Category: notes from the farm

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“Come”

 

” Come.”

You are calling out to me, Jesus,

“Come.” How often I have heard it in the recesses of my mind.

“Come.”

But it doesn’t ring out above the other voices, those loud and demanding voices.  Yours is soft and gentle, and I have to stop and listen carefully to hear it:

“Come.”

Instead, I listen to the call that demands productivity: “Get it done, now.”

Rather than lying in bed and listening to that still, small voice first thing in the morning, I sleep in until Judd awakes, and then dash to get dressed, make the bed, and get the coffee pot going.

And you say “Come.”

 

Waiting for the coffee, I look out the kitchen window and see the chickens pacing in the coop waiting to be released, the donkey and goat standing at the gate expectantly watching the kitchen window for a glimpse of movement. And they say, “Come.”

I must do chores . . . now.

I also know that on the other side of the door to the garage there is a cat, sitting on his haunches, staring at the door and listening carefully to my footsteps inside the house. As I open the door to the garage, Tom jumps up and walks me to his dish. I give him a pat on the head, feed him, and go out to the pen.

And, instead of worshiping while I minister to these, my pets, my dear charges,  I am hurrying. Why? The next thing is waiting to be done. “Be productive” is the voice I hear.

And you, standing in the shadows, softly say, “Come.”

But now, Jesus, other voices drown out your sweet voice.

Because we are anxious to hear what is happening in the world., we eat our breakfast in front of the television.

I know you are in ultimate control of the world’s situation and I want to see what you are doing. That is my rationale for going back again and again to those voices.

But the news is delivered in anxiety-producing verbiage. A devastating, catastrophic storm is approaching the western coast of Florida. Russia is threatening nuclear war.  North Korea is sending up intercontinental ballistic missiles. The entire world is suffering and in turmoil: floods, fires, starvation, and civil unrest.

And godlessness. I hear the values You have tried to teach us being trampled by an ungodly culture.

While I listen to those voices, your voice is crowded out and I am a bit like Peter. You say to come, but I am watching the waves of this unsettled world. So I lose the comfort of your voice and your calming presence and the waves begin to flood over my soul.

And more voices are calling. Those voices hit my ears, invade my space, control my thoughts, compel me to listen.

I remember a dream I had years ago:

………………………………………………………………………………………………

There are two ways to reach the rocky road that leads to the pasture. One is through the barnyard which usually means going through several gates; the other is around the top of the barn, past the double sliding doors, along the roof of the old stable, through a wooded area, and upward to the open pasture.

At that time I had been busy and was stuck in the mundane existence of daily life. My world had become smaller, duller, and ordinary. No great inspiration compelled me to do my daily prayer walk or even expect my regular quiet time to inspire me. I was experiencing a gray world, one of those times when life was just Boring.

Then I took a walk.

I had decided to take the trail past the top of the barn.

The same old, gray world met my senses. I walked past the top of the barn, past the doors, and through the gate.

However, as I began the steep climb to the pasture, my gaze fell upon something I had never seen here before: A lush, ivy-covered hillside had replaced the rocky soil of the forest. Hidden in a crevice was a low, stone grotto. The air I breathed was soft and perfumed.

At the side of the trail, a white-robed figure emerged and quietly walked toward me, stretching out his hands. Though I had never seen him before, I instantly recognized him. He was loving, though somehow fierce; inviting, yet not safe; gentle, yet strong.

I stopped, amazed at what I saw. My eyes filled with tears, my heart with shame. His soft voice cut into my soul: “Yes, Nancy, I have been waiting here for you to come for a long time.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The shock woke me from my dream. I lay in the darkened bedroom in a mixture of awe and worship. “I wait,” he said, “sometimes in surprising places to remind you that I am always here. Always. . . if you open your eyes to see.”

To this day, as I walk past the bend in the path and look at the wooded hillside,I sometimes look for that grotto and that stranger. I remind myself that, even though I can’t see Him with my eyes, He is there. He is here. He is waiting and He calls “Come.”

Os Guinness uses the phrase a world without windows to describe today’s culture that has denied the supernatural. Only what we can see, taste, and feel with our senses is real. And when that world is harsh, gray, or painful, it is all we have.

My life was charged with Reality in the next few days, weeks, and months after that dream. I had had the kind of encounter that wakens the soul in expectation.

However, I also move and have my being in that world without windows, and it is easy to fall back into a dazed existence, one where I feel no need for God in any area of my life. I grow blind, once again, to the world that Gerard Manly Hopkins so aptly describes as “charged with the grandeur of God.”

Today, I am not suffering from dullness or boredom. Just the opposite. I am filled with creeping, lurking anxiety. I am burdened. My soul is burdened. I need rest.

Jesus, You say, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Yes, Jesus, I am weary. I need the rest only You can give. Rest for my soul.

The old song “Just as I am,” the one we used to sing for sinners, is ringing in my heart. Well, I am a sinner. And I come, just as I am. Weary, needing to learn more of You. And I won’t wait because I know You are patiently waiting to teach me, to fill me with the peace that only you can offer.

Just as I am and waiting not, I come.

”https://youtu.be/HZV5fwmqsI0

 

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“Here All the Time.”

There are two ways to reach the rocky road that leads to the pasture. One is through the barnyard which usually means going through several gates; the other is around the top of the barn, past the double sliding doors, along the roof of the old stable, through a wooded area, and upward to the open pasture.

I had been busy and was stuck in the mundane existence of daily life. My world had become smaller, duller, and ordinary. No great inspiration compelled me to do my daily prayer walk or even expect my regular quiet time to inspire me. I was experiencing a gray world, one of those times when life was just Boring.

Then I took a walk.

I had decided to take the trail past the top of the barn.

The same old, gray world met my senses.

However, rounding the stable walls, my gaze fell upon something I had never seen here before: A lush, ivy-covered hillside had replaced the rocky soil of the forest. Hidden in a crevice was a low, stone grotto. The air I breathed was soft and perfumed.

At the side of the trail, a white-robed figure emerged and quietly walked toward me, stretching out his hands. Though I had never seen him before, I instantly recognized him. He was loving, though somehow fierce; inviting, yet not safe; gentle, yet strong.

I stopped and dropped my head. My eyes filled with tears, my heart with shame. His soft voice cut into my soul: “Yes, Nancy, I have been waiting here for you for a long time.”

The shock woke me from my dream. I lay in the darkened bedroom in a mixture of awe and worship. “I wait,” he said, “sometimes in surprising places to remind you that I am always here. Always. . . if you open your eyes to see.”

Os Guinness uses the phrase a world without windows to describe today’s culture that has denied the supernatural. Only what we can see, taste, and feel with our senses is real. And when that world is harsh, gray, or painful, it is all we have.

My life was charged with Reality in the next few days, weeks, and months after that dream. I had had the kind of encounter that wakens the soul in expectation.

However, I also move and have my being in that world without windows, and it is easy to fall back into a dazed existence, one where I feel no need for God in any area of my life. I grow blind, once again, to the world that Gerard Manly Hopkins so aptly describes as “charged with the grandeur of God”! (see https://www.bartleby.com/122/7.html)

These days, as I walk past the bend in the path and look at the wooded hillside, I sometimes look for that grotto and that stranger. I remind myself that, even though I can’t see Him with my eyes, He is there. He is here. He is waiting for me to see.

God, show me the Real beyond the walls of this world. I want to know that you are here, invading my world with your Reality and power.

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A Divided House

I have two chickens and two cats. The chickens hang together; not surprisingly, the cats do not. Whenever I hear hisses and growling from the garage, I know Bob has probably invaded Missy’s space. Or, sometimes, it is after he has intentionally stalked her and jumped out from the bushes as she walked by. Bob is having fun; Missy is never amused.

But, in general, my little farm is quite the “racially” mixed environment. The duck, the goat, the chickens, and the donkey move about the barnyard in a happy little community.

When I go to the barnyard, I will be greeted by the whole community:  one duck,  two chickens, a donkey, and a goat. We usually walk together as I open the gate and join the menagerie. We may go down to the pasture gate, where I check the fences,  or they follow me to the hen house to gather eggs. It pleasures me to  spend this time with them.  I love harmony.

