Float

Her beautiful eyes are fixed on the sky and I can tell she is listening closely yet every muscle in her little body is still held taut.  I encourage her to relax. Just let all the tenseness drain out of your muscles and let me hold and steady you.  

It’s a beautiful summer’s day and we’ve gone to the community pool to cool off.  My granddaughter is an active five-year-old who loves a challenge.  After swimming back and forth from the side of the pool to my measured distance out into the pool, she creates a challenge by asking me to step a little further away each time she completes a swim out.  I can see her tiring physically, but mentally she was grimly determined to continue to swim a greater distance with each attempt.  About this time I realized there was a teaching moment in the midst of her challenge.  After a few more tries, I introduced a new challenge.  How to float.  How to let go of her efforts when she becomes tired and just rolls over onto her back, relaxes and floats. 

As I hold her tiny lighter than air form above the waterline, I can’t help but realize this teaching moment is also one for myself. My memory reaches back into past times in my life where though mentally and physically fatigued, I would doggedly push myself to continue despite the ache in my bones and the fog in my head.  Sometimes my anger would even become the tired fuel I would spend to accomplish checking off one more "to do" on my mountainous list.  

    

In retrospect and through the eyes of faith, how much easier if I had learned how to relax sooner in my life.  If I had taken some time to fix my sights on the one who holds me above the waterline and encourages me to rest into Him,  much like I was encouraging my granddaughter to do.  

Gradually I begin to see her struggle lessen as she begins to trust my support beneath her.  She experiences her buoyancy as she turns her efforts down and floats.  Her smile lights up my world.

We can light up His world too.  No matter the tempest, storm or workload.  No matter how high the waves or strong the wind, we can relax our struggle and release it into His loving hands.  We can trust him as my granddaughter trusted me.  Our trust in Him can be the smile on His face and a light in the world.

~

 “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”   

Matthew 11:29-30 The Message (MSG)

The Singer

The day's temperature was just beginning its upward climb toward the nineties.  The parking lot was full but we found a spot reasonably close to our destination that offered a stingy piece of appreciated shade.  As I stepped out of the car the Florida temperature greeted me like a warm hug.  Immediately my ears picked up the sound of someone singing.  I recall having heard this before from a previous visit to this shopping area.   I also recalled the thoughts I had the first time I heard him here.  My heart becomes hard like a sharp-edged rock.

The man singing is standing against the wall of a department store.  He isn't near the entrance to the store so we can avoid him rather easily as we head in that direction.   He appears to be blind as he has a cane next to him and a jar before him.  As my sister and I are walking we exchange some comments about him.   I may have said something to the effect of having seen him here before,  keeping veiled the nature of my inner thoughts.  We continued toward the entrance chalking him up to be one of the many homeless copping a coin. 

As we navigate toward the door his singing ceases and he begins to speak about new life in Jesus.   I pause for a moment listening to him as he speaks truth into the wide-open space of this busy parking lot. He has become a font of spiritual water running like a stream in a desert wilderness. My heart seizes.  I know what it's like to thirst for something and attempt to quench it with what doesn't satisfy.  

As we enter the store the grip on my heart does not relent.  I am unenthused with all the merchandise before me.  What happens instead is all the negative thoughts I've had about this blind solo singer in the past begin to bubble up in my memory.  As I am convicted of this my heart continues to ache and I'm unable to think, let alone shop.  

 I look in my wallet for some bills and find I have none.  I ask my sister if she has cash and she gives me a questioning look but responds with a  yes.  I mumble to her I'll be right back quickly explaining to her that the singing man was speaking the truth and I felt compelled to respond in some way.  

As I exit the store the sound of his song touches my ears once again.  The hardness in my heart eases, the ache lessens.  I walk toward him with purposeful intention.   As I draw up closer to him, I put the bills into his jar and thank him for speaking the truth.  Just as I finish my sentence he stops, turns his blind countenance toward me and asks my name.  I answer and ask him for his.  He is a young man.  It's then that he asks if he can pray for me.  I am caught a little off guard but I respond with a yes.  

