$10

 "...and Lord, during this alone day, help me not to feel alone.  Help me sense Your presence.  Recognize Your presence.  See You in my day."

"Hmmm, she wants to see Me.  She needs to know again that I see her.  Bless her heart, Kath needs constant, daily reminders.

How shall I show My love today?  I know!  Kath loves a bargain.  I will save her $10.  That will thrill her.  If anything can rouse an out-loud hallelujah, it's a few dollars saved.  Yes, silly, but that's the way I made her.  Kath jumps to give Me glory when the price is lower, the discount is higher, the sale is half or more.  

And then, I'll arrange for a dear friend to call so that she can share the good news!  The God-story!  Both will awe that I know them well, love them so well, and am always right beside them.  They'll laugh, agree and glory together.  Perfect!"

"Dear Lord, thank You thank You!  I asked, and you answered.  You delight in my delight.  You know how thrilled I am.  I am!  And because of you.  Thank you for knowing me.  Thank you for loving me.  I love You!" 

 

Bark

 

I used to hate it when Snoopy barked at... anything.  A lady strolling her baby.  A jogger jogging with a jogger.  A delivery man.  A friendly neighbor coming up the walk.  A bird, a squirrel, a leaf!  Good grief!

People don't like barking dogs.  They don't.  

I'd scold him, pointy finger him, even clam shut his barker.  Once I bought a bark collar. 

The bark.  The annoying, loud... clambering... bark.

The beautiful, loud, clambering bark.  

Would you think I'd flipped a lid, if I admitted I welcome a whine?  A growl?  A flat out barking frenzy?

Noise.  Living, breathing, fully alive noise in a desperately quiet house.  Is welcomed.  Wanted.  Sometimes wished.  Now I bark along.  I join the noise and make more noise and like all the noise.   

The bark.  The beautiful, loud, clambering bark.

Tears

Tears are no respecter of shoulders.  They will splash a dear, always-ready shoulder or soak an awkward, barely-known shoulder.  They don't care about the passing of healing time.  They rarely provide a courtesy notice.  They refuse to be controlled.  They insist on their own timing.  They're unreasonably emotional and thrive on the surprise effect.  

Embarrassed, a tear-shedder first wonders, Where did these come from?  What prompted such a scene?  What happened?  It's just another Sunday.  Confused, she will slip away after a few apologetic words to... recover.  Hopefully.   

But wonder away.  Ask until the end of time.  Tears are not to be understood.   

After the last one dribbles from the corner, the brimming pool recedes, a tear-shedder will need a drink of water, maybe a Tylenol and a nap.  But a mysterious Heaven-cleanse rinses her heart.  An inexplicable Holy Spirit-balm strengthens her.  She knows that God sees and bottles each tear.  His shoulder understands tears, and tears respect His shoulder. 

 

The God of all comfort keeps watch over your weeping.  He gathers up all your tears and puts them in His bottle.  Psalm 56:8 

 

 

 

Mark

Lives leave marks.  On us. They leave a taste, an influence, a legacy, a mark.  They leave us shaped or changed in some ways. 

 

If the mark is made through a single encounter: a visit, a letter, a book, the imprint can be seen. The mark made a noticeable difference.  It may have even prompted a choice or at least a perspective. 

 

But if the mark is etched over years, many together years, the mark engraves itself into the original life.  Infuses itself.  Though the mark makes more than a difference, it cannot be so easily seen. Because the life changed along the way, was shaped along the way, was expanded along the way. The mark became the life. 

 

When the mark has made its final indent, set its last gem, then the life can more easily recognize the mark. 

 

He readily forgave, he trusted a promise, he sought scripture, he gave extra, he loved people, he said yes, he put God first.  The life wasn’t quite like this— but the mark — and now it is. 

 

A mark has been engraved on this life.  

Wonder

A widow often wonders how it’s done. How other widows do it.  How other widows manage grief and single life and looking straight into a lonely future.  How do they do it? 

And so, their antennae seeks signals.  Their radar transmits entail. 
Their systems are on high alert for clues and cues from crews of widows. 

Widows will ask:  When did your husband leave? Do you live alone? Are you ok?

Widows will observe: can they function, do they join, have they laughed? 

Widows will notice: are they involved, do they serve others, are their homes aright.  Are they aright? 

Widows conclude that if they function, join, laugh, participate, serve and are flat out together… these widows don’t wonder.  They’ve been widows awhile.  They don’t think of themselves as widows.  They don’t look into a lonely future, they live a fulfilled now. 

They don’t wonder how it’s done.  Anymore. 

People

Summer is a time to people.  Summer likes to people around water, at cafes, on back porch swings, along paths, under tents, with lemonade or crisp green salads.  Summer goes with people. 

People people.  Two or more join two or more.  For a summer outing. 

But summer is not necessarily a time for persons.  Persons typically stay home where cool is, where a glass of ice water will do just fine, where fans stir air over beds, where TV offers scenery, where neighbors, at the mailbox, are the people.

Persons don't have people to suggest summering.  Or to plan summering.  Or to do summering.  Single persons just don't summer well.  They need people.

So thank you to all the people who swoop up this person and help her summer.  She needs people.  

Company

 

Company  Friends  Guests  

Hosting  Serving  Cleaning

Music  Food  Flowers

Talking  Sharing  Listening  

Laughing  Agreeing  Discovering

Connecting  Caring  Relating 

Lingering  Hugging  Leaving

Musing  Contenting  Soaking

Waiting  Planning  Anticipating

Company  Friends  Guests