Smile Factory

I needed a smile today and it came in the most unexpected way.  This guy here.

CONFESSION:  I was hurrying toward the exit at the local wholesale, when I saw the greeter positioned at the door.  The greeter is in charge of looking over your receipt and counting your purchases to ensure you have not added items to your cart after you've paid.  It's a measure of security, since Sam's Club saves its customers money by not bagging anything.  But it isn't a time saver.

So the thought of waiting in another line at the exit door, after you've already waited in line at the register, can really be taxing on the mind. It's an exercise in making sure my mind isn't going down the gutter with thoughts that don't edify God's creation.  I'm constantly battling this.   

Even though it was only going to take but a few seconds, my thoughts started to tilt to this man being an inconvenience.  Why does this guy have to be here when I'm running behind.   Luckily, I caught the conviction and tiltttttted my mind back.  Get back in line, Delissa's brain!  You Oger, you!  And just like that, my world and thought-life were open and expansive and free again.

"Howdy, did you find everything ok, ma'am?"

"Yes, I did!"

"Good, that makes Mr. Sam happy and me employed!"

":)"

This guy is funny and he is my new hero.

Mr. Greeter didn't treat me like just any other human being with a cart in a supermarket.  His words were delivered sincerely, as if he cared about my shopping experience.  You know why?  Because he did!  Just think if I would have robbed him the chance to give himself away by closing myself off to the voice of the Spirit.  This time I heard the whisper, slowed down and I got myself a smile!

I wasn't really in that big of a hurry anyway, yet I convinced myself I was.  Why?  Because the underlying pernicious lie is that humans don't have value.  That my precious seconds of possible productivity are more important than the flesh and blood standing in front of me.  As if I could be creating something better than a human being if I were more efficient.  THAT cracks me up.  There's a reason I refer to myself as an idiot.  :)

I smiled all the way back to my car.  Geez, this guy's a human, not a robot!  He's here trying to provide for his family and I was busy devaluing his efforts.  BARF  And furthermore, he's the reason I'm smiling now.  I wanted to repay this kind and funny gent and the whisper of the Spirit came again.  He'd feel special if you took his picture.  Nothing like having your picture made, so I whipped the car around and ran back in to take his photo.

"Mr. Can I take your picture?  I want to write a little story about how nice you are."

"Why sure.  Go on ahead!'

And just like that...we had ourselves a smile factory.

Lost and Found

I drafted the below on February 6th of 2011.  Never published.
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Ok, fine.  I will write the title of this post and come what may, Lord. 
I just want some relief from those three words.

What is it that I have lost and found?

Or perhaps in this season,
it's more like a counter-clockwise motion
around the mystery of these contrary terms.

Either way, I feel like I'm spinning.

Yes, I lost my job.

Yes, I lost my only uncle.

Yes, within weeks, I lost my only aunt.

What have I yet to find?

Lord, make me your Miriam; leading the praise for the captives of time.
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FAST FORWARD to today when I find this in my drafts. 
I see that last sentence of prayer being answered, undoubtedly. 

luvluv,
d-bunked

I want to share my day.

There they were on the wood-slat porch.  Young mother.  Infant daughter.  The old, bleached boards white with sun.  Hole straight through, where rot opened way and black kitten jumped for cover.  There must have been a second happy mama out of sight.

I arrived at the halfway mark of the young mother's weekly two hour visit with her daughter.  Mom was in a deep, crouching position, utilizing her cell phone to capture baby's new ability to sit big on her own.  So much to cram into the two-hour time slot she's been given.  I sense she's feeling the pressure of the stranger supervising and the strangeness of being a new mom, but without a baby to mother most days.  The pictures will be her medicine until the next reunion of flesh and blood.

No toys, no carpet to crawl on, 100' temp and no one to model to this young mom what parenting might look like.  This is the scene my eyes take in, time slowing as I move toward them.  None of that matters, though.  The one significant thing casting shadow on everything else is the Spirit of Heaven walking up to the separated luv there are on the bare planks of that porch.  A picture eerily reminiscent of the Cross.

They spot my arrival.  Faces light up, baby arms respond with flailing.  I went from one of the EVE girls that come into the strip clubs, to full-on may as well be blood sisters in just a few weeks' time.  It's been eight months and oh how I luv my new family! 

Just behind where the two of them sit, a door.  One that leads to a long history and yoke of pain so mighty that only a miracle can heal.  Not one of those flashy counterfeits, but a real, modern day miracle of luv.  And the people a knob's-turn away?  Well, they are groaning along with creation for something more.  I can do nothing.  But Him?  He can do it all.  So we scoop up baby off boards and turn the knob on that other bigger board cattywampus on its loose hinges.  The door, like a billboard, sending a message to the world to notice what's within.  We enter and the miracle happens.  We enter in.  And the darkness flees.

We play, we talk, we pretend walk and we live above the anemic circumstances of poverty in the extravagant fullness of luv.

As I leave, I start to dream about the history of that old house.  The grand receiving room is situated just before the central architectural element of the dining room.  This structure obviously built to foster family interaction and fellowship meals.  Now nothing more than a worn couch and a small TV to fill up 700' of space.  I wondered what it might have looked like with fresh paint and shiny floors.  Then He whispered to me, I am restoring this house in a way that moth and rust cannot destroy, dear one.

The Exhale, 5 thru 12

Joy making through thanksgiving:

5) Tough conversations and God's grace

6) Patience to wait my turn

7) The wheels turning on my car, getting me to where I need to be

8) The voice of a cherished friend

9) Donning creative threads

10) Life lessons coming into focus through His lens

11) The loud whisper of the Holy Spirit

12) My sister, Ann Voskamp

Grace. Thanksgiving. Joy

Metal chiming the wind into audible note.

Watching community in a pack of wild dogs.

Grass giving surrender to winter's death.

 And a poem for the day.

 For I Dwell With You As An Alien 

Meandering street souls reminding us of the stitch before time.
Their eyes, portals to the Denominator's door they take us.
The Grand Artist whittled down right there in the bottomlessness of their gaze.

Beautiful, weathered feet dusting off the sediment of Earth's fall.
Steps that patter out eternal thanks,
Causing one to hunger for the dinner bell of time.
He gracefully prepares us for the underpinning of this Holy Day.

Homeless, but rarely it is a stranger they meet.
Aliens in this land of the dying.
Sojourners, pioneers, billboards of a place with no time and space.
Making nest prematurely (or no) in that sweet land of by and by. 

To them, the greatest of the messengers, I give thanks.

                                                                                                  ~Delissa Payne