Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

using shadows to see the light

Once in a blue moon, I allow myself to wander the shadowy landscape of What Might Have Been. I briefly revisit so many surreal weeks in hospitals with our girls when they were tiny. Family funerals over the years. Bizarre relationship changes. Job loss and all of the precipitating life evolutions. Near misses on the highway. Injuries and illnesses with our farm animals. The terror of everything that happened in Colorado two years ago. All of the scary parts of life that my mind is mostly trained to not glorify, I will just sometimes glance at again.

I don’t do this often, or for very long, because I have learned that imagining things can bring them to fruition. Our most vibrant emotions have the power to magnify; they can either fuel or fight against our prayers. Those idle moments lost in thought can sharpen unseen possibilities, good and bad. So I am careful.

But I am as susceptible to triggers and as filled with memory as anyone, so sometimes I let it all drizzle over me for a few moments. If I am feeling strong and focused enough, I allow a good, steady gaze straight in the face of all those phantoms. I remember the terror, the grief, the uncertainty, whatever it is. Or whatever it was or could have been. I think that’s key.

Then inevitably I am flooded with visions of reality, for how things actually are, and I am shaken to my core with gratitude. At that point, my indulgence is over. My mental habit is to give thanks for as many true details as I can scoop up. Gratitude is easy for facts like sunsets and gardens. Art and music. Fat horses. Dramatic Oklahoma skies. Life and redemption. Lies burned through with truth. Healing. Financial provision. Relationships strengthened. Children returned home. Addictions dealt with. Breakthroughs. Peace. Unbridled joy in the midst of so much suffering.

I return intentionally to reality, to the present moment. And the beauty of the present moment always outshines the shadowy, phantom past.

A few weeks ago, on a whim, I texted a phone number still programmed in my phone to Jocelyn. It is no longer hers, I knew that, but in the bounce back of one of the indulgences I just described to you, I had to try. The new owner replied and I asked, if they knew Joc, to tell her know that her Mom loves her and misses her so much. This was a silly thing to do. I realize the odds of that person knowing her were ridiculous. But this person responded with compassion and a wish that I find her and that she knows we love her.

Then, just a few days ago, Handsome and I were driving on Northwest Expressway and stopped at a traffic light across from Baptist hospital. This was exactly the last part of town where I last spent time with Joc and her little sister, almost a year ago. Stopped at that light, in the driver’s seat, I spotted a petite young woman with dark hair and slim legs, an oversized coat, backpack on one shoulder. She was waiting to cross the Expressway. It only lasted for a moment, but I thought it was her. My body flooded and tensed with adrenaline, and I very nearly threw the car into park and flung open the door. I was ready to scream her name and sprint to her, but the young woman turned her head and showed me a face that was not Jocelyn’s. I sat there just kind of crumpled, you know that feeling when a flood of adrenaline drains quietly. It’s always such a sickening, nauseous moment. I held my breath, begging silently for the green light. When Handsome saw my face, all I told him was that I thought I had seen Joc. He put his hand on my leg and whispered a few words of prayer. Everything was warm and steady again. That familiar sensation of God being near us dissolved the sick.

I miss her. I miss so much I do not have the words for it. And I am dealing with lots of anger, too, with other adults in her life and her sisters’, in their upbringing, in their adulthood, just the world itself is so violent and treacherous. My beautiful, innocent babies. Yet… Layered with and connected to this ongoing grief is a strong, brilliant assurance that every single prayer is already answered. Reality is both; they seem inseparable.

If we never revisit the old wounds and fears, either near misses or catastrophes that actually did happen and actually did reshape our worlds, I think our gratitude can become dull, theoretical, rote. But laying hold of our darkest feelings and offering them to God is a good way to transform them. It’s that miraculous alchemy again. The gratitude that comes next is textured and colorful, vibrating with life because we know our gifts are real and worth appreciating.

  • Admitting our broken relationships and failures then giving thanks for the healing that has come since.
  • Looking at where we have been emptied out and scraped bare then giving thanks for the unprecedented ways God has refilled our stores, emotionally, financially, physically.
  • Remembering lost loved ones so we can keep their characters alive and also more actively treasure the people still with us.
  • Excitement in advance for miracles still brewing.
  • Gratitude for the true elasticity of time and for the timeless, omnipresent, unstoppable force that is Love.

