fourfeetsixinches

“But the fact is, it was our pains He carried-  our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us… He took the punishment, and that made us whole. Through his bruises we get healed. We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost. We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way. And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong, on Him,…on Him.  He was beaten, He was tortured, but He didn’t say a word. Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered and like a sheep being sheared, He took it all in silence…”
Good Friday. Today, Lord, let us see and open ourselves up again to our need for You to come into the stale and stagnant of our lives. Into the mire. Into the rancid and selfish parts of our lives that are in need of what you did for us. What we remember today is your selfless sacrifice. Your selfless and all-encompassing love for us.

“The plan was that He give himself as an offering for sin so that He’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life. And God’s plan will deeply prosper through Him.”      from Isaiah 53

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I love it when spring starts to gain some momentum. When the rigor mortise of winter begins to be overtaken by the new life, the new energy of a brand new season of growth. It gets in my veins. It gets my energy flowing again with hope and the different kinds of freedom that come with spring and summer. Is a great time of year for me. For many, I believe, up here in the northern parts of Iowa. People’s moods start to bounce back from the Seasonal Affective Disorder which is common here. It knocks on my clinic doors throughout late fall and winter. And then it starts to dissipate as the days lengthen and the sun shines more frequently and the temperatures warm.

Last night before bed “Coverage You Can Count On” said there would be rain today. Likely changing into snow by evening. But as I rolled my way from bed to coffee pot this morning, I caught a glimpse of something unpleasant in my peripheral vision. It looked white. Yesterday it was green. This morning white. Channel 3 said “rain.” Is this what we call “white rain”? The only time I have ever seen white rain was in Grandma Edith’s medicine cabinet. It was some kind of distinctively scented hair spray.I digress…

I know it won’t be long until the daffodils get another chance to push into bloom. Before the chives continue to reach toward the spring sun and again offer their sweet, onion-like flavor to the cooking in the kitchen. I’ve been ready for so long. It’s not like anyone promised that once spring started to show up, that there wouldn’t be any of this regression back to winter stuff. It’s just the weather, after all.

In the book of Hebrews we are told that the ancient people of faith were commended for this: “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” Looking out of my office window I can only

see  the wet, heavy stuff continue to  fall, white and slush and tracks in the snow that covers the ground. It covers almost everything with cold and wet. At a glance, it’s really hard to see past it. So on a surface level I hope for things I cannot see today. Spring. Warmth. Sunlight. Growth.

And under the surface, I also hope for things I cannot see today. I long to keep moving forward with purpose. The writer of the book of Hebrews encourages us to “throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us…”  Run well today, friends. Run strong. “Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith…”

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There is a psychological disorder called “pica.” Briefly it is described as a disorder where a person persistently engages in the ingestion of non-nutritive substances. It can be just about anything, I suppose, from dirt to fecal material or whatever. You probably get the idea.

Although perhaps more difficult to diagnose, I think there might be such a disorder as “spiritual pica.” The taking in of non-nutritive substances for the soul. The heart. Sometimes we may intentionally take such things in. Other times we may just kind of settle for less-than soul nutrients, believing that there is  just not anything better out there. Or if it is, that it isn’t worth the wait.

Sometimes the kids will come home from a long day of school and music and sports practices and be “starving”. Dinner isn’t ready yet, and they just can’t wait. So off to the cupboard for some chips or gummy bears or Oreos or some other form of relatively empty calories. This is not the “pica” thing I’m talking about, but just a reminder of those times when we ask God for bread and then are incredibly impatient. We grab for those things that are less than healthy for us. Those things that will likely not build up strength in us. Quick and easy. That’s what we often reach for. Shallow and transient. That’s what we get.

I don’t think that it’s an issue of what the Father gives to us as sons and daughters that is the problem; it’s more a matter of what we try to ingest, what we settle for in our attempts to calm the hunger pangs in our hearts. Our souls.

“…how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!”  Matthew 7

give a listen to a great worship song by shane everett: “We Are Hungry” available on iTunes

Isaiah 55:2 “Why spend your money on what is not bread?”

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driving home after jon’s track meet tonight. gas gauge on empty, but had to stop and capture this moment.

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“Every road that’s traveled…teaches something new. Every road that’s narrow…pushes us to choose__”

Alright. So i started rambling on here. Blogging, I guess. Not sure at all what it would amount to. Still not sure. Yet, for those of you who have found their way to these pages, and have offered affirmation, encouragement to me,.. I have truly appreciated your responses. I have truly appreciated the chance to briefly connect again.

Is a crazy thing to think about, that over the years, decades actually, God has seen fit for our paths to cross in one way or another. For some length of time. Some longer than others. But I have loved hearing from you since beginning to blog. You’ve been great companions to me along this road of life.

Bonhoeffer makes a couple of statements that have intrigued me since the first time I read them. “Let him who cannot be alone beware of being in community…Let him who is not in community beware of being alone.” I have long been aware of the part of me that comes alive when I can be alone. I have long been aware of the part of me that comes alive when I am with people. Neither can be neglected without exacting some price to our vitality as individuals. Our vitality as a community.

This is a photo of one of the places I stop on the way to work some days. Or on the way back home. If I have time. To be quiet. To not be found. To think and pray. To journal. To be alone.

So as the quote above by Wayne Kirkpatrick and Amy Grant speaks… I am grateful that our paths have crossed. Grateful for the miles we’ve traveled together. Grateful for what I’ve learned within the context of your friendship with me.  Not always grateful when the road got narrow and I had to choose in such ways that pushed me to simplify. To let go of some for a time. But for what time we’ve had to travel together, you have indeed been gifts of great richness to me. Thank you.

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jonathan and i have been out picking through the firewood pile. looking for what is dry enough to burn on these last cold nights of the season. the forecast is still calling for some nights below freezing. winter is basically at its end, though, and i am truly thankful for the warmer days. but i have not forgotten about the next season of cold coming. and the fact that firewood doesn’t cure as quickly as I would like. we can’t just run out and cut it and then be able to use it in the fireplace right away. it must dry. cure. season. planning ahead is necessary. allowing time is vital.

“In the house of the wise are stores of choice food and oil, but a foolish man devours all he has.” -Proverbs 21:20

i want to be prepared. i love it when the racks are stacked full in the garage. ready for the cold. protected from the snow and ice. such preparedness doesn’t always feel possible when life takes us by surprise. when difficulties appear seemingly out of nowhere, they leave us depending on past experiences where we have gained some knowledge about how to deal with such circumstances. and sometimes facing new circumstances pushes us to be creative. to live with a sense of faith that we might not have had to otherwise.

so…be wise and prepare when you can. and when life takes you by surprise, draw on the storehouses of knowledge and experience you have. and maybe most importantly, draw close to your Creator. lean on His strength. we are created in His image so we have an attribute of creativity as well. be creative with what you’ve got and what you face.

in second timothy, paul says to his friend, “make every effort to come before winter…” do what we can to prepare for those things in life that have some sense of predictability. winter will return. fill the racks with firewood. and when the unpredictable presents itself, respond to it with wisdom and faith and creativity.

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i remember being told that the moon was made of cheese when i was a child. green cheese if i remember correctly. but that was a long time ago and it is only a vague remembrance now.

so driving home from work earlier this week, i saw what appeared to be a very thin slice of cheese, gently curved and perfectly positioned some thirty degrees above the horizon. the sun had settled below the horizon, but left a subtle glow of deep and earthy oranges and magentas blending into the night sky. the silhouettes of barns and trees and silos were showing themselves one final moment before disappearing until their return with morning’s light.

just a couple of weeks ago was the equinox. a full moon lit up the sky and cast a mysterious glow on the ground that night. but this hint of a moon was difficult to see until i got out in the middle of the country and the skies darkened. there have been, and still are, such times in my life when the light is not obvious. times when dark was more of the defining characteristic of my environs.

a sliver of light. a thin slice of cheese. almost imperceptible. almost. if you are like this particular moon, and the sun seems to be reflecting off only a part of you. if the reflection is not grand and glorious at every moment…i think that’s ok. those who study human nature would say that “with repetition comes numbness.” if the moon’s reflection was the same every night, we wouldn’t notice it much anymore. it would not grab our attention as easily. we would grow numb to it’s presence in the dark sky. this sliver of a moon grabbed my attention on monday night. it was different. beautifully so.

psalm 34 says that “those who look to Him are radiant…” so does it stand to reason that the different aspects we are able to see of God may actually be reflected somehow in our lives? in our eyes? in our words? in our touch? and if that is true, then our lives may be, in some way, a slice of cheese that we can offer to our hungry world…

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a seventy degree day in north iowa. sun on my face. all four of us outside for part of the afternoon. me snapping photos of unwilling family members. pruning shrubs. raking up the dried and brittle remains of last year’s beauty. a bonfire on the corner of the lot makes Mare happy. she just loves a good fire. great to be outside working together. laughing. dreaming of this year’s possibilities…amidst the mulch and dried leaves and a faded candy wrapper or two, brown begins to give way to the yellow-green of some of spring’s first guests. daffodil spikes push the mulch and leaves aside as they reach for the sun’s warmth. a winter’s worth of waiting arrives. momentum builds.

this farm boy no longer has a farm. just a yard. a garden. but making things grow still matters to me somehow. it brings something inside of me alive as well. maybe, just maybe, it is a more tangible picture of growth. more tangible than the sometimes elusive human condition. the counselor in me…the friend, the father, the husband in me wants to see people grow. like daffodils spiking their way upward, through those things that would otherwise hold them down. buried in the ground. so, a new season is arriving…

and this i pray today, “…that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God.” -Colossians 1

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I found this nest from last year along the roadside at Mallard Marsh. It was difficult to get a a good shot, as there were so many branches protecting it from clear view. And then there is the ditch that is not hospitable to wheelchairs and those who dwell in them. So this is the photo I ended up getting. It has stirred some thought in me, and I’ve started writing about some of those things. But this morning I had this thought…”Ask them what it might stir in them.”  Some word picture? Some metaphor?

I will continue to work out what it stirs in me, but in the meantime, I would love to hear your thoughts. [My 12-year old daughter would tell me that this is an incredibly nerdy thing to do…  😉 ]

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It was still light when I left work yesterday evening. I knew Mare had a meeting and would get home later than usual, so I took a scenic route in search of spring. Evidence of awakening. Making my way down Mallard Marsh Road, I was surrounded by shades of brown and gray. Green remains timid. Cautious in showing itself in this late March environment.

Amidst the now freeze-dried colors of last fall’s warm glow, the aged red of rose hips persists. And the gold of these mystery berries tries to hide behind saplings and barbed wire. There is not much else of vibrance here. Anticipation heightens. Yet the waiting continues…

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