Encountering Christ in the Mud of Life

Hi Friends,

Got rainstorms here lately which of course means lots of mud! So, here are some related thoughts for life. See what you think!

Winter Wonderland?

In winter, we don’t get snow. We get rain. A lot of it. It falls from the sky in tiny sprinkles, in waving sheets, in giant bucket-dumping sloshes until driveways glisten and puddles form enticing pools for kids to jump in with their new canvas tennis shoes. It rains until potholes become craters and horse pens become mud baths. 

Until there’s nothing but mud and muck and mess.

I’m a much bigger fan of spring. At least, I used to be.

After all, the winter slog is the same every year. I slip on oversized rubber boots, tramp through swamp-like terrain to clean horse stalls, scoop out puddle-filled pig pens, and scrap gunk off equines who have all become the same dark brown color of soggy dirt. Palominos, greys, whites, chestnuts, and duns … all the color of wet earth. Then I trudge back home. I wipe doggie feet. I wash shoes. I clean too many floors. I do it all over again the next day. 

And I thank God for the rain because I live in California where there have been too many years of drought.

But mud is no fun. Muck can be discouraging. And nobody likes a mess.

We like life to be tidy. We like it to go according to plan, our ducks in a row, our horses all their natural colors. Just as it should be.

We like the spring. Winter is too messy.

Yet, as I pull on the big rubber boots one more time, grab a shovel, and head to the barn, I notice something. The patches of clover that died in the fall have started to come to life again. A few bright yellow flowers dot a landscape that had turned to dust. And the little sprigs I planted months ago, the ones that refused to grow in the autumn heat, have perked up their heads and have just begun to look more like plants than dried weeds. 

Maybe the mess and muck and mud aren’t so bad after all. Maybe it’s precisely in the mess that new life can take root … on the path to the barn and in life.

 After all, it was through the mud of the parted Red Sea that God led his people out of slavery and to a new life of freedom (Exodus 14). It was in the muck of a stable that the Savior and Messiah was born and God became human is the mess of childbirth (Luke 2). And it was through the mire and horror of beatings and a bloody death on a Roman cross that redemption and reconciliation were won for us all. 

Perhaps God does his best work in the mud and messes of life.

And so, maybe, it is time to be a fan of winter. Because winter reminds us that it is often in the yuck of life that God works most powerfully to bring new life, new hope, and amazing redemption. It’s in the messy places that we find new ways to bloom through his grace. Those places in life where rain has come instead of snow and it’s made a mess of things, those times when we have to put on the big boots and muddle through as best we can, those areas of life that aren’t neat and tidy as we hoped and planned … those are the very places in which God is most deeply at work to bring new growth and new life.  It’s in the messiest parts of life that we most fully encounter God’s wonder.

So as I’m slogging through the mud of winter, wiping away grimy paw prints yet again, scrubbing shoes that were once clean, and dreaming of the picture-perfect scenes of spring, I remind myself that it’s here, in the mess, that I encounter the beauty of an active and loving God. It’s here that I find him with sleeves rolled up, working to bring me out of slavery, to come into my world and give me good news of great joy, and to redeem all the mud and muck for his glory. 

It is here that I encounter God’s winter wonderland. And today, I am glad that it’s winter.

Learning to Wait - An Advent Reflection

Hi Friends,

I was just talking with a friend who's incarcerated in juvenile hall and thinking about how, for him, Christmas will mean waiting in the "not yet" place of life. His brother is enjoying life overseas. His family will be enjoying a fun Christmas together, his siblings will be able to head down to the local corner store to pick up some Christmas tamales. And he will be in the hall spending Christmas with the other inmates. He will be waiting, hoping, and looking forward to the day when he can join his family and be home. 

And that's what Advent is all about. We're all waiting, hoping, and looking forward with eager anticipation to the moment when Christ is born, when "home" makes His home in our hearts. 

So, for all who are in the waiting place this Christmas season, here is a story from when my Bethany was little. I hope it will encourage you . . .

Christmas Bulb Blues

My one-year-old daughter stood on her tiptoes and reached for a glass bulb halfway up the Christmas tree.  Her fingers wiggled as she struggled to grab the bright red orb. 

I leaned back on the couch and shook my head.  The tree looked silly this year, with the lights and bulbs reaching only partially down the branches.  Everything glass I had carefully hung out of the reach of tiny hands.  Other decorations were placed differently this year as well.  The ceramic old-fashioned Santa was now on top of the bookcase.  The green candles sat high on a shelf.  And the coffee table, usually decorated with my Precious Moments nativity, was completely bare.  Instead the Joseph, Mary, Baby Jesus, and the wise men crowded on top of the television on some cotton “snow.”  

But none of those things interested Bethany now.  All that mattered was to get her hands on that beautiful, shiny ball that hung just beyond her fingertips.  With a grunt she reached higher, then toppled backward.  

“Waaaaa!” came her frustrated cry.  She pointed to the bulb, looked at me, then let out another indignant shriek.  

“No, Bethany, you can’t have that.”

Her lower lip trembled.  Great tears welled in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks.  She pointed at the bulb again.  “Ma-ma-ma-ma-maaaa…”

“No,” I repeated.  “It’s not for you.”

She pushed herself to a standing position, stomped her feet, and cried all the louder.  

I handed her a stuffed reindeer.  

She promptly threw it on the floor.  

I sighed, picked her up, and took her to her crib.  A few minutes there and she’d remember how to be a good girl and take “no” for an answer.  

I returned to the family room and glanced at the offending bulb.  It really was beautiful, with swirls of deep red and a two silver stripes made of glitter.  I removed it from the branch and held it in my hand.  In a few years, Bethany would not only be able to touch this bulb, but she’d probably be helping me to place it on the tree.   But for now she wasn’t ready.  I’d heard stories of babies breaking ornaments and putting the shards in their mouths.  Just the thought made me shiver.  Bethany, however, didn’t understand that she wasn’t old enough to be trusted with a glass bulb.  To her, it was something good, something desirable.  So, why would I not allow her to have it?  

I turned the bulb over and place it on the back of the tree, even further out of Bethany’s reach.  Then, I went to get her from her crib.  As I did, I realized my daughter’s actions weren’t so different from my own.  I, too, stomped my feet and cried when God didn’t give me the good things that I wanted.  I thought about the new book contract I was praying for, my hopes for new members for our small church, the house we’d put an offer on but weren’t able to buy.  Good things, all of them, as good as a shiny red Christmas bulb.  But for me too, these bulbs were just out of reach.  

As I put Bethany on the floor to play with the stuffed reindeer, I wondered if God was also saying to me, “You’re not ready yet.  Wait.”  What if He was simply letting me “grow up” a bit before he gave me the good things that I wanted?  If so, I needed to focus on growing in him, and trusting him to know what’s best for me in this particular place in my life.  

For me, like Bethany, that’s been a difficult thing to do.  It’s hard to trust.  But God says to me, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV)  And so, when those good things I want are just out of reach, I have to remind myself, sometimes it’s right to wait.  Sometimes, I may just need to grow up.

Tasting the Turkey

Hi Friends,

My husband just shared this oldie-but-goodie with the staff at our church for a fun little Thanksgiving devotional. See what you think! (Picture is from our recent visit to visit our college girls at SLO!)

Tasting the Turkey

"Yum!"  It was Thanksgiving day and I was in the kitchen, sneaking bits of turkey while no one was looking.  To my ten-year-old mind, nothing could compare to Mom’s perfectly cooked turkey.  I stuck my fingers into the warm juice and pulled off another piece.  "Ahhh," I sighed and smiled.  It was delicious.  I glanced around then snatched another bite.  

This is my favorite part of Thanksgiving, I thought, licking my fingers as the turkey juices dripped down my hand.  I loved to sample the little pieces of turkey that fell to the bottom of the pan during cooking.  It was like a special, tasty prize that made my mouth water just to think about it.  I jammed a fourth piece of turkey into my mouth and rubbed my belly, enjoying the dual pleasures of taste and smell.

At my Sunday School three days later, Pastor Ron visited our class.  He sat down on the stool in front and straightened his collar.  His eyes swept over the students. "Let me tell you a story," he began.  "There was a man named Joe.  Joe spent his life doing stuff that was very bad.  He drank.  He gambled.  He lived a wild life.  He swore all the time and never went to church.  When he ran out of money, he robbed a store and then continued his bad living.  On his death bed, Joe knew he was going to die, so he begged God for forgiveness and decided to trust in Jesus.  That night, Joe died and went to Heaven, the same as if he had loved and served God all his life.  What do you think of that?"

"Hey, that's not fair!," I burst forth.  My cheeks grew red with annoyance. 

"No, it's not fair," he agreed.  "Not fair to Joe.”

“To Joe?” I questioned.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean it's not fair because Joe missed the greatest joys in life."      

"But he was bad!” I exclaimed, sputtering in confusion.  “If he could get into heaven, why should I bother to do what I’m told?  I may as well go out and rob a store too!”

My Pastor smiled.  “Do you really think so?”

I lowered my head and stared at my feet.  Then, I shrugged my shoulders.

Pastor Ron cleared his throat.  

I looked up at him again.  His mouth was quirked in a strange half-grin.

"Tell me," he continued, "have you ever sneaked into the kitchen to taste a little bit of turkey before the Thanksgiving meal?"

I drew a quick breath and nodded my head.  My eyes grew wide in shock.  How had he known?  I remembered back to my time in the kitchen just three days before.  Yes, I knew very well what it was like to taste the turkey.  It was great!

"Well," he said, glancing at the rest of the class, "that's just what it's like for you and me.  All the time we spend serving God in this life is just like sneaking into the kitchen to taste the turkey.  We get a little taste of heaven before the great banquet.  Joe, on the other hand, doesn't get to taste the turkey in this life.  He has to wait.  Just think of all the fun he missed out on here in this life."

"Wow," I whispered, "I never thought of it like that.

Pastor Ron chuckled.  "Now, every time you sneak a bit of turkey, you can think about the fact that every day you spend serving God is a little taste of heaven here on earth."

To this day, I still sneak my little bit of turkey before the Thanksgiving meal, and every time I thank God for another day spent in His love, tasting the turkey of Heaven.

When You're a Muddy Mess

Hey all,

We brought our white horses, Blizzard and Flint, into Carr Lake Community Day School (an alternative ed school for kids who have been expelled from other schools) today. We had a great time talking about the stories of these rescue horses and and trouble with having white horses in winter (wow, they get dirty!). Here's an excerpt, and a take-away for us all:

            I, too, often become a muddy mess when confronted with the storms of life. When the rain beats down hard and creates so much muck and mud that I not only find myself standing in it, but I also wallow it. And sometimes it stains me dark brown and nasty green.

            Sometimes I am not who I was created to be, not anymore. But God do isn't leave me that way. Like me with my horses, God gets out the brushes and hose and delights to make me clean and whole again.

             So when we look at ourselves and say, “Girl (or boy), you’re a muddy mess!” it’s good to remember that our God sees beneath the dirt and stains. He loves us enough to make us clean and beautiful again, no matter how many times we roll in the muck.

Get Rid of Those Dead Branches!

Hi Friends,

It's tree trimming time of year again, and I was reminded of this story when Grandpa and I trimmed trees together . . .

Trimming Trees with Grandpa

I stared up at the branches of the oak tree and swung the puny set of clippers in my hand. It was hot. The branches were high. But not high enough. At least not according to my kids.

I walked around the tree trunk twice, evaluating the task at hand. A moment later, three of my daughters rode up on their horses and stopped outside the tree’s canopy. “If it was all just a foot higher,” one said, “we could ride underneath and not hit our heads.”

I sighed. “But the shade is better this way.”

“Mooooom.” 

 “I know, I know. Not safe.” I groaned. I knew I needed to do some trimming, but it would be so much easier to just let the branches be. Maybe it would be better to wait for the weather to be cooler, or for a better set of clippers, or for life to be easier, or to feel more encouraged,or energetic, or hopeful, or passionate, or … 

I drew a deep breath. No. Today was the day. Even though it was hard work, and I was ill equipped, and, well, I really didn’t feel like it.

         Still, I raised the clippers and made my first cut on the lowest branch. Snip, snap. A twig skittered down my shirt. Snap, snip. Another twig and three dry leaves stuck in my hair. Snip, snip, crack! A bigger branch came tumbling down. I jumped aside. Then, I squinted up into the canopy. The small hole I’d made revealed a network of dead branches tucked behind the living ones, branches I hadn’t noticed before. They were ugly, unhealthy. 

         I stood on my tiptoes but couldn’t reach the newly exposed deadness. Now what was I going to do? I couldn’t leave all that bare lifelessness just hanging there.

         “What are you doing?”

         I turned to see Grandpa striding toward me, a frown marring his brow. 

         I stared up at the tree again. “Trimming! But this is a bigger job than I thought.”

         Grandpa moved beside me and glanced up at the dead branches. “You need a chainsaw for that. And a ladder.”

“I don’t know how to work the chainsaw.”

He laughed. “A chainsaw is above your pay grade.”

I smiled as Grandpa trundled back to his garage and came back with a ladder and saw. Then together, and only together, we began to tackle the hard-to-reach branches. I held the ladder and handed him tools. He trimmed and cut. And we both looked for more dead branches nestled within the canopy. 

In time, the deadness was gone, the tree branches were higher, and the tree was lush and lovely, just as it was meant to be. I grinned. Grandpa grinned. Then we sat down beneath the tree and enjoyed some iced tea in the shade. 

After a few minutes, Grandpa set down his glass and murmured, “This will be better when winter comes.”

“What do you mean?”        

“Winter storms. Wind can blow through the branches because they’re cleaned up. Storm won’t knock this tree down.”

And all because we cleared away the deadness.               

There are dead places in my life too. In John 15:2 (NIV), Jesus says of God, “He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” In the original Greek, the word for “he prunes” is the same as the word for “he cleans.” Just as Grandpa helped me to clean up the oak tree, so too God helps me to clean up the dead places in my life so I can be more fruitful, more of what he created me to be. It’s not an easy task. And the chainsaw of life is also above my pay grade. 

But God comes alongside me. He brings the ladder and wields the chainsaw. He is the one to cut and prune. Yet, I must stand with him, looking for the dead places, doing my part. Together, God and I can make my life into the beautiful tree it was meant to be.

Because when the dead branches are cleared away, my kids can safely run and play in my shade. I will provide a better resting place from the heat of the sun, and more importantly, God and I can sit in the shade and enjoy a refreshing drink of grace together. 

And when the storms come, and I know they’ll come, I won’t be blown off course because now the Holy Spirit can now rustle through my branches.

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.