I love to see the leaves change color in autumn,don’t you?
Except that it’s a myth. Leaves don’t change color.
My wife and I often walk in the woods. We’re blessed to live near Mount Airy Forest in Cincinnati, the oldest “urban forest” in the U.S., and what we’ve learned (as transplants from Southern California) is that those shimmery yellows, oranger-than-a-pumpkin oranges, and sunset reds are actually the leaves’ truecolors.
And, oh, how beautiful they make the world!
All that green? It’s just a cheery chlorophyll veneer. But when the cold “snaps,” the chlorophyll rushes down to hide amongst the roots, and the leaves’ true colors become visible. It’s then that we see how beautiful—and unique—each leaf truly is. Though, sadly, some are burnt by the sun, or turn bitter-brittle when the chlorophyll abandons them.
I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery–air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, “This is what it is to be happy.”
The Bell Jar by Sylvia path
The words capture me. I read them again, “I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery …”. A surging rush forward of mesmerizing colors and sounds. I breathe it in, nature that is. My senses quicken. Yes, this is what it is to be happy, I say to myself.
I am a peripatetic soul. I’m at my creative best when I’m moving about outdoors. Nature, sunlight and movement inspire me. I walk out my imagination in creation.
Ninety-three percent of all communication is non-verbal, the researchers say. For me, movement in nature is a means of non-verbal communication with God. I move into a state of flow, a place of deconcentration that opens The Way to something bigger, something beyond my own self.
Something natural, something spiritual, something peaceful happens while moving in nature. I become wrapped in the living, visible garment of God and for me, that is what it is to be happy.
“For in him we live and move and have our being.” Acts 17:28.
Love & Peace,
About Sylvia Plath, whose quote I reference above…
Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) is a poet whose troubled life and powerful work remains a source of controversy. Plath suffered from bouts of severe depression throughout her life, her first serious breakdown occurring in 1953 and later remembered in her autobiographical novel The Bell Jar (1963). During an extraordinary burst of creativity in the autumn of 1962 Plath wrote most of the poems on which her reputation now rests. However, that winter was particularly severe and Plath became increasingly isolated and depressed: on February 11th 1963 she committed suicide by gassing herself in the kitchen of her flat. https://www.poetryarchive.org/poet/sylvia-plath
The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones. 1-800-273-8255.
Eyes wide open. A rude, unnatural awakening. A bad fall, not out of sleep but into wakefulness.
Mind racing desperately to grab hold of the finely-woven dream threads now quickly unraveling. Please God, help me remember.
A thin thread of a man’s voice reading a book, a really good book, a best-seller-kind of book. A familiar voice, one similar to the voice of my own thoughts, yet not my thoughts, now gone. Completely forgotten.
I remember only one thing … I am the protagonist of the forgotten book.
Later, as I ponder this nighttime parable, I’m reminded of Lucy in the Chronicles of Narnia. Lucy reads a magic book and soon discovers that the right-hand pages, could be turned; the left-hand pages could not. As much as Lucy tried, she could not remember all the wonderful things she had read, and she could not turn back the pages of the book to read it again.
When Aslan, the great Lion King of Narnia and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea appears, Lucy asks him,
“Shall I ever be able to read that story again; the one I couldn’t remember? Will you tell it to me, Aslan? Oh do, do, do,”
“Indeed, yes, I will tell it to you for years and years.”
Like Aslan, the great Lion King (the God-character in the storybook), there is One Above (or should I rather say within) who is the author of my life book. One who has been telling me my story for years and years.
As long as I have breath, I live page by page, unable to go back for there is no use in that. I’m speaking of the regrets, the whys and the what-ifs. For as Aslan explains, no one is ever told what would have happened.
So, I’m learning to live a life of no regrets. It takes trust, it takes faith, it takes loving myself. And that kind of love comes only from the Author of my book, who will be telling it to me for years and years.
I may never know what a different ending holds, and even if I did, it may not be what I expect, which is why it’s best I get rid of all regret.
Love & Peace,
“… looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, …”. Hebrews 12:2
Every time you feel in God’s creatures something pleasing and attractive, do not let your attention be arrested by them alone, but, passing them by, transfer your thoughts to God and say: “O my God, if Thy creations are so full of beauty, delight and joy, how infinitely more full of beauty, delight and joy are Thou Thyself, Creator of all!”
My brothers and me, we got trust issues. Here I am, my 6-year-old gullible self, once more the target of their good-natured, little-sister teasing.
A warm summer evening; the sound of the brothers laughing. I go outside to investigate. Big mistake.
The brothers are shooting bats. Yes, bats—with BB guns. Saturday night entertainment and I find myself the star of the show.
“Watch out! Bats love to fly into little girls’ hair!” Brother 1 yells.
“What?!” My heart begins to race.
“Yeah,” Brother 2 joins in, “They’ll fly into your ratty hair and make a dirty old nest!”
“What?!!” My hand instinctively reaches up to my tangled, uncombed head.
“Duck!” screams Brother 3, and I hit the ground hard.
