A tiny seed when planted 
In ground or womb or mind 
Sends tendrils forth dividing 
New shapes unique unfolding 
Creation’s grand design 

As new things dawn their growing 
From good or evil start 
They reveal their beginnings 
Those things of which they’re part
Influences bearing in

When birthed they are presented 
Bless or curse a fallen world 
To build it up or 
Tear it down 
Into this life they’re hurled 

What is it that I’m birthing?
Bringing to this sacred home? 
Adding joy and goodness?
Helping others carry on? 
What am I germinating? 

‘Tis a wondrous life we’re given 
To walk upon the earth 
To share in co-creating 
With God to bring new birth 
Infuse His glory in 

Though efforts might be futile 
Far below perfection’s style 
The labor of the making 
Allows the sense a while 
Of transcending dusty planes 

I lay crumpled, my mind swirling with chaos, migraine pressure pounding, the overwhelming stress inside of me nearly erupting, my own private Vesuvius ready to destroy. Empty . . . emptiness seemed a siren’s call of relief. Would I last long enough til then, til it was gone and I could walk away from all that hounded me from within. Tired of conflict, inside and outside of myself, I was dying. Dying, somehow. What use to live like this in a chaotic, hurting, unending repetition of attack, attack, attack? Yet something deep inside me would not let go . . . of me.

It was about 3:00 AM. The room was totally dark but for a shimmer coming from the corner closet. What was there? A sense of curiosity arose as I tried to see clearly. As my eyes focused and the reality of the vision came clear, I was sure an angelic being stood there. It was beautiful, glistening and shimmering in otherworldly light . . . until I saw more deeply into the hooded face, the glowing red eyes of evil spewing hatred towards me. Without hesitation I found myself running from the room in fear. Whatever that was did not come to comfort me. No, that being was sent to entice me with its beauty, and then destroy me.

It had been a good long while since my last prayer. I found myself gasping, and grasping in my memory for prayers and teaching I had received growing up. Thinking I could conquer life on my own, I was woefully discovering that in so many ways I was a mess. Throw in an evil spiritual being I could see, and I knew I needed help, right then, from beyond this earthly realm! Things were becoming alarmingly clear.

Contemplating what to do, determination welled up from somewhere. There was no way I should be afraid to sleep in my own room. It was my sanctuary, my safe place. I had to go back in there and claim it for my own. Besides I was exhausted. I had things to do in the morning. I had to function. I had to get up on time. Tiptoeing back in, my heart rate finally starting to slow, relief washed over me to see the closet empty of that shimmering thing. Slipping back into bed, covers up to my chin, my mind began reaching to remember those words of promise I had learned so many years before:

  1 The LORD is my Shepherd;
      I shall not want.
  2 He makes me to lie down in 
     green pastures;
     He leads me besides the
     still waters.
  3 He restores my soul;
     He leads me in paths of   
     righteousness 
     For His name’s sake.
  4 Yea, though I walk through 
     the valley of the shadow 
     of death, 
     I will fear no evil;
     For You are with me;
     Your rod and Your staff, 
     they comfort me. 
  5 You prepare a table before   
     me in the presence of me
     enemies;
     You anoint my head with 
     oil;
     My cup runs over. 
  6 Surely goodness and mercy
     shall follow me
     All the days of my life;
     And I will dwell in the 
     house of the LORD 
     Forever.”
                (Psalm 23 NKJV)

While whispering that Psalm over and over out loud, my mind struggling to remember the words I had memorized as a child, peace flooded my soul. Then came the words of the LORD’s Prayer:

 9 Our Father which art in   
  heaven,
  Hallowed be Thy name.
 10 Thy kingdom come. 
  Thy will be done in earth, as 
  it is in heaven. 
 11 Give us this day our daily
  bread.
 12 And forgive us our debts,
  as we forgive our debtors.
 13 And lead us not into  
  temptation; but deliver us
  from evil: For thine is the
  kingdom, and the power, and
  the glory, for ever. Amen. 
          (Matthew 6:9b-13 KJV)

Fear was gone as I clung to those truths, like a barnacle in a storm while wave after wave washed over me, taking the torments of the night away. Ever present and ready to come to my aid, God was reaching down to me, as I was reaching in my need and weakness up to Him. There was no rebuke or punishment from Him that I had wandered on my own path, leaving thoughts of Him behind as I “did my own thing.” No, His eager, reassuring, loving embrace was there to rescue me again.

There is a famous painting of Jesus knocking on the door of one’s heart. Portrayed as if He were knocking on the door of a house, closer inspection shows there is no door handle on the outside of the door. Jesus does not pull open the door and barge in. He knocks, and knocks again. The door can only be opened outward towards Him from the inside. His promise in Revelation 3:20 NKJV is true:

  Behold, I stand at the door
  and knock. If anyone hears My
  voice and opens the door, I
  will come in to him and dine
  with him, and he with Me.

I learned that night that God is indeed Love, and He is all powerful! His power far exceeds any power of darkness that might come against us. We need but invite Him in, yield our stubborn wills to His wisdom and grace, and realize that any and all of life’s battles are finally conquered through Him. No matter if we have known Him before and walked away, are confused in our journey with Him, or are searching to know Him now, His invitation is open to all who would open the door.

How does one open the door? By choice, like opening the door to the welcomed knock of a beloved friend. No matter how strange or scary it might feel to ask God to come in, He has a way of knowing us better than we know ourselves. He created us, and we are His workmanship. He already knows all about us; He is knocking that we might come to know Him. And He is Love.

