divine

Strength

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

I collect coffee mugs. It makes me happy to open my cupboard, view all the mugs with the various pictures, words, and shapes, go with my gut feeling and choose a mug for my morning coffee. Perhaps it seems fanciful, but often the mug I choose directly correlates to my moods or what might be going on in life at the moment.

Over the last few weeks, the ones I’ve chosen reflect a combination of peace, calm, and strength. This morning I chose a simple, white mug with STRENGTH. on the front of it. Something about the quiet, simple words written in all capital letters with that final period at the end, just sang out to me. It isn’t fancy and eye catching. It is quiet yet firm, fierce, and unwavering – STRENGTH.

Strength is defined in so many ways. I find it fascinating the way this word is resonating, settling in, and making itself comfortable through circumstances, through a season of sifting and sorting of relationships, through life changes ebbing and flowing, and my relationship with Jesus.

We often imagine strength as something that needs heft – to be loud and obvious and it is in some ways. Physical strength is something I work on as I want to be strong as I navigate aging and continue doing the outdoorsy things that I love – hiking, camping, gardening. Isaiah 46:4 is such a kind and safe verse, assuring us that even when our physical strength does wane, we will be safe and secure. “I will be your God throughout your lifetime – until your hair is white with age. I made you and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.”

I am blessed in my current season of life as a military mom to have found courageous women to connect with and befriend. These lovely women get it. They understand how hard, rewarding, pride-filled and terrifying this season is with the unknowns, sudden changes, interrupted plans, loneliness, fears, the times when our soldiers are silent – trusting that “no news is good news”, and believing that God has them in His hands. Witnessing the strength these women display daily gives me hope, happiness, strength, resilience, and a safe place. I am truly grateful for them and their friendship in this season. This is a strength that is silent and often unseen, but incredibly powerful. The Master Weaver knew all along that our paths would intersect at this season in our lives. He knew how much these connections and friendships would mean and the strength we would glean from each other, and this shared experience.

As life ebbs and flows and life seasons come and go, I find there is a quiet yet fierce strength in the letting go, in the setting of boundaries and sometimes in the loss of relationships that you were sure would last a lifetime. This strength is a tough one because it is born from pain, loss, rejection, and heartache. But, if we rest in the assurance that our Creator is acutely aware of every nuance of our lives and is weaving something beautiful from these changes, pain, and the lovely surprises He plants along the way, we will see that He is strengthening and preparing us for the next season.

There is another type of strength I’ve found as my journey with Jesus continues to evolve with the circumstances He’s allowed in my life. I am learning to embrace that I am unique and so are you. I commune and spend time with Him in the specific way He created me to do, and it infuses me with peace, strength, and joy. It may not look the same for you and that’s a wonderful thing.  I have spent too much time putting myself in a religious box that isn’t meant for me and oftentimes feeling a check in my spirit that something is off-kilter – that I’m not being who God designed me to be.

There is a powerful strength in embracing the way you are created to have a personal relationship with Jesus. The feelings of safety, love, purpose, value, and compassion are beautiful and precious things. It isn’t our strength, but His, that will flow, bathe, and restore our tired and frazzled souls – strengthening us for the life path He is waiting for us to walk with Him. I hope we will let go, seek out and enjoy the journey. I think we will be surprised and delighted to see how much strength can be found in unexpected places. Divine whispers are all around just waiting for us to be strong in the silence and the waiting as we discover the beauty in the adventures ahead.

The Country Chapel

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The weathered white wood of the simple spire comes into view as I crest the gentle hill.

The narrow dirt road leading to the country chapel is overgrown with tufts of sturdy grasses and haphazard rocks. It’s rutted and a bit uneven from so many years of weather, shoes and tires making their way to church.

The land around the chapel is wild and untamed. Nature has reclaimed this place and surrounded it with beauty, as if cradling the abandoned chapel in lovely colors and peace, so much peace.  It feels protected and safe. The Creator is here.

