shelter

I have mirrors hanging in my house and poetry written on my windows,

both for the same reason--

so I can see myself.

Yesterday on the largest window in my home, 

I scribbled the words,


"I felt it shelter to speak to you".  

--Emily Dickinson


I left Emily's words there, 

to better see 

me.


I mostly see the absence of myself in Emily's words on my window each time I walk past.  

Truth is: I am rarely the shelter and am often the tempest.

I am the storm instead of the safe place.

Often I bring honesty and opinion and forget to bring subtilty and tenderness.

I live my life with an umph and urgency that doesn't leave alot of space for others.

But I so want to be a shelter...


The whole wide world is wild and a bit rowdy.

Crazy things happen everyday.

Big bursts and small ones.

Lives are changed and lunches made.

Self control is lost and so are keys.

I want to be a shelter from it all.  

For my kids and my partner.

For my friends and neighbors.

For my sisters and my people  (and also anyone who needs it.)

But it's beyond me.


A shelter doesn't just magically come into existence.

Someone has to build it.

Someone strong.

I happen to know a builder.

He's been offering for awhile to take me and make me something new.

He wants to redeem all my pieces and parts and make me into something that can somehow be used...

He looks at me with some imagination.

He sees the unique parts that only belong to me...the beautiful ones I try to cling to.  

He sees all my lost and broken bits... and He thinks he can use those too.

He longs to make a shelter out of me--

a shelter for not only my children but also the cast-offs that no one wants to claim.

He wants to come in and take my crazy and make me cozy.

He wants to make me both a home for my own and those who've never known home.

Right now I look more like a junkyard of stray dreams and half-started things.  

I am all and sundry. 

Odds and ends.

I'm a wistful pile of rubble.

The Creator-God promises He can move in and make sense of it all.  


So much for making something of myself...

I'm quite relieved to find I'm not alone at this work.

I often get confused and think the point is to become more like me

when this whole life is about looking more like Him.  

Shelter.

Helper.

Home.

At the table

The new year lays before me like untrodden snow.

To take the first step is to mar the untouched thing.

Beginning feels holy and important.

I sidestep the starting and chase down distraction.

I begin gathering my home.

I spend my January reading other people's books instead of writing my own...

I cross the cold days off the calendar one by one and trade them for a clean house and folded laundry.

I rearrange furniture until I'm satisfied (I'm never satisfied) and then Feburary 1st arrives and shakes me awake.

2018's chapter one is already done.

It's past time to begin.

Better now than then never.

It's okay if the first few steps are shaky.

(Shaky steps take you where you need to go too.)

This year will be the year that I claim my spot at the table.  If there is no room I will pull up a chair.  I will show up nervous and awkward and without any answers.  Bringing only what I've got.

Me.

I have ideas.

I bring creativity.

I can tie words around just about any old thing.

I can't show up emptyhanded (and my guess is neither can you).

I always show up with enthusiasm and hardwork.

Empathy is my specialty and making something of nothing is my favorite recipe.

This is the year I will show up with what I have and share what I've been given: the gifts I was born into (my inheritance).

Why is it so hard to believe there is a place for (even) me at the table?

Why does my 35 year old voice shake when I join the conversation?

If all of life is a long table--I want to learn to make place cards for every single of us so not one person will live another day doubting whether or not they belong.

Place cards are my favorite.  They have the most delicate way of saying YOU ARE WANTED.

When I see my name written on a tiny bit of paper in front of a chair my heart thrills just a little and only then do I stop wondering if what I have to bring is essential AND JUST SIT DOWN.

If there is room for me and my mess at this table then there is room for you and yours.

You & me...We belong here.

I'm bringing me (and that's enough).