REFLECTIONS...

Moments of ‘puzzlement’….

2012-01-31T07:37:00.000-08:00

Moments of ‘puzzlement’….

Puzzles have always been part of our Christmas tradition and being in Austria was no different. With the gift of two different puzzles Kathleen and I set about putting them together. The first one was a gift from the U.S. it was called ‘Perspectives’ and depicted the four seasons—summer, winter, spring and fall. It was not too difficult to complete because each season had its own marks of individual identification. One can always recognize what the present season of life is.

The second puzzle which was European –was called ‘Panorama’. A waterfront view of buildings all shapes, sizes and colors. In front of the buildings and all along the side-walk were many people, all milling around enjoying the celebratory atmosphere and warmth of sunshine at the waters-edge.

The water was like the colors of Jacob's coat, it reflected the light that shone on the buildings reflecting their individual colors. This is an analogy where the two concepts of personality and seasons of life converge and create understanding of the new season. When the light shone on the buildings it caused the reflection of their shape, size and color on the water to merge into a swathe of beauty, many different tones and hues, like the seasons of our lives. No individual season or single passage of time could possibly create these new colors but rather together they give opportunity to behold a whole new perspective.

This is what the first puzzle was all about. Both Isaiah and Paul encourage us to ‘forget the former things….’ Not to disrespect or declaim their value but because it is in releasing the past the present creates the colors of today and produce new things of tomorrow.

All of life like that of separate seasons are merged into harmony and what they produce is not defined by seasons of the past but cultivated by its richness and creates new life and a panoramic view of emerging possibilities.

Seeking direction requires focus on individual elements of life, details, like those on a map but seeking new perspective is only discovered when the light of the ‘Son’ shines on all seasons revealing our true self, giving a compass which points true north and new vision

Out of the vibrancies of colors a dream emerges, a new story begins…

Diane

January 2012

A TIME OF THANKSGIVING...

2011-11-29T07:52:00.000-08:00

WHAT I HAVE LEARNED ABOUT MYSELF AND MY WRITER’S VOICE.

Through the writing group I've learned that my voice when accepted as evolving, becomes a window where as if on angel’s wings thoughts fly and capture the beauty and reality of things and thoughts just newly born.

I've learned how words like salve on a wound bring healing to inner grief and pain. My voice transformed into words creates stillness, they remind me that there is no joy without sorrow and there is no suffering without compassion. There is no confusion without finding on the far side a peace that passes all understanding. Life has two sides to it as every coin has a head and a tail, and all that is, turns to all it can be. Words give choices to how these coins are spent and which has the greatest value. Words written like words spoken can never really be erased--- perhaps from the paper, but never from the space between the heart and the letters on the page.

Every season, every situation calls and echoes memories of how it used to be--I've learned through writing not to waste my sorrows but hold them so close to my heart that they become a soft sweet joy of fellowship not lost but transformed into a life well lived and a past full of wholeness where sorrow and joy flow mingled together.

I've learned that writing sets the spirit free to remember yesterday and to dream of tomorrow. Words capture essence and flavor that was it not written down would be lost and life depreciated. Words reveal who I am--the shades, the shadows the shape ordained and predestined to shine in fullness.

The 'hurry' of today is made to saunter by the written words--elongated the words reveal depth of meaning and greater application.

It is Thanksgiving day and the trees are bare now for the most part but in being so they expose the peaks of mountains surrounding us, reminding me of the loving arms of our heavenly Father. Light streams through the naked structures of yesterdays abundant harvest and trees with branches no longer covered are exposed to the light.

As I set the table for six, sadness fills my heart and causes a tear to trickle silently down my face. How often in the past I had wished I had silver serving for everyone--I do now--and I recall those times I did not. The table is set but not for nine, just six---all the wonderful memories fill my mind and sadness threatens to overwhelm me--but no, I listen as I fold the bread napkin in a different manner as ever before and I am reminded that changes come in so many ways---many small like the napkin while others leave a 'gap' and a silver serving of six is enough. And I find 'my voice' in the words I write.

Acceptance with Joy is a difficult place to come, yet there I rest and by God's grace will continue to allow my memories to bring comfort and warmth. They are with me always, they are who I am, filling the corridors of my mind with all the joys and sorrows known in our home, our fellowship, our family. Each child taught and learned to lead the family in prayer, to read the scriptures placed before them and listen to those further along share how life had made them real.

As the Psalmist himself reveals the word begins so small and close like a noun that grows from within to become an object waiting for life and breadth of meaning. Writing brings soul's ascension as the words like stair steps lead to a place of openness, a wider place, a place to breathe and perceive from higher vantage points. In them lay views beyond description and thanksgiving to God that fills the void and says life is made even more abundant by the changing seasons.

Diane M. Hale

11/23/11

TAKE TIME TO PONDER

2011-11-21T10:23:00.000-08:00

"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given,

and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God, Everlasting Father,

Prince of Peace"

Before we race into another month of busyness ponder a moment about the passing year. A year when trials have touched all people. Grief and loss has torn the covering of every relationship and struggle often been relentless. Even so life is too beautiful to allow the struggle to bring defeat. Without dirt on the forest floor the beauty of trees would never be seen. This is the miracle of new birth.

Christmas is a message of simplicity. Quietly, a tiny child, small and ordinary, is born and the whole earth stands in awe, wise men still seek Him and invite Him into the manger of their hearts

Christmas is a message of identity He came to identify with us so that we might identify with Him. Made in the image and likeness of God, breathed upon by His Holy Spirit lives become reflectors of the Christ-child within.

Christmas is a message of intimacy The virgin birth is more than Holy story; it reveals how closely God desires to come to man, an intimacy deeper than any afore known to man.

Christmas is a message about people, relationships, friends and decisions we make, choices and the debris of wrong choices but what of the 'right' choices---much of the fruit of good choices is not immediately seen but as time goes by there is a wake in man’s life that speaks volumes. The rip tides of life may knock us off our feet but the ebb and flow work together to reveal underlying truth and the strength of what lies beneath the water-line of our lives reflects who we are.

Christmas is a message of foundation, a starting point, a birth to every relationship formed, giving power for relationships to reach fruition—if we master the rip tides and stand on the foundation of faith in Christ then come what may our lives will have counted for something and relationships hold steady.

We all ‘mess up’, we make mistakes and wish yesterday could be erased but as you ponder and play the ‘what if’ game ponder this—‘what if’ Christ had not come—‘what if’ Grace had not be given—how sad would that be… but God wrapped in the simplicity of a babe did come—come to Him this Christmas and rejoice in His appearing.

The message of Christmas is found in quiet moments and our ability to maintain the quietness of soul in the midst of busyness. Behind the activity there is a closing and opening of the days of our lives but how easily we miss the important through the tyranny of the urgent.

Regardless of circumstance 2012 will begin…nothing can stop the turning of AT morning to night or hold back the New Year. Why the emphasis on pondering? To halt the activity long enough for the soul to adjust and get in tune with God’s agenda as He prepares His people for the days ahead…a really nice way of saying,” Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand"
HAVE A BLESSED AND GLORIOUS CHRISTMAS EVERYONE

MAY THE PEACE, LOVE AND JOY OF THE SEASON FLOOD YOUR HEART AND HOME.

THE CLOSING

2011-08-27T16:11:00.000-07:00

The car turned and nosed its way slowly into the driveway. How many times in the past ten years had I come to visit; looking up and expecting to see someone on the porch or happily opening the back door with a wave, a smile and “Daniel’s got the kettle on”.

The gravel crunched under the tires as I slipped into neutral and turned off the ignition. The car began to roll down the slope in the garden as I suddenly realized I had forgotten to put the hand brake on. I shook myself and pulled it tight bringing the car to an immediate stop. Everything seemed the same and yet different—something was missing, something was waiting. I glanced over at the house hoping to hear the screen door squeak or a voice shout out “hello nana”.

The flower beds too were waiting—flowers along with weeds were trailing outside of the borders and winding along paths no longer visible to the eye but I knew they were there. Flowering bushes gallantly reaching up to show themselves in the midst of the overgrown underbrush—hoping someone would come and clear the ground that they may see and be seen once again.

It was quiet, a peaceful quiet, the woodworking shop looked different somehow—I could see the sunlight shining through the side window lighting the empty shop, gone were the woodchips and sawdust of earlier days—and I remembered. The telephone call, “come quickly Daniel has had an accident”—the saw had slipped and amid the blood and panic fingers were missing. We sat waiting in the hospital waiting room, and when we knew it was his left hand, the hand that deftly found the strings on the violin he loved so well—fresh pain broke your heart as you realized he may never play again—for he was a fine violinist. I rocked you back and forth as if you were a child again, the tears subsided and time healed your heart and Daniel persevered until that day when breathlessly we sat waiting in the pew for the first strain of worship music flowing through the hands we were so afraid would never play again.

I turned taking a path around the trees leading to the potters shed—I could almost hear the swish of the wheel as Kathy sat caressing the vessel and as the potter’s wheel turned she whispered prayers for her heavenly Father to give her a family.

I wasn’t sure why I had been prompted to come—why now—why today? I had thought often that perhaps once a new family had settled in I would come. I didn’t think I could face the sadness of an empty house whose rooms such a short time ago were filled with love and laughter. But the prompting hadn’t left so I came. The door creaked a little as I pulled it open, light spilling into windows on all sides made it look inviting, even though it was empty now of vessels ready for the kiln, how proud she was of her creative work—and I remembered.

She reached up to push back the wisps of hair that curled around her face, using the back of her hand she gingerly tucked it behind her ear trying not to get the clay in her hair but somehow never was successful. Beads of moisture made her face shine, her eyes sparkled more blue as she smiled the smile that I had known and loved since she was a child, it was a smile that lit-up her face even when I knew she was sad or lonely for the child she could never have.

I didn’t enter the house right away but went across the freshly mown lawn to the neighbors, stopping along the way I gazed at the swing seat that we all had enjoyed so much. What wonderful friends the neighbors had been to our little family. It was them that checked the house, opened the windows for fresh air to fill the rooms and mowed the grass. There they were as usual—a happy welcome in their voice. “Hello, come in; sit awhile, how about a cool drink.” Just what I needed in this hot and humid weather. It was cool inside and as I settled into the familiar surroundings we talked of old times, “remember when…” one would say and off they’d go retelling the stories of life and love. How greatly the little family was missed and how good God had been as they found a new home and settled in the far away land of Austria. Their call to missions was changing our lives and influencing so many in its wake.

There’s comfort in shared loss, and moments when a memory is too dear to speak of. Yet there is joy and freedom in realizing that though far away love cannot be lost and is carried in special gift boxes and 21^st century technology Skype. We laughed and remembered together the days that seem so long ago.

I knew now why I had come, closure of seasons yes but never closure to those we love, those we thank God for in being part of our life even in the smallest ways. She handed me the key, “it’s the back door”, she called, as I turned to face the empty house.

I move slowly back across the lawn and slipped pass the huge oak trees, glancing once more at the swing I could hear the faint voice of yesterday…”push me nana, push me”.

Coming to the steps I remembered—so little but so curious I couldn’t believe she could back down those steps and in her new found independence say loudly, “ come nana come”. The garden was new territory as off she went to explore. Her little legs flying down the slope of the garden toward the woods and me calling—“Ava Grace wait”. She never seemed to hear but she would stop and wait pointing out the place where Tilly, her loyal playmate and family dog was buried beneath the tree.

As I stand ready to turn the key in the back door her voice rings out again and even the buzz of bees echo around the porch as she bravely says, “Go way bee... go way”. She hadn’t always been with us—but we prayed. The prayers...oh yes, there wasn’t always love and laughter, but days of sorrow, days of wishing, hoping praying—would a family ever come? We believed and God in His infinite wisdom had already picked out Ava Grace—way before time began she was chosen for our family. She was our little miracle kept for the perfect moment and given to her mother and father. A miracle that had woven love into our hearts and joy into our family.

It wasn’t really that long ago—or was it—time has a way of either compressing or stretching itself to fit the moment at hand. Had it really only been three months since they said their last goodbye? Stepping boldly out into the new life they had been given. The house hadn’t sold—the only thing left of the former days. But I must say my goodbyes.

I turned the knob and stepped inside. It was so quiet—that sense again of waiting not the waiting of a house but waiting of home and family. Built to last at a time when slavery was yet to be banished it had stood for over 150 years. And I waited…I waited as I walked slowly through the house, waiting for the sadness, waiting for perhaps sorrow—it did not come, surely grace had weaved it’s power into my heart and I had peace. This was a house, the heart of which was one small family—we shared their joys and their sorrows and our hearts hold fast the memories.

