Challenging Excuses by Lorilee Guenter

I have plenty of time, an overabundance in some seasons. In a society that seems to value busyness it is awkward to claim to have too much time. Unfortunately a surplus of time leads me to procrastinate. There is no hurry, no pressure. Where does time go? It gets spent in bits and bobs, small purchases that, when added together, consume the days.

Two months of a forcibly cleared schedule could be seen as a gift, a time to reconnect with the important, a time to finish what has been neglected. But, for me, two months of no routine leads to just as many problems as a packed full schedule. My workspace shrank as projects spread out to fill the space. How do you write or paint with no where to put the paper? Too many hints of ideas but none insistent. Images blurred, unclear, refusing to come into focus. The opportunity for observation limited to the same space each day. Unchanging, or is it? The yard wakes from its winter slumber.

My excuses are many, whether it is a full schedule or an empty one, a full desk or an empty space. It is not hard to find an excuse to leave the pen sit and wait for a different time, a better time. Even as I write these words, the excuses rise. However, a looming deadline pushes some of the procrastination aside.

How do I get past the excuses? How do I find the time, the energy, the [fill in the blank] to start again? With difficulty. With intention. With small habits built one on one. With doubt and fear and stumbling about. Then a phrase plays in my mind and won't be dismissed. Words return slowly, quietly waiting for me to respond.

Give me space
a time and place
so the words spill
and ideas fill
the emptiness

But don't you see
I gave you me
I'm all you need
I gave you life

Will I listen?

The Broken Dish - Marnie Pohlmann

SETTING:

The kitchen.  By the sink dirty dishes are piled.

            

ENTER FROM STAGE LEFT:

Mary, a frazzled looking housewife and mom wearing a stained apron and slippers. She runs water, adds "SonLight Suds" and begins to wash the dishes.

Mary’s monologue:    

Lord, it is not fair! 

They all live here, too.  It's not like I sit around all day just waiting to clean up after them.  I took those courses at the college and work every afternoon at the daycare to help with the finances.   I carpool Jimmy and his friends to hockey practice.  And I'm the secretary of the PTA.  I'm even a Pioneer Club leader.  And I try to bake and sew.  I even help Joe untangle his fishing tackle so he can get away and relax.  But what about me? Probably when I'm old and decrepit I'll still be the slave.

I don't feel like anything I do matters, Lord.  It all just gets undone again. 

I make the beds so they can be slept in.

I wash and mend the clothes so they can be worn - and worn out. 

I vacuum the carpet so everyone can track in new dirt.

I cook meals so five minutes later they can complain about being hungry.

And I wash dishes so they can be dirtied again. 

Oh, Lord, do I HAVE to do dishes?

Well, ok.  If I hurry I might have time to read the Bible and You’ll make me feel better.

Oh, look, God.  This old plate again.  It's always SO dirty, but it has always been one of my favourites.  At least it is getting easier to clean.  It isn't as stained as it used to be.  Must have something to do with that new soap I'm using - SONLIGHT SUDS.  And look, you can hardly see where it had broken, and we glued it back together.  I'll let it soak while I do the other dishes.

God, that old plate is kind of like me, isn't it?  I used to be a real mess - I guess sometimes I still am.

I was shattered and stained with anger and pain.  But You glued me back together.  I was such a wreck. I sure did not act or look very lovable.  But You loved me anyway.

You wash me with the blood of your own Son, Jesus Christ.  You bring out a shine in me that I didn't know was possible.  When I look at my life now, I see the reflection of Your protection and love. You've washed away the stain of anger.  The pain is still there, sometimes.  But it sure fades fast when I look to You for comfort.  Because You understand.

Lord, You know that I really do love my family.  And I know that they really do love me.  Help me remember that no matter what I'm doing, if I do it WITH You, and to glorify You, it doesn't matter WHAT it is I am doing.  Even if it's the dishes.

Here's that plate, Lord.  Doesn't it look beautiful?  It's amazing the change a little time in SONLIGHT makes in dishes - and in me. God, you are so GOOD to me!  My heart and my attitude are much softer, now - not to mention my hands!

