DPP 7: Feathery.

This little pheasant feather must have fallen out of Marcus’ coat after his hunting trip, and I was marveling at it this morning.  Rebecca and I studied flying creatures a couple years ago, and we were floored by the intricacy of a single feather.  The main shaft of a feather is called a rachis.  Attached to the rachis are barbs.  Barbules branch out from the barbs, of course, and little hooks (barbicels) hold the barbs next to each other.  The downy part of feathers have no barbicels, hence, their fluffiness.  Why fluffiness?  Because this allows air to be trapped next to the bird’s skin, providing excellent insulation.

I could go on and on, but this is a photo project, not a feather lesson.  The main thing I have learned through my elementary study of science, from the vast universe to a seemingly insignificant feather?  There is nowhere we can escape God’s glory.

DPP 5: Creating.

These are Rebecca’s cards.  I suggested she make Christmas cards last week for her teachers, and didn’t get a response right away.  But I saw her looking at templates this week, and off she went.

I have missed Rebecca’s furiously creative periods as she gets older.  When she was a young lass, she would start creating a Polly Pocket Universe or some other humongous structure, and be consumed for weeks.  These times are few and far between now that she is 13.  Today I was trying to figure out why her creative times seem so uplifting to me…and I figured out it is when I see Rebecca truly content.  Her restless spirit needs channeled, perhaps like her dad’s.  He must be creating much of the time, even when he is not officially working.

After Rebecca’s birthday, she would work on her thank you cards while I read history to her.  One morning, as she was designing the cover of a card, she looked up at me smiling and said, “I love birthdays.  I get to make thank you cards!”

Another piece in the puzzle, as I try to understand the heart of this girl who is not wired like I am.  How I want to parent her faithfully and well, pointing her to her Savior and a life lived for him.

DPP 3: Dewy December Spiderweb.

The DPP headquarters gave me a heads up this morning about checking out the foggy weather for possible DPP material.  I never would have witnessed my first Dewy December Spiderweb if it hadn’t.  I love the change of seasons in this part of the country, and I must say it doesn’t feel like the seasons have changed.  I don’t mind the balmy weather, but I do pray it would be accompanied by much-needed rain.  And by Christmas, I would really like to see some snow.  Lots!

Speaking of prayer, this excerpt from A Praying Life by Paul Miller just floored me this morning, and I must share it with you.  After you read it, go buy the book, grab some friends and study it together.

Deep down, we just don’t believe God is as generous as he keeps saying he is.  That’s why Jesus added the fine print – “ask in my name.”  Let me explain what that means.

Imagine that your prayer is a poorly dressed beggar reeking of alcohol and body odor, stumbling toward the palace of the great king.  You have become your prayer.  As you shuffle toward the barred gate, the guards stiffen.  Your smell has preceded you.  You stammer out a message for the great king: “I want to see the king.”  Your words are barely intelligible, but you whisper one final word, “Jesus.  I come in the name of Jesus.”  At the name of Jesus, as if by magic, the palace comes alive.  The guards snap to attention, bowing low in front of you.  Lights come on, and the door flies open.  You are ushered into the palace and down a long hallway into the throne room of the great king, who comes running to you and wraps you in his arms.

The name of Jesus gives my prayers royal access.  They get through.  Jesus isn’t just the Savior of my soul.  He’s also the Savior of my prayers.  My prayers come before the throne of God as the prayers of Jesus.  “Asking in Jesus’ name” isn’t another thing I have to get right so my prayers are perfect.  It is one more gift of God because my prayers are so imperfect.

Jesus’ seal not only guarantees that my package gets through, but it also transforms the package.  Paul says in Romans 8:26, “The Spirit helps us in our weakness.  For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”

 

Parched.

No rain for weeks and 100+ temperatures have left most things outside my window dry as toast.  When I am hauling my hose around to the new trees and bushes I planted this spring, the grass crunches under my feet. When I walk to the mailbox through the heat waves on the asphalt, I frown at the field north of my house.  Straw-colored stubble is all that is left.  All my wildflowers have been taken away in hay bales, and without rain there will be no tall, lovely red grass to take their place this fall.

The weather obviously affects me negatively, but more than that, it reflects my dry, parched heart.

I was reading Everyday Prayers by Scotty Smith last week, and came across this passage:

When we grow brown and crispy on the inside – when our rejoicing in you in displaced with complaining about you (and others and anything), when our delighting in you fades into detachment from you (and from others, and eventually from our own heart), when our love for you atrophies into fading memories of you… – we are powerless and shut up to your provision.  There’s no…reservoir of our own making that can even begin to make a brown heart green.

