Cabining: Axe in Hand ~ Continued...

While I was all sweaty and dirty after my run, I figured I’d try to split some wood for the rest of our stay in Cabin H. I was nervous. I’ve never done that before, or at least it’s been a long while and my back is not in its 20’s anymore. I grabbed the axe and the sledge hammer from the car then reluctantly confident I headed to the massive pile of rain soaked logs. I tried to replicate what David did when we were here last time. Now I was the Lumber Jack and had to provide fuel to keep humans alive. I never knew how heavy wood could be after lying in the rain for days. I muscled one good size log onto the designated and well used chopping block only to have it slip off the edge. I also learned that rain soaked logs are very slippery. But I just laughed at myself and was thankful that there were no other people with in sight.

“Okay, this can’t be that difficult. Just hold the axe over my right shoulder and swing it over my head with all my might!” Smack in to the waterlogged log the axe head went, getting permanently wedged into its grain. The log would not let go. This is when I discovered the use for the sledgehammer. If I couldn't pull the axe out then I’m going to pound it down as far as I can into the log and hope that it gives way and releases my tool. With the sledgehammer in hand I tapped on the back of the axe head. I learned tapping doesn’t work. No, one must use great force and pound metal upon metal, teeth shattering pound after pound. Slowly I was making headway – the axe was making its way through the grain with each bone jerking blow I made with the sledgehammer. Then VICTORY! The waterlogged log succumbed to the abuse and let go of my axe as it split into two large pieces. My joy was visibly evident. I had conquered nature, I had created burnable sized pieces of wood for fire that sustains lives, human and critters alike.

Then an obsession formed. I couldn’t stop myself from splitting wood. The work was hard and back breaking, literally, but it was extremely fulfilling. Put a log onto the chopping block, a mighty swing of the axe and then there was two pieces of log. Then there were four pieces of log. And in some cases, there were even six pieces of log. Finally, a project I could see progress with each swing of the long wood and metal tool. Start and finish in one single event. Now that massive wood pile is not so massive after Lumber Jack deAnn came into its life.

We’ll be warm tonight. And the next campers of cabin H will be warm too. Maybe even the campers after them as well. It was a good day

Cabining ~ Saturday Morning 11/10/07

A cloudy sun peeked out from behind the light blocking roll shades in my room and I figured I needed to finally get up and try to get the fire going again. The cabin had chilled off to nearly the pre-habitation status of our arrival. Deb, still in bed, I tried very hard to crumple newspaper silently while working fast enough so that my fingers would not freeze and fall off. Scraps from trim molding went on next and for a dynamic scene, I threw on not one, but two of the Quick Start logs. Lit a match and before I knew it – I had once again created fire. It’s a neat feeling to create something, especially fire when the cabin is so cold you can see your breath as steam puffing from your nose and mouth. I created fire, I created warmth that sustains human and critter life. I was rather proud. However I was rather cautious of the amount of wood used as we were nearly out and had to get through the whole day and night and morning of Sunday.

Coffee was next on my list. I needed coffee now to warm me from the inside. French press coffee while camping tastes so amazing, one could probably trick me and use Nescafe or Folgers and I’d think I was having the best cup of joe ever. Deb got up, she said that she heard me crumpling newspaper so she got out of bed. Guess I wasn’t as silent as I thought.

Snow was no longer falling; instead it was its fully liquid kissing cousin. It was gently falling on the roof and the sound practically lulled me back to bed. But I resisted! I donned my running gear and set out to conquer the cold wet morning. Which I felt I had earned the right to do, since I did create fire after all. The run didn’t last too long. Only 2 loops around the camping ground road. The air was really damp and quite cold, my face felt as if it was beginning the first stages of frost bite. I knew there was a second cup of French Press waiting for me so I cut the run a bit short. Wimp.

(more from this cabining trip to come in a future post...)

Memories, The Best of Presents

I loved Christmas as a little girl. Not (only) because I got presents. But my family had some neat traditions and every year I looked forward to them.

My younger sister and I would help Grams bake cookies every year. This ritual began in early December so that she could pack them up into cute little packages then give them to her best friends, the Bridge club, and her golfing buddies. There were always just enough left to keep in the pretty Christmas tin that sat on the table next to Grampa's chair.

Then there was the annual Smith Family Christmas Tree Hunting Trip. We'd get permits to cut down 4 trees in the deep forest near Mount Lassen. With our 4x4 vehicles, my aunt, uncle and cousins, my whole family, and Grams and Grampa would convoy up to the snow line. When the time was right, we'd turn down an unpaved snow-covered logging road. Our noses pressed to the car windows, "there's a pretty one!" we'd yell hoping we'd stop to take that tree home. But my dad, he was an explorer, would drive deeper into the woods to find the perfect spot. Once found, we'd stop our vehicles, pull on our snow boots, bundle up and start our search. I always remember how peaceful and quiet it was way up on that mountain. Only the wind's voice could be heard as it passed through the pine needles on the tall swaying trees. I'd close my eyes and take in natures silence, wondering what it would be like to sit at the top of the trees, feeling the sun's warm rays on my face. I miss those days.

The night time street fair in Nevada City, I walked around holding hot cocoa just to stay warm. Men in tall black top hats played my favorite Christmas song on their hammered dulcimers. I stood reverently next to strangers as we gathered around the gifted musicians. No words, just the beauty of their talent created the most captivating arrangement of "What Child is This." The sweet and mysterious notes radiated from their tandem stringed instruments brought swollen tears to my eyes. I will never forget that beautifully cold evening.

Christmas, it's so much more than just presents. What wonderful holiday memories am I providing for my boys? What will they look back and remember when they are married and have children of their own?

Memories last, presents do not. Memories are stories and must be told, that keeps them alive.
Merry Christmas ~ this season, may you and yours be amazing creators of lovely and lasting memories, the priceless gift.

I Don't Understand

I don’t understand how You
Sit with me, the ugly me
When my doubts are high
And trust runs low

I don’t understand how You
Walk with me, unmotivated me
As I wander aimlessly about my day
questioning why was I created

I don’t understand how You
Love me, loveless little me
With my cold heart of stone
Pushing everyone far away

I don’t understand how You
Say “you are beautifully mine”
Don’t You see who I am?
The darkness in my soul?