Tall, wispy flowers and assorted meadow grasses bend and sway as a light breeze sighs through, bringing movement and faint whisperings of years gone by.

An old pine tree rises up just behind and to the right of the old chapel. The branches are thick and heavy with a few quirky curves to its old trunk. The old tree has seen and heard so much life, death, joy, and sorrow. The tattered remnants of a rope swing sway and shift with the breeze. Visions of ponytails sailing out behind the swinger with shrieks of joy as the swing takes its rider higher and higher! Freedom!

Looking up, I see leaves, sticks and a piece of bright red yarn entwined and fashioned into a sturdy nest settled into the crook of a branch. Humanity may have abandoned this country chapel, but nature still finds shelter and a home here.

Taking a seat on a weathered stone bench under the tree, I imagine these pine branches shading long tables of cold, homemade lemonade, tasty potluck dishes and desserts on a warm Sunday afternoon, as congregants share a meal and life together.  If I listen closely, I hear muted laughter and the sharing of gossip and recipes passed down through the years. Those family recipes will make an appearance at every potluck gathering. Belonging.

Becoming more accustomed to the sounds of silence, I hear bird song and buzzing bugs along with the creak and groan of the old pine settling and shifting with the breeze and old age. A fluffy, grey squirrel spies on me as it chatters and flicks its tail. One could sit here all day letting the imagination and nostalgia go where they will…

I make my way to the offset wooden steps of the chapel that creak and shift under my feet. The wooden door’s paint is peeling, and the bottom has been gnawed and scratched by a creature seeking shelter.

Inside the chapel the hush and silence are palpable. High windows are covered in dust and streaks with a few broken and missing panes, but the light that streams in is lovely and warm – like an invitation to come and rest.

There are ten rows of off-kilter pews on each side of the chapel with a few missing or cracked in places. A tattered red-leather hymnal lies on the edge of one. Some of the pages have been nibbled off and perhaps taken as bedding for a small creature that found safety here.

As I move forward between the rows, I notice one pew has initials carved into the wood, KC was here. Another has a stick horse and flowers etched into it. Lorraine loves James is written in orange pen on the back of one with some little hearts surrounding the words. Life was lived here.

The altar is simple and pure on its raised-up flooring. It appears to be handmade and sturdy. It’s beautiful. Echoes of sermons, wedding vows and funeral memorials whisper and float on the still, dust-moted air. The chapel may be abandoned but it’s holy and alive with memories.

I sit for a bit in the front pew and allow the peace, mystery, and silence of this old chapel to speak and heal. It does. The supernatural is afoot. It can be felt in the slight shiver that pricks the back of the neck and dances along the spine. There is no room for fear here; it’s lovely, divine, and healing. Beautiful.

The light begins to shift as the day moves on and I head to the side door leading out to the left. It’s loose on the rusty hinges and makes a squeaking noise as I push it open and go out.

A lopsided picnic bench sits in the shade of an old, gnarled cherry tree. The legs hidden by the meadow grasses – the keepers of this place.  Sitting in the shade, I take in the weathered boards, streaked windows and lonely cross that sits atop the small spire of this country chapel. I’m struck with the thought that the Father met with his beloved within those walls. He healed, loved, and wept with them. He rejoiced, danced, and comforted them. The sacred holiness of that still permeates and flits within those abandoned walls. But we mustn’t try to contain Him inside physical walls, exclusivity, strict rules, or joyless routine. No! He is found under the gnarled old tree where someone sat pouring out their deepest heart wounds and pain. He heard every word, healed, and exchanged the pain for joy and peace. He did this as the birds sang, wildflowers soothed with their beauty and the breeze took the prayers and cries tossing them up into His ever-open hands to receive, heal and restore. He isn’t tame, safe, or containable. His love is fierce, wild, joy-filled and all consuming. He can be found within the walls of a sweet country chapel, but just as often I find Him in the wild places with dancing wildflowers, leafy trees, creatures, and breathtaking beauty.

