Cover Up

This is not what Grandma was wearing

I don’t own a leaf blower but a couple of my friends do.  I find them noisy and obnoxious (leaf blowers, not my friends).  But if I did own a leaf blower, I’m pretty sure I would wear pants while operating one.  Pants and sturdy shoes because you never know when something is going to go wrong when using machinery.  I think it was my dad who taught me that.   

I was walking to the car from the Saturday farmers market in a sea side town when I heard the leaf blower.  The neighborhood I was in has a funky mix of residential buildings dispersed amongst its downtown core, so I wasn’t surprised to hear the machine in the background as I passed an insurance office, an elderly man on his front porch and a set of town homes.  My family ambled along, sharing conversation as we rounded the corner.  Looking down the street we saw a woman blowing leaves off her yard and sidewalk directly in front of our car.  She was in her late 60’s, tanned and grandma looking, crinkly and round.  You might find those remarks personal, but so was the very small black bikini she was sporting as she swung her leaf blower to and fro, adding the dimension of vibration to her already striking form.  

“Oh my goodness,” my youngest whispered.

“That is a lot of good news!” offered another. 

“Ahhhhh!” My husband had lowered his head and was marching resolutely to the car as if he didn’t notice the mostly naked grandma brandishing her gas operated leaf blower right in front of his minivan.  I was utterly gobsmacked.  I had no words, I was stuck by equal parts admiration and embarrassment and the overwhelming sense that grandma should be wearing pants…and perhaps a top…and sensible footwear.  

She looked up, her ample smile matching her ample…ness.  “I’m afraid my van is in your way,” I offered by way of conversation.  I was trying not to stare but failing miserably.  “Not at all honey,” she replied and sauntered 20 feet back toward her porch.   Trying not to watch her leave, I wondered whether I needed to rethink my perception of senior citizens.  I concluded that I did and made a mental note to buy myself a bikini for my 70th birthday.  A bikini and a bottle of scotch.  

As I sit here a day later, I’m stuck with the task of trying to turn my run in with a mostly naked grandma into some form of spiritual reflection and to be honest all I can say is that I was astonished by grandma’s lack of embarrassment, regardless of it being good or bad.  

What a gift to be at peace with one’s failings and flaws, to put aside the need to cover up shortcomings and pretense.  One of the traits of a mature believer is their acknowledgment of sin and their transparency.  The mature believer has learned the cross is a place of security and mercy as opposed to needing to feign righteousness for fear of being discovered.  What freedom comes with realizing that our sin has been covered by the astonishing sacrifice of Jesus the Christ.

This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.  If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth.  But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.  If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.  If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.  If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us. 1 John 1: 5-10  

So I am praying for us this week my friend.  That when it comes to our weakness, God might uncover our hearts and reveal the truth of his mercy and kindness.  And where bikinis and dimples are concerned we might feel free to cover up just a wee bit.  

Enjoy a sunbeam this week,

xoxKaren

Not Normal

Jail break chicken.  It was this or a photo of a headless mouse.  

It wasn’t the phone call I expected to have. 

“Darling, I can’t talk to you this morning.  The men with the tranquilizer guns are here.  There is a baby bear loose in the garden and the plumber just arrived.  The tap outside broke.  I’ll call later when they’ve gotten the baby bear out of the garage. Unless they find its mother, then it might take longer.”

One of the tricks of belonging to my family tree is discerning metaphor from reality.  After a quick set of mental calisthenics, I asked, “You are going to stay inside right?  The plumber can come back if it is too busy.”  “Of course!” my mother chirped, “Oh they’ve scared the deer.  Where is the cat?”  I excused myself from the conversation before it turned into a monologue and group texted my sisters for moral support. Within 30 seconds one called to ensure our mother was safe and to commiserate with the lack of normalcy a phone call home sometimes provides.

The “lack of normal “ thing must be a genetic trait because I have just spent the better part of half an hour looking for the head of a mouse. It's the missing piece of a love offering left for me this morning as I house sit my girlfriends’ cats, dog, chickens and ducks. 

Yep, I’m a farmer again trying to get along with animal-kind.

What does it mean when a cat brings you a headless present?  Does it mean they love you? Was it a feline death threat? An invitation to a secret society?  I’m not certain. 

I am certain taking care of chickens hasn’t gotten easier.  When I went to collect the eggs last night, the little black and white striped fellow made a break for it.  The only reason it didn’t get away was because I was fast enough to grab it by the tail feathers and mean enough to hold on to them  until the squawking stopped and we caught up with one another.  I apologized to jailbird chicken and rubbed its rear end in case almost pulling out tail feathers hurt, but then stopped because rubbing a chickens’ rump seemed awkward.    

Recently, I prayed that I would get a few days away to catch up on paperwork. When farmer friend asked if I would be interested in chicken sitting, I agreed envisioning a wee family holiday.  However my hubby, sensing an opportunity, packed me off to the farm to write while he and children stayed at home.  All that explains why I am sitting on a couch at my favorite farm with a golden retriever as my sidekick. It also explains why I was looking for the head of a mouse after breakfast and accosted a chicken after lunch.  

I’m having “me” time.   

Blessedly, farmer friend keeps a stash of homemade truffles in her freezer. This is the one place earth where I could eat 3 pounds of Christmas chocolate in July and it wouldn’t be thought of as strange, which is a comfort because these days “normal” isn’t happening.  Normal is evading my grasp because things in my life keep changing.  No matter what I do, kids grow up, things break and seasons end, meaning I should be used to transitions by now.  But I’m not.  Despite knowing transitions are hard, I waste my time getting upset because I’m frustrated or impatient through the process.

One of the books by my bedside table is an old blue hymnal.  It contains the songs of generations and lately I’ve spent time thumbing through its tissue thin pages.  As I do, an appreciation of the English language has been growing in my heart.  Nothing takes my mind off myself quite like the songs in those dusty pages.  A song written in 1922 caught my eye, the themes relevant almost 100 years later.  Here are the lyrics to the hymn “Now Again the World is Shaken,” by Henry Smart.

Now again the world is shaken,
Tempests break on sea and shore;
Earth with ruin overtaken,
Trembles while the storm winds roar.
He abideth who confideth,
God is God forevermore.

Thrones are falling, heathen raging,
Peoples dreaming as of yore
Vain imaginations, waging
Man with man, unmeaning war.
He abideth who confideth,
Christ is King forevermore.

Human wisdom in confusion,
Casts away the forms it wore;
Ancient error, new illusion,
Lose the phantom fruit they bore.
He abideth who confideth,
Truth is truth forevermore.

Right eternal, Love immortal,
Built the house where we adore;
Mercy is its golden portal,
Virtue its unshaken floor.
He abideth who confideth,
God is God forevermore.

As we make our way into the summer, I pray that you experience some rest and recreation.  Summer holidays don’t last long enough for my liking, but not many nice things do and I guess that is the only “normal” part of our time on earth. The good news is that through Jesus, we are marching toward an unshakable kingdom (Hebrews 12:28) that is run by one who never changes.  Though things around us are shifting quickly we can rest assured that our trials are momentary and that he will work them to our benefit.   

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. 2 Cor 4:16-18

Praying for you this week,

xoxKaren