Thriving...in Spite of It

I have a number of flowering vines, deliberately planted, and innumerable wild ones populating the backyard and prayer trail beyond it. I am fascinated by their very determined twining and stretching, in spite of barriers, dry places, and competition for soil… But there are two such vines that struck me this morning because of the disparity in their growth.  One—a climbing hydrangea—has yet to live up to its name. It’s not the vine’s fault. I had just assumed it would climb up the wall, so I’ve given it nothing to cling to. One year later, it’s still more like a meager little bush, evidently stunted in its growth for lack of a trellis.  The other one, on the other hand—a Mandevilla—has twined itself tightly onto the trellis I gave it, intricately and inseparably weaving through its sturdy iron structure over and over, back and forth. If ever there was an image of a living thing clinging to something, this is it.  As we live and grow, we need something strong, steady, and solid to cling

Thank  From the winding ascent of Black Snake Road through the mountains of Arkansas to the many breathtaking overlook points in the Rockies in Colorado, you’ll find miles and miles of guardrails. Like sentries marching alongside the road, they stand as barriers between the safe and level asphalt and a sometimes cavernous drop into the depths below.  We don’t question guardrails on roads like that. N fact, when we see a potentially treacherous road without them, we wonder why they aren’t there.  Yet we have a desire to careen carelessly through life, without boundaries or barriers — without commandments.  This is a hard thing to convey — that the God whose mercies are new every morning and whose love stretches to the skies also has rules. But like little children, we stretch out our little hand and touch what he’s already told us “no—that’s hot,” and then we are angry with Him because we got burned.  It’s not from tyranny that He says “don’t” or puts up guardrails, but from love. Like

What does hope have to do with courage?  I got the answer from a bumblebee.  Just a few feet away from me, an imminent threat to some, he hovers around the lavender this morning, tediously but persistently checking each tiny blossom for pollen. I move to pick up my coffee mug; he dodges ever so slightly, then returns to his task, inching closer and closer to where I sit as he works his way down the row.  It’s not that he’s careless of or oblivious to danger; he is just more determined than his instinctive and fully justifiable fears to secure what he needs in spite of them. Many of the blooms have dried or fallen, but he persists in checking each one anyway, driven by a minuscule possibility that there still might be something left. He hopes. He is driven by hope. His hope gives him courage to persist. And as he persists, courageously, he is rewarded by finding the occasional prize. Because of his courage, he finds more reason to hope.  So hope and courage flow in an interdependent sta

“Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow.” ‭‭James‬ ‭1:17‬ ‭NLT‬‬ I have a lot of family and friends with March birthdays, and as the years add up, it becomes harder and harder to find that “perfect gift.” Perhaps it’s because we change so much as we pass from decade to decade, like walking through successive doors connecting room after room of its own discoveries and challenges.  And then there is the perception that everyone else is as difficult to please as we are. We think we know exactly what we want or need, but we end up choosing things — even for ourselves — that don’t fit or function the way we imagined. Even our own plans undermine us, leading us into frustration or failure, leaving us eventually disappointed or discontented and looking for the next thing that hopefully won’t.  We go on as if life “just happens” or happens to us instead of for us… Angry

Standing on a shore and watching the waves rhythmically rolling in, I would say my fascination is as perpetual and continuous as the never ending ripple or crash they deliver to the shoreline. Whether it’s Galveston or Myrtle Beach, San Diego or even Lake Hamilton, I’m completely mesmerized.  I watch and I wonder. I wonder about the God who carved out the shores made me and knows me. And just as He told the waters “go here, and no further,” He has set boundaries and protection around me, carving out a path for my very own unique purpose.  I wonder about the God who sets all these waves and tides in perpetual but perfect motion with the laws of nature, rising and ebbing in perfect timing with the moon’s mysterious pull—how can He have the time or concern to orchestrate the things in my life, as well? After all, it’s “just me.” But it’s “just me” that He has in his hand. His right hand — the hand of authority, as when a king raises his scepter in his right hand and mighty men bow, crowds

It’s funny that with all the testing we have in our lives, from SATs to MRIs, blood sugar and skills tests, COVID and drug tests, personality assessments, and pregnancy tests, we resist the idea that our faith will be tested, too.  We rely on both the necessity and the results of tests that tell us our water is safe to drink or our 16-year-olds are ready to drive, but we question — we are even horrified and offended, if we were completely honest — the fact that sometimes our faith must be tested, too.  So, what’s the purpose? As with any test, we could look to the old business axiom that tells us “whatever gets measured gets improved.” While the original source of this quote is disputed, the concept is applied universally, whether consciously or not. The point is, assessing things periodically is the key to improving them. We need to increase our faith, whatever amount we have, so we must not only recognize when it’s being tested but also honestly and humbly accept whatever that test