"The Earth is NOT the Center of the Universe"

It was a wonderful day for thought.  The weather was glorious.  January in my part of the world, the Willamette Valley floor in Oregon, is typically gray and grim, cold and dank.  However, January, 2015 has brought with it burgeoning evidence of Spring.  My quince shrub is blooming and brave daffodils are showing their faces. Camellia bushes are awash with color and rhododendrons throughout the area are ready to explode into swaths of beauty. A record was even set this past week for warmth on a particular day in January, with a balmy 68 degrees registered.

Come with me, if you care or if you dare, as I share my meandering thoughts while working in the sun, reveling in the bright blue sky with its fluffy, puffy, white clouds.

The task at hand was to clean up the garden of a former client who had passed away quickly and unexpectedly.  In times past I could feel her presence, fully expecting her to wander out the front door with her smile and her warm greeting.  This time was different.  I knew she is off to other, better, more important things and that the stash of oak leaves which had buried her plants is of no concern to her. 

I spotted the property line marker as soon as I began. If she were still alive I thought, she would be thrilled and relieved to see the bright orange indicator. Not knowing where the line was had brought her a great deal of anguish.  And yet it matters not a whit to her where she is now.

My thoughts continued to wander as I remembered watching a video of a man who had dropped dead and yet fully recovered.  A soft-spoken gentleman, he spoke of what he experienced, his conversation with God, the things he saw, and his life upon returning back to his body. 

Fortunate is the man or woman who knows that this earth and life on this earth is not the beginning and end of all things.  Fortunate is the one who knows the things of mortal life are not transferable into the next one.  No 401k will ever be rolled over into eternity; neither will the merit of any charities or worthy causes. The portfolios of this earth with investments, real estate, and financial statements or listings in “Who’s Who” are of no value in the next life. Nothing of this world is applicable in eternity, whether it is credentials or accolades touted in the fields of politics, science or religion, financial or education--or awards given in any industry, by any group of people. Nothing of this world is applicable, and fortunate are those who know this.  This is truth.

Our physical lives are what we know, what we deal with on a daily basis.  In this electronic age we can readily know what is going on around the world.  Even at that, this earth and life on this earth is not the center of the universe. 

And so my mind roams.  I do not know where God dwells.  However, as I cleaned up the oak leaves in Dorothy’s garden, I decided that the center of the universe is wherever He is, and that is where I want to be.

And now, with my day's work behind me, as I sit looking out the window, fog has enveloped the scenery.  I have wrapped myself in a blanket to ward off the chill.  When I lived on the coast, there was a term for the weather we've had the past few days.  They call it a "false Spring."  The next time I  head off to work I'll put on an extra layer of clothing.  And the thoughts will continue. 

"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

"On The Things I Learned In the Process of Turning 70"

process:  a series of events to produce a result, not a product

From the moment of conception, life and the living of it is a process.  Beginning as a single cell, one which is given life, that cell divides, and the process is in place.  With all life, be it human or animal, there are specific, definitive steps which take place within the womb, until that time when physical development has reached the point where life can continue outside of the cocoon, the incubator provided.  

I have been one who always wanted life to be instantaneous, and that included God—answers given, problems solved, issues resolved, situations set right.  A snap of the fingers, a magical approach almost.  It has taken some time for me to grasp and accept that concept of process.  

It wasn’t all that long ago there was a drastic and dramatic turn of events in my life.  A wise friend told me, “Healing takes time.  It is a process.”  I nodded in agreement, as though I understood.  I didn't.  It took a while, which is typical for me, but I “get it” now, and I have begun to understand and greatly appreciate and value this thing called  “process.”

And so it has been with my turning 70--a process.  Many of my peers, especially those from my school days, are a bit older than I.  My parents had me begin grade school a year early, so I was always the youngest in my class.  I reached the 70th plateau later than many of my friends. 

This particular birthday has been on its way for—well, for at least a year.  I watched and observed as friends and family wrestled with the big 7-0.  I even gave advice and expressed valid truths, but, as with all things, I had no understanding of the experience until it was my turn. 

One’s 10^th birthday is exciting, having finally reached double digits.  What that is supposed to mean is elusive, depending upon the one turning 10.  At the age of 20, one still has youth and yet has begun living at a level of independence.  Life, with its future, is at hand.  When 30 comes, some goals and aspirations have often been reached, and that may include sharing life with a spouse and children.  40 comes quickly after, as time begins to pass at a faster rate of speed.  There is often a sense of having the need to experience as much of life as possible.  When 50 arrives on the scene, the reality of having lived half a century begins to settle in.  It’s as though one is living on a fulcrum, and the balance begins to shift as one goes down the other side.  Then there is 60.  For many that means retirement and the word “senior citizen” becomes applicable. 

Turning 70 is readily viewed as a milestone by most and for a variety of reasons.  The most common is that, in looking forward, there is the reality of less time left in this physical life than when looking behind.  The starkness of that can be difficult and crippling. 

I am of the feeling that 70 is the birthday that can either make or break a person.  The same process which took place while in the embryo state is still in play, except there is evidence and personal experience of the aging of body and mind.    

And this is where I feel the potential for breaking a person enters in.  I learned, at the very least, a mindset can take hold, coloring all things in life, that of being old.  In the process of turning 70 I found myself in that mental place, stuck in a revolving door.  I correlated everything in my life to my age, including every physical and mental stumble.  None of it was a positive, a virtual breeding ground for fear.  Viewing life from the platform of being 70 is completely different from that of a younger person, and the possibility is in place for a grim outlook.

While in that negative mode, stuck in the revolving door within my mind, a friend, bluntly and to the point said, “Get over it.  Move on.”  He spoke of “making peace with turning 70,” which is one of the best descriptions I’ve heard.  And I did just that, being booted out the figurative door to the other side,

In addition to learning that turning 70 can be a mental booby trap, I learned that it is just a number, an indicator of the number of days I have physically inhabited this earth and this body.  It does not define me in any way, shape, or form.  It does not say anything about ME—who I am, the kind of person I am, what I feel or think.  No number is an identification of any person, regardless the age.  Rather, it is simply a description, no different from eye or hair color, height and weight.   

I’ve asked many people of various ages how old they feel on the inner in comparison to their chronological age.  To a person the response is easily several decades younger.  I am not the same person I was in my 20’s (thank God!), my 40’s, or even a week ago.  While my body is indeed aging, my soul and spirit are growing and developing, and that is what brings me pleasure.

Life and the living of it is a process, and in that process, I had a 70th birthday.  Arriving at that day did not happen in a day or a week.  It took time, but when that day came I was prepared for it.  I am grateful for the process that led me there, the steps that made it possible for me to not be stuck on the dark side of that event, living in fear.  I am thankful for those my Father used along the way, for their understanding and for their ears.

Personally speaking and from personal experience, I am of the opinion that, from the time of conception, my Heavenly Father is a Master at designing, choreographing, and implementing process in the lives of His children.  Case in point:  I made it to 70 and am already on the other side--with a smile on my face.    

And life moves on.  80?  That may be another story for another day, a few years down the road.  

"On Stamina"

"You certainly have stamina," my client said as he walked by.  I laughed.  It was that nervous laugh that spills out of my mouth upon realizing I have been given a compliment, and I am left speechless, with no words with which to respond.

The task at hand was to clean up the beds, cutting back spent vegetation as new growth is already beginning to appear.  The weather has been cold the past few days, with temperatures dipping down into the 'teens in the garden I was working in, 1000 feet above the valley floor.  It has begun to warm up and, after spending time being house-bound, it felt good to get outside and accomplish some physical work.

Even so, the ground was still frozen in the shade.  I had come prepared, covered in several layers of clothing, including double thicknesses of both gloves and socks.  I had been working about 4 hours, manually plowing through masses of still frozen dead growth, cutting it back with my hand scythe when the comment was made.

While nervous laughter was my audible response, my first thought was, “You should see my spiritual stamina.”  The passing comment and ensuing thought set my mind in gear.  What does that word even mean?  As so often happens with words, I had the concept, the general idea, but nothing I could put into an intelligible description.  And do I really have spiritual stamina?  Or am I just playing mental word games? 

stamina:  the energy and strength for continuing to do something over a long period of time; power of sustained exertion, or resistance to hardship, illness, etc.

Stamina is solid, a silent force like a heartbeart, which brings with it fulfillment and completion; it is neither showy nor glossy and does not draw attention.

As with all things in life, those areas where stamina is exhibited is going to be uniquely individual.  Stamina exposes will and resolve as well, true grit, as it were; the two go hand in hand.   

The final leg of 50k

One of my daughters ran a 50k trail race this past October.  As I told a friend of her accomplishment, the response was, “You mean 5k?”  No, it was 50k.  She traversed a trail which carried her 32 miles and took 7 hours and 45 minutes.  The last mile of it was a vertical climb up steps.  That takes stamina.  This same daughter has run 6 marathons, including one in Chicago, and more half-marathons than she can count.  

I know another woman, one in her late 70’s, who is the personification of stamina, manifest in different circumstances.  For her, 2014 was the year which she spent facing and dealing with the kind of diagnosis all dread—a rare, fast-growing cancer.  I am quite certain you either know of someone with a similar experience or it is one in your own life. 

She endured two surgeries, a regimen of chemotherapy followed by radiation; loss of hair, energy, and strength.  I have no doubt the will to live was questioned as well.  This vibrant, active woman’s life was ground to a halt.  One who loves to walk and garden, those activities were shut down as she went through the process laid out for her.

As she enters 2015, I see her once again, striding down the sidewalks, a walking stick in hand “just in case.”  Vegetables are appearing on my doorstep as she shares her lush garden.

That is stamina.

And what is spiritual stamina?  It is no different from physical stamina except the goal, the end result differs. 

I am of the belief that when it comes to spiritual aspirations we are given exactly what we are willing to settle for.  If a relationship with God is not important, then why should that be given?  If truth, knowing and manifesting love and wisdom, forgiveness and peace is not something one strives for, then what value would it have if it was handed over?    

And this is where spiritual stamina comes into play.  It is searching, seeking, asking, and digging in with all of one’s heart, soul, and mind, with every part of your being, never giving up.  It is no different from the physical except for the objectives, personal and individual as well.

My spiritual goals are lofty and very personal; I’ll not share them with you.  They are very specific as I deal with my Creator.  And after examining the meaning of that word, I have concluded that I do have spiritual stamina.   

And back to where these thoughts began--I got the iris bed cleaned up before I quit for the day too.  I would say stamina and perseverance go hand in hand as well.


"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind."

  

          

   

"A Simple Observation"

The stash of nuts for my morning cereal had been left in my truck. Flipping the light switch on in the garage, I realized the light bulb had blown out.  As there are no windows in my garage it was dark.  Very dark. 

Retrieving my cache shouldn't have been a problem except--my feet splay when I walk.  I really do walk like a duck, and my pinky toes hook on things most feet never have to deal with--chair legs, door frames, the legs of beds, piano benches, end tables, coffee tables. 

My steel mower ramps are stored on the floor in the garage when they aren't in the truck and easily avoided as I go in and out of the garage.  However, this time there was no light, and they couldn't be seen.  The pinky toe found them. 

It is not unusual for me to express myself in some form of non-ladylike expletive when this happens, and this morning was no exception.  It really does hurt to hook your little toe on a non-moveable object as the rest of your body continues moving forward.    

Bag of walnuts in tow, I headed back into the house.  With the light on in the utility room and the door open into the garage, I was able to easily see.  The light had been on the whole time, but I had my back to it, heading into the dark garage, unable to see the perils at my feet.

This is my observation for the day:  If things are dark and confusing, you don't know where to go or what to do, and you find you are unable to see, perhaps it is because you are walking away from the light and the One who is the source of all light.  Try turning around and heading towards Him.  There is more at stake than a little toe.  Light is a good thing.  Just a thought.