Lessons in Patience

This morning, our internet service was not working. When this happens, I usually type my post into my computer files and wait until later to put it on the blog. But not this morning. Our computer hard-drive started crashing. I tried to use my son's computer, only to find that the internet service was on then off, on then off, on then off. It was just as well, because he needed his computer for some other things anyway.

Finally, I decided to go to the library, where I can show my card and get one hour of computer time. I showed my card and was assigned a computer. In twenty minutes, #6 would be mine for one hour. I checked with the librarian to be sure of the procedures. As long as I logged on within five minutes of my time, I held my reservation. She did not advise me to get on the apparently empty #6 before my assigned time, since the last person might return to use it. I checked out some books, and came back. When my appointment time arrived, I sat down at the computer and wiped off the keyboard. Then a man walked up to me and showed me his receipt -- which stated that #6 was his.

He was clearly rattled by the revelation that we had two receipts for the same spot at the same time. I let him have the computer. I went back to the librarian, who insisted that I must have missed my window of time to log on #6. I showed her the time. This was impossible, since at that moment, standing at her desk, the time was only one minute past my window. She gave me more instructions, which contradicted the ones I had received 20 minutes ago. For one thing, she said that I could and should get on the computer before my five-minute window if no one was there. I must have done something wrong. She insisted that I must have been mistaken about the time. Nothing else was feasible.

It was still, at that juncture, only one minute past my sign-in window for #6.

She gave me another computer reservation, #12, which would be available in -- you guessed it -- 20 minutes. I could have computer #12 for one hour. At a complete loss for words, I numbly took the receipt I was offered and sat down to wait.

I simply could not think of a single thing to say.

It's becoming clear that I must make other arrangements for my writing and for the blog. I hope you will wait with me while I work this out. In the meantime, I will accept this set of lessons -- for they can be lessons, if I let them -- lessons in patience.

Are you receiving some lessons in patience this week?

On Giving

I confess it here. Sometimes I have helped others reluctantly. I did it because it seemed like the right thing to do or because I couldn't in good conscience ignore the need, or because I am committed to loving my neighbor. I didn't always like the person I helped. Sometimes I didn't enjoy helping them. Some of my neighbors were unable to appreciate my efforts, or they turned on me in anger and resentment, because they were so unhappy in general with themselves or their lives.

There have been a few times when I have almost abandoned my commitment to love others. Out of sheer exhaustion, deep hurt, or just a conviction that this isn't a good way for me to live, I have withdrawn. The life of giving does not always bring joy -- at least, not immediately. People can view genuine caring as an opportunity, nothing more, and take advantage of those who are givers. Sadly, we need to minister with wisdom and discernment.

This is why, every once in a while, God opens a curtain that is normally drawn across our view and lets us see how our choices influence the future. I think this helps us continue to reach beyond serving our own needs. One such instance happened for me recently.

Over the last two years, I have helped a friend develop the relationship with God that she had always longed for. There were times when this was challenging and tiring for both of us. Most of the credit for her transformation belongs with her, and her Lord. She has worked hard to grow into her new life and been relentless in her pursuit of resolving issues from her past. God has met her efforts with gracious assistance. To my great joy, she "crossed over to the other side," as she put it.

Then during the past six months, she appeared in the midst of our upheaval to help me and to provide for my needs. I could see, with my own eyes, how well and strong she had grown. I could see, too, her desire to give to others.

Recently, she told me that our two years together has been the crucial element which has acted as a catalyst for her inner healing and growth. Now, out of her newfound strength and wholeness, she is planning to make a difference for others in substantial ways. This is a lifelong commitment, born out of maturity and a deeper perspective. It's clear that she is poised to make a large impact on the people around her.

I said to my husband, "Isn't this wonderful?"

Yes, wonderful.

Cherish the moments when you are given a vision of the difference you have made. Let it soak in. Rejoice. This is not the good life. It's the best life.

Your giving reaches out through your world and makes possible what might not have ever been. But that's not all. It reaches beyond your time and space, into the lives of others you will never meet and into the future, into a time after your time, even into eternity.

I believe that nothing we give is ever really lost. God sees and uses it all. Mostly, we have to accept this by faith. But once in a while, we are allowed to see it, if we will.

Perspective

I have been reading passages about Jesus calming the storm while he was in the boat with the disciples and his parables about the kingdom of God. Jesus' way of doing things and his view of events and spiritual matters was radically different. The disciples were bewildered, perplexed, confused, awed, even frightened, as they listened to Him and watched Him do His work. His perspective was strange to them. Often, they had to ask Him what it all meant. But His perspective was true. He always spoke the truth, lived the truth, and modeled the truth.

I find it fascinating that the disciples, who clearly admired and loved him, who had given up all to follow him and learn from him, couldn't understand him. Most of all, it was his perspective on things that baffled them. They had never considered looking at life that way.

We have the advantage of reading the stories about Jesus hundreds of years later. Theologians and pastors help us interpret what they mean. The events of his life seem inevitable and understandable to us. We think, Of course Jesus was going to help that man. That's because He's Jesus! How blind could those people be? Don't they get it? We shake our head at the stubborness of those who resisted Him and argued with Him.

If we had been there, on the spot, it would not have seemed so clear. And we are not that different now. When God moves in certain ways in our lives, we are bewildered. I don't understand what you are doing here, God. Why did you let that happen? We are perplexed about what we should do, what choice we should make. We pray for guidance. We pray for peace about our situation. We are much like the disciples in the boat when storms arrive. Lord, don't you see what's happening here? Save us!

