HOLIDAY/HOLY DAY

In honor of the holiday, I prepared a list yesterday afternoon of things to do today:

• Laundry
• Continue cleaning out Mom's closet
• Clean off one more bookshelf in the living room
• Access and review coursework for my next class
• Map out schedule for schoolwork for the semester ahead

These are all things I want to accomplish while I have a little extra time - a day off from work! - but, they don't sound very "holiday," do they?

* * *

A friend asked me recently if I have any hobbies.

"Taking care of dying people," I answered. There really hasn't been time for much else the past several months.

"You need to get a better hobby," she replied.

* * *

Once upon a time, I enjoyed kayaking. Actually, I enjoy many things associated with being near/in/on the water: I am very bouyant, so water feels almost like my natural element.

My son and daughter-in-law introduced me to kayaking a couple of years ago - thank you, Tom and Carly! - but the hobby comes with a few significant obstacles:

1. Same offspring instructed me to never go kayaking alone, and both opportunities to kayak and buddies to paddle with are very rare.
2. Transporting my kayak is problematic: I have a cargo rack on top of my Rav4 and a lovely set of ratchet straps, but I also have crappy shoulders and am unable to actually lift the kayak onto the roof of my car.

This year has been The Year of Doing Hard Things. Yesterday evening, I decided it was time to tackle one more Hard Thing. I did not want to spend my entire day off work...doing work.

I recruited my #2 son to help me figure out a way for his wimpy 62-year-old mother to actually load my kayak. (Thank you, Nate!) We formulated a strategy; Nate demonstrated the technique; the kayak was unloaded from the Rav4, and then I reloaded it ALL BY MYSELF. There was nothing graceful or attractive about the process, and it took a hot minute, but I did eventually get the kayak firmly secured on top of my car without damaging either the kayak or the vehicle. Woot!

Loaded!

I repeated the loading and unloading process two more times this morning: once before I drove to Reelfoot Lake, and then again when I came off the lake after a lovely 2 1/2 - hour paddle.

Do not fear: safety precautions were taken!

• I wore my lifejacket the entire time I was on the lake. (Normally, I sit on it. I have never been anxious about falling out and drowning because I am...well...very bouyant.)
• A family member knew my location the entire time I was out. I let this person know when I got on the lake and when I came off - AND - using the magic of Life360, she even monitored me as I paddled. (Thank you, Abby!)

Abby texted: "This cracks me up!"

Also, because God is so very good to me, he sent me paddle buddies. As I was sliding my kayak down the ramp to the water, a truck drove down to the lake access, pulling a trailer loaded with 3 kayaks. A dad and his two young daughters graciously allowed me to join their party. We paddled and chatted together for over an hour before I thanked them for the company and turned back toward shore.

Today, I am thankful for...

• Kids who help me "figure out a way" when things are hard
• For my friend Hannah, who listened to me cry as I drove to the lake because I don't like doing hard/new/scary things, especially by myself
• For 3 lovely strangers who welcomed me into their family outing (& shared their sunscreen :) )
• For a beautiful lake, a clear blue sky, and a cool breeze over the water
• For a God who sees, cares, and tells me that He loves me, over and over and over again

THE WORLD LOOKS A LITTLE BIT BRIGHTER

You know that scene in Lord of the Rings where Gandalf frees Theoden from Saurman's spell, and the years fall off of Theoden and his eyes become clear and bright again? (Don't remember? You can watch a clip HERE.)

That scene feels like a snapshot of my life over the past year.

This year - 2026 - has been a doozy. I have been sad...a lot. I cry easily. Life as I once knew it is over, and the future looks uncertain and scary.

But tears, heartache, grief, and fear are NOT the whole story.

I have slept better these past few months than I have slept in years.

I catch myself smiling for no particular reason.

I sing or hum when I cook or clean.

I laugh more.

I apologize less for simply being me and taking up space.

I have been tracking my blood pressure each day for the past several months: 126/70, 124/70, 116/70, 121/65, 117/68...Those are good numbers, y'all. CRAZY how much better my blood pressure is these days.

Earlier this year. Those are bad numbers, y'all...VERY bad.

I am deeply grateful for the many evidences of God's faithfulness to me during a dark season.

And on a good day - a reeeeally good day, like today - I find I am beginning to dream. To imagine, in teeny-tiny ways, what life might look like, after all the heartache, confusion, hurt, pain, and loss.

The world is beginning to look a little bit brighter, Dear Friends.

God is sovereign. God is good. And God loves me very, very much.

