Garter Snakes

(Note:  This was in the draft file from way back, 3-26-08)


Ah, spring.... G did school with K this morning, I worked all morning...I had thought this was going to be an easy week...well, maybe tomorrow!!

About 3:30 I was beat and it was sunny, so K and I went outside to feed the horses and replace some rotted fence posts in the back yard--a job I have been putting off all winter. I don't mind the nailing or the digging, but inevitably the posts are rotted only a foot down, and so the other foot and a half is still good and next to impossible to pull up.

K and I ducked into the lean-to to dodge one hail storm. We have pea-sized hail that stings bad enough...I can't imagine what hail would be like if it were golf ball sized like in the midwest!! The hail stopped as quickly as it started and we went to work knocking off rails and pulling up posts, and started digging out our first post.  K spotted a baby snake (garter snake) so we looked it over and I explained to him that we couldn't keep it in the house because Daddy would flip....and then I pulled up another scoop of rotted wood and sitting right on top of that was an even bigger garter snake, maybe 10 inches long.

When we first moved here, we had red racers...black with red heads and red/orange stripes. But the ones we have been seeing in the past few years are the most beautiful blue...We held the slow-moving, slow-motion snake in our gloved hands and watched as it "tasted" the spring air, deciding who held it and if it was time to wake up yet. It warmed up as we held it and admired it. It had a pale yellow stripe down the back and each side and the spots on the black body between the stripes were a neon blue. In the summer, these snakes move so fast (and there are BIG ones in our manure pile, aka the fly-smorgasborg) that I half thought I imagined the neon blue. But it really is neon blue. As we examined his tummy, the sun came out and K noted the opalescence of his gray-blue underside, glimmering blue and pink and silver and cream.

What an amazing God we have that He would make even the underside of a snake beautiful!! And how fortunate for us that we got to catch one and examine it today!! And how lucky I am to have a boy to share it all with!! The rain and cold finally drove us inside, but at least we got one post replaced...enough to keep Gracie out of Bill's yard!!

The Other Son

Prodigal:
1)  characterized by profuse or wasteful expenditure: LAVISH  (a prodigal  feast) (prodigal outlays for her clothes)
2)  recklessly spendthrift (the prodigal prince)
3)  yielding abundantly : LUXURIANT —often used with of (nature has been so prodigal of her bounty — H. T. Buckle)

I have been thinking about the “prodigal son”, the story Jesus told about the son who demanded his inheritance and then went out and spent it on raucous living.  Eventually, the son saw the foolishness of his ways and returned home, much to the delight of the father.  His brother, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so excited to see him.

We have probably all heard this story used in sermons many times.  I think the emphasis is usually on the prodigal, repentant son; because that is us.  But I have been thinking about the brother lately.  So please indulge me when I go beyond the story and write in a few things that aren’t there, but might be.

I’m guessing the faithful son in the story was not yet a parent, or he would totally understand his father’s perspective, and he might even feel the same way about his brother’s return.  It’s also possible that the son who stayed behind secretly wanted to leave the family business and go out on his own, but didn’t do it either because he lacked the strength or because he loved his father and after seeing what his brother’s actions did to his father, he couldn’t bear to do the same.  Either way, I think he lacked an appreciation for the relationship that he had with his father, the brick-by-brick foundation he had been laying in the relationship with his father.

But there is also the possibility that the son watched his father mourn the loss of his prodigal son.  Perhaps he watched him every day, as he scanned the horizon looking for his son to return.  Perhaps his heart ached as his father, in a moment of emotional weakness, expressed his frustration about his lost son, or his anger about his foolishness, or his hurt over the separation, the lack of communication. “He doesn’t call. He doesn’t write. I only hear how he is through the grapevine.”  It’s possible that the son who watched the agony of his father, helpless to ease the pain in his heart, built up a little anger of his own for his wayward brother.

It’s possible that when the brother returned, and the faithful son saw how happy it made his father, even though he knew this was right, held a little fear in his heart that his brother would take off yet again, and he would have to watch , helpless, as his father mourned yet again.  I have always felt that the brother who stayed behind acted childishly and selfishly.  But maybe his concern, deep down, was that his father would be hurt again.

