Awed by Nature

Marija Andric writes in "Country" magazine about the first time she was truly awed by nature. She was a fourth grader standing on the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park.

I have been to the Grand Canyon as an adult and was truly awed. Only the God of the Universe could create something like this.

However, thinking back to the FIRST time I was awed by nature happened when I was in 7th grade. We lived on a farm set a quarter of a mile back from the main gravel road. In the heat of a summer night, I left the house, moved away from the trees hovering our farm, and started walking. Sounds from our black and white television and the spinning of fans positioned in the windows eventually died out as I took step after step into an ink-spilled night. The night breeze beyond the grove cooled my skin, and I felt energized and a little scared. I had never ventured down the lane at night by myself.

At the end of the lane, I found a soft spot in the ditch, placed my arms behind my head, and lay down. Immediately amazed, I could not believe how expansive the heavens were and how majestic the stars and planets were displayed. Feeling like I was in another world, I breathed deeply and thanked God for creating all of this seemingly just for me on this very night. I was alone but not lonely. I was free; I felt love.

My friend, Dorcas, used to say that if anyone was having a not-so-good-day, all they needed to do was to look up. Sunrise, sunset, in the deep of night, in the middle of the day--look up! There's much to see; much to feel. God created it for you. Feel the love.

Holding Hands

 

Most of what I really need
To know about how to live
And what to do and how to be
I learned in kindergarten.
Wisdom was not at the top
Of the graduate school mountain,
But there in the sandpile at Sunday school.

 

From Robert Fulghum's poem, "All I Really Need to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten," it goes on to say that we should share everything, not hit, clean up our own messes, sing and dance, play and work, and ends with, "...hold hands, stick together, be aware of wonder."

 

I have spent parts of May and June with a new granddaughter and have become, again, aware of wonder. She holds my hand when she eats; her hands are perfectly formed and chubby. She grabs my finger with a grip that is surprisingly strong. She doesn't want to let go.

 

Months ago, we wintered a few weeks in Arizona where I re-connected with my childhood friend, Donna. We hadn't seen each other in years. We met at a restaurant for early morning breakfast. In the parking lot, we hugged and, then, walked into the restaurant holding hands. I didn't want to let go.

 

My husband (of 46 years) and I often hold hands when walking. The day will come when neither of us will want to let go.

 

Robert Fulghum's poem has a lot of worthy advice; however, my favorite is "hold hands, stick together, and be aware of wonder."

 

Grab someone's hand today and be aware of wonder.

    

Celebrating a Birthday; Celebrating Life

Recently, one of our grandsons celebrated his birthday. For his "gift," he requested a day and over-night with Grandma and Grandpa. Talin made it very easy for Grandma and Grandpa; he made all the plans. We went to Kwik Trip for lunch (a chicken sandwich: his favorite). Golf cart rides; swimming at the wellness center; playing the card game, Go Fish, at least a dozen times; and supper at Stan's drive-inn. In the evening, he watched a basketball game with Grandpa on television.

He slept in the guest room that night in a queen-sized bed with Grandma on the floor on a cot nearby. (It was his birthday!) ....

 

 
 
 
The next morning, we three went to church. Talin sat in the middle. He sang parts of the hymns the best he could and listened intently to the sermon. I handed him my notepad to doodle on. He wrote something and handed it back.

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

I need not say more....

 



A Dream That Included My Mother

My mother passed away seven years ago. Never once had I dreamed of her until last night....

In my dream, Mom was making omelets in a loosely put-together kitchen. Shredded cheese flew about, but she seemed not to care that she was making a mess. One of my daughters was trying to clean up with a vacuum cleaner and ultimately ate up a swath of shag carpet that measured ten feet long and one foot deep. Children were running about. I don't know where they came from; I didn't recognize any of them. My cell phone rang. The caller wanted to do an interview on my last book. He sounded sluggish; his questions were not relevant. I rudely encouraged him to call back when he had rational questions to ask.

What does this all mean? I have no idea. My mother never made an omelet. The only cheese she purchased was Velveeta. She did love children. My daughter is thorough about cleaning. I recently published a book.

Some believe our dreams have meanings. Mine make no sense at all--simply, a jumble of mixed memories.

I do know that most of my mother's time was spent in the kitchen. She served herself last--taking the driest part of the roast, the smallest piece of cake. Our clothes were always clean and pressed; our shoes shined. We had swimming lessons and piano lessons. I could only begin to imagine her sacrifices after having children of my own.

Proverbs 31 speaks of a woman who gets up while it is still dark to provide for her family, a woman who considers a field and buys it, a woman who plants a vineyard, a woman whose arms are strong for her tasks, .... a woman who opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy. It ends with Charm is deceptive, beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

My mother's birthday would have been this week. She feared the LORD and was worthy to be praised.

I don't think it matters what your dreams mean or don't mean.
What matters is in your heart.

The Sound That Conjures Up My Childhood Best

The title above was used in a recent Reader's Digest article.... I thought about it, and I came up with more than one sound that conjured up my childhood best:

Pans banging in an early morning kitchen--Mom getting ready to fry bacon and eggs.
The drone of the washing machine on a Monday morning.
Pigs banging open their feeders in the dark of night.
Were they ever not hungry?
Fans humming on a summer night to keep us from melting on our sheets. Crickets.
My dad reading devotions at night; prayers at the table.

Which lead me to Smells That Conjure Up My Childhood Best... bacon frying (a reason to get out of bed), bleach, warm applesauce, supper in the oven when we walked in the door after getting off the bus, Lake Okoboji and the smell of lake and sand and a breeze.

Which leads to Feelings That Conjure Up My Childhood Best...secure, loved, safe...-- bored, over-worked? Yes, we lived on a farm and worked six days a week from daylight to the supper hour. When I look back, I am happy about being "over-worked." From this came a feeling of purposefulness and a work ethic that has carried me through many difficult times when I thought I could do no more.

Whenever I drive into the city, I can't help but notice the homeless people. What are their sounds, smells, feelings that conjure their childhood best? I'm thinking we don't have much in common in this area. I'm thinking that sometimes or often times life is just not fair.

What to do about it? Love God. Love your neighbor. Do the best you can on a day to day basis. Remember your special sounds, smells, feelings, and reflect this love (if you were one of the fortunate ones) to others.

Learning To Swim.... and Perseverance

 

 



I started swimming lessons at an early age. My brothers and I rode a school bus to Lake Okoboji, daily, for two weeks and practiced blowing bubbles under the water, floating on our tummies and, then, our backs. We flutter-kicked and dog-paddled. A few years later, a nearby town built a pool, and we took lessons in the shallow water with our eyes on the deep end where the diving boards drew our attention. The classes were a great get-a-way from the heat of the day on a farm with no air conditioning. But, it wasn't all fun. I remember choking, water up my nose, getting splashed, moments of fear, and the feeling that I might not pass.

In high school, I acquired my lifeguarding certificate, and in college, my Water Safety Instructor permit. This training enabled me to work at the YWCA (yes, there was a Women's YMCA way back then) teaching swimming lessons. I did this for four years while in college.

Like most learned skills, we usually start out struggling--choking, moments of fear, and inadequate feelings. Perseverance is so needed in every area of life. Relationships? One's work place? Technology? Need I say more....

....is it possible that this would even be true in my faith journey?....

 

 ....Sometimes, it's not fun, sometimes I "choke," sometimes, I have moments of fear. However, I do know that I'm going to pass. I also know that I'm not going to pass based on my abilities or righteousness. The only way I can "pass" to live in heavenly glory is because of God's grace and His Son who made it possible.

So, the answer to the question Is perseverance needed in my faith life?... is YES.

Hebrews 12 reads... Therefore,... let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God....so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.

Scars and Other Markers

When a toddler, I tumbled face forward onto a tin can. There’s a small nick on the top of my nose. It blends well with the facial creases I’ve accumulated with the aging process.

He picked me up on his motorcycle—our first and last date. I hopped on and slit my favorite olive green stretch pants and knee on something sharp. It hurt a lot and bled down my leg as we headed to a movie theater. I said nothing. By the time the movie was over, my pants were sticking to the dried blood. When I shave my legs, I remember.

Wanting to spruce up our front yard while living on our acreage, I pulled a rusted-out pig feeder from the barn with an imagine of a planter with colorful pansies blowing in the wind. Stumbling on a rock, my grip released and the feeder fell on my left calf. A tetanus shot followed. When I curl up in the middle of the night, wrap my arms around my legs and fingertip the mark, I recall another time and place.

When I think of past hurts, received and given, my heart “scars”, I feel bitterness, remorse, and twinges of pain. I’ve asked God to take them away. I know He has forgiven me for my wrongs and my bitterness which I held so tightly; however, I am weak and often fall back into old patterns. So, I pray that He turn these weaknesses into opportunities to go forward in a righteousness and godliness that only He can give.

Scarred? Marked? It’s okay to “keep” them but only if they are kept as reminders of healing. Whether it’s a facial mark, a ripple on your knee, a disfigured finger, a scarred heart, Jesus can take care of it. And, then, I can use it as a precious reminder of the love He has to offer and, then, go forward and reflect this love to others.

 

What Does YOUR Name Mean?

During Biblical times, a person's name told something about them. For example, Ruth meant beloved companion. You may remember from the Bible story that she refused to leave her mother-in-law...  In another story, Rahab, the woman who gave lodging to spies and then sent them off in a different direction to protect the Israelites, means a trustworthy and helpful woman. Never mind the fact that she was also a prostitute.

Names can describe expressions of hope, family history, birth circumstances, or places. For example, one of my grandson's name is "Hudson" as he was born soon after the plane crash on the Hudson River--when all were saved by an astute pilot.

Do you know the meaning of your own name? Did your parents choose your name because of its meaning? My husband chose our son's name; however, his name means he makes his mother laugh, ...and he does so occasionally.

Betty means my God is bountiful. Lois means a superior woman. Lillian, resembling a lily. In my latest book, DO NOT BE DECEIVED, the central character is named Cassandra, which means, helper of men and disbelieved by men. Possible? You'll see...

When writing the book and considering the meaning of names, I did a little research into the many names we call God: Yahweh, Lord, Jehovah, Creator, All in All, Ancient of Days, Abba, Father, I AM.... In a particular devotional, the author referred to him as Loving Mystery.

Our names are precious to us for whatever reason. Check out the meaning of your name and consider how its meaning may be tied into the God that created you, a God who considers you precious in his site.

May our heart's desire be to live in a way that honors His wonderful name!