Bunny blessings

I stood at the kitchen sink, looking out the window upon the vibrant green lawn illuminated by the early morning sun, the dew upon the blades of grass still fresh causing the landscape to appear as sparkling glass. My mind was transfixed by the simple beauty of day break when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement beneath a pine tree out on the perimeter of the yard. A moment later two small wild rabbits emerged.
The pair of bushy-tailed bunnies lingered beneath the branches of the trees before one of the cottontails began jumping and hoping with delight. The rambunctious rabbit scampered around his companion, taking an occasional leap towards the sky. He bolted one direction, did a little mid-air jump and then scurried back towards the pine trees. He ran around the stumps of the trees with a spring in his little rabbit steps. Then he went dashing back to his bunny companion who had yet to join in the fun.
From my perch at the window I wondered if the second bunny was hurt. That little rabbit wasn't running, jumping or leaping like the other bunny. I anxiously watched, waiting for a sign of movement that would put my concerns to rest.
The first bunny, full of vigor and life, went back to his lethargic friend with a burst of energy. He jumped in circles right around the idle rabbit, practically willing the tired hare to hop to it. In my vivid imagination I pictured the boisterous bunny encouraging his friend, "Just try a little leap in the air! It'll be fun! See, look how I'm doing it. Just spring straight up like this!"
It took a little convincing but the still, motionless rabbit began to move. First he hopped a few steps towards the trees, his furry friend right behind. Then he hopped a few circles around a tree stump. Before too long he was dashing about, jumping over his friend, leaping straight up into the sky in tandem with the first rabbit. The two rolled about, scampered in unison and chased each other across the yard. It was a scene of pure joy.
I can't help but believe that the second bunny was thankful for the persistence and prodding of his bunny friend. To think he could have missed out on the early morning frolicking fun! But his companion wouldn't relent. He knew that his lazy bunny buddy just needed some more encouragement and coaxing to wake up to the enjoyment he could be having if only he would take a romp around the yard.
Alone at the kitchen sink a smile spread across my face. Oh, God, how good you are to me. I had not realized that Jesus has been doing frolicking of His own in circles all around my life, urging me to join Him in His kind of fun, the best kind of fun. Jesus has been displaying His power and peace to show me what I'd been missing.
As I watched the reluctant rabbit become a rambunctious, full hearted participant in the fun, I saw Christ's offer of boundless, endless joy that could be mine if only I'd join in His energetic, full life. If I jump when he jumps and scamper in unison alongside my Companion and Lord, I too will come to enjoy a life full of glee and delight.
In Christ is true life, limitless joy and the very best kind of fun. I know because the bunnies showed me so.

What are you doing here?

"What are YOU doing here?!"
The question was posed with such force that it practically knocked me over. I was just standing in the gym locker room, minding my own business, readying my bag and coat to head out the door when the shock occurred. The questioner, a woman I'd never seen before, came bursting through the doorway huffing and puffing. One look at me and she came to a screeching halt. She stopped dead in her tracks, dropped her jaw and posed her question. "What are YOU doing here?"
This wasn't a case of mistaken identity or a curious joke. She was truly perplexed and startled by my presence in the gym locker room. She wouldn't be the first to ponder such a question. My severely thin body has raised the query in the minds of many onlookers. What am I doing in a gym? Why am I so underweight? Do I have a problem? And is it physical or could it be mental?
What the questioning woman couldn't know by simply looking upon my outward appearance is the inner war that has stripped my body of its weight and natural cushioning. Six years into my battle with multiple sclerosis has left me shockingly small in size yet strong in spirit.
As I stood in the locker room, feeling vulnerable and exposed by the inquiry of the stranger, I was paralyzed to answer her question. In my mind the past six years, the journey that led to my body's current condition, flashed through my mind but no words formed on my lips.
Thankfully the whirling dervish of a woman standing before me didn't wait long for me to formulate a coherent response. She was off and running about the various reasons people join a gym: lose weight, tone up, gain muscle, shed fat. Her chatter faded into the distance as she continued on into the back of the locker room, unfazed by the bewildered look on my face and my utter silence.
For the mystery woman in the gym locker room that strange encounter was nothing more than a passing moment but for me it posed a question I couldn't shake. What am I doing here? For years I've fought for my body's survival but that isn't really my purpose. That's not why I'm here.
The questioning woman was long gone when the answer came perfectly formed in my mind: to serve God and bring Him glory. Whether I eat or drink or workout or stay home, the purpose is always the same. The purpose of my everyday, everywhere existence and being is the same on Sunday morning as it is on Friday night. It is the same at a perfect weight or a weight that is too low. I am a messenger of the Lord, a mouthpiece for His goodness and a proclaimer of His power.
Should I ever happen to find myself again confronted with the mystery questioner from the gym locker room I'll know just what to say. "I'm here to honor God and bring Him glory. How about you?"

A sailor and a singer

He was a sailor in search of his perfect mooring. She was a singer seeking an accompanist to join in her tune. They were both looking for companionship, a friend to share their later years of life.
Keith and Lorraine had a lot in common when they met in their early seventies. Both were widowed. Both had welcomed five children into the world. Both turned, with hesitation and trepidation, to match.com in, what they believed, would be a futile attempt at finding companionship.
Lorraine likes to say she messaged Keith first but, Keith, being the gentleman he is, always sets the record straight. "No, no, I saw you first!" he always insists. Lorraine just smiles and rolls her eyes. They interact like lifelong soul mates.
They both agree that Keith asked Lorraine to meet face-to-face over a cup of coffee at Eat-n-Park. She agreed and as they exchanged preferences, interests, likes and dislikes they discovered that they were a perfect match. They had nearly everything in common. The rest, as they say, is history. The two have been inseparable ever since, sharing copious amounts of coffee and countless hours of easy, comfortable conversation.
Now-a-days Keith and Lorraine are regulars at my local coffee shop. They come in every afternoon around two, take up a seat by the window and chat for hours. Some days they barely seem to talk at all. That's the beauty of their relationship. They can talk without barely stopping to take a breath or they can just sit in the silence of each other's presence. As long as they are together they are content. It is the being there that is important.
Keith and Lorraine each went looking for  a companion with whom they could enjoy a slice of life. They didn't make demands or grand plans. All they wanted was a friend. And they found it. They turned on their computers, took a few clicks and a big leap of faith and were shocked to find just what they were looking for.
The story of Keith and Lorraine isn't an advertisement for match.com nor is it a recommendation on how to find a friend or a husband. None of us needs a computer to find companionship. All it takes is a Bible and a prayer. Finding someone to share life with is as simple as turning to our one perfect match, the Lord Jesus Christ.
The greatest longing of our hearts for intimate relationship, constant companionship and faithful fellowship is fulfilled in God's presence. We can seek it by turning to God anytime and anywhere, sharing with Him the deepest longings of our hearts, our tightly held secrets and even our utter silence. Jesus Christ is truly our perfect mooring and flawless accompaniment to our every song.

"Perseverance"

