journey

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.

He will see to it

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I wonder if this will ring true for you, as it does for me? Will it hit a tender spot in your soul? Will we give that tender, carefully guarded wounding to the One who can heal it? It may seem gloomy and dire at first glance, but reality always has that aspect to it, doesn’t it? I believe that in order to see light and some hope, the hard, rough, frail parts of life must be seen and known; openly acknowledged for what they are. It isn’t always pretty on the surface. Maybe if we go below the surface seen, a different kind of beauty will be there waiting; a different kind of rest. Provision. Peace. Stillness. Will you look with me?

I’m tired, I’m weary; some days weary to the literal bone. My heart and soul have questions that I know I will not get the answers to on this side of heaven. That is not what overthinkers want to hear! My mind strives and spins in search of the “whys”, the “should haves” and the “if onlys”. For me, in this season, it is the whys of illness and surgeries. When will it be enough? When can my body rest? When will I have some peace and silence? Silence from constant world-chatter, arrogant opinions, ruthless maneuvering and diagnoses that are unwelcome. It is also the whys of friendships that end, dissolve, fade; some slowly, methodically and probably expected, and others surprisingly abrupt and hurtful. Should I have done this or that? Do I let it be?

Worry and overthinking are beliefs that God will not get this right, whatever the “this” is for you and for me. It is belief gone wrong. I have to go back to what I know about the Lord. I have to purposefully shift my mind to remember His promises and character. It’s hard and deliberate and I don’t always want to make the effort. I’m worn out and angry. I have to look below the surface of all that is swirling and clamoring; the noise and chaos trying to lay claim to my peace and faith. I need to remember all the ways I have been healed and provided for; all the ways He has taken those things that I saw as evil and impossible and used them for good; miracles that only I have seen, but profoundly changed me. In times of loneliness, He has been so near and spoken beautiful, soul-deep words and promises that no human could provide, but Him; words that would have been drowned out by expectations of others and their views and opinions. It is remembering that not a single thing happens that He does not see and that He does not allow to first pass through His hands, before it can touch me, touch you. This remembering does not magically make the pain, loneliness and fear go away. We are still humans with emotions and breaking points, worries and tears. But…the Lord sees, He will see to it. The Lord always sees; you, me, what they did and didn’t do, how you were treated, what the Dr does and doesn’t say. The life-tapestry being woven for you, for me, is beyond our limited vision, but is always seen and hand crafted by a unique God-design that is never wrong, never too much, too little or inadequate in any way. It is just what is needed. It’s exactly enough.

Can we pause for a minute and listen soul-deep? Ah, the mysterious, lovely and precious things He wants us to know! Below the surface, there is good and beauty and it has happened, it is happening and intertwining in the midst of reality and God sees it all. He is calm and He sees. He sees the tired body, the wounded heart, the panic and striving, as well as the victories, joy and laughter. He sees what is coming in the next minute, the next month, in12 years. He will see to it. “The act of God’s seeing means God acts. God’s observing means He always serves. This is the thing: your God’s constant vision is your constant provision.” (1) Can you see it?

Here is the beauty of faith; we may not see the provision right away and at times it won’t feel like provision and tender care at all, but that honestly doesn’t matter, does it? If we have faith that He sees and provides, even if that faith is a tiny, dirtied thread that is tossed and frayed and tangled by life, we can trust we are well looked after and so well loved. Not easy, but it’s possible. Hope. If we hold on to the fact that every mountain we will ever face, the Lord will level with the right amount of grace, we will see that the Lord will provide. He sees you, He sees me, He will see to it. The Lord always sees and He will see to it. Rest is found here. Blessed, beloved, beautiful rest.

