Peace

Prayer

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The intersection of the Divine and humanity. Awe inspiring. It’s hard to wrap the mind around this mystery of supernatural communion with the Creator. The One who formed us, named us, called us out from nothing into what is and prophesied over us what will be. Extraordinary, beautiful, mysterious.

It is the God-breathed breath in our lungs transforming into words whispered, shouted, sobbed, laughed and somehow ascending, floating, soaring up, up into the very presence of the One who formed the stars and called the Earth into being.  Into the Holy of Holies, in the presence of angels and cherubim our words, thought and spoken, know exactly where to go as they search out the ear and heart of the Father. Our words and every thought know they will be found when they seek His attention. A magnetism that draws our need, praise and sometimes our fury and rage, straight to Him. Undivided attention in the midst of billions of voices. How is that possible?

Yet it is. The meticulous attention, time, and precision with which we were each formed allows us direct access to the One who knows us best. Nothing is hidden from Him. The raw vulnerability of that exposure is terrifying and unsettling, yet I find safety and rest here. No disguise, mask or self-righteous posturing happens in His presence. Flowery words and Christianese have no place in honest, raw, desperate conversations with the One who knows our every breath and move; the One who has our names engraved on the palms of His scarred hands.

There are times when the wounds and need are so raw and deep that no adequate words exist to speak it out, yet the Spirit knows – the pain, the rage, the gnawing, indescribable need that cries for release. He is right there in the middle of it, interceding “for us with groans too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26). Love. Comfort. Safety.

At times the joy, victory and delight are too overwhelming to express and His Spirit births in us a deep, healing laughter and tears that could never be expressed with mere words. How He loves us, how intimately He knows us. How He delights in supernatural conversation with us!

It isn’t hard talking to Him. Open your mouth, your mind and allow your spirit to connect with Him.  You are never less than or too much. You are enough. You are just right. He does hear you. Jesus wants to heal you, offer you hope, peace, joy, and strength to get through all that life tosses out. He’s a best Friend, Father, Healer, Comforter, Warrior, the Prince of Peace, and you have His complete and undivided attention. So, grab your favorite mug, fill it with something soothing, lovely, and warm and have a chat with your Father…with or without words.

Lessons from Cancer and Life…

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 2 Comments

Lessons from Cancer and Life

In November 2010, I was diagnosed with an aggressive, fast-moving breast cancer and immediately began an exhausting and terrifying set of surgeries and treatments ending in April 2012. Our lives were upended, exposed, and thrust into a trajectory of the unknown for over 2 years. That experience taught me so much and I will never forget. So many lessons learned – about myself, the resilience of the human body, the primal urge to survive and that in my frailty and weakness I am made strong in my Creator.

On April 26, 2012, at 2:15 pm, I was told, “You are cancer free!”

As this anniversary date approaches every year many things run through my mind. The random memories of the cancer center and the “one of a kind, not found anywhere else” smell of it, the taste of peppermint candies I sucked on in an attempt to mask the horrible taste of saline and chemo, the ice chips I held in my mouth to keep painful ulcers from forming (I cannot stand ice in my drinks or mouth to this day), the blanket I brought to keep warm during treatments and comfy pink slipper socks. I still hear the sound of radiation equipment being dialed into place with strange and other-worldly whirs, clicks and bleeps. It was a lonely feeling in the brightly lit, freezing radiation room as the technicians went behind thick layers of protective safety walls and I lay there exposed, cold, and numb willing the machine noises to stop; hoping I wouldn’t burn.

There are good and treasured memories of my faithful husband going with me to every treatment, while through the IVs and tubes, the meds flowed in or when a dear friend sat with me and prayed and chatted during a long treatment. The distraction of good company meant so much to me even though it was hard and uncomfortable for them.

Ahh, then there are the beautiful memories of my little 2nd grade boy asking me to hop on his bed as he tucked me in with blankets and got out his books to read to me. Blessed. Loved. Precious. This sweet boy is now a brave, courageous young man in the United States Army – respectful, strong, and absolutely determined with a kind and compassionate heart.

It meant the world to me when my sweet 6th grade girl would tell me about her day with the ups and downs of middle school, feeling so blessed she shared with me and praying so hard I would have years and years ahead of me to listen to her talk. She’s almost 24 now and out living her life – a beautiful, compassionate, strong, and amazing young woman with a kind and generous heart. God answered that prayer for more time with my family.

Through all the living I’ve done, I discovered I am physically strong. My body fought with everything it had to beat this invader named breast cancer. It endured extreme treatments, pain, panic, nausea, steroids, exhaustion, and hair loss but never stopped fighting. God gave me strength to make it through one more day, one more test, and one more treatment. He did it. He is absolutely faithful. His eyes never left me, and His tears mixed with my own as I was wrapped in His arms crying out my fear, rage, and frustration – wondering if I would die.

I am still learning to view my body through a different filter. I am proud of my scars. They shout out that a battle was waged and won. I am determined to be strong and healthy, so do what I love – hiking, biking, and all things outdoors.  I need to enjoy every single second of life I am given. So sometimes I choose to eat the dessert and not worry over whether or not I will look great in a swimsuit. I am alive and that is enough. Our days are numbered, and I want to take advantage of each one with those I fiercely love.

