The King, The Gift, Her Heart

She was given a gift, a precious gift from her King.  Strong yet not unbreakable, beautiful and perfect yet easily marred, valuable yet meant to be shared, personal and unique.  The King told her it was precious, created just for her.  She is to keep is safe.  No one can take it from her unless she gives it to them, either the entire gift or pieces of it.  The King instructed her to be wise in sharing her gift yet not hoard it selfishly.  He told her he would be willing to help her but she would need to serve him forever.  She declined, wanting to be free.  He loved her so much, he let her go.

She took her precious gift, named it her heart.  She kept it with her at all times, safe in her bosom.  Initially, she shared it with everyone, so proud of her perfect, precious gift.  Others shared their hearts with her, she noticed that they were not perfect like hers, they were marred, chipped, cracked, glued, and patched.  Her heart was a thing of beauty in its perfection.

As time went by, someone scratched her heart with harsh words, another deeper gash developed by disappointment of not making the team of her beloved sport.  When her grandmother died, her heart developed a hole.  A dear friend moved away leaving another smaller hole.  Another friend told lies about her causing a crack.  She began to guard her heart, being more wary of showing it to everyone she met.  She started to become more discerning to whom she showed her heart.

Over time more cracks, chips, and holes developed.  These were filled with other precious gems such as a lady she adopted as a grandmother who gave her a beautiful ruby to fill the hole her own grandmother's death had left in her heart.  The cracks were smoothed over, the chips filled in with other bits and pieces.  Her heart was no longer perfect but still beautiful in its own unique way.  She began to realize her heart was much like the other less than perfect hearts she has been showed throughout her journey. 

As time went on she noticed her heart changed colors as she loved and care for others.  The deeper the love the more it glowed, but also the more fragile it became when loving so deeply.  She shared her glowing heart with those she loved, showing them how it shimmered when near them.  Each special person made it glow and shimmer in a unique way.  Sometimes its weight would change as well. 

One day, when it was glowing and shimmering with love and admiration, another came along and carelessly shoved her heart.  It went soaring through the air.  She ran trying to catch it, losing sight of it in the blinding light of searing pain, but onward she ran trying to catch it, buffer it's fall somehow.  But in the blinding light it was lost and it her heart fell on the hard pavement, shattering into a million tiny pieces.  She fell to her knees, how disappointed the King would be in her if he knew how she allowed someone to destroy her gift.

She made dark curtains and built solid walls around the shattered pieces to ensure she could gather them all before others could scatter them.  In tears and in the near dark she gathered the tiny pieces.  The edges sharp, cutting her fingers, the beauty gone.  She declared no one would see her heart again, if she ever could get it back together. 

Piece by piece, bit by bit, she fit the pieces together.  She sought out glue of comfort, peace, but some pieces would not stay together when combined with bitterness.  She had to find forgiveness, she had to extend grace.  She learned these helped smooth out the edges, create a better fit, form a good bind.  Her heart remained so fragile in the dark, it would not glow, it would not shine.  Eventually, she learned she had to let the light in, be brave to share her gift again to restore her heart, her forever damaged heart.

Slowly, with trepidation, shaking, she took out a piece of wall.  Just lowering it a bit.  She exchanged the dark curtains for lighter curtains.  She saw her heart begin to flicker.  Trembling, she dared to remove one wall and exchange a heavy curtain for shear drapes.  Oh her heart began to glow.  It took time, lots of time for the walls to be removed, exchanged for a hedge with a gate.  Eventually all the heavy curtains were exchanged for shear drapes.  A panel or two of drapes were completely removed.  Her heart pulsed with colors, glowing brightly through the cracks, the holes, the chips, the patches.  She discovered her heart was more beautiful than ever.

Cautiously, with shame for her imperfect gift, she returned to the King.  Afraid he would be displeased with her care of the heart, trembling and tearful, she showed it to him.  The king, dried her tears, hugged her close, and soothed her with kind words.  He took her heart, told her that if she would allow him to keep it, he would be able to fix the unfixable parts, and help her protect it.  What a revelation!  Gladly she lifted the burden of her heart and placed them in the King's hands.  He gently took it, he examined it closely, he located the parts that she had been unable to fix.    In his workshop, he carefully restored the brokenness, removed the heavy pieces yet left the imperfections.  Then he returned her lighter heart to her.  Instructed her to look to him for protection.  Promising to be with her if she would trust him and serve him.  As she declared her allegiance to do so, her heart lost all remaining heaviness and shimmered more beautifully than ever dreamed.  She mourned the years she did not trust the King but determined to remain in his presence for eternity.  For there is nothing better than the safety of the King.

County Fair Judging - try not to melt

Since, I am on a roll, three blog posts in three days.  How about number four?  I am not certain I can maintain this pace but willing to roll with it while it lasts.

It is hot, yet the temperature is not extreme.  High 80s, low 90s is not extreme temperatures in my book.  But the humidity is high, making it miserable.  The summer season in Minnesota is short so I try, really I do try, to make the best of it.  I prefer short, t-shirts, sandals, no jacket to long underwear, three additional layers, parka, boots, hat, mittens, scarf, and pocket warmers.  It is much easier to dash out with out 20 pounds of clothing.  But the humidity ... I could do with a bit less, please.

Summer, County Fair time in this place where I live.  I have found a new role as a 4-H project judge.  This means I *get* to sit in steel, airless buildings for 7-8 hours oohing and aahing over a child's project, asking questions, encouraging him/her, and rewarding him/her with ribbons.

This year I am judging Cloverbud projects.  These are the Kindergarten through 3rd graders.  Each child gets a participation ribbon at this age.  Most are so excited to be there and enter their item in the fair.  You can see the thrill in their faces as they tell me how they colored, painted, glued their masterpiece.  The pride displayed as they tell me about their favorite animal including all the interesting facts.  Some are shy requiring gentle persuasion to talk to me, others are simply so cute I would give them a ribbon for just talking to me, no project required.  Picture pig tailed, sweet smiling little girls and energetic, freshly bathed little boys. Is this not the best job in the world?  Mind you I am melting in the humidity, sure that my hair is frizzy as parents take our picture to commemorate the experience.

It is all about the experience for the child.  I get an experience too and learn a few new things in the process.  Such as, spiders have 8 eyes as well as 8 legs, pumpkin bread made from scratch is tastier than from a box, grandmas are really good at threading sewing machines, big brothers are extremely helpful in building rockets, Lego creations are fun to build, elementary art teachers are awesome, and tree kangaroos live in the rain forest and look really cuddly.

So today I make way to my third fair this summer.  I can hardly wait to try the delicious treats made, see the beautiful pictures colored, learn about another exotic animal, and learn how to care for a pet fish.  I am hoping to melt off a few pounds in the humidity - - I may be lucky as it is raining today. Who knows, maybe I'll require a second layer. Then again, probably not, this is the county fair, it would break tradition.

I blame it on the climate

July in Minnesota.  Minnesota, not MinneSNOWta.  Contrary to popular belief it does not snow and remain cold 365 days a year.  No, indeed, rather we freeze in the winter months which are long and sometimes endless.  But in the summer, the pendulum swings and we enter extreme humidity and heat.  Whereby we are steamed until well-done.

Indeed, winter can see 30 below and colder but summer can see 100 (above) and hotter.  Add in some humidity and it is miserable.  When the dew point is above 60 degrees it is sticky, above 70 degrees the air is oppressive.  In the winter, the dew point is not a factor at all.  There are times we can walk out and all the hairs in the nose are instantly frozen, your lungs freeze, the shock of the dry, cold air literally takes your breath away.

In winter, daylight is scarce.  Seeing the sun for just meager hours.  Lights in the house are an absolute necessity between the hours of 4pm to 9am.  Sometimes all day due to clouds and gray skies.  Yet when the sun shines brilliantly off the snow it can be a dazzling array of light to blind you.  In the summer, the sun is blinding bright, rising at 5am and setting at 10pm.  We keep curtains closed to either keep heat in or keep heat out, depending on the season.

So this is where I live.  An individual that is not overly in love with change.  Yet I live in a land of extreme climates.  This is explains the wild swings in my personality.  Yep, that has to be it.  I blame it all on the climate in which I live.

Soap Box - - Political Angst

I have a soap box that I try to not step upon and begin to pontificate.  However, I believe this is where I am about to lose that self control to stay planted on the ground and keep quiet.  My soap box is my angst and disgust of the current political process.  As we move toward the next presidential election my angst, thus my soap box, grows exponentially.  DISCLAIMER:  I do not claim that this makes sense, I do not have a solution other than for people to be honest, truthful, authentic (this usually solves most issues), this is my point of view through angst colored glasses.  I am not attempting to start a debate, figure out who or what is right or wrong, I am mainly venting my angst, wishing for something different, realizing it won't be, point of view. 

Perhaps it begins in a small child's dream. Here in America we are encouraged to dream, dream to become anything, do anything, anything is possible.  This is the land of dreams.  The rags to riches land of dreams.  Poorest of poor to richest of rich.  From a nobody to a somebody.  This belief is the foundations of the country. 

Perhaps this small child dreams of being in a place of influence, a place of power.  Oh power, that is a dangerous tiger to tame.   "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely"  John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton, first Baron Acton (1834–1902)    The dream is likely innocent, true, and good.  A dream to make a difference in the world, make a difference for good.  The child as he grows realizes he (or she, but for ease of writing I will use the generic gender of he) could add value.  It is a beautiful, lovely dream.  But now for the ugly reality.  The political process is distasteful.  It continues on for months and months, years really.  There is party alignment, name calling, investigations to destroy, lies, and secrets.

I find it extremely ugly to set out to win an election by destroying the opponent with sensationalism, intentionally finding their faults, mistakes, sins; exposing them without any grace for who the person is today.  Compounded by the tendency to then disclaim your own faults and brush off, claiming to now be a virtuous person.  I often wonder why I care if the person tried drugs in youth, or participated in stupid act as a young person.  I was once young and stupid too.  I have grown up, I have matured, I have realized I was once young and stupid.  Quite possibly, these youthful indiscretions that have been overcome, have shaped and molded the individual into being the best candidate.  Do we really want a protected, naive, never experienced hardship, trials, empty vessel?  I do not care necessarily about the seemingly horrible act or experience in as much in how the individual overcame them, responded to crisis, learned from the experience(s).  This tells me so much more.  So expose those skeletons willingly and show me how you cope, what you learned, how it has made you into a great person today.  

I fail to understand how during some elections, most noticeably in primaries, candidates will tear apart each other of the same party in an effort to win the affections of the people.  I am amazed then how they will 'unite' and support each other once the top candidate is named.  I am more appalled in the then expectation of  me to now trust said candidate.  I just gagged in my mouth.  Really?  Sorry, your true character glowed through the heated, ugly words and actions toward your "team members" otherwise known as party. 

Now that party has been brought up, my soap box gets a little bigger.  My angst of 'party lines', partisan, non-partisan, bi-partisan.  It is all a bunch of hooey if you ask me.  Republican, Democrat, Tea Party, Independent, Grass Roots, whatever. You know what I want to see?  I want someone, ideally a group of someones (poor grammar - sorry grammar police), with true character and honesty.  Someone who will align himself with others to make good policy not because of party affiliations.  Frankly, parties need to disappear in my humble opinion.  I want someone who will research out the issue, seek out wise counsel, not be swayed by briberies.  Listen to lobbyists, on both sides of issues, take the time to figure out the best course of action.  I want someone who will stand on their decision not because he is of "this party or that party", but because it is the "right and good thing".  There have been a few that have tried to take this route.  But money becomes an issue.  Parties have money, supporters who demand favors have money.  Money corrupts as well as power.

Most of my angst has been vented.  My soap box must now diminish, it isn't serving much purpose.  Frankly it has quite of few holes for others to pull it apart.  Remember my disclaimer.  I will not argue with you.  It is a frustrated view point, without solutions.  Thanks for listening.

Wave of Melancholy

The day is typical.  A summer day, the children on break from school, husband at work, beautiful sunshine, unstructured time, laundry, dusting, dishes... a typical day.  I am hit by a wave of melancholy.  I am helpless to its effects as it washes over me.  But I continue through my day, my thoughts heavy, my heart aching.

I remember those who have died, some long ago and others too soon in life.  I ache for a conversation with my grandmother.  The dear lady that was crippled the entirety of the time I knew her.  I recall how her eyes sparkled with interest as she would visit with me.  Today, again, I wish she could have met my husband, my children, shared her memories with me, tell me again how God is going to heal her body and we would go play ball, drive the truck, and make fun.    Instead I ask God to give her a hug and tell her I am thinking of her and I am hoping she is playing ball in heaven.

My thoughts then turn to my husband's grandmother.  I was privileged to know her for a few years in our early marriage.  A woman full of wisdom and mirth.  I miss her grounded words that provided the proper outlook I usually needed at the moment.  I miss her love of mischief.  She always had a story to tell.  I marveled at her dedication to praying for each member of her large family by name every day, her memory at each one's name, birth, marriage, important event.

As the wave of melancholy flowed, my memories of a few who passed away too early in life float to the forefront of my thoughts.  My brother-in-law, who taught me to drive a stick-shift vehicle in his cherished Honda Prelude.  I laugh as I recall that I never drove it after I peeled away from a stop sign during one lesson.  He said to give it more gas and let the clutch out slowly.  I grieve his absence in his own children's lives.

