Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Morning

February 16, 2017February 16, 2017 ~ Beth ~ 4 Comments

Stopping by the woods on this snowy day did not start out to be quite as idyllic and simple as Robert Frost first painted it to be.

The truck fishtailed the tiniest bit as I gingerly stepped on the brakes, just enough to send my heart into my throat. A giant yellow semi bore down on me from the north, leaving the truck shuddering in the wake of its pass, and me clutching the steering wheel, as though I might hold the vehicle on the road by the whiteness of my knuckles. An icy blast of sub zero air blasted my face as I rolled the window down, fogging the camera lens. Was it worth all this?

But the way the tall smoothly scaled red pine trunks contrasted against the feathery spruce boughs, freshly highlighted in snow, had been catching me eye. Quiet beauty was calling to me from the edges of the road, right there in the midst of my hurry to get down the middle of it to check all the little empty squares on my shopping list in town. Surely I had a minute or two to spare?

“But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep…”

The to-do list and ticking clock of the day nagged, but I pushed it aside. I would stop, briefly, if only to save myself from driving off the road with all the neck-craning I’d been doing.

And after the roar of the yellow semi subsided, it was true:

“The only other sound’s the sweep, Of easy wind and downy flake…”

For a few moments, I was still, and the woods were still. There was not another car on the road within sight or earshot. The long list for the day faded away to the back of my mind. A tiny bit of sunlight twinkled through clouds above, kissing the forest in soft, warm light. The beauty of creation, which in turn pointed my heart to the beauty of its Creator, steeped into my soul. And I remembered this story:

“And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind:

and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake:

And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire:

and after the fire a still small voice.” (1 Kings 19:11-12)

I am told that the term “a still, small voice” falls down somewhat in translation, that the idea is more that of a silence alive with His presence. It’s a truth supported elsewhere in Scripture, too, in other familiar lines such as:

“Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

God is not to be found in the rush and busyness and chaos. God is to be found in the stopping, and in the still and quiet places. It was true in my soul that morning. It will be true wherever you stop to listen, too.

P.S. Want to read this well-known poem of Robert Frost’s in it’s entirety? Go here.

Sunlight and Shadows

January 20, 2017March 20, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

When the winter days are so terribly short in the first place, one is all the more grateful for the sunshine when it blazes. The last few days have been gloriously full of light, and I went out into it as often as I could, cutting new ski trails through the woods and hardly needing a coat, so warm I’d become between the exertion and the sunshine. It’s so easy to love winter when the fresh snow is sparkling and billowy, and the sun sets in a blaze of fire at the end of each day.

These are the kind of days where I can go out and be completely content taking photos of nothing but the shadows across the snow, mesmerized by the art created by such simple combinations of the trees and a low-blazing sun. It was a wonderland of artful graphic design, wind texture, trunk stripes and interlocking branch lace, painted across the sweeping canvas of sparkling unmarred snow. I hated to ruin any of it with a ski trail—but then there would always be an even more inspiring display of shadow around the next curve in the trail.But then there is today, when a warm snap is melting sad dirty spots in the plowed snow banks and the sky is one solid wash of nondescript gray. The light filtering foggily through those clouds is so diffused, there aren’t any shadows. This, I must admit, is not quite so inspiring. And it’s strange how easy it is to let one’s mood swing with it.

And then, I am reminded, in a funny sort of way, of what my eldest daughter said when she prayed before supper the other night:

“Dear Lord, thank you for chicken, and squash, and milk…and something that I don’t know what it is. Amen.”

My husband and I exchanged amused glances. There was no doubt that she was referring to the helping of cream sautéed cabbage I had spooned onto her plate just before we bowed our heads, at which she had wrinkled her nose uncertainly. In a familiar, happy world of bright orange buttercup squash with puddles of melting butter, cold glasses of milk and roasted chicken crusted with fragrant herbs, this limp pile of beige and brown was getting a low rating indeed.

But, to our surprise, she included it in her list of thank yous anyway. It was different and unappealing, but she said thank you. (Later, she was to find that her first impressions were all wrong, that cabbage sauteed in cream was actually really good.)

And I was convicted. Gray days and dirty snowbanks are perhaps as uninspiring to me as creamed cabbage is unappetizing to a 4-year-old—but do I say thank you for them as readily as she did? Do I trust that all the things my heavenly Father puts on my plate are for my good? Cabbage, gray skies…or otherwise? Do you?

“In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

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After the Snowstorm

March 19, 2016April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

There’s nothing quite like seeing the beauty of nature through the wonder-filled eyes of a child…

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.“ (Matthew 18:3)

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.

Lessons from Grandpa

October 5, 2015October 16, 2021 ~ Beth ~ 4 Comments

He taught me that getting old didn’t mean you quit living—and that you could still go swimming every day and play volleyball and travel the world when you were going-on-90.He taught me not to be afraid to dream and to try new and crazy things. Start a restaurant! Convert a roller skating rink into a church building! Plant potatoes a month earlier than anyone else in the county! Invent an automatic bed-making machine!

He taught how to put my own worms on my own hook and know how to tie proper knots so I could change my own lures. It was from him that I learned that lunch in a fishing boat could legitimately consist of a can of pop and a candy bar. He also taught me the art of telling people how many fish we caught without revealing where we caught them, and how to sweet talk ’em when they weren’t biting.

He taught me that ice cream was a vegetable—and should, accordingly, be eaten as often possible, preferably topped with homegrown raspberries. And chocolate and caramel and nuts and hard cookies. But he also taught me that vegetables (the real ones) were pretty amazing, too.

He taught me that one didn’t need an advanced education to write witty and thoughtful letters in your grandchildren’s birthday cards.

He taught me how to judge a good dairy cow, and then how to care for her after I took his advice and bought her.

He taught me that it’s possible for a lame pun to be hilarious, when said with that much mischief twinkling in one’s eyes.

He taught me how to make Spanish omelettes.

He taught me that fashion statements can be made with coveralls just as well as bolo ties, matching belt buckles and fancy cowboy boots. That having hard candy in your pocket is a great way to win friends and influence people. And that a hearty splash of gasoline will cure a bad case of poison ivy (much to my mother’s dismay…).

You were only ninety-one young, Grandpa—not old enough to die. I’m going to miss you!

“For You…O God… have given me the inheritance of those who fear Your name.” (Psalm 61:5)

For more memories of my grandfather, see here and here.

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In Search of: Wild Raspberries

August 12, 2015April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

The golden rays of the sinking sun slanted down through the treetops as we worked our way carefully along the brushy edges of the narrow lane, searching. There were no buckets present; this excursion was not for duty or mass accumulation, but sheer enjoyment. We ate them as fast as we found them, fingers soon stained with streaks of red. It was an evening for one of summer’s best simple joys: picking wild raspberries.Excursions to the local u-pick berry patches with their neatly mulched rows and abundant berries are a yearly tradition that I love and look forward to. Earlier this week, I brought home buckets full of blueberries; a couple weeks ago, it was buckets full of strawberries. But there’s nothing quite like venturing out into the woods to find them growing wild. You know—where the value of the berries acquired is in direct relationship to the amount of scratches on your ankles and arms, the number of mosquitoes and deer flies swatted, and the quantity of burrs stuck to your clothing and hair. And where you may go searching only to find that the bears have beat you to them, like they or some other hungry four-footed creature did to my secret gooseberry patch last week! Though thankfully (or would that be regretfully?) I have never had the pleasure of actually meeting a bear while out picking!

But the rewards of your labor are berries with flavor that no cultivated varieties can ever quite manage to live up to. Entirely worth the trouble. And, like I said, best eaten straight off the bush.

I wonder if God smacked His lips when He made raspberries? Certainly He must have smiled to Himself as He anticipated our enjoyment of them!

“And God said, “Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food”…And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.” (Genesis 1:29, 31)

With the memory of sweet-tart sun-drenched berry juice fresh on my mind, yet again, I have to agree.

Pinecone at Sunset

June 1, 2015September 10, 2015 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

The newly forming cones on the red pine in our yard, beautifully highlighted by the evening sun.

“And God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth…the tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth, and it was so.'” (Genesis 1:11)

Budding Tamaracks

May 21, 2015September 10, 2015 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

I think I love watching the tamaracks bud out in the spring almost as much as the flowering crab trees. In the distance, across the swamps and bogs and all along the edges of moist places in the forest, they slowly turn the loveliest soft green, utterly transforming the barren watery landscapes they call home. It wasn’t until recently, however, that I found out the real treat is when you get a close-up look at those newly-budding lacy branches.

Close-ups like these always put me in quiet wonder at the Creator’s attention to detail. Certainly there is awe to be found in the magnificent distant views of the sweeping starry heavens or soaring mountain peaks, but God, the greatest Artist of all, is no impressionist. His masterpiece of creation stands up to the closest scrutiny.

“O Lord, our Lord! How excellent is Thy name in all the earth!” (Psalm 8:9)

Rejoicing Forest

May 18, 2015May 16, 2017 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

“Then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice before the Lord. For He cometh, for He cometh to judge the earth; He shall judge the world with righteousness, and the people with His truth.” (Psalm 96:12-13)

We took a hike amongst these majestic 300+ year old trees recently, and I stood there and thought about what it might be like to hear this stately forest literally rejoice in anticipation of their Creator’s coming. Can you imagine? Kind of gave me goosebumps!

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