Before You Call

June 1, 2018June 1, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 4 Comments

It was the fifth place I’d stopped.

The mosquitoes were getting a bit old.

I was soaked to the skin from refusing to sacrifice valuable time to take cover during the morning’s intermittent rain showers.

My legs were tired from tromping down forest trails and clambering through underbrush.

Water squelched inside my soggy shoes as I squatted wearily down near the head of this fifth trail, peering off across the forest floor, and said out loud, “Lord, I know you don’t have to give me a mushroom, but”—and exactly at that moment, before I could even get my request for help in finding “just one, please?” out of my mouth, my eyes rested on this honeycombed finger-like shape:A scoffer might call it a coincidence, but I know it wasn’t. I labor under no delusion that just because I tell God something I want, He’ll snap His fingers and make it appear—but I also know that He can, and sometimes will. I also know that I have never chosen to acknowledge God’s power and control, while admitting my inadequacy, without finding Him sufficient to provide the very best. Sometimes His answer to our problems is different than the solution we visualized in our mind. Sometimes, it’s exactly what we were hoping for—and more.I don’t know if anyone else within five lonely forest miles heard me yelling my excitement and thanks, but I know He did—and I hope it made Him smile.

“And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.” (Isaiah 65:24)

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find.” (Matthew 7:7)

See photos from another successful morel hunt here, and from an unsuccessful one here!

Stand Still and See

May 13, 2018May 23, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

If you walk out into the middle of the woods and stand very still for a while, a very delightful thing will happen.

The forest will slowly come alive around you. You may have thought it was alive before that, but the truth is, you haven’t actually experienced the half of it.

First, you will become more distinctly aware of the sounds of the more extroverted creatures of the woods. A woodpecker beating sharp staccato, the twittering of newly-returned robins, the distant honking of geese.

But keep waiting, because there is more to come.

After a few minutes, a grouse will drum on a nearby log. A stick will crack in the woods, then another, as the cautious deer who froze at the sound of your footsteps decides it’s safe to move on. And then will begin the rustling in the leaves, and you will realize that it is not the breeze at play, but squirrels and mice and tiny birds.

As your ears become more attuned, your eyes will also become more aware of details.

You’ll realize that there’s delicate frost from a chilly spring morning lacing the strawberry leaf by your feet that you very nearly trampled. You’ll note a tiny clump of British soldier lichen clinging to the edge of a mossy stump that would have only registered “green” in hurried passing.You’ll tip your head up and see the beginning of the swelling red of the maple buds overhead, fanned against the sky.You’ll notice the delicate lacy veins of last year’s leaves, splendidly illuminated in the morning sunlight, and also the way a certain flap of simple birch bark is catching the sun just right to make it glow.Your eyes will follow the slant of a fallen log down to a hole and, well, look! The very culprit of the rustling himself appears.There is no shortcut to the gifts that come from being still, but they are always incredibly, beautifully worth it. And, incidentally? The same is said for the soul and the best gift one could ever ask for.

“Stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD.” (Exodus 14:13)

No doing. No striving. Just simple, trusting, expectant stillness.

Leafing

May 7, 2018May 7, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

In the golden light just before sunset, the baby leaves and buds are like haloed clouds resting across the branch tops. A little closer, and they are like green and gold lace and perfectly strung strings of peridot amidst the twigs and stalwart browns of the forest.Up close, there is a tiny world of intricate unfolding beauty to discover.

Meanwhile, I can hear nothing but spring peepers and the occasional haunting call of newly-returned loons on a nearby lake. After an intensely busy week, the wonder of it all quiets my soul, drawing me into worship, gently smoothing away the tensions and distractions.

The truth is, sometimes we just need a few minutes to be still and meditate on His wonderful works to fully restore our souls.

“On the glorious splendor of your majesty, and on your wondrous works, I will meditate.” (Psalm 145:5)

Harbinger

April 29, 2018May 1, 2018 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

I thought it was high time a robin put in an appearance, both in my yard and on this blog, but they took their sweet time this year. I was hearing all sorts of sightings reported by friends and family, and I was seriously beginning to wonder if these little harbingers* of springtime were even going to show me their faces this year. And if they didn’t, would it even really be spring? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that robins are about as quintessential to the advent of spring as pussy willows.

