The Exchange

He was tall and built, handsome, beanie-capped,  cheerful, and bundled up, the Christmas tree lot employee. He stood taller than most of the trees displayed on a corner south of town and could lift a hefty tree as though it were as light as an umbrella. He moved about the lot with ease this crisp December evening, helping wherever he saw a need.

I saw him approach several different people before he made his way over to me, where I stood waiting while my husband paid for our tree. As he moved closer,  I noticed he was holding something up. It was pink and a little sparkly, rectangular, and he handled it as though it were something important.

"Is this yours?" he asked, his hands cupping what appeared to be my cell phone. Yes, it was, but I intentionally left my phone in the truck, I thought I remembered. How can that be?  He pointed me to where he found it, hundreds of feet from where we stood.

He restored to me something I didn't even know was missing.

Gushing thanks and praises to my Christmas tree farm hero, I said, "This is just like a Hallmark Christmas movie! There is always a tree lot and often an angel, and you're my angel who returned this to me!"

His smile shone brighter than the white lights dangling above us. "Thank you, ma'am. That warms my heart," he said, as he rubbed his gloved hand over his chest.

We talked a bit more, and again I referred to him as an angel, while I gave more detail about what happens in Christmas movies. When we said goodbye, he said, "Thank you so much again, ma'am. I can't tell you how much my heart is warmed by what you said."

Did my words restore to him something he didn't even know was missing?

I'd really like to think so.

Diane Mann 2019

Inconvenient Truth

When I try to write, I feel like I am making myself do something, trying to manipulate me somehow. No matter how healthily I attempt to look at it, that several-foot distance between me and my keyboard is packed with dread.

I hate dread.

If I could bypass it, I would. Maybe I can. Maybe the answer is out there, the little previously unnoticed route around the dark valley.

It ought not be this way. I’ve been given a gift, to be received, delighted in, and shared. Instead I hang onto it like it’s a gift card, dreaming while I roam around Target trying to decide how to spend it. So. Many. Possibilities.

And what if I make the “wrong” choice? What if I spend it on toilet paper when I should have spent it on eyeliner? Hairspray? A new shirt? Batteries for my husband (he would be so happy)? I’m certain the giver of the gift intended that I find joy in it rather than angst. 

Meanwhile I gaze at others finding joy and freedom in expressing themselves, in first receiving then sharing what’s been given them. The cousin who can’t stop composing new music, her hands dancing across piano keys. The son who prolifically writes satire, word after clever word. The painters, the poets, the songwriters, the decorators, the choreographers, the gardeners—all producing something.

“Diane doesn’t DO anything.” I can’t even tell you whether this was ever spoken, but it’s a message from my childhood lingering way beneath the surface of me. To find its source seems like more digging than I’m up for. But then when one pulls a big weed from the ground, is it necessary to find out how it got there? Maybe not. Maybe let’s just get the weed out and plant something lovely in its place.

Diane dreamed. Diane thought. Diane danced and climbed trees. Diane observed. Diane giggled. Diane made up songs. Diane absorbed things in her heart. Diane sought and often found meaning in everything. Diane admired beauty. She pondered and played, her pondering being more her reality than her play. She swam. She enjoyed people. She loved. 

I suppose she couldn’t be put into a box. “This is our child who plays piano.”

“This is our child who enjoys animals.” “This is our child who reads incessantly.” 

No, there wasn’t one box to put me in. I was inconvenient in that way, perhaps.

How inconvenient that Diane is in drill team. That means we have to get her to the school early on Saturdays so she can march in parades. That means we have to buy her nylons at 7-eleven on the way (why were my parents always surprised I needed new nylons for every parade?). Frantic realization, followed by heavy sighs, followed by a rushed three-mile drive. 

My needs seemed a bit too much. I seemed a bit too much. And I wonder whether I now treat myself and my desires as an inconvenience. 

How inconvenient that I have ideas to write about some things, about many somethings, in fact. That means I have to step up and meet that need to express myself. That means I have to travel the dreaded “three miles” from where I sit to my computer. Frantic, followed by heavy sighs, followed by possibly dragging myself to where I need to be. A victim of my own gifts and desires? 

I don’t know. I know that my writer friend Ruth was seen and embraced by her parents. I wonder what I would be like now if I had been treated the same. Her dad, when she was eight years old, told her, “Write down the things God whispers to you.” He saw her and encouraged her to step into who she was.

