Last Sunday we had a guest speaker at my church, Pastor Mark Frith. At one point he was talking about our prayers being like incense wafting up to God. (See Psalm 141:2 and Revelation 5:8) He demonstrated how God enjoys these prayers, by breathing in deeply, closing his eyes, and smiling, giving the impression that God likes to breathe in our prayers.
All I could think of was me inhaling essential oils. I put a drop or two into one hand, rub my hands together, and make a tent with my hands over my nose and eyes. Then I breathe in as big a breath as possible, slowly, to fill my nasal passages and olfactory system with the airborne molecules of the oil. I really enjoy this most of the time, depending on which oil I have chosen. I think rosemary oil might be my favorite. I like it so much, sometimes I feel like I'm "snorting" rosemary. It must have some kind of menthol component in it, which I can even feel in my eyes a tiny bit. Not enough to sting, but just enough to know it's there. I guess my breathing causes a little breeze that makes a few molecules bump into my eyeballs. (Putting essential oil into your eyes will make them burn like crazy, so don't do that.)
Most of the references to incense in the Bible are probably talking about frankincense or a blend that includes frankincense. I like the smell of frankincense, especially sacred frankincense. There are many other essential oils that I really like: black spruce, most of the "tree" oils -- fir, pine, cedarwood -- and some of the "flower" oils. But some I don't care for. I don't understand why anyone would think spikenard would make a good perfume, and the worst one I've ever smelled is German chamomile. Wow, that's awful!
All this made me wonder if different kinds of prayers "smell" different to God. Does he like some prayers better than others? Does he enjoy prayers of praise, love, and gratitude more than prayers of self pity and impatience? I suspect he likes most the fact that we are communicating to him. Probably nobody likes the smell of a dirty diaper, but it's a lot better than if the baby wasn't pooping at all. German chamomile is a beneficial oil in aromatherapy, even if it does make me say, "Eeewwww!"
On the other hand, if a baby smells like dirty diaper all the time, it's probably a sign of ill health. If all my prayers are full of misery or demands or even if I always pray for others and never for myself, it's probably a sign something is wrong.
You know that saying, "If God feels far away, who moved?" Maybe if I have trouble feeling God loves me, I should ask myself what I'm saying to Him. If all my prayers smell like German chamomile, maybe all I see is God's nose wrinkled up and him saying, "Eeewwww!" Maybe I should add in some other kinds of prayers.
"God, thank you for loving me. You are so good to me."
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Monday, February 15, 2016
When You're Ready
When you're ready, it will be there, and you can pick it up and go. Fly. If you're not ready, that's okay. The plan is being carried out right on schedule. You are not in charge of the plan or the schedule. You are exactly where you are supposed to be.
That's how to enjoy life. There is no pressure, no demands, no requirements, no deadlines. You don't have to rush. You aren't running out of time. You are loved and enjoyed. That's what you were created for. Revel in it.
That's how to enjoy life. There is no pressure, no demands, no requirements, no deadlines. You don't have to rush. You aren't running out of time. You are loved and enjoyed. That's what you were created for. Revel in it.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Flying
I found out yesterday I can fly. This has nothing to do with the fact that I have a fever and my brain is not functioning at its best. Someone who speaks my language told me.
You see, even when my brain IS functioning at its best, it has difficulty understanding languages that are different from my language. I can't understand anyone who speaks with an accent. I can't hear the words to any songs unless I can look at them printed out. (Hint to my church: don't put me in charge of the computer that projects the words to the songs up on the screen.)
When I was around 13 I went to summer camp for a week. Registration involved answering questions from a guy with a southern accent.
"Your name?"
"No, I'm not nine, I'm thirteen."
It was agony getting through that. Poor guy.
The result of this brain disfunction is that I don't get a lot of what I hear. Even when I read something, if it's not in the words I understand, it's lost on me. I do much better with the NLT version of the Bible than any other version. It's written in my language. I grew up in good churches, but really didn't understand what they were teaching.
There have been several people thoughout my life that speak my language. There was a preacher in Stevens Point, WI, when I was 12. We spent 6 weeks there waiting for my nephew to be born. My brother and his family went to this tiny church that couldn't afford to pay the pastor. He had a full time job to earn a living. My mother definitely thought he was worthless as a preacher. She said so. But he spoke my language. I hung on every word and tried to keep people from noticing that I had tears in my eyes.
Other people that God has put in my life to speak my language to me are Bill Wilson, Chris Tiegreen, Jennifer Morgan, Ted Dekker, and Jon Bergt. There are more, but those five have been major contributors to my being able to understand what God is trying to tell me.
Sometimes it's easier for me to get something in story form. For several years now my eyes have been opened drastically by reading Ted Dekker's books. It feels as though he writes about what I need to hear exactly at the time I'm going through it. I think it was when I read The Priest's Graveyard that I decided he was about two years ahead of me on our journeys. So what he's writing now will be what I need to read in about two years.