Yesterday, when I opened the door to the nesting box in the chicken coop, I was greeted by another creature who had attempted to join our little community. When I opened the door to the nesting area and peeked in to see if there were eggs in the nest.

What I found was a large black snake snugly coiled in the closest nest. Its tummy was full of eggs, hewas content and had no intention of leaving. For those of you who know my propensity to take in all strays, no, I did not name it and invite it to stay. Finding an aluminum pole on the roof of the little shed, and after a wrestling match with the stick and the visitor, I  dismissed Mr. Snake from the pen. Hanging from the pole before being flung to the wind, his long black length dotted by oval shapes.

Yet, with all of the activity going on, my little menagerie simply watched, not in the least dismayed.

Did they understand the situation? Aren’t animals in general skittish when they see a snake? Did the chickens not realize that snake was consuming their eggs?

Ah, yes, of course. I was there. They trusted me. I was in charge and had handled the situation. They did not blame each other for the snake’s existence in their midst, although it could have been avoided, I suppose, if they had been more astute about protecting their own environment. But that is just my own reading of the situation.

I love peace, community, trust, encouragement. Thriving  on it, I become distraught when the community begins to fall apart because of disharmony.

Sadly, in our Christian community, we have become so divided that we are unable to trust or encourage each other. Although we have a common Caretaker, we act as though we are in control. We appear to think that one side will get rid of the Snake, while the other side is feeding it, depending upon which side is RIGHT.

And, yet, the truth is that we all desire to be right, we all want the snake to be gone. But we can’t agree on where the snake is or how to get rid of it.

Is this not where the Caretaker comes in? He knows where the evil is and how to get rid of it.

So, what do we barnyard occupants do? What is our weapon? Do we continue to act like my cats? Or do we join hands in PRAYER to our Creator to give us the wisdom (James 1:5) to understand, to give us the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22) to work together, and faith (Hebrews 11:1) to believe that our Caretaker can take care of this world that he has  created.

 

 

 

 

 

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Why Would I Leave the CHURCH?

A better question might be: Could I leave the Church? This imperfect, sometimes questioning, sometimes unloving, always searching, yet redeemed soul. Could I be free to leave the Church

No. I have been sealed by the Spirit, bought by the blood of Christ, adopted into the Body of Christ which IS the Church.

And, God help me, why would I want to leave?

I have just finished reading Searching For Sunday; loving, leaving, and finding the church. The author has recently left this world in a very sudden and tragic illness leaving behind two little ones and a devoted husband.

As I read, I learned to love the searching and cynical, but honest and compelling young woman.  Her struggles led her down paths in those early years of questioning that I wish I could have walked with her. I, too, had questions. I was not as intelligent as she was, but I desperately wanted to know things that baffled my mind.

So how is it that we ended up taking diverse paths?

I recently asked dear friends who have been walking and talking through a myriad of books with me if they would like to tackle Rachel’s book. We were completing God Space and it was time to be thinking of our next focus. The choices were Os Guinness’ book, Impossible People, or Searching for Sunday. The gals chose the former and, instead, gave me the assignment of reading the latter and giving them a synopsis.

So, here I am, trying to understand the heart of a progressive and influential young woman, distinguish my own thoughts from hers, understand her influence, and, at the same time, blend that into our purpose as a group: How do we interface with our culture in a redeeming lifestyle?

Rachel is not the only one I have learned to love who has taken divergent paths from mine. I long to find the common ground. I must stay with the biblical interpretation that has formed the core of my beliefs. I will explain this in later blogs.

Meanwhile, what does it look like to stay connected with those I love? I have a current barnyard illustration:

Recently I bought a goat from my grandson, Joshua, to be a companion to Donk, my lonely donkey. Buck-the-goat is a handsome, but small little guy.  Prior to his arrival, I had been gifted with a white duck who had instantly been rejected by my two red hens.

Within a matter of a couple days, I noticed a strange bonding had occurred. The white duck, Jemima, had attached herself to Buck. Her white little body now walks in tandem with a somewhat larger brown body. No matter where Buck goes, she goes with him . . . except when the brown body jumps up on the three-and-a-half foot stack of tile that is his “goat perch.”

