A Messy Advent

The Advent season arrives on time, no matter the state of my readiness. 

I can't beg for just one more week tacked on the end 

of November--seven more days to declutter a pantry, 

lose the Thanksgiving pounds, and pen a 

comprehensive Christmas list. 

Instead, the season of celebrating the Incarnation rolls in, 

garbed in royal dignity, to adorn our humble home--

unconcerned with the state of my dining room table. 

The Spirit of Christmas, made manifest in a lowly manger, 

is not bothered by the chaos. 

So I'll stop to worship in the 

midst of real life, light the candle of HOPE, and 

gaze into the mystery of 

Emmanuel--

God with us. 

Invite Him into the middle of your mess and 

discover the real miracle of Christmas. 

 

Garden Pointers

 

When I get a chance to go outside with my grands, they'll often hear me say, 

"Use your looking eyes."

 Of course, the teacher part of me can't resist adding even more instruction-- 

"Listen! Did you hear that?" 

"Touch this," or 

"Smell these..." 

You know--just your everyday kind of interacting with nature. 

But for me, the visual trumps all the other senses. 

Small wonders in my own backyard remind me of who I am in 

the grand scheme of life. Ordinary sights like this datura bloom point the way 

to the One who longs to welcome us home. 

My dear husband gifted me a macro lens for my recent birthday. 

Now I can get an even closer view of nature's small miracles, 

markers on the path of life. 

 

If you'd like to read more about HOME, I'm writing a newsletter on 

Substack. Click the link to take a peek. Subscribe for free to help 

this writer girl out. 

The newsletter focuses on practical ways to build an authentic home while 

heading toward our true home.  

I hope you enjoy it. 

Life Specs

 The older I get, the sharper the focus on my life specs. 

Life specs? You have them, too. 
It's the way you see the world.
The way you see life.

The way you see YOUR life. 

How do you choose to view the twists and turns of life here--as 

random splashes of blessing mixed with strokes of bad luck? 

Perhaps you believe with me that there is a greater plan. 

Right now, life has become a rougher ride than I enjoy, 

and my specs have been bounced around. 

But I'm holding fast to the good news that God's grand plan 

is always going forward without a hitch. 

Will you hold on with me? 

Find out more here and here. 

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. 

A Long Line of Storytellers

Telling stories with words is what I do on a most-days basis. My writer's toolbox 

contains an overheating computer equipped with apps and programs, tattered and 

scattered notepads, and a certain kind of pencil. Words come to me—or I 

hop around on one foot, trying to catch a few out of thin air—and 

I string them together like pearls on a thin thread. It's a sweaty business. 

Some of the women in my line told stories in field-furrowed paragraphs, 

with seed-sown punctuation. Farm wives 

spun tales of glorious seasons of plenty, and grim ones of 

bootstraps and tightened belts. Their story endings depended 

on the crop, the weather, and the goodness of God. 
 
A few spread their tables with another kind of saga, offering

 mashed-potato mountains rising over fried-chicken foothills, neatly

 lapped by a river of gravy. Basket-weave piecrusts and hand-churned ice cream

 spoke welcome, confidence, and a certain sort of love too delicious to decline.

 
Other matriarchs stitched their memoirs with needle and thread. 

Cotton-cloth leftovers and flour-sack scraps pieced together

 and spread over a bed. Its maker read aloud her quilt creation

chapter by chapter, weaving tales prompted by bright-worn shapes:

"I wore this dress to your mother's wedding. 

What a rainy day that was ..."
"See here, your granddad's best church shirt. 

That was an Easter we'd never forget ..."
"Your brother had pajamas in this same pattern. 

I never knew a boy to work so hard at play…" 

One of these needle-and-thread masterpieces blankets my worktable. 

Its stories cushion my elbows as I search for the next word, the sturdiest sentence, 

the perfect turn-of-phrase. 

So you see, I come from a long line of storytellers ... and you do, too.

What sort of tales did your forebearers tell before you began to spin your own?

Hurry Along

Pumpkins and gourds appeared around here early this year. 

I've been hurrying around seasonal corners, trying to finish 2020 early. 

It's similar to pushing an entire helping of 

elementary-school-cafeteria 

spinach/succotash/peas into your mouth at once 

so you'll be allowed to go to recess.

Anybody?

 The side benefit of buying early was surprisingly simple--selection.

Summer clingers like me don't usually enjoy this advantage. 

Pumpkins and gourds of all shapes, colors, and sizes were still 

sitting pretty in the supermarket bins. 

 And they all still had stems. 

It was a cheap grocery-store thrill, the perfect way to hurry 2020 along. 

I planted a whole packet of heavenly blue morning glories this spring and 

pampered them all summer with regular watering and fertilizing. 

I made sure they were in high-quality soil with leaf mulch 

topdressing to retain moisture. 

It's past mid-October with one frost already 

on the books ... but not a single sky-blue bloom. 

Yards and yards of vine sporting tiny bud sets--and no blooms. 

This isn't the first time it's happened, but it was the most disappointing. 

My eyes couldn't have been more eager for those heavenly blues to show. 

Because ... 2020.

Garden Lesson: 

Turns out, pampering the vines is the downfall of blooms. 

The plant is so blissfully comfortable that it produces lush foliage instead of 

beautiful blooms. And there will be no fruit to produce seeds, the result 

of a pollinated blossom. 

***

That, friends, is worth pondering, especially if 

you're a comfort-seeking soul like me. It's my takeaway 

lesson for the 2020 growing season. 

Ponder further here. 

***

Spring Garden Tips and Swift Transitions

My lily of the valley went above and beyond in the last few weeks. 

This frilly girl can be invasive—extremely so. 

If your boundaries aren't strict enough, it will take over the entire garden. 

I recommend putting it in a container if you can't be ruthless with the hoe. 

Our Japanese maples were frost-fried during the crazy weather we've had this 

spring in northern Kentucky. One young tree only has a few leaves left to power itself 

through the rest of the growing season. It's well over twelve feet tall now but 

started as a seedling like the one I found this week. Red maples can be sprouted 

from their "keys" if you have plenty of patience. 

Tutorial here. And this longer tutorial is loaded with information. 

SIDE NOTES:

One of my least favorite sayings is, "The only constant in life is change." But we all know how true it is—life is an ever-lengthening chain of transformations, variations, and transitions with an about-face or two thrown in for good measure. 

* Here's where we have choices. 

Will we choose to react in fear and doubt, processing change from a position of weakness? I admit to pitching a tent in one of these slums or another too many times. 

Or will we choose to absorb life's vagaries with confidence and good humor?

2020 has been a continual test of my resolutions to choose well. 

Maybe it has been for you, too. 

* I've been through a few stages of life now, and here's what I keep coming back to. This is what gives me direction. And when I entered motherhood twenty-eight years ago, this became one of my anthems. Will you share yours? 

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.

Great Gourds

At my favorite Indiana farm market, I found a vendor who grows
and oh-so-casually sells the most mind-boggling variety of pumpkins and gourds.
She loads them in the back of a truck before dawn, crosses the miles with
a thermos of dark coffee, and dumps them on the market ground in glorious piles of color.

"How much for a blue pumpkin?" I tried to appear equally casual.
"Two dollars," she said with a flannel-shirted shrug.
Yes, ma'am! 
I couldn't get my dollars unfolded fast enough.

The small gourds in these photos came from an ordinary grocery store.
Yet the craftsmanship in every detail is nothing less than amazing. 

Will you take time to pause as we hurtle into the fall season, for just a few 

moments, and let the wonder of the changing natural world inspire something new?

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.

Get Noisy

Our Japanese maple spread its leaves in a 

wide, red skirt—a perfectly brilliant circle under bare, upraised branches.

What a peaceful way to go.

I'm plugging away at memorizing Psalm 100. 

Have you made any progress? 

Here's a visual aid—a photo of the Japanese maple before it lost its leaves. *

Our noise doesn't have to be cultured or clever,

sophisticated or insightful.

But it must be JOYful. 

Right here in mid-November, let's seek to bear this fruit of the Spirit. 

* Photo enhanced with free tools at the BeFunky photo editing website.

November Treasures

2017 is almost over and nature is giving notice. 

It's time to plow deep into the soil of this mostly-passed year 

and hunt for nuggets of GRATITUDE that churn to the top.

Those are the true unfading November treasures.

***

Meditating on a Thanksgiving psalm helps me focus on this season 

and resist being drawn into the next holiday too early. 

I'm trying to memorize Psalm 100 by Thanksgiving Day. 

Would you join me? 

Three versions here.

Various teachings on this chapter here.