The water is running now
running over the edges
and pooling beyond the boundaries.
More than enough water
like God,
filling and overflowing
the boundaries
I give Him.
His love
pooling out
into the stretches
I’d long given up on.
All this water
a promise
as it’s
pressing slow
into thawing earth
a promise that
there’s more than enough water
and there’s more than enough new growth
and this more than enough water
will sustain that new growth
all the way through.
…continue to walk
surrendered
to the extravagant love
of Christ.
Ephesians 5: 2
If I walked
each day
fully
surrendered
to the
extravagant love
of Christ
I’d never
worry.
I’d never
try and
control others
or situations
to suit me.
I’d never
be
afraid.
I’d never try
to shape my own
destiny
according to my
limited ideas.
I’d never
look for love
in the wrong places.
I’d never fear
scarcity.
I’d never
feel alone.
Here’s my challenge
every day.
Walk,
live,
be
fully aware
and fully surrendered
to the extravagant love
of Christ
all day,
every day.
Live from that place
of fullness,
of enough-ness,
of wonder,
of peace,
of joy,
of intimacy,
of delight,
of release.
Today I walk
fully surrendered
to the extravagant
love of Christ.
The light
Is here
So long now.
Last week
I sat
In a ball
In the hammock
Swing
In the sunshine
For hours.
I’m afraid
I still love winter.
Other people
Are most definitely
Done with it.
Or so I hear.
Almost 4 straight weeks
Of -30
And colder
Will do that.
Now the icicles drip
Steady in the sun
The bright blue sky
Beaming
Clear through them.
The snow is soft now
In the sun
And my rabbit fur boots
Are soaked through.
I still love winter
Cause here she is
Giving us a second chance
To love her back.
To hear us remark
How remarkable it is
To go outside
And loiter,
Walk our dogs,
Not wear mitts.
To hear children squeal
As they whip down
The hills.
To hear the happy slap
of a puck against the boards
Of the outdoor rink.
To hear the far off whine
Of a skidoo
Pearling up snow
Out in the fields.
And the slow
Rhythmic
Swoosh
Swoosh
Of my skis
In the woods.
This is winter
Eager to please,
To recapture our
attention,
Our delight,
Like a friend,
Eager to make up
After a long fight.
She will no doubt
turn against us
Again
Cause after all
This is her last scene
And a plot twist is bound
To be unleashed.
But for today,
I will enjoy
this graciously warm,
blue-skied,
light filled
winter.
I like this nest.
It’s not a forever home.
Like the birds
I may build
A new nest
Elsewhere
In another
season.
But for right now
I really like this nest.
I feel a bit like a gypsy.
I could up and go,
If the fancy took me.
Nothing holds me
To one plot of earth.
I could spend it all
On adventures
In God’s huge backyard
Of this beautiful world.
Or I could stay and be perfectly
Content
Embracing all this beauty,
All these beautiful people,
Sharing this real and raw life together
Here, now.
There’s something
Hands-off
About this season
In this nest.
That leaves God
With lots of space
To do
Whatever
He wants.
I love that.
I love this nest.
Dad shovels snow
Like it’s going out of style.
It’s past our knees out here.
It makes me laugh
Cause I love snow so much.
Knee deep in new.
There’s this stretch
Of ravine
Behind the cabin,
all that generous snow,
Lumped up on the branches
And all is still
‘cept you can hear
A woodpecker knocking,
A wee chickadee with his smart black cap and chin strap,
And Dad
shovelling.
I need all this.
This space.
This snow.
These trees.
This new white world
Like a blank page.
Fresh.
And when we come stomping in,
Red-cheeked,
I love
The fireplace
And a good book
And losing track of time.
We suit up cause the shovelling is done
And the sleds are out
And there’s fresh powder everywhere.
I feel 30 pounds heavier when I’m done
And I look like a storm trooper.
There’s so much snow out in the fields
That it piles up round the skis
Till you can’t see them
And it poofs over the windshield
As the back end sinks down
Deep.
The powder whips round me
Till I’m a cloud.
I follow Dad.
He’s a cloud too
With one red tail light
That I can see in the growing dusk.
It reminds me of the children of Israel,
Following a cloud.
Couldn’t have been easy.
You can’t see much ahead when you follow a cloud.
Like walking in a fog.
You just gotta hope
It’s leading you ahead
Safe.
We plow into the trails
And the trees bend over top
Heavy with snow.
Big zig zagging footprints
Criss cross the path
Where a moose was just tromping.
Dad stops and points
And a thickly furred
Young deer
Bounds away
White tail up.
Back across the fields
The snow just piles up
Around our legs
And cascades into
Our laps.
More than enough
new.
We head back
And I can’t feel my nose
Or my upper lip
Cause I forgot my balaclava.
I take my gloves off.
My fingers are immobile in seconds
And I need to think hard
To make them unstrap my helmet.
The fire is perfect.
Dad carries in more wood.
