Anxiety today..

This week, I've been given two great opportunities: auditioning for a film in Detroit this weekend, and a chance to audition for an agency in Chicago. Yesterday I was bouncing off the walls with excitement after checking my voicemail. Today, as I prepared to return those phone calls and line up appointments, my anxiety level kicked into high gear, clogging my mind with a hundred questions and worries.. am I really ready to audition for film?Will I remember to ask the right questions, stay within the frame, maintain poise, be myself, take correction, bring my resume and headshots? Headshots! My amatuer photos that will surely be recognizable as such since I haven't had the money to hire a proffessional photographer...my thin resume with so little to my credit..and what will I need to prepare? Monologues? I haven't looked at that folder all summer; I'll have to memorize them all over again! One audition in Detroit, one in Chicago, gas money, getting lost, lodging, childcare, the awkward backstage guy who told me I had tired looking eyes last night (when I thought I looked fine..thanks,buddy), who am I kidding?etc,etc

You get the picture, right? It's not unique to this situation; my anxiety disorder is a part of my life, and it is still a daily struggle to replace those racing worries with calming truths. The thing that helps me get grounded again the most quickly is to remind myself that I am grateful. My life is blessed, and even though this dream of acting is scary, I've been given the chance to explore it. To do what I love and spend my life learning how to move in that space..the practical things that make it hard or a long shot are obstacles, but my most formidable obstacle is my own anxiety, because when it gets out of control it causes me to doubt my own dreams.

From sacred space yesterday, these words comfort me now:
I ask for the grace to let go of my own concerns

and be open to what God is asking of me,

to let myself be guided and formed by my loving Creator.

There are two horses in my backyard...

I have exactly six minutes to post this balmy Monday... Justin is helping with a neighborhood sports camp, teaching basketball, horsebackriding, and yes, iceclimbing. Today it is 100 degrees in Lawton, and two of our horses are patiently resting in our yard waiting for seventy kids to come watch Justin do a riding demo on Duke, our 10 yr old quarter horse. Earlier today we gave pony rides to fifty kids(very short rides)..my house is slightly air conditioned, and although I see the masses approaching through my dining room window, I don't want to walk back into that wall of oppressive heat waiting just the other side of my back door..
Oh, well. Here I go. more later! ;)
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"To love at all is vulnerable..

Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to noone, not even to an animal. Wrap it careful round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable...The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers...of love is Hell."
(C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves)
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What would you do if..

you were holding your four yr old daughter on your lap and she looked at you through tears to say, "I'm sad because I want to be so close to God but I can't see Him. I want to go live in Heaven now."
i can tell you what i did..i cried with her. and i told her that she could live in heaven someday, but Jesus had a special job for her to do here..and there was only one Willow on the entire planet and the world needed her.
"But wouldn't it be good if you & I could go to Heaven NOW?", she implored.
and in my heart i whithered up like a scorched flower at the thought of my first baby girl gone from this world. i could barely breathe in that moment and even now tears won't stop falling.
i told her that i would go there with her someday, that lots of people would be there, that it would be wonderful to see God up close and sing songs to Him together..but that it's not time yet, and that this life here is a gift full of chances to love people who need hope. i told her, like i do daily, that she is here to be God's helper, and even though she can't see Him, she'll learn to feel Him with her and hear His voice in her heart..
even though i was alarmed to hear such heavy words from Willow, i also cried because of the sweetness and beauty of the heart they came from. she knows so little about God, yet loves Him with such earnestness. she longs to see Him, touch Him, and is willing to leave all that is familiar to her for the hope of heaven. over and over again, i learn about Jesus' heart through hers.
i would fight for her. i would die protecting her. i love her more than my own life, and hope that we'll have many decades of memories and loving relationship ahead of us...but i see that she already knows at four what many of us adults have forgotten: that there's something more valuable than prolonging our lives on this earth..to know God and be close to Him, and to share His love with everyone we can while we're here..and to long for the hope that lies beyond these human bodies..
"..as someone who wrestles with worry/anxiety to a degree that's sometimes paralyzing, I am learning that being free from worry doesn't come from a mind free of the possibility of loss; but from looking directly at loss, and what it means, and what it costs, and accepting God's grace in the middle of that scary moment. We are instruments of God's grace. It will flow through us in our times of ease and in our times of loss."( - taken from my comment to Ang on her blog today)

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volunteer sleepover..