The family times when two young boys were impatient to leave the table but had to wait, the scripture reading that each had to read and share and just hope that someone would know where the scripture could be found in God’s Word besides ‘nana’—and often they did. I remembered the beautifully set table always with a seasonal theme—hopefully I had arrived early enough to iron the tablecloth smooth, the noise of joy, the laughter as someone told of an incident at work or school, the chatter of family the prayers of thanksgiving, nothing is lost but safe in the memory of love.

The lavender room—her room—such love had prepared it—such faith had persevered when all was lost. But they hung on and found favor in the eyes of our Lord. I remember the little face smiling as she awoke from her nap—always happy, always a joy to hold and hug and love.

I came down the stairs again and did as I had always done—one two three, with a stop and a bounce on three—just to hear her giggle. So through the rooms I travelled back through my memories and rejoiced.

As I walked I prayed—for those that had left and those that would come and be blessed as our family had been. I reached out my hand to open the back door and thought—just one more look—and then it was done.

I walked more swiftly now across the lawn to deliver the key, Darrell and Deb were waiting, these wonderful neighbors who were still loving and caring for ‘our family’. We prayed together before I left—she handed me a framed photograph of ‘our family’, we exchanged telephone numbers and turned she to stay and me to leave. Lives that had touched and been touched in such a profound and eternal way.

I sat behind the wheel and gratitude filled my heart as I looked one more time at the beauty of the garden, sensed the sounds and fragrance of autumn moving in and I knew that a season of life had turned and I had peace.

‘Nana’ - August 25^th. 2011

From the storehouse of memory...

2011-07-30T12:47:00.000-07:00

Ava Grace

“God gave us memory that we might have roses in December.” [James M. Barrie]

She was fresh from the womb when first I held her and sensed the awesome love and protection my arms provided, just a few days ago…but time slips by and now two years later we must part. Not through some tragedy or tempest of life beyond one’s control…but because of love. Love of God her parents choose to follow Him. They hear the distant call of frontier lands and missions need in foreign lands—and we must stand and weep and let this Sovereign God have His way.

How sad the parting and yet what joy; our hearts still hold a storehouse of remembrances. Two years of watch care and love of one so small and dependent. How precious the memories become of shopping trips, first snows and mountain rides. Of special prayers she learned to say and songs she loved to sing. Of playing eye to eye upon the floor and listening as the rain splashes against the window pain. Special times, when weary from play, we stood and watched her sleep—smiling now and then perhaps of dreams of games we played or just the wind from mother’s milk.

The echo of her voice still rings..."chase me nana, chase me" as round and round the lawn we go. She turns her head with just a glance to see if I'm still there, safe enough to touch yet far enough for her to slip away. Now she is gone but not so far that memories can’t breach the distance and we give thanks for love that spans the globe and brings her home again.

Without a doubt this season of change runs deeper than anything I could ever imagine. To let go of all familiar things allowing life to softly slip away, no rough edges but like a boat loosed from its moorings floating from the harbor just before dawn, waters smooth and silent the shoreline silently left behind. Not knowing what lies out in the vast emptiness of the ocean and the horizon revealing naught by a thin line of light where shadows barely tiptoe on the water. Saying farewell to yesterday and memories still held fast to the place of their belonging. One day, one moment in the morrow they will return and serve their purpose as part of the joy and sorrows of life. It must be so this shifting of all that life held onto, but quietly Lord empower as I embrace the new and unknown destiny you have ordained.

THE RAINBOW

2011-07-30T12:43:00.000-07:00

The Color of Promise!

I am the color of promise—I am the hope that sweeps the sky for every eye to see. I slip between the tears of heaven and touch the further corners of the earth. I am the arch of light that gathers all color, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet to reveal and form perfection within my bow. I hold the universe in the darkest times and draw from deep within man the creativity that weathers the storms of life and pulls from within the inspiration that even now he yearn to release.

I am the covenant of all creative force—to remind, to jog and stir the memory of Sovereign grace that never ends; never changes but continually creates uniqueness and authenticity. The deeper my hue the greater distinction of borders and definitions of my perfections hold within them—true to man’s identity.

I multiply by moving close, so close to each deeper tone that two become one and form a different shade. My presence comes with morning dew to strengthen and refresh, adding harmony to the fading edges of hues tarnished by yesterday’s weariness. I am the color of agreement, unity and the harmony of all I am entwined with, I am the rainbow!

MY FRIEND ETHEL...

2011-07-01T14:20:00.001-07:00

As time allowed evening would find me treading down the winding path, curving slightly around the main house and leading to the side door— surrounding woods kept it private and hidden from neighbors curious glance or salesmen’s rhetoric.

My friend Ethel, she was always there waiting to hear the details of my day, the people I had met and the needs they had shared with me for prayer and together we prayed. She was 85 years young when she entered my life and for the next ten + years a joy to my heart and strength to my soul.

Growing up in leaner times, as a young child she lived in the farmlands of Illinois and grew to become a young woman whose heart of compassion led her into the career of Visiting Nurse. She shared her stories of families and those she served. She stood tall and straight and carried herself with the dignity of those who knew the value of hard work, loyalty and love of God and country. She was Brethren by religion and staunch in her knowledge of the Holy. Not unfamiliar with long hours and strong sense of commitment she became a farmer’s wife, a good man, but not having salvation in Jesus Christ. She was full of stories of her life of faith, and shared her story of how her little son became ill and nothing the doctors could do seemed to help. Her prayer she said was, ”Lord if by your mercy my son’s passing would be my husband’s salvation then so be it”----and it was. A shock to most human hearts but, it was of such faith she lived.

Her nurses training included reflexology and prepared her for this later season of life. Now a widow and crossing my path, she accompanied me to the City Mission for homeless women. Week after week she knelt before the homeless drug addicts, prostitutes and those just lost in the jungle of city living, massaging their feet and sharing the love of God.

She lived her final days quietly and joyfully serving others in the nursing home where she herself was a resident. Pushing those unable to walk into the sunny garden, writing their notes home, talking and sharing with them as she had me—a life lived in quiet humility unaware of its profound impact on those who received her love. Ethel passed full of years at 101.

If I could do one thing for her I would reveal how she blessed my life, I would visit the halls of heaven with her to see the influence she had on the world.

THE ABUNDANCE OF LIFE

2011-06-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

The flower does not lift its head nor open the petals of its heart accept it feels the kiss of dawns first light. Dew like spray from mountains springs brings freshness to soften and brighten the colors of morning wrappings.

Life, the abundance of which is like a turbulent ocean it creates action, stirs up motion where in the deep emotions lay hidden yet to be germinated.

Life that is made through the smallest increments of our days—memories, moments captured in a millisecond yet span the ages and dwarfs the realities of today. Memories have within them all the ingredients that break the bread of life and multiply the pain and suffering—so necessary for the abundance of life. Count it all joy the Apostle said—for in the suffering lie the secrets of life that knows and seeks to grow and live life to the full.

Acceptance with joy is the fullness of the One that created all things and releases peace to unknown lands. Crashing freely on the shores of untouched edges of spacious green pastures, life breaks across the landscape and opens great crevices of unfulfilled desire.

Shadows, though cold and unyielding have created a blanket for undisclosed needs--yet unmet by this life. It dares to jab and strike at the shell and open the shields with new rays of sunlight.

Time is to open the heart to those places not yet free and vulnerable to life. Treasures undeveloped and undisclosed creativity, longing to break free and proclaim God's Glory.

Write, wisdom said, write to release who I am --what unique and authentic layers of life are yet to be discovered. Let me reach out and touch deeper places, climb higher heights and love more widely with freedom.

Come Creator and touch your nature birthed by Spirit within me and rise to catch the dawns early light-- store-up the creative power of the universe and release into every moment of the day with joy.

So faithful are you life, so front and center does your light shine to reflect and reveal your loveliness, your life and your power. As the sea of life roars and awakens, let your light open the eyes yet full of sleep. Shift great caverns of stillness and cause the prisms of dawns light to awaken hope and anticipation of this new day with boundless life.

Life is practical, yes indeed—to look through the shutters of one's imagination one must first touch the tangible realities of this world. Look within and through the matrix of tasks that must be accomplished as life flows freely into the global communities of our world.