Places…

It’s hard to believe that it’s been seventeen years this month since I came to the beautiful mountain town where I live. A teaching job brought me to this gorgeous land of enchanting mountains, wandering trails, captivating wildflowers, melodious streams, and above all, a unique people. After living here for several years, I left once so that I could find a place where I could afford to buy a home, only to return two years later to the place that truly felt like home. 

    Unlike the students that I teach, I didn’t have the opportunity to grow up spending my winters skiing these stunning peaks, camping in the stark Utah deserts during the springs, or passing the summers wandering the mountains and rafting the rivers and biking the trails. I grew up in cities of both the midwest and Colorado’s Front Range. Once I reached Colorado’s Western Slope for college and became acquainted with its small-town mountain life, I knew I was home. For me, this is a FOUND PLACE–one I journeyed to and made a life in, like many others.

    As a former history major, I’ve often been fascinated by the theme that people shape places, and places shape people. I see it in the beautiful sun-etched lines, tanned wrinkles, toned bodies, and large smiles of the people here. I see it in my former students who wander far, have a passion for travel and adventure and the outdoors, who live in other places for a time, but who often find their way back home. The FOUNDATIONAL PLACES that gave them roots also provided them with wings.

    For me, when I see the big rivers and lakes of the midwest, the colors of the hardwoods in the fall, or walk or drive through a cornfield like those of Iowa where my grandparents once farmed, sweet memories wash over me and take me back to the innocence of childhood. Fog reminds me of driving through the bluffs on the way to my other grandmother’s home in southwestern Wisconsin, which sat on a hill where there was a small orchard. My siblings and I would walk through a screened in back porch where my grandfather was usually smoking his pipe to find my grandmother at work in the kitchen. 

    Places that have stretched, shaped and enlightened us can also be NOSTALGIC PLACES. I lived in Puerto Rico for a short time on a couple different occasions, and then taught English and served as a missionary in the Dominican Republic for a little over a year. Years later, I spent a summer in Costa Rica. These experiences gave me a great love for Latin America and its people, the Spanish language, and the ocean. They were also some of the most refining years of my life, for I was being reshaped by different places and people, but stretched in ways that redefined me. 

    And then there are places of IMAGINING AND WONDERING, places that call a deep longing within us that we often can’t quite name or identify. I’ve also been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to travel to Spain on a few occasions and cannot begin to express how much I love this country. I’ve only ever been for several days at a time with a group of students, but each time, it has felt as if I’m made to be there. Its deep layers of history, the beauty of its people and architecture and geography, the amazing food and the gorgeous language–they’re all so captivating. Returning there this summer with students nourished my soul in ways I can hardly express.

    We all have those places that captivate and inspire us. Perhaps it’s home–perhaps it’s somewhere new, but may we let ourselves be continually shaped by the beauty around us, and may we all find ways to contribute to that beauty. As the great author Wendell Berry says, “I am always surprised, whenever I look back on times I have known to be worrisome or troublesome or hard, to discover that I have never been out of the presence of peace and beauty, for here I have been always in the world itself.”

     “Dancing”–

    I’ve long viewed my relationship with God as a dance. Early in my life, He held out His hand to me in invitation. I often picture the scene in the old Disney cartoon ALADDIN where Aladdin rides up to Jazmine on his magic carpet, holds out his hand to her, and asks, “Do you trust me?” She looks at him, questioning if she can, then decides she will. She  jumps on for a ride that leads her to “A Whole New World.”

    I’ve returned to that moment over and over in my journey of faith. In the beginning, I naively jumped on without questioning, assuming it would be easy to trust and ride. At many other points, wondering if I could still handle the wild ride or disliking where the journey took me, I nearly jumped off and withdrew my hand. Despite often needing to trust God’s heart when I haven’t been able to see His hand or face, despite struggling to do so at several points, I know His invitation stands. Indeed, partnered with Him, I have seen sights I never could have expected otherwise.

