… found. a new home…

If you read last week’s blog … on the way home…you will remember our pigeon was out for the day. After being here, resting for four days, we assumed  he was on his way home… NOT. Walter, as Tom had named him by now—(some of you will remember Walter Pigeon, the actor…an old one!) returned to us late afternoon on Thursday, and the scenario was the same on Friday…

Beautiful and clean... ready for home...

Beautiful and clean… ready for home…

Saturday morning, Walter would not leave the shop: no amount of nudging or prodding  persuaded him to fly out the opened shop door. I made a call to Mr. Edwards, the breeder in Pennsylvania, who called his owner in Meridianville, Alabama. They asked if we would be so kind as to trap him and take him down the road about five or ten miles in the direction of ‘home’. Both were sure he would arrive safely.  Mr. Edwards promised to let me know when Walter arrived home.

We didn’t go five miles, or ten; we went the nineteen miles … almost one third of the way toward Walter’s home.  Tom released him, he flew back under the vehicle just long enough to get his bearings. Away he soared… for home. We thought…

Sunday morning I received a text saying the bird had not made it home; I was so sad. At about the same time I looked out and said, “Tom, I think our bird is back.” Tom said, “No way; he has no training or homing instinct in returning here. But that does look like a pigeon!” It was…  our Walter!!  In the pouring rain, our homing pigeon had found his way to us and was now under Tom’s truck. In the same pouring rain, barefoot, I opened the shed; he immediately took his place on his roosting post.

The breeder is a bit astounded with this.  He says that Walter as a young bird either became scared by a hawk or was in some way distracted; in a few days with  shelter, food, water, he has reoriented himself to Miller Lane as “home”. I mentioned, “He has responded to love.” Mr. Edwards roared with laughter.  Evidently, a bird is not known to respond to love.  Tom keeps telling me, “Barb, this is only a bird.”

Monday morning,Tom and I drove him the sixty miles to Meridianville and left him with his owner. I was sad…

Whether it was a hawk or bad weather, this racing pigeon will never race again.  He will never soar to the glorious heights he was designed to do.  Today, Walter is no longer a free bird… Why?  He would most likely return to us if he were to enter another homing pigeon race. As a result of his choice to find safety in a good place, he must suffer those consequences.  He will be used for breeding purposes as he is from good stock.  Of course, he is!  He knew to find home here with love!

I am almost too close to this situation to make spiritual applications.  You will need to decide which lessons to learn from this.  I love the lesson of providing rest and comfort for someone who needs the space.  Maybe there is a lesson that often we “help” someone  too much —a child, a friend , a brother. What happens when they become dependent on us?

Is it possible that sometimes we are on the wrong journey? And we choose another ‘stopover’ that is the right one? And we love that person who encouraged and pointed us toward ‘home’… our permanent home.

Or maybe the only lesson to learn is from the previous blog… “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Be imitators of God… and live a life of love…” Ephesians 4:32, 5:1

Loving pigeons and people…

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…on the way home…

I always learn lessons from guests who show up unexpectedly.

Three days ago Tom and I noticed an unusual dove walking silently near us as we were eating watermelon under a tree.  We were able to catch him—or is it a her… and found bands on each leg. A quick Google search informed us that this is a racing homing pigeon. This is an universal sport, dating back centuries.

A phone call to the National Racing Pigeon association matched the number on one leg band to the initial breeder in Pennsylvania. Before this particular bird was fully feathered, he was shipped to Meridianville, Alabama,to join a racing club. Mr. Edwards said, “This racer is only sixty miles from home.”  I learned he came in 11th in last week’s 200 mile race. This past Sunday he began a 300 mile race…

He may come in last in this week’s race. He is still with us, roosting one night in the shed — we didn’t know he was still around; he just walked out when Tom opened the door early morning. The last two nights he settled in the garage. It’s warmer there.

So what happened? Racing pigeons often get lost on their journey. Weather changes disorient them, they crash into electric wires, or they simply get weary and hungry. They need a place to rest.

Social media advised me to provide some wild bird seed or uncooked rice and lentils and show him where the water is.  They will rest a while and be on their way. The breeder in Pennsylvania assured me this homing pigeon will eventually find his way home. It has been documented that  racing birds can compete in a 1,100 mile contest and get home safely.

While I am not sure this colorful, marked flying machine is going to leave and find his way home… at least to place himself in the finish…  I learn two lessons: we are either like the lost bird needing care and rest on our race, or else we need to be the safe place for a lost ‘bird’ to find encouragement and restoration.

I shared with the Pigeon association’s receptionist and the Pennsylvania breeder that this is a beautiful story of humans and homing.

You know the expression, “Home is where your heart is…”As believers our hearts are made for home. It was Augustine of Hippo who said, “Our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.”  We are on our way HOME. But what happens when we get too tired or changes in circumstances cause us to lose our way? What do we do when it is difficult to go another step? Where do we go when we’ve lost hope to finish the race.

I learned tired, hungry homing pigeons look for quiet, peaceful places for a stopover. The shade trees and bird feeders in our garden must have enticed this racer to stay awhile.  This is his safe place for now…

As I watch this ‘lost’ racing pigeon trek around the yard, sit in the shade of the trees, nibble at the grass seed Tom recently planted… I wonder… where do I go when I need a safe place… where are the arms that will hold me? Who will collect my tears in a bottle? Where do I find comfort before I can continue the journey to Now?

Remember the story in I Kings 17? During a drought in a political crisis, the Lord sent Elijah to the Brook Kerith for safety; he was provided food by ravens, and a bubbling creek was near by.  When the spring water dried up, the Lord sent him to his next safe place… to the home of a widow for food and protection.

I love the story of Onesimus and Philemon in the New Testament. Paul urges the household of Philemon to receive the former slave back into their hearts. Onesimus needs a safe place on his journey now, Paul hints. “I am sending him–who is my very heart–back to you. I would have liked to keep  him with me so that he could take your place in helping me while I am in chains for the gospel.” verse 12,13. “Your love has given me great joy and encouragement, because you, brother, have refreshed the hearts of the saints.” verse 7

This beautiful, quiet racing dove, eating and walking at leisure near me, reminds me to hold you gently, to allow you to be yourself, to let you rest for awhile without judgement or questioning. I don’t even need to warn you to finish the race.  All I am to do is to be here when you seek a quiet, safe place.

How beautiful to find a place to rest… on our journey home.

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… scrabbling…

I’ve learned a new word…

I didn’t even know there was a meaning for this word, except for the game of SCRABBLE.  It’s like panning for gold, but more desperate… a frantic grasp for something more.  

“Each of us is the artist of his (her) own life”  jumped off the page one morning this week,  causing me to ponder if I had drawn a famous painting. Elizabeth O’Conner continued the thought: “The materials we are given to work with, the conditions we work under and what happens to us, are part of the drama of what we shall do with our lives.” Journey Inward, Journey Outward.

William Ernest Henley penned a somewhat different sentiment, though similar, in his 1875 poem, Invictus. “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul”.  Henley’s left leg was amputated below the knee while a teenager, due to complications of tuberculosis. The central idea in these lines is the confident belief one can overcome despair and life’s trials.

When teaching young adults throughout our ministry, I often suggested the game of Scrabble as a parallel in life.  We each draw a different set of letters. We moan when we draw a J or K; what about the X or Z? Or a Q without a U? Too many vowels? Not enough vowels… we complain.

So how have I scrabbled? It’s not that I minded the J or the Z—after all those letters count much more in the board game, especially when you play those on the Triple square. I wanted the more important letters in just the right combination to win the game!

In my younger life, I envied Martha Stewart… she could do everything right… in the kitchen, in the house, in the garden. It was only when I learned I could make a pie crust from scratch in less time than she, I breathed easier.  Later, I wanted to be a Beth Moore. Surely I could do the things she was doing. Writing books, leading large Bible studies, a popular conference speaker.  What is wrong with me?

I’ve always grasped for something more—surely I might paint a masterpiece if I could take the best lessons; perhaps I could write a best seller. Why wasn’t I somebody, doing something BIG.  I have this sweet friend who personifies mercy to everyone… why can’t I be like her?

