Once in a lifetime?

A few weeks ago, some friends and I drove two or so hours out into the countryside, to join in on a barn dance

given by the friends of this friend.

We gathered in the barn,

we listened to instruction.

We found ourselves a partner (wish I could remember his name!)

and laughed and danced our hearts away.

It may or may not happen again in my lifetime, but for now:

A barn dance, once, at least.

Hope, in the hands of an Expert

Allow me to tell you a very sad story:

I love all things green, and yet every plant I try to breathe life into ultimately dies.

This causes me much grief.

I do the very best I can.  I bring the poor little doomed things home, I put some soil in a pot, I stick them in there and hope for some thriving.

Until?   Dead.

In analyzing my situation I've thought:  Is it the soil, not healthy enough, or not the right amount? Or, is it the pot, too small, too large, too round?  Is it the watering, do I even know what water is?  And I've been tempted to just give up.

But here's the thing: It's summer! And, summer should mean fresh herbs, thriving and beautiful and spilling over my deck.

So, this weekend, as I was driving past a nursery on the outskirts of town, I slammed on my brakes, and put on my turn signal.  Gosh darn it, I was going to have me some herbs.

I got out of my car, and meandered through the prolific greens scattered over the ground.  I thought 'Somebody knows how to do this...' and couldn't decide between the abject failure or the ultimate hope bubbling around in my heart.  That was when this tanned little woman walked up to me and said 'Can I help you?'

Little did she know what she was asking.  I turned to her, and spilled my sob story on the ground around her feet.  I told her every detail of my hopelessness, and do you know what she said?

Pick some out, and I'll pot them for you.

And this is what my heart heard:  Hope, from the hands of someone who knows what she's doing, extended as a gift, to my abject little self.

And so, that evening, I found myself out on that deck, spending time with my herbs.

Herbs that have been potted correctly, in soil that is rich and nutritious, with instructions on how to keep them alive, by someone who knows them so well that she actually said things like 'Rosemary likes such and such, and so it needs this and this', as if she were talking about her dearest friend; by someone who is an expert.

The next morning found me back on the deck, as the sun rose and the air breathed birdsong and the mystery of early quiet.  It found me realizing--as I sat in quiet harmony with them--that I didn't even know how tired I was of living a life without herbs!  It found me realizing the wonder of what God does:

He puts me in the right pot, with healthy soil, and teaches me how to thrive, by saying things like 'Lauren likes such and such, and so she needs this and this', because He knows me; He is an Expert in me.

It found me dwelling in quiet companionship with this bird, who joined me in my reflection on the heart of this Expert as I read in Isaiah 44:

Remember these things.  I have made you...I will not forget you.  I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist.  Return to me, for I have redeemed you.

And as that bird sang out, I read:

For this is what the Lord says--he who created the heavens, he is God; he who fashioned and made the earth, he founded it; he did not create it to be empty, but formed it to be inhabited, he says:


I am the Lord, and there is no other.  I have not spoken in secret, from somewhere in a land of darkness; I have not said 'seek me in vain'.  I, the Lord, speak the truth; I declare what is right.

And as the sun rose, I saw His declaration, felt its warm glow on my face, and was reminded:

Sing for joy, O heavens, for the Lord has done this; shout aloud, O earth beneath.  Burst into song, you mountains, you forests and all your trees, for the Lord has redeemed Jacob; and he displays his glory in Israel.


And so, with the help of these experts I can walk out my days, with my herbs, in full comfort and confidence, because I trust their expertise.  And because I know, in Expertise I find Hope.

Hope, from the hands of someone who knows what He's doing, extended as a gift, to my abject little self.

Fully thriving, spending quality time with living greens, singing for Joy, the display of God's glory.

A celebration, well earned

When your matriarch turns 90,

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the only appropriate response is to throw a giant party.

That would be why these daughters stellar gathered together relatives and friends,

to let her know her 90 years have not been wasted.

The guests gathered around the girl of the moment,

as she reviewed a retrospective of her life,

put together in honor of the occasion.

They also listened quite diligently, as our family historian explained his research into where this royal lady can trace her roots. [I don't recall the details, but something about the ruling family of the Netherlands and we American cousins...I always knew I was special.]

These things aside, however, I suppose there were a variety of reasons these guests might have shown up.

Quite possibly, they really just came for 

the giant platters of [cellophane?] meat & cheese,

and the other traditional Knyfd food, 

as defined by said matriarch over the course of her 90 years.

Although, more realistically, what they really came for was

the cutest dog in the world,

and the cutest baby.

[Maybe someday she'll actually know me...]

Although, they may also have been interested in a peek at our famed madman,

who drove through the night in order to keep us all from disappointment, the birthday girl especially.

