Connecting The Dots

A toe rope

 A climbing rope floor to gym ceiling

Life is child's play

A connecting of the dots

I remember water skiing as a young teenager. I remember starting from shore with two skis. I remember starting from the raft with one ski. Everyone watching. Everyone cheering me on. Exhilarating.

       I remember the afternoon sun beaming through the high windows of the high school gym. The boys gym class was on the other side of the room; girls were gathered beside the three ropes that dangled from the ceiling. And I was last in line. I was last to climb. And I knew I would make it to the top. Everyone was waiting for me to do it...the only girl in the class to do it. I closed my eyes and imagined everyone cheering me on. Some one special. That was important. To be more than a

number or even just a first name lost among all the other first names. When at last my turn came, I dipped my two hands in the white rosin, reached high over my head to the second knot, pulled my body up and swung my two feet against the rope and began. All the way to the top. And there was cheering and clapping and it was all for me.

What happened to that me?

     When I was young I knew what being the best looked like and was always reaching for it. Even in college, I dreamed of fame. I imagined that I would write for a living in my own little apartment in Chicago at a desk like the one on the cover of Virginia Wolf's A Room Of Ones Own and the friends I would have would be drinking buddies like the lore around Henri Miller and friends. Publishers would know my name and cheer me on. And of course I'd play basketball on the outdoor courts with the guys.

What happened to that me?

To coin a phrase, life happened and it seemed to happen by choice.I chose to leave all the dreams behind for a future I couldn't imagine, sufficing to just survive, to just keep my head above water,treading water with tired feet, fearing that the only reality was drowning if I didn't tread fast or long enough. But I remember one late afternoon with the pile of bills in my hand, dropping to my knees in the middle of the living room and crying out to a God who I had left behind in jr. high, to help me because I just couldn't do it by myself anymore.

And I still can't!

"Open my eyes, that I may see wondrous things from Your law. I am a stranger in the earth;"

     Yup, Psalm 119. I remember being led to leave the main church congregation while they were singing and tiptoe into the old church, open an old bible to Psalm 119 and just read it through. Then every Sunday while the congregation was singing, I would slip into the old part of the church to read Psalm 119. Not that I felt my life was changing in any way, it's just something I did.

     That was more than 25 yrs ago. I have long left Bethel Church, actually any church service . Yet two weeks ago, I was led to pick up my bible and read it again. I have been reading it first thing every morning since. Not that I feel my life changing in any way, it's just something I do.

     

But something is different. I don't know if it is this virus scare that has the world tipped upside down or the silence of the morning, but every time I read Psalm 119 it is as if I am reading it for the first time. Different lines speak to my heart. To say the least, I am fascinated. But the reoccurring theme most mornings is that God hasn't given up on me, so why should I? The psalm pleads for knowledge and understanding, and so by reading it, knowledge and understanding become my prayer too. All I can say is...try it. What do you have to lose? "Let my cry come before You, O Lord; give me understanding according to Your word."