The Legend of Lone Pine

Sit back and let me tell you a story…


One lone Pine tree found itself rooted in the middle of a vast desert.  As a sapling, he knew he’d been dropped into this desolate place; imagining a great bird carrying him while going somewhere far more interesting.   Lone Pine had no real family, and only knew nourishment from the torrential rains of the Spring and the scorching sun of the Summer.  He stood back a ways from a little traveled country highway.  The gusts blown through his needles from the rare vehicle passing by, seemed like a friendly breeze.  He prayed a flat tire would bring him a few moments of company now and then.
 

Lone Pine struggled with loneliness and feelings of isolation, wondering if at his very core he was unable to offer much to the world around him.  He did know there was shelter and shade under his branches, but that only mattered if there was someone that wanted or needed what he had to offer.  He imagined he had been created for greater things, but didn’t know what.  The isolated tree stood a bit taller when the occasional bird lit in his branches for a rest.  Once in a while he enjoyed visits from a lizard that lived under a nearby rock; both so thirsty in such a dry land.  The only more frequent companions were the passing tumbleweeds, a very nomadic group.  They mostly drifted, not stopping long enough to put down roots of their own.  Days and years passed, with the only constant companion being the wind.  The storms blowing through the desert pushed against Lone Pine, making him bend.  Wind twisted his branches, even breaking some off through the more violent gusts.  His bark checked and knots formed where new growth tried unsuccessfully to branch.  With time, his trunk became gnarled and misshapen, but the outside did not define what was at his core.  His heart remained strong and resilient, and the dream of belonging refused to fade.

One day a car pulled off the highway not far from Lone Pine.  He listened as the crunch of rocks under feet grew closer and closer.  He watched as someone walked all around his area of the desert, measuring and eventually even sizing the tree up.  It wasn’t long before trucks were interrupting the desert silence, and hammers echoed off the distant rock formations.  Lone Pine felt his roots grow deeper and his needles dance a bit, as he watched a home built right next to him.  Soon a family moved in, and children ran and rode bikes through his desert, and it didn’t seem desolate anymore.  Eventually the children brought boards, nails and rope and Lone Pine held his branches high as the kids built a fort.  He took seriously this new purpose and loved when people played among his branches.  His prayers answered and dreams fulfilled, he lived on for years providing inspiration for those that wanted to climb to their own potential.

“We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed.  We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.  We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God.  We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed.  Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.”  2 Corinthians 4:8-10

Thank you God for giving me your strength, and for resiliency!  Help me keep bending in the wind, allowing you to transform me into who you want me to be.   Grow me in patience, faith, and love, Lord and keep my roots deeply planted.  Amen

The Grandma on the Couch, the strength of a weakness!

 Published first 2009, Hopekeepers Magazine

A left turn off the highway, then one mile to the red barn!  Just as the barn came into view, my stomach cart-wheeled as Dad launched our car off the top of hill.  That last roller coaster ride meant we were within a few feet of the tree-lined drive that lead us to the best place on earth.  A visit to Uncle Putt and Aunt Lois’s place always meant fun.  I spent hours playing in the creek, fishing for crawdads, catching frogs, and hiking to the meadow at the top of the forty acres.  It was a glorious place where getting dirty was a God-given right, and chocolate was a major food group.  Sadly, I grew up. Catching frogs gave way to teenage self-absorption and I would be married with my own family before I could see what lessons the farm had really held.  By then Uncle Putt had gone ahead to play pinochle with Uncle Wendell in heaven, and Aunt Lois was much shorter and grayer than I remembered.  I realized that the farm I had grown to love, was really no bigger than a person.

The forty acres were still beautiful and peaceful, but what set it apart from other places was the person who waited to greet me.  Now the tree-lined drive wasn’t the end of the journey, it was the beginning of special times with the only person I’ve ever known that I could call a soul mate.  Aunt Lois taught me that everyone is family once inside the door…and the door is always open.  A cup of tea is the beginning of great conversation and a shared walk after a big meal is for more than just digestion.  Now instead of playing in the creek, I sipped tea and watched a Portland Trailblazer game with Lois while she lay on a little sofa in the corner of her kitchen.

Once a back porch, later converted to extend the kitchen, Lois’s nook became the reception center of the forty acres it sat in.  The little sofa became the receptionist’s desk. Parkinson’s Disease eventually made time measured not in hours, but in how long Lois could be away from her “desk.“ The little sofa had been made in the 60’s and was no bigger than a loveseat.   Time and abuse had made it a bit threadbare and blankets softened the rough upholstery.  It folded down on both ends, clicking into whatever position you chose.  Most of the time one end was up, to be leaned upon, and the other end down to rest the legs on, and despite it’s very lived in look, it was inviting.  Beside it sat a small table with all the essentials - phone, phone book, pen, paper, magazines, TV remote, and most important - electronic poker and Wheel of Fortune games.

