Don’t Wait For Death To Celebrate Lives

1 Corinthians 15:55

“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”

Yesterday marked the passing of my friend’s father.  He was a wonderful man, generous of heart . Ken Harrell not only loved his own family, but any human that needed a hand. He was that kind of man. I have been friends with his daughter for almost 30 years, and there was a time in my youth where he stepped in to fill a gap for me. All through my adult life when I went home to visit, he would eagerly round me in for a hug when our paths crossed.

I am heavy-hearted today, 2,066 miles away from my home roots. Unable to help my friend with the new reality of her grief. Unable to even attend the funeral. But I will pray, not for Ken…for he knew where he was going. I will pray for his family, left behind in the wake of his absence. That they will grow closer to the only true source of comfort in this life. Ken has sailed on, his path was set for Jesus.

I tell you this story to urge you not to wait to show people you love them.

The irony of death, to me, is the gathering of the departed’s loved ones.

Why, I muse with sorrow, do we often wait until death to celebrate someone’s life?

I would rather be together with my loved ones now, while I am alive to rejoice at our relationship. Come now, while I can hold you in my arms and laugh with you.

Life doesn’t always work out like we hope. Today, on a very serious note, I urge you to make that call. Book that ticket if you are at all able. Write that note. Celebrate life with the living, too often we postpone that joy. Looking at the impossibilities that seemingly block the way.

Love, as a verb, an action word. Not smooshed under the guise of good intention.

Nature Photo- Intricate Beauty Of Frost

Fall Sunlight

Try snapping a shot into direct sunlight. There might be 15 duds, but 1 keeper. I did adjust the contrast slightly, but only to draw the eye to the contrast. This is just taken with a phone camera and adjusted with Instagram.

A Simple Doxology

Do you know what a doxology is? It is popularly sung as an old hymn, you might recognize the lyrics.

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow Praise Him all creatures here below Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost

The Bible says a doxology is simply a prayer of praise to God.  There are days when I want to praise but my mental acuity is flatlining. Days where I try again and again to stop, focus, and praise him.

And it just doesn’t work.

Not that anything is wrong, per se. We all have these days, where we just keep starting to sit down for some quiet time. And realize we are staring out the window. We read one line of our devotional, and then “put peas on the grocery list” pops into our head. The invasive nature of our surrounding life appears to trump our ability to be still. To focus on praise.

Isn’t it amazing that we don’t have to come up with clever hymns? That God isn’t impressed just with our intense prayer sessions, but is, according to His very nature, pleased with our meager attempts? Because sometimes meager is the best we can do. If you, like me, are stuck humbly (and let’s admit it, somewhat ashamed?) of offering the leanest of praise times…don’t stop trying.

My doxology today is simply, “God, thank you. Please keep calling me.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. Too good to be true. Maybe that is part of the lesson, that we do not have to be enough. Give enough. Focus enough. We just have to come.

Psalm 27:8 (NLT)

My heart has heard you say, “Come and talk with me.”     And my heart responds, “Lord, I am coming.”

Sunset Nature Shots

This is the glorious sky I was treated to driving home the other night. Stops you in your tracks kind of glorious.

 

Late Summer Sky

Late Summer Sky- Enhanced

If you are not on Instagram, it is a fun place to alter your photos with as little effort as choosing the filter.

When The Heart Rain Comes- Psalm 41:4

Psalm 41:4

I said, “God, be gracious!

Put me back together again—my sins have torn me to pieces.”

You know those days when your smiles are hollow? When emotional rain feels heavy, it does not refresh. My actions this week have been inconsistent with my words. I demand respect, but don’t give it. I angle for the best for myself, while teaching generosity. My moods are edgy and easy to inflame, as I teach my teens to be peaceful.   Of course my actions teach far more than my words do. And, those close to me see it too well.

The good news is that God IS gracious. I reached out and asked for prayer today. Tonight I will carve a private place alone with God. No distractions. Because, for me? Those distractions lead to sin. Want to know what is funny about this? I used to be one of those who claimed I didn’t need a “savior”, I was a good person. Not a sinner. Once your eyes are opened, they stay that way. And for this, I am thankful. For on this training ground, my spirit has groaned, laughed, learned.

God hears me. He hears you. He is in the business of putting people back  together, molding them into something purer…more beautiful. I gladly embrace the cracks that he will bind so that a light that shines beautiful mosaic patterns into the darkness. Into that light I trust He will bring those whose cracks are similar, but wider perhaps. That His light in me may shine brighter to them. That is my hope. My trust. My assurance.

Transitions

Has my blog seemed strangely quiet lately? The last month went so fast that my writing got the shaft. There are many transitions this time of the year, and around our home we have been busy preparing for school, enjoying the last days of summer, having company and celebrating a birthday! There have also been stressful things that we have had to shift our focus, repeatedly, back to the Right path. I have great things to share with you this week, so I will loosen up these stiff fingers and keep you posted. Ha ha. Posted. My humor has dropped to generic puns. Forgive me, I am joining the ranks of community again where my comedy repertoire will have room to flex.

Finding Hope In Dry Places

Summer has been dry and hot for so many areas this year. Now that we live in an agricultural state, there is a new appreciation for the difficulty of farming. A keen awareness of how the lack of rain is affecting crops. Large corn and soybean crops  are planted in a seemingly cracked desert landscape where soil once was. Where summer grass usually welcomes bare feet, this year it is dry and crunchy. Painful to walk on.

The neighborhood is a sea of brown, excepting an unusually high yield of bright green weeds, tall and unkept in most yards. It is as if so many have just given up and are hiding inside, looking for a cool escape from the news making heat wave. Most of my flowers have died, despite hand watering. Today I went to buy some small plants to bring a burst of color to the porch. There were none in the garden section left at the store. A few large plants, but their entire garden area was condensed into one display.

It is with special joy, you see, that I tend to my bright spot of green adorning my porch. One geranium plant. God always puts something bright in our desolate situations, and in times like this we have to look hard.

I don’t mean to minimize the challenges that face our land. I don’t know what that bright spot is for the agricultural world. I hope they find it, I really do. We pray for rain. In the dry times here though, we decide to look for the brilliant.

My husband has hours freed up each weekend with no grass to mow. He likes yard work but is choosing to relish the time. The grass crunches but yet the tree still provides shade to sit under. And with so few flowers, how much more is the sense of appreciation heightened for this greenery? Its distinct scent fills my nostrils as I lean in to prune it. We have water to use simply for nourishing our plants, when millions don’t have it even to drink.

In the dryness there is beauty. Gratitude. Increased observation for what lives. And hope. Even as I type, a gray cloud thunders above. Perhaps this will be the one that showers our land. And, the cycle will shift again.

Chronicling New Baby Birds

I love nests.  I remember the first one I ever saw up close; it was made of horsehair when I was a girl in California. It was tucked away into the rafters of our garage for years, always catching my eye. Perhaps my affinity for them is related to my passion for nesting as a verb. One of my favorite books is even called Nesting, It’s A Chick Thing by Ame Mahler Beanland & Emily Miles Terry.

Recently, our family found a welcome surprise in our honeysuckle trellis. Robins graciously nested low enough to easily track the progress of their family.