Lost Donkeys, Lost Steers, and the Crazy Places God Meets Us

Today, Sunday, three of us were home sick, and I picked up this book that I've had for many weeks from the library.

It's a hilarious book with some potent life lessons, called Flash:The Homeless Donkey Who Taught me about Life, Faith, and Second Chances.

I have been deeply touched with the stories in this book about this priceless donkey.

Today's story reminded me of our recent morning hunt for lost steers. 

Today I read the chapter 12 where Rachel Ridge's donkey ran away the night of a storm that blew the pasture gate off its hinges.

They spent part of the next morning hunting for it and waiting for a call from the sheriff 

to let them know when someone found it.

The author wrote about reading that morning the story of Saul and his lost donkeys--

and how Saul's frustrating experience with lost donkeys was actually the way God chose 

to encounter Saul with a new destiny--and spiritual transformation. 

[I got this picture of a nearby neighbor's donkeys or burros while out hunting for our steers.]

I hope this clip from her book will be an encouragement to others as it was to me. 

Rachel wrote,

"We wander all over the figurative countryside trying to solve our donkey problems'"

 [and for us, steer problems!]

"Our financial setbacks. Our hurting marriages.

Our parenting issues. Our soul-killing jobs. Rocky relationships. 

Ill health. Insecurities. Fears. Doubts...

But while we're out there in the middle of Nowhereville like Saul was,

God has already been at work.

In fact, Nowhereville is just where we are supposed to be.

"I started to see that all of our donkey problems, our hard situations, are the very things God uses

to get us to a place of encounter. A place where our hearts are made new. Like Saul,

we've come to the end of everything we can think of to do,

and we've given up.

And then we give it one last chance, one more shot, and boom

That's the moment God shows up."

"When we're out of our comfort zones, have used up all of our resources, 

and are at the end of all hope. 

That's the place where He meets us. 

And I suddenly knew that it was through my circumstances that God had changed me."

"I'd gone from a starry-eyed dreamer to a wiser, seasoned woman who wasn't afraid of hard work and overcoming obstacles.

I went from fear of failing to confidence in His grace. 

From one who simply read about God's strength in weakness to one who experienced it firsthand. From someone who despised the struggles to one who embraced the lessons found in them. 

All the situations I tried to fix were simply His means to get me to where He wanted me to be."

"Lost donkeys.

God's purposes...

Your journey isn't about fixing donkey problems.

It's about transformation."

So take a break like the finally found steers and the puppies once they all reached home!

Like I said to the Lord this evening,

"Thank You for all these unnerving problems You've allowed in my life.

You wanted parts of me to be transformed.

You wanted to wean me from the huge need of approval of man,

until I could be confident in who I was 

and Who You were, and Your love for me
whether others always approve of me or not."

Ever Heard of Hair Wreaths Before?

A couple weeks ago, our home school group visited the Colorado Springs Pioneer Museum which is right downtown. 

We'd picked up Aunt Irina so she could enjoy visiting with us a bit of our western heritage.

This is one of the few free places to visit around here!

Here is a statue of Katherine Lee Bates, the author of "America the Beautiful."

In the front room where we entered,something caught my eye.
Not because it was all that beautiful or amazing, but because it was unusual.

It was called a hair wreath.

This intricate wreath behind this glass is made of human hair!
If you are like me, you never heard of a hair wreath before.

But three days later, a friend was calling me, and she was going through some old things from deceased relatives, and found things she thought were valuable including a "hair wreath."

She wondered if I had ever heard of a hair wreath before.

Boy was I glad I had just visited this museum and increased my wondrous store of knowledge so I could say yes, I had just seen a couple at the museum!

If you are like me, you aren't all that excited about a hair wreath, either.
But there were plaques on the wall describing the "elaborate design of flowers, leaves, and stems." There was even an actual bird beak in one wreath.
And the names of the women who contributed either craft or hair were inscribed on the plaques.

 But all I could think about was that verse where Jesus said,

"Even the very hairs of your head are all numbered."

I don't think much of the hairs that fall out of my head, (other than to bewail the drastic numbers that are falling lately), do you?

They aren't worth much. I scrape them out of my hair brush and dangle them into the waste basket and try to keep the last stray one from sticking to my rough fingers. 

Hard to believe we have a God that actually knows how many hairs I just dropped into the wastebasket this morning, and how many are left on my head.

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Is it sometimes hard to fathom a heavenly Father that knows and cares enough
to count hairs
and tears
and weary miles trudged,
instead of sitting like a judge in a courtroom, weighing in on everything you do--or don't do?

A judge who counts misdemeanors and mistakes and miserly meanness and mirages
instead of missing pieces and miseries and moans and miracles and
all the little matters that make up life
and from which we call to Him for His help and wisdom?

John writes that God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world,
but that the world through Him might be saved.

In that museum, there was a large room dedicated to relics from the days when Colorado Springs was known for its wonderful climate for sufferers from tuberculosis.
Colorado Springs was known as the "City of Sunshine."

Reading that encouraged me, for I often think of how much I miss the dear little violets that I used to love back east, and all the daffodils and spring flowers back there, all that are there because of the rich rains.
But here, there is a wealth of sunshine, and I do so need that, too!
This plaque read, "There is absolutely no need of dying of consumption if one will try the climatic prevention."

Christ did not come to condemn but to save.
And when we are overwhelmed and worried and overworked and perhaps a bit frantic about all the issues we are facing,
and more and more hairs are falling into the wastebasket,
what do we suppose our heavenly Father is counting?

Don't you suppose that He who counts a mother's hairs
dropping into the wastebasket each day,
counts her weary steps and her countless jobs and her fears and worries and frustrations, too?

When the steers get out for the umpteenth time, and the biggest boy goes driving around and can't find them,
so mom and little ones end up driving around, too, and finds those steers, and helps herd them,
and falls in the snow and nearly sprains her ankle,
and then has to deal with a daughter that's fussing about her tummy hurting and then throws up,
and dad is struggling with frazzling work and runs out of diesel all on the same day,

don't you suppose that He who counts a father's hairs
counts the miles in weary moccasins and diesel trucks?

 Don't you suppose that He Who has walked the same weary miles in our moccasins

will care about little you and about little me?

He didn't come to condemn, but to save, and if we will remember that the Father loves to comfort

and knows every detail that concerns us,

we will find strength for another weary mile.

"Like as a Mother Comforteth"

The past few weeks have been chock full of children (and parents) with either croup, coughs,

 or stomach aches and other maladies, especially poor Hannah. 

She had a fever and wasn't feeling well for a day or two and suddenly, it was full blown croup.

It almost always hits suddenly.

And usually in the middle of the night.

So I was just ready to hit the sack when I heard this awful sound, and Hannah was having a hard time catching her breath, wheezing and whooping, and coughing so hard she nearly threw up.

Both she and I panicked for a moment, and then she was the one who hollered, "It's croup!"

And I got her to calm down and get a drink for her dry throat, and then Jonathan and I bundled her up warmly under blankets under an open window with cold air coming in--the best way to treat croup.

The cold air soothes the swollen airways and brings down the swelling so they can breathe better.

Hannah kept moaning and waking up a bit frantic, so after countless times of jumping out of bed to go to her side, I ended up bringing couch cushions in by her temporary bedside and sleeping beside her.

Jonathan got this picture of us the next morning!

Yeah, after a night like that,  not everything is spic and span. 

And yeah, I could never stretch completely out on just two couch cushions.

Should've brought in three. 

And the next night, while I filled the vaporizer and diffuser and got things ready for Hannah to sleep again,

Jonathan took Hannah outside, all bundled up, to the porch swing, to get her a good dose of cold air, which we hoped would stave away the worst of the coughing.

It worked. 

Between that cold air dose, a window open a little, and the vaporizer and diffuser, she slept all night.

But that first awful night, all it took was a little comforting pat from her mommy to calm our little daughter down. She would stir with a bit of a wail and a moan and a cough perhaps, and I would jump and run to her side and give her a comforting pat, and she would fall asleep again without waking clear up. 

"Like as a mother comforteth." I kept thinking of that Scripture.

Just a little comforting pat from Mommy, and all was well again.
All was well,
because Mommy was there.

And all is well when God is there.
We don't always feel the comforting pat, so to speak.
Sometimes we have to seek for it, yet other times we are surprised with the joy of His genuine comfort,
words from Scripture, encouragement from family or friends.

All is well when God is there. 

Butterfly in February--and Hope from Ashes

Last Sunday we had a picnic--yes, in February-- after church service up along a creek nearby.

And while we were waiting for the friends we'd invited, we were astonished to see

this butterfly fluttering by.
Yes, in February.

It lit here and there and then fluttered away and we thought it was gone.

But then it came back again, landing on one rock after another,

or on the ground, right by our feet.

It's not very often you see a butterfly in February. 

It was like a promise of hope--

like a rainbow on a rainy day,

a little promise of hope after hearing that morning of my brother losing his home to a fire.

Our friends and we sat eating at the table, discussing the fire situation,

and a fire that our friend had also experienced earlier in life. 

And the sun shone while coats hung in the bushes and I wandered along the creek a bit,

restless with the shocking news and my heart going out to my brother and his wife

and family.

But that butterfly was a token of hope, 

it seemed to me.
And then I read yesterday evening this clip from a guest post of Ann Voskamp's blog:

"We tremble.

God says, “Do not fear.”

We wander.

Grace calls out to us by name.

We wane in the heat of firestorms.

Love shields us from the flames.
[Below is an area near our friends' house that had a grass fire a few weeks ago.]
 

"We struggle in the streams and are swayed by the currents.

God reaches for shaky hands, grips us with comfort, and assures us that we are not alone.

He holds on tight and keeps our heads above the water.

I know this in my heart. I know this is true. I know His presence is real and His rescues are promised, but when the waves keep crashing on the shore one after another, I find myself exhausted from the strain … and I wonder if God might have taken a day off...

But no! I know better.

God doesn’t even take naps. Only my faith does.

"Wake up, sleepy soul. Wake up!

In order to have a faith so strong it can withstand whatever life brings our way—the hurricanes, cancer treatments, eating disorders, hard conversations with hardened hearts, joblessness, broken relationships, doubts that seek to drown us—our hands must raise in surrender to the things He allows. And our eyes must constantly search for His.

While a life purposed for Christ is chock-full of blessings—many of which are completely incredible and comfortable—each surrendered life is also filled with struggles that God uses to help us become mature and complete.
 

The Bible doesn’t sugarcoat this. It says that we are promised challenges and trials.

That when we choose to follow Christ, some things will actually get worse or become more difficult.

That the world is fallen—broken—and it will hate us as it hated Christ.

That we have to take up our crosses and follow Him.

Love as He loves.

Be holy as He is holy.

Forgive as He forgives.

Endure as He endures.
 

If we really want it all—all that God has for us—we must search for the blessings in the blisterings as well as in the bliss.

The good news is that there are always blessings in the blisterings. We just need to look for them.

When our eyes are open to seeing the beauty in our brokenness, blessings flow, even in the bloodiest of blisters.

Because trials are trials with all their pain and ache, but hidden in the dark corner of every challenge is an intimate, intensely personal invitation

 for us to meet face-to-face, heart to heart,

with our Comforter,

our Head Lifter,

our Healer,

our Tear Catcher,

our Provider,

our Counselor,

our Refuge,

our Lord.

If I want all the faith God has for me, I have to want all the depth, all the growth, all the profundity that comes from knowing Jesus.

I need to want maturity and intimacy with Him more than I want comfort. 
 

And when God calls me out into the deep waters of a trial, I want to be a woman who doesn’t run.
 

Yes. I want to grow in faith, and if one way to do that is to go through trials and challenges, then bring them on.

I want it all."

Wow!

I don't know if I could say that. But it was challenging to read that. 

[These are a few pictures taken at a friend's place where Rose and Timmy did chores for them and where I was so thankful to enjoy trees!]

An Amish family and some other friends and relatives were helping my brother and his wife clean up the fire damage Saturday back there in Pennsylvania.
 Anita was breathless when I called on the phone.
Anything salvageable was being saved and washed up by the ladies and girls
while the men were tearing down the burned walls and getting the place ready
for a skid loader that a neighbor had,
to scrape up the mess and fill the dumpster.
And the day after the fire, Elon's family was out collecting maple sap just like ever.
Elon's, Fain's and Dorcas's families are all collecting sap and boiling down maple syrup this year.
These are pictures Dorcas sent of her children collecting sap in Vermont. 

 There aren't pictures of Elon's doing it, so I'm substituting these!

I was so amazed at Elon's family--all at the same time they were painfully sorting through charcoal to see if anything could be salvaged, they were also continuing to collect sap.

 Life goes on, and you face it glumly--

or bravely.

 You deal with the charcoal of your life's losses.

And then you gather sap to make maple syrup.

Because He has said, "You shall walk through the fire, and shall not be burned."

In the middle of every suffering,

God provides a special mercy or blessing---

like maple syrup!

Dear God, I'm No Double-Yoker Egg-Laying Hen

"Those who compare themselves among themselves are not wise," 

says the good book.

And so it's easy for a pretty ordinary mom to compare herself to other moms who, for example, can get along on five or six hours sleep at night,

 home school ten kids, grind their own flour, grow their own gardens, can 3000 quarts of fruits and vegetables a year, have a music ministry, travel to exotic places, write umpteen books,

and run family businesses--all at the same time

while your're proud if your kids raise a few bunnies to sell,

 and keep struggling along with piano lessons,

train puppies,

and actually start learning to pick up behind themselves.

Others write books that actually get published, 

and you stumble around on a little blog because

you're no double-yoker egg-laying hen!

I cannot do everything that needs to be done anymore than Elijah couldn't.

I can't save all the people who need saved.

I can't answer everyone's questions or get them to ask better ones that I could answer.

Maybe I'm not even a common, ordinary hen anymore--

or yet. 

Maybe your contribution to the morning breakfast is an egg so tiny it gets showed all around to the 

rest of the gang.

"Look how small this egg is!"

But just be patient.

In time, your contribution will add up. 

It might just be a little bit a day, here a little, there a little,

precept upon precept, line upon line. 

Your contribution to breakfast,

or home,

or church,

or school,

or the mission field, 

or the charity or the volunteer work

will add up and count someday.

 Your little bitty egg is still an egg.

Your little bitty contribution is still a contribution. 

And He who multiplied the five loaves and two fishes

loves to be given the little that we have.

He's the One that grows it and multiplies it. 

It's up to Him to make something wonderful out of it.