Lament

Silence. Lament. Rage. Hope.

Four paintings adorn the wall behind the dinner table. A woman weeps at the base of a birch tree. Her face is hidden. Her back is sheltered by the trunk of the tree.

The woman and the tree trunk do not move as my eyes drift from painting to painting and back again.

Silence. Lament. Rage. Hope.

Hope. Rage. Lament. Silence.

Behind and above the woman ...

     ... the canvas is painted white. Silence.

     ... the canvas is painted a gray and stormy sea. Lament.

     ... the canvas is painted a vibrant and angry red. Rage.

Behind and above the woman ...

     ... yellow and orange displace the vibrant and angry red. The tree has pushed forth leaves, rich and green. Hope.

I am drawn to Lament.

R

Photo credit: Image 64239214

The Cross

It surprised me -- the Cross.

I had approached the beautiful, sturdy, enticing chair from the side, with an air of self-absorption. I was seeking a peaceful place to calm my inner self, to meditate, think, pray and wrestle.

My decision to travel here to Victoria TX was impulsive.The training offered by Quantum Circles was secondary to the opportunity to engage the healing essence of human friendship, to see and hear my friend teach, to discover the passions of her heart, to reveal my struggles and let her healing words wash over me.

God surprised me. God was already here, in the chair, waiting for me like a trusted friend ready to share whatever was on my heart. On my friend's porch, God offered friendship, the Cross inviting me to leave my burdens here.

R

Quiet Space

A foggy morning follows the thunderstorm that blew in Tuesday night. Deer graze in the pasture near the house across the street. The birds are singing, celebrating -- does the moisture refresh them too?

I fold a boldly colored blanket across the base of the guest bed, adding the books I am reading which refuse to conform to a neat pile.

There is much work to be done here.

Not in this guest room, this space, but within me. Old patterns of speech and thinking need to fall aside to make way for the new-to-me concepts, processes, skills and tools of Restorative Justice.

My heart is heavy and quiet with anticipation, like a woman's womb before childbirth, engaging both apprehension and excitement at the wonder of what God is unfolding.

R


"My heart needs a quiet space in the stillness of time." -- Widowspeak

 

Texas

This morning I woke up in a city new to me. Opening my eyes I take in the pasture that rests beyond the windows at the far end of my room -- in a camper. The comfort of the queen size Sleep Number bed is tempting and I need to muster myself just a bit to come out of my cocoon. The warm morning air greets me as I open the camper door, then step into the house -- a dear friend's house, a sanctuary for her and her husband. I make my way to the guest bathroom and turn on the shower. The soft gray paint of the walls is soothing. The warm water flows over me. I reach out to touch the row of tiny brown tiles, the beauty too much to resist.

The day will officially begin at 8am with training: The Language of Shalom. Today is day one.

Tears form at the corners of my eyes. There is a deep knowing sensation that Victoria TX is where I am supposed to be, that this is somehow connected to healing the deep crevice of sadness and disconnection I experienced these past months in the wake of my husband's death. [more]

The sound of cars arriving signals a need for transition. I gaze one more time across the pasture, then open the camper door. The day begins.

R

Victoria TX image by: townmaps.usa.com