Riding the Currents

I have often wondered what it would feel like to be able to fly without an airplane or extra external gear. To go from standing still to lifting wings and suddenly I am free to ride the unseen air currents. After the initial stage of awkwardly trying out these feathered limbs, there would be a mastery developed to stretch out for lift. Then, think of the heights that are now available, the new places that are visible. 

Still, there is a certain vulnerability in taking to the sky. Gentle breezes can turn into twisting rollicking winds; taking sudden turns, drops and roller-coaster worthy bends. Made to ride the winds, the wings cannot be completely made of inflexible bone. They have smooth feathers to reduce their drag. They have wing structures that allow for lift and thrust to work together; flapping and propelling, gliding and soaring.

The birds are uniquely made to take to the air. They have learned to trust their wings and see the unseen air currents. We are uniquely made to have faith, to see the unseen with confidence. Hebrews 11:1 starts with, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” Just as the wings work with confidence, faith is a confident action as well. Not based on paths that are easily seen, but in assurance about what is not seen. 

To Know and Be Filled

A red winged blackbird is perched on the top of the pine tree. Small feet, created to be able to grasp the flexing top branch, are strong and steady as the chest fills with air, and a song emerges. I listen to the birds, this one soloist and others, seeming to show me a flying choir. The sky is reflecting the sunset sky and slowly the blue of the day is put away again, as shimmers of gray clouds reflect the remaining orange warmth of the sun. It is a moment to reflect, to think and be quiet.

It always seems to take me a while to quiet my mind enough to listen to the “still, small voice,” that I so love to hear. But, as the day fades away, my thoughts slow just a breadth of a pace and I am better able to listen instead. These words, from Ephesians 3 were on my mind tonight.   

For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love,  may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Oh how these rich words fill my heart; I let them sink in, just like that bird’s song. These words in particular, “to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God,” these stand out in my mind. Know and be filled. To know of something that passes knowledge, to take it on faith. Well, that is an adventure isn’t it! Sort of like landing on that small branch, trusting it to hold you securely and serve as a stage for the song. This is an inner core of knowing, the kind of knowing that expects seasons in their turn to bring warmth and cool. It is a knowing that is so deep that I can stand and walk on it, using it daily as a road to move about on, a coat to be warmed by, reaching out for a hand that I know will be there. I can, we all can, take this on faith because He is indeed secure.

And be filled, the second portion, and not only filled with some random thing – but with all the fullness of God! The fullness of God, the one who is truly complete in all things, perfect in all things, always faithful, always present, and forever loving of His children. What a beautiful thing to be filled with, like a cool glass of water on a hot summer day, you can feel the temperature within your core dropping as the water moves down with the swallow. I am filled with the fullness of God, the fullness – the completeness of what He is. I am sure I cannot truly comprehend what that means, it is a completion that is beyond this world.

One Black Shoe on the Street Curb

There is a shoe, a single shoe, sitting next to the curb on the street.  Just one shoe, not even a pair.  And, I had to wonder just how did one single shoe arrive at that spot.  Oh, I could come up with something practical – but that would not be nearly as much fun.  So….

Idea 1:

A tennis shoe wearing individual was getting ready to cross the street.  Suddenly, a giant bird swooped out of the sky and picked the person up.  The suddenness of the swoosh of the flight take-off caused one shoe to fall off.  Thus, there it is by the curb.  The giant bird delivered the individual to their car, minus one shoe, after they have had an aerial tour of the town.

Idea 2: 

A shoe seller had a pile of shoes to sell in a box and there were so many they were starting to wobble as if they would fall out of the box they were being carried in.  Perched on the top, swaying to and fro was a pair of black tennis shoes.  The shoe seller could not see the curb since there were so many shoes piled high and stubbed a toe and wobbled.  This caused the black tennis shoe to slide off the pile, bounce off the shoe seller’s head, and land on the street.  As the shoe seller’s hands were completely full of a wobbly pile of shoes, there was no care taken to stop and gather the lost shoe.

Idea 3:

Black tennis shoe, white tennis shoe, red tennis shoe, or blue tennis shoe.  Someone could not decide which tennis shoe to wear and decided to wear them all at one time.   The person came to the curb and when stepping up the black tennis shoe fell off.  However, a train was coming through at that time and the shoe wearer decided that they would try and catch a ride on the train.  The train could not wait for the shoe to be gathered and it was left there on the street.

Idea 4:

A person starting to walk across the street stepped off the curb and their phone rang.  They answered and heard such wonderful news that they jumped for joy.  They ran off excited, so excited that the shoe stayed behind.

Idea 5:
A shoe hoarding raccoon decided that it was time to clean out it’s burrow and rid itself of the summer shoes in its collection.  But, the raccoon could not decide which one to get rid of.  Sandals, flip flops, tennis shoes, and other shoes were carefully sorted through.  Finally, after hours of careful inspection of the summer shoe collection, the raccoon made a selection of one black tennis shoe.  The shoe was carefully placed near the opening to the sewer so that it would find a good home with another shoe collecting raccoon.

Those are my stories, and I’m sticking with them!

Perspectives from Marigolds

Just spent a few minutes dead-heading the marigolds in the yard.  Of all the summer flowers, that is one of my favorites with their little sun spots of color and powerful perfume that the bees and birds love. 

To give the coming and current blooms the most energy from the plant, the dying blooms can be removed in a process called dead-heading.  Just snip the bloom off with your fingers.  I go out and do that every week or so, and that is when you will find my pockets full of marigold flowers as I head back in the house to store my treasure through the rest of the year and into the next spring.  I break up the heads so that the seeds can dry out and be stored.  Then, after the most recent batch has dried, it takes its place in a glass jar to be held until the new spring comes.

Seeing these summer blooms drying up can be kind of a sad thought.  It is a reminder of the opening and closing of life chapters in general.  But, as I look at the pile of seeds ready to dry and be stored, I can’t help but think of the perspective lesson marigolds share.  Life does present us with opening and closings, starts and finishes.  The starts and finishes can be nerve-wracking, happy, grief filled, and joyous.  Needless to say, I can go in fits and starts with openings and closings that do not regularly occur in an all smooth fashion.  New things can make me nervous, even when I’m excited about them.  And, some things I am very glad to see go, while others I miss very much. 

But, marigolds remind me of how these chapter lessons are kind of like these seeds.   The lessons can be dried out and stored for later.  Carefully preserved to be re-planted later, as life seasons change, lessons will come in handy again.  Planted in the next season, they not only re-grow from the seed of that original plant, but produces new seeds as well.  Each season of planting and building, all from one dried up flower head holding marigold seeds.    

Taking It All With Me

The trip is winding down, and here at about a half-way point between the Black Hills and home in Iowa, it’s time to get some sleep.  Packing up this morning, rarely my favorite thing to do, I was consoling myself that even though I was leaving a beautiful place, I was going to take many things back with me. 

The buffalo herd moves across the grasses, mostly in a slow and loose conglomeration of shaggy creatures.  Babies test out their legs, and discover hopping and running to their great joy.  The mamas look as if they hope the babies will do several more laps to be naptime ready sooner rather than later.  The herd sentries grunt back and forth; passing along directional, pace, and herd behavior instructions.  Rolling in the dust, sturdy buffalo legs stretch in wallowing holes to take dust baths.  Tiny cow birds gather around the buffalo, partners in their environment.  The calves stretch out next to their mommas, soak in the sun, and wake recharged and hungry.  They try to add their own grunts, with baby voices that are much higher than the adults surrounding them.  I will take them with me.

Antelope, elegant creatures of patterned colors, perch high on hills and low in the gullies.  They tend to pretend that human viewers are simply not there, conspicuously ignoring the person within view.  Watching the antelope, quietly munching the grasses and moving along the hill lines, I love their patterned looks and the sounds of their quiet grass clipping.  I will take them with me.

Sylvan Lake, Legion Lake, Stockade Lake, and several other lake spots reflect the pines, snow, and rock formation.  The ducks and geese that make their homes in the waters take turns honking and quacking at each other, flapping around in a merry chase of territorial nesting crankiness.  The air is full of pine smell, clean and sweet.  The water, still frozen in some places, is cold with spring snow melt.  Little fish dart in and out of the cattails.  Tiny birds played as they move in and out of the reeds.  An osprey dipped and dove into the waters.  The trails around the ponds and lakes are each different.  The Sylvan Lake path leads past the waters framed in low rocks to a path sided by tall rock walls.  The pines and birch trees close to the rocks are still encased in thick snows.  Higher up, where the sun is hitting, the snow has melted to form icicles that glow in the sunshine like jewels.  I will take them with me.

Blue birds perch on the fences and bird houses.  Tiny spots of sky blue, they are like little sky streaks that dart around.  The females are toned in browns, like little paintings that reflect the good soils and stones around them, delicate in coloring and well disguised in their environment.  The meadow lark sings the most beautiful song, loudly and joyfully from tree branches, fence posts, and anywhere else they can find.  Yellow, with a swirl of black on their chest, these birds are as beautiful to see as they are to hear.  Magpies, white

and dark blue, dart about as if they are the supermodels and everyone else should pause to watch.  They are beautiful, and I do pause.  A strutting turkey, fluffed up and gliding over pine needle covered ground attempting, all in the attempt to impress a hen was a beautiful sight.  She was even chasing him for a few minutes, so apparently it was working.  The gobble gobble and cluck cluck of the turkey was fun to hear.  The pheasants, hawks, burrowing owls, and noisy crows were all there and all so wonderful to see.  I will take them with me.

I have met wonderful people.  A woman on an adventure who displays warmth and caring in her work, will have a collection of stories that is worthy of writing in a much shared book.  A local small store owner brings Bob the Manager to the store each day to “work” as a greeter.  Bob is a liver colored lab who likes belly rubs and to show off his big blue toy bone.  The Custer Chamber of Commerce awarded Bob as having friendliest customer service; all because his person brought him to work and let those who visit the store enjoy that personality.  Another woman has picked up the pieces of her life and found a passion for photography that has inspired her to make more than a so-so existence, but to enrich the lives of others around her.  I felt as if she was looking to share, as one who cares about an art wants to share it with another.   A gentleman is warmly greeting guests, even as he is a guest here.  I hope that he feels as welcome

in the Custer area as he made us feel.  A retired rancher, working at the Wild Horse Sanctuary, let me see the plains through his eyes.  Grasses, sustainability, the balance cycle of predator and prey, water conservation, and the joy of spring’s arrival from the presence of a burrowing owl were only the frosting on the cupcake.  His love of the horses and caring for them and their preservation was something that could be described more as a passion than a job.  People who have greeted, smiled, welcomed, and been kind – I will take them with me.

Snow falling so gently while enveloped in the heat of the steam and water of a hot tub, watching deer eat their dinner just beyond the pines from the same hot tub, and the sound of migratory ducks and geese as they fly over - they are all cabin memories.  Tucked near an outcropping of rock, the cabin was a quiet landing place at the end of a day.  With a gas stove fire started, the living room was toasty and the perfect place to end a day flipping through pictures.  A kind hearted woman owns the cabins and so wants to share her joy of the cabins with those who stay there.  I will take these with me.

These are just a few of the things I will take home with me.  I packed them all so gently in my luggage and have them with me even now.  They are many more, and those also I will take with me.

Stopping to See the Robin

   It’s too early to smell the roses, they haven’t even leafed out yet. But, I did stop to see a robin. The little feathered creature perched on top of a low tree and just watched as I walked by. I was close enough to admire the feathered lines that looked as if they had been painted by a light expert touch. Puffed up, the little bird held to the warm air in its feathers. I wanted to hold it in my hand.

   It’s been a really busy couple of days and it’s so easy to lose sight of the robins, roses, or other moments to relish. Life gets hectic, responsibilities mount, and before I know it – I can lose sight of some of the little joys which make life worth living. As spring approaches, even before the roses are holding a single leaf, stop and see the robins. Notice the little details.

Cardinal Spots

   We had beautiful big snowflakes falling yesterday, so big that they looked like feathers falling out of the sky. On the branches of the trees sat brilliant red cardinals, tucked in amongst the twigs and bark for shelter. They were brilliant red, showing up as crimson feathered spots in the white and brown lines of snow covered trees. With all of that flying snow about, it is easy to focus on the mass of the motion and not on the one flakes movement or what else is going on. The snowflakes are beautiful and I do love to watch them come down. They can also be very distracting.