… I scrabbled…

For years, I wanted to know, to discover what I was to be when I grew up. Yes, I lived in a sweet contentment in marriage and home, delighting in a serving ministry, loving internationals… but yet, a haunting desire to be More bubbled under current.  I must have thought it complicated, or else, it would be a spectacular revelation—and poof… I would be somebody. 

You may scrabble… for More….  

O’Conner concludes her thought: “Materials and conditions and events are not, in themselves, the determining factors.” It is the fact that we—you and I—hear the whispers of our Creator Father to come to Him. “He (or she) does not have to scramble (I would say scrabble) for a place in the scheme of things. She knows there is a place which is hers and that she can live close to the One who will show it to her. Life becomes her vocation.” (italics… my change of pronouns)

 “For we— you and I—are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10

Once, I asked Tom to read a page in my journal; I wanted to ask him a question about my thoughts. He browsed through it, reading. Looking deep into my eyes, he gently said, ”You will only find this MORE when you get to heaven. Your search will be finished.”

Surely I have grown up… NOW… I learn it is a simple thing. I am somebody! I have been ‘becoming’ all these years. 

We can each paint a masterpiece if we brush with the colors we are given and not scrabble for more exotic colors; we can write a bestseller of our lives as we sharpen the pencils we are given.

Whispers on the Journey: A Practical Guide using the ABCs in Prayer and Praise is now available on Amazon.com  It is my journey listening to His whispers affirming me, reaffirming me time after time…  loving me through mistakes and struggle. (In my scrabble to be more, I have not excelled in computer knowledge; I do not  know how to link this to my blog).

Join me in less scrabbling and more rest…

“My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from Him.” Psalm 62:1

 

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… making rainbows …

Can a rainbow be colored with black, deep brown and dark blues?

We typically think of beautiful colors contained in this visible spectrum… red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.

In medieval days, there were five colors known as rainbow colors, but it was Sir Isaac Newton in 1665 that added orange and indigo. He believed the “harmony of colors in the rainbow must be similar to the harmony of the notes in a major musical scale. Seven steps in the scale; seven colors in the rainbow.” (LenFisherscience.com)

Rainbows…

Why do they make us smile?

A rainbow, any rainbow, small, full, part…and suddenly, we are assured with a hope. Well, at least, it defines me at the moment.The rainbow has long been a symbol of hope and assurance. The first rainbow occurs in Genesis 9:8-17; the Lord sealed His covenant with a promise never to flood the earth again. The skies became a backdrop for hope. Throughout centuries and cultures, rainbows represent hope and protection.

June 21, 2020, was a dark, cloudy, seemingly hopeless day for us. Tom and I were with our daughter Sharon and Ahnna, our granddaughter. There was no laughter, no joy. An hour earlier, we had heard upsetting and unsettling news concerning Fred, our son-in-law. He had been on a ventilator for a week in Vanderbilt Hospital with Covid. We just sat—watching clouds dump showers, then the rains ceased. After several of these starts and stops, a whisper interrupted my fearful thoughts, “Look for the rainbow.”

I jumped, “There’s a rainbow somewhere”. Three of us headed out the garage door. Tom added, “The sun has to be behind you.” There it was… to my left. It was as if the Lord whispered, “This is for you—a message of hope for today.” I cried.

I lived in the promise of that rainbow for days. Then there were times when the news from the medical team was too negative. I forgot the message.  I couldn’t hear the whisper. I didn’t trust the promise. Often, if I were still long enough and quiet in my spirit, I could hear, “Remember the rainbow.”

I cannot fathom that this big God loves me enough to send a message in a rainbow when I was so very low. But He did, and I accepted it as a gift from Him… even when I doubted.

We know that the colors of the rainbow are present in sunlight. A prism is made by the reflection and refraction of the sun’s rays inside the raindrops.  And these colored displays happen anywhere there are water droplets and sunlight at just the right angle. You can make your own rainbow with these two ingredients in your garden.

I’ve been thinking about colors— dark colors. Are they present in a rainbow?  I discovered there are hundreds, thousands… would you believe…a million colors in a rainbow!  That sentence deserves an exclamation point.

Of course, we cannot see them. But they are there. You know what this tells me?  That no matter what happens, no matter where I am, no matter if black wraps me tightly in its blanket or if I am being squeezed with deep brown cold mud, or blued with bruises of heart pain, there is a rainbow. If the Son light is in proper range.  Somewhere… there’s a rainbow… giving  hope, providing assurance that I will make it through this storm.

Hope is necessary to live . “We wait in hope for the Lord; He is our help and our shield. In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in His holy  name. May Your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord, even as we put our hope in You.” Psalm 33:20-22

Fred describes his sense of hopelessness when Sharon dropped him off at the emergency room entrance… alone … to face whatever was ahead.  Five weeks later, she was allowed to stand at his window on the Covid floor, due to a change in Vanderbilt’s policy for ICU Covid patients. When asked later what that moment meant to him, “Hope stood at the window. I knew I could make it.” She was his rainbow that moment.

Tom and I made a rainbow…  I know…  it’s just water droplets and sunlight, but it was full of color and joy. I hope I always see a rainbow shining through my storms. It doesn’t mean  there will be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but it can direct me to the One who gives promises and a hope to journey through the storm.  And I want to make rainbows giving hope and promise to those who see clouds.

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All it takes is Son light through my tears… at the perfect angle.

“But as for me, I will always have hope. I will praise you more and more…” Psalm 71:14

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… trapped…

“Oh no. I just caught a bird.”

The trap had been set to catch a pesky squirrel chewing his way into the finch socks. All other bird feeders are squirrel protected. I feed the squirrels, too, but they do prefer bird-food, and pursue it fiercely.

But now I have captured a bird, one of my favorite non human beings.  I feared the loud squawking and thrashing of wings could cause an untimely death… right before my eyes.  This bird wanted his freedom.

Picking up the trap carefully, I set it in the shade. The minute I picked it up and began speaking softly, there was silence. Tom was gone, and I could not open the wire cage. The response of this captured bird surprised me. Immediately, he … or she? stopped all frantic movement. I sat down beside the trap on the grass … you will now think I am crazy! After telling the bird not to be afraid…  that Tom would soon be back, and he could be free, he watched my every movement.

I began singing, “Jesus loves you… Little birds to you belong,” etc. making it personal to this scared fowl.  I quoted  verse 11 of Psalm 50…”I know every bird in the mountain, and the creatures of the field are mine.”  I paraphrased Matthew 10:29 into bird language,  “Not one bird will fall to the ground that the Father doesn’t know about.”

The captured bird never flinched one time; he never fluttered those wings.  His small eyes just watched… and he listened. 20200704_150933I smiled as this created gift watched me keenly. For twenty minutes I rattled off verses of the Lord’s watch care. I  reminded him that the Creator who knows every star by name, surely knew his. Psalm 147:4.

“You will be free soon.” And he was. Tom arrived, opened the cage, and off he flew, landing on a nearby branch first… looking at me as if to say, “Now, listen to the same promises.”

I heard a whisper. “Listen to your own words… affirmations of faith and belief. I am speaking these same promises, these same truths to you.” I sat still, sensing the Lord’s gentle hand pushing the hair off my face. I realized how trapped I was… in fear. Worry and concern over our son-in-law, Fred, remaining in critical condition in the hospital with Covid  has paralyzed me. I spend more time languishing in fear than listening to God’s promises.

Trapped.

John 5 is a timely read this week. The paralyzed man was trapped… for thirty-eight years he has been confined. An ABC study* reveals many trappings…  Alone-ness, Blame and Bitterness, Contentment in his trappings… perhaps. Dependency on others and Defensive… trapped in Uselessness and Worry… trapped.

We are, most likely, all trapped in one kind of cage … or another.

I wonder that we are trapped in a Fear Pandemic— politically, physically, emotionally, racially, socially, even spiritually.  I can only respond to my personal fears. Life lived within a trap is deadly.

Then we hear Jesus’ beautiful words, “Do you want to get well? Do you want to be free? Do you want to walk? Do you want to be clean? I am here. I am your answer to all the traps set for you. For the traps you have walked into.”

It seems much too simple. The trapped bird did nothing to earn his freedom…  but listen. The quick release of the lock set him free.

“And if the Son sets you free, you are free indeed.” John 8:36

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son that whosoever believes in Him will be set free (my words here) John 3:16

NOW… free.

 

As I have finished this and read and reread my thoughts, I am burdened that this is written on another level. I had no idea the many implications for these days.  See if you can discover another thought for the same blog post titled… trapped.

*(My ABC guide entitled Whispers on the Journey will be available on Amazon by end of this month.)

 

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… rambling …

I walked this morning—the coolness of the new day begged me to relax— and trust.  The flag waved and shouted freedom; the birds echoed praise. I tried to believe in God’s promises. My thoughts soared in many directions.

Thank you, my readers, for giving me this privilege to ramble; I am too distracted to focus on a lesson I have learned. In fact, I am not sure I have focused for days. I try to listen, but my thoughts blow as the wind.

Four nestlings of our blue bird family are soon ready to leave Mama and Papa and begin their journey. I have followed them from perfect eggs to now feathered teenagers. There is a lesson here. I stare at the birds and wonder… will they survive this hostile new world?20200609_104825 (1)

But I can’t write this story.

I asked Tom last night why we need others to pray for us, with us… when there is a crisis.  His immediate response, “We can’t pray for ourselves during those times.”

“When my spirit grows faint within me, it is You who know my way.” Psalm 142:3

Our much loved 6’4″ full of fun and laughter son-in- law is struggling for breath in ICU at Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville, Tennessee. He has been there a week with fever and severe low oxygen levels.

“What time I am afraid, I will trust in You…” Psalm 56:3

Our daughter, Sharon and our sixteen year old grandson are quarantined at home with this virus, as well. She is exhausted and overwhelmed. We live only fifty minutes away; I am helpless. I long to hold her, but I can’t.  I want to go to Fred, but I can’t. I want to make Seth biscuits, but I can’t.

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This was Tom sitting in Sharon’s yard Sunday afternoon; we were near enough to wave and  hear conversation. At least we could see her and Seth.

What can I possibly do?

My small ABC book—Whispers on the Journey –is soon to be published. There are many entries of my journals over the years in this guide of praising and praying.  At this moment, I can’t find my place on a single page for this type of crisis.

Last night, with my head buried in my towel after washing my hair, I listened— very intently. Whispers came ever so softly… I am Able, I am Fred’s Breath tonight, I am his Caregiver, I am his Energy, I am Faithful…

Did I hear correctly? Father, are you near, are you here?

“When anxiety was great within me, Your consolation brought me joy.” Psalm 94:19

If you can trust NOW, trust. If you can sing NOW, sing. If you can help someone NOW, please do.

“Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.”  Psalm 20:7

Is there any other way to travel this journey to NOW?

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Continued racial tension in US—why??

This is a first.  I am reposting a blog from Peter Lundell. It is a wonderful read concerning why we continue to have much racial tension.  Thank you for reading.  I will be here next week…

Connections

I was going to write something happy this month, but the nation is gripped. I grieve at the rioting, but in this longer-than-usual post, I hope, as a white guy who’s learned a few things, to share some reasons why the USA continues to have so much racial tension—and my greatest hope. I’ve hyperlinked terms in case you’re not familiar with them.

My friend Jerry is still in Louisiana, but we still have long talks on the phone. Last year he despaired that injustices against African-Americans like him never seemed to change. And he was most concerned for his grandkids.

Some injustice happens, and I think, “Now things will change.” But mostly they don’t. To get the nation’s attention in the past, people had to arrange for the media to cover things—like the Emmet Till murder or the Birmingham demonstrations. Now people have smartphones. So will things get better? Maybe a bit, but the often-overlooked main issue runs deeper.

Equal Justice Institute director, Bryan Stevenson, says that the greatest evil of American slavery was not involuntary servitude or forced labor. It was the narrative of racial superiority/inferiority created to legitimize slavery. Why? Because after emancipation, that narrative fueled the Black Codes and Jim Crow laws, which in things like lynching (which was a form of terrorism) and convict leasing (where men were imprisoned, sometimes for the slightest reasons, then rented out and worked often to death) were worse than slavery. This narrative carefully evolved the myth away from the slave-era Negro’s being a benign, subservient field hand. If they couldn’t be kept as slaves, at least they could be kept down and out. So the myth of black inferiority intentionally morphed into their being lazy, untrustworthy, up to no good—and to the men was added being lascivious and dangerous. Simply having dark skin came to imply that a person was inferior and dangerous. And this mindset pervaded the entire country, even Canada.

