Tag Archives: Changes

On the Wings of a Butterfly

31 Tuesday Aug 2021

Posted by in Life, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Recalling the sadness with which my dad would report the passing of another old classmate, I began to identify somewhat, with those feelings. I had just read the obituary of yet another friend of my mother’s which saddened me, but more than that, it began to unfold a revelation about aging I have never felt before. (It isn’t about my being another year older or being nearer the end. Instead, it’s feeling the passing of life as I’ve known it. It’s the people who’ve left us behind, evolving morality, chivalry and such.) The lady who had died was an age right between my parents and me, so she considered Mama a friend, and me as well. We weren’t close, but I had respect for her and remembered fondly how she was a presence in our lives when I was a young child.

A couple days ago I came upon a colorful butterfly whose life had ended, and it suddenly returned to mind today. Each time I walked by it as it lay on the hot concrete, a few more particles of its lovely wings were etching away, as is the way of Mother Nature; by another day it was gone.

I wondered, are our lives just delicate wings, slowly crumbling off around the edges, dissolving like a mound of January snow? Well, actually yes, according to God’s word, our earthly lives are like the petals of a flower, dust in the wind. “All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of the grass. The grass withers, and its flower falls away. But the word of the Lord endures forever.” (I Peter 1:24) But God put something inside us that the dust and the butterflies do not have; a soul. I know the soul lives forever because God said He created us in His image, which is eternal. “Then God said, ‘Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness;’ (Genesis 1:26) I understand this; however, it’s the season we’re spending here with one another that I am pondering.

When dad mourned passing classmates, it was literally losing pieces of himself. I recall losing high school classmates not long after graduation and unlike the elderly, it was shocking, unusual and set apart from our own lives. However, as we grow older together, we are watching each other’s lives span out, grow, and come back together again. We find more things in common, along with our other acquaintances, woven throughout our own tapestry of life. So watching all these people from different periods of our lives begin to leave, is similar to watching the threads slowly unravel and slide out of the cloth, little by little, one friend, one relative, at a time. This we know is natural, neither shocking nor unusual, but as I’m just realizing, it is actually changing the landscape of my life, my world; a world created by the relationships we’ve made, the real stuff of our lives. It reminds me of enjoying a bowl of ice cream. You have your favorite flavor in your favorite bowl, the spoon that fits just right in your hand, and you knew the delicious treat wasn’t to keep, so as you enjoy it, bite by bite, you see it disappearing. Either you eat it or it melts; either way, it goes.

I realize these thoughts have the potential of being depressing, but it is not my intention to bring you down. Rather, you should know your life, whether a casual acquaintance, a relative, my best bud, or somewhere between, is being enjoyed like a bowl of Columbian coffee ice cream; worn in my life like the finest woven tapestry; and decorates my life like the blue speckles on the butterfly sipping at my zinnias. We are not put here to live unto ourselves. As we help and encourage each other, we are actually folding in the ingredients, weaving threads of gold and silver, into and throughout each other’s lives. Make it good, dear ones! When the tapestry is completely undone, will I be just another wing on the sidewalk? I like to think I may be a good memory to some, like that particular butterfly was to me, but more importantly, whatever makes me fly will live forever with my God.

Thankfully, I haven’t had to say goodbye to many of my own peers, but as I’m practically in the lap of being the older generation, I have just begun to understand. I found myself frantically searching my mind for someone who might be able to answer questions related to the life of the recently deceased. Finally I called a cousin who could fill in some of the blanks but the truth remains, there are fewer people left than I care to realize who can still answer questions about past memories. The memories are precious because of the souls connected to them. So hug them up tight; wrap them in fine quilts and serve them using the good dishes. Life just may be short, so enjoy the ice cream.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day.” (II Corinthians 4:16)

SHARING; Then and Now

02 Monday Aug 2021

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS, Uncategorized

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Feeling quite pleased with the outcome of a project, I shared my efforts on Facebook. In anticipation of the much needed improvement, I had taken ‘before’ pictures to emphasize just how much our porches needed to be cleaned and sealed. As I was taking the ‘after’ pictures, the question came to mind as to why I felt the need to share this on social media. It wasn’t a benchmark thing, nothing rare or unusual; just a small accomplishment that gave me satisfaction. It’s really funny when you stop to think about it. I made it just fine for over sixty years without this strange activity of publicizing sunsets, sunflowers and sun-dried sheets. Millions of us do it, and frankly, I enjoy the giving and receiving of little snippets of our lives. So don’t misunderstand me; I’m not ‘dissing’ it as the kids used to say. But I did imagine some interesting scenarios in wondering what if there’d been social media and sharing of everyday life a generation and farther, ago. Can you imagine?

