Resist chronology. It will always try to impose itself.~Verlyn Klinkenborg (From Several Short Sentences About Writing)

I'm partial to linearity, chronology. Give me a straight line and let me follow it. A to B to C. Beginning. Middle. End. No curve balls. Please no curves. I dream of hopping on a bike and following the cobalt thread of the the ocean--going forward in a straight line. No thinking about where I need to turn. But even that thinking is fantastical. I live on a sphere. Curves are my reality.

A few years ago when I was still working as a counselor, a colleague came to my office. Said she was moving to California. That's where she was from. "I want to be closer to my family," she said. "I miss them." I asked, "Did you get another job?" "No," she said. "And I'm not a hundred percent sure it's the best thing to do, leaving what I know here and re-locating to the other coast. But I have to try. I won't know if it's right if I don't try."  I said, "That seems pretty scary." "It is," she said. "But I have a plan. It works every time I'm feeling uncertain."  "Tell me," I said.

There's a kind of unspoken conspiracy to ignore how difficult life is, or to reframe it as something romantic--a heroic challenge we overcome on our way to the good life. In this conspiracy we each try to hide our scars, even from those closest to us and sometimes even from ourselves...think about someone you know who is living the good life: someone well dressed, confident, smiling, high achieving, maybe even attractive and intelligent and funny. Nine times out of ten, they are carrying around something unspeakably painful. And often, when you learn what that pain is, it'll be something completely unexpected.~Alan Noble (From On Getting Out Of Bed)

In my study, I have a black and white photo of a trio of gondolas tied to a dock in the waters of Venice. The gondola is a significant symbol for me. When I was weak and ill with cancer several years ago, I had little strength for anything. I couldn't climb stairs. I was bald from chemo treatments. No eyelashes. No eyebrows. My face round as the moon from side-effects of the medication in the chemo cocktail. I would visualize myself resting in the gondola, not having to muster strength for anything other than to feel a fresh breeze on my face and trail my fingers in the sun-dappled, sea-green Venice canals. I imagined the Lord as my gondolier. In my vulnerability, I abandoned my control to His guidance. I learned then, at least somewhat, the mystery and comfort of His presence when I was broken.

I keep scraping at the world trying to find something.~line from the BBC series, Marriage

I got locked out of a new phone, because I created a pin and couldn't remember it--didn't record the numbers anywhere. All my fault. I Googled to see how many four-digit number combinations there are between zero and nine. Ten-thousand. Hopeless. I'd already attempted about a hundred. The customer service person at T-Mobile scolded, "You created the pin. That's a personal thing. There's no way I can help you retrieve it." My husband said (not in a mean way), "Priscilla, that phone's a brick." I laughed (a little).

I had tried so hard. I always try really hard. I scrape around attempting to do what's best, do the right thing, make the prudent decision. Sometimes, though, all that trying is not enough. So I prayed, "God, I feel guilty that I screwed up the pin. I surrender. If the phone remains a brick, that's okay. I will trust your leading, your provision, whatever that looks like. Above all, I have so much to be thankful for. For You in my life, for my darling husband who is smart and has good ideas, who's a great trouble shooter." I'd just read the the parable of Jesus feeding the five thousand. I continued to pray, "Lord I don't have any idea how to fix the phone, just like the boy with five loaves and two fish had so little to offer that vast crowd of hungry people. I'll trust you to multiply the meager supply in my hand."

Something in my heart flared.~Anthony Doerr (From Four Seasons In Rome)

I forget, sometimes, how safe God is. I share a few sentences from my book, The Light By Which We See, Love, Art, Marriage. This day in Barcelona helps me remember.  

When I traveled to Europe, self-consciousness about how I looked rose to the surface. That day in Barcelona, in 2009, in April, I observed a woman board our train. Her dark hair gleamed, and her skin reflected no flaws. She had pink, full lips and gloriously white teeth--shiny natural nails. She wore a silver ring. I wanted to be her. Giovanni held my hand, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over my freckled skin. The woman glanced briefly at us. She looked at our hands. Her glimpse wasn't even a second, but I saw a flicker cross her face--that expression that let me know she'd seen something intimate--something that wasn't a commonplace occurrence. Then she quickly looked away. If I hadn't been watching her so closely, I'd have missed it. Maybe she wanted to be me--sitting there with someone, connected to someone.

I could hear the rushing of the train, its loud rumblings, the clattering. My thoughts howled as loudly as the train. I cried out, my voice blending with the clamoring, thundering train. "Please stop. Please stop. God what is it? Let me want to be me."

Sometimes I push my thumb into an orange just for the scent of it, and it takes me there; the peace, the spaciousness of an unhurried afternoon, the quality of attention to small things.~Katherine May (From Enchantment, Awakening Wonder In An Anxious Age)

I am often distracted. My focus spins out of control. I get enamored with brightly lit concepts and ideas that steer me off course. Instagram images, video games, movies with too many episodes that I am tempted to spend hours and hours watching all at one time.  Scrolling on linked in. There are so many authors promoting books. There must be thousands. There are actually tens of thousands. It is easy to compare myself with others who appear to have much more success. I am squinting into the brightness. I do not pick up my pen in the blinding glare.

One of my sisters taught me the phrase, "pick up my pen." She says, "I decided to 'pick up my pen' and write a book." She writes two pages every day. She is building something. My other sister just graduated from seminary. She is packing up with her husband and moving to Washington state to begin a ministry there. She is building something, too. Step by step. My sisters manage distraction well.