* * *

"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light." - 1 Peter 2:9

TIMELY

I had a difficult meeting Tuesday after work - not difficult as in who I was meeting with or meeting dynamics, but as in the purpose of the meeting. Thankfully, the person I met with is consistently calm, kind, and patient. Still, I almost always leave these meetings in tears.

Tuesday was one of those crying meetings.

Tears on the drive home.

Tears as I lay in my bed not sleeping throughout Tuesday night.

Sometimes I think I am finally past tears, but then another "Tuesday" comes along.

* * *

Wednesday morning, weary and weary-hearted, I sat down at my desk to read my Bible. I have a read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year plan that I loosely follow. Basically, I ignore the dates and read at my own pace.

Wednesday morning, I did not read the passage assigned for August 26. Instead, I read the passage for September 1-2. (Obviously, I am either slightly ahead in my reading...or very far behind. I'll let you guess which.)

Anywho, in God's kind providence, I opened my Bible and read this:

"In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple..." (Isaiah 6:1)

Stop. Right. There.

"In the year that King Uzziah died..." Isaiah received this vision of God at a turning point in Israel's history. The world as Isaiah knew it was coming to an end. After a lengthy period of prosperity and blessing, God was sending Syria to attack his covenant people. In the face of this terrifying revelation, God showed Isaiah that He, the Lord, was still on his throne.

The book of Isaiah was not written to me, but it was written for me, preserved and passed down to me. God orchestrated the details of my own life so that Wednesday morning, as I grieved my own "death of King Uzziah," I read Isaiah's words of assurance.

My world feels like it is falling apart. Right now, I cannot even imagine a future. But I am reminded and confident of this: GOD IS ON HIS THRONE.

But there is more...

In the next chapter, Isaiah is sent to King Ahaz to deliver the bad news about Syria. His exhortation to Ahaz is this: "Be careful, be quiet, do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint...If you are not firm in your faith, you will not be firm at all." (Isaiah 7:4a, 9b)

It felt like God was holding my face tenderly in his hands, saying to me:  "Camille, look at me. Look at me! I am on the throne. I am right here where I have always been. Do not be afraid. Hold steady in your faith."

That, Dear Reader, was balm to my troubled heart.

* * *

"You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?" - David, Psalm 56:8

"Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning." -David, Psalm 30:5b

LEARNING TO LAMENT

My oldest son once told me, years ago, in the wake of some now-forgotten trial, something to the effect of: "Mom, you run too quickly to joy...slow down, and give space for grief. Let joy come in its proper time."

He was right, of course.

This tendency to fast-sprint to joy was no doubt fueled by many factors.

My personality. Although I have been accused of being gray and melancholy, I prefer light and brightness. I have big naked windows - no curtains or blinds - so that as much sunlight (and moonlight) as possible can come inside. My favorite movies are ridiculously silly. I am wiggly. I would much rather live - and for many years have lived - in a world of imagined goodness painted by self-deception, willful ignorance, and Herculean denial, than confront hard truths or painful realities. I do not want to look in the face of evil, so I cover that face with a mask.

My culture. My faith tradition frequently and enthusiastically sang songs like "Count Your Many Blessings" and "I've Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy," but it wasn't until I was well into adulthood that I encountered songs like "From the Depths of Woe." Christians are supposed to be happy, right? Dwell on the positive; hope for the best; quote Romans 8:28; be content.

Fear. Fear of dishonoring God. Fear of seeming ungrateful. Fear that exposing darkness and lies might unleash unimaginable evils. Fear that Almighty God just might not be big enough to handle the deep, heart-rending brokenness underneath the surface of so much that appears beautiful in this world.

Laziness. It is so much easier to carry a bucket filled with light than a bucket filled with muck.

EXPOSED!

THIS has been a year of incredible pain, loss, heartbreak...and tremendous growth.

I have become fluent in weeping and lament.

I was introduced to a lovely book in one of my classes this summer: Every Moment Holy, a collection of liturgies for everyday life. (HIGHLY recommend.)

I want to share with you an excerpt from "A Liturgy for the Death of a Dream":

"O Christ, in whom the final fulfillment

of all hope is held secure,

I bring to you now the weathered

fragments of my former dreams,

the broken pieces of my expectations,

the rent patches of hopes worn thin,

the shards of some shattered image of

life as I once thought it would be.

"...take this dream, this husk,

this chaff of my desire, and give it back

reformed and remade according to

your better vision,

or do not give it back at all.

Here in the ruins of my wrecked

expectation, let me make this best confession:

"Not my dreams, O Lord,

not my dreams,

but yours be done.

