It Changes Everything

 

20150716_210530The pontoon pulled away from the dock and turned toward the open water where we drifted past brown and pastel cabins tucked into the trees along the shore. Under the influence of the overcast day, that was all there was to see. The sky, typically the star of our evening cruise, offered nothing but dismal grey gruel. Gloomy clouds stacked up overhead, familiar companions for some part of every day of that week.

We were grateful the weather allowed us to be out at all. Between downpours and thunderstorms, electricity-eradicating straight line winds and near-misses with tornadoes, it had been a weird weather week.

Out on the lake,  with its ducks and herons and loons, its reed beds and lily pads, we floated along, satisfied with the knowledge that there were fish below the surface–fish that some of our party hoped to catch the next morning. When my young nephew took the helm, he brought us alongside an island with a fawn on the shore. We watched until it turned and bounded a few feet inland. There, hidden behind a bush, stood its mother. We’d been so busy watching the fawn that we hadn’t noticed her.

Content with our nature sighting on this grey evening and aware that to make it home before that awful hour when the mosquitoes came out en force, my nephew accelerated and turned us toward home.

That’s when we noticed the sky.

Blues and pinks haloed a molten glow, spreading from one side of the sky to the other. Behind us and to both sides the day remained as dingy as when we’d set off, but before us it was vivid and lovely and full of life.

Perspective, I remembered again, changes everything. The fruit of the setting sun had been there and we hadn’t even noticed it. It was behind us as we lamented the grey we cruised into. It was above us as we observed the fawn and the doe.

We didn’t see it because we didn’t look.

Sometimes I don’t see things because I don’t pay attention. Sometimes it’s because I’m looking the wrong direction. Sometimes it’s because they’re still out of my range of vision. What I fail to remember that just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean that it isn’t there.

When I forget this, I lament life’s difficulties the way I despaired the sky.

Sometimes, though, when things aren’t going the way I wish they would, I remember. I remember that there is a time for everything, that almost everything changes, and that the changes begin long before I ever see them.

Because He’s always at work. 

When the woods are thick and the way is uncertain, He’s at work. When life is dry and the soul is parched, He’s at work. He’s always at work.

The way will clear and the river will flow. Sometimes I remember this first, and I am grateful.

Sharing It Changes Everything at  Thought Provoking Thursday and Small Wonders.

Behold, I am doing a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.
Isaiah 43:19

Why Summer Matters

A tiny ball of feline fluff has taken up residence in our garage. She moved in at the invitation of our youngest, herself a petite bundle of boundless energy. Our girlie made the little grey cat a bed, set up a feeding station, and installed a litter box, and then she set up a pup tent for herself. For two weeks she slept in a sleeping bag on a concrete floor because right now her energy is focused on waiting for the arrival of the summer’s kittens.

Kittens don’t always arrive in the long glory days of summer. Sometimes they’re born in September and in September there would be no sleeping on the concrete floor. In July, though, she can afford a few fitful nights. She can sleep late because summer, with its long, school-free days offers up time to her–and to us–as a gift.haybales

September’s song tells us that there’s too much going on, too much need to wake early, ready for school, for dance, for whatever the calendar says is next. Summer sings a different melody, one of space, of simple pleasures, of growth. While it’s a different song, it isn’t always easy.

It takes an effort to, as Emily Freeman says, take the changes of the seasons and apply them to our lives.

Sometimes it seems easier declare an immediate “no” to tents in the garage and  “later” to twilight walks with the family and impromptu conversations on our rock wall with my husband. Sometimes it seems more important to keep on doing All The Usual Things and just try to balance all the summer extras on top. And sometimes, when the end comes–whether it’s the end of summer or a little one’s childhood, I wonder why I feel as though I missed it. Or lost it. Or wasted it.

Summer’s not gone. It’s still offering up long days, warm nights, time in a different form. We can still take the changes of summer and apply them to life, to today and tomorrow.

Why does summer matter to you?

For everything there is a season

Sharing Why Summer Matters at Small Wonders and Thought Provoking Thursday.

Celebrating Spring

Mossy Tree at LeHardy Rapids

Spring is well under way and I’m celebrating. Some of these celebrations are borne from intention while others occur as naturally as breath. They are, in random order:

Color

Green grass and leaves, flowering trees and shrubs are here. They’ve created a feast for my earth-tone weary eyes and I am grateful.

Time

After a long too-busy season, life for our family slowed enough for us to take a deep breath. That same season, known at our house as robotics, may come again. We’re trying to decide whether or not to say “yes” to that and, if so, how we’ll approach it so that we’ll live closer to thrive than survive.

Celebrations

Yes, we’re trying to celebrate celebrating at our house–more joy in simple pleasures. I’m trying to reestablish the habit of using the good stuff because it’s not that much extra effort and they, my family and the others who come to our house, are worth it.

One easy celebration: Saturday morning brunch. Gingerbread for my son. Paper straws, cloth napkins, and proper tea cups for my daughters.

Graduation

I’m not celebrating the fact that my oldest is leaving us; I’ve ticked off (read mourned) lots of lasts since he was tiny. Right now I am celebrating that fact that he’s healthy and strong and ready to move on to the next phase of his life.

Natural Music

I heard my first bird of the season as I walked toward church one Sunday morning and the song lifted a ten pound burden from my soul. Weeks later, the frogs joined in. The warmer the day, the louder they chirp. Natural music gives me hope.

