mystery

Tapestry

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The wool threads display the richest 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, unstoppable, 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. Laughter and grief intermingle and twine about each other in a dance that is gorgeous, fierce, 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. 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 at 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.

Holy Calm

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

“Earth has no words that can convey the holy calm of a soul leaning on Jesus.” Charles Spurgeon

Read these words again. One more time, and again. There truly are no words that describe the feeling of being immersed in His peace and His presence – fully in. The mysterious calm, the supernatural holiness. The only thing I have found that begins to come close is sitting in nature allowing the creation of His hands, His breath, His heart to wash over me, and surround me, and heal me. Nature speaks of Him always. Every color, sound, and scent leads back to Him. Those who seek Him will find Him.

Photo credit: Emma Giomi

The Invitation

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The steam from her Paris Blend morning tea dances in the breeze floating in through the patio door. It is a pretty morning. The air has that perfect blend of crisp coolness with an undercurrent of warmth. It’s going to be another lovely fall day.

Crystal’s gaze falls on the Japanese Maple in the backyard that is just beginning to turn. Her hard work re-doing the garden is paying off with bright bursts of oranges, yellows and reds as the Mums proudly display their colors.

Stepping outside to fill the bird feeders, she whistles and calls to the doves, crows, finches and various sparrows that grace her yard. Crystal loves that they wait for her every morning. They trusting and count on her. Sometimes she feels like the birds, squirrels and neighborhood cats are her only friends; the ones who look forward to seeing her and notice if she’s off schedule or away from the house. They don’t care whether her hair is wild and untamable, or if her sweats have a hole or two. The longing in her heart pops up again for someone to accept her and her quirks, flaws and humor; someone who will like her and enjoy her company without pretense, expectations and judgment. She wants to belong.

Finishing her egg white omelet and toast, Crystal hears something rustling at her front door. Curious, she wonders what her cats, Dixie and Dude, have gotten into this time. Dixie lounges on the back of the recliner watching while Dude investigates a cream-colored envelope that’s been pushed under her front door.  Lifting it up, there is nothing telling on this envelope except for her name, Crystal, in a font that seems familiar, but she can’t quite place.  It is heavy and looks to be of good quality paper. Hmmm… As she holds the envelope a gentle feeling of peace settles over her shoulders and a lovely warmth spreads through her hands, arms, and chest and seems to hover there, right over her heart. The sensation brings tears to her eyes though she isn’t sure why. The anticipation over what this simple envelope holds rises up and up as she carefully lifts the flap. Crystal slides a crisp, iridescent card out of the envelope and sees that it’s a hand-written invitation in that same beautiful script.

“Your presence is requested at my banquet. Come as you are, Crystal. You are enough. Follow the Light, you will know where to go.”

An invitation to a banquet? She’s never been invited to anything like this before. She’s uncertain what to think and do. What will she wear? It said “come as you are…” There isn’t a return address, or a location listed. How will she know what the Light looks like or where to find it? The anxiety trying to push in and distract her slowly ebbs and fades as she gazes at the envelope. There is something about the handwriting that soothes her mind and spirit. The warm feeling of safety and peace is still there, enfolding her heart.  She feels, more than she hears, a faint whisper reminding her that she knows the way.

In faded jeans and her favorite green shirt, Crystal takes a final look in the mirror. Will she fit in? The invitation says she is enough…

Feeling drawn to the nearby lake, the random words to a song she sang in a church she once attended, flit through her mind…”all who are thirsty…”.

 Approaching the lake, Crystal sees the warm autumn sunlight filtering and shimmering through the branches of the willow tree. It’s breathtaking. “Follow the Light…” the invitation said.

Reaching the tree she sits on the familiar bench, the warmth of the afternoon and the peaceful shushing of the lake lulls and quiets her mind. Her breathing slows.

Looking around, she notices a rustic wooden table that hasn’t been there before. Its simplicity is beautiful. The rough-hewn wood appears to be hand-crafted by a Master carpenter. It’s stunning as it glows and beckons her to take a seat. The chairs around this table have cushions of bright purple with gold thread woven throughout. Moving around the table, she sees her name, Crystal, on a lovely blue place card. Her name is hand-written in the same script as the invitation. This is her place, and she sits down.  

There are other place cards around the table. Each one with a name and a unique script. The space to her left is reserved for Jazz and the one to her right is for Juan Carlos. Interestingly enough the table appears small, but it isn’t. There are so many seats and so many names.

The other invitees arrive with the same look on their faces that Crystal imagines is on her own. Awe, uncertainty and hesitation, yet a longing for community and joy all mixed into one. Bill sits down across from her, joined by Wren, Miriam, Yosef, Carmen, Jessica and Braden. A bit further down Damien, Grace and Vincent find their places at the table. She looks in fascination at each person who takes a seat. The mix of humanity at this table is beautiful. Everyone is so unique and different – life experiences that are intentional and diverse yet connected in a deep and perfect way. Belonging.

Bringing her focus back to the table, Crystal sees the delicacies arranged in front of them. It appears random, yet there is perfect order here. Dishes overflow with fruit, earthen-ware jars filled to the top with honey, and baskets of fragrant, warm bread are interspersed all along the table. At each place is a tall, thin glass with mysterious etchings and symbols carved into them, understood only by the Host. These glasses are filled with clear water that sparkles, shimmers and dances in the Light that filters though the willow branches. The water captivates her with its absolute clarity and a unique fragrance that flows, caresses and feels like love. At the same moment, each guest lifts their cup and drinks deeply; it feels like healing…”all who are thirsty…”

Crystal knows that the Host is here. This is Holy ground and He sits among His guests. Supernaturally, each one of them holds His undivided attention. He speaks, heals, reveals and lavishes joy, peace and belonging on all who are at His banquet. They are all enough. There is no one at the head of this table and no one at the foot. Every place is equal, chosen and important. In His mystery and wisdom, He is everywhere at once ministering exactly what is needed. No one is taking over, minimizing, drowning out, or elevated over another. They all belong because they are all His. Agendas, politics, and man-made idols are not found here. They are not welcome and have been denied access to this banquet. Ahhh…the peace, beauty and tranquility of a table set for everyone.

As His gaze penetrates her soul, the pain and despair of feeling like an outsider and the trauma of rejection, fear and loneliness flow out of her heart and into His hands. He speaks and sings over these things in the language of heaven and Crystal’s heart is cleansed. It feels new, tender and ready to receive Him and He is enough. Her lungs fill with His breath. Her blood flows with His healing. She is ok. She is safe. She belongs to Him and that is enough. She belongs to this family seated around His banquet table. There is a place for her.

The whisper of faint singing rouses her from sleep. How long has she been here? She doesn’t remember falling asleep. This is her quiet place where she comes to talk to Him.  A gentle breeze tickles her neck and fluffs her hair. As she wakes and stretches, Crystal notices something sparkling in the reeds along the water’s edge. Curious, she moves in for a closer look. It’s a piece of gold thread. Smiling, she picks it up and wraps it in her hands, as memories fill her mind of a blessing-laden table, acceptance and her name written on a place card at His banquet.  

Summer Night

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

The heat of the day is waning. A light breeze picks up in the late afternoon; its drowsy fingers shushing and weaving through the grasses, trees, and flowers. To the West, the sun begins its descent. It defiantly streaks and stains the blue of the sky with bright oranges and hues of pink as it gives way to the rising half-moon.

One can feel nature slow, sigh and release the energy of day into the quiet mystery of night. Birds make one last flight through the garden, snipping up gnats and other nighttime insects. They light on the bird baths for their last bath and sip of the evening before heading to their nests to cozy down. Safe and snug they await dawn to begin again their songs, flights and feeding.

As the moon rises higher in the darkening sky it is joined by planets and pinprick stars. Some are still quite faint as they wait their turn to burn bright in the night sky when the sun’s afterglow is finished.

As darkness deepens, night-dwellers emerge and begin rustling and creeping through the bushes and grasses, as their time to rise and go about their business has arrived. In the cover of darkness all may seem still and at rest, but it’s not. The business of nighttime is full, robust, and busy. Tiny garden mice gather and feast on the seeds the raucous birds have scattered in their feeding throughout the day.  Their nests are deep underneath the stately ferns and spreading Catmint, giving them excellent cover from the neighborhood cats that hunt and prowl. The cats are part of the night hunters as they stealthily slip between the Lavender, Guara and Sage spying and waiting for an unsuspecting meal.

Fully dark now, the symphony of crickets begins in earnest. It starts with one lone, chirping buzz and is joined by others who’ve been waiting for nightfall to begin their serenade. The crickets are soon accompanied by myriad tree frogs that inhabit the nearby marshy, open space. It becomes a stage for their croaking and singing. The songs are repetitive and peaceful, allowing the mind to disengage and just be.   

Sailing above in a carpet of stars, planets and zig zagging satellites, the half-moon is bright, cold, and austere.  The simplicity of the light and the cold shine of the moonglow quiets and soothes, gentling away the worries and stress of the day. Deep and peaceful.

Nighttime brings with it a sense of mystery and supernatural portent. Sight cannot be relied upon in the dark. Other senses move to the forefront and must decipher the unseen sounds and goings-on of the night. Discernment is heightened – the soul is what sees and hears.

You are there in the nighttime rustle of the tall grasses as Your voice whispers in the breeze – rest and peace are near. You cause the stars to sing their cold melodies as they shine down, the puzzle pieces of their scattering giving direction to the traveler and hope for the lost. Your breath is in the rustling, swooping feathers, and haunting sound of the owl’s call, as it glides unseen through the dark, cool night. You are always near, the Maestro conducting and guiding all of creation in the symphony of life. There is nowhere I can go, where You are not.

Your masterpiece of creation in the still, yet busy nighttime is just as lovely, complex, and healing as in the light of day. There is deep healing, peace, and safety in the dark. It requires us to see and hear with our souls and follow Your whispers and songs, as deep calls to deep and You call us into Your marvelous Light.  

The Singing Heart

~ Extravagant Hope ~ Leave a comment

Open space and room to breathe – some isolation really.

It’s calling out and my heart hears it – craving, simmering, and stirring.

A quiet place that will nurture, cradle, and hum the songs of nature, the songs of peace.

A lovely, forest-y, meadow path. Peace.

It takes a moment to shed the world as my feet take those first steps.

Social media vies for my attention hovering in the background. Did that recent post get likes or shares? A snarky comment or minimizing remarks? A book sale?

“Breathe,” whispers the spritely breeze.

“Look,” sing the serene trees.

“Just let it go,” shout the bright meadow flowers.

Squirrels and fussing birds dart and flit about their business. Purpose.

The pine-scent that soothes and calms permeates the slightly chilled air – breathe in and out deeply, and fully. Remember.

The silence of the forest and busyness of the meadow are a beautiful chaotic contrast – thrilling, healing and peaceful all at once. Lovely chaos that is joyful, primal, and ancient. Soothing and safe.

Senses are awakened from the hidden place where society often relegates them down to a murmur, a fleeting glimpse, perhaps a burden.

I belong to the elements where senses are welcomed and sights, sounds, scents, and textures are pure. I could be part meadow fairy or tree sprite…

This coming home lifts my spirits, as the tight-fisted clenching of muscles, mind and identity loosen and fall away.

The healing power of nature, the elements and life in the quiet places is spiritual, miraculous, and mysterious. 

Divine whispers surround, swirl and permeate the soul, spirit, and heart bringing pure delight, unfettered joy, and such hope.

As I drink it in, scraping off the expectations, demands and “shoulds” that cling to my heart, I feel a melody pumping through my veins.

A release and crescendo beating in time to the songs of nature and the quiet places lovingly woven by the Creator.

Healing, belonging and peace flood in to fuel the song, seal in my mind’s eye and heart memory the wonder and serenity of this less traveled road to peace.

My heart singing to the rhythms of Creation.

Hope Grove

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Hope Grove

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, here he is in the mountains…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.