A visit to Tifft

If you think stinky, smelly, hazardous wasteland when you think "landfill" you aren't think about Tifft Nature Preserve. To visit the 264 acres of natural beauty you'd never know that just forty years ago it was a Buffalo dumpsite containing over two million cubic feet of trash. 

Back in the day of glass bottles and the neighborhood milkman, Tifft was a busy dairy farm. When the roaring twenties gave way to the threadbare thirties the farm was transformed into a shipment center. to meet the demands of a war. With the changing industrial landscape of America the farm was forced to change, too and in the 1950s that change took a rank turn towards trash.

Gone were the days of cows. Milk became a distant memory. Shipments ceased to buzz to and from the lakeside land. What took its place was the garbage of 500,000 city residents. It was a depressing and malodorous site to behold. 

But in the midst of decomposing trash a vision of blooming flowers, frolicking woodland creatures and fresh flowing waters was born. Together the community gathered resources and rallied support. They went to town halls and convinced law makers. The plans were made and the gigantic feat was undertaken. The waste was enclosed in clay, covered with soil and excavated. Ponds and streams were enlarged. Trails were constructed and new trees were planted.

Slowly but surely, God's design for nature, its resilience and restoration, took shape on the once barren wasteland. Buds formed and green leaves grew vibrant and healthy. Animals returned to the land to build their homes. Visitors from all over the city began exploring the miles of wooded trails and sharing lunches under the protection of shady picnic grounds. Renewal swept the trash heap and new life was born.

On every acre of the green, lush land of Tifft Natural Preserve is a story of God's redemption and His power to restore. He specializes in turning trash into treasure and destruction into a masterpiece. 

The story of Tifft and what God did on the garbage-laden land is the story of what He has done in my heart. He took the trash of my sin and turned it into a beautiful treasure for His glory. Like the city of Buffalo had corrupted the natural beauty of the land I had loaded up my life with all of the wrong things. I had created a toxic wasteland by decisions that were anything but sweet and fragrant. I choose selfishness over generosity, contempt over grace and my way over God's ways. By ignoring God's design for my life I built up a landfill that I could never clean out on my own. 

But God looked at me and saw something worth saving and restoring. God had a vision for my life even when I was covered in sin and smelled of pure shame. God saw a vision for my redemption and salvation so He sent Jesus in to do the clean up work. 

As I look back on the demolition process God has been doing in my life, the clearing away of the trash of my past, the replanting of His good fruits, I am in awe of the work He is undertaking. It is a process that is slow and steady. The mess God took on was bigger than the Tifft landfill but the masterpiece He is working on will be more glorious than the natural preserve on the shores of Buffalo. 

God wants to do a work on you, too. Will you give Him the permit to your life and let Him take back the land? Will you allow Him to clear away the trash, dig in the soil and give you new life? He'll get to work right away on the most amazing work of transformation your eyes will ever behold and your heart will ever experience. He will take your trash and exchange it for the priceless treasure of new, eternal, abundant, beautiful life. 

A spring confession

Confession: I don't understand God's timing. Not only do I not understand it, I'm downright annoyed by it.
It all started with fuzzy boots. I love my fuzzy winter boots. They are made of boiled wool which makes them light weight and warm. Perfect for the harsh Erie winters. As much as I love my boots and appreciate the protection they provide I'm always ready top pack them away after months spent bundled up like an eskimo. Even fashionable eskimo apparel gets old.
Come March I begin to countdown the days on the calendar, looking forward to the official start of spring when the temperatures will rise and the snow will melt. I anticipate the shedding of coats, hats and gloves. With great expectations I await the return of stylish slip-ons and colorful ballet flats.
This winter was no different and when Punxsutawney Phil didn't see his shadow, predicting an early spring, I silently prayed the groundhog would, for once, get this one right.
The days in March ticked by and the temperatures ticked upwards. It looked like Phil had prognosticated perfectly. Spring was indeed springing - early! God's timing was looking, in my estimation, practically perfect.
So I did what any cardigan-sweater-loving, ballet-flat enthusiast would do. I packed away my boots. With a smile on my face I marched my fuzzy footwear down the basement steps. See you next November winter wear!
Days passed and spring stuck around. March came and went with little need for fuzz and wool. But then April came and something terrible happened. It snowed. I looked out my window and there it was - white covering the grass, air well below freezing and ice covered cars. I stared at the scene in disbelief. How could this be? This is supposed to be spring. 
What happened to God's perfect timing? I wanted to make a call to the big man upstairs and tell Him to check His calendar. "Hey God, not sure if you flipped to the month of April but it's spring and snow isn't part of that picture." I stopped short of delivering the memo. I figured He was already aware of the meteorological situation down here on earth. Worse yet, I figured He knew this was going to happen long before Phil ever stepped out of his groundhog den and didn't see his shadow. God not only knew all about the weather, He let it happen!
I can't help but wonder why God let it snow in April but not in March? His timing is a mystery to me in more ways then weather. Why has He allowed me to suffer from MS and ill-health for six years? Hasn't He seen that it has been long enough? The timetable of God never ceases to perplex me and, at times, frustrate me.
On that snowy April morning I reluctantly made my way down to the basement and to the box that housed my winter boots. I pulled them out and put them on. I opened the door and made my way out into the frozen spring tundra. I didn't want to be standing in the snow. I didn't want to be driving in the snow. But for some reason I still don't understand, God let it snow. If I wanted to leave the confines of home I had to suck it up and get out in the snow.
Today it is still freezing and it is still April and, yes, I'm still wearing my fuzzy boots. God's timing is still a mystery. But I'm choosing to live fully in the midst of the mystery because God never promised to divulge His plans ahead of time. In fact, He's told me that I won't always understand what He's doing while the plot is unfolding. But He's also promised me this: someday you will understand. I'm living for that day and holding on to that promise. And in the interim I'm wearing my fuzzy boots, thanking God for keeping me warm and protected while I wait for the fullness of His spring to be revealed.

