Red Bird Devotions #22

Beyond My Bench

(Repost from June 5,  2012)

While I have been hanging out in Iowa City (my third trip on the ten day tour), during Tess’ college orientation, I have had opportunity to do lots of people watching (this is because I chose not to do the parent portion of the orientation since I had just done it two years previous).  

As I sat in the ped mall—a very cosmopolitan, outdoor, community-inviting section of downtown Iowa city—I ate my Jimmy John’s Turkey Tom Unwich and my cake batter froyo, I watched a traditionally-dressed Indian woman talking on her cell phone and guiding her tiny beautiful daughter, who stopped and stared at my yogurt, with her dark and delicate hand.  I saw another mother, Caucasian, obviously mid-forties, dressed in the clothes of a teenager, trying to look like a teenager, and walking with her soon-to-be college bound daughter, who was dressed in the same type of clothes; it was easy to tell who the real teenager was. I noticed a 50-something biker dude all decked out in spandex shorts and shirt, and he looked great from the back, but when he turned around, he had a huge belly which was showcased by his tight white biking apparel—and his phone—which had to be plastered with sweat to his skin—was also zipped inside.  Maybe he’s new to the sport. and wanted to make sure he had his phone in case of emergency.  I saw guys and girls walking hand in hand, girls and girls walking hand in hand, and young mothers with strollers and ice cream-stained children trailing behind them.  I heard a little girl on the bench beside me telling the people beside her that she had never seen so many birds up close.  The birds at the ped mall—pigeons, and sparrows, and little un-namables with very cute perfectly round heads—reminded me of the birds I had seen while in Holland in the town centers.  They are so tame and plentiful—looking adorable while they feast on everyone’s crumbs.  I saw two preppy guys and a magnificent-looking Siberian Husky retreat into a mysterious door on the side of a bar.  I eyed some parents on the bus with worried-looking faces—each wearing Iowa pins and carrying remarkable amount of Iowa paraphernalia—obviously here for orientation; as they clung to one another, their son sat aloof beside them trying to act cool and not scared. I watched a grandma, adoring her grandson as he toddled into the fountains of water erupting in the playground.  I told her that I was adoring him too, and she beamed.

I wondered about all of these people.  What were they thinking?  What were they doing out and about on this Monday afternoon?  Were they thinking about the doctor’s diagnosis?  or their late rent? or the fight they had with their spouse before they left?  Were they proud of their middle school baseball star? worried about their chronically sick child?  their wayward teenager?  their ailing parent?  Did they wonder how they would make it with their son away at college? Were they excited to be married?  depressed about their impending divorce?  rejoicing in being a grandma?  mustering up the courage to ask the admired one on a date? Were the moms delighting in their children? or just trying to make it through the day?  Were they appreciating the little ones’ dependence or yearning for an early bedtime?   Did they feel appreciated?  obligated?  taken for granted?  I thought about saying “Good job!” to the little Hispanic man cleaning the high light fixtures on the side of a building, but I didn’t. Maybe I should have. Maybe he needed encouragement. 

Everyone’s got a story.  Everyone feels pain.  Everyone feels joy. Everyone feels.  Sometimes that’s hard for me to remember.  Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my story, and my lunch. and my bench, that I forget to look beyond.  My world becomes all about me.  That’s not how God wants me to be.  He wants me to watch these people, get involved with their stories, and love them lavishly.  He wants me to show them Who He is by getting to know who they are. 

He wants me to get out of my own little world and into His big one.  That’s not an easy task for an introvert like me.  But I can do it, through Him, because I desire to obey.  and to become less like myself. and more like Him. 

Dear Jesus, help me to have eyes to see beyond my bench…and hands to reach your world.

Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for your brothers, love one another deeply, from the heart. For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God.

^{1 Peter 1:22-23}

Red Bird Devotions #19

Dangerous Amnesia 
(repost from 3/22/10)

“Sometimes we forget love”.

When I saw this posted as my son’s Facebook status, it made contemplate my life. I don’t ever forget love, do I?

I do.

Sometimes, when I am rushed and burdened and trying to complete the last lines of a well-thought out essay, and my precious daughter comes to talk to me, to give me a kiss good-night, I kiss her hurriedly—really wishing her already to bed—really only caring about completing my agenda; Then, I forget love.

When my teenage son is grumpy because he is over-homeworked, over-exerted and under-slept, and all I can do is criticize him because of his forgetfulness or his lack of joy; Then, I forget love.

