Consider the Ravens

The day started early on the farm, as they so often do.  At 6am it was still pitch black dark, but the coffee was brewing and the critters just outside the window were beginning to stir – sensing somehow that dawn was approaching.  I’d learned over the years that getting up ahead of the crowd was the only effective strategy for finding a moment alone with God.  I DO dearly LOVE my crowd though, an extended family of seventeen strong comprised of my husband’s parents, his two siblings, and all those “begat” to them.   We had come from the south and from the north – the various places we had been planted - and had converged onto the piece of property that we call home.  We were all crammed into the beloved little farm house for the long weekend to meet the newest member of our clan, little Kyle Henry, just five weeks old. 

My mother-in-law frets over the lack of space and the fact that we are tucked into every nook and cranny of the farmhouse to sleep – tall teenage boys sprawled all over sectional sofas with feet hanging over the end, every bed full and air mattresses strewn here and there.  She’s always dreaming of renovating the “Pond House” (a gathering place about 500 yards south of the farm house, adjacent to the 50 acre “pond”.  In the big city this body of water would be marketed as a lake and likely have 15 subdivisions engulfing it with nifty names like “Lakeside Estates” or “Canoe Cove.”  I laugh at the ways city people capitalize on the things in God’s creation that we country people try to preserve with dignity.  But I don’t laugh TOO much, given the fact that I willingly chose to BECOME one of the aforementioned city people.)  

Anyway, I digress.  My mother-in-law wants to convert part of the Pond House into a bunk house to accommodate at least a few of us… but truthfully no one really wants to be annexed.  In a world where people hide behind screens and busyness, this is one vestige where face time is still treasured.  We’d be less likely to pile up in the living room and sit by the fire and talk for hours if there was a separate place to GO.  Personally, I like it just fine the way it is. 

But it’s not without its challenges.  Getting a HOT shower requires some sneakery and some stealthy planning.  And if you have ANY aspirations of maintaining your current weight level on one of these long weekend visits, well – you are just plain delusional.  My mother-in-law is an amazing cook, and she believes in a FULL plate followed by dessert CHOICES.  (Most of us opt for multiple choice.)  I have developed a fairly accurate equation for calculating the scale damage per visit. 

#  Days/Visit    X   3/4 lbs per Day =  Approximate Increase In Girth

           

Oh well.  Worth every inch!  As I mentioned at the outset, having an intentional Quiet Time with God requires getting UP when the rest of the household is sleeping.  I don’t really mind that part. I love the peace and stillness of those moments and the anticipation of LIFE that will invade that peace in due time.

On this particular morning, as I grabbed my steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee (thanks Mom), I opened my Bible and settled into Ezekiel.  It was time to try to make sense of the prophet’s visions that have always seemed so baffling to me.  Perhaps in the fresh country air and wide open spaces, my spirit would be more in tune with God’s and clarity would break through the maze of confusion.  As I began to read, the birds actually started to chirp.  The sounds completely stole my attention.  Honestly, I didn’t know birds ever sang in the dark – and I do mean DARK... there were no early dawn streaks breaking through the night sky.  The sound was so beautiful, I found it hard to concentrate – even on scripture.  I let my mind drift in the direction of the serenade.    

It’s funny how I rarely notice the sound of the birds during the DAY, when they sing all the time.  But in the stillness of this house, filled to overflowing with sleeping people – I could hardly concentrate on Ezekiel’s visions for wondering if those birds were PRAISING out there in the dark.  What was it the psalmist said?  “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Psalm 150:6.  It doesn’t say everyONE… it says everything.  Birds have breath, don’t they?  I’m thinking the birds are out there obeying scripture.  I smile at that thought.  I wonder if they have their own praise songs?  Do they have old hymns that have been passed down through the generations?  Maybe dating back to the dove Noah sent out from the ark searching for dry land?  Or have they abandoned the hymns in favor of catchy tunes composed by rogue, contemporary song birds - whom all the older birds complain about?  This train of thought is more fun than meditating on Ezekiel, and I keep smiling as I listen. 

But then God interrupted my lighthearted mental-meandering with a simple thought so CLEAR, so LASER-POINTED, I knew it had to be The Master talking.

“The birds are praising in the dark Marybeth.”