Jemima settles at the base of the stack and patiently waits for Buck to return to terra firma where they can once again walk in tandem. I can hear her saying, “I can’t go there with you, but I will wait for a time when we can find common ground again.”

I guess that is what I am saying to my friends who have gone to a place in their thinking that I cannot go: “I can’t go there with you, but I will look for the times when we can walk together. And I will be proud to meet you there.”

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A Surprise Visitor

The wind howled outside, and icy snow pelted our double glass door. Judd and I sank a little deeper into our matching brown recliners and enjoyed the warmth of the wood stove.

I had decided earlier not to go out in the snowstorm to check on the barnyard menagerie. I could see from the dining room window that the chickens (my two new red hens) had already disappeared into the coop; the absence of Donqui and Goatie at the gate was evidence they were already settled snug in their stalls. All was well and there was no need for my mothering. Yes, I could have shut the door to the coop, but who would be out prowling tonight for food in this storm, I reasoned.

Suddenly, we heard a tap-tap at the glass door. Looking questioningly at each other we both sat up straight. Was that heavy ice hitting the door now? I leaned out of my chair and strained to see what was there.

“NO!!” I uttered in disbelief. One of my little red hens, Hickety, was tapping at the door. What in the world!? I whispered. How had she managed to get up the steps of the deck and crawl behind a protective sheet of plastic that temporarily hung over the outside of the door? And besides, how did she know how to find us?

Stepping to the door, I spoke to her through the glass. “What are you DOING here?” Tap-tap-tap, she responded. As soon as I opened the door, she gingerly made her way inside.

Hum!! What to make of her behavior? Obviously, she was trying to communicate something. She had never done anything like this before.

Not knowing what else to do, I put my coat and boots on, scooped her up in my arms, and headed out into the snowy night to deposit her back in the barnyard to her coop.

The other red hen, Pickety, was also out of the coop wandering around in the middle of the storm. Once Hickety was back in the coop, it was not too difficult to persuade Pickety to go back home to her nest.

To this day it is a mystery. Why? How? Why not ever before or ever again?

< p class=”has-background” style=”line-height: 200%;”>A few weeks later we had one clue. Anya, our beloved friend-and-animal-caretaker, who was covering our chores while we were visiting family in another state, had discovered a possum in one of the nests of the coop. image1 (1)

Perhaps, Hickety was telling on him and we just did not get the message.

Oh, the stories our animal friends could tell if they just knew English.

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Rain and Reign

RAIN! In the midst of a drought, we cherish the soft slapping of rain hitting the windows and the smell of the musty, damp earth after the rain.
This morning during a rare thunder storm, we watched as Caleb and Josh, bare-headed and coat-less, walked down the drive to check out what has been a dry creek bed all summer. On their way back, they stopped by the house, drenched to the skin. Dramatically pulling off their rain boots and dumping pints of water on the concrete porch, they gave us an extended “creek report.” Yes, there was water running over the bridge and the creek that had been bone-dry was running in torrents through the large tubes. A little. Their report was cut short by Mama Sara, worried because they had been gone so long, arriving from across the road in the Honda Pilot to usher them back to home school. This had been an extended recess for them.

Oh, the fickleness of man! We trust God for the rain, but we complain to Him about the drought. This morning in my time with Scripture, I was reminded that it is all at the Lord’s bidding or allowance.

And that gets me back into the see-saw of man’s responsibility vs. God’s sovereignty. Ultimately, I know that God has control of the seasons, the climate, and in all of that, our personal lives. As I walk across the dry parched land doing my chores, I plead with God for rain. When the rain finally comes, I thank God.

God is in control . . . oh, blessed thought. Even in our government!  I find encouragement in what Gamaliel said to the Council in Jerusalem who was threatened with the apostles preaching and wanted to kill them. “My advice is to let them alone.  If what they teach is of God, you will not be able to stop them, lest you find yourselves fighting even against God” (Acts 5:19)

I find comfort in God’s sovereignty: the rain that waters the earth and the reign of man.