Caught in the moment

Dear readers, this week I had the pleasure to guest post for The Coffee Shop Chronicles over at Paisley Rain Boots, a blog run by my dear mother. You can find the post here, or enjoy it below. 

A hum of chatter fills the room. Every open space is filled with the voice of one or another. 

There are the three in the corner, opposite the one in which I have taken up residency. College students tucked into the l-shaped booth: one boy, two girls. They are done with the days demands of class. They are out, making their rounds on this blustery day where the temperature reads in the single digits. I overhear the next stop being the local brewery, less than a block from the coffee shop. Only college students would move from coffee shop to brewery. 

Then there are the pairs. 

The two girls, in their early twenties, deep in conversation. Their large ceramic mugs out in front of them: emptied. They never intended to stay this long. They have spent the last hour telling one story after another, playing catch up after last weeks mid-semester break. They've taken this time, this hour, to pull away from the textbooks full of terms, the research papers waiting to be typed, and the exam that needs prepping for to connect and reconnect. 

The second pair. Two men. Their lives are an open avenue. College degrees under their belt, but unsure of which path to take. Scared and not ready to leave the comforts of this college town. Not ready to say farewell to the great lake, ski hills, nights out on the town, and even the ten a.m classes. For now they sit, coffee in front of them, and push away the unknown of reality. 

Only three voices remain silent. 

One. He has been there for hours, bent over his laptop and on his fourth cup of coffee. He is writing, or rather typing, with a few select books open on the table before him. A graduate student nearing the end, working to perfect this thesis paper. He, too, like the pair of men is feeling the pressures of the open avenue of life that lies ahead of him. But, for now, the thesis paper is his focus. 

Two. Another man. A cup of soup in a to-go cup in front of him, though he doesn't seem to be going anywhere. His cup of water still full rests beside him. He seems to be breathing in the moment; taking a moment to sit, eat, and think about this game of life we are all players in.

And last, me. I'm tucked in the corner table, alongside the big front window. I find myself surrounded by papers filled with scrawled handwriting: words of story and thought. Wondering which words to use and which ones to save for another time. Boots off, chai latte long gone, and The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis open to his piece on "Learning in War-Time". I'm caught in the moment.

The coffee shop: a place for conversation and growth, learning and discovering. A place to think, to write, and simply, a place to sit. A place to delight in and rejoice in. A place to be in the moment. As C.S. Lewis once said, "Never . . . commit your virtue or your happiness to the future"; rather, rejoice in the happiness of the moment you are in.

Let's crave together like we crave chocolate

Home was a place she missed. There were days where the missing was a surface level feeling and other days it was a deep pit that could not be filled. Being far away in a vast city with coffee shops on every street corner was thrilling, exciting even, but there was a but.
That but was a bit that embodied a need to be with someone. Not in a "significant other" sense, rather, quite simply, a someone whose presence created company.

She had no "other" to accompany her to the street corner coffee shop. She would go alone, and alone is good for some time, but alone added up to loneliness. Her routine was the same: chai latte, skim milk, corner table. She hid the loneliness with laptop plugged in or book pulled out with pencil and notebook alongside.

She would watch. People came in, out, they stayed, they sat, they left. There were the young with young, the young and the old, and the old with the old. There were the couples: hand holding, conversation building, latte sharing couples that made her dream and gag all at once. There were the mothers wheeling their stroller bound children in, or clinging to their hand to make sure they did not wander away.

They were all together.

She craved together like she craved chocolate. She had a desire for someone to chat with and an even deeper desire to be with someone, simply to listen to them. To listen to their story of life. It had been some time since she did that: listen to someone. Each time she found herself together with someone, though rare, they wanted to hear about her; her house, her job, her this and her that. She was done, done talking about her. She craved a moment of togetherness, to sit with a steaming latte between her and someone else and listen.

//

Life is a story of not one, but many. Life is a simple, yet vastly overcomplicated story, woven together with a few pieces of thread. We are all living a story; yes, with different characters, different moments of climax, and different endings, but we all share the common bond of story.

It is a story where we crave togetherness. A good story, the ones we love to read, to hear are made up of more than just a party for one. We need one another. We need to talk, we need to listen. Life is beautiful. And our stories are best lived, best shared with one another. So lets crave together like we crave chocolate.

Dear child, it is time to

Learn.

Time to learn how to kick those feet and move those arms. Growing up next to a big lake means you must learn, and child it is time to learn how to swim. No mother is going to let their child lose in rough waters if they do not understand the concept of how to stay afloat. If you cannot swim, you drown, so it is time you learn to swim.

I will go with you, show you the motions. Hold you tight at first, but overtime my grip will loosen and I will not cling so tight. Child, if you want to go out into the world you have to know how to swim. There are rough waters out there and you have to be ready to face them. You have to know how to keep afloat or else, you drown.

It sounds simple, and in theory it is. But life, my child is one big complicated, unknown, uncertain sea we are all trying to navigate. I will not always be there to hold you tight, but I will always be on the shore encouraging you along. Child, you have to learn to swim on your own. You will get the movements down over time; soon it will become second nature. Practice you must, but once you know how you always will, just like the time you learned how to ride a bike.

You will fail. It is a part of the process. There will be times you will feel like you are drowning and you may be. Then remember all you must do is kick your feet and move your arms. With those movements you will stop drowning and move forward onto greater shores and big waters.

It is time, my child, to learn how to swim. Time to learn how to navigate.

like pussy willows, you are enough

Flowers are enough.

"It was early spring and there was nothing my friend could find for his grandmother but a few sprigs of pussy willow. As he gave them to her, minutes before she died, she pressed them to her face and whispered, 'They're grand, my love. And enough'".  -from The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis, unearthed in the introduction by Walter Hooper.

It wasn't about the gift of the flowers, no for grandmother it was the thought behind the gift. In the final moments of the her life she desired not something of grandeur, not a gold ring, but rather the simple act of love her grandson showed by bringing her flowers. 

The flowers were enough for her. 

And they should be enough for all of us.

The world will shout out you are not enough. People will tell you, grades, reviews, and the paycheck will show you that you are not enough. We all feel like we fall short, each day. But we have to pull away from being not enough and come to embrace that we are. We are enough, we are like those pussy willows to the grandmother. We are enough. 

Yes, we are broken there is no denying that. We are humans. We've been broken from the moment Eve ate the fruit in the garden, but we cannot dwell in the brokenness. 

We are enough. Enough for the world, for ourselves, and for the Creator. 

Moving forward in the day, weeks, and months ahead pull away from not enough. Take a moment to read this. Take a friend out to dinner, invite them over for tea for the simple reason of just because. Love people. Love yourself. And remember you are like those pussy willows to the grandmother, enough. 

silence & you

I've been thinking. Thinking about silence.
I find myself comfortable with it. The introverted bit of me craves it. I have sat in rooms with people who are the opposite, who feel the desire to fill the silence with mindless chatter. Sometimes, in those moments with those people, I, to be quite frank want to say shut up would you. Yet, I have a bigger mind than mouth when it comes to speaking my thoughts, which is good.
But what's so wrong with silence?

It allows you to sit with YOU.

Sitting with yourself, a scary thought because in that moment you have to face yourself.

photographer: stellan herner

Sometimes I sit on the couch or at the kitchen table and simply be. And in that moment I am doing nothing, literally nothing. I stare at the wall. The wall I tell you. Who sits and stares at the wall?

We all have things to do, places to be, and people to call. We have so much to do. Guilt creeps in when we find ourselves sitting and doing nothing. Guilt is beside me when it is just me and the open room. Guilt for what I should be doing and who I should be.

Sit. Alone in a room. Who does that?

But you want to know a secret. We have to do that. We are human beings so plugged into the world, so overwhelmed with lists that are pages in length. Overwhelmed by the cluttered agenda book filled with places to be and people to attend to. The list of to-do's will only continue increase in length.
It is time to stop and stare, to sit there. Yes, sit there my friend. It will serve you well.

We have to be comfortable with ourselves in an open room. We have to, how else are we going to know who we are? Be comfortable in who we are? We have to overcome the guilt we feel and the only way to do that is to face it.

We have to be comfortable with ourselves in a silent room.

For a moment forget the people, the places, and sit. Disconnect from the chaos, and connect with yourself. You have to, for you.

What I have been learning.

It begins with a rocking chair and tea.

Tea in a cup, hand crafted by the humble hands of a human. A human broken in a broken world. Unending pain, anger, confusion. Yet even amongst the broken, shattered pieces of this world joy is found. Joy is found while shaping a vessel of clay. A cup is shaped, which holds the fine perfection of tea. Tea that is sipped by me as I contemplate life from a rocking chair.

Five things to think on. Five things to comtemplate as I look out at big sky country. The mountain range of perfection. Why am I here? Why has God placed me here? In it I must be gentle, humble, and quiet. Listening is the key to the art of quietness. Here in this place I listen. I approach with gentleness and desire to hear. To hear the stories of broken people. I too listen for the voice of the Creator who shaped each triangle, each misshaped mountain. Among it all I pray for peace, discernment, for time. I pray among people. I pray alone. Praying for the brokenness of the Rez, the people I've encountered. And selfishly I pray for me, for my brokenness. I seek. Oh how I seek. In patience, I have received. And I've found peace in my quietness. Last, I remember that the shadow proves the sunshine. The trials of the beginning weeks. The baggage, the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty. How those trials have illuminated the greatness of the Creator. To go to the mountains, to seek our Creator. How I've grown. I find myself broken as all humans are. But I find hope in a Creator who has shaped the sky, the mountains, and me.

You, you with your humility...

My someday child I picture you with your head resting upon the pink hued pillow, curls filling the empty void of space around your sweet face. Lips perfectly lined as you dream sweet dreams, counting sheep as they dance along in your mind.  

As I stand alongside your bed, watching you sleep, I let these thoughts fill my mind. Words of prayer being whispered into the still room. Child, remain humble. Hold tight to the humility you posses at the young age you are. Clench it in your fist and never let go. Have the patience of calm. When you face the trials of busy, of exhaustion, of failure hold tight to the ship flying the flag of patience. 

credit to Elizabeth Blank Photography

Be kind. Be gentle. Hold fast to gentleness. Do not let the winds of this world pull gentleness and grace from you. In your humility, patience, kindness, gentleness... love. Love those who need love; love all for we all need love. Find the little, the small, and love on it. Love in weakness, in loss, in beauty.  

Be the light on the hill. Shine for your Creator; the one who has crafted the being of you. Shine! Shine your light around the world. In the being of you be what you are called to be. Even in the darkness of uncertainty, in fear. Step out on the edge and try. Try, fail. Fail and learn. Try, try again, and conquer. Conquer the world with love.  

My someday child with your soft curls, your porcelain skin fill yourself with humility, patience, kindness, gentleness, and love.

Searching for your story

When you are stuck, you desire a place of creative inspiration. A place filled with overwhelming creativity. A desk overlooking a garden filled with bright colored poppies. A quaint coffee shop on the corner between Central and Eighth. A room where rustic wood lines the walls, covered in vintage black and white photographs.

Photographs of stories. The wrinkled hands of a Navajo woman. The portrait of a flapper girl from the twenties. A "in the moment" snapshot of a young girl wrapped in the beauty of the ocean, searching.
How often we search. We search for meaning, words, stories, lives. We search for people, spouses, children. We search for meaning greater than our own. For faith.
We search.
Now I search for the words to type because I am stuck. I am stuck without words. My writing has halted, stalled.

In one month I will search for adventure. I will wander the mountains, the open field, the mighty big sky. I will search the sky for faith. I will stand arms open. Listening.
Listening for the words I seek. Standing in the purple field of love, from the handiwork of a Creator who loves me. Even in the weeks I fail to bow my head and whisper up a silent prayer. The days I fail to acknowledge a might greater than mine. He loves me.

I am tired of searching. Aren't we all. We see the photographs lining the wall and think they won in their search. Yet the Navajo woman searched for a place to call home as her land was swept out from beneath her. As her culture, her language was torn away from her in rooms boarded with rules. Searching for HER story in the midst of it all. The twenties flapper searched for beauty, for love. She threw herself at the word, searching for acceptance. The young girl at the ocean searched for a stone, a shell. For a smile and a hope.

Add your photograph to the wall. Will you be bent over a typewriter searching for a story. Huddled over a cup of tea searching for the words to say. The life to live. Here is a hint: stop searching for your story and start living it.

To those who taught

You sit at the table, carved down by the gnarled hands of a man whose spot now sits empty. You were young, the day that spot opened up, left for dust to collect on, but felt the pain. You lost a gentle hand to carry you through.
It has been years now since that spot was filled with the warmth of a body. Yet each day you head to the barn, cling to the wheel of the tractor, and feel the spot where his hands once held tight. You run your hand over the spot on the seat worn thin from Wrangler jeans.
So this day you will remember a man who taught you to work hard and never stop. To love through action, through silent words.

*A few months back I stumbled on this blog by Hannah Brencher through Good Women Project, and whoa! What a grand read. I was inspired, caught up in each word I read. She has the art of writing finely perfected. She knows how to pull your heart strings, and the ones connected to thought. She gets you thinking. That is what blogs are for, as much as they are for selfish pleasure of pouring thought into reader, it is as much a place for thought creation.
My hope, my wish is that one day my blog will become so finely tuned, that my words will have the impact of Hannah's; that I can provoke thought and create dreams.
So that is why todays piece is written as it is. It is a piece written to honor those who served, who loved, and who taught. On this Memorial Day take time to remember the people, like the grandfather above, who taught us to work hard and never stop loving through action. Oh and do not forget to check out Hannah's blog.

Five things to think on

First, to provoke thought:
why does God have me where I am?

A question I ask myself often, but a good one to think on. God is using us in every moment of every day. Be happy with where you are now, even if you'd rather be in a different place.

Second, to strive to be:
humble, gentle, and quiet

"Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight." -1 Peter 3: 4

Third, to do more of:
PRAY

Prayer is strong. A friend recently shared a story of prayer with me, her experience brought me to tears. Prayer is powerful. Prayer is not limited to before each meal; be in constant communication with God. 

Fourth, to remember:
when you seek, you receive

"You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." -Jeremiah 29: 13

Fifth, to know:
that the shadow proves the sunshine

The trials of life illuminate the greatness of God's love and grace. We have to climb the mountain in order to enjoy the view from the top.

In the Shadow of Chief

There was this time, were us girls sat around the fire. We were in the shadow of Chief, a mountain we could not conquer.

I sat upon the grass that night thinking of the mountain. And the fear it welled up inside of me. I remembered back to the afternoon, being on the side, shaking. My physical strength was being tested, but even more than that my mental strength. Never before had I been so afraid.

Looking back I don't fully understand the fear. I don't understand why all I wanted to do was sit down and weep. But I will always know that while I was in that moment, I was afraid. I wasn't sure if I was going to come off that sacred mountain.

God was testing me. He was working on me, in that moment of fear. He was asking me to trust him. But I wasn't. I was too caught up in my wobbly knees. I wasn't trusting anything; not Him, not me, no one.

That night, as we sat around the blazing fire, drinking in the moment, I began to understand. I began to feel God. I had come off the mountain, alive, in one piece.
I want to go back, face my fear, and trust the Lord.

Perfectly as Planned

I think of the hardest things to do in life is to let go. Whether it be letting go of someone you love who doesn't feel the same to saying goodbye to an old, unwanted habit.
Letting go is hard. 
Yet, it is something we all have to do. I have come to realize that you have to let one thing go: control. In order to fully live out life you have to give God total control. Easier said than done, trust me I am no pro at this. Yet I am learning. Each day is a step forward. It takes time, dedication, and willingness. Yet the payoff is worth the while. Why? Because when God is in control all goes perfectly as planned.