Two Anniversary Flowers

As I was rain-walking up a soggy fell-slope a few days ago I came across one of the little benches built along the path for a sit-down. On this bench was a fresh bouquet of flowers—roses and day lillies in a festive wrapper. Just sitting there, thank you very much, minding their own business with no one else in sight. I said, “Thanks, Lord, for the anniversary flowers. You like our 29 years together too?” He smiled, as I saw him in my heart’s eye.

A little further along the path I ran into a solitary man coming down from the top of the fell. I could barely make him out in the wind and rain, and deepening shade of the afternoon. We stopped and chatted as we passed. He said, “You taking those flowers to the cairn at the top to mark some memory?” I said, “no, just a gift to me that I was going to pass along to my bride.” He said, “Oh, I just came from marking my dad’s death 20 year ago today; he loved this fell.”

I asked his father’s name. It was David. I told him, “I’ll leave a flower at the top for him to mark the memory for you.” It was a little blessing to be shared along the path. The wind was howling at the top so the flowers got anchored with a stone. Death adding a period at the end of our sentence, and clarifying the words in between. So, Lord, let me so live my life from the vantage point of Deathbed-View, as John Donohue exhorts:

For Death

From the moment you were born,

Your death has walked beside you.

Though it seldom shows its face,

You still feel its empty touch

When fear invades your life,

Or what you love is lost

Or inner damage is incurred.

Yet when destiny draws you

Into these spaces of poverty,

And your heart stays generous

Until some door opens into the light,

You are quietly befriending your death;

So that you will have no need to fear

When your time comes to turn and leave.

That the silent presence of your death

Would call your life to attention,

Wake you up to how scarce your time is

And the urgency to become free

And equal to the call of your destiny.

That you would gather yourself

And decide carefully

How you now can live

The life you would love

To look back on

From your deathbed.

Silent Snow Softening Down on a New Year's Blessing

As I write this dream, this poem, it’s early and the light is dawning on silent snow softening down, sticking, obscuring the landscape of regret with the pure white of forgiveness, a blank slate of hope on which today can be written. It’s peaceful being snowed in--particularly when you have light and warmth, inside your spirit with His Spirit, and outside in our little flat. We’re called into the quiet and the blanketing of snow confirms our calling. We ARE living the life that we would love.   Loved this poem by John O'Donohue:

May I have the courage today

To live the life that I would love,

To postpone my dream no longer

But do at last what I came here for

And waste my heart on fear no more.

 And then there is his blessing for a new year and shucking the weight of past years:

On the day when

The weight deadens

On your shoulders

And you stumble,

May the clay dance

To balance you.

And when your eyes

Freeze behind

The gray window

And the ghost of loss

Gets into you,

May a flock of colors,

Indigo, red, green,

And azure blue,

Come to awaken in you

A meadow of delight.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

May the clarity of light be yours,

May the fluency of the ocean be yours,

May the protection of the Lord be yours.

And so may a slow

Wind work these words

Of love around you,

An invisible cloak

To mind your life.

Step by Step

Yesterday I set out to climb Hellvalyn Fell. It’s one of the most challenging fells around but I thought it was a cool day’s climb with the recent snow melt; no problem. As I climbed I was partly listening to podcasts, partly praying. I was asking God, “where is my next step to be?” Then my feet would move this way or that; one step at a time. Then another step would be clear at that point, but not before.


I made it to within 100 meters of the top. At that point, on what turned out to be a sharply inclined icefield, some internal cost/benefit ratio of risk to fun or safety got crossed. I think I looked down. Hanging onto icy handholds with all four limbs and inching along upwards suddenly didn’t seem like such a giggle. So I listened to myself say, “Self, should we go down or continue on up?” Self said go up.

Then I said, “Lord, should we go up or down—what do you say? And what do you think Bethyl would say?” The answer was, “Get off the mountain you fool.” Hmmm. Hardly flattering. But I turned around and inched down to safety. As I was picking my way carefully down, two climbers passed me after having summitted; they were equipped with crampons and ice picks. Later, this morning I found that three people last year had died on Hellvalyn due to not listening well and exceeding their limits. So, thanks God for your protection, for causing me to listen and obey. One step at a time.

Keeping Clear

Naomi Remmen’s book, My Grandfather’s Blessings, mentioned a story where she got a silver bracelet from a dear and wise friend, a counselor. It had one word engraved on it, “clear.” She wore it for a long time before asking what it meant. The friend said, look it up in a big dictionary, not a small one. Many definitions emerged, among them, “free from obstruction, entanglement, impurity, debt…”. The most meaningful definition, however, was “a perfect transmitter of light.” I can be that transmitter of God’s light in Jesus now and again—particularly as we move toward that shortest day of the year on December 22nd, but day in and out, can I keep clear? In my role of shepherding the unruly sheep within me, or around me--those in the fold, in the cold, in the mist, and in the dark, can I keep clear?

I am to be a clear reflection of His beauty, a mirror of his mercy, and grace, and generosity. Lord, let me mirror your character in my own.

When blown by winds of circumstance, frozen sideways by icy coldness from those around us, can I stand as a silent testimony to how deep my roots have gone?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Line Up

Friday was exceptional in the memory making department. Quite a trip back from Stratford-upon-Avon after seeing “Matilda!” yesterday afternoon and a Christmas carol concert yesterday evening in Holy Trinity Church.


We practiced snow-skidding around on the motorways, being stuck at a dead stop for hours, and then limping home thru a huge snow dump. Once close to home we enlisted two passing angels to push us up the last icy bit. We unpacked the car in the dark at the hill bottom and climbed our half-mile steep and icy hill, dragging our overnight bag behind us in the deep, new snow. We fell often, laughing at ourselves, on the 25 degree Foul Step Lane. A hot bath felt good once we collapsed in the front door of our flat.

Later in the night I was meditating on how Christmas makes shepherds of us all to the lost sheep lined up around us. I become aware also of how God’s last Lamb came, ironically, to shepherd us. He, in my busyness, becomes a forgotten Carol that the Father wants to sing to me. As I played “The Forgotten Christmas Carols” by Michael McLean (a 1991 classic), my eyes and heart fill with thanksgiving for His huge descent from his warm home to a far off speck on the edge of a minor galaxy to enact the drama of the Ages once again with a fresh batch of created rebels. My mind opens also to consider the current consensus of astronomers that technologically advanced civilizations probably exist on between a thousand and a million planets just in our little galaxy (Time, Dec 6, 2010, p. 6). I see Him peering down, wondering if and who and when each of his sheep will make a straight path toward Him even as He did toward us.

Grazing on Grace

A beautiful snowfall last night left us wakening to a winter wonderland. It came and went without notice, so like God wouldn’t you say? “When you help someone out… do it quietly and unobtrusively. This is how God, who conceived you in love, working quietly behind the scenes, helps you out.” (Matt 6:3-4, Message).


It doesn’t take much pawing beneath the surface to find something good on which to graze. This ram knows how to feed on God’s grace without a whole lot of ado. His wonder is all around and within us if we too scratch the surface. Happy Thanksgiving season indeed.

Sensing Grace at Thanksgiving

We’re continuing to sabbaticalize well here in the Lake District. Winter is arriving tonight with arctic blasts out of Siberia coming up and over the hills to the north; snowfall tonight.


Today I was focusing on putting away Money in the memorization bank--where thieves cannot break thru and steal. My working edge is in Matthew 6: 5-15:

“And when you come before God don’t turn that into a theatrical production either. All these people making a regular show out of their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box seat? Here’s what I want you to do: find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace. The world is full of so called prayer warriors who are prayer ignorant. They’re full of formulas, programs, and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you are dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply. Like this:

Our Father in heaven, reveal who you are. Set the world right. Do what’s best—as above, so below. Keep us alive with three square meals. Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others. Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil. You’re in charge! You can do anything you want! You’re ablaze in beauty! Yes. Yes. Yes.

When I was working on the part, “your focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace”, it was morning on my way over the fells to Ambleside and I took this picture, thinking to myself, “Lord, if I can’t sense your grace here in this moment where can I sense it?” it was a blessed being moment. Later in the day I passed these sheep around our local backyard tarn, Loughrigg. What a peaceful picture of His creatures keeping pace with the Spirit, feeding on what He has provided. Today, gratefully, the Lord has also been my shepherd.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving tomorrow. From the far side of the pond. Your brother and sister. Vance and Bethyl Joy