I don’t understand how You
Forgive me, every last thing
Even as a repeat offender
You amazingly forgive
I don’t understand…

I don’t understand how You
Can use me for good when
I feel everything is awful
Useless, dangerous, empty

I don’t understand how You
The loving Creator of the universe
Cares about me, one of billions.
You know my name
You see each tear I cry
And there have been a lot lately

I don’t understand how You
Constantly reach out to me
With Your endless love
Gently handling my wounded soul
Nursing it back to health
Breathing new life into me
Giving me chance after chance

I just don’t understand…
But, I can’t thank You enough.

Meeting God at the Wall

While packing for my trip to Israel in March, I dreamed what it would be like to sail on the Sea of Galilee or to stroll the Via Delorosa, the SAME road Jesus struggled to walk as he carried his cross to eminent "death." Sure, I also wanted to see the Dead Sea and the Western Wall (a.k.a. The Wailing Wall.) I was told it was special to place a prayer scroll in the crevices of the wall, so I asked two friends if they had a prayer I could deliver for them.

As we traveled Israel from north to south - the day came to enter the old city of Jerusalem. My senses were on overload -so much to see, so much to hear. And many real Jewish bagels to eat (they are the best I've ever had!) As I walked through a metal detector guarded by Israeli soldiers, my eyes were drawn to the mass of people to my right. Clearing the security station I wandered toward the crowd. "What is this all about?" I thought. Then - there it was, the famous Wailing Wall. I stood amidst the crowd, still as can be, as if all alone but in a sea of unfamiliar faces. Every detail of what my senses took in was slowly processed as it filtered through my mind. What I was witnessing was sacred. I was standing on Holy Ground and I was not worthy.

The day I visited the Wall was the Jewish holiday of Purim. Every child and pre-teen, and even some adults, were dressed as Spongebob, a princess or some other character (which is customary for Purim.) Because of the holiday, the square was flooded with Jewish families there to worship, celebrate bar/bat mitzva and to socialize.

It seemed different that I had imagined it would look. Yes, it was grand and stark white due to the natural stone it was crafted from. But it had a presence. A stone wall, with a presence bigger than it's sheer size ~ this wall had experienced thousands of years of violent history. This wall is very important to many people and this day, that was very apparent to me.

The time came, I had to make my way to the wall in order to place my friends' prayers into the cracks of the gigantic stone blocks, if I could find room. Every nook and cranny was stuffed with little rolls of paper filled with cries of pain or even gratitude. The wall is divided: men on the left, women on the right with a 6 foot wall separating to two. The men's side is about three quarters of the wall and the ladies had the remaining quarter. Literally there were hundreds of women stacked 20 or so deep from the wall. I patiently and reverently stood in my place and slowly crept forward as the crowd progressed. I watched in awe the of young ladies with their prayer books as they went through their rituals before the Great Wall. I had my camera and desperately wanted a picture to remember the moment. But I felt as if I was violating the sacredness of the space if I whipped out my digital SLR (not a small camera). But I did, very discreetly not to disturb anyone.

I stood in silence as my heart raced. It became grander the closer I got. When I was about 2 or 3 ladies from the Wall I felt emotion welling up from a deep and distant place inside of me. Uncontrollable emotion (which is happening now as I recall this experience). When I was only one woman away from the Wall, I couldn't wait any longer to engage it. So I carefully reached past the praying lady in front of me, placed the prayer scrolls on a high ledge then laid my left hand flat, palm to the ancient cold stone. Feeling it's story. I felt a connection to it immediately. Strangely, but it was as if I had been there before, crying out to God at that very Wall. My emotions were overflowing as I made my way back through the crowd.

When leaving the Wall, you don't put your back to it. Instead you walk backwards while facing the it. I did this the best I could without tripping over the mass of women, plus my eyes were wet with streaming tears. It took a while to compose myself after that deep religious experience. God's presence was so real, more real than I've sensed, ever. It was as if I was truly standing on His Holy Ground, right beside Him. It was overwhelming. Beautiful. And and honor. I am forever changed because of the gift God gave me. Meeting with Him at the Wailing Wall.

Trying Too Hard

Straining to hear
she turns off the music.
Still, unable to hear
she closes the window
to block out the sounds of life below.
Concentrating so hard
she longs to hear His voice!
But, instead a 1000 other voices interrupt.
Agendas, to do lists and should have done lists,
she intentionally tries to ignore them.

Feeling defeated and disappointed,
she determines He's not speaking.
So, she give up the fight,
relaxes her tired ears...
and suddenly...she hears.

December 4, 1988

This morning I was traveling through the back roads between Dallastown and Jacobus on the way to meet a friend for coffee. I was listening to a song on a CD when the lyrics caught my attention. I hit track #9 again to listen from the beginning. Prompted by the gifted song writer, vivid images filled my mind.

Just days from turning nineteen, I found myself in a place I did not wish to be...in a hospital room in a wing filled with the smell of death. In the bed, my step dad, Jim. On his left sat his mom, my grama. On his right sat my mom. I stood awkwardly near the foot of his bed. Silence filled the room. Poisoned with cancer, we waited for death to take him captive.

I don't know why I felt I needed to be there that day. He was admitted on Friday because my mom and the visiting nurse could no longer care for him at our home. Even though unconscious it was obvious he was in severe pain. The cancer was having it's way with his flesh. My mom, as skinny as a rail after three months of living in hell, needed a break. She and my grama took a walk out side. I promised to stay with him. As they left the room and headed for the clean sweet air, I stood there looking over a man who I loved dearly. Slowly, I moved closer. Why was he hanging on like this? Then I remember a conversation I overheard right after he was diagnosed. He promised my mom he'd never leave her. I think he believed that. And so did she.

Tears fell over my cheeks as I gazed at his beautiful but sunken in face. His eyes opened but focused on the ceiling tiles. Moving even closer I could see the grimace on his face caused by the pain that was filling his body. Holding on to keep his promise. Silly man. I took his hand in mine and leaned close to his left ear. I forced out these words, "Rest, please rest. I will take good care of mom, Kris and Nick. I promise." I could almost feel him relax as if those were the words he needed to hear before embarking on the journey before him.

Just then my mom and grama entered the room. They took their normal places on either side of him, I stood close to my mom. Then it began. His breathing became irregular. The tension in the room could be felt so clearly. His chest quickly rose tall as his eye widened. Mom and grama stood up, knowing what was happening. Then his chest slowly fell, as his body exhaled for the last time. A peace came across his face and could be seen in his body as well. The excruciating pain was gone. But so was he.

