion that our work would end up in the Smithsonian next to hers. I didn't take her advice though. There's something sacred about the practice of writing. I never really read back nor do I plan to, but, I just can't part with these books.

I took Natalie Goldberg's advice and kept to a wide-ruled, no frills, spiral-bound notebook I could keep in my bag or briefcase every where I go. (I don't write every day. I don't. I don't) And, had a short but wondrous affair with expensive TwinRing Notebooks created with the sleekest paper in the universe. But today? Older and wiser, it's a Mead from Target I bought after the summer back-2-school sales. The pens matter. I like Le Pen or the perfect stick pen with no globby ink or that Pentel .05 pen I love today.

I've also taken Natalie's books, Wild Mind and Writing Down the Bones with me to get that unexpected joy, a writing prompt.

Today, I'm dedicated to two things, Kenton Beshore's method of journaling with the Word and morning pages (The Artist's Way). Writing. Lots. And reading too.

I couldn't be more enthusiastic as I prepare for this wonderful 45 minute adventure next month!

It's a good thing she didn't mention a course on omelets! But that, my dear, is another story all together.

Take heart. Romans 7 is always followed by Romans 8.

Our Teaching Pastor, Mike Suh, connected us brilliantly this week to what goes on with us in our life with the struggle toward transformation. He started right off with that truth about comparison. (I don't commit felonies, or live with obvious sin. I'm probably ok.) But we become lulled into some sense of hiding the real truth about our gossipy nature, our addictions, our, well, sin. And that's where the enemy pulls us off into the corner to talk about his truth. It's deadly. Ugly. Unjust. He focuses us on comparing our behavior in his sphere of influence, the world. Our eyes are on us, rather than God and we're sunk. Just like it was with the law.

What do you think about Eugene Peterson's brilliant interpretation to the "law code." We measure ourselves and we don't measure well. So we hide from God. Rather than allowing Him to create the connection. The beauty. The truth. 

I look for the THEREFORE of Romans 8. But first - the predicament:

Torn Between One Way and Another

7 1-3 You shouldn’t have any trouble understanding this, friends, for you know all the ins and outs of the law—how it works and how its power touches only the living. For instance, a wife is legally tied to her husband while he lives, but if he dies, she’s free. If she lives with another man while her husband is living, she’s obviously an adulteress. But if he dies, she is quite free to marry another man in good conscience, with no one’s disapproval.

4-6 So, my friends, this is something like what has taken place with you. When Christ died he took that entire rule-dominated way of life down with him and left it in the tomb, leaving you free to “marry” a resurrection life and bear “offspring” of faith for God. For as long as we lived that old way of life, doing whatever we felt we could get away with, sin was calling most of the shots as the old law code hemmed us in. And this made us all the more rebellious. In the end, all we had to show for it was miscarriages and stillbirths. But now that we’re no longer shackled to that domineering mate of sin, and out from under all those oppressive regulations and fine print, we’re free to live a new life in the freedom of God.

7 But I can hear you say, “If the law code was as bad as all that, it’s no better than sin itself.” That’s certainly not true. The law code had a perfectly legitimate function. Without its clear guidelines for right and wrong, moral behavior would be mostly guesswork. Apart from the succinct, surgical command, “You shall not covet,” I could have dressed covetousness up to look like a virtue and ruined my life with it.

8-12 Don’t you remember how it was? I do, perfectly well. The law code started out as an excellent piece of work. What happened, though, was that sin found a way to pervert the command into a temptation, making a piece of “forbidden fruit” out of it. The law code, instead of being used to guide me, was used to seduce me. Without all the paraphernalia of the law code, sin looked pretty dull and lifeless, and I went along without paying much attention to it. But once sin got its hands on the law code and decked itself out in all that finery, I was fooled, and fell for it. The very command that was supposed to guide me into life was cleverly used to trip me up, throwing me headlong. So sin was plenty alive, and I was stone dead. But the law code itself is God’s good and common sense, each command sane and holy counsel.

