7 decades into it: state of union

 

That swirl, that feeling of being "pregnant" with something seeking birth, a tugging, a yearning. And this day, May 19, the 46th anniversary of giving myself to Jesus as Savior. Allow me to have a go at it within this humble blog.....

In my pursuit of being intentional about the joining of branch to vine, of realizing a deeper union with the Trinitarian dance, of spending the 9th inning on what counts, I have come across a couple of things which I so desire to articulate. But hmmmm.... I'm not so sure it is possible. Nonetheless, let the thrash of the few words that follow serve as an attempt to express what I hear clamoring inside. 

On one hand, there is a definite sense of patheticness at having spent 70+ years on a DIY project constructing an identity from which to do/survive life. And for all that self-effort, then only to realize that the "shack" that has been constructed is a mere illusion full of smoke and mirrors. Not just some sections of the "shack" mind you....no, the whole rickety thing. To find out that to enter into the dance that is always there, the "shack" must be emptied, dismantled and let go. Two cannot really become one until two are willing to be only one.

Alongside this truth is a growing awareness that emptiness is fullness. That the Jesus I gave my life to on the dock 46 years ago, the Jesus whose teachings I have sought to internalize and emulate, provided us an example of a message not often (if ever) heard from the church stages of today. Namely, that Jesus spent all his energy emptying himself and staying devoid of any of his own ideas and plans. His life was completely sublimated to the will of the Father. He did not count equality a thing to be grasped. He went to the cross empty of any of his own will, full only of obedience to the directions of the Father. His emptiness so counterintuitively brought the fullness of God's redemptive plan and made our rescue possible.

When I read of my expressions of union that I have written over the last couple of years I am humbled by my clumsiness. Each layer of the onion of knowledge only suffices for a little while until the next layer shows itself to be so much more pertinent and complete than the previous.  Ultimately, that layer is found wanting as yet another layer appears to have more light than all previous ones. It is exhausting and yet compelling.

It's a strange feeling I have. A definite desire to describe some things that are so very elusive when I attempt to put words around it. No sooner than I have typed out the words comes the definite feeling: "That's not it." Type the next sentence and, "Nope, that's not quite it either."  And yet, I remain convicted that it is better I take some swings and misses than to just leave the arena entirely.

I see that lamenting an apparent waste of time spent on the lifetime construction of an autonomous ego self, the false self of Merton, is merely a waste of time. For it has been that very journey that took me to where my eyes could be opened to this definite hunger within. It is a gift that apparently could not be given/received anytime sooner. It is becoming ever clearer that there is nothing to acquire, only to realize what I have had all along. Yet, it has remained hidden by my efforts to build an autonomous palace from which I could launch occasional mountain top experiences in the vain hopes they would bring lasting nourishment....a kind of 'cake and eat it too' thing.

So the parts list of this self-constructed "shack": planks of achievements large and small, real and imagined, tacked together by short staples of healthy aspirations to rack up some accomplishment points on the cosmic board. Amidst the construction and assembly of this Home Depot kit of parts and pieces, I would take breaks to dive deeper into the truths of Scripture in an effort to have a good showing of spiritual siding with which to clad the ramshackle affair. To give it a look of respectability. As I step back to assess, the results are dismal indeed. A total lack of levelness, out of plumb, mismatched boards, several spots of rot and numerous nail pops. Upon full inspection in the bright light of day the results are clear: beyond remodeling/advise demolition. 

The fact remains that what I seek to acquire is already there...just not realized. It's easy to miss as it sits behind the hoped-for-Taj-Mahal of my own design that I secretly dreamed might just win this year's architectural grand prize.  Alas, after a quick review, the judges are unanimous in their verdict....it must be utterly annihilated.  But take heart, the Architect is interested in taking on the project and has limitless experience in transforming lost causes!

And what is my role in all this activity and attention? To sit quietly, to loosen my tight grasp, to submit to the Architect's plans and to grant him total discretion in whatever may be necessary. To invite her into the work of emptying me. That my life might be lived by him whose image I was created in. The zen of doing nothing to receive the gift of realizing a deeper union with the All in All. And only to be reminded this is not a newly minted reality. No, for it has been very near and utterly available since the beginning. 

Holy Trinity, loving Father, sacrificing Jesus, winsome Holy Spirit. Receive my deep gratitude on being tapped on the shoulder by you at Lake Harriet. Thank you for piercing through the fog of myself and my autonomy to bring me onto a path that you have kept me on, however wayward I have been. Words fail  to express the depth of my gratitude at being invited up and into your cosmic dance. Protect me from all that would have me sidelined from this focus on union with the All in All. Forgive the half-halfheartedness that is always too nearby. I seek to "forget myself on purpose, to cast my awful solemnity  to the winds and join the general dance". Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy upon me, a sinner.

Picture a beach.

Picture a beach. A vast beach, over 16 miles wide and 400 yards deep. With warm salt water on one edge and endless dunes on the other. Blue sky above, intense sun delivering steady heat. A particular grain of sand somehow finds itself "woke" to its own existence. Immediately it sets itself upon a quest of comparative observation as it attempts to find and understand itself and the context it is suddenly conscious of being within.

An initial look does not determine much measurable difference between itself and surrounding other grains of sand. As the days pass the air sometimes moves with sufficient force to move this grain to a new location on the for-all-intent-and-purposes endless beach. At other times this grain stays put but finds that others have been blown in as new immediate neighbor grains. 

Most times there is little-to-no apparent difference observed between itself and others. Oh sure, some slight variation in size perhaps, some darker or lighter in color tone, some smoother, some rougher but all-in-all nothing that would stop a normal grain of sand in it's tracks. 

But there were occasions when a noticeably unique neighbor would appear next to this searching piece of sand. Sometimes a pebble with a hardness that was impressive. Other times a miniature piece of bright diamond or a fleck of gold glinting in the sun would catch the sand's inner eye with a startle. Though rare, there were definite sand-sized pieces of amazingness out there and what was that all about?

Mostly our grain was in a dry patch of beach. But every once in a while the warm ocean waters would swell to an extent that the water would reach the sand grains position. At such times the immediate area would be flooded by warm saltiness. Sometimes there would also be bits and pieces of foreign objects washed in next to the the grain that made little to no sense to the grains way of sand- thinking. The foreign objects were of such different composition that they were ultimately dismissed as being merely random interruptions in an otherwise sameness. Just as being soaked by water brought no long lasting change neither did these 'foreigners'. They were here today but gone tomorrow.

The 'woke-ness' of this grain of sand posed definite problems when it came to peace and contentment. For indeed,  there was a restlessness that seemed to come from an actual desire to find individual meaning and understanding that were relevant to this specific grain of sand, Although appreciably the same as mostly all the neighbor grains that came in contact, there were those occasional notable exceptions. But what did they mean? What were they to this grain of sand? Why did wetness do nothing but momentarily change the outside surface? Was there any unique purpose there to be discovered within the "woke-ness" of this sand grain?

Deep consideration of all this brought only an empty, unsettling sense within the grain. What good was all this "woke-ness" and self-efforts at deducing the state of affairs of it's own existence? Just what value was this providing to this poor, old, self-inquiring sand grain? Alas, if sand were ever to be pitied, now would be a good time to begin.

After a long passage of what the grain had heard was called "time", there simply were no new insights as to anything that could even remotely be called a purpose, a direction, a specific calling or even a permanent home. Gradually, the "woke" state of the sand grain diminished. At last, with all "wokeness" nearly gone, the sand grain arrived at some conclusions. Alas, it's destiny did not appear to include being an amazing, standout grain that would command the accolades of the beach. This search had opened the grain to the possibility that this beach the grain found itself part of was no random accident.

Somewhere, somehow, there must be a Beach Master. The grain could make no sense of a spontaneous beach, warm sun and salty waters. Perhaps this season of "wokeness" had been a simple gift to the grain, an opportunity to see what was normally invisible. That the grain was not merely pure chance. That although the beach seemed massive, the grain was an intentional part. That the Beach Master had intended for this grain to exist and do it's part, however small, to make this beach what it was.

So, as the time of  "wokeness" came to a final close, the grain found itself returning to simply being. To letting go of the comparative introspection and the vain hope of finding some sort of superiority. There was a sense that a simple surrender was in order. A surrender to the dignified humility of being one in many with no need of being found special enough to garner any unique attention. And that surrender brought the sweetest sense of peace and of well-being. 

The grain rested as the sun set below the horizon. Rested in the comfort of being a "kept" grain that found itself an intentional part of a wonderful beach. The period of "wokeness" had been good and worthwhile but this settled sense of being seemed so right. And such is the way the sand grain abides...to this very day.

 So Spring has entered the arena. Now comes the time when the incoming challenger starts duking it out with the current champ for who gets to reign over the next several months. Spring's opening gambit was strong but then the wily ol' north wind came back a blowin' and a snortin' to challenge the uppity interloper. Funny, I sit here writing like I have something to say, something to try and articulate out of the jumble of wispy thoughts. But you know, I really got nothin'. Fact is that it's a rainy day, too rainy and windy to do my daily walk and I just feel like writing. But when I go to the cupboard to see what ingredients I might blend together into a thoughtful blog, alas, they are empty. I am not "pregnant" with anything in particular. That certainly tends to make writing go slower and feel less enjoyable. Yet my reading says that to become a better writer you just have to write, pregnant or not... so I write on.

Today is somewhat notable in that it's two weeks after our second Covid shot and statistics say we are now relatively bullet proof. Death and hospitalization from the spiky ball enemy is off the table. Masking becomes a mere suggestion. I can go meet someone inside for a coffee. Dining-in becomes a new option.  It will take a bit to rest easy in the return of these types of freedoms. Nonetheless, I am so grateful for having stayed healthy and I go off into my immediate future with less constraint....damn the variants, full speed ahead!

I am talking with Jess on Signal in about an hour. They will be leaving England in one year and returning to Minnesota. I have little doubt that their five years abroad will pay dividends in the future. But for now, I think they will tend toward feeling overwhelmed at all the realities of uprooting and returning to nothing other than pure frontier on every level from employment, to social and cultural. I hope to be of assistance in the process. Only time and Jesus will illuminate my role more clearly. For now there is only excitement for having Jess and Mike back stateside and a definite heart intent to do what I can.

I am grateful for a group of men who Father has brought to me as partners in the sojourn of life to one extent or another.  Longer walks have been the predominant means of meeting throughout the last months. These are men who will risk being more transparent than what is normally to be found. An opportunity to be known and to know others, to share life observations, to be vulnerable, to speak truth as I am currently able to apprehend it, to participate in iron sharpening iron. I count it pure kingdom gift and the fruition of a bit of a vision given to me as I pondered the end of the house church season. Thank you Lord for what you have been providing in this area. Thank you for reciprocal levels of influencing others and being influenced in return. I sigh as I write this...it has been good, so welcome. Help me to lean into this with your wisdom and your care for those who you have brought me to.

Maybe a quick review of some recent Amazon purchases will give a fast overview of what have been my purchasing priorities.  There was the massage table, massage oil, electric blanket and sheets that was Sandi's birthday present from me. This has been a real hit and every Sabbath a 45 minute massage is part of our day of celebrating God's creation and all he has provided. A shiny, new, more modern kitchen faucet, and a Waterdrop drinking water filter with dedicated faucet were nice additions. Home Depot Dave, my master plumbing Yoda, got me through another tight spot and the install was a success. A brand new pair of Merrels to replace the worn out Vibram of the last pair that has 600+ miles on them. They now become the "yard" shoes. Then there are the miscellaneous items: new Ni/cad batteries for leaf blower and weed whip, Cafiza for getting a groady coffee thermos crystal clean again. And finally books, so many books. There is a book of poetry which is frontier for me. Also Wind in the Willows which I bought for a particular quote that personifies a river in such an exquisite way that I just had to have the book the two sentences appear in. And last but not least, six books by mystics including Teresa of Avila, St John of the Cross andThomas Merton.  Such authors have been a very life giving group for this stretch of my sojourn. 

I have to say that a recent reading of a journal of mine that goes back some 14 years has reopened my eyes to the value of this sort of chronicling. Going back over things written a decade ago helps illuminate the experiences, the pain, the victories and the resolution of what appears as merely random, unrelated events as they occur. But as time passes and one looks back the myriad ways in which the Trinity has shepherded me through the twisty jungle paths of life comes more clearly into focus. Although this particular posting is a bit Seinfeld (a story about nothing), it provides a current snapshot  and will serve as a helpful footprint when I look at it years from now (if indeed my life should have a "years from now").

Being retired continues to be like a prize I won in a contest. After decades of earning a living, the pressures associated with performing in someone else's circus, the push to advance and gain respect in your little corner of the commerce world, it remains positively blissful to be released. I also am so grateful that God has provided, the funds are adequate and we have enough. Enough is too often underrated in the chronic quest for always more. As I mentioned to Jess, some sunny days when I set off on my daily walk, I feel the freedom that comes with not having to be somewhere else and I rejoice that no matter how much longer I have to enjoy it at least I have had the opportunity to enter that wide and open space I find myself in today!

Where are you Santiago?

 

 The how, what, when, why

The now of where you are found

Oh sweet enigma

Those chance meetings between two people who haven't seen or talked to one another for some time...we have all experienced such times. There comes the social awkwardness of answering the "so whats been going on?, what have you been up to?". Often, neither party is absolutely convinced of the other's interest in a true, detailed answer and/or one or both really have nothing of any obvious value to share. I picture such an interchange involving myself where I answer quite breezily, "Oh you know, same ol - same ol. Just dodging covid, social distancing, watching way too much streaming and oh yeah, more intentionally pursuing union with God. How bout yourself Burt?"

I'm sure if I took the time to review some of my last posts, I would find mention of 'deeper intimacy with God' or 'union with God' as a target of my focus. And boom, there would be some of the answer to how I got to where I find myself in this fresh new year of 2021. I sit here feeling blessed by what Jesus seems to be ushering me into but also feeling deeply humbled. Humbled by the reading and studying that was birthed by a yearning in my heart for the more that I know there is in Jesus for each of us. Humbled, because as I am seeing and now more deeply understanding, there is the stark reality that  going deeper, shrinking the gap between the Trinity and myself, requires profoundly less of me to make room for the more of Him I hear myself professing.

The juncture of the branch into the vine I have sitting on my desk is a physical reminder of what draws me. Of what draws me to the mystery of the juncture of the two parts, where the branch loses it distinctness at the merger point with the vine. Where the two entities have lost their unique, separate identities and have become one. That picture, that marriage of two becoming one represented in this vine, which Father pointed out on a walk last summer, has fostered a distinct focus in my walk with God.

As I sought to look into the possibilities of deeper union with Christ, I found myself drawn into the writing of some of the classic Christian mystics. Why? Because I have a taste for mysticism? No, not really. I simply have wanted to hear more from some of my fellow Kingdom brothers and sisters who have pursued a deeper, more intimate daily walk with God. Lo and behold, the category of mystic writers is where I have found community members who have had such deeper yearnings and have also written about their experience so other pilgrims might peer inside their sojourns. And I have been blessed and fascinated!

Thus far, Teresa of Avila, Saint John of the Cross, Mother Teresa and  Thomas Merton have given me a taste of the depths potentially available on this side of eternity. They have acted as spiritual teachers/mentors and helped more fully open the eyes of my heart. They are helping me by making some spiritual concepts become less obscure and thus more accessible. I so appreciate that they were called to mark their trails by leaving their version of Reese's Pieces along the way!

Someone once said that politics makes strange bedfellows. I have noticed that on some occasions, where I have mentioned  listening to the voice of the teachers mentioned above, there has been push back. It seems the terms mystic and mystical writers are not so universally embraced by those coming from more traditional Christian doctrinal teachings. And while I can understand the need to remain cautious regarding orthodoxy and dogma, I am also challenged by the theme of Jesus, "....that they may all be one. As you Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us...."

And so I press on, seeking not an experience but the Kingdom reality Jesus wishes for me to have on this side of the grave. I know of no other direction more worthy of my focus. And since I can do virtually nothing in my own power to make such deeper dives into Jesus, I am finding the profoundness of what can appear as a mere flannel graph teaching: trust and obey for there is no other way. Surrender and obedience and listening and following are the coins of the realm in which I find myself. Jesus, may you guide me along this path, immerse me in your truth, protect me from lies and galvanize me for the long haul. I believe you have called me into this Jesus. The glass I look through is quite dark. Shine your light and keep me on your path.

And so Christmas slips by

In this season of life there is so much more time to remember. And for me, I have a constant background hum of reflecting on what has gone down in the past, either recent or distant. And then there are days when my pull toward reflecting is unusually high and a desire to sit in a philosophical frame of mind and write is upon me. Today is such a day. 

Normally I would be on my 8 mile walk. And that is no small thing seeing that Dr Panek has returned my right knee to service and 40 - 45 mile weeks are again the norm....so grateful to Jesus for this gift of restoration! Pure gift! But this morning, I am going to give the joints a break as certain parts have made it known they could use some down time.....37 miles will be enough for this week.

So yes, reflection and being in a philosophical mind-set are all fine and well but I lack a focal point today. I'm just aware of the desire to try and capture some little tidbit, an insight, an observational breakthrough that brings that satisfying sigh (much like I hear horses do when they finally relax and surrender to the moment).

As I sit in my inner sanctum, so lovingly provided by the love of my life, I am surrounded by the mementos of a Santiago life. I wrote a rough draft of a haiku just this morning that relates to this citadel of peace that Father has provided through my beloved. It goes like this:

My inner sanctum
A 3-D bulletin board
Full of life's tchotchkes

It's true, there is no more wall space. There are pictures, shelves and things hanging chock-a-block everywhere you look. And I love it! It so suits me although it drives Sandi crazy in it's Moulon-Rouge- Hollywood set motif. The Israelites had a difficult time remembering the things for which God had delivered them and provided for them as they were lead to the promised land. My room is essentially one big cairn of at least some of the bigger things that have gone down in my sojourn. Yet still, I often need reminding and re-framing to remember with right thinking the grace and mercy I have experienced.

Another haiku of this morning:

2020,geesh!
So much pain in just one year
Does 'normal' ever return?

Sandi and I were going along relatively unscathed by all the covid fallout as recent as ten days ago. But then December 16 arrived with a scheduled tread mill test because of some symptoms Sandi had been having. Within 24 hours, an angiogram, a 99% blockage, squishing it back open and a stent deployed and Bam!, your better half is now known medically as someone with coronary artery disease. 

And so today, we quarantine in our house and from each other for a ten day stint. This unwelcome task is based on the prudence of assuming Sandi brought back covid from United Hospital's covid-dripping halls and walls. Thus, we are taking it a day at a time as we get our arms around a fresh life message of life as finite, of being in a canoe with an unknown flotation life cycle. No matter what 2021 may have in store, there are certain realities that are inescapable. That we are in the 7th inning, that we have just touched or rounded third base. These are not the thinking of a depressed or negative man. They are simply the facts of a life that now provides time to think and reflect. And the bottom-line hope that shapes and re-directs such sobering thoughts? 

Just this: "So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things that are above, not on things that are on the earth, for you have died and your life is hid with Christ. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory."      "Have this mind among yourselves which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant and being born in the likeness of man. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death- even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

So thank you Jesus! Thank you for gently ushering us through the twists and turns that make up the swirl of life. As we peer through the darkened glass of our observation deck, we take our rest in you, we trust in you, not in our sight, and we surrender ourselves afresh into your hands with which we were created. Jesus Christ, elixir of life!  Maranatha!!

                                                                                                                                          

The minimalism of pithy writing

Found myself sitting in the woods several days ago. Thinking of how I love to write... to ponder what I am experiencing in my walk. I have found that I love the essence of things, I love things condensed into a potent elixir of efficiency. There are such things as: 3 fingers of whisky neat, espresso coffee, one-line summaries, a well-timed, meaningful glance, a pregnant pause, one-word retorts.......

As I sat thinking about this I was inexplicably drawn to consider poetry, which I most definitely know nothing about. Consulting Google brought me across the Japanese poetry form of haikus. Just three lines, seventeen syllables in a 5-7-5 pattern. Boom! I was hooked and wrote my first two on my phone as I sat on a log soaking up the wood's silence.

So, without further ado, this initial set of Santiago Haikus. I envision the possibility of reading these some years from now and having no idea what I was thinking. But for the moment, they speak to me....

So many ask me                                                                    
now what with so much more time?                                        
answer: slowing down

Three miles in an hour
sweet synching of sanity
ever so precious

My gluttonous blog
versus the spartan haiku
such a sweet balance

Walk into the woods
silence, solitude, so good
heart sighs in relief

Police scanner mind
little red lights keep searching
for brief contentment

Christmas tree is up
mid-November kinda soon
two stories, two sides

Johnny Appleseed
so effortlessly carefree
in all his travels

So long my house church
Together eight years but now
New day begs birthing

So blissfully free
sunlight advocates drifting
carried, not striving

Summer meadowlark
There as a boy, now so gone
I must find you soon

Marathon challenge
four times over but not five
fresh out of reasons

My blog posts blather
haikus: punchy espresso
each word lifts own weight

And so ends this debut. Jesus, thank you for the simple pleasure of expressing with words. You created us with this capacity which separates us from the animal kingdom. A reflection of the image in which we were created... created in the image of God. Magnificent Lord! Thank you!

Tree is up

Early-ish November and the Christmas tree is already up and decorated! Why so early one might ask? Covid lockdowns, 2020 chaos, diminished options, life re-focused on the home-front, it was a warm day and we wouldn't freeze working out on the porch. That kind of thing....

At least I am not lighting it at night quite yet. Don't want to get the neighbors all agitated about seeing some eager-beavers who may be accused of jumping the gun. Still, it's good to have that done and for Sandi being done doing her specialty....putting on the lights in a masterful way. Trouble is, she hates doing it and a pre-lit tree has been in the on-deck-to-be-purchased circle for years.

So, our little, artificial tree. Gazing at this compact gem out on our porch, behind glass, makes it seem like it is ensconced in a perfect jewel box. We put on the ornaments together this year. I guess we usually do. My box is marked Colaizy and hers is marked Flegle. Ornaments representing two individuals, two prior families, two complete histories, lots of stories and plenty of heartache and disappointment mixed in. Oh the emotions, the ache, the bitter sweetness and the quiet joy that is evoked as I stare at this tree..... 

Sandi puts "her" ornaments on the left side of the tree. They are very nice and they commemorate many years of Christmases past with her husband and three children. I know they represent all kinds of memories for her. That is only normal and natural but still there is a kind of mysterious, haunting feel to me as I look at them. They stand for chapters of her life before I ever knew her. Life details which, even if attempted to be explained, will never be fully known by me.

My side is on the right. Every year I put them up I am taken to a place that is a wild mixture of warmth combined with heartache, nostalgia and a sort of a declaration...."Well, here I am!" "My" ornaments come from the period of time when, after being divorced and finally setting up shop as a single dad, I had the need for a tree and something to hang on it. My mom and dad kindly gave me an old bottle-brush tree. They also graced me with a hodgepodge of ornaments that had once hung on the Colaizy family tree but were now relegated to obsolete retirement. Some of them are ancient looking, sort of faded and over a 100 years old. Others are just plain dumb....like the little M&M dancing candy guy. As if he has anything to do with Christmas! There's the rather large, red, wooden cardinal. That one needs a sturdy branch...its heavy. There are an assortment of straw and light wooden ornaments in cool shapes and a couple of miniature creches.

At the top of the tree is a little, pale brown, fabric angel that perilously perches on the top, aided only by being rather unceremoniously impaled by a branch. Still, it's one of my favorites with her utter humility and apparent bravery in her role as sentinel over all of the holiday festivities. But my favorite of all, oh my, my very favorite is the "miracle ornament".

It consists of two parts: a reindeer with reins leading back to a red and green sleigh carrying Santa and many gifts sticking out. And that is not all ginzu knife lovers...... There are little tiny lights along the reins and, when you activate the switch on the back of the sleigh, a fast-paced version of jingle bells plays and the few remaining lights that work blink. So?  "Yeh, it sounds cute and all but why the miracle label?"  I am glad you asked.....

I have had "my" ornaments now since 1992. That is 28 years....28 years of annual storage in a wide-variety of places in my many moves. Years in garage attics where summer temps climb into astronomical numbers only to be followed by months of mind-numbing, subzero onslaughts  Much moving, jostling, dust, moths, ants, cobwebs, boxing and unboxing. Every year my girls and I have a bit of a ritual.  After I have decorated the tree and my now grown daughters come over during Christmas, we go to the tree with bated breath and switch on the little black switch. And each year, without exception, Santa and his sleigh perform their song and light show. And the miracle? Whatever battery is fueling this little gem has never been replaced, even looked at!.....28 years without a hitch!

Yep, that's our tree. A co-mingling of stories from the past, some known, many never to be known. With little hanging testimonies that serve to remind me of a life lost, then regained, with a new life partner and additional family members.  And all of the complex stories of our blended family continue with new chapters being written and performed. And the tree? Oh gosh, that little humble tree. For two months of the year, it comes out to quietly testify of what preceded our present day. It depicts such a potent mixture of grace, rescue, mystery, pain, hope for a future and lots of love.... all represented in these little hanging fixtures. Thank you for loving us Father!