In the past the myth was overtly taught and implied. Today it still lingers as a way of thinking that, if not overt, creeps under the consciousness, pretending not to be there, with many people not even aware it’s there—until it’s revealed and things erupt. Awareness is essential because otherwise people will think and do things without realizing it.

So piece together what you repeatedly see in the news, and it makes total sense. And when a young African-Americans get these messages their whole lives, don’t be surprised when they act them out. (Interestingly, “terrorist” is not part of the myth, and we never see African-American terrorists.)

Jerry helped me understand why black men resist arrest—they’re so frustrated. And statistically, they’re far more likely to be arrested, presumed guilty, and convicted for a given incident than a white person would be. Part of the reason they often get into trouble in the first place is that generations have been disenfranchised. For example, throughout the Great Migration blacks fled the South, but in nearly every city of America they were forced by the practice of redlining into ghettoized areas with limited opportunities. Discrimination has been not only individual but also systemic—did you know that recipients of the post-WWII GI Bill were 99 percent white? From 1877, when post-Civil War Reconstruction ended, African Americans were beaten down, shut out, and denied opportunities—overtly until 1965, then in more subtle ways after that.

Jerry told me how the black nurses at the hospital where he works yell at injured black men who cause trouble because they legitimize and fuel the anti-black narrative. And with him I do my best to feel the existential despair that after all these years since the 1964 Civil Rights Act, one can still be suspected, profiled, stopped, and killed for driving, walking, standing, going to church, even sleeping while black.

Thankfully, everything has gotten much better than it once was, but we still have further to go than most of us realize because the history has been so whitewashed.

Above all the laws or politically correct things that may change, it’s the human heart where the biggest difference is made. And that goes for every race. We can take hope in incremental improvements we see in each successive generation.

Jerry’s and my greatest hope in is the Kingdom of God—God’s reign and activity here on earth. What do you think drove Martin Luther King and all the historically black churches that were foundational to the Civil Rights Movement?

We may not be able to change every person’s heart. But we can determine who we are as people of God—no matter what—and be the message.

Knowing why the nation is as it is, we find the power to change people’s hearts in the Kingdom of God. And it is happening. This gives us something to live and die for. It gives us peace, hope, and strength.

Galatians 3:28 says, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile [or black or white or anything in between], neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

This is about more than hoping. It’s about the people of God grasping the reality, then thinking and acting by their new identity in Christ and the life of God’s Spirit in them. We all identify with one color—the blood of Christ. And if any one of us is cut, we all bleed that same color—red.

May God’s Spirit fill you, and through you may he influence the world in which you live.

How might that happen in your life?

Peter Lundell

With thanks to Jerry Green and Sidney Mitchell, who vetted this post for me.
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… grounded in love…

Some gardeners call this the plant from hell.20200505_163434

Tom and I have been reworking most of the gardens on our plot of ground while  undercover these weeks.  We are taking back the grass… mowing is easier than weeding in old age.

This invasive plant has flourished in an area by the driveway, sharing space with large rocks and other flowers. It took two days—6 or 7 hours a day—with both of us digging 2 feet… that’s 2 feet! down to remove the aggressive plant by the roots. There is no other way to get rid of this.  We filled this wagon twice with the roots of this unstoppable plant.20200512_095007

20200512_100605The Houttuynia Cordata Chameleon performs wonderfully if you can contain it. Growing tenaciously in steep, rocky places, this plant can also be a great ground cover.  The problem comes only when you decide to be rid of it. Some gardeners swear it is impossible; they moan in the belief that you can NEVER eradicate this plant.

One site informs that this plant spreads indefinitely and vigorously.  The roots of the Chameleon grow as wide as they do deep; this explains why the plant is not easily removed. The Chameleon spreads by underground rhizomes, and also roots from broken stems and even pieces of the plant. You are advised to burn all traces of the flower, the rhizome, even the smallest pieces to assure the plant will not come back to life!

