Is God Your Lord or Your Steward?

I took a walk through the meadows and wooded trails of Kirkhaven a few days ago. The black-raspberries were beginning to ripen, so I picked a few to make some ice-cream topping. Clover, wild roses, and honeysuckle were blooming everywhere, leaving gentle scent bouquets wafting in the breeze. My son’s hunting dog, Pike, gleefully ran ahead of me, sniffing for critters in the brush, as I silently meandered in and out of cool shade patches.

My heart was overwhelmed with the goodness and the bounty of the Lord. Everywhere I looked, I saw mature poplar and oak trees I had not planted . . . thriving berry patches I had not tended . . . sun-bathed meadows of daisies I had not watered. Even the beautiful chirping and singing of blue birds, cardinals, and wood thrushes didn’t need my direction or care to serenade the summer afternoon.

In that simple, quiet walk, the God-ness of God completely overwhelmed the me-ness of me.

In a sense, I knew that I owned the land I was walking on.
I could see the red barn we had built with its newly finished chicken coop . . .
and hear our rooster practicing his crowing.
I could stroll beside earthy-smelling herbs in our lush, green garden . . .
and pick a hand-full of sweet peas for our evening salad.
I could look across the western meadow toward the well and the nearly-finished pond . . .
and dream about next year’s fishing ventures.

The seeds of our dreams and the plans of our hearts and the work of our hands were clearly evident on the landscape of my ridge-top home. And I knew that very soon, David’s red truck and Rachel’s gray car would roll down our gravel road . . . coming home from work . . . bringing fellowship, laughter, and joy with them.

All of these things were rich, colorful, threads being woven into the tapestry of my life.

But the overwhelming joy in my heart was not rooted in all the things my husband and I had done to build our family farm. The freedom I felt was in knowing that Kirkhaven was God’s property . . . His possession . . . not mine. And I was His possession, too. It was God’s loom that held the warp in place and His Hand that skillfully wove every specially-chosen welt. He was the weaver. He was Lord.

Whatever we believe about ourselves and our lives here on this earth,
we really need to know this crucial truth:

The bounty and the goodness are the Lord’s.
We are simply stewards.

Sometimes the people of God become entangled in error . . .
perhaps even dabbling in idolatry . . .
when they begin to think that they are the artists of their lives.

We can easily make the mistake of believing that
commendable accomplishments
or virtuous behavior
or disciplined habits
or cheerful demeanors
or charitable actions
or educated opinions
or enduring friendships
or healthy choices
or loving families
or prosperous lifestyles . . .

that all of these things
can be wielded as beautiful instruments
in our own hands
as we sculpt and paint and create our own living masterpieces . . .
life as we see it . . .
as we think it should be . . .
interpreted through our own, unique flourishes of texture and color.

Our own masterpieces.

But it is a grave mistake to believe any such things.

Because when we begin to believe that we are the creator . . . the gifted artist . . . , then we start to think of God as our steward. His character becomes a storehouse from which we gather riches for our kingdom. His Goodness becomes our birthright. His Mercy becomes our presumptuous expectation. His Healing becomes our much treasured prize. His Grace becomes our crown and glory. The things of the Kingdom of God become resources in the kingdom of me. And resources, as any good economist will tell you, can be bought and sold in the marketplace if you have the right currency.

A little insightful flattery.
A bit of well-timed denigration.
Eloquent application of promises and guarantees.
Artful use of cloaked warnings.
Creative splashes of humor and wit.
The right amount of hospitality mixed with a calculated measure of shunning.
A pinch of control here . . . a tweak of manipulation there.
It becomes far too easy to reach into our bag of royal coins and buy whatever reality we choose.

We become skilled in the nuances and craft of lordship
when we believe that heaven is our storehouse
and the hand of God is our ever-present valet.

Christians must not live this way.

