a pic a day

... this is very fun for me.

I am on an extended break... I don't remember the last time I took a break like this.  I finished my job of almost 9 years on Friday, hopped in my car, and headed due north.  I'll be up here for the next couple of weeks before I start my new job.  This is a quite a gift for me... TIME and REST.  

There's so much up here that's so wonderful.  Stuff that takes me by surprise and makes me smile.  So I would like to tell you about it, a pic a day. =)

My mom asked me today to run to the post office for her.  I grabbed my favorite little furr-ball Dooley and we drove to the post office... but then we kept driving.  It's been raining for DAYS here and it was supposed to rain even harder today.  But on that drive, the sky cleared... the sky turned blue and the sun came out for just a bit of time.  And we saw a moose on the road!  It was so fun.  Dooley barked his head off and I laughed.

At the end of the paved road is Kokadjo.  I don't think you can really call it a "town"... really, it's just 3 or 4 buildings... but it's on a lake and it's sure beautiful.  So Dooley and I parked the car and walked along the lake for a bit.  It was great.  Then, I took a picture of this sign.  

It made me grateful for the moments when the sky clears and you get to take a walk in the sun.

when you are a pirate

I had an "eye-opening" experience this week.  I mean this as a pun... I'll tell you why.

These last couple of weeks have been very full and very emotional.  I am in the midst of finishing many things--wrapping up three of my own classes, the group counseling class for which I have been an apprentice-instructor for the past year, and the job that I have had for the past 8 years.  Yikes, so many things that have meant so much to me... they are coming to an end.

How do you end, and end well?  How do you start new things, and start well?  I really don't know.  But I've sure tried to find out.  I sort of fell into an old tendency of mine-- put your nose to the grindstone and try hard.  That's what I've been doing.  Painstakingly leaving detailed notes for the next person in my job.  Trying to process the thousands of wayward emotions that ransack me every day in this transition.  And trying to still be present, and kind, and put together... while the insides of me feel completely not put together.  Transition and change... I guess they don't fall into neat and orderly lines... although I've wished that they would.

So Thursday morning, I was getting ready for a long day of work (at the job I'll soon be leaving) and an evening of celebration (for the class and students that I've been co-instructing this year).  I got up early, ready to take on and embrace the new day and all that it would hold.  As I was doing my eye make-up-- the same way that I do it every morning-- something strange happened.  A piece of my eye pencil fell in to my eye. Long story short, I scratched my cornea, and for the life of me, I could not make my eye stay open.  Instead, my eye fluttered... constantly.  Irritated by the scratch, it constantly fluttered... which gave me a headache.  It was not a good time and I was not in a good mood.

I decided to visit the university nurse, hoping that she would give me some kind of eye drop or salve--something to stop the irritation and constant fluttering.  Nope.  She was very kind but she did not give me a salve.  What she gave me was an eye patch.  Yes, an eye patch that would force my eye to stay shut and stop the irritation and fluttering.  So I emerged from her office with a bulging white cotton patch covering my right eye, held in place by long, stark, obtrusive strips of white tape.  (I do NOT have a picture.)

I looked ridiculous.  And I did not want to run in to anyone.  I literally ran through the halls from her office, back to mine.  And then I closed the door (I never close the door).  What a day.  In all of my attempts to take on the day and handle it well, I found myself sitting in my office with a shut door because I was embarrassed that I looked like a pirate.  And there was nothing I could do about it.  I was in so much pain that I needed that eye patch... I had to look like a pirate.

After a few other sort of similar incidents this weekend, I am facing something very important that I must learn.  I am not perfect.  That is not a surprise to me... I do already know that.  But I'm learning that in the moments when life heats up and my emotions skyrocket, so does the pressure that I put on myself.

