Ladies By Design

Be Still

Oh, day of rest, 

How beautiful, how fair!

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

Today I long for green- cucumbers and spinach leaves to feed the body, and  slender blades of grass to feed my soul. Oh, to lay in a clover green meadow and breathe in the breeze, the sky, the voice quietly whispering my name. 

What is stopping me? The urge is strong, yet I work, still. I push through to gain a prize whose name I do not know. The whisper beckons me out into mid- morning. Persistently. I stop working and take off shoes and socks, stepping onto  the grassy slope behind our home. 

The ground is cool, as I knew it would be; verdant, and pliable, warming to my touch. I lean back, relaxing, supported by soft spikes. I feel the breeze and hear a gentle song lilt from the shadow of wings. Pages flap and I wonder:  Why is it so hard to be still?

I stay, cloaked in green, while my eyes adjust to the light. In the distance, cars hum, people rushing through busy lives- and still I wonder. When did I forget to let in that which feeds my soul? 

I've been separated from the peace of this place by the whirl of life. While trying to catch my breath, I forgot what it is to breathe deep. 

Sleepless nights and sick kids may deplete the body, but it is this busy-ness that steals true rest. Now, the habit of getting out into creation takes determination and self discipline. So I sit, and I breathe, and I rest.

 A lady bug glides across wildflowers that sprung up in my absence. Clouds silently swirl across a pure blue expanse. They know how to be silent, to keep pace with time peacefully, without hurry. 

When I've been rubbed raw by life's sanding, I realize I am still learning to rest in the One who sustains and holds, comforting me through rough patches. It is equally important to draw apart when days are filled with activity and the good work of life. To make a habit of being filled with living water before I am run dry with thirst.

I now recognize soul-thirst, and so I stay, drinking in the wildness that has swept down this hill. Luxuriating in birdsong and inviting the breeze to dance on my cheeks, twirling my hair, drawing me into radiant goodness. Dandelions sway, fuzzy tops nodding in agreement to be silent before the Creative One.  I drink deep of  beauty and peace until I am satiated with healing wind and soothing grasses.

Grace floods my soul, simply because I obeyed that still quiet voice that beckoned me to the place of wellness.  I am refreshed, washed in gratitude. In awe of the One who crafted greens and blues and softness and joy which restores my soul. This is healing in it's simplest form.

 

 

The Nourished Life

In my life, there always seems to be someone who needs something. And with all the medical issues I deal with, sometimes I feel as if I carry everything alone. Self-care is necessary for survival, as is making a habit of refueling body and soul. Sometimes this means time out with friends to relax and unwind, and sometimes it requires making arrangements to have times of quiet. Rest is mandatory. Nourishment, essential. We take better care of those we love when we take care of ourselves, too.

 

I have to cultivate the habit of stepping away to see that my needs are met. It may seem daunting, but it's necessary. Sometimes I feel isolated, or believe there are no resources. But the truth is there is a way to self care- if I am willing to commit to it, to work towards it. Wellness takes work. It takes planning ahead- and sometimes, a willingness to step into the unknown. To put my needs out there and ask for help. It's risky, and sometimes I don’t want to ask. But the benefits are worth the risk. 

 

Sometimes it's an issue of “want to”. What keeps me from drawing aside, what do I gain from over-working? Does it help me forget? Does it make me feel better about everything that seems wrong in my life?

 

Everything I commit to fills a need in me. The need to be a good wife and mother. The need to feel valued, like my work matters. Do I deny my needs because I have to be a martyr to feel acceptable? Do I believe that I do not have the right to take care of me, too?

 

It’s time to give permission to have needs. To take care of me- in a healthy way. Chocolate cake may taste good for a moment, but it won’t heal the gash in my soul, nor will it placate the troubles in my heart.

 

Exercise, movement, is healing. I walk and pour out, and sometimes I want to run. I don’t do it well (or for very long), but I need the physical reminder of what I am carrying emotionally. I run, a block, maybe two, and at the bottom of the hill my chest heaves and I sputter and breathe jagged breaths and it feels like my life. I have to train for the long haul and I have to rest before I am spent. 

 

Jesus did said to serve others, just as He did. And He served with His whole heart- but he also set the example of drawing apart regularly and seeking rest. If we want be like Jesus, we have to balance pouring out and finding rest.

 

Isaiah 55:2 says:

Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare.