Initially, I was stunned at the amount of roots deep down in the soil and was going to blog on the lessons of being rooted in wrong or dangerous places.  The more I pondered  this, I see a beautiful, positive lesson of being rooted in good soil. Indeed, I spy a lesson in comparing the Houttuynia plant to a strong Biblical faith. Well, sort of…

“I pray . . . that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and grounded in love may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God” Ephesians 3:17  NASB

I love how the verse reads in the Amplified: “May Christ  through your faith, actually dwell—settle down, abide, make His permanent home—in your hearts!  May you be rooted deep in love and founded securely on love.” Ephesians 3:17

The idea here in the Greek is of roots plunging or pressing down deeper and wider into soil. To be grounded is to be ultimately resting on a firm foundation, standing strong against  the winds that blow.  These kind of roots are totally invasive, yes. Every area of life is captivated with God’s powerful, unfailing love. “Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies.” Psalm 36:5. “How priceless is Your unfailing love! Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of Your wings.” Psalm 36:7.

Some find the ‘fragrance’ of the plant a bit offensive. It does have a strong odor, and herbalists often use it for antiviral purposes. “Anti-houttuynia-ists” boycott the garden centers where this plant is sold 🙂

We find ourselves in unsettled, shaking currents. Now is the time to be resolute in standing secure. My desire is to press deeper… down, down into the only  firm foundation upon which there is peace…

“Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27

… grounded in love…

 

 

 

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… speaking gold …

“That is so stupid, Barbara.”

Where in the world did that thought come from? I asked myself quietly, but knowing exactly why that phrase came. Words buried in my memory surfaced as I peeled a mango one morning this week. Tears mixed with sticky juice as I rested my knife…

I remembered…

The last of many times time my mother pronounced that judgment was August 2001, less than three weeks before 9-11-01. I had flown home to Tennessee from Vienna, Austria, with a strong prompt to see my mother. We enjoyed a good visit that morning, and I was helping with lunch.

I was peeling apples, letting the peels circle on the counter. (I’ve always loved making a long strand of peel—even at my age!) She swooped them up, made the first statement, and snapped, “How stupid to move them twice?”

Words… just words.

Funny…  what we remember.  That was the last time I was with my mother. She died suddenly the following Christmas Day. Through the years that one statement can still bring hurt, especially when I pile vegetable or fruit scraps on the counter. And I still do.

I am not sure I could have shared with her how those words impacted my sense of security in who I was. Did I even know as a young girl or a teenager how it would affect me for years? I do know it is critical the words embedded in young hearts.

I write this blog today for all of us who are more at home with those we love than we have been in a long while. We had four children—I can only imagine if we were quarantined when they were all teenagers!  Would I have said things they would remember with pain for the rest of their lives?

I have prayed for years that my children would be blessed with a terrible memory when it comes to ‘hearing’  hurtful words from the past. Words said in times of impatience or exasperation with little ones. And if they do remember, I sincerely hope they forgive me—again and again. I desire Now…  to speak words of affirmation, encouragement and love to somehow offset the painful memories caused by my words then.

In defense of my mother, I grew to understand that she was denied a strong affirmation base from her childhood.  She had no collection of books from Christian family authors. It was a common word, perhaps, she had heard often. I don’t think she believed I was stupid. But it has taken a life time of learning I am not.

Each time those words whisper pain, I forgive her, and I smile, knowing the truth of God’s grace. And I am thankful for the gifts she has given me. Perhaps, as I forgive, I need to be reminded that my words to others should be kind, never judging.  God, in His mercy, has shown me that I am created in His image.

Words… just words.

“He who guards his lips guards his life.” Proverbs 13:3a

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” Proverbs 15:1

I love this one, “The tongue that brings healing is a tree of life, but a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit.” Proverbs 15: 4

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There are multiple verses in Proverbs concerning the tongue, our speech, our witness, truth… Ninety eight verses are marked in my Bible on the pages of Proverbs with a T; I am sure there are many more unmarked. (There are thirteen on this one page—the four faded T’s on the right are on the next page.)

We can all embrace these words during this time of confinement   “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, my Father…” Psalm 19:14

Father, my prayer is that my words be as gold to Tom as long as we are in this house… just the two of us, NOW.  We can each pray that our words be uplifting, encouraging, truthful… in this NOW to our children, to our spouse, to our parents, to ourselves

Don’t you marvel at Proverbs 25:11…  “A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.”