I suppose I am angry I didn’t have encouragement to be who I am. I suppose I think it’s all rather unfair that my guiding factor was to see how little trouble I could be, to attempt to need as little as possible, to not overwhelm the already chaotic family (albeit fun) system in which I lived.

I needed to write this today.

It’s okay to need. And dream. And ponder. And be angry. And heal.

Diane Mann 2019

The Tear

Early Thursday my car rolled across Walnut Avenue while my navigation system steered me away from the freeway to avoid stopped traffic. My mind wandered to a healing moment I had experienced years ago. My mom and I were at a women's event at church. It was a Saturday morning, and round tables filled the church hall. We were sitting across the room from each other, both surrounded by our own friends as we sang worship songs. We began to sing "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus." Through the crowd of standing women, my mom stooped and leaned to find a space through which she could peer at me. She waved her hands until I saw her. Our eyes met, and she smiled a smile that said, "I see you, and I love you."

This stemmed from one of my family of origin's remember-the-time stories we often told. "Remember the time eight-year-old Diane went forward in church to receive Christ and no one saw her? We were sitting in the late room behind the sanctuary listening to the sermon. She asked Mom and Dad, 'Can I go now?' and they said, 'Yes,' thinking she was running off to Sunday School early. On the ride home, she noticed no one was saying anything about her big decision. So when we got home, she sat at the piano and played 'I Have Decided to Follow Jesus' over and over and over again, hoping we would notice. Finally, Ginger telephoned and said, 'I saw Diane go forward in church today. How exciting!'"

The look from my mom brought a smile to my face, a tear to my eye, and healing to a place deep inside me I didn't even realize needed healing. I will always cherish our moment of exchanged glances.

I drove further westward on surface streets and thought about the word "compensation." There are times I notice God giving back to me and others something we previously went without. While growing up, my cousin Dave had one sister, and their parents had a fancy car. He envied our crazy family of eight, whose clunky VW van offered a bumpy and noisy ride. He now has 14 children and drives them in a mini-bus! I have a friend whose mom died when she was young, and she now has friendships with older women and herself mentors moms with young children. I notice God giving these compensatory gifts in ways I least expect. He provides, but not necessarily in the way we expect or through the people we think he would use. I grew up feeling I wasn't seen, being in the middle of a large, busy family. So the times God reminds me he sees me are extra meaningful.

I pulled up to a stop sign at Reservoir Street, where a surprise tear ran down my cheek. Thankfully no one was behind me, so I lingered there a bit, cherishing my tear and letting my heart expand with gratitude. Where the two roads intersected, a memory of my mom's intentional glance intersected with a month-old memory. 

I was in Israel touring with a group from the church my little brother pastors. We visited the Jordan River, and Rod performed baptisms there for whoever wanted to be baptized. A couple from our group had a guitar and sang some songs as we lined up and one by one were prayed over and immersed into the river then lifted up from it. Right before I stepped into the river, I asked the couple to sing "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus." 

When my turn came, Rod had one hand on my shoulder and one hand on my clasped hands while an assistant on the other side did the same thing. He asked me if Jesus was my Lord, if I had trusted him as my savior and wanted to declare my love for him. "Yes, absolutely, yes!" I beamed. Rod prayed the most beautiful prayer over me—a prayer that elicited deep sobs of gratitude as he thanked God for my children, for my healing from hepatitis C, and asked God's blessing and guidance over me as I sought to grow more in love with God and to love others with his love. It was a prayer that said "I see you. I see your heart."

As I sat at the stop sign, lingering with my rolling tear, I knew God had peered through the hazy morning, around the many cars, stooped down, leaned in, and looked at me with a smile that said, "I see you, and I love you." 

Next Time it Rains

I received good news
Really good news
Balloon-releasing
Jump-up-and-down news
I was cured of hepatitis C!
I had told my mom
Of the preliminary results
Months before --
The chances-are-I'm-cured news
She had cried happy tears
Expressing her joy
But this was final
The treatment had worked
The virus was gone
My blood was clean
As though I never was infected

I wanted to call her
But her funeral was just days before
She was no longer here
A friend said
Talk to her anyway
It will seem as though
She hears

I did
I picked up the phone
And dialed her number
Three tones
A woman's voice
The number you have dialed
Is no longer in service
Please check the number
And dial again
Over and over she said
The same words
As though I hadn't heard
Them the first time
Or the second

Above the recording
I spoke
My sobs chopping the words
Into pieces
Hi, Mom.  I just wanted to tell you
Some Very Good News
The final results are in
I have been declared CURED!
I knew you'd be happy about it
So just had to tell you
I'm talking as though
You can hear me
And I hope you can
Thank you for being happy for me
I spoke as though she heard

It was a sunny day
But to myself I said
Next time it rains
It will be as though
She got the news
And is shedding happy tears
From heaven
Next time it rains
It will be as though
She got the news
It will be as though
I'll know

Diane Mann 2015

Prayer for a Receptive Heart

Jesus,

Don't let me miss the gifts given to me today

because of what was taken from me yesterday.



