Watching for Wonder at Juvenile Hall

Hi Friends,

Just a quick note today. As you probably know, I've been so enjoying my time with our horses and animals at juvenile hall. The guys there are so receptive to honest, open relationships and appreciate the time we spend with them. They are SUCH good role models in that way (who knew?!?!). 

I am reminded that we, too, are often "incarcerated" in this life. And what if we, if I, received whatever God brought to me with gratitude, openness, and appreciation. What if I spent my time watching for the wonder God brings? I want to do that!

I've learned other things from the guys, too. Things like ...

--there's beauty all around me, even in difficult situations

--I matter (just like they matter) and am beloved by God no matter what I've done

--I am seen, heard, and Someone cares

--I have a choice - I can receive what God is offering to me, or I can choose to be closed off, angry, resentful. I can also choose gratitude or blame. I choose gratitude!

--I am not alone. God is always with me.

Anyway, those are just a few of the things I'm pondering and letting sink deep as I meet with these kids who have made terrible mistakes, have been through terrible trauma, and are precious, wondrous, unique and beautiful people. When I am with them, I see God.

I hope you see Him where you are too!

Dare to Trust

Hi Friends,

I've been thinking about this story to share at juvenile hall. See what you think! Maybe you will find this story of two wild horses encouraging as well.

Two Wild Horses

            Two new horses. Untrained. Barely handled. I looked at the two in their stalls in my barn. Both were sweet, both had a kind eye, but one gazed back at me with trust while the other snorted with suspicion.

            I walked over and pet the mare, Cookie, who turned her head to accept my embrace. Maverick snorted again. I raised a hand slowly to touch his face over the fence. He allowed the touch, but no more.

            I sighed. A few weeks earlier we had picked both horses up from the equine rescue. My daughters wanted to train up a couple horses for the rescue so that they would be more easily adoptable. A summer project, they said. To help the horses and the rescue.

            I’d agreed. 

            So there they were, two wild horses, ready to be transformed into the animals they were meant to be.

            Weeks passed. My daughters worked diligently with both horses. The mare loved the work. She loved to have people come give her attention. She trusted her young trainers, listened carefully, and met them every day at her gate. With each new lesson, she tried to learn, endeavored to understand. She even allowed the farrier to trim her hooves and keep her feet healthy.

            The gelding wanted to please as well. He wanted to learn. But he was afraid. He stood at the back of his stall, unsure if he could trust a person enough to walk forward. What if someone hurt him? What if it went badly? What if those training him were cruel instead of kind? He tried too. He endeavored to understand. But his fears interfered with his training. He wouldn’t allow the farrier near his feet, even though they were badly in need of a trim and hurting him. So he had to endure too-long hooves with chips and cracks.

            The end of the summer drew near. The mare was already being ridden, learning reining cues and how to stop, turn, start. She had come a long way from the horse who knew nothing except that her trainer was to be trusted.

            The gelding had come a long way too. My daughters could touch him, lead him, and saddle him. But he still couldn’t be ridden. A rider scared him too much. Once, he’d kick one of my girls. Another time he’d spun and kicked out at another. And his hooves were still long and broken.

            My daughters had spent their summer simply trying to gain his trust. And they’d been able to move forward. But the horse who was able to trust had learned so much more. She was happier, healthier, and ready to accept new challenges. Fears had not held her back.

            In the end, we ended up adopting the mare. She trusted us, so we could trust her. The gelding was scheduled to go back to the rescue to be further trained and worked with until he could have his feet trimmed and learn to trust a rider.

            As I thought about those two horses, I saw that trust is key to growth. When I am like the mare, trusting God, eager for his presence and his lessons, I move forward in relationship with him with less pain and able to accept his love. I can hold still for his care and move forward with nice, trimmed toes.

            When I am like the gelding, snorting, holding back, fearful, God still works with me, loves me, trains me, but the task is more difficult and filled with unnecessary pain.

            Sometimes, like the gelding, I have good reasons for my lack of trust, lack of faith. Things in my past have hurt me, made me suspicious, cautious, and sometimes fearful. But whether I reasons or not, the results are the same. Fear hurts me. Lack of trust and faith keeps me from fully becoming who I was created to be. 

            Reasons or not, trust is better.

            Psalm 112:6-8 (NIV) tells us, “Surely the righteous will never be shaken…They will have no fear of bad news; their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord. Their hearts are secure, they will have no fear…”

            So, as I stand in my barn, considering the difference between two wild horses, I know that I want to be more like Cookie, the mare. I want to dare to trust more, believe more, love more. Despite my past hurts. Despite past pain.

            I want to dare to trust the God who loves me, and let him guide me as a rider guides the horse he loves. I want a steadfast heart that trusts God without fear. 

            And I want to be his forever.

Faith or Fear?

Hi Friends,

Just shared this story at juvenile hall this week. Maybe you will also find it encouraging...

Faith or Fear?

         The door burst open. Bethany rushed through, her thirteen-year-old sister screaming in her arms.

         I leapt from the couch. “What happened?”
         “Comet trampled her.” 

         Bria loved her new horse. She spent hours with him, and nothing like this had ever happened before.

         Bethany hurried to the couch and laid a writhing Bria on it. I knelt beside her. “Where does it hurt?”

         Tears streamed down her face as she pointed to her pelvis and upper thighs. “My lower back too,” she gasped.

         Ever so carefully we pulled off her jeans and examined the deep, already-forming bruises. 

         “Can you move your toes?”

         She did. “He, he got scared.” She spoke between sobs. “Didn’t know what he was doing. Ran right over me.”

         I frowned. “Do you think anything’s broken?”

         She gulped. “I don’t know. Ahhhhh!” A yowl burst from her lips as my fingers barely brushed the bruises. “It hurts. It hurts really bad.” She choked on a sob as I rose and turned to a terrified Bethany. 

         “I’m going to bring the car to the front door. Can you get her in the back seat?”

         Bethany bit her lip and nodded.

         I ran for the car and drove it as close to the door as I could. Bethany scooped up Bria and laid her in the back seat. 

         Then we sped to the emergency room of our local hospital. Bethany lifted Bria and raced her inside. I parked and hurried after them.

         By the time I entered, Bria was already sitting at the nurse’s station, describing in gasps what had happened.

         “I was leading my horse up the hill to the round pen like I always do. Everything was normal. But then something happened. Something rustled in the bushes. I don’t know. He got scared. I tried to calm him, but he wouldn’t listen. He pulled away. Then pushed me down. Trampled me as he ran off into the poison oak.”

         The nurse then typed in notes about her injuries and called for a bed. Moments later, Bria was rolled inside, given painkillers, and scheduled for numerous tests and scans that would happen in the following hours.

         Late that night a doctor entered Bria’s hospital room and smiled. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know how, but she’s going to be okay. There are no broken bones or internal injuries.” He glanced at Bria. “It’s going to hurt like crazy for several days, and I suggest you use crutches, but I don’t anticipate any problems with you healing right up.”

         After a collective sigh of relief, Bria was fitted for crutches, and we headed home. Halfway there, I glanced over at Bria. “What are we going to do about Comet?”

         She sighed. “He just needs to learn to not lose his head when he’s scared. He just needs to learn to trust me.”

         Profound words from a thirteen-year-old girl who just had the scariest experience of her life.  In all her pain, all her fear, she had kept her head. I had too (you have to when your kid gets hurt!). Comet had not. In his fear, he had hurt the person who loves him most in all the world. He had run right over her. 

         In Isaiah 41:10 (NIV), God tells us, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” 

         Unlike Comet, we need to trust the One who leads us to where we need to be. When there’s something rustling in the bushes, when we see something flapping out of the corner of our eye, we have a choice. Faith or fear? Do we stay calm and keep following the One who is taking us up the hill to the place where we can grow stronger? Or do we let fear dominate our actions so that we turn on the ones who love us and hurt them?

         Fear hurts, not only the one who’s afraid, but also everyone around them. It tramples, it bruises, then it runs off into places filled with poison.

         But we don’t have to fear. In the months since the accident, Comet has learned how to trust, how to have faith, despite his fears. We can too. 

         Even in the face of triggers, of things that have scared us or gone wrong in the past, God is asking us to trust the One leading us to higher ground.

Will You Save a Seat for God?

Hi Friends,

A little story I thought you might enjoy . . .

Save a Seat

 

            The lights dimmed. Kids wiggled on the bench in the big auditorium.  Mostly my kids wiggled, eagerly awaiting the show that would commence in just minutes. The theater filled with families, parents, grandparents, singles, until the room buzzed with breathing, whispering, and the rustle of many bodies pressed into a space.

            An usher dressed in a bright blue jacket pushed up the aisle. He leaned over my youngest who sat at the end next to her sister.  Jordyn widened her seat, her arms spread to the side, her feet swinging.

            “Squeeze in, please.” The usher waved toward the center of the bench.

            Jordyn lifted her chin. “No. Daddy’s seat.”  She straightened and did not budge. “Daddy sits here!”

            “You need to scoot in, please.”

            “My Daddy is sitting here.” Her voice came out low, but determined. She was not going to move. And no usher, no matter how fancy his suit, was going to make her.

            The usher moved on. 

            Bria’s voice rose over the hush around us. “Jordyn! He asked you to move!”

            Jordyn scowled. “No. I told you. Daddy sits here.”

            Bria make a face and looked down the row at me. “Mom! Make her move. Dad can sit on the other end.”

            I shook my head. “I don’t think anyone’s changing her mind. Looks like Daddy’s going to be sitting right there.” I grinned. Daddy was out parking the car after letting us off at the door. He would come soon, and in the meantime, his little girl was determined to save him a seat right by her.  

            A few minutes later, Bryan trotted up the aisle to our row. 

            Jordyn beamed. “I saved you a seat, Daddy!” She scooted over. 

            But instead of sitting beside her, Bryan scooped up his little girl into his arms and sat her on his lap. For the rest of the show, she snuggled happily in his arms and enjoyed the warmth of her Daddy’s love. When the lights dimmed further and the darkness came, Jordyn was not afraid. When a cannon boomed and smokey stage-fire shot toward us, the rest of us jumped, but Jordyn stayed snug against her daddy. When the show slowed and the dialogue became too complex for Jordyn to understand, she didn’t squirm, she didn’t complain, she just sat tucked in Daddy’s arms.

            On the way home, I thought about the wisdom of a little girl who so fiercely protected Daddy’s seat, the place where her father could come near to her and show her his love.

            I want to be that little girl. I want to be the kind of daughter who cannot be persuaded to give up her Father-in-Heaven’s seat beside her. I want to be the one who so longs to be near my Abba Daddy that I make sure I save His seat and don’t let anyone else sit there. I don’t let anyone else take His place.

            Even if someone bigger than me in fancy clothes tells me there’s no room for my Father here in such a public place, even if a family member thinks I’m wrong and tells others, even if a kind stranger asks if he can sit there instead ... the place closest to me, the place closest to my heart, must be reserved for the God who loves me more than I can imagine. 

            Hebrews 10:22-23 (NIV) says, “...let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” Similarly, James 4:8 (NIV) calls us to, “Come near to God and he will come near to you.”

            So today, and every day, I want to save the seat closest to my heart for my Father, who will come, scoop me up, and hold me next to his heart even when the lights go dark, even cannons boom, even when everyone around me is afraid, even when I don’t understand what’s happening in the show. 

            My Father will hold me close, if only I save His seat.

Meet My New Baby (Horse) - Whisper!

Hi Friends,

I've finally named my new 2 year old baby mustang! Meet Whisper!! 

He is named after this poem I wrote in 1994:

WHISPER

Whisper to my heart of truth

And kill the doubt in me.

Whisper of a dawning hope

That all my fear will flee.

Whisper in my waiting ear

Of love I cannot buy.

Whisper of a wooden cross

Where Jesus chose to die.

Pull the Weeds from Your Life

Hi Friends,

I've been pulling a lot weeds lately, making the Ranch nicer for guests and more beautiful for God to do his work here. And I was reminded of this story about how good it is to pull the weeds in our lives as well. See what you think of this! And note that the picture shows the first spot I got all cleaned up and nice. 

Pulling Weeds

 

            Spring came quickly this year to our ranch. It came with the budding of wildflowers, scattered puddles like muddy mirrors reflecting the sky, and weeds. Lots and lots and lots of weeds. Tall weeds, short weeds, thick weeds, prickly weeds, weeds that pretended to be flowers but weren’t. Weeds.

            One sunny Saturday, I gathered my children and pointed to the once-well-landscaped strip of earth in front of my husband’s office. “Today is the day! We’re going to make that area nice again.”

            The kids at me. I looked at them. They frowned. I scowled. They grumbled. I jabbed my finger more emphatically toward the weeds. “We are going to do this. No complaints!”

            I ignored the deep sighs and half-hidden eye-rolls, and marched toward the office. A moment later, Jayna grabbed the yard waste bin, Joelle found some gloves, and the rest of them trudged up the hill to the weed-infested area. 

            Bria glanced up at me. “Are all those thorny things weeds?”

            I took a deep breath. “Yep.”

            “And those too?” She waved her hand at some dandelions.

            “Yep.”

            “And that stuff? That’s a lot of work.” She motioned toward some grass-weeds that towered high above the others.

            I nodded. “All weeds. And it’s all gotta go.”

            Little Jordyn pulled at the corner of my shirt. “But those ones are taller than me.”

            “You take the shorter ones.”

            She looked doubtful, but she strode forward anyway, grabbed a thin stalk of dandelion, and yanked. It came up, roots and all, leaving a hole in the ground where it had been.

            I smiled. “That’s the spirit! Come on group!” 

            We spent the next hour pulling weeds and tossing them into the yard waste bin. Leaves flew. Dirt splattered. And soon the area was half-cleared. 

            Jayna paused and put her hands on her hips. “I thought you said we were going to make it nice? Look at all these holes! It’s ugly.”

            I threw a fat thistle-weed into the bin and straightened, evaluating the work we’d done. Jayna was right. Pulling the weeds had created holes all across the strip of land that I had promised would be “nice.” It wasn’t nice. It was upturned earth, unattractive divots, bumps, lumps, and nothing pretty. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe weeds were better than this.

            Before I could answer, Bryan stepped out of his office. 

            I wiped my forehead. “I’m not sure if it looks better...Sorry.”

            He smiled “Of course it’s better! It looks great.”

            “But look at the holes.”

            Bryan came down the stairs and surveyed the cleared dirt. “Looks perfect to me. Now I can plant beautiful flowers there like there’s supposed to be. I’m going to put catmint over here.” He pointed to the left.

            “Catmint?”

            “That’s the one with purple flowers. And salvia. And then I can plant a yellow bush daisy over there, and some goldfinger cinquefoil in front and maybe a few Johnny Jump-ups.”

            “Johnny Jump-ups?” Bria laughed. “That sounds like fun!”

            “They are fun. And pretty. But I can only plant them because you’re clearing out all the weeds.”

            Jayna grinned. “I guess ugly holes aren’t so bad after all.”

            The kids went back to work with renewed vigor. Out came the weeds, leaving the ugliest of holes, but they didn’t care anymore. They knew their daddy was going to put something beautiful there. Holes didn’t matter, only the promise of beauty to come.

            As I watched them I realized that maybe the holes made from pulling up weeds in my life weren’t so bad either. Perhaps I needed to be as eager to pull up the weedy-things that had grown up in me, knowing that my heavenly Father also waited to plant something beautiful in the holes left behind.

            2 Corinthians 7:1 (NIV) says, “Therefore, since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God.”

            Purify ourselves. In other words, pull out those weeds! The tall ones that dominate our landscapes, the prickly ones that hurt when we touch them, the deep-rooted ones that will make large, ugly holes. All must go. 

            It’s spring. It’s time to put on some gloves, and with a new sense of determination, rid our lives of the weeds so God can plant his amazing beauty in the most ugly and over-grown places of our lives.

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.