Here is a prayer to consider:

Dear God, I need help! I need to know Your design for my life, Your plan, and how I fit into it. Help me to understand. I have failed and been wrong in so many ways. And even when I’m right my selfishness and pride get in the way. Please save me from my sin – everything that separates me from You – I cannot save myself. Thank You that Jesus died to take all punishment for me, for wrongs big and small I have committed. And that He rose again, conquering death, so that I, too, can have eternal life. I choose You, LORD! I invite Your Holy Spirit to come into me by faith, to teach my spirit Your Truth. Thank you for making me new! Show me please through you Word, the Bible, how to live. Teach me Your ways. In Jesus’ name, Amen!

Crooked hands, gnarled fingers
Look much like burled trees 
The stress of storms or insects 
Other forms of injury 
Causing calluses to grow there 
Protecting tree beneath
The lumpy areas hardened 
Through sufferings etched deep 

And yet these lumps when opened 
Reveal beauty therein hid
The hardened shell protective 
Of swirled patterns laying in 
Witness of adjustments
Growing o’re and round the wound 
Has made the tree more beautiful 
When one truly sees the wood 

Wrinkled fingers, hands and faces
Recording tracks of time
Chiseled channeled places
Hard work and tears sublime 
Each a lifelong story 
Explicit in detail 
If only they could speak aloud
Tell all the hard won tale 

Life turned vibrant on that day
When Jesus lifted me 
He took my sins, threw them away
Filled up my all, set free 

He lifted me from sunken woes
That filled my life with shame 
He gave new sight to blinded eyes
New songs for me to sing 

The air itself became a glow 
The breath of life so fine 
My spirit floated on gossamer wings
New joy filled me like wine

And though my feet were planted sure 
On earth I still would trod 
I’ll n’er forget that awesome day
I was made new by God  

For days a storm cloud had been creeping into my mind. From where and why I was unsure, but with the effects of barometric pressure-like changes in my behavior, I finally had to pay attention. What was going on with me anyway? Why the glum? Something was disrupting my peace. It was not pretty, this stormy weather. “Take cover!” my dear husband said nonverbally, retreating to his office.

Somewhere I read that being overly inward-focused is a personal liability. Perhaps I have too great a dose of this, yet as I wrestle with those internal things that threaten my peace and demeanor towards others, in I go to dig in the glum.

Thankfully Julia Cameron has addressed this normal abnormality in her book The Artists Way regarding the experiences artists may have in how their feelings are effected by the response, or not, of the world to their work, and to the works of others. That propensity to comparison that plagues humanity. And there it was, the root of my storm: the green-eyes of jealousy looking at me, or me looking through them. As I had been rejoicing with loved ones on their glorious achievements recently, poor old me was glumming deep inside. What a disturbing surprise. How old am I?

As I looked more closely at the ugly view within I saw remnants of other storm damage from the past. Storms of insecurity, not being good enough, or as good as. One would think after a lifetime these wounds would just heal and go away. Am I gazing on them too much? Why do they keep popping up like weird prehistoric creatures rising from the deep, ones that were thought to be extinct, yet still flipping their tails at me? Rather than just burying those monsters again, I would rather vaporize them forever! That would solve the problem!

Happily, there is real help available! And so I take my glum and run to my LORD Jesus to confess to Him, again, this glummy sin. I see this problem as “sin” (anything causing me to worship something or someone other than God) because it stems from my want to be glorified. That borders a bit on the desire to be worshipped, satan’s downfall and the root of the struggle of who is on the throne of my life: my self or the LORD. So here I stand before the LORD to confess this conundrum in my brain and heart. “LORD, please cleanse me from jealousy. But deeper still from those ridiculous hurts that just refuse to heal. From ongoing thinking that I must have my life and efforts found praiseworthy. Let me enjoy my accomplishments in a balanced way, and realize my value as a person does not rest in how I glorify “me,” but comes from who You say I am – “beloved!” Banish the minions that diminish and steal my joy. Help me to do my part in living healthfully and well, and keep my mind and eyes focused on You as I rejoice in the accomplishments of others. May You be glorified! For You, LORD, are the One from Whom all blessings flow, all giftedness is received. Thank You, LORD, for Your mercy and grace!”
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

It matters not under what tree you have  perched
Overhead is the same blue sky
Though tree leaves or branches or heights aren’t the same 
They still reach for the same blue sky

And even when storm clouds arrive on the scene
Blotting away the rays of the sun 
Still above and certainly far past the clouds 
The blue sky holds steadily on

Perhaps my thoughts are different from yours
Or my friends from a camp of my liking 
‘Tis no matter, for you see we are all bravely here
On this planet that is not of our making 

And so as we wonder and ponder each day 
The whats, the wherefores and whys
One thing seems unchanging even with change
Overhead is that same blue sky 

How do I pray aright, O LORD
For wounds that run so dark and deep 
That long have festered tendrils grown 
From childhood yet the scars still weep 

Another’s pain I lift to You 
The pain of family also torn
Of those who do not want Your help 
Oh, God, please help them in Your love

Cradled in my mother’s arms 
Tears baptizing awful hurts 
I lift with song these burdens, LORD
Grace them with Redemption’s work 

Like pustules formed on a porcelain face 
Or fissures venting steamy air
Anger stirred, compressed o’re time 
Demands its voice is finally heard

It matters not the cause thereof 
What’s left behind is all the same 
Scars that mar the beautiful scene 
Hate spewed out, destruction reigns 

As cancer growing deep within
A leperous creeping through our midst 
Left unchallenged death destroys 
‘Til healing balm is given again 

Insidious is that rise to light 
As darkness brews and breeds its glee 
To harm and main, to kill, destroy
The life that was our sanctuary 

For dark cares not for all that’s good 
For battles won o’er ills of past
It wants to rule, destroy at last
All righteousness, all in its path 

Its goal is ultimate control 
Not life and freedom for us all 
But slavery to its will and ways 
Its fitful efforts to conquer God

Wake up you who wantonly destroy 
The good this nation has achieved
Yes, though imperfect that we are 
Still freedom reigns where we believe 

Bow down just to God Most High
Who gave this earthly treasured globe 
For us to learn to live as He 
Designed for life and joy and love 

Come hither to His waiting arms
Leave hate, and learn of all His ways
For all the strife that mankind knows
Is vanquished in our God of grace  

Dwell upon His promises true 
No one is mightier than He 
Death’s been conquered by our 
LORD 
Not once, but for all eternity 

“Nana!” the grands yelled, arms akimbo, all three children hugging and jabbering at the same time. Excitement filled the air, as it usually does when they come to visit. Frequently I am asked to repair a beloved stuffed animal, or a torn item. Today was no different as wounded precious things were thrust into my hands.

One in particular caught my imagination as repairs began . . . a blue whale who had endured, from the looks of it, a bite-sized hole from one of the dogs, complete with an accompanying gash above. He was definitely injured. The gash was easily woven together leaving but a faint scar. The hole, however, required more extensive attention. Heart surgery, in fact, for on closer inspection the tattered edges revealed a surprising heart-shaped hole. “What a lesson this could be!” came thoughts into my mind. The hole was gaping; no way could it be just woven together without terribly disfiguring Mr. Whale. So a kind of heart surgery with grafting commenced.

Mr. Whale’s underbelly, where he had been attacked, was a light beige fleecy fabric. Digging through the sewing drawers I came across a piece of white fleecy material, not quite as deeply piled, but perfect for a graft. Tucked into the wound, under the edges of the hole, it provided a splendid cover for Mr. Whale’s tender innards. So the surgery began, stitch by stitch, until the hole was filled. In its place, a heart-shaped patch, evidence that though wounded there is hope to live again!

“No matter how deep the hurt, one can receive a new heart!” I wondered if this was a lesson I could share with our eight year old grandson and his family. Would it make sense to them as it does to me? Who knows? Perhaps only Mr. Whale sporting a new, clean heart knows for sure. His grafted heart does, after all, look a bit like an offset smile.

Oh, what a happy day! Some of the grands were coming over, last seen two weeks ago before their out-of-town friends had come to visit. Hurrying to get ready, Nana hoped she would hear the doorbell ring. Blissfully waiting, she started writing imaginations of the day, “what-if’s” begging to be penned.

Pancakes. She would cook pancakes for breakfast, with grapes, or perhaps cut oranges. And oatmeal for the one who disliked pancakes. They would have such a great time, catching up on all the details of life since their last visit. She might even be booted out of the kitchen if the oldest insisted on cooking the pancakes herself. How had such a tiny little girl grown big enough to wrangle hot pans and spatulas already? It was uncanny. Nana still could neither wrap her mind around, nor capture, fleeting time. And speaking of time . . . where were that family? Were they driving up the hill yet?

There! There! She heard the bell ringing as she turned from the bathroom mirror, lipstick on, meds taken, ready to welcome them in. “Mom, mom!” a voice called. “Nana’s in here!” A flutter of tiny hands grabbed her close, patting her face, voices whispering while fingers hugged her arm. They were here, these darling ones. She had not seen them for so very long, so very long . . . “Mom, mom!” The voice was closer, shaking her gently. “Mom! Are you ok?”

She was still floating a bit, diaphanous mists swirling around, as she listened to her family through the fog. Sitting on the floor, back against the dresser, she had indeed melted like oozy caramel into a soft lump. “I, I heard the bell. I was coming to let you in,” she managed to say, words sticky in her mouth. “We waited and waited, Nana! We had to come in through the garage!” a young voice piped. Thankfully they knew the code. They were finally here!

A bit confused about their confusion Nana allowed herself to be helped to her feet and assisted to the couch. Immediately three grands snuggled close to her while her daughter asked questions. It seemed the lapse in time had been very short, indeed, and though she was waiting results of a recently worn heart monitor, she would need to tell her doctor of this new experience. She felt fine now; her breathing was ok, her vision had cleared. It seemed all systems were working. Meanwhile, she had pancakes to make and a long overdue visit to enjoy. A little sinking onto the floor was no big deal, was it?

“Ding dong ding! Ding ding ding!” The doorbell rang its happy chime and Nana quickly put down her writing. The grands were arriving to spend the day “at Nana and Papa’s house.” It was so hard to put aside her thoughts when a story started in her mind, but put aside she must. “They’re here! They’re here! And I have pancakes to make!” They greeted Papa outside the door, then tumbling in hugged Nana closely, all grinning at each other. “Have you had breakfast yet?” “No!” “How about pancakes?” “Yay!” shouted two. “I don’t like pancakes,” murmured one. “Would oats do?” “Yes please, with apple and cinnamon, butter and maple syrup.” “Can we help make pancakes?” asked the younger two. “Of course!”

As Papa left for a short errand, out came the spatula, pan, and pancake makings. Yes, today was going to be grand! No sinking Nana, no turning into caramel, but just having fun. “Can I help flip the pancakes? I’ve never done that before.” “Can I flip pancakes, too?” “Absolutely!” “And we have to have salted butter with the syrup.” “Ok.” “Have you ever tried applesauce on your oatmeal? It’s yummy! Want to try it?” “Uh, ok.” Breakfast preparation was a blast, pancake flipping the star attraction. Apple sauce on oatmeal was less of a hit, though one of Nana’s favorites. “Duh! I forgot! We have regular apples. Is that what you wanted with your oatmeal? Yes? Sliced?” “And almond milk, please.” “I want water.” “Me, too . . . water.” So the morning went.

“Boy, it smells pretty good in here!” Papa exclaimed coming through the front door. Do I smell pancakes?” “You sure do! Extras are just waiting for you on that plate by the stove.” “Thank you!” A few minutes later . . . “Mmm! These are tasty!” Though everyone, almost, had been a-flutter about pancakes – pouring, cooking funny shapes, and flipping – every ear perked up at Nana’s next announcement: “And guess what! Today we get to make ice cream, too!”

The new ice cream maker was at the ready, just waiting as four sets of eager hands prepared the makings. First order of business: fill the blender with almond milk, cashew butter, and maple syrup (certainly not a low caloric blend). Divide and conquer. Each of the three grands plus Nana found the right utensils, measured and poured, dug the stiff cashew butter out of the jar, then set the blender to “whir!” A yummy light caramel color with fragrance hinting of chocolate, the frothy mix promised deliciousness. All four ice cream connoisseurs waited expectantly as the mix was poured into the ice cream maker, the top locked, and the electric timer set to twenty minutes. Around and around went the paddle, the churning began, while fingers and spatulas scooped out the tailings in the blender. No way could melted ice cream be wasted, or not tasted!

A bit past lunch time the churned ice cream was at soft-set stage. Tummies just empty of pancakes, why not ice cream for lunch? Apparently today was a day for “go with the flow.” Who could wait four hours for the yum to harden? Not this gang! Out came bowls and spoons, and in short order all were enjoying fabulous ice cream soup. “Oh, my! This is soooo good!” A few banana pieces in each bowl added a little treat, though none was needed. “Hmmm, maybe a bit of chocolate syrup next time,” one of the grands mused.

Fully satisfied the four snuggled on the couch for writing stories and reading time. Papa’s idea of a movie and popcorn came later, at just the right moment, the end of a chapter. Movie selected, popcorn popped, snuggling again, all five watched Son of Bigfoot. It was such a joy to just be together, no big extravaganza planned, just an ordinary family day. Having fed the grands oats and pancakes for breakfast, ice cream for lunch, and popcorn for a snack, Nana sincerely hoped they would have more green food for dinner. One can only subsist so long on oats, pancakes, ice cream soup and popcorn, even though it all was, “Mmmm – delicious!”

“Oh my goodness! How beautiful!” The miniature cactus, wearing three bright red flower topknots, it’s many prickly spires standing proudly at my place at the table, seemed to flame a greeting as I swept into the room, hurrying to leave for a dental appointment. Dear husband had been to the market this morning, surprising me also with a gift of blossoms. This has become a precious part of our married life . . . I never know when flowers, a miniature rose, an orchid, or today a cactus, will appear, just for the sheer beauty of it. No matter when, I am always amazed at the tender heart my husband shows me. And I am ever thankful for his love of flowers! It blesses me so, inside and outside. His love of tulips, daffodils and pansies have motivated me to add many to our garden bed. Living, beautiful things where we dwell.

“Oh, thank you!” I enthused. Holding the charming cactus I walked into my husband’s office, exclaiming, “If we can’t go to Arizona, this brings Arizona to us!” He laughed, and with that signature mischievous grin of his, replied, “The checker at the store asked me, ‘Why are you buying your wife a cactus?’” I anticipated him saying, “because we missed going to Arizona . . .” I should have known, that twinkle in his eye a dead giveaway of what was to come. I held my breath and waited. “Oh, she’s a little thorny, and this has pretty flowers on top.”

Guffawing, I nearly dropped the cactus. He really had me there. But today I was wearing my Teflon suit, so the teasing just rolled right off and danced around with the laughter. Maybe this was an indication that my old teasing wounds are finally getting healed, for the moment anyway. It felt great to just laugh at his funny comment, rather than feeling hurt by it. Yes, sometimes the truth does hurt, and at times I have been known to be a bit prickly. 🙂 Still, no matter, when wounds entrap us and steal our joy, a little digging is in order.

It brings to mind again the wisdom of pulling weeds up by the full root rather than just whacking away the tops . . . they are tenacious and will grow back again. Deep wounding behaves the same way I have found. And until the root of the thing is found and dug out, the hurt it causes will crop up again and again throughout the seasons. Dealing with those deep hurts, ones that occurred before we ever met each other, has proven a challenge in our relationship, my lighthearted husband and serious me. Still it has helped us both to grow as we have navigated communicating over forty-two years, discovering what it is that makes us tick. Our plumb-line in trying to figure it out: the Master Gardner Himself who knows what our real problems are, and who helps us overcome. There has been lots of prayer, forgiveness, and forbearance in our marriage, and lots of fun, too. What a joy that the prickles (definitely a defense mechanism) were on the cactus today, and not on me!

Was evil lurking strongly there 
When she inquired for a job 
The craft store seemed a happy place
To work among the bits and bobs

Interviewed, then brought on back
Into the room just past the screen 
For picture taking, employee needs 
With ease she sat down gingerly 

His talk was smooth, it made some sense
But then his words began to ring 
Sounding caution up in her
Confused when pressed to bare some things 

Hesitation might kill the cat 
This time it just gave the fuel 
To let alarm ring loud and strong
To hear Truth’s voice, “Don’t play the fool!”

And so she fled most dignified 
“I think this job is not for me”
Humiliation ran along with her 
Tendrils deep it clung with glee 

Though years have gone yet up again
The memory of emotions tossed
The grave feelings of embarrassment 
Of innocence then nearly lost 

Examining that wound once more  
So deeply buried judgement’s been
Not from God, but surely from 
Evil screaming, “You’re condemned!” 

