The Plank-Eyed Girl: The Birth of Emotional Cancer

The Plank-Eyed Girl: The Birth of Emotional Cancer: With the pace of a constipated snail, I make my way onto the bleachers and situate myself for another "Sunday Gathering". Lig...

The Birth of Emotional Cancer

With the pace of a constipated snail, I make my way onto the bleachers and situate myself for another "Sunday Gathering". Lights dim and music flows freely into this electric atmosphere.   I stand with the congregation, but am not participating.  I am as still as a Popsicle left outside on a Arctic Winter day. Internally though, something is horribly wrong.  There is a war raging but I don't have labels for the two warring internal parties. 

This morning we are not sitting in our "usual" area with the "usual" people.  I just can't do it.  So, I steer the Mr. to the bleachers thinking this is a better idea.  Unfortunately, the view is even better up here and all I can do is look at my friends. I feel like a version of my 13 year old self.  There are wild unconfirmed thoughts coursing uncontrollably through my head.  

I feel like I am being  chased down by the bulls at the annual "Running of the Bulls" festival in Spain.  The sound bites pop like popcorn inside my cranium and they sound like this:  "They all like to do similar things that you and the Mr. can no longer do."  "They are all going on vacation; skiing;or boating without you."  "They are all moving into a different season of life."  "You and the Mr. have too many physical limitations and needs."  "You are a burden."  The ticker tape is endless and seems to be on a continual loop.

With the speed of someone tipping over a domino train,  

 I hear a whisper, "You are jealous."  "WHAT!!!" I have NEVER experienced jealousy in my adult life (that I can remember).  I collapse onto the bench.    Where are all of these unconfirmed thoughts coming from?  Why am I feeling this?  None of this makes any sense, nor is it even close to the truth.  This tribe has done nothing except for take fabulous care of us and include us in everything.  Unfortunately, my thoughts are gathering speed and it feels as if I am approaching a nuclear face-off with the two warring parties - known truth and unconfirmed lies. 

Desperation slowly slithers up my throat and hisses it's familiar taunts, "Just run and hide.  Protect yourself.  Get rid of them before they can get rid of you."   Quietly slipping out of the gathering, I race toward the car. Sliding in and way down in the front seat,  I grab my sunglasses and pray for the gift of camouflage. "Help!" is all I can manage to get out.

Flipping through my phone, Proverbs 14:30 slides across the screen.  Carefully, I allow my eyes to scan the text "...jealousy is like cancer in the bones."  Whoa!  Is this what is going on?  Am I believing cancerous lies whispered by the enemy into my ears?  Have they provided the fertile ground for jealousy to be birthed?"  It is completely clear that believing these lies has caused an emotional cancer that I need to get rid of.  

In the stillness of this metal cage, I hear truth from the one who made me.  YOUR feelings and perceptions are based on lies that you have allowed the enemy of your soul to whisper in your ear.  NONE of them are true.  This tribe has been alongside of you and will continue to be there.  They don't even know what you are thinking or feeling. 

I'm undone.  

Simply undone.  

Completely undone.

Exiting the car, I  locate a couple female tribe members.  I do the only thing that I know will bring peace and wholeness to this internal battlefield.  I use "my words". I surrender my pride.  I confess to them what has been swirling in my head and taken root in the fertile soil of unfounded lies.  I apologize for my distance and behavior. I apologize for listening to unfounded lies and alienating myself.  

I am grateful that an internal nuclear war has been averted and peace has returned.  I am grateful for a gracious tribe who allows authenticity and mulligans.  I am grateful for truth that sets me free.

Have you ever dealt with feelings of jealousy?  Have you ever listened to lies being whispered in your ear by the master of all liars?  Have you ever made up stories or reasoning in your head about things you see?  The enemy of our souls loves to uses all of these tactics to plant an emotional cancer that will destroy you.  

James 5:16 in the Message gives us the keys to restoring peace. It states, "Make this your common practice:  Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed."  If you have allowed the lies of the enemy to take root in your thoughts it is not to late to have peace restored. TODAY ... grab another believer and run, walk, crawl, whatever you need to do to the ONLY one who can restore your peace.  He is waiting for you.

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Lock Boxes; The Cold War Within;and The Gift of Originality

9:30 am Monday - There is an annoying chattering going on around me.  I can't seem to make sense of it. It seems like it has gone on for almost 25+ years.  Today though, it seems to almost be screeching inside my head. It sounds like Swahili, even though I know it is English and the people speaking are all highly educated.

Taking in every detail, my chocolate rimmed eyes slowly circle the room.  The size and shape of the windows.

The textures and colors of the faux leather sofa.  The smoothness of the newly purchased tables.  The facial shapes and expressions of the people sharing this space. The room is full of color and  my eyes are soaking in and savoring each and every detail.  I am hearing, but not understanding the words that are being vocalized.   

