GOD'S CANVAS

One of my favorites of Mother's oils

My mother's childhood and youth provided little opportunity for creative growth. She was the oldest of nine born (in a log cabin!) in arid eastern Montana to an impoverished immigrant farmer and his polio-disabled wife. Relatives with “means,” seeing she had little hope for a better future after finishing high school except to help with the large brood of siblings, asked her parents to send her to them—all the way from Montana (near North Dakota) to the southern border of Washington state.

The relatives promised to take good care of her—which they did in helping her attend a local college (for secretary skills) and—more important—a church. There she met a young man from the other side of Montana (Missoula) who had headed to the same town to begin the career in forestry for which college prepared him. He saw a jewel and put a jewel on her finger with the “death-do-us-part” wedding vow.

Their marriage bloomed with his nurturing love. She had untapped art skills, which he encouraged her to develop with lessons and equipment. As a result, our home became the museum for her works, many of them picturing the mountains that my dad, raised in the shadow of Montana's Rockies, loved. I wonder if, while painting this one, she imagined the fish under the waves that he would have hooked to bring home for supper!

The two daughters that their marriage produced didn't result in more artists (rather, a teacher and an editor). But upon our parents' deaths we had canvas reminders of their roots. When my sister and I divided the family artwork after their deaths, this artwork was one I wanted to keep. Not just for the raw beauty of the mountains, but also for how it reminded me of this scripture:

I will lift up mine eyes until the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1-2)

The rest of the psalm affirms God's protective and preserving power—attributes I clung to when, at age 31, I found myself orphaned. Mom died of cancer, and six months later, Dad of a heart attack. As I moved into their home to empty it and prepare it for sale, that meant all my mother's artwork needed re-homed. My sister and I kept some and offered others to interested relatives. Hard to believe, now, that this happened nearly five decades ago.

Art is such a strange occupation. At one time, there were true craftsmen whose works almost replicated photographs (unheard of in their centuries!). Then came an era of scribbles and scrabbles that the artist claimed, “This shows what I felt inside.” I'm glad Mom chose to represent God's creation “as is,” in all its splendor. I must add that my Dad—the more “left-brained” of their marriage (meaning logical) was definitely the contrast to mother's “right-brained” (creative) side.

And that's also a reminder that “labels” about our personality aren't always accurate. God made each of us unique blends...there's not another like us on the planet. The same could be said for the untold number of landscapes (or portraits) that artists have attempted to transfer onto canvases, to “freeze” the moment of beauty. None are the same.

I've heard it said of someone who struggles with life, “Well, he (or she) is really a 'work in progress.'” But isn't that true of all of us, especially those who believe in, trust in, and desire to follow God's ways? The best part of it is this: He holds the brush, we are His canvas, waiting for His amazing plan to be brought to life.

My dad, born in 1915, would have been 111 this past week. He died at 63. Here's a fun fact of their courtship. After a date, they'd be sitting in his car as the night (and curfew) came. The relatives she stayed with would send out a little daughter to sing under the car window, "Good night, Irene, goodnight"--a song of that era.

STEPPING ON SHORE....

The words in this blog's title have been in-and-out of my heart lately. One reminder is an oil painting hanging above my guest-room bed, featuring a seascape at either dawn or sunset. From my perspective of living on the West Coast, I think “sunset” (over the Pacific) is correct. But each time I see it, the lyrics of a contemporary song about heaven come to mind—the one that urges us to think about stepping ashore somewhere, and finding it heaven. Having said those “earthly goodbyes” to dear loved ones—parents, in-laws, spouse, other much-loved people—the song is especially poignant to me.

So how did I acquire such a lovely painting? Well, it was a gift, a very unexpected one, from a block-away neighbor with artistic talent who also had a studio to teach others in her home. Now, she is “on her way “Home,” her skills eroded by the inevitable decline of body and brain, living out her last days in a care home.

But memories remain, and some of them are quite fun. When that neighbor and her husband went away on vacation, they looked around and decided my kids were the best candidates for “house-watching.” So the very important key to their lovely home came to us, along with instructions of how to test the in-ground pool's water and add chlorine. She wanted the water “stirred up” once in a while, which was a euphemism for “go ahead and swim, just make sure an adult is there with kids.” My then-early-teen kids were thrilled.

Did I mention our duties also included kitty-cat care, twice a day? My son, the ultimate cat-lover, assigned himself that task, gaining the affection of their fluffy alley cat, named “Ninety-nine” for getting to be so old. She didn't just want to be petted. When my son pulled off his tee-shirt to “stir up the pool waters,” the cat was soon thoroughly sniffing his shirt with all its wonderful youthful perspiration odors. Not just sniffing. Rolling herself all over it with somewhat warped enthusiasm. It was a good, fun memory.

Someone else now lives in that house. The former owners are in a care facility, a safe place for those whose minds and bodies are fading. Soon to step on the “spiritual shore” of Heaven. Thus I recall the music and lyrics to a 50-year-old hymn named “Finally Home,” which begins, “when engulfed by the terror of tempestuous sea.” Don Wyrtzen and L.E. Singer are credited as the musician and poet for the song, copyrighted in 1971. Here is one online video of its performance: Bing Videos

What will happen to this lovely, framed gift when I've stepped on that “shore”? I don't know. I'm just grateful that for many years, it's provided a quiet reminder that there's something more when we “sleep in death.” And how ironic, that its place of honor is above....a bed.

FACE TO FACE....

The amazing story behind a beloved hymn.

At that last breath that separates “now” from eternity—what will we behold? Those of us who've had loved ones pass through that sacred curtain consider that question. My own family losses have made one particular hymn especially poignant: “Face to Face.” Its title references the apostle Paul's teaching at the end of his “love chapter” (1 Corinthians 13) about changes in eternity when we will know the full expression of God's love:

Now we see but a poor reflection; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. (v. 12)

The phrase “face to face” also deeply touched a homemaker and mother of five, Carrie Breck, who in her precious spare time in those days of labor-intensive homemaking (imagine life without your kitchen and laundry appliances!) managed to compose the lyrics to between 1,400 and 1,500 hymns! Oh yes, add in a giant move from her “roots” in New Jersey to Portland, Oregon. Did I mention when she lived? Her life spanned from 1855 to 1934—long before modern appliances that speed the chores of home and family.

