Diligence

Spring in Mississippi is so fun. In a week’s span (or less) we might experience the gamut of 90 degrees to 40 degrees and all the breezy, sunny, partly cloudy weather-joy in between. While it sometimes wreaks havoc on my sinus cavities, I can still say that Spring in Mississippi is so fun. May is usually very flirtatious with Summer. It flirts with the Magnolia tree in my front yard, too. The evergreen leaves are with us year-round, but the white velvet flowers tend to signal for me the wishy-washy transition of Spring to Summer around these parts. As Spring pulls up a chair and the days get warmer and longer, the magnolia pods begin to open. I’ve been anticipating the event for a few weeks from the front porch swing.

In typical early May fashion, just last week I noticed the first blooms opening near the top of the tree where the sunshine hits most readily. Slowly the ones closer to the ground feel the pull of the heightening sun and begin to unwrap as well. I’ve been watching one particular bloom carefully for the last few days. It’s on the lowest branch on the north side of the tree–one of the few growing right in gazing distance of curious eyes and inquisitive noses. This bloom started small and tightly held as they all do. Slowly it’s been pulling away from the branch, reaching higher. And, it’s been getting whiter with each motion. Yesterday morning I noticed it at it’s plumpest posture so far, and I wondered if the intricate yellow stamens might make an appearance today.

By the time we made it home from Little Drummer Boy’s preschool “graduation” (hark!) last night, the daylight was almost gone. But, I still had my eye on that bloom. It had slowly opened throughout the day to a tulip-shaped cup. We were almost there. I didn’t get to photograph it before the darkness arrived, but I was eager to see it this morning. In an amazing twelve hours, that velvety cup of Southern goodness had completely opened, and through some crazy midnight wind gust or cardinal in flight, it had already begun to drop some of it’s pink-tipped stamens into the waiting petals. Life happens quickly with the magnolia.

The scent of a magnolia flower is fresh. It has a pungeantly clean smell to me — a sweet and lemony fragrance that seems untouched by a botanist’s manipulation. When the blooms open, you don’t have to stand very close to sense the strength of that scent–to feel the place from which it comes. The magnolia is a plant of my “place.” An environment so familiar to me that the blooms sometimes go unnoticed despite their glaring whiteness against dark green leaves and their powerful fragrance. But, I’ve been waiting for this one for some reason. I wanted to see inside of it, to see again what it was made of.

The slow and diligent process of blooming is inspiring. It is patient, but intent. It is subject to wind and weather, but resilient. With encouragement from the sunlight, the bloom slowly and methodically unwraps itself from a tightly wound cocoon. As I’ve written before, it reveals it’s core in that process.

That blooms are bent on opening is a confusing endeavor at times, given the fact that the flowers so easily fade away. But the magnolia’s diligence is perhaps most perplexing. This delicate flower fades to brown and petals fall away rather quickly by blooming standards. They don’t tarry in the elements for long. They bruise easily with the slightest touch of a person or some other ambassador of nature. Soon the stamens released into the petals’ cradle will be scattered by breezes or birds or beetles or boys. It won’t maintain its pristine white for long if plucked from the tree–only a matter of hours really. Yet, I’ve read that Magnolia fossils have been found that date the tree to the time of the dinosaurs. For all its vulnerability to bruising and brevity, this tree–this flower–has staying power.

There is a precious quality to the magnolia. Something valued and worthy of anticipation, even in this native land where it is so prolific. Perhaps it is its delicacy, its subtlety, its brief brush with the world that makes it seem so valuable. And, its unqualified diligence to expose that worth, even if only for a few moments is even more coveted. As I think about my own growth, my own life changes and my own exposure to the face of the sun, I’m recognizing some lessons from the magnolia. To remain hidden and covered is easier. To allow life’s wind and weather to deter or confine the process of flourishing. A slow–perhaps even defiant–method of diligence despite any bruising the stuff of life may offer is sometimes required to reveal that hidden amazement, that hidden desire to connect with those around me, those hidden gifts waiting to be given. The revelation is precious, no matter how briefly it is uncovered. But, as precious and revered as the open petals are, I’m learning that the greater rarity is the diligence. The persistence. The insistence. A thing all the more precious to seek. All the more precious to possess.

