The Plank-Eyed Girl: Demotion, Tornados, and Truth

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Demotion, Tornados, and Truth: 3:47pm!  Unplugging the last of the white Christmas lights, I head to the library door.  My arms are full and I am struggling with my car...

Demotion, Tornados, and Truth

3:47pm!  Unplugging the last of the white Christmas lights, I head to the library door.  My arms are full and I am struggling with my car keys.  Stepping out into the hall, I hear a familiar voice explode, "Hello, Mrs. O!" I freeze. Looking at this young man standing in front of me, I know the voice but I don't recognize the face.  We stand in awkward silence.  Then, like a lightning bug that comes out of nowhere at dusk, his name makes its way onto my tongue. "Matthew!"  His smile could light up Safeco Field.  

Small talk is exchanged for several minutes. Quite unexpectedly he pauses, fidgets and then seems to summons courage from deep inside.  He audibly inhales; fixes his eyes on mine; and lets loose with a barrage of questions, "Why did you leave teaching and become the librarian?  You changed my life and the lives of so many students.  Did someone make you leave?  Did something happen?"  His words hit me like a machine gun.   I am momentarily speechless.  

Maybe this wouldn't have put me in a spin, but this is the third student that has come back to visit me this week.  Each one asking similar questions. Their perception is that being a librarian/media specialist is NOT being a teacher.  In fact, a couple of them even voiced that they thought it was a "demotion".  In years past, I would've defended my choice.  I LOVE words; books; and igniting a passion for reading, as well as writing, in students.  Four years ago, I thought moving to the library would give me that opportunity. It would give me a wider audience.  In the beginning it did. Unfortunately, now I only get to spend about 20% of my day enjoying reading and books with kids and the rest is taken up with "other" tasks.  

6:06pm!   Darkness has enveloped the land that I am standing on.  My thoughts are swirling and colliding like that of the inner vortex of a freshly spawned tornado.

As I journey through this evening, I can not seem to settle.  The reality is the interior spinning speed is picking up.  Normally, these types of comments roll off of me.   Unable to settle down and focus on creating, I finally run the white flag up and surrender for the night.  The safety of my bed is beckoning me.  

Before dawn even spatters the sky, I am pulled upright. The peace and safety of my sleep has pulled a Houdini.  My heart is beating faster than a hummingbirds.  Steadying my breathing, I become aware that truth is pouring out of my being in a quiet whisper. Like a cup of warm chia on a chilly night, the words that have embedded themselves into my being over the years from my

leather-bound book, bring a comforting warmth and much needed answers to the destructive tornado that has spawned. As they come pouring out of my mind and across my lips, peace starts to descend. 

  

"Plank-Eyed Girl, you bring me joy.  Before you were even born, I knew you because I thought you up and created you.  Every moment of your life, I have laid out.  Nothing has escaped me.  I am arranging your journey according to my purposes for your life.  There is no where you find yourself that I have not orchestrated and allowed.  Plank-Eyed Girl,  you make good plans, but I have something so much better for you.  I AM GUIDING YOUR FEET!   You can trust me, I am reliable."  

These words are stringing together like beautiful , peaceful, sparkly white Christmas lights .  They are wrapping themselves around me like I am a Christmas tree.  They bring an assurance that I am exactly where He has chosen for me, in the library as a librarian, writer, and speaker.  My soul breathes deeply and a calmness wraps itself around me, like an extra soft fuzzy blanket.  

May you find yourself wrapped in a extra cozy soft blanket of His presence.  May you know that He has orchestrated plans for you that are far better than what you could dream up.  Let the truth of His words wash over you during this holiday season.

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Prov. 16:9  We can make our plans, but the lord determines our steps.

Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you,” says the lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. 

Ps. 139:16 You saw me before I was born.  Every day of my life was recorded in your book.  Every moment was laid out  before a single day had passed.

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Unexpected Gifts, Dead Goats, and No Cancelation P...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Unexpected Gifts, Dead Goats, and No Cancelation P...: Sometimes my eyes are open, but I do not really see.  Today, I am determined to see.  Grabbing my camera, I step out of the comfortable...

Unexpected Gifts, Dead Goats, and No Cancelation Possibilities

Sometimes my eyes are open, but I do not really see.  Today, I am determined to see.  Grabbing my camera, I step out of the comfortable, cozy hotel and onto cold concrete sidewalk.  Frigid air swirls around my being and dances away on the wind taking with it all the dead and dried out leaves from the previous season.  There is no mistake that this morning, Winter has made its arrival and has no intention of leaving anytime soon.

Glancing down, mid-stroll, I freeze. Like a computer generated game character, time stands still for me. One brilliant, colby colored tender leaf lays at my feet.  It is surrounded by dirt y brown, rusty, and golden dried out leaves ready to be collected and made into mulch. Not able to stop myself, my hand reaches down and scoops it up.  How did this one leaf escape death so far?   Could it be that I saw it because I purposely set out to "see" today?

I have been alive 19,119 days and I have to wonder what all I have missed because I did not really "see".  I have been blinded and lulled to sleep by bright lights; my own swirling thoughts; and the splendor of sparkly and colorful things that flash before my eyes on the screen.  Yikes!  I will never get to relive those days and all I have missed.

Can I be honest?  I often don't really "hear" either. I read the print in my leather bound book and I don't really "hear" any application to my life? Story after story of weird and even distorted events and people.  You know the stories I am speaking of... a man being swallowed by a whale and spewed out onto a beach?  Another one where an ass speaks to a person out on a road? You get the picture.  How am I suppose to understand these things that happened so long ago?

As I carefully pick my steps this evening on my chilly stroll, I am focusing on "hearing".  My ears are hearing the spoken words coming through the tangle of white wires attached to my ears, but am I really "listening"? As usual, I feel like I am hearing rocks in a rock tumbler.  In the flicker of time that it takes for a snake's tongue to taste the air, I "hear" and understand what is being transmitted through the wires.  It is as if someone has taken my ears off "mute" and there is a voice coming through loud and clear.  I can not shake the reality of this hearing.  It sticks to my consciousness the way honey sticks to the spoon.  

We often hear about "covenants".  Maybe you've even made a covenant with someone.  Maybe you've kept it or maybe your good intentions just didn't work out.  God made a covenant with Abram and this covenant is for me too.  In Genesis, He told him to bring a heifer, goat, ram, turtledove, and a pigeon; kill them; cut them down the middle and lay the halves side by side. (Honestly, a pretty gross visual and I am glad He did not ask me to do this!  Yuck! ) In Abram's time, there were several types of covenants, but the most binding was of blood and it was formalized by the both parties passing between the divided halves of the sacrificed animals. When God told Abram to sacrifice those animals and lay their halves side by side, God alone passed between them.  Thus, it is God alone who keeps this covenant.  We contribute nothing to our salvation.  The keeping of this covenant with us is completely dependent on God.  The only thing we have to offer is our trust.

Twenty four hours has passed and still the message is stuck inside of my head like a fly stuck to fly paper.  I can not shake it. I can not cancel this covenant.  I have no rights to this covenant. It is offered to me freely.  

Tonight, I wish we were sitting across from each other in a coffee shop. Tonight, I would look you in the eyes and dare you to really "see".  Tonight, I would gently encourage you to silence your inner noise and really "hear" what our Abba is saying. Ask Him to allow your ears to be open and your eyes to really see.  You might be surprised at what He has for you.  

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl 

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Self-Hate, Beauty, and Photo Shoots

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Self-Hate, Beauty, and Photo Shoots: Nervously they appeared, one by one.  Sometimes close together, maybe even in small groups. Others silently sliding in individually, mak...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Stone Statues; Squirrel on Steroids; and the Green...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Stone Statues; Squirrel on Steroids; and the Green...: I should be paralyzed like a stone statue, but instead I am flitting around the room like an overgrown squirrel on steroids.   I a...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: My Personal Safe Brothel

The Plank-Eyed Girl: My Personal Safe Brothel: Bolting upright, a lump lodged in my throat, unable to make it go down or to bring it back up, I steady myself and deeply inhale.  Why...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Roots, Confessions, and a Snake Tongue

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Roots, Confessions, and a Snake Tongue: Dawn spattering the horizon, I stand stoically at the kitchen window.  Rays as orange as the tree-ripened fruit, bounce off the humm...

Roots, Confessions, and a Snake Tongue

Dawn spattering the horizon, I stand stoically at the kitchen window.  Rays as orange as the tree-ripened fruit, bounce off the hummingbird feeder and dance across my path of vision.  The gift of an unclaimed day in front of me.  Filling my lungs with the gift of air, I hear Him whisper, "Today I will give you many gifts."

I have been in a very dark place for several weeks. Life has just plain sucked.  Various circumstances have made it difficult just to breathe.  These myriad of problems have crept into my mind without an invitation and I have carried them.   I have struggled just to get through a work day and home again.  My only prayers have started with, "Help!" "Help me not to do anything stupid." "Help me to trust you in this darkness."  "Help me to not run away."  "Help me just to stand still and wait for YOU!"  Yet, He has remained as silent as a rock.

This morning, I dress and slide into the little black thing.  

As I zip along the bay, the coolness of the morning air rushes over my skin. I have a sense of aliveness that has evaded me in recent days.  The warmth of the penetrating sun pours into my being and awakens my slumbering soul.  

Arriving at my destination, I slide out of the car and saunter into a meeting of young adult females. Instantly, I am aware of my guest status.  I am also aware that for whatever reason, today I am "listening well". Inwardly chuckling, I find a cloth covered metal frame to perch on at the table. Observing the participants, I listen to the discussion.  

In the flicker of time that it takes for a snake's tongue to taste the air, I am aware that these moments were orchestrated by My Father.  THIS is not an accident that I am sitting in THIS place listening to teaching and a conversation on  root systems and Luke eight.  

My mind races back to my college biology days and everything I know about root systems. These sound bites come dancing through my head:   

• Roots are underground and not easily viewed with the naked eye, unless they are hydroponic or in a see-through container. 
• Roots are a lifeline and 100% essential.  
• No roots = no plant. 
• Root growth is only periodic and sporadic.  
• Within a tree, there can be some roots that are active and some that are dormant.  
• Fertilizer can enhance growth when applied at appropriate times.
• During the "resting" phase or "dormancy" essential life processes continue but at a minimal  rate.   