After a brief moment of pure silence the room filled with uncontrollable cries and tears and hugs. I've never seen my mom like that before. It was horrible. A memory I wish I could erase. I don't remember much after that. But I do recall walking out of the hospital, feeling as if we were abandoning him. It was early December and the sun was setting low in the sky. It was a stunning display. I stood there soaking in the last days rays and reflecting on the beauty in the sky. Mom asked me what I was doing. I turned to her and said, "Mom, Jim's painting the sky for you. Isn't it pretty?" She and my grama stopped and turned to the West. All three of us stood silently in the parking lot, watching the day come to an end through water filled eyes.

Jim was a very talented artist - oils were his preference - he enjoyed painting nature scenes. His final masterpiece was spectacular.

It's funny how words, even words from a song, can spark such deep memories. The lyrics read "love is watching someone die." Powerful words. And so true.

Memories, Sweet Memories

When I look back on my childhood, the global memory I have is one of happiness even amidst financial and emotionial hardship. My mom and dad divorced when I was about four years old and my little sister was just a wee baby. I only have a few memories of being a family, all of us together which included my three older half brothers from my dad's first marriage. Vague snapshots buried deep in my mind and continue to fade with time.

As a very young girl I couldn't understand why mommy and daddy didn't want to live together anymore. Too young to understand...but this meant that I couldn't live with daddy either. I missed my dad and brothers so much. I saw them a couple times a month, we didn't move very far away from them. My mom worked hard to provide a roof and food for me and my sister. At one point I remember we had to move into this house behind a liquor store on Placer Street. It was a scary house for a five year old. The front door didn't close all the way. There were already tenants living there and they didn't like the fact that the three of us moved in. They showed their unhappiness by chirping as loud as they could and scurrying about on the floor hoping to scare us out.

We didn't have money for a TV so my entertainment was watching the walking skeletons with wiry hair come and go from the store on the corner. Drinking from a brown bag then coming out with two more. The people living beside of us didn't like each other very much. Often we'd hear them yelling bad words, the kind five year old girls shouldn't say let alone hear. I don't remember any rooms in that house besides the living room. We had no furniture. Only a blow up mattress and a couple of blankets mom managed to collect from co-workers. Mom, my baby sister and me would bundle up together at nighttime trying to keep warm in a room with a front door that never closed all the way. I felt unsafe. My mom cried a lot.

Then suddenly things would got a little bit better. Mom saved up enough money for a security deposit for a fancy apartment complex on Echo Lane. Blue shag carpet, clean white walls and a front door that didn't only close, it locked! I felt safe. Still we didn't have much furniture and we had even less money. My mom was rather creative. She fashioned a beautiful bookcase out of square cement blocks layered with long pieces of wood she brought home from the hardware store where she worked. This bookcase was the only piece of furniture in our living room and it was the altar of our home...many framed snapshots of me and my sister. One with us dressed in matching white and green polka dot jumpers that my mom made. It was more economical for her to make our clothing.

When I was pretty little, I had sudden nose bleeds. It always so scary. That amount of blood pouring non stop from my little nose, soiling everything in site. I was afraid all my blood would leave my body! My first nose bleed was in the blue shag carpet apartment. Thankfully it was dark blue. I thought my nose was drippy with allergies so I wiped it with my sleeve, like any other six year old. However, I became absolutely frantic when I noticed the bright red color all over me and running down my face. I screamed bloody murder! My mom came flying from the kitchen to see her oldest daughter sitting on the floor covered with blood and with terror in her eyes. Panicked, she swooped me up and placed me in the bathtub, constantly yelling over my scared crying, "it's okay, honey. It's okay!" But I didn't believe her. I saw fear in her eyes and that made my cries louder. My poor sister who was three followed us in the the bathroom, saying over and and over again, "what's wrong with sissy? Mommy, what's wrong with sissy?" As you could imagine, it was complete chaos.

All of a sudden there was four people in our tiny apartment bathroom. The neighbor, who we shared an adjoining wall with with us, heard the racket and came right over. He was standing there behind my mom as she leaned over the tub telling me to lay back and keep my nose up to stop the bleeding. I don't remember this man's name and I had never seen him before that night. But he was the nicest and most calming man I've ever met. Tall and handsome, now that I look back and recall. His soft confident voice assured us that everything would be fine. He took a washcloth and ran it under cold water from the sink. Then came over to the tub to relieve my mom of so she could call the family doctor. She left the bathroom to make the call from the kitchen, no cordless phones in every room of the house back then.

Laying there in the cold hard tub looking up at a stranger who was tenderly cradling my head of endless blood-matted blond curls in the palm of his hand gave me a comfort I hadn't experienced until that point in my short life. My body, tensed with fear, slowly began to relax as he used another washcloth to gently wipe away the tears from my eyes. My little sister stood in the door way looking on to make sure I was okay. When he attempted to sit me up blood would again rush from my nose. So, lying me back again, with another washcloth filled with cold water, he showed me how to hold it on my nose, slightly pinching the bridge, evidently slowing the blood flow.

After speaking with the doctor, mom entered the bathroom, now much quieter, filled with knowledge pertaining to my situation. This strange man picked me up, still laying flat to avoid another flood, and with my mom's guidance he placed me on my bed, the top bunk. They propped so many pillows under my neck that I was practically looking at my head board upside down. The salty taste of blood oozed down my throat. It was horrible. He got me a drink of water with a bendy straw so I could sip without having to sit up. The doctor instructed that I lay like this with a cold cloth under my neck and another sopping up any run away seepage from my nose for an hour. I was much calmer, but still scared that something serious must be wrong with me. This man and my mom stood at eye level with my top bunk watching over me. I remember him asking if I knew how to spell Mississippi. I gave it my best shot and came up wrong. I'm not sure my mom could even spell it correctly. He proceeded to help me learn by saying the letters to a catchy little tune. To this day when I hear someone mention that state my thoughts take me back to that very moment..."Miss - iss - ippi" over and over and over again.

This man was a genius. I was so enthralled with my new talent that I had forgotten about why I was laying there flat on my back in the first place. I grew sleepy after all the evening's commotion and I must have fallen off to dreamland.

I don't think I ever saw that calming stranger again. A man who came at just the right time, to bring peace to a frantic situation. Calmly handling me with care and soothing the fears of my mom and little sister. In the midst of my trouble, he distracted me from myself and taught me a new song. I was so comfortable that I fell asleep in his presence.

He was my Jesus.

Forever, Unchanging

Ebb and flow. Here today - gone tomorrow.
It depends on the mood I am in
or the kind of day I've had.
Sometimes it's shy and distant.
Other times it burns hot like a wild fire-
searing, cleansing and intentional.

But, the ravaging fire turns into a
vulnerable little flame, barely shedding light.
Be careful! Don't stand in the wind!
Stand in the soft breeze, gently
fanning the flame back to health.

