Just sitting here on the last Saturday night of July doing nothing.  Me in my studio and Mike in his man cave.  It’s a lovely evening to be outside. But we’re not.   It’s been an active week for sure.  We’ve done all sorts of things and could use a respite,  but for some reason it feels like we should be somewhere else.  But alas….we are at home.  Not that that’s a bad place to be.  We are blessed.  Home is great.  But you know that feeling when you just want to be somewhere else, doing something else, with your favorite people?  Like maybe on a sailboat in the BVI’s (not that I’ve ever been there) but I’ve heard tell. Or an African safari.  Or on a gondola in Venice.  Or staring up at the sparkling lights on the Eiffel Tower.  Or in London with your wee girlee (I was just there but it has wet my appetite).  How about a family meal at one of those long tables that go on forever, with twinkle lights, in Tuscany, your bare feet caressing the grass under the table, the wine is flowing as well as the food and laughter, into the wee hours of the morning.  Once again, never been, but I watch movies and read books. Or sitting out on a rooftop patio, gazing at all the white stucco huts with blue dome roofs, matching the azure water below that seems to go on forever.  Where am I?  Everything seems so clean and simple and luscious.  

From my studio window I can see the tops of the 40ft high aspens swaying in the subtle wind and see the blue, blue sky.  My studio is my haven.  My safe place.  The place where all the creativity happens and all the ideas come to birth.  Shall we say, my comfort zone.  An understatement.  But here I sit on the last Saturday night of July, dreaming of other places.  We shouldn’t spend our lives wishing we were somewhere else.  Especially when there is nothing wrong with where you are. Maybe I’m having a wee bit of FOMO this evening.   Fear of missing out.  I haven’t missed out on anything.  My life is rich and blessed.  The things I have missed out on are probably things I’m glad I missed out on.  Very often we are looking for tangible things to thank God for when in fact, I think there are probably lots of things He prevented from happening that we should be grateful for. Of course, we will never know what those things were because they didn’t happen and I, for one, am grateful. 

So I will  sit here-  in my studio –  on the last Saturday night in July and dream my dreams of glamorous places and going ons and be grateful that I even can dream.  That my reality allows me to dream.  That I don’t have perplexities that are taking all of my focus.   Well I do have some perplexities, but I am shelving those on this last Saturday evening in July, to live in this moment and dream.  Grateful that these are my frivolous dreams.  

A favorite author of mine encouraged me to think about delight today.  Delight alongside gratefulness.  Being grateful for all the things and finding delight in them too.  

Something I have delighted in as of late was one little momma robin who designed her nest  in my purple pansies. And there she laid her little clutch of Tiffany blue eggs.  We tiptoed out every morning to see if another egg was added to the first one.  She laid one egg a day just like google said she would.  Then she incubated those perfect eggs while father robin guarded his family close by.  Finally, again like clockwork, the eggs began to hatch.  Tiny little featherless bodies with great big eyes.  I cannot believe how fast those baby birds grew.  In less than two weeks they grew feathers and wings and large beaks.  We watched as mom and dad flew back and forth with all sorts of nourishment for the little fledglings. They strained their skinny little necks upwards with their large beaks wide open to receive their sustenance.  Mom and dad watched them like hawkes (well I guess like robins) until finally they were too big for their little nest and started to leave.  Now the nest is empty and the little miracles of nature are gone. We took great delight in this whole process.  It was a gift of summer.

I want to look for joy and delight in all the simple miraculous things that take place every day.  Our little pup, for instance.  I delight in his little personality and idiosyncrasies. The way he tilts his little head this way and that to try to understand what we are saying to him. The way he loves someone to scratch him with our feet. How excited he gets when you ask him if he wants to go for a car ride.   I sure hope all dogs go to heaven because what would it be like without our little furry friends?

  I delight in the garden.  Every time a new bloom opens, I get all excited.  Even if it’s just going to be one of its kind.  I especially delight in the plants that grow out of nowhere.  I didn’t plant them but there they are. Like a small bonus. Bringing joy to my morning inspection.  Even just to ponder how God came up with all these different shapes and colors just to cheer us.  Flowers have no real purpose to humans, other than for us just to enjoy them.  Their beauty and their scent.

