The Sylvr Pen

“Oh, my journal, my journal!” (I wrote in my journal). “How I have been neglecting you!”

Then I went on to say the most ironic things, about journals and journaling…

To emphasize the irony, in the continuation that follows, I boldfaced each occurrence of the word “journal.” And it’s okay if you laugh as you read, because I did, copying this out:

I have been pouring time—even way beyond my allotted writing hours—into the transcribing, editing, and amending [of] that Zambia Journal, and have been more than ‘written out’ by the time any personal journaling time seems permissible.

[I explain below, in black type, what the Zambia Journal is.]

And now… my October copy of The Writer arrives with articles on using ‘Journaling to fuel your creativity,’ for’ developing your craft,’ and to ‘record the sights and sounds of your life—as an inspiration notebook.’

So back I come. First to my ‘gratitude journal’ to express thanks just for a good writing task to do in the Zambia Journal, though there’s nothing literary about it; it’s mainly transcribing, and even presented in the form of a two-column chart!

But my major hope for devoting set blocks of time for writing through a year [has been] that God will keep giving me useful things to write—and so He did with this.

And indeed, a journal—actually two journals [juxtaposed]—did serve not only as the inspiration, but also as the actual meat of the finished product. And what is that finished product called but the Zambia Journal?

Much could come from my journals. I’ve known this all along. But for the grist to be there [to “mill” into a publishable product], I need to put it in. Therefore, let me not neglect this [personal journaling].

I need to explain what this “Zambia Journal” was.

When my husband went with others on a two-week mission trip to that African country, I (whose role turned out to be staying home to babysit the “funny” farm and to pray the team through the fortnight) kept a record in my journal of what I—and some others—prayed, without any prayer requests or preplanning of prayer topics. Meanwhile, to the best of his ability amid the busyness of service, said husband journaled the events and circumstances that unfolded through the mission team’s stay there.

When he got back, we compared journals and got bowled over by the astonishing “coincidences” of the prayers God laid on hearts back home and the needs of the team abroad (with whom we had no communication but one phone call over halfway through their stay).

That’s what inspired a chart sort of journal, giving dates and lining up needs that arose in Africa and prayers prayed back home. I sent out e-copies to the many people requesting one, and made hard copies for people at church to borrow or keep. Some people wept tears of awe at the power of God and prayer, many read the side-by-side “coincidences” several times. Finally, I put together a photo album with narrative in squares of text and the counterpart prayers in cloud shapes.

Journals can bless in many forms.

~~~~~

Linked to Random Journal Day

When I see this week’s Five Minute Friday prompt word “season,” I think of seasoning.

Was I supposed or expected to think of fall and winter and seasons of life, I wonder, and isn’t it odd that I didn’t at first? This year I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the season of life I now occupy.

But that topic is far too big and demanding to address in 5 minutes anyway, and I have several posts on it already planned in my mind.

Seasoning, on the other hand, surprises me, and pulls my mind, and heart, along on an unplanned trail…

I want a well-seasoned life, my heart immediately tells me.

But what does that mean? What seasoning do I need? I love the fragrance of cinnamon and cloves, the taste of many green herbs and garlic and onions… But, um, hmmm…

Scripture says (Jesus or an Apostle?) said, “Let your conversation/speech be seasoned… with salt.” [I check after the time’s up and see it was Paul, in Colossians.]

Doesn’t seem much, does it? But when foods are really good quality, that’s all they may need.

Salt adds its own “flavor,” but it also brings out the flavor of whatever is there.

Some seasonings only cover up what’s there, trying to make the mediocre more palatable, or even to hide the fact that a food’s not worth eating or even about ready to go bad.

Instead, salt helps preserve the good in a healthy fresh food, keeping it palatable over time, keeping it from spoiling. Jesus called His followers “the salt of the earth” and warned them not to let their “saltiness” diminish and disappear, leaving them no good for anything but to be thrown out.

This teaching went right along with Him calling first Himself, then His followers “the light of the world. As the light we have is really only Him in us, isn’t He also my salt, the preserver and enhancer I need… for every season of my life?

Yes, I think so!

{END}

[When I check on the salted speech passage after time’s up, and find it’s Colossians 4:6, I also see that it equates salt with grace, the thing we need always in our speech, in our actions. So yes, where do we get that good seasoning but from Him, the constant, and constantly needed, supply!]

~

The boat was light.

So we, though small, rowed easy.

Little brother covered its floor with fishies,

Then Dad rowed.

Light boat anchored hard and heavy at a fish spot,

we’d watched others drift by.

I could have sworn it was we who moved—

till he pointed out that shoreline focus,

and how our line-up with it held, unchanged.

Afloat, all views are relative.

~~~~~

Linked to

Still Saturday

[It’s Five Minute Friday, and the prompt word is “Dwell.”

How can I write all my thoughts on this word in five small minutes?

Well, if I can’t give it its proper due in that time, I can always “cheat,” can’t I? I have done that before.

