everywhere I turn...

".....don't you find it remarkable, Katy, that the whole world can be involved in this madness we call war, and all the while the flowers and the bees and the seasons keep on doing what they must, wise but never weary in their wait for humanity to come to its senses and remember the beauty of life?" 

                            -The Secret Keeper by Kate Morton (p. 378)

photos © melody armstrong

note to self.....

maybe another image for my journal???

After the week we've had around our house, I felt like someone could have posted this sign for me -- kinda perfect in a quirky sort of way.  Just thought I'd share.

photos © melody armstrong

a hockey mom's laundry room

WHAT WAS I THINKING WHEN I  SAID "YES" TO CARING FOR THE JERSEYS?  REALLY????  Could no one have reminded me that my laundry room is a disaster at the best of times??  That I'm constantly tripping over misplaced shoes which suddenly went from a manageable size 6 (small trip) to a ridiculous men's size 11 (large trip and almost fall) and every other size in between??  That huge storage bins, ten gallon paint cans, smelly hockey jerseys and other assorted hockey equipment would occupy all floor space?  That the washer and dryer would become convenient although INaccessible storage for multiple random items such as Halloween makeup, 2 loaves of bread, recently worn hats, gloves and ski pants, toilet paper (?what), empty laundry detergent containers..... ???? 

Stuff is spilling out everywhere.

Oh.....isn't that the story of my life?  Of so many of our lives?  No matter how hard we work to pull it all together, contain it, control it, manage it........or AT LEAST TRY TO MAKE IT LOOK THAT WAY, so many of us are just one busy weekend away from having it spill out everywhere.

And it spills not just from our laundry rooms. If only it was that simple?  

Too often the spilling comes from a more private place --messier than my laundry room, at times, although much less obvious.  It's my soul I'm talking about.

I get overwhelmed by the schedule, sprinting to and from the car with arms full, and phones ringing, and kids hollaring "where's my....." and low gas tanks, and sticky-notes on my steering wheel, and printed schedules that were here a minute ago, and the whistle of incoming texts, and police with photo radar giddy at the thought of speeding moms just like me who are about to crest the next hill and help them meet their daily quota.

It's all a little too much at times......and when the spilling begins, it is ugly. My voice gets too loud.  My pitch gets too high.  And every wrong my children have ever committed replays through my mind in fullscreen, HD.  The long list of frustrations and wrongdoings (that were supposed to be forgiven long ago) begin spewing from my lips --lips that are meant to share encouragement, love, gentle correction, and healing kisses.  

I rant until their ears are closed and mine are suddenly open --open to the accusing voice that always follows, silently yelling words like "shame" and "failure." It is not the voice of my Soul's Savior, who loves and corrects me all in the same, gentle breath.  

So I have a choice.  Right there, in that moment.  I can slump my shoulders and sink into the miserable shame and guilt that steals joy, grace and second chances.  I can turn a sharp tongue to my own soul and batter it with those words we mother's often tell ourselves: "you're a brutal mom; what kind of example are you? When will you ever get it right?......."  

Or, I can choose Him....GRACE and TRUTH and LOVE.  Grace says that there is always forgiveness.  Truth says that I am broken, like the rest of the world, and need healing.  Love says that I can be free from guilt and start again.  

So today I choose well.  I take a deep breath, humble myself, and ask for forgiveness.  I'm convinced that my children are God's secret agents, for every time I humbly ask their forgiveness, they  throw wide their arms and embrace me with unconditional, unreserved love.  They promise me that I can make mistakes too, and that they will always love me, no matter what....Oh, they remember!  Could it be that I really have taught them well...that I really have modelled it to them, no matter how feebly?  That they've come to understand what God has whispered to me and I have whispered to them from their infancy: "I will always love you.  No matter what!"

Next time you are faced with the choice, I hope you choose Grace, Truth and Love.    xoxo

photos and text © melody armstrong

the taste of snow...

AND MANY MORE SMALL JOYS TO COUNT!
Happy Snow Day!

photo compliments of the lovely Kelle B.

turning point

A couple years back I had the privilege of travelling around part of Scotland with my mom, 82 at the time, and my sister.  The three of us girls had such an incredible time.  I loved driving on the left side of the road (with the steering wheel on the right--my husband would have been proud. ) It took some getting used to and was more than a little bit hilarious at times.

