The surprising place where others will see Jesus

Ministry through weakness. It's a core value of World Harvest -- one that deeply resonates with Steven and me.

There was a time in my life when I felt utterly capable -- ready to conquer the world, confident I possessed (in myself) everything necessary for success.

Now, I think I become more aware every day just how incapable I am .

I don't always like it. I want to think I'm capable. I compare myself to others and wish I had their strengths. But inevitably, my weakness slaps me in the face, and I realize anew that I must depend on the perfect Capability of the One who goes before me

So when I read the following, I wanted to shout with all the volume and intensity I could produce: "YES!" And I wanted to whisper with all the passion and intimacy in my soul: "yes."

"I am more likely to have Jesus revealed to me and through me in weakness than in strength, sinfulness than in purity, or doubt than in perfect faithfulness....

"I come to this astonishing conclusion: Jesus is found in brokenness..."

"The surprise of this brokenness is not just that the Almighty allowed himself to be broken, and that he invites me to touch him there in that brokenness. It's also that my own brokenness - that hidden, ugly, twisted stuff that I had expected would disqualify me forever from his friendship, and that, if it were known, would torpedo all my other relationships too - is precisely the place where he desires to touch me, and it is the place where I am most able to truly connect with other people."

by Greg Paul, in God in the Alley*

Jesus is found in brokenness.

2 Cor. 12: 8-10 -- Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

*I'm indebted to Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience for introducing me to this quote, and the book from which she obtained it.

Happy Birthday

This blog has been hijacked for a day by Steven G.

Since many more people read Laura’s blog than mine, it was necessary to hijack her blog to let the world know that today (Wednesday, Oct 29) is Laura’s birthday.

Things you may not know about the birthday girl:

Laura is exactly 4’11” tall.
She has boundless energy and works circles around anyone I know.
She loves art stuff and loves to create.
She doesn’t love to sleep.
She likes steak and doesn’t like Vienna Sausage (go figure)
If the temp is below 75 degrees, Laura is freezing
She is a great writer and spent 10 years working in PR at BellSouth
Her weight barely fluctuates 5-7 lbs. She weighs almost the same as when we met in 1982. (I have gained 50lbs!)
She is a good singer, but can’t memorize lyrics.
She wears my socks almost every night.
She hates to dust.
She loves hot, scalding baths.
She looks great for 29
She is great at organizing yard sales (HUGE yard sales)
She looks really hot in anything!!!!!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOOKCHICK

Aching

I watched a movie with Emma late last night -- P.S. I Love You. Jenny Bartz had been telling me I needed to watch it. But it's about a person who dies, and I tend to avoid tearjerker, sick-people movies. Trusting my friend, however, I ordered the movie from Netflix. She knew I ought to watch it.

I knew it would make me cry. It did. I didn't know that about a third of the movie was set in Ireland. I cried because it made me long for Ireland and her people. 

Sometimes, the GOING seems impossible. So much money to raise. I want to make it about us: "We aren't capable," "We don't know enough people," "We're too broken." But somewhere, buried inside all my self-focus, I know that it's all about God, about all things being possible with Him, about carrying His redemptive Word in an incarnational way to the world (now, and when we get to Ireland).

Thursday, we found out that one church had tabled our application for support. Don't really know the implications of that. But yesterday, we received our first invitation from a church to talk with its missions subcommittee. Might this church be our first supporting church? Don't want to get ahead of myself, but the idea is exciting! And humbling.

Long-awaited book recommendations

You may not have been waiting for them, but, frankly, I've been dying to make some book recommendations for this time of year. Autumn, Halloween, harvest, nature -- there are so many amusing, inspiring, entertaining, beautiful, and, yes, even Ghoulish, books to be found on these topics! But after my post of several days back extolling the virtues of exchanging books for nature, I thought it might be a bit hypocritical of me to recommend them. And who wants to be a hypocrite?

... But today is a rainy day, and thus (in my mind) a perfect time to curl up with a good book -- fiction or otherwise. Thanks to instructions from Dianne at Circle of Quiet, I'll be adding a Book Recommendation sidebar to my blog. Until that's done, however, you'll have to settle for these homemade photos of books I own.

Happy reading, my friend.

COMFORT FICTION:

Pilgrim's Inn by Elizabeth Goudge (whose books, I've just discovered, have all recently been reprinted. Yea! (except that my wish list with Amazon.com has suddenly tripled!).