When my husband isn’t like me and I judge him for the way he thinks or acts or perceives life in general, and not only do I think it, but I tell him I think it; Then, I forget love.

When I so desire someone to know Christ, and I give them a Bible and I talk to them about God and I tell them about Grace, but I don’t invite them to be a part of my life, nor do I get involved in their life; Then, I forget love.

When I pray to God for me and my family and my stuff, but I never ask God about Himself or about His purposes or about His Joy, and I never see beyond myself to His Majesty; Then, I forget love.

When I forget that it was Jesus who died to take my place—on a cross, with nails and blood and pain and with all the horrors of my sin heaped upon his broken body; Then, I forget love.

O Father God, keep reminding, keep reminding. I don’t want to forget. To Love.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”

Colossians 3:12-14

Red Bird Devotions #5

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A Tale of More Than Two Pineapples

When my daughter, Tess, was in college, she shopped at Aldi. In fact, she still shops at Aldi because my children have an almost religious-like devotion to this store. (At least I did one thing right.)  One day, as she was gathering groceries, she noticed that fresh pineapples were on sale.  Tess really likes pineapples and Tess really likes bargains, so Tess bought several pineapples (I’m not sure how many, but I know she was riding her bike home, so as many as her bike basket would hold.). When she got back to her dorm room, she told her roommate, Dakota, about the amazingly cheap pineapples; the next day, both girls hopped on their bicycles and sped back to the store to load up on the fruit.  When each girl had gathered as many pineapples as they could safely carry in their backpacks and on their two-wheeled vehicles, they paid for their purchases and made their way home.  When I visited their dorm suite and looked into their tiny kitchen, I saw the counter filled with pineapples!  I said to Tess, “What are you planning to do with all the pineapples?”  And Tess replied, “Well, we will put as much pineapple as we can into our smoothies and eat some of it fresh.  The rest, we will cut up and freeze for future smoothie making.”  I thought this to be reasonable planning.  But then Tess said, “And we are going to save the crowns of some of them so we can grow our own pineapples right here in our room,” I started to doubt the veracity of her future plans.  Why?

Pineapples are the fruit of trees deeply rooted in tropical soil, not in dirt pilfered from outside one’s Iowa dorm room and placed in an Anderson Erickson Cottage Cheese tub.  Pineapple trees grow pineapples by keeping the pineapple branches attached to the tree; pineapple crowns placed in shallow dirt in a sunless kitchen are no longer connected to the source of life which made them grow; they may shoot out a few sickly roots, but with no attachment to the actual tree, these roots soon shrivel and die.  Does this remind you of anything? 

^“Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:4-5)

Jesus tells us in John 15 that we must REMAIN in him if we desire to bear fruit.  If we try to produce “fruit” based on our own goodness, or achievements, or merit, our effort is like trying to plant pineapple crowns in Anderson Erickson Cottage Cheese tubs; it won’t work.  And we will wind up with withered pineapple leaves all over our table.

To grow in Jesus, we must stay attached to the vine. We must press into the "nutrient-rich" soil of his Word and pray for the flourishing of his will.  We must deny ourselves and our own attempts at growth.  We must believe that, with his Spirit in us, we can choose holiness and health. We must stay connected to our Savior. If we refuse to abide, we will be fruit-less.

If we root ourselves in the life-giving soil of Jesus, we will receive the crown of life which God has promised to those who love him (James 1:12)!  

Oh, so much better than a pineapple crown!

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. 

Galatians 5:22-23

*You might be wondering, “Were Tess and her roomie able to grow a pineapple tree?”  And the answer is “No.” Because pineapple trees don’t grow in Iowa college dorm rooms and sometimes college students have grand plans that make no sense. 

A Very Long Walk in May, the Final Chapter

Our first day out and yet unaware of all the things God would teach us on our very long walk.

Amnesia
God often teaches me with metaphors.  And, as I write this last chapter of A Long Walk in May, I will relate to you the lessons that God revealed to me in the months following my trip.

Let’s start at the beginning.  Less than a year before I agreed to hike with Tess, Brent and I had become empty nesters.  Empty nesting promised frivolity and freedom from many of the responsibilities that I had fulfilled for the last 25 years. “It will be fun,” everyone said, and in my wish for “the good life,” I believed them.

Mothering my four kids had been the most fulfilling thing I had ever done in my nearly 50 years; it was a role I was made to play; a role that used my creative imagination and nurturing tendencies to their full capacity.  I enjoyed being needed (most of the time!) and loved guiding these little people to live their lives for Jesus.  So, when this era ended, even though I thought I had prepared, I struggled greatly with the transition.  I looked around to see other empty nesters reveling in their newfound freedom and gliding into this new phase with purpose and energy. I wasn’t gliding. Discontentment with my lot became a heavy burden; I was unhappy with who I was and couldn’t figure out who I was supposed to become.  I had identity amnesia. This amnesia took away confidence in the skills I actually did possess and the successes I was able to achieve, and replaced it with self-doubt about my value.  Emotionally, I was in a pretty tenuous spot.

Salvation?
When Tess asked me to hike with her, I saw it as a sort of “salvation.”  It was an opportunity to escape from this new life and do something familiar while spending time with my daughter.  I viewed our upcoming thru hike as a fun and refreshing getaway.  But, as we trudged through our cold and muddy journey, I found myself struggling with the same feelings I had been battling beforehand; the hiking was harder than expected; my pack seemed overly heavy; and though I thought I had prepared well, I was still slogging along.  Tess, and eventually Brent and Cole, seemed to be having no problem with this physical adjustment; in fact they were happy for the challenge. And here I was, tripping over my mud-encrusted sneakers.  Why did I even call myself a backpacker?  As with empty nesting, the journey was different than I had envisioned, and I was on uneven ground—emotionally and physically.  This gap between the ideal and the real left me sullen and self-focused.  I was mad because I wanted  “my best life now” and was failing miserably at finding it.  I was choosing to let my circumstances control how I perceived my present situation; I was choosing to be unhappy.

Epiphany
After the trip was over and we returned home, I was relaying my frustration about my backpacking performance to my ever wise husband; “I made Tess’ goal unachievable,” and “I can’t believe I couldn’t keep up with you guys!” were met with Brent’s counter statements of “Aren’t you glad you got to spend all of that time with Tess?” and “Wow!  You completed 250 miles!” and finally, the clincher, “You should be grateful and look for the good.”

That was it! I had not been grateful for the freedom of schedule that my empty nesting had provided.  I had not appreciated the amazing opportunities that lay before me now that the biggest and most important job of my life was complete. I had chosen sullenness over satiety because my feelings lied to me.  And, in the same way, I had not looked for the good on my backpacking trip; no, it wasn’t what I envisioned it to be, but God had been faithful and had kept us safe.  Even during the scary storm, God had allowed our tent to hold and our faith to outweigh our fear.  He had brought to mind hymns that we could sing and Scripture we could repeat so we could carry on.  I mean, who else gets to take three weeks off of regular life to go hang out in the woods with their daughter?  Me, that’s who. I am blessed beyond measure! If I could have a re-do, I would choose joy. Though my best life isn’t actually NOW, I can choose contentment in what I have been given; instead of complaining about my lack, I can proclaim the wonders of God’s sweet provision.

Truth
Isn’t it the same with the gospel?  We enter into the Kingdom of God with all sorts of preconceived notions: Now our lives will make sense!  Now we will be happy!  Now our hearts will be at peace!  But then we get stuck in the mud and mire of normal lives, and the gap between the ideal and the real widens.  We become so jaded by the reality of living in a broken world that our prayers become feeble requests for comfort. Our focus becomes our ease rather than our eternity.  But God promises something more.  He says in John 16:33, “In this world YOU WILL HAVE TROUBLE. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  We shouldn’t base our satisfaction on what we have in the here and now; we should put our confidence in the One who has overcome this unfulfilling world and has prepared a perfect place for us!  If we choose to think about what awaits us in our Heavenly home, many of our heavy burdens will become what Paul labels “light and momentary afflictions.”

And so ends my thru hiking story. When I started it, I thought I was supposed to relay the perspective I had gained on the value of perseverance, and grit (the things I didn't possess), but when I finally completed the journey, I found it was not about any of that.  It was not about my weakness when I should have been strong, or about my cowardice in danger; it was about a great God who gives me the freedom to choose life or death, hope or fear, joy or bitterness. So, from this day forward, whether empty or filled, muddy or clean, skilled or inept, I purpose to choose joy as I remember that my best life ISN'T now. It's promised to me in the future when I finish this very long walk on the earth and run into the arms of my Savior. He is waiting for me, and for you too. Keep walking.