Like a lightening bolt on a stormy day, my mind instantly seems to be infused with understanding.   This "difficult time" has been a season of dormancy for my physical circumstances, much like the season of Winter.  I have been participating as best as I could in the essential life processes to exist, but life has been cold and hard. As I ponder this realization, He gently whispers to my heart that it has also been a season of growth for my inscrutable root system. These past few weeks have certainly been darker than anything I have ever experienced.   Could it be that my Abba knew that I my root system needed a significant dose of fertilizer before this next season?  Could it be that in the darkness of the night, all my prayers that started with "Help" and seemed to bounce off of the wall were allowing my soul roots to attach even stronger to the one who is my rock?  

Roots are essential.  I can have shallow roots; widely spread out roots; or even roots that stick up out of the ground and when the storms come, I get easily uprooted, disillusioned, and just plain mad. Likewise, if I allow my roots to grow deep and anchor to the rocks, as well as other people's root systems, I will be able to stay facing Him and continue growing into a solid oak that can shelter and direct others.  What are your roots attached to?  Which way are they growing?  In the darkest hour, when you feel alone and your prayers are bouncing off the ceiling, know that the one who made you is strengthening your root system.

Until we Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

My Personal Safe Brothel

Bolting upright, a lump lodged in my throat, unable to make it go down or to bring it back up, I steady myself and deeply inhale.  Why can't I make that scene from yesterday disappear?  It was captured a week ago and uploaded.  It is vivid.  It is stark.  It is unraveling in my mind.  Even though I was not there in India, the stench is burning itself into my nostrils.  The faces are covered by vibrantly colored cloth.   They are "taking a break" from their job in the brothels.

Mocha and Coffee colored hands extend in worship. Delicate voices swirl into a cacophony of harmonic proclamation of God's goodness.  Lord, "Why is it etched so deeply into my mind with indelible ink?"

Vaguely glancing at the clock, I find my feet moving toward the shower.  Darkness is still encompassing the place on this planet that I am standing on.  The chick-a-dees have not yet awoken to welcome the rest of earth's inhabitants. No one else is stirring in the neighborhood. In this moment, time has no reference, no hook on which to hang meaning.   This captured moment in time has penetrated my core and shaken my soul.  

Realizations explode like fireworks inside my head. Clean, pure, hot water flows over my bare, exposed body.   My skin cleansed, but my soul untouched and still trying to reorient itself from this swirling visual vortex.  Liquid hotter than the water from the showerhead is pouring from my heart through the slits of my eyes.  Thoughts are slowly turning, like fresh cream into pure butter, to words....words that I must share.  

These "prostitutes"  were likely sold as young girls to the owners due to their parents inability to care for them.  The parents sacrificed them to keep the rest of the family alive. Oh how each of their momma heart's must have broken as they watched their precious little girls leave for a life of sex slavery.  What a horrible choice to have to make as a parent!  A life of no return.  My mind is suddenly aware that these girls have done nothing wrong.  This is the only life they know.  Trapped by lack of funds, societal status, and no training, they continue day in and day out, hopeless to become anything different.  Yet, the photo that was on the screen, captures their pure passionate worship and love for Jesus (Sorry, I can't share it. It would put them at risk.).  In my head there is an uncomfortable dissonance between what I, in my American mind think of as a "prostitute" and THIS reality for these Indian girls. This is their regular work day.  They worship, pray and then return to servicing men for around $3 (USA) for 15 minutes. It is their "job".  They would give anything for a different life, but there are no options for them.

Watching these girls/women worship, I am undone at their passionate pursuit of God.  Their unconditional love for Him and their trust that God sees them, even though they are basically slaves, their hearts are free.  It forces me to ask myself, "Why then do I, who am physically free, find it so hard to obey God?" My heart is completely splayed open as He whispers the truth. "You like safe and comfortable." This revelation hit me like being thrown into the Pacific Ocean on a frigid Winter day.  I was simply stunned speechless.  The truth is though that "safe" and "comfortable" are destroying my soul.  They are my personal brothel.  Matthew 10:28 tells me not to fear things that can destroy my body, but to run from the things that can destroy my soul.  I need to run for my life from the comfortable, self-serving lifestyle which has lead to my complacency.  It is this lifestyle that is constantly put in front of me which is holding me captive. Jesus has called us, as His followers to be many things, but living "Safe" is not necessarily one of them.  

There is no easy answers to end this post with. So, I will say....stay tuned and let's see what God has in store as I say "Yes!"  

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Stone Statues; Squirrel on Steroids; and the Green Room Door

I should be paralyzed like a stone statue, but instead I am flitting around the room like an overgrown squirrel on steroids.  