NATURE:
Fallen Leaves by Louise Kollenbaum: A leaf book and journal, complete with acetate envelopes for pressing and saving leaf specimens

City Leaves, City Trees by Edward Gallob: For children or adults, each two-page spread includes a photograph of a tree, text identifying and describing the tree, and a page of leaf illustrations that are actually photograms, or shadow photographs (where leaves are placed directly on photographic paper and exposed to light). Very unusual.


Mushrooms by Loni Parker and David T. Jenkins (vintage Oxmoor House, with delicately detailed, colorful illustrations) -- perfect for identifying all those mushrooms growing on our lawns right now, or just for reading and perusing, if only for the illustrations.
cover

sample illustration


HARVEST:
Pumpkins (gloriously photographed non-fiction picture book by Ken Robbins)
Pumpkin Moonshine (precious offering by famous illustrator Tasha Tudor)


GHOULISH OPTIONS:
The Haunted Churchbell (vintage picture book by Barbara Ninde Byfield)


Through the Tempests Dark and Wild, a story of Mary Shelley (creator of Frankenstein) by Sharon Darrow.


Inkheart trilogy: Inkheart, Inkspell (pictured), Inkdeath, by Cornelia Funke -- Not a traditional halloween stories (i.e. no "goblins"), but full of evil villains
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and The Raven, both illustrated by Gustave Dore.
Edgar Allan Poe's Tales of Mystery and Madness -- Poe in superbly illustrated graphic book style by Gris Grimly, the ultimate October book treat.

Glorious migration

The migration has begun ... the glorious migration of the monarch butterflies, driven from Canada and the upper reaches of the U.S. by the falling temperatures of the coming winter. Their final destination is Florida (or somewhere equally close to the equator), but -- have you noticed -- for the past several weeks, Alabama has been their camping ground.

We noticed, because one of their favorite landing places, it seems, has been our zinnia patch. A few days ago, we counted almost thirty of these royal lepidoptera just outside our back door. THIRTY! All flittering and fluttering around. A glorious sight, it was! We watched in awe.

Initially, it was just the little kids (Bella and AJ) and me -- we'd had snack on the deck, and the kids got the idea to let the butterflies land on their fingers. ("Why not?" they wondered -- "it'd be just like the butterfly room at the aquarium in Chattanooga.")

Only these butterflies weren't like those in the aquarium -- a little less friendly with the human species. AJ (the nature-loving, scientist-type, you know) was distraught; he tried and tried, but narry a monarch butterfly would light upon his finger.

Then, suddenly it seemed, they were attracted to him like bees to honey (sticking with the nature analogies here)! No sooner had I squealed in delight for AJ, so happy that the butterflies were taking a liking to him, that he informed me he'd coaxed them there by spreading pollen from the zinnias onto his fingers. Brilliant kid, he is!

Eventually, Emma heard the commotion and joined us on the deck to participate in the excitement. (Notice the cell phone attached to her ear -- she supplied her friend with spirited play-by-play of the butterfly behavior.)

Such a memory -- this happy time of playing with the monarchs in our backyard.

The days are getting cooler now, and already the monarchs are beginning to disappear, continuing their journey toward warmer climate. A book I own tells me that monarchs, once they've arrived at their migration destination, will make "butterfly trees": they'll settle themselves by the thousands over the limbs of great evergreen trees, wait out the cold weather, and then wake to head back north. Only this time, they won't complete the journey. They'll mate, lay their eggs on milkweed plants, then die. Their eggs will hatch into caterpillars, feed on the milkweed (that's important) and become new butterflies. And because their new little bodies will be full of the milkweed on which they've fed, these little creatures will be safe from the beaks of hungry birds (which are allergic to milkweed). Protected, they will finish their parents' journey home.

Astonishing to me.

On putting books aside ...

For all my love of books, there's truth to Wordsworth's words ...

The Tables Turned

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books:
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your Teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless --
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: --
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

William Wordsworth, English 1770-1850

These are lovely days for savoring the outdoors.

For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made ... Romans 1:20.

Beauty and order

This love affair I have with poetry and art and music ... I set it aside for years as frivolous, sentimental and unproductive. My ambition-focused education brainwashed me into believing that success, efficiency and professionalism were of ultimate value. I could kick myself; I fell for it.

Truth is, I'm a creature who loves the things of beauty in this world.

Science and math -- the things of logic -- have never been my forte. I see now that they reveal the character of Creator God: order, changelessness, consistency. They're beautiful, in their own way. I can appreciate that, even get excited about it.

But they aren't the things God uses to reach into the deepest recesses of my soul -- to entice me and bring my spirit to life. No, that would be the things of the senses: words, colors, sounds. These things lead me to a greater awe of the God who created them, the God who created me. These things lead me to worship.

Give me ...

• Poetry: The lovely prose of Elizabeth Goudge, or a friend's captivating (and randomly written!) poetry
• Art: Marcel Duchamps' Sonata, or a vibrant autumn sunset
• Music: The voice of Stokes Skellie, or the lively song of a bird outside my window

... and for a moment (if only a moment), I glimpse something of the glory of God. And these words, these colors, these sounds ... they bring me to my knees.

Literary pumpkin

The biggest adjustment made by anyone with Bella going to school wasn't made by her, but by me: I've been astounded at the number of assignments and deadlines I have to keep up with just for her kindergarten class. Field trip fees, fundraiser money, weekly show-and-tell assignments, Thursday's wardrobe color, Friday's letter object ... her class is active!
Once a month, she has a family project she's supposed to complete with one or more members of her family. She and I had some fun with the latest assignment: read a favorite book, then decorate a pumpkin like the child's favorite character from the story. Bella chose the book Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy. (Fancy Nancy is a little girl who loves all things fancy, including fancy words -- parfait for ice cream, chauffeur for driver, etc.) Here's a picture of Bella's pumpkin (though I think we aged Fancy Nancy by about ten years -- just couldn't get the childlike appearance with the face).
Wouldn't it be interesting to see how creative adults could be with their favorite literary characters? I'd have a hard time choosing my favorite. How about you -- what's your favorite literary work, and which character would you portray with your pumpkin?

A gift

Man-Boy enters the kitchen, vibrant red rose blossom in hand. He thrusts the bloom toward me, deep voice offering the gift: "Here, Mom."

I turn to see him holding that rose, waiting for me to take it. I'm unsure, for a moment, who the rose is from. Did Dad send him in with it, I wonder (because Dad likes to pluck fresh blooms for me), or is this gift from the Man-Boy himself?

"Did you pick this," I ask, nonchalantly as possible. "Mmm-hmm," he answers, adding with wonder, "It was growing through the fence." Man-Boy has found a bit of beauty in an unusual place, and he has brought it to me.

Taking the few steps necessary, I reach to hug him. Gangly arms wrap around me. His stature now having outgrown my own, he must bend to hug. It's becoming a familiar unfamiliar feeling -- the awkward, tentative, different hug of a Man-Boy. One who brings roses to his mother.

Dying to self ...

If everything is lost, thanks be to God
If I must see it go, watch it go,
Watch it fade away, die
Thanks be to God that He is all I have
And if I have Him not, I have nothing at all
Nothing at all, only a farewell to the wind
Farewell to the grey sky
Goodbye, God be with you evening October sky.
If all is lost, thanks be to God,
For He is He, and I, I am only I.

Davy Vanauken kept this poem beside her bed as she lay dying. I was captivated by it the minute I read it. It expresses with subtle solemnity the difficulty of death -- the withering away of life, the resistance to see life go (because, of course, we were created to live eternally), the loss (on so many levels) that comes with dying. And then, as well, acknowledgment by the Believer that God (the Trinity) is all we really have anyway -- the only surety, the only constant. And, hence, the surrender -- the willingness (however feeble) to let go.

The poem captivated me because it seems to me a perfect analogy for the life of Believers -- this dying to self to which we're called as followers of Jesus. What, I ask myself, does dying to self look like for me? Today. In this moment? Here's a short list of the things I came up with.

Dying to self means:

* Trusting the ones in charge.
* Not spending $8 on those brown leggings with the adorable detail on the bottom, because it will be a great encouragement to my husband when we stay in budget for the month.
* Driving 30 minutes to pick up a friend so that my teenage daughter has another opinion on her shopping trip.
* Going to bed earlier (and therefore having less free time for myself) so that I'm a gentler mother to my children.
* Performing support-raising activity with joyful trust, rather than trying to make it happen in my own power.
* Loving a friend, even when she refuses to love me back.
* Being willing to participate in good conflict.
* Spanking my child when she needs it.
* Accepting grace when she needs a spanking and I fail to give it.
* Loving another when I disagree with them.
* Sometimes being willing to say I disagree.
* X-ing out of facebook sooner.
* Forgiving.
* Basking in the giftedness of all my friends (instead of wallowing in my own insecurity).
* Purging those closets and bookcases one more time.
* Kissing whiskers.
* Reaching out.
* Moving on.

