It’s so great to be back, I’ve missed you all! I hope your summer offered some old-fashion warm weather fun: barbecues, picnics, lake swims, ocean walks, watching sunsets and butterflies, and many sacred moments of reflection, renewal and self-care. Mine was a simple, uneventful summer- what I needed. Aside from my normal diligence with work, I stayed put, rooting in the glory of home, walking to the beat of a slow rythym drum. The highlights — swimming in the great, unusually warm-water Pacific, hours by our lovely community pool reading soul-quenching books , adoring bright-eyed, bald-headed babies, especially the stout all-boy twins not quite two. I often helped their exhausted young mama, holding one hefty one, little iron-man, his always furrowed brows and distrusting squints staring me down, as she showered the other little bruiser. I also loved special time with dear friends, local theater and what seems like endless dinners and movies at home. Ahh Summer! My favorite!
To see the Summer Sky is Poetry
though never in a Book it lie–
True Poems flee — Emily Dickenson
A surprise — I’m not facing the empty nest afterall. My son decided to take a gap 6-months before jumping into college, to work and refocus his dreams. He had an amazing journey solo to Europe over the summer, I told him it was a hero’s journey, every boy-to-man needs one and many, even if I was behind-the-scenes on many long distance phone calls navigating some rocky passages. Every hero’s journey has those, but once transcended, a young man is born. I’m enjoying his presence here at home lately, my tall son towering over me, or perhaps I’m just a shrinking mom. His tender kisses goodnight, and when he leaves the house, sink deep into the core of my soul like baby chipmunks burrowed in a mother’s breast fur. Our rumbling arguments have taken a softer turn, hormones, on both parts, have mellowed. After Europe, he wanted tea time with me, 4 pm ish, and requested more sweets in the house. This is a typical afternoon for a family he stayed with in Vienna, sweet tea, Austrian chocholate and hearty, meaningful conversations. It made an impression on him enough to bring this sacred ritual home as a bonding glue. How sane for our often frazzled American families! Like his British grandpa, no longer alive, he says the tea should be made just so, lots of honey, and a bit of milk once the tea bag is out. Our pseudo European afternoons are a welcome pause in our day, a chance to just listen as I sip honey infused, hot tea on a summer’s day. During these afternoon respites, I hear the beat of his teenager heart, dreams he has I never heard before. I want these European style tea times to last, to not forget.
He comes and goes now like a free bird — school free, free from the burdensome homework we both agreed was never any good. For my teen, now considered an adult, taking a break from school is as important as taking a break from writing is to me. During such times, a quiet growth occurs in our depths. Writing goes on even when we’re not writing. Learning happens when we’re not learning. It’s a sort of empty space where God is at work behind the scenes, where transformation happens in silence and slow rhythms. Letting go becomes an art in itself as we’re faithful knowing, with God, we’re in good hands. It’s like giving ourselves permission to be held in a mother’s arms for a while, receiving the invisible nurturing, nourishment and thirst quenching needed to grow.
But how the writing call beckoned from the summer horizon this past week in August’s dawn, it’s sacred tug stirring in my servant heart. Getting back to writing after a long break feels like putting on new running shoes in preparation for training. I’m adjusting to the strange snugness after wandering barefoot and fancy free through wild flower fields of more leisurely, writing-free days, and I’m somewhat reluctant. In Aikido, they say there’s a thin line between fear and excitement, a reluctancy that holds in it energy and power. I fear I’ll have writers block. That I lost my connection with divine inspiration. Writing takes discipline, focus and time. Can I carve out the time? Anticipation stirs in the thin space between fear and exitement as I put words on paper. Words, words, words, God will move through me, and I as co-creater will share what needs to be said today. Like art, writing is an exciting process because it can be a vehicle for sharing aspects of God, and what a delight to touch the hem of mystery. As faithful writers and artists we become like prisms for God’s light entering earth from heaven. We get to be hosts for God’s light and love, shaping light and divine love into words. Now isn’t that amazing and what an honor. Writing connects us with others who know and long for God’s grace, who crave the mystic language of the divine, and whose very passion is to be engaged in this beloved story. It is here in the words we gather in communion.
As I stand at the starting line, I feel a bounce, eager to put pen to paper. This is the moment when summer breaks free, easing it’s way out like the tide, handing over the baton, allowing the fall tide to prepare it’s way toward the shoreline. It is here I’m catapulted into the mystery of writing. Will the words come easily?
I find when I sink into the humble calling like a kneeling child in prayer, I simply become a vessel.
Taking a break from writing is like leaving home for a vacation, and returning to pen and paper is like coming home. As I prepare for any vacation away from home, I make my bed, tidy up, pack my bags, and before heading out, I glance back at my bed knowing I’ll enjoy slipping between soft, warm hotel sheets for a while, putting bedmaking and household chores aside. Yet, upon returning, when I open the front door, I take a deep breath, and my heart smiles. The couch beckons, bright floral tropical pillows, look like bright-eyed puppies. My bed is as I’ve left it, tidy, ready to serve. My books on the nightstand sit like monks, my Bible waits for morning scripture readings. As a vessel for God’s words, I’ll receive and offer God’s gifts today. Returning to writing is like coming home.
You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.- 2 Corinthians 3:3
Do not let kindness and truth leave you; Bind them around your neck, Write them on the tablet of your heart. -Proverbs 3:3
You shall therefore impress these words of mine on your heart and on your soul. – Deuteronomy 11:18
We love your comments!