Trusting God in Life's Ups and Downs

Hi Friends,

Valentine (our little mare who's creeping up on 40!!!), has been having a rough week or two. She found the love of her life (Danny, a 5-year-old, refused to come into her pen at night one night and got beat up by someone in the pasture (she's too old for that!), stopped eating, had her yearly vaccinations, had to go off her Cushings meds to help her appetite, started eating again, got her feet trimmed, and now has her new boyfriend in the stall next to her as her owies heal up. Lots of ups and downs for her! And that reminded me of a story of her and Jayna when they were both younger. Here's their story:

(Valentine finally eating her food)

Living Life’s Ups and Downs

            I held my breath as my five-year-old trotted her horse, Valentine, toward the little goat tied in the middle of the arena.  Valentine hesitated.  Jayna straightened her shoulders and urged the horse on.  

            A few seconds more, then, she stopped, jumped off, and raced toward the goat.  The goat skittered left.  Jayna grabbed for the ribbon on its tail.  The goat scampered right.  She plunged after it and raised her fist to show a bright red ribbon clutched in her fingers.  A moment later, she turned, ran to a barrel twenty feet away, and slapped the ribbon on top.  

            The crowd erupted in cheers.  The judge grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.  I let out my breath.

            She walked Valentine out of the arena and threw herself into my arms.  “Did you see, Mom?  We did great!”

            I grabbed the reins and gave Jayna a huge hug.  “Of course I did.  And Dad got pictures too.”

            “What’s next?”

            “Cattle sorting.  You ready?”  That was an event she’d also never done before.

            She gave me a nervous nod.  “Okay.” 

            Twenty minutes later, I was holding my breath again as Jayna trotted her horse down the middle of the arena.  Only this time, six cows stood at the far end instead of one little goat.  

            Jayna moved into the midst of them.  She reined Valentine around, then back, trying to separate one cow from the others.  At first, it seemed to be working.  A black cow ambled off to the left.  I let out my breath again.  Maybe she could do it.

            But then, circumstances changed.  The black cow darted back into the herd.  Valentine spun toward the gate.  Then, the horse took off.  At three strides she started to hop.  At four, she bucked.   Once.  Twice.  And Jayna flew off into the dirt.  

            I ran into the arena and scooped her up.  Sandy mud mixed with her tears as she spat out a mouthful of arena dirt.  

            “Th-that didn’t go very well,” she wailed.

            I sighed and brushed a clump of mud from her helmet.  “No, it didn’t.  Are you okay?”

            She nodded.

            “Come on, let’s go get Valentine and get you cleaned up.”

            She sniffed and rubbed her hand over her nose as we made our way toward the gate where Valentine was standing.

            In the days that followed, I thought about our time at the horse show and realized that life is lot like the show.  It’s a mixed experience.  Things go well.  Things go badly.  You succeed, you fail.  You win, then you lose.  One minute the crowds are clapping.  The next, they’re gasping as you take a mouthful of dirt.  

            I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  Jesus knew all about life’s ups and downs.  One day he was riding into Jerusalem as the people cheered, waved palm branches, and cried out “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Mark 11:9, NIV).  A few days later, he was standing bloody and bruised before the crowd again, and this time they shouted, “Crucify Him!” (Mark 15:13, NIV).  One day he was eating a Passover feast with his friends (Mark 14), the next, he was hanging on a cross to die (Mark 15).  One day he was in the tomb.  Three days later, resurrection.

            Up, down, up, down.  Life is like that.  So, how do I live through all life’s ups and downs?  How did Jesus live?

            I think Jesus, and Jayna, had it right.  Jayna walked through the gate, faced the next event, and trotted down the center of the arena toward whatever goats or cows awaited her.  Jesus walked into this life, faced the will of God, and strode resolutely toward whatever His Father asked.  Both faced life’s ups and downs with trust and obedience rather than fear and what if’s.  Both rejoiced and wept and got a mouthful of dirt.  But they didn’t give up, they didn’t turn away.  And because of that, Jesus rose again.  And Jayna rode again.

            That’s what God asks of me too, that I would continue forward in His will, that I would face every up and down by trusting him and walking forward in obedience.  And even if my face hits the dirt, I know God will be there to pick me up and help me wash the mud out of my mouth.  He will help me face the next event, so that I, too, can rise and ride again.

 

Beauty in the Poop

Hi Friends,

I was riding up on our trails yesterday and passed the spot where we dump all the horse and pig poo. And there in the middle of the pile were all these gorgeous plants ... pumpkin plants! Grown up from the seeds of the pumpkins we fed the animals in the fall. Wow. Beauty can grow even from poop. And that's a life lesson that I'll be pondering for a long time!

Meanwhile, here's an article I wrote years ago when pumpkin seeds flourished into pumpkin plants here in the past (then it wasn't from poop though - this year's plants are even more impressive!).

PUMPKIN SEEDS IN SPRING

            It was the strangest sight – a lush, green plant growing in the middle of an expanse of bare dirt.  I stood there on my front porch and stared at it.  Wide leaves, a bright yellow flower, thick, healthy stalks.  It was perfect, beautiful, and clearly not a weed, even though it seemed to have sprung up overnight.  

            The plant wouldn’t have seemed so strange if it weren’t for its surroundings.  Around it, for a dozen yards in every direction, there was nothing but bare, dry soil.  Not a sprig of grass, not a seedling, not even a stray weed.  Nothing but dusty earth and this one perfect plant growing in the center.

            Months ago, my husband had graded the area in front of our house in anticipation of doing some landscaping.  The landscaping hadn’t happened and the area had been dirt ever since.  Until now.

            “Look at that.”  I called to my eight-year-old daughter, Bethany, as she zoomed past on her bike.  

            She steered her bike around and stopped in front of me.  “What?”’

            I pointed to the splotch of green amongst the dusty brown.  

            Her gaze followed the motion.  “Wow.  What is that?”  She parked her bike and trotted to the edge of the pavement for a better look.

            “I don’t know.  Should we go see?”  I stepped from the porch and made my way across the driveway, through the dirt, and toward the middle of what will someday be my lawn.  

            Bethany came up behind me.

            I leaned over the plant.

            She did too.  “Well, what is it?”

            I studied the flower and leaves.  “It looks like a pumpkin plant.”

            “Cool.”

            “But how did it get here?”  We didn’t have any other pumpkin plants, and we certainly hadn’t intended to plant any seeds.  Then, I remembered.  Last Fall, six months ago, we had thrown our old pumpkins out into the yard.  Bryan must have ground them up with the tractor when he was grading, then somehow moved one of the seeds out to the middle of the area, many yards away from where the pumpkins had sat.  There, it had laid dormant until the Spring.  And that’s how we could have a strong, healthy pumpkin plant where we’d never expected anything to grow at all.

            As I studied the plant, I realized that sometimes God’s Kingdom works like that too.  My actions can plant seeds even when and where I don’t expect.  Sometimes, just by doing what’s right, by making smooth places out of rough ones, I can spread seeds of God’s love that will sprout later and turn into new life.

            I thought about some things I had done over the past year that didn’t seem to yield any spiritual results -  simple acts, like making a job easier for a coworker, smoothing her way in a new task, or helping a neighbor move, or sharing a meal with a friend.  Those were times when I didn’t think I was spreading seeds, and I didn’t see any specific growth coming from my actions.  But just like the pumpkin plant, seeds may sprout and grow when I don’t expect, where I don’t expect.  Maybe my coworker will never acknowledge my help, but someone else in the office will be touched by what was done.  Or my neighbor won’t be changed because of the help offered, but a relative of hers may be.  The truth is, I don’t know.  I can’t always predict where and how new life will spring up.  Maybe that’s why Galatians 6:9 (NIV) says, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” 

            All God asks is that I continue to do what’s right, continue to make rough ground smoother for others.  And even if I don’t see results now, or the person I’m hoping to help seems unresponsive, I shouldn’t give up.  It could be that there are a few pumpkin seeds caught in my tractor’s wheels, and as I go about making smooth paths for God, a few seeds will fall out where I don’t expect them and a new plant will grow, flower, and flourish in what was once a bare yard.

            And maybe I’ll even get to enjoy an out-of-season pumpkin or two in the process!

The Thief on the Cross ... Remember Me

 

The Thief

Luke 23:35-43

 

Hung upon a cross to die

Was just what I deserved.

A thief was I, a scoundrel.

No plea had I reserved.

But Him, on the other hand,

Who hung there at my side,

He had not killed nor stolen,

He had not even lied.

Why hung He there, so sadly,

Amidst the mocks and jeers,

Mutt'ring not a single word

Amongst His silent tears?

"Save yourself," they screamed at Him.

"And us," my partner cried.

He just turned and looked at me

And quietly He sighed.

Suddenly I spoke my heart,

My sins began to flee.

"When you get to your kingdom,

Jesus, remember me."

The Beauty of Dust

Hi Friends,

Well, it's dust season here at my ranch, so here are some thoughts about dust and staying in the light...

Dust in the Light

Twilight tossed its gray mantle across the sky and into my newly dusted living room.  Shadows crept over the floor, darted into corners, and settled in my mind.  Weariness whispered through me.  Why did I have to clean, and scrub, and do all this work anyway?  I wanted to read a good book, watch a movie, anything else but clean the living room for the Bible study group that would meet there that night.  Why did I always have to be the one who did the work?

I threw my cleaning rag onto the coffee table and melted into the recliner.  In a moment, the oven timer would buzz, and I would have to leap up and finish preparing the cake for the night’s study snack. Why couldn’t I just be free, free to spend my evening however I wanted?  Free to do as I pleased?  

A butterfly flitted outside the window.  I watched it fly high, then low, before it paused on the rosebush just outside the pane.  Eggshell wings fluttered in slow motion.  Up and down.  Up and down.  Then, the creature dropped from the branch and flew into the sky.  I followed it with my eyes until it became only a black speck against the clouds.  Then, it disappeared.  

“Make me like the butterfly, Lord,” I whispered.  “I want to be free to fly into the sky, rest on the roses, and drink in the beauty of your creation.”  I leaned back my head and stared up at the window that shone from our second story.  “Lord, give me wings.”  

I waited.  And sighed.  And shifted in the chair.  But I felt just as tired, just as earthbound as ever. 

Then, something happened.  A shaft of light, as bright as a blade, sliced through the upstairs window and illuminated a path the floor.  And in the light, I saw them – a hundred, a thousand tiny motes of dust.  They drifted in the light like bright bits of glimmering gold.  

I grabbed my dust rag, and started to stand.  But then, I sat back again.  I had worked for hours to eradicate the dark bits of dust that marred my furniture, countertops, and television screen.  But this dust was different.  These tiny motes weren’t dark, weren’t dirty, or ugly.  They were beautiful, shining like miniscule stars in the last rays of day. 

I dropped my rag, settled back into the chair, and wondered at the splendor of the dust.  How could something that was no more than dirt be so beautiful?  After all, it was only dust.  I watched a few motes drift lower, out of the shaft of light.  They turned gray again, just ugly little specks that floated onto an end table.  Only in the light were they lovely.  Only there did they shimmer like jewels.  

As I sat and pondered the secret of the dust, I remembered a verse from the Psalms:  “As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” (Psalm 103:13-14, NIV).  

I am dust, I thought.  Not some winged butterfly, not a creature that flies wherever it pleases, but dust.  Dirty, ugly dust.  But in God’s light, I too am transformed.  “I am the light of the world,” Jesus said in John 8:12 (NIV).  And like the dust, I am only beautiful when I am aloft by his power, illuminated by his love.

As pretty as the butterfly was, the dust that glimmered like sparkling gold was much more beautiful.  It stayed, it shone, and as long as it remained in the light, it was stunning.

I had prayed for the ability to order my day as I pleased.  But, God offers a freedom that’s more incredible, more real, and more wondrous.  

In his light is the freedom to rest in his grace and love.  That is the mystery, and the wonder, of true freedom.  So now, I no longer pray for wings like the butterfly.  Instead, I pray to stay within the light.

Love is Not a Paper Heart

Hi Friends,

I've been out of town helping mom through her cataract/glaucoma surgery, so didn't get a chance to post for Valentine's Day. 

But messages about love are good year round, so here's a fun story and some encouraging words to love not just in words (or in Valentines) but in action. 

This happened several years ago ...

Love is Not a Paper Heart 

 

 

            He tottered down the stairs, a little boy in fuzzy penguin pajamas and sleep still damp in his eyes. He rubbed his face and squinted down at me. “I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast?”

            I smiled at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

            His dewy eyes grew round. “Oh!” He spun on the bottom stair and raced back up to his room. 

            A moment later he returned with an armload of construction-paper masterpieces. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy! I love you!” He mumble-shouted the words from behind the mound of brightly colored art. “Come on.” He trotted to the couch, his arms carefully bent to hold the papers without crushing them. 

            He sat. I sat beside him. 

            He placed his load on his lap. Then, with a big grin, he took each piece of artwork and gave it to me. First came a giant purple heart (my favorite color) with the words I Luv U inscribed on the front in brown crayon. Next he gave me a cut-out flower in a paper pot. Then there were three cards with various animals drawn on the front and lopsided hearts inside. Two more cut-out hearts and three flower drawings, and his lap was empty.  Then he gave his last gift: six little-boy hugs, five big-smacking cheek-kisses, and numerous declarations of undying love for Mommy. 

            He had just given me one last big bear squeeze when his twins sisters came down the stairs. 

            Two mussy-haired, pajama-clad ten-year-olds stumbled to the kitchen. Bria yawned. “I’m going to make some eggs. Who wants some?”

            I stood. “Can you make some for Jayden, please?”

            Jayden jumped up. “Ewwww, I don’t like Breeeeeea’s eggs.”

            A pan slapped against the counter in the kitchen. “Fine, you don’t have to have any!” 

            Jayden grabbed my arm. “Mommy, will you make me some eggs?”

            He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, hurried out of the living room and headed toward the kitchen.

            I groaned. I knew what was coming. So did Jayna, Bria’s twin. She rushed outside to feed the cats. The door slammed behind her. I wanted to follow. 

            I didn’t. Instead, I made my way into the kitchen.

            Too late.

            My sweet little, loving boy had already turned into a monster. He danced around Bria, making goofy faces and chanting nonsense. 

            Bria pushed past him. 

            He followed. “Ewwww, don’t touch me. Your hair looks funny. Mom, Bria pushed me!”

            And that was all it took. A moment later, Bria was yelling and crying and chaos had broken loose once again. 

            Ah, it was just so fun to pester Sister. Fun for Jayden. Not fun for Mom.

            So, like every morning, I stopped the teasing, I settled Bria, Jayden got in trouble, and I got tired.

            Then, he stuck out his tongue at her one last time. 

            Bria glared at me and stabbed the spatula in his direction. “Mom!”

            I sighed. “Jayden!” My voice turned harsh. “You say that you love me, and then the very next thing you do is pester someone I love and make our family life miserable. That's not what love ought to look like!”

            I paused. That’s not what real love looks like at all. And I wondered. Is that what my love for God looked like? Did I heap him with praises and declarations of love, only to turn around and be unkind to those he loves? I may not tease and stick out my tongue, but were my words and actions consistent with the love I claimed for God?

            John wrote in John 4:20 (NIV), “Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen.”

            Jayden’s just a spunky little brother who loves to get a reaction from his big sister. But I’m all grown up. It’s time I realize that love, especially love for God, is not found in paper cut-out hearts or passionate pronouncements. Love is treating people with kindness, respect, unselfishness, mercy, generosity, and no-little-brother-pesty-ness because they are beloved of the One I love. 

            “‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me,’” Jesus says in Matthew 25:40 (NIV). 

            So this Valentine’s Day, as I gather up my construction paper treasures, I will remember that this day of love isn’t about cards and chocolate hearts, meals out, or romantic candlelight. It’s about seeing others as God’s beloved and treating them like the treasures they are.

Working with God

Hey Friends,

Welp, the awesome hubby's birthday is coming up in a few days, so I thought I'd share an encouraging story from his teen-hood. Take a look and see if you aren't encouraged to work with joy alongside God. And remember, this story is from the hubby's POV.

Dad Versus Godzilla!

“Aw,  com’on Dad, not now,” I groaned.  I shifted my legs across the couch and flipped the channel between an old rerun of Godzilla and the pro bowler’s tour.  I’d only been home for two days and already Dad want
ed me to work on the car.  “It’s Saturday.  Can’t I just relax?”  

“Car’s gotta be fixed,” Dad mumbled and walked back to the garage.  Tools clanked as he began working on the old Chevy Caprice.  

I shook my head and let out a long sigh.  What did Dad want my help for anyway?  He could do just fine without me.  After all, I came home to visit and to have a break from my hectic schedule.  I certainly didn’t intend to get elbow-deep in an old junker.  I flicked the remote control again and watched Godzilla stomp through Tokyo.  Smash, crash, roar ... the same ol’ Godzilla.  I turned off the television and closed my eyes.  

My head bounced as something landed on the couch.  I looked up.  Mom sat about a foot from me with a huge load of laundry piled at her side.  She stared at me for a moment, frowned, then proceeded to fold socks.  

Finally, she put the socks aside.  “You know, he just wants to spend time with you while you’re here,” she murmured.  Then, she stood and returned to the kitchen.

I sat up and thought about Mom’s words.  Could it be that Dad just wanted my company?  I knew that he didn’t need my help.  After all, I knew much less about cars than he did.  But he had still asked to come out to the garage with him.  I had to find out if Mom was right.  Slowly, I got up from the couch and trudged out to the garage.

“Hey Dad,” I muttered.  “Want some help with that?”  

Dad pulled his head out from the engine and wiped the back of one greasy hand over his forehead.  Slowly, a big smile replaced the sad look that had been on his face moments before. “Grab me a five eighths wrench over there,” he motioned to the toolbox with his chin, his hands embedded again in the Chevy’s engine.  

I rolled up my sleeves and retrieved the wrench.  For the rest of the day, Dad and I worked side-by-side, sweating, grunting, and sharing little bits of our thoughts over the old engine.  By the end of the day, my face was as grease-smeared as Dad’s, and I had a long tear in my shirt where the Chevy had gotten the better of me.  But, the time with Dad had been worth it.  Mom was right.  It had been a great day, much better than reruns of Godzilla.

The next day, as I sat in church and listened to the Pastor speak about how God has adopted us as His children, I thought about my day with Dad.  And I wondered, was my Heavenly Father like my earthly one?  God could do anything He wanted without my help.  But maybe He, like Dad, asked me to be involved with the things He was doing just so I could spend time with Him, and come out looking like Him at the end of the job.  Had I been choosing Godzilla over God?

Needless to say, I don’t watch much Godzilla anymore.  When opportunities to work beside my heavenly Father, or my earthly one, come along, I grab the tools and say, “Let’s go!” whether it’s Saturday or not.  

Are you Looking at Life thru a Dirty Window?

Hi Friends,

Are you looking at life this year through a dirty window? A new year is good time to get the windows of your soul clear and sparkly . . .

 Dirty Windows

I sit here thinking about what I should write. What does God want to say through me today? How does he want me to use the images of my life to help myself and others draw deeper into relationship with him? Life has been complex lately. So much to do, so many duties and “musts” crying out for my attention. But now I need to think about this particular patch of grace that I am occupying in this moment. 

So I stare out my window, my fingers resting on the keypad. I shift my gaze left, right, up. Then I notice something. This window is quite dirty. It’s filthy even!

My desk sits so I can look out a beautiful, slanted solarium window. It’s a gorgeous piece of architecture which allows me to gaze out into an oak grove and, past that, to my horse pasture. Theoretically, I have a stunning view. Not only can I see the lush oaks, but I can also see the blue sky through tall pines in the distance. I can see the sometimes-snow-tipped mountains. I can see colorful woodpeckers flitting in the tree branches and horses roaming the pasture.

At least, that’s what I should see.

But I’m not seeing that now. Instead, I’m looking at grime-covered glass, a few smeared cat paw prints at about eye level, and three or four splotches of bird poop. Big, ugly splotches.

And it occurs to me that my window has been this way for a long time. It didn’t get grubby overnight. It’s been months. A lot of months.

I’ve been meaning to clean it, I really have. But I’ve been busy. Other things have taken precedent. Also, it’s not a very nice job so I’ve been avoiding it. I’ve been pretending that everything is okay.

But in the meantime, every day, for hours, I’m missing out on the beautiful view from my office window. Every day, God wants to give me the gift of this breath-taking vista, and because I haven’t cleaned the window, I’m unable to fully enjoy his gift to me. And every day the dirt and grime get a little worse. 

Sometimes life can be like my window. God gives us a beautiful view of his grace, his love, his delight in us and the things around us. It is his gift to us. And yet too often we let the gunk of sin and shame mar our view. We allow bad attitudes, bad habits, negativity, jealousy, comparison, doubt, dislike, and selfishness make smears and poop blobs on the window of our soul until we can barely see God and the beauty he has laid out before us. 

Why don’t we clean the windows of our soul? Why do we let the scum pile up and obscure our vision? Often it’s because we just get too busy to attend to the important business of our inner lives. We have to get to work, get to school, take care of children, go to a meeting, prepare a project, do an assignment, tackle the urgent to-do list while the important matters of our inner health are neglected. So every day the window grows more dim, more yucky. 

            My filthy window testifies to the truth that I have fallen prey to the tyranny of the urgent. But I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want to see, really see, the view that God has given to me. I want to be like blind Bartimaeus.

Mark 10:46-52 (NIV) tells us that when Jesus passed by Bartimaeus on the road, Bartimaeus cried out, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” The blind man knew he couldn’t save himself. He knew he wasn’t seeing like he should. He knew he was blind. And when Jesus called for him to come, Bartimaeus flung off his only possession, his cloak, and jumped up to go to Jesus. When Jesus then asked him what he wanted, Bartimaeus boldly proclaimed, without a doubt and without a second thought, “Rabbi, I want to see!” 

May we follow in the footsteps of Bartimaeus. May we eagerly throw off everything that hinders us from running to Jesus and regaining our sight. May we know just as clearly what we want, and may we simply say to God, “Lord, I want to see.” I just want to see. 

Today, I need to get out the bucket and rag, and a little vinegar and soap, because I want to see again. I want to see every gift, every bit of beauty, that God places in my life. And more than that, like Bartimaeus, I want to see Jesus.