Vacation Descends

 Our kids enjoying ice cream on the porch swing.

We are not on vacation.  

It's the last day of spring and my husband's off from work.  The sky is pale blue like fine china swirled with bits of white.  The sun has swallowed a week’s worth of humidity and breathes out now a cool breeze that has me craving a warm cup of coffee.  

There's a lightness to this day that cannot be pinned to the weather alone.

Though the sky here is clear, I’m certain pigs are flying somewhere because everyone in our house – from the eight-year-old on down to the two-year-old twins – slept in this morning until EIGHT o’clock.  My husband’s alarm went off at five thirty and mine followed suit at six, but thankfully we both had the good sense to slap them back into silence.  

We all woke loose-limbed and sluggish, TIRED, and the oldest boy declared as we lolled on the couches, “I’m going to be lazy all day today.” His copycat brother followed suit announcing without skipping a beat that he was going to “be a kid all day today.”  Then the littlest one added his own plan, “Me gonna be an electric man all day today." 

From there the day unfolds – bowls of cereal, crumbs tracked from room to room, little projects broken up by more food and moments of play as we wander the yard and garden, all of us loose still and relaxed.  My daughter and I re-pott the avocado tree, damaging the roots so that it droops now like a broken-hearted waif standing in the corner of the porch.  On a day like today, though, it seems o.k. and I believe it will recover.

My husband unpacks the hundreds (and I do mean hundreds) of screws and bolts and tentatively starts on the new swing set that’s sat, unassembled, in the garage for weeks.  Even this, the scattered parts unlabeled, arouses no frustration, we'll tinker a little with it and maybe with time it will come together. 

A few weeks ago I told my husband how this new-old house of ours feels like a vacation rental, so full of newness, surprise and possibility.  Something in this space, this time, brings together the elements of rest, play and adventure that form the essential triad of a good vacation.

All of this has got me thinking about vacation – how it isn’t a place to go or thing to do or, worse, to be taken.  Vacation restores an openness and ease that's so often lacking in the pressure of day-to-day life.  This spaciousness softens and restores the human soul.

Vacation descends upon us, if we are willing, in moments unexpected.  The perfect work-day lunch, where last night's left-overs hit the spot and the company is good and the brief pause between what has been and will be done is fully felt, moments quietly stolen with a good book while the kids are Somewhere Else, each of these can surprise us with their spaciousness - the way that what we need is found in the Here and Now in a way we didn't believe possible.  

This morning I woke in my own bed and sat on the couch while vacation unfolded around me – a little bit of lazy, a little bit of play, and a little bit of adventure, all right here, at home.  

This post is linked with The High Calling for their gathering of Best Vacation Stories.  Click on the link to read more stories about vacations near and far.  

What's your best vacation place?  Have you ever felt vacation sneak up on you at home? I'd love to hear about it below!

Bloodhound (a poem)

Head-down, thick folds of skin slide forward to cover her eyes.

Long ears drag the ground, swinging in time with each step

and the scent of one just passed spirals up the length

of her nose.  Hard upon the trail of one she cannot see,

led by scent (also unseen), she bumps against old tree stumps

the hard head knocking with the force of her longing.

In the straightaways it’s a forward rush

until the trail turns and pursuit turns to pause, discerning,

then she is off again, certain in her blindness. 

It is neither day nor night, only Now

with the scent of God fresh all around.

She is the hound who hunts, everywhere

a fresh trail, every chase an arrival.


Photo credit HERE. 

This post is linked with Unforced Rhythms.

How I Deal With Rejection

My friend Shawn Smucker is hosting a series on his blog called #OvercomeRejection.  I thought about the series for a good long while, then finally came up with this post which Shawn graciously refused to reject. You can start reading here, then click on the link to finish reading over at his place.  While your there, click around on some of the other posts in this series (all guest posts) and read some of Shawn's writing, you'll be glad you did. 

It took me over a week to think of a single concrete experience of writing related rejection. 

Repress much?  Maybe.

Or maybe I simply haven’t risked enough.  You have to play your cards to win.  You have to play your cards to lose.

Driving in the car the other day, though, it came to me, the memory of a very concrete experience.

About six months into blogging I met with a friend, the editor of a regional parenting magazine.  She wanted to know whether I would be interested in writing a monthly print column, something about parenting and faith. 

“What angle are you looking for?” I asked.

“It’s up to you,” she replied, “I see this as an opportunity for you to build a name, a platform, you can do whatever you like.”

Gulp.  

Click HERE to continue reading . . . 

How have you dealt with rejection? Writing related or otherwise? 

The Other L Word

“I’ve been so lonely,” I say, my words like a sigh, laying down a heavy weight. 

“How long have you felt this way?” she asks.

There’s hardly a pause before the answer rises, “Always.  I have always felt this way,” I reply.

She nods, open and accepting, in a way that removes the layer of guilt and wrongness I’ve laid on top of the loneliness and welcomes it simply as what is.

//

“What I noticed,” he said as the interview was closing, the none-too-difficult questions answered, “is a real loneliness.” 

We were discussing an autobiography I’d written as part of the application process.  We were wrapping up and his words, more of a comment than a question, were brushed off with a quiet, “Yes, I guess that’s true.”

But his observation reverberated like the striking of a gong and it was all I could do to hold back the tears for I was ashamed of my loneliness. 

//

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone . . .” Genesis 2:18

Loneliness was the first thing that God’s eye named not good. – John Milton

//

Loneliness is an unwelcome guest, so the first thing I do, on impulse, is judge it.

“What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel this way? What am I doing wrong?”

I use these judgments like shock therapy, a straight forward attempt to jump start myself out of the land of alone.

Sometimes it works.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  And loneliness, she’s got my address.

There are days that I carry her, like a child strapped to my chest.  Yes, loneliness, I feel you, you are here.  When she grows too heavy to bear, I pray.

“God, I feel so lonely.  Please, help me.”

Sometimes the weight is lifted, sometimes it remains.

//

Yes, your loneliness was a presence I often felt during our times together. – a counselor I once knew

//

God sets the lonely in families. Psalm 68:6 (NIV)

“I write about my loneliness so that others won’t feel so alone in their loneliness.” Henri Nouwen

//

Loneliness, as I observe it, manifests most often as distance, an absence and in this way loneliness also is the fruit of desire. 

Desire itself is a doorway and when I am finished judging, finished bearing the weight, I welcome loneliness in, ask her what she wants. 

“You,” she says, “I’m lonely for you.  You have been gone so long from yourself, please come home.”

//

Loneliness stands at the doorway, waiting, long into the night, her lantern flickering; hers is the flame, the siren song that calls me home.

So I return to where I am. 

Letting loneliness lead I am returned home, standing in the sunlit kitchen, my hands in soapy dish water or sitting in the living room while my children swirl around.  Loneliness leads me back again and again through the doorway to the present where I find the presence of myself, the presence of God and my family set around me like so many shining stones.  

This post is linked with Playdates With God and Unforced Rhythms.