Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Not Alone

I've been reading through the One-Year Chronological Bible for a few years now. I'm not sure which is more interesting to me: the NLT's take on the scriptures or the notes I've made in the margins. Sometimes, I date the notes. Sometimes not. Sometimes the notes are observations. Most times, they're questions. Sometimes, they're prayers.

I read these verses today:
Isaac lived for 180 years, and he died at a ripe old age, joining his ancestors in death. Then his sons, Esau and Jacob, buried him. (Genesis 35:28-29)
My note in the margin? A prayer that I still feel in a visceral way:
2012...Please, LORD, restore Sarah to our family before we have to bury our parent(s).
Morbid? Maybe. I think about it, though. Even with the phone number I have for her, my sister is still gone from me. The hole she left hasn't closed up any. Our parents aren't growing younger or healthier, and it's still just me to take care of them.

Maybe it would feel different if we had another sibling, a third party to stand with either or both of us.

I don't know. She is my only sibling. Although God has provided sweet sister-hearts for me through His family, my family of origin will always be only the four of us. No one else can go back and grow up with me.

My hugest source of comfort? Jesus was there in my family of origin. He's still here with me now. And He is with my sister, wherever she chooses to walk. He is the sibling who stands with each--and both--of us.

He will be there when our parents are buried.

(so overwhelmed with gratitude right now...)

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Community Fail (on How I Joined the "31 Days" Community 2 Days Late)


I have to be honest: it seems that I'm not that great with community. God keeps calling me out to be vulnerable and not hidden, but man! It seems like when I stick my heart out there, it gets stomped on. Or "that's nice; thanks for sharing" and no more reach from the other person.

So I tend not to reach out and stay the course toward real community. But I'd like to change that tendency.

My daughter has a long list of "hidden disabilities" (dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyspraxia--the big troubler, auditory processing disorder, plus an extremely sensitive spirit), and we homeschool. She's 12 and thinking of herself as a "big baby" whenever little things make her cry. Whewy. It still makes me mad to cry in front of people, even my husband. But that's another post for another day.

I post once a week at another sweet blog community (chosenfamilies.org), telling Cami stories and God stories, but not many Candi stories. My pen name over there (which is my actual given name, but no one knows me by that name) is Cassandra.

I guess that's it: that's how I feel: no one knows the real Candi/Cassandra/me.

So here I am. Determined to excavate the actual me in this space I've called "Excavations" for so long. Not sure if I'll write every day, or if I'll be brave enough to write at all.

I can only be sure of this minute, this now, of where and when I am.

In every moment, I just need to be.


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Crocuses On My Walk

Have you ever noticed how crocuses just appear one day?
They pop up in the most unexpected places.
At the base of a random tree

In the daffodil patch
Among last year's leaves (Look closely)
A splash of lavender against brown


Crocuses don't seem to mind whom they bloom beside.
Yellow crocus hanging out with the local seed pod
If it's a sunny day, they're open to the possibilities.

They can even make a crown.
Crocus Tiara
But if the clouds hide the sun, their petals hide their hearts. 
Thank You, Jesus, for hope. . .
. . . and crocuses.