THE PASSAGE

                                                                      

   The ocean liner churns through the waves, course plotted and sure to arrive at that other more marvelous shore.  No turning around, no failing engines, no waves that can sink.  On board, the souls who play and laugh and hurt and worry and praise, and sin.  Choosing how to fill their days and weeks, but no choice as to where the ship will land.  In choosing their agenda, they sometimes chose their sorrows and joys.  But some are chosen for them by the captain of the vessel, who seeks their best.  And He sometimes interrupts their agenda to offer His own.  The waves rock their world and the winds, though blowing up the waves, never change the course.  Drs of hope on board to help with the sorrows of consequence and of  Captains choice, can not cure all hurts and stop all waves, but prescribe the hope that bids them trust the will of the Captain.  Some sailing souls seem to fall off and go under but it is the illusion of chance  and not choice that makes it seem so.  And even when healing comes, few know that the origin is the captain.  Stomping of feet  and raging words seems to some,  to alter the course of the ship, but makes the journey harder and the storms darker for the feet that stomp.  Sometimes the great joys of birth and beginning and triumph cause one to see the shore and think the journey done.  But captain bids them burn the sandy image in their heart while trusting the arrival time to Him. And sorrows send passengers to the rail seeking vision of the shore or for some, seeking escape into the waves.  The captain always stands and watches these with open arms and heart of compassion.  Though he knows the choice before it's made. 

  Plenty of food and joy and purpose for all on board,  but some do not leave the safety of quarters to find it for they do not believe it is worth the risk.  And many who taste it have bellies already full of less satisfying food and do not like it's taste or enjoy the company of those who eat it too.   Joy is elusive to them while happiness abounds in distracting moments and entertaining events.  With double vision they believe yet doubt  the shore exists and do not look from the rail for anything but the waves and wind.  They have heard of captain but rarely recognize him on His rounds.   The accommodations  do not make His friendship desirable to these.   For some the food is satisfying and rich and enjoyable and the company enriching.  For these,  joy grows in the midst of the churning stomach of rocking waves, that bring tears and unsteady step.  It is in knowing the destination and their growing relationship with Captain that their hearts are settled.

    All are imagined masters of their journey but all arrive under one captains eyes and all will see the voyage clearer when it ends.   All will reach the other shore and finally see the glory of the passage but some  of these more steadfast souls will arrive with multiple treasures to throw at the feet of the King of that place.   All will recognize and love the captain and the King in that land of Holy peace and sweet fellowship.

 Proverbs 16: 9 A man's heart plans his way, But the Lord directs his steps

FALL

         Fall lovers see the pumpkin patches and warm drinks, the leaf pile photo ops, and the corn maze fun.  They may balk at the hot summer days or the cold freezy winter commutes, but fall brings them happiness.   I am not a fan of the shorter days of fall and winter.  I have an aversion to darkness when I am not asleep.  It seems the darkness is out of place at six o'clock when there are dogs to walk, friends to visit and rugs to be aired.  With the increased hours of darkness comes the prospect of cold, icy winter days.   The beauty of the  vivid orange and red, and the  brown topped pines is overshadowed by the prospects of icy roads and questions of safety in our daily travel, constant shoveling and layers of socks and coats and mittens  that make getting out the door a real chore.  This is what I see when I look at fall.  I look past the beauty of the color of the leaves to the gloom. 

       But Jesus bids I  live victoriously in the now.   Choosing  gratitude for leafy color and bug free forest walks, can not happen if  I focus on the coming darkness.  Neither can I be grateful in the dark, cold days if I do not see to the eternally sonny days ahead.  Quite a Rubik's cube this balance of here-sight and fore-sight.  But not if I look at Jesus through the dark and cold and here and now. I see through the dark glass of here and now and flesh and sin far too often.  But if I look with His eyes I see the here and now as a tunnel of opportunity built to get us through, to  invite a friend,  to pack our bags with worthy gifts for the land of light at the end. 

    One day, finally,  in that place and in that time I will see the beautiful color of fall, the sunshine of summer and the Father of all the light, without looking through the darkness. In that eternal season  I imagine singing and dancing for the joy of seeing and living in His sight as I  sit on our heavenly porch chatting and praising with sisters and angels.  The colors will be vivid, the friends and gifts brought through, precious, and the world beautifully recreated with pumpkin patch and harvest stalks.  But mostly I look forward to sipping warm drink and rocking with Jesus, no sinful habit, no ungrateful thought or fleshly war between us, just awe,  friendship and love.

   The challenge now is to see the darkness as a quality of the glass through which I now look, to be replaced finally with clear, focused  face to face.   And for a time I can clear the cobweb of sin from my thinking and look  beyond the  growing seasonal darkness, for it is only an evidence of the truth of dark glass and poor vision since Adam's time.  And if that  gloomy truth is verified so is the face to face that comes after.  And I am given clarity and hope from here-sight and foresight.   I can dread the darkness and winter while being grateful for the message of coming, eternal, presence in the always and forever time of light .  

1 Corinthians 13:

¹² For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

Fall 2014

CARNIVAL MIRROR

         

                It steals my joy and consumes my heart.  It paralyses my to-do list and complicates  my relationships.  It intensifies as I think about it and submit my plans to its ensnaring form.  It reveals a weak faith and a weaker heart.  It makes a hypocrisy of  the truth I speak to those around me. It warps my view of this world and it's circumstances.  It increases with time away from Him and decreases with each step of obedience that disobeys this powerful feeling.  The capacity for it is created in me for one purpose and my natural heart twists it to another and elevates it to master without a constant effort to master it.  It causes me to look at people I love and see the potential disaster before I see the potential for God to work in them.  And so it commands me to hush up when I should speak and to speak when I should trust, to control when I should release and to back off when I should charge in. 

    He knew my tendency to submit to this illusion of power and greatness, and so He gave me many more than 365 reminders in His word to keep it only for Him.  Plenty of reminders for each day of the years of my life, because He knew the struggle would be a daily one for all of his creation.  And isn't that the problem with all of these emotions and compulsions that have been contorted in the broken mirror of our heart, the dailyness of our battle?  It makes for times of weakness and weariness to contribute to our fall.  And that is why He gives grace and new mercies for us each day.  And He asks us to turn our thoughts to that truth and His greatness to reduce this distorted monstrous reflection to it's true size and nature, small and beautiful in its place.  After all when it is put next to the greatness and lovingkindness of God , it seems a ridiculous enemy.  But only the daily bath in truth will keep the image true.  This lens of truth we are given to see the image clearly is easy to neglect and easier to set aside and chose the convenience of looking with our naked eye.   Fear need only be our master's tool when real danger and power is present, motivating us to bow to Him and flee from all that hinders our view.  And I pray you do not judge the genuineness of His truth by the weakness in my walk, another fear to be submitted to grace and power before it discourages my efforts.  And the reason I do not fear is not the promise of  sunny skies and pretty lives, but the promise of His presence reminding  me that the reflection we see is warped for now.  But one day His presence will be permanent and physical with no need for a mirror to reflect this world or His glory.   So fear not, but find grace for when I give this feeling a place too great in my life and obey it's ugly command.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.  I Cor. 13:12

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

LITTLES

                                                                     

       New and perfect skin, soft and delicate.  Tiny toes and fingers .   Little noses and rosy cheeks.  The miniature ears that look like petals on a flower.  And the soft, minky, scarce hair that beckons you to stroke and calm.  Eyes that do not focus yet, but make you long for their fixed stare.  All this tiny joy fits in your forearm and under your chin.  The tiny life evokes a fierce protective warrior in all who come near, and whispers "careful, gentle"  while you hold.  Slight cries melt even the hardest hearts.   Vulnerable, complex body inspires deep thoughts of life origins and creative power.  And somehow the tininess makes you want to give everything to them.  Their utter dependence stirs love and steadfast spirits.  Who does not wait to  see a strong  father tenderly coddle the weakest and tiniest among us?  And somehow the contrast of his strength and her vulnerable size melt our hearts.  It is why we take pictures of each minuscule feature and  stare too long at the marvel of the new life before us.  We must seem so slight and vulnerable to God.  And He too must feel the protective warrior.  His strong father affection for us spurred Him to give himself for us.  We long to see this vulnerable small soul grow to independent pillar and coos of wonder turn to declarations of faith.  The tiny fist that does not go yet where little soft bundle wills it to go, we pray will be raised in confidence of Father's love. Our tiny package is born dependent and must learn independence but we are born independent in spirit and must learn dependence.  For this He yearns as He holds us in his large hands and lifts us to his cheek, our tiny soul, evoking love.  This baby a picture of something greater and deeper.

I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love. To them I was like one who lifts a little child to the cheek, and I bent down to feed them.  Hosea 11:4

2016

PRESSING

I remember the weight of the press that clamped me down and brought me to the brink of despair.  It was in relationships that fail and hopes that die and people who hurt.  It was in the failure of my heart and the call to courage that I did not answer. It came in the carnage of lives I love and dream for.  The weight of the press was constant and thorough.  It paralyzed my mind and made me want to sleep.  It perplexed me and I could not think to find my path and see my way to truth.  The straight path looked crooked and confusing.  I could find relief in temporary things and fleeting joy in eternal, but always I led back to the pressure and the trap.  Friends could help and make truth clear, pressure bearable and hope clarified but the press was working still.  Bitterness kept me there and comforted my natural stone heart at the same time that it challenged my supernatural heart of flesh.  Spirit faltered but hung on, so I was not crushed.  My despair was intermittent and so I was not without hope.  But overcoming seemed a dream and faith a constant choice.  I was not destroyed though I yearn for heaven to come and release me from this place. And in this I am being made to know His suffering and His victory even while the press was hard and long and I wait for hope.

     I don't feel the pain of the press so strongly now, but remember it well.  I know the press may come again because the work is not done, but I also see the dark is temporary and the pain is necessary.  Lord let me be without the crushing weight of emotional and spiritual struggle as long as you can, and still do the work in me. 

