The Significance of a Moment

How often do we find ourselves pushing moments into one another, rushing, speeding, striving to get to the next, better, important moment later on? How often do we pause and try to describe a moment as it happens, try to feel it, drink it in and savor it, like one savors a bite of something delicious?

A writer's job is to describe, to put the reader into the moment, so the reader can truly feel and try to experience what the writer is attempting to convey. I suppose I would consider myself as a writer, but one that is still learning the craft. But I will try.

Do you ever have a moment that seems to hold significance, but you're not sure why? You try to understand it, to feel it, and to describe it so you can remember it forever, but it eludes the words you try to use. It seems you are on the edge of inspiration, of understanding something truly profound, but it sits on the tip of your brain, on the edge of description.

I was driving, and I was blown away by a feeling  I still can't quite grasp. I can describe the fireflies I saw across the road, appearing like tiny sparks of fire, extinguished in moments. I could describe the deep scent of the earth that has just been tilled and wind mixing together through my window, a promise of rain in the air. My words can try to paint a picture of the last rays of a summer sunset, the purple and pink mixing in with the deep navy that creeps in to slowly envelop all other colors. The feel of the wind moving my hair about, its sound competing with the song on the radio.

Yet I can't describe the wistful feeling that all of these things brought me, the wildness that seemed to well up in me as I smelled the earth and wind, or the bittersweet feeling I got as the sun set on another day. I can't truly describe what happened, or how I felt, and why it drove me to cry out to God.

But I will try.

For these moments must be savored; described with our inexperienced writings and our insufficient words.
Because if we ignore them, these moments will be lost, and we will miss the brief communion with God that they bring.

Hanna Elizabeth

About Self-Care and Home Care

The other day, I was feeling very exhausted. My muscles hurt, I felt weak and weary, and my heart was broken over five different things at once.

So, naturally, since I was frustrated with myself, I decided to clean my bathroom.

....yeah, I don't know how that connects either.

But as I was scrubbing a month's worth (or more...who's keeping track?) of stains from my toilet bowl, cleaning the sink until it shined, and sweeping every bit of dust off my bathroom floor, I began to start to feel...better.

So I started another task, doing my 2 week's worth of laundry, sorting clothes...and I felt even better. 

So I washed my (only two days worth, give me props, people!) of dishes, wiped my counters, cleaned off most of my kitchen table, and put thing away.

By the time I finished, I started to feel...actually...glad, and a little proud of myself.

Finally...and I hesitate to share this gruesome detail....I  shaved my legs that hadn't seen the light of day since last August...

...Don't tell anyone....

After all of this was accomplished, I sat down to dinner I had cooked, and watched a show on Netflix...guilt free.

So why does all this matter anyway? 

Well, as I scrubbed that gross ring on my toilet bowl, I started thinking about an article that I had read a few weeks ago about self care. It was titled: This is What 'Self-Care' Really Means, Because It's Not All About Bubble Baths and Chocolate Cake. You can find the link to this great article here:

https://thoughtcatalog.com/brianna-wiest/2017/11/this-is-what-self-care-really-means-because-its-not-all-salt-baths-and-chocolate-cake/

Yep, I have really existential and deep thoughts when I scrub my toilet bowl. Maybe I should do it more often.

I realized that self-care is sometimes about caring for your home, and making it an enjoyable place to spend time. Sometimes making yourself feel better is a matter of washing dishes and cleaning your sink, or putting away clothes and cleaning out your backpack. 

Self-care can be things that make you feel better about where you are, as well as who you are.

Also, if anyone knows how to get those pink rings off of my toilet bowl, I'd welcome some suggestions.

Musings on Musicals

Today, I was listening to several different songs from various classic musicals, and I began to wonder...

What is up with people who don't like musicals? I have met a handful of these interesting people in my life, and I must say, the best reason they give is that "no one goes around singing like that in public."
Your point being....?

Yet, in order to allow these realists to jump on the musical bandwagon, perhaps we should normalize impulsive leaps into song in our daily lives.

Now I will admit that a few people I know do this anyway. But how much more exciting and joyful would life be if more people spontaneously broke into song (and perhaps dance) as they completed mundane tasks?

To begin this trend, I issue you, my readers, a challenge. At least two times this week, I challenge you to break into song during your daily routine. You don't have to sing well, or even on key, just start to sing. Monitor how it affects your mood, the days circumstances, and your overall joy this week.
You won't be disappointed.

Hanna Elizabeth

His Presence on the Prairie

Have you ever had an ache for time with the Lord?

An itch to go somewhere peaceful, completely alone, and bask in his presence?

It is a curious, driving feeling, something that can't be explained unless you've felt it.
Some go to chapels, a special place at home, in their cars.

My favorite place is on the prairie, under the stars.

The twinkling clusters of homes, nestled into the prairie swells. The endless sea of grasses, stretching for miles, rolling along uninhibited by more than a few trees planted in windbreaks.

My favorite part are the lights. Not from the cities, for we have only a few, but the ones overhead.
The red twinkle of mars,
The big dipper,
Orion's belt,
and the benevolent, cool face of the moon, illuminating the dirt roads and peaceful fields.

The trill of crickets calling to find a mate,
the rattle of cicadas doing the same,
the rustle of some ground dwelling creature passing through,
even the occasional coyote band,

The prairie is never silent.

And who can forget the wind? Always the wind.
With no trees to slow it down, nothing hinders its journey through the prairies. Sometimes fierce and wild, biting our faces, roaring through with a blizzard or a rainstorm as its companions.

Other times, rarer times, it is soft, kind, pleasing your ears with gentle rustlings as it moves through the dry grasses, caressing your skin as it swirls around you.

Although some complain that it never stops, we miss it when the grasses are still.

There has always been a touch of mystery to the wind. Gentle, Angry, Howling, Soft, the wind is never quite tame or predictable.

"The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit." John 3:8

The wind reminds me of the Holy Spirit in some ways.
Always present, softly nudging our consciences in the right direction, as we sometimes begrudgingly listen. Occasionally It overwhelms us with its power.

And sometimes, It is silent.

And when It is silent, we miss It. Our hearts seem still.

Sometimes we panic, trying everything to get It to come back, or sink into despair, thinking that we'll never hear it again.

But always, always, in the right time, It returns, a still small voice. guiding us, leading us to communion with Him.

The prairie is where I feel closest to the Lord...My own personal chapel.

I like to imagine God walking through the grasses, like He did in the Garden of Eden. Walking beside me, or simply sitting with me as I bask in His creation, His Joyous presence.

I think the prairie, is best enjoyed on a day where you can stand, face to the gentle wind, and let Him soak into your heart.

The presence of God is the most overwhelmingly beautiful thing one can ever experience. 

Seek His presence, wherever you are.

He will not disappoint.

Hanna Elizabeth

Finding Joy in the Little Things

It was going to be one of those days.

Not fifteen minutes into my morning, and a pit formed in my stomach. I could feel a migraine coming on.

No! I gritted my teeth and fumed internally. I have so much to do today! Please Lord, not today.

For me, a migraine can often be an all day misery. that leaves me sicker than a very sick dog, and in bed with the covers over my head, sleeping off multiple painkillers, home remedies, and unable to stand the sight of light.
This is it. So much for getting up early. The fatalist in me had elbowed its was past my Joy, Strength, and Positivity. Then Frustration took the wheel It doesn't make any sense, I've been eating well, sleeping well! Why did it have to be today when I'm so busy?

Definitely not the idea start to my morning.

Three hours and several home remedies and painkillers later, and the stabbing pain finally subsided.
I dragged my groggy, still frustrated body out of bed and begrudgingly thanked the Lord that it was over so quickly.
An hour later I was off to the third day of my tutoring job, minus the migraine, but still a little cranky and worn out.

I should have called in sick, I'm not prepared for this. But, here I was, at work, too late to turn around now.

Finally, my shift was over. Looking back, the shift wasn't too bad, and the kids did very well, but at the end of the day, I was exhausted.
As I began to clean up the materials from that day's lessons, I suppressed a sigh of fatigue, picturing my bed at home waiting for me.

Suddenly, I noticed I had a visitor. One of the kindergarten students I had tutored the day before had skipped over. Her long red curls were in a tangle, and her bright blue eyes watched my every move.

I couldn't help but smile as she greeted me, and then she leaned in with a conspiratorial look.

"I wish you were my teacher today."

With a gentle step forward, Joy took the wheel from Frustration, and all of it became worth it.

The Lord always knows just what we need to remember the important things in life, and to rediscover the strength in His Joy.

Hanna Elizabeth

Yarn and My Tangled Life

Tonight I sat down to do a task that had been begging to be taken care of for months.
I sat down to untangle my insane pile of yarn.

The culmination of two half-finished knitting and crocheting projects, and four balls of yarn, this mass of green and blue had been sitting in my closet since before the semester began, patiently waiting for me to do something about it.
Finally, I got sick of seeing it every time I opened my closet. The ruins of two perfectly good projects, getting more massive and tangled every time I moved it around. Well, the yarn wasn't going to untangle itself, tonight may as well be the night.
And as I sat there on my floor, fiddling with a pile of mostly pistachio colored yarn (which is really difficult to untangle when it all looks the same), I began to notice some things.

1. I don't really know if I want a blanket in these colors.
2. The scarf that is is part of this tangle has taken me over a year to finish.
3. The harder I pull, the more hopelessly tangled and dense the yarn becomes.
4. I really need to follow one end at a time, in order to get it properly untangled.
5. I need to find a better way to store my yarn and projects.

But as I was thinking about these things, it occurred to me: Isn't life with the Lord sometimes like a wild mass of pistachio colored yarn?

Stay with me on this one for a moment.

In some ways, our lives are like this tangle of yarn.
     For one thing, the harder we pull and chafe, trying to do things our way, and with force, the more stubborn and knotted our lives become. We can pull and tug and force our way into situations all we want, but without the Lord to come alongside us, and start to untangle us, we are as helpless as that pile of yarn was in my closet. Unable to untangle and fix ourselves, and making it worse by trying to fix things with our own hands.
   
      Yet the Lord's hands are gentle, knowing which strings to pull, how to loosen the mass of tangles that we have become, and just how it will all come apart. He knows when we need an extra tug. He knows where that string of poor choices will lead, if it is not unraveled to reveal the heart of the issue. He knows how to fix and untangle all of it, because he has the whole picture. He knows where every one of those hundreds of strands lead.
   
      Every time I try to look at the big picture, or my version of it, it gets messier.

     I think I'm doing so much good for it, and that it's starting to look less knotted. I pull a loop here, unwrap a tangle there, but without knowing where everything goes and how it all fits together, it's a longer process, a futile effort, and I may as well put it back in my closet. It is only when I start with one strand, one end, and follow it where it leads me, that I can begin to unravel the bigger tangle.
     It is only when I trust and follow the Lord's plan for my life, that I am able to see the bigger picture of where he's leading me. It may seem like it'll be quicker to do it myself, to take on the bigger mass of yarn as a whole, and try to untangle it all myself.
     Sometimes it takes longer to follow the individual strands of yarn to their ends. It seems futile to follow when I could be doing a better job pulling it apart as a whole. Yet in the long run, it is much more productive for me to follow the path laid by one strand, and to complete it before moving onto another.

    Following the Lord's path for my life in the day to day tasks, as well as in the bigger issues can seem like drudgery. Sometimes (read, most of the time) I want to do it my way, and choose my timing.

Yet when I let him do the work in my heart, and fix the tangles in my life, and in my relationships with others, I find that somehow, miraculously, the clump of pistachio colored yarn becomes two projects and four balls of yarn again. I can finally finish the scarf that has taken me years, and maybe I'll give that pistachio colored blanket another shot.

Hanna Elizabeth