I am in the "Green Room" awaiting my que. I am bouncing around and attempting to go through all the words, but an odd sense of elation is exploding from deep inside of me.  I give up and fall on my knees.  With gratitude for the gift of words and the message He has embedded in my heart, I pour out my thanksgiving to him in an audible voice.  I know He has got this and will orchestrate my words the way He sees fit. I have done my part and now it is up to Him to take the message and speak to each one individually in a way that only He can.

In many ways, I feel as if these last few months I have been pregnant and today is the delivery day.

If you have ever delivered a baby, you know the realization that suddenly hits you when you become aware that there is no other way for this baby to be born, except for you to walk through the "delivery".  It is an odd mixture of exhilaration, fear, and incredible joy.  You realize that your life will NEVER be the same from the moment of delivery on.  Standing behind the "Green Room Door,"  I am experiencing all of these same emotions.

Waiting in the wings, a calmness washes over me. A deep longing to look into the faces of these precious women overtakes me.  I hear the introduction and feel my feet moving toward the center of the stage.  Pausing briefly, I am thankful the house lights are up enough to see each face turned up in expectation.  I hear the words being pushed through my vocal chords. Through my own  eyes, I am seeing how my story is allowing them to say, "Me too!"  I finish with a spoken word piece that He wrote on my heart.  Turning, I stroll off the stage.

Something inside of me wells up and I find warm liquid cascading down my soft flushed cheeks. My heart is bubbling over with a deep sense of gratitude to the one who created me;  has walked with me; has carried me ; and has sat next to me on this rollercoaster of a journey called life.   Taking a moment to collect myself, I pause to offer my thanksgiving for the opportunity to tell these ladies that their stories matter.  To let them see that God has given them each a unique life, and therefore story, that is a gift to share. 

What opportunity do you need to say "Yes!" to? What is He putting in front of you? Your "Yes!" could change someone elses life, delivery will change yours.

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Self-Hate, Beauty, and Photo Shoots

Nervously they appeared, one by one.  Sometimes close together, maybe even in small groups. Others silently sliding in individually, making sure no one was around to observe this moment. Hesitantly they faced me.  My job was to capture an image of them.  Each participant displayed some degree of dread at this event.

Gently nudging them into the late afternoon soft light and using my words to encourage them, most eventually turn towards me and smile. Inevitably, these precious humans also express varying levels of disdain for their face and having their photo taken.  

As the afternoon wears on, my heart becomes heavier with each click and interaction.  Why do these precious humans not like what they look like?  Who has done this to them!!  Why have they let "others" define what beauty is and what it is not?

The afternoon seems to be slowly meandering forward.  I am consumed with these swirling thoughts.  I am attempting to slow each one and follow it to a logical ending.  It is like attempting to jump on the back of a dancing dragonfly on a warm summers evening.  Dutifully, I complete my afternoon activities and can hardly wait to arrive home.

Settling in for the night, I bring up each picture on the computer and allow myself to linger looking at it before cropping it for print. I imagine that I don't know these people or their stories.  Still, I am drawn to their faces.  Their faces are precious and simply beautiful. Looking in each of their eyes, there is so much story to be told.  I want to sit with each of them and hear their stories.  I want to hold space for them to be heard and for them to hear how simply beautiful they are and how I see them through the lens.  

Unfortunately, most of them won't allow this type of interaction.  It would be too uncomfortable for them.  So, I will write them personal notes thanking them for trusting me.  I will encourage them to value the gift of their face, for it was created by the Master Creator Himself.  When He completed it, I am sure He stood back and smiled. He had every type of feature, color, texture, and shape available to Him.  Yet, He chose exactly the intricate details He wanted each one of us to have. Each time, He was proud of His beautiful, one-of-a-kind creation.  

May you know that EVERY detail of your face and body was picked out by the Creator of the Universe.  NONE of it was a mistake!  Both He and I call you "Beautiful".

Until we Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Burnt Grilled Cheese, Fawns, and Five Smooth Stones

Tentatively, I stood and turned to face the group of five.  Like an awkward fawn, standing for the first time.  Not sure what was happening in my head and heart, I froze.  Realizing my saliva was absent from my mouth, I swallowed hard trying to activate the liquid glands.  Words were absent. My eyes laser-locked on theirs, searching for any sign to continue. My hands nervously clenched against my rib cage.  Stoically, words tumbling from my mouth.  

Painfully, moments lapsed into minutes as this "inspirational" message was delivered.  Truth be told, it was delivered more like a eulogy.

My delivery was worse than burnt grilled cheese on white bread. As this "rehearsal" came to a close, I quickly stuffed my array of papers into my hot pink messenger bag and bolted for the car. 

Zipping along the boulevard, with my heart peppering my mind, I feebly attempted to make sense of the last hour and a half.  What had happened?   This should've been a walk in the park.  I give "inspirational" messages as well as tell stories all day long.  I have a wonderful job doing this for a living. Why did I freeze?  WHAT was going on?  I felt (and I am sure looked) like I was back in seventh grade and this was the first time I had spoken to an audience.

Safely arriving home, I retreat to my bathroom. Dropping clothes onto the floor, I slide into a hot shower and allow the emotion of the train wreck to wash over me.  Moments slip into minutes that are lost.  The hot water expires so I relent and shut it off. All I want is the safety of my memory foam mattress and my childhood pink polk-a-dotted blanket to cocoon in. Thankfully, sleep is waiting for me.  

