In the Heart of the Moment

Dear Diary,
Today I saw my heart.
I don't mean in a poetic way, within some act of kindness or secret evil tendency.

I mean in a literal, physical kind of way.

I took a stress test, and, along with it, an ultrasound of my pumper.

It didn't dawn on me that I would be able to see the pictures while I lay in my breezy, gray hospital gown on the white papered table.

But when the light did dawn, I thought,
Cool! Very-very cool! I will get to see my own heart!

As I made out the black and white video images on the screen, my throat tightened and my tear ducts filled. My thoughts changed from Cool! to
Oh my word!  I am seeing my own heart!

When I revealed my emotional state to the ultrasound tech, she responded by giving me a narrative of the things she was seeing on the screen, pointing out such foreign things as my "mitral valve" (what I saw: a floppy flap opening and closing) and my "beautiful left atrium" (what I saw: a chamber wall hiccuping in and out.)

I was surprised at my rush of emotion to those pictures on the screen. 

I have seen precious life on a monitor before, in the ultrasounds of my preborn babies.  The tiny hearts beating so quickly, the body parts perfectly formed as God planned.  Now that elicits emotion for good reason!

In the heat heart of the moment, I let my romantic side emerge as I watched the heart do what God designed it to do.  It is a hard working muscle, but it's also a vessel --
containing my spirit,
my life,
my love,
ME!

Many people will never get to see what I saw.
The cool thing about the heart is that you don't have to see it to know what it contains.
The way you live your life will reveal that.

As I stared at the wonders on the screen, the Sunday School student in me was hoping to spy a miniature Jesus smiling and waving at the "camera" from one of my heart chambers. 

'Cuz I know I have Jesus down in there too!
LJ

My Ducks and Monkeys

Dear Diary,

I like having my little duckies in a neat row. 

I get deep satisfaction from those days when I can review my appointments and to-do list and systematically check off each item from those lists after its fulfillment.

• Lunches bagged for three kids:  check
• 7:30 band drop off:  check
• Walk three miles: check
• Side trip to peruse the clearance at Kohls: check
• Various household duties:  check, check, check, aaaaand check
• Pickup from volleyball practice: check
• Fix dinner -- and make it nutritious: check(ish)
• Bake zucchini bread: check
• Carpool to high school evening meeting: check

There are always things accomplished in between the listed items, and sometimes they even get written down and checked off simultaneously, just for the superficial satisfaction of doing so.

It gives me the allusion that I am in control. 

The luxury of free time does exist, about an hour or so before bed. 
Usually it is nothing preplanned; just a part of my day when I don't follow a list. 

I can follow my own whim.

At dinner my husband will usually say, "Whatcha got planned for tonight?"
Nothing.
Not a thing! 
Yay me!
It is a time for me to relish a book, write in my Not-So-Secret Diary, or sit down to my crochet-and-TV nights that will start up as the weather turns colder. 

Heaven forbid I should have a ducky step outta line; an unpleasant little surprise during my day that disrupts the disciplined march/waddle of accomplishments.

A sick child,
a stressful phone call,
a sore back,
an empty jar of peanut butter.

I am a big girl.  I know not every day will be ideal.  I know that I am not in control.  (In fact, Twila Paris' song "God is in Control" has been blasted in my car or home many a frustrating day.)

I just really, really appreciate the days when life is good and my ducks are in a row.

I also realize how boring life would be if it was just a continuous line of ducks. Throw a monkey into the line and watch how lively and out of control it gets!

It's the monkeys that make me appreciate the ducks.

To my friends with too many monkeys right now, I feel your pain.  You can borrow my Twila Paris CD (how old-fashioned of me) or give me a call.  I will be happy to realign my ducks to accommodate your monkey.
LJ

Visiting Death and Shopping for Bargains

Dear Diary,

There is a reason the title of this post makes you scratch your head in wonder.  Let me explain.

This summer I had the honor of attending the visitation of someone dear to my church congregation.  Someone who had been a member of the church his whole life, and whose children and grandchildren still attend. 

Grief aside, "visiting" death is good for the heart and soul. 

It gives life to the senses, and gives the sensible a reality check ruler with which to measure life.
(And hopefully knocks some sense into the senseless.)

There is nothing more sobering than to look upon a bodily vessel, lovingly formed by the grace of God, which has now been emptied of its most valued contents.

After I left the visitation at my church, I drove across the street to my children's school, which was having its annual rummage sale.  I marveled as I wandered around the aisles of stuff that filled the gymnasium.

Here were the old discards,
the devalued,
the cheap, and
sometimes even dirty,
items of our lives.

While, across the street, the family of a man was celebrating the gift of his life. 
Cherished,
precious,
and eternally valued.

Never had the span of a street given me such a juxtaposition of life. 

It was weird being in that gymnasium, which I originally thought would bring on my usual bargain shopping buzz.

My heart, at that moment, much preferred the somber visitation room, which created a more meaningful buzz inside me -- one based on hope, peace and salvation.

Peace out,
LJ