Three Seeds Under

searching for wholeness in a fractured world

Archive for the tag “ars vitae”

a small reminder

I’ve learned over the years that inner space tends to mirror outer space. The messier my house is, the more scattered and depressed I feel. It would be easy enough to say that my depression causes the messy house, which could very well be true. But that doesn’t explain why organizing my a desktop helps me to organize my thoughts, or washing a sink full of dirty dishes helps me to feel like I’ve processed some of my own feelings. Sometimes I think serenity doesn’t begin in the mind, but in the home or the office.

As I mentioned in my last post, my husband and I are in the process of moving. The house is a disaster right now, and pretty much destined to remain one until all of our stuff has been packed away and brought to the new apartment. I’ve felt uprooted all this week, unable to concentrate on anything for long. There’s this little ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach — so much to do between moving and looking for a new job!

But yesterday, my husband came down to my office with a little gift — a lily he’d picked from the garden. I cleared a little place for it amidst the piles of craft supplies I’ve been sorting through on my desk. It’s still sitting there next to my sun lamp, a fragrant reminder that every little taste of serenity counts. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’ve managed to re-do my resume and get two applications and cover letters sent out since he put it there. When I’m feeling disjointed, I just look at the flower. Not at the moving boxes. Not at the dishes I need to carry upstairs. Not at the piles of clutter that I still need to sort through.

Just the flower.


Feeling stressed? Messy house? Try it! Just clear one tiny space, for now, and give yourself something beautiful to look at. And let me know if it works!

The Art of Life

At our church every Sunday, we have a moment I treasure called Joys and Sorrows. The celebrant usually introduces it with, “As we travel through life, each of us comes upon high and low points in individual journeys. By sharing these peaks and valleys with others, our sorrows are lightened and our joys enhanced.” I’m not sure if this is a peak or a valley I’ve stumbled upon. Maybe it’s both — a swaying rope bridge suspended high over a valley. My blog has sat empty for a few weeks now while I started the journey across it. But now that I’m feeling more secure in my footing, I’m ready to share.

Tomorrow, I’ll be posting about Terri Windling’s fantastic novel, The Wood Wife, which I made a point of re-reading four years ago when my husband and I moved from the lovely bayside town of Bellingham to the shrub steppe desert of Yakima. It’s been a joy and a challenge living here — I’ve grown a lot, met some fabulous people, and even learned to appreciate the beauty of the red hills that loom like sleeping dinosaurs on the horizon. For awhile, we strongly considered buying a house and settling down here. But if we did, I think that’s just what it would feel like — settling.

In our hearts, we’ve never stopped thinking of Bellingham as home. We even have a map of Bellingham Bay over our mantle. Soon enough, we’re going to see it again in person. I’ve resigned from my job, and we’re preparing to move back to the town we love.


In The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron, I found a quote that has been my motto: Leap, and the net will appear. I don’t have a new job lined up yet , and I’m going to miss the community we’ve found. We’ll almost certainly take a hit financially. But in a way, it’s never going to be easier to move than it is right now, while my husband is in graduate school and we don’t have any kids. It’s a leap of faith — but even if the net doesn’t materialize, hitting bottom, in this case, won’t be all that bad. God knows we’ve learned how to live cheaply in Bellingham. And this move will put us closer to family, and to used bookstores, and coffee shops, and public transit, and a million other things that have made my life poorer through missing them. At any rate, I’m seeing the road ahead, not as a trial, but as an adventure. I’m looking forward to these next few months, rickety footbridge and all!

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