Note: My personal journey of listening to the Lord’s whispers will be published this summer—  in it you will glimpse how I came to understand the truth of God’s words.  Whispers on the Journey

 

 

 

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. . . trusting? . . . and washing feet?

So, maybe I am not as content with confinement as I thought . . . confined . . . but free . . .

Something is wrong–just not quite right. This morning I just couldn’t bring myself to joy in the NOW moment. I wondered what had happened.  Even the birds’ chorus seemed a bit off-key.

I should be content. My cupboards are full; everything  replenished this week. Tom and  I have made great progress in ridding the gardens of  weeds. I even see humans! We seldon have walkers down this country road, but these days, people have the time to walk more miles; they wave and shout greetings. Our daughter is recovering from the virus. All is good. Right?

So what is this sense of doom, this complete hopelessness that threatens to tangle me in its web? In my ABC world (I often pray and praise with the letters of the alphabet . . . with the ABC’s), negative words tumbled onto my journal page. . . Anxious, Burdened, Confused in the Controversy, Disillushioned —– on and on so quickly— Fearful, Perplexed, Questioning, Restless in spirit, Uncertain.

Stop, stop. . . I scolded. Am I this afraid?  I began to read a Psalm for the day, then, two, then another.

It was the last Psalm I read that clinched the morning’s truth. “His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor His delight in the legs of a man; the Lord delights in those who fear Him, who put their hope in His unfailing love.” Psalm 147:10,11. I pondered this truth.  This is trust. I took a deep breath.

This Creator God delights in my trust. . .

. . . in the storm. . . any storm.

I began to relax a bit, not quite questioning as much. I picked up a book I am re-reading.  Many sentences in Brennan Manning’s Ruthless Trust  are highlighted, underlined, starred in some way as his words are so honest in regard to the truth of trusting.  I read this book years ago, and asked all my children to get a copy. I wonder if they did!

In the first pages, Manning shares that trust is the secret to living life.  Simple. . .  trust.  Jesus says in John 14:1—“Believe in God, believe also in Me.” Some translations say, “Trust in God, trust also in Me.”

Manning  gives us the words of the fifteenth-century theologian Angelus Silesius,“If God stopped thinking of me, He would cease to exist.” Manning believes this is a paraphrase of Luke 12:6-7. “Can you not buy five sparrows for two pennies? And yet not one is forgotten in God’s sight. Why, every hair on your head has been counted. There is no need to be afraid; you are worth more than hundreds of sparrows.” The Jerusalem Bible.  “God, by definition is thinking of me.” Ruthless Trust  pg4.

Can I believe that this God has me— has you, each one of us— on His mind in the middle of a world health/ economic crises? Today, on this Maundy Thursday.

You may have received a message on social media to forward . . . if you love Jesus.  The idea is —  if you love Jesus, send the message to eight, ten or twelve people within fifteen minutes—or you will break the chain.  What chain? Hum . . . I wonder. . .

This God who asks that I trust Him, to believe that He loves me as I am, who says that the greatest commandment in all the world is to love Him with all my heart and the second one is to love my neighbor as I love myself . . . Mark 12:29; Matthew 22 :37. He knows my heart; He knows I love HIm.

The world doesn’t need to hear that I or you love Jesus; it needs to see this love. Hurting humanity, heartbroken people, some who feel unlovable, even some  family members. . . someone this Easter needs to know that I/you love them.  During this Easter time, I believe our precious, loving Savor would delight in me and you sending eight, ten, or twelve messages or cards, making that many calls to those we have failed to forgive and love.

I love the story of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet the night of the Passover supper. Only John of the four Gospels shares the servant heart of Jesus as He stoops to wash their dusty feet during dinner.  This night . . . Thursday . . .  is the time to reflect. I ask myself whose feet do I wash?   I have to be creative in this—- in this NOW 🙂

God confirmed His love for each one of us at Easter.  Now I am to spend every day proving the truth of Easter love . . .  to my world.

“A new command I give you; Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:34-35.

. .  . trusting . . .  loving . . .  forgiving . . .  washing feet . . .

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A little bit of Austrian Easter memory

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