Diane Mann, 2014

A Healing Moment

I am eight years old (and so very shy).  At the piano I sit.  No

words are sung, but the melody to "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus" flows sincerely from my heart to my fingers to the piano keys then through my home.  Does no one hear me?  Does no one see me? Repeatedly I play the music.  An hour passes.  Surely someone will notice, won't they? 

The telephone rings, and I hear my mother respond excitedly to what her friend is telling her.  "No, she didn't tell us," she says.  "No, we didn't see her.  Thank you for telling me!"  More quickly than ever, she hangs up the receiver.  "We didn't see you, Diane," she says apologetically as she walks toward me then enthusiastically calls for the others in the house to come hear my news.
     
Hours earlier my family of eight had sat through our morning church service in our typical place: the late room.  Tucked behind the back row in the upstairs portion of our sanctuary, the late room had a speaker on the wall piping in the sermon.  I had completed a several-week discipleship class and had prayed already in my bed alone, asking Christ to live in me, telling Him I wanted to belong to Him, admitting my need for Him.  But in my church's tradition, the way we made our decision public was to "go forward," as we Baptists said, by responding to an altar call given at the end of a sermon.

This was my day.  I felt a magnetic tug pulling me to respond publicly to Jesus that morning, to "confess Him before men," as the Scriptures say.  Shaky and scared but with my heart's pounding urging me on, I tugged on my mom's sleeve and asked as the invitation was offered, "Can I go now?"

"Of course you can go, Diane," my mother responded.  But we later figured out she mistakenly thought I was asking permission to leave to go to Sunday school.

Forward I went in my purple and yellow daisy dress.   The only one having responded to the invitation that morning, I stood bravely in the front of a sanctuary of 1,200 people.  I was ushered to a counseling room, where a man went over some Scriptures and prayed with me.  I next proceeded to Sunday school, feeling so sure and decided, where I sang Sunday school songs more beautifully than ever.  It was a happy day for me!

It wasn't until we were all sitting in our rows in our VW van traveling toward home that I realized no one in my family had seen me!  If they had, we would all be talking about it.  So straight to the piano I went hoping to deliver my news.

As I grew up, we told and retold this story when we would reminisce about our family happenings.  While reviewing the story was funny, it also held a sting for me because I carried a wound of feeling invisible, of being the unseen one.  Tucked in the middle of a large, busy family, I sensed that my parents were overwhelmed, and I did not want to be a squeaky wheel or add to their troubles, so I would often try to stay under the radar, thinking my needs were too much for my parents to handle.

One of the ways God has healed this wound in me is to show Himself to me as "the God Who sees me."  I have loved discovering Him in this way and all He's shown me to be true of Him and of me. My story no longer stings but brings joy because my hurt became an avenue to bring me closer to Christ.  I live more and more under His watchful, tending, loving eyes.  He is not overwhelmed with my needs but desires me to depend on Him, to run to Him and share with Him every big and little thing in my life!

I believe most parents partly do reflect something that is true of God to their children and partly fall short of representing what God's love looks like.  God is a perfect parent, and as we call on Him and go to Him with our deepest hurts, He both mothers and fathers us with that perfect love, showing us what He is really like and who we really are.

I am 51 years old (and not as shy as I used to be).  I am sitting at a table during a women's event at my church a few hundred feet from where the old sanctuary once stood.  I stand to join the 100 women around me in song.  The worship team leads us in a newer version of  "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus."   I sing this special Jesus-and-me song that forever will touch a place deep inside of me.   Several tables over sits my mother.  Unable to stand with the others because of the pain in her back, she slides lower in her chair, peering between the many women who stand between us, looks smilingly at me and waves, making certain that I see her seeing me.

I am eight years old again wearing purple and yellow daisies.   I notice my mom's delighted eyes fixed on me.  I smile and wave back.