I lament the passing of time, as I realize all to clearly, that my time as a parent with children in my home is swiftly nearing its end.  I miss my little girls, their antics, their zest of learning, imaginative play, and constant energy.  Their curious child sayings as long past, as they now are beautiful young ladies.  I miss our days of home education and fun field trips.

I wish for the time that my friends lived near and the adventures we had as girlfriends and young mothers.  The time we spent dreaming of the future, our lives, and aspirations.  Today, I feel very middle-aged. No, today I feel old.    Time has slipped away and I have a sense of being unaccomplished.  I wonder what difference I have made, what value have I added with my life, in the time I have been given? 

I wish for the clock to turn back, to try to hold onto relationships that have long ago disintegrated due to normal drifting and due to disagreements.  I wonder how those individuals are today, wondering how to reach out to them.

I have an opportunity to write a biography for a digital all-alumni book of my local high school.  I am completely baffled as what to share, it seems so boring.  Married, unemployed outside the home, did not further my education beyond high school diploma, wife, mom, volunteer.  Huh, hardly seems worth submitting.  It would be much more intriguing and value of reading if it read how I received my masters degree in something or another, received promotions and awards, all while being happily married, with beautiful accomplished children, and traveling the world.  I wonder if there is still time to achieve this crazy, outlandish pipe dream.  Sigh.... and the melancholy wave crests. 

Maybe tomorrow will be a cheerier day.  Husband is working from home, beginning his short summer vacation.  Maybe tomorrow, I will have a new vision for my future.  I am confident in the Bible's promise that God has a plan for me...  I will seek it out still.

Mothers of Preschoolers

Each one arrives, many carrying a child laden car seat as well as one child or more trailing behind.  Burdened down with diaper bags and baby paraphernalia, they more or less stumble into the foyer. For a few, this bi-monthly meeting is the only 'break' from their preschoolers they will receive.  Babies are dropped off in the nursery, older children escorted to the preschooler room, mothers and infants arrive in the "Mom's room" for a time of refreshment.

I engage the newest mom, asking about her dear ones she has attached at the hip, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.  Our focus group is Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) so we are an accommodating group, not minding a baby in a mother's arms or the preschooler who needs to be near Mom until comfortable with surroundings.

Each lady is craving conversation on an adult level.  Mothering little people is an exhausting, 24 hour/7 days a week task.  Talking with the under 3.5 foot set is not always stimulating or fulfilling. Changing dirty diapers does not earn a word of appreciation.  The constant task of picking up toys, making meals, cleaning up the house, doing laundry, breaking up arguments, and rescuing toddlers from near-death experiences is usually under-appreciated.  The rewards are dandelion bouquets, sticky finger hugs and kisses, and adorable children.  These same children we mothers love so deeply can frustrate us to unbelievable measures.  It stuns us to our core leaving us feeling guilty for our anger, hurt, frustration. and disillusionment.  This is not what motherhood is suppose to be like.  It is suppose to be sweet smiling children, smelling like Johnson's baby lotion.  Obedient ones that does not put rocks up noses or throw temper tantrums.  Never prone to biting, hitting, or  smearing of fecal matter all over the floor and wall.  Always coloring on paper and never on the walls.  Children with clean faces and combed hair.  Siblings that love one another never screaming at ear piercing decibels.

A mother learns much about herself on the journey of motherhood.  She can be shocked by her lack of patience.  Disillusioned by the tasked itself.  Disappointed in her husband's lack of fathering skills.  Frustrated by lack of money, undependable vehicles, running noses, barking coughs, toys everywhere, dirty clothes and dishes, and lack of independence and flexibility.  Sometimes all that is required is a word of appreciation, a hug, a word of praise, chocolate, a listening ear. and hearing the phrase "this too shall pass."  Knowing she is not alone, that her situation is not unique can be a saving life line.

Gaining support of other women in the same phase is an all important, non-to-be-missed time.  We discuss everything from infant behavior to normal and abnormal preschool behavior; the strong willed child to the very timid child; marriage to in-law relationships;  As a mentor mom, I have 'been there, done that' in many of the situations to some degree or another.  Often I feel less than wise, these are phases that usually have to be traveled, sometimes I did not travel them well.  My goal is share the lessons I learned and continue to learn and offer encouragement.  

I am honored to gather with these ladies.  I miss the preschool years of my children and try to encourage these women to savor the moment, it passes by all too quickly.  I try to give an attitude and words of grace.  Empower them to trust their gut instincts in mothering.  Brainstorm solutions to difficult situations.  Each mother is beautiful, unique, and delightful.  They allow me to cuddle their newborns, listen to my bit of experience, and call me friend.