Beans, Bacon, and Rent on a Dream

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

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

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

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

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

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Prostitute, Tax Man, LGBT, and Me

Innocently, the "Lady with Scissors" nonchalantly asks, "So, who are you?"  As I sit perched in the salon chair, I feel like a little hummingbird, with a hawk swooping overhead waiting to snag me for a snack.  Nothing comes out. My mind is suddenly on steroids zinging all over the place! No coherent answer seems to be able to form. I start to panic.  Temporary paralyzation is occurring.  I am sure the contorted look on my face is one that is not easily replicated.  

How could one simple question make my panties bunch up so quickly? The "Lady with Scissors" continues snipping my hair.  I can't blame her.  She is just trying to make small talk; to make the awkward silence pass.  Truly though, she is not interested.  So, why am I so paralyzed?  

An hour later, as I analyze this entire event, I am aware that I could've given her any number of simple, one or two word answers - Teacher, Librarian, Daughter, Mom, Friend, Spotted Zebra, etc., but on this day, in this moment, I just couldn't.  So I said nothing and sat there with salty, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. Instantly a selective mute. (Funny how quickly the haircut is over when silence sets in and the tears start.)

It isn't that I don't know who I am or what I have been called to do.  It is just that I suddenly realized that none of these "labels or titles" really matter in life and death.  So, I sit here asking myself some daunting questions, "How do I live without my own labels and without giving others labels?" "How do I love my neighbor without any of the labels?"  

My ponderance leads me to my most favorite, soft brown leather book. I love the way this book sits in my hands.  It lays open perfectly and brings life to my soul.  My eyes fall to the words, and I have my answer. 

I am to simply love the one who created me and love my "Neighbor". I pause for a moment to let it soak all the way in. He is implying that my "Neighbor" is EVERYONE else - no labels, just people.  

Jesus loved the lady prostitute that the religious elite were going to stone to death.  He protected her.  He ate with the tax collector, before the tax collector knew he would want his sins forgiven. He restored the soldier's ear, the one who had come to take him as a prisoner and to His death.  This is who Jesus called His "Neighbor".  This is who Jesus loved. This is who I am invited to love. His love has no "labels or titles". It is offered to EVERY human without judgement.

My Jesus is for the broken and hurting. Religion says, "Change first and then come."  Jesus says, "Come and let me love you."  He has invited me to be His hands and feet on this amazing adventure of loving people. He offers me the opportunity to love humans the way He loves me.  

So, when you see me hug and eat with my LGBT friends; or the prostitute who just "got off work"; or the biker lady that wanders in; or any other human, please know that I am loving them with the incredible love that has been extended to me and forever changed my life.  

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Audacious Wrestling With the Tatted Man!

My mind is steeled into position.  My will is firmly and tenaciously set to "NO"!.  My heart is sufficiently shielded through my own efforts. My answer is "NO"!  I proclaim, "I WILL NOT GO!"  

Like a gentle, beautiful feather falling from the sky, He simply whispers, "You know, I love you."    In this moment, there are no fireworks.  There are no witnesses.  There is just He and I and a simple request, "Please join me here for awhile." Like a three-year old child, I refuse to look into His face.  Let's be real, it is not like He is asking me to go to Africa and eat bugs. He is just asking me to say "Yes" to helping with His work - feet and hands on the ground.  Why am I so enticed by my own desire for comfort and what is familiar?  Ugh!!!!   My flesh is unrelenting.

I am standing in the worship gathering, only vaguely aware of others singing around me. He quietly and simply states, "You know, I love you." These words were palatable.  I don't just "feel" them, I can taste them. They are sweet, and soothing, like frozen blackberry yogurt on hot summer day. They make their way to my stone heart. I can't stop them as they swirl and tenderly wrap themselves around my strong-willed heart.   Suddenly, I am aware that my heart is starting to thaw.

Wrestling continues, time is passing and I am oblivious.  It is now two o'clock in the afternoon. A new young friend has come by my studio.  Words pour from her heart.  Questions are sliding out and overlaying onto her own observations and understanding of how God works and communicates with her.  She is a hungry pursuer of my Abba, we are discussing her gifts.  Suddenly a pregnant pause finds space. It hangs in the air and seems to inflate with each moment.  With ravenous intensity, she looks at me. I hear her quickly inhale and then boldly state, "You know!"   My heart instantly pauses.  The blush of blood rapidly spreads up my neck and around my cheeks.  Her voice continues onto the next topic, but I am not listening, for He has spoken through her to make sure I heard Him.

Four o'clock presents itself and I find myself standing at the front door with her.  She is utterly unaware that her words were His words today.  He must've thought I wasn't listening.  I watch her drive off without comprehension as to what has just taken place.

