Fear and a Vacuum Cleaner

Jewel, our 4 year old Green Cheek Conure, hates the vacuum cleaner.    We aren't quite sure why, but it scares her.   She is not especially logical when frightened, often randomly flying around the room in response to a startling noise.

Today as I brought out the vacuum cleaner, she wasn't happy.  I turned it on and something interesting happened as I started on the living room floor.

She flew to my shoulder.

Which means she flew closer to the thing that frightened her.

Which to me means, even though she was scared of the vacuum cleaner, she was more scared to be alone and further away from the noise, then on my shoulder and near the noise.

She trusted me to keep her safe, even if that meant getting closer to her fear. 

I can't help but draw life parallels.

If God ever calls us to do something that scares us, it is wiser for us to approach the fear by his side then to stay on the sidelines.  We can trust Him to take care of us, even in rough or uncharted waters.

December Doldrums

Most people do not look forward to December 26.

It often comes too fast, carrying with it a feeling of post-holiday blues.

The presents are unwrapped.  The cranberry pie digested, and the remains of the Christmas feast sit in little Tupperware containers in the refrigerator.

The Christmas tree begins to fade and drop its leaves, and the task of taking down all the glorious lights and decorations lies ahead.

But yet, there is still time to linger in the Christmas light, and gather strength and hope for days ahead in its glow.

The end of 2014 looms, and the unknown of 2015 draws near.

In the twinkling lights all feels calm and bright.  But in the approaching year of decisions and alarm clocks, and searching for purpose, the world feels anxious and shadowed.

Ebenezer Scrooge famously says in Charles Dickens' play, The Christmas Carol, "I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year."

I wonder what he meant by this and if he ever struggled to keep hope burning bright as days passed.

When the last of the Christmas decorations is put away, gift of Christmas still continues.  The Christ child born all those years ago grew to be a man.  The bright star that led the wise men to Bethlehem pales in comparison with the Morning Star that now shines.

So even if the lights dim in our yards, may the light of our hearts never grow dim, but may it grow ever brighter as we live in the promise of Christmas and share that hope with others.

Let the Stable still Astonish

I often think of this poem at Christmas time.  Enjoy the reflections of Let the Stable still Astonish by Leslie Leyland Fields. 

Let the stable still astonish:
Straw-dirt floor, dull eyes,
Dusty flanks of donkeys, oxen;
Crumbling, crooked walls;
No bed to carry that pain,

And then, the child,
Rag-wrapped, laid to cry
In a trough.
Who would have chosen this?
Who would have said: “Yes,
Let the God of all the heavens and earth
Be born here, in this place”?

Who but the same God
Who stands in the darker, fouler rooms
of our hearts and says, “Yes,
let the God of Heaven and Earth
be born here–
in this place.”

-Leslie Leyland Fields

A Deeper Experience

Imagine with me this scenario for a moment:

**
You are alone in the car driving to work.   Your phone is taking a nap; peacefully silent in the seat beside you.

A new song comes on the radio.  The intro catches your attention and you turn it up.

The words speak to you.  The story flows slowly but meaningfully until the last chorus leaves you in tears.

The song is beautiful.  And you have experienced it.

You purchase the song that night and play it for your friend the next day as you are headed to lunch.  But another friend you are meeting at the restaurant is running late and she calls mid-verse to tell you this.  With all the distractions that ensue, your friend in the car does not feel the same way about the song as you did upon first hearing it.

**

There is a difference between experiencing a song and listening to a song.

Which makes me wonder, does this apply to life as well?

If I'm constantly multi-tasking, am I missing a chance to experience meaningful parts of life?

How many conversations do I have while doing something else, or maybe multiple things?

I know there are times when we need to be efficient, to accomplish, to multi-task.

But I believe there are also times when we need to focus.  To put down the iPhone, close Facebook, stop making lists in our mind, and truly experience the present.

If we don't, we run the risk of missing the heart of our daily interactions and the ability to experience life at a deeper level.

To Fear or Not to Fear

Ever since the second nurse was diagnosed with Ebola my concern over this issue has grown significantly.  At first I bought into the general consensus that this disease could be contained, and the US was equipped to handle patients in a safe manner.

