“Whoever pursues righteousness and kindness will find life, righteousness, and honor.” Proverbs 21:21 (ESV)
May I introduce you to Miss Maple, the 21 year old transplant, whose fiery tones of orange and red have graced our otherwise bland lawn with the radiance of autumn. This photo was taken on a sunny October morning. Each day since, has brought bolder colors to her outreaching arms, reminding me of the spreading goodness one small act of kindness can bring to others. Miss Maple is the result of one such kindness years ago.
On a drizzly day in early autumn 2005, I got a call from my mother — another reminder to “please come dig this little seedling” from the foundation of her house. It could easily have been whisked away all year; instead, she carefully guarded the growing maple, knowing I would need new trees for our lawn. We’d just moved into our new house in May, established a lawn, and needed all the help we could get with filling it. Just one little thought for someone else, became a seedling held and guarded, with several kind reminders to dig it before it grew too large to be moved without damage to the roots. With some protest, the little tree came out with one woody root which grew parallel to the ground, shaped like a tap root, and about a yard long. The several shorter feeding roots were no problem, but that yard-long one! Thankful for the gentle rain, I dug the usual hole you would for a small root ball, but added to the side a trench to hold the slender tap-like root. Looking back now, with the one horizontal root, I wonder if the tree grew on love and hope. It was odd looking, to say the least, until covered with the damp dirt and a prayer. Twenty one years later, on another drizzly morning in early autumn, Miss Maple brings a glow to the gloom; like a stop light reminding me to stop and consider what one small (even unnecessary) deed can do. It just may grow into a singularly important part of someone’s day, or life, or lawn.
Through the window, a blazing reminder of life’s radiance in any season.
“I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.” Copyright Credit: Joyce Kilmer, “Trees” from Poetry 2, no. 5 (August 1915): 153
One of the first poems my mother taught me to love.
In whatever season you are living, I hope you are enjoying many happy returns of kindness given, and kindness received.
Do you ever get to thinking you’re chasing sparrows, more than accomplishing anything? I’ll tell you, I sometimes feel I spend half my life chasing down something I mislaid. The other half of the time, I’m chasing intentions and feeling hopelessly unaccomplished. As Saturday opened its front door of potential, I felt sure we would enjoy a quick breakfast in town, pick up a couple items and get a set amount of work done before enjoying some relaxing moments in the backyard. Ha! We spent the day chasing sparrows — sparrows of one kind or another.
It seems our lives consist primarily of our own interests, and more importantly, the interests of those precious blessings we call family and friends. The other elements in our lives come from the pop-in experiences, or the happenstance — some like the pair of welcome hummingbirds who just zoomed through; and some like sparrows. They (the sparrows) are not what we call desirable pop-ins; but as sure as life, they are there, and must either be ignored, or become a part and parcel of what we do.
My husband and I have been blessed with retirement years at home together; albeit, strewn with physical ailments of one sort or another. All in all, we get to enjoy some pretty good things. Some of those good things in our lives have been a backyard of beautiful and melodious feathered friends. I think God created these just for me (wink); well, for sure for people who aren’t chasing little league, or tournaments, or bucket lists, and such as that. Though we aren’t the best of landlords for the birds, we take great pleasure in providing good housing and we are learning as we go. They, in turn, provide great entertainment for us. I’d say the highlight of our day was a scene at the back corner where two young apple trees are blooming. In one, perched two goldfinches; in the other, a male bluebird. Wow! What striking colors! So, instead of chasing things to do and buy and want, we chase sparrows. Literally. If you know, you know.
