Wrought

This is a picture of a bowl my husband and I bought at a pottery shop in the Smoky Mountain craft community. It was handmade by a Native American Indian. He uses red Tennessee clay and crushed Tennessee limestone to make his beautiful pieces. The simple lines and rich colors are, in my opinion, absolutely beautiful.

I love handmade things. I love the time, effort, and creative spirit that are infused in them. I have handmade gifts that I have treasured for more than 40 years.

This particular pottery piece is especially intriguing to me because it bears the unique signature of its maker. Do you see it? Look at the picture again and see if you can see it . . .

See the fingerprints? There near the bottom of the bowl’s right inside curve? I love that. The fingerprint of the maker stamped upon the creation.

I think that’s why I love nature so much. The starry canopy of Kirkhaven’s nighttime sky. The bare, winter limbs of an ancient oak tree beside my bass pond. The tiny seedlings quietly growing in my greenhouse nursery. I see the Lord’s fingerprints in all of these things. And I am continually intrigued by the story and the testimony this Fingerprint speaks.

I also think that’s why I sense such deep gratitude for the people God has brought into my life. Faithful family members who love me through every circumstance and in every season. Generous, compassionate friends who have spent years ministering the Lord’s Truth and Kindness to my heart. I experience my Lord in their words. Their arms. Their steadfast presence. God’s testimony of the power of His Son is astounding when I think of the love they have given to me.

But I feel no compunction to bragg about my home or my testimony or my family or my life circumstances.  Because the Fingerprint of the Maker completely eclipses every gift He has given. I will be eternally grateful for His mercy and grace. I will never be able to repay Him for His great love and generosity. But in all of it I see the Fingerprint of God.  For me . . . more and more . . . it is all about the Giver, not the gifts.

Everything within me explodes in praise and adoration for the One who is crafting my life.  That is where you can find me as I celebrate my 52nd year on this earth. I am in utter awe at the Fingerprint of God.

He is the Giver of all Blessing.
He is the Rescuer in every tragedy.
He is the Sustainer through every trial.
He is my philosophy.
He is my theology.
He is my reward.
And He is my inspiration.

All that I have is gloriously His.
Every person in my life . . . those who hate me and those who love me . . . those who respect me and those who pity me . . . are precious gifts in my quest to follow Him and to become more like Him.

In these autumn years of my earthly sojourn,
it is my deepest prayer and my greatest passion
that every eye . . .
my eyes and the eyes of all who observe life's happinesses and sorrows . . .
will be riveted
to neither any earthly vessel
nor any heavenly blessing,
but to the Potter Himself.

I pray that the Light of Truth will strike my fragile form in such a way that the miraculous, eternal Fingerprints of the Lord of the Universe will be visible.

When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:11-13

There is so much I do not know.
I am so very fragile and earthy.

But this one thing is the sum of all my knowledge
and the goal of my every righteous pursuit
and the object of all my praise:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being. In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.

There was the true Light which, coming into the world, enlightens every man. He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, and the world did not know Him. He came to His own, and those who were His own did not receive Him. But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.
John 1:1-5, 9-13

"For God so loved the world,that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through Him. He who believes in Him is not judged; he who does not believe has been judged already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. This is the judgment, that the Light has come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the Light, for their deeds were evil. For everyone who does evil hates the Light, and does not come to the Light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But he who practices the truth comes to the Light, so that his deeds may be manifested as having been wrought in God."
John 3:16-21

To be wrought
in God,
and by God,
is the real treasure indeed.

Chickens Don't Need a Shepherd

Chickens don’t need a shepherd. They need a rooster.

That’s the pearl of wisdom my husband blessed me with this morning. It is such a rich thought, that I simply had to blog about it. I suspect I will be stepping on a few toes with my ponderings, however.

Eli, the captain of my Kirkhaven Egg Brigade, is a very handsome rooster. His red comb is large and deeply serrated. His long, folded wattles dangle majestically from his chin. His bright black eyes are alert, with an intelligent but slightly suspicious gleam. He has an abundance of beautifully arching tail feathers and a respectable set of rooster spurs. And as Eli traverses the pens and fields of his ridge-top kingdom, he doesn’t just walk . . . Eli struts.

My rooster is a diligent, able provider for his flock of busily-laying hens. He is an excellent forager in the woods behind the barn and easily finds delicious caches of bugs underneath logs or on top of the compost heap. When he chortles happily about a yummy discovery, the girls always come running to his insect buffet. He even steps aside, like a perfect gentleman, so the girls can enjoy the bounty. Eli feeds his girls very well. They depend upon him, and he never lets them down.

Eli is very serious about keeping his flock safe from predators. He is a bit untrusting by nature and never hesitates to gather the girls into a safe corner or protected nook if he gets an unsettled feeling. If he sees imminent danger (a hawk in the sky or a dog on the loose), his loud squawk sends everyone into an immediate scurry for safe cover. Eli is the unchallenged authority on all-things-dangerous. I have never seen any hen hesitate to run when Eli squawks.

He is also quite determined to keep his flock peaceful and orderly. First, he expects the hens to create their own pecking order. Order is achieved when everyone knows their place and no one bucks the system. Secondly, Eli allows no excessive bickering. If squabbles erupt among any disagreeable girls, he simply runs into the midst of the flurry, pecks both offending parties, and the argument is immediately ended.

Eli is careful to keep his small flock in a tightly-knit group. All roosters know that you can’t protect what you can’t easily corral, so he doesn’t let his girls wander too much. He is, however, their “knight in shining armor” if any of them get in a bind. All they have to do is send out a panicked holler and he comes boldly running to their defense . . . wings flapping, head bobbing, spurs at the ready.

He is also is very leery of strangers.  He does, however, give people a chance to get on his “trusted” list if they behave in an acceptable way. He isn’t a mean or aggressive rooster, but he does expect a certain amount of decorum and respect. Here are Eli’s "Three Rules of Proper Etiquette:"

#1.  Respect the Rooster.  Pause before entering the coop, so he can peck your shoes, block your steps, or head-butt your leg to prove his manliness. He will appreciate your role as Farmer if you appreciate his role as Exalted Prince Over All Chickendom.

#2.  Do not make exaggerated movements or unexpected loud noises.  Nothing irritates a rooster more than trying to calm a flustered group of hens.

#3.  Bring treats.  It makes him look good in front of the girls. If he can provide delicacies like bananas, Cheerios, or some table leftovers . . . even if by your hand . . . he can keep the girls happy. And happy girls make for a comfortable coop.

The whole system is harmonious and natural. Eli and his girls are thriving in their self-regulated community. This is how healthy, well-adjusted chickens live.

But this isn’t how people should live. And it definitely isn’t how the Kingdom of God should function.

Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth.

Serve the Lord with gladness;

Come before Him with joyful singing.

Know that the Lord Himself is God;

It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves;

We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.

Enter His gates with thanksgiving

And His courts with praise.

Give thanks to Him, bless His name.

For the Lord is good;

His lovingkindness is everlasting

And His faithfulness to all generations.

Psalm 100:1-5

We are sheep. The Bible never refers to the people of God as chickens.  Men are sheep. Women are sheep. Children are sheep. Even church leaders are sheep.

Sheep don’t strut. They have no pecking order.  They are neither self-sufficient nor community-sufficient. And they do not need a rooster: sheep need a Shepherd.

The Lord is my shepherd,

I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;

He leads me beside quiet waters.

He restores my soul;

He guides me in the paths of righteousness

For His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I fear no evil, for You are with me;

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

You have anointed my head with oil;

My cup overflows.

Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalm 23

Frankly, I am astounded by what “passes” as “acceptable” Christian culture today:

“You are so freaking gorgeous”

“My husband is a stud”
“I am hot”
"You are hot."
bawdy humor
sassy personalities
sharp-witted tongues

It seems that God’s people are so busy trying to “out strut” the world that we have lost the true image of what Godliness looks like.

We are so intent upon having
the most relevant,
least restrictive,
enchantingly cleaver,
globally receptive
outward posture,

that we have completely discarded
the simple 
inward demeanor
of an obedient disciple.

What has happened to old fashioned morality?
And quiet, Godly living?

Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are: immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, disputes, dissensions, factions, envying, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these, of which I forewarn you, just as I have forewarned you, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.

Now those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit. Let us not become boastful, challenging one another, envying one another. Galatians 5:19-26

Let the hens squawk if they must.
Let the cocks swagger and crow.
Let passion and noise and arrogance and wit have their place in the coops of the world.

Sheep don’t need a rooster; they need a Shepherd.
They don't perch in coops, they rest in broad, green meadows.
And a strutting lamb simply is obscene.

I think we should stop being afraid or embarrased to say . . .
and to believe . . .

A quieted heart,
a simple life,
and a Godly demeanor
are good things . . .
in the green patures of the Good Shepherd.

In The Midst: Psalm 139

O LORD, You have searched me and known me.

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

You understand my thought from afar.

You scrutinize my path and my lying down,

And are intimately acquainted with all my ways.

Even before there is a word on my tongue,

Behold, O LORD, You know it all.

You know it all.
All.

I step into the dawn of this shiny, new year full of hope. Absolutely full to overflowing. Because God knows me. And because I am in the midst of knowing Him.


I do not hold to the “clean slate, fresh-white canvas” theory of new year’s beginnings. My life has never been a mute chalk board and my future is far from a neglected piece of art. I begin the year 2011 with a deep, quiet assurance that the Lord has already gone before me. He has painted, with rich colors and bold strokes, beautiful pathways for me to travel. He has appointed stunning vistas and quiet alcoves to inspire my soul and quiet my listening heart. He has written, with His own Hand, a narrative of blessing and goodness that will follow me along the way. He has prepared noble work and challenging service for my heart and my hands to perform. And if the journey becomes rough or scary, as journeys sometimes do, His own Presence will shelter me and guide me to warmth and rest and safety.

You have enclosed me behind and before,

And laid Your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

It is too high, I cannot attain to it.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Or where can I flee from Your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, You are there;

If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.

If I take the wings of the dawn,

If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,

Even there Your hand will lead me,

And Your right hand will lay hold of me.

If I say, "Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,

And the light around me will be night,"

Even the darkness is not dark to You,

And the night is as bright as the day.

Darkness and light are alike to You.

God knows me more than I know myself. And He loves me more than I could ever love anything or anyone.

For You formed my inward parts;

You wove me in my mother's womb.

I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

Wonderful are Your works,

And my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from You,

When I was made in secret,

And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;

Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;

And in Your book were all written

The days that were ordained for me,

When as yet there was not one of them.

How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God!

How vast is the sum of them!

If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand.

When I awake, I am still with You.

I can’t tell you what is going to happen in politics this year. I cannot prophecy blessings or disasters or revivals or judgments or economic upheaval or miraculous sustenance upon the people of God or upon the lands in which they dwell. I truly have no idea how this new year will unfold on the world stage.


I don’t even know where my personal journey will take me.


But I do know this one thing. Tomorrow morning, when the winter sun rises over Kirkhaven’s snow-covered brae, God will be there when I awake. His path will be prepared for me to travel. His fellowship will saturate the very air I breathe.

Search me, O God, and know my heart;

Try me and know my anxious thoughts;

And see if there be any hurtful way in me,

And lead me in the everlasting way.

There is truly nothing more beautiful than to be known by God.
And to be in the midst of knowing Him.

If you have a moment, stay with me just a bit longer and listen to the next song . . . and worship with me . . .

I Believe in Christmas

Who knew? I mean, really, who totally saw this coming??

A virgin married to a simple carpenter.
A nondescript town full of tired travelers . . . who were also pretty fed up with their government.
A stable.
A manger of straw.

Who really expected that?

I suppose Mary and Joseph, devout Jews, had read the ancient predictions of the prophets:
He would be born of a virgin.
He would be born in Bethlehem.
They may have understood in their hearts the magnitude of this Holy Night.

The magi seemed to have an inkling that something momentous was at hand. Their studies of astronomy led them to follow the strange star.

The shepherds on the Bethlehem hillside, tending their flock of sacrificial Passover sheep, were astounded . . . perhaps terrified . . . by the appearance of angels in the night sky. But they willingly obeyed the heavenly command to visit the stable. And they bowed in reverence before their tiny, swaddled king.

Even King Herod believed that a royal birth occurred. He killed thousands of Hebrew infants and toddlers to try to prevent this King from taking His throne.

