An Other in Me
The stillness welcomes me.
In it reside
A world of ---
Invitations, for want of a
Better word.
No sounds, no thoughts, no ideas.
They are from
An Other
Not of this world.
They all beckon me
To rest
To listen
To BE.
Comforting,
Because they bid me
Cease
The frenetic racing
From project to project
Thought to thought
Deed to deed
Even done for good.
They make me know
It is ok
To live into
God’s love
His care
His preparation
For all there is
To be
Of my life.
Unbelievably,
I fight them…
The insanity
Of being human, I guess.
I fear if I listen
I will sink into sloth
A lazy glob of flesh
Incapable of achieving
Success.
Whatever that is.
The morning stillness
Is the best.
I feel
My Other
So much better.
Lord, help me
Take it through
The day.
A Safe Prison
It's really safe in here.
I can understand the warp and woof
Of what's out there.
The pattern is familiar
I've seen its shape
And have sung its song
Have worn its despair
Many times.
But it's safe in here --
Maybe not right
But easy and familiar.
Over and over I see
That the tremulous beauty
The heavenly warmth
The breath-stopping ecstasy
Last only hours
Before the voices come
To make havoc of my dreams.
They twist and tangle
And maul and destroy
The truth
And leave me with lies
Which I believe.
Yet, it's safe in here.
How else could things make sense?
Rootbound
I was planting some moss today and was reminded of a rather important spiritual lesson. Many plants I buy at the nursery are “root-bound,” meaning they have outgrown the pot they are in. If you zoom in on the pic on the left, you will see that the roots and dirt are exactly the same shape as the container. They are so tightly bound together that the dirt cannot even fall away from the roots. If you plant it that way, it will never get any bigger and more than likely become sickly and die. You see, the roots don’t know that you’ve removed their restriction; they will continue circling that dirt thinking they are still in the pot, when actually they have as much room as they need to roam around.
Experienced gardeners prepare the plant for another pot or the ground by distressing it, dragging their fingernails over all the roots and breaking them up, as the pic shows on the right. They hang out of the dirt heater-skelter, ready to move off in another direction. It looks a little bedraggled, but it is just right to go into the ground and thrive.
The next time you are faced with a challenging situation and feel that sharp fingernails are tearing your comfortable life to shreds, remember that, like that plant, we don’t grow spiritually in comfort and complacency. We need distressing. The hurt and the pain is where growth happens. God loves us too much to leave us root-bound. James, the brother of Jesus, tells us to count it all joy.
James 1:2-4
A Penlight in the Darkness
When I was very sick,
My mind had seized,
My heart was frozen,
My spirit had taken flight
Like a winged bird.
How would I survive?
How would I know the way?
I had dropped my penlight
In the deep, deep grass;
Or perhaps it had gone
Careening off the cliff
Just millimeters away.
In a fog I panicked
And just stopped.
Would I remain here forever?
Or misstep
And risk the abyss?
Gradually, I realized someone
Had picked up my penlight,
And its soft gleam
Still illuminated my feet
And the next step.
Emboldened, I stepped forward
And took courage to look ahead.
There a hazy form took shape
Who must hold the light.
We continued on,
And strength returned
With each step.
Gaining on the figure,
I hoped to say thanks
And retrieve my light.
Reaching out,
As I came abreast the humble form,
I made to grasp my light
And touched the outstretched hand
Handing the light off.
It was then
That the thanks died on my lips
When I saw
The ugly, ragged hole
In that hand,
And my penlight
Smeared with blood.
I expected the figure to leave
Now its job was done.
But on it strove,
Ever present,
Ever loving,
Ever vigilant
For trouble.
Somehow I knew
This Help had been there all along,
Watching, waiting
For me to acknowledge
I needed help.
By all that’s holy,
How had I never noticed
My Friend before?
She
Stacy Wills @stacywillsart
I immediately loved this when Stacy Wills painted it in 2012. It hangs on my healing room wall to remind me who I really am.
