From The Sheep Pen

And the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly and rejoice.” Isaiah 35:1

I’ve just come from the desert. Dan and I took a two week road trip to southern California and Nevada seeking warmth and sunshine. I’ve never considered becoming a “snow bird” before, but this year’s mountain winter has lasted a little too long for both of us. He loves to drive long distances to areas we’ve not seen and so we headed to places named for palm trees. I hope the 3,000 miles we traveled will satisfy him for a while or at least until my back – and Sitzleder/ bottom – recover.

In Los Angeles we visited Dan’s 83 year old cousin Isabella whom he hasn’t seen since he was 8. Their family reunion is amusing material for another writing. A few days later we drove to Palm Desert to be with a friend who moved from Idaho. She and I are practically twins, sharing very close birthdays. More importantly, during a very difficult time she was Jesus in the flesh for me. I’ve missed her a lot.

We’ve been to the desert before, to the South West and a lot of Texas which I can only describe as arid , dreary and endlessly lined with scrub brush. This time I saw the desert blooming and it was glorious. Beautifully landscaped and coddled Palm Desert was in full flowering. The cacti and desert shrubs planted in gardens, alongside golf courses, in planters and along the streets were adorned in magenta, orange, flaming reds, purple and yellow blossoms. Some looked like crown jewels. Others were as delicate as hummingbird wings. I couldn’t stop drinking in the colors and textures splattered like bright daubs of paint onto the vegetation.

Away from the “gated” residences and shopping areas, the open  desert was no less spectacular. Spikes of thorny ocotillos were topped with clustered,  red , finger shaped petals. In the middle of nowhere, fields of ochoalla sprouted cream colored flowers, like unpicked cotton bolls. Along the roadsides, patches of red or yellow wildflowers suddenly accented rocks and underbrush.

I kept wondering at the contradictions around us. How inhospitable to life the desert seems. How can such dry, prickly, uninviting and unlikely- looking succulents produce flowers to rival the rose? Where is the water which makes the desert bloom?

We drove back home through Nevada and past adobe red, wind- carved rock formations in southern Utah. Finally, we stopped in Salt Lake to be with my daughter and her family. On Good Friday my oldest granddaughter Gretchen sang with her choir the Latin hymn Stabat Mater in the Madeleine Cathedral. I recognized the despairing opening verses from my childhood. The hymn is the fulfillment of Simeon’s prophecy to Mary, that her heart would also be pierced with a sword , foretelling her presence at Jesus’ crucifixion. In a solo Gretchen sang the stanza where Jesus dies.

Vidit suum dulcem natum.   Morientem desolatum  Dum emisit spiritum.

“She saw her sweet Son
dying, forsaken,
as He gave up the spirit. “

I listened to our granddaughter sing this verse and suddenly my heart  filled out.  It  bloomed as unexpectedly as desert roses drenched by rain. God was answering many years of prayers for my family right in front of me in the voice of our girl. What I never thought possible was unfolding with both of us. She doesn’t know it yet, but her gift of singing gave glory to the Giver. The evil   clutches which Satan had  intended for us, God was turning into good. And I shall gladly bear witness to the miracle.

It isn’t by chance that we were in the desert before Easter, nor that we were in Salt Lake on Friday to hear Gretchen sing. We remember the Lord’s death with great respect and sadness, but rejoice at His Resurrection. Jesus has arisen and given new life, His very own, to those who ask. He fulfills every promise made to us. And that is the found grace of His Resurrection.

I  come out of the old and barren desert. Like the deadly looking ocotillo, now in full bloom from unseen waters, my heart rejoices and my spirit flowers. Christ’s living water pours forth over every parched, dried out, forsaken and arid place, just as Isaiah foretold:

Water will gush forth in the wilderness
and streams in the desert.
The burning sand will become a pool,
the thirsty ground bubbling springs. Isaiah 35: 6-7

How could the prophet have described my heart condition so accurately?

“Night and day, day and night, Let incense arise”. (David Brymer)

This morning I didn’t really want to go to church. It’s snowing again, a wet, sleety March snow which chills my winter weary bones. Additionally, it is Daylight Saving Time, meaning the clocks move an hour ahead and my sleep lost an hour. A second cup of strong coffee helped , but only slightly. Still, I put on wool sweater and tall boots and headed to McCall if not cheerfully, at least obediently. Sundays we corporately worship the Lord and I’m called to be there.