Despite days of deep sadness, fear of the unknown, rage, pain, and brain fog, I told myself I would get through this – that cancer would not win. Not this time. God absolutely gave me more than I could handle because we were never meant to walk out this life in our own strength. I chose to believe God would be with me through every test, every treatment, every bit of good and bad news. I held on to that and He proved Himself faithful, merciful, and compassionate. Yes, it was the hardest thing I have ever done. Yes, it put my body, mind, and soul to the ultimate test. I am an overcomer and so are you.

When other trials come along, like trials always do, I remind myself to look back on all that my Healer brought me through.  He infuses me with strength and courage. As a brand-new Army Mom, I feel lost, overwhelmed, and adrift in this new season. I am trying to draw on past fortitude, peace, strength, and flexibility to navigate all this new season of life throws at us. I battled cancer and I won; I can do this new thing because seasons past have given me a warrior heart and soul.  Fear, lack of control, paralyzing worry, loneliness and so much uncertainty is already rearing its head. My family and I are being forced to do life differently now and view it through a different lens.  

Life can be hard, unpredictable, and unfair but if you look closely, you will find nuggets of joy and hidden treasures of beauty in everything. It is there just waiting to be discovered but you must look for it, change your filter from a victim mentality and choose life – choose to seek peace, hope and sweetness in whatever is swirling around you. I promise you it IS there. I remind myself daily, minute by minute, that I CAN do all things through Christ who strengthens me. You can, too. It is only by His strength, love, and healing and my decision to trust Him with myself that I am here to live another day and breathe another breath. It is His breath in my lungs. He saved my life and changed, and still is, changing my perspective. I am thankful. I have another day to live.

My hope and prayer as I travel out this next chapter in life, is that I leave everyone better than I found them – that encouragement, compassion and hope will trail behind me like a gentle beacon defying the darkness and shining the light of the One who is Light.  

“But I’ll take the hand of those who don’t know the way, who can’t see where they’re going. I’ll be a personal guide to them, directing them through unknown country. I’ll be right there to show them what roads to take, make sure they don’t fall into the ditch. These are the things I’ll be doing for them—sticking with them, not leaving them for a minute.” Isaiah 42:16 MSG

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5 ESV

Whirlwind

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

There is a restless, unsettled energy hovering around my heart and soul this morning as I take that first anticipated sip of coffee. The dark, earthy scent is familiar and safe; an old and expected routine. Yet, the familiarity is not calming and soothing this morning and that throws me off-kilter.

Watching the critter activity from my kitchen window, steaming coffee warming my hands, I am reminded of the power nature possesses to soothe, hush, and calm my spirit. It’s where I talk to You and hear You speak to me. Healing. Peace.

Time to get outside!

Donning a hoodie with Pacific Northwest on the front, I grab a hat. I choose the one that says “Sorta Sweet, Sorta Savage” on the front of it. That’s how I feel this morning. Restless, savage, a bit wild in the heart. I need movement.

The park with the pond is beautiful this morning. The geese are already up, fussing and snipping at the grass, finding their favorite delicacies. Their contented honks and bossy hissing are pleasant and funny. The routine of it calms and soothes. My chilled hands unclench, just a bit.

There is a big white egret sunning itself and hunting. It stands on its thin, nimble legs on a jumble of rocks in a corner of the pond motionless, yet always watching for the slightest movement of its next meal. The egret shares this rock with another pond dweller catching some morning sun. Always vigilant and suspicious, the large pond turtle appears to be oblivious to me, but I know it isn’t. I’m being carefully monitored.

Brilliant blue sky above me, dew-damp grass under my feet, and a spunky breeze skipping around the pond – the perfect morning.

On the other side of the pond the trees are showing off their gorgeous autumn colors. The vivid oranges and reds blend and blur with the yellows and greens like a startling tableau of beauty and peace. I take a few moments at the edge of the pond to soak it in. The sight is majestic, bold, and insistent – the contrasting loveliness of the bright blue sky and these gorgeous colors demand all my focus and attention. There is strength and defiance in the colors and tenacious hold these trees have on their foliage, as they shout their last hurrah before letting go and descending into rest, quiet and rebirth at the change of season. It must happen. The change is inevitable, predicted and set into motion by Your design. The letting go is part of life as it unrelentingly moves forward. I see that as I take in the trees and seasonal changes at the pond. It brings some comfort to my troubled and agitated heart.

This is a season of many changes and I’m forced to find my way in a new normal. I don’t like it and it frightens me. I struggle and kick, even though I know it will happen despite my stubborn clinging. I feel a bit savage about the letting go. Unsettled. Unknown. Defiant.

Moving along the edge of the pond, I look up through the stunning leaf color and pause to breathe deeply. I sense You here with me. Cleansing. Surrender. Beauty. Safe.

You are here in the season of rebirth and new life, and the season of release and rest. It is incessant, this change of season. It is needed, necessary and it will happen. My shoulders slowly drop, and my back relaxes as You speak to my soul and minister to my heart. You remind me there is beauty in the letting go. It is the precursor to a season of change, growth, and intimacy with You. The status quo never brings the exciting feeling of a new chapter and fresh adventures. You have more in store for me. My purpose on Earth is continually moving – being blown by Your breath and Your plan. The journey to get there involves upheaval and letting go. Trust. Intimacy. Faith.