I have had several successful years of chasing away the house sparrows from my bluebird boxes by hanging a shredded shopping bag over the box as soon as they have lain the first or second egg. Not too attractive, but it works. Two years ago we had 14 fledglings total, to successfully leave the nests. The bluebird parents will not allow a flapping plastic bag (called a sparrow spooker) to stop them from finishing their family. Whereas, the sparrows, persistent and tenacious as they are, do not yet have the family attachment to the box, and are frightened away from invading the nest as they are otherwise prone to do. Yesterday I discovered, sadly, this will not work against the wrens. In the past, I have had enough wren housing to keep them occupied. This year, I missed the mark — forgot the wren houses and the rest is too sad to relate. So, I am on a chase: watch for the next bluebird egg in whichever box they choose, hang a spooker, and count incubation days; watch the two wren houses I just repaired and hung where they’ve nested in previous years; and help my husband, who is working feverishly to keep the sparrows chased out of his Purple Martin gourds! We have torn out at least eight house sparrow messy nests since the martins arrived in mid-March. This will be a never-ending cycle because you CAN. NOT. STOP. NATURE. Thank Goodness; and I wonder if we have lost the good sense He gave us, for even trying.
As a matter of fact, should anyone have driven past our peaceful little patch of earth today, they’d have seen a woman in her pajamas, being hoisted up in a backhoe loader, taking a messy nest out of a gourd, with a flock of fussing martins soaring back and forth waiting for their territory to be vacated of its intruders. Such is the life of a sparrow chaser. In hardly any time at all, we will be chasing European starlings, and hawks, as we strive to protect the future Purple Martin young. There is a balancing act in knowing how much to get involved and when to stay out of their business. Not so different from interacting with the rest of the world, is it?
Like many other pop-up or pop-in facets of our lives, the house sparrows make an awful mess. Not only do they invade and destroy young song birds, they build in rafters and make a mess all over your vehicles. And so, we chase. Very few of these sparrows will meet any demise so not to worry, but perhaps we will have aggravated them enough and chased them enough that they will end up in your neck of the woods. Not likely.
All this chasing causes me to stop and ponder — does God approve of our chase? Is my chase benefitting anyone or anything; or am I spinning my wheels in the dust of deadwood? Can I better use the time and talents given me? It all depends. Moderation in all things is highly recommended. If I can pursue a beloved hobby, and continue to use my resources to help another; if I can work in my life’s objectives, and stop to appreciate the blessings; if I can indeed enjoy those blessings and still stop to praise the Creator and Giver of it all, then surely I will have His approval. Lately, I have been tempted to go over-board (if only I could just get through the landscaping ONCE) so I needed the pop-in aggravations of the day to remind me not be too focused on my own agenda. To my own interests, I need to add those of another, and be keenly aware of priorities.
As one example of too much chasing, take this small writing table — full of writer’s paraphernalia, such as my journals, pens and pencils, dictionary, bibles, an Instant Facts book, and a laptop. Also by my laptop, is the sun visor and pair of gloves I used in landscaping yesterday. A bag of dog treats for one very important part of my life is accompanied by a plant, rooting in a jar of water, just begging to be transplanted. So much to do! Hopefully, I will see the cards hanging above the table from sweet friends, so I am reminded to be thankful for them. Also, there’s a box of cards I might use more often for jotting down notes to those needing encouragement. At hand too, is the study bible and devotional books just for a daily walk with Jesus. Life gets messy, and it’s important to keep the resources nearby to deal with it fruitfully.
As for our Saturday plans: the breakfast, a bust. The errands, one took forever and the other, no-go. The few jobs, still to be done. Some days are like that, and we just keep chasing. Someone once said, life isn’t interrupted by the unexpected; life IS the interruptions. I agree. I hope I can keep chasing the sparrows out of our loved ones’ lives, and keep finding a better and better me as I run along.
“to knowledge (add) self-control, to self-control perseverance, to perseverance godliness, to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness love. For if these things are yours and abound, you will be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.” 2 Peter 1:6-8
I gazed longingly at my old flip-flops abandoned in a corner of the sunroom. I knew it would be a while before my fur baby and I could run out quickly in pjs and flip-flops, he without his doggy sweater. Seven inches of snow and sleet with temperatures in the single digits and teens, assured me this would be with us more than a moment. With gratitude for a warm house, running water, food in the freezer, and hot coffee, I am content — until I see the worn out flip-flops; and I wish I were wearing them now. Life has a way of yanking us back and forth from sighs of gratitude, to collisions of complaining, to relief of respite. Please, if I complain about the heat next July, just slap me!
Still, the sheen of sunshine over a pristine blanket of snow is a sight hard not to appreciate. But what if we were without electricity as many of our southern neighbors are. Oh, I know what if…we have been there before — feeding fuel into a portable generator, packing coolers of water into the house, flushing toilets with gallon jugs of water, and gathering by the gas logs while the generator rests. I recall in our former house, which was over 90 years old, opening the cabinet doors and leaving the water dripping even with electricity, and then keeping the hair dryer ready to start thawing the pipes anyway! Oh yes, I know how quickly the beautiful, playful snow and sparkling ice diamonds can become a pain in the neck. And yet, I am content to watch the season play itself out, appreciate the beauty, and be prepared for the beast. Life is as unpredictable as our state of heart.
Yesterday the temperature was 15 degrees after the sun had shone half the day, and as I watched my little Auggie scamper around on the frozen surface, I reached out and placed my hand on the southern-facing brick wall of the garage. I could feel warmth through my glove. “Surely”, I thought, “this wall cannot be warm on a day like today”. Other days, yes; but how can this frigid air not stand between my wall and the sun? With a glove removed, I reached out, and sure enough, the wall was warm. Just as I had experienced in cold — but not as cold of weather — my southern brick wall was still soaking up and sharing the warmth of the winter sun living in the southern sky. We all need a Southern Brick Wall. When the bad comes in blizzards, and the coldness of the world reaches out to chill our hearts, we need a warm brick wall. Standing between us and the howling winds of heartache and harm, they absorb the warm rays of the Lord, penetrating even the coldest of days.
Someone who can be your southern brick wall, is someone who faces God, as the wall faces the south; looking to God for the warmth of His love and the truth of His word, that he or she may exude the same upon you in your days of chill and change. Our southern brick wall holds a heart of warmth where we can lean for the support and respite we need to continue on, and not be rocked off our feet by a blast of bitterness. Our southern brick wall will not allow the world’s attractions to cause her to abandon us. Most importantly, our southern brick wall will tell you she is not perfect. She too, can crumble, and become unintentionally cold with her own shadows, but will always point you toward the Son, Who never changes. “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 NKJV). “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever” (Isaiah 40:8).
Change is impossible to avoid, and as we await the mush of spring thaws, we can also watch for the daffodil shoots and look forward to the freshness of their aroma. We will be aware of the likelihood of spring storms, but we also know where our southern brick walls are. Look for that person in your life who knows how to stand strong for you; who has strengthened themselves on the riches of God’s word and can help you walk through the worst. Better yet, soak up the love of the Lord yourself that you may stand ready when someone you know needs a strong, warm, southern brick wall.
“There is so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it ill behooves any of us to find fault with the rest of us.” James Truslow Adams
To look at these tired bug-eaten bean plants, you would not expect anything worthwhile to come from them. Do we ever look at people that way? Do we feel like giving up? Last week I was ready to pull up the vines, hoping to make a less withered-looking garden spot. But, in true bean-lover form, I thought I would take one more look. Hot dry weather, a gardener who lost her will to weed, time and bugs, have worked on them for sure. People, too, get beat down, worn out and tested, but God — how many times in scripture do we read “but God…” — made it better, or saved entirely, a dire situation. Example: “And the patriarchs, becoming envious, sold Joseph into Egypt. But God was with him. ( Acts 7:9)
Now look at that little one-gallon ice-cream bucket there beside the row. Beneath these spindly Blue Lake bushes, remained the little moisture and will to live, given by the Lord Himself. Underneath the bushes, I found long tender beans just waiting to be noticed.
As a gardener in a garden, God the Father plants us, waters and nourishes us with all good spiritual gifts, sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears for us, and prepares a table for His expected harvest. He did not give up on you or me nor all humanity. He sees. We search. He loves. We try again. “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.” (I Corinthians 15:58)
By the time I finished both rows, I had two of those little buckets full; and a heart full of resolution to look harder for the good in everyone, as well to surrender the “I’m too old to be useful” idea. Like Daddy’s little ice-cream buckets, we can be repurposed and useful as long as we last. I’m not pulling up those green bean plants. I saw several blooms and baby beans that, who knows, just might make it to another dinner table. I don’t see them giving up until we, or Jack Frost, tell them to.