Not so with Him. It's not inconsistent.
No! It's always constant, just like the
waves washing on the beach.
Forever in rhythm with His heart,
beautiful song.
Never dependant. Always ready to be received
if we are courageous enough...
Warm, peaceful, forgiving and never ending.
Always transforming, covering past regrets.

It's so far beyond mere mortal expression.
We look right past His offering,
forever seeking it from broken others,
in it's flawed state, never satisfied.
Birthing temporary joy or devastating pain.

But not so with Him.

Open wide your heart
and receive His loving and tender gift.
It's forever, unchanging.

Desert Island

Desolate, dry, very little life.
Surrounded by acres of water
but no moisture makes it to land.
An island, all alone, drifting.
Drifting because it is not safely
anchored to the Earth like all other islands.
Drifting, lifeless, hot and dry.
No greenery, no waterfalls,
no mountain peaks of snow.
Only dust.
Lonely dust.
Other islands try to welcome the free floating desert, but it chooses to move away,
farther away. Becoming not just lonely,
but all alone.

Observation

I have just finished a book that took me on an unexpected adventure to places I rarely go. Even though the book is closed, every page read, I can't seem to remove myself from the places my mind wants to take me, places too mysterious for my limited human brain to comprehend. Usually in these moments, I walk away from such thoughts because I can not "figure them out" and that frustrates me. (not the walking away, but the not being able to figure them out.)

But this present mindful adventure is different. It's set me on a journey to think bigger of our God, the Creator of our Universe - filled with super nebula's, never ending black holes and forever blackness of Space. This same God created the gazillion atoms that make up the period at the end of this sentence. How does He do it? He's so mysterious. God is in all of it - the exploding star 4 million light years away AND in the electron's that rotate around the atoms nucleus of the air you just took into your lungs. It all exists because of Him and His non-stop creativity.

We live in a world of four dimensions: Height, Depth, Width, and Time. It's believed that there are up to 11 dimensions. But we mere humans can only detect and live with four of them. What are these other dimensions? Why can't our minds conceive them? What I do know is that God is in them, as He's in everything. It's mysterious.

Sometimes we think we have God figured out. We don't "need" Him anymore because we are in control of the situation. Or we think of Him as too small - like He can't handle our messy daily life with all it's challenges and deadly struggles.

On this forced mental journey this particular book has sent me on, I find myself looking at many aspects of my life differently - that's it! That is it! I spend too much darn time "looking" at my life, my world. With these grand thoughts of our Massively Creative and Wonderful God - I find myself desiring to "experience" my life, my world - with deep sensitivity to His Hand, His Work.

I would like to better understand our God and experience the wonder in it's fullest. But, I can't do that if I'm zooming too fast through the dimension of time and clogging my head with "to do" lists and strategic thoughts about how to afford things I can't afford. This darn book I just completed has me making more room for His Awe, pondering the depths of the space our planet floats along in. It's also challenging me not to look at the simple items of life, such as a paper clip, a kibble of cat food, spilled coffee, or that hard toothpaste that gets stuck on the side of the bathroom sink, as dumb or annoying that eventually leads me to a task. But, instead, for a moment I consider the microscopic atomic particles that make up these items, so small our eyes can not see, and remember that God also created them.

I love thinking abstract thoughts of our God. He's not simple - He Himself is abstract and beyond our capability to understand. He is multidimensional, not flat and boring. He is colorful and creative, that's proved by the natural beauty that speckles our breathtaking Earth. God is not too small to handle my "issues" - He simply asks "can I please have them? I want to fill your soul with deep shalom. I Am your God."

Time-aholic

It's ironic. The small time keeper on our wrists is called a "watch." Not a wrist clock. But a wrist watch. Maybe it's because we spend so much time watching it as it directs our every waking moment. We spend time watching our wrist watch.

It's July. Wasn't it just Christmas? Time. It is flying past like there is a huge black hole sucking the days away from me. It's scary, actually. I'm 37 years old. What is 37 "years" to God? Does he have a wrist watch and says "oh, it's time for a gentle rain storm" or "Gosh, I'm late in answering that prayer!" Yeah, I doubt it.

God's "beyondness" is unmistakable. Compared to Him, we are so small. His life is eternal, no beginning or end. Ours is fleeting, so brief in time.

Yet in our limitations, we can know Him. He has scattered evidence of His magnificence throughout the universe, in the heights of the heavens and the invisible depths of the atom.

I find that when I ponder the vastness of our universe and the beauty that it holds or the microscopic world of protons and electrons, the idea of "time" as we humans know it, leaves my mind for a brief moment. And then I feel relief. Until the alarm beeps on my Palm Pilot reminding me of an appointment I must attend. Time. We are never free from it's pull, it's constraints. We say we want to be closer to Jesus, but we have a hard time "finding time" to spend with Him. How do you find time? Like it's lost or something. No, for me, I waist time.

I need to be a better steward of my days. Each of us oxygen sucking pile of skin and bones is given a limited amount of life on this planet. How are we living it? And we try to so hard to fight the affects of time; cover the grey hair, apply special lotions and emollients to fill in the gaping crevices on our face, eat Centrum Silver to chemically keep our bodies feeling as young as possible, buy a sports car or seek a relationship with a much younger person in order to "feel" young. We humans are down right crazy!

We spend so much time watching our watches, attempting to find time, or discovering ways to run away from the affects of time. This really has me thinking about how I fill up my each and every day, week after week, month after month, year after year. How much of it is leaving a positive imprint on those around me? How much of it is dedicated to deepening a relationship with the Eternal One who knows no time? We are but a mere blip on the eternal "time line." The way I live my life on earth will have an affect on heaven's eternity. That is a deep thought, one that I must think long and hard about...

I'll end with His words from Ecclesiastes 3:11

"God has made everything beautiful for it's own time, He as planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God's work from beginning to end."

Dear God, I long to live fully into the days you've given me. I don't want to make excuses. Help me to think outside the limitations of the human timeline and to be more aware of Your Eternal presence as I move about on this planet. You will call me out of the realm of time one day and ask me to enter your eternity. But until that day comes, Lord, I desire to love more fully, to approach my use of time wisely and to experience the world you created with wonder and awe. The God who Was, who Is and who will always Be. Amen.

Little Word~Big Meaning

Seems that when I travel far distances I come home with a word or phrase that runs through my mind like a news ticker on the bottom the CNN television screen. Repeating over and over just as a tragedy is covered by the media and you just can't seem to get away from it.

My two weeks in California with my family was a great time of connection, sharing and exploration. While there I had some big questions for God regarding an area of my life which I feel He implanted me with a holy passion. He was very quiet.

Then I came home. I kept thinking of the questions I was asking God while in California and wondering what to think of His silence. Then a word, small at first, quiet, unobtrusive, was lingering in the shadows of my mind. I began to notice it's growing presence. Finally I stopped, acknowledged it and asked God if this was from Him...The powerful word: reThink.

God what do you mean? reThink what exactly? I sat with this word for a few days as it held me hostage. The ticker tape scrolling along endlessly: reThink ~ reThink ~ reThink.

David and I loved visiting my family and fell in love with the beauty of the northern California coastline. He hopes we can make it out there once a year. We could do that, if we would reThink the way we spend money.

I have some friends I rarely get to spend time with. I miss them, their laughter and the wisdom they infuse into me. I wish I had more time to hang out. We could if I would reThink how I use my limited time.

High cholesterol runs deep in my paternal family line. So it was no surprise when my doctor told me that mine was well over 220. Thankfully my good cholesterol is so high that it off sets the badness of my bad cholesterol. But, my doctor said, I must keep eating smart and continue regular exercise in order to keep the ratios in the "good" zone. So, I need to reThink my eating and activity patterns. (They've gotten a little sloppy since my vacation.)

Back to these big questions I had for God regarding this holy passion He's set into my heart. Yup, the direction I was moving with it, well I feel He's suggesting I reThink that too. The passion is, in the context of community, help people discover the creativity God planted in every person, encourage development of this Divine gift and cheer them on as they meet God in a new dimension while they move out into the world with what they create. I feel God say don't steer this passion away from the church. But instead, reThink it. Direct this passion towards and into the church. And just the other day, He's givien me opportunities to implement this vision at Living Word!

reThink. Seven perfectly lined up letters with much power to change the world. At least, my little world. And God speaks again. One tiny word with so much meaning. reThink. So now when I have thoughts about anything, I stop and think again. Being more aware of His guidance I plan to move with Him instead of moving on my own.

What would God be asking you to reThink? Or is there a different word that keeps bouncing around the hallows of your mind? A word that maybe should have your attention...

Mr. Riggins & God

I moved a lot as a child. I mean a lot. For instance, between the day I was born and the day I graduated High School my family lived in 37 different houses. I went to countless elementary schools and finally four high schools. No, my dad was not in the military. No, my family was not in the witness protection program. For whatever reason, which remains a mystery to me today, we moved a lot.

I have vivid memories of a particular house that was located on the corner of Glenwood Drive and a busy California state highway. I remember this house well because we suffered a brush fire behind and on the side of our house one hot dry summer. As a young girl, being the oldest of 6 kids and in charge of them while my parents worked, seeing red flashing movement through my baby brothers race car bedroom curtains scared me to death. (We all got out of the house safely and had no damage either.) I also remember the hordes of neighborhood kids that congregated on our little cement front porch. This was the cool place to hang out. Seriously, it was cool. It was always shaded and in the 100+ degree days, there was no other porch you'd want to sit on.

Down the street about 6 houses and on the same side as our house there lived a tall old man with rich black hair. I'm sure he must have used Grecian Formula. This man seemed really old to me! (However, I wonder if he wasn't my age now.). Mr. Riggins. I can't remember if he had a wife or kids. But he was a nice old guy who always invited me and the other neighborhood hoodlums - um, I mean kids, over for cold lemonade and cookies. This was his "hook" to keep us there while he read from a dusty old book...something called The Bible.

All the kids thought Mr. Riggins was a nerd but they really liked the lemonade on those hot California days. They would be nice to him while we were in his house then as soon as his door would shut behind us, they would call him names and say mean things about his "religion." I played along so my friends didn't think I was a nerd too.

Most of the time the things that Mr. Riggins read from the Bible seemed really interesting to me and I actually wanted to ask questions. But that would be signing my death certificate if my friends caught wind of this. So, I began to sneak down to the Riggins' house without my friends so that I could have total freedom to pick this man's mind and learn more about God. Mr. Riggins became a great teacher to me and naturally I was devastated when I overheard my parents talking in our living room about beginning the search for a new home. I told Mr. Riggins of our pending move - he saw how upset I was and asked me if I've ever prayed. I hadn't really other than praying I'd find a brand new portable cassette player/recorder under the Christmas tree that year. Mr. Riggins explained that Jesus really wanted me to talk with Him through prayer...to tell him that I was upset, sad and confused. "God why do we have to move all the time? I feel like luggage. Why unpack? Making friends and then leaving them hurts so much!" Mr. Riggins explained to me how to talk with God. He also showed me the Lord's Prayer in the Bible and I loved that! I worked so hard to memorize it and there would never be a night that I didn't say that prayer before my eyes fell to slumber.

The day came. The big move. Lots of family over to help load up every pick-up truck and van within a 10 mile radius. Off to a new house, new school, new friends...again. Before we said our final good bye to Glenwood Drive I asked my mom if she could drive me down to Mr. Riggins house so I could say good bye to him too. As I got out of our rusty little car and sadly approached his front door I was surprised when he opened it before I even had time to knock. In his hands were a portable bottle filled with his famous lemonade and a small container of cookies. He smiled at me and I smiled back, his kindness was overwhelming, even to a young girl. I told him that I'd miss our times talking about the Bible and all it's characters, especially God and His son, Jesus. Just then, from no where, he suddenly had a Bible in his hand. Slowly and surely he held it out in front of me and said, "DeAnn, keep asking questions, take this Bible and continue to read the story, the greatest story ever told." My very own Bible? I couldn't believe it! Wow and it's from Mr. Riggins - my great teacher. I didn't know what to say. I can only hope that I said thank you.

So, off to a new house, new school, new neighborhood - but this time with my own Bible and with the know-how on praying. God was tracking with me even when I was a little girl. He put Mr. Riggins on Glenwood Drive knowing that my parents would move our family there. God wanted me to meet Mr. Riggins. And through my times with him, I met God.

I never saw Mr. Riggins after that day. But I've thought of him thousands of times over the years. And I think he'd be happy to know that God used him significantly to reveal Himself to me. And that I still have the Bible he gave me, my very first Bible.

Thinking is Dangerous

I've been thinking...can a person be both Lazy and a Super Achiever at the same time?

Let's define "lazy" ~ unwilling to do any work or make an effort. Encarta Dictionary of North America.

Now let's define "achiever" (and we'll just add super ourselves) ~ somebody who is successful and motivated to go on being successful. Encarta Dictionary of North America.

These words seem to be polar opposites. How can you be both? It's funny, I sometimes feel that I am both. For example, I become passionate about something and I move forward full force. Then after a while I get tired, loose interest or something then become what I feel is lazy. This is a character trait that drives me mad. I'll have a whole day to myself and dream up all kinds of cool things I want to do (run, paint, write, read) then reality hits - I see the pile of dishes in my sink and the basket filled with dirty clothes and carpets that need to be vacuumed. So, I choose to do the chores instead of doing the things I wanted to do - being creative.

Then I get bummed and with that comes the sensation of laziness. It's such a strange cycle. Life happens and we must be there to tidy up. But I am still searching for the balance between my normal duties as a mom/wife and allowing the creative artist in me to emerge and develop.

So, I'm going to conduct an experiment - no more housework for me! I'll swing the pendulum far to the other direction and see how that works. I will commit to acknowledge my creativity and instead of folding laundry I'll create. And I'm not talking about creating a nicely stacked pile of folded clothes. I've said NO to my creative right brain long enough. Laziness will no longer be an excuse. I am going for a run right after I the grocery store...

One Saturday Morning

We take so much time pulling the annoying little dandelions and other various weeds from our flowerbeds and lawn. Yes, they are called "flowerbeds" but some flowers are not welcome there. WE choose the flowers we want displayed proudly in front of our house...Black Eyed Susan's, Coral Bells, Lupins, Daisy's but NOT Queen Anne's lace (it's a tall weed). Not the micro sized daisy like weed either, or the purple flower weed. We don't want them! They mess up our plan! They uglify our glorious gardens!!! Aren't weeds one way the evil one likes to mess with us?

I was on a much needed walk/run yesterday morning. I used to run several times a week but have gotten out of the habit. It was so pretty outside yesterday morning and I had time (and the conviction) so I donned my Asics running shoes and hit the macadam. It was such a great feeling to be outside doing something I really enjoy. Running always is a time of connection with God for me. I rarely, if ever, plug my ears with Earbuds, because I want that time on the road to be a conversation between me and God. Yesterday was no different. I've keep my life so busy as of late that I don't run = I don't have those wonderful conversations with my Maker. I miss that. I have to think, He does too.

Being so out of shape, I stopped to walk up this LONG uphill grade. Honestly, even when fit, I can't run the whole thing! It's a beautiful hill - which by walking it I can fully take in all it's wonder and awe. To my left was a field of healthy corn. Have you ever heard the music the breeze creates as it rushes over the thousand's of broad leaves that make up the average cornstalk filled field? It's a new sound I discovered yesterday - a sound I never knew existed. I thanked God for that audible gift.

There was a patch of land between the corn field and the macadam road - oh, about 5 feel wide or so. It was a glorious flowerbed!!! Multiple shades of purple, yellow, pink and white. So many different textures and dimensions. I was in awe by the way these innocent well placed flowers were dancing in the morning's cool breeze. I had to stop once again on the side of the road just to listen to their song. I loved this flowerbed - it's wild simplicity gave me such peace. Wildflowers. Also known as "weeds." A whole flowerbed along side a country road planted by the Master Gardner and it was the most amazing flowerbed I've ever seen. There must have been a gazillion wildflowers swaying together keeping the rhythm of His breath. I was surely in awe. I thanked God again, for this visual gift.

Why do we try so hard to keep wildflowers from OUR flowerbeds? Those ugly and pesky little tyrants. One here, two there. AAAGH! People buy chemicals to kill the buggers! But, when there is a whole field of them - we are moved by their simple beauty...strange huh?

Pictures From Our 2005 Trip

Tyler and Evan in the back seat of my brother's airplane!












Tyler and Evan messing around when I was trying to get a nice picture with them in front of the pretty flowers.















Evan with big carving from a redwood tree in the Redwood National Forest.


Beautiful Northern California coast line - somewhere around Eureka, CA.







(see post just below this post - they kinda go together)

Heading West

In two days we fly to Reno, Nevada. We'll rent a car and drive over the Sierra Nevada Mt. range into northern California. We'll arrive in the quaint mountain town of Grass Valley. Sounds like a nice place, huh? Well, it is. My brother and sister-in-law live there.

My mind races to the great memories we'll make while on this two week trip to my old stomping grounds. (we: me, my husband and two boys). The place where I grew up, well, kinda. Redding, California. I moved to Pennsylvania 17 years ago this month. I was so very young. Many people ask me "how the heck did you end up here from California? And WHY?" That is a story for another post...but what I'd like to think about right now is my half filled suitcase laying on the floor in front of me.

I'm attempting to share a suitcase with my husband. I've left him half of it - my half is already fat and bloated. I look at it right now and wonder if I need all those clothes? It's so freaking HOT in Redding, I won't need to wear much, so why pack all that stuff? Shirts/tanks: CHECK. Shorts: CHECK. Undies: CHECK. Bathing Suit: CHECK. One pair of pants and sweatshirt, just in case: CHECK. And that overfills my share of the suitcase.

I don't get to see my family very often. However, I was blessed to have taken my boys out there in 2005 for a nice visit. This year, it's the Smith Family Reunion. (Yes, my maiden name is Smith). This time me and the boys are bringing my husband for the first time! Should be great fun.

Why bring all those clothes? My family is not excited about seeing my clothes. They are excited to see me! And David. And Tyler. And Evan. Maybe I think they'll be impressed with my clothing choices from Target and Bon Ton. Or with the few pounds I've lost since I was out to visit last. Vanity, I tell you. I'm so vain!

God doesn't really care about our clothes. He doesn't care much for any of the stuff we have, really. He cares about what the human eye can not see...our heart. The person within. The love and character we have. I should be more concerned about my inside appearance than my outside appearance. It's the inside, the heart, that matter most - no matter what I'm wearing.

Back to my suitcase. Maybe I should do some unpacking of "stuff" and spend more time packing my soul with things of God: prayer, silence, loving others, kindness, honesty, laughter, hugs, a well placed smile, gentleness, and humility.

I can't wait to see my California family - I can't wait for them to see my boys and how they've up in two summers. I can't wait to introduce my husband to the city I have fond memories of. I can't wait to hug my grams. I can only hope that my California family notices Jesus in me more than they notice my clothing. Which will I "wear" more proudly???

How Much is Enough?

Faith. How much is enough?

I was reading the story in Acts 3 of the crippled man who was a professional beggar at the Temple Gate, the one called Beautiful. Everyday someone carried him from his home (?) to this Temple Gate so that he could ask for handouts from those entering the Temple. This man, crippled from birth, didn't sit outside the local Jerusalem Wal-Mart to beg the shoppers. No, he asked to be taken to the Temple. The Temple.

One day while sitting there, Peter and John came walking through the Beautiful Gate on their way to morning prayers in the Temple. The little crippled beggar saw them coming and held out his hand asking for change. He got change alright. But not the kind he was used to. Instead of receiving a few coins from a passerby, this time the crippled man received a greater gift. Peter and John, through the power of the Holy Spirit, gave him a big change - the ability to walk!

Now, I'd have to imagine that the crippled beggar was a bit surprised by this gift! He was thinking a few coins but they gave him what he really needed and what he wanted deep down in his heart. Something the beggar probably never thought about asking for because it would be impossible to get. "Why ask for things that I know are impossible to have?" could have been the beggars thought, "so I'll simply ask for change from men so that I can live day to day, that's realistic."

Or maybe this beggar had faith deep down but felt stupid asking for such a miracle? We'll never know that. But what we do know is that because of some level of faith - the man received a life change. He would no longer be dependant of others to haul him around so that he could "make a living." Now he could find work, make his own money, support himself...and even contribute to other beggars who sit at the Temple Gates. In an instant, he was no longer a beggar. He was a changed man with a new identity.

Faith led to receiving change. In many ways, I am like this crippled beggar - asking for simple change so that I can get through the daily grind of life. But, deep in my heart is there more that I long for? Something that I think "why ask it because it seems impossible." Could I consider that God desires me to have that impossible thing? But because I don't have enough faith, I won't receive it? "Oh ye of little faith..." rings though my mind right before I hear "nothing is impossible with God."

The Scriptures say that Peter, John and the previously crippled man walked together into the Temple where the man danced back and forth singing praises to God. People noticed that this was the crippled beggar and were astounded with what their eyes were seeing. Then they, too, broke out into dance in honor of God's goodness. It's contagious!!! As this man entered into major change in his life, he was not alone. The gift givers walked with him. How comforting is that!?

I'm at a place in life where a silly dream that's been brewing deep in my soul is emerging though the prompting of the Holy Spirit. A change is coming - and it's not just simple change. It's exciting but fear of the unknown seems to be the stronger emotion. Why can't I freely dance and praise God and trust Him as I walk this journey with Him, just as the crippled man did? Where was his fear? Where was his anxiety of how life would look after receiving the ability to walk?

How much faith is enough? Obviously, I could use a little boost in the faith department. God knows this and has been so gracious to not just walk with me in this time, but take me by the hand, assuring me I'm okay and that He'll not leave my side. I believe He wants to see me dance with joy, praising Him so that others see it and will praise Him as well!

God, I hope I'm not hurting Your heavenly hand with the tight grip I have on it. This time I will not chicken out - but please keep infusing me with faith and courage so that I stay in step with You, move with You, together - on this exciting journey of change. You never cease to amaze me. Your love and grace are evident and I'm overwhelmed by Your goodness. Thank you for leading me into the unknown. May I find comfort because I know my tiny fragile hand is gently held by Yours.

Silly God

Today I was bored so I decided to look at the books that I've collected over the years. (which are now collecting dust on the bookcase.) One caught my eye, "Inspiration Sandwich" is it's title. The cover was once vivid in color but due to it's age, it's now faded and nondescript. I pulled this book off the shelf and it opened naturally to a page where laid a paper. A bookmark that once was a receipt from a catalog purchase - dated October 11, 1995. I vaguely remember the day I bought this book and the feeling I had then came rushing back to me again today as I held this little paperback in my hands.

I had to chuckle at God. "Inspiration Sandwich" is a book to inspire - a book to unleash the creative self. Right now where I am in life, I thought, how ironic is this? God has been trying to tell me something for well over 12 years and I just keep ignoring Him or look the other way. Why? Can't I accept the fact that I have a creative vein in me that was there at birth and continues to grow through my adult life? Why do I cram it down and say it's not there? What am I afraid of?

It seems pompous to say "I'm an artist." The cultural world view of the artist is one of fame, fortune, super talented or insanely crazy with wild hair and bare feet. Well, I don't really want to be associated with any of those descriptions. Therefore, I'm not an artist. (However, I do have wild hair...another gift from God?)

Now, do I really believe this? That I'm not an artist. Not for one micro second. What is an artist? Hum...well we can talk for hours about that! Well, I could anyhow, if you were so bored to listen. The deal is, I'm an artist. You are an artist. How will you respond to that?

Okay, back to God being silly. He's been pointing me in a particular direction for so many years and I'm just now starting to connect the dots to see the beginning of an image being created right before my eyes. He's also been incredibly patient with me! So now the big questions is HOW WILL I RESPOND TO GOD'S DIRECTION? The answer is simply put but challenging to carry out: Move With Him.

Okay, I Did It...

For several months I’ve been collecting acrylic paints, canvases and brushes. I even purchased a table top easel and a painting pallet. These items have been collecting dust in the corner of our dining room. The excuse I use for not painting is I have no room. Sure, I could set everything up on my dining table but where would we eat?

This weekend my husband and boys were away and I had the whole house to myself from Friday morning to Sunday afternoon. It was lovely. Saturday I got up and had “paint” on my Wish I Would Do List. It was towards the bottom. A few months ago I traveled to Israel and while there God implanted an image in my heart, in words it would be “move with God.” I see the image and have desired to paint it for some time. Saturday - I had the opportunity, no cooking meant no need for the dining room table.

A bit reluctantly I set up my easel, got out my paints, pallet and brushes. Then I walked away from it, scared to death of that screaming white canvas. I see the image in my mind as clear as day – but how do I get it out? I stared blankly at the canvas - I didn’t know where to begin. I grew frustrated. So, I sat down and turned on the TV. From my sofa I could see the canvas sitting quietly and patiently there on the easel – watching my every move. I tried to ignore it. Fear of everything hindered me from creating an expression from God.

Finally, I got up, walked over and said “FINE! I’ll paint!” I squirted some pale yellow paint on my pallet then mixed it with white and slathered it over the entire canvas. “Oh, that felt kinda good” I thought to myself, “now what?” I gravitated towards shades of green then painted a swirly line from one corner diagonally to the opposite corner, this dark green line represented God. I filled a narrower brush with a pretty apple green color and created a companion line right next to the God line. This apple green line represented me, how close I want to be with God and to move with Him all the time.

