PINK PLASTIC GUITAR

What is Me-->I say:
"I am NOT a morning person" = I get to be grumpy in the morning because I want to sleep more
"I am a yeller"= when I'm passionate, mad, sad, excited I yell, so deal with it
"I am a planner" = when YOU don't plan things, I don't want to do them; basically I'm more evolved than you
"I am a jealous friend" or "I just love you so much I don't want to share you" = I want to be the only one that enjoys your company because I always want to be having the most fun with the best people

This list could go on and on infinitum, but you've got things to do, so let me get to my point.  As a Christian, I can hold on to my "what is me," even if it is not the very best of me, and most people will nod and go on with their lives.  But what is gained if I continue to do this?  What is gained if I put them down, choosing joy and the Holy Spirit to show up every time "what is me" starts to show?  He transforms "what is me" into what is glorifying to Him, what is LOVE to everyone:

What is Me-->I say:
"Good morning lovely" (to my daughter & husband & myself, because I am a child of The King)= loving into the moment, allowing the Spirit to do mornings with me, leading me into each step
"I am listening"= I stop and listen well, and GO to where I am needed, gently remembering who I am talking to, and what they need
"How can we do this together"= instead of taking it all on myself, or accusing non-planners, how do we adventure into THIS MOMENT together, equally
"You are dear to me"=letting them know they matter, no matter how much time we can spend together, I care for them, and want to love on them whenever they have time.

I am currently re-reading Francis Chan's Forgotten God, and it is already pushing me to open the windows of my soul, and remember that the Holy Spirit is everything.  HE is my joy, ever present.  NOW.  I need to keep those windows open, and the doors too!  Throwing everything open to let Him take over all the "this is me" bits, so that he can glorify his name in all that is HIM!

Sometimes I mourn for us.
Those moments where we yearn for things we don't know how to ask for, for things we feel we should need not ask for--they are out of reach, our fingers scrabbling at the edges, ever close, ever unreachable.
Our anger comes in times of sadness, in times of fear, in times of loneliness, in times of misunderstood-ness, it comes. Always.  It is our shield--we can always rely on anger.
Those moments we scream out at the universe, and wonder why the birds don't scatter with fright at the monstrosity of sound, bees don't buzz away in fear, dogs don't tuck their tales and run for the hills--our heads about splitting with the sound, but our faces etched with vacant stares.
We are strong you and I.  Courageous, fearsome beings--but we ache.  We ache to be held in spite of ourselves, our retched selves with our horrible behaviour and in the action of pushing back from the table of humanity.  In our worst moments we want to be cuddled.  In our terrible decisions we want to be wrapped with warmth even though we have self-harmed and scared you too, brought tears to your soul for our sakes.
We want to be joyous beings--ever giving--ever loving--never yelling or scaring or making you sad and tired and lonely and weary.  We want to dance, to burst at the seems with laughter, the lines of our eyes being only from happiness and not from sorrow.
What is there to say--but God forgive us.  God, in YOUR great grace, in YOUR great name, hold us anyway.  Oh your peace is beyond all understanding.  Oh you glory too bright to behold.  All our stains melt away, your shoulders shoulder it all, your heart is never too full, and your fierceness only protecting.
To you all the glory, to enjoy you forever, to bask in your sunshine.  Ever. More.

My Daddy could fix anything with a bit of super glue or Duck Tape.  I accidentally knocked over one of my precious little statues from South Africa, the mother and child one, and it broke into pieces--my husband fixed it with super glue.  Super glue fixes a lot of stuff that we care about, but it can't fix everything.

When I try and just "hold it all together," but fall apart, bursting at the seems, and cracking in all most intimate details--super glue won't fix it.  When I tell myself to "just buck up," "be stronger," "be more independent," "be better"--super glue can't hold me in.  When I look all around for solutions to problems so much bigger than me--super glue isn't that answer.

And I think Jesus just smiles fondly at us, all a mess in our little brokenness, a puddle of tears and snot and ugly crying, and says, "Yes."   "You finally get it.  Your brokenness is the whole point.  I make everything beautiful.  Not you trying harder, being better, running just a little bit longer on those worn out legs--I. Am.  It."  How many times do we have to reach rock bottom before we remember Who is our Rock?  How many times are we disappointed with loved ones for not being enough, and even MORE for ourselves, that we aren't enough?!?  We think, "Well what am I meant to do?  Just sit here in my puddle and say, 'I can't do it anymore!  I give up!  I quit life!  I suck at this and I'm not trying ANY MORE."  Cause that is where I am on certain days where I just can't hack the hard of this anymore--I want to desert this army.