Me in my purple dress, 1970

Lord, thank you for this redemptive moment shared between me and my mom and You.  I don't know how You could make a healed part of me feel more whole, but You did.  Sometimes Your goodness seems to overflow, and this was such a time.  Thank you for the hurts that I can bring to You, for they are chances for You to show me what Your love is really like.


Diane Mann, 2014 

Click on the link below to hear my son Kyle and his wife Destiny singing "I Have Decided to Follow Jesus."

https://soundcloud.com/anewsong4di/i-have-decided-to-follow

For Reflection:

What messages did you receive about yourself as a child that you sense may not be true about you?  Express that to God.  Be with Him in that place, and ask Him to reveal the truth about you and about His feelings towards you.  Together explore ways you can live in the truth of who He is and how He sees you.  (There are many Scriptures upon which to meditate and soak in the truth.  You may want to spend time in them, allowing them to go from your head to your heart).

Are there areas of your life that God has healed or is healing? Express your thanks to Him.

Do you have guilt over your failures as a parent?  Ask God's forgiveness for ways you have intentionally or unintentionally hurt your loved ones.  Express your sorrow, and sit with Jesus in forgiveness sensing His heart toward you.

Layers

There it is again

That area I thought was healed

The ordeal I thought was done

The fight I thought was won

"Another layer," they say

Another layer of healing

Brought to the surface

Not so much the revisiting of an old wound

As a brand-new visit

Of a brand-new aspect

Of the same old wound

It feels like, here we are again

But here I am anew

Looking at another layer of me

Looking at another layer of You

I want to scream in frustration

At myself

For not getting over my issues

But Your Presence finally quiets me

Until at last we sit with what is

Sifting through it all

Together

My ineptitude, Your affirmation

My ingratitude, Your persistent generosity

My stubbornness, Your patience

My unforgiveness, Your mercy 

My recurring illness, Your hand of healing

My fierce anger, Your infinite kindness

My ceaseless "why's," Your ceaseless Presence

My exhaustion, Your breath reviving

Urging me to surrender 

To rest on your Big Love Ocean

To know You

To know me

To know You in me

And me in You

Again

And yet again

Within these layers

Of me

Discovering layers

Of You.

diane mann, 2013

Done

Yes, healing is a process
Yet there comes a time
When Christ Himself
Declares
It is finished
It is done
A line has been drawn
Across the ground
On which you journey
Let's leave the hurt here
It serves you no more
The struggle is over
Not to be resurrected
Here it will lie
As forward we walk
In truth.

diane mann 2013

Treasures from the Trail, Part 2 - Bearing the Burden, and The Truth About Truth

1,000-foot climb at Mile 3 - Tired Me

I wasn't too far into my hike before I felt the effects of having packed seven extra pounds of stuff beyond what I was used to carrying.  By "not too far into my hike," I mean the road was still visible where the plush, air-conditioned bus dropped us off minutes before, while we were wide-eyed with anticipation over the adventure ahead.

Some of the additional poundage could not be avoided:  a bear canister in which all food must be stored, layers of clothing, raingear, food for a five-day journey.  Maybe four pairs of socks was a bit too much, but that is where my excess ended.

In the past I'd learned of an unnecessary, even harmful addition to the weight of my pack:  the hammer of condemnation.  At times I have necessarily imagined laying a heavy hammer down on the side of the trail as I hike.  And what a lighter load I have to carry after doing so!

The hammer pounds into me who and how I'm not compared with who and how I think I ought to be.  The  messages of the hammer go something like this:

"Real hikers don't have any extra tummy bulging above their waistbelts, and they look a lot more like the people in the REI catalog than you do, firm, smooth and strong."
"If you were really amazing, you'd go a lot faster.  You'd take those big, granite steps head on rather than finding shortcuts around them."
"Your pack needs adjusting?  It's not the pack; it's you.  Your frame is wrong and twisted or this pack would fit you fine.  You are wrong."
"Uphill shouldn't be difficult.  You are just weak and lazy.  You can't do hard things."
"How dare you enjoy this time?  People in the world -- and even people you know -- are suffering."

Oh, and this one:  "Your husband wishes he were married to a truly athletic woman.  You are holding him back and are a burden to him."

(All the above messages have been hard battles, but the italicized one has brought many tears and much wrestling with God.  He won -- well, I guess we both did -- and I came out changed, like Jacob.  And, yes, like Jacob I limp.)