The spunky breeze is back and becoming a bit more playful in its bluster. Resuming my walk, I am suddenly caught up in a whirlwind of brightly finished leaves and brown grasses, whirling, and tossing and pulling at my hat. Laughing, I raise my arms and let it dart, tease and play!  Zipping and dancing all around me and sticking to my sleeves, the leaves embrace the wildness and seemingly random whim of the wind and let go. It is magical, beautiful, and joyful! My heart responds and softens – restlessness and fear melting away.  “Can I trust You with me, Lord?”, I ask in the wind. “Absolutely!”, the leaves reply, as they dash away in freedom on the adventure You created for them.

Hometown

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

There’s only a few more miles to go until her exit. The familiarity of these bends and curves in the highway prick at her mind. In a comforting way it feels like a buttery old glove made of soft leather molded to your hand. It fits snugly and securely wrapping you in warmth and a thin layer of protection. However, if she’s being honest, she isn’t feeling very secure.  How many years has it been since she’s been “home”? Her nerves are a bit jangly and wiry, and she wonders at her decision to visit her hometown. Will it fill the void gnawing at her heart – that unsettled feeling of something unfinished and dangling, something needing her attention to bring closure and perhaps much needed peace. It’s a vague nuance of emotion that dances in her soul; twirling and spinning, beckoning her to explore and discover what’s sitting within her demanding attention. What is it that needs her to let go?

Sipping the last dregs of her Peets oat milk, light foam latte, Natalie rounds the last bend. Here is the slight rise in the highway with the old barn in the field to the left. It once was a rusty red, but with all the weathering it’s endured the color is now a dusty brown. The big sign hangs by a tilted chain over the arched entrance. The country lane leading up to it still has potholes and ruts. The name painted on the sign is kind of hard read, but Natalie knows it by heart – Whispering Oaks Farm. The small orchard to the right is still standing but my, how the trees have aged and gnarled and twisted.

Two dappled horses languidly munch grass hay in their tidy corral. Natalie remembers Mr. Jameson allowing her and her friends to bring apples and carrots to his horses. She loved the feel of their chin whiskers tickling the palm of her hand and the intelligence in their dark eyes.

Her exit is next, and she signals and slows to follow it down and to the right. There’s a stoplight now where there once was a STOP sign. Modernization! At the green light, she heads into town to see what else has changed.

So much looks the same. There are tweaks, updated signs and fresh paint on some of the storefronts, but most of the businesses look the same as when she left.  Almost imperceptibly, her grip on the steering wheel loosens. Her neck and shoulders drop as muscles unclench and settle a bit.  There is something comforting here in the old and familiar.

Parking along the street bordering the town square, Natalie steps out, stretches, and watches people entering the bookstore and the new-to-her café on the opposite side of the square. In front of her, people stroll around the grassy, tree lined park. Some have coffee in green cups from the café. Others carry restless children demanding to get down, so they can run, screech, and play in the small, shady play area. Still others sit and watch the world go by or read their books, absorbed in the tales being told.

Natalie walks the park, taking in the scent of the pine trees growing in a cluster at one end. Pine has always held an old, safe, happy scent. The splashing fountain is updated and much cleaner now. It is so cheerful in its bubbling and chuckling. She feels the corners of her mouth turn up and can’t help smiling with the happy fountain. She remembers picnics and cold sodas in the summer on the grass right here in this spot.

She sits for a bit to take it all in. She did have happy times here; she did have fun and felt like she belonged. She did… How long will she allow that one memory, with its wounds and startling betrayal to stifle her? Natalie was sure that moving away would force that memory to fade into the jumble of her fast-paced new life in a bigger city, with more people and chaos to drown it out. Maybe it did for a little while, but it never truly went away, did it? Is this why she feels such a draw and pull on her heart to be back here? Is it time to let that terrible memory go, so she can peek back in time with fondness and happy nostalgia, to the little town that formed her and grew her up? She has such a need to remember some peace and joy, some happy contentment without the roiling bitterness and pain flooding it all out. Yes. She thinks nostalgia and healing are what’s been calling to her…

Waking up before the alarm clock, Dominic feels a push to get moving this morning. It’s an interesting anticipation and he wonders what it wants from him.

With his morning routine complete, Dominic grabs his keys, wallet and phone and scoots out the door. On the way to the café, he remembers he needs oat milk; it is becoming quite popular, and he’s run out. Swinging by the neighborhood market to grab some, he notices a flat of bright colored lollipops by the cash register. For some reason, they catch his eye. Hmmm. These could be a fun addition to the pick-up counter. Dominic buys the flat, picturing the short, wide mouthed vase he will put these lollies in as a fun, catchy display. His long-time barista, Meredith, will probably roll her eyes and tease him for it. He chuckles as he figures out some brilliant comebacks to her good-natured ribbing.

Opening his shop, The Cuppa Café, Dominic gives it a once over, like he does every morning. He turns the hand painted OPEN sign facing out. “I wonder who will stop by today?”, he asks the pastry display.

The church that her grandma brought her to as a kid is down the street about two blocks from the town square. Natalie remembers the smell of wax, hymnals and a faint, flowery scent.  She reaches the steps to the church and takes it in for a few minutes, before trying the big double doors. It looks the same, radiating a welcoming sense of belonging. The white paint by the doors is scuffed and peeling in random places along the sides and near the stained-glass window. The church spire points up, up, up.

Her breathing feels easier and lighter; not so strained and constricted. Funny, she never noticed how hard it’s been lately to breathe deeply. Feeling a calm, lovely serenity beckoning her, Natalie opens the doors and steps into the chapel. The scent memory hits her, enveloping and wrapping around her like an old quilt. Safety. Comfort. Peace. The frenetic energy drains away as she sits on a faded, padded pew and rests. She rests mind and body, allowing her spirit to drink in the memories that pour forth. Healing memories. Church potlucks, kids’ choir, Christmas Eve services and VBS – where the teachers always had a supply of sweet, bright colored lollipops as prizes. Such happy times!