Somewhere along the course of human history men became the inhabitants of "man caves." Aside from comical historical recaps of the evolution of the man cave no solid record of their genesis exists. I suspect it dates back to women's frustrations with men's sloppy couch-lounging behavior. So maybe man caves have been around since the beginning of time. 
Growing up I was unfamiliar with man caves. My Dad had his own space but no one in our home called it the "man cave." We called it the basement or, when feeling humorous, the dungeon. Our walk-out basement provided the perfect retreat for the man of the house. It wasn't really a dungeon. It had windows and a sliding glass door. Thanks to my Mom's decorating it boasted a large mahogany desk complete with a leather chair. For ambiance and warmth an electric fireplace was installed in between the bookshelves filled with my Dad's vast collection of history books and Civil War memorabilia. 
In my Dad's downstairs retreat a "man cave" sign was never nailed to the wall. Thankfully my trips down the steps were never greeted by a large deer head or animal pellet, either. Dad never was a hunter. He filled the walls of his manspace with vintage tennis rackets, portraits of famous historical figures like George Washington and classic motivational posters. 
Oh, how he loved those motivational posters. You've probably seen the type. Each poster, matted with a thick black border, features a stunning piece of photography such as a soaring eagle, expansive ocean or conquering athlete. Printed below the image is a word. Opportunity. Success. Attitude. And then the famous, inspiring quote. 
Dad filled his man cave with those prints. He referred to the sentiments printed on the photographs and passed on the lessons they taught. Just the other day I came across one of those old photographs. The orange, brown and yellow of the Grand Canyon displayed a stark contrast to the rich purple of a stream cutting through rock. Below the breathtaking image of God's natural beauty read the word "perseverance" and the quote "In the confrontation between the river and the rock, the river always wins...not through strength but by perseverance."
Growing up I considered that poster, and all the others like it, downright cheesy. But as I read the quote years later and meditated on the picture after facing challenges of my own that have felt as massive and overwhelming as that Grand Canyon, the poster didn't look quite as silly. 
The poster finally conveyed to me the truth of perseverance that I had missed in my youth. I am weak, vulnerable and utterly helpless to overcome obstacles and challenges by my own insufficient power. I will only win the prize by persevering in the strength of God, pressing forward to take hold of His will for my life. 
God, the maker of the Grand Canyon, is the only one who can conquer the very barriers I am hopeless to overcome. By my own might and will I cannot defeat my life's "rocks." But I can continue to seek more of God no matter how overwhelming the boulder. I can remain faithful and obedient even in the face of trials. 
When I persevere in my seeking of God He will cut through the rocks and make a way that is brilliant and beautiful. Just like that gleaming river in the middle of the Grand Canyon, God will carve out a path for me in accordance with His will. I know that when I persist in pursing the Lord and persevere in walking His path He will surely make a way for me. 

A lesson in broiler safety

Oven broilers and brown sugar are a dangerous combination. Just ask my Mom and me who learned that the hard way.
It all started with an altruistic attempt to make an apple crisp. I began the baking endeavor that somehow turned out terribly dry. I called in backup, or maybe it should be called bake-up. Mom entered the kitchen armed with more butter, oats and brown sugar determined to salvage my unappealing dessert. She mixed up some more topping, mixed around the apples and increased the oven temperature. Thirty minutes later the crisp wasn't any more appetizing.
Enter plan C. The broiler. This is always a dangerous device in my house and always a last resort. When all else fails and you have nothing more, culinarily speaking, to lose, you enlist the use of the most powerful heating element on hand and hope for the best.
With an apple crisp on life-support Mom felt it best to turn to the equivalent of our kitchen defibrillator, the broiler. She set it to high, sprinkled some more brown sugar on top of the mushy mixture and popped it into the oven with the words, "Don't let me forget I stuck this in there" quietly floating into the air.
We both took our positions at the kitchen counter, engrossed in our internet worlds when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something shooting orange from the direction of the oven. I glanced through the glass to see a fiery pan of flame-broiled apple crisp. I ran to the oven, turned the broiler off and whipped the door open without an oven mitt in hand or a thought as to how I would extract the blazing dessert. The moments that followed are a blur of hurried feet, frantic, incomplete sentences and Mom's arms reaching into the five-hundred degree oven with a flimsy rag. In the end a black, oat and sugar crusted apple mush lay in the sink literally burnt to a complete apple... crisp.
Within seconds Mom and I were in such fits of laughter we could barely stay standing. We laughed so hard we cried, maybe even snorted. It was the kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt but in the very best way possible.
Although we lost the crisp we gained a hysterical memory and a lesson in broiler safety: freshly sprinkled brown sugar underneath a blazing, hot radiant heat creates fire.
But we learned a lesson that extends beyond the kitchen and outside of the broiler. The lesson of hearts on fire for Christ. The only sweetness that can safely be set ablaze is the sweetness of Christ set on fire by the overwhelming presence of His Spirit in the heart. The fire lit for the glory of God is best uncontained, raging in a bright and beautiful ball of flames. The fire of Christ's love is so sweet that once set it can never be extinguished.
From now on Mom and I are going to keep away from the broiler and practice more responsible fire safety. And from now on we're only setting fires in our hearts that burn with the love of Christ for the glory of God.

