My hope is to offer encouragement to writers as well as those who simply love to read. You will find eclectic snippets here—news of projects I’m working on, comments regarding books I enjoy, favorite authors, quotes, and reflections regarding my own experiences. I especially like to write about my dreams—those parables in the night seasons. Symbols and metaphors delight and intrigue me. You will find them here.
The complexity of death is like a thousand rooms, difficult to accept--memories of the one gone like narrow lines of light at the bottoms of doors, locked for eternity.
This is how I feel as I stand in front of those locked doors grieving my colleague who died this week. Over the last year he'd been having some medical problems, but he'd been back at work, and we'd been finding a rhythm again--a rhythm that we'd forged for over a decade. I grew to know what he was thinking before he even spoke. He knew when I was likely to forget an item or two and completed the task without criticism. We did not socialize outside of work, but I knew details of his family and he mine. He had a way of listening to everybody, really. But he listened to me too. He'd place his hand on his chin and provide full attention, his gray-blue eyes locked on mine. When I finished speaking, he might sit quietly and nod, or say something so salty or funny that I instantly felt better. He could read the moment and knew what to say. Some days we were so busy, I hardly ever saw him. Other days, we worked side by side. We could be quiet together without saying anything. We trusted each other.
One regret, dear world, that I am determined not to have when I am lying on my deathbed is that I did not kiss you enough.~Hafiz
I felt surprise. I posted a "tweet" on my Twitter page that drew a volume of "likes" and "retweets." The tweet simply read: We should all kiss more. I'd even believed the tweet was slightly dumb, and thought of deleting it. Yet I had tweeted it for two reasons. The first is that I so enjoy a lovely kiss from my husband, the warmth and affection of his lips welcomed, especially after a heavy day spent in the halls of duty at work.
The second reason is that I do believe that God's affection toward me is so like a pleasurable kiss. He makes His presence known to me and I feel the velocity of His affection revive and invigorate me on the pilgrim way that is my life. And I do believe that He wants me to feel His affection in my emotions. My relationship with God is not merely a cognitive, robotic alliance. My relationship with Him is filled with experiences that I cherish.
Every now and then I share an excerpt from the book I'm currently writing. The working title is The Intensity of Romantic Gestures. (I've found that working titles are often subject to change,) The book picks up where An Ocean Away leaves off. While the new book continues to reflect my experience in marriage, it much more chronicles a spiritual journey, God's gestures, too, mysteriously, uncannily romantic.
It's all so beautiful--the spring--and books and music and fires--why aren't they enough?--Kathleen Norris
I awakened to the incessant beeping of my alarm. Was the night's rest already over? Could it be that those seven hours had evaporated so quickly? The clock face did not lie. I lay there in my darkened room not filled with happy expectancy for the day. Instead, my mind began to enumerate all I had to accomplish at work; the "what ifs" and worrisome thoughts soaring like deadly arrows straight for my heart. "What ifs" in my life usually come in the form of fear of the future: "What if I really don't have what it takes to retire and move abroad with my husband?" "What if I never get good at the language?" "What if I run out of money?" "What if I can't handle missing my children and grandchildren who remain in the States?" "What if I get some horrible medical problem and I can't explain what's wrong with me in my second language?" The "what ifs" began to spin into a cacophonous blur. I had to face the day.
Gratefully, I'm learning to better manage episodes of the "what ifs." My most helpful coping skill is allowing God to speak to me by words that He has provided over the years and months. I keep them tucked away in journals, on scraps of paper, underlined in my Bible. It's almost as if I just need to get to the staircase that I know leads to the light. I can almost hear the light at the top of the stairs. I simply need to begin climbing up toward that sound--that sound of His voice that I recognize...
The words came quietly through a text on my cell phone. After almost eight years, there was good news.
My husband and I bought our house several years ago without realizing what was at stake regarding the property. At the time of purchase, all we knew is that we had a brick home on a large piece of land, our privacy guaranteed on a road with no outlet--a lovely tidal creek at the end of our street. It was our place in the sun, the beach just minutes away.
We soon learned, though, that there was heated and controversial debate in our city regarding a massive road project to extend an already existing parkway. And that extention would go right through our street, the tidal creek destroyed. Our hearts grieved not only for the possibility of losing our privacy and home value, but also for the potential destruction of the distinct and lush geography that typifies the Lowcountry of South Carolina, and the habitat for so many tidal creatures that live and feed at the creek.
Giovanni and I became active with a group fighting the project. We attended strategy sessions for the group and countless city council meetings in order to lend a voice against the project. We wrote letters to the editor. It appeared at almost every turn, however, that we fought a losing battle. The city council approved the project. There was one problem. A big one. When the idea for the road was birthed, over 400 million dollars of the Infrastructure Bank of South Carolina was set aside for completion. Now after so many years of postponements and delays, the project would now cost over 700 million dollars. The city council wanted to move forward witih a penny sales tax to cover the extra millions. But that ten-word text after all these years and controversy settled things. I read: "The South Carolina Infrastructure Bank voted to kill the project."