When my mother’s elderly aunt threatened her cow with a wheat straw, it made family news and the account of it was handed down through three generations so far, bringing much laughter. Had that been a Facebook video, it may have gotten a few chuckles, and then become buried beneath a deluge of other posts. However, as it had only word of mouth, being heard over and over by people who loved one another, the tale has lived on. 

Can you imagine seeing a post of a little burr-headed boy, seven or eight years old, driving a two-ton truck as he stretched to see between the dashboard and the steering wheel? Well there is no photo to post because my husband was alone, trying to hold it between the ditches of a hilly gravel road and keep up with his dad driving something ahead of him. Now, a share like that one might have gained the attention of the law! And judging by the reaction his aunt had when she saw the activity, I’m sure she would’ve liked a route for ranting! But other than the remembrance for the boy, and his aunt,  it went unnoticed. Talk about kids growing up too soon! It was the norm back then.

How about those hundreds of quarts or so of green beans your grandma canned? Can you imagine her stopping to take a picture to post? I recall my mother indicating if we stopped to so much as go to the bathroom, we might hinder a jar from sealing. 

As my sister pointed out recently, her dozen ears of corn made good eating and conversation, but she remembered the 1,000 (or so it seemed) ears of corn on a sheet under a tree waiting to be ‘worked up’ by our mother and her sister.  What they shared was time, togetherness and sticky aprons as they commented on whose knife was sharper. It was hard enough to get willing participants, so I doubt they thought non-players would be interested. Anyway, they were just doing what every other family was doing. The best sharing then was in a large glass bowl about four months later with country ham and biscuits.

Imagine ole’ Bess about to give birth in the barn. The farmer cries out, “hold on, don’t calve just yet, I forgot my phone! The world’s just gotta see this!” 

I think the world was so small then for folks, they just couldn’t imagine anything they saw or did as being unusual. They felt like maybe everyone else had or did the same, pretty much. Hydrangeas growing by the house had been transplanted all over the county so everyone had one; they all had seen a thousand too many baby chicks; and nobody wanted their picture made on hog killing day! They got together on Sunday afternoon, shared their stories, and made memories enough for years. But as the world has expanded, allowing us to be a part of a much larger community, we know there are people special to us who will never see us in our “natural habitat” nor will we see them in person encountering special moments. I’m thinking of the vacation posts by others, places I’ll never see, so experiencing it through your eyes is the next best thing! Sharing is good that way. Too, we have more time on our hands with modern conveniences and life IS more varied and exciting, maybe… and yet I can’t begin to imagine what a star studded night over Kentucky looked like without the outdoor lights interfering. I can’t imagine how a family of ten or so sounded when they all sat down to the supper table at once, because that’s the only way they did it. As I watch a goldfinch picking at a matching Black-eyed Susan, I wonder what  posts my mother would have made as she loved her flowers and birds! I can’t imagine what  her face looked like when she first held us kids in her arms. They just didn’t take pictures like that then, much less share them with strangers. But I’d love to see a real-life post – just a few anyway – from those times. 

“The more things change, the more they stay the same” we have heard. I wonder if my great aunt Treva would’ve posted her amazing Four O’clocks on social media. She shared the seed with me about 35 years ago and I want to share the beauty and fragrance each year as they envelope our porch! No, somehow I doubt she would; she had cows to milk, strawberries to work, grandchildren to feed and hug and a hundred other chores of farm life. So, no, she wouldn’t take the time. I’m so thankful she took the time to share her flower seed with me so a part of her lives on in my life.

  • 4 O’Clocks from Treva Darnell

The little brown rabbit munching clover outside my window tempts me to grab a pic and share it, because a picture is worth a thousand words, they say. But again, why do I even think of that? It seems social media has invaded even our paths of thought. I have no point to make. I just think it’s interesting; both the rabbit and the notion of sharing such a common thing. Now, some have said posting of our personal lives is just bragging. I say phooey to those nay-sayers!

We’ve been taught (or at least should have been) to share since we were babies. Even as the tune “It’s a small small world” hums through my head, I feel the world has actually grown larger and larger until it has required a new way to share. There aren’t enough minutes in a day nor days in a week to share all our happenings with everyone we know. So here we are, sharing on social media outlets. Silly as it may seem at times, it’s fun, if everyone remembers the golden rule. Obviously we share what is important to us, so please don’t be offended when I share my love for our Creator God, the power of Jesus Christ and Holy Spirit. My intentions are to encourage and I hope they are received as such. I loved a post recently by Terra Weber sharing how her girlfriends pitched in and helped her in a pinch. I call that share-worthy; my rabbit, not so much (smile). If not for the encouragement from Cindy Lassiter’s garden posts, I might have given up and quit doing a thing that makes me feel so alive! At seeing Judith Darnell’s post of her rhododendrons, I thought, You go girl!

All the plants, birds and time with children I enjoy sharing, demonstrate the wonders of life for me.  I have adopted the hashtag #encouragedbylife as my signature. (Do not look for me on Twitter; one outlet is all I can keep up with.) I hope others are encouraged to get out and experience more of nature after seeing posts from us nature lovers. If a little share here and there points someone to look for God in His creation, I am happy. If a shared post encourages a youngster to keep working hard and know he or she is loved, also great. What I hope we don’t forget is to keep sharing our actual, not virtual, lives. Giving of our time and resources to one another is the kind of sharing we never forget. A tree from Dana Bazzell, a hydrangea from Patsy Russell, Irises from my aunt Sue, and many other examples are real life shares. Retelling stories from the past keeps their sharing alive and reminds us there is really nothing new under the heavens. It’s just new to us, so share it if you like.  #encouragedbylife

  • Eastern Bluebird box in our backyard

FROM THE PORCH: Much Has Changed, Much Has Not

29 Saturday Aug 2020

Posted by in Family, Life

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The other day I ran across a picture of my husband and me sitting on the front porch of a house we rented for a year in a subdivision off Hwy 94 West. I don’t know who took that picture, but I could hug them.

Who were those youngsters? Lean and strong, the summer of 1983, and that was our real hair color! It is no longer; and that’s just one of many changes. The two sweetest kids on earth, ages “almost 4” and 6 years old called us Mama and Daddy. Thankfully only the ages have changed – they’re still sweet, and we’re still Mama and Daddy. We were ten years into our marriage with no clue as to what would become of our dreams and aspirations, but we just got up and did what we did each day to make those come true. Some of that changed too. I cleaned a lady’s house for $10 once a week and stuffed envelopes for a neighbor. I have no idea what he paid me but it was rich for me just to stay home with my little ones and still earn enough gas money to get one to kindergarten, then first grade, and keep the other one and her sippy-cup safe. It let me pay a little each month on the Sears account that carried our important ‘must haves’.  My mother told me, “As long as you send ten dollars each month, they can’t say a thing about it.” (She knew from experience.) Boy, has that ever changed!

But now,  that man in the picture – oh my oh my, that right there was my giant. And that hasn’t changed! He kept two or more jobs going at once; farming for us and driving spreader trucks for Hutson’s Ag Co. from before daylight ‘til after dark. By night, we remodeled the farm house on the 50 acres we were finally able to buy that fall. There on our rented porch sat the desire for our own home and the gumption to get it done. If he spent five dollars on himself in a week, it was rare. As long as his little family was safe and sound, he kept his nose to the grindstone and then came home to love us just as hard. I did what I could to help in farming, which was mostly running him back and forth since we didn’t live on the land he tended. I think I helped in the tobacco fields that summer as I always did, to some extent, but without his leadership and determination my part would have amounted to nothing. The experience he brought to that porch was of doing everything the hard way, as his dad had also farmed alone, and seemed to make any task all the more tedious. Well, the truth is just the truth. 

