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 

The Plank-Eyed Girl: The Blackness of Darkness; Undiluted Ravenous Des...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: The Blackness of Darkness; Undiluted Ravenous Des...: Shaking the house, like a predator finally catching its prey and shaking the last bit of life from it,  the wind pounds on the walls ...

The Blackness of Darkness; Undiluted Ravenous Desire; and Caustic Consumerism

Shaking the house, like a predator finally catching its prey and shaking the last bit of life from it,  the wind pounds on the walls of my home attempting to loosen me from my safe place.  It is relentless.  It throws water from the sky attempting to penetrate the walls that surround me.  It is stubborn.  It steals the electricity from my dwelling, disconnecting me from the outside world.    It is adamant about its desire to reach me.  

Fragments of the natural light quickly ebb away and I am left in utter darkness.  Tonight, the cloak of blackness has hidden the moon and stars.  There is simply no light.  However, I am protected because I am inside this structure.   I am warm, because I have the soft, velvety blanket.  I am unscathed because my home is firmly anchored to the concrete foundation.  I am safe but it is still black.  

Sitting in this physical blackness with my overactive mind loudIy proclaiming its desire to watch Home and Garden T.V., a whisper asks me to be still and look deeper.  

Sliding back into the comfort of my mossy, green, overstuffed recliner, I allow my eyelids to fall closed. My will is struggling with its desire for an HGTV fix, but I sense that there is something bigger here to learn.  I feel like He is asking me to do some personal soul searching.  I continue to silently ponder this request.  Tonight, I am hungry for the impossible visual of flashing colorful pixels, and it is eating me.  All I can think about is wanting to sit under my cozy blanket; watch all the amazing renovations take place in less than thirty minutes; and dream of doing these impossible, costly things to my own bungalow.  I am consumed with desire. 

Attempting to silence this ravenous desire for HGTV, slowly another whisper increases it's volume and finally I can hear it. It tells me to look at the friendship between this blackness and my insatiable appetite for HGTV.  I am perplexed.  Really????  

Like a ravenous orb spider patiently awaiting it's next meal, this web that the media spins is a slow, steady campaign directed at my 

insatiable desires.  Many times I am just plain unaware that there is a chase going on for my heart, time, attention, and money.  I am like an unaware flying insect. Enticed by the sparkly.  Drawn by the instant ease of access and gratification. Lured and mesmerized by the sights and sounds being flashed in front of my eyes on the T.V., phone, computer, and billboard.  I am consumed with want.

My undiluted ravenous desire for this caustic consumerism, is like a lightening bug that can not help itself.  It is drawn to the light.  

Each purchase; each viewing; each hour spent dreaming, seems innocent enough.  However, this caustic consumerism is executing it's well-designed plan to make sure that I am lulled and not able to fight.  It slowly, methodically wraps me in its "comfortable" cocoon on it's web.  It patiently coats the walls of my mind, attempting to loosen my grip on the truth.  It is relentless.  It throws visual enticements at me, attempting to make me "need" what I didn't even know existed. It is stubborn.  It steals my contentment by making me desire "new" and "improved".  It is adamant about its desire to reach me and destroy me.

The physical storm outside and the ravenous storm of desire for HGTV inside my head, can both lead to destruction.  One can destroy me physically, the other can destroy me spiritually.  Both are deadly.  One I can see, hear, and feel myself being swayed and pulled by.  The other masquerades as an pleasant, innocent, and enticing color parade promising fulfillment.  Both can destroy me if I am unprepared.

Instantaneously, thunder explodes outside and truth explodes

inside.  The entire house shakes, but so does my entire being.  How could I have been so foolish?  Truth is often right in front of me and yet invisible.  Am I the only one like this?  A candle is lit and light recklessly spills into this blackness.  Grabbing my bible, it falls open to Matthew 6:19 and my eyes strain to read.  "STOP!"  I try again, "STOP!"  Blinking hard and using a flashlight, I try for a third time.  It reads, "STOP storing up treasures for yourself on this earth ..."  WOW!  It seems plain enough.  Maybe the key is right in front of me.  "Just Stop!"  Could it be that simple?  Maybe, just maybe, instead of "updating" the house, I should sell some of my stuff.  Maybe, instead of more closet space, I need less clothes.  

What if you read those words, "Just Stop!"  What would you need to stop doing, buying, being?  What is it that is silently stealing your focus off of what really matters and who really matters?  I guess none of this "stuff" is going with me, because truly....it all goes back in the box.  

Sometimes I can be so plank-eyed.  

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

P.S.  Yes, I've read, "7" by Jen Hatmaker, and "Notes from a Blue Bicycle" by Tsh Oxenreider.  If you haven't, you should.