At the end of the day, however, I suppose that their real motivation was to be a part of the happy love in the air,

the special time to be together,

and the spunky little lady who made it all possible.

Happy Birthday Grandma,

we love you!

We love us some Memories

Memorial Day in my little life always begins at the home of my favorite family, with coffee.  This year, after a good amount of leisurely talking and a little bit of bike riding, we loaded up the car and headed to our annual spot:

the lawn behind the pie tent at the annual 

Boalsburg Memorial Day celebration.

After a little bit of time spent perusing the booths, we settled into the grass and waited for the pie to be judged so that we could purchase it.  And, of course, eat.  

Our grass dwelling is one of my favorite features of M. D., and is always defined by certain things:

 A photo shoot of Heather and me,

 taken by the children,

 where we try to act cool,

but eventually cannot hide the true nature of things.

Then,

there's always some quality time with Kate.

This year's activity involved cheating at Tic-Tac-Toe.

[Guess who won, every time?]

There is always a collection of friends around us, but this year was particularly fun in that I kept running into people I knew, with giant hugs and exclamations of love.

One of my new favorite little friends joined us, 

and demonstrated our mutual affection by baptizing me with grass.

Kate, of course, could not resist this fun, and so ensued hilarity.

As I sat in the beauty of the day and got to know new friends and old, I thanked God for the fullness of my life, for the way He sets the lonely in families, and gives us memories to share.

When we'd had our fill, we packed up our things and headed home, for the next phase of M.D. memories:

The pool!

We dwelt in the sun, the swimming, and the company.

We returned home for couch lounging, leisurely laughing,
pizza, a movie.

And at the end of it all, we smiled and said:

Memories, again.

Amen.

The Giant Surrender

On Friday evening, I found myself relaxing in a giant rocking chair, with a giant sandwich in my hands, and this giant sun setting before my very eyes.  My roommate Sara and I had made our way out to the rambling house that houses our church's offices, set high on a hill, overlooking the valley that is State College.  We sat on the porch,  to spend some time together, to tell each other what had been on our hearts and minds in these recent days, and to pray about it all.  Our friend Katy joined us as the sun sank lower, and together we dwelt in peace.

The fact that peace defined our night is evidence of our giant God, because the things that are on our hearts and minds are large, and looming.  They are the kinds of things that we--in our humanness--have no idea what to do with.  But we came to this place, expecting peace, because we know Whom it is that we came to seek. And so, we prayed.  And so, we dwelt.

Somewhere throughout the evening, someone brought something up that reminded me of something I'd been thinking of recently, and our conversation turned to the topic of:

Surrender.

An ugly word? No!  Because here's what I've been thinking:

There is a difference between surrendering, and giving up.

When you give up, you have no more resources.  You put down everything you've been trying so hard to keep together and--if you're lucky--you walk away.  Your efforts, wasted.  Your trials, for naught.  Your future, tainted by the memory.  Even worse, there could be no future; giving up, in certain cases, means certain death.  You step off the edge, you crash the plane, you walk into the deep water and let yourself go.

But when you surrender, you turn toward the force putting pressure on you, and you say:  Please.

And you give that force authority over you.

Now, depending on who you surrender to, you might find yourself in a sticky situation.  The thought of it doesn't make sense, because surrender can also mean certain death.  It's why you try so hard, it's why you fight as long as you can.

But here's the essence of surrender: You're asking for a re-do, you're asking for your rebellion to be forgotten.  You're taking the chance that someone will have mercy on you, and that you'll make it out alive.  It's your only hope, and hope is not something you're willing to give up.

Giving up means: I have no more hope.  But when you surrender, something inside of you says: I am not ok with that.


Surrender is the last possible fight.  It's the one last shot, the recognition that you need some help, if you're going to survive.

It is the giant paradox that says:  I'll give myself up, in order to save myself.   

And it's the giant paradox that means:  In order to save myself, I have to let you save me.  On your terms.  

You're my only hope.  

As Sara and Katy and I reflected on the places God is asking us to surrender to Him in, we realized that it goes against our nature.  It reminds us that we are not enough, that we don't have it as together as we'd like to think we do.

We realized that surrender to this giant God feels terrifying, because with a blast of breath from His nostrils, He can destroy everything we hold dear.

But, we reminded each other:  this Giant, Terrifying, Holy God is also the One who Loves us.  And He can see how those things that we hold dear are the things that are destroying us.  And He's calling us, in the deep places of our hearts, with the deep reality of His:

I want to set you free.

And so, together we affirmed: You are our only hope, and we surrender, to You.

Because you are so Giant, because you are so Good,
and we belong to you.