Even though I'd abandoned the hammer on a dusty trail in Southern California over 300 miles away,  the ugly, heavy tool tried to get me to take on its damning lies once in a while as I faintly remembered what it previously pounded into me.  The lies now passed as quickly as they popped up because I'd learned that living, moving and having my being in Christ is more fun, free and light -- and where I was made to be.

As I see me as He sees me and live under the adoring gaze of my Creator, I dance, not as if no one were watching, rather as if Someone who is bursting with love, grace and delight toward me cannot take His eyes off of me.  Sometimes I picture Jesus hiking in front of me backwards, as though we are two ice skaters.  When I start to wonder what my husband, Brent, is thinking of me (Brent has been nothing but encouraging about our hikes, so this comes from me and the hammer),   I look at Jesus, and He reminds me of what He thinks of me and feels toward me, which is what matters most.  Best of all, I begin to believe it and live in that place.

Nevertheless, this load was a heavy one, and my shoulders were carrying the brunt of it.  We stopped to adjust my straps often, which helped slightly but did not provide enough relief for me to walk without agony.  During miles two to four, when we were hiking switchbacks over a steep, rocky hillside in the heat of the day, I began to ask God to help me shift the weight to my hips, where it belonged.  He gave me the idea to relax my shoulders and allow my whole body to help carry the burden.  I physically was bracing too much.  Just like when life gets hard and I try to shoulder the responsibilities I've been given all on myself and don't ask for help, I was overwhelmed and exhausted.  I will sometimes encounter a difficult situation with the attitude that I had better brace and strive because this is a tough thing I'm about to do, when really, God is calling me to settle into the now of my life, receive it as a gift from Him, seek to know and love Him more in that place and call on Him to help me.  He has given me His presence with me and resources (in this case, the rest of my body that needed to share the load), and beckons me to use them.

I considered a phrase I had not previously pondered, "deep-seated gratitude."   We experience gratitude in our bodies in the "seat" of us, between our hips (if you sit with your gratitude for long and sense it in your body, you will see what I mean).  I am fatigued as I try to let my life rest on my own shoulders.  But as I receive with openness what is on my life's path as a gift, what I am carrying is much more manageable and even becomes enjoyable.   

I began thanking God for His Presence with me and even for the difficulty of the trail, trusting Him to strengthen me.   It is said God never gives us more than we can handle.  I find that so funny.  I believe He intentionally gives us more than we could possibly bear so we will realize our need to depend fully on Him and His offering of grace, strength and love toward us.

My ascension of the steep, switchbacked mountainside held for me new, refreshingly different messages from those of the hammer.  Brent instructed me wisely in how to approach the too-high rock steps that drained me, leaving me huffing and puffing for air (the ones I'd previously thought I had to be amazing to conquer).  "Look for intermediate steps," he encouraged, "to conserve your energy."   Hikers I met coming from the opposite direction cheered my way, "You can do it!" or "You're doing great!" or my favorite, "Very soon you will see a waterfall!"  Ah, the promise of beauty and refreshment ahead!  I absorbed the encouragement offered as a sponge and let each word and smile that came my way fuel me.  Having laid down the lies, there is space in me to receive truth.

And truth is always freeing.

Treasures from the Trail, Part 1 - What a Difference a Decade Makes

Last week my husband and I backpacked 32 miles of the John Muir Trail from Mammoth Lakes to Tuolumne Meadows over a four-day and three-night period.  Strapped to my back was 30 pounds of food, water, clothing and other necessities.  A few ounces of the weight was taken up by a small journal and a ballpoint pen with which I jotted down some of what I noticed going on around me and inside of me as I traversed the majesty of the High Sierras.

Over my next several entries, I will unpack in a sense the scrawling contained in my tiny notebook, expressing what God showed me to be true of Him and of me and how He met me in surprising ways on my journey.  Part of what I love about backpacking is how I am forced to slow down, both mind and body.  As I stop rushing, I arrive in a place where I am able to enter each moment, experiencing life one step at a time, one breath at a time, opening myself up to noticing God's presence in the world out there and in me, in here.

What I will begin with (and will, no doubt, be woven into much of what I share) is something that is becoming an essential, expanding part of me:  gratitude.

