After an Oklahoma-style hurricane: 96mph winds, straight-line force and no warning; the country paradise where I grew up has been decimated. The roof of the house has been lifted and transported to various sections of the pasture. Outbuildings which protected valuable machinery lie in tatters while the lovely trees are now a brush pile waiting for the farmer’s torch.
It is a time of loss for my family that involves days of sweat under the August heat, experts in appraisals and insurance as well as questions that begin with “What now?” I grieve for the disruption of all that was good in a place where I grew up with sunsets, fresh air and the freedom of childhood.
For me, the greatest loss is the felling of my special tree. This particular elm was created for climbing. With a giant knothole just the right height for boosting one’s adolescent self upward and another branch for hanging on – it took only minutes to vault from the ground into the security of upper limbs. On a quiet day – admittedly, that rarely happens in northwestern Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plains – I could hide within the still boughs of my tree and pretend I did not have to learn to wear a bra or start my period or deal with one more math quiz. In the solace of my tree, I cried out to God to rescue me from the hormonal rages I did not understand and the zits that dotted my face. That tree heard about my first boyfriend and my first heartache, about the prize I won at the county fair for my rock collection, about the first rejection from the words I sent to a New York publisher.
The tree represented safety when fear of the unknown gripped me – when I grew more and more serious about a particular boy in college and when I applied for a short-term missions trip and read the acceptance letter. Even before I walked down the aisle to marry another Okie, I spent an evening in my tree – reminiscing about childhood, knowing I would never again have the opportunity to whisper secrets therein.
In the cruel moments of one afternoon, a microburst reached down its powerful fist and toppled my tree. Nothing is left except the memories of a young girl who grew up on the plains of Oklahoma and found a solid foundation in the arms of an elm. How I wish I could climb there now.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Where are we Hiding?
Such a curious scripture. Adam and Eve knew they had sinned. They bit into the forbidden fruit and disappointed Creator God. They forgot how he provided for all their needs and how they enjoyed those long talks with him each evening. One bite was enough to send them into panic mode. They looked for a giant bush and hid.
God walked in the garden, longing to talk with his favorite creation and asked, “Where are you?”
How strange that the One who painted dots on lady bugs and stripes on zebras asked that question. Obviously, the one true God who knew how to position planets so they wouldn’t slam into each other also knew where this fearful man and his wife were hiding.
But he asked, “Where are you?”
God asks the same of us. When he wants us to slow down our frantic pace and listen for his soft baritone – where are you? When we’re afraid to approach him because we’ve disappointed the only One who loves us completely, he knows we’re hiding from repentance. Where are you? When we’re angry because he took someone away from us or allowed us to lose jobs or didn’t rescue us from that dreadful diagnosis, he reminds us that he has a bigger plan. Where are you?
Of all the phrases in the Bible, this may be the most poignant. The question of a loving God who cares so much for our frail substance that he constantly searches. The Almighty who is lonely for his loved ones and just wants a few moments of uninterrupted conversation. The longing heart of divine intimacy, searching and pleading and always knowing the answer.
Where are you?
Hiding from God delays His loving arms wrapped around us and His whispered, “I love you.” But only for an instant. He will always find us, because He already knows where we are.
We are where we have always been – in need of Him.
God walked in the garden, longing to talk with his favorite creation and asked, “Where are you?”
How strange that the One who painted dots on lady bugs and stripes on zebras asked that question. Obviously, the one true God who knew how to position planets so they wouldn’t slam into each other also knew where this fearful man and his wife were hiding.
But he asked, “Where are you?”
God asks the same of us. When he wants us to slow down our frantic pace and listen for his soft baritone – where are you? When we’re afraid to approach him because we’ve disappointed the only One who loves us completely, he knows we’re hiding from repentance. Where are you? When we’re angry because he took someone away from us or allowed us to lose jobs or didn’t rescue us from that dreadful diagnosis, he reminds us that he has a bigger plan. Where are you?
Of all the phrases in the Bible, this may be the most poignant. The question of a loving God who cares so much for our frail substance that he constantly searches. The Almighty who is lonely for his loved ones and just wants a few moments of uninterrupted conversation. The longing heart of divine intimacy, searching and pleading and always knowing the answer.
Where are you?
Hiding from God delays His loving arms wrapped around us and His whispered, “I love you.” But only for an instant. He will always find us, because He already knows where we are.
We are where we have always been – in need of Him.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Private Pain
Recently, I was given a free pass to a fitness center. What a blessing to walk around a spongey track in an air-conditioned facility during one of the hottest times of the year.
As I circled the track, trying to increase my speed, I noticed the other people working out. Most of them were alone, plugged in to their MP3 players or some sort of encouragement tape to keep them going. One lady read her Kindle while bicycling. Another man measured his heart rate every few miles. Their faces grimaced as they tried another weight or increased the speed of the machine. They fought through the pain – alone.
We were never meant to bear our pain alone. Even walking around the track is more enjoyable with another person. And certainly, the struggles and burdens of life are easier to bear when shared with someone else. We need accountability partners and cell groups and mentors to help us talk through things and figure out how to deal with life, how to pray, how to learn more about trust.
Even Jesus felt uncomfortable bearing his pain alone. “Couldn’t you stay with me?” he asked his disciples. “Why have you forsaken me?” he cried out to his Father.
Whether we struggle to get our bodies into shape or work on soul-stretching, it helps to have another human being beside us. Isolation digs a rut that makes the pain worse and deepens the aggravation. But sharing life with another Christ-follower lightens the load. We sense relief in the struggle.
Then we find hope as we work out life together.
As I circled the track, trying to increase my speed, I noticed the other people working out. Most of them were alone, plugged in to their MP3 players or some sort of encouragement tape to keep them going. One lady read her Kindle while bicycling. Another man measured his heart rate every few miles. Their faces grimaced as they tried another weight or increased the speed of the machine. They fought through the pain – alone.
We were never meant to bear our pain alone. Even walking around the track is more enjoyable with another person. And certainly, the struggles and burdens of life are easier to bear when shared with someone else. We need accountability partners and cell groups and mentors to help us talk through things and figure out how to deal with life, how to pray, how to learn more about trust.
Even Jesus felt uncomfortable bearing his pain alone. “Couldn’t you stay with me?” he asked his disciples. “Why have you forsaken me?” he cried out to his Father.
Whether we struggle to get our bodies into shape or work on soul-stretching, it helps to have another human being beside us. Isolation digs a rut that makes the pain worse and deepens the aggravation. But sharing life with another Christ-follower lightens the load. We sense relief in the struggle.
Then we find hope as we work out life together.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Sensory Connections
In the writing class I’m teaching, we’re studying sensory connections – those incredible five senses God has given us to enrich our lives. Where would we be without the sight of a blooming red hibiscus or the powder-fresh smell of our babies or the juicy taste of summer watermelon or the soft-as-a-lamb’s-ear rose petal or the majesty of a 500 member male chorus belting out the Hallelujah Chorus? How bland our lives would be without the five senses!
Yet there is another sense that we sometimes neglect and that is the spiritual sensory connection that God so longs to have with us. In his book Taste and See, Tim Dearborn writes, “Sensory spirituality restores passion to the spiritual life…we constantly seek signs of God’s presence, the sounds of God’s voice in everything that surrounds us.”
During so much of our 24-hour opportunities, we suffer from TMI Disease (Too Much Information). This invasion of our senses blasts from television screens, from radios on the daily commute, from the IPad and the phone apps and the PCs we automatically set to retrieve our “Favorites.” Some of this invasion descends from the necessary plots of life, the workforce and the electric baby-sitter and the “need” to keep up with what’s going on.
But I wonder how lonely God is – for the sound of his children spending valuable minutes in conversation with him, for the precious sight of his sons and daughters on our knees with our heads in his lap. Chained by TMI, we cannot discern the divine whisper nor feel the spiritual electricity of the Spirit’s companionship. We miss the aroma of a thousand angels posting guard at our babies’ cribs, and we wonder at our own loneliness.
My monthly planner fills up quickly, but I have challenged myself to schedule time for more sensory connections with my Maker. I was created for more than just information. To glorify God and enjoy Him forever, I promise to spend more time – reveling in the sensory connection of grace.
Yet there is another sense that we sometimes neglect and that is the spiritual sensory connection that God so longs to have with us. In his book Taste and See, Tim Dearborn writes, “Sensory spirituality restores passion to the spiritual life…we constantly seek signs of God’s presence, the sounds of God’s voice in everything that surrounds us.”
During so much of our 24-hour opportunities, we suffer from TMI Disease (Too Much Information). This invasion of our senses blasts from television screens, from radios on the daily commute, from the IPad and the phone apps and the PCs we automatically set to retrieve our “Favorites.” Some of this invasion descends from the necessary plots of life, the workforce and the electric baby-sitter and the “need” to keep up with what’s going on.
But I wonder how lonely God is – for the sound of his children spending valuable minutes in conversation with him, for the precious sight of his sons and daughters on our knees with our heads in his lap. Chained by TMI, we cannot discern the divine whisper nor feel the spiritual electricity of the Spirit’s companionship. We miss the aroma of a thousand angels posting guard at our babies’ cribs, and we wonder at our own loneliness.
My monthly planner fills up quickly, but I have challenged myself to schedule time for more sensory connections with my Maker. I was created for more than just information. To glorify God and enjoy Him forever, I promise to spend more time – reveling in the sensory connection of grace.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Readings
Lately, I’ve been reading a couple of books that deal with the giftings of women. Hidden in Plain View by Jacqueline Tobin and Raymond Dobard describes how the women of the 1860’s used quilts to help the slaves who were using the Underground Railroad. The different patterns on the quilts signified which direction to go toward freedom or which house might provide safety. The women hung quilts on their front fences or folded them and took them inside, depending on the signals they needed to give. These creative women pointed black people toward liberty by using design and color, disguised as a quilt.
The other book, Half the Church, by Carolyn Custis James uses insights and experiences to point out another type of slavery. James reminds us that sex trafficking and abuse occur all over the world – including the squalid jungles of our American cities. Young girls are sold into bondage to be used and abused by the lust of men and the greedy cravings of their owners. As Christian women, we spiritual warriors must put on our armor and do whatever is necessary to stop this tragedy.
James also reminds us that as women, we have many giftings and should not hide our gifts behind the cement walls of submission. Although Biblically, we should submit to leadership when a difference of opinion occurs, that does not mean we should accept a spirit of apathy about our gifts – especially when we might be able to save a life.
At first glance, these books might seem vastly different. One deals with a subject pertinent to the Civil War while the other involves our present 21st century. But in actuality, both books shout the same theme – human rights. Freedom for captives of race and gender deserves the attention of all God’s children, and we women can rally to meet the need.
Since God has gifted us with compassion and creativity, we have a responsibility to use our giftings to help others. We, the female portion of the dust people, must continue to hang our quilts to point captives toward freedom – whether that means a physical or a spiritual liberty. We, the female half of the church, must also loosen the bonds of spiritual abuse within the Church so that we can develop programs and work beside our brothers.
I challenge all of us to do whatever necessary – even if it means a march against the status quo – to use our creativity and our intelligence to be an equal half of the Church, to rescue those in slavery, to follow the radical social justice outlined in Micah 6:8.
Since Jesus risked it all to save us, can we do any less to save others?
The other book, Half the Church, by Carolyn Custis James uses insights and experiences to point out another type of slavery. James reminds us that sex trafficking and abuse occur all over the world – including the squalid jungles of our American cities. Young girls are sold into bondage to be used and abused by the lust of men and the greedy cravings of their owners. As Christian women, we spiritual warriors must put on our armor and do whatever is necessary to stop this tragedy.
James also reminds us that as women, we have many giftings and should not hide our gifts behind the cement walls of submission. Although Biblically, we should submit to leadership when a difference of opinion occurs, that does not mean we should accept a spirit of apathy about our gifts – especially when we might be able to save a life.
At first glance, these books might seem vastly different. One deals with a subject pertinent to the Civil War while the other involves our present 21st century. But in actuality, both books shout the same theme – human rights. Freedom for captives of race and gender deserves the attention of all God’s children, and we women can rally to meet the need.
Since God has gifted us with compassion and creativity, we have a responsibility to use our giftings to help others. We, the female portion of the dust people, must continue to hang our quilts to point captives toward freedom – whether that means a physical or a spiritual liberty. We, the female half of the church, must also loosen the bonds of spiritual abuse within the Church so that we can develop programs and work beside our brothers.
I challenge all of us to do whatever necessary – even if it means a march against the status quo – to use our creativity and our intelligence to be an equal half of the Church, to rescue those in slavery, to follow the radical social justice outlined in Micah 6:8.
Since Jesus risked it all to save us, can we do any less to save others?
Friday, June 24, 2011
Signature of God
Recently, a friend gave me some information about geese. I had told her about a previous blog post and the lessons I learned from geese. She relayed an internet site which helped me learn more about these graceful and gracious creatures.
It seems that when geese fly in a V, they are using aerodynamic principles. No surprise there. But when they honk, they’re not just announcing to the world that they’re flying past us, they are encouraging each other to continue – to push past the fatigue and persevere. When one goose tires or is injured, two or three others will land and stay with him until he is well again and able to travel.
The spiritual analogies seem clear. We Christians need to keep encouraging each other to persevere – even when the world makes fun of us, even when we can’t find anything decent to watch on TV, even when the solid values of family and hard work and the inerrancy of scripture are being redefined. Honk – encourage each other to remain true and strong and faithful.
If one of us should fall, that is not a time for self-righteous judgment nor should we leave our brothers and sisters behind. Our role then is to come alongside, to actually be with each other in the middle of the mess, to grieve with each other until we are restored and can journey on.
How I love these lessons from nature that teach us Biblical and common sense principles. The nature of geese is to follow their instincts, to fly but always to endure the flight together. As we do the same, our very lives will bear the signature of God.
It seems that when geese fly in a V, they are using aerodynamic principles. No surprise there. But when they honk, they’re not just announcing to the world that they’re flying past us, they are encouraging each other to continue – to push past the fatigue and persevere. When one goose tires or is injured, two or three others will land and stay with him until he is well again and able to travel.
The spiritual analogies seem clear. We Christians need to keep encouraging each other to persevere – even when the world makes fun of us, even when we can’t find anything decent to watch on TV, even when the solid values of family and hard work and the inerrancy of scripture are being redefined. Honk – encourage each other to remain true and strong and faithful.
If one of us should fall, that is not a time for self-righteous judgment nor should we leave our brothers and sisters behind. Our role then is to come alongside, to actually be with each other in the middle of the mess, to grieve with each other until we are restored and can journey on.
How I love these lessons from nature that teach us Biblical and common sense principles. The nature of geese is to follow their instincts, to fly but always to endure the flight together. As we do the same, our very lives will bear the signature of God.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Planted in Place
During a wildflower tour in the abundant Flint Hills of Kansas, I learned about the various grasses and plants that live there. God, in one of his creative jaunts, planted wild strawberries, coneflowers and goldenrod in the tallgrass prairie. Many of the wildflowers and grasses contain essential nutrients to feed and heal animals as well as human beings. But driving through the Flint Hills, we may fail to see the beauty of the prairie or to appreciate the way God planned it.
If we were to find some of those wildflowers and grasses in our well-manicured lawns, we would pull them. “A weed – yuck – grab the chemicals and destroy the roots.” But as our tour guide told us, “A weed is simply a plant out of place.”
God places us in particular places during particular seasons of life. Whether we think geographically or within the broader scope of life’s experiences, we are planted for a reason. God wants us to be spiritually nourished with the Word, with His presence, with music and nature and friends. He longs for us to grow closer to Him, to find our strength within the joy of His being and then share that joy with others. He wants us to produce and reproduce and praise the Master Gardener. He has designed us with particular gifts and talents so that we can bear His good news of love to a hungry world.
If we follow what He has told us to do and give our all to growth, then we will see the results of a bountiful harvest. We’ll flourish like the wildflowers and grasses of the prairie, reflecting the beauty of sunsets and the glory of thunderstorms.
But if we let every wind of change and every nudge of the flesh move us from the place God put us, we’ll become weak and useless – producing nothing but empty pods of legalism and strife. In the proper place, with the best God has to offer, we produce fruit. But planted out of place in the trails of rebellion, we become weeds.
I long to bear fruit. What about you?
If we were to find some of those wildflowers and grasses in our well-manicured lawns, we would pull them. “A weed – yuck – grab the chemicals and destroy the roots.” But as our tour guide told us, “A weed is simply a plant out of place.”
God places us in particular places during particular seasons of life. Whether we think geographically or within the broader scope of life’s experiences, we are planted for a reason. God wants us to be spiritually nourished with the Word, with His presence, with music and nature and friends. He longs for us to grow closer to Him, to find our strength within the joy of His being and then share that joy with others. He wants us to produce and reproduce and praise the Master Gardener. He has designed us with particular gifts and talents so that we can bear His good news of love to a hungry world.
If we follow what He has told us to do and give our all to growth, then we will see the results of a bountiful harvest. We’ll flourish like the wildflowers and grasses of the prairie, reflecting the beauty of sunsets and the glory of thunderstorms.
But if we let every wind of change and every nudge of the flesh move us from the place God put us, we’ll become weak and useless – producing nothing but empty pods of legalism and strife. In the proper place, with the best God has to offer, we produce fruit. But planted out of place in the trails of rebellion, we become weeds.
I long to bear fruit. What about you?
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