Unknown to Mrs. Breck, some friends had invited a young music evangelist, Grant Tullar, to their home for a quick super of leftovers before he continued revival meetings at their church. The hosts knew Tullar loved jelly, so passed the jar to him. Smiling, he said, “So, this is all for me, is it?” Just like that, the idea for a hymn started coming. Going to his hosts' piano, on the spot Tullar composed the words and melody for a hymn that began “All for me the Savior suffered;/All for me He bled and died.” That night he reportedly sang that new hymn at the services he was leading.

Hang on...talk about timing. The next morning's mail brought him a packet of poems by a Mrs. Beck. One began, “Face to face with Christ my Savior;/Face to face what will it be?” As he read her poem, he realized its poetic cadence fit the same music score that he'd written (with words beginning “All for me”) the day before. At services that night, he sang her words to his hymn melody instead of his own. As they say, the rest is history.

This amazing story of timing, and of lyrics and poem matching—well, it had to be a God-thing. And I also think of how, someday, in what Mrs. Breck called “the by and by,” I too, will face Him in all His glory. Face to face! I can't even imagine it—yet.

Sing along with this You-Tube: Bing Videos

BLUE GOLD

I don't have much of a green thumb—my small food-growing space has no rows of carrots, corn, or even kohlrabi. (What's kohlrabi? 😁Enlarge your knowledge of vegetables here: What Is Kohlrabi? Everything You Need to Know ). But my yard does host some wonderful edibles: namely, blueberries. Planted several decades ago, this year five of my seven plants have “earned their keep” with a good crop.

With its arid climate, my hometown isn't real friendly to thirsty blueberries. But this past year I followed a hint to spread at their roots the used grounds from my morning coffee “brewing.” Between that, and a healthy “bee visitation” for pollination, I held hopes for my best yield ever. I also spread a net over the bushes to keep the robins from beating me to the ripening “blue gold.”

I wasn't disappointed. Now, when I lift that net and pick blueberries in the cool of the morning or early evening, I can usually harvest a couple or three cups at a time. While picking or packing away in the freezer, I sometimes think of the spiritual lessons my blueberry patch offers. One, of course, is their inherent “goodness.” Just one cup (84 calories), besides being high in Vitamin K1 (for bone and heart health), also boosts immunities. The analogy: a regular intake of scriptures is “blueberries for the soul.” Also, several fruitful plants are better than one. God created us to live in community, to help and bless others. We were created to bear spiritual fruit (the whole point of John 15), not just be woody old branches sittin' there.

Oh yes, my plants have some “woody old branches” from their original planting, but they are supporting the new growth of leafed, fruit-bearing limbs. This reminds me that you can't just stagnate on an old original “planting” (as in a long-ago spiritual "decision"). Those early stems must reproduce more living twigs to support the plant's future blossoms and eventual berries. There's no tolerance for the attitude, “Well, I prayed the conversion prayer back a few years ago and that should be good enough.” Spiritual growth means expansion and fruit-bearing.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get some breakfast. I make my own granola cereal. With fresh blueberries and some milk, oh my—breakfast is the best.

BALANCING ACTS

How do they do it—I mean, birds, able to outshine human circus performers with their ability to balance a big body (relatively speaking) on a tiny branch? Or even that precarious ledge of a bird feeder? I am challenged to balance on a bike. If you really want to get into the anatomy of balanced birds, hold on:

*They have anisodactyl foot structure. Three toes point forward, one (called the “hallux”) back. That gives them a better grip and balance on a branch.

*They have a flexor tendons that tighten when they land and bend knee and ankle. The tightening is enhanced by tiny ridges, “tubercies,” and other things that secure the grip.

*They have scutellae (this is really getting into scientific terms!), which are rough scales on their toes and feet that help them grip on smooth or narrow perches.

*They have a tail (well, duh!) that acts as a counterbalance adjustment for the bird's center of gravity.

Caution: don't try this yourself on a local tree. You lack some of the necessary anatomical equipment. But maybe there's a picture here of how we can “get a grip on life” when we land precariously in a tough place. Or how we want to be really close and personal with God—depending on Him and trusting in Him.

I'm grateful God didn't put “bird legs” on humans but an amazing complex foot that can do all sorts of wonderful stuff (although clinging to a narrow tree branch isn't in the list). “Clinging” (not the bird type) is a very Biblical concept. In the original Hebrew, it's dabeq, which means “to cleave, to adhere to.” David used the term in Psalm 63:8. In the King James version, it's rendered, “My soul followed hard after thee.” The NIV translates: “I stay close to you; your right hand upholds me.” We might paraphrase, “God, I've landed in a precarious place. I want to be really close to You, depending on You and trusting in You.”

That psalm's background adds perspective to that sense of agitation in the midst of trust. David probably wrote it when he was the wilderness of Judah, likely in a lot of personal distress in his long siege of avoiding King Saul's wrath and murderous search for him.

It's been said of super-busy or super-desperate people that they are “trying to find balance.” And maybe that's where the little bird (whose top-heavy body somehow achieves “balance” with those thin, spindly legs) can teach us something. It's not all about our effort when we find ourselves in a precarious position. God has equipped us to find the right grip in places that defy our spiritual balance. We don't have a bird's amazing anatomy, but we do have God's presence and Word. He can strengthen our “grip” on the fragile branches of life. And He can help us find the balance to stay steady when, instead of flying high, we're to sit and wait for His next instruction.

NO WOUND, NO SCAR?

Keep reading about a woman who wanted a bird bath over her grave. (This isn't hers—but the one in my front yard, just for illustration .)

When people encounter what they consider unfair remarks or relationships, they're apt to use these four words: Why me? Why this? But a selfless woman of a century ago provided the probing reply: “No Wound? No Scar?” Those familiar with the life and works of Amy Carmichael will immediately recognize them as from her writings. For those not aware of her: she was an Irish Christian missionary to India, who in 1901 founded the Dohnavur Fellowship. This was a sanctuary through which she would rescue more than 1,000 vulnerable children and young women from Hindu temple prostitution rites.

