There is a very pleasant sound, when the earth is in motion, like waves come ashore from the sea. Like children’s laughter and gulls o’er the ocean; a mother’s sweet voice in your sleep.
“And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works” (Hebrews 10:24 NKJV)
I first noticed them descending the two dozen or so steps to the beach, two babes in arms and one at their heels, and carrying bags of beach toys and towels. I said in passing, “wow, you’ve got your hands full”. She laughed and rolled on. We do have our hands full, I thought, as we navigate the stairs and baggage of life.
Upon returning later to the sandy bliss, I realized their beach umbrella and chairs were set up next to ours. The little girls were as brown as biscuits against the white sand, and I later learned their ages were one, two and a half, and six years old. An absolutely beautiful family, the parents were so calm and tender with the children, encouraging their play and soothing their fears. Mom Markey (fictitious name, since I did not ask permission to use their real name) approached me in the water complimenting the bandana I wore, and said she used to have a bandana in every color and also received compliments. Her reply to those, she said, was “Thank you, it’s what I do when my hair needs to be washed.” I revealed it’s what I wear because my hair has thinned and needs to be styled! We shared a laugh and knew we, as women, had in common the need to fix things. After a brief conversation, I learned they are from Texas, he is a youth minister and she, in need of prayer, a minister’s wife. Bless them! I have no idea where they are in their journey of knowledge and faith, but I do know she is a firm believer in prayer. Because of some things we discussed, I knew I would remember and pray for them. Then she really touched my heart as she said, “when we cross your mind, that’s probably when we need your prayer most”. Her next comment was just raw naked truth – “it seems that when he (her husband) is preparing for the occasional times he does pulpit speaking, we are feuding and fussing – satan is stirring discord – the kids are getting upset…” Oh Father God, have mercy on the young families all over the world who must go through this! The devil sees all effort to learn of God’s will, as his chance to wreak havoc. Just like the Markey family, there seem to be more poison arrows than we have shields to deflect; until we remember God and His shield, the only one big enough for the job. (“above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one.” Ephesians 6:16) Faith in God, our BIG shield; and this sweet little momma juggling dependability (as a wife), disappointment (as a daughter) and duty (as a mom) had faith that my prayers would be heard. Momma M., “I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13) and so can you, and so can dad M. Do not give up! Study hard and grow far.
It was refreshing when the six year old splashed out to us, declaring her name was Mary, and showing me her painted fingernails. She said, “I was named after baby Jesus’ mother!” In turn, I shared with her my love for John chapter 20 in which a different Mary went searching for Jesus; and I showed her my blue toenails. Her giggles assured me I was cool, and she waded back to shore, bodyboard in tow. Mary didn’t seem ready to trust the bodyboard beneath her, but kept carrying it around with her instead. We moms, in a similar way, don’t always completely trust that shield of faith but we keep carrying it, and one day, if we grow, we will let it carry us.
“When we cross your mind…” Yes, and if I cross your mind, pray for me too. Satan has no limits on age and occupation. We all face adversity. Quite possibly God, in bringing me to mind, has sought for me, your prayer.
There’s a pleasant sound when the earth is in motion, when the waves come ashore from the ocean.
We’ve just returned from a trip to Seaside, Florida, my husband and I, where we stood in the soft white sand and viewed those astounding color bands from crystal clear over our feet, to the deep blue where the ocean and sky meet. All those bands of aqua, green, and blue, are my favorite colors, but especially the brilliant sweep just before the horizon’s edge, like the blue from spring’s bluebird. I don’t know if it was merely getting to see the ocean again, or the thrill of witnessing my husband’s first view of the Gulf, but whatever it was, it trickled from my eyes and made me clap my hands. “The vastness of it…” was all we could utter for a while.
From the moment we arrived at our cottage called “Waves”, to our trip’s goodbye at sunset, I was thrust into a sea of beauty, both actual and metaphoric. Our upmost emotion as we stood in the unending waves was certainly gratitude; for a safe arrival, and for the beauty our eyes beheld.