We laugh at the Andy Griffith show,
And eat ribs with our fingers.
I can’t put my book down
Till it’s done
And I’m out
Like a light.
In the calm pink
Of the next morning
I think
About the blizzard
We drove through to get here,
The storm that left
In it’s wake
All this beauty,
All this new
To play in
And work in
And enjoy.
Some see the storms
And the snow
As inconvenient
And despise it.
Maybe it’s cause they never saw this.
All is still.
All the new
Lies everywhere
Knee deep.
My spruce is laden with birds.
I only see them on mornings like this
When I’m not at work
When the first light
comes.
In the summer
First light
Is a whole 5 hours earlier
And it’s the opposite.
The birds are up before me.
But here in the winter
I wait for the birds.
The birds are what brought me here.
Mom and auntie and the realtor
Were showing us around
And I was starting to warm up
To it all
And then I heard
And saw
The birds
And that sealed it.
They were crowding round
A perfect bird house
In the snowy back yard
And I knew
I could live here
happy.
And I have.
More happy than I thought could fit
In a any house.
Such delight
In creating,
In re-making,
In welcoming,
In cooking, eating,
sharing, gardening,
Working, resting,
Hoping,
dreaming,
Waiting.
Here is where I shed
Many dreams
And tears
Like old skin,
but here is also where
I was blessed to live in
The new.
Here is where
I became.
I put aside so many
Expectations
And perspectives,
So many unhelpful things,
And I became.
I became
Not afraid
Of people’s judgements.
I became
Less desperate
to steal the show.
I became
More dependent
On God’s faithful Presence.
I became
Less everywhere
And more centered.
I became
Content
As I’d never been before.
I became
More independent
And interdependent
At the same time.
I became
Less critical
And more helpful.
I became
More wise
And less headlong.
I became
More brave.
I became
More ok
With letting go.
So many memories
Like old photos in the air
Of late night talks
On the stairs
And so many tears
In that old, white carpet.
Memories of
Pushing in seeds,
Walking out in faith,
Being met by provision
Every time.
So many memories
Of songs of praise
Reverberating off the walls
And settling deep in our hearts.
Of slow mornings
And lonely nights
And laughter loud
And cookie dough
And sleeping in the sun.
Thank-you, Papa,
For the birds.
For the birds that brought me
And kept me
All these years
Waiting for them.
Thank-you, Papa,
For the house
That was just so perfect
In so many ways.
That carried me,
Comforted in your arms,
Through so many years.
All glory to the one who plans our steps
Who leads us on
And gives us the promise
Of his forever presence
No matter what
changes.
Good-bye my birds.
Good-bye my house.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Rest in the shadow…
Close.
Close enough that Your shadow falls on me.
I want to be that close.
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
Will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the LORD:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
He alone is my God,
And I
Trust Him.
Psalm 91:1-2
“Come,
Rest in My shadow.”
It’s too bright.
Too hot.
The elements
Of this world
Over power
All of us
And we need
A shadow.
Shade me.
Shield me.
Cool me.
Give me breath.
Rest in the shadow.
Your shadow.
Close.
Shadow of God
Fall on me.
I want to be
That close.
What sets my heart free?
Being like a child.
Not knowing what tomorrow holds,
but knowing I’m going to wake up tomorrow
and be loved,
taken care of,
by my loving Father.
My whole world
wrapped up in a
relationship that
gives me
my very life.
God will be there.
In that great unknown future.
Loving me.
His love is
His guarantee.
He will be there.
Providing for me
even before I think to ask.
He will be there.
Taking me on adventures.
Giving me space and time
to play.
He will be there,
To play with me,
to open my eyes
in wonder to His Creation
and power.
He’ll be there
Giving me purpose,
letting me help him
in his work,
and quietly fixing anything
I may have botched up.
He’ll be there.
Disarming my fears.
Holding me close.
Wiping away my tears.
He’ll be there.
Listening to my words,
Looking in my eyes,
Really seeing and knowing me
As only a parent can.
He’ll be there.
Calling me higher.
Calling me to become
all I’m able to be.
He’ll be there
when he calls me to do
what is uncomfortable
and new.
He’ll be there
walking beside me
step by step.
He’ll be there
with supper on the table
when I get home,
eager to hear
about my day,
ready to celebrate the good,
and untangle the knots.
He’ll provide a safe space
for secrets and questions.
He’ll be there
when I’ve gone off track,
and need to face the consequences.
He’ll be there to help me
make it right.
He’ll be there
to put me to sleep.
He’ll protect me
through the night
because he
never sleeps.
What sets me free?
Embracing the simple stance
of a child
whose heart is knit
with a good, kind, wise Father.
Yes,
I will be needy,
Usually ignorant.
I’ll have temper tantrums.
I’ll not want to share.
I’ll be selfish.
And strong willed.
And myopic
And frustrated
by my limitations.
But also,
I pray,
I will be
trusting,
loved,
open,
believing,
content,
coming to Him,
calling for Him,
desiring His constant companionship.
