"Say What? Who Me?"

"Yes, you!"

Giraffes are an interesting lot. This little guy's tongue is 18" long! He loves acacia leaves and he can eat 75 pounds of them in a day. And as you will see in a bit he really craves large Kansas weeds. He can drink up to 10 gallons of water in a day and has four stomachs much like our neighbor - the cow. He has a large, loving heart at two feet long and 25 pounds and it pumps about 16 gallons of blood every minute! He has the highest blood pressure of any mammal on earth and that wonderful heart beats 170 beats per minute. Amazing facts for the elegant giraffe. He is definitely one amazing creature. And learning all this now reaffirms what I experienced at the Topeka Zoo on Saturday.

It was a close encounter of the long-necked, curious kind. This little guy (if you can call him "little) entertained Brinna & I for quite some time. Watching his languid movements and his inquisitive, friendly ways was a real treat.

Watch & learn . . . persevere. Show a lot of heart. All the best things are within reach if we just have a little faith. Those expressive eyes - trusting - confident - steady. So full of faith and heart. Just another example of God's magnificent hand in every part of His creation.

If you want to read more about giraffes - I recommend the book Tall Blondes by Lynn Sherr - still in print and available on Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/Tall-Blondes-Book-About-Giraffes/dp/0836227697. They are truly amazing animals.

Prairie Striped Horse

Exploration on the prairie never seems to end. And wonders fill our hearts and minds.

I just wish I could have acted quickly enough, driving at 70 mph on I-70, to stop and capture this prairie oddity for all to see. All I can say is my youngest daughter and I were witnesses to a miracle - a sighting - far removed from the African velde. Just mid-way in the tallgrass prairie, half-way on our journey to Topeka, close to the geographical center of the U.S. - we spied a prairie striped horse on Saturday last.

Black and white, not gray or tan or prairie beige, no--simple black and white stripes topped with a bristle brush of black. The mysterious creature taunted us from its prairie pasture.

And, yes, you guessed it - a spry little zebra exploring the prairie. I wonder how he or she felt - far removed from its natural surroundings of a grassy African plain. Timid, shy, nearly hidden at the entrance gate to a sprawling ranch, this little guy seemed to be awaiting an opportunity for escapism.

Sometimes I feel a bit like that zebra - alone, different, uprooted from my home place and stranded in a foreign land.

We are but sojourners in this crazy land full of wonder. And, that's not a bad thing - it's just something to ponder - something to appreciate and savor - this aloneness, the uniqueness of my being here on the planet.

And so cheers to that prairie striped horse who is discovering new life on the prairie. So am I. :D

The Empty Swing

I love the old country swing. Its wood plank seat and heavy rope--primitive . . . simple . . . childhood joy.

Early memories fill my mine's eyes of a little brick farmhouse near the wide Missouri River. Nestled among large, creaking oak trees and surrounded by gardens of flowers and little kittens, my Aunt Helen's home was magical to me. Barns to explore, antique farm implements, musty, familiar scents of history. The overgrown oak next to the garage held the classic childhood wooden swing. Swinging to and fro, higher and higher, pumping the air, the breezes--simplicity heavenward.

Why don't we see adults enjoying those swings more? It seems to be a child-like distraction. Or is it? Not today as I survey its deeper meanings.

The empty swing. Symbol of childhoods forgotten, joy abandoned. Sedentary life - motion upturned and in upheavel. Early dawn silences the motion. A wooden swing - motionless, resting, saluting underneath its leafy canopy. It waits for another . . . another child, another life full of abandon, one more reckless swing heavenward with squeals of delight.

Reaching for the sky . . . striving for the eternal.

Empty swing . . . filled life.

Reliving childhood . . . simple, joyful abandon, new life.

O taste and see that the Lord is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him! (Psalms 34:8 NASB)

Have you ever experienced a time when certain words, images, or phrases just seem to overtake your mind?

I've had this phenomenon assault my psyche the last couple of weeks . . . and those are the words that can't seem to leave my mind. More specifically, they are "Taste and see the goodness of the Lord." I couldn't remember where they were found in the scriptures so today I decided to look them up.

The second half of the verse stopped me in my tracks. I'm blessed if I take refuge in Him! Wow, what a thought. Now I know why the Spirit wouldn't allow me to rest. God had a word for me - I just needed to keep listening.

So many times when we are going through difficult circumstances, we try to handle them ourselves, we retreat & give up, or worst of all we deny the problem is even there. But, how many times do we seek the safety, the tower, the stronghold God has built for us? It is only in Him that we can find rest.

I am reminded of the images in Psalms 91 that speak to God's role as protector (much like a mother bird protecting its young). "He will cover you with His pinions, And under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark."

And That's How We Show Love

When you have a menagerie to feed out on the prairie, where do you go? The farm store, of course. We're frequent visitors to the farm & home store in town. It's a great place for plumbing & electrical supplies, garden fertilizer and bedding plants, gun safes, hardware, overalls, flannel, leather work gloves, fencing, sour gummy worms, peanuts in the shell, salt water taffy, and on and on. The list is nearly endless.

Springtime, however, brings a new attraction to the product mix that always has a big pull for the elementary age crowd. And, Miss Brinna is no exception. Can you guess what it is?

Yep, downy balls of ducklings, chicks, and Beatrix Potter's favorite--Peter Rabbit's American cousins. They come in all shades and sizes and inevitably leave an interesting scent in aisle 1. Brinna doesn't seem to mind though, because once we hit the front door she's off for her baby animal fix. This past Saturday was no exception as I stocked up on 50-pound bags of grain for our horses and Brinna cooed to the bunnies.

At the check-out counter, they were giving out freshly cut, home-grown roses. Brinna picked a beauty that looked like God had taken his watercolor palette to it. Delicate brushstrokes of pinks & yellows.

Pushing the overloaded cart, loaded down with about 300 pounds of horse feed, I struggled to the truck with Brinna following. As I loaded the feed into the bed of the truck, I noticed Brinna was distracted a short distance from me, intent on something in the parking lot, near the curb. I called. She came. A beautiful yellow butterfly perched on her finger. The little guy was wounded, however. One of the four wings was down. Her spindly legs clung to Brinna's finger. Then Brinna decided to move the sweet thing to her painted rose.

Brinna's comment to me, "I just want to help make her last moments happy."

And, that's how a little girl showed love to a tiny butterfly.

Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13 NASB)

A Walk Through Daybreak

Saturday I awakened to a six o'clock blackness--quiet and full of promise. Expectant adventure. Painted heavens. Monet light. Refreshed peony petals, awash in morning dew. Prairie walk of wonders.

Unfathomable glory in a morning nature walk. I so wish the rest of my family could experience the wonder, see the glory, understand my crazy nature notions. Guess I'm too much like my dad - lovin' the land, inhaling the fragrance of farm.

My older daughters have the stars of shiny city lights in their eyes. I remember that age when all I wanted was the fast-paced excitement of busy streets, exotic restaurants and entertainment choices. Experience has changed all of that; maybe it's the face of a life learned. Something heard from afar; beauty all around.

Experience has gone beyond--grown into something sacred--wonder, awe, contentment, peace.

Splendor and majesty are before Him, Strength and beauty are in His sanctuary (Psalms 96:6 NASB).

Even one of our cats enjoyed the tall grasses--hiding, stalking, playing. Glassy eyes pointed on its prey. Ringed tail at attention, saluting the dawn.

Criss-crossing hillsides dotted with Spring flowers--iris, nameless, nomad wild flowers, and pink prairie roses blushing as they meet the sun.

Then there are the fragile, fairy blues. Each Spring their spindly feathery stems take flight among the grasses and each year my feeble attempts at capturing their glory for the digital world falls short. The blue fades, the wind blows, something distracts from their magic. This year . . . well, you decide.

It continues to be an exercise in patience. hhmmm? But despite their ever-frustrating behavior, I persevere because something tells me the pursuit of grace is all worth it.

It's another step of walking through daybreak.

Fragility - It's You I Need

And, you thought you could get rid of me that easily. Well, it's not happening. I know. I know. You needn't remind me that I've been a bit lackadasical since the Lenten Experiment whipped my butt just a few short weeks ago.

"A bit lackadasical?"

"C'mon - downright lazy, I'd say."

Looking way back to sometime mid-February when the Lenten Experiment launched its monumental work in my life, I made the crazy boast about making the habit of writing every day would be easy once I mastered it for the 40 days of Lent.

As expected, this has not come to pass. I've shown my true colors, that most unpleasant of characteristics--fragility. And, that monster of all monsters - unfaithfulness. My inability to form a habit.

At least I am comforted by the fact that I'm probably not alone in this. As humans, we are all fragile, vulnerable. As fragile as a wind-blown tender blade of first Spring grass.

Then looking out over a well-tended, manicured landscape of Kentucky Bluegrass, its obvious that that single shoot wasn't meant to go it alone. Solitary aloneness doesn't come easy for the grasses. They need the stability, strength of one another to fight the winds. Intertwining roots and worms - rich, musky earth - bonding, shared experiences.

Growing up wild and untamed, yet rooted and grounded. Full of promise . . . alive and green.

It's YOU I need. It's friends. It's family. It's enemies. It's a wealth of ancient words with emblazoned meanings. It's Jesus.