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?

Footsteps

I took a walk yesterday in the fresh, clean snow that had settled onto our east Tennessee ridge. We don’t see snow like this very often. I wanted to meander across Kirkhaven’s meadows and trek through familiar wooded trails . . . enjoying the beauty of this blanketed landscape before it all melted away. The sky had cleared, the sun was out, and it looked like a perfect day for a winter stroll.

It was a treasure-hunt of sorts. I was looking for footprints. I often see wildlife scampering across our property or lingering along the wood’s edge. I wondered if I could track rabbits, deer, turkeys, or coyotes along my favorite walking route.

I didn’t take my ipod with me. Music is usually standard protocol when I go trekking, but there was something about the pristine look of snow on rolling hills that made me just want to listen to the silence this time.

The first footprints I found were the delicate, wispy tracings of a single, tiny bird. If I hadn’t been looking, I would have traipsed right through them.

Then there was a curious imprint at the edge of the path where a rabbit had been sitting

. . . and a double set of bunny tracks . . .

that merged with deer tracks and hopped up the path into the snowy brush.

It was so peaceful to walk in the winter woods alone. The only sound was the smooshing scrunch of my muffled boot-steps. Blues and whites of the snowy forest floor melted into pastel browns and grays as the bare-limbed canopy filtered the sun’s warming rays onto muted patches of shade and shadow. Everything felt calm. Uncomplicated. There was such unembellished elegance to the stark beauty there.

Then something the Lord said in His famous Sermon on the Mount drifted into my mind:

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

Pure.
Like the clean, white snow.
Fresh.
Like a cold winter day.

I looked down and saw my own footprint in the snow.

I had walked these wooded trails many times, in every season.
The smell of honesuckle and wildflower blooms is nearly intoxicating in the spring.
The blackberries picked on humid summer afternoons are juicy and tart.
The brilliant orange-golds of autumn oaks and maples paint a stunning fall canvas.
And the brown, leaf-scattered path of winter’s simplicity makes a rich, musty carpet for brisk winter hikes.
Every season is beautiful in my Kirkhaven woods.

But only a snowy pathway clearly shows footprints.

Blessed are the pure in heart . . .
like fresh, white snow . . .
so that His every footfall,
His every touch,
His every Word,
even His every whisper and sigh
leaves it’s perfect imprint there.

I thought about my own heart and all the different states it had been in:
Proud.
Angry.
Critical.
Doubting.
Fearful.

Broken.

Far too noisy to hear God’s gentle footfalls.
Far too cluttered to see the prints He had left.

I knew that God loved me just the way I was..
And I knew that He often met me at the place of my greatest weakness.
I remembered how He even used an imperfect vessel to accomplish His perfect plans.

But blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

So I prayed.

Lord, take my hurting heart . . .
I give it to you again.
I repent of the sin that muddles your perfect Truth.
I want to be changed.
Touch me . . .
and leave your handprint there.

A pure heart is less than a perfect heart.
But it is more than fully forgiven.

A pure heart is cleaned . . .
and quieted . . .
and waiting . . .
for the footstep
and the touch
and the voice
of God.

Because to see Him
and to bear His likeness
is what really matters.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Matt 5:8

Simple Faith

 

 

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 high 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.

Lyrics by Edward Mote

Music by William Bradbury.

The Cokesbury Worship Hymnal

Copyright 1938

I often find myself humming this faithful, old hymn during the day. 

Sometimes the humming is conversational . . .

a warmly familiar act of fellowship with the Carpenter of my days. 

Sometimes it is prayerful . . . 

a deliberate step of faith in trials that test both meddle and faith. 

Sometimes it is unconscious  . . .

echoing from memory’s musty halls like a timeworn photograph. 

It is a life song for me.   A hymn of many seasons.   The theme of a life lived in the Gospel.

If there is any mystery in Christianity,

it is the mysterious penchant of Christians to muddle-up elegant, simple Truth. 

Why do we do that? 

To try to be “deep?” 

To try to impress people? 

To try to convince others that our more mysterious revelation . . .

since it is greater than their more simple one . . .

earns us loftier notoriety or higher authority or greater specialness?

My faith is simple and my God is profound.

This is the 51^st year of my life . . .

my 45^th year of walking with the Lord . . .

the year 2010.

This year my resolution, my life-vision, is very simple: 

to be a bond-servant of Christ Jesus.

A bond-servant. 

In Greek, a doulous. 

A slave. 

A person owned by another,

devoted to another to the disregard of one’s own interest.

It is a life of "grace plus everything."  That's what my husband calls it. 

The grace of God bestowed and wrought in a life

through faith

that results in obedience.

Grace.

Faith.

Obedience.

So very simple.

This year,

I expect to experience forgiveness . . . as I repent.

