Peeling A Mandarin Orange...and Other Impossibilities

I would have preferred an extraordinary heroic story to accompany the cast on my arm.  But in the vast majority of fractures, as in mine, it happened at home on the most ordinary of days. 

I broke my wrist in two places, not through rescuing 93 orphans from a vicious grizzly bear, but eating humble pie. I tripped over my slippers in the early morning darkness.

We do stupid stuff, and there are consequences.  “I didn’t mean to” does not exempt us. Nor blaming someone else. No one plans to have an accident. That's why it's called an accident:  noun:  an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury.  

A mishap, misfortune, calamity, problem, tragedy or misadventure. Oops! We may not have paid adequate attention.  Or thought we were invincible -- not going to happen to me.  And stuff happens just because we live in a broken world.  Stuff gets broken.  Including us.  Including our pride.  Lesson one in humility.

Restricted to the use of one hand, albeit my dominant hand, I have discovered the past seven weeks, the simplest activities border on the impossible.  Try opening a zip lock bag with only one hand. Pulling back your hair. Peeling a mandarin orange.  Tying your sneakers.

As one of my practical and philosophical daughters pointed out, “You never realize how much you need something ‘til it’s immobilized in a sling.”

I have deeply appreciated the care and concern of others as they observe my bandaged useless arm.  I am obviously wounded.  But my experience has made me even more sensitive to those who are chronically hurting, even with pain that is not so visible, the deep injuries of the soul.  How can I care for them?  How can I love them through this?

It is not a shame to ask for help.  Nor a sin to accept it.  

Indeed our selfishness and so-called self-sufficiency are what turn away another’s opportunity to love us.  I heard a story on NPR yesterday about a man who also had a broken arm. He was picking up his dry cleaning.  He carried part of it to his car.  A woman he did not know approached him in the parking lot, "Could you use some help?" the woman asked him.  "No, I'm fine," he replied.  While he struggled to put the load in his car, the woman went into the dry cleaners and came out with the rest of his order.  After she placed it in his car, she turned to him and said, "You have been helping people your whole life.  It's your turn to accept it now.  It makes people really happy to help you."

“I don’t want (or need) your help” is not a sign of strength at all.  “I can do it myself without you” is the slam of a door in the face of a relationship. 

A willing heart, which the Bible emphasizes, goes both ways.  Willing to help and willing to accept. 

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.  Hebrews 4.16  When we draw near to Jesus, we do not just find grace to help in time of need. We find the grace to accept it too.   And as a result, we discover the nurturing of a deeper relationship, a stronger realization that we need each other.  And that goes both ways.

Those who offer assistance, encouragement and help are not just being nice. You are not a burden. Nor weak. Let others love you.  Let someone peel your mandarin.

Gonna Be Epic -- Inktober 31 #landmark

It was not what I expected, because frankly, I had no idea what I was getting into.  And that was probably a really good thing.

A few years ago, with just days to spare, my brother-in-law Jon called to offer us two vacant spots on a three-day mountain biking trip to Canyonlands National Park in Utah.  Like next weekend. Were we interested?  

My husband started packing within minutes of the call.  I was invited to come, not as a cyclist -- which I am not-- but to ride shotgun in the support vehicle, run parts of the infamous 100-mile White Rim Trail, and enjoy the camaraderie of wilderness camping and speechless views.  

When I hesitated. my husband encouraged me.  "It's gonna be epic."

Within days, we were on the road, some 1520 miles each way.  We left Friday evening, drove straight through the night and staked our tent in Moab on Saturday night.  

On Monday morning, we convened at the dirt road entrance to the White Rim.  Looking down at the incredibly steep switchbacks of a extremely narrow gravel two-way "road," I realized it was only wide enough for one vehicle.  Yikes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A few minutes later, the ten cyclists decided that the group really needed more than one support vehicle.  They handed me the keys to a small 4 wheel drive pick-up.  I've never driven a truck before.  Keep your eyes ahead and don't look down. 

The Bible says to pray without ceasing.  There was no problem with that.  I vacillated between "O LORD, have mercy" and "Thank You, LORD" for getting me through.  I learned that trusting God involves facing sheer fear.

The route could have been adequately named the White Knuckle Trail.  There was rarely an indication of a defined road.  It was more like guess where it goes, avoid the abyss three feet from your wheels, and try not to scrape the side of the vehicle as it ascends the narrow squeak of a rock-hugging cliff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Who led you through the great and terrifying wilderness, with its fiery serpents and scorpions, and thirsty ground, where there was no water...? Deuteronomy 8:15

All ten cyclists, both trucks, and the drivers survived.  And epic was not big enough to describe it.  When we returned home, everyone responded, "You did what?!?"

A landmark is not what we have done or endured, but what this endeavor does to us.  We cannot but be changed by it.

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

               T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Be There In A Minute. I'm Almost Done -- Inktober 30 #violin

 

 

I chuckled at the Inktober prompt for today, because the word violin pretty much invaded my childhood.  

My mom played violin for 80 years as a performer and violin teacher.  She practiced everyday, capturing every pocket of available time, sometimes even late at night in the bathroom, thinking that the vent fan masked the sound (which it didn't).

When mom was in the middle of practicing, she was in a different world.  We would sneak into the living room where she was ferociously working on a piece of music.  She'd look at us, her four children with a blank stare, as if wondering who we were. 

"Supper?" one of us would venture to ask.  I don't think it occurred to her that we would need to eat that day.  "Oh," she would finally reply. "Be there in a minute.  I'm almost done."  And then plunge back into the music, not missing a beat, often the exact measure where she'd left off.

We became really proficient at cooking boxes of macaroni and cheese. And heating up cans of Chef Boy-Ar-Dee ravioli.

She knew a lot of music, but continually practiced not just the notes or the melody, but the really hard parts of a piece over and over, driving the family crazy, until those impossible passages became her favorite parts. 

Practicing is not going though the motions, but a type of intense devotion.  It is an exercise in making us stronger, going deeper, learning something new, working on the unfamiliar, not "getting it right," but knowing it intimately, what is there and what it can do, a kind of falling in love with it, be it music, or another such pursuit, training for a marathon, discovering a cure, or practicing grace in volatile circumstances.  

Mom was a professional violinist.  But her violin had everything to do about ministry, whether as a soloist, orchestra member, playing at nursing homes, gathering together an ensemble for the evening service at church, or practically adopting her high school violin students.  As I witnessed throughout my life, her violin was not just about music. It was not just a carved piece of wood that brought forth beautiful sounds, but how she loved God and loved other people.   Her violin opened doors to building relationships and healing hearts. 

I will sing a new song unto You, O God. Upon a psaltery and an instrument of ten strings will I sing praises unto You.   Psalm 144.9 

She only had four strings, but she definitely made them sing.

When Mom met young people, she would not ask them if they played an instrument, she inquired, "What instrument do you play?'

If she were still here today, she would ask each of us the same.  "What instrument do you play?"  And are you practicing it daily?

Because God has given each of us an instrument of some sort to bring His glory to this world.  We all have ministries to pursue, to practice, and to share with others.   An instrument has nothing to do with having a special talent, but a willing and faithful heart. And working on it.

Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress. 1 Timothy 4.15

As St. Francis of Assisi wrote (1181-1226):  "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace...."

