Aug 19, 2015 |
I’ve been praying all wrong.
Last night God whispered through my shouts.
Last night I was holding on so tight, begging for resolution that didn’t come.
I asked Him, “Why?”
He pried my hands lose so He could hold them.
He said, “Stop limiting me.”
I said, “Why aren’t you fixing this? I mean, I’m trying to trust you and all, but why aren’t you fixing this?”
He said, “Who says I’m not?”
I stomped. I pointed. I whined.
I said, “Because it’s not fixed! I can see it’s not fixed. How am I supposed to trust you when you’re not fixing what you said you’d fix?”
He said, again, “Who said I’m not?”
I turned my back and hummphed at Him.
I said, “Because it’s not fixed.”
He said, “What does ‘fixed’ look like to you?”
So I told Him.
Then He said, “That’s different than what it looks like to Me.”
I said, “Yeah. Your ‘fix’ isn’t the same. So it’s not fixed!”
He said, “So you have a problem.”
I said, “Yes, I do.”
Then He asked, “And you also have the solution?”
I said, “Of course not. That’s why I’m coming to you.”
He said, “So you have a problem. And you don’t have a solution. but you ‘know’ my solution isn’t working because you can’t see the ‘fix’. Is that it?”
I got angry. “Yes! That’s it!”
He said, “So you know what ‘fixed’ looks like. And you’ve been asking me to ‘fix’ this problem according to your vision.”
I said, “Yup. That’s right. So here’s my problem. Fix it. Fix it this way.”
And He said, “I’ve been trying to fix it. But you’re asking for the wrong solution.”
I said, “I’m confused.”
And I’m pretty sure He laughed. Gently, but He laughed.
“I know,” He said. “You have a problem, and you think you also have the solution. But you can’t have both. One precludes the other.”
Of course, I wanted to be snippy and say, “Oh, God. You just think you know everything don’t you?”
But of course, He does.
And I don’t.
So I stepped back.
And He was right.
My prayers aren’t answered because they’re the wrong prayers. They’re not answered, because I’m not giving Him the chance.
If I have the solution, I no longer have the problem. If I have the problem, obviously my solution doesn’t work.
I have to take myself out of the Solution Box.
And a funny thing happens when I do.
It gives God room to fill it.
HIS way.
And let’s face it.
Dad’s way is best.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
“As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.” (Ecclesiastes 11:5)
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:19)
“But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.” (Jeremiah 17:7-8)
The Bending Tree
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote.
Nov 23, 2012 |
Turkey Hangover? Eggnog nipping and sipping? Black Friday basket filling?
What does the day after Thanksgiving look like where you’re at?
Here’s a glimpse of the fun we’ve had today!
Favorite Snack and Favorite Mug
Instagrammed!
Souvenirs from the Big Feast
Decorating Party Feast
Dot’s Decorated Tree
Knick Knacks
We slept in, cleaned this morning, and spent all afternoon decorating. When we were done, we settled in with our plates of goodies and watched MIRACLE ON 34TH STREET. The original.
And now it’s time to watch HOOPS & YO-YO RUIN CHRISTMAS.
Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, have a wonderful weekend.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Sep 2, 2012
When I first bought Bedford Manor, there were three trees in the front yard.
Before I moved in
Before moving in, I had the overgrown Juniper shrubs, Lily garden and miscellaneous items removed. The Fruitless Mulberry closest to the driveway grew so quickly, there were times driving into the garage felt like a trip on Disneyland’s Jungle Cruise. We made the decision last year to have it cut down [you can read about it here].
That resulted in the stump that I surrounded with scalloped brick and tried to utilize as a flower garden.
Stump Garden
Unfortunately, Southern California just went through one of the hottest heatwaves we’ve had in years. Which means that my potted flowers, the seeded flowers, and anything else that was supposed to grow, didn’t.
And in a hilarious turn of events, the tree stump began to reflourish. Even after two summer haircuts.
It Doesn’t Know It’s Dead.
Two days ago I decided it was time to stop playing pretend, and I made some drastic changes to the yard. First, I moved the scalloped brick to the side of the house. Then I cut all the new growth emitting from the stump.
I now have a stump. Not a garden. Not a pretend garden. Not a hedged-in dirt plot. A stump. It still needs a little more care to finish (drilling and salting). But thankfully it will cease to overrun my happy home.
Stump Growth
And I’m actually okay with that. Without the brick and the overgrowth, my yard is actually starting to look more like a yard again.
I’m so ready for Spring planting. My Italian Desert designs will come to life. I’m thankful that I have fall and winter to prepare the yard.
So much to do, so little time.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Sep 24, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Those of you who really know me, know I’m all about literature and Victorian era stories like Little Women and times when houses were more than homes, they were entities of their own, with their own personalities and characteristics.
When I moved into my house, I christened it Bedford Manor for a variety of reasons, but mostly because Bedford Falls was the epitome of family life in Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life”; that magical place where ordinary life is the best life there is.
My house was everything I prayed for: fenced, landscaped (sans grass), garage, indoor laundry room, quiet neighborhood, close to friends and family. It’s (almost) just like the house I grew up in; the floorplan is the same with two exceptions: 1. It’s reversed so my garage is on the right, my mom’s garage is on the left; and 2. I have a door from the garage directly into my dining/kitchen area.
I love that door. I can pull up into my garage, close it, and still have access to my house. It makes me feel safe in the dark. It keeps me dry in the rain. I love that door. I love the tiny six inch step down I have to take to get from house to car each day. I love stepping onto the concrete in my bare feet when I’m looking for something special in the overstock food cabinet. I just love that door.
I love my front yard. I haven’t enjoyed my backyard too much since it’s still full of ant hills and overgrown trees. The wind piles leafy debris on the porch. But soon I’ll have all that managed, and the back patio will be my screened-in retreat.
This summer belonged to the front yard. I potted herbs and ivy. Planned out a Spanish Patio area to enjoy a morning Bistro. Trimmed the trees. And trimmed the trees. And trimmed the trees.
Mulberries grow ridiculously fast. And they don’t really change color with the desert seasons like some other trees do. Some leaves turn yellow, but mostly they just dry up and in one good wind, drop. I have three big trees in my front yard. had. Had three big trees in my front yard.
Yesterday, my landscaper came and chopped the biggest one down. I thought I might be sad. Certainly at first I felt a twinge of guilt: I had prayed for trees and landscaping. And here it is, two years later to the date I found Bedford Manor, and I’m responsible for killing some of it’s beauty.
But even though the tree was big and full and powerful and beautiful… that wasn’t enough to keep it. Because it was also overgrown, high maintenance, and almost dangerous. I’ve trimmed it three times myself this summer, and it still continued to grow over the driveway. I likened it at times to driving through Disneyland’s Jungle Cruise with the long green branches beckoning my car into its cavelike vines. It blocked too much view, it cast too much shade and not enough sun.
Now with the tree gone, I can see the road better. The sun reaches my front alcove a little more, which gives me hope that my potted garden will fare just a little better. My living room certainly is much brighter. I’ll enjoy my alcove more and sweep it less.
I’m a creature of habit. Those who know me intimately, know I’m opposed to change. I don’t “go with the flow” (although I’m better at it now than I used to be). So to cut down the biggest tree on my property, it was a very serious mental undertaking.
And I couldn’t be happier.
It just goes to show, even the happiest, longest lasting roots can change and make way for something even better, healthier, more fulfilling. The tree is no longer there. But now I can wave good morning to my neighbors instead of hiding. The shade is no longer there. But now I can get some original Vitamin D more often than I used to. There are other trees for the birds to nest in, other shrubs to add greenery to my yard. And now, there’s an open canvas for me to plot and plant other growth.
Cutting down my biggest tree, I am finding, is giving way to some pretty big ideas. Ideas I wouldn’t have if I’d just kept things the way they were and resisted change.
So, you see? Change isn’t always bad. It isn’t always good, either. Change is just change. But it’s always there. It’s what you do with it that matters.
