Butterflies, books and blessings

I seem to be turning into butterfly-woman, or at least have developed more of a butterfly mind recently which is easily attracted and distracted by turns.

My new tendency is to flit from book to book, pausing to savour a hint of its flavour before I move on to another.

Books beckon to us. They may call insistently like a whiny child or lure siren-seductively with an irresistible boldness. 

Others whisper soft and insinuate themselves around our hearts. We feel crushed to come to the end of their words.

Those we need to work through cause stopping pauses for reflection as well as working on the suggested activities or questions.

I've been dipping in and out of the 'read, pause, ponder, pray and respond' type over the last few weeks, hence my somewhat distracted manner.

But fruit is appearing as I am being inspired to delve deep into soul territory and to unleash new areas of creativity.

And you, dear reader, can taste a tidbit here as I share a story from my childhood memories.

"Huge yellow teeth grinning inanely within a mouth cavernous and dangerously close to my shaking hands, I proffer the fruit as homage, offering. It is snaffled noisily. 

Breath puffs out in snorts and starts from flared nostrils, making smoky circles in the air. 

I'm entranced by a fine conker-shiny coat, by swish of thick whiplash tail, by nodding of head and stamping of hooves.

Horses were a rarity for me. City living doesn't suit them.

No place we lived in had room for more than a couple of cats, a cage of pet mice, small bowl of goldfish and some budgerigars. And most of them vanished when we moved into a flat with no garden of our own.

Even a field looks far too small to contain this boisterous frame, this much compressed energy. 

Smell of shoe leather assails my nose as saddle is hoisted into place, bit and bridle attached, reins close to catch hold of. We're ready to ride. At least this magnificent beast is. I'm scared and exhilarated by turns.

Heart thumping like a terrified caged bird, I obey instruction, swing shaky legs over saddle and find myself seated on hardness, close to glistening flank and fearsome head. Breathe... breathe... it will be OK.

We begin to move. Tentative at first. A gentle trot, nice and easy. I watch, listen and learn as my experienced companion urges me on. And wonder takes over. Look at me ~ I'm riding a horse! 

We emerge from the field and hit gravel. Tarmac tilts me differently and clip-clop sounds become more pronounced. I cling on as we move forward with increasing momentum. Try to stay calm as we begin to canter a little. 

I sense the weight of horse muscle and power between my legs. And I feel out of control, at the mercy of this great beast, even as I take the reins in a closer grip, sweat trickling down my spine.

Life seems more intense somehow, scenery seen from a higher perspective, senses alert with adrenaline. A child's eye view now skewed by an equine ride.

All too soon the prancing, dancing giddiness of it comes to an end and I slide away from my carrier. 

I bask in admiration for the way he lives, moves and has his being, and how, for a short moment in time, I could be a small part of it all."

It's been a while since I've written about my past, or done so in a positive way. All it took was a creative exercise prompt and the memory here flooded back.

It was prompted by reading 'Spin - Taking Your Creativity to the Nth Degree' by Claire Burge.

Our minds are rich storehouses, replete with randomness which can become ripe and renewed to our senses as God brings things to remembrance.

God was working in my life when I was a child. I have no doubt that even then He began to get me to see experiences through the lens of grace, and to mark my memory with good events that will eventually outweigh the bad as I allow them to surface.

And He's continuing to do just that as He teaches you and I to live mindfully and be aware of His hand in everything.

You may not remember much that was good about your childhood. Neither did I for many years.

However, a snatch of a song, a few poetic words, a smell, a sight, sound or word prompt may be all it takes to release those beautiful butterfly moments when summer seemed endless and experiences were ripe for plucking and savouring.

And as we seek to follow after God's heart, He encourages us to live in the moment with awareness and gratitude for His continual goodness and grace.

In due time, God will bring events to mind as a way of informing the present and aid His work in shaping us for the future.

*NOTE* ~  Friends, please let me know in the comments below if you would like to read more childhood remembrances. I am very  slowly tackling some memoir writing. And because this is a departure from the norm for me here, I really value your opinion. Thank you! :)

Over to you:

How is God helping you to re-frame your childhood through the lens of His grace?

Have you had any positive memories surfacing at unlikely moments?

And are you learning to live more mindfully than you may have done before?