Faith cooperates with imagination, but it hardly an imaginary whim. Every one of these moments in life, each choice to redirect our energy and recommit ourselves, counts. And the sharp contrast between Fear and Love is so delicious, such a gift in itself.

Come home, baby. I have so much to tell you.

september new moon beginnings & a very special birthday wish

Last Sunday was exceptional in several ways, and since it was both the first day of September and the front edge of the new moon cycle, the time when we plant seeds and intentions for growth in the coming weeks, I am accepting the specialness of that one day as a gift meant to extend into the near future.

Early that morning I enjoyed an hour or so alone, reading devotionals and journaling my pre-dawn thoughts, teasing our scriptures that spoke to me.

Then I drove to a nearby park to run with some local friends, an indulgence I rarely allow myself. It was fun and sweaty and overall good for my soul. These runners are all chasing big goals, which motivates me; and they are each fascinating people, full spectrum humans who are just plain fun to talk to. If you are a runner, then you have probably experienced that strange and wonderful phenomenon of striking up deep and sudden personal conversation with the person moving in the same plane, just adjacent to your elbow. I am sure there is plenty of science and psychology to support this; all I know is that this unique shared space, the talking we do while running, is some of life’s best conversation.

Around mile 4 or 5, the group encountered a mammoth cottonwood tree, fallen from recent storms. Its trunk was maybe three feet in diameter and lying across the path. We all slowed to navigate the roadblock safely; then my new friend Lori nearly tripped on an unrelated twig. We laughed and immediately saw the connection to real life: That we can avoid the big stuff easily enough but get tripped up on the details. It was funny for a moment then the profound truth of it really stilled me.

While I was with friends, Handsome made some exciting progress on the Batmobile. If I haven’t told you yet, he is transforming a 1964 Ford Thunderbird into a real and true Batmobile for use in our Outreach events. This project deserves lots of its own posts and photos, which I will tend to soon. But for now, just know that seeing him enjoying this work is so gratifying, so heartwarming.

Midday, Handsome and I ran a few errands together and decided to swap a planned zoo date for a spontaneous bonfire gathering at the farm. We sent out a handful of invitations and gathered a few things to eat. Then we luxuriated in the cool dark of our living room until dusk, when friends started filtering in.

Two couples from different social circles plus two young adult couples (very sweet kids of our new friends Francis and Latonya) helped us fill the deck. We all nibbled on plates of food and chatted easily about everything. We learned a lot about each other, and I was amazed by the accidental chemistry of the tiny group. Don’t you love it when that happens? We meandered onto topics like religion versus spirituality and energy healing and barefoot grounding, and (my favorite topic that night) the power of music to evoke emotion and inspire us, especially during worship. The six of us adults were all from varying backgrounds. This never ceases to amaze me, how unique our upbringings can be, even as we all seem to live in this homogenous American culture. And we danced! Lynn is a professional dancer and studio owner and an excellent conversationalist, and I love her. She so generously taught me two simple foundational steps, and we practiced barefoot on the wooden deck. Later, I asked Handsome to dance with me to What a Wonderful World, and one by one each of our friends took someone’s hand. Soon everyone, of all ages, was swaying and humming under the lights. Moments like this sear into my heart’s memory in the best way.

So if all of that beauty from last Sunday could be packaged and promoted, laid as a wrapped gift at the doorstep of each new day this month, then September should be quite beautiful. We can expect movement and connection. Dancing and fireside safety of communal spirits. We can look forward to teenagers and young adults and married couples surrounding and warming our own love nest. Running with the rising sun and unexpected lessons from fallen trees, good meals and great music and attention to detail, these gifts will infuse our threshold month with beauty. Crossing over from summertime to autumn will be graceful and intentional, and for all of this I am already so grateful.

Speaking of young adults, Jocelyn will be 24 tomorrow. Every time I to speak her name or write about her, it hurts more than I expect it to. She is ok, I believe, but I miss her so much, we all do. This is not the first birthday of hers when we have been separated but this time it feels different. It feels riddled with misunderstanding, and that make the grief of apartness more difficult. They say that grief is love not yet fully expressed, and this is so true with my girls. Ever big and little things I crave to do for them or say to them, it binds up in my throat or in my belly and ferments a little. Enough has happened over the years that in grand ways I do trust that God will move in His time and even restore what the locusts have eaten away. That is an assurance that never trembles.  But the aching to connect, that intense craving to share in her beautiful life and to have her share in ours, it is strong.

Happiest of birthdays, my magical girl. Thank you, friends, for sharing your love and energy with us last Sunday. The healing energy from those gatherings will carry us through, I already feel it. Happy September!

XOXOXOXO

rooted & grounded

And just like that, we have leaped across the verdant threshold between seasons. My heart is filled all over again with excitement for the coming gardens and with hope for so many yet-unanswered prayers. I know I say that a lot, about hope, but please know that we also celebrate the brick-and-mortar resolutions, the answers, the rewards of waiting and hoping, all the time. Our world lately has been riddled with both good news (really good news), encouragement to expect more of it, and some healthy perspective about how much worse life often is for others. Gratitude is not strong enough a word to express how I feel about it all. I am in awe of what God has been doing for us and the people near us.

Jessica planting some joyful color in her apartment courtyard garden…xoxoxo

Seeds are germinating left and right. The Peeps have officially outgrown their indoor trough home and have moved to the flight pen outside. Broccoli, cauliflower, and cabbage starts are suddenly voluptuous; their neighboring snow peas are tendriling upwards on arched cattle panels; and the Mouse Garden is a thick, highly textured bed of kale. Kale!! The Yukon Gold potato box has sprouted with food, and what so far looks like just green confetti will very soon be full ruffles of spinach, kale, arugula, and fancy lettuces. Last year’s chicks, now fully mature hens, are laying eggs regularly and eating all the wild clover I can pull from our new watermelon patch. The horses are shedding as thickly as the cottonwood is about to be blooming, and speaking of blooms, all four of our fruit trees seem to have kept their precious springtime flowers and are all set up for a heavy season of apples, peaches, and plums.

The house stays warm enough most days, now, even with the heater off and the windows open, to keep a sourdough starter going, and I bake fresh bread as often as we crave it. We stay busy outdoors so much longer these days, with the gradually later sunsets and mild weather, just moving easily and with great pleasure from one task to the next. Klaus keeps us company the whole time, and it is wonderful to find him exhausted instead of restless at the end of a day well spent. (My husband says he feels the same way about being able to exhaust me, ha! Hibernation is not for everyone.)

Our middle field especially is greening up, and just a moderate effort to scoop up and relocate manure is making a big difference. The compost bins have stayed so full that I recently started a second, much larger area for experimenting with a faster decomposition method. But now I think it’s too far away from a water source. Oh well, the honeybees love it!

My little herb garden is waking up from winter, and it is so fun to try and visualize what will return, where the truly blank spots are, how to reshape and replenish the small area. It’s a luscious intimacy, to know a garden for a length of time, to become familiar with its dimensions and habits and needs and wants. To know how it behaves in each season, what is asks of the gardener, what it offers in return. In the spaces between perennials, I am scattering seeds like cinnamon basil, dill, zinnias, and more. By Easter Sunday everything should be erupting there. Already, in this garden and in the areas flanking the vegetable gate, day-lilies and vinca have returned. I am so excited about the gomphrena and Mexican petunia. For now my eyes feast on the Jane magnolia petals falling all over the front sidewalk.

We have been craving to host an outdoor yoga night and will do this soon. The weather is just so close to being reliable, and we have only a short list of deck repairs to make first. Local and interested in moonlit yoga and meditation? Stay tuned!

The first three months of this gorgeous new year have been filled with incredible Love, satisfying work, plenty of restoration and deep breathing, and just good, plain, happy daily pleasures. Life at the W is not without stress and certainly out hearts have aches like everyone’s; but we have laid hold of some powerful antidotes and some very agreeable reminders for each other about what matters most, about how to shrug off distractions and quickly refuse energy siphons, and how to really sink in and enjoy the moments. Magnify pleasures. Minimize irritations. When either of us buckles from some outside pressure, I think we are pretty good at showing each other grace and welcoming each other back to paradise. Because paradise, really, is how it so often feels. For these things and much more, I am so deeply grateful.

One last update, I just finished The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. My sister Angela had recommended it, and I found it to be not just thought provoking but deeply confirming of so much I have already been considering. Lots to discuss if you have read this!

Happy Sunday, friends, and happy springtime!

Rooted and Grounded in Love
XOXOXO

holding space, and early march update & a new spin on optimism

In like a lion, out like a lamb. That’s the adage I’m celebrating right now, doubling up on the almanac’s confident assurances about an early spring. My local friends will argue that our frigid air temps of late have already proved that prediction wrong; but it was a brief blip on an otherwise sunny outlook. This too shall pass. Let’s cling to that adage as well, which brings me to my favorite reading material this week: The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.

Have you read this book, or are you listening to Oprah’s piecemeal interview with him, which dissects his other title, A New Earth? The material is such a luscious reinforcement to all the Buddhism we have been absorbing this winter, all the lessons on mindfulness, stillness, and impermanence.

And I may or may not have mentioned this here: For months now I have been receiving crystal clear direction from God to make space and hold it. I crave space in my body, in my schedule, in our home, even in my intimate relationships, though creating space there has been magically coupled with a new layer of more meaningful intimacy. I tried to rationalize it for a while but eventually relaxed and decided that simply doing it could become my daily practice. It has been lovely, and I am only just beginning.

One funny thing about space is that it tends to fill itself up if we aren’t watching. Physical space, especially. We recently sold one car and rearranged the others plus some gym equipment to other outbuildings and in so doing wound up with a completely blank car bay in the garage attached to our house, the one where I do laundry and have a potting/painting bench. How long did that space stay empty? Not very! We went to the feed store last weekend and brought home 21 newly hatched chicks and 2 tiny ducks. They now live in a heated metal horse trough in that “empty space,” ha! Our days since they came to the farm have been very peep-ish and our whole world is now totes adorbs. This kind of space filling is fine by us.

Let’s talk about the weather once more, and the seasons.

These recent weeks brought us freezing (truly freezing, not just hyperbole-cold-Oklahoma but actually sub-zero) temps and plenty of frost and ice. We fought off the despair of unceasingly gray, gloomy skies, wore layer upon layer of clothing but still shivered, and ate weird food that barely ever warmed us up. The tail end of February is always bizarre, right? Doesn’t it feel longer than all the rest of winter, combined?

Then, on Monday evening, the clouds parted suddenly and the sun shone on the farm just long enough to accomplish a dramatic stab of gold and bronze, fighting off the gloom, literally moments before dusk. We were sitting in the east living room when it happened, and the change in atmosphere deserved its own Vivaldi soundtrack.

Then Tuesday was ever so slightly more pleasant for being outside, and sunset on Wednesday took my breath away. This morning, before seven, I saw the eastern sky do that kaleidoscope twist where all of her pink and apricot colors churned and shone and cast a shimmering mix of lavender and yellow onto the basin of the western sky, just across our pond. It happens some days in a more kinetic way than others. It’s truly magical, and I love it.

Also, our only two adult roosters are fighting a little bit, no matter that they have a harem of seven gorgeous hens to share.

The pine forest has been weighed down with hefty flocks of visiting, screaming black birds.

The earthworms are wriggling into the warmest top layers of soil and compost.

The horses are shedding like crazy.

The bees are foraging on dried manure and dandelions.

And my heart just knows.

What I’m saying here, friends, is that springtime is happening. We knew it would!

All the seed trays, empty raised beds, and future watermelon patches will soon be ready for action.

Until then, more space making, More reading and cleaning and working and loving. More teaching ducklings to swim (like they need lessons) and more encouraging German Shepherds to appreciate every single romp outdoors, because the freeze is over, at long last.

A quick, gentle word about optimism, and this darling snuggling photo of Handsome with Maddie:

At our friend Maddie’s recent high school performance of Shrek, one song stood out to me and actually kind of hit me like a marshmallow sledgehammer. The character Fiona was singing a funny lament about how many years she had been locked away in her tower, about for how very long she had been wishing for her prince to rescue her (insert your own long-awaited miracle at this point). Then in the scene when it finally happens, when Shrek finally comes to release her from her bondage, she proclaims, “I knew it would happen TODAY!”

TODAY. Fiona knew, all those days and years leading up to her big moment, that her answer would come. She surrounded herself with evidence of other princesses and their unique moments of redemption. As her own waiting and captivity stretched on, she may have felt discouraged sometimes but still knew in some funny, weird way that it would happen today. The only detail missing was exactly which today it would be. And so, with that deep knowledge, she never gave up.

Okay, I will leave that with you for a while, to marinate. Please get back with me and share your thoughts. The whole notion that today is all we have, that this moment is all there ever is, that presence and attention are powerful, well, it will not let go of me. And it all leads me to crave more space. And I knew that springtime would eventually happen, that it would happen on some unknown today. And I know that all of our hardest-yearned for prayers will also be answered, on some very special today that is very much worth waiting for.

A final thought about Fiona? She waited, and she trusted, but her answer was still a miraculous surprise. Remember? It was not exactly what she imagined: It was far better. So friends, let’s stay open to the shock and trembling joy of all that is possible in our lives. Let’s crate and hold space for whatever is coming. And then relax back into the present moment.

I love you. I wish you only the best of every detail. Please come visit our baby peeps before they grow up.

“Past and future veil God from our sight.
Burn up both of them with fire.”
~Rumi
XOXOXOXO

a new take on prosperity & a very special birthday wish

A few days ago I was listening to an interview about authenticity, and the speakers’ conversation floated briefly to the topic of prosperity. Not material prosperity, though, or even physical, but rather all the things that support and promote our spiritual wellness. PRO-SPIRIT, you know? Prosperous. I love it. And that got me thinking all over again about the importance of rejoicing, or of RE-JOY-ING our lives. I became so lost in thought (I was running at the lake as I listened) that after a few miles of thinking and nearly bursting into tears (happy ones) I had no idea where the interview had gone and had to stop to back it up.

Prosperous. Pro-spirit. All the many things that support, promote, fortify, guard, and otherwise enhance our spiritual selves. To me, in my recent vernacular, my spirit self is my breath, too, so there’s a physical aspect to consider, though not exactly a material one. (Semantics? Ok maybe.)

Without much effort I was able to summon dozens of activities, conditions, and other life details that are thoroughly pro-spirit for me: Gardening, reading books, quiet devotional time before daybreak, perfect coffee, long deep conversations with my husband and close friends, running, hiking, certain kinds of music, warm vegetarian meals, romance, a clean, fragrant house, the exact perfume of fresh herbs, the feel of compost and rich soil, the color of free range egg yolks, hearing my parents laugh so hard they cry, long slow walks in every kind of weather, soft rain, crazy storms, sunshine, beach days, saltwater, cloud watching, star gazing, planning dinner menus and hosting big parties (really love this), also hosting intimate gatherings, the crunch of my spade into raw earth, upward vining flower stems, flirtatious doves, fuzzy horses, piano serenades, chocolate covered almonds, finding the perfect words for an idea… Oh maaaannnnn my list is long. And just reflecting on this list and the idea that we have so much power to feel better brought me to tears while running. It still does, as I write this.

Rejoice. RE-JOY-ing yourself. On those days, in those moments, when you feel drained and defeated, it is possible to actively grasp joy. You can choose it. In fact, we are instructed to choose joy. This is such a comfort to me, this understanding that if we are instructed to rejoice (to re-joy ourselves), then it must be a natural occurrence to sometimes lose joy, to be drained of it. It is part of an earthly condition. The need to refill our tanks does not necessarily reveal a mistake; it’s just part of life. And the opportunity to be a co-creator of something as powerful and transformative as JOY is just mind blowing to me.

lemon ice box pie with extra graham cracker crumbles

A few nights ago our Sweet Sperrys were at the farm for dinner. As we had dessert I asked everyone this question: “What does Rest and Recreation mean to you?” We went beyond hammocks and barbecue, in case the term “R & R” conjures up simply some weekend vibes. We talked about what things we do in life that help us actually re-CREATE ourselves. What drums up and rebuilds the essence of who we are as people? My husband and our two dear friends had gorgeous answers to share. The four of us, not surprisingly, had plenty of overlap but also gobs of uniqueness between us. Something all four of us identified in some way was some kind of making or building. It got me thinking of our opportunity to be co-creators with God. That, really, is an amazing gift. And I love that three of my favorite people grasp it.

Circling back to the interview about authenticity… It would not serve any of us very well to seek “re-creation” or prosperity according to someone else’e idea of self, no matter how much we like or admire that person. That is imitation, and it is exactly what creates the aching void, never what fills it. And this points to how intricate and fascinating we are as individuals, how each of us, no matter how much common ground we may share, has a very specific and widely varied idea about a great recipe for re-creation, of how best to re-joy ourselves, of what we can find to be pro-spirit in daily life. I love that. I love the kaleidoscope of personality and the rich texture of humanity we can experience, just in a small group of loved ones.

Side note: Do you ever feel sad to realize you will never know pretty much all of the rest of the world? Ha. Sometimes I worry about dumb stuff that does not even matter and over which I have zero control. But there it is.

an alleyway of prayer flags at our OKC zoo
an alleyway of prayer flags at our OKC zoo
  • Prosperous = PRO-Spirit. All the things that support, enhance, guard, and fortify your spirit self. I want to live prosperously both for myself and for the people near me. I want to maintain an atmosphere of well being so that my loved ones feel charged up and nourished in their spirits as much as possible. And knowing that everyone is different, this requires a full spectrum adventure to really know each other deeply. That is fun stuff right there.
  • Rejoice = RE-JOY-ing yourself. An act of reclaiming JOY, of deliberately refilling your tanks and laying hold all over again of that sense of confidence and well being that is above circumstances, beyond reason, and often difficult to explain to others. (Let’s not waste precious energy berating ourselves for needing to re-joy, either. It’s normal.)
  • Recreation = RE-CREATE yourself, the essence of who you are as a God-made individual, not imitating someone else or following an external narrative or blueprint. Remember the “Joy of Missing Out” if that helps.
my brutha from anotha mutha

Today is our friend’s birthday. We have known Mickey for just a few years now, but we feel as tightly knitted as if we all grew up as siblings. Especially me, I don’t mind saying, because he and I had kinda similar childhoods and have reached the middle point of our forties with a spectacular twinness, if you allow that sometimes twins are exact opposites of each other, ha. We challenge and frustrate each other, but we have the best conversations afterwards too. We love many of the same pleasures in life, but we are on opposite ends of the “Noise and Energy” spectrum. I am a lot more fun, obviously. But he makes transcendental hand-rolled pasta, so there’s that.

Mickey is a creator by nature, a leader and a giver, a man with thoughts so deep you might think of the kind of water that gets too cold for bare feet, so you draw them up to your belly and it’s a little scary, but if you take a generous enough breath and dive straight down, you will eventually find a warm, underwater cave where you can breathe easily and see magical fish and rocks and coral that glow, even away from the sun. That kind of deep thinking.

Mickey is exacting in his standards for communication and task execution, a stickler for detail, a passionate cook and lover of dogs and black coffee and hand crafted everything. He is artisnal, and I borrowed that theme from him. He is a husband of more than two decades to one beautiful woman, Kellie the Courageous. He has a heart for service and giving and meeting strangers’ needs anonymously, because too much closeness is too much for him.

I know in my bones that, in the midst of some excruciating pain in the valley, Mickey trusts God. Mickey proclaims and asserts God’s power over the big and the small stuff. And he will enjoy the rewards of that kind of faith, in God’s perfect time.

I feel acutely thankful for this fresh thinking about authenticity and joy-seeking, because my life is rich with Mickey and Kellie and Handsome and our children and family. If we all manage to, at least most days, re-joy ourselves and re-create what makes us us, if we live pro-spirit-ously and make room for each other to do the same, my gosh. My gosh what a world.

Happy Birthday, Mickey!
Get to Re-Creating.
Go Prosper.
REJOICE.
XOXOXOXOXOXO