I expect to experience freedom . . . as I turn away from the things that oppose God.

I expect to experience peace . . . as I choose trust instead of fear.

I expect to experience abundant blessing . . . as I share what I have been given.

I expect to work hard and to rest deeply.

I expect the Gospel of Jesus Christ to only and amazingly be

The Gospel.

Simply.

Profoundly.

Sovereignly.

For me, that’s the good life.

It is more than enough.

It always has been.

And always will be.

- Lesa K. Reid

“The Christian profession does not consist in a notional knowledge or a bare assent, 

much less in perverse disputings, 

but in obedience.” —Matthew Henry

My Favorite Christmas Memory . . .

 

There is a quiet lull at Kirkhaven right now.  The turkey is in the oven,  casseroles and salads are assembled, and a mountain of potatoes have been peeled and diced for their traditional garlic mashing.  My husband is outside splitting wood so our Christmas Eve fireplace will crackle warmly all evening.

Later it will be busy and loud. 

Later friends and family will be laughing and fellowshipping around a greenery-bedecked table. 

Later three poodles and one frisky bird-dog-puppy will be dutifully keeping watch for any dropped morsel (or any secreted tidbit) of deliciously aromatic Christmas Eve feast.  

But right now Kirkhaven is quiet, so I have a moment to fulfill a promise I made to my dear friend Janice Lewis before the weekend celebration begins.

Janice posted a suggestion on facebook and I promised to reply.  She asked people to share a special Christmas memory they had.  I answered that I was working on a reply and would post it soon.  So here is my answer, dearest Janice.  Here is my favorite Christmas memory:

Now in those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus, that a census be taken of all the inhabited earth.  This was the first census taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.  And everyone was on his way to register for the census, each to his own city. 

Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, in order to register along with Mary, who was engaged to him, and was with child.  While they were there, the days were completed for her to give birth.  And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

In the same region there were some shepherds staying out in the fields and keeping watch over their flock by night.  And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened.  But the angel said to them:

 "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, 

"Glory to God in the highest,

And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased."

When the angels had gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds began saying to one another, "Let us go straight to Bethlehem then, and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has made known to us."  So they came in a hurry and found their way to Mary and Joseph, and the baby as He lay in the manger.  When they had seen this, they made known the statement which had been told them about this Child.  And all who heard it wondered at the things which were told them by the shepherds.

But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart. 

The shepherds went back, glorifying and praising God for all that they had heard and seen, just as had been told them.   Luke 2:1-20

The Christmas story is so simple. 

So elegant. 

So plain. 

It is the story of the King of the Universe . . . the Perfect Lamb of God . . . being born in a lowly stable. 

Sleeping in a feeding trough. 

Visited and venerated by rough, earthy shepherds.

It wasn’t what people were expecting, however.

It wasn’t exactly how people would have planned it. 

There were things missing from the picture

. . . a warm, snuggly cradle

. . . a fire at the hearth

. . . family and friends gathered to celebrate

. . . the smell of savory meat roasting on the fire

. . . the rich, comfortable sound of bread being kneaded and baked. 

The prophets had spoken of an unusual birth and an unusual life and an unusual death for the coming messiah. . . but somehow people had expected something different. 

Something more familiar. 

Something deserving of a king.

I always decorate my Christmas tree with gold and red and white.  We have lots of lights and snowmen and greenery scattered about the house.  We always have a pile of gifts under the tree.  And we always eat a Christmas feast.  There are tons of wonderful memories I have collected from all of my lovely Christmases.

But the thing I remember most is the brown of the stable. 

And the rough wood of the manger. 

The shepherds who saw angels. 

And the quiet, pensive expression of a young mother holding a tiny, swaddled King. 

My King.

Because sometimes Christmas isn’t always perfect. 

Perhaps some people we love will be absent from our Christmas table.

Perhaps harsh words still echo in our minds. 

Perhaps our Christmas greetings and our heartfelt words of blessings are not welcome messages to some friends and family we love. 

Perhaps there are things missing from the picture this year.

Some households don’t always look like a Normal Rockwell painting.

But the King is there.

The One born in a manger.

The One who lived much heartache.

The One who died on a cross.

Who has believed our message?

And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?

For He grew up before Him like a tender shoot,

And like a root out of parched ground;

He has no stately form or majesty

That we should look upon Him,

Nor appearance that we should be attracted to Him.

He was despised and forsaken of men,

A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;

And like one from whom men hide their face He was despised,

and we did not esteem Him.
Surely our griefs He Himself bore,

And our sorrows He carried;

Yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken,

Smitten of God, and afflicted.

But He was pierced through for our transgressions,

He was crushed for our iniquities;

The chastening for our well -being fell upon Him,

And by His scourging we are healed.

All of us like sheep have gone astray,

Each of us has turned to his own way;

But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all

To fall on Him.
He was oppressed and He was afflicted,

Yet He did not open His mouth;

Like a lamb that is led to slaughter,

And like a sheep that is silent before its shearers,

So He did not open His mouth . . .

Yet He Himself bore the sin of many,

And interceded for the transgressors.   Isaiah 53

My favorite Christmas memory, dearest Janice, is Him.

The King of the Universe come to earth as a tiny babe

. . . born in a manger

. . . destined to die on a cross. 

He is always there as I decorate my home for this joyous season. 

He is always there as I buy and wrap the gifts. 

He is always there as I prepare the meal and light the Christmas candles.

He is always there when my home fills with family and friends.

And He is always there when things are missing.

Him.

It's Him I remember most.

And I treasure the memory.

When there is beauty and love and celebrating,

I can feel Him laughing.

And when there is heartache and sorrow and pain,

I can feel His tender Love.

In all of it He is there.

Glory to God in the Highest!

On earth peace . . . goodwill . . . to all!

Can you see Him too?

We

Thursday, December 17th is our wedding anniversary.  I have been married for more than half of my life.  And as I think about our years together, I am not feeling sentimental or sappy or teary.  I am not wondering, "Wow, where has the time gone?"  Instead, a rich, deep contentment fills my heart and wraps around my soul like a soft, warm blanket.  I have been married for 26 years to my best friend.  What could be better than that?

I know that when you are young you dream about a "knight in shining armor" sweeping you off your feet.  But I am older now, and fairy tales just seem too shallow and crass.  I don't need to be charmed and dazzled.  Things like that are too fragile.  I prefer real things, like honesty, generosity, and humor.  And enduring things like strength of character and wisdom.  My husband is much more real and much more interesting than a storybook prince.  He is a very good man.

I treasure the memories we have together.  And I love the history we have built.  But the things I enjoy most are the moments we have now.  This day.  This project.  This fireside chat.  I have time to savor things now.  These just might be our best years yet.

So here are some things that I love about us right now.


Only I can finish his sentences.
Only he might guess where I have lost my reading glasses or my keys . . . again.
Only I know when he is really happy or when he has been really hurt.
Only he knows the difference between my "happy quiet" and my "sad quiet."

We can be just as content sitting together on our back porch as we are sitting side-by-side on the deck of a cruise ship.
We are both a bit eccentric.
We both love beautiful things.
And we both find great satisfaction in a job well done.

We struggle through the hard things together and we relish the lovely things together.
We work together.We relax together.

Together is pretty much who we are.

I really have no idea what the future has in store,but I know that I want to spend it with my husband.
My best friend.

“We”
is so much richer and fuller
than just him
or just me.

And he loves me.
And I love him.
What could be better than that?

Cinderella with her prince and glass slipper never had it this good.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Seeking But Not Striving

Puppies don’t pose.  They romp and pounce and chew.  They stick their noses into holes.  They chase after mysterious scents that only they can smell.  They rarely come when you call them.  They usually dash into places they shouldn’t.  Sometimes, for a split second, they might pause to wonder . . . but puppies do not pose. 

If you want to photograph a puppy, you have to turn your camera onto the “action” setting and just start clicking.  You’ll get tons of random pictures . . . blurred noses, floppy ears, waggy backsides . . . Getting just the right picture framed just the right way is a futile endeavor.  Composing a photograph of a puppy is impossible.  Nothing about a puppy is composed.

But if you are looking for something other than a perfect composition . . .

maybe something funny . . .

or something sweet . . .

or something nostalgic . . .

or something poignant . . .

then you will probably find it.

Mixed in with all the uncoordinated, mis-aligned, uncalculated, blurred images that you snapped on the run, you will find some treasures that you never could have orchestrated.  Moments that simply happened . . . and you simply happened to catch them.

But if you are not willing to lay aside the schedule

and turn off the television

and walk away from the computer

and set aside the cell phone

and find a place where a leash isn’t necessary

and get your shoes muddy

and look for more than you can see

and hope for more than you have known

and believe that an aimless stroll with a puppy isn’t wasted time

then you won’t catch a thing.

"Ask, and it will be given to you;

seek, and you will find;

knock , and it will be opened to you.

For everyone who asks receives,

and he who seeks finds,

and to him who knocks it will be opened."

Jesus 

Matt 7:7-8 (NASB)

Perhaps the most daring thing we can do is admit that life isn’t about perfect compositions.   

The real beauty is unscripted.

And the real gift is knowing the Giver.

And the real art is knowing what really matters.

Cease striving and know that I am God . . .

Psalms 46:10 (NASB)

 

 

 

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid