Wednesday, December 11, 2013

We all can seek.

 I don't know how I got here, I told him. On this teeter-totter of emotions and certainty, I just don't know. 

I like to ask him. Ask him anything. Especially when my 4x4 gives way. Because, I know who he's walking with. And I know they are walking.

Picture everyone in the whole world in a room filled with tables, he said. And at each table in front of each person is a huge bag of gold and a piece of paper. On the paper is directions  to the wisest person alive. 

I listened. 

You get to pick one, he said, like a wise man would.  What would you take Caryl? The gold, or the paper? 

I answered without saying a word. I kept listening. I just kept listening.

The gold he said,  is a lot like emotions. It's shiny. It's attractive. It's what most people go off of for guidance. It's what they chase.

 Don't worry about emotions, you will have no shortage of those in life. They will come all on their own. 

The paper, that  is for seekers. For people that will seek things out wholeheartedly. For those who want the truth. 

I've been back to my own spot at the table ever since. In my day to day. To see what I'm grabbing. 

To see if I'm really picking up the piece of paper. 


Monday, November 25, 2013

I killed Jesus


(Flashback)


Right out there in the Austin air above his eyes I read these words.  

I killed Jesus

Written on a hat that knew him well.
He put the words there with his own hands one letter after another.

And I saw them. Read them like a newly taught reader would. 

So I went up and asked him. Asked him if he really did.

And he said he did. He really did. 

And I believed him.

He told me how his hat made Christians mad. How they'd wave their finger at him and madly snap and mock him. They'd say things like how dare you. And what is wrong with you? And you are going to hell. 

But it confused him, he said,  because the moment he realized he did this, he became a Christian. He held his heart to Jesus and He took it.

...Then everyone else they either see my hat and wonder if maybe they did it too, or they want to high five me and say 'hell yeah'. Some, they really don't say anything, they aren't comfortable.

But for me, I've done a lot of things.

A lot of bad things. 

So yeah, I killed him.









Friday, November 22, 2013

Watch me

She's beautiful. It's been proven.

She stands on the floor close to me and calls out, hey mommy watch me.  I look her way as she spins herself in  a newly thought of fashion and stops. 

Thats awesome Sayla. So good! I love it! I clap in delight. 

It's all she wants. Me to love it. Enjoy her.

She loves to do this and over and over again in my days she calls out to me, watch!  She will jump her two year old self an inch off the ground and them peek my way hoping I caught such a phenomenal move. She smiles delighting in my response, knowing I saw her. She wants me to praise her.

Just last night again, it was,  hey mommy watch me.

 I looked her way. She turned herself around really fast and stopped. By now she knows I will pay attention to her and stop for a second and say wow. And it really is wow because I love her enjoying me enjoying her.


We smile the same love smile. 

She's been doing this for a few months. This see me here, Im doing this for you. I want you to see this. I want you to love this.  Don't miss it.

Makes me think how many times God calls to me in my day.

Hey, Caryl,  watch me!



Thursday, November 21, 2013

Parking lot

I was sitting in my Jeep waiting while my husband filled the boat up with gas. I saw her out my window. She was life-kissed, middle sixties, probably. She was dressed in a bright vest with handwritten words all over it that read Jesus is Risen. She wore her hair all wrapped up in a brightly colored scarf. She smiled constantly as she took her dustpan and swept the gas station parking lot. 

I spotted her car. Bumper stickers about Jesus. Dents and Knicks all over it. Old as could be. One you'd find on the side of the road no longer going anywhere.


She hummed as she gathered the litter. Then the gas station doorbell dinged and out stepped hip, thirty or so year old John carrying several bottles of whiskey and two bags of ice. He was dressed in a tuxedo. A wedding, I thought.


She quickly walked to him and as their eyes met she asked him, 'do you know Jesus?  

His arms were full and he picked up speed to get to his car. 

Yes mamam, he said over his shoulder.

He quickly popped his trunk opened  and reached for a cooler.  She traced his steps and soon stood next to him. 

You sure smells good,she told him.

He laughed out loud, smiled, and  dropped a bag of ice. It smashed into tiny pieces and then he poured it in his whiskey bath.

He stopped,reached out his hand to shake hers.