Amen."

(Douglas Kaine McKelvey, “The Death of a Dream,” in Every Moment Holy, vol. 1 (Nashville, TN: Rabbit Room Press, 2017), 232-235.)

"Your grace is my shelter. Your love is my home. Even in the valley, I am never alone." - Lauren Diagle

LIKE WAKING UP FROM THE LONGEST DREAM...

 "Where do you see yourself one year from now?"

I had no answer for this question, asked by one of my awesome kids. "I have no idea. When I try to think about the future, I can't see anything but thick gray fog. I can't see anything at all...can't imagine...can't even dream."

"I can," my child replied. "I see very good things. From where I stand, your future looks brighter right now than it has looked in a long, long time." This kind soul paused, then continued. "You cannot dream yet, Mom, so I will dream for you."

This conversation occurred several months ago. Today, when I try to imagine my life one year from now, I still see nothing but fog. But the fog is beginning to lift, get thinner. I believe that maybe...just maybe...I see a small glimmer of light breaking through.

I cannot make out any definite outlines or contours, yet, just a soft flicker of hope.

It feels like waking up...

Keith Green - Like Waking Up

EVER HAVE ONE OF THOSE DAYS/WEEKS/YEARS?

In the space of one week, the dryer died, the kitchen refrigerator crashed, and I came home to find the above notice on my front door. All of this while I was in the process of trying to hammer out a workable, significantly-reduced budget.

Ever have one of those days/weeks/years?

Someone once challenged me this way: when faced with a difficulty, look for the opportunity instead of focusing only on the obstacle.

Endeavoring to put this good advice into practice, I asked myself, "What is the opportunity here?"

Opportunity #1: Instead of freaking out, I took a deep breath and asked dear friends to pray for me...to pray specifically for household appliances and for adequate finances.

Opportunity #2: I asked for help. My son got his dryer out of storage and installed it temporarily in my laundry room. My spouse paid the electric bill. 

Opportunity #3: I did a new thing, something I had never done before. I researched and purchased a large appliance. The new refrigerator will be installed next week.

Things I am learning:

• "Jesus, help me!" is a perfectly legitimate way to pray.
• More and more, my prayers are specific. "God, can you help me find a refrigerator?"
• I have wonderful family and friends. (I already knew this, but it is good to pause and remember.)

The window facing above my desk is cluttered with sticky notes: To-do lists, names of people I pray for, a verse that encouraged me this week, homework assignments, etc. Yesterday morning, I discovered a new sticky note. Apparently, my granddaughter found my sticky-note stash and found the brightly-colored squares irresistible.

Yes, He does love me. And, yes, He will take care of me.

Thank you, Jules, for the reminder!

HERE GOES...SOMETHING

The first step is often the hardest.

I opened up the blog and sat down to write multiple times over the summer. Each time, I thought I had something to write, but then I would end up staring blankly at my computer. Nothing. Just...nothing. My heart and my mind were numb.

It has been a difficult summer.

Today, once again, I find there is nothing. But today, I refuse the nothingness. Today, I will write, a first faltering stutter after a too-long silence. So, here goes...something.

I posted a couple of years ago about the difficulty of making "space to be human." You can read that post HERE. And if you are curious: I did learn to set more appropriate work boundaries, and I now have a lovely job that allows more time for doing "human" things.

On that note, I want to share a few small ways that I have enjoyed being human recently -

This summer, I registered for and completed my first-ever seminary classes. The coursework was incredibly challenging and I was way out of my league among the other students. Still, I felt like a fish in water, albeit a very small fish in very deep water. I enjoyed every lecture, every assignment, and every small group discussion. Second term begins Monday. I can't wait!

Over the past couple of months, I was given three of the most encouraging compliments that I have ever received:

• "You are one of the most humble people I know." (When I asked a friend to pray that God would humble me deeply and show me clearly my dependence on Him. BTW - do NOT pray that prayer unless you really, really mean it. God will answer, and it won't be easy.)
• "You are a very strong person." (From a co-worker who knows something of the difficulties of recent months.)
• "That is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." (In sixty-one years, no one has ever said that about me. Every woman should hear those words spoken about her at least once in her life. It made me cry.)

Today, I have celebrated being human in small ways. I had breakfast with my family. I enjoyed a personal yoga session with Mr. Ron. I washed mine and Mom's laundry and changed our bed linens. I wrote a letter to a friend. I sat on the porch swing and read another chapter in a book. I made BLT's for lunch; this evening, I am making gumbo for dinner, Daddy's recipe.

And I wrote.