My Boundary

Morning Sky

Most of my life was lived in towns and cities. Boundaries are very important, usually marked with fences and walls.

In Kimberly, Wisconsin in the 60s boundaries were marked with short fences, mostly so the kids would stay out of the gardens. I got yelled at more than once when I accidentally crossed a boundary into a neighbor’s property. Note: Avoid that scary lady on the corner and STAY ON THE SIDEWALK. In those days my boundary was the block we lived on. No crossing the street without a parent.

In Phoenix, Arizona in the 70s boundaries were walls, short ones in front, tall ones in back, barbed wire for the horses (We didn’t have horses, but if you had ½ acre you could keep one in the city.). I loved looking at the huge variety of walls all over the city, some ornate, some rustic, some simple and functional. The best part about the wall in our back yard was the wildlife. Birds perched there to look for food. Lizards (the blue-bellied swift) ran along the walls and sunned themselves at the top. Did you know that when you catch one, they shed their tails?

When we first moved to the country in the 90s, I was obsessed with getting a wall, or at least a fence, you know, something to mark the boundary between my family and the neighbor’s. My husband, having spent most of his life in the country, was not concerned. To begin with, our place was a five-acre lot with a shed and a house planted somewhere in the middle and a driveway leading up to it. After a while I noticed the neighbors mowed only part of their acreage, leaving 100 feet or so to go wild where the property lines were. Now, if you look you will see the practice has grown into small strips of woods between properties, mostly in the back, with imaginary boundaries in the front where we all take turns mowing so it looks nice from the highway. I’m not sure any of us are confident where our land ends and theirs begins. If somebody new moves in, we’ll have a surveyor out to mark it or find the original posts. But for now, boundaries are fuzzy and the only thing really wanting to get through are the deer.

Deer have no boundaries.

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" The Lord is the portion of my inheritance and my cup; You support my lot. The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; Indeed, my heritage is beautiful to me." - Psalm 16:5-6

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House from the driveway looking east 1997

Here

 

Momma deer with her two fawns

“Here!” (Eighth grade roll call, we had to say it loud and clear or face the consequences.)

“I’m here,” I said, arriving late to work.

Here is where I’ll stand.

Present

My spot

My place

My home

This is where I’ll be if you need me. Right here (points to feet).

“You are here,” written on hundreds of park and zoo maps of the places I’ve visited.

“Right here,” said my mom pointing to a dot on the atlas. “This is where we should be.”

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Here is present.

Here is reality as I know it.

Here, right now, I type on my old laptop that needs replacement, a view of dark skies beginning to brighten as the sun approaches again, but this time with no clouds.

Here is my desk, my day timers, my to-do lists, my notes for several devotionals and books, my mom’s novel that needs editing so we can publish it.

Here there are several desk lamps illuminating my work in amber light.

Here is a view of my yarn stashed in various clear totes organized somewhat by color.

Here, covered in projects, is also my sewing machine, which emerges with the first snow fall.

Here is where the fish tank ended up with its three occupants after all the children moved out.

Here is where three, then two of my girls shared a room with bunk beds and art still painted on the ceiling.

Here are shelves and cabinets of office supplies, copies of my books to sell or give away, blank notebooks of many kinds purchased on clearance, and art supplies.

Here is where I made phone calls and wrote stories for Richland Source online newspaper. Here is where I tried several other online employments, none of which went anywhere, but all of which taught me something.

Here is where I study. Here is where several first drafts of novels were composed in Novembers past. (National Novel Writing Month)

Here are my current financial records, check books, receipts, envelopes, paper, stamps, sticky address labels, and bills.

Here is a small collection, part of a larger collection, of devotionals, Bibles, notebooks, and prayer books.

Here is the desk my husband created for me, built into the wall, sturdy enough for his six-foot-two frame to stand on. It’s not going anywhere.

Here a variety of artwork graces the walls in a sort of eclectic way, wood carvings, mixed media on canvas, wall stickers, tiny cut-out butterflies, a set of Christmas paintings created on a mother-daughter paint night, and a curio shelf with gifts given to me by my grown children.

Also here is where we stash stuff when company is on the way. Here is where I keep the boxes we took from my mom’s house as they await going-through. Here is the part-time residence of the new vacuum and a box of frames. And here, top shelf, is where I keep the Christmas cards.

Here is my happy place, chaotic though it is most of the time. Here is where the gifts are wrapped, the poems composed, the prayers uttered.

Here is me.

Half and Half

 

“The tank is at half. We’re good for now.” (on a trip to Wisconsin)

“We’re down to half a gallon!” (yelling about milk from inside the frig)

I was only half listening. (the patron complaining about the city’s electric)

By half and half again.

The only thing worse than seeing a worm in your apple, is seeing half a worm.

Half an hour later…

Half and half is best with coffee.

“I got paid time and a half!”

“Wait half a minute, will you?”

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Are you a glass half-full or a glass half-empty person? I think I’m both. I like to keep things positive so that would make me a glass-half full person. Look, see? We still have some. We’re okay.

But then, after raising a family, I’m always on the alert to be prepared for shortages. When the gallon of milk is half-empty, I go to the store to get more. When we are using the last peanut butter jar, I go to get more so we don’t run out. In the winter I’m obsessed with the percentage on the propane tank. Propane means hot meals and warm house.

Half-empty is about running out.

Thank God I don’t have to worry. Even if the milk runs out and the driveway is covered in deep snow, it will be okay. We can survive without milk. Even if the propane tank runs out, we have other ways to stay warm. Even when my energy level is below zero, God will give me the strength I need to do what must be done.

Don’t worry.

Be the half-full person.

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” Philippians 4:6 (NASB)

 

P.S. Also this passage came to mind …

“I heard the man dressed in linen, who was above the waters of the river, as he raised his right hand and his left toward heaven, and swore by Him who lives forever that it would be for a time, times, and half a time; and as soon as they finish shattering the power of the holy people, all these events will be completed.” Daniel 12:7 NASB

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