Reviewing in Order to Move On…

28 Friday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in carefulness, change, closure

Tags

A year is about to end, full of defeats, let-downs, goals not achieved, disappointments, but also rich with proud moments, victories, new ground conquered, new habits established.

And the end of one time period always ushers in a new one. Because time stops for no one. Not even for you. Not even for me.

A new year is about to unfold, full of uncharted territories, promises, hopes for ourselves and those we love.

But we all know that the end of this one comes before the beginning of the next. How we end this one–and what we learn from it–will certainly determine how we begin the next.

So today, I am challenging you to review and mourn if necessary, to look back and take note. To celebrate and give thanks. To consider what you did the with the time entrusted to you twelve months ago. To look back at 2012 and ask these kinds of questions:

What were my best, strongest, most amazing wins?
What is my best memory? My worse? Why is that?
What was my proudest moment? My most humiliating one? Why is that?
What goals did I achieve? What goals did I not achieve? Why is that?
Should I have set more goals? Less goals? Why is that?

And last but not least: in view of my answers to these questions, what would I like to plan for 2013? To achieve? To experience? To master?

There are many tools available to you to stir your mind to remember your 2012: your Facebook timeline, pictures, journals, memories of events and conversations. If you want to be specific, you could answer these questions for each of these areas: health, love, lifestyle, work, social life, spirituality.

Your honest answers to these questions have immeasurable value, for they will give you direction as you step out of 2012 into 2013. They will shape which doors you will go through in this next year of your life.

Just like gravity happens to each one of us and we must reckon in view of it, so it is with our life: either it happens to us, or we make it happen.

And we can’t make life happen without thinking about it, planning in view of the past, choosing in view of our purposeful desires.

Here is to a glorious, faith-filled, exciting, most amazing 2013.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#415 Roses in the Winter

#414 Homemade Barley Soup on a Cold Day

#413 Sitting in the living room and listening to my grown Children talk with each other about their Lives.

Sometimes, I link up with any or all of these wonderful writers: Hearts 4 Home, SDG, Hearts Reflected, WLW, EOA, Things I can’t say, Growing Home, Play Dates with God, Monday Musings, Hear it on Sunday, Inspire Me Monday, Tell me a Story, The Better Mom, a Mama’s Story, Into the Word, In and Around Mondays,OYHT, Gratituesday, Titus2Tuesdays, Extraordinay, Lessons from Ivy, Denise in Bloom, Sweet Blessings, Faith Filled Friday, Finding Joy

Stewards

26 Wednesday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in moment, purpose

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Stewardship

My money, my time, my home, my book, my thoughts, my body…

I worked hard for these, you know. They are mine. Mine! Hands off! I earned them, I own them.

“Really?”

The still small voice says in the back of my head, in the depth of my heart, right in that place where I know truth, but I don’t want to go there, and I choose to ignore it. It’s mine, mine and mine alone.

I’ve got rights, you know. We the people all the way!

So the hot water heater breaks and the saved money goes down the drain. And one of my children needs me and the accumulated time just flies away. And my house goes up in flame on the coldest day of the year and all I own is burned up. I don’t even have no place to call home anymore. And I leave my precious book on the bus and all its words are gone from me. And confusion moves in and my beautiful thoughts get all mangled up. And this strong body I created? I watch as it slowly breaks down under the pressure of years, and unpredictable weather, and bad choices, diseases and exhaustion.

I am left with empty hands.

Empty heart.

And a dismantling castle that has lost all of its luster…

And only then am I ready for the still small voice. I am ready to listen.

That money? I gave you power to make it.

The time you jealously guard? It is only on loan.

The book? It’s replaceable, don’t fret over it.

Those thoughts? What good will they do without My Word to back them up?

And this body you claim as yours? I made it for you.

I made it all for you to enjoy, to steward, to grow, to make fruitful.

And to the one who has, more shall be given. Because he doesn’t hold on to it for dear life. Because his life is in Me. And that is where the fruitfulness happens.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#412 Being faithful to give a word to someone and seeing its fruit

#411 Finding the perfect gift for a friend

#410 My Grown Children around my table for the Holidays

No Ordinary God

24 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in meaning

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

God, mindful

I have a love/hate relationship with ordinary. Because ordinary is wonderful, and safe, and routine, and comfortable. But ordinary is lame, and lazy, and boring and far from exciting. I need it, I crave it and then I loathe it.

I guess it’s obvious that balance is something I have to work on in my life.

But the God I serve and love, He is anything but ordinary. All the time. Even His ordinary everyday stuff has no ordinary in it.

Like Sunsets.

Or Sunrises.

Or Fall.

Or Apples.

God’s everyday routine is extra-ordinary.

Because when He shows up, all the colors are brighter, and the wool is softer, and the heart is bigger, and the hands reach out.

And when He is behind the scene, the hugs are warmer, and the sun is brighter, and the pain is comforted, and hope is birthed.

The scent of God on any project, any person, any day makes it delightful, sought after, desired, fulfilling.

Because God is anything but ordinary.

And if I clothe myself with Him, I am not either. Even in the most mundane tasks of my day.

Like doing dishes

And answering mail

Or sitting in traffic.

When He shows up, it all makes sense.

When we clothe ourselves with Him, it is all worth it.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#409 The joy of realizing my grown-up kids like coming home!

#408 Christmas cookies in the oven

#407 Christmas music in the house

#406 Christmas Caroling with friends on a cold night

My Story

21 Friday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in life

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

God, Picket fence

My story doesn’t look anything like yours. I couldn’t make it look like yours if I tried.

My story is messy. It’s filled with detours, and U-turns, and slides in the mud, and falling down and getting up and frustration and laughter until I cry.

My story is woven with bruised hearts, flesh denied, flesh yielded to, genius ideas and lame results.

And I am who I am today because of all these. And then some.

My story is not pretty.

And sometimes, I worry that it’s not good enough. Because I know without any doubt that I will never measure up to yours. I am not pretty like you, and I can’t talk in public without shaking in my boots. I don’t have the perfect little house with the white picket fence and the kids looking like they jumped out of a magazine. My story is filled with skeletons that scare even me.

But my story is mine, and it scares me, down to my toes. And it’s real, down to my toes. And it’s mine, all the way down to my toes. And I own up to it, even in the secret uglies and the dark places. It made me who I am. I have given up wearing my shame like a badge. And I am wonderfully becoming.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#405 Pedicure with my daughter

#404 My cozy winter sweaters

#403 1 Peter 1

#402 Homemade Pumpkin Butter

With One

18 Tuesday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in life

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Growing Home, Relationship

I love my little cyber community, this world all on its own where I share my heart with people I don’t really know, people who won’t ever see me face to face and yell at me. People I can delete from my life anytime I feel like it.

I love my little cyber community, this world all on its own where I have been challenged big time as I read about my new friends who go to Haiti, and Ghana and the streets of NYC, as I cry with the one who just buried her daughter, as I rejoice with the one who just discovered her passion, as I cheer the one who is running her first marathon. My heart is stirred and stretched and ripped apart as I see these cyber friends do exploits, ask really hard questions, put themselves on the line for worthy causes. I have lived vicariously through many of them, felt their pride and defeat and joy and pain.

But at any time, I can push a button and make them all disappear for an hour, a day, a week or forever. I can simply shut them out of my life if they become too personal, or bothersome, or deep for the moment.

And then there is home.

Home where I live with one man day in and day out for the last thirty-three years. Home where we have weathered countless storms and butted heads more often than I care to remember. Home where we can’t push a button to make the other disappear for an hour, a day, a week or forever. Home where I find that I really don’t want to make him disappear, ever, even when the journey is tough.

Home where we wake up together, bad breath and all. Home where we pay bills together and make decisions that affect each other’s time. Home where we love without a mask, we learn transparency because we are daring to lay our hearts open to the other, bare, vulnerable. Home where love is for real. Wonderfully challenging. And rewarding. And delightful.

And I would not trade it for the world.

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Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#401 The freedom to worship God freely

#400 My son’s race well finished

#399 An unexpected hour all to myself

#398 A lazy Sunday afternoon

When there are no Words

15 Saturday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in Death, defining

≈ 31 Comments

Tags

grief, sorrow

Words explode all over Facebook; people cry and shout and pray with their words. People deal with the unimaginable by putting sentences out there, words strung together to express pain and horror and swords piercing the deepest parts of who we are.

Photo credit: Adrees Latif, Reuters

But I have no words.

Me, the word addict, with no words. Words are how I express who I am, what I feel, what I want you to know. They are the shy or loud expression of my life.

But today I find no words of my own that would even come close to expressing all that there is in me. I feel numb. And guilty about having no words. Nothing to say.

Today, all I know to do is to sit with the grieving. In my head, that is, for I do not know them personally. But if I did, I would just sit with them. And hold their hand, or hug them tight, or just be there, a warm body right next to them, to remind them that they are not alone. Not presuming to know how to comfort with words, because at this point, there are no words in me for that.

Cut at the very core of all the matters, turned upside down and wrung through and through. Wordless.

But then I remember.

The Essential Word, the Word who came and became flesh so that we would indeed never ever be alone, even in the midst of human despair. The Essential Word, THE Word made flesh, He sits with us. Full of Who He is. Full of the Word.

God, whose Word is the only one that will do today.

God, the only perfect Word that is with us always.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#397 My children

#396 Rediscovering old things

#395 The gift of time away with my husband

Admired

13 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in change

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Christianity, truth

Sometimes, God grants us insight about something very disturbing in our lives. So disturbing that we might actually need to sit on it for a while.

When it happened to me, I just had to wait until I could breathe again. I did.

I let Holy Spirit take the lead as we worked through the painful revelation, let it do in me what was absolutely necessary.

And raw. And liberating. And wonderful.

The price of the dance?

Today, I am blogging at Angie’s corner at Womanhood with Purpose! Please follow me there to read the rest of this post!

Friends on the Shelf

10 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in friends

≈ 33 Comments

Tags

heartbeat, storage

Pumpkin. I love it for months at a time, and then I forget about it. The cans sit on the shelf and I don’t even see them. Until fall comes around and I remember.

And that’s really OK. There are no rule about pumpkin consumption, and how often one should or should not eat it.

But friends are not like pumpkins. True friends let you hold their hearts in your hand. And hearts are fragile. Like that new born baby bird that I found under my window seal the other day.

I held the bird in my hand, but I pictured my friend, the one whose struggle pains me, the one whose struggle scares me and causes me to stay away for fear of doing the wrong thing, or because I don’t know what to say at all. The one whose delicate heart is raw, and tired, and bleeding.

I held the bird in my hand, but I saw my friend’s heart. The one she trusted me with. The one she let me hold. The one whose tender beat I felt.

And for the very first time, I see. I see that my indifference can slow that very beat until it’s hardly there, or the wrongly applied pressure of silence can constrict the flow of blood and oxygen, rendering the heart so weak, or sick, exhausted. Unfit for the war that rages all around.

And disconnected hearts shrivel up until they lose their fight.

Never again.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#398 A warm, fuzzy, soft sweatshirt

#397 Belgian chocolate that I found in my cupboard

#396 God telling me to tender to my friendships

#395 A strong hug from a friend

Extravagant Giving

07 Friday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in Gift, Thankfulness

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

Christmas

Extravagant Giving. Like when the Sinclair’s gave up their precious family time to include us who had no family on Christmas Day,

IMG_0370 rs

Like when Carol and Paula traveled across state to be with me on the day I ran my one and only marathon,

Like when Mary listened to my sobs and then just hugged me without judging,

Like when Jason and Rebekah traveled across the world to claim a little boy as theirs, and make him treasured, priceless, special beyond words,

And they would not want it any other way.

Extravagant Giving. Like when all the neighbors got together and built the foundation of our new house in Willet after a fire destroyed all we ever owned,

Like when the Angel Tree angels showed up at our home with a Teddy Bear bigger than life and a very red shiny fire truck for our son when there were no gifts under the tree,

And they added some treats for mom and dad too,

And they would not want it any other way.

Extravagant Giving. Like when my husband sold his cherished camera in order to fund a brand new church in the heart of Montreal,

Like when he gave up his life to become one with me,

Like when he goes to work, day in and day out, even when it was four part-time jobs that he disliked very much, because he wanted to provide for us.

Like when I was wrong but he gave up his rights for the sake of peace at home,

And he would not want it any other way.

Extravagant Giving. Like when God allowed us to fund a well in Africa,

Like when I reached out to that smelly old woman who needed to know love, even though I was shaking in my boots,

Like standing over the coffin of my friend’s mom and helping her close the lid, ever so softly,

And I would not have it any other way.

Extravagant Giving. Like when God paid our mortgage off, just like that, with nine dollars to spare.

Extravagant Giving. Like the Father allowing His Son to take on the weight of ugliness upon Himself that we might come to know Him,

that we might learn to give extravagantly. To love extravagantly. Because that’s how He loved. And loves today still,

And He would not want it any other way.

How are we giving extravagantly this Christmas season?

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#392 Baking Christmas goodies

#391 Welcoming a new member to our family

#390 Anticipating the kids coming home

#389 The first Christmas song of the season

Take It Off

04 Tuesday Dec 2012

Posted by Barbara Isaac in change

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Joy, Release

The larva sheds her skin and the butterfly emerges.

Sometimes, it’s as simple as that.

The key to letting go of sadness, unforgiveness and resentment can rest in just walking away as one takes off a mask that has become uncomfortable–letting go of the skin that once held us.

Yet to my dismay, I find that at times, I want to hold on. I find myself making it difficult.

But listen, o my soul: your freedom rests on the other side of that door.

All you need to do is walk out and walk in. Out of darkness into light. Out of sadness into joy. Walk out of bondage into surrender. It is called letting go. It is called letting God.

Like shedding uncomfortable clothes at the end of the long day and replacing them with a pair of sweats and favorite sweater–comfort that releases tension, comfort that helps breathe.

The shedding of what we know can be scary. And painful. Unfamiliar. Letting go is like stepping into into life at a new level, like stepping into a new world. Everything feels different, looks different, functions differently. And all the rules are new. Like toddlers, I learn again how to crawl, and walk and run in the freedom of heart that is on the other side of that door.

And even though the heaviness of the load held on to for so long leaves a mark on my soul, the breathing gets deep and fulfilling all the way down to my toes–and the smile emerges. The soul-scar just reminds me that surrender is my fate.

Surrender is the core of my victory. Surrender is the purity of my joy.

I lay down and close my eyes. And smile.

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#388 My warm home on a freezing day

#387 No traffic jam driving into the Pittsburgh tunnels

#386 Meeting the parents of my future daughter-in-law

#385 My son sharing his heart with me

My Life As An Adventure

~ Living Life out loud ...

Monthly Archives: December 2012

Reviewing in Order to Move On…

Stewards

No Ordinary God

My Story

With One

When there are no Words

Admired

Friends on the Shelf

Extravagant Giving

Take It Off

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