My Year to Swing Easy

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There has been a misconception about my word for the year. Although solo and solace sound similar, their definitions are not. While solace means comfort it doesn’t mean quitting. It doesn’t mean stepping away from everything and everyone and go it alone.

That’s pretty much what I had in mind for the New Year. As I was explaining my word thoughts to my man, he said something about that being my go to…going into hermit mode.

Kind of made me mad.

But there is some truth to it.

I DO find great comfort in being at home. It IS an easy go to when the world is nuts or you’ve had a time with an off-the-wall person. I CAN talk myself into believing that I don’t need relationships with people “out there.” People suck sometimes. I suck sometimes.

This month I’ve read six books, put together two puzzles, watched two Netflix series of multiple seasons, written a little, napped some, lit candles a lot, went to church, cleaned out my pantry and felt like I was settling in to this solo solace thing quite nicely. People? Who needs them? And then I found this…

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It may not look like much to you but it’s my favorite ball marker given to me by one of my favorite golf partners and people ever. We don’t just golf; we do free therapy for each other, laugh, cry, cut up and act a fool. I had looked everywhere for this marker but couldn’t find it until it showed up in a spot I had already looked a hundred times before. Coincidence? Nah.

God teaches me in simple ways mostly because I can be pretty dense sometimes (or some may say mule headed.)

I love to golf. Not that I’m good at it but even on my worst day, it’s great to be outside enjoying the scenery, the company, and the fun. My aforementioned buddy and I decided to join a league where we bring down the median age to about 70.

I was a little nervous as I tee’d up my first ball and sure enough duffed my drive about 10 yards in front of the box. Next one was the same. What the heck?? So I asked my girlfriend what she thought was going on since she sees me golf all the time and we are fairly equal in skill (though she almost always outdrives me and beats me by a couple strokes…sigh…)

Her response: You’re trying too hard. Just get up there and swing easy like you do. Stop trying to kill it.

So I did. While I can’t say that every drive was straight and beautiful, once I started swinging easy it was way better. I was trying to impress these women, some of who have golfed longer than I’ve been alive. I was trying too hard and got caught up in playing someone else’s game.

This is the message God is trying to tell me. Stay in your lane. Be who you are. Stop trying so hard and play the game I’ve given you to play. But don’t quit. Show up. Bring your clubs. Tee up your ball. Swing easy. Watch Me work.

He says it better than I can in Psalm 46:10: Cease striving and know that I am God. (NASB)

Be still. Swing easy.

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In a world that screams “hustle harder” so you’ll go farther, it’s frowned upon to be still. Hustle (push or force one’s way; jostle or shove, be aggressive, beg; solicit) for your worth. It takes courage to realize that that is exhausting and do something about it. To be brave enough to step back, stay in your own story and stop trying to kill it.

On a side note and I’m sure just in case the ball marker wasn’t enough to get the point across, the first puzzle I put together had several missing pieces. When we don’t show up or try to walk in someone else’s story, there are holes that can’t be filled and the world misses out on seeing the complete picture.

So while I need solo time for solace because I’m wired that way, I’m not quitting. But I am swinging easy this year. No more hustling. Because I’m already worth it.

Fiercely for you,

kw

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Solace for My Soul

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Solace. It’s a lonely sounding word. So when it kept coming to mind as my word for this year, I balked. How boring. How lame. How unadventurous and ordinary. That won’t get you where you need to go to succeed. Sigh.

I looked it up in Noah Webster’s 1828 dictionary (a gift from my kids for Mother’s Day) and it says: (v.) to take comfort; to be cheered or relieved in grief. (n.) comfort in grief; alleviation of grief or anxiety; also, that which relieves in distress; recreation

The past few years have been a whirlwind of adventure with high school and college graduations, two weddings, births (grandbabies), deaths (Granny and Mom), loss of friendships, job changes, political discourse, successes and failures…bringing with it highs and lows, tears of joy and sorrow, worry and angst, confusion and concern, highlights and darkness.

If I were to be honest, I’m tired. Bone tired. Down in my soul tired.

Maybe solace, comfort is exactly what I need.

I began to notice something back in December when I knew this word was supposed to be mine in the New Year. On a handful of occasions during a six week period I had different people ask me the same thing but from different angles. What are you doing now that you have one kid at home? You don’t work? Don’t you get bored?? What are you up to these days? Oh my gosh! What I wouldn’t give to be unbusy like you.

 It made me doubt what I do…write a blog, farm a few chickens, grow a garden and take care of my family. It made me think I should be working, doing something big. I fail and succeed a thousand times if only in my own mind. Anybody else out there an over analyzer? I drive my own self crazy.  That’s the way of things today, isn’t it?

The world roars “MORE” while my soul searches for simple.

One of my goals for this year is to read through the Psalms and Proverbs each month. David is awesome! A badass king of the warriors, slaying thousands of men one minute and an emotional crying-myself-to-sleep-heap the next. I get that. But David knew who to go to for solace…

My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. (Psalm 62:1)

That’s what I want. A soul at rest. That doesn’t come from doing more, being more, running more, working more, serving more. Solace doesn’t come from the world or food or shopping. No. It comes from God alone.

When my now five-year-old grandson was just a baby, we took him to see my Granny, his great, great grandmother. Arteritis had long since taken her vision. Dark shadows were all she could make out and those only on the sunniest of days. She kept her eyes closed mostly and relied on her other senses to “see” for her.

Oh I wish I could see him. Bring him over and let me feel of him.

So we did. We watched as she used her gnarled, arthritic hands to see him.

She felt of his chubby little feet first. Squeezed his legs, his arms. Felt of his torso and his frog belly. Then she moved to his face, taking special care to be gentle. She explored the shape of his head, the curve of his neck, his tiny chin and button nose. She felt his eyes, his soft baby cheeks, his tiny ears with the gentleness and intimacy of Grandmotherly love.

As she rested her hand on his leg she said, He sure is somethin’ isn’t he? I’m so glad I got to see him.

 She saw him by being close enough to touch him, smell him, feel of him.

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Time had slowed down, the baby was still (as if he sensed this old woman needed him to be) and we got to witness a beautiful few minutes between baby and great, great grandmother.

The world runs crazy after much of the wrong things. I’m guilty of it too. Chasing after people, positions and purpose wearies the soul. Sometimes we lose sight of God don’t we? When that happens, I want to get close enough to feel of him. I want to climb up in my Father’s lap, close my eyes, feel of His face and see that’s He’s something else. All else will fall into place.

Here’s to a year of Solace.

Fiercely for you!

kw