Pull the Poison that's Choking You

Hi Friends,

I'll be going in to Juvenile Hall today and plan to share this story about pulling the poison from your life. I find that these kids, though they've often committed terrible crimes, are still kids. Far from the hardened hearts I'd expected to encounter, they are typically gentle, kind, and eager to do better, make amends, and live a full, healthy life. But they've also allowed poisonous weeds to grow up and choke the life from them, and now they're incarcerated, wondering if they'll ever be able to flourish and find life again. 

To them I say there's always hope. To you, I say the same! But for us all, we've got to pull out the poison.

PULL OUT THE POISON

It was tall.  It was green.  It was bushy.  But something wasn’t right.  

I crossed my arms and looked up at the fat, green oak tree.  Beside me, my husband sighed.  I shook my head.  “I don’t want to do it.  Do you want to do it?”

“I don’t want to do it.”

I stepped back.  “Someone’s got to do it.”

“It’s an ugly job.”

“That thing will be right outside the window once we build the cabin.  We can’t have it looking like that.”

“I know.  But still . . . ”  Bryan crossed his arms over his chest.

I put my hand on my hips.

            For a moment, we both stared at the oak and didn’t say a word.  Shiny green and red leaves poked from all parts of the tree.  But they weren’t oak leaves.  Thick vines twisted around the trunk and branches.  Those didn’t belong to the oak either. 

            I shivered.

            The green wasn’t the green of a healthy oak.  Instead it was a sign of poison.  A huge batch of poison oak had grown up into the tree and twined around every branch.  The tree was thick with it.  Lush and green, but with nasty poison.

            Bryan tugged on his sleeves.  “Okay, I’ll do it then.  But get the bleach ready for the laundry.”

            Four hours later, the laundry was in, Bryan was taking a cool shower, and the tree was clear.  I tromped up the hill and looked at it.  It wasn’t lush anymore.  And it wasn’t green.  Scraggly branches with a few sad leaves spread from the trunk and reached toward the sky.  

            “Ugh, it looks awful,” I murmured.  

            As I looked at the now-bare soil beneath it, I noticed there were no acorns scattered on the ground, and no little baby oaks growing around it. 

            Then it struck me.  That big, strong oak was stifled by that little vine.  The oak was bigger, taller, thicker, and more established.  And yet, that small, thin, poisonous weed had nearly choked the life from it.  

            As I stood and gazed at the tree, I was reminded of Jesus’ parable from Matthew 13, Mark 4, and Luke 8.  In that story, seed fell on four different types of soil.  In the third, the seed sprouted among thorns and the life was choked out the plants, just as the poison oak had choked the oak tree.  Jesus likened the thorns to the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth, and desires for other things.

            If something as small as poison oak could choke the life from a big, strong oak, how much more vulnerable was I to worry and wrong desires?  After all, there are so many things in life to worry about – finances, schooling, job concerns, health, family crises.  It’s easy to allow those to twine around my mind and shove poisonous leaves through my branches until there are acorns of God’s word dropping into my daily life.  No little oaks springing up around me.  I had to ask if I was I producing any kind of crop in God’s Kingdom.  Was it growing stronger through me, or was I just barely getting by?  

            As I asked those questions, I realized that I had some poison oak in my life – worries that kept me from focusing on God, goals I was pursuing that were good but weren’t God’s plan, things that were distracting me from fully living the life God had for me.  And just like we did for the oak tree, I had to cut off the poison oak at its base and peel away all the vines from the branches of my life. 

Over the past few years, we’ve kept the poison oak away from that oak tree, and now the tree is full, healthy, and green with leaves all its own.  In time, it recovered from the stranglehold of the poison oak.  It became the beautiful tree God meant it to be.

And I know that if I, too, keep the thorns away, I can be full of the greenness of true life.  I can be all God intends me to be.  I can be a tall, strong oak in the Kingdom of God.

 

Living in Abundant Joy

Hi Friends,

It's summer!! As of this week, all my kids are done with their school years and we are now on summer break.  Plus, we're looking at a heat wave coming around here. So, I was thinking of this story about running through sprinklers and living in abundant grace and joy. See what you think . . .

Running through the Sprinklers of Grace

            I sat back in my lawn chair, closed my eyes, and listened to the steady chit-chit-chit of the sprinklers.  Ice melted in the glass beside me.  The sun warmed my face.  Tension oozed from my shoulders, and I sighed.  All was peaceful, calm, and ...

            Then came a shriek.

            A scream.

            A shout.

            A giggle.

            A laugh.

            A squeal of delight.  

            I opened my eyes.  There on the lawn before me twirled six little swimsuit-clad bodies, their arms waving, their cheeks sprinkled with water.  

            They stopped.  Chit-chit-chit went the sprinkler.  They positioned themselves. Three more chits, then they ran through the falling drops with their chins raised and their voices once more loud with joy. Sunlight glinted off the water in a rainbow of color.  Again they paused, again they ran, again they laughed and danced.

            On the first pass, the water made a few dark spots on their suits and hair.  By the fifth run, they were completely soaked.

            “Come on, Mom, join us.  It’s fun!”  Joelle raced on tiptoe through the falling drops, until her long hair streamed with water.

            I watched her and smiled.  “I’m not wearing my swimsuit.  I’m fine where I am.  You guys play.”  I motioned with my hand and settled deeper into my chair.

            The baby raised her hands and toddled through the spray of water.  The older ones followed, each laughing and squealing and shouting with joy.

            Wetter and wetter they got.

            Happier and happier they became.

            Until I realized that I had chosen poorly.  Here I sat, comfortably on my chair, outside of the spray of fun and joy.  I sat.  They ran.  I sighed.  They laughed.

            When did I get so dull and boring?  

            I stood up and put my hands on my hips.  Was I like this with God, too?  Did I sit on the sidelines, in my comfortable chair, while God was sprinkling his grace and love with abandon just a few feet away?  Was I too comfortable, too tired, or even too lazy to run through the sprinklers of his grace until I was soaked through and through?

            If so, I wanted to change.  If God’s grace was raining down, I wanted to be a part of it.  And not just a few dribbles, I wanted to be soaked through and through.  

            Joelle’s voice rang out again.  “Come on, Mom, get on your suit!”

            I grinned and turned toward the house.  “I’ll be right there.”  Moments later, I was dressed in my physical swimsuit, but what about my spiritual one?  What kind of “suit” would prepare me for running through the sprinklers of God’s grace?

            As I thought about the question, Colossians 2:6-7 (NIV) came to mind: “So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.”  I pondered the last part of the verse until I began to glimpse the truth.  God had called me to be overflowing with thankfulness.  That was the “suit” I needed.  When thankfulness covers me, clothes me, I’m ready to receive the droplets of his grace, the pouring out of his love.  A thankful spirit is the suit that’s made especially for running through the water with joy.  

            I jogged down the front steps and out onto the lawn.  Then, I raised my face, listened to the steady chit-chit-chit, and ran.  I squealed, I giggled, I laughed.  My kids laughed with me.  And that’s when I knew that I didn’t want to miss the fun anymore, not on the front lawn and not in life with God.  I needed to keep on my suit of thankfulness and see where God was sprinkling his grace -- in church, in books, in serving others, in reading my Bible, in quiet walks, in times with good friends -- so I could put myself in a position for the water to fall on me.  

            If I do that, then I can run with abandon.  I can shriek and scream, laugh and squeal. I can dance through the sprinklers of his grace again and again until I’m soaked with the wonder of his love.  That’s the way I want to live, everyday!

The Power of Wonder in a Hurting World

Hi Friends,

This week my heart is broken with the tragedy at Uvalde this week. The pictures of the young victims keep popping up on Facebook. They look so similar to the kids I work with at Wonder Wood Ranch. Then I see a picture of the shooter. He looks like the kids I work with too. So. Much. Pain. So much brokenness and ugliness and awfulness. Sometimes it seems that evil always wins. 

But then again, maybe not always.

As I sit and look at the faces, and look away because I cannot bear to look any longer, I remind myself that evil may have its way for a day, but God's love is stronger. Hope is stronger. Wonder is stronger. And every day that I bring a little more love, a little more hope, a little more wonder to a hurting world is a day that evil does not win after all.

It works kind of like this . . .

Working with Youth in Juvenile Hall

Wonder Changes the World

He came from a world so different from my own. Gangs, drugs, violence. Fear. Fear he tried to strangle with a tough-guy exterior and tattoos that weren’t quite covered by the long sleeves of his hoodie. 

He was fifteen years old.

Too young to spend every day, every minute looking over his shoulder, waiting to be jumped, or shot, or knifed. Too young to need the rough gang persona to survive.

He stepped out of the city’s car with three other kids and shuffled, pants hanging low, down the path to our barn. 

The city’s street team worker stepped beside me. “Juan almost didn’t come.”

“I’m glad he did.”

She nodded. Once a month she brought gang-impacted youth to our Wonder Wood Ranch to ride horses, do archery, and get out of the gang environment for a few hours. 

Typically, I could see the difference in them the moment they stepped from the car. Their shoulders relaxed, they stopped fidgeting, they forgot, for a time, they had to be hyper-vigilant to get by. 

But Juan’s shoulders stayed rigid. 

I followed behind the boys, picking up my pace until I passed them. Then, I motioned toward the hay. “Sit. Let’s get started.”

They sat, Juan on the edge of a bale, his eyes not meeting mine.

I reviewed horse safety, told them all the fun things we would do, asked if anyone had ridden a horse before (no one had), and still Juan stared at the ground, his features hard, his mouth pressed into a line.

After my talk, we ate some hot wings, visited the treehouse, and then it was time for riding. I saddled my husband’s horse, Smokey, grabbed the lead rope, and led him to the mounting block. My other volunteers did the same with three other horses.

Juan put on a helmet and walked up to Smokey. 

I explained how to mount, how to sit up straight, how to relax his hips and let his body move with the horse’s gait. 

Then Juan stepped up the mounting block, put his left foot in the stirrup, and swung his right leg around the horse. His face softened. “I’ve never been on a horse before.”

I smiled.

“This is my first time on a horse.”

I grinned.

“I’ve never ridden a horse. This is my first time.”

I tried not to chuckle as I led Smokey forward on the path through the woods around our property.

After three seconds, Juan spoke again, his voice faster now, a little more breathless. “This is my first time riding on a horse. I’ve never ridden. I’ve never been on a horse. This is my first time.” 

I glanced back to see him sitting tall, chin up, face aglow with delight. And there, before my eyes, a hardened gang-impacted kid transformed from a tough-guy youth into an excited little boy. A little boy who kept talking. “This is my first time on a horse …”

That’s the power of God’s wonder in our lives. That’s the power of finding the beauty that God places around us, and letting ourselves be caught up and carried by it. By him. 

God leaves none of us, not even a kid whose life is characterized by fear and violence, without glimpses of his glory. He leaves none of us without hope. And hope, glory, is found in these moments of wonder. 

In Exodus 15:11 (NIV), Miriam sings, “Who among the gods is like you, Lord? Who is like you—majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders?” And in Genesis 28:17 (NIV) Jacob declares, after seeing the stairway to heaven, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.”

God gives us glimpses of that stairway, that gate, in our own lives, when we need it most. When we’re afraid, when we’re trying to act tough, when we think that there’s no way out and no other life available to us but one of hurt and harm. That’s when God uses wonder to break down the barriers in us so that we can see the beauty around us, and the beauty of his work in our lives. 

After Juan rode Smokey, he was a different kid for the rest of our time together. He smiled, he laughed, he ate s’mores and looked me in the eye. And he found strength to face his life and make better choices because, on the back of a horse, he could see new hope for the first time in a long time. Maybe for the first time ever.

Through God’s wonder, we, too, can see anew.

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.