When Lois left us, she was remembered as “the grandma on the couch” by one of her great-grandsons, and I thought it was so fitting.  To some, that may have seemed a depressing way to be remembered, but to me it meant stability.  I always knew when I came through the door that Aunt Lois would be waiting for me.  That corner of the kitchen was never a place of sorrow, but of warmth and love.  Lois was always glad to see my face - even when it came in tear-stained.  There were many times I showed up tired or broken-hearted, and without notice.  A smile greeted me, followed by “sit down girl.“  She was a soul mate, a friend, a confident…and a great yard sale companion in her more mobile years.

Several years before Lois left us, I began struggling with my own physical difficulties.  Many times while visiting the farm, Lois and I would meet in the kitchen in the middle of the night.  My chronic pain and sleeplessness didn’t seem so isolating when I saw a light on under the door at 2 AM.  Those late night moments with her at her “desk” are the most precious memories I have.  While our ailments were not the same, they were still unifying.  The relationship that our physical struggles brought us, is something that I will never know again here on earth.  My heart aches for those who may never experience the comfort brought by the “light under the door.  However, while not everyone has a “Grandma on the couch,” we all have a Father up in heaven!  

I am so grateful for a God who cherishes me every moment of every day, knows every hair on my head, and every new wrinkle on my face.  I am even more thankful for my Comforter who knows every pain and weakness I experience. The special people in our lives can leave or disappoint us, but God is our constant.  He is the smile at the end of the journey, no matter how weary or brokenhearted we may be.  It is so comforting to know that we are all special and loved unconditionally simply because of “whose” we are!

There is something I don’t have to miss about Aunt Lois…her little sofa.  The symbol of comfort and security that cradled the one that went before me, is sitting upstairs in my family room.   A few years ago I was allowed to give the “desk” a new home, and now warm, red fabric disguises it‘s true age and identity.  Someday I plan to be the “grandma on the couch” and no matter what frailties may cause me to spend time there, I pray that Aunt Lois’s qualities rub off on me.  I’m going to do my best to face that stage of life with a smile, show unconditional love to anyone that takes the time to visit me, and be an example of grace and hope.  At the end of my life, when I turn onto God’s tree-lined drive, I imagine Lois waving from a special nook in His Kingdom.  I can already hear her say, “Sit down girl, I’ve been waiting for you.”

From left to right: Aunt Doris, my Mom, and Aunt Lois - at her desk

• Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.” Ephesians 3:20  NLT

Sauce with a side of Me!

There is something odd about finding yourself covered with spaghetti sauce.  One does not wake up in the morning and think to themselves, “I do believe I would like to have Italian sauces with a side of Mary.”  Well,  perhaps that is my husband’s secret dream…but certainly not mine!  My motives were honest and even heroic - I decided to cook dinner!  It started simply, all I needed to do was boil noodles, brown some ground beef, and open a jar of Ragu.  It was the latter that started all the trouble.

I do not possess much strength in my hands, therefore giving me an extra reason to keep the man in my life around.   Dale was home from work and happen to walk through the kitchen as I began to boil water and  knowing my difficulties with opening jars, he asked if I would like him to open the Ragu.  Apparently I replied yes, but in very male form…didn’t even listen to myself talk!  Dale loosened the cap and went back to watching television.   Now I have a sure-fire method of opening jars when I need to be self-reliant; I smack the edge of the lid on the counter top once or twice until I hear the seal pop.   As the meat finished cooking, I picked up the jar of Ragu, forgetting Dale ever came into the kitchen, and brought in down hard.  I didn’t hear a pop, just a sploosh and a splat, and then me yelling at the top of my lungs!  I have been known to be a bit “saucy,” but this was ridiculous!

Dinner was salvaged by scraping spaghetti sauce off the counter and into the skillet with the meat.  It wasn’t like I was serving it to company, and Dale wouldn’t care - he’s the guy that tried to make French toast with moldy bread!  After the shock of being ‘sauced’ had passed, we had a good laugh and a good meal.  I learned a valuable lesson about not only accepting help, but remembering that help had been delivered, and I should take notice!  I wonder how often we all make the same kind of mistake?  We want help, often times need it desperately, and reach out to ask for it.  At times help is even offered without solicitation, and we say, “yes please!”  Help comes, and we answer it with just a nod or a absent minded “thanks,” and then go about our business as if the assistance never came.  Then we try to take over, handle whatever the issue was ourselves and make a huge mess of things.