The earth is the LORD'S, and all it contains,
The world, and those who dwell in it.
For He has founded it upon the seas
And established it upon the rivers.
Who may ascend into the hill of the LORD?
And who may stand in His holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
Who has not lifted up his soul to falsehood
And has not sworn deceitfully.
He shall receive a blessing from the LORD
And righteousness from the God of his salvation.
This is the generation of those who seek Him,
Who seek Your face—even Jacob.
Selah.
Psalms 24:1-6

He is the creator, the artist, the potter, the weaver at the loom.
We must be the stewards.

We are stewards, not lords.
And God cares very much about the hands and the hearts of His stewards.

For the grace of God has appeared,
bringing salvation to all men,
instructing us to deny ungodliness and worldly desires
and to live sensibly, righteously and godly in the present age,
looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus, who gave Himself for us to redeem us from every lawless deed,
and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession,
zealous for good deeds.
These things speak and exhort and reprove with all authority.
Let no one disregard you.
Titus 2:11-15

Neither a happy life nor beautiful life-accoutrements truly indicate real Life in the Kingdom of God.

I sense, deep in my spirit, that God is calling His children to listen to Him.
To examine their gospel and see if it is the real Gospel.

There may be some very difficult times ahead of us. For many people, difficult times have already come. What will the canvas of our lives look like if the economy in America crashes? What story will our life tapestry tell if our Christian faith falls into dark social or political disfavor? What will be the testimony from our lips if the things we hold precious and dear are stolen or destroyed or fall away from us?

I believe the answers to these questions are dependent upon two factors:
Who is the Lord?
Who is the steward?

Are we the lord . . . the gifted artist . . . that creates the masterpiece of our life?
Or does the Lord God Almighty hold our life in the palms of His nail-scarred hands?

Is God the personalized steward of all our dreams and desires?
Or are we the faithful stewards of God’s costly, precious Truth?

Who is the Lord?
Who is the steward?
From whence does the goodness come?
Of whom is the testimony given?

But as for me, the nearness of God is my good;
I have made the Lord GOD my refuge,
That I may tell of all Your works.
Psalms 73:28

The Joys of Chickens

Now that they are 7 weeks old, I have decided to write a little about my fledging experience in raising Black Australorps. It is surprising how much I am enjoying my growing chicks. There is just something very satisfying and peaceful about sitting in the middle of my happy brood, watching them enjoy their busy day.  I am delighted with how gentle and quiet my chickens are. They will eat out of my hand and nap right up against my foot or leg. The only thing we have found that really frightens them is the sound of a cell phone ringing. So I don’t take my cell phone to the chicken coop. :)

Here are some pictures of my chicks on the day they arrived at Kirkhaven. They travelled from Missouri to my East Tennessee farm via the United States Postal Service. I drove to our local branch office to pick them up. I started laughing the minute I walked through the post office doors and heard them chirping. It just seemed like such a quirky thing to do . . . pick up my package of live chicks at the post office.
 
 

I kept my tiny chicks in a homemade brooder in my basement. We suspended a heat lamp from the upper bar of the weight-lifting set and used extra wood pieces as baffles on the lid to control the temperature inside the brooder. Our original plan was to keep them in the barn, but my kind husband graciously moved the chicks into our basement when I worried about keeping them warm enough during the chilly, early-spring nights. We built the brooder from poplar boards that were milled from trees right here on our property. We have huge stacks of rough hewn poplar, red oak, white oak, hickory, and cherry in our western meadow and were delighted to find a good use for some of the dried boards.

We are still quite a few weeks away from having any lovely, brown eggs, and our rooster hasn’t yet learned to crow. But the Kirkhaven chickens are now settled nicely into their new chicken coop and fenced chicken run. Fourteen soon-to-be laying hens and one adolescent rooster. We built their new abode inside two of our existing barn bays using the same rough-hewn Kirkhaven lumber that we used in building the brooder. They only have one roost installed low to the ground and we haven’t constructed the nesting boxes yet, but my Kirkhaven chickens seem to really appreciate their cozy little home.

Here’s our fancy door lock at the chicken run entrance. . .

Here’s the human’s door into the coop . . .

and, of course, the “special” chicken door . . .

There is such a pleasant, quaint rhythm to caring for my chickens. Here they are greeting me as I open their coop doors in the morning.

A couple of them always keep an eye on the food and water containers when I clean them and fill them for the day. Chickens are pretty smart. They know that all kinds of yummy treats come from the hands that feed them.

Delicious snacks also fly through and crawl in through the perimeter fencing. The most alert chicken has the best chance at catching the bug. Fence watching is a favorite morning activity.

There is always lots of happy chirping and congregating and scratching.

And there is always vigilant surveillance of both the ground and the sky.

Even the sand box . . . which is a luxurious place to take a lavish dust bath or a relaxing, cool nap . . . often has a selection of insects for a breakfast buffet.

It is important to note, however, that the chicken you are NOT focusing on is the chicken you should probably watch out for. Chickens are quite curious about cameras.

Seven-week-old chickens are not as cute as they once were, and they not as beautiful as they are going to be. Some have begun to grow combs and wattles. Some are beginning to add a little squawky clucking to their sweet baby chirps. All of them have a crazy-looking combination of baby fluff, emerging pin feathers, and shiny adult plumage that . . . pretty much . . . . only a mother can love. Sometimes, in the afternoon sun, you can see the iridescent blue-green-purple sheen that makes Black Australorps so beautiful. For now, however, they are definitely awkward adolescents.

I tried to get a portrait of my handsome rooster, but he was too busy this morning. He had a lot to do. And he would rather peck the camera than pose for it. He isn’t aggressive, however . . . thank the Lord. He loves to nap against my feet when I am sitting in the chicken run on my “thinking stool.” Actually, if I am wearing my crocks (my all-time-favorite shoes that I got as an early mother’s day gift), Elijah likes to nap on top of them.

Here are some portraits of three of my pullets (a pullet is a hen that is less than a year old). These girls were quite willing to pose for the camera. Each one is maturing at her own, special rate. They are beginning to shed the last bit of their cream and white markings. Soon, even their feet and their beaks will be solid black.

And here is what a chicken looks like right before she pecks the camera . . .

It was, of course, just a curious kind of peck. Could be a bug hiding in there . . . ya never know unless ya peck!

I really don’t know why this desire to raise chickens has come to my husband and I. But I do know that I am enjoying it immensely. This evening, when I walk out to the chicken coop to close things up for the night, I will say another prayer of thanksgiving. I will see my chickens lined up like contented, sleepy soldiers on their homemade roost. And it will make me laugh . . . again.

Sometimes I walk to the chicken coop alone as the sun is setting behind our western meadow and the first stars are beginning to twinkle over my quiet rooftop. Sometimes I walk hand-in-hand with my husband, and we chat about the garden or the pond or the weather in May. It feels like God is building an ark . . . a peaceful, bountiful haven . . . here . . . on this small piece of the world the Lord has given us to steward. My heart is so grateful and so quieted. And I am filled with wonder at the prospect of what He might do next.

For me, it is the common things that bring great satisfaction and joy.

There is far too much sorrow in life.
Way too much pain.
Too often things can be sad or difficult of just plain dreary.

But simple things . . .
like watching the sun rise . . .
or watering the garden . . .
or chatting with a friend . . .
or mowing the lawn . . .
or picking berries with a child . . .
or cooking dinner . . .
or watching the chickens . . .
simple things are always there, every day.
Finding joy in them is something anyone can do . . .
anyone willing to quiet their soul,
and dare to be content
in the company
of God.

The best day . . .
for me . . .
is the day that I get to revel in the simple joys
of Life in . . .
and Life alongside . . .
and Life by
the Lord Jesus.

