A THANK YOU TO FRIENDS PAST AND PRESENT

 

It is always the hardest seasons that bring forth the most growth in my life. So it has been with mixed emotions recently that I have dug deep and begun to remove the old to make room for the new. This is definitely hardest when it comes to people.

I have always thought friendships should last forever. Every single time I am wrong, I cry like a newborn who is abandoned and starving. It hurts my heart to lose someone who once knew my favorite treats, my hardest days, my moods and my secrets. I do not throw my heart open easily, and I am careful with promises. The end of a friendship feels like failure to me.

With all of that in mind, I feel that I have apologies to make. A recent challenge to purge the old, prepare for the new, and preserve the good has redefined my heart. 

 

 At the end of a growing season, the fruit is harvested from the garden. When there is excess, much of it is preserved, or prepared for storage. If one were to place the fresh food on the counter and simply leave it there, regardless of how much water and sunlight and company it receives, the food would rot. It must be preserved while it is still good and fresh. 

Preserved food still nourishes. In fact, once you have made pickles or jam/jelly and sealed the lid, you can even choose whether the food will nourish your household or someone else's. I am coming to understand that friendship is the same way. 

It is my duty to determine whether a friendship has been given to me for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Friendships given for a reason typically identify themselves quickly: You know when you encounter someone who meets a need in your life. The difficulty for me has been differentiating between the seasonal and lifetime friendships. 


And so comes my apology. Some of you were meant to be my friends for a season. We were apples  on different branches. We grew side by side for a while, sharing sunny days and weathering rainy ones together. Then our branches grew in different directions. 


Yes, we could still hear the same soundtrack: birds singing sweetly whole children grew and flew our nests, then grandchildren arrived. We were still nourished by the same roots: whether it was childhood memories, a love for God, or our involvement in a group together; the memories bonded us. But we were farther apart now, and nothing could change the fact that we were heading in different directions.

I kept listening to the soundtrack, hoping we could continue dancing in step together. I didn't understand that apples are seasonal fruit; as such, they must fall. Some will wind up in the same pie, having spent all their days together. Others will land in separate baskets, and while they may be aware of each other's fates, it is from a distance. I tried to keep us both attached to the tree, and risked us both rotting there; changing seasons demand to be recognized. 

Like fruit picked in season, our time together has ended. Like apples turned into a jar of jelly, you are in the storage room of my heart. And when days grow cold and my coffee is poured and I sit with the Bread of Life, the jelly of memories made together will nourish us both. It will keep my heart soft, while the prayers I offer with your name whispered will find their way to you as blessings big and small. 

Thank you, my friends for a reason. Whether you met my need or whether I met yours - I am blessed to have been with you. 

Thank you, my friends for a season. I would not be who I am today without our days together. And falling hurts, but it preserves us.

Thank you, my lifetime friends. You are few in number, but rich in grace and love. We have been through every season and you still see value in me. 

If friendship were a garden, I have grown the most beautiful flowers. Keep blooming, my friends. 

TIME FOR A CHANGE

"Nothing gold can stay," the poet says. It sounds depressing, but I don't believe that was his intention. Rather, this is a poetic way of stating a fact of life: it's all about seasons and change.

This poem has come to life for me in recent days, as harvest begins on the prairies. Fields covered with golden canola blossoms just weeks ago now stand in tones of burnt blonde, or lie swathed and waiting for pickup.

Beaches which were well-frequented and highly populated all summer, now looking more solitary in the evenings.

As if on cue, my mind and body recognize a new season and begin to change. Muscles, tense from a season of sitting at a desk, begin to relax with time in the lake/pool, bicycle rides and yoga ball stretches.

I have time to devote to memories and goals. Some of this is healing, while some of it just leaves the heart feeling raw. Similar to the harvested crop, I'm mostly ready to put the good parts to use and prep for a new season and a different product.

It's not awful, this fading of gold. I love the cooler mornings, the comfort of owning my skin, and the view in the rear-view mirror. The hiĺls and valleys made me stronger, the lonely stretches forced me to know myself better, and the seasons of color marked me with laugh lines and happy tears. The horizon is full of unknowns, but I'm thankful for that, too. I would spend too much energy dreading the hard days.

Golden canola blossoms turn into food products. Golden tansy flowers become a salve that soothes my aching feet. Gold coins turn into beverages shared with friends. Golden sunbeams turn into moonlight, cuddles and dreams.

Nothing gold can stay,
But when it fades away:
Oh the joy change brings
To those who choose to sing!

2018: My Year of Refreshing

In a moment of candid honesty, I would confess that I have a love-hate relationship with New Year's Day.

I love the image of a blank slate, dusty from lessons learned, but empty and ready for the learning still to come. I always dread, however, the reflection upon the past year's achievements...or lack thereof.

From a Christian perspective, I am increasingly frustrated by the overuse of Isaiah 43:19 in reference to the New Year, as captured in the image below:

I'll let you in on a secret: God doesn't celebrate New Years. He doesn't wait for the calendar's permission to address you or your situation. How do I know? I read the verse below:

Imagine, if you will, what it's like to live in Heaven's time zone. The 2,018 calendar years marked off by mankind are little more than 2 days in Heaven. At the same time, every single day is like a thousand years to Him. If you are a parent, or have ever experienced a challenging day in the workplace, you understand the concept of the day that never seems to end.

