across the fence . . .

“I am glad I had the time to watch a small turkey flock convening across the road a few days ago.  Six or seven were trotting up and down the fence row when I first noticed them.  In about an hour, I saw cars slowing as I walked past the window; I wondered what was going on.  By now there were thirty or more turkeys in a line, running wildly–looking confused and frightened.

Three large tom turkeys, with tail feathers fanned showing full authority, patrolled the long line of hen and smaller male turkeys.  They paced, up and down–only to get to the bottom of the hill and turn and pace again–looking like expectant fathers in a hospital waiting room.  This went on for over an hour. The large group paced, and the three toms strutted slower, more deliberately behind them uttering an occasional gobble.  I thought– “they must be encouraging them to get over the fence” 🙂

Can you imagine the conversations —

“I cant do this; that fence is too high.”

“I have never done this before.”

“My friend said I wouldn’t make it.”

“What if that car hits me?”

“Why did I come this way anyway?”

“I may fail; I need someone to help me over.”

“You can do this,” one large tom gobbled. “I know you can.” And on and on the smaller ones paced.

Until . . .

one turkey flew over the fence.  Then, as if the others had been given a shot of adrenaline, the entire group, minus the toms, followed the leader and flew straight over the road. I clapped my hands like a little girl, excited over some major accomplishment I had just finished.  It was an awesome sight.  They all met at my bird feeders in the backyard for breakfast.

So now,  the three tom turkeys  still on the other side began to pace, almost frantically.   “Perhaps they are too heavy to get over the fence,” I thought.  “They cannot just jump and fly over.”

After about twenty minutes of mindless pacing, one began to run–like an airplane gaining speed down a runway.  The other two chased after as fast as they could and soon all three lifted off at the other end of the fence. What a moment . . .

You  know–I think they needed each other.   The younger hens had been encouraged by the three oversized toms, and now these three older wiser ones had needed each other, too. It did take some time; at least they have not been in this predicament since.  They must have learned their lesson–or at least, I did.

You have heard a two-year old adamantly say, “I can do this myself.”  How many times do we try  “to do it myself”,  to go it alone–but oh, how we need each other.   Human relationships are sweeter, difficult tasks easier, sorrows on the journey  more bearable as we encourage and are encouraged. And we make it across the fence.

Paul ‘s words to the Thessalonians from the Message advise us: ” So speak encouraging words to one another. Build up hope so you’ll all be together in this, no one left out, no one left behind. I know you’re already doing this; just keep on doing it. ” 5:11

For two hours this morning,  one wild turkey trotted up and down the fence row across the street–alone.  She never went across as long as I observed her desperate pacing.

I wanted to go help her–to pick her up and carry her over.  I cant do that–but I can “pick others up.”   I can . . .

. . . make a call, send a card, order flowers, give a gift.  Texting Scriptures to a friend has become my favorite method of encouragement.  What a gift in this age of media mania.

Text-fully for fence crossing. . .

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ponder the emptiness . . .

Today there are only clouds above.

But on Easter morning there was a major production in the sky. I watched as one cross after another was painted white against a blue canvas by unknown pilots.   All sizes and shapes, these fluffy crosses were drawn in the heavens above Nashville, Tennessee.  I am always awed at this sight as it reminds me of the gift of salvation and eternal life, but it was particularly awesome this Easter sunrise.

A glorious spectacle of seven crosses framed my kitchen window; for a moment I wanted to splash the soap bubbles all over the room and dance in joy.  Instead I stood still and tried to imagine those who had watched in horror at the Cross as Jesus’ body was nailed, tortured and hung.  I wanted to ‘feel’ the cost of life. . .

I took time to pause and ponder the meaning of the empty cross.  But does an empty cross mean anything without an empty tomb?  I wondered at the women who walked dejectedly to the tomb before sunrise.   Did any one of them have even a glimmer of hope that just maybe Jesus had arisen?  Had they remembered any words he had spoken?  After hearing the unbelievable story from the women, Peter and John  went  quickly and saw the empty tomb, too.