For twentyish years, I have tried to fit with this infinity group.  I have tried to belong to this label.  I have tried to "understand" what my job really is. Lord knows I have enough education.  Today though, it is simply too much.  

My colleagues are working on clues to open a box.  They are devouring this challenge.  Their laughter is swirling through the atmosphere of this room. Silently, I realize their preferred knowledge base is a world apart from mine.  They devour facts, information, and rules. I am lost in this world.  I am suffocating. In the museum of my middle school self, I want to continue to "pretend".  Pretend like I understand what they are saying.  Pretend like I "fit in."  Just "Pretend" on all levels in this setting. BUT...I don't belong.  I never have and never will. Silently, my lips spill out a plea for understanding from my Creator.

Self delusion has been a wonderful companion, but now the dam of denial I have so carefully constructed, has sprung a leak.  Not just a leak, but it is crumbling right in front of me.    "Pretending" has served its purpose.  However, I don't think like any of these people.  I don't hear what they hear.  I don't

see like they see.  I have been a master of this game, but it is not me.  My world is colors, textures, and words. This dissonance has been an ongoing cold war within and around me, but today the it feels like a hurricane has reached it's target and with the force of a category four, it has flattened me.  I know these people.  They are kind, loving, and inclusive. They mean me no harm.  

3:00 pm arrives and I escape like a bee headed for the safety of the hive.  Sliding into my little black thing, I slowly accelerate and

disappear from their view.  Rounding the bay, my chest starts to loosen. My car is on auto-pilot headed home with the top down. Deliciousful fresh air rushes towards me and trickles down into my lungs. With each exhale, my mind slows and peace gently slides back in.

9:00 pm - Laying here, exhausted and unmoveable, I once again sense the gaping jaws of uncertainty coming up as I review this day. Uncertainty is a breeding ground for fear.  If I open the door, fear will rush in like a long-lost aunt and take over, smothering me with fake kisses and giving directives that keep me paralyzed and little. 

Like a slug, slowly sliding towards

it's protected evening hide out, I am keenly aware of this day closing it's door.   Practicing my controled breathing from years ago, I exhale my plea for understanding to the One who created me.  As I slowly slip towards sleep, I hear Him whisper, "O Crystal, trust me at all times.  Pour out your heart to me, for I am your refuge.  My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts and my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. I will work out my plan for your life! Your place here, for now, is not a mistake.  Neither is the way I made you." (I don't know if He ever speaks to you by stringing scripture together that you have memorized, but He often uses what I have memorized to speak to me.)  

The gift of another day has dawned.  Sauntering into

my studio, I converse with my Abba. Plopping into my purple chair, my eyes bounce to the top of the bookcase and I have my answer. 

If you are struggling with where you find yourself today and who you find your real self being, go find a place where you can be still; take a deep breath; close your eyes; and invite your Maker to confirm His plan for your life and who He made you to be. You won't regret your time with Him.

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Writing on the Walls; My Secret Addiction; and Un...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Writing on the Walls; My Secret Addiction; and Un...: Picking up the permanent oil paint marker, I ascend the ladder till the popcorn ceiling is teasing my hair.  Pausing, like a lion...

Writing on the Walls; My Secret Addiction; and Untainted Truth

Picking up the permanent oil paint marker, I ascend the ladder till the popcorn ceiling is teasing my hair.  Pausing, like a lion about to conquer its prey, I perch and allow the anticipation of the first stroke to fully rise past the point of no return.  Without cognizant thought, my hand launches forward and the first stroke is applied to the wall.  Words appear in whimsical font.  Words stringing together into sentences that are important to my heart.  

I honestly don't know when this secret addiction with writing on things other than paper started, but it often overtakes me and I

find myself penning words on walls, chairs, tables, clothing, chalkboards,

globes, and pretty much anything that can be written on at all hours of the day and night.  It is my trademark. It is my way of conveying to the world the message of my heart.  How do you get your life message out to this world we reside in?

 

I used to think I was odd because of this writing addiction. Then I stumbled across a story in the Old Testament.  Seems God liked to write on walls also.  God reached through time and wrote on a King's wall with a human hand while the King and his party people watched. Talk about the ultimate in party surprises!?!  He interrupted their party to get their undivided attention and remind them of His sovereign truth regarding the items they were using to celebrate.  (I don't know about you, but that would certainly get my attention.)  He was warning them to stop their behavior; humble themselves; and return to Him. Unfortunately, the King did not take the writing on the wall seriously and He was dead by that evening. (If you want to read the story, it is in Daniel 5:1-30). 

