Daily 5 - Day 102

This is the sort of day that I need to make these lists, and today there are some things that are really and truly making me smile amidst the pull of other pain...

1. The funny memory of using a wine bottle, still partially filled, as a rolling pin in a baking experiment that was ultimately a disaster. But it was fun to improvise for a rolling pin upon realizing that I don't own one. (And won't be rushing out to buy one since this was the first time in three years I've lived on my own and needed one!)
2. I'm grateful for some minor relational conflict today that reminded me that I do not need to fear that all relational conflict will end in the destruction of the relationship. I'm thankful for the reminder that it can be dealt with through conversation, a request for a boundary to be honored, and that we could then move on and continue to enjoy relationship.
3. I learned a new trick for dicing onions in the cooking class today. It was worth it for that alone. I hate chopping onions. I watched my mom's knife slip on the membrane of an onion once when I was a kid, and cut her finger very badly, and I've been a bit paranoid about knives, and particularly chopping onions ever since. I never chop onions into really small pieces for that reason, but I think, with the trick she showed us today, I might actually attempt it.
4. I'm thankful for wine poured out.
5. I'm thankful for other writers, who have used their gifts with words to encourage in the moments I can't find that encouragement for myself
6. I'm thankful for utilities that are included in our rent. I have memories of very short showers overseas because of the cost of water and heating that water, and on days like today when my muscles ache, I'm grateful for a shower that will stay warm as long as I stand under it, without costing me anything.
7. I'm thankful that one of the two cookie experiments I attempted today turned out. (Cooking is definitely more my forte than baking!)
   
8. I'm thankful for the testimonies of those being baptized at a church service last week that I'm watching via video online, and for the testimonies of healing from another service last week that I also watched online tonight. There is something deeply encouraging about people crying out to be made new, and others giving testimony to the works of God in their lives where man could do nothing.
9. I'm thankful for the prayers a friend wrote out and prayed over me by email this afternoon... for the tears that her words gave permission to fall... for the enforced stoppage and cocooning towards rest and restoration
10. I'm thankful for those of you who stop by from time to time and leave comments on the blog... they always make me smile, and remind me that there are so many other beautiful people journeying alongside, scattered around the country, continent and globe.
    

Cocooning

I am, at the present moment, and have been, for the last 3 hours or so, holed up in my bedroom.

I am cocooning.

It is warm, and dimly lit, only one small lamp (enough light to read by) and about a dozen or so tealights. It smells lovely in here, thanks to the oil burner and softly scented oils.

I'm in need of a little bit of metamorphosis today. And a lot of grace.

So I'm cocooning.

(Emerging, every so often, to finish tasks in the kitchen, but mostly cocooning.)

I have cried deeply.

And when the tears began to end, and peace to re-enter, made makeshift communion from the snack of mango juice and home-made pita chips that I'd collected before the storm began, in the moments when I thought I was going to spend my afternoon sorting my recipes into a more practical form, instead of curled up, searching for grace.

My heart is tired. Of myself at times, and the struggles to choose differently. And of some of the situations I've been part of that seem to go on and on and on.

And today my heart bears also the weight of things from this week. Of a friend's mom whose days are now marked by cancer. Of a boy who died too young. Of things that make me want to scream out "This is not how it was supposed to be."

This is not how it was supposed to be.

A dear friend prayed, and that helped.

Lighting candles helped too. A sacrament of sorts for me. It's rare, these days that they are all lit, scattered across the two "altar spaces" in my room, full of prayers and memories.

Cocooned. Wrapped, and warmed, and letting my heart be slowly transformed, drawn again to a place of grace and peace.

Those two words, grace and peace. I listened to a sermon recently that pointed out that these were some of the most common greetings in Paul's letters. Grace and peace to each of those churches to whom he wrote. Grace and peace to each of those who sits and reads those letters now.

I find myself in need of those today.

As my thoughts cleared and focus returned, I picked up the book I've been reading in little bits all week. Stories rather than definitions. A book that seeks to portray grace, a book that stirs the desire to hunt for it in the most unlikely of places.

