More

Decorating my tree this year was a monumental task. My husband and I had set it in the great-room over a week ago, but I just couldn’t get motivated to put the ornaments on. Tree decorating has always been a huge Reid family project, and this year my household was too quiet. None of my children were home. And all the Reid family traditions were packed away in my heart for a different Christmas. This year just felt uninspired . . . even sad, if I let my heart go there.

But on a day when my husband was out of town and Kirkhaven was utterly quiet . . . except, of course, for some periodic poodle yapping . . . my dear friend called and asked if she could come to help me decorate. Such a dear, wonderful friend. I built a fire in the fire place, turned on the Christmas music, and hauled several boxes of decorations up from the basement storage room. My friend and I worked in earnest for several hours opening boxes, strategically placing ornaments, and even climbing a huge ladder to reach the top tier of my stone fireplace mantel.

By late afternoon, Kirkhaven was full of Christmas cheer and the tree was done.
My friend had gone home to her own family, and I was sitting alone by the tree’s soft glimmer in the Kirkhaven early evening. That’s when I decided to try some low-light photography. I wondered if I could capture its beautiful amber glow with my new Sony camera. I turned the flash to “off” and began snapping shots of the tree from different locations in the room. Then I tried some close-up shots of different ornaments. The low-light conditions proved to be a challenge in managing the focus, but the difficulty left me even more determined to see my project through to success. I used a chair for a tri-pod. I lay on the floor and propped the camera on my knee. I really wanted to capture two things: the parts of my Christmas tree, and then the whole of it. In its own natural light.

God was doing something in my heart and it was spilling out of my mind and my hands at a frantic pace. I HAD to take the pictures. And I HAD to understand what they meant. I knew, I simply knew, that there was MORE to my Christmas this year than old memories and hidden sadness. I couldn’t see what gift Father had. I couldn’t even imagine that a gift could make any difference. But I knew the Lord was doing something and I was determined to see it through.

As I reviewed all the photos on my computer, saving the few that I really liked and deleting the many that weren’t very good, I realized something. My Christmas tree was more than the sum of its parts. I could photograph each part. And I could photograph the whole. But there was more there than I could capture in my carefully crafted mega bites.

And Christmas itself was more than the sum of its parts. More than parties and family traditions. More than gift buying and gift giving. Even more than all the well-meaning sentiments behind it all.

And life was more than the sum of its parts. More than the minutes and hours and days that pile up year upon year. More than the collections of celebrations that get tucked away in our photo albums and our family stories. More than the sudden tragedies we never see coming but always try to figure out. More than the wonderful happinesses that surprise us with their blessed joys.

In the simple miracle of a dreary day and a faithful friend and a project finished, I had been given the gift of seeing beyond a collection of parts . . . and even beyond a carefully composed whole . . . to find the More that gave it all real life and real joy and real meaning.

The More is a person. Jesus. Messiah. Lord.

I don’t have a picture of Him to share with you. But I do have a life testimony. He is More. More than you have ever known. More than you could ever hope for. More than the collected parts of your life. More, even, than the understood whole. He infuses it all with His love and holds it all together with His mercy and grace.

He is Life itself. At its absolute fullest.

In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men.
John 1:4 (NASB)

Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life . . . "
John 14:6 (NASB)

Merry Christmas.
Happy New Year.
May you find More.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

A Perspective

Perspective is a secret ingredient to life well-lived. How you perceive life determines how you live it. Fearful people see life as dangerous and risky. Angry people see disparity and injustice. In the same way that a photographer chooses which shot to frame from a broad panorama, each person chooses their own perspective on living.

In the often hectic and stressful days that have scattered themselves at the heels of my now-middle-aged journey, perspective is the thing that has brought order and meaning to the chaos. It composes all the elements of my experiences and presents them in a focused, understandable realness. My perspective on living is uncomplicated. Not gaudy or gilded. No convoluted philosophies. Just the simple flourish of a deep conviction: God is faithful.

I am centered by this single truth. It gives my existence clarity and meaning. It has not been a shelter from disappointment or pain. But it has been a wellspring of inspiration and hope. It is neither a position I try to defend nor a belief I need to explain. It’s just how I see life. And it’s how I define the stuff of life. God is faithful.

My husband is gone on a short mission trip. No one is home but the poodles and me. I could have spent my time feeling lonely. I could have let my mind wander to thoughts of missing my daughters during the holidays. But God is faithful. And in the quiet, I felt His gracious presence. And I took pictures.

