A Sense of Place

In June, I moved from middle Georgia to western North Carolina. I went from living in a loft apartment in downtown to living in a cabin with trees around me. I was excited to put out feeders for birds, because I expected to get more variety than I did in downtown Macon. There, I had English sparrows, house finches, and doves. The hummingbird feeder seldom had much activity but still I reveled in the occasional hummingbird visitor.

One of the first things I did when I got settled into this new place was put up bird feeders. The hummingbirds came almost instantly to the feeder I hung for them. The seed feeder languished for about two months before being visited. I thought chickadees would be the first to find it, because they seem so fearless and curious. However, goldfinches actually began using the feeder a good month before I finally saw a titmouse on it. Shortly after the titmice, I had chickadees and nuthatches. From a lifetime of feeding birds, I know those three types of birds often hang together.

Now that I have four kinds of birds using the seed feeder, I sense my presence is accepted on this little hill I share with them. I am well aware that I’m the intruder, that elements of the more-than-human world were displaced for the cabin I inhabit to be built, and even long before construction began here, Cherokee peoples were displaced by my ancestors, so I sense a strong obligation to tend and honor this little piece of land, for the sake of others who were here long before I showed up.

I don’t feel comfortable saying I own this land or this cabin. At best, I’m a temporary steward of a place that God created and others have lived in. My desire is to be a good neighbor to the trees and other plants, to the birds and other creatures, as well as a good neighbor to the people that live around me.

I have delighted in learning about the native plants and the animals that depend on them. I want to only add plants that belong here, because I am learning that the web of living things depends on so many beautiful and intricate interdependencies to survive and thrive. As much as possible, I want to support and strengthen the interdependencies, not disrupt them. To have a sense of place, the ability to love and connect with the world, and to be a good steward of all creation (including each other) matters. These are small acts done with great love and they can change the world.

Trail Review

 Just for fun--a poem about an actual trail review.

There were bears.
That was it.
A three word
trail review
on All Trails.
Syllables—
only three,
fewer than
information,
ample though.
What to know
ere you go.
 
There were bears.

Wrestling with Scripture

Recently, I posted a scripture on Facebook from the devotion I was reading, and a comment about the challenge of trying to follow the example of God that was reflected in the verse I posted. Because it was about loving and caring for immigrants, I received several comments that were on the argumentative side. 

I was reminded in reading the comments how we are often made uncomfortable by scripture. It challenges us, it offends us, it invites us to wrestle with it. And there is value in that. If we aren’t finding ourselves challenged by scripture, if we’re not questioning and discussing and wrestling with it, then we aren’t growing. We’ve removed ourselves from the process of becoming stronger in our faith.

I remember hearing a story about trees that were grown under a dome, where there was no wind, no environmental challenges that could impair or otherwise affect their growth. The trees grew straight and tall, but they had no strength. Because they hadn’t been challenged by wind or storms or even changes in temperature, they were weak and spindly. Sure, a tree in the wild is subject to a lightning strike or being blown over in a storm or bent over in an ice storm, but the challenges it faces also makes it more durable, able to withstand difficulty.

Somewhere along the way, we decided that we had to be certain about everything. Maybe it’s just basic human nature to want everything to be black and white, wrong or right, good or bad. But if you’ve lived any length of time at all as a thinking person, you will find such dualities don’t hold up. There is always more than meets the eye. Certainty is a bit like living in a dome. Our unwillingness to wrestle and be challenged by scripture makes us weak and spindly Christians, Christians whose faith won’t hold up when times are difficult.

Certainty and faith are opposites. Doubt is not the enemy of faith, rather it is the wind, the storm, the season changes that enable our faith to get stronger and grow. Doubt can cause us to turn away, the spiritual equivalent of a tree being blown over in a storm, but doubt is not fatal to faith the way certainty is.

I’m glad people engaged with the Facebook post I made. It was an opportunity for me to reflect on views different than my own, and I hope the commenters did likewise. In reflecting and wrestling and pondering, there is opportunity to grow. And at the very least, we should be able to listen to one another with grace and patience.

When have you wrestled with scripture or theology in your own life? How has that affected your faith?