In addition to supervising the daily housing, feeding, and emotional care of her “rescued,” she formed a Protestant religious order to assist her.

In 1931, she prayed, “God, please do with me whatever you want. Do anything that will help me to serve you better.” That day she fell, suffering fractures of her leg and ankle, and badly injuring her hip and back. Those injuries, plus neuralgia, left her bedridden for the rest of her life. Yet she continued to run the rescue mission from her bedroom. Her “children” and staff affectionately called her “Amma” or Mother, although she never married or had children herself. Her work eventually led, in 1948, to the outlawing of child prostitution in India.

Before dying in 1951 at age 83, she'd requested no stone to mark her burial place. Instead, those she'd rescued put over her grave site a birdbath engraved with her endearing title, Amma. But her faith and spirit continue to teach through her writings, particularly a poem about spiritual sacrifice titled “Hast Thou No Scar?” It's put to music in this You-tube video: Bing Videos

The heart-piercing line in her poem is this: “Can he have followed far who hast no wound or scar?”

The Fellowship still exists, with about 500 people on 400 acres, 16 nurseries, and a hospital. A recent website about the mission is here: Bing Videos For a deeper look into her life and mission, there is her biography A Chance to Die, by the late, honored author Elisabeth Elliot.

Amy Carmichael's biography still inspires, with its message of generational faithfulness. That's also the message behind a song by a well-known contemporary musician, Steve Green. Listen to it here (and reflect on your own calling): Bing Videos

MORNING'S GLORY

It's all through my front lawn, the invasive weed called “Morning Glory.” Yes, “buddies” with the dandelions. And no matter how hard I try to keep up, these “natural invaders” hang around. I'm not chained to the ideal of a weed-free lawn, nor of the perfect life. This side of Heaven, there will be imperfection. Trouble. Financial challenges. Grief and mourning. Unwanted relational weeds. But Jesus put perspective on it: “I have told you these things : “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

When did He say that? Right before His arrest, hours before His crucifixion! Did His disciples remember those words in the midst of that commotion? Not very well at that time, as they scattered in the surprise visit of an arresting posse. But John never forgot the promise, including it in his account of Jesus' life and teachings.

Sadly, it was the next morning (after a sleepless night being pushed around to a farce of an alleged criminal court), that Jesus writhed in dying agony on an execution cross usually reserved for the worst of the worst among criminals.

Then came Easter morning, at the tomb where He was hastily interred, and the melodious voice of an angel (I wonder what it sounded like!): He is not here. He is risen, just as He said! I'm grateful that breathtaking announcement was included in all four Gospels. The nightmare of the night turned into the glory of the morning!

Even before Easter gave special celebration to the time-frame called morning, those whose inspired writings became our Bible gave special attention to morning.

*As a way to start the day with prayer and trust: “In the morning, LORD, you will hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly' (Psalm 5:3).

*As a reminder of God's mercy, and joy after hardship: “Weeping may last for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).

*To celebrate God's never-failing compassion: “Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23).

What more can I say? Except: “Glory!”

FOLDEROL!

Remember the plastic flutes (also called "tonettes" or "recorders") for many music classes in elementary school? I still have one in the “toy stash” I keep for my grandsons. Oh, so squawky and primitive! Wonderful play item! Seeing it in their toy bins (oh, does it bring on the little-grandboy- giggles!) reminds me of an old-fashioned reed flute of long-ago, and its owner playing a nonsense song called a falderal or folderol. When a singer needed to inject some whimsy into his or her song, the choice was a frivolous interlude, like la-la-la-la. The “o” version (“folderol”) is now more commonly applied to sayings about actions or words that make something seem to be more important than it really is.

Its earliest known use in literature was a 1701 play (Farquhar's Sir Harry Wildair). Today, the old name "folderol" carries the idea of nonsense or foolishness. Besides the spontaneous speaking or singing in silly old songs (like “tra-la-la”), the term "folderol" is used for describing cheap knickknacks (also called “trifles” or “gewgaws”) or celebrations that go overboard with decorations and refreshments.

If you want to adopt that word into your vocabulary and sound sophisticated, you can learn more about it at this site: FOLDEROL Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Website . But I lean toward “simple”--and so did Jesus. In His Sermon on the Mount, He taught in plain language. He used everyday examples to convey deep spiritual truths: “The Kingdom of God is like.....” He didn't make a big show of ministry, not even His miracles of healing people or raising the dead. No folderol. Just mercy and a miracle.

“Folderol” can have its negative implication, too, when someone speaks loosely and/or negatively to or about someone else, without considering the repercussions of that wounding. Instead, Colossians 4:6 counsels, ”Let your words be seasoned with grace”--meaning kindness, wisdom, thoughtfulness, and reflecting Jesus. “When there are many words, transgression is unavoidable,” says Proverbs 10:19, “but he who restrains his lips is wise.”

Thus, not the negative “grr-grr-grr,” but conversations continually passed through the screen of “what would Jesus do?” Not wounding, empty or worthless “folderol,” which can come across squawky, like those old plastic recorders we had in grade school. Instead, words that reflect the harmonious grace and mercy of our Savior, worthy of Heaven's audience.

MORNING 'JOY MEDICINE'

Need a boost? Check out this old video of the song “Zippity Do Dah” from a 1946 Disney animated film (skip any preceding ads): original zippity do dah disney song - Search  Also, multiple renditions at Bing Videos . This selection featuring one quick cartooned clip always amuses me: Bing Videos. It's enjoyed a renewal in other Disney promotions and even a Muppet Show airing. Though the film version of the real “Johnny” (real name, John Chapman, 1774-1845) bent a lot of facts, it still provided a message of “joy in nature” that is common in American folklore.

This classic little song came to mind recently when I found a negative message in my daily E-mail. In putting it up to the "truth test," I  thanked the Lord that He fully knew me, that the message was warped, and that His love was big enough to cover me and help me pray for the unhappy sender. I can't stroll through an orchard singing like an animated “Johnny Appleseed,” but I can seek reminders to invite joy into my life. And in that journey-to-joy, the Lord lovingly reminds me that He is pleased with me.