  Think about cooking and baking.  It’s really miraculous how you can just toss flour and water in a bowl and stir it and stretch it and punch it and end up with something as delicious as homemade bread. Or tossing a variety of ingredients into a pan, then add heat and end up with a scrumptious meal.

 Or how an airplane stays up in the sky, transporting us to somewhere grand and far off that we couldn’t really get to in any other way. I delight in the ocean, the sea, any body of water really.  The power and beauty of an azure ocean.  The waves.  The moon or the sun shining down on the ripples.  The crash of the waves against the sandy shore. The wake made when we power a boat over it or the gentle waves a sailboat cuts.  The spray of the water on our skin on a hot sunny afternoon. 

Slipping my weary body into a hot, sudsy bath with epsom salts.  Candles burning nearby.  Music softly playing in the background.  A cool beverage.  I pretend I don’t have a care in the world.  I just use my sensory perception to delight in that moment. 

Twinkle lights.  I always delight when I see twinkling lights.  What is it about them?  I don’t like the harsh garishness of full on bright artificial light.  It’s just rude. But twinkling lights.  So soft and non invasive.  Just enough light to blot out total darkness and magical enough to delight the soul.  

You find a $5 bill in the pocket of a jacket you haven’t worn for long time. (I don’t know about you but that gets me pretty excited). You go looking for your favorite magazine and there is one left. The person ahead of you at Starbucks pays for your drink. You luck out and find the very best spot in the parking lot. You come home tired and someone has done the dishes for you. You find something wonderful that you forgot you had. You hair turns out. You sink into a comfy chair and read a lovely book that stirs your soul. You get through an entire project without your serger coming unthreaded. The heavenly scent of the sweet peas you just picked fills your nostrils and you inhale deeply. Snow. Rain. Christmas. Birthday cake or cupcakes. Pie. Coffee with a dear friend. I delight in all these seemingly insignificant everyday happenings.

There is SO much to delight in.  I want to find joy and delight in my mundane everydayness.  Because this is my life.  It is what it is and I want to find joy in it.  I want to be content with it and I can be if I look on so many things with pure delight.  Even just the sound of a lawn mower or kids splashing in a nearby pool or the trees swaying in the wind outside my bedroom window at night.  The aroma of a neighbours BBQ.  The smell of freshly washed workout clothes.The delight in a fresh loaf of homemade bread.  Get out the peanut butter.

Or the way God gives us little surprises and gifts when we are least expecting it.  Reminding us that He is still there and that He cares.  I’ve had so many instances when I can say, Thank you God, I know that was you. And I delight in those.  

Past the dog run and through the arbour gate lies the secretest of gardens. It must be this way because all the critters have access to the front yard. Our front yard gives off the impression no one lives here but the back tells another story. Every plant and flower carefully curated and protected from beasts. 

Not to say everything is thriving back here but at least protected by the trees, the fence, the gate,  these precious plants have a fighting chance.

And fight they must. Or I must. Let me tell you, gardening is not for cowards or flakes. You have to want it pretty bad to not just throw in the trowel (see what I did there?). 

I started out wanting a cut flower garden for my daughter to use for her floral business.  I knew, like Rome, it wouldn’t be built in a day.  But I did think after several years I would have figured it out and would need to buy an acreage to keep my plan going.  No rush on the acreage honey,  I just get one species going and another one dies.  My garden is not growing by leaps and bounds, something new replaces something that didn’t make it over the winter and so space is always available. 

