In Ways We Cannot See

More than 35 years ago, a deeply grieving young man sitting on an airplane began scratching out some words to describe the deep ache in his heart, the hope to which he was clinging, and contemplating what God had to say about his tragic personal loss.

Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old.  Behold, I am doing a new thing;  now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43. 18 

Several years later, someone happened to read what musician Don Moen had jotted down.  In 1990, a song emerged from it, and God poured His Spirit through it.  A month ago, I heard that song for the first time since I was a young mom.  The truth in that song, the hope that it displays, almost slayed me. His lyrics had stuck with me all those years:   God will make a way where there seems to be no way. He works in ways we cannot see. He will make a way for me.  

Composing that song, Moen made God’s faithfulness to be known, not realizing what God would do with it. He just did what God laid before him to do that day.  And that song gave hope decades later to someone he didn’t even know.  And that was me.  God changes hearts.  And He starts with our own.

No one may ever notice what we are doing today.  Or be touched by it.  But God redeems every bit. He knows it all matters.  It matters a lot. Because in God's economy, there is no division between great and small. God has divinely appointed us for this place and time, and for this work that He has placed before us. 

I cannot know if either what I write or do today will last a few minutes, end up deleted, unread, forgotten or ignored.  Or maybe, just maybe, help someone to know Him more.  But I can trust God even in this situation that He is continually working, not just in this day but for eternity.

Sometimes being faithful is sitting in front of a blank laptop screen all morning. 

For the past couple of weeks, I have wrestled with some writing that I started a while ago.  I added some more to it and deleted large portions that didn’t fit.  And by lunchtime, the piece looked like a teenager’s bedroom with little passages scattered all over like discarded clothes.  But then I went for a run through the woods. All the trees waved their hallelujahs above me, and gradually I had more words than I knew what to do with.  Sometimes, we just need to give time and wiggle room to our work, allowing God to sing over us with His Almighty voice, and bringing His glue to it. Even in ways we cannot see.

We ask You, dear Father, that our tiny efforts -- be it composing a song, making a meal, or simply saying a kind word to a child -- will empower someone to make it through the day, or navigate a shadowy passage, or finally walk out of the darkness into Your light, strengthened with a strength that is not their own.  Because You bring something beautiful to our work that we cannot imagine in really hard places where there seems to be no way.  Sing over us, dear Father, a victory song.  Even when we cannot see or hear it yet, we can know that You are with us all the way through and spread Your goodness over it in ways we never realize. But we know that in whatever it may be, You, O God, bring Your glory to it.

So also good works are conspicuous and even those that are not cannot remain hidden.  1 Timothy 5. 25

The fruit of faithfulness has no expiration date.  And it becomes evident in the most unexpected ways.  May God resound through what He has placed before us today. Not just faithful to our work, but faithful to Him. And let God run with it.

Close Encounters of the Wilderness Kind

There were better things I probably could have been doing than running on that sultry Tennessee-humid afternoon.  But I don't know what that would be. Cars inched past me on a paved nature loop, windows rolled up to keep the cool inside, the occupants comfortable and wide-eyed, looking for usual sightings that invite tourists and snarl traffic for miles.

I could have been one of them.  But I preferred being outside, running through the wilderness instead. 

There would be bears, I was sure of it. There always are. I see at least one almost every time I run that winding road. But what I witnessed while running that day was something I didn't expect. Something I will never forget.

One of my all-time favorite places to run is the 11-mile Cades Cove nature loop in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  Weaving its way through a small valley surrounded by a ring of mountains, this narrow one-way ribbon of asphalt is known for wildlife sightings.  Or what our grandchildren call "rarely seen wildlife creature moments."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you want to see a black bear in the wild, Cades Cove is the place to be. You may also see deer, wild turkeys, an occasional coyote, and for sure, the continuous splendor of trees.  

Several years ago on a steamy summer day, it was not the wildlife that was so unforgettable. Hovering in the upper 80s, the day was far warmer than the forecast had promised. Running that hilly road around the Cove in that late July heat, I rejoiced in every bit of shade that decorated the pavement, short promised patches of coolness, moving from strength to strength.

The daunting hills seemed to rise even steeper than ever before.  As I lumbered along, I was reminded of the ancient psalms of ascent that the pilgrims sang on their way up to Jerusalem.  I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth. Psalm 121. 1-2

They sang through the hard stuff.  When they worshiped, they were sustained and strengthened by something more. As are we.

When I run, my unhurried pace urges reluctant thoughts to the surface. Going slow sharpens my eyes to what is hidden along the way, grasping the sight of a shy doe, a red-tailed hawk soaring, or a blanket of trillium in full bloom.  The mere act of running on long lonely roads dredges up prayers I would have never prayed otherwise, each pounding step shaking things up inside, and changing me a little bit more.  Running is not just a physical endeavor.

I think about stuff when I run. I write stories in my head. I compose essays. I pray differently in the fellowship of really big trees. And sometimes I sing out loud like the pilgrims.  Because in those moments, only God can hear me.

Just halfway around the loop that afternoon, I was already dragging, my tank top saturated, glued to my skin, and sweat smearing my sun glasses.  And there were many more hills ahead and miles to go before I was done.

Discouragement whispered to me like naysayers along the sidelines, stop, stop, stop, matching the rhythmic pattern of my feet and labored breathing. But I know from previous runs that to stop running on an uphill is a sure defeat. To get started again takes more than physical strength. To keep on running, I knew to keep my head down, looking only at the next step. And then the next. And occasionally, like the pilgrims, lifting my eyes to the trees surrounding me like so many sentries standing at attention on a parade route. Keep on, keep on, keep on, they urged.

I knew this familiar slope. I had run it many times before.  There was indeed an end to this hill.   But it was still hard.  Rented jeeps, SUV's packed with kids, and Dodge Rams with beer drinkers in the back rumbled past me up the hill, over and out of sight, racing past to see the sights.  Most never even noticed as they squeezed me over to the crumbling edges of the asphalt. No shoulders here, no margins.  At times, I stepped into the shallow rocky ditch to accommodate the vehicles.

As I approached the top of that particular hill, running on empty, I noticed a large black SUV pulled over on the side of the narrow road.  I was curious about what the driver saw, perhaps a bear lazily rambling across the road or climbing a tree, or maybe he was awestruck by the tabernacle of the forest,  taking in the glory instead of rushing past the wonder of this sacred place. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But this driver saw something entirely different.  

I slowly reached the ridge, ready to pass him by, when I stopped short.  His window slid down. A hand reached out holding an icy dripping bottle of water right out of a cooler.  He didn't say anything.  He just smiled.  I did not know him.  He was a stranger, as I was to him.  And he had been waiting for me.

I almost cried. 

He saw me struggling.  And he did what he could do.  Kind people live hilariously like that.

Kind hearts always look differently at the scenery around them.  They see others with new eyes and a fresh heart, recognizing and responding to outward needs or inward struggles that others don’t even see. 

In his devotional My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers points out:  Readiness for God means that we are ready to do the tiniest little thing or the great big thing, it makes no difference. 

Not out of any kind of obligation, but compelled by a hidden joy.

The kindhearted don’t contemplate if they should help, but think about how they can help.  Even the smallest acts of kindness shift the tectonic plates of the universe.  They may offer something to fill a momentary physical gap, come alongside to walk or run or listen, sometimes to encourage in word or deed, but always giving what is more tangible and eternal than we can ever comprehend.

And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.  Matthew 10. 42

It was only a disposable bottle of water.  But not in God’s sight – nor in my own present need. Instead, it manifested the profound ministry of the cup of cold water, revealed by Jesus in scripture and played out through the ages, transforming ordinary moments into extraordinary ones, full of the recognizable grace of God.

Doing something kind every day for a long time makes it really hard not to do it. 

I don’t know if this man was able to observe the black bear he had driven to see in the national park. But he changed the course of my day by his selfless vision of what he did see.  My cup runneth over with the compassion I was given, an act of mercy and grace, a profound and rare moment never soon forgotten. 

I doubt it was the first time he stopped to help a stranger or a friend. Nor his last. 

Just because he could. 

Just because we can.

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

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.

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.

Double-Knot Your Shoes

I was still a fairly new and inexperienced runner when I entered a 5k race in the little town where we had moved.  It was well-before the craze of running had taken over our country.  I was not a serious runner by any means. By measure of pace, mere jogging would be a better descriptor.  For me, it was just another way of enjoying the outdoors.  And at the time, in a new location, as a young mom with two babies, and as a transplanted Yankee in a very southern town, participating was another way of connecting in our community.

But running began to teach me a lot more than how to exercise. Discipline in any form bleeds over into so many other areas of life.  As in every endeavor in life, I learned to approach and navigate the hills, blind turns, and unexpected potholes that loom suddenly into view, a discipline of endurance on many different levels.

And in that busy season of infants and toddlers, running helped me hit the reset button when I was out of my mind by the end of the day.  Before my husband returned from work, I would get supper ready, the baby girls settled, and pull on my running clothes for a quick run before we ate.  It was a routine in which each one of us thrived.

This particular 3.1 mile race took place on a weekday evening, a charity event sponsored by a local group.  I was one of the few women runners, and it was only my second race ever.  

With only about a quarter of a mile left in the race, I learned what seemed like an insignificant detail developing into something that mattered a lot.  I had tied on my running shoes, ready to run.  But I had not double-knotted them.   Over the course of the race, without my notice, the laces on my running shoes loosened, and my right shoe fell off.  I ran the rest of the course with only one shoe.

First rule of running, double-knot your shoes.  I haven’t forgotten that.

Along about the same time, I met an older woman at church.   She recommended to me, “Make the Bible the first thing you read in the day.”  I haven’t forgotten that either.

But I would add praying to that.  Double-knot your shoes.  God’s Word and prayer at the beginning of the day changes how we run through our day. 

What difference does it make?  Keeps me running with Him, courage in my veins, and shoes on my feet.  First things first.  Not so insignificant at all.

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize?  So run that you may obtain it.  Every athlete exercises self-control in all things.  They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable.   1 Corinthians 9. 24-25

 

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