The only way to make summer last…
{After being away for five days, we were barely through our back gate when the kids broke into a run, straight across the yard to the far side … straight to the raspberry bushes. I grinned, leaving all the bags behind to join them plucking perfectly pink berries, savoring the sweetness, hunting after another, another, another. I had been away from them, and from home, and had been blessedly surrounded with incredible people who taught me once again to be present, to soak up life and love and give others the gift of me all here. And I remembered this from a few years ago: The gift of the raspberries, the gift of summer, the gift of soaking up the sacredness of now.}
It was the raspberries that helped me understand.
The raspberries I rescued. This spring, I took on the back-breaking project of tearing out waist-high weeds from our side-yard. And there I unearthed raspberry bushes (raspberries!) and you’d have thought I’d struck gold by the way I happy-danced. I carefully plucked the weeds around them, and Dad and I strung them up, training the canes.
Then we waited.
And almost as if in response, as their own way of saying thank you!, they handed us their treasures in return. Large, plump, dark pinkish-red, firm in your fingers as you pluck them off the hull and plop them into your mouth. None of them have made it inside the house. (This is new for me.) I’ve never frozen one or turned it into jam. I’ve never eating one sitting down, only standing, savoring, their sweetness bursting and urging you on to search for more. No matter how many times you think you found the last one, you can always find one more, perfectly ripe and hiding behind a leaf. As I stood doing the dinner dishes last night I watched the kids picking their dessert, searching under branches and crawling around for just one more.
Pluck, eat. Pluck, eat. Pluck, eat. None of theirs made it into the house either.
See: I’ve always thought the way to make summer last was by harvesting LOTS and saving it up for winter. If you know me a little bit, you know I am a freeze-er. We aim for 50 lbs. of strawberries, 100 of peaches, 50 of blueberries, and whatever else we can stuff in our back-porch freezer. All winter long our grocery budget rests easy and our immune system smiles as we blend our fruit smoothies every day. And while I’ll continue to do this, the question must be asked:
Is summer preserved by simply freezing fruit?
Can a season be lengthened by canning up its produce?
Is the the joy of summer a commodity, able to be packaged up and opened later on?
I guess the question is really more like this, How do we get the most out of a day? Out of a season? How do we really make summer last?
And while I will still enjoy sliding dozens of fruit-packed ziplocks into my freezer, I think the real answer is this:
We make summer last by diving deep into every moment.
By eating raspberries standing up.
By saying, Yes! I’ll run up and down the side-walk one more time, holding the back of your bike while you lean and totter and fall and try again. I’ll run up and down, my thighs burning and I covered in sweat. And after awhile I won’t even notice because I’m watching your face and it’s light and your eyes are dancing and mouth wide-open laughing, shouting “I’m doing it Mommy! I’m really doing it!”
By saying, Yes! Let’s plant these seeds and Ooops, you dropped them all on the ground, but that’s ok let’s laugh and pick them up and poke them down deep into soil. And you let the dark dirt under your fingernails and you brush your hands off on your jeans and finish with ice-cold lemonade, and every day you watch for those little green shoots. And you watch her as she watches. You study her face. Her lashes, curls, lips. You go slow enough to memorize the moment–her looking for life and you finding it.
By saying, Yes! I’ll run through the sprinkler with you although I’d rather read my book, because your laugh is liquid, and you screaming, splashing, jumping is better than anything on any page. And how many days do I have to do this? Yes, let’s do it again.
Because I am a hopeless plan-ahead-er, and my brain works only in future-tense, and I’m counting down the days of strawberry season and trying to plan enough picking days and I want to harvest all I can from those fields …
but more than that I want to harvest all I can from these days.
This life. These long days in these short years. (These little years will be gone five minutes from now.)
And so today, on the first day of summer, I adjust my goal from “storing up” to “entering in,” from “saving” to “savoring.”
From reading so many pages to reading just a few faces.
My summer resolution: I will eat more fruit standing up.
{Happy summer! Let’s make it last … Thanks for reading.}
Why you belong here
The text just came through as I sit here in my hotel room, staring at this blank screen.
“We want you to come!” the text read, urging me to ditch my work and join them in their fun. I smiled, marveling at this — this belonging.
I marvel a bit because I remember the first time I walked in to this church-planting conference. I remember that feeling, welling up a bit inside, against my will.
“I don’t really belong here.”
No one said it, no one did anything to merit it. I think it’s our fallen condition to automatically assume, in any new gathering or social situation, “I don’t really belong here.”[bctt tweet=”It’s our fallen condition to assume, “I don’t belong here.””]
Our reasons offered, most often subconsciously, are many. I don’t belong because …
- They’re all married, and I’m not.
- They have their lives together, and I don’t.
- They all homeschool and I don’t.
- They know their Bibles and I don’t.
- They’re all stay-at-home moms and I work.
- They’re all beautiful and I’m plain.
- They dress this way and I don’t.
- They’ve all known each other for a long time, and I’m new.
- They talk a certain way and I don’t.
Blah blah blah.
And so we hold back. We remain reserved. We unknowingly pick out differences, stacking up a case of why we most certainly do not belong here.
I could share specifics of why I have often felt like I don’t belong in various contexts. In fact, I just wrote them out, but deleted them, because really — that’s not the point.
Here’s the point: When we have a faulty understanding of Christian Community, we will constantly be plagued by a sense that we don’t belong.
What do I mean?
We must know the difference between a CLIQUE, a CLUB, and CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY.
A CLIQUE:
- Has undefined parameters. We know it’s a group, but it’s hard to put our finger on why it’s a group.
- It is self-serving. It exists only for the sake of making the people within the group feel better about themselves. Only members are welcome.
- It is impenetrable. You cannot join. Go away.
- Intimacy among members exists in order to reinforce what those members already believe. The whole point is to further reaffirm to ourselves that we are right.
- A clique communicates: WE ARE DESIRABLE.
A CLUB:
- Has defined parameters. You know what you need to do to join the club. You need to homeschool, or eat vegan, or love birdwatching. Whatever. You need to do something in order to join, but at least it’s clear.
- It exists to serve its members. There is a sense of encouraging and supporting each other, but only those within the club. Only members are welcome.
- It is joinable, with requirements (dues, certain interests).
- Limited intimacy exists to support the limited common interest. There is camaraderie, but only within the limited confines of that shared interest. The expectation is that issues outside the common interest are off-limits.
- A club communicates: WE ARE UNIQUE.
A CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY:
- Has defined parameters, but they are clear and simple: If you belong to Christ, you belong here.
- It exists to serve both its members and nonmembers. It is the only group where members are committed to serving its nonmembers. ALL ARE WELCOME.
- It is freely joinable through faith in Jesus Christ. ALL children of God are included, invited, welcomed, received.
- FULL intimacy in each other’s lives through unity and diversity. There is no “off-limits” topic of conversation. There is an acknowledgement of the individual’s limitations and a readiness to live in vulnerable interdependence on others.
- The message of Christian Community: WE ARE INCOMPLETE.
Followers of Jesus Christ recognize, We are incomplete without each other. [bctt tweet=”Followers of Jesus recognize, “We are incomplete without each other.””]We need each other. So, if I understand what true Christian Community is, I can enter into any new situation with confidence and joy, taking genuine interest in the lives of others because I recognize that I need others and others need me. There is no fear, comparison, or judgment.
I can just be free to belong.
And so I’ll click off this computer, and go join my new friends. We are different, we are all unique, we are from different cultures and parts of the country. We have different spiritual gifts and different passions and convictions. But we are followers of Jesus Christ, and we belong to each other. I will go now and enter in.
How might you enter in more fully to Christian Community today? Where are you tempted to believe that you do not belong? How has your view of community gotten mixed up with cliques and clubs? I pray we all grow in reflecting the glory of God through our relationships with each other.
If you are a follower of Jesus: You belong here. And even if you’re somewhere along the way in this journey of faith: You’re welcome here.
{Thank you for being here. Thanks for reading.}
“It’s Me, and it’s you.”
Every blank document mocks me.
This is it. The beginning of the end. What if nothing comes?
Then the begging begins: Please, God! Don’t leave me now! Without You I am utterly lost!
Every blog post, every retreat, every Bible study–it all follows the same pattern. Every blank document is an opportunity to trust once again, because without God’s provision, I have absolutely nothing. No power, no words, no insights … nothing.
It’s a desperate feeling, let me just tell you. It’s good and glorious and faith-building, but every single time that tinge of panic creeps up.
Especially because it means living on His timetable, not mine. I love to jot down to-do items with deadlines and goals for finishing things, but the reality is I spend most of my time waiting on God to provide.
Last weekend gave me the perfect picture of this process, and helped me better understand this way of dependent-living, and even appreciate it more. I mentioned on Wednesday, we had this hideously ugly space of yard, bare and bleak. I wanted to make it beautiful, but I had nothing. We live simply, and there is no line item for loads of landscape supplies. Plants are expensive, so I just kept weeding that bare space, hoping some inspiration might strike.
Then, that Saturday came, and while I was out on a walk I ran into the neighbors. He works for a large nursery and asked if I’d please come by his house and take some plants, as they had way too many and they needed to get in the ground before the weather got any hotter.
I jumped at the chance, and 20 minutes later we had more than a dozen new beautiful lush plants perched in the shade waiting for soil. Hydrangeas, lilacs, a dogwood tree, low bushes and ground covering, all of it absolutely free and ready to plant immediately. I spent that same day planning and positioning, digging and planting, patting down soil and watering, and by dinner time that blank space was completely transformed.
And as I washed my hands I heard it in my heart: “It’s Me, and it’s you.”
It’s His work, and mine.
I’ll admit: There are days I wish I lived a level where we could just go get whatever we need want without a second thought. Self so strongly craves independence. [bctt tweet=”Self so strongly craves independence.”]But then I remember how wonderful it is to live in relationship with a Heavenly Dad who knows all things and, in His perfect timing, provides all we need. Even, often, all we want.
Without plants, it wouldn’t matter how hard I worked, that bare, ugly space would still be bare and ugly. I hadn’t often wanted to finish the space, but then, all of a sudden, on a Saturday I just “happened” to be free, the boatload (literally) of provision was there and all I had to do was work with the materials God had freely provided for me. Yes, it took work. A whole day of backbreaking, exhausting work, but it was a joyously exhausting because my heavenly Father had provided the materials. And with every slice of the shovel deep into soil, I was reminded of our life work, to stay continuously dependent on the Holy Spirit, to abide in the vine, because without Him we can do nothing.[bctt tweet=”Without Him we can do nothing.”]
It’s ok that that momentary panic sets in with every blank document. The truth is we live blanks every day. Every blank that presents itself to us is an opportunity to trust, depend, abide, and wait … and when God provides abundantly (which He always does) our job is to jump in with both feet and do the good work before us as unto the Lord.
What blank are you facing this week? Devote it to Him, wait on Him, and when He provides … jump at it:
It’s His work, and yours.
{Happy Monday. Thanks for reading.}
Don’t Budge!
Like many women, flexibility is my strong suite. I’ve always thought the ability to “make due” should be listed in 1 Corinthians 12, because I’m fairly certain it’s my primary spiritual gift! Whether it’s concocting a dinner from the three random ingredients we have on hand, or tacking up two-dozen nails to hang cooking utensils on the kitchen wall that didn’t have drawers, or putting two armed chairs together as a makeshift bed for our toddler, I thrive on the challenge of creatively adjusting to changing circumstances.
And yet.
I’ve sometimes wondered if we can take the flexibility fixation a little too far. Is it possible, as a follower of Christ, to be too flexible?
I recently re-read a familiar verse that struck me in a new way:
“Therefore, beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain.” (2 Cor. 15:58)
Paul says to be immovable.
As in, Don’t budge.
It was in light of this that I considered my weekly day of fasting and seeking God in prayer. Usually, I’m just “flexible” *smile* with my day, and take it as it comes. This time, I structured my time in order to make sure I was really spending time in prayer and seeking Him. Though I was with and attentive to my kids all day, I scheduled one hour, from 1-2pm, for focused, uninterrupted prayer.
The time came. I had just hung all our laundry out to dry on the line outside. The kids were happily playing in the yard. I sat down. Ahh…yes. I began praying.
At 1:09pm, I heard the sound. Rain. Seriously?! It’s been sunny all day, and I sit down to pray while my laundry dries and now it’s raining! I began to lift myself from the couch, but the phrase ran again through my mind:
Be immovable…
Immovable.
Don’t budge.
I knew then that this moment was a picture of my life. So often, I make commitments to spiritual growth, but the slightest distraction keeps me from following through. And while it might only take ten minutes to take down all the laundry and bring it inside, chances are then my kids will begin interacting with them, then when I’m downstairs I’ll see our housemates and start to chat, then I’ll make myself a cup of tea—I could see so clearly how easily I drift from discipline. How simple it is to be sidetracked.
So I stayed. Immovable. I kept praying. The rain began coming down harder. I looked up at the skylight above my head. Fat droplets rolled down the glass. I closed my eyes, shut it out, kept praying. The rain came harder. I knew I had to stay. This was my hour to pray and somehow I knew, I had to press through. My kids came upstairs, rained out of their outside play. And though they were being kind and respectful, in our small, old house I could hear every word, every noise.
Like little hooks, each sound snagged my thoughts and pulled it away from prayer.
So I stuck my fingers in my ears.
Yes, I did. I sat on the couch, for an hour, praying with my fingers in my ears, while the kids played at my feet and the rain poured on the laundry outside.
At some point I heard Jeff come in from his office and yell upstairs, “Kari?? Do you want me to bring the laundry in?!”
I smiled to myself—he must have thought I was crazy. “Yes, please! Thank you, babe!” I said in a cheerful voice, without moving. I happened to be in the Thanksgiving portion of my prayer time, and my next words were, “Thank you God for Jeff getting the laundry! And thank you for a husband who serves me and trusts me even when I appear to be crazy!” (He later crept up and snuck this picture of the scene. Ha!)
I kept praying. And at the very end of an hour, it was so worth it. I heard from God, been amazed at truths in His Word, was able to intercede mightily for many real needs in our life, and saw the power of being immovable.
Sometimes the greatest strength is exerted by not moving a muscle. Sometimes staying power is the greatest power of all.
Stay steadfast, friends, immovable: Don’t budge.
{Thanks for reading.}