Praise and Worship music was loud, lively and … loud. Truthfully, my septuagenarian ears aren’t always happy with the decibels. My friend sat next to me with orange earplugs sticking out of her ears like spongy mini carrots but I didn’t have any. So, I settled in, waited and allowed God’s Spirit to adjust the volume for me. I sang the words and the words sang back to me until  “deep called to deep .“  Jesus prayed:

Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

In the heavenly realms, in God’s eternal kingdom, His people sing songs of praise to glorify Jesus forever and ever. There are  cosmic orchestras. Majestic choirs. Hosts of angels and individual saints like you and me in magnificent, perfect harmonies. No matter how froglike we croak on earth – or how sweetly like songbirds we warble- it is a sound like nothing else on this planet. It is the sound of worshiping the Lord Our God, the only One who is worthy of praises.

As it is in heaven… so on earth.

Since  God is worshiped in heaven, His Word says it is also for us on earth. His will is always for both heaven and earth and as Jesus proclaimed the kingdom of God in His ministry He brought both together. We emulate Him as He worshiped and prayed and the kingdom of God opens all around us. Therein nothing is impossible.Nothing.

However, Psalm 141 says one thing is required.

May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice. Psalm 141:2

Our prayers are likened to the burning of incense in the Old Testament when fragrant spices were burned in braziers as offerings. As the incense smoke rises upward, so do prayers. It is an act of worship. However, there can’t be incense without fire. It require sacrifice; something has to be consumed before it can “rise up. “ We do not sacrifice bulls and goats any longer and often we burn with zeal and passion for God. That is a powerful fire, but the Bible repeatedly teaches  what’s required is to sacrifice our hearts . Day and night, offer up pride in the consuming fire  of the Holy Spirit in the kingdom of God.

That definitely includes   this writer’s Sunday attitudes!

Morning has broken
Like the first morning;
Blackbird has spoken
Like the first bird.

The blackbirds have returned! I heard them singing in the trees earlier as I took my morning walk. Their songs fill me with joy because they surely announce the coming of spring. I’m mesmerized by their invisible calls,  musical waterfalls cascading from beyond the tree tops.

I saw a mourning dove perched on a neighbor’s roof calling out over the meadows to another dove elsewhere. They called back and forth to each other, refrains and echoes like sonnets, ignoring my eavesdropping on them. A flock of geese honked loudly overhead and the always present crows broke through with their own particular raucous noise. A small  downy woodpecker  rat-a-tatted on a fallen tree branch. A swirl of blue told me that the jays were home again. I’m sure there was a robin or two but I did not see any yet.

In the Song of Songs, the Lover  promises the Beloved that a new season is  close at hand. .

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; . Songs 6:2,11

The flowers in New Meadows haven’t appeared quite yet, but I have heard the songs of birds all around me. Green tufts of grass have sprouted on the roadway and a few inches of narcissi leaves poke out around my house’s perimeter. Soon the blossoming and the flowering will also come and my life will be blessed with another greening time. How can one not but praise God who renews the face of the earth season to season and pours out His love upon us? Be it birdsong or trees swelling with buds, the snow melts for “morning has broken, and the blackbirds have spoken.” The lovely old Methodist hymn reminds us that birds and flowers and mankind are continuously being blessed by our Creator. As He was then, He still is now and we who are His Beloved praise Him!

Praise for the singing!
Praise for the morning!
Praise for them springing
Fresh from the Word!  

“Morning Has Broken “By Eleanor Farjeon

I couldn’t help myself. The rack of primroses set outside of Fred Meyer was too pretty to resist. We’d just driven to Boise on ice packed roads. The day was grey and dismal, the clouds overhanging the city locked in a cold inversion and another possible storm was predicted. My house was still landscaped with several feet of snow. What was I thinking? It is still months until I see bare earth never mind plant anything.

Nevertheless, I bought a bright fuschia primrose for less than a dollar. It sits on my windowsill above the sink, receiving direct sunlight and brightens my kitchen. The leaves are dark green, ruffled like kale or spinach leaves, forming a large nest beneath the petals. I see  the golden eyes centered in each cluster of pink blooms contrasting the white snow outside like  a miniature painting.    Winter ice and spring flowers converge on the windowsill and I remember that this seemingly endless winter is already waning. Ice and snow are melting and the earth warms slowly with the longer days.

