Short Blogging Break

Thanks for stopping by. I'll be taking the next ten days to focus on completing my work in progress. Check back for new posts around the first week of December. Until then!

What I'm Thankful for Today

1. An unexpected night off from work
2. A pot of Two Alarm Chili on the stove
3. A fire in the fireplace
4. A husband home from work early.

Life is good!

Hospice Quilt

Last January, I applied for a part-time nursing job at an inpatient hospice located an hour from my home. I'd wrestled with the decision to go to work there, mostly because of the commute. But after thinking about it, praying about it, and nearly driving my patient husband nuts talking about it, I finally gave in and applied.

Hospice was my calling. I'd knew that. I'd done it in the past. It is the work I am meant to do.

So. Imagine my disappointment when the personnel manager told me they weren't hiring. There were no openings. Not one. When? I asked. When might something come up? The personnel manager gave me the standard answer. She didn't know. But would be sure to keep my application on file. If anything came up, they'd give me a call.

January passed. February. No call. Then March. Still no opening.

In April, I went with my friend Sheila to a quilt show. That is where I saw this amazing quilt, made by Anne Kameyer, in honor of her late father. It depicts a soul about to cross over, being greeted by those who've already made the journey. I stood staring at the quilt for the longest time. I could not move my eyes off of it. It spoke to me in a profound way.

"It's hospice," I told my friend. "Exactly as I see it."

That very afternoon, I returned home to a message on my machine.

From hospice.

They had an opening. Could I come in?

Sometimes God does the strangest things.

What I'm Thankful for Today

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, during the next few weeks I'll post a few random lists of what blessings I'm enjoying on a particular day.

1. Weather brisk enough to spoon all night without getting hot.
2. Amazing Grace
3. The loaded baked sweet potatoes at Texas Roadhouse cafe
4. Nora Jones Come Away With Me CD
5. Red and yellow and gold leaves outside my window
6. Wally, my sweet smelly mutt who hates to take baths but rarely lets more than five feet come between me and him. He's at this moment lying not at, but on my feet.
7. This morning's not-a-dry-eye-on-my-pew dedication of a new baby at my church. A child so sick at birth that as my minister stated it, "we weren't sure if he was going to get to stay."

What blessings are you enjoying today?
I'd love to hear.

This Time Last Year

This picture was taken last November by my friend, Michael. In the midst of a painful season of personal funk, I flew to Sacramento to visit Michael and his wife, Laura, two of my dearest friends.

I cried a lot that week.

Things were not okay.

But Laura and Michael loved on me like I was the most entertaining houseguest they'd ever had. They fed my soul with the beauty of art and music and nature. They listened but they also let me be quiet. Exhausted in body and in spirit, I slept afternoons and nights curled up under layers of handmade quilts. When I woke up, they served me food they'd prepared on pretty flowered plates.

I'm better now.

Much.

Feeling good these days, yet remembering back then.

My healing came at the hands of Laura and Michael, and many others who loved me when I wasn't very lovable, who forgave me when I wasn't such a good friend, who pursued me when I drew into myself.

There is a power in love that I don't understand. Love inspires the worst to become the best. It replaces lies with truth. It brings healing to ragged wounds.

I know this.

Having been loved from brokeness to wholeness, I am the proof.

A Kiss is Still a Kiss

Last night at my hospice job, I took care of a darling older gentleman. Because no family was with him and he seemed to crave company, I spent extra time in his room. Around nine o'clock, to help him have a good night's rest, I rubbed his feet with lotion, gave him a sleeping pill, and covered him up with a handmade quilt.

After I pulled the quilt up around his shoulders and tucked him in snugly, he looked at me with lovely blue eyes and said, "my grandmother used to tuck me in like that."

"Really?" I stroked his hair. "I bet that was nice."

"Then," with a bit of a devilish twinkle in those same eyes, "she used to give me a big kiss."

"Oh. Well then, I guess I better give you one of those," I said.

I flashed him a smile, then planted my lips on his forehead. "How's that?" I asked.

"It'll do."

Not exactly the rave review I expected for my efforts.

But not exactly, I suspect, what my dear friend had in mind!

The Ones That Glow

I write in the sunroom of our house, an area that's actually a converted carport. It's a spacious, albeit drafty, room with three walls of side-by-side, uncovered, floor-to-ceiling windows. I love this space because of the natural light and the unobstructed view of my backyard and beyond.

The past few days, this gorgeous golden tree is what I see when I look up from my computer. The picture does not begin to capture its beauty. Other years it has been pretty, but this season, the colors in the leaves are so brilliant they don't look real.

Maybe creative people see things differently than others. All I know is that I can hardly pull my eyes from this tree. I have stood at the nearest window, my morning coffee mug in hand, and wept at its loveliness.

Here is something surprising, something you may not know. I'm told that the unusually bright colors of this year's fall leaves are, in part, the result of the past summer's terrible drought, one that turned lake shores into mud and killed even the most carefully-tended shrubs and grass. I don't know the science that explains the reason why, but the fact is, exceptionally beautiful fall leaves often follow behind unusually dry summers.

I see the same phenomenon in the lives of some people I know -- folks who've experienced unimaginably dusty, thirsty times in their lives. Good friends who have survived terrible times when they wondered when, if ever, healing rains would fall on their parched souls.

These, the dear ones who have survived the hot dry summer to enjoying the refreshment of fall, are some of the most beautiful people I know. I see in them, hope, faith, and love. They are the ones who, after surviving the terrible drought, glow like no others.

I am rich to have these people in my life.

They are like the tree outside my window.

Stunning.

And they know who they are.