I read an illustration years ago about a man plodding down the road.  He was struggling under the weight of a load of wood he carried on his back.  A wagon drew alongside the man, and the driver, seeing the pain and exhaustion on the traveler’s face, offered him a ride.  The man accepted, climbed onto the back of the wagon and they continued on.  Miles later the driver looked back, fully expecting to see his passenger resting, and his load laying off to one side.  Instead he was shocked to find the pack of wood still on the traveler’s back.  The man was either unwilling to accept the complete relief his rescuer offered, or he was so accustomed to the burden he bore, that he forgot he could remove it.  Oh, how often do we do this with God’s help - accept the ride, but don’t lay down the burdens that brought us to the place where a ride was needed?

I wonder how many ’jars’ God has come along and opened for me (or doors for that matter)?  I probably have nodded a bit, in acknowledgment of His help, and then said, “I got this Lord.”  In the end I end up with a mess, whether it’s a damaged relationship, a weary heart or a face full of sauce!  I hope you not only accept His help today, but are grateful for it, and take notice in what He is doing in your life.  Let’s lay down our loads and enjoy the ride!

“We put our hope in the Lord, He is our help and our shield.”  Psalm 33:20 

Weak Trees!

You’ve probably heard the phrase, “weak in the knees,”  but what we have here is - weak in the trees!  This is the third tree we’ve lost in three years, but the first that has done any real damage.  Our neighbor lost two last night and have damage to their house and trailer.  These are a type of Juniper, which bank the entire row of houses on this street, and they are falling down!  They have had too much water and wind, and apparently don’t have enough roots to hold themselves up.  The more that fall, the weaker the entire grouping become.  Trees have root systems and some are shallow and don’t do well spaced too far apart.  They can rot and be weakened by insects as well.  Even a mighty tree can be easily fallen by wind, accumulating snow and ice storms.

There is one type of tree that this doesn’t happen to very often: the Redwood.  I took a trip to the Trees of Mystery when my kids were young, and these magnificent giants impressed me.  Even though some reach over 300 feet in height, Redwoods have fairly shallow root systems.  One of the reasons they stand for so many years is because each tree’s roots intertwine with the next and this helps hold each other up during storms.  While a Redwood can grow just about anywhere, it can never reach its true potential with out the temperatures and conditions found in certain places like the Northern California coastline.  They do best where there are heavy fogs because they can absorb moisture through their needles at their tops, where the circulation system can’t pump.  In other words, Redwood trees have great survival tactics!

The bark of these giants can be as thick as a foot and when exposed to fire, they simply char, rather than burn.  The charring turns the bark into a heat shield of sorts.  The chemical composition of the tree is distasteful and sometimes even poisonous to normal tree pests like termites and ants.  Redwoods can even withstand battery acid!  It is also very resistant to water rot…unlike my weak trees in the back yard!  I have read that the rising soil levels brought about by flood deposits, typically smother other tree root systems - killing them.  Not the Redwood.  They can even survive long periods of time under water.  All this is impressive, but my favorite thing about this unique tree is what happens when they do fall down.  When a Redwood gets knocked over, it will attempt to keep growing via its limbs.  If left undisturbed, the limbs pointing skyward will turn into trees in their own right!  Over eighty percent of the trees now growing were produced in one of these ‘cloning’ processes and the other twenty percent sprang from seeds.   Some of the trees out there are the same tree reproducing itself over and over again.  Truly ever-living.

I wonder, if we people folk, should take a lesson or two from the Redwoods?  Can we reach our full potential without the right conditions?   We will experience some rot to our lives if we don’t continue to grow…and in order to grow we need each other.  The conditions that best produce growth are: love, encouragement, accountability, and trust.  Don’t forget to fertilize with prayer and Bible study for truly mature results!  In Hebrews 10:25 it says to “not forsake the assembling together,” because we need to be able to draw nourishment by surrounding each other with Christ’s love.  This also helps keep sin or “pests” away from having negative influence on us.

We can also take survival strategies from the Redwoods!  By reading our Bibles and having active prayer lives we develop intimate relationships with Christ, and each other.  This creates the protective heat shields for when the fires of life attack.  When the storms come, our roots are so intertwined that nothing can push us down!  When the flood levels rise and we feel we will certainly be smothered, it is then our roots are encouraged to grow and find new direction.  “We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going.” (2 Cor. 4:9b)  If we are true, living people and in a true living church, we will continue to reproduce ourselves, even if we get knocked over by circumstances and sin.  Our branches should keep pointing up and reach for the Light.

How strong is your bark; are your roots intertwined with others?   Are you ready for the next storm?

The Correct Thing

1902 a publishing company put into print, The Correct Thing In Good Society, by Florence Howe Hall.  A copy of this book has had a place in my home for at least 10 years now, and I have referred to it many times.  Now before you go off getting a very inaccurate picture of who I am, let me explain.  I keep this book and refer to it, not because I wish to fit in with high society type folk.  I’m not sure I even care about what Florence’s idea of the correct thing is.  No, I just find the book terribly interesting, very humorous and at times, even sad.  I refer to it in order to find material for devotions when I’ve been asked to speak and to give a point of reference - an ‘aren’t  you glad you didn’t live then’ type of talk for bridal showers.  I’ve never met Florence Howe Hall, but by reading her ‘rules’ for good society, I have perhaps formed a not so inaccurate picture of who she was.

There are 26 chapters in this tiny, green book, all tucked away in 361 pages, in a 5x7 sized binding.  The cover print - in gold, of course.  Here is a paragraph that seems to act almost as an apology to the book… “Brevity is the soul of wit; but a soul cannot do without a body in our mortal world.  If therefore, in this brief treatise matters are so condensed that he who runs (or rides) may read, it must evidently be with the understanding that the reader shall give the body of his own intelligence to the soul of these short sentences.  Condensation is often important for convenience in carrying with us material for future expansion.  In the little work here offered, it has been attempted on this ground.  The result sought will not be attained unless those who may take the book in hand shall themselves supply the expanding force of sympathy and intelligent apprehension, reading between the lines, and even across the page, since neither the positive nor the negative statements are complete in themselves, each needing the complement of its opposite.”  Oh my!  My intelligence doesn’t work well enough to understand everything it’s trying to tell me!  I’m lost already.

There are chapters in “The Correct Thing” about business, church, mourning, at college, at the table, when making calls - and the list goes on and on.
“It is the correct thing - for a lady…
To take a gentleman’s arm in the evening unless her hands should be fully occupied with her muff, or in holding up her dress. “
To bow first to a gentleman.
Where two ladies are under the escort of one gentleman, for one of them only to take his arm, the other lady walk by her side.
“It is NOT the correct thing - for a lady…
To wear a breastpin on a coat or other outside garment.
To take a gentleman’s arm in the daytime, unless it be in a crowded thoroughfare, on a slippery pavement, or under any other circumstances where it may be necessary for protection or support.
For one lady to take the arms of two gentlemen, unless she be learning to skate.”
While reading, my overall sense is that I am so thankful I did not live in 1902!  I do believe I would have been horsewhipped, stoned, thrown in shackles and possibly beheaded.  I seem to rarely do “the correct thing” even for today‘s standards.  I don’t say the right thing, eat the right way, act lady-like, or wear the right clothes.  Heavens…I’m a preacher’s wife with a tattoo!  I should turn myself in right now for a good lashing!

I know many people that try to live their lives being perfect…doing the correct thing.  They have formed lists in their heads of the rules or standards by which all should adhere to.   Rules can be good, we all need them and we should certainly follow the laws of the land, so as not to be thrown into those shackles I mentioned earlier.  The type of lists I get concerned about are the unreasonable expectations that we place on ourselves and others - the kind that make us become judgmental, critical, and snooty.  We church folk far too easily and often, are the worst offenders of this.  We somehow, take the Bible - a love letter from God, and twist the meaning of His intentions for it, and decide to practically do a re-write for Him!  There were laws for the people of the Old Testament…lots and lots of laws and rules.  Again, I am so thankful I did not live back then.  While I am grateful for the lessons of the Old Testament, the rich history and foretelling of Christ, I am more appreciative of living under the New Testament covenant - I live under the covering of Grace!

The New Testament helps us learn about Jesus’ birth, life, death and resurrection…which is the story of true love, forgiveness and grace!  I only need one ’standard’ or ruler to live my life by.  I don’t have to worry about what Florence Howe Hall thought, or whether I have my hands free to hold an arm, muff or my dress up!   I am about to leave for church this morning - which is a very correct thing to do, but I’m not wearing a dress!  Fortunately, my jeans, tattoo and dangly earrings will not get me shunned or flogged at our church. 

Hebrews 4:16
“So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.”

Be Strange and Wonderful!

Have you ever heard something described as “strange and wonderful?“  For years this has turned into a joke of sorts, describing marriage, “our marriage is strange and wonderful, he’s strange and I’m wonderful.“  I’ve seen it engraved on wooden signs, written in greeting cards, and I’ve heard it stated in our own home.  Dale and I try to share equally in who gets to be the strange and who the wonderful, but most days he is both.  I can say with all honestly, my husband is not like any other I know!  The wonderful: he cleans the house, does all our yard work and even cooks dinner many nights.  He is the kindest person I know and loves me, even when I act unlovely.  Ironically, those same wonderful things about Dale, are also what make him very strange!  This type of behavior is not typical, so I’ve been told, of men in other marriages.  I get asked often by other women, if they can borrow him, to which I always reply, “absolutely not!”

