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To the Lady at the House with the Golden Retriever

I see your pain.

I see the tears you try to hide.

I see how you talk short to your husband.

How you sit, embroider, on Instagram, make coffee, maybe do the laundry (if you have to) while your gorgeous home studio sits there too…unused.

(I’ll be honest, I’m a little jealous of your home studio. It really is gorgeous. Open, lots of natural light from the big windows, the Mediterranean feel of the colorful tiles, the bits of upholstery fabric and design books all over the place. If I lived there, I’d always be in that room).

I see how you don’t feel well a lot of the time.

Everytime I walk into your house it smells of mildew.

I’m wondering if your house has something to do with your health issues.

I know you’re noseblind to it and probably wouldn’t listen to me even if I did have the guts to say something.

But who am I to say something?

You probaly wouldn’t listen anyway.

I’m just the cleaning girl.

My heart hurts for you.

Maybe you’re wondering when it all fell apart.

Do you think money fixes everything?

I see the rebellion of your daughter.

I see your son, the polite one, wearing a mask around us, saying hello, thanking us when we leave.

It seems though, that through all his politeness, that he’s wondering when he can escape this house.

He buries himself in his gaming.

He’s almost gone. In a couple of years, college.

Maybe they’re just all trying to cope.

The kids, trying to cope with their parents formality to each other.

The dad, sitting in his office playing with millions, working, mind you, but hardly saying two words to his wife, his kids.

Also polite to us, but distant.

He has work to do.

He’s there, but he’s not.

He is probaly waiting till the kids grow up, to leave.

He’s probably wondering too, where and when it all fell apart, but doesn’t seem to be taking action to fix it.

Does he think money fixes everything?

Maybe it fell apart during COVID, when you all had to ‘stay home’.

And then you realized, ‘Who are these people I live with? I don’t know them’.

The mom, wondering why her kids are the way they are.

The dad, wondering why his marriage isn’t working any more.

The kids, rebelling, silent.

The daughter loves singing. She sings around us all the time.

But she sings to get attention.

It’s a ‘Look at me! Aren’t you impressed by my singing?!’. It’s painfully obvious.

I clean their house. Dusting all their pictures.

They look happy in their pictures.

The mom, on the beach with her son when he was a toddler (15ish years ago). Smiling.

The family, young, when their children were little (My favorite pic). Smiling.

Snapshots of the couple. Smiling.

I too wonder where and when everything went wrong.

There is so much unhappiness here.

It hurts my heart and I pray a blessing on them.

That they would know God’s love, that He would draw them to Himself through His Holy Spirit, that He would intervene in their lives, that they would find true happiness in Jesus.

The dog. The great big fluffy golden retriever who happily greets us every time we go in. She runs around, up the stairs, down the stairs, with a toy in her mouth, wagging her tail. If she could jump with joy, I’m sure she would.

The dog. The happy part of the house.

I’m not sorry to leave this place.

I hope that the rest of their lives go well, despite all their challenges.

I can continue to pray for them.

To the Lady at the Grey House

I really loved your den.

With the shelves of books and nick nacks, the comforting, musty smell of old, well-loved books, the sunshine coming in during the early afternoon as I cleaned.

Your house was weird though and for a long time I thought very unfriendly.

It was cold, unfeeling, haughty…very grey.

I felt you were like that too.

Cold, unfeeling, haughty…grey.

I got to know you more, but I never really understood you and I always felt a little on edge when you were around.

You were particular, very particular, about your house.

Everything was spic ‘n span before we even got there (And we were there every week).

But I found my favorite spot in your house to clean, the aforementioned den, with the smell of old books and sunshine, which made cleaning the rest of the house bearable.

Your house was very grey.

(You know there ARE other colors in the world).

Your basement bathroom was VERY grey.

The tub was grey.

The tile was grey.

The sink was grey.

The floor was grey.

The counter was grey.

Even the toilet was grey.

There were some pops of color here and there thoughout your house, mostly coming from the colors of your favorite sports teams.

Your living room was grey too…light grey walls, grey baseboards, grey lightswitch covers, dark grey couches, grey carpet.

The kitchen though…red with wood cabinets.