I kept thinking of God’s question to Job in chapter 38. “Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said:…Or who shut in the sea with doors, when it burst forth and issued from the womb; when I made the clouds its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band; when I fixed My limit for it and set bars and doors; when I said, This far you may come, but no farther, and here your proud waves must stop!” (verses 1, 8-11) It is good to feel so small; to know there is a grand and awesome presence more than our human strength and frailties. How humbling to know the God who created a force so great it grinds rock and shells into powder, yet so gentle children can splash at its edge; a pure wonder! But a wonder to be respected for sure, and not just a little caution should be taken while enjoying even the gentler side of this great body of water.
While my husband’s choice kept him knee deep distance from shore, I never can resist getting all in. Up to my chin in waves, my toes bouncing, touching the familiar feel of sand, I remembered the fisherman Peter. Immediately I knew we have been too hard on him, accusing him of little faith, though Jesus had a right to say so of His disciple. But we? Not so much! Peter at least had the faith to take a step, a leap of faith so to speak, out of the boat into the angry sea. It wasn’t a beautiful bright day with folks watching, floatation devices in hand. It was a stormy night where the only other companions were crying out in fear. It wasn’t chin deep, but “in the middle of the sea, tossed by the waves” that Peter professed to his Lord, “Lord if it is you…” Command me. I will come. And he stepped right out onto the rolling crashing waves, knowing it was Jesus Who called “Come”. Now, being human, he did take his eyes off Jesus and did begin to sink, and Jesus did save him. But I’m here to tell you, as I met my waves eye to eye, I could not say I would have stepped out of Peter’s boat. Just knowing my fear of approaching people with the gospel, I cannot say I would answer so boldly the call Peter heard. You can read about it in Matthew 14:22-33.
The call to become a Christian is one we hear through His Word. I answered by being baptized in a swimming pool, the nearest body of water at the time. I still get distracted and take my eyes off Jesus . I still start to sink. He still saves. I am thankful for Peter’s example, one of stepping out in faith in the first place. Whatever we feel God is calling us to do, let us echo the faith Peter demonstrated as he stepped out of the boat, and let us keep our eyes on Jesus.
The colors, the sounds, the vastness of it all, are part of what keep us going back to the ocean. Each time I’ve been I come away with new inspiration for life, from life. This is the first in a series of “Ocean View” I have washing around in my head. I hope you’ll join me as we discover little treasures on the beach with an ocean view. Trisha
Enjoying the rain from our kitchen window with my first cup of Portland Blend this morning, my view shifted suddenly from the serene stillness to a lively chase. Already immersed in the beauty of a gentle rain which has been absent from our west Kentucky summer, I was nearly startled by the activity. Not the usual one resident rabbit, but two bunnies emerged from my garden, jumping at each other’s face, then racing around the first crepe myrtle, and continued their dance and chase around the next five crepe myrtles! One would chase the other around the tree, then meeting to begin hopping and prancing, sometimes fist bumping their front paws and then repeat the activity with the next tree. As the leader circled the sixth tree, it disappeared into the soybeans, leaving a bewildered bunny to hop slowly, hesitatingly, back toward the garden shed. I felt a little sorry for the kid, and wondered if they’d ever see each other again.
Life can be a total rabbit chase! I wonder if my maniacal gardening appears to others like the chase I had just watched, around and around and on to the next job in line. We hear of chasing a rabbit down a hole, which again, I’m prone to do, especially if I’m trying to relay some incident. Some notion enters my brain as another is being explained and off I go. And then there’s that great big expanse of a soybean field lying across the lives of our children, friends, work families and so forth. Their paths divert in some direction other than ours and it’s a toss up as to whether they’ll cross again, or lead off in still further mazes. It’s just life.
I hope we jump and fist bump and dance in circles and run our races together for as long as we’re given. Life can be terrific that way; and sad that way.
In my gratitude for the long awaited and much needed rain, I’m also sorry for those who are dealing with too much of it and the rolling rivers. Thankful for the break in temperatures these last couple days, we brace for the coming week of horrid heat. I’m glad I got to see the antics of the rabbits this morning and was reminded to be thankful for our people as well as reminded to stop and play now and then. The chase can be tiring, so remember to rest mentally and emotionally as well as (and probably more importantly than) the physical rests.
“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” Psalms 46:10 NKJV
“Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil. Cling to what is good.” (Romans 12:9)
Few things are as inspiring as young children whose efforts to try on life are just down right funny and at the same time, may slap a helping of practical onto our pretense. Several such ‘little’ inspirations were provided lately, one being a delightful visit from my niece Sara and her preschool boys. To begin with, as if their big blue eyes and chubby cheeks weren’t adorable enough, they came in proclaiming just how happy I must be for them to be here! Yes, I was, actually, and so why, pray tell, do we adults often act almost apologetic for showing up at someone’s door? It was so heart-warming to know they fully expected me to be happy.
As with every single little person who has ever been in our house, these boys too, discovered the joy of our Smurf Ahoy game. Now, in case you’ve never seen one, its container is a 12 inch square cardboard box about six inches deep, swimming pool-blue inside, and a cardboard ship is balanced over this blue “ocean”. The object is to see how many smurfs you can place on the ship without tipping it over and spilling the smurfs into the “water”. As you might imagine, two and three year olds think it’s much funnier when the objectives are ‘how fast can I tip the boat’, and ‘how loudly can I call out the color on the spinner’? Totally unconcerned with any status of being winner, they simply thrust themselves into it, often literally. Jameson, the younger lad, decided to “get in the lake” himself and proceeded to squat over the box. Stopping him just in time, we explained it was only a pretend, or fake lake. As they continued spinning the little arrow for another smurf move, my mind was spinning about fake lakes, and the precious lens of honesty through which children view the world. As I picked up the fake apple Jameson had been carrying around from my kitchen bowl of wax fruit, I felt kind of bad, you know, like – are these children going to decide this is a house of fake; a game with fake water, a beautiful apple you can’t eat, and plastic grapes that disappoint as well? Lord, help me be a transparent person with real ears for listening; real vision for seeing needs; real boldness to speak truth, all wrapped in real love. Never let me lose my real zeal for making ‘joy’ a genuine full-to-the-brim lake splashing with praise.
In so many ways we grow out of thrusting ourselves into the fun of life, and choose instead, the fake lakes where you’re safely neat and dry, concerned with appearance and refinement, though it may be a veneer to hide our inner child. Oh, I get it – manners are important and it is necessary we learn to use a filter so as not to offend. These are valuable issues that should come with maturity. But children show us what we are missing when we over extend these traits and cast a shadow over the richness of excitement for life. One example I’ll never forget is a side-by-side ride about a decade ago, with great nieces Katja and Izzy and our side-kick Ryan. Ready for the end of a busy fun (but long) day, I was concerned with getting everyone safely back to the house; but not Katja! “Wow, Aunt Trisha, look at that sunset!” If not for her unending zeal I’d have missed that one. I take for granted the shared appreciation of sunsets and butterfly kisses, instead of proclaiming aloud the joy in case someone missed it. (Thank you Janette DeWitt for being a sunset sharer.)
Back to the ‘who-cares-who-wins’ attitude so important to having fun, I got to watch a T-ball game this summer where three year old Jack, another great nephew, was playing. After 199 times of telling me he wanted to go to my ‘howwss’ it was his turn to run the bases. As soon as he crossed home plate, he turned, pointing to me through the fence, and yelled, “I wanna go to your howwss!” My heart soared! Home run! May we all be so persistent in letting others know, including God, how much we love spending time with them. “Let all those who seek You rejoice and be glad in You;” (Psalm 70:4)
Little kids are the ones who reward you with exploring all around your house in wonder. We adults are way too cool, scarcely letting our eyes wander, afraid to actually show genuine interest; and after all your hard work to make it interesting! I know, manners and all that. Next time I visit though, I’m going to ooh and aah the way I really feel anyway. (smile) One day when Ryan DeWitt was about five, he asked to hear my antique Victrola play a record. Seems like it was “How Do You Talk to an Angel?” Anyway, as the speakers scratched out a tune, little Ryan looked up at me and the blue-eyed gent asked me if I’d like to dance. LIKE??? Oh my stars, he made my day!! You never know who may just be teetering between up or down, and your invitation to dance could make all the difference. Go ahead and ask, or pick a dandelion, or hold their hand. Make their day.