I remember being mesmerized by a gorgeous fishing village called Gardenstown, tucked snugly into the cleft of the steep northeast coastline.  While searching for somewhere to eat, we squeeked and  squeezed down this narrow street (that did NOT lead to any kind of restaurant) and then wondered how we'd ever get turned around.  The sign posted at the end of this block struck a funny bone that day:

No kidding!!!  We laughed, took a picture and turned our  rental car around, backing up and inching forward repeatedly until we finally pointed in the right direction and drove out the way we'd come.

As I sit thinking today about the narrow passages of our lives, the squeezed in, cramped up places where we inch our way forward only to arrive at a dead end, I think of that sign.   Though stating the obvious, it contains some poignant wisdom if we are attentive:  DO NOT PARK HERE.  This is not your destination.  This is not where you were meant to stay.  There's no room for you here.  THIS IS A TURNING POINT!

Ah.......turning point.  Yes!  This simple sign reads like a message of HOPE to those of us who are stuck -- stopped at a place where we never intended to be, never dreamed of being, probably never wanted to be.  When we're hemmed in on every side, it's hard to see that new possibilities are just at the end of this street and around the corner.

We forget that the landscape of our lives is vast and beautiful.  It will open up wide again.....we are just at a turning point, that's all.  There is hope.  Always hope.  So much hope. 

And yes, sometimes there is danger:

but could it be possible that the gravest, most imminent danger we face is losing sight of the One who is Eternal Hope?

"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."

2 Corinthians 4:16-18 


God whispers hope...a secret right into every listening heart --a secret so potent and powerful that the quiet knowledge of it silences all the banging noise and clamour of despair.   He offers Himself, eternal Light; the only way through our darkness: 

“For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”

-J.R.R. Tolkein in The Return of the King. 

photos and text © melody armstrong (unless otherwise cited) 

guest house of our soul

...another page from my journal.   May I share?

"This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out for some new delight."

    -Rumi

I've been wanting to write something light and cute...to make you giggle and know that everything is going to be alright.  But so many of you, dear friends of mine, are feeling pummelled by strong and steady waves of sorrow - one right after the other.  My heart aches for you.  I want to honor you, each one, as you plod along this leg of the journey.  Please know you are not alone.  Never alone.
With love....Melody

"make my prayer pray"

"My prayer-bird was cold--would not away,

Although I set it on the edge of the nest.

Then I bethought me of the story old--

Love-fact or loving fable, thou know'st best--

How, when the children had made sparrows of clay,

Thou mad'st them birds, with wings to flutter and fold:

Take, Lord, my prayer in thy hand, and make it pray."
    
    -George MacDonald (Diary of an Old Soul p. 113)
                     

image a little blurry but still beautiful..........KIND OF LIKE MY PRAYERS.

I've been reading Philip Yancy's Prayer, Does it Make Any Difference?  And I'm grateful that he begins with the same questions I do about prayer. Admittedly, if I spent less time reading about prayer, and actually just doing it, I'd certainly learn a lot more.  Isn't is always easier to think about doing something, rather than just doing it?

I don't always pray to get my prayers answered.  I don't pray because I'm trying to speak his promises into fruition.  I don't pray because I'm always confident that it changes the course of things in my life or the lives of others.   While these admissions may raise eye-brows,  I'm just speaking from my heart.  I believe that He hears my prayers. I do not question that God is all-powerful and His will ultimately prevails at all times, I simply don't understand yet, the role my prayers have in all of that.

I pray mostly because I can't help it -- my soul calls out to the One who knows me best.  I crave intimacy with Him.  I long to be known and understood, even in those places deep within my own being that I do not understand myself.  Also, I long to know and understand Him --Prince of Peace, Perfect Love, Heavenly Daddy, Mighty Warrior, Creator of All, Keeper of my heart.  

I pray because I love God and because He loved me first.  I want to be with Him.  When I'm tucked close to Him I know I'm safe, secure and no forces can stand against me.  My heart feels like it's praying all the time -- even without words.  Usually without words.  

