Breathing - It's an Exercise in Trust

Ever feel like you just can’t breathe? 

 

Whether it’s the stifling heat of the summer, an over-exhaustive workout, or the stifling heat of your heart bursting into flames, it’s not a good feeling.  I’ve never had asthma or allergies, but I imagine it’s the same feeling at least to some degree.  There is this heavy, suffocating feeling bearing down upon your heart and there is no working through it – just wondering how and if the pressure building up inside your lungs and heart will ever release or get better.  It’s something like the flight mechanism that frightened deer and horses exhibit when a predator is on the hunt.

 

So where does my breath come from?  The breath of life, that mysterious exchange of oxygen within my lungs that somehow keeps it all going?  And, where does that awful weight come from that seems to act like a stifling steel weight upon my heart?

 

It's definitely a dilemma I now face, and while I know the source of my breath, it's a struggle to take in those deep, deep, life-giving and life-refreshing breaths, isn't it?  Instead, it's much easier to let those weights bear down on my heart and let them torture my soul.

 

But, then once again, something, ever so slight, came into view.

 

A glimmer of God.

 

A life-giving word.

 

"God's spirit is as close as your very next breath."

 

And where from?  Facebook of all places. 

 

And a very gifted teacher - John Parsons of www.hebrews4christians.com

 

A verse from this week's Torah (Korach) reveals another great Name of God: Elohei ha-ruchot lekhol basar (אֱלהֵי הָרוּחת לְכָל־בָּשָׂר), which can be translated "the God of the breath of all flesh" (Num. 16:22). The LORD is the Source of your breath, the One who exhales to you nishmat chayim (נִשְׁמַת חַיִּים), the "breath of life" that enables you to live (Job 12:10). The sages use the analogy of... a glassblower who creates a glass vessel. Just as the glassblower blows into a tube to form a vessel from molten glass, so the breath (i.e., neshamah: נְשָׁמָה) that comes from the LORD functions as spirit (i.e., ruach: רוּחַ) that forms the human soul (i.e., nefesh: נֶפֶשׁ). Note that the Name YHVH (יהוה) first appears in this connection (Gen. 2:7), a Name that means "God is Present" (Exod. 3:14) and "God is Mercy" (Exod. 34:6-7). Note also that each letter of the Name YHVH represents a vowel sound (i.e., breath), suggesting that God's Spirit is as close as your very next breath. Like the wind that cannot be seen, so is the spirit the essential part of your identity. Yeshua breathed on his followers and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit" (John 20:22). (from hebrews4christians.com)

 

 

Aloneness

Frazzled, frayed, spiked points of uncertainty.

Standing out amidst the green jumble of prairie plant life, solitary against smooth life-filled leaves.

How have I been found in such dryness? Scratchy stems, withered from a barren life.

Inverted – upside down - opposite to the oasis in the middle of a desert - my life is much like this frayed pom-pom plant--dried out, solitary, yet somehow, surprisingly standing upright surrounded by the flowing river of prairie grasses. Yes, it's the dryness that creates this unbendable, sharp-edged spike.

Flexible, living, chlorophyll breathing round about, yet here I am withered, out-of-breath, desperately clinging to lifeless roots. Will the gardener come and, with one gentle tug, pull me from my fragility – making room for new growth and green life? Will he blow my wispy top knot, spreading seeds on the prairie wind?

I'm not so sure I have a chance this season. Will Spring be my salvation? Did the seeds find their destiny--their root? Like wild salmon fighting their way upriver, must I die so others will live? Is the prairie song the song of a Savior?

Aloneness . . . yet never really alone.

God is in the Details

Cicadias are deafening.

They seem to drown out the other evening noises. A tractor/mower, a weedeater, the rainbow colored power parachute guy who throttles by overhead nearly every night, the drone of I-70 several miles to the south, crunching gravel on the road, a barking dog in the distance.

As I sit alone on the patio, gazing out to the prairie hills, it's easy to appreciate the Monet glow of a pink sunset behind me and the early evening stillness.

This past week, leading up to the birthday day yesterday, I gave much thought to writing a blog for my birthday. But that would be a bit too much self-aggrandizement. I really don't like to be pretentious. It's not too cool, me thinks.

So instead, here I sit the day after pondering life on the prairie . . . and wondering really what is it all about. A cacophony of cicadas . . . burnt orange prairie grasses preparing for autumn . . .

. . .a beauty unappreciated by many . . . surprises every day if you look for them. And, that's the ultimate gift of the prairie . . . touching . . . seeing . . . feeling . . . movement, change, wonder. Much like life . . . we have to be open, we have to look for the wonder - seek opportunities to be amazed.

Details, details, details . . . they say God is in the details. And on the prairie . . . it is indeed evident.

Where Have All The Servants Gone?

"Do all things without grumbling or disputing; that you may prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world, . . . " (Phil. 2:14-15 NASB)

Three weeks since a hard crash into a rocky gravel driveway sent me into a comatose, dependent state of being. Not literally without consciousness, but figuratively it would seem.

It's been a state of grief - aloneness - and helplessness. And, it's also a wake-up call to the feelings I'm sure will surface when I'm 108 and can no longer feed myself or perhaps walk to the bathroom unassisted. It's a sobering thought - this growing older, tables turned topsy turvy.

One shining star, though, brought light and encouragement from a very unexpected place--one of my co-workers. This young man, born the year I graduated from high school, is a breath of fresh air in my workplace. In the two years I have known him, I have rarely seen him not grinning wide, full of exuberance for life. He's a former New Yorker from the Bronx with Midwestern ways it would seem.

His tattoed visage, rough language, and dubious past mask a servant heart that seems to know no bounds. He is a rare gem among the litter of this ugly world. And, while he's no church-goer, it doesn't matter because he lives the life of service. Paul writes in Philippians: "Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important than himself; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others." (Phil. 2: 3, 4 NASB) That is his mantra.

The Saturday after I broke my arm, this young man called our company owner to get my phone number so he could "check up on me." Our owner's wife called me as well and their two calls meant so much to me--concern, love, honor.

Just about every day or so I receive the privilege of watching him in action--serving customers, helping out in some way and he continues to make it a point to ask me how I'm feeling. He blesses my soul.

Have you blessed someone's soul today? Taken time to smile? Shared a story or your heart with someone? Said "thank you"? Offered assistance? All it takes is a few simple lines in a text message, a phone call, or simply a smile to brighten this world and be a light in someone's darkness. You CAN make all the difference.

Why not try it?

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.

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)

Lenten Experiment - Day 40 Something!

How is it that old cliche goes? Better late than never. Ha ha ha. Well, I guess that about sums up my struggle this week with completing my commitment to my blog for Lent. Easter weekend was busy with commitments and activities despite our small family. And, as I began to reflect more on how to summarize the Lenten blog experience, I got bogged down in a quagmire of indecision and exhaustion.

Here it is Friday after Easter, 4:47 a.m. and I decided it is very important to finish what I started no matter what time it is, no matter how tired I am, and no matter whether I finish successfully or not (at least in my own limited mindscape).

I've felt for some time that the summation of 40 days of thoughts might be a bit daunting task to undertake. And, frankly, I may ruminate over this thing a bit more before I get it all down on cyber-paper. The 40 days of Lent have revealed much to me about wonder, family, life, death, God's work in this world and in my life and many other things.

To begin, I need to share a list of words that summarize this recent learning experience.

Life

Death

Family

Contemplation

Understanding

Darkness

Light

Chosen

Joyful

Hope

Blessings

Faith

Listening

Peace

Observation

Friends

Encouragement

Persevere

Prayer

Penitence

Giving

Self-Denial

Last night I watched another Skit Guys video on YouTube and it spoke to me in a deep way because as I tallied up the list of words that capsulized the Lenten Experiment, I realized those words represented something much more. While, just words, they are qualities, attitudes, ideas, and thoughts that have indeed enriched and shaped my existence. Simply put, they have been tools in God's hands - tools to mold me into something new; someone new.

So, watch God's Chisel from the Skit Guys and let it shape your thoughts, your heart, your life. Only as we submit to God's work in our life, can we truly grow and develop and become more like Him. We are God's masterpiece!

Lenten Experiment - Day 39 (A Day of Darkness)

I'm always amazed each morning as I wake up to the view outside my kitchen windows. An easterly view means most mornings I can experience the wonder of specatular light shows that many people call "dawn" as the sun makes its appearance from behind the large hill across the road. Today, misty fog and droplets of rain permeate the blackened hillsides around our home. The spacious carpeted field rolling out before the window, gives way to more fields and bushy tree sentinels guarding the streams and creeks. Then just beyond, the treetops are crowned by the barren limestone hills. These hills are now charcoaled from the recent Spring burning.

It's a most appropriate symbol for the darkness of the day before Easter. As I imagine the events of the first century, it's only fitting that today would be a day filled with regret, doubts, sorrow, fear and the overpowering stench of death.

The annual cycle of grass burning brings pungency, dense smoke to the area, ribbons of fire across the night skies, but ultimately and most importantly, it brings new life to the prairie--germinating the prairie grass seeds and revitalizing their growth across the hills. Life and death - the circle of the prairie.

So is Easter--the ultimate completion of the life and death cycle prophesied from the Ancient of Days.

A new dawn is approaching - it is imminent, certain - reassuring is the promise of Easter morning.

The Lord's lovingkindnesses never cease; His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is His faithfulness. (Lam 3:22, 23 NASB)

Lenten Experiment - Day 32 (Frequent Companions)

Life and death are frequent companions.

This week I've seen them once again vying for my attention, silently sitting at my doorstep, patiently watching and waiting. They have stories to tell. Sadness and joy; struggle and pain; beauty and hope.

In the midst of the birth pangs of Spring, tiny reminders of the shortness and sacredness of life surrounded us. From the flattened toad on the driveway to the gnawed-on rabbit I found in our yard yesterday, life cycles are an imminent part of this life. Even the turn of seasons reminds us of this fact - it is ever before us.

It's also evident in the illness that has afflicted one of our 13-year-old male dogs. Watching his deterioration the past couple of weeks has been disheartening. Both he and his littermate, Chubby, have been hardy souls. Just last week, he was following me up to the barn to feed horses, as has always been his habit. Then, this week, with each passing day, he showed increasingly more distress.

Crackers himself has survived being hit by a car and Parvovirus and then last summer he was stepped on by one of our horses. Life in the country can be a challenge and we've seen that in these many circumstances, and in the struggles we currently face. He's a survivor though. He's proved it over and over again.

Tonight when I got home from work he was more alert and even ate some meat I hand-fed him. He showed signs of feeling better and I was encouraged. He's drinking water better and I'm ever hopeful that "this too shall pass."

When I started this blog yesterday I honestly thought that it was the end for our sweet dog, but as I've found in every situation--there is ALWAYS hope.

Whether it's the hope of new life in the colors of Spring or the hope of a peaceful passing to a new future, there is ALWAYS hope.

My soul, wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him. (Ps. 62:5 NASB)