In the Old Testament, we see that each tribe was given a portion of the Promised Land as their inheritance except for the tribe of Levi, who was given a small area in each of the other tribes, because the Levites were the priests, and they needed to be among the people in order to minister to them. But god did not consider that they had been short-changed.  He said of it, “I am their inheritance.”  That is, they had a special relationship with God, a special closeness, a special understanding that God did not give to the ordinary man.  God gave them the BEST; He gave them himself.  This is the inheritance God gave each of us when He came to earth in the person of Jesus to live among us, to show us Himself in human form.  This is the gift God gave us when He left his Holy Spirit to dwell among us.

I am the prodigal.  I have wasted the inheritance God gave me here on earth, and I have returned to God begging to be a servant in his kingdom, but he has restored my position as an heir.  All God wants of me is that I walk beside him, daily, intimately. But how many days do I go off and do my own thing?  I am guilty of not valuing the relationship God wants to have with me.  How do I hurt him when I wander off on some rabbit trail?  I always come back, and I always will come back, but what have I missed that God wanted to show me on our walk, or what story did I not hear, or what dance did I miss out on while I was out off on my own?

I don’t want to miss any more. I want to sit at His feet, hear every word, dance every dance and hear every story.

On Death: The Privilege of Participating in God's Pain

I have been attending a Beth Moore Bible study these past few weeks.  On one of the days she taught about Abraham’s test, when God asked Abraham to take Isaac up and offer him as a sacrifice on the altar.  Most of us who have read this story, recognize that it is the foretelling of God offering His son, Jesus, as an offering for our sins.   I had never looked at it before from the viewpoint that God was giving Abraham the opportunity (dare I say privilege?) of participating in God’s pain and loss.

My uncle, barring divine intervention, is on the brink of death as I write this.  I knew last spring, when I saw him for my birthday, I was seeing him for the last time.  I thought I had come to terms with that.  I have not.  I’m still weepingly sad. I’m still begging God to intervene and heal him completely and make his body strong and whole.  In the same way that Abraham knew that even if he sacrificed his beloved son, Isaac, the son through whom God promised Abraham’s descendants would outnumber the stars, God would STILL be able to keep his promise, I know that God is able to change what seems to rational thought inevitable. 

But that is what we do.  We fight death.  With every measure of strength we have, we fight death.  We know at our very deepest part that death is NOT part of who God made us to be.  Death is NOT RIGHT.

I remember reading Genesis 3 as a young person and thinking, “If God said if they ate from the tree he told them not to eat from they would die, then why didn’t they die when they ate from it?”  In fact, according to Genesis, Adam lived 930 years!  The first death recorded in the Bible wasn’t even Adam or Eve, but Abel, and this was before Adam was 130 years old. 

Clearly, the fruit was not poisonous, and death did not come into the world by natural law.  God chose death as the consequence of sin.  But why?  Why death?

B. D. Napier, in a little book of poems called “Come Sweet Death”, writes about the fall, “…let us be free of you—or let us die!  It is the same, you say, you stubborn God?”  and later,  “Sweet Eve, you say you thought you heard him laugh?  I heard him say, “how can I give you up? How can I hand you over?”  Then a word about another silly little tree—an antidotal tree, redemptive tree.  And then—this must be when you thought he laughed—I think I heard him sob.       I think he wept.”

Sin brought a separation between God and man.  A big separation.  A separation it would take another death to bridge.   When we feel the pain of separation that death brings us, that pain is an echo of the pain God feels at the separation sin brings between Him and each of us.  That’s why death is the fitting consequence of sin. It causes the kind of pain in man that sin causes in God.

And when I miss a loved one who has died, I will remember that it is just a ripple thousands of years past the first wave, and just an echo of the pain my own sin has caused.  And I will think about the second tree, where the death occurred that made the pain of separation a temporary thing.  

I’m still praying for your miracle, Bill, because the pain is big.  But if it doesn’t come, I’ll be looking for you at the reunion.  I love you so much.  I’m so thankful for the privilege of knowing you, for all you have done for me for half a century, for your faithfulness, for your legacy.  I will carry your smile and your laugh and your voice in my heart the rest of my life.  