“What’s next?” That’s all God gave me to see. “But there must be more!” The canvas looked empty. So, I painted with blues: big circles and little circles on the upper diagonal half. They represented my dreams and hopes, but I didn’t really like it. What I painted on the lower diagonal half was even worse! I couldn’t stand this painting! Back to the sofa and a funny movie in hopes of finding laughter, which I really needed at that point. “Why did I spend all this money on painting stuff when I can’t stand it?” was the only thought in my mind. “I hate painting! I’m not cut out for this.”

The movie was stupid, which I believe was God’s plan so that I’d return to the canvas. I tried three different ways to cover up the ugliness of my painting but I just wasn’t feeling it. “Move with God” was not being accurately displayed through my art. However, I kept at it, more determined than ever. I painted carefully and decided that it wasn’t so bad, even though it’s not really what I feel it should be. But, someone may like my painting…maybe?

The next morning when I came down the stairs in search for coffee, I was aptly greeted by my painting. “Oh, my, I can’t give up my day job!” Early that afternoon my husband came home and saw my art on the table and said “oh, this is your painting?” Ahh, yeah! I explained to him that I wasn’t happy with it because it was not what I see in my mind. It was such a struggle for me – painting this piece. All my fears came true – it’s crap, no one will like it, people will laugh.

Well, that’s when it hit me…right there sitting on the dining room floor processing this with my husband. “deAnn, this painting is not for just anyone. It’s for you. You are the only audience,” it was like a news ticker tape crossing the bottom on my mind and it was an urgent message from God.

What I realized was it’s not about the finished project. But it’s about what I learned through the creative process. My fear of painting, to explore a realm of creativity that is foreign, inhibited me from expressing what was deep inside my heart. I painted what I thought other people would want to see or would think was nice. That did not settle well in my soul. My painting was too clean, too nice, to edited. It’s not messy and real like the image that still lingers in my heart and cries to be released - this is the painting I need to create! This painting would not include the use of brushes…but my fingers and hands instead. And when I imagine letting go to paint from my heart like that - I sense freedom and pleasure in the most divinely intimate of ways!

So, now back to the canvas to paint from my true self that image God placed in my heart while in Israel: move with God. Now I’m excited to create! The chains of bondage have been released – true art can emerge from my soul and I can’t wait to see what God teaches me through that experience. Discovering and developing creativity from the true self is found through the process, what you learn about God and about yourself. It’s not so much about the final product. I believe that if you let go, travel deep into your soul and find the artist within – the final product will be one of amazing beauty and other people may see that beauty too ~ that picture into your soul.

I'll begin my true painting very soon then I'll post the 2 paintings together and we can see how they differ...continuing the artistic adventure...

Creating Without Fear

Love this book we're reading by Brenda Ueland, "If You Want To Write." She encourages us to work at our writing or whatever creative thing we like to do. Our culture tells us that duty comes first. But I'm exploring Brenda's thoughts as her words penetrate my heart and make a home in my soul. She says:

"Duty should be a by-product. Writing, the creative effort, the use of imagination, should come first, at least for some part of everyday of your life. It is a wonderful blessing if you will use it. You will become a happier, more enlightened, alive, impassioned, light-hearted and generous to everybody else. Even your health will improve. Cold will disappear and all the other ailments of discouragement and boredom."

I'm feeling a bit of creative constipation these days. Know what I mean? You desire to create something, anything, but a force holds you back. This is silly, but I have a pile of canvases of all sizes leaning against a wall in my dinning room. I've begun quite a nice collection of colorful paints and all kinds of brushes. It's all there. Waiting for me. Calling to me. I ignore it. WHY? What's holding me back? Well, maybe the fact that I've never painted outside of elementary school art class. What if my painting is horrible? What if people laugh? What if I laugh? Really, I have to ask myself, what would be so bad about that?

In hear in the back of my mind a tiny quiet voice, "deAnn, create. Just sit before the canvas. Allow Me to move your hands and guide your color choices. It will be beautiful, I promise. Relax. Leave your fear aside and create because you are My creation."Okay, despite the scariness, I'm going to log off, give in to The Voice and see where He takes me...

Keep On Keeping On

This morning I decided to take advantage of its beauty - so I loaded my cross bike onto the roof rack of my car and headed West towards Brillhart Station. Riding is therapy for me. Usually it's a time for reflection, prayer, and being in awe of the many shades of green that cover the landscape this time of year. This morning was no different. As I traded in four wheels for two, I began my journey pedaling through the cool dewy air. I forgot to mention that I subscribed to a podcast from Mars Hill Bible Church of Grand Rapids - so with my earbuds buried deep in my ears, I listened to Rob Bell's sermon from last Sunday as I traveled south on the Heritage Rail Trail. The sermon was really challenging to me. I wanted to fully take in every word and discover their meaning and find application for them in my life. Well, in focusing so intently I realized I was a dangerous woman who was moving rather fast on a gravel path. I noticed, because of my concentration on the sermon, I pretty much had fixed my eyes on the ground about 6 feet ahead of my front tire. This is not good. When riding a bike, kayaking, driving, snowboarding, what have you, your eyes should be constantly glancing ahead to see what is coming BEFORE it's 6 feet in front of you...maybe to notice a young man zig zagging his rusty bike across the path without thinking anyone else may be using the rail trail today. He enters into my 6 foot zone and I freak - grabbed for my rear brake and skidded sideways for what seemed like eternity. It's a mystery that I didn't cream that young man or even fall in the midst trying to avoid him. I think I scared him (and the others sitting on a near by bench taking a rest from pedaling) more than anything.

So I got to thinking about this...there are the people, maybe the super ambitious, that strain their eyes trying to see what's coming way down the pike, rarely, if ever, looking right in front of them. They miss the suicidal squirrels playing frogger on the rail trail, hit the poor thing and get thrown from their journey. Then you have people who, maybe due to fear or lack of confidence, fix their eyes just a few feet ahead. These people are dangerously surprised by the large obstacle that's in the path 14 feet in front. If they'd only looked up they would have seen it and could have gone around it, if possible. Or stop, get off and figure out how to navigate through it. I learned today that a healthy balance between looking right in front of me and looking ahead is the best (and safest) way to journey. I never want to run ahead of God or keep my eyes down, afraid to see what's coming. I want to move with God - at His pace with confidence that He'll lead me and help me figure travel the path ahead. I'm not saying there will never be surprise squirrels that cause me to fall. But if I do fall, when journeying with God and others in community, I will have hands of grace offered to me. They will lift me up, place me back on my bike and give me a nice big push to get moving again.