New Eyes

February 17, 2016April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

If you’ve ever tried photographing wildlife, you will understand what I mean when I say that unless your goal is to capture the animal as part of a larger scene, it’s pretty much a waste of time without a telephoto lens. Without one, animals usually scare off before you can get close enough to compose a decent shot. And that’s why I’ve felt sorely crippled photographically ever since my telephoto lens quit working two years ago.

I remember the moment distinctly. The sun was setting over the Gulf of Mexico and we were standing at the end of a long rocky pier with the warm salt breeze in our faces. A pod of dolphins suddenly appeared a distance out, leaping and dancing in the last remnants of golden light sparkling across the waves. Thrilled, I lifted my camera for what I was sure would be an unusually rare and beautiful photograph—only to hear an unfamiliar clicking sound as I attempted in vain to zoom and bring the lens into focus. A camera repair shop later pronounced it irreparable.

Remembering that, I suppose it’s rather ironic that my replacement lens made it’s debut overlooking another view of sun-kissed waves. Only this was a pretty far cry from the Gulf of Mexico.

The car thermometer declared it to be eleven below zero as I drove down to the bridge near our house. Faint wisps of steam rose from the swathe of open water as the frigid air met the warmer temperatures of the moving river. A friend living up on one of the nearby riverbanks had called to tell me that the lone trumpeter swan they’d occasionally seen feeding in the open water was back. If I came right away, she thought I could get an easy shot of it from the clear vantage point of the bridge. I spotted it as I drove over the bridge, a lumpy huddle of white effectively camouflaged against it’s snowy perch, head tucked under it’s wing.

I peeked over at my new lens lying in the seat next to me, an early Valentine gift from my dear husband, trying to contain my excitement. I could hardly wait to see how it performed. I clicked the lens into place before I got out of the car, and checked my camera settings, trying to guess accurately. Past experience with swans has taught me to be ready to snap quickly; they tend to be pretty wary of humans. I didn’t think this one would be flying away (it seems that an injured wing prevented it from leaving with the rest of it’s group in the fall), but I still didn’t want it to go paddling off in alarm and leave the great lighting and position it was currently in.

My breath froze white as I stepped out of the car. I shut the car door gently and walked as quietly as I could towards the bridge, wishing the snow wouldn’t crunch quite so loudly beneath my boots.

A few minutes later, as the beautiful white bird lifted his head to eye me warily, I lifted my camera. The zoom slid out smooth as silk. The focus sharpened, crystal clear. I framed the portrait and pushed the shutter button.It felt like I had been given new eyes.

There is a beautiful prayer we sing sometimes at church. I found it running through my mind as I crunched around on the snowy bridge and riverbank, looking through world with stunningly clear and magnified vision:

“Open my eyes, that I may see
Glimpses of truth Thou hast for me;
Place in my hands the wonderful key
That shall unclasp and set me free.

Silently now I wait for Thee,
Ready my God, Thy will to see,
Open my eyes, illumine me,
Spirit divine!”—Clara H. Scott

“Open my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of your law.” (Psalm 119:18)

Bark: Birch

February 10, 2016April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

There are certain elements of the forest that stand out more in the winter than they do in the summer—and the bare branches and trunks of the trees are certainly one of them.

So it was not surprising that this graceful stand of birch caught my attention for the first time yesterday, though I’ve been past it many times before without looking twice. Suddenly I was seeing color where I never had before, now that there were no brilliant greens of summer to distract my eye. Intrigued, I ventured off the trail into knee-deep snow just to get a closer look.

Every tree was so unique in it’s coloring, it was hard to stop with photographing just one. Some were purest white, with soft watercolor-like washes of gray and blush pink. Others were these magnificent sunset shades of vibrant rose and orange, darkening into the richest shades of sepia and burgundy. And all of them detailed with the characteristic black eyes and white dashes, dramatic splits, curls and ringlets of their kind.

Is there anything quite so lovely as the bark of a birch tree as it splits and curls beautifully back to make room for the new growth beneath?I think this is such a magnificent picture of the transformation Christ works in our lives. He gently, but steadily, peels back the layers of sin and selfishness wrapped around our hearts, time after time bringing to light something altogether new, each time a little better than the last, as we grow and stretch and become more and more like Him.

There is no hurry, no impatience, no frustration. Instead, it’s a continual, lifelong process, with the patient, persistent precision of a Master Artist in the midst of a masterpiece. Taking us where we’re at, but always nudging us forward to what He knows we can be, what He intended us to be.

