Vacation Vignettes: Peninsula

September 1, 2017October 16, 2021 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

We chose a destination on the map, a place with a name hard to wrap our tongues around, that neither of us had ever been to before. We took an entire day and took our sweet, winding, whimsical time and way to get there. We found places we’d spotted on maps and in brochures. We found things that no map or brochure can point you to, small and not-so-small details that delighted and surprised us. It was the perfect juxtaposition of the expected and the unexpected, a true adventure. And so, as the grand finale to this little series of vacation photographs, come have a little glimpse of the beautiful Keweenaw Peninsula with us.We took the roads labeled “scenic” and “shoreline” as much as possible, for obvious reasons. It’s the same great lake whose waves we’ve seen pounding the shore of our own home state, but it was no less breathtaking here!We peeked hopefully beneath the leaves of these thimbleberry bushes, and were mocked with loads of not-quite-ripe berries. So we bought thimbleberry jam instead at……a fairy-tale bakery that smelled of gingerbread, surrounded by magnificent fragrant rose bushes. I never thought I’d meet a bakery that smelled as good outside as it did inside, but I was wrong. The fact that the delicious muffins we also secured here were baked by kind bearded monks in long black robes only added to its charm.We climbed a red wrought iron staircase, which wound tightly to the top of……a perfectly picturesque lighthouse with a shiny red tin roof. We picked wildflowers, ate the most delicious fresh lake trout right in view of the great lake it was caught in. and explored a historic fort. And then, as a fitting finale to the day, we drove right to the top of Brockway Mountain to see for miles in every direction, and join other happy people who were also taking time out of their busy schedules to watch the sun as it slipped like a giant copper penny into the lake spread out below us. And then that magnificent sunset chased us all the way down the long road home. The tired little people nodded off to sleep in the back seat, cheeks rosy with sunshine and sticky from after-dinner mints, and the great dark dusk engulfed the rugged shape of the peninsula as it rose to meet the twilight sky behind us, as the music played, softly and fittingly:

“Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer:

God bless America, land that I love,
Stand beside her and guide her
Through the night with a light from above…” (Irving Berlin)

Here, 1475 Feet Above the Ocean

September 13, 2016September 13, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

To the many photos that have been snapped by countless tourists, I will add yet two more. But you know—it’s hard not to agree with them that it’s inspiring to view the humble beginnings of something great.

“Here 1475 feet above the ocean the mighty Mississippi begins to flow on its winding way 2552 miles to the gulf of Mexico…”“All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; to the place where the streams flow, there they flow again.” (Ecclesiastes 1:7)

Venturing West: The Long View

June 2, 2016October 16, 2021 ~ Beth ~ 5 Comments

For all the outdoor beauty we enjoy here in Minnesota, I must admit that there is one thing we’re a little short on, and that’s the long view. I do love all our trees, but thanks to those thick forests the places where you can stand and see for miles are somewhat few and far between. Which is why, when I travel to places like North Dakota and Montana as we had the opportunity to do this last month, I can hardly get enough of those endless scenic vistas. I love to see the beautiful, raw curves and contours of the land, love to see distant hills fading away in shades of blue and purple to the horizon, love the way those vistas kindle my imagination with the possibilities of what may lie even further beyond.

It’s in moments like those that I sometimes find myself wishing that life itself was a little more like standing on the edge of a continual scenic vista and not quite so much like plugging along through the thick forest with no idea what’s around the next bend. You know, being able to see into the future and knowing the purpose and end result of things instead of always wondering. Have you ever wished for that, too?

In some ways, that’s just how it is to be human. We aren’t all-knowing or all-seeing like God is. That’s why we have to trust in Him and lean not on our own understanding, because He’s the only one who can see the long view. That necessary dependence is part of the beauty of our relationship with Him.

Yet recently I happened upon a passage in His Word that, interestingly, does promise a certain amount of special vision for the righteous. In this particularly beautiful chapter in Isaiah, “sinners in Zion” and “the godless” are terrified after hearing of God’s promised judgement and ask:

“Who among us can live with the consuming fire? Who among us can live with continual burning?” (“burning” being a picture of the judgement that is prophesied to come)And God answers with that beautiful balance of justice and mercy befitting His character: “‘He who walks righteously and speaks with sincerity…
…he who rejects unjust gain and shakes his hands so that they hold no bribe…
…he who stops his ears from hearing about bloodshed and shuts his eyes from looking upon evil……he will dwell on the heights, his refuge will be the impregnable rock……his bread will be given him, his water will be sure…

…your eyes will see the King in His beauty; they will behold a far-distant land.'” (Isaiah 33:14-17)

That last little line is my very favorite part. Isn’t it beautiful? To those who walk according to His ways, He does give, among many other wonderful gifts, without negating our need to walk in faith, a glimpse of that long view and those distant horizons, or, as another translation puts it “the land that stretches afar”.

He’s not talking about physical scenic vistas here, breathtaking as those are. I don’t even think He’s necessarily talking about knowing the future. Instead, He’s promising the righteous spiritual eyes to see above and beyond the figurative forests humankind stumbles through, and to see instead His ways and His will—and ultimately, to see to the farthest horizon where the glory of eternity with Him awaits. To see things from His perspective.It’s like being given a pair of God-shaped binoculars. And, really, can you think of anything more breathtaking?

P.S. Yes, this trip out west is the reason you haven’t heard from me here in a while—but my camera was busy while we were away. Stay tuned for more soon!

Rushing River

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

We were standing at the edge of a steep bank. Late afternoon sunlight slanted gold through pine branches over our heads, highlighting the moist hummocks of brilliant green moss creeping along the slanting forest floor. Below us, a river, satiated with a deluge of rapidly melting snow, rushed it’s wild, joyful way down to bigger waters. The music of its abundant fullness reminded me of this verse:

“If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.'” (John 7:37-38)

A little river like this, wildly overflowing with springtime run-off, is exactly what I picture a life looking like as the fulfillment this verse. A life so brimful of Christ that it can’t even hold the goodness back—it pours out in utter abandon, literally gushing with the joy of it.

And the good news is: in our case, the source never diminishes like the banks of melting snow eventually will for this little river. The invitation is always open, the supply is endless. The only way we can possibly dry up is if we quit coming and drinking.

And how do you come and drink? It’s simple. Spend as much time as you can with Him. Read His Word. Talk to Him.

“Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.” (Matthew 5:6)

May the river of living water that flows from you as a result be one hundred times more wildly beautiful and joyful than this one.

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!

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)

Foreign Soil

July 15, 2015October 16, 2021 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

Recently we took a short weekend trip to our neighboring country to the north, and it got me thinking about being a foreigner.

Granted, driving across the border into Canada doesn’t involve a lot of culture shock. They dress the same way as we do. They drive cars and have ordinary looking houses. They speak English. In some ways it feels very much like home.

But then you’re driving down the road and you start getting a headache from repeatedly having to convert kilometers to miles. You keep gasping at how much things cost, and having to remind yourself that it won’t be nearly so bad once you apply the exchange rate. There are maple leaves on the flags fluttering in people’s yards instead of stars and stripes. You hear about people eating their french fries with gravy and cheese curds, and calling diapers napkins. My husband even claims the walleye taste different up there. And they won’t let you take eggs across the border, no sir. Even if they’re beautiful big brown and green eggs from the farm down the road. (I learned that lesson the hard way.)

And so, in the midst of many similarities, the feel of the foreign seeps unmistakably through.We really had a great time while we were there, even if we did have to eat Canadian eggs. It was the kind of weekend where your favorite memories are things like waking up to the fragrance of coffee perking and grandma pulling fresh orange rolls out of the oven, sitting with your feet up reading good books in the fishing boat between bites, and the feel of sun-baked lichened rocks on bare feet. We spent mornings drinking coffee on the deck, hot and humid afternoons soaking in the lake, and cooler evenings around a roaring fire. We fed the seagulls, made barbecued ribs and ate fresh bread from the resort bakery next door. It was wonderful!

Yet for all the wonderful memories we made, we still got excited when we drove back to the border at the end of our visit and spotted a familiar red, white and blue flag fluttering proudly above the brick buildings at the crossing. The line was long, and we slowly inched our way across the river, suspended between two countries on a bridge of steel. A sort of happy, content feeling prevailed. That was home over there and there were no doubts about whether they’d let us through or not, because we were citizens!

We still had to prove it, of course. We had to hand over our US passports and birth certificates, and they had to examine them with care, comparing the photos on each one to the corresponding face in our vehicle. They looked in our coolers, too, and took all of our leftover red and yellow peppers in case they were carrying some kind of bug that might infest American pepper crops. (Or something like that.)

But after all that, we drove on through the gate, and suddenly we went from being foreigners to being citizens with rights and privileges. The speed limit signs made sense again. Things cost exactly what they said they did. They served us ketchup with our fries when we stopped for supper. Everything felt somehow right and familiar again.I like to think that’s how heaven is going to feel someday. We’ll cross that great divide between this life and the next, and suddenly everything will feel right and familiar in a way it never did here on earth. We will be home, and it will be a lot more than just a happy, content sort of feeling—it will be glorious. I don’t know about you, but no amount of enjoyment I feel in this life can take away from the excitement I feel when I anticipate that border crossing!

“For our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 3:20)

Are you a citizen, too? I hope I see you there!