Lemonade Quilts, Cottages, and Whys

I sometimes get a comment or two - usually by someone who knows me very well - about posts such as yesterday's. I don't know how you can put such personal things on a blog, they say. Don't you worry about who will read? I know. I truly do. But the answer is no. I don't worry. I used to but I don't anymore. Here's why:

1. Writing, for me, is cathartic. Unlike anything I've found, writing feelings and failures and moments and memories frees me to acknowledge them. Examine them. Then forget them. Once my pleasure or pain is noted down in neat, lettered rows, I pass on the burden of carrying it all around in my head or heart. It's there. If I need to go back and relive it, I can. I don't need to store it and stew.

2. I grew up in a world of facades. In a place where Christian women were expected to be Bible- praying, pot roast-making Stepford wives. Raw emotion was discouraged. So, too, was acknowledging personal struggles. People with problems were rumored to have too little faith... or maybe too much. Christians who struggled were believed to have secret sin or, perhaps, were going through a time of "wilderness" punishment. It never jived with me. Either God forgives and forgets our sin or He doesn't. Either God loves us or He doesn't. And while painful lessons and corrections and maybe even tests are a part of our spiritual growth, they arrive from heaven carefully monitored and planned and always out of love. Always out of a desire by a holy God to help or teach or equip His child. They're not to settle a score or prove some unseen point. (And don't you Bible-thumpers start crying "Job!". Check carefully; he was the exception to the rule, and God rewarded him big time for all that.)

So why not acknowledge, I've reasoned, our struggles? They are, after all, proof that God is patient. That He loves us. Why not be open during times when our convictions would otherwise crumble? Because, you see, the thing with Christians isn't that we don't face hard times. The thing with Christians is that we never face hard times alone.

Besides, it's not that we don't have fears. It's just that our fears are overcome with faith. (Peter, for example.) And it's not that we don't have dark moments. It's just that darkness usually gives way to deliverance. (Moses, Joshua) And sometimes even our rebellion is proof that God's redemption is close at hand. (Jonah)

The point. I suppose my point is that life isn't easy for any of us. But for some of us - for me, anyway - life is beautiful. Even in the midst of its messes. For even in the saddest, most painful of times (yesterday being at the top of my list), I still recognize God's compassion and love. Even then. Even yesterday.

So let's move on to happier subjects. Because there are some big ones coming down the pike. Remember my mention of a Freeman House Cottage? What part of Saturday I didn't spend working in the garden or swinging in a hammock, I spent on horseback riding the land I'm seriously considering buying. Words can't ... they just can't convey... how magical this bit of land is. There are woods and clearings. There are moss-covered creek beds and perfect picnic trees. There are old fences and clumps of growing things. The view is amazing and the air is tranquil. This place has me written all over it. It's my magic place that's not yet mine. Everyday I drive out there and think. I can't stop thinking about it. Could I buy it? Should I? Will I?

All the preliminary checking is completed. I asked the bank if it would be possible for me to move Freeman House. This house has already been relocated once - between 1912 and 1914, I told them. It is perfect for guests but its location is not. I want to move it again and add a cottage and some gardens. Can I do this? I asked.

Sure, they said.

So I came home... and... well... I began piecing this quilt. White and butter yellow diamonds. It's the color of sweet lemonade. I can already see it on the cottage's iron bed, surrounded by buckets of sunflowers under a window with a view of creeping daisies...

...And on the bed, a tray with glasses of lemonade and thick, crumbly sugar cookies and bowls of strawberries and cream. And hand-embroidered linens dried over lavender-patch clotheslines...

Sigh.

It's amazing to me how, even in the messiest, most personal of days, we can find evidence of God's unfailing love. We can hold onto promises of peace and happiness. I like to think that even as I make my way through the mud, God's sloshing alongside with seeds in His pockets. The same seeds that will become a garden that will become my dinner and my delight. And the torn, cut-away pieces and fragments of my hopes? My selfish dreams? Those are the same scraps we'll use to beget a quilt that will beget rest. Sweet rest.

I'm so far from perfect. I'm such a mess. And my life is far from perfect. But it's as blessed as a life can be. From the "flesh and the fury" to the lemonade quilts, my Redeemer has proven Himself faithful and true. Even when others are not. May every word I write here and every word you read here be a testament to that.