13 I can already hear your next question: “Does that mean I can’t even trust what is good [that is, the law]? Is good just as dangerous as evil?” No again! Sin simply did what sin is so famous for doing: using the good as a cover to tempt me to do what would finally destroy me. By hiding within God’s good commandment, sin did far more mischief than it could ever have accomplished on its own.

14-16 I can anticipate the response that is coming: “I know that all God’s commands are spiritual, but I’m not. Isn’t this also your experience?” Yes. I’m full of myself—after all, I’ve spent a long time in sin’s prison. What I don’t understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. So if I can’t be trusted to figure out what is best for myself and then do it, it becomes obvious that God’s command is necessary.

17-20 But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can’t keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don’t have what it takes. I can will it, but I can’t do it. I decide to do good, but I don’treally do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.

21-23 It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge.

24 I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question?

25 The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different.

The end of the road.

I know, I've spent a lot of words on the Sweet Peas and all the learning. But here we are, the last bunch, the end of the road. We're done. These are a little birthday greeting for my friend Mary Ellen. These darlings have taught me a lot. Provision, Grace, Sharing, Enough. 

But summer comes and overpowers these cool, dampness seekers and they go from beauty to a bit weather beaten pretty quickly.

When I pulled them out, I found my hidden rose had gone dormant. So, there will be new offerings to come. And everything around them will get sun and air. It's time for that kitchen gardening I so love.

Tata until fall to my Sweet friends. I've enjoyed the learning and growing. (See what I did there?)

Enough:: enough, already.

Seriously. I've learned so much about myself and this word enough.

I've found I worry. Too often. About not having enough.

I have enough.

The perfect example is these beautiful Sweet Peas. From the first bloom, at the end of February, I worried somehow that the five seedlings and all the seeds tucked in the ground in November a year ago wouldn't produce many bouquets.

Wrong.

My friend Bob at the gardening store reminds me each time I see him to get the blooms off the plant within 2 days. I do and all the time I'm concerned the plants just won't produce more. This idea holds firm in the face of a 6-ft bush of Sweet Pea vines in my back yard, along with the small meandering vines from those tucked seeds, climbing up my ficus wall, a rose here or a trumpet vine there. I even stuck a few seedlings into the ground out front late in the season. Each time one blooms I'm conflicted. Cut it? Save it? And then my friend asked for a big bouquet and I was so glad to gather, but all the while I was panicking.

I need to let go. This is truly an important confrontation with truth, grace and my whacked thinking. Breathe. Think. Cut.

To prove how nutty I am with all this, let me say, I've cut a big bunch twice for Mary, for Bob, for Mrs. A, for the receptionist at the orthodontist (1 Gigantic bunch, 1 smaller), for Mary Ellen, for Alice, for Di, for Mom, for Margaret, and well more than 20 for the house. I didn't grow up in the depression. I don't need to horde. But here I am.

I went out this morning to cut a few from the front. They are astonishing. Deep, deep almost black purple, a coral with blue streaks and a blue/lavender. Again, like the pansy, as long as the weather remains invitingly cool and dampish, they'll bloom if you cut them. And cut I did. Trembling.

Is it change? Fear of loss? Holy cow, what ever it is, meet the word enough. There are, we have had, enough bouquets. Enough. Beautiful, wonderful, comfortable enough.

Enough:: Living in the granted Presence (and How I really pray)

Last week placed me in a new awareness of the tie between enough and today.

On Saturday afternoon, I visited a new vet with my eight year old German Shepherd. The dog had spent the day all too quietly, lethargic actually. I recognized the need for help. I was concerned his stomach had flipped. Lethargy and quiet can be signs of bloat in big dogs. Unfortunately within a few minutes of an xray, he was diagnosed with something much worse. A tumor on his spleen, very likely related to an incurable, aggressive cancer. Over the course of a few hours we decided to go along with surgery at midnight, forty miles from our home. Our dear friend, a nationally recognized veterinary specialist, offered to help us. We trust and respect him like no other doctor.