What instrument are we playing today in this situation?  It is a gift from God.

Never stop practicing.

One False Move And You Are Lost Forever -- Inktober 29 #navigator

It seemed like a great idea at the time.  A local half-marathon was scheduled for November 3.  That would give me a full eight weeks to train.  As the course meandered through the hills where I often ran daily,  it was no big deal, until it was.

The biggest challenge initially appeared just to figure out the convoluted map for the 13.1 mile poorly-marked route.  Turn right here.  Turn left there.  One false move, and you are lost, seemingly forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 In this familiar park, even through the vast number of times I've run it the past ten years, in shade and sun, heat and cold, humidity and more humidity, there were parts where I had never ventured before.  Although I printed out the map, folded it up, and stuffed it in the tiny pocket of my running shorts, I was not sure where I was going.  But every few miles, I found myself on a curve or at an intersection, passing by a field or copse of trees, that I suddenly recognized, Oh, I know where I am now. I just didn't realize how closely related these trails and paths were connected, like so many second cousins.

Over the course of the first weeks of training, and a few, well, wrong turns and detours, the course became engraved in my brain.  I would never have found my way around the loop without this well-worn navigator, carried in my pocket and screen-shot on my phone.  The tattered map did not eliminate the soul-crushing hills, increase my pace, or change the scenery, but I could run it differently because I was guided through it.

And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.  Isaiah 30. 21 

At times, I took those words quite literally.  And once at the seven mile mark, I wish I had.  I won't miss that turn again.

But even then, "A truly wise person leaves plenty of room in life for disruptions, allowing things to go awry.  A person of faith knows that it is precisely in the unexpected that good things can emerge.  Great wisdom may be gained through adversities – or at least through surprises," wrote luthier Martin Schleske in his book The Sound of Life's Unspeakable Beauty.

God never intended us to stumble through the maze of this life without Him, but to walk with Him and not miss what is intricately woven into both the familiar and unknown. Where God guides, He provides His strength, footing in the slippery places, a path through an impenetrable forest, where there only seems to be no way.

In scripture, the word guide is both a noun and a verb.  The Hebrew word translates it as "an intimate friend," one with whom we can both walk and trust.  God never meant us to go it alone in this life.  He does not just throw us an impersonal printed map, but guides us personally to the nth degree, far more than we know, because our following Him step by step also impacts everyone around us. 

God dwells with us as an ever-present navigator.  He shows us the way, sometimes through the unexpected, unlikely, and impossible.  And in the process, we come to a deepening trust in Him we have never realized before.  God actually knows what He is doing.  Imagine that.

God's Word, prayer, worship, the community of believers, and the witness of others provide us with the tools to navigate this life.  We should both approach and navigate our circumstances differently because we are believers. Indeed, we can.

 ...that you may tell the next generation that this is God, our God forever and ever.  He will guide us forever.  Psalm 48. 13-14

A Lot Bigger Than We Imagined -- Inktober 28 #jumbo

 

The prompt #jumbo almost stopped me in my tracks as I am finishing up Inktober this year for the first time.  Inktober was, indeed, a much larger endeavor than I expected.  And so to complete this day's assignment, I tried to think of something so huge as to be defined as "jumbo," besides the mama elephant in the 1941 Disney movie and Costco.

Occasionally I come across Nightlytea postings that I never published.  The following is one of those, a reflection originally written in the sixth week of the covid pandemic in 2020.  We had no idea at the time how enormously it would impact us. We kept thinking of when it would be over, what was next, and as a result, we largely missed the present moment. But there are no insignificant days, just jumbo ones in so many dimensions. Even now. Even today, a time to plant, a time to heal, a time to build up, and even always, a time to laugh. (Ecclesiastes 3)

Almost from the very beginnings of the virus, when we were urged to stay home to save lives, when businesses were shut down, schools sent children home, when we woke up with all appointments cancelled, tickets refunded, no place to go, beware not just of strangers but of friends, staying clear of relatives, walking on the other side of the road, holding our breath.  From those very first moments, we jumped from now to the next, before we even realized what now was really going to look like, talking already about what was next, and if things will change, grasping for "the new normal" when we come out of this.

Are we so anxious for next, because we are uncomfortable dwelling in the now?  Is it too big and wobbly?  We want to rush through faster to the end of the ride.  We want to get off at the next possible stop, not even looking out of the windows, never sitting down, waiting for the doors to open.   Not driven by hope but fear.  Get through this darkness, pretend it is not here.  Mommy, make it better.  The fire-breathing dragon is under the bed.  When will the morning come?

Afraid we won't come out in one piece, afraid of this foreign land where people don't hug, smiles are hidden behind masks, and no one lingers anymore.  Hide in your homes.  Lock the doors.  Don't let anybody in.  Just leave the groceries on the doorstep.

Keep your head down, behave, follow the rules, and normal will return.

But God has no intention of back to business as usual.  It is not a question if we will be different. We already are being changed by this.

Life as we knew it is gone, so suddenly happening, not knowing where we were going, not knowing where we are.  But even now, we are more concerned about what is on the other side than getting ready for the other side of this.  It is a thousand piece puzzle with no picture to go by, all the pieces appear the same, all the days one after another.

We will get there.  Hurry, hurry, "we will get through this together!" But what will we have missed on the way, looking impatiently for the passage and missing what is here, right before us, that which will never return in our lifetimes.  What was it like? they will ask someday.  We won't know.  We haven't been looking.  Just getting through.  Keep moving.  Checking off the days.  What will we do tomorrow? What will we do this afternoon?

What is next?  Or what is now?

Life is looking very different.  It is not that God will redeem someday, but God is already redeeming.   Even the broken places.  Even this terribly hard stuff.  Even and always in the suffering, "I am with you.  Do not be afraid."

"It is actually liberating to have your plans shattered," says Andy Crouch, author and partner in Praxis, an incubator for redemptive entrepreneurship. 

"Our identity is not in our plans," he emphasizes. "Success is not just getting through this.  That is not good enough.  That is a huge wasted opportunity.  Faith is what holds grief and hope together.  When you cry out to God, He unlocks creative power, birthed out of pain."

My times are in Your hands ....

            Psalm 31. 15

Distractions And Other Road Hazards -- Inktober 27 #road

 We are quite talented at 

            the art of being distracted,

while driving

         or walking through life,

because we've practiced it a lot.

The choices we make,

                this or 

          "Oh, look at that," amuse us

     until we can't find our way out.

A glance or a momentary indulgence of

        "Oh, it won't matter"

        "That will make me happy"

         "If only...."

        "Just one more show, store, website, potato chip....."

does not just become a habit,

                  but a pattern.

These barely perceptible decisions

        lead us off-course,

        into a miry bog of wasted time or efforts,

    promising by the carload what they cannot give, 

         running us up on the curb,

     and abandoning us on the side of the road.

We had a whole new day ahead of us,

    a block of time, an opportunity, a scenic highway.

             And it evaporated.  

We woulda, shoulda, coulda.           

Distractions come in Costco-size cartons,

    growing exponentially

    from simple diversions,

             to speed bumps, dead ends,

             and broken down in the middle of nowhere.

Therefore we must pay much closer attention

 to what we have heard,

 lest we drift away from it.  

                                 Hebrews 2.1

A distraction is loving something else a little more,

              thinking it is not changing us,

and then suddenly being enslaved by it.