Since it wasn’t a question, I didn’t bother trying to come up with a reply.  I just sat very still, letting the thought take root in my mind.  The mood shifted from lighthearted to reflective.  It wasn’t really an admonishment from my Father; He was just drawing my attention to an important fact that I had glossed over.  The thought was sobering enough and studious enough, I realized my normal surroundings had once again been transfigured into God’s classroom.

“What do I do in the dark?” I wondered.  I was afraid to form that thought into an official question for God, because I was pretty sure that whatever I actually DO in the dark doesn’t sound as lovely as the birds I’m listening to at the moment.  But it’s not like I can hide the thought from God – and He decides to nudge us toward that conversation ANYWAY with a question of His own.

“What do you think the dark represents, my child?”

“Well, normally I’d say it’s the absence of light.  You know, people living apart from God.  But hopefully THAT definition doesn’t apply in this context.

“Correct.  Put it in the context of circumstances.”

“Ok, I’ll try.  Since I’m a believer, and therefore HAVE the light inside of me… the ‘dark’ must refer to my external circumstances when they are NOT to my liking.  Circumstances I would never CHOOSE.  Circumstances that make me doubt your goodness, doubt your closeness.  I KNOW scripture says that nothing can ever separate me from your love, but to be honest, sometimes it doesn’t FEEL like that’s true.  It’s really lonely in the dark.”

“Now you’ve got ‘the dark’ properly defined for our Classroom purposes today.  Can you recall circumstances in your life that you would categorize as dark?”

“Of course.  Do you want examples from childhood or adulthood?  Last week or last year?  Scale of 1 to 10?  How would you like to slice and dice them?”

“No need to get cute.  We’re doing something important here.  Just latch onto ONE in your mind – you pick the era and the self-assessed severity.”

“Ok”

“What question did you ask Me most repeatedly in the dark?”

“Hmmmm.  I think it might be a tie between two questions.  (1) God, WHY did this happen? and (2) What do I have to do to fix it, to make the pain stop RIGHT NOW?”

“Agreed.  It was probably a tie between those two. In every case.  In every era.”

“I’m guessing those aren’t the questions you WANT me to ask in the dark.”

“Listen to the birds.”

“Father… are they REALLY praising?! That would be so cool!”

“Of course they are praising!  Don’t you remember what I told you in Dr. Luke’s letter? Chapter12: ‘Consider the ravens.  They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them.’  You bet they praise! – Now child, tell me, what’s different about the sound of the birds in the dark?

“Well I don’t know if there’s any difference to THEM, but the difference to ME is that I simply notice the singing much more in the dark.  In the daytime, I’m so busy and self-absorbed I often don’t take any notice at all of the birds.”

“Excellent observation!  The same is true for you… a daughter of The King, a possessor of The Light.  When your circumstances are less than ideal, and yet you still CHOOSE to praise, the world takes notice.  It causes them to wonder about the source of your strength.  ANY Christian will praise when the house has been newly renovated, the car is the latest model, the bathroom scales sing a happy song, all the key relationships are fulfilling and harmonious, and the children are respectful and are making straight A’s.

“I suppose praising in those circumstances is akin to the birds praising while sitting on the ledge of a freshly-filled feeder on a beautiful sunny day.  Their singing just blends in with the surroundings.  Maybe THAT’S why I don’t notice it.  But God, must I continually be in the proverbial Pit to be an effective witness for you?  THAT thought makes it hard to WANT to be a witness.”

“The only thing I ask you to do CONTINUALLY is seek My face.  Circumstances will change.  Seasons will come and go.  Sometimes the kids WILL be respectful and make straight A’s.  Sometimes they won’t.  Sometimes I am working IN you.  Sometimes I am working THROUGH you.  But I am CONTINUALLY working.  Trust THAT in the dark.  Let your trust IN Me guide your questions TO Me in the dark.”

“So praising is key for ME too.  I KNOW this, but it’s hard to remember to do that in the middle of the dark circumstances.  It’s like my mind goes numb or blank or something.  I get all turned INWARD and I churn and I forget to look UP and reflect on who you ARE.  To be honest, I’m not having much darkness at the moment – although I hesitate to say it because I know the relative ease is just a season.  But God, some of my friends ARE in dark circumstances.  One has a ten year-old girl with a malignant bone tumor. (The parents thought it was a sports injury.)  Another has a daughter in a psychiatric hospital – on suicide watch.  Another’s marriage is in serious trouble.  Another’s husband has a brain tumor. Those aren’t just dark circumstances… they are pitch-black-dark circumstances.  What of THOSE circumstances Father?”

“Look to scripture and remember this lesson about the birds... consider the ravens.  The severity of the darkness is not the issue.  I AM is the issue. ”

“Well, ok.  But what scriptures exactly?”

“Hello?

 Helloooo?  Are you still out there?”

As abruptly as the conversation began, it had ended.  Clearly God is in charge of these little classroom lessons.  He decides when they start and when they end.  That frustrates me.  It probably makes Him smile. 

I sat with my Bible and my coffee and knew I didn’t have much time before the house would begin to hum with activity.  I thought about biblical characters that I KNEW had praised in the dark.  King Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles 20 put the priestly choir up front in his army, and the entire army marched into battle singing praises to God.  It’s one of my favorite stories in scripture!  In fact scripture says that the very MOMENT they began to praise, God delivered the enemy into their hands.  Then there’s Paul and Silas.  They praised from a jail cell… bloodied and bruised.  God’s response?  Not much, just an earthquake.  And what about Jesus on the cross?  Didn’t his last words point us to Psalm 22?  “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  Verse three of that psalm (in the King James Version) says “God inhabits the praises of His people.” I’m no theologian, but I happen to think Jesus was telling his followers what was MOST important in his last breath.  God’s response?  Just eternal salvation as a free gift to anyone willing to accept it. 

I thought of my own history in the dark places.  And I thought of my friends currently walking down dark scary paths.  None of us have suffered more – or been challenged MORE than these three examples from scripture.  And those are just the ones I thought of off the top of my head in two minutes.  A word study would net many more.  I think about this.  I ponder the fact that TRUTH cannot be extinguished by the dark.  Who God IS doesn’t change. That’s what we praise… and WHY we praise.  Truth triumphs.  Praise penetrates even the PITCH black darkness.  I don’t understand how it works.  I know God is not manipulated by a formula.  But I also believe that when we CHOOSE heartfelt praise when we’re down in the pit, God WILL move.  I can’t convince you if you’re determined not to believe it.  But I know it down deep in my heart.

I shifted my focus back to the birds.  God’s last instruction to me in this classroom session was to look to scripture and consider the ravens.  So what else did I notice about the birds?  I listen intently.  Lots of birds joined in the symphony- not just a lone soulful widow.  Maybe what I noticed most was the fact that it was birds… not just a bird.  I reflect again on my own dark moments of the past.  I am astounded by the sudden and clear thought that I NEVER faced any of those moments alone.  Oh the faithfulness of God!!!  He brought special people into my life.  Some for a season.  Some for the duration.  All appreciated and all were helpful in pointing my focus back to God.  My heart swells right up to the banks at that realization.

Dawn was beginning to break the night sky.  Streaks of light could be seen out the window.  I hear little feet coming down the staircase, and I hear Grandmommy in the kitchen pulling out pots and pans for an old fashioned, homemade breakfast.  Time is up for this morning.  Time well spent.  Thank you Father.

These shots taken from the front porch of the farmhouse.  

A beautiful word picture that we are never alone when we praise!

            

God's Classroom

As the paddle sliced through the dark, cool water of the Chattahoochee River, I felt the tension loosen its grip on my shoulders.   The only audible sound was the rhythmic dipping of the paddle as I eased my kayak into the face of the flowing current.  Right.  Left.  Right.  Left.  The silence wrapped itself around my mind like a warm blanket.  In the middle of a city of five million people, I was completely and blissfully ALONE.  No calls, no emails, no texts, no tweets.  Actual solitude.  Heavenly Peace.

I find it fascinating the way different people actually FEEL about being alone for snapshots of time.  Those feelings are neither “right” nor “wrong” but are simply products of our distinct wiring and our life experiences to date.  Gender plays a role in that I think… most men in my circle of life truly despise being alone.  Phase of life certainly affects it – most moms of toddlers would probably donate a kidney just to get a little solitude!  And then there are those people somewhere in between who wouldn’t necessarily choose it, but tolerate solitude when it comes.  Truthfully, based on my wiring and my life experiences to date, I’ve yet to feel the actual dread of being alone.  But as a young girl growing up on the farm in deep south Georgia, there were many times I had to tolerate it.  Cancer took my mom in the prime of her life, so there was no one to “hover” over me.  Typical of a rural area, my school playmates were a dozen or more miles away, my older brothers were busy with their own activities, and my dad was working hard to coax a living from the land.  I remember riding my trusty steed, (a purple Schwinn with a white wicker basket and a sleek banana seat), to the back field and walking up and down the rows of freshly plowed dirt.  I liked the neatness of the rows and how they seemed to stretch out forever in front of me.  I liked the way the fresh dirt smelled and how it felt soft under my bare feet.  But mostly, I liked knowing that my own dad had tilled up that soil with his John Deere tractor.  Since he was busy working, I couldn’t be with my Dad, but I could be where he’d recently been.  It soothed an empty place in me, at least for awhile.  I felt less alone.

Kayaking invokes that same feeling in me.  I once read a story to my boys about Creation from a Children’s Storybook Bible.  Rather than the strict narrative of “On Day One, God Created…”, this storybook took a little creative license.  After speaking the world into existence, it said that our powerful God formed the rivers of the earth by tracing them onto the terrain with His finger – much like we draw in the sand.  I loved that simplistic word picture because it took my mind back to the plowed rows of my own childhood.   I can’t be with my Heavenly Father face to face, but it brings me comfort to be where He’s been.  Maneuvering my kayak in the trench He made with his finger… the very spot where His hand touched the earth, it soothes me in the same way walking barefoot in the plowed soil soothed me as a child.  

Isn’t it cool to let our highly- structured adult minds relax just a bit and spend some time exploring the highly-visual world of a child’s imagination?  I love thinking about God bending down tracing rivers onto the globe with his finger.  Because then I think about Jesus bending down tracing words in the sand with HIS finger, as the accusers were salivating at the chance to stone the adulterous woman.  There’s power and gentleness in the fingers of God, and I feel that deep in my soul as I get lost in the cadence of the paddle in the river.

As I paddled on that day, the tension continued to wane. I exhaled deeply and navigated past a family of ducks in the middle of the river.  Their annoyed squawking and hurried pace clearly communicated their displeasure over my intrusion.  I understood.  Escaping the intrusions of life was exactly what I was doing on the river that day.  While I’m very content with my life, I often feel the need to find some breathing room.  Tension just builds up over time when a girl is raised on 500 acres but willingly exchanges her birthright for city lights and a half acre lot.

Rather than float leisurely downstream, letting the current carry me along, I prefer the challenge and exertion of working my way UP the river.  Some days I win.  Some days the river wins.  But on this particular October day in the south, I think it was a draw.  

I’d never seen the river more glorious.  The river banks were lined with hardwoods just beginning to break out in full color.  Yellows and browns, rich reds and vibrant oranges were all there swirled together in a magnificent array of colors.  A friend of mine pointed out to me recently that she was in awe that NONE of the colors clashed in God’s palette for Fall.  I’d never thought of it that way before, and as I sat in my kayak staring at His creation as though it were hanging on the walls of a museum, I marveled at the new thought.  My friend was right – the colors blended perfectly.  What an amazing God!  The view reminded me of the promise in scripture, recorded by the prophet Isaiah:

    You will go out in joy
       and be led forth in peace;
       the mountains and hills
       will burst into song before you,
       and all the trees of the field
       will clap their hands.  Isaiah 55:12

If this landscape wasn’t an example of nature bursting into song and clapping her hands… I don’t know what in the world would be.

Something else was different on the river that day.  I was out for a midday paddle, so the sun was high overhead.  The sun in that position cast a FULL reflection of the trees onto the surface of the water, not a truncated version like it sometimes appears.  I honestly couldn’t take my eyes off the water.  The reflections were in full color as well and they were mesmerizing. 

I had experienced this phenomena in years past on various Fall excursions on the river, and every time I felt in my spirit that God was communicating SOMETHING to me.  The frustrating thing was that I never seemed to figure out exactly WHAT.  I’m pretty sure I had understood bits and pieces of His message to me, but I had that nagging “unfinished” feeling in my spirit that let me know there was more to be mined from this “reflections” sight.

I would occasionally tear my eyes away from the surface reflections and gaze up at a particular tree.  It’s not that the tree itself wasn’t beautiful – it certainly was.  But there was just something about the reflection that kept stealing my attention.  What did it mean?

My mind drifted to one of my memory verses for 2011: 

“Wherever the Spirit of the LORD is, men’s souls are set free.  But all of us who are Christians have no veils on our faces, but reflect like mirrors the glory of the LORD.  We are transformed in ever-increasing splendor into His own image, and this is the work of the LORD, who is the Spirit.” – 2 Corinthians 3:17(b)-18 J.B. Phillips Translation

Was I staring at a word picture of that verse?  

Maybe my reaction to the incredible beauty of the reflection was inspired by the sheer unlikeliness of it.  While I am bone-deep-loyal to my chosen “home city”, I have to admit that the Chattahoochee River is horribly polluted.  The fact that IT is capable of becoming a canvas that God uses to paint such reflected beauty is utterly amazing.  Suffice it to say, its waters do NOT run crystal clear; but on this particular outing, those waters held a treasure that handcuffed my gaze.

And then it occurred to me.  Are we so different?  Aren’t our lives polluted by our poor choices, our scars, our stubborn self-reliance, our battle-weary postures?  And yet, Paul writes to us in 2 Corinthians that WE are capable of reflecting the glory of the LORD – the same glory that traces rivers onto the face of the earth and creates beauty without any clashing colors, the same glory that transforms plain ole green into a masterpiece every Fall.  My mind can’t hold that thought.  

I mean, any Christian who has attended church at least twice knows about sanctification.  We throw that word around all the time.  Every Christian is supposed to be growing and “getting better”, becoming more Christ-like.  But the very concept has always invoked images in my mind akin to a dental visit.  (These were things to be dreaded and feared in my childhood.  Farms had deep wells as a water source – no fluoride.  And I did not have a mother reminding me to brush twice each day.  I remember one visit in particular to Dr. Darby in Vidalia as a very young child. I had 13 cavities.  Dread and Fear.)  Sanctification in MY mind had always meant that God uses His “drill” to get rid of the decay in our lives.  If it’s too deep, He foregoes the drill and simply pulls some things out by the roots.  He polishes us inside and out.  NONE of it has ever seemed like a pleasant process.  And may I say that God has not been a big fan of Novocain in my experience?  There has been no numbing during the treatment.  Sanctification has often been painful.  

That’d been my mindset.  “Sanctification is a necessary part of the Christian journey.  It often hurts.”  I’d lost sight that the BENEFIT is actually BEING more like Christ.  And in so doing – even in my polluted life – I’m reflecting His glory.  It’s too wonderful.  It physically presses in on my chest, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe sitting in my 38 pound boat.  Can my reflection of Him POSSIBLY be beautiful -like the original – the same way I’m looking at the beautiful reflection of these trees on the murky water?  Could this be at least part of what Jesus meant when he told his disciples that they would do “even greater things than these?”  Is it “greater” because it’s so unlikely?  He was God incarnate, perfect and sinless and all-powerful, so of course He healed the sick and raised the dead.  We are…not.  

So when our cracked and chipped clay jars emit a light that reminds people of HIM – isn’t that a reflection?  Isn’t that a miracle?  Isn’t it a “greater thing?”  Isn’t it THE WAY it’s supposed to be when the spirit of Jesus lives inside you?

A favorite author of mine, Ann Voscamp, wrote “You’ll see your true self when you look for your reflection in the eyes of souls, not the glare of screens.”  I love that.  There were no screens on the river that day.  Just me baring my soul to my Creator – asking HIM what I’m actually reflecting.  He didn’t admonish.  But He gently and lovingly revealed the truth.  While I AM reflecting some of HIS glory, it’s not yet a pure reflection.  I’ve mixed in some colors that clash with His.  Selfishness is not a color in God’s palette.  Insecurity doesn’t have a spot on His paint wheel.  Unbelief is never brushed onto His canvas.  Yet they ARE part of my reflection… at the moment.  I heard Him, and I knew He was right.

Time was slipping away and I needed to get home to meet the bus for one son and greet the carpool for the other son.  I wanted to linger; I needed to go.  I went.  

As I picked up the pace of my paddling, I wanted to celebrate a “breakthrough” in my spirit.  The reflection quandary that had occupied space in my subconscious for a long, long time was begging to be moved to the “done pile.”  Unfortunately, the nagging feeling remained.  Apparently, God wasn’t completely finished with our classroom lesson, but the bell had definitely rung signaling the end of today’s lecture.

There is more to mine, more to learn about what it means to be a reflection of Christ.  But for today, I will be thankful for the motivating picture of the trees on the water.  I will be thankful for the reminder than the sanctification process is worth the pain.  I will be thankful that He invites me DAILY to be “transformed in ever-increasing splendor into His own image.”  

I’m looking forward to the next classroom moment, taught by my Father.