Morning arrives too soon.  Furrowing into the bedsheets, I refuse to welcome the day.  I hear Abba calling my name.  He whispers, "Go look at David and Goliath."  Ugh!  I KNOW the story of David and Goliath.  I commence to protest, but He is silent.  Evidently, this is a non-negotiable point this morning.  Reaching out of my cocoon, my hand recognizes my bible and I draw it under the covers. Opening it to First Samuel 17.  Dutifully, I read through it. Suddenly verses 38-40 leap off the page.  Awe MAN!  You would think that at 52, I would've learned this by now!   

King Saul tried to give David his own armor and weapons to fight Goliath.  I just tried to deliver an inspirational message according to someone else's formula.  I should know that this NEVER works! David proclaimed, "I can't go in these, I'm not used to them."  He tried on Saul's armor.  Why did I try to use a formula that I was not used to? Next, he strapped on Saul's sword, only to realize that this entire outfit was NOT going to work. Promptly, David took it off and proceeded to pick up the weapons that he was used to (smooth stones).

David did not allow even King Saul to persuade him differently. WOWZEE!!!!     It is in this moment that I realize in my human desire to "please" someone else, I failed miserably at what I have been gifted to do.  Gently my Father whisper, "I have prepared you for this. Trust me."  

YOU have been uniquely designed with gifts and talents that can impact the world.  May you embrace the uniqueness of these gifts and be true to the training He has provided for you.  You can trust His plan and His ways.  

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl 

Shadow Chasing Silhouettes

Feet securely tied into my memory foam, deliciously bright-colored cross trainers, I head onto the paved walking path.  As usual, this morning I am sharing it with a variety of precious ones that are over 76.  I must be an odd sight for their fragile eyes.  I often use this time to audibly converse with my Maker or to practice my vocals in worship.  This morning is no different.  

We have been doing this dance for the last 45ish days.  I tend to move a titch quicker than my path companions.  Therefore, I often pass them.  Early on I received a lesson in path etiquette. This early morning crowd has a variety of unwritten rules:  When passing someone going the same direction, turn to look them in the face and greet with a cheery "Good Morning!" Be sure to acknowledge their four-legged, hairy companion.  Those going in the opposite direction receive eye-contact and a "Morning!"  but no acknowledgement of their furry friends.  Evidently, if you get the attention of the animal, it darts in front of you just as you pass and you trip.  Anyway, I am only 45 days into this adventure at this park and I am sure I will be schooled in other rules as time goes on.  

As I join the "West of 76 Villagers," I check to ensure my earbuds are in and drop into pace slightly slower than a spooked mare. The words to "Oceans" audibly spilling like a waterfall from my lips. My hands take on a life of their own, expressing their gratefulness for the life ring that I am holding onto too.  I am absorbed.

Rounding the corner, I come screeching up right up behind a lady that doesn't seem to know the "unwritten" rules.  She is slow.  She is walking in the middle of the path.  Her hands are extended and she is completely unaware of the fact that she is blocking the path. Falling in behind her,  I remove my earbuds and become silent. An awareness overtakes me and I understand that her presence in my path is NOT an accident. Quite the contrary, it is a much needed gift.  I match her pace, being careful to stay behind her. Oddly, I feel covered and safe.  It is like walking with a friend under a large golf umbrella during a rainstorm. She appears to be oblivious to my silhouette that is chasing her shadow. She is praying and worshiping out loud.  My heart fills, like a sponge that has dried out in the sun and is suddenly submerged in a bucket of cold refreshing water.  I am carried into His presence.

Unaware how many moments have slipped by, I find myself very alive and refreshed. I speed up my pace and make a move to pass her.  Pulling up parallel with her, I glance in her direction only to realize that she is completely unaware of me.  Finishing up my walk, I feel compelled to wait for her and thank her for letting me slide in on her worship and prayer.  I wait.  I wait.  I wait.  She never comes.  

May we always be aware that all our actions have a ripple effect. Some, we will be privileged to see and others,  we may never know about.  Today, may your actions provide direction and life to those silhouettes that are chasing your shadow.  May you point them to the "Lover of Their Soul."

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl
  

Secrets to Swimming With a Shiver of Sharks

Sweet sun syrup drenching my skin. Laughter wafts through the air as frigid water explodes overhead and unexpectedly falls in torrents over the guests. Beautiful melodic languages dance between humans. Pure and simple delight abounds in this moment.

I am perched on the edge of a magnificent fountain savoring this precious moment.   I am being rocked into a trans-like state by all that is good and right around me.  I exhale.  My heart is full and I am content.

Like a loudspeaker inside my heart, my mind suddenly booms forth the fact that this is ONLY a momentary reprieve from the shiver of sharks that have been my constant companion these last six weeks. 

This has been a "season" of learning the secrets of swimming with a shiver of sharks. Some of the sharks are named "Disappointment", "Doubt",  and "Discouragement".  If you have never swam with sharks, you probably don't know that they circle their prey before deciding if and when to take a bite.  They can rough you up through their curiosity by bumping into you and knocking you around a bit before deciding to taste you.  They like the cover of cloudy water. Their mealtimes are the early morning or as the sun is setting.  