With immense love and the utmost respect, dedicated to 

William Oscar Richter 

November 11, 1948 to February 25, 2013

A Crocus in the Mud (Joy in a Broken World)

I own an acre.  Before I owned it, it was being used as a horse pasture.  There are vestiges of an old orchard here, so at one point in the past, fruit trees provided sustenance for nearby residents.  Before that, as far as I know, it was wild land.  This area has only been settled for about 150 years.  Before that, the occasional trapper wandered across here and before that other hunters.  But no one had every "lived" here. There had never been a house here.  We are the first people to sleep here nearly every night for decades.  When we first moved here, I tilled up a 100 x 50 foot section for garden out back. It was tilled yearly for many years, and then let rest.  When we added Pablo, our mustang foal, 8 years ago, That old garden section became extra pasture.  After a while, it got eaten down and overused and in the winter was mostly mud.  One day, though, when I was walking through, I looked down, and growing up through the mud was a solitary crocus.  I don't have any crocus planted in my beds, and if my neighbors do, the nearest one s at least 100 yards away. 

It was a spot of joy in the midst of a field of overeaten, trampled grass, now mostly mud.  

In a way, it's like our lives.  We live in a broken world.  We are broken people.  No matter how hard we try to be good, we still act and speak in thoughtless, selfish ways.  We hurt each other. We hurt the people we love.  The world hurts us.  Even the people who are supposed to love us sometimes hurt us.  There is no place in our lives that isn't "muddy".  As we walk through this life, God doesn't promise us that we will be spared the pain of this broken world.  We will still live with sickness, injury, pain--even sometimes caused by those who love us.  God doesn't promise that walking with Him will spare us all those things.  What He does promise us is His joy.  We're still gonna have to slog through the mud, but in the midst of it we may find a crocus. 

Ad libitum

Note:  Ad libitum is often translated "at one's pleasure" or "at liberty" or "freely".

I had a conversation with a friend the other evening and she made the comment that as humans we like order, which led us to a discussion about how God never seems to do the same thing twice.  I would like to take you on a wandering journey now, which may seem random, but in reality, this is what it's about--ad libitum.  I have told you this ahead of time, because if you are at all like me, you want to know where we are going before we leave. 

I have learned a lot about myself over the years by observing my children.  One thing I have learned is that I appreciate "order" especially as it pertains to planning my day.  One of my favorite memories of Laura is that of her little 18-month-old self at my 23rd birthday party.  Mom had bought her a present as well, so that she would have something to open (very smart Grandma!!).  I believe it was a little stuffed toy.  Laura tore the paper off, opened the box, played with the little stuffed toy and when she was done, she put it back in the box and tried to put the paper back on.  Apparently, it was supposed to be in the box, wrapped up.  That's where it lived, that's where "away" was.  I cannot tell you how many Breyer boxes we brought home from birthdays and Christmases over the years because things came in a box and so they belonged in the box when we were done!  As I sit here typing, on the shelves above me (the last vestiges of when Laura used to occupy this room) are several Breyer boxes, with models inside. When she was a preschooler, she would order her day and woe to me if I brought something unexpected into it!  I learned very quickly to give her a run-down at the beginning of the day of the things I planned to do that included her, and then I dare not change that!   A simple thing like going to the grocery store had to be planned for.  My child liked order. 

My son is the same way.  I guess I am as well.  I roll a little better with the punches now that I am older, but I suspect, in my younger years, I was very much like they are. 

I don't know if everyone is that way.  I suspect we all are to some degree.  This brings me back to my discussion with my friend.  In our walks with God, we would very much like it if He would say to us.  "Okay, here is today's agenda" or even "In the next few years, these things are going to happen.  This is what I intend for the end result to be."  but God doesn't seem to work that way in our lives.  Life with God is a wandering ramble.  He doesn't hand us a syllabus so we can pace ourselves, or read ahead when we have extra time or energy,or set aside study time for the midterms and tests He has planned for us.  

When I was in college, I spent a couple years working for this ancient dairyman. (Okay, to my 20-year-old self he was ancient, but he was really only in his 60s.)  He used to write me out a list of what needed to be done, so when I got to the barn, I could just look at the list and get started.  But there were times when my list intersected with his list for himself, like when we would haul heifers out to some location or he needed me to guard a gate when he was cleaning out an occupied pen with the tractor, or when we needed to get a load of hay.  These were often special times, because he was so full of knowledge about everything.  He knew the calls of every bird, their habits, their looks.  He knew every plant that grew in the area, what it was good for, and what the Indians had used it for.  He knew what the land looked like a hundred years ago and where it used to flood and where buildings used to stand, which had long since been torn down.  But I always had my list in the back of my head, and I was 20 years old, and so I tended to listen, but also keep him on task.  As time went on, I got better about listening and letting myself get taken off task.  What he knew, and what I'm still learning, is that life is about relationships and relationships take time.  