There is nothing extraordinarily trying in my life at the moment.  I just continually realize I need to turn my face to God, repent, recover my awe, and praise him.  My heart instantly seeks affirmation from others, or depends on circumstances for its satisfaction.  This leaves my heart as crispy as dry grass.  I want my heart to respond to the joy of my salvation, and reflect the glory of God.

So we cry out with the Sons of Korah, “Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you?  Show us your unfailing love, LORD, and grant us your salvation.”  (Ps. 85:6-7)

It finally rained two nights ago, and it made a world of difference.  Seeing the drops still clinging to leaves in the morning was glorious, and reminded me of God’s abundant grace on his creation, all the time.  Even when all I see is dry and parched.

Perfect.

I must say the only thing I would change about a redbud is that it should flower for three seasons, instead of one.  Would I appreciate it as much if it did?  I don’t know.  I have always thought that spring was so wonderful because the winters in the Midwest are so harsh.  But our winter was quite mild, and spring is still overcoming me with its loveliness.

I am sure God has even orchestrated the seasons to show us a truth about Himself, and the wondrous work He has done in our frozen, dark hearts.  If we have put our hope in our Savior, he has brought forth a spring-like miracle in our wintry souls.  Praise be to God.  And thank you for reminding us, Lord, because we need reminded of the loving work you have done every single moment.  We are prone to forget.

Tradition of appreciation.

I have blogged about this one tradition I have started in our family that has endured, but I will again:  our Valentine’s Day meal.  It is mostly about making a special meal, eating at the dining room table (almost never happens), and each person writing something they appreciate and/or love about someone else.  This year we had Knephla (German noodles), Ricotta Gnocchi with Sage-Butter Sauce (you need to make this), Izzis, chocolate cheesecake, and Oriental salad (happened to have cabbage).

As I just read in The Meaning of Marriage, love is an action, as well as a feeling.  This action of loving someone, even when we don’t feel like it, is easier when we take stock of what we appreciate about a person, instead of being blinded by what they do that drives us nuts.  Hence, I hope this annual exercise helps us be more thankful and loving the rest of the year.  And I was really glad to discover my youngest loves me because I bought her a new clothes basket.

 

 

Thoughts on Valentine’s Day.

Back in the day, when my daughters were all shorter than me, we had several events we celebrated with our homeschool community.  They were much work, and I was always ready to collapse in a heap when I finally got home.   The work wasn’t just part of the particular event.  With young children, I felt like I was walking through molasses.  I would try to gain my momentum as I would finally be moving toward my next goal with my herd, but my progress was hindered every few steps by another trip to the potty, a pinch on an unsuspecting arm, an unkind word (what did you say first?), or the disappearing child, who was just here a second ago.

I haven’t taken part in these festivities for quite sometime, as the majority of my children don’t require me to plan their social events any longer.  However, my youngest and I did celebrate this Valentine’s Day with a group of homeschooling families in our church.  Most of the kids were much younger, and I had time to contemplate the sweetness and wonder of this time of life.  Helping them make a box for their valentines, play games or get a cookie was different than it had been when my own kids were little.

I was also reminded that I receive abundant joy from entering into the joy of others.  Perhaps that is the way we are made?

I have been reading The Meaning of Marriage by Tim and Kathy Keller this week, and have been struck not only by its application for couples, but for relationships in general.  I know the Bible says we were made to serve God and others.  But Keller states:

That means paradoxically that if we try to put our own happiness ahead of obedience to God, we violate our own nature and become, ultimately, miserable.  Jesus restates the principle when he says, “Whoever wants to save his life shall lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25).  He is saying “If you seek happiness more than you seek me, you will have neither; if you seek to serve me more than serve happiness, you will have both.”

If I enter a marriage based on the happiness I think the other person will give me, I will end up disappointed.  If I enter marriage to serve my spouse, I may find lasting happiness.  This applies to other relationships, too.  Do I pursue the people in my life based on what they can give me?  Oh, my.  I hope not.  But I will be more purposeful in how I serve those around me, instead of how they can serve me.  How to do this?  The Holy Spirit.

Quoting from Keller again:

The Spirit’s work of making the gospel real to the heart weakens the self-centeredness in the soul.

The Holy Spirit also came up in Life Group this week, when we were studying Galatians 4:4-6:

…God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so we might receive adoption as sons.  And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!”

Christ redeemed us, and the Spirit continually reminds us of the truth of who we are in him.  And if we know this in our hearts, as well as in our minds, we can live as the beloved, empowered sons and daughters of the Most High.

I need the Holy Spirit to speak truth to me daily.  Through the Word, prayer and conversations.  Only then will I be able to serve as Jesus served,

…who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, ⁷ but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.

Philippians 2:6-7

 

Now, without further ado, some of the scenes that made my day special.

Loosening the grip.

My father used to ride motorcycles, but sold them a few years ago.  All but one.

I remember the phone call.  My dad told me he would like to offer the bike to Marcus.  He asked me how I felt about that, although he already knew.  I told him to call Marcus and ask him how he felt about it.  You can guess how Marcus felt.

The bike has sat in our garage for 3 years, and Marcus finally took motorcycle school last month.  His maiden voyage was a couple weeks ago.  I have had many people, especially women, ask me how I feel about it, although I think they already know.

In case you don’t know me well, or think I’m going through a midlife crisis and want to be a biker babe, I will state my feelings for the record:  I am not excited about my husband riding a motorcycle.

However, I don’t have to like it.  And God can use this to give me an opportunity to relinquish control.

I recall telling a young wife that her husband needed to wear the pants in the family.  She may think she makes better decisions sometimes, but she really needed to respect him, and not undermine his leadership in small ways she may not even notice.  You know.  Those little sarcastic remarks we make, either alone or in front of a group.  We may think we’re making light of a situation, but everyone looks a bit uncomfortable after we open our mouths.  This does not mean you never offer your opinion; you just don’t offer it 50 times.  When it comes down to the actual decision and it doesn’t go the way you had hoped, you need to let it go.

Why should we strive to love and honor our husband?  Because when we submit to him, we are putting ourselves under God’s authority.  When I was a young wife, an older woman discipled me and taught me this,  and it has been invaluable.  I am not talking about a wife in an abusive situation, but the everyday lives we live with our spouses, and the needs and wants we have that our husbands just don’t seem to be meeting.

Why does he want to to that with our money? 

Why doesn’t he appreciate me? 

Why did he tell the kids they could do that?

As for me, I want as safe and comfortable a life as possible.  God and Marcus don’t seem to think this is always their top priority.  My idea of biking is with a pedal bicycle with a comfort seat, and Marcus’ is with a big Harley.  I have to wonder that if I forced Marcus into my safe and comfortable box all the time, would it emasculate him somehow?  I’m not sure.  But he does seem to be a happier husband and a refreshed man when he gets a dose of hunting or horsepower.

Now this one is going WAY out there.  But I’m going there anyway, because we naturally go there, but we never finish.

During a Beth Moore study of Esther last year, she talked about fear.  She was worried about her husband having an affair, and she was a wreck.  Finally God forced her hand, and she started the “What if” game, but with a twist.  I will give my own example:

The what if:  Marcus has a fatal accident.

Then:  I would be broken.

Then what?  I would have to plan the funeral.  Then I would have to sell off his equipment.  I would sell the house.  I would look for a job.  I would find a place in town.  I would put the kids in school full time.  I would still grieve, but time would bring a lessening of the pain.  This would be an enormous upheaval and trauma for our family, but there would always be one constant:  God would be there,  consoling me, carrying me and guiding me through it.  Anything I may have been going to instead of Him would be stripped away, and it would just be Him and me.

We tend to be controlling when we face fear, because our fears make us face the fact we don’t have control.  Perfect love casts out fear, and no one has perfect love but God.  When we recognize this love for us, it can cast down those fears that grip our hearts.  So although I don’t recommend letting your mind wander when you are faced with a fearful situation, let your mind fix upon the One who loves you perfectly, and how he will continue to be faithful and show his love for you to the end of all things.  What did Corrie Ten boom say in The Hiding Place?

There is no pit so deep, that God’s love is not deeper still.

So even if my opinion of motorcycles remains unchanged, if God can loosen my grip on my own fears and controlling ways…I’m in.

I just looked up.

While reading King’s Cross by Tim Keller one evening, I looked up and realized the sun was setting, and its light was casting a warm glow over the room.

Beauty was all around me, and I almost missed it.

God has been gently taking me by the chin lately, and trying to show me His beauty.  I keep turning my head towards all the other things I want my affirmation from.  King’s Cross, conversations with other women, friend’s struggles and God knows what else is turning me inside out.  Pastor T asked us last week if we’ve ever had a moment when we felt pierced through for what Jesus has done for us.   I think I am coming to a closer understanding of it now, as the gospel continues to trickle from my head to my heart.

Are you living with a specific failure in your past that you feel guilty about and that you have spent your life trying to make up for?  Or perhaps you are more like Kafka:  not particularly religious, not especially immoral, yet you’re fighting that sense of your own inconsequentiality.  You might be doing it through religion or politics or beauty.  You might even be doing it through Christian ministry.  Doing, doing, doing from the outside in.  It won’t work.

Cast your deadly “doing” down-

Down at Jesus’ feet;

Stand in Him, in Him alone,

Gloriously complete.

King’s Cross, pg 84

Practicing.

Our perspective frequently does us a disservice.

It dictates our moods, how we relate to others, and how we think God perceives us.  Our perspective trumps Truth.

I just finished rereading One Thousand Gifts, which was the book we studied for our women’s group this summer.  The book recommended finding things to give thanks for, even in the midst of hard circumstances.  It isn’t calling evil things good, but reconciling the Truth that we have a good and sovereign God.  We need to change our default reaction to difficult situations.  Recognizing the way God shows his love for us can help us recapture (or just plain find for the first time) the joy we have in our salvation.

Yesterday I practiced giving thanks, and not despairing in my limited, human perspective of events.

After much deliberation, Marcus and I decided it was time to put our 13-year old lab down yesterday.  I guess I always thought there would be a definitive moment we knew we needed to put Jake to sleep.  There wasn’t; only a steady decline in his mobility, hearing, sight and control of bodily functions.  Regardless of his decline, Marcus and I didn’t feel we were being very merciful.

However, we had many good years with Jake.  He loved to hunt with Marcus, and was able to do so until this last year.  What a faithful pet he was, and I am thankful for the time we had him, even though he feigned deafness or not understanding English any time I issued a command.

I left after supper to take back 40 pounds of unopened dogfood, and have coffee with a friend (thankful), I received the first text of the evening:

“Matt spilled all the Botta Bing Cherry fingernail polish.  You should pick up some more.”

The next text:

“In your bathroom.  It’s fine now.”

Poor Matt had gotten something out of my bathroom cabinet, accidentally knocked my full bottle of Botta Bing Cherry off the shelf, which then shattered on the travertine tile.  He scrubbed and scrubbed with fingernail polish remover and a magic eraser.  It doesn’t look too bad.

Thankful.  Thankful for a son-in-law who loves our family enough that he takes time off from studying for his GRE to have a water balloon toss with my baby.  And yes, she is still my baby.

After my coffee date, I headed to Super Target.  Blueberries were on sale (thankful).  In the checkout line, I received a call from my youngest:

“Mom, the iron fell on my leg and burned it.  Katherine took care of it.  Can I watch a movie with her until you get home?”

No panic.  No tears.  I wondered, “How bad can it be?”

On the way home, I received a text from a friend I had been praying for.  We had been praying about her husband’s work, which had been very slow for a long time.  He had gotten a big job – the specific one we had prayed about.  Thankful, Lord.

I remembered I needed to touch base with another friend who had had a hard week.  I called to encourage her, and she ended up consoling me about Jake.  Funny how that works.  Thankful for that, too.

When I got home, a haze of smoke filled the air.  A sighing Katherine explained she had made the cherry dessert for her father’s birthday.  It had bubbled over in the oven and started smoking.  She had put aluminum foil on the bottom of the oven, but it was overcome.  She ended up putting cookie sheets under the cherry dessert pan, as evidenced by the concrete substance now permanently affixed to them.  When she had pulled the dessert out of the oven, it had spilled cherry juice into the bottom oven’s door, and all over the floor.  She had mopped repeatedly, but my flip flops stills adhered to the tile.

Thankful.  Thankful Katherine wants to make a dessert for her dad.  Thankful it was the night before I clean the kitchen.

Then I walked further into the house to find Rebecca.  She sat next to the light, so I could study The Burn on her thigh.  The perfect imprint of the iron.  The innermost part already peeling skin.  My stomach clenched.  She saw my face, and she worried more.  We looked up how to take care of it, and when to see a doctor.  She wasn’t in a lot of pain, so we dressed it and she slept on the floor of my room, because it made her feel better.  I didn’t know how she would be able to go shoot trap and ride ATV’s the next morning at my dad’s acreage for Marcus’ birthday.  I thought we should go to the doctor first.

This morning, The Burn looked better.  She felt OK.  Marcus said she would be fine, even though when he saw it he exclaimed “WHOA!”

Thankful.  Thankful it wasn’t worse.  Thankful she could go celebrate a birthday with sisters and daddy.  Thankful we can still go to the doctor this afternoon if we need to.

I need to keep practicing thankfulness, as I know worries will attempt to overcome me, and I will need to give them over to God.  And little by little, I pray the peace that passes understanding will be a permanent fixture in my life, and I can serve others through it, and give glory to my God.