Sweet smell of grace...

I came back up the hill from the stables drunk on the scents of wild roses and honeysuckle. The air was laden with the sweet perfume of the obnoxious pests that choke out pastures and kill trees. Every thing has a saving grace, even these two invaders.
This assault on the senses comes with every season here on the farm. In the summer, the smell of fresh mown hay floats over our hills inviting you to come lie down and watch the clouds drift by. The soft songs of turkeys bedding down at night, the bell like peepers singing at the pond, the yipping of the coyotes in the darkness... my ears become attuned to the sounds of summer. Junie B’s coat is slick and shiny, smooth to the touch. Lettuce fresh picked from the ground tastes crisp and sharp. In the mornings, the air is still as the heat of the day builds until the breezes begin in the afternoon. The feel of wind on sweaty skin is a call to give thanks for my body’s built in air conditioning system.
At the local nursery a few weeks ago, I bemoaned the unseasonable cold weather we were having. Wilma smiled and reminded me that I would be longing for this cool weather soon. Now in the middle of hay cooking heat and dry weather, I remember her words and smile. To everything, there is a season indeed.
Two of my close friends are enduring times of trial and tribulation. One is walking the way of the widow while the other is living with a husband who is dying by inches. I watch and wait, looking for the signs of their seasons, signs of saving grace. For the widow, a time of redefinition as a person standing alone, seeking to find balance in her new tree pose. Some days are easier than others but almost always, in each day, a small grace abounds. My friend who is waiting is surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, some with her in body and some in spirit, all loving her through this lonesome valley. She is one of my sisters from whom I was separated at birth (not really) and we found in each other a kindred spirit. In the midst of the choking reality of death and dying, the smell of grace is present.
Help me, Lord, to be present to the grace that is present in my life even when I am struggling to find my way through the wilderness. Let me not forget that this is the day you have made. I want to rejoice and be glad in it. Please?

Standing on my head...

Our almost two year old grandson Colby came for a visit recently (along with his mother, father and brother). When he left to go home, in addition to the usual left behind socks and dirty towels, Colby left me an unintentional surprise.
In our bedroom, a wicker mannequin head sits on stacked hat boxes wearing a vintage 1950’s hat. I have a fascination, a love affair with hats. I wear hats to church every Sunday (no bad hair days) and love the feeling of instant elegance that comes with wearing a hat. I stand straighter, feel like a lady. Colby, who has none of my finer feelings for hats, stood the mannequin on her head while she was still wearing the hat.
For several days I did not notice this, seeing only what I expected to see when I looked at that space by the dresser. Then one morning I woke early after sleeping on the “wrong side” of the bed while Michael recuperated from shoulder surgery on the other side. And, there it was in all its absurd glory... I laughed out loud.
Life is all a matter of perspective. Sometimes when i am topsy turvy, standing on my head with worry, grief, anger or fear, I will remember Colby’s gift to me and take a minute to breathe and laugh a little. I will remember that the world upside down is still the same wonderful world it has always been. I will remember that my interior upside downess is a part of the gift of life for me, a gift that can lead to new ways of being and doing. I will remember that God will help me right side up myself and give thanks for all the different ways of being in this world.
Thanks Colby for the laugh and the lesson. The mannequin is still standing on her head. She is my new totem pole, my reminder of all that has gone before and all that is yet to come.

Skunked...

