Spending Time

Sometimes I just like to walk up to the barn and sit with the chickens for a while. It is so quiet and calming and real. I usually refill their water dispensers with cool, fresh water. Often, I bring them a treat (my chickens love bananas). Then I just find some place to sit . . . and watch . . . and pray.

We have an old fold-up chair in the barn. There are also some left-over cinder blocks near the wood pile. And I keep a couple of 5-gallon buckets next to the chicken’s feed bin. Any of these make good seats for sitting with the chickens and watching summer go by. And for praying.

I sit with my chickens because I have them.

And because I have the time to just sit.

And because I enjoy it.

I pray because fellowshipping with the Lord is my pouring-out time . . . that fills me back up so I can live some more . . . and live more fully.

I just sit.

I look up at the clouds.

I wonder if it’s going to rain.

I listen to the bluebird in a nearby maple tree.

I pray for the people that are imprinted on my heart.

I am sure that it looks like I am doing nothing.

But I am truly not wasting time.

Really, I’m not.

I am, however, spending it.

Extravagently.

I have spent many, many years of my life doing things that absolutely must be done . . . and not really having enough time to do them all. Usually, they were things that I immensely enjoyed . . . raising 4 children, teaching school, helping my husband with his work, homemaking. Sometimes they were things that were not especially enjoyable.  But running-pell-mell through jam-packed days like a wildly screaming rollercoaster fanatic isn’t the way my middle-aged time is spent any more.

I don’t live life any less passionately than I did 20 or 30 years ago. Or with any less joy.

But I have stepped down from the rollercoaster now . . .

I amble more, instead of rushing . . .

I think more and scream less . . .

I definitely avoid dramatic dips in altitude . . .

And if I have my hands high in the air, 

it is to wave to friends . . .

or to feel the rain . . .

or to worship the Lord beneath a twinkling, starlit sky.

So I have decided to share some pictures of the chickens I sit with and the sky that I contemplate and the gravel road that I meander up and down on these long, hot summer days.

This is Eli, my rooster, enjoying the dappled shade of his favorite locust tree.

Here is Eli crowing . . . so loudly and with such complete abandon that he has to gasp for his next breath after such an effort.

Here are a couple of Eli’s girls. This particular patch of wood’s-edge foliage often has a rabbit napping in it. When chickens and rabbit meet, much flurry and scurry and squawking always occurs. However, the rabbit will probably be in that same place tomorrow. And the chickens will be surprised again. I love predictabilities.

Here are some pictures of Eli’s plumage. My Australorp chickens are officially black, but their shiny, soft feathers reflect iridescent greens and blues and purples in the sunlight. I think it’s beautiful.

This is the skyline I see as I look across the field.

 

This is the barn's gravel driveway I stroll up when I am finished sitting.

And this is my walkway back home on a summer afternoon.

 

Autumn will be here soon enough. The weather will grow cooler, the days will grow shorter, and the chickens will be free-ranging less in the shady places. But even in the nippy fall air, I will still be sitting and watching and praying.

I will watch soaring hawks float high above the bronze-and-golden maples that line our gravel road. I will listen to crispy breezes as they sweep through swishing leaves in the woods behind the barn. And I will pray as the huge, orange harvest moon rises early over Kirkhaven’s quieted eastern hillside.

I will watch.

I will listen.

I will pray.

But I won’t be wasting time.

Truly I won't.

I will be spending it.

Extravagently.

Because when you are in the company of the Lord of the Universe, every moment is precious indeed.

The LORD is my strength and song,

And He has become my salvation;

This is my God, and I will praise Him;

My father's God, and I will extol Him.

Exodus 15:2

Ordinary Miracles

When was the last time you felt icy-cold, pure well water pouring over your bare feet on a sweltering summer afternoon? If it hasn’t been in the last few days . . . or at least in the last year . . . then you need to come to Kirkhaven. Our well is finally finished, the pump is installed, the pipes are all connected, and water is flowing! It is amazing to think that this precious gift of clean, sweet water has been there . . . 760 feet below the wildflower-strewn meadows of my home . . . waiting for us to reach down and draw it up from its limestone depths.

The water is clear . . . as a finely-polished crystal.
Cold . . . as an April mountain stream.
Fresh . . . as a morning autumn rain.
Abundant . . . as a triple-portion harvest just before Jubilee year.


And all we have to do is open a valve or simply lift a handle.


Don’t let anyone tell you, however, that getting water from a well like this is cheap or easy or quick. But don’t let them tell you it is foolish or irrelevant or impossible either.

When I look at our well, I see God's faithfulness wrought through generous, skillful, hardworking hands. I am grateful for the knowledge and the equipment of well drillers, excavators, and electricians. I admire the tenacity of those who worked in 90+ degrees with 90+ humidity to glue pipes together and install hydrants and valves. I remember the vision that initiated the project, the hope that gave it breath, the faith that sustained it, and the persistence that brought it to full fruition.

And now this precious gift from the Lord . . . this hard-won victory . . . this well water becomes a simple part of routine life at Kirkhaven. Irrigating our flowers and our green lawn. Watering the berries, fruits, melons, vegetables, herbs, and apple orchard. Cleaning off the patio and maintaining the swimming pool. Washing our cars. Filling our bass pond. Providing the chickens with clean, chlorine-free drinking water.


Isn’t it amazing
that the real miracles of God’s goodness and grace are both
so very costly . . . and so very free . . .
so very astounding . . . and so very common . . .
so lavishly enjoyed . . . and so industriously employed . . .
altogether unearned . . . yet requiring such faith and diligence?


And hidden.
Usually hidden.
Hidden beneath red clay and gray limestone.
Or simply hidden in the quiet routine of life on a small ridge-top farm.


It is easy, sometimes, to feel besieged by the hardships and sorrows of life. Things can be so difficult and people can be so very hurtful. But it is important to recognize the miracles. And to laugh and rejoice every time they grace our commonplace lives.


Perhaps it is the ordinary things that are the real miracles anyway.


What could be more ordinary . . .
and more miraculously life-giving . . .
than water?

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.

Psalm 23:1-3

. . . the first flow of water down the pipes into the bass pond . . .

my new yard art beside the garden . . .

gushing with icy-cold well water!

Summer Thunderstorm

I love a good thunderstorm.

huge, summer raindrops

pelting against my cloud-darkened windows

thunder crashing onto the ridge

and reverberating across Smoky Mountain foothills

random lightening

crackling across a shrouded, gray skyline

whooshing leaves

fluttering on bending trees

Then I love the shushed calmness that settles on Kirkhaven

when the storm passes.

Everything is drippy

and soggy

and wet.

 

A fresh scent of summer optimism hangs in the humid air.

And occasionally a translucent rainbow arcs across McNally ridge

as the sun breaks through dissipating clouds.

Sometimes fears loom menacingly at the edges of my thoughts.

Sometimes days are hectic and far too overscheduled.

Sometimes life is hard and heart-breakingly sad.

But sometimes the perfect rainstorm happens.

And I am refreshed.

And renewed.

And very, very grateful

for solitary moments

with an intimately personal God

in the midst of a raging storm

that ends with such

quiet

perfect

peace.

The steadfast of mind You will keep in perfect peace,
Because he trusts in You.
Trust in the LORD forever,
For in GOD the LORD, we have an everlasting Rock.
Isaiah 26:3-4

Words From the Heart

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

And renew a steadfast spirit within me.

Psalms 51:10

Heart dilemmas are some of the most difficult kinds of dilemmas. I have been thinking and praying about "heart issues" this summer as I tend my vegetables, herbs, and sunflowers in my ridge-top garden.  I think the popular advice, “Follow your heart,” is a bit insensitive and even a little trite. It isn’t so easy to follow your heart. And it may not even be a good thing to do so.

What if your heart is torn between two strikingly different but equally compelling decisions?
Or what if your heart is too confused to make any sense out of a tangled jumble of options?
Or what if your heart is too broken to find the strength to even make the effort to choose?
Or what if . . . and this is the scariest thing of all . . . what if your heart is so deceived or mistaken that following it will lead to destruction and sorrow?

I am reading a biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Bonhoeffer; Pastor, Prophet, Martyr, Spy by Eric Metaxas. It is a heart-wrenching, inspiring portrait of a courageous man on the road to martyrdom. Bonheoffer was a man who was faced with making “choices of the heart” in Nazi Germany . . . and all of the choices were difficult ones.

Let me warn you before you read any farther . . . I am beating the drum of history. This is where my mind and my heart have been musing, lately. So this is what I have to share. No pensive musings or whimsical perspectives are rolling from my pen right now. Why? Because I see such parallels in Bonhoeffer’s world and our world today. And because I believe that the hearts of God’s people need to be stirred anew to hear the voice of His callings . . . . . .

Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a man of deep heart struggles. As a loyal, patriotic German, Bonhoeffer’s heart told him to be faithful to his country . . . shouldn’t he fight to prevent its destruction by the Allied forces in World War II? As a disciple of Jesus Christ, his heart discerned heinously evil intent in Hitler’s maniacal reign . . . who could justify soldiering beneath such a man? As a responsible citizen, his heart told him that unbridled tyranny must be resisted . . . could sedition and treason ever be morally right? As a respected professor and pastor, his heart told him that public politics could bring grave consequences to people he loved . . . should he live a lie as a double spy so that truth might ultimately triumph?

A lot of “good people” joined the Nazi regime. They followed their heart. There was lots of passion. Lots of well-intentioned loyalty. There was patriotism and many, many grand, stirring speeches. But a few people saw the evil there.

Deitrich Bonhoeffer, in his moral and spiritual anguish, made a courageous decision. He decided to follow God’s heart. Not his own heart . . . God’s heart. He knew that God’s heart was a heart of grace. But he also knew that God’s grace had cost Him everything . . . and that following this Heart of Grace would likely be very costly indeed.

Dietrich became part of the underground movement to save the lives of Jews. He wrote a devotional book on Psalms when “Jewish” Old Testament writings were outlawed. He “patriotically” joined the Abwehr (German military intelligence), then secretly acted as a double-agent spy to assist the Allies in their efforts to defeat Hitler. He plotted with a group of men planning to overthrow the Nazi regime and was complicit in a plan to kill Hitler. And he continued to love and pastor and serve the church of God until he was ultimately martyred.

From reading Bonhoeffer’s own letters and writings, it is clear that these decisions were very difficult for him. He was often confused in His journey of obedience to the Heart of God. Many times he was alone and afraid. He was misunderstood and he was maligned. The war against tyranny and injustice in his beloved Germany became . . . for him . . . a spiritual war against evil. It was a war he never relished, and one he sometimes despaired of. But it was a war he did not shirk waging.

Sometimes, all that is necessary for evil to prevail is for deception to be ruthlessly beguiling and for people to be willingly naive. It can happen so easily when we are passionately following our hearts. The church of the Lord Jesus Christ allows such deception to gain credence and power when she becomes obsessively occupied with the “benefits” of grace . . . neglecting an honest relationship with the Lord, customizing the Truth of His Word to fit their preferred creeds, and shirking the responsibilities of so great a salvation.

For those who have been patient enough to read this far, I leave you with some quotes from someone much wiser than I. These are excerpts from Bonhoeffer’s book, The Cost of Discipleship. See if you can hear the ring of truth in these passages . . . and see if you sense, as I do, a timeless call from God’s Heart to His church today . . .

Cheap grace is the deadly enemy of our Church. We are fighting today for costly grace. Cheap grace means grace sold on the market like cheapjacks’ wares. The sacraments, the forgiveness of sin, and the consolations of religion are thrown away at cut prices. Grace is represented as the Church’s inexhaustible treasury, from which she showers blessings with generous hands, without asking questions or fixing limits. Grace without price; grace without cost! The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing. Since the cost was infinite, the possibilities of using and spending it are infinite...

Cheap grace means grace as a doctrine, a principle, a system. It means forgiveness of sins proclaimed as a general truth, the love of God taught as the Christian “conception” of God. An intellectual assent to that idea is held to be of itself sufficient to secure remission of sins. The Church which holds the correct doctrine of grace has, it is supposed, ipso facto a part in that grace. In such a Church the world finds a cheap covering for its sins; no contrition is required, still less any real desire to be delivered from sin. Cheap grace therefore amounts to a denial of the living Word of God, in fact, a denial of the Incarnation of the Word of God ...

Cheap grace means the justification of sin without the justification of the sinner. Grace alone does everything, they say, and so everything can remain as it was before. “All for sin could not atone.” . . . Well, then, let the Christian live like the rest of the world, let him model himself on the world’s standards in every sphere of life, and not presumptuously aspire to live a different life under grace from his old life under sin.... Cheap grace is the grace we bestow on ourselves.

Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate...

Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man’ will gladly go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy which the merchant will sell all his goods. It is the kingly rule of Christ, for whose sake a man will pluck out the eye which causes him to stumble, it is the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciple leaves his nets and follows him.

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock.

Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: “ye were bought at a price,” and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God.

Costly grace is the sanctuary of God; it has to be protected from the world, and not thrown to the dogs. It is therefore the living word, the Word of God, which He speaks as it pleases Him. Costly grace confronts us as a gracious call to follow Jesus. It comes as a word of forgiveness to the broken spirit and the contrite heart. Grace is costly because it compels a man to submit to the yoke of Christ and follow him; it is grace because Jesus says: “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Blackberry Jam

I love making jam! I think my favorite kind is blackberry jam. I love traipsing through the Kirkhaven woods looking for berry patches. I love filling my “repurposed” plastic ice-cream buckets with the juicy jewels I find. And I love the art and the craft of turning this summer bounty into rich, sweet, yummy jam. I don’t even mind the purple stains left on my hands (and sometimes my shirts) from the whole, earthy process.

I like bringing people with me sometimes when I go berry picking, but everyone isn’t always as keen on blackberry harvesting as I am. It is a hot, prickly, tedious job that puts you in close contact with bugs, thorns, ticks, and . . . occasionally . . . a blacksnake sunning himself in the meadow.

By the way . . . I always try to convince my companions that the blacksnake is a good thing. He eats the vermin that might otherwise overrun my farm. Kind of like our faithful Kirkhaven pest control. They don’t usually buy my reasoning, however.

As my bucket slowly fills . . . one-juicy-berry-at-a-time . . . . I have a luxurious amount of time to think, dream, pray, and hum myself through a peaceful Kirkhaven morning or early evening. I am treated to the joyous melodies of chirping songbirds if I go picking in the morning. Crickets, cicadas, and croaking frogs peacefully accompany my evening forays. Whatever the time of day, the predictably hot, humid Tennessee air usually makes the whole affair a complete energy sapper that climaxes with a fairly long . . . quite steep . . . walk back uphill to the house. However, orange-mint iced tea and a refreshing dip in the pool easily remedies any berry-picking fatigue.

For me, a gallon bucket heaping with these dark purple treasures is a treat well worth the effort. Blackberry jam for my breakfast toast. Blackberry syrup for my ice-cream or waffles. Blackberry cobbler for a summer evening dessert. Blackberry bread and blackberry muffins. Blackberries to enjoy and to share with those I love.

Actually, I am eating some toast slathered with blackberry jam as I write this blog.

Yuuummmm.

With peanutbutter. Double yum!

