Bridal Shower Blues

The Pinterestable Standard

I am hosting a bridal shower for my lovely niece Chandra in six days.  It's been 25 years or so since I have attempted such a feat.  Things have changed.  Back in the day we, with scissors, cut out umbrellas from construction paper, wrote people's names on them with Sharpies, and they pinned them to their blouses when entering the party.  The pin wasn't special.  Neither was the paper nor the pen used to write out a person's name.

We provided guests a cake, cute paper plates with matching cups and napkins, punch in a pretty bowl and possibly some nuts and mints -- No.  Wait.  Those were reserved for the wedding reception.  We played corny, wedding-themed games.  It was all really fun and celebratory and, well, unpinteresting.  No one was going to make a collage or photobook or facebook page of the event.

Preparing for Chandra's shower, I had to accept I could not get my computer to print the printable invites I'd purchased, so by hand I wrote out each invitation.  I look at the baby shower invite I just received magneted to my fridge, and notice how professional looking and creative it is.  The shower has a theme!  It's a sailor theme.  And everything on the invitation rhymes.  Things have changed, a lot.

I saw early in the planning I needed to let go of some standard I was comparing my efforts with.  And I was doing fine with that, until I received an email from a friend of the bride, who is a professional photographer, offering to photograph the shower.  Now as I think about the snacks that are to be served and the arrangement on the table, I keep picturing the photographs that will be taken.  Chandra's color for her wedding is blue, in varying shades.  I did consult pinterest to find a blue punch recipe.  It will look great in the pics!  And there are treats I envision dipping in white chocolate dyed blue.  And the desserts that are not blue and can't be injected with blue or topped in blue, well, they will be on blue plates, of course!

It wasn't until I described an idea I had to my good friend, who is helping plan the shower, that I realized how obsessed I had become, having shifted my eyes from the goal of blessing my niece and celebrating her upcoming wedding to the insistence that everything look amazing.  Oreo offers a cookie in the summertime with baby blue centers!  But summer is over, and the blue-filled Oreos are nowhere to be found.  "I have an idea," I exclaimed, to my co-planner, with my brown eyes now lit up blue with excitement.  "I can scrape the centers out of the cookies then dye the frosting blue and reinsert it into the cookies!"

Mind you, there are much more practical things which need to be accomplished.  "What's it like to be inside your head?" my friend asked, as she looked at me with concern.  We had to both laugh about how carried away I can get and obsess, elevating some unimportant details to the status of way important!

As I was emailing my sister this morning about all of this, God reminded me of a lesson He's been teaching me in other areas of my life:  Only He has to be amazing.  I offer Him back the gifts He provides, the ideas He provides with the strength He provides, and it's His job to make things amazing.

Maybe it's amazing enough that my niece survived a severely premature birth, entering the world weighing one pound, ten ounces, was rescued from the steps of a Calcutta orphanage and delivered into my sister's arms three months later.  That she grew to be a  God-loving, bright, beautiful young woman.  That God handpicked a young man who adores her to be her husband.  That we who love her -- the junior highers she ministers to, her family, friends, those she tutors in an after-school program -- get the opportunity to gather to shower her with love, to rejoice with her as she receives what God has for her.  Maybe the reasons He has given us to party together are enough and He's simply inviting us to join in the celebration.

I'm choosing to accept God's invitation to entrust the day, with its planning and details, to Him.

I hope he has blue sprinkles!

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.

Celebration

A green balloon

Or two

A pinetree-shaped

Sugar cookie

Or a card perhaps

Yes, a card

With a mountain scene

A meadow

A bird

A meadow lark

Singing its flute song

A stone path

Peaks

Valleys

Harsh, steep trails

Scorching summer sun

Weight, pain

Flight

Rest

Humor, so much humor

Despite the agony

Because of the agony

The journey I

Observed

From a distance

An onlooking friend

Cheering

Letting her story

Change me

How do I celebrate

The beauty

The life

The victory

How do I say

My spirit

Is stirred

I smile with you

Share a meal

Together

Laugh hysterically

And weep a bit

As you paint a picture

With words

Of the path

You walked the trail

You climbed

The people

You met

With gratitude

I receive

The raingear

You lend

Knowing I too

Will need

Protection

You cannot hike

The trail

For me

A twinkle in your

Eye conveys you know

It will be hard for me

As well

I can learn much

From observing

You

But must go

Myself

Must go

Learn the lessons

Learned by those

Who dare to

Step

Where they are led

A profound wonder

It is

To be led

To follow

The desire planted

In the heart

The deepest part

Of one's being

My friend has been

So brave as to listen

To the song

To the spirit

Within who

Leads her

She now sings

In return

A song

A meadow song

A tune unmatched

In beauty

Unprecedented

In grace

Life-giving

Grace

To Carla, aka Meadowlark

With so much love

From

Diane (yet to have an aka:)