peace
Working on my blog was not on my list of “to do” today. If I am perfectly honest, it hasn’t been on any list in the last 18 months. I even included it in my 2024 goals a.k.a. New Year’s resolutions as at least a monthly task for both 2023 and 2024, but took no steps toward that goal at all. None.
I have always wondered why I go through vast dry times where I don’t write at all. Writing has always brought me the most consistent joy over the years. It pulls me out of my overthinking old self and gives me a different way to express the moments of sadness, harshness of life or extreme happiness I may be bottling up and not sharing at any given moment. I was in a creative writing class in my junior year in high school and it stoked a literal fire in me that has always been there for me, comforting, soothing, chastising me at times. I have learned a lot about myself from my own blogs or even my short Facebook posts. My writing has forced me to be real.
Today has been one of those dry days. It is the most beautiful day in all Christendom, Easter. Today should have been full of contented memories, calmness, reflection. But instead I have found myself trying to claw out of an impending darkness in my emotions. I have family members who are going through difficulties and that has added to it, but I have been studying myself today and realize that is not the root of my current emotional state.
I started out the day trying to distract myself.
I listened to a sermon. It was interesting and insightful, but was not what my heart and mind were looking for. My response inside was “ok, that’s done”. I read from a couple of great writers and sought their greater thoughts as a balance to my more shallow ones, but that was kind of flat and uneventful as well.
I went to work a bit in my garage to try and free my state of funkiness with working on my online store. I do this every day. It is nothing new. I can do it in my sleep. So that didn’t provide me any kind of respite and rest either.
I glanced out the window of the garage when I heard the children’s voices. I live in the same home, different wing, with my daughter and son-in-law and their four kids, who range in age from 5 up to almost 16. The smallest was running and giggling, chased by one of the twin brothers. The other brother came up behind. Shortly after, the 16 year old went by, quiver, bow and arrows strapped to her back and headed toward the backyard archery set up to work on her skill. For a few moments, I forgot the heaviness I had been feeling. Once they were all out of my line of vision and I was out of earshot of their sweet laughter, the heaviness set in again.
I thought about going back to work hoping that would help to push me forward as I filled up my head space with a billion thoughts about potential crises pending in the coming week. I looked out the window again just as a bird flew into the glass with a loud crash. It then flew back up into the Japanese maple next to the window and sat for a minute, fiercely shaking its head as if it was gathering back parts of its brain shrapnel , then proceeded to fly at the window once again. Over and over this same pattern happened. This went on for about 5 minutes. Then the little bird flew out of the tree and landed on my windowsill. It sat there for several minutes, preening, turning its head when the children would run by, but never flew away. It just sat, mostly unmoving, blinking, listening. A leaf floated past its head and I watched it fall very slowly to the sill, and still the bird didn’t move. It wasn’t in the least uprooted from its watchfulness, it just rested in the simple moment.
God gave me an epiphany.
I was that bird. I flew around today trying everything to make the crazy mind racing and running thought pattern calm and to no avail. It was only when He sent me that little group of children by my window and that tiny bird that I could see the whole picture.
In 1 Kings 19:11-13, God told Elijah he was going to tell him something. The Lord sent a crippling wind, followed by an earthquake, then finally a fierce fire. But nothing came to Elijah in the midst of all that noise and confusion and disturbance.
After the fire, came a gentle whisper…God ministered to Elijah through a mundane thing, something quiet, something almost unnoticed. And that is how he ministered to me today.
The laughter of the children distracted me from my own problems and thoughts. Their smiles calmed my spirit. The bird preening and fluffing was comical and soothing at the same time.
The bird flew away and somehow took with it my personal noise. I was left with a feeling of peace and utter repose. I thought of a few mundane things to do to continue the trajectory of the quietness in spirit. I pulled out one of my favorite coffee cups, and filled it with donut shoppe coffee and a splash of hazelnut creamer, and as an afterthought grabbed two windmill cookies for dunking. I went back to the window, sat still with my coffee for a long time. I watched the leaves roll across the driveway, other birds come to the feeders and eat, our kitties jump and play in the grass by the ravine. I allowed God to minister through the earthly mundane things to bring me heavenly peace.
I knew it was my mandate to use my long time skill to minister to someone today….so I began to write. Writing feels so very shallow but there is a depth to be explored and recorded, and that is my ministry, mundane though it may be.
There once was a little bird…
Today is Tuesday, four days after our country witnessed a terrifying and history-altering event. It should have been a day like any other day, and in many ways it was. Parents woke to the manic sounds of their alarm clocks, they went in and roused their kids. They pleaded and prodded the little ones out of pj’s and into school clothes as the pint-sized people stopped to play with a special toy, or antagonize their sibling. Boys slicked down and combed their hair, girls scrubbed their faces and donned big pink or blue hairbows…they all gathered backpacks and lunch pails and notes for their teachers, and they left home and rode off to school with a parent or in a yellow schoolbus full of other wiggling little children. Just like any other day…
Then the news came…and the nation stood still… just as we did on the day the Challenger exploded, or foreign planes crashed into the Twin Towers, or John Kennedy was shot. We stood still not believing what we were hearing, not grasping or accepting the images we were seeing as our eyes, glued to the TV, began to blink back the tears until we could hold them back no longer. A 20 year old camo-adorned madman armed with guns and bullets went on a rampage, then killed himself taking with him 6 teachers and 20 innocent children, and a part of our country’s bright future.
Many of the children and teachers of Sandy Hook Elementary were warned before the gunman could enter their classrooms. News reports say someone, maybe the principal who was one of the victims, or perhaps another office person, flipped the switch on the intercom so the entire school could hear the commotion, the ringing and scattering gunshots, the sounds of the victims as they experienced their own terror, and they might escape the same fate by running and hiding until they could be saved. It’s frightening to think about what that sounded like to those listening…but the harsh sounds of those who fell became the sounds of salvation for those who survived.
I didn’t hear the news that day until I returned home from a long day of errands and grocery shopping. I was hosting a company Christmas party the following Monday and so I headed out early…just like any other day…to run a few places, enjoy the bustle of the holiday crowds, then return to a nice warm home and maybe take in a movie on TV or read by the fire till bedtime. I had happened on a yard sale that morning and had gotten a few nice things to resell in my estate business. Among these things was a small divided box, about the size of my palm. It was buried in a box of the old jewelry from the yard sale vendor’s mom. When I took a closer look at the box I was delighted to see it held a tiny nativity set! Each piece was smaller than a dime, and there were 15 compartments for the pieces. One of the compartments was empty, and I was a bit disappointed, but I had to have it when I found out it was only $1.00. I could see the three figures of the main manger scene were all there and I knew that was the most important element. I pushed it down into my other bags, went on to my other errands and arrived home a bit after dark.
My plans for a peaceful evening changed when I saw the news. I sat watching the events unfold and although I was crying and heavy-hearted most of the night, I couldn’t tear myself away from the reporting until sometime very early the next morning. Each child’s face, each mention of a name brought to mind my own grandchildren. I could not imagine how it would feel to wait at the firehouse…wait, and wait…hoping to see your grandchild in the next group, and the next, and the next… and know she was safe because she had been hidden…but then be told that your own small one had not made it into hiding, and she would not be coming home again. I fell into bed exhausted and had a fitful night’s sleep.
The next morning I woke up and started my day with eyes that were still red-rimmed, but I knew I had many things on the list to do. I started with the purchases of the day before and began to put them away and my eyes fell on the tiny nativity set. I decided to set it up in a special place…and as I emptied the compartments of the figures…Joseph and Mary, wise men and donkey…I finally lifted the last piece out. It was the shepherd, and I was so surprised when I saw a teeny little sheep hiding behind the shepherd there. I had not seen this before…the nativity was complete, nothing missing at all!
My granddaughter, Lorelai, is beautiful…she smiles and sunshine emanates from every part of her heart-shaped face. She is smart and quick and we talk about how easily she memorizes and learns and how she will “be somebody” someday. Max and Isaac, the twin boys, are just now developing their own distinct little personalities. But we can already see the way Max investigates and peers at everything as if he is sizing it all up with the intensity of an engineer. Isaac is a squinty-eyed little rascal that captures your heart with one look, and he is very dextrous for his age and will likely be a hands-on worker of some sort.
I was reminded when I looked at the baby sheep in my hand, even with all their possibilities and talents and abilities that may come along as they grow and mature, the only thing that really matters to me is that my grandchildren are all protected and safe. They are in a world of wolves and those who seek to harm and destroy, and just like a tiny sheep, they are vulnerable to physical or spiritual danger. I want to be someone who “flips a switch” in their lives…warning them of the things that are cruel, letting them hear the truth, even when it will be frightening and maybe even harsh at times. Because I know that their only chance of salvation is in hearing and understanding this truth. And just like the tiny little sheep…they too must be found hiding behind the Shepherd.