Delicious feelings and gentle memories smooth out the worn, cracked, bandaged up places in her heart; even that place where the wounds and betrayal are hidden is tended to with mercy, grace, and healing. It’s time to let go and allow it to be taken from her. She’s ready. Natalie lifts her head and notices dust motes floating above her, dancing and moving toward the beautiful stained-glass window. She imagines those motes as tiny balloons with wispy tails carrying the wounds and pain, ascending toward the gentle light to be kept and tended by Someone else now. Freedom. Joy. Nostalgia.

Her time in the church brings restoration and lightness. Nostalgia is healing. The old things and memories hold a special balm that soothes and brings clarity. This was her call to come home for a spell. A reckoning in her spirit that needed to happen, and it did.

Warm soothing coffee sounds lovely right now, so Natalie makes her way to The Cuppa Café. Pushing open the doors, the bright, roasty scent of coffee brushes up against her. A man in a green apron is adding scones to his pastry display. “Hi and welcome in!”, he calls. The barista named Meredith finishes rinsing some cups and hurries over to take her order of a large oat milk latte with light foam. “Hey, you’re in luck! I grabbed a big carton of oat milk just this morning on my way in”, Dominic tells her. Natalie smiles, nods, and waits as Meredith makes her drink. “Is it ok if I add a bit more foam to your drink?”, Meredith asks, “I have a new foam design I’d like to try, and it need just a bit more to make it look right.” “Sure,” Natalie says, “how fun!”

Walking to the end of the coffee bar, bright colors in a short, wide mouthed vase catch her eye. There is a sign propped up against the vase that says, “Take One.” Oh my…the lollipops. What in the world? Natalie carefully picks a bright yellow one.

“Here you go!” Meredith hands her the cup and turns to start on the next order. Heading to a nearby table, Natalie sits and looks in the cup. The carefully crafted foam design is a balloon with a wispy tail.  Her eyes mist. The balloon and yellow lollipop blur a bit. The way this entire day has blended in a perfect symphony of comforting nostalgia, healing release and budding joy, touches her heart and soul in a way she has never experienced. Compassion. Tenderness. Hope. Is it random alignment? She thinks not. Someone orchestrated this all for her. How well thought out and lovingly intimate are these little gifts she received today in her hometown.

Refilling the jug of Half ‘n Half, Dominic glances at the slight, brunette woman sitting by the window. He hasn’t seen her before and it being a small town, he notices. As he watches her looking at her coffee cup and the yellow lollipop she chose, he sees her eyes are over-bright and misted. There is deep emotion at play here and he feels like an intruder watching her.

As Meredith brushes past her on the way to the stock room, Dominic hears the woman tell Meredith how beautiful the foam balloon looks and how much she appreciates her decorating her coffee with something so precious.  Hmm. Interesting way to describe a foam design…

Dominic hears the woman push back her chair, and gather her purse, coffee, and lollipop. She stands a moment, then shyly approaches him.

“Hi, excuse me – where did you get these lollipops? I haven’t seen these in a long time. I know this sounds crazy, but they bring back good memories for me. I really needed that today. So, anyway, thanks.”

She hurries from the café and out onto the street. Dominic stands still for a few minutes taking in what she said. So, this is what the feelings of anticipation and purpose were about this morning; the reason these silly, spunky lollipops caught his eye, willing him to display them. Someone arranged this random encounter for a dark-haired woman who needed a reminder of good things and happy times. Standing in the middle of The Cuppa Café Dominic smiles to himself – I wondered who would stop by the café today. Who knew that latte foam and lollipops could be life changing?

Longing

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

It rises up from deep in my soul.  The sensation is difficult to describe, and I need it to have a name.  Somehow that will make it seem safe and predictable, possibly evencontrollable.  It is pressure that builds and needs a release like a cry that can only be satisfied by an answering calm, a gentling of the urgency; a whispered word, saying “Peace, be still child; how very close I am to you.” 

It is birthed in quiet moments of meditation and worship where time ceases to exist, as I have Your undivided attention.  My voice and Your Spirit mix and intertwine in the Heavenlies bringing delight to Your heart and setting into motion things I could never comprehend.  It is so beautiful, yet not safe and certainly not predictable – uncontrollable. This feeling surges up as I fall to my knees in awe of all that You are knowing that the small bit I do know of You is almost more than I can bear.  Knowing there is more, that You are richer and more brilliant than my most vivid dreams frightens me because that too is not safe or predictable and cannot be contained.  No – it is holy, a consuming fire, pure, wild, and more fierce and passionate than I can handle on my own.

It swells up when my fingers finally release their death grip on what I knew all along I could never control yet almost died in trying.  I hear it in the sound of chains falling and walls crumbling as another stronghold tumbles to the ground; the scent of victory overcoming the stench of defeat.  The feeling comes as a wave, a pounding of the heart as Your anointing falls when obedience calls and is answered with, “Yes Lord, here I am.” 

It is there when the howling loneliness shouts for filling and claws in desperation until Your presence is given permission and enfolds and permeates the void.  I sense it when joy unspeakable and peace that passes all understanding snaps like a banner in the wind, high above the circumstances and distractions of life proclaiming that Jehovah Nissi is my covering and victory.