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Confetti Cannon; Anxiety Snake, and Healing Pain

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Confetti Cannon; Anxiety Snake, and Healing Pain: Delicious excitement cartwheels through me.  Like an electric blue bolt awakening the night sky, my brain is instantly awake. Today ...

Confetti Cannon; Anxiety Snake, and Healing Pain

Delicious excitement cartwheels through me.  Like an electric blue bolt awakening the night sky, my brain is instantly awake. Today feels like a monumental day.  It feels like a day that should have balloons and bubbles.  It feels like someone should shoot off a confetti cannon for me!  Realizing none of these things will most likely happen, I simply let my heart savor the moment and then resign myself to the dressing process.  Now anyone who has had surgery, will understand that this is not always as simple as it sounds, especially when you add in my "texture" issues -lol!

Practicing my restricted moves, I slide my legs into my favorite tie-dyed black leggings.  These just make me happy.  Next, I don my midnight black tulle skirt.  I love the twirl-ability factor this skirt possesses!   Selecting the softest, long gray sweater in my collection, I gently draw it over my head.  

Moving to the mirror, I allow my eyes to explore every inch of my attire.  I find it an almost perfect mix of hippie, ballerina, and preppy.  Now to add the classical pieces.  Grabbing my pearls and my one sequined, black Chuck tennis shoe, I continue paddling toward the car on my cobalt blue quad.

Being rocked by the ferry boat into a trans-like state, my consciousness is gently falling asleep .  My mind is sweetly saturated with a dew of tranquility as my ears are filled with melodic voices proclaiming who God is through the iTunes on my phone.  In this moment, it is easy for me to forget what lies ahead of me.  

Skidding along the barriers, the ferry shudders to a halt. Reality rapidly overtaking me like the Japan Tsunami of 2011. I

am like the barren destroyed land, and today marks the first landmark in deciding whether or continue with the current rebuilding process or change courses.  The decision is out of my hands.  I sense a familiar wicked coiling sensation around my feet.  The anxiety snake is wrapping itself around me and slowly slithering up my

spine.  It's hissing is a familiar taunt, one that is precise and paralyzing.  

As if on autopilot, the chariot I am seated in makes its way straight up the hills of this city I love to "Pill Hill".  Post-op appointment #2 is rushing toward me like a freight train. Like old familiar friends, smiling faces await me and quickly swoop me back into the inner belly of the facility.  Pleasantries are exchanged; X-rays are taken; and I am delivered to room 436.

Perching like a small child on the edge of their parents plush California King bed, I anxiously wait.  

This contraption I am sitting on is like a oversized, hardened recliner on steroids. The anxiety snake has made it's way up to my slender spine and secured itself around my throat. The fakeness of my smile is undetectable, even to my Mr.  

Footsteps pause outside the door, and my eyes dart to the handle. Greeting me with the typical formalities, he is all business and gets straight to work. Methodically, the unveiling begins. Like a scientist inspecting a microscopic slide, the doctor carefully scans each millimeter of each of the six, incisions.  Seconds slide by. Time is frozen and truly nothing else matters. Like molasses that has reached its resting place, his intense chocolate brown eyes slowly stop searching my body and rise to meet mine.  He can't seem to hide his astonishment and boldly declares, "No Infection!" 

Momentarily, the anxiety snake relaxes his grip around my neck, only to quickly recover with its familiar taunting.  Proceeding, the doctor takes out the instruments required for the removal of the stitches.  His face looking somewhat like that of a pickle, I realize he is trying to decide where to start.  Six incisions of various lengths and levels of difficulty for removal.  Foolishly, I was thinking this was going to be the easy part of this appointment. My internal voice is trying hard to match my external calm demeanor. Making the first snip, he slowly pulls on the embedded surgical thread and a fresh wave of pain floods every fiber of my being. Sucking all the air out of the room, I inhale and give permission for him to continue.  This is no magic carpet ride!  These 30 plus stitches have to come out or the rebuilding can not continue.  This step is critical to the process.

I ignored my foot so long, that tendons were destroyed; bones became detached; and my walking ability was at stake.  I just kept "pretending" that everything was good.  I did not want to endure the surgery and take the time to heal correctly.  I thought it was just easier to keep going and pretend.  This belief almost cost me my ability to walk.  

How often I want to live in the land of neat, clean, tidy, polished, happy, sun-filled, and smooth.  Somewhere inside my head, I believe THAT this is how life should be, so I ignore warning signs that corrections need to be made.  I power through the uncomfortable.  To be brutally honest, I don't just do this with physical issues, I do this with heart issue too.  Do any of you do this or am I the only one?   I often believe if I ignore His still small voice, asking me to take a look at one of my behaviors or attitudes, it will go away.  I lie to myself and tell myself that it really isn't that big of a deal and I will just decide not to do it anymore. Unfortunately, for me it doesn't go away and usually I find myself not able to stop the behavior.  Does this happen to anyone else? Somehow, I don't think I'm alone out here.  I don't want to go to God, the surgeon, with it ~ or tell anyone else.  However, James 5:16 has a vital key for our freedom. Jesus tells us to confess our "sins" (faults; wrong-doings; lies; bad-habits) to each other and then pray for each other.  He promises to hear us and heal us. My flesh never wants to tell someone else my inner dirty secrets, but when I do muster the courage to do this, God always is faithful to help me change directions and heals my sins.  Then I am free.

TODAY, if you are struggling with sin (wrong-doings, bad habits, anything that He is whispering to you to surrender), find another believer that you trust and specifically confess the sin to them.  Ask them to pray for you.  Yes, it will be painful, just like the sutures being removed, because this requires your pride to die. However, I guarantee you, He can be counted on to heal you.  He knows what He's doing.  Here is what I've learned:  Things that stay in the dark grow and become worse. Things that are brought out into the light, confessed, and surrendered outloud, loose their grip and you are set free and healed.  

Will you please let the great physician heal your heart? 

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Pungent Antiseptic;Qualified Strangers; and Mind G...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Pungent Antiseptic;Qualified Strangers; and Mind G...: Silently dropping my party dress to the floor, I accept the dull, over-sized hospital gown out of his hand.  A prickle of worry skitter...

Pungent Antiseptic;Qualified Strangers; and Mind Games

Silently dropping my party dress to the floor, I accept the dull, over-sized hospital gown out of his hand.  A prickle of worry skitters across my Mr.'s face, like a dragonfly landing on a calm pond, I see the look of concern zip through his eyes.  As quickly as it came, it went.  Flashing me a quick smile, he recedes to a chair over in the corner and allows the "professionals" to take over.  

Suddenly the room is a buzz with unfamiliar sounds and smells. Sharp antiseptic odors slice through the air like freshly cut grass. Like a steady stream of ants, people whom

I do not know are parading into the room with blue scrubs on.  They poke and prod at my naked body.  They talk to each other and I am but an mere participant who has surrendered her body to their expertise.  Do they realize I am still cognizant and listening?  Do they realize that I can feel each needle?  

Time seems frozen.  I am silent but my eyes are wide and searching for assurance.  Like the eyes of a  holocaust victim, I am empty and resigned to whatever they choose for me.   Machines are attached and my inside is now viewable to this outside world.  I long to be unconsciousious and unaware, but instead I am invited to observe the placement of "help" deep into my leg.  Curiousity over-rides my thoughts and I watch.  Like molasses slowly dripping into a bucket, time painfully drops one moment at a time out of reach.  Pain is felt and unconsciousness is what my heart is yearning for.  

The gurney is moving and this cornucopia of humanity blends together as I arrive into the prepared sterile environment.  Like a comedy, reality and dreamland are slowly blending together.  A round face with thick black rimmed glasses appears within inches of mine and announces, "I get to watch you sleep!"  Smiling, I let go and slid into oblivion.  My fate rests in the hands of these professionally trained strangers.

Today marks two weeks since my foray into surgery.  Today my mind is clear and I am ready to process all that has taken place.  However, my thoughts are high jacked by this one question, "Why am I willing to trust utter complete strangers with my life (the only one I get on this planet) and yet I sometimes struggle to trust the one who knit my body together and knows me better than I know myself?  The one who hung the stars in place and put the planets in order?  The one who watched His Only Beloved son hang on that cross for me?"  Seems a little out of balance.  Do you every struggle with trusting your Creator?  

Reclining in my mossy green chair, with my leg up, my eyes run over the walls, like a spider searching earnestly for something to adhere the beginnings of a web to.  Instantly, my eyes screech to a halt.  There on the chalkboard is a white, chalk-etched scripture

"...but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.  Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is..."  (Romans 12:2). Pausing, slowly, ever so slowly, the understanding slides into place.  Like a slide in an old Kodak slide projector. It takes a bit to focus, but the longer I stare at this, the clearer it becomes.  My mind and heart need to be filled with His words, for they are the soil that will allow me to cultivate the ability to trust Him.

May His word seep into the marrow of your bones.  May it penetrate your heart and mind.  May it overwhelm you with a new unshakable trust in your Creator.

Until We Chat Again,

the Plank-Eyed Girl