Trust in their eyes

A small boy jumps on a trampoline. He invites you to join him…you realise you are totally unfit and jumping up and down should become a more regular routine in order to not feel like this…exhausted…wheezing…light-headed…

BUT OH SO GLORIOUSLY HAPPY!

The honour of being invited by a 3-year old onto his sacred play area…the beautiful honour of him WANTING you to share his space with him.  Is there anything more worth attaining…more satisfying…more pure?!

What have I done to deserve this?

Children aren’t easily deceived…I believe they know…see right through us.  I can not pretend and then ingratiate myself to a small child…they are too smart…too wise…too in touch with the beauty of this world, for us to be able to lie to them with the darkness that sets upon our souls along the years.

Am I being too dark?

Not my intention…

But in order to see the light side, we sometimes have to admit the dark side.

If the most special and content and light moment of my week has been the blonde 3-year old who out of nowhere threw his arms around my neck…in TRUST!!!…then I will question the rest of my week with honesty in order to look for more ways of attaining this contentment at a more regular basis.

NO…I am not planning a career of becoming a pre-school teacher.

But I am adjusting my priorities.  What are the beauties of life?

Creating the ring of trust that that boy entrusted me with…for others.

Sharing time and meals with people who are as honest as children…not those out for power and manipulation.

Praying for individuals to experience a release of pain and sorrow to return (at least in part) to a place where less things of their past haunt them.

So many precious things found in the presence of a blonde-haired boy.

Thank you little one

I will be in search for more of that

Matt 19

forbid them not…for to such belongeth the kingdom of heaven

Porcelain or plastic

Its all about how we see ourselves…that’s how we ascertain what we (think we) can accomplish…or survive.

A beautiful white vase standing on a table…someone walks by…purely by accident the table is bumped and the vase topples over.

Someone’s intention? No

Vase broken? YES

In my head…I was this vase.  Through life and people’s actions and choices, I always thought I would be pushed over…and break. It is why I live with fear.  It is why I miss (missed) out on life.

Will I get the answer wrong of the maths equation in front of everyone in class and never be able to show my face again at school?

Will I blunder in putting the presentation together and never be able to work again?

Will I be flustered when asked something in a meeting and die of embarassment of conflict?

Will I be lost-never-to-fully-function-again if a relationship doesn’t work out?

In all of the above…I have learnt so far…that the answer is NO.

The vase is never irreparably damaged…

No, sorry, I got that wrong again.

Its not that the vase doesn’t break…it is that I’ve discovered that I am not a ceramic vase.

Made of some other substance that God has woven into my being, I am able to bounce back, think, survive, talk, function…HANDLE the situations that come my way.

Plastic (not as romantic or pretty hey…)

Iron (bit harsh for a girl I guess)

Can we settle on Copper then? Yes

Fulfilling the same Purpose as Ceramics, a Copper Vase will still hold your flowers…but she certainly looks and survives differently.  She may get a dent…a scratch…but destroyed beyond repair?  No.

That was the other thing…the idea of fulfilling a purpose.  In seeing myself as so breakable, there were so many things I never even tried for fear of being bumped over…and there…I lost out on so many experiences.

But put this copper vase on any mantle piece or table now, cause she wants the view and its okay if something unplanned happens (by life’s accident or purpose)

This is not being cocky…this is not being naive about how harsh life can be.

This is just realising that I was crafted in a stronger fashion than I once thought and in realising this, some fears disappear…resulting in so much more being attempted…

As His ambassadors, so much can be done…if I put myself out there to try.  I won’t break…He made me this way…and He made me well. (and let’s not even go into the fact that He is always present…always helping…always supplying His power, nevermind my own…story for another day)

Luke 10

I have given you authority…over the power of the enemy…nothing shall hurt you

I will honor you on a wall

Life is the building of a house.

The foundation of my parents’ involvement

The walls of the choices I make and the values I choose to follow.

The roof of the people I allow near me…to guard me

The door of my God who I want as the main attraction in my life.

And then there are the decorations.  Everything inside.

What furnishings do people see when I am near them? Are they comfortable on the chair I choose to converse with them?  Do they like the food of thought I prepare on a plate? Do they stub their toe against a rock on my lawn or can they relax on the grass which allows them to just be?  Do I want them to be comfortable? Or am I the type of person who wants to bring a challenge all the time?  No right or wrong…just my choice of what I want to leave in theit minds…

But I’m getting to a very particular decoration.  The paintings against my wall.  My stories…my experiences.

Someone recently left my life.  It was sad…yes, I was heartbroken…because the beauty of what was, was beyond precious to behold and difficult to let go of.  But “move-on” I had to…because he wasn’t coming back and I had to look after myself.

I could have taken an easy route…: put the face of this one I loved on the floor of my house and paint over it with a new face…as if it never was.  Start from a corner and destroy the colors and contours of this great being.

But I didn’t want to.  That would have been worse in the long run.  Why? Because the time he spent in my building was precious…why forget it?  He invested in my life? Why not acknowledge it? It was beautiful while it lasted, so why destroy it?

So I did this:

On a canvas I will put your face

the life you lived with me for short

And honored on a wall inside me

your picture will now resort

I will paint over no face, I will deny no hand in my life.  Value there came with every person who crossed my doorway…and in honoring that…I live with no regret.

And every person after him who enters through my door…I will tell the story with love and appreciation…and my the painting bless and inspire them…as it will always bless me.

Rom 8

…to them that love God all things work together for good…

Dance of life

It’s a wedding…one of the various I am to attend before my own big day arrives…whenever that will be.

One of the high-lights always – for my band of friends anyway – is the dancing: the opening of the dance floor, the fun and laughter as everyone joins in.  And then I start to wonder: what would my day be like when this time arrives.  I do not come from a dancing-kind-of-family.  Not that I mind: I like dancing, but I’m not an addict…or is it that I simply haven’t discovered the magic of it?

Here’s the thing: My friends consist of various couples who, when looked at as individuals are definitely not dancers.  Some I have known before they found their life-partners and then it always surprises me to find them on the dancefloor doing funky steps and quite at ease with themselves, where previously they would never have dreamt of it.

And then the beautiful picture emerges: so many of my friends found their dance-gurus in their partners.  Nerdy boys who are shy in so many respects, bloomed into self-assured dancers, learning steps for the sake of their wives, and discovering the joy of it for themselves.  Shy girls who  wouldn’t think of doing anything in front of a crowd, setting the dancefloor on fire simply because their other half is beside them.  Individuals with no beat at all, taking over the beat from their other halves – realizing the how to and when.

It is as if dancing is language and chapter of life all on its own.  To feel so at ease with yourself and the other person that you would let them guide you in a new, unknown direction…because that’s the flipside: the worst feeling is to feel uncomfortable on the dancefloor, to make a move and realize the rest are thinking you absurd…dancing in a group and being the last one left over.  But in the eyes of various couples I have seen that change to a attitude of “I don’t care anymore, because there is one person who LIKES my dancing, who ACCEPTS my dancing, who IMPROVES my dancing, who JOINS my dancing…and the rest don’t matter!”.

I pray that I can have that attitude about various things in life, and yes, more and more I hope that that same belief about God as the one inspiring these thoughts would become more and more present and reality.  But we were made to partner with humans as well.  God made us for eachother.  May we find (and choose) the ones who would make us…not necessarily EXPERT dancers…but CAREFREE dancers!

It is such a simple thing, but such a perfect metaphor for what our partners are supposed to be for us, isn’t it?  A teacher of what life can bring us if only we dare to venture out…showing us what has been inside us all along…and the best of all: to dance WITH someone is so much better than dancing alone: the sharing of life, makes life all the richer!

The dance of life: learning the steps and realizing you weren’t as bad at it as you thought you were.

Now, come partner, I’m waiting on the edge of the dance floor, ready to go.  All that’s missing is you!