Waiting in Your presence I begin to understand the sensation is a soul-deep desire for You – a needy emptiness that can only be filled by all that You are. It is the craving my spirit knows will only be satisfied when I am forever in Your presence; an obsession keeping me hungry and thirsty for revelation, wisdom, truth, and a startling intimacy found only with You. This isn’t safe or predictable and certainly not controllable but will be with me until I see You face to face.

So, I will let go and embrace the wildness and fierceness of it.  I will welcome it with open arms and a tender heart.  I will name it longing.

The Beach

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The brisk wind snaps and fluffs the tendrils of auburn hair peeking out from under her olive-green beanie. It feels so invigorating, as if the wind is beckoning her to come out and walk the beach. Perhaps it knows something feels different this morning, like that feeling when an elusive word is on the tip of your tongue, but your brain won’t quite let it go.

This beach is Misty’s favorite place. It has been since she discovered it several years ago, quite by accident, actually. After spending time with friends in Santa Cruz before one of them headed to a new job in Texas, Misty decided to take a little detour on her way home, just to see what she might see.  Rounding a curve, there it was laid out before her in all its glory! A lovely beach cove, set off the road with a sandy little parking lot to accommodate visitors.

Misty pulled off, parked her yellow VW Bug and that was it – she was in love with this beach and knew it was her place.

Lately, life has been hard and confusing, complicated, and draining. The life path she dreamed of following is not panning out and it weighs heavily on her heart. Patience is not her bent and the desire to move things along is a constant battle in her weary mind. Shouldn’t she be there by now? Why wasn’t she finding her niche?

Full of hope for a day of clearing her mind, she steps onto the sand into the wind and salty smell of the sea. Deep cleansing breaths, she tells herself. Deep, long and cleansing.  The vibrancy of the water holds an anticipation in the micro sparkles she sees dancing on the swell of each wave.  Heeding the call, she gingerly hops into the foamy sea and catches her breath at the cold, crisp tingle on her bare feet. The dramatic inhale of breath feels lovely and empowering. It feels comforting. Some of the fear and worry escape on the exhale. Is that a lightness in her soul?

“What do I do now?”, she asks the sea, willing it to part with its ancient wisdom.

Walking along the wet sand, she alternately runs toward and dodges the ever-coming waves. For the first time in a while, she is having fun!

Up ahead she sees something in the sand just out of reach of the waves. How odd, she thinks. What is it? It appears to be a small pile of driftwood. Ever curious, Misty investigates and discovers someone has spelled the word JOY with the driftwood. It is gnarled and holey with striations of dark and light in the sea-soaked wood. Pausing to look at the driftwood she feels what might be joy.  Her mouth relaxes into a gentle smile, which if she is honest with herself has not happened in a while. Well, not a genuine smile. Hmmm. Joy. Yes, she does feel it. It’s been simmering there just below the surface blocked by worry, fear and feeling left behind while others are off making their mark.  Feeling like she doesn’t measure up.

As Misty continues down the beach soaking in the joy, letting it do its thing, she detects a lightness in her step and her shoulders relaxing. The sweet sun pours warmth into her bones, yet not the overwhelming heat that makes one want to run for the shade. Stopping to scan the sea and the sand behind her, she sees her footprints. They look purposeful and confident, like these prints have a destination in mind and are confidently heading there. The sea is edging closer to her footprints and will soon wash them away as if they never existed. The past being taken and what is before her opening wide.

There are not many beachcombers out this morning. Mid-week keeps the crowds away and Misty likes that. Up ahead, she hears barking and yipping from a sleek, brindle dog dancing with delight over the stick about to be tossed into the shallow waves.  Being a dog lover, Misty briskly walks toward the middle-aged woman tossing the stick. She notices black yoga pants pushed up near the woman’s knees to keep from getting soaked, a camo-colored hoodie with rolled up sleeves and short, fluffed light brown hair that dances and tosses in the crisp sea-wind.

Smiling as she approaches, the woman waves, calls out a greeting and tosses the stick high at the same time. As the wet dog returns with the stick, the woman reaches down to stroke its sleek body and gets a sandy, toothy grin. He wants her to hurry and throw the stick again. “He will do this all day, you know,” the woman laughs. “This is our happy place where we escape to refill our souls.”

As they exchange small talk and watch the escapades of the dog, Misty notices the woman has tattoos on her arms. One says Be Still and another Faith over Fear. She is surprised how these simple words tattooed on a stranger fill her with such emotion – this is what her tired heart and dry soul need. How she longs to just be still and let go of the fear that cripples her; fear of the unknown, that she isn’t making a difference and the constant striving that saps her energy.

Shyly, she asks the woman, “May I ask about your tattoos? This sounds weird, I know, but I am drawn to them. I think they’re speaking to me.”

“Of course!”, the woman replies. “These tattoos hold special meaning for me. I’ve been through some rough patches; things I thought would break and destroy me. These words remind me of all I have weathered – mantras the Creator spoke to my soul. They mean so much I had them etched in a place I could revisit anytime, anywhere.”

As the silence spins out the woman turns to look at her; her forest-green eyes compassionate and knowing, holding her gaze for a moment. “I don’t know what’s weighing on you, honey, but I believe everything happens for a reason and we all have a specific purpose on Earth. Sometimes to find it, we simply need to be still and let it come to us. Joy will come if you make room and give it permission.”