   There are other distractions I face, some beautiful and some not so, that distract me from those wondrous moments of life. Distractions, those little diversions and commotions that interrupt and serve to either disturb or amuse; they can upset our days with great joy or great frustration. But good or bad, distractions can interrupt our time with God. I was reminded of how precious that time is when remembering a recent time of quiet and solitude. It was just for a few moments, at a January bonfire when I remembered in the quiet the lovely peace of solitude with God. It is not something that has been lost on me, just in the haze of cold medicine and recovering my energy from the cold it was something that was a bit lost on me.
   Maybe I need January bonfires more often, maybe I just need to remember to look past the flurries of distraction to the cardinals perched in the trees.

Sanctuary

    A cat behind an electric box, peering out on the squirrel playing in the yard, seems as if it is just perfectly content in the moment. A tiny little spotted doe stands in the back yard, eating corn. Her ears are showing that she is watchful, but not overly fearful. At the corner of the flower bed, cardinals started a nest in the bird house that is tucked into the red bud tree. A friend’s house, where a welcome is real and ever present. The quiet of a morning with coffee in hand standing outside as the dog’s go out and greet the day.
    If the Church is the followers of Christ, then is this all the sanctuary? Is the space where the tiniest of lightning bugs dance through the night part of the dazzling light display put on by the stars a part of the glory of the sanctuary? The world around us contains such beauty, little spaces with the ruffles of marigold blooms and giant spaces of mountains and canyons. I can’t think of a more fitting sanctuary, vast and grand and alive.

Winged Neighbor

It is a two story house with blue siding. On my way from work to my car, I can see they have a tiny little neighbor who has taken up residence on the second story windowsill. A morning dove has staked out a little territory and built herself her own home addition. She is there every time I pass the house, sitting on her nest.

I would have such a hard time not bothering her if she were on my window sill. I would want to watch and feed her. Oh, and of course she would have a name. There would also probably be a good five hundred pictures of her as well.
I wonder what the dove sees during the day. As she looks down from her little home, there would be cars and people walking. Children bicycling and skateboarding up and down the sidewalk as they enjoy the last little bit of summer might not even notice their quiet dark eyed observer. Some of the residents at the adult assisted living apartments walk this block as part of their daily routine. As they stroll past, do they notice the quiet tucking of wings? It’s like a little reminder of guardian angels that we have tucked into our own lives that we don’t even notice.
I love the little addition that has been built on that house. What a wonderful neighbor!

Winston

We have quite the menagerie of animals in the backyard. They aren’t pets per say, as in go up and pet them. But, they are little furry and feathered creatures with personality and distinct characteristics. Our newest animal arrival is a big black crow which has become known as Winston. His feathers are not shiny, they just seem to soak up light. He’s a big crow, who likes to land about five feet away from the other birds and squirrels and then eat any leftovers he might find. I love the way he struts around, as if he were kind of the birds. Then, every once in a while, Winston will discover a treasure! Perhaps an egg or over-ripe fruit, then amazingly enough he seems to stash the entire thing in his beak and fly off.

Welcome to the club Winston.

Shadows and Freedom

Have you ever noticed how two thoughts which seem unrelated can wind themselves together, twining this way and that to form a vine? I had two thoughts and over the last few days, they have sort of twined together.

I live in a small town; it’s a nice little town on the river and home to several large companies. It’s a typical small town with typical small town structures. There are restaurants and a fire department, homes and schools. I enjoy during the school year watching children walk to the elementary school as I drive to work. In the summer, it is replaced with afternoon skateboard and bicycles. An ice cream truck can be heard often during this hot time. I know my neighbors names and they are lovely neighbors. It’s not a perfect town; there are problems inherent in every area. There is crime and poverty which I wish wasn’t there. It is the longest I have ever lived anywhere, over 12 years! It is the longest by far (by over 8 years). So, I have lived here long enough to know that if I go straight at that one road and turn at another, that I will pass a patch of beautiful black-eyed-susans. And, it is an odd reassurance to know that my pharmacist, who knows my name, can also quote Shakespeare. I know that there are many who feel stifled here, they look around and see the limits. One such asked me not to long ago why I didn’t just take off and declare “freedom”. But, I’m not sure that that is what freedom looks like to me.
The other was just a moment, just a few seconds. On my way home from work, I needed to stop and run an errand. I drove up the street and the city jail was directly in front of me. I saw a shadow of a large bird move across the small high panes of glass in the jail. I wondered in that ephemeral moment if that was a sad reminder to the men and women in the jail. If that shadow passed through the window, the shadow of a bird epitomizing freedom, passed through the window, would it be something that rips their heart a bit?
The freedom of a bird, the freedom of choices, freedom to be and do and live and love – what is freedom? Is freedom the bird that flies from spot to spot? The sparrow which alights outside my window and splashes in the water with great abandon has a type of freedom. When my dog gets up she has a day full of naps and playtime and running, a different kind of freedom. I do have freedom. I have freedom to make a go of my job or not, to make a friend or not, to be pleasant or have an attitude, to work hard or hardly work. I also have a freedom to be what I was meant to be. Not the meant to be of romantic Victorian novels and the fates. But, meant to be as in the gifts and tasks and plans God has for me that are just for me, and those for you that are just for you. When I spurn those gifts, I feel more like the prisoner watching the bird out the window. Instead, I want to be more like the sparrow, splashing about with joy and abandon in the water. Thus, the two thoughts twine together and form something a bit more coherent, a bit stronger, as I define freedom for me.

Nonsensical Trio

Okay – I warn you upfront, today is just a nonsensical bit of writing. It’s just the way I look at the world.

There are lots of animals that live in the back yard. The live in the front yard too, but the dogs seem to think that they are really only allowed to live in the back yard and bark at them until they resume living in their appropriate space. A rabbit lives in the yard with a little white furry stripe on his rump. I love that it makes him, Peter Rabbit, so easily identifiable. When he was just a tiny thing, he liked to come close and listen to people talk. I’m not kidding, he would sit just a few feet away and if you kept talking and didn’t move to suddenly, he would be quite happy to just hop right around you. Perhaps he was trying to English through immersion. Yesterday morning, Peter Rabbit, now much older and quite grown up, was in the front yard. The dogs of course were announcing that the “attack bunny” was out of his space and should be chased back to the back yard. I went out and tried to shoo him away rather than just opening the door and let the dogs go into their flight of fancy. “The big woofy woofy dogs are coming out; you need to move along someplace safer.” I swear that rabbit pfft’d at me and then hopped quite preciously back into the back yard.
Three crows have also taken up residence in the last few days. I like their substantial size and the way that they seem to just soak in the light around them and be velvety in the shade and shiny in the sun. There was just one, and being in the yard for a short time leads to an animal having a name. They must have names. So, I was thinking Whitman. But, then two other crows showed up and I am at a complete loss as to what to call them.
Deer like to gather in in the evening, eating corn and seed. Mainly though, the dark faced doe who stands and eats corn, with little corn bits stuck to her nose. She is beautiful, sleek and shiny and looks so healthy. She watches in the window from her dinner buffet place. I wonder if she wonders about us, if she is observing us as we observe her.
They are beautiful to watch, taking on characteristics of their own. Personality abounds in these furry creatures who live here.

Brazen Little Chickadees

When I was in elementary school, there was a park nearby with an open shelter. Walking through the woods, over the worn paths, I remember hearing crunch of dirt, leaves, and sticks underfoot. Then, you slowed down and walked as quietly as possible into the shelter. The sound of dirt changed to the sound of wood. Passing a few wooden benches, I remember walking all the way to where the shelter acted more like a roofed deck.

Looking out, there was a gully, full of trees and undergrowth. Standing there, open handed with sunflower seeds in my palm, I practiced patience. Soon, a chickadee would fly and land nearby. Then, moving a little closer, the little feathered creature hopped hopped hopped until it was perched a breath away from my hand. Finally, the chickadee would land on my hand.
I remember my heart racing as the little bird would sit there, easting its sunflower seeds. With bright black eyes and intricate shades of grey, white, and black this tiny creature would perch on my hand, moving here and there, finger to finger and eat quite peaceably.
It still amazes me, how brazed that little beauty of a bird was, and yet chickadees are still that way. Such brave big hearts in a tiny little bird. They may not look big and strong, but they are brazen little beautiful birds.