It was like a breath of fresh air from all the greyness.

(Even the den was grey).

I will be happy to clean your house one last time this week.

And then say good bye to the cold, grey house with the nitpicky owner.

But I bless you as I go, hoping you find joy, happiness and peace in your Creator and may He break the chains of grey in your life.

Purposefulness

Purpose.

Purposeful.

Intentional.

Specific.

The last few days I feel like God has been highlighting Purpose.

Yesterday someone asked me to describe God in one word and I said, ‘Purposeful’.

Because He is.

He created the earth on purpose.

He created me on purpose.

He came to earth on purpose.

Died…on purpose.

Rose from the grave…on purpose.

He is a God of intentionality, specificality and purposefulness.

I want my art, my life, to be on purpose. I want to do things with intentionality, for a reason, on purpose, and specific.

I wrote on my planner yesterday two words: Simple and Purposeful.

I feel like that is a calling on my life.

So often I feel scattered…running around, trying to please other people, not really feeling like I know what I’m doing in life, in my job, in art, in creaitivity, in my career…the list goes on.

I’m starting a new job on Friday. I am ready. Ready for something new. Different. I told my mom the other day, regarding why I seem to change jobs every couple years…’I get bored’, I said. I get bored with what I’m doing and need to switch it up. I’m over cleaning houses, driving from house to house, being ‘yanked’ all over the city, so yeah, I’m going to work in a warehouse (I’ve had warehouse jobs before and I’ve enjoyed them). Maybe in a couple years I’ll switch again. Maybe I’ll love this job and stay for awhile. Who knows.

Getting a new job was on purpose though.

I don’t want to running around anymore doing this, that and the other. I want to be intentional, specific, purposeful.

I remember in the summer of 2009, writing down that I wanted to be Intentional about my life.

And I really meant it. There was something of a calling in me even then to live life on purpose.

(I think we have lots of callings in life, FYI, that have nothing to do with our job or career, but more our lifestyle and how we live).

The years go by, yes, I live on purpose, but then things happen, hurts come, things change, I move on, life happens and I lose sight of living a simple, purposeful life.

But I want that back, and if it’s a calling, then I need to take action and walk that out in my life.

I also want to be more purposeful about working on my art (Which at this point is mostly just bookbinding, but, hey, ‘Book Arts’, right?!) — not paper shuffling, not organizing, not spending too much time on admin stuff, not scrolling through social media — but really working.

Getting some good studio time in.

Getting those creative juices flowing.

Working.

Focused.

Clear.

On purpose.

Intentional.

(Side note: I feel like ‘Intentionality’ can be a buzz word sometimes with more of a new agey context or feel, but that’s not how I’m viewing it. To me, intentionality is just another, perhaps stronger, word for ‘purpose’).

I think if you do things on purpose then there’s a peace that comes with life. You’re focused…you’re not in a hurry, rushing around trying to get things done, but you know what you want, what you’re doing and so the world can rush on by and you’re…OK.

You’re OK with where you’re at.

With where you’re going.

With what you’re doing.

I’ve got a lot to learn still about living life on purpose, with focus, clarity, intention and specificality, but I’m working on it.

Won’t you join me?

Little Encouragements

It’s 5:30am.

I woke up from a bad dream about an hour ago, couldn’t sleep.

So, instead of lying in bed, decided to get up and start the day.

I’ve been listening to the Thriving Christian Artist podcast on my way to work the past week or two. I don’t really consider myself a ‘podcast person’, but I felt the Lord lead me in that direction, and so I started listening and I’ve found it super helpful, super encouraging, super eye-opening. God has been spearking to me through it in regards to art, art discipline and creating with Him through what other artists are doing and their stories of how God led them in their art.

It’s made me want to create, to work on my art, to make things.

I am a maker, for sure. I get such pleasure and joy from taking raw materials and forming them into something.

Yesterday when I got home from my volunteer job I specifically set aside some time to work on my bookbinding. It took me a minute to get back in the groove, as it usually does when I haven’t worked on it consistently (By consistently I mean, daily or at least a couple times a week)

Sometimes when I’m working it can seem purposeless…like, Why am I doing this? I’m not really selling them, so who cares?

I WANT to sell my journals (And I sold two last week at a craft show, so that’s something), but since they’re not flying off the shelf (Or off my Etsy site, see previous link) it can seem a bit pointless, although I do enjoy the process.

I have to remind myself that:

1. I am building my skill in bookbinding

2. I am doing it because I enjoy it and like the process of making book covers and sewing in the book block, etc

3. I’m bringing to life the things I see in my head, ie, what God is showing me to do.

4. If I’m building skill on a regular basis and sharing my art with others, it will grow.

No matter if I sell them or not, I’m doing something worthwhile.

This artistic process, this thing called Life that we’re walking through, is slow.

Anything worthwhile is slow, huh?

It takes time to develop, to mature. Ourselves and our art. Myself and my art. You and your art.

I felt the Lord say to me in 2005 as I was wrestling with a life decision that He told me to ‘Take the slow road’…meaning, it’s not all going to happen at once…do one thing at a time…what’s the next season? What’s God saying now? Where is He leading me in this moment?

Yes, we need big picture, but it’s more our daily walk with Him, the here and now, that is most important.

Anywho, just wanted to encourage you. Art takes time. It’s worthwhile. Take the slow road. The here and now matters. Also, listen to the Thriving Christian Artist podcast; it’s a blessing!

Thirty Years Later…

In this post I mentioned that I was like a scared, miserable puppy dog going in for my gum graft procedure.

Because I’ve been in this position before.

It seems I’ve had a lot of problems with my teeth and with my mouth, even when I was a kid.

From lots of teeth being extracted (I used to keep count, now I’ve no idea) to braces, to oral surgery, to TMJ issues, to root canals and crowns and now a gum graft…it seems like it’s never ending.

When I was a pre-teen the dentist recommended that I get braces and of course my parents complied.

When the orthodontist looked at my case and was getting a treatment plan together, it just so happened that at the tender age of 11 I needed oral surgery.

Why?

Apparently, so they told me and so I experienced, I had a tooth that was ‘stuck’ in the roof of my mouth.

From what I remember, they (The surgeon) had to open up the top of my mouth, expose the hidden tooth, cemet a little hook on to the tooth, attach a little elastic string to the hook which was then (I think) hooked to another tooth, and slowly, over weeks and months, pull the errant tooth down into a gap that was ready and waiting to house it.

I vaguely remember sitting in the waiting room when I was a kid, waiting for this oral surgery to happen. Having no idea what to expect.

I remember going back in the back, sitting in the chair, them leaning me back. I remember the shots, the pain (Did they wait for the anesthesia to kick in?), the sound of the little saw as they opened up the top of my mouth…and then the blood started. And I gurgled it all up and it spilled out over the sides of my mouth, on to all my clothes and I remember the tense, panicky moments as the surgeon and his assistants tried to control the blood…I don’t know if I was crying, but inside, my heart felt shame and embarrassement and humiliation. I didn’t really know where the blood was coming from…from my throat?

Eventually things were under control and the procedure continued.

I had to have a tooth extracted at the same time. That was the easy part.

When it was over my mouth was in a lot of pain and I was left a permanent mark on my heart and soul in regards to oral surgery.

I remember the surgeon telling my mom afterwards what happened with the blood and how it got all over me.

They dressed me in a surgical dressing gown which I wore home (It eventually ended up in the dress ups. A sore reminder of a painful experience).

I remember having a theater class that night or the next and I couldn’t talk well because I couldn’t touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth because it was sore and one of my classmates was like, ‘You’re talking funny’ and thought it was part of my sketch idea.

I remember the follow up visit with the surgeon a couple weeks later and how I was scared to pieces to go back…I was literally tap dancing my nervousness out during the visit. And probably shaking like a scared, miserable puppy dog.

And I remember the weeks and months after of having that wayward tooth being pulled down by it’s little string to it’s final resting place.

Is it any wonder that I would have avoided the gum graft I had this week if at all possible? That my blood pressure was high? That I was shaking? That I had to talk myself into it and talk it out with the hygenists and periodontist?

Is it any wonder that I started to freak out when they took the skin from the roof of my mouth and I felt the blood pool at the back of my throat…and the periodontist had to calm me down, telling me to breath through my nose or I’d splatter blood everywhere…telling me that everything was going fine, that nothing abnormal was happening…and I squeezed the stress ball they had given me really, really hard and tried to breath as calming as I could through my nose and repeat what he said to myself, ‘Nothing abnormal was happening. It was going well. Calm down’. And tried to avoid a messy repeat of my earlier experience.

Is it any wonder that I was crying in the bathroom afterwards?

Thirty years later the memories of my first unhappy experience with oral surgery still remain.

I got through the gum graft…somehow, someway.

Now it’s recovery time and soft foods for a month.

And I’m exhausted.

Thoughts during Surgery

I had to have a short oral surgery done today.

It wasn’t fun and if I could have avoided it, I would have.

But, the root of one of my teeth was exposed, so it was either get it done, or wait and have it get worse and have to deal with more problems later. This had already been hanging over my head for the last six weeks, so I had to just get it done.

Obviously, the periodontist had to have my permission to do it, but I felt I had not much choice. Waiting would only worsen the situation.

They ended up doing four gum grafts on the lower left of my mouth. I have non-dissolvable stitches on the roof of my mouth (Where they took the skin) and where they grafted the skin to my gums.

It is now hurting, despite the 1,000 mg of off-brand Tylenol I took two hours ago (Drs orders).

I felt like a scared, miserable puppy going in for this procedure.

I was shaking, my blood pressure was high, I almost couldn’t go through with it.

(I’ve been in this position before and it wasn’t pretty).

But I felt like I didn’t have much choice (Reasons, see above).

As they were working I couldn’t help but think: ‘Do they LIKE doing this?’

I mean, do they think, “I’m going to cause someone a lot of pain and then charge them thousands of dollars” and LIKE that?

I don’t know if I could live with myself. Inflicting pain on people and then charging them for it.

This morning was a humiliating experience. I had four people staring at me as I’m literally crying, tears streaming down my face, as the periodontists gives me not one, two or three shots in my mouth, but SIX.

After they finished the procedure and let me go I went to the bathroom in the medical building and cried. I had my moment of private tears, sitting in the stall, tears trickling down my face…maybe it was from self-pity too. I don’t know.

When I see all my friends on social media either having babies or announcing pregancies and I’m having what feels like old lady oral surgery because of gum recession (BTW, I’m not sharing or complaining about this on social media).

Something just doesn’t feel FAIR in all this.

(I know, no one said life was fair).

Back to what I was thinking about when they were working on me this morning. ‘Do they LIKE doing this?’

As the periodontist was stitching me up I’m thinking, somewhat sarcastically, ‘I like stitching too. But I like stitching fabric. Paper. Books. Not flesh.’

It goes back to what I was saying earlier in a post about pleasure. I make books because it’s somehow a calling, I love it, I enjoy it, I feel good and right and at home and purposeful when I’m making and creating journals. It’s FUN. It’s part of why I was created. My God-given calling.

Is being a periodontist or an oral surgeon some sort of twisted, weird art form that gives those in that profession pleasure??

Because to me, personally, that really IS twisted and weird.

Maybe they’re just in it for the money. Not all have gentle, understanding bedside manners that *should* befit someone who is in the medical profession. Maybe they ARE in it for the money.

But there’s also got to be some sort of calling to it too. Some sort of enjoyment or pleasure they get out of it. It’s probably more the fact that they like helping people, rather than they like inflicting pain.

But I don’t know. This is all supposition because I’m definitely, by no means, in the medical field and I can safely say that I will not ever be.

So, enlighten me all you dentists, surgeons, nurses, doctors and medical professionals.

Do you do what you do strictly for the money? Or because you like helping people? Because you enjoy what you do? What’s your story? How did you get into the field you’re in and why?

I believe that anything really CAN be an art form and dentistry is no exception to that, (Even though it seems odd to me).

P.S. If I’m going to make someone cry with my art form I want them to cry happy tears, not tears of pain.

Hi

I just wanted to say hi.

I feel it’s been a minute since I’ve written. And I miss it.

