The Cork in the Water

This one is for those I have seen who can't manage to lift their eyes from the dirt that surrounds their feet. For those who feel lost, or without worth. It's for those who have had too much to mentally deal with before they were able. Never give up. Your life is valuable. You were created for such a time as this.

I used to run headlong into storms. My armour raised, my thoughts prepared for war, never once considering the fallout of unprepared results. Because...for many years I had the need to be heard. The need to be seen; the result of years of feeling unimportant, of being unseen; unheard. Inside I was screaming. Outside I was unapproachable. For a time, silence and solitude was only something others were able to attain, just not me. A peaceful existence just wasn't possible. Not in my world. Because I chose war.

Time moved on, as did I. However, the wounds of all those accumulated years laid dormant, resting, until something would trigger them. Open them back up. And I was on the defensive once again, ready to hide my pain, ready to rebuild the inner wall, deeper...higher.

As the years evolved, God continued his work of restoration. His work of peace and acceptance, then placed within me a noticeable true joy...about the time I reached 26 years of age. And even that had to mature to a place that the hardest of storms could not destroy. It was a place of resilience. Much like a cork that bobs in the ocean will follow the ebbs and tides, knowing its value in the small things of life. Not having to be anything more but what it was created for. Like a new-born baby, I began to learn...to absorb the goodness of God. Of life.

I used to compare my life to that cork by defining myself as having a directionless existence or like a discardable object. Always looking inward, trying to heal myself, rarely seeing others as anything but direct threats to my well being. Rarely, if ever, trusting their interests were anything but pure. I know. Sounds pretty bleak, right? It's a fight or flight response to life. And it's tiring...

Years of living, and years of meeting people whose heart really was pure and open to kindness without expecting anything from me but friendship, has helped the "little much afraid" of years past, to heal. It's been a journey that without the rapt attention of a protective God, I would not, could not, have made.

So, lift that beautiful chin of yours, upward! You are valuable, even if you don't feel as if you are, in this moment. You are heard, even if you think you are not. Your feet may have been places you didn't desire them to be. They may have carried you into a darkness that created fear, loneliness, and a loss of innocence. But you are never alone. God's pure and undefiled spirit surrounds you, never leaving you, as you walk through this valley of the shadow of death. Listen for his heart beat. Ask of him guidance. He waits to hear your voice choose him.

I no longer chase things that drain me. Haven't for many years. And it feels so good! I follow the calm voice that leads me to still waters, where the issues of life have no power to destroy. To the one I know waits for me....to hear my voice no matter what it speaks of. 

And lastly...I want you to know I am not always calm, even though my heart is full of God's goodness. There are things that still beckon me to respond wrongly. To get in that fight or flight mode again. Things that make me not trust. When those ugly memories raise their heads, I stop to remember who I am and whose I am. I stop to remember I no longer walk in the sludge of yesteryear. I choose not to. Sometimes, daily. Storms will come. But they also go. And I can weather the storms, because of whose I am. So can you!

You are more than a cork, yet resilient. 

Always listening for His heart beat, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

You Still Have Time...

"You still have time." 

That's what we keep telling ourselves. And maybe we do. But maybe we don't. The truth is...we never really know.

Time isn't generous. It doesn't pause. It doesn't warn. It slips through our fingers quietly, like sand...soft, silent, and unstoppable.

We measure our lives in years, in birthdays, in milestones. But life isn't made of years. It's made of moments.

And the hardest part is...we don't know how many moments we have left.

You might have a hundred more sunsets to watch, or only three. You might hear your mother's voice on the phone a thousand more times, or maybe you've already heard it for the last time...you don't even know.

You might get one more chance to say, "I forgive you." Or none.

You might still have time to hold your child while they're small, while their arms still fit perfectly around your neck, while they still say "I love you" without needing a reason. But those moments pass. Quietly. And once they're gone, they don't come back.

We live like we are invincible. We make plans as if time is endless. We say, "I'll do it later." "I'll call them next week." "I'll chase that dream when things settle down."

But what if they never do?

What if tomorrow never comes? What if the life you're waiting to live is passing you by right now, this very second?

What if this moment---this exact one---is the last chance you have to say what matters most? To hold someone you love without distraction. To cry without shame. To laugh without holding back. To be fully alive?

This isn't meant to make you afraid. It's meant to make you aware.

Because there is nothing more tragic than realizing too late that you were sleepwalking through the days that could have changed everything.

So please...wake up.

Look up from the screen. Call someone you miss. Apologize if you need to. Say the words you've been swallowing. Do the thing that terrifies you but lights a fire in your soul.

Stop waiting for the "right" time. That time is now. Right now. This breath. This heartbeat.

You don't need more time. You just need to stop wasting the time you already have.

Because in the end, it's not the years you'll remember. It's the conversations, the embraces, the risks, the tears, the laughter, the love. The moments.

So live for them. Cherish them. Protect them.

Because life isn't measured by how long you live...it's measured by how deeply you feel, how boldly you love, and how fully you show up while you're still here.

And you're here. So make it count.

Still learning to capture the moments in time, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

Guest Author: Sufia Jamil (found on FaceBook)...too good not to share!!! 

Pictures by: Lindsey Lewis...(daughter and photography creator extraordinaire) 

Lights, Camera, Action...through the years

What has been brought to mind this past week, is that small, consistent action changes everything...

And, in most cases, will catapult one into the next big thing. We have everything we need, right inside of us, to change whatever it is we want to change about our life. There is only one enemy we must conquer. The lack of "want to"...

The rewards of taking action are at least, satisfying. Such as cleaning out a closet that needed your attention long ago, or finally getting to that "thing" you've been mulling over (in your head only), completed. At most, small beginnings become humbling recognition, as we stare our future in the face.

It's up to me what that will look like. What will I say "yes" to, next?

A few days before leaving the hair industry, another stylist that worked just down the hall from me, approached me with a "what now" inquiry. "What will you do after all these years in the hair industry?" All I could say to her was, "I'm not sure yet. We'll see." What she didn't know about me is just how many hats I've worn throughout my life that have built me into the person I've become, and the one her eyes were now questioning. A question with no real answer. Yet, here we are, taking a look back...

• Waitress (doesn't everyone begin there?)
• Bank Teller (short lived...maybe 2 years)
• Salon Owner (starting in 1978)
• Married with kids 😁 (best part of my life...busy, but best)
• Home Education Teacher (simultaneous with being a salon owner...through grade 12)
• H.U.G.S. (Homeschoolers United Group Support...that I created and led)
• Yearly Curriculum Fair Organizer and Speaker (with attendees coming from across many states)
• Monthly H.U.G.S. Newsletter Developer
• Library Developer for H.U.G.S. parents (the "how-to" of home education)
• Drama Team Coach (Images of Grace at Fellowship of Christians in Miami, OK...also performing twice at NEO's Fine Arts Center auditorium...such an exciting time! We made headlines in local paper. 😁)
• Pizza Restaurant Manager (short term...talk about HARD work!)
• Owner, Manager, Stylist of 3 Salons (2 in OK., 1 in NC)
• Co-Pastor at LifeGate Church for 7 years in Miami, Ok. (you didn't know that, am I right?)
• Child Care for 4 years (my beautiful 1st grand baby, from 2 months old - 4 years, while working evenings and weekends at the salon)
• Blogger (since 2010...https://www.marysworldmiami.blogspot.com)

I'm not saying I'm unique in any of this. Most of us fill our hours, our days, weeks, months, and years, with as much as the hours will allow. Only to fall exhausted into the bed at night and wake hitting the floor running before the sun rises the next day. It's common place to most. This is life. 

But change has happened for me that I didn't believe would happen, at least as quickly as it did. As the years sweep past us, when we're not watching, we change. Will the past define me? Will the knowledge I have gained over a lifetime, catapult me into something larger than life? Something the whole of has created within itself? Or will I ride off into the sunset, doing as little as possible? Stay tuned...

Starting small, consistently (if you can consider building a greenhouse, small...), here you will find me...in Mary's World.

Shine On

When the lights go out, when darkness totally engulfs us, even a small flicker of light is a welcomed sight. Wouldn't you agree? 

When this happens at our house, we usually grab our lanterns...not the candles. Unless we can't find the lanterns. That's happened on occasion. 😆 THEN, we go looking for the candles; which there are plenty of in our abode.

Darkness doesn't understand light, so it tries to hide from it. Yet, darkness must relinquish its space wherever there is light. It must vanish because it's been exposed. One could relate a life filled with lies to a life vacant of light. Lies spoken, never like being exposed. Lies want to be in control of truth. But it's not possible. Lies can't hide when truth shines into any realm of darkness.

I'm not a person that will cover a lie. I've been the recipient of too many of them. I am allergic, you might say, to lies. Even withholding a portion of the truth, is deception, to me. And deception is no better than a lie. That's why I'm pretty dangerous when it comes to kids fantasies about fictional characters. If you want to keep Santa as a real person who flies through the sky, with reindeer pulling a sleigh filled with toys for all good little boys and girls, and is able to come into your house by entry of a small chimney opening, you shouldn't allow your littles to ask me questions concerning the validity of it. Now, I WILL tell them how Santa got his beginnings, as well as the truth behind the celebration of Christmas. If your littles ask me questions about the truth behind any pagan holiday, I will not tell them their fantasies are indeed real. Don't misunderstand me, here. I WILL play along. I do love pretend. The imagination takes flight and I can conjure up just about anything that involves the easter bunny, the tooth fairy, Santa, etc, and make it fun for our littles. However, if asked point blank about the REALITY of these characters, I will not, can not lie. I will burst the balloon, for sure. For which I will never apologize. It's one thing I hold onto. Truth...

I want my children and my grand children to remember their Mom and Grams as being someone they could trust to tell them no lies. But until the day comes that I am confronted with the truth, I will most likely play along. Is that deception? Maybe...but to keep my family close, I lure them with fantasy. Yikes! That sounds a bit contradictory. 😳 See what thinking will get you? Time to end this... 😂

Shine on...

Flickering, here you will find me...in Mary's World. 

The Clock is Ticking...

"No one is useless to God. No one." ~Max Lucado

As I get increasingly closer to a phrase I believed would never become my reality (retirement), feelings of "now what?" follow me daily. Yes. I did think this through before playing my cards. Yes. I did intensely labor over this decision. Yes. I did wait for several confirmations before opening the door that would eventually close the door. Now, the fruit of that seed planted, is beginning to come forth.

Regardless of the peace I am feeling about that decision, my mind seems to be attacking me, of late. As I disconnect from humanity, will I simply dissolve into the earth? Dramatic, you say? Maybe a bit. I can be that way at times. Especially over such important decisions as this most recent one. The reason (most likely) of these attacks comes from the fact that all I've known in my lifetime, is work. What happens when I no longer "work?"

Defined as a privilege, not a dirty word, work has provided communication with those other than family members. Work has given me a sense of accomplishment. Work provided purpose as my integrity built. Work provided connection, friendship within the workplace, and a place to call my own, as others allowed me access into their lives. Work created monetary provision and a big sense of accomplishment. Yes. Accomplishment is so important in a life well lived. So...now what?

Will my greenhouse be enough? Yes, it will be refreshing. It will be a place of peace. It will be soothing to my soul. It will give nourishment. It will inspire. It will possibly give me entrance into a small piece of my mother's world. But will it be enough?

Possibly, this is a time of pulling aside from the noise of the world. Possibly, this is a time of refreshing. Possibly, this is a time for me and God to communicate more freely. Possibly, this is a time of returning to my roots (no pun intended). Possibly, I have been waiting for such a time as this and these feelings of uselessness will evaporate. Possibly, there will be new life waiting for me that I have been blinded to. Possibly...

Soooo...if you need to find me, here I will be...in Mary's (ever changing) World.

Preparing the Garden

New beginnings

At the moment, this little piece of heaven looks a bit like a gravesite, but we're still in the beginning phase of creating. Something must be sacrificed in order for something else to live, right? This space used to have a WoodPlay playground for our granddaughters; all inclusive with swings, monkey bar, rock climbing wall, slide, and tower with windows and an outside seating area that was used as an ice cream shoppe. Lots of great memories. But the one constant in life is change. Sometimes painful change, but the girls rarely used it any longer (school & friends), so we reimagined it and...well, great things are coming. And we DID add another swing area, because we ALWAYS need to swing. The memories of years gone by will live on, but it's time for life to fill this space once again.

Many have asked me, "What's next for you?" This. This is what's next. This is the place of new beginnings. A place where a greenhouse will be erected. It's a place I never, in my wildest dreams ever, thought would be a part of my adult world. And, before anything can become reality, one must envision it, right? This particular dream had its beginnings in another's mind. Not mine. Our oldest daughter, always the visionary, believed it would be "just what the doctor ordered." The verdict is still out on that one, but we're about to see just how therapeutic this will be. She's rarely wrong, and I AM beginning to see; to dream, of what all it can be. I suppose one could say a seed has been planted. 😁

This I do know: My garden will be a place of peace and spiritual refreshment. It is my opinion that a garden should be a spiritual paradise. But, in order for it to be that, I must work at caring for what is put inside it; and like anything we put our hands to, we need encouragement. I do think I will create a plaque, and hang it in my greenhouse, that reads:

"The Lord will guide you continually, giving you water when you are dry and restoring your strength. You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever flowing spring." ~Isaiah 58:11

It's a promise of God's constant presence and provision.

Getting my hands dirty, here you will find me...in Mary's World. Stay tuned...

 

The Next Big Thing...

Those of you who know me, know I can't just fade off into the sunset, right? I'm not one that can idly twiddle thumbs for any length of time. There's only so much imagination that can develop from doing nothing but watch the grass grow.

As time continues to evolve from days to weeks, I can feel that old friend of mine trying to catch up to me. The friend that is constantly nudging her way into my conscience thoughts, whispering in my ear..."Will it be enough?" "What will you do when loneliness builds a fort next to your garden?" "Why didn't you at least make an effort to show yourself friendly when you had the chance?" I will admit, this is the biggest concern of mine as I transition from being a very visible business owner, to a stay-at-home human who is creating an alternate life, that seems a bit foreign, yet has deep roots. No pun intended. But, first things first...

My mom seemed to know everything about God's green earth and all the plants that grew from deep within its soil. From the food it provided, to its lush flower gardens. She tended them both with such care. Such understanding of their needs. From the garden to the table was birthed in reality in our family, and our mother was the best (at virtually everything) in our part of the world. "In our neck of the woods," we used to say. Erna Prater could tell you the hour and the minute (at least it seemed to me) the green beans needed picked off their vines and exactly how long they would last before needing to be snapped and prepared for canning. Neighbors helped neighbors, back in the day. All hands on deck, kind of thing. Time was of importance, if a family was to have food enough to make it through our harsh Oklahoma winters. 

I envied my mom, even as a little girl. Oh my goodness...the bushel basketfuls we harvested of green beans in their season!!! The rows and rows of potatoes we dug from the ground! The onions! Not to forget the acres of corn we not only harvested, but shucked and canned, while keeping large batches out to cook on the daily. Plus, we shucked them by hand. No microwaves in my day, where one could just put them in for about 1 minute and they come out clean as a whistle. Nope. We grew up working for our food. The baskets of apples from the rows upon rows of apple trees that lived on OUR property, just waiting for our enjoyment and health! Beck and I would climb up a tree after school (the apple orchard sat between our one-room school house and our home), and we'd sit and eat as many as our bellies could hold. One bunch of fruit "trees" I'll never forget. The Concord Grape vines that grew just down the road from our school house! They were beautiful to look at, and so very thick with luscious grapes. Becky would climb the trees next to them and throw bunches of grapes down to me. She fell out of a tree, once. Scared the begeebers outta me seeing her all tangled up in the grape vines.

Our little family of 12 could do anything. Wellllll...in reality, by the time I came into existence, there were only 10 mouths to feed, and it wasn't long before there were just 7 children and 2 parents. My oldest sister, Helen, the first-born, had already moved away, had a husband and a daughter (Sydney Gail)...all before I was born. I was an Aunt, before I was born. Ha! My oldest brother, Melv, was away, somewhere, being a Navy SEAL fighting the good fight. On one of his furloughs, he took a picture of me, when I was around 18 months old, sitting in our front yard, wearing his SEAL hat on my extra large head. I think it fit. 🙄  So, by that picture I know he showed up on occasion. The third member of the clan, Don was living in California (I believe), when I was born. He had married and moved away. I really don't remember much at all about him, until I got much older, I just don't recall those first 3 being a part of our lives. That doesn't mean they weren't. It just means I didn't get to know them until I was considered an adult. Most likely because they had their own families and I don't think any of those first 3 had the honor of working at the Prater Sawmill. Lucky kids! I could be wrong on that. I don't have proof they didn't, but I was much too little to remember if they did. I did get to know them a bit better as an adult, except Helen. She lived in Tennessee and I was 14 years old before remembering I even knew who she was. My memories of those first 3 siblings are so scarce. But this blog post isn't about my siblings, as wonderful as they were/are. It's about the youngest of the clan. ME! 😉 "The spoiled one," they used to call me.

Wellll...this "spoiled one" learned how to work at a very young age. I'm grateful for that. Now. But I never got to really know my mom like I would have liked to. I knew her as the one who made sure we were all cared for. She was our nurse, our doctor, our care-giver, all rolled into one. We were always dressed in clean, pressed, hand made (by her) clothing; but only when heading to church, or school. The rest of the hours, we were in whatever we could find to pull onto our body's. Only shoes in the winter if our feet had grown too big by summer time. Then we were simply bare-foot if there were no shoes to hand down that fit properly. If our work demanded shoes, then our parents somehow found the money to get what was needed. Tummies were always satisfied with nutritious food. "Food for the hard workers," she would say. Two of the girls got to stay home and help mom. They worked hard, as well. Just more protected. I wasn't one of them. Dad took the healthy of the group with him to work the lower fields, the log woods, the sawmill, the cattle. There were two of us born not so healthy, so mom was allowed to keep them at home, away from places they could get hurt.

As you can tell, as a story teller, I tend to go down rabbit trails. One thought spurs another, and before I know it, the story has taken a turn from its original purpose. The only excuse I have for this is that I have lived enough of life that stories are in abundance. And since it is only one life I have lived (well, possibly two...NOW you're interested, aren't you), they all connect to each other. That's my best guess. 😂

Sooooo...would you like to take a peek into what I am working on for those pesky retirement years? If not, that's okay too. I'm most likely going to blog about the process anyway, as soon as things start moving over here. 

Until then, here you will find me...in Mary's World. Thanks for listening. You can wake up now. 😉