This is My Father's World

This Is My Father's World

This is my Father's world,

and to my listening ears

all nature sings, and round me rings

the music of the spheres.

This is my Father's world:

I rest me in the thought

of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;

his hand the wonders wrought.

 

This is my Father's world,

the birds their carols raise,

the morning light, the lily white,

declare their maker's praise.

This is my Father's world:

he shines in all that's fair;

in the rustling grass I hear him pass;

he speaks to me everywhere.

 

This is my Father's world.

O let me ne'er forget

that though the wrong seems oft so strong,

God is the ruler yet.

This is my Father's world:

why should my heart be sad?

The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!

God reigns; let the earth be glad!

The first time I heard this hymn, I couldn't believe how perfectly the author had voiced the emotions in my heart when I looked upon God's creation.  My eyes filled with tears and my hand reached out while singing, wishing I could hold God's hand as I praised Him.  The precious few times I have heard it sung, my response has been the same. I think, in fact, it is my personal anthem.

When I see nature, I see God's love. "In rocks and trees, of skies and seas; his hand the wonders wrought". The wonders of his creation never cease to amaze me. As a young mother I would constantly point out to my children the intricacies of God's design.  As a teacher I have written entire units over a single plant or animal and the perfection of it's design.  All my children are talented artists in various mediums, which blesses my heart because I see that they have learned the beauty in details, a perfect reflection of God's intent.

When I have friends or family walk with me around my humble little flower gardens, a few have responded something like, "You showed me this last week".  But oh how much they have missed!  Don't they see there are more colors now then last week? Don't they see how this leaf is ruby red with the sun specifically shining down on it from the south right now? Don't they see how the lily is "declaring the maker's praise"? 

"In the rustling grass, I hear him pass; he speaks to me everywhere." Sometimes a gentle breeze blows a leaf or a textured grass just enough for it to catch my eye, sometimes a flash of a brightly colored bird or butterfly captures my attention and all I can do is say, "Praise you Lord"! "He speaks to me everywhere".

At times when my heart is afraid, I feel God sends me a beautiful reminder of how much I'm loved, perhaps through the soaring large wings of a majestic bald eagle or an osprey over our home. "Oh let me ne'er forget that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet". When the rain pours and the wind howls, God shows me His strength and magnificence and I am humbled.

"This is my Father's world: why should my heart be sad? The Lord is King ; let the heavens ring! God reigns; let the earth be glad"!

Weeds, You Can't Live With Them and You Can't Live Without Them.

"A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows."


- Doug Larson
 
I haven't posted for awhile, life, and weeds of all kinds have been filling my days.  Several weeks ago, in just three days time, I pulled 700 pounds of weeds from my flower beds!  I know their weight because the  quantity of weeds were far in excess of the capacity of my two lowly compost bins and had to be brought to the dump. At the dump they were weighed and apparently were assessed as very valuable because I had to pay the dump a great sum of money to store them. 
 
Weeds are insidious, invasive, pervasive, life-sucking pests that were put here by God when Adam and Eve sinned, "Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it.  It will produce thorns and thistles for you and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food." Genesis 3: 17-19. So it would seem, we will never see the end of weeds.
 

The weeds in my little piece of earth that cause me the most problems either have the word, "creeping" in front of it or at least start with the letter C.  The weed above is a creeping buttercup and its delightful trick is to spray seeds in your eyes and in all directions when given a tug (note: Can you find the blueberry bush in the above photo?). I also have weeds named: Creeping oxalis, creeping charlie, cat's ear and chickweed, to name a few.
 
 

Anyone see a euphorbia or a blanket flower anywhere?

After some weeding a Euphorbia appears.

 

Weeds will choke the life and light from a plant in every conceivable way.  A good gardener will always be in the garden weeding.When the weed eradication effort started this spring, I was in a dismal mood, seriously re-thinking whether I really wanted to pursue the "pleasures" of gardening. 

 

Sure there were quite a few earthworms showing me how improved my soil was, but the sheer task of even making a dent in the wilds of my back yard was daunting and my body was fighting the exercise needed for the job at every turn.  If you have ever observed how a giraffe drinks water, you can picture how I weed.  I have two bum knees and since I'm fairly flexible in my weeding muscles, I just assume giraffe position, bend down and pick weeds upside down.  After awhile my head throbs, my back hurts and my hands go numb.

 

However, something happens to me when the weeds are tamed to a reasonable few, and the wanted plants are visible once more...I get that craving, that gnawing in my soul to be a part of God's spring renewal and I plant even more flowers, prune back old wood, weed more weeds, fertilize, bait slugs, and generally proclaim war on anything that threatens my beautiful plants. I am hooked once more. A gardeners life for me.

Its hard for me to weed without seeing a metaphor underneath my head.  The sin in my life is so like the weeds I hate.  They are insidious and will find every possible way to claim the rich soil in my heart as theirs.  I pulled 700 pounds of weeds in three days time. If my own sins were weighed, the back of our little truck wouldn't be able to get mine to the dump.  I keep pulling up one kind of sin and seeds of others pop out in all directions.  Some of my sins have such a spreading root system that it looks like there will never be a way cleanse my soul. But that is the good news!  Jesus already has done that for me.  Yes, there will always be weeds, but thanks to what Jesus did on the cross, I will always be forgiven, and there will always be a way to get rid of the weeds and grow a healthier heart. I can be a sweet smelling flower if I do enough weeding, and I am one thankful gardener for the opportunity.

"The year's at the spring,

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hill-side's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in his Heaven—

All's right with the world!"

- Robert Browning, The Year's at the Spring



Getting in Shape for Gardening, and other Good Reasons.

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

Recently I read a "Maxine" card where this tough old lady quipped, that she felt, "a good figure is when everything droops at the same rate". After reading the card, I looked down and realized my standards for being in shape had drooped drastically over the last few years and it really was time to do something about it.

So, with a couple of friends encouraging me, I enrolled in a "Fitness Two" class in my community. "Fitness One" was at an awkward time, but I figured I could adapt to the challenges of a more advanced class, and signed right up.  I live in a 55 and up community and although I have a couple of years before I arrive at that magical age (I married up), I am constantly finding out not to underestimate the strength, endurance and flexibility of the "mature" woman.  Case in point, my new class.  

My teacher  is a gorgeous woman with an enviable figure that hasn't even thought about drooping in anyway.  Her hair is puffed and perfect before and after class.  Her make-up is impeccable and I've never seen her look anything but happy and sweat free. Besides having no traceable body fat, she has no lines on her face or even age spots (my nemesis), and brace yourself...she has a daughter my age!  

Our class consists of an hour of aerobics that include weights, stretch bands, balls, and yoga mats.  I consider the weights wonderful training for lifting heavy bags of manure and compost, and I lift those little four pound dumbbells with anticipation and fervor as I imagine them to be 50 pounds of manure  that I'm hoisting with ease and agility come spring. However, there are some moves we do in class that will only be utilized in the garden for special circumstances. Such as the move below that is probably used while weeding and one that I like to call, "Good grief that's a snake"!

The teacher executes the above pose by holding her insteps, then while keeping her knees straight, she smiles and talks about what she did over the weekend. I have a wonderful base for this (read wide bottom), but can't seem to get my legs straight even while holding my knees.  Once I make my bold two-leg-up effort, I invariably end up rolling backward with my legs in the air. I keep telling myself that I need to practice this move at home so I will be able to stay upright, but since it isn't a pose I usually incorporate into my day, I keep forgetting.

Another special circumstances pose we do is one that is obviously used to fake out pill bugs when wanting to sneak up on them. I'm assuming, if done correctly, one would be able to lull them into a false sense of security by having them think a long-lost giant family member was just curled up for a snooze while in town.  Then, when you have them totally convinced, you uncurl yourself, jump to your feet and stomp their little guts out.  Here is the pose done by our teacher and myself.

The correct method to accomplish this move is to lie down with your legs straight.  Then, oh so slowly with legs together, you bring your legs over your head and rest your feet on the mat above your head, its just that simple.  I have had some issues with this move.  The first issue is that I have a round tummy that works as a barrier that precludes the possibility of my legs moving any further than straight up in the air.  I have tried unsuccessfully to lift my bottom/hips with my hands in hope of propelling my legs forward and moving beyond my 90 degree angle.  However, I have found I am not yet strong enough to lift or even budge this problem area, so I end up looking around and marveling at about 24 mature pill bugs curled up with their feet above their head and ready to spring into action. A thing of beauty.

In some poses, the teacher works with our breathing.  On my first day of class while lying on my back with my legs up and trying to get my head to my knees, I thought her instruction to "let out all our air", was an inspired and wonderful idea, however she apparently needed to be more specific. I'm working on that one too.

The aerobic portion of our class is like tap dancing, meets, disco, meets, boxing.  I am glued to the teacher's moves, and try with everything in me to mirror what she is doing.  I have found that if I am thinking of anything else at all, I will end of shuffling around trying to keep up. So, I watch, and make approximations of the moves in hopes of actually closing in on all the steps some wonderful day.

I sweat so much during my class that my pony tail drips and my shirt sticks to me.  I bring a washcloth to blot the sweat, but I learned its important to bring a colored one since the little "vanity" make-up I apply before class is usually around my chin after the first twenty minutes.  I thought if I just applied a little foundation, and a touch of waterproof mascara to my top eyelashes...and lipstick, I could get through the class with some dignity intact.  However, waterproof mascara is not sweat proof and I usually look like a prize fighter at the end. 

After class all the ladies grab a cup of coffee and we sit around and gab for about an hour. This little ritual has become as important and beneficial to me as the exercise class. I have lived in our development for four years now and I'm meeting these women for the first time.  It is a joy to hear about their lives and as I do, I feel my life getting larger, and some of the heaviness of this last year already seems lighter. My body has a very long way to go, but I know it will wake up eventually and rise to the occasion.  We weren't meant to soldier through our lives without camaraderie and our bodies need to be strong to meet the demands of our lives. I'm finally paying attention to these areas, and I'm excited for the changes.

The picture below was taken in Kauai in 2004 and I was a year into the beginning of my "droop" period.  I'm using it as my phase one inspiration photo.

My Beloved and I Visit Seattle

One day my beloved said to me, "How beautiful you are, my darling!" "Oh, how beautiful!" "Your eyes are like doves." I answered of course, "How handsome you are my lover!" "Oh, how charming!" "Take me away with you!"

NOT! These are actually thought to be the ardent words of King Solomon in Song of Songs 1:4,15-16. For those who haven't read this smoking book in the Bible it a guaranteed page turner for you and your spouse as part of your Valentine's celebration.   Some passages make me blush and some, such as, "Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Mount Gilead, and your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn, coming up from the washing." (Chapter 4:1-2), just make me laugh!

However, my beloved did take me away, and we spent a glorious day in Seattle where we sampled and savored culture with wild abandon! We arrived downtown in late morning and drove directly to the Seattle Art Museum.

I hadn't been to the art museum in years and although we missed seeing the Picasso exhibit by a few days, we thoroughly enjoyed our leisurely visit in our perspective ways.  I had never been to a museum with my husband, but I smiled knowingly as I watched his method of enjoying the exhibits unfold.  As an engineer he was in his element, starting at the top right side of the museum and moving around each room in a clockwise pattern. He read every information placard under every exhibit, then proceeded to the next closest room. Don moved through the museum in a serpentine fashion so as not to waste any extra steps or incur the need to double back and return to any room to get to another. 

Don would look up and not find me, because I was enjoying the museum in my attention deficit-pin-ball method.  I would enter a room, stand in the middle and then move towards only the exhibits that I found inspiring or interesting. In my mind there was a loose desire to work in a methodical fashion, but I kept seeing tantalizing exhibits from various vantage points and was drawn to them like a magnet.  I saw some of the rooms many times as I entered and exited them to get to others. Of course my method took far less time than that of my husband's, so I lapped him several times and ended up looking at many other exhibits that hadn't made the first cut the last time I was in the room. It is no wonder that the painting below was one of my favorites, its random wave-like patterns just thrilled me!

I'm so thankful that Don and I can appreciate that we enjoy our world in different ways, and can give each other the unspoken permission to experience the museum in the way that feels most comfortable to each.  Here is my husband enjoying one of his favorite exhibits:

After we had luxuriated in the creative outpouring of renown artists, we walked down the street for a delightful seafood lunch at McCormick and Schmicks, yum! We were given a great table right by the window looking onto the street.  Don had a huge piece of tilapia and I had salmon hash with poached eggs and hollandaise sauce. I had never had poached eggs before and found them surprisingly scrumptious! Of course, the presence of hollandaise sauce on any food means good times.

With our stomachs full and excitement mounting we drove to our final destination, Benaroya Hall, where the Seattle Symphony was playing with the featured artist, Itzhak Perlman.

Izhtak Perlman was born in Israel in 1945.  He suffered polio as a child, but his musical gift propelled him to international acclaim. He studied first at the Academy of Music in Tel Aviv, then studied in the United States at The Jullilard School.  He won the pretigious Leventritt Competition in 1964 and has played with every major orchestra all over the world.  Mr. Perlam was honored to take part in the inauguration of President Barak Obama and has received numerous awards including the Metal of Liberty and a National Metal of Arts. 

Mr. Perlman entered with an assistive device on each arm and moved his legs in a swinging fashion in a labored almost painful manner. Tears struck my eyes as I saw what an effort it was for him to get to and step up on the podium.  When he sat, he put his assistive devices down, stuck one leg out then reached for his violin, put it under his chin then nodded to the conductor that he was ready.

Late afternoon melted into melodious night as we sat infused with the brilliance of this gifted violinist.  At times his music seemed to echo the beautiful notes of a songbird (my highest praise) and I sat in rapture as we listened to Moldau, No 2, and Felix Menddelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor, from the most gifted violinist in the world. He was given several standing ovations and he laborously walked from back stage each time to bow to the audiance yet again.

God has knit us together with a need for music. From the swaying youthful hips of my two year old granddaughter, to David as he played the harp for King Saul to ease his troubled mind. Music can be used for celebration and praise, as well as an instrumentation of expressing pain, beauty and joy.  Our hearts and minds untangle within us as we listen to music and we are changed.

My beloved and I went to Seattle.  We studied art that showed glimmers of who people were, what moved their hearts, and celebrated their creativity.  We ate and filled our stomachs with good food, and we listened to amazing music that took our hearts to places we had never been before. We are thankful.

Psalm 9:1-2: I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonders. I will be glad and rejoice in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.

Promises

The Witch Hazel is starting to bloom and the chives are poking up their tender heads.

Buds are starting to swell on my lilac bushes and my roses are starting to form tiny promises of leaves.

Even the rhododendrons have turned down their sturdy leaves and their buds are pointed expectantly upwards so as not to miss one bit of sunshine that might slip through a cloud.

Its like the very beginning of a beautiful symphony, the orchestra is arriving and a few musicians have started their opening warm-ups! Nature's renewal, its a joy that never gets old and never ceases to fill me with awe and surprise. No matter how cold the winter, there will always be spring. No matter how wet the spring, there will always be summer. God's promises, right there for everyone to see.

This last weekend I attended a Christian workshop called, "Being a Wise Women in Tough Times", presented by the Northwest Christian Speakers Bureau.  Four women spoke of different "hiccups" and "tsunami" events in their lives. From mice eating their car's electrical wires, to the deaths of an adulterous spouse and their child. Our suffering economy had affected each one of our speakers, some were in danger of losing their homes. 

 And yet, and yet...each were able to claim the promises of God, that He was real and would never leave us, that He loved us and wanted us to grow, mature and thrive. Each trusted, sometimes with both hands lifted to God, and sometimes with only one while the other clutched a package of fear.

Proverbs 14:1 says, "A wise woman builds while a foolish one tears down with her own efforts." The speakers talked of bitter fruit that they themselves demonstrated at various times of their trials. Fruits of: anger, complaining, self-pity, blame, denial, negativity, sarcasm and people pleasing. One told of how her friends were so tired of her complaints and negativity they would bolt when she came near. One loving friend finally asked her for coffee (no meal was offered because that would mean they would have to listen to even more complaining) and told her pretty much that she was a pain in the butt to be around and that her relationship with Christ was suffering. It was a wake-up call and the suffering sister slowly started to build a stronger and more pleasing foundation with the bricks of her trial.

I was blessed so much by these courageous women this weekend. They were real and their trials were deep and ugly.  Yet, the fruits of their spirits were beautiful, focused and mature.  A wise women cultivates a contented heart. Cultivation is an active process, one that chooses hope, not fear. Every day. 

Hebrews 13:8 reminds us, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever". I find such comfort in knowing this and the opening notes of spring are a wonderful illustration that this is indeed a promise that can be claimed.

Protective Ice Covering

Job 37:10: The breath of God produces ice, and the broad waters become frozen.

The other day, I saw white clouds scattered across the clear blue sky as if an artist, who couldn’t decide which kind to draw, painted them on. Some of the clouds stretched out in one big piece with long rows folding into themselves like a freshly tilled garden. Other clouds seemed painted with a small quick strokes resulting in little puffs of curls strewn about. The remaining were classic clouds with billows of circles escaping in all directions. What a delight to look up without rain falling into my eyes!

The last week or so has been dry and cold. My lawn has its crunchy white arctic look and the remaining leaves on my plants are sagging under the weight of a crust of ice. The only birds I see are the family of quail on my fence, and the gulls going to and from the Puget Sound a mile away. Everything seems just a bit quiet and restful.

Last week I did some gardening with my hedge trimmer and warmly gloved hands. I hadn’t cut back a few of my herbaceous plants in the fall, so I chose this time to cut them down while they were crisp and easy to cut. I knew their leaves would be black mush once the weather warmed. My silvery white dusty miller plants were also starting to look ragged so I lopped them back as well. I actually filled my large wheelbarrow before I was done. It felt good to be outside working again. I wrapped my beautiful bonsai in burlap, gave it a drink, and set it against the house on chunks of bark near my dryer vent. I hope this will keep it safe. Last year I poured soil all around it and it did beautifully.

As the sun moves around my yard, tiny shimmers of light twinkle all around bouncing off frozen twigs and leaves and I find myself not wanting to make a sound, as if any noise I make will disturb the scene. As these sparkles of ice reflect the sun’s rays, so this new year causes me to look to my heavenly father and quietly reflect back on how I’ve been doing this last year and how I can serve Him more fully. It seems I have some changing to do. I know this because I feel God is showing me, in his loving way, the areas in my heart and mind that need His touch.

A few years back, I watched this silly movie of a controlling mother who tells her adult son that he should eat the ice cream she has in the freezer for his dessert. He complained that the ice cream had ice crystals on the top, and his mother barked back something like, “That is the protective ice covering keeping it fresh!” I like to think that God is my protective ice covering, and if I am going to grow and mature at all I need to keep Him over me so I can be most effective when its time to push out into the world.

The Party

I had a pity party. The celebration lasted for two full days but the preparation had been long and arduous, as most preparations of this sort are. I invited the usual guests: Disappointment, Anger, Sadness, Grief, Weariness, and the guest of honor, Martyr. The reason for the party involved my love of Christmas and my desire for the celebration to include my family and friends in good health, happy, and full of Christmas cheer. However, I also wanted my house decorated, smelling like fresh pine or fir, and all the presents either wrapped and under the tree or mailed, and its worth mentioning, I wanted it all right now! I cried for two day and dissolved into fresh torrents whenever the tiniest of stressors came about. As pity parties go, it was a hum-dinger.

Last year my Christmas consisted of trips back and forth to Oregon as my father clung to life. Christmas Eve was at our home with my daughter, her hubby and dear little granddaughter, Greta spending the night. Greta was sick though and her cough and discontent were persistent thorough the night. We adults sat huddled in the kitchen, living room, bedroom or den trying to sooth her as the hours slipped by. Our tired and weary little group assembled for gift opening in the early morning while Greta tottered around with her white little face and vomit-strewn hair, clinging to her parents for solace. We ate a quick breakfast, kissed and hugged goodbye then the kids returned to their home over an hour away and Don and I went to Oregon, for what we thought would be my Dad’s last Christmas.

