reaching and waiting

Every time we visit my parents in Oregon, we love to take a tour of the property and see what's growing.  Different things will ripen at different times throughout the summer.  So today we nibbled on raspberries and stuffed ourselves full of blueberries.  Then we plucked perfect, orange carrots and baby potatoes out of the ground. We admired the clusters of future blackberries and raw figs, and apples that were still the size of walnuts.  The persimmons were just flowers while the vineyards were covered in little tiny infant grape buds, that resembled baby's breath flowers.  The squash and beans and cucumber plants were still far behind, filling out only in green.

There is so much to admire and enjoy and watch on this property. So many things growing and ripening.  I can't imagine a more enjoyable vacation spot during Summer's growing period.  As I walked around, snapping one picture after another, I had to stop when I came to the boysenberries.  An entire 20-foot row of huge bushes, next to the blueberry patch, absolutely filled with very immature berries.  There was something about them that spoke to me.  Whereas all the other fruits I admired were hiding under leaves and branches or buried in the earth, the boysenberries were all perched on the ends of their branches extending their bodies towards the sun.  All of them.  Hundreds and thousands of them, just reaching.  Nothing hindered their extension towards the sun.  They were not tucked away. It was as if they rose above everything around them for one purpose.

I stood there just looking at them, thinking, Wow, they really know what's up, don't they? 

I admired the patience and determination of the little green berries.  Just reaching and waiting. Just waiting for the sun to work its magic.

I snapped a picture of their content little selves and wondered, Am I patient?  Do I wait on God?  Would I be willing to just sit there and wait until He determines it is the right time for me to bloom? 

If the boysenberries could experience awareness, they might think, Hey, I've been here just as long as those blueberries.  And yet I'm still sitting here waiting to ripen.  No one cares about me.  No one is taking pictures of me or smacking their lips in satisfaction as they enjoy my fruit.  Why do I have to ripen so much later?  Why not now?  

Okay, yes, it is silly to personify a bunch of boysenberries but I'm trying to make a point about my own shortcomings.

I can't tell you how many times I have been impatient with God. I have so much growth I still need to experience and I just want to be a better person already. But all I can do is sit here with nothing to do except to wait on Him.  I can't move His hand any more than the boysenberries can force the sun to ripen them prematurely.  They cannot control the power of the sun; they can only absorb it and be changed from the inside.  And that sounds great and amazing.  But, oh man!  It's so difficult to wait sometimes!

I see the lesson in those little berries, standing at attention, holding their heads up high.  I see how peaceful it can be to just hang around and enjoy the Son while the Maker of all good things prepares me to grow in His love.  And I can see how important it is to get out from under the shadows and really reeeacchhhh for the Son. 

I love that God is the one that does the work for me.  I just enjoy His presence and then the Master Gardener comes in and produces the fruit in my life.

Thank you, little berries, for reminding me to remain patient.  God isn't done with me yet and so I will wait.

time management

I came home to a quiet house, after dropping my kids off with their dad for the extended weekend.  On my way in from the garage, I opened the freezer to grab the tray of rhubarb pieces that I had laid out, single layer, on a tray.  I prepared to transfer the frozen pieces into a plastic bag.  After the tray had been cleared, I noticed little frost squares that had been left behind around where the rhubarb pieces had sat.  I suddenly had a brief chilled feeling, akin to loneliness.  I inwardly sighed and thought, I'm gonna miss those kids.  With the long weekend, I wouldn't get to see them till Monday evening.  Now don't get me wrong, I do treasure the quiet, alone times, especially when I haven't really had any quiet for over a month.  But when you really care about someone and enjoy spending time with them, you kinda miss them when they're gone, even if they're only gone for a little bit.

I finished clearing the tray of rhubarb and just stood there for a second, looking at the empty tray covered in little square frost spots.  It kind of looked like a calendar with all its squares except that there were probably 75 little squares; a very busy calendar indeed.

And then I had to wonder, does God miss me when I'm gone?  Does He look ahead at my schedule and calendar and sigh, I'm gonna miss her for the next few days.  Cause when you really care about someone and enjoy spending time with them, you kinda miss them when they're gone, even if they're only gone for a little bit.  And the truth is, when I get extra busy, the loyal relationships in my life take a back seat for a little while.

I looked around at the rest of the kitchen and evaluated the work I still had to do.  It's all fun stuff; preparing produce to pack into the fridge for the week, making frosting for cupcakes and other things.  But it felt like God was longing to spend a little time with me, instead.  So I stepped away from the tasks and found my place with Him for a while.  And I was glad I did.  I bet He missed me when I was so busy.

Last week, I was standing in the canned food aisle at Costco and was trying to figure out if I should spend $6 on a case of black beans or just can my own, as I would prefer to do.  $6 isn't much but canning your own is even cheaper plus there's no waste from the cans.  But it is a bit of a chore, presoaking the beans, par-cooking, and then pressure canning them.  I was talking to myself and muttering, "Should I save time or save money?"  My daughter piped up, "Save time!  And then you can spend more time with ME!"  Well, that settled it.  I put the case of beans in my cart and walked away.  

I think it's helpful to recognize that God feels the same way my daughter does.  So many times, I make choices to invest more time in something because it's more economical or environmental or whatever.  And it's good to be conscious of both the world and our finances, but not at the expense of our time with those we love: God, our children, our families, our friends.

I've been so busy lately.  I've actually been busy reevaluating the use of my time and I gotta tell you, I have adjustments that I can definitely make.  And I'm making them.  And you know what?  I've gotten more accomplished in the last few days than I have in a while.  Yes, I'm constantly busy, but I'm busy with more of the right kind of stuff.  And it feels more rewarding and satisfying and fulfilling.  I'm still struggling with the idea of giving up some stuff that is important to me but I think I'll figure this out soon, hopefully.

It certainly wouldn't hurt to periodically visit my schedule and my time management and make sure I'm focused on what really matters.  So help me, God, to have the wisdom and honesty to identify the distractions in my life that are keeping me from the priorities.  And then to have the will to live within the newfound perspectives.

stillness

Do you ever feel like you can't keep up with certain things?  Like household tasks and responsibilities seem to be stacking up faster than you can complete them?  Every now and again I feel that way.  But I suppose that I never really take the time to reflect on why that happens.  I just push through it and say goodbye to sleep while I play catch-up.  And then I'm good for a while.

Tonight I decided I wouldn't sleep until I got caught up in several areas of my life and so it's past 10 o'clock and I'm not even close to resolving the mess.  I still have quite a bit to do and probably won't go to bed until about midnight.  But as I went out to the front porch to clean up the shoes that had stacked up out there, I heard the rocking chairs quietly inviting me to sit for a spell.  So I thought, Sure, why not?  Just for 5 minutes.  I figured it was just a place to sit for a bit.  I had no idea that I would be surrounded by stillness, quietude and restoration.

That's not actually a picture of me.  I just found it online.  But I liked it because that's exactly how I am sitting, with my legs up on the railing, in the dark (yet with a computer on my lap).

As I rest in this rocker, the warm night air seems to envelop me in a sympathetic embrace.  The melody of the chirping crickets is complimented by the harmony of the croaking frogs.  The bugs at a distance dance around the glow of the street lamp in time with the night music.  And every now and again, a restless fly whizzes by.  I can't see him in the dark but I can hear him and feel him as I try to swat him away.  The trees stand quietly, surrounded by shadows, as a hint of a breeze sneaks past them, ruffling their leaves in the most gentle way. The sidewalks are vacant and the concrete is still mildly warm from the sun beating down on them earlier today.  I haven't seen a single car pass by in the entire 20 minutes that I've been out here.  But I have seen one shadowy figure walk down a driveway, a few houses down, carrying a small box.  My neighbor's shades are drawn but I can see a faint silhouette moving across the room.  I wonder if they have any idea how this night air can make a person get all poetic.

