isn’t it ironic, don’t you think.

One of the things I love the most about middle Tennessee -it’s actually one of the first things I noticed about middle Tennessee when I first came down here and  if I’m being completely honest, it’s fair to say that it’s also the vessel through which I heard God calling me down to this part of the country.   

Franklin Road heading towards Franklin; Old Hickory blvd heading out towards Belle Meade; Savage Gulf, Stone Door and climing the mountain to Grundy County are my first memories of noticing the green rolling hills and clustered tree tops that form the landscape of middle tennessee.  

I love trees in general, grass too.    Their shade, their softness, their roots, their annual death and their annual  resurrection.    The way they move in the wind.   The way their provide shelter and a blanket to sit and play upon.   

How ironic that my forearm is still swollen after my allergy testing 7 hours ago -  “severly” allergic to all grass and most trees in middle tennessee, that’s what my “swelling” means.  

Shake your head kind of ironic I think — things that bring me such life and such joy and such peace would cause such swelling, such tenderness and such a reaction.  

If you didn’t know that the world we live in — this beautiful, painful world – this world is completely mixed up, messed up and backwards – know it now:  I who sees the trees wave and dance; I loves picnics and frisbee in the grass is “severly” allergic  to them both.   

at least I tested negative on the dog scratch.

humming

humming instead of whining.  
humming instead of moaning. 
humming instead of honking.
humming instead of reacting.
humming instead.  
I think I like that idea of humming instead.
I pray that I might be better at humming.

behind and before.

so I walked with Bugs this evening.   Not unusual I realize to walk bugs.   What was unusual I realized was that I took an extra loop and I was listening to tunes and I was by myself.   

I’m sure all three of those things were regular parts of my routine in the evening a few months ago.   But today they seemed really novel.   I realized that I missed them.  I missed taking the extra loop with just Bugs and my ear buds in (thus basically guaranteeing that I’m actually off in my own little world — somewhere on the edge of this world and the next). 

It’s been a great summer — deep, profound, assuring, strengthening and grounding in a non-grounded sort of way.    But it’s been different.   And all the good and all the “go” has left me pretty wiped out and wondering where the summer has gone?

I’m sitting here at my table, munching on my salad (that was meticulously made with Chambers/Burkinshaw precision)with a candle burning, music playing, Bugs begging and the sun fading into vesper light.    I’ve missed doing this.  

I’ve missed things this summer.   And today I was trying to decide if it’s too late to do my summer things.    Plant my colorful annuals.   Grow a basil plant.   Swing at Centennial Park on Saturday nights.   Watch a drive-in movie.   Take longer walks in the hours of long shadows.   Play summer-things with my neice.   Escape to the poolside cove in Dixon.  Grow tomatoes from seeds.  Patio nights with friends.  Twirl around the farmers market.  Cooking dinner for nearest and dearests.    Read.   Grill-out.    Bake.   I really miss baking.  

As I said, the summer’s been good — really good – just as if God made it and declared it “good.” 

It all certainly leaves me pondering — and wondering: wondering what this diversion from my summer routine was about –  curious as to what the shaking of my roots will bring.   and somewhat expectant for the year before me. 

I did take that walk tonight.
I did plant the tomato seeds.
I mused about buying flowers at Home Depot today.
I went to the market last week. 
I’m looking at the the things I want to bake.  
I’m in one place long enough to blog again.

Life behind me and before me.   above me and below me.  on my right and my left. within and without.  Just keep me in the middle of it.   keep me in the middle of life and I won’t miss what’s behind too much.   though I’m dying to bake again…

catch-up

time away:

The Pilgrim’s Way: In the Footprints of Saints.
Whitby, England

Time with Family.
Picnic with Aunty Mary, Uncle Donald and David.    
Haworth, Yorkshire. 

Home for a week.  
Flying kites with Janey.

Back to the mountain.   Our porch floor.

the return

I”m not sure where I’ve been.   Well that’s not true: I’ve been on the mountain doing my thing, I’ve been prepping for pilgrimage, I’ve been pilgrimming, I’ve been doing the family thing, I’ve been prepping for the mountain doing the community thing and I’ve been hooked (literally) on the mountain.    So I’ve been — I’ve definitely been (that perhaps is an understatement).   And so I definitely have returned.    But this wasn’t the return I was thinking about. 

I was thinking more about the return to my blog.   Not quite sure what my hiatus has been about.   I think it’s been about more than just not being here and being generally swamped.     I have written many blogs in my head that just never quite made it to the keyboard.  

So I’m here returning to my blog.   Returning to my home.   Returning to my dog and new couch that I’ve yet to fully enjoy.   Returning to my family and friends.   Returning to rhythm and routine.   Returning to the birds that congregate outside my window.   And I pray that I might return also to rest.

adventures across the way.

I really have not been mia just been on the Pilgrim’s Way across the big pond.   Wanna know what we’ve been up to …  try the other blog i keep with help:  www.stepoutofthetraffic.com  

and now another adventure begins … another pilgrimage.   Off to Grandma’s | go.

the tide turns.

I do believe it’s fair to say that the tide did indeed turn this morning and outwardly focused am I!   Sunday mornings will do that too me –  It’s time to quit working on everything and get organzied and ready to go.    So hah – I’m not just back to being focused outward but I even have an orientation and coordinates that hold my focus:  Manchester UK to begin with.  And then off to the north we shall go.  

so the countdown began this morning as the tide turned!  let’s pray I don’t get washed away

unwritten

so I think it’s fair to say that I’ve written a blog every day for the past month.    everyday something has caught my attention.   contemplation never seems to be far away.   my eyes wide observing the world around me.  

clearly though none of them were translated outwardly through the tapping of my fingers onto the keyboard.    These days I’ve written more with a pen in my little book sitting on my chair in the morning.   

I hadn’t really thought about the direction of my prose  recently until this evening when I made myself click “new post.”    At some point in the last month or so, I’ve reoriented myself inwardly.    Observing more.   Thinking more.   Listening more.  Writing more – not as a way of outward expression and articulation but as an inward way of prayer and conversation with my Restorer.   

Interesting to me that Wednesday I move outward again – literally – as we begin the yearly pilgrimage through Great Britain.   But I guess that’s what is different about the way of a pilgrim — every step outward?  is really a step inward.  

s0 maybe this journey before me — maybe it will tie it all back together: the inward and the outward.     so maybe the best is still unwritten.

you’re not hearing me.

If I’m honest I want to say it far more often than those words actually roll out of my mouth.   I think what I’m getting at  is that you may be hearing the words I’m saying but you’re not really hearing what the words mean to me.   

Sure we could say that it’s my personality (INFP — it’s never about what’s on the surface.)  But I’ve been thinking that actually it’s probably far more common than INFP’s.   Because listening (which would be what is necessary to really hear what someone is saying) is one of the hardest things for us to do.    We like to talk too much.  We like what we have to say too much.     We like to think too much.   All of which put a damper on listening.  

Seriously, how often do we just abstract our favorite  or maddening bits from stories, movies, articles, speeches, sermons, prayers, books so that we can propell our take, our story, our motives.   

I’m in the listening business.  But although I really try to practice  listening – “active listening” for all you psycho-therapy nuts like me -  it’s still hard.   It’s still amazing to me how many times someone can say something to me and I dismiss it before I really hear what they’re saying.    I suppose in part that’s because  so much is shared standing in an office door or on the way out of a room as opposed to sitting across a table with a cup of coffee.  

Listening is a holy endeavor.  All to often I find that moments of real listening coincide with moments of real prayer.   So maybe listening does take us through the wardrobe and into the parts of life that cannot be seen with the naked eye.   Maybe listening is actually a way of seeing through this world and each other.  

Maybe listening is one of the best kept secrets.   Because maybe listening leads us onto the path of life.   Maybe it’s through listening (actually hearing ) each other that we’re able to hear the pulse that beats through the heart of all life.    Maybe if we were to actually hear each other, we’d be so much closer to actually hearing the God who continues to pursue us and call us back home.  

Speak, please. I’m listening.

an open window.

I love open windows.   I love spring and fall in middles tennessee because my windows can be open.   My doctor and sinuses might disagree with this love of mine but what is life, if we have to be quaranteened and closed off to the world?

Romance comes to me through open windows.    The breeze.  The birds (what better alarm clock could there be?).  The sound of rustling leaves.    I am more connected to the changing light of the rising sun and the little bunny hopping about yards from the window. 

I have been romanced this morning.   I’m still resting in it.   It soon will end and the busyness of this time of year will creep back in.  My to-do list will face me and work will return much sooner than I’d like.  

But the window will stay open so that Romance might pursue me  –  if only for a few minutes at  a time.  

I’m wondering what other windows I could open in my day, in my work, in my world so that when moments of rest and beauty seem so few and far between, the odds are greater that Romance might find me.    And that all shall be made well again.