A blacksmith builds a blazing fire before he pushes the metal into the flames. But the metal must get red hot - softened - and then he pounds it into something useful.
You have been pushed into the fire of grief and loss with raw and searing pain.
But I have pulled you out and begun re-forming you.
Trust me, dear one. I won’t crush you to uselessness, but I will form you into something new.
This fire of grief and loss is changing you. You are being made new.
I act with love and purpose. You can’t see what I see, but trust me, I have a plan for you.
Unlike the metal in the fire, you have the power to step away. And you might consider it because you want to avoid the pain of a scorching fire.
But if you won’t endure the pain of the fire, you won’t see my transformation.
Trust me, dear one. Let me work.
I will bring that group through the fire and make them pure. I will refine them like silver and purify them like gold. They will call on my name, and I will answer them. I will say, ‘These are my people,’ and they will say, ‘The Lord is our God.’ ”
Take my hand and let’s stroll out onto the dance floor. The orchestra music lifts your spirits. Smell the sweet flowers decorating the walls. Conversations with soft voices drift to your ears.
You wear an elegant gown of purple silk. Diamonds at your neck. I have given you the attire of the ball.
Don’t pull away fearing you don’t measure up to this. I am the king of the dance and I brought you here.
Don’t run back to the shadows like a self-conscious middle schooler. Walk with me into the light.
You are loved with an everlasting love.
Allow the beauty of this place to give you confidence to join the dance of life, the feast of love, the gathering of freedom. This is my dance and you belong here.
I have loved you even as the Father has loved me. Remain in my love.
The winds of loss shriek with deafening cries until the air is thick with pain. You think you can’t hear me. Listen to my gentle voice.
Choose the path of your thoughts. Focus on my voice, not the pain.
I whisper words of hope, of confidence, of life in midst of the storm. Pain can confuse you and lure you away from me. But you can learn to hear my voice.
The winds howl outside of you. My voice whispers inside–to your mind, to your spirit.
Focus on me, not those external angry cries. My words are of love and purpose and kindness and mercy.
I love you, dear one. In the storm, I love you. In the shrieks of pain, I still love you.
Listen for my voice. Come to me.
Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock
I had considered titling this post “News You Need” because I am a former small-town journalist and my brain thinks that way.
But then I found out that I had missed the rapper feud between Drake and Kendrick Lamar. Obviously, I’m not keeping up on the news. So don’t count on me for that anymore.
Veering off into left field (something I’m known for), I set journalistic intent aside and instead move to the next obvious thing: open my computer supply cabinet.
A Trip Back in Time
I like technology, and this cabinet is a treasure chest of years of technological changes.
I don’t have my Apple IIc up there (I wish I did!) but, of late, opening the door to that cabinet means a spaghetti snarl of cables and discs emerging like hungry pythons that I have to push back with my foot while I slam the door.
It’s made finding a USB charging block challenging.
I finally gritted my teeth, started pulling stuff off shelves, and found Monkey!
Monkey Now
Monkey is a little plush monkey with a coin purse for a backpack. I carried him for years when the kids were home. Monkey marked the location of car keys and carried quarters for gum ball machines in his backpack.
Our Fellow Traveler
“Go get Monkey,” I could tell the kids, and they raced back with the fuzzy guy in their hand. He was part of our travels.
He retired when his backpack zipper split and the cord tying him to my purse broke. Maybe at the same time. He had the Velveteen rabbit look to him.
And I had saved him?
As I turned him over in my hand, the memories bubbled up from times when the kids were at home. Trips to the park. The flip house the kids and I gutted. County fairs where they showed goats and a horse. A flight to Los Angeles to visit the USS Iowa. Our laughter when the mint plants were pummeled by hail. The trees we planted together.
So many memories.
Moving On
I set Monkey aside and kept digging.
A crumpled earbud set curled in the back corner of the cabinet. Oh, yeah, I wore those on the flight we took to San Diego. We visited the zoo and Sea World and watched whales from a boat.
The 30-pin to VGA Adapter (don’t ask) pushed up to the surface as I dug around. I used it in a photography class I taught. You had to stand on your ear in those days to be sure the adapter connected the laptop to the classroom projector, but we managed and had a great time talking about photos of kids, flowers, and dogs. Sunsets, too.
Some misguided person (that’d be me) saved Apple product boxes, thinking those could help value when re-selling said product. I had a white rectangular Apple mountain on the second shelf, which made a Minecraft square-block avalanche.
The boxes don’t help resale value much, but didn’t even trigger memories. I had an iPhone X once? And an SE? An iPad Air? Some of these could have been for my husband or kids, but for some reason, I was the box keeper. I mean, Apple makes beautiful boxes. But still…
Some Old DVDs
Moving on, I found several old DVD programs on the top shelf sitting like tombstones. OLD means dinosaurs installed those programs on their Commodore 64s. Not really, but can you say Windows 98?
The shelves were an archeological dig. I had a great time remembering. Then I threw handfuls of cables and cords and disks and adapters into the trash bag.
The old computer stuff is mostly gone. (I took a couple of pictures but, really, who needs to see a 30-pin to VGA adapter?)
What about Monkey?
He’s staying. His memories are far warmer than Windows 98 and the iPhone X box.
Him and the USB-C cables. I’m not completely impractical.
