Sparkles and Shiny Things

Birds sing above me and water splashes as my feet, and I cannot help but hold my hand up in praise to God; it really doesn’t matter who is looking.  I hold my palm up in submission and appreciation and notice that light sparkles back from the ridges and whorls, reflecting His glory, in creation, I think.  Then the mirrored water draws my gaze – images of heart shaped leaves reaching from its murky depths and reflecting twice:

On the shimmering water, leaves peer at themselves and I see on the back sides of those same leaves, some turned up in homage to God, I think, shimmering images, light reflected from the sky dancing slow waltzes from the water to the smooth green leaves.

 

Remy, Amy’s yorkie, pushes aside my pages and I see glory shining from his wet nose and then from the grains of quartz on the sandy slate at my feet.  An ant’s crusty shell winks sparkles in the sunlight and I notice then, the diamonds on my ring, the fake gold of my watch shine more glory to God.

Water spilling over the rocks ripple glory to God and sing praises to God as they run into the pool below. And then I notice that even a birdsong shines through the air – I cannot see the sparkles, but all the same, I hear them. 

A little chorus of laud sings patiently to me, if I will look, from tiny cups of dew caught in the curves of grass and broad folds of what some might call a weed, but it has taken on a holy purpose this morning – reflecting the glory of God.

And I wonder if that is, after all, the purpose of all things shiny – to remind us of our Maker, the One Who loves us and made all things beautiful in His time….a verse I remember teaching three and four year-olds many years ago.

 

like Christmas ornaments, promising more.

Fog shrouds the landscape allowing only glimpses of the still pond, the dew glistening grasses, and now and then, a peek of fuscia or golden brown-eyed daisies shows through, like Christmas ornaments, promising more.

I am drawn to the scene, the fog like heavy drapes to be burnt off in an hour, so I shower and dress quickly to get breakfast ready. There’s something about breakfasting here with only a wide picture window separating me from the wakening world.  A swoop of barn swallows converge on the grassy knoll guarded by the four-story rugged barn – a grandfather of barns with the roof falling in on what was once a busy milk house leaning in on the left.  Windows lend a glance into the past, and I watch my father-in-law dead these twenty years measure and cut long oak boards for a china closet.  As I peer more deeply into the darkness I see him leading black and white Holstein cows from their stanchions  - a little boy in bib overalls following and slapping the nearest cow on her flank…I hear the boy yell, “Giddayap.”

 Wisps of straw filter down from the upper levels where tractors and plows, combines and harvesters appear to have parked themselves on the first floor up, green Olivers, red Massey Ferguson, and orange Allis Chalmers.  A ladder leads to the upper levels, the hay mow where rectangular bales stacked floor to ceiling mark the hours of sweat poured into their transport and where boys were wont to play of a rainy day.

 But my visions are memories now, and the only movement comes from feral black and white cats and barn swallows who seem to have called a conference this morning. In a circle there in the wet grass, they converse and make decisions because suddenly one must have pounded an invisible gavel and in concert, they dance into the sky pirouetting to land on the barn’s peaked roof.  It looks like a flying class with one, two and then three of the smaller birds taking off to the left, sketching ever greater circles into the sky and then returning, their pointed tails and wings like the ends of silk scarves turning to the right and settling on the edge from which they had launched themselves.  Over and over they draw this pattern in the air until, I think they are either tired or bored, and they retreat to the top of a sumac leaning out from the barn’s foundation looking ever so much like the Christmas birds I pose on my tree. I imagine them chattering away, rehearsing whose flight was the smoothest, whose the most graceful, and all the male birds bragging about whose was the bravest and most daring.

And as I look up after penning these last words, I realize they’ve vanished.  Embarrassed, do you think by this watcher, or having done their calisthenics, have they retreated to search out errant hay seeds high up in the sift filtered light of the mow or have they flown to the nearby towering corn fields?

Purple-footed Grape Pressers

Funny how bits of heaven slice into my life, and yours as well.  This would have been an ordinary weekend, of laundry perhaps, a run to town for blueberries and bread, milk and orange juice, some vacuuming, all ending with the pleasure of folding clean laundry, warm from the sunshine, piling folded towels, think navy and white, then tucking the basket into a corner of the stairway to be put away after supper.

But a puppy needed watching, so here I sit, the sun warming on my back and drying up the dark blotches of water a thirsty dog sprayed after his visit to the pond for a cool drink.  I call it a pond, but the waterfall singing, splashing over the piled up rocks into the green of water lilies and tall grasses, the glints of gold from the school of fish that call this home, the bass growl of a bull frog, the rocky border circling this miniature body of water – flat rocks perfect to kneel on while you sprinkle in red and green and yellow flakes to the immediately ravenous fish, make this much more than a pond.

Ponds, this time of year, have a murky lace of green, blown sometimes this way, and sometimes that, like a floating mantilla.  The murky edges bear witness of cows or deer or maybe a raccoon or two along the water – prints deep and hollow, sucked out like those in fossil rocks in a mountain stream bed.  But this pond transports me to the tub of water by an Auberge in the Alps where you pointed out the fish you wanted for dinner or the humongous fish tank at a restaurant in the fog-shrouded cold and wet Cajas (the Andes of Ecuador) where we did the same, or my favorite thought right now, another manmade respite from the world, like this one, a netting covered pergola filtering the sun’s hottest rays, summery lawn chairs filling three sides of a rectangle, the water garden hugging the fourth, with a floor of slate rectangles pieced together like a puzzle, wild grasses working so hard to peek through the crevices.  I see and feel the sharp edges of the sun and its shadows laid in like an artist had shaded them with charcoal pencils.

I imagine I am in Tuscany, not northeastern Pennsylvania,and I lean into the shadows of the earthy colored water, shiny under the sun.  I lean into the ripples of laughter, or tears, splashing from the waterfall.  I listen for the clashes of swords, the hoots from purple-footed grape pressers – turning the grape riches into juice and the joy and anticipation into fine wine.

 And two thousand years evaporate like the blotches of water on the slate.

 

Grand-Puppy-sitting? In the job description?

Back in the day - before it was official, people kept telling me that in retirement I would get to spend more time with my grandchildren.  Most times, I nodded, but inside I winced.  Of my nine  - should I say 11 grandchildren, since two more have married into the tribe, only the two youngest at five and six might want any babysitting.  The rest live full lives with school, jobs, relationships, and well, you get the picture.  And I confess, I sometimes felt a little self-pity.

BUT, my Amy lives only an hour away and she has two of our four grand-dogs.  Her in-laws are celebrating 50 years of marriage and Tom and Amy wanted to make the journey to Grand Rapids, but they did not want to put the dogs in a kennel.  The littlest, Remy, has a few separation anxieties, and by the way, he has thoroughly bonded with Grandma, or is it that Grandma has bonded with him.  I have been known to fill a tiny lunch box with dog treats to take when we visit Remy, and, I must admit, to keeping a box at our house for when Remy comes for a visit.

Anyway, here we sit, with Remy taking turns whose feet he guards.  By the way, I remember the day when Jim brought a dachshund home, and after one night of this little wiener dog battling all night to sleep between Jim and I, he went back.  The dog, not Jim.  Last night, Remy joined us in bed, checked to make sure I was on my side, and spent the night snuggled right up close to Grandpa’s feet…and how do you think Grandpa responded?  He LOVED IT!  Remy, after all, is our very needy grand-dog, and how could you do anything but love him back.

He has guarded us today, announcing loudly all visitors, or squirrels in the back yard.  He sat still like a good boy in the car when we checked out a local McDonalds.  He played catch me if you can, when I tried to assure him that the squirrel would not hurt us…and all in all, he thoroughly satisfied the nurturing needs of his grandparents.

Now Remy shares guard dog duties with Jack, a long haired lab who has to stay out of the main living areas – Amy is allergic, and we love on Jack too…but don’t tell him that our hearts belong to Remy this weekend.

So what does this have to do with retirement?  I love dogs, and God blesses us all in unique and wonderful ways…even through grand-dog sitting.

 

Going on vacation?

When you go on vacation, real vacation, not visiting people, but going away for some R and R, what do you take with you?  I always take books, a bag of books, because on vacation, most chores have been left behind and I have the time and quiet to read.  And I love to take books that I can learn from – even if it just that the book might take place in a different country, or culture, or conditions that I am not personally familiar with.  I get lost in the pages of a book, traveling to far off places, so far off that I have often said that while I am reading, the walls could fall down around me and I would not even notice.  Funny how we do that, make time to read books for entertainment and enlightenment, and we will spend hours lost in someone else’s words.  At least I do.

So, back to yesterday and the thoughts about accessing the presence of the Comforter, the Holy Spirit, I need that same kind of quiet, that same kind of commitment to the pages that will take me out of this world…only here it is the pages of God’s Word. Oh, and the faith to believe that the words on a page in my Bible were laid in there by God for me – and for you.

I think real peace is only accessible when we give it time.  That’s why there is such an emphasis on spending time with God and thinking on His Word.  I just did a quick search on words like meditate, think on, bring to mind or medicate on or before.  Wow!!!  Eight synonyms came up and they were used nearly 300 times.

The passage in Philippians 4:8 comes to mind: Finally brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just,…pure…lovely…of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.  In ! Timothy 4, Paul gives many words of wisdom and counsel to the young believer and he ends that passage with this admonition in verse 15: Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to them that thy profiting may appear to all.  Check out Psalm 119 for the use of the word…and maybe you might want to do a study like I did.

The point is this: God wants us to be filled with joy – check out Philippians.  He wants us to overflow with a peace that can hardly be understood.  I think He wants us to laugh out loud, and I think we would do a lot more laughing with pure joy if we thought about Who He is, who we are, and how much He loves us – actively.

From a purely secular perspective, imagine the absurdity of the King abandoning his fine raiment and position to step into your place of punishment – my place.  We are nothing apart from Him.  Wouldn’t we rejoice, especially if we had been delivered from a death sentence?  But we have!  And then this fine King, who redeemed us, reminded us that He would never leave us nor forsake us (Heb 13:5)

So, our issue is that we get so busy, even doing good things, that we forget these most beautiful truths. We allow our circumstances to control us, the temptations to rehearse someone else’s circumstances that may look better than our own.

In truth, as God’s children, we were made to rejoice.  We were blessed beyond measure, like a cup splashing the sink full under the rushing spigot.  It is all there, and all the time, if we would turn all the distractions off and devour His Word with the same appetite that we devour the words of others when we are on vacation.

PS. I am relearning this as I learn retirement.  I am experiencing for the first time in a while such an appetite for God’s Word, right now devouring them through The Message and my old KJV.  And being amazed at God's kindness!!!

 

Puzzle pieces “accidentally” coming together?

I love it when things come together in such clear ways that you have to write about it.

Yesterday I wrote about retirement, my days of retirement, and some people commented on my focus on my husband, and what about single women retiring?  That made me think of a conversation I had with two single women in Africa many years ago.  My days were ordered first by my responsibilities for my three children and my husband, then ministry to others filled up the spaces.  Those women were free to go live in the bush and learn language and culture from the inside.  I watched it.  They woke up every morning free to do what they and God wanted to do.  In some ways, they envied my life and I theirs, and we honestly shared our struggles.  The bottom line, any one of us could revel in our misery and envy or delight in the presence of the Lord and the privilege of serving Him, of serving with Him.

Then I saw this line on facebook: “I love having an old church building, but I don't like how creepy it is being the only one here this late at night... — at Restored Church.  Tim Walker”  My quick response was that he was not alone, as I remembered walking home alone from work as a 17-year-old, through the wrong part of town – I used to sing hymns thinking no one would bother God and me if I was singing hymns. I was alone, but not alone!