The Message puts it this way: “Pay attention, come close now, listen carefully to my life-giving, life-nourishing words. I’m making a lasting covenant with you, the same that I made with David: sure, solid, enduring love.”

 

We have to make time to let God’s love wash over us, healing, restoring, giving rest in spirit, soul, and body. Don’t take this for granted. We need fuel not filler. We need to pursue that which nourishes, that which truly fills. We can chase after what leaves us empty, running on fumes- or we can plan time to rest and recover. Self control is not only self denial.  Self control is seeking that which gives lasting nourishment- in spirit, soul and body. It’s making time to find daily abundance in the heart of God.

 

 

A Time for Everything

I wake to the morning light, feeling as if I am under a weighted cloud. I’ve walked this road long enough to know that what haunts me is not clinical depression. No, there are other diagnoses that name the heaviness in my heart, and I realize that this is very much a place of grieving. My son is no longer growing, and I am afraid. Diabetes is a complicating factor; the treatment is as difficult as the condition. The load I bear increases, and PTSD often keeps my husband huddled in a place I cannot reach. I am lonely, weary of this life of consistent medical deluge. I want to stay in bed, snuggled under soft sheets, blanketed by fear and grief. I push through. Past anger to the sadness. Sometimes life is very, very hard. This is where I am, a place where medical terms crash into real life. I want to learn to live thanksgiving in the midst of the storm.

New life is manifested through conscious commitments to create a new pattern. My journey will involve healthy grieving paired with the giving of thanks. I tug against the process. I do not like how I feel while doing the work. I dread fleshing out what our culture often sees as weakness. Yet, there's another tugging at my heart and I know the truth. I will not heal if I do not grieve.

I remember a story I've known since childhood, from the book of John. Jesus escapes arrest only to have word come, "The one you love so very much is sick." I know this story well. "...oddly he stays where he is for two more days." (MSG) The God-man chooses to stay, so belief within those who follow him can grow. Four days past death Jesus arrives in Bethany. He knows his mission; to raise the dead. Yet he sees the flow of grief, and steps in. Anger and sadness wash over him, marks of the cycle. The Son of Man chose to grieve. Why was there a need to weep when He knew that God had given him authority to raise the dead? To set the standard for healthy grieving.

Our culture often sees strength as resisting tears, yet Jesus' power was shown through them. He continued to allow the cycle of grief as he approached the tomb, instructing, "Roll away the stone." Sisters protested the stench, but Jesus stood firm. "Didn't I tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?" The stone was removed, and standing before the tomb, Jesus gave thanks. "Father I'm grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen." Even in death and loss Jesus found gratitude. An then, in the wake of decay, Jesus called forth new life. On a word and a prayer and a grateful heart, a miracle was borne. 

 Ecclesiastes 3:1 tells us, "For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven." New life comes as I learn to balance grief with gratitude. There is a time to stand at the tomb and work through the loss, and there is a time to be grateful for what been given. Healing and gratitude are entwined with the rememberance that we are never alone. There is One who listens, and One who knows, for He chose to walk through grief to new life-- and more than once. Remember, the tomb is empty!!

~Bekah

 

 

Finding Freedom

I have only just begun this journey towards a lifestyle of Thanksgiving, starting to feel the rhythm of this God awareness in all I see, all I do, and those I hold dear. And then, a day like this... a window slammed shut, not on fingers, but on my heart. Today is a day that no matter how hard I try, I cannot forget the losses and challenges that define the life of a family of four with six diagnoses between us. (Yes, there are now two more.) Diabetes bellows and PTSD hammers at my soul, and I snap. Five years of stress and struggle and spiritual warfare pour out of my mouth, long hidden anger reaches a crescendo.

In One Thousand Gifts, Ann speaks of salvation from angry, bitter, and resentful lives. And this I have learned over time: Anger is a natural cue that something wrong has happened. It's a God given alert to something that needs to be dealt with. Women are taught that anger detracts from loveliness, and when it is repressed until we explode, or carried as a satchel, it does. But the first stirrings, the recognition that harm has been done, that is akin to what Jesus felt when he defended the oppressed and chased the money changers out of God's holy temple. Where we get into trouble is when we hold on to our anger, trying to use it as power over those who've hurt us. Scarring deepens as we chew on anger, turning it over and over in our minds and hearts until that bitter taste has permeated our souls. Bitterness can turn us into resentful, poisonous, death walkers.

What is the cure for this diseased cycle? I know- I remember this lesson, the first learning which began with giving thanks, my own heart cry to him:

I give thanks to You, Jesus, that you chose to hold the nails, to bear my mark, my shame, my loss. You took the weight of my own sin, my every imperfection, and you stayed. You tarried in the place of anguish- so I could have release.

And the refrain that follows, rejoicing, choosing, echoes hope; "Because you forgive me still, I choose to extend that same forgiveness to one who hurt me."

This forgiveness is not an excusing of the offense, such as "He could not help it"... Nor is it pretending I am not angry at the wounding. For I am. And I have good reason. Yet what frees me, what leads me to "Sozo"--salvation, and wholeness-- what looses my shackles is admitting where I am, what I feel, what I judged, and why. And the choice is mine- to be like Jesus or to be like those who crucified him: angry, sullen, sin-sick and clenching hatefulness.

I name this gift aloud, the gift of Jesus... Even on the cross he forgave his tormentors. Not after He rose again, but from the midst of his greatest torment. I am washed in awe at human flesh mangled into a bloody mess, yet crying out, "Father, Forgive them, for they know not what they do!"

This "Sozo" salvation begins with gratitude for what Jesus bore for me. The next step is forgiveness. Faith without forgiveness leaves us still shackled to the oppressor. Not one of us deserves forgiveness. It is a gift. It's been offered. We can choose to do the work to break the chains.

Healing, which I know I still need in hidden places, is worth the work. A ball like tangled string may be buried deep, but my Healer tenderly unearths each strand, unwinding what has knotted my soul. Soothing, covering, restoring. Healing hands are firm, but gentle, rebuilding what was broken, breathing newness and life. Setting the order, the how and the why and the when. Asking me to bend and not remain frozen.

I speak my choice, "I submit to the removing", I pray out each offense, each wound, as He leads. And I choose to walk free.

~Bekah

A Cord of Three Strands

The first year is always the most difficult. With any diagnosis, learning a new lifestyle is challenging. There is no normal. Perhaps there never was. I listen to the rain falling outside my window and I wonder at the instruments chosen to teach me a new song. Diabetes, PTSD, Celiac Disease, and Sensory Processing Disorder. A cord of three strands is not easily broken, but a cord of four may break me. It has, in a thousand heart rending, soul restoring ways. The first two were traumatic, the third educational. The last taught me to reframe life as I know it.

That moment, when the word came, all I felt was relief. Surging, trembling relief. This is the why. So many unanswered wonderings, suddenly step into line. My life frame shifts off sinking sand, and I find my Rock ever there. Always. No matter what. The journey through grief is cyclical. It must be for life ever changes the shape of the journey ahead. The path to the altar is well worn.The breath of release pours out. I held my breath for so long, and find I must practice finding breath again. I inhale deeply, in, and slowly out.

And now begins a season of stretching and learning. Expanding my knowledge base, learning how to care better for the ones I love. To fit together each strand in a way that makes sense for me. Again, and again. Often I miss the mark, and look back, with clearer focus than I had in the moment. Some days I cope, others I soar. I've learned to take care of my needs, too, so I can take better care of those I love. I used to be the one that many came to for support. Now I need to draw back and receive. And the Lover of my soul gives abundance, pouring cleansing rain through me. Each day offers a new beginning, a chance to be infused with life and choose well. I choose. I choose to be Wife and Mommy to a passel of specially wrapped gifts. And to refine my own identity along the way. I am more than what I do.

The rain has stopped, the world washed with healing. I too can be whole, if I choose to partake. Will I resist the cleansing? Or step forward, again and again- though unknowns lay before me. If I stay I will stagnate. I can see the step ahead, and I choose to trust in the One who restores, who holds me through the darkness and lights the way. A candle in the darkness, ready to be lit- to move the blaze with each step, illumininate - if I choose to grow. To respond to the invitation and step out, giving thanks for the glow, and the hope held beyond.

~Bekah

My Song, Restored

How did I find my way to One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp? Truthfully I cannot quite piece together the journey. Perhaps it was a friend, a sister, a fellow daughter of the King that gave me direction. Perhaps it was the longing that led me to an online bookstore, where the keys I touched brought me to the place I needed to be. In truth, it was the Lover of my Soul drawing, beckoning, holding me near, inviting me to revel in His words, whispered time and time again, to the very depths of my heart.

Today I found a holy experience at my fingertips (www.aholyexperience.com). The words and pictures hold simplicity and joy, but the beauty that enraptured my soul was the music. I closed my eyes and surrendered. Being utterly filled, I allowed the heart of God to cradle places that were unknown even to myself. Places only He can embrace. As the notes trilled I reveled in His touch- the breath of God, here…surrounding me, teaching me to know Him and trust Him for who He longs to be in and through and for me.

It was not always this way. Over time, stress and struggle and loss stifled my song. Perhaps I allowed it, or perhaps I was simply engulfed,for life as I knew was coming to an end. I had not the strength to protect that which He formed in me when I was lovingly woven together. (Psalm 139) That is a story to be read elsewhere, but here and now I will say that slowly but surely my song was battered and scarred and torn, over time--and I resisted with all the strength I knew. Until that moment when it was shattered and ground into pieces. Suddenly the word forever seemed like a cage, a place of anguish, a haunted never rather than the hope of always. I wondered, would I ever sing again? I could not see beyond the pain, yet I held to hope. Or rather, He held me.

And now, years after diagnoses that I thought would destroy my world, I have found restoration. Hope. And yes, even joy. My song is returning- and the key to unlocking what has been closed off (and tightly guarded) is eucharisteo- life giving gratitude. A conscious effort to see beauty amidst storms.

Have you ever smelled the rain coming? That scent characterizes my life. The scent before the rain seems to be the presence of God; the rain itself, the cleansing that I so desire. The rainbows are the promise that He will be with me. Yet, the song is not just found in the rainbow. The song begins with the scent of rain, continues through the showers, through the deluge, even through the mist that that conceals the steps in front of me. The song is part of His sustenance. I want to learn to hear it when life sprinkles and when life pours. And no matter what is pouring in, I desire that what is poured out is my own aria of eucharisteo.

~Bekah

Holiday Nostalgia

Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. It's not just the lights and the presents, or even the wonderful stories of God's love for us. To me, Christmas means family, togetherness, love.

Growing up, Christmas was the ultimate gathering time for my family. When I close my eyes I can still see my large extended family gathering in my grandparents’ home. The front rooms were filled with family and friends, while children and teens spilled outside into the yard. Grandaddy would be hovering over the stove, with an uncle or two pitching in. Granny would make many sweets, often inviting the grandkids to help. Her health problems never kept her from making the most of the season. She’d spend months preparing; sewing projects piled high in her craft room. Special gifts were made over time for those she loved, but she enjoyed the seasonal shopping, too. Aunts and cousins helped her wrap each present with loving care, and on Christmas Eve those of us who were old enough got a special job: filling stockings with goodies-- for adults and children alike.

Looking Above the Clouds

This past weekend, my aunt and I were browsing through a girly store at a huge outdoor swap meet in Canton, Texas. The store was filled with lace and ruffles and hemlines and all things feminine. My aunt remarked, "My, how you have changed!" I smiled because I have changed. I've changed interests, styles, and even thought patterns. For instance, there was a time in my life when I was driven to live on my own and through my own means. I was my own woman and I made my own choices come good or bad or a lot of bad.

My independence was rooted both in positive and negative soil. My parents raised me to be independent. They wanted me to learn how to rely on God. They did not want me to be bound by the opinion of others, or culture, or even themselves. On the darker side, I found myself driven to be independent because if anything went wrong, it would solely be my fault. That philosophy may work as a single woman but as a married lady, I've learned that independence must be grafted with interdependence.

I married a man who I thought was perfect. I knew I was imperfect but my sweet and gentle and funny knight in shining white armor was my opposite, or at least I wanted him to be. Oh, how misguided we ladies can be. My husband has made his share of mistakes as have I, but we've learned to love one another still. But what happens when a couple graduates from weathering mere mistakes to bad news of a more serious nature?

This past week my husband surprised me as he came walking up the driveway just as I was about to drive off to school. He was carrying a box of stuff but the bad news didn't register until he said, "I was laid off." So now, we are officially a no-income family. My husband had known for awhile that a change was coming. He was one of thirty or forty others who lost their job that day. As it turned out this was the second year of major layoffs by his former employer.

To be quite honest, one of the reasons I fell in love with Shayne was because I knew he would take care of me both body and soul. I knew he was a man of honor, integrity, and faith. He's a natural protector and provider but what happens when he can't be? For months I've been rejecting the notion that our reality might change. In fact, for quite awhile I had bought into the notion that as a believer I would be exempt from financial strain or physical suffering and all of the other unpleasant aspects of life. I have begun to reject that mindset but now it seems that it is time to walk out this new mindset.

Time for Tea

I have spent this Monday morning under the shade of my patio in my faux silk pajamas while sipping a cup of  steaming tea. Not just any cup of tea mind you. It was one of my last teabags from Harrods purchased in England four years ago. I've been stashing away my favorite tea for special moments or when special people come to town. This morning, it occurred to me that I am special too.

I usually start Mondays feeling slightly behind and overwhelmed. Every Sunday evening I say to myself, "Tomorrow I am getting up early and I am going to...(enter to-dos, and do-overs)". It is no wonder that I don't always look forward to Mondays. More often than not I rush to my laptop and end the day feeling like I haven't accomplished a thing.

Of course, the to-dos, and do-overs are necessary but this morning I decided that they could wait. With my tea (in a pretty teacup of course) and my fancy jammies, I turned on the water fountain and relaxed in our unusually California-like weather. I journaled and spent time reading the Living Word...not because I had to but because I wanted to.

Of course, most of you know I don't have kids and I am not working at the moment. I understand that it is a luxury in and of itself to have a Monday morning to cherish. I do not yet know what the future will hold for me. In truth, I have been very stressed about that fact. I have been so anxious that I've really missed so many wonders of the present and the presence of God.

Despite the fact that I have assignments from six university classes bearing down on me, a house that needs to be cleaned (yet again), and other to-do's and do-overs... I hope that I will always take time for tea, or a walk, or to devour a delicious novel. As Ladies By Design, rest is essential to our well-being. It is a generous God that reminds me of my favorite passage in the Bible: Psalm 139. It ends with a simple prayer:

Search me, O God and
know my heart;
Try me and know my anxious
thoughts;
And see if there be any hurtful way in
me,

And lead me in the
everlasting way.

It is now noon and time for me to tackle my to-do's and do-overs. Perhaps you are well into yours. I encourage you, wherever you are, to allow yourself to enjoy the abundance of the world created by a loving Creator. What are the favorites of your feminine heart? Why not allow yourself to enjoy them? I believe you will be rejuvenated by the silliness, extravagance, and audaciousness of a cup of tea in faux-silk pajamas (or whatever your favorite healthy splurge is). Most importantly I hope it occurs to you that you are special too!

 

The Cutting

On Wednesday last a gathering of girly descended upon Aunt Betty's house for sewing lessons. We have a few vintage aprons to finish from our last gathering that will soon be in stock at our Etsy Store. With one project out of the way, we are now working on a retro apron pattern by Taylor Made Designs. Aunt Betty purchased the pattern in South Carolina at the same time another one of our gals, Peggy, picked up the very same pattern in Houston. So, we decided it was project meant to be.

As you can see, I ended up taking more pictures than sewing but I'm going to get to work (I promise Mom!) In the meantime, Cristina made fabulous progress and completed her first darts. Janine, the youngest of us, is fast becoming a pro and picked out the coolest cupcake and poka-dot fabrics. Peggy encouraged us all by showing up even though she was still out of sorts from her recent trip to the hospital. Of course, Aunt Betty is guiding us all as the best seamstress/teacher in the metroplex.

As we cut our fabric I was reminded of the cutting that we all go through as Ladies By Design. Have you ever walked through aisles of beautiful fabric bolts? My Mom and Aunt Betty used to drag me to Britex, a famous fabric store in San Francisco that boasts four floors! Unlike mega craft stores washed out by ugly florescent bulbs, this store was cozy and brimming over with color, texture and glamorous materials. Sometimes I wince at the cutting of such beauty. However, the cutting is necessary for the creation of a beautiful garment that wouldn't be complete without just the right material.

Even though it was a simple sewing lesson, I was reminded of a deeper thread that weaves through the design of life. We are the material that must be cut into an image. Last spring I went through a cutting of sorts. It was not fun. I grieved for the pieces of me that fell away. I wondered how I could go on without the edges I was accustomed to. But as summer turns into fall, I am beginning to see past the threading and jagged edges of my new form. I am beginning to see an image forming with curves and darts in all the right places.

If you are familiar with being cut, I hope to encourage you. Don't resist the refashioning of your material. You are too beautiful to stay on the bolt. You were designed for beautiful garments. Trust me in this, the Designer is good and He has your best interest at heart! Trust in Him!