I like how everything is black and white in the dark.  I love how it is only in the path of the light that I can observe and register the colors.  I see varying shades of green in the trees that are spotlighted by the street lamps.  I see grey asphalt and yellow street lines.  I see a haze of purple across the sky, remnants from what I'm sure was a stunning sunset.  It is all so peaceful and restorative and I'm so glad I took the time to sit here, if only for half an hour.  I am trying to absorb as much of this stillness as I can because I know what is waiting for me inside.

My heart is quite content.  I have everything I would need in this moment.  And yet, I can't help but wonder what it would feel like if Jesus, Himself, was sitting in the rocker next to me.  I turned the rocker towards me a little bit and registered the emptiness of the chair.  Can you imagine?  Can you even imagine taking a work break with Jesus, resting in the rocking chairs, listening to the symphony of frog and crickets and lights and colors and shadows and breezes?  Would He put His legs up on the railing like I do?  Would He hold my hand as we rocked, in silence?

I have a lot of things I would like to say to Jesus.  But in these moments of rest, I'm quite content to just sit in His presence and breathe.  The idea of such restfulness puts a smile on my face because it has already taken place.



Sometimes... being with Jesus is just being aware of His presence, acknowledging His gift in the beauty that surrounds us.  And sometimes that's enough.  Tomorrow He'll teach me something new.  But tonight - right now - He just wants to sit with me.  And that's just lovely.

the silence in between

After Christ cried out, It is finished! I believe silence echoed throughout the heavenly realms.


What does it sound like when silence echoes?

It sounds like a lonely heartbeat pulsating against my chest, trying to escape.
It sounds like hollowness pounding quietude onto the drum of my ears.

It sounds like the forgotten whisper of the wind that has already blown past.

It sounds like a feather falling silently to the ground.

It sounds like a still lake upon which rests the moonlight.

It sounds like the sun, shining its rays of light on my face.


Silence can be deafening.  Or silence can be restful.


The day that Jesus died, silence could be heard.  That means that there was a powerful message that was spoken through that silence.  For some it was a message of confusion, of doubt, of searching.  For others it was a message of defeat and devastation.  But for God, it was a message of a well-deserved rest.

I choose to believe that the plan of salvation was established even before the dawn of our earth.  As soon as sin entered our world, the plan went into motion.  The plan to preserve Jesus' lineage.  The plan to prophesy the Word.  The plan to guide God's chosen people into receiving the prepared salvation.  So much work to do!  So much preparation.  So much shepherding and redirecting.  That plan was all heaven could talk about for thousands of years.

Yet on that cross, upon Jesus' final words, It is finished, the plan could finally rest.  Heaven could rest.

Imagine a wedding coordinator, working tirelessly to prepare every detail of a high-profile marriage, extinguishing every figurative fire, and working herself into exhaustion to make sure that the wedding will be flawless.  After the bride and groom depart the celebration, I would expect the coordinator to collapse into a chair and just rest for a while.  The exhaustion could melt away into relief because all the pieces of the puzzle fit perfectly.

I imagine that heaven might have felt a little bit like that too.

The silence that lingered in between Jesus' final words as a Lamb, and the angel's first words by the empty tomb, ushered in a new chapter of earth's history.  It would be a chapter outlined in victory and anticipation.

But the silence in between....

It was the first time in all of eternity that the Trinity was broken.  I do not believe Jesus visited Heaven on that Sabbath day.  I believe He stayed in the tomb, separated from His Father and His Holy Spirit.  It wasn't until Sunday that He went to see His Father, just as it is stated in the Bible.  But then that would mean that the Trinity was - if only for a few hours - only a Duo.  I don't understand that.  It sounds too quiet.  If I was an angel in heaven, I wouldn't even know what to say.  I would remain silent.

I wonder how much silence Heaven experienced that restful Sabbath day.  I wish I could get a glimpse into those moments.


Tonight I experienced an incredible Good Friday program, served in powerful silence.  It was in that silence, through the reading of the John's account of Jesus' final hours, that I could hear with more clarity.  I could hear the fear in Pilate's voice, the authority in Jesus' responses.  I could hear the crack of the whip inflicted on Jesus' work-worn body.  I could hear His groans of pain as He willfully suffered at the hands of those He had created.  I could hear the venom and evil as they cried, "Crucify Him!"  I could hear the nails being pounded into wood, with flesh in between.

I couldn't stop the noise.  I couldn't get away from how loud it all was.  I couldn't stop crying as I witnessed this event, anew, within the solitude of my own heart.  It all seemed so real and the images of my Savior and Lover, being abused in such an offensive manner, broke my heart into a million pieces.  As a mother, the thought of my children suffering physical and emotional pain is heart-rending.  I couldn't bear the knowledge of such things happening.  And how much more devastating it is for me to remember what Jesus suffered on my account and on the accounts of every other person on this earth.  Jesus.  The One who didn't deserve to suffer.  The only One who was justified to hate yet was so filled with love, instead.  Jesus.  The One who held children in His open arms.  The One who's exhausted hands tenderly touched the bodies and hearts of the unclean.  Jesus.  The One who's back bent down to help others stand.  The One who lived to serve us His love.  How can I listen to the stories of His suffering and not feel a devastating pain in my heart?

As I drove home from the service, in silence, I saw many people out and about, doing their thing, talking to friends, washing their cars.  And my heart suddenly screamed out, Do you even know what we're commemorating today?  Do you know what Jesus did for you?  So many of you are standing around, living your life in ignorance of the most divine gift that was ever given to you.  You don't even see it, do you?  How I wish you could see and understand!  How I wish you would turn your eyes towards Heaven and see the One who is waiting for you with open arms.  Ugh!  Look at all these people.  So many of them have NO idea.  

I entered my home in silence.  My throat seemed parched and my cheeks were stained from the salty tears that wouldn't seem to stop even after the service ended.  I took in a deep breath and looked around my house while I acknowledged the silence.  No appliances were running.  The lights were off, except for two indirect lamps.  The cat was resting.  Even the parakeets were silent, with their heads tucked into their feathers.  I soaked up the silence.  And I finally felt like I could rest a bit.


If you've never been to a silent service before, you may not understand my emotional response to it. I certainly didn't anticipate it.  I don't even know if silent services are a thing.  But I can tell you that it spoke, powerfully, to the heart and to the sympathetic emotions of my soul.  It translated familiar stories into awe-inspiring and startling messages of truth that pounded their foundations into my very core.  And I walked away moved, impacted...changed.

I believe Heaven experienced a silent service that Friday and Saturday too.  And in the meantime, their hearts prepared for the celebration that would explode throughout all of Heaven on the following Sunday morning.  That's what I'm looking forward to next...


Happy Sabbath day of rest to all of you.

Jesus calling

I woke up before the crack of dawn as usual, this morning, but was too tired to want to get out of bed.  I laid there, inwardly grunting because I would rather sleep today.  But I felt God inviting me to please get up and meet with Him.

My first response to Him was, "Why?  Because something awful is going to happen and I will need to prepare by meeting with you?"

In my defense, I have experienced many awful things and having spent that time in God's presence, I had the faith to rest in the promise that He was still in control.

I didn't get any impression that He was preparing me for awful things.  So I tried again:  "Then what is it?  Are you preparing good things for me and you don't want me to mess them up?"  Again, spending time, regularly, in God's presence is my assurance that I will have the wisdom to avoid doing stupid things.  It's not always a guarantee because I'm painfully ignorant sometimes and quite prone to making mistakes, but at least I'm making an effort to avoid the stupidity and I know Jesus is understanding and gentle with me.

But again, I heard only silence.

Then, after a moment, a quiet, gentle voice in my heart spoke and said, Why can't it just be that I want to be with you?  

That kind of hit me in the gut and I got out of bed.

And now as I write this, I remember the song Softly and Tenderly.  It's a call for sinners to accept Jesus but it's also a call for children to answer to their Father.

I will just write out a couple of the verses and call it a day, as far as my blog is concerned.

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,

Calling for you and for me;

See, on the portals He's waiting and watching,

Watching for you and for me.

Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading,

Pleading for you and for me?

Why should we linger and heed not His mercies, 

Mercies for you and for me?

Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised,

Promised for you and for me!