The Fiery Colors of Living

We sat last night on our patio with the 47 family, captured in Colorado's near perfect net of crisp mountain air and warm autumn colors. It occurred to me, sitting there, that those cantaloupes, sages, burnt embers, and goldenrods of our backyard grove wouldn't be there tomorrow. Not precisely. Not the same hues. By morning - heck, even by nightfall - leaves will have fallen, wind-shaken by the same breeze chilling our skin the same way it was chilling the remaining foliage into still deeper shades before they, too, drifted away to places unknown.

Instantly, the mind vault pulls James 4:14 from its depths: "Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes." (ESV) Rather gives new meaning to the sentiment "Here today, gone tomorrow", yes?

But in what way is that not true? I mean, what moment can we possibly recapture? I can't go back to the whimsy of childhood or time travel to the beach at the moment I whispered "I will." I can't relive the first time Craig said he loved me; the first moment each of our children took breath or slip inside the second we knew our other's ceased. Nor, truthfully, would I want to. We must capture it in the now because it's the now that gives it worth: the reliving is just the memory's shallow grave of event without the emotion that first made it alive.   

Last night, it may have been the season's finery rushing me to reflection, but it was the people that made that moment alive. It was my beloved to my left or my Zee diagonally across. It was her guy to her right and two other of the best couples I know surrounding. It was the loved ones absent yet fondly included. It was the presence of friendship and the life it brings to that - and every - moment.

In this season of my life, I am changing. I know that I am changing. Awareness of it puts butterflies in my stomach and weight upon my chest. I am learning, among other truths, that I need to live more fully in the moment. To refrain from analysis and worry and too-close inspection of what would otherwise simply be. Recently, on Facebook, my status read, "If you want to be happy, be." (Thanks, Leo Tolstoy: that sentiment's way easier to grab than War and Peace.)

I'm going for the moment these days. I'm getting better at being. 

I'm finding rest. 

Ease. Peace.

In the moment. 

In the being.

In the fiery colors of living.

Touché

If you are a man and reading this, buck against the need to scornfully disregard this warning...and stop.

Stop reading. 

Stop reading.  

Stop reading. 

Or you'll likely be sorry.

Warning complete.

Yesterday, it was that oh-so-awe-inspiring yearly occasion of female medical responsibility we so early-1800's-ish call the "annual." (Or, for the about half of you following this blog who'll favor the reference, I paid a visit to Dr. Weary).

But, alas (and thank the good God above), this post is not about that. Or, not precisely anyway.

If your burgeoning memory remains intact enough, you'll recall the renderings of my last post, "Go Big", reflected on looking at the everyday "Wherever, Whatever"'s with as much intentionality and total presence as I can muster. On the eve after its writing, I was sitting in the study pondering just that sentiment with my oh-so-clever (did you know that about him?) husband. Now, you may not realize that I did not, in fact, marry him merely for his body, his heart, his soul, or his character. Nay, nay I say.

It was the wit. The wit. The wit. The wit.
The.
Wit.
Next to loyalty, it's my favorite trait.
(Necessary aside. 
Hang on with me. )

Upon the conclusion of a not-too-bad-for-a-Tuesday-evening exchange, our chat moved towards more practical matters; namely, what our next days held. Craig shared his to-do list and I, in my less than ecstatic droll, remarked, "Tomorrow, I have to go and have a speculum shoved into my vagina."

(Yeah, if you're a guy, and you just read that, I offer no apologies. I told you, didn't I? Didn't I?!)

And with what did my caustically witty husband - fist pump and hearty grin in merry accompaniment - reply?

"Go Big."

Wit.

Go Big

I love my job.

I'm not speaking of the one that's hour-marked by loads of laundry, bags of groceries, floors of sweeping, bills of paying, buckets of organizing, menus of cooking, errands of running.....BIIIIIGGGG inhale.

Because I do, in fact, love that job.

But I'm also a teacher. Which is more than a job. When you can say your job isn't just what you do, but who you are - well, you're living the working man's dream. Or woman's. Whatever.

I remembered why I love my job last Saturday: with one student completing a writing task and two others waiting with their queries, I spared a moment to (internally) shout: "I LOVE MY JOB!" Challenging young minds to think - to actually consider with their frontal lobes the surroundings they call the world - until I see their eyes widen, heads lift, and shoulder rise...well, that supersonics past what I do to become affixed in the firmament of who I am.