Photograph, for me, is an allegory for my life perspective. It challenges me to take the depth and poignancy of living and capture it within the boundary of a frame. Yet, even in the capturing, each picture reminds me of how very small the frame is.

So I decided to share three of the pictures with you. They were taken today from my back porch. Each photo is a picture of my iron railing, taken from a different angle. The photos are about the tranquility of a chilly autumn rain. And the richness of solitude. And the peace of burnished autumn color.

And the beauty of perspective.

For the LORD is good;
His lovingkindness is everlasting
And His faithfulness to all generations.
Psalms 100:5 (NASB)


Perspective.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Autumn Pathways

Pathways are trodden
in forest leaves
across meadow grasses
between familiar memories
among unfolding dreams
through the minutes
and the days
and the years
of a passionate life
so that maybe
someone else
might follow
and find the treasures
too.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Webs

Some people are horrified by spiders. They get the willies just THINKING about them. Sorry if I gave all of you the shivers. Some of my dearest friends are arachnophobes.

Other people are captivated and even awed by spiders. They study their eating habits, their web-making styles, and their impact on the earth’s eco system. They even create international academic clubs dedicated to photographing, studying, and writing about these arthropods.

I am not really afraid of the eight-legged invertebrates. I even admit to a minor fascination with them. But when I step off of my front porch at night and walk right into a spider’s web, the glory of it all is lost. A primal instinct kicks into gear. My arms start flinging wildly in the air. My body shivers all over. And some kind of hideous, guttural scream blerts out from somewhere deep in my gut. At that particular moment, it doesn’t matter that I have pondered the delicate beauty of dew droplets on a writing spider’s morning web. When I get a face full of spider web, the only thoughts I have are that the blasted creature might be running amok in my hair.

Some things can be glorious and wonderful when they are studied and appreciated in their academic splendor. But when they ambush us head-on, reflexes take over. I think relationships can be like that sometimes.

There are some relationships that are enticing. They draw us in with their color and artistry. They call to us with words that are flattering. They even meet our needs . . . they satisfy us . . . on an academic or an artistic or an emotional level. But they are dangerous. They weave a web that is patient and translucent. But they will not bring blessing and goodness to our lives, because their truth violates God’s Truth.

It is in foggy, trying, faith-stretching times that these relationships can totally bushwhack us. When we dare to step through the door of faith and walk confidently . . . even unsuspectingly . . . into unseen territory, the hidden webs of unhealthy friendships nab us. The very things that were beautiful and stimulating at daybreak become insidious and hard to disentangle from in the dusk. They counsel us with proverbs that are not God’s. They lure us into faithless acts with lovely, compelling arguments. Then they plaster us in the face with their sticky strands and send us convulsing into the dark.

God’s Word is trustworthy and true in its counsel. A wise person pays close attention to His advice. There are many scriptures that deal with relationships.

. . . a man of too many friends comes to ruin . . . do not be deceived: "Bad company corrupts good morals . . .

We should avoid spider-web relationships. And we should give the people that weave them a healthy, wise berth. Simply see them, give them a friendly nod, and walk the other way.

May we have the spiritual eyes to see every spider web . . . even at dusk.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Not Trite

Trite means: boring from much use; lacking in freshness and individuality; exhausted of interest

Sometimes I grow weary of trite things. Trite songs. Trite sentiments. Trite opinions. The imagery they draw of the Christian life is so monochrome.

For example, I prefer real sunrises to their romanticized, cinematic versions. Have you see a real sunrise lately? Even beautiful photographs can’t compare to the drama and glory of the real thing. You can actually feel the air begin to wake up as the early dawn warms from black to purple to red. And when the blazing sun majestically breaks over the horizon, you can almost hear yellow rays splashing onto the cool morning earth.

There are so many things in real living that are much grander than their hackneyed caricatures. Love has more texture and depth than its threadbare stylization. Real marriages are much fuller than novelized ones. Parenting is much more heroic than its fluffy, greeting card imagery. And genuine faith . . . true, stepping-into-the-heart-of-God-with-no-safety-net kind of believing . . . requires much, much more courage than wearing a WWJD bracelet.

I think triteness smothers the breath and even threatens to silence the very heartbeat of real, God-inspired living. When we buy the sentimentalized, merchandized versions of life, then real Life dies. And the only living that is left is fragile and shallow and dull.

I have a great affinity for genuine things. Real failures. Real triumphs. Real journeys. I find tremendous nourishment in hearing the stories real people tell of real struggles and real victories. Harry Gilreath, my dear friend Sheila’s father, is one of my favorite story tellers. I love to listen to him regale the adventures of his Appalachian upbringing. I actually feel a little sorry for those who haven’t spent an evening reminiscing with Harry. They’ve really missed something.

Here are some antonyms of trite:

animating, energizing, enlivening, exciting, galvanizing, invigorating, stimulating; absorbing, engaging, engrossing, gripping, interesting, intriguing, involving, atypical, extraordinary, uncommon, unusual, fresh, new, original

I think we should be these things. Step out of all the “Christian” boxes. Throw out the plastic-action-figure version of trite Christianity and truly Live. Real life can be gritty. It has unexpected bumps and turns. Sometimes it is downright messy. But it is so much better than empty platitudes. I think we should be anti triteness.

The Bible is not trite at all. Its stories are epic. Its language is vivid and rich.

Here’s what Jesus says:

"And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it.
Matt 10:38-39 (NASB)

Here’s what the author of Hebrews says:

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith . . .
Heb 12:1-2 (NASB)

Here’s the psalmist’s proclamation:

Praise the LORD!
I will give thanks to the LORD with all my heart,
In the company of the upright and in the assembly.
Great are the works of the LORD;
They are studied by all who delight in them.
Splendid and majestic is His work,
And His righteousness endures forever.
He has made His wonders to be remembered;
The LORD is gracious and compassionate.
Psalms 111:1-6 (NASB)

These are bold words. Active words. Challenging us to believe that life with God is more than we can see or understand with narrow selfishness. They call us to go further, reach higher, and live a life fuller than trite platitudes. They speak of real blessing and real glory. They draw us into expansive praise and worship of a God who is awesome and very real.

We should live like that.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Great is His Faithfulness

Sometimes a bit of asceticism is good. Sometimes it is good to brush away the excesses of our days and spend some time gratefully living in the essentials. With the rocky economy bringing price increases and wage decreases, many of us may soon be living more simply as a matter of necessity. But as my years of living with the Lord continue to pile one on top of another, I have begun to see a pattern in the heart of God concerning sparseness and abundance: there is no leanness in my Father.

Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines leanness as follows:
1. lacking or deficient in flesh: containing little or no fat
2. lacking richness, sufficiency, or productiveness
3. deficient in an essential or important quality or ingredient

I am not saying that I have never seen difficult circumstances in my life. There have been times when the Reid household has lived very sparsely. My heart has anguished through searing, deep sorrow. I have mourned through seasons in my life when despair or fear or loneliness were familiar companions. I have lost loved ones. And I have lost dreams. But I have never found any leanness in my Father.

Even now, as I try to craft the words to describe the lavishly loving nature of my Heavenly Father, I can’t seem to find words that are deep enough . . . large enough . . . rich enough . . . true enough. However, there is one constant testimony that threads itself intricately through the tapestry of my life. It is the genesis of true purpose for me. It is the glory and the crown of my celebrations and my victories. It is the bedrock of my solace in difficulty and darkness. And it will be, I am quite sure, the benediction of my heart when I breathe my final breath.

God is faithful.

Thomas Chisholm wrote a song in 1923 that beautifully illuminates this truth. He claims that the hymn wasn’t born out of any dramatic life event. It was just the result of a daily relationship with the creator of the universe. The most remarkable attribute of Chisholm’s biography is its unremarkableness.

Thomas Obadiah Chisholm was born in a log cabin on July 29, 1866, in Franklin, Kentucky. He attended elementary school in a small country schoolhouse. At the age of 16, without receiving any high school or college training, he began to teach in that same country school. By 1887, Chisholm was working as the associate editor of his hometown newspaper.

Chisholm accepted Christ as his personal Savior when he was 27 years old during a revival meeting in Franklin. He served as the editor and business manager of a Christian publication until his ordination as a Methodist minister. Chisholm’s failing health, however, limited his pastoral work to only one year, and by 1909 he had become an insurance agent. After retiring in 1953, Chisholm spent his remaining years at the Methodist Home for the Aged, in Ocean Grove, New Jersey.

As I researched the life and accomplishments of Thomas Obadiah Chisholm, I ran across something he said that resonated in my soul. It was written in a letter dated 1941:

“My income has not been large at any time due to impaired health in the earlier years which has followed me until now, although I must not fail to record the unfailing faithfulness of a covenant-keeping God, for which I am filled with astonishing gratefulness.”

God is faithful. Simple, rich, profound. No leanness.

Reverend William M. Runyan, a musician associated with the Moody Bible Institute, wrote the music to Chisholm’s poem, “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” About the poem, Runyan said, “This particular poem held such an appeal that I prayed most earnestly that my tune might carry its message in a worthy way, and the subsequent history of its use indicates that God answered prayer.”

Here are the words to the Thomas Obadiah Chisholm’s hymn.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;
As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Walking

Sometimes we need to waltz past the obvious. We simply need to say, “Excuse me, could you step aside, please? I have better things to do today than to dance with the blatant.”

The stock market is in bad shape.
This is an extremely important presidential election and everyone should vote.
Life is really hard sometimes.

There. State the obvious. Then move on. No sense dancing with it, worrying about it, or letting it ruin your perspective.

Walking is excellent for obviating the obvious. Striding through your neighborhood or hiking across hidden trails or wandering through a Kirkhaven field is simply good for you. Nothing bolsters the constitution like a great trek. And rambling slowly is best. Take your time, feel the breeze, listen to the birds, and stop to study every flower near your path. Or if you feel really daring, take a tramp at night under the stars.

Yes, I know that a brisk jaunt may be better for your health than a dallying stroll. I understand the rules of “heart-healthy” living. But what about your soul?

I think we should traipse often. Without an agenda. Without a schedule. Be extravagant. During these trying times when we must hurry and save and be careful and act responsibly, I believe we should waste something. Just carelessly throw our sensibilities to the wind and go on a long, slow walk.

These are difficult days. That is truly obvious.
But the Lord is faithful. That is obvious Truth.

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness For His name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever .
Psalms 23:1-6 (NASB)

Perhaps life itself should be an ambling meander with the Shepherd.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Emptiness

There is something very poignant about empty things. They are so still and quiet. I haven’t always loved them.

When I was younger, I believed that empty things should be filled. Empty calendars were filled with plans. Empty days were filled with activities. Empty moments were filled with conversations or music or a barrage of thoughts. Emptiness was valued only in its potential to become full.

But empty things can be very beautiful. It is in their emptiness that the true artistry of their creation can be seen. The lovely curves of a vacant bench. The rich hues of an unused pot. The intricate craftsmanship of an early autumn bird’s nest. They are beautiful, standing there alone, just as they are.

My life has been in a season of emptying lately. Emptying household . . . my children no longer live at home. Emptying dreams . . . some things just haven’t panned out.

Seasons of emptying can come even in the midst of fullness. My life is wonderful. I have been married to my best friend for nearly 25 years. I have rich, deep friendships. My home is comfortable and warm. My church family is incredibly dear. Nonetheless, emptying has come.

There are many things that can tip the handle of our lives and begin the process of emptying. Grief. Disappointment. Failure. Fear. Exhaustion. Everyone goes through emptyings from time to time. I am beginning to think they are necessary. If you haven’t been through one yet, my blogging friends, you will. Emptying reveals what you were full of . . . for better or for worse. It proves your mettle. It can be a prelude to depression and despondency. Or it can be a cleansing.

There is a simple elegance in this new emptiness of mine. My faith has marched through all the mire and clutter of sorrow, pain, and questioning to find itself stronger. Unembellished. Deeper. It is like being emptied of everything but Him.

Alone, except for the enfolding warmth of His presence.
Silent, except for the quiet whispering of His Grace.
Still, except for the stirring of His Word in my soul.

In the same way that a beach is empty at tide’s lowest ebb, I expect the tide to turn and bring fullness again. Perhaps prodigals will come home. Perhaps grandchildren will be born. Clatter will probably fill my days again. I will see new plantings and new rain and new crops for my soul. Benches are meant to be occupied. Vessels are meant to be full. And birds’s nests, after the cold winds of winter, are meant to be rebuilt and filled with precious eggs.

I am learning to treasure this season of emptiness because I have hope. And I am learning to celebrate in it. Not just "bear it until it is over." Celebrate in it. Gloriously, wonderfully celebrate that the God who fills and blesses also loves an empty vessel like me.

I know the Hand that fills. It is a strong Hand. A gracious Hand. It steadies my empty vessel in its time of weakness. And this loving Hand will fill my vessel again. I wait to see what this filling will be.