    A wallflower to my core, it’s a wonder that He chose me. God sees the most unlovely, clumsy, and broken parts and continues to choose me. As I took Hook His hand, He brought me out of my shell and brought a smile to my face. He led and guided confidently when I didn’t know a single step or have any rhythm of my own. He taught me to ignore the crowd, close my eyes, and follow His lead. He allowed me to lean on Him and held me up when I grew weary. When I followed His lead, He made me look good. When I resisted and fought for my own way, I broke our rhythm and fell. Yet there He was to pick me up, time after time, and offer His hand again. And there’s nothing so beautiful or freeing as dancing with a good partner. 

    A new song by Elevation Worship, called “Dancing,” captures this experience and the promise I returned to Him: 

    “Dancing on the mountain of a victory; dancing on the valley of a broken dream;

    Dancing on the plain of the in-between; If it’s you and me I won’t stop dancing.”

    “Land, Sit, Dwell”—

    I have a dear friend who diligently seeks God’s provision of a word from the Word that will guide her direction for each new year. It’s inspiring to hear the word chosen for her and to watch her set her heart and mind towards that new vision, trusting that God is doing a new thing. I’ve followed my friend’s example on occasion but haven’t been as faithful to this practice as she is, this year included. There are, however, three words that God continually brings to my mind and heart in this year and season: LAND, SIT, and DWELL.

    LAND. As a new mother and a working mother, I find the pace of life to be much more frantic than ever before. As much as I chase it, balance feels elusive. For that reason, despite all the wonders and blessings of this season, I often find that my thoughts are fixed on the past or ten steps ahead in the future, worrying instead of being focused on the present moment. God often whispers to me, “LAND, beloved. Be where you are, fully, right now.” I sometimes have to continue talking myself into it with phrases such as, “Here you are, Nancy, in your favorite chair, holding your sweet baby girl. This is your favorite place to be. LAND here.”

    SIT. I’ve been doing a lot of sitting since my baby was born, something that my back finds difficult due to multiple past injuries. But I want to enjoy these sweet times of sitting with my girl…to be able to be still…to dwell in the presence of the Lord. And so, I must sit with the physical discomfort I experience and hold the many emotions that accompanied the rollercoaster ride of the last year. A friend told me recently that being a mother means realizing strengths you didn’t know you possessed and facing fears you weren’t aware existed. How true that is! I’ve had some absolutely paranoid fears regarding my daughter’s wellbeing, fears that often resurface. I often have to sit with the discomfort of them to truly process and let go of them. Another friend has reminded me that as I spend so much time looking down and caring for my baby this year, I must also remember to look up. I look up and thank God for my many blessings. I praise Him that all things are under His feet and that I have been seated with Him. 

    DWELL. Being present, being still, and letting go of fear are all things best done in God’s presence, as I DWELL and make my home with Him. God has made me His dwelling place and I have made Him mine. My heart often cries out an old worship song, “I just want to be where you are, dwelling daily in Your presence. Take me to the place where you are. I just want to be with you.” In every high and every low, He is my safe space where I can abide. In Psalm 84:10, David says that “Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked. For the LORD God is a sun and shield; the LORD bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless.”


    One of my greatest goals for the year is to be here, now. And yet, I also set my sights on the journey to new places, for there are still many things I want to see and many ways I desire to grow. André Gide wrote, “In order to see new lands, one must consent to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.” That feels like an accurate description of the place where I am. I pray for the strength to keep swimming until I reach that distant shore.

    “If I Could Just Sit With You Awhile…”

    Despite my best intentions to be present and stay balanced, the hustle and bustle of life inevitably draws me in. Just a few extra commitments or stressors within the week can overwhelm. Instead of operating from a place of calm or sitting with the anxiety in a productive way that would move me forward, I often revert to striving and dwelling in a state of near panic.

    Part of this is a natural introversion. When exhausted and overwhelmed, it’s only through quiet alone time that I recharge and recenter. But feeling groundless also means that I have lost the deep connection with my Saviour that nourishes and sustains me day by day. In busy times, I’m often still sitting down to be with God in devotions, albeit for less time, but struggle to free my mind and heart from all that weigh on them. The to-do list presses in on the time my soul most needs. 

    Songwriter and singer Dennis Jernigan has an older song called, “If I Could Just Sit with You Awhile.” In it, he discusses the merits of getting quiet with Jesus when life’s demands and concerns press in. Though reading the Word and praying are normally the ways I do this, with a crowded mind, just getting still and turning up the worship music works best. Sometimes, I picture crawling up in the lap of my Good Father and being welcomed into His arms. If I meditate on this, all else fades. As Dennis Jernigan sings, 

    “If I could just sit with you awhile,

    If You could just hold me.

    Nothing could touch me,

    Though I’m wounded, though I die.”

    Oddly enough, when I’m craving life, death is often what’s needed. To return to a state of peace, I must die to the pride I take in completing things well or keeping up or even reaching out to others. I cannot pour out until I allow the Holy Spirit to pour into me. Once I’m filled by Him and resting in His presence, just as the song says, nothing can touch me. The act of surrender returns me to equilibrium.


    In her book CAPTIVATING, Stasi Eldridge explains that most women struggle with the simultaneous yet competing ideas that they are both not enough and too much. This resonates with me. But would I struggle if I didn’t buy into the lies that I should attain perfection in so many different areas of life? Instead, I must surrender the ideal and accept and embrace what IS. I must forgive myself for falling short and give thanks to the One who lived and died in perfection for me. Then, my weary soul can breathe easy, for it isn’t all up to me. I will focus on loving God and allowing Him to use me to love others, but trust it is ultimately His work. After all, as the Apostle Paul says, I am only a jar of clay.

    “Abiding…”

    As nice as it can be to adventure, travel, and see new or favorite sights, it’s always wonderful to come HOME. Our homes provide us with shelter and resources, offering us the comfort of familiarity, simultaneously reflecting the individuality and commonality within our shared humanity. We choose our dwellings in the places we love and surround ourselves with friends and family who provide us with affection, companionship, and safety. 

     

    Apart from the physical places we inhabit, we are also invited to another. In John 15:9, Jesus tells us that as the Father loves Him, so He has loved us, and invites us to ABIDE, to make our home, in His love. Wherever I’m at, He offers me “…a place where I can enter and be at rest, even when all around me is a sea of trouble” (Andrew Murray). His love and presence are unconditional and unfailing. As Deuteronomy says, “The eternal God is our refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

     

    This invitation reminds me of a favorite love song, one that describes the heart of my abiding God even better, “To Make You Feel My Love.” Bob Dylan wrote:

     

    “When the rain is blowing in your face

    And the whole world is on your case

    I could offer you a warm embrace

    To make you feel my love

     

    When the evening shadows and the stars appear

    And there is no one there to dry your tears

    I could hold you for a million years

    To make you feel my love

     

    I know you haven’t made your mind up yet

    But I would never do you wrong

    I’ve known it from the moment that we met

    No doubt in my mind where you belong

     

    I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue

    I’d go crawling down the avenue

    There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do

    To make you feel my love

     

    The storms are raging on the rollin’ sea

    And on the highway of regret

    Put your hand in mine and come with me

    I’ll see that you don’t get wet

     

    I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

    Nothing that I wouldn’t do

    Go to the ends of the earth for you

    To make you feel my love.”

     

    Within the heights & depths of our human experience, we may feel unseen at times, regardless of who we share our lives with tangibly. God sees and surrounds us with His Presence. He unfailingly goes behind & before us. He hems us in (Psalm 139:6), lives with us, loves us, sees us, understands us. He is THE ultimate Witness to each of our journeys. As the Psalmist proclaims:

    “You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in-behind and before me…. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far ends of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.  If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me, and the light becomes night around me,” even the darkness will not hide me, the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. For you created me in my inmost being, you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I will praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Psalm 139:3-5a,7-13, NIV).

    Let us accept Jesus’ invitation to share our respective & collective journeys with Him. “Remain in Me, & I will remain in you” (John 15:3). In celebration of this gift, we can rejoice with the cry of the disciple John: “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (I John 3:1, emphasis mine).

    “Just Another Ordinary Miracle Today”

    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.”

    “Home is Wherever I’m With You…”

    In John 15:9, Jesus tells us “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now abide in my love.”  We not only have a God who has adopted & treated us as His children and heirs, & sent His son to die that we might live as such, He also provides for us a home.  Jesus tells us to remain in that love..to abide in it…to make our dwelling place in the home of His heart.  Wherever we go, whatever our circumstances, however far we may roam…we always have a place “where we can enter and be at rest, even when all around…is a sea of trouble” (31 Days of Praise, Ruth Meyers). This home is none other than the heart of the love that surpasses all understanding, a love that relentlessly pursues us.  

     

    Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros sing a very popular trendy song entitled Home Is Wherever I’m With You. To me, the lyrics have always shouted of God…the only One who can truly be our lasting place of refuge:

     

    “Ah, home, let me go home

    Home is wherever I’m with you.

    Holy moly, me oh my

    You’re the apple of my eye…

    I’ve never loved one like you….

    You’re my best friend

    I scream it to the nothingness

    There ain’t nothing that I need

    Ah, home, let me go home

    Home is wherever I’m with you.”

     

    He also provides for our companionship; we are never left alone. Our Omnipresent God has promised: “Never will I leave you, & never will forsake you” (Deuteronomy 31:6, emphasis mine). In Romans 13:14, the Apostle Paul commands us to, “Clothe [ourselves] with the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ.” Within the heights & depths of our human experience, we may feel unseen at times regardless of who we share our lives with tangibly. He sees. He surrounds us with His Presence, unfailingly goes behind & before us. He hems us in (Psalm 139:6), lives with us, loves us, sees us, understands us. He is THE ultimate Witness to each of our journeys. As the Psalmist proclaims:

     

    “You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in-behind and before….Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far ends of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.  If I say, surely the darkness will hide me, & the light becomes night around me. Even darkness will not hide me, the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. For you created me in my inmost being, you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:3-5a,7-13).

     

    Let us accept Jesus’ invitation to share our respective & collective journeys with Him. “Remain in Me, & I will remain in you” (John 15:3). In celebration of this gift, we can rejoice with the cry of the disciple John: “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (I John 3:1, emphasis mine).

     

    Woven…

    I think I’ve mentioned before that one of my favorite poems is called The Tapestry, by Corrie Ten Boom. One stanza reads: “My life is but a weaving, between my God and me. I cannot choose the colors, He weaveth steadily. Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride, forget He sees the upper, and I the under side.” This is such a profound poem and life insight to me, especially as written by a woman who survived the horrors of Auschwitz, but saw her family perish there. Though, they weren’t Jews themselves, they were imprisoned for providing “a hiding place”, as her memoir is entitled, to the Jews within Holland.

     

    In my own relatively peaceful and unscathed life, still I find that the majority of life is lived as this beloved author painted it, looking at the messy underside of a weaving. The tapestry may indeed be masterful, but from the limited vantagepoint of earth, the larger picture is hard to see or understand. I cry out when a pattern I’ve begun to be able to see or become attached to is suddenly disrupted, or when one color is torn to make room for another that doesn’t seem to belong. I question why so many messy threads hang down and why it’s all such mayhem. I’m ever striving for a tidier picture than the one I have, and a semblance of control. It rarely makes any sense what is happening through my lens. Believing that it’s all a part of “a grand design” takes a giant “leap of faith” most days.

     
    But then, there are those moments, when the master weaver beckons to me from the other side of the tapestry, and allows me to come and take a peek at His view. Just for a moment, I see the smile on His face and the twinkle in His eye. I get to take a seat with Him as He points and gestures to the pattern He’s designed and woven. And oh my, how it takes my breath away. A chill crawls down my spine and tears fill my eyes, for I can see that all along, there really has been a plan, and He really is an artist, and every stitch has been joined with the utmost care for its ultimate great beauty and purpose. It’s all sooo beautiful, and He’s been arranging and composing it all along. He looks into my eyes with joy, and I can only look back into His with regret. I’m filled with sorrow for the many moments, or if we’re really being honest here, the lifetime of moments, I’ve filled with distrust. He knows them all, and knew them all when He designed this glorious pattern for me, and yet still, He counted me worthy to be woven into the fabric of His plan. This inclusion, this composition, this revelation…these are His gifts to me. These are the manifestations of His love for me.

    An Iron Will: A Tribute to Georgine…

    Tomorrow is Independence Day, a celebration of what it means to know free life. The Fourth of July marks not only that for me: it is both the anniversary of a friend’s spiritual birthday in 1950, as well as that of her “home-going” sixty-four years later. She’s been gone for three years now, and it still doesn’t seem possible that’s a reality; I can hear her voice as if it were yesterday. From the day I met her when I moved to this area in 2008, she said I was a kindred spirit and adopted me as a granddaughter. She called me her “Sweet Pea”; I called her my “Mama G”. She reminded me of the grandmother I lost when I was nine years old: Mama G’s quiet strength, obdurate determination, compassionate presence and vocal faith mirrored those of my Grandma Thelma. I was instantly at home with her.

     

    Mama G was an example of the faith and perseverance of the saints to all who knew her. She modeled for me how one could live well with serious illness, something she coped with admirably for almost half her life: the chronic and inflammatory autoimmune disease Lupus targeted her as a young mother. Everything she did over the next decades came at a cost, but she counted it all worthy of the price she paid. She told me often with great sincerity that she counted it a true joy to share even a small bit of the suffering that was our Lord’s, and she lived out its truth. Her best friend says she had an “iron will”. As Proverbs 27:17 says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” She helped all her loved ones (in other words, everyone she knew) to be shaped into the mold of our Savior. In the spring of 2014, she contracted pancreatic cancer, the same disease took my Grandma Thelma’s life. They say it’s the most painful way to die: since the pancreas sits on a bundle of nerves that travel throughout the whole body, its sensations are akin to those of crucifixion. Though a nerve block relieved that pain for a while, in the end she suffered its fullness. Again, she counted it all joy and faced it with that iron will, her eyes on Jesus. A few short months later, she went Home to be with God. In life and in death, she celebrated free life that did not come without a cost; her soul at last found its final rest. 

     

    I am only one who loved this precious woman of God, she was precious to many, but I remember and miss her every single day. As I face each new dawn and dusk, I hear the words to one of her favorite hymns Carolina Sandell Berg, modeling the acceptant trust with which she lived all the days of her life, Day by Day:

     

    Help me then, in every tribulation,

    So to trust Thy promises, O Lord,

    That I lose not faith’s sweet consolation,

    Offered me within Thy holy Word.

    Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting,

    E’er to take, as from a father’s hand,

    One by one, the days, the moments fleeting,

    Till with Christ the Lord I stand.

    “A Whole New World: Will You Trust Me?”

    However large and spacious is the place we call home, there’s always a great big world out there. In the classic Disney movie Aladdin, the turning point comes when Aladdin flies up on his new magic carpet to Jasmine’s window & invites her to take a ride w/ him. Although she obviously wants to go, she questions if it’s safe, & he…well, he holds out his hand to her, & asks if she’ll trust him. After a moment of hesitation she accepts the hand & adventure offered, hops on, & the rest is history! “A Whole New World” awaits.

     

    Each time God invites me off on a new adventure, I find myself feeling as though I’m in Jasmine’s shoes, & my Lord has asked me Aladdin’s question: “Do you trust me?”

     

    What can I do besides smile & give Him my hand & heart & obedience. The rides He takes me on never disappoint, & multiple times, I’ve been exposed to a whole new world, a whole new way of living, a whole new level of trust. It calls to mind an old poem by an unknown author:

     

    “It isn’t that I cling to Him, or struggle to be blessed. He simply takes my hand in His, & there I let it rest. So I dread not any pathway, fear to sail on any sea, since the handclasp of my Savior makes the journey safe for me.”