Not so very different from the daily lists of 5 or 10 that I've been making for just over 100 days now. But more flowing, and encompassing the world, from the funeral of Pope John Paul II, to a slum in Kenya, to the room of a lovely Chicago nun named sister Annuziata. Stories that find life and hope.

I've needed those today. Those words that stir hope and joy in a heart that was only feeling their absence.

And stories like these make me grateful for my interminable habit of book buying. I bought this one ages ago because I recognized the author's name, and hey, it was on sale.

I only picked it up a week or two ago, and have been reading slowly.

And the book itself is a measure of grace. One that sat on my shelf until the urge came to read it. That internal nudge. But also the slow traverse through it, until this afternoon, when I needed to internalize, to read, to "eat" and be reminded of grace in large and sweeping portions.

The candles flicker off the various items scattered around my "altar"... pottery wine goblets, and gifts from a friend. An empty wine bottle, a cross formed from palm leaves, a plaque, a few stones, a remembrance day poppy or two, and a photo of myself, captured in the midst of a very deep moment. And as they flicker, and I sit in my cocoon, I am reminded that those moments, though many hold, in their own way, some measure of pain, also hold joy, and life. They hold grace and peace.

And tonight I'm thankful for the quietness of an empty house. For a cocoon, and for measures of grace, slowly restored, and transforming my heart again.

Psalm 23:4

I received word today that the mother of some friends of mine has a far more serious cancer than was initially thought. The doctors are not speaking in terms of cure, but control, and hopes that they can give her a year.

The news came in the midst of some other things, already breaking my heart, and I've set aside what I'd planned to do this afternoon in favor of tears, lighting candles, writing and praying.

When the email came this morning, I thought immediately of some lines from a book called "The Word on the Street". The author, Rob Lacey, rewrote much of the Bible during a battle with cancer. He was eventually healed, lived a number of years before the cancer recurred, this time claiming his life.

The lines that came to my mind this morning were his rendition of Psalm 23:4... I can hear them as he wrote them, because there is also an audio version of the book (I recommend it). There is a rhythm to them, and today they are playing through my head as a prayer.

I crawl through the alley of the shadow of cancer
I know you know the answer
And the battle won't rattle me.
You're around, and I've found
There's something about your empathy
Your symphony of sympathy
That comforts me.
You're with me
You comfort me.

I find myself praying this today, for this woman as she fights cancer, for my friends, and their siblings, and their dad. For all those their family has loved and made their own (they do that, you see.) I pray they will know the empathy, the symphony, the comfort of Christ in the midst of all of this.

Timing, Cooking Classes, and on into the day

The timing of some things just makes me laugh. Mostly because if I didn't laugh, I'd probably pull my hair out. These sorts of things always seem to come at the end of weeks like this last one, where my energy is low, I'm tired, and probably a bit too emotional, and they become really challenging moments. Can you tell that I am in the midst of one of them again?

The Naked Pastor posted this today. Boy do I relate to that question.

And my latest blogthings quiz, "What Chess Piece Are You?" produced these results. A pawn. Yep. That was another "okay, I'm going to laugh about this" moment. Because I've actually described to a friend that I have at times felt like a pawn in some situations I've been involved in.

So.

I'm spending some time praying today, because I have a decision to make. Again.

But, I'm also going to enjoy my day, to carry on with the plans I'd already made. I'm attending a cooking class/demonstration with my roommate this morning. I think the title is actually "Knife Skills" which is kind of humorous in an ironic and twisted way, given the times I've felt so frustrated about some of these situations. In any case, I'm looking forward to taking part in this one, and several more over the next few weeks.

I'll probably read for a while.

I have some baking to do.

And a project to organize the recipes I've collected into a more accessible format.

And maybe some cleaning.

And for sure a bit of exercise. (Got to get those 20 minutes in!)

So, I'm going to enjoy the day. I'm going to pray, and probably make the necessary decision, but I'm going to figure out how to enjoy this day. I'm determined to do that. But to also be flexible and give myself lee-way.