But I think, maybe I do need to  just give up.  We need to give up on thinking we can do it, any of it.  Philippians 4:13 says, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."  Which in turn means, I can do nothing without Christ who strengthens me.

I think about Gideon a lot.  I just finished reading the story of Gideon.  He didn't think much of himself; he wasn't in a good place when God called on him.  But God prepared him, and guided him, and constantly reassured him.  And so he did what God told him to do.  And then he messed up some more.  And isn't that us?  We look backwards and see some shining moments when we bowed down low, and God was raised up high, and they were momentous times.  And other times we see the constant tragedy of our useless striving--paddling desperately for shore when we are stuck in a riptide.

Well I'm done.  I'm not striving.  Hell I'm not even dragging anymore.  If you see me, feel free to give me a hug, but be warned I might sob on your shoulder cause my emotions are all leaking out everywhere.  God has called me to great things, and I tried to live up to them...and failed miserably.  So I'm pretty banged up right now--but I'm done striving.  God IS MY STRENGTH--and He is it ALL.

"Lord you know this vessel is a million itty bitty pieces--but you sure do like a mosaic.  I'm ready Lord.  I'm ready for you to do and BE it all.  Please remind me daily you are my everything.  I'm done trying to take your place with my own power--it is useless.  Lord use me greatly for your honour.  Your power is the only power.  Your love is everlasting.  Your grace and mercy are all sufficient.  Thank you for drawing me into your kingdom.  Make me ready to fight."

I've just finished reading the book, 60 Degrees North by Malchy Tallack, which I highly recommend. It's a true story of man that goes in search of a stronger connection to the word "home" along the 60 degree parallel; he is from the Shetlands. The artistry with which he writes is utterly beautiful.  It is a long drink of water, drawing on historical, cultural, and geographical information to give the reader a great amount to think about and consider.

As Dave and I drove back from our second annual Valentine's trip to Pitlochry, on what is turning out to be a very white time of the year, I looked out over the snow dusted hills and considered what "home" means to me.  Growing up in the Piedmont of N.C., hills were plentiful, but mountains were a small drive away.  Yet when I consider some of my favourite memories, hills are etched in everywhere.  From camping at Morrow Mountain twice yearly with my family, to skiing in the mountains of West Virginia, to seeking solace in the Smokey Mountains where a part of my "home" still lingers, my heart seeks to be on a higher plain.  Even in the High Desert of California, I felt closer to God, closer to the desires of my heart, closer to being at peace.  I like the view from the top, but my husband would tell you I'm reluctant to climb (which is not untrue; I'm lazy).  However, when I can muster the clearheadedness of action, knowing I will love the feeling of seeing from a higher space, I love looking down on the bigger picture.

Where is "home" for you?  Thankfully there are mountains everywhere; hills in lots of places.  Wherever God calls us, he can lead us "home."  He is on the mountain, and the valley.  If we anchor ourselves in Him, we can go wherever the winds blows us, and never be far away.

We went.  We laughed.  We cried.  We talked...Fiona talked a lot.  For all of November, Fiona and I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa-Daddy, and it was good.  I had the privilege of sitting with him through his November chemo sessions--he now has a closed chest port that helps administer his intraveinous chemo more easily.  His symptoms stayed away for most of the month.  We went to a Hornet's basketball game, the local professional team, with my little sister, and Dad's little sister, Aunt Cathy, and it was a great game.   We went to the beach together--he played in the pool with Fiona and her cousin Kemp, and some of us even chanced the cold ocean water.  Every night I hugged and kissed him goodnight.  Every night I thought, "What else? Is there something else I wanted to say, or do, or show him?"  But I'll always be asking that question, even if he lives to 100.  He is still doing well, though chemo is up and down with different numbers rising or falling, as seems to be common.  And so it goes on.  The new chemo is showing promise, but new things have continued to pop up.  I have hope for this new year, as I do every year, that it will come with blessings--blessing of hard times and good times, joy and sorrow, strengthening and weakening at different times.  And so my hopes for the new year come in waves on the morrow....

~run with abandon--even if that's only after Fiona and her new bike skills
~hope for a visit, here in Scotland, from my parents
~pursue adoption
~finally get my yoga certifications (emails were sent today!)
~read more literature that pushes me; challenges
~see more of Scotland with my family--camp more!
~let more things go--dirty dishes/clothes/house--pursue people--have great relationships!

So there it is.  Here's to a bright 2016 (though I'm in Scotland, so the "bright" is purely metaphorical, you understand)