I’ll leave those clean dishes there to dry. You take care of that, too. Thanks for helping with the dishes.  We’ll do it again tomorrow.

MARY EXITS STAGE LEFT.

There is a certain beauty in broken pieces. Sometimes they can be glued together to make the original useful again, and sometimes they are matched with other broken pieces to create stained glass beauty.

As we try to write in our cracks of time between the rest of life, God is at work creating in us the clean heart He desires that we give to Him. This is not always done with a pen in our hands. He writes His love in us even while we do the dishes.

Truly, if it were not for the cracks in my life, I would probably have nothing to write about in those small cracks of time! 

Sometimes those cracks of time when I should or could be writing, seem like deep dark chasms of time, not just stolen moments. And I am not well-disciplined at being productive in even those longer times. In hindsight, I realize I can be writing so much more. In time, in God’s time, He will mend those huge cracks in my life so they are beautiful - picture the Grand Canyon! 

As we spend time in the sunlight this summer - and in the Son’s light - may we each find cracks of time to write and to see God’s beauty mending our own unique brokenness.

Photos courtesy of CCO license, Pixabay.com

Marnie Pohlmann is grateful for both cracks of time and cracks in her life - one provides an opportunity to write, and the other provides topics to write about. There is beauty in the cracks when God's light shines through.
Phosphorescent

Cracks of Time by Sharon Heagy

Imagine, if you will, waking up after a restful night of sleep. Yawn. Stretch. Scratch. Gracefully you exit the bedroom and greet the day – hugs to the family, shuck the cat under the chin and ruffle the fur on the head of the dog. Your nose searches out the wondrous aroma of morning coffee and you pour the black liquid gold into your favourite cup and take a big satisfying whiff of the elixir in your hand.  Ahhhhh.  Quietly and efficiently your family exits the house with hugs, ‘have a good day’ and pecks on the cheek.  Languidly you stroll to your writer’s nook, flip on a little background music and settle into your chair to work uninterrupted for the next number of hours on your latest and greatest creation.  Ah, yes, the writing life.

Wh-what? Wake up! Wake up, I say! It is a dream, not reality. Ok, maybe it is reality for some writers out there but none that I have encountered thus far.  Their experience is more like – ‘I have half an hour, quick write’ – ‘Oh, that’s a good idea. I’d better write that down.’ – ‘Where is that scrap of paper I used to write down that good idea?’- ‘I’m on a bus, train or plane, in the mall, the Dr’s office, the restaurant, scribbling furiously in my notebook or frantically typing on a tablet or printing on my napkin which I clutch to my chest as the server clears the table.’ This is the flipside to that perfect writer’s life.

Many of us write in the cracks of time – sometimes seconds, sometimes minutes and sometimes, praise God, for a few blissful hours.  But the cracks can be productive if we use them wisely.

The clearing of grey skies begins with a crack in the clouds exposing a small patch of brilliant blue. The fracture increases in size until only azure is visible in the expanse above.  A farmer’s field begins with cracks in the seeds planted below the surface. Sprouts spring up and push through cracks they themselves create in the soil and eventually a carpet of green plants covers the field.

Take heart, dear writer.  Writing in the cracks produces a plethora of stories, poems and articles.  So, write, write, write! The writer’s cry should not be I only have 5 minutes but I actually have 5 minutes. I can write, I can edit, I can envelope myself in what God has called me to do for a fabulous five.

God loves cracks, of this I am convinced. He must. The people he used throughout scripture are cracked and flawed. Consider the mighty men and women used by God – they all had cracks.  In fact, I think it might be a pre-requisite. Didn’t Paul say, “I delight in my weaknesses…for when I am weak then I am strong”? (2Corinthians 12:10) When we recognize our cracks and show them to our Father, he pours his Holy Spirit into every nook and cranny, filling us to bursting so that new creative cracks appear. He then flows right through us and splashes words on a page to touch the hearts of others.

God is on our side and works for our good and he has indeed called us to this craft for His good pleasure.

Romans 8:28 – “ and we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose”

Fearless writer be encouraged and be of good cheer. Use these portals of production whenever they occur.  Seize them and turn them into treasures of time. Open your cracks to Him and let His goodness and creativity flow through you.

Golden Scars by Valerie Ronald

The centuries-old Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold is a perfect visual of creating beauty from brokenness. Kintsugi, meaning “golden joinery”, rather than rejoining ceramic pieces with camouflaged adhesive, uses a tree sap lacquer dusted with powdered gold. The conspicuous cracks become beautiful golden seams, emphasizing the breaks instead of disguising them. The Kintsugi method often makes the piece more exquisite and valuable than before it was broken.

I have no doubt that the gold dust of God’s love and mercy has mended my brokenness in beautiful ways, creating a vessel “as it seemed good to the potter to make.” If it weren’t for being shattered, I could not experience the deep healing and redemption only my Savior can offer. Not only does He heal but He does so in such a way that the mended broken places are made stronger and more useful. These golden cracks inspire much of my writing as I seek to use what God has taught me, to speak healing into the cracked lives of others.

A large part of my past life was spent doing damage control for myself and my children as we suffered at the hands of a sociopath. Clinging to my faith in God was the only way I could glimpse some semblance of hope, even while we were repeatedly manipulated, emotionally bullied and lied to by a man with no conscience. When I go back and read my journals from that time, I see a heart cracked and bleeding on the page, trying to process how to survive, calling out to God with the psalmist, “How long, Lord? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts, and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” (Ps. 13:1-2 NIV)

Amid the rampant breakage, I found writing gave me some solace and clarity. Reaching out to God, searching for help in His Word and writing my thoughts down, helped me pick up and carry the broken pieces, even if only for that day. I carried the pieces to Jesus, who saw intrinsic value in a pile of broken clay. He saved those pieces, and with care and love eventually recycled them into a useful vessel traced with scars of gold.

All this is to cast a light of discovery on my writing process. I am not a scheduled, planned-out, organized writer, although I do make writing a priority as it is essential to my well being. I am rather an organic writer because my craft has the characteristics of an organism, developing in the manner of a living plant or animal. The Holy Spirit is the gardener of new ideas, sought for in prayer. He never fails to plant a seed and illumine it in the creative part of my brain so I won’t miss it. Sometimes germination is slow, requiring time and nurture. This is where most of my work is done, in the “cracks” of my mind, emotions, and spirit. I may appear to be dormant but the organic process is working beneath a quiet surface. When the fruit is finally ripe, I sit down at my computer to flesh it out in words, mindful of the Spirit of God standing at my shoulder, guiding each stroke of the keys.

Pottery does not break in a clean pattern. The shattered pieces are irregular in size and shape, yet when they are mended they make a cohesive whole, a singular vessel. So it is when we break, because what causes the break is a blend of afflictions unique to each of us. When God works His “golden joinery” to put us back together, He already has in mind the way He will use us to bring glory to Himself. He knows my “off-the-grid” way of thinking and creating, and gives me freedom to write accordingly. If I were to be a more regimented writer I doubt my creativity would flow as freely or be as useful in coming alongside other broken pots to offer them encouragement and hope. The restoration of God in a broken life does not attempt to disguise the damage. His point is to render the fault-lines beautiful and strong, creating maps of gold for others to find their way. 

Valerie Ronald lives in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba. She is a graduate of Vancouver's Langara College journalism program, and has worked as a newspaper reporter, freelance writer, public speaker and bookstore employee. Valerie finds being a member of the Manitoba Christian Writers Association has honed her writing skill and confidence. She writes devotionals for her home church bulletins and her online blog. Her current book project chronicles how God's faithfulness saw her through the dark valleys of divorce and cancer. Along with her husband, Valerie enjoys spending time with their blended family and six grandchildren. She is a nature photographer, water colorist, cat lover and Scrabble addict.

More of her devotionals can be read on her blog   https://scriptordeus.wordpress.com