Pulling Back the Curtain.

Today I took a peek behind the curtain. I didn't mean to. It's almost as if a word or thought or look pushed me back and I stumbled and fell into the big drape I had used to cover up all that was good, holy, and life-giving in my past.

It seems that I've crowded my head and my heart with the stuff of this earth, the temporary delights of the here and now, and I didn't realize how much I missed. I didn't realize I had open wounds that festered with sorrow. I had wrapped a bandage so tight on the loss and hurt, that I had become numb and forgotten it was there.

But I remember.

I remember in the songs.

I remember in the words of a seeking friend who hungers for the wisdom that I once openly strived to soak in...and now I am mocked to think of it as wisdom at all.

I remember the joy and freedom of worshipping my God with other believers--without doubt, without lies.

And now, I remember who I am and where I am and it's nowhere I had ever thought I would be.

I am lost. Lost in a mess. I need my God. I need to turn back and find Him again. Because I am truly not myself without Him. And I have not given Him a glimpse lately. I have pulled the curtain shut so tight that I am stuck in the dark.

Lord, give me Your light again.

My Yiayia Tom

It has been a rough 2014. My life has been turned upside down and shaken, and my heart has cracked in several places. Joy is creeping back, but sorrow invades just the same. I have had to say goodbye to both of my grandmothers in a matter of months.
My Yiayia Tom passed away this month, the same month as her birthday and her wedding anniversary. She lived a long life, and I was honored to write her obituary. This is an extended version to describe a bit of her history. Glad I can share it here.

Lula Thomas Karas, 93, of Arlington, Virginia, died of natural causes in Plano, Texas on August 18, 2014.

Born on August 8, 1921, in Dikiti Fragista, Greece, Lula was the fourth child born to her parents, Gus and Martha Lampros. During World War II, Nazi troops invaded their village, forcing them to move to Athens, Greece, until immigrating to Knoxville, Tennessee, in 1946. Lula was the only sibling surviving her brothers George(Panarhea), John(Nitsa), Archie, and her twin sister who died as a child.

On Aug. 21, 1947, Lula married Greek American and war veteran, Thomas A. Karas (deceased) and moved to Miami, Florida where her first daughter, Jeannie was born. Later, they moved to Fayetteville, North Carolina, the birthplace of their second daughter, Martha. The young family settled in Arlington, Virginia, establishing two successful family restaurants. In 2008, she moved to Plano, Texas, to live close to family.

Lula will be remembered by all who knew her as a wonderful cook and generous hostess, even up until her last weeks. Her family and friends will treasure her village recipes and her many stories of a life well-lived.

Lula is survived by her two daughters and their husbands: Jeannie (William Francis), Martha (Timothy Georgelas), her sister-in-law, Nitsa Lampros (John). She is also survived by her four nephews, a niece, 8 grandchildren and 19 great grandchildren.

Life is Too Short!

Life is too short.

My journey this past year has stripped away the lens of a very serious, very stuffy perspective, where those who were different from me seemed to "need to know" and "the way" was very stifling indeed. But when I think of life back then, I realized how shackled I was to joylessness, seriousness, and life-sucking worry.

It is just not what God wants for us at all. And yet, the world has a way of deceiving hearts and imprisoning minds...and I am not just talking about the world beyond God's people. I am talking about the world-all-inclusive, because really, God's people have an amazing way of falling short of abundant life as much as anyone else.

I would have never believed a year ago, that I would be having a blast as a Jamberry Nails Consultant, writing an intense conspiracy-theory-type Historical novel (check out my writer's page here), while feeling my faith and my heart have blossomed in the deepest way (scroll through this blog!) Joy, Passion, Love, and God, have poured into me abundantly when I let go of a stuffy attitude that true, purposeful life only fits in this tiny box that we might believe.

I am excited to be on this journey called, Life. And I can't wait to see what is in store next!

Final Short Story Post, Scene 6

***If you've read this far, thank you. Like I have said before, this is fiction but inspired by very real emotion. The parts where God has shown up, have also occurred in similar ways in my own life. And, I stand by my overall intention for writing this: Healing truly does begin when love pours down.***

WHEN LOVE POURS DOWN, Scene 6

Before this storm, I knelt beside my new husband in the wedding chapel, after the guests departed. He led us in prayer and summoned the canopy of God's blessing upon our union. And the days, weeks, months, and years enjoyed the shadow of God's hand. And I didn't feel the garish sun of hardship. Not really, anyway. My husband was my provider, my protector, my strong tower. It was he who rose early with the rising sun, releasing prayers upon the morning breeze. It was his faithful flurry that stirred my spirit and left me seeking more. And come Spring, I grew to his stature, a budding vine of fruit for my Maker. Perhaps, it was my provider, my protector, my strong tower who might have shadowed my God. And who might have been first in my heart of hearts.

And maybe, this storm is good in a way. Because my husband no longer eclipses my God. No, he is nothing but a man who's stripped away the canopy and burned my soul with exposure to a faith-consuming fire.

But the sun of my God kisses Little Jack who runs ahead on the concrete path to our home. I taste the freshness of a new day upon my tongue as I breathe in deep, and long for joy again. The dianthus are bursting color and the lilies stand proud and tall, tempting me to smile. Oh, how long has it been since I smiled broad?

But the smile is yet to birth when I know Steve is inside, waiting and knowing I tried to leave him. I tried to leave and take Jack with me.

A roaring grind growls into the floral-scented air. The side-gate is ajar and I follow the stepping stones round back. Each toe upon the rock jolts my insides with a nervous wobble. I pray for the huddle of my spirit within.

No more resentment, no more fear. Only love. I must start first with love.

The grind grows louder and I catch a glimpse of the beast. A chain saw slices the fallen willow. At the hands of my Steve. Oh, it slices in pieces the root of Love. A wide hollow in my soul opens its jaw and I can see the belly of a monster. A monster feeding on such an image of the godless man destroying the precious place in my heart. What other task could embitter the tongue of the heartbroken?

“Give him grace. Give him a chance.” The huddle's whisper slams shut the open hollow. I am here for love. The tree is gone by the hand of a different storm, after all. And part of it is still standing. The strongest part is still erect.

“Steve?”

He whips around, pushing his goggles onto his head. A glimmer of delight flashes in his deep blue eyes, and then his lips fall into a frown. “I wish you didn't leave.”

“I am sorry.” Slender willow leaves somersault around my feet. I try to look into his face once more. He inches closer, and reaches a hand out to me. I take it.

“You're all I've got, Lisa.” He pulls me close. “Life in this new perspective really makes you treasure every precious thing.”

“Really?” And doesn't life with my God calls me to treasure every precious thing? Old resentment begins to pry open the hollow with it's twisted design. How can he claim that his way has any good in it? Any similarity to life with God in it?

“He is mine, and I am His.” The Spirit gathers in a warming rush, melting the gap within, closing it shut to my scrutiny. Steve might not acknowledge God in this, but it doesn't mean that God's not in this.

And it's not my place to pull apart the skies and reveal the God who is there.

“I love you.” My words float out like the dainty pieces of a dandelion blown. Soft and fragile.

Steve bites his lip and steps so close that I must tilt my head to see him. Sun shines around his dark curls, and the silhouette of a butterfly flaps it's wings above him.

“You don't know how long I have waited to hear that.” He lowers his head and I close my eyes to receive his kiss.

I may have doubted God through this storm. I may have given the Enemy a chance to stir the winds into a violent tornado of destruction. But no matter the banshee cry of the wind, or the droning of the rain, my God's whisper carries to my heart and he protects me in the rage of it.

I once knelt beside my husband the moments after our vows, and we enjoyed the shadow of God's hand over our hearts. And now, in the broken aftermath of a storm, my husband no longer accepts the canopy, but he stays by my side through the storm.

No elements are tossed about the sky today. But the downpour is ever strong. And it is this torrential flood of love in which He calls me past the brewing brawl.

And maybe one day in the stillness of this healing aftermath, Steve will remember that love is God, again.

But for now, there is flying to do. With wings spread wide, I'll choose to love.

THE END

Short Story, Scene 5

WHEN LOVE POURS DOWN, Scene 5

Before this storm, the trails were paths of gnomes and fairies, talking toads and chatty squirrels. Each hollowed tree was a home, and every blade of grass was a musical string. What joy whipped within the heart of my child-self at the hidden world in the wood.

Now, I am grown, and the woods are for biking and hiking. The only critters—pea-brained squirrels and hopping robins—show themselves regularly. The grass only plays a tune between the thumbs of my child as he blows cheeks big. What foolish things we cast aside as our spines grow toward the sky and our eyes dull to fantasy.

And the sky this day promises another bout of thunder and rain. But I retreat to my outdoor sanctuary while Mel takes my boy to the ice cream shop.

I'll not face Steve just yet.

My hair whips against my cheeks as I sit by a lake of fury. Daggers of wind chop up the surface like a baker's knife mottles the frosting on a cake. The tall elms chatter of the brewing storm above, their rustling gossip coaxed in the chilled air.

“Forgive me. For leaving. For casting off my heart in fear.” I must wait, like I once did for the gnomes and the little fairies to kiss my nose. Now, I wait for Him, who might be invisible but is more real than even the knoll upon which I sit.

He moves. In that secret huddle in my heart, He speaks. And while the whirling air about me swells in some sort of whispering orchestra, I hear His words,

“Love covers a multitude of sins.”

Love.

The very thing that torments me most. The reason I run to His creation and settle beneath the outstretched canopy of branches. Such a different trail ahead of me now, than what I walked as a child. A different path than what I walked just months ago, when Steve still led us on his knees, bowed to his Creator. Now, this trail is not a fancy daydream stroll, but a desperate lost dream search.

“Thank you, Jesus. I must remember love the most.” It is what Mel spoke of. It's what my devotional preaches from my lap, and it's the whisper in that huddle in my heart. No coincidence with God. My soul is quenched, and the elms clap in a vigorous roar above me.

I gather up my journal and devotional, praising and pondering. Preparing myself to live love now. Willing my wings to spread wide and give me confidence in flight. The hollow in my core widens, and I long for Steve.

Clouds grow dark above, tainting the waters an inky gray. The trail ahead promises rain. I no longer run for shelter like I did as that fanciful girl. No, the rain won't hurt me now. Not when I know He's not through with me, yet. Besides, I've spilled many more droplets than the sky threatens to unleash.

“Mama, I felt rain.” A golden curl-topped princess pops up from a nearby picnic blanket, gathering her tea set.

“Hurry, sweetie. We don't want to get caught. Let's finish our tea at home with Daddy.” Her mama begins to load a wicker basket with half-eaten sandwiches, Oreos, and a Thermos.

“Yay! I love tea parties with Daddy.” She squeals. I pass her along the leaf-strewn path.

Fairytales and tea parties are surely a thing of my past. My middle-aged self remorses that my prince has abandoned the King, and my table is bare of all good things.

The storm within me breaks before the sky above me, and I forget His whisper. How can I surrender and love Steve when he's hurt me so? Resentment whips through my core.

“Lord, it wasn't meant to turn out like this. Whatever happened to dreams come true?”

I kneel upon the shore of pebbles before the water's edge. My pen is quick on the pages of my rain-spotted journal. My eyes are thirsty for Him as I skim the book in my weakening hands.

And He is there in each drop upon my soul, in each word on the page. His downpour splashes my spirit and rights my faith again.

His glorious song fills my heart, “You are Mine, and I am yours, my Love.”

Love.

He will never hurt me. My true Soulmate. And I praise Him. Again, the elms applaud in a roar.

“Thank you, Jesus, I must remember You love me most.”

And the trail washes with sheets of rain and I do not melt, but rejoice in His washing of my heart, and the calming of the gale.

While the lake settles at the last pin pricks of rain, the sky brightens. And I remember that sunshine is not dependent on my will, but on His will. It is He who lavishes upon me.

Why did I expect so much from Steve? It was an expectation as notional as my hope in meeting a gnome on the path—unable to withstand the pressure of reality, the fact that only One can make my dreams come true.

Even if the prince declares there is no such thing as Him who delivers dreams, I can live the love greater than any Steve's ever witnessed.

The lake returns to glass as the storm dies. A ray of sun steals through the clouds and illuminates the surface, bouncing fractals across the waters.

“Yes, Lord. I'll love him as You love me.” And the shine becomes bright and I bow my head and the elms chatter above me.

 It is good to meet him on this side of the storm—when the stillness sets in. When the creatures make way as I walk the path with my Lord.