Ugly

This is an ugly lampshade.  When I bought it, I astounded even the store owners.  "You're going to pay that much...for that?  Really?"  (It cost about the same as a nice lunch.)  They had only stocked the items as a sort of favor.  I assured them, "It's ok.  I have  friend who loves ugly things.  You have no idea how perfect this gift is, and how much she will love it."  I don't think they were convinced.  But that's ok.

Upon initial review, it just looks quirky.  Orange and blue maze fabric?  Ok.  Creatively colored chicken?  Um, sure.  But stick a light bulb underneath the quirky shade, and it just looks like trash.  Because that's what it is -- half of a discarded plastic bottle with a bit of paint and paper.

What makes it perfect and beautiful for my friend is the story behind it.  The lampshade was made by street children in Uganda, and the proceeds from the sale go to a charity that is helping them to make their life better.  (Though, I think my friend would love it even without the story.  She really does love ugly things.) 

I feel a camaraderie with this lamp shade.  Upon initial review I'm colorful and quirky.  But illuminate me to the core and all my flaws become starkly apparent.  And it's not all that pretty.  But that's part of the testimony right?  I have a story.  I've been picked up and re-purposed.  Every time I let that light shine through my flaws and weaknesses, it's a chance for me to share that story.  (You paid how much?  For that?)  And the proceeds go to further a cause that brings life and hope into the dark places of this world. 

I'm loved...just as an ugly lampshade...chickens and mazes and all.  My story is just the bonus and a chance to share the light.

I'm so thankful I have a friend who loves ugly things.

Fished

I learned something while white water rafting down the Nile river.  (Can we pause for a second?  Isn't that a fun sentence?  White water rafting + Nile river = One memorable day.)  Anyway, back to my lesson:  There's nothing graceful about getting back into a boat.

Before hitting the more ferocious parts of the river, a group has to practice flipping over and getting back in their raft.  I entered the drill as a fairly confident adventurer.  Our guide said the trick is to grab the safety cord on the edge of raft, take a superman sort of position in the water, keep your arms locked, and use momentum from kicking your legs and pulling your arms just so to jump back in.  Easily described.  Easily watched.  Not so easy to do.

I failed miserably.

No matter now much I tried to readjust my posture, to kick my legs, to pull with my arms or to follow through with my momentum, I just couldn't do it.  I could barely raise myself out of the water, much less get all the way back up into the boat.

I had to be fished out the Nile by my guide.  Who literally grabbed my shoulders, wrenched me up and over the wall, and dumped me on the floor of the raft.  My outfit was discombobulated.  I still had to find my center of gravity and untangle myself from the floor to return to my seat.  It was not my most graceful moment.  At all.

It would be really easy to compare that to my unintentional sabbatical from blogging.  So I'll pause and acknowledge the parrallel.

Have you ever had to have one of "those" conversations?  The awkward ones?  The ones involving tough love?  Sometimes, no matter how perfect the form, how protective the gear, how determined the swimmer...a person could use a hand.  (Wait for it...wait for it...especially if that poor little swimmer is in denial.)  And if someone is floundering in the water, they'll never be able to survive the ferocious bits of the river. 

So if you're strong enough, if you have the foundation and buoyancy under you to support it, reach down, grab a shoulder, and pull.  It's not graceful.  Most likely there will be some discombobulation to sort through.  But once everything settled, the embarrassment passes leaving only gratitude in its wake. 

And then the fun begins.

iBand

I just loved this!  I hope you do too.

Merry Christmas!


North Point's iBand from North Point Web on Vimeo.

On Empty

I love dogs.  For many reasons.  But one of them is this:  they never travel on empty.  No matter how many times a dog goes, it seems they always have a little bit extra.  Just in case.  (That's true for the girls as well as the boys...believe me!) 

This is definitely a season where everyone is on the go.  But in the hustle and bustle, what if we made a conscious effort to never travel on empty?  To make sure we save a little patience, a little cheer, a little selflessness...just in case.  After all, you never know when you may come upon the proverbial fire hydrant...or tree...or rock...or fencepost...that needs a little special attention. 

