Taking Off My Shoes

Earth’s crammed with Heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I found the above quote in a book I’m reading by Richard Foster called Sanctuary of the Soul.  In the chapter this quote is taken from, Foster is talking about meditative prayer and discusses “beholding the Lord.”  He talks about being still in the reflected glory of God that we see in His creation. I love this chapter and was provoked to write about my experience with beholding the Lord.

 I’m captivated by the beauty in nature; often deeply moved by the brilliant colors, sweeping movements, utter stillness, magical sounds and intoxicating fragrances of the world outside my door. My heart is often broken over the small percentage of time I’ve actually spent out in the wilderness, or even just outside. There is a wild connection to something greater than myself out there, a beauty that is real and raw and authentic.  It overwhelms my soul; it is my Lord, my God, the wind of the Holy Spirit and He loves me in return. 

He displays His true colors for me across the sky at sunset, He kisses my check with a gentle breeze, He tousles my hair with a strong wind, He sings to me with sweet chirps at night and treetop songs by day.  And all I have to do is be still and receive Him; the knowledge of Him in all His splendor. He makes Himself known to me there in the midst of His glorious creation . . . when I am still.  When I am still I behold Him.

Thanks Oscar!

This past 4^th of July, I took a trip with my family to visit our relatives in Woonsocket, SD.  There I met a little boy named Oscar, our nephew's son.  He is not yet two and we fell in love with each other.  Through him I experienced something rare and profound – God used him to give me a glimpse of his unconditional love for me and blessed me with the rare joy of pure love that comes in the beautiful and precious package of a child.

Oscar seemed to be drawn to me from the moment we met.  His little face would light up when he saw me and an expectant look of adventure would creep into his smile.  I was delighted to oblige his prompting to go for a walk or to play ball, or sweep the garage. He is a bundle of curiosity and I think he saw in me a kindred spirit.  What I saw in Him was complete trust, love, joy and a pure spirit.  I quickly observed that Oscar is a rare jewel – able to look deeply into a person’s eyes and assess their willingness to not only engage with him, but to delight in the world with him.

Through the course of the few days I was there, Oscar and I walked a lot. At one point I was sitting outside on the porch steps with him and he got up to take a step down.  He faltered and was just about to tip over when I reached out and caught him.  He looked at me with large surprised eyes and I said, “Oh – I saved you!” He understood that.  He steadied himself and then reached up ever so gently, putting both his hands on my face and leaned in and kissed me as if to say “thank you.” It was a beautiful gesture that brought tears to my eyes.  “You’re welcome, Oscar – and thank you for the kiss!” I replied.  He laughed with delight and we walked some more as he shared the wonders of the world as he saw them; prickly grass, the rough bark on a tree, smooth dirt, the splash of a rock in the pond.

As his Mom and Dad were preparing to leave for home one morning, Oscar reached up for my hand to take me on one last walk.  We walked down the street of the small town and stopped by a large bale of hay. We had discovered hay in his Uncle’s barn the day before and I had shown him how it was rough and bright and shone golden in the sun and smelled sweet; he had been delighted at the discovery of it.  He stopped and pulled a small handful of hay out of the bale and offered it to me as if to say, “I remember this little treasure that you shared with me.” He looked into my eyes for understanding and I’m sure he saw a tear as I said, “yes, I remember too.” Remarkable!

We had a wonderful visit with everyone this year.  Time seemed to pass slowly but in a beautiful, grace-filled way.  There was a sense of welcome and unity that knits families together in a rare and eternal way. We all were refreshed and full of the “weight” that love and acceptance gives a soul.  But I feel I had received a little more than everyone else.  God allowed me to share in Oscar’s beautiful vision of the world – to see it fresh through his eyes.  He allowed me to experience the love of a child – the kind of love that is given without reserve, without expectations, without limit. And love begets love. What a gift I received from Oscar and ultimately from my Heavenly Father.

Lord, may I too, love you with the love of a wondrous, open, trusting and wide-eyed child; receiving the world and people around me as a beautiful and precious gift.

Lessons in Worship

God is teaching me about worship. He’s teaching me that my worship of Him must not be dependent on anything other than the fact that He is worthy.  Worship is not only at church on Sunday.  Worship is not dependent upon the music or whether it is “moving” me or I’m “enjoying” it or “approving” of it.  Worship is not about musicians on a stage.  Here’s the poem/psalm that I wrote as I ponder what God is teaching me.

Worship stolen from the deserving

Sacrificed at the altar of desire

Devoured by undeserving flesh

Savored for all to see

As it went down to the innermost parts

Puzzling

I’ve been puzzling these past few weeks.  A 1,000 piece Holiday puzzle.  This year it was a Thomas Kincaide version of the movie, A Christmas Story; we didn't even get around to watching that movie this year and it’s usually one of our traditions.  And that got me thinking . . . traditions; they’re a huge part of my DNA and have been since my childhood.  So this year when quite a few of our family traditions fell by the wayside, I felt a bit like my unfinished puzzle . . . scattered and undone. 

Maybe we didn’t get to all of them because of the shorter Christmas season this year; but if I’m honest with myself, then I’d have to admit it’s more than likely because my boys are getting older.  At 17 and 13, without Santa in the picture, the Christmas holiday season has been redefined for our household.  And yes, that’s sad.  Sad because it was so much about Santa and sad because the magic and wonder associated with Santa tends to grow out of us.

But, (you knew that was coming), amazingly, as I worked to redefine what this time of year should mean for my family and me, I was stopped in my tracks.  God just said, “Stop.” 

So I stopped.  I stopped pushing everyone to keep our traditions.  I stopped “working” to redefine our Christmas which involved me reading aloud from a book about Advent while my family tried hard to pay attention to make me happy; or finding interesting “family oriented” activities such as volunteering at a “Christmas Shoe Boxes for Orphans” processing center.  I was just making everyone miserable . . . but mostly myself.

I did, however, decide to keep one of my favorite annual traditions; a holiday puzzle.  This is something I usually do with very little help from the rest of my family so I didn't feel I would be dragging them into something they didn't really want to do.  And, when I’m puzzling, I’m not puzzling mentally . . . having one single thing to focus on is very relaxing for me (it so rarely happens too).

So I emptied all the puzzle pieces onto the kitchen table and starting hunting and searching and trying to make sense of how these pieces would become the picture on the box.  As I analyzed which piece I would need next; going over the shape, color and size, I would regularly find the piece that absolutely should’ve fit but didn't.  It was the right shape, the right color, it was the perfect size . . . but it had one slight “defect” that made it not fit.  I really hadn’t found the perfect piece.  Each time it happened, I would be so astonished, “what??  That isn’t the right piece??  No way!” Don and the boys would laugh at me; until they started helping and then they would do it too and we would laugh at each other.

As I worked on the puzzle late one night after everyone else was in bed, I was trying to “make” a piece fit, turning it this way and that in the same spot where it surely must belong; I stopped.  I looked at that puzzle piece and realized it was meant for another place; it would fit later, in a different scene and complete a different part of the picture.  It fit, just not where I wanted, in the scene I thought it needed to be in; it fit somewhere else.  

At that moment, I received my message from God and I was overwhelmed with a great sense of peace and filled with a deep joy.  The pieces that made up my Christmas picture had all changed shape; they had a new color and a new scene was being painted by the hand of God Himself.  In that moment I knew I had been changed.  I’ll never be the same.  I’ll never look at Christmas the same way either; it’s going to be different, a different picture, with unique and interesting shapes and color, but I trust that they’ll all fit together perfectly to paint a beautiful scene, a picture of my family in the presence of God, our designer and great life-puzzle maker.