Gratitude

Ten, less Two

“Ten days” was the phrase/number I had in my head as I made the decision to sit down to write today’s post, only, looking at the date displayed on the upper right corner of my laptop, I realized I was off by two.

In ten days, less two, I’ll fly back to a place I used to call “home”.

In ten days, less than two, I’ll set foot on land I haven’t seen in three and a half years.

In ten days, less than two, I’ll smell my son’s head and crush him in hugs and sit next to him and lean my head against his shoulder.

In ten days, less than two.

Rich

Years and years and years ago, when securing enough food to put on the table for my son and myself was a weekly struggle, we happened upon a perfect saying, “Bread rich”.

It came from my son after I had used a coupon, punch card and “daily double” special to buy approximately FIVE bags of bread, bagels, pastry, etc. for only FIVE dollars.

This largess came from a bread outlet about a 45-minute drive from our home.

Pulling into the grass and gravel covered driveway on the side of our tiny rental house in the country as we returned home, my son started carrying the bags inside.

When I had placed all the items from the bags on our worn out Formica counter top, my son said in awe and delight, “Mom, we’re bread rich!”.

🙂

❤

And he was right.

And I loved that he had learned how to see “wealth” in this way and that bags of day-old bread (that would be put into the freezer to save until we needed them) could thrill him as much as I imagine Disneyland thrills kids who haven’t experienced scarcity. 

From then on, whenever poverty came calling and/or I would start to feel lack, I’d look around at all the ways in which I was rich.

About ten days ago, laying on my sofa and knowing I needed more – contact, interaction, help with daily life and the living of it – I reached out to some of my friends both here, in Sweden, and in America via Skype.

The lies that had been circling in my brain about not fitting in, not having worth or value, not being loved or connected, pretty much floated away as soon as my friends and I started talking.

And, I knew I had forgotten what I had already possessed all along. 

I continued reaching out. SMS’s, phone calls, emails. I readily extended and accepted invitations to connect.

Which, oh, thank You, Father God, saved me yet again.

Looking through one of my prayer notebooks, I saw that I had listed FOUR pages of names, just here on the islands alone, of people to pray for. These were people I knew liked me and that I liked, too. People, not all of them yet but a handful, whom I could be honest with and share my heart with.

I realized I was “friend rich”. 

On Saturday, three of them came over just to hang out and brought a plastic shopping bag full of apples and a plastic container full of hand-picked blackberries. ❤

After they left, I placed the apples in a large glass bowl and set them in the middle of my table.

They were so beautiful. Yellow and light green on top of pine wood and against the backdrop of white walls, accented with soft blue curtains and green plants on the window sill looking out against a light-filled sky.

The beauty filled and soothed my soul.

But, there’s more to tell, because that same Saturday, just an hour after my first visitors had left, another friend came by to go on a bike ride with me and she brought another plastic bag full of apples; these, blush red and spring green!

I took out another large glass bowl (I have three of these, making me “bowl rich”, too) and put the apples in them and placed that bowl next to the other on the table.

That’s when it hit me. “I’m apple rich”, I said to myself with a soft, deep, soul-settling smile.

And later on, at Sunday evening prayer service, I spoke up and out (in automatic Swedish! :O ) and told the group of believers what I’m typing just now (except the part about bread rich and the history of the term), how I was struggling, how I reached out, and how I remembered how “rich” I was and how large a part their love and acceptance of me had played a part in my healing.

❤

 

 

 

Sällskap från Gemenskap

Sällskap means “company/association” in Swedish, as in, “the company we keep” or, “thanks for the company”.

Gemenskap means “community/connection”, as in, “a community of people”.

An old friend of mine told me a few years ago that when seeking relationships, especially later in life, we had to start with an outer circle of acquaintances and, over time, grow closer to them so that our friendships became a deeper, inner circle.

So, for me, my growing relationships with others have come as a direct result of the connection to the community I am in.

And that – unbelievable to me looking at it two years into a new home in a new place – has me shaking my head in wonder, praise and thanksgiving because what once felt like a life OUTSIDE the circle has – and is – becoming a world with deeper connections and and the beginnings of an inner circle here on these tiny, tiny islands.

❤

 

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

People who know me, or who first meet me and hear about my life with God, often have a hard time understanding what I mean when I say, “He speaks to me all of the time in ways that are so direct and supernatural, to not hear from Him feels very abnormal.”

I try and help them with this by sharing my life verse but unless their experience with God is the same, they really don’t know what I’m talking about.

But, some people do, and it is for them that I double post today.

I kid you not when I say, I had no sooner hit “publish” on this post about finding love, than an email from Oneplace Today arrived. One of the sermons offered was from Tony Evans about “Fasting For a Mate“.

I laughed so hard as I made my turkey and red pepper sandwich and dry mopped my hardwood floor.

And, Lord help me, if what Tony was blasting out in his usual, loud and not to be ignored way completely contradicted …

every

single

thing

I had just written.

So, aside from the fact that I ate my sandwich and a small kanelbulle instead of immediately abstaining from food, I heard from God and I know what I need to do. 

*grinning/sobered*

Thank You, Lord.

*shaking head in wonder/awe*

I … I only have thanksgiving to offer you.

 

Whoops!

I almost forgot about today’s post.

You just had a moment of panic, yes? 😉

Work has been so wonderfully busy. Time with friends and building into relationships here on these islands that I love are happening so easily that my brain forgot to remember one of the daily habits I started all these months ago intended to keep me sane.

That’s something, isn’t it?

 

Wants

Do you have a list of things you’ve wanted your whole life but never been able to have?

If you’re a Christian, how do you reconcile the “desires of your heart” against the realities of your world when said desires don’t manifest tangible outcomes?

If you’re not a Christian, what do you do about the things you want as they compare to the things you do or don’t have?

Have you ever found yourself stuck – talking to Christians again – between “faith” and “hope deferred” (which is said to make a “heart sick”)?

At what point did you realize that even if your heart was right and what you wanted was simply His will for you and the living of the life God gave you, the things you desired were things denied?

And for the rest of you, is there ever a point where what you thought you wanted and what you did to get it turned out to be a terrible choice?

Or, are there some here who have found a way to not want at all and can, therefore, skip this post because they know there’s nothing to be found for them here?

Going Home

Me. What I’ll be doing in 35 days.

I will stand on a ladder so I can reach the top of my boy’s head and I will smell his hair for hours and hours.

Three and a half years away is three and a half years too long.

And, when it’s time to return to my new home, I hope it will be okay and I hope I won’t cry.

 

If Spurgeon Was a Blogger

It’s the thought that flitted through my mind as I sat with a plate of cucumbers, tomatoes, hummus, and tortillas on my lap an hour or so ago. It was my second “meal” of the day, procured after taking my shiny-ish self (meaning I had managed to shower, shampoo, and curl my hair as well as brush on a coat of mascara and throw on some clothes) to the small grocery store to replenish my food supply.

The first “meal” of the day, that I ate around 3:00 pm, was asparagus sauteed in olive oil and tossed with sea salt, pepper, garlic powder and a dash of lemon juice. By 5:00 pm, my metabolism had caught wind that I might be feeding my body and suggested if I wanted to not faint like I almost did at the library, it would be a good idea to eat some more.

*shrugs shoulders and shakes head* (It’s been that kind of a day/week. I’m “off” but trying to get back “on”. Diet is always one of the best kick starters to help me do that.)

So, as I mentioned, I was munching on veggies and looking at the small stacks of books I had around me. On the makeshift coffee table were two “decorations” in the form of an American-Swedish newspaper and the latest issue of the Paris Review. On top of those two things was an Anna Quindlen novel I had checked out the library right before I had bought groceries.

On a pillow to the right of me was the J.K. Rowling book, Casual Vacancy, also from the library. On the outdoor folding table that I had covered with a thrift store blanket and that functioned as a “side table” between one end of my sofa and the armchair lay the Daily Living/Daily Dying book I shared yesterday.

I knew there were two more stacks of books waiting for me in my bedroom; Morning by Morning on the side table/two-drawer chest next to the fold out chair bed I had moved into my room two day ago, and next to the left side of my bed, some other books I had been working my way through on the topics of prayer.

As I thought about how “book rich” I was just now, the thought of writing and the need to say something for today’s post presented itself. Directly after that thought came the idea of telling you about my arms, my body, the conversation I had with the 35-year-old local bus driver I knew about turning 50, and what went into and then stayed in the back of my mind as I caught my full-length reflection in the windows of the library.

But, the impact of it – the dichotomy of how I felt and what I saw I looked like to others – wasn’t important enough to spend energy on.

What was important was writing today’s blog post. Which, I swear, I’m finally getting to the point of. Thinking about writing and books lead to thinking about Charles Spurgeon and his prolificity (whoah, I can’t believe that’s actually a word – spell check/Grammarly didn’t flag it!). How he seemed to just crank out work all the freaking time.

And then I grinned as I pictured what he’d have to say and how he’d handle being a blogger and having access to all the different forms of publishing and platforms available today.

I’m thinking he’d easily fit the “power blogger” category. 😀

Or, maybe, it all would be simply too much. So much noise, so much connectedness, so many devices and wires and noises and notifications and …… he’d lose all ability to write about this Christian life.

That’s today’s thought; at least one of them. 🙂