While Dale has the wonderful category pretty well wrapped up, and that makes him somewhat strange…there are times to me, he is just plain strange!  He has taken up a hobby in recent years, that I find odd.  Not only do I find him odd for wanting to do it, but I find the hobby itself odd.  I am mature enough to realize that odd to me, just means I don’t ’get it,’ it’s not anything I care to learn or engage in.  It’s not wrong to do it, not unhealthy and it’s not hurting anyone, apparently…but I still think it’s strange.  You see, he buys woodsy type plants and shrubs, cuts their roots off short, plants them in a very shallow container and trims their limbs back.  All this is done specifically to keep the plant from growing very much.  This is called, “Bonsai.”

What is Bonsai?  Quote: “A bonsai is a tree or other plants, or a group of trees or plants, cultivated in a container. The meaning of the word is ‘plant in a pot’.”  Someone in China, long ago, started this strange practice, and for thousands of years it has been perfected in Japan and become an art form.  You have to choose the right plant, which has potential to become a great bonsai.  It takes practice to turn this into a skill, and when done right, you end up with a plant becoming an exact replica of nature in miniature!  Strange (and a bit ironic don’t you think?)!  So thousands of years ago, someone decided it wasn’t enough to have nature to look at, and had to figure out how to make tiny examples of nature to look at.  Any who…we now have a bank of huge Juniper trees in our backyard, and Oaks out by the street, and then one miniature “Acer” somethingerother  (I can’t spell the rest), that sits in a shallow pot on the edge of our patio.  It really is a pretty little tree, and Dale has done a good job perfecting a bit of nature in its shallow pot.  This art form takes a great deal of patience, a steady hand and a keen eye…which is why I don’t understand it, and could never do it myself!

As I sit looking at the Acer somethingerother this morning, I realize even humans can be Bonsai!  This practice can be seen as strange and/or wonderful as well.  Thousands of years ago God created man…a little replica of himself here on earth - Wonderful!  He planted Adam in the Garden of Eden, but that is as far as the similarities with Bonsai should go.  Adam was expected to grow and  put down roots!  For thousands of years we humans have practiced some Bonsai techniques on ourselves. Strangely enough, we have become, “small in size, but have the appearance of being seasoned, matured and in certain cases aged.”  We look adult-like and mature in age, yet underneath, our root systems have been kept shallow and stunted.  I wonder just how often we purposely plant ourselves where we won‘t have to grow?  Strange, since the Bible speaks so often about growth and maturity in Christ.  Let me just end with that challenge…Ephesians 3:17...”Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong.”

Be strange and wonderful to the world around you today…be loving and kind and make people wonder what makes you strange!

All quotes are from An Introduction to Bonsai, by the Bonsai Kai of the Japan Society 

I Choose You!

November was National Adoption Month, and I didn’t get this written in time to post it.  I’d like to share our personal story - or at least part of it, and encourage others; we may not all be able to adopt, but with God, we are all adoptable.
-----------------------------------------------------------
The chairs were cold and hard, and I was ready to leave them.  We sat in the gym listening to song after song, as the program seemed to run long.  Finally, someone teased us about closing the ceremony, but then dashed our hopes with “just one more number.”  I suppressed a huge sigh - as adults are suppose to be above such displays.  My selfishness diminished as I watched a tiny, blond imp walk forward and face the crowd.  She shyly smiled and began to sing “Jesus Loves Me”.  As she walked back to her seat, a brief, how cute, flitted through my mind and just as quickly I forgot all about her as we were finally dismissed.

If you believe that life is filled with random coincidences we just happen to experience, then you may not understand the rest of this story.  I hope you will read on, despite some doubt, and learn how much God cares - not just about our needs, but our hopes and dreams as well.  I personally believe in divine intervention, prayer and faith, but even I forget just how big God is.  Little did I know, sitting on those cold, hard chairs, that God had not only heard my prayer, but had just placed the answer right in front of me. 

I had an ache in my heart, a hole of sorts, that no surgeon could repair.  While I already had two wonderful sons by birth, I longed to adopt a daughter.  This, for me, was a need, for my husband, not so much.  Seven years passed since the topic was first discussed, and I prayed first for his heart to change and when that didn’t get results, I prayed that my heart would.  I asked God to take the desire from me, so it wouldn’t hurt anymore, or cause bitterness.  God was not satisfied with those limitations, and with his typical wisdom and no lack of a sense of humor, He opted for the shock and awe approach.  The next time the subject was brought up, it was my husband that said, “I think we should look into adopting!“  I almost passed out, but recovered quickly so I could get the ball rolling before he could change his mind! 

I called several adoption agencies and was satisfied knowing packets of information would arrive within a few weeks.  Then, being a long standing member in the, ‘it never hurts to ask’ club, I put in one more call, this time more local.  We were friends with a couple that managed a Christian children's ranch.  The kids placed with them were temporary wards, while parents were in jail, or couldn’t care for them for other reasons.  It was rare that any of the kids were adoptable and I didn’t get my hopes up as I dialed.   My inquiry was answered with one question  “how old?“  I explained very logically, how we felt that a 2 or 3 year old would be best, giving us time with them before they started school.  That was met with, “oh, that’s too bad.“  I was then told that there was a five year old girl that would be put up for adoption right after Christmas.  I heard my voice say, oh, that is too bad, that is older than we were thinking, and with that I hung up.

You can hang up a telephone easily, but it’s much harder to disconnect your heart!  That night and I didn’t sleep a wink…I laid there thinking about a five year old girl that would soon be displaced in life.  It broke my heart.  I vaguely remembered a young girl with huge dimples, that one of our friends was caring for at the Ranch.  She met us at the door one night, full of energy, talking non-stop and proceeded to use Dale as a jungle gym.  Could they be talking about her?  How old was she?  Was I remembering right - was her hair blond?  The never-ending questions jammed my mind and imagination all through the night. By early morning I noticed Dale was awake too, and asked what he thought about a five year old.  Without hesitation he said, “I think you should call them back!“

She did have blond hair, blue eyes and dimples! Not only was she the girl God placed on my mind that night, she was also the same impish child who sang for us that uncomfortable day in the gym!  She would become our daughter that winter.  She ended up with two older brothers to torture gleefully, and parents who knew beyond all doubt that she was a gift from God.  God made sure our lives were woven with threads of common friends.  It has been nearly 20 years since we first heard her sing, and she uses her voice still, every Sunday, as she leads worship for our church now. 

Romans 8:15
…”so that he could adopt us as his very own children.”

Basket Case

In the corner of my office sits a basket.  It is filled with skeins and balls of yarn, of many colors.  Some are remnants of my own past projects, others are cast-offs of someone else.  I find bags of yarn at Goodwill, some leftovers are given to me, and once in a great while, I actually buy brand new!  There are times when the basket is all but empty, and keeping with human nature - this is when I desire to crochet the most.  Right now the basket is overflowing, and I have very little motivation to help it empty.  As I was hunting for something in my file box this morning, I stared at the basket of yarn and realized that my life resembles it.  It is just sitting there, waiting to be made into something more than it is!

When I buy a new skein, it’s because I love the color, or the texture, and I already have something I want to make out of it.  I don’t know how to do much with yarn - I do not knit, weave or create string art.  I don’t even know how to read a pattern!  What I do know how to do - and not that well, is crochet.  A friend taught me the basics several years ago, and I’ve enjoyed making scarves and beanie hats ever since.  I’ve even made a few purses and bags, all from just an idea in my head.  They can not be repeated or copied well, and I certainly couldn’t tell anyone how I did it.  I just start at the beginning and when I’m at the end, I stop.

New skeins can be quite ornery, unless the manufacturer makes it easy to work with right from the beginning.  It should start smoothly…but it rarely does.  While it may look innocent enough in it’s original form, it most likely will need much work in order to be truly useful.  I just love finding a skein of yarn that has been formed to work from the center out…seeing that little end of the string poking out from the very middle of itself.  I know then, that it’s going to cooperate and will be easily turned into something more than it is.  When this isn’t the case, it will just get tangled up in itself, and it will need some undoing, and turned into a ball before I can even work with it.

Left to itself, my basket of yarn is nothing more.  It can not change what it is, or it’s shape, unless someone is willing to help it out.  It could be a great many things, but rest assured, whatever it becomes, it will keep someone warm.  It takes time for it to become something, so patience should be practiced, and it takes skill to shape it.  There is however, a limit to what you can do with it.  You can not, and really should not, eat it, make a boat, or build a house with it.

What I have learned from my basket of yarn?  It should not just be set in a corner, left unused.  I should not allow myself to just sit either.  Like my own creations with the yarn, I can not be repeated or copied and I’m sure God started at the beginning and when He’s done with me, He’ll stop.  I look innocent enough, but can be very ornery and am not always easy to work with.  I do know how to cooperate most days, but don’t always choose to.  I get tangled up, and just as easily unraveled.  I need others to help me become something more than I am, and I need God to turn my heart into a thing of beauty.  God’s will definitely shapes me, and I pray that I will be warm.  It’s going to take practice and a great deal of patience, but I could be a great many things!

“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.  Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!  Your workmanship is marvelous - how well I know it.”
Psalm 139:13-14

The Parable of the Cookie Cutter

A young bride unwrapped the gift as she moved into their first home. It was not much, just a box set of tin cookie cutters.  It was the heart of the Depression, so even the smallest of gifts seemed like a luxury.  Baking cookies for the first time…what shape would she use for this first of many firsts in her marriage? The star seemed too Christmas-like for such a warm summer day and she certainly wanted to wait to use the heart for Valentines Day so it would be special. Her hand traveled over the set and finally paused as it came to a perfect circle - that would be just right.  It reminded her of the ring her husband placed on her finger just last week.  With that decided, she opened the notebook of recipes her grandmother had given her - the one that held all the favorites of the generations, and she got to work. Grandma’s sugar cookies would melt in her husband’s mouth that very evening.

Flour soon covered the table and the house grew too warm from the fire in the cook stove. This would cause the new bride to decide that baking in the summer heat would need done early in the morning before the sun came up. As she picked up the cookie cutter for the first time, the moisture on her hands made it slip and it dropped to the floor and rolled under the table. She cried out in frustration at herself, fearing that she had already ruined one of her wedding gifts. She crawled on the floor until she found the circle and ran her fingers all around the surface to see if it was still perfectly round. There was one slight dent on the side, but it was not very noticeable. Relieved, she stood and wiped it clean and began cutting out cookie after cookie. As the years passed and their family grew, many a child baked their first cookie as they heard the story of the wayward circle. Having an imperfection didn’t take away the usefulness of the cutter, she would tell each of them, it would actually make it even more special. Each of us are dented in some way, and God uses our dents to help us be the individuals that he created us to be.

Years later, the box of cookie cutters was passed on to another in the family - another new bride. She too knew the story and felt honored to bake circle-shaped cookies for her family as it grew. After a day of baking, the cutter was left out on the counter waiting to be washed. A child reached for a glass in the cupboard above and it slipped - crashing to the counter below. He felt heartsick, what he held in his hand was no longer a circle at all. The tiny imperfection was now a deep gash on one edge.  The first instinct of the child was to hide the cookie cutter, through eyes of fear and shame, the dent made the cutter look ugly and misshapen. Suddenly the mother appeared in the doorway, having heard the commotion. As she looked down into the small hand, she felt a bit of loss and grief. She was sad and blamed herself for not being more careful with what had been given her.  She should have stopped using the cookie cutters long ago and put them away on a shelf where they could be safe. However, in the moment, it was more important to find something positive to say; it was just an accident after all. As she gained new perspective by holding the cutter up, she smiled. She held it up in front of her child’s eyes and said, “Look.” Together they dried their tears as they noticed that the once perfect circle now looked more like a heart. It wasn’t exactly perfect, but that big dent had transformed the piece of tin. With eyes of love, the dent just made it more lovable and have much more character. It was another teachable moment for the mother and she didn’t waste it. See, even when things crash down on us, God can use those trials to shape us if we will just let Him.

More years passed and the cookie cutter traveled many miles and lived in different houses. Some, who were the recipients of the funny little heart, didn’t see much value in using it. Some never even took it out of the box. After enough moves and the box being thrown around too much, the heart shape wasn’t quite so obvious. The cutter became a bit more damaged and there didn’t seem to be very many folk that wanted to make cookies with shapes they couldn’t recognize. Even then, it didn’t seem quite right to throw it away, so it just moved from kitchen to kitchen with castoffs from other generations.

A weary mother opened more boxes as her four children played in their new yard. Her life has not been easy and grief has become her only faithful companion. She often reminds herself that generations ago, the women in her family had much less, and she should be thankful for what these few boxes hold. She pulls the tape from the last package and begins finding a place for everything. Her hand reaches in for the last item and emerges with what appears to be a crumpled piece of newspaper. Inside she finds a misshapen piece of metal that resembles what was once a cookie cutter. She remembers seeing something similar in an antique store years ago.  The young woman doesn’t have any cookie cutters, but she does have an old recipe book. The story went that a grandmother had written down all her favorite recipes and put them in this notebook. It was given to the first granddaughter to get married and had been passed down for generations. Now it was the only known piece of her family left and she treasured it. It was so fragile now, pages yellowed and falling out easily. She rarely opened the notebook anymore, fearing what would happen to it. She had already found a special place for it, high on a kitchen shelf. She wondered if this poor little cookie cutter had lived a similar hard life - it had certainly seen better days. She felt privileged to have it, no matter its shape or where it had come from.