 We are pressed on all sides, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed.  We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.  2 Cor 4:8-10

 And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. Ez. 36:26

APATHETIC GARDENER

     I walked behind my rugged, hard working father as he dropped the seeds into the rows of furrowed soil.  I had walked behind the wagon after the first plowing throwing rocks into the wagon, rocks that would hinder the roots  from sinking deep into the rich black soil of our 80 acre farm.  He let me help but I knew I only did what was expected and had no love for the process , no connection with the earth he had worked so hard to cultivate and clear.   I dropped my seeds into the ground counting them and spacing them as instructed.   He worked long days lifting, mixing, smoothing cement on his knees and then came home to do the work of garden and farm.  He found purpose and joy in seeing the earth bring forth food and cows grow strong and fat to put meat on our table.  I did not.  I found the garden and farm to be the work to get through before real joy and freedom could be enjoyed.  So I helped but did not care.  I think I may  have trampled as many seeds as I planted, I may have left more rocks than I should and probably let many beans go to wood in my haste to hurry the picking.  My help may have been harm and my sloth and careless work decreased the yield and hindered the soil in which it grew.  I am not sure he knew my neglect but he always encouraged my help and impatiently instructed, though I cared only to know the task and get it done.

     And now in our own family soul garden, some of these helpers follow behind with hearts unattached and joy unfelt, going through the motions of planting spiritual seeds.  This apathy is really no apathy at all but a silent opposition to the sower and His garden.  They are scattering out more than they have gathered in from detached labors.  They have trampled seeds with  boots dirty on the outside but no strength or will to work in the flesh that fills them.  Some have neglected beans  at harvest time until they become wooden from our outward show without inward devotion.  But they think themselves as I did, good helpers because they have not said no, have not burned fields or set locust loose on His carefully tended garden. There are many other ways to hinder growth and fruit.  But to not love the work is to not share the gardeners heart.  Choosing to leave the rocks and weeds that he would have cleaned out, reveals a  contempt for the work. They walk behind until they are off this soul farm and can go their own way.  They stumble where they could have walked and scatter where they could have gathered ,and most of all they serve a master of another field without committing to his cause.  He need not hire, for their apathy does his work for him.  But the sincere Farmer does not make them stay beyond their time, but lets them leave to find other work. For he knows they can not be swayed to appreciate His soil and toil without experiencing the harsh master they unknowingly serve. He will let them see the crops they will grow without a Farmers  heart.  I too, left the farm to find a joy without the Gardener,to find the ugly crop of unquenching thirst and even death, stumbling over the rocks my apathy left and choking in the weeds I had neglected to pull.  I saw my apathy exposed as stubborn rebellious soil inside a pot that bore the picture of  a farmers friend.  But He bid me back to His planting, tending work  where I now share His love for the crops He tends. When I stumble now, I know his steady arm and find Him ready to restore me to my work.  And they can too. He is still carefully planting and plowing welcoming them to share His work and His joy in following  behind with a heart of flesh and not of stone.  And those of our crop who have found this fleshly heart and have the Farmer's vision are sowing seeds of hope and comfort, nourishing my  heart and mind even while they toil for the Master Gardener.

The ways of the Lord are right;
the righteous walk in them,
but the rebellious stumble in them.  Hosea 14:9

He who is not with Me is against Me; and he who does not gather with Me scatters.  Luke 11:23

THE GIFT

       
                                               


                                                                       

    If I could give a gift to the young people  in my house,  it would be the gift of authority.  The enemy has deceived with the lie that we cannot control our minds, our bodies and our spirit.  Worries about where mind and thoughts will take them, keep the precious heart living in fear and afraid to risk stillness and nonconformity.  I know because I hear the lies in my mind too.  In my gift wrapped box I would like to put a few symbols to empower them and me.

         A rock to stand on.  A sure foundation,  for the little foot slips when it stands on an unsure foundation.  And you can't take a step without a solid place for your feet.  A place that does not move.  A place you can come back to if your step is misplaced and you need to start again.  The Love rock is always there and will always be firm , never shifting with opinion, shrinking with failure or disappearing in weakness. 

        A heart to choose.  And when this heart was lifted from the bow topped box it would reveal itself to be the heart of a lion.  And gazing at this heart, they would see that the power to chose and to will a change is theirs.  Thoughts don't happen to us, we create them from the choices to listen and watch.  And the lion in the heart would roar with power to demonstrate theirs.  And vulnerability to their own mind would flee and be replaced with resolve to control and to submit those thoughts and turn them into victorious adventures and holy acts of courageous deeds that steer their ship to accomplish what they must to give such gifts to others in return.  And I imagine what it would be like for the vulnerable victim to become the humbled and Spirit empowered master of their thoughts , choosing work and direction and self control.  And imagine their surprise when the satisfaction of accomplishment dims their fears and empowers them more! 

     A cotton cloud to give them hope.  And this cotton cloud would cause their gaze to rise up to see the reality of a much longer lasting , worthy place and time. If only for a time, they would see the temporary and hollow walls of this world in comparison to the eternal fortress of the real king.  Would that it empower them to risk the things that their earthly world says are best and most.  Popularity would become second and third to virtue, exciting moments would seem but a weak performance compared to the monstrous celebration that awaits, and the most treasured relationship  as comforting as it is, would pale in comparison to the one that embraces us forever.   We will not risk if we do not see a glorious reason.  And if we can not risk this world for something greater, we cannot truly live abundantly. 

       Don't let life happen to you, as I sometimes do,  sweet offspring.  No one, not even a mother, can truly fix truth in your heart, but only assure you of its presence and clarify its nature.  For you have been given power and authority to submit and dare and do for the supreme authority, the Lion of Judah, the eternal rock,  your eternal family.  And the strength and hope they give can break through the lie of helpless hopeless victim to over comer.  May I and you take charge and live higher!

