Touched by Nature, Touched by God

CHRISTMASTIME IS HERE

2006-12-13T09:56:00.000-08:00

The heavy rain of the last few days has ceased and now only a drizzle of rain falls from the sky. The clouds lay low. Colors are muted – mostly shades of brown. There is no sound – no birds twittering, no squirrels scuttering. It is a dreary, dismal day. Before leaving the house this morning, Jordan was watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. Vince Guaraldi’s “Christmastime is Here”, in it’s sorrowful minor key, plays in my mind. It seems to be the appropriate background music for the day. Like Charlie Brown, I have had the Christmas blues.

As I look across the meadow, the grasses are brown and bent over from the dampness. But, as I draw closer I notice that there, at the base of the dead stems is green – fresh, new, living green. The more I look, the more I see. There is new life. There is hope.

I enter the dark redwood grove. There are no shafts of sun cutting through the trees. Yet beneath the redwoods the Boston ferns have turned from green to buttermint yellow. Several trees have retained their yellow leaves. In this dark forest they have brought some light.

Then I hear in my mind the words that Linus shares, “’Fear not, for I bring you good tidings of great joy. For unto you is born this day a Savior, Christ the Lord. Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And that is what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

The world had been dreary and dismal – without hope and light. The angels cut into that darkness with great light and announced the birth of Jesus. The shepherds went to see this wonder, to take a close look. Although just a baby, He brought hope and light. And that is what Christmas is all about.

PUDDLES

2006-12-06T09:38:00.000-08:00

On a day after a heavy rain it is too muddy to take the Meadow Trail. By the next day I decided that enough time has gone by for the rain to seep into the soil and I return to my regular route. Watching my feet so as to avoid any lingering muddy patches I am caught off guard for there at my feet is the sky! One large puddle that stretches the width of the path is so still and so clear that it reflects the sky and the trees above it. I gingerly tiptoe around it, not wanting to cause any ripples that would spoil this natural mirror.

Days go by, the puddle is still there, although a bit smaller. Leaves and dirt have fallen on its surface. Although there is still a reflection there are now things floating on the puddle that distracts from the perfect reflection.

Several days later the temperature drops. The puddle freezes over, trapping the tree droppings in its ice.

The puddle gets smaller with each passing day leaving a growing gooey, muddy border. The only thought while passing is to avoid the mess.

Not too far from the Meadow Trail a bridge crosses over the San Lorenzo River. As I stop and look over the bridge once again I see the sky. The water reflects yellow leaves, bare brown branches, bright blue sky and then I’m struck by a bright light. The sun had risen above the trees and the river bounced the light right back.

The difference between the the puddle and the river become clear to me. The puddle was fed once by the rain from above. It basked in the light enjoying a time of reflection. Yet as time passes those that encountered the puddle notice that the glow has faded, has become murky, frozen, muddy. Right below the bridge a small creek feeds into the river, constantly bringing new life. The water, though it is still enough to reflect, it is always moving forward.

God says through the prophet Jeremiah, “My people have committed two sins; They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”

Jesus said that He is the Living Water. May we always be fed by Him and reflect Him. May we not become a muddy puddle.

HOARFROST

2006-12-05T09:50:00.000-08:00

It’s December and the sun stays low in the sky. Mornings are crisp. As I walk I see my breath. Then suddenly my breath is taken away as I see a field of grass covered with hoarfrost. Such beauty. Such starkness. Tall stalks that had turned brown in the fall seem to stand more upright as they are covered with frost. They glisten even without the sun shining upon them.

Not far away, under the redwoods there is no frost. There is shelter. There is peace. There is serenity. Shafts of light cut through the almighty redwoods. A deer carefully tiptoes through the ferns.

One could desire to always live in the shelter of The Almighty – to always experience peace and tranquility. Yet, for some, that is not where they are called to live. Some are called to live in the meadow, exposed to the elements. It would be tempting to cry out “It’s not fair! I want to be protected. Life is too hard.” Yet some accept their lot in life, never complaining, and when the cold wind blows they stand strong and beautiful like stalks covered with hoarfrost.

I’m reminded of a friend named Gladys. Gladys had a hard life. She was married young to an abusive husband. She outlived eight of her ten children – several died in childhood, her only daughter died at three. But Gladys didn’t complain. Although tough on the outside, not putting up with whiners, she was deeply compassionate for the helpless, especially for suffering children. God clothed her with a beauty that withstood the storms of life and even when the sun wasn’t shining she glistened like stalks covered with hoarfrost.

THE ROAD MOST TRAVELED

2006-11-24T19:24:00.000-08:00

Much has been made about “The Road Less Traveled” – the idea of venturing off the path of the norm and discovering truths about life. However, over the last several months I’ve come to think about “the road most traveled”. For me, it’s the course I take several time per week in Henry Cowell State Park. I’m pretty regulated in my morning walks. Wanting to make sure that I get home in time to do my job, I allow myself a half hour of walking. Fifteen minutes into the park, then turn around and walk the 15 minutes back to my van. I generally take the same route, not venturing on to new paths. Some may find this too structured and way too boring to do day after day. However, I’ve discovered that as I have walked the same path I have had new experiences almost every day. Because you see, it’s a living path.

From the beginning I was struck by the early morning sunlight filtering through the leaves that create a canopy over the bridge as I enter the park. I enjoyed the vista of meadow, the serenity of the redwood grove. But the more I walked the more I began to notice the nuances along the way. Soon I became aware of the bushes where I could count on seeing quail. I had walked by those bushes numerous times and had never noticed. Now I make an effort to cross to the other side of the road so as not to disturb the skittish birds. I learned where to look if I hoped to see deer. I now know where I can almost always see blue jays. I recognize different sounds – I know the difference between the sound of a squirrel skittering in the bushes and a bird scratching for seed. I know where the ducks like to play in the spring and I know their flight pattern in the fall. I’m aware of possible dangerous places – places that flood after a rain, places where coyotes travel.

The seasons bring change to the same path. Bare trees in the winter break out in brilliant yellow-green in the spring. The leaves grow and darken in the summer, providing shade. Then when the rest of the world is turning brown in the fall they burst with yellow light as they put on their autumn dress. It’s the same path, but always different.

The weather brings change to the same path. Dew make grass gleam in the morning sun, so much so that it causes one to squint. Fog acts like a theatrical scrim curtain, cutting off the view of the background so that I find myself seeing a specific tree or hill that I had never noticed before. A breeze in the summer grass causes a rippling effect across the meadow. Rain causes grass and branches to bow down. It’s the same path, but always different.

Time brings change to the path. Most days I am at Henry Cowell at the same time. I see familiar faces along the way. I see the animals where I usually see them. But if I go later in the day, it seems that everything has changed. Unfamiliar people pass me. The deer don’t show up. I see a snake lying on the road enjoying the warm sunshine. It’s the same path, but always different.

Walking partners bring change to the path. I generally walk by myself but occasionally I’m joined by a friend or family member. We get engrossed in conversation and I don’t see much of the landscape. But then something catches their eye – a bird, a flower, a mushroom and I see something that I had never noticed before. It’s the same path, but always different.

All this caused me to think about God’s Word, how it, too, is living. When I seldom read it, it is like a chore or exercise. I just think about getting through the passage, putting my time in, and closing the book. But when I read it regularly I discover the nuances that God’s living Word has for me. I know where to look to find God’s peace. I know the passages that give me wisdom for my marriage, how to raise my kids, how to get along with those around me. The things that were once hidden are now very familiar. Yet no matter how familiar, they are new every morning because like nature, God’s Word is living. Although His Word does not change, what I see changes – sometimes due to life’s circumstances, sometimes due to new understanding, sometimes because the enlightenment a partner on the path brings. It’s the same path, but always different.

There is something to be said about the road most traveled.

IT RAINED TODAY AND I WENT WALKING

2006-11-03T16:26:00.000-08:00

It rained today and I went walking. This comes as a surprise to me when I think that less than a year ago I would use any excuse to avoid exercising. I don’t have time. There are other things that are more important. What if I trip and fall (a legitimate concern of one who was known to trip often in high school – although that was a long time ago)? I don’t have the right clothes. What if I encounter a predator? It’s too cold. What if I got lost (a concern again that had some merit)? There were plenty of excuses. But that’s what they were – just excuses.

I knew exercising would be good for me but it wasn’t part of my routine, my life style. But I decided to make a stab at it. I decided that maybe I could squeeze in one or two walks per week, but just for a half hour each time, because I was a busy person. After dropping my kids off at school, I dutifully parked my car near the entrance of Henry Cowell State Park. I would walk 15 minutes into the state park and walk 15 minutes out. I was armed with my cell phone – just in case I tripped, got lost, or encountered the feared predator. I didn’t have any special walking clothes or shoes, like I was sure everyone else would have, but it was early, maybe no one would see me. Hopefully, no one would see me.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good hike. In fact, it is one of my favorite things to do with my husband, our family or some friends. But that was different – that’s an outing. This was exercise. This was by my self.

But I did it – sometimes once a week, sometimes twice. I stuck to the main road – straight in, straight out. No chance of getting lost. I did encounter others – runners with a great variety in their clothing style, other walkers with no particular set style – some alone, some with friends, some pushing strollers – all with a smile and many with a friendly greeting. This wasn’t so bad, I guess.

After several weeks I noticed that my 15 minutes in and 15 minutes out was taking me farther. I had to explore new paths, try new ways. I ventured on to the trails.

I then took the challenge of walking for a fund raiser. I had a couple of months to prepare for the 6k Wharf to Wharf. I added an extra day to my walking routine and occasionally went on longer walks with my husband. With his encouragement I bought better walking shoes.

By the time July rolled around I felt ready for the 6k walk. To my surprise I found that I really enjoyed the event but even more, I found I really enjoyed the walk.

This fall I’ve been walking four to five days a week, often putting 10 miles per week on my tennis shoes. I’ve gone farther, taken new trails, enjoyed new sights and have even jogged once or twice when I was sure no one would see me.

I’ve been dreading the rain because I thought it would put an end to the activity that I now enjoy so much. But today it rained and I went walking. I wore a hat to keep the rain off my glasses. As I gingerly tiptoed around puddles on the path I felt water oozing into my tennis shoes, I realized that it may be time to consider some hiking boots.

This journey of discovery caused me to think about people who know that reading the Bible or going to church would be “good for them” but it’s not in their routine, it’s not their lifestyle. There are fears – fears of not having the right clothes, of not doing things the right way, that someone may see them, that there may be predators – some legitimate fears, some just excuses.

But just like in my walking, the more you do it the easier it becomes. You start out easy and build up and soon it becomes part of your routine. You find you can go a little farther, a little deeper. You find you are among others that aren’t so very unlike you, and surprisingly, they even like you and welcome you to their path. There are events that can challenge you and stretch you. Sometimes things get messy or difficult but then there are people and tools to get you through. Just as a hat and boots may be needed for the rainy days, a concordance or commentary may be needed for a period of time.

Then there comes that day when you realize that this is no longer a dreaded exercise but a new life, a new life style, one that you wouldn’t give up – even if it rained.

OH DEER!

2006-10-06T22:53:00.000-07:00

As I walked into Henry Cowell State Park this morning an unusual movement caught my eye. It was more than the bounce of a branch that is caused by a squirrel leaping from one tree to another. It was a violent stirring of bush branches while everything else around was still, as it usually is on the meadow early in the morning. It caused me to stop, to wonder, to hope – could it be a deer?

I love deer. I’ve loved deer ever since I was four years old and would see them leaping across the lawns as I looked out from my bedroom window. They are beautiful, graceful, elegant animals. My love for deer has been squelched a bit as they have discovered my rose bushes and strawberry plants and have made them part of their culinary delight. But still, to see deer, even in my garden, brings me great delight. I often judge the joy of my walks by what animals I see. Sometimes it’s a “nine quail and a bunny day”. Earlier this week it was a “17 duck day”. One time it was even a “coyote day” as I encountered one on a shadowed path. But no matter what other animal I see, or how many I see, it still doesn’t thrill me like seeing deer.

So imagine my joy when out from the bushes walked a beautiful buck! I stopped and watched until I could no longer see him. I walked on with a sense of satisfaction – it was a “deer day”.

As I thought about the event I thought about how movement draws our attention away from the ordinary. I thought about the movement of God’s Holy Spirit and how He stirs up the common every day scene and causes us to stop, to wonder, to hope. And the joy that comes when we discover “that was God”! That is the best, a “God day”!

About fifteen minutes later I was walking down the path on the other side of the meadow when I stopped suddenly for there in my path was the same buck. He, too, stopped. He considered me there in “his path” and decided to step into the bushes along the side. But before he totally disappeared he stopped, turned his head and took one more long look at me. It was a special moment. How would I categorize this walk? A “one buck, two times, day”? A “two times one buck day”? I then thought of how God loves to delight His children and I realized it was a “doubly deer (dear) God day”.

GIANT SNOWFLAKES

2006-10-03T22:59:00.000-07:00

The sky was clear. The air was crisp. It was a beautiful fall morning at Henry Cowell State Park. As I walked across the bridge the meadow came into sight and I was struck by a miracle! All across the expanse were what appeared to be giant snowflakes, delicately clinging to stalks of grass. Each one was at least 18 inches across. They were beautiful! And there were hundreds of them.

Now it was chilly (42 degrees, I had noted, as I left home) but not cold enough for snow. The “snowflakes” were actually huge spider webs, intricately woven, with pearls of dew strung on each line, shining in the sun. The sight was amazing!

I have never been afraid of spiders but neither am I a great fan of spiders. I am quick to knock them down with a broom, scoop them up in a tissue, and flush them down the toilet. But today I saw them through different eyes. Each spider in the meadow had carefully endeavored to do what it was created to do. It appeared that the Son looked down and with His radiance he gave a nod of approval and the result was a sight to behold! Each spider sat humbly in the middle of its web and basked in the joy of its creator. The creature that I usually would despise and dispose of was now a thing of beauty.

It struck me that as we do what we are created to do we too can bask in the favor of God. And what is it that He created us to do? It is answered in Micah 6:8 –

He has shown all you people what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

As we do so we too may strike someone as a miracle and a thing of beauty. But more importantly, we will know the Lord’s pleasure shining down upon us.

A MOBILE

2006-09-21T23:00:00.000-07:00

Don’t you love to see a perfectly balanced mobile gently moving as a breeze passes – one piece turning, the whole mobile adjusting to the new movement? To me it is an excellent picture of what a family should be. Each piece perfectly connected to each other but not so close that each can’t spin on its own. Each member in balance with the rest yet the others naturally adjusting as one is moved by a new breeze. The new breeze may be a new job, a new year in school, a sport, an illness, a child being born into the family, a child going off to college – the list is endless. Yet with each new breeze the family adjusts and moves in beauty that others admire. There are some families though, that are like a tangled, jumbled mobile. Maybe too big of a wind came blowing through. Rather than being delicately suspended they now find themselves flat on the floor with little hope of spinning freely again. And just like the fallen mobile others see it as messy. It would take so much work and so much time to fix. Instead, it is unceremoniously discarded into a drawer to be dealt with some other time. In doing so, pieces and connections get more and more tangled, and now they are in total darkness with no hope. Some day someone may open that drawer and see the jumbled mess and instead of carefully taking it out and restoring it they shove something else in the drawer only adding to the wreckage. Sometimes there are individuals in a family that don’t understand that they are connected to the whole. They don’t realize that the mobile – nor the world – doesn’t revolve around them. The family is set out of balance and is constantly struggling to set itself right. There are some families that are too tight. They allow no freedom of movement. Their strings are too short. When one member tries to move it butts up against another, and stops. The individual and the family become stagnant. There are several passages in the Bible that speak to this idea. Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. . . . But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. . . . Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. I Corinthians 12:1, 18, 27 Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Romans 12:15 -16a May we remember that it is God who created us and placed us just where he wanted us to be. May we hang together, with Christ as our common thread and may we respond as the Holy Spirit, who is sometimes referred to as a wind, gently moves us. And for those we see in a tangled heap on the floor, may we take the time and with the compassion of Christ gently bring them back into balance.

POISON OAK

2006-08-31T23:02:00.000-07:00

I saw it again today, the most beautiful specimen of poison oak I have ever seen. Against a dark fence post it stood out all shiny and crimson, demanding attention.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not a fan of poison oak – quite the contrary. I have had enough close encounters with the plant to know to stay away from it. I’ve had small rashes but the most memorable one was in high school when my left leg was so covered with poison oak that it was almost an inch bigger around than my right leg.

But the glorious red leaves I saw today reminded me of a story I once heard. One late fall day a couple came to enjoy the beauty of the redwoods. Toward the end of the day they came across a large patch of the most beautiful red, gold, and green leaves. The wife suddenly had an inspiration. Their church was having a harvest meal that evening and they could gather some and take it back to decorate the tables. Soon the couple had gathered several arm loads, put them in their trunk, and headed back to their church in the city. They were so excited that they had found the perfect decoration for the event!

As ladies were busy in the church kitchen, the couple joyfully placed sprigs of the beautiful foli

BACKGROUND THOUGHTS

2006-04-02T23:04:00.000-07:00

Some have asked me what led up to my previous post. The answer is not simple. Many thoughts and experiences influenced my thinking. However, I believe it all started with a simple, or not so simple, verse in I Corinthians, "But we have the mind of Christ."

It was not the focus of Sunday School that morning, but the thought grabbed me -- what does that mean, "we have the mind of Christ"? I couldn't get away from the question. For days I had the words ringing in my mind. I started praying to understand what it means to have the mind of Christ. I don't know fully what I expected the answer to be but I know that in part I thought that if I could tap into the mind of Christ I would have answers -- answers for the tough questions of life. But as I prayed to understand the phrase I became keenly aware of those suffering -- people close to me who "have it altogether" in most people's eyes but people who were dealing with deep, deep hurt. I finally realized that to have the mind of Christ was in part to see the suffering beyond the facade.

Around the same time I traveled to Dallas. While there I got lost for a couple of hours, all the while listening to a "Christian" radio station. In that part of the country "Christian" = "Republican" and visa versa. I was deeply sickened as I listened to the sugar coated verbage on one hand and the anti-Democrat "Christian" political lingo on the other. It was shallow. It was negative. It was nothing that reminded me of Jesus. (The sadly humorous program was the one that spent most of the time preaching the end of the world ("World War III could break out tomorrow") , sighting recent international events, while at the same time pushing listeners to sign up to go on the upcoming Holy Land tour.) By the time I returned home I was convinced that I could not be aligned with the term "Christian" if that is what it is -- shallow, saccrinely sweet, politically radically right -- this was NOT the mind of Christ!

Then I started reading Mountains Beyond Mountains, a book about the incredible poverty and disease in Haiti. I once again was made aware of severe suffering but now my focus was adjusted to third world countries. I was moved by what one man, Paul Farmer, was able to do to make a difference against all odds. I was challenged by the thought of what kind of impact could I make on the world if I had that kind of passion.

Randy and I then went to the National Pastors' Convention. I don't believe there was an agenda for each of the speakers besides to encourage the pastors. However, what I heard over and over from the great variety of speakers was that to be a follower of Jesus demanded action. It demanded connecting with our communities and our world.

So all those things dove-tailed and inspired the previous posting.

Has life changed for me, you may ask? Yes and no. To the casual observer they wouldn't notice any radical change. The change is more inward. My day starts by asking Jesus what does it mean today to follow Him. I've prayed more for suffering people. I believe I am to do more but I'm waiting for Jesus to tell me what that "more" is.

PILGRIM ON A NEW JOURNEY

2006-03-13T23:06:00.000-08:00

Dear Church Family,

I write to you because I have a confession to make. I have been a Christian for over 40 years and for all of those 40 years my hands have been clean – and it is a sin! I have kept myself from getting dirty – and it is a sin! I have insulated myself from the filth around me – and it is a sin! I have been careful – and it is a sin!

You may ask, “What are you talking about? As Christians we are called to be clean.” (Yes, I know, I lived in Minnesota where “cleanliness is next to godliness” and maybe even more important than godliness.) But seriously, you’re right, Christians are called to be clean – to go to church on Sunday, to have a daily quiet time, to pray for one another, to be kind to our neighbors, to support missionaries.

But as followers of Christ we are called to get dirty. We are called to see the dirt and hurt around us and rather than shaking our head, saying a nice prayer, and writing a check, we are called to get dirty. After all, that is what Jesus did. He left the clean purity of Heaven, put on human flesh and dwelt among us, and got dirty. He didn’t see the filth from afar, shake His head, say a nice prayer, and send a check.

I write to you not only because confession is good for the soul but because I believe many of you are like me. I have been a “Christian” for about the same length of time as this local church has existed. And for those 40+ years this has been a good church, a clean church, a church that has preached the Bible, supported missionaries around the world, prayed and cared for each other – a good, clean Christian church – and it is a sin.

As followers of Jesus we are called to be the body of Christ. And as His body we are called to get dirty and to go out and to dwell among the lost, the hurting, the diseased, the abused, the lonely, the forgotten.

As followers of Jesus we can no longer pray sweet prayers, “God bless everyone.” We can no longer pray prayers that really don’t make a difference in eternity, “God help so-and-so pass their drivers test.” “God help us have fun.” “God help me to loose five pounds.” Gag!

As followers of Jesus we must get our knees dirty and get down and pray “Father, forgive them because they don’t know what they are doing.”

As followers of Jesus we must no longer read our Bibles just like we drink our coffee – with several packets of Sweet & Low and some half & half. No, we must take Jesus at His Word – straight up – and when He calls us to “go into all the world and make disciples” realize that it’s more than writing a check and sending someone else to go.

I write to you, Felton Bible Church, mostly because I need to be held accountable. I no longer want to live a clean Christian life. I want to be a follower of Jesus and to get dirty. I don’t know exactly what that will look like – in fact, I don’t have a clue about what that will look like – but in faith and obedience I want to step away from being a Christian, from church as usual, and to be a follower of Jesus. Please hold me accountable.

Love a pilgrim on a new journey,

Linda

THE PERFUME

2004-02-20T23:07:00.000-08:00

I was fearfully and wonderfully made by my Creator. I was beautiful and full of fragrance.

Just when I was at my very best I was plucked and crushed. How could this be? What a waste! I was placed in a jar and set aside. Useless.

One day a woman came and saw the jar. It was a beautiful jar and she wanted it. However, she couldn’t afford the jar. She left. But she came back – time after time. Each time admiring the jar. Sometimes holding the jar, but always setting the jar back on the shelf.

Then one day, after a long, long time – months, years – she came back with great excitement for she finally had enough money to purchase the beautiful jar. With great love and gentleness she took the jar in her hands and carried it home. When she got there she put it in the special place she had prepared – upon a shelf where everyone could admire it.

And people did admire it. And she admired it. But I was deep inside, in the dark, forgotten.

Then one day she snatched the jar from its place. There was an urgency. There was a purpose but I couldn’t begin to understand what she was doing. With the jar held closely to her breast she ran down the road and burst into the home of Simon, the leper. There were men there – all uncomfortable, anxious to leave – all except one.

Suddenly there was the most unthinkable sound. Glass breaking! The jar had been broken! Light came into my darkness. Warmth! But, oh, the jar, the broken jar.

Then lovingly, gently, the woman held what was left of the jar and carefully poured me out. My fragrance, that I thought had ended when plucked, filled the room. I flowed down upon the head of the One – the Son of my Creator.