And had she fallen in that trap
She knows now how to be unbound 
In Christ alone sin’s stains are cleansed 
Forgiveness, redemption finally found 

In Truth’s clear light she lifts this pain 
For deeper healing even still 
Her soul’s not filth that she nearly fell 
At last she forgives herself as well 

Broken pieces shattered laid 
Imploded each upon themselves 
Scattered, fractured all about
‘Til collected there by Love

“What will I be?” thought the pot 
Exposed rawness yawning wide 
For all to see its helplessness 
All pretenses gone to hide 

By struggles shards could not reform
Together as they rightly should 
Resigned at last the pot gave up 
Waiting for Who only could 

There it lay hoping long 
‘Til finally dawn its rise began 
The pot could rest, it realized 
Itself it surely could not mend 

Yielding to its Maker true 
With complete content and calm 
The pot was mended, crafted new 
Filled with glorious reborn song 



“I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well.” (see Psalm 139:14 NKJV)

“And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.” Genesis 1:2b, 3 (NKJV)

Ever wonder why some of us moms, or dads, have a tendency to be overprotective? Helicopter-ish? Just plain hover-y? For years our children blatantly told me I was belabored with this malady, grandly offering to make their points more clear by telling me to “back off!” Yikes! What’s a mother to do? I could blame any number of things, but that would make it too easy. The reality of it all was that with our blended family of six: four children ages thirteen, twelve, six, and newborn; plus one dog, two cats and a horse; and the two older children grieving the death of their mother, should I not hover? Like a hen clucking for her chicks, being responsible I took seriously.

Thinking back fondly of those busy, crazy days, I wonder how we navigated through it all. It was literally only by God’s grace that life unfolded as peacefully as it did amongst our chaos. So many living, moving parts: hubby working full time in his civilian job, and part-time in the Idaho Air National Guard; me working part-time to help make ends meet; the children in various activities and grades, or not quite; remodeling the house to fill our growing needs. We prayed about everything, and watched with faith as the LORD worked with so much favor, grace and blessing in our lives. Of course, there were many things only our children knew of their experiences growing up in our household, that dear husband and I would learn of later. Hovering in prayer and love was where we started as parents to even begin to tackle the challenges life would bring.

I have gone through a long process of learning to let go, from those days of being verbally told to do so, through those times I’ve had to to maintain my mental health! Learning to trust God with the most precious gifts He has entrusted to me. Walking that unknown path of parenting children, then teens, then young adults, then adults, then adults with spouses and children of their own (when we still had two at home). So many variables in relationships, flexing when husband would deploy with the Guard for a few months, then adjusting to new family dynamics again when he returned. Health and legal issues. School issues. Relational issues. Emotional issues. Issues sometimes seemed to erupt volcanically, and yet we learned to walk one day at a time through it all. Trusting God with things we never imagined we would face. Seeking His light in our darkness.

Recently reading Genesis 1:2b of the Spirit of God hovering over the waters brought to mind the darkness of the deep that existed then, the chaos, the waters not yet divided, earth in its primordial state. How did God deal with this situation? Verse 3: “Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.” Oh! What joy it would have been to speak those words into our chaotic situations, and have light appear just like that! Our blessing: to learn to rely on the One who is the Source of light to our paths. Still, it has taken me awhile to learn that hovering over the situation, or individuals involved, is not the final solution, but is part of the process of creation. Of growing that thing, that world, that person. And with that revelation, I feel better about myself. Hovering is an innate part of me, a part of the DNA God breathed into me at my conception. Whether hovering over my family during chaos, or my keyboard as I endeavor to work out the chaos in my mind, hovering is not all bad. For out of it, with just a few words or many, and God’s mighty grace, comes finally the solution, the light! And into His light I have happily placed those I love.

Worry like an unseen wraith 
Attempts to enter in my mind 
Begin its whirling round and round
To sink it’s tendrils deeper down 
Into my very being

It tries to enter through my eyes 
When I look at fearsome things 
Through whispers, shouts into my ears 
From voices all around me heard
So many filled with it 

It feeds on one, then the next 
Insatiable in it’s quest 
To rob the peace from all our lives
Turn us from the joy of light 
To wallow more in fear 

Like infection coursing round 
It becomes a running track  
In one’s thoughts it abounds
Makes one’s soul sick and spent 
It must be routed out

Let it point me though instead 
To bended knee, more bended heart 
To seek God’s help beyond myself 
To trust in Him, not worry’s plot
I do not welcome fear

I want not worry’s company 
Though grave concerns may be real 
I better take them to my LORD
Where I know right answers dwell 
Truly, worry never solves 

The road seemed to go on forever. Sojourner laid his pack and hat aside as he sank down on weary knees, then rested back against the tree trunk in the blessed shade. The day was a scorcher. He was hot, tired, and in woeful need of a drink. He would rest just a minute, then trudge on. The map showing water was not far ahead, he knew his thirst would soon be quenched. For now his body just needed a break. He had been trekking on a new path, this winding trail long and hard, and just the kind of challenge he needed: enough physical exertion he had to set aside his worries and stay focused on his path; and enough easy spots to allow rest along the way.

A carpenter at heart he had been working diligently, honing wood into fine cabinets and shelves, woodworking a hobby turned trade. Now in his elder years he had begun to slow a bit, noticing his body refused to keep up with his mind, an aggravating reality of aging, yet a persistent one. Today’s hike was purely for pleasure. He needed to let the wind blow through his thoughts, look at another view besides the interior of his wood shop, stop thinking about the world’s problems. He had spent many years hiking and camping in the woods; this was solace for his soul.

After a brief repose, canteen definitely empty, he traveled further down the trail to the promised water station. Relieved to find water actually there he filled up, himself and his canteen. Water, such a basic need of life. He was thankful for it. There was but a mile or so to go to the junction of the trailhead and dirt access road where his wife would pick him up, his hike now near complete. Or was it? Late afternoon, he had been walking since early morning, 8:00 AM or so.

Listening to her GPS instructions, Sojourner’s wife drove their SUV through the mountain passes towards the pick-up point. In her retirement she enjoyed creative pursuits, as did her husband, both of them lamenting at times how quickly the years had flown. They each recognized the vast areas of learning that still lay before them, that they envisioned pursuing but for the restriction of time they had yet on this planet. It was bittersweet. They had learned much through their life times, but there was still so much more!

After turning off the access road into a wide designated area, Sojourner’s wife found the perfect place to park, facing the trailhead so she could watch for her husband. About 45 minutes early, she pulled out her book. Even in the shade with the windows down a bit to let the breeze blow through, the air felt sticky. It had been an unusually hot summer, this day not much cooler even at this higher elevation. Opening her book was an invitation to slip away from the present, imagine days of earlier times. Before long the cadence of reading, along with the heat, lulled her to sleep. Soon she was snoring softly within her locked car.

There she was! Waiting just as planned! Sojourner wearily walked towards the parked car, and saw his wife’s head slumped against the window. Instantly his heart rate increased as a plethora of thoughts assailed him. Was she hurt, ill, dead, just sleeping? Scanning the area while slowly walking to the driver’s door, and seeing nothing amiss, he tapped on the window while calling her name. “Wha . . . What? Sojourner!” she exclaimed with a start, frantic eyes turned towards him. “You scared me half to death!” “Well, you kinda scared me half to death, too, darlin’,” he drawled, as she flung open the door and grabbed him in a hug.

After loading his pack into the back, Sojourner plopped into the passenger seat, happy to let his wife do the driving. Enjoying the beautiful mountain scenery and a small cooler full of cold lemonade and hearty sandwiches, they talked about his day’s experiences on the trail; the thoughts he had about life as he hiked alone with no one but God and nature; the refreshing he felt at just being in the woods again, smelling the pine, listening to the breeze blow through the trees. It brought back so many happy memories; gave him time to deeply reflect. Sojourner knew the ways of trails. No matter where in the journey one found oneself, the trail wound on and on. When nearing the end of one path, another would appear to set foot upon, and so the journey continued.

His thoughts traveled to many happy places as they drove down the mountain. Then remembering the fear and sadness he felt when he saw his wife slumped in the car, and the sudden flash of how quickly one’s life could change, he just had to say to her, “Don’t you dare think of buggin’ out of this world anytime soon. We’re on this trail together, and we’ve only just begun!” In their seventies both knew every day they were one day closer to the end of their earthly journeys, God only knowing how many years yet they had. Both felt so young “on the inside.” Surely this temporal plane was not the end of this amazing experience of being alive! “You know, Sojourner,” his wife commented. “You’re right. When you think of how young we are in light of eternity, we’ve definitely only just begun!”

“We don’t talk anymore, Nana,” our near eleven year old granddaughter lamented. Her comment took me aback as I contemplated her words, for surely I never want to stop having conversations with this dear girl. Yet she was correct. Throughout the COVID -19 quarantine, and their house remodeling, it seemed catching up with family news oriented me to visiting with the adults, rather than focusing on the children when we spent time with them. Wondering about her comment I tucked it into my heart to see how the LORD would enlighten me to resolve this problem.

Several days later our sweet granddaughter came to our home to spend special time building a butterfly house with Papa. Woodworking has long been my husband’s happy place, and to see the two of them together crafting that house warmed my heart. I peeked out into the garage shop two or three times to snap a picture, then left them to enjoy, knowing I would have a turn with her when they were finished. Chatting while fixing food, then while she ate, I learned that painting the butterfly house would have to wait for another day, additional hardware needed to complete it.

Painting day finally arrived. Papa and I had delivered the butterfly house and the paints to our granddaughter the day before, with plans for me to return the next morning to oversee the project. Encouraged to pencil-draw her design on the wooden house, she had a lovely mountain scene ready on the front, and a geometric design on the lid, when I arrived that morning. After a short visit with the three siblings to eat breakfast sandwiches and drink orange juice, dear granddaughter and I headed to their garage to paint, and talk. And talk we did, nearly non-stop for a couple hours as she painted and painted. Her two brothers graciously let us have our girl time, their turn coming in a few more days.

I am continually surprised at the level of maturity in our grandchildren, flip-flopped with that proverbial childish behavior that oozes out unbidden. We talked about Star Wars and video games (these children could certainly win a Trivial Pursuit game about them) and about more weighty issues such as hurts loved ones have endured, or are enduring. It gave me opportunity to share some truths about relationships, how people impact us, the false assumptions one might develop from painful misunderstandings. It was interesting to watch her respond to this information, her sharp mind considering my words, and wondering. A precious privilege to share with her about such things, my hope is that she will find a safe person in me, one in whom she can voice concerns, explore questions, lay open her own pain. “LORD, please give me many more times like this with our precious grandchildren, each of them unique and wonderfully made!”

After painting we joined the boys for snuggle time on the couch and more reading of the Green Ember series by S.D. Smith. We are on book 3 now, Nana reading while the older two read silently along (or sometimes aloud to give Nana a break), and the youngest listens in. In a world of Legos, Star Wars and Harry Potter, the adventures of rabbits with swords defending and fighting for the Mended Wood has captured us all. For is that not what we all are fighting for? That longed for peace, the mending of the tangled wood in which we live? I can’t wait for time together again with our grands, and the sweet, and sometimes very silly, conversations that come from just being together. And, oh, maybe another one of those spontaneous and hilarious back massages I received while sitting on the couch, six young feet simultaneously bringing my old back back to life!

It’s interesting to watch dreams I’ve dreamed play out in other’s lives. The beauty and the longing there seen fulfilled in their eyes. And I wonder to myself why did those dreams come to me? Was it so I could appreciate with others their joy to celebrate?

It’s happened now several times. At every instance my response is just the same: outrageous joy welling up til I can hardly contain the overflowing happiness for them. Perhaps my dreams are coming true as they play out in real life. And even though they’ve somehow changed and I am not in the story line, it’s grand and real nonetheless, though not just mine.

No, it matters not these dreams have become fulfilled not in me. In some ways it is more sweet, allowing a new version to be seen, one not expected, a surprise somewhat. It allows a deep connection with those who are living my dream, though they are unaware I claim their dream, too! It is a curiously fulfilling process to watch, a vicarious peek into a tiny portion of their experience, one so much like I imagined! We are connected somehow in this mysterious world of overlapping confines reeling out in real time. So far, picture perfect every time!

Suffering, a conundrum 
Elevates the soul,
One’s body torn

Burned, filled with pain
Twisted, misshapen
Beauty lost 

Freedom to live
A glorious vision
Found encumbered

What prize wrung
Through deep despair
Or torture there

As one through fire 
Is molded, poured,
Carefully wrought for more?

Worked, shaped, beaten, processed
Embellished, stirred,
To be made pure

Are we like pig iron 
That is puddled, rolled, forged
Impurities within?

Made into something beautiful
Of use and purpose 
Like iron carefully wrought?

Our suffering used
To bring us long last
Freedom to soar?

As my spirit learns to sing,
Lord, grant that I may quickly learn
The lessons of Your suffering

For all the sufferings of mankind
You have known and borne
And walk with me through mine.

Come now, please, 
As I share in them, and 
The sufferings of family and friends


This poem was written while I was recovering from an eye injection. The procedure, and especially my reaction to necessary iodine used in the eye to prevent infection, causes intense and slowly dissipating pain, with the good purpose of “wroughting” better vision from the onslaught of macular degeneration. The term “wrought” caught my curiosity and out came the poem.

Here are some interesting insights I found while thinking about this experience:
 
“Wrought iron:” (from Webster)
a tough, malleable form of iron suitable for forging or rolling rather than casting, obtained by puddling pig iron while molten. It is nearly pure but contains some slag in the form of filaments.

“Wrought:”  (from Webster)
1: worked into shape by artistry or effort
carefully wrought essays
2: elaborately embellished :ORNAMENTED
3: processed for use :MANUFACTURED
wrought silk
4: beaten into shape by tools :HAMMERED —used of metals
5: deeply stirred :EXCITED —often used with up
gets easily wrought up over nothing

See also Wikipedia for interesting stuff about pig iron, so named for the channels it is poured into from the blast furnace that look like lined-up suckling piglets; and how it is further fired and purified to make steel. 

These two translations of Proverbs 20: 27-30 also gave me pause: 

Proverbs 20: 27-30 AMPC
“The spirit of man [that factor in human personality which proceeds immediately from God] is the lamp of the Lord, searching all his innermost parts. [I Cor. 2:11.] 
Loving-kindness and mercy, truth and faithfulness, preserve the king, and his throne is upheld by [the people's] loyalty. 
The glory of young men is their strength, and the beauty of old men is their gray head [suggesting wisdom and experience]. 
Blows that wound cleanse away evil, and strokes [for correction] reach to the innermost parts.”
 
Proverbs 20: 27-30 NIV
27 The human spirit is the lamp of the Lord that sheds light on one’s inmost being 
28 Love and faithfulness keep a king safe;
through love his throne is made secure.
29 The glory of young men is their strength,
gray hair the splendor of the old.
30 Blows and wounds scrub away evil,
and beatings purge the inmost being.

The analogy of humans and pig iron is interesting. We are not objects, like cast iron poured and set into a solid inflexible shape, with purpose, but without bend-ability; or perhaps choice? Instead, with our impurities and brittleness, we are carefully forged and shaped into an artistic result of strength, beauty and purpose. I like that! Rather than a picture of human abuses, Proverbs 20:30 suggests to me the ongoing forging of our souls and spirits as we submit to God’s love in driving out the evil that would consume us. The pain inflicted is like being set free from a hard imprisoning walnut shell, or a softer kind of shell if we are not “a tough nut to crack!” In God’s hands we are always carefully held as He perfects us in His love (even when it hurts)! His purpose is never to harm or destroy us, but to set us free, make us fully like His perfect Son, Christ Jesus, whole and complete.  

Injection day ‘twas once again
Six weeks gone by since the past 
Macular degeneration treatment given
To keep my vision clear long last 

Floaters oft come home with me 
Dark purple, burgundy or blue
Color hard to tell so deep 
That dance around close in my view

Sitting tall and still l look
Head held down to better see 
Floaters glide to forward view
Exactly right in front of me

And in the sea inside my eye 
‘Tis caviar of various size
Clumped together like clustered grapes 
Conjoining, splitting, floating by

Translucent globs, purple it seems
The centers lighter, though that can change
I wish a picture I could take 
To show you now that duckling shape 

Sometimes the floaters hide away
Absorbed into the vitreous sea
When dramatically they entertain
Each time it is a different scene

I understand, the secret 
known 
Of “picking cotton from the air”
It’s not a gnat, a bug, or fly 
It’s just a floater floating by 

Thankful that this private show 
Lasts not for long, true indeed
Less welcome to my tiny sea 
Are the globs that jump in front of me! 

