The Curse of White Picket Pleasantry

When does life get easy?  
Never?

Never!

When does life get good?  
Life doesn’t get good.
It is good. 

Life, the gift reminds us through God glimpses – a two year old’s shocked smile and saucer wide eyes as he lays his hand on a helicopter he just prayed to find, the sideways smirk on the lips of a teen awakening to true truth, or the elaborately laid, labor ladened, far fetched dream of a grounded girl hoping for a chance at the 2016 Olympic team… these moments bode of life’s potential.  They are worth stopping for. These are the seconds that capture my breath.  They beckon my fingers find a pencil and journal - I remember and record the goodness of God in the joyful happenings of life.

Life, the gift reminds us through  God glimpses  – a discussion about hurtful, sinful words and actions; the wolf at the door that promises this time it won’t be fed to satisfaction; or the anxious moment of awaiting the worst feared, has indeed, come – the trials scream harshly, “run away, all is lost.” These are the moments that tear at my heart.  Theses crises beckon my voice find words and wind from the Origin, my Origin– I repentant and remember the sureness of God in the pain-filled ebbs of life.
The sweet Comforter, in this tops and turbulent life, whispers “Be still, know, I Am.”

I hate life mess, I still buffet against it.    My personality seems permanently predisposed to a Pollyanna-like perception.   My default mode has always been “white-picket fence pleasantry” since, well - as long as I can remember. Intellectually, I readily concede this is not only, not  possible- but  ridiculous. His, God's, plan is better than my picturesque perfectly picket-lined houses with dialogue and days lacking dishovelment and disagreement.  His beauty is seen in the disparity between the dark and light...that's why I keep those Ansel Adams pictures flickering - to remind me of truth.   I know, surer than any other thing in life -He is not only real but He is  there, here, and all I truly want and need.

The reality is…mess is here and everywhere, and scattered in throughout, and this world isn’t heaven… it isn’t perfect, yet.   The starkness of His beauty against ugliness of real life is so much more…than that plastic picture my mind so often reverts to as good. 

Nothing, not one thing separates us from Christ; and everything points to Him,  all the glimpses are pictures of Him.