But, one bright morning this week, I heard a new yet familiar bird call through the window, and spotted a pair of handsomely erect rust-breasted worm-hunters running and hopping across the yard. I melted a dark spot in the frosty grass sitting perfectly still until one (skeptically) got close enough for this shot. So, just in case you needed reassurance, I thought I’d pass the news on to you that all is well, after all. Spring really is here.

*Harbinger: “A person or thing that announces or signals the approach of another.”

“How beautiful…are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, “Your God reigns.” (Isaiah 52:7)

A Simple Recipe for Spring

April 22, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

Step 1: Bathe everything in a very generous amount of warm sunshine. IMG_8060-01 Step 2: Wait for an awful lot of all this to melt. Allow it to soak in thoroughly.Step 3: Enjoy the results, springing up from the sun-soaked, well-watered, nitrogen-infused happy earth.

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
            And do not return there without watering the earth
            And making it bear and sprout,
            And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater;

So will My word be which goes forth from My mouth;
            It will not return to Me empty,
            Without accomplishing what I desire,
            And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.”

(Isaiah 55:10-11)

The Sound of Returning

April 15, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

Every time I drive over the bridge there are more of them there than the last time.

The returning has begun.

In the car, though, you miss the sound of it. On a blog, you do, too. There’s just nothing that replaces the physical act of standing on the bridge, leaning into a square wooden beam, and immersing yourself in a few minutes of that wondrous cacophony of honking, quacking and trumpeting. It’s the music of spring migration, and it’s enough to infuse any year-round resident who has weathered yet one more season of long nights and sub-zero temps with hope.

I heard them chattering in the church foyer last week, too, as the winter birds gathered round, tired faces relaxing into welcoming smiles for these forerunners of the much-anticipated annual migration. The sound of the returning was never so obvious, however, or so beautiful, than it was in the swelling fullness of the opening hymn.

Welcome back, snowbirds. It’s good to hear all your happy voices again.

“Even the stork in the sky knows her seasons; and the turtledove and the swift and the thrush observe the time of their migration.” (Jeremiah 8:7)

“For, lo, the winter is past…the time of the singing of birds is come.” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)

Cattail Glory

April 6, 2018April 6, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

In this season between seasons, when it’s not really winter but doesn’t really seem like spring either, the changes occurring in the natural world are sometimes very subtle. Yet, I have learned, they are there. Nothing is really sitting still. Everything is silently, gradually, almost imperceptibly, readying itself for when it’s time to burst forth into newness of life. It does require my camera and I to look harder on these days when a walk still requires me to wear the old winter hat and mittens, but the discoveries we do make of coming spring are only that much more triumphant.

Today I take note: The last of the cattails that have been neat little brown cylindrical sausages on sticks all winter are finally, after months of wear by wind and snow, disintegrating into downy halos of seed. They are dying, giving up of the very last of themselves. Soon the bare stalks will turn soft as well, bowing to the swamp below them nevermore to rise again.

But we all know that somewhere, in other bare nooks in the swamp, baby cattails will spring forth from the downy fluff these tired old stalks are releasing to the wind. There would be no continuance of life if they held onto the gift they possessed; it is only in the letting go that life will go on. They release the old, looking forward unto the new and better things to come—and in the late afternoon sunshine, it’s as though they’re crowned with glory.

“But this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth to those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. .” (Philippians 3:13-14, KJV)

Muddy

March 20, 2018March 20, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

It’s the current miry state of the driveway.

I prefer it in the mornings like this, when it’s iced over and covered in interesting geometric designs. Not only is it more photogenic, but my walking shoes prefer the feel of crunching to oozing and the state of being dry to damp.