Never give up — on yourself, or anyone else — while there is life there is hope. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)
How can it be the end of August? I couldn’t chase July away no matter how much I wanted to see the end of it. One day it was “Ah, August at last!” And the next seemingly, it was “wait — you can’t be leaving?” It’s impossible to put a label on it, but there is something about August I love. While some of the pleasures of summer remain, there is a welcome hint of fall in the air. Neither a fresh new start like spring, nor the golden beauty of autumn, August is somewhere in between, leading from one to the other; not too unlike the middle child who has neither place as oldest nor youngest, but is doted on by all. Yes, August is dry, and at the onset it is still hot, generally speaking. Stories from my mother told of unbearable heat, driving from Cleveland, Ohio to Kentucky in August, with no air-conditioning, no interstate highways, taking most of two days, and a strong desire to see family propelling them on down the road. Her memories should have made August a dreaded time, but not so. In between the hot highways and getting home, were rest stops — tales of grassy areas to enjoy a cold drink, a bologna sandwich, and kicking off their shoes. The sights, sounds, and feel of August in Kentucky are some of my favorites!
There’s a particular feel as the humidity begins to drift away on late summer breezes; and with it goes our need to get out a couple hours earlier to beat the heat. As August moves along, the hot air moves out and the mornings are scrumptiously inviting. An 87 degree afternoon is quite bearable when the day begins and ends in the 50’s and 60’s. I recall the relief of watching one tobacco patch after another empty out — out of heavy wet blankets of July work; out of the fear of summer storms’ damage; and into the more pleasant tasks of firing, or curing. The dusty ground left behind, and the smoke trail from the barns, had the feel and smell of success.
I love the sound of cicadas chipping their way through a quiet afternoon, when the traffic sounds have quieted from carrying the people to wherever they were going, and before their returning home in the evening. If I am lucky, it’s a day when the nearby train tracks send out the lonesome sound of a train whistle, and I always smile; knowing the train is somewhere in between it’s coming and going, places I don’t need to know — only that I love its sound. The corn fields are talking as the stalks have dried to a two-toned green and gold, leaves rustling and tan tassels whispering their way through the day. August is hummingbird jamboree, heard clearly as they chase and chatter, performing acrobatics mid-air. Their activity alone, is cause for some to look forward to August. We miss the songs of Purple Martins who began their trek to Brazil last month, but the sweet chirping of goldfinches in the drying sunflowers more than makes up for it. The bluebirds aren’t singing as they did in mating season, but their laughter as they all return home to splash in the birdbaths, is unmistakably their own.
Butterflies, a beautiful August sight, are more numerous now than in early summer, as if relishing every last blossom while they can. Zinnias and crepe myrtles make a strong southern stand, offering the butterflies and hummingbirds an all-you-care-to-eat buffet. Unfortunately, the departing humidity also took many of the bright colors we enjoyed in spring and summer. Even so, the brightness of Black-Eyed Susans and sunflowers, shines brighter against the paling or absent garden colors. But for a farm girl, the garden growing tired means less work; and there’s the pleasure of a pantry growing fat with newly filled jars. Skies are blue again like springtime; often so velvety cloudless, I feel I ought to be able to touch the sky if I just stretch a little bit higher.
Although not everyone gets to turn a year older in August as I do, we all turn a page as students begin a new school chapter; farmers get to see a light at the end of their harvest tunnel; and we are all one season wiser, older, and richer in blessings. As Labor Day approaches, families have made memories visiting and vacationing, and now prepare for fall and winter activities. Wherever we are in life, may we pause a moment to salute one season rustling by, and look down the road, with hope, to greet another.