But now I'm not so sure.

My 'could the world end soon?' antenna is a little higher and I'm bordering on actual concern for a mass outbreak followed by days of being quarantined at home.

At this point, its hard to know what to think really or what to expect.

It seems to me that our current generation is programmed to listen with great interest to news about potentially life altering events, but not to really expect those events to actually affect life as we know it.

While we may fear an Ebola outbreak, how many of us truly think this will happen in America?  What would that do to our national confidence if it did?

If our hospitals are unable to protect healthcare workers from contracting contagious diseases, how many healthcare workers will choose to continue to care for patients?  Could you blame them if they didn't?

I'm troubled by the potential for disaster in my country.  And perhaps equally troubled by how hard it is to believe that disaster could ever impact America.     I'm grateful to live in such a wonderful country, but the reality remains that we live in a fallen world.  And we know the end is coming.

I don't want to be caught off guard like the metaphor of a thief in the night.

I also don't want to live life in a state of fear.  

The same Jesus who promised that the end would come also declared that he came that we might have abundant life.   (Matthew 24:14, John 10:10)

Perhaps one response is to fear ebola and other potential security threats in our country in the sense of being aware of the danger and not ignoring warning signs around us, but also not to fear these things by definition of being afraid of them.

May we be wise in our understanding, childlike in our faith, and unwavering in our trust in God.

Mountain Peaks

It's hard to come down from the mountains.

My husband and I just finished an amazing vacation in the Colorado Rocky Mountains and now that we are home, I'm feeling a little sad.

I love our home, our friends, our church.  But there is something special about being on top of the world amid beauty so wild and breathtaking that it scarcely seems real.

It's hard not to miss the crispness of the air.  The snowcapped peaks.  The golden aspens. And trails and trails of forest to explore: open grassy meadows, rocky rivers, and winding inclines with spectacular vistas.

How do you come down from the mountains?

At times life offers amazing moments, incredible experiences, full of promise.
It can be hard to come down from these times as well.   How do we go about living the day to day, once we have learned about the mountain tops and long to return?

I'm sure there are many wonderful answers to this question.   But for now the promise playing in my mind is from Matthew, when a small band of Christians gathered together as they were about to watch their mountain top experience ascend into the sky.  

"Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."

Beyond the Miasma

There are days when life makes sense.  Things fall into place, routine finds its groove.  During this time we don't often question life and may easily find answers when we do.

But there are other days when something pulls us from the routine and for a moment we catch a glimpse of a bigger picture.

Often these reflections are inspiring.  But sometimes the corresponding thoughts are confusing or even worse cause life to feel meaningless in that moment.

For example: Why go to college, get married, and buy a house on the lake so your kids can spend happy summer days by the shore, if later in life you will retire and your children will move on to their own homes?

What is the point of life, specifically as time slips by and generations change?

The stories of the Bible offers hope and the promise of something bigger and greater in the universe but that something can still be hard to understand.

Perhaps it is because we still live in the fog.  We don't see clearly yet.

Paul says it this way, "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part, but then shall I know even as I am fully known."  1 Cor 13:12

Perhaps it's like a young boy growing up in a tiny town deep in the marshlands and full of miasma.  He has never left home, but on the clearest of days he can catch sight of an incredible mansion perfectly situated on the green hillside outside the village.

Somehow he knows that the mansion and surrounding lands are good and beautiful; perfect beyond his  imagination, but because he can't yet cross the wide swamp between his home and the hills beyond it, he doesn't know what the great hallways look like or how the green pastures feel beneath his feet.  He can't explore the grand rooms or run through the grounds in search of fireflies.

The boy longs to escape the poisonous air of his homeland for instinctively he knows that his very survival depends on it.  But he doesn't know exactly what to expect once he does leave.

Like the boy, we long for as many glimpses of that mansion as we can handle, but there may be things about it that we will not understand until we get there.  Things that in our mortal state, we can not understand.

So for now, may we know Way home,  trust the Truth of how to get there, and find deep hope and purpose in Life eternal.

The mansion waits.  The fireflies glow.  One day the fog will lift.

Let us hold fast to our hope.