                "I don't have another choice."

                 " I have to."  Again.   

      Right now is followed by three exclamation points!!!

Our bag of excuses always overfloweth.  We can justify anything,

         no longer seeing it as a distraction but a need.

But what is this forming in me?

Today we can choose another path even right where we are,

   take a different road through our days,

    moving toward growth in some way.

Am I trying something new, being faithful, or ignoring a call?

If things are going to be different,

          something has to change.

It doesn't have to be this way. 

In his book The Common Rule, author Justin Earley wrote:

   "...by changing one habit,

        we simultaneously change ten other habits." 

Because one road is connected 

                          to a thousand other byways.

Put it down. Turn it off. Close it. Set it out at the curb.

Not just walk away,

      but walk toward something else.

The smallest step directs to the next.

"Come to Me."

Grant to me, O Lord,

to know what I ought to know,

to love what I ought to love,

to praise what delights You most,

to value what is precious in Your sight,

to hate what is offensive to You.

Do not suffer me to judge

according to the sight of my eyes,

nor to pass sentence

according to the hearing of ignorant men,

but to discern with true judgement

between things visible and spiritual

and above all things to inquire

what is the good pleasure of Your will.

 

--Thomas a’ Kempis   (1380-1471)

Seize The Moment -- Inktober 26 #camera

Our family expects it now.  Toward the end our times together when everyone is gathering children and leftovers,  I quite suddenly ask if we can take a picture.  

Cue the collective group groan.  Like, come on, don't we have enough pictures of us already? Do we have to?  We'll get one next time.

With cameras on our phones, we have no valid excuses.

But it is not just the picture I am after, capturing a slice of life, like a time warp, freezing us at a certain age.  It is far more.  A photograph does not just commemorate a particular point in time, even the spontaneous ones.  It does not just help us remember at some future time what we looked like with some really bad hair styles.  

But the very act of taking a picture enables us to seize the moment.  We are together right now, no matter the occasion. I want to bask in those times, present tense, our lives recorded and interwoven in a chronicle of visual images.  It is all about recognizing --right in the moment-- the extreme value of being together.

I have one of those last minute pictures that was taken at our youngest daughter's wedding, now six years ago, just my three brothers and me at the end of the celebration.  I loved that they came. I loved that we were together.  And we have a precious picture of it.  I don't even know who snapped the picture with the camera on their phone.

 

How oblivious we were that just a year and a half later, a totally unexpected worldwide pandemic would separate us.  Several months went by, and we celebrated my older brother Bobby's 70th birthday on zoom.  And just a year after that, he suddenly succumbed to covid.  

It is the last picture of the four of us together.  And I am so glad we have that shot.  It is not just a photo at a wedding, but a picture of relationship.  It still makes me smile.  And brings forth a lifetime of memories.

Seize the moment of being together.  Take that picture --posed or not, complained about, or even inconvenient.  It is not so much about the images as it is about embracing those little times together.  

And we can never have enough of those.

...apples of gold

   in a setting of silver.

         Proverbs 25. 11

Outstanding In The Field Inktober 25 #scarecrow

This week we embraced October by taking my mother-in-law to visit the botanical gardens.  It was like attending a grand gala, the trees and flowers dressed to the hilt against an azure sky.

Each year around Halloween, the gardens sponsor an exhibit of scarecrows, created by various organizations in town, everyone from third grade public school classrooms and girl scout troops to garden clubs.

 

Scattered around the gardens, these large fabrications were not scary at all but provided amusing artwork amidst the colorful foliage.

But scarecrows were not initially fabricated as Halloween decorations or even as autumn decor, but created out of desperation.  Farmers had to find the means of keeping birds from eating and destroying their crops.  This practice goes back as far as ancient Egypt.  Originally workers shooed away the fowls, sometimes even employing children to throw rocks at the birds, but to keep everyone working the land, they discovered that erecting a large human-like presence stuffed with hay in the middle of the field made the birds think twice about scavenging the produce.  These creations literally scared the crows.

It was the presence that changed everything. 

As it still does in our lives, recognizing God's Presence wherever we may be.  He will cover you with His pinions, and under His wings you will find refuge.  His faithfulness is a shield and buckler.  Psalm 91. 4 

We are not alone.  Do not fear. I am with you. How many times does God have to remind us of the promise of His Presence?

How differently would we walk into our days knowing He is right here with us?  God does not just show up.  He is already here.  We are the ones just now acknowledging His Presence...and not just in time of need.

Seek the LORD and His strength .

Seek His Presence continually.

                1 Chronicles 16. 11 

And that changes everything.

Grand Expeditions -- Inktober 24 #expedition

I perused my list, preparing for a pending expedition, curating and packing food and snacks. And then some extras, in case of emergency. You can never bring enough. Water bottles, filled to the brim. And a couple spares. No water available where we are headed.  Long sleeves and jackets for the cold. Rain jackets for the inevitable. Shoes that are made for long days on the trail.  Sunscreen.  Ball caps. Hand sanitizer.  Perhaps the kitchen sink as well.  I know I'm forgetting something.

An expedition is defined as a journey or voyage undertaken by a group of people for a particular purpose, especially that for exploration or scientific research, requiring preparation and supplies.  The Shackleton exploration to the Antarctic in 1914-1917 comes to mind.

I was preparing not for a treacherous exploration of the Amazon jungle.  Nor a team scaling Everest. Nor a forty-year exodus, wandering in the desert. But for this particular day, I was taking grandchildren to the zoo. That is always an expedition, always into the wild.  Always an adventure. Always a loaded backpack.

We can't outguess every contingency, but we can still prepare for what we do know.

Time in God's Word, praying and worshiping Him prepares us to walk differently into the day, whatever is on our path.  God brings His strength, wisdom and even the snacks to keep us on our wildest journeys.  

... drawing near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.  Hebrews 4. 16

Wherever God guides, He provides in ways we never expect,  think we don't need, or sometimes just letting us know He is still with us.  And we find a little forgotten proverbial protein bar in the bottom of the pack that saves the day.

And my God will supply every need of yours according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4.19

Rust Does Not Just Happen -- Inktober 23 #rust

The ironic thing, writing about rust, is that I drive a 13 year old station wagon with 223,249 miles on the odometer.  So far, so good.  But I know that car's inevitable demise will probably not be something huge like a failed engine or transmission, but one tiny little rusted screw.

In our lives as well, it's typically not the big stuff that trips us up, but that precious rusty little idol, so far beneath appearances, until it is not so hidden anymore.

Rust does not just happen.  It is the result of the corrosive attitude of It doesn't matter. No one will know.  And quite frankly, the second law of thermodynamics fits in famously, as without intervention, everything moves from a state of order to a state of disorder. 

Rust corrodes what was once strong. It deteriorates and weakens. And at some point, it always reveals itself.  It does matter after all. And yes, others will witness its impact by how we live.

Just one verse in the Bible talks specifically about rust, that which corrodes and destroys.  But scripture abounds with uncountable verses that talk about gold. 

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.   Matthew 6.19-20

What are we letting into our lives?  Some stuff is prone to rust.  But other things are impervious to it.  Love, joy peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control.  Against such things there is no [rust].  Galatians 5. 22-23

The trajectory of our lives is defined by our everyday choices. What are we pursuing?  Or what are we neglecting?

