And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.~Raymond Carver

"It feels good to be liked," I said. My granddaughter looked directly into my eyes and nodded, "It does." She smiled then and looked down at the letter she was writing to a boy who had braved to tell her that he liked her more than a friend.

"I want to be honest. I like him too. And I want to say that my parents have rules about boys and dating. I can't date yet. I want him to know." 

I replied, "Well, being honest is a good place to begin. And perhaps you can say what you can do." Her face brightened and she exclaimed, "Yes. We can play our clarinets together. We can share what's important to us. I already know that grades are a priority for him too. That we both like spending time with our families. And I like his smile. I can say that. Do you think that's good, Minou?" 

"That's really good," I said.

It was November--the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.~L.M. Montgomery (From Anne Of Green Gables)

The surprise ending comforted me. I held off watching a PBS series I'd enjoyed for many years. I knew season ten was the last one. I'd come to love the characters. I'd miss them. Feel sad to no longer connect with them. As I moved through each episode, a theme emerged that the family would move to a different town and start a new life. But then, in the very last episode, the family realized they didn't want to pull up roots. They wanted to stay. The last scene showed the father peering through the open door of their home that was no longer for sale. He looked out over an expanse of ocean glittering in the distance, then nodded his head. I could hear the gentle click when he closed the door. The end. Safe inside.

It's that time of year when I feel like Anne of Green Gables. November marks the imminent close of another year. The geese have parted from the pond in the back of our house and the sunsets are vividly orange and deep indigo. Almost purple, the color of ripe plums. The wind is rustling through the pines. Christmas near.

A Prayer of Unknowing

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I'm following Your will does not mean that I'm actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore, I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone. Amen.~Thomas Merton (From Thoughts In Solitude)

People come to the rescue, just in the nick of time. In my mind, I was a woman standing alone by the edge of the sea. The waves an indefatigable soundtrack. Salt crusted on my lips. Seagulls crying overhead. The sky mildly blue. I pondered my life and decisions I needed to make. Then it was as if I turned my head and envisaged two women walking toward me, one a little older, one considerably younger. Beloved women in my life. Wise women who'd recently talked to me, written emails to me filled with their thoughts and powerfully comforting words. I imagined them linking arms with me and saying, "Let's walk." And in this vision, I walked between them. Our bare feet created indentations along the shoreline. Our faces were lit by sunlight. I felt embraced by their unwavering gaze into my eyes. Their understanding. I experienced their acceptance, even when I shared my confusion, my stubborn need to get justice when I sensed repentance was my better choice. 

And without judgment, these two women, filled with the Spirit of Christ, told me this:

When you move a number from one side of an equation to another it is of course called a transposition. I felt like such a number...that I had been transposed. That I had crossed over something unseen and that I would now, somehow, be rearranged. Revalued. And there would be a permutation of elements. I had a vague but not entirely new sense that I had upset the order of things.~Matt Haig (From The Life Impossible)

I sat at the stop light and while I waited, observed a lone shoe sitting in the lane to my right. I could see the familiar white Nike checkmark on its side. Someone would be sorry they'd lost that shoe when they began pawing through their car trying to find it. As I drove away, the word "unyoked" came to mind. Untethered from its shoe mate, from its owner.  

Over the last few days, the image of that lone shoe has stayed with me. I'm taking a class through my church called "The School Of The Heart." The content is like working a math equation that requires transposition--my heart the equation in need of being solved. I feel transposed--my heart crossing over into something unseen where I would somehow be rearranged. Revalued. A permutation of elements radicalized by God's love that's upset the order of things. By becoming more in touch with The Father's love, it's kind of been like finding the other shoe. I've lost shoes in my closet before, and I've felt the glee in finding the other one. "Oh, I've wanted to wear these shoes for a long time. Now I can." And I slip them on. My heart feels like it's been yoked back up with the Father's love in a new way.

And then another image emerged:

Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.~Psalm 84:5 (NIV)

This morning I'm mopping in increments. Dividing up the floor space to slide the mop into all the crevices where the dirt has mounded and hidden. In pieces I make progress, the wooden floor like little squares of Scrabble tiles. The task is almost as satisfying as making words when I play that venerated game. Perhaps this is how God works in my life, increment by increment, massaging His oil into my heart, working out the dry, cracked places, creating powerful words of "peace" and "beauty" and "strength" with His Kingdom Scrabble squares.  God, my loving Father, reminds me that my life is not about doubling down to try and figure things out, but rather receiving and absorbing His aromatic love and affection. His light.

I find it difficult to relax. I say so often, "God, it would seem more wholesome to strive, to struggle. That mode feels so much more acceptable, more respectable, more satisfying somehow, than releasing myself to the unconditional validation you have for me. It is difficult to take in that your grace is that broad, that you don't condemn, nor do you browbeat me into compliance."  Yet how can I think that of you?