A little more striving and straining

Each day as my walking companions (two schnoodles) and I round the corner towards home Molly begins her normal, excitable dog behavior. Without fail, she always pulls and strains on the leash near the end of our walks. It might be the the scent of home or the anticipation of a reunion with the elderly cat. Either way, Molly's eagerness on the last leg of our journey is undeniable.
At the end of the other leash is Pippy who displays a completely different demeanor. She is Molly's opposite. At the beginning of our walks she is a bit more of a leash-puller but that behavior never lasts more than a block. She falls into the comfortable arrangement we have assumed and perfected. She trots in step with my pace always on my left side, always a stride behind, positioned to follow any turn I might decide to make along the way. We walk with effortless synchronization all the way home, even during the last block of our walk and right into the driveway.
Molly's lack of disciple and daily pulling used to frustrate me. I wanted her to walk like Pippy and outgrow her tugging behavior that I blamed on puppyhood. But now the time to point fingers at youth has passed. Molly is officially an "adult" and I do believe I have officially come to an understanding of her leash-pulling behavior. Just call me the dog whisperer.
Molly is pulling on the leash because she is straining towards what is ahead with joy and great anticipation. She simply cannot wait to get home! She loves home. She loves the little couch in the living room that has become her "bed." She loves to run and jump off the top step of the small set of stairs leading into the living room, perfect for rambunctious air-flying tricks. She loves my Mom, her Mom. She loves to play with, read: torment, Patches, the most elder pet of the house. When Molly is pulling on the leash she does so with pure delight because she knows what lies ahead and she knows that it is truly good.
In Molly I've come to see a characteristic I could use a bit more of in my own life: looking forward with hope and excitement at what lie ahead.
God has in store for me a good and glorious future. Ultimately, He has a "home" for me that is so magnificent and marvelous that my mind can't comprehend it. But I know this much, it's worth tugging on the leash to reach it.
The way Pippy walks is a lesson all of its own. She follows, just like I must be following Christ no matter where He leads or where He turns next. Christ is my leader, the "top dog" in the pack and I am His faithful follower.
Yet, Molly reminds me that I can be excited while I follow. The promises of what God has ahead are so exciting that I should yearn for more of Christ, constantly striving to experience more His love and grace. As I walk I can reach for more of God's spirit to overcome my life with His presence and fill me with His peace.
As I walk with Jesus, following with the faithfulness of Pippy, I'm going to embrace a little Molly in my stride, too. Filled with joyous expectation I am going to strain, reach, stretch and strive for the goodness of God's glory that lies ahead while I walk in step with my Savior.

A trip to Lincoln Metal

Every afternoon Steve pedals his way across busy, four lane highways and treacherous pothole-laden roads to make his daily delivery to Lincoln Metal, the local drive-thru recycling center. Steve arrives on his specially designed tricycle fully equipped with a heavy trailer designed to haul the scrap he collects from businesses around town. He customized the bike himself and does all his own repairs when it breaks down. In winter he fits the bicycle with "snow" tires.
That's right, winter. Steve rides that bike through every imaginable weather condition. Snow, sleet, rain, hail, wind, negative temperatures and record heat. I've seen Steve brave all sorts of inclement weather.
On his trek around town Steve has been screamed at from mean-spirited teens driving too fast, blasting music too loud. On rainy days Steve is drenched from head to toe thanks to the combination of rain falling from overhead and an abundance of puddles splattering his feet and legs with dirty water and mud. Come winter he layers up in thick workman's canvas coat and pants making his load even heavier and more cumbersome.
But nothing, not weather or ridicule or trying road conditions, can stop Steve from fulfilling his duty. His job is to collect metal and deliver it to the scrap yard and everyday, come what may, Steve fulfills that obligation.
I've been blessed to witness Steve go about his work each afternoon. As he pedals his tricycle Steve shows the world what it means to be dedicated, tenacious and determined. He has made the decision to remain faithful to his duty and he refuses to allow obstacles to deter his daily mission.
I want to be like Steve. I want to wake up every day compelled to serve God in all circumstances. Come hell or high water, the desire of my heart is to fulfill the commission I have from the Lord to glorify Him in all I do and honor Him with my every breath.
Steve has displayed a picture of faithfulness to duty in all circumstances and in all conditions. May I be so dedicated to Christ and so committed to the cross that I, too, live in such a way that I am absolutely surrendered and unwavering in obedience no matter what obstacles come my way.