As the woman speaks, Misty feels peace flow over her back and neck. She has a more confident tilt to her chin and senses a shift in the atmosphere as she embraces the letting go.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Misty replies. “I know why I needed to be here this morning.”

As she moves down the beach and circles back at the cliff with the purple flowers, Misty’s parched soul feels softer and her insides less strung up with anxiety. What if all she needs to do for now is be still? What if there is a Creator who has plans and a specific purpose just for her? Walking toward the car, the small smile on her face is brighter. She feels joy at the beautiful beach, the warm sun, the constant reassuring shushing of the sea.

After a few more hefty tosses of the stick, it’s time to head home. The dog drops the stick at her feet and the woman smiles and offers up a silent prayer of thanks. This random, yet not, encounter on the beach blessed her, too.

Gathering up her coffee thermos, the wet dog and the precious fetching stick, the woman in the camo hoodie understands why she felt such a pull to the sea and this specific beach today.  Tattoos and JOY written in driftwood. The still small voice isn’t wrong and what blessings come from heeding it.

Hope Grove

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Hope Grove

He is up before the sun rises. His camo-colored backpack lies on the backseat of the old, dark blue Jeep. It’s full of water bottles, snacks, a sketch pad, and sunscreen. A few haphazard beach towels and a trusty old blanket are tossed on the floor, below the backpack. The smell of his hastily grabbed cappuccino wafts and swirls around him; it’s a comforting scent and tastes like liquid gold.

He enjoys road trips, especially heading to the forested mountains of the Sierras. He gets an early start to avoid traffic and people. The many laned freeways of suburbia will inch down into 2 lane, curvy mountain roads. The gentle hills give way to the foothills dotted with trees and brush.  Soon he will be in the mountains and the anticipation in his bones is invigorating!

As the Jeep climbs up and up and twists and turns on the winding road, he feels some of the tension leave him. His shoulders drop a little and the tightness around his ears and neck loosen up. He really has been full of knots and worry and vague feelings of frustration.

It won’t be long now. His turnoff is coming soon. He can feel the pull and tug on his heart and body that this mountain trail always conjures up in his soul.

Turn signal on, he eases into the small, wooded, empty parking lot. Yes! He doesn’t want distractions today. He deeply needs to be alone to refresh and get some perspective. Such unsettled emotions plague him lately. They bubble up and at times consume him. Life is difficult right now. How does he get out of this slump? Nothing is going as planned. His big interview was a disaster. He was completely unprepared and the failure of it still reddens his face with embarrassment. High expectations and dashed dreams camp out in his mind. Others in his sphere are successful and fast moving. They are further along than he is, and it rubs, scrapes, and gnaws at his thoughts.

Yet…another feeling has been hanging out in his mind, as well – a rushing sensation that pulses along in his very blood. It’s not unpleasant but unusual. He can’t quite put his finger on it. Deep down he knows whatever it is, it’s calling and beckoning to him; an insistent feeling telling him it is time to get to the mountains.

Well, here he is in the mountains…

He takes in the stillness punctuated by calling birds, rustling trees and the beautiful, blessed silence that is the forest. He belongs here. This is his place. He feels known and accepted by the mountain, the trees, the very scent of warming pine that he loves so much. He takes deep, deep breaths to capture the scent in his lungs and hold on to the scent memory.

Hefting his backpack from the Jeep, he grabs a beach towel. He plans to find a lovely place to sit and become one with the earth and forest for a bit. Maybe he will break out the sketch pad. Downing the remaining cappuccino, he is off to the trail and whatever adventure awaits him.

He chooses a brisk but easy pace for his hike. He likes to feel his blood pumping but doesn’t want to miss a single thing the forest has to show him this morning. It has been a while since he’s hiked here. He wonders if it’s changed; in his heart he hopes not.  He soaks up all the mountain offers him; sounds that only the forest makes – creatures scurrying and fussing in the undergrowth vying for bugs and seeds; loud jays that scold and screech at each other shouting the forest gossip; louder, more defined thumps and rustles that come from a bigger animal making its way over and around whatever is in the way.

All these are music to his ears and a feast for his eyes! Moving gingerly along the path, he notices some random bursts of white hidden among the detritus on the forest floor and snagged along the bark of some trees and bushes. Hmm. Odd. In all his years of hiking forest paths he doesn’t remember seeing this strange white stuff. He stops and waits a moment along a curved spot in the trail.  He looks back and sees that the placement of the white doesn’t seem quite as random as he thought. Was it placed here purposely? That urgent feeling of beckoning and calling is coursing through his blood again. Interesting. “What is this?”, he wonders aloud.

He heads off again, alert this time for more white. He spies it snared on a fallen old pine tree and heads over for a closer look. Oh, it appears to be feathery and light, a bit silky, airy, and so soft.  As he runs this white, airy softness between his fingers, a peaceful feeling of safety and rest settles over him. He senses that he is going to be ok; somehow all is well and will be well.

Not knowing what to make of this, he searches the path in front of him and spies more white as the trail twists and turns out of sight. Senses piqued, curiosity and bravery filling his soul, he travels along this mysterious path that enchants him.

Rounding a bend, he spots a small, weather-beaten sign. It sits on a dilapidated post covered with moss and lichen. Tiny yellow flowers surround the crooked base. The sign says Hope Grove and there is a faded red arrow pointing off to the right. The white, airy material is profuse here at the right-hand fork. He doesn’t remember any of this; is he lost? He does not have that frightened, adrenaline rush feeling of being lost. Oddly, he feels found.

