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