Yesterday I started reading The Forgotten Way, and I learned I can fly. I can right now experience God's love for me. I can love God with all my heart, and I can love myself and others with the same love I experience from God. I don't need to get myself to love better. I don't need to obey the rules better so God will love me more. I am completely loved. Right now. I can love God, myself, and others completely. Right now.
I just keep forgetting that. I forget I can fly. I forget I have what I've always wanted, what I've looked for in all the wrong places. I fall back into the darkness of lies and deception in this world. I start trying to improve myself again. Or sink back into despair over never being good enough.
But God's Spirit lives in me. He keeps working to change me into a "little Christ," a Christian. My earthly father told me my name means "little Christ girl." Not "follower of Christ" but a little copy of Christ. God's Spirit never gives up on me. He is never incapable of overcoming my imperfections. He keeps reminding me of the truth.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
The Wild Ride to Pick Wild Blackberries
Wild berries like the edges. You see them at the far edge of the lawn, in front of the brush and trees further out.
We needed some blackberries for a new dinner recipe. (I volunteer at a small farm, Fresh Pasture Farms, in the St. Louis area that grows real food, the kind without chemicals, fertilizers, or GMOs. My job title is Designated Grandma, and in that capacity I cook dinner on chicken harvest days, because the harvest crew is too tired by late afternoon to think about cooking. Their day starts at 4 am or earlier.)
We set out the afternoon before to pick wild blackberries, with a plastic container (no lid) plenty big enough to hold the three cups we needed. First up was the edge of the lawn out the back door. We found three ripe berries. Well actually, there was a fourth berry, but Wade ate that one. He wanted to make sure they tasted good.
It was decided that critters had gotten there before we did, so it was time to climb on the Gator and travel to the other berry patches on the farm. The Gator is something in between a golf cart and a tractor. No seat belts. There are two seats. Wade drove, and I got the other seat, which has a bar to hold on to. Wade had the steering wheel to hold on to. Sandy sat in back with Pete, her dog. Since Sandy needed to hang on to Pete, I got the bowl. My job was to not let any berries fall out of the bowl.
Easy peasy, you say? Ha! First we had to ride down a hill on a dirt trail with eroded ruts in it, along the edge of a gully/drop-off. Of course the trail wasn't level from side to side. It was slanted in the direction of the drop-off. It didn't take Wade long to figure out he needed to go slower than usual for me. He probably got the first hint when I asked about seat belts. I didn't tell him I hate roller coasters and fast elevators. I was too busy hanging on for dear life to even think about that.
At the bottom of the hill were several fenced pastures with tall grasses and a few weed-looking plants. We drove along the edges and stopped when we saw berry plants. The grasses had gone to seed, and the seeds were right at face height, so as we drove over them, any bugs perched in them were thrown in our faces. I only had two bugs get in my eye, probably because after the first one, I kept my eyes almost closed. There were little green bugs sort of like miniature grasshoppers that bit me, and I didn't have a free hand to brush them off.
And don't get the idea that there was only one hill. There were several, plus some creeks to cross, and wet muddy spots in the trail. Usually the fences were placed where the terrain became too hilly to make good grazing, so again the berries were at the edge of a drop-off or upward climb. Most of the fences were electric and live. Pete got zapped once and didn't leave the Gator from then on. I had the good sense to stay in the Gator for the whole trip.
We ended up with maybe 3/4 cup of berries from 6 or 7 patches. I didn't spill a single one. I survived the trip in good shape, but I don't think I need to go again, thanks anyway.
What amazing thing did I learn from this adventure? I learned that Wade really knows his land. Every inch of it. He knows where every bump and mudhole is, and he slows down and steers the best route over or around them. He knows there's a hole right in front of a big berry patch, so he was careful not to fall in while picking there, and he warned Sandy and yelled at Pete so he wouldn't fall in. You can't see any of these things because of the grass, but he knows where they are. And he's not apologetic about them. You can see he loves his land with all of its little quirks.
It makes me think of how God tends His vineyards, which is an expression used in the Bible as a picture of God caring for His people. Each one of us has wounds and stubborn, rocky places. And mudholes. He doesn't get mad at us because of them, but He knows they are there, even when we cover them up. He tends us. He is tender to us. Those two words have to be related. He prunes us, feeds us, zaps us a little to warn us, gives us what we need to grow and produce fruit. He knows every inch of us. And he enjoys us, even with all our imperfections.
We needed some blackberries for a new dinner recipe. (I volunteer at a small farm, Fresh Pasture Farms, in the St. Louis area that grows real food, the kind without chemicals, fertilizers, or GMOs. My job title is Designated Grandma, and in that capacity I cook dinner on chicken harvest days, because the harvest crew is too tired by late afternoon to think about cooking. Their day starts at 4 am or earlier.)
We set out the afternoon before to pick wild blackberries, with a plastic container (no lid) plenty big enough to hold the three cups we needed. First up was the edge of the lawn out the back door. We found three ripe berries. Well actually, there was a fourth berry, but Wade ate that one. He wanted to make sure they tasted good.
