Conundrum

I have seen a man

A guest at a pulpit,
trembling,
as old men do.

He poured his heart out
honestly
as a Christian man does.

He chastised many
pitilessly
in a voice choked with tears.

There are forlorn people
wandering,
tortured lives without a savior,

he said.

Such tenderness, surprisingly
astonishing
from a man often harsh and critical

toward his brothers and sisters in Christ.

Impatience

I listened
fighting impatience
as she droned.

I tried not to focus
on the loose skin
under her chin.

It wiggled
and jiggled
as she wagged
on and on.

I pondered...
is this how I look to others
when I speak?

Termites

White ants carve streets
and boulevards
that no one sees
inside
vacant trees.

A late winter afternoon

The wind howls,
whispers,
sighs,
mourns.

It chatters leaves like frozen teeth; it
tosses thin branches like castanets.
It shelters:
husssshhhhh.

Voices speak in myriad tones.
We are mortal.

One who speaks

It took several minutes
to focus
on what someone
urgently said.

Hand gestures
with dialogue
went un-noticed

Because the speaker's
nose had a
stringy booger on it.

Hens and chicks

Five rectangle-shaped reading glasses, in different colors, perched on five different noses, including my own.

That's what I noticed yesterday during Bible study with a group of seven women.

The other two ladies, without glasses, are young mothers and wives, their toddlers (one each) busy in play, the mothers' attention skillfully divided between their children and our study.

Us "oldies" are all about the same age, late 40s to mid-50s, with a wide range of life experiences.

We commiserate with the younger, 20-something moms, and remember life at that stage.

One young woman is pregnant with her second child, and her husband is a student at the local university. The other is satisfied for now with her one child, and branching out into designing accessories again, which she did "before."

While we pondered over I Thessalonians, we laughed, shared our stories and experiences based on what we studied. Children dandled on our knees and were handed small, healthy treats.

It's strange to be in that place of being an older woman with 30 years of house-wifing and motherhood behind me.

I don't feel that old. Likely it's because I understand that there is still a lot to learn about life, love and other mysteries. My journey isn't over.

Yet I find that I am in a position to be an example, to offer advice, to help answer oh-so-many questions about raising children and living with a husband, in addition to scriptural principles I have learned, and am still learning.

I think of the Bible verse, Titus 2:3-5, "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God."

There are older women I have met that make me cringe with their loud-mouth ways and garish outfits, who belittle their husbands, laugh about it and encourage others to do the same.

There are also older women whom I admire and want to emulate with their sense of humor, loving ways to everyone, and honesty.

My desire is to be the latter.

Meandering thoughts

Writer's block.

The dreaded constipation of coherant thinking and creative process.

I sit at my desk. Stare out the window.

I see a windmill replica in my yard. Its aluminum blades with red tips lazily turn with a breeze from the northwest. Round and round...like my thoughts.

Perhaps my problem is that the breeze from the northeast brings with it wisps of memories from my "other" life.

Perhaps that is why my thoughts are frozen in place this frigid morning in the southern hemisphere's winter.

Too much information to process. Friends from 30 years ago have surfaced lately on Facebook.

Along with those friends, memories that were buried under the ashes of time are revealed.

I am reminded of figures frozen in hot ash in Pompeii from the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. Day after day, memories long buried under several layers come back to my mind. Some are heart-warming, some make me laugh. Others make me cringe.

God does His work in mysterious ways, we are told. As a youth, I heard it. As a young adult, I heard it. As a middle-aged woman with children raised and a grandchild, I begin to understand it.

One of the scriptures that consistently comes to mind lately is Psalm 18:19, "He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me."

The early years of my life were hard. The middle years of my life were hard bordering on excruciating, and this verse kept popping up when I read the Bible. During those hard times, I found it, relied on it, prayed for it to happen, and believed it would someday, but always with a bit of reservation in my faith because I didn't want to be disappointed in anyone or anything anymore.

But here I am, literally in a spacious place. Australia is largely uninhabited (compare the size as similar to the United States, with a fraction of the population) and very spacious. I can drive on some days near the country town I live in and not see another car on the road.

Over the last few weeks of reconnecting with friends from my youth, memories have surfaced. As a result some scars are throbbing.

But I am glad for that.

Because my scars are testimony of God's healing work in my life, and a reminder that I have truly been brought into a spacious place. He rescued me because He delighted in me.

And so, my writer's block hasn't necessarily ended...I've just danced around a few thoughts.

I hope they make sense.

If not, I'll try again later.