Here are pictures of my canning shelf in the kitchen after an afternoon of making jam. The hanging brown bags are for drying herbs from my garden. The blue pot has my small pruning shears and my herb scissors in it. A handful of crushed limestone in the bottom of the pot (harvested from our well-digging project) always reminds me of the Lord’s faithfulness . . . and keeps the cutting blades dry. The books contain my favorite recipes, canning instructions, and gardening tips. The basket beside the shelf holds my gardening gloves (I know I should use them, but I hardly do), my Lowe’s pocket apron (really handy), bug spray (keeps ticks away while in the woods), and my handy-dandy folding stool for weeding.

You should come join me some time. Picking blackberries and making jam are peaceful, rich, soul-satisfying kinds of endeavors. And you never know whom the Lord will bring to share the bounty of your harvest.

That is one of the sweetest things about my little East Tennessee farm. We never know who will come to share with us. We do, however, know that it will be very good.

Because the Lord is Good.
So very Good.

O taste and see that the LORD is good;
How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!
Psalms 34:8

Free

yada Yehovah Elohim, Elohim aman El shamar berith chesed eleph dor aheb shamar mitzvah

Know therefore that the LORD your God,
He is God,
the faithful God,
who keeps His covenant and His lovingkindness to a thousandth generation
with those who love Him
and keep His commandments
Deut 7:9

yada, know
shamar, faithful
chesed, lovingkindness

There is absolutely nothing more precious to me . . . more profoundly comforting, encouraging, and life-giving . . . than knowing the faithful lovingkindness of the Lord my God.

The ebb and flow of life’s many seasons, the unexpected intrusions of life’s tragedies, and the often relentless persistence of life’s challenges and difficulties can turn my personal creeds completely on their head. The crafted beliefs I hold dear can be entirely washed away by a flood of events that I neither understand nor feel truly equipped to handle. It is completely possible to leave me intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually stranded on the roadside of life, broken and confused, wondering if I have ever really gotten anything “right.”

But there is something utterly transcendent about the faithful lovingkindness of the Lord. He can reach me anywhere. He can touch me from any perspective. His kindness is so amazing that even the crass, vindictive, demanding, circumstances and people who feel obliged to demean me so that they can exalt themselves become swallowed up in a sea of hope and peace when I rest in His unchanging love.

That’s why the themes of quietness and stillness and rest are so prevalent in my writings. It is the hushed, secret places of the heart and soul, when both external joys and external sorrows have been shushed for a bit, that I find the rich, deep fellowship with God that brings my life its sustaining faith.

I want my heart to be like the glassy surface of a still, quiet pond . . . where the slightest breath of God’s Holy Spirit sends spreading waves of faith to every bend and slope of its uneven shoreline . . . where every raindrop of God’s Holy Word plops concentric ripples of life-giving Truth and Hope.

Resting in the Lord does not depend on external circumstances at all, but on your relationship to God Himself. – Oswald Chambers

On this July 4th Independence Day weekend, Kirkhaven, once again, celebrates freedom. The nourishing fellowship of family, old friends, and new relationships . . . the sound of children splashing and playing in the pool . . . burgers and brats on the grill . . . fireworks in the clear, starry sky . . . contemplation and simple joy at the summer sounds of nighttime frogs and crickets and cicadas. I relish it all. I am so very blessed to be given such bounty.

For now, however, I will head down to our soon-to-be-finished bass pond, in this momentary lull, to sit with the Lord a bit. I’ll toss a few pebbles into the water that has begun to collect below the shadiest shoreline. I may pick a few more blackberries for the jam I plan to make tomorrow. I’ll chat with the Lord a little about my recent thoughts and questions.

But mostly I will listen.
And quiet my soul.

I will rejoice because I know that the Lord my God is a faithful God.
I will rest because of His unfailing lovingkindness.

yada Yehovah Elohim, Elohim aman El shamar berith chesed eleph dor aheb shamar mitzvah

Know therefore that the LORD your God,
He is God,
the faithful God,
who keeps His covenant and His lovingkindness to a thousandth generation
with those who love Him
and keep His commandments
Deut 7:9

“Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me . . . I am the way, and the truth, and the life . . .”
John 14:1,6

So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.
John 8:36

Free indeed.
How amazing is that?
Happy Independence Day!