Late of heaven
Her being still glistens
With the pulsing golden dust
Of that holy place.
She skips up one side
Of rainbow’s arc
In cloudless sky,
And slides down
Its other side
Laughing in sheer delight
At its beauty and its grace.
She is a warrior, brave and noble
Her spear of truth
She heaves
To hit the mark
In both friend and foe.
Yet, it does not harm or kill—
Only melts in healing balm
Within those hearts
To cause growth.
Her soul reaches to her Maker,
Another brave and true.
Forms a channel for His goodness, love, and power
Grows daily ever larger
As He fills her.
She marvels at newfound power,
Aware that change has come
Is here
Has been here for a long age.
She welcomes the adventure.
Looking back, upon the dewy ground,
There lies a dried up shell,
A crumpled, molted sheath
That she recognizes as herself
Of old.
No longer needed and outgrown.
She gazes at it long and lovingly
With forgiveness and thanks
For its protection all those years.
Then, turning her beautiful face
To the glorious sunrise
She strides boldly off
To life.
The Shining
Two brilliant lights
Swimming in God
Made of God
Spin toward each other.
Why do they slow
Then come to rest
Beside each other
In the inky vastness?
Love shines from one to the other
Channeling hope, love, truth.
There they remain
Until the healing is done.
Hope and truth and love
All three
Standing in eternity
All hitched a ride
On an arc of light
A tiny morsel of humanity.
Transformation
Once the path seemed so clear
Through all the brambles
And dense undergrowth.
But I noticed as I hacked
My way through it,
Making judgments,
Giving ultimatums
About the truth as I saw it,
I left angry welts on those
I encountered on the way—
Sometimes ugly gashes,
Watering the earth with crimson.
Even the vegetation seemed to cry out
At my harshness.
Mystery has now settled over the path;
Unknowing often reigns.
And I consider much
Before my machete
Comes down.
The briars now do indeed
Draw my own blood.
I cry countless tears.
But, oddly, joy
Even compassion
Wells up in me
For those I meet along the path.
I cut carefully, mindfully
Around them as I go.
No longer do I hurt them.
We move along together
Toward that Brightness
Only the soul can see.
The Cicadas Know A Secret
Well, I have been thinking about the cicadas for days now and knowing that they are speaking a message to me from God. I haven't known what exactly... just bits and pieces that make sense, but then hit a dead end. But today I will put something down for your consideration since, as Maya Angelou so aptly put it, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
The periodical cicada is a fascinating creature. What you are hearing now is the call of countless males intent on finding mates. The females then lay eggs on branches. A few weeks later, both adults die. When the eggs hatch, the nymphs fall to the ground, enter the soil, and feed on roots-- for either 13 or 17 years (13 in our region). Then they climb out of the earth and back up a tree (or some tall object), shed their skins, and emerge as adults to begin the cycle all over again.
I don't know about you, but that 13 years in the ground gives me real pause. I mean, that's got to be pretty confining and boring, not to mention DARK. How does anything live without the sun? I know all you scientists out there are dying to tell me, but that's really not my burning question. As with all things in nature, I wonder what it has to teach me about God and my relationship to Him, for the lessons are ALWAYS there in nature.
I guess first I have been thinking about the boredom and monotony of waking up every morning to eat the same roots in the same darkness -- no traveling around for these guys. Yet, God has made them to be content with this because this is how they will mature and complete their life cycle, such as it is. The encyclopedia (no, I didn't Google this stuff) says nothing about the cicadas' benefit to nature in those 13 years; in fact, when the female lays the eggs, she saws into the twig bark and kills the tip of the twig.
So, here we have a creature who spends 13 years in the ground eating, emerges to reproduce, and then almost instantly dies. What's the use of it? Then I thought about how often I am bored, straining at the bit to make my life more exciting, discontent when things are moving slowly -- or not at all. Living in the present moment is so very difficult, isn't it? Thanking God for what is here and now, accepting it, enjoying it fully, without regretting what could have been or anticipating what might be. To be satisfied with what comes down to us from the Father of Light. To be content not being productive, not having to validate our existence. Just simply living. Very, very few of us have even the faintest clue how to do that.
And the darkness. I don't like to think about it, but it's evident something good is going on down there in the dark with those cicadas; they are munching away and staying alive. As I said, not exciting, but we have no idea what else they are doing down there to have fun. Jesus said the rocks would cry out to praise Him if we don't; I guess that means the cicadas have that capability also. Reckon they are doing that in their cicada-way down there? My takeaway from this is that good things can happen in the darkness; God can teach us things while we are icing cakes, but He seems to keep His deepest answers to mysteries hidden in the dark and pain that come to us. St. John of the Cross tells us that God does some of His best work in us during the dark night of the soul. That's when we think everything is going to hell-- literally. It doesn't have to be life-shattering stuff; it could simply be a time when we feel rudderless, purposeless, alone, or just stuck. Could it be there where WE learn how to praise Jesus?
The scary part is that we don't know how long that darkness is going to hang around -- one hour can feel like 13 years, right? A tip from the cicadas -- stay busy living, no matter how mundane, praising and trusting Jesus, because the light eventually comes. Isaiah said it best: "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned" (9:2)
And then we realize a stupendous fact: that Christ essence has been in us, available to us, all the time in the darkness, just like it is in the cicadas that came into being through His Word.
See, I bet those cicadas already knew that and have been talking about it down there this whole time.
The Frustrated Little Bird
Almost ten years ago, I was having a quiet devotion while attending a Journey Partners spiritual direction training retreat. The early morning sun peeked through the large picture windows on the east side of my cottage, and for some ten minutes I watched this little bird try desperately to fly through those windows. He sat on a deck chair just a foot from the window and, every few seconds, flung himself at the window, only to be met by solid glass. His beak bounced off the glass, throwing him backwards. In frustrated surprise, he settled back onto the chair and stared at the glass, not really seeing the glass, but the open space beyond which he hoped to reach. So close, and yet so far, he seemed to say! Time after time he attempted to break through, each one with the same force—I suppose thinking that “this time” he will break down the barrier.
He finally took one long look at the window, then turned his back on it. Ah, he has gotten the message, I thought, that the obstacle is impenetrable. But no, turning back to the window after a couple of minutes, he was at it again. Finally, some five minutes later he apparently gave up and flew off. Is it over? No!! Incredibly, some fifteen minutes later, he flew back to the chair and began his attack on the window again! He repeated this entire process two more times before I had to leave. I believe I could have sat there all morning and witnessed the same scenario over and over. The next day this bird was back at it again!! What perseverance!!
As usual, such shenanigans put me in mind of us in all of our futile searching. How many things in our lives are as fruitless as that little bird’s venture? Be it relationship, vocation, faith, hobby, you name it, are we trying to fit a square peg in a round hole and simply refusing to recognize God’s will in our lives? I am sure you know the popular definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I posit that men and women, all of us, are insane when it comes to understanding who we are before our Creator and what that means for how we conduct our lives.
Unlike the bird, we don’t have to continue beating our heads against a brick wall. We have an excellent brain that can tell us when we are fruitless. But the mind will not take us all the way to God. For that we need to move into a totally different space, into the silence where God lives within us. To our soul. We need to listen to the truth that the soul can teach us. But that will not get us all the way either. We then need to act upon the truth we hear and come to embrace. This might take a while. Only then will we turn away from trying unsuccessfully to grab the enticing fruit we see before us. Only then will we move away from the obstacle and go where God wants us to go, perhaps far away from that particular enticement. When we do that, we come upon what God has for us, exactly where we are supposed to be for maximum joy. Belatedly, we realize that we would never have chosen this path ourselves, but we know it is where we were bound all the while.
