Christmas Spirit

I have fought in vain against my traditional writing of this years Christmas post.
This year has been unique. Hard actually. I have gotten knocked down more times than I care to count. Rather, I boldly dare to count the many times I have fought to stand back up again.

To be brutally honest, Christmas joy hasn't really been the main overture of my holiday season so far. Sure a note would squeak in here and there but often it was a pathetic note, forced to the point of being absolutely flat. Yet, I fought to keep up appearances, as long as nobody took the time to examine the false pretenses I was pretty much golden. Moments of being in awe of the lights and trimmings, music and general season festivities came and went without inner soul penetration. It would be a lie to say that there was absolutely no joy in my heart with each experience however it just wasn't the same. For the first time all of those things felt so superficial. It was like the soft velvet of the outside of a garment with a rough polyester interior, inside I felt chaffed.
The bitter inner voice grumbled and griped, "Bah humbug!" to this whole nonsense. Internally I was jaded to others happiness and reasoned that they all must be as superficial as I which in many ways made me despise it all more than ever, all the while smiling and at least attempting to appear to join in their jovial expressions.

Inside it was incredibly dark. I kept thinking and telling myself that after I finished my paper, or completed my last project, or maybe when I gave my final presentation, then, maybe, just maybe the Spirit of Christmas would return to my soul. But expectation of circumstances and the feelings that will result there-in, often lead to disappointment. Needless to say it wasn't any of these events that let in the Spirit.  Next I tried to blame geographical distance from family, my work schedule, or possibly the desperate lack of snow. While these excuses each had their individual weight I knew they were not the real reason.

I pretty much gave up honestly. I reached a point of breaking which resulted in some uncharacteristic snapping sprees, where I lashed out at those who are dear to my heart. It was a sick and twisted cry for help but how were they to know that? Each responded in their own way all are still surprisingly still around. Fascinates me every time - but that is a topic for another day.

Christmas eve dawned and I let my fears and frustrations flood my communications. I made a ridiculous mess of communication and relations- cried, fought and finally slept. Woke up feeling as empty as ever, but at least my edges were a little less sharp. I have travel plans for Christmas day so I decided I could finally sit down and open and enjoy all the Christmas cards I had been saving.
I love cards, while the cynic inside scoffs at the idea of people really meaning all the words said ("50 billion other cards have been printed and given just the same and without thought") -the stubborn yet soft inner child literately internalizes every word and affirmation.

Side note: As a kid I kept every card from all events in a box in the top of my closet. When the inner child needed a spirit lift I would scoot my chair over to the closet and take down the box and quietly read over all those words to myself. Some cards even came with pieces of gum or balloons, as time went on these trinkets got replace in many for more grown up and practical items, all except those that came from her. There was always a chance that those particular cards held the joys of childhood.
 As a teenager I'll admit, I scoffed. Oh how I wish I could go back and slap myself. For in the economics of the soul these trinkets are the gold while other currencies fall far behind. But there are some things that you never realize are precious until they are gone...

Anyways, I enjoyed reading through each of my cards and thinking fondly of those who sent them.
Finally. I reached the one that I had purposely put on the bottom. It had arrived earlier that day, a pastel green envelope stamped as being sent through  Topeka, Kansas. When it had first arrived I had closely examined the top left corner puzzled at its place of origin. First thought fleeting flew to the cards origin being from her, followed by the sharp pain that it couldn't be -the graveyard does not have a local post office.
The card was from a relative who still lives in the area. I was puzzled at receiving a card from them but as I opened it I realized that this was a card that was to be kept.
The front was a soft beige with a pretty gold edging and some soft petunias, none any of that bright red and green with fancy trimming sort of theme. It read:

Keeping You close in Caring thought and Prayers. 

Though your heart

 must hold deep sadness

 at the loss of the one you loved,

 may it also hold the blessings

 of the life you shared

 and the love

 that will always be 

a part of you...

