I had to think as I got up this morning that the Monday after Easter must have been a pretty special day as well.  Knowing that Jesus has been raised from death and is walking among us ... changes the perspective of the world we live in and our purpose in being here.  I suspect one would walk along the road or through the marketplace, anxiously searching the faces of the crowd to catch a glimpse of the Savior; to see his eyes one more time or to recognize his smile or his distinct voice.  I pray that your Monday after Easter is filled with the same anticipation.https://photos.app.goo.gl/2QCKy3osiX6Mp1Ch9

wrote this poem in February of 2003 but its been in my head the last several days ...

The cold north winds remind us 

                that the winter hasn’t passed

The lifeblood of the oaks remains

              beneath the ground steadfast

and yet the cardinal’s refrain

              is prelude to the spring

when once again the grasses green

             and orioles will sing

they’ll sing for all the hope they have

     that this will be the season

the Father will reveal to them 

         their purpose and the reason

so in the midst of life’s cold days

    is set this celebration

of all the love that gets us through

     despite our consternation

as chards of light pierce eastern clouds – 

-      a prelude to the day

reminding us of amazing love

       that gently points the way

so sing for all the hope you have

     that this will be the season

the Father will reveal to you

         your purpose and your reason

...on wings of eagles

(This showed up in my drafts and I don’t believe I ever posted it ... circa 2015)

Reflecting on yesterday ... the church bulletin published a half page summary of a 'legend' about how birds got their wings. I do not know the source, but it was really quite cheesy. The gist of the legend was that birds were created without wings and GOD told them to carry their wings. Their burdens became their means of flight. Perhaps someone was encouraged by the parable that by some stretch of the imagination had spiritual implications for their life, but it wasn't me. This is not a cynical attack. The story did start me thinking about flight and I was reminded of a group of finches that were brought to our 'rainforest' room at school. We thought it would be cool to have birds fly about this large room that was full of aquariums, tropical plants, and a waterfall. But when the finches arrived ... all they did was walk around ... hop a bit ... and occasionally fly about six inches up in the air. It seems that they had been raised in a small cage since birth and really had no idea of their own capabilities of flight. They also did not sing as I had expected the finches to do. It took them a couple of days to adapt to their new environment and begin to fly about the room. With their freedom came their song. You draw your own inferences.

"those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar on wings of eagles;
they will run and now grow weary; they will walk and not be faint." Isaiah 40

chariots and horses

I think if you zoom in on this panorama you can almost see the Mediterranean at the line of the horizon on the left side... this is the view Abraham would have seen as he held a knife in one hand and his son's neck in the other while he desperately looked for an alternative ... it is what Elijah saw as he had allowed himself to be used to defeat 800 prophets of Baal and then called out to YHWH to relieve the drought he had prayed for over the past three and a half years.  This is from the top of Mt Carmel in central Israel.  I was reminded as I awoke this morning [having slept through the night for the first time in a long time] that when the people of GOD "cry out" ... he always hears, because he always listens ... and he always responds ... in powerful ways ... though in HIS own time.

Ze' ekah is the Hebrew for 'cry out' ... it implies a deep scream of despair and simultaneous hope - as a mother in childbirth or a mother who has lost her child or when one has come to the end of the rope and realizing they are not 'tied in' .  Ze' ekah, though, is a corporate scream ... when the people of GOD join in a desperate cry for rescue ... when their realization that their own helplessness and brokenness cannot fix things and ONLY the intervention of YHWH can redeem them.

Join voices in the people of GOD for the first time in all of earth's history, as we lift our  united Ze'ekah in hope and in confidence that Adonai is indeed in control and is about to do something unprecedented to glorify his name.

If you look at the numerous references to chariots and horses in scripture, you'll find that again and again GOD's people are reminded
     Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.
                                                                                                                              Psalm 20:7

blessings and peace

dan

What do you want?

WHAT do you want?

What DO you want?
What do YOU want?
What do you WANT?

Perhaps this is the question all mankind has asked throughout history ... a summative query of all conflict and of all purpose.  Relationships begin and end in this question ... even asked on a corporate or national level, the history of mankind has rested on this question and on the word that was emphasized.  From the time an infant cries out without words, this question is being asked.  By the age of kindergarten, we have already mastered the manipulation of others to respond.

... and we spend the rest of our lives essentially asking and responding to this question.  All that we do is the result of our personal answer and response.  It it the driving force behind our actions and our purpose in life.  We will sacrifice personal comfort and purpose in our response.

For this man we met in a pub at 11:15 on a chilly fall morning in Charlestown, Ireland ... it was
"a corner table near the peat fire ... and another pint ... with a straw please, for the escape of my Parkinson's and the forty years I spent in the English Navy trying to escape my upbringing in this little town ... only to return to my roots and spend my days drinking in conversation with strangers about memories of Lynard Skynard and early rock and roll."  

Probably not the best answer.

Peace be with you and may GOD bless you.

Inspiration from Inch Beach

Oh ADONAI !  
   ... as you breathed life into this world and created nature and natural order from chaos ... From nothing ... You set in motion the reminders of your touch ... of your love ... of your constant and continual care for all of your creation.   Your tears of disappointment in man's abandonment of your compassion and avoidance of trust in your natural order have created the brooks that fill the great rivers and empty into the oceans.    and yet you continue still to breathe your Holy Spirit into the hearts of men ... As the winds and oceanic currents incessantly move water and sand to erode the rock bastions we have created and replace them in new deposits that form the spits that reach into the raging waves of humanity and form the breakwaters that give safe harbor to those who are in such great need of your mercy.  Help me today to yield the hard parts of my heart to be reshaped by the ruach of the master potter and to be cleansed in the flow of your compassion to become who you desire me to be ... That the world may know - ADONAI

Looking back at this little cabin, built on the Navajo reservation in northwestern New Mexico, I'm reminded "blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven".  In my life I have been rich, though I usually have failed to acknowledge that fact.  Standing on my front sidewalk this morning and enjoying the feel of warm raindrops falling on my face ... I realize the richness of my life.  This photograph was taken from the from porch of the home of a woman named Martha, who had lived in a one room cabin with no running water and no electricity with her children ... for over forty years.  This is a barren land ... there is no garden ... the relief of rain is only a memory.  I am glad I was given opportunity to be a part of the rain that blessed Martha with a new house that has electricity and water.  I am rich ... so it is often difficult to see the desert that surrounds me.  And so I stand in the rain ... thanking GOD not only for the rain, but for eyes to see the desert and the cleansing reign of His Spirit that refreshes my soul.

Annual events

today I visited the dermatologist ... something I have done for the last several Septembers.  It is not necessarily something I look forward to, but it is necessarily something I need to do.  There are other things that we do only once a year - some of them under duress and others reluctantly, rather having the opportunity to do them more frequently.  Paying taxes or home insurance once a year is enough, but I could do Christmas or Thanksgiving more often.  On the other hand, Easter is only once a year, but it seems that when it has past I spend the remainder of the year planning toward, living toward, and looking forward to the next one.  But then in many ways ... Easter comes every day.  We simply don't always acknowledge it.  Looking back it has been almost a year to the day since I made a contribution to this spot.  So, I'm back again - anticipating that it will not be a  year before I return.  My writings stimulate my own thinking call me to be introspective and if someone else gains some insight or hope into this life in the process, then perhaps that is good.

My thoughts lately have been drawn back to Isaiah 35 again and again ... perhaps I'll go there again someday.

Perhaps tomorrow.

I can't wait 'til next year...

Walking in the rain ...

Several years ago I determined that Psalm 23 is approximately nine rods long.  A rod being the length of a standard canoe, portages are measured in rods.  As I walked between two lakes on what are usually sloppy wet and steep trails, carrying a canoe and/or a pack I discovered that as I quoted Psalm 23 outloud that it gave me a mantra ... a rhythm ... that broke through the silence and the monotony.  I began to measure the length of portages in the numbers of times I could quote the Psalm while walking the portage.  The waterfall in the photo above is one of the most beautiful portages I've been on and measures only five "Psalm 23's".  Perhaps it might be useful to measure the transitions of our lives in terms of the psalms.  I've been impressed with Lynn Anderson, who in the midst of his successful chemotherapy, memorized the Psalms ... all of them.  I think he has achieved this goal.

Tonight I went for a walk in the rain.  It reminded me of the many times I've canoed or hiked in the rain ... this just enough to cool the evening and not actually get wet.  But I think that the great advantage of walking in the rain is the fact that it hides the tears of compassion for a broken world.

"He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside still waters,
He restores my soul,
He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake ..."

Sometimes the paths of righteousness are pretty rough ...