As we started on our trail, I was thinking about how I am soon to be turning 50.  Forty-nine.  I'm 49, I thought, and receiving this new gift God has given me of being able to hike with my husband.  How good is that? I smiled and thought to myself.  My mind jumped back a decade.  What was I doing ten years ago this summer, when I was 39 going on 40?  I was preparing to begin treatment for hepatitis C, with which I had recently been diagnosed, having received the disease from a blood transfusion in 1976.  Appointments with doctors, specialists, psychiatrists, calls to the insurance company, along with much prayer and questioning occupied me that summer, not knowing what lay ahead but, with what faith I could muster, entrusting the outcome to God.

The year-long treatment, which tremendously weakened my body, to my utter devastation and disappointment, failed, as did my spirits after receiving the bad news from the doctor.  The walls of the examining room closed in on me upon hearing the words, "Don't worry.  You won't have cirhossis of the liver for at least five more years."  Plunged into a deep, dark depression, frozen with fear that I would not live long, I entered a path of illness, anxiety and despair.

But that was ten years ago.  The ways in which God invited me to re-enter life, met me in my loneliest times and gave me new strength still amaze me but are subjects for another time.

Gratitude pulses through my veins as I begin my trek on the John Muir trail, aware that God Himself has given me new energy, new enthusiasm, enough that I am able to follow the desire He gave me to join my husband for this incredible adventure.

For the things He has done, I thank Him.  For Who He is, I praise Him.  For the creative ways He gifts me, I bless Him, and excitedly step foot onto the path to which He has led me.  My heart and eyes are open wide, and I am humbly grateful, ready to receive the blessings, trials and beauty of this place.

Discovery

Ah, I merely touched the hem of His garment
And am changed
What must the rest of His robe be like
And He, Himself?
My life and eternity
Shall be spent
Exploring
Jesus, whose hem touched me.

diane mann 2011

I Love You Too (a song)

At Advent I entered into some times with God daily where I became more open to Him as my
Wonderful Counselor
Mighty God
Eternal Father
Prince of Peace
focusing each week on allowing Him to be these to me in new and deeper ways.  The week that God as my Eternal Father was the focus, I was asked to list attributes of a good father, some of which I had been the recipient of from my earthly father and some of which I missed, and to let Christ be that Father He claims to be to me.  The material from which I read asked me to let all that I noticed about God's Eternal Fatherhood be translated into praise.  As I wrote, I became increasingly aware of His adoring-Father love for me that He has shown all along (even when I didn't notice).

And this song came out of my heart (and eventually came out of my mouth and guitar strings!):

I love You too
I love You too
My heart sings out
That I love You
I know You've heard
This song before
You'll recognize the tune
The same song You have sung to me
I'm singing back to You

diane mann 2010

God and I share some sweet times with this tune!  I feel enjoyed as I sing it and find joy in presenting it to Him.  It just represents a lot that I've known in my head to be true of God (that He rejoices over me with singing and that I can love because He first loved me) and am more and more knowing it in my very being and experiencing the truth that I am loved.

I drew this with my left hand.
It's a picture of me feeling connected.
I love it.

What I Learned on My Face

It's not about who I am or what I can or cannot do.
But it is about Who GOD is and What HE can do.
It's not about my insufficiency.
But it is ALL about HIS sufficiency.

His grace is indeed enough!
When I am weak
I become strong
In Him.

On Nurture and Home Environment

I used to think investing time and money in improving my home was worldly and materialistic. While it could become both, it need not be either. It is simply influencing my environment so it, in turn, can have a positive, nurturing influence and effect on me and those I love. And there's nothing wrong with that!

Something New

So much of what I'm learning at present involves mind and body connection. Having lived out of my head and from my heart (which are both really good things), I'm now finding I have a body. My mind can nurture my body, AND (new knowledge) my body can be a blessing to my mind. I just read that the consistency of happy tears and sad tears are different from one another. That means when I cry, my body is getting rid of something it needs to release.

My newfound amazement with the body and its role does not subtract from my faith in God. It is He who made me and not me myself. Such new meaning the following verse is having to me: The life I live in the body I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me!

Part of my Brain

There's a part of my brain (I can point to it) that was made to take dictation. When I record what others are saying as they say it then put it into written form, something in me feels more alive and connected. It is by no means the whole of who I am, but it is part of me, and I am happy to say I am not neglecting the gift that is within me regarding that part of my brain!

Maybe

I don't have to wait to feel wonderful to move forward. Maybe feeling better comes in the moving forward itself. There's something to this idea that the Lord uses process to bring about change.

Life

It's not always fair or beautiful or amazing as I'd love for it to be. But it's life, and it is made up of many textures, for which I am just beginning to be grateful.