When We Fail
Well, the summer is almost over, and, as far as gardening is concerned, I don’t feel as if I have had a summer. For most of the growing season, all of the veggies have been spindly, with no blooms and obviously no fruit. I have never experienced such a gardening failure.
The sad tale began about the middle of June when I decided to follow a Youtube gardener’s advice and buy a 40 per cent shade cloth to protect my plants from the broiling Mississippi sun. I was tired of seeing my plants burn up in the summer no matter how much I watered. After a fair amount of research, I invested the money to cover the entire garden.
As the men put it up, a small, niggling voice whispered, “Isn’t that a little dark in there for those peas, corn and beans, not to mention the tomatoes?” I ignored it, especially when I realized how much cooler working in the garden had become. But after a few weeks I could not deny that my plants were not prospering. All that work gone to waste! Finally a couple of weeks ago I pulled almost everything up, admitting defeat. How sad!
Yet, I did notice the peppers and okra and even one lone cucumber were making a comeback, responding to the light and producing, even though not as healthy as they should be. Filled with hope, I replanted the green beans and several rows of purple hull peas, banking on a harvest before frost in November. Actually I endorsed myself for such positive thinking; in the past, I would have been mercilessly berating myself for such a poor decision.
A little thought would have helped me see that plants need the sun, and some need the blazing hot summer sun. Belatedly I asked my friend and well-known horticulturist Felder Rushing what he thought about shade cloths. He said, ”You don’t need them. Millions of southern gardeners have been planting without shade cloths for hundreds of years and reaped wonderful harvests.” True. Why didn’t I ask him BEFORE this disastrous and expensive experiment? I won’t make that mistake again!
In life we sometimes make the same poor decisions even though our intentions are good. And at times those decisions fly in the face of good sense. We forge ahead independently without there wise counsel of family and friends. We fail in jobs, projects, relationships. The temptation is to give up, wallowing in the swamp of self criticism. But living in the chrysalis demands that we let this ego trap that begs for perfection dissolve and take on the mind of Christ. He accepts us as we are, with all our failings, and gives us the power to start over, begin again, learn from mistakes, and, perhaps, accomplish more than we did before. We are looking toward complete transformation, as the caterpillar turns into a butterfly, Let's salute new beginnings!
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come. The old has gone, the new is here! 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV)
The Great Light
Originally published April 20, 2024
I had a nightmare a couple of months ago, the kind you wake up from and instantly go to prayer thanking God it was only a dream. I was in one of those odd, never-never land states where I consciously knew I was in the bed in my sister-in-law’s home, but my subconscious was calling the shots. I began straining to make out something, anything in the inky blackness. No matter where I looked, I could not discern anything—no window, no furniture, no light under the door. In this dreamlike state, I finally decided I was blind. I didn’t know how it had happened, because I had gone to bed fine. Simply put, I was terrified and began to think how hard life was going to be now that I couldn’t see. Each second, I became more and more frantic, and I could feel my heart racing. Suddenly, however, I noticed a tiny green dot of light blinking on the ceiling. The smoke detector! I wasn’t blind!! I woke up and was so relieved I almost cried out in joy.
Life is much like that, isn’t it? Sometimes the blackness comes upon us, we its unwitting victims. What in the world to do? We are desolate, terrified, enraged, and any number of other emotions. The darkness is so thick and suffocating we think we may die. Some of the darkness we want desperately to escape—impending divorce, death of loved ones, financial collapse, catastrophic illness -- and can’t find the way out. Yet, sometimes, truth to tell, we actually run toward the darkness for some crazy reason, enjoying the payoffs of addictions, compulsions, and a host of other destructive states. We become slaves to a plethora of little gods, thinking they willmake us happy, safe, and secure. Frightened, we follow these innumerable rabbit trails, but the farther away we get from the Great Light, the more unhappy and insecure we become. In either case, we frequently end up lost in an abyss of murky shadows, losing hope that we will ever find our way back.
Isaiah tells us, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (9:1).
Anyone who has read the Bible knows that Jesus is the Great Light. What we don’t have down is how that “Great Light” actually plays out in our lives. It is shining all the time, always has, everywhere in the universe – the darkness cannot overcome it. However, I am sad to say that none of us sees that light as constantly as it shines. No, we don’t. And we are not able to, this side of paradise, which is what makes us human. But Isaiah tells us that Jesus can shine His Light into our lives, showing us the way, helping us conquer the darkness.
I imagine most people think of Jesus walking around metaphorically with a huge spotlight, shining it into all of our dirty little crevices. I have even heard it taught that way. That could be true at times, but I’ve been a Christian for about forty years now (not counting all those years at church memorizing Scripture when I thought I was a Christian), and “the Great Light” has rarely been a spotlight. It has seemed more like a faint dot of brightness from a lighthouse seen from a ship many miles out at sea, getting clearer only after a long, long time.
The Good News, the incredibly Good News, is that the Great Light--Christ’s light --is ALWAYS there. It never, ever dies away totally because, remember, the darkness cannot overcome it (John 1:5). So, try to search the darkness continuously – and wait. The tiniest of lights will eventually appear. Move toward it however you can. Rumi says, “If all you can do is crawl, start crawling.” Christ’s love will reach out and drag you along, most likely bringing others alongside of you to help. In less time than you might think, you will again be in the Great Light – not crawling, but dancing!
The Reluctant Prophet
Originally published April 2, 2021
I suppose Easter is the best time to begin a blog in earnest... a blog that I have been afraid to write for many years. It is a resurrection of sorts within my own soul, a coming to be of who I really am, an effort to display the vivid beauty that Christ created in me from the very beginning of my earthly existence. At 71, I know that I can’t take tomorrow for granted— no more excuses, no more delay to make whatever I write perfect, no second guessing. When I stand before Him in the end, I want to say I did what He asked me to do.
And so here we are at April 1, 2021. It is a sunny, beautiful morning here in our southern part of the world. The birds are jockeying to see who can make the loudest noise... the little brown jobs (LBJs) continue to build their nest behind the front porch lamp fixture...and the earthworms are disgruntled because I am turning the compost heap and adding more alfalfa.
I love the spring, even though the jobs in the garden seem endless. God teaches me so much every single day, and often the most useful lessons come when I do feel anxious and overwhelmed with tasks I have set for myself. He constantly reminds me that all is well, all is in perfect divine order. In other words, I can do the next thing and not worry.
Today, in the yard I slowed myself down from my normal frenetic pace to appreciate what I already had from God. I paid special attention to the shimmering light green lushness of the spring oak leaves; the shy new leaves budding on the just planted ginkgo and Japanese magnolia; the gorgeous magenta blossoms of a nameless wildflower that last year I might have pulled up as a weed. I marveled at the budding red maple seedling hugging a crepe myrtle and thanked God that in the fall I can give it a home of its own.
Such small things to notice... but so important for a driven person as I am. Peace comes in knowing that at any moment God’s work is getting done.. creation is continuing and does not need my frenzied activity to succeed. I can find satisfaction in my work without constantly worrying if I am doing enough.
Two thousand years ago today, Jesus was eating the last meal he would have on this earth with His disciples. He knew He was headed to the cross tomorrow, and, if He was truly human (which He was), He had to be wondering if His three-year ministry had been a success. While there were plenty of people appreciative of His healing, virtually no one really understood His messages, even His disciples. Surely Jesus was tempted as a human to stay longer, try harder, do more. But He trusted His Father knew exactly the right time for all things, and He submitted.
Those are my marching orders, too. I will find joy in my day’s work, then rest, then do it all over again, submitting to God’s perfect timing.
AUTUMN
The familiar nip is in the air.
All nature seems to know
Autumn has arrived.