Unfortunately Disappointment, Doubt and Discouragement do the same thing.  I have found their feeding times are when I lack clarity and are either exhausted or not fully awake.  These past six weeks I have been repeatedly peppered with plans going awry; everything from canceled bike rides; to my car being hit and undriveable; to no trip to India in August.  The disappointments have been multi-leveled and have come fast and furious on some days.  During times of physical and emotional exhaustion, I have been stippled with doubts about who I am and what I am called to do. Often in the middle of the night, I have been awoken only to realize that I am securely tucked in by a blanket of discouragement at the realization of my circumstances. With each bump and blow from  this shiver of ravenous sharks, I have discovered three secrets.  These have allowed me not to be consumed by my predators. 

Suddenly, my camera captures "Flying Child". I hear my Abba whisper, "Watch her."  I follow her through my lense. Her initial reaction when the water first exploded over her was one of electrifying shock.  (Oh how well I know this feeling.) Seconds afterwards, a giggle erupts from her belly and she takes off flying. Her clothes are drenched.  Her hair is matted to her face.  Her lips are moving.  She has chosen to embrace this moment as a gift.  She looks as if she is singing. Instantly, I am aware that she knows the same secrets that I do:
#1  I am not in charge of anything,
#2  I can choose my response.
#3  I get to choose my heart attitude.

Then my Creator softly announces, "I chose this moment for her and I have chosen all of those unexpected moments for you.  I hold you in the palm of my hand and nothing can touch you except what I have orchestrated." 

May you embrace the unexpected difficult moments in your life with the realization that YOU are NOT in charge, but... YOU do get to choose YOUR response and YOUR heart attitude. 

Together, may we choose wisely.


Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Zumba Dancing Filipino Grandma

Clearing security, my mind jolts awake to the realization that I need to locate a birthday card for "The Precious One".  Weaving through humanity, I locate a bank of cards and start perusing the selection. That is when I notice the clerk.  Trying not to have facial dysplasia, I continue looking at the selection while sneaking peeks at this fragile, Zumba dancing Filipino grandma who is the clerk. I can feel a gigantic giggle wiggling it's way up from my belly, but knowing that allowing it to escape would be entirely socially inappropriate, I manage to turn it into a mini coughing attack.

She approaches me and with a wave of her hand pronounces me "Strong!"  At first, my mind zings over and lands on the idea that this must be a cultural way to telling me that "I'm FAT!"  Ugh! My mind is screaming, "This is NOT what I need right now!"

I rise from the rack of card and look her squarely in the face.  Instantly, my heart knows that this was not what she meant.  We connect.  A lonely, Filipino elderly grandma, working on her feet to make her social security stretch and a middle-aged mocha girl off for a frivolous six day adventure before her vacation.  Honestly, probably couldn't be more opposite.

I turn the rest of my body to face her.  In her best broken English she says, "Your body is strong and that is a gift.  My body is weak and I am in pain." She smiles a toothy smile at me.  I can't help myself, I smile back.  We stand facing each other.  I can tell she is searching for more words.  I wait.  Reaching out my hand, I offer her money for my purchase.  She touches my hand and looks at me.  We are both women.  We both have different shades of deliciousful brown skin.  Our paths have crossed for these few seconds on this summer day.  

Methodically she counts back the change.  I accept it and turn to leave.  My heart yells, "Not Yet!" Quickly I turn back to face her, I hear the words leave my lips, "Thank You!"

Sliding quickly into the human freeway that runs north and south through the main concourse of this international airport, I rush toward the N gates. There is no time to spare.  I reach the plane and drop into my seat.  That is when my Abba whispers, "Remember, you are strong!  I am WITH you!"  

Arriving, I find "The Precious One" in a desperate state.  Once again, I am physically alone it feels like I am standing at the edge of a vast desert facing the Red Sea with no visible signs of help.  I am perched on a hard wooden bench at the edge of the golf course. Through a flood of prolific tears, I am crying out to my Abba for help. The sun is slipping over the edge of the earth.  I am unable to breath and have run out of "Puffs with Lotion".  Suddenly, the Lord reminds me of the Zumba Dancing Filipino grandma and her words to me.  Something loosens in my chest.  I rise from the bench; find the path and head back to "The Precious One's" house. Moments later, two neighbors appear on the path. They call to me.  I pause and we chit chat.  Turns out they have served with YWAM in Kona.  I LOVE how my Abba provides.  The conversation didn't solve the problem I was facing, but it brought me hope.  God knows what is going on and can be trusted to show up.  He is good all the time like that.  Trust me, I know....He does not abandon.  

