Transparency

"There is a beautiful transparency to honest disciples who never wear a
false face and do not pretend to be anything but who they are... Getting honest
with ourselves does not make us unacceptable to God. It does not distance us
from God, but draws us to Him--as nothing else can--and opens us anew to the
flow of grace." --Brennan Manning

Transparency. It seems to be a word forever looming before me--appearing perhaps unattainable. I think it is especially true among us ladies. How much of our lives do I spend looking out of the corner of my eye trying to see how "she" did it, so I can do the same? Maybe I am just more impressionable than most, but I know I spend a whole lot of time trying to look more awe-inspiring than I am, better than I am--or than I see myself. In other words, I often spend a lot of time trying to be who I am not... or trying to be who I think someone else is.

You know, it's funny--because with all this tweaking and trying and proposing and changing--in the end, the people who love us love the real "us". Not the us with our hair in glossy perfection, or with a wonderful pre-planned menu every week of the year, or with our amazing accomplishments.

Rather, they love us...
when we are comfortable in our own skin, with our imperfections
when we can sit with a sink full of dirty dishes and not feel the need to explain that it's not "usually this way"
when we can focus on being in the moment with them and not on the ways we miss perfection.

And there it is! Our changings and desperate attempts at perfectionism are really thin veils over pride. Wanting to amaze people and somehow be better than them.

So, I want to choose transparency. To be who God made me all the time. Of course, that doesn't mean I'll stop washing the dishes or brushing my hair, but maybe--just maybe--I'll engage in less corner-of-the-eye watching and instead look into people's hearts.

Treasures

He is small and delicate, a flower in my arms

Giggles and coos--little tooth buds arising from his gums

I breathe in his sweet scent:

Baby lotion, warmth and milk

He is a treasure, a gift from above

He is my son.

She is an adult, full-grown--off aside, out of the way

Empty, sad eyes looking at the ground

Stooped shoulders, old broken clothes

Hair matted with dirt and sweat

Yet, she too is a treasure, a gift from above

Just like my son.

How often do I shirk from her, oh my father God?

Was there ever someone who held her close as I do my son?

Coos and smiles, sweet scents and beauty

Are easy to hold, to love, to adore

I want to with Your eyes and Your heart see

Your treasures.

Thoughts

"When you do the common things in life in an uncommon way, you will command the attention of the world." --George Washington Carver

As I sit down to write this, the house is strewn about with baby toys, clean laundry and dirty dishes. These call out for my prompt attention--after all, the baby is in bed!! However, I want to make good on the promise to myself to be regular in my writings.

Two strands of thought have been running through my head the last couple of days--does that happen to you? Like the beginning to some great "understanding" of an illusive concept, and then life happens and the strand just remains there...hovering until it dissapears forever.

One strand is of the insignificant things that aren't really insignificant at all... the small things that can add up to be big things.... the time-consuming little details of life that can seem to stifle living! I find myself constantly struggling against those things: Change that diaper, clean this mirror, sweep that room. I don't want them to be the sum of my life, but they are nessesary parts. May I learn to keep the little things in their place--so that I don't miss the big parts of life: Snuggle times with my hubby, giggles with my boy, talks over coffee, hot baths. Joy in the things that matter, let the rest just be background.

The other strand has been compassion. I think that true compassion is often (mostly?) the compassion that no one else sees or notices. Compassion is not hard when there are friends around, cameras flashing or the idea of a reward motivating the act. True compassion, though, is hard. And, often it is hardest to demonstrate to the people closest to us. Isn't that crazy? I mean, I can find myself sobbing over some obscure reality show, and then feel absolutely no compassion towards my husband when he complains of not feeling well. I think another word for compassion could be empathy. Why is it harder to feel empathy for your sister than it is for a poor child on the street? I don't have the answers, but it's got me thinking.

Little things. Common people. Big picture. I want to be a person that sees the big picture clearly enough that I don't let the common people in my life to become little things while I divulge far to much time in the things that... in light of a life... mean nothing.

The Why

I have always loved to write. Had a diary from the age of 9, I think... in which I recorded important things such as what I had for breakfast and how many diapers I had changed that day. Through the years, I had to put down my thoughts on 4-H, swim classes, school, family... and of course... love. The all-consuming search. Poems, scribblings, and notes without number where filled with the theme.

I have also been a "quotes searcher". Actually have a special notebook just for those perfect quotes I've found.

I also found that oil painting would fill me with an excited wonder. No one would rush to call me a child prodigy, but the rush of emotions that I would feel as I would mix my own colors and use them to fill a before-empty canvas was unequalled.

For some reason, since I got married and life became completly "other" than how it was, it seems that all artistic expression got put in one of those dusty boxes I have under my bed. I know that this was largely due to huge upheaval (i.e: moving to a different country two months after marriage) and permenant life-change (i.e: marriage... baby before 1st anniversary). I think I was kind of floating along for a while. Perhaps part of the ebb in my flow was the fact that I am married to a wonderful, understanding husband--so that certain "searching" or "longing" that often inspires poetry and the like was no longer there.

However, in recent days, I have been feeling a stirring of desire to return to the cultivation of the "litary/artistic" side of me...and I feel like if it is somewhat public, I may be somewhat inspired to be more regular in my recordings.

So, here's to expression and viva la poesía!! :)

I close with a quote from the great A.W. Tozer from his book The Pursuit of God:

"It is not what a man does that determines whether his work is sacred or
secular; it is why he does it. The motive is everything. Let a man sanctify God
in his heart, and he can thereafter do no common act."