Waking up late.

Even as a child I loved to stay up late.

My mother was so concerned in my toddler years that she actually took me to the pediatrician to ask why I didn't sleep.

He told her, "That's just the way her clock is set. She's fine."

I'm not so sure I agree with his opinion.

It's hard to get up early in the morning when you stay up late.

An obvious truth for sure, but it's so hard to get your hands around that when staying up late is what you've been doing... what you've been choosing... what you've been told is normal, for so very long.

I remember getting my first, and only, referral in school. It was for being argumentative.

Who, Me? Have an opinion? Speak before thinking? Not give much thought, and certainly not any weight, to possible consequences?

You can bet your blue suede shoes on that...

My childhood was marked with difficulty falling asleep, vivid night terrors, painful issues socially, and increasingly poor choices as adolescence closed in.

I can recall laying in my bed at night, covers up under my chin, long flannel night gown wrapped around my legs, eyes closed tight just trying to will sleep to come.

Angry leg cramps would come and go like unexpected squalls on the Oregon Coast. The ache all over my body and gnawing hunger that was a permanent resident in the depth of my stomach are sentinels at the gates to my youth.

Psalm 139:14 says, "I will praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

Fearful is a term I can relate to, but wonderful?

With all of these physical, emotional, relational issues.... wonderful?

Definition of Wonderful: inspiring delight, pleasure, or admiration; extremely good; marvelous.

Almost a decade ago I asked the Lord to restore my sense of wonder about the world, about life, about Him.

The answer He gave was not what I expected... 

I have always been a person that likes to understand things. I like to know how, why, when, what, where and who.

I can research things ad nauseum, and I have.

I was only 4 when I began reading. I have always loved reading and books. There were a couple of different encyclopedia sets in our house, and a set of Childcraft books (which are often referred to as the How and Why Library) that I loved to snuggle up with in the corner of one of our upstairs rooms.

My mother worked for a local hospital and she had been given a Physicians Desk Reference from a previous year that sat in the built-in shelves by our fireplace. The lure of the deep red hardcover pulled me in on many afternoons and I would sit on our scratchy green davenport and pour through it's pages.

When I cried out to Jesus to save me in 1991 I brought a lot of things with me...

Homelessness...

Teen pregnancy...

Addiction...

Fear...

Every imaginable need.

But somewhere in there, under all the wreckage and pain, I still loved to read.

In my childhood home we had lots of books, and I added to the pile on a regular basis, but one that stands out for sure was our Bible.

It was BIG.

It had an off-white hard cover and gold-edged pages. There were glossy full-page illustrations for many of the key events. I remember seeing it open to the picture of Jesus in a manger with the Star of Bethlehem in the sky above at Christmastime. A little sprig of holly was laid there in the pages by my mother. It evoked wonder in me even then.

But I wasn't allowed to touch it. That huge, beautiful, gilded book was just for looking at.

Not snuggling up in a corner upstairs with.

It was something to be revered, but not used for reference.

A Family Bible for sure, but not familiar in the true sense of the word.

Definition of Familiar:  well known from long or close association.

Long is accurate for sure, but close? Maybe not so much...

So fast forward back to my request for wonder...

Somewhere in the library of all the hows and whys I had amassed since my childhood, I lost wonder.

Definition of Wonder: a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, familiar, or inexplicable.

Wonder can be stolen by so many things....

Trauma.

Neglect.

Abuse.

Betrayal.

Illness

Bitterness.

Intellect.

The list is probably as varied as our fingerprints, but no matter the thief wonder still needs to be restored.

It's difficult to experience wonder when you're exhausted, when sleep has been illusive like trout in a quiet mountain lake. Everything is set up just right... bait's on.. only quiet voices.. you even have your lucky fishing hat.. but no bite.

My prayer for wonder came in my late 20's.

Late in the throws of a terrifying season of my life.

I even prayed the prayer late at night.

And the process of restoring my receptors of wonder began.

When someone is afraid, the antidote that is often suggested is familiarity.

Just learn about it, figure it out, read up, ask questions...

But the only true antidote for fear is faith.

Definition of Faith: a belief that is not based on proof.

So there goes all the research...

The answer to my prayer for wonder has come through time spent in prayer, in studying the Bible (I now have several that I'm allowed to touch), and in waiting at the feet of Jesus Himself for wisdom, answers, and direction.

I have woken up late to so many things...

...to the reality of the gift that this life is.

...to truths about Who God is and who I am in Him.

...to the treasure that my family and friends are.

...to the beauty of sacrificial love and genuine commitment.

There have been so many answered prayers, so many comforting verses from the Word, so many unexplainable 'God moments'.... I awake in wonder now.

The Lord is not a cruel master, flipping a bright light switch in tandem with a much too loud voice stating, "Get up! You've overslept and now you're really going to get it..."

No.

He has been more than gentle in His dealings with this sleepy head.

Patient, truthful, faithful.... wonderful.

I heard a saying once that went something like this, 'Feel free to restart your day anytime. You can start from right where you're at and make it a good day.'

I have to say, I think that suggestion was inspired by the heart of God Himself. It's really true. You truly can start from wherever you are right now... from whatever circumstance you find yourself in...

He welcomes even the late arrivals... who've maybe stayed up trying to figure out the hows and whys a little too late on their own.

His timing is perfect...

...and His ways are, well...

wonderful.

Color Me Defined....

Some of my earliest happy memories are of being on the floor at my baby sitter's home with a large metal coffee can full of crayons. I would color for hours. Color until the waxy pigment turned into it's own creature on my paper and was so thick I could peel away bits revealing a heathered version of the same hue beneath. I loved to draw and then bring my creations to life with color, but coloring books had a special lure to them that I enjoyed too.

Laying on that variegated carpet with the book opened to a page just waiting for me to bring it to life, what innocent joy! To decide if it would be day or night, if the foliage would be young and new or more mature and deep waxy green. The rest of the world just faded into the background, I was enthralled. Just me and my Crayolas... no other crayon compares you know.

It's been a lot of  Mondays since I went to my babysitter's house for care while my mom worked to support my sister and I. Finding innocent joy has been a needle-in-the-haystack experience as time, stress, busyness, and health issues distract and turn my head from seeking joy. Chronic illness is not the least of these distractions, with all of it's varied methods of attack. I pray for a renewed attitude and for a fresh perspective frequently, and you know what? He hears me, and answers...

Last night as I lay down in bed after several days of a low spot with my constant companion Hashimoto (my auto-immune minion) and his latest attack on my organs, I knew that sleep wasn't coming easily. I did my normal "I can't sleep right now" things, checked in on which of my kids were online and chatted for a bit with them, researched helpful topics for nutrition and weight gain, stroked my hubby's feather soft curls while he slept soundly just inches away, drank some water, asked the Lord to help me sleep. The usual.

But on one of my trips to the restroom I noticed a piece of paper on the floor. It was a print out of a coloring sheet with a unicorn on it. (Brief history: I love unicorns. I was very much into fantasy in my childhood, self-preservation I'm sure, and unicorns have stuck with me all these years. Their existence in reality was a sure thing in my mind as a child. I am less convinced now, but their image is beyond lovely to me still.) My youngest son printed out this sheet as a surprise for me a few days ago. We color illustrations to accompany our lessons on occasion, yet another Home school perk, and he knew I would love this picture.

True Confession: When he brought me the print-out I could see the image, but it was so blurred and pixelated that any finer details were obliterated. Bummer. I tossed it near, not in, the trash by my bed feeling torn between the sweetness of my son's gift and my perfectionistic tendencies.

Looking down as I got out of bed I felt the Lord nudge me toward the print out. I picked it up and looked at it. Blurry, imperfect, distorted. It bothered my eyes to focus on it and yet I felt Him tell me to put it on my lap desk. So I did. I opened the hinged clip and slid the picture under it wondering to myself how long it would sit there in it's static disgrace.

The answer was: not long. I climbed back into bed, posted a status offering prayer to other late-nighters on my Facebook, and shut my laptop for the night. The marker/crayon/pen/pencil box was still on the counter at the end of my bed from an assignment we had been working on earlier in the day. I looked at that box. It became magnetic, pulling me into a sitting position so I grabbed it. (Not literally magnetic, but I did literally grab it.) Card making has always been a passion of mine, not the super fancy stamp and special scissors kind of cards (love those), but cards made of whatever I have nearby. Ripped paper, scraps of wrapping paper, twine, left over ribbon, bits of fluff, and usually some glitter. Just that afternoon I had made a card for a dear friend and I contemplated making a couple more if sleep was going play hard-to-get.

The unicorn wouldn't let me.

Picking up the lap desk, I laid it across me right next to the marker box. I looked more intently at the image of the unicorn. I noticed that she was on a cobble stone path, there were several types of flowers around her, an arbor held roses in an arch above her, and there were graceful trees growing in the background. I thought to myself, "This just needs color and definition. It can be beautiful." So I began to fill the blank spaces, to re-draw the lines. I decided that it would be a balmy summer day and that the trees would be a warm ruddy brown like the new skin on Madrona trees. I chose colors for the flowers lowest to the ground that would turn them into black-eyed susans, the blooms on the bushes would mimic the ones growing here in my own yard, the flowers growing on the arbor would be purple to represent faithfulness, royalty, and true servanthood.

I found myself using every imaginable medium I had at my disposal: crayon, marker, pencil, Sharpie, ball point, fine point gel pen, cruddy nearly dried out dollar store markers, and even a few of the loathsome off-brand crayons. Each of them lent their own texture, a specific color, a unique depth or hue. I used some of them together, layer upon layer for movement and shading, with each medium eventually losing it's own distinct effect as it combined with the others to become something totally new.

Jesus speaks to me in interesting ways.

I colored flowers until I fell asleep with a crayon in my hand. Sleep was deep and sweet. When I awoke I felt thankful for it and was itching to get back to that unicorn.

After doing the things I do in the morning to get my body going I laid back down, propping up slightly, and reached for the picture. I smiled at the happy black-eyed susans, they looked so cheerful. I picked up right where I had left off choosing to use a vast array of greens for the foliage and trees. The wood of the climbing flowers would be a dark brown, the hooves and horn on the unicorn would be golden. With each color I added, each line I defined, I saw beauty. Some subjects would be left with a soft edge, some an inky black to make them pop.

Emotions began to surface as I was nearing completion of the picture. I felt a familiarity with it. I often feel blurred, faded, less than what I was or should be, maybe even ready for the trash at times. I prayed through the feelings and heard His response, "I define you Beloved. I am bringing magnificent color into your life. I am restoring and healing in ways you can't perceive, but are happening nonetheless. On your own you are weak and static, you have voids that need filling. I am your strength, I am your energy, I am Holiness making you whole."

The Voice of my Redeemer. There is nothing like it.

I put the last few touches on the unicorn and smiled at the beauty that had surfaced. In my broken humanity I had defined her, brought her out of blurred confusion, and she stands majestic in the midst of her renewed surroundings.

He assures me that though my circumstances and setting may not change He is restoring, healing, and redeeming even now. Using all that is; the difficult, the lovely, the painful and perfect to bring about His beautiful plan.

Psalm 103:2-3