I am scrubbing my actual home from top to bottom over the weekend.

There will be much purging of the unnecessary and extraneous.And hopefully several trips to the thrift store. Perhaps even postings on craigslist.

Windows will be washed, floors scoured, shelves organized and all furniture moved for dusting purposes.Fresh coats of paint and minor repairs are in order. The yard will be reseeded. It’s time to take stock of the pantry and clean out the fridge. All those dark corners in the closets must be cleaned out.

Lest my inner life think it gets away scot-free, here’s a warning to the soul. There will be a “taking stock” of all things emotional and a sweeping out of the cobwebs which cling to the recesses of my heart. Oh yes, this weekend promises to be lots of hard work but I am thrilled already as I think of what every thing will be like on the other side.

The Myer family gathered in Wenatchee to spread the ashes of Grandma and Grandpa Myer…remembering them and pausing to recognize their legacy. These are the moments we were created for. Family. Memories. Laughter. Joy. Sadness. Stories. Community.

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sewing projects

bike rides

best friends reconnecting

family photos

beer buddies

good food

graduation celebrations

a darn cute puppy

friendly, pet goats

have in common, you ask? They all help shape the portrait of my summer thus far. More to come I’m sure as the warm weather continues to bless us. There are trips to take, visitors to welcome, retreats and rest to partake of and memories to be made.

I love summer.

For everything under the sun there is a time
This is the season of your awkward harvesting,
When pain takes you where you would rather not go,

Through the white curtain of yesterdays to a place
You had forgotten you knew from the inside out;
And a time when that bitter tree was planted.

That has grown always invisible beside you
And whose branches your awakened hands
Now long to disentangle from your heart.

You are coming to see how your looking often darkened
When you should have felt safe enough to fall toward love,
How deep down your eyes were always owned by something.

That faced them through a dark fester of thorns
Converting whoever came into a further figure of the wrong;
You could only see what touched you as already torn.

Now the act of seeing begins your work of mourning.
And your memory is ready to show you everything,
Having waited all these years for you to return and know.

Only you know where the casket of pain is interred.
You will have to scrape through all the layers of covering.
And according to your readiness, everything will open.

May you be blessed with a wise and compassionate guide
Who can accompany you through the fear and grief
Until your heart has wept its way to your true self.

As your tears fall over that wounded place,
May they wash away your hurt and free your heart.
May your forgiveness still the hunger of the wound.

So that for the first time you can walk away from that place,
Reunited with your banished heart, now healed and freed,
And feel the clear, free air bless your new face.

from: To Bless the Space Between Us by John O’Donohue, 2008.

eating anything within reach that has sugar in it

shopping until I drop

drinking too much wine

But I’ve figured out that my real gut reaction to highly stressful, hurtful, confusing and frustrating situations is to escape.

Hightail it.

Run.

Skip town.

Jump ship.

Flee.

So yes, that’s me you see the back of right now. Running to catch the next train, bags trailing behind. The woman in the wide brimmed hat and sunglasses, glancing quickly over her shoulder to see if any one has figured out she’s escaping. And hoping and praying that wherever she lands next (which is still a mystery to her) will be a peaceful, safer place than the one she is leaving.

I had to post this as a friend did so in honor of the World Cup and the general ignorance of geography that most Americans have. It was just too good to pass up. Thanks Bethany!!

I took this picture awhile back and it’s one of my favorites.

Aren’t they such a handsome pair? They must share some pretty dang good genes…oh wait, they do.

Mostly I woke up feeling overwhelmed by life. I don’t like being grown-up. It’s too hard. No one does your laundry for you anymore so if you don’t do it then you get piles of stinky dirtiness and an empty closet.

And what about meals? I miss having Mom do all the menu planning and my  job was simply to set the table. I tried that the other night…setting out plates, forks and napkins and then waiting for the food to arrive. It didn’t work out in my favor.

Add to daily chores the fact that I am responsible for the direction and well-being of a company and I don’t get to delegate that task to any one. I feel that my job requires thoughtfulness and intentionality and the well has run dry right now so I really just want to go home and crawl back into bed and try this day over again.

Can I trade places with my dog? I want my belly scratched and the luxury of napping most of the afternoon. And mostly I want someone else to clean up my messes.

So it’s time once again (how does this always happen to me?) to ask for grace, for patience, for Divine intervention. I can’t make it on my strength alone. I would really like to believe that I can. In fact, I waste a lot my very precious personal resources (i.e. time, energy, mind) trying to argue that I can indeed do it by myself. You’d think I was still two and insisting on asserting my independence. But the truth is, I can’t do it by myself. I need my community. I need my family. I need God.

I’m one of those European mutts. (I think there are a bunch of those in America if I’m not mistaken) Still, parts of my bloodline are more dominant than others and Norwegian is definitely the largest percent of my heritage.

I grew up surrounded by Scandinavian traditions that were both subtly blended into the fabric of our family life and also paraded around as a BIG deal. the most obvious was the Norwegian prayer we said at dinner time on a regular basis. The less obvious practices were making lefse, celebrating our version of St. Lucia day in December, and saying hello in Norwegian when answering the phone.

In the last year I have returned to those roots with renewed interest. In November my Mom and I took a rosemaling class together. My Mother to brush up on her skills, me to begin learning the art form for the first time. It is a challenging art form to pick up but the results are very rewarding.

The piece pictured above is a very rare 1800s piece that I had the privilege of photographing at the last quarterly meeting of the rosemaling group at Pacific Lutheran University.