Peter “went away, wondering, marveling, pondering, reflecting, regarding with wonder and reverence,  . . . to himself what had happened”.  (Luke 24:12). That verse makes a wonderful story of conjecture and suspense.  Where did he go?  Did he hide in fear?  Perhaps he went to a solitary place, one where he had been with Jesus and the disciples. All the time, remembering, pondering.

Peter had a lot to ponder.

Can you imagine how Peter felt during and after the crucifixion? Earlier he had boasted that he would follow Jesus anywhere–even to death. Then he went to sleep in the garden when Jesus had asked him to watch. Now he remembered Jesus’ look  when Jesus told him to put away his sword after striking a soldier.  Peter must have moaned in agony as he heard again the crowing of the rooster.  How was it possible he could deny the one he truly  loved?  And three times.  Oh, he was shamed.   He wrung his hands in torment. What did this all mean?  What could he do now? He had so many questions, so many feelings of why’s, what-if’s and should have’s.

And now the tomb was empty.

Peter walked into those morning hours and into the afternoon, pondering, weeping–“wondering what had happened.”  We know from I Corinthians 15:5 and Luke 24:34 the risen Lord appeared to Peter-alone.  When I try to speculate of that meeting,  I can’t. I only see me–weeping in remorse, heaving in repentance and laughing in joy  as Jesus forgives me.

Can you just see Jesus hugging Peter?  Wow, that is something to ponder.

It is good to ponder–to remember that life, abundant life cost a life– Jesus’ life.   It is good to reflect on the horror of the cross and  attempt to understand the heavy price of the now empty cross.  If we stop with that, though, we miss the rest of the story.   Oh, the marveling, the amazement, the joy as we ponder the empty tomb.  There can be neither without the other.

. . . dancing in joy.

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In His time. Yesterday and now . . .

Tom asked me to speak  to a seniors’ luncheon Tuesday on how our years in Europe  had impacted me.  I tread softly into those memories.  After being back in the U.S. these five years, I continue to find it difficult to live in the today.  I think that is why I named my blog–ajourneytonow.  Some days I can’t find me in the now. I left pieces  of my heart strewn all over Vienna and Copenhagen.  And oft times I want to return and pick up the pieces.

No doubt, you have had a sense that you  were in the right place at the right time; and you were, oh, so happy to be there.   How much stronger that joy when the place and timing were fitted into God’s eternal purpose and plan.  From the beginning, Tom and I  knew we were placed in Vienna for just that time, sharing His life with peoples of the world. Truly a God moment.

Childhood visions of being a missionary to Africa  floated in and out of my life  through years of marriage, ministry and the raising of four children.  Forty five later God moved us to  Vienna and brought Africa–and the world to me.  He gave me a desire for the peoples of the world a long time before, and then, in His time . . .

Packing up and leaving our home in June of 2000 was no problem. Saying good-bye to six grandchildren was a bit more difficult. But if I had not been willing to do so, I would have missed the privilege of hugging the colors of the world.  (and when we returned home ten years later, we had twelve grandchildren.  God doubled our riches!)

Those years of living and loving in Vienna, Austria, and Denmark softened my heart for the world.  I cannot hear of a tragedy on the daily news without a reminder of a sweet heart I loved.  Remember the morning we learned of the Malaysian plane, the MH370, missing and no one knew how, where or why.  I was numb for days.  When a list was given of all nationalities on board, I  saw a face of someone I knew.  Because we had met, known and loved a heart from every country that was on that plane. (And now again this week, one hundred and fifty international lives have been taken on the French mountains.  Emotions rage for their lives-lost. )

I am often asked what I miss most since returning to the states.  My heart wants to cry out the names of everyone I knew.  But I answer quietly.  Color–color in church worship.  During those years in Vienna we experienced worship with people from more than eighty countries.   I remember the first service at the International Baptist Church in Vienna.  We joined hands, shades of brown, around the simple sanctuary.  That moment the Lord whispered, “This is how heaven will be, Barb.”  Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. Somehow I felt at home.

But it is today;  Now. I am here–not there.  And I really do live in the moments. Well I try.  Just this morning eleven–20150325_133017-1 —–11 wild turkeys were right out my window. (Click on picture to count them all.)  You should have heard me squealing; I love how God sends visitors to my yard. What is amazing in this –last spring 11 baby poults came often for breakfast.  These are possibly the same ones-now grown and back in time  to mate.  Is that not incredible?  (Another blog–later)

God continues to ready us for the desires and dreams he placed within our hearts years ago.  He is not finished–He will fulfill His purpose for me, for you.  My life verse, Philippians 1: 6 confirms this truth.  “For I am confident of this one thing, that he who began a good work (in me) in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Jesus Christ.”  How awesome is that.

Dreaming for tomorrow, but living in the Now . . .

(a note to my faithful blog followers:  How I appreciate you. I often stress over writing weekly, because I think any good blogger will surely  do that.    I decided early in the week I cannot  continue in that pattern; it raises my blood pressure 🙂   I will blog when I have something to say and only then;  I never want to write just for the sake of writing.  That would bore you.  If the Lord whispers an imperative lesson to me, I will share.  Thank you for following–you are my inspiration.)

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a time to cry . . .

The birds at the feeders are not active today. Oh, a few stragglers have come and gone, having had breakfast and lunch. They seem less excited for food.  Perhaps the grey colored day has them uneasy,  or the pelting rain discourages them from venturing far from their dryer cozy niches.  Could be, they are aware of  changes coming in temperature this evening.

Flooding of creeks and lakes continues here in middle Tennessee. More snow  is expected in winter weary New England; ice, sleet and snow predicted here  in Tennessee tonight. It is  not a time to “tip-toe through the tulips” or to waltz in a slow romantic drizzle and to pretend that life is wonderful.

A younger sister of mine is in ICU in New Mexico; my brother lost his semi-trailer truck in an accident this week. Tom is experiencing severe back pain, searching in vain for  a remedy for minimal relief, and I am as lethargic as the birds. I have no desire to smell a single rose today and even less energy to climb any mountains. There are no answers for a loss in the family–only tears.

Let’s be honest–there are times when we want to say with the Psalmist,  “consider my sighing, I am faint (6), deliver me , why do you hide yourself, my God (10)  how long, O lord will you forget me forever (11)  you know the anguish of my soul (31)”–  the cries from the psalmist go on and on.  “I just don’t feel you are near, Where are you, God? Can you find me? Can I find You?”  There are 67 Psalms known as psalms of lament.

“The lament psalms are cries of despair, anger, protest and doubt. They feature regularly in the psalms, and are not something the biblical writers or God himself were ashamed to put into Holy Scripture. They may be an embarrassment to some Christians, but they are a normal part of Israel’s praise and worship – which is what the psalms were all about.”  (Bill Muehlenberg)

It would be lovely to hear only the singing of the birds and the whispers of butterfly wings–but that is not reality on the journey.  This minute I hear hard, tearful rain on the  roof.  Large rain drops crying on the window pane near my desk, reminding me of tears. Mine– mingled with others who are crying today.

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.”  Psalm 56:8 NLT

Can you imagine a bottle of tears with your name on it?  I wonder how big my bottle may be.  What a beautiful reminder–that the awesome Creator of this world  holds my tears–even when no one else sees me crying or knows that I cry.  He records each heartache, every disappointment and sorrow– all my losses in a book.

How special we are to be loved by a God who has given us the privilege to cry but then keeps those tears while holding us near His heart. And remembering each sorrow . . .

Tearfully,

 

 

 

 

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More color . . .

I wish you could  have seen the picture from my office window yesterday. There was no shortage of color on the grey, bleak, frigid day.  The reds and blues kept me smiling . . .

Hundreds of black birds and grackles with sleek dark blue heads monopolized the feeders at times, and then there appeared the most brilliant male cardinal.  As I wrote this,  one perched at the top of my feeder-tree surveying the black birds.  (My European readers cannot “see” this  as there are no cardinals where you are 😦  So I am sending you the scene in living color.) There were times  yesterday I counted ten vivid red male cardinals and ten of their not so colorful spouses crowding the feeders or in the tree behind at one time.

20150216_154805-2

One of my favorite winter scenes has always been that of the red cardinal in stark contrast to the white snow.  It is a tender reminder of God’s grace and love. “My heart leaps for joy, and I will give thanks to him in song.” Psalm 28: 7

Black as midnight colored birds dot the ice-laden tree and suddenly, color reminds me of God’s amazing care- that an awesome God gives us this gift of color on a very grey day. The red is, for me, a picture of his sacrificial love.

I couldn’t resist sending you this scene and reminder especially after the grey of last week.

(If you click on the picture, you can see the ice more clearly albeit the picture will be a bit distorted.)

Enjoy the colors of today . . .

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Fifty Years of Color . . .

Imagine a world with no color–all grey.  How depressing.  Who delights in a cloudy, dreary grey day?  Or loves the color of ash or enjoys the coldness of a slab of lead?

Wikipedia identifies grey as literally a color “without color”.  This colorless pigment is often associated with conformity, boredom, uncertainly, old age and indifference.  Less than one percent of the population name grey as their favorite color.

So why all this recent attention to grey ?

I am aware that  the book Fifty Shades of Grey is  breaking sales’ records around the world.  And I am aware that it refers to Christian Grey and various sexual exploits. And I understand that the movie is one of the most highly anticipated releases of 2015. One commentator wrote that multitudes, wearing  dark shades, will literally try sneaking in the theater, pretending to enter another movie.

The book is touted as a must read for romance-hungry women; it is the fastest selling paperback book -EVER. It is the first ebook to sell one million copies.  Immediate tears played havoc with my make-up when I heard that 1, 000 Christian women surveyed said that  Fifty Shades of Grey, a book classified as soft porn, “mommy porn”,  and full of abuse was their favorite book of the year. (2012)

Color is exciting–expressing strength, power, love, passion, mystery and joy.  Tom and I have lived fifty (plus) years of color. Why would I choose “grey”?  Of course, there have been bleak, dark days, but we determined to change the color.  It was a sad, colorless day in 1966 when we lost our infant first son and second child. We soon changed that day to blue, the color of faith and trust.  The happy yellow has often been my kitchen color. At times health issues colored our days with difficult hues, but we soon chose to live in the wisdom of purple and in the freshness of green.  Issues with children called for  the strength and authority of black.

It is so easy to change a color–you can repaint your walls in a week!  Color is a choice.  God has given us the beautiful privilege to don colored glasses. We often see through a mirror “darkly” but when we are face to face with the One who loves us most, we see beautiful colors.  (my paraphrase of I Corinthians 13: 12 ) There are times when I must  repaint, even mixing tints–but I select one over grey.

But it is white we cannot live without; it is the backdrop, the base, the common of life. Especially it is the beginning and constant color in  marriage–in any year of that union. White embodies  purity, goodness, light–and safety. There is no color quite as beautiful as pure white.

This week is the red of Valentine’s. Yes, we immediately think of love and passion, but it denotes strength, power and courage.  What a mockery that this sordid film debuts on the weekend for lovers.

I have no need or desire for fifty shades of grey. Why would I choose that color when  my marriage brims with vibrant, meaningful hues of the rainbow.  Life with Tom Suiter is one colorful journey.

“Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.”

Psalm 34: 5

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hold on . . .

Strong winds are blowing this morning.

Spitting snow bites the gusty wind. I smile–happy and secure in a warm house, snuggling deeper into my soft cotton throw.

But life goes on outside in the bitter cold. The thistle seed sock feeder invites all colors of finches to come for breakfast–no matter how low the temperature; a small convention of my winged friends is gathering.

The feeder, hanging from the ledge of the deck, blows violently. And the birds hang on just as tightly. It is comical to watch them latch tenaciously while swinging 90 degrees. That flimsy little sock is their meal-time oasis. They hold on anytime to feast on the tiny seeds, but the force of the wind this morning  causes those little feet to dig a bit stronger into the holey mesh.

As I watch, I wonder what I hold to when winds blow around me– when disappointments and heartache shake my Pollyanna foundation; –when sorrow and hurtful words block the sunshine; –when sadness and sickness feel like cold winds cutting through the very fabric of my faith.

Can I say with David in Psalm 62, “You alone are my rock and my salvation; you are my fortress, I will never be shaken.” This affirmation of the Lord as a rock, a strong tower, a refuge occurs over and over again from events in David’s often turbulent  life. I think he would say; “you are my thistle sock feeder”–the place I go for nourishment when I am weak and hungry–no matter how severe the winds are.

(And I love how these finches get along–as many as eight and ten–eat together without squabbles and fights.  That is a later blog idea–but maybe, just maybe, it is because they have to focus on holding on for their personal food.)

“I will trust in You at all times–(I will hold on, even when the winds blow); I will pour out my  heart to You, for you are my refuge.” Psalm 62: 8

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It is not a Blue Monday; it’s Tuesday

I have a few friends who will worry that I am in a desperate low place when they read my blog from yesterday.  Therefore I need to send an addendum.  I  recently heard it said that  if you don’t have anything to say, don’t blog until you do.

I should not have said anything on Blue Monday 🙂

Immediately after hitting the “publish” button, I knew it was not ready to send.  It takes hours and days for something to gel with me, and I am sorry that wasn’t given more time.

I began researching after the quick send the difference between failing and failure.  I thought you would enjoy reading some examples of  many who failed and succeeded greatly.  You will enjoy the entire list.  I am giving three examples from  They Did  Not Give Up                                                                                     from

http://www.uky.edu/~eushe2/Pajares/OnFailingG.html

Thomas Edison’s teachers said he was “too stupid to learn anything.” He was fired from his first two jobs for being “non-productive.” As an inventor, Edison made 1,000 unsuccessful attempts at inventing the light bulb. When a reporter asked, “How did it feel to fail 1,000 times?” Edison replied, “I didn’t fail 1,000 times. The light bulb was an invention with 1,000 steps.”

After Fred Astaire’s first screen test, the memo from the testing director of MGM, dated 1933, read, “Can’t act. Can’t sing. Slightly bald. Can dance a little.” He kept that memo over the fire place in his Beverly Hills home. Astaire once observed that “when you’re experimenting, you have to try so many things before you choose what you want, that you may go days getting nothing but exhaustion.” And here is the reward for perseverance: “The higher up you go, the more mistakes you are allowed. Right at the top, if you make enough of them, it’s considered to be your style.”

27 publishers rejected Dr. Seuss’s first book, To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street.

“Great success is built on failure, frustration, even catastrophe.”

“The difference between failing and failure is what you do next.”

I am hoping that all those who celebrated Blue Monday yesterday because they had not persevered in their resolutions for success are looking forward to beginning anew.

Samuel Beckett said, ” Ever tried. Ever failed. No Matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

I promise to fail again–but better!

 

 

 

 

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Guilt or gain . . .

Today is Blue Monday. . .

you know the song, “rainy days and Mondays always  get me down”.  I thought that was where blue Mondays got their name.  But no . . .

Imagine a day set aside as  Blue Monday.   January 19th has this unfortunate  honor. According to the reporter a day has been given this title due to the sadness and regrets of many who have already failed in  their commitment to their New Year’s determined and well intentioned plans.

