A NEW TRADITION

Christmas conjures up the sweet smell of spritz cookies; those fancy dollops of maple, lemon, and chocolate squeezed from my cookie press and packaged for our friends.

Laden with tinsel and lights, the evergreen tree winked at me in delight as I admired the handmade ornaments created from clothespins, felt, and glitter. Then others that were cross-stitched: a little drummer boy, reindeer, candles, all stuffed with cotton, dangling on branches from improvised thread hangers. 

The young hands that fashioned the dancing angels, soldiers at attention, and gingerbread man are busy now in their father’s home. 

For a brief while this morning, there was a flurry of gift-giving, with squeals and laughter. Wads of brightly colored paper waited patiently to be taken to our bin. Not long ago, five chairs around our dining table were filled with me and my four pajama-clad children, ages 2, 6, 8, and 10.  

Heaping plates of pancakes decked with cherries and cream were soon swallowed in hushed awe. Then, slowly, I broached the subject of them dressing and me combing their hair for their departure. Feet shuffled up and down the staircase while each sat expectantly with their backpacks and sleeping bags stacked nearby.

Now, their laughter is only an echo in my memory. I busied myself with dishes, vacuuming, and mopping until there was nothing else left to face but my thoughts.

Unable to avoid the reality that this first Christmas Day would soon fade without any family or friends to hug goodnight, I reflected back upon other Christmases that at first glance seemed to invite a bleak spirit.

There was a Christmas spent in faraway Asia, several spent during penny-pinching times, and now today asked me for a toughness I didn’t possess. My soul was weary from this recent challenge. No matter how many times I invited it to go, stubbornly, the ache in my heart would not leave. 

One Christmas was spent 6,400 miles away from our families in the teeming city of Tokyo. I can still hear the clattering wooden geta on the pavement that the women wore with their traditional kimonos as they headed to the nearby bus stop for a ride to a festival. 

With our sliding glass doors to our balcony open, smells of the neighbor’s fried food wafted in as the commuter buses roared past. The quick exhale of their brakes reminded me of the drums rumbling as the hunters came through the woods in Peter and the Wolf. High-pitched women’s voices, with their now-familiar intonations, floated throughout the open hallways of our building.

Downtown in the Ginza, the exclusive shopping district where land was over one million dollars a square foot in the 1970’s, luxurious department stores adopted the westerner’s holiday traditions and stocked tree lights and ornaments in a small area. Familiar carols were piped over the intercom system to encourage purchases with a nostalgic touch.

I busied myself baking streusels and braided sweetbreads as gifts for several Japanese friends and neighbors who had befriended us. I tried to ignore the pangs of homesickness that reminded me of how sad it was that our parents were afar off, as far as the distance I felt from this culture, as Christmas drew near. But my two-year-old daughter and baby boy made it worth the trouble to hunt down some traditional trappings and to prepare the goodies. 

Several Christmases were spent during our lean years working in churches. The arrival of the Christmas holidays was usually a cruel reminder of our poverty. We lived contentedly in our meager circumstances the rest of the year, but the pressure to buy extra gifts and trappings stressed us both. 

During these hard times, we joined forces with friends to raise a cow and later a pig to butcher and share. Some friends came to help make tamales and to cut and wrap the meat. Lard was rendered with lye to make soap, which I poured into school milk cartons that I gathered one day after the children had left the lunchroom.

All who joined in those workdays divided the packages and cartons among us. These were grand times full of friendly chatter and laughter amid the messy work. We felt rich and satisfied as we stocked our freezer, making the best of things.

Christmas challenges stirred our creativity as we found ways to make gifts to share with those we loved. Simple gifts like my homemade granola, hot cocoa, and hot spiced tea mixes, delivered in canning jars decorated with plaid ribbons tied in bows. No cards--instead duplicated letters packed full of achievements of Jennie, Nathan, and Audrey at school, the first words of Jonathan and his antics, and excitement as we described our first country home surrounded by sugar cane fields. Gifts might have been few, but the time was rich together.