 For whatsoever is born of God overcomes the world: and this is the victory that overcomes  the world, our faith. I Jn 5:4

   Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. Rom 8:37

SHEEPISH

            Most days I am keenly aware of my need for a shepherd.  I  think I have found my own pasture and am peacefully grazing on  family, peace and security and then the rich green grass begins to turn a dry crackling brown making me thirsty for a stream I can not find.  I come out of my feeding stupor and see the enemy lurking on a hill nearby, grinning at my dumb independence and I feel vulnerable and afraid as I frantically bleat a prayer for rescue to the shepherd I took for granted.  And I do not look around long before I see Him, holy crook in hand , and hear Him calling to remind me that I have gone too far to independent meadows, but always inviting me to His protective pen once again.  Sometimes I feel the painful rod on my backside but never for any purpose but restoration and so  the pain always feels like holy love.  And my fuzzy mind recalls that it was the shepherd who found the satisfying meadow and measured in His hands all the waters of this stream from which we drink.   But He did not intend for me to replace His protection and provision with this green earthy sort.   I am again refreshed and happy to graze with fellow flock for a while, until the further meadow and the green distant knoll seem better, richer, fuller.  Seems I quickly forget the enemy standing there waiting to sully my white wool with doubt and fear and self righteousness. Too easily I lose sight of  my shepherd who weighed those distant knolls on His holy scales. He should get tired of my forgetful ways but He does not.  He would and did give his life for me, this Shepherd of my soul,  to rescue me from the fate  and the teeth of the devilish lion on the hillside. He carries me home with gentleness and patience. And I count on Him to lead my young with the same care.    This provision in the presence of that enemy is meant to point me to His power and His love and inspire me to follow.   And even the dark valleys, many of which I have foolishly, willingly wandered into, may not provide opportunity for the lion to devour, for he can only  stalk and prey as the shepherd wills.   My shepherd is goodness and He is mercy,  following the flock as we graze through this life into the eternal pasture of shepherd presence and lion absence, clothed in our snowy white wool, a gift from His scarlet blood soaked son to our simple flock.  

He tends his flock like a shepherd:
    He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
    he gently leads those that have young.

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
    or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?
Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket,
    or weighed the mountains on the scales
    and the hills in a balance?  Isaiah 40:11-12

BROKEN

                                 





                                   B              KE   

                                                                                RO                N

             It hurts.   It destroys.  It plunges hearts into battle.   It nibbles away at hope.   It confirms the  truth of our sinful flesh. The covenant is sacred and the inked lines are the commitments of small vulnerable souls making a large, strong promise to a Holy God.  And He expects faithfulness, though he knows without His presence it is impossible.  He created  the vow to bring together, to create companionship and oneness out of two, and to display how weak and unfaithful we are without Him. The vow must take away independence and image the joy of dependence in the mirror of marriage.  Breaking the vow breaks His heart, His image,  in and to this world.  He hates the broken image and is angry with this reminder of His groaning world.  And the covenant breakers become so filled with bitter anger and resentment that all His conforming work is temporarily covered and hidden. But His love and invitation remains. They justify, vilify, damnify and deify themselves and each other.   The broken are thrown into a sea of doubt and darkness, and then, while hanging over the precipice, decide whether to let go and sink into the chasm of self and ease and feel- good -now,  or to grasp the rope of faith, and fight and captured thoughts.   Those who love these dangling souls watch the struggle and we are broken too.  The lips weary of late night talks, the now sore knees of prayer, grief filled heart preparing to lose a newly loved  son or daughter, blurry eyes from sleepless nights of  tossing, turning, praying into the darkness.   The marriage vault of trust broken and empty, doors thrown open for all to see the void, now threatens to remain so unless the choice to fill and allow to be filled is made.  The invitation is to long arduous months of deposit and risk and vulnerable faith.  And though brokenness can be redeemed , their world will not be the same for the shattered pieces that lie strewn as reminders of their weakness and His loving strength. Even as it hurts, destroys, plunges and nibbles, the sowing and reaping can only be interrupted by repentance, and so the gospel Word is established and proven in the broken hearts and cloudy minds that depend on His faithfulness in the midst of their unfaithfulness.  Brokenness chooses either redemption or despair.  And we all wait in the darkness with them while these beloved broken decide if their vault will remain empty or be filled with unseen eternal treasure.

  Mk 10:6-9  But at the beginning of creation God 'made them male and female.'  'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife,  and the two will become one flesh.' So they are no longer two, but one.  Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate.

JOY

                                     

   Joy is continually redefined as I grow older.  Joy was once a day off of school to laze and read and watch TV.  It was a week of camping in the UP, boating, swimming, gathering around a campfire and feeling the security of family.  The exhaustion from a day in the hay field was accompanied by a happy feeling of satisfaction and purpose in a hard job done.  Family gatherings, Christmas and birthdays  meant food and laughter and belonging.  My childhood was filled with these kinds of joy. 