As the year on that porch went by we encountered several other alterations; a scary diagnosis for our son, which was resolved, but grew our faith and proved the love of our family and friends. It was from that porch we saw our children make new friends, and learn to ride a bike. Carrying our belongings up those steps one January and back down the next, my husband shouldered more than furniture and boxes. He knew it was make or break time. Never a fan of paying rent, he wasn’t about to any longer than necessary. That year though, renting was exactly right for us. The span between getting back up on our feet, and easing back into the saddle of debt, was the breath of confidence we needed. It was both humbling and inspiring. I’ve always suspected that someone was paying a portion of our rent because it was so affordable, and because my mother was determined to get her grandchildren back in her school district. I smile as I write that. But we managed to pay what we were told, and still believe, was the monthly rate, and I do recall a portion of the rent was paid by my husband hauling in dirt and single-handedly shoveling it around the foundation of the house to take care of a water drainage problem. Seems he was always moving earth to make ends meet. We were too busy to know we were living at poverty level, as we were told later; but we never were hungry for anything and slept like babies.

I am not proud to say our focus was not on God those years. Oh we believed, and took the kids to church;  we listened to John Dale’s encouraging lessons on the radio on Sunday nights, but our focus was surviving and enjoying our children. God’s focus however, was on us, as His hands were all over us, preparing us, pruning us and proving us. Somebody was praying mightily for that young couple sitting there on that porch. The hardships we had faced for a decade were lain on the steps of the porch and we stood on them to look forward in spite of our imperfections. The fear and uncertainty that must have gripped my husband’s heart each morning were felt by our Lord Who anointed  his head for protection and filled our cup to overflowing. 

None of us know what the next day will hold, but I can tell you Who holds each day, and He sees your pain, your effort, your joy. He works wonders with the poorest of seasons. “Remember His marvelous works which He has done, His wonders and the judgments of His mouth.” (I Chronicles 16:12 NKJV) One day, you see an old photo and think, oh my, who were those children? It doesn’t matter. It does not matter, if they didn’t know who they were, for God did. If you’ve never been through a drought, you can’t imagine how good the rain feels. 

“For the Lord your God has blessed you in all the work of your hand. He knows your trudging through this great wilderness. These forty years the Lord your God has been with you; you have lacked nothing.” (Deuteronomy 2:30 NKJV)

Margrette Ann

14 Sunday Jun 2020

Posted by in Friendship, Reflections

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Margrette had a beautiful soprano voice as I recall. Occasionally I would be seated in worship services near enough to hear her singing in the spirit. She also used her voice more than a few times to speak her belief that something ought or ought not to be; although, never did I hear her belittle anyone nor speak in any fashion that would have been unbecoming of a lady. Margrette Enoch wore her Christianity in the form of love for her family; cooking for neighbors and visitors (her baked beans with ground beef and brown sugar were my husband’s favorite!); teaching bible stories to youngsters; working side by side with her husband to provide for themselves as well as foster children, mission work and the various functions necessary for a local congregation to do the work commissioned by Christ.

I met Margrette in 1984 when we moved into their community and continued our farming operation there. I feel sure she was the first woman to love on my husband in a way that showed him neighbors are good. Neighbors are kind. Neighbors look out for you. Just being in close proximity does not make a neighbor. “Love thy neighbor” (Matthew 22:39); and who is my neighbor? Anyone who poses an opportunity to provide some kind deed (Luke 10:25-37). We were blessed with friendship and food from her home. We were stewards of their farm land for about 35 years and never heard a complaint nor a grumble. We shared recipes, garden produce (my favorite being her blueberries) and love for a peaceful country life. She made her husband’s old family home into their home for their three boys, in-laws, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Easing  down the long gravel lane from our road to their house always ended with “Hey there! Come in!”

My husband and I both sobbed yesterday morning, June 13, 2020 when we received the news of Margrette’s passing. Tears for our loss; as well as tears for time we’ve lost on things that just won’t matter in the long run. Although Margrette was 80 years of age, she was so steadfast in her life that even her use of a walker hadn’t prepared us for the extent of her failing health. Margrette did not need fancy clothes, cars nor an exquisite house to love and be loved. She did what she could for others and built a quiet legacy of service.

I spent the day outside processing the news as well as all else that’s going on in our world lately. No matter what I did near the nests of our resident wrens, they kept singing and singing; beautifully doing what God created them to do. These small brown birds hide very well in our Washington Hawthorn tree, but I knew they were there by their song. Like Margrette,  doing what she was created to do, usually unseen, and singing her song of friendship for us and her Lord.  I  will miss you Margrette Ann Enoch.

selective focus photo of house wren perched on white birdhouse

Photo by Tom Mann on Pexels.com

THE SANDBOX – Rant and Recover: The Road is Coming Through

04 Monday Nov 2019

Posted by in Encouragement, The unexpected

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little boy playing in the sand

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Most likely you have observed kids in a sandbox, or on a playground, building their “spot” and having to move over for a sandbox bully. I recall the neat sandbox my daddy built for us surrounding a maple tree in our back yard. I was a bit too old to claim my own turf there, but enjoyed watching my little sister and brother playing with neighborhood kids. Unfortunately, the kittens that managed to escape the neighborhood dogs, car engines and tires, would also move in on the sand to – um,  sort of claim their territory…yes, I know, yuck. But the little kids didn’t mind. In fact, as a rule kids will concede after a sidewise look or mild resistance (just to be sure) when a more dominate personality moves in and wants that spot for himself. In the sandboxes of life, the bully has more weight, more money, or just more presence. At the least, it is inconvenient; at the most, it is life-changing.

Kids are truthful, humble and often helpless, powerless.  It’s when we feel the powers moving our world that the kid in us wants to come out. We want to stomp and cry; but the adult in us knows better. We know that the playing field isn’t always level.

Growing up, the playground expands, with more at stake, like perhaps class standing, career positions or potential spouses. Still dealing with competition, someone trying to go”one-up”, it’s common to still be finding ourselves or our positions in life. In those younger years the sand boxes are more plentiful and there are more fish in the sea. After a time, you think it’s all worked out; your bullies have found other callings, and peers have come to understand or accept each other’s turn and place in line. Comradery forms and you find enjoyment rooting for each other. Then. Then, someone drops in from another planet, plowing a new furrow, blasting your turf, only now the sand castles are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and roots are growing with families involved instead of just you. It is more. Much more than someone moving your furniture in the night, it’s more like they’ve moved your house – literally – right out from under you.  These bullies invading your sandbox aren’t just flexing muscle. They are pushing, kicking mounds, telling you to go with it or get thrown into the gulley, you and  your bicycle. They have machismo and money.  These playing fields are the real thing, making the childhood days seem of little importance. In reality though, if you’re the child whose tear streaked face endured the bully’s slap, and the terror of losing your sand castle, then you know the significance at any stage of life. It is a fact of life indeed, that all playing fields are not level.

As adults, we eventually come face to face with those uneven levels. Our adult sized sandbox where we’re just minding our business and doing life, paying taxes, raising responsible citizens, living up to the motto of leaving a place better than we found it – these places we have invested blood, sweat and tears into –  are Just. A. Speck. A dot on a map in the universe, it is property of a republic; a republic in which we’ve been proud to be a part. That playground we thought belonged to our kindergarten class until we grew up to be second graders and learned differently, is only ours for a moment of eternity. A speck; a moment in the whole scope of world events.

You wake up one day and realize there are bullies in the republic too, who seem not to have regard for “by the people, for the people”.  Of course, that depends on which people you are. You begin to realize once again how small you and your sand castles are; helpless once again, you must find a new sandbox. Until two or three, again, want to, oh let’s say, build a road through your playing field. That’s when it is SO important to know – and HERE is our consolation – that they all eventually get their ‘come uppings’. Not for the sake of revenge at all, but that eventually the playing field IS even. There is one sovereign boss to whom we will all answer; and what He has in store for those who are His, well, in the whole scope of world events, our plights just shrink; not less important to us, but of less priority. Then we must ask ourselves: one, does this affect my relationship with the Father, the Creator of my sandbox and all others? Only if I allow it to change me. Then, secondly, does this change who I am (without my permission) or Who God is? Most assuredly not!

Friends, neighbors, our hearts are with you. Many of us have lived under the shadow of threat from year to year, not knowing exactly how to plan and proceed. Dodging the bullet once doesn’t mean it’s our playground for keeps. As long as there’s life, there’s change. And eventually my cheese will be moved; so hopefully I will not trust in the cheese, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name, and I shall not be moved. My sandbox and my friends and foes will all move in and out; I may relocate, but I – who I am, a child of the King, will not change. For HIS eternal kingdom, is not on an earthly ground, but a spiritual one. All the powers of earth and beyond cannot uproot the Kingdom, the Spirit nor the love of God.

When we get to go in for supper with our big brother, Jesus, we won’t even remember the sandbox. The feast and the mansion where it’s served will be awesome beyond words, and I have the Boss’ word on it. God sees His kids in the sandbox, dries their tears and lovingly assures them they will be fine; that they will recover and perhaps even greater things are in store for them. Greater and better things may indeed await where you next fill your sand pail.

The writer of Hebrews was inspired to tell us “For this One has been counted worthy of more glory than Moses, inasmuch as He who built the house has more honor than the house. For every house is built by someone, but He who built all things is God. …but Christ as a Son over His own house, whose house we are if we hold fast the confidence and the rejoicing of the hope firm to the end.” (Hebrews 3: 3-4, 6 NKJV) I think he meant there’s only one sandbox we need to be concerned about building in, because it belongs to Jesus Christ, and as the owner, He lets us stay until it’s time to go home.

 

It Won’t Always Be Summer

01 Sunday Sep 2019

Posted by in Life, Through my window

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As surely as tomorrow follows today, autumn will come. However, the summer seems endless when days are long, long, long; long on high temperatures, storms and jobs that never seem to be done. The nights are so filled with sound and humidity that they feel solid, heavy and packed. It’s tempting to think summer’s lock can’t be picked; that there’s time to relax and get everything accomplished in our own time. I look out at the rain watered lawns and growing soybeans, and see no sign of autumn; step out of the door and the heat confirms it – summer still has a firm grip.

In spite of all that, the calendar still says today is September. We will wake up one morning to a crisp October frost and then the green will disappear. Along with it, the heat and humidity, and the hope of crossing off every single job on our to-do lists for that seemingly endless summer, will be gone. I will not be sorry. It’s been a hoot, Summer, but I do not mind to see you go. I’m tired. I am ready to cede the rest of my to-do list to your future successor. If the Lord wills that we see another summer, I’ll deal with that then.

Today, though, I’m thinking of something else. Being in my autumn of life, I wonder if I handled summer okay. You know, we often treat the summer of life much like the months of summer. Perhaps so overwhelmed with all we want to accomplish in life; with the heat of responsibility; with the growing pains and stormy seasons, we may decide to live it up first, tempted to “eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die”.  Or, we could procrastinate, totally unable to imagine the autumn of life, let alone the winter,  the end. Unfortunately the calendar doesn’t warn us about stages of life as it does about seasons of time. The end of our year can slip up overnight, or it may take thirteen months. Either way, summer will end. With all the real-life reminders lately of the brevity of life, I find myself asking, what is most important?

We’re asked in God’s word, when we die, “then whose will those things be?”(Luke 12:20 NKJV) So, I want to leave things that are valuable to others – the others who will have what I leave. Kind of makes you want to clean out closets, shelves and such doesn’t it? Anyway, I really feel all they want me to leave are good memories for them; the knowledge that I have loved them well; and maybe a few dollars (well, be honest, it would be nice).  I want to leave all that and this – a faith rooted so deeply in the truth that it will never waver as they hold it and examine it, the way we open a letter from someone who has passed from us;  a faith that points to Jesus Christ, guiding them every day of their lives. I want to leave a love for God so big that they are led to get in, deeper, and find there the eternal life that God left us; that is, a life that leads toward an eternity where summer is perfect – as fresh as spring, as fulfilling as a bountiful autumn harvest and yet it is always summer- and where winter never comes.

‘Make hay while the sun shines’. ‘Don’t put off for tomorrow what you can do today.’ Those old sayings are steeped in truth. The words of Jesus: “And behold, I am coming quickly, and My reward is with Me, to give to every one according to his work.” (Revelation 22:12)

Uprooting the Beauty With the Beast

03 Monday Jun 2019

Posted by in Life, MONDAY MUSINGS, Uncategorized

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Today’s Monday Musings is a look inward where I find I may, as they say, not see the forest for the trees; throw out the baby with the bath water, and so on. You’ll find my actual gardening addiction may parallel some plane of your life where the busy-ness suffocates the beauty. Dig in 🙂

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Wild violets – disguised in their dainty blooms.

I know it’s true, I’m a hypocrite; a two timer and a shell of a housewife. I’ve backslid into the wayward life of a ground grubbing, weed wrenching maniac. Just last year I wrote and spoke on the topic of letting go; releasing the weights that pull us away from embracing new seasons. I’ve said that we must let go of what holds us back from celebrating the beauty within each new season, accepting, acknowledging and praising. Oh, I have accepted (that weeds and grass rule my life); I have acknowledged (that it’s up to me to get them); and I have…uh, prais…no, it’s time to come clean, cleaner than my fingernails. My praising in the garden was beautiful that first round of dew laden blooms, before the devil woke up the nutsedge, the bermuda grass, and the wild violets. I am a compulsive gardener; I need help.

How does it happen? I walk through the gardens once a day (a tip from Mama’s cousin for a successful garden). I figured if she did so, and lived nearly 100 years, that’s all the encouragement I need! And the therapeutic effect of evicting those weeds, clearing the ground filth and watching a garden take bloom, or become a dinner plate of delicious is just beyond compare! First an innocent walk-through, and the next thing I know, I’m up to my elbows in dirt, swatting those biting flies, with blurry eyes from the salty sweat; it’s time for dinner with nothing planned, there’s laundry to do and the dust bunnies are playing. Shame. So much shame.

For those of you laughing out the words “mow it down or spray it brown”, go sit with my husband. No thank you, I love my flowers and I hate that dead brown stuff left everywhere that he escaped my guard with his Round-Up wand. So what I end up with is this. I have weeded myself into a corner; a vicious cyclic corner where I have failed to adore the beauty and the Maker of it. I am so enrapt with weeding out the bad, that I haven’t given due respect to the beauty of opening buds and unfurling leaves that are the product of my work and God’s grace. I now ask Him to rescue me, remind me of His far greater purpose for me, and to return me to the communion I had with Him in the midst of His garden.

To apply a grain of wisdom I’ve gleaned, I hope to be able to read the newspaper, listen to the news and observe the unwelcome changes in life with a new eye for the good, the grandeur and splendor of life’s garden, rather than combing the corrupt with a long handled weeder. I want to acknowledge and praise God for the bountiful blessings instead of attacking life with a hoe, and a garden trowel. What is wrong with me? Who cares if my butterfly garden seating area is clean and welcoming, if I have no time to sit and invite others into it. Who cares how clean my rows of Blue Lake bush beans are, if I never pick and share them? Likewise, who will hear about Jesus the great physician, if I haven’t made time to visit the sick? I have weeded out life’s blooms; so focused on the work and blinded to the beauty.

But the summer is young. There is time for reforming. Oh, I’m not saying I will give it up. There is so much beauty in gardening that I cannot leave it as long as there’s breath in me and God gives me the ability. The secret is in balance. Schedules work for other important parts of life; I shall schedule my dates with the dandelions, and be sure to sit a spell mid the bluebirds’ perch at the wheat field’s edge, and inhale the fragrance of the warm moist garden dirt. If I am truly nearer God’s heart in a garden, then I will be using that time to meditate on His word and plan what I might be doing for someone else before the day is gone. When I begin to feel overwhelmed, I will stop and pray for the strength to walk away.

In Jesus’ teaching, as recorded in Matthew, I read that He doesn’t want me to be so aggressive toward the evil deeds that I uproot the good that can be accomplished toward all people.  I think He was teaching us to hate the sin and love the person, and the Father will sort it all out in the end. I know that if I begin to weed or hoe the garden while the young seedlings are too small, it will uproot them too. They would never get a chance to produce fruit.

“He put another parable before them, saying, “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a man who sowed good seed in his field,  but while his men were sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and went away.  So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared also. And the servants of the master of the house came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have weeds?’  He said to them, ‘An enemy has done this.’ So the servants said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’  But he said, ‘No, lest in gathering the weeds you root up the wheat along with them.” (Matthew 13: 24-29 ESV)

I Remember

12 Sunday May 2019

Posted by in Reflections

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20190511_205124The cemetery was as silent yesterday as the gray drizzle hanging in the air. My daughter and I had come to place new flowers on my mother’s grave and to honor her with a moment of silence, standing over the plaque bearing her name. I did not cry over it as I knew she, herself, was not there, but in perfect peace, somewhere else; paradise some of us call it. I was able to feel immense gratitude for the life she lived, and for the time it was shared with us. We left the gloom just one purple bouquet brighter, and a mist in my eyes only because I would have loved to tell her once again that I love her. I wouldn’t wish here back here with all the bumps and bruises of this life.

