MY Story

I heard their young voices shout, “To infinity and beyond!” as they chased each other around the school yard playground. They were in their imaginary worlds filled with roaring dinosaurs, battle cruisers, dragons, and fairy princesses; a mish mash of every storybook and cartoon character they have known and loved. A child’s imagination abandoning the strongholds of the world, transcending the boundaries of gravity, space and time. Their playful energy and voices carrying their fantastic stories through the air to my listening ears. Their incredible imaginations let loose to travel through the limitless expanses of the universe during a fifteen minute school recess.

Oh to dream the dreams of a child again! To not be weighted down by the cares and concerns of the realities of life. The heaviness that keeps my feet firmly planted on the ground, rather than soaring on those ephemeral wings that children miraculously sprout whenever they wish to leave the confines of the earth’s orbit.

I remember my pretend days. The days I wrapped myself in my creative cocoon to write an adventure of pure make believe. I became immersed in my character’s life. It was like putting on a new skin, seeing the world through new eyes, experiencing sights, and sounds from a perspective I could only imagine in my head. I could be bold, adventurous, and dangerous without leaving my house. I could not only ponder infinity, I could somehow wrap myself in it, around it and through it!

It’s a sorry heart condition when that sense of childlike wonder, and amazement fades and is replaced by adult cynicism. Optimism is replaced by pessimism. Fear freezes the soul, and dark shadows block out the light. I have wrestled with it all.

My second battle with cancer took something precious away from me. A creative spark. The creative pursuits that gave me such joy: writing, reading, painting, and crafting, I’ve struggled to take up again. I haven’t been able to blog regularly, suffering from persistent writer’s block. I’ve even contemplated shutting down “Journey Thoughts”, deleting all content, and fading into the world-wide web oblivion.

It is not a coincidence that over the last month, I have heard three different testimonies from people who have struggled in various ways, but have found their voice to share their God-inspired stories to encourage others. One common theme intertwining their testimonies: we all have a story to tell—-so tell it!

It has challenged me. In order to tell MY story I need to re-ignite my imagination. I need to once again dream the dreams of a child; to go to “infinity and beyond!” MY story is not confined to time and space. MY story was written before I was born. MY story is filled with heroes and soldiers of the faith, of miracles and experiences that defy logical explanation. MY story is about overcoming obstacles, going on quests, battling giants. MY story has no genre, but a combination of all: historical, romantic, fantasy, non-fiction…unique. MY entire story hasn’t been written yet, but God’s working on it. It’s an ongoing, adventurous journey, fraught with ups and downs. Maybe He will allow me to entitle a long chapter of My story: “Pitfalls, Pratfalls, and Pinnacles”. It seems fitting.

One thing I know for sure is I have a story to tell so I must tell it!

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Making Summertime Memories

My husband and I have remarked so very often that we are “summer people”. We often wonder why we have settled in an area that has a winter climate eight months a year, when we seem to love summer so much? I guess that is one reason we try to squeeze every bit of summertime living into those few months, making the most of being outdoors and soaking up all the sunshine and warmth we can before winter is once again upon us.

Our family has grown by one precious granddaughter in July. Our sixth grandbaby. Watching my baby girl with her baby girl fills my heart with joy. The new parents are a team, navigating the first couple of weeks of parenting learning as they go. They will learn as I have that time goes by so swiftly. One minute, I am rocking my child in my arms, the next moment I am rocking her child in my arms! It’s hard to fathom.

It’s like summer. I’m soaking up all that time spent with my children and grandchildren, making memories now, because this season in time is so short.

Wise Solomon wrote these words of wisdom and I ponder them today:

A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace.

There’s an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:

But in the end, does it really make a difference what anyone does? I’ve had a good look at what God has given us to do—busywork, mostly. True, God made everything beautiful in itself and in its time—but he’s left us in the dark, so we can never know what God is up to, whether he’s coming or going. I’ve decided that there’s nothing better to do than go ahead and have a good time and get the most we can out of life. That’s it—eat, drink, and make the most of your job. It’s God’s gift.

I’ve also concluded that whatever God does, that’s the way it’s going to be, always. No addition, no subtraction. God’s done it and that’s it. That’s so we’ll quit asking questions and simply worship in holy fear.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-14 (The Message)

Thank-You, Lord for this choice season!

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Dragonfly Dance

Blue fairies of the garden, 
I watched their dance
As they pirouetted around the lavender.

The gossamer wings delicately folded one moment
Perfectly still, catching their breath,
Only to spin and twirl in harmony with the breeze.

Was it rehearsed? I wondered.
A courtship of sorts,
With the dancers hearing a melody I was not attuned to.

It seemed joyful, and sensual, and frantic.
A pas de deux that was uniquely choreographed
But captivatingly improvised as well.

I was lost in their revelry,
Transfixed by their gambol
For a few glorious moments in time.

Their ballet left me mesmerized.
I wanted to cheer, “Encore!”
When they suddenly fled the stage.

Instead, kneeling on the brick, with my spade in hand,
I whispered a thoughtful, “Bravo!”
As I returned to my weeding.



Update: This post garnered a 2023 Word Award in the General Blog Category!

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