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

  

Confessions of a Mother's Day Runaway

Deliciousful sun syrup, gently warms my softish caramel-colored cheeks.  Willing my eyes to remain closed, I inhale and hold the freshness of this new day inside me.  I drink deeply  of the newness.  I am safely tucked in the folds of my covers, my safe place. All is well and I am savoring these moments. 

Slowly my mind wakes.  Like a butterfly emerging from it's cocoon, I am orienting to this day in a slow manner, squeezing each thought fully awake.  A sudden awareness breaks in,   like a tsunami that has pulled back and then destroyed everything in its path,  I realize what day it is. The peace that I was savoring has simply vanished!  There will be no retrieval of what moments ago was a beautiful day. 

Mother's Day!  UGH!!!! Why does Hallmark have to ruin this otherwise wonderful day?  Pulling the candy apple red fleece blanket up over my head,  I wrestle with myself.  It is an ugly battle that gets more intense with every passing moment.  It is a battle that I am not a stranger to.  I lay here realizing that all holidays seem to bring this destructive, crushing feeling that is overwhelming and causes me to want to runaway.  I whisper this declaration, "I am not participating!" 

An hour has slipped by, I lay stone still fighting the tears.  Whisper yelling at God, I rasp out, "WHY am I like this?  WHY do all holidays make me crazy like this? WHY does everything in me want to runaway?"  Thirty more minutes tick by.   I can feel my body starting to relax.  The Mr. quietly tiptoes into the room.  I feel an odd comfort that he knows the struggle of these types days for me. Perching on the side of the bed, he quietly asks, "What shall we do today?"  How could I not pull the covers off my face and answer the man who has tolerated, loved, and given himself for me? Tentatively, I squeak out, "Starbucks and flowers for the window boxes?"  A silly grin creeps across his face, and he turns to leave, giving me the space and time I need to gather myself together.  For him, I will not run.  For him, I will mentally try to reframe the day.  

Three hours, and a couple of trenta iced teas later, the Mr. and I are planting flowers.  It is in this moment I realize why these societally imposed holidays are so difficult for me.  It is simple.  I feel they are fake.  EVERYTHING inside of me does not do well with "fake".  I live with such a deep zest and love for life; my family; and my friends that I detest the fakeness of all the hullabaloo!  It seems so inauthentic to my heart.  

As the day continues, I hear the Lover of My Heart whispering, "I made you this way.  Your heart is for authenticity.  Your heart is for real.  Embrace this piece of you.  Hallmark is a vehicle for others to get to real and authentic."  Then he posed the question that stopped me, "Isn't one time a year celebrating these type of things, better than none?" UGH!!!  I feel the truth of His words split my plank-eyed heart wide open.  "Yes, both are good," I whisper.    

Tonight as I slip in between the sheets of my safe place, my heart is thankful for the gift of understanding.  May you discover the understanding that your heart craves for the things that make you want to run away.

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

*Just for the record, these feeling have nothing to do with the mother that are in my life or my own daughter. These women are all incredible and they are very gracious and understanding with me on these days.  

Savoring Pink Snow Hurricanes

Variegated, velvety soft, pink petals swirl from the sky.  I am being wrapped in a gently moving pink blanket hurricane.  Posing as a stone statue, I deeply drink in the deliciousful cherry blossom aroma.  As it fills my lungs, I become ultra aware of the gift of this sacred moment.

This week has held unexpected multiple medical appointments.  Apprehension has tried to hijack my thoughts.  It has taken all my mental energy to focus on the positive gifts that I am surrounded with.  This moment is a sacred moment.  I am aware that it may never come again.  So, I drink deeply as my lips offer thanksgiving.

In an instant, my feet are moving.  Twirling, leaping, pirouetting in the carpet of pink confetti petals.  Without reservation, my bones are remembering the moves learned long ago on two thin metal blades.  I am grateful for the agility that my body still possesses.  

Out of breath, I collapse onto the pink mossy grass. Giggling and realizing what a "Foolish-Looking Old Woman" I must be. My heart whispering thanks for the gift of these moments.  

May you realize what a gift each moment is that you are given.  Seize them with everything in you and then thank your creator.  Enjoy the gift of today!

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Beans, Bacon, and Rent on a Dream

3:30 pm Crouching low on the grocery store floor, I position the camera and allow my finger to find the smooth, silver button. Picture 367. This is the first of three  photo sessions with this amazing "Plucky Little One". Some might think I am crazy to waste my time with this endeavor, but in this moment I am finding intense joy. Armed with her extra large calculator; stylish purse; mom's coupon notebook; and a bigger than Manhattan heart, she is celebrating her birthday.  

4:15pm Wanting to get the most for her birthday money she continues her quest.  She carefully ponders what kids her age might enjoy for treats against what they probably really need to eat, as well as, what they are often given by the food bank. She generously throws me tidbits of information explaining some of her decisions that are based on price and nutritional value, as well as her "personal preferences".  The "Plucky Little One" has an innate sense of what generous and kind look like and who her "neighbor" is.  For ten, in this moment, she seems seasoned beyond her years. She is determined.  She is focused.  She is also adamant - "No canned green beans!"  Love her plucky personality. What a treat to be able to watch her in action on this day. 

9:37 pm cocooned securely between my Egyptian cotton 800 thread count bottom sheet and a top sheet, which feels as comforting as my grandma's gentle, tonka-truck sized arms, I find my thoughts hijacked by what I have observed this afternoon. They are high-centered around her ability to give without restrictions.  She does not know who will receive this food.  All she knows is that her heart is yearning to do this. This was her "dream". She got this idea and did something about it.  She used what she had and what she would be given to make it happen.  She was willing to surrender her birthday to accomplish this.  WOW!  That is some pretty serious "rent on a dream" for a ten year old. 

Being a part of this has made me pause and take into account a few things.  Let's start with, I am a year over half a century old.  Hum...in the grand scheme, that means I am at least half way used up (and that is if I make it to 90). I have a couple of dreams that I have been lightly pursuing. Like an overly coddled sleepy cat, I selectively choose my engagement level each day; week; month.  I guess you could say that I have been making sporadic payments on them. Watching the intensity and sheer determination of the "Plucky Little One" has brought much clarification.  I awake at 2:40 am and continue with these precise prickly ah-ha's.   Time is short.  I will have to say "No" to many things in order to say "Yes" to the request from my Abba.  His request has become my dream.  Moment by moment I will have to choose.

"Plucky Little One,"  thank you for showing me how to fully surrender the rent for a dream that God has placed in front of me.  "Plucky Little One"  I see what you are becoming and I am so proud to know you!

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl