"On Clarity"

 clarity:  n. The state, or measure of being clear, either in appearance, thought, or style.

 

The action was an impulsive one, the results of which I find I am reveling in, not only today but probably for some time to come.

It’s that time of the year. Gardening season is in full swing. Sunny days and blue skies announce the advent of Spring. With it comes the sunshine. Sunlight poring through my windows expose their obvious dirty state.

The grime could not be ignored, though I wasn’t trying to. My gardening business occupies most of my time and energy. Washing windows has not been a priority on my to-do list.

The window in my front bedroom/office is right beside my computer. It is the one I view my mornings through. The scenes range from a blanket of fog to breathtaking sunrises.

Today, I find myself looking out the window and feeling pleased. I can see clearly. Yesterday, that was not the case.

The day had been planned, more-or-less. I should have been getting ready to head out to either mow a lawn or weed a garden for my clients. Instead, I found myself, without even giving it a thought, taking the grimy blinds down. I filled the bathtub with hot, soapy water and plunked them in to soak. I felt I couldn’t do much to damage them, and improvement was a reasonable possibility.

I grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner, an old toothbrush, and some Q-tips to scrub out window tracks. A squeegee, rags, and a bucket of water were added to the cleaning arsenal as I began what felt like an attack mode.

The filth of both window and blinds had bothered me for some time, so the aggressive action felt good.  I scrubbed and washed the window on the inside and tackled the frames and tracks too. The scene was much improved, but I still needed to deal with the exterior.

It was time to begin my gardening workday, but I determined to deal with the screens and the outside when I returned. And I did!

First, I removed the screens. That enabled me to easily clean the windows. I scrubbed the screens with a soapy brush, then rinsed them with the hose. After I put the clean screens back on, the task was completed.

Back inside, I put the clean, rinsed blinds in place. By then, it was dark out. I was unable to view the results of my efforts.

This morning I find myself looking out the window--not for what I might see--but because I am able to see.

Clarity comes to mind. That is what was restored when the dirt and grime were removed from my window. There was nothing wrong with the windowpane. However, the residue clouded it so much I was unable to see clearly through it.

Often, much of our mind, lives, and inner vision are in that same state. Layer upon layer of debris accumulates--so much so our insight is impaired, resulting in confusion. We wonder why we are taken by surprise when current situations affect us, many times spring boarding from earlier experiences. You know how it is—stuff happens, and we just collect garbage, not because we want to, but because we’re unable to get rid of it. And yes, that does affect the quality of the life we live in the here and now.

I am all for thorough cleaning, not only on the outer, but in the inner. Thankfully, my Heavenly Father is proficient when it comes to bringing about clarity.

Many years ago He told me, “There is a better way.” It isn't a right way vs. a wrong way. But a better way.

So, if you are in a place where you cannot deny a lot of muck and junk is affecting your life and clouding your ability to have clear insight, it might be a hint a thorough washing is in order.

Living one’s life in clarity is a better way to live. However, it is not something we can achieve ourselves. Come before Him in honesty and sincerity. He is able, capable…and willing.

 

 

"On Seeing"

see:  to perceive or detect with the eyes; to view, observe, behold; to witness or observe     by personal experience.

It happened with a pair of socks, while I was folding laundry.   I had paired two socks and, as I reached for a second pair, realized neither pair matched.  I had looked at them, the colors shouted a mismatch, but I did not see the obvious.   

Have you ever had an experience where you looked, but you didn’t see?  It's not that it wasn’t there, right in front of you, “as plain as the nose on your face,” my mother would say, but somehow it did not compute in your mind.  How many times have your eyes passed over an object of search, perhaps a set of keys or that rogue tennis shoe your child needed to head off to school, that important piece of paper you had put in a special place for safekeeping?  It seems if we are looking we should see, but that isn’t always so. 

And so those socks sent my mind to places of consideration and thought, that of seeing....or not. 

There is physical sight and there is spiritual sight.  I instinctively think of inner vision, that awareness or knowledge that is separate from the eyes with which we view our material world.  There are some who call such having an epiphany or revelation, an "aha!" moment; others would apply the description  “getting it." 

For me, to see is to understand without words; to have knowledge of, to have a grasp of concepts, truths, and precepts which have not been heard with physical ears.  Those things I see are within my being, not visible to any other man, yet they are solid and real, often life-changing. 

And this is what I see--now isn't that an adroit application of the word?: Each one of us falls into two categories at varying times in our lives.  The first is that of not seeing what others see; the second is that of seeing what others do not.

There are those times in our lives when we are blinded--to the severity of our circumstances, the seriousness of the state we are in, the dire straits of our behaviors, actions, and attitudes, to ourselves.  The resulting course of life shouts "disaster" as we head towards a cliff, but we continue on, because we don't see.  Those around may observe and attempt to call attention and focus, but as a wise friend has said, "If you don't see, you don't see."

The second category is where we are the ones who have the sight, with clear vision of another's state and situation.  And this is where a person can bump into a huge problem, if one isn't careful--that of judgment.

It can be easy to assume that if things are obvious to me then my friend, neighbor, teacher, spouse, child--you get the point--should be able to discern those problem-causing areas as well.  The trap of pointing a finger, harshly judging and criticizing sits at the door, and we can readily fall into it.  Surely these people we love and care for cannot help but see those things which are crystal clear to us.  "Don't you see yourself?," we want to shout.  Not necessarily.  "If you don't see, you don't see." 

Just as there have been many times in my life when I didn't see myself, so it is for others.  There is always the consideration that when I see what another cannot it is so I can take that person before my Father, what some would call prayer.  Isn't that what caring for one another is about?  Standing in support and understanding rather than judging? 

Seeing, inner vision and sight, is a gift.  Often it comes in the form of a mirror, and we are unable to escape the truth.  Never take a single offering or revelation lightly; hold on to each one.  They are given to bring about change within, growth, maturity, and development.  No man can ever take them away from you.  And be careful lest you judge others for things that are not clear to them, for things they do not see.

And when I do see, that is when I can no longer plead ignorance or denial; I am then without excuse.  When I have been shown the truth of myself, when I see, then I am held accountable.  I am responsible.


"I see," said the blind man.

"Buy from Me medicine to put on your eyes so you can truly see."

   

"On Meanderings and Progressive Dinners"

In all probability, I am dating myself when I speak of progressive dinners. They have been around for a while, but perhaps they have gone by the wayside, along with the turning over of outhouses on Halloween.   

The term "progressive dinner" is self-explanatory.  A large group of people can share a meal and an evening of socializing without the entire burden of entertaining falling upon one host/hostess.  The meal begins at one home with appetizers and continues to the next with, perhaps, soup and salad.  The menu is as simple or as complex as those who plan it wish it to be.  The main course is at yet another home, and the evening ends with dessert at a final destination.

My mind was in that state yesterday, roaming from one place to another.  Often, these writings take form and shape while I am working, with the consideration "What is the point?"  In all honesty, I couldn’t come up with one, and so I went from one place to another, changing not only physical but mental scenery as I cleaned.

“I think I’m spending too much time on Facebook.”  That was the conclusion I came to as I thought of my involvement with that social media in recent days.  I feel that each person has the right to his/her own point of view, and my perspective is simply that--mine.  However, three times this past week, I just had to open my mouth and spout off, disregarding a daughter's admonition to "Just don't make comments, Mom!"

A post of a well-known televangelist had been shared.  Generally, I don’t read them, but read I did.  I responded by commenting I disagreed, and I laid out my thoughts.  Yet again, a second post which stated how important it is to not do things which might cause personal unhappiness while making others happy had me jumping up and down. “You have got to be kidding!," I ranted.  "Since when is my happiness or unhappiness the standard, the gauge of how I live my life?  How happy do you think Christ was at the Last Supper with His disciples, or in the Garden of Gethsemane, or as His body was being nailed to a cross?”  Life with God does not revolve around my personal comfort.

The third time was the result of a post regarding ISIS, the terrorist group wreaking havoc and misery around the world.  All varieties of opinions were expressed, and God got drug into the argument.  “There is no logic in God,” said one, “when there are 4000 other gods.”  Busy fingers here—“The logic is that one God is living, 4000 gods are dead.”

"I am either becoming very bold or 'plumb dumb'," I thought.    

The wandering continued.  As I began mopping the floors, my thoughts were in yet another place.  I thought of prayer and religion.  There  are some who believe that, with the burning of incense or candles, prayers ascend to one who can answer; others send their offerings into the air with chants, songs, and repetitious motions.  “That makes as much sense as spitting into the wind to put out a fire,” I thought.  I differ in that my prayers are conversations, one on one, with my Father. 

On to the next "course."  Periodically, I find myself examining my life and the way I live my life.  Yesterday was one of those times.  One of my pet peeves, in addition to barking dogs, is the person who has words—lots and lots of words, with no substance to back them up.  I am particularly reviled when they are spoken "in the name of God."  For me, it is sickeningly worsened when monetary gain is made from those words.  That, I feel, is the ultimate in taking advantage of those who are in need, and is the base of my reaction against the religious televangelist. 

At any rate, I need to be concerned with myself and with my life, and so in these times I stand quietly.  “Please change those things within me that need to be changed.”  

The meanderings continued just like a progressive dinner.  The thoughts were like the courses, settled in a single place and completely enjoyed before moving on to another.  And this is what I decided:  No, I don’t have a particular point for this writing and, as with a progressive dinner, I did not end up where I started, but I certainly ended up filled and satisfied.   

"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.