20/20 Vision

Morning crept into my room and stirred me from my restful slumber. Upon waking I rolled over, reaching across my bed to retrieve my glasses from their designated spot on my nightstand. I'm utterly helpless without my glasses. The world falls into a mess of colors and shapes with no defined structure. Stairs are perilous and faces are indistinguishable. To make it through my day I rely on my trusty glasses from the moment I awake till the moment I lay my head down to sleep.
My hand fumbled around on the bedside table searching for my survival spectacles but they weren't in their usual position. After scouring the table and the floor beneath I remembered my previous night's sleepy stupor on the living room couch. I had taken my glasses off as I dozed in front of the television.
In that moment of realization every step ahead looked more challenging. Making my way out of my bedroom would be easy enough. The floor was free of clutter and I knew right where to find the door handle but beyond my bedroom door I anticipated the steps -  treacherous, slippery, wooden steps.
I scooped Pippy up off my bed, as I do every morning and determined to carry my step-adverse pup down the stairs without my glasses and without tripping and falling.
Slowly and surely I placed one foot in front of the other, taking one little step at a time. I secured my balance upon each tread before attempting to descend a bit further. When Pippy squirmed I thought we might end up tumbling down to the bottom. Visions of bruises and broken limbs flashed before my eyes. In a soft and quiet voice I urged my wiggly fur ball to stay still.
When we made it to the bottom unscathed I breathed a sigh of relief. The rest would be child's play in comparison. I shuffled through the kitchen and into the living room where my glasses were resting on the coffee table, just like I'd remembered.
Sliding those brown, tortoise shell prescription lenses onto my face was a relief. I felt safe and secure with my vision restored, ready to conquer the world or at least the day ahead. The world had shape and definition again. Even the details of Pippy's friendly face - the wetness of her nose and the glimmer in her deep brown eyes - were clear to see.
Although the time apart from my precious glasses was brief it renewed in my heart an appreciation and thankfulness for my sight, both physical and spiritual. I am blessed to have these corrective lenses at my bedside, providing guidance as I maneuver the obstacles of life.
But more importantly, I am blessed to see the world through the eyes of God. I can maneuver life's difficulties, the slippery steps and even the darkness when I look at everything through the eyes of God. He has made clear vision accessible to me in His word. He has even written it in my heart and provided the way forward with the indwelling of His spirit.
With God's glasses I need never navigate a single step alone and I'm never in danger of leaving His gift of sight in another room. All I have to do is call on His name and turn my heart to His glory. Graciously and faithfully He will bring everything into crystal clear view with His perfect 20/20 spiritual vision.