He doesn’t hesitate as he follows the fork to the right toward Hope Grove. He feels anticipation and wait, is that joy? It might be…

There is a small tunnel-like area up ahead where smaller trees and creeping vines, snagged with the white feathery material, make a covered spot over the trail. He moves through and emerges into a lovely little grove of pines. There is a small area of meadow grasses and some wildflowers dipping in the breeze. Fascinating! He moves about this little grove stopping to look closely at the flowers, sturdy grasses, and the light; the lovely, beautiful, soft light. Excited, he finds the perfect spot to toss down the beach towel and sit a spell. His mind is clear and uncluttered. He enjoys the sounds, scents, and beauty. It refreshes him. It is actively restoring him. He feels it, he knows it. His soul and spirit unclench, and he decides to let it all go. Peace. Safety. Rest.

After sitting for a bit, allowing his tired body and battered spirit to breathe again, he opens his backpack, grabs snacks and water, and looks at the sketch pad lying there. It wills him to open it, to capture and fill the pages with what his senses show him, and the grove speaks to him.

Taking in the entirety of the small meadow and grove, he sees a well-worn sign to his left. Hope Grove. The words are written in blue faded letters. Floating off one corner of this aged sign, he sees the white again. The way the light hits it, the way it flutters and moves with the gauzy breeze looks like feathers – white, airy, wispy feathers. Happy and joyful, they beckon and call to him. He is not alone here in Hope Grove. The presence is not sinister; it is a Spirit of joy, belonging, peace and love which permeates this sacred place. It is sacred and intimate. Here he is wanted. There is no expectation put on him because he knows that he is enough. The fear that sticks to him of late falls away. In its place is confidence. Confidence that he’s got this and is right where he needs to be in his life journey. Opening the sketch book, he surprises himself at how deftly, yet simply he captures the light of this place. The way it falls between the pine trees, in stark but gentle beams. The sign is dappled by the rays that penetrate its corner of the grove, illuminating the white feathers in a mysterious, forest-y, and peaceful way.

In between his drawing and snacking, he allows the peace and silence of this grove to seep deep into his spirit, soul, and bones. He will not forget.

As the light and sounds of the forest shift to early evening, it is time to go. He feels wistful as he packs up his things, careful to leave this magical place undisturbed. What he will leave behind him is fear, defeat, expectations, and comparison. What he will take from the grove is joyful determination, confidence, peace, and the ability to rest and enjoy his life journey. He is enough!

Making his way back along the trail he sees that his feathery white guides are gone. He smiles to himself. He knows the way back but needed their help to discover restoration and hope for his tired and restless soul.

Ascending

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The Creator watches as they ascend to the heavenlies. Lovely, iridescent conversations drifting up from the souls of His creation. Gently capturing every spoken and unspoken request in His hand, He attends to them all with love and delight. Engraved on His palms are names, so many names; each one a special treasure with His undivided attention. He listens with deep compassion as the fragrance of our need for Him fills, swirls, and mingles with cherubim song and the voices of the saints. A song that is deep, mysterious, and filled with prophecy pours from His mouth and flows down to bathe and hover over us. Deep calls to deep as He intervenes, commands, and performs the miraculous. His timing is perfect.

Each prayer, groan, praise, and cry rise upward on the delicate, life-giving vapors of His very breath breathed into our lungs. Returning to the Creator, they seek peace, protection, and healing; compassion, provision, and love – that deep need to be known and seen – to matter.

Never resting, omniscient and omnipresent, the Almighty is aware of all that concerns His cherished ones. No need, thought, or desire is hidden from Him. The first fluttering open of an eyelid in the morning, the woodsy scent of pine being inhaled and enjoyed, the sting of rejection and late-night tears from a broken heart are not lost on Him. Full of compassion and mercy He sings over the pain, fear, joy and mundane, speaking that which is not, into existence and calling home those for whom eternity with Him is beckoning.

When a wound is so deep that the wounded one has no words, yet cries out with groans and weeping, He is in the midst of it, speaking peace, speaking healing, speaking Himself into the chaos. It must quiet, obey and make space for His plan, healing, and comfort. Just a brush from the hem of His robe is enough to calm a soul in distress, to heal the body, mind, and spirit, and quiet the voices of fear, worry, despair and evil. His thoughts and His glance are always enough. Omnipotent.

When shouts of joy and words of thanksgiving tumble from grateful lips and eyes are tear-stained with joy and deliverance He is there. He rejoices with the heavenly host over a prodigal come home, a life healed, a relationship mended, a soul repentant and forgiven.

The prayers whispered in the mundane, unseen happenings of an ordinary day are revered and never overlooked. There is a specific purpose for each second granted to His child and not one is trivial.

There is peace and safety knowing that we are not anonymous. We are fully known and seen in a sea of humanity desperate for hope, peace, protection, and healing. Psalm 139: 1-6 declares, “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely. You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.”

The prayers of creation will never cease ascending to the Father’s ears. He will forever receive them with love and mercy, giving grace, undivided attention, and care to each one. Billions of soul-whispers and cries continuously flow upward. Yours will never be lost in the crowd. You will never be irrelevant and unseen. Your voice will always be a beautiful incense perfuming the Throne Room of the Most High. You are not anonymous to the One who loves you best.