Later that day the children poured into the kitchen. Their cheeks rosy from running in the yard didn’t hide the sadness in their eyes. Their mother wanted so much for this house, this yard to be different. What could she do to make a fresh start, a new memory for them? Cookies! Baking cookies would be fun and would fill the house with new smells and memories. Why not let the past show us a way to a new future, she thought, and with that, she reached for the old notebook of recipes. She carefully thumbed through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She actually had all the ingredients for the sugar cookie recipe, but what would she use for cutting shapes? Her face brightened as she pulled the messy piece of tin from the drawer. With a few taps of a hammer and a bit more bending - if the cookie cutter could take just a bit more…perhaps it could work.

Soon the kitchen was filled with laughter and flour was everywhere. The mother bent to pull another sheet of warm cookies from the oven while the children spread thick frosting over the cooled ones. The shape resembled a flower with five funny petals. The mother explained as she bent the metal, “each of us is a petal, with our own shape.” “God put us together, to form this flower called a family. Others might look at our flower and just see something bent and broken, but because we let Him constantly tend to us and feed us, He can use us to make something beautiful.”

Moral of the story:
Sometimes we get bent. We get hurt emotionally, we experience loss and grief, we are faced with chronic or life threatening illness and we never want to come out of our drawer again. We can approach our “dents” with different attitudes. We can feel defeated and give up, not allowing God to use whatever shape we‘re in. We can also grieve and then say, “Okay God, now what? “  We are people, with all our flaws and dents and we are each loved by a God that never throws us away.    
Originally written, April 2006

Using the Words God Gave Me!

I have put off posting this glimpse of the past, for it is not so much past and a reminder of what the future will bring again.  However, it is a significant moment in my life - just a few shorts years ago, and I believe worthy of posting.  I want to clarify before I begin: my Dad is doing well now and is back at home, and through a lot of physical rehab, prayer and kind care-workers, he made a huge recovery.  I don't want to forget the times during this trial that taught me valuable lessons though.  So post this, I must!

It was a beautiful evening and the setting sun urged me to go for a walk.   In a four week time period, I had spent more time at my parent's home, than my own.  Dad had been diagnosed with Parkinsons, and also had back surgery.  Our existence clung to the end of a yoyo that spiraled between home, the hospital and a care facility.  For now, Dad was back at home, but we didn't know for how long.  The question of "how long" seemed to end many of our sentences back then.  At that particular moment, Mom had finished up what she needed and could be Dad's caregiver for the next little while. I headed out the door for some quiet. It didn't take long before I realized quiet would not come, because all the noise was in my head and I had brought it all with me. Quiet and Noise are bitter enemies and can not take walks together...I always end up leaving one at home.

There are convention grounds near my parent's home, with a creek meandering through and trees that have observed many walks and private cries through the years. I breathed deeply and at times even walked with my eyes closed, making sure I was not near the creek, (in case you were worried)!  I finally got the noise in my head tucked in for the night and quiet drew alongside me. With quiet came loneliness and isolation.  Noise at least, is distracting company. Now with quiet as my companion, silence was the loud intruder and I cried out, "God, please send someone my way - I need to know someone cares." I held my cell phone for a moment, as if willing it to ring...hoping God would nudge one of my friends or family members and they would just know to call at that moment.  Apparently God hasn't gotten with the times yet and still only uses a land line!

No one called, and I continued the loop, feeling sorry for myself, and headed back to my home away from home. As I stepped onto the street leading to my parent's house, I noticed a police car out on the highway.  My parent's live in a very small Oregon town and in a Christian retirement area...so the police are very good about doing drive-bys, making sure all is well.  I think to myself, "great, my hair isn't white, or gray and I probably don't really look like I belong here." Sure enough, the police car turned around and headed toward me. I can see headlines in the local papers, "Pastor's wife arrested for trespassing." As the car came up behind me, I stepped to the side and stopped. The policeman stopped next to me and I didn't wait for an accusation, immediately blurting out, "I probably don't look like I belong here!" I waited for the known response..."you're right!"  Instead all I heard was an apology!

The voice from the car only said, "actually I was going to say I was sorry for interrupting your peaceful walk."  I sadly responded, "I need to get back to help take care of my Dad anyway." I will never forget what happened next. The officer turned off the patrol car's engine, took off his seatbelt, shifted to get comfortable, and then said, "sounds like your Dad isn't doing too well." The next 30 minutes turned a lonely evening into a huge "God Moment" and I smiled - almost chuckled, my way back to the house.

I realized that I had done exactly what Lamentations says in chapter 2, verse 11..."Cry aloud before the Lord!" I raised my kids telling them to "use their words," and not just whine...and I had forgotten to do it myself. I used my words that night, on that walk and "cried aloud" and God answered.  He didn't use a cell phone because He doesn't need one.  He used a land line - that human touch...the reason He created His children and put them on earth with one another!  I needed a friend and God knew it - but He also knew that I didn't need to know them personally.  The kindness of strangers is sometimes the most powerful of all!