Looking in the mirror at the curling locks that reach around and down the front of my shirt. It was what I didn't do that created this moment for me. It's been awhile and I don't even know why. The bun or the braid or the pony tail lengthens and I have done nothing about it. And those strands of silver wisping lighter than the black, here they come and I let them show. It's what I didn't do that allows them their time and maybe I look all of my 55 these days because of what I didn't do.
If I didn't worry... if I didn't ...what then? It would take time, but something would grow from that looking away...that ignoring. Like the long curls cascading down the back a slow change would occur from what I didn't do... if I didn't worry, if I didn't.
And it has begun; the slow, the easy, the steady change, the turning of the back to the prodding problem, to the frightful future. To the bad news I turn my back and do nothing...Instead of acting, I just "trust fall" again and again. To the heavy thoughts of days ahead alone, of getting older and when things go wrong, of sickness and such silly things I do not sink into concern. I do not feed the frenzy that comes to me poking, asking, threatening to invade my head and my heart.
Once the frenzy came shouting at me and I pulled up a chair to listen awhile. What if "this"? What if "that"? It shouted. I went for a walk with my friend. 'Round and 'round on the road winding between tombstones and big old trees we walked shuffling a gathering of Canadians into the graves.
I told her what I'd heard and she said, "Rhonda....the Lord! The Lord is already there at the end of each concern and He will take care of you." Sometimes I need a friend to help me in what I shouldn't do. I shouldn't worry. And if I don't something new will grow. It will. And I will look different. I will talk different. A change will come because of what I didn't do.
He who made the Pleiades and Orion, who turns midnight into dawn
and darkens day into night, who calls for the waters of the sea
and pours them out over the face of the land—the Lord is his name.
Amos 5:8
When You speak, Lord, You light a runner’s torch within
us.
We’re compelled to move carrying Your dancing flame.
And after the light burns low,
when the last ember’s glow has just disappeared
one turns to investigate all that You said, this speech
that sprang from the breath of a star; our Morning Star. I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning star. Revelations 22:16
Now we hold Your words under a light, still warm
from the fire to study under a lamp Your guiding Words.
Rendered speech too great for me, yet anchoring inside
of me
and now the articulations of Orion drip from the
tip of my own common pen. How can this be?
I’ve become bearer of light, too; His little star.The Morning Star took His rightful place
within us, now He shines.
Oh God, You are the surge
that chases through the cord and brings us into light. We are Your prophesied
walking stars, tipping to spill into the night.
Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky. Philippians 2:15
And I am all human and, as this, I can only try.
We shine within an honor that no one can fully
describe, this privilege of living as God’s image
bearers; His Tribe.
We, luminous
lanternshung up through Christ
against the dark, one by one by one through the ages hung by the Father of lights.
Arise, you who sleep,
Arise from the dead,
And Christ will give you light.
Ephesians 5:14
The morning He set the cornerstone of the
earth’s foundation-- when foundations were laid, angels and stars sang songs of
awe and wonder. In our day, we pick up their chorus. Job 38:7 Beloved, give your praise a song, you walking stars, beloved lights on
earth.Orion’s belt--- truth pulled
tight around your waists.
He looks to earth and sees the darkness lit up, His
racing heart proclaims, “My beloved!
Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever. Daniel 12:3
One day I suddenly came to town and slept under a town sky, under a shingled town roof, and beneath a white chenille bedspread I bought in the town. When I woke, the sound of the rooster was far off in the country and I couldn't hear him and his rousing reverence to the rising sun. The luscious red cardinal perched in the oak tree beside the worn country porch was singing without my daily delight in him. The mockingbirds and blue jays, the crows and the doves were charging the air and the nuthatch was still making his funny sound like a rubber duck smashed under foot, but without me to laugh at him.
It seemed to me the town boasted only the sounds of men and women moving mindlessly about in cars, passing me by under the white chenille bedspread, and the church bells kept telling us all its time to move on. But where was the morning song? Where was the chickadee wearing his tidy black cap and sounding so sweet like the high-low squeak of an old teeter-totter in need of oiling? And who was going to call up the sun when not a rooster was allowed under this strange town sky? And so my heart was grieved for the country birds because I didn't hear their familiar, soul-feeding song that assured me that this world in the country was the most beautiful world of all.
Spring quickly turned to summer who yawned slowly into a broadening autumn and nothing much had changed. I walked in the town yard behind the house where I slept and noted the squirrels jumping from tree to tree. One ambitious fellow carried a discarded apple high into the sugar berry tree and losing his grip, dropped it, landing with a thud just in front of me. I walked along the city sidewalks, passing the shop that sold cigarettes and tobacco, sometimes stopping on the bridge to watch the fish swim in the creek below, and always slowing to regard the antique roses that hung pink and rosy in the yard of the 1st Baptist church. Somewhere in my moving about I began to pause at the sound of the church bells tolling out the hour and I began to feel grateful and reposed.
And then one morning, waking under the town roof, under the dark and sleepy town sky, I heard a sound I hadn't noticed before. It came from the the south, from the river's edge and broke open my town life with the same sweetness of the country bird's song that once called up the joy of each brand new day. For just like the birds, the sound rang out from the depths of Truth, Wisdom and from the sure Hope for the future.
And within the new sound I heard these words:
"Here is the new sound. Hear the sound for a new season and a new time. Can you not perceive it?"
And under the town sky a heart now stirs at the sound of the train whistle calling from the river's edge and assuring that my world is the most beautiful of all still.
And surely I am with you always...... Matthew 28:20
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? :)
Early in the morning, I gathered a basket of autumn up for inside the house. Why should all of the free, fall decor be crunching under my boots? I loved them in the window. My own little oak tree display.
And I figured that since I did get up this morning, and since I had yet another full day with which to fill up, I may as well be intentional about the good parts, so I made a mental list. I called it,
"Things That Should be Done Everyday, if You are Me:
1. I should do something beautiful every day. (leaves hanging in window) 2. I should take time for a few photos.(...because that's just fun)
3. Everyday, I will eat something from the garden, even if it is just a snippet.
(.....because that's just exciting and, yes, plants grow there in December) 4. Every day, I should spend a moment on creative ideas, whether planning or doing because that feels like living. (baking bread, arranging a vase with flowers or greenery, sketching or writing, or whatever) 5. Everyday, there is time for a walk. (walks are the best) 6. And last, but most exciting part that makes any day marvelous and must never be missed or else a desperate dullness will ensue over your day---at least I'm sure that is what would happen to mine; I will visit that "Dreamy place that is ours and God's together". No day can measure up to much without Him being all rolled up in it!
Not sure what this is, but it is hot and tastes like horse rashish!
And every day, I will treasure love in my heart. Today, I found a little blue card in some old things. Inside it said, "I love you, Rosebud. Love, Mom." My heart melted onto the floor and the card was promptly placed in the window where I can see it now, every day. I, so,treasure the love.
Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.
All the best things seem to me to be the simplest things.
From the shade of my arbor this garden lends me words. The other day, when the spring sun was having it's "de-LIGHT-ful" way overhead, I saw some weeds that had seemingly snuck up through the heavy mulch and were greedy, reaching for the sun. These that were seeded before the covering was laid are the hardest to remove as their root is down deep and established. How had I missed them before? Now some are a few inches tall. Maybe it was all of those recent clouds dimming my light.
I reach deep into the mulch to pull them, knowing from experience that if left to grow they would take over and ruin my garden. They would steal from all I had planted, it has happened to me before. I tug for the root but it snaps at the stem and I know that soon it will be back again. I will keep pulling them, but they will return until they are pulled from the root.
Hebrews 12:15 See to it that no one falls short of the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.
It rained all day yesterday, the old folks would call it a gully washer. That means I, too, am getting older since I think it was one. This ground is soaked and saturated. Like a deep drink that is more than enough, this place overflows into a running brook right in front of my garden. By the kale, carrots and lilies I can hear its flowing waters. It empties into the little pond out back; that little pond that really does nothing more than gives a home to frogs and frog songs, which is plenty enough for me.
Psalms 23:2 He provides me rest in rich, green fields beside streams of refreshing water...........
Oh yes, back to the weeds. The next day I found them growing right next to, and among the new seedlings that I had planted. I didn't notice those because I hadn't yet recognized which were those I'd sown. Pulling one by one, I found there were many. Using my hand so carefully, the seedlings were not disturbed, even those whose stems were touching weeds. It seemed almost kind how the rain made soft and easy the ground to give them up.
Hebrews 4:12 For the word of God is alive and powerful. It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword, cutting between soul and spirit, between joint and marrow. It exposes our innermost thoughts and desires.
My hand is worn some with age and as I pulled the little weeds, I noticed them. It reminds me of my Dad's hands which were known to be giant, sure and strong. Because of his I can so well imagine a Poppa in Heaven whose hands exact His care over me-- even when His care is correction for me. And I have felt that tugging of "heart weeds" like the tugging of the weeds in my deep mulch. And when He has finished pulling them out I'm like one who's been cleaned free of those invading, choking greens. And once cleaned and free of them, a clear path is opened up before me to walk and grow in, except it is very hard to walk; I want to run. Romans 2:4 ....His kindness is guiding our hearts to turn away from distractions and habitual sin to walk a new path....
It rained hard yesterday and today I did a bit more weeding and thinking, too; grateful that my Great Gardener so surely cares.
Psalms 23:3 He makes me whole again, steering me off worn, hard paths to roads where truth and righteousness echo His name.
Later today, in the safety of my deep garden mulch I planted tomatoes, fennel and onions. In ready soil plants and joy will spring up! We need not dwell on just the weeds.
Psalms 92:13 For they are transplanted to the LORD's own house. They flourish in the courts of our God.
And as my eye is keen to watch over my garden, I marvel at HIS over me (and you ♥). As if I am the only one with needs or weeds, and as if He has no greater duties or desires than to carefully tend to all of them that I so easily and constantly generate. I bet the forest and the hills quiet down to watch Him and the winds soften their blows as the Master comes with purposeful love to my garden gates.
Psalms 103:12 .........as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
Lyrics:
Your will done your way
Your will done your way
Your will done your way
I will not fight You
Take me past the line that my heart draws
I will not fight You
Take me beyond the laziness of my thoughts
I will not fight
Lead me further than I've gone before
I will not fight You
I'm abandoned to Your call
Do not let there be, any part of me
That’s untouchable, unreachable
Let my delight be, living out Your dreams
Washing dirty feet, and kissing yours
“Those I love I also correct and discipline. Therefore, be shamelessly committedto Me,and turn back. I am standing at the door and knocking. If any of you hear My Voice and open the door, then I will come in and visit with you and share a meal at your table, and you will be with Me. --Revelations 3:19-20