Aside from the beasts and the climate, some things are doing well.  You have to learn to outsmart Mother Nature.  Can that be done?  Well, it obviously DOES take learning by trial and error but I think it can be done.  And to this end, I plod on. I can’t get disillusioned and give up. I just can’t.  I’m not a scientist but getting closer to one every growing season.   Picking other gardeners’ brains.  Sleuthing past homes with glorious foliage trying to figure out their secret.   Reading everything I can find on the internet.  Thank you for the Internet whomever.  I realize we don’t live in the best growing zone in the country or the world.  Oh how I wish I did.  But that is not to be, so I have to determine to make all the things grow here.  Well not all the things, but the hardiest flora for our region and then nurture it and baby it and pray over it (seriously) and sometimes replace it with something else.  Sometimes, as a gardener, you have to let go.  Well, I guess, even as a human you have to learn to let go.  

So I am letting go of my echinacea, shasta daisies, topiary lilac tree, annabelle hydrangea bushes, my huchera (coral bells) and I’m moving on.  Not to mention the grass.  What happened down there, under the earth this past winter?  Did the soil have its own pandemic?    And then there is the little issue of the leaves not falling off the trees last fall and so when old man winter descended with its white flaky rain,  it weighed down the branches and the columnar aspens are no longer columns. Oy Vey.

But I do not give up.  I must stay strong.  Must stay determined if I want to see beauty on the earth. Or at least in my backyard.  And so I tenderly dig out the roots of the dead perennials and I work the soil once again and I try something new (after much research). Interestingly enough, the plants that have done the best are the ones that I have uprooted from friends gardens and replanted into mine.  So I’m thinking there must be some lesson or  phenomena to latch onto there.   I’d love to get to the place where I could offer my friends pieces of my garden.  Just as friendships thrive under nurturing, so do their plants. 

I don’t know where I am going with this, but all this to possibly say, that there are very many lessons and metaphors for life to be found in the garden and in the pursuit of the loveliest and thrivingest of gardens. Much to learn.  But also much to cherish.  I cherish every sweet little bloom I find every morning when I run out in my nightgown to see what happened overnight.  I guess I garden for me.  Unless I invite someone over for tea and a lovely afternoon, I am the only one who enjoys my little postage stamp garden.  An acreage?    Probably not any time soon.  

Watering the plants on the September long weekend, I’m noticing that my Virginia Creeper has mostly turned brown and crusty.  I was hoping it would last until my daughter came home in late September.  I am noticing other plants turning orange and yellow prematurely. And it’s HOT outside.  In fact why was I even out watering plants in the heat of the day?  I usually do it first thing in the morning but I didn’t this day and when I popped out to dump the garbage I noticed they were parched. Over three months have passed since I planted everything. Over three months of getting up and watering every single morning before my ZOOM workout with my personal trainer sister. If you’re clever, you will figure out that I have not left home this entire summer since I have been here every single morning to water the garden. Of course, if I had gone away, my garden probably would have died off in my absence. It needs weeding, dead heading, watering, rearranging and a good talking to now and then. Who, besides me, is going to do that?

 It took summer a very long time to get going but once it did, it was hot and dry and windy. Sunny.  Gardening wise, growth was delayed by a few weeks, so many of my seeds and plants didn’t take root as fast as they should have and with our very short growing season, now they are beginning to fade when they haven’t even reached peak.  The sad part of this story is that this garden has been my whole summer.  This garden in my postage stamp back and front yard.  If my kids were younger, I would hear them saying “Get a life, mom”.  

It’s been a very different summer season for me.  Going nowhere, not even the annual trip to my aunt’s cottage in BC.  No job or no working outside of the house.  I’ve turned into a bit of a hermit. My husband decided we need air conditioning this year so the house has been cool all summer and because of this, I have done domestic things like bake cakes for people and cookies and fill the freezer with pies and sourdough bread.  I am working on quilts and sewing things.  Building puzzles and reading…all in the coolness of my own home.  Barely going out in the heat at all. Not even really knowing what is going on outside of these four walls much.  I’ve been to the river with my husband and dog on occasion and enjoyed the gorgeous great outdoors as I watched our puppy splash with joy in the water.  Taken a few walks in our local forest park.  There have been a few wonderful invites to celebrations with friends. But I haven’t done any of the summer things.  To be fair, I did go on a lovely picnic with a dear friend early on in June but that’s about it.  Summer has passed me by as I dwelled inside and domesticated.  

