"Keep hearts, sage minds, take life as God has made it; it is a long trial, an incomprehensible preparation for an unknown destiny. This destiny, the true one, begins for man with the first step inside the tomb. In the meanwhile, love and suffer, hope and contemplate. Woe, alas! to him who shall have loved only bodies, form, appearances! Death will deprive him of all. Try to love souls; you will find them again..."
Victor Hugo
Today when I was dropping Benjamin off at school, my eyes caught sight of a mama walking her little cherub to class. Her son seemed to be struggling quite a bit under the weight of his backpack. I tell you, the way the schools make these kiddos haul all those books is near criminal! Anyway, the young mom noticed too and proceeded to grab the rung at the top of the pack, to lift it just enough so as to give him a much needed break from his burden.
It got me to thinkin' (surprise, surprise :)...
Galatians 6:5 says, "Each one shall bear his own load."
This life piles on a heavy load and, while uncomfortable (thanks Adam and Eve), for the most part it is ours to bear. While God promises never to give us more than we can handle, there are times where we begin to really struggle under the weight of our pack and it becomes a painfully heavy burden. I believe when this happens, that part of His plan is for us to not handle it alone.
"Bear one another's burdens, and thus, fulfill the law of Christ."
Galatians 6:2
At first glance these two verses seem to contradict, but if you look at the word "burdens" in the original greek, it means "the excess burdens which we need to share with one another. This is in contrast to "load" which means the normal amount each must carry for himself.
So here's the thing. We each have this backpack on right? It's stinkin' HEAVY and we're attempting to carry it each day. But some days it's like every book in the locker is on our back and we threaten to buckle under the weight. What a relief when suddenly, it begins to feel just a bit lighter! And you turn and realize that there is a precious someone, sent by God to walk alongside, lifting your pack just enough to make it bearable.
It seems what the Bible is saying in those verses up there is that while we shouldn't expect help carrying our everyday load around on a continual basis, we must "go for the rung" when we see another struggling under the weight of a burden that is obviously too great. It's then that we are to step in and assist for a time...
and so fulfill the law of Christ...
I thought it especially fitting this week to echo Billy Graham's Prayer For Our Nation:"Heavenly Father, we come before you today to ask your forgiveness and to seek your direction and guidance. We know Your Word says, 'Woe to those who call evil good,' but that is exactly what we have done. We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and reversed our values. We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery. We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare. We have killed our unborn and called it choice. We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable. We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self esteem. We have abused power and called it politics. We have coveted our neighbor's possessions and called it ambition. We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression. We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment. Search us, Oh God, and know our hearts today; cleanse us from every sin and Set us free In Jesus' name, Amen!"
Vote - but above ALL, may we remember to LOVE as He first loved us.
I had come up to Lake Arrowhead this particular weekend hoping to receive some confirmation for the book I am researching and writing about the over-excitable mind. It seems that it is consuming me, and I was asking God to either take away my passion for the subject, or else give me the thumbs up to proceed. My family was sacrificing quite a lot of me already. Was it fair to ask them to give more? Should I wait until the kids were older? I’d been feeling such a sense of urgency to get my thoughts and research out there but needed a sign to give me some peace one way or another.
As I walked along the trail looking for the perfect writing spot, I happened upon a secluded beach where I could set my chair and put my feet up on a stump where a tree had previously been. It also made a nice little table for my things. An iced tea in a to-go cup from “I can’t remember where,” my Bible, and my daily 100 calorie pack of m&m’s – a few of my favorite items. I held my journal in my lap and with pen in hand I started some “stream of consciousness” writing to get my thoughts on the page. Suddenly, some movement caught my eye, and I looked up to find a two-man kayak in the distance coming toward me. The paddles were not at all synchronized and were very sporadically skimming the water, yet amazingly they were making pretty good time! As they came closer to the shore, I noticed that they were very young; and when they beached, I called out to them and asked how old they were. “I’m seven and he’s eight,” the youngest replied. I was first astonished and then impressed that their parents allowed them such an adventure (with life vests on of course). Once their toes hit the sand, they were off skipping rocks and hunting for apples that had fallen from a nearby tree – just being boys. Soon, they were back in the boat and headed toward home.
I continued to write and quietly resolved to give my own sons “wings and a paddle” to explore their world more often without my worry about “what might happen,” getting in their way. It felt like mere minutes went by before I saw the two boys running along the trail and over to where I was sitting.
Here’s how the conversation went between the youngest and me…
7-year old: “Hi.”
Me: “Hi.”
Him: “You’ve been here a long time!”
Me: “Yeah, I’m writing.” I showed him my journal.
Him: “You’re an artist?”
Me: “No, I’m a writer. Well, I guess that’s an artist huh?”
Him: “Yeah, writers are artists. They make words fancy.” (Mind you, he’s only SEVEN!) “Are you famous?”
Me: “Not yet. But I hope I will be someday! What’s your name?”
Him: “Ryan. And that is Parker over there. (Parker never did say much. Just then Ryan noticed a picture I had sketched) “Hey, you ARE an artist. That looks good!”
Me: “Really? Thanks!”
Ryan: “It would look even better if you just colored it a little right here,” he pointed.
Me: “ok, I will.” And I did.
He stayed close to me as we started talking about first grade and how hard it was for him with the homework, the longer school day, and the fact that he kept getting in trouble for letting his thoughts out at inappropriate times. “But at least we get four recesses!” He exclaimed. “Yes,” I replied. “At least you get that!” It was becoming clear that this kid was wise beyond his years. It also was clear that he knew I got him - that I understood him instinctively. We had formed a very real connection in a short period of time, he and I. This was confusing because other than my own and those closest to me, I’m not really a “kid” kinda person. Especially when I am trying to write!