“The day is Yours (O God), the night also is Yours; You have prepared the light and the sun. You have set all the borders of the earth; You have made summer and winter.” Psalm 74: 16-17 NKJV
From Memorial Day to July, things change. I mean, really change — from 69 to 96 degrees; from clear to muggy; from planting to picking; and a swirl of colors throughout, taking turns on the dance floor. On Memorial Day weekend, I wrote, “I am in a sweatshirt hoodie, drinking hot coffee, watching the day slide into evening with layers of pink frosting spread across the blue sky. Con’t remember such a cool end of May. The Purple Martins are gathering one last meal for the evening. The bluebirds have just settled into their house with new babies. Traffic sounds have subsided and the evening songbirds are singing in the distance. The song “It Is Well With My Soul” comes to mind”.
We do not recall a spring or summer as wet as this one has been, as everyone else is saying. But look at the beautiful lush corn crops! Our garden, which was not large to begin with, has drowned twice and the replanted greenbeans are struggling. Tomatoes have blossom-end rot. Sweet corn looks lost in its own jungle. Cucumbers are running amok through grass; and zinnias are leaning this way and that. But – the okra looks great for now, and I won’t have as much work to do in harvesting it all.
For a few mornings this month, a person could sit out for an hour or so to enjoy coffee and bird watching. Now, the blanket of humidity and heat that wraps the evenings, awaits us in the early morning. Are we thankful for air-conditioning? The air smells of a dank musty basement, until I walk past the Four O’Clocks, or the wild honeysuckle that has wound itself throughout our barberry bush. Everyone talks of how difficult it has been to keep the lawn mowed, and we agree! But how easily the weeds, the million or so weeds, pop out of the soggy ground when I do brave the heat in effort to battle them. You know the routine — for every complaint we have, there are more blessings to uncover. June has indeed been a full month!
We have enjoyed celebrating: the birthday of our first born, Father’s Day, two bluebird families fledged successfully, the air full of Purple Martins and their chorus, a comfortable house to hide from the weather, and one almost-blue hydrangea bloom. (If you’ve read my “Everyone Else Has Blue Hydrangeas, Why Can’t I?”, you understand that last celebration.) We’ve celebrated with family and friends, their special moments. We’ve come to love little league baseball. I finally got to the lake in June to enjoy an amazing crappie meal my sister and her husband cooked, and took the most peaceful boat ride, viewing a blazing yellow sunset complete with several bald eagle sightings.
As you see, there are no mentions of fantastic trips away from home, nor actually, anything extraordinary to tell. I think just observing the world around you with appreciation for what you have, can be an accomplishment through a month like we have had. Rain showers almost daily didn’t amount to devastating floods. An overgrowth of weeds and grass aren’t anything a good fall frost can’t handle. And did I say ‘praise the Lord for A-C’? Just when I was ready to dig up my poor virus-infected, black-spotted roses, Queen Elizabeth produced four beautiful pink blooms. And so, on goes the world, with its own first-evers; on go the families’ agendas — young and old alike. Diseases progress, and some are healed. Rain falls on the just and the unjust. We all get to enjoy the blessings. And God is still God, through all our seasons. Blessed be the name of our Lord! “From the rising of the sun to its going down, the Lord’s name is to be praised.” (Psalm 113:3)
Saturday, October 19, 2024 When I picture ‘homecoming’ I think of autumn leaves, parades and people. You probably think of football games, fraternity/sorority reunions and corsages; the usual image. What we both have in common here, is people. Often, it occurs to me at the end of the day, how much of the day has a common theme. One thing leads to another and soon it makes a circle.
From the time I walked the golden leaf-strewn Ninth Street to our third grade class, and throughout the years’ homecoming parades at the very same vantage point, I have expected to see autumn leaves falling for homecoming. In fact, the rustle of leaves is as much a part of the parade as the drums and sirens. People of all ages line up to watch, laughing and waving and scampering through leaves to gather up candy thrown from the parade floats and vehicles. I missed all that this year. Several reasons contributed to my not being there, but the weather was not one! One of the most amazing autumn days ever, has graced our hometown with sunshine, breezes and the high temp of 72 degrees. Perfect homecoming weather! Remembering the years we have watched the parade while shivering in our mittens, or bumping umbrellas and tracking wet leaves into the car, it hit home how much I was missing today; along with missing my daughter who missed coming home due to Covid. She cares too much about us to risk bringing illness home.