I wait for the LORD, my soul does wait, And in His word do I hope.
Psalms 130:5 (NASB)

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, And do not return there without watering the earth And making it bear and sprout, And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater;
So will My word be which goes forth from My mouth; It will not return to Me empty, Without accomplishing what I desire, And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.”
Isaiah 55:8-11 (NASB)

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Barely Autumn

The first day of autumn quietly stretched over McNally Ridge this morning with the deep oranges and pinks of another Kirkhaven sunrise. There was only a slight September tinge to the air. As the warm morning sky yawned lazily across my East Tennessee hill-top, I knew it wouldn’t be chilly today.

Summer usually ambles slowly toward fall in east Tennessee. There is rarely any hurry. It gives the early fall breezes plenty of time to ruffle up the leaves on the maples and oaks in preparation for their grandest display of the year.

There is something deeply satisfying about the textures and the palette of this season. Rich, deep, crispy things fill autumn’s baskets and crates. Shorter days step briskly into cooler nights. And heavy harvest moons rise grandly into clear, starry nights.

For now, things are mostly still green.

Mostly still warm.

But it is coming . . . autumn in all its glory.

I can feel it.

And my heart is smiling already.

I have seen You in the sanctuary and beheld Your power and Your glory.
Because Your love is better than life, my lips will glorify You,

I will praise You as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.

Psalms 63:2-4 (NIV)

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

The Old Songs

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every height and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh, may I then in Him be found;
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

Lately, I find myself humming this faithful, old hymn during the day. Sometimes the humming is deliberate. Sometimes the tune floats up from my subconscious when I am doing some routine chore like dishes or laundry. Today I looked it up in a copy of The Cokesbury Worship Hymnal. It is hymn #136, written by William B. Bradbury. It lies nestled between #137 “Softly and Tenderly” and #139 “I Am Thine, O Lord.”

I collected this hymnal from a pile of “give-away” books at a library sale. Apparently, the library needed to clear some space for their new books, and this brown song book with yellowing pages “needed” to be culled. It has become, for me, a treasure.

I was curious about the hymnal’s age today, so I turned to the front pages to read the copyright date. I found the name of the general editor: C. A. Bowen, D. D. I found the name of the publisher: Abingdon-Cokesbury Press. I even found a curious statement on the title page that read, “Available in either round or shaped notes.” But I couldn’t find the copyright date.

After searching both the front and the back of the hymnal several times, my eyes were drawn to a simple statement at the end of a page entitled, “Introduction.”

THIS BOOK HAS BEEN PREPARED FORYOU.
BE SURE TO PUT IT TO THE BEST USE POSSIBLE.

Then I saw the copyright. 1938, Whitmore & Smith.

I made some interesting discoveries Googling “1938.”

In 1938:
The first commercially produced televisions began to be sold.
Franklin D. Roosevelt established the March of Dimes.
Kate Smith sang Ervin Berlin’s “God Bless America” for the first time on the radio.
Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was released.
The League of Nations unanimously outlawed “intentional bombings of civilian populations.”
Germany demanded that all Jewish passports be stamped with the letter J.
Oil was discovered in Saudi Arabia.
Ted Turner was born.

The avalanche of social, political, economical, and scientific changes since 1938 is mind boggling. But the most astounding discovery I made today is a sticker that someone affixed to the hymn book’s inside front cover. It says: This hymn book is church property. Please do not abuse or take away.

The message of the hymn “My Hope is Built” is profound. Life-changing, if you will let it be. But I have to tell you, I absolutely love that sticker. And I believe it. These old hymns are, indeed, the property of the Church. They must never be abused or taken away. These old hymns should be treasured. And respected. And belted forth with all the instruments and voices we can muster. For a new generation.

A generation that may risk forgetting the lessons of our past.

And forgetting the faith of our past.

And maybe even forgetting the songs.

My son is a musician. I have noticed that he is being drawn to these old hymns. I think I will dedicate this blog to him. Perhaps he can prepare them for us again. Perhaps he can put them to the best use possible.

Sing them, son.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Watching and Waiting

Saturday night I saw a shooting star. I absolutely was not looking for it. I was simply sitting outside on my back deck watching. Watching the nearly-full moon. Watching wispy clouds drift across twinkling stars. Not looking for anything in particular. Just watching the night and listening to the crickets.

And I was thinking about God. My heart was meandering around thoughts of His goodness. His faithfulness. His mercy. I was sitting quietly and waiting to see if He might speak to me. There is something very profound and inspiring about the glory of the night sky. It all makes me feel so small without feeling the least bit insignificant. And God feels so very big.

