The Plank-Eyed Girl: Field Trips; Rat Mazes; and an Authentic Alien

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Field Trips; Rat Mazes; and an Authentic Alien: I LOVE field trips!  Unfortunately, I am an adult and my job usually does not provide opportunities for this type of fun learning.  Th...

Field Trips; Rat Mazes; and an Authentic Alien

I LOVE field trips!  Unfortunately, I am an adult and my job usually does not provide opportunities for this type of fun learning.  Therefore, today I decided to "fix" this.

In preparation for this field trip, I had memorized the name of the one product I thought I would purchase.  Silly me, I thought this would be an excellent mini adventure to expand my "mid-life" world.  (Sometimes I worry that my lack of "adulting" with clothing, make-up, and desire for "stuff" has left me missing something.)  

Knowing very little about this foreign land that I was stepping into, I took

on the mantra of "Fake it, till you make it" and proceed to walk into this store. Shoulders back; head up; and boobs out, I stepped across the threshold, entering this new land as a "Makeup Immigrant." Letting out a long, slow breath, like a hippo getting ready to submerge, I meandered through the brightly lit maze of products with interesting promises. Almost instantly, I was aware of a silent audience.  They gazed at me from the peripherals, hidden between the tall glass columns which camouflaged their petite bodies and the rounds of products they were "tending" to. Their pale, precisely painted faces and gawking eyes turned toward this warm brown skinned girl with no foundation on and messy hair from driving topless. They were tracking each step I took with their darkly outlined eyes. (To say I felt like a naked,

over-stuffed rat in an experimental maze would be a slight understatement.)  Did I mention, I had even tried to disguise myself by "Doing my face" this morning?  Obviously, my camouflage was not working.

Less than three minutes in, I was completely lost and I could feel the tentacles of insecurity grabbing at my appendages.  One of the perfectly painted ones approached me asking if I needed

"directions"?  Turning to stare at her like a deaf goldfish, I turned and bolted toward what I believed was an escape, only to find myself surrounded by blow dryers and curling irons. Realizing I needed a better plan, I employed a tactic similar to what you might use to find your way out of the woods when you are lost. I located an outside wall and was determined to follow it out of this

maze.  Suddenly, I ran out of aisle and came face to face with the product I had memorized. (I'm sure this is one of the weirdest prayers I have ever muttered, but truly thankfulness poured off my lips.) Instantly overwhelmed, there were literally five different kinds of this brand of shampoo (this must be what men feel like when you send them for women's sanitary products), I grabbed the first one and resumed my journey to the front. Arriving at the register, I literally push

the bottle toward the cashier.  I can see the front doors and therefore am aware that escape is imminent. Thank goodness, I can feel congruent thoughts starting to return.  She asks for my phone and e-mail.  I decline and she looks confused.  Calling her manager for assistance, I stifle a giggle. This field trip has turned into quite a learning expedition.  The manager glides in and asks me for the same information.  Once again I repeat the, "No thank you."  A look of utter confusion slides across her dusted face.  She is frozen and speechless.  I flash a grin and wink at her. Assuring her that I won't be a "regular" customer, she finally, overrides this "feature" and rings up my purchase.  Her face is twisted into a confused expression. I literally can not contain my amusement and an unexpected giggle slips out causing her to stare at me.  I don't expect her to understand.  I don't expect her to approve.  I don't expect her to "get it".  Stepping out into the fresh oxygen, I collapse in a heap of giggles in the front seat of my little black thing.  Wowzee!!!  

It is now many moments later and here I sit with a cocktail of emotions and thoughts swirling around my heart over this expedition.  My mind is darting all over, like several squirrels on steroids. These thoughts are colliding and breaking into a million tiny pieces. 

The culture I am living in exalts the illusion of man made perfection and conformity in many arenas of our lives. I refuse to drink it in.   It calls and beckons to all of us. It tosses hollow promises of happiness and fulfillment in the wind and they drift by, as if carried on some invisible tray at a party that I should be expected to partake of.  

If you look "this way" or "do this thing" or "own this stuff" you will have arrived.  You will be happy.  Society holds these things up as the "Goal".  I, personally, have found this  all to be an illusion. Could it be that these things are really invisible   chains?

This same culture also desperately thirsts for freedom, authenticity, and joy.  Why else would you and I pick up and read the magazines by the grocery check out? We want to know truth; hear authenticity; and see happiness. We all know that most of that "stuff" in those magazines aren't true, but we just can't help ourselves.   We want REAL! It is obvious that I badly confused that poor cashier today by refusing to be part of their "club".  

Today, I took a nibble and today, once again, I walked away thankful to be an authentic alien just passing through on this planet.  If you are thirsty for REAL.  If you have an unconquerable appetite for joy and contentment, might I suggest that you turn and face your maker.  He knows you best and will show you the way out of the maze you are stuck in and the treadmill you are running on.

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Romans 12:2 (ICB)
Do not be shaped by this world.  Instead be changed within by a new way of thinking.  Then you will be able to decide what God wants for you.....

Psalms 139:13-15 (MSG)

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
   you formed me in my mother's womb.
I thank you, High God - you're breathtaking!
   Body and soul, I am marvelously made!...
You know me inside and out,
   you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
   how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

The Plank-Eyed Girl: The Plank-Eyed Girl: Hijacked Feet!

The Plank-Eyed Girl: The Plank-Eyed Girl: Hijacked Feet!: The Plank-Eyed Girl: Hijacked Feet! : Perching like a miniature hummingbird high in a pine tree, I gaze out over the throng of women. This m...

Perpetual Purging; Constipation; and Caustic Perfectionism!

      

My heart is a very delicate thing that must be perpetually purged of things that distract it. Therefore, I HAVE to write to purge my soul of all the feelings this journey evokes and of all the whisperings from my God.  I HAVE to write to remind myself, of His promises given to me.  I HAVE to write to allow others to know that they are not alone.  I HAVE to write because that is one of the things God made me to do.

Two hours have passed.  I sit keyboarding a sentence.  Deleting the sentence.  Trying again. Refusing to be defeated.  My mind is screaming at me to give up and go "DO SOMETHING!" The enemy of my soul whispers in my ear that I have nothing to say.  I feel constipated with words.  

I bring up a couple of blogs that I follow.  They are beautifully photographed; articulately written; and precisely perfected.  I feel the tentacles

of the caustic perfectionism octopus rising from the floor beneath my chair.  They adhere themselves to the marrow of my soul and slowly start their ascent to smother any creative thought that might exist. Does the caustic perfectionism octopus ever visit you or am I the only one?

Some of you have things you HAVE to do in order to feel normal.  For some of you, you run.  Others of you, shop. Still, others talk.  But for me, I need to select scrumptious words; construct fluent sentences; and formulate a cohesive piece of writing.  I want you to feel what I feel; see what I see; smell what I smell; and hear what I hear.  If I am honest, I just really want you to "Be" with me. I have never met most of you and yet, I am compelled to want to share my beautiful, messy journey with you.  

Maybe ... what I really want is for you to know that you are not alone. None of us are perfect. Truly, none of us have this life figured out and we all need each other and our Creator.   Here is what I know...He has an untangled view of our journey on this planet and will be with us.  So, today I offer you my words and an invitation to "Be" with me as I journey with My Creator.  You are not alone.

I would love to hear about your journey.  Feel free to send me your thoughts.

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Hijacked Feet!

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Hijacked Feet!: Perching like a miniature hummingbird high in a pine tree, I gaze out over the throng of women. This morning, my foot is throbbing.  I ...

Hijacked Feet!

Perching like a miniature hummingbird high in a pine tree, I gaze out over the throng of women. This morning, my foot is throbbing.  I sit to massage it.  Attempting to elevate it, I slide it up and over the vacant chair in front of me. (Instantly, a voice from another era fills my head with directives for where my feet should go AND what they should NOT be doing. Amusing myself, I let my leg linger there while I continue to massage it.) From my vantage point, the humans below look like a freshly opened beautiful new box of crayons. I want to just savor the richness of these sights and sounds. The music swirls, twists, and dances through the air, but my attention is being hijacked. It is like someone is whispering inside my head.  I force my mouth  to stop singing.   His distinct whisper becomes all I can hear.  

Sitting until I can my feel my seat practically catch fire, I  am compelled from my balcony perch.  The voice is clear, "Go downstairs."  What had started as an unrecognizable whisper, is now fully recognizable, voice, so I go. 

Sadly, unable to locate the elevator, I find the stairwell. Grasping the right handrail tightly, my left foot does a braille move to

find the step below. I transfer my weight and my right foot follows. I pause to remind Him of my aching foot, but He persists, so I continue."

Arriving on the main floor, I step out into the lobby.  The whisper persists, "Go to the disabled entrance." I go. (Okay, truth be told, I went where a sign clearly told me to stay out of, but I decided that if I was stopped, I would tell them I was "sent").  "Find the girl with the service dog."  WHAT????  WHO????? WHY????? The whisper says nothing else. Becoming as still as a stone statue, I allow my eyeballs to search the entrance to the auditorium. I see nothing! Slightly agitated, He whispers, look down.  There, scrunched in a ball, like a hedgehog protecting her insides, she sits in a ball against the wall, with a tiny service dog in her lap.  Silently I ask the voice, "NOW what?" Hearing nothing, I continue to stand and take notes from the speaker.  She looks so fragile; so completely helpless.  

