Sky Gazing

Why is the sky a subject of study only when I'm at leisure? 

If I'm kicked back in my Kentucky beach chair with nothing to do, 

 I'll tilt my face upward  

and check out whatever artwork God left way up there. 

When I'm not at leisure, I'll scan the sky for rain or storms--snow? 

A jet streaks across the horizon, and I wonder 

what the passengers will enjoy upon arrival. 

Hawks wheel above, and their grating call draws my eye 

upward, but only for a moment.

It seems my time viewing the sky decreases 

even as stress levels increase.

Does it seem that way to you, too?

If I'm zipping to the grocery, the nursing facility, or to school, 

I don't stop and take time to sky gaze. 

But I know I should. 

Taking time to look up inoculates the nonsense with

 a necessary dose of perspective. 

I might log a two-thousand-word day, 

prepare a kidlit lesson, and work 

my way through a mountain of laundry--

but I need to pause every now and then to

 look up and remember these truths. 

 

A Worthwhile Practice

 

Gratitude. 

I haven't been the best student, but 

the Lord has been teaching me about this discipline ... 

my entire life. 

* dogwood blossoms turned to berries

Living where there's a turn of the seasons provides plenty 

of opportunities to cultivate a grateful heart. 

*heavenly blue morning glories on the courtyard trellis

In seasons of grief and loss, it helps me to look 

outward and upward, instead of inward. 

I've spent a lot of time outside on my one-acre, 

deliberately searching out beauty and 

stubbornly seeking the wonders He's provided. 

*sweetgum leaves as individual works of art

Gratitude is a practice I intend to continue.

How do you cultivate a grateful heart? 

* More about living a thankful life here. 

Turkey Talk

 It's high time to put the turkeys back in the buffet 

drawer for another eleven months. 

After all, Christmas has already snuck out of the attic

 and laid claim to every room. 

But these tattered birds hold their ground on 

our Hoosier cabinet, reminding me that 

gratitude 

never goes out of season and isn't intended to be 

tucked away in the buffet.

Thanksgiving should be a daily holiday. 

(more here and here)

So in honor of the turkeys' clarion call, 

let's continue to give thanks. 

I'm grateful for sunshine through 

boldly painted sweetgum leaves.

The last nasturtium bloom 

to withstand the ever-dipping temperatures 

is the very picture of gratitude.

May we each brave the cold as well...

with thanks. 

Flashbulb Memories

Flashbulb memories--do you have them? 

These snapshots of time remain crystal clear, 

sharpen through the years, 

and are often pondered. 

I'd love to sit around a table of friends (or strangers) and share a few. 

No explanations - "My cousin lived with us for a month, and so ..."

 No excuses - "I had a fever for a week, that's why ..."

No analysis - "You probably remember that because of  ..."

Just the flashes. 

Here's one from my corner of the table. 
It's your turn next. 

I'm at a church retreat. The speaker presents a flowered-glass jar containing bits of colorful paper. The container is handed around, and each person chooses one of the mysterious folded squares. Inside each is a hand-written Bible verse. The speaker says the verses have been chosen by the inspiration of the Spirit. She suggests that the verse we receive should be kept private and pondered. 

I open mine--it's Psalm 32:9.

I'm still pondering, but I've added the verse above it to 

encourage my (fifty-something) self.  You can read those here. 

Emergency Room Revelation

I happened to be in the emergency room a few weeks ago. 

It's the last place I (EVER) want to go, but for the sake of a dear one, I went.

A few hours into the visit, I ventured into the hallway on an errand and 

was drenched in the chaos of a raging patient. His screams, punctuated 

by frantic fist-pounding, reverberated over the nurses' station. 

But not a single doctor, nurse, or tech seemed to notice. 

They went about their work with good humor while he shrieked, 

"Let me go! Let me out! I'm getting out of here!" 

Jagged splinters of his terror penetrated my heart.

After scurrying back to the room to wait alone, 

I pushed the door mostly closed, 

just in case the madman managed to escape. 

Almost immediately another terrifying sound slipped through 

the door's crack. A weeping woman, just outside in the hallway. 

She sobbed as if her hospital visit had 

erupted into tragedy, with full voice and no inhibition. 

"Oh, Father God," I whispered... 

I wish I could tell you how I left the safety of that room and went to 

the weeping woman with a bottle of water and a listening ear. 

But that's not what happened. 

Would that I had edged near the caged rager and whispered 

prayers for holy intervention. 