I ask him for prayer on loving God in a greater way than I already do.   I know deep in my soul that to love God more would enable me to love others more genuinely.   We bow our heads together and this young blind man whom I've criticized and disregarded in the past is praying confidently for me to Jesus.  He knows Him well. 

As he prays it seems as if there isn't another soul around.   It's as if all the people that were bustling about were swallowed up in a vacuum and all that was left behind were this young man and I standing in prayer before the very one who has quenched our thirst, Jesus. He is there with us.

"For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

Matthew 18:20

For days the memory of this parking lot prayer remained as a tangible presence in my life.   Words fall short of the spiritual blessing God graced me with through this young man.  It was supernatural.   Some of the scales that were blinding my eyes dropped away and my heart discovered a greater tenderness.   I chuckle to think I went to give him a few dollars and he gave me a memory that was as precious as pearls.  

I haven't seen him in the area for many months now.  He truly was a lesson placed there to be learned.  And you may wonder if the prayer was answered.  I would have to say the prayer was being answered before it was ever spoken. 

Life lessons from Shelby

I can still see her running away from me.  Nothing but a cloud of sand following behind her as she charges forward.  Her sheer joy is obvious as she streaks along the shoreline, pulling muscles drawing tight against bones, stretching for the distance.   Boxers have a lot of unbridled energy.  

Relieved I see her slowing down.  Being caught up in the rapture of running she has journeyed farther than she thought, or perhaps even had no thought at all which would most likely be closer to the truth.   

I watch her as she runs over to strangers seeking something familiar, wreaking havoc on beach blankets of unknown scents.  She is searching,  at times even looking panicked. Suddenly she stops and stands still and silent in the distance.   How my heart races that she sees me, that she hears me calling out to her.

 She turns and faces a familiar sound, though slight and quiet there is some familiarity in it.  A remembrance of being loved,  protected and cared for.  Oh, how she charges back in my direction joyously, ecstatic and very slobbery.

I can't help but reflect how many times in my life  I do the same thing?  Exuberantly running off in my own direction, plowing ahead with no thought of checking in with the captain of my life, the one who holds my life, protects my life and gives me life. 

I can find myself lost among the unfamiliar looking for help where help doesn't live.  It's that moment when I stop and stand shocked still that I have the ear to hear the sound of His voice, the call to remember whose I am.  

Then, I too, turn and run back ecstatically,  joyously and hopefully not slobbery, into His presence.  I am received into His loving arms, His easy yoke and am overcome with that same giddy reassurance that I am kept, I am held,  I am loved and protected by the very one who gives me life.  My Father, my Friend, my Master, Jesus.  

"Be still and know that I am God". 

Psalm 46:10

A blog revisited

I'm just not sure where to pick up where I left off.  I could be making something complicated that doesn't need to be.  I have tendencies toward that.  

I 'd given some thought to changing the name of my blog.  Hermit crab stories was a perfect fit as my husband and I  were doing some traveling back and forth from Baja.  But do we ever really stop our travels? It seems we move forward albiet our steps may be shaky at times or sure.  

I think I have covered more terrain these last few years than I thought possible.  I've discovered deep valleys and high plateaus in the everyday movement through life.  

I'll keep the name the same simply because I'm not able to find one I like to replace it.  I'll pick up the  telling of  some of the views and vistas I've experienced.  It seems to be the balm my soul needs right now.

I invite you into the written life of the world expressed through my experiences.