Like an old fashioned Jack-in-the Box, whose crank has been turned one two many times, she

pops up and bolts for the hall.  I follow her. Three steps in, I interrupt her escape with my words (and hand gestures). "Hey!  God got me up out of my chair in the balcony; sent me down three flights of stair; through a blocked off hall; to find you." Awkwardly, I just stop.  With the intensity of a rapid-fire rifle, I am internally peppering "the voice" with a desperate, "WHAT NOW?"  I hear myself saying, "God wants you to know that......" there is a Grand Canyon size pause and then faithful, like always, I hear one word.  "BRAVE". Time seems suspended. I am looking at her beautiful, anxiety filled eyes.  They speak volumes to my heart.  Hot liquid is leaking from her eyes. Suddenly, exhaling and I repeat, "God wants you to know that you are brave!"   The force of this one word declaration seems to expand as it leaves my mouth. Again, "God wants you to know that you are brave!" Sweetly her service dog helps himself to the warm liquid cascading from her eyes.  My heart is soaking in the sacred gift of this moment.

I have nothing else to say but I am simply unable to move.  Gathering her composure, she tells of her accidental overdose the night before (first night of the conference) on prescription medications;  she speaks of

laying on the gurney all night in the hospital asking God for a sign that she should continue leading the bible study; telling God all of her inadequacies and reasons that she is incapable; asking Him if she was even supposed to return to the conference on this day. There is a sudden new flow of tears as she mumbles, "The name of the bible study is - Brave." WHAT??? She repeats the word - Brave! The sacredness of this moment does not escape either of us.  Reaching for her, my soft jelly arms wrap her up and I whisper in her ear, "He hears you."  Tears of thanksgiving form and mingle together.  I whisper in her ear, "NEVER forget that He loved you enough to get a wounded warrior up from her chair in the top balcony and lead her all the way to you in order to deliver a message.  You are brave my friend; you are brave and you are called to lead."

As quick as the encounter started, it was over.  I turned and walked back to the stairwell.  Climbing the stairs, I arrive at the top.  Mindlessly, I head toward the door.  Like a news flash, I hear His voice, "Go back down and come back up."  I pause and Priscilla's words come racing into my mind,

"The only difference between belief and faith is your feet."  Smirking, I instantly turn and head back down.  With each step of the stairs, my left foot seems to function better.  On the second set, He whispers, "Move out to the middle and don't hold the railing."  Obediently, I move.  It is just He and I in the stairwell.  All other 2999 ladies are busy listening in the auditorium to powerful words from our Father delivered by His daughter.  By the bottom of the steps, my left foot is moving as it should be.

Thirty minutes ago, when I obediently rose from my chair, I had no idea that I would so quickly get to see experience first hand that truly the difference between my belief and

faith is both figuratively and literally....my feet!

What is God whispering to your heart to do?  Why not use your feet to make your faith a reality. Who knows how He really plans to use what He's asking you to do.  I would love to hear how your "feet" are taking your belief and turning it into faith.  Would you consider sharing your story?

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Sloth Woman; Roller Girl; and the Power of Vigilan...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Sloth Woman; Roller Girl; and the Power of Vigilan...: Like a lost meandering sloth, I feel the afternoon slowly inching toward quitting time, but today it is not fast enough for my insid...

Sloth Woman; Roller Girl; and the Power of Vigilante Red

Like a lost meandering sloth, I feel the afternoon slowly inching toward quitting time, but today it is not fast enough for my insides.     Internally, I am wrestling with an overwhelming sense of soul-sucking suffocation that has been present for a month. I am mechanically performing my duties.  

Glancing up, I see Roller Girl slowly sauntering toward me.  In her eleven years of

life, she has mastered the art of being bulletproof. She is smart, brave, funny, capable, wonderfully unique, and talented. Yet, she still feels alone and different in a culture that expects conformity.  

Approaching me, her eyes search mine for an invitation to chat.  I know this look well, she used it on me the second day of Kindergarten six years ago.  We have been riding this carousel together for six years.  I "get" her on more levels than she has any idea.  Yet today, the second to the last day of her elementary journey, here she is again. Aloofness is present and she is precisely choosing her words.   I ask her about graduation (awards ceremony). She shrugs and acts like it is no big deal.  I see other students walking around with family; leis around their necks; and other celebratory mementos of this event.  She stands in front of me with nothing. She has come to her "safe" place but is wanting me to use mental telepathy to know "all" of what is going on in that head of hers.  She makes an excuse and leaves.

In an instant, I know what I MUST do. The idea came fully formed and slipped under the door of my heart like a secret note.  I have come to understand that sometimes doing the unexpected is the right thing to do. So, picking up my phone, I call my hairdresser and make an appointment for the evening.  The sloth was gone and the spotted zebra was back!  

Arriving at the hair salon, I change into a black cape and slid into the chair.  Multiple times my hairdresser confirms that I really want to do what I am asking her. LOL!  (She didn't really believe me.)  Slowly, she starts the process.  Moments in she pauses and stares, but I simply nod in affirmation for her to continue. Several times she reminds me that this is "permanent" (for like a month).  Oddly enough, my mind is at peace with all of this.