The Haven in Storms

I am fascinated with the stunning beauty of simple, commonplace things. I actually went on a walk a few days ago to take pictures of things that normally get stepped upon. I wondered how many lovely things I trampled as I trekked with my eyes on a distant goal instead of looking down at the path I trod. I found remarkable things underfoot. And I was reminded of two things:

• how much beauty can be found in a faith that is vulnerable, honest, simple and stilled
• how easy it is to trod upon the things that really matter

The flower that amazed me the most was the clover. The simple white clover. I remember making bracelets, anklets, and garland crowns with these wild flowers when I was young. I would sit in the grass for hours crafting princess jewelry. But I never noticed the clover’s delicately curling petals or its rich coral and green highlights. How could a simple, common weed be so beautiful?

As I knelt in the meadow in front of my house, looking at all the different varieties of clovers and wondering if I could photograph them all, I thought about how beautiful a simple faith in the Lord can be. I wanted to write about what I was seeing and feeling, but I knew that some people wouldn’t like my essay. I thought about some of the times that people had quoted phrases from my heartfelt blogs about quietness and peace and called them boring. I remembered the denigration I felt when people wrote about their busy schedules and hectic lives and stated that only busy people with BETTER things to do than being still have the authority to share about finding peace and quiet. My blog wasn’t quoted as a source in any of those writings, however. Sniping from behind a stone isn't a transparant act.

But I am going to share my thoughts any way.  I am over 50 now. My life isn’t hectic like it used to be. Other people’s lives and opinions are not the rudder for my faith. I am not afraid of being simple or common or even boring. And the only real audience of my written words and my private prayers is the Creator of the Universe . . . who is the Author of quietness and stillness and peace.  And the Savior of my soul.

Perhaps I am narrow-minded, because I believe that Jesus is the only Way and Truth and Life.
John 14:6

Perhaps I am radical because I believe we should be poor in spirit,
mourn over sin,
cultivate gentleness,
hunger and thirst for righteousness,
value mercy,
love purity,
respect peacemakers,
and embrace the persecution that results from persevering in righteous living.
Matthew 5

I am definitely not legalistic because I believe we should live as if the 10 commandments are still respected and vital and relevant today. And that if we really loved others, we would be keeping all of them.
Romans 13:8-14

Some things, when they are trod upon, merely release the sweet fragrance of Truth.

But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come.

For men will be lovers of self,
lovers of money,
boastful,
arrogant,
revilers,
disobedient to parents,
ungrateful,
unholy,
unloving,
irreconcilable,
malicious gossips,
without self-control,
brutal,
haters of good,
treacherous,
reckless,
conceited,
lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God,
holding to a form of godliness, although they have denied its power;
Avoid such men as these . . .
Now you followed my teaching,
conduct,
purpose,
faith,
patience,
love,
perseverance,
persecutions,
and sufferings,
such as happened to me at Antioch, at Iconium and at Lystra;
what persecutions I endured,
and out of them all the Lord rescued me!
Indeed, all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.
But evil men and impostors will proceed from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived.
You, however, continue in the things you have learned and become convinced of . . .
All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching,
for reproof,
for correction,
for training in righteousness;
so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work.
2 Tim 3

Walking with the Lord can be brutal. But there is shelter from the storm. A Haven in Him. And only in Him.

Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
And He brought them out of their distresses.
He caused the storm to be still,
So that the waves of the sea were hushed.
Then they were glad because they were quiet,
So He guided them to their desired haven.
Ps. 107:28-30

Here is Oswald Chamber’s advice to aspiring pastors in his book Approved Unto God. I believe it is good advice for all believers:

“The Gospel of Jesus Christ awakens an intense craving and an equally intense resentment. Base [your life] on personal love for the Lord, not on personal love for men. Personal love for men will make you call immorality a weakness, and holiness a mere aspiration; personal love for the Lord will make you call immorality devilish, and holiness the only thing that can stand in the light of God.”

If you crave quietness, stillness, and peace in your soul . . . cry to the Lord in your trouble.
Determine to shun evil.
Discipline yourself to do good.
Know that this will cause a storm of resentment and persecution.
But know that He is the Haven in the storm that always comes.
In Him is goodness and riches indescribable.

And please, be careful what you trample.

The Beauty of Uncertainty

As spring blooms in the meadows and woods and hillsides of my beloved East Tennessee, I find myself awakening to a fresh, new season in my own winter-wearied soul. It is a season of growth, much like the tender green shoots pushing through the dark, rich soil in my Kirkhaven garden. New life. New hope. New dreams.


And like all growth that brings fresh strength, beauty, and insight, this growth comes from a place of deep fellowship with the Lord. Not a place of fanfare and bravado. Not a place of human consolation. Not a place where the definition of who I am and what I do has any dependence upon the opinions or the needs or the denigrations . . . especially the manipulations and control . . . of other people. This has been a place of drawing aside to be with the Lord and to glory in His fellowship alone.

It is impossible to live in community with others if you have not learned to live alone with the Lord. All life flows from Him. All truth abides in Him.

To believe that you can plumb the depths and comprehend the breadth and live in full, vital relationship with the Lord of the Universe in a few minutes . . . or a few days . . . or even a few years of distracted study and abbreviated prayer is a most grievous mistake. It is sometimes necessary to have protracted times of aloneness . . . long walks in the Lord’s companionship through the meadows and the deserts and the mountains and the valleys of life’s journey . . . until the essence of God Himself can begin to impact your frail character and mold your stubborn will.

And to believe that you can rightly relate, with true Christian graces, to both the unsaved world and God’s community of believers without a rich, deep, enduring, secret life alone with the Lord is worse than grievous . . . it is devastating. Vain philosophies, misguided doctrines, and co-dependant relationships are the fruits of deep, personal, intimate relationships that are shallow in the Lord.

God is more. He is always more than I can possibly take in. And more than I could ever relate or share. So I find myself, at this juncture of my life, beginning to relish things that, in earlier times, caused me youthful consternation. I am finding . . . in the more-ness of God . . . that I have settled for far too little . . . for far too long.

One of the biggest things that I am beginning to cherish . . . that I once deemed a frustration and a stress . . . is uncertainty. Oswald Chambers, in his book My Utmost for His Highest, eloquently expresses how uncertainty is a blessing in the life of a dependant child of God:

Certainty is the mark of the common-sense life: gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, we do not know what a day may bring forth. This is generally said with a sigh of sadness; it should be rather an expression of breathless expectation. We are uncertain of the next step, but we are certain of God.

Then he goes further to press the importance of this uncertainty in the formation of a humble, teachable, growing heart:

When we become advocates of a creed, something dies; we do not believe God, we only believe our belief about Him. Jesus said, “Except ye . . . become as little children.” Spiritual life is the life of a child. We are not uncertain of God, but uncertain of what He is going to do next. If we are only certain in our beliefs, we get dignified and severe and have the ban of finality about our views; but when we are rightly related to God, life is full of spontaneous, joyful uncertainty and expectancy.

To live in gracious uncertainty means that we don’t have to understand it all. We don’t have to explain it all. We don’t have to be it all. There is a simplicity and humility and sincerity in this kind of spiritual posture. There is an enormous ability to appreciate different people with different perspectives. There is a freedom to accept our own frailty and to depend upon God’s faithful strength. Gracious uncertainty allows us to release others to pursue genuine godliness. And it allows us to release ourselves from the yardsticks that measure our worth and our status.

Try to define love?
Try to understand grace?
Try to explain righteousness?
Try to build a profound teaching
or acquire a special revelation
or develop a faultless doctrine
that is immutable and global and imperative?

Nope.

None of those occupations can change a human heart.
They can’t turn water to wine
or stone to flesh
or mourning to dancing
or fear to hope.

Only God can do that.
And His Ways can be the most surprising, amazing, unexpected things.

I am thinking that a life of gracious uncertainty is a lovely life.
Who knows where it will take me??
I am thinking that is the whole point.

:)

Time to Dig

Then Isaac dug again the wells of water which had been dug in the days of his father Abraham, for the Philistines had stopped them up after the death of Abraham; and he gave them the same names which his father had given them.
Genesis 26:18


I have been thinking about wells lately. We are finishing a well-drilling project here at Kirkhaven, and my heart has been captured by both the practical blessings and the spiritual symbolism of wells. We have “city water” here on our farm, so a well certainly wasn’t a Kirkhaven necessity. But as our farming ventures have begun to grow, my husband and I began to see the value of having our own underground water source . . . especially since we will soon have an acre pond that needs filling.

Deciding where to drill the well turned out to be simple . . . in a surreal kind of way. No one could give us any scientific formula for choosing the right drilling spot. My husband and I had discussed possible locations, but we both felt completely inadequate to make such a sweeping decision. We had already prayed for favor and blessing on the project. So we did what we have always done in projects that seemed to test the limits of our abilities and our faith. We just trusted God. We shrugged our shoulders. We made a decision. “Put the well wherever my wife wants it,” my husband joked, grinning. “I don’t want it to be my fault if this well ends up dry.” So John, the drill-rig assistant, ceremoniously handed me his empty Mountain Dew bottle and said, “Drop this where you want your well. That’s where we’ll drill.”

I dropped the bottle, with as much flare as I could muster, right at my feet. The rig commenced drilling. Only God knew what we would find.

I watched as the McCall Well Drilling and Pump Service turned up topsoil, then red clay, then Tennessee limestone. “You’ll hit water eventually,” Mr. McCall had said, “just no tellin’ how deep you’ll have to go or what kind of flow you’ll find when you get there.” Since the depth of the well determined its cost, we hoped that we wouldn’t have to drill any deeper than 300 feet.

From my research, I learned that our official state rock -  limestone - was often a great source of groundwater, so I bent down and scooped up a handful of the drilling debris at the edge of the deepening shaft. It looked like finely crushed gravel. But it was dry. Bone dry. I stood there beside the loud droning of the powerful drill . . . holding my dry, dusty limestone pieces . . . and I prayed for water.

That was a powerfully symbolic moment for me. Praying for water . . . cool, pure, life-giving water . . . drawn from a well dug by our own efforts . . . standing in utter faith that God would bless this work . . . knowing that when we found water . . . if we found water . . . the enduring testimony we would pass on to our children and our grand-children would be simply this:

El Shaddai is faithful.

When I look at my country today . . . and especially at the American church . . . I see dry, dusty limestone. Rock that is associated with water. Rock that often has fossils of marine animals embedded in it. Rock that signifies great potential for well drilling. But it is dry. Bone dry.

I remember how, in my twenties, we would sing in church about the “rain of God” as we enthusiastically prayed and believed and expected great outpourings of revival in our land. Sometimes we saw miracles. Sometimes we saw hearts gloriously converted to faith in Jesus Christ. But it was always about “the rain.” God would “come down” and we would glory in it all.

I believe the time for dancing in the rain has passed. There will, as sure as God is faithful, be outpourings of God’s love and mercy on this land and on His people. But our hands have grown soft . . . our wills have become lazy . . . our theology has shriveled into dry, psychological, socialistic graceology. “God does it all. Salvation is free. No worries . . . no fretting . . . no working . . . we’re all okay. Get a revelation of the grace message and you’ll never thirst again.”  Like in the days of Isaac in Genesis, the Philistines have stopped up the ancient wells. Who is left to dig them again?

Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we exult in hope of the glory of God. And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us. Romans 5:1-5

What has happened to this kind of virtue? Where are our heroes of perseverance and proven character? Is there anyone left who believes that repentance is necessary, virtue is mandated, and good works are necessary in the Kingdom of God?

Our well-drilling at Kirkhaven turned into an expensive project. We had to drill much deeper than our hoped-for 300 feet. At one point we dug through two caves and had to pull up the drill bits, undo what had already been done, and double the amount of wall casing that was installed. We drilled all week and only found a minimum of water . . . 5 gallons –per-minute flow rate. By Monday morning, our 6th day of drilling, we were faced with a simple question: how deep is deep enough?

We passed 600 feet . . . then 700 feet . . . and the drill foreman asked us the same question each time we passed another 100 feet: “Are you ready to quit or do you want to go deeper?”