As I finished reminiscing about these other tough holidays, I realized there were always good memories as well, so that old ache lost its grip on me.

I focused now on today, wondering if my children felt as odd about spending this holiday without me as I did about spending it without them.

Exhausted and tired of the company of this melancholy spirit, I reached for my guitar. I sat strumming while my mind meditated. My heart warmed as I recounted so many things I was grateful for. Opening my Bible to the Psalms, I sang the words and worshipped. A sweet presence filled my quiet living room. I sensed God’s warm comfort wrapping around my shoulders, then melting away any stress perched on my neck and shoulders. 

"So, Jesus," I grinned, "this is our day together, you and I.” 

My thoughts melted into peace, and a liquid joy raced down my spine. Life is indeed full when I just stop long enough to notice. 

Atuned, expectant, and at attention now, I curled up on the couch to listen, relish the stillness, and embrace this new tradition. 

Again, the tree winked.

Note: I know this is a bit early for Christmas. I wrote this in 1985, but I’m publishing it now to encourage all who may be out of sorts, missing part of their family, or just alone and on their own somewhere during a special day or holiday.

Psalm 42:1-5 NASB1995

As the deer pants for the water brooks,

So my soul pants for You, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God;

When shall I come and appear before God? 

My tears have been my food day and night,

While they say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”

These things I remember and I pour out my soul within me.

For I used to go along with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God,

With the voice of joy and thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.

Why are you in despair, O my soul?

And why have you become disturbed within me?

Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him

For the help of His presence.

(This Psalm is thought to have been written when the Korahite temple servants were forced to flee Jerusalem (home of the temple) with King David during Absalom's revolt in 975 BC. Even kings had bad days.)

GLASS CEILING

     Looking up at a starry night in the woods, out away from city street lamps, I relish this chance to be off-grid. It is almost as good as sitting alone in the moonlight on the Texas Coast. Letting go of the to-do lists, the laundryroom is far away, and good riddance. Though I love the convenience, I come to these spaces for respite, for a sense of freedom from the ordinary. The endless chores that have to be attended to because we live here among other humans.

     If I lived off in the woods, would I rake leaves or would I let nature take its course? But here in suburbia, the HOA, neighbors, and city regs wave their batons and demand a certain look done by a certain time, or else. Hmmm... not today, no, not this week, I'm escaping all of that nonsense. I'm not their serf to jump at their beck and call. I'm flying free right now, and I may never go back.

     Shelved notebooks full of ideas, stories started, and characters sketched stand neglected. Years of thoughts, emotions, memories, and dreams that once fired my pen to release my pent-up reflections, just looking back at me, wondering, when are you going to finish this? What good are we just hanging out where no one even knows that we exist? So many stories waiting to be released.

     Dreams of books for children, but illustrator fees were out of reach with so many mouths to feed and clothe. Games to attend. Practices to run to and from throughout the busy years. Life was bursting with activity, voices clammering to be heard, and I was more than willing to listen. And with a glowing heart, I considered the goodness of life. Those days have come and gone. My flock has struck out on their own, and many are enjoying the ebb and flow of lives that matter to others. 

     So many years I looked up and leaned over to duty so my head would not hit the glass ceiling overhead. I would like to study law, but... I would love to write more, but... I would travel overseas, but...

     I read other people's stories, their novels. I would see what so many have accomplished and what they had to show for it. I did not need a trophy for all that kept me doing the daily tasks, supporting other people's dreams, and helping them reach their goals. I was good with what I had done. But I am not done.

     Now, I do not pull out my notebooks merely to reminisce about times long ago, where these words take me into memories long forgotten. Now, I stand tall. I breathe in the fresh air. Revived. I see the stars clearly now as they wink back at me. I dared to make a pact with myself, one I would not break. This was not someone else's bidding. This was my heart and my soul longing to soar. Before me, the pages stirred to be out there. Where the world would see and judge my craft, or lack thereof. No longer hidden. I read and watched, and now it was time to fly. That ceiling had to get out of my way.

     Months ago, the final drafts and illustrations were created after many hours of back-and-forth, with detailed explanations of the art, endless corrections, and questions, so many questions to understand all the ins and outs of the publishing process.  Research and tenacity pierced through any of my resistance to the unfamiliar.

     The glass ceiling teased and let me see the dream, but at the same time, it was the barrier that kept me from lifting my head straight to see it through. I'm not a techie. Who am I to publish my family's and my own written words? There are so many hoops to jump through.

     I take a deep, slow breath. I am on the other side now. My first children's book is published with verse and beautiful illustrations. A family memoir full of grins, reflections, and things gone awry while camping, off-grid, like me right now. 

     I see those stars above tonight so clearly without the smudges on the glass I used to gaze through. Ebooks, hardback, paperbacks, ISBNs, social media blurbs, and photos are all behind me until the next hurdle. My next books will stretch me again. Scarier still will be the business of taking all of this, my handiwork, face-to-face to the people. 

     But that is the clincher. I broke that ceiling doing the things I hoped for but never thought possible. Now is the time, and I am booting fear to the curb. No more. No more will you harness me and choke me, belittle me, and stop me. I have tasted life on the other side, and it is good. So much better than hot fudge sundaes or custard pie. Better than chicken dumplings even. This will not go away. I am not the same person tonight. 

     I stretched myself, and life is brighter. Breaking out and moving past my imagined limitations has awakened a sleeping giant. A treasure trove of words is waiting to be ordered and shared. No matter who cares or wants to read books anymore, my words will flow and be seen by the hearts that are meant to find my stories, and that is all I need to know. I am doing my part; the rest is up to them.

https://www.christiemariebooks.com

     

     

     

       

     

     

THE FLY-IN DILEMMA

     Wood is stacked and ready beside the door. The generator has been started up to be sure it is ready if needed. As I looked out over the chilly scene, all was quiet in anticipation of this loudly touted storm that approached us.

     A Carolina Wren perched on the wooden bench within my sight. It was rare to see a bird venture this close to the back door. It started up with an insistent chirping that went on and on. It caught my attention because these little creatures rarely stay in one place for long. Yet, it seemed to continue on as if it was sending a message. It just continued on. Funny, I thought as I continued to watch.

     Then it dawned on me, it was looking directly at my back door. I felt the message was somehow directed at me. I looked guiltily out at the empty feeders outside. No wonder, this brave little messenger wanted to alert me the the usual fly-ins, their Wendy's, McDonald's, Whataburger feeders, and the dine-in Texas Roadhouse, which was hanging on our window, were all out of millet.

     We crowd together to get our food from the nearest HEB grocery to fill our pantries and freezers before we are stuck inside while no drive-in is open with everyone iced in. But these tiny free loaders had a feeding frenzy in their preparation for the weather change that they could feel in the air.

     Well, little wren, you braved proximity to the human abode. This human got the drift of what was missing out there in your domain. So there, I refilled the feeders with this pricey feed that they love. I also refilled the bird bath in case they needed a bit of a drink afterward.

     Now as I sip my hot tea, I watch the contented flock of finches, wren, sparrows and a cardinal or two come by to dine at their fly-ins. But as for a drink or two after their tasty meal, it turned into a rather icy skating rink. 

     Oh well, just wait a day or two. the water will thaw. Here in Texas the sun will be shining and the ice will flee to some other locale because winter is feisty here. One day you bundle up in sweaters and gloves, but the next day; it's a day for T-shirts and shorts.

WHITE COW IN THE FOG

 

     The lights of our Ford Expedition bounced off of the clouds that enveloped us. We had been forced to take a detour on our way back from the Guanacaste province and the narrow winding road ascended up into the mountains.
     The only trouble was the rain started and the clouds came in blanketing us in their blinding whiteness. This forced us to creep along at five miles an hour. 

     Glancing to my right, there was a wisp of a clearing, and I could see the edge of the road was near a steep drop-off. 

     To the left, my husband looked down from his window. He remarked that he could see the yellow stripe that divided us from oncoming traffic: trucks, cars, and motorcycles that flowed on toward us in a steady stream. Those drivers respectfully slowed as well to a snail’s pace.

     Most of the way, we could not see the front of our vehicle it was so thick. We crawled along slowly and praying hard. 

     This was our third time to experience such a thick fog on a roadway here in Costa Rica. We started out with clear sunny skies near the coast, but as soon as we left the vicinity of the airport near Liberia where we dropped off Jonathan, the drizzle began. Up, up, in elevation where the fog crept over the mountains and overtook us.

     After twenty minutes the fog grew thicker. Then as I looked out my window to the left, I caught a glimpse of a ghost like figure of a white Brahma cow. Just standing there staring at all of the traffic slowly maneuvering on a stretch of road that rarely saw much traffic.

     All alone and barely visible, this lone creature was unable to express what it was thinking. I also felt all alone and unable to say anything, for I did not want to break my husband’s concentration as he skillfully drove blindly along with only an occasional glance down to see that he was the same distance from the center stripe. We could not see anything else except the fuzzy yellow haze of the oncoming lights that were blinding if Jerry would look directly at them.

     I couldn’t help but jot down white cow in the fog when we safely returned to our apartment. The image has stuck in my mind for some time now. I wondered at how these cattle can climb up and down steep slopes to find grassy spots to graze. Usually there is a small herd at least scattered on hillsides. But here there was just one solitary animal. A family’s one hope perhaps. Watching silly humans going past in their noisy boxes on wheels. 

     Some days I’ve felt like that lone cow in the fog. Wondering what everyone is going after at such a pace. So glad that I am out of the rat race. Just today, I was looking at remote jobs and then I closed those pages with a sigh of relief. I will stand on my steep rocky ground. Time has picked me up and taken me through the years of child-bearing, work, volunteering, with only a little time off with my family until my time has nearly run out.

     My houseful of vibrant children has become still. Just we three older folks who connect mostly electronically with our busy crew that have gone on their way. I look at the images of what has been on the media. This is what I know of them today. Almost like looking through the fog. So close to my heart, yet barely reachable and faintly seen.

     The last two months we connected with several over dinners and sleepovers and a hike to Monkey Rock with some. I miss my herd. Some are still out of sight, but I know the fog will lift one day. We will see each other clearly and in person and I will leave this pensiveness behind as we banter, cook, explore, and wrap our arms around each other again.

     So funny, you know; when they were young, dancing and performing in the living room my heart overflowed with joy. But when the last one was tucked in and finally relaxed in slumber, I sighed, quite fulfilled, yet quite tired. Still, today, I think of them all out there living their best years and I sigh again, but this time it is from the satisfaction of having these memories of their time of growth, and now getting to share their dreams and challenges but not up close. It is surreal that the time has come when I even have held my first great-grandchild.

     Like that white Brahma in the white clouds, I am watching as others hurry to the store, catch a Lyft ride, and run to pick up a child from the school bus stop. Not I, I have different tasks now. I have my call to be a scribe. It is time to leave my footprint so that others will know that I was here. Perhaps, if some will stop and take the time; they will discover my thoughts and then some will understand the heart of this woman who still looks on at life, until it stops.

     

WHAT IS LOVE?

LOVED…

HE CARES

He calls me on his way home

He cares

He calls up to me from his recliner

He cares

He comes to me with questions

He cares

He seeks me out for a kiss

He cares

He peeks out at me from his office door

He cares

He gets out the mop on Saturday nights

He cares

He talks to my dear mom as she comes out for a snack

He cares

He tiptoes out and noiselessly shuts the door

He cares

He eagerly waits to hear news of each of our kids

He cares

He begins his day in prayer for us all

He cares

He waves goodnight as I read or finish a flick

He cares

He reaches out to see if I made it to bed

He cares

SHE CARES

She reads his message with a smile

She cares

She reaches out to straighten his collar

She cares

She carefully launders and folds his clothes

She cares

She measures the flour and plumps the dough

She cares

She sears the roast and adds produce to the pot

She cares

 

She sweeps the dusty porch before the mop hits it

She cares

She texts the yard boy with his instructions

She cares

She pays bills and works within their means

She cares

She researches and plans special trips just for two

She cares

She follows his passion for souls and finds hers too

She cares

She brings order to the self-inflicted chaos of stuff

She cares

She prays each day for him and their joint offspring

She cares

She thanks God for warm, loving arms around her

She cares

EARTH SHAKING: WARNING

W A R N I N G!!!   E A R T H Q U A K E S!!!