Occasionally it comes to mind that if one spends too much time reading the thoughts of others, it becomes far to easy to become dependent on the thoughts of others and not take the time to examine oneself.  However, it also seems relevant to examine my own thoughts in the light and context of others.  If one does not take the opportunity to be introspective from time to time, it often becomes increasingly difficult to see clearly beyond today or the ripples in my own pond.  I have just finished reading North to the Night by Alvah Simon ... an autobiographical journal of reflections on sailing north west of Greenland in early September and intentionally becoming embedded in the arctic ice and in the endless dark of the arctic winter... a most desolate visit with wilderness in its most harsh reality.  The author reflects that his greatest battle was with loneliness and with darkness ... both of which are an absence of the stimulation of life.  Without the presence of light and of the interaction of other people, we lose sight of our perspective.  I'm reminded of the Moody Blues tune, Nights in White Satin.

Cold hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight
Red is gray and Yellow white
But we decide which is right 
And which is an Illusion                         ... and if we are deprived of the light, our evaluation of truth is necessarily biased and may not be recognized for what it is.  Wilderness has its purpose ... that time spent in wilderness intentionally places one in a situation that requires greater dependence on self ...

The longer the experience, the less dependent upon self and the greater dependence upon GOD - for even the most fundamental needs ... and definition of perspective.

Pikopiko

At the beginning of this new year, I am reminded of the Maori tradition of the 'fertility' and energy represented by the fiddlehead of a newly developing fern frond - ie.  the "fiddlehead".  The entire plant develops from this tightly packaged mass of tissue that will unfurl to become a twenty foot tall ponga fern frond!  This photo is of a Pikopiko that is about the size of a dinner plate.  There is anticipation and prophecy in the symmetry of this frond.  As in the beginning of this new year, it is difficult to see what will develop, but I am excited and encouraged at the possibilities of what will unroll as the days progress.  Again, I'm blessed to witness the magic of natural order and the beauty in the geometry of life.  Thank you Father.

1st of January

"I want to be...do...become in 2013. To be fully there in love for others. To do things I have not done. To become a man of deeper faith and joy. There is only death to quitting or being the same. I want to reach beyond what there is and grasp what could be. The memories I participate in making for my kids, wife, friends and family this coming year only come around once...Father, fill me with the Spirit of resurrection this coming year! "

I hate to start this year with plagiarism, so I must give credit to my friend Reg Cox who penned these words.  However, they could have just as easily come from my lips ... I sat down to write a brief prayer to begin this year and as I opened my computer, found these words from Reg.  I claim this prayer for myself as well.

Having just finished watching the Trilogy of the Rings, I am reminded of how "precious" those things of this world often seem and that we often cannot see the forest for the trees!  What a magical world we live in ... and in the midst of the chaos, violence, and grief of this world ... I am reminded that I am a tree in a story about a forest.  And the story of the forest is more important than the story of the tree.

2013

As I awoke at 4:00 AM with the burdens of several families on my heart, I was refreshed by the promise of rain in a flash of lightning and the subsequent roll of thunder.  Eventually I dropped off ... back to sleep ... and overslept about thirty minutes, arising to the sound of the rain.   The thought occurred that it is the steady and consistent rain that will restore my drought stricken lawn and bring back life to those shrubs and vines that have been struggling.   And yes, it is the steady and consistent reign of our Lord Jesus that will restore our lives that often become dried up, brittle, and broken in the absence of His reign.  Bring it!

 I had to think as I got up this morning that the Monday after Easter must have been a pretty special day as well.  Knowing that Jesus has been raised from death and is walking among us ... changes the perspective of the world we live in and our purpose in being here.  I suspect one would walk along the road or through the marketplace, anxiously searching the faces of the crowd to catch a glimpse of the Savior; to see his eyes one more time or to recognize his smile or his distinct voice.  I pray that your Monday after Easter is filled with the same anticipation.

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling ...

At the beginning of this year, elders were asked to choose their "favorite hymn" and then write a short note as to why it was chosen.  Then at each elder meeting, one of the selections is sung and the song is identified as the favorite of someone.  This was my submission.  We sang it tonight at our meeting and it was an emotional and beautiful time for me.


Well Stormy,  this was a more difficult task than I would have thought.  I’ve put this off for some reason, not wanting to be the first to respond and then just taking time to think about it.  I was convinced that “the most meaningful hymn” to me was not a hymn.  There are many contemporary songs that still tug at my heart much more than those of ‘yesteryear’, but then my heart is different now also.  As I turned through the pages of the blue Great Songs of the Church [this was the one that Paul sanctioned wasn’t it?] ... Page after page I felt the tears well up as different titles flashed back to my early years.  For many of those tunes I can close my eyes and still see A.E. “Polly” Wells as he started the first line and graciously backed away from the pulpit mike into the diffused light of the circular window at the College Church of Christ ... All the time his eyes rolling back in his head.  I always thought he would pass out and fall over backwards, but he never gave me that enjoyment.  With every page there was another memory and if I had to do it over again, I might just as easlily  pick another song, but the one I settled on is Jesus is Tenderly Calling.  I think what made this song special to me was that over the years – while I was still in the far country and sharing corn cobs with the pigs, I would hear this song in the background at a bookstore or in an elevator or in a movie.  I heard it one time being played on an organ in a rural church surrounded by wildflowers in the middle of the summer and then heard it at my grandmother’s church while a small congregation drug this through an acapella graveyard.   But in all these versions ... Jesus kept calling me home.

