Stopped in the left-hand turn lane this morning waiting for the traffic light to change, I found myself engaged in the time-honored, almost irresistible practice of motorist everywhere – mindlessly staring at my blinker and that of the car in front of me. They were, of course, out of synch. Discordant flashes of light vying for dominance. And then it happened. The moment I knew would come and anticipated with surprising delight. With seeming effortless simplicity, they were blinking in perfect unison. Just for a moment. I found myself relaxing; I actually took a deeper breath. In this brief respite, all was as it should be in the universe.

I made my turn, and my thoughts turned with me. It’s silly. I find such calm in a captured moment of synchronized car blinkers. I want it to last just a little longer. In contrast, their discordance unsettles me. My nerves quietly chafe. It just bugs me. Proceeding with my morning commute, I began to hear the point those lights were making. The truth they were revealing, that life – life before me, life now, life after me – is out of synch. All is not as it should be with the universe. Not yet. There are forces vying for dominance. Inside of me. Outside of me. I also couldn’t ignore the longings that were bared. Longing for wholeness and healing and good. Longing for freedom from evil and the effects of sin. Longing for God to be known and loved. For the blinkers of life to be in synch…

And so I acknowledge my faithful car blinker. When the Author of Life needed to reassure one of His children that the Story of Redemption is safe in His skilled hand, He chose to speak through the most unlikely agent. My blinker’s disjointed sparring with the car in front of us forced me to acknowledge that there is a Greater Story in progress and that there is evil and loss and injustice and pain written into it. I mourn it globally; I mourn it personally. But greater still the graceful moment of glowing synchronization that allowed me a glimpse of eternal clarity. That brief moment of perfect harmony a reminder that the story is not yet finished, that there will be a day when all is made right. Discordance will step down and bow before Love.

Being out-of-doors expands my heart. It sets me free. My thoughts are clearer. God feels nearer. The air is bigger to breathe. I never go outside just to “be outside”. I am always searching for something – a little solitude, a little freedom, a little more vitality, a little more of God. And I am never disappointed. Whether on the Appalachian Trail, or on white water, or working in the yard, or riding my bike around my neighborhood, I always return from outside with a sweaty brow, a pounding heart, and thoughts spilling forth. Just like this morning.

Peddling and pushing myself around my neighborhood, I find myself once again thankful for my kind friend who gave me the sweet bike I am riding. It’s a Trek, quite an upgrade from any bike I have owned in the past. The gears shift smoothly. Nothing clunks. It doesn’t weigh two hundred pounds. It’s a pretty sweet ride. As I increase my speed, and my heart rate, I find myself remembering my former bikes. I have owned many. All were Walmart specials. They all clunked. All weighed two hundred pounds. And all carried me on countless miles of pursuit and salvation until they could roll no more. As I ride my Trek this morning, I realize that each Wally Wonder offered me something more than a ride. They offered me the chance to be free and strong and persistent on – or perhaps because of – their unwieldy, ungracious, and often uncooperative backs. Their very nature forced me to dig deeper to succeed. To find joy.

And now the clarity of the outdoor air comes. I know God is speaking. Encouraging.
Reminding.

“It is the hard things, Pam. It is the struggling with the uphill. It is the pressing through the difficult that brings the strength to your body – and your soul. It is the finding of joy in the absence of ease that teaches you to live. And in the hard, I have never left you; I have not forsaken you.”

I know in a thousand ways that this is true. I have lived this in a thousand ways. It has been the challenges; it has been the heartbreak; it has been the conflict of my story that has forced me to choose to live, to choose perseverance, to choose forgiveness and joy. A cushy life would not have cut it for me. So on this morning as I enjoy and appreciate the ride of a well crafted bike, and a season in life that has offered me more joy than I have yet known, I pay homage to my old friends, my mentors, the unwieldy agents of God’s grace and growing of me.

Long may they run~

It is a beautiful, breezy morning, and I am heading out the door to take my dog Tanner for a walk. Both hearts leap with delight as the promise of Autumn greets us with a breath of relief from the relentless heat of summer.  Though the air is still warm, the trees rejoice as the wind runs wild through needles and leaves. Tanner greets this gift with joy, bounding to take it all at once. I rein him in a little as if to persuade him that this kind of bliss is best enjoyed slowly. He is not convinced.  Delight. 

As is my habit when I walk alone, I pray. This morning I pray for my children. So many choices each one encounters as they navigate their worlds. I pray for my husband Jan. So much responsibility and care he shoulders. I pray for my friends. So many weighty issues pressing in on each of their lives. I walk and pray and drink in the morning. And I pray for myself. This morning I find myself repeating a question I have asked countless times before,

 “Lord, where were You when…..?” 

I am not hurting. I’m not disheartened. I’m just asking.  And He assures me as He has before,

 “I was there.” 

My question is centered on a particularly damaging aspect of my childhood. A dynamic that would drive the course of my life for many years.  My loving Father reminds me,

 “Those are the scenes of your life, Pam. Each plays a part in the woman you are now, the woman you see in the mirror, and the woman you offer to your world. You cannot change those scenes, but you can choose to accept them as your story or fight them as your loss.”

Rounding a corner, I continue to ponder those words. I take in the familiar surroundings. I have walked this route countless times. The field to my left. The fence to my right. Pretty lawns. Tanner’s predictable stops. And then I see it. I’m sure it’s been there all along, but somehow I’ve never noticed it before now. The Lord’s question reaches my heart as my eyes meet a very desolate, a very barren, a very dead tree.  

“Pam, what do you see?”                                                                 

“Death. I see death, Lord.”

Stopping, I consider what is in front of me.  Gray pallor against a brilliant sky. A dead, black silhouette of yesterday’s life.  A mighty tree once strong and noble now stripped of glory and completely devoid of offering. As if trying to assuage its indignity, I mutter,

“Well at least it offers rest to the birds.”

but immediately I understand that at best this rest is barren and odd. Its life-giving strength is gone and there remains only death. I linger a moment more, and moving on another tree captures my attention.  This one is robust, full of verdant beauty and life. Again the Lord inquires, 

“What do you see?” 

“This one is stunning; it is full of life.” 

“And what does it offer, Pam?”

“It offers shade and protection. It offers rest, and shelter, and oxygen to breathe. And it simply offers beauty to the home upon whose ground it stands.”

“Pam, choose your tree. You must choose what you want to offer to your world. The scenes of your life have not always been beautiful, and sometimes they were written with an evil pen, but I have safely brought you to this place, and you can choose to bring forth beauty – and life.”

As I walk slowly on, I am filled with grateful love that my heavenly Father, my Redeeming Lord, is right there with me, speaking into my life, opening my eyes not only to what is in front of me but also to what is inside of me. The Spirit of God assures me that I am His child.  And He understands how desperately I need to know this. He knows that it is a question I will always need to have answered. “Do you love me?”  And I feel He doesn’t mind me asking.

By now my eyes are surveying all the trees I pass. There is such variety, and I am looking at them differently now, asking what they teach me, asking  that they teach me.  I am not disappointed. I come upon a small tree that has succumbed to last year’s bitter weather. Its branches are lifeless and bare, thin fingers reaching upward with nothing to protect and nothing to provide. And yet at its base, close to the nourishing ground, green life is springing forth. Leaves healthy and bright, full of moisture and shine, are filling in the places left behind by loss. And so I inquire,

“Lord, what does this mean?  What are You showing me here?

“New life is prevailing, Pam, there is no doubt. But look how its beauty is shadowed by the lingering remnant of death. The promise of life is marred by that which needs to be hewn away. If this tree was trimmed of its dead branches, then all you would see is its life, its healthy, vibrant life.”

“And so You are saying…?”

“I am saying to remove what death clings to you, Pam. Those insecurities that breed fear.  Those fears that breed suspicion. Those suspicions that destroy trust. You have so much life in you, but you must cut away the remnants of death so that the beauty of My healthy, vibrant life is alive in you – fully and freely.”

I proceed toward home, fully alive to the voice of my Father as He shares the truth of His heart – and the truth of my heart. He points out trees that reveal beauty for the sake of beauty. Trees that bear fruit. Trees in every shape and size. Trees that reveal the love of a Father toward His questioning daughter. Trees that remind me to choose – life or death, beauty or barrenness.

And so I finish my walk with my dog by my side and my incredible God filling my heart, filling my mind, filling my world with His extraordinary voice. I had stepped out my front door to take Tanner for a walk. I was greeted by my Savior and swept up into a world of limitless truth that is always ready to be revealed if only I will ask and listen.

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