The children have nailed it with food too. I’m always forgetting to offer the ice cream, or I leave the deviled eggs in the refrigerator, and guests are so polite they’d rather do without than say a word. Kids are great. They just say, “hey, you got any cookies?” and if you don’t, it’s no big deal, they just check for the next best thing, like “how about ‘nabanas’ or “pasghetti” as my nephew’s little boy, Grayson, used to ask. Always have bananas, and chocolate chip cookies on hand so you can look smart. Especially if a couple weeks earlier you served tossed salad to a group of girlfriends and forgot to set out the dressings until everyone was eating and your sister asked for them. (;
When great niece Izzy was at the ‘fort-under-the-dining-table’ age, she and our neighbor’s little girl were dragging quilts through the house to make their hide-out. One particular quilt is reversible, and I suppose Izzy had just never noticed the pink floral side to the quilt that covered her in the guest bed. Even in her excitement of building their cotton covered table fort, she suddenly stopped mid-stride, and looking down onto the never before seen side of her quilt, she exclaimed, “Oh Aunt Trisha, that is so pretty!” Do I take time to stop amid my busy task-filled days to give an honest compliment to someone’s accomplishments? (No, I didn’t make the quilt; it’s old, and I sure wish whoever did make it could have heard the totally honest praise!) Kids don’t mind that you’ll infer they do not have a pink floral quilt, or a blouse as pretty as yours. They just pile on the praise when they notice, and want to show appreciation. How many times I pass up the pause in stride to add a little sweetness to someones day!
Then there’s the departure. We say something like “well, I’d better get going now” or “I’ve hindered you long enough” as if our presence could be a problem or something. Not little kids! They make sure you know how much they like being there by flat out refusing to leave with mom. “No! I wanna stay” accompanied by tears, erases any question you may have had about your guests feeling at home. If however, they’ve had enough and want to go, they just say so, without pretense. And this day, Sara’s older child, Colt, walked up to my husband’s recliner, and leaning toward him, asked “do you wanna hug me bye?” Mercy, how sweet can they be? Open, honest, forward – no fake stuff there. I’ve said for several years that life’s too short to be fake. The littles in my life are living proof. Perhaps here is a compromise between the two departure style: Well, I’ve loved our time here together, but we both have grown-up stuff to get done, so until our next meeting…
God offers living water, never fake, which nourishes our souls all day long. Drink deeply and do as He does – never offer fake lakes.
“Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Jesus, in Matthew 18:3)
Good Monday morning to you! To quote the lion in The Wizard of Oz, “Unusual wedder we’re havin’ ain’t it?” While it is a bit chilly for me, the recent showers were wonderful. As I walked out to my garden yesterday I thought of a new piece patched into a quilt. Rich deep brown with green stripes of leaflets and spikes in contrast. Only two days ago I was murmuring and doubtful. Harsh dry winds in the week following my planting plus what I feared might have been only partially prepared soil, gave me concern and I was already wondering if I had saved enough seed to replant.
Oh ye of little faith! God’s masterful plan is unfolding once again in the germination and new growth of another garden, and as Audrey Hepburn said, “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow”. (Still one of my favorite quotes.) Times like this remind us of the instruction from our Lord Jesus Christ to go out there and plant the seed of His Word. Don’t worry if you have enough, nor if the condition of hearts is ready, nor about the opposing winds of worldliness. Ill winds, infertile hearts and giving us enough – those are God’s job and He’s been taking care of it for generations. His plan is good. He said plant, pray and wait. He is the maker; He gives the increase. (Ecclesiastes 11:4-5)
There is no limit to tomorrow’s harvest of goodness from one child taught, one good deed done or one seed of encouragement.