“The precious possession of a man is diligence.” (proverbs 12:27)

Moving

“The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.” (genesis 1:2)

“Though the earth was formless and void, God was busy. The universe was static, but His Spirit was not. He wasn’t waiting for administrative approval to take an active role in the grand, defining moment of history. He was in motion. Even in the darkness, God was making His presence known.”
~ Vernon M. Whaley, Called to Worship (2009)

You know how I love words, and I’m always curious about their origins. So… I looked up the Hebrew word used here, seeking more on the mysterious nature of this “moving” of God’s Spirit. It is transliterated rachaph, and the lexicon I read defined it as “to be moved, affected, specially–with the feeling of tender love, hence to cherish.”

Yes, that’s quite moving.

The Oh Happy Day Project

Thank God it’s Friday! I’m sitting at the computer watching Bug’s version of Dancing with the Stars as the theme song from Winnie the Pooh plays on his movie. Despite a very itchy infection and a yucky tummy from antibiotics, he is undeterred. My Squiggle Bug is a perpetual visual aid for “Thank God it’s Friday!”

TGIF! We’ve all heard it. Most of us have said it. No matter what we’re doing, there’s something about ending the work week (or school week) and the prospect of a weekend that gets our juices flowing. Friday motivates us to get the last details of the week resolved. Friday fills us with the anticipation of free moments, fun activities and a shift from the weekday schedule. Friday lifts our spirits simply by being Friday.

I’ve always thought that it’s not really a good idea to invoke the name of the God of the universe unless you mean it. (Actually, God tells us it’s not a good idea. But, that’s another post.) So, today I’m thinking quite literally about “Thank God it’s Friday.” I’ve learned time and again about the role gratitude plays in attitudes through my own life lessons–mostly from bad attitudes prompted by a complaining spirit. Last year’s 12 Days of Thanksgiving at EyeJunkie really chrystalized that concept for me in so many ways. Just when I’m unhappily ensconced in my own “justified” complaints about circumstances or people or life in general, it never fails. Some news story, or friend’s story, or precious request from my gifts, or some other real life reality interrupts, and I recognize again how truly blessed I am.

“Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 thessalonians 5:16-18)

Well, there it is. For all the times I’ve wondered, “what is God’s will for my life?”, this one offers a clue. I’ve often read those versus with frustration. Look at all the extremes in there–always, without ceasing, everything. Ouch! It looks like that’s going to take a bit of commitment. It looks like I may have to rejoice in some not-so-fun situations. It looks like I may need to give thanks for some things I didn’t really want. It looks like I may actually have to let God out of His 911 emergency service vehicle every once in a while. Hmmm.

It seems to me that God gives us a recipe for happy days in these verses. And by happy, I mean joyful contentment and satisfaction, not the fleeting sugary feel we get during the first few minutes of chewing Bubblicious. If there’s anything I’ve learned from raising toddlers, it is that the Happiness Hotel has a revolving door… the devastation of not getting to play with the exact truck you wanted, followed by the utter bliss of realizing the helicopter is just as fun… the sorrow of not being able to ride with Daddy to the grocery store, followed by the sheer joy found in helping Mommy with the dishwasher. (I’d personally like to bottle that one so I can unleash it again in ten years when I know there will be no parallel happiness universe in which the dishwasher will be fun.) That ever-shifting concept of happiness is surely a normal part of learning about the world as a child, but what an incredibly unfullfilling grown-up lifestyle to endure!

That’s not God’s version of happiness. With the “always,” “without ceasing” and “in everything,” He gives us a glimpse of how constant real happiness can be. The happiness power comes in using those three ideas in tandem–persistently. Giving thanks provides us with something to rejoice about. Rejoicing reminds us of more in which to be grateful. Praying offers us Someone to thank for the joy we’ve seen. And, it gives us a way to get our worries and concerns out of the equation. If I can make those three actions constants in my life, my attitudes and perspectives will have all the checks and balances they need for me to be who and where God wants.

The thing that really convicts me in these verses is the intention that’s required–the deliberateness. I can’t accidentally “rejoice always.” Not with everything this life and the people in it have to offer. I can’t just haphazardly give thanks, or my gratitude will be confined to one Thursday in November. To pray without ceasing? It won’t just happen with a husband, three children, a job, a house and 6000 other things vying for my mental space. Paying attention rears it’s ugly head. Again.

I recently read a blog post where a woman described her habit of being grateful. She made a commitment to herself to stop and write down 5 things she was thankful for at the end of each day. She would not let herself go to bed at night until that task was completed. So each of her days ended with a tangible joy list.

I like that. Hence, the Oh Happy Day Project begins today. It’s my own little “Thank God it’s Friday” experiment reporting on the weekly EyeJunkie gratitude attitude documentation. I’m incorporating the “5 things” idea into my daily routine, and I hope to expound on the best in five-star Montgomery Happiness Hotel occupancy each Fridays. Oh Happy Day!