I guess mankind should have completely expected the humble entrance of their Messiah King. 20-20 hindsight makes it clear that all the signs were there. Ancient prophecies were perfectly fulfilled. Supernatural signs announced His advent. The gates of hell mobilized to prevent His reign.

But I am thinking that not much has changed in more than 2,000 years. God still comes quietly and humbly and, often, secretly. He still places His presence in the hands of every-day people. He still performs miracles and signs and wonders that pretty much go unacknowledged and unappreciated. And the gates of hell still mobilize to prevent His reign in the lives and hearts of mankind.

And we, somehow, still often manage to miss it.

Or misunderstand it.
Or twist it to fit our own agendas and our own satisfaction and our own benefit.
Or ignore it all together.
Or even join the forces of hell to extinguish its light on the earth.

My hope and my prayer this Christmas Eve, is that you . . . that we . . . will not miss Him this year.

May we see Him . . .
even if His coming it is very humble . . .
even if He contradicts our preconceived ideas . . .
even if He interrupts our well-intentioned plans . . .
even if He costs us dearly . . .
even if His benefits don’t seem lofty and grand enough . . .
even if the gates of hell are aligned in battle against Him.

May we live this next year in awe of our Messiah’s intimacy instead of boasting of His favor.
And may be become more like Him in every way.

Even if that means our lives are hidden in Him.
Even if that means we will carry a cross.

"If anyone wishes to come after Me,

 he must deny himself,

and take up his cross and follow Me.

 For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it;

but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.

For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world

and forfeits his soul?

Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?"
Matthew 16:24-26

Belief is not an intellectual act; belief is a moral act whereby I deliberately commit myself.

—My Utmost For His Highest Oswald Chambers

I believe in Christmas.

Do you?

Surprises Instead of Agendas

If I was writing a Christmas List this year, I would put Surprises at the top of my list. I love a really good surprise. The kind that stops you in your tracks . . . leaves you speechless . . . standing in the middle of suspended reality for an unbelievable moment.



I find it interesting and very satisfying, however, that real surprises are nothing like the ones depicted in all of the popular holiday movies. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching holiday movies. I plan to sit in front of our stone fireplace tonight . . . wrapped in my favorite blanket . . . in the company of my husband of 27 years . . . cuddling three small, fluffy poodles . . . sipping hot apple cider . . . and watch a couple of heart-warming Christmas movies. But real-life surprises are so much better than movie ones. Mostly because they are real.


Agendas, I believe, are the evil Archenemy of surprises. Agendas are too predictable. Too explainable and planned. They crowd out serendipity and leave no room for pure, unexpected amazement. They lurk secretly in the dark recesses of our psyche, adding their own twist to everything we do. Agendas insist they are right. They are cocky and overly assertive. They crave conformity. They demand control. Agendas feed off of the praises and discipleship of devoted underlings. And they can be very, very vengeful if they are threatened.


I am not saying that I have no schedules or lists of chores in my life. I live on a farm and we run a family business. There are always things that need to be done and lists of chores that need to be checked off. I am also not saying that I have no dreams or hopes in my life. There are still lots of things I want to learn. Places I would love to visit. Things I would love to do.


I am just saying that I don’t like the lurking menace of agendas. They tend to set up secret idolatries in our hearts that completely squelch the fresh, surprising, unexpected Life of God.


When you have an agenda . . .
a pet belief
or a particularly beloved revelation
or a self-proclaimed system
or a well-orchestrated plan . . .
it inevitably shrinks God.

The agenda requires God to fit a special set of rules. He must comply with certain expectations and He must work within a circumscribed set of parameters. Agendas interpret Biblical Truth in “special” ways that enslave God’s Word to man’s direction and will. Eventually, agendas enslave people too.

I don’t like things that make God small.
God is bigger.
And God is more.
He is bigger than any agenda and more than any religious system.


I want to live an agenda-less life.


I want to wake up every morning and know that my God is so vast that I will never plump beyond the depths of His love nor ascend past the heights of His faithfulness.


I want to look into a manger and see a King.

I want to look at a crown and see a servant.

I want to kneel in submission with a heart that soars on wings of freedom.

I want to succumb to the awe and reverence of a life that has nothing to prove and heaven to gain.

I want to rejoice in the surprise and celebration that comes from simple, daily fellowship with the God that is more than I can ever fully grasp.


Without an agenda, I can be an empty vessel.
Fashioned by the Master Potter.
Filled by the overflowing of a Father’s Heart.
Poured out by the compassionate ministry of nail-scarred Hands.


An agenda-less life is a surprised life.


Perhaps that’s what God had in mind when He sent His son . . . King of Kings and Lord of Lords . . . to be born in the small town of Bethlehem. To a virgin. Into the family of a simple carpenter. Cradled in a bed of straw. Among stable animals. Beneath a brilliant, starry night. Worshipped by shepherds and non-Hebrew magi.


The Treasure of eternity swaddled in commonness.


Surprise indeed.

Concerning Chickens and God and Bold Adventures

Chickens love bananas. At least MY chickens do. And how did I gain this precious pearl of wisdom? I got it in a moment of inspiration in my kitchen. Then I walked up to the barn and fed them a banana. And they loved it!



Kirkhaven chickens love bananas so much that they will run across the meadow when they see me coming. Have you ever seen a chicken run? It is either hilarious or endearing or a scientific anomaly, depending upon your perspective. Neck stuck waaay out front to enhance the forward motion . . . feet pedaling frantically behind for traction . . . wings poised for flutter-flapping if extra momentum is needed. And if I call them with my patented “chicken call” . . . chick-CHICK-eeeeees (short pause) COME ON . . . they burst into supersonic scurry. It makes me laugh. Every time.


I feel quite sure that if I Googled “chicken treats,” bananas would top the list. Of course, other keepers of farm fowl might surely express other opinions about the chicken palate. And there would probably be some old farmer who would insist that chickens don’t even need treats. But I could, without a doubt, copy and paste some kind of “chickens love bananas” quote from a totally respected source into any intellectual essay I would write about chicken living.


I can state that chickens love bananas with complete confidence. And I can be assured that I am right because others agree with me. And my own life experiences totally back up such a truth. Chickens love bananas. Yours should too. All good farmers feed their chickens bananas.


THIS, my friends, is how heretical teachings creep into the Christian community.


First there is the moment of inspiration . . . revelation.
Then comes the experiential confirmation.
Next the “truth” is sealed with corroborating evidence such as the opinions and experiences of others.
And finally, people are subtly lulled into revelation discipleship by morphing it into a moral imperative.


It happens so very easily. People are looking for inspiration. People are drawn to a supportive, loving community where they can find like-mindedness and like-heartedness. And in a world where tragedy is all too common, people need leaders who are strong and have answers and are passionate.


That’s how cults are born. And that’s how well-meaning churches can get off on a religious tangent. And that’s how precious believers can become confused about Christian living.


The other day I asked my husband, “Exactly what did Jesus purchase for believers at the cross? What does salvation mean for us on a day-to-day basis, here on earth, before the “going to heaven” thing?” This wasn’t a flippant question. I was not looking for a pat answer.


My husband paused for a minute. He knew where the question had come from. A dear friend of ours had just lost their daughter to cancer . . . after years of praying for her healing. Another friend of ours had a daughter who had recently attempted suicide . . . a precious, sweet child who loved the Lord and served Him wholeheartedly. Our own household has been broken and torn from estranged relationships with family members who reject us.


He could have given me an easy answer:
God purchased our freedom from demonic oppression
or our forgiveness of sins
or our health of body, soul, and spirit
or the prosperity to meet all of our physical and financial needs
or the ability to receive revelations into the glories of His grace
or all of the above.


But my husband didn’t say any of that.


He simply said, “God purchased me. All of me. The good and the bad. I belong to Him now. Whatever He wants in my life . . . whatever that looks like . . . that’s what I want. ‘Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect.’ “ (scripture reference: Romans 12:1-2)


No need to start a new movement.
No need to revive an old one.
No need for any deeper revelation.
God bought me.
Now I am His.
His Biblical Truth is my truth.


This is servitude in its richest definition and exaltation in its realest form.

To live in
and with
and by
the mercies and grace and lovingkindness and supernatural enablement
of God.


It is a life that is both unfathomable and utterly simple.
It is a life that can only be pursued by faith as it is completely upheld by God Himself.
It is a life that requires the courage and the tenacity of a bold adventurer . . . and the humility and obedience of a faithful bond-slave.


All God.
And all of me.


I know that when I walk up to the barn this afternoon to bring my chickens their banana treat, they will come running. Would your chickens do the same?? I truly have no idea.


Forget about the bananas.
And the revelations of men.

What really matters is this:
Who owns you?
At what price have you been bought?

I love You, O LORD, my strength.

The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,

My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge;

My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,

And I am saved from my enemies.

Psalm 18:1-3

Beautiful Savior indeed.

Thanksgiving

The most amazing thing about Thanksgiving is that I enjoy it so much. I love the cooking. I love the eating. I love the fellowship of family and friends. And I love the “giving of thanks” that is at the center of it all. Thanksgiving is a lovely celebration. There is something about this year, however, that is really special. I felt it again last night as I left the house to “put the chickens to bed.”

I enjoy my jaunts to the chicken coop each evening. And now that the days are shorter, it is fully dark by the time I walk up to the barn. Last night was gorgeous. The waning full moon, rising above Kirkhaven’s grassy brae, threw random moon-beams across the wet gravel under my feet. A slight breeze ruffled crispy leaves on the maple trees beside my country driveway. Just a hint of wispy fog drifted through the treetops across the ridge. A twinkly, bronze star Betelgeuse, hanging low in the eastern horizon, announced the arrival of my favorite constellation: Orion the Hunter.

It was chilly outside, but not really cold. I was wearing my favorite pink flannel pajamas and wondered if I should have worn a jacket.

The joy that began trickling into my heart as I walked up the hill to the barn was unexplainable. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular.  My day had been fairly unremarkable.

I began to smile. I hummed a favorite hymn.  My steps were light . . . unencumbered.  I stood underneath autumn’s huge night sky and marveled at its tranquility. I thought about going back to the house to get my husband . . . or phone my son . . . or text my daughter-in-law . . . and encourage them to join me outside. It’s probably dorky, but I have done it before. I just hate for others to miss such beauty. But instead, I raised my hands into the cool night air and exclaimed:

“Ohmygosh! Who can I share this with?”

I heard an answer, believe it or not. The question was meant to be rhetorical, but the answer I received was quietly emphatic. A clear, familiar voice spoke softly in the depths of my startled heart:


“Me. Share it with Me.”


All thoughts and emotions settled into an awe-struck stillness as my small East Tennessee farm became a moon-lit sanctuary. I had been invited to share an astoundingly beautiful nighttime walk with the King of the Universe. I hadn't brought a flashlight, so we walked by the light of a million twinkling stars.  Words are not sufficient to describe the wonder I felt.

This year Thanksgiving and Christmas come to Kirkhaven with much celebration. There will be gratitude and joy. There will be decorations all over the house, warm fires at the hearth, and deliciously aromatic goodies baking in the oven. There will be parties and family and friends. We at Kirkhaven are so very, very blessed.

But this year there is something different. There is a fresh breeze of freedom and fellowship here. I am astounded by the calming presence of the Lord Himself. Like He actually wants to walk with us through our rolling meadows and wooded trails. As if He delights to join us in our simple farming chores . . . feeding the chickens . . . tilling the garden soil. It is impossible to feel alone here because He is so very present.

I am becoming more and more convinced, however, that a person cannot experience the rich filling of the presence of God until there is an emptying to make room for Him. If you are full of your own agenda and your own opinions and your own wisdom and your own religiosity and your own well-constructed-well-insulated community of yea-saying friends and family and colleagues . . . then you are full. And a full vessel has no need.

But an empty vessel is very needy. It has such poignant elegance. Unembellished. Unpretentious. It claims ownership of nothing. It is simply waiting. To be filled. To be poured out. And helpless to do neither . . . fully dependent upon the Master’s Hands for everything.

Life doesn’t need fanfare to be exciting. You don’t need religious credentials to experience real encounters with God. And prayers don’t have to be perfectly uttered to be heard.

But you must be empty to be filled.

May the Lord be your treasured guest and ever-present companion this holiday season.

I wait for the Lord, my soul does wait,

And in His Word do I hope.

Psalm 130:5