My homecoming experience this year was a bit different for me. It has been sixty years since our Murray State University School of Nursing began. It was the Department of Nursing when I attended, and has grown to become a prestigious school in its own right. Thanks to a dear friend who asked me to go, we attended an informal brunch in Mason Hall this morning. A brand new building for the School of Nursing is in the making, so this is likely the last time I will get to be in the halls of what was my home away from home for three years, over three decades ago. As I stood there, looking at the familiar plaques, graduating class pictures, classrooms and such, it came home to me how fortunate I was to have an excellent school so near home; one where I received the education I needed to begin a meaningful satisfying career, albeit my second career. By that time, I had two children in school and my husband and I were self-employed in farming. Embarking on a new career as a non-traditional student was scary, but exciting. Talking to a few of my favorite instructors today, it again hit home, how supportive and encouraging these professionals were in helping develop new nurses. They not only provided education in knowledge, but also demonstrated a focus on the value of human life; professionalism. I know beyond a doubt I was blessed with the best.
At the brunch, I was privileged to see several whom I’d known as co-workers, or in some other capacity as we all strove to carry on the tradition of building competence and character in not only future nurses, but in each other as well. I felt fortunate to be in the company of such caring professionals. That, too, actually came home to me, as I met a former patient in attendance today. She told me how important I am to her, and even though my place in her life was a tiny spot, it was a very meaningful spot. Beside her stood her lovely daughter, the baby I was able, in some small way, to help bring into the world. This baby grew up and has become a healthcare professional herself, and was able to say she has heard her mom speak of me fondly. She knew her mom had been cared for by a team who gave their best. That; that is what we as nurses hope to do; to help the time our patients are with us, to be good for them. A state of wellness, whether it started out badly, or great, (as in expecting to take home a new baby), can always be made better. Today’s homecoming activity certainly helped my state of wellness to be better, if only in the good memories. But to be reminded of how we can pass on the caring attitudes of others from one season of life, into later seasons to care for still others, really hit home for me today.
I’ll rustle through some leaves soon just to enjoy a Murray autumn. But for today, I enjoyed rustling through fond memories, and being reminded how fortunate we are when someone cares enough to help us through some tough times, or help us build our future. As for the friend who asked me to go today, she was my clinical director for 17 years. Both retired now, we continue a friendship I treasure, and before I knew her, she knew my dad who drove her daughter’s group of cheerleaders in his little yellow bus, gaining the respect and love of her family. Isn’t it funny how the past comes home!
As I stepped out into this January 25th mist whose background was a heavy gray curtain, I was nearly startled by the single splash of bright blue. Then there were two, then three! Our resident bluebirds seemed to be making a statement; “looking for spring? See me.” Perched midway up our electric pole guidewire, bird #1 draped in fog, resembled the barrelman of a ship’s crow’s nest.
He soon joined two more atop the garden posts. Singing a song, words left to my imagination, they seemed to be guiding us through the midst of winter’s gloom. Their low pitched warble, certainly not in tune with the gloomy day, may well have been, “keep the faith, watch for it….spring is coming”. Okay, at least to me, those were the phrases being sung this day.
Per avianreportcom, “Indigo bunting, blue grosbeaks, blue jays, and of course, bluebirds don’t have any blue pigment. Their feathers perform the trick of selective light scattering that we see as blue.”… “Depending on the angle and intensity of light hitting these tine bubbles in bluebird feathers, the resulting blue can vary from a dark color to the vivid deep blue we see in ideal light conditions.”
Other factors play into the degree of blue; some being nutrition, molting, and the observer’s angle. This blue is called a ‘structural color’.
It isn’t the scientific explanation that gives me such pleasure. The thrill is their beautiful profile, and the amazing streak of blue in flight; by whatever means the great Creator, Jehovah God, put these thrilling swoops of azure, cerulean or sky blue into my life.
