The Escapades of the Swaddles

Someone wanted to show me "the clouds," so I stepped outside to see "the clouds." Instead, I saw him wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in the parking lot. With an apple on his head. I couldn't tell if he was coming or going. The white strips made him look like both a baby and a mummy (like the dead Egyptian kind). It was such a shameful waste of swaddles. You see, these weren't just your ordinary swaddles, but two-ply swaddles. But I managed to reuse them quite nicely. The apple, well...*sniff* it chokes me up a bit. It splatted on the ground in a subdued manner, spraying apple-flesh hither and yon. But, thinking on the bright side, the ants will enjoy it.

And that is my short story for the day.

Not Like Santa

Do you ever treat God like Santa? Sometimes I do.

Let's pretend it is close to Christmas and we are going to see Santa. We want to see him before he visits us with his slide down the chimney, so off to the mall we go. Unfortunately, the mall isn't simply next door. We have to drive, and it takes a long time to get there. When our journey ends, we get to wait some more, this time in line with lots of other people. Finally, finally, our turn to see Santa comes. We excitedly tell him the many things we would like from him. And then it's over.

Is that sometimes the way we approach God?

Except God isn't like that at all. I don't have to drive a long way to see Him. I don't have to wait for Him to come down my chimney. As a Christian, God is with me all the time, wherever I go. In fact, part of Him lives inside of me. I don't have to stand in line and wait my turn. He turns His head my way as soon as I speak; sometime before. Most importantly, talking with God isn't simply asking Him for the things I want. Who says one of us has to talk? Have you ever sat in silence with God?

I think God enjoys talking to me even more than I enjoy talking to Him. The first thing God says when I start listening to Him is "I love you." The second thing He says is "I love you." And then the third thing He says is "I love you." You see, He knows that I forget how much He loves me, and that I don't always trust His love.

I've been reading an inspiring book by Max Lucado called Just Like Jesus. I really like his writing style, but the subject he writes about is even better. Here's a quote that I'll share with you. It made me cry inside a bit.

"Conclude the day as you began it: talking to God. Thank him for the good parts. Question him about the hard parts. Seek his mercy. Seek his strength. And as you close your eyes, take assurance in the promise: 'He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.' (Ps. 121:4) If you fall asleep as you pray, don't worry. What better place to doze off than in the arms of your Father."

Working in the Light

I did something new yesterday. I wandered around telling people about the One who "came to touch the hardness of our hearts." I didn't approach it without apprehension, but as I'm finding more and more, the little fears never materialized. As the bundle in my hand shrank, the bundle in my head expanded. Have I ever said that my mind is bursting with thoughts? Nah, I didn't think so.

It could hardly have been a more beautiful day. I used to think nothing was prettier than a sunny summer day. That was before I tasted the vibrancy of dusty clear day of Indian summer. And when you mix in some twilight too... Which is why I went walking with a friend a couple evenings ago. The sights and sounds we discovered! A pumpkin cat sitting silently on a fence. Geese honking, wings whirring, floating blackly on a pale sky. Trees blushing at their reflection on still water. Lights glowing and beckoning through the dim. However, I have a question. Why do beautiful things hurt?

If Indian summer was a beverage, what colour would it be? Perhaps light blue with wisps of white and swirled with orange. Or maybe layered yellow, orange, and red. The only problem being if the colours mixed completely, you'd end up with a lovely brown hue. Appetizing! Or what would it taste like? Dying leaves? Dirt? Apple cider? Apple cider! I think it would be sweet and tangy and bitter. But no matter what, a shot of twilight would top it off perfectly. I wish I could fill of bottle with this delight and savour it year-round. Except I'm afraid the secret to its sweetness is its scarcity.

Too Much Green

If only this radar could detect aircraft. A certain POTUS and First Lord of the Admiralty wouldn't have believed it for a moment. In fact, they might have dropped dead. Even a contemporary air traffic controller would be shocked at the volume of information this thing displays. Alas, that is the essence of the problem. So perceptible and sensitive, it picks up everything. Unfortunately, "everything" is too much. If only there was a way to dismantle it, or leave it behind, or something. Good grief, even an off button would be rather handy.

The targets never suspect its presence. In most cases, they don't realize it exists. But woe to the carrier in an environment crowded with targets. The green blips will multiply. They will invade the screen. Every minute detail will appear. Only there are too many of them. The information will come faster and faster. No time to sort, process, or absorb it. This torrent will build up into a creeping pool of green. Don't underestimate its power to overwhelm. Perhaps it will drown you. The only way to reduce the flow is to reduce the number of targets. Flee! Except after you have vacated the zone, the echos will come. And then you will remember that you forgot to forget the instrument. Hurray. Perhaps there is a flip side.

If you identify, my condolences. If you don't, my congratulations.

-radar kid

Changing

Every day is a miracle. Today it was the drive to work. If I would have imagined hard enough, I could have pulled back gently on the wheel and floated up to tumble though the clouds. Mystical, magical, majestic clouds. Into a world of mixed contrasts: light and dark, sanguine and melancholy, stormy and calm. Willow-y wisps caressed towering grandeur. But today I was earth-bound. So I explored the clouds' footprints and watched them play cloud-games and do the hula laugh. Through the aged sunlit fields, under the arching burnished trees. The light and shadows drifted here and there, ever changing as they went. Dynamic-ism!

All the foliage was tired. But, strikingly, it didn't care. Rather it reveled in its ancientness; enjoyed it, even.  How? People always seem to dread getting old. They loose their beauty; but perhaps they're blind to the new beauty ancientness has given them.

Two Thoughts

No one is completely open-minded. And I doubt anyone is completely close-minded. Are you open-minded enough to accept your close-mindedness?

Now onto a different thought, here's a beautiful paragraph from the Max Lucado Daily, titled "The Same Hands."

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 21:4) Someday God will wipe away your tears. The same hands that stretched the heavens will touch your cheeks. The same hands that formed the mountains will caress your face. The same hands that curled in agony as the Roman spike cut through will someday cup your face and brush away your tears.

More Questions Than Answers

"Hey, how are doing?

"Fine, and you?"

"Pretty good."

Really. 

It's a knee jerk reaction. Of course I'm fine, what else would I be? Everything is always "fine." There is no such thing as pain or sorrow or depression or confusion. Yeah, right. And nothing ever goes wrong, does it.

Have you ever told someone that your life is falling apart, or that you are depressed and you don't know why? Has anyone ever replied to you in that way? Why can't I look at things the way they really are and say things the way they really are? 

Sometimes I'm scared of myself. I used to think I had a pretty good idea of who I was. Right now I have no idea. Sure, I know my personality and my interests, but why do I react this way, when everyone else seems to react a different way? Why do I say the things I do?  Or more aptly, why don't I say the things I don't say? Lol. I really don't know, but I know Someone who does.

No, right now everything is not going perfectly. But I'm not worried. When I admit to a problem, God can work with it. When I admit I need help, I can accept help. Between God, the exquisite thoughts He sends,  prayers, and friends, it is impossible to not succeed.

Word by Word

Finishing an enthralling book always fills me with elation. The rush to devour each chapter is over. A million and one ideas swirl through my mind; a million and one perspectives and experiences to digest. So much to learn from: people's reactions and interactions, different life styles, healing wounds, breaking hearts, humour in spite of hurt, and always an obstacle to conquer. The intoxication subsides after awhile, and I wonder at the journey through someone else's imagination. Fifty thousand words, maybe a hundred thousand, weaving an imaginary plot in an imaginary world.

Less Is More

I admire people who can say much with few words. Simple is profound. And now I shall likely disregard my preferences and ramble for awhile. When someone speaks simply and succinctly, their thoughts stay with me. When they don't, on the other hand, I have to sort and sift to find the point, and in the mean time, I've forgotten what they've said, and do you suppose this would be considered a run-on sentence?

I thought I was looking forward to winter. Apparently I was deceived.

I was rummaging in my closet, and suddenly, quite un-biddenly, a winter glove jumped out and plopped onto the floor. Shudder! I closed my eyes to the hateful thing. I've really enjoyed summer, and I'm ready for autumn , but please, no winter quite yet! By the time the snow starts flying I'll probably embrace it whole-heartedly, but just think of bundling up every time you head outside...

Mango Twilight

It happened a couple months ago and I don't know why I waited, but the time is... now.

Ironically, it was because the electric storm thwarted our electricity that I found myself relaxing: witnessing the most amazing light show I have ever seen.

The sun was heading for brighter lands. The thunder still sounded in the distance, the rain was still softly falling, and the last of the dilated orange sun dangled a rainbow in the evening sky. The clouds overhead soon stopped their weeping and the sun slipped out of sight. Something lingered. Elusive light mingled around. I thought it was bright - until I tried to see. I thought it was dark - until I soaked up the glow. Everything was drenched in orange light. Long ago should the land and sky have been dark, but they refused to be. On and on it lasted. And on and on I watched. The trees, the sky, the clouds, the grass, the fresh rain; all were saturated in light. But the source was gone. It was half-light. No shadows, no glare, no distinct light or dark; nothing describes it better than glow.

The earth slowly diffused its light and the program ended. I think the answer lies in the clouds, quite literally. The clouds that initially covered the sun were the same clouds that reflected the sun's rays long after I could see them. In the simplest sense, they were a mirror. 

I always knew I liked indirect lighting.