As youngsters, many of us learned Hebrews chapter 11 as the “hall of faith”. The first verse defines ‘faith’ as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen”. Whatever we do in teaching, encouraging or deeds for others, we must do so believing in tomorrow and the power of God to make it good.
Happy soggy Monday (again!) to you. Yesterday was a most perfect day with warm breezes and bright sunshine, perhaps our first this year. Isn’t it strange what a few hours can do to not only the weather, but our moods as well? As I was racing to complete my Monday “must-do” list in hopes of reaching the flower bed before the rain, I was about to start complaining over this weather of ours. We’d already had a light morning mist, but the breeze was mild and I had visions of easy picking – those weeds would just pop right out for me if – IF – I could just get out there before it rained any more. Ha! Not today. And the farmers would say, “flower beds? Seriously? Try making a living in this rain!” I know; I’m married to one.
Scowling toward the darkening window of rain drops, I noticed a beautiful Ruby-throated sipping at our Yoshino cherry tree, our first hummingbird of the year! Seemingly oblivious to the clouds and rain, he was enjoying the provision of sweet nectar in nature. The world was right again for me – Spring is going to happen regardless of the timing, and certainly without regard to my mood! From there I moved to another window, and lo and behold, our dogwood had unfolded lovely little red petals just to cheer the day. I was reminded of rebirth, new growth, resurrection. And so many blessings!
Just yesterday the back yard was filled with songbirds; bluebirds swooping from tree limbs to clothesline; black shiny martins soaring from their apartments to the electrical lines, and strawberry heads of finches bobbing and darting from limb to lawn. The combined chorus of all seemed to be singing the praises of their Maker. Green wheat growing alongside our lawn was rippling in the breeze like ocean waves and as I closed my eyes, the breeze gently rocked my hammock. I felt deeply ashamed of recent moodiness over missed vacations, knowing many desired destinations will never be realized. To be honest, I feel I couldn’t be away from all this anyway – awakening, spring time, rebirth – I don’t want to miss a thing!
Previous years’ hard work has yielded much new growth of fresh green leaves, tender shoots of hostas, iris and peonies, to name a few, just waiting for their bloom time when they will lift faces upward and give honor to their Creator. With so much energy emerging all around, how can I allow anything to put me down? Silly me, look at the lilies of the field, the raven, all so cared for by God and thriving with no concern for themselves at all! (Luke 12:24) “Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap, which have neither storehouse nor barn; and God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds?”
Bloom where you’re planted. Seek nurture in nature. Be anxious for nothing, (Philippians 4:6). God is good, all the time.
” If these United States can be called a body, then Kentucky can be called its heart.” – Author: Jesse Stuart
“Then God saw everything that He had made,and indeed it wasvery good.” Genesis 1:31a
I admire how an author can bring to life the feel and the sights and sounds of a place, as a painter does on canvas. I was introduced to the writing of Jesse Stuart in the eighth grade by Ms. Ann Woods. She also taught me to never again say “Oh it’s just homemade”, but to say instead, “thank you, it was handmade just for me”. For these things, I love her still. Every year as the hickory nuts fall I remember the school grounds with the enormous trees and a wise teacher. And I do get the feeling all this nature was handmade just for me. Kentuckians are proud of their people, and their crafts and their land I think, like I am sure most are of any state they call home. But I am partial to what is familiar and comfortable to me. Like autumn in Kentucky.
On several days this month, I stood like a kid watching the circus leave town, and almost waved goodbye to the warmth of the scarlet colors and the November air. I believe I actually did blow a kiss toward the sky. Perhaps knowing Autumn is a fast moving train is one of it’s attractions. I anticipate her arrival with such gladness I hardly think about her departure leaving us cold in the wake.