"One place to start is simply to become aware of the everyday liturgies in your life." states James K. A. Smith in his book You Are What You Love.  Examining not just what we are doing, but what our habits, patterns and practices, are doing to us.  What are we weaving into the fabric of our lives?  These changes don't just suddenly appear without intention and attention.

We are becoming on a daily basis. 

So we do not lose heart.  Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  2 Corinthians 4. 16

We follow and serve a God who believes not in the dead end of rust, but restoring, renewing and redeeming.  He does not just cover up our rust with a coat of Rust-Oleum paint.  He makes all things new.

Because No One Can Put Words On It --Inktober 22 #camp

The first time I went backpacking with my husband, I thought I was going to die.  We had been camping many times before, but in campgrounds with bathrooms, and within steps of our car.  But this was different.  We hiked about three miles down a trail in the national park to a tranquil grassy campsite near a babbling brook, and set up Bill's little two-person backpacking tent.  He promptly caught and released a gorgeous brook trout. So far, magnificent.

We ate dehydrated, pre-packaged soup for supper, not so great, but a tolerable part of roughing it. As the evening became chilly, we crawled into our tent.  The sounds of the forest surrounded us like a symphony.  My husband was asleep in about 30 seconds.  I lay there in my sleeping bag, thinking about what I heard and trying not to think about what I thought I heard.  Bill slumbered on.  The sound of tree frogs was comforting to me.  I figured if there were any carnivores out there, they would go after the frogs.  And then there was silence.

I turned one way and then another, scooching as close as I could to my sleeping husband. I prayed, O Lord, have mercy. I reminded myself that Bill had been backpacking since he was five or six years old and had never been eaten by a bear. I lay awake, my imagination on steroids, until suddenly, I woke up, and it was morning.  I was alive.  And I could smell coffee.

We have camped many times since that inaugural event.   A few inconveniences endured, even hail at one point, but not missing anything at all.  In the woods, mountains, and time just being together, we have discovered treasure.  In our culture, we have insulated ourselves not just from the uncomfortable, but from creation, living as if God is not even around.  Camping unveils the majesty of this world which we so routinely ignore. And reveals the astonishing beauty God has woven into our lives.  

When we camp, life is different.  We carry only what we need, leaving behind unnecessary baggage, rejoicing in the simplicity, and awed by the sky.  And grasping that one of the requirements of camping is to waste time just sitting and soaking in the wonder.

 

 

The word camp is a Biblical one, appearing some 214 times, mostly in the Old Testament.  The Hebrew word means to park.  And that is what we do, for a night or an appointed time on this sacred ground.

In the process, we have learned the intricacies of God's ordered world, to be watchful for the unexpected, to trust Him even more, and to breathe in the beauty God has made.  Indeed, the awe we feel is just a call to worship.

...at the works of Your hands, I sing for joy.  Psalm 92.4

We end the day in beauty just as it began. His glory and faithfulness brilliantly cover all the earth. Our vocabulary is simply not big enough for it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.
 

How To Outrun A Rhino ---Inktober 21 #rhinoceros

No way we can outrun a rhino.  But we don't have to.

As one of the largest land animals on the planet, weighing up to 7000 pounds, six feet tall and 13 feet long, when an irate rhinoceros is charging, that big ol' critter can run an incredible 34 miles an hour, even faster than Usain Bolt.

We can't outrun a rhino, but experts say that while a rhinoceros is massive in size, and runs way faster than we can, when it is charging and gaining ground, strangely enough, experts recommend, "Stop running and wait."  Simply face the rhino, watch as it comes closer, and then just step out of its path. 

While rhinos are immense in girth, they are also dense of thinking.  Their brains are incredibly small for their size. Rhinos also can't see straight.  Once they start rampaging in one direction, they lack the maneuverability and brakes to change course quickly.

Look that fear headlong.  And step out of its path. 

We all have monumental fears in many shapes and sizes in our lives, and huge beasts that threaten us.  Everyone struggles with something. Nothing new in that. But the significant difference is what we do with it.

In the Psalms, David faced more than rhinos.  He knew his life was at stake, but he also knew where to turn.  Over and over, he asks God to defeat his foes.  With God we shall do valiantly. It is He who will tread down our foes.  Psalm 60.12

We can do the same with our own fears, both real and imagined. Are we bringing them before Him? Not to be complacent, but to act competently. God empowers us to see and respond differently.   Fear and anxiety do nothing but deflate our tires.

Instead, Rebuke the beasts that lie among the reeds. Psalm 68. 30  Some turn out to be just shadows, some lingering phantoms, and others figments of our imaginations.  I was scared of THAT?!?

Indeed, in the midst of disorder and chaos, sometimes God does say "Flee! Run for your life!"  Or to seek another trail.  But at times, in the most unlikely places and unexpected situations, God gives us the courage and strength to stand faithfully, strategically positioned on this sacred patch of ground.

When we come to Him, God shows us a different way through our impossible situations. And we don't have to outrun the rhinos. 

The Way To Atlanta And Other Such Misadventures --- Inktober 20 #uncharted

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We needed to transport some twin beds back from Atlanta to our home in middle Tennessee.  And that required taking two cars to our nephew's baptism there.  We were going to follow each other after my husband got off work...until I decided that I could travel ahead with our three small daughters. The girls and I could get there in time for supper.  And of course, they would nap most of the afternoon.

I didn't check the map, because --famous last words:  I know where I'm going.

I headed out on Interstate 40.  The girls fell promptly asleep. They were still napping when I reached Nashville, so I didn't stop.  I merged onto Interstate 65, so proud of how well the trip was going. We would be there in record time.  Pride goeth before the fall.  

About the time they woke up, I was nearing the Alabama state line. And I realized that I was not where I was supposed to be.  When I was feeling so proud in Nashville, I took Interstate 65 when I should have waited until Knoxville for Interstate 75, similar numbers but a huge miscalculation.

I was in uncharted territory.  No map. No GPS invented yet.  Cell phones were something out of a Jetson's cartoon.  I stopped at a little gas station at the next exit. It might as well have been in a foreign country. The proprietor in greasy overalls had a deep almost incomprehensible accent but no map.  He pointed down the highway and spit out the word t--wenty.

I veered back on I 65 until Birmingham when I made a big left turn onto Interstate 20 to Atlanta.  Time was fleeting, and I realized in the middle of a rain storm that Bill was going to be in Atlanta before me.  When I reached the big city, I called Bill's brother from a Waffle House with a pay phone.  Stay put, he said. He came to find me, and I followed him.  The girls and I arrived less than ten minutes before Bill arrived.

I know where I'm going.  I have eaten those words for breakfast, lunch and supper all too many days of my life -- on hikes, on road trips, and the most ordinary of days.  One exception was in parenting, when I knew I had no idea what I was doing.  O LORD, make it enough.  My one hope was 2 Chronicles 20.12  We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You. 

The truth is that every day is uncharted territory.  But not to Him.

What is unknown to us is not unknown to God.  Imagine that.  God actually knows what He is doing.

 "You do not know what you are going to do;
the only thing you know is that
God knows what He is doing.
...God does not tell you
what He is going to do;
He reveals to you
Who He is."
              --Oswald Chambers
                 My Utmost For His Highest

We may not have a road atlas, stand point blank in the unknown, or not grasp where this trail may be going or reveal. Not time to panic, but to trust Him even more.  God does not show up.  He is already here with us on this adventure..