A fresh perspective

Not many of my childhood memories are viewed through a warm sepia-lens hue. Most shade to grey, blur into dark images I prefer not to examine too closely.

I remember this moment though, because new toys (yes, even a piggy bank money-box) were rare and usually saved for Christmas or birthday, but this was an unexpected summer gift and I was keen to show it off. 

So I sat proud on the lawn my father lavished great attention to, midst the scent of roses and buzz of honey bees, grinning unselfconsciously for a change.

Recollections aren't always reliable. A hint remains:a shade, a shadow, a stain, a scent, a touch too much.

Feelings capture more than a camera can. Haunt us down the corridors of years.

When Bonnie asked us to "picture yourself as a little girl with Jesus. How do you picture her and what is she doing? How does she feel? What does she want?" I began to back away from revisiting the past, a country where I fervently wished my visa had expired but which pervaded the present.

We were also asked to express what was on our mind and heart to Jesus. Tell it all to Him. Look into His eyes and be aware He is listening. I gulped, prayed and spent some time sitting with Jesus.

This was the result:

"I'm sitting on a wooden bench in our garden at home, wriggling a bit because of the splinters. Jesus is right beside me. I am looking wistfully into the distance, feeling sad and alone. As I turn to face Jesus I share how I've forgotten how to play and enjoy my life. There feels a heavy weight on my heart, like a dark cloud is suffocating all the joy out of me.

Jesus smiles, takes my hand and passes something to me. My eyes light up at the sight of a jar of bubbles, and I look up at Him curiously. He encourages me to open the lid and blow some bubbles at the sky. So I do. 

And they grow huge even as they float with ease and care-free abandon. I can't help but smile back at Him now.

He points to a dark cloud partly obscuring the sun. We watch together as a giant bubble rises, gathers momentum, nudges into the cloud and pops it softly. I gasp, laugh and Jesus joins in. 

'Look', He says, 'Your cares and concerns overshadow your days like that dark cloud and it feels like no heat, light or warmth is reaching you. It makes you sad and steals the joy out of your life. But I offer you joy unspeakable and full of glory, life and vitality. All you need to do is ask Holy Spirit to blow on your wand of faith, and joy will rise like this bubble. And instead of the bubble being broken by the air pressure all around, you will see the dark clouds disperse and sun will fill and flood your day again'

I begin to feel warm all over as a glow spreads from inside my tummy outwards. The air shimmers and I shield my eyes against the brilliance of rainbow-coloured flares. However, doubts still surge through my child-like heart as I long to trust and believe, but have to voice my fears first. 

'Where will you be, Jesus? And what happens if the sky stays cloudy?' He tilts my chin toward His sweet face and I look into the most tender, loving gaze I've ever seen. His voice whispers deep to my toes and reverberates through the sun's haze as He reminds me that He's always right here beside me, and says no cloud will ever cover up His Light, for it shines even in darkness.

I'm to expect Him to brighten up each day whenever I seek His face, and to look for the rainbow appearing after stormy skies have passed by. That will be a sign of His promise to restore life, light, colour and joy to my world once again."

And I did have times of blowing bubbles as a child, enjoying their tactile magic. In the image above I'm overshadowing my twin sister and cousin as I hog the bubble-blowing, sitting on the edge of the bench in my eagerness to make them go higher and further.

I also remember my mother using a green bar of 'Fairy' soap as she scrubbed laundry stains, causing lather bubbles for us to wonder at, as well as concentrated 'Fairy liquid' washing-up liquid agitated into lovely, multi-coloured rainbow foam-squirts sparkling in the sink.

Those memories are given a fresh perspective from the lens of age and grace. 

If my parents were usually overly busy, anxious, stressed, angry, neglectful and dysfunctional custodians, they were also able to relax and be surprisingly attentive ~ if only for split seconds, mere moments in time, brief precious periods in my personal history.

Yet is is those positive snapshots I am choosing to cling to as I walk with God along the path of healing my wounded emotions, one tiny, faltering step at a time. 

Each grey day can have a better outlook in His eyes as He helps us to see His continually reassuring presence through it all, to rest in His provision even In This. 

Because God knows us intimately; He sees all we go through in the span of our lives and knows the truth of who we can become in relationship with Him.

My recollections were stirred by reading 'Finding Spiritual Whitespace:Awakening Your Soul To Rest' by Bonnie Gray. 

Confession:I have been stopping and starting this book over the last few months because it is working soul deep and re-visiting childhood pain again is, well, pretty painful. Now, I sense God calling me to persevere with it and allow Him to awaken me fully to how I can rest my restless, anxious soul more in Him. 

You can read this truly helpful book as I'm doing, quietly, slowly and privately by yourself, dipping in and out as needed, or alongside others in Bonnie's book club on her Facebook page.

Over to you:

How do you feel as you look back on your childhood? 

Have you been given a fresh perspective on it as you've grown older?

Joining with other writing friends at these grace-filled places:

Bonnie ~ Beloved Brews

Holley ~ Coffee for Your Heart

Jennifer ~ Tell His Story

Let me tell you a story

Our lives are wrapped around story. 

We live, breathe, and have our being in God's great narrative.

And it becomes clearer as we co-operate with Him in the unfolding story we are all a part of.

Each tale we tell has a beginning, middle and end.

Each story we are currently living out is ongoing, yet with great potential for change.

Today, I invite you to pull up a chair, grab a coffee and make yourself comfortable as I share some of my story with you.

As one who is nearer the tail end than the beginning, I share by way of third person narration, looking back on myself as I was as a child.

Let's begin...

Once upon a time, a little girl liked nothing better than to curl up with a good book. Spurning slumber, she sat tent-like in the bed-sheets, devouring the current favourite before her by the light of a tiny torch.

Reading in bed meant potentially disturbing her sister and maybe incurring the disapproval of parents. Reading anything much altogether, unless it was schoolwork, or comics bought to buy her silence, was frowned upon. 

Even as her mother sat at table, ash falling carelessly, book in front of her and fag in hand, ignoring her children; it was never seen as desirable behaviour to adopt.

Wasn't childhood meant to be lived out of doors? Out of sight and out of mind of the adults. What a waste of time to bury yourself in books. Best to get out and play.

Yet it meant so much. Escape. Diversion. Distraction. The world around already crowding in too close for comfort. Adult life breathing hot, whispering, secrets and lies that sent a shiver of dread down her spine and distaste souring her thoughts.

Writing was another release as she poured out her heart in poetry and prose. Here, she could be who she wanted to be, lose herself afresh in make-believe.

All too soon, life's demands caught up with her and she found herself seeking other avenues of distraction, walking unsafe pathways, down dead-ends, pleasure seeking that brought no joy, still bending herself to the will of others.

One day, when drawn deeper still down dark tunnels of despair and destruction, she encountered a man bearing a lamp. The Light-bearer approached gently. He held out a hand of warmth and welcome.

He spoke words of reassurance and offered covering - His robe of righteousness and mantle of grace in exchange for the dirty rags she was wearing.

A new sensation grew in her heart as trust began to bloom again, filling and flooding her with hope. Someone was taking notice. Someone cared.

She was grateful for the new robe and loved to bury her face in its downy softness. After a while though, she forgot she was wearing it. Her old weeds of worry, worthlessness, shame, disgrace, guilt and pain wound their sinuous way around her once more and clung tenaciously.

Hope died. Her light dimmed and she lived for many years in Shadow-lands as one naked and ashamed.

Darkness shrouded her days as they passed in a blur. She gave every appearance of being alive while dying slowly on the inside.

Yet the Light-bearer's lamp flickered briefly, reminding her that He was still present, despite seeming so far away she thought He'd left her side.

She hid. Herself, her talents, her hope  and dreams all buried deep. Her creative ability to express herself hidden away so far she forgot she had ever had it.

Until...

A Voice called her name. Faint and indistinct at first, then growing stronger. 

And she heard the Light-bearer come near, sensed the fragrance of His presence changing the very air she breathed, filling her lungs with a sweet perfume to cancel out the stale odours she'd been inhaling for so long.

He spoke:"Let them fall. Those old clothes don't fit who you are anymore as a child of the King. All those years when you felt lost, out of place, sad and alone, I was with you. All that time when you wished you had a different life, different family, I had already bought you into Mine and given you new life. Now, take My hand and walk with Me into the future I have planned".