Another of my favorite authors is Rick Bragg, though I believe he never mentions our state. Rick Bragg can almost make Alabama and Louisiana sound desirable, the way a new recipe in Southern Living can make plain old food more enticing. However, nothing he has said makes me want to move down there, not that we’ve been invited. I do like living on the edge – the edge between South and North – neither one, but the best of both. Do not misunderstand, I truly love Rick Bragg’s stories like I love my roses. It’s just the adjectives of Alabama are more like the thorns on the roses; but the rest of his stories, the people, are the vivid colors and fragrances of our rose beds. I do believe Mrs. Bragg raised a mighty fine writer who makes even hot muggy red clay of the South alive, rearing camaraderie and family like no other.
Nothing, however, about red clay, red tide football, nor red bulgy-eyed crawdads tempt me to abandon the sweet bluegrass of Kentucky. As I do not understand football, and being a basketball girl myself, I’m still holding out for a true blue and white rebound. I do love a good basketball game as much as I hate politics. So do not try to debate me out of my comfort zone. Anyway, ‘my old Minnesota home’ or ‘my old Alabama home” just doesn’t sound right, does it?
As far as northward is concerned, I have been up through Illinois and I saw their rich black soil, so rich the flowers bloom neon colors. Their crop yields require grain bins on each end of the field and large wagons in the middle to dump the overfill. But I wouldn’t trade our warm brown Kentucky earth for losing my ears to the wind I felt coming off the lake in Chicago one March.
I do envy any state’s close proximity to fresh seafood. You may actually have me on that one. I think though, I’ll just wait for a good shipment of shrimp, back here in the shade of our maple trees. Few things in my humble opinion, rival a drive along the Bluegrass Parkway, or skimming over the water of Kentucky Lake.
I consider myself southern, if I had to pick one over the other. But to me, the best locale descriptor is “I’m a Kentuckian” where we usually get to see a January morning poured out like marshmallow cream as far as the eye can see, and watch March flowers pop up thirty days later as we loft a kite in our short sleeves. Then, when a hoodie of heat and humidity slides over me, I hear someone from the deep south tell me how much worse it gets down there, and I catch my breath in the breeze that’s never more than a few days away. Spring and summer showers induce a radiance of fall color popping against a frosty October morning canvas. Never in Kentucky do the days drone into weeks because nothing is as changeable as Kentucky weather. Hardly ever a dull moment, and as they say, variety is the spice of life.
This time of year, (and what I really started out to say) I am starstruck by the deciduous display of gemstone colors. I’m sure pine trees are nice, when Alabama can get a wind singing through them, and pine needles do make great mulch (which still probably isn’t enough to get a lot out of red clay) but just give me the red, purple, gold and orange of maples and dogwoods, sourwood and sumac, poplars, sweetgums and hickories. While we do not claim to own the only beautiful trees in America, with nearly half our acreage in hardwood, it is a jaw-dropping, totally in-love experience to live a Kentucky autumn!
“For a great and effective door has opened to me, and there are many adversaries.” I Corinthians 16:9
NKJV
Who knocks on doors any more? With little yapping house dogs, the popular door bell, and (rudely, yes) car horns, there doesn’t seem to be much door knocking lately.
I was recently given a brass door knocker inscribed with my dad’s last name. As I began to count those of my paternal grandparents’ descendants who could possibly use it, the thought occurred to me how rarely we knock, literally and figuratively, on doors. Likewise, how often do we miss a knock on the door. The last time I knocked on a door I got sore knuckles and no answer.
Opportunity may come knocking; guests, maybe; hard times sure can come a knockin’ and the proverbial wolf at the door may have slipped through. Will I answer? When fear of the unknown halts my hand from opening, I’ll never know what stands on the other side. Open it anyway. It doesn’t mean I have to let it all in. Greet it bravely; hope for the best, embrace the potential to be the good someone needs. Perhaps we will be called outside our threshold of comfort; or we may seize an opportunity to draw someone from their cold circumstances into our warmth. Be kind and if kindness demands a parting of the way, be kind still. When the wolf is at the door, be thankful for the smallest things and he will flee from you. When the hand of goodness is extended to you, grab it. Offer grace to the not so good, for you may see it again someday, transformed by your grace.
