Carol Hiestand

A large 18 wheeler with a yellow cab catches my eye . . .
part of the busy traffic this morning across the lake.

and I think. . . . what if it was a VW pulling the load…
Lord, I don’t want to be a VW trying to pull
a load you did not intend for me

Lord, I’m not sure I should keep my eyes open
while practicing Solitude.
I get so distracted. But then
You do speak to me through
what I see.
And this morning you speak to me through
18 wheelers
and VW’s

Maybe I’m thinking about VW’s because
“Mr. C” taught me a new VW game.

See a VW, say “Punch Buggy”
Then “punch” the person next to you.
In my day it was “slug bug” followed by “slugging”
You use all kinds of things to speak to us
through our everyday lives.

Lord, it feels good to be here today.
It always feels good.
So many things weighing on my mind
Help me focus. . .
do the things that need to be done.
Only pay attention to the “load” you intended
for me today
and no more.

Dear Carol, Do not forget
My burden is easy.
It is light.

Carry only “My load” . . . .
Your life and all your burdens are in my hands
I may ask you to “help me out”
now and then.
But this burden is NOT yours.
It is MINE!

Matthew 11:30

from the book "Lake Lessons"

Solitude and Silence is a bit more “front and center” in my thinking these days because I am part of a group doing a book study on Invitation to Solitude and Silence by Ruth Haley Barton. Just “being” with God seems to be a challenge for anyone, but doing it through the grid of Adult ADHD  has an added dimension.  There is an aspect of it that seems impossible for me.  I wish I could simply sit and “be.”  More often than not, I am  “doing” all over the place in my brain.

I find myself struggling to “do it right.”  (I’ve done a lot of personal work around that issue – not an unusual struggle for someone with ADHD who usually didn’t do things “right” for a lot of people in their lives.)   So I have been working on accepting that solitude and silence may not look the same for me as it does for others. And since sitting quietly with my hands open in my lap is death to silence and solitude for me , I often write, because writing helps focus and slow down the racing thoughts in my brain.  Slowly I am learning to give myself permission to experience it in a way that is congruent with the way God created me.

During a recent conversation with a friend we talked about the importance of having a breath prayer.  Praying that prayer helps keep us in the quiet place of being.  My breath prayer changes from time to time.  This particular morning I just started writing, kept writing and praying and prayed the distractions right into my prayer time.

I have no illusions I have arrived – this is an ongoing journey for me, but here I share where I was on April 10, 2012.    As I prayed, I thought of breathing in God’s love (like oxygen) and breathing out the things that do not nourish me.

It’s April 10th, National Siblings Day.
And I am not overwhelmed with grief.
I think of the three of them with Joy
      thankful for the time I had them in my life.

Lord it’s so good to be here,
      at my lake
      on my rock
      under my willow tree
      snuggled in a blanket
      coffee cup in hand.

Thinking about your faithfulness.
Immanuel, God here with me
You came.
You left the Holy Spirit.
And I am not alone . . . ever.
Today my heart knows this truth.
Sometimes only my head knows.

Breathe You in.
Breathe out grief.

Breathe You in.
      Breath out pain.
           A duck quacks
           Now I’m thinking about quacking ducks.

          For a moment I feel despair over my distraction.
          Then I remember -
          You made the ducks
          part of your creation.
I  smile
I continue to write. . .

Breathe in and out.

Breath You in.
      Breathe out tension
over the details I must juggle today.

Breathe You in. . .
      There is traffic moving along the street across the lake.

Breath out hurry
Breath out going places on my own.

Breathe You in,
Breath out loneliness
Ducks swimming in pairs.

My siblings are gone
But I am not alone.
I have You and special people in my life
It’s just that they are all getting redistributed.

Thank you Lord for phones, email and skype.
and for knowing I will be with my siblings again.
There will be one big “hello”
And no more “Bye, C’ya” again . . . ever.

page 4 - lessons from my grandchildren

 I’d forgotten she was coming to her cousin’s basketball game today.

But there she is, standing at the foot of the stairs, all smiles
stopping to look around like she’s trying to adjust to all the noise and activity
before she steps the rest of the way into the gym.

She comes right to me when she sees me.
I pull her onto my lap and tell her,
“oh sweetheart, I’m’ so happy you’re here.”
Hugs . . . Kisses . . .
“It’s so good to see you . .
More hugs and more kisses
as she snuggles into my lap
and sweetly and simply says
“I comed.”

Oh Lord, that’s all you want isn’t it.
You are always there with love,
waiting for me to show up
to come.

I want to remember and celebrate this sweet moment
this moment that reminds me of You and how YOU wait for me with love.

Grandpa Galen, please take a picture of Emily and me.

He does! He always has his camera!

It is the week after Christmas and the family is visiting

Princesses and warriors reign in my house

The princesses twirl . . .

Ssmile sweetly . . . and wave their magic wands . . .

Those pretty poses. 
Who teaches them these things?
Princesses just know . . .

 And they lovingly hug the baby . . . 

 They don’t just brighten our lives.  

Without knowing it, they teach us lessons about life.

One afternoon, while the warriors are off fighting battles, two little princesses coming up my basements steps are heard to say:  ”We don’t need parents anymore to help us. We help each other hold our dresses up.”

“How cute,” I think….A mama overhearing and being much wiser in the ways of 3 year old princesses says to herself:  “I’d better see what is going on!” They  head to the bathroom, where they think they don’t need help holding up their dresses.  But even with mama helping, the hem of the dress falls in the water. There are tears of distress and dismay.  Grandma comes to the rescue with  a little soap and water. It will dry.  All is well.

A little later I hear something a little different as they once again come up the steps and head to the bathroom:  ”We need parents to help us don’t we?”

And I can’t help but think -
How often I go about my life,
          making plans
          not bothering to ask for help
          thinking I don’t need it
And then discovering
I should have asked for help.

Lord, help me remember
I need “a parents” help” in all things,
even my plans.

For you are the best “parent” of all.

No hesitation
No fear
Just curiosity about what’s next,
While I am always wondering
          what disaster awaits.

Help me to see You as
          the One
                    who reveals
                               the future
                                        as I need to know.

Sometimes like today,
The knowing
           in my head
                    has a hard time 
                               getting to my heart.

I need your help Lord.
I want to look at changed plans
          with a sense
                    of adventure.
And a child-like curiosity
          that wonders
                     what YOU might
                               do next.

Psalm 141:8 – But my eyes are fixed on you, Sovereign LORD; in you I take refuge.

written Sept. 2008 during a time when I  strugglied with fear.  This post is part of the process of learning to trust again after the loss of my brother and grieving the earlier losses of two siblings as a child.  Even now, 3 years later, I still stuggle at times with fear, but God met me through this time of doubt and gradually I have learned to trust again.

“My” rock, next to this willow tree at Lake Opeka is one of my “Sacred Places.”   I have spent a lot of time on this rock over the years, processing losses, reading scripture, praying and spending time with God.

September 14, 2008 there was too much water too fast, and we have water in our basement and a big mess.

A few days later I go to my favorite spot, only to discover that “my rock” is no longer there.  At least it doesn’t seem to be.

I have never seen the water so high. A few years ago, the water was so low, I could sit on the edge of this rock and barely dangle my feet in the water.  And now I can’t see it at all.

 And as I stand here these thoughts come to mind:

Oh, there it is, my rock
I think I can see it now.
There, that light tan area . . .

No, it’s just the play of the sun
And the shadows on the water.

But  it’s there.
It’s been there long before
I started coming to this place.
It has never moved before!

God, sometimes I can’t see you either.
But like this rock, you were there
        long before I started coming to you
You’ve never moved
So I know you’re still there
        providing a firm foundation
             for now
             for the future.

God, you know I am full of fear -
        fear for the personal safety
              of those I love
                     fearful of losing again.

Help me understand trusting you
        is no guarantee of
        never losing again.

It does mean I believe you have
       my best interests
       and the interests of those I love
               at heart
                         in light of
                                 eternity.

I’ll always love you;
But still, right now,  I am afraid.
Help me be able to say with King David,
“Whenever I am afraid,
        I will trust in you.”
 

Slowly the “my rock” becomes visible no longer obscured by the water. 

And so, You too become visible, no longer  obscured by circumstances.

Until then, help me see with the eyes of faith.  

Life Lessons - a Digital Storybook created with Storybook Creator Plus (background photo reduced opacity)

 

 

I notice the beauty the evergreens from my window
freshly decorated with the overnight snow storm.

And once again I am irritated by the clutter
of the telephone pole and wires.
I’ve always wished they weren’t there.

What if I could just clear it all away?
How it would change the view!

Lord, sometimes “telephone poles and lines”
get in the way of seeing you clearly.

And I am reminded. . .
Lent is a good time to
        clear out the clutter that interferes with
                 seeing your
                                  beauty.
Help me be honest about what you show me.

And may I be just as irritated by the
        “poles and wires”
                 in my own life
as I am by the
        “poles and wires”
                 in my back yard.

“As we clear out the clutter in our souls, we become more finely attuned to what is really going on in our lives spiritually and the invitations that are there for us. As we experience a broken and contrite heart in the face of what we are seeing, the way is opened for God to teach us wisdom in our secret heart. “

from “Practicing Lent: An Invitation to Return to God” http://www.thetransformingcenter.org/?p=2721

Dear Princess Rosebud,
It’s always fun to baby sit for you.
Papa Neckie came along tonight.
You were having such a good time.
And somehow you fell and got a big “goose egg”
on your sweet little forehead.
And you were Very Sad!

You let Mimi hold ice on it for awhile

Then needing comfort,
you go to where you have received love before.

Crawling up onto Papa Neckie’s lap, you snuggle quietly,
occasionally turning your head to gaze lovingly into his eyes.

You accept his loving pats,
and his murmured words of assurance.
Comforted, you soon climb down,
but not until you had what you needed.

I think it’s like when we come to Jesus
and let him love us when we feel bad.
We can pretend to climb right up on his lap
and stay there until we feel better.

My prayer dear Sweet Princess is as you grow,
you will know Jesus and his love for you
because the important people in  your life
showed you love and comfort.

When I am sad, I sometimes picture myself
crawling up into Jesus’ lap.  

I have found Him to be Loving.
I have found Him to be Good

Something is different this year!  A letter to my brother…

Dear Little Brother,

It’s November 8th again, 6 years since you left us. And as on every anniversary, I release a red balloon for you, for our shared birthstone, a deep garnet.

I take my red balloon to the clerk who inflates it for me, telling me it’s not really red and maybe I don’t want it. I assure him it’s ok, not bothering to tell him why you won’t notice or even care about the color.  So he ties a nice pink ribbon to the end of the pink-supposed-to-be-red balloon and I head over to the Beach.

The first time I released a balloon for you, I went to my favorite beach. I knew you’d like it too. It’s a wild, rugged beach, but it’s too far to drive today and it’s cold.

 The wind is whipping the balloon around in crazy circles and I don’t want it to fly out of my hand until I’m ready.

That first year, you (well, your balloon) slipped right out of my hand before I was ready, just as you slipped out of our lives with no warning. That day I went back to the car and got another balloon and released another one when I was ready!

Letting go of the balloon seems to mean something different this year.

 In the past the balloon was a symbol of you – the little brother I prayed for – the one who shared my birth month.

Today it seems to be a symbol of letting go – but letting go of what, of whom. How do I let go of you? You’re part of who I am.

I turn to leave after your balloon disappears out of site.

Each year, on these anniversary days, I look for a rock before I leave the beach. And today I look again. This beach has few rocks, but I find one. . . A rock within a rock . . . part of, yet separate. It’s how I see you and me. 

As I ponder these things over the next few days, I realize this experience is a symbol of letting go of the grief surrounding the loss. This year, releasing the balloon was a celebration of you – not a remembering of loss. 

Early in my grief, I read an article about the need to release grief. I wondered how you know when that needs to happen. And is it a specific moment in time, or a gradual adjustment to the loss?

I still don’t know for sure, but it was important for me to take my own journey through grief. I had to embrace it, accept the invitation your loss brought, run into the darkness so I could find the light, get the help I need and keep writing. Then when the time was right for me, I found release from the grief. The anniversary of your loss becomes a celebration of YOU and the gift you were in my life, rather than a commemoration of the sadness and grief of losing you.

I have learned: having formulas and time tables are much easier for those who want to help the griever, but not helpful for the one grieving. Had my friends told me I needed to let go of my grief rather than letting me work through my grief, I would have focused on the impossibility of letting go.

I am grateful for friends and family who allowed me to journey my own path, incorporating the unresolved losses of the past so that I could arrive on the time table God had for me. I suspect there is still more to this journey, more to learn, but this anniversary was a milestone.

It feels good little brother. I wish you were here so I could tell you all of this in person. That’s silly . . . I suspect you’d have little patience for  this symbolism and processing, but since you’re not here, you can’t give me a hard time about it. We were so different, yet alike in many ways.

I love you little brother. Wish you were here. I’ll see you in heaven some day!

Love,
Your Big Sis

My corner table at the Garden Cafe

Snow, blue sky, clouds, bare trees
From my corner table at the Garden Cafe.
The earth is resting.
Maybe the earth knows more than I do.

Time to be
Just a few minutes. . .
Why does it feel so wasteful?

My breathing slows down.
My muscles unwind.
I am honoring my body.
the one you gave me.

A few minutes to accomplish nothing
But in the nothingness I feel Your presence
Immanuel – God with me.
Maybe that’s the best part of all.

Sometimes winter seems like nothing.
But the earth is resting.
New life will come.

Can I expect that I ,
as a part of God’s Creation
need not rest?
or be quiet?

And I think of the scripture:
Isaiah 30:15b . . . in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.”
Andrew Murray, best known today for his devotional writings, says in his book, Abiding in Christ: One would think that no message could be more beautiful or welcome than this, that we may rest and be quiet, and that our God will work for us and in us. And yet how far this is from being the case! And how slow many are to learn that quietness is blessedness, that quietness is strength, that quietness is the source of the highest activity–the secret of all true abiding in Christ! Let us try to learn it, and to watch against whatever interferes with it.”