Chandeliers and Lights

The symbolism of a chandelier.

The individual lights are effective but collectively they can light up a room.

Without walls I wonder the reach of a single chandelier.

Add reflection and the light multiplies into millions of beams of light.

It's more than beauty.

More than function.

hillsongunited.com

jeremyriddle.com

laurendaigle.com

bethelmusic.com

Lights are most useful in darkness.

deborah

welcome { to the table }

the table

la table

la mesa

la tavola

der tisch

la sto

seghany

tavolina

die tafel

alttawila

tebilati

stol

zhuozi

bordet

etc.

No matter how you say it

 the table is a universal image

of connection, fellowship,

 blessing and giving thanks.

A place to rest, to dine, to write.

Go out to the roads and country lanes 

and compel them to come in, 

so that my house may be full.

Luke 14:23

There is a chair for everyone 

who would come to the King's table.

Seek while he may be found,

call upon him while he is near.

Isaiah 55

{unseen} beauty

{unseen} beauty

In quietness and in trust shall be your strength.

                          

dirt and a destiny { merci }

It's been 'a winter' around here.

Our yard was asleep, brown and dormant

for such a long, long season

with a sleepy monochromatic view.

Then it rained.

And the temperature climbed.

And overnight, all things became new.

New life opening pathways in soil

making space for fresh growth.

Looks like spring is here.

Sounds like Easter:

an invitation to start over.

To be made new.

The tomb was like the 3 day dormant winter.

All hope was gone, it seemed.

But dormant is different than dead.

There was something going on well below the surface

that eyes could not see.

The legal rights to sin, sickness and disease were taken back.

Life was awakened from the tomb.

Life that overcame death.

And with gentle, meditated and power filled authority

the Over comer removed the death rags

of linen gauze and folded them.

Then turned His back on the tomb to walk away.

With scars to remind of the path He chose to submit to

through the dirt, sin and disease,

he stayed clean, pure and uninfected.

Easter: an invitation to new life.

Clean.

Forgiven.

Purpose filled.

Loved.

Secure.

Sure.

New.

{The Bible,  Mark 15 and 16}

Thank you for stopping by.

Happy Resurrection Weekend!

Deborah

{pure} clear, simple

{pure} clear, simple

{intentional}

{open}

{pure}

{having purpose}

{quality}

{streamlined}

{focused}

blessings,

deborah

images: the web

mud pies, a front porch and an invisible tiara

Our Front Porch

I'm the cute chubby one on the far left.

Meet my sisters and little brother

( he's the one with the mud) 

with a few neighbor girls sprinkled in as well.

It was a warm summer afternoon and my mother was home

so she snapped a picture.

She wasn't always home.

Sometimes she left.

The reasons why she left...

I am not fully qualified to speculate on that.

I'd like to.

To be honest.

To be real.

Sometimes she wanted to leave and other times she had to.

Some say one thing and others say another.

All I know is my perception and tainted memories which I am certain that neither are fully accurate...

kind of like the mud on our feet.

We all have a different perspective.

Those that were there and even those that loyally defend 

though they were not there.

Muddy beginnings 

don't always have to make for a muddy life.

Sometimes to see beyond 

 surroundings and believe, 

if only for a moment

that there is something bigger, something better

 beyond their limited and darkened reality.

Sometimes life gets muddy.

We can choose.

Yes, choose.

Some don't choose.

They just keep playing in the mud, 

occasionally wondering if there is a better way

but not having a clue which direction to go 

or even how to start moving out of a camp beyond their reality.

But for me it was a choice:

wear it or wipe it off.

I wish that this front porch could talk though.

'Front porch speaks'

Wouldn't that be interesting?

I'd read it.

This front porch was at one time the home of 

Philip and Margaret, parents of my grandfather.

The stories that it could tell.  

I may learn something if I could only hear it.

Family gatherings on Sunday afternoons,

enjoying great grandmother's lilac shrubs, olive tree, 

apricot and cherry trees,

courageously sending a son off to war

lives during terrible uncertainty and the depression era...

After my great grandparents passed away 

the property contents were sold at an auction.

I remember looking through a kitchen junk drawer 

that was open for display of items during the auction.

Old thimbles, wooden spools of thread, tools...

I remember seeing that drawer as absolutely intriguing.

I looked at those little discarded bobs and bits with awe

realizing that they were remaining little pieces representing

the daily, normal and routine lives of people, my heritage.

I was too young to appreciate history or people or things that way.

But I remember wishing that Great-Grandma could have shown me how to sew, how to use those thimbles and old mismatched thread.

I guess some would say am an old soul.

I am sure of a few things, though.

I remember her purple iris flowers out under a tree by the back ally.

And my little brother and I used to play in the old 57 Chevy

pretending that we could drive and toured for hours.

I am sure that the tree halfway to the barn was apricot.

I was traumatized by it's fruit one summer 

after I took a bite of a juicy ripe apricot

chewing and swallowing.

