Something good was noticed yesterday.

I looked back, briefly ... careful not to get stuck there, at a time when I felt blown ragged by a storm. Just lately I have been thinking about shelter and more specifically about the shelter provided in relationships ... and something else. I've been thinking about how we warm our hands on each other's fire. Relationships ... we are communal, warming each other with shared moments. How do we know how close to get ... probably depends on the heat of the fire and the coldness of our souls.

I made a pretty good choice back there in the storm. I decided to tippy toe up reaching for God's steadying hand. My feet wanted to do something other then that ... at the time, they wanted to run carrying my heart to somewhere ... safer ... . Instead, I stumbled in to a shelter ... the shelter ... in my own little tsunami-type event. Turns out God was big enough to lift me out of a mess I wouldn't have been able to out run, and he held me close as my heart broke. God knows all about broken hearts.

I'm writing about this, because I learned something there where hurt and anger and regret co-mingled and my heart might have exploded in bitterness, fracturing into pieces too small to find again ... too small to do anything good with (small, like those tiny pieces that slice in to you unexpected).

Every body experiences weather ... life is lived in the elements, and we seek shelter when it becomes too much. I was thinking about Adam and Eve ... in the garden ... naked. Naked didn't matter ... irrelevant ... unnoticed until they lost the shelter of God's provision. We call it
naked ... exposed ... unclothed ... unsheltered ... vulnerable ... like we really are when we connect with one another in significant relationships. Most of the people I know, don't like vulnerable. I know I don't. I want to warm my hands, without exposing myself. I am unsure of shelters. I know that they easily fall down. Best to stand outside nearby and vigilant, warming my hands. It's hard to trust shelter.

Cleave –verb (used without object), cleaved or ( Archaic ) clave; cleaved; cleav·ing.
1. to adhere closely; stick; cling (usually followed by to ).
2. to remain faithful (usually followed by to ): to cleave to one's principles in spite of persecution
(totally different from, but often lost in ... cleavage). Cleave is a relationship word. It's heard within a vow.

(Ironically cleave has another, almost opposite definition:cleave/klēv/Verb
1. Split or sever (something), esp. along a natural line or grain.
2. Split (a molecule) by breaking a particular chemical bond.)

So ... what I learned ... not everything I learned and am still learning ... but what I want to write about is this: Gratitude heals. I think gratitude must be the glue that adheres broken pieces back together and maybe makes a way love to seal the cracks. I know there's a jump from whatever happens to bring pain, and gratitude, but the things one might be grateful for are near by. And if you're ready enough, it's probably best to start thinking about, and being thankful for those things. It seems like the lives of people I admire the most are those spent growing ... moving on towards best versions of themselves. I think that is a choice.

This past week as I've read a little and also talked with strangers at social events I've been thinking about how I perceive time ... as linear ... seconds strung together and upon any of them the vectors of your (my) life may shift course. Places where you might lose the love you love the most. And then what? I think for me, that is where gratitude kicks in ... yeah, something important is lost, but what about the stuff that made it important? The flowers in the vase ... that type of thing. Those seconds may also hold miracles so tiny that they are easily missed if you're looking backwards instead of ahead. I can only steer towards what is ahead ... seems like I'd want to be looking for the track that leads to where I want to go. (Where I want to go to spiritually is what I mean.)

In my house it seems like stuff gets broken ... maybe not often ... maybe just weekly. A glass comes out of a dishwasher cracked - stuff like that, mostly everyday things, but sometimes a piece of the pottery I collect gets caught in a sleeve blurring through the foyer ... caused by the carelessness of youth, or the callousness of immaturity. (I tell them that they will be getting an itemized invoice for damage to property upon check out ... they think I am kidding.) I have a bucket in the garage that holds broken pieces of "special" things. Speaking of the garage and broken ... someone seriously just made an awesome basketball shot from way over there under the oak tree and ... broke a window in the garage door ... that's what I'm talking about. Not with window glass, but with some of the nice broken stuff ... stuff I loved the most ... I've been saving it for a re-invent. Now I have a tiny bit of extra time that can be directed towards some pent up creativity. I thought about making some mosiac pavers for the beachhouse I'm thinking of. My husband said save the pieces for a permanent path.