The segment of the news program this morning went on to introduce the comfort foods that will simply help you forget your disappointments and guilt.   Then one can wait until next year and try again.  It was ironic that many of the dishes starred melted cheese as the gentle solace.  What about those wanting to cut calories?

Sounds like a strange roller-coaster to me.

I was on the treadmill early this morning–the first time this year!  I  was released from physical therapy on Friday and eager to begin a walking routine.  About midway through the work-out, I began to wonder just how long I would stay committed to my good plan.  After all, walking is good for you, right?

And then the storm began. All past  resolutions, new castles in the sky-blueprinted in hope–, book titles floating aimlessly, weekly blogs, new recipes to create –I am a master at so many new constructions.  How quickly I fail.  How soon those  castles crumble at my feet.  How many empty notebooks. . .

failure . . .

failure . . .

then the guilt begins . . .

“Remember my affliction and my homelessness, the wormwood and the poison. I continually remember them and have become depressed.  YET I call this to mind and therefore I have hope. Because of the Lord’s faithful love, we do not perish for His mercies never end.  They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness–I will put my hope in Him.” Lamentations 3: 19-24

The prophet  Jeremiah now weeps at the failures of the very people he has loved and preached to for years.  And he leaves them with hope . . .

And I . . .

I will put my hope in Him.

Today is a new day . . . I will try again.

Now

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A single moment . . .

I can do this; I can blog today–I know I can.

You are busy–after all, this is December 1, and the Christmas season has begun.  So you may not have time to read this, but I must write.  Words, thoughts, sentences–ideas to share  literally smother me these days.

Then why the vacant blog?  I will not apologize for the lapse of  words these past weeks.  But I just might.

I think my first blog years ago had to do with enjoying the moments–no matter what happens. Look for  little moments in the day to be cherished.  Even in the pain, the heartache, the hurt . . .

Well, you know what?  Some days just cannot be enjoyed easily –and I am learning that is OK, too. It is difficult to relish a single moment sometimes.

Tom and I had a lovely trip to the Northeast in October; much color was still visible, even though the peak had come and gone and so had all the tourists.    I mean we even saw snow on Mount Washington and were unable to drive to the top–one of our “musts” on the trip.  Every moment was fully appreciated.

How does one hike mountain paths, steep ones, walk up a slippery flume, get soaking wet standing  in awe at Niagara Falls and come home and catch a falling suitcase on the big toe the very next day?  I have tried to figure that one out for weeks now.

That’s not all—

Because of the type of break in the big toe which gives balance to walking, the Ortho doctor put me in a short boot preventing me from using it for that balance.  OK.  I can still enjoy the moments–after all, the only problem is that my shoes won’t match for a few weeks.

Listen to this.  The day AFTER  the  right boot became part of my fashion, I tripped over a concrete guide in a parking lot–just not accustomed to my shoes not matching.

I broke my patella–my left kneecap–a hard, very hard fall, the doctor said after an MRI.

I tried, I really did–to continue enjoying the days.  It didn’t matter that the knee brace was cumbersome, weighty and doesn’t exactly match my clothes.  I can walk.  And once I figured out how to get in the car and drive with it, I thought ,” I have this made; I can do this, too”.

After a few days of getting adjusted to a new way of walking, a new way of bending or not, I noticed  extreme lack of focus and creativity.  Guess it takes more energy to teach an old dog new ways .  And that is my apology!  🙂

Thanksgiving was different this past week.  Have you ever thanked God for a working knee?  The journey for me has taken a short detour; I only hope it doesn’t lead into a rut of despair.

“With your help, I can advance against a troop; with my God I can scale a wall.” Ps 18:29

I cannot run towards anything, and I , for sure, cannot climb over a wall–but with God as my source of strength, I desire to walk close enough to hear his whispers.

I want the pain, the parenthesis– to mean something, to somehow bring honor to my Lord’s great heart.  But I don’t know how to do that . . .

Not yet . . .

Oh, the soft words of Silent Night have just now filled my house for the first time –the season is here.  I will cherish this moment–now.

 

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