More of the Same, but Indooors

 

I think things are getting back to normal re. my strength and energy levels

 as this morning I went for a foray around the ground floor with my friend Henry.

 

Despite his look of coy invitation,

it is over a month since my home received Henry's ministrations.

 

Hubby had offered his services

 but our floors hadn't reached a sufficient level of crunchiness to risk

putting his "that'll do" attitude to cleaning,

versus my pernicketyness,

 to the test.

 

I admit that as my energy levels have risen this week

 Henry has not been my first port of call.

 

First dibs on my energy went on two oil paintings I re-started.

Here's one that still has quite a way to go.

 

Strange I should think of vacuuming ,

and not going into the studio and picking up my brushes.

as

 "getting back to normal",

 

Well, not so strange when you think of the strict housewifely rules

which were integral to so much of my growing up. 

 

Perhaps I really am learning to "accept the chaos"

 (mentioned in the post My Father is the Gardener)

 in ever more ways.

 

It would be great if a decrease in my pernickety inner ctritic

 could mean an increase in the acceptance of myself and others.

Maybe an increase in such tolerance might even lead

 to an increase in internal or physical energy...?

 

*

 

We all have

 this critical voice,

 so internalised ,

we have long accepted it's demands as our own.

I pray this weekend you will find new freedom to

silence any such harrying voice,

and to hear,

 and make your own,

 the sweet acceptance of all you are;

messy bits and all.

 

Eph 1:6 He has made us accepted in the beloved.

Blessings

 

It's no good looking at me like that Henry,

I don't know when you're coming out again.

 

 

 

 

My Father is the Gardener

 This year, after a late start,

 I am overwhelmed by the lushness of the garden.

 

More than ever

 I am aware of the layers of foliage and colour.

 

 

 So much is in a state

of becoming. . .

 

 

New delights are being formed

by the layers growing from underneath.

 

The fullness of the layers

which have sat so long in place

are pierced and pushed aside

by things I have hardly been aware was there.

 

 There are still the patches where

things haven't really come to growth of course.

 

 

There are other corners

as thick with weed

as the the rest is full of verdure.

 

There they are,

deeply rooted,

and as much part of the whole as what sits on top.

 

 

Almost in the same instant I spy them I remember,

my "Father is the gardener."
 

I remember the urgent need of clearing and pruning.

 

 

Still and all,

I guess I am changing along with the garden,

because

I find myself relaxing.
 

I can forgive the chaos, and accept it,

along with the beauty. 

 

Just the way the Father of our spirits does.

(Heb.12:9)

 

 

 

Be Blessed

 

 

 

The Ups and Downs

Been off-line again due to my health being up and down,

 and my absurdly disappearing energy levels.

 

If I had to visualise the way it feels it would be something like

 this photograph taken from inside a crevasse.

 

 

                                                                                         photo:- Times.co.uk
 

There are times of strength and energy when I feel great,

then suddenly I fall through the hole into utter weakness and weariness.

 

My emotions follow the graph. 

Up and down I go.

Full of joy

t

h

e

n

crying with exhaustion.

 

Sure I've been in similar places before,

 brought by different routes.

 

The heart's anchor appears not to hold.

Discipline which once stilled the soul

 becomes a circle of chattering thoughts.

 

I know the temptation so well.

 

Do not believe.

There is nothing,

nobody.

 

I am not strong

 or even faithful

as I twist and turn in the whirlpool of unresolved thought.

 

The Word comes easily to my memory,

seeming to be neither shield nor sword.

 

I repeat what I once believed,

and not believing, add

 "Help Thou my unbelief"

to the litany.

 

 The prayer of His name sits in every breath,

and still I do not believe.

 

In the end it is a choice.

I remember how it says He set His face like flint...

 

Still not believing

 I set my face to believe.

 

"Fool".

The unrelenting thread goes on,

"Worse,  I am lying to myself..."

But truly I have been this way before.

 

As I make the choice

I come home. 

 

The crevasse is still as deep.

I choose again...

 

"If I go up to heaven you are there,

 if I make my bed in Sheol you are there."

Psalm 139:8

 

Blessings

 

 

P.S.  If you can recognise any of this read http://blueeyedennis-siempre.blogspot.co.uk/ new post

         Blessing in the Chaos.