(1) The Greatest Gift, Ann Voskamp

The Lake

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The path around the lake is a bit overgrown, but navigable. I wonder whose feet last hiked this trail. What were they hoping to find here at the lake, nestled in the mountain meadows? This path is not new; scuff marks from countless boots have worn a soft pathway in the alpine meadow, gently leading around the deep blue-green water of the lake. I am alone here with the only sounds being my feet, as they lead me along to my favorite spot and nature, doing its thing. Birds call and snicker to each other as I pass by, dipping and darting over the water as they snip up the buzzing, whirring insects that make the lake and tall grasses their home. Parts of the path are cool and shady, winding along under the forest canopy; then sneaking out into the open meadow with wildflowers nodding and swaying, as the breeze passes through, sighing through the canopy, and stirring my hair.

The banks of the lake are home to such diverse life, with the nooks and hollows filled with myriad water skippers, boatmen, pollywogs and tiny fish, darting and spying, as I lean down to get a closer look. How can one lake hold the life of so many creatures and plants in its watery, silty hands? Carefully kneeling, I notice the lake rushes rustle and shiver, as a creature makes its way though the slippery murk at the edge of the lake. It is totally immersed in the tall, wet grasses; hunting, watching, doing what it was meant to do. Is it a muskrat? I become as still as I can and quietly watch and wait…then yes, I see its long brown body gracefully dip under water. Bubbles breaking on the lake’s surface give away how swift he can swim, as he heads to his den in the lake bank. I have a feeling I will be carefully watched.

Moving again along the path, I pass by a cold and deep looking spot, right along the edge of the lake. There is an old, long since fallen pine tree along the banks and I wonder what fish may live in that deeper, dark part. Has a fellow hiker ever cast her fishing line in, hoping to hook a big trout? Looking carefully around the fallen pine, I notice a shallower area with sunlight filtering through the trees and spot a large crawdad, his orangey-red pincher motionless. Has it spotted me? Finding a long, slim stick, I gently submerge the tip and try to touch that claw. It is too fast for me and darts under part of the fallen pine. I smile and tell it I am sorry for disturbing its rest and get up to move along the path.

My destination on the lake is coming up soon. Just a couple more twisty turns under a low hanging branch and up and over some high raised roots and I am there. My spot is at the edge of the meadow that curves and moves along the edges of the lake. There is a sweet little mountain stream that winds its way down the slopes and forest floor, and feeds into this lake. I love this place the most. Swinging off my light backpack, I bring out what I need to get comfy here. A thick blanket, water, some vittles and my book, that probably will not be cracked open. The blanket is large enough to accommodate the various positions I may choose, as I sit, lie, stretch out and soak up my spot. The babbling, chatter of the stream as it flows, dips and rushes past forest debris, rocks and flowering plants makes me happy. It is cheerful, chatty and constant, yet completely soothes and refreshes my tired soul, as it chips away the debris of life. It leaves a tender, slightly raw place inside that revels in the solitude of nature, babbling streams, throaty frogs and cricket symphonies; gossipy, scolding birds, slithery, earthy sounds and the busy, buzzing insects. And the smells, oh the smells! Earthy, fresh and that distinctive lake smell – part mud, part plant, part fishy, part flowers and pine. It smells new, yet ancient, all at once and it is lovely.

I got an early start this morning, so have most of the afternoon ahead of me to be still, listen, daydream and let some of the heaviness go. I have needed this for a while. I am ready to soak in whatever the Creator has for me here by the lake. My mind wanders to Psalm 23, “…He lets me rest in green meadows; He leads me beside peaceful streams. He renews my strength.” Renewal. Yes.

The wind has begun to sigh and whisper through the trees, as it will in the late afternoons. My signal that the sun is starting its trek to the west and sunset will soon be here. Packing up, I take another long look at the stream and the lake, drinking in my afternoon of peace and restoration. Heading back along the trail, I smile and speak aloud, ”It is well, it is well, with my soul!”

Bike ride full of sensations and truth

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I went on a bike ride yesterday morning. The first longer one I’ve been able to do in months, due to knee and elbow injuries. It was lovely and refreshing; full of an almost overwhelming amount of much missed sensations.