Then I saw this on facebook this morning:

• Ruth Kennedy  from Ethiopia:
  "Day 47....without electricity....a dreary, cold day....but Grace Village is buzzing with activities..., the generator is humming, the donkey is going back and forth with water, a group of kids has gone to the tree nursery to purchase trees for the village, tree planting this afternoon, our sheep are being weighed, sheep business head office coming this afternoon, making arrangements for the new children, enjoying the company of little Misgana in the office, buying more solar torches for the village, a bunk bed is being constructed, our 2 science teachers and our bigger boys have been given the challenge to construct a wind turbine together , applications are coming in for special needs teachers for the coming school year.....Yes life could be a lot better, but if you don't have what you want/need, don't stop living, you just happily make do with what you've got and you will be surprised how much happiness will flow through your heart, it just washes away the frustrations about the "have not" ."

And finally I was challenged by this in my morning time: It is actually best for you that I go away because if I don’t, the Counselor won’t come.  John 16:7  I would have stood there in their midst stunned and angry and scared to death.  How could He leave us, me?  All the while ignoring the reality that in the flesh, He could not be with all of us all the time. 

But the Counselor, God the Holy Spirit could.  Andrew Murray puts it this way: He taught them (the disciples) to understand their great need and joyfully expect the coming of something better.  Christ’s teaching in human language was changed into the inspiration and operation of the Counselor, the Holy Spirit.

I am not alone, here in my house.  Tim was not alone in the church.  Ruth was not alone running a ministry for orphans and sick kids in Ethiopia, and you are not alone, regardless of your situation.  I have some ideas on how we can remember that, how we can access the truth of the presence of the Comforter, but will save that for another day.

 

 

 

People keep asking about retirement and I finally figured out a good metaphor!!

People keep asking about retirement and I finally figured out a good metaphor!!

I remember this: kissing him good by in the morning, and then thinking through what I would do for the rest of the day, but honestly, it goes back to 1965 when we were first married.  Retirement is like that first year of marriage, if you lived far (relatively) away from your parents, and did not work outside of the home.

Back then, every afternoon I would polish his boots (he had two pair) and lay out his uniform for the next day, from the skin out, so we would have a few extra minutes together the next morning.  Then after a nourishing breakfast of fried eggs and toast and juice, he would leave our first three room apartment a block from the Boardwalk and head to school at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey.  That first year, he studied; the second year they sent him to instructor’s school and he taught.

BUT, I stayed home.  Every weekend we hit the base library, and I selected a dozen books on everything from cooking, marital adjustment, then pregnancy and child birth, and just good escapism.  At home I scrubbed every inch of our tiny apartment, baked bread and cookies and pies, and selected new recipes for what he would call a year of adventure.  He grew up eating beans and potatoes and meat.  I learned to cook by color: green salad, white carbs, red and yellow or orange veggies and meat.  That was a new one for him.

Then I scrubbed clothes in the deep sink to save money, made homemade Christmas ornaments and gifts and made a poor stab at baby quilts for our first born….and read.  We didn’t even have a TV.

So, here I am again, kissing him good by in the morning after cooking his breakfast, and laying out some of his clothes the night before.  Then I tidy up the kitchen – maybe start dinner, but set the table.  Oh, and I had my devotions back then, as I do now, though my resources are much better now…  I do laundry in my real washing machine now and explore new recipes….

I write things, like this blog and work on workshops and classes I will be leading, and I try new things – like I did back then.  This last week I  read my way through books on basic quilting and altered books, and sometime in the next few weeks hope to attempt a quilt for someone I love and journal my way through an altered book to explore just how bad an artist I really am….though the book is not for anyone but me to see, so that’s OK!

So, if you wanna know what retirement is like – it is a whole lot like that first year of marriage – figuring out who I am at this place in life, longing for my husband’s return at the end of each day ….and other stuff that goes with that place in life.  I keep busy every day, and at the end of the day, there is more to do, and it’s really kind of nice!!