And just like the birch trees, there’s so much beauty in the process. No, it doesn’t always feel like it. Sometimes, all we’re really aware of in the moment is the pain of the breaking and splitting and peeling back of the old self we cling to. Sometimes it may not be until we look back that we realize how we have been changed for the better. But it is always beautiful, if only to those looking on, because we are continually becoming more like Christ.

“…to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.” (Ephesians 4:22-24)

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17)

Windscapes

February 2, 2016April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

The wind comes out after a snowstorm—and what results is a whole landscape of constantly shifting patterns and intricate designs highlighted beautifully by the light and shadow of a sunny day.The invisible wind and it’s artistic work, reminds me of this passage where Jesus Himself pictures from nature the most wonderful transformation ever to happen to man:

“Do not be amazed that I said to you, ‘You must be born again.’

“The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going;

so is everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (John 3:7-8)

Now this is beautiful!

Winter Flowers

January 26, 2016April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

I’ve read the articles on the science of forcing your Christmas cactus to bloom in time for Christmas. A simple schedule of watering and then purposely neglecting to do so within certain time frames will, they tell me, insure that it buds right on time. I’ve considered doing this (hence the fact that I was reading the articles in the first place), but since making sure my houseplants actually get watered at all seems to be enough of a challenge at this point in my life, I’ve never quite gotten around to it.

All that to say that I can take absolutely no credit for the fact that my Christmas cactus has always bloomed on time for the three years its been in my care. This year was no exception, and happily, the blooms have lasted well into January, which is why you’re seeing them now.

They’re a welcome bright spot in our living room, especially now that the Christmas tree has (finally) been hauled out to the fire pit leaving the room feeling spacious again but rather blank. Each of those exotic blooms, meant to thrive in some much warmer climate, amazes me as it opens up to the winter sun slanting sparingly through the south-facing windows. Outside, the wind is whistling fiercely around the house and the skies have been nothing but one endless blank canvas of overcast gray lately—but then there they are, smiling at me across the room in all their pink and fuchsia glory, slender buds suddenly bursting forth with news of joy and color and life. There’s something about tropical flowers growing right in the dead of winter that bring refreshment to my soul in a way that my summer garden flowers don’t. They make me think of this verse in Proverbs:

“Like cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.” (Proverbs 25:25)

Even if the good news is only that not all flowers must wait until spring to bloom. May they refresh your soul today, too!

Along the Winter Shore

January 19, 2016October 16, 2021 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

IMG_2077 edit If you’ve ever stood on the shore of Lake Superior on a summer day, you know the feeling. Waves crashing on the rocks at your feet, sending spray high into the air, vast expanse of water stretching to meet the sky on the horizon. It’s big; you’re small. It’s a magnificent feeling.

The great lake in the winter is no different, I discovered recently.

Colder, yes.

Very differently framed in a muted palette of ice and snow that somehow manages to shift the highlights on the waves from gold to silver.

But certainly no less breathtaking.

While our husbands were skiing the mountains one afternoon, my friend and I took advantage of the grandmas willing to babysit our little people and went down to a lakeside resort to pick up cross-country ski passes and get information on trail conditions. The moody gray sweep of the lake was just outside the big windows lining the front of the lodge, and when we stepped outside after obtaining what we had come for, we looked at each other and agreed. The water was calling; we couldn’t leave without getting closer.

The trail was very icy, so we didn’t go far. Instead we went along cautiously until we found a spot with a good view, and then stood still to take in the magnificence of it all. I couldn’t help thinking of Psalm 93 as I watched to the blue-gray waves crash on the rocks below us.

“The LORD reigns, he is robed in majesty; the LORD is robed in majesty and armed with strength;

indeed, the world is established, firm and secure.

Your throne was established long ago; you are from all eternity.. IMG_2063 edit …The seas have lifted up, LORD, the seas have lifted up their voice; the seas have lifted up their pounding waves… IMG_2058 edit.jpg …Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea– the LORD on high is mighty. Your statutes, LORD, stand firm; holiness adorns your house for endless days.” (Psalm 93)

Amen!

Mountain Sunset

January 11, 2016October 16, 2021 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

IMG_1959 edit.jpg We just returned from a trip to the Sawtooth Mountains on the north shore of Lake Superior. For much of our visit there, the peaks around us were veiled in fog or falling snow, but on the eve of our arrival, I was granted this sweeping vista with a clear view of craggy Moose Mountain silhouetted against the setting sun.

Certainly this gentle series of peaks pales in comparison to, say, the Rockies or the Andes, but I still loved looking up at them as we drove up the shore. Even more, I loved waking up to the view of this particular peak each morning of our stay in their midst. Had I not been pregnant, I would have loved to strap on some skis and join my husband and friends on a gondola ride to the peak so I could feel the mountain beneath my own two feet during the thrill of descent.

