A Mānoa Girl's Bloggie

This week’s WFW takes a more somber theme than I’ve done before. Nolemana and I own a real estate appraisal business, and in addition to appraising homes in our area, we also do foreclosure reviews. As a result, we get to see the insides of houses from all over the country that are in foreclosure, which is a sad thing in itself. Some of the homes are in pristine condition, while others have been completely trashed by angry former owners.

I love seeing all these houses because in all likelihood Nolemana and I won’t be going to all the cities in which these properties are located. So I get to see what other parts of the country are like, thanks to the appraisals we are reviewing as well as GoogleMaps, especially when there is a street view. I love the street views; sometimes I just use my arrow keys and travel around a city just to see what it’s like. I’ve “been in” the Las Vegas desert as well as the lush Tennessee hills.

This week, however, what I saw in the appraiser’s interior photos made me sad. Someone had obviously punched a hole in the wall, and someone else, I assume, had written on the wall. I will have no way of ever knowing who made the hole or who wrote on the wall. Was the person who penned the psalms there afraid? Was s/he scared of whoever punched the hole?

The juxaposition of the punched hole in the wall and the psalms written there made me realize once again that truly He is our very present help in time of trouble. Perhaps the writer was affirming that. Perhaps s/he was crying out for help. I add both people represented by that wall to my prayers. I pray that the one who punched the hole in the wall will find peace that only God can give, and that the writer will experience anew what s/he wrote on that wall in the now-empty house.

The other afternoon, shortly before the sun was going down, I went outside on our lanai just to enjoy the view and see if any of my tomatoes or beans were ripe. The sun was just beginning its final descent over the mauka [toward the sea] hills, and I stood there enjoying the last of its warmth, very aware that soon it would be dark, and the view lost to me.

Because my mother’s death and all that surrounded it have continued to take up so much of my time and energy these past weeks, I’ve often said to my closest friends, “I missed summer!” Ordinarily I look forward to Autumn and its glorious colors even though it signifies that the rains will soon be here, and gray days will replace the bright ones of summer. But this year I have been wishing that I could be like the legendary Hawaiian demi-god Maui, who captured the sun and made it slow down for six months out of the year so that his mother could have more time for her kapa to dry. I have been craving the bright, sunny days of summer, knowing all too well that just as night was coming as I stood there out on my lanai, winter was coming and with it, the shorter, darker months that I wanted to somehow delay.

As I stood there, suddenly I saw a spider spinning her web, its delicate strands caught in the rays of the setting sun. I just stood there, in awe, and I realized that God was speaking to me as I watched the spider making her way from one end of the web to the other. He said, “Mokihana, you resent the coming darkness, but look at the treasure I have for you in the midst of it! You never would have seen this spider if the sun hadn’t been setting!”

I realized then that what I was seeing and hearing had much bigger implications. I also saw that so often I tend to see only the darkness in my life, forgetting that along with it, are moments bright and shining, if only I’ll take time to stop and look for them. Too often I miss the miraculous.

Mahalo, ke Akua, for speaking to me this way. For helping me learn to be transformed by the renewing of my mind, and for allowing me to see your humble creature dressed in royalty even as darkness begins to settle over the land.

Last month when Nolemana and I went down to my mom’s for the memorial service, clean out da hale [hah-leh = house] and be with my ‘ohana, we went to the Farmers Market there in Los Gatos. The color of all the fruits and veggies, mostly unlike what I can get up here in the cooler Northwest climate, inspired my latest offering for WFW.

I love gardening! I love planting the veggie seeds, seeing them pop through the surface and begin to grow. I love harvesting the crops. I even love pulling weeds that take nourishment from my “babies”.

I bet God is equally delighted with the variety of colors and textures that He has created. I bet He is pleased when I get speechless over a vendor’s displays at a farmers’ market, as I did with this one. Sometimes, when I see a display like this, I wonder if He even says, “Wow! Look at that!”

(The photo is huge… that’s a server problem… sorry for the distortion. Hopefully it’ll get fixed later.)

*** Alla stuffs hea on my blog stay copyrighted. Dat means photos, words, typos, hamajangs of any kine. If u kakaroach [steal] um, den I going hunt you down and give you da giant slippah and whack u wit um until u promise u nevah going do dat again. And eh! I whack hard and I get plenny menehunes can track u down. And eh! I whack hard and I get plenny menehunes can track u down. Copyright © 2008. The content on this blog is the sole property of the author. Dat would be ME! ***

I see my life as being on a journey. I’m not so much about the destination as I am about the journey. I don’t want to ever just arrive; I think if I ever arrive I might be mahkediedead. Now obviously, if my destination was my mom’s hale [house] down in California, then ultimately I want to get there. But I don’t want to miss what ke Akua [God] might show me along the way. He has a way of surprising me a lot of times. Like seeing all the crape myrtles in Red Bluff. Or the koi pond. Or maybe even the puka tree as I holoholo ka‘a down my gravel road.

I see myself as a pilgrim. Sometimes I don’t like what I see (or can’t see) up ahead, but I will keep going. It can be a very difficult process much of the time. Like now. I don’t want to be pau grieving tomorrow. I want to be aware of the process, to be open to what ke Akua will teach me as I holoholo [walk] along. Is it fun? Heck no. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But don’t give me the instant destination please. Let me be aware of what You want to teach me.