As I watched the deep night sky, letting my eyes and my heart drift across the constellations, a single bright gem streaked above the tree tops. It only lasted a second. I stammered and pointed, but of course, it was gone before I could even say: “Ijustsawashootingstarcanyoubelieveit??” How in the world was I watching in exactly the right spot at exactly the perfect moment?

I have wasted so many hours looking for things. For my reading glasses. For my husband’s keys. For the wha-cha-ma-dinger on aisle number 2 at Lowes. Of course, there have been worthy searches like looking for a special birthday gift or for the perfect greeting card. But the majority of the time, “looking for things” is downright frustrating.

I am embarrassed to admit that I have also wasted spiritual and emotional energy looking for things. Looking for that all-important miracle. Looking for that one special person to do that one special thing. Looking for God to act in a particular way upon a particular circumstance. A lot of disappointments and disillusionments have resulted from those kinds of lookings.

Don’t get me wrong. I know there is scriptural precedence for seeking and finding:

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.
Matthew 7:7-8 (NIV)

But I think that sometimes I miss out. Wonder and joy and celebration gradually erode into sorrow and despair and disappointment when I allow “looking for God” to replace “watching and waiting.” I totally miss the beauty of His presence because I am too preoccupied to recognize the moment. The precious gift of His hand touching my life is sometimes missed because I was looking in the wrong place.

I wish I had a picture of that shooting star. But it simply happened too fast. However, I can share a different picture. The “Butterfly on the Thistle” picture. It’s not quite as unique as a shooting star, but I took it in a similarly rare moment.

I was sitting in the grass watching bees buzz from flower to flower in the field beyond my front yard. I really don’t know how I happened to glance at that particular thistle at that particular moment. I don’t know how the butterfly happened to be looking directly into the camera as I snapped the picture. But I do know the entire moment was born from watching and waiting. No real agenda. No ulterior motive. Just watching and waiting.

O my Strength, I watch for you; you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.
Psalms 59:9-10 (NIV)

I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD In the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD; Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the LORD.
Psalms 27:13-14 (NASB)

Miraculous, astounding events rarely happen when I am looking for them. But I do seem to catch one or two, from time to time, when I am watching and waiting.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Be Still

Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.
Psalms 46:10 (NIV)

It was already September, but the trees on our East Tennessee ridge top still carried the lingering green of late, late summer. A thunderstorm had just blown through and the air was heavy with southern afternoon humidity. I decided to take a walk and grabbed my camera on the way out the door.

I listened to the rocks crunch under my feet as I meandered up the hill toward the barn. Glancing down, wondering if there would be puddles on the country road’s bare spots, I saw this leaf. Alone. Stuck in the gravel.

There was a stillness to that moment that is hard to describe. It was solitary and quiet. But not empty. The wet air was filled with an incredible sense of acknowledgement. Like God was right there with me, silently nodding His head.

I will be turning 50 soon. My hair isn’t really gray, but the few silver strands are multiplying. My mind is fairly sharp, though I seem to often forget where I put my keys. I definitely don’t jog any more. I do enjoy a long, lingering walk. But never before this moment did I really believe that “these are the days I have dreamed of.”

I remember as a little girl dreaming of getting married. As a young bride I dreamed of having children. As a young mother I dreamed of my children becoming strong and accomplished. But I never dreamed of turning 50.

Standing there, looking at that lone red leaf, my dreams grew up. In the silence of my soul, Father opened a veil of hope on the autumn of my life. I see richness and depth and beauty. More time for reflection. Less busyness and bluster. Longer, lazier shadows as evening stretches in. And when cooling winds blow the last crunchy leaves off their branches, I see a strong tree standing in bold silhouette against the blue, wintering sky.

There is something profound about silencing your soul. Simply putting your finger to your lips and shushing yourself. And meaning it.

Some of the most profound events in Biblical history were preceded by deep silence. Abraham standing beneath a starry sky. Moses removing his sandals in front of a burning bush. David choosing five smooth stones from a stream bed. It seems that before the epic faithfulness and power and glory and majesty of the Lord was displayed, the heavens first paused . . . took a deep breath . . . and were silent for a moment.

My life is not as grand or as historic as these Biblical heroes. But their stories of broken dreams, unsure futures, and heroic battles are universal. Abraham was growing old without a son. Moses was banished to the wilderness. David was surrounded by the clamor of war.
I stand on the brink of 50 with my four children no longer home.

Be still.

And know.

He is God.

He will be exalted.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid