beauty

Roads and Rivers

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Isaiah 43:19 (MSG) “Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it? There it is! I’m making a road through the desert, rivers in the badlands.”

This is a favorite verse of mine. I love the themes of hope, adventure, new beginnings, and provision.

I tend to revisit the past and analyze it to death. I become consumed with situations, words spoken that hurt (either by me or to me), and actions that I fear will happen again and again. Isaiah’s words say to forget about reliving all that and be alert and present. I do not want to miss the brand-new things God is planning to do. God is not saying, “I’d like to do something new” or “I’m considering it”; no! He says, “I am about to do something brand-new!” It is a promise! I can feel His excitement breaking through when He says, “Don’t you see it? There it is!” The Lord is wild about us and loves the plans He has so masterfully created for us. I imagine it brings Him such pleasure to surprise us with His purpose for our lives and to whisper into our spirits, “this is the way, walk in it.”

If I stay tangled up in the past or worrying over the future, I will miss what He is doing right this minute. I want to fully experience the road He is making through my desert; the obstacles He will move and the ruts He will smooth over. Imagine looking back and seeing how it all unfolded! Some days it feels like I can’t find the road because there are too many off shoots and rabbit holes that distract and keep me spinning. If I stop, breathe, and give myself space and permission to spend time with Him, He reveals the path and gives wisdom about how to get back to it. He helps me over the ruts, around the boulders and through the brambles. He reveals the beauty that is there.

How bleak to miss the rushing river of blessings and revelation that He is creating in the badlands I often roam! How quickly I forget that water is the source of life. Where there is water, there is often beauty, refreshment, life, and provision. Jesus is my river in the badlands of humanity. He is beautiful, my strength, my peace; He refreshes my soul and provides everything I need. He is the source of life, and He is enough. How wise I would be if I lived with this mindset every day. So, let’s be alert! Let’s watch and wait on the Lord to see what He will do in our deserts and badlands. There is joy and beauty He wants to show us on our journey. May we live in watchful expectation.

Living Blessed

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

My coffee mug has the word Blessed inscribed across the front. The letters are big and bold, like a confident declaration.

Sitting at my kitchen table, I watch the morning unfold in my garden. There are a variety of birds at the feeders that sing as they jostle for position. They wait their turn, sometimes with nice attitudes and other times, not. Other birds scratch and scritch among the garden debris, ferreting out whatever treasures are hidden in the rich dirt. Watching these birds go about their daily business, I think about the word blessed. The dictionary says it means consecrated; holy; sacred; blissfully happy or contented. These words are beautiful. I want to be these words, feel, and live in these words.

Living and being blessed often seems elusive; like a thought or elevated idea that is difficult to truly capture. As I pondered this idea, I began to see that the word blessed is not a higher thought on a difficult to achieve spiritual plane.

Imagine a typical day – you wake up and grab your coffee in your favorite mug. Perhaps you watch the morning unfold in front of you on the patio with a soft breeze floating past, all kinds of sounds and scents in the air. What if you decided to be grateful that you are alive; able to see, smell and experience nature going about its business in the Divine order of things? Is that not sacred, bringing bliss and contentment? What if you witness a startling and unusual act of kindness causing you to pause, tear up and have your faith in humanity restored, if even for a moment? Is that not holy? Is that intersection of the Divine and the human, not sacred ground? I wonder, if when I’m making dinner, listening to music, or chatting with Jesus on a walk in my neighborhood, those places become sacred, holy, and divine. Blessed.

But… what if the day isn’t full of things that make me blissfully happy? The car accident that totals the car, the child who makes a poor choice and you see no clear way out of it. Maybe cruel words were hurled in the heat of the moment, and they can’t be taken back. Perhaps there is a diagnosis you never saw coming. Is there room here to declare “I am blessed?” Yes.

Some blessings come after the hurt and wounds. The Divine often shows up in miraculous ways, turning devastation into glory, failure into victory, wounding into strength and the impossible into something to be remembered in awe and reverence, because there seemed to be no good ending, yet there was.  To live blessed, we need to be alert and seek it out. It won’t always show up immediately. Blessings may not be dressed up in blissful happiness and a cute outfit. Blessings may come dirty, scuffed up, straggling and a bit off kilter, but will come. I have seen them come in both forms – equally holy, sacred, consecrated. Blessed.

I want to live expecting blessings; bloom where I am planted and thrive, no matter what it looks like. Holy, divine, sacred, and blissful happiness is all around us, waiting with open arms for us to slow down and seek it. What is sought will be found.

Meadow

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Standing at the edge of the alpine meadow my coffee mug is warm in my hands. A beautiful balance to the chill air. Ahhh…

Under the towering Sugar Pines, I take a few moments to soak in the first glimpse. My senses are awake and receptive drinking it in. There is a physical sensation of being pulled and beckoned, compelling me to go out in the meadow. This is my place. Belonging.

Leisurely walking the boardwalk, I notice the sights, sounds, and smells that make up this lovely place. Earthy, elemental, fresh yet ancient is what comes to mind. I pause to deeply breathe in the air, cleansed by so many Sugar Pines, Giant Sequoias and Cedars.

The meadow is already alive with creatures going about their business. The shiny black birds and bright, bold Tanagers call, dive, and swoop as they greet each other and share the meadow gossip. Flitting insects and seeds make up their breakfast. They light on the tip top of the purple-blue lupine, singing and swaying with the breeze that ruffles the meadow flowers and leafy plants. Joyful!

There is a greyed and hollowed out fallen tree with gnarled branches and bits of decayed roots lying across part of the meadow. A small tree is growing up from the edge of one of the dead branches. I wonder what creatures call the nooks and crannies home? Grass in varying shades of green, and bright yellow Sneezeweed, tiny white flowers and deep purple lupines have grown up around the old tree like an embrace. These colorful flowers create a gorgeous living carpet. Breathtaking.

Walking further in, I find the perfect spot to sit. Settling in, I am at peace. A feeling of being welcomed, rooted, and folded in, as if I belong here, in sync with the mystery and rhythm of the meadow. Connected.

I hear a rustling scurry in the clump of meadow flowers just below and to the left of my spot. A small grey-brown head peeks up and watches me, judging and spying. Deemed safe, the chipmunk darts across the boardwalk continuing his morning journey. I’m curious what the day holds for him/her. Purpose.

Trickling and whispering, the little meadow stream bubbles and flows out into the meadow. Tiny insects dip and float on the clear water. Other creatures scratch and rustle in the crowded marshy earth, searching for an appetizing addition to their breakfast.  I don’t know its source, but as the season pushes on the stream will slow and the water will pool, creating a new habitat that sustains those late summer and early fall plants, flowers, and creatures. Seasons.

The morning light filtered through the tree branches at the edge of the meadow casts a mysterious, divine glow, as the summer sun rises. The rays force their way between pinecone laden branches burnishing the meadow with a lemony, pure, white light. Each light ray is distinct and discernable, stretching out beyond the trees to touch a specific spot.  These bold rays are in sharp contrast to the meadow area still in shadows. The lighting produces an ethereal, other worldly feeling where one might fancy seeing a forest sprite or fairy, dancing and flitting through old growth and flowers. A supernatural spotlight.

The Divine is palpable and alive in this place. The Creator is here in this beautiful meadow. It is ancient ways, knowledge and mystery, the connection between living things and continuous rebirth.

The cool morning air is becoming warmer as the sun continues its climb. I have been out here for a while, feeling as one with nature and this meadow. The early morning creature energy is slowing to a lazier, relaxed pace, slipping into the routine and warmth of late morning and early afternoon.

It is time to get on with the day. I feel melancholy and wistful as my time in the meadow comes to an end for this trip. Life will go on uninterrupted after I head down the mountain. It is as if I’m leaving part of myself here with the meadow to be picked up at my next visit; to recharge and restore what life has depleted. Is it strange to feel so connected to a place?  

Divine connections and encounters are a blessing. It feels like hope.  I will treasure these sights, scents, and sounds until next time, when I sense the meadow’s welcoming arms and soothing call to come and sit a spell.

Sowing and Reaping

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Galatians 6:7-10 (The Message) “Don’t be misled: No one makes a fool of God. What a person plants, he will harvest. The person who plants selfishness, ignoring the needs of others—ignoring God!—harvests a crop of weeds. All he’ll have to show for his life is weeds! But the one who plants in response to God, letting God’s Spirit do the growth work in him, harvests a crop of real life, eternal life. So, let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don’t give up or quit. Right now, therefore, every time we get the chance, let us work for the benefit of all, starting with the people closest to us in the community of faith.”

While sipping my coffee early this morning I came across the above verse in Galatians. “What a person plants, he will harvest.” Hmm. The words “will harvest” do not give any wiggle room, do they? The Apostle Paul is not mincing words when he penned this verse. We WILL harvest what we plant. If we choose to plant acid words, toxic behavior, and selfishness, we WILL harvest these very things in our lives. The very things we desperately want to avoid. What are we planting, and do we like what that harvest will produce and reproduce?

Imagine with me a typical day. In this day, each of us have myriad opportunities to plant good things, but will we?

We wake up tired and irritated due to a sleepless night. We throw ourselves out of bed, mentally ticking off all the things we must do. Our tread is heavy and annoyed as we head to the kitchen for our coffee. Waiting for it to brew, we decide it is unfair that everyone else sleeps soundly in our house and we become increasingly irritated noticing dirty dishes in the sink. The injustice of it all makes us choose to be noisier than necessary as we prepare coffee, feed the animals, and shove the offending dishes around in the sink. Making noise that might wake up the sound sleepers, which it does. This pervasive annoyance follows and taints the rest of the morning as we get ready for the day. We already decided it is going to stink and be full of further difficulties and irritations. The seeds are planted, and we unknowingly begin harvesting. Our encounters with others will have a ripple effect with lasting repercussions.

Sitting at a stop light, we refuse to let another driver merge in front of us who found herself in the wrong lane; too bad for them we think. Our rude stare and aggressive driving make us feel justified yet intensifies our frustration. Our actions plant seeds of fear, defensiveness, and worry in the woman to whom we refused to give a seed of grace. This hurtful and frightening exchange will travel with her as she goes about her day, infecting everyone in her sphere. The ripple effect. It is powerful.

At the grocery store, our demeanor is aloof and unreachable. The older man in the aisle with us attempts a friendly chat about the soup he is going to make for his lunch and how he enjoys good bread with that soup. We refuse to engage and throw an insincere half-smile his way, mumble and forcefully steer our cart further down the aisle, leaving him wounded, rejected and humiliated. Who has time for idle blabbing when we are tired and annoyed? Ripples.

In the checkout line, we queue up behind a mom with two young kids. They are noisy and difficult. Arrogant and nasty, we loudly sigh, passive – aggressively showing offense and annoyance, exasperating an already frazzled Mama. She wonders if she is failing at mothering…more ripples. Sowing and reaping, the day goes on with anger, hopelessness, pain, and grief as our harvest. It is a vicious cycle and one we could have redeemed.

What might have happened had we chosen to plant different seeds? We might wake up tired and moody. We might not want to dig deep and change our perspective to view ourselves as gardeners to another’s soul. That is tiring and hard and counter intuitive. But…we can vent all that frustration and exhaustion to our Father who gives us strength and energy to plant seeds of hope, happiness, peace, and compassion. 

The irritating driver in the wrong lane is on her way to a Dr appointment that has her terrified and unable to concentrate for fear of test results. Planting seeds of compassion and kindness, by letting her in front of us with a friendly wave and smile, will vastly change the trajectory of her day. Our compassion might infuse her with peace, safety, and warm feelings of human kindness. A harvest of peace and compassion with lasting ripples.

The older man in the grocery store is suffering from deep grief and loneliness after the loss of his cherished wife. This was his first outing since her passing, and he simply needed to be seen, heard, and shown genuine kindness. By stopping to chat about how tasty soup and good bread can be, his loneliness is held at bay for a few minutes. Planting seeds of time, attention, kindness, and companionship grant him the confidence that he can do this; that he will be ok. He will know that he is seen, worth noticing and not a forgotten, old face in a sea of humanity. A harvest of compassion, healing and comfort that cost us a few moments.

The mom in the checkout line feels like a failure; like she cannot do this right and is not fit to be a mother. Planting seeds of compassion, encouragement, humor, and camaraderie in parenting let her know she is seen and understood, infusing her with confidence and patience with her children. Realizing she is doing a good job and is not alone and forgotten in this, will completely rework the tone and outcome of the day for her and her children.

We get to choose how we interact with those God places in our path. We choose what seeds we plant. It is a choice, and it is not an easy one. It takes asking the One who is perfectly unselfish, perfectly compassionate, full of mercy, loving and all wise, to give us His strength, discernment, and love.

I am grateful for the days that my family, friends and total strangers make the choice to plant good things into my soul. The smile from a stranger, the friendly exchange over berries in the produce aisle, the text “Hey, thinking of you today,” or an unexpected compliment on a day that is tough, carry so much weight. Bad days are transformed in minutes by someone with a heart full of good seeds, who takes a moment to plant a few in mine. These seed planters will reap a harvest of goodness, generosity, compassion and hope with the potential to reproduce one hundred-fold. This is the garden I want to be known for; one that produces good and makes a positive dent in my little sphere.

My Garden

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

My garden is a quiet place; a tranquil oasis that beckons when my mind and body are overwhelmed, parched and in need of peace.  The haphazard, random way I choose the spot for each plant may feel a bit chaotic to the more organized and regimented soul, but for me, I find immense peace and joy in the random and untamed order of it all. There is peace and rest in the chaos. 

The purple Catmint and Lantana along with the bright yellow Yarrow are a riot of tumbling blooms that spread as they wish; seeming to luxuriate in their boldness to overtake what they will. The white Guara, reaching high, looks like little butterflies dancing about on the wavy stems. The gentle Lavender is unassuming and lovely yet dominates its corner of the garden. The Sage, Fuchsia, Freesia, Primrose, and Geranium show off gorgeous splashes of purples, reds, pinks, and yellows, while the stately ferns are calming with their greenery.  A favorite scent of Jasmine wafts on the air as it climbs the fence and trellis.

There are fairies, angels, memorials to beloved pets and random garden décor that also grace my garden. Seeing them peeking out from around a mass of flowers makes me smile. The unexpected amid chaos and beauty…

Chattering and bubbly, the 3-tier fountain splashes and soothes; water cascading down the pineapple top tier, beckoning birds to take a sip and a bath. It’s calming to watch and listen as they bathe, call, and survey the garden, hunting for choice grubs and seeds. Two more birdbaths are placed throughout the yard to host birds, as well as squirrels, opossums, bees, and the occasional neighborhood cat.

The tall, purple-bloomed Butterfly Bush and the Fuji apple tree provide shade for the stone bench underneath their branches. It’s in another part of the garden which provides a different perspective; one can feel hidden, and a bit removed while resting there.

When it’s time to do some pruning, the honeybees and large black and yellow bumblebees allow me access to their plants while keeping a sharp eye on my activity.  Some fly up near my head and hover there, inspecting me and gauging my intentions. Respect and harmony in the garden.

Sitting at the wood picnic table I watch all the garden life and activity. Nourishment, community, rest, and safety happen here, as God’s creatures bathe, pollinate, eat, and gossip, doing what they were made to do. I love being part of it all, in my little slice of nature.

Perhaps if you close your eyes, you will hear the chatter of the birds as they gossip, sip and search for breakfast along the fence and under the flowers. Maybe you will discover a hidden fairy or turtle and see the busy bees flitting with purpose from bloom to bloom. The perky splash of the 3-tiered fountain might soothe and restore peace to your soul. Some of the heaviness you carry might lift, as you listen to the bold, russet squirrels scolding the big, black crows over peanuts; the scent of Jasmine swirling around you on the puffy breeze.

The tinkling wind chimes add their flavor of peace, as all the elements of the garden blend beautifully, order yet chaos, to bring serenity and restoration to a tired soul. The Creator uses this small oasis, in the middle of a neighborhood, to blend the right mix of joy, rest, peace and chuckles at creature antics to refresh and restore the spirit. Now it’s time to begin the day and hide in my heart the peace and refreshment I found in my garden.

Soul Garden

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In the early light of this Spring morning, I survey my garden. Hot coffee warms my chilled hands. Birds line up along the edge of the fence and sit in the leafy, budding plum tree. The squirrels peer and chatter from the branches of the fig and apple trees, letting me know I’m late. They wait for the thistle, peanuts and cracked corn they expect me to toss out for them.

From my seat at the patio table, I see that the new plants I have carefully placed in the earth, along with the returning perennials, are thriving and sending up their tender shoots.  The time, energy, sweat and joy that fertilized them is paying off. It is exciting to see new life and growth return after a season of quiet resting.

Mother Nature begins her whispering and coaxing, and the tender new growth responds. So much happens below the surface, before these tender stems and leaves are ready to push upward and outward. Root systems are established and require a certain amount of strength and depth before sending up the shoots. It’s all carefully orchestrated and set in motion when the Creator determines the timing is just right.