I escape to the shower and silently break.  It is not pretty and I am undone by the audacity of my own stubbornness.  Who do I think that I am to say "No!" to the one who made me?  To the one who gave His ONLY son, so that I could be blameless, and free?   To the Tatted Man that laid down upon that rough hewn wood and let them drive spikes into His wrists?  It is then I let my eyes travel down His arms and read the tat on his pierced wrist...."The Plank-Eyed Girl".  The audacity of me to chose to wrestle with the "Tatted Man".  

He has reached into my world, with my name tatted onto His wrists and proclaimed His love for me, His daughter. 

When you see your name on his wrists, may you know how much He loves you!  May you say, "Yes" to whatever His request is.  

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Exposed!

Rain pellets my face as I slosh my way across the camp.  It is cold, penetrating, and just plain nasty.   I use my braille skills to find my way to my assigned cabin. The darkness of this intensely uninviting night is making me have second thoughts about what I have agreed to.  My cabin mates are already tucked in and asleep.  Feeling optionless, I drop my coat on a chair and slide into my sleeping bag.  

Sleep is no where near.  I have a funny feeling that it is not planning to visit me either.  1:45 AM, my eyes refuse to close.  2:55 AM, I am still staring at the ceiling, counting the boards and wondering if any spiders are planning to descend on me.  My mind is as blank as an old black chalkboard in July.  4:17 AM I am trying to remember my outline.  5:30 AM the panic is starting to rise in my heart.  I am expected to speak to these ladies in just a few hours.  I have done my homework.  I have prepared, but I am blank.  6:40 AM I give up and unzip the sleeping and slide into my clothes.  There will not be any shower this morning.  Daylight is just starting to peek in.  

9:30 AM the women are gathering.  My heart  pleads with the Lord to use these moments for His purposes.  All I have to offer are my simple words that form my story.  The story of His grace and mercy generously poured out on me, a sinner. It will require exposure.  It will require authenticity. 

I stand alone in the starkness of the camp bathroom stall.  Whispering my worship, I am aware that He is standing here with me.   I am not alone.  I surrender my words and ask Him to use them for His purposes. Finishing up my private moments with my Abba, I deeply inhale and feel the moist frozen air rushing in from a cracked window.  Suddenly, my feet are moving in a slow cadence to where my story will now be told.  My audience will be these unknown fellow sojourners. 

Taking my place at the front, I turn my face toward these precious ladies. I slowly rotate my gaze from face-to-face, pausing to study their eyes. My heart is taken with the vastness of their pain and feelings of loneliness.  I silently ask the Lord to allow my heart to be exposed, knowing that my flesh WILL be uncomfortable.  

I hear the words gathering in my heart, the Lord is precisely piecing them together to be released for these daughters of His.  I barely glance at my outline and invite them to enter into prayer with me.  

I speak of my journey.  I speak of my shattered dreams.  I speak of the dark abyss.  I am vaguely aware of the clear liquid sliding down my checks. I continue.  My eyes are looking deep into their hearts and seeing their struggle; their pain; their need to surrender control and lay it at His feet. Their need to know that they are not alone.  Their need to experience His love and grace.  I speak of His amazing love poured out on me in my darkest hours.  I speak of learning how to stay facing Him when everything else is shattered.  I hear my voice, and know that these moments are sacred.  I see one sojourner silently  overcome with the realization of just how much she is loved by her creator. I observe another one take her neighbor's hand and wipe the tears that are cascading.  One gentle soul rises to hand me a tissue.  I am grateful.  An hour has elapsed. I know that my Father has woven our hearts together and brought hope, healing, and  His light.

If your heart is broken and you find yourself in the darkest abyss, just whisper His name.  He is there. Put your hands out and call out to Him.  He is waiting for you to surrender.  Then, promise me that you will call another sojourner and ask them to walk with you.  It is okay to be authentic and real. Life is hard and messy.  We are called to love each other and walk with each other through life.

Here is my hand, please take it.  I would love to pray for you.  If you prefer not to share in a public format, please e-mail me at: theplankeyedgirl@gmail.com

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl
  

Roses, Daisies, and .... Sea Kelp?

"She with strong, gentle hands", pauses and carefully yet purposefully, poses a question, "What flower are you?" She does not wait long to tell me of others and their flower choice.  In excellent, vivid detail, she describes the characteristics of roses - fragrant, fragile, and prickly; daisies - bendable, open, and strong; tulips - colorful; temperamental; and closed.  I lay there as she continues working on my neck. I savor these moments!  Time seems to silently slip by.  

Hearing her slow steadily inhale, I wait for what will come next.  Peaceful nothingness fills the room.  Like a new mom, carefully holding her new offspring, "She with strong, gentle hands" carefully allows the words to softly glide from her lips, "You are a piece of Sea Kelp."  