I haven’t been very adventurous this summer due to my surprise stoke in March.  I have spent the summer going to doctor appointments, rehabilitation appointments and making sure I was stocked and taking my meds.  I don’t have good enough balance to ride my bike or hike or even do much walking alone or without my walking branch.  Forget swimming.  Not even totally confident to drive long distances by myself.  It’s very weird what’s going on inside my brain damaged head.  I look just fine and normal on the outside so no one would guess my apprehension in doing certain activities. Getting stung by a murder wasp twice in one week and swelling up as a result didn’t move me any closer to being outside either. As a result, summer is over and I feel like I missed it.  

No wonderful lollygagging on a beach and feeling the sand between my toes.  No late night campfires and smores.  No kayaking out to the middle of the lake and listening to the loons.  No road trips through the mountains.  No visiting the zoo to see the flowers and flamingos. No laying in the grass watching the clouds roll by.   Not much sitting out on patios and enjoying the beautiful weather. No lying on the dock watching for falling stars. No hosting any grand soirees. Nowhere to wear cute sundresses and sandals.  No boat rides or sailing – I love being out on the water.  Just the hermit life for me and now it’s fall.

Of course, it didn’t help that my daughter moved to Britain.  My partner in crime.  My adventure creator. I loved tagging along with her to wedding setups in the summer with her floral business. So I’ve spent much of the summer missing her.  Not to make her feel guilty,  She is living her best life (almost) in London and I am happy for her. My 65th birthday came and went without fanfare because she is the one that makes things special – for me. She knows what touches my heart. 

But this is a season. A season of life. A cycle. So I missed summer this year. There is always next year. Maybe next year we will vacation in Nantucket? Or I’ll go to London to visit my wee girlee (and Paris and Italy). Maybe we will find a beachside resort to rent and I WILL feel that sand between my toes. Maybe we will go on a road trip through the mountains. Maybe I will ride my bike again? Maybe I’ll spend more time in the great outdoors. Less time holed up like a hermit. (Not that hermitting is without its perks).

But I am still,  of all women,  blessed.  Blessed to have a lovely home to hermit myself in.  Blessed to have air conditioning.  Blessed to be able to do my Bliss.  Blessed with an amazing family.  Blessed that we all get along and love each other.  Blessed with a darling little fur baby.  Blessed to be able to create.  Blessed with my wee garden.  Bless that I am still here to enjoy my home.  Blessed that I can still write an essay and it makes sense.  It does make sense, right?  I just can’t believe the speed with which it became September. “I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils, if I knew your name and address.”. A line from one of my favorite fall movies.  Time for some Gilmore Girls reruns and a Pumpkin Spice latte. 

My summer actually has been manifesting itself as fall.  So I’ve already done fall.  I think I’ll move right into Christmas mode.  

This. This sitting by the windows of the soul of this house.  Glad that I had the bohemian idea of switching the living room and dining room furniture around.  It’s a bit unorthodox but it suits me perfectly this fine Saturday morning. 

Hot tea in hand and a couple of double chocolate cookies, reading a fascinating and well written novel. Good writing always carries me away, especially with the sunshine periodically streaming in the window.  After days and days of rain, the suns reflections on the main floor of the house are a welcoming intrusion.  Each time the rays break through, I look up from my reading and just bask. Bask in the silence. Bask in the simplicity. Bask in the comfort and joy of this moment.  My yearnings of travel silenced for a moment by the perfection of this healing moment. 

Still in my nightgown with a comfy sweater thrown over top and the knowledge that my bed is still unmade upstairs (which typically disturbs my OCD), I float in giddy delight.  Did I  mention it’s Saturday?  I just want to luxuriate in the stillness and the peace of this morning before I take on the day. I am compelled to read and read until I turn the last page and yet…..this is not a book that I want to end so I’ll probably use self control and just read enough to fill me for this day.  Blessed that nothing or no one else is making demands on my time. Its finally my own.

Saturdays can mean all kinds of things to all kinds of people. My husband took the mutt to the dog park. That’s a Saturday thing to do.   I was contemplating going as I do need to understand the dynamics of dogs at play but…. I cannot pull myself from this sacred spot. Many Saturdays are about shopping  for the weekly necessities.  Other Saturday’s are about cleaning the garage or the house. I’ve spent Saturday’s planting the garden and doing yard work. For many, Saturday’s are about a long bike ride. A hike. A road trip. A trip to the garden centre. Breakfast on a patio somewhere.  

But for me, today, it’s about getting lost in a good book and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. For this one scant moment of time.  And now it’s 3:30 in the afternoon and I am still molded to the cushions of this chair with this gift of a book in my hands and its pouring rain once again. To add to the feast for the literary senses, is the rhythm of the rain on the patio roof.   I make no apologies. I love you Saturday.

Here I am laying in the hospital with tubes and needles imbedded in every available vein.  I can barely adjust my laying position without pulling on something. I haven’t eaten in two and half days.  My mouth is so parched I can feel wrinkles on the top of it. What am I even doing in here?.  I have things to do.  A 90th birthday party to organize.  An Etsy shop to start. Pies, tarts and sourdough to bake.  A dog to train.  A daughter to send off across the sea. My roots aren’t done.  I am in desperate need of a pedicure.  My pantry’s a mess.  And I am laying here doing nothing.  All I can hear is the constant pumping of the blood pressure machine attached to my left arm.  As I trace the folds in the blanket and notice how it matches the chipped nail polish on my toes, I wonder why this happened. How did this happen?  Having a stroke was not on my todo list. 

I often imagined that it was quite possible I would have a heart attack.  I mean, my dad died of a heart attack upping my risk factor exponentially.  I knew I was eating whatever I wanted.  Lots of butter and salt. Sugar and fat.  All the delicious, treacherous things.  I knew I would rather lay in bed in the morning and luxuriate with the sun streaming in, casting lines on the walls through the blinds, than get up and workout.  Whenever, I didn’t feel good, which was rare, I always prayed “Lord don’t let me be having a heart attack”.  I just assumed if I got sick it would be by way of a heart attack.  So a stroke really took me by surprise.    

I know God didn’t exclaim “Oh no,  Geri had a stroke,  what are we gonna do now?”  That blows  my whole plan for her.  No….He knew it was coming.  He did not cause it, of that I am sure,  but He did know it was coming.  It was me that exclaimed “Oh no,  I had a stroke, now what am I gonna do?’  But I believe He said…I know this is coming but I’m going to let it happen because I can work this together for her good.  It never seems like it, in the moment.  I mean, what’s good about a stroke?  What’s good about being in an ambulance or emergency or the neurological ward or the stroke ward.  I guess it’s better than prison (although the food sure isn’t). But I had a LOT of time to think.  A LOT.  It was only 6 days but I am not used to laying in bed for a solid 6 days.  I thought all the thinks.  I wondered all the wonders.  I pondered all the ponders. I rehashed all the events that led me to this place.  I wracked my compromised brain trying to figure it all out.  What conclusion did I come to?

Well, it still baffles me.  I am sure it will unfold over time.  But this I know for sure,  God is not done with me yet.  If He was, I wouldn’t be here writing this right now. I’d be walking streets of gold with a butter pecan waffle cone and my new perfect, healthy body. But here I am, 10 weeks later….still cognisant.  Absolutely no speech impediment (much to the chagrin of others).  Still using my motor skills to drive and bake and cook and write and watch movies and read books and paint and rub my dogs belly.  Only this time round, I am going to pay more attention to how I am living in this battered and abused (by me) body.  

I feel blessed coupled with gratitude.  It doesn’t always turn out so well for others.  I dodged a bullet.  I don’t for a minute  believe that God didn’t take care of me.  Didn’t spare me. Didn’t heal me.  Isn’t continuing to heal me.   I may be left with a few thorns in the flesh….I may not.  We will wait and see.  But whatever the outcome, I am still here and I am responsible for me.  The steward of my health and my relationships.  The steward of my finances and my choices.  The steward of my actions and my inner thoughts.  I am still required to love others.  Still required to be kind.  Still required to be generous.  Still required to  follow hard after Him.  No more drifting into lalaland and thinking I’m invincible, infallible, impervious to what is common to mankind.  Maybe God will use this experience for me to bless someone. To empathize with someone.  To bring someone hope where there is none.  Or to just still be here when someone desperately needs me.  

My wee girlie is off on another adventure and she is taking my heart with her, again. Not all of it of course, because I still have two men at home that I love with just as much passion, pain and purpose.  But there is something about a daughter and  if you’re a mother of one or more, you know. There is a bond that you cannot replicate with a male.  Any male.  Maybe it’s just a kindred spirit forged out of carrying that baby for nine months and then teaching her everything you know and then watching her grow into herself with traits she clearly got from you. And being female.  Interests you share.  Tastes you pass on. You create a life for this little girl that will shape and mold her forever.  Creativity birthed into her little soul and nurtured over time into a full blossomed maturity all her own.  Of course she manifests character traits that are clearly her fathers and they are best buds.  Her father  will definitely be moping about the house long after she’s gone as well, but for different reasons.

Wee girlie is spreading her independent, often defiant, wings once again and moving to London on a two year work visa. The London that is in Great Britain.   The London across the ocean.  The London far, far from home.  I know this feeling.  She has lived there before. But last time she was part of a group of people that were looking out for her in a small way.  This time she is completely on her own. Of course she is ten years older and a full grown, independent woman who makes her own choices and has her own dreams.  I hate that.  But I guess I can take comfort in the fact that her father and I must have done something right right given the fact that she wants to venture out into this scary world with bravery and vision of what could be. This is a particularly poignant time for her to go. But I have to ask myself, will there be a better time for her to go?  Yes. When I’m dead. And I don’t have to experience this tearing of the heart.  Why does parenting have to be so painful? 

Part of me is terrified that London will become her permanent home. Part of me knows I have to let go and let her put into practice all, the wise, practical, mature parts of her that she has acquired over time and experience.  She actually warned me long ago that she would probably marry someone foreign and for me not to count on her living next door. (I mean, what’s what’s so wrong with living next door or in the same city?) 

Anyway, I am really so proud of her because when I was her age I was a fraidy cat.  Still am, actually.  So I just can’t imagine why she would want to do this treacherous thing.  But I’m glad she isn’t afraid (or at least doesn’t show it).  Bravery is being afraid and doing it anyway. Maybe that is her.  I don’t want to know. 

My prayer for her would be that she finds exciting and fulfilling and creative work. She has already set those wheels in motion.  That she would find a safe and comfortable place to live. That she would meet beautiful people that would love her and look out for her. I know this may sound silly but watching Emily in Paris paints a picture for me of how this could be a wonderful, learning experience.  And that a 31 year old woman is not a child  and can definitely hold her own in a foreign place.  My fears come from a place of observing her doing sketchy things in the past in regards to safety and mom’s are all about the safety. We are nothing else if we are not about the safety.  Am I right? 

But she knows our door is always open and there is always a safe place to land.  She can home at any time and we will run to meet her with open arms (and of course a fatted salmon. She doesn’t like beef). 

I will just continue to support her and encourage her and pray for her.  God can go with her and I cannot. It’s that simple.  Thank God (literally) for prayer. It’s a mother’s most powerful tool.

I spent the afternoon with mom then I drove home in the dark.  Yes it’s dark by 5:30pm and getting darker by the day. But I’m OK with that. It helps me realize we are at a different place in time. We will spend the next four months living mostly in the dark. I arrived home to find the fireplace crackling and my husband and daughter upstairs watching war movies (it’s November 11th).  I had a hankering for some comfort food so I decided to cook up some of the spaghetti and sauce from my Covid Mormon stash. (Is it OK to say that?).  I mean, they keep a year’s supply of consumables on hand and I, for one, think it’s not a bad idea.  I cook the pasta and then doctor up some store bought sauce in another saucepan and when both are done I mix them together like homemade alphagetti.  I scoop some into a bowl and douse it with parmesan and head down to my woman cave (my studio) to watch a Hallmark movie and savor my culinary creation. It’s delicious and exactly what I was craving. (yes, I made enough for everyone).

I am so grateful for this cozy comfortable home, already dressed with curtain twinkle lights on every window.  There is just something about twinkle lights, don’t you think?  It warms the soul.  At this moment in time, there is food in the pantry, running water, flush toilets, showers, comfy warm beds, a working fireplace, cars in the garage.  Hallmark movies, books to read for escape and inspiration. My whole family living under this one roof – for this moment in time.  My ankles seem to be healing.  They are not swollen today (as a result of two separate accidents, one on each leg).  And I know the Savior – the omniscient, creator and controller of this planet.   The lover of my soul. The light of the world. The hope of the ages.  

The glory of my secret garden has passed. While it’s sad, we are moving into a new season that has its own glories.  I actually love the changing of the seasons.  Life doesn’t get too boring and each season gives us a rest from the others and makes us appreciate them when they’re gone. Each season has its own special charms and we know they’ll be back next year. As much as I loved the dahlias, the sweet peas, the poppies, the poppies, the peonies and the petunias….and the roses, that season is done.  I was getting tired of watering and weeding every day anyway. AND for this moment in time, all is well.

I think it is noteworthy to acknowledge that ‘all is well’ tonight or today.  Our lives can change for better or  worse in a flash.  And there are big issues to deal with in this world and this life.  So while it’s prudent to plan for the future,  NOW is the only moment we are actually guaranteed.  Lets not waste now worrying or fearing the future because of what’s happened in the past. Let’s take this moment in time to acknowledge when all is well, if it is for you.  I love this line from the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, “Everything is going to be ok in the end,  if it’s not OK, then it’s not the end”

I’m not stunning or thin or perpetually youthful.  I am not considered an intellectual or a super success but I have everything that truly counts.  (Maybe ignorance IS bliss.  Lol).  

Christmas…the season of hope, joy and peace… is coming, as it always does.  Just around the corner. More on that later. 

I’ve read the news calling out our PM for initiating an unnecessary election at the worst possible time…during a pandemic, while half the country is burning up and the Taliban is sadistically taking over Afghanistan.  The 20th anniversary of 9/11 bringing all those conspiracy theories back to the forefront. The natural disasters happening all over the world, all credited to global warming…I mean, climate change. The whole residential school debacle. Trying to stay connected to loved ones when there are differing COVID factions involved. Naturally occurring problems on the home front. Even my own purpose and career in question.  It all makes me want to crawl into my own bubble and stay there until the end of the world.  True story – I have actually prayed, at times, that God would open up a crack in the earth and I would fall in never to be seen again.  True story – That would be the easy way out. 

 I would love to be holed up on some tropical island with some books and embroidery and paints, feeling the sand between my toes and the warmth of the sun on my skin.  Listening to the waves crash against the shore as I forage for sea shells.  A million little twinkle lights dancing in the trees at dusk.  On a sailboat by day and a lounger by night – studying the moon and the stars – sipping a Starbucks beverage.  Hey, it’s my dream, I can have Starbucks if I want. It’s my escape.

But then, His voice breaks into my imaginings and reminds me, ‘you are here for such a time as this’.  What does that even mean?  I do not like this whole ‘with knowledge comes responsibility’ thing.  I much prefer ‘ignorance is bliss’. (I can think of many in high power I could ascribe that to). I am reminded that I am on this planet, at this specific moment in history, for a reason.  It’s no accident.  I wasn’t born into the wrong era as I so often like to believe.  This IS my era.  All the things I lived through – difficult or easy, good or bad, real or surreal – All meant for me.  Not so I could close myself off in a bubble but so I could reach out and save someone else from falling or drowning or fading into oblivion. I could do this because I have survived.  I have survived my worst which has brought me to ‘such as time as this”.  

So many things I wish I’d done differently.  So many things I wish I didn’t know about. So many words I wish I could take back, so many words I wish I had said. So much fear I wish I hadn’t manifested. So much courage I wish I would have bolstered. So many lies I’ve believed. So many truths, I didn’t. So much heartache I wish I hadn’t witnessed, experienced or inflicted. So much injustice I wish I could do something about.  So much selfishness I wish I didn’t have.  Yet, here I am “for such a time as this’.  The words of that old spiritual come to mind “nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen – Nobody knows but Jesus”.  Not that I’ve seen more trouble than others because I certainly have not.  Just that, nobody knows what troubles I have personally experienced. And that’s fine.  But my past paralyzed me sometimes. I often get caught up in “well  HE allowed that to happen so what else is HE going to allow to happen”  that’s going to be painful and difficult and scary.  But HE also said He would never leave or forsake us…ever.  We are not in this alone. And I breathe a sigh of peace.

So whatever HE wants me to do “for such a time as this”.  I am up for the task.  I’m not going to say ‘Bring it on” but I am starting to feel braver and more intentional about doing what I am here for.  Maybe I am doing what I am here for but for some reason I am not recognizing it.  Maybe I don’t see it for what it is because I am not done.  But this I know for sure, I am meant to be right here, right now, for such a time as this.  

I like to talk about August. My heart beats to the rhythm of  August…much more so than June or July.
June and July feel like hot, sticky, scramble to get packed, get out of town, fight the traffic and the airports, too hot to sleep, too hot to eat, but damn it, its summer and we are going to make the most of it. Finalize all the final wedding details and find beds for all the out of town guests.  Pay the caterer and tear down the wedding tent.  Lock the house, take the dog to the kennel, set up irrigation for the lawn and flowers, grab your passports, pick up the meds, clean out the fridge and empty the garbages.  We are on a tight schedule.  Gas up the car, get out the maps, google the sights.  Gather all the jet skis and the surfboards and the inner tubes and the snorkels and ice packs and the air conditioners and the fans and let’s start having fun.  

But August……August is slow down time. It can still be hot but instead of fighting it, we bask in it.  We slow down and we quit scrambling.  We finally give into summer as we see it starting to fade.  We lie in the grass and gaze up at the clouds.  We let ladybugs crawl up our arms and take pictures of butterflies. We eat watermelon on the porch with juice dripping down our chin.  We go on a picnic and while away the afternoon chatting about recipes and books and places we’ve been.  There is no schedule. We get up early to lollygag at the local farmers market and buy all kinds of treats we wouldn’t normally.  Pies and tarts, jams and dressings.  Veggies and fruit and we eat much healthier.  Much more laid back.  Gone are the corn dogs and mini donuts of the fair.  Gone are the burgers and fries that make us feel heavy and tired.  Welcome, lobster boils and smores.  Hello to the straw hats and flowy caftans.  Sit in the shade of an enormous tree and read all the books we’ve been saving for August.  Sit on the dock at midnight with your feet dangling in the water and listen to the crickets or the loons. Or both.  Lay in a lounger in the backyard and name the constellations.  Build a tent out of a patio umbrella and some sheets and sleep outside. Light some candles to keep the bugs at bay. Cut some flowers and take them to a shut-in.  Listen to the rain through screen doors and scratch the dogs belly.  Pull out your easel and paint.   No better time to have a puzzle sprawled across the table to pick away at when the weather isn’t cooperating.  You won’t need the table because you’re eating most of your meals outside.  Take an afternoon nap.  Walk for miles on the beach with sand running through your toes and smoothing out the skin on your feet. Collect sea shells and drift wood. Sit on a patio and sip ice tea with your besties.  Canoe or kayak out to the middle of the lake and gaze up at the mountains and watch the clouds blow past the sun in intervals.  Relish the calm and the quiet.  

Take it all in because it will be another year before August comes around again.  Don’t wish it away.  Don’t think about September.  There will be plenty of time for September in September.  Live in the moment. Spend a lot of time with your eyes closed just listening to the sounds – of the trees and the rain and the lawnmowers and the laughter of children, grandma telling stories of the good old days.  This is August.