Fifty minutes later, my hair is officially, "Vigilante Red."  It is bold.  It is fun.  It is radical.  I have been obedient to my Father's promoting and there is no other way to explain this deep joy that is welling up and causing me to bounce around like a bouncy ball.  As I drop the top of my car,  my giggles are audibly swirling through the air for all to hear. 

Wednesday morning, the last day of this school year, is here.  I am super excited to get to work. Sliding in early, I hide in my office.  School starts and my friend  retrieves Roller Girl.  I hear them enter.  Stepping out of my office, she freezes and our eyes lock. Her jaw drops open.  I stand as still as a statue with the grin of a circus clown plastered on my face. She squeaks out, "Is that really real?  Did you really do that?  Why did you do this?" Silence hangs thickly in the air. Seconds tick by.  Like a spark that suddenly catches fire, the realization made it's way to her consciousness. Rushing towards

me, I wrap my arms around her and hug her like a mama bear hugs her cubs. Moments slip by and she mutters, "You're the best!" I take the card I had penned and press it into her hands.  I have learned the power of paper and pen.  Paper is intimate and the written word is powerful.  Silently, she accepts the card, turns and floats out.  Pausing at the door, she turns and flashes a smile that I will NEVER forget.

The card holds my words of affirmation about who she is; my belief in her; and the safety that we will be here for her as she ventures on through her education.  Her grip on that card as she left tells me that the words penned will be guarded and held onto as oxygen for her soul.  She will be able to go back and re-read them over and over.

Yes, I changed my hair color to the color or her hair.  I became like her in order for her to thoroughly understand just how much I was "for" her.  I surrendered my identity to show how much I believe in her. This afternoon as she was leaving, she had my opened card tightly clutched in her hand. With one last hug, I watch her skip off the grounds and out of my sight.

In the shower tonight my Father whispered, "This is exactly what I did for you.  I sent Christ, as flesh, to become  "like" you, just like you became like Roller Girl. Just like you penned those powerful oxygen-giving words for Roller Girl, I have penned powerful, oxygen-giving words for you."   May I savor His penned words as much as Roller Girl savors mine.  

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: My Succulent, Silent Secret

The Plank-Eyed Girl: My Succulent, Silent Secret: As silent as a sleeping boa, I slide my secret into the bathroom drawer.  I am deliriously as  happy as a child with a secret stash of...

My Succulent, Silent Secret

As silent as a sleeping boa, I slide my secret into the bathroom drawer.  I am deliriously as  happy as a child with a secret stash of candy.  Every time I think about my secret, my heart dances and twirls. My secret is not wrong or sinful.  In fact, it's honestly kind of silly.  It is just that I don't want to share it with anyone. So, it is just my sweet secret for now. 

Adjusting the covers so that my cocoon is intact, my eyelids gently close sending a message to my brain that it has permission to go back to freely roaming.  

Like a confused grasshopper,  it jumps back a week, to a new secret place I've discovered. It is a secret place that my Abba and I visit together when the grief becomes too much. It is a real place, but it is another one of my "secrets".  

Having secrets makes me happy.  Maybe it is because they are something I don't have to share. Maybe it is because in this world of "tell all" and "show all" and "exposure,"  they provide a private connection point between my Creator and I.  It makes my heart happy to share these intimate and sometimes silly things.  

Another hour slips by. It is time to rise, but I am enjoying just allowing my thoughts to wander. I have many secrets.  Most of them are benign, but some of them are not. 

A single thought drops into my head.  It is like a pesky fly

that gets in the house.  I can't stop it.  It comes just close enough, to  disturb my peace but not close enough that I can extinguish it.  I have to wonder, is it wrong to keep secrets? Are all secrets wrong?  

In the Bible, Samson had a secret.  His secret was that his incredible strength was due to his uncut hair. He was told not to cut it or tell anyone his secret.  In a moment of passion and weakness he told Delilah. She cut his hair off while he slept and therefore he was without his strength when he needed it most. Queen Esther had a secret.  She was of Jewish descent. The same Jews her husband, the  King, had signed a decree to have killed.  She kept this secret until just the right moment and thus saved the Jewish people.  Rehab, the prostitute had a secret.  She had hidden the spies and helped them escape. This led to her life and her family being spared from death. In the end, her descendants became part of the linage of Jesus. These were all important secrets.  These were all good secrets that needed to be kept until just the right moment.

Still in other stories, a secret leads to destruction. Ananias and Sapphira lied about the amount of money they had sold their land for.  Each individually lied when asked.  Each dropped over dead.  Saul lied to Samuel about taking the "booty" after God had told him not to take any. So God removed him from the throne.  

God has secrets.  In Deuteronomy 29:29  It states, "The Lord, our God, has secrets known to no one..." God does not consider secrets to be right or wrong.   There are some things that others should know and some things they should not. He does consider any secret held to hide sin as wrong. Other than that, my concern should be how these secrets are used.