I’ll keep you posted.

[My compliments to the Muppets for their unmistakeable visual of the Happiness Hotel where you can drive a cab through the front door and opt to skip out without paying!]

Even the Darkness

On Saturday, through a series of perplexing and frustrating circumstances, someone very dear to me almost died. I apologize for neglecting a gentle preface, but I’m still in the state of emotionally catching up. For the last two days, I’ve been in the slow process of processing, switching out of the auto-pilot mode that allowed me to be calm, rational and supportive during a dicey 24-hour period. It was a 24 hours that held wondering, worrying, judging reactions, discerning causes, weighing options, and a few instances of minding somebody else’s business. Confusion is a dark and unknown place. It’s full of fear and concern and resignation.

In the warm light of two days later, our dear one is on the mend. I have been blessed with the opportunity to stand with my mother in support and strength, and I’ve had the chance to fill a gap in serving my father when needed–all the while watching the movie Cars a few times and conducting some of our own hot wheel races. Gentlemen, start your engines. In this warm light, I am also witness to the truth of one of my favorite verses in all of the Bible (psalm 139:12). Again.

“Even the darkness is not dark to You”

Through the weekend, we were blinded by the darkness of confusion, of not understanding what was happening, of not knowing what to do, of not even knowing whether something needed to be done. We found ourselves in the place of being forced to let go, to let it be what it is, to release a situation into more capable Hands. I saw with gratitude (and at the same time horror) that our dear one’s life was probably saved because we decided to hold our ground on one simple act. It could have easily gone the other way. It was the difference between joining the family for supper or going to bed early. As seemingly insignificant as that, life and death are intertwined, light and dark. On your mark, get set.

“and the night is as bright as the day.”

I tend to forget how undeniable and unquenchable the God who is Light really is. Where light is, dark cannot remain. Where God is, there is no dark. And, where isn’t God? There is no confusion that can circumvent His knowledge. There is no dark that can cloak His vision and understanding. Thank God.

“Darkness and light are alike to You.”

Now, there’s a radical concept. I’ve noticed how much time we tend to spend classifying people and things and situations into the light and dark categories– wrong, right, good, bad, yes, and no. In the warm light of this day, the shift of dark to light is refreshingly uneventful. My dad has a favorite memory he shares about his training in the National Guard. He talks about his whole unit being gathered into a pitch black room. He always marvels at how quickly their eyes adjusted, and how easily surroundings and people came into focus after just one small flame was lighted. Amazingly, light dispels dark rather quickly, efficiently and indiscriminantly. Light is generous, and despite the unfortunate efforts we sometimes impose on ourselves and others, it is uncontained.

Of the lessons I can boil down from the dark experience of July 4, the foremost is that people are an all-too-brief gift, treasured daily to glean their full worth. The second is that “God is light and in Him there is no darkness at all.” (1 john 1:5) The third is that the blackest dark loses its way in the presence of even the smallest light. Even a weak light reflecting its true Source spreads with uncommon power. The light I have to share, though small, can and will impact any sphere in which I choose to shine it.

“Even the darkness is not dark to You.” Go.

Shabbat Blessedness

It was crowded. There were so many distractions that God found a quiet, lonely place to wait. When I stopped struggling and came to sit at His feet in that lonely place, He began to teach me. He spoke to me:

“Blessed are you when you are poor and broken in spirit. This makes you understand my kingdom, for my love for you have been nurtured out of loneliness. My loneliness even brought you into being.

It is good when you mourn because it helps you cry for the hurts of others as well as your own. Don’t be discouraged, I will comfort you.

Blessed are you when you are gentle and meek. You learn a silent strength that will bring you success in my kingdom on earth.

I am so pleased when I see you long for holiness and truth like you long for food and water. I want you to be happy, and I will satisfy you.

Blessed are you when you show mercy and compassion because I will give that to you when you need it.

It is good for you to examine your heart and be honest with yourself and Me. Only when you trust me enough to truly reveal yourself to Me will I reveal Myself in greater ways to you.

Be a peacemaker. Seek to bridge gaps and heal hurts. You know that a child takes after his Father. Peacemaking is one of My greatest attributes. After all, that is what brought you back to Me.

You will be blessed when you take a stand for Me, when you abandon to Me. Even though it may be costly, you will be blessed. That, most of all, symbolizes my feelings and commitment to you: love to the point of pain and beyond.”

[paraphrase of matthew 5:1-12, "The Beatitudes"]