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

5My steps have stayed on your path;  I have not wavered from following you.  6I am praying to you because I know you will answer, O God.  Bend down and listen as I pray.  7Show me your unfailing love in wonderful ways. (Psalms 17:5-7 NLT)

* Six Month Reminder

1:25 pm Facial distortions were occurring as I zipped down the highway a titch above the speed limit.  Topless and absorbing every ray of the sun syrup, I didn't want to arrive at my destination. Every since the "reminder" had arrived a few weeks back, I have been blocking these next few moments.  The "reminder" had been delivered by parcel post in a simple, white legal envelope.  From the moment I picked it up, I knew what it contained.  My naughty side considered throwing it out and ignoring the "invitation to return". Deep down though, I knew it was pointless.  The Mr. would find it and ask me about it.  Ugh!

1:30 pm Discovering a lovely spot for the little black thing to rest, I allowed myself the gift of a sacred second to deeply inhale and truly feel these "pre" appointment moments.  Every thing about these moments was being etched in my heart with indelible ink. The question flew through my mind, like a banner behind a plane, "Did I fully live these last six months?"  Slowly a panic rose from the pit of my stomach.  Trying to calm the fear that was attempting to hijack my mind, I went into robotic mode.  My hand reached for the door; my legs found the asphalt and within moments, I found myself giving my name to the "Stoic, Female Keeper of the Schedule" behind the counter.  

Quickly, I was whisked behind a heavy set of doors and told to disrobe.  Seems like just yesterday I was here.  Repeating every verse I know about fear, I pushed forward.   Completely aware that nothing about these next few moments would surprise my Father, and even more aware that He was orchestrating my life, (Yes, even these moments) complete vulnerability swirled inside of my heart.  

1:50 pm having had a certain part of my anatomy tugged, squished, and pulled on like a piece of pink taffy for the last twenty minutes, the nurse coldly stated, "Get dressed, the doctor wants to talk to you."  Trying to find the humor in this moment, I look down and I am sure one side is at least six inches longer than the other.  Lord, hopefully this is just my point of view and NOT reality.  Chuckling, I emerge and follow the century to the office.  She points to a chair. I assume that means that I am to sit.  Like a well-trained dog, I perch on chair eagerly looking at her for some hint of the results.  

2:00 pm news delivered, the door to the office closes and I am momentarily left alone to digest the news.  Gratefulness falls from my eyes and I search for a tissue to catch it in.  The nurse returns and asks what's wrong.  I can't even find my voice.  Six more months and maybe longer if the spots remain unchanged - a gift that was hoped for, but not promised.  

Tonight I am more aware than ever that the one who thought me up and knows everything about me, has given me a six month stay and quite possibly more :) .  May I continue to to be surrendered and focused on His purpose and plan instead of my own.  May I choose to live with intention, grace, and His love as the anchors for each day that I am given.

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Rain Soaked Wild Topless Woman

Stepping outside of the building that held me captive and suffocated for the last few hours, I pause and take in the beautifully warm late afternoon air.  I feel like a prisoner released after twenty years of solitary.  Have I said how much I hate meetings? Practically sprinting to my little black thing, I quickly drop the top and jump in. Keys in the ignition, I launch off to take the long way home.  Only seconds into this journey, a seriously heavy black cloud descends on our little bayside town.  Like a hawk descending and following it's prey, this gray mass seems to be traveling with me.  Humongous  rain splats drop, like seagull plops, from the sky.  My heart sinks. My mouth silently exclaims, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!?"

My 51 year oldness instantly tries to convince my 17 year old self to pull over; put the top up; and do the responsible thing.  Lord, everything is going to be soaked!  Fortunately, the 51 year old loses and I throw my head back in a giggle so inflating that  I feel like I can fly.  That is when I realize the nice looking man in the Mercedes next to me is gawking.  I am being completely drenched by this warm liquid gift and all I can do is think about how fabulously wonderful this is!    Something about this feels like a gift from my Father.  He seems to be saying, "Just breath!"

I continue on my journey home.  Scooting around the end of the bay, the little black thing hugs the road and flies like a hummingbird that's had too much fake nectar.  I pull into the garage severely damp but with a heart that has been given space to breath and feel.  How does my Father know exactly what I need?  I wanted the sun, but He knew I needed a good soaking.  I love that the one who thought me up and placed me in my mother's womb knows me so intricately.  

Today, I will trust that His plans for my life are best even when they are contrary to what I think I need or want.  Thank you Jesus for a topless rain-soaked ride! 

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Nuclear Missiles; Muzzles and Masks

 Tightly pressing up against the car door she presses her rosy smooth, cheek against the cool glass of the window.  Rain pelts the glass outside.  Clear hot liquid silently slips down her cheeks. Venomous words shot, like nuclear missiles, between two people she loves.  Like a village destroyed by war, her heart is being shredded by the shrapnel of broken and bitter words. Clinging with everything in her to the car door, she silently wishes for it all to stop. 

Like a helium balloon on the verge of explosion, sudden silence fills every nook of the vehicle. Surreal momentary silence fills the enclosed space. The voice of one that loves this eight year old pierces the silence and delivers a sentence that will alter her life for years, "Why are you so ugly when you cry?"

Words!  Ugly Words!  Destructive Words!  Words

that will be forever etched deeply in the mind, heart, and soul, like shards of glass.  These eight words will be her invisible muzzle for the next 35 years. These poisonous words instantly mix with a fragile, innocent heart and create a compound for the quiet construction of a protective mask. Silently, she places Superglue inside the mask and raises it up to her face.  Days, weeks, months, and years pass.  