My children, however, like it best after it’s sat in the sunshine for a while, all delightfully wet and squishy. This would be why mud boots are an essential part of their spring wardrobes. Not that I am so naive as to believe that mud boots will actually keep small children enjoying a mud puddle dry or clean—but I derive some comfort from the fact that at least their feet are.The rest? Nothing a good washing machine and bathtub can’t fix. And that’s a good reminder to praise God for this even more remarkable truth:

“I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your filthiness and from all your idols…“ (Ezekiel 36:25)

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.“ (Psalm 40:1-2)

Pussy Willow IV

March 10, 2018April 6, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

With all these thirty-ish degree days we’ve been having lately it was bound to happen, just like it does every spring. And yet it still took me by surprise, when I glanced up from picking my cautious way across an icy patch on the driveway, to see this happy sign of spring in the ditch. The bursting forth of these furry little buds is so predictable, yet they always manage to catch me unawares and are always, suddenly, the most wonderful thing ever.

You’d think that after thirty-some years, I’d get used to it. But I never have, and I like it that way, so I probably never will. I love the surprise awakening of wonder in myself, and I love that each one is a soft pearly gray little reminder of an ancient promise, a thousand repeated little bursts of assurance all across the willowed edges of the wetlands.

“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” (Genesis 8:22)

(Since I get so excited about them every year, I have to take pictures of them every year, so if you missed them, check out pussy willows from other years here: 2015, 2016, and 2017.)

What Does the Eagle Say?

March 6, 2018March 6, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

With the warming of the air, the signs of spring begin. The return of this old friend to his favorite post in the old oak tree overlooking the lake is officially the first. I heard him one afternoon, reinstating his dominance over favorite hunting grounds for all the world to hear. He peered at me with his sharp yellow eye through the branches, skeptical of my attempts to find an angle that didn’t make it look like he was holding a stick in his beak (as you can see I was unsuccessful, so let’s just pretend he was grabbing it to add to his nest).

And then, peering up at his grand figure in the branches up there against the blue, I thought of how to describe the call I heard, and came up short. How, exactly, do you describe the call of an eagle? I thought someone more learned in the field of ornithology (the study of birds) than me would have a good answer—but I must say that I was disappointed.

My sources basically couldn’t agree on how to categorize the call of a bald eagle, other than that it was too musical to be called a screech, but not musical enough to be called a song. Some call it a combination of high pitched “whistling” and “piping” (Irish penny whistle, anyone?). Some call it “chattering”, as though it were a squirrel. Still others liken it to “chirping”, oddly bringing the largest bird of prey down to the level of a songbird at the bird feeder. Others go so low as to call it “squeaking”, as though it were a mouse, or, worst yet, “squealing”, which brings to mind a very unhappy pig. I thought of “trilling”, but even that conjures more images of tree frogs and raccoons in my mind than those of soaring eagles. “Twittering”, perhaps? But somehow that just reminds me of a cross old owl scowling at a lot of happily love-sick songbirds in “Bambi”, not a bird who bears the weight of being a national symbol on his shoulders. Come on, now! Is it too much to ask for a word that accurately describes the sound, but still manages to embody the dignity of such a majestic bird?

(To be clear, this is the call I’m talking about, not the peal call of alarm which really is more like screeching.)

So, based on that sound recording, how would you vote to finish this sentence? The eagle __________. (Whistled, piped, chattered, chirped, squeaked, squealed, trilled, twittered, or you fill in the blank with something I haven’t thought of.) Chickens cluck, geese honk, crows caw, swans trumpet, owls hoot—but what do eagles do? Do you think it can be boiled down to a single descriptive word—or not?

I’m somewhat tempted to side with the writer of Proverbs on this point. Describing the voice of the eagle in one word is a mystery that I might have to be content dismissing as “too wonderful for me” and, apparently, the English language. Though, to be perfectly fair and in context, in this case I think this writer was more in awe of the mystery of flight than flummoxed by a fruitless late night Google search for an apparently nonexistent perfect word.

“Three things are too wonderful for me; four I do not understand: the way of an eagle in the sky…” (Proverbs 30:18-19)