Through and Through

One of the delights of hiking is not just wandering in the wilderness, nor checking off another trail on the map, nor a sense of accomplishment, nor survival, but discovering what is all around, the wonders of going through.

We may sense where we are going, but sometimes even that surprises us.  We may be alert to the scenic overlooks or the majesty of an old growth forest, but there is always something new emerging on the trail or even coming together in our thoughts, working our way from point to point and back again.

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. -- poet T. S. Eliot (1943)

Sometimes the degree of difficulty is beyond us. And where is the strength to go forth and not just sit down defeated?

Many friends right now are on unfathomable terrain, enduring cancer treatments, the vestiges of divorce, difficult decisions, the suffocation of loneliness, too loud to think, too quiet to handle, looking for exit doors or an emergency helicopter to rescue them from circumstances. Pray for me, they ask. Pray for this. Pray that God would do that.

We are surrounded by desperation. And most people are really good at disguising it.

While watching the recent Paris-Roubaix women's cycling race, amidst crashes and traveling over cobblestones, the commentator remarked, "Everyone has a story getting through."

The key word here is through.

Sometimes our path is hard.  But always God is here, not just in a difficult moment, but leading us through. Through is one of the most promising words in the Bible, seamlessly woven in the stories there.  Everyone has a story getting through. Even us.

Through means moving from one side out to the other, continuing in time toward completion, a movement to a particular destination.

But in moving through, God calls us to walk differently.  Not in fear, or our own agenda, but in His Presence. Even in this. We find His faithfulness on the most unexpected paths and in the most unlikely places.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you, when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consumer you.  For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior...Because you are precious in My eyes, and honored, and I love you.  Isaiah 43. 2-4

But the people of Israel walked on dry ground through the sea, the waters being a wall to them on their right hand and on their left. Exodus 14. 29

Your way was through the sea, Your path through the great waters, yet Your footprints were unseen. Psalm 77.19 

We may not know where we are going or how, but God is leading us through.  He calls us not to rush through and miss the wonders. He calls us to trust in His slow work, even when in what appears as the long way around. 

And then, our prayers take another path -- praying not for something or someone, or for God to do this or that, but to pray through.  Every moment along the way draws us closer to Him, even the hard stuff, even the unexpected, nothing random or insignificant, nothing God does not redeem.

I may not know what to pray for someone, not knowing what is really on their path either visible or invisible, nor their destination or outcome, or how God is strengthening them, but I can pray them through. 

God takes care of the details on the journey.  He carries us through and even into the though, when we can't quite see our journey. "Trust Me in this. Let Me see you through. Allow yourself to be led."

Through and through.

 

 

   

Where the Wild Things Are

A few days ago, my husband and I sought out the wonders of spring in the mountains.  A trail, historically a pilgrimage for wildflowers, was recommended to us.  We hiked all the way to the end of the trail and saw nothing green other than some winter-weary rhododendrons and some scraggly pines that were barely holding on.  It was a pleasant hike, but nothing shouted out of the ordinary.  Other than the mild temperature, the woods around us appeared to be stuck in the monotones of January.

On the way back to the trailhead and our truck, we spotted a small side trail that did not even appear on the map.  We hiked about a mile in, again a nice path, but where were the flowers?  A wildflower pilgrimage planned for next week might need to be rescheduled.

We returned home.  In the remaining afternoon daylight, Bill washed the vestiges of winter off our old truck.  And I headed into our barren yard, littered with branches and sticks from howling winter winds.  Time for spring cleanup.

And there, I saw them.

Under disintegrating leaves blown like snowdrifts against the large rocks and amidst large tree limbs crisscrossing the hill, wrestled down by icy storms, in the most unexpected places, I found wildflowers scattered all over the hillside.  I assumed there was nothing there.  And I almost missed them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wonders were already there, and I was just now discovering them.

In our comings and goings, our doings and done, the familiar and ordinary, God sometimes ignites a burning bush on our path to get our attention.  He reveals Himself in unexpected ways and in unlikely places.  And calls our names.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our grumbling and complaining blind us not just to the possibilities of so many wonders all around us but the actualities of which we are so unaware.  God has given each of us a patch of ground.  What do we find there?  Not so much wild flowers, but what God has already planted, nurturing throughout the seasons.  He surprises us with the evidence of His Presence and faithfulness all around us.  

These tiny unexpected flowers manifest hope.  Not the wishful thinking of the world, "Oh, everything will be ok." But the steadfast hope of God on whom we can stake our lives. This world is not so barren at all, but thriving and ready to burst forth.  Right down to details underfoot and often ignored, God reminds us are not alone.

Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you.  I will help you. I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.  Isaiah 41.10

God guides us on trails not on any map. But we do not aimlessly wander. Our paths are not unknown territory to Him. This place where we are is not a wilderness at all, but where the wild things are. Who or what has He put on our trail today? How is He trying to get our attention?

And then, how do we respond?   All of creation rejoices. The trees hold up their arms in praise. The birds sing among the branches. In ancient times, flowers were even carved into the columns of the tabernacle. As God renews the face of the ground, the wonders comprise His manifold witness. The awe we feel is a call to worship.  And a reminder of His steadfast love.

 

 

Because a Person Can't Have Too Many Shoes

Several years ago on a densely humid day, my husband and I attended the wedding of a friend.  I looked through my dresses to choose one that would be appropriate for both the celebration itself as well as the oppressive 98-degree summer heat that only Memphis can produce.  But I also needed to pull out my nice black shoes.  Comfortable or not, those shoes were the most appropriate for the occasion. 

But sometimes comfort is not the point, as my daughters often remind me.

I have several pairs of shoes, those for running, daily wear, and those for special events stored in shoe boxes, gathering dust on the upper shelf.  But for this designated situation, what is needful?

What do we wear into His divine appointments for this day?  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The LORD reminds me, wherever I go, to bring the name of Jesus there.  And for that, I need to be equipped for the occasion with the gospel translated into every shade and style, in heels or in hiking boots, the footwear of my new nature.  No matter the occasion, informed, conformed, transformed by the Holy Spirit.  Not just mindful of Christ, but the mind of Christ in me.

Oddly enough, when I change shoes, God changes my vision.  I think about different things when I wear my running shoes.  I approach an engagement from a different perspective when I need to dress up. I see circumstances and people with a new heart.

God makes me aware of these strategic moments in time, space, and the people around me. Not often enough, standing barefoot before Him, realizing, "...for the place you are standing is holy ground." Exodus 3.5.

No matter the occasion, we are all surrounded by those who don't know what Jesus looks like and those who hunger to know if this God of ours is real.  Our shoes don't reveal that.  But our hearts do.  The gospel changes our hearts, and hence, not just our actions, words, attitudes, and vision, but how we love others.  And no matter in the office, grocery, or even church-- there is someone here who doesn't know the love of Jesus.

May we change into our gospel shoes no matter where we go.  We never know who will sit next to us or engage in conversation, total stranger, casual acquaintance, or close friend. We never know their very real struggles or carefully disguised desperation.

The good news is not an accessory, but the truth and grace that lets others know:  You are seen.  You are heard. You are loved unbelievably.

...having shod your feet
          with the gospel.
              
               Ephesians 6. 15

What shoes do I need today?

Be That Leaf

We were hiking last week through a forest that appeared to be dying.  The branches were bare against a sad steel-gray sky that seemed to shroud the world.  The trail was scattered with decaying leaves that once adorned these majestic trees.  The dirt, rocks and dead leaves created a monotone landscape of the ordinary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then suddenly, standing out from the rest, a bright red maple leaf appeared right in the middle of our path like a glimpse of hope and joy.  I know people like that.  They radiate in the most unusual circumstances, not drawing attention to themselves, but taking every opportunity to bless others.

In this world of griping, complaining and brokenness, these people are like bright leaves strategically placed to give us a little bit of courage.  Not just a bright spot trampled in the impending darkness, but a vibrant reminder that all is not lost.  It will not always be this way. These woods surrounding each one of us are not dying after all, but preparing deep roots for the festivities of spring.

No matter if there is mud up to our shins, or rocks threatening to bring us down, or grumbling as a dissonant roar around us, we can walk differently into this day, into that difficult relationship, into this season when it gets dark so early.  Because God hikes with us on that trail.

In these seemingly uninhabited, barren, dried up places, God transforms our hearts, not to make-do or survive, but to thrive in the reality of His Presence. Not in a sequined, sparkling, phony kind of way, but a deep resounding that is real and true and deep. And can't help but being shared.

...among whom you shine as lights in the world.  Philippians 2. 15

God empowers us to see circumstances with new eyes and a fresh heart, walk faithfully with Him in the ordinary or the strange, and be different in this impossible place. We can see our surroundings differently because we see God differently. What does this situation make possible? What is God forming in me through this? What leaf is not like the others?

In these strange and sacred encounters, God strengthens us to stop asking why and to start asking what.

When we hit those difficult dreary spots, we can lean on God even more. We are not lost, nor randomly scattered, but divinely appointed and strategically placed for His glory all over it.

Be that leaf.

 

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

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

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

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.

The Way We Walk --Inktober 3 #Boots

A few years ago, my husband and I returned from a long hiking trip, where day after day, we struggled with the steep ascents before us, one step after another.  Sometimes that is all any of us can do. Even now, back in real life.

This extended journey called for far more than I was capable, beyond what I could ever conceive, or attempt, or actually do, one step, one day at a time.  Every night when my feet ached and blisters throbbed, still speechless from what I had seen, dropping exhausted into bed, I knew very well that I could not stop, because simply of what I would miss.  Not one day, not even one hour gone, missing what could prove to be the most important, the most spectacular piece of a real life 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle. There were passes through the mountains, passages trod from ancient times, vistas that were so majestic I wanted to stand and applaud, simply because I had no words.  And then, after another rough and rocky section of the trail for a couple more hours, we would emerge again from the dark forest or difficult paths into another dimension of impossible beauty.

One clear blue day, after a particularly rocky ascent, we rested by a clear glacial lake as if we were painted into a story.  It seemed almost irreverent to eat lunch in such a sacred space.

Each day became a deeply engraved memory, all significant moments, each piece, each catching of my breath as we traveled through the glory of God.  Before us, an overwhelming face of sheer rock would appear, the steepest of ascents I could ever imagine, and somehow in the face of the impossible, I would see just one doable toe hold, an intersection of broken rocks, a root, a crack, pulling myself up, before another emerges, trusting for the next.  Everyone struggles with something impossible.  We all do.   And  sometimes even more so traveling downward, looking for a tiny level spot, a spiky rock to keep me from sliding or falling.  I hiked in the same careful words of the ancient psalmist, a divine place for my steps, and my feet did not slip.

Don't look down.  Definitely don't trip now.

I had the wrong shoes to hike this far, but my boots had betrayed me.  And so, I dealt with what I had,  I got up every morning with aching feet and blisters hidden by big patches, raw places covered by adhesive and praying please God, heal my feet so that I can finish this strong, that I can finish what we have started.  I found respite in the laughter and conversation of strangers turning into friends, and following each other, one by one, those whose hiking boots I came to memorize, knowing their shoes, their crazy hiking socks, and their unfolding stories, bits of our lives floating like the clouds.  Even then, we knew full well these moments were fleeting, even with so many pictures taken in an effort to freeze our lives in this time and place, even with the awe of creation so thick we were often without words or limited by vocabularies in any language.  We were lost in the music, a song, a verse, a chorus still resounding through our dreams at night,  still walking in my sleep weeks later, beyond the frames of our photographs, the bigger picture still.

We returned home.  We could not but be changed by this, what we now know, what we have seen and felt and struggled through, what we still cannot grasp, a strength that is not our own, and boots left behind that no longer fit.

What Do I Want To Be When I Grow Up?

Looking in the rearview mirror, my husband and I discussed over supper not just what we did in 2023, but “What did God awaken in me this year?” And that went far beyond a litany of our feeble accomplishments to a liturgy of who He is.   

God calls us to much deeper than our accomplishments, but to pray continually, live faithfully, love well, practice grace, and trust Me in this.

God calls us to Himself.

So in 2024, instead of creating an elaborate bucket list of resolutions or goals -- what I want to do -- I am thinking more about what I want to be.  What do I want God to awaken in me this year? Who am I becoming?  I am considering the incremental investments I need to make in my being and relationship with Him for the now and the yet to come.

In his memoir Everything Sad is Untrue, author Daniel Nayeri talks about how his mom navigated their overwhelming hardships as refugees.  "But what you believe about the future will change how you live in the present.  That’s how she did it."

How do we view our future? On what are we staking our lives?  Not what we want to do, but who we want to be when we grow up.

New York Times opinion writer Tish Harrison Warren views this time as an opportunity:  "...the chief value of resolutions is not found in our success or failure at keeping them.  Instead, they help us reflect on what our lives are like, what we would like them to be like, and what practices might bridge the difference.  There is goodness then in the very process of making resolutions.  There is hope in the idea that we can change -- that we can keep growing, learning and trying new things.  This hope of renewal is the point of resolutions for me."

We are not stuck.  We can change.

Becoming calls for continual growth, no matter how old we are, a moveable feast.

Like every year before this, the new year is made up of ordinary days.  What incremental changes can I make today?  In what am I investing this year?  What intentions would you add to your list? 

This is what I am working on:

* Pay attention.  ...to have the mind of Christ. 1 Corinthians 2. 16

*Write something, read something, run something every day.  Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might.  Ecclesiastes 9. 10

*Weave kindness in my words. ...that I may show the kindness of God to him.  2 Samuel 9.3

*Don't interrupt.  ...slow to speak. James 1. 19

*Do small things well.  Do not despise the day of small things.  Zechariah 4. 10

*Listen.  Really listen to others and to God.  ...listen to Me. Blessed are those who keep My ways.  Proverbs 8. 32

*Be present.  Therefore encourage one another and built one another up, just as you are doing. 1 Thessalonians 5. 11

*Reinvent.  Reinvest.  Recreate.  Redeem. Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due when it is in your power to do it.  Proverbs 3. 27

*Ask questions.  Lots of questions.  ... Jesus spoke to him first, saying, "What do you think?" Matthew 17. 25

And when we come to the end of the year, how will we find we are different?  Will others recognize that we have been walking with Jesus?  And by what will we be known?  Not by our accomplishments, but that We are His.

And where do we start?  Not with resolutions, but living intentionally, composing something new right where God has placed us today.  

In his beautiful piece The Singing Bowl, poet Malcolm Guite suggests:

Begin the song exactly where you are,

Remain within the world of which you’re made.

Call nothing common in the earth or air,

 

Accept it all and let it be for good.

Start with the very breath you breathe in now,

This moment’s pulse, this rhythm in your blood

 

And listen to it, ringing soft and low.

Stay with the music, words will come in time.

Slow down your breathing. Keep it deep and slow.

 

Become an open singing-bowl, whose chime

Is richness rising out of emptiness,

And timelessness resounding into time.

 

And when the heart is full of quietness

Begin the song exactly where you are.

 

I Just Don't See It

 

It did not appear that we were looking at anything.  But we were.

About one mile on the skinny little road through Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, people had parked on the gravel shoulder to view an old homestead.  But there was something else to see.

One by one, a crowd had convened, observing from a walking path, a large black bear out in the field eating blackberries.   The tall grasses, weeds and bushes mostly blocked our view, but the bear was there.  We could tell exactly where he was by the movement of the foliage as he passed through. The tall weeds waved. The bushes shook. And occasionally, his head popped up.

At one point when the bear suddenly came into sight, the man standing next to me spontaneously lifted our seven-year-old grandson up to his shoulders so that he would not miss the majesty of this moment, a black bear in the wild.  Afterwards, the man apologized.  “I should have asked your permission to do that, but I was just so excited.”

After watching for a while, a woman passed by.  “What is everyone looking at?”  she asked.  “A black bear,” I replied.   “I just don’t see it,” she remarked as she walked away, unimpressed.

Is that how we see prayer?  Is that how we view God?  “Move on.  Nothing to see here.”

It made me think about all the wonders of the Almighty we miss because we too are not praying or paying attention. Do we just explain away the unusual?  Are we not willing to wait and watch for Him?

But for You, O LORD, do I wait; it is You, O Lord my God, who will answer.  Psalm 38.15

Those who pray and wait always witness God’s response in one way or another. Most often in unexpected ways.  Always in His timing, never late, and not in ours. Always in His own ways, God reveals Himself to us.  It is not that we wait for God, but He is really waiting for us to catch up with Him or to be ready for what is ahead.

When we pray, we see differently because we acknowledge the Almighty.  We know that He is working.  When we pray, God does not set anything into motion.  He helps us to notice the music of the spheres already composed.  God invites us into deeper dimensions that are all around us.

Who among all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this?  Job 12. 9

When we pray, we recognize the evidence of God’s Presence among us.  The grasses wave.  The bushes move back and forth.  God may bring His response into full view – and we are amazed by it.  But whether we see a physical manifestation, the outcome, His unfolding or not, God is still here.  Do we ignore Him or just explain Him away? 

“I just don’t see it,” the woman dismissed what was right in front of her.

As I was running on that same nature loop, probably now a decade ago, rangers had stopped cars and people to let a mother bear and her cubs meander across the road. The group of spectators was silenced by the magnificence of this rare occasion, mesmerized by the scene.  A young man was standing next to me, his little red-headed five-year-old daughter on his shoulders.  ,

I imagine that all her life she had seen cartoons and story books, and people had told her about these furry animals.  But until she saw bears in person, they were only so many pictures and words. The little girl turned to me, wide-eyed.  “They’re real,” she exclaimed. 

I wanted to tell her, “So is God.” 

Our praying doesn’t prove God exists.  But our praying helps us to know that He is real.  Because God changes us by praying.  We don’t just believe in Him, we know Him, we see Him and His fingerprints all around us.  In prayer, God opens up the wonders even in what appears an ordinary day or a familiar field. 

Ascribe to the LORD the glory due His name… Psalm 29.2 

Whether the grasses wave, the bushes shake, or we see Him move, we know that He is here.  He is as real as He can be.  Prayer acknowledges His abiding.  

Even when it does not appear that we are looking at anything.  But we are.

You are the God who works wonders; You have made known Your might among the peoples.  Psalm 77. 14