A cozy, odd silence fills the room.  Inside my soul a giggle is about to bubble up and out.  In all my days, I would've NEVER thought of myself as a piece of sea kelp. A mermaid....possibly, but....sea kelp?   Allowing this statement to hang in the air, I close my eyes and swirl this image around in my head.  Hum...Sea Kelp.  "She with strong, gentle hands" says nothing else.  Vivid images of slimy, green upside down vines, swaying with the push and pull of the waves dances across my minds eye. A skittering thought interrupts these images and a smirk crawls across my face.  I have always loved the feeling of being encased by water.  Some beings panic at this feeling.  For moi, it is an instant sense of peace and exhilaration.  Hum....but, "sea kelp"?

Slowly, methodically, I mentally swim to the surface and in a whisper mutter, "Why sea kelp?" With a soft smile and dancing eyes "She with strong, gentle hands" says, "It is a good thing."  I am perplexed.  Clearly, this was not on my radar.  

More quietness. She faintly releases the words - whimsical, free-flowing, strong, anchored, shelter, nourishing. I say nothing but allow my eyes to slid shut.   He is speaking to my heart.  

Often He surprises me.  Who would've thought...."Sea Kelp".  I LOVE how well He knows me.  He had to put me on a massage table, in a dimly lit room, with only a blanket, get me to hear His loving words to me - You are MY "Sea Kelp".  

As you journey through this gift of today, consider stopping and being still for five minutes.  Take a breath that fills your entire being with the sweetness of atmosphere and listen for His voice calling you by name.

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Bullet Proof Hologram and Plastic People

I crumpled into a ball, gasping for air, unsure of what had just taken place.  Inside my body, explosions were still going off.  Years of explosions.  Maybe even decades of explosions that were laying dormant. Words.  Instant snap shot photos of moments.  More words.  More pictures.  I couldn't stop them.  I couldn't control them.  I was a prisoner in my own reality.   I continued to shake while a waterfall expelled from my heart through my eyes. Minutes gave way to hours and still I could not silence and calm my mind.

I did not see it coming.  I should have, but my own self-deception had blinded me.  My eternal optimism and tenacious propensity not to give up had made it impossible to see the reality in front of me.  Maybe even to acknowledge that there was a different way to process all of this.  Maybe even to surrender control and step away from what this world expected and who people thought I was. 

Like a race car running the Indy 500, my mind was circling.  Questions peppered my consciousness as I lay in a tight cocoon, behind my bedroom doors. Why now?  What was wrong with me?  

For years, I had been content and even happy to live as a bullet proof hologram.  Isn't that what I was suppose to be. Polished persona.  Not easily ruffled by life's bumps and bruises. Able to take the hits and keep going. Like a rock hitting a fragile pane of glass. The events of the last forty five minutes, hit my fragile heart. Tonight, the hologram of "Plastic Me" shattered into a million shards.  

It is now a few weeks past this.  Yes, I did survive. In fact, you might even be surprised to hear me say that this has been one of the best things that has happened to me in the last decade.  The hologram of "Me" shattered, but out of this has been born a real, authentic person who is loved by the Creator Himself.  I think I now understand how the Velveteen Rabbit felt.  I have been loved to life by my creator. I am no longer a plastic person, with Kevlar.

I am sure that as I live each day without the Kevlar and in my new "skin" I will continue to enjoy the aliveness that I now feel.  

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Unexpected Moments

Darkness was just starting to lay itself gently on the earth.  Like a soft blanket being wrapped around a young child, the blackness folded itself snugly around me.  The unexpected warmth of this February day still radiated up from the asphalt. I sauntered down the middle of the street absorbed in the sweetness of these treasured moments. 

A frantic plump robin caught my attention.  I paused to just observe and enjoy this delicate creature.  

She appeared to be so heavy with egg that she could no longer take flight but instead bounced from tender limb to limb.  Her sweet voice floating out from her belly declaring the day to be over.  As silence fell, she settled into the protection of her nest 

Still, I stood.  Like an expectant child, awaiting a promised, but unknown surprise.  

With only slight eye movement, my eyes silently slid down the branch of this slowly awakening tree. In simultaneous motion, they came to  halt on yet another gift.  Straining, I realized that this barren tree was quite pregnant with intricate deep pink buds.

Soon this naked tree would be fully awakened and dressed in a spectacular coat of variegated pink flowers.  Each one filled with the fragrance and promise of Spring.  

But, still I stood.  Like an oddly placed forgotten statue.

Breaking my trance-like state, I slowly and purposefully inhaled allowing the dew saturated air to fill my under-exposed lungs.  Allowing my eyes to land at the base of this amazing creation, I gazed at a small patch of

lime green leaves poking up from the Winter hardened ground. They seemed to be proclaiming the upcoming arrival a variety of Spring flowers.

An awareness of  time suddenly interrupted these sacred moments and I continued on my stroll. Rounding the corner, something glistened in my path.

I paused and bent to examine it.  It is a copper cylinder worth nothing by today's standards, but nonetheless I couldn't help but smile as I continued on my walk.

Tonight I realize that throughout my life, I have missed much because I have not stopped to enjoy the journey and all the precious moments of each day.  May I not forget these precious moments and gifts as I journey forward.  

Until we Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl