Seasons.. A View from the Fall

10624703_10204225670899602_5711718014841679115_n“He Changes times and Seasons..” Daniel 2:21

Dear Dairy,
Seasons change..  The winter blows in from the north, the sky turns from a bright warm yellow to a gray haze. The clouds are not so far away, and they linger a little longer hovering over head, casting a shade over creation, giving it a foreshadowing of things to come, they are proclaiming a time of change has come..
There is a chill in the air. Our breath is now seen as it comes forth in a cloud into the crisp air. There is a warmth from within that the cold tries to steal. The fight is seen with each breath and word spoken. We want to hold on to the warmth so we add more layers. We are wearing thicker clothes, noticing more sweaters as I look around. Scarves now are not just for embellishment or color, but for the insulation of what is inside. What is in the inside? What is it10388074_10204225670499592_1977523856913774952_n we are protecting?  Concealing?

The color around me is changing. The green leaves turn to a yellow golden flake against the hues of blue in the sky. Red is added by the Creator to give the picture that something poetic is happening, and it color is a new verse in the poem.  The poem reaches the climax as each of the verses fall to earth, floating through the night air.  As the Creator breathed the next breath on them giving the earth, the ground, a new covering, a thicker garment.. The leaves wrap around the trunk of the trees like s scarf.  They cover the ground like a warm winter blanket to shield from the new crisp air.

10401460_10204225672499642_5652892439681493437_n  I put on my orange coat.. It’s big, fluffy, and warm. I feel like The Great Pumpkin walking down the leaf covered sidewalks. My scarf is wrapped around my neck.. I look up… The sky is changing. Clouds are moving in. I can tell change is inevitable. I can feel the grip of fall losing its hold just as did summer did.. It fights to hold on..
Few leaves remain on the trees. The color has diminished and the gloom of winter is showing on each branch as it lays bare, showing that it cannot hold on to what was. (Nor can I..) There are a few leaves dangling as if they are holding on by a thread of hope, but soon they too will flutter to the ground and the echo of their fall will10378151_10204225672059631_6426576244259152229_nnot be heard by all. The weight they bare is not felt. The hope they carry is not cherished, they will soon be crumbled under foot by each person treading by.

I will watch where I step.. I will look up to see those who are still hanging on. I will wrap up in layers to protect the warmth that is inside of me. I will conceal the harshness of the effects that the change of seasons have on me.  The wind blows cold across  the leaves of my memories, and each memory, each leaf, is another burning bush that is 13992_4981858962453_848686828845387122_nextinguished.  Each leaf, trying to hold on to the tree of what was.. Each memory trying to be preserved for the future, but fall has come. The memories are falling off the tree. The connections of the past are being broken. The Creator is breathing His breath in a New Poem of my life and my leaves are showing the marks of a winter that is coming… And is now here..
As each connection is lost. Each leaf that falls.. Another person.. Another memory ..fades off the tree. Those I try to hold on to cannot withstand the next verse that is being spoken by the great Poet. The tree stands bare. Those that see it forget what it looked like when it was in full bloom, radiant with life and color.  Pedestrians walking across the fallen memories crushing what was once vibrant and beautiful. They are not fully understanding the change, but seeing it as a bother, or an eye soar that needs to be cleaned up. Fall is Messy.. .Winter is1503356_4981859162458_2348996563738046083_n cold, and sometimes harsh..
Seasons have a purpose. Things that were once alive, either wither and die, or hibernate.. To give way to what will come in the spring. Out of the dead of winter comes life, in its time. A New Life.. New Growth..
Dear Diary, Winter is here..  I am covering up what is warm inside me.  I will walk past the once beautiful trees that now look lifeless, and I will reflect on the change of seasons the Creator brings.  I will try not to take the fallen leaves for granted, nor crush them uncaringly under my weight. I know they have purpose. I know they served the tree well.. There is life still inside this trunk of mine, and life still flows thru the branches, but even as I stand naked and barren, and somewhat ashamed, I know this lifeless looking tree will bloom again. I know this season is just what it is, A Season..

Advertisements

The Gift and the Giver; The Wounded and the Healer

Greek Lexicon Dictionary describes, Poor:  Lowly, Afflicted, Helpless, Powerless to accomplish an end. Needy, Destitute of Learning, and intellectual culture which schools afford..

10410346_10203188301371697_2009518573677219694_n  This is the status Jesus says, “are Blessed for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”  I am learning. I do not believe I have arrived at any great level of spirituality, or mastery of humility. I am a beggar.. At best I am one beggar searching, reaching out, telling other beggars where I have found my bread.
I am in Romania, and have been for a month. I am blessed to have a friend, (yes, I have a few) back in the States who sends me gifts of love, wither it be  calendars from our Wise County  Special Needs 10665673_4865517013977_1804372794240547433_nBaseball group, books, or money to get a coffee machine, (Which I am enjoying every day. With each cup brewed, a pray goes out, a song of thanksgiving is sung, and a praise is given with each sip..) And recently I received such a gift, A book, “Hope Rising”…  There is something more, more than just a book or a gift, this is a piece of the giver’s heart. A portion of the soul that has been silenced. Maybe a dream that has laid dormant, thought dead..at least in a coma.. yet life is still pulsating; for the giver has awakened! That which has been long forgotten, like the spring colors in harsh winters, now is being revived, and in doing so stirs my heart from the other side of the world.
The book is a collection of stories by Kim Meeder, who ran a ranch that rescued horses, and also the dreams of bruised and broken children. The stories consist of the rescuing of abused horses, some near death.. Nourished and loved back to life, she uses these horses, with all their flaws, scars, and hurts to touch the lives of children who have experienced the same. (Truly gut wrenching!  I fight back the tears from each story, yet some seep out anyways.)  How one woman, thru her tragedy, experienced a healing that she had never known was possible, in turn uses that to heal those even less fortunate than herself.. The Poor, Afflicted, Needy, Powerless.. 10603295_10203188313171992_8620116942370717594_nThose whom “belong the kingdom of God.” From the ashes of her childhood, came a strength, a love and a passion to heal others. (Wounded people wound people. Hurting people Hurt People, yet, thru healing, forgiveness, and love, one can become the wounded healer.)  It is thru our brokenness, our wounds, that we are able to heal others thru our comfort, our touch, and our words.
Sometimes it is in the small gifts that great things are given.  The small touches that healing begins.. Through the words, though few, breathe life on those who hear them.. feel them. When words are spoken breath is given, air flows, and from it springs life. Like the fresh ran on the hard ground, our word fall, bouncing off, running off, flowing down the streets and gutters, in what seems to be a waste of water. A Waste of Words.. A waste of touch, or  Action… But gradually the ground softens. The heart gives way to the life-giving flood.  Soon that which was hard, cracked and broken becomes soft. Becomes moldable.. Seeds take root. The words sink in deeper. The touch no long calloused, crushing the clods of dirt, but smoothing over the cracks and filling in where there is lack. The soil is now receptive. The soul is now available.
Healing begins..  I don’t rescue horses.. I am for the most part, afraid of them. I do not have a ranch to take in kids. 10629610_10203188303251744_7860442585774683149_n(Though this would be awesome.)  But like the horses, others, I do have my own wounds, hurts, scars, and the ground of my soil, soul, is pretty broken.  I Am Poor.  I am not looking to escape the reality of my poverty, only trying to find a way to allow my brokenness to be the healing for other dried and parched soils, souls….
I am in Romania.. I am in the land of Gypsies.. Not unlike other countries who have refugees, immigrants, the poor and destitute, those whom society looks down on.  I have been blessed, not that I am rich in any means.. But as Paul writes, I am “Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing,  yet possessing everything.” To them, I am rich.. To them I am always rejoicing.. Having 10389478_10203188315132041_2286161059834442065_nnothing only that which is given to me, I give in hopes of making their lives richer, fuller, giving hope and life.
If I want to identify with Jesus, I must be willing to give.  I must become less, that they may become more. It’s ok for me to experience sorrow for now that they may know joy and rejoicing. I do not need to hide my wounds, for they are the doorway the souls of those around me can come in and find rest for their soul.  It is thru my poverty that I get to see the Kingdom of Heaven.  To see children the world considers unclean. Parched, dried, clay that can be brought to life, to 1385536_4913694738390_6930289569160502100_nform and purpose thru watering.. What others discard, abuse, wound, and curse, God takes and writes His story of Grace..
I am a beggar, like these kids.. I am no better.  If you give to me, to us, your gift of love is not taken lightly. If you cannot give more, or as often, we know the littlest gifts sometime have the biggest blessings.
I am a beggar, trying to work with other beggars, sharing my bread. I Am a Wounded Healer..  Sharing my heart I have received a blessing. I have received the gift of love, and gotten to see glimpse of a wounded soul who is using it to heal those less fortunate.