But even though I had to stay behind and only stare up the slopes from the valley, I was content with my view. I may enjoy the conquest of a good ski slope (and I fully intend to join them next year!), but honestly the thing that inspires me the most about mountains is not whether I’m on top or at the bottom. It boils down to a simple fact that I can appreciate no matter where I’m viewing them from:

that they’ve been there as long as anyone can remember.

The resorts and roads and trees and homes and towns around them have come and gone over the years, while these peaks have solidly withstood the test of time. And they’ll be there next year, and the next, and the next. Perhaps it’s because so many things in the world seem to be constantly teetering on the brink of uncertainty, but there’s something in me that finds comfort in things that stay the same.

Which makes these passages even more awe-inspiring:

“Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.” (Psalm 90:2)

“The ancient mountains crumbled and the age-old hills collapsed– but he marches on forever.” (Habakkuk 3:6)

“For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,” says the LORD, who has compassion on you.” (Isaiah 54:10) IMG_1955 edit The amazing thing is that we serve a God whose eternal unchanging-ness supersedes the mountains. Even if these seemingly immovable peaks were to unexpectedly blow up and slide into the depths of Lake Superior, He would still be God. He is the only thing that we can truly count on to never change.

Now that is a fact to take comfort in!

A Place to Still Your Heart

December 18, 2015April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

icy water droplet Sometimes, in all the wonderful hustle and bustle that December can be, it’s good to take a walk alone in the woods to listen to the stillness…

to quietly admire the strange and wonderful effects of melting and freezing snow and ice… ice on branch to be startled and then delighted when a deer goes leaping across the trail mere feet in front of you… IMG_1714 edit to stand and watch the late afternoon sun glint through bits of ice on twiggy branches, like hundreds of cut glass ornaments hung for Christmas… ice on twigs to deeply breathe in crisp cold air and be glad for warm new mittens…

and, as the still permeates your soul, to think about the One who said to “be still and know that I am God”,

the Prince of Peace whose purpose was to bring ultimate and perfect peace on earth, whose first humble coming to earth we will celebrate very soon—and be glad.

“And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace. There will be no end to the increase of His government or of peace…to establish it and to uphold it with justice and righteousness from then on and forevermore.” (Isaiah 9:6-7)

Sometimes in the midst of the busyness, it takes something as far removed from the tinsel and packages as a woodland cathedral robed in winter white, where no instrument plays but the wind whispering through the branches and no voices speak but those of chickadees and squirrels—

to bring your heart back where it needs to be.

Frost

November 30, 2015April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 4 Comments

IMG_1611 edit IMG_1616 edit It was one of those mornings when the sun rises and the whole outside world is awash in a million sparkles.

From the cozy warmth of my kitchen, that’s a sight breathtaking enough to enjoy even from a distance.

But then I decided to take the time to pull on my snow boots and my warmest jacket and those not-very-warm but better-than-nothing picture-taking gloves, go out into it and zoom in close with a lens.

And I found this, that the sparkles on every blade and branch and fence post were a myriad of tiny delicate fern-like ice formations. Miniature ice art of unimaginable beauty coated everything in every direction as far as the eye could see. I quickly forgot the cold as I wandered along the garden and out into the hay field, marveling at the wonderland of beauty.

The idea that a little man named Jack Frost is responsible for all this is a charmingly imaginative one—but when I’m catching my breath at the mind-boggling intricacy of it all, I’m glad to remember that there is a very deliberate Artist behind it all who is no figment of the imagination.

“Out of whose womb comes the ice? and the hoary frost of heaven, who brings it forth?…by the breath of God frost is given.” (Job 38:29, 37:10)

IMG_1608 edit IMG_1604 edit My breath is only freezing in pale, unexciting puffs of white, which annoyingly fog up the viewfinder of my camera. But look what His breath does on a cold morning. Wow.

Hope of Spring

November 18, 2015October 17, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 8 Comments

Shhh! Don’t tell the chipmunks. This last week, thanks to this unseasonably mild autumn weather we’ve been having, I knelt in the soft earth of my flowerbed and tucked fifty tulip bulbs deep into the ground.

I dreamed of spring as I carved out those six inch deep holes and dropped in the white bulbs with their papery-thin rosy-brown skins. It always seems strange, even cruel, to plant bulbs just as winter is looming with it’s long months of bitter cold. I know it’s the way it has to be, though, and I know that sure as the spring will come, these tulips will come alive and blossom in due time.

It seemed very fitting that I planted them the same month that my grandpa went home to be with the Lord and we buried his remains also in the earth. This, too, seemed like a harsh end for a beloved man who lived so long and well. Or rather, it would have if it had not been for a confidence of a different sort of spring we all cherished in our hearts as we said goodbye.

