Church in the Woods, Year 2

Last summer God asked us to do something unconventional.
He impressed upon our hearts the need to worship together as a family. In the woods.
It felt strange to dress in shorts and tennis shoes for church. It felt odd to pack a picnic for service. But we did it. And we learned something. When you obey God, you have no idea where that obedience will take you.

"Contained within each faithful response to God's guidance is the seed of the next possibility."

All this last year, we've seen this proven true. Family worship led to many decisions that changed the course of our lives.

This year we felt again the call to come and worship as a family in God's cathedral.

Last year, our theme was "The Path" and this year we continued that theme.

So every week, we pick a different trail and a different lesson to go with it.

For example....

One week, we went on a horse trail that was full of poop and slugs and mud and thistles. Our verse for that week was, "Thy word is a lamp onto my feet and a light onto my path." We discussed how utterly miserable it would have been to try and maneuver that horse trail in the dark. I told them that my life path has looked exactly like that horse trail at times and the only way I made it through unscathed was because I devoured God's Word and allowed it to guide my decisions.

Several Sundays ago I told the kids a story about the metallic blue diamonds attached to trees on the Pacific Crest Trail. The Pacific Crest Trail travels the distance between Mexico and Canada. When Dave asked me to begin dating him, I was unsure. I liked him, I respected him, but I wasn't passionately head-over-heals in love with him. So I went on a camping trip with my friend Jenny and I prayed and asked God to show me what to do. The trail we hiked on to our camping spot was part of the Pacific Crest Trail. God showed me, on that camping trip, that He was leading and my trail was marked. If I followed His Word and His voice in my life, like I followed the blue diamonds on the trail, I would be going in the right direction. Well....the trail that God had marked out for me led me somewhere way better than Canada (no offense Chrissy). It led me to now.
Dave went on to tell the kids what God's blue diamonds of leading look like. Gentleness. Patience. Love. Hospitality. Humility. Joy. The markers of His trail.

But last Sunday was the best hike yet. It was a hike through a river to a waterfall. We had to cross an enormous barrier of fallen logs to get to it. The logs were high over the water and semi-narrow and slippery. Grant was able to maneuver himself. But the other three kids had to ask Daddy to carry them. Even Avonlea. I closed my eyes as Dave walked over the high log with a 12 year old on his back. After Dave had gotten them all across he told me to come.
I had to remember that following the blue diamonds is often synonymous with obeying my husband.
I crossed with my heart in my throat and my eyes on my family.
Whew!
But on the other side!

This hike was absolutely beautiful.
Well worth the scary scramble over logs.
Someday these kids may face an obstacle that seems impassible.
And just maybe....they'll remember the beauty that was on the other side.
And maybe....that will motivate them to ask their Father to carry them across.

These are a glimpse of the lessons God is teaching us this summer.
As a family.
In the woods.

 Quote is by Ruth Barton.
The hike is in the Columbia Gorge. It is called Oneonta. Water gets to chest level.

I think I see Him!

My mom's always told me that Jesus could come back at any time.
I believe her, but I wish she'd stop watching for just a minute and let me take her picture.

Ready to Run

I've walked 4 mornings a week all of this year.
There have been moments when I've contemplated running.
But my mind is a simmering pot of rationalizations.
Running takes too much effort.
Running makes me tired.
Running is jarring.
I could go on.
So I walk a 2 mile circuit and I'm satisfied.

But if my body is satisfied, my spirit is not.
I'm praying, praying....praying as I walk.
I come home to time in the Word and things start to emerge.
Imprints on my sub-conscious, barely discernible,
but in certain lights....
I see a pattern.

During devotions with the kids this morning I read the following verses:
"And Ruth the Moabitess said to Naomi, 'Let me go to the field and pick up the leftover grain behind anyone in whose eyes I find favor.'....So she went out and began to glean in the fields behind the harvesters." (Ruth 2:2,3)
And I asked my children, "Would you rather be the harvester or the one who picks up his scraps?"
Hands all around for harvesters.
"Why?"
"I'd like to use a scythe!"
"I'd get more grain."
"But wouldn't it be harder work?" She's thinking of the effort.
The others respond to her vein of thought.
"Yeah it would be easier to just pick up what you need and go home."
"Isn't it kinda hard to make bushels?"
They reminded me of me walking, contemplating a run.
I spoke truth to them and to myself, "There are two types of people in this world, harvesters and gleaners. The harvesters are the ones who learn to use the tools, who sweat and toil and get the crop in. The harvesters feed the people. The gleaners gather what the harvesters in their fullness drop. They read their books, listen to their radio shows and sermons, follow their blogs. What do you want to be?"
Grant looked at me big eyed and asked, "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

After devotions we went out for a walk. The kids were all on bikes and scooters while I puffed along behind. Posy was on her new big girl two wheeler.
And then the hill happened.
Little muffin on a bike shot past me and screamed. She was going approximately 60 miles an hour.
Without consulting myself, I ran after her.
I ran like the wind.
I caught up to her and slowed her down, but I kept running.
My body sang, "You've been training for this! You're ready for this!"
And I was.
I kept up with their wheels.
My rationalizations against running were simply ludicrous.
I was made to run.

