Just For Today, We Are Here!

Opportunity.  What a brilliant word. It is filled with such promise.

I read a quote this morning that has since stayed with me.  It reverberates in my mind.  I hear its echo throughout my day, taunting me, nudging me, reminding me.  It is this:

"Just for today, we are here. We are alive. And with that aliveness comes a profound responsibility to do what we can. To make meaning and beauty out of what is." ― Dani Shapiro
 
It may not mean that tomorrow we are someplace else, or that we are not alive. 

But it may.

Who ever really knows what is around the corner?

Then all the more reason to drink in the moment.  Take advantage of where we are, and whom we're with, and what is on our plate.

Perhaps its significance is more haunting because of the hints of change. Can you deny that change isn't prevalent in all of our lives in one way or another?  Our lives are constantly affected by for sale signs, doctors' diagnoses, graduations, job changes, births.  And deaths.

The challenge then lies in making meaning and beauty out of whatever state we are in. The challenge lies in living large, and drinking in the fresh sea air, and snapping a million pictures of an ever changing ocean because opportunities that are here today may be gone tomorrow.

And when our circumstances change, we embrace the newness with whatever courage is called for.

Again.

And again. 

What the Sunflower Lacks in Elegance

Sometime ago I was given one of my most treasured gifts.  It was simple.  It was elegant.  What it lacked in worldly value, it more than made up for in spiritual and emotional wealth, and was poetry to my ears.  It was, in fact a poem, written by my daughter Miranda, who has a way of seeing beyond the obvious and in the lovely way of a poet, imbues the common with sublimity; adding layers of meaning to what may be dismissed as ordinary. 

In her poem, my four children become the hallmarks of a garden, each represented by a distinctive flower that graces my life with unique attributes.  All so different from one another, yet all blessing my life with beauty and grace.

I have been thinking a lot about my Sunflower lately, the fourth addition to my garden of beauties, and have felt to pay tribute to her with my latest creation of glass fusion.  It is easy to see her golden hair.  It is easy to see her big brown eyes.  But most importantly,  "What a sunflower lacks in elegance is made up in the soul, 

For only when they give all things is when they're really whole."

She has chosen to sacrifice her time and all her talents to her Savior, Jesus Christ, serving Him as a full-time missionary. Putting aside the distractions of a busy, silly, crass and crude world, she walks with God, looking for opportunities to serve His children, to teach them the Gospel of Christ and bring them into the fold of the Good Shepherd.

A sunflower keeps its face toward the sun, knowing that is from where it draws its strength.  My prayers are with Miranda every day as she has chosen to be in the world, yet not of the world, keeping her face directed toward the Source of all Light.

My Mother’s Garden

Written by M.L. Haws

For my mother.

Four little beds filled to the brim

Each bright in blazing color

Planted in their youth by a loving hand

In the Garden of My Mother

One is lush with Poppies

In a drowsy and dreamy red

Smooth to the touch, daring the eye

And stubborn in the head

The Poppy will stand vibrant

And have its way, still

But will honor those who need their rest

And serve them with a will

Next, the Birds of Paradise

That stand up straight and proud

Showing off their sprays of light

With wise heads humbly bowed

The Proficient Paradise gives promise

Of strength, beauty and charm

Standing tall in stormy weather

And finds home where it is warm

Third in line, the Orchid

Glowing in elegance

But beneath those pearly petals

Beats a heart of amethysts

The Orchid is all loveliness

With an inner glow of fun

Light and grace, vibrant joy

In its soul unite as one.

Last of all a humble patch

The Sunflowers nod away

In Morning face toward the sun

And contemplate the day

What the Sunflower lacks in elegance

Is made up in the soul

For only when they give all things

Is when they’re really whole

Four little boxes tenderly kept

By their gardener expertly

This gardener who loved them

Though they all grew differently

Four little boxes surround a tree

Growth from a seed of faith

That bears the fruit and creates the light

In which they daily bathe

And from my Mother’s tree of Life

That stands unfailingly

New vines still grow and intertwine

And blossom verdantly

In my Mother’s Garden

There still is much to grow

But come and see, the Faith and Family

Are quite enough to show.

The Miracle of It All

Some days are life changers.  Today is one of those days. I am waiting this morning for a fellow to come and put a For Sale sign in front of our home.  As we have anticipated this big change, I have felt very anxious, but as the day is finally here, I am surprised that the anxiety has subsided to a large degree.  I feel remarkably at peace as I note the closing of a chapter.

That's ALL it is!  What an epiphany.  It truly is merely the closing of a chapter in a book filled with joy and wonder.  And the expectation for the next chapter is joyful and purposeful--no excuses, no regrets, no hesitation.  It is, in fact, a great blessing that we have the opportunity to build a new home.  And it's going to be a wonderful home--built with the objective of being a gathering place to draw together our growing family.  Our children and grandchildren will comfortably be able to come home as often as they desire.  My job will be to make certain they desire that OFTEN.

I can do this!  I feel the Lord's blessings everyday as I press forward with this project.  And He is filling me with His Peace at a time that I had worried so much about.

It's ALL Good.  It really is.  Why am I such a worrier?  Has life never managed to turn out for my good in some way?  It does.  It always manages to teach me something and have my peace restored eventually.  I do not understand all the mysteries of God, but I KNOW that He loves me!  Of this I am certain.  He manifests His love in so many ways.  And today, He has filled me with peace.

