The Richness of Soil

Ephesians 3:17-18: May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love. And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is.

Before my 2/3 mushroom compost, 1/3 topsoil blend came to our home, my gardens were "special needs". The clay was hard and the rocks were plentiful. I shoveled on the nutrient rich compost like a mother feeding her hungry child. And my little piece of earth responded. The above picture is after the compost. The picture below is what this same little bed looked like as I was applying the compost.

Here is another before and after picture:

And now some more fun afters:

Clearly, the soil where roots are planted is vital to the life and proliferation of plants.  So too with us. I've found in my own life that when I have tried to plant my desires apart from God, my efforts have been frustrated.  However, when my roots are planted deep into God's heart, reaching to him, hungry for his nutrient rich guidance....then I produce fruit.  How wide, long, high and deep God's love is for us is best demonstrated when we plant our lives, our roots, in Him.  I'm thankful for God's mercy for those times when I plant my roots in clay and rocks and for His overwhelming blessings when I choose Him.

My Lavender Birthday Pilgrimage

These are but the outer fringe of His works; how faint the whisper we hear of him!

Psalm 104:24

It seems like each time I go to the lavender festival in Sequim I think, "Have the fields ever looked THIS beautiful?" "Do the farmer's personal gardens have more colorful flowers and scented pathways than in previous years?" The lavender festival always falls on or near my birthday, and never fails to renew my spirit and usher in the next year of my life with a beautiful welcome. To think that beauty like this is only a delicate whisper of God's works, just fills me with thankfulness and awe!

Sequim (pronounced: Squim) is wonderfully situated in the rain shadow of the Olympic Mountains and the Strait of Juan de Fuca.  The Dungeness River flows from the mountains, through the town of Sequim and into the strait.  Years ago, farmers channeled the river for irrigation on their farms, and about 10 years ago the crop of choice became lavender. The mere 16.81 annual inches of rain (quite an anomaly for the Pacific Northwest), ocean breezes, mild climate and alluvium soil from the Dungeness River, converge together in perfect harmony to produce what is now, world famous lavender.

I love it when a community carves out a beautiful new niche and utilizes all the wonderful attributes of its land for a great product. Oregon has done that with its vineyards and award winning wines, after its timber industry declined. Reinventing yourself like that is like finding out in your old age that you still "have it".  I'm hoping for that very discovery as I start my new year in life! What new plans does God have for me?  I hope I'm open to His guidance each day and don't miss out on any new beginnings!

Glass-Winged Butterfly

Proverbs 27:19: As water reflects a face, so a man’s heart reflects a man.


Colors capture our attention. Bright colors like yellows and reds seem to clamor loudest for consideration. Often times red can be a warning color in nature, signaling poison, a bitter taste, or conversely a bright invitation to pollinate to help carry on a plant’s life cycle. Now, greens are amazing. There are endless shades of green just in my back yard, yielding depth and texture that can only be truly treasured if you are standing actually in the yard and purposely noticing the dimensions of their pallet. Blue is like that too. Water and sky have so many shades and hues that I don’t think anyone could possibly dream up that many names for blue, although many have tried (like Benjamin Moore who named a lovely dark colored blue simply, ‘Stunning 826’).

I think people can be a bit like color. Sometimes we meet colorful people in our lives who brush in and out like a well-dipped red paintbrush adding laughter, brilliance, or even poison and leaving us changed. Other people are here to stay and their shades of green, gray or brown can be muted and lovely adding such a dimension to our lives that we could scarcely breathe without them.

Today I saw a picture of glass-winged butterfly from Panama and it is so beautiful, I cannot stop thinking of it. Its wings were iridescent, reflecting the colors of whatever it was near, and magnifying the beauty of whatever it rested on. Oh, to be like the glass-winged butterfly, reflecting the beauty I see around me, and magnifying the beauty of others who are near! So often, I will only reflect my own dark heart, brooding and worrying so much that I am missing the beauty and potential that I am actually resting on, and the words of wisdom God has prepared in other’s, will pass on by without me knowing.

It would seem that glass-winged type people are the quiet people in our lives, whose gentle spirit softly bring out the best in us, their humble strength receding to let others boisterously jangle their needed colors. However, the world would be a bit dull if we were all like the glass-winged butterfly. There would be no colors to reflect or emphasize, and so much passion, as well as the flushing lessons from angst might be lost. 

Its not my nature to be glass-winged (at least the positive elements of it). I am far more colorful than even I can handle at times! I am thankful that God works with me daily in refining my colors and helping me along in my little piece of earth.

Mystery Dinner Guest

Critter-food Carnage of the Rose Bush Kind

Psalm 103:1 Praise the Lord O my soul; all my inmost being, praise His holy name.

Today the pastor was teaching about being thankful and remembering to thank God throughout the day. Today, however, was the day my Betty Boop rose was mowed down to a nub. While the pastor talked about mindful thankfulness, I sat there discouraged and most decidedly NOT thankful. My soul, my inmost being, the area where everything in me is sifted, examined, refined and processed, was in a frump and could not for the life of me come up with something about this situation in which to praise God. Not only had Betty Boop nearly met her demise, but the Queen of Sweden, Moondance and a bit of Dream Come True, had all been similarly terrorized.

It had went down like this…I woke up Friday morning and looked out my front window and my eyes moved lovingly from left to right down my 25 foot-long planter that housed eight of my 10 rose bushes along with five dahlias fresh from the earth. However, when my eyes rested on the last three bushes, my brain was grappling to understand what I was seeing. To the right of each bush were a pile of branches and rosebuds. What? What am I seeing? Today is yard day, but the sun had just come out and the front yard mowing crew were not due for a couple of hours. Beside, all they ever did was mow the front yard, blow the cuttings off the driveway and leave. Who would trim my roses when they were just beginning to bloom? I ran outside and saw that the branches had all been cut in neat 45-degree angles and placed respectfully to the right side of each bush. I examined all the other bushes, than went back to the house to grab my camera and take pictures of the butchery.
After I showered and dressed, I went back out. The yard crew had now left having completed their usual work. My neighbor was outside washing her motor home and I told her about my roses. She told me that some of her dianthus had been destroyed in the same manner. She came and looked at my roses and commiserated with me, and told me she would put a beat out on the block to see if anyone had any ideas what could have happened.

Later that day, my neighbor came to my door clearly shaken and told me she had solved the mystery. She and her sister had just returned from a vacation at the Columbia River Gorge and after washing their huge motor home, they returned it to the storage unit. Now you must know this, my neighbor and her sister are two of the most organized and clean people I have ever known. Besides having the cleanest home and garage in the history of the world, they are also the ones who host and lead our neighborhood’s emergency preparedness meetings twice a year and have our block so organized we should be sent to assist capping BP’s spewing oil leak and cleaning up the Gulf of Mexico. I know we could have it completed within a week, as well as creating a sanctuary for wildlife affected by the oil.

My neighbor said that as she was placing her customary mothballs throughout the motor home, including the engine to deter any potential critter activity, when what should she find? A female rat sitting in a bed made of rosebuds. Mrs. Rat was huge and was not in the least bit interested in finding another spot to repose, no matter how hard my neighbor tried with her broomstick. While she was still trying the relocation effort, her sister opened up another flap on the side of the trailer and found Mr. Rat. The rat couple was in no hurry to leave and my poor neighbors spent a great deal of time insisting that they did. After successfully getting them out of the trailer, they returned with traps, hoping they would not have to dispose of anything in them. By the way, the fanciest hotel I have ever walked inside was the Princeville Hotel in Kauai. My neighbor’s trailer has to be the Princeville Hotel of all trailers. The insult of having rats in it, must have sent chills throughout my poor neighbors bones, she left my porch muttering repeatedly about needing a drink.

I went to bed a bit unnerved to think of my beautiful roses being accosted my two highbrow rats who only wanted to see the country sitting on the youthful blush of Betty Boop and Queen of Sweden rosebuds. However, I did rest well knowing that the two varmints were far away and all my roses were going to grow back strong and beautiful once more… but this was not to be.

This morning, Sunday, I woke up to find more carnage. Betty Boop now has two short branches remaining, and the earlier affected rosebushes were assaulted once more. The question now remains, do Mr. and Mrs. Rat have friends and relations as highbrow as they? Are there rabbits that are teething on my roses and practicing their sharp cuts without needing to consume any in the process? Are there deer that help by standing guard during the raid? I am tempted to sleep in my husband’s car tonight to solve this senseless crime and then trap or bait accordingly.

Now about this praising thing…I will praise God for my roses and I think the critters he made are just awesome, but I’m still working on the thankfulness angle for losing my rosebushes and worried what might go on in my rose garden tonight. “Praise the Lord O my soul; all my inmost being, praise His holy name.” I will because God tells me to and since He is my creator, He knows best. Thank you God, Amen.

Casting our Bread

Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.

Ecclesiastes 11:1



Several years ago, I sold a home I loved. My children grew up in this home and through the years our flowerbeds boasted drifts of color, and the vegetables and fruits I planted and nurtured were large and plentiful. Deep violet colored clematis curled around the gracious front porch, and in the summer the blueberries and raspberries were constantly begging to be picked. My kids played in the shade of a tee-pee made with scarlet runner beans, and my youngest daughter made “gold” bars from the wood shavings left over from our firewood. My love of dahlias started there, and as my passion for them grew, the rows of vegetables I planted curiously shrank.

When it was necessary to sell and move on, my heart could hardly endure the change and I became deeply depressed. I longed for not only the beauty and comfort our home had provided, but for the young laughter of my children that had filled it for so many years. My youngest was now entering college and changes in my life required me to sell. My neighbors asked if they could have certain plants in my garden, but feeling like I had sold the landscaping too, I sadly shook my head, ‘No’. *


However, I did dig up a few suckers from around our very prolific lilac bush and planted them in my mother’s garden until I had a home once more. It was to be a small reminder of a beautiful era. The lilac starts sprouted a few small branches and leaves in my mother’s shadow-filled back yard, but produced no flowers. Three years ago, my husband and I built a new home in a community where the yards were small and the covenants were large. My ability to plant what I wanted and where I wanted to place it was significantly stymied. I longed to make my little flower beds welcoming and colorful, and my mother reminded me of the little lilac bush still trying to grow in her garden.


I planted it in a sunny spot in the back yard of our new home and waited for it to bloom. Nothing happened. I covered its roots in compost, fed it, checked its PH and still no blooms. I even moved it to a new spot, but it remained small and non-productive. Then, in desperation, I planted another small lilac right beside it, hoping its pollen would spark a reminder of what lilac flowers look like. It has been three years and there is not even a hint of a flower. The branches are getting bigger and fuller by the day, but there will be no flowers again this year. However, the one-year old little lilac bush beside it, with its spindly branches and sparse leaves, has pleasantly provided several blessed clusters of deeply scented lilacs.

I have decided that I am giving my old little lilac bush one more spring to show me a flower. If it does not produce, I am moving it on, as I have done. Sometime things cannot be recreated or restored. Sometimes it is important to remember when we cast our bread upon the waters, it will come back, but it will be changed. The water will expand it and it will be larger, then it will drift away in little pieces sharing its nutrition to others. The lessons I have learned from moving on have been painful, but so rich and so profound, that I will never be the same. As we are sharing God’s lessons in our own lives, we are using His bountiful bread to feed others. Sometimes it’s the hardest thing in the world to cast our bread in the first place, and waiting for those “many days” before it is returned is often agony. Thankfully, the promised blessings will come and they will be abundant.


My grandchildren’s laughter now occasionally rings throughout my home, and my flowerbeds are filling up once more. I have blueberries ripening, tomatoes setting, and I am still strategizing where to plant a scarlet runner tee-pee for my grandchildren when they come for a visit.

* Little did I know that a man without legs had purchased my home and knowing he would not be able to tend my high-maintenance landscaping, he had it all bulldozed and covered in gravel. He sold it a year later and moved on as well.

I lift up my eyes!

Psalm 121: I lift up my eyes to the hills, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip, he who watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you, the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm. He will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

 Perhaps I look for signs of comfort from our Lord, but I don’t believe I do. God just seems to know what brings me joy and fills my spirit in His perfect and personalized way. A couple of months ago my husband and I were waiting the results of some important medical tests and I looked to the sky out my bedroom window and cried to God all my fears and concerns. A large flock of geese soon flew over in a perfect V formation. As they flew Northwest, I watched in awe as their formation morphed into a two upside down V’s connected together. The letter “M” was now forming. My eyes filled with tears as I read what I felt was a sign from heaven, “V, M”; “Victory McCart's”. God is good. All the time.


Now, a couple of weeks ago I received deep sorrowful news regarding a loved one. Again, I stood by my window and cried tears of grief. I was soon greeted by the bright yellow and black display of the season’s first goldfinch. He sat on my little beech tree quite content to let me revel in his beauty and praise our maker for such perfection. A few moments later a female rufous hummingbird with her beautiful green back, red brown sides and red spotted throat landed on a top branch above the goldfinch. She seemed to stay there for an eternity in hummingbird time, but was probably there only for about 15 seconds. Then as she started to fly off, a larger gray bird with a purple head and chest flew in front of the beech and then perched on the fence behind it. At first, I thought it was a rock dove, but then realized what I was, seeing was a band-tailed pigeon that was probably out visiting our near-by golf course, douglas fir and Pacific madrone trees. For just a split second, all three birds were together at the same time, and the pigeon and goldfinch seemed in no hurry to leave. As I looked at these morning visitors in complete awe, I felt God speak to my heart that he will make everything beautiful in His time. He will indeed watch over our lives now and forever.


My husband recently had surgery, but last week we learned that he must undergo a larger and very delicate surgery very soon. As we returned home from the doctors with heavy hearts, we noticed very quickly that near our front door was a huge moth. This moth was behaving strangely because he stayed strangely stalwart, with his wings upright like a butterfly, not outstretched like a moth. He had beautiful feather like antennae, gorgeous eye-spots and a Nike-like swash on each of his wings. He was very patient with me and let me measure one of his wings, which was over two inches wide. I looked him up in my insect guide and found that he was a Cecropia moth, and is one of the largest moths in North America. Cecropia moths don’t usually fly west of the Rocky Mountains, but here he was on my porch. He stayed there for four days, a winged sentry, not moving as if stunned to find himself on the West coast on a bright yellow house. Did God send him our way to remind us that even though we have not traveled this path before, He will not sleep, indeed, he will not slumber as he watches over us? I don’t know the real answer, I just know that God loves me and his promises are real. We are blessed.

The Great Compost Arrival

My beautiful top soil and mushroom compost mix arrived at 4:00 pm, and my mouth could not smile any wider! The compost smelled earthy and rich, and was speckled with real mushrooms. I actually salivated for my plants while I shoveled its deliciousness. I worked until dark, then begrudgingly gave up and came inside.

I awoke the next morning, stiff and sore but ready to go. I shoveled all day until my wheelbarrow seemed to be weaving with my weariness. The clouds were increasing and it was sprinkling a bit, so I came inside at a decent hour. The next day was Sunday and after church it was raining so hard, I decided to take a short nap and rest my weary body, hoping for a power surge and dry weather when I woke. I slept for three full hours, and the rain poured on throughout the day. I decided to finish the next day, rain or shine.

Monday arrived and my remaining compost was sprawling out like an ugly brown monster with its fingers greedily grasping more and more of my driveway. I suited up in my rain gear and headed out to do battle. The compost in my wheelbarrow was now, wet sloppy mud, bubbling with mirth at my tenacity. I slung wet aimless shovels of it in the direction of my flowerbeds and it met the earth with slaps and spatters, looking like a barnyard neglected in the rain. The rain and wind drummed on through out the day, stopping only to change venues into hail or sleet. My rubber boots split at the seams and my socks slipped down them, wet and covered in mud.*

My flowerbeds now looked like a heard of elephants had backed up and unloaded a month’s supply of manure. I dumped my last load of compost and every ounce of me wanted to go stand in a hot shower and cry exhaustively (just a little). However, it was now time to pressure-wash my driveway and sidewalk, or my neighborhood with its all its covenants, would probably haul me off to dirty driveway jail. I pressure-washed in the rain until dusk, my hands howling in protest.

I watched the rain percolate the yummy nutrients of my compost day after day, after day. Finally, after over a month of waiting, the clouds parted and the sun warmed and dried the flowerbeds, signalling me to turn over the compost and mix it with the clay that lurked below. It was hard work breaking through the clay and mixing it with the top-soil/compost blend, and I know this will have to be done each year for years to come, to create an on-going rich soil. However, I'm thinking that maybe I should have it dumped when the earth is still frozen, so at least it resembles soil when I sling it on my plants.

Spring days have followed, and my little piece of earth is getting greener and fuller each day. “The heavens praise your wonders O Lord” as do I.

*This feeling reminded me of when I was a little girl and wore anklets with my well-worn and holey go-go boots. My anklets always slid down uncomfortable to the middle of my foot.