Month: May 2012

Peeling Off the Covering

barnstormingblog7 Comments
photo by Josh Scholten

“We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade, the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito. And the incognito is not always easy to penetrate. The real labor is to remember to attend. In fact to come awake. Still more to remain awake.”

― C.S. Lewis from “Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer”

The older I get, the more I recognize the need to be alert and awake to the presence of God in the crowded world around me.  It doesn’t come naturally.  We humans have an attention deficit, choosing to focus inwardly on self and ignoring the rest.  If it isn’t for me, or like me, or about me, it somehow is not worthy of our consideration.   We wear blinders, asleep.

We need help to recognize the presence of God, to peel the layers off the ordinary and find Him at the core, incognito.  We need help to attend to where He is, invisible in plain sight.

Tell us where you found Him in the crowd today.  Share how you stay awake to Him as He walks next to you unrecognized.  Tell us how your heart burns within you, knowing He is present.

Your input is needed here: God Incognito

 

 


 

Unentangled and Undismayed

barnstormingblogLeave a comment

photo by Josh Scholten

And this, then,
is the vision of that Heaven of which
we have heard, where those who love
each other have forgiven each other,

where, for that, the leaves are green,
the light a music in the air,
and all is unentangled,
and all is undismayed.
-Wendell Berry from “To My Mother”

To think of love strengthened and powerfully shared through forgiveness,
experiencing grace that knows no bounds:
this is heaven where light is music
the tangles we have made of our lives
are unraveled, straightened and smoothed
there is no longer worry or dismay

I can only hope to love thus
as I’ve been loved
and forever will be.

Weeping Stone

barnstormingblog2 Comments

photo by Josh Scholten

We human beings do real harm. History could make a stone weep.
Marilynne Robinson–Gilead

Created with the freedom to choose our own way, we tend to opt for the path of least resistance with the highest pay back. Hey, after all, we’re human and that’s our excuse and we’re sticking to it. No road less traveled on for most of us–instead we blindly head down the superhighway of what’s best for number one, no matter what the means of transportation, what it costs to get there, how seedy the billboards or how many warning signs appear, or where the ultimate destination takes us.

History is full of the piled-high wrecking yards of demolition remnants from crashes along the way.

It’s enough to make a stone weep indeed. Certainly God wept and probably still does.

And He knew what He was doing and thought it good.

photo by Josh Scholten

Noticing the Dirt

barnstormingblog1 Comment

photo by Josh Scholten

“No amount of falls will really undo us if we keep on picking ourselves up each time. We shall of course be very muddy and tattered children by the time we reach home. But the bathrooms are all ready, the towels put out, and the clean clothes are in the airing cupboard. The only fatal thing is to lose one’s temper and give it up. It is when we notice the dirt that God is most present in us; it is the very sign of His presence.” ― C.S. Lewis

I am a big fan of hot baths, always have been. No matter how long the day, how sweaty the work, how gritty the accumulated grime, a bath takes care of it. That cleansing is something to look forward to: staying dirty is only temporary, not a permanent condition.

Somehow I manage to stumble and fall regularly, get mussed and messy, and need to get clean all over again. And again. Thankfully there is plenty of hot water, clouds of soap suds, and a stiff scrub brush.

Time for the tub…again.

photo by Josh Scholten

Washed Downstream

barnstormingblog1 Comment

photo by Josh Scholten

“Last forever!’ Who hasn’t prayed that prayer? You were lucky to get it in the first place. The present is a freely given canvas. That it is constantly being ripped apart and washed downstream goes without saying.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

Of course there are days that I wish could go on forever. The weather is perfect, there is the fragrance of apple blossoms in the air, the garden growing, the grass all mowed, the feeling of lightness of being, a family together and enjoying each others’ company, a day of worship and gladness within the church. Who wouldn’t want it to continue unstopped and unchanged, just as it is?

But it is a momentary gift on an ever-moving timeline, as status quo transforms with each clock tick. There is no holding on to this present moment for safekeeping. It must be greeted with a loving embrace that then lets go, today slipping away downstream as a new present replaces it.

