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

Little Man, Button Jar, and a Pair of Carhartts

Monday 9:25 AM Eyes the color of melted milk chocolate peered over the counter and stared into the open door of my office.  Silent as a dormant tree he stood, planted against the counter.  Slipping down off my double-seated, orange,  Asian bench, I approach the "Little Man".   Time seems suspended as his eyes search my face.    Moments are sliding by but he seems unaware. 

In a manner that surprises me, he simply states, "My teacher says you can fix anything."  I am amused.  He is serious.  Trying not to snicker, I ask, "What needs fixing?"  He gazes at me like I should have the mind reading abilities of a grandmother.  Slowly,  his dirt-filled fingernails  come to rest on the top of his hand-me down, Carhartt overalls.  Leaning across the counter, I take a closer look.  Dirt has embedded itself on the knees and grass has made its home on the backside.  I say nothing.  Silence hangs between us.  Honestly, words are escaping me at this moment.  He is a new kiddo and I don't know his story yet. 

Touching my hand gently, he whispers, "I can bring them tomorrow, cuz I have another pair of pants."  Tears are welling up from deep inside my soul.  All I can muster is, "Okay, but the button might be a little different from the other one."  Turning he runs out the recess door yelling, "The lady is going to fix my pants, teacher!" 

I tuck this interaction away and attempt to go on about my day with business as normal.  But, this one simple interaction has ignited a cocktail of emotions that I can not contain.  Options skim through my head like a flipbook. 

9:25 PM Crouching on the plush rug of my studio, I remove the button jar from the shelf.  Textures, shapes, and colors are  eye-candy for this girl.  Carefully, I am fingering each button as I dig, like a dog looking for a buried bone.  Time passes, yet I am unaware.  I am lost in the thought of this child's explicit trust in my ability.

Tuesday 10:30 AM  Little Man's sister brings me the Carhartts and tells me she needed to wash them first.  Wow!  This precious girl is only in fourth grade, yet she is taking care of her brother.  I thank her and tuck them away.

5:30 PM  Many hour have slid by.  Perched on a high chair in my studio, my fingers are working at making this Little Man's request become a reality.  There is more than just the button that I discover needs to be repaired.  As I work, I find myself chatting with my Father about this little guy and His sister.  He says nothing, but I feel His smile.

6:45 PM  I am finished. Carefully folding them, I place them in my car.  Morning can't arrive soon enough.

Wednesday 9:00 AM Sauntering down the pristinely waxed hallway, I arrive at the "Little Man's" room.  The teacher is teaching.  Crouching down, I ask him to go put them in his backpack.  He says nothing, but takes them onto his lap and places his grungy left hand on top of them.  His milk chocolate eyes dance and his mouth is turned up in a gigantic smile.  Standing up, I force myself to walk away.

Maybe I should be more like this "Little Man".  His explicit trust in my ability to fix his problem never wavered.  How often do I come to my Father and ask for help, only to walk away with it still in my hands.  Psalms 55:22 in the Message says, "Pile your troubles on God's shoulders - he'll carry your load, he'll help you out..."  Maybe it's time I handed over my "overalls" and ran out the door proclaiming, "He's going to fix _____!" (You fill in the blank.) 

What do you need to hand over? 

Until we Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl



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 

Mosquitoes, Flies, and Whispers

It is Friday evening and the excitement inside of me is probably not matching the expression on my face or my body language.  Regardless, I am standing in front of an amazing mode of transportation that I have only dreamed of riding.  It is shiny. It has two fat wheels, which I reason should be easier to ride on than a bicycle. It also has a motor.  Mostly though, it has a super comfortable leather seat.  Suddenly, I realize that the owner is speaking directly to me and not just the Mr.  He is giving me "How To" directions.  My mind wants to focus, but I am both super tired from my week of working in the kitchen and excited to take off on this thing.  Besides, I reason, (here comes the confession) I am a "Hands on" learner so that means you could talk to me until your words are exhausted and I would probably only hear the first sentence of your directions, even though I am smiling, nodding, and giving you eye contact.   Anyway, I hear myself giggling and can feel a silly smile gluing itself to my face. The Mr. has a quizzical look on his face but says nothing to me  (poor man, I am just confusing to him sometimes).  

Fast forward a few minutes, and I find myself sitting on this new mode of transportation. (Okay, secretly, I am wishing I had my red cowboy boots on for this first ride since I know that he will never let me ride in flip flops, which are my second favorite type of shoe, if I have to wear shoes). We get them started and take a few laps around the flag pavilion and then head out onto Ali'i Drive. Wow!  Why have I not rode one of these before?  

As we are scootering along, I find myself laughing and yelling, "Yahoo!" at the top of my lungs.  I can feel the tiredness leaving and the energy surge happening.  It is a warm Friday night with no work for two days and we are on an island in the middle of the Pacific, life doesn't get much sweeter than this!  My mind is aware that I am riding with my mouth wide open, but I don't seem to care because I keep yelling, smiling, and just plain letting my mouth hang open in amazement.  I could really get used to this.  It is in this moment I hear a gentle whisper to my heart and I realize that this is a precisely placed moment, by my Father.  Hum...I will have to ask Him about this whisper tonight when I lay on my bed.

As we approach our beach destination, I attempt to close my lips, but can feel that this is not going to be an easy task. My lips are severely dried out and stuck on top of my teeth in the form of a huge, silly grin. I manage to get them unglued from up at my gum line and drop them over my large teeth. Suddenly, I realize they are resting on many crunchy items which are adhered to my teeth. This is also the instant when it also dawns on me that those things I had been swallowing during the ride, which I thought were nothing, were really yucky mosquitoes, crunchy flies, and a variety of other disgusting tropical live insects!!!!!! Ewwwwwwwwww!!!!!!  What was I thinking??  Sometimes, I am such a child.  I certainly live in the moment without much thought to the future.

I am making a squishy face and trying to pry these  dead creatures off my teeth and out of my mouth.  It is just plain nasty. Suddenly, I start laughing uncontrollably.  What a sight I am.  That is when my Father whispers again, "I love that you take childish delight in me and my creation.  Remember to ride with your mouth closed next time."    

My mind is racing as I sit on the beach.  He said, "Next time".  Hum...I am so literal, that means that this won't be my last ride.  Sweet!  Watching the waves, I go back to His gentle whisper and realize that I His plan is larger than I have any idea.  I am not scared for I know that He holds my life in His hands.  Tom Dunn put it well last week when he stated, "My life was a dream in the heart and imagination of God, long before I was created."  Therefore, I can walk forward with my hand in His and know that where ever I go on this globe, even on a scooter, He has set a path before me and I am not alone.  

Where is He taking you today?  Will you embrace the simply splendiferous adventure He has for you?  Take my hand and let's journey together.  

Until we chat again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl