It’s Easter Sunday and I am here alone at home,
enjoying a quiet afternoon. My life has been an endless series of projects and
now when I am forced to stay home in some senses, I’m trying to learn how to
rest. It’s not as easy as it sounds since I am in possession of a strong work
ethic where “doing”, “creating” is a part of who I am.
My father and
mother were both hard working people. Dad remained busy most of the time; making a living, running a business, keeping
up our beautiful property. He seldom sat still for long, except to catch a game
on TV or watch an episode of Mash or
Gun Smoke. Out property never had areas needing upkeep; the yards were
manicured, the flower beds kept tidy. No one in our home threw trash around
outside or inside, ever. In fact, I don’t ever remember seeing a gum wrapper on
our three plus acres.
Well, I can’t pretend to match my parents diligence
in keeping up my homestead. These last few years, (seven and a half) working
full time, raising the last of seven children, my household projects have been
sporadic. My last big project, re-staining the decks found me with a torn
rotator cuff on one side and a sprain on the left. I am no longer able to
tackle big projects myself, I am having to slow down.
However, in-between the huge projects, a million
other things on my to-do list beckon me to tackle them. Today however, I am
forcing myself to rest.
Earlier, my youngest and her family picked me up to
take me to church. The small country church was packed with folks decked out in
their Easter Sunday best. I sat in the back row, (my norm) and sat through the
Easter service; young adorable kids singing songs; youth leading more songs,
and then more songs. I sat down, it seemed like I felt tired and it seemed hot.
I continued to watch the service unfold and a strange awareness hit me that
this might be my last time in this small church. Everything seemed
one-dimensional and flat as if I was “outside” looking in. I didn’t feel angst,
or disassociated just apart and separate.
After church, a trip to Safeway and home to cook
myself dinner, a hamburger and strawberries. After dinner, I looked around and
started getting caught up in myriad chores. “Stop,” I told myself mentally.
“Take a day off, it’s Easter.” I grabbed
a seat on the couch, turned on HGTV and grabbed my computer. For me, writing is
comforting and relaxing. I love the fact people from around the world read my
blog. It’s amazing that a free service has a language translator that people
can use to read something someone thousands of miles away wrote.
Yesterday , I discovered a wonderful book on my
Kindle, “365 Meditations from George MacDonald’s Fiction.” It was a
free download and I’ve never really looked at it. Each excerpt is titled and themed. I began to
read and discovered the thoughts being expressed resonated with my soul. With a
couple of exceptions each little gem eloquently expressed a Biblical truth
written out in very human and earthy terms. I was surprised, how much I liked
this book, written before I was born and a quiet tome on life and seeking God.
Winter
It
is not the high summer alone that is God’s. The winter also is His. And into
His winter He came to visit us. And all man’s winters are His- the winter of
our poverty, the winter of our sorrow, the winter of our unhappiness- even “the
winter of our discontent.” Adela Cathcart, vols. 1, ch. 2
I am in kind of in a winter season of my life in
that it is tinged with the unknown. I like the way that this quote described
the omnipotent nature of God. This book is a rich read and offers insight into
Biblical truths. Another segment that seemed apropos was the following:
Outside
Things
When
outside things, such as pain or loss of work, or difficulty in getting money,
were referred to God and His will, they too straightway became spiritual
affairs, for nothing in the world could any longer appear common or unclean to
the (wo)man who saw God in everything.
Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood, ch. 30
I am trying to see God in everything. I glean my
Bible for promises to claim and bathe my soul in a spirit of thankfulness. As
of yet, I only have minor pain and discomfort, nothing debilitating. I have
food, I have a home, I have family and I have friends. The list could go on and
on.
I love the fact I wake up next to woods and can hear
the birds sing their morning songs. I treasure the fact I can open my window
and enjoy, sweet, fresh air. The lack of fresh air is one of the things I
associate with ill health and old age. People trapped within walls of institutions
where air conditioning and recycled air means windows are un-openable. I’m
hoping I’m able to wheel my own wheelchair outside to catch glimpses of the sky
and feel the warmth of the sun on my face.
In closing another excerpt from MacDonald,
Repose
So
I turned and lingered by the old mill, and fell a pondering on the profusion of
strength that rushed past the wheel away to the great sea, doing nothing.
“Nature,” I thought, “does not demand that power should always be force. Power
itself must repose (or rest). He that believeth shall not make haste, says the
Bible. But it needs strength to be still. Is my faith not strong enough to be
still?” I looked up to the heavens once more, and the quietness of the stars
seemed to reproach me. “We are safe up here,” they seemed to say; “we shine,
fearless and confident, for the God who gave the primrose its rough leaves to
hide it from the blast of uneven spring, hangs us in the awful hollows of
space. We cannot fall out of His safety.”
Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood, ch.29
Moment by moment I’m kept in His love; in health, in
sickness, in wealth, in poverty, in life and in death, in certainty and in uncertainty. He is there.
An odd thing just happened as I was typing I could
hear the loud, low wail of a cat. My dogs, began barking and the wail
continued. My old, aging cat Michael had been sitting on the porch getting a
little fresh air of his own. I ran downstairs to the outside and saw Michael,
his hair raised a large, unknown black cat threatening him on our porch. I ran
out the door and yelled at the large black cat to “Go!”. It ran and Michel,
more confident with me as back-up chased the cat across the street. I followed
Michael and picked him up and carried him to the safety of our home. He’s old,weakened
and has become a ‘house cat’ this last year.
I’m not superstitious, nor do I think the random
appearance of the unknown black cat is a harbinger of impending doom. But I do
believe that this illustrates a type of God’s love for us. I’m human, and I
care about this old cat, I ran to protect him. God is God, and loves us, and
me. He will run to protect me and strengthen me because He cares, and He
promises this to those who believe in Him.
Learning to rest in His love and not look at the
high waves of circumstances I will continue to learn to trust Him through this
season of life.
To those of you in your own trying seasons,
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth
will grow strangely dim
In the light of His
glory and grace.
Goodbye and be blessed!
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