The Table

It’s the season for meats and veggies grilled on the deck. Indoors, this recipe for Carne Asada Nachos in the crock pot has become a versatile staple for our springtime table. Beyond nachos it’s perfect for burrito bowls or wrapped up in a tortilla. A fun morning celebration: a Marmalade Roll, straight from Narnia, or at least from The Unofficial Narnia Cookbook.

And you? What are you celebrating this spring?For everything there is a season

One Step Toward Perspective

It’s early April, and here in the midwest, already spring’s verdant march across the lawn toward the front door is more than a hint or a dream. The bright landscape leaves no question that winter, though it could at any moment clench its frosty fist, has lost its grip. A new season is under way.

Here at Along This Road and in my life, it’s a time of quiet, a silence I’m breaking for a moment to ask about your season. I ask because I believe there is a time and a season for all things and, for me, remembering is one step toward perspective.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

What is it time for in your life?

For everything there is a season

 

 

The Wonder of Winter

Chico Candle There is a time for everything.

I know this. I believe it. The thing is, when a sliver of life overwhelms me, I forget it.

I tend to operate on the assumption that whatever is going on in my life–good or bad, joy or sorrow–will last forever. The seasons, especially as they change, remind me that this is not true. Seasons give me hope. They prompt me to take stock and be grateful. These are the silver linings, the small wonders, the little comforts that have contributed to my sanity in this season of cold, of short days and long nights.

  1. Snow. Just snow. It makes it so much easier to endure the cold.
  2. Darkness. A blanket of comfort.
  3. The fox who regularly treks across our frozen pond, occasionally diving below the snow.
  4. Wood burning in our stove. (And the men who provide it.)
  5. Indoor hot dog and marshmallow roasts. Just for fun.
  6. Sunshine. Especially after long strings of grey and gloomy days.
  7. Snow days. Every single one of them. They were gifts of unexpected time, even–or maybe especially–the ones that pried my grasping fingers off of the Very Important Things that the snow interrupted.
  8. Bananagrams. We play after lunch, after dinner, or when it just seems like a good idea to circle the wagons for a few minutes of lighthearted together time.
  9. Homemade marshmallows. This recipe is simple and delicious. Also, molten when roasted: consume with care.
  10. Crockpot Chicken Wild Rice Soup. So much more manageable to make a quick roux at dinner-time than to begin anything at that weary time of day.
  11. Birdsong. I heard it on Sunday morning, an unmistakable reminder that spring will come.

What comforts or wonders or silver linings has winter brought your way?

For everything there is a season

Sharing this week with the writers at Small Wonders and Thought Provoking Thursday.

Rest Area Closed

Comeawaywithme

Two years ago my family, parents, brother and sister-in-law, nephew and niece, along with the ones who live in my house–the whole tribe—made the drive to our current summer gathering place: Campfire Bay in Minnesota. That was the year that the Minnesota government shut down while it wrangled over the budget.

Minnesota itself remained open, of course, but the interstate rest areas were closed.

We didn’t suffer too much. The gas stations and fast food restaurants along the way filled the gap and provided us and the other interstate travelers a place to stop for a restroom, a drink, or a stretch. What they couldn’t offer a weary traveler was rest.

My family has long history of driving straight through to distant destinations and an equally long history of pulling into a rest area to, well, rest. My dad cat naps and my husband does, too. Our kids have eaten their share of happy meals, but when we’re on the road, they eat food from a cooler so they can run off some energy and rest their backsides. We know how to use a rest area.

DSC_0138_3But sometimes I live like the rest areas are closed.

Sometimes it’s because I forget that I have a choice.

Sometimes it’s habit. Or pride. Or convenience. Or stubbornness.

It doesn’t matter why. It looks the same. Barely stopping at the signs. Not looking up from the whatever Important Thing I am doing when my husband or children come in to tell me something and having no idea what they said when they’ve gone. Haphazard meals consumed and cleared away before any real conversation occurs. Disconnected living.

Whether I notice or not, eventually someone—or something—will let me know. The quality of my relationships will deteriorate. Or my sanity. Or even my health. My husband will mention it. Or my children. Or even my dad.

DSC_0128_2

And then I have to make a decision: Continue to barrel down the road at full speed or slow down and pull off so that I’m ready for the next stretch of road.

It feels easy to stay in the habit of living like the rest areas are closed—to settle for fast food and fast stops and fast lives. It isn’t easy to pull off and rest—to linger at the table, look at people’s faces, read the book or play the game.

Sometimes it feels more spiritual to keep on going, to ignore the signs and just move, but I’m not certain that it is. Jesus sent the disciples out to preach and cast out demons and heal the sick. They returned and told him all about it. His response was not to send them right out immediately. He said, “Come away by yourselves to a secluded place and rest awhile,” and they got in a boat and went away. (from Mark 6:31-32)

The rest seemed short. Interrupted. The crowd saw where they were going and beat them to the destination.

But maybe the destination wasn’t the rest. Maybe the rest was the pause along the way.

My family has aged into a busy season, one which makes it hard to pull off. I’ve asked them to think about what rest means to them and how we can live in such a way that they find it, even in the midst. I’m looking forward to hearing from them.

How about you? What does rest mean to you? What is one way you can pull off for a short rest along the way?

Sharing this week at Unforced Rhythms.