Even after years of being a Christian and reading my Bible, truth can be like this for me -- as strange and perplexing, as bewildering and exhilarating and frightening as the life I lead. I am frequently trying to find the way of truth through the events of my life. It isn't easy. I usually discover that God's perspective is entirely different from mine. I am like the disciples. What do you mean, Lord? How can that be right? I don't understand.

The greatest thing that happens when I spend time alone in my private world and in conversation with the Lord is that my perspective changes. It's not the problems I solve or the peace I discover or the beauty that fills my soul, although I treasure every gift that comes to me there. It's that I am, gradually over time, learning to see what is happening around me with new eyes. This miracle of new sight, invisible to others, comes to me simply by being in the quiet and in the presence of the Lord, and having many little conversations. It's my contact with the quiet and with the One who is truth that helps me understand myself and my life. I am changed because I have spent time there, alone with Him. It will change how I view everything and how I respond to it. Because of this, I will live a life that otherwise would not have been possible.

After years of seeing this principle work itself out in my life, I know that I don't have to gain immediate answers or signs from being alone with God. Just being there, and responding to whatever I find, will accomplish what is needed. It will change me. It will give me new sight. And usually the things I carry back with me into my little life will not be the things I expected. God often surprises me. This past week, I have been spending time in this way. I am weary and unable to concentrate well. I do not say much. I do not have any impressions that help me solve my problems. It's very quiet, very still. But I am not concerned that nothing is happening. I know that something is. I just can't see it yet. I know that, as the days go by, I will regain my ability to concentrate in the quiet and I will find rich treasures in that place. For now, I am simply going there and being there.

My advice to you, as you try to spend time in solitude and quiet with the Lord, is to be patient. Over time, you will be changed, and it will be good. Do what you can now, and your soul will be enlarged to take on greater things and to experience deeper connections. For now, choose to be alone every day for a few minutes and to reflect, with Him by your side. You will be glad you did.

Traveling Desk

I have a traveling desk. I have packed my private world inside it. I can take it with me anywhere, and find myself in its compartments. Here is my journal, my Bible, the books I am reading, important papers, lists of things to do, favorite pens and pencils, stamps, address book, even a bit of stationery for writing notes. Larger and heavier equipment, such as a stapler, electric pencil sharpener, and computer, won't fit into it. But it's sufficient to keep me together, at least in my head. I can use it to have my Bible study and personal reading and writing, organize the household, keep in touch with other people, and manage the finances. It even holds maps for moments when I lose my bearings.

What is it? An attache case that I found at Staples a year ago. These carrying cases are sturdy and attractive, and sell at very reasonable prices. With their multiple inner compartments, they can hold a surprising amount. They are designed to be able to carry laptops, but that also makes them the ideal size for folders, books, and notebooks. I use the traveling desk whenever I am going to be out for any period of time. It tucks into the car without taking up much room. If you are on the go a lot with your kids, you can use it to stay organized, read, have Bible study, pay bills, balance the checkbook, make the grocery list, and write thank-you notes -- all while waiting in your car. I have even used mine over the last 6 months for a private escape to the bookstore and to have my quiet time in the guest bedroom of our Pennsylvania house, since it was the only quiet place I could find.

For a vibrant life, under pressure and high demands, it's important to have a rich, well-defined private world. You need a place to make that happen. But this can be very difficult to accomplish. That's where our problem often lies.

If you are having trouble staying organized, remembering things, or having a personal Bible study, it may be because you are on the move all day. When we don't have a single, traditional desk from which we work, and we wear many hats, it's hard to keep track of all the different aspects of our lives. While it is very helpful to have a quiet room in the house for reading, writing, and thinking, for many of us, that doesn't work as well as it might, for we find that we aren't spending much time there. If you are anything like me, your best ideas may come to you while you are not sitting still -- at the kitchen sink, in the grocery store, while chatting with a friend.

A traveling desk may be just the thing. If you get in the habit of keeping it with you, then it can go from the school room to the kitchen to the bedroom and out the door to the ball field or the library. You'll have to experiment a bit with it to make it your own. Some things which might be essential to me could be clutter for you. I tend to keep mine in a central place when I am at home, near the kitchen or the computer. Then I take it with me if I am going to be out for more than an hour or two. For now, it sits by my bed. How comforting it is to have it with me during this time of upheaval. As we move into the future, whatever it holds, the traveling desk will go with me like a faithful friend.

In the Arena

“It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is no effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

-Teddy Roosevelt

I was ravaged last night by visions of what my life might have been, other choices I might have made.

Who am I really? Am I the composed and purposeful servant I intend to be, or am I like a wild thing running through the night with mysterious desires and unspeakable longings? There are blisters on my soul from the heat of it all.

I awoke to a storm this morning. Thunder rolled over the mountains under a lavender bowl. It suited me. Better to have the outside match the inside. I want wind and fire and thrashing. I am Beethoven composing his ninth symphony; I am Patrick Henry crying for liberty or death; I am Winston Churchill declaring he will fight anywhere; I am Juliet making foolish plans with Romeo.

I have been in a hard battle these recent weeks, and it's not over yet. The mystery of being human lies in our complexity. We don't always know what is within us, and we don't always understand ourselves. Maturing is, above all, a discovery process. I must be patient and let the truth unfold at its own pace. I must remember that understanding is not all that is required. I must become the sort of person who can understand.

In our walk with God, we tend to emphasize understanding. But we need more than that. What is irreplaceable is for us to become the sort of persons through whom God's love and power flow freely, so that we may love as Jesus loved and endure as Jesus endured. How do we become the sort of people for whom this is possible?

This is the essential foundation for personal freedom and maturity: As we live honestly with ourselves and God, understanding is given. For then we live close to the One who is light and truth to us. We should not be deceived into thinking that we must only understand and that understanding will make us right. This leads us to spend our days seeking to understand, yet never coming to the understanding we seek, remaining at the threshold of the life we long for, catching glimpses of it, but seeing it as a man sees a dream after waking. This is what happens to us when we expect understanding to arrive independently of our other choices. Wisdom was never designed to be given to us in isolation. It becomes ours as we love, as we live honestly, as we endure.

Teddy Roosevelt's man in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, is better for having tried with all his might, for having lived fully, for having fought earnestly, for having erred and come short again and again. He has lived honestly before God and men. He has given his all and held nothing back. Regardless of the outcome, he has been changed, and he will live a different life. He knows himself as he never did before. He does not live with the reproach upon his soul that he never accepted the challenge to engage the battle before him.

I want to live with all my might. I want to fight well. Whether I fight like a wild thing running through the night, or like a composed and purposeful servant, let it never be said of me that I didn't enter the battle.

Passivity, lack of discipline, cynicism, and the refusal to be involved are all defenses against being hurt or exposed. They are not good for me. I will never find the life I long for if I walk in them. In the long struggle to be real and to live rightly, I need to be regularly reminded to choose well. It is essential to love, to endure, to strive with all my might, and to be honest. As I go forth into the day, clothed in these things, understanding will be given to me.

Doing What I Can

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.

- Teddy Roosevelt

I nearly had a meltdown yesterday. I don't know exactly why. Probably, it was just a case of exhaustion, and a little too much of everything. In the midst of a conversation, I lost my composure. My husband was with me at the time. I was trying to explain why I felt so much pressure to do way too much, and suddenly I felt dizzy. He turned off the lights and left the room to let me rest and calm down. That seemed like the best thing to do with me.

Honestly, I don't know what would have been best. But after a few minutes, I decided that if I could accomplish my original goals for the day, I could eliminate some of the pressure. So I went back to work. This was definitely a personal victory for me. Instead of sitting and crying about how hard my life has been lately, I focused on doing something positive and productive. Rather than concentrating on the things I could not change -- like my situation and my emotions, I put my energy toward the one thing I could do: the next urgent task.

Amazingly, it helped. I found I was able to do the next little job, then the next one, then the next one, and so on, until the necessary tasks were complete. After that, I felt much calmer. It wasn't a pretty way to climb out of a near-breakdown, but it was effective. Doing what I could was empowering and gave me a focus that kept me from coming apart.

At eight o'clock in the evening, after my work was done, I left the house. I drove a few minutes to a nearby grocery, which is unlike any other I have ever known. The Fresh Market sits unassumingly on a busy road at the edge of town. When I stepped in the door, the classical music swirled around me, along with delightful smells of flowers by the door, fine coffee and tea, pungent spices, fresh peaches, and strawberries. I sampled the gourmet coffee in one of the little cups provided. I ground two scoops of Columbian and Kona beans and put them in brown and gold bags to carry home with me. I gazed upon and sniffed deeply of the fruits and vegetables. I picked up some things on sale -- snow peas, green leaf lettuce, green beans. I found a dark German bread made with whole grain rye and molasses. I collected some spices I had been missing lately which are packaged in little bags for $2 or less. I lingered over the freshly made cheeses, granola, and baked delights. I lost myself in the aisles full of whole grains and dried beans and teas. I really felt, for a few minutes, as though I had stepped into another world. I lost track of the clock. Suddenly, it was near closing time, and one of the cashiers kindly offered to check me out. Ah, yes. Time to go back. I drove back through the summer twilight with a apricot sky overhead.

The stress of the day had melted off. Does that mean I am shallow? I hope not. I'm banking on the idea that it means nothing was really wrong with me or with my life. The recent weeks have been very hard, and I am human -- with all of the wonder, all of the weaknesses and limitations, all of the strength and resilience that implies. I had a bad moment, but then I recovered. Like grass that has been trampled and flattened, but under the sun, and with a little time, springs back up for another day, I awoke this morning to the towhee singing about drinking tea and the oak leaves dancing in a cool breeze, and now I am writing for you again.

Content

"...for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.

I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need.

I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. "

(Philippians 4:11-13, NASB)

How far I am from this.

But I am learning, slowly and painfully learning that when God is here, it is home, and home is where I rest my head, when I rest it in His loving hands.

I don't understand what God is doing in our lives right now. I'm not sure how to respond. Every door in the future is shut. There is no further instruction, no clear guidance, no specific steps to take.

What to do when God doesn't speak? I find myself wondering if we did something wrong. Why was the mission we thought we were on abruptly ended? We feel like we have been put on the shelf, out of the way, taken out of the action, without any explanation.

I know that many people struggle to "hear" from God about what they should be doing. That has not been my challenge for a long time. As a Christian, I have nearly always known what God would have me do. It was dramatically obvious to me, and the conviction that I should do the right thing was nearly overpowering.

I can't even describe in words what it's like for me to not know what I should be doing. I keep saying that I feel lost.

Yes, I can follow God by reading my Bible, praying, and serving the person next to me. There are a wealth of opportunities to obey, moment by moment, the instructions that have been left to us in the scriptures. I'm grateful for this guidance. Surely I need it, more than I know. But everything else is shrouded in a dense fog. I just can't see past my own two feet, and I have no idea what to do next.

It is perhaps the oddest feeling I have ever experienced.

In the midst of this, Paul's words resonate in my soul. Wise and seasoned, he knew what he needed. He knew how to keep it simple. He knew the source of his assurance. He could do this. He could do it because God would give him the strength he needed.

Confidence

"Cursed is the one who trusts in man,
who depends on flesh for his strength
and whose heart turns away from the Lord.
He will be like a bush in the wastelands;
he will not see prosperity when it comes.
He will dwell in the parched places of the desert,
in a salt land where no one lives.

"But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him.
He will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
It's leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit."

(Jeremiah 17: 5-7, NIV)

I am not making this up.

My Bible fell open to this passage in my lap this morning with my first cup of coffee in hand and the birds singing around me and my eyes still working to focus. I had plans to read the Gospels. I do not ever open the book to see which page faces me and look there for what God might say to me. But the words caught me. I could go no further.

Which one am I? The man trusting in flesh? Or the man whose confidence is in the Lord? Just how far will my confidence be tested?

After he left Egypt, Moses wandered for the rest of his life. He never had another home. And he was in the center of God's will. For those who claim he didn't mind, I must point out that the Lord's punishment for the one time Moses abused His power was to forbid him from entering the Promised Land (Numbers 20).

No home. Not even at the end.

Keep in mind that Moses wandered in the desert, under extreme conditions. Searing heat. Shifting dunes. Sandstorms. Snakes. Sleeping on the ground under a tent. For the rest of his life. That was his destination: the desert, the tent, the heat, the parched earth moving under his feet. I am fascinated by his strength, his endurance, his faithfulness. In a lifetime of drought, his leaves were always green.

How did he do it?

For those who contend that Moses was able to endure because of all that he had seen -- the miracles, the deliverance from Egypt, the glory of the Presence -- I remind you of the other Israelites who saw the same miracles, the same deliverance, the same glory. They were not inspired to be faithful. They seemed to spend their days alternating between grudging compliance, grumbling, sinning, and planning to kill somebody. God finally decided to start over with a new generation. So Moses had to wander for two lifetimes, rather than one.

"For who provoked Him when they had heard? Indeed, did not all those who came out of Egypt led by Moses? And with whom was He angry for forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose bodies fell in the wilderness? And to whom did He swear that they should not enter His rest, but to those who were disobedient? And so we see that they were not able to enter because of unbelief." (Hebrews 3: 16, NASB)

The book of Hebrews emphasizes that Moses did all of it by faith.

Let me say it here: faith isn't easy.

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (11:1)

Try staking your life on it. I guarantee that you will sweat. That's why the writer of Hebrews adds: "you have need of endurance." (10:36)

I am grateful that this same writer did not leave me all alone to cope with my challenges. He also assures me that my personal resolve and whatever courage I can muster is not all that I have. "Let us therefore draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and may find grace to help in time of need." (4:16)

There's that word again: confidence. It helps me to think of faith as confidence, properly placed.

Moses was a man whose confidence rested firmly upon the Lord . He looked there for the answer to his need. Whenever he faced a crisis, a calamity, a concern, he turned to God and waited for the answer. It's a remarkably simple way to live. I suppose, for most of us, it seems a little foolish at first glance. I mean, shouldn't we decide for ourselves what seems best and call God in for the desperate moments? But no, Moses knew a secret. We are all, always dependent upon grace and desperate for mercy. Most of us only know it once in a while, but the underlying reality is ever present with us, even when we are blind to it. Moses saw this. He lived in it. He chose to place his confidence in God, moment by moment.

That's how he did it.

Sanctuary

I am sitting by an open screen door in the mountains of North Carolina. Sunlight sends shafts of golden warmth that split the morning cool across the patio. The birds are curious about me. They fly near, but not too close, to watch me drink coffee from my cup and eat my toast. A towhee sings, "Drink your tea-ee-ee," over and over, like a faithful chant that consecrates the tall, cathedral oaks stretching to the sky.

After the bustle and frenetic activity of the last few weeks, the quiet seems almost like too much. But I know it's good.

What is it about green earth and blue sky that heals our souls?

I am in need of healing, and direction. Here, in this temporary sanctuary, I have time to breathe. Time to walk old paths up mountainsides and down valleys. Time to listen to the wind and watch summer storms roll over me. Time to search for a future.

We didn't choose this, lovely though it is. We have tried our hardest, over the last six months, to move immediately into a productive future. But the doors we knocked on never opened. Now we find ourselves in a temporary dwelling place. If someone asks me what God is doing in our lives, I have no answer. I simply don't know. But I know He's here -- here with us, among the little birds chanting their hymns in cathedral trees, against the green earth and the blue sky.

For now, that's enough.

My Oatmeal Tastes Like Soap

My oatmeal tastes like soap, because the only pan I now have to make it in has been soaked in suds a little too long. My suitcase is sitting in my bathtub, because that's the only place it seems to fit. Every day now, I wear a shirt I can throw in the trash before I go to bed. My leg boasts a baseball sized bruise that makes me look like a weekend athlete. When I sit down, I put more ice on it. The state of my kitchen can be summed up in one image: my husband is putting his favorite soy-ginger salad dressing on cold, leftover noodles. I didn't even try to stop him. I just said, Looks good. He said, This dressing is a great one to have on hand in this situation. I nodded.

My hair hasn't seen a styling brush for a week. Not that it matters, we have had so much rain, it would have just curled up and flown in every direction anyway -- which is what it is happily doing now. I have been blending in a bit of styling cream, to tame it a tad, and then pulling it back from my face with a bandana. I figure that will keep a lid on things, so to speak. My fashion choices consist of considering which color bandana I will use -- lavender, red, pink, or blue? Then I put on a wee bit of make-up. I figure all that color helps me, because I am tired, and being tired makes me look old and pale. Probably the combination of my ministrations, in reality, makes me look pretty silly, but I haven't time to think about it too much.

My husband says I look beautiful. Husbands can be wonderful, and at just the right time, too.

We are almost done. Tomorrow morning we have an appointment to walk through the house with our potential buyer and then sign the papers that end it all for us. I think it will feel like a glad thing to just get into the car and drive. Then, later, after I have had some sleep and I can realize it all, I will laugh and thank God and weep from relief. There's no time for that now. Every moment that passes is a precious penny spent. Which reminds me about the collection I am taking up. Every coin we find in the house goes into a jar. After we sign the papers, I plan to roll the coins and have a party.

Until then, we will polish off the noodles and oatmeal.

________________________________________

A Special Note to My Readers: Thanks for your comments this week. I decided to leave the bird feeders here. This morning I am going outside to fill them with sunflower seeds.

My husband is taking down the computer today. I don't know exactly what will happen this week with my posts. I hope you will still stop by every day to see if I was able to write for you, and, if you don't see anything, say a prayer for us.

For the Birds

As we pack up, I am trying to decide what to do about the birds.

Joshua led us into birding 15 years ago. Since then, we've nearly always had something for birds in our yard, wherever we lived. Now we won't have a permanent residence for a period of time, and we are packing up this one. We have a number of bird houses on the property, four bird feeders, two bird baths, and a wall fountain.

The birds are at home here in our woods. Several nesting pairs have moved in. It suddenly hit me this morning that they aren't moving. Is it a good idea to take everything down? I know they are just birds, but something about it doesn't seem right.

I have decided to take the wall fountain with us, since it was on the porch. We will leave the bird baths behind. I still have some bird seed -- that can stay in the garage with the peat moss. I think that will be okay. I have a feeling that our new owners like the birding idea, because they love the yard, just as it is.

I wonder if I should leave the feeders up or if I should pack them and take them with us. It doesn't make much sense to just take one or two feeders. No one in the family built them, and they don't have any sentimental value other than our use of them for a number of years. The birdhouses, however, were built by my husband and son. They are nailed to the trees outside. I think we should probably leave them here. I did give one birdhouse of that set, which was not yet mounted outside, to Josh as a keepsake.

Should I keep any of these things for posterity and for our new home (which may be a couple of years in the future), or should I leave them as a blessing for the birds? What do you think?

Porch Paradise

This morning I said good-bye to my porch.

We have a long porch across the front of our house. The floor is made of wide, stained wood boards. White trim encloses it. Sitting there, I look out at at hardwood trees, pines, and ferns. I have seen a lot of wildlife from the porch -- deer, woodpeckers, wild turkeys, rabbits, hawks, black squirrels, bluebirds, phoebes, even a turtle. For several summers, a doe has used our yard as a safe place to leave her twin fawns while she searches for food. They are wary, but not alarmed, when we watch from our porch. We have a bench, some chairs, a rocker and various tables scattered around so that having "a cuppa" and a chat on the porch is inviting. It's a lovely place, a retreat, but not fussy in any way.

I purchased an assortment of pots on clearance at Home Depot and Lowe's. I filled them with inexpensive perennials and annuals. We had a small wall fountain already. I cleaned it up and set it on some canyon stone tiles next to the rocker. Suddenly, we were enjoying a little piece of paradise. Going to the porch was like taking a mini-vacation.

Last year, my husband built flower boxes that fit on the railings, and I filled them with flowers that added to the sense of being enclosed in a garden. We listen to classical music from a small, portable CD player. In the evenings, I light candles and citronella lamps. We can watch the sun set, enjoy dinner, have dessert, talk about things.

Container gardens are simply arrangements of pots filled with plants. Generally, they are placed around seating areas. You can have an entire "garden" built with these containers. The big idea that most people have about them is that they are labor intensive. I have found the opposite: container gardening on a porch is perfect for the homeschooling mother in the summer. First of all, there is no heavy labor. No rocks to move, no earth to till, no weeds to pull, no edging to build. Just put the dirt and the plants into the pot. Second, there is nearly no maintenance. Weeds do not grow in, deer and rabbits do not harvest, slugs do not devour plants that are up on porches. If you have a problem with bugs, you can buy a general insecticide at Lowes or Home Depot in a spray bottle for a few dollars. Apply it to the plants once a month. I do have some scissors that I use to clip away spent flowers and leaves once a week. But that's relaxing work, not heavy labor. Some people are concerned about the cost of container gardening. Let me be honest, it does cost a little more than buying a packet of seeds or a tray of seedlings. However, that extra cost depends largely upon your shopping. It doesn't have to be expensive. Better Homes and Gardens carries a line of plastic pots at Walmart that are very attractive. I have also found fabulous deals on sale at Home Depot and wonderful terra-cotta, clay pots at Lowes which are made in Italy and are very economical. Once you have bought the pots, you can use them for years. Just refresh them with some new peat in the spring and plant again.

The main thing about the containers is to stick with a theme -- a style or a range of hues that work together. Sage greens and browns, grays and blues, or clay pots are examples. This makes your arrangements look like they have been deliberately designed.

It's important to pick plants that are easy to grow and to keep the pots from drying out. Slightly moist, but not soggy, is the ideal. I water my plants every other day in hot weather, and once a week in rainy or cool weather. Some of my favorites choices for my pots are: petunias, impatients, alyssum, and English ivy. These plants need different amounts of light. When you choose and place your plants, be sure the light is right for the plant. Put shade plants in the shade and sun-lovers in the sun. If a plant seems to be less than exuberant, it could be that you don't have it in the right place. Petunias and alyssum need at least two hours of direct sunshine. The intense colors of the trumpet-shaped petunias contrast nicely with the lacey, delicate sprays of the alyssum. Impatients love a deep shady porch. Their pale colors glow in the shade. All of these flowers will produce an abundance of blooms until frost. I make my own potting mix by using 1 part peat moss to 2 parts of cheap potting soil. I also gleaned some great ideas from library books on container gardens and added a few perennials to my pots for variety. Small seedlings, which are perfect for pots, cost $2-3 each at Lowes.

I have to admit to you that I wasn't very scientific about the placement of my pots. I just kept adding more and moving them around until I felt like I had enough of them in the right places. It took me about a week to do this, but it was a great escape from the pressures of life and very restorative. I have no regrets about undertaking a container garden, and I now happily recommend it to weary mothers.

To the naysayers, I answer "ahem". Don't knock it 'til you've tried it.

A Pathway in the Mind

"As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives."

— Henry David Thoreau

I like this quote by Thoreau. I am thinking about how true it is.

Our moving schedule was compacted dramatically for me by a set of unexpected developments. I have less time to pack up my household than I thought. I never envisioned a scenario like this one and was completely unprepared.

When presented with the choices, I weighed all the pros and cons and considered the aspects of our circumstances. I picked an early date that seemed to be the soonest one that was also reasonable, even though it was a little later than our buyer would have preferred. Now, I wonder, what was I thinking? Didn't I realize how much stuff we have?

I've worked feverishly for two days. Everything we own is being sorted into three categories: long-term storage; short-term storage; and keep-close-at-hand. It's not packing like any I have done before. It's complicated. Members of the family must be consulted. We have to do all of this ourselves. Other people can't make these decisions. Try as I might, the clock seems to be moving faster than I can. It now seems like a fool's folly to get it all done in a week. The house had been pared down, yes, for showing. It's not like we are starting at the beginning. But still, we've a long way to go, and the time I figured we had is now shorter than I ever guessed it might be.

During challenges like this, the quality of the thoughts I have habitually chosen can either give me wings or chain me to the ground. I have to choose, nearly every hour, to be patient and to have faith. It would be so easy to give into anxiety or a sense of despair. This is a time for courage, for hope, for love, and yes, for patience.

Have you ever noticed how these crises catch us unexpectedly? We know they might happen. But we are usually not expecting them in the way they come, or at the time they arrive. For me, there is always a sense that I have only whatever I've already walked out every day. No time to get ready. That was yesterday. This is today. Anything I don't have, I will just do without.

And it's a reminder that I need to build depth into my character and live wisely, making the most of my time. For I know neither the hour, nor the day, of my testing.

Rocks in My Attic

You know how hot an attic can get on a summer day.

We tried to plan the emptying of our attic so that the temperature up there was bearable. We picked a day that was forecast to be cool and rainy. Wouldn't you know? -- it never rained. The sun came out. The air turned sultry, heavy, damp, very warm. Still no rain.

It wasn't too bad. The attic wasn't an oven, but we didn't want to linger either. Sweat rolled down faces and trickled down skin beneath shirts, as we lugged one box after another. I handed things to my husband, who handed them to Josh, who set them on the upstairs landing. Two more sets of similar arrangements carried our stuff to the garage, into a rental truck, and finally to storage.

We were in the middle of it all, in the steamy air. I handed a box to my husband and announced it's contents, just like I had done for all the others.

"Rocks. They're heavy."

"What?" He looked at me like I must be joking.

"Rocks. For Ben."

"WHAT?"

I nodded.

"No way. You mean we're moving rocks?"

Yes, way. I explained. "Ben wants to keep them. There's another box of 'em here, too."

My dear husband, having been father and superintendent for a very creative homeschool, was used to odd things happening in our household. He learned to never throw anything away. It might look like trash, but you never know -- it could be a science experiment. This time, it took him a minute to adjust. But after staring at me and blinking, he did. Then he cheerfully shrugged and hauled the rocks with me.

A couple of weeks ago, I had called Ben to ask him if we should get rid of the rocks.

His response: "Mom, I can't even believe you are asking me that." Okay. I just smiled.

In the elementary grades, we decided to embark on a geology unit study. We studied all the types of rocks and minerals, their crystal formations and characteristics, and how they were created. We drew rocks, read about rocks, looked at pictures of rocks. But by this time, I had grown wiser. I knew that my hands-on learner would only engage by experiencing rocks in a three-dimensional way. I used an old pair of jeans to make "rock bags" and bought small hammers, chisels, and plastic goggles at the hardware store. We started going outdoors to find rocks. Ben was in a state of bliss with his little hammer and chisel and bag. He never tired of going up one more hill or around one more corner just to see what he could find. For weeks, we went out for rocks every day we could.

Some interesting things happened which spurred us on and made it all the more intriguing. A lake at a nearby state park was drained; Indian arrowheads were there. We discovered a piece of a geode in the lake bottom. Friends who lived twenty minutes away found fossils of prehistoric sea creatures in their creek bed. At their invitation, we came to find our own and carry them home. We found black obsidian on one of our hunts -- shiny, polished smooth as glass. Ben called it black gold. You can imagine the excitement.

I also started picking up sheets of rock and mineral specimens: tiny samples of rocks and minerals glued to a sheet of thin cardbord with each name printed below the corresponding specimen. I found polished stones in gift stores and museums. I added these to our growing collection. Soon Ben and Josh could name by sight an impressive list of rocks, minerals, and gems. They knew their characteristics, their unique properties, how they were used, and how they might be identified in the ground. Josh enjoyed all of this, but for Ben this was a passionate pursuit. He treasured our rocks. He often talked about how he could not wait to see real gems.