“Let brotherly love continue. Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels.” Hebrews 13: 1-2
I have, no doubt, left the door shut for fear it might be ‘hard times’, inconvenience, or an adversary. I imagine Jesus was on the other side inviting me to go with Him on some mission of good. I probably felt pushed for time, or resources (aka money), or more than likely felt inadequate to meet the challenge. A less honorable, and probably more truthful excuse would be laziness, pure and simple. It takes effort to answer the door. But if we do invite opportunity in, she may require shuffling some furniture to accommodate her or she might have dirty feet. I’m sure the images each of us see on the other side of our figurative door, are all different. Asking a neighbor to bible study; overseas mission work; prison ministry; cleaning house for someone disabled; watching a stressed momma’s kids while she takes a break, and the list is endless. I hope and pray we can all open when opportunity knocks, extend hospitality and in turn find the joy of working elbow to elbow with Christ; feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, clothing the poor, tending the sick and visiting jails. (Matthew 25: 35-37)
As I hold the smooth shiny door knocker in my hand, I feel driven to find a home for it. Hopefully my musing the matter of doors will propel me toward opening my closed and careful world to be more like Jesus.
Adopt the pace of nature. Her secret is patience. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Okay, that’s it! As much as I love nature, I’m afraid I may be losing my patience. Now they are IN the SHOWER! There was a time when I could ignore the little green nuisance. I stayed out of their way; their stink stayed out of mine. However, stink bugs have now taken first place on my list of ‘most unwanted’. Almost as numerous this year as the infamous tassel flies (hover flies), they are making me crazy! The odor is awful, and never have we seen so many at once! Over, under and throughout everything, these green, gray and brown pests are poised on doorknobs and thresholds, waiting to rush inside. One morning as I was about to raise the umbrella on the patio table, there were dozens of the crusted creatures clinging outside and inside the umbrella. As a scene from a scary movie, their effect broke the promise of a pleasant morning. Thus began my urge to rant.
In all the years past, I could avoid the raw stench if I just left them alone; not so now. Simply watering my outdoor plants stirs a stink. As I walk into my she-shed I start dodging the little devils, where they fly from their trenches in the windows. Just raising and lowering the windows is perilous – phew! The final straw? The vexatious visitors are eating the last of our tomatoes. If you love tomatoes like we do, you know how precious those last gems in autumn are! As I was looking for an unblemished tomato, a member of their colony flew right into my glasses; didn’t even phase it!
You may be a step ahead of me, and already know their real name and purpose if there is one. I really do not care what name they go by; I call them pestilence, pernicious, and nearing pandemic proportions. Okay, I couldn’t help myself from googling a bit about the little armored aggravation. Discussing this with my son, he pointed out there seem to be more varieties this year. Turns out, it’s true; the brown marmorated stink bug (BMSB) has only been seen in North America since 1998 and has been making its way westward since. Accidentally introduced from Asia, their population has exploded in the eastern United States. More serious than the pungent odor and unsightly gathering in the windows, is the crop damage caused by stink bugs. We queried possible explanations for the greener edge around our crops, but as it turns out this is indicative of stink bug damage. For now they are satisfied to eat into the outer edges of a field only, but as the population grows, who knows! Something about their piercing the seed pod prevents proper maturing and drying of the plant, referred to as the ‘stay green syndrome’. I’m indeed sick of them, and evidently our wasps and birds, too, have found them too noxious to develop a taste for the unusual urchins.
Stink bugs do have a natural enemy; a tiny samurai wasp, also introduced from Asia, known to parasitize the BMSB eggs. Yay nature! Yay wasp! Nature does make a way. I was thinking what an unusual name for a wasp less than a tenth of an inch in size. But evidently, bigger isn’t always better, and this is our only warrior against the enemy for now. So I am squishing, thumping and vacuuming every stink bug I can and holding my breath as I do. Wouldn’t we love to see a. natural enemy for the coronavirus! For that I am not holding my breath!
