Place in This World

Two years ago at this time I was an empty nester. The lids under my mascara enhanced lashes were almost always swollen. It was sad. But the house was happy, because it was clean and tidy. There was no one here to move its cheese. If I hadn't been crying all the time, I probably would have enjoyed the clean and tidy house.

Last year at this time Pilgrim was here. California kicked him out. No, I'm kidding! He missed his mother. No, I'm dreaming! I think he just ran out of steam for running so hard to make ends meet. California is expensive. So, Fash was gone to the far away college place, but Pilgrim was here. His mess stayed in the lower northwest corner. I loved his company. So- less tears for me and still pretty neat abode.

This fall finds Pilgrim progressed to private apartment elsewhere (but not out of area) and Fash flourishing over every square inch of this home. She switched majors, switched colleges and slunk back into her old room dragging 500 pounds of sluggage. Her accouterments began to crawl from that space in the lower level (we do not say "basement" here) and now reproduce en masse in kitchen, family room, guest bedroom, dining area, entryway, upstairs bath, lower level bath, laundry room and garage- giving new meaning to "go with the flow".

Not only do I find my cheese moved, its plastic bag home is unzipped in the fridge, which I discovered this morning when I was not fast enough to save my last slices of pepper jack from their fall to the floor. And now I have a hair in my panini.

This is the air I breathe (borrowing from Mercy Me) and you know what? It's ok. Fash's accessories unfastened all over the place make me crazy. But I won't come undone. Hair, schmair. I can get over it. I love having her home. I'm happy for Pilgrim. We're all finding our way- together. All of us trying to find our Place In This World. Michael W. Smith's song of that name expresses it well:

The wind is moving
But I am standing still
A life of pages waiting to be filled

A heart that's hopeful
A head that's full of dreams
But this becoming
Is harder than it seems

Feels like I'm looking for a reason
Roamin' through the night to find
My place in this world
My place in this world
Not a lot to lean on
I need your light to help me find
My place in this world
My place in this world

If there are millions
Down on their knees
Among the many
Can you still hear me

Hear me asking
Where do I belong?
Is there a vision
That I can call my own?

This is where my 20 something kids are right now. But you know something? This is where I live. I think I'm just beginning to discover that "in this world" my place is not a building or a town or a bookstore. My place is with my people- my family, my friends. My place in this world is with the hairdresser I just met who yearns to know more about the God she never learned about in church, with my neighbors who ache to hold a listening, compassionate ear- to talk to someone who will understand and just be silent and hear. My place in this world is in my husband's arms and surrounding my sons' and daughter's ambitions, at the side of my mother and in the la-Z-Boy across from my dad. My place in this world is actually out of this world- as in the most exciting and secure place that anyone can ever be-

because my place in this world is in the Heart of My Father- God of the Universe, Creator, Sustainer, Guiding Light and Provider, who lives and pleads for me.

Late Assignment. Second Chance?

In a comment to a post I wrote the day before my birthday in 2009, a teacher blog friend, Mrs. E, left me a writing assignment: "46 Things to Do Before You Turn 47". Firstborns are compelled to do what they are told, and it still bothers me that I did not complete this assignment. Especially considering how much I enjoy writing, why couldn't I churn this out? Three years later, on the day of my 49 flames, I give you the gift of my answer.

Quite simply, too often what I positively want with gusty enthusiasm on Friday, I barely have a pulse over by the time Monday arrives. People like this have a hard time making bucket lists- to the tune of "There's a Hole in My Bucket", dear Liza. For as fast as I can drop ideas in there, they are landing on the hole of  second thought. Most fall through. But buckets are cumbersome to carry around anyway, so here's how it works in reality- for me.

On Friday, my husband, "I.T." ( so named because he works with computers), who is also known as "Hero" on my facebook posts, whisked me away to the Country Hermitage, a lovely old farmhouse bed and breakfast in northern Michigan- wine country. The place was as comfortable as my thick, white, knee- high, cotton socks, which I wear whenever I need to feel warm and totally secure- so, you know- every day. It was furnished with perfect pieces of furniture- functional and interesting. The decor oozed welcome and come on in. Hostess, Lisa, and her hairdresser turned chef husband, Carl, felt like old friends, though we had never met them before. We booked two rooms, as we were mini-vacationing with two friends, stayed two nights and feasted on two delicious breakfasts. If I had a bucket list, this would definitely have been on it, and now- checked off. In fact, I may drop this in the bucket again, because I definitely want to repeat this fun time.

The weekend included touring up a picturesque peninsula, home to several wineries where we stopped in at the tasting tables and sampled the liquidized harvest. It was chilly outside, but we were warm. This would also be on my list in multiples with one, now- checked off.

Today I stayed in bed, in my pajamas and thick, white, knee-high, cotton socks and read a book, The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown, on my Kindle Fire, until past noon.This scenario is a repeat offender on any "Things I want to Do" list I've ever made.Today's check mark just widens the ink herringbone pattern that stretches out beside this one.

And so it goes. Many of my things-I-want-to-do-before-something-s are unknown to me until after I've done them, because sometimes the very best things that happen are the things that have barely, or never, previously even entered my mind. Other bucket list worthy entries are so worthy they just have to be added to the list over and over. So I will ask the teacher if I may spend my 49th year chronicling the wonderful, and/or not as wonderful as I thought they'd be, things I do that would have certainly made the list had I been able to come up with such momentous ideas in advance, sprinkled with the same olds that are too good to check off never to be done again.

49 Candles

Countdown to 49. Four days left, including this one. Thinking about how lucky I am to be blessed with parents who have always cared for me with the greatest of love, a husband whose life's mission is to see me happy and without want and a pack of people I call family and friends. Greater still is the miracle of grace that has been extended to me personally by my Father in heaven through His son Jesus, my Savior. I lack nothing.

So what shall I wish for this 49th year?

To be a blessing.

All the goodness I have found in this life comes from God. It does not come from having things or enjoying pleasant circumstances. It comes from having a relationship with Jesus Christ. Experiencing blessing comes from clinging to the Lord. By the feeding of His Word. Through prayer and petition. "Thank you!" and "Help me!" Singer, Jason Gray, calls these, "the two best prayers I know". I want to remain in Jesus when my patience is tested, when my strength is gone, when my blood boils with anger. I want to remain in Jesus when my heart overflows with joy, when my mind is at peace, when all is right with my world. I am persuaded that the LORD will bless me and protect me, as the Bible tells me so (Numbers 6:24). And I want to bring that blessing to people. People I know and love. People I meet for the very first time. People who will continue to cross my path and people with whom I will have the chance to barely share more than a glance.

Blessed to be a blessing. That's what Abram was (Genesis 12:2) and being of the family of God, that is what we are too (Genesis 12:3).

When I blow out the 49 flickers I will be wishing for awareness of where and when and how I can press blessing into the life of another. Every day.

It's exciting, but I know fulfillment of this wish comes with vulnerability and that makes it scary at the very same time. Which reminds me once again of my need for my Savior.