I guess it's the difference (as one writer put it) between “Good morning, Lord” and the negative, “Grr, morning again.”

I tend to awaken early, and in warmer weather when the window is open, I savor the sounds emerging with day's beginning, especially the local birds chorusing to each other from nearby trees. I ease into my day. I don't pop on the radio or television, or quickly scan E-mail right off. I remember of Matthew 6:26: “Look at the birds of the air. They do not sow or reap or gather into barns—and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” My day begins, quietly, with Him--"fed" by scripture and prayer.

Here's a little-known fact about the apple trees Chapman (“Johnny Appleseed”) left in his planting journeys. He adhered to a religion outside of orthodox Christianity, and he didn't believe in techniques like grafting to improve his apples. Thus, the trees he planted reportedly produced small and bitter apples, useful only for cider, not the sweeter apple dishes like pies. However, his trees' cider was nutritious, and lots safer to drink than local water available in the late 1700s/early 1800s.

Well, every history story has its darker side, this one included. But this real-life yet legendary man was out there doing something to help others. And history took note. Which is to conclude: how will my life have made a difference? At my funeral, will people mention “fruits” (the spiritual type, not apples!)? Will they say that I tried to lift up Jesus? Or, to borrow from Disney's song, had I invited the bluebird of Christ-joy (“the truth, exactly”) to come along on my shoulder?

----------

To recall the song, try these links. Skip the sandwich ad beforehand at Bing Videos . There are multiple renditions at Bing Videos

WONDER-BREAD

 “God will provide”--how often have your heard someone say that, maybe glibly or with the strain of unbelief from being in a tight spot? Or maybe that phrase brings up the Biblical account of Jesus feeding the multitudes without any supermarket or even a carnival-style food circus nearby.

Sometimes such questions lead me to a quest to find answers—and this was one. Basic truth: there were two occasions when huge crowds who'd come to hear His teaching found their stomachs rumbling and no fast-food places nearby. And Jesus delivered—not with a little car sporting a “pizza” bonnet on its hood. He acted with divine compassion and provision, miraculously multiplying meals shared in the crude woven baskets of that time.

Both “feedings” occurred in the vicinity of the Sea of Galilee, but here are some of the differences.

CIRCUMSTANCES

#1 (5,000)--Jesus had just learned of the execution of His cousin, John the Baptist. Understandably, Jesus and His disciples got away to a deserted place. But even before modern communications, human word-of-mouth traveled like electricity. Soon, multitudes (mostly Jewish) followed, hoping for healing and teaching. Soon, they were hot and famished.

#2 (4,000)--This event took place later in Jesus' ministry, and occurred in a predominantly Gentile region. After three days of healing and teaching, the large crowd was famished with no local provisions.

LOCATION

#1: The 5,000 were fed near Bethsaida, the north end of the Sea of Galilee Just west around the road a bit is Capernaum, where Jesus spent a lot of ministry time. This was also considered Jewish territory.

#2: The 4,000 were fed in a desolate region of Decapolis, southeast of the Sea of Galilee. The crowds here were mostly Gentiles. That general area is where He healed a demoniac plus a deaf-mute man.

FOOD VENDOR

#1. Thanks to a little boy offering his lunch, the disciples had five little barley loaves (typically the size of a hand, weighing 2-3 pounds and one-fourth inch thick) and two small fish among them, barely enough for their own snack. Certainly not enough for the multitude that had swelled to 5,000, sweating and famished in a desolate area.

#2. This time, the disciples had seven loaves and a few fish that Jesus miraculously multiplied.

LEFTOVERS SYMBOLS

#1: From five small loaves/two fish, twelve baskets of leftovers were gathered. Some have noted that those numbers match the five books of the law and the twelve tribes of Israel.

#2. From the seven loaves/a few fish, there were seven baskets of leftovers. Possible symbol: seven days of creation, and the “completeness” of God's work.

DEEPER SYMBOLISM

The events were powerful demonstration of Jesus' compassion, divine authority, and mission to a needy world, including Jews and Gentiles. As the bread and fish were broken apart, they also foreshadowed His own broken/wounded body when crucified to be our new Provider and Sustainer.

My little “digging” about the background of this miracle led me to reflect about how easily we skip over deep truths revealing the power and love of God. Yes, even how a little boy's lunch made history. And--what could He do with my "little," given up?

'SOCK' IT TO ME....

No, all these socks aren't mine. I brought them home from my son's home while they were away for a few days. As a good “house-watcher” for a super-busy family, I add a few “helpful touches” when I go to their house to bring in the mail and check on their pet cat and bunny. Cat is happy if I scoop food into its bowl and “gifts” out of its litter box. Bunny is happy if I reach in his cage, scratch his head, and make sure he has fresh water, enough bunny food, and a quick snack (carrot or celery) from the family refrigerator for a “comfort treat.”

My full-service Mom-Grandma-House-watcher role also extends to sorting baskets of just-washed-and-dried laundry brought up from the basement washer-dryer.  My “rule” when house-tending when they're away is NO going down the steep stairs to the laundry area itself. A fall resulting in a bone-crunch (things you think about as you age) would not be a happy scenario for an all-alone house-checker. But freshly-washed-and-dried laundry, waiting in the living room, is fair game for doing a helpful chore.

This time, as I started in on a full bin of socks, I realized they were still a bit damp. So, I brought them home and hung them on my outdoor clothesline to get “nature's dryer” at work. While doing that, I smiled to think of the colloquial saying, “Sock it to me.” The common meaning is “prove it to me” or “bring it on.” It implies that you're ready for a challenge, or maybe a “course correction” that might not be pleasant but worthy of a kind rebuke to improve your outlook or behavior. Of the latter, Proverbs 17:10 (ESV) observes:

A rebuke goes deeper into a man of understanding than a hundred blows into a fool.

That is to say: consider your response to correction and guidance. Do you bristle with defense of your challenged behavior? Or are you willing to consider a necessary change? Another thought: is the person who is pointing out a “soiled” attitude or behavior, a godly example themselves? Are they reaching out in love and care as opposed to selfish offense?

One more thing about line-pinned laundry (the clean type). When I've hung out laundry on a sunny, breezy day, there's a special sense of inhaled “freshness” when I gather the dried results. I usually pair-up socks when I pin them to the line, saving a step when they're dry and taken down. What if I can't find a “match”? Well, orphans happen in a busy household. That's why they have a special basket for the all-alone socks to hopefully someday reunite with its mate. And maybe there's a lesson here, too, about patience. Or letting-go.

THEFT PROTECTION

I think one of my grandsons is a blueberry fan. He recently inspected my half-dozen berry bushes behind the garage, asking when he could eat some. I told him later this summer, when green berries turn blue! Oh, disappointment. The bushes are currently draped in netting to discourage birds from early sampling. Last year I had a pitifully small crop. This year will be better—if the robins pay attention to the net “barrier.” One year the birds were so eager for a taste that they wiggled at ground level under the net to steal!

Maybe there is a correlation between my net to discourage robins from sampling my berries, and the mental and spiritual “net” of scripture memory I try to use in my own life to discourage "spiritual-fruit-robbers" and to encourage spiritual growth. From the beginnings of “memory verses” in childhood Sunday school class, the practice took on deeper meaning when, as an adult, I was exposed to the scripture memory disciplines advocated by The Navigators ministry. 

This ministry began in 1933 after a California lumberyard worker named Dawson Trotman experienced a personal conversion to Christianity in his late teens. Leaving behind habits of theft and alcohol, he took his new faith seriously, focusing on evangelism among teenagers and U.S. Navy sailors (hence the ministry's “Navigator” double-meaning name). His Bible studies, emphasizing mentoring and spiritual multiplication, would spread throughout the world. One distinctive ministry tool was its business-card-size plastic pocket containing verses to memorize and review.

Two ways to do it: 3x5 cards or
smaller cards in a pocket packet

Trotman eventually worked with many other evangelical leaders of his day. His life ended in June 1956, at age 50, at a conference at a New York state lake. A camper who'd tried to water-ski began drowning. Though not a swimmer himself, Trotman plunged into the lake to save her but drowned himself. As his wife Lila suddenly came on the scene, a close friend shouted, “Oh, Lila...He's gone. Dawson's gone.” Instead of breaking down in shock and sorrow, she replied calmly with the heart-guarding, memorized words of Psalm 115:3: “But our God is in the heavens; He does whatever He pleases.”

My observation: like that blueberry net, “spiritual theft protection.” Not a life lost, but a redemptive life lived. A mature fruit, picked, used by God, for nurturing others to spiritual maturity. A man who practiced “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:15-16).

*This web page about The Navigator has a biography and photo of Trotman: History of The Navigators

LABELS

I still chuckle over certain scenes from the 1965 film, “The Sound of Music,” featuring an inexperienced but perceptive novice-turned nanny, “Maria,” played by Julie Andrews. She's come to the mansion of a widowed military captain and his seven children, who are are summoned (by military whistle) to line up like soldiers, by age, to meet her. 

One by one, they step forward to announce their name, plus the behavioral labels either their father or previous nanny had given them.(1) One of the boys says, I”m Friedrich and I'm impossible.” Another says, “I'm Kurt, I'm eleven and I'm incorrigible.” Then he asks the new nanny, “What does 'incorrigible' mean?” The new nanny replies that it's a term for “someone who wants to be treated as a boy.”

In viewing that movie clip recently (oh, the warm fuzzy memories of that film) I found myself remembering labels others gave me. Graduating high school in the top ten of my class, I glowed under the labels of “scholar” and “concert-mistress of the orchestra.” As the years progressed, with more education and jobs, I was encouraged and motivated by those who recognized my passions, hard work, and desire to work as a “team member” in the company or academic setting.

But God wasn't finished with me. He led me into other chapters of life around people who couldn't push past life's difficult places, and who unfairly blamed others for their failures and unhappiness. I wearied from dealing with their anger issues and blaming behaviors. These trials also pushed me closer to my Heavenly Father, Who knew my heart and also heard my continuing prayers for such people. His Spirit's role as “Comforter” became more real.

This topic has recently returned to my heart as I re-read a classic Christian “journey” book. Most people know about John Bunyan's allegory, “Pilgrim's Progress” (first published 1678) and its main character's refining trials on the journey to the “Celestial City” (Heaven). The book I read, Hinds' Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard (copyright 1955), is much like it. The main character named “Much Afraid” journeys through danger and hard terrain to the “High Place” that is an analogy for Heaven. “Much Afraid” doesn't travel alone, but with two companions named “Sorrow” and “Suffering.” After she reaches the summit, conquering her many fears, she returns to her valley of service, transformed by her trials and now given a new name by her loving Shepherd.

As you might guess, the Shepherd is symbolic of the Lord Jesus, and her journey up the mountain (to grow in faith through trials) is simply preparation to return to her valley in service to Him.

If you've never read these books, consider doing so. Allegories about the Christian walk are powerful teachers—and incentives for our own “pilgrim's progress” which may push us onward through the tedious spiritual journey of “this world” to the heaven-pointing “High Places” closer to God. It's what turns “incorrigible” into the “possible” of a mature relationship with God. To a someday celestial scene where we can step forward and say, “I'm (name), and I am beloved in His sight.”

Speaking of names, don't forget the golden clue Revelation 2:17 gives us about names in Heaven: “To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone with a new name written on it, which no one knows except the one who receives it.”

By the way, the main character of Hinds' Feet on High Places, at the end of the book is given a new name. No longer known as “Much Afraid,” she becomes “Grace and Glory.” How fitting, How beautiful.

(1) Enjoy this memorable “Sound of Music” movie scene again online: Bing Videos

HOW BEAUTIFUL...

Yes, how beautiful, the first roses of spring in my yard. Each a unique creation, with delicately painted petals that display water droplets like diamonds.

I guess I'm in a poetic mood this morning, surveying the flowers and grass, noticing the gray sky will probably provide the “watering” today instead of my yard hoses. I've lived or worked earlier in life in what would be called the “concrete jungles”--the packed together office buildings, crowded sidewalks and congested, grimy streets. Now, I'm grateful for dirt and grass...and flowers.

It's not perfect. Vermin—rats--have dug under my house and I'm diligently trying to get rid of them. Yes, it was unnerving to realize this—when I heard “skittering” in the hall ceiling and then a stampede up the wall between the bathroom tub and kitchen sink. The battle of “bad bait” began. It seems to be working.

For all the decades I've lived in this small city, this is my first big experience with the “yucks” of rodents. At one time, there was a huge vacant lot behind my home. No doubt “critters” abundantly homesteaded there. Our cat nabbed a few! Then the land was bulldozed to put in stacks of townhouses. Guess where the disturbed vermin migrated.....

Yes, I sense a lesson in this. How we want our lives perfect, free of care and danger that “chew” at our well-being and leave emotional debris behind. But we live in a word tainted by sin and people who chew at what we value: our “person-hood” and self esteem, our safety, our hope. We want full “eradication” of such spiritual enemies. It's in the Divine Plan—but not yet. Only in the perfect spiritual timeline when Jesus returns to reign.

From time to time, science and photography provide us with breathtaking photos of our home planet, like these: photos of earth from space - Search Such views were unimaginable to people among whom Jesus lived during His earth-time, eking out a living in a mostly-barren landscape.

Our globe still has places where few can live: deserts, dangerous swamps, and places destroyed by war.

But we still have places where we can plant beauty. Not just flowers and crops (ever marveled at the wind pushing waves across a field of grain?), but the everyday living of kind words and actions. Refusing to let the “vermin” of ill will or unrealistic expectations spoil the possibility of peace and harmony. And then—how beautiful, the family of God.

Listen to Twila Paris sing “How Beautiful” here in a 2011 recording (skip through the first unrelated ads):

Bing Videos

GOT GUTTATION?

Unless you're a biology whiz, I'll bet you've never heard the term “guttation.” It has nothing to do with cleaning the innards (“gutting”) of a freshly-caught fish, in preparation for cooking it for dinner. Instead, “guttation” is the releasing (the scientific word is “exudation”) of drops of fluid from the tips or edges of leaves of some “vascular plants” and fungi. The “vascular plants” are so called because they have tissues that help a plant transport water, minerals and nutrients—something like the human body. These include species like club-mosses, horsetails, ferns, and some seed plants. If this subject gets you excited, you can learn the basics at this web site: typical vascular plants - Search

This photo doesn't nail it for illustrating “guttation,” as the plant shown didn't necessarily have the “veins” to release all this hydration—just a waxy surface to hold rainwater droplets for a while. But “guttation” is a real thing in the plant world. It's also somewhat of an analogy of a Biblical principle, that giving from overflow reflects God's abundant blessings and generosity.

Probably the best-known Bible verse of abundant giving is this:

“Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,” says the Lord Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.” (Malachi 3:10)

Others:

“Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Luke 6:38)

“God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” (2 Corinthians 9:8)

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us.” (Ephesians 3:20)

My head spun a bit to learn about circulation systems in growing green things. I took biology in high school and college, but the facts I absorbed didn't apply to my vocation. They got buried (like dead plants!) Still, there's a whole world of discovery out there regarding God's immeasurably complex and delightful creation. Like plants that have “transport systems,” akin to the veins and arteries threading through our own bodies.

To bring this to a spiritual close--”Got godly guttation?” Am I responding to God's overflow of blessing, hope, and ability by reaching out to my parched world?

NATURE'S PARADE

Azaleas in my yard

As I write (early May) it's festival time in my valley. Every year, in celebration of spring and my home valley's orchard industry, promoters put on an “Apple Blossom Festival” with teen “royalty” and three parades (classic cars, youth-focused entries, and the grander 100-entry state-wide floats and marching bands). Oh yes, also a food festival which takes over the huge, well-groomed courthouse lawn for a couple weeks. (It recovers, thanks to diligent groundskeepers.) The influx of tourist dollars helps the economy. And yes, it is a sort of “whew” that bids goodbye to winter's chill and hello to spring and summer delights.

I smile to see my son continue some family festival traditions from his childhood. One is buying his family the finger-dusting pastry creation that's basically a glob of dough dribbled into hot oil, then sprinkled with powdered sugar. We know it as “funnel cakes”; it's a variation of the Italian chiacchiere-- messy to eat, but who's to quarrel with an annual tradition​?

It's sensory overload—all the classic cars, floats and their waving community “queens,” bands, drill teams, horses, carnival food, plus a real visiting “carnival” at one end of town with its classic array of noisy thriller rides.

Our local event reminds me of the first parade I remember attending, probably around age five, in the early 1950s. My family at that time lived about an hour's drive from the famed Rose Parade in Pasadena. My dad was able to buy reserved bleacher seats, which enabled us “little ones” to really see the parade going by. I have dim memories of my television Western heroes—Roy and Dale Rogers—waving while riding the same beautiful horses used on their then-black-and-white TV Western adventure show.

Yes, parades are exciting and glamorous. But there's a quiet parade I enjoy even more. It happens every spring in my yard when the grass, shrubs and flowers awaken from their winter naps. Color returns—not just green, but red, orange, pink, yellow. I recall this quote by Thomas Merton (1915-1968), an American Trappist monk, mystic, poet, and author:

Let us come alone to the splendor that is all around us, and see the beauty in ordinary things.

Rhododendron in my yard

Those “ordinary things” include nature's floral beauty....plus things like the morning light, a bird singing a greeting to the sunrise, a shared meal, and quiet connections. It's simpler life without the television blaring or fighting rush-hour traffic on the highway.

It's okay to come together as a community and celebrate. Besides my city's festival, another city about 30 miles west celebrates even more. Leavenworth has a spring “Mai fest” with the ribbon-winding pole dance. Its “Oktoberfest,” besides the ooh-and-ah of mountain landscapes turning yellow and red, amps up the Bavarian music with performances of the long alpenhorns. Its “Winter Karneval” with half a million downtown lights marks a German tradition back to the 13^th century.

Community spirit is a good thing. But beyond such celebrations, we should never lose sight of the ability to celebrate heaven's blessings. All around us are good and celebration-worthy gifts: sky, water, plants and trees, friendships and family--generously God-provided.

SURPRISE!

Who would have expected this—a pert little pansy squeezing out of a cement crack in my home's foundation? Yet there it was, just inches from the porch that leads to my front door. I didn't plant it, though “nature” might have, via last year's “pansy family” just across the walkway in wooden pots. Those former plants, removed after the first frost, had just been replaced with new, just-blooming pansies punched out of a plant nursery's plastic tray “starting bed.” My tiny surprise “volunteer” had to be an offspring of last year's pansies, somehow wind-seeded there and now growing out of the “crack.”

My surprise pansy won't last long. It gets full afternoon sun and will soon wither. But it will help me smile for a week or so as I go in and out of the house. It reminded me of an old saying about resilience: “Bloom where you are planted.” Even though I didn't plant this particular flower, it celebrated its “pansy personality” in the most unlikely way.

“Bloom” can be a verb meaning “to open, blossom, sprout, or mature.” The saying is often a metaphor for people who thrive despite challenging environments. Their lives aren't perfect—maybe because of a family situation or their own problems—but the possibility of shining-forth in the world is still out there. They adapt. Persist. Produce fruit (or blooms) despite life's tough places. Bring special beauty to this often ragged world.

We don't always have a choice in where our lives are “planted.” Family tragedies, poor personal choices, and things beyond our control may plop us in a “life garden” we never expected. But God remains the Master Gardener. His “garden care” for life includes:

*Staying rooted in Him, focused on growing spiritual strength, not on our circumstances.

*Becoming fruitful wherever He plants us. Classic spiritual quote on this: Jeremiah 17:7-8—the passage that starts with God's declaration, “For I know the plans I have for you”--with its analogy of a tree planted by a nourishing source of water.

Before long, the heat coming off the cement sidewalk will “cook “ this pansy to a withered stem. Yet--despite its brief life of blooming in a very unlikely, hostile place—I am grateful. It didn't pout or complain. It just lifted up its happy face to declare in a quiet way: No matter how long I last, despite my negative “planting place,” I will do what I was created to do: glorify God the Creator.

By the way, the saying “Bloom where you are planted” is quite old, attributed to St. Francis de Sales (1567-1622), Bishop of Geneva. He's recorded as saying this: “Truly charity has no limit; for the love of God has been poured into our hearts by His Spirit dwelling in each one of us, calling us to a life of devotion and inviting us to bloom in the garden where he has planted and directing us to radiate the beauty and spread the fragrance of His Providence.”

DANDELIONS--AGAIN

Here they are: a dandelion family waiting to be evacuated from a lawn. My fingers and poker-tool are not their only enemy. You learn something every day, and though I don't hang around with folks with vibrant green thumbs (real smart gardeners), I've discovered that I can battle my lawn's dandelions without products bearing skull-and-crossbones warnings on them. The natural remedy: vinegar. More accurately, “horticultural vinegar,” which is 20% acetic acid as compared with the 5% acetic strength in my kitchen-cupboard vinegar. Here's the method: using vinegar to get rid of dandelions in lawn - Search

If only “weedy” human relationships were as easy. Often, no matter what is done to help or placate them, it's never enough. Seems that no matter how much one tries to sow “grace,” “friendship,” or “helpfulness,” with some folks, it doesn't help. Still, as Christ-followers, we're to follow His example in planting “good” even where soil is unfriendly. To bloom where we are planted.

St. Francis de Sales (1567-1622), Bishop of Geneva (here's its history: Diocese of Geneva - Wikipedia ) is credited with that saying (“Bloom where you are planted”). In recent decades it enjoyed revival through the broadcasts of Paul Harvey and art of Mary Engelbreit. But sayings with the same thoughts are found throughout scripture. Sometimes that was history, like God's instruction to the Israelites to “settle in” with homes, gardens and families during their exile in Babylon (Jeremiah 29:5-6). The book of Psalms opens with a similar scenario, comparing a righteous person to a tree planted near a water source, growing and yielding fruit.

What if you think your “ground” isn't compatible to blooming? The apostle Paul said to learn contentment in every situation (Philippians 4:11-12). Do the right thing. Don't crumble if things aren't perfect.

Ironically, it's the very robust, prolific dandelion that runs counter to our culture's perception that a lawn must be lovely, velvety, and free of yellow-blooming weeds that “die” to self-propagating fluff-heads. But last I checked, nobody in history has enjoyed a perfect, velvet-green life. Life comes with times of storms, drought, cutting-down and unwelcome weeds (hardship, difficult relationships). But still, we are to bloom. As one example, I think of Joni Eareckson Tada. She could have turned her broken neck and invalid bed into grump's coffin. But she didn't. She turned paralysis into praise. Weeds into wisdom. 

And remember, dandelions can be pretty flowers for a little child to pick for Mommy. They don't prick like thorny roses, and their flying offspring or the  left-behind weed root can faithfully regrow another sunny bloom. Maybe—like life's negative relationships and difficult times—they aren't what we planted. But we can still shine forth—with the hope rooted in our faith in a generous, all-knowing God.....who deemed a lowly plant worthy of a bright and cheery color.

THIS MERRY MONTH OF MAY....

Right on schedule, the Yellow Ones have returned. From a grass-level “tutu” of broad leaves, a short stem lifts up its yellow crown. Dandelions. Yard weeds, but merry and lovely in their own way. Yes, I have a few yellow daffodils blooming, too, but the hearty dandelions have also awakened. I'm not into harvesting the leaves for a back-to-nature salad, so off to the garbage they go.

My brain makes some unlikely connections when I'm out doing yard-work (like plucking weeds). That day I found myself silently rehearsing an old hymn that starts with “May”--not the month-meaning, but the “permissive” meaning.

May the mind of Christ, my Savior,/Live in me from day to day,/By His love and pow'r controlling/All I do and say.

I knew this hymn, based on Philippians 2:5-8,  was an “oldie-but-goody,” but was surprised to know it was written sometime before 1912. The English author, Kate Barclay Wilkinson (1859-1928), wasn't a well-known hymnist, but an unheralded member of the Church of England. Influenced by the evangelical Keswick Convention Movement, she'd gotten involved in a mission that reached out to needy girls and young women living at St. Leonard's-on-Sea (about 65 miles from London). 

