Moss Management

"A rolling stone gathers no moss, but leaves a trail of busted stuff".
Dave Matthews.

My car is growing moss.

I’ve never grown moss on my car before.  I’m kind of proud of it.  Not that it’s been hard.  In my corner of the world precipitation records have been falling like.…rain.  (See what I did there?)  We’ve had more rain fall between Oct 1-April 30 than since records were started 125 years ago.

I haven’t managed to get outside to mow the moss yet.  The lawn has been too damp and the thought of 4X-ing the lawn mower through the mud does not appeal.  May hasn’t arrived without my lawn being cut before.   The 37 blades of grass are getting quite long. 

It’s been soggy. 

The awesome thing about moss is the ease with which it grows given the correct conditions.  Moss develops from spores not seeds so, without any effort on your part, nature can send moss free of charge to your lawn, deck, and/or flower bed.  

Truth is, I like moss.  Google defines moss as, “a small flowerless green plant that lacks true roots, growing in low carpets or rounded cushions in damp habitats and reproducing by means of spores released from stalked capsules.”  In the right conditions roots aren’t needed to grow this green marvel.  It’s all about the environment.

A lot of things get blamed on the environment these days: weather, rodent populations and my daughter’s inability to make her bed in the morning.  Faithful Merriam-Webster states the environment is composed of “the complex of physical, chemical and biotic factors that act upon an organism or an ecological community and ultimately determine its form and survival.”  For pride’s sake, I like to pretend I have evolved beyond my surroundings but lately I’m not so sure.

As I write this, I’m sitting at a table in the presence of someone who dislikes me.   We are alone in a large room and she is doing a "fair-to-middlin" job of ignoring me.  When however, her friend steps into the room she gets mystically empowered and (like our wondrous plant friend) manages to broadcast her dislike and release spores of malice.  Several of them have gotten straight up my nose. 

I've spent the better part of ½ an hour biting my tongue trying to be pleasant, but it's not working. I am failing on many levels and it's vexing.  All the while, I am wondering how Jesus expects me to rise above the nonsense. 

There my friend is the challenge.  How do you find Jesus in a toxic place?  Or metaphorically speaking, how do you live in a damp cave and not end up covered in moss?  Something that produces no flowers, fruit or roots and is the antithesis of every Christian plant illustration? 

"Do no harm" is a good start but Jesus isn’t much on the externals.  I can smile sweetly all I want, but if my heart is to run the woman over with my van, Jesus isn’t fooled. Part of the problem is my belief that these types of victories come without difficulty.  They really don’t.  Scripture offers conviction and direction, but unless I wrestle, grapple and otherwise attempt to kick the stuffing out of my horrible attitude I’m not going to get very far. 

Who said prayer was boring?

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven” Matthew 5:43-45

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” Ephesians 4:32

Can I be honest my friend?  This type of kindness and forgiveness doesn’t always come easily.  Might I encourage you to stay in the battle?  Keep investing in prayer, bringing your needs and lack before the Lord.  He is ridiculously faithful.  Though it will take you longer than you want, eventually a victory will come.   He is able to change both hard and broken hearts.  He is the way to find peace in turmoil.  He is a solid rock: dependable, unchanging and utterly moss free.

I’m praying for you this week.

xoxKaren

Image from https://pixabay.com/en/forest-moss-norway-483206/ 

Sweet Season

Here today, gone tomorrow.

Hello My Friend!

Seattle is getting decked in spring.  The tulips are out, my friend gave me grape hyacinth to transplant in my yard and the days are finally warming.  We homeschooling parents are going a bit mad as the end of the school year glimmers off in the distance.  Was it just me or did this winter seem long? 

Did you have a nice Easter? 

I had the nicest time with my family.  We were so lazy, it was delightful to sit about, drink tea and enjoy each other’s company.  I’m a spend-time type of person.  Friendship means fellowship and I like visiting.  Lately, my fellowship time changed and it’s taking some adjusting.

One of the best things about having children is all the new things you experience as a parent.  Granted, not all the “first” experiences are pleasant but they are often meaningful.  Which is why, when my girlfriend texted and said “Your car is in my driveway.  Your daughter is here but you aren’t. It’s kind of weird.”  I had to agree.  

If anyone told me 15 years ago that the community I worked over a decade to build would dissolve as silently as a sugar cube I would have been shocked.  Yet dissolving it is, as children age out of activities that once were the routine we built our lives upon.  Granted, new faces are always appearing but I miss the aging faces I first knew. 

As I sit in wonder and thank God yet again for spring, I’m struck by the quiet endings I’m experiencing.  I’ve found myself thankful for the strangest things.

How do you thank someone for being an uptight control freak?  The fact they drove you crazy EVERY time you saw them and made you feel deliciously inferior does nothing to diminish the endless hours they sacrificed as they finished tasks well into the night with an excellence that only a handful of people noticed.  

Or how about trying to convey your gratitude to a couple who baked cookies every night for three weeks so that their club could save money and children could leave an event believing the world was a lovely, sugar laced place where it was the duty of adults to bless children.  What is the value you place on others who make the world safe?

I even found myself deeply appreciating a woman who repeated the same lame joke every week for 3 years.   During the darkest days of my trials, she attempted to convey her concern with clumsy words that made me cringe.  I now view her willingness to acknowledge longsuffering as a graceful friend that visited me faithfully throughout that long season.  

Sadly, those people are moving on from the circle I occupy.  Though the chances are strong I will see some again, the truth is our lives will not nestle up to each other as they did in the past.  When I see them, it will be the exception not the rule.  Our mutual cares and concerns will fade, to be replaced by reminders and reminiscences.   They will take their time and treasure to new places and serve in locations far from my own. 

I think I’m missing them in advance.  

A Time for Everything

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

a time to tear, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

a time to love, and a time to hate;

a time for war, and a time for peace.

And so my friend, I welcome spring while at the same time bemoaning the fact the northwest is hard on cherry blossom, it never stays as long as I want it too. I am finding that many things are this way.  The lives we touch are for a season only, as we are propelled along by forces beyond our control.  We are left to simple acts of kindness daily, so  that we might leave sweetness behind when at last we dissolve our communities and move on.  

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren  

PS. thank you for the photo Nikki
Weirdowithacamera.blogspot.com

Laud and Lunchables

My bible, my garbage and a violet.  The violet did not attend service.

I don’t think of myself as a difficult person, I’m simply easily amused.  Or maybe I’m simple and easily amused.  In truth I’m not certain what my problem is, but whatever the origin, being in church doesn’t come easily these days. 

While growing up I attended the Anglican Church.  The service was liturgical following the “old” prayer book.  This meant as a body, we read the service together in typical response-reply patterns.  Everyone sang from the blue hymnal and when it was time to pray, we put down the kneelers in our pew, got on our knees and stayed there for a very, very long time.  When the praying part of the service was over, we stood up and made our way to the communion rail where we would kneel again.  The priest would proceed down the rail placing a communion wafer in the outstretched hands of each congregant.  The priest would then return to exchange the wafers for the communion cup.  Father Whomever would then take the cup, offer it to the parishioner, who would take a sip. The communion cup contained wine, not juice, wine: red, robust and strong enough to make you choke if you drank too deeply.   When finished, the priest would then take the white cloth in his hand, wipe the lip of the cup, turn the cup a ¼ turn and offer the cup to the next person at the rail.  He would repeat this action dozens of times.

I’m not certain when the hygiene of the ritual was called into question, but I remember going to the rail to receive communion from a cup well into my teens, which puts us somewhere near the Stone Age.  I remember some congregants dipping their wafer in the wine, as opposed to sipping for the cup, but I never remember worrying about germs in those days.  It was the way it was done. 

We now live in more complicated times and though I am not foolish enough to believe the church of my youth was the “correct” way to do church, there is something about your past that sets the perception of your future experience.  Since coming to America, I have been astonished by the church’s gifting and resources, its professionalism and marketing, its outreach and scope.  Sometimes, I miss the painfully flawed, corporate nature of the church of my youth. 

Today, as I visited a church in my hood, I had an altogether new communion experience.  The congregation was large and there was no communion rail in sight, so I watched my neighbors closely to see what was required.  Am I the only one who gets nervous visiting churches?  I heard Pastor mention the communion elements being passed around so I sat down and kept my eyes peeled.  Suddenly, someone tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a paper bucket.  

I wasn’t expecting a bucket.  

I looked in the bucket and there, inside was….something….lots of somethings…..wrapped in plastic. Now, I expect many of you have seen individual portions of communion bread and juice before.  I however, being hideously old-school, have not.  I looked in astonishment as the usher nodded encouragingly. I smiled and studied the contents of the bucket.  She nodded again.  Suddenly I realized what I was being offered and placed one on my lap.  I passed the bucket to the encouraging usher, who viewed my confusion and was wondering if she was setting a pagan up for taking the elements in an unworthy manner.  I tried smiling back and moved my bible in an effort to subliminally prove that I was an earnest believer who studied her bible so extensively it was held together with duct tape, so she needn’t worry about my eternal destination.  It was all very non-verbal. The encouraging usher grimaced and moved to the next row of more sophisticated believers.

I looked at the packet in my hand.  I felt a bit overwhelmed.  I studied it suspiciously.

My Jesus was now a lunchable.

It’s hard to stay focused when you have a mind like mine.  Thanking God for the honor of taking communion in any form, I followed Pastor through the prayers.  Then, so as not to look like an idiot, I snuck my Jesus lunchable garbage into a hanky and hid it in my purse.  I needed evidence.   I could be the only believer in all of Christendom who is so shallow, packaged communion elements are able to entirely derail my worship.  Being high tech is tricky.  I haven’t even told you about how I almost flung my juice at the two year old in front of me when the stubborn wrapping covering the juice suddenly gave way.  (It’s a good thing that little Missy is being raised in church.  She has quite the attitude for a toddler.)  About that time I started missing a few things about church in the old days.