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope." ~ Romans 15:13

Holding Hands

I have a quirk.  (Or a feature depending on how you want to look at it.)  I have a fragile pinkie.  It's been broken a few times.  (Twice by soccer, and once by volleyball.)  The last break was kind of serious, and while my finger still works...it's...well...fragile.

It aches when it's cold.  I have to budget how much I use it when I play violin.  I have a difficult time with the classic interlaced finger configuration displayed by twiterpated couples (that's a Bambie reference for those less Disney-inclined).  And if we're saying grace as a family and I'm next to a firm-hand-holder, I readjust our hold so that my pinkie is outside of the grip.  It just can't take it.

A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to have a designated hand-holder.  It didn't take him long to automatically readjust and accommodate my little quirk.  In fact, he would keep a lookout for any silent cues that I was hurting and would reach out and cradle my hand with his.  That winter, my little pinkie was looked after, held, protected, and warmed.   It was glorious.   I remember that season every time my hands get cold and my little finger let's me know it's still there and still quirky.

This year, the arrival of cold weather has me thinking:  It's not just pinkies that can be fragile.  We all have places that are sensitive.  Where we've been hurt and patched.  Where we have to budget how just much pressure and strain that area is allowed to bear.  Where we're just plain quirky.

This is my challenge to myself:  To think of myself as a designated hand-holder.  To look out for the broken pinkies of those around me.  To keep an eye out for silent cues that they're hurting, that maybe they've had enough stress or strain for one day, or maybe just that the cold weather is getting to them.  To readjust my thoughts and actions so that they are cradled, held, protected, and warmed. 

Wouldn't that just be glorious?

Arrhythmia

Thu-thud.  Thu-thud.  Thu-thud.

That's the reassuring sound a heart makes when it's beating.

Thu-thud.  Thu-thud.   Thu-thud.

What happens when a heart loses its rhythm?  Trouble, that's what.  Suddenly a body feels tired, fatigued, out-of-sync.  Which is no coincidence because that's exactly what's going on.  If the symptoms go unchecked or are too severe, sometimes a heart can stop beating completely.

Cue the dramatic medical scene.  *beeeeeeeeep*  The medical gadgets go crazy.  The doors open and a flurry of activity fills the room.  "Clear!" yells a doctor.  The flurry backs just far enough away to be safe.  *thunk!* All the heads turn back to the gadgets.  Beep. Beep Beep.  All is well again.

Thu-thud.  Thu-thud.  Thu-what?

The reassuring rhythm of my life flew out the window on me some time ago.  I didn't go into cardiac arrest (not right away anyway), but I'm not going to pretend that I haven't felt....well...tired.  Scatterbrained.  Out-of-sync.

What's a poor, arrhythmic girl to do?

Be wise enough to stop the flurry, take a step back, and yell "Clear!"  That's what.

Prioritize.  Prune.  Reset... It's not an entirely comfortable process.  But it's worth it to hear (and feel) that reassuring sound again.

Thu-thud.  Thu-thud.  Thu-thud.

Firing on all cylinders and ready to run.  In rhythm once again. (Not that I'm claiming to dance to a normal beat or anything.)


They were at their wits’ end.  Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed. (Psalm 107:27b-29)

Cassiopeia

While I was driving home last night, I noticed a familiar constellation rising above the horizon.  So when arrived I took a moment to just pause and look at the beautiful night sky.  After welcoming Orion, my eyes drifted above his head to the familiar "W" of Cassiopeia. 

I thought to myself, "Cass, I know what you feel like."  (Apparently I'm on nick-name basis with my constellations.  Who knew?)  She's one of just a few circumpolar constellations.  This means that she's close enough to the North Star that her constellation is visible all year long -- just like the Big and Little dippers.  But since she's sitting in a chair in her celestial portrait, it also means that she spends half her time upside down.  I can relate to that.

My world has been topsy turvey.  I've felt like I've been in over my head at moments.  But like Cassiopeia, I have my own Northern Star that I hold in the center of all my craziness.  And last night it was incredibly reassuring to remember that she's only upside down for half of the year. 

Thought to self:  "Just sit tight and hold on.  Things will turn right side up again."