Life on the Slippery Slope

There’s a park across the street where I take the dog to run.

Once we make it to the sidewalk bordering the park, a huge hill drops into a field. Then another drop where there’s a pond and a playground.

It’s lovely all seasons. St. Louis winters cover it with fantastically white snow.

As soon as the snow falls and the schools close due to weather, the hill fills with a patchwork of colors. Parkas, mittens, waterproof boots, disks and planks of bright plastic sleds.

One morning a few weeks ago after the sledders were called back to class, the dog and I ventured out. Mountain climbers at the summit, this was our hill, silent and packed with muddied snow. Marred from dozens of children’s boots and sleds.

No sooner did I let the dog off the leash than she proceeded to run as if the hill were covered in tender spring grass.

I started my descent much slower than she did. No matter. Unless I stood perfectly still, it became apparent I was going to fall.

The dog skidded and turned to go back up. Her toenails clicked, grasping for ground but only sliding on the slick surface. I watched her dance around in a little circle, slipping, grasping, turning, prancing.

Memories of ski lessons on icy North Carolina slopes tumbled back. Snow plow, bunny ears, parallel side steps. Not the same result in Adidas as in skis.

I thought of the impending, embarrassing emergency rescue, ambulance and all. Then I noticed the dog.

She’d stopped her desperate jitterbug and was running down the hill again. So I followed her in the same manner.

When we ran full speed down the hill, our feet were light and had no time to slide. Laughing, screaming, I ran after that dog and remembered sometimes it’s wiser to plunge headlong into whatever I’m facing than to spin in a hesitant, futile reach for safety.

This ordinary morning, there was life more abundantly for a common girl and her dog on a steep snowy hill. Oh, that my heart could hold on to that moment.

David ran toward the battle line to meet Goliath. Lord, may I run like that too. Fearlessly, may I run.

As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. 1 Samuel 17:48 NIV

Mercy and Hellfire on Facebook

Friended a few people I haven’t seen in years. Suspect there is some unfinished business between us.

Seeing their faces pop up on screen, I miss them. Their smiles, laughter, presence. How close we once were. How much a part of each other’s lives. Now years and silence are all we share. Sigh.

When I fretted over a recent class reunion, a friend told me we’ve all grown up. She said you have to hope people have gotten past the drama of high school. Let’s not even talk about college.

Hope. Did you catch that? Do we really get past those transgressions?

I remember there was one person in particular I hurt terribly. I would like to dig a hole, crawl inside and die for how badly I behaved. If anyone ever had a reason never to speak to me again, this person did.

What a surprise when at said reunion this person approached me with a welcoming handshake and a warm hug. He’s grown up. He’s gracious. And I am mercifully forgiven.

We’ve all been wronged at some point. I was the target of fickleness and cruelty too. I still am at times, even with the adults populating my life today.

I’m reminded to put down my saber, let go and forgive. Christian cliché? Forgive and forget. Let go and let God.

I’m not interested in that kind of forgiveness.

I’m talking about the hard won, humanly impossible forgiveness. The kind that runs deeper than the wound.

The kind I may have to revisit on my knees a few times over a few years. The kind that brings freedom once it's complete.

There may be relationships that cannot and will not be reconciled, despite forgiveness on my part or theirs. People on Facebook or in real life or in the past I must leave be. Nix reaching out, lest I pull back a nub.

Still those moments of remembering leave me wanting. Those faces on my screen draw me in.

In some cases, I bravely reach out and accept my just desserts. The judgment fire of burned bridges as a consequence of my sin or someone else’s.

And in other cases? As the messages of acceptance trickle in one by one, I am flooded by the gift of mercy. And it is very good.

I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you. Isaiah 44:22

Maiden Flight

It was inevitable. At some point I would blog. Current atmospheric conditions are churning now, ripe for words. What’s my angle? Take your pick.


First in Flight

 

Tormented writer ponders the future of a full but meandering career. Stay-at-home mom finds herself adrift as her only child races through kindergarten. Southern expat living in the Midwest wilts with homesickness like a hydrangea in a Carolina summer wilts with heat.



Wait, there’s more.

Independent conservative squirms under a government that seems hell bent on bringing the end of the world as we know it. Bible-believing Christian struggles to keep the walk real despite discouragement, disconnection and disillusionment.

Gen-X girl turns 40, buys an iPhone and starts a blog.

This is your captain speaking. Please keep your seatbelts fastened in the likely event we encounter some choppy air. Turbulence makes for quite the adventure.

maiden flight: the first occasion on which an aircraft leaves the ground of its own accord…always a historic occasion for the type…also one of the most dangerous, because the exact handling characteristics of the aircraft are generally unknown. Wikipedia.org

No test or temptation that comes your way is beyond the course of what others have had to face. All you need to remember is that God will never let you down; He’ll never let you be pushed past your limit; He’ll always be there to help you come through it. 1 Corinthians 10:13 The Message