So, you want to know my secret?  LOL!  I bet you do.  This is it.  

Don't worry, I have other silly secrets.  Stay tuned for June 15th!  You won't want to miss it!

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Forever Scarred and Forever Changed!

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Forever Scarred and Forever Changed!: As the white, sleek carriage I am riding in edges closer to Spokane, I am consumed by a sense of swelling deep inside my soul.  I&#3...

Forever Scarred and Forever Changed!

As the white, sleek carriage I am riding in edges closer to Spokane, I am consumed by a sense of swelling deep inside my soul.  I'm not sure why, but there is a craving rising inside my body. Before setting out, there was a ravenous hunger dwelling deep inside my soul. I had kept it fed but now I feel like it is about to consume me and we can not reach our destination fast enough. It is a holy, ravenous appetite. It is not an appetite for physically scrumptious food that can be consumed through my mouth.  It is like a pregnancy craving that can ONLY be satiated with the one item of its choice.  No substitutions! Today I am craving some holy, sacred time in His presence.

Arriving at the event, we slide out of the carriage and slowly walk into the building.  I'm slightly annoyed that I feel so fragile and not sure why.  I seem to have a magnified awareness of my soul's ravenous appetite.  I have to wonder if these friendly faces we greet along the way to our seats can see this.

Do they know how my heart longs just to soak in His presence through extended worship?  We look like outsiders and this makes me want to locate a spot in the back to perch and be chameleonish. 

A beautiful soul appears and informs us of our "reserved seats".  She walks us up to the second row and points.  Sure enough, there are "reserved" stickers on them.  Yahozee!  This beautiful soul lets us know that she will attend to any need we have.  As quickly as she appeared, she is gone.  I have a magnified awareness of my "guest" status.

It's delirious to be included as an outsider.  This is also one of the things I love about God's family. Truly, we are not outsiders in this place.  We are just family that they haven't met yet.  The gathering starts and His presence is overwhelming.  Yes, this is what I desperately need.  

I stand and drink in all that He is. I can feel Him filling my parched soul.  It is filling in all the cracks and saturating the dried soil of my soul.  I can hear Him and He is calling me forth.  I love lingering in this place.  His presence is comforting.  The music slowly dies down and the guest speaker (Pam Hart) takes the platform.  She too, senses that we are in an unusual place.  Words flow from her mouth like a pitcher of warm chai. I am lulled. My heart is full.

Like a polar bear taking its first dip in the frozen arctic waters, I

am jolted to reality.  I see the speaker point at me.  (Obviously, my chameleon tactics have not worked.)  All the ladies in this place turn to see who she is pointing at and talking to.  I can feel the redness creeping up through my neck.  I am sure I look like a tomato with a bad rash.  She starts to tell me things she believes God is telling her to speak to me (for those of you who have never experienced this, as well as those of us who have, it is an experience that is both bewildering and energizing - more on this in another post). Oddly enough, every single word is accurate. Then in one easy move, she begins to pray for me. She prays many things, but at the end, she prays for my physical body to be healed from the top of my head through my toes. (Hum.....how did she know the surgeon was pretty sure I was going to deal with severe swelling in my left foot for the next year.)When she concludes, I sit down and the gathering continues.  Soon, it is over. The redness is slowly fading.

We are now back at our hotel.  To be quite frank, I am beyond exhausted and I am going to slid into these high thread count sheets and drift off into a place of rest.  Tonight my soul and mind blend harmoniously together and His peace is my companion.

Seven am arrives and the deliciousful sun is shaking me from my tranquil rest.  Prying myself from the grip of these scrumptious sheets, I right myself and take two steps toward the restroom. Suddenly my brain clicks on.  WHAT AM I DOING??? Instantly freezing in my steps, I realize that I am easily walking. Slowly allowing my gaze to make its way down to my left foot, I gasp.  The foot is no

longer a strawberry colored, plump sausage with little piggies sticking out the ends unable to touch the ground.  It is normal color; toes touching the ground and

wiggling; and I am walking without the boot or any assistance.   Just to be sure I am seeing this correctly, I call to my friend.  She exclaims, "THIS IS A MIRACLE!" I'm sure she has awaken the entire floor, but honestly I don't care!  God has done a MIRACLE!!

Can I be honest?  I believe that there are miracles happening everyday around us and we just don't see, but something like THIS?  and to ME?    

I've been studying the seven miracles and the metaphors that go with them in the book of John. 
Today I read miracle #6 (John 9:1-41) with Jesus healing the Blind Man's eyes. The physical miracle for me is my foot being healed, just like the man's sight was restored.  The metaphor in scripture is we are sent  to share the good news with unbelievers.  The healing points to Jesus and compels us to tell others. The metaphor for me is Jesus healing my foot, and the words Pam spoke over me, compel me forward to even more passionately share my Jesus with the world.