Resting in His
forever love.
That’s where my heart is free.
In that place of sureness.
“All will be well.”
Papa is here
And I am His
Much loved child.
Rest.
Drink water.
Do nothing.
That’s a hard one
for a doer,
like me.
I don’t mind resting
one day a week.
But back then
resting was a choice,
not a
‘have to.’
It’s weird what happens to us when things become
‘have to’s.’
Something deep inside
immediately
rebels.
Rest.
Drink water.
Do nothing.
The hardest part was
saying no.
Like swallowing glass,
making the world
go on without me
when I know
I could just
make everyone
so happy
if I could just
get off the couch.
Cause pleasing people
was priority.
Priority changed.
Priority became
try to eat food
and not
throw it all up.
Priority became
drink water,
sleep,
have a bath.
Do it all again.
Priority became
me.
And not all of me.
Just this part of me.
This temporary tent
that was up in arms.
My soul and spirit
got hungry
cause all I could do
was the basics.
Rest.
Drink water.
Do nothing.
I realized my spiritual life
is a lot of doing.
Doing that makes me feel
good.
Doing that makes me
happy.
But what happens when
my spiritual life
can’t do
anything?
All I can do
is mumble memorized Scriptures
before bed
and listen for
His voice,
His presence.
Still there.
Alleluia.
And that’s just it.
Still there.
Work was still there.
Getting along without me.
God was still there.
Getting along without me.
Life just kept going
while I stopped.
I had to stop
rebelling.
I had to accept
Rest,
Drink water,
Do nothing.
And there was
my mom’s voice,
somehow balancing
the comforting,
“Stay as long as you need,” and the
gentle pushing,
“Let’s try and go out.”
If you’re forced to stop
best to have
Mom there
to keep you
alive,
inside and out,
moving forward,
making good choices.
Letting go.
Beginning again.
If you’re forced to stop
best to have
friends there
reminding you
it doesn’t all depend on you,
that you can’t control what’s happening,
that God’s voice needs to be my holding place,
that fear is a liar.
Phone calls,
texts,
emojis,
hugs,
releasing peace.
Praise Jesus.
Eventually I turned
for the better.
I could sit up.
I could keep my eyes open.
I could keep food down.
I could read.
I could write.
I could do dishes.
I made my bed.
Each simple thing
A shining success.
But I had to give myself the grace
to get there.
Rest.
Drink water.
Do nothing.
And now here I am.
And here is what I think.
God doesn’t make people sick.
Why would Jesus, God in the flesh,
spend so much time
healing and delivering people
if God makes people sick?
That sounds like
A kingdom divided to me.
But here is what I believe.
God can redeem anything.
So many
Of my dearest friends
Fight far worse sickness
Than me
Right now,
Every day,
Not just for a week,
But for years,
And years,
And years.
And it’s not just them.
Sometimes it’s their kids.
Their loved ones.
And they are
Far more
Out of control
Than I ever have been.
And these people
Still have
faith.
They still pray.
They still hope.
They are given strength
To make it through
Another hour,
Another day, another year.
God is in the business
Of redeeming what the enemy
Is trying to mess with;
God’s powerful,
awesome,
world-changing
children.
I don’t know sickness,
despair,
fear,
waiting,
letting go,
like these
dear ones do.
But I see God.
I see God helping me,
helping them,
helping all of his beloved humanity,
make it through
leaning hard,
trusting Him,
finding grace
for each
day.
Rest.
Drink water.
Do nothing.
Be ok with that.
If that’s your season.
And if that’s your beloved’s season,
be ok with that
with them
and listen
and love
and see
God
right there,
always present,
always redeeming.
Alleluia.
Sometimes
I can turn
a blind eye
to things
like
dirty dishes
and all that matters
is my couch
and my book
on a snowy day.
Most times
I can’t
and mostly
I’m moving,
from dawn to dusk
and the only thing
that knows me
to be still
is my bed.
Most times
activity is like a habit,
a drug,
each completed task
a little shot
of euphoria
and onto the next.
It takes intention,
denial,
sacrifice,
to break
that craving
to be efficient,
organized,
perfect,
finished.
Like cutting out sugar.
All or nothing.
I cut out work
all or nothing,
once a week.
Usually I’m a bit jittery at first
and the pressure builds.
But anything becomes
overwhelming if I
concentrate on it
hard enough.
So I think about
other things.
Like nature.
There it is.
Just being.
Not doing.
I read poems
just reflecting
not acting.
I pray.
I let God be God.
Sovereign,
Without my hurry
helping him.
I daydream.
Nap.
Sing.
Read.
Put the kettle on
again.
Be.
Someone once said
we were made to be
human beings,
not human doings.
Today
being comes easy.
Maybe the snow helps.
I’m not aching to “do” today.
I know cause it’s noon and I’m still
in my pajamas
and it’s still snowing
so I will
put the kettle on
again.
sacred rest 