Category Archives: inspiration

Apr23

The Places No One Sees

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When brokenness is hidden…

For a couple of years now, a tiny, red glass Christmas ornament has been hanging in one of the spruces outside my immediate work area.  I’ve watched it for the longest time, as seasons have changed,  rain and snow have come, followed by warm sunshine and then summer storms and buffeting winds, all roiling around the tree and the little ornament.  I have always wondered who put it there, and marveled that no one ever removed it.

For a long time the little red ball was shiny and new-looking.  And even now, if I look at it from the right angle, it still shines and appears to be intact.  Beautiful and whole.

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If I turn to the other side, however, the true state of the little red ball becomes obvious.  The shiny surface is showing signs of age and wear, and a huge piece of it is missing.  It’s broken.

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A few months ago at church, it was the Sunday for healing rites, a time during the service when those who wish can have the pastor anoint them with balm and offer a prayer and blessing for healing.  I partake of this rite whenever I have the opportunity to do so. This particular Sunday it occurred to me that someone looking on might wonder why I would do this.  I am not obviously sick, disabled or visibly infirm.

The fact is, I am always in need of healing, of blessing.  Always in need of the loving touch of God’s hand.  Broken in places no one sees.

If we are honest with ourselves, most of us are broken in one way or another.  Some brokenness is obvious.  Drug problems, illnesses, disabilities that limit our quality of life are all around us, and often they are pretty easy to spot.  Other kinds of brokenness don’t show themselves so readily.  Often people appear to be perfectly fine, perfectly whole, on the outside.  But very few of us actually are whole.

If we take the time to look at each other from a different angle, we might detect brokenness…or we might not.  Most of us become experts at hiding it.  I certainly don’t want everybody knowing all about my broken places.  They make me vulnerable, and being vulnerable opens me up to the possibility of becoming still more broken.

There are broken people, walking wounded, everywhere I go.  I pray that my own brokenness makes me more sensitive to the broken places in other people…the places an x-ray can’t reveal.  The places no one sees.

Mar26

Hand Made

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Genesis 1:1—In the beginning God created…

I spent part of an afternoon recently with my cousin Jim (aka Bobo) and his wife Donna in the home studio where she makes original fused glass art pieces, jewelry, bookmarks, window hangings, Christmas ornaments and just about anything else imaginable that can be made with glass.  She had posted pictures on Facebook of art pieces/caricatures she had made of Bobo and his brother, Hazen, doing their favorite hobbies, golfing and fishing, respectively.  I was so taken with them that I asked Donna if she could do one of me singing, and she said she’d give it a try.  When she contacted me to let me know that my art piece was completed, we made a date for me to go over and pick it up.  And when she unveiled it, I squealed with delight!

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We enjoyed a wonderful visit, someplace other than a funeral home, which is where we tend to run into each other these days.  I looked around her studio and learned the story of how she got into working with glass.  The colors, textures and shapes fascinated me as I poked in every corner of the space, and Donna explained that each piece is one of a kind because when it goes into the kiln for firing, she never knows exactly how it’s going to turn out.  Colors and finishes change when they are fired.  That element of surprise is part of the joy of fused glass work.

Donna was a hairstylist for years before retiring and beginning this new creative chapter of her life.  I commented that doing hair was an art form and she replied, “Well, it should be.”  Her daughters are both creative as well, with enterprises and interests ranging from music to photography to embroidery.  And they’ve passed that creativity to their children as well.  It runs in the family just like brown eyes or blonde hair.

My friend Vicki recently sent me a surprise in the mail, a beautiful pair of handmade silver earrings shaped like treble clefs.  She wrote in her card that she’d seen them where a lady was showing her handmade creations and they made her think of me.  I’ve worn them numerous times since receiving them and people always comment on how beautiful and unusual they are.  And with gratitude,  I always share the story of how they came to me.

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Several years ago, my friend Olivia, who was a member of the fraternity I serve as chapter mother, made me a bracelet in the fraternity colors, with a heart charm and my initial.  It’s a treasured gift and a reminder of the gift of creativity that lives within her, and within all of us.

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I am primarily a musician, a singer.  But I also write, make scrapbooks and greeting cards, and take pictures.  My friend David told me years ago that all creative people have more than one outlet for expression, and I believe that is true.  There are writers who also paint, painters who also dance, dancers who also quilt, quilters who also play instruments…the combinations are limitless.  

Genesis tells us that “In the beginning God created…”, (emphasis mine) and that He “made mankind in His image…”.  It stands to reason, then, that we are all endowed by the Creator with the gift of our own creativity, in whatever ways it manifests itself.  I count myself blessed to come from a heritage of so much music and creativity on both sides of my family.  I may not express my creative instincts in all the same ways as my predecessors have, but I try to express myself to the best of my ability and in the ways that best suit me.  And I continue to explore new ways to express those creative urges.  God gave them to me to use, and I hope to use them to bless other people.

Mar14

Happy 89th, Aunt Ruby

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Your first birthday in Heaven…

And we all miss you every day.  I haven’t been as diligent about keeping in touch with your kids as I’d like.  It’s hard with all our schedules being crazy like they are.  I know that’s no excuse.

Thank you for showing up in my dreams when you have, even when it’s been bittersweet.  The first dream was so hard.  I dreamed that we were in a huge gymnasium somewhere, with me up high in the bleachers and you down on the gym floor.  I couldn’t get to where you were no matter how hard I tried, and all I wanted was to reach you.  I guess that just speaks to how I feel about you since you died.  Sometimes all I want is to reach you, but I can’t be where you are.

The few dreams since then have been sweeter because I’ve been able to hug you. In each dream I’ve just held you for the longest time, pressing you into my chest until I could feel both our hearts beating at the same time.  Like if I pressed hard enough, you would leave your imprint on me.

The truth is, you DID leave your imprint on me, in ways I’ll probably spend the rest of my life thanking you for.  Lord, how I miss you.  How we all miss you.

Part of me still can’t quite reconcile myself to the fact that you died, even though I was there when it happened.  I felt your last breath, your last heartbeat.  I guess I just know that, while you are gone from this Earthly life, you aren’t really gone.  I’ll be able to reach you again someday, to hold you close and to share an eternity with you and Mama and all the others who are with you in Heaven.  For now I have to be content to know that you are healthy and whole there, surrounded by God’s love and reunited with so many of our loved ones.  Heaven must be so beautiful, and even more so with you there.

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So, Happy Birthday in Heaven.  I hope you and Mama and the rest of The Big Five can sit down to a big meal together, laughing and remembering the many happy times we enjoyed together.   I miss you every day, but I know you are with me in the ways that really matter, and I know that I will see you again someday.  I love you.

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Mar12

Dust And Ashes

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There’s a reason God made us out of dirt…

Having been raised in the United Methodist Church, I am familiar with the season of Lent and the tradition of self-denial many Christians observe as we remember the final days of Christ’s earthly ministry and His journey to the cross.  Year in and year out, whether I’ve been active in a church or not, Lent has always been a special time for me as I remember Who Jesus is, and who I am.

What I am.

This year I am singing and serving in a Lutheran church, and their observance of Lent includes elements I had never experienced before, including The Imposition of Ashes, a portion of the Ash Wednesday service in which the pastor or priest takes ashes and makes the sign of the cross on the foreheads of those who wish to receive them.  The ashes came with the scriptural reminder that,  “… thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.”  (Genesis 3:19)  Receiving the ashes proved to be an overwhelming moment for me, and as I returned to my seat, quiet tears crawled down my cheeks as I contemplated the coming season of Lent and the nature of Christ’s sacrifice for me. No amount of self-denial I exercise during Lent can make me truly understand the magnitude of that sacrifice…and that is not what Lenten self-denial is meant to accomplish anyway.  My self-denial helps me to be more mindful of Who He is.

And what I am.

I am dust, and to dust I am going to return.  Genesis tells us that God took the dust of the ground, breathed life into it and it became Man.  Without God’s breath of life in me, I am only dust.  A collection of chemicals, elements and water.  Someone once analyzed the monetary worth of a human body based upon its chemical/elemental makeup, and that value was something along the lines of $5, including our skin.  A fascinating and humbling prospect.

I’ve always believed there is a reason God made us out of dirt. If He had chosen gold or jewels to make humankind, we might feel overly confident in the intrinsic value of our substance.  Acknowledging that God made us from the dust of the earth, breathing His Spirit into us to give us life, we can realize where our value really comes from, if we choose to.  I am grateful that my substance is frail dust, and that my true worth is what God has breathed into me.

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Jan23

Aunt Ruby’s Dream

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Home Places and listening to my instincts…

Tuesday, July 23, 2013 was a monthly in-service at the hospice where I volunteer. The morning was muggy and humid so instead of pants I wore a lightweight dress with a cardigan over it, and the outfit turned out to be cute. Plus it was a great hair day, so the morning started off on a bright note. The thought crossed my mind that I ought to go and check in on Aunt Ruby after in-service was over.

At our in-service I was able to see Glenda, a lovely friend who was in my volunteer training group back in 2009 and with whom I had shared Monday afternoons at the hospice until our schedules changed and we rarely ran into each other anymore. We even had our picture made together that day, and it is a treasure to me for a number of reasons. We had a wonderful visit and caught up on each other’s lives as best we could in the time we had together.

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My outfit was cute, my hair looked good, and visiting with Glenda had filled my heart with happiness. Something inside my happy heart kept telling me, “You should go and see Aunt Ruby while you’re out today.” After I left the hospice I did a little shopping, and I found a very cute pair of faux-suede boots with a plush fur lining on sale for a ridiculous price. The stores had already started putting out their fall stock, and as hot as the day was, I could look at those boots and dream about the cooler weather that would eventually come. Pulling out of the mall parking lot, my spirit once again tugged at me. ”Go and see Aunt Ruby while you’re out today. You NEED to go and see her.” So I whipped my car back toward the north end of town and headed to the assisted living where Aunt Ruby had spent the last several months, her new home.

When I arrived she was sitting on the end of a sofa, napping, as had become her daily post-lunch routine. I sat down next to her and she opened her eyes and smiled before I even said hello, scooping her into a big hug. Her eyesight was very poor but I was close enough to her that she could recognize me even before she heard my voice. That smile and that hug made me very happy that I had listened to my instincts and gone on to visit with her. But our conversation held other blessings— mixed, prophetic ones.

At one point during our visit she said, “You know, I had the most unusual dream last night.” I asked her what she had dreamed about and she said, “I dreamed about Mother and Daddy and the old home place.”

“Really?” I asked. ”Was it a good dream? What all do you remember about it?”

She said, “Oh, it was a nice dream. I just dreamed that we were all there together again, the kids and everybody, and we were all so happy.”

With a lump in my throat and a queasy stomach, I said, “It sounds wonderful.  I’m glad you had such a happy dream.”

She said, “Oh I am too, it was so nice to be with everybody again.”

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Less than 3 weeks later she had her massive stroke and was gone, at the advanced age of 88, and yet still so suddenly.   When I visited with her at the assisted living that muggy Tuesday and she shared her dream with me, I realized that she was getting closer to going Home, but I didn’t realize just how close she was.  I believe that wonderful dream of hers was God’s way of preparing her for Heaven and the trip she would be making there very soon…sooner than any of us ever expected.

For a number of years, every time we’ve gone on a vacation, I’ve had the niggling thought in the back of my mind that something might happen to Aunt Ruby while we were gone and we might have to make a frantic trip back home. Obviously I don’t have to think about that any longer. She is Home now, and I believe she is experiencing the scene from her dream, reunited with her parents and the rest of the family in a new, yet somehow familiar,  Home Place.

Jan19

I See The Moon

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The beauty of our dreams…

Mama’s last job was as a Certified Nursing Assistant in a nursing home.  She and Aunt Elaine worked together on the overnight shift at the nursing home where my Mamaw and Papaw were residents, and during this period Mama became a believer in “Moon Madness”, the phenomenon of strange behavior that happens near the time of the full moon.  She recounted numerous stories of normally placid residents exhibiting bizarre actions and personality changes with no other explanation than the moon phase. No changes in diet or medication, no alteration in their routines or unusual visitors, nothing else to account for the changes except for the full moon.  A coworker of mine who also worked in health care confirmed her own experiences with patients whose demeanor changed around the full moon.

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Mom Cutshaw told me that she and all her sisters experienced strange and vivid dreams around the full moon. I am a vivid dreamer with strong recall, and even I experience increased number and vividness of my dreams at full moon time.  It makes sense when one considers that the moon moves oceans and controls tides.  Our bodies are made mostly of water, so it stands to reason that when the moon is full, our dreams and moods might be affected.

My sleeping dreams seem to be beyond my control, the effort of my mind to make sense of the world around me, my wishes, fears and insecurities. I have a number of recurring themes in my sleeping dreams.  There is the “school dream” in which it is time to graduate or perform a recital only to realize that I haven’t been to class or a voice lesson all year; the “work dream” which can be either radio- or television-related, where I am in a control room about to go on the air and none of my equipment works.  There is also the “naked dream” in which I am in a public place and either partially or completely nude (I think most people have a version of this dream).

An unusual recurring scenario in my dreams is that I am traveling using an inappropriate mode of transportation.  For example, I am on the interstate with huge trucks whizzing all around me, but I am riding belly-down on a skateboard, or riding a 20-foot-high bicycle.  A psychiatrist would probably have a lot of fun dissecting this particular scenario.  I’m sure it must mean that something is terribly wrong with me!

My waking dreams are much more straightforward to me. I dream of winning the lottery, like most people do.  I dream about what I would do if I had unlimited financial resources.  I would pay off all our debts and all the debts of our family.  I’d purchase vacation homes in peaceful places I’ve visited, and I’d travel to places I’ve always wanted to go.  Sweet Pea would get every ridiculous man toy he could ever desire. I’d go back to school.  I would continue to work in some way, volunteering or whatever else I wanted to do to keep myself useful; I just wouldn’t have to worry about making a living.

The question is this: how much of my dreams really depends upon The Lottery Fairy landing on my front porch?  I think the secret of making my dreams come true is realizing that money doesn’t have that much to do with it.  My most earnest of dreams is simply to live a life that matters and to leave a positive mark on the people around me, to love and to be loved, and to please God.

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Jan6

Snow Day

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There are many kinds of warmth…

Knoxville is not known as a mecca for snow lovers.  We have just received the first significant snow of 2014 and, along with it, record cold temperatures are coming.  I just went outside to get some bottles of water out of my car for fear they’d freeze and I had to go back into the house to get a bottle of warm water to pour down the door seal in order to unfreeze my door to get it open so I could GET the water bottles out.  While I did this, Our Boy Roy went outside for a brief tinkle and was pretty eager to get his business done and get back in the house!

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I scratched on my windshields and the snow looks fluffy, but it’s camouflaging ice underneath, so scraping/hacking/chiseling when I need to drive eventually will be necessary…and not fun.   For today, though, I am burrowed in, snuggled up with Our Boy Roy and grateful to be home.

I’ve called and texted Dad and Reed to make sure they are warm and dry.  Sweet Pea is at work and I am praying he can make it home safely tonight.  Right now the sunshine has broken through the cloud cover, which could actually make weather issues worse if melting occurs where the sun hits and then it refreezes, making ice where the snow used to be.

Days like this make me grateful…and a little sad.  I know that, while my house is not ideal, I have a roof over my head, I am safe and warm and dry.  I think of our homeless population on days like this and pray that they can find shelter and a meal.  I am grateful that I sing and serve at a church that helps neighbors in need and I know that my church and many others are providing warmth and food.  I am reminded of the fact that I and mine, we who are so few, have been blessed with so much, while there are so many among us with so little.  The paradox is not lost on me.

I think of the bereaved and the lonely on days like this and pray that they can find warmth of spirit.  I give thanks for the abundance of love in my life, for the provision of material needs and the gift of health.  I wrap myself in an old quilt, a flannel nightgown and fluffy socks, and settle into the simple comfort of just being warm enough.

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