I miss corporate prayer: a time where everyone kneels before God.  I miss kneeling.  Am I actually saying that?  Many churches I have attended don’t pray together at all, save the introductory acknowledgement and the ending benediction.  There is no time to bring before God the issues in the body, the community or the country.  I miss aching knees and wishing Mrs. Davies would stop praying for every struggling teen in the congregation, so that I could stand up again and get the blood back to my feet.  I miss hearing people of faith pray out loud.

I miss music, human voices of differing age and ability, praising God.  When I was younger there was a woman in my church that could not carry a tune.  Her voice was clear, strong and always off key.  We used to giggle ourselves silly when we heard her sing but I would give a lot to hear her praise God again.  Music in the church today is so produced, so professional, so powerful, I can rarely hear my own voice, yet alone those sitting 2 rows back.  I miss the days the organist would stumble, our voices would continue alone and Mr. McCaffrey’s beautiful welsh voice would soar from the choir loft, on key, utterly sublime.  That a man so quiet man had the voice of an angel used to thrill my 9 year old heart.  I miss hearing the warbley songs of the grandmas, whose voices have held families together for generations.  I miss the unproduced human element of worship.

Though you have changed a thousand times, God has not changed once.

Charles Spurgeon.

Like activities, church life comes in seasons.  What refreshed you one day, might seem dry the next.  Songs and traditions fall in and out of fashion.  Some parts of church life we enjoy, others parts we do not.**  Blessedly we serve a God who is unchanging, unalterable and unfailing.  He is worthy of our worship, regardless of form or style.  As we enter holy week, might I encourage to enjoy the celebration of our savior, in a country where we are free to worship.  May his radical sacrifice and unending love, move you past the form of church to true faith in Christ.   May you be amazed once more at the kindness of God.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxKaren

**Sorry.  I’ve never liked passing the peace or saying hi.  I’m staring at the floor so I don’t need to interact with you.  At this moment my shoes are very important to me and I want you to go away.

Fleeced

These sheep are happy because they do not own visa cards. 

Our thief was clearly hungry.  I’m not sure what kind of day he had but I imagine his day did not involve hard physical labor.  He worked up an appetite somehow though because when dinner time arrived, he tried to order $60 worth of Taco Bell online.  When that failed he tried Dunkin Doughnuts, a pizza joint and Chinese take-out.  No luck.  Giving up on food, he switched to merchandise to fill the Jesus-sized-cheeseburger-hole in his heart and loaded his cart with over $800 worth of goods from Bloomingdales.  At about that time several computers in the cyber sphere decided I was behaving irrationally.  They studied a few algorithms, deduced that it was unlikely I would eat $150 of take out in one evening and kicked the issue up the ladder to the fraud department.   

They in turn sent a number of alerts to my hubby’s phone to verify that I was not on the east coast suffering from low blood sugar.   After locating me on the chesterfield, my hubby and the all-powerful customer service representative terminated our visa cards and magnanimously ordered us new ones.  It all happened rather quickly.  I wasn’t even aware I had been designated, discussed and diagnosed by the time it was all over.  

Sometimes sin doesn’t take prisoners it just mows you over and keeps on going…

I wasn’t surprised my visa had been stolen, not exactly, though I spent time reviewing all my purchases to try to identify a sketchy business.  It was the brazen nature of the affair that caught me off guard.  Why I would be startled at sin I’m still not clear.  

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. John 10:10 

The above scripture isn’t hard to explain, the devil is bad, does bad things, God is life, not just keeping the life of his followers but adding abundance in the process.  The scripture is taken though from a discourse Jesus is giving regarding his followers and those who shepherd them.  More than likely he was talking to the Pharisees, the churchy folk of the day and juxtaposing his behavior to theirs.  He is the good shepherd who gives his life for his sheep.  He loves his sheepies and their care is his priority.  The Pharisees were likened to hired workers who care for themselves first and will run at the first sign of trouble.  Additionally, there are those who are like wolves who damage his followers in order to harm the Good Shepherd.  Note there are only two sides in this scene, those who belong to the shepherd and those who work against him.  

As church folk, we must remember to whom our brothers and sisters belong. Much like my foodie thief, who was using a visa that was not his own, I must give careful consideration to how I treat and speak about fellow believers.  After all they belong to Jesus.  If Jesus was willing to lay down his life for his sheep, it would be wise for me to be a good sheep friend and to value those for whom he died.  This all sounds very neighborly and sensible, but if you have ever gotten into an argument with a church member, you know how easy it is to break out the sheep shears and start cutting.  

And so I’m praying for you this week, my sheep friend.  That God would bestow upon you the heart of the Good Shepherd.  That his love would move your heart to be content in his presence and overflow to those with whom you share pasture. 

Have a peace filled week,

xoxKaren