Spring Snowstorm

Sometimes you need a spring snowstorm to have an epiphany.  I appreciate when something simple and mundane in your day-to-day surroundings--brings understanding and illumination to something going on in the much murkier depths of your spiritual life.  Like little tangible gifts to help me understand and explain where I  find myself in a specific season.

Carl & I were driving home from my sister’s house on the other side of the city after a long work-night preparing for a family event.  Since it was my family’s event, I offered to drive home and let Carl rest.  (I owed him!)

There should have been nothing out-of-the ordinary about the drive home. It was April. We had made it past  the winter days and nights of  frosted windows, blowing drifts, icy rain and had come out on the other side.  But no one told the sky that!  And blasts of bizarre Styrofoam precipitation started shooting down on us -- a rarity for Indiana in April.  It began to blanket the road as if a stage crew up in the rafters was creating a scene over some small-stage actors.  

This desperate attempt of winter to keep its hold, shook my driving confidence.  My hands gripped the wheel and my foot eased off the gas.  I started driving like a 80-old-woman.  (No offense, 80-year-old women!)

Carl noticed my snail-paced driving and offered to drive.  But that only bothered me more --I shouldn’t have needed him.  I can drive. I know this road.

The problem however, was that I couldn’t find the lines. And I needed those lines.  So I tried to rely on the cars in front of me.  They were farther up the road, they must know the way.  I’ll just follow them. But they were all also slamming on their brakes and shifting this way and that.  The cars behind me offered no assistance but only caused me to want to slow down even more (now I was driving like an 90-year-old woman!!). These caboose-cars came zooming past me and burst right into and through the slower herd of cars collecting in front of me.  Reckless. Risky.  

At least I wasn’t being reckless or risky.  Better to be cautious.  Or should I just quit.  Get off the exit and wait.

But getting off at the next exit would be admitting my weakness.  Stopping would be a waste of time. Besides, this isn’t the plan!   Knowing that this stretch of white road probably grew black again just a few miles down the road, didn’t bring me confidence either. I was in the here-and-now.  

This my friends, mirrors what is happening in my spiritual life right now. I’m half-way down the road.  I’ve been through some seasons I was just learning how to drive, where it’s harder and there are obstacles to getting where you need to be. But now, I’ve crossed over into mid-life.  I thought I knew: knew who I am supposed to be; knew what I’m supposed to do; knew who I am striving to become; knew my purpose;  Then . . . . . . bizarre and unexpectant, rare and blinding stuff comes straight out of the blue and covers the well-marked lines of my lane. Looking at folks who have gone before me and who are coming up behind me doesn’t seem to be helping right now. While we are all on the same road, everyone is going their own speed and own direction and it only causes me more confusion.  My vision is still working, my motivation is there, my experience, knowledge, gifts, skills and strengths are ready.  A direction and a destination still exists.  I still want to accomplish something on my own. Frustratingly, it is not enough.

Just like my thoughts on the real road that April night, spiritually I also want to keep moving forward to the best of my ability.  Even if it at a dinosaur pace, I want to reach my destination.  And if I can’t see the lines clearly, I will have to try and discern the road the best I can.

But God, where are the lines?  I don’t know which lane to stay in?  I don’t want to quit. I don’t want to crash. Could you blow your mighty breath and clear away this annoying late-spring snow.  You don’t have to paint new lines. You don’t even have to teach me to drive. You don’t have to send someone else to drive for me. You don’t have to drive for me. Just uncover the lines for me!  

So I turn to Scripture.  There are many parts of Scripture that speak of roads, journeys, paths, but this one is really spoke to my current prayer.

Isaiah 42:16  says:   I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth.  These are the things I will do;  I will not forsake them.

I hear God speaking to me through this verse:  Don’t ask for lines and lanes.  I have so much more planned for you. New locations, fresh paths, adventure.  And do you think I lead my sheep in such such impersonal ways? I offer a real presence living inside of you that whispers and grabs hold and gently nudges and guards. You have available to you divine discernment that is far beyond the sharpest sight and the best experience. And your guide has the power to create light and shape earth.

Alright Lord, I will stop asking for lines and looking for lanes.  Instead, may I come to expect unfamiliar path (and even work on welcoming them without complaint).  May I stop relying on my own sight.  May I learn to keep my hand in your hand and become accustomed to setting each footstep in the ray of light shining from your holy presence which goes before me.  This is where I choose to place my trust.  And Lord, may this prayer not be just for this moment, but may it become my daily routine.    

Eyes on The Trail

 

 

I’ve never been a runner. But I started running recently in order to meet this new weight loss goal that I am having trouble meeting.  While running will never be enjoyable to me, I do find satisfaction in rising to a new challenge, meeting a goal, accomplishing something difficult.

I almost always run around my house, or in a local park-- all interconnected with a trail system. Nice, wide, flat, hard asphalt.  Or sometimes sidewalks and roads in between the trails. There are neighborhoods to zigzag through. People to watch. Houses to admire.  Fellow walkers and bikers to politely smile and nod at while breathing heavily.    
 
But today I went and ran in a nature park south of town. I always text my friend and tell her I’m going so in case I don’t’ return, they will know where to search for my body.  It is remote. It meanders through trees and meadows and bushy growth. And I rarely pass any other human while there. I was excited to run somewhere new today. I was excited to be outside in this early fall-tease-weather. I was excited to looks up and take in the view of the water, the trees, and maybe even wildlife.
 
But instead, my eyes were on the trail. My scenery consisted of exposed roots; fallen leaves in three different conditions—settled, mashed and nearly-fossilized; a few piles of unidentifiable dung;  and a stray nut or husk here or there.  I was afraid if I lifted my eyes for an elevated view, I would wander off the dirt and into evil poison ivy, or trip over a land-mine-root, or absent-mindedly twist my ankle on an unassuming piece of gravel.
 
So I didn’t appreciate the archway of trees overhead, or the pollen-heavy yellow and white  blooms that lined the trail.  I didn’t look up and notice the way the blue sky was sliced by thin tree limbs. I didn’t spy the small wind-wrinkles in the face of the lake.
 
But it wasn’t as disappointing as it sounds. I met my running goal today without a stumble, a wander, a scratch, a problem. And that seemed enough for today.  Satisfying.  I still felt the warm sun on my shoulders and the cool breeze pushing at the sweat-drenched tendrils around my neck. I still heard the bird call and smelled the scent of soil and photosynthesis.  
 
There are moments that I should/need to/am invited to stop and take in the scenery. To look up and out and around. To breathe in deeply. To embed a panoramic landscape in my mind’s eye. To stick my head out the window. To run my fingers through the blades of grass. And I crave and am fed by those moments.
 
I remember one summer day on the way back down from a trip up Mt. Rainier. My friend Erin and I pulled off the side of the road and hop-scotched our way out to a giant rock pouting in the middle of a trickling creek. We sat crossed-legged on this baked stone, absorbing its warmth while plunging our hands in the cold water to choose smooth pebbles. We tossed and launched these pebbles into the creek and reveled in each kerplunk. This simple amusement lasted for hours as we drank in the sound, smell, sight, sense of that slice of the mountain. That was a savor moment. I love savor moments. I want plenty of them. Literally and spiritually.
 
But I’m also content with the reality that there are succeed seasons--watch the trail and put one foot in front of the other.  My eyes may not drink in the beauty of the surroundings, but  they act as sentinels of safety. They allow me to move ahead. I find my way. I notice the terrain. I mark the miles. I remain firm-footed.  I will be able to savor again soon enough, but for now – Persevere. Succeed. Focus. See.

 

I feel like this is a perfect illustration of where I am spiritually right now as well. The joy is found in the journey right now. The arduous, necessary, continuing journey.  The joy is found in having a well-marked path to follow, and having the ability and drive and strength to stay safely on it. God is so sweet and gracious in those savor moments. But he is also so faithful and encouraging in my succeed seasons.
 
I love these verse and pray them often:

Jeremiah 31:21
Take note of the highway,
    the road that you take.
 
Psalm 17:5
My steps have held to your paths;
    my feet have not stumbled.

 

 

 

Sweet Honey from the Rock

Do you ever fall in love with the beautiful imagery and poetry of a bible verse before you really understand its significance?  I do.  Sometimes I just want to sit with it for a while without digging it apart or applying to it the sometimes banal discipline of study. For example:   Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom.  (Song of Songs 2:15). How beautiful is that?! But the verse I’m caught up in right now is found in Psalm 81:16:   with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.
 

I’m not that big of a fan of honey. I think it’s because my family never ate it much when I was kid. In fact, the only place I remember seeing it on a regular basis was at Kentucky Fried Chicken where customers would rip open little white packets to slather on their heart-attack biscuits. Hold out a spoonful of white sugar, brown sugar, and honey, and honey will always come in third. I keep some in my house now, but mostly for sore throat remedies, smoothies, and one recipe for a goat-cheese appetizer. In fact, I use it so often for my allergy-coated throat, that it has become medicinal to me--the lumpy thickness sitting at the back of my throat becoming more and more hard to swallow.

But honey does have a certain mystique to it. It seems so ancient--like healing with herbs or planting crops by the shape of the moon. When I read in Psalms that God wanted to (and I believe still wants to) bless his children with wild honey from the rock--it gets me. It thrills me even when I don’t fully understand what it means. The line preceding it in Psalms 81 tells us that God wants to strengthened and sustain his people with the finest wheat too. God could have stopped with that, but he doesn’t.  Bread could be enough. But because our God is a God who treats, showers and woos us, He’s not just about basic sustenance, is He?  He is also all about pleasure and delight. He has that sticky, sugary, strange and laboriously produced gooey-goodness tucked away in some crevice or crack for his weary pilgrims.  

The Promise Land for God’s people was described over and over again as a land flowing with milk and honey.  I’ve heard it said that this description was used because it pointed to the diversity and fullness of the land that God was giving to his people. For honey to flow in abundance, the land would need a wide variety of grass and flowers.  It would be a land that has everything that you can imagine and more – everything you need.  True plenty!

I like the idea of abundance--a type of kingdom-living that involves spiritual milk and honey flowing out to me, and over me.  But when I have just enough energy to focus on walking firm-footed on this rocky path of faith, I’d gladly take a handful of some pure rock-honey. To discover an unexpected treasure in a cleft of rocks to my right or left—even with no rolling hills and herds in sight--would satisfy me and gladly keep me putting one foot in front of the other.

I want it! Really bad! I find myself praying that phrase over and over again – satisfy me Lord with wild honey from the rock.  I’m struggling with some heartsickness right now, and I am craving something in my daily walk that will remind me of God’s goodness. He holds out abundance as his ultimate kingdom-goal, and he is ultimately leading me on the path to riches, but right now I hope he just leads me to the next honeyed-hive.

AUTUMN LOVE

I’ll be honest – this is just going to be a love-fest of all things autumn.  Warning –shameless fanaticism.
 
Each early autumn, I talk a friend or two in visiting the apple orchard south of my small town. I make them walk the dirt-avenues lined with squat trees with me, plucking a different apple off of the low twisted branches. A dark shiny red here. A pale speckled one there. A green and round one there.  We aren’t sure if it is allowed, but we sample as we go—chucking the apple to the back of the orchard after a bite or two. I also like kicking the fallen apples and stomping hard on the half-rotten apples. With each foot-fall, there comes a pleasant crunch or pop of fruit-flesh. And I don’t even mind sharing the place with the greedy bees.  I never actually pick and buy the apples off the trees;  we head inside where they are captives--neatly bundled and labeled. But I still like walking the rows, feeling a connection to where the apple begins.
 
The last couple of years, I’ve bought my pumpkins at this orchard too. It seems a bit early. Usually I don’t like to mix my apple celebration with my pumpkin celebration – wanting to give each some of its own time. But this year it just made sense. I tend to gravitate towards the stranger, less-traditional pumpkins, and load them in my wagon (with the man at the weigh-and-pay informing me that all my picks are really gourds and not pumpkins. Duly noted.)  White, squat, yellow, multi-colored, striped, etc.  They have now found a home huddled and stacked in the corner of my side porch.
 
We also stop by a local mum farm to pick out bushy flower pots of orange, and yellow, and scarlet.  We barely can fit our “harvest” into the car. Gallons of cider and jars of apple butter begin rolling around the floorboard.  While I’m not sure where we would fit them, I find myself regretting my decision to skip buying the baby gourds.  In the past, I could spend an inordinate amount of time at the baby gourd bins. I like to pick each one based on their uniqueness. But there are so many!  And they are all splendidly deformed, misshapen, warty, swirled – like mutant vegetables. The children of one of my friends play with her gourd collection as if they are strange aliens in an intergalactic battle.  So later that week, I pick up a bag at Target – letting them choose the assortment this time. And my home feels a little more ready for autumn. 
 
It’s not just the sights of fall that bless me. I love the smells too.  Walking the trail by my house kicks up a scent that reminds me of the Montana mountains. Not sure why.  But there is something earthy, gritty, decaying, that reminds me of that summer in Glacier Park.  And inside, a mixture of cider and spices gently bubble on my stove. Call me wasteful, but half of the reason I buy cider is for simmering.  And then there is the taste of fall.  Like a pumpkin-glutton, I gobble up anything and everything spicy-orange.  What can pumpkin be mashed into -- lattes, ice cream, bread, muffins, soup, dip, rolls, butter—give it to me!
 
It cracks me up that everyone evaluates the leaf-color show each fall—judging one to be more brilliant than the last. But I never see the big difference. It always seems spectacular to me. On my semi-regular walks, I veer left or right if it means walking through dry, crunchy leaves. And have you noticed that the blue of the sky is so much richer and deeper than any May-or-June-blue could be. It seems like the slant of the afternoon sun is lusher as well. I stop in front of someone’s house the other day to take a picture of their tree – it was a perfect mixture of orange, yellow, and shiney brown leaves—all trapped in the same multiple-personality tree. (I really hoped they were not at home.)  I also keep a collection of brown things in a box to put out on the coffee table every year.  Pods, nuts, dead spikey blooms, seed balls, -- ok so I’m not really sure what they all are. But they are “fall” to me. I search for things to pick up on my walks and stuff them in my pockets. Nothing thrills me more than the glossy shell of a buckeye in my pocket that I can rub with my thumb– like a magic lantern of sorts.  It never seems to lose its sheen.  And if you are a lucky treasure-hunter, you happen upon those weirdly bumpy hedge-apples scattered along the ground. But it’s not brown, orange, yellow, or red so I don’t pick it up. But I do wonder how it would look hanging out with my baby gourds inside or on the porch with the adult gourds-who-disguise-themselves as pumpkins.

I don’t even mind that night starts dropping its darkness earlier and earlier each day. It only emphasizes the warmth of home. As a college student,  I remember driving home from college late on Friday nights and turning the corner and seeing the kitchen window lit up from the inside – usually steamy from whatever food was being boiled, roasted, sautéed, or fried.  I had the same warm feeling about golden windows last year when I trick-and-treated with my nephews. (First of all, do neighbors enjoy each other like this at any other time of the year?!?!?  I love Halloween for this reason – people are opening doors and greeting each other throughout the evening.) And as the festivities progressed, and the sun dipped low, each house looked even more inviting with windows aglow.

 
I’m sitting here and writing this on a sunny but chilled afternoon. The assertive wind is sweeping up the already brown and curled and deceased leaves. They scurry, scuttle, scrape the front sidewalk in sudden stampedes. Love that sound! Stay a little longer fall. I want to draw you out for months and months. Thanksgiving is the cap, I know, for all of the abundance of the season.  But I won’t wait until then to give my God thanks for all that blesses me and draws me toward Him-- the Creator and Provider and Artist in this great world. Thank you!

Spacious Places

I’m on “staycation” this week with plenty of time for projects and personal interests and maybe even some play.