My daughter and I were commenting this morning on the 50 degree change in one week’s time, and I have no doubt these feathered friends were having a similar conversation. It seemed the bluebirds had emerged from a quiet haven, hidden from our recent single digit temperatures, as well as we.
Perhaps we need these few things to keep hope alive in times of dark uncertainty; the right angle, a friend or two with tiny bubbles of encouragement, a song to sing, and ‘selective light scattering’ as we share enlightening words from God. “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalms 119:105 NKJV
We are promised, and I believe, that if our angle as we look into life is from the path of following Jesus, we “will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)
I am so very thankful for the blessings of light; bluebirds, the Bible, seasons and sight.
Watching (for another couple months) for spring, Trisha
Simply stated, notabilia means ‘things worthy of note’. I came away Saturday from our local congregation’s ladies’ retreat with several items of notabilia. First, I will say it was a privilege to be there, and by that I mean, I’m privileged with the transportation and time to go; with some great friends to accompany me; with the opportunity of getting to know more about some sisters in Christ who were very nearly strangers to me; and lastly I got to hear notabilia from others as I sat back, relaxed, benefitting from their life stories, their words and their studies.
I must insert a fair warning here. I have not been able to keep this short, though I have forced myself to omit a great number of details I would love to have shared. But I don’t want to lose you before I make my intended points.
At first I was drawn the distance of an hour and a half drive just for the chance to see again the actual place of my obedience to the gospel of Jesus Christ, which was the West KY Youth Camp. It was in the swimming pool there, that I was immersed into Jesus’ body, in about 1966. I attended a total of three summers, two as a camper, with the director being the late Kenneth Hoover, and one as a junior counselor under the direction of the late Dennis and Florence Rogers. Though it was touching to see the old pavilion where my tears flowed, (or was that the off note I sang in How Great Thou Art?), it turned out not as interesting as what I found inside the building where the retreat was being held.
This large multipurpose building was a little rough around the edges, as it would be most difficult to have fine and fancy on donations alone. (Aren’t some of the biggest hearts found inside those who are a bit rough around the edges?) But it was SO accommodating! All the necessities were there: great space, comfortable chairs, tables, bathrooms, kitchen and lots of light. But, what made it work, was the people rather than the venue. Thorough planning was done, which is necessary, but it doesn’t carry itself out. The hard work carried it out, and that’s necessary, but impossible without the planning; which leaves intent, which for me, must’ve been God’s part. Being human, our intentions for being there were likely as varied as we were.
As an older member (some of these ‘ladies’ were young enough to be my grandchildren), I had to ask myself beforehand as to intent; why so far away, and why I wanted to get up at 5 AM on a Saturday. In all honesty, I even dabbled in the devil’s deceit, wondering if it was to weed out us older ladies; you know, the old stale routine. Shame on me. Oh, we were taken far away for sure – far from everyday monotony, rush, confines of the clock; to a place where we were encouraged to see through our spiritual eyes, our gifts and our places in the body of Christ. Unfortunately I was only able to attend Saturday, but what a blessing that day was.
My take away from Kelly Vaughn’s lesson on spiritual gifts (our talents or abilities) is they change. We change. So do our gifts. Changing does not render us useless. Perhaps our former abilities are those upon which to build. Maybe we do an about-face in another direction altogether. Why this hadn’t occurred to me before, I do not know. I didn’t see it. I felt that because I wasn’t doing the same things I had done like teaching littles, and then later, medical mission trips, I must be washed up; no real purpose in the work of the church. Then there I was enjoying Kelly’s excellent points about spiritual gifts, and BAM! she said things like older…changing…different…still have a place in the body. To quote her, “One’s gift, or function, can change, as life goes on”. There. Right there was my God given intent, my reason for wanting to be there. He knew, and I did not. This “seasoned” Christian needed to hear that our grace given gifts change; and we are still deemed useful, though probably in other functions. Self-centered, perhaps. But don’t pretend I am alone in this. We need to be needed. And the body, the church, has a great many needs to fill.
On the other hand, life was just settling me into the comfort of excusing myself from responsibilities. I now realize using age and lower energy levels as an excuse for sitting back, is not a reason to avoid all roles. As the scripture says (I Corinthians 12), if the whole body were hearing, where would be the sense of smell? There are women older than I and with family/health/obligation issues as well, and they are serving circles around me.
The second talk by Alisha Bohannon, still focused on finding our places in the unified body – the church – as found in Ephesians 4. There is diversity in gifts given by God, that we may function as a whole body. Alisha’s story added a sweetening, like dessert after a sumptuous meal from Kelly, reminding me that some have had to endure extreme hardship and tragedy to come to their “place”. Not that all who use their gifts must have come through great tragedy, as she pointed out. But for those who do suffer, there is the choice of whether to allow God to work through the situations to transport them into a better place, or to hold out in anger. This gave me pause; introspection, as to what circumstances in my own life had led me to opportunities or areas of service I either filled, or perhaps resisted. It was endearing to me to have these tender moments shared with us.
Our activities included artwork. Well “art” may be stretching it a bit, but it was quite enjoyable to play in paints again. It’s been a while or two since my kids, now in their 40’s, asked me to paint. I came away with a permanent record of favorite scriptures from these young women. I look forward to looking up each one to read and meditate on them.
The last item of notabilia I’ll mention is one of the stations in another activity (and all of them were valuable!) But at this one, the instructions were to write on a piece of paper what weights you are carrying. After looking at them and comparing them to a list of categories, along with scriptures related to each category, you were to give these weights and burdens to God. Symbolically, we were to then put the pieces of paper in the shredder provided. As I read what I’d written, I was a bit unsettled to realize these were in the categories of fear and doubt. Me, a seasoned Christian, having fear and doubt riding around on my already over-used back! I jotted down the verses to take home for fast reference when I am tempted to retrieve those burdens from God. In Isaiah 41:10 God tell us “Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” The second one is Proverbs 3:5-6 where we read, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”
Other notable points I want to mention are as follows:
Young women whom I saw screaming their way into this world are now able to lead with their voices in song and scripture.
Everybody loves tacos.
Quiet women can raise the spiritual roof with devout prayer.
I do not need to use stensils again. Ever. No kidding. But I can still have fun with failure.
One generation learns from another; both are valuable.
Please do not consider this to be a complete list of things worthy of notice from the retreat. Nor is it anyone’s opinion but mine. My observations and take-aways are as particular to me as my own face. I incorporated no one else’s. Before I go, I think I have come to what I found most noteworthy. No tradition should be so tightly gripped that it squelches the flames and excitement of others as they grow and change in their spiritual life. Friends, I lived through watching one congregation dwindle down to bare bones and I never want to witness that again! I cannot speak for them, but my own observation attributed the decline to resistance. Resistance to fresh ideas between generations and reluctance to change. First, and foremost, the truth in God’s word never changes. Venues, methods, action however, all can and will change to serve and carry out what He has called us to do. The scriptures are filled with examples of women who altered their styles, made new connections and did new work as their lives changed. Naomi and Ruth, Esther, Rahab, Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Jesus to note a few.
It was the first time I had attended a church function where I was the oldest, and only two others near my age. I have to say I was disappointed. My prayer is that our inspirational times together will continue to thrive as they have in the past as we remember what we learned from those gone ahead of us, who made learning and serving fun and exciting as we grew. I will try not to be so unyielding to my own changes. I will be praying for unity in the Spirit; for every sister in Christ to find her gift and cherish it; and for all of every age to “Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another.” Romans 12:10
I told you this would be long. If I have misrepresented anything or anyone, I encourage correction. I am sorry I had to miss Mallory Bybee’s talk Friday. Thank you Ashley Benson for your planning; Leigh Ann Grady for the delicious goodies; the men, Jacob, Matt and Scott for the work of maneuvering tables, trash detail and providing food. I no doubt have left out others who made the time of refreshing/retreating possible but you are just as appreciated as if I knew your names.