To friends and family far and near 
And all others, you I cheer 
Deep gratitude for then and now 
Brave sacrifice that you allow
Upholding for my freedom 

Forgetting not what lies behind
New purposes in which we find 
Ourselves caught up to play a part 
I thank you for your gracious heart
You give to me in freedom 

This holiday we celebrate 
Memories reverberate 
And as we struggle on and on 
With gratitude for what’s been won 
I thank God, for you, and freedom 

I know the way of being free 
Loosed of fetters holding me
To this vast temporal plane 
But for the silver cord 

To fly unhindered in the sky
Perch on windows stories high
And peer o’er land and sea 
Without a shred of fear 

Glorious is that freedom given
Yet here I am still earthly bidden
To walk these dusty trails 
Yearning, longing more for Heaven  

Oh! That I could fly just now 
Leave behind my burdens downed
Guess what? I can! Lord lift me please 
To walk new life while here somehow 

When my Aunt Ruth died many years ago, I remember sending my uncle an article about our departed loved ones being only a room away. I’m not sure the words were much comfort to him in his deep grief. How could they be when one’s soul has been torn from it’s other half, left rent with pain known only to that soul? Still, over time, and as the pain receded some, perhaps the concept of loved ones dwelling ever close would be of comfort. I’m sure the timing of my missive was way off; I only can hope he heard my love and concern for him from afar.

Over the years I have rested in the truth that Love, in Whom we dwell, indeed is closer than our very breath. And that in Love, so too, dwell our departed loved ones. Only departed in the flesh, for the spirit that never dies still lives. It’s comforting to think that that “great cloud of witnesses” is not a trillion light years away, but very near.

I enjoy the thought of being able to walk into the next room to visit with my family and friends. Like walking into my office, and gazing at pictures of their beloved faces, treasuring memories with them. As I sit with Jesus, pouring out my heart, or silently listening and learning truths to grow me up, I wonder, “LORD, will you take my love and thoughts to Dad, Mom, my family, my friends? Or perhaps as I walk through those memories are my loved ones here in spirit with me somehow?”

I know not much of the deep spiritual things of the interfacing of this dimension with the next. Or how it was that at Jesus’ transfiguration those present could see Him ascend to Heaven beyond. I only know that as the LORD has allowed us a peek toward a greater existence, I can rejoice in that promise of a grand reunion some day! For in Christ I have entered into eternal life already. One day I, too, will travel to that next amazing existence to live, only just a room away. My prayer is that all whom I have known and loved in this world will join me, and those gone on before, in that everlasting beautiful place.

In our home is a long window through which we enjoy watching the activity of the neighborhood, and especially the antics of small pink-blushed sparrow-like birds who feed in and around our Japanese maple. While glad to welcome these feathered friends, we still miss Franklin, the darling Siamese kitten-turned-cat who lived next door. Franklin was a hoot, high-fiving us with a long body-reach up the window, paws outstretched to meet our tapping fingers on the other side of the glass. He regaled our grands with this cute behavior. And always delighted me when he was in the mood.

One especially poignant day when I was needing solace, there sat Franklin outside the window. He was not just sitting, he was visiting, as though he needed solace, too. A few weeks before, as hubby and I carried groceries in, Franklin streaked through the back door and headed straight for that window, as though he needed to see our view from the inside looking out. Now this day, he rolled and lazed, snuggled up against the outside glass, eventually resting his chin on the sill, eyes on me as I poured out my thoughts to him. It was kind of like talking to God in cat-fur! He truly seemed to be listening, for a half-hour or so. Sadly, as dear Franklin proved to be full of bird-killing hormones as he grew, our friendly birds had flown away. They rarely visited since Franklin laid claim to the sunny spot near their tree.

Several months after Franklin and his adorable humans had moved on, the birds returned, peacefully flitting about. Only when they saw movement inside the house would they fly off. As my husband rounded the corner to come into the room he started chuckling. As I was unable to see what was so funny, he filled me in . . . one of our tiny bird friends was hopping along the window sill, looking in. Not pecking about, but looking in. Immediately memories of Franklin peering through that window burst upon my mind. Obviously curious if a box or something new was placed into view, he was definitely bewildered with the strange configuration of a shoe. Yes, I will admit to explaining to a cat that it was “just a shoe,” even showing him how it fit on my foot. And yes, he paid attention to the whole litany as though he truly understood. His furrowed brows smoothed out as the explanation was given, cocked head returning to upright position. Yes, I think he understood.

I wonder now as grandchildren, and other critters, peer in that window, who exactly is watching whom? It seems that birds – at least one – are peeking in, too. Maybe one day that bird will stick around and not flee from fear. One never knows . . . it might be fun to chat with a bird!

There they stood standing proud
Mocking me? I wondered loud
Somehow dodging spray for weeds 
In yesterday’s one hundred heat 
The thistles in the corner 

How could I miss a plant so tall
Lurking near my flower wall
Hiding in the shadows dim
In plain view yet not seen 
Thistles growing strong 

In just a speck of time it seems
They’d sprouted shooting prickly leaves 
Into my haven’s bliss
How ever did I miss 
Those stealthy gnarly stems

Attending other things today
Reluctantly I drove away
When in my mind I heard a yowl 
Get outside and pull them now
Thistles there are still at bay!

I’m coming for you, thistles, hear
Your demise is very near 
I shall remember where you are 
The lovely spaces that you mar 
Yes, I will pull you out!

On my return, still dressed to nines
Car to garage, my feet did find 
The path to open cabinet door
Where garden gloves were aptly stored 
NOW thistles I would rout! 

As convict’s farewell meal eaten
Sprinkler’s mercy drink was given 
While I was away 
Adieu to you! I did shout 
Yanking thistles that were stout 
At last I’d won the war . . . for today