But I’m definitely going to walk a lot this week. Sometimes I enjoy walking the “mean streets” of downtown Plainfield. In a hokey way, it stirs up sentimental feelings of belonging and community. But this week I’m bored with my regular route, so I headed to a newly discovered park in a nearby town. The walking road (it’s not really a trail) winds back and back to a playground, amphitheater and community building overlooking a pond. While the pond is hugged on one side by a line of tall straight trees, when you sit in the Adirondack chairs on the back patio of the community building and look out over the pond, it is a nice slice of sky.   

It’s my new favorite place. Yesterday, I paused my ipod and just listened to silence. I was the only one there. No other cars or people--not even any insect-buzz. The only other creature was one dark hawk waltzing above the trees in hypnotizing figure-eights. I waited to see if it would dive for food – but it just kept catching the next breeze under its wide wing-expanse.  

Now, I love my intimate fenced-in back yard. And I’m grateful for the town trail that brushes past front porches and bisects traffic. But sometimes I want to be in wider spaces. I remember the post-college summer I spent in Montana where the sky would swallow you up. We would drive up to the peaks to watch the sunset, or pull over to watch lightning tear up the horizon.

In the Bible, King David celebrates how God brought me out into a spacious place, and follows that up with a declaration that God rescued me because he delighted in me. (Psalm 18:19).  Another version says it more plainly:  God stood me up on a wide-open field.

This verse has always been meaningful to me, but I could never really explain why. The picture of God bringing me out into a wide-open field is freeing to me. And I know that freedom is God’s thumbprint on any life.

Today, I headed to another park in the opposite direction. The trails there are lined by tall grass or covered over by tree-branches.  I took a right turn on the “bat trail” (which freaked me out a bit) and entered the woods. To my left and to my right was bushy, verdant growth. I was imagining and acting out a scene from the movie Last of the Mohicans with Daniel Day Lewis. And I wondered what creatures might be hiding under all that green.

I prefer spacious places.  No enemies. No hidden snares. No fear.  No smallness. No cramped quarters. No dark and shady places. No obstacles. No climbing or digging or ducking. Just space, and plenty of it.

And symbolically and spiritually, that’s what God wants for me. Spacious living! He delights to rescue me TO spacious living, and FOR spacious living.  

So I am seeking out these slices of sky; searching for these large, airy places.  And maybe, I’ll lay on my back and watch the cauliflower clouds roll past. Or maybe instead, I’ll fling my arms open and spin around like I’m in a music video. And then there is also the option of riding the wind in figure-eights with the hawks!  I’m definitely starting to feel His delight again.

Bucket Lists

I have a new favorite show--Idiot Abroad. It’s about an English guy (Karl Pilkington) who has agreed to go out and try, accomplish, experience items that are on other people’s Bucket Lists.  What makes the show so great is that Karl is hilarious!  He’s so uncomfortable, unwilling, sarcastic, deadpan and indifferent. But he often highlights the truth about the experiences that people think will in some way define them. (This guy and this show is hilarious – watch it!)

So this new TV addiction made me start thinking about my own Bucket List. I don’t understand or like that title, so I call mine a Life List.  I have three general reactions when I read my Life List.  1)  Frustrated.  Nothing makes me feel more like a loser than reading my life list and realizing that I haven’t accomplished many of them. Examples:  owning a home, paying off debt, travelling to all seven continents. 2) Anticipation.  Many of the items on my list are actually do-able.  Examples:  travel to all 50 states, publish something, learn Italian, become a better tennis player or golfer.  3) Amusement.  Some of the things on my list make me laugh because I don’t know where I came up with them.  Examples:  learn how to play the stand-up bass – why do I think I can do this if I failed at learning how to play the guitar;  try stand-up comedy – am I even funny? . . . . Not sure;  have a gift-wrapping room—I don’t even have a guest bedroom or second bathroom!; dress up like Marie Antoinette for Halloween—come on, think about those wide hip-hiding dresses and incredibly ridiculous high hair; and . . . . harvest cranberries—this one is my favorite! I don’t even know how they do this, but please let it involve waders and actually getting down into the cranberry bog. 

On a more serious note, is it a good idea to put too much emphasis on a list like this? Let’s face it – most of the world doesn’t have the time, money, or health to think about such luxuries and leisure.  So should we? The better question may not be will I ever complete this list; but rather is this a good way to measure the quality of a life? If you are a list-maker, you might love the idea of relegating life to a neat to-do list with check boxes. But the more I learn about life, the more I see that it isn’t about doing, it’s about being. And it isn’t about coming up with new and cool experiences to do, as much as it is about experiencing fully what you are in the middle of doing.

As much as I love sarcastic, deadpan, unwilling and indifferent Karl as he is watching gorillas in their natural habitat, walking the Great Wall of China, or climbing Mt. Fuji (because it makes for great TV!), I hope that he has plenty of moments of wonder and joy and passion as he experiences family, friends, faith and community. And I hope the same for me! And I hope the same for you!

Bye –Bye Christmas (Sniff)

When I was young, I used to get a little depressed after Christmas. (Who am I kidding, I still get a little depressed after Christmas!)

I don’t fall into that silly depression right after Christmas – I actually love the week right after Christmas. No big plans or agendas or projects or even expectations. Just a lot of rest and home. Basking in the celebration that just occurred. Enjoying the presents just received. Relishing the lingering warmth of friends and family. Delighting in sweet leftovers. Savoring the Christmas lights for just a couple more nights. Opening books. Drinking hot chocolate. Putting together puzzles.  And if it snows hard, even better!   

I know people who put their Christmas away on January 26 – what?!?! My family’s tradition aims for Epiphany.  But eventually even Epiphany arrives. It’s January, and you’re a little embarrassed that your Christmas tree is still up.  

So this year, as I “put away” Christmas, I’m determined to come up with a few ways to carry Christmas with me throughout the year. Here are some ideas and plans:

1)      Listen to music that is uplifting and positive and celebratory. Besides, maybe Blue Christmas and the ridiculous song Christmas Shoes – do you know any depressing Christmas songs?.

2)      Sit in candlelight more often. Around the table with friends. Outside on my deck. It makes any evening or event more magical. And besides, don’t we all look better in soft candlelight?

3)      Wrap presents extravagantly with lots of ribbons all year long. It taps into the little creativity and artsy-ness that I possess, and it adds to the joy of giving and spoiling.

4)      Attend more children’s programs, concerts, recitals, plays, etc. I watched my nephews participate in their church’s Family Christmas Eve Service this year and it was adorable!

5)      Continue discovering the beauty of Bible stories. While I could list 1000 reasons why I love teaching and ministering to teenagers, here is one thing I do not like. They often complain that they have heard the stories from the Bible a thousand times, and are bored with them. It makes me want to wring their necks. I’m a lot older, and I am constantly discovering new and beautiful things about God’s Story. The Christmas story is exceptionally precious, and I enjoyed drinking it in one more time this Christmas.  But there are nuggets of beauty, intrigue, and truth tucked into every story.  

6)      Be more shepherd-like. (This one may take more explanation).  I actually heard in our Day care’s Christmas program something I had never thought about before . A cute 5^th grade boy in a bathrobe with glasses slipping down his nose and hair going every-which-way, recited loudly a line which sounded something like this: “We have to go to Bethlehem to see the baby. Don’t worry about the sheep. God will take care of our sheep while we’re gone.” In all of my 30+ years listening to the Christmas story, I have never once worried about the sheep. I mean it was the shepherd’s entire life’s work, to guard, protect, watch-over the sheep. And they just run off and leave them to the mercy of thorns, cliffs, and wild predators?  “God will take care of our sheep!” I love it. And I bet he did! I bet that not one of those sheep suffered harm while their caretakers were off worshipping the Christ Child. So throughout the rest of the year, I’m going to strive to be more shepherd-like. I’m going to work hard at my life’s work, but I’m also going to be ready and willing for when God calls me to something out-of-the-ordinary. Whether it be a call to go, visit, see, stop, worship, rest, give, do, kneel, etc., I want to trust that he’ll take care of those “sheep-things” that usually consume my time and energy, while I drink in whatever amazing discovery there is to discover!