After driving almost five hours to Eugene, we spent the rest of Christmas day and evening with Dad. When we left him, we were exhausted and rapaciously hungry for a delicious Christmas dinner. We searched the entire Eugene and Springfield area for a restaurant but both cities and their restaurants were closed. Eventually, we found the ‘Valley River Inn’ who agreed to make us a sandwich in the bar as they stacked chairs and cleaned. They even had a piece of leftover Yule Log cake for each of us and Don and I munched wearily as we silently watched people vacuum and clean up from their busy day. Our dismal Christmas continued after our return home when the Christmas tree fell over on our wood floors and broke many of my cherished family ornaments.  The above picture is the tree before it fell.

As blogged earlier, this last year has been full of worry, concern, triumphs and blessings. My husband has had three surgeries with painful recoveries and my Dad’s health has caused a roller coaster of emotions and countless long drives to Oregon. The days of my pity-party celebration involved my frenetic attempt to get Christmas or birthday gifts made, or bought and delivered to each recipient before leaving for my dad’s surgery to replace his failing internal pain-pump. My dad is very frail and I was afraid of him having a surgery and feeling the full weight of being his power of attorney.

I painfully decided to skip the Christmas tree and decorations this year because we plan to repeat our sojourn to Eugene for Dad’s second “last” Christmas. Therefore, part of my pity-party was actually a teary tantrum protesting my own decision to lighten my load. In addition, with my dad’s eightieth birthday party, as well as birthdays for my husband, a sister, and two granddaughters, well, my stretch is sagging. In fact, (lean in while I whisper this) I secretly wish that God would have thought about closing the womb of every woman in the month of March and maybe April so there could be NO December birthday’s other than Jesus…I’m just saying.

This last Sunday was the second day of my pity party. I teach Sunday school, and each morning before class we teachers join around a table at church and share our prayer requests before the students arrive. We joke about this time between us because it seems we each have a laundry list of woes, mostly concerning the aches of our own aging bodies, or the health of our loved ones. I sat at the head of the table in my classroom and tearfully emptied out my anguished list of misery. My friends gathered around in prayer and words of inspired wisdom, and my heart soaked up their love with a voracious hunger.

I left for Oregon after church and drove straight to my Dad’s nursing home. I lugged in a box full of Christmas decorations I had purchased from the dollar store and proceeded to create Christmas in my Dad’s room. As I began to decorate and chat with my dad, I felt my spirits lifting. I also began to realize that I did get to decorate for Christmas after all, and it felt like snuggling inside a cozy much-loved sweater. Afterwards, I drove over to my friends’ house to stay the night. They weren’t home but their house and yard were lit up in a festive array of lights, with a “Happy Birthday Jesus” sign planted firmly in the middle of their lawn. My “Home away from home,” as we call it, is a small little apartment at the back of their home and when I walked in, the room was warm and alive with lights, a nativity scene, festive decorations and the beautiful melody, “Oh Holy Night” was playing on a CD. I leaned against the doorway and dissolved into tears.

In the Bible in Mark chapter two, Mark talked about how four men carried a paralyzed man to Christ for healing. Finding the crowd too thick to get to Jesus, the men hoisted the paralyzed man up to the roof of the home where Jesus was teaching. They dug through the roof and lowered the man down to the feet of Jesus. When Jesus saw their faith Jesus said to the paralyzed man, “Son your sins are forgiven….I tell you to get up take up your mat and go home.”

This story has always moved me. Not just because God healed this man, but also because it took an entire group of faithful people to bring this person to Christ. Sometimes we are the one who is being lifted to Christ, as I am this Christmas season through the faithful love of my husband and friends. However, sometimes we are the ones who must carry the sick person and put our own worries aside.  By giving our time and prayers we are lifting others to the feet of Christ and when we do this in concert with others, if one of us stumbles there are many others there to help pick us up. I’m thankful for how wide the circle of hands are that are carrying me this season, and pray for continued strength for my own hands to complete the good work God has prepared for me. May each of your Christmas’s be as blessed.