All along the way: the initial diagnosis, seeing the radiograph of the tumor, hearing the potential outcomes, the harsh percentages with a nasty disease, considering the need for immediate action (the tumor could rupture and cause internal bleeding), hearing the exorbitant cost of surgery at our local emergency vet hospital, transporting the big dog, turning him over to the vet, leaving him, making it through surgery, bringing him home, I realized something new. My prayers aren't always running through my head. They emanate from my heart, my soul, my spirit, where I know and trust God the most, the best, the deepest. My heart cries out to the One I trust with every detail of my life. I remain present. Hearing. Considering. Discerning. And I let my heart and soul and mind pray. Without my intellect getting in the way. Oh, occasionally I touch base and ask for mercy. But I realized how much I wasn't accepting human thinking and was just listening for what I have to do next. Walking out the details I'm provided. Asking questions. Consulting with our vet friend, my husband, and the only child participating, my 14 year old.

When we were finally arrived home in the wee hours of the morning, heading for bed, I considered my prayers. "Oh God, we love this doggy so much and he's only eight years old, please have mercy on us. Let him live." Selfish prayers. For good reason.

I was reasoning with a friend on the phone that eight years isn't very long with the dog you love. She quietly asked me, "What's your one word?" Hmmm...enough. She responded, "Today is enough."

I awakened over the next days to the idea that eight dog years is a long time. But more importantly, that living in God's kingdom is a daily awakening. A daily realization. Where all we have is granted, including the life of a pooch. So I began living in the days of frosting on the cake. Counting each day granted with the dog. And my husband, my kiddos, etc. I find myself appreciating each situation afforded me. The breath of my life.

On Thursday my husband called with an "are you sitting down?" moment. The first round of biopsies came back benign. Impossibly possible. Surprising. Wondrous. More breath. More air.  More granting. More appreciation.

Realistically? Things may change. The statistics could come and get us. But, that's not where I'm living. In the "coulds." I'm living with grateful children, a grateful husband and a grateful heart. We're counting days of gratitude for this four-legged life. Gratitude for living in general.

And, more present, more aware, more voicelessly prayerful.

These granted experiences are enough to change the trajectory of our thinking and our lives. I have the choice to live in the present, in His presence.

Enough:: From abundance.

My flowers in Laura's home. 

When we recognize all we have, really notice all we have, we see that we live in abundance. 

And in that, there is much I want to share. The fun part is this: I think it's gone, whatever it is, and somehow, it returns. 

This morning it was cutting from my pink and lavender abundance. Within an hour, my heart filled looking at the picture of the Sweet Peas in Laura's house. 

Last weekend it was offering these same beautiful flowers to my sweet neighbor, Mrs. A. Within minutes, my other neighbor Anne passed a handful on to me. 

Love is enough when you pass it out, hand it off, give it away. 
Like the Sweet Peas it keeps blooming. 
But Love, unlike the Sweet Peas, is eternal. 

And that is truly enough. 

Enough:: a budget

Truth: I don't know where the line is. I'm learning, but that's it: I'm learning.

Before I even knew there was a My One Word journey, and picked the word enough, I ran a $30MM budget within a giant company, lived a life, had kiddos, made a living, and put money in the bank. But somehow, understanding the difference between a budget, and spending what I have available to spend missed syncing.