As I admire my garden, a thought begins to take shape in my mind, and I wonder where Jesus is going with it. What if the fellow humans I encounter in life, are like a garden of the soul? I start with a plot of earth and carefully turn, work, and fertilize the dirt with time, tears, laughter, and love. As I bump up against these people, I smile in delight as I find just the ones to add to my soul garden. They fit perfectly! I scoop them up, carefully and gently planting them; nurturing, and tending, removing weeds and obstacles, giving time and attention. I watch as tendrils of common interest, branches of stability and longevity, flowers of laughter, buds of adventure, and the fragrance of kindness and vulnerability perfume my garden. Everything blends well and the beauty is nourishing to my soul. Peaceful. Safe. I belong.

However, not all the flowers and bushes are thriving and healthy in my soul garden. Some are old, spent and have lived out their flowering season, taking up the space where another might thrive. The annuals were there for a season and won’t return but leave behind nice memories. Some have become hardened, woody, and impenetrable, no longer blooming, or showing any growth.  Others stubbornly resist any sort of pruning, fertilizing or change and stay stumped and thwarted, no longer lovely.  The Master Gardener says it is time to begin weeding.

Weeding the soul garden can be sad, hard, and frightening, but necessary. I get to choose, and so do you, who and what is allowed to take up space there. These choices can mean life, joy and flourishing for our souls or stunted growth, disappointment and hurt.  There is a lot that is bound up in the roots of who I allow in that sacred place. Layer upon layer of energy, laughter, tears, shared history, and effort are mixed and blended to keep it all alive. The dying back, pruning and even the uprooting of those that were carefully planted, can be brutal and harsh, leaving a hole and a void for loneliness to sprout up.

I believe that Jesus views that hole and the loneliness as a prime plot of land in which to plant Himself. It is impossible to have a need that He cannot meet. In the loneliness of the weeding season, He will pour into us all of Himself.  He is enough.  We are seen, we are safe, and we are known. Our needs will be met, and our roots will be strengthened and built up for the growing season that is to come. The dirt in our soul garden will be nurtured and watered with His wisdom, healing, and joy, but He will sift, filter, and discard all that is not in sync with His master plan. That is painful, yet we know there is beauty in this pain. He knows why a once vibrant and healthy-looking part of our soul garden now needs to be pruned or uprooted and completely removed. He sees all that is going on underneath the surface, where growth takes place and roots either thrive or rot.  He knows when our souls need a respite from nurturing others, so we can be nurtured, replenished, and tended to with love, attention, and mercy by the Master Gardener. The world and all that is in it, is still at His beck and call. He is fully aware of those others who are coming along in the next seasons; those who will once again cause us to gasp, smile and make room in our garden for a bloom with the exact fragrance needed, in just the right season, for our souls to thrive. There is peace in knowing that after an anonymous winter of quiet cultivation by our Father, a lovely, bursting spring is waiting to captivate us with the joy of new growth and unexpected blooms. Psalm 126:5-6 (New Living Translation) says, “those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. They weep as they go to plant their seed, but they sing as they return with the harvest.”

The Tapestry

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 1 Comment

The wool threads display the richest of colors as they flow across the loom; some vibrant and brilliant, which immediately draw the eye and capture attention, while other shades and hues are subdued, calming and deep, visible only to those who truly see. The Master Weaver has been at His work forever and He will not stop until it is completed. His breath creates and calls into existence that which was not, into what is. His thoughts and His songs, His glance and His robes are all part of the Divine dance that weave and blend to make a way where there wasn’t one.  Supernatural, un-stoppable, beautiful.

We each have a unique tapestry. No tapestry is the same, yet our individual threads intersect, overlap, advance and retreat as the tapestry is woven and the Creator’s plans come into being. What He sends forth will not return void. It will accomplish the exact and perfect purpose for which it was sent. Perfection. Mysterious. Holy.

I imagine an open space that is peaceful and joyful, where the Master does His creating. It is a place filled with pure, flowing water, incense, and beauty. It is called Holy Ground. This sacred spot is where the weaving happens. It is precious and well-guarded. There is joy, tender love, hurt, and tears in this place. Laughter and grief intermingle and twine about each other in a dance that is gorgeous, fierce, and completely untamed; terrifying and yet carefully orchestrated.  Who can contain and control what Heaven has spoken and breathed into life?

The individual tapestries stand alone, yet they do not. Each one is carefully and precisely ordered to intersect, surprise and flow into the others. Each tapestry is necessary for the others to come to fruition. Certain tapestries will be woven together for a lifetime, others for a few moments, years, days, or seasons. Some may barely skim the borders of another, yet there is a Divine purpose for the skimming and the overlapping, the touching, and intersecting. The Creator knows and that is enough. He sees it for how it is, how it was, and He will see it long after we are called home. Perhaps we will see His master plan with unveiled eyes, once blurred from striving to understand, force or remove these divine intersections.  What is woven together can’t be undone by the tapestry. All the struggling is futile and distracts from the beauty unfolding minute by minute in front of us. No, we can’t foresee, tame and reverse that which was breathed by Holy breath into existence.  This is where hope and faith must come into play. There are lessons that must be learned, hurts healed, and other tapestries that need the colors, hues, and patterns the Weaver chose to color your life tapestry.  These will not always blend in perfect harmony. This mixture will at times appear chaotic and unsafe, as if they should not have been allowed to brush against each other. The Master Craftsman knows how it all unfolds because He saw it from the beginning. Alpha and Omega.

What appears as chaos, pain, and discord in the moment is part of the dance. He knows the steps because He created them. We can’t pretend to understand the whys and purposes behind His plan, but one day I hope we will. When the final thread in our tapestry is woven and the Weaver shepherds us into the place called Holy Ground, we will see how it all blends into something lovely, ordered, and precise and we will stand in awe of it; smiling through tears of understanding, as the height, breadth, and depth of His perfect love covers us. We will watch in fascination, as the remaining tapestries are sung and danced over, breathed upon, and woven together until He leans back from His loom, declares it is finished, and brings His masterpieces home, to be forever displayed in the Most Holy Place, for all of eternity.

The old barn

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I glimpse it from the country road. It’s down the next gentle curve, off on a little used side road, possibly forgotten; full of ruts, some potholes and waving, faded wild flowers; abandoned yet peaceful. This calls to me. So beautiful.

Turning off the road, I follow the pocked and tumbled lane, carefully maneuvering, following the faded track to the old, falling down barn. It’s graceful and lovely. There is history here. Stories abound within these wind and weather scoured timbers. I need to see it, feel it, breathe it in.

Pulling off the jutted lane, I stop the car, quietly get out and just stand a minute. Absorbing, listening, watching. The silence begins to speak and it is a beautiful language, the silence. I know it well and it feels like a comfortable old quilt; old, wise, full of life and so many possibilities. It has so much to say; and the wisdom – the wisdom gained from silence is not lost on me.

To the left of the ramshackle barn, an old oak tree still casts shade and shadows; it has weathered much. A thick, frayed rope swings lightly in the breeze. Maybe a tire swing hung there, propelling its riders on so many adventures; the freedom of flight!

There’s a bird house tacked to the upper part of the old oak that’s seen better days. Part of the tiny roof is missing and something has gnawed a small hole in the floor of it. Someone, a child perhaps, painted a welcome sign above the bitty door to the birdhouse. Welcome Home, it says, in faded orange paint. Closing my eyes, I see and hear the many families this old house has sheltered through the years. Mamas and babies and the first tentative attempts at flight; the swooping, diving, bug catching and seed collecting. Nature doing its thing in a never ending cycle.

Standing in the silence, I hear a cheeky giggling, bubbling coming from the other side of the barn. A creek! Gingerly making my way, I brush through tall meadow grasses and an assortment of wild flowers that have claimed the long forgotten space. The happy water-sounds call to me. I find the creek and simply watch for a bit; listening and observing. I don’t know the origin of this pretty creek. It snakes through the gentle rises and falls of this land, making its way to the destination meant for it. It is not daunted by obstacles. It goes over, under or around as it can; it always finds a way and there is always a path for it – an end-point. I wonder if it knows that it carries so much life in its twists and turns and frothy bubbling. On the quieter edges, I see tiny fish gathering in the sunny spots and darting away as my shadow falls on them. I think I see a crawdad and I hear a wood pecker hammering on the old oak. I spend some time here by this creek. The joy in the nature-chatter of it makes me feel happy and somehow ancient and in tune with Mother Earth.

The abandoned barn still beckons and I respond. I imagine it in its heyday. I think it was a reddish color, but it is so weathered and sun and wind burned that it’s exact color is hard to determine. How proud it must have looked when it was first erected! I picture pick up trucks full of neighbors and wood and nails, helping build it. The lively shouts and laughter as they worked together must have been comforting and friendly. Was there a barn raising party here after the work was done? It’s big enough inside that I envision a long trestle table filled with vittles and cold lemonade and ice water. Comradery. Life lived and protected under the timbers and beams.