The real tears I shed yesterday were for a friend I ran into, who is spending her first Mother’s Day without her beautiful daughter. I thought about all those who would awaken today without that one who was in their lives all too briefly. You who have lost children are in my heart today. I know you don’t need to be reminded that this is not what we call natural – to have children go on before you. No, but I believe you do need to know you are thought of, loved and appreciated for the strength you have gained on your journey. While I don’t pretend to understand, I offer my silent nod to your loss, your strength, and my sincere wishes for fulfillment, blessings and peace.

I remember you, I remember your loved one. Perhaps we had children in elementary school together. I may have met you recently; or may have known you most of my life. Maybe I worked with you when your world stood still;  or stood beside you as you said goodbye to your stillborn. It may be that I worship beside you, adoring the God Who blessed us with children. I may have stood in line one day with some comment or complaint that made you want to shake me. All your names, as many as I can remember, walk through my heart of prayer every week. My wish for you is to know that your children, no matter their age, are with the most loving Father we can imagine, Who loves them more than we can, ourselves. And there is a third grade teacher somewhere in the bliss they are now living, who would do anything in the world for a child if it were the Lord’s will to allow her to do so.

Happy Mother’s Day to you, and to my Mama, and to all women, who stand as role models in the world.

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making Mother’s Day memories, My daughter and me.

 

 

Variety: Love it or Hate it

03 Sunday Feb 2019

Posted by in Life, Nature

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February afternoon

Sunday, Feb. 3, 2019

There are clearly some advantages to our Western Kentucky weather. Today is a prime example. While we hate the ever-changing never-know-what-you’ll-get weather patterns, it’s when we get a bright, warm, taste of spring like today that makes me grateful for the changes. I also relish occasional snow days when the whole world looks pure and clean and the only choices I have to make for the day is which flavor of coffee do I want to make. Variety really is the spice of life.

I also enjoy variety when it comes to writers’ thoughts, though not too wide a variety, as I’m a more conservative thinker. But no matter how you think, if you put effort into your own sharing,  you will enjoy the penned thoughts of others that are different. One such writing form that is different, but one that I can truly identify with, is Adventures of a Labor Nurse. Warning: it is not for the faint of heart. She puts it all out there, and if you haven’t looked into the face of the smelly, bloody miracle of birth before,  then you might tread lightly going there. I love it!

Foods! What can I say that wouldn’t take volumes of cyber space to even begin to do justice to the rich cuisine we enjoy every single day. I’m even talking about the beans and tater meals – I mean how many varieties of beans and potatoes and methods to prepare them are there? See what I mean? We have all benefitted from our cultural stew pots.

As nice as the spice is, there is Life beyond change, with more important things than blogging, coffee and food. I am completely ‘fall on my knees’ grateful that the Lord God is faithful to stay the same. No variation there! His way, His love, His opportunities, His grace, all of it, every part of Him is forever the same. That’s because it’s already perfect. Nothing is needed besides it and nothing is complete without it.

 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.  James 1:17

“Barnes’ Notes on the Bible” enriches the phrase ‘no variation or shadow of turning’ penned by James. Because God is the Father of lights, James wanted to be sure we understand that God the Light, is different from the sun, our light, this way:  whereas the sun changes every day, causing all sorts of variations in climate, weather, shadows and so forth, with God there is none of that!  Barnes notes “the word which is here rendered “variableness” … occurs nowhere else in the New Testament. It means change, alteration…and would properly be applied to the changes …in astronomy.”  James knew his science from the master!

So, no matter how our lives change we can be absolutely sure that the One who created all this beautiful (and sometimes not so pretty) variety, is holding it all together; steady, unmovable, eternal in all His purpose and plan. Variety is the spice; God is the Life.

Eternally His, Trisha

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