There will be times we need to step back and glean but...
We were made to harvest.
We were made to live in dependency on God, not on man.
We were made to use our God given tools to harvest a God given crop.
We're been training for this. We're ready for this.

I don't want to walk behind the harvesters,
gathering up enough to live on today.
I want an abundance,
even if it means effort,
weariness,
jarring.
I'm ready to run.

"The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field." (Matt. 9:37)

My friend Julianna and I began tallking about this last month. The concept of approaching God first instead of google or books or people's opinions. The idea of letting God alone guide us, interacting with Him instead of gleaning off other people's interactions.

Tossing Habits

Last month....
I rapped the window to get my husband's attention.
He saw me. He saw the dramatic gestures I used to impart the knowledge that I wanted him to get Rowan in for a bath. I saw him turn toward Rowan and tell him to scoot inside. I saw Rowan ignore him.
Three times.
Each time I felt someone was turning up the temperature inside me. By the time my naughty little deaf boy came inside I was angry.
I told him in no uncertain terms that third time obedience is not acceptable. That ignoring Daddy is hurtful and disrespectful.
I told him these things rather loudly. Justifying, if he acts like he has a hearing problem, I'm going to treat him like he has a hearing problem.
He looked at me and said, "When I'm a daddy I'm never going to yell at my kids."
I replied sincerely, "I hope you never do."
He was thoughtful for a moment, then he looked up alarmed and said, "I hope I don't pick up your bad habits!"

Last Saturday we were working as a family in our woods. Dave was wearing what Posy refers to as his "wraps" and using his chain saw to cut down trees. The kids and I were cleaning the brush as soon as it hit the ground, stacking it in burn piles to light our winter nights. I tossed tree trunks to the boys and they picked them up and put them on the pile. I was careful to make sure they were out of the way before I tossed.
I picked up a bigger one and debated whether or not to throw it.
"Okay boys this is a big one. Move out of the way."
I saw Rowan walking away from me and I tossed.
For some reason he decided to disobey. He turned back toward me and the log hit him in the chest. A wail cut the air. I was with him in a second. I lifted his shirt and saw a purplish circle on his heart. I saw an indentation where the wood hit. I was sick and terrified.
"Why did you turn! I told you to walk away!"
I led my crying boy up to be iced and comforted.
He was okay. The swelling went down. No damage was done.
But it got me thinking.

I am the adult.
Under no circumstances should I be throwing words, trunks, or anything else at my child.
Who cares, if they wouldn't hit him if he was only obedient.
What comfort is there in that when the heart is damaged?

I know that no matter which way I turn, I will encounter a God of love.
I know that third time obedience is a victory in my walk with God.
I desperately want my son to know this.
I need to learn some new habits.
Habits he need not be afraid to pick up.

Clarification and 80's Love Songs

Apparently quiet time did not solve all my problems. I wrote my post last night and entitled it "Real Life" after the poem of the same title that I was going to close with. I forgot to add the poem and caused some heads to tilt in confusion. Sorry. I'm not going to post that poem now because it wouldn't make any sense with this post which is about '80's love songs. Did you get that?

Ahem.

So I have this fear. A creepy-crawly-hair raising kind of fear that I appear too spiritual on this blog. I don't want you to think that I only see the holy side of life, because that's not true. I see every side of life and sometimes I can focus right and see the eternal aspect of it and sometimes I can't. But I also see how far short of those holy landscapes I fall. Grace has to boost me up on a regular basis.
So, it's maybe misleading for me to write that I went up to the mountain and sat quietly for 16 days. Because that's not totally true. I had a couple unholy nights.
One of them started with my wardrobe selection. I was in such a hurry to get up there that I grabbed a basket full of clothing that did not match each other in the least. I had one outfit that worked. The rest were odds and ends and random colors that made me moan when I opened my drawer in the morning.
One morning when I was alone, I ended up in a light pink t-shirt with black undergarments. I looked like Madonna. This made me laugh.
That night when I was painting the bathroom I had a crazy idea. Dave had left his computer and I decided to turn on Pandora and hit their '80's love song station. I haven't listened to 80's love songs since the '90's. I swear. I'm really not sure what possessed me except the aforesaid pink/black Madonna combo.
The first few songs were about broken hearts and I remembered Page and I listening to them and crying. Not, mind you, because we had boyfriends that had broken up with us, but because someday we might, and wouldn't that be sad?????
Then I started listening to the words of these songs, and they were so funny.

"I should've known better than to fall in love with you...."
"Though it's easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool...."
"I'm never going to dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm..."
"The beating of my heart is a drum and it's lost and it's looking for a rhythm like you..."
"Once upon a time I was falling in love, now I'm only falling apart..."

I could go on.
That last one was from my all time favorite 80's song entitled "Total Eclipse of the Heart." When it came on, my paintbrush froze mid-stroke and my mouth gaped. Oh the memories! Dancing in the kitchen on a summer night (by myself), riding the waves of that passionate song. Oh and here it comes...my favorite line...I have to sing it loudly...."I'm living in a powder keg and giving off sparks!!!!" Yes! Who cares that for years I didn't know what a powder keg was and sang "polygon" instead. It worked and no one ever knew. The important thing was that I WAS IGNITING!!!

I completely cracked myself up that night in the cottage bathroom.
I wasn't quiet.
I wasn't praying.
But I think God was entertained.
So I suppose it was holy after all.

Real Life

I pulled myself through the week of VBC like a parched animal dragging itself to water.

June was a month where I exceeded my capacity for basically everything.

So as soon as I could, I went away.

I sat in the shadow of a mountain for 16 days. Four of the days I was utterly alone, as Dave took the kids over to LaPine to be with his parents. I haven't been alone for four days since before I had children. Avonlea is 12.

I obeyed the Psalm which says, "Be still and know that I am God."

Be Still.

The days that I was alone were windy. I went on walks where the wind whipped my hair and clothes, took the breath from my mouth and seemed to blow right through me. My lungs were full of it.  My lungs, so contracted and raspy weeks ago, were dancing and spinning and expanding in the wind. My heart delighted in the wild freedom of it.

Avonlea

My Wild Rose

Laughter.

Poppies!

When the kids came they ran down to the creek. Every day, in the hot sun, they ran to the water. I marveled at how natural it was to them. They instinctively knew that when you are over heated, you cool off with running water.

They ran down the path and into the creek without stopping, without consideration.
They plunged and it inspired me to do the same.
Parched animal indeed!
I was still and I was soaked.
When we crawl to Jesus for a drink, he gives us the music of a forest stream laughing down shining rocks. He gives us cold water, brisk from the mountain. He gives us the wind of His Spirit which blows clean through and airs the soul like a well ventilated house. Cobwebs disappear along with asthmatic tendencies.

"Seek me and live." (Amos 5:4)

Sometimes seeking is just being.

Henry the VIII's Baptism

I was baptized when I was 13.
It was winter.
My mom and I drove to a local church that was having a baptism service. Before we left, I put on thick sweat pants, a turtleneck and a big warm sweatshirt. All I could think of was how cold I was going to get before I could get back into those warm clothes.
Things get a little fuzzy for me at this point. I was shown into a locker room (the baptismal was in the gym) and told to put on a white gown. The locker room was freezing. I'm not sure whether I decided to put the gown on over my clothes because I was cold or if I was too self-conscious to change. But there I was, wrapped in about 20 pounds of woolly cotton and fleece and a white gown.
Someone came and got me when it was my turn. The pastor said a little something and then down I went. Down I stayed. I was so heavy in my layers of clothing that the pastor struggled to lift me back up. I can't swim. Panic swelled and I thrashed. Finally, I found my feet and tried to drag myself up the stairs and out of that scary water. It was very difficult. I was so heavy, I could barely walk up the stairs! Water logged, I headed to the locker room, only to realize that I had nothing to change in to!!!
I wrung my clothes out as best I could and went home. My socks were dry and I was thankful.
Now, contrary to popular opinion, this incident didn't scar me or make me doubt my salvation. Indeed, through the years it made a wonderful story and I loved reenacting it. But I haven't thought of it for a long time, until today.

Last week I laid down in my bed after a long night of planning. Immediately when I laid down, I started gasping. Dave asked what the matter was and I told him I felt like Henry the VIII was sitting on my chest. Several times in the night I woke up gasping for air. Dave would wake up, alarmed, and ask, "Henry?" I'd nod and cough.

This went on for over a week. Shortness of breath or coughing fits would catch me off guard during the day. At night Henry was always there. My mom prayed over me. A friend came over and prayed for me. I started walking in faith in God's healing. Henry started losing weight.

Then today during worship in church, I saw it. Me, in the baptismal, gasping for air. It flashed through my mind, played for an instant like an old home video, then was gone.
But I saw.
Comfort turning into panic.
Insecurity begetting heaviness.
Things I had wrapped around myself becoming a hindrance to a true freedom.
And the symbolism of it all hit me like a big king. Not everyone drowns in water. Some of us drown in life and the things we wrap around ourselves for comfort turn into millstones that sink us to the bottom of the baptismal.
And Satan uses the areas of our weakness to convince us that we need another layer of clothing. After all, he reasons, it's cold out there.

Tomorrow Vacation Bible Camp starts at our church. My friend and I will be leading 400 or so kids in music.
Lots of kids will be hearing of Jesus for the first time. I'm very excited.
Henry the VIII will not be coming with me.
I will be wearing a white gown, Christ Himself wrapped round my person,
and I will be singing,
and dancing,
and breathing.

"Let everything that has breath praise the LORD!" Psalm 150:6