 Name's John, he told her. Nice to meet you.

She smiled wildly. 

They chatted a few minutes. Him and her, in a rundown parking lot, two worlds agreeing to meet.

He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. Then he got in his car and waved goodbye.

Bye John, she said out loud, as she blew a kiss.

He sped off smiling.

I really wish I could run into more Johns. More people that don't pull out their tongue-guns of rage when someone wants to share something with them, even if they are in a hurry and desperate to keep the whiskey on ice. I wish I could know more people that would take moments in between all the needs and deadlines and reach their hand out and touch a heart moment as it happens. I wish I could meet more people in the crowd that even if they don't know Jesus, don't piss and wail if someone wants to talk about Him. Ones who won't protest or stand on the hill of politics and loudly vent.

Ones who will stop and look at the people in the cold, worn parking lots and think, wow  she really loves talking about this. 


Hope the wedding was fun John. 

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Oatmeal


Oftentimes when I'm needing to talk to Jesus, which is absolutely frequently, I think of Him picking me up in a 70's, artsy Volkswagen van with orange curtains, windows down,and coffee for the two of us. He's the coffee expert, so imagine the brew we share. I climb in. Its not about the van, its about me showing that its personal. Him and I. Back and forth.

 I imagine Him driving me through the curvy Carolina countryside. It usually takes a few moments for me to say something. The pre-planned venting and the defense lawyer comments sometimes reach my lips. Often its all heart-improv and desperate yearnings for wisdom and guidance.  But somedays, I stare out my window without saying a word, hair flowing and head back against my seat,my heart pounding, and it's just small, weak, tears.

Just yesterday in the prayer van, it was continual conversations about these things. 
The lady from India I just read about that is still bugging me. And that 16 year old that was mutilated by Houston gangs last week, it's horrible, I tell Him. And my blood work results are taking a long time. Where are we moving to next? How can I get Jackson to eat his dinners? How'd time figure out how to speed up? Show me what I'm covering thats holding me back. I don't know how to mother today. Are there any friends for my boys? And Jesus slow down, its raining.

There comes a time in a follower of Jesus journey when they let in deeply that God hears them.

And that changes things.

Because when I realize that I'm talking to God. Actually talking to Him and he's listening to me, theres so much beauty in that. I've come to know this profoundly, because when I think of this beautiful truth, I don't zoom past it. 

Its enough.

 I'm not asleep to this.  It comforts me. 

A hippy van is much easier for me to picture than a throne in heaven.  Yeah, go ahead and punch me for the outta context environment. Like I said, Its not about the van. 

He hears!

If I say the word oatmeal. He hears that. And until my heart grabbed that He really does hear me and I believed it in a way that got through, I felt quite on my own. Believing Jesus actually hears me has changed my life.

Thankfully, I quit walking around saying 

Oatmeal.

Oatmeal. 

Oatmeal. 

Oatmeal. (laughing)

There's so many other things to talk about these days. I'm in my 30's.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Rock or Ball

Dave had decided to run into the thrift store the other day and look for a screen so the kids could watch their movies. The kids and I waited in the car. He said he wouldn't be long. He was wrong.
I have quit looking on my phone when in the car with my kids. I've realized how weird it must be to look in on the situation and see a mom sitting in silence staring at a rectangle while her boisterous children sit right behind her. I can't rid that thought. And I can't miss moments anymore. I'm done with filler moments, the phone surfing additives and the busy artificial ingredients I so often dump in my day.

I started talking to my kids about whatever came up. I read them a verse. And then. We heard a trucks desperation noises. We glanced over across the parking lot at the lady with her small child in the backseat, trying to start her falling apart small pick up truck. It wouldn't start. Over and over. She tried. It wouldn't. We watched her head collapse on the steering wheel. I know that feeling. I know those moments. She kept turning the key hoping. Needing it to start. It was near dusk and I knew she needed to get on home. 

We always need home.

We prayed for her. Not longer than a few moments later her truck was going over the curb and driving off. We all laughed as the trucks wheels all hit the pavement again and squealed off. We watched them leave us for good, as the Texas sunset closed the scene.
It was only a few seconds before my oldest son asked.
Mom would you rather be friends with a ball or a rock?
The question surprised me. Hmm. I smiled. I like when they ask me things. Things that drive us places deep within.
I didn't answer quite yet. I'm a mom, I was thinking.
Jackson piped up.
If you were friends with a ball what would you do if the wind blew? When the wind blows mom you don't want friends that are balls. You'd be all alone.
I had decided as he was saying this that I would go with rock. Absolutely.
I didn't tell them yet.
Mom, Christian started up, friends are supposed to stick close, like a brother, so I would pick a rock. Rocks stay and stay.
Me too Jackson said. I don't want ball friends. I know there's wind.
I'd pick a rock too guys. I told them.
It's a cool moment when you realize you've been reading to them about God being the everlasting rock and they are processing it in little heart-worlds filled with whimsy and curiosity.
It's official. We all want rocks. I think about getting them rocks for Christmas, but I remember this is a principal. Not actual rocks we all want.
Dave took a good long while. He returned empty handed with a story of his own about the screens and the adapters. And as we drove away, they asked him.
Dad would you rather be friends with a ball or a rock?
He turned the corner and smiled the question in. Sometimes a dads wisdom can see a mile or two down the road.
A rock, he said.
And with this household it gets crazy quick.
Ok. Jackson said. Would you rather be friends with....... a stick or a leaf?
The scenarios kept changing. And they kept pondering what is it about friends that make them worth having the whole drive home.

Friday, October 18, 2013

Change your view

I hang out with my kids a lot.


They had started getting restless and were always waiting  for the next thing to happen. Easily bored. Unable to see what they were staring at.

I decided to take them noticing.


Rao's bakery was first. We sat and ate cookies-and-cream gelato with small, brightly colored plastic forks at the long wrap around booth by the order line. We shared a big, fat, fresh cinnamon roll. For a few seconds there were forks colliding and screeching together like seagulls grabbing for crumbs. And then about five minutes later I heard.

K mom, moooom lets go.

They were missing so much.

And that's when I started it.

We are not leaving here till you each tell me ten things you notice, I said firmly. 

I sat and sipped my coffee  listening to this.

Ugh.
This is no fun.
Mom is being dumb.

And then.

Jackson found his own wonder! Mom look at those mirrors. They are so huge and cool looking, he said excitedly. We all turned. Six large, silver mirrors hung the wall to life. We stared till we all took it in.

Mom! Christian interrupted us. Look at those tiny lights up on the ceiling. You can hardly see them there. 

And then quiet. 

Until.

Mom that old man over there is eating alone.

We watched him. He didnt set his fork down between bites. He'd stare off alone into the room. We gave a smile when our eyes met.

Mom that worker looks annoyed, like she wants more workers with her.

And on.

Look at all those random coffee cups for sale on that table.

Do you see all those cupcakes behind the glass?

Look at that old antique coffee grinder. Wow. 

...

I took them to get groceries next. I started taking pics of what they noticed .

Christian saw bumper stickers and they made him laugh and laugh.

They noticed the green peppers. They smelled like my dads garden. A mixture of love and hard work. We stopped and smelled them for a minute.

They noticed new fruits.

They noticed there weren't very many lobsters left in the tank.

They noticed the watermelon sticker said Charity. They love aunt Charity. 
They begged me to buy it. Moms will do stuff like that. 

And on the way home, there was bird spotting, a new fountain found and the gas station seemed very busy to them.

I've always loved the phrase

Change your view and your view will change.

And it was happening. Their view was changing. And I was getting to see their views. And that was changing me.

The other day we got out of our car to go in the bookstore. An elderly couple was walking past and the man was softly whistling. Like grandpa Hatch used to do. Step by step, small whistles went out. 

And, not one of us missed that.

Friday, September 13, 2013

My heart



 I don't need a sit down at a cold, wood table and a stern face telling me I'm not correctly aware of what exactly is mind, spirit, soul. Or any of that. This is for the lighter end of the human. Not for ones that are looking for right- wrong readings, rather for people that are waking up to the birds chirping and have started thinking, holy cow, I want to read something.


I follow Jesus with my heart. 

I don't follow Him with (just) my feelings. My feelings have long been known to ditch me drug dealer style in the desert. Confused, beat up, mangled and relationally dehydrated, I've managed to hitchhike back to the diner, slam my head on the table, and motion for coffee. I ain't a fan of doing business with my emotions only. They aren't living on separate islands and all from me. Its just they don't  necessarily  lead me to Jesus. They help me in many, many ways, draw beautiful colors across my heart. But some emotions have painted some ugly pictures and hung in my gallery for way too long. Which brings me to the desert scene.

I don't follow Jesus with (just) my brain. Logic. Ms. Brain isn't the most focused cerebral. Can't stay on a thought too long before its skinny dipping in a memory somewhere. Ms. Brain who probably if I can slide it out here, fills her time with too much analysis and curiosity. Randomly jumps of idea cliffs and races down the passion driveway in the rain to stomp in puddles. She's awfully odd. Which has left Ms. Brain a poor way to follow anything for any period of time. Give her a new idea, a person, an adventure, an experience and she is grabbing her briefcase and rushing to meet the next train. She never contains all the right solutions-encyclopedias on her own. She sorta is helpless without the heart. Oh sure she can add quite a bit of math, and send kids off into the yard to hunt for bugs. She can make cupcakes pretty and spell Mississsipi (actually thats quite misspelled) with her eyes shut twice. But she sure can't follow Jesus like the heart can. She does try, but usually ends up on the green grassy hill at the local park, staring up at the night sky and asking millions of questions, while licking cotton candy off her fingers and humming David Isely tunes. So for me, Ms. Brain is a bit of a helper. A dot that helps connect. A way to translate heart language into waves. Sense waves. Information waves.   I aint looking to ditch Ms. Brain anytime, but I know better than to try to follow Jesus with just Ms. Brain in her pickup truck of information, and ripped and faded maps of memories, expired registration and emotions…I mean... Even today she wanted to high tail it to the coffee shop with her kids for morning cinnamon rolls and local brewed coffee, and then pick her husband up at work and drive  on off to crisp air, a cabin, and a bonfire somewhere in northern Michigan. Does Jesus even go to Michigan? 

I follow Jesus with my heart. Which medically is odd. Because blood and valves aren't quite the best things to follow someone around with. Think how bad that journey could get after one run in with a coyote. Can't imagine sitting by the campfire that night and calming my heart down. 

"Where going at it again tomorrow boys, heres some whiskey". I insist.

 Blood is red-bold and stubborn and set on what its set on,  and valves damn well can't go at it alone without the blood. So its a bit of a fiasco trying to motivate the two for another day of atrial phib and spontaneous bursts of fight and flight.  I need this heart. So wrap the medical idea of heart up in the palm of your hand and toss it right out of the way. I'm not talking about this heart when it comes to Jesus.

 I'm talking about my heart that can relationship. 

Thats what I follow Jesus with. The part of me that  has received and can now give love. And I'm constantly being transformed, renewed. Its the part of me that does the asking, seeking, knocking. Its where I relationship with Him.  Its where it matters when it comes to recognizing things. Eternal things. And the things of Christ, they form deep rivers of water in me. And they fill and fill. 

Ms. Brain and my emotions connect with me there but they don't lead me there, I Promise. I really can't separate the three and put them in three solitude suites in Italy for a few years, and be any bit at all ok.  

But I can separate who is the leader, and when. 

I like feeling. I like thinking. I like being in relationship.

And if one aint working right, the other two notice.

I need emotions. I need my brain. I need my heart. 
To be healthy, grow, be at liberty.

`The Middle



update on internal health and well-being of above writer. 

My emotions have been inspirationally-busy. Its autumn. They love a bit of a cool rush. So its a bit like trying to have a sugar-loaded 2 year old sit still for a sermon on Speaking with Tongues. (seriously its with not in) They are high energy. And then sometimes, they are down. With a wacked out knee its hard to not stare a bit in the direction of frustration. 

 Ms. Brain's briefcase is getting bigger. And Ms. Brain's is still messy-haired and brightly dressed,  walking around in skip-step, sending and receiving waves. News waves. Information waves. Wine waves. Love waves. Curious waves. Noticing waves.

And my heart. Its still. In union. With His. And with others. 

A trailer park for laughs



A trailer park for laughs.

We all need shelter. A spot to put things.

This place is for laughs.

Laugh here for a month or a year at a time.