Yes, those last days of suffering,

that shadow of death,

the tears,

that hole in the ground amidst a crowd of other grave stones,

the empty armchair in the house down the road—

the cruel reality of it all was harsher than any bitter winter wind that ever blew on earth. IMG_1422 edit

IMG_1436 edit

Yet the sadness was so colored by joy, it was almost hard to tell the difference. The damp chill of a November rain hung around us, but the church rafters rang with victory, because what seemed like loss and death to us meant only triumphant new life for him in the presence of the God and Savior he had loved so long.

He had waited eagerly through all the seasons of life, finally and bravely walked through the darkest death of winter—and now, somewhere, up in heaven, it was springtime at last for Grandpa.

“We hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it.” (Romans 8:25)

For more posts about my grandfather, see here and here.

FSave

White Water

October 26, 2015April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

white water / rejoicing hills We stood on the dam, peering over the edge. The roar was deafening.

“Dat water is white, Daddy!” our little girl observed.

“Yes, honey. That’s how you know the water is going very fast.”

I was thankful for the tightly secured chain link fencing on both sides of the walkway as she stood at the very edge, surprisingly unafraid, watching in fascination as the water spewed tight through the spillways and churned free into the river below. It was all very exciting, her three-year-old mind oblivious to the warning signs and hazard lights blinking danger all around us. Daddy and mommy were there with her. What did she have to fear?

She didn’t know that white water also meant trouble. river's edge / rejoicing hills I thought about a conversation my husband and I had had earlier in the day, about the trouble in the world and all around us.

Sometimes it can be terribly discouraging, especially when it seems to heap up and come at you from all sides. You can feel like you’re being tossed around as relentlessly as the tight angry waters in one of those spillways, battered hard against the concrete walls, and all you want is the relief of finally being spewed out the other side so you can find some quiet pool downstream where you can rest and breathe again.

It made me tense and weary just to think of it, and I was relieved when we moved off the dam, and onto a tiny winding trail that followed the river’s edge. I liked this better. Here, there were delicate ferns clinging to mossy rock walls, birch trees leaning gracefully over the calmer ripples at the water’s edge and a soft autumn carpet of warm lacy brown oak leaves underfoot. The roar of the dam faded away in the distance, replaced by the gentle sound of water lapping against rocks along the shore and the whispering breeze in the trees. Ah—these were the restful places I had in mind.Or were they?

I stumbled as I clambered down a rocky side path to get a closer look at the pretty little ferns. The thick carpet of oak leaves had been deceptive—what I had thought was solid ground was not.

Was there no escaping trouble? No, I realized, shaking my head over the irony of it as I regained my footing and continued on more cautiously—there really wasn’t. If it wasn’t glaring in your face, it always seemed to be hiding where you least expected it.

This was no secret to Jesus, which is why He once stated to his disciples, “In this world you will have trouble.” He knew it was not just a possibility or a maybe. It was a certainty. If it wasn’t clear cut persecution, it would be the enemy inside you, that wearying war between the flesh and the spirit. If wasn’t trouble of your own making, it would be trouble of someone else’s making, purposeful or unintentional. If it wasn’t any of these, it would just be the stark reality that we live in a fallen world where there is sickness, and death, and the struggle to survive, and where the sheets we got as a wedding present wear out and rip clean through. (Yep, just this morning.) And then there would be fear, the thing that can get you even when nothing is actually wrong.

So what did He mean when He followed up that statement with this one?

“But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Obviously He didn’t mean that we’d escape all trouble by following Him. If anything, He warned elsewhere that there would be more if we did. But then I thought back to the beginning of the verse, before He even comments on the certainty of trouble:

“I have told you these things so that in Me you might have peace.”

That phrase “IN ME” jumped out at me, and then it clicked. So the picture of the peace He was talking about was really right back up on that dam. The two of them were back on it now, making their way slowly across the walkway. The small girl in the gray jacket walked calmly next to her daddy between the chain link barriers, the late afternoon sunlight highlighting all the little hairs escaping from her braids. She stopped periodically to look over the edge and ask questions. In the midst of the noise and turbulence, the calm voice of his explanations and the reassurance of his presence were all the security she needed.This was peace.

Not in finding our comfort in our circumstances but finding it in the One who walks beside us. The reality of trouble will never be any greater than the certainty of His presence. It’s as astonishing and simple as that—and my little girl knew it better than I did.

I stepped up onto the walkway myself, and my steps quickened as I hurried to catch up to my family, hardly noticing the white water churning below as my heart flooded with renewed peace and the determination to learn from her example.

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20)