a journey to now

Driving down a busy highway cross-eyed is not the safest way to maneuver in and out of traffic.

But I was watching a small spider with what looked like flimsy white and black legs, and it was directly in view of me.

I first noticed this spider while stopped for a red light. Those thin legs were moving fast, traveling the hood of the car. Then as I accelerated, that same spider flattened itself against the white of the car and held on tenaciously. You could almost see those legs dig into the paint!

This scenario was repeated at each red light. He would rise, cautiously scurry a moment, make some progress. On green as I began to go faster, he would again almost disappear into the hood. I had no idea spiders had the strength to hold on at 60 mph!

It became a game for me–I am sure it wasn’t for the frightened, wind blown spider.

At one stop when that strong spider was almost in front of me, I looked into that tiny face–still looking altogether as a spider!–not one bit frazzled, not even a ‘bad hair’ day.

I thought—-that is what I am to do in life. When things are normal–(but is any part of life ever normal?), I hurry about doing those things I do, going the places I go without much thought of taking safety or comfort in my surroundings.

Then the wind comes-bringing a storm that could blow me easily away.

And I hold on. . .

I have nowhere to go but under His wings, into God’s calm, his strength–holding on as tightly as I can until the acceleration has quieted, and I can raise my head and look around me.

At this moment I am walking through a storm. Not one of frantic activity, nor physical pain or even of a broken heart or relationships.. different winds are blowing this spring and summer–winds that sap energy, focus and creativity. Tom and I both have prolonged mono–can you imagine? My sister called and said, “do you know how rare it is for two people your age to have mono?”

With what little reserve of mental ability I can muster, I, like that spider, am desperately holding on . . .

—-not letting go of His promises to keep me, to strengthen me, to “hold me”.

“Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.” Psalm 73: 23
“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23

Holding On . . .

You may enjoy listening to Jeremy Camp’s, Healing Hand of God on You Tube.

http://www.metrolyrics.com/healing-hand-of-god-lyrics-jeremy-camp.html

Where is the camera when you need one?

For a couple of days, Tom and I had been fascinated with some new tenants on our property! A family of wild turkeys had settled in the tall grass back under some trees. I was so excited when I first saw Mama Turkey proudly leading her 10 little newborns across the lawn. It was amazing to watch them interact. The small poults would be in a line, and if one should stray too far, Mama would stop and “say” something, and back that little one would run! Just like in human families!!

One day last week, there was a major storm warning for our area. I had noticed the turkeys scurrying quickly to the front lawn from across the street when all of a sudden, Mama evidently gave an all out alert, and immediately waited for all ten babies to come to her. She widened her wings to enclose them all–tucked her head and settled down to wait out the storm.

I stood there awed at turkey nature. What did she know that the radar had not shown me yet? Surely she would have had time to get “home” before the storm.

Almost immediately the storm seemed to strike with exploding terror–at the same time the alert went off on the Smart phone! I left the turkey scene to make sure everything was fastened down on the deck. Strong intense rain pelted the windows.

I had forgotten the turkey pile in the front yard until much later when I looked out the window.

Mother Turkey was STILL there–she must have gone to sleep in the storm–knowing all her babies were safe and dry.

As I opened the door to “see”–she immediately released her tight hold, and 10 dry babies wiggled out. What a photo holy moment!

How like God–all-knowing, caring, loving, protecting!!

I was reminded of the verse in Matthew 23 where Jesus said, “how often I have longed to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. . .”

I watched Mama Turkey lead the way to a more safe haven –from my wide eyes! But really is there any safer place than under her wings, near her heart?

And I wanted to shout–that I have a God who wants me under His wings–not just during a storm, but through each day of life.

Dry and safe—under. . .

His wings!

I was awakened early from an already short night. Tom and I had been up almost 34 hours, and sound sleep at the moment was a necessity! Was I dreaming?

I listened again, and realized it was not the early morning Muslim prayer call I had been cautioned to expect, but was a rooster’s crowing!

It can’t be, I thought–we are in the middle of sand dunes and concrete barriers. I had seen little color of growing green when driving out of the city from the airport the night before.

But there it was again–the same crowing I had heard as a little girl growing up in the country. I smiled and sneaked quietly outside to listen again. Moonlight was reluctantly giving way to the return of yesterday’s bright sun. And then it was as if the Muslim prayer call answered the rooster’s early morning call.

Surroundings looked foreign to me (I was in a country of sand—where the tops of large residences rose from the concrete fortresses around them. No flowers, an occasional lone tree imprisoned within the wall and only the white sand and the already hot air compelling me to go back inside.

And yet, there was a rooster’s crow.

Over breakfast the couple we were visiting said, yes, there is a rooster near; there is also a goat in that yard! One can never know what is behind barriers, I suppose.

After spending three days in that Middle Eastern country and then renewing friendships in Vienna (where we left our hearts four years ago), we returned to a very fertile, green Tennessee.

In the first pre-sun morning at home, I was awakened by the early morning call of another rooster! What is this, I wondered? There are no roosters in this neighborhood! But yes, there it was again!
(A neighbor now had 3 roosters, I learned later.)

