Dads and Dreams.

An incredible thing happened after my last blog: a precious woman read my blog and offered to pay for the writing class I had mentioned at the beginning of my post. I really can't explain what this did for my heart, well...yes I can.

A friend once said to me, losing someone close to you is like losing a leg. You can live without your leg, but the way you live changes drastically. Five months into losing my Dad, I can vouch for this analogy and say this is a very true statement. I'm still breathing, but life has changed and at times it feels like I walk with a limp. It is the little things that hurt the most. For example this week I watched a sweet little movie called Flipped. In a quick, subtle scene the girl jumps into her dad's pickup truck and they drive through the countryside. Before I could recognize the buildup of water in my eyes, I was weeping, it actually took me a moment to notice the onslaught of tears on my face. A dad, a truck, and the country, they didn't even talk during the scene. It's the little things that hurt the most.

This class was one of those little things. My dad was a dreamer, he was a mountain man that lived in a tiny mountain town and drove a tiny pickup truck. But that man knew how to dream (I'll share his awesome ideas sometime). My dreams were equally important to him, if anything I would say my dreams took priority over his own by a landslide. I could picture me spilling my heart to my dad about the writing class. How it would help me become a better writer, and someday I would write a book (this is where my dreams come in). He wouldn't say much on the other end, mostly because I wouldn't take a breath to allow him a word in. When I had finished talking about this class and my dream. He would tell me how wonderful it sounded, that I should do it (knowing that I couldn't afford to do such a class). I would then inform him that I couldn't afford to do such a class (though he already knew it). 

"How much does it cost?" He would say to me.

 "Seventy dollars" I would reply.

"Honey," he would say, "You know I'm going to pay for your class." 

And he would, he would pay for my class. 

The money isn't the issue here. It's the man behind the money, the supporter of my dreams. So when these things come up and I want to call him and say, "Dad! You got me on this one?" but can't... my heart breaks. Not because I lose an opportunity. I miss my dream holder-upper. My provider. To be honest, I don't think I prayed about this class, maybe I did but I don't recall. I tucked it away in my back pocket and allowed it to inspire my heart to write again. I read some blogs on writing, sat outside and brainstormed, and wrote a new blog. When I got the message on Friday from a friend who wanted to pay for my class, and wrote "I believe in you so much" in that little text, well...it felt like I got a heart massage.

I so needed to be reminded that God in His truest form is the Father. He loves to see me dream, and He wants to be a part of it. He loves to make a way! I remember thinking to myself (knowing He was in on the conversation) "You saw that?" I find it completely enriching and almost laughable. He sees and loves and supports... ME!? I knew my Dad got it from somewhere (ahem...God).

Well, tonight was the first night of my writing class. It's a small little class, perfect in size. The instructor's advice in starting to write was, "just begin." Edit later... but you have to just begin to write. So that's what I just did! I was planning on writing about something completely different (don't you worry, I'll get there someday) as I wrote, the aforementioned flowed out... and voila! A blog.

On an all day Daddy Daughter Date.

Myths and Reality

There is a class that will be starting soon in the community I live in called, "Writing the Book That is In You." I. Want. To. Take. This. Class! Oh do I want to take this class! It may not work out for me due to finances. Still, it has my heart stirring and I have been praying asking the Lord to open up and enlarge my creative capacity. I read a quote the other day, the long and short of it was: make art unashamedly, and while people are critiquing and deciding if they like it... make more art. I found such encouragement in this since the art of writing is something I so desire to do and do well. But intimidation has held me back time and time again.

I love to read and to write. I love to imagine what could be or what will be. C.S. Lewis is, without question one of my favorite authors, and as much as I love his non-fiction pieces and his genius essays. What I love more is his "children's" stories. The Chronicles of Narnia is one of the most fantastic works I've ever read. Once I read one of the books in the series, it's as though I'm in Narnia for days. I'm always looking at the trees waiting for them to lean in and tell me a mystery.

The beauty of his work lies in the fact that what he speaks of is actually...reality. Types and shadows. The tales create wonder and longing in the hearts of the readers, because here's the secret, deep down we know it is true...we at least hope it is true. Something in us bears witness when good ol' Edmund eats that turkish delight, and even more, we cry and rejoice at the redemption of that tender yet fierce Lion. His fiction is really "non" fiction. Myths and fables have their roots in reality. They may have gotten twisted over the ages, but I tell you, God has written eternity on the hearts of man and our imaginations expose this truth. 

I found the best places for me to tap those creative wells is either outside staring out at the sky or studying the trees, as well as in the Bible. If you really think about what they are saying in the Bible, it is wonderful, terrifying, beautiful! And we can retell the story in so many ways. I've been sitting in Isaiah 24 through 26 lately. And here is just a little poem that came out as I've thought about it! Until next time :)

When You return we will weep and dance.

Our faces will shine with light and joy.

Thankfulness will pour from our hearts like singing rivers.

“This is the One we have waited for!”

Your appearing will prove the foundations of myths.

The longing of nations solidified in Truth.

Dragons are slayed and Justice rides on.

We have looked to the sky as we’ve waited for You.

Has this been the whisper of the human soul?

“Gentle Majesty wipe my tears away”

We join with the trees that writhe in longing

Our desire alone is the remembrance of Your name.

Return! Return! Oh Lowly One.

Hearts they long to be satisfied.

Awaken Dawn, usher Him in with singing!

Soon upon You we shall set our eyes.

Amen.

Bringing Christ Glory in Suffering

I can name on one hand the number of messages I have heard that have wrecked me to the core. Actually, I would say that I could probably chalk it up to two messages total. I remember I went to church alone one evening in November 2010, and sat in the center section a few seats from the back. A man named Stephen Venable spoke that night and his message was on "Bringing Christ Glory in Suffering". I sat in my chair that night and wept afterwards, knowing this was the desire of my heart... how I longed that my life contain such a testimony. That in every season of my life, I would ascribe worth and proclaim the beauty of Jesus even in the midst of my darkest days. 

I cannot tell if that message catapulted me into the next season of my life, or came along in the midst of that season and solidified what was already happening. But what I do know is that desire was being fashioned within. My heart was marked with longing to bring glory to Jesus in all things. Even in suffering. 

That message from Stephen Venable has come floating to the surface once again. It's always been there, it never leaves me, but it has been hidden under a few layers of life (something I regretfully admit). In the middle of what has yet to be my greatest trial, I wish I could say I have from the get-go sang "It is well with my soul" but alas, I've curled up with Ben & Jerry's Half Baked ice-cream, and watched more sitcoms than I care to admit (consider this my confession). Still, I want so badly to set my heart on things above, I want to love and to know Jesus. 

But here is what I'm discovering, I am bad at that! I will not scratch my own back and tell you how I've come up out of the miry clay because I did it right. He will do it in me and I will say yes. I'm not negating my part in this. I have a part to play, I have a yes to give, a heart to open, and a mind to set on things above. But He will be the One to pull me through it all. I can't go back and re-do what has been already done, but I can allow my life to again embrace the worth and beauty of Jesus. 

If you're interested in the message, I found it here. Just click on the link below.

The Glory of Jesus and Suffering

Hope.

Just when it feels like your heart can't beat one more beat... It manages. Have you ever had to labor to breathe...you know- it isn't how it usually is where you don't even pay attention to the oxygen flowing into you lungs. No, this kind of breathing requires focus, your heart feels to big for your chest, and deep intentional  breaths are the only way you get any air at all.
I hate that kind of breathing. I hate that heavy heart. But that's what I have as of late. I lost my dad March 27th of this year. Almost 2 months ago. That's one of the reasons I started writing again actually... I figured the processing had to go somewhere.
Life doesn't feel real right now. I fully expect to see his name on my caller id. I wait for him to walk out of his bedroom with an ashtray and his "jammies" on, ready to watch his shows, and laugh, and on commercial break go on a snack run. I almost feel him pat my feet as I lay on the couch and ask me how I'm doing. I hear him laugh, and know just how he would tell me he loves always adding a term of endearment at the end. But no, my memories betray me to easily these days. Someone...Get me out of the twilight zone.
I have no current lesson learned. I have no advice or wisdom. I have heartache, but that's not something I'm interested in passing along. And I'm sure it's not something anyone is interested in taking. The only thing I can somewhat toss around in my mind right now is
Romans 5:3-5
More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.
I'm not yet rejoicing in my sufferings, so I'm still at the beginning of this verse. But it is in my head for a reason. Because I believe that as foreign as those words look like right now, someday they will be a reality for me. Up until this point in my life suffering has been a more ethereal idea, something I hoped was limited to dealing with my inner life and getting along with difficult people. And now my body feels physical pain and restrictions from the emotional pain in my heart. Big leap for me in the realm of trials and suffering. So I'm grabbing on to this seed of hope: that hope does not disappoint, that I will not be put to shame... and I'm riding it out. Both hands on the bars here, now isn't the time for stunts or showing off. Now is the time to hold on.

Simple Beginnings

I have tried to blog time after time each time ending soon after its beginning. Still here I am again, hoping to set out into this sea and perhaps I'll stay awhile and test the waters. The truth be told, I love writing... and I hate writing. The pen (or in this case keyboard) is to me a mark of permanence. You can't (or at least shouldn't) go back and erase things you write down, they either are or were, but you cannot say they never have been. That's delusional. Words make my heart soar, and there have been times they've caused me to lose my breath. With words I've been to places I've never really traveled to, I've met people I'll never really know. And at the same time I've written things down in that painful book we call a journal that I will forever regret. But I'm not erasing those words, nope... I won't do it. So often I want to sit down and write: a story, an entry into my scattered journal, a poem, a song I made up and want to remember for later, and then it happens- I internally panic. What if it's terrible. What if it all changes next week. What if it was an emotional high or perhaps an emotional low, and I wish to God I could take it back the very next morning. One of my favorite writers said, "to love is to be vulnerable..." well I agree, and I would substitute at this time with, "to write is to be vulnerable." But I have to get over that, I have to choose to write much like I have to choose to love. And so my blog begins. Simply...a blog about life, because what else is there? And quite honestly, I happen to think life even in it's most brutal twists and turns, can be quite beautiful. At least that's what I've found...

 and I plan to share only what I've found.