He is He, and I, I am only I.

"Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." Matt. 10:39

Can it be?

I didn't pay attention when G-Love planted those perennial mums last year at the edge of the deck, right beside the large zinnia patch. But I walked outside a couple of days ago, sad that the zinnias were dying back, and the mums were suddenly in full bloom. They're not your typical mums. Look what little surprise was awaiting me ...



They look an awful lot like Michaelmas Daisies, don't you think?

Ode to an artist

I have an artsy-ish streak, but the real artist in my family was my mother. Today, were she living, would have been her 63rd birthday.

After the age of 4, I never again lived with my mother. But she was always present in my life -- always Momma. And one of the things I remember most about her was her art. She was particularly gifted with pen and ink. Highly detailed. Jaw-droppingly impressive.

She was especially fond of science fiction, so her art often had a sci-fi appearance. It was wildly imaginative.

When I was a little girl, my mother would sit with colored markers and optical illusion coloring books (the very ones I still see today in homeschool magazines), and she would color for what seemed like hours. Her vision of those geometric designs -- well, let me just tell you, she could work magic with those markers.

Over the course of time and some extremely difficulty circumstances, most everything that once belonged to my Momma has been lost. As to her art, I have only two examples that I can think of -- a set of paperdolls she made for Emma, and a card she sent to me when I was on Summer Beach Project in 1987. I pulled the latter one down out of my little scrapbook desk, where I keep it for inspiration, and took a few photos of it. That's what you've been viewing as you read this post -- a little gift of art, from my Momma: Betty Irene Russell, October 1945-August 1997.

You can read more about my mom on last year's birthday post.

And thanks for reading. I wanted the world to see her art.

Hello, October!

"Then comes October, full of merry glee." Spenser

Ahhh ... October! My favorite month of the year. I love everything about it!

The world is so beautiful in October! October comes at the beginning of my favorite season -- Autumn -- when the world's aglow with the richest hues of red, gold, orange, and brown. Throw in deep blue and earthy green, and I could look at this color palette all day long.

Have you ever noticed the angle of the sun toward our little corner of the world in Autumn. There's a warm softeness to it. Like ambient lighting. I find it so calming.

And the air -- the air is so crisp in October. Not too cold, but oh so fresh! Makes me want to close my eyes and breathe deep.

Yes, I love everything about October.

The trees, and every individual leaf on the trees. I could collect the fallen ones all day long and bask in their variety. So many shapes, so many colors.

The calm, cool evenings, and the first crackling fire of the season.

The harvest, and all things associated with the harvest. Pumpkins and squashes in all shapes and sizes (Cottage Living has a particularly informative article on pumpkins this month); I'd buy one of every variety if I could. And beans of every color! Inspired by a friend, I have an ongoing habit (tradition) of displaying beans in little woven baskets during the months of October and November.

Little hands -- and big ones -- can't resist the urge to play in them a bit. (I still have to buy the lentils for this year -- my kids have asked me where the "green" ones are -- they are the most enticing to play with -- my kids' opinion, and mine, too.) The beans are a great inexpensive way to bring the harvest indoors. Several years ago I made several little signs to display with them; this year, I could only find this one. (Sorry for the bad photo. Couldn't seem to get the camera to focus on the words. )

Autumn -- it's so rich with the symbolism of redemption -- the harvest of all things sown (ah, joy!), and then the beginning of the cycle again -- things die, only to return to new life. (This redemptive "dying" -- it's a theme in my life right now. Watch for a post on that in a couple of days.)

Did you know that Steven asked me to marry him during the month of October -- 21 years ago. We were sitting on a large boulder atop a mountain, overlooking a valley during one of the most colorful autumns I can ever remember. It was a postcard-worthy scene. Truly.

Well, and my birthday falls on the 29th of October. These birthdays -- they're maybe a little less fun than they used to be (42 seems VERY old) -- but there's just something so satisfying about celebrating the day you were born -- the gift of life given, the memories that linger and the blessings life holds.

Blessings even as ordinary as the month of October.