it's 9 am and I'm wondering how I'll get through the day with the energy and vigilance it takes to parent two fiesty young daughters.....
Last night six of the True Vine volunteers stayed overnight at the farm - it was out-of-control fun! We line danced to hip-hop music, learned to cha-cha(thanks, Carrie), rolled down the huge hill at breakneck speed, played ultimate frisbee in the riding arena(much to the horses' alarm), competed at jumping over barrels, construction cones, logs, and anything else we could find, and settled in to watch The Emperor's New Groove outside by the bonfire on a homemade movie screen.
We lay on our backs watching the stars in the clear black sky, and talked about our dreams and plans. Among our teen volunteers are a future veterinarian, professional horse trainer, equine therapist, a vagabond, and an astronaut..
As we huddled together for warmth in our damp sleeping bags under piles of damp blankets, I heard them drift off to sleep one by one. Gratitude to Ted, the only guy there, who made himself useful by carving a 10 foot roasting stick from a sapling so that we could make s'mores without moving from our nest!
I was almost asleep when I heard them; the coyotes who live in the woods behind the pasture began their night calls, whooping to each other in their oddly musical tones. I listened as they yipped and howled, one distinct tone layering on top of another until I was sure there were five of them moving through the pasture. They split up to avoid the fire and humans, with two passing beside us along the edge of our grape vineyards, one through the saplings near the fire but out of sight, and one with a much deeper tone than the others staying back by the den in the woods..what about the fifth, I thought? Then, above us on the road, its wail pierced the air, sending the family dog into a frenzy in the house. The cats growled, some slinking to the barn and some climbing trees. I craned my neck, hoping to see a glimpse of what I could hear so clearly, but the family of coyotes crossed the road into the sprawling vineyards and became silent.

Short post today...

last night True Vine was given a field full of hay; the only task we had was gathering it from the field, loading and unloading the bales. We gathered a last-minute group of volunteers and headed a few miles down the road to the 'mountain farm', as the locals call it.
Lawton is beautiful this time of year, and last night was no exception. The skies threatened to storm, wind whipping over the rolling vineyards. The air was cool and filled with the scent of freshly cut hay as we swarmed the field with tractors and trailers picking up the heavy bales..
I was given the job of driving the tractor, which was ....interesting. You see, I've never driven a tractor before, or even a riding lawn mower. I was given a 30 second verbal lesson and the full confidence of our friend, Farmer Bob. I did fine until we had to go down a steep hill and I forgot how to slow the machine down. A bit of screaming on my part and a quick scattering of volunteers, then another brief lesson from the very patient Farmer Bob. Everything went smoothly after that until later when Bob and I were chatting as he leaned against is parked tractor when I accidentally took my foot off the brake, nearly running him over..
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Thursday's Camper Story
Focus Achieves Purpose

The air was thick with anticipation as the jockeys waited in the starting gates, the racehorses prancing beneath their saddles, impatient to start.
In gate 5, Stargazer’s nostrils flared as she eyed the track in front of her through the bars of the gate..
In gate 3, Blazin Raizin felt his heart pounding in his ears, his fine head raised as he gathered his strength for the start...
Bang!
The horses sprang onto the track as the pistol fired, every muscle straining forward as the jockeys urged them. As they rounded the track for the first time, Blazin was three lengths ahead of the others; no surprise to the roaring crowd or media, given his recent winning streak and excellent practice times.
As Blazin tore down the track, he saw the bright silk banners hanging above the bleachers flapping in the wind, the people leaning over the fence, shaking their fists, jumping up & down..he heard the deafening roar of the crowd, the thunder of hoof beats behind him, the squeal of the loudspeaker as the announcer gave his moment-to-moment account of who was winning..
As Blazin noticed the crowd, his stride faltered. The more he looked at the blurred faces and colorful streaks, the louder the crowd’s roar became. He heard the pounding hoofbeats getting closer, and knew he was losing his lead......
Stargazer ran. She felt the track under her hooves, felt the jockey on her back urging her on, felt her own blood rushing through her veins. Her mind was blank except for one thought: Win. Ahead of her, she saw an opening, and she made her move. As she streaked through the horses the crowd leapt to their feet and let loose a deafening cheer. Stargazer heard them as if underwater, like a sound from far away, and pressed on. The other horses fought to keep their positions as she maneuvered toward the front of the pack, but their jockey’s waving arms were only a blur in the corner of her eye, and she pressed on. She caught up with Blazin as they rounded the last curve of the race, and at that moment an airplane flew overhead loudly, leaving a white path in the sky. As Blazin glanced up at the distracting noise, Stargazer rallied the last of her strength to surge past him and over the finish line!



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Wednesday's Camper Story
Patience

Jonah and his Mom stood in line with the other children waiting for their chance to ride the beautiful show horse in the big arena. Jonah hopped around trying to get a better view of the front of the line.
“Mom!”, he exclaimed, “When will it be my turn?”
Every year on the last night of the county fair, the children were invited to come for free pony rides. The eager children would line up for their chance to get close to Pal, the chestnut quarter horse who had won so many ribbons he had become somewhat of a town legend.
“Why is it taking so long?”, he whined as he munched a handful of cotton candy.
“Jonah, the other kids were here first. You‘ll get your chance; just wait quietly!”, his mother gently said in a gentle voice.
Jonah frowned and kicked his shoe into the dirt, sending a spray of gravel flying through the air several feet. In the arena, a toddler squealed with delight as her father lifted her into the saddle, blonde pigtails bobbing as she bounced , waving to the crowd.
“How come I always have to wait for cool stuff?”, he muttered. “This is stupid.......Mom! How much longer?” Jonah complained as he tugged at her jacket
“Shhh...stop, Jonah!”, his mother whispered. “ You’re being rude!”
Jonah opened his mouth to argue, then stopped as a shadow fell over the ground in front of him and two dusty boots stepped into view. His eyes traveled up past the faded jeans, fancy belt buckle, and western shirt to meet the steady gaze of a cowboy.
He felt his cheeks flush pink with shame as he realized the man had been standing nearby and had obviously overheard his behavior.
“You know, son, you could stand to learn a thing or two about patience - if it’s been hard for you to wait, think about this: for the past hour, Pal there has been putting up with being poked, prodded, bounced on, and squealed at. Look at him; he’s a champion - way above this pony ride stuff. But he has quietly stood and there for an hour and let these kids ride him. So take a good look at Pal and you’ll see what patience looks like.”, the cowboy said matter-of-factly. Then, with a wink and a nod at Jonah, he turned and walked away.

iMosaic

For the past couple of days, I've been a part of an online conversation about creating community through blogging, forums, email, chats, newsletters, etc. In the near future I will likely be moving my blog from Blogger to iMosaic, and when/if I do, I'll keep you informed of the changes that will bring..

My children are obsessed with vacuum attachments: just today they've turned them into airplanes, swords, horses, bikes, moustaches, loudspeakers, and even Jesus-on-the-cross..

My adventure of the day is set to occur this afternoon once the girls are down for their nap when I attempt to give Aslan, my 800lb. yearling colt, his first bath. What do you get when you combine the elements of : an unpredictable, agile horse..a fifty foot hose, Mane'n'Tail shampoo, potential for injury(to me, not him), lots of mud, and a mentally challenged barn cat with no sense of boundaries who will undoubtedly insert himself into the fray?
F U N.

Earlier, Willow announced " I don't like having this many toys."
I told her that she was welcome to sort through them and choose some to get rid of. She went away happy, saying she'd put them in a pile on the bedroom floor.

From where I'm sitting in my living room, I can see a pile of toys on her floor...Ginger's toys.
Hmm.

www.sytekdavies.com <---------Check out their music - they just released their new cd, From The Shadow of the Citadel !

Tuesday's story

Jennifer looked ahead down the trail and saw the gravel path leading to the creek. She shifted her weight in the saddle, checking to be sure it was still tight. She didn't know exactly what Sultan, her young gelding, would do when he saw the water for the first time. She focused on relaxing her muscles as they approached the turn in the trail that would make the creek visible.
As they rounded the bend, Sultan's ears perked up as his body tensed; he stopped, breathing loudly.
"It's ok, Sultan. Easy.", Jennifer murmured. He slowly relaxed as she continued to speak to him. When she felt he was ready, she asked him to move towards the rushing creek...one step, then another...suddenly he wheeled around and tried to take off at a run, away from the scary water! Jennifer regained control and considered going home. She took a few deep breaths and forced her legs to relax as she thought about it..it would be easier to go home. Having a horse spook when you're riding them is scary. Maybe she could just ride him in the arena instead of using him on trail...she was tired anyway..
"No!", she resolved. " I have to keep trying. I'm not helping Sultan if I let him learn to be afraid of water. I'm not helping myself if I give in to feeling afraid either."
For the next half hour, Jennifer walked Sultan down to the creek over and over again. Each time he would back up, afraid. Gradually, he began going a little further each time before spooking, and eventually, his hesitant hoof stepped into the ice cold water.
As they splashed to the other side of the creek, Jennifer grinned, happy that neither of them had given up.

Tuesday's featured breed is the arabian, with spiritual emphasis placed on the traits of endurance and perseverance.

third attempt

Monday's focus at camp will be the Percheron breed, with spiritual emphasis on the traits of willingness and obedience. I finally squeezed out a rough draft for the story:


The morning had already been exhausting. Bess lowered her head to the trough and drew a
long, cold drink of water. It was getting toward the hottest part of the day, and the old
farmer still had half the field to plow. The aging man couldn't work as fast as he used to; they
had started at sunrise and he had stopped several times to rest.

Bess looked over at him. He sat leaning back against a bale of hay, hat over his face, dozing.
She knew he would sleep a few more minutes, as he had done often recently. Bess turned her
strong neck to see the pasture beyond the field..the other horses leisurely grazing, scattered
over the hills, some lying in the shade out of the searing heat.

Bess had always known she was different; she was bigger than they were, much stronger.

The children would put saddles on them once in a while, and they would run about inside a

fence or get in trailers and leave for days at a time. The children did not put a saddle on Bess;

and every morning while the other horses lounged in the pasture, Bess would stand at the

fence closest to the house and wait for the old farmer.

She was not sad that she wasn't small and spirited like the saddle horses. She did not mind staying back when they left in trailers with the children. The old farmer was kind to her, and he needed her. She knew she had a special job helping him...

The old man woke from his slumber and, rising stiffly, brushed some hay off his shirt before
walking over to adjust Bess' harness. "Let's go back to work, girl", he said as he patted her
broad shoulder. "Good Bess."

Forgetting her fatigue, she turned the plow toward the field and walked out into the heat of
the afternoon with the farmer behind her.

GRRRR....

I came to B&N to work on writing...and I got almost an entire story out....then my internet connection crashed and I lost it. .. I can't remember what I wrote....I'm taking a break now.
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You'd think I would learn my lesson..

I have once again over-committed. I knew I had too much going on this summer, and that I should not assume any more responsibilities; but before I could stop myself, I opened my flapping mouth and said 'yes'. I've been asked(several weeks ago) to write the devotional lessons for the summer camps at True Vine Equestrian Center. Last year I did it, and somehow forgot how stressful it was until after I had agreed to repeat the process this summer.
It shouldn't be hard; I usually have no trouble telling stories, but when there's a deadline.... not so good.
It is now Monday's lunch hour, and I've been sitting at this computer all morning trying to squeeze out a short illustration featuring a Percheron(the featured breed of the day) ,highlighting the character traits of willingness and obedience.
Does anyone else know the feeling of your ___brain______ slowly______ freezing___, your creative ideas spinning in every direction but the task at hand?
So camp starts in seven days. Should I just bail? Yeah, I can't:
the person who asked me to write the workbook is my dearly loved Mom-in-law.
If I/When I finally get a tangible thought, I'll post it here.
Help.
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Cadmium Red

It's been two years since I last painted. That's pretty typical for me. I paint, sculpt, draw, and invent in spurts. For a season, I'll wake up each day with a mind full of colors, shapes, and ideas that pour out easily into art. I drink in the richness of nature; the smells, layers, textures, a heart full of gratitude for God's generous creation, and a feeling of kinship with all artists. I paint during those times because I *must*.
Then, gradually, the desire ebbs. The way that I see the whole world changes, 'normalizes'.. and it's gone. I don't want to make art anymore.
When I was younger and first recognized this departure of feeling, I fought it bitterly, grieved it, thinking I was losing something I could never regain. In the years since, I have come to accept this cycle - relax in it, even enjoy it. I've learned to just let it go. I make room in my life for something new, carry on, and know that the visual artist in me will show up again at the right time.
Two weeks ago, my cousins asked me if I would create a display for their new home: no requirements, just a few colors that provoked them and the idea of keeping it abstract. Last week, Justin asked me to make a sculpture for the Sunday service. I went crazy with copper wire and a red floodlight.
It's back.
Last night I tore through the house looking for something, anything, to paint on. I finally found a warped old canvas print that was supposed to look like an original. Bland blues, pinks, beige skies, and no imagination. Colors which have committed no offense of their own, but when put together, suck the life out of each other. I took it out of the frame and prepped it with a thick uneven layer of titanium white. I left it overnight to dry, and woke up this morning with a mind full of colors. I wish I could explain the sense of adventure I felt as I dusted off my box of paints, found my favorite brush, unscrewed the crusted-shut tube of paint, and flooded that old canvas with
cadmium red.