To this day, I hate bats. I know they are God’s creatures and all, but I still hate bats.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
I re-read the words of Martin Luther,
“You cannot keep birds from flying over your head but you can keep them from building a nest in your hair.”
I’m reminded of the bats.
But, it’s not about bats or birds or any such thing. It’s about negative thoughts. Fearful thoughts. Lying thoughts that cause me to hit the
I can’t always prevent a negative thought from entering my mind, but I don’t have to allow it to build a nest in my hair. I have the power to choose what I believe and what I allow in my mind. And that’s a powerful thought.
So when a negative thought flies over head, I count backwards from five. Five, Four, Three, Two, One … and I shoot. Sometimes more than once, but eventually, the thought hits the ground hard, not me.
Love & Peace,
“… and we take captive every thought …” 2 Corinthians 10:5
There stands a statute in Ponca City, Oklahoma, of a Pioneer Woman with a young boy by her side. Artfully cast in tons of bronze, standing 17 feet tall beneath the Oklahoma sky.
She wears a bonnet upon her head and hidden within the brim, the words, “I see no boundaries”. A lasting tribute to those courageous women–the women homesteaders of the American West.
Imagination captured. Inspiration ascends. Yes, I am the pioneer woman! Pioneering through wilderness wanderings to crossing and conquering in unchartered lands of promise.
Yet I am also the young boy, grabbing hold of the Pioneering Spirit. Led hand-in-hand towards my inheritance as a son.
For all who are led by the Spirit of God are the sons of God.
And for a brief moment … no windows or doors, ceilings or floors. I see no boundaries. Only God.
In wide open spaces, in untamed places. It’s where I’m staking my claim.
Love & Peace,
The 1862 Homesteading Act guaranteed free farmland to heads of households with the stipulation that the applicant must stay on the land for five years and make noticeable improvements to the land before the deed was awarded. Women who were single, widowed, or divorced were eligible to apply for land as the head of their household and many headed west into Dakota Territory.
The word inspire inspires me. I breathe in its meaning…
“From the Latin inspirare, meaning to breathe or blow into. Originally used of a divine or supernatural being in the sense of imparting a truth or idea.”
“Fascinating”, pipes the voice of the flutist within me.
In a moment, I am back on the White Mountain reservation—an invited guest of a friend known and loved by this Apache tribe.
The former Chairman speaks, “Dagot’ee”. Welcome. He continues in his native language, a word in English here and there for my benefit, I imagine, as he addresses his people.
He invites me to speak. I don’t speak Apache. They don’t speak English. Curious Apache faces gazing hard into my uncertainty.
Inspiration comes…I pick up my flute and blow.
And the Ruach of God translates. And His people are inspired.
Ruach, a Hebrew word for the Spirit of God, translated spirit, breath, or wind by the Hebrew sages.
Air put into motion by divine breath, the sage in me translates. Poetic and creative. Life-giving Spirit breath that speaks.
Aslan, the great lion king of Narnia and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea in the storybook knows the Ruach.
“What an extraordinary place!” cried Lucy. “All those stone animals–and people too! It’s–it’s like a museum.”
“Hush”, said Susan, “Aslan’s doing something.”
Aslan breathes the breath of life upon the creatures turned to stone by the evil witch. And something wonderful happens. “Everywhere the statues were coming to life”.
Breath that brings life into the extraordinary museums of our lives—those hidden places where nothing is really lost, only waiting to be rediscovered.
“On the branches of the willow trees, we hung our harps and hid our hearts from the enemy”, pens the psalmist. Yet, we can rest assured that the breath of life will blow again upon life’s willows. And when it does, we rediscover what has never really been lost, as we take up our harps and play, born again unto a living hope.
Now, hush…for the Ruach of God is doing something. His breath is ever-moving; breathing life in you and through you. And by the divine breath of His Spirit, He moves. He imparts. He speaks. He inspires.
“And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.” Genesis 2:7 (KJV)
Call me strange, but I really do believe that every living man, woman and child has an innate ability to hear God’s Voice. I also believe that nothing brings more dignity to humankind than knowing that the God of the Universe desires to share His good thoughts towards us–thoughts of a hope-filled future.
Prophecy (hearing God and speaking what He says) restores human dignity–the necessary cornerstone of a human-rights approach to social justice.
Today, I am looking to the Heavens. If only God would once again send those who know His Voice, and who are not afraid to stand for Truth, into the harvest fields of justice upon the earth.
Yet, at the same time, the still small voice within reminds me that heaven’s view of justice may not necessarily be my own.
Looking to the horizon, I sense the approach before it fully comes into view. A revelation of a revolution. I’m talking a “Martin Luther King, Jr., I have a dream!” kind of revelation. A revelation of a cleansing movement of Truth that brings about a revolution in the hearts of men that births something new upon the earth.
I don’t pretend to know what it will look like, but I do know this … God’s Voice living through His people will be in its foundation.
“Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne; love and faithfulness go before you.” Psalm 89:14
God is building a foundation. If you want to be at the top … well, that could be a problem.