I understand Macdonald's plea:

"look deep, yet deeper, in my heart, and there, beyond where I can feel, read thou the prayer."                                                   (Diary of An Old Soul p.114) 

I think I sometimes have a skewed view of what prayer "should" look like, or sound like.  I get thinking about what "effective" prayer is -- stuck in a rut where my imagination is imprisoned.  It seems ludicrous that my mind narrows when I think about how I should talk to God.  Shouldn't my thoughts expand....out past all the known universes....out into the farthest expanses of human imagination -- AND THERE, MEET GOD?

I love the words of Nicole Nordeman:

           "Oh, Great God, be small enough to hear me now."

                  (from her beautiful song Small Enough) 

There is much more I'd like to say.  But perhaps right now, instead, I will pray. 

photos and text (except citations) © melody armstrong

ugly beautiful

my favourite lone tree

more broken now than ever

wind-beaten

and still standing

barely.

bare.

final leaves cling

in frosty

cocoon

to the branch last living

hanging splintered now

pointing to earth

instead of sky.

Living and losing 

pressed so close and hard 

it hurts to breathe

yet

dare I say it

all is Grace 

even the ugly beautiful.

taking a closer look

same tree, different view

sometimes you have to move in closer to find any beauty at all

if you look hard enough.........just please, keep looking!

photos and text©melody armstrong

Who I am on a snowy October day...

I'm sprawling journals

and scribbled words

I'm tones of white and cream

   and charcoal grey

I'm splashes of big, bold

   blues and greens and

  purples and yellows.

I'm piles of books

and heart-shaped rocks

I'm forests and oceans and

   bright white birch

I'm boisterous hollers

  in hockey rinks

    on gym side benches

 on spring's green sidelines

I'm toenails pink and purple

  and blue and red

  and sometimes one for every toe.

I'm high-fives and competition

  in knee pads at net

I'm laughter and silliness

and original song

I'm daughter and mother 

and wife and friend

I'm peace in solitude,

  in stillness, in quiet

I'm wide-smiled, 

   gentle-breezed solace

I'm trickling brooks, tumbling

  rapids, whispering streams,

    and glassy lakes

I'm creative soul searching

  and hungry and longing

I'm well-watered garden, 

  lovingly planted, and pruned

I'm harvest, ripe and ready

  to be picked

   and seed needing to be

       replanted

I'm clay in potter's hand,

  treasured vessel of beauty 

   and purpose 

in the making

I'm arms and heart outstretched to

One who knew me by name

  before I was

   and calls me His very own.

photos © melody armstrong

beauty to be touched

I was looking through one of my old journals the other day and found the words above, which I'd ripped out of a magazine and glued onto a page.  These words mean even more to me now than they did at the time.  I want the beauty in my home to be tangible, touchable, something for everyone to grasp and hold.  I hope it's as easy as it sounds, since that which is truly beautiful may not always be as obvious as "pretty objects."  

The beauty in our home is framed in the masterpieces of my grade-school artists.

Or, the gifts of nature sprinkled around - precious treasures given with love and rich with memory.

Beauty in our home is the hug between brothers that I catch out of the corner of my eye, the music ringing out from the other room as my joy-girl sings and plays piano, and our ten hands clasped at the table while giving Jesus thanks. 

It's my husband cheering loudly for our football team and the little 1st-grade neighbour boy ringing the doorbell to see if my teenager wants to come ride bike with him (which he often does!). 

It's the "I forgive you" after the "I'm so sorry," the five of us piled on the bed talking about how amazingly huge God is, and the view of my husband and his father working together on a project in the yard.

It's my children huddled on the bed around Gramma Maxine on her weekly sleepover, reciting verses they've been learning.  Or, the huge grins on everyone's faces as Gramma Carol arrives with fresh cinnamon buns and other tantalizing goodies.

Beauty is in God's grace, mercy, tenderness and love. Beauty is snuggles and tickles and laughter and forgiveness. It is friendship, family, and freedom to be who you are, flaws included.   Beauty in our home has little to do with expensive art, perfect style and the latest fashions ---and I'm so relieved.  

Yes...yes...and absolutely yes!  To my family and neighbours and dearest friends: "BEAUTY IN THIS HOME IS MEANT TO BE TOUCHED. BEAUTY IN THIS HOME IS MEANT TO TOUCH YOU." 

photos © Melody Armstrong