The Curve of the Earth

From my idyllic perch this morning, I faced the morning sun atop a 10-story building on the beach. I think of the trips of my youth...midnight forays in tiny vehicles and in pitched tents done over short weekends rather than air-conditioned condominiums for a blissful week. Today's sun started cooking my exposed skin immediately, the ocean breeze hot and insistent. The scripture I read was speaking of God's creation: "For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands..." from Isaiah 55.  I sang the song that goes along with it, a couple of grandchildren joining in. As we looked at the beautiful horizon and the water lapping the shore, we noticed marks in the sand that were not there yesterday. Three sea turtles had laid their eggs in the night, summoned by the siren call of their birthplace. Their babies will bake in the warm sand for 60 days, hatch out and beat a hasty retreat to the ocean, desperately trying to avoid hapless seagulls and stray dogs. If they make it, they'll eventually come back to the site of their birthplace to start the process over. How do they know?  Over the course of an hour, three different people came near the nests, obviously reporting the events to someone important. There are numerous cordoned-off areas all along where we are staying, placed carefully from caring humans attempting to help them. I think of our own beginnings, where we struggle out of our mother's wombs and instinctively seek the warm comfort of her skin and milk.  Our lives can be a bit of flopping about too, avoiding roadblocks (or not) and attempting to find our way to our own sea of contentment. The icky, sticky struggle, though we often avoid it, is the very thing which can strengthen and enable us to do what we need to do. 

The scriptures speak in the book of Romans, how God's existence can be plainly seen, simply from the amazing creation that we see before us (though there's nothing simple about it). The circle of life keeps going around, fraught with impossibilities, but delicately balanced to keep sustenance moving forward. As I get to experience the miracles of nature and beautiful grandchildren around me this week, I am again in awe of the gifts that we have been given. Everything on the earth is shot through with flaws, stemming from original sin and the fall of man. But Eden has a Redeemer.  

Gonna Fly Now

I hesitate to talk about my torturous food and weight journey, because I know it gets old. I only write about it every year or so, but it is so much the fabric of my life, I beg your indulgence. There are two extra-grand struggles that I wear like a garment. These are the things beyond those ole everyday sin problems that emanate from me like hot magma. One is my ongoing quest to truly trust God. The other is my wrestling match with my (literal) flesh. 

When I was young, free, lithe and full of sunburned vigor, I always worried that I was fat even when I wasn't. It may have been a first world problem, borne of too many Twiggies on magazines and the ever-burgeoning weight of peer pressure that started post-WWII. Industry produced washers, dryers, dishwashers, TVs and telephone lines that changed the world, not always for the better. Then there's Cap'n Crunch cereal. We got lazier, fatter, more bored and yet more stressed as technology overcame physical labor. We worked longer but without our hands. We obsessed about image but not character. There's still hope, but not without sincere intentions. 

I went for a long season with little-to-no processed food, losing a whole lot of weight along the way. Then one morning I woke up with an aching thumb. Before I could blink, I couldn't put my own clothes on. Ken took off from work to help me get dressed and do the necessaries. I went to naturopaths and regular doctors too, lots and lots of money changing hands. They puzzled over me, put me on all sorts of supplements and medications to free up my joints. My pain was untenable. Strangers and friends suggested all manner of help, medicinal and herb-wise. I never really tried the herbs, but I still wonder about that. Eventually, something shifted and began to help some. I am still in constant pain, though now manageable. I think I'm a lot grumpier now too, sorry to all who love me. Meanwhile, my metabolism was sincerely hijacked and I began to gain weight, even though I was still weighing and measuring my food and eating non-processed. Somewhere along the way I truthfully got sick and tired of it and threw caution to the wind. The addict found a way to excuse her sugar and flour addiction. Think about it -- it's white and all ground up and perfectly legal. Time stands still for no one, and the meds, the blood pressure and the A1C loomed precariously over my head once again. 

I've had people say all manner of things to me in my lifetime about weight...mostly in this vein: "Go ahead and live and eat what you want. Life is too short to skip dessert." Others tell me to just be moderate. Tried that. Didn't work. Still more say that I need to accept where I'm at and just be at peace. There's no peace when they come to amputate my toes, because I decided to indulge my hippie self and live "free." 

I have resolved that I will not give up the fight. I will not throw in the towel. I will do the best that I know to do and trust the rest to God. I rise again, to wrestle the beast. Cue the Rocky theme. After all, tomorrow is another day...   

Still, Be Still

After coming through one of the most exhausting and riotous seasons in recent memory, it all came to a screeching halt last Wednesday. The weddings were decorated and done, concerts over, and the massive real estate drama that I've been working on for two years was extended, giving at least a modicum of reprieve for awhile. If I were to detail all the ways that God opened up the earth to cause things to move forward, you might just become a believer. The minute technicalities that had to come together at just the right moment are difficult to believe and even harder to explain. Suffice it to say, it happened, and I drove home that evening, noticing the sunset for the first time in weeks, maybe months. I noodled up with my dinner on the couch, certain that I must have been beamed over to the beach. It's scary that I could have gotten that knotted up over the duress of other people. I looked down to see the heart monitor beeping on my chest. Life is too short to be this stressed. I want to trust God, but it's way too easy to get my eyes off Him and onto the Mad Max horizon. Dancing backwards in high heels might be what all the feminists were aiming for, back when I was coming up, but there comes a point when barefoot in the sand and actually seeing the glorious sky and holding hands with my loved ones might need to overtake the Rat Race. Even if that means beans, greens and cornbread. 

So I've had five days of noodling. My rugs need vacuuming, my flute is laying idle beside the piano. Late last night, I sincerely thought about doing some scales or sitting down to write, but no...a hot shower, a book in my comfy bed, and slumber came like a warm and cozy kitten. Ken had to work very late...I mumbled something to him when he came in and rolled back over. The morning ahead of me feels like a hug, the house quiet and still, the dog lying at my feet. There's always lots to do, but maybe the best thing at times is to do nothing. Within the sphere of the hush is the still, small voice. I crack open my ill-used Bible and find comfort. I am home.