But ... no.

"Please get me out of here," 

is what came out of my heart. 

A fear-filled prayer. 

For myself. 

You like everything to be calm, for life to be smooth sailing. 

Yes. 

But I am at work here. 

People call out for Me in the chaos and 

desperation of a hospital ER, 

where there's sometimes screaming and weeping. 

Jehovah Shammah walks the halls of the hospital. He is there. 

How could I forget? 

Knowing "He is there" empowers Christ-like actions. 

Forgeting myself and reaching out to those in need— 

whether it be at the grocery, in a nursing home,

on a playground, or (gulp) at the emergency room—

is the real business of life. 

Next time, I'll remember. 

***

For more about our amazing God, visit here. 

Consider the Lilies

It's been a summer of the richest blooms. 

This year, I watched for the last daylily bloom 

and made sure to admire and enjoy it. 

Of course, lots of years have passed in which 

I didn't notice or care that the daylilies 

were almost gone, and I certainly 

didn't take note of the last one. 

Surely we rejoice that we have a
hope-filled future, brimming with 
unimagined amazements and 
exceeding great joy. 

But looking forward to these doesn't cancel 

the wisdom of savoring what's before us in the now. 

So consider the lilies in your life—savor and enjoy. 

This may be wisdom born of years, friends . . .

since I'll be fifty-five this year, 

I can say things like this. 

For a picture book that will drive 
home the message and maybe 

give you a good cry, check out 

Let Me Hold You Longer by Karen Kingsbury. 

Have tissues at the ready. 

Premium Property

Yesterday, we woke up to a winter-wonder landscape. 

My sidekick and I went out for a look around and some photos. 

We found this cozy bird bungalow still vacant, 

but what a view! 

A tiny home among snow-capped dogwood blossoms is 

premium property for sure. 

Maybe when spring sets in for good, bird tenants will come as well. 

I'm hoping for bluebirds. 

Here's a collection of favorite bird books to share with the littles in your life. 

****

These days, I'm pondering this verse: 

"Your own ears will hear him. 

Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” 

whether to the right or to the left."

Isaiah 30:21 NLT

Handmade Gifts

How do you feel about handmade gifts? 

I've always hesitated to gift my own creations, believing them to be a little bit "less than."

Less valued than store-bought; less useful than a gift card; 

less dazzling than whatever the most popular social influencer recommends--"swipe up!"

But this year, I'm feeling some freedom to give handmade. 

So this morning I handled brittle antique sheet music and forced 

myself to cut it, recalling how the pages were rescued from the trash. 

Folding tattered edges into shape took extra time, but I didn't mind, 

envisioning the final lovely outcome.

I shrugged aside qualms and pushed a wooden brace through 

centenarian page layers, taking care not to waste a single scrap of print.

 

That's when phrases from Psalm 103 slid into the corner of my heart.

God forms you in the same way, the Spirit seemed to hint. 

"For He knows our frame; He is mindful that we are dust." 

He knows you're often fragile, brittle, tattered.

"As for man ... your days are like grass--blooming, vanishing, forgotten."

Yet He tenderly chooses you anyway, knowing the potential for glory exists. 

"But from everlasting to everlasting the loving devotion 

of the LORD extends to those who fear Him."

In unmatched patience, He shapes, folds, and fashions you into the 

image of the blessing He intends to gift to others.

" ... we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, 

which God prepared in advance for us to do." 

(Ephesians 2:10)

And just like the psalmist, my soul rose up in joy. 

Bless the Lord ... bless the Lord ... bless the Lord.

Bleak January

Bleak January is one of the best parts of the year. 

After the often-clamorous Christmas season ended, the first month of 2019 

had a solemn, spare beauty that I truly enjoyed. 

Our small acre has no single hint of green—

in fact, it's been dusted in white all month.

Except in my windowsill. That's where the action is.

For less than the cost of a hot coconut milk mocha macchiato, I'm enjoying just 

enough spring to hold me over until the real thing arrives. 

Thank you, Aldi.

The packaging on this, the LAST amaryllis bulb in the store, just said

"amaryllis bulb."

yawn

But, friends, I know it must be a Red Lion Amaryllis, even though I haven't 

seen its face yet. I'll let you know what it turns out to be.

Those tiny leaf blades just peeking out prove that this one has barely begun its work.

Clearance hyacinth bulbs in glass vases were already messy looking with flopping, 

heavy blooms. I chose the best one and pinched off the frowzy 

blooms in the paper goods aisle because two new bud stems were 

already emerging. An observant fellow shopper took the time to point 

out that the bulb I'd chosen had broken blooms. 

Wasn't that kind? 

She did look shocked to hear I was the one who'd done it. 

Isn't it a wonder that the tissue-like paper on the bulb matches the bloom? 

In Kentucky, February brings hints of true spring. Glimpses of green 

will soon dazzle now that austere January is over for another year. 

I believe it's the same change of seasons referred to in 

that great song of songs—

"Behold, the winter is past ... "

The Right Time

Sometimes my life feels like this old watch with no hands. 

TIme tick-tick-ticks away and I have absolutely no way to measure or control it. 

Time presses in on my thoughts constantly, and I give my own voice to its shrill demands.

When will it be time? 

Are we almost there? 

How long will this take? 

Publishing is one of the slowest processes in the career world, falling just behind Bonsai tree farming. 

I'm impatient and often plan an escape to something faster and better paying, albeit less fulfilling. 

The scriptures show my experience is nothing new.  

The people of Israel paddled the same boat—waiting, with no sign of encouragement, for their hope to be fulfilled. They cried out for Messiah—the One who would rescue them from oppression, restoring freedom and prosperity. 

When will it be time? 

Are we almost there? 

How long will this take? 

As we enter the Advent season of reflection, please know that our struggle with time is nothing new. Go ahead and let the questions fly before God's throne. But don't get up from your knees yet (or the bed, park bench, bus seat—wherever you pray). Instead, take time to ponder Galatians 4:4-7. 

Don't miss this opportunity to express faith. 

Because at just the right time ... He will come through. 

"But when the fullness of time had come ... God sent his Son."

And it will be better than you dreamed.

"... you are no longer a slave, but a son, 

and if a son, then an heir through God."

Mimosa Tree Life

The mimosa tree is one of the last to send out its leaves in the spring.

It's fair to say that every year I think, "Well, the mimosa's dead."

But then suddenly, there they are—sensitive, green leaf fronds. 

Then soon, the tiny balled clusters that almost look like berries.

And when you least expect it ... 

pow.

You look over your shoulder to see a tree covered with silky-pink blooms.

Do you find that pattern repeated in life? I do. 

Something I'm looking forward to is delayed, so I decide it's never going to happen. 

I buy into the idea that hope is dead, the blessing is removed, and I should move on.

Then ... 

pow. 

God does one of His best works.

Consider the story of Joseph. 

Sitting in a pit and then in a jail, he must have thought his dreams 

were dead, swept away, maybe even a mistake. 

Except they weren't—the story has its own pow. 

Read more about the deeper meaning of Joseph's story here. 

I'd love to hear about your mimosa tree experiences. 

Comment below or email me soon.

January Faith

Paperwhites bulbs are so plain in their little nylon sack, 

quietly brown in the fluorescent lights of any big-box store. 

It takes a January kind of faith to plant 

and water something that looks so dead.

But when life begins to stir ...

... the reward is very, very great.

In view of the astonishing results, the preparation efforts seem small.

The paperwhite lesson is one to carry through 2018 and on.

What promises from the scriptures are you tending with hope, 

although they look dead and lifeless right now?

I'm tending these.

Would you share yours?

Lord at Thy Birth

Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love's pure light;
Radiant beams from thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, it's still true.

If we choose to bow before Him or not, He's still King.

So let's approach the Lord like the shepherds did back then—

in the company of others,

making our way to Him in a hurry,

undistracted by the cares of career, 

eager to tell others the Christmas good news.

Who Knew?

Just a glimpse—that's what I long for at Christmas time. 

A flash of nativity glow, one whiff of sacred stable air. 

What would it have been like to witness the incarnation?

We often imagine Mary and Joseph going it alone in a cozy, well-lit barn 

scene, but it's possible that there were many who observed 

at least a few moments of the event—an unreported, unnoticed crowd of gawkers.

I think it's likely that Mary's plight drew the attention of other

female travelers. Maybe one of them was drawn into the 

scene to act as midwife to the untried young woman, mother to the Son of God. 

Lodgers from the over-crowded inn probably heard Mary's birthing 

groans and winced, then talked a little bit louder to drown out the sound.

Perhaps humble barn boys, busily tending pack animals and supplying livestock, 

were the very first to hear the cries of the newborn king.