    Then the restlessness of youth changed my joy to independence and living away from that family.  Joy was stolen trips to movie theaters and shopping sprees with four year friends.  Joy was the day after finals when the work was done and summer jobs, summer fun and summer heat lay before me.  I found brief joy in a few love relationships that did not last and turned to great grief and loss.  And then joy was moving on.

     Joy became marrying my  lifetime love and caring for a little baby girl.  But my joy became  moments and not seasons as the responsibilities became longer term and the reality of the brevity of earthly joys became obvious.  And each new church brought the joy of new relationships with common purpose.  And as our family grew , joy was intermingled with sorrow and brokenness , and redefined to agree with Paul and Jesus ,  seeing my children follow Him.  It was joy because it meant they had found lasting peace and strength for their sorrow, and hope in failure. 

    And then as they began to leave home, my joy once again became family gathered for birthday dinners, holidays around a tree, and life events.  I had come full circle and found my joy when they felt the security of family. I have learned to find joy in bright flowers, finished quilts and naps.  And the joy of grandchildren is beginning to bloom and fill my heart shaped flower box.   But now my joy is more and more about  the  One who fills me up when both I and  the house are quiet and empty.  And somehow it makes the other joys more fragrant, more satisfying.  They  are His gifts to me, reminding me that joy here is good but fleeting, but His is forever and glorious. 

                Make me to hear joy and gladness, Let the bones which You have broken rejoice. Ps 51:8

                You have put gladness in my heart, More than when their grain and new wine abound. Ps 4:7

2016

MAY BOXES

My notes and scrawls cover the days of my family photo calendar, a gift, amidst the dust on the walls.  Every day full of dropping off, picking up, taking care.  Weariness and anxiety fill me up looking at all those numbers and names of people, places on 30 boxes.  Hard to see only one box at a time. Isn't that what Jesus said?  One day, one box, one child, one event,one dread, one joy at a time .  One savior giving one grace one day at a time.  If I raise my eyes above the ink filled boxes, over top the dusty wall,   I see the family photo of a wonderful memory that was a scratch in a box before it became blessing, encouragement, and grace.  Lord, can you help my eyes stay there on  your grace evident in  people, these eternal gifts ,dwelling in tented boxes? Even the name above these squares, May, names an eternal soul, one of the objects of my scratching.  My gaze drifts down like the dust in my house to settle on things not eternal, just boxes, scribbles and numbers, so numerous to make it difficult to  focus.  I need help to see the eternal staring back at me above those 30 boxes of scratch and busyness.  My dusty walls can be sloth or evidence of  a  clearer  vision, even when the whole month is blurry with notes etched to remind of places to be and times to keep.  Without clear vision people perish and scratches of ink in boxes reign. Hearts become anxious giving  priority to places and times and not on the tents of soul.  Eternal vision becomes nearsightedness when I don't gaze beyond the boxes and look up.

"One day at a time..for tomorrow has enough worries of its own." Help me  look up, see what lasts and redeem my busyness one square at a time."

Luke 10:41 But the Lord answered and said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; 42 but only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her."

ORIGINS

        Tiny blooms of life come of love and sometimes lust.  No choice  of seeded soil , but origin does not thwart the will of God or reduce the value of His own.  No beginning conquers the end that He wills.  No thoughtless act of creation causes His love and redemption to cease.  Tiny souls are meant to be nurtured and cherished and trained and pointed toward hope.  The tiny soul who has come from acts of rash and faithless union is not ranked by origin nor cherished according to their beginning. Future is not molded by beginning but by faith. We do not see origin when we see the vulnerable tender life any more than we see the bulb when we admire a daffodil. We only see the beauty and wonder and unique form of the Father's image.  Little infant cries and baby growls are no different than others and are precious still.  We only weep for the home design that is broken, not for the life that lives there.  For this babe like all daffodils of His garden are planted  into the soil of fallen world.   Grandmas cherish and hope to point petaled tiny soul, one day to the mender of the broken and the author of forgiveness and grace.  For the babe is the proof of both and the motivation for change.  We only see this daffodil and care not to look for the bulb.  And grandma and grandpa melt as tiny eyes and lips look our way.  This babe does not care for origins either, only petals of love and hope to fall on this swaddled bloom .

Yet you brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you, even at my mother's breast.   Ps 22:9

 2016

MESSY MENTORS

   She, like me, was more gray than the black and white of follower or sinner.  Life and legacy  is much more messy than that. If earthly mentors are people who follow, sin, conquer, overcome and then struggle again to overcome , then my mom was all of that.  Her past was full of rebellion, poverty, hardship and mischief.  Her conversion was sudden and emotional and life changing.  Her strongholds, like mine, disappeared and reappeared with each new year.  She loved her children and grandchildren sacrificially, even permissively.  I can hardly remember  her  without an apron strapped around her waist as she cooked and cleaned and kept her family's bellies filled with good food.  .  And somehow we always had  hearts anchored in the assurance of her secure love.  She cared for grandchildren and rocked babies at all hours of day or night, when many would have said she was getting  too old for that. She did not see herself as a mentor and would have been horrified at the thought, but like all of us, it happened while she lived her life and we watched. 

    I learned to work and to sacrifice for family by watching her can vegetables, fruits and meat for days on end and into many evenings when her feet were tired from bearing her weight.  She helped in the hayfield in the day and then somehow,  (was it  supernatural?), she prepared us a meal to eat when we came in hot, and sweaty and tired.  Her meals always included potatoes because that was the steadfast food  when the depression challenged her resources many years ago .  So I gathered that  she, like everyone, was shaped by her past.  I learned to screen my words, though never enough,  from listening to her say things that seemed too frank and raw, because she felt that family didn't mince words.  I learned to gossip too.  I heard her phone conversations with her sisters, listened as her friends gathered at the B&C lunch counter to have coffee and share the small town news.  And I grew up not sure how to talk to family or friends without including the same, for I thought that was what friends did.  I learned to cry alone in my room when husband and wife cannot find a resolution to their differences.  Mentors model failure too, if they are truly human.  I learned to read something of God's word every day.  And I noticed that sometimes it changes part of you.  Many times we ignore.  At her funeral, her grandson pointed out that grandma always had a Bible and the National Enquirer by her chair.  I learned that we run to lots of empty things for comfort and distraction when life gets hard and marriages crumble. 

       When I grew to be an adult with my own mentorees watching my fall and climb, I found out that she had not talked  about the hurts and failures of her past that had left the biggest scars.    So I understood that we don't know even those who have raised us, unless we ask and they are willing to answer.  And in her time of ultimate betrayal and hurt, I witnessed these past hurts and fears threaten to consume her.  And I understood a little better where strongholds come from.  But I saw a heart of grief and anger still ready to forgive and receive if he wished it so.  But he did not. 

      Many days when her memory and her health were fading, she would ask why she was still here on this Earth. She was still mentoring when her mind was too weak to understand her world anymore.   I wish I had sorted these thoughts then so my answer had not been so practical and weak.  And so my mortal mentor called Mom, left all this engraved on my mind and in my heart, when she breathed her last.  And I am richer for it, even with the strongholds I fight against, some created then, while watching and learning from her.  And I wonder what you and I will leave here and who will be sorting their thoughts to answer our why  question.   There are no  lesson plans or appointed meeting places for this call to mentor except by Him who planned it all and whose example is perfect.  And we all leave evidence of the  two sided gospel that says all are sinners but God has made a way.  I wonder which side of the gospel our mentoring legacy will demonstrate most?

   Deut 4:9  “Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children's children—

Gal 6:4   But let each one test his own work, and then his reason to boast will be in himself alone and not in his neighbor.

SPRING RAINS

"Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, .. IS 43:19

          There is something about a cup of coffee, a quiet morning, and rain.  The darkness a dwelling for gloom and  security  together, for  I gaze at the blessed storm through the  speckled wet glass of  warm and dry home.  The anticipation of outdoor sun and fun is hampered and thoughts turned inward to inside projects and heart projects.  Just like the rain brings darkness and life giving water, so too the inward focus brings life giving reflection.  When sunshine and activity are not what invigorates mind and heart, I must seek a  higher source for these.  This morning I choose to give thanks for the rain and darkness that surrounds my own house.  Raindrops of broken hearts, rebellious choices, blind eyes and physical decay tempt me to celebrate the gloom with bitter tongue, but in giving thanks, the purpose of each one in watering and weeding my own desolate spiritual garden becomes clearer.  And as I give thanks, these reasons for joy seem to multiply like the raindrops beating faster and harder on the window.  As I speak the words of thanks for things that are as dark as the water filled clouds I see outside, my soul begins to believe their good purpose and to be drenched in the goodness of their creator.  The warm and dry of house and home seem a greater gift than they did when sunshine reigned and outside called.  As my coffee cup drains, my heart fills with hope and clarity and love for my rain giver.  And the river that streams down the gravel drive becomes a symbol of the roadway through the dry ground of my inconsistent heart and the hope for each familiar face shaped drop of spring.  

2016

OAKS

  

      These special women who sit around my living room, bowing heads like bending oaks, dropping fruit from wisened tongues, steady strong pillars for this weary warrior.  I thought the gap between my "should" and my "did" was going to swallow me into its cavernous gulch.  I got low and crawled ahead too many times only to feel a strong gust of people ,circumstances and my own flesh blow me back.  I settled at the edge of this cliff and complacently watched the crack widen.  And then ugly words and harsh temper revealed my own dark crevice and I found a way to get lower.  I cried for perseverance, grace and help.  He gave me fruitful words through another pilgrim that clarified and reinforced my will to try again.  And then out of the hazy not-long-ago these pillars of oakly grace appeared again.  A message from a friend who wanted me to pray for her made my heart chuckle at the irony of God, because she did not know it was I who needed intercession.  God had used these living trees to lay across the gap I could not traverse.  Why not then, why now?  I do not know, but the cry of our three hearts to Him, has made the gulch narrow and the bridge strong to traverse to the other side.  I marvel at His natural resources and the rhythm of His movement in my life.  And I am glad of this small grove of delicate and mighty trees planted and growing with me toward our Son!

                       Like a tree planted by streams of water.... Ps. 1:3    

March  2017                             

BRIDGES

     I was tired.  I felt like I had given over and above to the busy teenage schedule.  I was feeling selfish and overwhelmed and unappreciated.  I came home and just wanted to be care free for a while.  To not have to figure out another schedule for another day.  I certainly was not up to bridge building.  So when she asked and I questioned, I thought I heard the voice of someone who thought I should be doing more.  I charged in with bombs of truth about respecting your parents, finishing your school, making wise choices with your time.   I threw my self-righteous bomb and retreated to the living room to snuggle up and tune out. 

      How quickly a well placed bomb can undo the foundation of a bridge.  It is far easier to produce a bomb than to engineer a bridge between us.  Bridges require foundations built with  patience, planning and Holy Spirit fruits.  Bombs just require a little truth that agrees with my flesh.  One constructs a path to the soul and mind of another and the other a clanging cymbal in a  noisy explosion.  And in my tired, flesh ruled mind , I chose the easier path.  And now a young mind is tempted to fume and fuss and build her own bombs.  Neither of us have to chose that path, for we can lean and wait and chose grace.  Far better for me would have been  to acknowledge my weariness and ask for reprieve until I could answer with truth and grace together, spanning the gap between.  Bridges can be built without truth , but they will not stand when flesh and flood change our minds and weary our frame.  Bombs can be built with truth or with long simmering bitterness but the end is usually the same.  Destroyed connections, foundations cracked and love distorted.  Sometimes a bomb is necessary when destroying world systems, but not individuals.   And bridges built on truth, though not always traveled upon, are open for one heart and mind to make the journey to another.  It is a place to meet in between the hard and fast  sin scorched shores.

       Jesus bombed the religious system and its people as a whole, throwing truth accurately and precisely at the sinful thinking that stole the heart of His people.  We seldom have such holy motive, clear vision and accurate aim.  But individually in the secret meeting at night, He offered life and forgiveness.  Bridges were his specialty, for he ate supper with people who did not share His truth.  He drove away those who would launch their law bombs at hearts that needed to hear truth kindly spoken and see holy relationship in action.  He spent three years building bridges to hearts that would need to carry on his engineering ministry.   Even when they erred, he spanned the gap with truth built on that relationship he had taken time to forge.  He called  it sowing.   And He chose to build a cross shaped bridge to anyone who would thirst and hunger for  the water and the bread on the other side. 

Acts 17: 23-25

"For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you.

God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands;

Neither is worshipped with men's hands, as though he needed anything, seeing he giveth to all life, and breath, and all things; "   Paul (master bridge builder)

2015

TENTS AND TREES

                 

                Children grow, health wanes, hearts unite, relationships fail, and we become different people.  We do not see it happening until  one day we feel the aching knees, open the door to see the crying husband once our little boy, answer the call at midnight and hold the newborn granddaughter , or hear the words of timely wisdom escape our lips.  Sometimes the shifting, growing , change is realized when we find the fear we had is no longer there or a new fear comes in changing circumstances.  The fabric and content of our frail tents are changing into worn but sturdy canvas guarding the morphing contents of heart and soul and minds.

           I watched the seasons cycle round and round and did not comprehend  that my own orb would  blossom rich with life and fruit and new seed and then burst into colorful activity before it began to slow and dry and leave its legacy for new saplings to rake up and enjoy.  How did once strong arms become unable to lift the bale?  When did my heart give up the challenge of pleasing all and narrow in to pleasing One?  Why did our two divided and busy lives become one together,  tromping through crisis and frailty?  Where along the fence of our yarded lives did I become equipped for things I never would have thought my mind and heart able to take on?  His work is subtle even  in explosive bursts of crisis and joy.  We are changing and being changed, wore down and narrowed in.   The leaves may be drying but they are different in more ways than decay .  They are witnesses of the transformation, the power  and hope of change,  and the beauty of it too.  The crisis of shortened time concentrates our  work and releases us from future fear , to be and do what we were designed to do.  It prunes away the "maybe later" and leaves the "only now "  to speed our work and deepen it's meaning into posterity .  And it directs the life giving sap upward to make the eternal more important than the now.  I do not see it happening any more than I can watch a child build height and grow hair by watching closely.  But one day I open the album and see where they were and compare the images to the child before me and see the change.  And so I compare my thoughts, desires and responses in situations now and realize they have shifted since I first experienced the  unexpected challenges of life.   And it is nice when I feel the tent stakes holding fast the urge to panic and run, because they are driven a little deeper in the truth than they were when my tent was light and vulnerable.   And sometimes it surprises me that the baggage of past and hurt and shame is pushed to the side  in this place, and trust and hope and grace grow in the center now.  But with the strengthening growth come bigger winds and darker nights to test the heart and light growing in me.  And the tree is strongest, roots sunk deepest  when the cycle is ending and the leaves fall .  The tent is tattered but strong.   But it is the thought of the new dwelling and the eternal tree that does not cycle into decay, that keeps this tent on the ground, firmly fixed and full of hope and light.  

        II Cor 5: 1-5  For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands.  Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling,  because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked.  For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.  Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God, who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.

   2016

NEW LIFE

NEW LIFE

             The dark clouds have gathered and produced the cold, dampness of fleshly struggle and heavenly opportunity.  The storm clouds amass and seek to make us run for cover from thunder, lightning and rain, for it  appears that sin reigns here. Our days and months have been long, knees sore from prayer , and eyes wet from tears even while our hope remains fixed on Him.

    And then this ray of sunshine unexpectedly bursts out from behind the clouds and reminds us that He has not lost control or power over this world, our world.   Though messengers have come with news of brokenness, injury and loss, one messenger delivers joyful news.  "New life! " he cries.  Life that changes husband and wife into mom and dad, and Mom and Dad into Grandpa and Grandma.  Life that reminds us who is in control of the impossible, and who is the author of all life, spiritual and physical.  New life that He has made to show His power, to refresh Job and feed Elijah.  A grandchild sprung to life amidst the storm of life. Our hearts can turn from stormy dark clouds to the clear, powerful reminder that He can do all things and our hearts rejoice in the reminder of His power and His grace. For if He can create this life he can rescue and renew other lives. The good news messenger is welcome here and we find rays of  hope in this seed and light of joy in the expectation of birth. 

            This little life is hope and confirmation and joy to a broken family. Littlepink or blue soul begins bringing  light even though she has not  yet seen the light of this earth.  May he/she continue that work as the inward knitting ends and this  life enters our cloudy world.   Blessed are we among families for we have seen this great light and are reminded of His grace by the radiance of sun among the clouds. 

Then Hannah prayed and said,

“My heart exults in the Lord;
My horn is exalted in the Lord,
My mouth speaks boldly against my enemies,
Because I rejoice in Your salvation.
“There is no one holy like the Lord,
Indeed, there is no one besides You,
Nor is there any rock like our God.

I Samuel 2:1-2

Sept 2015

PAIN

    

    The megaphone was loud, amplifying the message I could not seem to hear without the pain that made me still and weak.    I always cry out to God when pain inflicts it's narrowed focus and helpless fear.  I sing, I pace, I wonder and sometimes rail, but always to Him.  He is often the only one listening in the darkness of night.  And that is when I resolve to obey, to redeem my pain free time for Him and when I see my sinful clutter most clearly.  But often at the break of day and the dull of pain, I forget the deal I made, my resolve weakens, and sinful clutter is blurry.  But this night was different.  I have resolved and I have found relief from pain without forgetting.  The appetites I had indulged in these weeks of stress and confusion seem clear and ugly still. 

     I could use the excuse of spiritual warfare and unending needs weighing down my spirit and wearing out my body,  for those are real in this particular season of life.  But I know that He has heard these before and does not accept any substitutes for His own word, His grace, his own people  and His ever listening ear to ease those burdens.  Because He knows the places to which I run, will only captivate and cover up and never free me to serve.  I could once again resolve without confession to do better and climb out of the pit on my own.  But I know He designed me weak enough to need others to hold up my weak  hands and mind after confession and resolve begin to wane.  But laying it out there to those who may think less, retreat, or accuse later is terrifying to this proud and independent heart.   After the triumphant cries of Easter, this fleshly struggle plummets my thoughts back to the reality of dying with Him and what it looks like this side of incorruptible and immortal.  IF He had not shown me through similar cycles that this battle is necessary and common to those who chose to follow, I would lose resolve and think myself still dead in Spirit.  But He reminds me that the battle, with wins and losses, is proof of the life that struggles to overcome flesh in His Spirit power. 

     One day He will not have to lift the megaphone of pain to clear my vision and strip me of independent thinking, for He will have given me a heart of flesh and clarify the mind of Christ .   Pain's purpose will be no more when he dries our eyes and fixes our heart permanently on Himself.  No more need of excuse, no more night to force us to look up and no more losses,  for the victory will be real and constant.   But for now, I struggle though not alone.

Romans 8:18  For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

RING DAY

     Eleven gathered around the "Waltons" table for 8, lovingly hewn by a proud and nurturing father from trees once tall and shady outside.  They towered over fort builders, bug collectors, flower pickers and giggling wrestlers and now horizontally host family dinners, and cover feet and dogs and sometimes hide and seek places. We celebrate life, my life of 53 rings, some spaced narrow through leanness of soul, and mind, but  most wide abundant years of joy and hope, laughter and hugs. Six of our spirited trees sit laughing, smiling, thinking; seedlings  or nutlings :) of  we,  the  knotted gnarled parents. Six holy mysteries growing in number and in strength, 31 years of sowing, growing, bending, impeding and pruning.  Not by parent trees alone but by Him who makes it all come together in a sapling grown  and growing to a tree of His own engineering.  His plan somehow included our fighting and agreeing, loving and wrestling, hating and endearing, parting and uniting in our wooden home in the pines. Soulless trees surround our sanctuary each knotted individually,  towering over the eternal seedlings  grown and growing in their enclosure.  The Vine Tender's formula too complicated to reproduce,  sprinkled redemption and grace, discipline and love, consequence and merit,  rejection and acceptance , nurture and famine perfectly.  These six trees have rings too. Rings,  evidence of mind, spirit,  and desires in famine or in flood. Somehow my rings and theirs correspond, but these are "things too high for me..." to understand.  Not enough time to spend on that, when there is more watering, tree hugging and admiring to be done.  The brown topped blue spruce  in our  window remind me time is short, rings are being fitted for fingers , for trees who will continue to grow in our place, souls growing here in the Green Street ring  of soulless pines.   

Ps 131:1b,2 Nor do I involve myself in great matters, Or in things too difficult for me.2Surely I have composed and quieted my soul; Like a weaned child rests against his mother, My soul is like a weaned child within me.…

2013