In the middle

some musings

I have a deep fondness and respect for trees in general, and a few trees in particular. They (usually) evoke awe and wonder in me, speak of majesty and beauty, and often calm my soul. But the walnut tree outside my kitchen window has been the bane of my existence since we moved into this house in 2022.

So intense was my angst last fall, I even blogged about it—pondering having it cut down and turned into furniture. (You can read that post here).

I asked my realtor, during the walk-through of the house on the day of closing, whose property the tree was on. He said it was my neighbor’s. When I approached said neighbor about the tree last fall, he said his realtor told him it was mine.

Both realtors were (half) right.

The stick with the pink tape in the photo is the surveyor’s marker for the property line, and the tree sits right in the middle of it. It isn’t *my* tree, and it isn’t *his* tree. It’s *our* tree.

What I *thought* I knew about the walnut tree, and my opinion of it, are only part of the equation. There are other things to consider—and possibly reconsider.

Might that also hold true for some of the other things I’m in the middle of?

Like the novel I started back in 2017… I challenged myself to finish it in 2024 (and already have an idea for a sequel). But I’m not sure how to end it. Can I sit with the uncertainty—embrace the questions and ambiguity; resist the temptation to just get it done—and give the book time and space to become what it is?

(On a related note, in the 3^rd birthday post for my first book “Fine Lines” I promised updates on said novel. See below for update #2!).

And the weather… In my part of the world, we’re in the middle of the transition from winter to spring. One day it’s 76 degrees. The next morning it’s  22. A day later it’s in the 50s, with snow flurries forecast for the next day. Three day stretches of 70 degree weather are followed by a bone-chilling 40 degrees and drizzle. Yo-yoing temperatures in short time frames are hard on the body and the mind. Can I quit complaining—let go of my expectations of what the weather *should* be or what I want it to be—and somehow find some measure of beauty, contentment, and joy in what is?

For those of us in the Christian tradition, it is also the middle of Lent. This line in the March newsletter from one of my pastor friends caught my heart:

“Lent is meant to be a time out of time—a piece of life dedicated to rethinking all of it.” (“Through the Stained Glass: Becoming an Easter People,” by The Rev. Dr. Adam R. Quine, The Link, March 2024, 1^st Presbyterian Church, Lincoln, IL).

When we’re in the middle of things—particularly if they are stressful—it’s easy to lose our way; to become overwhelmed, so caught up in the details and the emotion we “can’t see the forest for the trees.”

Adam’s words reminded me that in the reality of my life—whatever I’m in the middle of at the moment—there yet exists possibility.

I can pause. Reflect. Rethink. Any of it. All of it. At any time. I can, as I did in the case of the walnut tree, seek out additional information and clarification; consider other perspectives. I can loosen my grip on what I *thought* I knew—let go of the assumptions I’ve made, the pre-conceived ideas I carry with me, all those foregone conclusions I’ve already jumped to—and let things be what they are.

Rethinking will not magically change my circumstances; it may not alter them one iota. It may not change how I feel about things either. But it could help me respond to whatever I’m in the middle of in a more life-giving way.

And that gives me hope.

How about you, Dear Reader? What are you in the middle of?  Might there be things you need to rethink, hold loosely, or let go?

“…Mary treasured all these things, giving careful thought to them and pondering them in her heart.” Luke 2:19, Amplified Bible

Outside In, chapter two…

Marcus and Brianna have by now met twice. Once at the mailbox and once over the trash. Neither encounter has gone well—for either of them.

Brianna is incensed over Marcus’s forward behavior and perceived arrogance.

Marcus is baffled and frustrated. He can’t get Brianna out of his mind, doesn’t know why, nor can he—the investigative reporter!—find out much about her.

At his computer on a Saturday afternoon, exploring the only lead he has—which he hopes will at least give him her last name—Marcus is interrupted by a phone call about a two-year-old cold case.

The story is a familiar one.   

As the lead investigative reporter for ABC Action News, he covered the event in-depth when it happened. He was also acquainted with the victim. But none of the details the caller mentions match the facts as Marcus knows them.

What really happened here, Trista Myers Hall?