My time here is complete. So many lessons learned from the old and abandoned. This country chapel with its divine murmurs and lonely beauty spoke volumes to me as I sat in the memories, nostalgia and quiet. This old chapel and the nature that cradles and shelters it healed, comforted, and spoke to my soul in ways a spoken word never could. Divine whispers float and swirl all around us – may we have the ears to hear it and hearts to discern it.

Hallowed

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

To make holy; consecrated.

To me, the word hallowed evokes a mysterious and magical feeling. Visions swirl in my mind of sacred, lovely light, and silence – a sense of something in the atmosphere that crackles with divine prophesy. Holy ground, a place where angels and heavenly beings tread.

In my limited understanding of all things Divine, these images and feelings are evoked by the knowledge that a place deemed hallowed has been consecrated and made holy by the divine presence of God. His actual presence in a place.

Imagine a quiet neighborhood in the early morning hours, still sleepy from a night of peaceful rest. A man and his dog venture out for their morning constitutional. The beauty of the morning, the sleepy quiet of the houses as they walk, and the cool feel of the air on his skin brings a smile to his face and a lightness to his steps. There are some heavy things weighing on him and this lovely morning soothes his spirit and invites conversation with the Creator. As he spills his fears and concerns to his Father, he is enveloped in such peace; peace that shouldn’t be there in light of his circumstances and worry yet it is. The Father soothes, calms, and speaks provision and safety into his tired soul. Hallowed.

There is the woman on her bike, following the paved path through the city on her way to work. The busy street, impatient drivers, and slow-moving pedestrians blur as she frets over the presentation she will be giving to new clients, in a few hours. Is she prepared? Did she remember to hit all the important points? Will what she says make sense? As her mind tosses and panic tries to surface, she lifts up a quick prayer asking for wisdom, clarity, and courage. As she pedals, her thoughts come together more clearly as she is reminded of the hard work she put into this, the success she’s had in the past, and that she is enough and deeply loved. Her worries dim and fade. Excitement replaces fear as her tense shoulders and insides relax. The Lord is with her, she can do this. Hallowed.

A long day of hiking and rafting is complete. Night is falling in the campground. The campfire dances and sparks, giving off a warm, happy glow. As s’more fixings are passed between them, the older couple settles into their camp chairs to relax and unwind before heading to bed.  This is their favorite way to vacation. The peace of the Redwoods falls about them, filling them with a sense of belonging and joy. They find peace in nature. It restores them like nothing else. As they sit listening to the forest wind down for the night, lost in their thoughts, a comforting and mysterious feeling of being wrapped up and carefully tended to fill their souls. They know they are in the presence of the Holy One. Their little campground in the Redwoods is hallowed ground. The Creator is everywhere, whispering peace in the wind sighing through the tree branches, singing provision as His creatures scout and find nourishment in the nooks and crannies of the forest floor, and speaking joy into this journey of life in the snapping and crackling of the campfire. Hallowed ground.

Wherever life takes you today, I believe you will have myriad opportunities to be in the presence of the Divine; to walk, lie, and sit on hallowed ground as the Father whispers and shouts His love, protection, and presence. He is everywhere and Divine appointments are waiting for you.

Distractions

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

This has been on my mind, and I wonder if it resonates with you.

There is only one of us and it is wise to protect, care for and nurture ourselves. We have permission to say no, yes, maybe later or I don’t know. Those are good and valid responses. Long-winded, safely worded justifications for our need to care for ourselves are unnecessary.

When I travel, it resonates with me each time the flight attendant demonstrates the importance of putting the oxygen mask on us first, before attempting to assist someone else. This is exactly it. We need to breathe, function, and allow our physical body and brain to have that essential oxygen, or we won’t make it, and neither will anyone else we attempt to assist. Our minds and souls need the same care and concern – don’t they need to breathe? The process of our physical bodies and souls breathing may operate differently but both are essential. Our souls need time and space to reboot, reconnect, and take up some space – to simply rest. That looks different for each of us. Maybe you reboot in nature and fresh air where you can daydream. Perhaps you need a comfy chair, a favorite drink, and a good book to transport you to another time. Or maybe you like to putter and fuss around your house, garden, or cute boutique and just be.