Praying that God will comfort your heart,

uplift your spirit,

and carry you

through this time of sadness

to a place of peace.

I completely lost it. Sobbing and crying were the verbs of the moment for quite awhile. The dam of emotions had finally crumbled and that tsunami of emotions finally had the ability to flood my soul and being. All of the loss and pain that I had pushed back finally burst through with a sharp clarity. Moments of despair and loss of persons, relationships, personal pride and pain soaked my soul - each demanding to be felt.

 After I let myself grief, and the flooding ebbed away, my soul came out cleaner and clearer. Funny how terrified I was of the grief. I bottled it away in an attempt to be "okay" but the reality is that the only way I could actually be "Okay" was if I let it go. 

I had struggled to accept this grief the reason to my jaded and dejected perspective. Instead  I stuffed and pushed hard to keep those thoughts in their "place" and literately barricaded myself away from them. That is not a way to really live. All it resulted in was me acting as the little dutch boy - desperately plugging holes with finger spans and stretches - missing any true celebrations and joy as my back was turned. I was completely fixated on preventing my problems and pain rather than processing them.

As a society we are quick to find a quick fix for grief, the bottle, a drug, work, school, sex, medication, dependent relationships - the list goes on and on. We teach our children to not cry and immediately soothe and smother every tear with band-aid kisses. There is a deep - and legitimate - fear of grief, it is not a fun companion. However, despite our ingrained defenses against grief-as I read recently on a different blog- it is both sneaky and patient. It doesn't just give up and leave at the sight of our defense, rather it waits and watches for that chink in the armor through which it will piece the soul. 

After I faced my grief and let my soul become baptized in the flood - I found freedom..It is well with my soul, does not mean that it is all sunny and happy- but that it simply just is. All of the defenses and pretenses were washed away. While what remained would easily be considered bare, it was also absolutely whole. And there, nestled deep inside I found that twinkling spark of the Christmas Spirit. Some cheery tunes and friendly faces have already coaxed it into more of a flame - one that I only hope will grow through the day. 

While I would like to think my experience completely unique and unparalleled fact is Christmas is traditionally about a lot of stories, of which mine is not singular in its nature. The story I personally adhere and treasure the most to is the one of a Babe wrapped in ragged strips of cloth. He was born in a dis-attached building, home to the animals, and laid in an animal feed trough - degrading by any standards but even more so when taken into context that this is the One who spoke the universe into existence. Honestly not the greatest of circumstances, nothing like what is portrayed by  clean ceramic figurines. it was bloody, smelly and  an absolutely vulnerable circumstance. Yet this is the reality to which He choose to enter the world and offer His gifts of love and grace.In the end it is the Spirit that endures - not the circumstances. I had really forgotten this basic yet essential truth this Christmas. 

And so - as it always seems to be the case - it was through something simple that set the motions for a radical change. Though I no longer have a box at the top of my closet - I will be keeping this card , but more importantly I will treasure the lesson... And truly happily wish you dear reader - 

Merry Christmas :) 

Change.

Late nights.
Long hours.
Time.

Time to think
Time to pray
Pray...

Its been an interesting week. Busy, survivable, hectic, and yet something about it was also encouraging. I feel like somewhere amiss the rush I finally found some traction and gained momentum. Up till now a lot of life has just felt like motions. Acting. Attempting to keep it all together. But sometime, somewhere, this week I think I finally let go. Amazingly enough my world did not fall apart. On the contrary I think certain important aspects finally fell together.

Waiting...

"When God sends no answer and "the cloud remain[s]" (see numbers 9:19) we must wait. Yet we can do so much with the full assurance of God’s provision of manna, water from the rock, shelter and protection from our enemies. He never keeps us at our post without assuring us of His presence or sending us daily supplies. Young person, wait - do no be in such a hurry to make a change! … Wait for the Lord to give you His good pleasure, He will not be late! — Daily Devotional commentary, Streams in the desert Nov. 1st. 