Can I be honest? The words Pam spoke to me before praying  for me, are words that have been whispered to me by Jesus; spoken over me before by prophetic others; and were tucked deep in my heart.   But, I was afraid. I was afraid I was not "enough".  I was afraid that I was unqualified. I was concerned with many other things.  But, He reached through time and space and not only healed my foot, He called me His daughter.  NOW, I know EVERY time I look at my foot and see the wicked scars, I will rejoice over the healing and proclaim His goodness. I HAVE TO!  There is NO place these feet can take me to proclaim His love, that He won't be with me because I am His daughter and that makes me "enough".  

What miracle do you need in your life?  If He performs it, how will that change the trajectory of your life?  What will it take for you to realize that YOU are a SON or DAUGHTER of the Most High and YOU are more than enough!

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Metal Spears; Boogeyman; and The Veil of Lies

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Metal Spears; Boogeyman; and The Veil of Lies: Before dawn even spattered the sky, I was completely conscious.  Truth be told, I did not really fall into anything remotely like slee...

Metal Spears; Boogeyman; and The Veil of Lies

Before dawn even spattered the sky, I was completely conscious.  Truth be told, I did not really fall into anything remotely like sleep last night.  For you see, one thought poked its ugly head through the membrane of my consciousness and implanted itself in the place where my thoughts reside.  It wasn't a foreign thought, for I knew this was going to have to happen.  In fact, I have known that this day was coming for over three months.  It's just that I'm a scaredy cat and I fear intense pain.  

You know those things that scare you?  The ones that make you bite your lip and plead never to have them touch your life?  The things that make you turn as pale as chalk?  I don't like them, do you? I hate having to face them.  I play all kinds of mind games to avoid them.  However, there was no getting around this one.  It's has many similarities to having a baby.  You know that there is going to be intense pain before there is any relief. There is simply no way around it.  The baby can't stay in or it will die.  Therefore, you have to resign yourself to the fact that this needs to happen. Today's scary event is similar.  I can't live forever with these sharp, needle-like

metal spears protruding from my toes.  They have to come out. There is no other way around it.  My mind has pieced together everything it thinks it knows about sharp metal; sensitive toes;  removal of objects from my body, and has come to the irreversible conclusion that, "This procedure is going to be painful and I would rather not participate."  My thoughts have been hijacked by fear and there is no turning them around!

Making polite small talk with the nurse, I position myself in the exam chair.  Unvelcroing the hard, gray

plastic prison that has held my foot captive, my foot is now exposed.  Idle, nervous chatter is exchanged between us.  What I assume as a "look of understanding" is exchanged between us.  We both seem to know what is coming next. She has more experience in this arena but is not offering any relief to my fear.  My mind can only reason that she is not consoling me because she knows the pain I am about to experience and doesn't want to lie.

Gently entering the room, like a cat not wanting to be heard, Dr. N. slides into position; pulls up the

x-rays; reaches in the drawer for the "supplies" and then calmly states, "Are you ready?"  I want to scream, "NOOOOO!!!" but instead I say nothing. My mind is screaming at me but I am overriding my bodily impulses and commanding my flesh to remain still.  Using the pliers...Yes, I said, "Pliers," he grabs the end of the longest metal spear and yanks.  I am stunned!  

I felt NOTHING!  He repeats the process on the pinkie toe.  Once again, NOTHING!  I don't understand.  Could it be that my experience and my knowledge base was wrong in this situation?  Could it be that my hijacked thoughts had no foundation?   Could it be that they were lies?  Why did I waste so much energy being afraid?  

This entire experience has got me pondering the subject of fear.  Where does it come from?  How does it become real?  How many times in my life have I let fear hijack an opportunity or my joy?  I had no pain.  All the energy and time I wasted worrying is gone and I can never get it back.  Hum...

Who remembers thinking the "BOOGEYman" was under your bed as a child? Here's my confession:  I would lie in the center of

my bed and cocoon all my covers tightly around me because I believed his arms couldn't reach me there.  Then, when I had to get up in the middle of the night, I would stand up in the middle of my bed and take a gigantic grasshopper-sized leap off the bed and sprint (I'm sure I held the record for the 25 yard sprint as a seven year old) so that he couldn't catch me.  I'm sure you are chuckling. Sounds silly now that I'm a grown up, but maybe we do this as adults now on a more sophisticated level?   Maybe that is what just occurred in the surgeon's office.

