TIMELY

I had a difficult meeting Tuesday after work - not difficult as in who I was meeting with or meeting dynamics, but as in the purpose of the meeting. Thankfully, the person I met with is consistently calm, kind, and patient. Still, I almost always leave these meetings in tears.

Tuesday was one of those crying meetings.

Tears on the drive home.

Tears as I lay in my bed not sleeping throughout Tuesday night.

Sometimes I think I am finally past tears, but then another "Tuesday" comes along.

* * *

Wednesday morning, weary and weary-hearted, I sat down at my desk to read my Bible. I have a read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year plan that I loosely follow. Basically, I ignore the dates and read at my own pace.

Wednesday morning, I did not read the passage assigned for August 26. Instead, I read the passage for September 1-2. (Obviously, I am either slightly ahead in my reading...or very far behind. I'll let you guess which.)

Anywho, in God's kind providence, I opened my Bible and read this:

"In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple..." (Isaiah 6:1)

Stop. Right. There.

"In the year that King Uzziah died..." Isaiah received this vision of God at a turning point in Israel's history. The world as Isaiah knew it was coming to an end. After a lengthy period of prosperity and blessing, God was sending Syria to attack his covenant people. In the face of this terrifying revelation, God showed Isaiah that He, the Lord, was still on his throne.

The book of Isaiah was not written to me, but it was written for me, preserved and passed down to me. God orchestrated the details of my own life so that Wednesday morning, as I grieved my own "death of King Uzziah," I read Isaiah's words of assurance.

My world feels like it is falling apart. Right now, I cannot even imagine a future. But I am reminded and confident of this: GOD IS ON HIS THRONE.

But there is more...

In the next chapter, Isaiah is sent to King Ahaz to deliver the bad news about Syria. His exhortation to Ahaz is this: "Be careful, be quiet, do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint...If you are not firm in your faith, you will not be firm at all." (Isaiah 7:4a, 9b)

It felt like God was holding my face tenderly in his hands, saying to me:  "Camille, look at me. Look at me! I am on the throne. I am right here where I have always been. Do not be afraid. Hold steady in your faith."

That, Dear Reader, was balm to my troubled heart.

* * *

"You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?" - David, Psalm 56:8

"Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning." -David, Psalm 30:5b

LEARNING TO LAMENT

My oldest son once told me, years ago, in the wake of some now-forgotten trial, something to the effect of: "Mom, you run too quickly to joy...slow down, and give space for grief. Let joy come in its proper time."

He was right, of course.

This tendency to fast-sprint to joy was no doubt fueled by many factors.

My personality. Although I have been accused of being gray and melancholy, I prefer light and brightness. I have big naked windows - no curtains or blinds - so that as much sunlight (and moonlight) as possible can come inside. My favorite movies are ridiculously silly. I am wiggly. I would much rather live - and for many years have lived - in a world of imagined goodness painted by self-deception, willful ignorance, and Herculean denial, than confront hard truths or painful realities. I do not want to look in the face of evil, so I cover that face with a mask.

My culture. My faith tradition frequently and enthusiastically sang songs like "Count Your Many Blessings" and "I've Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy," but it wasn't until I was well into adulthood that I encountered songs like "From the Depths of Woe." Christians are supposed to be happy, right? Dwell on the positive; hope for the best; quote Romans 8:28; be content.

Fear. Fear of dishonoring God. Fear of seeming ungrateful. Fear that exposing darkness and lies might unleash unimaginable evils. Fear that Almighty God just might not be big enough to handle the deep, heart-rending brokenness underneath the surface of so much that appears beautiful in this world.

Laziness. It is so much easier to carry a bucket filled with light than a bucket filled with muck.

EXPOSED!

THIS has been a year of incredible pain, loss, heartbreak...and tremendous growth.

I have become fluent in weeping and lament.

I was introduced to a lovely book in one of my classes this summer: Every Moment Holy, a collection of liturgies for everyday life. (HIGHLY recommend.)

I want to share with you an excerpt from "A Liturgy for the Death of a Dream":

"O Christ, in whom the final fulfillment

of all hope is held secure,

I bring to you now the weathered

fragments of my former dreams,

the broken pieces of my expectations,

the rent patches of hopes worn thin,

the shards of some shattered image of

life as I once thought it would be.

"...take this dream, this husk,

this chaff of my desire, and give it back

reformed and remade according to

your better vision,

or do not give it back at all.

Here in the ruins of my wrecked

expectation, let me make this best confession:

"Not my dreams, O Lord,

not my dreams,

but yours be done.

Amen."

(Douglas Kaine McKelvey, “The Death of a Dream,” in Every Moment Holy, vol. 1 (Nashville, TN: Rabbit Room Press, 2017), 232-235.)

"Your grace is my shelter. Your love is my home. Even in the valley, I am never alone." - Lauren Diagle

LIKE WAKING UP FROM THE LONGEST DREAM...

 "Where do you see yourself one year from now?"

I had no answer for this question, asked by one of my awesome kids. "I have no idea. When I try to think about the future, I can't see anything but thick gray fog. I can't see anything at all...can't imagine...can't even dream."

"I can," my child replied. "I see very good things. From where I stand, your future looks brighter right now than it has looked in a long, long time." This kind soul paused, then continued. "You cannot dream yet, Mom, so I will dream for you."

This conversation occurred several months ago. Today, when I try to imagine my life one year from now, I still see nothing but fog. But the fog is beginning to lift, get thinner. I believe that maybe...just maybe...I see a small glimmer of light breaking through.

I cannot make out any definite outlines or contours, yet, just a soft flicker of hope.

It feels like waking up...

Keith Green - Like Waking Up

EVER HAVE ONE OF THOSE DAYS/WEEKS/YEARS?

In the space of one week, the dryer died, the kitchen refrigerator crashed, and I came home to find the above notice on my front door. All of this while I was in the process of trying to hammer out a workable, significantly-reduced budget.

Ever have one of those days/weeks/years?

Someone once challenged me this way: when faced with a difficulty, look for the opportunity instead of focusing only on the obstacle.

Endeavoring to put this good advice into practice, I asked myself, "What is the opportunity here?"

Opportunity #1: Instead of freaking out, I took a deep breath and asked dear friends to pray for me...to pray specifically for household appliances and for adequate finances.

Opportunity #2: I asked for help. My son got his dryer out of storage and installed it temporarily in my laundry room. My spouse paid the electric bill. 

Opportunity #3: I did a new thing, something I had never done before. I researched and purchased a large appliance. The new refrigerator will be installed next week.

Things I am learning:

• "Jesus, help me!" is a perfectly legitimate way to pray.
• More and more, my prayers are specific. "God, can you help me find a refrigerator?"
• I have wonderful family and friends. (I already knew this, but it is good to pause and remember.)

The window facing above my desk is cluttered with sticky notes: To-do lists, names of people I pray for, a verse that encouraged me this week, homework assignments, etc. Yesterday morning, I discovered a new sticky note. Apparently, my granddaughter found my sticky-note stash and found the brightly-colored squares irresistible.

Yes, He does love me. And, yes, He will take care of me.

Thank you, Jules, for the reminder!

HERE GOES...SOMETHING

The first step is often the hardest.

I opened up the blog and sat down to write multiple times over the summer. Each time, I thought I had something to write, but then I would end up staring blankly at my computer. Nothing. Just...nothing. My heart and my mind were numb.

It has been a difficult summer.

Today, once again, I find there is nothing. But today, I refuse the nothingness. Today, I will write, a first faltering stutter after a too-long silence. So, here goes...something.

I posted a couple of years ago about the difficulty of making "space to be human." You can read that post HERE. And if you are curious: I did learn to set more appropriate work boundaries, and I now have a lovely job that allows more time for doing "human" things.

On that note, I want to share a few small ways that I have enjoyed being human recently -

This summer, I registered for and completed my first-ever seminary classes. The coursework was incredibly challenging and I was way out of my league among the other students. Still, I felt like a fish in water, albeit a very small fish in very deep water. I enjoyed every lecture, every assignment, and every small group discussion. Second term begins Monday. I can't wait!

Over the past couple of months, I was given three of the most encouraging compliments that I have ever received:

• "You are one of the most humble people I know." (When I asked a friend to pray that God would humble me deeply and show me clearly my dependence on Him. BTW - do NOT pray that prayer unless you really, really mean it. God will answer, and it won't be easy.)
• "You are a very strong person." (From a co-worker who knows something of the difficulties of recent months.)
• "That is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." (In sixty-one years, no one has ever said that about me. Every woman should hear those words spoken about her at least once in her life. It made me cry.)

Today, I have celebrated being human in small ways. I had breakfast with my family. I enjoyed a personal yoga session with Mr. Ron. I washed mine and Mom's laundry and changed our bed linens. I wrote a letter to a friend. I sat on the porch swing and read another chapter in a book. I made BLT's for lunch; this evening, I am making gumbo for dinner, Daddy's recipe.

And I wrote.

SUNDAY WALK

Quiz for my children: Where was this picture taken?

Warmer temperatures and longer daylight inspired me to get out and walk back on the farm this weekend. Yesterday, I visited the Robinhood tree, the Great Hall, and the Cowboy hideout. This afternoon, I took a different path and hiked the Three Sisters, The Giant's Thimble, and Narnia. The ponds are full to overflowing, the creeks riotous with snow melt.  It felt wonderful to breathe deeply cool air that smelled of thawing earth, rotting leaves, and sunshine. 

I used to walk the perimeter of this farm almost daily. That was before nursing school ate my soul and before Granddaddy became unable to maintain the fields due to declining health. My daily walk was thwarted by waist-high weeds and brambles and the threat of snakes and chiggers.

Granddad has been dead for three years this June, and I probably haven't walked my favorite paths in over five years. It's sad how a farm slides into disrepair with neglect, just like an abandoned, derelict house. Still, the farm is beautiful.

* * * * *

At the recommendation of a friend, I am listening to the audio version of Jordan Peterson's "12 Rules for Life: An Antidote for Chaos." Regardless of what you might think about Peterson, this book contains quite a bit of very practical, helpful advice. In the chapter on Rule 2 - "Treat yourself like someone you are responsible for taking care of." - Peterson challenges the reader/listener to think of one thing he or she can do to make today better than yesterday, then do it. It doesn't have to be something big - small is fine.

Today, in the face of a personal disappointment, instead of feeling sorry for myself or wallowing in defeat or sliding into depression, I did one small thing to make my life better: I took a long walk back on the farm.

And that one choice made today very, very good.

GOODBYE, HELLO...THANKFUL

I wanted to write a post yesterday with reminiscences of the year just past...but life was big yesterday and the post did not happen. Today: first day of a brand new year. It promises to be a year of fresh opportunities and exciting changes.

The house is winding down after a day filled with rambunctious kids, mega-cooking, and daily chores. The adult children are tucking the grandchildren into bed, and I finally have a quiet moment to myself. Curled on the couch in front of a toasty fire, I am tired...and so very thankful.

To close out 2024 and welcome 2025, here is a list of things I am thankful for this wintry evening:

I am thankful that God is faithful when others are not, that He loves me unconditionally, and that He is big enough to handle my questions and my fears. He is so, so good.

I am deeply thankful for the beautiful, thoughtful, passionate and compassionate people who are my family. It blows my mind that I get to be counted as one of their number. They are my favorite people in the world.

I am thankful for The Aunties, my soul-sisters who love me unconditionally and point me consistently to Christ and with whom conversation is always easy. Every life-giving moment spent with you is sweet and precious.

I am thankful for a wonderful next-door neighbor. Thank you, dear friend, for the adventures, weekly movie nights, frequent "therapy" sessions, and all your help doing life during a challenging season.

I am inexpressibly thankful for the many hospice patients I was blessed to serve this past year and for their families. I am no longer working as a hospice nurse, but not a day passes that I don't think of one or more of these dear souls with warm affection. I am so deeply grateful for the privilege of walking with them right up to the veil.

I am thankful for a new and very different job working with a tremendous team of talented, compassionate, and fun healthcare providers. I have patient, good-natured teachers, and I am learning so much. I am excited to go to work each day. I absolutely love it.

I am thankful for a noisy, lively house that once again has craft things strewn over the table, toys in the floor, chickens in the yard, and a dog waiting eagerly at the door.