Do not plant fake flowers

I know little about the family who lived in our house before us.  The husband died and his widow was moved to an assisted living facility.  From little clues left around the house I know she was a quilter and a seamstress.  She was a gardener and planted hundreds of vines and bulbs around the property.  That was one of the selling points for me- her flowers were beautiful.

When we moved in, the yard was fiercely overgrown.  The bulbs had multiplied and needed pulled or divided.  The vines were taking over the trellis and wooden supports.  Trees were growing in the flowerbeds, weeds spawning throughout the blossoms. 

The plants just needed a little love. 
The lady who lived here obviously loved her flowers.

So it was a surprise to find these fake and lifeless plastic flowers buried among the bulbs. 
I wonder if age and arthritis prevented her hands from digging in the soil so she planted plastic blossoms to color the beds.  Why would she plant fake flowers?  I wonder.

I tend to think that fake flowers will last longer than the real thing.  They are colorful and brilliant and will remain so throughout the frost and snow.  Their green leaves never wilt, the heat never withers them. 

Never? 
And yet, look at them now.

I have no idea how long they were in the garden but their beauty has faded.  They could never stand against the fresh colors of the real red rose and violet clematis.  Their stems are brown, their silk petals decaying.

I am also a gardener.  I water my flowers every morning.  I love watching the fruit, flowers, and vegetables swell on the stalk.  I feel the Lord's pleasure in the garden.  And yet, I know that someday I will pass away and weeds will overgrow my gardens.  Someone may move into this house who has no love for the flowers. 

But they will grow.  The bulbs will remain still under the winter soil and resurrect each spring.  They will multiply and divide and reach toward the sun.  And someday someone may look at them and see the Lord's pleasure in the garden.  They will not be made of plastic and silk- sun faded, old, and deteriorating. 

I will plant what is lasting in my garden. 

until soon,
b.

Being respectfully patriotic

I was raised patriotic.  My sister and I were the children at the parade who stood up when the flag went by- even if no one else stood.  We were taught to respect the veterans, respect the flag, and to sing loud when the anthems were played. 

I'm still patriotic.  I love America.  I love the freedom we have here- freedom to live in safety, freedom to worship as we feel led, freedom to speak out about what we like or dislike.  Those of us who live in this beautiful country and follow Jesus say, "God Bless the USA" believing that He will, indeed, bless us and establish His Kingdom here on earth- even within America.  We pray for it constantly. 

We also know that America is the country where we were born (and for that we are grateful) but that our true Kingdom reaches far beyond the borders of the USA.  God is not American.  When Christians suffer in Asia, we suffer with them.  When Christians suffer in the Middle East, we suffer with them.  And so it is all over the world. 

And in this election year, we do well to remember that God is also not Republican- or Democrat.  God is above labels and parties.  We cannot claim God's favor above all others simply because we belong to a certain country, or a certain church, or a certain race, or a certain political party.  God is God alone.  We respect our country, we respect our flag, we respect our national leaders- we worship our God. 

We worship our God.

until soon,
b.

Conquering The Giant

My son, Kaden, is really talented at gymnastics.  I'm not just saying that because I'm biased.  He is really talented at gymnastics- and this comes from a girl who never perfected a cartwheel and was cut from the cheerleading squad because of it (I know, I know... no, I'm not proud that I was a cheerleader).  My son jumps and flips and spins and bounces all over the place- at any time.  He's really talented at gymnastics. 

So this morning, before practice, he came to us all distraught and frustrated saying he was DONE with gymnastics and never, ever wanted to do gymnastics again.  After some discussion, we found out that the reason for wanting to be done was that he was having trouble with a move called The Giant- it was just too hard.  We told him to go to gymnastics this morning and to talk with his coach about the issue.  It seemed like a simple enough solution.  He went, and he had a great time... jumping and flipping and bouncing all over the place.

While he was at gymnastics, I began unpacking from this week at violin camp.  There was much to do, calls to make, errands to run, etc... and I began to become completely overwhelmed.  Plus, while I was working on my chores, my mind was racing with events from the past week, things to do, debates I had seen and/or heard, political issues, world troubles... my mind was racing and I eventually collapsed into tears.  I laid down and sobbed saying Lord, this world just sucks sometimes.  Life is so hard...

I decided to leave it all behind and go for a run.

After a while, I stopped running and just walked.  I slowed down.  The wildflowers were beautiful- white, pink, purple, yellow.  Sasha was running with me- I love that dog.  The countryside was quiet.  All I could hear were the sounds of crickets and birds.  The wind was cool- it was such a beautiful day. 

There was a smile in my heart.  The smile of God.  The whisper of God: 

Brittney, this world may suck sometimes... and life may be hard... but look around you.  It is beautiful.  It is good.  You and Kaden are not so different today.  He let one little hard move destroy his love of the sport.  You are allowing the darkness of this world to overshadow the light and beauty of my Kingdom.  I am God and in ME there is no darkness at all.  See all of this beauty?  It is for you.

Sometimes there's nothing else to say.

until soon,
b.

To my sister on her birthday

This is such an easy blog to write.  Katie is one of my favorite writing topics.  
HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATIE BUG!

<----  Yep, that's me.  With the perm and terrible bird's nest bangs.  Katie was born when I was eight-years-old.  Wasn't she the cutest?!












Here's an excerpt from a lifeline story I wrote about 6 years ago:


____________________________

Mom and Dave were convinced that they were having a boy.  They would name him David Kent.  Mom’s belly grew.  I watched her straining, back-aching over her homegrown vegetable and flower gardens.  I was 8 years old.  One of my favorite places was a large tree at the edge of the yard.  I would climb into its secluded boughs and read or write poetry.  I would talk to the tree because he was such a patient listener.  His spirit was always kind and re-assuring.  After Katie Ann was born we had to move to a larger house in another town.  My tree-friend understood our departure.  I hugged him and even cried a little. 

I never talked to trees again after that day.

Ten years later, my friend Hilary and I followed Route 66 across Texas and into New Mexico.  Something happened when we crossed the border, something quite supernatural.  I’m not sure if I can even describe it here.  The best way to say it is that the world came alive.  I felt like a child again- able to feel, hear, and commune with the spirits of the world around me.  The trees were full of personality.  The horses walked to the fence and called to us.  Hilary felt it as much as I did.  We soon met Scott, a man who resided with the Navajo people for more than twenty years.  He had a large collection of arrowheads and Native American artifacts.  “How do you find them so easily?” we asked.  “Ask the animals,” he said.  “They know exactly where to find the artifacts and are eager to share their wisdom.” 

We continued our trip.  Into Colorado, through the mesas, over the Tetons, around lakes and numerous natural wonders.  The mountains sang praise in a deep cavernous bass.  It was a sound only the spirit can hear, a sound we are created to mimic and match pitch. 

I wonder.  I am awestruck and inclined to join in the song.

Some of my most beautiful life-music was sung with my sweet sister, Katie Ann.  I was nearly an adult when she was born- eight very mature years old (sarcasm, drip, drip)- so I became her little mommy and dear friend.  She was everything that I ever wanted to be and she came by it quite naturally.  She was self-aware and strong, assertive and courageous.  She created the most brilliant games from an unwanted refrigerator box.  She was daring and unhindered.  She wore cowboy boots with her pink, ruffled dresses. 

We shared the second story of an old, haunted farmhouse near Christiansburg, Ohio.  It was quite deserted when we found it.  There were the busted out windows. Strange symbols spray-painted in the basement.  Dead animals strung up in the trees.  There was a lamp that turned on and off by itself.  The frequent *crash* in the abandoned attic.  Katie would run and jump in bed with me.  Together we would calm our vivid imaginations by singing Jesus loves me, this I know... and she would drift off to sleep- her eyelids turning purple with slumber. 

And we would wake with the warm heat of the woodstove and the smell of pancakes creeping like morning haunts up the staircase.

To my son on his birthday

Thank God, birth is something that a mother never forgets- and a child never remembers.

Keane was born blue, after significant trauma and struggle, some wrestling with a cord.

He started breathing on his own, turned pink and soft, and has grown into a strong, brilliant young man.

Today he is 10.  Halfway to 20.  Only 8 years away from leaving the nest (he can't wait!).

He is smarter than me.  His mind cannot be contained- his thoughts- his imagination- his capability- his creativity.

His mind is always working, thinking, processing, creating, running, turning a thought around and around.  Sometimes I wonder how a parent can train or guide something that they cannot see, or understand, or grasp.  Prayer.

He loves the intricacies of Pokemon- the battles, strengths, and weaknesses of each monster.

He has incredible passion.  He has always been passionate about something: Teletubbies, Dora the Explorer, Thomas the Tank Engine (he would be so embarrassed), Legos, and now Pokemon.

He was reading when he was 9 months old.  He recognized the "Exit" sign in every room and would say, "X-it."  How can you read that?  We would ask.  You can't even walk yet!


Son, today is your birthday.  You are growing into a strong man.  God put you into our lives to help guide and train you- we pray every day that we may be worthy of the calling.

God has big plans for you.  You are doing great things- and are capable of great things.
In these 10 years, you have trained your parents (pushing us to become better people) and have given us many gifts.
We honor you today.

We are proud, so proud of you.
Mom

Give alcohol to the poor

My friend, Shay, counseled me on Proverbs 31 when she visited a few weeks ago.  Since then, I have not been able to remove it from my thoughts.  When she mentioned Proverbs 31, I immediately thought of the "Proverbs 31 Woman" which we speak about so often in church women's circles but she directed me to the few verses before.

What, O my son?
And what, O son of my womb?
And what, O son of my vows?
Do not give your strength to women,
Or your ways to that which destroys kings.

It is not for kings, O Lemuel,
It is not for kings to drink wine,
Or for rulers to desire strong drink,
 For they will drink and forget what is decreed,
And pervert the rights of all the afflicted.

Give strong drink to him who is perishing,
And wine to him whose life is bitter.
 Let him drink and forget his poverty
And remember his trouble no more.

Open your mouth for the mute,
For the rights of all the unfortunate.
Open your mouth, judge righteously,
And defend the rights of the afflicted and needy.

King Lemuel's mother cautioned him to live a life that was above reproach.  As followers of Christ, we would do well to heed the same instructions. 

But why did his mother urge him to live a life of character?  If you notice, it was so that his life would be spent caring for the "afflicted and needy."  As a king, he had the responsibility to care for those in his kingdom.  If he drank too much, he might "forget what is decreed and pervert the rights of the afflicted." 

Why then would be counsel him to give strong drink to him who is perishing? 
This is what Shay said:  people who are perishing, who are afflicted, who are needy, have a multitude of troubles.  They are burdened with poverty.  If the king has an issue with that man's ways, he should work to lessen his burden of poverty.

In the same way, if you and I see someone on the street panhandling for money- or if someone asks you for money- or he is standing by the road holding a cardboard sign... give him money. 
What if he buys drugs and alcohol with the money?, you may ask. 
Then let him.  Give to all who ask of you (those are the words of Jesus) and let him lesson his troubles.  If you have an issue with that man's ways, you could work toward lessening the burden of poverty. 
How do we do that?

Open your mouth for the mute,
For the rights of all the unfortunate.
Open your mouth, judge righteously,
And defend the rights of the afflicted and needy.

Jesus, help us to speak up.

until soon,
b.

To my Dad on his birthday

This may be all mushy and sappy sweet but it's his birthday so permit me this one time...

Today is my Dad's birthday.  Today I celebrate his life.

He wasn't expecting her, but he never called her a mistake.
Staying around was the hard path, but he stayed.
He didn't know how to be a good father, but he became one.
He didn't know how to raise a little girl, but he raised her into a lovely woman.
When hugs and I love yous were foreign, he learned a new language.
When he couldn't let her go, he let her go.
When she wanted to travel, he bought her a suitcase.
He gave her away, and welcomed a son.
and then two grandsons.
When she was afraid, he was strong.
So that they would never be alone, they shared life together.

I love you more.
miss britt