Of Blood Oranges, Butterflies, & Martha Stewart Gaffs

Smoke told me the oven was hot. This is what Martha Stewart moments look like at our house. Shaving up curling cold spoonfuls of cookie dough from my chilled bowl of chocolate chip and butterscotch cookies, I mold and form them into balls.

Once two buttered sheets of them are in the oven, I take a few steps into the kitchen and crouch down to peer into the butterfly box my kindergartener and I made. Two butterflies stand frailly, flexing their red, brown and orange wings, pumping them with color. Vivid red puddles spread out across white tissue paper on the cardboard floor, remnants of creation's paints. ("This is natural," the butterfly brochure assures us.)

Three cocoons wait silent, suspended, and we check them often.

"Do you think there will be a third butterfly tomorrow morning?" I ask Daniel as I kiss his face and pull the blankets up around him in bed. "Do they come out from their cocoons in the dark?" we wonder and stare off, imagining one, two, or three new butterflies the next day.

We placed blood oranges in their box home this evening, slices of dark magenta citrus. They haven't eaten them yet, and we peek in regularly to see if they will.

There's a passage in the Bible book of Acts that I have been thinking about this week. In Acts 24-27, Paul is in prison for his religious beliefs, awaiting trial and a chance to be exonerated. Two years pass.

Two years.

One brief sentence holds two years of waiting, and Paul sat in prison, delayed.

I love that Paul knows who he is, and whose he is. He knows his God too. Describing this time later and an angelic encounter during a rough sea voyage, Paul says, "an angel of the God whose I am and whom I serve..." I love that Paul hasn't walked away from his belief in God, decrying injustice or defaming the character of God. "Of the God whose I am and whom I serve."

This God to whom I belong and whom I serve....  this God whom, in fact, Paul says, "I have had God's help to this very day, and so I stand here and testify to small and great alike."

In the waiting, in the two years passing, in the cocoon-like silence, great things were still happening.

For you and me too. If you feel like this is an in-between time, a time of waiting, know that life is still stirring, forming, growing. Life is building for the unveiling. "I have had God's help to this very day," and so I stand here and speak.

Me too. You too, my friend.

The cookies are done and crumble hot chocolate in my mouth.

Due to a shipping error, five more butterfly cocoons hang in a clear plastic jar nearby. Butterflies grow luminous under grey silk chrysalises, and the brochure tells us to wait.

While You Were Waiting

Photo: Moon Lee, Creative Commons, cc license

Collapsed and cubed cardboard boxes climb the downstairs couch, and scatter the floor. My gardens and landscape beds lie neglected, choked with broadleaf plantain weeds, skinny grasses, and surprise sunflowers from last year's blossoms. I don't how long we'll be here, so I decided not to plant anything this year.

I feel a little bit like Noah from the Bible, who started building the ark before he saw the rain. This week we start packing up for a move that hasn't happened yet. Labeling boxes for a new kitchen, living room, and bedrooms, we guess where they'll be and can't picture our new home yet. Paperwork that completes our house's impending sale is up in the air still, and we are hesitant to put an offer on a new house before they fully clear. So, we wait and trust, and wait and wonder.

It's an odd thing, this waiting game we all find ourselves in some days. We probably have different things we wait for and wonder about. Whether you are waiting for your kids' school to resume, or for a doctor's prognosis, a friend's call, a relationship to heal, or a job change, we all have moments to wait. What does this waiting season look like? What can it look like? It looks differently depending on the day for me.

I pull my Bible, gratitude notebook, and journal close this morning, with my french press coffee on the side. Starting with the gratitude gifts notebook, I scrawl simple things I see: #3750 summer, #3751 breeze with sweet scents, #3752 lazy white cotton seeds floating by, ...herbs growing in a bucket, hot fresh coffee, sleeping in this morning, worship floating through the house, last piece of strawberry rhubarb pie for breakfast. 

It's not until eleven counted gifts in that they start getting deeper: deep talks with a son, scary lessons learned, seeing my negative influence affect my daughter's choices too. Humility always follows thankfulness, doesn't it? Counting God's gracious gifts that stack and topple high never fails to help me suddenly see my own shadowy sins in the corner. Brought to the surface, they are carried to Him, confessed, and forgotten, though. God's kindness overflows.

My pen scratches beauty seen and captured: cotton puffs erroneously landing to try to live on my coffee cup and the quirky laughter that gives me; a friend buying a house that is nearby; and romantic thoughtfulness seen in my man. I stop and tap out a quick text to him, smiling quietly to myself at the table.

I write and count more: red-capped birds scavenging in my weedy garden; succulent jade plant thriving, a neglected garden meaning a summer of change, and suddenly the gratitude list turns personal, and I find myself actually talking to Him. Praying, trusting you, choosing to trust. Lessons of choosing to trust you, God, to believe you. Knowing you! 

The joy mounts, and I feel the peace settle in, relaxing my shoulders. I write more, realizing that it finally feels like talking to him face to face, no longer just an anonymous list. Knowing your heart, your hand, God. Waiting for your timing; heading off here now to encounter you in your word, I smile and get ready to zip open my ratty red Bible cover. That your word is active and alive; I keep seeing the gifts now for which to thank him: that YOU are active and alive! Lord, I want to meet with you, learn from you. 

And the waiting mood has changed again. Reminding myself of who he is, and of how he cares for his creation resets my mood. Thoughts shape feelings. Truth determines attitude. 

Grabbing the verse that has become a mantra lately, I'm going to heat my cold coffee and start packing books. Join me? "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope" (Psalm 130:5).

Ambushed!

December sneaks up on me, I admit. I savor the vivid autumn colors of October and November, sniffing appreciatively the crisp fall air, scented with wood fires and red leaves. Thanksgiving pumpkins and pies have barely faded for me when Christmas hits. Suddenly all the stores and radios are counting down the days until Christmas, decorative lights and wreaths spring up overnight in my neighborhood, and my firm intentions to stay calm for the Christmas season are in jeopardy. 

My family intentionally chooses to slow down over the month of December, saying no to as many second-best things as we can. I relieve some of the school burden, and we attempt to slow down on some days to savor getting a tree, to relax around the Christmas lights, and to recount the Story to each other. 

This year, I was hit by how much of the Christmas story is really about waiting. 

Young pregnant Mary hears the news that she is pregnant with the God-Man. She waits and grows rounder, wondering, imagining, and breaking out into amazing Scripture-filled prayer songs. Nine months pass. Waiting…

Gentle Joseph receives the news that will look to the world like shame, disgrace, and betrayal. His engaged girl is pregnant. He waits, endures the scorn, waits for what may never be fully explained to the watching public, and chooses to believe in the unseen, to trust the angel messenger. Waiting…

The wise star-followers from the east, in their day to day science, uncover wild and strange constellations, uncharted celestial orbits. They calculate, discern, and then pack up. The sojourners travel for what may have been months or years, in that quiet monotonous passage of time on long road trips. Waiting…

The God-Man arrives, small, wrinkly and wet in a dark hay-filled cave stable. He wails, nurses, sleeps, and grows at normal human speed. Heaven waits in anticipation. The universe stands in the balance, unaware of and waiting for redemption. 

I confess that my Christmases have lost their sense of waiting. My lingering autumn dance that then tumbles me into the second week of December catches me by surprise almost yearly. But this year, I am stopping, savoring, and deeply pondering the waiting. 

“I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word, I put my hope.” (Psalm 130:5) 

“…while we wait for the blessed hope—the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ…” (Titus 2:13)

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart; and wait for the Lord.” (Psalm 27:14)  

“The creation waits in eager anticipation…” (Romans 8:19) 

“So Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many people; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him.” (Hebrews 9:28)

What about you? What helps you slow down, savor, and wait this season? I’d love to hear from you.

Castles, Sieges, Propagandas of Fear

The king ran out of his palace, racing through the ancient city. Already his people looked demoralized and afraid. Violent skirmishes and battle losses were everyday news now. All of his kingdom's cities had been taken except this last city --his city, Jerusalem. The Assyrians had stopped their armies 30 miles away and were employing their best preemptive strikes: propaganda and fear.

Like dropping parachutes of bad information into the camps, the enemy Assyrians stood outside the city walls, speaking loudly in a language that could be understood by the king's own people. "You can't defeat us. No one has. We will besiege you. Famine will come to your land. Your people will be forced to eat and drink the unimaginable just to survive. You can't beat us. Give up. Your god can't save you. No other gods could either."

King Hezekiah amazes me by what he does here. He grabbed the threatening letter he had received from the enemy army commander, and raced out of the palace, through the city -- a city bristling with soldiers and siege-preparations, and scattered with fearful-eyed civilians -- to the Jewish temple. Striding into this house of worship, he spread the letter out before his God, and prayed. This was a tangible act that required effort on his part. He didn't just stay in his throne room. Compelled by despair and strong emotion, he ran to the heart of God, spread the paper list of needs out before him and cried out to him.

The prayer that follows excites me. First King Hezekiah breaks out into huge worshipful prayer, listing the large awe-inspiring things of God. "O Lord Almighty, God of Israel, enthroned above the cherubim, you alone are God, over all the the kingdoms of the earth. You have made heaven and earth."

Isn't this where we need to go when life looks desperate, when things look hard and the obstacles overwhelming? Run to the Creator of the Universe, the one who sits enthroned on the rim of the earth, who made the sun and moon, who knows the stars by name and calls them out each night.

Then the desperate king pours out his petition. "Give ear, O Lord, and hear; open your eyes, O Lord, and see; listen to all the words Sennacharib (the enemy king) has sent to insult the Living God."


"It is true, Lord," the king continues... "It is true that the Assyrian kings have laid waste all these peoples and their lands.." I love that when we are on our faces before God, with the tangibles written out on paper that lays between us, that we can honestly list the obstacles. It is true, Lord, that ...

--This section of Isaiah 37 has been on my mind several times this week. It captured my attention at the beginning of this week when I felt a huge need to pray for relatives of mine who don't know Jesus and who seem to be walking further from him. Scrawling their names on paper beneath a railing quote, I spread the paper out before my God, crying out to him throughout the day. "It is true, Lord, that their hearts seem far from you and that they seem closed off to you."

Yesterday and today that Isaiah 37 passage comes to mind for other reasons. I love that I can honestly tell God, "It is true.." and then list the obstacles that at times seem insurmountable.

So King Hezekiah in ancient Jerusalem raced across the city, tangibly spread his letter out before God, burst into praise about the bigness of God, asked God to hear, see, listen, and then Hezekiah listed the staggering truths about the situation. It seemed dire. All could be lost, should be lost, except for one thing-- one ace in the hole. Hezekiah's God was not like the other gods who had been destroyed. "...They were not gods but only wood and stone fashioned by human hands," Hezekiah prayed. "Now, O Lord our God, deliver us from his hand, so that all kingdoms on earth shall know that you alone are God!" Now, O God...

Thirty-nine year old King Hezekiah ended his prayer and waited.

What do you need to write across your paper today? Etch onto that sheet whatever seems hard and insurmountable. List "It is true..."  Then, make the effort to get alone into God's presence, away from distractions and others. Lay your letter out before Him, step back to see how huge and amazing our God is, shout those things aloud to him in love, worship and faltering trust. End with the desire to have God's truth and presence be glorified huge in your life for His sake, for His name and renown.

Then wait, with the praises still ringing on your lips, still echoing in the room; wait.