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:: 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.

My One Word: enough:: Pan Shopping

Really?

In the process of considering my one word, enough, I bump up against this truth: I have Royal status at OpenSky.com. Royal! This means I've spent more money than I have on an ongoing basis and have earned all these points and now I get a $20 credit twice a month which usually covers tax and maybe part of the shipping cost and all I have to do is just keep on buying from these curated sales and get all this cool stuff that I kinda want and really do need and really, really, really, what, I ask, does this have to do with enough?

Maybe it's the part where I just think of the word with a period at the end and rest.

I like the pans Tom Colicchio has added to his sale collection and is sharing. I could use them in many ways. But there's a little tap on the side of my head. A note. A beat, that begs the little question, "don't you have a few pans and could you stretch to make that cast iron pan work to sear the steak the same way the Mauviel's extra thick stainless steel pan (that comes with the extra thick stainless steel crepe pan) would?"

I hear my husband's voice: Where does this go? (Which also asks what does this do and why do we need this?)

I hear Krissy's words of her Grandma Dora: Use it up. Wear it out. Make it do. Or do without. (This is why we have these sister-friends we have.)

I feel freedom. Even if only for a moment, I the sense that I don't have to do anything.

Freedom.

I'm (non-judgmentally) aware that I've climbed or maybe even jumped onto a hamster wheel of invited sales with rewards and free and wants and sensational and more-than, spinning under my feet and into my home. And while I end up with a beautiful cabinet of lovely things, I've lost perspective, space and a reasonable degree of breath.

What is there to gain? Where is my heart? Is any of it really treasure?

I'm watching. Listening. Seeing. Enough.

My One Word: enough:: Your Love

This word enough is interesting.

Last Monday, I was invited to a private concert with Casting Crowns. Me, my lovely friend Lori, and about 148 others I've not yet met. We were sitting in the chapel at Mariners Church and then, all of a sudden, we were singing with Casting Crowns, listening to their stories and worshipping.

That is more than any enough I can think of. 

It felt a lot like abundance.

Especially when Lori bought lunch.

Today I was listening again to Casting Crowns.
And I began to muse over the words of Your Love is Extravagant.

These words connected so beautifully to my one word: enough.

In God's economy, extravagance, His gifts, become my enough.

Your love is extravagant
Your friendship, it is intimate
I feel like moving to the rhythm of Your grace 
Your fragrance is intoxicating in our secret place
Your love is extravagant

Spread wide in the arms of Christ is the love that covers sin
No greater love have I ever known You considered me a friend
Capture my heart again

Spread wide in the arms of Christ is the love that covers sin
No greater love have I ever known; You considered me a friend

Capture my heart again
Your love is extravagant
Your friendship, it is intimate


How about it? How do you connect with the extravagance of grace?

The Speaking God.

God always amazes me. But I have to be awake. And present. And listening. This week He humbled me in a very beautiful way. I'm part of a speaking/teaching team of women at my church. We're assigned topics based on a study with a rather large women's Bible Study group.

The group is called Woman's Walk. It's a big room of women who meet faithfully each Wednesday morning and, well, walk together through scripture studies. Last year, I was spoke on Rahab and Lydia. I loved every minute of preparation and then sharing. Rahab was prepared and ready to go, complete with a red satin chord for each of us to hold onto and pray that we'd be so obedient to the God of the Hebrews. The night before I spoke, God awakened me at 1:00 to revise my talk. As I reread the story He showed me that Rahab must have been spoken to by His Holy Spirit. Because she knew who God was. She trusted Him completely with her life and her family, obeying. Joshua 2:9 has her saying, 

 “I know that the LORD has given you this land and that a great fear of you has fallen on us, so that all who live in this country are melting in fear because of you."

I know. She knew.

It was wonderful fun to share how we meet him through Rahab. My experiences have been wonderful. I learn so much each time and have the pleasure of hearing from women, later, as we go about how the LORD spoke to them in the study.

This time? Limited prep. I shared the story of Jairus. The study had us look deeply into what happens to our faith in the face of death. It was good. I'd told the story more than once in VBS, where God takes me deeper than I ever expect. I reviewed. I prayed, but I didn't get to the real preparation the way I like to. Somehow though, I didn't feel fearful.

At 1ish, God met me at my dining room table and showed me how He wanted us to look at the story. (Mark 5, Luke 8) He wanted a comparison of the man, the (hemorrhaging) woman and Jesus. And He wanted me to precede the entire discussion with a heart-piercing observation from a book by Elizabeth Alves. The author and her husband were in Africa in the 70's and saw huge works of the Holy Spirit. 23,000 people had been healed of illnesses, etc. and she was taken by the fact she was living out the book of Acts. She pondered the why and why not and asked God if it were that we don't receive these healings because we're so attached to doctrine and tradition. She shared His reply:  

"No, Daughter, these people are receiving because they have no fear of man."

The words are perfect. We don't receive because our fear God is eclipsed by our fear of man. But it wasn't for Jairus. Or the bleeding woman. Jairus set aside his status at the synagogue and knelt at Jesus feet. Desperation meets understanding of who Jesus is. And he sets aside the truth that the priests will likely be furious. He risks much.

And the woman, the unceremonially clean woman who can't be touching the people in the crowd, to say nothing of this amazing Rabbi, Jesus, sets aside all fear and makes sure she touches the tzitzit. She knows there is healing there, with Him, and she doesn't care what the people of Capernaum think, or perhaps, do to her. 

My fear of man is on notice. It gets in the way of living the abundant life and has no place in abiding in Him.

So, I got to share more than the story of the miracle, but the reality of what might be stopping us from receiving from the One Who Loves Us. And isn't that a miracle in itself.

A New Thing

Several times in my life, I've been scared out of my wits. Afraid that I was going to lose something. A job, a boyfriend, a home, a child, my husband. These fears haven't been irrational. There has been good reason to believe something was to be taken, or lost. My fear comes from well-honed radar  finely-tuned out of childhood loss. Too finely tuned sometimes.

So in this process of the journaling class, I'm having a difficulty remembering all about what I love and want and wish and dream. This could very well be a normal part of being a mom, having a job, being a wife. But I do feel that a part of me is hidden. From me. I find that scary. Very scary in fact. I don't really want to be less of me.

But to be more of Him, I am to be less of me.

This morning I spent a little time on Ann's blog and these words sang out to me as she shared this story about a very hearty rose giving testament:

What is dead may be dormant and what is barren may be about to bear and wild things can somehow find a way to bloom.

And she brought me back to the words of God through Isaiah. The words that have brought comfort to me and millions over the centuries:

For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.

~Isa. 43:19

That's it. He is doing something new. He has lead me to these waters. It is mine to drink. To do the work. To see what He is doing. The loss may be the motivation to be aware. But God is the one who is doing the new thing. With me.