Call to Me and I will answer you,

and will tell you great and hidden things

that you have not known.

                  Jeremiah 33. 3

Because the really famous last words are from God Himself:  Follow Me.

What Lies Beyond The Ridgeline -- Inktober 19 #ridge

 

A few years ago while hiking in the Tetons, my husband and I drove down a largely-rutted dirt road to a trailhead where we had not hiked before.  The road was not what I expected, but well, I chose to see it as part of the adventure.  Surprisingly, there were a few other cars and trucks parked at the rather abandoned-looking trailhead that led to a small lake. 

As we began hiking, Bill realized that there were two different routes to this lake, and he had downloaded the other trail in his hiking app.  So we could see where we were, but we could not see where we were going. There was a trail before us, be it not what we intended, ascending to a ridge, and it was a beautiful day for a hike.  We chose to hike on.

After a mile or so of upward trekking, we reached the ridgeline, and a beautiful lake appeared below us.  The trail continued, now steeply descending. I was not at all sure that I wanted to go down this now-rough trail. As we descended, all I could think about was that we were going to have to climb back up.  It was not an easy path, and at parts we had to pick our way through rock slides.

 

A few small snakes skittered across the trail.  And downward we continued, now through a fellowship of shade-giving trees, and then a winding path through large unidentifiable bushes.  The destination continued to be a mystery as the trail was sometimes invisible beyond just a few feet ahead.  I was really unsure about finishing this hike, where we were going, how we were going to get there, if the trail was just going to dead-end, and what we would encounter on the way.  Is this hard trail going anywhere?

The trail leveled off, still surrounded by scrubland, heading now into a deep dark woods.  Within about a quarter of a mile on this now-pine scented trail, an opening appeared, leading to the water's edge.  A young woman was standing there, who had been camping close-by with her brother.  She said nothing at first, but pointed to the beach.  Two shy deer, oblivious to us, were tiptoeing along the strip of sand and gravel.  

As we emerged from the woods, God surprised us with His glory.  Now, I was the speechless one.  It was like coming into the Presence of God.

My fear and trepidation evaporated into thin air.  The trail had been difficult.  But it was not random.  It did not just lead somewhere.  It led to this.  Just because something is hard does not mean we are on the wrong path.

What I thought was ominous turned out to be glorious.  It was not a fairy-tale happy ending but part of the journey right in the middle.  God filled my heart with the strength to keep on keeping on.

It was not what I expected.  It was even better.

The trail was the same, but I was changed.  We still had a steep climb back up, but my heart was overflowing.  I felt like God was saying to me, "Look beyond the rocks."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We cannot see what is ahead.  It may be unknown to us, but it is not unknown to God.  God brings His faithfulness to what transcends our imagination and transforms what is before us into a sacred encounter.

Even today. Even in this.

And He whispers, "Do not be afraid.  I am with you."

I saw an afternoon's outing, but God meant it for something much more.

 

And I will lead the blind

    in a way that they do not know,

in paths that they have not known

              I will guide them.

I will turn the darkness before them

                      into light,

the rough places into level ground.

These are the things I do,

    and I do not forsake them.

                      Isaiah 42. 16

Ta Tado La Gloria Y Honora ---Inktober 18 #drive

The moment I drove down the on-ramp on Interstate 65, I was greeted by a quagmire of cars, trucks and semi's all jostling for a better position.  We all were literally at a stand-still, complicated by every driver vying for themself to somehow get ahead, and every driver realizing like at a crowded grocery store that they had chosen the wrong and slowest lane.

I have since forgotten now where I was headed that afternoon, but remember vividly the truck in front of my windshield.

On the back of the semi was a small sign that read:  Ta Tado La Gloria Y Honora. It was not the name of the truck, nor the company hauling a product, but to what the driver was committed and how he drove and did his work. 

I didn't understand it at all.  It was written in a different language.  But that didn't change the translation, nor what it was all about.

To You all the glory and honor

Having that sacred phrase before us --right in front of the windshield of our day --changes not just our attitude or perspective, but our hearts, our affections, and our view of God.

This is the bottom line, the journey, the whole point, whether I am cleaning nasty floors, or driving a huge semi through heavy traffic in the city, not just knowing what to do or how to do it, but to Whom.

It frees us to worship with reckless abandon, serve, work, witness, love, extend grace to those who cut us off or blow an angry horn at us, and bring the name of Jesus there.  We can drive differently into our day. We can never know who is watching us, nor how they may be impacted by our transformed hearts in any kind of traffic jam we may find ourselves.

As poet Tyler Rogness so beautifully writes:  "...reorienting our loves toward the One whom all the signposts point."

So, whether you eat or drink,

         --or drive--

or whatever you do,

do all to the glory of God.

         1 Corinthians10. 31

Too Busy Not To Read ---Inktober 17 #journal

This advertisement was part of the Wall Street Journal's #MakeTime campaign in 2015, featuring incredibly busy executives, industry leaders, and cultural activists who make reading WSJ a necessary habit in their schedules.

The sub headline for the campaign is "Read Ambitiously."  In these business leaders' eyes, it is not something they feel forced to do, but they see this daily reading as what equips them to make wise decisions and directs their attention to the most fruitful use of their time.  It gives them perspective.  And it helps them to differentiate between what is important and what is merely sensational.

If a newspaper can have that kind of impact on people in business, how much more does daily Bible reading have for all of us?  It is not words printed on recyclable paper, but the very Word of God.

In my own experience, it enables me to hit "reset" every morning, to refocus on God's bigger picture and the significance of His details in my day. Scripture informs me not just about God but about the world, it shapes who I am and consequently impacts what I do.  It is not some arbitrary ancient writing, but connects, infiltrates and impacts my day, and it affects everyone around me. God's Word gives me a fresh perspective on my day, my life, my work, and my relationships.

There is a direct connection between what I read in God's Word and the day that looms ahead of me.  I can't afford not to read it.  By making God's Word first, He places ideas in my thoughts that change my day, and often, save me from a wild goose chase or heading literally in the wrong direction.  And He changes my heart, so that I know how to respond.

As one of my pastors once said, "Every time I open God's Word, it changes me and everyone around me."

It is not just something else I ought to do.
It directly impacts everything I do.

When I read in the early morning, I write down a verse or even part of a verse that God impresses on my heart through a particular passage. And I take it with me into my day.  Those same words quite often rise to the surface during the day like a reminder to refocus on God's purposes, a reminder to be faithful to Him in all things, even in this.

It is not just another obligation to check off a list.
Intentional daily time in God's Word
                        changes our lives.
It is not a matter of keeping up with a reading plan
or a schedule,
          but marinating in it,
                meditating on it,
           and letting His Word dwell within.


I will not enter my house
or get into my bed,
I will not give sleep to my eyes
or slumber to my eyelids,
until I find a place for the LORD,
a dwelling place for the
           Mighty One of Jacob.

                       Psalm 132 3-5

A place in my day,
in my schedule,
in my heart.