The primrose needs daily watering, but I forgot to do so for a few days. It began to droop and the flowers faded quickly. Oh, No, I thought. Better throw it out. But I gave it another chance, not really expecting it to come back. I soaked the pot, pulled off the dead blossoms and yellowing leaves. It revived almost immediately and is growing. In fact, beneath the top flower layer and tucked inside the leaves, tiny buds form. As the old blossoms die off, new ones pop out. The primrose in the plastic pot is a small blessing growing before my eyes.

I am thankful to God who makes ice and snow but who also promises us flowers, spring, a change of season and new growth. If there were 365 days of winter, we’d never see the beauty of a primrose. If there were nothing but unending sunny days, would we not yearn for cold?

Eccelesiastes tells us that “to everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven. “ There is a time to water and plant and a season for things to die. My windowsill flower helps me to look forward to the next season which the Lord is bringing even as the former one fades and drop off. The watering will come from Him if we trust. He reveals the beauty and promise of the next season  for His Beloved in the Song of Solomon:

“My beloved spoke and said to me,

“Arise, my darling,

my beautiful one, come with me.

See! The winter is past;

the rains are over and gone.

Flowers appear on the earth;

the season of singing has come… “Song 2: 10-12

It is time. Prepare,  to sing  like  a flower!

I’ve recently come back from a week long retreat at St. Gertrude’s Monastery in Cottonwood. When possible, I give myself this gift in January after the holiday craziness.   Regretfully, I couldn’t go last year because other commitments pulled me away and so I was more than excited to return to the beauty of the Camas prairie.   The retreat is called “Come to the Quiet” and is exactly that – a call to silence for seven days. When I tell this to friends, their response is similar: “Not talk for a whole week? I couldn’t do that! No way! How do you do it?” Some of them infer they’d love to do something similar, but…

During the retreat we’re encouraged to leave all the busyness behind and to seek God in silence, in prayer and in community. There’s no casual conversation with one another and except for times with one of the retreat directors – or chapel prayer, my mouth stays closed. That’s not easy for when my mouth stops, I hear my mind’s exceedingly intrusive clamor. It’s the noise of myself living in a fallen world. Most of us talk a lot because we’re trying to drown out the ceaseless mind chatter.

The first silent retreat I attended,  I’d loaded my car with books, computer, journals and just in case I got bored, a huge prayer shawl to knit. My director wisely suggested I leave all the excess in the car. She did allow me my Bible, my writing and a bit of knitting. The monastery has two well stocked libraries for books, the Internet was sketchy and at the time I didn’t have an I-phone. I did not need a thing to do!

It usually takes several days for me to unwind and come into silence. One of the hardest adjustments is having communal meals without talking. There’s plenty of dining room noise: silverware and dishes clattering, carrots crunching, me discreetly blowing my nose, soup being slurped. Every tiny noise is exaggerated and funny when there are a dozen people eating together. Even harder is returning to my room at 6:00 p.m. after dinner and evening prayer. Suddenly there’s a huge block of time before bed. What to do with it? No television, no phones, no music! The quiet becomes huge. It is scary for some because our noisy world has desensitized us to believe we need to deafen ourselves with more and more sound. Being silent in my room at night brings forces me to face my dependency on noise pollution and my  escapism.

I go for walks on the hills surrounding the monastery or  simply sit, watching the panoramic sunrises and cloud- infused heavens. An art room is for playing. One year I made a constellation in my bedroom with yarn and paper. Another time I cut dozens of tissue paper snow flakes and made big messes. Snipping, painting and making messes with my hands releases creativity God has given me, an artistry usually buried. About midway through the week something happens. Silence deepens into Presence. Answers come. I learn to wade through the clatter and the chatter and to seek God’s small, still Voice instead. It’s the Voice heard by Elijah and the One spoken of so beautifully in Psalm 46 :

Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

In my present season of transition, God’s Word encourages. I really don’t know what to do except be still for a while and wait. My experience during the retreat confirms that. I played but also  listened more deeply. I wrote a lot and returned with insights and direction. If there was no other Scripture to inspire me, Psalm 46 would suffice.

It tells what to do and how to do it . Be. Calm down. Quit wiggling. God speaks to the restless, jittery soul, just like a parent would remind an overactive child to sit down. It gives the reason for stillness… to know. The purpose of quiet and stillness is to know God in the Biblical sense. It is to find deep intimacy with a Person, not with an idea of a person and then it identifies who that Person is… God, the great I AM. It’s the tender Voice of Jesus rising in the heart, calling us to listen.

