Category: Grace

Call to Wonder…

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As I drove home a couple of nights ago, a pink-orange sky bathed the rugged snow-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds in mystical light. The scene took my breath away. I thought of a card a dear friend once gave me for my birthday that pictured a little boy, mouth agape, gazing out the window at a newborn bird. The caption said, “Never lose your sense of wonder.” What a privilege to marvel again and again at God’s creation and this wonderful wild land where we live. As John Muir said, “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul…. All that sun shines on is beautiful, so long as it is wild.”

As my husband and I await our first baby and stand in awe at this miracle of life developing each week, I am awakened once again to this Christmas season of wonder. I marvel at our creative Creator and the artistry with which he put together the world and each miraculous, unique life to grace it. Though this past year has been one to remember for all of us–a friend told me she’s heard 2020 will be the new swear word–I’m astonished at all the ways, big and small, our great God has provided for us within the storms.

In her many books and blogs, author Ann Voskamp invites us to offer a song of gratitude each day for every grace we are given. In Unwrapping the Greatest Gift she states, “You were formed to have front-row seats to waves hugging the shore, to trees touching the sky, to stars falling across the night–the whole of the universe falling in love with God…. You could unwrap the wow today just by going to the window. By going to the front door, to the park, to the backyard, or to the top of the highest hill you can find–standing there and staring and being wowed by the shape of the clouds or the color of the sky or the size of the sun when you hold up your hands.”

Edith Wharton, first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for literature, has a quote I adore about how this kind of spirit can even keep you young. She said, “There’s no such thing as old age; there is only sorrow. In spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”

As we do the work of remaining alive and curious and grateful, may we be assured with the knowledge that regardless of what storms may come, we will never be alone on our journeys. As Lamentations 3 and the great hymn say, “Morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed Thy hand has provided, Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”

“Walk Down This Mountain…”

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Though I walk each day on a flat country road, I live in a land of mountains and valleys. They parallel life for me—a life that is a journey, but one that feels like a roller coaster more often than not.

I make the arduous climb to the top of various mountain peaks, some of them relationship or personal struggles, others life or professional goals, and others various lessons or faith journeys. The reward is often a breathtaking vista and the wind in my hair—exuberant joy and renewed passion, even if only for a few moments in time.  These summit moments might be among my favorite memories, but mountain peaks are cold, dangerous, and lonely places to dwell. It’s hard to stay there. Eventually, I must descend.

I walk down mountains, knowing that my journey will end with a return to valleys. Often, my heart and mind and body feel weary and dread the new low valley experiences, the new climb that will need to be made before I can summit again. 

Third Day, one of my favorite bands, has a song called “Mountain of God.” In it, author and lead singer Mac Powell says, “I thought that I was all alone, helpless and afraid, but You are there with me—You are there with me.” In the chorus, he continues,

“Even though the journey’s long, and I know the road is hard,

Well the One who goes before me, He will help me carry on.

After all that I’ve been through, now I realize the truth,

That I must go through the valley to stand upon the mountain of God.”

As the song implies, the valley experiences are necessary to prepare us for climbing and summiting mountains. In the valley, it’s easy to feel we are alone. By the time we reach the mountaintop, having made our way through the clouds, we know we have been accompanied all along. Despite difficulty, we were never abandoned. Through the journey, we learned, grew stronger, realized the depth of our hunger for relationship and growth, and eventually, we were rewarded. The panoramic view that filled our senese at the peak also gave us the companionship and understanding we longed for and a vision for the future. Even more, it filled us with confidence that we are in fact, strong enough to be equal to such journeys. What we’ve done before, we can do again. God has been faithful before and He will be again.

So there’s no need to fear the next valley or climb. We must bolster our own hearts, as Julian of Norwich did when she said, “All is well…and all manner of things shall be well.” As Bebo Norman sings, we can…

“Walk down this mountain with your heart held high. 

Follow in the footsteps of your Maker. 

And with this love that’s gone before you and these people at your side, 

You offer up your broken cup. 

You will find the meaning of true life.”

Leave Them Better…

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Henry Van Dyke once said, “There is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the world. It is to stoop down & lift man up a little higher.” How easy it is to get caught up in the enticing busyness of everyday living. Though we may not set out to “stand high in the world,” in the end, the effort to “keep up” can be self-consuming. 

And yet, need is always in the world around us. If we take time to look into the faces around us, to truly see people, we find a world muddling through various desperate circumstances. Empathy, compassion, and generosity are there in many individually, but relatively speaking, they are still in short supply. Ian Maclaren once said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Though the struggle is different for each one of us and varies in different seasons of our lives, it is there for all of us nonetheless.

A colleague reminded me recently that although I’m a perfectionist, it’s okay to let go sometimes. In this crazy COVID world we’re all currently experiencing, to slow down and be present with kids is one of the best gifts we can give them. The same is true for adult needs as well.

In her book, WHEN THINGS FALL APART, Pema Chödrön suggests that one way to relieve our own suffering is to face it, recognizing it for what it is instead of running away from it and allowing it to rule us. In our willingness to face this pain, we can begin to focus on others in the world who might face the same difficulty and emotions. As we awaken to the suffering of others and wish for improvement and relief for all, we can begin to spread contagious compassion and empathy. 

Mother Teresa once said, “Let no one come to you without leaving him better.” What a great reminder, a wonderful intention to set. It’s another way of saying I must learn to keep judgement from my heart and  love my neighbor as myself. Today, I choose to open my eyes, remove them from myself, and focus on others. Albert Schweitzer said, “Until he extends his circle of compassion to include all living things, man will not himself find peace.” I will need to choose this attitude over and over again. Each time that I practice, it will become easier to leave others better after our encounters. I can be a small part of making peace on earth with my own two hands.

The Dance of Surrendered Faith…

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Sometimes living feels like a bit of a tightrope walk, doesn’t it? There are so many keys to staying the course and living life well. We need to be strong, but not hard or callous. We should be fun and relaxed, but also hard-working and disciplined. Flexibility is a must, but so is holding to and protecting our boundaries. There are rules that must be followed and those that, at least on occasion, appear to be made to be broken. Our culture sends us a whole slew of confusing messages on a daily basis, something that feels especially true for women. 

A friend said to me recently, “What a crazy dance life is.” She’s right, at least based on my experience–there is a great deal of craziness that keeps us spinning. But if it’s a dance, then there’s beauty in that, for dancing involves music, steps, rhythm, and hopefully, a fun partner who gently leads. Dancing can be a celebration. Entering in means embracing it for what it is, choosing to be led, choosing to be joyful in it.

Of all the crazy dances or tightrope walks in this world, one that I find the most challenging is the balance between faith and surrender. Jesus tells us that if we have faith as small as a mustard seed, we can tell a mountain to move and it will. He also tells us, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find…” (Matthew 7:7). Paul and other apostles applauded men like Abraham who, “…human reason for hope being gone, hoped in faith.. as he had been promised” (Romans 4:18). So, for example, I can pray in faith for God to heal me, believing that He can at any moment, but I must also walk in complete surrender, trusting Him to do His will. No matter how things appear, I believe that He is always at work for my good and for His glory.

Jesus tells us that as His followers we must take up our crosses daily and follow Him, that whoever desires to keep his life must lose it. Brother Lawrence, a saint of old, encourages us, “Complete surrender to God’s will is the only sure road to follow. In it, there is always enough light to assure safe travel.” We are told in the first chapter of Ephesians that we are seated with Christ in the heavenly realms and that, “…God placed all things under His feet and appointed Him to be head over everything for the church.” He has given us authority over all the things that trouble and plague us here on this earth, yet we’re also told that for a little while we must suffer. What a crazy dance life is.

In her book, When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chödrön expresses it this way, “…We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together and they fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all this to happen, room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy…. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all” (p. 9). 

Christ holds out His hand and asks, “May I have this dance?” I accept His invitation and embrace the journey. I surrender and make space, that I may be open for all that comes next, however unknown it may be.

*Photo Credits: lovedoes.org

“Just As I Am…”

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Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

 

“Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me.

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

 

As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

 

Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

 

I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

 

That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

 

“Above me, wind does its best

To blow leaves off

The aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

In doing is making music, the noise

Of failure growing beautiful.”

 

Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

The Sounds of Silence…

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Recently, I took a course on nature writing that got me writing, thinking, quiet, outdoors, observing, and appreciating in new ways. Here are a few musings that came out of it…the “sounds” of silence:

 

The creek’s water rushes by where I sit in the meadow, slowed by the dam the ranchers have set to divert its course. Snow runoff continues to crawl and creep down our mountains, though there’s far too little of it this year.

 

A bird sounds from a place I cannot see in the tall cottonwoods that flank the trees. Suddenly, he soars, fearlessly diving into the clear blue sunny sky. I see it is a sparrow’s song that lightened the afternoon.

 

The wind stirs everything around me, from the houndstongue flower and milkvetch grass of the meadow to the shrubs and trees. It winds and wanders its way up to the jagged peaks of the Cimarron Range of the San Juans. These foothills of Chimney and Courthouse Peaks are my home. Here, I return to the sound of a heartbeat that is not my own, yet welcomes me into itself.

 

The wind returns to me, settling in the banks of the river and its trees, stirring my soul. I’m reminded of what Wendell Berry said, “Write a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.”

 

*****

 

I journeyed to the lake today in the quiet morning hours.

What a gift to sit on the sunny shore almost alone—

to see the easy morning tide and the ripples on the water,

the light that hits variant colors of stone.

On the rocky banks grow green grasses, weeds, and trees,

mama cottonwoods and their babies. 

I admire those plants that come to thrive 

out of the barren, hard, seemingly lifeless places.

There is life everywhere.

I find one shooting out of both rock and water with baby’s breath flowers,

though my field guide says it is broadleaved pepperweed.

Some “weeds” that grow in our lives seem undesirable at first,

But they bloom and flower and surprise, shading us and others with their leaves.

“I’ll Follow the Sun…”

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I’m loving the extra light within each day as summer approaches. Every morning I’m greeted by a stunning sunrise creeping over the jagged mountain peaks, stirring my soul and taking my breath away as it gradually lights and touches them with rainbow hues. But…I should say that’s true–the light stirs my soul and takes my breath away–only if I let it. I must take the moment to breathe deep, to be still, to take in all that goodness–a surprisingly difficult feat. That act of stillness is a gift of kindness I can show myself or share with others. Most days, I drive myself on to the next thing and the next thing without taking the time to stop and accept the series of similar gracious gifts I’m given, forgetting what Mary Oliver says, “Sometimes I need only stand wherever I am to be blessed.” 

 

I’m currently taking a wonderful course from Life is Good Playmakers called “Compassion is a Superpower.” It highlights the fact that human beings are all wired with compassion and empathy but that these are qualities that can be controlled. We can each either choose to repress them, as we often do out of busyness, or cultivate them. Yet the simple act of being PRESENT, opening our eyes to truly see those around us, can help us to show more empathy and grow the quality of compassion. Research has shown that different areas of our brain respond and grow as a result. Learning about this science takes me back to the importance of breathing to slow down each day, reminding myself that life is not an emergency. 

 

Another study I’m doing highlights verse six of the Twenty-Third Psalm: “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.” As author Jennifer Rothschild says, this promises us that “…goodness and mercy invade every scene of our stories” (emphasis mine). Jennifer also asks, since that is the condition we are being left in, do we also allow goodness and mercy to follow us when we leave a room or an interaction? I want to live slowly and intentionally enough that this is true. I also know that I can’t give what I don’t have. If I am to show empathy towards others, I must first allow enough space and grace in my life that I can practice self-compassion. An unknown author encourages us, “Validate humanity without highlighting brokenness.” What an important practice in both the way I treat myself and others.

 

I want to “Follow the Sun,” as Xavier Rudd sings:

 

 

“So follow, follow the sun…

The direction of the bird,

The direction of love.”

 

 
When I think of living in the light, I think of living in the full-fledged Presence of God. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire w/ God; but only he who sees takes off his shoes.” If that’s true, I aim to walk barefooted through this one great life we’ve been given. I hope I can stay with this thought from Max Lucado: “Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leaves you speechless, STOP, remain that way. Say nothing and listen as heaven whispers, “Do you like it? I did it just for you?”

“Emmanuel: God With Us…”

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I have a few friends who have nailed the art of being present. When I’m with them, they look at me, listen without interruption or distraction, nod their heads as they actively participate in the conversation, and then offer their hearts and lives in exchange. Because they’re so focused, they have this way of showing others they matter. It’s a gift to receive that kind of love, to have others who are there, ready to celebrate or cry or just sit beside me, willing to offer their strength or joy or compassion. 

 

God’s like this. He gives Himself fully to each one of us, with the infinite capacity to be present in all of us in life’s ups and downs, in just the ways we need. He pursues us and fills us to overflowing with His individual ministrations and unconditional love. How telling it is that two of His names are “I AM” and “Emmanuel/God With Us.” During the Christmas season, we remember that the Eternal God sent His beloved Son as the long-awaited Saviour. He would dwell as man with us and give His life as an atonement for our sins. 

 

I love that on his Christmas album, accompanied by Yo Yo Ma, James Taylor sings the Beatles’ song, “Here Comes the Sun.”The Son has come, and His arrival changes everything: “Little Darlin’, it’s been a long and lonely winter…but here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say, well, it’s alright.” 

 

Taylor also sings one of my favorite Christmas songs, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” an old English carol based on a Nineteenth-Century poem by Christina Rosetti:

 

“In the bleak midwinter/A stable sufficed;

The Lord God Almighty—Jesus Christ…

What can I give Him/Poor as I am?

If I were a Shepherd/I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man/I would do my part,—

Yet what I can I give Him—Give my heart.”

 

O Come, Emmanuel, be present with us this winter, in each day, as you have in ages past. Thank you for providing us with access to the ultimate gift—the feast of your presence.

“Just Another Ordinary Miracle Today”

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For the second time this year, my husband has undergone major surgery. The last time, it was an emergency situation that caught us both by surprise, almost took his life, and required a month of living in the hospital. This time, we planned for the follow-up reversal surgery. Though I feared our lives would spin out of control again the moment we stepped into the hospital, things went far better than expected. They found few symptoms of his auto-immune disease, he required no time in ICU, and we left after a stay of three short days, with the doctors and nurses amazed at his rapid healing.

 

I wish I could say it hadn’t come as a surprise to me. It’s true–I’ve prayed and believed for his healing many times over the past several months. Apparently, however, there were places of disbelief I held back. The moments I allowed my fear to be bigger than my faith are greater than I would like them to be. This experience, as well as others, provides a lesson in POSITIVITY. An unknown quote posted on my wall encourages me to become a “possibilitarian.” Eventually, gradually, purposefully…I hope and will work for conversion.

 

To ground myself, I remember the cadence of gratitude that came after a month in the hospital last spring: 

  1. Sleeping and waking up in our own bed, not to mention getting to sleep in the same bed.
  2. Cooking and eating our own food…mmmm…though I’m sure my husband will occasionally miss those mystery meat patties from the hospital.
  3. Looking out at the mountains instead of concrete and highway traffic.
  4. Sitting in the sun instead of a hospital bed as the sound of windchimes replaces hospital alarms. 
  5. Being outside and breathing fresh air with our dogs, enough to bring us both to tears! 
  6. Being able to sit on our couch without constant interruptions from the IV monitor or those we affectionately called the “cuddle police” at the hospital.
  7. Hot showers.
  8. Better sleep. No more daily or 4:30 am IV draws or middle of the night interruptions. 
  9. No more 6:30 am visits from the team of doctors, though we are thankful for the care they provided.
  10. Returning to life, not as we knew it, but some semblance thereof. 

 

Sarah McLachlan’s beautiful song, “Ordinary Miracle” reminds us that each day is full of these possibilities:

“It’s not that unusual

When everything is beautiful.

It’s just another ordinary miracle today.”

“Feeding on Mystery: The Table Before Me…”

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We all know it to be true…our lives can change in an instant, in a single breath. Some years crawl and plod on with seeming monotony, yet each day holds wonders untold. Then there are the days where something shifts. For better or worse, the unexpected comes. At times, among those surprises are the things we’ve long hoped and prayed for, revealing the unbelief that resided in our hearts all along. At others, unspoken fears are realized or loss we never imagined possible occurs. We must find ways to accept life’s ambiguity and mystery in order to find happiness and peace.

 

In her stunning book 1,000 Gifts, Ann Voskamp provides an eloquent exposition of the Hebrew word manna, meaning, “What is it?” As the Israelites exited their time of slavery in Egypt and began their desert journey to the Promised Land, God rained down manna bread from heaven to nourish them each day. Though plentiful, they couldn’t store it up—each family could gather only what it could eat in a day and must trust God’s provision would be there again the next day. Though delicious, this was to be their sustenance for forty years—meal after meal, day after day. Amazed at first by the miracle God faithfully performed on their behalf, the Israelites cried out in wonder, “What is it?” But as the days and years of wandering in a barren place wore on, their amazement soon turned to grumbling.

 

This is so true in my own life. At first, when God provides for me in the dry places, I’m inclined to see His hand and marvel at His goodness and might. As time goes by, however, my eyes are blinded to the countless ways He works on my behalf. Contentment soon changes to dissatisfaction. I grow tired of feeding on mystery and desire to simply understand the purpose of it all.

 

In Psalm 23:5, David writes, “He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” There’s never a shortage of enemies in life, though they come in many forms. The promise, however, is that there is always a table prepared for ME in His presence. I don’t expect or desire it to be filled with mystery, with provisions that are difficult to identify. But so it is. God asks me to take the bread He has given, that He has been broken in order to break with me, and to call it grace. And so I will.

 

The following verse of Psalm 23 states, “Surely goodness & mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Though unknown, though highly unpredictable…surely good things are in store. As Albert Einstein said, “There are two ways in which you can live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle, or you can live as if everything is a miracle.” 

***Photo Credits: lovedoes.org