 

Rejoicing in Rest

 

Rest is a four-letter word to most of us, whether we admit it or not. It is such a foreign concept to those of us in western culture that we don’t really believe it’s possible. I can back that up with a couple of real-life examples.

Years ago, I was the teacher for a young adult Sunday school class. The class was mostly young professionals, without children, and some who were in law school or medical school. We were using a book that explored different spiritual practices. There was no pushback against the ideas of prayer or fasting or service or generosity or even silence. But when we got to sabbath, you’d have thought I was suggesting sacrificing animals on the sanctuary altar! We looked at the scriptures in Leviticus about a sabbath year. I asked the class, “Could you go an entire year without working, trusting that God would provide what you needed?” The outrage was swift and loud. I heard the phrase “Protestant work ethic” and comments about God’s expectation for us to work. I could testify that among that group, there were no young adults willing to be slackers!

Yet the aversion to sabbath was just as strong among a group of retirees I later led through a book study using Barbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World. All was well until we hit the chapter on sabbath. When I asked this group if they could go an entire day (not a year, just one day) without working, or making anyone or anything else (even their car or phone or computer) work, the pushback was just as strong as what I’d encountered in the young adult class.

We act as if rest would kill us.

Rest is an anathema to us. A last resort. Something we often only do when our bodies break down and insist on it.

Imagineifeverythingwewrotewaswrittenwithoutspacesorpunctuationhowwouldyoubeabletoeasilyreadanydocument? We use spaces to understand the written word. We use punctuation to convey the emotion of a message. If there are no pauses, if every word is run together, how long before you actually get frustrated and give up trying to read a document?

Pauses, rests in musical notation, punctuation—all of these are needed to convey an understandable message. If our lives are a message to God, if we seek to live lives that are praising God, how will our praise be understood if our lives are simply one thing after another without any pause? Jesus rested. Even in the press of people seeking healing, he took time away to renew himself. When we refuse to rest, we are actually saying with our lives that we are better than Jesus.

I do not have this all worked out in my life. It’s a constant challenge for me to accept the gift of rest. A recent move, which has given me a more open schedule, has caused me to confront my own discomfort with rest. I am continually reminding myself that I don’t have to fill every empty moment with activity. The struggle is real, and I keep telling myself that “no” is an acceptable answer.

Rest will not kill us. On the contrary, we need to learn to rejoice in rest. To gladly do nothing, to dispel any guilt or shame at being “nonproductive.” Who knows what might change for us if we simply spent an afternoon or even fifteen minutes watching clouds or sitting by a stream? To make the time to simply enjoy being alive and part of the world—what an act of praise to God!

Easter Dinosaur

I see you there on the grocery shelf

among all the other half-price items,

which today consist entirely of Easter candy,

looking simultaneously fierce and forlorn, out of place.

What brought you to this, you who are no

chick or bunny, no fluffy traditional Easter creature?

You possess a story unknown to me;

I am left to create my own story about you,

Easter dinosaur.

Rabbit-Foot Clover

Many years I didn't notice you

growing chiefly in neglected city spots:

sidewalk cracks, patches of overgrown grass,

near derelict buildings. Common as dandelion,

equally overlooked. It took a slow, contemplative walk

for you to get my attention, fuzzy spot of cheer.

I fell in love, took you home, enjoyed you more than

the showiest bloom.

To find you each spring delights me,

your persistence, willingness to grow anywhere,

especially inhospitable places. You possess

strength and beauty of wildness.

I want to be like you.

The Vulnerability of Open Space

 And you find your soul, and greatness has a defender. . .

From “People Like Us,” by Robert Bly

I claim to want to find my soul, yet today

and tomorrow stretch before me with minimal agenda.

Instead of joy, I feel fear. The vulnerability of open space

is like being on a treeless plain exposed to enemies

who come to do battle. 

Is this more true than I realize?

Are the enemies my own fears and longings

kept at bay by my busyness?

Outward silence and solitude don’t mean

I’m alone and quiet. There is a cacophony within;

I feel like the Gerasene demoniac. Legion is my name.

I want to find my soul. I want to be well. Down deep,

beneath the inner noise, I know this is true.

You have made me for greatness, for largeness,

for fullness of joy. Free me from the noise within me.

Let me hear the song you sing to my soul.