As we move in close to what we are created to do and begin doing it, unexpected distractions, unresolved issues, and time hogs often rise up vying for our attention, attempting to drown out the whisper of the One leading you toward the good.

 Breakthroughs and divine exchanges happen as we move toward our purpose. The Creator removes situations and people as He reworks and rebuilds our souls and bodies as the passion placed in our hearts is ignited and the flames fed. The distractions are there to take away from the difference you will make in the sphere you are placed in, causing doubt, confusion, unhealthy thought patterns and exhaustion.

It’s ok to still yourself for a minute, five or thirty-five and just be. Ask the Whisper to speak louder, move in closer, and wrap you up a bit tighter. He filters out the distractions through the shield of His presence, protection, the authority of His voice and command of His gaze. The One who created you can silence and still ALL storms and remove obstacles that attempt to redirect and defeat. He offers carefully planned opportunities to rest allowing Him to breathe into us the air, peace and healing we need to continue our journey. I hope we all find that place of rest, welcome it in and invite it to stay for as long as needed.

December Moon

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The December night is dark and deep, stillness and chill seeping into bones despite the layering of coat, scarf, hat, gloves, and thick soled boots.

Footfall is muffled and shushed along the pine strewn path, boots stirring up the ancient scent of the woods and winter shrouded earth.

The hush of the forest has a particular sound – not truly silent to the careful observer, but full of the rustle, scurry, and purpose of those living in the night. Frigid air gives their purpose a new vigor with warm dens and beds of fern, pine needles and forest detritus waiting to give shelter.

Deep, full inhalations fill lungs to the brim with invigorating, life giving air. Oddly, the heavy chill, though it burns and startles, offers peace and affirmation of knowing one is alive and well. Sometimes it takes the cloak of a dark, wintry, forest-y night to bring clarity to the chaos and exposure of living in the light.

Rounding the curve in the path, the stillness of the pond with the shimmery moon-glow trail on the dark water is breathtaking. A path of light and love painted on the water by the brush strokes of One who loves to bring awe, redemption, and delight. Loved. Seen. Safe.

The sound of stealthy prowling comes from the edge of the pond as a night hunter shifts and waits for dinner. Circle of life.

Moving along as the chill ever deepens, the hooting of an owl adds to the frosty night noises – haunting and lovely it is primitive and wild.

The path around the pond circles back on itself and my boots head back to the cabin. Thoughts of the cheerful fire in the firepit on the deck and the warm sherpa blanket urge me onward at a brisker pace.

Wrapped in the cozy blanket, Irish coffee in the large Christmas mug warms my cold hands; steam rising merrily as the fire mesmerizes.

A scrabbling, crunchy noise interrupts my reveries as a creature moves about to the left of the deck, digging through pine needles and foliage for a midnight snack. Curious glowing eyes spy on me. The shadowy outline of a fat raccoon in the faint reach of the firelight watches me until curiosity wans and she moves along.

Leaning back in the deck chair the stars appear strewn about like so much glitter landing at random points. But nothing is truly random. The night sky is beautifully planned and decorated with patterns and puzzles of light created to lead the ancient traveler.

Frosty breath wafts up as if making its way to the austere moon that guides, watches and travels the night sky. Fascinating to imagine all the eyes that have looked up in the night for navigation and a sense of constancy in a world that doesn’t always appear that way. A balm to lonely souls, the shining beacon of light makes things feel safer and less chaotic.

The shepherds on that holy and silent night looked up into the same chilled, star filled sky that I see on my deck as the fire glows and snickers to itself. The same moon watched on as the Holy One became man, as angelic hosts filled the still and starry night with the most awe-inspiring, stunning display of power and love that humankind has ever known.

It is not by happenstance that eyes are drawn upward – seeking wisdom, direction, meaning; safety, love and blessed peace.