Here is what I learned: Fear is not real.  It is the by product of thoughts I generate based on imagined experiences and sometimes pieces of previous experiences.   Fear is a choice.  However, fear can produce a veil of lies.  Fear clouds my judgement. Fear  is a feeling that is derived from a thought. Fear is not the same as danger. Danger is real. Fear is derived 100% from my own thoughts. LOL!  Maybe that is why Jesus said, "Be careful what you think, your thoughts run your life." (Proverbs 4:23) He tells us 365 times in the bible not to fear.  Since He created us humans, wouldn't it stand to reason that He knows how we are wired?  He knows how paralyzing fear-based thoughts are?  He tells us to, fear not, for He is with us.  Not be distressed, paralyzed, or fearful because He is holding us up and will give us strength to continue. (Isaiah 41:10)  If I believe He knows all of this, then I should also take His advice and run to Him when my consciousness is being bombarded with thoughts of fear. As I say them outloud to Him, they lose their power and He replaces them with thoughts that are filled with hope.  

What thought is causing you to be filled with fear?  I would invite you to write it out or speak it out to our God.  He wants to replace it and bring you peace.

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Insane Courage; False Promises; and A Mustachioed ...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Insane Courage; False Promises; and A Mustachioed ...: Sometimes, all I truly need is 20 seconds of insane courage.   Tucked securely in my little black thing, I slide it into rev...

Insane Courage; False Promises; and A Mustachioed Woman

Sometimes, all I truly need is 20 seconds of insane courage.  

Tucked securely in my little black thing, I slide it into reverse, Rolling back into the driveway,  I quickly glance at the neighbors, I can't have any spies giving my undercover escape away. (The Doctor didn't say I couldn't drive, but then again, I guess I didn't ask him...) Dropping it into drive, an uncontrollable wave of excitement washes over me. I hear myself giggling. I feel the warm wind blowing in through both windows and across my skin.  I have to wonder if this is how a butterfly feels after coming out of its cocoon and is getting ready to fly for the first time.  Oh how I wish the hardtop was off!  I have not been in this driver's seat for 34 days.  I feel like a dog whose owner has left the gate open!

Picking my way carefully to my first destination, I withhold my overwhelming desire to apply extra pressure to the gas pedal. Dropping the snail mail into the slot, I continue on to the school for a very special delivery.  This very carefully designed plan needs to avoid as many staff and student eyes as possible.  The goal is to slip in and out.  Now is when I wish I had taken a James Bond course in invisibility tactics.  Silently backing into

a space I shut the motor down and signal my inside contact to present herself.  Time is ticking.  Hurriedly, she exits the building.  Walking at the pace of a scared zebra, she is desperately attempting to hide the smirk.  Her slow, rhythmic headshake proclaims my naughtiness.  Slipping down between the cars, I hand her a small wrapped box that holds a token of appreciation for all that she does.  As quick as it started, it is over.  

This entire interaction was simple enough except for one little itty, bitty detail.  She didn't seem to look at my eyes when I was talking to her.  Her gaze was fixed about two inches lower on my face. Running through every possible reason - food in teeth; booger hanging out my nose; bad breath?  Dismissing these ideas, I reach up and flip down the visor mirror.  Talk about perfect lighting!   With one glance, my eyes instantly lock on the horrific scene.  I can't believe what I see.  When did this happen?!?  Why did this happen?!?  I NEVER felt it happen! Denial instantly sets in - Is that really ME in the mirror?  My thoughts were as tangled as Grandma's yarn.  Without thinking, my hand finds its way up to my upper lip and my fingers are poked by the firm gray and translucent bristles.  These bristles would make any 20 year old male jealous! There are enough of them that they could be harvested for an eyebrow brush!  

Trying not to exceed the speed limit, I throw the little black thing into drive and head for home.  Arriving at my residence, I quickly make my way to the sanctuary of my bathroom.  Even though no one is home, I lock the door.  Praying that I can locate the "Magical" 2 oz., pink and white tube, I start searching.  Minutes

slide by but I am not dissuaded.  The anxiety snake is slowly starting to slither up my torso. Inhaling deeply, I head to the other bathroom. Reaching into the last drawer, my hand lifts out the precious, life-saving tube.  Now before I go any further, you should probably know this one little fact about me.  I have this thing about where hair does and does not belong.  And at this moment, I am horrified by my discovery and desperate to remove this mustache from my face.  I do not want to be a mustachioed woman!

Using a Q-tip, I thickly spread the pink goo onto my upper lip. This seems to only make these bristles more visible, but I have no other option at the moment.  Thinking the prescribed

five minute wait will never end, I soak a wash rag in hot water pray with the intensity of someone on about to be sentenced for a crime. Breaking the heavy silence, my phone alarm explodes.  Faster than a snow cone melting in hell, I wipe the pink goo away.  To my astonishment, every single hair is still there!  This product's promises are false!  The anxiety snake starts whispering louder that I might just have to take this problem outside of the sanctuary of my locked bathroom and get professional help.  