And so on that note I really am wanting to dedicate this month to a time of just waiting and thanking God for what I already have. I am taken care of I have all that I need and it is all done by His mighty hand which is big enough to direct the stars and wipe my tears…

Why?

A pent up frustration
A wondering question
Why?

Moving past the why of the circumstance but rather focusing on the why of reaction?

Forget the hand that struck the bell, why does the bell sing? And more so why does this bell sing out differently than another struck even with the same stroke?

I pace the garden, wondering over the response. It's not enough to simply recognize the what of the different reactions.No it has to be deeper. Why react this way?

A simple insect rests on a leaf. Hardly moves, barely breathes. A broken wing bears a visual testimony to his plight. Does he struggle? Does he feel entitled to life ? Is he bitter? Or just accepting?

Is there really any amount of entitlement to anything that anyone should feel? Is any living thing "deserving" of one path or another? Aren't we all just here for the moment? So why be angry? I'd rather focus on being whole. I will never be with out the scars, and there will never be an end to reminders and ridiculers of past brokenness - but there can be healing. I am not entitled to extra care or concern, nor to coddling or bitterness and anger. I'm not certain i am entitled to anything really... and IF anything I am simply entitled to breathe, to life, just as much as the next person. And it's what I choose to do with my life that makes all the difference - am I willing to let Him turn the brokenness and scars into something beautiful for His purpose and plan? (Note i cant make them beautiful on my own. ever.)

The concept of surrendering to heal.

A moment.

This morning I saw the most gorgeous moment ever. One of many I'd suppose. I desperately wanted to take a picture to try to hold a visual record of this event, however, I have promised myself not to take anymore pictures while driving. It is hazard to both health and life in general, and honestly wouldn't have done the moment justice. Atlas the only way I can share this glorious second with anyone is through mere wordage.

Behind me came the sun. Warm with pure light of red and orangish hue. It had just crested the ridge and was rapidly spilling on to the valley below.

As the light shot out in front of me it began vigorously beating at the slight mist that hung amidst the trees which tunneled this winding back road. The battle against the rays was futile, as the fog was already retreating rapidly it's slight buffer between the sun and the trees.

The trees mind you are just starting to turn. A varied spectrum of color reflected off their leaves as they received the light of day. The Yellow green and red leaves alike all shared a life like glow in the warming suns welcoming rays.

Then, there above the tree tops, straight ahead, and slightly to the left shone the full moon in a radiant shadow of passing glory. Her time was coming to an end. Still it was as if she seemed to pause to cast a greeting to the new dawn, along with a silvery goodbye and a promise to return again.

Just a moment, come and gone. Yet a hallowed awe remains for the One who orchestrated it's very being.

Climbing

Climbing. 

It’s pretty much a sport where you purposely set out to do the impossible. A sport where-in the individual, the climber, dares to defy gravity, to struggle, to bleed, all to conquer and overcome some unchanging aspect, a rock.

The rock will not change; it will not help you or bend in any way. It is what it is, and there isn't much you can do about it as you hang from nylon threads. Unchanging, stubborn, and stiff it stands in defiance of the wind and rain. Yet it speaks to the wild at heart and calls for someone to dare to overcome. It’s a challenge, a challenge that dares you, the climber, to take your life from ground level to something higher. 

You set out to conquer this challenge alone. Yes there are ropes and yes there is someone below who is ideally willing and ready to catch you, but when you are on that rock you are alone. It’s just you, cold hard stone, and un-supportive air. Each move is yours to make. The person below can give you all the data in the world, they can give you a tight belay, they can even shout up encouraging words, but at the end of the day it is just you and the uncompromising rock and invisible air. It is up to the climber alone to keep on their upward journey.