A Tub of Legos and the Order of God -- Inktober 16 #Grungy

Walking into the playroom, we were greeted by another huge mess. On this particular occasion, an entire tub of Legos was dumped and scattered across the floor. It appeared as a total disarray, but somehow, our grandson saw something different.  Not grungy and disordered, but responding to it with "Just watch what I'm making."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We just couldn't see it yet.  Neither did he, until he started working, assembling, taking apart, adding a new shape or two, forming new ideas in the very work itself.

The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the [mess.]  Genesis 1.2 

Something was about to happen.  Something is still about to happen.  God says, "Now watch this." He pours His order over it.  What is beautiful is about to spring out of the barren ground. 

For by Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible... Colossians 1. 16

May we not shy away from chaos, but instead like a child with a tub of Legos, see the messiness and confusion before us as an opportunity full of great and impossible designs and creations.  In the process of moving the pieces around, connecting them, first one way and then another, we bring some kind of order to it.

And sometimes in that free-for-all, we discover a pattern we never saw before, a way through, two or a thousand unrelated items that go together after all, or something we thought was forever lost, that rolled a long time ago under the dresser.  It was there the whole time.

As we draw closer to Him, God changes our eyesight. How can we view this with a fresh heart?   In the book Every Moment Holy, two liturgies were written even for the sacred work of changing a diaper. Even the grungiest task can be redeemed into something new.

My grandmother was a master in handling a drastic need or huge mess. "Well, what can we do with this?"  She navigated through the most difficult and grungy situations differently not just because she approached it differently.  But, I think, because she actually saw it otherwise.  Not as an untouchable mess, but something new coming to the surface, connecting the unrelated pieces buried in the disorder.

She knew from personal experience that God redeems, even the grungy stuff.

 But when I thought how to understand this, it seemed to me a wearisome task, until I went into the sanctuary of God... Psalm 73. 16

The Things We Miss --- Inktober 15 #guidebook

 

My husband and I love to explore our favorite trails, over and over, where cathedrals of trees rise up around us, and rushing creeks sing endless ancient choruses. But even on those familiar trails, something new always emerges, the seniority of an old growth tree towering overhead, or suddenly, the sun's rays slicing through the thick canopy like a prophetic vision of God.  And we return to civilization with a story or two, and sometimes the resounding silence of the woods even follows us inside.

A few years ago, we hiked a trail we did not know, realizing that the beginning of a familiar trail is in hiking a new one. Our now-preferred routes were once strangers too.

This trail was on our way to see some herds of elk, gathering at Cataloochee for a little autumn party. A little side hike was a welcome break after navigating fifteen miles of potholes on a lonely gravel road. 

The carved wooden sign at the trail head stated in bold print:  Mount Sterling Trail 2.3 miles, a morning's journey, not daunting at all. Another trail would intersect in a half mile.  All I knew from my limited experience was that when the trail name includes the word "mount," count on it being steep.

Immediately, the path started upward. We were on our way.  "Do I need a heavier long sleeve shirt?"  I asked Bill, as I shivered in the early morning coolness.  "Not likely," he said. I was still skeptical.

In the first quarter mile of the ascent, I was down to a tank top.

When we reached the other trail branching off, the sign repeated:  Mount Sterling Trail 2.3 miles.  The same as a half mile ago.  Hmmmm. Not what our map said.  What else don't we know?

The path became even steeper.  Sometimes a little ignorance is a grace, I justified. But the truth was  we hadn't read the guide book.  We hadn't asked anyone about it.  We didn't know the "story" about this trail. It was another mile longer than expected, not unbearably steep, but it was a continuous climb. Each switchback vaguely promised a break, but as we climbed and approached yet another turn, the path was relentless.  It will flatten out at the next bend, I lied to myself   But no rest area was to be found.

Just keep on, I said to myself. Think about the view from the top!  That is always worth it. The rocks and the roots threatened to trip me on every step, but gradually I began to see them as footholds, at times almost like steps carved into the side of the mountain. 

We came around yet another bend, and quite suddenly, that was it, the end of the trail.  We looked around us, and then, at each other.  There was no view.  There was nothing but some scrub trees and another trail sign that pointed down the mountain in two opposite directions.

A mountaintop experience without a view?  We climbed all this way, and there was nothing here.  "I can see why this is not a popular trail," I said to Bill.

"Well, it was a nice hike on a beautiful day," he said.  And indeed it was, view or not.

On the way down, back to the car, we passed quite a few hikers on the way up.  "Should I tell them there is nothing there?" I whispered to myself.  They looked so excited.  I hated to discourage them.

And of course, as we hiked down, my mind began to find a story in this journey.  Don't climb for just a view.  There may be some other purpose in it.  It may just be about the conversation, the being together, the just getting out and trying new paths in life.

That could have been the tale on this hike, the purpose for this trek.  But I should know better than to guess how the story turns out when I'm still in the middle of a saga.

A young high schooler was coming up the trail towards us, keeping quite a pace as she ascended.  She obviously didn't know about how her hike was going to end.  About twenty yards behind her was a man with two teenage boys, evidently her father and brothers.  As we passed them, the father asked us excitedly, "Was it so amazing at the top?"

Ummmm.  "Well," Bill said.  "There really wasn't anything there."

"Isn't this the Mt. Sterling Trail?"  Yes.

"There is an historic 60-foot fire tower at the top," the man said with great anticipation in his voice, sweeping his arm upward, "the tallest fire tower east of the Mississippi."  Like, didn't you see it? They proceeded in their excitement upward and onward.

We shook our heads. There was nothing there.  Boy, are they going to be disappointed.

But later,we discovered that indeed there is a 60-foot historic tower, standing tall less than a quarter mile from where we lingered at the top. If it had been alive, it would have bopped us on the head.  If we had read the guidebook, if we had explored the summit even a few dozen yards, if we had even looked up, we would have had a much different experience.  No doubt about it.  We missed out.



There was more than a view at the top, but a panorama. God designs the awe.  I can look at the images on my computer screen, but that is nothing compared to what is real.  We missed out on the poetic view.  We missed out on the wonder.


It was a gentle reminder that there is an incredibly strong connection between what I know and what I see, what I read and discover in God's Word, what I pray, and what I end up doing that day.  Over and over, Scripture profoundly influences my vision and orders my day-- what I see around me, who I notice, how I respond, and Who I'm walking with.  It matters.  It matters a lot.  Read the Guidebook.

What else don't I know?  That which God has placed right before me. 

God's faithfulness helps me know that the wilderness is a place of flourishing, not despair.  Silence is a place of His fathomless Presence, not His absence.  And that reality takes my breath away.

Same trail, different outcome. Ordinary day, extraordinary day.  His Word does not just influence my expectations, but helps me watch for the unexpected that God Almighty always brings.

Thus says the LORD:
"Stand by the roads,
             and look,
and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way is,
and walk in it,
and find rest for your souls."

                  Jeremiah 6. 16

Oh, Give Me A Home Where The Children Roam --Inktober 14 #roam

 When I was a little girl, children played outside most of the day.  We walked to school through snowdrifts and rain.  We traveled in packs like wolf cubs roaming throughout the neighborhood.  And while this was a time before cell phones, texting, and surveillance cameras, an even more powerful communication system was set on alert, an unofficial pact among neighbors that held us accountable and responsible for our actions.  The backup system was generated by the ever-present tattling prevalent among multiple siblings.  There were no secrets back then.