Her throat constricted. She gasped and cried. And as she put her small hand in His she felt alive once more. More alive than she had felt for years.

Perhaps she could resume reading His book and find comfort and reassurance there? 

Maybe she could begin to create, to write again? Let words pour forth as water. Or was it a discarded dream, never to return?

As if reading her mind, He bent low, took her chin in His hand with utmost tenderness, and said, "My beloved. You will write. You will pour out your heart once more. You will tell of your journey through the dark places and the Light waiting to guide you home. And in the telling you will help lead others back here too."




Then He wrote this upon her mind and heart:


"I love you. I always have and I always will. You are safe with Me" and He signed it, 'Jesus'.

**Note:It's been a period of great challenge physically and emotionally in my life recently that has brought up painful issues from the past. I didn't think I could join in with this week's #Letter to link-up which has the prompt:'Letter to my younger self' (over at Melanie's place this time) until God gifted me with a different way of writing it.

It has been an encouraging affirmation to me of God's overwhelming love and care. And my hope and prayer is that it will have blessed you too as you read it.

If you only take one thing from this post, please remember - Jesus loves you very much. He really does.

On the Road

A road can be as long or short as our perspective of it.

Stretching on endlessly for miles or running out of path to tread before we know it.

Outside our home, the road was adjunct to playing space as we pushed prams full of dolls jostling within, roller-skated, hopscotched, twirled hoola-hoops, kicked, threw and caught a ball, hopped, skipped and jumped our way through childhood.

Only roads are potential death traps. I diced close once. Didn't know when to stop and look around me

Dashing behind ice-cream van, frozen spearmint lolly sticky-glued to hand, lip licking in anticipation, eyes peeled on the path ahead but forgetting my "look left, right, then left again, cross safely" mantra...a screech of brakes, scream, shout...body inert, curled up corpse-like into the kerb, blue-tinged lips, still and silent.

Father watching motor racing on TV could feel a heart-lurch recognition of danger, squeal of tires, noise, beyond the confines of the living room. He scooped me up from the gutter..pebble-dashed with gravel, blue lights and siren hovering into view. I remember nothing of that.

Only light searing eyes too sensitive to bear. Screams from my own throat as a cold-fingered, cold-hearted nurse bent to inject me. Drifting away for a while..

My looseness saved me as I fell to the ground. Innate ability to sit heavy on lap, snuggle in close for comfort craved so much. Collapsing sack-like kept me from cracking. No bones broken. Only concussion and badly grazed, scraped torn skin that wept yellow into bandage.

Bruised pride. Clumsy old me. All of six years old. Tears leaking afresh at the sight of torn dress, ruined beyond repair.

*********

On another road...

Father at the wheel of a lurching truck that swayed and swooped along the highway. 

We sat in designated seats. Toss of coin for squabbling sisters.

I won the front row. She was assigned mid-stalls on the rickety orange-box crates that covered and cushioned served as space to squat. Illegal really. Under-age. Unsafe.

But he was under-the-thumb with mum, who wanted us out-of-her hair, out of sight, out of mind. So we roamed the warehouse as he stacked and packed. Forty miles to the first port of call.

We sat. Me gloating smugly, she grumbling sisterly. Nearly where we needed to be when the sky fell in, or at least the window did. 

Sudden smash...shiny shards of glass collecting in my lap, splintered dust-size fragments coating everything and everyone, though I caught the brunt of it.

 

A road stabbing painful, red-blooded, broken. Father found a way to bring healing

A local cafe. Familiar faces. Regular watering-hole for him. 

We were clucked over, embraced gingerly, checked, cleaned, Savlon smeared, plastered up where necessary. Only tiny slivers. Don't worry. No real damage done.

It doesn't take much to splinter a life - a road can end as abruptly as it began

Memories: of warmth, care, soft drinks, sausage, eggs, bean and chips to comfort us, other children (her own), TV, outside play space, getting weary with waiting for the truck to trundle by and take us home.

Safe in Father's arms as we journey home

********

Roads can be dangerous places. Not all lead to Rome, romance, riches or restful lives

Travelling smooth until catastrophe strikes, chaos comes, circumstances collide.

Skies are stormy yet light still lingers in the distance, giving us hope of seeing change.

In taking the Road Less Travelled we experience problems, pain and hardship.

Accidents can derail us. Calamities come and we fall by wayside.

It's not a scenic route unless we learn to stop and enjoy the views.

The road ahead may be long, arduous and hard to climb, taking all our breath.

It narrows and constricts our fleshly desires then opens into a glorious vista of freedom.

The more we seek the Light, the more we see the way ahead.

Better to be on it than wayside dwellers, ease and comfort seekers who delve shallow and come up empty.

Better to seek His shelter than hide ourselves in gutter living.

In surrendering all to God we have a constant Companion on our journey.

Outpoured blood marks the path. Outpoured grace lights the way. Outpoured life leads us Home safe at last.

********

Linking here (later than intended due to laptop failure) with the lovely Nacole at sixinthesticks for Concrete Words. It's where we seek to write out the abstract with a concrete word prompt. This week's was 'The Road'. Do hop over and read the great posts there and add your own. 

                                                                                                        

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A lot of bottle

On the Bottle

Breast may be best

though bottle is better

for bonding-sharing

with any willing 

hands to hold 

these rabbit-skinned

imitations of infants

mewling beyond caring

Lukewarm liquid

vitamin-infused

warmth and welfare

oozing into tiny

lips and tums

that ache

'til hunger satiates

as feeding comes

Glass left in sun

heats a daily dose

devoured by little ones

of nursery nourishment

nanny state provides

or lumped with ice 

at times to chill

our young insides

Clinking, lifted high

amber or clear froth

to wash away 

cares holding sway

Cheers, chin, chin,

down the hatch

drown our sorrows

for another day

Parents on the bottle

so we sit as children do

crisp munching

fizzy drink slurping

sweet crunching

drain the dregs

save the empties

for a coin or two

©JoyLenton2013


********

Our lives can be subject to bottle-necks as narrowing, constricting circumstances cause a busy traffic of thoughts, words and deeds to congest uncomfortably and make us feel confined and trapped.

They won't go down easily. We choke over them. I did just that for years over my past.

Our choice is to have a lot of bottle - in other words, to display courage in the face of adversity, have firm intention, confidence and resolve to meet the challenges of difficult or frightening past and present situations.

It takes real nerve and determination to walk through hard times.

My courage is all God-given. Left to my own devices I'm a coward hiding in the corner until the storms pass. As I lean harder into Him then His strength infuses into me. The harder I lean, the more He gives grace to cope.

OR we can bottle out - lose our nerve and withdraw, put off the ordeal of confronting those issues and put off facing the problems for another day. Swallow them down somehow. That was how I dealt with problems for many years. 

Only they refuse to go away, get stuck in our throat, and end up constricting our very breath.

I have learnt, from seeing the results of doing so, not to bottle up my pain and problems, but to face them head-on, gulping heavily as I do so. Tears swell and fall as I pour them out.

My past was painful.

Shadows linger on.

The cup I drink from has a bitter taste at times. Who wants to swallow this?

I am learning to choose not to hold back or refrain from sharing (as God directs me to) about the areas that have wounded me; not if it means another soul can say "You too?" and feel they are not alone. 

Not if a cup of sorrow shared means a cup of joy to share too in the overcoming.

Our faith can be stretched taut as elastic and we feel it may snap and collapse.  

Insecurity and fear can make us fall apart or shut down when problems come. Denial may help us to go on for a while. Pain and problems kept suppressed can be like a bottle of pop waiting to explode one day and leak messily all over our lives.

Now, I can reminisce - as in the poem above - about my childhood, and do so with a degree of detachment and nostalgia for my early years.

For God is helping me to find courage in confession, relief from releasing, freedom in letting go of fears, resolve in refusing to give up on His best for me as I hand it all over to Him..For it is only in letting go of the bad that we have arms empty to receive the good.

And that's His goal for you too. As we heal we can start to focus on the life ahead of us.

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland" ~ Isaiah 43:18 -19

Take courage, friends, for God is as close as your next breath and He wants very much to help and heal you. Sometimes counselling helps too, or sharing with a wise and trusted friend or family member.

Whatever it takes, won't you join me on the journey towards greater freedom and joy?

Linking here with Tanya as she currently hosts the Concrete Words series.