When we all get to heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!

While we walk the pilgrim pathway,
Clouds will overspread the sky;
But when trav’ling days are over,
Not a shadow, not a sigh.

Let us then be true and faithful,
Trusting, serving every day;
Just one glimpse of Him in glory
Will the toils of life repay.

Onward to the prize before us!
Soon His beauty we’ll behold;
Soon the pearly gates will open;
We shall tread the streets of gold.

When We All Get to Heaven~E.E. Hewitt

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A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 12

Wednesday, May 31st, 2017    Day 17.  It's the last day of May, and now, the last full day of our trip. I am happy and sad about that. I will explain: Today was beautiful, warm, and sunny. I have waited so long for a day like this! We got up early and hiked by ourselves, and I kept feeling like I was last and everyone else was faster and better. By lunchtime I was feeling so bad, I wanted to talk about it with everyone. I am such an outsider with the three of them since the boys arrived. Now I’m sorry I spoke up because Brent suggested that we could all be done tomorrow. Everyone eventually agreed to this plan, probably as a result of my other little breakdown yesterday. Now I'm sad and it is anti-climactic because we are deciding to cut the trip short and go—by shuttle-- to Duluth for a few days. Was I wrong to voice my opinion, God? Help me to fully reconcile everything.

Sunshine and Self-Loathing

We awoke to sunshine today and hiked alone until lunchtime.  While I tried desperately to keep up, I kept rehashing how incredibly inept I was. It was super hard for me to have the rest of my crew hiking fast and furiously, leaving me in the dust mud; I was still so slow. Since the guys arrived, I had felt like the odd man out; Brent was the obvious leader; he hikes heartily, he tells better stories, and he doesn’t hyperventilate when he crosses narrow ravines or wades through rivers.  He is just tougher.  I felt tougher when it was just Tess and I.  Now I felt weak. 

The truth of the matter wasn’t that I didn’t fit in with the rest of them (although that’s how it felt); it was that my goals still differed from theirs.  I just wanted to hike and enjoy the sunshine and smell the air and revel in the blue sky.  Making up mileage was so unimportant to me. I kept telling myself that things would have been much better if the guys hadn’t joined us because then I would still have a buddy--Tess--who would have lots of grace with me.  I took it so personally.  I do things like that.

But it wasn’t personal at all.  Brent, Cole and Tess were joyful in their fast hiking.  Covering lots of miles with lots of energy made them happy.  They had no ill will, as I had imagined.  I, and my rogue emotions, was actually the one at fault.  If I had just accepted that my style was different, but okay, I would have enjoyed my trip--and especially this day--so much more. And I wouldn’t have worried so incessantly about “fitting in.” However, because I was enveloped in my pitiful self-loathing, when we stopped for lunch I was in tears.  (I had been so stoic for the entire trip…until the guys arrived.  When they showed up, I became a crybaby. Go figure.) Brent, trying to fix the problem and extinguish my fits of temperament, suggested we wrap up our trip early, call a shuttle for the next day, and spend the rest of our allotted time happily visiting Duluth. At his suggestion, I felt simultaneously remorseful and relieved; I could actually be done with this incredibly exhausting challenge! But, at the same time, finishing the trip tomorrow would also mean the end of a unique bonding time with Tess doing something we would probably--hopefully--never do again. We decided to think on it as we hiked that afternoon.

Brent and fast team member, Tess, escaping my lunchtime tears by locating a beautiful waterfall.

When we found our campsite later that day, we set up our tents as fast as possible because the mosquitoes had awakened from a long winter’s nap. The sun was marvelous, but it brought forth these miniature ravenous beasts that, because of our hypothermia, we had forgotten existed.  We tried to wash up in the river, thinking it was probably our putridness drawing them in, but the water only attracted them to us. We dunked quickly and ran back to our tents to escape their torment. 

 Since we needed to discuss the uncertain future of our hike, we all piled into the girls’ tent to have a serious talk. “Piling in” is literal here; keep in mind that our tent is very small--with barely enough room for Tess and I and our dog--and now we had invited two huge men into it for a conference.  It was nearly impossible to fit, and we had to sit at odd angles to make it work, but at this point, with the murderous mosquitoes buzzing at our zipped screens and sounding like millions of tiny grenades aiming upon our roof, we were willing to try.  As we munched on our pre-meal licorice, we analyzed the achievability of our original goal.  We had nearly 40 miles remaining and only two days left before Tess had to return to Iowa City to start preparing for her new job. Trying to hike 20 miles for the next two days seemed insurmountable to me, and we conversed about letting Cole and Tess go it alone while Brent and I hailed a cab to Duluth.  We finally vetoed this plan—at least the parental cab part—and wanted to stay all together.  Not being able to reconcile the details with the remaining time we had, we all voted that tomorrow would be our final day.  Realizing that the die had been cast (and I was the one who had thrown it), I started to cry (yet again) and to apologize for my all my weaknesses (I have a very guilty concience). Tess, normally stoic herself, also shed tears knowing that this goal—to thru hike the entire SHT--would remain unfulfilled, at least for now.  The guys seemed mostly unfazed by our final declaration because they were newbies to the game; sore, tired, and, now, bug bitten.  But, for me, and for Tess, I think, our decision to “quit” felt a bit like a failure.  We had planned a trip, pursued a goal, and now were giving it up.  If I had not been present on that day, I think the others would have chosen to push through--doing back-breaking mileage for the remainder of the hike--to finish the course.  I was unable to do this.

Suppertime arrived and we attempted to make a fire to fend of the mosquitoes, but all we could make is smoke which made us smell like a campfire. The bugs seemed unaffected by our efforts and our new scent.  So, we quickly cooked our food and then hopped in our tents to eat and finally sleep.  It was an unromantic finale to our unromantic journey.

I may look happy here but I am actually delirious because of the mosquitoes. Cole choose to wear a full headscarf to stave off the tiny demons.

The End is Near
The next morning, Tess and I tried to be cheerful even though we were both feeling down.  We packed up our tent for the very last time, and we gathered our still-wet laundry from the trees.  We put our very familiar packs on our backs and tied our ever-muddy shoes.  We trekked to the river to wash oatmeal out of our permanently dirty dishes, and watched for the last time as Jet smelled each and every tiny pine tree on the well worn trail.  It was all bittersweet.

And then we were off, hiking together as if all was well and we were tackling another day on the SHT.  But, we weren’t facing another day of hiking; we were simply finding our way to the nearest trailhead where we would call a shuttle (Harriet didn’t come this far down) and ask for a lift into Duluth.  It only took us a couple of creek crossings and two hours to find our pick-up spot, where we sat waiting for transport.  Lost in my thoughts, I sat in the shrubbery feeling sad about the whole thing. Tess also sat sullenly looking at a rock she had found. Cole wandered around swatting mosquitoes and trying to eat as many of his remaining snacks as possible, and Brent walked in the middle of the dusty road attempting to find adequate internet so he could check his email.  Soon, an older gentleman arrived in a white minivan and unceremoniously told us to load up our stuff. We did this and then hopped in the vehicle for an hour long ride into the city. 

Our trip was done.  

Our adventure completed.

Waiting in the shrubbery on our last hiking day. Contrary to popular belief, Tess is NOT wearing Minnie Mouse ears here.  It is an optical illusion.

As we checked into a hotel in Duluth, took hot showers, and ate outside in the sun at a cute Mexican cantina, I started to come to terms with it all; we had probably done the right thing.  We ended our journey while we were still healthy, happy, and only partially devoured by biting insects. And sleeping in a bed sounded pretty fantastic.  However, I was still haunted that my lack of "grit” had ruined our trip. But my sweet family put me at ease; the day after our arrival in Duluth, while Cole and I went to soak in the hot tub, Brent and Tess went out to explore. They returned from their excursion with a Minnesota T-shirt for me and a garage sale stuffed animal for Jet.  Jet felt very loved by their thoughtfulness, and I, by their patience and grace.  They stuck with me because they love me. That was the true story.

The Very Long Walk in May had come to an end on June 1 and we left for home on the 2nd, a day before our 28th wedding anniversary. What a learning experience the very long walk had been, but what a true gift it was to be done!*

Brent found a friendly moose in Duluth.  Jet is less than impressed.

Cole posing as our bodyguard while exploring a lighthouse on Lake Superior. 

*This is NOT the end of my story.  There is still one more chapter to write.  I thought it only appropriate that this little book have 13 chapters. Keep watch and be comforted that I mostly stopped crying and finally figured out what the angst was all about.  Stay tuned for the final chapter: Lessons Learned on A Very Long Walk in May…coming soon!