The spinning rear tractor wheel sat 12 inches deep in the putrid soil. I was stuck.  Endeavoring to dump freshly-cut grass I had driven onto a pile of supposedly dry grass clippings only to sink into sludge. I added dry straw. No go. My daughter hopped on to drive while I pushed. The wheel spun faster descending down into the pit. Black goo coated the tire. How was I going to finish mowing before Mother's day?

My neighbor came over, "Becky I think I could pull your tractor out if you could find a rope the size of my finger."

Rummaging through the garage I grabbed a tow rope. He suggested I find the hitch in the rear of the tractor, finding it I slid the S ring through the hole handing him the other end of the rope.  We connected the tractors. His advice continued, "Put your mower blade up. Gently excel backwards. We don't want to have the tractors run into one another! Straighten your front wheel." After following each recommendation my tractor moved leaving the sinking slime.

Smiling I yelled, "Thanks Tim!"

I continued mowing thinking, "Tim is a good neighbor."

We've been neighbors for fifteen years, I wondered, "Have I been a good neighbor?"

I recalled listening to the story of Tim's son's first successful bear hunt. I remembered praying for Tim after his sister's death, yet there was an inward nagging question, "Have I been a good neighbor?"

I recalled our miniature schnauzer creeping up on Tim early in the morning. Tim had bent down to pick up the morning paper, our twelve pound dog slunk to the edge of the property line letting out an alarming snarling bark.  Tim stood up quickly, grasping his chest, inhaling deep. My dog wasn't neighborly.

I no longer let the schnauzer out at the same time Tim gets the paper.

Surprise it's Jesus

Prayed today. Jesus picked me up as a father carries a sleepy toddler, tucking me into bed, giving me a peck on the cheek while pulling the sheets all the way up to my chin.  Refreshed by a short nap, we sat down at a small round table for conversation and tea. As we were talking two armored soilders appeared with gigantic swords fighting behind Jesus. They weren't invited to the tea party! It was supposed to be Jesus and me. What kind of peace am I to have if a sword fight is going to begin? Clang. Clash. Loud metal racket invaded the scene. I wondered,"Are the fighters here to kill me?" Who are the fighters? Are they angels fighting demons? Exactly what's up with the sword fight?

As I pondered the unexpected scene, one of the swords pierced through towards me, sticking in the back of Jesus. I thought,"Woa that blow is deadly." The words came, "Becky, I've already died for you."

The knife in the back didn't cause concern to Jesus. Jesus nudged his shoulders up deflecting the sword. Ignoring the fighters, he gazed at me as a mother snuggles with her new born baby.

 The clanging swords continued.

A Secret Garden

Psst. I have a secret. Not a bad creepy secret. Its the type of secret you can't wait to tell a best friend. Or better yet a secret you can't wait to have them experience. Thursday I took a hike down to Shenk's Ferry Wildflower Preserve. Every spring, before the tree leaves unfold, the blooms open for a few short weeks giving bursts of varied colors from jungle green, muted pinks, to deep blue. For flower labelers the Trillium, Trout Lilly, Dutchman Breeches, Virginia Bluebells are flourishing. Invitingly beautiful, I sought my hand at clicking the camera. The flower on the left is a Trout Lilly, named for its speckled trout-like leaf. This little flower is easily overlooked due to its varied movement. No it doesn't run away! In the morning and evening the blossom closes tightly. Late morning it begins the show of magenta stamen, sort of like sticking out a red tongue, by afternoon the blossom curls completely backward.

Trout Lilly

Next up are some fiddle head ferns, I've heard black bears enjoy this as  a tasty treat. Basically string bean-ish, I've eaten the less hairy variety or perhaps one could say, I've chewed and chewed on it. Eventually it was swallowed.  

Fiddle Head Ferns

Every time I walk in the Garden new things are learned, for fellow explorers eagerly share, "Did you see the red Trillium by the stream?"

(Nope, never seen red ones, only white.)

"How about the Hepaticus, named due to its liver shaped leaves, by the tree trunk?"

(Yep! I know exactly where to find it.)

At the end of the mile is a tunnel with cool water running just waiting to cool off your feet. The Secret is out.

Dutchman Breeches named for its similarity to pants on a clothes line.

Trillium

Tunnel ending

Hungry Jesus

Telling a fig tree to die isn't logical. Why throw power around by killing a tree that wasn't in season to have fruit?