Pure desperation is now taking over and extreme measures are required.  I do what any other girl in this situation would do, I reapply and wait five more minutes.  Again, I wipe a corner of my upper lip and the blasted bristly hairs are still attached!  Disbelief is setting and I am NOT about to lose to this mustache! Ignoring the warning on the label - I wait fifteen more minutes.  (Yes! You are reading this right.  Risking a chemical burn, I waited a total of 25 minutes!).  Whispering a self-serving prayer, I ready a fresh white washcloth

and wipe the left and side off - THANK YOU Jesus, the mustache is no longer on my face, but is embedded in the fibers of the washcloth.  I repeat on the other side.  Allowing every ounce of breath to escape, I run my fingers over my now smooth, clean upper lip.  Thank goodness for the 2 oz., pink and white life-saving tube for it has made me clean!  I wonder if this chemical would work in other places?  Hum...

Maybe you don't  yearn for something that would take away all the hair and make your upper lip smooth, but you yearn for something deeper that would wash away all your wrong-doings?  Something that would wash away the grime that sticks to us as we journey through this world?   Something that would make your soul pure and clean?  Today, would you consider accepting a gift?  A gift is not repayable?  A gift that cost God His ONLY son?  

Do you know that He saw through time and He looked at YOU and said, "I love you so much that I will give my son's blood to be spilled out on a cross, to make you clean and spotless? He willingly allowed Jesus to be put on a cross to pay for our sins. He watched His ONLY son die for you and me. THAT, my dear friends, is true love!  All we have to do is accept His forgiveness and we can be made clean.  Jesus was the sacrifice for us.  He took our place.  Prayer is like having a chat with God.  Just start talking, I'm sure He is waiting to hear from you.

May we never forget the true gift of Good Friday!  

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Romans 4:25   New Living Translation

He was handed over to die because of our sins, and he was raised to life to make us right with God.

John 3:16  New Living Translation

"For God loved the world so much that he gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Royal Blue Quad; One Small Pebble; and Draft Horse...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Royal Blue Quad; One Small Pebble; and Draft Horse...: Pausing to take in the sweet lasting rays of the afternoon Winter sun, I hear them inviting me to come and partake of the last bits...

Royal Blue Quad; One Small Pebble; and Draft Horse Blinders

Pausing to take in the sweet lasting rays of the afternoon Winter sun, I hear them inviting me to come and partake of the last bits of goodness they are spilling onto this earth as the door to this day gently slides closed.  

Handfuls of pink, cotton candy blooms frolic across the pavement and add the extra layer of oxygen I need.   The daffodils are exploding and color seems to be etched everywhere I look.

Mounting my royal blue quad, I find myself deeply inhaling the deliciously fragrant air. I've developed a deep appreciation for my healthy body, as well as what is inflating to my heart, so I will savor this small outing. My chaperone for this adventure has agreed to one stroll around our loop.  Slowly, like a slug moving to a newly opened tender green,

I make my way down the driveway and onto the roadway.  We chat of the day's events. We converse about the diverse challenges our current situations present.  And, we talk of our upcoming summer plans.  With each swing of my one "good" foot, I make my way forward.  I am relaxed.  Like a child anticipating the first big

drop on a rollercoaster, I am greatly looking forward to a miniscule downhill glide that awaits me on the other side of the block.

 In a world filled with uncontrolled variables, I am lulled to complacency by the sights and sounds of these moment.  Allowing my eyes to wander from site to site, I am bathed in a slow moving river of contentment on this micro adventure.   

With the suddenness, of a hungry lion pouncing

on its unsuspecting prey, I find myself catapulted from my quad and heading towards the pavement.   Feeling the impact on my encased foot, I wait for the pain to come.  My chaperone is stunned.  We are both left speechless by the quickness of this incident.  Questions pepper my mind...."How did this happen?  Why did this happen?"   Gathering myself together, the realization comes that I can not get up on my own.  Not only am I incapable under my own power, but my quad's wheel is twisted.  Gratefulness for my chaperone floods my core as he reaches under my armpits, lifts me upright, and straightens the wheel.  

Turning from me, I follow his gaze as he bends over and picks up a tiny pebble, the culprit of my accident.  Handing it to me, he says nothing. Accepting it, I drop it into my basket and proceed to paddle home.

Questions pepper my mind.  Could this really be what caused my epic fall?  Was I so busy looking around at all the BIG, beautiful stuff, that I did not see the tiny culprit right in front of me?  How could something so small, incapacitate me so suddenly and so completely? I thought I was doing good.  I thought I was going to be able to do more laps on my own.  I thought......

Evidently, I thought all wrong.  This one small pebble took me completely to the ground.  I was so taken with where I was going; what I was accomplishing; and the things I was seeing, that I forgot about paying attention to what was directly in front of me.  Man! How many times do I do this in my spiritual life.  I get focused on the big stuff and forget that what really matters is just doing the next small step that He puts in front of me.  Anyone else need blinders like a draft horse?  

Lord, Help us to focus on what you have asked us to do today. Please help us to  not take things into our own hands and "help" you. Jesus, we know you have an untangled view of our lives.  We know we can trust your impeccable timing.  

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl