A Poem Written Three Weeks Before Ukraine was Invaded

Does the egregore stir up the war? 

Angels, demons, egregore -- who with whom is at war?

What is knocking at the door?

Meaning crisis, what's this all for?

Who is for us? Who is above?

What if their Name is Love?

Would it matter, do you care

Now that war is in the air?

Will we bend or will we break,

Bow the knee, eat our cake?

Is it too late to change our fate

Was our screen time as bad as hate?

God have mercy, where can we turn

Before our cities start to burn?

To go up, must we go down?

There is no more getting out of town. 

The  End

*Egregore Meaning:

                   Ancient: fallen angels

                    Old Greek: watchers

                    French: "spirit of a group"

                    New Testament: "For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against

                                                  the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, 

                                                  against the spiritual forces of evil..."

                                       
                                                   Tweeting in the Dark


    It is a dark (and I mean dark) pitch-black morning. It is raining gently, a cold rain; and the birds

are beginning to tweet. That's strange. They are tweeting in the pitch-dark. In the cold rain. ???

It must be because they know the dawn is coming... Soon.

    "Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom." Jesus says.

Don't worry about how you are going to make it during the coronavirus: if you are going to get

sick; if the government's breath-taking largess will lead to inflation, deflation or worse. Fear not.

It is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom, little flock.

    You can tweet, little flock, even though it is dark. The light is coming. You know it, deep down.

The Dayspring from on High has risen with healing in his wings. Every day brings you closer. You

can only sing songs in the dark when it is dark. You can only have faith during hard times, when

times are hard. Now is our chance to truly sing in faith. The song sung in the dark is precious to your

Father.

    Lift your hearts, little flock!  The Father awaits your chirps. Especially your chirps in the rain,

in the cold and in the dark...  Chirp on.

What Are You Repenting Of?

(Sunday afternoon musings)

Catastrophizing:
Screenwriting a horrible movie of the future and watching it over and over in my head. Terrorizing my own self. Graphic anxiety. Yanking up the past.

What would it FEEL like to not do keep doing that?

Can you envision such a thing?

Do you believe you have a choice?  Do believe that being able to make a choice is even POSSIBLE?

Okay. The vision --  A peaceful mind. The peace that passes all understanding. The fruit-of-the-Spirit-kind-of-peace. God gives me the spirit of power and of love, and of a sound mind. Not the spirit of fear.

So how is that going to happen, exactly? I ask myself.  How do I get that spirit of love and of power and of a sound mind that God gives to people?  How is this vision of fuller sanctification gonna happen??

Maybe by leaning in:
like a surfer leans into a wave
like a skier leans into a hill
like a hang-glider leans into an air-draft

How about soaking my mind in the opposites of my visceral fears: daily, hourly, minutely if necessary? The whatsoever things that are true. Let not your hear be troubled. My peace I give you. Fear not little flock...  Doing it, writing these things on recipe cards and putting them in jean pockets, in the apron, in the car.  Remembering, and replacing the horror film with what is good and with what I know for sure is true. Doing this like my life depends on it.

Like martial arts: seems when I go there, it is ok if I kick the padded thing wrong and stay up half the night with a bleeding, throbbing toe. It seems that it is ok to come in with bruises all over my legs. It is ok to be scared to take a running jump into the air for a summersault; I just need to get over it and do it. To feel sick to my stomach from the repeated rolls. For my bangs to get plastered with sweat. It is just not okay to quit. "But, wait a minute," I protest to a multi-blackbelted lady who is my age, but tougher. "What if the black-belt test is more than I literally, physically have the actual stamina, muscle energy to complete?" "Oh," she says, "you just keep on until you collapse".  Me, taken aback: "And after all that, then you don't get your black belt?" She: "Oh yes, you can still get it. It's the spirit that Master Kim is looking for."

The spirit of it!!  Do I go down kicking and fighting the sin that so easily besets me?  Fighting, paradoxically, for this peace of the Spirit? I have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin.  What is the difference?  Honor is huge for the black belt. For spiritual change, what motivates me to press in so hard is that "the love of Christ constrains us."  Jesus loves me. That He did so much for me, gave everything for me, that can be my motivating passion. He does not want me to be troubled. Or fear. Or be anxious. Seems too good to be true.

Why did Jesus go to the cross for me? "For the joy set before him."  For the joy of redeeming me? For me being able to be with him forever?  For me to see him sitting on the right hand of the throne of God??  Can I too strive for joy, and because I am so deeply loved?

Back to the leaning in, having the power of the metaphorical surfer's wave--GOD himself-- empowering my weak self--how do I get this, do this?

"Ask, and it shall be given unto you."  "If you ask anything in my name,  I will do it." (Jesus)

And so---Invoke the Trinity: the actual source of spiritual power.

The Love of the Father. Ask your Father, dear child. He gave up his beloved son for you -- will he not also freely give you all things?

The Savior, Jesus. Remember his blood shed...  Ask.  He will freely give, even if your faith is tiny like the little mustard seed.

The Holy Spirit. Implore to have His power in you in full measure. He groans for you.  You are not alone in this. He is in your corner.  He is in my corner.

And so, musings have been mused;
Thoughts have been thought.
Now prayers must be made
And battles must be fought.

If you are reading this and do not get it, this Christian thing, but you feel somehow drawn to it, please lean in. It is real, as real as the joy you may long for. Nothing else is more important than this.



       







               


                                 

The Great Delay

The Great Delay. When you wind a million little threads around yourself, reasons (known and unknown) why you cannot just move ahead with what you want to do. I was paralyzed in this project of evaluating all my possessions. I touched them and judged them worthy or not to remain in my life, all of them. Except the books. 

It happened this way: in Marie Kondo's "Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up" method of  de-cluttering one's life, the next thing after going through one's clothes is one's books. I dutifully gathered my books from the four corners of my home. More than one thousand strong, they stood in plies along a wall in the basement, waiting for their day of judgement. As I went through them, remembrances came before my heart. There were hopes for my family and children: books on my philosophy of education with Charlotte Mason; one particular book whose title summed up why I stayed home with my little ones ("The Heart Has It's Reasons"). There were the nature books: wildflower, tree and bird identification, nature journaling, good places for hiking adventures, and more. There was my beloved "Square Foot Gardening."  C.S. Lewis and Francis Schaeffer and other besties of my faith. All of the Barefoot Contessa cookbooks, along with the worn-out "Joy of Cooking." The Pattern Language books. The counseling and psychology ones--lots of those. My books on all things French. The quirky, miscellaneous categories of books. They had shaped my thinking, encouraged me on life's journey, and moved me to dream. (Some of my dreams actually came true. Some of my dreams were shattered). Was I supposed to get rid of all but a chosen few books? This made me sad. They individually sparked joy like little fireflies, and collectively were a warm glow. They had been like friends to me. How do you de-junk your friends? How do you give St. Augustine to the Goodwill?

The answer came one cold, cloudy afternoon--the kind of afternoon when the local bookstore calls one's name with the promise of getting lost in the stacks, finding something wonderful to read, and settling down with a nice warm drink.  My daughter and I answered the call. We wandered apart, but she came back soon, like a retriever who found its duck with ease. She held a charming little white volume with a pink and blue Scandinavian design on the cover and the strange word "Hygge." It turned out to be a book that solved the problem of books. But of course!

You may very well have heard of hygge; all over the internet it has been. Hygge is some sort of coziness that the self-reported happiest people in the world, the Danish people, have embraced. Hygge generally comes along with winter and fireplaces and cocoa and soft woolly socks, although one can "hygge" any time. If you like word-history, hygge may have come from an old Norwegian word that connotes well-being. The Old Norse word "hugge" means "to comfort." There was a word that was used in the sixteenth century, Old English, "hugge" -- "to embrace, to hug." Nice word, huh? 

This provoked me to think about what it is we long for when we arrange our surroundings to create an atmosphere of comfort and well-being. There is the Christian concept of Shalom: being whole and well. It is the soul's feeling at home; comfortable, contented in this world we were made for, which paradoxically is not our true home. Do we not desire joyfulness with tranquility? To feel blessedly happy? To be "surprised by joy," even, as C.S. Lewis put it?

This quest for joy has been an undercurrent in human history. One author, Christopher Alexander, writes of a certain Quality Without a Name. He emphasizes feeling alive, being free, and being deeply who you are. 

 Bob Dylan alludes to this, perhaps, by pressing the question from another angle. "How does it feel... to be on your own... with no direction home... like a complete unknown...like a rolling stone?" Hm, how does that feel? Cold, stark, empty; no home, even... What is the connection between the concrete elements of home, the being together, the hot cocoa, fuzzy socks, a book in hand and a fire in the wood stove --- and the most real, deep longings of our heart for peace, beauty, and belonging?

 I think we want something more than how we feel when things are just "nice." On this side of heaven, embracing coziness for itself becomes a watered-down, milk-toast affair when we believe this is all there is. We numb ourselves to the ache of our hearts, which have been hurt so badly. We ignore the ache of living in a fallen place in the universe, and we are the less for it. We sell out for little pleasures, right now.

When we remember the ache for something beyond this place, our hearts are moved, and we go deeper. In the Scandinavian way, the Christmas season is the ultimate hygge, and it is a time of tradition and togetherness. I remember the wonder and excitement of Christmas as a child. Grandma had a tinsel Christmas tree, which changed colors by a light that shone on it. She got red velvet outfits for all of us, her grandchildren. My cousins and I, all dressed in red velvet: we belonged to each other. We truly belonged, in spite of the pain and dysfunction that our family knew. We had a home at Grandma's. We were not on our own, like little rolling stones...We will never be together like that again, as children at Christmas in red velvet. So I ache. I want to be with them again, to see them, to know them, to feel at home with them as we did in the warmth of Grandma's care. Christmas lights and red velvet, the homely hygge of those times, was that not a little taste of the true Home? 

There have been the summer evenings. The air is milky-warm. We rock in rocking chairs on the porch, listening to the cicadas and the occasional bull-frog's deep, deep croak. Again, I am there, together with dear ones. We belong to each other. We truly belong, in spite of the pain and dysfunction our family knows. We are together in this wonderful moment of time, and times like this always end. Winter will come. Maybe there will still be wonderful moments in our lives that we will embrace with joy. The winter of our lives will eventually arrive, however, and we will grow old. We will begin to die, one by one, and be buried in the ground by the others who are left... To know this, to feel our mortality in the face of these moments of the grace of life, will bring an ache with it. The moments of quiet joy, embraced along with the ache of knowing they will end--in that do we not realize, in amazement, there really, truly is the Shalom of Heaven itself? A Shalom we are, right now, just tasting a little sip of?

Did I still give my books away? Yes, a few of them. Most of them remain. The most precious ones now reside in lovely wooden bookcases in a room I might call The Library. Or maybe the Den, like Grandma's house. They do not spark joy like a firecracker, but they glow in their own soft way. They remind me of a Home I have yet to live in. For ever and for always. 

The Magic

What magic? The life-changing magic of tidying up, says Marie Kondo. Not traditional tidying, as in putting things away. We are talking about serious de-junking. Marie has us begin with clothes. So I did...  Wow. I hauled everything out of my closet, got my coats out of the coat closet, dragged out the drawer things and dumped it all onto our queen-sized bed. It made quite a pile, and quite a sight--with purses, shoes, boots, sandals and bedroom slippers along the edges on the floor.

I had no idea I had so much until I saw it all in one place.  Mount Clothesmore. Not to be daunted, I dutifully began a Day of Judgement on each and every piece, as Marie says to do. Now if you have read her book or seen Youtube videos of Marie, you will know that the main way to tell if you should keep something is to ask yourself,  "Does this spark joy?" Since I am a color person, I know I must find the color of the piece to be delightsome. Even a gray boyfriend sweater is nice in a cozy way, and it passes the test. Something like a pair of jeans--you know, just navy blue--can win it's way back into the "In" pile because it is Useful (like Thomas the Tank Engine) -- but it may not dig into my stomach, or be uncomfortable anywhere else.  Beautiful, useful, comfortable.

It took the better of two days to go through everything. What did I learn? I learned how delightful it is to look into my closet or drawers and be glad of what I have. I learned that it is good if it is not too much. I learned that I tend to like dressy clothes most of all ("church" clothes, party clothes, even clothes I would wear to work, if I worked outside my home), so I gravitate toward those kinds of clothes.  I have had more of those than I really need, and less of the regular, everyday kinds of things I truly wear every day. This has got to stop!!  I like sweaters and tops more than pants. I very much like shoes. I very much like jackets. And I very much like coats (is that from my Minnesota upbringing, where it was a big deal to always have good winter coats?).

Lessons learned?  Now that it is fall clothes time, it is time to actually wear the sweaters I kept (perhaps in rotation), and not be tempted to buy any more. I must keep in mind that it is possible to dress well without a lot of clothes, as our French sisters do.  A thought: to go shopping in my closet when I get dressed. Finding new combinations of clothes that are there. If you are an aritisitc person, this can be classified as fun!  I realize that I like to buys jeans/pants that are long enough to wear with heeled shoes, but I am getting sick of wearing shoes with heels (thankfully, I just saw an article that says high heels are coming to be a thing of the past. Yes, may that be true!).  So, jeans/pants with ballet flats may be a look that is in my future... I have worn clogs for a very, very long time. I still like them, even though they are not so popular nowadays. But, so what? I will keep wearing them, but maybe not buy any more. I did let go of the Dansko clogs I wore for twenty years. Sadly. They had given up the ghost.

I think that the two most important things to know about oneself regarding clothes are 1)what colors you like/look best in, and 2)what is your basic shape:  H is straight up-and-down, 0 is round in the tummy, V is broad shoulders,  A is wide hips -- and what clothes work well with your shape so that you are proportional. If you have a sense of these things, shopping will go tremendously better (compared with the clueless wandering around I have done so much of, and then wasted good money on things I somehow did not wear later). All this information is on the internet, of course. I think it is worth a woman's while to make these judgements about herself (colors and her shape). Time and money are resources that are sad to waste buying clothes that end up going to the Goodwill.

If you happen to have read Marie Kondo's work, you may have tripped over her personification of material things. She says to talk to your things, thank your clothes before you let them go. I am kind of tight-laced to actually do that, especially not being Shinto. However, I liked thanking Jesus for each piece of clothing. The ones that I let go, I tried to think of what they taught me, and to be grateful. For example, the leopard-print dress taught me not to do too much leopard in an outfit. I did not learn that from the disastrous maternity leopard-print swimsuit I once had, which only made me look like a large, pregnant wild feline. The leopard dress make me look like--oh, never mind. I think I have gotten the idea!  I also buy and not wear solid-color 3/4 length t-shirts. They look nice, even. But I only wear the Breton stripe ones. So I just won't get any more, and see if I ever see if I wish I
had one. I bet I won't.

This has been rather meandering, but I would love to hear your thoughts!

Next tidying: books. Hundreds of them. What is a bibliophile to do???

Take care,

Margie

A Little Bit of French Fashion

"Simplicity is the keynote of all true elegance."  Well said, Coco Chanel! I have been inspired. A trip to Paris with my husband on a past anniversary enchanted me with all things French.  For good reason the Eiffel Tower is an iconic symbol of Paris-- at night, it is gorgeously lit up, and each hour white lights blink and sparkle throughout it. "Scintillating!"said my French friend. It was, truly.

I so much enjoyed watching the people. In the mornings we would eat breakfast, street-side, in a little cafe while people were going to work. This was not the high-fashion district, so we got to see "regular" people. The women seemed--how shall I say?-- quite self-possessed, in a calm, confident way (not like me, for example). I bet they looked basically like the best version of themselves. No one appeared to have thrown something on and raced out the door. Each one had something about her that seemed unique, like a nice scarf or neat shoes, or she was wearing beautiful lipstick. Her whole outfit, or "look," also worked together, like a cohesive whole. This fascinated me, since they were so simply dressed. Upon interviewing my French friend (and doing some reading and youtube watching), I have come to find out that apparently (most) French women do not keep large wardrobes. They have a small amount of clothes, and each piece is rather special in it's own way... Hm. Small, simple, very nice... That appeals to me, as a somewhat artistic person lacking in sustainable administrative practices, including wardrobe management.

Here are the two main "rules" that French women follow:  1) Do not have too much. 2) Have what you know is wonderful for you.

But how do you know? Can a person know? Yes, I maintain that you can! Try thinking about it intuitively.  Go over to your closet. Don't rush. Breathe.  In, out.  Now, look things over (you may need to check drawers as well), and pick out the ONE garment you actually wore a lot this summer, that you felt was wonderful--or just right--for you.  Find what you know looked nice on you, what you felt happy to put on, what you felt most "yourself" when wearing (maybe you were complimented on it, too). What did you eye, and reach for first? (Don't intellectualize right now). Mine was a sleeveless shift dress--a print of turquoise and white background with strong pinks and tiny dashes of orange and lime green, and with white braid trim at the neckline. It is a happy dress. It is classic in cut, though not quite so in the print, but that is all right for summer, to be light-hearted. It is a happy, cheerful dress. It's like going to Rita's for a cherry icy... What did you choose? What did you like about it?  Try to think of words you would use to describe, say, people or places you like, or even food (for example, my pajamas. They are so soft and cozy, they are delicious). Now, do one more. What did you come up with? Mine was a simple black tank top that fit just right (not too skimpy; that makes me ill-at-ease). It can go with just about any summer skirt, shorts or pants I own. It is practical. It is like the Baby Bear's porridge in "The Three Bears." It is Just Right! How about your second one? Why do you like it?  How do you feel when you wear it?  How would you describe it?  These two items have just earned their way into next year's summer wardrobe!

I hope this little exercise will begin to give you a glimmer of what it can feel like to someday look into your closet and feel happy, because everything you see is something you really like. It does not have to be very much, either!

Are you wondering about how this fits in with being a desperate, struggling believer? In this world, there is desperation, and with it, cries for help and deliverance. God does---really does--show up, and by His mercy I wake up each day and steward (deal with) what He has given me.  How I use my time; money, food, relationships I happen to be in--Proverbs and Ecclesiastes speak to that stuff. It is what I do every day here, "under the sun."

Since by faith in Jesus, I am totally accepted by God, what I do (ie, my work, which is never is perfect), is washed by the Blood, too. The wrongs, the cheapness of my heart, are forgiven. So what then? I love the KJV on this one:  "Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God now accepts thy works. Let thy garments be always white; and let they head lack no ointment."  Ecclesiastes 9:7,8.  Hear that? There is joy, white clothes (back then, white clothes were nice and special, and it took time to get things clean), and ointment on ones's head (hair products? ha, ha).  Amazingly, this is given to us in the imperative. My work, my creativity, is accepted by Him, and at the end of the day's work (truly in spite of sorrows and evils), I am to sit down to supper with joy!

So, hopefully with joy, in our next wardrobe chat, we will talk about lessons learned from Marie Kondo in her book, "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up" (think de-junking, applied to your clothes). The book is a good read.  It is probably at your public library.

Thanks for reading this post!

Au Revoir,

Margie

Grace Along the Way

What is the journey of your life?  A circus caravan, with monkeys screeching and leaping around in their cages as you roll along? That is, do you struggle with chaos? Or are you trudging hot, dusty roads with your backpack straps digging into your shoulders, on a pilgrimage to some sort of Mecca, whose expected glory is fading before you even get there? That is, do you struggle with hope? Or perhaps despair? Is your trip through life at times (or ever) a cushy-smooth ride in a BMW, in which you cruise with speed and style -- but you have a nagging whisper to your heart that "the nearer your destination, the more you're slip-sliding away?" (Thanks for that thought, Simon & Garfunkel)!

There is a gap, often huge, between how we actually are traveling our journey and how we wish we could. We fill the gap with hard work, planning, new ideas. That's me... We fill it with lots of little things, like eating way too many potato chips, numbing out on screen of choice, making and keeping friends who keep us safe and shallow... I have done those things, too--oh, yeah. There has never been a shortage of "drugs of choice" in the history of the whole world, some perfectly respectable, and some not so much.  

Then there is Grace. Grace along the way. I do need it, even when I don't realize it.  Especially when I don't realize it, because those monkeys in my head are screaming way to loud for me to hear anything sane. Like, perhaps, "Hey, there is such a thing as hope, here."  Or the heat and dust of the road whisper, "Just forget this. Lay down and die. Goodness gets bestowed on far better, stronger people than you."  

 Grace on the way. It is, in truth, with me every step of this journey. It is often--even usually--invisible, but quietly present. When life beats me up so bad, that I end up lying on the side of the road, Grace is on the way, like a sort of Good Samaritan who treats my wounds and hoists me onto her donkey. She whispers Hope into my weary consciousness, and -- eventually -- wobbly strength returns to my legs. "Advancing still from [wobbly] strength to strength, we go where other pilgrims trod, until we stand before the face of God."

The Face of God?? This is the final destination? Yes. The Beatific Vision. The Shekinah Glory. To see The Great I AM.  Yahweh, Himself.  Jesus--the lover of our souls.  He Whom we have desired, even when I we thought that what we wanted were a million other things. The Spirit, Whose groaning prayers for us will be fully answered... Home. At last. 

The screaming monkeys in our heads will be silenced. Our burning feet will be cool and washed. Our King was the kneeling Servant. False comforts will vanish, the curtain will fall, and the circus lights will fade... The journey will have ended. It will be done, finished. 

Then?  Peace.  Enfoldment.  I look into His eyes and know I was the beloved all along.  He smiles into my eyes, bends, and whispers into my ear a new name He has named me. I nod. 

We both know why.