Connected

I spotted her walking onto the platform, the opposite side of the tracks from me at the Beaverton transit center. She stuck out with her well coiffed hair of white, set off by the lovely dark turquoise blue scarf around her neck - the only color in her all black outfit. She wore a black pea coat jacket, black slacks, flat black dress shoes, black nylons and carried a black patent purse. She did not fit with the rest of us commuting on the MAX in the frosty morning air. She was elegant, refined  - and I couldn't stop watching her.

We boarded the same car of the train. As I stood at the opposite end with my earbuds in, Christmas music entertaining me on the ride. I continually glanced down the aisle to where she sat, trying not to stare. What connected me to her? What drew me to her? I wanted to sit down beside her and hear the story of her life. I tried to be rationale, that appearances can be deceiving, behind the demeanor that I envied for it's polish and poise, she could be venting poisonous words silently at the young street kids who sat beside her in their tattered clothes, talking loud and crassly. Maybe they didn't even register with her, because she was wondering why the girl in the black coat with red earbuds was staring at her. The grip on her purse remained tight and her gaze forward the whole trip.

She exited at the Galleria stop. As we pulled away I looked for her, to see which direction she went, hoping for a clue about her. I spotted the turquoise scarf as she walked along the sidewalk, in the direction of Nordstrom's. Ah, that would make sense. I could see her working there, lending her class and refinement to the perfume counter. I am tempted to go to Nordstrom's on my lunch break to see if I can spot her, but that is just too stalkerish, even for me. But why has this woman captivated my attention? The answer comes slowly. She reminds me of my grandmothers - both of them - with their well-behaved, regal presence, and I miss them.

Tiredness is a Master Thief

Tired...

Tired. Weary. Exhausted.
Bone-crushing, mind-numbing, joy-stealing, anxiety-growing - tired.

And so I caffeinate. Sacrifice much needed sleep in order to keep my crazy schedule. Substitute coffee for water, for Living Water, so that one more thing can be done, one more commitment kept, one more, one more.

But what have I done this week for the One. The One who is my only audience. The One who this Advent season is preparing for, and is my tired hectic self preparing for him? I'm too tired.

Yet, there is grace and comfort. While my anxious heart constricts so hard I hunch my shoulders over to ease the tension, Christ is there asking for me to trust him with my burdens.

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If I am too tired for the One and Only, then something is really out of whack. Father, show me how to find rest & rest in You.