In late December I purchased budgeting software: You Need a Budget, YNAB. I started using it right away. It's wonderful. Simple, but for the "pretty aware of my expenses and what I'm spending type" not so easy. For January, February and a lot of March I was doing well. I had a handle on where my debt and expenses sit and, of course, what I have coming in. Sounds like budgeting, right? Well, yes, but, in a huge wall-of-a-moment, I saw what I do with credit (forget about it) and true spending planning (huh?). In the process, I cleared a couple of credit cards and was feeling snappy when I noticed this notation on the budget: Over Budget in January: $xxx, Over Budget in February: $xxx. (It compounds.) Oh dear. I learned that when you account for all your spending and set plans for every dollar (this is the beauty of the YNAB Gain Total Control of Your Money promise) you can actually know where every dollar is supposed to go and where it's actually going. You can assign it a task. I just seemed to be letting some of my spending go into a void. (That would be the credit card/debt void of "I'll get to it later.") I see that without a significant amount of monitoring, money can be sneaky, running off with someone else; a store, an on-line bookseller, a child, without notice or without at least without waking you up to the fact that it is departing. Then it's gone, poof!, gone.

Let me be clear, I'm fairly certain right now that money is a metaphor. Time seems to do this as well. Plan or it's gone, poof!, gone.

This budgeting business has brought a new friend. This one, with whom I'm becoming quite cozy if not a bit uncomfortable is a warm, inviting, quiet and well considered life mate. I introduce: Detailed Planning, a calm, reserved, easy-going but exacting pal. (Ugh! Spur of the Moment Spontaneity, you'll have to take a break, I'm listening through the other ear for now.) There's a pleasant evenness in the relationship. We haven't quite hit peace yet, but I see it in the distance. We are walking through a process together. Me, in non-judgmental awareness, learning, learning, learning. And D.P. with quiet facts about reality and choices.

I pray that my intentions and plans will meet without crushing dreams. Reality is good. Dreams are good. High expectations are good -- when they work together. And being both awake and aware in the process provides excellent stepping stones for this beginning of a new process.

So now, enter MyOneWord: enough.

I have to wonder, how this came to pass in this order? Its my biggest and most appreciative question. And all this while, I'm discovering enough in the midst of what's true, right, and right in front of me.

Enough.

Enough:: John 12

Considering my one word, enough, takes, well, consideration. And time. And noticing.

This morning, studying a chapter in our church-wide read, THE STORY, I was caught up by words from John 12:

⁴² Yet at the same time many even among the leaders believed in him. But because of the Pharisees they would not openly acknowledge their faith for fear they would be put out of the synagogue; ⁴³ for they loved human praise more than praise from God.

I had to ask myself. Is praise from God enough for me? Of course, I want to believe so. But I know my dark and human heart. I perform. For accolades. From man. Call it the plight of a first born. Or one left by a parent. Or just the way my family raised people - to be productive and therefore accepted.

If I don't have a handle on this, if I can't see the truth of it in this earthly life, I'll live on in blissful unawareness. 

Fortunately, I'm awake right now. And the words resonate within: Is this love (for human praise) halting my kingdom purpose here on earth?

Is God's praise enough?

Enough:: a profusion from a few

I'm astonished by God's design in the garden. I plant a few plants -- a color pack or two and get to snip handfuls of flowers daily.

Would you call that enough?

Enough:: Not enough

Every morning we head to school, we see the homeless man at the end of the off ramp, just before the turn at the traffic light. Every day. He sits with a sign or no sign. Sometimes there are lunch bags of food next to him. Some times he wears a hat. For a while my my daughter or I made sandwiches or lunch for him. We handed the bag out the window. And yes, we've given him money.

Last Friday, on my day off, I drove my kiddos to school and there he was again. We had the first spot at the turn and when the light was red, my daughter grabbed a cookie and tangerines from her lunch box. I opened the window and turned to him and he came to the car door quickly. I handed him the food and made eye contact. He seemed closer than he'd every been to us and looking into his face, I was deeply, deeply moved. Tears came immediately. I was overwhelmed by his swollen hands and features. There was a helplessness in his eyes. And my more-than-enough rose up to meet his not enough. I cried and prayed the rest way to school. My teens were silent. I was lost.

Lost in his lacking days of sitting on the freeway offramp. Lost in his weathered features. Lost in the driving by with nothing. Lost in a comment, "He needs to do something besides sitting there every day." Lost in my doing nothing but also knowing not much about what I can do. All these thoughts and feelings have lived in me for a long while. We've brought him sandwiches, but clearly there's more I have to do. Gratefully, I work with an amazing man who runs a brilliant service program in our school. He's my first stop. Then I fully expect my next step will be finding someway to park somewhere down the road near him to offer more.