It was decided that critters had gotten there before we did, so it was time to climb on the Gator and travel to the other berry patches on the farm. The Gator is something in between a golf cart and a tractor. No seat belts. There are two seats. Wade drove, and I got the other seat, which has a bar to hold on to. Wade had the steering wheel to hold on to. Sandy sat in back with Pete, her dog. Since Sandy needed to hang on to Pete, I got the bowl. My job was to not let any berries fall out of the bowl.
Easy peasy, you say? Ha! First we had to ride down a hill on a dirt trail with eroded ruts in it, along the edge of a gully/drop-off. Of course the trail wasn't level from side to side. It was slanted in the direction of the drop-off. It didn't take Wade long to figure out he needed to go slower than usual for me. He probably got the first hint when I asked about seat belts. I didn't tell him I hate roller coasters and fast elevators. I was too busy hanging on for dear life to even think about that.
At the bottom of the hill were several fenced pastures with tall grasses and a few weed-looking plants. We drove along the edges and stopped when we saw berry plants. The grasses had gone to seed, and the seeds were right at face height, so as we drove over them, any bugs perched in them were thrown in our faces. I only had two bugs get in my eye, probably because after the first one, I kept my eyes almost closed. There were little green bugs sort of like miniature grasshoppers that bit me, and I didn't have a free hand to brush them off.
And don't get the idea that there was only one hill. There were several, plus some creeks to cross, and wet muddy spots in the trail. Usually the fences were placed where the terrain became too hilly to make good grazing, so again the berries were at the edge of a drop-off or upward climb. Most of the fences were electric and live. Pete got zapped once and didn't leave the Gator from then on. I had the good sense to stay in the Gator for the whole trip.
We ended up with maybe 3/4 cup of berries from 6 or 7 patches. I didn't spill a single one. I survived the trip in good shape, but I don't think I need to go again, thanks anyway.
What amazing thing did I learn from this adventure? I learned that Wade really knows his land. Every inch of it. He knows where every bump and mudhole is, and he slows down and steers the best route over or around them. He knows there's a hole right in front of a big berry patch, so he was careful not to fall in while picking there, and he warned Sandy and yelled at Pete so he wouldn't fall in. You can't see any of these things because of the grass, but he knows where they are. And he's not apologetic about them. You can see he loves his land with all of its little quirks.
It makes me think of how God tends His vineyards, which is an expression used in the Bible as a picture of God caring for His people. Each one of us has wounds and stubborn, rocky places. And mudholes. He doesn't get mad at us because of them, but He knows they are there, even when we cover them up. He tends us. He is tender to us. Those two words have to be related. He prunes us, feeds us, zaps us a little to warn us, gives us what we need to grow and produce fruit. He knows every inch of us. And he enjoys us, even with all our imperfections.
Monday, June 23, 2014
One part of lifestyle I am trying to change is to grow some of my own food. The house I just moved into has a corner in the back yard that is a potential food forest, albeit a very small one. There used to be an apple tree, but I am told it was hit by lightening a couple of years ago, and it is impossible to tell if it's still alive, because of all the overgrowth of wild grape vines and mimosa trees and honeysuckle. And I saw some poison ivy in there, so I need to proceed with caution.
I made sure the grape vine was not a moonseed vine. The vine has tendrils and the stem attaches to the edge of the leaf. Harvesting grapes will be a challenge because the vine has grown so high and because it is bowing the mimosa trees or something down to the grass. There are lots of grape flowers, but it is too early to see if grapes are forming. I wonder what pollinates grapes.
And here is a photo of my very special mimosa tree garden, freshly weeded.
I made sure the grape vine was not a moonseed vine. The vine has tendrils and the stem attaches to the edge of the leaf. Harvesting grapes will be a challenge because the vine has grown so high and because it is bowing the mimosa trees or something down to the grass. There are lots of grape flowers, but it is too early to see if grapes are forming. I wonder what pollinates grapes.
And here is a photo of my very special mimosa tree garden, freshly weeded.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Permaculture's ideas include the theory that plants grow better at the edge of a forest or other place where one environment meets another. Perhaps it's because there is more room to expand or because there is less competition for resources and nutrients.
I think that theory also applies well to culture and probably many other areas of life. My culture has been mostly in the middle of whatever environment was current at the time. Very structured and restrictive. Lots of rules and rule enforcers. So I'm moving out to the edge.
This blog will cover my journeys of health, spiritual growth, and lifestyle. It will contain my experiences and opinions as a human being. I am not a trained expert in any of these areas, although I am actively researching and learning. Therefore, everything here is free. Take what you like and leave the rest.
I think that theory also applies well to culture and probably many other areas of life. My culture has been mostly in the middle of whatever environment was current at the time. Very structured and restrictive. Lots of rules and rule enforcers. So I'm moving out to the edge.
This blog will cover my journeys of health, spiritual growth, and lifestyle. It will contain my experiences and opinions as a human being. I am not a trained expert in any of these areas, although I am actively researching and learning. Therefore, everything here is free. Take what you like and leave the rest.
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