As for a stink bug purpose, I found none. Other than serving as a reminder of the pestilence sent upon Egypt one time in the form of frogs; indoors, outdoors, in bed and bath, frogs invaded the sanity of everyone and were intended to show God’s power and get the pharaoh’s attention. (Chapter eight of the book of Exodus) Well, this modern day malady has my attention! I am cheering for the Samurai, in hopes she will get rid of these stinkers and make life a little sweeter.
brown marmorated stink bug where they are hiding in the folds of my patio umbrella (note the white sections of the antennae)
If satisfaction came as naturally to us as persistence does to nature, we’d never have a moment of discontent. Awaking to a nearly perfect Labor Day morning, I chose to observe the holiday with a little R&R and maybe something fun thrown in as well. My good husband was taking care of his breakfast and started mine too, so my goal already seemed obtainable. After our morning devotional outdoors, I was annoyed with myself for feeling a mild dissatisfaction growing. Maybe it was knowing a lot of folks had plans to make memorable use of the amazing weather and the last summer holiday. Feeling a tad “unplanned” I guess, and aware of Covid precautions, I could have become my own obstacle to a satisfying day. The only thing I had thought of to do on this warm clear day was kayaking, which requires first, making arrangements for getting to my kayak, and secondly, I would have to actually leave home. I didn’t feel that happening. I realized what I really wanted was to eat in my favorite restaurant (ten steps out the back door) and explore my own natural habitat for entertainment. As I write this in fact, the Goldfinches are putting on quite a show of song and dance.
The only hint at work I did, to assure we get a good nights sleep, was to ‘strip the bed’, as my mother used to say, to wash and hang the sheets out to dry. But for me, this is such a pleasurable thing, I’d feel a little guilty calling it work.
The main portion of the day has been spent in a four-acre plot left from a property split where we bought a small strip of land adjacent to our farm, which my husband has mowed and hired someone to clean out a densely grown property line. This left the unmown portion belonging to my sister and her husband where I thought I had spied a number of milkweed plants. Knowing the bushhog would soon invade, I began my hunt for the monarch and its host plant. To my delight, we discovered a butterfly haven! I learned to identify the milkweed plant and discovered several other beautiful plants as well. A tall wildflower with dark purple blooms, a lavender colored ageratum, also quite tall; and an airy pinkish bloom filling in the gaps between the purples, all grew around the milkweed, now in its seed pod stage. Some still had dried blooms drooping, but most were sporting their seed pods which in themselves are an eyeful of interesting detail!
Milkweed with seed pods
Probing into the life cycle of the Monarch butterfly and the dependence on its host plant I found an awesome story of persistence and patience. Eating and molting, webbing and waiting, metamorphosis in four stages, are all done in perfect timing. The result is an intricately decorated fluttering beauty who begins the process all over again until the early autumn generation makes its trek southward to Mexico where they are protected from cold until the journey back to its beloved milkweed where she lays her eggs of hope for another generation. Our son who is always up for outdoor exploration, helped me transplant a few of the milkweed plants to a location nearby that won’t be disturbed by spray nor mower next year. I want to give the returning ones next spring the satisfaction of finding their habitat much as they left it.
I was not disappointed with the butterfly population. True to the adage of the elusive butterfly, it was only after we sat still among them that we were visited with an explosion of color and activity. Bright orange, black and white Monarchs, Eastern Black Swallowtails and Silver Spotted Skippers were everywhere. Others as well which I didn’t take time to identify were flitting about enjoying the sunshine and nectar. The more we saw, the more beautiful they seemed to me.
We added to our day with takeout food brought to my patio (aka favorite restaurant); a short drive with our fur baby; and (shocking!) a trip to the garden by my husband who cut the okra for me and brought a nosegay of four different colored zinnias, dark purple, lavender, orange and red-orange. Only in nature do I like these vibrant colors together. Only in nature could I have found the satisfaction I was seeking this morning, as real contentment wrapped the evening in the sunset’s glow. We have been blessed with a world of sights and sounds to please the senses – right here in our backyards, our own natural habitat.
I hope your Labor Day was a delightful close of summer, safe and sound, and oh so satisfying!
Trisha's Coffee Break 