Two years ago I was invited by Caleb to participate in a class based upon this book.  Ever since then I've had it on my heart that I should teach/conduct this class for some of the men at Highland.  So I finally decided to pull the trigger and squeeze one off - the class begins this coming March 20th and will continue for eight weeks.  I feel terribly inadequate in so many ways, yet know there are many men - young and old - who need to know that they are the beloved son and to come to know the Father in ways that they've never experienced.

"Life is about those moments of impact that change our lives forever ..."

"No matter how far life's challenges may carry us apart, we will always find a way back home ..."

I am truly a lucky man ... the first moment of impact was walking into Lynn Smith's house when a bunch of girls were playing cards ... though there must have been ten girls there that evening ... I only saw one ... and I still do.  That has been over thirty eight years ago - if I had it to do over . . . I'd fall in love with her again ... I do every day.

lessons from the flowers

So today I noticed one of my all time favorite wildflowers.  It is actually classified as a weed by most people, but one can actually purchase seeds on-line, so that would make it a cultivated plant wouldn't it.  These plants have bloomed a bit early this year with our Indian Summer we have been experiencing.  It is raining tonight, so they will be blooming with the daffodils soon.  These are Capsella Bursa-Pastura, commonly known as the shepherd's purse.  They have tiny white florets on terminal stalks, but then spread their seed pods in a whorled fashion.  If you'll notice the seed pod is heart shaped.  In fact it's name comes from the fact that it is shaped like the sling purse that shepherd's often wore across their shoulder in ancient Israel.  Legend has it that these flowers did not exist until David killed Goliath with his sling ... and if the seed pod is cut open there are five smooth stones in each one of them.  Go figure.

"false summits"

I don't remember the first time, but I remember dozens of times ...
One of my first memories goes back to a mid-June day on which we attempted the Rio Grande Pyramid.  Leaving early in the morning [and probably not early enough] we made the steep climb out of the Weminuche Pass to the trail leading over to the peak.  There was still significant snow on the side we were ascending, so our path up the mountain was either through snow and steep terrain or through very loose scree ... neither of which provided firm footing and our pattern was "five steps up and slide three back" ... and the day grew hotter.  We all thought we knew where we were going and we could look up and see the blue sky pointing to our goal.  But three times we reached that blue sky only to discover that it was just above a shelf that blocked our view of the summit.  Once as we neared what I thought was the 'top' ... my hat blew off ... my only hat ... and it was getting hot and this was the second day of my trip ... had to drop back down and get it ... about a 300' drop that I had just worked so hard to achieve.  I remember the fatigue and the frustration ... but then ... that was twenty five years ago!   In one sense I cannot believe it has been that long, but on the other hand, I have experienced so many "false summits" since then that I've grown more accustomed to the patience and the endurance necessary to achieve my goal.  Those setbacks in life are usually really 'not' ... but rather detours that allow me to see something I had missed or to better prepare me for the the path to come.  It it necessary to focus on the peak, but life is lived in the valleys and on the side of the mountain.  Those peaks that I've stood upon, bring memories of glorious views and of a great sense of accomplishment.  But I have far more memories of those glimpses of blue sky through the trees and of wild roses and columbines along the trail that I would have missed had I not gone back to get my hat!

2012 ...

Okay, so it's been a while.  Sometimes when I seem to get caught up ... I take time to reflect ... and yes, I should do that much more often.  So I'm thinking now - in retrospect - of Christmas morning 2011 ... awakening before everyone else and strapping on a pair of snowshoes and in the crispness of a three degree morning - walked about a half mile down a creek beside our cabin in the Wolf Creek area of southern Colorado.  Many thoughts filled my head that morning... thoughts of blessings realized and true wonder as I listened to the snow-laden aspens creak disrupting the silence of sound absorbed by snow.  I paused for a few moments to catch my breath and spoke the following from memory.  That was a merry Christmas.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


Thank you Robert Frost ... I shall not forget.