The final aspect of the climbing element is the air. It’s all around. Air- Ever present, constantly at your back, and yet easily forgotten. It is also completely useless in the struggle that comes with obtaining the prize. In fact at times it can be a hindrance! -smacking and distracting you when complete focus is essential. Hauntingly it reminds you of your vulnerability and yet offers no tangible support, it simply lurks waiting for you to fail with open, yet un-supporting arms... 

Climbing isn't easy, but neither is really living.

In life, circumstances are the rocks. Everyone has their own stony set. Circumstances cannot be changed, they simply are. The goal is to overcome and take life to the next level, to thrive. Some don't really live. Rather they are content to stay down, to simply breathe and flow through life but not to strive with it. They see their circumstances as excuses to not climb and so instead they live in the shadows and the valleys of a hollow life. Instead of fighting for the higher goal they waste their given time by filling the void with other trifling and useless things while their rocks stand and obscure their view of all their individual potential. 

There are friends who support, and people who yell out tidbits of advice and encouragement. But at the end of the day they really can't do much. They can help, but to actually survive, to have the desire to climb, is something that must come from within. While others can influence, at the end of the day to choose to even try to really live is yours alone.

In life there is one difference though. One advantage that gives me hope. Like the air He is unseen, yet ever present and easily forgotten. However, unlike the air He is supportive.

I can't see God, but the fact that I am still breathing gives me reason to believe that He is there. Ever present and at my back my Father waits. He waits for me to dare to try, to defy all and strive for life. He stands beside me as I struggle with my personal circumstances. At times He too reminds me of my vulnerability and my desperate ever present need for His assistance. However, He will not force His services. No, instead He patiently stands by with open and ready arms ready to be right there to give me just what I need to make it. 

Neither climbing nor living a life worth living is easy. But in the end both are satisfying to the soul. 

Rubble.

I stand in the center of my crumbled walls. Rubble and ashes are all that is left of my self protecting fortress. The walls have fallen but not from a siege or singularly outward battering. no. this was an internal destruction. I wanted to be open. I was tired of my walls. I wanted hope I wanted to love and be loved. So when he knocked. I started a process of opening. The walls, through time and effort on both sides, came down.  

But now I stand alone. Walls are down, rubble remains. Suddenly I realize, I'm vulnerable. Now comes the time for choices.

Its been merely a month and already others are around. showing interest. I don't know how to respond. I don't know if I really have any interest in them, or if i could in time have interest in them. logically its a possibility. but inside my interests are only on him. Are they bad people? no. not at all. good guys but yet, I just cant. Any and all advances on their part is met with a level of hostility and encouragement - a general recklessness that is common of one so conflicted.

Honestly the attention is flattering and feels good. It eases the pain of rejection (obviously.)  But flattery leads to faltering.  Faltering to falling, and falling to pain. Pain for me, pain for them, pain for him (?)  just in general pain. Not a risk I am willing to take at this point.

I cannot just start with someone else. its too soon. too fresh. I'm still enchanted by the last charming fellow, and still eagerly scanning the horizon hoping to see his familiar silhouette. It would a mockery to what we had and the thought of it just doesn't settle well at all.

I must wait. but how long do i wait? -and for what I might add ? For a man who may never return? For the man who helped me break down these walls but now is gone? Am i to wait for me to build up walls and separate my core from the outside again?  wait until i again am so separated by walls and masks? wait until _____ ?

I cannot wait forever for one who may never return. He left me nothing that indicates his return. On the contrary he seems to be trying to pretend that I don't exist. We are both hurting. But waiting forever is not an option. I am not willing to resign myself to living alone over one rejection. While I don't Need someone, I do want someone. Someday. 

I don't want separation. While the temptation is there to rebuild walls and double my previous defenses, its not what I want. To return to that state of defensiveness would also be a mockery of all the effort that was put forth by us. 

At the end of the day taking down those walls has led to pain, but it also led to joy. The joy is worth all the pain. I do not regret the destruction of these walls. My pendulum has swung. Starting from the stony walls and separation on to the side of fierce openness and far fetching starry eyed love. And now back again, but this time not as high. Not as impenetrable.

What I need is a fence. 

"I don't know why, it's so hard to swallow our pride!
And I don't know how many wrongs make a right.
I don't know the reason.
Sometimes it just feels so good to cry!
And I don't know which way the wind will blow.
But You're here with me.
And that's all I need to know!" -- Thousand foot Krutch 

Sailing

Two ships sailing across the sea.
I met you and you met me.

On we sailed swapping tales.
Admiring one another's sails.

Enjoying the sun
having  fun.

We learned to trust and love
A legacy one could be proud of.

But then the skies turned grey
And the sun shine went away.

The waves rose and crashed
The wind howled and lashed.

I struggled, fought and wept,
as wave after wave over me swept.

It was not your storm
my loss was not yours to mourn

For a bit you seemed to try
but was it all just a lie?

Eventually you changed your course
And added to the hurricanes force.

Through the waves I tried to follow,
but this was more than I could swallow.

I tried to understand and reason,
I willed this not to be treason.

But away you left without a glance.
Thunder crashed marking our last dance.

Through the wind and blinding pain
I mourned our friendship, slain.

However onward I must sail.
I must continue through this gale.

I will not go down
I will be found.

I will not succumb
another ship will come.

One who will enjoy the sun
We will also have fun

One who weathers the storm
no matter the massive form.

A man who wants to be there
no matter how the wind fares.

And if not,
if this not my lot.

I will yet sail.
I refuse to bail.

There is always my Friend
His hand is there to mend.

He will heal
and direct my keel.

So, adieu my friend,

it was worth it in the end. 

Re-Defining

Over
Done
Finished.

I am starting to chart my own course. Raise my own sails. Captain my own ship.

Redefining
daring to dream
Finding Silver lining

In a moment it came clear, I will be okay. I have loved. I have lost.
|
One to grave.
One to self.
|
But I will be okay. I have loved. I have lost.
| 
|
I will love again.

Cemetery thoughts

Today I spent my afternoon at a cemetery.
No I didn't know anyone lain there, I had never even been there before.
But something about its silent rock testaments to life lived and lost called to me.
As I wandered through this place of solitude I came upon a monument where names written in stone were lined on a wall, as opposed to the hundreds planted in the grass. As i walked up and down those aisles I came to one where all were blank. and then another. And another. Over a hundred blank stone tablets. hung and waiting. Waiting for one to die, to give them purpose. The living know that they shall die. It is an inescapable yet haunting fact.
As I causally strolled among the hundreds of white stones in the grass, and amidst the tall, more general and impersonal monuments I pondered. : All of these had died for a specific purpose, or at least all were said to have died for a specific purpose. War.
I wondered what each individual would think of that. As far as a general umbrella reason as to why they died I suppose they may not bicker or gripe. But if I were they, I think I would want a comma instead of a period. War, family, Love. etc. I would want my own individual  reasons to be mentioned. Individualism, such an american cultured concept.
Yet in the very end where is this flare of personal color, this individualism? We all die. It's the same ending for all.
Dying is as much of a natural part of life as blinking, it just happens. Its the living bit that makes us into who we are remembered for and defines our individual natures.
Honestly I don't know what I will be remembered for. As much as the next person I want to be remembered for something positive, writer perhaps? Or lover of the people of the world?
I don't know, but this I do know.  What I will be remembered for starts today. What I choose to do in my day today (not because it is special, rather just because it is, it exists) will determine what I am remembered for.

The Joke's on you.

Bet against me.
Set the odds high.
The Joke is on you,
In the end I will fly.

Mere paper giants
in grand display.
I'll fight against you.
Let Come what may.

No matter the fight,
No matter how far,
I won't give up.
Instead, I'll raise the bar.

Can't take me down,
Won't make me bend.
I have found strength
In the name of my Friend.

Bet against me.
Set the odds high.
The Joke is on you,
In the end I will fly.

To be strong

Your my brave strong girl - you can do this.

You have come so far, you're so strong.

Wow Katie, can I just tell you, you are handling this marvelously? You are so strong.

Etc etc etc

All my life I have been told I am strong. I am brave, I have come far, done and dealt with a lot. Maybe it's true. It's true my life has been unique. But honestly for most of it, it didn't feel hard. Child like resiliency. It was natural to keep fighting. But now that it's a choice. Now that I have to choose to get out of my room. Choose to keep my chin up, smile on and determination high. It's hard. It hurts. I am not strong enough to deal with all of this. I am buckling under this weight and I can breathe. I want to bolt. To run. To through away what I have worked so hard for.

I don't know If I can handle what happened yesterday enough to even face today or even dream about a tomorrow. I'm stretched so thin and I'm so destroyed. Just Rubble all around.

But there is beauty in the ashes. Hope in the morning. That's why I like sunrises so much. They are so beautiful. So much hope encapsulated in the fact that even when the world is falling apart, the sun still comes up. On the good days and the bad.

Yeah I'm not strong enough. I have screwed up big time, and I am feeling an overwhelming since of loss. But I am not alone. Granny was right when she advised to always keep Jesus near, as honestly He is the only one I can count on. --- "Not by might nor by power, But by MY spirit says the LORD of hosts..."

Yes I am in a lot of pain. But I'm going keep fighting till my last breath.

"When you are going through hell, keep going" --

Sum of life

Turning off switches taking out lines. Trying hard to say goodbye

Ragged breaths and heavy sighs
Why does everyone have to die

Great memories of times past
There is the thing that will last

Live each moment, treasure each day
Enjoy your life as long as you stay.

In the end when all is said and done.
The question will be if you choose to have fun.

Kintsukuroi

Kintsukuroi: The art of making Beauty out of Brokenness.

To be broken is to have lived for any reasonable time on this planet. All of us experience pain - all have been cracked. All have failed, and all have secrets.  But the true definition of life comes from what we choose to make of our cracks. Where I have failed, and why I am broken is not what I want to be the defining aspects of my life, nor do I want to live a life in which I am constantly trying to hide my pain. Instead I'm choosing to go to the master potter. He is the only one who can take my shatter shards and make them back into a useful vessel, and beyond being the only one who can He wants to.  Yeah, He's super amazing... :) 

Healing

"Okay now, I need to you to hold it for ten seconds, fifteen times okay?" My ever persistent physical therapist instructed as she gave me a green rubber band.

"okay, here goes nothing." I responded as I started to pull back,  Or everything, my ankle corrected me as I shut my eyes to hide the pain. 

After completing my exercises I was ready to just go home. To my bed, and never to get up again. But get up  I did, and carry on I shall. 4 weeks now into my physical therapy sessions, that are now eating up 6 hours a week,  I can see a difference. I am learning to walk confidently again. I keep finding myself forgetting my injury and then being gently (and sometimes not so gently) reminded. Its been a journey. A journey of healing, and I am still on it.

Healing doesn't happen over night. It is not a one instant and then BAM your healed. Not on this earth. While being injured has taught me bunches of lessons about humanity and my dissipation toward humans (as i have logged in this blog) however I think the biggest lesson has been on a deeper level than I ever would have expected.

My past is both speckled and darkened by so many not-so-pleasant and potentially painful memories. Some I tuck contently away and rarely have reason to recognize them, others hang around, constantly lobbying for attention. Dealing with the memories and living in the present can become a difficult balancing act. One second its all good, next I am trying to over correct my jumpy reaction to a slight comment that means nothing in the present, but was earth shattering in the past. I am finding new wounds that I have stuck in the back and ignored for years, wounds that I realize will not heal unless I choose to recognize and restore these  parts of me. This requires to rip off the mask that I have pretty much root itself into my being. It means putting up with some of the pain and processing it instead of procrastinating. Also I find myself needing to do a fair amount of leaning on my closest friend, my boy friend, and above all, my Heavenly Father.

My heavenly Father is right there, pointing out the major and minor issues, calming me when I get too worked up, and reassuring me of His unchanging and unfailing love. Beyond that I have amazing people who are patient with my tendencies and who in their day to day interactions with me show that they love me and refuse to let me forget it.

Healing isn't a easy an easy process. A part of me would rather just go to bed and stay there, forever. But in the end it will be worth it. Already I have been able to experience a true confidence (as opposed to masked/fake one) that has been so foreign to me and I can see where parts of me are starting to heal in stead of just languishing in a festered mess. Slowly I am gathering and defining a identity that I hope will be both flexible and durable. An identity not based on my past or struggles but founded in my Fathers love with a purpose of helping others on their journeys. A bit vague I suppose, but its a work in progress, so that's completely acceptable. One day at at time they say.

One class, one moment, one memory at a time, eventually all of these little things will be come together to make one little life, and then hopefully in the end He will have found a way to use that life to His purpose. 

Simple words

Simple words

That’s all they were

And yet they hit the inner cords

Words affirming

Words of learning

Words to spark a fire burning

Sticks and stones

May break my bones

But words can also hurt me

Yet the other hand,

Is just as true,

Words strengthen more than planned

Simple words

That’s all they were

And yet they set me free.

To really see.

I wonder what life would be

If we all could really see.

Bullet wounds and cracks,

Knives sticking out of backs.

What if we could see our hearts,

Instead of just statistic charts.

What if we could see the pains

That locks us up, as if in chains.

What if,  if when we could see,

We worked together to be free

I wonder what life would be

If we all could really see;

Joy and peace, and love

As the sunshine from above.

What if we could see our souls

And all the treasure each one holds.

What if we all could really know

The happiness that each day shows

What if, with that knowledge

We made a difference, made a bridge.

To choose to help instead of hurt,

And to share all that we have learnt.

What a different place this'd be

If we all could really see.

Peace admist a storm

"Peace above the storm" - It was one of my top selling books in the summer of 2010. I offered it pretty much at any door that didn't turn me away after presenting the cookbook - why? Because this is a world of chaos - the assumed opposite of peace.
I say assumed opposite because I am started to question if they are really all that different at all.

Can you really have "peace" without a storm? If life was full of only good times and absolutely nothing was wrong - would we even know what the word "peace" means?  Its through the storms and the rain that we learn to appreciate the sun, and its going through the hard times that we can learn to appreciate the great. Storms are a regular part of life - but peace can be too. Maybe looking at life through a lens of comparing and contrasting, black and white, is where the trouble is. What if I learned to enjoy the hard times as much as the good?

What I am not saying in this notion is that we need chaos in our lives - no. Sadly its just a part of life. But what we do need is peace, and need to know how to recognize it and where to go to get it.
So often when life is going great I start to forget the source of my Joy - but when my source has run dry due to my lack of attention that is when I start paying more attention.
See, storms are kind of like an alarm - its not like I want to hear that beeping screeching thing go off - but I do want to be notified of the rising smoke levels in a room. I don't want hard times, trials and set backs - but I do want to be reminded of my final goal and told when I am straying.

If I were to rename my top selling book I'd call it "Peace amidst the storm" - because too easily in life we don't recognize peace until we loose it in the chaos. But to be able to dance in an impermeable bubble in which one can be at peace no matter the atmosphere outside. There's a revolutionary concept. So often I think I pray the "wrong" prayer (If there is such a thing) - instead of begging to get better or pass a class, maybe I need to focus more on praying for peace, no matter the circumstances. Also in some way I think I am developing an appreciation of sorts for the not so great circumstances - its the only way to strengthen my bubble and my faith.

"I need a trusty compass" said the captain, "One that will keep its needle steady no matter how hard the ship is being tossed"