Woody came home from his walk skunked. Either he rolled in dead skunk or he got sprayed by Petunia, the skunk that takes her nocturnal constitutionals in our driveway. However it happened, the smell was oily, overpowering, overwhelming. Woody looked sheepish as if he understood we were not overjoyed to see him but managed to pull off a nonchalant attitude as he came on the back porch.
I flew to the computer and googled “skunk odor removal” and gathered what seemed to be an unlikely combination of ingredients... hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and liquid dish detergent. After applying the mixture to poor Woody and letting it sit for five minutes (any longer and he would have had bleached hair), I rinsed him off and he smelled fresh as a daisy. Hallelujah! A skunk remedy that actually works is worth its weight in gold when you need it.
This set me to thinking about skunk remedies in general and skunk remedies in particular for myself. What do I do or what can I do when I get skunked? After 67 years I have had some experience in this field but I am still learning new recipes every day. Pastor Pat helped direct my mulling over “skunkedness” this week with her sermon on Sunday so I want to give her credit for some of the following.
Like the disciples after Jesus’ death (and like Woody), we can go home again. When we are smelling to high heaven, flat out in misery, don’t know which way to turn, we can turn homeward. It may not be the home or the people who birthed you but we all have a home somewhere... a person, a place, a piece of music, a memory or an experience that is our heart’s resting place. Go home first. Lick your wounds or take your medicine or as in Woody’s case, let someone else tend to your stinkiness. You can’t take up residence there forever, though. You will get bleached out, become a shadow of your former self.
Jesus came to the disciples as they were back home fishing, a stranger in the early morning fog, and told them to put their nets in on the other side of the boat. After a night of pulling empty nets in, a night spent in bone weary work trying to ease the pain and confusion of their past week, they put the nets over the side one more time after grumbling a little, and pulled in a huge catch. When they got to shore, Jesus had breakfast ready and to homecoming was added the act of obedience. It is easy to be obedient when you know the ending of the story but it is painfully difficult to practice obedience when you are in a skunk fog. You have to listen for the voice of God in some pretty strange places and be willing to take action, even if you grumble a little...obedience as an active participation in the dance of life not a passive spectator sport. Obedience to the great commandment, love God and love your neighbor as yourself, is always a good place for me to start.
Somehow, and herein lies a great mystery, the acts of obedience pave the way for provision to be made... crooked paths become straight, the fog begins to lift a little, little miracles abound and a new way begins to form. As I extend myself in the name of God to those around me, God reaches back and pulls me along to a new place, a higher ground. God provides for me some heartsease as I meet the challenges of living through my smelly skunk times.
God never gives up on me. If one remedy for my smelly self doesn’t work, there is always another one to try. God keeps on showing up, prodding, poking, worrying me to death until I get the message. What a relief to know that I can never be separated from the love of God. At my worst, God still sees my best and is my creative source for change and growth towards who I am meant to be.
Thanks be to God for skunk remedies of all kinds...home coming, obedience, patient persistence, presence and participation. Skunked or not, I am all yours, God. Keep me close to you so that I might never lose sight of the path that leads home. Amen.

Holy Heartburn

Holy Heartburn!? (no interrobang on my punctuation keys)

This Sunday I was at worship in Alison and David’s church...College Park Baptist... and their Pastor, Michael Usey, preached using the road to Emmaus passage. In retelling this old story about the two believers being joined by a stranger on their walk home after the crucifixion, Michael used the phrase “holy heartburn” to describe the aftershock the believers felt when they realized Jesus had been their guest on the walk and for a meal. That phrase has been rocketing around in my head as I begin to process the past two months of my life.
A quick synopsis... our dear friend David, part of the farm family began actively dying... one of our children hit a really rough patch that required my presence for a month during the week to help with children... David died... a weekend trip to Pennsylvania for the first memorial service... another weekend memorial service and potluck at Sabbath Rest Farm attended by over 100 people...a horse with a hoof abcess...and added to the mix, calving season with one young heifer that had to be put down when the twins she was carrying died and she turned septic. Not exactly the equivalent of post crucifixion pre-resurrection angst but close...So now what? I am looking for the holy heartburn in the middle of all my back and forthing. Where has God been while I have been on the road these past weeks?
God has been present in the faces and arms of other people...friends who come when I call or scream for help. They step up, they do the work, they don’t keep score, they listen and love me through without judgement or advice. I am blessed with travel companions on this road.
God has been present in our family... sisters who tend to each other, a son in law who loves his wife and children enough to do some really hard work to change, our children who call and keep in touch, who visit us and seem to enjoy coming home to Sabbath Rest Farm, grandchildren who give us great joy in the midst of life its ownself, farm family who have been family in word and deed.
God has been present in the world around me on the Emmaus road... daffodils blooming in abundance, green grass springing up, Carolina blue skies, pear tree blooms, the sounds of turkeys talking softly to each other in the morning in the woods outside my bedroom window, the hammering of a woodpecker on the dead tree in the woods, the does and their babies standing in silence as I drive by, rabbits scampering through the yard at twilight, blue birds and indigo buntings a flash of blue streaks in the air around me, sunshine and rain, morning and evening.
I am surrounded by God’s presence and I am ever so grateful for holy heartburn that reminds me I am not alone. I am living, breathing and seeing God all around me even in times of trouble. Jesus said, “Lo, I am with you even unto the end of the age.” And so he is.