Sour Grapes

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She clipped the gnarled vine carefully and pulled it through the tangled web of interlocking branches. Once free, she examined it carefully, proudly even, and then tucked it under her arm as she laid down the pruning shears. Triumphantly she turned and carried her piece of grapevine to the car. She was eager to get home. 

Once she arrived she parked the car and hurried to the house. She scraped the mud off her boots and hung her coat up in the mudroom. The nip of fall hung all around her and the crackling fire was a welcome respite after being outside all morning. She laid the cut vine on her dining room table, eager to be in front of the woodstove. As the warmth of the fire began to penetrate her chilled bones she gazed across the room at the vine branch resting on the table. She grinned. She was going to have grapes! Perhaps she'd even be able to make wine someday. 

The vine branch lay on the table day after day after day. Each time she walked past it she thought about the deep purple fruit she'd seen on the grape arbor from where this piece had been cut. She smacked her lips in anticipation some days, envisioning grape jelly on her toast, or a pretty ceramic bowl filled with the juicy plump goodness of grapes. Tart, sweet and dripping with juice. That was how she pictured it. And she would pat the withering vine and wonder again, how long it would really take for her little branch to bare fruit. 

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Are you wondering when she is going to plant this clipped vine? Do you know as well as I do that as long as this cut off branch lies on her kitchen table, without soil and nourishment, nothing, and I mean, NOTHING, will grow? 


Ah, how foolish this person is, thinking that all she had to do was cut off the branch and bring it home and just lay it on the table and expect fruit to come from it. Yet, how often do I follow the same foolish path in my own life. I know how much I need to spend time in God's Word, and in communication with Him and with other believers, yet I foolishly commit the same mistake over and over again. I forsake my quiet time of reading His Love Letter to me, in favor of other things. I neglect studying His Word or seeking His face in prayer and supplication. I forgo my quiet time thinking I'll be fine without it. Or I do my time in the word and then walk away, taking little if anything with me, forgetting all about applying what I've read to my life. 


And then I notice things.... my writing feels dry and withered. I lack enthusiasm for life and the people who love me. I am dried up, shriveled and thirsting for even a drop of Spiritual moisture. I become as brittle as the cut off branch on the middle of the kitchen table. And if by some miracle I was able to produce grapes under these conditions, they would certainly be sour ones. 


The scripture that comes to mind right now is found in John 15.5: Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing. 

Like the grapevine withering on the table, I need to be grafted back into the love and life that only Jesus can give. How about you? 

Let Me Tell You About It

With hubby working every minute of every day, time alone together, uninterrupted and focused, is precious.

After weeks of watching him work exhaustively, with little return on his investment, listening to him grouch and grumble, I start to reach MY breaking point too. I try to give him room for his mood, because after almost 16 years of marriage, I know this is just how it goes. I know this will blow over and things will smooth out.... Still, there comes a time when I have to check in.... "Honey, are WE okay?"  Of course we are is his usual response-- it's just him. Now, while I understand that feeling, and even experience it for myself from time to time.... what he fails to remember, is something that I wonder doesn't happen to lots of married couples... When YOU are not OKAY, then WE are not okay.... because WE are ONE. What affects you, affects me. When you hurt, I hurt....  it does us all good to remember that from time to time and change our attitude and temperament to reflect that....

When I learned he was planning to work yet another Saturday, cleaning up at the job site, I decided I would join him. I may not be able to do a lot of physical labor as intensive as what he had planned but I could offer moral support, a ready smile and maybe even sneak in a little uninterrupted focused on us time?

Well, it was a good thought!!

We separated lumber, lugged junk, picked up tools, and tidied up the job site. Soon the site was looking pretty spiffy, the junk trailer was ready to be hauled to the dump and we'd made good time. Until it was time to hook up the trailer. We had the wrong ball hitch. The right ball hitch for towing was in the garage. At home.

So.... home we went, about 10 minutes one way.... not a big deal but still a little bit of a hassle when we had a schedule we dearly wanted to keep. But despite the wrinkle, soon we were on our way to the dump...

and about half way there some sputtering alerted us to another wrinkle in our plan.... we were running out of gas.

The gas gauge in Big Yellow hasn't worked in a long time... He keeps track of his fuel with copious sticky notes of figures on the dashboard, and it works most of the time.... but every once in awhile.... well, let's just say there is a reason he keeps gas containers in the back of the truck!

Alas, the containers were EMPTY. Thankfully, we ran out on 1. a back country road (opposed to a dangerously busy highway) and 2. we pulled off the road right next to a house that had a gregarious gentleman sitting on the front porch who was happy to run Bruce to the nearest gas station!

Soon we were putt-putt -putting back down the road and unloading our junk at the dump. Dump Dates have long been a fun adventure for the two of us as we often have the most reflective, passionate, and heart revealing conversations... I'm not sure why, but I think there is a metaphor of cleaning out junk from our lives that going to the dump symbolizes. This day was no different but it was very warm, we were trying to scrape all this garbage out of the trailer and I wasn't as much help as I'd have liked to be... and frankly, the dump STINKS. I was glad when we pulled out of there.

We had a couple other stops that afternoon and I just kept smelling the dump... it was trapped on my clothes, my skin, in my nose. I could think of nothing better than a hot shower. I suppose the fact that we sort of skipped lunch might have helped to contributed to my quickly fading energy and patience.

It was a good time for me to remember that when I'm not OKAY, then WE are not okay....

We got home, I washed my hands and threw some ginormous bakers in the oven and hit the shower. We ate a hearty dinner of baked potatoes and butter beans with baked apples for dessert and called it a night. Or, I did anyway. Hubby was back on the computer, finishing up another item on his to-do list.

I'm glad we had those few hours, grubby as it was.

cold shoulder, sore shoulder

Yesterday, it seemed, was about the shoulder.

it was Wednesday, the day I usually spend with mom. She had a doctor's appointment, then we planned to get lunch and hit a few other places for sake of 'the list'. What has happened to customer service?

The women who work the desk at the doctors office seem to have forgotten how to smile. To say good morning. To care. It takes so little effort really to turn the corners of our mouths UP and offer some pleasant exchanges. Perhaps I am more aware of this common courtesy since going back to work at Curves where part of my job is all about servicing the members.

The hostess who took our money at the lunch buffet did not meet our eyes. She did not welcome us or greet us in any way. She looked at us with a flat expression except for pursed lips, told us how much the total was and did not even say thank you when we handed over the money. I tried unsuccessfully to engage her but she was seemingly uninterested.

I should point out that at both the doctors and the restaurant we were the only people there. It's not like it was a busy, hustling bustling place.

There seems to be be less store employees on the floor in the large stores, making it harder to ask for help. Mom and I wandered around trying to find products and hoping to find a store clerk who might point us the in the right direction.

I guess we were invisible. 

At the last place I shopped yesterday I waited for a dressing room to try clothes.  Again, I tried making eye contact with the young lady who was working behind the counter but she seemed quite consumed with something on her counter. I have shopped this store before and have usually been offered the bathroom as an alternative dressing room when the dressing rooms are occupied. Perhaps this young lady thought I was a new store mannequin draped with several sale items because my presence was never acknowledged.  Yet when I finally slipped into a dressing room, as I tried on my selected clothing, I heard the sales girl offer the bathroom as a back up dressing room to another customer who was waiting.

Interesting!

Later, as I shared with my husband about my tiring day, the lack of customer service, and as I whimpered over my very sore shoulder, which had decided to act up ALL DAY LONG, hubby offered me some words to consider:

Perhaps God is trying to teach us something about humility. About learning to get along with out the need for acknowledgment or words of affirmation.  Words of Affirmation are so vital to most of us. Well, it is certainly my husbands love language and while I may not claim it as mine, I definitely feel injured when affirmation is not forthcoming. 

Perhaps we are being given opportunities to give with out receiving anything in exchange. And to not be defined by these things. Just because we are treated as invisible does not mean we ARE. We should not let these things feed our self esteem.... feed the LIES that the enemy wants us to swallow. Maybe these are the times where really SERVING Christ comes into play. After all it is easy to serve someone who appreciates it but serving someone who treats you with disdain or indifference? That is when we get the opportunity to really SHINE the Light of Christ.

As it says in Matthew 5, if we love only those who love us, what reward is there for that? If we are kind only to our friends, how are we different from anyone else? As a Christ follower, I have a higher calling. To love as Christ loves. To love regardless of circumstances.

Regardless of cold shoulders or sore shoulders. 

Rest for My Soul

9 years ago, in a moment of desperation I told to my husband that I wanted to run away from home. I wanted nothing more than to escape to a sterile hotel somewhere and do nothing for 48 hours. He looked at me like I was quite possibly deranged. He tried to qualify my statement by paraphrasing. "You mean you and I running away for a weekend." (Not a question.)

I shook my head quite vehemently. "No, not you and me. Just me. Alone."

I wasn't mad at him or wanted to leave him. We hadn't been fighting. It was just that life had gotten incredibly crazy and my house was too full and my personal bubble had been seriously invaded. And I wanted nothing more than to be completely alone with no pressures, no expectations, no obligations or responsibilities.

I never did get my 48 hours of solitude and I did survive the crisis but when ever life has dished out some rougher times I have returned to that particular little dream of holing up somewhere by myself to just 'be.'

Oh, sure I have had lots of alone times at home. Bruce goes on his 'wild at heart' adventures with the boys or on a mission trip and I am home alone and I do fine. But there's just something about going to another space to rest and relax....

here I am this week living out my little dream.....
someone else is preparing the meals and cleaning up the bathroom and even making the bed. With one click of a switch I have a romantic warm fire burning and I never have to throw a log on the fire. The bed sinks softly around me, enveloping me with clean pristine sheets and comforter, the quietness soothes me.

I took a walk yesterday in the frigid air, bright sunshine making it possible to endure the biting cold. The possibilities for a walk were endless; over 5 miles of trails to choose from in a garden that come summer time must be breath taking.

Even so, in this winter shrine, the stark beauty stirs me.

Twisted vines, frost bitten plants, scruffy bushes, frozen ponds, hopping robins scratching out food to survive.

For an hour I explored the garden and breathed in deeply the invigorating air. When my nose was as shiny as Rudolf and my toes were numb I  finally headed back to my hotel room where my cheerful fire awaited me. I snuggled under the blankets and mindlessly channel-surfed. I skyped with my sister, I shared photos on facebook. I sipped coffee and made a carefree lunch of meats and cheeses. And my soul sang from the activities.

When Bruce got home from his day of labor, we dressed up and went for dinner in the resort's dining room. Feasted on Pacific NW Salmon and shrimp and scallops and rice pilaf and fresh steamed winter vegetables. Drank far too much wine and laughed hysterically over everything. We came back to our room and collapsed on the bed, fully connected in heart and soul.

I have expressed to him that this week, despite all the hardships we endured to finally get here, is such a gift to me. To think that with out much effort on his part, he has provided me with the perfect birthday gift, giving me more than 48 hours. He understands me so much more than he did 9 years ago. Understands my need for rest and solitude as necessary ingredients to a healthy balance in my psyche. So when I thank him again for this week, he merely looks at me and grins.

the Fuglies**

do you ever get them? the fuglies I mean? funky ugly moments that make you crawl back into bed and ignore the ringing phone... dishes in the sink.... chores and responsibilities....

I used to think the fuglies were related to my depression but if you have been on anti-depressants for this long and your depression isn't running your life anymore because those anti-depressants are working, then you can't really blame the fuglies on being depressed.

fuglies just ARE.

little black moods that descend from time to time, usually following a busy week or a lack of sleep or a cold rainy day or a prolonged absence of chocolate....

funky-ugly is often associated with house decor that needs to be re-gifted and quickly, but I find fuglies in my brain and my heart every so often and like hair in a drain it clogs things up rather quickly. It annoys and frustrates me. Like a spider web across the doorway it even creeps me out. Other times the fuglies just linger like a shadow, not quite touching but still casting a cloud over the rest of life.

I can't box these up and tote them to the goodwill but I can try and recast them in a better light. My bible and worship music are 2 of the best fugly sweepers I have (with chocolate a close 3rd) but sometimes it is so much easier to just give in to the fuglies and let it sweep me. 

I don't stay in them for long. Usually a day in my jammies alternating between bed and couch, naps and books, is sufficient enough time. It just seems easier to let the fuglies run their course.


**DISCLAIMER: in urban lingo I discovered fugly means something else-- something rather uglier than just funk and I wish to go on record that MY version of fugly means funky ugly.