“If we go deeper, will that increase our flow rate?” I asked Chris. “Maybe not. Probably not. There’s really no way of knowing,” he answered as he shrugged his shoulders.

At the 700 foot mark, we finally gave Chris a definitive answer to his “how deep” question: “Go 800 feet.” That was it. 800 feet and no more. We would be grateful for whatever flow rate we found at that depth. Then we prayed one final, simple prayer:

“Father, bless this well. Send us a gusher. Oh Lord, let there be a gusher at Kirkhaven!”

As the sun was sinking low on Kirkhaven’s western horizon Monday afternoon, I saw the McCall Well Drilling truck amble up our gravel drive toward the exit to our property. I assumed the guys were headed home for the day and I waved to them, smiling. My husband and I were at the barn finishing our chicken coop. But instead of continuing up the drive, they turned onto the access driveway and pulled up to the barn . . . arms raised in victory: “It’s a gusher!”

Our well is sunk into an underground river at 760 feet. The current of the water is so powerful it prevented the drill from progressing any deeper. The water was gushing out of our shaft so fast that an accurate flow rate couldn’t be determined. Chris estimated it at “40 or 60 or probably greater than 60 gallons per minute.” After the bit was removed and the well was capped, the water level rose 555 feet up the shaft . . . now resting at an easily accessible 205 feet.

Digging this well was time-consuming. It was a test of our hope and faith. It was expensive. But it is an underground gusher . . . rain or shine . . . flood or drought . . . for generations to come. A testimony of God’s all-sufficient faithfulness.

Here is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his book The Cost of Discipleship says about the treasure of God’s grace in His church. In the 1940’s, Bonhoeffer actively and openly opposed both Hitler's National Socialism and the infiltration of Nazi philosophy and control into Germany’s churches. Bonhoffer was arrested for helping Jews escape to Switzerland, and was then executed by hanging at Flossenbürg concentration camp on April 9, 1945. He is a hero of the Christian faith and I believe that his words have great counsel for Christians 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.... 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.... 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 . . .


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.

America . . .
Church . . .
We need a gusher . . . a pure, clean, river of living water flowing up from deep within the very heart of God.

It is time for virtue and hope.
It is time for the kind of faith that produces the character of God in His people.
It is time to stop our hedonistic, “bless-me-again-Lord” rain dances . . .
       to abandon our cheap grace . . .
       to don our work boots . . .
       to change into some clothes that might get dirty . . .
       and to start digging.

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all men, instructing us to deny ungodliness and worldly desires and to live sensibly, righteously and godly in the present age, looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus, who gave Himself for us to redeem us from every lawless deed, and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession, zealous for good deeds. These things speak and exhort and reprove with all authority. Let no one disregard you.
Titus 2:11-15

We need to dig until we find theTruth,
the faith,
the repentance,
and the resolve
to become the church God desires.

It might be hard.
It might be long.
It will never be cheap.

But we can trust God.
He is faithful.

Somewhere below the very ground on which we stand in faith. . .
is a real gusher
waiting for us.

Grace Has Come

I watched a storm dissipate a few days ago. It was an awe-inspiring thing. And since the storm was breaking apart just as the sun began setting, the colors were spectacular.


Skies that had been heavy and brooding from a dark, rain-filled day feathered softly and spread into a thinning veil of breeze-driven wisps. The charcoal canopy warmed to purple, peach, and pink as a warm, yellow glow softly lit the western horizon. I watched it all through the black silhouette of winter tree branches in my front yard. And when a tiny patch of blue sky began to slowly spread across this beautiful pastel canvas, I felt like a blind man seeing the wonder of God’s glory for the first time.

“This,” I thought, as the sun finally sank behind my Kirkhaven ridge, “is a photograph of grace.”

The grace of God is miraculous and glorious and absolutely unmistakable. For those who experience God’s handiwork in their own lives . . . and see it in the lives of others . . . grace is stunningly beautiful.

Purity.
Steadfastness.
Honesty.
Forbearance.
Dignity.
Peace.

After the storm of trial and the heaviness of repentance and the cleansing rain of Truth have brooded over our hearts for a time, God’s mercy comes . . . through the blood of His precious Son . . . and the sunset of His ever-present grace brings hope that tomorrow will be different.

That we will be different.

My heart knows what it feels like to gaze out onto heavy, stormy skies. There have been days and weeks and even months when light and color and hope were lost in the monochromatic landscape of sorrow and pain. Like an old black and white movie, I could only imagine the colors that actually thrived beyond the camera lens. I couldn’t see them outside the window of my soul; I could only see shades of gray.

But God’s grace has come.
The heavenly revelation is full and complete.
From the manger,
to the long, dusty roads of Palestine,
to the cross,
to the grave,
to the resurrection,
to the heart that will repent and believe.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind, but now I see!

For the grace of God has appeared,
bringing salvation to all men,
instructing us to deny ungodliness and worldly desires
and to live sensibly, righteously and godly in the present age,
looking for the blessed hope
and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus,
who gave Himself for us
to redeem us from every lawless deed,
and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession,
zealous for good deeds.

Exquisitely simple.
Profoundly amazing.
The Gospel of Jesus of Christ.
The grace of God.

These things speak and exhort and reprove with all authority.
Let no one disregard you.
Titus 2:11-15)

Grace and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Savior be unto you.
Happy Resurrection Day!

Dreaming

Sometimes you just have to shrug your shoulders, dust off your shelf of dreams, pick one, and lace up your work boots. There will always be reasons for NOT doing something. There will always be people to tell you that you shouldn’t. But when the Lord gives His nod of approval . . . and your heart begins to bloom with hope that you might actually be able to do this thing . . . then do it.

I have always been a dreamer. And I am married to a dreamer. It is just the way we are wired. It isn’t that we are afraid of the real world and prefer to live in an imaginary one. We are not those kinds of dreamers. It’s just that we love to see things as they are . . .find the beauty in them . . . and then wonder what they might become.

For me, dreaming is a type of prayer. It is a conversation between the Lord and I that plumbs the depths of my feelings and challenges the truth of what I think. It helps me to find complete contentment in the goodness God has poured into my life while still nudging me to step boldly into what He is doing next. For example, I can enjoy, with gratitude, the deliciously tart blackberries that grow wildly in my Kirkhaven woods . . . and still wonder, as I meander down familiar paths, if I might also grow juicy blueberries up on the hill.

Dreaming is a lot of work. I study when I dream. I read lots of books. I ponder the Word of God for guidance. I seek the counsel of knowledgeable, wise people. I ask a lot of questions and search out a lot of answers. It is important to have an honest grasp of what you DO know and what you DON’T know and what you NEED to learn when you are dreaming. Not-willing-to-work-at-it-laziness will kill a dream. Know-it-all-arrogance will kill the dreamer.

So today, at the threshold of another gorgeous Kirkhaven spring, we have begun earnest work on a brand-new dream. Kirkhaven is becoming a working farm. We will grow heirloom fruits, vegetables, and herbs for cooking, canning, and drying. We will raise Black Australorp chickens for beautiful, brown eggs and healthy, organic meat . And we will build a bass pond on the west side of our 54 ridge-top acres for fishing, thinking, and . . . . probably . . . more dreaming.

I am a teacher.
My husband is an architect.

If you are tempted to ask, “Why would THEY try to tackle such a project?” . . .
I have a simple answer.

No reason at all . . .
except that we dreamed it . . .
and we could hear God smiling.

Here is the site of our future garden overlooking McNallie ridge . . . with the Smoky Mountains in the distance.
 

 
Looking across the garden, you can see our red barn.  That's where we will build the chicken coop.
 

 
And this is the sun setting over the site for our future pond.

Jeremiah 29:11-14


"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you," declares the LORD, "and will bring you back from captivity . . .”

God’s plans are truly lovely.
Join me in dreaming?