Let There Be

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

This short statement in Genesis 1:3 called the world into existence. The Spirit of God hovered over the empty, formless mass of Earth declaring it to exist out of nothing.

In my mind I see it – deep blackness empty of hope and life, the vast, desolate emptiness and absolute silence of it all. Nothingness. It’s overwhelming to think about because we have never experienced absolute nothingness, the absence of all sound. How would that feel? Suffocating? Terrifying? Absolutely alone. Pin pricks of goose bumps form as I picture what the Creator hovered over in that place devoid of everything.

But He said, “Let there be…”.

That is not a wish or a casual comment. “Let there be.” It’s a command. As the Spirit of God hovered, He already knew what He was going to call into existence. He always knew and dedicated a specific time and place for it to happen.

Omnipotent. Omniscient. Omnipresent. Alpha and Omega. The power, compassion and patience, the wisdom, authority, and mystery wrapped up in these words is nothing short of awe inspiring, humbling and breath taking. Everything becoming as He intended by the words of His mouth – nothing accidental or happenstance. “So is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.” 1

This word from His mouth included you and me.

As the earth we inhabit was being called into existence you and I were on His mind. When there was nothing but blackness and silence, we were thought of and intimately known down to the minute cellular details of our being. The exact timing of our birth, our parents, our siblings, our friends, our entire sphere of existence was known, decided, and waiting for His word to release us to be and do what He ordained from the very beginning. I imagine the joy and excitement in the heavenlies as each of us were sent forth!

It is hard to know what to do with the knowledge that we have always been known, cherished and so very loved; that before we existed in a worldly way, the exact number of hairs on our heads was decided, the color of our eyes was carefully thought out, and the path we were created to walk was plotted out carefully and completely. There is no surprise or plot twist for Him. Our paths may be twisty, uncertain, tedious, and full of the unexpected, unwanted, and unexplained to our limited wisdom, but not to the One who set it all in motion with the command, “Let there be…”.

I wonder how many times each day He declares that command over us. “Let there be” …a job, provision, healing, restoration, a safe trip, a friend when we are lonely, an angelic intervention, hope when life seems desperate, protection from evil. His words never return void, and they achieve all that He sent them forth to accomplish. He’s declaring it over you right now. “Let there be” …hope, peace, blessings, and victory! You are safe, you are known, you are of immense value.

1 Isaiah 55:11

Pruning

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Summer is drawing to a close. The months of bright, festive flowers that beckon and sing to the pollinators and picnickers is dwindling down. There will be a few days of heated fury and defiance, where summer rebels just a bit – blazing hot and fierce. Time is almost up, and it knows.

The garden knows, too, and begins the descent into autumn. The spring and summer flowering plants and bushes slow and droop, dropping dried blooms, except for those that flourish and delight in autumn, bringing fresh color and excitement to a waning garden.

With this changing of the guard comes a season of pruning.  Much needs to be done to keep the garden looking loved, cared for and peaceful. Garden shears, trimmers and trowels are still needed.

Upon close inspection, one sees the stems, leaves, vines, and small branches shut down, wither, and die back. The perennials need this season of pruning for survival; they need someone to cut away and remove those areas that are no longer serving them or the garden. At times the pruning seems brutal, harsh, and perhaps cruel as some parts are cut away so severely there is hardly any of the original plant left.  All is cut away that is not actively helping, nurturing, and stimulating growth in the plant. Those dead and dying off parts suck vital nutrients from the healthy stems, branches, and leaves. A good gardener knows that they cannot be left to compete with and deplete the healthy plant.

Bending close to check each branch and stem, the gardener determines where best to trim and cut away. At first glance, a stem or branch may look completely wasted away, yet a closer look reveals tiny, minute new growth attempting to push its way out. The gardener values this new growth, barely visible except to the one who actively seeks and delights in nourishing this fledgling sprout of new life. All that is above it will be removed and tossed away, allowing plenty of room and careful tending to encourage the new life.

Do you see how this imagery of a master gardener lovingly tending his or her garden applies so beautifully to how the Creator loving and intentionally prunes, tends, and cares for each of us?

The pruned plant may look bedraggled and worse for wear, hacked and shorn off, appearing vulnerable and fragile. But this is where the unseen work takes place in the root system below the surface.  With the dead and decaying parts pruned away, the roots are free to prepare and strengthen the fragile plant for the new life waiting for rebirth when the season is just right; when spring comes and the time for its new beginning arrives. The quiet season of strength building is vital for this plant and is vital for us, too. When the Master Gardener deems it is time, new life will burst up, break forth and take its place in the Garden of Life, amid humanity, where the plant and you and I will live out our purpose, delight those meant to encounter us and be deeply nourished from a root system well established and fed by the Master Gardener and His living water.

The pruning season is hard. It hurts and can leave us feeling like there is nothing left of us but stumpy, stick-like nubs that are ugly, barren and have no purpose. But we can’t see with the eyes of the Master Gardener, who sees these shorn off places as a thing of great beauty and Divine Purpose, because He knows what’s coming. He sees the pruned places for what they are; stealers of joy, a heavy weight of bad habits, bitterness and anger, idols we erected in our search for happiness and value, and greedy competitors that robbed precious energy.  I imagine Him smiling and laughing in anticipation of all that He is doing below the surface to the root system of our lives. Every nip, cut, snip and prune hold tremendous value and purpose. So, can we endure for a little while, during the quiet autumn of the pruning season, to see the joy, delight and surprise that will spring forth?