10-22-25; 9:57 pm; Quepos, Puntarenas, Costa Rica; earthquake 6.3

     Last night as I was trying to relax to get to sleep, I stretched out on the couch in our Airbnb with a book. It was working. I was getting sleepy since it had been a full two days with travel from San Antonio to San Jose, then once through customs, we hailed our friend, Kike, and headed for our rental in Grecia.Then grocery runs, and other errands to prepare for our stay.

     All of a sudden, at first I felt the shaking, then when I looked up, the windows were moving eerily and then the building was moving back and forth and up and down. I was frozen in place in unbelief. My next reaction was to wonder if I needed to escape the building with my husband, leaving all that we had behind. I contacted my friend, Francini who also lives in Grecia, and she confirmed that they were all okay but that it had been a very strong quake.

     The next thing I knew, my husband came bounding out of the room and demanded,”What is going on here?”

     I explained, “That was an earthquake. I looked it up and it happened off the coast near Quepos, and it is recorded by the Costa Rican meteorologists at 6.3!”

     “I felt like I was in a washing machine. The bed was bouncing up and down off of the floor!”

     “Wow! That was creepy! I’ve been through many earthquakes, but never any as bad as this one,” I responded.

     Back into the room Jerry went and soon he was fast asleep. Not me. I was looking for more information because the earthquake sites warned of subsequent aftershocks following one this strong. A huge earthquake had been predicted for this year and Quepos is located right where the Cocos and Caribbean plates meet.

     The next day, talking to my friend, Celia, who was up in Heredia, she reported that it was terrible up where she was staying with her daughter. She had them all go downstairs and they started praying.

     Then she said something that really hit me. “You know, just like that earthquake came out of nowhere, here we were having a great time as a family and boom! everything changed just like that! It could have come with fatalities. People gone. Buildings destroyed. This is what it will be like when Jesus comes to take up all of the believers who have been faithful to him.”

     You know, the way I felt at that moment, I knew she was speaking the truth. When I considered that there was no warning. I thought of all of the talk of earthquakes that would bring destruction talked about in Luke and Revelation in the end times.

     Jesus, speaking of the last days before he returned to take up the faithful,  said in Luke 21:11 NIV, “There will be great earthquakes, famines, and pestilences in various places, and fearful events and great signs from heaven.”

     Then Jesus in Matthew 24:40-42 NIV talks about two men working in a field, one is taken up and the other is left. Two women grinding with hand mills, one is taken and the other is left behind. In verse 42 NIV Jesus warns us, “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.”

     As I considered how I was taken by surprise by the sudden movement and thought of all of the possible outcomes that thankfully did not happen this time, I know that if I  realized that the return of Jesus is imminent then why would I not want to be prepared and to be found faithfully living out a life full of God’s purpose for my life?

     The alternative would be to be found acting out in ways not pleasing to God and according to Jesus, Matthew 24:51 NIV, an unfaithful person will be assigned to a place with the hypocrites, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

     That’s a no-brainer. Go to heaven with rewards, mansions, a loving God, and a life of fantastic possibilities forever or go to a horrible place with terrible people who are all in torture and are totally separated from anything good, kind, or lovely. Holy terror that was only ever intended for the fallen angels who rebelled and be stuck there also forever.

     Earthquakes. SIgns like blood moons in the heavens. Plagues. Pestilence. Wars. These are all signals to warn us because God in his mercy does not desire that any should perish. He loves us all too much. He loves you all too much.

     

John 14:6 NIV  Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

 

I Wish We’d All Been Ready DC Talk  Click to listen to this song on YouTube. Don’t be left behind!  