I am very much a sensation person. You know, someone acutely aware of the nuances of the wind, scents, sights, sounds or the absence of sounds. Sensations fascinate me and stir something up inside. Originally, I was going to make this a ride of new beginnings in the most physical of ways; starting off with a pre-determined number of miles as my goal, so as not to overtax my knee and elbow, which are still healing and tender in spots. That was the focus and I was going to get ‘er done. No fooling around, fanciful riding! I also decided to add in to the mix, a prayer for safety and that God would use this new beginnings ride as He saw fit; whatever that means. He did. I’m pretty sure I knew deep down that He would; when I invite Him into what I am doing, He always shows up. Always.

The morning was chock full of sensations; I mean full. There was a light to moderate, persistently cooling breeze with notes of a gently sweet flower – jasmine I think, with undertones of dew damp grass and that calming scent of the sea floating along, teasing and soothing. The light was lovely. It was fairly early, so it was a new light, just waking up from its sleep; all soft, gentle and tumbly;  pleasantly warm when it hit my bare skin. The birds were in rare form, especially some blue jays with the raucous calls they are famous for, along with the pretty little birds, finches maybe, who dart and dip all over my neighborhood, singing their hearts out to the new sun. Wind chimes played in the distance and I may have imagined the earthy smell of coffee, floating by, making me wonder who was up and what they were doing. I’m also intensely curious! Some leaves danced and twirled past on a side street, as the playful breeze flew in to stir them up and left again just as quickly. Naughty and playful!

By this time, I am on the bike path parallel to the canal, trying to take in all the blue and yellow wildflowers that dip and twist in the breeze as I fly past. I realize that I have not been paying close attention to how far I’ve gone, what my knee is feeling, who else is out and about. It has just been me, my six senses and such a feeling of joy and excitement over what sight, smell, sound,  or creature I might encounter next. As I pedal along, I am struck by how much beauty and joy I rob myself of on a daily basis when all I am focused on is the next accomplishment, the next item marked off my list (I really, really like lists!!), the next thing I think I need to do because someone else is doing it, someone else thinks it would be a good idea . I am comparing my desires, my dreams and my genetic make-up, that calls and beckons me to get outside and bask in sensations’, to someone else’s make up that does not or sends them in a different direction. I felt like I had a mini epiphany that allowed me, through sensations, to see that this is good, right, ok and to not feel guilty or less than, because I choose to do life a little differently than the next guy and to embrace that and love it and deeply nurture it, because it is the essence of me. It is the spirit of me that my God put inside me when He created me. He knew I was going to crave and need nature and sensations in a big, big way along with words, dreams , music, visions and the scent of the air more than other things, and that He delighted in making me this way. I don’t have to decide to do something a different way because someone else is doing it; I don’t have to stress because I like to exercise and nourish my body, my way. I think it was such a revelation to me, because as I was riding my blue bike, feeling sweat running down my back just to be immediately cooled off by the chilly breeze, I simply thought, “why hello, Melissa. This is me.” I could see all those parts of me and loved them. So many thoughts started pouring through my brain. I won’t go into all of them, because a lot of them make sense only to me and I think God wants some of those revelations and thoughts to be just between Him and me. But thoughts regarding weight, gifting, inclinations, my ministries, friendships, past decisions, my food choices and my thoughts around those were highlighted in a gentle, yet firm way, pointing out that they stem from what God thought of and got excited over when He decided He was ready to set me loose on this earth. Yes, I do have a lot to learn from other people, things to re-think and maybe go about in a different way, but the essence of me, my spirit, is me and it’s mine and I desire to intimately know, cherish and fiercely protect every part of it; not feel like I have to explain myself, convince others to see the essence of me or to defend it.

So, God did show up on my bike ride. Like I said, I knew He would, I just didn’t know what He would bring to the party. For me, it was something deep and shifting inside. I’m not sure I did a great job explaining and sharing it, but I’m ok with that, too, because a lot of it was just for me. Maybe you will get a little nugget or tidbit for yourself. That is my hope. That through this convoluted and a bit random blog post, a little treasure will hop off the page that God put here just for you.