It is time for rest.
The maple out my window
Shamelessly begins to disrobe,
First swapping verdant green foliage
For fiery vermillion
Royal purple
Brilliant yellows and oranges.
She’ll wear the beauty
For a few weeks
Before dropping it carelessly
On the ground below.
I’m told the gorgeous hues
Are there all along,
Masked by the overpowering green of growth,
And brought out of hiding
When the sun stingily
Begins to take back its light
Earlier and earlier.
Autumn has come to visit my body, too.
The supple joints
The moist skin
The clear eyes and mind
Are fading
As my days also grow shorter.
Yet, all these years
Brilliant beauty
Has lain hidden
Within me, too --
Masked by the frenetic activity
Of youth,
Of growth.
What vibrant hues
Will be revealed in me
In this autumn of my life?
Hues to heal,
To please the soul,
To calm the spirit?
Let me be sure
To look for the beauty
That can come
Only with the dying of the light.
—Rebecca Barnes Hobbs
Originally published August 29, 2017
Putting On Christ
Originally published August 29, 2017
Have you ever had days when you truly wished you could transform? I mean, leave your dysfunctional patterns in the dust and become an entirely different, better person? I know I do all the time. The Bible tells us that this is exactly what can happen with Christ’s help:
[You] have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator. (Colossians 3:10)
“Put on” here means to envelope or hide in. In a sense, it is like putting on a garment, such as a coat. It envelopes us and hides most of our body. Yet, the idea of putting on Christ, or our new nature, is much more than that. It is a subtle process, filled with mystery. If you look for it, you won’t see it happening. It is only after the fact, after you have done it (or it has been done to you) that you notice changes. For I believe we don’t even do it – we allow it to be done to us by staying open to the Holy Spirit. What God requires, He gives us the power to do, not in our own power but His.
Suppose you want to “put on the new nature” by exhibiting more of the patience of Christ. You pray to this end. A day does not come when balloons fall from the sky and trumpets sound a fanfare because you have suddenly “become a patient person.” No, what happens is that one day you belatedly realize that you think differently about issues that once made you impatient. You may treat people better – you may treat yourself better. But try as you will, you cannot remember when, or much less how, this change came about. But it certainly did. People will eventually come up to you, as someone did to me, and say, “You know, you are not the person I used to know.”
The work of Christ within us is going on constantly, and it will not stop until we stand before Him. Every time we say, “Help me, Jesus,” He listens and takes us at our word. The Holy Spirit rolls into action and begins to change us from within. A new spirit, Christ’s Spirit, rises unbidden in us, asking new questions, giving new sight, providing new peace and hope. It permeates our being much as a stain sinks into new wood. There is no space in the wood that the stain doesn’t touch. So it is with us. The aim here is that our old nature will be completely hidden by Christ; we will be conformed to His nature, and it will be as if He is walking around in our bodies.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. (2 Cor. 5:17)
One of the best illustrations of this profound change is the humble chrysalis, which you see above in the masthead of my website. A chrysalis is the structure in which a caterpillar changes into a butterfly. I’ve always loved butterflies, their carefree beauty as they randomly float around enjoying God’s nectar. But I’ve always been impressed with the fact that their beauty comes at a price. At some point the caterpillar spins a tight chrysalis around itself, then proceeds to dissolve inside it. Not a single cell remains the same; it becomes a liquid, then is transformed into a new creature.
I have come to look at life as much the same process if we humans want to be new creatures. As we are hidden with Christ in the chrysalis, we are utterly changed into a new creature. The old passes away totally. How long does it take? Well, monarchs finish up in about two weeks; humans take considerably longer. I’m 67 and still in my chrysalis, but growing, learning, transforming each day. Some days it’s quite dark, but other days I know I see God’s glorious light in that velvet blackness. I’d be honored if you would visit with me often here and explore living in the chrysalis and all the many ways we may become new creatures!