At 2:05 each night while the house is silent and those she loves are sleeping, she gingerly allows her hand to slide up to her face and release the corners of the mask. She is married; Children are born; People she loves die, but the mask relentlessly holds for those 23 hours.  

In the 60 minutes each night without the mask, she breathes deeply.  As she exhales,  hot clear liquid forms a stream down her cheek and pools in the creases of her pillow.  Sweet release.  Like a dam that is open in order to release the pressure and prevent permanent cracks, her sorrow spills safely out and into the darkness.  3:05 am she silently applies another layer of Superglue and reattaches the mask for another 23 hours all because of those words that were hurled at her on that dark, damp night so long ago.

Words carry power.  They can destroy or they can create.  They can hurt or they can heal.  They can blame or they can forgive.  My words and yours are more powerful than nuclear missiles, muzzles, or masks.  Luckily for this Plank-Eyed Girl, my God has used His words to forgive me; heal me; and create a wholehearted being that believes in the power of words.  

May you be overwhelmed with the words He has for you.  May you in turn use the secret power of your words to bring life and hope to those whose lives intersect with yours.  Truly, your words bring life or death.  Choose wisely.

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Crazy Hair Day!

With gentle rain sliding down my zebra umbrella, I perch on my concrete post to greet students this warm Friday morning. It is "Crazy Hair Day" and unfortunately I did not have a chance to dye my hair purple like I had planned.  So, I gingerly stand on this  ninety degree corner with my back to the street and my face towards the classrooms.  

Like a start gun going off at a horse racetrack,  the bell blares over the intercom signalling the start of this school day.  Suddenly, from behind I hear this screeching female voice excitedly proclaiming, "Oh my goodness!  YOUR hair is the best!  What made you think to put spots in your hair?"  There is a momentary pregnant pause as I realize that this parent thinks I did my hair this way on purpose just for "Crazy Hair Day." I choose NOT to turn around. She continues past me and is visibly gasping for air as she is having fits of laughter.  It is then that my eyes meet a couple of my favorite fourth grade girls.  They have watched this entire scene unfold.  Like a television sitcom playing out right in front of their very eyes.

Instantly,  the three of us burst out in uncontrollable giggles.  Finally, the purple future fashion diva proclaims, "She has no idea who you are.  She doesn't know that your hair is ALWAYS like that!"  As the three of us regain our breath and stroll into the school, I put my arms around both of them; turn them toward me and softly whisper, "This Spotted Zebra likes you both just the way you are."  

Wowzee! The power of words formed by the human tongue. They can build up or tear down. They can praise or they can discourage.  They can heal or they can destroy. May you choose to use your words to make this world and those you meet better.  May you also know and celebrate the unique "YOU" that God, in His infinite wisdom and creativity, thought up.  "YOU" are His workmanship and He takes great joy in the uniqueness of YOU!

Enjoy the Giggle,

Until we Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Secret World Domination

Seven Year Old + Cargo Shorts + Remote = World Domination 

Hands shoved deeply into his cargo shorts pockets; perching on the edge of the chair; silently smirking; with eyes that were dancing.  I couldn't help but notice this newbies unusual behavior.  Silently deciding just to observe and not pursue my intuition, I proceeded to read the story to this wiggly second grade class. 

Moments into the story, he simply could not contain himself.  Out of his belly he explodes, "I can control the world!"  Pausing the story, I turn my attention to him, as do all his classmates.  Sudden silence penetrates the air around us.  Wide-eyes fixated upon him. (Honestly, what seven year old doesn't want to control the world?)  Highly amused and, quite frankly stifling a giggle, I calmly ask him to explain. With hands still shoved deeply in his pockets he boldly states, "I have a secret!"  He is delighted to have everyone's attention.  

Rising carefully and picking my steps I make my way toward him.  A pregnant pause is hanging heavy in the air of this library.  In one swift move, he brandishes a brand new remote, the size of the state of Texas, from his deep cargo shorts pocket.  Hysterical laughter erupts. 

Returning to the front of the group, I slowly regain their attention.  Of course, I am amused.  Gingerly selecting my words, I ask, "Remote Boy, why do you have this new remote?"  Without any hesitation and with a grin the size of the sun, he shouts, "So I have all of the control!"  Fits of laughter are now swirling through the room.  "Remote Boy" is standing there with a puzzled look on his face. Gasping  for air, I ask, "Control over what?"  Meekly he whispers, "My family?"  

Driving home this afternoon, uncontrollable giggles well up from deep inside my heart.  I have to wonder how many times I have acted like this with God.  I walk around thinking I have a "Secret Remote" that I can control Him with.  He must just smile and maybe even giggle when I pull it out and try to use it.  What a Plank-Eyed Girl I am.  Takes a Seven Year Old Boy with cargo shorts and a gigantus remote for me to see the silliness of my desire to control.  

Enjoy the gift of this day.  Know that He has your life securely bathed in His love and sprinkled with His grace. You don't need any silly remote to pretend you are in charge.

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl