The Power of Color

I had a fist-sized rock lodged firmly in the pit of my stomach. Too much work, too little time, too much anxiety. Suddenly while researching thumbnails of images for a freelance job, I ran across yellow.

A square of yellow filled with vines and leaves and butterflies. But mostly it was the yellow I saw. My spirit reacted immediately to the sunshine color. Stress was subdued, my brow unfurrowed itself, my soul softened.

I think in heaven there are colors beyond our wildest imagination, and they have more power than we know. Here on earth I can only taste a bit of the emotional impact that color has, and how it can unexpectedly make my soul respond and rejoice.


My Pastor's Email Sig Line

Seek justice. Help the oppressed. ~ Isaiah 1:17


Sweet September

Sweet September. What a golden month it is, when summer clings to many of its days, and Autumn nudges into evenings and early mornings. There's a heaviness to the leaves now, sagging under the thickness of their deep green color. Here and there the landscape is startled by a tree that has jumped the gun and is already turning glorious shades of burgundy and mustard yellow.

I'm going to miss the symphony of crickets and frogs outside my window. Is part of the purpose of their sound to soothe the souls of humans and quiet their minds? I wonder.


My poor blog

I have been woefully neglecting my blog, and yet I've been yearning to blog again. Yes, ironic. The thing is, I've always used this space more to talk about my spiritual journey. But gosh, so many things are part of our soul and who we are. Maybe I won't worry if this morphs or transitions a bit. Maybe I'll just say what I want, whenever.


A Safe Place to Fall

K. will be moving in Sunday night. It was kind of hard to tell Carman because he has to move out of his little bedroom and into what we call the den, and sleep on the futon, which isn't very comfortable.But K. is 19 and has no place to go. She thought she was all right for awhile living in the apartment in back of her grandparent's store.

But her dad works there, and she found out that he was going through her dresser drawers while she was at work. When she stepped outside late one night and saw him sitting there in his truck with the lights off she knew she had to get out. I don't know the whole story of sexual and physical abuse. I only know that K., this young woman I've just gotten to know, needs a home for the summer.And yes, honestly, it feels a bit sacrificial. Carman and I live in a small mobile home, and a third person definitely makes a noticeable dent in our space -- especially for my son.

And yet, as my pastor quoted tonight from John 1:14 in The Message: "The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood." So as a follower of Jesus I need to move into the neighborhood, not just do comfortable acts of kindness that assuage my guilt, not just hand someone a Bible and walk out of their life. I have to move in. Get my hands dirty. Walk alongside someone in need. Enter into all the messiness of life with someone who is in a very broken place.Once upon a time many years ago, another young woman came and lived with me for a short time. We lost touch through the years, but I always knew that I meant something to her.

The last time Sara called me she was a single career woman in her 30s and five months pregnant, with plans to give the baby up for adoption. She called at midnight. She called in pain and confusion and we talked a long time. I tried to call her back two or three times after that but never got her. And then about a year later I read her obituary in the paper. It didn't say how she died, but I knew she had struggled with suicidal feelings before, and so in my heart I know she killed herself. I've prayed many times like that to never stop reaching out to someone when they need me, to always do whatever I can to listen, to talk. To ask my son to move out of his bedroom, so that another young and hurting girl has a safe place to fall.

I'm doing it for Sara. I'm doing it because I want to grow in love.