Blessed Relief

The humidity was oppressive.  My clothing felt heavy and damp with perspiration.  Every inch of my hair was pulled back with elastic and bobby pin but even those attempts to stop the beads of sweat covering my forehead were weak at best.  My sole companion of the blistering weekend was a spry Sister of Mercy in her seventies.  She wore a veil, blouse, and skirt without the hint of a grimace as she led me in conversation and meditations to ponder during our times apart.  One highlight of our time together keeps returning to my mind: we were walking through one of the rooms in the Mercy mother house when an unexpected breeze came through the open screened doors.  "Oh Blessed relief!" was Sister's simple comment.  This phrase accompanied my gasp of delight and pretty much summed up the short-lived removal of our moisture-laden circumstance.  I don't even think Sister was aware she uttered the words...maybe she was.

  That day was a few weeks ago and that very moment comes to my mind now as I struggle with an inability to fall back asleep...yes, note the time of 5:15...awake since 3:20 a.m.  I first tossed and turned trying to return to that unencumbered state of sleep.  Then I simply lay and stared at the shadows made by the ceiling fan on the ceiling.  "What are these?" I asked of the slow rambling incoherent rivers coursing through my mind.  "These are your thoughts," I answered "let me introduce you to them."  It was then I was reminded of the "Blessed relief" moment.  There I lay in complete silence able to hear and explore thoughts as they burst then faded and dimmed into my consciousness- "Oh blessed relief!"  This was a stark contrast from a snapshot minute in our home earlier this evening: my 11-year-old daughter changing her two-year-old sister's diaper asking "did you lick your hand, why did you lick your hand?"  while our 10-year-old daughter tapped danced on a sheet of bubble wrap to the music of our five-year-old and eight-year-old sons disagreement on whose lacrosse stick was stronger, my husband was vocally searching for his new reading glasses that he had JUST bought and lay down RIGHT THERE!, while our 12-year old son continued to adjust to his new medication and moaned and whimpered for the "sicky bucket" (poor kid...I hate nausea too.) 

  As I pondered this contrast between the lively exchanges and the current state of our homes stillness, a breeze rustled through the window eye-level to the head of my bed.  I merely had to roll over and look out the window to witness the tranquility of the trickling waterfall-pond my husband created to be heard where I lay.  There was a gentleness to the soft brass wind chimes that occasionally rang while the breeze lifted the monstrous leaves of the sunflower plants which had surprised us with their stalky height where they sprouted up around of our water feature...good pond water I guess.  I figure you'll think I'm making up the fact that the solar flowers placed amidst the beach wood and river rocks were still doing their own lighted glow-dim-fade dance...but I'm not.  I couldn't stand the beauty of the moment without being able to share it---so I slipped from my bed to write and share it with you.  And now after type-type-typing, "yaaaaawn," I am tired again and ready to fall back asleep---"Oh Blessed relief!"

Just Write!!!

I don't know about anyone else... but I definitely have a hard time staying on task when I feel the heavy panting of perfectionism breathing down my neck. Take this blog for instance... could I write every day? Yes, without a doubt I could fill at least three notebook pages with the ramblings that rattle through my mind. And yet, balance that ability against the thought of sending those words out into the wide unknown and I lose my nerve and begin cleaning my desk. Why is that?

I freeze when I get overwhelmed. This is such an annoyance! I suppose I ought to look at the root cause of why I feel overwhelmed to understand why it locks me into a straight jacket of non-productiveness... My thought is that I as the writer I begin to put words on the page. Then I immediately begin to assume the readers thought process. This immediately propels me into the editors chair. Soon I am hacking at each sentence. Mercilessly, I slash words that might offend, reveal too much of my own weakness, not make sense to another... basically, words that make me look "less than".

This certainly isn't helpful to my writing process. I think of other's phrases that have drawn my attention. I am most often inspired and intrigued by artists who are not afraid to be themselves. I will always remember the advice offered from a friend just before going in front of a news camera, "just be as real as you can be."

Authentic. Easy to relate to. Yep, that resonates with me. That's all I want to be... in that way I can simply say, "Here I am Lord, I come to do Your will." Besides, God uses the weak to confound the strong... who would I be fooling anyway if I were to appear as "more than?" I am weak...yet, I still come to do Your will, Lord. Please help me achieve the fullness of all You've created me to be...strengths, cracks, humor, faith...all of it as You've intended for Your purpose.