A rusted old pitchfork is leaning jauntily against what looks like an old stall. Did a horse live here? The railings are falling down and a couple are broken and jagged. Further in, old withered ropes are looped on lichen covered hooks and a broken-down wheel barrow sits. There is a remnant of loft beams overhead, long tumbled and rickety. A hole in the roof speaks of heavy snows that over the years weakened and dashed the beams. How lovely, quiet and breath-taking this barn must be, covered in the powdery white of a snow-fall. I will be back to see that.

Large tufts of grasses, a ripped old sack and abandoned hay look to be patted down, in the left side corner of the old barn. A creature finds shelter here, warm and safe, despite the battered look of this old barn. Looks are deceiving. The barn’s skeleton and frame are still useful and needed. Life is still very much present here. I find that comforting. The outer glory and flash of this barn may be diminished, but it still shelters. It is still needed, but in a quieter and gentler way. Roof beams directly above me have been claimed as home by birds. I can see the nests, abandoned at the moment, but ready for the return of nature; all in its perfect timing.

The large, half cracked open door at the back of the barn, hangs on dilapidated hinges that have their fair share of rust; parts of them just holes, eaten through by time, wind, heat. I carefully make my way to that door. There on the side beam that forms the support for the door, is the name Jill, written in squiggly, nail-cut writing. There is a heart and a cat and a smiley face etched nearby. This barn had stories and adventures lived out inside it’s walls. I wonder if Jill told this old barn her secrets; are they contained in the walls and the beams?

The wind picks up a bit and through the chinks and cracks, it whispers and sighs. Its breath is new and fresh, yet has all the undercurrents of time passed, secrets and hints of the supernatural Divine. The old and ancient, ramshackle and run-down have so much to teach us. Nothing is entirely as it seems on first look. What appears to be abandoned and useless often carries far more than the passing glance reveals. Life needs the old things. Cracked and weathered beams still protect and teach and shelter. There are safe, soft corners that can be missed if overlooked.

A squirrel chatters nearby and a bird trills and scolds. I give another look and listen to the old barn. It is time to go. I won’t soon forget this old barn. What a welcome detour it has been, this reconnection to the silence and healing of the old, time-worn and abandoned. “Thank you,” I tell it. “I will be back.”

Blessed

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

My new coffee mug has the word Blessed inscribed across the front of it; letters big and bold, like a confident declaration. When I saw that mug on the shelf, it called out to me. I had to have it; I want to feel blessed and be blessed.

This New Year’s morning, I sat at my favorite spot at my table, where I look outside my slider and watch the morning unfold. There is often a variety of early birds at the feeders who are singing, as they jostle for position, waiting their turn; sometimes with nice attitudes and other times, not. There are the other birds, scratching and scritching among the garden debris, ferreting out whatever treasures are hidden in the rich dirt. Watching these birds go about their daily business, I began to think about the word blessed. The dictionary says it means consecrated; holy; sacred; blissfully happy or contented. These words are beautiful. I do want to be these words, feel these words, live in these words.

I have often thought of living blessed and being blessed as something elusive, more like a thought or an elevated idea, than something I could truly capture, do and live inside of each day. As I pondered my birds and the beauty of a new morning, in a new year, I  began to see that the word blessed is not a higher thought on a difficult to achieve spiritual plane.

Imagine a typical day, in which you wake up and grab your coffee in your favorite mug. Perhaps you watch the morning unfold in front of you on your patio with a soft breeze floating past you; all kinds of sounds and scents in the air. What if during this peaceful time, you began to feel grateful that you are alive; able to see and smell and experience nature going about its business in the Divine order of things? Is that not be sacred and pure; bringing you bliss and contentment? What if during your ordinary day, you witness a startling and unusual act of kindness, that causes you to pause, maybe tear up and have your faith in humanity and goodness restored, if even for a moment? Is that not holy? Is that intersection of the Divine and the human, not sacred ground? Hmmm. I wonder when I’m making dinner, if I play worship music that brings me into the Divine presence of Jesus, or when I pour out my heart to my Father – the good, the terrible, the truth of my heart – on a walk in my neighborhood, if those places become sacred, holy, and divine. Blessed. Blissful happiness, contentment.

