Saturday, July 14, 2018

Seven Point Four Billion

Crickets are singing in the fields. Cicadas chant tonight in Franklin County.   I walked the grounds while water buckets filled for tomorrow's heat.  It's still warm outside so near to dark. 

 I threw some grain for gathering goats while lightening bugs lit up an empty field behind them.  It felt ancient and I felt small. Seven point four billion people breathing in and out on earth tonight, and then there's me.  

Sweat gathered under the folds of my upper arms as I walked and waited for the watering.  I walked thinking about the heat and how I'm half way through my collective summer times, and half way through my winters, and springs, and half way through my days here.  I'm half way through and I still don't know how many commas to use and I am not sure how many words to write about it all.  There are some 7.4 billion people on earth, and then there is me sitting right here. 

My dog was waiting inside for someone as if the most important of all 7.4 went missing.  My dog was waiting for me.



I turned off the water and admired the shiny, summer coats of the goats in the dimness of the hot air.  I remember they are most radiant when the grass is green, the days are long, and the summer sun is sharp and sure. 

Seven point four and me breath in and out tonight, and what does it all mean? 

Morning glories sprung up from fallen seed in the yard again this spring.  I allowed them to grow onto the porch again simply by ignoring their ascent, simply by allowing their reaching.  Now I want to see what they will do!  They twist tendrils round and make their way up the chairs.  I cannot bring myself to stop them because I am reaching too-- connected in the "Vine".

They seem so sure of where they are going, so determined in their daily stretch.  They pulled clear up the legs of the chairs and pushed out a few vibrant, purple blooms in obvious triumph!  How I admire their ever expanding vines! How I admire the sureness of where they are going!






And now it is time to sleep, and I tuck in among my questions and thoughts about my reaching.  I rest easy in the wondering with 7 billion others. I am just one, but I am dearly loved, like you, like all. 😊  I close my eyes without all of the answers in their place and realize how completely fine that this is for now in this summer night in July.  

Don't be mad at me about the commas. ;)

Nighty-night.










Tuesday, July 10, 2018

What Have You Done With Introverted Me?

On the street you look at me and I look back at you. In your car, across the intersection I see you and I wonder.  On the street I see you walking there, and groups of people making their way to somewhere. They would be mine, if they were His, all the people  in one family. 

 I see the people and I long for connection.  Who are they, each one? What do they like?  Do they laugh at the dining room table as they eat a meal? Do they tell stories, do they cook? Do they like to read, or write?  I see the worn man, tattered and torn walking briskly along the road.  Could he be my brother?  Is he funny?  What are his dreams?  I want to know them all. Yes, it's me the introvert, yes, me the fearful one.

I see them on the street and I see the family that could be mine.  I pass by the woman sitting, watching her son swim in the community pool and I want to know her.  She may be someone's sister, someone's cousin. Why can't she be mine, my family?  I want to know who she is and what wonderful things she knows and does.  

I see them on the streets, in their cars, in the windows at restaurants and browsing in clothing stores and I know they are meant to be His and in turn, they'd be mine.  We would all be family.  

If I continue to think this way maybe I will be hurt.  Maybe they will not want Him, maybe they won't want me, or a big, forever family.  But maybe they do.  It really could be.  Maybe I could ask and see.

Lord, what have You done with introverted me?  

Saturday, June 30, 2018

The Chase

In my room on a Saturday, I seek.

                                 
I would have jumped out of bed and into a chase to get enough stuffed into a Saturday--you know, the amount that can make me feel good about it all at the end of the day.  But, before my feet reached down to the old gray floor I saw Him there, or I felt Him there with me, which has somehow become the same thing. So I spoke to Him and I asked Him to speak to me.  💗

 And I saw Him at the well, dipping cool water out for me. And waters rippled with the touching, and stirred with the dipping.  I heard His tender tone inviting me to linger there, to sit a spell in cool fellowship. Oh, where is the pull of the chase now?  What better could I achieve in the flurry? In the hurry?



And in the conversation, and in the fellowship of God to man, appears an inspiration for a Saturday.  It's a gift tucked in with all the ability, motivation, and time right inside . The chase is replaced, and something better takes root in me.  This root is powered in soil--not in a woman's fretting, and in air, not a lady's hurried pace,  and light, not my own might.  Like a key that started a motor, or the wings of the hang glider caught up in a thermal, the ease of moving on into a Saturday comes in peaceful, tranquil delight--lifted by an inspiration-- lobbed into my hands with the ease of a dream.  Him in me and I in Him.  His life, like an easy flowing river moving me along in mine.  The chase is replaced.



I'm ready to set my feet down on the old gray floor now, and step into a Saturday. 






Thursday, May 31, 2018

Come Into My Room


Come into my room, Sweetheart. Come into my room and dine.  I, myself, will serve the bread. I’ll bring the salad and the wine.



And when I see you are through, I’ll serve the main course to you.



 
I will tend to you in the dining chamber like the fine waiter does.  At the fine restaurant you won’t be ashamed.  

 Turn the pages, my Dear, let me feed you your fill;  choice morsels, rich blends with the sage or the dill.



Let me surprise you by quenching your thirst. Let me awaken your hunger for more. Then come again, and I’ll wait at the door.




Your love, O Eternal One, towers high into the heavens.
    Even the skies are lower than Your faithfulness.
Your justice is like the majestic mountains.
    Your judgments are as deep as the oceans, and yet in Your greatness,
    You, O Eternal, offer life for every person and animal.

Your strong love, O True God, is precious.
    All people run for shelter under the shadow of Your wings.
In Your house, they eat and are full at Your table.
    They drink from the river of Your overflowing kindness.
You have the fountain of life that quenches our thirst.
    Your light has opened our eyes and awakened our souls. Psalms 36:5-9

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

A Peaceful Lil' Ditty in May

In the cleft of the rock I lay down.
The world thrashes and throws, I sleep sound.
Behind the surges and sounds
Peace surrounds.
In the cleft of the rock I lay down.

In the light of Your Word I stand tall.
With a handhold and staff
I don’t fall
Let rivers empty on me
But soon they will see
That in the light of Your Word I stand tall.

In the garden the plantings grow strong
Like the lilies and vines, I belong
Toward the sun’s glow we go
And all men will know
That in the garden the plantings grow strong

Friday, May 25, 2018

Light is a Beacon of Love


The light outside is muted by cloud cover today in May.  Verdant leaves are shaky-shaking on limbs outside my window, hinting of the spring breezes.  I was out in the yard early when only a dim outline of the farm was visible, and only the hint of the coming morning could be seen, yet the faintest light had set the birds all to singing.  The dimness was warm and full of a chorus.  I think light is a beacon of love, and even the faint glow of predawn has the power to erupt the morning with song.



When He launched forth the first words in the story of Him and humanity, I think God launched a beacon of His love for eternity, “Let there be light”. Out of His throbbing love-heart He spoke His ancient love language, “Let there be light” and through the misted window I see it today.



I search the words of ole’ Merriam-Webster to explore some more. A beacon is a signal fire commonly on a hill, tower, or pole, they say. It’s a lighthouse or other signal for guidance, and it is a source of light or inspiration. Yes, I think it’s HIS beacon of love sitting here in my room lit now with the rising sun, the waking kind. It is a beacon to God.

He lit up our world before giving us eyes to see it.  When He spoke the light, he spoke a comfort for every generation to come. He spoke the way forward in Him. 




In the light He spoke out His kindest intentions for the earth, a glow that feeds us, shows us the way, comforts us in the midnight hour, and shines to make a new day.  Light is a beacon of love…I just like to say it.  And if you are surrounded by it, if your face is warmed in its rays, if you can see the words lit up on this screen then you know some about a beacon and you know a bit about an ancient love story that’s pages begin in light.





God: Let there be light.
And light flashed into being. God saw that the light was beautiful and good, and He separated the light from the darkness. Genesis 1:3-4

Monday, February 19, 2018

A Farm Forum

A farm forum, ready to convene just for me.  A choir of frogs sing praise from a small pond out back in the middle of February.  They pass their invitation to join the preliminaries of song; their funny prelude to the discussion-- the discovery. 


 A surging within the forum of fields and yards tucked round with fences opens a morning wide.  A garden plot ready to tell mysteries to me, share ideas, reason it all out in the softness of ready soil; ready to receive the seeds that are questions in me.  I will tuck them in and wait-- soon to poke quietly through the earth in answer.









A forum of land and sky calling a morning meeting, preparing for a rousing discussion for a searcher and seeker! How have I attained such good fortune to be invited among such wise handlers of divine secrets? 

                                   

I stand among the furry-wise who take their places at their own gates, live their good lives, sowing and reaping just what they were perfected to. Minding their own business. One calls the meeting to order with a “baaa!”  I take my seat among them.

                               

A magnificent forum of farm and feeling, of astute players all knowing their place.  OH!  I hear a pony pounding his gavel down, with fine hooves he calls this session to order.  I humbly join the meeting, pen in hand.  

                                


Where is your forum of friends?  Where are you planted to preach a good word from the wealth of your own sown heart?  Where does your forum convene? :) 

                                   

Monday, January 15, 2018

If My Words

If my words had substance and could be seen as they launch out, would they lift and fill the morning sky? Would they praise up with the clouds?




If my words spoke out in shades of color, and if they were hot or cold, would my world be bright with rainbows, and would You cuddle in their warmth?




If my words had weightiness and could remain just where they fall, would they pile right up to heaven, and build a monument to Your worth?





If my words were lofty, and could speak to kings and queens, would  they hear Your invitation and come to the great wedding feast?

                                             




If my words were humble and if they were safe for all, would You trust me with the "least of these", and would You send me to the lost?

If my words could reach You, and I know that they do, I would set an echo in the wind to repeat my LOVE for You!