So I continue to learn--the hard way at times!--that I must accept my own imperfection.  Jesus' invitation to relationship with Him has nothing to do with performance... it completely has to do with His unconditional acceptance which He already settled long ago at the Cross.  And when I let myself be imperfect, I learn to take the focus off of myself and look to the only One who is completely beautiful and completely perfect.  And He sure is beautiful... and He sure does captivate me.  And somehow in the process of being captivated, I become more like Him.  And life is not about performance or perfection.  It's about knowing and loving the One who has loved me so much.  It's about wanting to be like Him but resting in His grace in the times when I'm not.  It's about standing on the promise that He will pull me through and when I can't, falling on the grace that brought me to Him in the first place (thanks, Rich).

So, from this perspective--eye healed and patch-less--I am grateful for the days when I am humbled into looking like a pirate.  I might still want to hide in my office with the door shut, but I also learn more about what it means to rejoice in my own weaknesses and triumph in the strength that is freely given to me.

Praise Jesus.  May I continue to learn to walk in His ways.

flowers appear

view from my window

It is spring.  One of my favorite things about spring is the flowers.  I was driving to work this morning and--this might sound weird--but as I was driving through all of the flowering trees--the magnolias, lilac bushes, dogwoods, etc--I felt like they were ministering to me.  Grace, beauty, renewal, LIFE... this is what flowers speak to me.

So in the spring, I just want to be WITH the flowers as much as possible.  I went to Longwood Gardens on Good Friday and I could have stood in the tulip walkway all day, taking in the colors, shapes, forms, all of it.  What beauty.  I love those flowers.

It's funny.  I find myself at the grocery store almost every day, either buying a cup of coffee, sushi for lunch, fresh strawberries, etc, etc, etc.  But now that it's spring, I end up buying something else too.  Tulips are on sale for $2 with the shopper's card.  I can't tell you how many times I've walked in there and walked out with a tulip.  They truly bring me joy.  I'm sitting at my desk now looking at the bright orange tulip I bought last week.  I think it's dying now... so my friend just went to the grocery store with my $2 and returned with a pretty pink hyacinth.  And this one smells lovely. =)

The other day, I walked in to my office to find a pretty purple flower sitting in a pot on my desk.  I didn't buy that one for myself, but it sure was pretty.  I walked around to everyone that I knew--"do you know who gave me this flower?"  Nobody fessed up.  I was told I had an admirer. =)  But I loved that flower more than any of the others.  It was a gift, an unexpected one.  Somebody, somewhere either knew or imagined my love for flowers (and the color purple!) and left one for me.  I loved that flower, and I was very sad when it died.

That pretty purple flower speaks to me a great lesson that my heart has been learning.  I love beauty.  Beauty speaks to me of the world that my heart was meant for, the world that one day I will live in--where nothing will be broken and everything will be in its fullness.  I so long to see glimpses of that world in the here and now--experience it, partake in it, savor it, sit in it for a while.  So I look for beauty, and I often stubbornly insist on finding it and easily feel disappointed when I don't.

So sometimes, I find myself at the grocery store with my $2 tulips, enjoying the (affordable) beauty that they bring!  But other times, I am just going about my daily business and I sit down at my desk to find a flower waiting for me.  Unexpected beauty in an unexpected gift.  I think it's the heart of the Father going out to me, speaking to me, "I know your heart, daughter.  I know what brings you joy.  And I delight to meet you in that place."  And I know He does.  I must admit that I love those pretty purple flowers the most-- the moments beyond human understanding, when the Supernatural seems to break through my world and tell me that He gets me, knows me, and is with me.

Choosing to live this life by faith in Jesus is not easy.  Some days, I wonder if I'm doing anything right or making an impact on anyone at all.  That's probably part of why I love to see the beauty in this world-- because it reminds me that yes, this really is my Father's world.  But there are moments that seem like Divine confirmation-- when an unexpected flower appears, an Eternal "yes" to my question, saying to me "yes, Bethany, you are my beloved daughter. With you I am well pleased."  Those times are my favorite.

going home

I am sitting next to a pond with only my iPhone in hand. But my mind is so very full of thoughts. I want...no, I need to write them. So here goes...my first post from my iPhone.

I am just wrapping up spring break this week. It has been a beautiful week...so very beautiful. It touched something very deep in me and I've been walking around this pond trying to figure out what that was.

But I know what it was. My holes were filled this week. Somehow, the gaping, aching longings that I've been trying to learn how to live with...somehow, this week, they were filled.

I guess that's what happens when you go home. I would always say nj is my home...and I happen to be sitting in that great state now. So it wasn't the state. No, it was that my soul felt at home this week. Pressures lifted, my soul felt free to rest. And what a beautiful rest it was. And the spaces in me that feel gaping open...they were filled. Quality time with mom, dad, best friend. Time to laugh, cry, be loud, be quiet, time to rest and time to be, knowing that I am not alone. It was beautiful. I can only think that it reminded my heart of what is to come...when my heart will really be home and my soul will really sing.

I had the privilege of hearing a friend of mine preach this morning. He spoke of the hope of the resurrection, that the resurrection speaks to me now of the hope that one day, I and everything in this world will be as it was meant to be. We will live in and we will know fullness. We will see the Lord. We will walk with him with nothing in our way. He'll be as real to us as we are to each other. But my friend also said that the hope of the resurrection touches us today. As I sit next to this pond painstakingly typing away on my small iPhone, I remember that I am a new person, that the resurrected Bethany is continuing to live and take shape even now. That there is hope that I will continue to grow, continue to be changed, continue to be renewed and remade because Jesus went to the cross and rose from the grave. Because he is alive, so am I.

These truths are spiritual, understood by experience, it seems. Too huge for me to try to explain or put words to.  But somehow my heart knows. I know that even in the moments when resurrection seems far away, it's not.  He came so that we might be liberated, transformed new people even now. Praise His name.  What an amazing God who would do this for His people.

My next post might sound a bit more sophisticated.  I've found that it's hard to sound sophisticated when you keep pushing the wrong button on your phone. =) It takes me 5x longer just to type one word!  So this one will just sound real, I suppose.

beautiful collision

My life lately has felt a bit like a collision course.  Seriously... collision after collision.  And I can't seem to stop it.  But I think I'm beginning to understand that this is not a bad thing.

In the process, I am making friends with the words of Rich Mullins' song...
we are frail, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.  forged in the fires of human passion, choking on the fumes of selfish rage.  with these our hells and our heavens so few inches apart, we must be awfully small and not as strong as we think we are.

If you've heard that song, you know it's beautiful.  And I just get it.  Life, lately, has taught me that my hells and my heavens can be just inches apart.  Abrupt moments of bad news, sorrow, or pain, followed on the heels by unexpected joy and provision.  Heaven and hell on the same day.  It's left me with a new understanding of the frailty and smallness of my own life.  It is completely out of my hands to know how many hells or how many heavens I will see in one day, one week, or one lifetime.

But in that place where my head spins and my heart thumps, my eyes also fly open and before me, I see a beautiful collision...

the frailty of human flesh meeting the gentle grace of God.

confusion meeting compassion.

weakness met by the tender infusing of supernatural strength.

darkness clashing with light.
sin buried by the blood of the Lamb.

humanity coming face-to-face with the beauty of the Gospel--

"God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

You were never meant to save yourself, so the Savior has come to you.

Amen!

So let it come.  In my daily life, I learn the process of welcoming the beautiful collision...

In my weakness, Lord, meet me with a fresh awareness of your strength.  In my frailty, Jesus, overwhelm me with your compassion for humanity.  In my need, Lord, let me know how gracious and willing you are to provide.  When I feel stuck in darkness, Lord, I wait for a collision of your light... where Frail meets Divine... and somehow, in your Sovereign grace and plan, I emerge a different girl.  

Yes, fearfully and wonderfully made.  Humble, grateful, waiting with eager expectation for you. 

give them a flower

There's a scene in the film Braveheart that haunts me... in a way that is very good and very mysterious.  I watch the scene, tears crowd my eyes, and something within me stirs mightily.  I've come to think of that 'stirring' as a movement of the Holy Spirit.  His Almighty, Gentle Whisper saying, 'yes, Daughter, this is for you.  This is what I have called you to.'  It's a mighty moment.

The scene opens with a broken young William Wallace, a child determined to fight back tears at the funeral of his father and brother.  Oh, the tears.  You know they're there, gathering in his heart even as he determines to hold them back.  William is determined to be a brave boy... already, the warrior's heart is in him.  Standing off to the side is the beautiful, innocent child Murron.  She watches William.  He never leaves her gaze.  She knows the tears in his heart.  You wonder if she hopes to offer him comfort, even if just through her gaze.

The funeral ends. Murron's parents usher her away.  William stands alone.  Murron breaks free from her mother's hand, grabs a prickly, pretty purple flower, and holds it out to William.  William looks at her, reaches for the flower, and as they stand there, his tears flow.

Compassion.  Gentleness.  Beauty.  Understanding.

We all need these things.  How we need to be reminded when we cannot see.

I watch the scene unfold before me and tears flow.  I feel the Holy Spirit stirring, moving, whispering all around me.  'Beth, the heart of Murron--I've put it in you.  Give them a flower.  Remind them.'  Yes, Lord.  Is this a part of the mission that You have for me in this life?

I've certainly seen some flower-less days in my life.  When compassion, hope, beauty, understanding just seemed absent.  When I questioned if they ever existed at all.  When I fought to keep the tears in and tried to trick the world into thinking that I really am okay.  When I stood alone.

I have found that somewhere in the course of those moments--sometimes in the most surprising of ways--a prickly, pretty purple flower emerges.  A voice, perhaps the Voice, tells me, 'There is so much more going on here than meets the eye.  You will be fine.  Stand, grab on to me, let me hold you up.  There is rest for your soul.'  How I've needed that.  How grateful I am for the flower-givers in my life. Those moments have changed me.  Grace and compassion in the moments when I am most needful of it.

And along the way, in receiving that grace and kindness, somehow, in a marvelous mystery, they have become a part of me.  They have been given to me to share and to give.  And the more I receive, the more I give.

So the Spirit blows around me and continues to whisper, 'Receive the flowers, Beth.  I leave them around you, for you.  And give the flowers, Beth.  Offer them kindness, grace, compassion, understanding, beauty.  Offer them me.'

What a high, high calling.  So with all my heart, I long to receive the flowers.  And I long to give the flowers.

the friend of brokenness

You could say that I've been sitting in a pile of brokenness this week.  It's not comfortable... not really at all.  I squirm and kick and try to worm my way out... but it doesn't work.  Makes me wonder if sometimes Jesus orchestrates brokenness... maybe we need it more than we know.

It's Friday and I sit at my desk and try to pick up the pieces of what was a pretty messy week.  Life happened fast this week... I couldn't keep up.  I would have much preferred a slower, gentler process.  I'm a 'sit and soak' person--give me options slowly, let me ponder, go into my closet and talk with the Lord for a little while, and I'll return to you with a pretty great response.

But life doesn't always allow for 'sitting and soaking.'  I live among people.  That's usually something that I love, but sometimes, the reality is that people hurt me and ask things of me that are difficult... sometimes, they don't allow me to go to the closet and come back with a great response.  Sometimes, I am wounded and I am hurt... but I am still required to come out and live among the world.

So this afternoon, I find myself sitting in a pile of brokenness.  I don't think my living this week was the prettiest.  I'm pretty sure I could have done better.  I feel kind of haunted by the moments when I should have done better.  I even went through several whole days this week with puffy eyes and big hair!  Oh, the pile of brokenness.  It can be run from... it can be welcomed.  So I stand here and I stare at it--that messy, beautiful pile that at the present time is me...

And softly, I hear a voice whispering to me, reminding me that brokenness was never meant to stand by itself. A friend was given to brokenness a long time ago.  Jesus named her grace.  The amazing thing is that I think the more I choose to embrace my own pile of brokenness, the more I realize that grace has already befriended my brokenness long before I ever knew it--and the more I see and hear the invitation to run and jump and play and dance with grace.

And today, I meet up with an old friend and we have a heart to heart, and afterwards, I get in my car and I drive for a really long time, and I talk to Jesus and I join that dance.

And I join Rich and sing this song...