Friede

My soul, wait silently for God alone, For my expectation is from Him. Psalm 62:5

Now that I am no longer involved with the food bank and Heartland Hunger business,  I’ve received an unexpected gift – the gift of time. In the past when I was at my busiest I often wished for more hours in the day so that I could…

Take a morning walk

Pray more faithfully

Catch up on the mountain of paper work

Cross off yesterday’s to-do list

Get a head start on today’s to- do list

Clean out those messy closets

Visit with old friends

Do everything I really enjoy – which would be…?

Write my story.

I’ve never had enough time. Whether I was a student, a mother raising children, a teacher, volunteer, or administrator my days were never, ever long enough to do and accomplish and complete everything on my plate. I am not alone. Hasn’t each one of us wished for more than the daily 24 hours allotted to us by God? We silently cry out, “Lord, where has the day gone – and look at what I still have to do. If only I had another hour or two!”

I find myself now at the opposite extreme. Time has plopped itself at my feet like a large stray dog looking for attention and I don’t know what to do with it. There is no place I have to go, no persons I have to meet with, nothing that I need to take care of or be responsible for. I can now play all day long. Sounds great, doesn’t it? It is a mixed blessing.

I didn’t realize how hard this would be. Resigning from HH&RC was comparatively easy. Walking it out is an entirely different matter because now I am like a fish out of water. Take away the aquarium and suddenly I flop around in the air, totally out of my   element which has always been doing something. Being task and goal oriented is not a bad thing, but as a friend reminds me , “ Friede, you are a human being not a human doing. “  In reality, I can easily fill up the next 30, 60, 90 days with  busy work. I could clean out every closet in the house, etc., etc., and when finished still ache with a deep malaise of the spirit.   If Satan can’t entice you to sin, he will distract you to keep very, very busy instead. It is one of his cruelest, cleverest ploys to keep us from God.

In this present season of open ended time, the challenge is to go against busyness and to wait on God , with God. Psalm 46 calls us to hear God’s Voice in inner silence.

He says, “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10

Stillness isn’t a void . It isn’t mindless emptiness or bored waiting for the next thing. Stillness is purposeful for there is a very  active command in the psalm: Be still. Know your God. Exalt Him in the earth. The waters of stillness run deep into the heart of God Himself. It is where we know the Unknowable One.

God did not intend fish to be in fish tanks. Fish are created for rivers and lakes and oceans. Like them we live and breathe and have our true being elsewhere, not in aquariums, however wonderful they are, but in the still, vast oceans of God’s Spirit, in Christ Jesus.  To enter in we paradoxically have to wait.

Friede

And when they had opened their treasures, they presented gifts to Him. Matthew 2:11

As we get back to normal  after the holidays, it’s a good idea to reflect on Christmas’ “spirit of giving” which so dominated the last months. January brings a healthy dose of reality as stacks of bills arrive and we scratch our financial brains to pay for what seemed like great ideas a month ago. Admittedly, didn’t we all spend far too much for our loved ones? Did the children really need every “must have” touted on the Disney Channel? Well, we’ve all succumbed to “wish lists”, especially with children. As a doting grandmother who “loves to give good gifts” to our grandchildren, I am normally  generous, but my common sense goes missing at Christmas.

Isn’t the “Christmas spirit” all about giving good gifts to our families and friends?  Well, yes and no. As cultural postmodernism plays dice with the meanings of words, we’re inclined to believe that “giving” and “buying/shopping” are synonymous. The genuine desire to give to those we love is increasingly misdirected toward the marketplace. By the end of the season when the glow of Christmas tarnishes, who has not felt down right worn out, depressed and deeply  unsatisfied? We’ve been duped by a false spirit of buying and selling which, incidentally, Jesus drove from the temple. Today that spirit is deeply entrenched in shopping malls and on line, especially at Christmas. It entices us away from the truth.

We have forgotten the gift of kings.

The tradition of giving Christmas gifts may come from the story of the three Magi who followed a star to Bethlehem. It’s a good place in God’s Word to ponder. The Magi were Eastern astronomers searching the skies for answers to prophesies and when an unusual bright new star appeared, there must have been great excitement. The Magi were learned men who knew the ancient scriptures from the prophet Micah :

…out of you (Bethlehem) will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient time Micah 5:2

They were not stargazing adventurers nor did they blindly follow a cosmological phenomenon out of scientific curiosity. Theirs was a pilgrimage to find the king prophesied by Micah. The star pointing to Bethlehem was the sign. The Bible says that they brought valuable gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. It’s important to remember that they brought these treasures with them from the East. They didn’t shop for them along the way in a crowded bazaar or haggle in the desert with a traveling caravan merchant. The Magi purposely followed the star to Jesus. Expecting to find a king, they came prepared with gifts befitting a king.

Were they shocked to find a newborn baby swaddled in a dirty animal shelter, instead of a child in a gilded palace? Probably and most likely. And yet, Matthew writes that when they saw the star resting over where Jesus lay, the Magi “rejoiced with exceedingly great joy.” He then adds:

After coming into the house they saw the Child with Mary His mother; and they fell to the ground and worshiped Him. Then, opening their treasures, they presented to Him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Matthew 2:11-12

Why fall to the ground to worship  a seemingly ordinary, poor baby? Why lay extravagant gifts before the Child.? Why such exceeding great joy?

It is because as kings – or royal wise men- they immediately discerned Jesus’ royalty and were overjoyed because Micah’s prophecy was right before their eyes. In Jesus they saw the future Messiah of Israel but supernatural revelation of Christ’s divinity drove them to their knees in worship.  Their epiphany moments with Jesus changed their cosmology  forever. The Magi- Wise Men – Kings gave Jesus  precious gifts gold, frankincense and myrrh, but I believe they gave the Lord something far more precious. They opened their hearts to Him in adoration.

Our Creator instilled in us the desire to give good gifts to those we love because God loves and is generous toward us. His intentions and gifts to us don’t change and neither should ours. I am tired of the serpent hissing lies in my ears that the gift of love has a price tag which can be discounted 20, 30,  50%  at whim.  I say “Enough and be gone already in the Name of the Lord.” Far more than gold I desire the Magi’s gift for King Jesus and  for those I love – my heart left in the straw. That is the royal gift which can’t be bought or sold.

Friede

 Commit your work to the LORD, and your plans will be established. Proverbs 16:3

It’s been well over a week since I officially resigned from Heartland Hunger & Resource Center, aka, the food bank. As of January 1^st , I’m no longer the director or on the board or even a volunteer. In actuality, the business of HH&RC was transitioned over to the board since I told them in September that I felt it was time for me to step down. January 1 is just the date to solidify a change over.

It was not an easy decision to make. The food bank and all it entails has been a very large and important part of my life since late 2000. In fact, I learned to be a Christian at and through the food bank.    I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior after, not before  showing  up at the food bank. In serving, I learned how to love the unlovable because  Jesus loved me first. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind and heart that only God could have used a messed up woman as unqualified as me to be at the helm of this particular little tug boat grown into something like an ocean liner in 2016.

There is no doubt whatsoever that God has blessed us with provision at every step of the way and that His hand was always, always open to us. He has brought wonderful friends into my life and taught me volumes about the dear, quirky families we serve each week. There is no doubt but that God changes hearts and responds expansively to those who choose to serve Him. He makes the impossible possible. He gave us miracle after miracle, year after year and filled me with awe and wonder. Now, ex officio, I’ll be the privileged testimony to our God who loves the poor and who guides His servants.

Along with the vision I’ve held for the food bank and its future, I have always known when I’d be released to step down and turn things over. The Lord gave me an invisible time table many years ago and the timing has become very clear. It is now. Our board members are strong, dedicated and faith filled with compassion and love for clients. Linda, our new director is experienced and already doing a great work leading. The churches and community continue to walk with us in faith.   There are often more volunteers than needed and most of them can’t wait to come back.  Donations and finances are in good standing.  We even have  a tech savvy  woman who’s facebooked us  into the world of social media! How lovely that I could leave when HH&RC is in the best of the best situation!

The truth is I am not so much resigning as being released,   allowing HH&RC to  move forward into the next stages of God’s plans.  And I am released to find the Lord’s next surprising adventures . My heart overflows  with  gratitude and love  for this wonderful  ministry even as I leave it in already capable  good hands.

Nevertheless, I will miss it terribly. I already do.

Friede

I am the Lord…

It’s been very  cold in the mornings. Today before the sun was fully awake, the thermometer on the deck read -8 degrees. That’s cold! But the scenery is an exquisite  study in white  on black. Snow blankets   every shrub and bush  like errant   clouds caught in the branches.  At the house,  snow is piled up to almost the window sill.

Every morning   I sit at my dining table looking for God’s surprises and am never disappointed.  Icicles curve inward into long fingers  around the upper windows. Frost crystals decorate the glass panes. A nuthatch pecks at pine cones looking for seeds. My dwarf lilac tree bends over under the weight of the snow, white mounds on the bare branches. I am reminded of Japan.

While in Kyoto last October we visited several Buddhist and Shinto shrines. The city is reputed to have over 10,000 prayer shrines scattered throughout the  city and on the mountains. The Shinto shrines are identifiable by their colossal red Tori gates which symbolize and demarcate the profane from the spiritual realms. One of the shrines we visited was the Fushimi-Inari Shrine which is dedicated to the rice god and its protector fox. People come to the shrines to pray for all kinds of favor from the gods, for health, wealth, and especially good fortune. They ritually wash their hands, light candles, burn incense and pray  in front of the  temple . Sometimes they  ring a massive gong which is said to send the prayer in the direction of the hovering gods.  I watched as many people wrote prayers on strips of paper which were then hung on wooden cross bars near the temples.

Later at another shrine I saw small trees covered with what might have been thousands of paper prayers. Several workers were taking the papers down and burning them – so that the trees could be filled up again and again, months and years into the future.

Then I thought,  “To whom or to what are these people praying?” The answer is – No one. Shintoism is  animistic, believing that spirits – and demons- reside in trees or animals or crops or water. It does not  believe in an after life, but in destiny and rebirth until one’s karma is satisfied. There is no one true God. There is no Whom.

There is no cross of atonement. There is no  God of mercy and grace nor Holy Spirit of truth, comfort and wisdom. There is no Savior to redeem their lives. The Shinto religion is manifested in rituals without any resolutions. It is completely one-sided based on what one does and practices.

…The idols of the nations are but silver and gold, The work of man’s hands. They have mouths, but they do not speak; They have eyes, but they do not see; They have ears, but they do not hear, Nor is there any breath at all in their mouths.… Psalm 135:15-17

No rice deity or fox god can answer prayers for they are inanimate idols who cannot hear or speak to answer prayers.   Then, sadly every paper prayer is as ephemeral as snow in my lilac tree. The only solace is found by practitioners in the endless cycle of offerings to deaf and mute idols.

My heart broke thinking about an entire people offering  paper prayers that go now where except eventually into a burn pile.  They don’t  know there is a  path  far better  than pilgrimages past fox statues positioned along the red Tori gates –  the Way of Jesus.  He alone offers  Himself as answer to the heart’s deepest longings.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me – especially  when  I am among a multitude  who don’t have Christ. It is by God’s grace alone I have been called differently.

What of us? Do we perhaps also offer paper prayers to our God?   Are our prayers as worthless as paper strips because  we rely on what we do rather than relying on the One who is listening? Prayers not based on  God’s will and faith in Christ  vaporize into nothingness.  Are there  some Tori gates built up in our secret prayer closets that need to be taken down  so we can   “seek, ask and knock” on God’s throne instead? It may be time to ferret out  hidden idols and ask the Holy spirit to reveal  religious practices we bow down to even as we pray .   God made very clear to Moses what He expected of man. It was a commandment written in stone, not on a paper strip.

I am Yahweh your God, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourselves an idol, nor any image of anything that is in the heavens above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: you shall not bow yourself down to them, nor serve them, for I, Yahweh your God, am a jealous God… . Exodus 20:2-6

Today I am  inspired to something I’ve not done for a very long time: write a poem. I am offering it as praise to the Lord for all His beauteous and wondrous works in Creation.

Grandeur

I walk in grandeur.

The trees hold snow like rounded breasts

or is it snow which nurses   trees?

Between the valley’s edge and mountain’s grip

a haze of clouds, like spread out wings

takes flight. I wonder where it wanders

when I’m not watching, where the face and hands

of clouds reside?

Some speak of grander sights. My  driveway

paved with sparkling  light, a billion diamonds

in the snow, blinds and bedazzles me.

Where is the brush to paint? Where is the song or flute

for winter songs? Where are the perfect  words

to  praise  God’s glory such as this?

Friede