HOW DO YOU SEE ME?

     One glance at my reflection in a store window as I passed by gave me a glimpse of who I was right then in that moment and place. My makeup was carefully applied, my outfit was matched with jewelry to complement it, and I'd chosen a purse to match. I looked put together and smiled back at myself.

     After picking through clothing for sale, I walked with a few hopeful items in hand and headed for the changing room to see if they really looked as good on me as I had hoped when I selected them.

     Oh, but the bright fluorescent bulbs of this white painted cubicle sent their unflattering rays to highlight all the imperfections and exaggerate the weight and wrinkles that I have accumulated over the years. On second thought, I might not buy anything today, for I sadly faced the fact of what others see when they look at me.

     In the window reflection, I saw a gentler picture that made me still feel pretty and spry as I quickly walked up to the shop's door. 

     Inside, though, the insidious dressing room mockingly reflected my stark image, leaving nothing to chance. Soft lines defined my cheekbones, but I had no slender waist or legs; instead, there was evidence of a slower metabolism, and my hair had grayed, revealing to the world that I was living the latter part of my life. Maybe I was also less significant?

     But there was the contradiction. I looked closer at the reflection, and my eyes, which are the window to my soul, told me that my soul and spirit were still young and alive. The color of my hazel eyes has not changed. Little tinges of light brown mingled with the dominant green. Only the skin around them gave me away.

     I decided to seek the opinion of another greater One. My Creator. So, when I was alone at home, I wrote in my journal, "How do You see me?"

     God gently replied, "You are worried about the condition of your earth suit? Don't you know that it is temporary? Don't you know that within you is the real you who will go on living forever? And if I go to prepare beautiful mansions and landscapes that will take your breath away, I also have an excellent plan for your appearance throughout eternity. The essence of your spirit is who you are, so do not be concerned about the deterioration of the outer part of you. Life on earth is but a few seconds in comparison to eternity."

     "Remember," he continued, "I am the potter who designed you perfectly with all that you need when you walk with me to fulfill your destiny. Does the clay talk back to the fingers that are molding it?"

     That rang a bell. I looked up that phrase and found where Paul said these very words. Hosea was also quoted there, telling the people God's words, in Romans 9, "I'll call nobodies and make them somebodies; I'll call the unloved and make them beloved; In the place where they yelled out, 'You're nobody!' they're calling you 'God's living children.”

     God does not consider us a number, like the grains of sand, but by our choice, as we come to Him, He embraces us back into His family and calls us by name.

     Do not be like the blind who mock you and only value you as long as you are helpful to their gain. Ignore them. When they mock, know that it is because you are God's living child.

     God continued, “You were designed for a purpose, to reflect my nature and my glorious light on this earth. Your parents were chosen just for you, and you were chosen just for them. Be at peace and do not judge yourself by the world's standards, but know that you are beloved by a merciful, just, and loving God. You are my delight, as are all of my children. You are all my favorite ones.”

     Now, I will not minimize the effectiveness of my mission based on my outward aging appearance. I thank God for creating me with His purpose in mind. I embrace the gifts, His presence, and the molding that has taken place over the years to get to this place. 

     I smile and am glad for this time in my life, when I can share this hope, this forgiveness, and this eternal victory of Jesus, which eludes the view of many who are distracted by chaos, struggle, or a lack of concern for humanity. The gods of this world have minimized the precious value of individuals in the eyes of those who do not share this faith.

     I thank God for my husband who has been given the eyes of God for me. He tells me how beautiful I am. He sees me when I have no makeup. He listens, values, and considers my thoughts. 

     To him, I am not obsolete or an antique to be discarded. God has given him eyes to see who I am inside, and the gray hairs, the wrinkles, and my imperfect body mass do not take away from my worth.

     

     

     

     

     

SOUL SEARCH

    

     The biggest obstacles in my life reside in the soul. During my earthly residence, harm has visited me and mine. Fear knocked and wanted to barge in along with hopelessness, despair, and depression. Even death lingered in the background at times, hoping for a chance to trigger my demise. 

     All because I allowed abandonment to dictate and blur my vision in the midst of circumstances. I struggled to overcome the adversity on my own. The peace and beauty of waking up to a fresh, clean slate each day, which I had previously cherished, were shattered while I remained in this funk.
     Why did I let a small chink and then another portion of my soul break away, leaving me unsure whether I could depend on God? Was it due to the extent of my emotional pain and the bewildering circumstances I faced? Why God?
     Finally, when I was honest and admitted to myself that things were beyond my control, I realized that it was I, not God, who pulled away. As I reached out for His power and courage, I also asked my heavenly Father to make some sense of all the turmoil and to please take over. I admitted that I needed help with this.
     You can fill in the blanks with your own challenges here. We have all been there. 

     I had to trust again. I know from experience that God and His ways are good. He has mended my broken heart, calmed my screaming emotions, and reshaped my thinking many times. He has restored my soul and helped me to trust others again. Fears have been defeated, and faith revived.  
     It is a joy when I face the day with a mindset like that—to abandon the doubts and limitations and allow Jesus' words and actions to become my own. But I won’t deny the fact that every day is filled with decisions to follow my true north, and to apply His wisdom.
     Now, when I choose to walk against the grain of this culture, instead of feeling inferior, I know His promises are true. I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me. 

     God will never leave or forsake me. All of creation around me demonstrates what a marvelous, all-knowing mind thought out every remarkable detail and the diversity of creatures, their habitat, their needs, and provisions for it all. It is good.
     Man-made bombs, poisons, garbage, war, chaos, and destruction of life might break down and ruin parts of this creation for a time. Still, we can look toward a vast expanse of mountains, prairies, woodlands, oceans, and waterways. Their beauty shouts to all who will stop and gaze in wonder at the great mind, imagination, and execution of the higher power, the Creator, who spoke them into existence. 

     Life abounds and thrives within territories that are free of highways, traffic noise, and skyscrapers, as well as housing developments. Man indeed is not God. God is over all.
     I sense the order and the enormity of the Creator’s abilities each time I watch the timing of the leaves that fall from deciduous trees, and in the springtime, I watch as the tender bright green leaves push through the tough bark. Amazing!
      In late spring, due to some inner clock or a knowing instinct, birds flew farther north to other fields and nesting areas. Only a few remained in this area.

     Just two weeks ago, our backyard was again bustling with lesser goldfinches perched, chirping, and flitting back and forth, impatient for their turn to get at the millet seeds in our bird feeder.
     Swallows return each year to raise their brood under the cover of our front porch, then leave for other places once their offspring are grown. Millions of butterflies fly hundreds of miles south of the US border. This could not all be by chance.
     Mayflies are a wonder. Living underwater as larvae until they burst out as an adult for 24 hours or less, just long enough to reproduce, then they expire without even a mouth since their job is done. A food source for fish, frogs, lizards, and others, this cycle facilitates the reproduction of their species to initiate the process and maintain the supply. How amazing.
     Who placed those tiny hairs so perfectly in our ears so that the vibrations and frequencies could be sent and interpreted by the brain as either music notes played by various instruments?  Human dialogue at varying paces, languages, and tones that could be construed for millions of meanings, back and forth, sending communications to declare love, hatred, indifference, or sounds of worship.
     The enemy comes in like a flood to diminish the complexity of the processes it takes to focus and solve problems, to write a sonnet, or to fashion an orchestral composition that soothes or thrills. 

     I look again to my true north, the truth teller. I reflect and soak in His presence to clear my mind of the clutter and the din of the voices clambering to warp my affections.
     Just as a good night’s sleep is necessary to reset and clear the brain so that it can function at its best the next day, each morning, our purpose and focus on God’s truth; our calling to this world must be a starting point to reset our mind, heart, and will. Under God's divine tutelage, we accomplish our unique purpose. 

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined the things that God has prepared for those who love him,” the Apostle Paul declared to the Corinthians. (1 Corinthians 2:9)