So, the timer’s set, I push its little button, and off I GO:]

I read the word “dwell” and immediately into my mind (and heart) comes the beginning of Psalm 91, psalm of great comfort to me at many times, “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High, abides under the shadow of the Almighty…”

And suddenly I think maybe, just maybe, this verse is actually a sort of dictionary definition of the word.

So I think to look up the Hebrew for what’s translated “dwell,” but first I see Young’s literal Bible sitting on my table, so I grab it and turn to the verse, and I am struck:

“He who is dwelling in the secret place of the Most High, in the shadow of the Mighty lodgeth habitually.”

Hm. It seems it’s explaining what it means to be dwelling in God’s secret place with Him: It means staying habitually, settling down there and staying put, habitually.

It means living there!

It means abiding, that word that my husband has been talking about lately, asking just what does it mean to “abide”? (And I respond with an instant “That’s simple. Remain. It means remain.” Period. But I think he’s pondering this word’s meaning because it’s not that simple to live it! He means how does it really play out in life, in really being lived?)

“Abide” and “dwell,” they really are synonyms, aren’t they?

They both mean staying there. Not taking five minutes to sit down all antsy and unsettled, barely containing yourself in your seat, till the beeper buzzes, then jumping up and running off when it does.

It’s not an instant fix or a quick coffee break. It’s a continual state!

Now I look up “dwell” on Blue Letter Bible, and their Strong’s definition confirms what I’ve been thinking. It says the Hebrew word translated dwell means “…properly, to sit down (specifically as judge, in ambush, in quiet); by implication, to dwell, to remain;…”

Yes. The Psalm 91 psalmist obviously  isn’t talking about crouching down in ambush or taking a seat as judge. He’s talking about settling down, and basically staying settled down, in quiet, with God.

How can I do that during the upcoming “busy time” of year as I’ve heard more than one person call it lately? (Which I think is the kind of thinking underlying my husband’s question.)

Good question to pursue in the week ahead. And to blog. Very timely prompt word to ponder just before the busy…

See you later?

First, it was no vacation. For that you have to vacate—and kick back and rest. The only vacating I did was a two-night B-and-B stay, meeting a friend visiting my state. And instead of time off work, my “staycation” was dedicated to a certain work:

I had a mountain to move.

Small mountain for a big bulldozer, but challenge enough for li’l ole me! So how does a puny, aging woman move a “mountain” (without that bulldozer)?

How about… one shovelful at a time?

Faith can move mountains, sometimes without even a finger-lifting.

I once read a delightful example of that:

A little church, outgrowing its facilities, wanted to expand. But the local powers required more parking lot to go with bigger buildings. And the only property available was a hill behind the church.

Yet this group? They prayed. Prayed, and waited.

Then one day the phone rang. A builder needed fill. Would they let him dig that unused area behind the church?

Voila, mountain moved! Voila, parking lot!

But sometimes something else is required: the active outward expression of faith:

Footwork. Elbow grease. Effort.

Three years ago I started dreaming of a raised-bed garden which, God willing, I could tend and enjoy even in my “declining years.” The idea had rooted in my head when I’d happened upon pictures of colonial kitchen gardens like my Pennsylvania German forebears must have grown.*

I also learned raised bed gardening harkens back to medieval times, while our present row-plantings separated by wide patches of tilled soil weeds developed only in the last two centuries.

So I began to dream.

Then I found durable, non-toxic framing pieces (composed of wood and recycled soda bottles)—so easy to assemble, even a non-carpenter, wimpy woman like I could put them together and set them up…

(one catch, though) …on level ground.

My plot area was entirely… slope! In fact, I don’t think we owned one square yard of level ground on our whole property, apart from what the buildings stood on!

That was then. Now’s a different story…

Back in September, I blogged my aim to make every day a “D-Day,” by practicing virtues like Decisiveness, Determination, Diligence, Dedication. But fact was, during the previous two and a half years, I had already practiced those virtues—in garden building.

Truly it was faith expressed by action. You’d have to know my limited constitution to realize how much  faith it required. My nearest and dearest now tell me they never expected I’d carry the whole thing out–also that they never realized how much the land sloped there.

But God (amazingly) enabled, I labored…

…and there it is!

And what I (re)learned about faith is how it often comes to fruition one small shovelful at a time.

Real faith will do the dirty work, will keep prying out the embedded sharp stones and near-boulders of hindrance where vibrant growth will one day hopefully burst forth, will keep sweating through difficulty’s heat, keep going even when ache and fatigue keep protesting against more battle strain. Real faith will endure the stings and blisters, will persevere where the heavy clay of adversity, made sticky and clumpy by rain, builds up into balls on the bottom of shoe soles and confounds footing.

Until by one shuffling agonized step (or shovelful) after another, you find you’ve reached goal!

Q: What in your life right now calls for the dynamic duo of faith and footwork? What one shovelful of faith-follow-through will you take in hand today?

(I ask myself the same question.)

~~~~~~~

*Book pictured is Pennsylvania 1776,  a bicentennial publication put out by Penn State University Press.