Grand Theft Auto

Who loves to wake up to the words, "I have some really bad news"? Well, certainly not me, but that is just what happened yesterday in my house. The words came from my husband and while he did not have that someone-died-tone in his voice, I was braced for the worst. In this case, the "really bad news" is that his new car had been vandalized and broken into (bad news) AND my car (a little 2004 Honda Element that I love) had been stolen (really bad news). Yes, stolen. Gone. Zip. Disappeared. "Oh" was about all I could say and "I'm sorry about your new car." I was stunned.

So, we spent the day filling out insurance and police reports and taking his car across town to be fixed. So what now? Fortunately, we hadn't quite sold our 14 year old mini-van and I have a new scooter (which is much more entertaining than a car at the moment) plus I do have my trusty bus pass so transportation is not a huge issue. I do, however, find myself a little numb over the fact that some person actually stole my car out of my driveway. Hmm. I am still pondering how I feel about that. Numb seems more appropriate than angry or sad. It just really feels kind of weird. And, I wonder where we will go from here. How long will they leave a report open before the insurance settles? Is my car crashed by the side of the road? Was it a just a joy ride? (I can't imagine a chop shop would have any interest in my little blue Honda.) Will we replace it if it never is found?

Interestingly enough most of the time I forget that this has happened, but every now and then the thoughts pop into my head. Grand theft auto. Someone committed a crime. Will they be caught? Will they be punished? Do I even care? It's weird and a little annoying for now. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?

Forget About Comfort - Part 2

reflections from bermuda #6

It is the illusion of comfort that keeps us locked in fear and turmoil. For comfort is not about material wealth and trappings (a powerful and apt word!). Comfort is being at rest and at peace with God and with oneself for the two cannot be separated. Comfort is surrendering to the still small voice that says, ‘Let the little children come. Come to me all who are weary and heavy burdened.’ Seek comfort and peace.

Your comfort zone is an illusion—a trick—to keep you in conflict. Take a step—move beyond—just one tiny step can change your life. One honest moment of moving through or past fear creates a miracle. Taking the risk to do something different can break the chains that bind.

Each day it looks different. Some days the biggest thing I can do is get out of bed, step out from under my cozy covers. Or speak to a stranger as my heart pounds wildly. Go to graduate school. Give up a good job. Travel to a foreign country. Let go of my teenagers. Take a step. A single step outside my zone of comfort.

If there is a battle raging inside (whether loudly or nearly undetectable) then something is yearning to shift—to move. Complacency holds fast, but risk is the ticket to freedom. What would I do if I were brave?

“Forget about comfort.” God sent those words to me over three years ago. They were not just for that day. They are for a lifetime. They continue to be worth the risk and the discomfort ☺.

What would you do today if you were brave?

7/26/07

photo by bill

Forget About Comfort - Part 1

reflections from bermuda #5

Comfort. Forget about comfort. Penetrating words of the soul. Those words seem pointed even poignant as I sit here in the middle of this tropical paradise. It is a glistening summer morning and I am perched upon a hilltop veranda overlooking the shining town of Hamilton.

Forget about comfort. What comfort? The padded cushions surrounding my body? The chilled water cooling my throat? Hmm. This setting does not belong to me and yet I am grateful to be a part of it. The opportunity to sit in contemplation. Butterflies. Peepers. Kiskadees. All break the reverie. Wait. Do they break it or generously add to it? They are all a part of this tropical Eden.

The garden. The beginning. “And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed.” (Genesis 2:25) Why are we now so fearful to be naked—both physically and I believe more accurately, spiritually? Given the choice, I imagine people would choose to bare themselves physically more easily than let someone see the inner recesses of their heart. Why? It is such a paradox, because we live our lives desiring to be seen and truly known yet still we hide.

“And the man said, ‘I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid myself’.” (Genesis 3:10). And so we hide in our comfort. We hide behind our clothes. Our image. Our jobs. Our homes. We say we are serving others; catering to their needs—our children, spouses, bosses, friends. Of what are we afraid? Being selfish? Being wrong? Being seen for who we truly are? Being naked?

We build up savings accounts for old age. We work until we can work no more and then ask, “Where did my life go? I have built this comfort and still I am not comfortable. What happened?”

Comfort. The comfort of the womb. The safety of a bosom cradling a child's head. The joy of being seen and truly known. Connection. Relationship. True comfort comes from authentic relationship. Relationship with God; with others; with ourselves.

Forget about comfort—whatever comfort is. These are words spoken to me from the inner most recesses of my heart. And as I write, I realize that it is not comfort that I should forget about, but the illusion of comfort for it is the illusion that has the ability to keep me locked in fear and turmoil. (to be continued)

7/26/07

photos by lucy

Love's Eternity

I own a lovely little book called Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning purchased at a delightful oasis in Post, Texas called Ruby Lane Books. (Ruby Lane is a whole story by itself better left for another day.)

Anyway...sometimes this little book calls to me which was the case a couple of weeks ago when I ran across the following sonnet (Number XIV). The "spirit" of this poem has stayed with me (I say "spirit" because I am not one to be able to recall anything word for word) and so today I wanted to share it with you and also capture it for myself. So, without further ado...Sonnet XIV

If thou must love me, let it be for
nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not
say
“I love her for her smile—her look—
her way
of speaking gently, --for a trick of
thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes
brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a
day”—
For these things in themselves, Beloved,
may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and
love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love
me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks
dry,--
A creature might forget to weep, who
bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love
thereby!
But love me for love’s sake, that ever-
more
Thou may’st love on, through love’s
eternity.

My very simple analysis of this work is that it speaks of unconditional love. In other words, love me for me. Nothing else. Simple. Pure. Everything else may change, but unconditional love will hold "through love's eternity."

Many thoughts are stirred for me, so this could be a series in the making...or possibly not.

Love on.

Art is an Act of the Soul

“The ego has the power to keep us from making art, but it does not really have the power to make art itself. Art is an act of the soul.” Julia Cameron

My ego tells me not to write.

“You suck at writing. No one reads it anyway or if they do they don’t like it.”

But they keep coming back.

“Maybe. Who knows? You are like the one hit wonders of the 60’s and 70’s. You get a little piece here or there that someone likes, but you can’t really write. You have nothing original to say. Give it up. Fold up the blog. Post a few pictures (someone else’s pictures). Creativity? Give up that stuff. It doesn’t pay. It’s just a hobby anyway. You can write for fun but no one wants to read it. Others have said it all before and what’s so special about you?”

No. Wait. I am special. My art is a gift. A gift I give to myself. I can write for me. I love to write. I love the surprises. I find myself with words and peel away the layers as I write.

Lucy lives. Lucy inspires. Lucy creates. Art comes from the heart. My heart. My heart that is filled with joy. My cup overflows and I choose to give out of that abundance each day. Sometimes it is in the written word. Other days it is in relationship or subtle ways I cannot know.

I choose to give in words, deed and action. My lovely garden. A smile to a stranger. A random act of kindness. And, yes, Ms. Ego, I give with my writing.

It is an act of courage each day to turn down the ego and listen to the heart! Let's go for it!!!