A Wildflower Morning

Some more thoughts about blooming in hard places. Logan Pass, Glacier National Park Jesus prayed about our hard places.  He knew that we would have plenty of them.  He knew that life on this earth would not be easy for His followers.  So when He was praying (interceeding) for us, you and me, just before giving himself to death, he prayed,  "I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from evil."  John 17:15 This prayer of Jesus reminds me of what we call "The Lord's Prayer", where Jesus gave us an example of how to pray.  In that prayer he said, "Lead us not into temptation,  but deliver us from evil." John 6:13. "Christians should exercise every ability which God has given them in an effort to answer this prayer.  They are to ask God earnestly and frequently to keep them from the evil in the world.  Christ has charged His followers to pray without ceasing.  Never fail to importune G

Bitter Root Blooming in Adverse Conditions in Malheur, Oregon Desert One of the most amazing characteristics of wildflowers is that they make the best of where ever their tender roots find soil.  Like in the parable of the sower, some plants just don't get a chance, the unthoughtful people, like birds, are after them; the heartless people, like gophers, chew on them; an endless string of difficulties may beat on them like the sun drying the very life out of them until their existance feels hard as asphalt.  There aren't many places to grow in a cement driveway, but some persistent plants do it, and seem to even thrive.  They bloom where they are planted, even if it is tough to do so, making blooms and seeds for a future generation. Blooming in an Old Time Garbage Dump But me, I'm struggling to be content.  Instead of being thankful for the all the blessings poured out and overflowing on my life, I'm often chafing with discontentment over my present circumstances.

 In mid September we took our lunch and headed up into the mountains for the  afternoon.  My heart was happy.  There was a beautiful garden growing by the side of the forest service road.  Bright red Indian Paintbrush stood out among the beautiful St. John's Wort, overlooked by perfect spires of Fireweed.  St. John's Wort isn't really anything to speak of by itself, but if it wasn't there, this garden wouldn't have looked sparse  The abundant yellow was there to make the red and pink look good, and it sure looked good to my eyes.  Down in the valley, everything was dry; the wildflowers were finished months ago.    Our shady forest trail was hiding some late summer treats for us.  The Huckleberries were abundant.  None of us could resist picking them, and even though I wanted to take some home to make pancakes or jam, I ate every berry I picked. We thought we were alone in the forest.  We hadn't seen a single car once we drove up out of the valley. We were s

The sun rose quietly and nudged me awake.  Fresh air stirred me from my  tent nestled among the sub-alpine spruce trees. Quiet breathing from the remaining sleeping bags assured me that I had plenty of time.  Blue sky stretched above misty waters of Beartooth Lake , somewhere between 8,000 and 9,000 feet elevation in northern Wyoming, east of Yellowstone. Few mornings are more beautiful.  I pulled on my boots, jacket and mosquito netting hat, and took my camera, Bible, and watercolor supplies and headed out to meet with God in His garden meadow, all alone. Long shadows still stretched across the rock where I would still myself in anticipation.  Eagerly I savored  the sight of each wildflower.  Blue, pink, white and yellow hiding among green.  Buttercups gave gold as I passed.  The freshness of God stretched in every direction.  His love and glory written on every leaf and petal. His faithfulness and power stretched across sky and water.  His presence greater then the mountains

The morning started out rainy, but the backhoe man came anyway. Young students worked hard on studies while waiting for him to come, so that when he came they could go out and see the whole thing happen. He was going to dig a big hole in our back yard in just one day, just like "Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel", in a famous children's book. Our septic system needed a new drain field, and we were going to get one. The old one had commenced doing unmentionable things out in the yard. The area in the picture below contained a little of the old drain field. It was full of rocks. My husband had tried digging there with a shovel and couldn't do it. A back hoe was necessary. The hand digging required to get the pipes level was tedious work. With hard work, by quitting time the scene at the top of the page didn't even look like the same place and sported pretty blue sewer pipes. A little hole slowly transformed into a big hole, with the help of our skilled exca

A big wind storm blew into our area this evening. While we were eating supper leaves were being torn off the trees, and dirt slung into the air off of our big dirt pile in the back yard. There was so much dirt blowing you couldn't see the pile anymore. The sky was filled with debris. Mama Kitty came in the house upset and all muddy. I brought the flowers in off of the porch to save them from a beating. After the wind calmed, the rain came hard; and then a brilliant, double rainbow arching across the whole sky. Light burst through the dark clouds, making way for a the deep color of sunset. Peace settled in for the night, like happy children tucked into bed. " The mother must realize that God is her helper, that love is her success, her power. If she is a wise Christian, she will not attempt to force the child into submission. She will pray; and as she prays, she will be conscious of a renewal of spiritual life within herself. And she will see that at the same time the

Yesterday I found the first crocus of the year, in our yard. The sun was shining then on it's golden petals, polishing them to a sparkle. This morning the sky is overcast, so the little flower is holding it's promise closed, but it is still there, waiting for the sun to warm them again. Yesterday, after savoring crocus yellow, I searched for more signs of spring. It was very quiet outside, no wind, no tractors in the field, no cars on the road, no tweetering finches. Everything was so very still, so I could hear the first sounds of spring. Last fall our elegant maple trees let down their leaves to insulate the flower beds against the winter cold. Most of the leaves blew away in the stiff December winds, to compost in some distant field. But some remained to shelter the daffodils and narcissus bulbs until February began to warm. I stood there listening, my ears drawn to faint trembling, the sound of bulbs pushing green leaves pushing promise up through last summer's re

My Pretty Siamese Kitty There are at least two big problems in my life right now trying to keep my attention. When I think about them very long, they start me on a downward spiral. Today both issues demanded my attention, but today I determined to use my God given freedom to redirect my thoughts. I have the power of choice given me by God, and I can choose to think of Him whenever I would like. This morning before anyone else was up, I came to His presence and He blessed me with the reassurance that His very presence is with me. It is with me when I think about Him, and when I don't. But when I do, and do often, the blessing starts multiplying. I did think about him often in the morning, but soon the little problems piled themselves onto the big problems, and I felt snowed under. Without realizing it I became problem-focused, and forgot the Presence of God was with me. It wasn't until the evening came that I remembered to be Presence-focused again, and when I did, the

When I arose this morning, the wind was rattling anything loose out on the deck, which meant, there would be no fog. The sky was overcast, but thin enough at the mountains to let through some colored light, a few precious minutes of God's own light therapy for the day. Carolina Sandell Berg said in verse 2 of her famous hymn-poem, "Day by Day", "Every day the Lord Himself is near me, with a special mercy for each hour." A friend who knows of my seasonal struggle with the foggy weather, called this morning just to pray with me, and remind me of exactly that. There is a special mercy for each hour, maybe even for every moment. Here are some of the special mercies I've gathered already today. - Early this morning, my husband read the Word to me. God told us that Jesus is the light of the world. By looking to Jesus I can see light. Light is just what I need. Jesus is all I need. - Dear Daughter fixed breakfast for herself and brother, without being aske

It has been foggy here for endless days. Looking out the window, most days I can't even see as much as you can see in the picture above. The temperature hovers at freezing, or below, while I shiver. I need sun. I start dying when I can't see the sun, the strong pull drags me down faster the gravity. This week I knew I was in trouble by the weekend. Nothing tasted good. By Tuesday I was crying. Not even my full spectrum light was helping. Now I know why all those snowbirds go to Arizona in the winter. I'm ready to go with them, and I'm not retired. Talking with some friends about it did help some. Yesterday was a tear free day. But I needed sun! And today God gave some to me. Really! We could see the sunrise this morning. And there is blue sky out there. We took a walk first thing, and went the full two miles, just so we could soak in more. At the beginning of the walk I was still down, even though I knew I should be so happy. My mind was still in the

Yesterday I participated in a story of redemption. I was cleaning up some clutter on the floor, which lead to putting some things away in the craft cupboard. I opened the door and out fell a bucket of beads, minus the lid. Thousands of beads now lay at my feet. I was ready to get really upset at the careless person who left the lid off the bucket. The vacuum seemed like an easy way to package them back up and prevent this chore from happening to me again. But I slowed just a second and thought of how upset a young crafter might be the next time she wanted beads. I didn't think I'd want to tell her where they went. So I started to scoop up handfuls of the little rounds, and rolled them back into the bead bucket. Anger attempted to take control of me, but then I heard another child humming, "Redeemed. Redeemed. Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb." Those beads were really innocent, and very helpless. Their lives depend on a power outside of themselves for any