Lessons From Ducks and Swans

April 17, 2017April 17, 2017 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

Every spring, there’s this short window of time, just before the ice goes out, in which there are little open areas of water around the edges of our lake. All the waterfowl congregates in these puddles and pools to forage for food and paddle around in one great companionable waiting game for the lake to open.The ducks and geese seem to have a mutual agreement that it’s a nice little community event, too, and mingle quite nicely.

The swans, not so much.Such a fuss we had from them, of fiercely territorial wing-flapping, neck-bobbing and trumpet-blasting, particularly when another pair of swans would come in for a landing (on a multi-daily basis). It was all very exciting, and we’re going to rather miss it now that the lake is open and the spring festival is over.

But I must say that I’ve learned something from watching this year’s waterfowl interactions before ice out. Entertaining as it is for us to be the audience to this yearly stiff competition over swan nesting grounds, it’s not exactly peaceful. For all their magnificent beauty, they are surprisingly selfish. And, as God’s Word says, we’d all be much better off emulating the contented little puddle ducks than the regal but contentious swans.

“Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly.Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Romans 12:16-18)

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February Thaw

March 1, 2017March 1, 2017 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

Sometimes, nearly always, there’s no end to the cold and snow in February.

Sometimes, on this past rare week in 2017, there’s an end to all the cold and snow in February.

Instead of bemoaning the skis propped uselessly up on the front porch, and the completely uninspiring waning muddy snowbanks, I got out my little girls’ mud boots and we went looking for puddles. At sunset.And we found them—puddles, liquid blue and silver, beneath cotton candy clouds in February.

One can never predict exactly what sort of beauty one will find. The only thing certain is that you will find it.

“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Playing in the Reflections

November 7, 2016November 7, 2016 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

It was possibly the most gloriously beautiful November day we’ve had yet—and if the playful antics I observed this morning are any evidence, apparently the otters knew it, too.

There was a whole family of them, three frolicsome pups and their only slightly more sedate parents, all playing lively games of dive and chase together in the liquid reflections. The surface of the lake roiled wildly with underwater fun, occasionally erupting into sparkles of splashes, and the curves and shimmers of sleek brown bodies.

As I watched their joy-infused antics with pleasure, it occurred to me that there is more than one way to compose a psalm of praise. To some is given the gift to string words together and put them to music…

“All creatures of our God and King
Lift up your voice and with us sing…
O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!” (Francis of Assisi)

But to others it is given to write their praises to Creator God by the way they live their lives.

For my sleek little neighbors, it is dancing through the water to make poetic ripples on a blue hole of a lake on a sunny day. What is it for you?

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

P.S. Go here to hear a worshipful acapella version of the above quoted hymn and infuse your day with a beautiful note of praise!

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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)

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.

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)

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)

Light After the Storm

July 26, 2015April 6, 2016 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

This was the light that broke forth after the storm, making the fields sparkle golden-green and the daisies by the roadside glow shining white. The contrast was spectacular between the lowering navy underbellies of the receding storm clouds, and the land beneath suddenly bathed in the piercing evening light.

We, on our walk through the fields, stopped and caught our breath in wonder. The ordinary grasses and trees were highlighted in stunning relief, and for a few minutes, the landscape was almost surreal in its beauty. The splendid effect of the most brilliant light is always the most striking when contrasted with the darkness it chases away.

So was the coming of the Messiah into the darkness of our world:

“The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great Light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a Light has dawned.” (Isaiah 9:2) swans on lake at sunset / rejoicing hills And He, the Light of the world, continues to shine, the glory of His brilliance all the more breathtaking when contrasted with the darkness it chases away. He beckons all to step into the piercing rays of His light, and let Him wash away their drabness, robing them in the stunning beauty of His holiness.

“I have come as Light into the world, so that everyone who believes in Me will not remain in darkness.” (John 12:46)

Come to the Light of Christ—it’s shining for you and no one is ever turned away. And if you are already walking in it, take a moment to rejoice in the wonder that you no longer “walk in darkness, but have the Light of life” (John 8:12)! How glorious to be His child!

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!