In that little moment, I felt big.

 Big in what I do.

Big in who I am.

In how I want to be.

We credit Confucius with the original observation, but the variant that follows has become its own rendering: "Wherever you go, there you are." 

So be there.

Completely.

Unabashedly.

Full throttle.

Whether it's a job, a relationship, a phase, a conversation, a drive, or a longneck coated in frost...

Relish it. 

Prize it.

Live in the little, revel in the much...but whatever you do...

Go Big.

Leave the Hunting to the Remote Control

I'm often reminded of how our society wants the "not" more than the "have". While it seems especially prevalent in women (though, then again, perhaps we're the only ones either bold or scarred enough to voice it - tough to know), it would seem it's a bit of the American Way to crave what's missing. We ruthlessly straighten curls, but dole out fortunes to curl the straight. 4 bedrooms is bested by 5; nevermind  that we've only two people in residence. In the name of a good deal, we'll spend an extra $10 to save $5. And our assortments of friends, hobbies, travels, and treasures must alter with the seasons lest we fall prey to stagnancy and repetition. Perhaps Seinfeld summarized it best: In recounting his struggle for control of the remote with his gal Friday, Jerry notes, "It's the problem of the hunter and the nester. She finds a channel and is content to watch what's on. I, on the other hand, am only interested in what else is on."

I totally relate.

But the pitfall here seems as obvious as a freefalling stone - with an equally jarring impact. If you fail to find joy in living fulfilled with precisely what you have, more will never be enough. Not a new sentiment. Nor a particularly profound one, I'm afraid. But I'm reminded of its truth nevertheless.

Perhaps we pick apart our friendships, laying them bare to a slow death. Or fail to ever find even a glimmer of hope in the daily sojourn of our profession. Maybe we can't see our children beyond the haze of our financial, emotional, and physical drains...even if we only acknowledge the blindness in our innermost depths.

Whatever the tension we build between have and have not, it is dissolved by the application of a basic truth: godliness with contentment is great gain (1 Tim. 6:6). Though the passage relates specifically to the trappings of greed, I suggest the principal equally applies to relationships, jobs, children, conversations...whatever. If the quest of the heart is more, more, more, it cannot seek have, have, have: it's too overwhelmed by the circuits of the former to even sense the surge of the latter.

It may very well be that I'm a hunter by nature, a nester by goal. Still, in matters of the heart - in all matters of the heart - I want to chase contentment or, better still, let contentment catch me in the mad spinning of the world. Likely, then, I'll have unearthed the great gain and joyfully embrace the best "more" there is to be found...

And leave the hunting to the remote control.

Winter Hibernation

It has been a season of retreat in my heart and mind of late. It always seems to be this way right around this time of year: like clockwork proffering a tick I can't resist, I feel called to withdraw a bit. From pace. From people. From blog (obviously). From the busy and the full in favor of the quiet and the less.

Maybe it's brought on by the departure of summer and the impending arrival of fall: after all, the endless barbeque's, road trips, house parties, sleepovers, campout's, beers and burgers must end sometime. When they do, I find myself asking...Detox anyone?

Without a doubt, we spend a never-to-be-disclosed-publicly (for shame!) log of hours cleansing our body of chemical toxins and water weight; purging our houses of clutter; ridding our inbox of junk; and freeing our schedules of meetings and to-do's. But it's a discipline lit by the spark of choice that challenges us to reconsider and redecorate the rooms of our relationships.

So much of life is burgeoning with folk. We have jobs and bosses and landlords and neighbors and students and teachers and traffic all around. There is, without a doubt, no way we can exist outside of people and still operate within the world. Withdrawing now and again doesn't strike me as without profit, then. Like a good re-do, we need the fresh paint of prioritization and the new fixtures of life and laughter. We need to ask ourselves, "Where am I going? What am I doing? What matters most...and who do I want to journey with to get there?" Or, as the psalmist reminds, I must remind myself just what prize holds the focus of my eye: "You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever." (Ps. 16:11, NAS)

Such answers get me back on track with a new vitality. A refreshed joy.  They leave me re-centered, redecorated, and ready to re-embrace the busy and full.

Just in time for winter hibernation.