From a cold and silent winter night, filled with moonlight and stars came the Light of the world.  A Divine exchange between Creator and creation. Ultimate gift. Unconditional love. Emmanuel.

Warm bed beckons and I head inside, mind full of awe as I struggle to comprehend the enormity of the gift humanity was given on that night so long ago.

The old wood stove burns quiet, drowsy warmth. I curl up under quilts and comforters as the light of the moon gently glows through the snug window. Thoughts of angels, joy and eternity soothe and calm into restful sleep – a silent and holy night where all is calm and bright under a December moon.

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.

Angels

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Have you seen an angel or had an experience that’s left you full of wonder, mystery and so profoundly moved that you know you’ve encountered one? I would love to hear about it!

I absolutely believe angels exist. I believe we encounter them and their divine presence, as they carry out their God-ordained work among us, more often than we realize. We can miss these carefully orchestrated encounters because we are not actively looking for God’s presence, work and movement in our lives. The awe inspiring encounters that we do see and witness, are often minimized to chance and circumstances aligning and planets and serendipity. We are a busy, self-reliant and proud species, we humans. Admitting that Someone greater than ourselves keeps a close and constant watch over our every move, breath and encounter is hard to swallow, when pride slithers in and whispers that we don’t need anyone or anything. We’ve got this all under control. The idea that God already knows and has breathed into existence every single thing that we will encounter, in every moment of our lives is almost too much to bear. It is much easier to be fanciful and think that WE have actually done, seen, figured it all out.

Psalm 91:11 and 12 – “For He will order His angels to protect you wherever you go. They will hold you up with their hands so you won’t even hurt your foot on a stone.”

What might an angel encounter look like, feel like, be like? It won’t always be phenomenal, historical, widely broadcast and visible to multitudes of witnesses. It won’t always be a cast of heavenly hosts singing and welcoming the Savior into the world. But it is still divine, miraculous and history making for the one encountering an angel sent by God.

Maybe it looks like an accident that absolutely SHOULD have happened, but somehow, miraculously did not? Or it could be an encounter with a stranger that is so precise, needed, timely and perfect that there really isn’t another option, except for an angel encounter or a God-move that uses a common human to fulfill a divine plan. Perhaps someone shows up at exactly the right time, provides aid and kindness and completely disappears before a word of thanks can be offered; no one else saw or encountered that person, but you and it’s truly beyond explanation; but it isn’t, is it? God commands His angels to be all around and about us every single place we go. No, they are not God and are not to be worshipped, but they are commanded by God. They are about His business in our lives. That brings me comfort, despite the fact that bad things do still happen. Not every sad, tragic, frightening thing is kept from us and that is beyond what I can explain. But, God knows and He sees and He filtering, constantly, everything that touches us.

Several years ago, my son and I were driving on I-5 toward Redding, CA. All was fine and low-key until it wasn’t. A car passing us suddenly lost it’s entire drivers side wheel. It shot straight in front of our car, bounced and flew backwards, heading directly for our windshield. We were in the fast lane, 70 mph +/- with a guardrail to the right and the swerving car with the missing wheel to left. In slow motion, I watched in terror as that wheel was shooting straight at us. At the absolute last moment, it veered completely opposite it’s trajectory path, physically impossible, as if something with an incredible amount of force pushed it, and the wheel hit the guard rail and totally stopped, no injuries to anyone. My son and I would surely have been killed or gravely injured that day, had angels not intervened and brought that spinning tire under God’s control. The divine among us.

Another time, a casual walk in the park suddenly became a very frightening encounter with a stranger intent on harming me. The man and the danger were circumvented and not permitted, as I felt Jesus telling me exactly what to do and say and physically felt His command and His angels’ presence blocking the man and event that was meant for evil. These are but two of the angel encounters, big and small, that I have experienced in my lifetime. Some encounters were meant just for me that spoke volumes and changed everything. Luke 4:10 – “For it is written: He will command his angels concerning you to guard you carefully; “

I have had angels and their role in our lives on my mind, since Advent, Bible verses and Christmas carols, all speaking to the presence of angels and the encounters with humans over the centuries. It hasn’t stopped, you know; these angel and Christ encounters. I believe they are happening all over the world, all the time, in the mundane and trivial; the frightening, life threatening and the funny; the lovely and the tragic; the victory and the joy. A smile, a kind word and actions from strangers and the opportunities we are given to entertain angels, as we carry out Jesus’ love for others. Hebrews 13:2 “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”

Eyes open, hearts receptive, ears listening. The divine is all around you.

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!

 

It was just a Night…

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 1 Comment

Imagine with me what it was like for the simple shepherds on that holiest of nights, so many years ago.

The quiet hillside breathing silently under a clear, star filled sky; the sound of their flocks settling in, like they always did, with murmurs, rustlings and scrabblings; the occasional noisy bleat of lambs, fussing for a warm spot next to the fluffy ewes.

Shepherds, ever watchful and alert, yet calm and ready for a typical, peaceful night; perhaps they, too, scoot in close to the warm and fuzzy sheep, as the night air cools and chills.

Quiet conversations around a small fire and a simple meal, perhaps? Jokes and a recounting of the day wan and fade, as night falls deeper still.

It was just a night, until it wasn’t.

Imagine their quiet night, suddenly interrupted by the sky exploding in radiant, holy light and sound, like nothing ever seen before; certainly nothing ever seen by a group of tired shepherds, outside a sleepy village on a typical night. The terror and fear must have been palpable, washing over them like a terrible nightmare, until they heard the angel voice, saying, “Don’t be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy for everyone! The Savior – yes, the Messiah, the Lord – has been born tonight in Bethlehem, the City of David! And this is how you will recognize Him: You will find a baby lying in a manger, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth!” (Luke 2: 10-12)

Add to this amazing announcement, this supernatural display, the addition of a vast host of the armies of heaven, praising God and rejoicing at this beautiful, holy, saving gift, just given to all people, for all time. A gift that will never be fully understood; mocked and ridiculed and murdered, yet the only gift that will love, redeem and save your life and mine.

Imagine that first feeling of terror, turning to incredible joy, an unspeakable love and a supernatural peace, that in all its Divine power was quite possibly unbearable; wild and fierce.  I can feel in my bones the uncontrollable need to fall to my knees in reverence, awe, fear and worship before such an announcement! A Savior, the Messiah, the Holy One come to save; a divine encounter with the King of Kings and the heavenly host. The atmosphere must have been sizzling with a supernatural, divine portent.

When the angels departed, did the shepherds stand around arguing about what they had just experienced? Did they try to explain away this divine encounter with the supernatural as indigestion? An atmospheric distortion, strange cloud formations, tainted wine? Did they try to explain away the best gift ever given to mankind; a gift of love so deep that human minds cannot fathom it? No, they didn’t. They believed. They wanted to seek out the Savior, to see him, to worship him, to accept the love gift freely given to them. They accepted the joy, excitement and love and shared it with others.

I don’t imagine they slept much that night. Returning to their now still and silent hillside, I wonder if they spoke. Did they attempt to recount to each other the events they just witnessed? I wonder if they fully understood the impact of what they beheld in that lowly stable. How can they explain the Divine? I wonder what changes took place silently in their hearts? What did they ponder? Mary quietly treasured up all she witnessed and went through that night in her heart and pondered it often. Did the shepherds do the same?

It was just a night on the hillside with their sheep, until it wasn’t.

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Morning at the duck pond

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

 

 

The sun hasn’t been up for long, yet the pond is fully awake.

On a large moss covered rock in one corner of the pond, the cormorant is sunning itself; fully spread wings welcome the warm sun.

Turtles occupy a majority of the warming rocks and gnarled old roots, jutting up from the still water; always watching, always aware; stout legs and webbed feet stretched out to soak in the warmth.

As I wander closer to the pond’s edge, sleepy ducks regard me with curiosity, but they aren’t afraid; others doze on, with heads tucked into cozy, feathery wings.

The proud Canadian geese continue nibbling grassy tidbits and bugs as I stroll on by; a few venture a hiss or two, just to make sure we are on the same page.

The pond is still and quiet; yet it’s not.

Human noises are blessedly absent, but morning greetings and conversations are vivid and noisy; the rhythm of the pond is in full swing!

Cheerful, grounding, natural.  Life lessons can be learned here; the Divine is all around.

Along the grassy edge of the pond, small fish and tadpoles congregate in the warm shallows, as a ray of sun brings heat and light. Life.

My shadow causes a frantic, mass exodus, as they dart in a mass of tiny tails and fins to safer waters; ripples and bubbles marking their escape.

A large, silent turtle, with only the tip of its snout visible, is waiting; slowly submerging in an effortless swim to its breakfast. The ebb and flow of life on the pond.

Along the edge of the pond there is evidence of nests and bedded down reeds; a few delicate egg shell pieces and tufts of feathers and down. Home for a family of ducks; their safe place; warm and tucked away.

Moving along, the insistent chirping of a red-winged blackbird, signals that I am bit too close for comfort to his family home in the tall, fully leafed tree in front of me.

I move gingerly around this part of the pond, as he begins to dive and swoop at me; making it clear that I’m a visitor here. Respect.

Rounding one side of the pond, a mama and her ducklings dart and swim through the glass smooth water; nibbling up tidbits as they happily cluck and chatter to each other. She steers them toward the middle of the pond. Cautious.

The ripples they leave behind swirl and eddy, then disappear as the still water swallows them up. Calm restored.

Random splishes and splashes can be heard, as turtles slip into the water like small submarines; tiny, pointy heads can be seen as they break the surface to keep a sharp eye on the pond bank; scouts that watch and wait.

The green Heron, master fisherman, is tucked up and underneath the mass of reeds, on a thin root poking up through the water. He patiently waits in stillness and silence. He knows food is just below the surface and silently waits for his opportunity.  Patience.

A ripply movement catches my eye and I carefully make my way to the edge of the pond, curiosity brimming. Is it the river otter come back again; fishing and dining on crawdads and little fish?

No, it is a large, orangey, iridescent fish; the tail poking up and rippling the water like a miniature shark’s fin, as it roots in the murky, muddy water under the gnarled old tree, with the beautiful leafy branches.

I am captivated.

I sink to my feet watching it go about its business; gracefully moving and swishing as it searches for a treasure hidden in the murky pond.  Trust.

A sudden cacophony of honking and quacking, breaks apart the loudly peaceful pond, as a goose announces its displeasure; wings and webbed feet flapping and dashing into the pond, causing a few moments of panic and unrest as others follow suit.

Quickly, all is calm and everyone goes about their business, as if nothing has happened. Ritual, rhythm, order restored. Life at the pond.

The bench that is tucked in under the beautiful tree, with weepy branches skimming the water, beckons to me.

Resting here in the shade, I try to blend in quietly, allowing nature to return to its busy activities, and the turtles to relax their ever vigilant and rigid watch.

There is always one who stalks, silently tracking my movements.

As my eyes roam over this place I love, I notice that the trees and flowering plants are always reaching up to the sky, their source of life; branches and tender shoots going up, up.

Even in seasons of autumn and winter, when skies are grey and the sun seems scarce, always their branches seek light and reach upward. They know Who sustains them.

Some of these trees are gnarled and funky, with twists and crimps, bends and burned out, broken up places, yet up; they always point up.

There is a lot to learn out here at the duck pond.

The simplicity of creation looking to the Creator to protect, provide and sustain, as the seasons and cycles of life move ever onward.

My life resembles these tenacious trees, with their broken branches and crooked spots and their seasons of beauty and abundance, fully leafed and lovely.

Seasons come and go, ebb and flow as the divine tapestry of our lives are woven by a Master weaver; intersecting pain and beauty; abundance and lack. Always with arms and face lifted up to the Source of Life.