Ryan: “We’ll kayak back to you, Ok?
Me: “Ok, I’ll be watching!”
The kayak returned for a second time with Ryan at the helm. They beached and he left Parker to dig up a rock he’d found. He ran to me full speed and got really close.
Ryan: “I want to see how much more you wrote!”
Me : “See? (I showed him) This page is about you!”
Ryan: (with a sad face) “But what about Parker?”
Me: (damage control) “Oh, his name is right there,” I assured him.
That seemed to satisfy his big, over-excitable heart well enough and after some more talking, he got ready to leave again...But not before he presented me with some treasures he had found. Some yellow leaves, a green apple, and a piece of bark with holes that he said were made by a woodpecker. Such special gifts…
Ryan: “Will you be here tomorrow?” He asked.
Me: “I don’t know, so I’ll say goodbye now just in case.”
Ryan: “If I don’t see you, I’ll always remember you.” (ok, he’s SEVEN!)
Me: “I’ll always remember you, too, Ryan.”
Ryan: “I always remembered a girl Kim from Palm Springs. She put me up on her shoulders when I got out of the pool. And she was even DRY!”
He ran and jumped into the boat with Parker for the last time and turned back to me and yelled once more from a distance, “BYE! I”LL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU!!”
He waved and waved, and then he paddled off – and I cried and cried as I waved back. You see, I had this encounter with an angel and indeed received the confirmation I had been seeking. 
This book is for you Ryan, and for my son Austin and the small population of other children and adults who suffer on a daily basis for having a higher than average intellect that results in an over-excitable mind, heart, and body. Who have a keen perception and deeper emotion that few can understand. But I understood, and he knew it. We sensed each other!
They will label him ADHD because of his boredom in school that causes him to bounce off the ceiling (what will happen when he stops getting those four recesses?). When he becomes an adult, he will continue to be told by others to stop over-thinking his big, black or white existence. Over time, his meds will change from Ritalin to Prozac. Only they won’t be able to give him a pill that will shrink his world down to a manageable size and he will perpetually wonder what’s wrong with him…
Then hopefully someone will give him my book to read…and maybe, just maybe, he’ll see his name in the acknowledgements…and he won’t feel so alone after all.
"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels unaware..."
The book of Hebrews, Chapter 13, verse 2
“For you will go out (on the trail) with joy and be led forth with peace (yes it was); the mountains and the hills will break forth into shouts of joy before you, and all the trees will clap their hands…(and I even saw them dance!)”
The Book of Isaiah, chapter 55, verse 12
I just spent two hours walking along the trail that encircles all of Lake Arrowhead. Twas beautiful and each of my senses came alive! The smell of fresh air with hints of pine, the creaking of the docks that increased in tempo when a boat passed, the feel of the soft earth, littered with needles and bark on the wooded path beneath my feet. And the COLORS! Let me just say that I finally found “fall” in California. The noon hour revealed an amazing display and I was able to capture some of it with my camera, playing a bit with the sun as it cast its magic on my subjects.
One special memory I’ll cherish occurred along a piece of trail about half way around the lake from where I began. It was a narrow passage surrounded by an overhang of translucent, bright yellow leaves, contrasted by very dark branches. The sun poured through the leaves as though they were stained glass! As I stood beneath and stared up into the canopy to admire them, a gentle breeze blew through and the leaves each began to dance. No really, they danced! - and then with each other - just for me. And the music they made! - more beautiful and delicate than the finest wind chime…
I was in awe of such a sacred performance, orchestrated by God,
for an audience of one…
journal entry - day 2 of quiet retreat
"True Joy is not in the grand gesture but in the consecration of the moment..." Kent Nerburn
I have such wonderful memories of my mom hanging our clothes out to dry on the clothesline in our backyard. With a family of six, it was a very time consuming task. But she never complained. At least not out loud. It was almost as though she actually enjoyed the ritual. I remember each shirt and sock being carefully pinned to the line with wooden clothespins. When she was done there were rows of cotton and polyester blowing gently in the breeze. As they dried, they stiffened slightly (well, except maybe the polyester) and by the time mom brought them in to fold, they were pretty crispy, but they were sun kissed and smelled like outside. As far as I know, they haven't been able to replicate that smell in a dryer sheet.
I can't remember exactly when I first realized I wanted to get a clothesline for my own backyard but it was fairly recently. It represented something peaceful to me. Of course I probably wouldn't take the time to hang every load, but I thought it would be cool to dry tablecloths and stuff that I had previously been throwing over our patio chairs.
I casually shared this "vision" with Dorothy (my step mother-in-law and friend) over chips and salsa one day. She is famous for remembering things you never knew you said and, come my birthday in June, I rounded the corner to find an umbrella clothesline waiting for me, decorated with little wooden clothespins - ready to go...
Since then I have hung tablecloths and beach towels, duvets and delicates - and found I've learned some things along the way. That there is something therapeutic about watching fabric playing with the breeze and experiencing the sun and air doing what they do best (not to mention the benefit to our environment). I learned that I can take a crummy task like laundry (yuck) and miraculously (those who know me, know it truly IS a miracle :) find something enjoyable in it. That is what happened when I hung my first article on the line (captured above). It brought me back to a simpler time that I find myself longing for lately. My clothesline beckoned me to create a little ritual - to consecrate the mundane. It's a sweet addition to our backyard (although the boys complain that it gets in the way of a wiffle ball game.) and who knows...someday when things slow down a bit, I may actually attempt to hang an entire load...