What is it that God has made clear to you and you have chosen to ignore?  Maybe He hasn't written it on the wall, chalkboard, or chair but you know He is speaking untainted truth to you and you need to humble yourself and return to Him.  Why not stop right now and surrender.  He can be counted on to forgive and bathe you in His mercy and grace.  

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Unexpected Invitation; The Power of the Nose; and ...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Unexpected Invitation; The Power of the Nose; and ...: Stepping out of my little black thing and unfolding to my full height of 5'6", a wisp of newness gently swir...

Unexpected Invitation; The Power of the Nose; and An Unforgettable Fragrance

Stepping out of my little black thing and unfolding to my full height of 5'6", a wisp of newness gently swirls around my being.  It leaves as fast as it arrived.  

Ignoring this brief encounter, I return to gathering my supplies from the trunk for my sweet friend's birthday celebration. 

It comes again. 

Pausing for a moment, I feel the warmth of it's arrival.  Inhaling deeply, I smell a faintly familiar aroma.  My mind quickly scans through the rolodex of familiar scents looking for memories that align and tell me what is happening. Unsure that it is what I think it is,  I return to gathering my things.  This current season has been relentlessly cold, wet, gray and lingering. I have my doubts that Mr. Winter will ever leave this place I call home.

Like a long-time friend however, it will not be ignored. It has arrived and is ushering out Mr. Winter.  Slowly sauntering across the driveway, it

unexpectedly comes again. It playfully encases me in a warm, wonderful tornado of deliciousful scents. Warm rain; damp earth; and freshly mowed grass are part of this wonderful, swirling mix of aromas invading my nose.     Dancing an enticing tango, it invites me to join in the celebration of it's arrival.

Sun is warming the driveway and highlighting the perfect dance floor. It is an invitation

that only comes once a year. Looking around, there is no one else physically present. Accepting the invitation, I step into the sunlit space. Like a newly hatched Monarch butterfly, I clumsily twirl across the driveway. I swirl  in a tango-like display with the invisible "Ms. Spring".  Her scents have reached my olfactory glands and invited me to "remember" her looks and the gifts that she will bring.

As humans, we have been  equipped by our Creator with amazing senses to help us connect to the world around us.  Our sense of smell is most closely linked with memory.  This is due to the fact that the olfactory bulb, which starts inside the nose and runs along the bottom of the rain and has two direct connections (the amygdala and hippocampus)to the areas of the brain that handle emotion and memories. None of the other senses pass through these brain areas.  As I inhaled these Spring scents, my brain told me to look around for other evidence that Spring was arriving.  I had memories of other Springs.

Every life has an aroma.  Have you ever stopped to ponder what the aroma of your life is?  After you leave a conversation, what are people left with?  When they think of you, what fragrance do your words leave?    Does the fragrance of Jesus linger when you walk away?  I want the fragrance of my life to be one that leaves an aroma of His sweet unmistakable presence.  I long to extend the scent of His mercy, grace, and forgiveness to those that are hurting.   Like Spring swirled and twirled and invited me to join her, will you join me in pursuing Christ so we can leave His fragrance all over this planet?

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

2 Corinthians 2:15 (AMP)

For we are the sweet fragrance of Christ (which ascends) to God, (discernable both) among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Thresholds; Invisibility Cloak; and A Precious Dov...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Thresholds; Invisibility Cloak; and A Precious Dov...: Stepping over the classroom threshold, my body jolts to a halt. Like a hummingbird not seeing the sliding glass door, I am thrown up...

Thresholds; Invisibility Cloak; and A Precious Dove

Stepping over the classroom threshold, my body jolts to a halt. Like a hummingbird not seeing the sliding glass door, I am thrown up against an invisible barrier. Oddly, not one ten-year-old head turns to acknowledge my entrance.  Each young participant's eyes are locked on a particular student.  There are words being released into the air, but they do not reach my ears.  She is calling on individuals, but I am momentarily deaf.

Like a superhero, I silently draw my "invisibility cloak" around me and inch my way closer until I perch on a student desk.   My brain is telling me that I should quietly withdraw, but my heart is compelled by what I am witnessing.  There is an immense holiness to what is taking place in front of me.  

Today is this "Precious Dove's" last day with her classmates.  Like the

muted sound of a train rumbling in the distance, becoming clearer as it gets nearer; the spoken words  become  like well placed arrows to my ears.  Looking her in the face and affirming her place in this world, the students continue:  "I like the way you always hug me when I am sad."  "Thank you for reminding me to get my lunch out of my backpack each day." "You encourage me by how you persevere when things are difficult for you or you don't understand." "You bring joy to our class." Each student taking their turn putting words to their snippets of noticings about how she has touched their lives. 

She has been with this group of students since Kindergarten.  They have learned to understand her unique ways.  They have tucked her under their wings and protected her.  They have grown to appreciate her distinct abilities; happy quirky personality; and deeply woven gentleness.  They have walked with her through the loss of a sibling.  She has belonged to them and now it is time to bid her farewell.  Each one of them gently and sincerely speaks of her gifts and what she has meant to them.  Whether they realize this or not, their words of love and affirmation are weaving themselves into a protective blanket that she will carry with her for life.  Do these children know the power of what they are doing?  

Unexpectedly, warm liquid cascades down my cheek. I am wrecked.  Quietly, I slip back over the threshold and escape to my office.  This scene replays in my mind like a favorite song stuck on repeat. Their words soar around and deeply resonate in the chambers of my heart.  This experience has enough octane to change me; to change the way I live each day.

Words hold more power than we often consciously think about.  In the Old Testament, King Solomon wrote about the power of words in Proverbs.  He proclaimed, "Death and life are in the power of the tongue.  Words have the potential to produce positive or negative consequences (Prov. 18:20,21).  Words can bring life to a person through encouragement or death through gossip.  They can be that soft blanket of protection or a poison tipped arrow.  Only you have the power to choose.  These students chose well and they gave this "Precious Dove" a gift that will be with her for the rest of her life.  

I have to ponder how different our friendships; families; workplaces; and communities would be if we just paused everyday and used our words to point out one thing we appreciated in those around us.  A sincere compliment can change the trajectory of another person's day.  I want to be one who speaks life.  Will you join me?

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Swimming in Riptides; Unfiltered View Master Reel;...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Swimming in Riptides; Unfiltered View Master Reel;...: Struggling against an overwhelming plunging sense of grief and disappointment,  I make my way down the school hall sauntering slower tha...

Swimming in Riptides; Unfiltered View Master Reel; and the Gift of Presence

Struggling against an overwhelming plunging sense of grief and disappointment,  I make my way down the school hall sauntering slower than a constipated ant.  Pasting on an appropriate face, I enter the office and intentionally attend to my business.  Turning quickly to make my Houdini exit, I follow two five year old besties out of the school office.  (These are two little girls of different staff members.) They had just been reprimanded for not staying put in a classroom after school. Certainly not a life-altering moment for them.

My mind is occupied by the bits of information I just received hours ago. Mentally, I am swimming in a strong riptide attempting to get to shore.  Like the brakes of a car skidding to a halt only inches from the unsuspecting pedestrian, my feet freeze in mid-stride.  I attempt not to run over these two precious ones who have stopped just inches in front of me.  Evidently, they are unaware that I am there.

Instantly my head clears hyperfocusing on the scene in front of me.  One looks at the other and simply mumbles, "Can I hold your hand, my heart is sad?" Without hesitating,  her friend reaches out and locks fingers with her.   No questions.  No preconceived ideas.  No further explanation  needed.  Just an unhesitating response.  Slowly, they saunter down the long hall. Her friend not letting go.  No words are needed.  They are giving each other the "Gift of Presence."

Like a statue, I stand frozen.  What just happened in front of my eyes is what I need.  It's so simple.  It's so powerful.  It's so overwhelmingly easy.   Yet, often I fail to ask those who stand alongside of me for the "Gift of Presence".  I make excuses for them.  I don't want to inconvenience them.  I want to hide my own neediness.  I want to be perceived as being strong. Maybe I am alone in this struggle.  Maybe you are reading this and you easily say these words, "Can I hold your hand, my heart is ____?"  Somehow though, I have a sneaky feeling you are saying, "Me too."

What if we allowed our friends to pick up the unfiltered "View Master" reel of this last month and view it.  

What would they see?  What are the hidden pieces that could be transformed if we just asked someone to walk with us?  What if we laid down our pride? For me, besides the reality of His deep presence holding me and giving me breath, as well as joy, this last month has held the reality of life's fragility; news of more extensive surgery needed; life-altering confessions by friends; suicide attempts by precious souls I hold dear; and disappointment mixed with deep grief over what will not now be our reality?   It has also held untold joy and delight each day in so many varied ways.  

Why do we feel like we have to be strong; in control; and capable?  Why do we hide the reality of our complicated lives; grief; tragedy; and disappointment?  We are called to live in community and be His hands and feet to each other as well as this world.  Ephesians 4:2 says, "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient; bearing with one another in love."  In other words, take each other's hands and continue on this journey called life.  Romans 12:15 instructs us to "Rejoice with those who rejoice; and mourn with those who mourn."  I want to be much quicker to say, "Can I hold your hand, my heart is ____?"  How about you?

Today, know that my hand is extended to you.  I might not be able to be physically there, but I will hold your hand and walk with you and our Abba. Will you walk with me?

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

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...