And THAT is a miracle.

Die With Memories, Not Dreams

I was startled by this quote the other day:  "Die with memories, not dreams."It caused, as great quotes do, some introspection. I asked myself, what memories do I have tucked away as the treasure of my life?  And which are in danger of existing merely as dreams, never to be fully realized and converted into memories?

I dream of a place to gather my growing family. I thought the BeachHouse was to be that place. After some experimentation I have come to believe that that was shortsighted. Once every seven weeks is not reliable nor flexible enough. We need a place that is available 365 days a year; 24/7; for better or for worse; in sickness and in health.  Not to mention in quickly encroaching old age.

We need our home to be that place.

Much conventional wisdom would lead the empty nester to believe that down sizing is the  answer.  For many it may be.  For one who dreams of a gathering place, that would seem to be shortsighted too.  Why would I move to a home which is devoid of memories, and is also insufficiently sized to create new ones? My present home has been the growing up place for my children, as well as the growing up place for my own immaturity and weakness and foolishness.  My children have come out on the other side of their childhoods with confidence, assurance, and courage to face lives as adults, and hopefully many happy memories of time spent together as a family in our beloved home of the past seventeen years.

I believe that I too have come away from my time spent here with experience, with lessons learned, with faith in a still-bright future, with hope for many more years of family gatherings and one-on-one time with grandchildren and hobbies to be pursued and wisdom to be harvested and things to be beautified.

So it's time for movin' on my friend.......

No. Really.

It is actually time for moving on.  We have worked very hard to polish and shine our beloved old homestead, which will soon bear one of those dreaded "For Sale"signs. Family pictures have been removed. Our characters have been erased with neutral walls and neutral floors and neutral decor. It is very lovely. But the rooms, for the most part, don't feel the same anymore. And that is intentional. Staging a home for sale is purposefully about inviting the lookers to be able to imagine it with their own things and their own families, not being distracted by our distinct stamp of ownership.

Our memories have been carefully tucked away, but not to remain in boxes forever. Plans are already in the works to build that gathering place of which we dream. It will include minimal stairs, because let's face it, this will be our last home and we're not getting younger.  How about a glass studio with sufficient power outlets to fire up a kiln?  Undeniably.

We are taking with us the important things of a home, things which will never be as prosaic as rooms and painted walls and gardens. We are taking the people that we love, and we are taking our treasured memories of the sweetest childhoods that ever were.

And any other dreams acquired along the way? Certain to be resolutely converted into long lasting memories.

This Is My Quest

Funny how life imitates art.

I have always wondered why the familiar quote wasn't the other way around. Doesn't the artist draw inspiration from life, then twist it, bend it, soften it, refine it and produce something elevated from the mundane, coarse, and common?  Oscar Wilde, however, claims that "Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life".

I am becoming a believer.

Recently I have watched as the influence of a song lyric has woven itself into my psyche; it has touched my heart, leaving me at random times with inexplicable tears.  How could the merest suggestion of lyric and melody ring with such truth?  It is just a song and yet it expresses a universal longing.  

Last Christmas I was given a unique gift.  It wasn't the extravagance of the gift that provoked my wonder; it was the complete and utter confidence in me, which it showed, that I have found to be the most profound.  My husband believed in my talent enough to buy me a glass fusion kiln. Through this gesture he has shown his love for me as well as his license to continue forward in adding this new skill to my wheelhouse.

In anticipation of firing up my new toy, I have prepared a beautiful studio.  I have purchased furnishings and supplies which would enable me to create to my heart's content. There is even plenty of workspace to have others join me in playing with glass.

With everything in place, just short of being able to plug in the kiln, I completed the initial stages of my first project.  I was inspired by an image that symbolizes the haunting melody which I have recently found so inspiring. 

Little did I realize that the final task of actually plugging the kiln in would become fraught with roadblocks.  At every turn there have been delays, setbacks, obstacles, and even what seems an insurmountable impossibility. With patience I will press forward, certain that anything worthwhile comes at a greater price. Truly the impossible just takes a little longer.

Therefore, it is a strange paradox that my unfired project is a windmill.

For those familiar with Don Quixote, the windmill is symbolic of a wanderer's impossible quest, something tauntingly just out of reach. In the musical Man of La Mancha, that quest of Don Quixote is described musically with the stirring passion of unfulfilled dreams, and the strength that comes through the search, the patience, the dedication to a quest.

I haven't given up.  Someday soon I will be able to access enough voltage to be able to plug the silly thing in.  I'm not sure exactly what hoops I will have to jump through to do it. Nor how many windmills I must challenge before I am finally triumphant.

To dream the impossible dream 
To fight the unbeatable foe 
To bear with unbearable sorrow 
To run where the brave dare not go 

To right the unrightable wrong 
To love pure and chaste from afar 
To try when your arms are too weary 
To reach the unreachable star 

This is my quest 
To follow that star 
No matter how hopeless 
No matter how far 
To fight for the right without question or pause 

To be willing to march into Hell for an Heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true 
To this glorious quest 
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm 
When I'm laid to my rest 

And the world will be better for this 
That one man scorned and covered with scars 
Still strove with his last ounce of courage 
To reach the unreachable star