The One I Wanted

I saw it in a thrift store, not marked for sale, but I measured it for size anyway. I'd already been looking for a week or two and hadn't found anything good. This one was different, unique, lovely. Old dried gum was stuck to the side, and I was already imagining cleaning it off. It held stacks of old coffee cups which looked like they would crack into each other if you looked at one.

This was a shelf made for books. This was a display. The spines would angle upward to the approaching reader like a heartfelt offering.

I asked if they'd sell. Not interested.

Still thinking about it and unable to find another shelf, I asked again two weeks later, this time with a suggested price. Not interested without a replacement to hold the mugs.

The next week, I bought a shelf for a replacement and asked again.

Not interested ever.

I may have sulked. Later I may have shed a tear (or had a nasty cry for a few minutes) as I put together the replacement shelf for myself.

Sorry, awesome bookshelf. Your destiny is to hold stacked coffee cups nobody wants instead of displaying books that will be read. I wanted to save you, enjoy you, reclaim you for your intended purpose. Take you to my new house the next time I move. But the future I imagined wasn't to be.

I couldn't save you.

And instead I got the substitute that was never meant for books. But it will do for now.

It's ugly. And not what I wanted.

But it has books on it; they're no longer stacked on the floor. And my room looks like a room.

 

I Still Have One Sign, Part 2

The conclusion from Tuesday's Part 1 post...


It's easy to give up. To one who can always reason that there is still hope, despite emotions that cry otherwise, it's frighteningly easy.

Each time I ripped down one of my notepaper signs, "Don't be afraid to dream," "There is still hope," "For this room," I was disgusted, torn to the core, and saw no way for my circumstances and problems to be overcome or turned into good things.

I still knew the promise that all things in this life actually work for the good of those who love God (Romans 8:38), and I still knew that nothing is outside of His allowance. And, how many times have I called him the Perfect Author, one who thankfully does not need a second draft to the story He writes and has written?

But it still hurt. And knowing that this hurt was part of God's plan actually made me mad. It's what contributed to feeling that I was betrayed by Him. I knew I hadn't been, but I couldn't wrap my mind around it, and my heart was so wounded that I was afraid to trust Him with it.

The memory of being there still brings tears to my eyes.

I had no idea how this would work for anybody's good. And, actually harder to deal with, I had no idea how I was supposed to dream big again. With such a resounding "No" to my hopes, and in a season of events that were fairly close together, how could I expect a "Yes" someday down the road for another dream?

What happens when the hero throws out his memento of love and hope? Usually something outside of him has to happen or arrive, or he'll just walk away and give up on his goal. What's the point in going after it when it's lost and destroyed? Someone else has to ignite what's left of the fire of hope in his heart or he will smolder as embers for the rest of his life.

For us that other, the something or someone outside, can come in many shapes, sizes, sounds, you name it, but ultimately they're all guided by the Maker of Life. I don't know what the process looks like; I'm not even sure what it's been for me, though I know it isn't quite over. But life is filled with little joys, little bits of restoration, and blessings still in every step. I know God is still in control, no one usurped His authority even for a second, and I know He is faithful and still good. And I know I don't deserve His tender love, but He offers it every day, even when I say "I'm mad at you."

I don't know why my dreams couldn't happen, but I do know we were still able to make part of the original trip, and it was very much needed and a blessing. And I know that my brother, sister-in-law, and niece are back now, and I'm glad to have them. I don't know why there are budget constraints that won't allow for transforming my room into a much needed sanctuary, but I do know that my room won't always be like this and I can still make positive changes now. I don't know why my faith and trust needed to be tested, but I do know that I will continue to trust God even when I'm hurt.

And I do know that blessings rain down. Some look smaller than others, but all are gifts. Right now I'm in the midst of so many possible blessing opportunities that I don't know what to do with myself to navigate from one to the next. As of the moment of writing this post, there are so many that I may even need to pick and choose between them (and maybe, just maybe, I can have them all). Back when I was so hurt that I tore down those hopeful papers, I had no conceivable idea that anything like this would happen to me ever, and certainly not just a few months later.

I haven't replaced the old notes on the walls, but I still have one left, and I think it's going to stay.

"Make it what you dream."

 

I Still Have One Sign, Part 1

I'm guessing I'm not the only one who puts inspirational signs, posters, decor, whatnot up in their homes. Mine just happen to be quick marker notes written sideways on lined notebook paper and taped to the walls. Classy.

But I tore them down.

I am a person who loves life and has big dreams and hopes, but I'm easily discouraged. So, my head knowing better than my heart sometimes does, I put up four signs on said notebook paper. Three cascaded to form one long message: There is still hope, For this room, Make it what you dream. And one I put on the opposite wall: Don't be afraid to dream.

I'm not sure of the order of things anymore, but I know that I ripped down the "Don't be afraid to dream" sign after I found out we weren't going to make it to Arcata to visit my brother, sister-in-law, and niece while they were living there. I felt betrayed by God and couldn't hold on to a reason to maintain big dreams. This would be when I wrote the post on mourning.

I think "For this room" came down after I hit a figurative wall regarding the state of my literal wall. Budget just wouldn't allow for some of the high hopes I'd built in my mind. Cleaning out, finishing an old project, painting the entirety of the walls, added trim, finishing the door. That might be when "There is still hope" came down, too, but I don't remember. Seems like it stayed up a little longer, but I don't remember then what would have wounded my heart enough to crumple it up, angry tears clinging to my face, and toss it.

You know those moments in movies when the hero is so disgusted or discouraged that he throws out some sweet memento of his family, or the gift from his love? Up until now I'd always had the reason in my mind to think the hero would regret that decision, how could he do that, doesn't he know he'll want it back when things get better?

Now, I understand. We truly don't always hope that things will get better. We might believe that life will continue, but that doesn't mean we think it'll ever get better. And so the memento, the encouraging word, the piece of hope represented in an object finds a direct one-way ticket to the dumpster. It's worse than the Monopoly card "Go Directly to Jail."

It's a horrible place to be. And it's very real.

Can you relate?


My thoughts will continue in a couple days...

 

There Are Times

There are times

when the phone rings late

and I hear the tears

before I know anything else

When all I know is a friend’s hurt

and with her I ache

a chance lost

a hope drowned

a truth buried

With her I cry

wishing somehow

to take the weight away

to stem the bleeding

to apply the balm

But my temper flares

when I hear how she was hurt

and I’m ready for war

like a mother bear

God help me

I need to remember

You are in control

You offer grace

to those who don’t deserve it

including me

And I look back at my friend

my sister for years

covered with fresh and dried tears

and inside I break

and with her I weep

The night drags dark

but together we somehow know

we somehow still hope

the night will end

a new dawn will shine

and we count the hours

until then.

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