Day at the Beach

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 2 Comments

The early morning sun offers the promise of warmth and expectation.

An indolent day at the beach is exactly what is needed!

Arms laden with a beach bag full of vittles, sunscreen and a towel; I discover the perfect spot to settle in for the day.

Cliffs behind me, ocean before me, sun above me, sand below.

Perfection. Shelter. Peace.

My little space is set up; all is in order and ready for me to be one with the breeze and old-Earth smell of brine and life and decay.

Shoes off, sunscreen on; now to the water.

Contradictions.

That is what I see in the ocean; yet also safety, born out of the ancient rhythms of the earth. Forever marching on, steady and unyielding.

The tide’s constancy is relentless, untamable, fierce; all without apology, the ocean does what it is meant to do.

The water laps and rushes and chases my feet; startling and elemental in it’s coldness. Invigorating and inspiring.

The birds, crabs and tiny sea creatures count on the unchanging ways of the ocean, because it is life to them. The ocean gives and these creatures take.

But I think the ocean is also a taker. It takes the worries, stress, fears and uncertainties in life; it takes words spoken and wept and screamed by those who walk the beach looking for answers, solace, peace. We push those things out of our hearts and the ocean pulls them into itself.

A lovely dance.

Perhaps this is what God does for us. He takes all of the fear, rage, worry and tears that we spew out, into Himself and pulls them away from us as we release it all to Him. He is fierce, constant, untamable, mysterious and present. He gives life, He is love; we rely on Him.

Back at my sanctuary, the sand under my legs and back is so warm, relaxing and inviting. It is solid and permanent; warmth leeches into my chilled bones; lulled to a drowsy peacefulness.

With closed eyes and warm sun baking down in pleasant coziness, I notice my other senses stirred; susurrating waves whisper and breathe, birds call overhead; somewhere a dog barks.

That scent of salt floats on the ever present breeze along with other notes of a BBQ and the cloying scent of flowers.

Drowsy and dreamy, my mind wanders in that half dreaming state of blissful rest.

The sun has shifted in the sky; there is a slight chill to the air. How long have I been lying here?

Hunger gnaws, so out come the snacks.

Seagulls make an appearance; they scold and demand that I share; watching closely every move I make. I share.

Before packing up to head back to reality, it’s time for a walk.

There are footprints going before me in the sea-soaked sand and I wonder whose they are and what secrets they’ve spoken to the sea today.

Interesting how before long, all traces of my footprints will be washed away; as if I had never walked here; as if the past is washed away and cleaned up and brand new sand is offered up for a new direction, new footprints, new promises.

Jesus cleans up our lives like this; the old washed away, the new offered up; clean, lovely and ready for a new journey.

Sun dipping down, air quite cool, water coming higher; my signal to call it a day.

Heading to the car I feel rested, new and cleansed; a little wild and wooly from the rawness of the ocean and its wild and chaotic, yet perfectly ordered dance.

 

Come Away

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I’m up early.

A restless, unsettled day, led to a similar night of sleep.

Rest is elusive, thoughts scattered.

Warm, earthy, steamy coffee warms my hands;  my eyes glaze over; mind swirling.

Through the open kitchen window, the morning air carries the faint scent of jasmine and cool earth.

The house is warm, but the fragrant air is inviting and full of promise; electric.

It beckons.

A friendly breeze, a puff of soft air, calls to me from the musical notes of the wind chimes,

“Come out.”

I go out.

My favorite bench is canopied by the looming butterfly bush; it’s purple, fragrant blooms toss and wave; encouraging me to come.

I do.

The cold marble of my bench, as I sit, is in stark contrast to the warmth of my hands around the child-painted coffee cup I carry with me. “I love Mommy” it proudly shouts, from its brightly painted surface. That brings a smile.

Also some tears.

I don’t feel so loveable of late.  Irritable. Tired. Frustrated, not loveable. Chaotic, possibly.

Looking at the flowers in the planter tubs next to my bench, I see chaos; at first.

Upon closer inspection, I notice that the random way in which I planted these lovelies, is actually quite beautiful.  Patterns emerge amidst the seemingly random design.

There is order here in the planter, despite the chaos and it is so lovely! Yes! Yes, it is.

Do goodness and beauty and happiness have to be meticulously ordered, spaced and arranged to be ok and acceptable?  Do I have to understand it?

This revelation makes me smile and breathe deeply. Inhale life.

The rising sun glitters its reflection at me on the feathery water of the stone bird bath. Winking and spunky, I want to laugh with it, at the possibilities of the new day.

I feel my back and shoulders relax; everything isn’t wiry and tense, ready for flight. Calm. Peace.  Is that joy?

Again the breeze; it caresses the back of my neck with cool, kind fingers; barely a whisper against my ear.

What was that?  I close my eyes, try to still my mind and just be.

I hear it now. You are speaking, but no words are spoken.

The peaceful scent of jasmine and butterfly bush blooms tell me all is well.

The stable, steady, ancient scent of dirt reminds me that new life is all around; rebirth is waiting daily for me to acknowledge it.

The breeze whispers that I’m never alone.  You will never leave me. I remember; I know.

I see in the riotous, chaotic colors and placement of the flowers, that You have patterned and woven my life together in a tapestry that may appear to be a random intersection of lines and curves; hills and dales; yet is actually something far more beautiful and ordered and perfected than I can imagine.

You see the entire picture of me and You call it lovely; You call me lovely. I am enough because of You.

You have dried my tears; they are captured in the bottle that holds all of them. In place of frustration, I notice acceptance has taken root. Not a resigned, sighing acceptance, but an acceptance of the unique journey I am on with all of the ups and downs that I know will come.

My place in Your arms as chosen, loved, accepted and redeemed is reconfirmed on my little marble bench. I am enough. I just needed to come away with You for a spell. You remind me I’m Yours and all will be well.

Meandering

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High in the forested mountain, a burst of water comes bubbling up. Why it started there, in that hidden place is a mystery. Spreading out, it searches for the path it is to follow. There isn’t one readily visible, so with tenacity and confidence it presses forward, looking for that indentation; the hollowed decline in the ground. Success!

Following the downward dip in the ground, the water flows. Sometimes it seems to follow an exact, obvious path that makes perfect sense, then suddenly, a shift; a deviation; a random change of direction as an unexpected obstacle looms up, making the easy downward flow alter its course. It seems haphazard, but it isn’t. The obstacle is there for a reason. The stream does not know why it’s there or how the obstacle came to be in the way, but nonetheless, there it is and it must be navigated.

Success! The resilient water finds the best route around, over or through the offending obstacles and soldiers on to its destination. Where is that place? What will it look like? Will it be a long journey? Will there be any more obstacles or is the path now clear and straightforward?

The downward descent slows for a bit and the stream meanders along with no obvious route to is wanderings. It moves from here to there; around that rock, over that fallen branch; gurgling and swirling as little rocks, sticks and leaves beneath the surface shape its route. The path may be rocky and tricky to navigate, but there is such beauty in the journey, if one can take a bit of time to see it.  The water plays its gently flowing, or at times, powerful rushing music as it dances over, around and through those things that lie in its path. That in itself is lovely.

The stream may stay in this slow, meandering space for a bit; almost as if it is resting for what lies ahead. There is peace and rest here; deep pools reflecting prisms of light as the sun filters through pine-scented branches. Small bugs dart to and fro on their own journeys; busy and focused. Animals may stop by for some refreshment; finding nourishment here and leaving their footprints in the soft, pungent soil; adding to or taking from the stream; the dance of life. Connection.

Eventually the stream picks up speed and the time for calm is over. Heading down the mountain, it rushes head on into boulders, large fallen trees and other forest-y things that would like to block its way. The pull of its final destination forces the water to find a way over, around, through and it does; it always does. It may be wild and gushing and completely chaotic; or slow and methodical; plodding. But it will always reach its destination. The way has been charted out for this stream before the it even existed. I picture my life in this way, too. I relate to the stream and the obstacles it has to overcome, along with the times of rest and meandering, lazy peace. We all have a destination and we will all reach it.

My destination is the eternal arms of Jesus.

 

 

Roads through the desert

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 1 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 has always been a favorite verse of mine. I love the themes that jump out at me; hope, adventure, new beginnings; provision.

I have a tendency to go over the past, over think it and analyze it to death. I so easily become consumed with things that happened, things that were said that hurt (either by me or to me), actions and betrayals that I fear will happen again and again and again. This verse tells me to forget about reliving those things; to be alert and present, so that I don’t miss out on the brand new things God wants to do for and through me. He doesn’t say “I’d like to do something new” or “I’m considering it”; no! The Lord says “I am about to do something brand-new!” It is a promise! I can feel the excitement coming through His words when He says, “Don’t you see it? There it is!” The Lord is wild about you and me and loves the plans He has so masterfully created for each of us. It excites Him and 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.”

I don’t want to be so wrapped up in the past or worrying over the future that I completely miss out on what He is doing right now, right this minute. I don’t want to miss the road He is making through my desert; the obstacles He will move and the ruts He will smooth over. There are days when it feels like I can’t find the road; there are too many little off shoots and paths that distract me and keep me going in circles. If I stop, breathe and give myself space and permission to spend time with Him, He reveals that road through the desert and gives me directions on 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, fullness of life, peace and provision. Jesus is my river in the badlands of humanity. He is beautiful, my strength, my peace; He refreshes my soul and provides for all I need. He is my 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 and see what He will do in our deserts and badlands; the beauty He wants to show us in the midst of our journey. May we live in watchful expectation for the new and exciting plans He has for us.

Seashells

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 2 Comments

When I was at the beach not too long ago, I stopped and sat down on the sand, soaking up the sun. This beach was full of beautiful treasures washed up by the waves. I noticed some interesting looking shells lying near my resting spot, so I started to look at them more closely. I noticed that some were very intricate in shape and color and others were smooth with few rough edges. Some were very simple and sleek with muted colors while others were brighter and more vibrant, with fascinating nooks and crannies. I picked them up, piled them up in front of me in the sand and began imagining how each one became what it was; what its journey through the ocean might have been like, how far it had traveled before finally being spit up on the sand for beach lovers to gasp over and bring home as lovely treasures.

Looking at the force of the waves breaking on the shore, I can see that these shells went through a lot to get where they ended up; some of them whole and intact; while others were broken and a bit beat up, but pretty and interesting all the same. I like to imagine that these shells were uprooted from where they were comfortable and established on the ocean floor. The incessant pull of the tide, other larger sea creatures disrupting them, bothering them, forcing the creatures inside of the shells to move, hide or break just to survive.

Depending on the distance traveled, the severity of the storms weathered and the amount of time the shells were thrown into the rocks and ocean floor, all had a huge impact on how these shells arrived on the beach, what condition they were in when their journey was over. Isn’t this so much like us? When we finally come to Jesus and allow Him to be the center of our lives, our “enough”, don’t we sometimes feel a bit worse for wear? For some of us, the journey was not as arduous as it was for others, so we arrived like clean, shiny shells with just a few rough edges. For others, the journey was long and difficult and we arrived broken and battered, after weathering all that we did. Still others arrived with a vibrancy that captures the attention, with fascinating nooks and crannies coming from life experiences that are begging to be examined and figured out.

The very wonderful thing about these seashells, read us, is that each one is beautiful in its own way. Each one reaches out and speaks to someone different. Each shell, each one of us, with our intricacies, brokenness, vibrancy or calm energy, funky nooks and crannies or smooth edges, is needed to make this world what it is; to speak to and reach other people right where they are in their lives. I can’t imagine walking a beach and seeing only shells that look identical. How boring that would be; how devoid of life and mystery!

I say we embrace our journey and value all those things that made us into the funky, fascinating, funny people that we are! I believe that Jesus looks at each of us and all the ways that our journeys transformed us, gasps in delight and snatches us up as His very precious treasures.

The Ancient Paths

~ Extravagant Hope ~ 5 Comments

Jeremiah 6:16 (NIV)

“This is what the Lord says: Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, ‘we will not walk in it.’

This passage in Jeremiah is fascinating and really makes me think. I picture in my mind a traveler who sets out alone on a pilgrimage to find “the good way.” Someone who feels restless and dissatisfied, unfulfilled in the world and their place in it; searching for meaning and significance. I imagine this traveler is tired, dusty, thirsty and longing for some place to rest, because the journey has been a long one. A lifetime.

At last, up ahead our traveler spies a crossroads where different paths intersect and head off in completely different directions. I see an oasis at the crossroads; some sheltering trees where our sojourner can stop for a bit and think about which path to take. Where does each one lead? What if our traveler chooses the wrong way? Will the journey just continue on and on and on without leading to what they want most, which is peace, safety and rest for a soul that is banged up, wounded and weary; cautious and longing for healing, simplicity and to just belong?

I can imagine our weary traveler surveying each path, looking at the options and wondering what to do, which way to go. One path looks wider and more comfortable, the other path looks narrower and a little rockier. What to do? Suddenly our traveler notices, hidden in the shadows of a small grove of trees, a man reclining in the cool shade. Feeling relief that there is someone here who may know the answer and can give guidance, the traveler heads over and asks, “where is the good way? Which path do I take?” The man looks at the weary soul in front of him and asks, “what is it that you want? These paths lead in very different directions, my friend, so choose wisely. One, the good way, will lead you on a more narrow path, with areas that are not easy to navigate and that will have obstacles you will have to go around or over or through. There will be mountains and there will be valleys. The going will not always be easy, but the end result will bring you more joy and life than you could imagine.There will be beauty along this path, but pain, too. You will find rest for your weary soul, but you must follow the One who leads you and not stray off on your own. You will be guided every step of the way, but you will not be in control. This path has been followed by many before you, their foot steps can be seen and followed along the way. The traveler likes the idea of beauty and rest, but pain and obstacles, giving up control? “What about the other path?, the weary traveler asks, “Tell me about it.” The man sighs and begins speaking, “the other path, well, it will seem easier, smoother, wider. It will seem to be well traveled and it will allow you to chart the course, go your way. On this path, there are many crossroads you will have to navigate and you will be doing it on your own. You will choose which ways to go and you will reap whatever consequences come of these choices. The footsteps of those who went before you will be smudged, obscure and not easy to see. Those other travelers will not offer you their wisdom; they will concentrating on themselves and making their own way. You must choose your path; the time is now.”

Our traveler has a lot to think about. The thought of having a guide to navigate those rough places and obstacles sounds inviting; to not be alone, but to have Someone there to guide, to lead and who knows the way. Peace and rest are promised at the end of this path and there will be beauty, but also pain. Beauty in the pain? The other path sounds great as well. Easy, smooth, wide. Obstacles yes, but the ability to decide how to navigate them and being able to say at the end of the path, that you arrived because of your own wisdom. But, the man didn’t say that at the end of this path there would be rest and healing. He didn’t say what will be promised at the end.

So what do you choose, fellow traveler? When you come to the crossroads, which path will you choose? The one with the beautiful promise of rest for your weary, searching soul, or is the pull of being in control and having a wider, easier path calling out to you? Will you take the paths that are well worn with the sandals of those men and women who chose Jesus and went before us? The ancient paths with the footprint of the One who already knows your path and exactly how to navigate you along? Or will you see that path laid before you and say, “No, I will not walk in it.”