Life has been busy.

Busyness is a poor excuse for not writing, but it’s true.

Work, spending time with family, the ins and outs of life, getting ready for a craft show (I’m going to be selling my journals for the first time in a market setting, so that’s taking some thought as to how I want to portray them in a non-virtual setting).

Every day it seems I have things to write about, but the end of the day comes and I don’t end up writing.

But I at least wanted to jump on here and say hello. I hope you’ve been well.

Easter Memories

Easter.

I love Easter.

It’s in the Springtime, when the world feels fresh, alive, new, colorful, hopeful.

When I was younger my cousin and I would dress up in matching Easter outfits. 🙂

I love the preparation, Holy Week, between Palm Sunday and Easter. I love the spiritual significance of the season. It feels weighty, truly holy, but joyful as we celebrate the Risen Christ.

I know the same could be said about Christmas…all the preparation leading up to the day — the shopping, the decorations, the music, the lights, the building of anticipation.

Yet, Christmas to me, although I also love the celebration of Christ’s birth — of God becoming man — is much more stressful. You have to make sure you have presents for everyone, and What should I get so and so? and What do you get the person who has everything? and there’s the round of Christmas parties and the overeating and the sugar and the candy and everything else that goes along with it. Not to mention the fact that it’s also COLD (At least in my city).

With Easter it seems there’s a lot less stress. There’s more focus on what the holiday (Holy day) is about.

Jesus.

And it’s Spring, renewal of the spirit and soul, it’s blue skies and sunshine (Except it seemed to rain more often than not on Easter when I was growing up).

The day between Good Friday and Easter Morning…the waiting, the hoping…

I’m sure it wasn’t exactly like that for the first disciples after Jesus had died and was buried. There was mourning, the wondering, the question of What Now? What was that all about? Was Jesus really who He said He was? The processing of what He had taught them the previous three years.

I grew up in the Catholic church, with all the beauty of symbolism.

The Saturday Evening Easter service was one of my favorites throughout the year.

There was liturgical dancing (Of which I was a part), a beautiful rendition of creation, the long, candle lit service, the songs, the incense, the processions, the baptisms (And maybe a cookie reception after?!).

It was a special time of rememberance, of being together in the household of faith to remember the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior.

Good times, good memories.

I always look forward to Easter; this year being no exception.

I know I’ll miss my dad tomorrow (As I do every day).

Dad would always greet us with ‘He is Risen!’ and our response was always ‘He is risen indeed!’ Last year, during the Stay at Home order, since we weren’t with family, dad sent a text message to all his children with the Easter message of ‘He is Risen!’.

This year my dad is WITH the risen Christ, his Lord and Savior, worshipping Him, celebrating the resurrection with Jesus, both his and our true hope in the faith.

The Heart of My Sojourn

‘Therefore we do not lose heart…’

It’s hard to do something, anything, if you don’t have the heart for it.

I was talking to a friend the other day via Messenger and I said I was struggling with my job. She asked more about that and so I told her a bit and ended with, ‘It’s just difficult to do when my heart isn’t in it’.

I think I hit on something for me there – a small revelation, or, what is currently and commonly known as ‘Ah-ha! moments’.

Heart. My heart.

My heart isn’t in my job, and therefore it’s difficult.

Somewhere, somehow along the way in life, on this sojourn through life, I lost part of my heart.

To a point, I think we all are struggling along through life with parts of our heart missing.

But for me, I lost my heart in regards to career a LONG time ago…and maybe haven’t really recovered it.

Doing something just for money doesn’t mean your heart, your life, what excites you and gives you pleasure and enjoyment, is actually in it.

You’re just going through the motions. Coping. Barely making it. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.

If your heart isn’t in whatever it is you’re doing, it’s that much harder.

It’s a nice day out today. Adam and I went to church. Then we had some free time before lunch. What did we do? Picked up trash in the front of our house. Cleaned up around the dumpster in the alley.

Trash is a huge problem in my neighborhood. A HUGE problem. It’s constant, there’s a lot of it, it’s always floating around or flying around or blowing down the street and getting stuck in people’s uncut grass, or by the curb or in the sewers.

So much so that Adam said that grocery bags are the ‘tumbleweed of Dutchtown’. They’re everywhere.

Trash is a big problem.

Adam worked on the front yard, I worked on the dumpster/alley.

And. I. loved. it.

My heart was in it.

As I was working I was thinking, ‘THIS is my LAND. THIS is my neighborhood. THIS is my city. THIS is the land that I live in, the land that I am sojourning through.‘

You wouldn’t think that picking up trash in an alleyway in the middle of a Midwestern city would give my JOY, but it does. It really, really does.

My heart is IN IT.

Even if it is only ONE dumpster, in ONE alley of this city — I am making a difference. I am doing something that gives me pleasure, joy, happiness, peace, confidence in addition to making the land of my sojourn beautiful.

My heart is in it.

So while my heart isn’t exactly in my day job, on the weekends, picking up trash around a dumpster on a Sunday morning, yes, my heart is in that.

My heart is full of restoration and vision for this community.

My heart is desiring to making this land, this neighborhood, this city of my sojourn beautiful.

My heart is wanting to make this place beautiful not just for me, but for those around me. Those who are sojourning with me. My neighbors, my friends, my group at church, my family, my husband.

We are all sojourning together. If I can make my land more beautiful, then I’ll make the land you’re walking through, on some level, beautiful too. Whether that takes the form of me writing/blogging and sharing my heart with you, picking up trash in the alley, making aromatherapy blends and making journals…whatever it looks like, I’m beautifying the land of OUR sojourn.

Cleaning up the alleyways…my dad was right, so, SO right. As a ten year old, I didn’t get it. But now I do.

I get it, dad, I get it.

Sojourning

Sojourning.

What is it?

Staying or living in a place temporarily.

‘Temporarily’ being key word.

This idea of staying in a place temporarily…for a brief time…for a little bit…it’s short…like life.

Brief.

Short.

Temporary.

Temporarily here on this earth to love God, love others.

I started my Land of My Sojourn IG acct in June of 2019. Like this blog, it was something that just kind of popped out of me. Maybe it has to do with this ‘Sharing’ idea. With my first IG post, I wrote a blurb, explaining the WHY behind the name Land of My Sojourn. And I wanted to share that with you.

I wrote on June 28th, 2019: ‘It all started when we read through the Bible as a church last year. The word ‘sojourn’ stuck out to me many times as I read through the Old Testament in the ESV. This life, this life that God has given me, is my sojourn, this world I live in, the land I walk, wander, through. Since then the phrase ‘land of my sojourn’ has been stuck in my head. And it has to do with living life with God, the Creator, as He created me, to express His beauty and creativity through art…my art, the art He gave me to express Him to others.’

I went on to say that I didn’t know what that creativity would look like, but I started with a poetry project. I said I wanted to write more and express myself through writing, sketches, books arts and perfume blending.

(Now, close to two years after writing that, I know I am a writer, so I wasn’t wrong about that one!)

This land I walk through…this life God has given me…it’s so…temporary.

Maybe the loss of my dad has put the temporariness of life in the forefront of my mind.

Seven or eight years ago, as a young, single, 30-something woman I said often, ‘I’m here for a limited time only; I want to do what He wants me to do.’

It was the ‘I’m here for a limited time’ part that I really repeated, and really meant and I said it with joy.

With knowing that there is MORE up ahead.

With the knowledge that this life IS NOT all there is.

With the joyful expectation that one day I will be with Jesus; living life in eternity with Him.

There is more to this life than what we see.

So much more.

This process of life — this sojourning, this temporary stay on this earth, in this physical body — it’s a beautiful thing.

Beautiful, if temporary.

My dad was keenly aware of the ‘more’. The more of life, the more with Jesus, looking forward to the heavenly more. Maybe his physical sufferings in his body made him more aware that what we see now is not all there is.

One of my very favorite Bible verses is from 2 Corinthians 4. In verse 16 it says, ‘Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal’. (NKJV)

These verses give me so much hope. I let them sit in my heart, in my soul, in my mind…I let them give me encouragement, this is more. This is not all there is. We are just sojourning, my friend, just sojourning.