As a middle child, I was never alone, one brother older, another right under me, and my baby brother safe at home with my grandmother who resided with us.  The neighborhood kids all had traveling routes, roaming through the backyards of our block, sometimes even on our bikes, knowing the weak links in the fences and where the mean dogs waited in the shadows. 

There was an enormous rock at the end of our street, a boulder that I can clearly remember climbing and falling off, sometimes imagining riding a horse or scaling a mountain, depending on what I was pretending at the time with my brothers or my friends.  It was huge. My schoolgirl knees were continually scraped. When I was not even ten years old, my family moved from that yellow brick house, but the memory of that rock grew legendary in my thoughts.

As an adult, I finally had the opportunity to visit the old neighborhood again.  Our block looked so plain as if the color had been drained from an old photograph. The mammoth arch of elm trees had been felled by Dutch elm disease decades ago.  The small brick and clapboard houses had aged and were filled with strangers.  It felt like the stories of my childhood had been evicted.  I did not see even one boy or girl playing on the sidewalk, let along a swarm of kids among the ancient trees and overgrown shrubs, scampering between houses, building forts and hideouts, and roaming through our childhoods before the streetlights came on. Our blue jeans may have grown too short, but never our imaginations.

And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in its streets.  Zechariah 8. 5

And the boulder?  Where was it?  I drove past twice before I realized that what I remembered as massive and insurmountable was only a colossal figment of my imagination.  It appeared ridiculous.  I was enamored by a rock not even two feet high. 

Wherever You Go, There You Are --- Inktober 13 #horizon

 I am mesmerized by sunrises and sunsets, the spectacular bookends of the day.  When we are camping or taking a long road trip, I stay attentive as the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon, the point when the earth meets the sky. Each moment reveals even more beauty than the moment before.

The horizon is also the point just outside our field of vision, beyond what we know and have experienced yet.  And that is where faith fits in.  Trusting God is going toward what or where we cannot yet see, the cusp of what was, and is, and is to be.  Wherever we go, there we are.

It is not for us to just gaze at the horizon from where we are right now and hope that things will work out (future tense with a smiley face).  But knowing God is already working all things out, past, present and way out there.

Because when we are walking with God, we stand right now where was once the horizon.  His glory extends on both sides, before and behind, His faithfulness visible even to the naked eye.

As we navigate through this present moment, God is preparing us for that horizon where He is bringing us, beckoning us to come, sowing His Word, and being faithful even on this little patch of ground beneath our feet.  Even in this desert place, this miry bog, these unrelenting hills.

And what we discover along the way is that God is not far off after all.  Wherever we are, there He is. 

 

...as we look not to the things that are seen

but to the things that are unseen.

For the things that are seen are transient,

but the things that are unseen are eternal.

                  2 Corinthians 4. 18

In A Galaxy Far, Far Away....Or Not ---Inktober 12 #remote

When I was working for a homebuilders' magazine way back in the late 1970s, I had an hour and a half commute each way from my apartment in the suburbs to my office cubicle in downtown Chicago. I walked a mile to the bus stop, rode the bus, caught the train, and then trekked another mile across town to the office.

I wrote most of the day not on a screen, but paper scrolled into an electric typewriter.  And then, at the end of the day, I slipped back into my walking shoes (or boots) and reversed my course.

One day I asked my boss, if I could work at home a day or two a week, to get the copy done.  "You want to do what?" he asked incredulously. "In what galaxy do you think people would work from home?"

Needless to say, the term remote working would not enter our vocabulary for many decades later.  I continued to commute.

And then, everything changed radically.  We moved from Chicago to small town Jackson, Tennessee in the early '80s.  The magazine still needed me to write on assignment. And we discovered not if I could write from home, but how.  Federal Express was in its infancy.  As long as I got my floppy disk to the small airport by 8 pm, Fed Ex would deliver my copy to the office by 10 am the next morning.  Imagine that!  And then another decade down the road, the internet anchored my freelancing while we raised four daughters, in several more remote locations.

Remote working, remote learning, TV remotes (no, we didn't have one of those either), and now since covid, even remote tele-doctor appointments.

But there is one thing not remote, never has been, and never will be.

For this commandment that I command you today is not too hard for you, neither is it far off.  It is not in heaven, that you should say, "Who will ascend to heaven for us and bring it to us, that we may hear it and do it?"  Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, "Who will go over the sea for us and bring it to us, that we may hear it and do it?"  But the Word is very near you. It is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can do it.     Deuteronomy  30. 11-14

God is not remote.  He has given us His Word on that.

A Moveable Feast ---Inktober 11 #snacks

One of our daughters, now a mom to four active kids, typically carries with her a large purse or canvas bag.  And when any need comes to the surface, she becomes like Melanie Parker, the ingenious mom played by Michelle Pfieffer in the 1996 movie One Fine Day.

In the movie, out of her purse emerges the unexpected and outrageous, just in the nick of time, exactly what is needed at the very moment.  I mean, don't all of us carry around a full child-size rain suit in our handbags?

At a recent soccer game for her eight year old on a sweltering weekend afternoon, our daughter handed out umbrellas which she had packed just in case there wasn't any shade --which there wasn't.

And then, as if on signal, she pulled out the snacks.  Not the ordinary tiny bags of chips, but deep down in that tote of hers, among other delights, she pulled out freezer pops -- still mostly frozen. And then later, thirsty?  She responds, not just "do you want a Gatorade?"  But what flavor?  Protein bar?  What brand?

She is the master of snacks.  Never leaves home without them, sustaining others in unexpected ways, not just ready to bless those around her, dissolving the grumbling mutiny, but equipped to do so, not out of the blue, but out of the deep from that satchel of surprises.

God may take us through the wilderness, but He always brings the snacks.

His faithfulness is our source of strength. Sometimes physically in the form of a strategically placed umbrella or manna.  Sometimes through a verse that speaks right to our hearts.  Sometimes a kind word, or grace in unexpected places, or a proverbial piece of really good chocolate on a long and lonely trail.

...by the God of your father who will help you,

by the Almighty who will bless you

with blessings of heaven above,

blessings of the deep that crouches beneath...

                        Genesis 49. 25

On The Road Again -- Inktober 10 #nomadic

 
We moved a lot while our girls were growing up.  Our family was more like a nomadic tribe, transferring to a strange land for a few years and moving on to the next.  A friend once confided to me that I had totally messed up her address book with all our changes of residence.

My husband and I are now in our tenth location.  Many times I thought that surely this move or that would be the last. But God freed me from that myth a few moves ago.  My final destination is heaven. Anything in between, well, is just a rest area on the highway.

Years ago and just about every move between, God used a particular verse to change my heart and my mindset.

Not that I complain of want,
for I have learned,
in whatever state I am,
               to be content.

                 Philippians 4. 11

I chuckle, because written in the margin now some 40 years and nine moves ago, I had scribbled "even Tennessee."  At the time, I was a young lonely mom from Chicago with a two year old and a newborn in the Deep South in a house surrounded by cotton fields.  It was our first major move.  And I felt like a stranger in a foreign land.

Little did I know, not just the hardships yet to come, but the extreme joys, the deepening of our lives in Christ, over all those many moves and all those new places.  God taught me quite literally "in whatever state I am," to learn His secret of contentment.