But…what if the day isn’t full of things that make me blissfully happy and content? The car accident that totals the car, the child that makes a very poor choice that has lasting ramifications and you see no clear way out of it. Maybe cruel words were hurled in the heat of the moment and they can’t be taken back. Maybe there is a diagnosis you never saw coming. Is there room here to declare “I am blessed?” Yes. Yes, you can declare yourself blessed. Some blessings come after the hurt and wounds. The Divine often shows up in miraculous ways, turning devastation into glory, failure into victory, wounding into strength and the impossible into something to be remembered in awe and reverence, because there seemed to be no good ending, yet there was.  I truly believe that to live blessed, one has to be alert and try to find it. It won’t always show up immediately and may not be dressed up in blissful happiness and a cute outfit. It may come dirty, scuffed up, straggling and a bit off kilter, but I do believe it will come. I have seen it come in both forms and both are equally holy, sacred, consecrated. Blessed.

At this start of 2020, I want to live expecting to be a blessed person. I’m not good at it yet, I confess, but I want to be. I want to bloom where I am planted and thrive there, no matter what it looks like. Maybe we can do this together? I absolutely believe that the holy, divine, sacred and blissful happiness is all around us, waiting with open arms for us to slow down and seek it. What is sought will be found. May we see it, grab hold and never let go!

 

Anniversary

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

This simple word holds a lot of meaning. It’s definition is “the date on which an event took place in a previous year.” It doesn’t say that this event was particularly good, bad or otherwise, but it often represents something significant; something that is seared in your memory and that has long reaching effects on life going forward. Marriage is one of the first events that typically comes to mind, along with birthdates, first day of school, graduation, first job, death of a loved one.

For me, this time of year is the anniversary of an event that was completely unwelcome, blindsiding, shocking and heartbreaking. Nine years ago, on November 23rd, 2010 my Doctor told my husband and I that I had breast cancer. It was the day before Thanksgiving. I find that ironic. Thanksgiving, when we are supposed to count our blessings, be grateful, go around the beautifully decorated table and list 3 things and people we are thankful for that year. It is supposed to be happy, full of laughs, calm, restful; full of blessings and appreciation. That is not at all how I felt nor did my family.  It was a time of sadness, fear, helplessness, not knowing if I would be alive the following year, deep anger and many emotions that I still, to this day, do not have adequate words to describe. I was not thankful.

The next several years were full of chemo, radiation, Herceptin, anti nausea and various other meds pumped into me 24/7. There were prods, pokes, surgeries and so many scans and tests, blood work and scares and triumphs. And every year, the anniversary of one of the worst days of my life.

Yet…now that there is some distance from that first anniversary, now that the scares come less often as well as the blood work and tests, I find I am thankful. The scares and fears are still there on some level and will always be with me and I’m ok with that. What I learned through this experience and living through these anniversaries has taught me more about life and God’s love, compassion and mercy than anything else could have. I’m not in control of everything and it’s not my job to be.

There are those who say forget the past and all that it brings up, focus only on the good and positive. I agree on a certain level, however, I don’t believe in erasing those things God allowed into our lives for a specific season and purpose, because nothing touches us that He doesn’t first filter through His hands. Nothing. Life, death, pain, heartbreak, joy, triumph and victory. It all serves a purpose and will be used for good. I can’t say I know how it will all be used, and I won’t say it might not break our hearts, but I 100% believe it is and it will be used for good. The imagery of God’s hands filtering and sifting events, people and circumstances that enter my life makes me feel safe and valuable and protected.

This anniversary is one I will not forget. I will not try to stuff it all down or put it away. I let it come each year and I let the emotions that are attached to it flow. It isn’t easy and parts of it still hurt, but there are many parts of the memories that don’t hurt anymore, because I see clearly how close Jesus was to me. For that I can say that I’m thankful. He had and still does, have a divine purpose in all of this. This trauma brought me close to Jesus. It had to, because I had nothing else to cling to and no other hope but in Him.

So this Thanksgiving and the anniversary of my cancer diagnosis is a reminder to me that there is hope in Jesus for every single circumstance that is allowed my way. I don’t know what your anniversaries are and I don’t know the impact they have had on your life and the lives of those you love, but I do know that God was there on that first anniversary and He is here right now. He saw you then and He sees you now. You are not alone and He is working it all out. It may be hard, frightening, a wild ride full of joy and victory, love and loss and new seasons, but in the midst of it all there is hope, extravagant hope!

Psalm 119:114 NLT

You are my refuge and my shield; your word is my source of hope.

Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”