A Time To...

It has been a long time since I have had the opportunity to play with words or to release the words within me that define my emotional state of mind or heart. To delve into thought long enough to discover an AHA moment... that was a phrase of mine before Oprah made it famous. ...or to get a new perspective, or learn something new. When too much time passes without a release of my thoughts there is a back up problem and I do not know where to begin. I start to feel a panic emotion, overwhelmed that too many thoughts need to get out of my minds door at once that they are all jammed into the doorway and none of them can get out.

Life has been too full of not necessarily fun things, although some fun things are in the mix, but mostly life things: relationships, the grieving of a loved one passing from this world, a job I enjoy, for the most part, but it's a lonely job removed from the distractions of visitors, which is a good thing, again for the most part, but a visitor here and there would be nice. I am secluded and left to work through countless, no pun intended, numerical figures and deadlines. My creative side needs more outlets and after a while of holding back my creative bent I feel an explosion on the horizon; an explosion of emotion and a need for uninterrupted time to let the creative prisoners out. I become impatient with everything and everyone in my daily environment for needing something from me. Things I would normally do with great joy become exhausting. Sometimes I need time with no time limit and no interruptions; a time to unlock each event and let it spill out onto paper or into the computer and teach me what it will. A time to explore what I really feel or felt about something. A time to cry and grieve. A time to laugh, pray, and listen. A time to sleep to the tune of my own body's clock and not that of a scheduled work day; or anyone else's schedule. A time to read and a time to sing.

Last weekend I had the opportunity to let out some of the creative prisoners. I spent a weekend away and did many of the things in my above list. I read, wrote, sang, played my fiddle, read some more, had time with my God to seek wisdom, direction and to listen; although this gift of unfettered time was like handing me a box of assorted chocolates. I couldn't decide which area of creativity to indulge in first. So it went like this: my fiddle beside me on the couch, a book on the table in front of me, paper & pen beside the book. I picked up the fiddle, tuned it and played the same song three times. It was a good thing I was alone. Then I picked up the book, Stephen King's memoir of the craft "On Writing" and read the authors forwards, all three of them. Put down the book and picked up the fiddle and played two more songs, until the anxious feeling came back and I picked up the book, I wrote a few lines on my life that the book inspired, picked up the fiddle and played another song. I could not settle on just one creative outlet. I wanted them all and I wanted them all now. I wanted to let them all out at the same time, but then I didn't know what to do with them once they were out. It was like when the quartet I was in went into the prisons to sing for the prisoners. You were not allowed to spend more time with one inmate over the other. I kept moving from each creative outlet much in the same way as I moved among the prisoners. Shaking hands and speaking briefly to each.

I have so much to explore. I cannot settle down to sort out just one emotion from another and so even this blog is hard and creating an anxious feeling because my mind is going faster than my hands can keep up. There is too much to pour out or sort out.

It is like a close friend that you don't talk to except for every three to six months. The conversation is overwhelmingly long and almost burdensome. More contact, on a regular bases, for a shorter time is more productive and enjoyable. I need to find a better balance in my life. My personality is such that I can only do one thing well at a time. I am totally engrossed in that activity or chore or area. It seems I am either all left brain or all right brained, but never a balance of both sides of my brain at once. Whatever I do, I do well. Delving into it full mind, body and soul, almost. It is as if everything else needs to be cleared off the table, my schedule and my mind and then I find the grove of that particular subject. Everything else gets shut behind the door waiting its turn to get out.

I see lots of people who can do both sides of their brain on a daily bases. I can't. Perhaps it is because I am a thinker; a deep thinker and evaluator, attaching emotion and feelings to everything. I have a bent to my personality to find out the why or why not. I could be happy sitting and writing at my computer everyday. I have plenty of creative prisoners wanting out to last a good while and there are new captives everyday.

So, I will try to do better at regularly letting my creative prisoners out.

Put it in the Plate

Put it in the Plate

It has been many years since I sat beside my grandfather in church. As a child I loved to hear him sing. A portion of his heritage / nationality is Welsh. He has a wonderful tenor tone to his voice.

The last time I sat with my grandfather in church was six years ago. The occasion was my grandmother’s funeral and he was not singing on this day. Although just thinking about it now, I was the one singing on that day. Grandpa had asked me and my sister to sing a couple of grandma’s favorite hymns.
The time before that was probably twenty years earlier. We live in different towns and worship each Sunday with our own church families.

This past weekend I had the privilege to go to church with my grandpa. I was teaching for a weekend event in his town and I asked the attendees of the event if they would mind my leaving for an hour on Sunday to sit in church with my grandpa and hear him sing. They all gave me their blessing. I called grandpa to ask if I could go with him to church in the morning. I asked if he wanted me to come and pick him up or did he want to pick me up? He chose to come and pick me up.

I was ready when he came by in the morning. Two other ladies joined me and grandpa for church. Grandpa is 89 years old. He will be 90 in Feb.

I attend a fairly large church in my home town. I attended and participated in smaller church families for several years. At that time I yearned for a larger church family with a little more to offer and a more advanced program. Grandpa’s church was much like the churches from my past. It was a small town church with a small congregation. The service was a little rough around the edges, but there was joy and fellowship and I had forgotten the feel of unpolished worship. It was refreshing.

We heard announcements and then we sang some hymns. I sang a little softer so I could hear grandpa sing. There it was, that wonderful voice I enjoyed so much and hadn’t heard in many years. I smiled as I sang. The only difference this time was that whenever we made a line change in the music, grandpa would mumble a few of the words until his eye sight adjusted its focus to the new line. After the allotted time for hymns a prayer was given and the offering plate was passed throughout the congregation; a typical Sunday service program.

As the offering plate made its way through the congregation I reached for my purse to get my offering when grandpa nudged me with his elbow, I turned toward him and he handed me a one dollar bill. Then he whispered, “Put it in the plate”. It was like no time had passed. I immediately became that little five- year old girl sitting next my grandpa in church. I put the dollar in the plate and sat there with a huge smile on my face. It was all I could do not to giggle out loud! The preacher was probably wondering why I was smiling so big.. Grandpa was totally serious about it all. He didn’t do it as a joke or as a, “remember when” thing. What a precious memory.


SIDE NOTE: I invited him back to the house where he ate with 15 women. Now he had a new memory! He was so funny. He laughed about being the only man with all those women. He couldn’t wait to tell mom and dad, that he had dinner with 15 women. “This is a once in a life time thing”, he said. My husband, Thom, had a meeting in Grand Rapids a town a couple hours from our home. He had rented the movie “The Fastest Indian”. It is an excellent movie. It is about a 73 year old man who set a record for speed that still stands today. He had spent hi life tweaking the Indian motorcycle. Grand used to have an Indian motorcycle, so did my husband’s dad, Vernon. Thom thought grandpa would enjoy seeing this movie so on his way back home he stopped to see grandpa and watched the movie with him. Grandpa laughed really hard and cried some during the movie. I recommend it to anyone. It is a good family movie. Another story, to add to the family books.

First Enrty

This is my first entry and I can’t think of a thing to say. You’ll have to write me and get me started.

Jeff, do you subscribe to each others blogs or is anyone able to join in?
From MaBear