Category Archives: rest

my Father’s world, not the government’s . . .

From where I’m sitting this morning, I see the witness of the changing season. The tree that hedges my bedroom window is beginning to sharpen in color, while surrendering a leaf to the wind every few minutes. I could stare at it for hours. What rich beauty there is in monitoring God’s creation! How foolish I’d be to try and override his seasonal preferences. How presumptuous I’d be to keep the beauty all to myself.

This is my Father’s world. One walks in dangerous territory when one tries to take the reins away from him.

When we try to manipulate God’s creation by cutting off access to an ocean or to the color of fall so brilliantly displayed in his mountains or even to the ground where men laid down their lives for freedom, we’re walking a dangerous line. When control becomes an issue, God takes issue.

Who are we to play games with his waters, his trees, his land? With his words he spoke them into existence. With his words he can easily remove them. What must he think of our posturing and our pride?

How foolish we are. How bold we’ve become. Little gods running around, idols fresh off the assembly line from the factory of Man Knows Best, all the while under the watchful eyes of the God who knows best and who must (if he is prone to laughter and tears) both chuckle and cry at the absurdity of it all.

He is not unfamiliar with this script. He’s read it before, seen it play itself out on the stage of history time and again. Man trying to control one another; man trying to control God. And while the former might actually come to fruition on occasion, the latter will fail every time. Man cannot take away from God what has always belonged to him.

This is my Father’s world. And while our view of it might currently be limited by barricades and police officers, God sees it all. No one, no law, no amount of power and pride can block his view. From his vantage point, it is clear what we’ve become.

We’re no longer one nation under One God but, instead, many nations serving many gods. Let’s be honest. Let’s call it for what it is. We’re a fractured people, broken down and woefully off track from our beginnings.

I cannot change the climate in our nation’s capital today, any more than I can amend the hearts of mankind. But I can pray for the climate and amendment of my own heart, and I can do so while surrounded by the seasonal witness of a fall tree that isn’t affected by the seasonal shifts of man’s need to control it.

Together, the tree and I and our Creator will work it through. It’s enough to carry me forward, maybe even enough to carry you as well. If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the foolishness of man today, might I encourage you to find a window view or find an undisturbed, unmonitored path in your community and take a walk with the Father in his world? What you will find there will make sense to your heart and bring peace to your spirit.

May the rich and certain witness of fall be the rich and certain witness of God’s enduring, unchanging, and formidable strength in your life. He sees from above what man is trying to prevent from below. Nothing can block us from his view.

Peace for the journey,

living the “get-to” life …

We sat on his front porch talking about this-and-that while relishing Saturday’s break in temperature. The wind kindly caressed our conversation. It was a beautiful gift—the weather and the fellowship.

I haven’t always been good at my relishing, especially when life is crowded. There are times in my day (many moments of prolonged dreaming), when I consider what it would be like to continually hold moments like Saturday’s pause. To slow life’s pace and live God’s grace as it arrives.

Have you ever wanted to just stop at that place, jump into a peace-scene and linger there without constraint? Strip away all the must-dos and, instead, tarry in the get-tos? Me too. And here is what I’m realizing about my life.

The get-tos are becoming more habitual; the must-dos less demanding. This is my time to pause. There are ample opportunities to do so.

I get to linger on front porches.

I get to take long walks and make new friends.

I get to study the feeding habits of our neighborhood herons.

I get to watch my children learn the stuff I don’t remember learning in the 6th and 7th grade.

I get to take my time at the grocery, searching out bargains and counting on familiar faces.

I get to read the newspaper.

I get to spend uninterrupted time in prayer.

I get to order my days rather than having my days order me.

The list is endless. It’s not that these get-tos haven’t been mine all along. It’s just that I’m more willing to entreat them. Make room for them. Insist on them.

This is my life. No more fantasizing about what I might do should life slow down. Life did slow down. Life is slowing down. And I am winding down. Not because I must-do, but rather because I get-to.

Oh how sweet the pace of a get-to life! I’m not sure we can rush this one, friends … force the get-to life. It’s been evolving in me over these past few years. I don’t have a clever plan for rushing you to your get-to. Perhaps just thinking about it today might create a little space in your heart for its arrival.

Perhaps.

My heart is with you. You know that, right? You are one of my get-tos, and it is always my hope that these ramblings inside of my head might resonate with one inside of yours. That God would continue to use my inconsistent and unscheduled pen to bring a little peace to your day. A must-do or a get-to. I don’t know how I rank on your list, but either way, I am exceedingly grateful that you’re here.

Thank you for stopping by and sitting on my front porch for a while. May God’s goodness and grace be evident to you as you marshal through your must dos, all the while reminding you of the privilege of your get-tos. As always …

Peace for the journey,

Porch Photo Credit: Susan Hood Photography

living in Mayberry

We took our kids to Mayberry last week. Actually, we spent a day in Mt. Airy, NC, Andy Griffith’s hometown. The town has capitalized on his fame and the show’s popularity, modeling shops and eateries in the tradition of Mayberry. Floyd’s Barbershop still offers haircuts, and pork chop sandwiches are available at Snappy’s Lunch. We had a great time, stepping back in time and imagining what life must have been like in Mayberry—a simpler time.

Or so it seems.

A simpler time. A sweeter place. A lesson. A laugh. A father and a son.

Could it be? Is there a Mayberry calling our names, wooing our spirits to its borders with promises of a simpler, sweeter life? A life filled with lessons, laughter, and sacred fellowship between a father and a son?

I know my heart cries out for it. Not just in the sweet by-and-by when I make it home to heaven, but now. I want a simpler life on this side of eternity. One that includes casual strolls down Main Street, leisurely lunches with favorite friends, and an unhurried pace so that I might learn a lesson or two from my Father along the way.

I’m off to a good start. There’s a spirit of Mayberry in this place I now call home. Really, it has little to do with my new address. Yes, the town’s population numbers less than my previous location. There are fewer stoplights and less traffic. Fewer stores and less bargains. Quieter living and less accumulation. Certainly, these “lessers” add to the calm in my spirit. But I don’t think the spirit of Mayberry is fully contingent on these lessers. Perhaps living in Mayberry has less to do with the location of our bodies and more to do with the location of our souls.

Mayberry lives next to Jesus. Find him, and you’ll find a simpler, sweeter place. A lesson or two for your soul. Some laughter and a Father who calls you son. Daughter. Child. Beloved.

This is good news for all of us, whether you’re currently living at a slower pace in a small town or running in the fast lane of a fast life in a fast city. Regardless of your physical address, I imagine there are times when your spirit, like mine, cries out for Mayberry.

Might I offer you a few tips for the journey?

Find your map. My hunch is that it is probably sitting next to your bed or housed on a shelf close by. If you want to live in Mayberry, the shortest route between where you are today and where you want to be is through the Word of God. Find this map, and you’ve found your starting point.

Read your map. Don’t just hold it in your hands; don’t just carry it with you to work or church to pretty up your exterior. Owning the map to Mayberry won’t land you safely home. You must be willing to study it, plot your course, choosing your route and your exits with holy consideration.

Take the map with you as you take your trip. On your way to Mayberry, you will (more than likely) weed out and leave behind the non-essentials. In fact, I encourage you to do so. There comes a time when we should travel lighter, ridding our lives of the clutter and chaos that weigh us down and stymie our forward progression. But along the way and as we go, keep hold of your map. Refer to it on a regular basis, less you take that wayward, wandering road in the wrong direction. Getting home to Mayberry is far easier with map in hand.

Commit to the map. Believe in it, and by God’s empowering spirit and grace, walk it. Through valleys, over mountains, along the highways, by the streams, and in the desert. The map isn’t flawed and will never lead you to a place where the Father hasn’t first placed his foot. Commit to the map, and you’ll find Mayberry. You’ll put down roots and call it home.

A simpler time. A sweeter place. A lesson. A laugh. A father and a son.

Mayberry lives next to Jesus. He is where you’ll find me today, and I’ve put in an order for two pork chop sandwiches. Won’t you join me at the table? I’d love some company. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

Lying Down . . .

 

I’m not a huge fan of the Academy Awards, not because I have anything against honoring quality art via the silver screen but mostly because of the seemingly endless parade of the self-impressed. Couple this with the fact that I haven’t seen ninety-nine percent of the movies up for awards, and well, let’s just say my interest peeks with the red carpet and its dazzling display of gowns.

I am, however, a fan of good words spoken at the right time. Certainly, movies are filled with many such moments, but when those moments happen off stage (when the actor removes the mask and throws the script to the sidelines in favor of real-life drama), I’m duly impressed by the dialogue. Such was the case with Daniel Day-Lewis following his 3rd Oscar win for his portrayal of Abraham Lincoln. Backstage after his win, Daniel was asked regarding his plans for the future, about what character he might like to play next. His response immediately gripped my heart:

“I need to lie down for a couple of years. It’s really hard to imagine doing anything after this.” (see source)

He’s going to lie down. Take a lengthy sabbatical with his family on his fifty acre farm south of Dublin, Ireland. Work on other things, like perfecting his cobbling (shoe-making) abilities or learning the rural skill of stonemasonry. Just “happily working away at other things.” (see source) Daniel Day-Lewis is going to lie down for a season, away from the stage and the bright lights of the big city.

What a wise choice.

I am challenged to follow his lead. Bright lights and big stages serve their purposes, but once the curtain goes down and the camera crew heads home, it’s time for a breather. Time to fuel up, rest up alongside the still waters where the only stage beneath my feet is carpeted with green pastures and the only light framing my steps radiates from the candle of the Shepherd.

My lengthy sabbatical with God to happily work away at other things.

Those things? Well, I don’t imagine it’s important to discuss them here. What is important is knowing that those things exist and that only by my lying down for a season will I be able to most happily, most agreeably engage with them. The good that grows in the pasture is not easily grown on the stage. Bright lights and big audiences—too much shine and too much recognition—dim the eyes and dull the senses, kind of like a blundering sheep in need of a wise Shepherd.

Life is changing for me . . . again. I must travel with the shifting wind, not against it. To fight my lying down is to relinquish the merry pleasures of rest. To linger on the stage after the curtain is drawn and the audience has departed is to stand alone and to feel lonely. But to leave with them? To trade in the stage for God’s greener pastures where dialogue is limited to just the Shepherd and me? Well I don’t suppose I’ve ever felt more enveloped in the fellowship of the Beloved.

I need to lie down for a while, friends. This doesn’t mean I won’t be here from time to time. Every sheep needs a flock, and you are mine. I simply need to give myself permission to happily work away at other things.

Soul things. Intimate things. God things.

Lying beside the still waters and on a blanket of green.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

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