Mighty Warrior

She stood tall and stately draped with her prestigious medal of honor around her neck. Lucca, a six year Marine veteran and the first canine to receive the highest military honor for service, certainly earned the recognition. The twelve-year old German Shepherd has served in over four hundred missions sniffing out explosive devices and detecting deadly threats. Under the protection of her watchful eye and keen nose Lucca never lost a single Marine in her company.
That's not to say Lucca didn't see imminent, life-threatening danger. Peril was at every turn. On one particular mission Lucca discovered a massive explosive device. Troops expertly neutralized the threat as Lucca searched for more. And she found it. A bomb exploded right under her feet, causing her to instantly lose her front leg and suffer severe burns up and down her chest.
Lucca's comrades, all saved from the explosion, were able to pull their hero from the destruction. After surgery and treatment she proved that you can't keep a warrior down by standing on her three legs just ten days later, walking when doctors didn't even know if she'd survive her injuries. Upon her recovery Lucca retired from military service with honor and valor. Her life-long handler returned to civilian life with the courageous hero credited with saving countless lives and sparing the destruction of entire communities.
Lucca displayed the greatest love of all, to lay down one's life for a friend. Lucca went to the front lines of battle willing to sacrifice her everything for the protection of the Marines in her care. When danger called Lucca went running. When a threat was in the air Lucca went ahead of her fellow Marines, risking her life first in an effort to save the soldiers behind her.
Lucca, the exemplary canine bearing a great medal of honor, is more than an example of military heroism. She is a picture of Christ-like sacrifice. Lucca displayed the love of our Savior who endured death to save sinners. The perfect Lord of Lords, undeserving of the brutality of the cross, willingly suffered the agony of that long, torturous death to spare the lives of the guilty.
When Lucca saw a bomb, she ran towards it and ultimately took the blast. Jesus saw eternal death and destruction for you and I, and took up His cross.
Jesus rose again as more than a hero. He rose as Savior, Conqueror and King. He rose to give new life to everyone who seeks His protection. He deserves all honor, glory and praise. He deserves more than a medal and a ceremony.
Jesus Christ, the Warrior King, is worthy of our everything.

So fortunate

"I feel so fortunate." For an hour those words kept running through my mind followed by, "I am safe and protected." I tried to think of something deeper but God kept replaying those words as if they were lyrics to a song He intended for me to commit to memory and know by heart. In those words I could feel the embrace of my Heavenly Father and hear Him whisper to me truths of provision and assurance.
It all started with deer. It always starts with deer, at last for me. Noah had a rainbow, I have deer. They are my reminder that God is watching over me and that He is in complete and total control. Deer are my covenant in the woods, or on this particular day, the middle of the road.
My deer sightings usually occur in singles. One deer will suddenly appear in an unlikely place like the middle of a suburban neighborhood or right in front of me while taking the dogs for a walk. God has used the perfect placement of deer to calm me in the midst of life's fiercest storms. The deer always brings with her a promise that I need not worry, fret or fear because God will not abandon me. He is and will always take care of me.
Today's sighting came in a trio. Three stately, magnificent deer leapt out from the thick woods along the road's berm. They bounded across the street effortlessly one right after the other, each step another display of their majestic beauty.
The encounter with the deer was so brief that by the time I blinked the deer had disappeared down a hill and into the protection of the forest. But they left behind a peace and tranquility that lasted much longer. Hours after the deer sighting I still couldn't stop thinking about my good fortunate to be a cherished, protected and cared for child of God.
I believe God places deer along my path at just the right moment when my heart is yearning for reassurance that He has my whole world in His hands. My Abba Father cares for the deer, protecting them as they cross the road and providing for them as they forage for food. He ensures their safety as they grow from little Bambis into beautiful and mature stag able to leap and jump with vigor and vitality. His eyes are on the deer just like His eyes are on me.
If ever I am to doubt that God is in ultimate control all I need to do is look at the deer. If God is willing and able to care for them, why should I ever wonder if He will care for me? With every deer encounter God is taking me up into His arms, sweetly and serenely calming me with His promises. "You are safe...You are protected..." And in reply I tell Him, "I know... And I feel so truly fortunate."

Promises of primrose

On the windowsill in my bedroom sits a blue decorative container. Written across the front is the word "bloom" next to a small stenciling of a bird. About a month ago, at the first sign of spring, I filled the container with three primrose flowers. They were an inexpensive and small foliage that I doubted would last past the end of the month. My track record with plants includes a lot of wilting, few buds and inevitable death. But I love flowers so I buy them cheap and treat them like disposable cutlery. If I can get a few weeks of enjoyment out of their green and flowery beauty I'm pleased.
Don't get me wrong, I always try my best to keep the greenery alive with sporadic watering and ample sun exposure. I'm not one to give up on my vegetation. I've been known to water Gerber Daisys that have shriveled up to nothing more than a few twigs in soil.
Where there's life, there's hope, right?
Given my less-than stellar track record with indoor flora you can imagine my surprise when the primrose flowers didn't die by the end of the month. Granted, they weren't flowering as bountifully as when I first welcomed them to my bedroom windowsill, but they were far from dead. They still had buds and vibrant green leaves.
The survival of my primrose bolstered my confidence in their future. I started watering with more consistency and rotating the container, ensuring that all sides of my flowers received adequate sun exposure. Not only did I believe my flowers could survive, I believed they would.
This morning, with a glass of water in hand I looked upon my primrose and became disheartened. Not a single flower to be found. Buds? Yes. Greenery? Yes. But no flowers. I've been so diligent with my watering and rotating. Where did I go wrong?
As I poked around at my primrose I was overcome with a flood of remembrances from the past six years. For six years I've done everything in my power to keep my health alive. I've watered. I've pumped myself with vitamins. I've tried all things medical, natural and alternative in an effort to regain the vitality that was stripped from me so suddenly at the tender age of twenty. Still, despite my best efforts, I've still withered and suffered and struggled to hang on.
But, guess what, I'm still here. There is still life in this little body and these tired bones. And if there is still life, there is still hope.
God isn't done yet. He has given me buds as a good deposit of the bounty to come. There are flowers in my future. Sure, my pot isn't abloom oat this very moment but the primrose isn't dead yet either. There is still life in that soil just like there is fight left in my bones. God is planting a flower bed. He is bringing up buds. I can see a bouquet of primrose up ahead, can't you?
You may look at the flowers on my windowsill and think they are nearly dead. But when I look at them I see life, health and vitality springing up. I'm going to keep watering, keep rotating and keep hoping because those flowers are just about to bloom.

A lesson in no baking

It was a routine Friday morning when I had the sudden urge to bake. Or rather, no bake. You know the ones - the classic cookie made of oats, cocoa, peanut butter and a generous helping of sugar? These fudgey little morsels are a favorite in my family but my last attempt at no-baking them was a miss. This time I opted for a new recipe that I was hoping would be a sure hit. The one thousand reviewers on AllRecipes couldn't be wrong so I figured this batch would turn out right.

To the cupboard I went to pull out quick oats, peanut butter, sugar, cocoa, milk, vanilla, butter and a pinch of salt. It didn't take but a moment to realize my recipe was off to a troubling start. I was short on oats and out of my normal bleached white sugar. Eyeballing the amount of oats left in the canister I determined I could still squeeze out a small batch of cookies  if I used the organic sugar and cut the recipe in half. 

To the stove top I went. Sugar, butter, cocoa and milk were added to the pot where I immediately let the sugar sit too long on the bottom of the hot pan. After a little scrapping and a few "oops-e-daisy"s I freed the sugar and brought my mixture to a boil. A minute later I pulled the pot from the heat, dumped in my oats, vanilla and peanut butter and gave it a swirl with my spatula. 

And then another bump in the no-bake road. A miscalculation of the oat canister left my "dough" too runny to be formed into tablespoon shaped cookies. I lifted the spatula above the bowl and watched the goopey mixture slip and slide right off. 

Determined to salvage the bowl of ingredients I threw in more peanut butter. Oats weren't available so the peanut butter would have to do. Or not. I quickly learned that heated peanut butter won't thicken cookies. 

So AllRecipes plan A hadn't panned out. Plan B had failed. In a moment of no-baking genius a plan C was devised: no-bake bars. I poured the bowls contents into a loaf pan, smoothed the top of the chocolatey goodness and gazed at my creation, holding out hope for my last-ditch effort to create a tantalizing, sweet treat.

A few hours later, with butter knife and dessert plate in hand, my taste-tester extraordinaire (read: Mom) sliced into the no-bake oat bars. With one bite she was in love. The look on her face said it all. The cookies turned bars were a resounding success.

From my near no-bake disaster I learned a lesson that extends far outside the walls of the kitchen: Don't assume you always know what you truly need. I thought I needed more oats. Then I thought I needed more peanut butter. I thought I would need wax paper, so I laid out a sheet for my hot cookies that never made it to the counter. In the end the bowl of chocolate, sugar and oats had a different ending than I had anticipated and, in fact, a much better one. 

Isn't that often the way God bakes up our lives, too? So often I think I know just what I need for success and happiness. And then I open up my "cupboard" and find that I'm short on all of the ingredients I was so sure would create the perfect consistency, taste and texture for the very best life. Yet here I am, in the kitchen of life, without the ingredients I thought I needed and God is saying, "let's do some baking." But how? I don't have what I need. 

Oh, but I do... because God has a different recipe in mind and it is going to be far better then the one I pulled up. While I'm busy reading reviews for cookies God already has bars in mind.

Today if you find yourself in life's kitchen short on the basics - the oats or the sugar - or your mixture isn't forming quite right, don't throw out the whole bowl just yet. Let God change your recipe. In the end you'll have a beautiful treat to share and a glorious testimony to tell.