Sacrifices of Joy

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God, Grand Canyon, joy, Lightning Source, Mary Baker Eddy, Memory, North Rim, Psalm 27, Sacrifice, tabernacle, vampires, Vantage Point Books, witches

Many of you already know, the original title of Memory Lake was Sacrifices of Joy.   To me, this does not mean we need to give up joy to be closer to God.  It means, the mere act of expressing joy when we least feel like it places us in God’s presence.  Whenever life’s difficulties leave me alone on a jagged rock in the middle of a crashing surf, with no way off, I think of Psalm 27.  I smile and close my eyes, and feel the sun on my face, whether it is there or not, and say,  “…Now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea I will sing praises unto the LORD.”  Instantly, I feel elevated off that rock to a high mountain, surrounded by a clear blue sky, hearing joyful laughter bouncing and echoing off white, marble walls and pillars.

Aim for the tabernacle… (view of journey from South Rim to North Rim of Grand Canyon, USA)

It is a lesson I need to learn over and over, and a practice I need to repeat quite often.  And, it is a prevalent theme in Memory Lake.  I would have liked Sacrifices of Joy to be its title, but as my publisher of the First Edition, Vantage Point Books, sagely advised, “Sacrifices are for witches and vampires, and Joy is for cooking and sex.”

“The understanding of Truth gives full faith in Truth, and spiritual understanding is better than all burnt offerings.”  Science & Health, 286-6, by Mary Baker Eddy

Life is Like an Onion; Priceless

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art, Dead Sea Scroll, framing, Indiana University, Japan, life, Memory, Nicola Williams, North Idaho, Olive oil, Onion, Oregon, priceless, writing

KT unrolled the tattered batik on the framing shop’s counter.  The worn image of two onions evoked a flood of memories.  For Andy, the framer, it seemed unworthy.  He laughed at its frayed edges, scattered holes, faded colors and said, “Well, it’s no Picasso.  If it were, greater experts than I would be working around the clock to save it.”

Like the onion, its worth lay hidden. It had hung in my husband’s dorm room at Indiana University when we first met.  It had accompanied us on every move through his military career.  KT had resurrected it from the dusty garage for her dorm room at I.U., carried it to Oregon for her first home as a newlywed.  Now she wanted to preserve and display it in her second home in North Idaho.  She retained its sentimental value, I sought its mental value.  When readers ask, “How did you remember such detail when writing Memory Lake?” I quote the lowly onion.  Life adds layers.  Writing peels them away.  At the onion’s heart is an immature flower protected from the casual eye by layers of memory.  Like a knife, the sharp pain of my mom’s passing had cut to the immature flower within and exposed these layers which I tenderly peeled away with the written word.

As Andy quoted a framing price worthy of a Dead Sea Scroll, KT’s phone alerted a text message.  There, in front of that counter, we learned Dana’s battle with hodgkin’s lymphoma had officially entered remission after a year of treatments.  And so, as another layer of memory slipped between us and the onions, I reached for my credit card.

http://www.taylor.k12.ga.us/~tcms/onion/parts.html