What's the deal?

In the Bible there is a story about Jesus going to the temple.  He looks around, its late, afterward the author notes: Jesus is hungry! Checking out a fruitless fig tree for nourishment, finding leaves but no fruit Jesus says, "May no one ever eat fruit from you again."


Don't mess with hungry Jesus.

Continuing the narrative: Jesus is at the Jerusalem temple driving out people, not just any people but the buyers and the sellers, turning over tables of the merchants and the dove benches. Hungry Jesus is peeved. "My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations."  Jesus' big vision of all nations called to prayer seems to be short circuited, right smack in Jerusalem.

Intertwining the two stories birthed mental fruit flies. What is going on here?

Doves, an inexpensive cleansing sin or burnt offering, were to aid the poor in connecting to God. Strangers and the poor are not to be a source of monetary gain, yet it was happening. Unfaithful trading practices built walls away from prayer, away from God.

Jesus deals physically with this problem.  In my humanity I wonder: Could it be Jesus was sweating through His God call of becoming the final dove and lamb sacrifice?  Wouldn't that call of God cause one to exercise through authority, exerting muscle power? Jesus' call upsets the unfruitful basket by rejecting the current practices to God's law through the utilization of his own body.

The fruit tree withers from the roots up, dove benches are turned over.

 Jesus withered a corrupt system from the roots up. Dead fig tree becomes a symbol. Jesus will be dying too, withering on a cross. Bringing completion to the sacrificial system. Jesus the dove and lamb sacrifice gives complete always and forever cleansing.  This sacrifice brings always and forever forgiveness, not just a little bit. But everything needed according to God! Jesus died and after three days lived again. Time to eat some good fruit.


^{From the New Testament book of Hebrews:} As a priest, Christ made a single sacrifice for sins, and that was it! Then he sat down right beside God and waited for his enemies to cave in. It was a perfect sacrifice by a perfect person to perfect some very imperfect people. By that single offering, he did everything that needed to be done for everyone who takes part in the purifying process. The Holy Spirit confirms this: 

   This new plan I'm making with Israel
      isn't going to be written on paper,
      isn't going to be chiseled in stone;
   This time "I'm writing out the plan in them,
      carving it on the lining of their hearts."
He concludes,
   I'll forever wipe the slate clean of their sins.^{Once sins are taken care of for good, there's no longer any need to offer sacrifices for them.} 

When will I see?

I saw my dad the other day during a cycling session in the YMCA, it's one of those 45 minute classes where you sit or stand on a stationary bike burning 500 calories as the instructor says, "Add resistance, go! Make the hill.  Down the hill. Take it to 35 mph. Keep the pace. Stand up for 15, in the saddle for 15, up for 15. Add on!"

Are you sweating yet?

As a class we were climbing a hill of resistance, each of us with muscles twitching, (<<< ahem >>> my legs were burning!) I closed my eyes. In my mind I saw a finish line. Surprising me my dad was waiting, standing tall at 6 foot 4. I heard him yelling for me, "Becky! You can do it." Beside him was Aunt Florence and Aunt Eleanor, even his Mom, my Grandma was there, right behind the yellow ribbon stretching over the finish line.

My eyes fixed on them. A multitude was joining in the encouragement. Spinning faster my eyes still shut, sweat dripping,  I wondered, "What are you all doing here? Am I going to die while in spinning class?" I reached the top of the hill thinking, "I made it!"

Opening my eyes vanished the cheering section. Yet encouragement remained.

The episode reminded me of a paragraph from the New Testament:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,  fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Can't wait to see them again!

Find Meaning.

"Find your meaning in Me." The statement came knocking or maybe dancing into my consciousness as I sat in the Menno Haven chapel service. I repeated it, "Find your meaning in Me."

Noting the depth of the message, I gave credit to God asking, "How am I supposed to find meaning in You, God?"

The conversation continued, "Follow me. I will teach you."

Chapel service over, I wheeled a few residents back to their rooms, popping into a room to see my friend Vern.  We talked about life, God, leaving home. I listened as he reminisced. For me, patience was encouraged as I wait for a formal ministry occupation.  We prayed together. Walking down the hall I noted a nurse I hadn't seen in several months. Her long blonde hair was gone.

I stopped to ask, "How are you?"

She mentioned her diagnosis, "Cancer, but my pet-scan came back clear yesterday." I listened, feeling compassion as she reminisced of the last several months of chemo, pain, surprise even adding humor. Together we cheered the good news.

Back home, while cooking supper, I stopped to ponder, "How will You teach me God?" 

A night and a day passed. While watching Brian Regan on Youtube and applying make-up, (yes, the computer was in the bathroom, balanced on the sink) another phrase came. "You will inspire others. I will inspire you. As I inspire you, you inspire others."

Simple. Sounds simple. I'm going to go get inspired. My questions continue. After getting inspired what occurs next? What inspirational packages are to be created?  Do I box it into a meal? Or bundle it into a Haitian visit? Who are my people to inspire?

Another night. Another day. I wait.

Irresponsible Giving?

Crazy. She seemed crazy. Parking my car at the Toledo, Ohio rest station next to hers was a mistake. She was frantically rummaging through her bags in her car, tossing a few of them out her car door unto the pavement.

Fixing his eyes on her, my passenger questioned, "What's going on here?"

I glanced over, inwardly groaning, "I don't want to get involved. Desiring a quick journey to Michigan and back to Pennsylvania before the blizzard arrived was my goal. Periodic visibility issues due to frozen wiper fluid was enough, no more problems needed.

However, I dutifully walked behind my car to ask, "Are you okay?"

"No! No. I am not okay." She quickly responded. "Where are you going? I may need to ride with you! I don't have my wallet, my license, my I.D." Holding up a neatly folded 20$ she added, "All I have is my emergency 20."

Inwardly my groans grew. I didn't want to add crazy lady to my passenger list. We had 400 more miles of driving.

Inside the restroom, I continued the inner pout, "God I don't want to get involved. I want to get home! You know my needs. Never-the-less please give me your heart."

My mind recalled weeks before giving 8$  to a man in Puerto Rico and being called a fool for believing the ridiculous story. Certainly we must be wise with our money. 

Walking back to the car, my passenger asked,"Would a 20 help her?

Visiting from Haiti, believing he's God's agent, he lives life watching for giving opportunities.  I impatiently respond, " I don't know. I am trying to discern."

Returning to the ram-shackled car, I walked around surveying the inside. Is there a wallet hidden from view? She opened the back hatch: bursting soda cans, and a dog cage. No wallet.

Out of my mouth comes, "Tell you what, I will fill up your car with gas." We drive over to the filling station. Filling up her car, I pay the bill.  She puts a pad of paper in my hand. "Please write your address."

Joyless, I imagine my assistance aiding her in some hidden addiction.

Driving away onto the highway I mention to my passenger, "She needs $25 more dollars to make it home." I fold a 5 and a 20 into my coat pocket.

Hours later we enter Pennsylvania stopping at the another station and eating a light supper. Guess who we see as soon as we exit the building?

Yep! It's the crazy lady with her $20 bill swinging in her hand she exclaims excitedly, "I'm going to take my emergency 20 and see how far I can go! I just got off my cell with my sister. She can't believe there are people like you! I must have known you in another life."

My 6'6" passenger gazed at her with a booming bass voice he said, "My sister." Putting his hand on my shoulder he continued, "My dear sister here is a servant of The Most High God.  She gives to you in the name of Jesus." 

Out of my pocket I take the $20 and put it into her hand, "You are going to need this in order to make it home."

Cringing I ponder have I gone nuts? Why am I so naive? I just gave a stranger over $55!

Several days later a letter from New Jersey arrives. Inside were two crisp $50 bills with a note, "even though I am unemployed I wanted to send this thank you for your help."

Finally joy entered my soul as crazy laughter rang out of my mouth.

(Thanks Harry Jarrett for title.)

Scripture Musings

Psalm 119 has been read. I waded through adoration of the law, precepts and statutes. I found myself desiring to skip all the repetition going straight to love, awe and joy. My mind began to form a picture of the poet of the Psalm 119. On his face protrudes a schnozzle with one brown hairy mole on the tip, his chiseled chin has a continual frown. When he speaks his sand paper skinned hand lifts a long pale finger pointing, "I hate wrong paths." The beating of his chest accentuates the message.

My imagination isn't always friendly.

My mind recalled a Haitian friend talking at breakfast last week. I listened as he spoke of his mother's poisoning. With no one being held accountable for her death. Where are you, Justice?

For Justice I contact Jesus. He is always doing what pleases Papa God. I reach out touching his hand amidst his smooth skin I note large ragged scarred bumps. He smiles, while pointing to a cross saying, "For you."

"But God demonstrated his own love for us while we were still sinners, Christ died for us," (Romans 5:8). Jesus, The Law understood.

Prayer: Papa God who gives love in the most unusual ways. You know my confusion between attending to law and walking your grace. Please bring healing, hope and wisdom.

Providing God

"O Lord my God, when I, in awesome wonder," rang out in the languages of English, Creole and French. We all stood at night,  Haitians and Americans,  in a roofless building celebrating God. The sparkling stars appeared to touch the earth. A sense of beautiful Presence came among us. A tear fell on my face and as a plea rose from my heart," O God please, help me never forget this moment."

Many moments later (add twenty five years), I was driving my visiting Haitian friend 490 miles for a weekend to enable him to preach in a small congregation of Briton, Michigan. As I was planning the weekend, thoughts invaded my mind, "Are you sure you should go that far? Is it wise to travel to Michigan in January? You may get caught in a snow storm on route 80. In the midst of doubt we traveled through Pennsylvania, and Ohio to Michigan.

 Upon reaching our destination, I took a walk. Breathing in the crisp 14 degree night air, I noted the rising moonbeams simulating dappled diamonds scattered in the snow. With deep breaths, I thanked God for the trip inhaling the beauty.

The next morning during church I listened as Pastor Laguerre shared of being tenth out of twelve children, raised in a family in which some days he had no rice to eat, his patched tattered clothing left him feeling shamed as he was called names by classmates even having a teacher asking him, "Budlaire what do you have on your feet? Go home until you can find proper shoes!" Poverty of heart and mind grew within him.

He shared how one day an American couple {aka my husband and I} traveled to the Haitian village he called home, spending much time with him, playing with him, teaching him songs about Jesus, telling about a God who loved enough to become poor.  The American man Jack while packing to return to the states called,"Budliare come here." Budlaire ran over.

Jack threw Budlaire Laguerre some type of cloth football. "Merci, Thank you," said Budlaire as he caught it.  He unfolded it to find a pair of pants. Pants with no patches. Pants with no holes. Poverty of heart began to lift. Sauntering around his home town donning his new pants he smiled. He held his head up as he walked to school.  Was shame fleeing?

God had provided for him. Now twenty five years later he reconnected to Jack and I through facebook, he was a pastor, preacher, husband, and father ministering to the poor in Haiti.  Seeking to lift the poverty of heart for an entire nation.

Completing his preaching he sat down. The Michigan pastor stood announcing, " Let's end the service with singing, "How Great Thou Art."

Tears formed as I sang recalling the Haitian night sky, "O Lord my God when I in awesome wonder consider all the universe displayed."

Sheltered

Put the nativity scene back in the box with thick foam around Jesus, the wise-men, and all the sheep. Hoping the foam will protect the figurines from cracks, breaks and mice bites. Part of me desired crawling into the box beside baby Jesus. I questioned, "God do you ever put safety foam around us?"

Questions continued. Or were my answers questions?  "Did Jesus live in foam?"

 Undocumented foreigner while living in Egypt was that little baby Jesus. Government-authorized-killing in his birth place with hopes he would be among the dead was that little baby Jesus. Did all of his male cousins die? Before the age of three a portion of his life was drama, pain and sorrow. He himself lived. For a while.

What about the wise-men?

After hanging out worshiping Jesus giving away their precious gifts they were warned in a dream. "Don't go home the way you came. Find another way. " Major route changes! No click away. Were they costly? Not much to report except they obeyed their dreams, accommodating their plans. Was it annoying?    

At least the sheep can live in foam. Except they keep getting sacrificed for food and washing away sin.

Perhaps real life doesn't require being foam bound. A tune forms from scripture:


 Psalm 121

 1 I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
   where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the LORD,
   the Maker of heaven and earth.

 3 He will not let your foot slip—
   he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
   will neither slumber nor sleep.

 5 The LORD watches over you—
   the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
6 the sun will not harm you by day,
   nor the moon by night.

 7 The LORD will keep you from all harm—
   he will watch over your life;
8 the LORD will watch over your coming and going
   both now and forevermore.

May this Israeli melody include me too.