Because whether it was Tennessee or Illinois or Ohio or Kansas or Iowa, I could dwell in Him.  He has strategically appointed me in that exact house, that particular block, that specific neighborhood, that city for deeper purposes than I will ever know, for His glory.

...the place where the LORD will choose, to make His name dwell there.  Deuteronomy 16.2 

And through the years with each bend in the road and huge changes, God brought me to observe that I have seen too much to question God in this.

The amusing part of "even Tennessee" is that's where we live now, our third location in that same state.

Contentment is not a secret joy,
      nor dependent on situation or location.
It is a learned state of heart
    that not just prevails over circumstances
but flourishes in them.

God's deliverance may not be in plucking us out of a difficult spot in life, but engraving His joy into our hearts in whatever state we are.

When I look back
on all those places now,
    there is not one
    that I would have wanted to miss.

In Case We Aren't Looking---- Inktober 9 #sun

 One of our daughters was out running this morning

 and witnessed the glory of God.

The sunrise is God's daily reminder 

that no matter what is ahead in this day, 

and every day,

     "I'm here and walking with you through it."

Every morning, every evening, the bookends of our days

reveal our Redeemer.

The Mighty One, God the LORD,

speaks and summons the earth

from the rising of the sun

to its setting.

Out of the perfection of beauty,

God shines forth.

                         Psalm 50. 1-2

 Trusting God is not just a worldview,

        but a way of seeing reality

that changes the course of our days

    and radically alters our journeys in life.

How we see God impacts 

    how we love others,

how we respond to circumstances,

    and how we see ourselves.

As author C. S. Lewis notes:  "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen:  not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."    

We take for granted 

that every morning sneaks in

 with the spectacular,

and we have forgotten

                to celebrate.

Our lives should be marked

by His light and hope

that cannot be extinguished. 

There are no ordinary days

on God's calendar

without His glory 

all over us.

Hike Like A Three Year Old -- Inktober 8 #hike

God invented hiking so that we would not miss the wonders of His creation, a truth I have learned about hiking from our grandchildren.  They do not allow the end point, or pace, or mileage distract them from what is out there.  Every step -- even at a painfully slow pace -- is an adventure and sacred time of discovery.

Hike like a three year old.  Wow!  Look at that!  

How in the world did Drew see the tiny bug, or Rose spot a bear cub way up in that tree that I blindly passed, or Lu observe that interesting crawdad in the creek?  Because they are looking expectantly.  In an impenetrable forest or seemingly endless desert, God reveals Himself in a milliondy ways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A worldview is not just a philosophical stance, but how we see the world.  God makes Himself known in the grandeur of the mountains, but also in that tiny millipede in the city park. And a child's delight in Look at this, Mom!

A trail always leads somewhere, even if it is right back where we started.  But we cannot help but be changed by the experience, what we see, what we do, how we respond. 

The point is not just where we are heading, but how we get there?  What is embedded along the way that makes the best discoveries and even better stories?  On the side of the trail. Or right beneath our feet.  Sometimes the end point becomes only an afterthought.  Looking back on it as adults, the children may remember a praying mantis and totally forget that thunderous waterfall.

Are we so focused on the destination that we miss where we are in this moment, the wonders beneath our feet, or the view from the ridge that we have no words to describe?

Just a few weeks ago, 31 year old Tara Dower broke both the men's and women's record for hiking the 2189 miles of the Appalachian Trail.  She completed the hike in an incredible 40 days, 18 hours, and five minutes, raising the bar and establishing a new Fastest Known Time, averaging a blistering 54 miles a day on this rugged terrain.   Most hikers take at least five to seven month to tackle that daunting trail that stretches from southern Georgia to northern Maine, not for the faint of heart.

She achieved her respectable goal.  But what did she miss along the way?

And do we hike through our days like that and totally miss the point?  It's not a competition but a walk with God, step by step through His faithfulness, seeing God differently, ourselves, others and our circumstances.  And He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. Colossians 1. 17

May we say out loud, I never saw that before, even right in our own backyard. No day nor trail is just an ordinary one, nothing inconsequential in His creation.

Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.  (last few sentences from Wendell Berry's poem, Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front)

Go differently into this day.

Hike like a three year old.

Oh, The Places You'll Go Inktober 7 #passport

 In the iconic 1995 movie While You Were Sleeping, main character Lucy Moderatz sits day by day in her little booth accepting elevated train tokens on a cold Chicago platform.  At night, she returns to a tiny apartment she shares with her cat.  To endure the bitter cold, she wears an enormous wool coat that belonged to her late father.

And in the coat pocket, she always carried her passport for when she might need to go somewhere like Italy at a moment's notice, a passport without anything stamped in it, just waiting for a someday.

A passport does not take us anywhere but is a document that reveals who we are and where we belong.

Because our citizenship is in heaven...(Philippians 3. 20), we can go differently into the day and into the fray.  God invites us to "Follow Me."  Even into these hours right ahead of us, may we ask Him to order our day, guide our steps, direct our thoughts, and align our hearts with His.

It is not just where we go, but how we live right where God has landed us.  Like Lucy, we hold onto that passport instead of responding to it.  In God's eyes, there is no distinction  between the familiar and the foreign, secular and the sacred, acquaintance and stranger, but imprinted only in what is faithful.

Jesus gives us more than a passport to see places, but a mandate to "Go into all the world," loving people to Him,  Wherever, however, whatever, and among whomever.  Not just someday, but this day.

As Dr. Seuss points out, "Oh, the places you'll go." 

Where would that be?  Be found in Him. (Philippians 3.9)

Daily Trek Inktober 6 #trek

When we lived in Chicago, the pathway of my morning trek was a familiar one by design.  I ran it enough that I knew-- without nary a thought --when to turn, when to switch to the sidewalk, the best place to cross the train tracks, and when I reached the point of “heading back home.”  

Of course, this familiarity came in handy in my early morning mental fog, before my morning cup of coffee kicked in.  Or when I was deep in thought, praying through the day or for friends who are struggling, or simply writing in my head.  It was like an organic internal GPS.  A voice does not tell me where to turn – I just follow the path before me.

One place on that daily trek was an old railway line, converted back in the 1960s into a running/walking/cycling path.  On weekends, the trail was crowded with adults and kids on bicycles, moms and dads with jogging strollers, old friends conversing, and runners training singly or in pairs.  Weekday mornings, commuters rushed toward the train station and cyclists hurried to work, but for the most part, it was just a quiet sanctuary of trees to run through.  

One morning, fog was added to the mix, looking a bit mysterious as if out of a Jane Austen novel, a shady part sometimes a bit creepy on a foggy morning.  Once running on this section, looking for where the next street crosses at the train station, I thought:  What if I enter this path someday and the train station is not at the end?  What if I come out somewhere else…..or five years later in my life?  How will things be different?  How will I be different?

We are all trekking on paths designed by God for His Kingdom and for our good.  We cannot know what turns the paths will take or if indeed the expected train station will be at the end, but we can be assured of a few things:  God is with us to provide strength for the journey, wisdom to handle what we encounter on the way, grace to deal with those we meet, and His purposes manifest in our lives.  It will all make sense someday.  

Five years from now—or today – may not be what we planned, but it is firmly lodged in His plans.  We have only to run with Him through it.  And perhaps, be surprised at the next intersection where He has brought us.  We may have trekked further than we thought, or landed at a destination not even on our radar.