The verse that influenced her hymn was likely Philippians 2:5: “Have this mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus....” This scripture section highlights the spiritual walk of knowing Christ as Savior, dwelling richly in God's Word, claiming the Father's peace, expressing Jesus' love, faithfully running the “spiritual race,” and seeking to express the beauty of Christ in such a way that people are drawn to Him. In short, being rooted in Christ, in order to bring others to Him. As such—especially the hymn's verse about “running the race” for the Lord--it echoed Philippians 2:12-13 about working out one's salvation as God working in us.

A side note: the man who added the tune to her poem, A. Cyril Barham-Gould, was a Church of England clergyman whose first curate (position) was at All Souls Church in Langham Place. That parish became famous in our times as a church pastored by well-known evangelical leader and author John Stott (1921-2011), whom I once had the privilege of hearing in person.

I'm grateful for hymns like this one, and the preaching/writing ministry of godly men like Stott, as I seek (quoting her hymn) to “run the race before me, strong and brave to face the foe, looking only unto Jesus as I onward go.” The hymn may not “pop up” (like my springtime dandelions) in the “worship choices” of contemporary-culture churches. But maybe it should....

This link will help you recall its words and tune: May The Mind Of Christ My Saviour

THANKS--FOR THE THORNS?

Got thorns in your life? Like sorrow? Financial troubles? Job challenges (or challenge of unemployment)? Family conflict? People in general who are hard to get along with? Physical or mental health challenges? Whoever said “life is not a bed of roses” must have endured life's stabs and pricks from difficult experiences or people. Some have even worked their “thorn wounds” into books with that saying in the title. I haven't seen one (yet) titled, “Life is a bed of rose petals.” The thorns come with the petals.

Sometimes life seems too full of emotional and physical “jabs.” Some years ago someone jabbed me with negative accusations and nicknames in person, by phone, and by notes and E-mails. The verbal abuse hurt...for a long time. God and I had lots of conversations about forgiving that person.

Here's the truth: thorns are part of living in a fallen world. Roses are lovely to see and smell, but their stems have this “fallen accessory,” called thorns. But be thankful for the thorns? When you live with pain or an incurable physical problem? When you deal with human brokenness (your own or others')?

Maybe instead of complaining about our own “thorn”--whether physical, mental, or spiritual—we need to look around to see how others successfully deal with theirs. I'm regularly reminded of the outlook by a Scotsman named George Matheson (1842-1906). He began going blind at age 17 while studying for the ministry, and a few years later was completely without sight. He loved a woman—and she him—until blindness began. Unable to cope, she broke the engagement. He never married, but with others' help (including a sister who became his “eyes” for reading and writing) he went on to become a respected and beloved minister.

Every time I read this quote from him, I am moved:

My God, I have never thanked You for my thorn. I have thanked You a thousand times for my rose, but not once for my thorn. I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensated for my cross, but I have never thought of my cross as itself a present glory. Teach me the value of my thorn.

There's a powerful word for such an attitude: surrender. None of us will have a perfect life. “The perfect life” ended in Eden. But in this fallen, wounded world, we can surrender our broken dreams and hurts to God, remembering He is the master “arranger” of all the thorny stems of our lives. And what He can bring out of the pricks and wounds of life's hard places—when lived-out with gratitude and trust—what can become His showcase to the world.

Yes, His beautiful, artfully arranged, life-bouquet.

UNDERCOVER WORK

 “Oh, rats!” In my childhood, anything remotely sounding like a curse abusing God's name was thoroughly discouraged. I think we got away with “Fiddlesticks” (even though it denigrated my future music passion), “Bummer!” or “Rats!” All of which I could have recalled (though refrained from reviving) for a recent household emergency—with the exception of the last. Because watching television isn't my “thing,” my evenings are quiet, often spent reading. So when I heard thumps and bumps and clattering in the ceiling—and there was no chance of the fabled Santa Claus and his four-footed flying helpers being the reason—I knew I had a problem.

Rats roam the neighborhood, probably still insulted that their wonderful Rat City (huge vacant lot behind the fences of homes on my street) was disturbed and banned when developers put up a huge neighborhood of townhouses on the site. Do rats have scouting parties that work in the dark? And how would they get in my attic to have nighttime square-dancing contests that scared me spit-less (more or less)?

Sharing my plight with some friends, we decided the rats had looked for a back door to success—in my case, a tiny chewed-away part of the wood frame of the screened “plug” to my foundation well access. Once under the house, party time! And somehow, the party moved upstairs through walls to my attic. A caring friend came over with eradication supplies (spell that e-RAT-ication) and helped me with the dastardly task. Another brought a bent piece of metal to cover the tiny suspected-chewed entry of the screen's wooden frame. A couple weeks later, the unwelcome clatter faded. I heard a tiny ceiling chunk-e-dunk a couple nights ago, but not the full-fledged square-dancing-romps of previous weeks.

As I considered the tiny access making way for a vermin celebration, I thought of how sin can be just as sneaky. Give sin an inch, and it chews away at a one's character:

Do not participate in the unfruitful deeds of darkness, but instead even expose them. (Ephesians 5:11)

Do not be bound together with unbelievers; for what partnership have righteousness and lawlessness, or what fellowship has light with darkness? (2 Corinthians 6:14)

This is the message we have heard from Him and announced to you, that God is light, and in Him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. (1 John 1:5-6)

Disclaimer: I'm not pointing any fingers in writing about this problem. Any Christian faces the threat of spiritual “rats”: “Do not be deceived: bad company corrupts good character” (1 Corinthians 15:33). We don't have to turn up at unsavory places in person. Pushing the “on” button on a computer can take someone to virtual bad places as well. The more someone spends time in such negative places, the more it can erode one's character.

Oddly, mice and rats have been gentrified (made “normal”) through the pens and brushes of cartoonists. Remember the mice who helped Cinderella get ready for her life-changing ball? Or the comic critters with big ears, long tails and vicious dental work who starred in Disney's 2007 cartoon “Ratatouille”? Sorry, not the real world. My unwelcome visitors didn't have names, except maybe “Ugh.” Eradication, not entertaining them, was my aim. Hmm, sounds like spiritual warfare for believers, too....