I don't really know what that will look like. It's an open ended want. But it comes from my enough and there's blessing just seeing.

Growing me in the garden.

I am a learning gardener. I'll admit to anyone that while, walking the road with my Aunt Nancy or either grandmother, I learned the names of lots of plants and flowers, and I enjoyed the process, I am just beginning to know anything. I took in lots those years ago, but I had to learn so much by default. Once I moved into my own apartment and worked in advertising I was in constant learning mode. Then, I was a trainee in a huge international agency and was expected to learn and learn and learn and perform. It was a decidedly difficult position -- learning while directing others, but I digress. I share it to say that much of my brain space during those years was  dedicated to work and then, of course, learning about my life as an adult.

So, I'll ask you to forgive my many gardening foibles because they are simply my truths: I tried to grow Gloxinia and Delphinium indoors. I killed three ficus trees (also indoors) because they needed sun (too). I expected flowers from non-shade plantings in the sun and forgot to water plants like hydrangea (the name didn't provide enough of a hint for me).

But in my dedication to trying and learning, I started keeping notes here and there and gained understanding that sun at the base of a plant is important. That noticing when and where the sun landes during the day predicts a plants success -- if success is a flower show or fruit.

A couple of years ago I went all out near the end of summer, when the Coastal Eddy, which brings May Gray, June Gloom and that year July haze, had departed. I nurtured some of the plants through into spring replacing the waning summer plantings with lettuce and broccoli.

It was fun. Not a heavy task, but fun.

I commented to a friend at one point that I was learning a little about myself in the nurturing and the weeding. There's much to be said, perhaps on another occasion, about the pulling of weeds and even spent favorites, for the sake of what's taking hold and growing. It's a useful metaphor, chock full of thought and intention and understanding.

This year, the older, wiser, longing gardener in me was blessed with a brilliant opportunity. The lengthy story about invading roots from a neighbor's fig tree stands in the background, but in this process, grass was removed, watering slowed and new garden spaces were added. My main garden, a cottage-style rose and this-and-that garden was rethought to roses and herbs, arugula and broccoli, brussels sprouts and carrots and onions and strawberries.

Much of his occurred in late fall and there was all this "patch of dirt" business around, that I was inspired to tuck some sprouted Sweet Peas, Sweet Pea seeds, English Peas, carrots and arugula into the ground. I had plenty of extra seeds so after the garden patch planting and also planting here and there I waited. That was November and yesterday, the first of March I cut my first two purple Sweet Peas and displayed them on my mantle. While planting a blueberry plant, I snagged one of the last carrots and discovered the English Peas. (I haven't learned to mark them -- thought they were small Sweet Peas with tiny flowers.)

Later, as I hid tulip bulbs deep into the pot where they'll gestate, I thought this: I am experiencing such joy in patience. Nurturing joy, nurturing expectancy, nurturing love for the task. As a mom,I don't miss the analogy to carrying a baby, but truly, more importantly I see that God is teaching me -- experiencing the fruits (I didn't miss that) of His Holy, Holy Spirit.

Love. (of the project, the process, the fruit)
Joy. (in the planning, the doing, the waiting)
Peace. (in the early morning, birdsong filled stillness as I observe)
Patience. (as I wait with great expectation and thrill at the movements)
Kindness. (my God provided all of this for my benefit)
Goodness. (a Potager garden is full of goodness -- in flavor, in nutrition, in sight)
Faithfulness. (in the watering, the tending, the weeding, the visiting)
Gentleness. (moving a vine, lifting a berry)
Self-Control. (see Patience -- waiting for the bud to bloom, the fruit to ripen)

He's growing me in the midst of all this fruitful beauty.
And I'm learning from my Father in the garden.