I can understand a rooster crowing on cool mornings in middle Tennessee, as they awaken to fresh, nutritious grass and rich soil—like a table spread before them for breakfast!

But why crow in a hot arid place?

Rooosters crow for several reasons. One, they are cleaning off their turf
—to let any other roosters around know what’s what and who’s boss of the barnyard–or sand field!! They will sing wildly at an intruding predator. When a hen cackles at laying an egg, a rooster will celebrate with its song! They crow all day, but it is the early morning peal we hear and can find offensive as it wakes us up from a sound sleep. A rooster’s internal clock allows it to anticipate the sunrise in order to begin preparation of another exciting day to search for food!

I like that last one. It reminds me that I, as a believer, should be like a rooster when it comes to how I begin my day. And it doesn’t matter if I am in a hot dessert atmosphere struggling with heat and sand (those irritating situations in life) or if I am currently in lush pastures relishing all good things!

Christians crow—all day, too . . . in one tune or another.

Walking under an umbrella is one of my favorite things!! There is a sweet, soft security in knowing I am covered–safe from the wetness.

Tom and I shared an umbrella walk on our first date over 50 years ago! (I know you do not believe it has been that long!) And ever since then, well, walking in the rain just adds memory to special memories!

Many in Vienna and Munich had no use for the umbrella; they preferred to run quickly from train to tram and shake the drops over the rest of us. Seemed to be the “cool” thing to do–run through the rain and then dry off somewhere in a coffee shop!  But we used our umbrellas–oh, how many we lost or left on the trains!

One morning last week I grabbed our large umbrella and stepped out into the rain. I smiled— and snuggled under the canopy.

Above me, I could watch the rain bounce off the transparent sections ; I could see “out”–the trees and bushes were visible. I was feeling all cozy and protected.

Then I realized that I could not see a thing if I twirled the umbrella and looked through the black parts of the shield over me. The rain still pounded–I could not see it, but I knew it was there. If I only looked through the dark section, I could not even see where I was going.

A quiet realization invaded my thoughts —God is my umbrella—protecting, shielding me when I can “see” life before me–when I, in confidence, sense His presence over me.

I giggle. I want to dance in the rain.

And then, I “see” blackness. It is not so simple, not so easy when I can’t see. When I, like David in the Psalms, cry, “I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail–looking for my God.” (69: 3) What do I do when I cannot “feel” His umbrella of love covering me?

I remembered the babies asleep in their strollers in Europe. It did not matter if it were a light rain or a downpour in Munich or Vienna —they were satisfied with the clear plastic protection over them. They were safe and dry–content enough to sleep in the rain. Other times, the tent over them was dark–to protect them from distractions–or to shield them from the hot sun.  They still slept.

David was in a cave, fleeing from Saul when he said, “I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed.” Psalm  57: 1.

Trusting– well, trying to trust—under the Umbrella,

(Some of you may have seen an unfinished entry of last week–sent accidentally before edit and completion. And I wasn’t sure if I should send it–did not know if any would understand-hence, the deletion.  It had to do with “where is God when He is quiet.  Then I picked up a book and began reading last week–Ken Gire’s, The North Face of God, and now I know many will know and have been there.  I will resend that one soon.)

Christmas is over—at least the day marked on the calendar and the season charted by the amount of sales purchased by the masses.

But Christmas did not come for me this year–in the way I anticipated, in my fantasy of expectation, in the crooning of Nat King Cole or Andy Williams’ dream-like songs. (You can tell my age!) You know— those thoughts you have of curling up with a cup of hot chocolate, listening to Silver Bells, and being mesmerized by  hundreds of lights on the tree—being content that all is right in the world.  That, indeed, peace came into the world with the birth of a baby, and we can all live in that knowledge—happily ever after!

Can one find peace in a fantasy of Christmas?

An initial expectancy in the season’s advent had begun to thread its way into my feverish decorating and planning of brunches and parties—-

then came the crying in Connecticut.

Stunned, angry, hopeless–I cried.  Where is the hope of Christmas, the peace for the world, the promise for children?

Pictures of lively happy children soon splashed across the screen. I saw there the faces of  a little boy and a little girl who looked much like two of my grandchildren, and I cried with the mothers and grandmothers in Newtown.

The words of Matthew 2:18 had a fresh meaning  –“A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.”  (this was in reference to the time when Herod had all baby boys two years old and younger killed after Jesus’ birth)

Pain flooded the first Christmas; it avalanches around us daily—everyday.

Pain invades our peace; chaos enters our contentment, and we wonder how and why we can  still hope for tomorrow. Then we remember that this Christmas gift, this baby was given the name Immanuel, which means, “God with us”.

Now— and tomorrow.

Sitting in a candle light service on Christmas Eve, listening to “silent night, holy night”-soft, gentle words—I realized that the baby born as a King did not come into a world that was all calm, quiet and peaceful. BUT—the angles knew, the heavens declared –it is heaven’s peace, the only Hope for a sad lost world that entered the world that holy night.

I breathed deeply–“all is calm” and heard his whisper, “you have seen me in the sanctuary and beheld my glory and my power” (Psalm 63:2). “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you” John 14: 27

What more do I need? Dare I want more?

Christmas comes–now.