All those blended moments ultimately gather together in an ocean of remembrance, lasting forever, as memories do, forever lasting.

Imparting Quiet

barnstormingblog1 Comment

photo by Josh Scholten

Surely there is something in the unruffled calm of nature that overawes our little anxieties and doubts: the sight of the deep-blue sky, and the clustering stars above seem to impart a quiet to the mind.
Jonathan Edwards

There is much about farm chores that is good for the troubled heart. When the stresses of the working world amass together and threaten to overwhelm, there is reassurance in the routine of putting on muck boots, gloves, jacket, then hearing the back door bang behind me as I head outside. Following the path to the barns, I open wide the doors to hear the welcoming nickers of seven different equine voices. Just as in the house, I am anticipated–truly wanted and needed here.

The routine reassures. I loosen up the twine on the hay bales and open each stall door to put a meal in front of each hungry horse, maneuver the wheelbarrow to fork up accumulated poop, fill the water bucket, pat a neck and go on to the next one. By the time I’m done, I am gratefully calmer, listening to the rhythmic chewing from seven sets of molars. It is a welcome symphony of satisfaction for musicians and audience.

The horses are not in the least perturbed that I may have had a challenging day. Like the dog and the cats, they show appreciation that I have come to do what I promised to do–I care for them, I protect them and moreover, I will always return.

Outside the barn, the wind blows gently through the tree branches, although at times with a fierce bite to remind me who is not in control. I should drop the pretense. The stars are covered most nights by cloud cover, but when they show themselves, glowing alongside the moon in a galactic sweep across the sky, they exude the tranquility of ever-presence over my bowed and humbled head. I am cared for and protected; they are always there.

The balance of ordinary and extraordinary within the routine of farm chores: it is equilibrium delivered, once and ever after, from a stable.

photo by Josh Scholten

Moving Up a Notch

barnstormingblogLeave a comment

Scars come in various sizes and shapes, some hidden, some obvious to all.  How they are inflicted also varies–some quite accidental, others therapeutic, and too many intentional.  The most insidious are the ones deep inside where no one can see or know.

Back in our woodlot stands a sawed off stump of a cedar that was old growth in virgin forest over a hundred years ago.  One day the clearcut loggers came through our part of this rural county and took every tree they could to haul to the local sawmills to become beams and lumber for the growing homesteading population in the region.  This cedar once was grand and vast, covering an immense part of the forest floor, providing protection to trillium at its feet and finches’ nests and raptors hunting in its branches.   It nurtured its environment until other plans were made, and one day, axes fell on its sides to cut out the notches for the springboards where two loggers stood to man the saw which brought the tree down.  Where the wood went is anyone’s guess.  It could be one of the mighty beams supporting our old hay barn roof or it could have become the foundation flooring of a nearby one room school house.  It surely had a productive and meaningful life as part of a structure somewhere until rot or carpenter ants or fire brought it once again to its knees.

But the stump remains, a tombstone of remembrance of a once grand tree, the notch scars embedded deep in its sides, nursing new seedlings from its center and moss, lichen and ferns from its sides.

I come from logger stock so I don’t begrudge them their hard scrabble living, their dangerous work in order to feed themselves and their families.  It’s just that those scars even one hundred years later are such a visible reminder of what once was a vital living organism toppled for someone’s need and convenience.

Trees are not unique.  It happens to people too.  Everyday scars are inflicted for reasons hard to justify.  Too often I see them self-inflicted in an effort to feel something other than despair.  Sometimes they are inflicted by others out of fear or need for control.  Moving up a notch only allows more precise aim and a deeper cut.

Sometimes they are simply the scars of living, accumulated along the pathway we tread.

None of them are as deep and wide as the scars that were accepted on our behalf, nor as wondrous as the love that oozed from them, nor as amazing as the grace that abounds to this day because of the promise spelled out by them.

As a result, that tree lives.