That's why we arranged to see the Gems and Minerals Collection at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History in Pittsburg. When we walked into the gems and minerals room, Ben could barely contain his excitement. There were the very gems he had only seen pictures of and had envisioned. There they were, in living reality, sparkling under the lights in their glass boxes. This was really a dream come true. The Carnegie collection is stunning, no doubt about that. Any student of geology would be impressed with the vast array and the sheer volume, size, and beauty of the specimens on display. But Ben was enthralled, transfixed, suspended in wonder.

He said, "I will never forget this day."

Years later, he still remembers the delight and the wonder of discovery. A friend recently told me that Ben, now a college student, picks up rocks when he is out for a walk and carries them back with him.

I remember, too. That's why I have rocks in my attic.

Joy on the Path

The sale process for our house is moving forward with glitches and hiccups. Not a straight path, exactly, but a sale process nonetheless. For that, I'm thankful.

We're in the thick of the packing up of our home. Our life is being folded up and sealed in brown boxes, stacked high, safely secured in storage. Right now my head is mostly full of what to put in the next box, what to store for a longer period, what to take with me now, and what will fit in the car.

As to the future, we don't know specifics. We have ideas and scenarios, all carefully researched. But the concrete nuts and bolts are not here with us yet. We will be staying with family in the interim period.

I have realized that the transition itself is a place. It's the place where I live. It's a kind of transient world that has its own characteristics, comforts, advantages, and annoyances. This is definitely adventure, although I can't say it's the type that I prefer. And there is joy on the path. I have to remember to look for it and to savor it.

But that's always true, isn't it? Joy is a choice. We have to look for it and choose to enter into the experience of it. We can shut it out, shun it, or stuff it in a closet along with things we might do some day. One thing I have learned, if we wait for the right time to build a life of joy, it will not happen. A lot of joy is simply accepting what we are being given now and taking the time to let it soak into our souls.

It's something I will be trying to do, even in my challenging situation. I will be encouraging you to do it, too. I know that without joy, most of us will eventually give up on the good things we've set out to do for our families. We weren't designed for a life without joy, and we can only run so far, fight so hard, endure so much without it, until we drop in our tracks like a man who has gone without water for too long.

I hope that I will drink deeply of the joy offered to me each day. I need to notice the beauty around me. It helps me to hug the people I love and remember to enjoy them. I ought to read, each day I can, something that restores my soul. And every once in a while, I should close my eyes and smell the fresh air. This earth, in spite of all of the pain and danger and disappointments, is still a wonderful place. I are blessed to be here and take it all in.

A Coffee Bath

I recently saw a photograph of a beauty treatment that is used in Japan. It's a special application designed to create beautiful skin and enhance overall health. The person receiving the treatment lies in a large pool of roasted coffee beans. Every part of the body is covered except the face. Apparently, some Japanese people believe that the skin can absorb nutrients from the coffee beans which are very beneficial. I have known for a long time that coffee beans contain a lot of antioxidants -- they are beans, after all. Being the coffee lover that I am, I am happy to see people enjoying coffee in almost any form. But I must say that this picture looks odd. There are three people with happy faces lying in a vast pool of dark brown beans while a woman stands on the beans and moves them around with a broom.

I am not planning to try it.

However, I did have my very own coffee bath yesterday. It was so restorative that I am planning to do it again. I might even do it every day for a month.

We had been packing and moving boxes for several days. Our garage was full of boxes. We rented a mid-sized truck and filled it to the brim with boxes. We put the boxes in a storage unit. This was a lot of work, tiring work. By the end, I was sweaty, sticky, dirty, sore, and exhausted. Next, my husband and oldest son put our piano in the truck and drove to his sister's house several hours away, leaving me with some quiet time.

The only thing I wanted was some hot water and soap. And some coffee.

I made a pot of rich, strong coffee and poured it into a thermos. I poured my soy milk into a little pitcher and heated it in the microwave. I put both of these on a tray with a pretty cup. I brought the tray upstairs to the bathroom. I filled the tub with hot water, a handful of baking soda, and a generous supply of bubble bath. I put on some classical music. I carried my coffee to the side of the tub and climbed in.

Heaven on earth.

There I soaked under a mountain of bubbles with my hair piled on top of my head and my coffee cup under my chin and my eyes closed. In my mind, I placed each of my annoyances and worries and responsibilities on the window sill beside me. I would not think about them while I was here. The trees outside swayed in the wind. A storm was blowing in. But it didn't matter. Right now, my world was just clean, hot water and bubbles and beautiful music and coffee.

When, sometime later, I climbed out of the tub, I was smiling.

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My favorite bath products: I enjoy Village Naturals Bath Shoppe foaming milk bath, which retails for just over $3 at Walmart. It creates lots of bubbles that last and is gentler on my skin than many of the more expensive brands in boutique stores. I prefer "White Tea" in the summer months and "Lavender" in chilly weather. Since there is already perfume in the bubble bath, I use a plain, unscented soap like Ivory to scrub off the dirt. To create extra silky water, I add a handful of baking soda to the bath. For moisturizing afterwards, I like to use Skin So Soft Bath Oil by Avon or baby oil. I put the baby oil in a little plastic spray bottle that I found in the travel supplies section of the store. That lets me use a light spritz or two, which is just the right amount.

A Summer Morning Walk

On Monday, my husband and I decided to take a walk along the road leading to Dingman Falls. It's a beautiful stroll in an Appalachian ravine. The woods rise steeply on either side and fill the air with their piney scent. A bustling creek spills it's brisk waters over the rocks and winds around, following and skirting underneath the road. Birds are busy with their nests in early June and punctuate the air with their rapid calls. They sing as they work.

The road leads to two waterfalls which are connected with a boardwalk. The first, Silver Thread, is a gossamer stream that sends it's refreshing waters down a very narrow, very straight ravine. It's hard to believe it's not man-made. The rocks split off at sharp right angles which look like they must have been cut by a machine. Further on lies Dingman Falls, the second largest in Pennsylvania. It's broad rush down a long incline that sprays mist over admirers on the boardwalk below. Adventurous tourists can climb the stairway and path that lead up the ravine and around to the top of the falls.

The woods surrounding them are filled with a wide variety of plants and animals. We have been surprised many times by what we found there. Monday was no exception. When we walk along the narrow, winding road, we find it necessary to occasionally stand by the side as a car passes. We were standing still at one of these moments when I looked down and saw columbines, very much like the picture above. Right at my feet. I would have missed them entirely, had we not stopped. Then I noticed that they danced all the way up the side of the ravine, as though they were following their own meandering path. A path of columbines. Like this. Here in the woods, growing wild. I used to plant them in my garden. Next to them were bluets, whose lavender petals served as a backdrop that made the columbines' yellow and tangerine hues glow. I was captivated.

Since then, I keep thinking of them. I thought of them yesterday as we cleared out our attic and carried dusty boxes to the garage. I thought of them as I ate supper. I remembered them as I lay in bed and listened the wind outside. I could still seeing them dancing against the dark green woods with the bluets beside them.

Sojourner

My husband lost his job in January. Our house has been on the market since March. We have a buyer, and a purchase process which is scheduled to end in 3 1/2 weeks. We're grateful for this.

We know we can't stay in the area where we now live, and continuing to maintain a home here just doesn't make sense. We've prayed for a buyer, and it appears that our prayers have been answered. For that, we thank God.

We've tried to make something of the future, too. We have created some possible scenarios, along with research for the practical aspects. My husband has applied for jobs near the place where we think we should relocate. He has even had an interview. In spite of all this effort, we do not have anything definite and concrete in our immediate future.

Not knowing where we will live makes the packing very tricky. Mostly, I have put it off until now in hopes that I would have more information. This morning I had a revelation: I will have to pack without knowing anything. My future is a blank wall. Nothing is going to appear on it right now. And I am out of time.

This is harder than you might think.

It reminds me of Abraham in the Bible. It amazes me how he set out on faith, knowing so little of what was ahead. His instructions were to leave and " go to the land I will show you." (Genesis 12:1) How many of us could do that?

Now I have to do it. I am not noble or brave or excited about my character development. I will probably feel annoyed at well-meaning friends and relatives who try to encourage me with suggestions that this is for my good and that this is God setting us up for the future.

I am just ordinary. And I am in a hard place.

I need every single lesson I learned in homeschooling. I have used them all in the last five months, and it isn't over, yet. I'm grateful for what I have learned, grateful for God's provision, grateful for His ever-present strength and help. But all of these things do not change the simple fact that I must now take apart my home and have none, with no definite prospects for the future. I must do the very hard thing. I must do it.

Stay with me, and we will find joy in the journey, even in the midst of doing hard things. I know the joy is there, somewhere, probably where I least expect it. I know that "goodness and mercy will follow me, all the days of my life." (Psalm 25) I also know that the goodness and mercy and joy will be given to me as I go forward into the blankness, into the fog that obscures my vision.

It will not be given to me before I begin; it will become mine once I am on the path that stretches out in front of me.

So today, I will start packing. I promise.

The Morning After

The morning after I saw the exhibit on Galileo, I awoke to find myself so dizzy that I couldn't get out of bed. We were in Philadelphia for a conference at a nice hotel. About once a year, I experience this kind of dizziness, so I knew I wasn't in any medical danger. Even so, having one of these spells in a hotel room miles from home was unsettling.

I managed, after a period of gradual shifting, to get upright and order room service coffee. A newspaper arrived with it. The headlines talked of more trouble: swine flu outbreaks, Chrysler's bankruptcy, a driver deliberately killing people at a parade, more economic woes. It was too much. I closed my eyes, partly to stop reading, partly to help control the dizziness.

For four months now, my husband has been unemployed. The newspaper industry he has worked for is collapsing. Our house is for sale. I don't know what will happen next. I don't know where my home will be. My little world has been turned upside down.

That morning, alone in my hotel room, with my coffee warming my hand and sound of the traffic in the streets outside, I closed my eyes. I felt raw, vulnerable, and overwhelmed.

What will happen to us? How will I cope?

I don't know.

For those few moments, my life felt like a car sliding on an icy highway, unmanageable and out of control. Traveling at a time like this was as foolish as trying to drive through an ice storm.

I had a decision to make. I could think about what might happen, or I could focus on what I know is true. Then, in the light of that truth, I could do the next helpful thing. It wasn't easy, but I chose the second option. I decided that I didn't know, after all, that any of the calamities I imagined were going to happen to us. This cleared the air. I found, by degrees, as I drank my coffee and slowly dressed and walked out the door, that the dizziness receded and I was able to get through the day.

As I went, a passage from the Bible solemnly echoed through my thoughts. Jesus told his disciples, "In this world you will have trouble. But be at peace, I have overcome the world."

Like a song, the words wrapped themselves around the aching place in my mind and carried me forward with their comfort, into the day, into the fearful things, into the unknown.

I had been given a truth that was truer than all of the things I read in the newspaper, truer than all of the things I experience. Like a great star in the night sky, truth shines brightest when the sky is dark and devoid of any light from men.

I am not alone. I never have been. Not for one minute. If I receive him, God receives me and goes with me. He has overcome the world and the things in the world.

With him, I can live in the world and not be overcome by it.