Then looked down to take another bite 

and saw 1/2 of a worm squiggling around where I had just bit.

Yes, unfortunately,  I am sure of a few things.

{junque shed}

I remember where I came from

 and I do not want to forget.

There is value in the muddy day memories and stories.

They help keep me grounded so that I can help others 

who need a rescue, too. 

He really does give beauty for ashes.

But ashes are the result of a fire.

I had to let go of it.

Beyond praying or giving it to Him.

I had to let go.

This front porch home literally went up in flames 

years after we moved out of it.

But there are memories of things that happened in that house, around that house that I believe once offered to God for His 

re-purposing, are bringing the hope of beauty to others lives, 

encouragement to people who feel trapped by labels, words,

 fears, like they have no choice but to wear it.

{rescue  rethink  repurpose}

It's a passion to share my journey where Love and Truth

led me out of the mud puddle,

told me who I really was,

 gave me a hope and a future

and the tenacious stubbornness, in a good way, to believe it

for myself and for every single person on the planet.

In the end what else really matters?

If it's not living fully alive,

 knowing Love 

and living Love

then what?

Just last week I was sitting around a table and a relative said

"All these people going around talking about love...

Love. Love. Love.  They say love out of one side of their mouth

and then they don't show love...hypocrites. 

 They are all a bunch of hypocrites"

I said "You know, I think you are right.

To some measure or another we are all hypocrites

if the standard is to love all the time, to be perfect in it.

Because we are human, it is impossible for us, alone.

I think authentic love needs the Source of love."

I am thankful for mud, front porch stories and a repurposed life.

deborah

aaaedqaaaaqwerrrrrraaaadf

{thankfulness} under-armour cold gear, cold hands and candles

{intentional thankfulness}

I love this time of year.

{choice}

 Snow often appears literally overnight

blanketing everything with a peaceful white dusting

to welcome an expected and welcoming warm golden sunrise. 

The children are giddy with anticipation of snow activities.

Candles, fireplaces and little fairy lights become well used

to warm the evenings and light up dark corners

and the sounds of holiday music is heard throughout our home.

And outside gets all dressed up for winter, too.

We painted our whole kitchen in chalkboard

a few years ago and I use the walls quite often 

to write lists, verses to remember, thinking processes

or just funny things that the kids say.

This morning, the kids helped to make a list called

THESE ARE A FEW OF OUR FAVORITE THINGS

about winter.

The list is quite long I am happy to say.

Sledding, hot cocoa, our advent calendar, stockings, hunting,

hockey games, basketball, Christmas light drives,

snow, secret Santa, turkey with stuffing, 

Grandma's corn casserole (not mine. just grandma's)  

making deer and goose jerky with Dad, white lights,

candles, fireplace, baking, giving, Christmas music, 

family gatherings, pine trees, snow angels 

and building a snowman, hot cider, warm soup...

I realize that my attitude and outlook about the coming 

inevitable sub zero frigid temperatures

is as real as the choice that I have 

physically before me right now.

I am sitting in front of a window and can feel the warm sun 

on my face and at the same time my fingers are freezing.

We haven't turned on our furnace yet and there are areas in our home that are nice and cozy with a space heater.  

There are also areas that remind you to wear 

your slippers and long johns!

I recently read an article written by an adult 

reflecting upon memories from childhood about the heart

 of their mother when it would snow.

She would look out the window and smile.

This mother's attitude left quite a positive impression

on their, now adult, child.

"She smiles at the future..." Proverbs, The Bible

What a good thing to teach.

Smiling at the future.

Smiling in gratefulness out the window

 seeing with the eye what is, 

hoping in the heart for what is yet to be

Looking ahead, shunning worry and fear, 

while embracing hope, joy and peace.

There is a prerequisite I believe:

Trust.

That mother had to have trust in something much bigger 

that could go much farther than her physical eye could take her.

Faith, not sight.

'"In everything, give thanks."

"Really?" I would ask.

"Everything?" I asked in my mind as I would read that verse.

That sounded crazy.

Often impossible.

Ah.  Must be supernatural.

We may never understand the depth of the rewards

of being grateful.

It releases something within us and around us

that promotes joy, peace, contentment...

And just ask my family.

They will tell you I often fail in this, but I'm trying

Several years ago I wanted to fast,

to give up something that can get in the way

of physical, emotional and spiritual health.

As I was praying about what to give up: food, coffee, media, etc.

I had a thought.

"How about grumbling? Complaining? Discontentment?

Oh, don't get me wrong, it's not that I have

 a nature bent towards negativity.

It's just that I had a house full of busyness with normal 

loads and loads of laundry, lots of messes, chores,

an unemployed and thus unhappy husband, bills,

a dying mother and uncertainty all around me.

"Give thanks."

"Really?"

And a wise friend stated 

"Give thanks in every situation...

not for...

but in."

It is a truth that is simply profound.

I may never fully understand it

but I believe it.

Oh, and we finally broke down and turned on our furnace.

It was 9* the other night.

I'm grateful for heat...

Thanks for reading.

Have a thankful day!

deborah

welcome {defined}

wel'come

/'welkam/ 

n.  1.  an instance or manner of greeting someone

v.  1.  greet (someone arriving) in a glad or friendly way

Elements of a welcoming space:

*comfortable seating, providing a posture for rest or conversation

*soft lighting, natural sun even moon and stars if possible, 

candles or small garden lights

*fresh flowers speak of life and beauty

*music chosen and tailored specific for the occasion

*and a cup of hot coffee, tea or other beverage

Clean and simple space, uncluttered to give room for life

with added touches to say 

"You are welcome here."

Using all five senses creates a place for community to be shared.

I have studied interior design for years and played with ideas

most all of my adult life.  I guess you could say I grew into it.

After my husband and I married we set up our first home and neither of us had a clue of preferences, etc. 

 We used hand me down furnishings like the chest of drawers 

that I bought from a college friend for $5,

a clean lined sectional from a thrift store 

that was manufactured in the 50's

(that would be awesome to have redone but then it was...?)

and a bedroom set from a garage sale.

My husband even tried to build us a clothes rack...

There's a funny story there and if you know him ask him about it.

It's a belly laugh waiting to happen! :)

Things can evolve and take time to discover.

I love burlap, old wood and vintage patina but simple and clean

and it is a surprise to me when others love my work

and ask me to decorate for an event, 

a wedding, a party or business display.

I have so much fun doing these things

that when I go to 'work' it seems like I'm going to 'play'.

When I step outside and look around at creation

I see 'welcome' written everywhere!

  

 w  e  l  c  o  m  e.

Have  a beauty filled day!

deborah

dream {defined}

dream

/dream/ n. (dreem)

 1. a series of thoughts, images, and sensations

occurring in a person's mind during sleep

v.  1. to experience dreams

2. to contemplate the possibility of

deborah

mud pie and a tiara

mud pie and a tiara

{my china cabinet}

I have a good friend who said to me

"That picture.  That's it. that is who you are.

That is what to write about."

I love to tell stories,

not because I'm so important.

Or want to be narcissistic. 

But to be real and encourage others.

{To In-Courage}

I'm fine tuning.

Waiting.

Learning.

Seeking.

We'll see.

Happy weekend!

Deborah

Thoughts, Oatmeal and Grandpa...

My Oatmeal Grandpa

I spent this morning catching up on housework

that got a bit out of control 

from taking an afternoon away to the lake.

(but so worth it!)

All the kids, plus four friends, 

are volunteering this week at a friend's church

to be group leaders at Vacation Bible School.

So after dropping off a truck load of smiling kids

(well, most of them...the ones with their eyes open anyway)

and husband to their designated places of responsibility,

I came back home and got to work.

After I finished the massive mountain of dishes

I decided to take a breakfast break.

(I'm not a breakfast person)

"What sounds good?" I wondered.

Oatmeal.

With strawberries.

And almonds.

And maybe even a banana.

I always think of Grandpa when I eat oatmeal.

{photo taken with my I pad... After breakfast, actually, just for the visual. 

Sorry, no banana. I ate the last one

and the peel in the trash can didn't seem to...photogenic}

As I sat and ate my breakfast my thoughts settled on Grandpa.

And I thought of all the times he would feed me and my two older sisters and younger brother on our way to school.

Oatmeal.

Malto-Meal.

Grandpa passed away two years ago.

Every one knew him a bit differently.

To four kids, he was Dad.

To Grandma he was Edward Charles, her husband of 70 + years.

To me, he was the one who called me Peanut

and gave me attention.

He gave me Oreos and black licorice, my buddy as a child.

Grandpa.

And just like any other friend and family gathering,

whether wedding or funeral, 

stories were shared at Grandpa's funeral.

and I looked down at my bowl of oatmeal.

The strawberries were quite ripe when I added them

to the mixture of fruit and almonds.  

They were almost bitter, sort of like dehydrated fruit might taste.

And I thought of some of the stories that I heard 

at Grandpa's funeral.

Nothing to horribly terrible.

Just a bit obnoxious and surprising, to say the least...

{Overly ripe, almost tart and bitter strawberries}

We all see what we want to see in certain situations.

I needed a hero.

I looked for it in Grandpa.

We all remember what we choose to remember.

And then my thought turned towards how 

God sees us.

And how He forgets when we ask His forgiveness.

In fact, there is a sea named after this.

It's called the Sea of Forgetfulness.

He even spans the horizon with 'remembering no more'

in a statement when He says he forgives

as far as the east if from the west.

Like the bitterness of the almost dehydrating strawberries

in my oatmeal,

so can all my failures, mistakes and disappointments

season my perspective of myself or those around me.

My phone is ringing!

Kids are out of VBS!

deborah