Mood Lighting~

This morning, a friend of mine called and set me on an errand of sorts. She is redecorating her home on the mainland, and had wanted my opinions on some things. My mission, should I choose to accept it, was to go (cell phone in hand) to the online site of the company she was ordering through, and walk through the offerings with her, as her sounding board of sorts. I thought this sounded kind of fun, so I agreed. We set up a time and coordinated. I logged on, and was set to surf the net, looking for the perfect fit for her and her new home.

By the end of the conversation she was practically begging to get off of the phone—as I, of course, had wandered from the actual task of shopping, into a different world of thought/pondering tangent (as I am prone to do)—getting sidetracked by psychology and semantics as I journeyed further into the land of lights and fixtures and shades, dimmers and timers. For my credit, I started off at every site fully focused on the practical task of finding the right colors, the right “feel,” the perfect piece(s) for my friend’s declared specifications. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking how much this related to life…this whole lighting thing.

As I clicked through the pictures of the track lighting, I marveled at how simply the strategic location of bright lights could instantly highlight a desired point of focus in a room, yet without being jarring or having it feel institutional. This, I was told, was a most ideal setting for displaying a specific work of art, or other desired points of interest, without being too ostentatious. Then there were the halogen lamps…I’d always liked these. They were amazingly able to give off an immense amount of light, but because they focused the rays upward rather than downward, it never felt like “too much” or glaring…perhaps because the majority of the light and heat were not pointed directly at the individual seeking illumination.

Then there were the lights that had shades on them. Some coverings were hideous in color…bright and brash—and *gasp * tacky to the tee. There were tassels, beads, designs, and (I mean it) even….feathered shades. Some shades were almost see- through in their thinness and translucent nature—others were so opaque that the light was almost completely swallowed up in the bowels of their blocking hues.

There were timers on the really modern lights that they were selling. You could apparently program them to shine brightly for a certain amount of time before having them either dim gradually, or shut off completely at a designated hour. The dimmers could be tuned to fade according to the needs and tastes of each owner---running the gamut from bright and brilliant—boldly filling the room— to the opposite extreme of leaving a somber and mellow ambience; barely lit and neutral toned.

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I listened patiently as my friend shared her * lengthy * thoughts on each of the options. We weighed together the pros and cons connected with the purchase of every item. As the conversation progressed, I realized * pragmatist that I often am * that she had no idea (or concern, apparently) for the different costs of these items. Rather, our entire conversation and deliberations had completely revolved around how the lights/ lighting made her feel. It was as if money was of no importance in comparison to the need for a “perfect fit” (as she called it). The “perfect fit” for what she wanted to welcome her home everyday…the “perfect fit” for what she needed to feel at peace and rest sitting beneath, and surrounding her—day in and day out. I understood this “perfect fit” of which she spoke.

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I often pray that I will go throughout my day and be a reflection of “light and joy” to people with whom I come into contact. This day has made me revisit that prayer over and over in my head. Yes, I very much do still want this….but now I want to be more specific in that prayer. What kind of light…not the glaring kind….that in-your-face-give-you-a-migraine-flourescent light (no, thank you). Instead, I want to be a sweet, soothing light, yet not so dim that it lulls people to sleep, or that they cannot find their way around to get anything accomplished—rather I want to be the light that is bright enough to allow them to see their world clearly--beautifully (painting their surroundings in the best likeness possible—highlighting the happy colors, the neutral soothing tones, and the shades that will give them hope—and set them at ease—surround them in peace).

I am still a work in progress….but now I have a more specific goal in mind, and prayer in heart. As I go about my day(s)...what kind of light do I want to be? What kind of light am I right now?

Home for the Holidays~

Holidays.

The holiday season has always been a bit emotional for me. I am not sure if it is more the break in my normal routine, the sometimes hectic busyness of a full month’s worth of parties/ friends/ gatherings/ family, the build up of anticipation of that December 25^th day, travel and traffic, stampedes at the local shopping mall, or the inevitable fact that someone (at least one) that I love will most likely not make it home for the holidays.

This year, that “someone”—was me.

Not only did I not make it home for the holidays, but I was spending my December in a tropical setting…with friggin’ palm trees, not pines…surrounded by swimsuits versus snow. Not exactly the climate for all the Christmas spirit to easily ooze from every picturesque pore. Do not get me wrong, I will never complain about being able to swim in the ocean, or wear a sundress with barefeet in the middle of winter, but there is something you miss (that feels almost out of body experience) when those Christmas carols begin to play over the radio of your car, as the AC is cranked full blast.

The entire month, once I embraced the fact that getting back to my family in NC was entirely out of the question, I focused on not focusing on the dreaded December 25^th. ( I had looked several times at the ticket prices skyrocketing before my very eyes as the inevitable day approached….telling myself * maybe * I would just smoke the Visa and surprise my sisters and little elven nieces.) However, I finally came to the conclusion that ‘smoking’ was the understatement of the year…at these prices, ‘Incineration’ was more like it. * Sigh *

So. Now. What?

My boyfriend, I could tell, was already worrying…although he is not by nature a worrying type at all, I know him well enough by now to see the telltale signs of unease that rarely registers in his physique. The furrowed brow, the watchful eye from afar (taking me in—measuring if and when a call to the local mental institution will be necessary, perhaps?), the ready and open arms—poised for the plethora of hugs that were no doubt needed (and mercifully supplied) as the season slowly slinked onward. Growing up in the islands, he had never really had the wintry wonderland (nor the Southern sweetness of home and over the top holiday hutzpah) Christmas experience in order to go through the withdrawal symptoms that I seemed to be suffering from. But I could tell he sympathized, albeit in a “Oh-my- gosh,-WTF-is-WRONG-with-her-and-is-she-gonna-snap-out-of-it-soon?!?!?” kind of a way.

The beautiful man even got to the point where he offered to send me home himself…a true gift and sacrifice…although the incineration of his plasticware was no more appealing to me either. Nope…it was decided we would just make the best of it…but how?

If any of you know me, you know I am one stubborn, hard-headed little sassafras (and proud of it!). So I figured all I needed to do, was decide and determine to be happy this holiday. That worked for, oh, I dunno—a day? And then that d**n radio dial would land on a Christmas carol that would knock me (and all of my self-assured optimism) flat on my a**! Back to square one…I realized I needed an entirely new and different plan of attack…and yes, it really was that way in my mind…a battle for my sanity---and to save Christmas from the depression monster, by gosh!

Plan B:

· I LET GO: of traditions, of memories I was clinging to—trying to recapture.

· I RELEASED: the frustration of feeling “stuck here” (in Paradise, no doubt---geez, andy beth)

· I GOT OVER: my expectations of how this Christmas thing “should be”—and over MYSELF.

· I DETERMINED: to embrace all that is GOOD, HERE AND NOW.

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It is December 26^th. And, miraculously, I was able to get home to spend yesterday with family. And no, it was not in NC…it was a house filled with surfers and pixies…seekers and so(ul)journers just like me…sisters and brothers who have chosen one another willingly…and for this reason, are connected in a deep and inexplicable bond---we CHOSE one another. We, living on this island out in the middle of the Pacific, far away from all we know as home and the comforts connected with it, seem to have realized that we need one another— and we cling to each other—lift one another up—rescue one another daily—a cohesive collection of crazy beach bums who have built a makeshift life raft in the midst of this ocean.

I swam in the sea. I built a SANDman. I wore my favorite sundress, and painted my bare toes a glittering red and gold. Christmas met me here and now….at home.

Mosiac of Myself

28 years I have had.

Almost three decades down--bending over this jigsaw puzzle of my life. Pieces strewn about—their jagged edges at times maddening. Every once in awhile, the edges connect—gliding into one another with effortless cohesion. Same shadings, matching colors, the contoured lines blending into the background as the separating seams all but disappear.

Looking back, it has been these times that were such a source of consolation to me. Comforting somehow, to think and feel life “fitting,”—to know I was learning and applying such skill at being able to neatly and beautifully find the perfect pieces that correspond to one another—all the while in my mind seeing the amazing masterpiece of art that would result in the end—if only I could keep honing my skills…finding the right pieces—to complete the design~

I have always wondered what exactly the complete puzzle would look like. When I was very young, the pieces were entirely pastel…a beachscape is what I childishly assumed would result…I could imagine the soft blues spreading out to connect with one another, sweetly residing above the soft waves of seafoam green lapping against an earth-toned shore. The pale yellows I saw peeking around the edges of the puzzle pieces could only mean sunshine—and lots of it—but never glaring or too bright. Yes, I could see the puzzle of my life being completed, and as such, being worthy of any Boca Raton retirement community art collection bar none…so soothing and sterile—light and serene it was.

But as I have grown, something astounding has occurred. MORE puzzle pieces have appeared among the table I sit at. As I spread them out, I sense fear and confusion welling up within me—anger and frustration—fast on its heels. I see the colors spread out before me among the previous soothing blues and greens. Red…bright and vibrant—jarring my mind as I try to wrap my thoughts around it. What business can red have on my beach? A brilliant purple presents itself along the edges of the ledge, and I began to reel. Lavender possibly, but this is a shrill, shockingly loud hue of hyacinth. The brightness does not blend! An onslaught of abstract pieces begin to reveal themselves….so many of them. And the edges—like daggers—sharp and fierce—the seams screaming—unwilling to be silenced.

In direct contrast, a new color crashes in. Brown and boring…shapeless slabs, edges so smooth that I fear it will be difficult to differentiate one from the other…making the puzzle almost impossible to decipher.

My jigsaw puzzle is ruined. I gasp as the fit of panic rises within me…I cannot make this work. My masterpiece is ruined. The sweet, serene beachscape ebbs away. I am left with a hodgepodge of clashing colors and crude, unpolished shapeless shards.

I cannot make sense of it all. I am angry at God for giving me these new ugly pieces to deal with—they do not fit in the beautiful design…they are ruining the art. Overwhelmed in fear and frustration, I fling the pieces to the floor—pushing away from the table—as far away as I can get from the disorganized disaster He has thrust upon me. I flee the room. I cannot bear to look any longer.

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I have since returned—vowing to pick up the pieces and salvage whatever it is that I can…

has it been hours? Days? Years? I cannot say…all I know is….I was so wrong. I am no jigsaw at all…never was I intended to be...

As the door opens, and the light floods onto the scene of my destruction, I finally see---the ruined “Jigsaw puzzle”—the hideous failure I had been blinded by…my previous shame and confusion…myself...illuminated~