It is with great fondness that I remember our walks through the fields, where he would touch my arm and put his finger to his lips and whisper, "listen" and there would be some bird whistling, or we were approaching a china pheasant that I had not seen, or he would direct my attention to a plant growing over there.  And when I think about life and my walk with God, I am reminded of my time with the old farmer.  Often God will say, "Let's head in this direction," and my mind will look that way and see what's in the distance and think, "Aha, a destination".  But really, we aren't headed to the end of that road, there is just an interesting flower that God wants me to see, or a china rooster hidden in the tall grass.  Life with God is a meandering walk through His creation.  He has a lot to teach us.  We don't need to know the plan, the syllabus, the time-table, even the stops on the road.  We only need to hold His hand and pay attention, because life is about the relationship, not the destination. 

On Voices

When someone dies, if we do not have a picture of them to remind us what they looked like, our vision of them fades; but quite often we can still hear their voice.  I can still hear my brother singing, I can still hear his laugh, I can still hear his shy "Aww" with all its sing-song, gravelly inflections, when someone gave him praise or a hug.  I was pondering this when it occurred to me that we probably develop hearing long before we develop vision.  When I was pregnant with my daughter, I lived with my parents.  When my daughter was about 8 hours old, her grandma held her and talked to her and their eyes met, and my daughter gazed into her eyes and listened to her for nearly half an hour.  This is the voice she had heard for months before she was born.  Once it was muffled, but now it was clear.  

I was at a memorial service today and the voice of the man behind me was so rich and full and it was pure pleasure to listen to him.  I have heard voices that are  not so pleasant to listen to.  I wonder what makes a voice pleasant or not.  I wonder if all voices can be pleasant if used in a loving way--and I wondered if this man's voice could be unpleasant if he were angry and yelling.

As I was pondering his voice, and why it made me feel so wonderful, there was a reading from the gospel of John.  "...and the sheep follow him because they know his voice..."  I thought about how lovely the voices of the people I love are to me; how when I hear Laura's "Hi" when she comes in the front door I cannot help but smile or I hear my dad say, "Hi, Jode," how I feel all safe inside. I remember when Gary and I were engaged, how I would listen for his voice and get all giddy inside when I heard it.  In the Song of Songs, Lover says to his Beloved, "Let me hear your voice."   In Psalm 55, "Morning, evening and noon I cry out and he hears my voice."

Not only do we recognize our shepherd's voice, but he recognizes our voices.  The shepherd knows his sheep by voice.  Each voice is unique and he knows us by voice.

~~~

Listen! My lover!
    Look! Here he comes,
leaping across the mountains,
    bounding over the hills.

I listen intently for His voice.  He calls me by a name He has given me, which no one else knows.   My heart rejoices at the sound of His voice.  I long to hear Him singing as He goes about His work.  I will run to His side and hold Him, and never let Him go.

His voice pierces my heart.

Remember What I Have Done For You

I had a discouraging eye appointment today. A "blister" persists in my eye that is keeping me from having any central vision. My doctor told me that there are two options to fix it, but they only "might" work.

I am discouraged. I was looking for some encouragement and turned back to my own blogs. Last night in church, we sang a song with the line in it "as deep cries out to deep". I knew I had written a blog with that title once before but could not remember what it was about. And Gordon had talked about "shallow" and "deep" times with God. On my way to finding "Deep Cries Out to Deep", I re-read my posts of the last year, and I was encouraged. I was encouraged at remembering all the ways that God has come through for me this year. I am convinced that ALL OF US need to be writing down what God has done for us, so that we can go back and look when we are discouraged, and get renewed hope!

But in a sense, even my own history is like events of the past cheering me on to make it through this day too. I don't want to have run a good race, only to quit before the finish line. I want to finish strong!

Laura inherited a parallel Bible from Grandma Smiley, and in it, she found notes in Gma's hand, that must have been written when she was young. And I think about the race Grandma ran, and race that the people around me are running; and I am not alone. I am strengthened by the great athletes around me. I am honored to be running the race with them, behind them, and in front of some of them.

So, remember what God has done for you!!