So what about the days you realize you spent a whole year missing the mark? Resolutions weren't kept, goals weren't achieved, or perhaps it even seems you moved backward. What about those days? And the ones that seem to last forever, and for all the wrong reasons?

Sweet friend, God made provision for those days. Just because He lives outside of time as we know it doesn't mean He has no idea how this works: He designed the system! We break the system down into days, hours, minutes and seconds - but do we forget that seasons are part of the plan, too? Consider Acts 3:19, where we are told that times of refreshing will come from the presence of the Lord. (Some versions of the Bible translate the word "times" as "seasons"  - I love the imagery that word paints!)

This year, as I look at the 365 days just passed and the 365 days ahead, the word for my New Year was nearly audible to me: Refresh. Last year was good, and I learned a lot from living by the word "defined." I believe I am on the right track, but I need a season of refeshing before I set new goals.

As someone who works with computers daily, perhaps I can draw an analogy from them. When you press the "Reset" button on a computer, all programs will shut down and you will need to restart each one. I would consider our cross-country move five years ago as a "reset." which required us to restart everything: our home, our jobs, and even our friendships.

Pressing the "Refresh" button on a computer does something completely different: it simply reloads the program you are working in without whatever factor was slowing you down. A season of refreshing, then, as applied to life, means you are doing good work, but you have some things to get rid of. This ties in beautifully with Hebrews 12:1, which instructs us to "throw off everything that hinders..."

For me, some things that hinder include anger, guilt, and low self-esteem. The low self-esteem is directly connected to my troubles with weight management, which I have begun to correct. The guilt and anger are tied to what seems like a whole other lifetime, but they directly influence my weight management when I eat based on emotion. So although I'm doing the work, I need to "refresh" and throw away the issues that slow down the finished work. 

I will take this season to be made cool and clean. I will first be emptied of things that hinder, then filled with peace and purpose. I will practice seeing each day as fresh and every moment as re-fresh. Refresh. Re-fresh. Fresh, and fresh again. As many times as required, until the work is once again moving forward without hesitation. 

I do not expect this season to be easy. I will put in the work because I am excited to see the results. I look forward to feeling lighter, both physically and emotionally. Because life is a gift, and the Giver is good. 

WORM WOUNDS

Each morning as we leave our home, I admire the beauty of our property. The huge, decades-old, leafy poplars that flank the east and south sides of our home are host to many songbirds who begin and end our days with joyful sounds.

On the western edge of our property, which is the street-facing side, are about 9 young saplings nobody planted. Really - nobody. When the first one sprung up out of the cinder block, we assumed it was an alder bush...so we weed-whacked it. Two years in a row. And then it began to grow for spite; the tree is now taller than I am, in the center of 8 mini-mysteries just like it.

As I behold our property, shrouded in shade, I am deeply grateful for divine favor. You see, we live in a prairie region which is currently enduring its second year of infestation with tent caterpillars. These worms are offensive to both the eyes and ears, and they devour trees. Well, not the trees exactly ... but all their leaves. Much of our neighborhood has been stripped bare by these pests.

Next door to us is an elementary school, where my kindergartener enjoys spending time on the playground equipment. Sitting there with him this weekend, I noticed the unusual condition of the schoolyard trees. 

My husband has taken great care to band our trees with carboard, duct tape and chainsaw oil. This has prevented the dreaded tent caterpillars from climbing and feasting on our trees; however, no such care has been given to the schoolyard poplars. Defenseless, they have become patchy with what I like to call "worm wounds."

"Worm wounds" are bald spots in a tree which testify to the evidence of pests being present. Sure, some branches are still leafy enough to house a home for a pair of hummingbirds or a family of robins. Other branches, though, are like a window to the heart of the tree - its trunk, which is clearly visible, exposed for temporary lack of the standard leafy veil.

That's the key. These worm wounds are, in fact, temporary. I witnessed these trees last July, stripped as naked as though it were mid-December. I also witnessed them blossom in spring, and I see their branches - even in their current state of duress - attempting to bud after each fresh rainfall.

I am humbled as I observe nature reflect my life. There are "worm wounds" in my story which seem to strip parts of me naked and raw with each season of newness and growth. They leave my core exposed: afraid that my past will thunder into my present, that the scorching rejection of yesteryear will char my very soul, and that I will never be complete in my purpose. What if I'm never more than blotched?

As clear as the call of the pigeon from the school rooftop, I hear it. The whisper to my soul from its Creator: "To every thing, there is a season." There is a time for feeling a little naked and on display; there is also a time the soul-sucking worms move on. The key is to keep bending with the breeze, soaking up the sun, and welcoming the rain.

The trees do not refuse the birds a nesting place simply because they are momentarily less bountiful. Rather, they allow the birds to build and turn those exposed areas into arenas for amplified, unfiltered music. Robins, hummingbirds, sparrows and finches - all project their voices to fill the world with song.

Oh, that my heart would do the same! Focus on the thriving branches of life! Become a shelter for others -  a strong, safe place from which to sing their songs. Unafraid of those who may injure hearts but cannot destroy the soul. Realizing that no season lasts forever, and those who sing with joy, are capable of eliminating any worms who attack.