The Fog of Disconsolation

It was my hip that woke me and spoke of rearranging myself so it could decompress. Rolling over to my belly and propping myself up on my elbows I slid the window open to peer out into the desert sky. I took a deep, slow breath of the slightly moist fragrance of the desert. Desert air is not fragrant in the sense of the tropics, but fragrant in the sense of the desert, a mix of green, dry dirt and manure. I even smell coyote. I can imagine your noses wrinkling at the mention of that but suffice it to say I’m left with words to describe an experience. Try and describe the taste of ripe mango, or a sour patch kid candy. The experience is so much more than speaking of it. The same holds true of one's faith. How to describe the comfort of surrender and the gift of His word and will in one's life? How that type of comfort feels….. The use of words cannot really touch it and a person with an experience is never at the mercy of a person with an argument. So my friends with the crinkled noses, you’ll just have to trust me on the fragrance of the desert air. It is sweet in its own way.

Looking to the east I see no light yet and have only the sweet promise of the sun rising. This in itself is a reassurance we all too often take for granted. I am unable to see the constellation of Scorpio this morning due to an unusual fog bank lying low across the horizon. As I rouse myself to move out of the camper bunk, I move straightaway to the furnace. It has been rather temperamental this year and with this cold dampness, I’m looking forward to the soft whir of the furnace as it blows out that heated air that makes the camper warm and toasty. I click it on and step outside into the cold morning.

There is a northwest wind already blowing which immediately foretells a day with yet again unfavorable wind conditions. Surf check over before the sun rises. Darn this La Nina year! Slipping back inside expecting the warm greeting of a toasty interior but instead find the furnace is stubbornly choosing to sleep today. Hmm, it looks like no heat this morning either. I begin the process of layering my clothes and getting the coffee on.

About this time my husband is jostling about, focused on the furnace and why it won’t do what it is designed to do. It stubbornly refuses to crank up and even the coffee isn’t satisfying. The fog is thick, so thick you can’t see the ocean and hidden inside the hem of that layer of fog are the threads of disconsolation and worry for no reason. It begins slowly, insidiously with the problem of the heater and threads its way to other worries. My dear beloved cat was put to sleep five days after we arrived here in Conejo and no one was able to contact me. Woe. The “what if” train starts to roll. We are chug-a-lugging along and then I remember to fix my eyes on what is unseen rather than what is seen. Time for prayer, but for what? Heat? Not really, but it would be nice, right? I'm going to take the matter into my own hands and build a fire. So I begin positioning the wood in the ring. It’s cold and wet and damp. I’m able to get it to start up a bit and am momentarily a little hopeful but it dissipates into a smoldering, smoky, damp, ugly mess. No crisp, warm and crackling fire this morning.

Meantime, grumbles from the mate who is still attempting to get the furnace going. It just won’t crank up and spark to ignite the propane. He comes around the back of the camper with an assortment of wires. I ask him what the wires are for and he explains he is going to get it to spark and I should prepare myself for a loud explosion. Woe and now panic. He’s serious! I had an inspirational book beside me near the fire. No, not to use as the starter for the fire but for me to use as the starter for my spirit. What with all this stuff going on I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I open it randomly to a page that suggests I tell God exactly how I feel. “I can’t be quiet. I am angry and bitter. I have to speak!” So I begin my silent tirade to the Lord, expressing my fears, my discomfort, how I need his help, keep us safe, keep my sons safe. I need to speak to them but how? He can change it all; I give the reins back to him. I need Him! So many worries. I’m about to drown.

I douse the fire with water and give it a few stirs. The smoke mixes with the fog in a cloying cloud. The morning wasn’t pierced with a loud explosion and the heater still sleeps. So we sit in the morning fog watching our breath hanging in the cold, damp air.

 Moments later I look up and see a patch of blue through the gray. The fog slowly begins to lift. As it lifts I spot a friend’s truck on the bluff checking the surf. Robert hops on his bike and rides along the dirt path to the sea looking much like a Mexican peasant. The sky becomes bluer than gray. The sun begins to pour warmth in the morning. The coffee tastes better. My companion returns with the news that our friend has a cell phone with a signal and we can call home today. The rest of this day was blessed and golden and rich. Oh, and by the way, the heater started working too.

The Fire Ring

The Fire Ring

It was on a walk that I came across the fire ring. Long since abandoned and left by some travelers to this area. A small stack of dried wood in one pile and alongside a smaller pile of wood pieces used to get the fire going. It looked incredibly peaceful, a monument to a time where people had gathered under the stars either in solitude or in the company of others. I imagined the evening, the time of coming together and the circumstances.

I walk back to camp which is a good distance from the ocean this year as we wanted to enjoy the feel of the high desert and arroyo. We are perched on a small vista and our view is wonderfully panoramic. The sounds of the ocean are not the dominant force up here but are more the secondary melody of music.  They are the backdrop to the sounds of high desert life. On this vista, voices carry from places undetermined. The sounds of quail, osprey, frigates birds and coyote are mixed in with the wind and sea. It isn’t as damp as being camped right beside the sea. Another plus is the mouse population seems a bit tamer as well.

I fancied in my mind my fire ring and thus this day, since the surf was small, I decided to spend my morning designing my fire ring and collecting wood of various sizes to adorn and use in the evenings. I had no idea what a peaceful experience this would be. Since we are in the desert there are multitudinous boulders ranging in size from pebble-like to boulder size. The colors are many, varying in reds, to purples to slate to brown and black. I chose to create a multi-colored ring showcasing the various rock colors of the desert vista with some choice sea gems sprinkled about it. When I was satisfied with the ring my sweet mate had created a rope sling for me to carry the wood in. I had foraged this rope the day before when we were fishing. I had no idea of its use to me when I dragged it back home to camp but have found that many times the discovery of items or offerings from the sea has proven to be very useful.

I made several trips from the sea to camp. One plastic bag held the smaller chips of wood and the rope sling the larger. I balanced this on either side of the bike I rode. It was the gathering of the wood that was the sweetest, most delicious experience. The absolute simplicity of choosing the wood and using it for something was so satisfying. Just the using of what is around you to create something, like an evening fire is hard to convey in words, at least for me at this point in my self-expression.  I found myself thinking over what I read that morning in Scripture or singing songs of devotion to God. I thought of the people I love and the ones who strongly influenced my life. How God has gathered them up to me to keep my spirit in Him strong. How in this simple act of gathering wood for a fire could my faith grow? I don’t know, maybe because my mind wasn’t filled with all the trappings of a world gone awry. Removed for an hour from the spiraling funnel of a world oblivious to its connection to a Creator.

With the ring completed, the wood gathered I wait for the time when the sun is drawn into the sea. Oh, the sweetness of the evening fire is yet another story to be told one day, perhaps…

And this happens every day

I ‘ll see better when the smoke clears inside my head

And I can listen when the screaming doesn’t repeat everything I’ve said

All that remains is me and who I am at the end of the day

And this happens everyday…

This happens every day…

Toby Lightman

We’ve been at Rancho Conejo a full moon’s cycle. I’ve seen the morning tides high and the tides greet the dawn low. I’ve played in one of the Lord’s greatest playgrounds and came out unscathed and restored. I’ve felt the wind blow with fury heavy from the northwest and felt the gentle whisper of the wind off the desert combing back the surface of the Pacific yielding perfection. I wasn’t able to fish her waters but I prayed for fish and fish was given. I’ve praised God, pleaded to God and loved God. I sang sweetly to Jesus with my dear man on Christmas Eve in the still and dark of the night and knew where the light was. I cried when friends moved on. I’ve had the privilege of meeting a variety of people who share the same love for an area of the Baja peninsula that remains to this day barely touched. Too rugged for most but delightfully secluded for some. We found a wonderful location to store “Evie”. What a blessing she was as she carried us through this magical vacation. My mother’s namesake, I knew we were safe, she is with Him and He is with us.



As my sights turn to the New Year I’m eager for whatever lays ahead. Finding myself in need of a pause and being blessed to get one with a man that God has most assuredly touched in a special way and put into my life. Yes, my cup runneth over…
Vaya con Dios mi amigos