The Don

Who IS that handsome fella, you ask?

Why, that's my dad.

As I watch the course of my life and the lives of others around me unfold, I find myself reflecting on how much I really love him.

I have a close friend who has been standing by her father's side as he's fighting a long and difficult battle with cancer. I have no experience of the type of heartache that must be felt in situations like that. I can only know what it feels like to love someone so much you never want to see them hurt. 

Last month, I heard news of singer Steven Curtis Chapman losing one of his beautiful daughters in a tragic accident. I watched a memorial video of this father and daughter, washing dishes together as he played his guitar, singing a silly song with his giggling daughter, the love between them so simple and precious. I think of how much he must have loved her, how much he would have done anything to protect her. Because that's just what fathers do.

That video hit a chord with me as I remember similar times with my own dad, strumming his guitar to sing me to sleep at night. He only knew a few old folk songs, lyrics sometimes forgotten, chorus repeated again and again. It didn't matter to me what the song, he could sing the same words over and over again if it meant he would keep singing to me.

He still owns that old guitar, the years of playing worn into its grains. The wood may be faded but my memories are not.

At this time in my life, as a single, 30 year old woman, I've grown accustomed to being very independent, handling things as best I am capable on my own. While not always easy, I take pride in the fact that it's made me into the person I am. But that place could never have been arrived at entirely without the unconscious knowledge of my parent's support. Of my father's silent dedication to always being there for his family.

A father's love - like a beacon on a wide open sea, standing steadfast. We can find comfort in its constance, we can rely on the strength of its vessel to safely lead us on our way, knowing that even as we move forward, there it will always remain, faithfully.

one can only hope

Sometimes I am left feeling like I am completely and totally OUT. OF. CONTROL.

Now I don't mean out of control, coo coo crazy. I mean having absolutely no control over the turns my life will take. None whatsoever. For as much as we try to plan and calculate the outcome or mark our calendar, it is all completely out of our hands. And all that there is left to do is hope.

Hope, redeeming hope. What does that mean, really?

Hope

1. The feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best

2. A person or thing in which expectations are centered

3. To look forward to with desire and reasonable confidence

4. To believe, desire, or trust

Why does it seem that to have hope it implies also having a certain amount of despair? Doesn't having hope equate having perseverance, to believe that a better or positive outcome is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary?

I believe strongly in the concept of free will. When faced with uncertainties, its important to pray, yes. But it's just as important to continue hoping, dreaming and desiring. Never giving up the want.

Hope is what keeps you going, despite all the odds stacked against you. It's the difference between losing the struggles and beating them. It's what separates the 'can't happens' from the 'quite possibly coulds'. 

It's being aware of a spiritual truth without an inkling of a doubt.

When I don't know my ups from downs, God is always there to point me in the right direction. Even if that means the direction I had planned suddenly changes course without warning. If I keep my eyes on Him, I can know I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Through every turn, whether good or bad, the one and only constant in my life has been Jesus. 

And with that understanding, I have finally come to a place where it's not so tough being out of control.

Let your life speak

simple things

I love these flowers. They remind me of childhood. I remember being a little girl on my daily exploration of the backyard and coming across these. They reminded me, and still do, of a elegant, old lady with her delicate, pink hairdo swaying in the breeze. I only wish I knew what they are called. Google was unhelpful. I thought for sure 'pink hairdo flowers' would find my answer.

I feel like this one determined lilac flower bloomed it's hello especially for me.