From My Nature Journal: Bombogenesis and the Glory of God

You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor

and power, for You created all things, and by Your will (alt, ‘for

Your pleasure’) they existed and were created.

Revelation (Apocalypse) 4:11

We had been warned. It had been touted for days, an unprecedented storm off the coast of the Pacific Northwest that could be a record-breaker, not necessarily in rain or snow or duration, but in millibars. As a unit of measure for atmospheric pressure, was it something of interest to weather nerds only? No, for such a storm can produce near hurricane force winds. It hit overnight, and though our particular spot in the greater Seattle area was spared the fullest force, more than half a million homes are without power this morning in the higher east elevations of the Seattle metro, largely, the western foothills of the Cascades. 

Bombogenesis, these storms are called, a term coined by MIT meteorologists in the 80’s to describe a storm whose pressure drops more than twenty-four millibars in twenty-four hours. These storms are also called a manifestation of explosive cyclogenesis; I guess these meteorologists thought the substitution of the word ‘bomb’ was pretty clever. Frankly, cyclones are not that rare here; simply, they’re storms that bring significant moisture off the ocean. These happen in many parts of the world, sometimes accompanied by what is called an atmospheric river, a swirling rotation of rain that stays stationary over a land area much longer than normal. We get several of these each winter.

Interestingly, it’s usually us here to the west of Seattle who bear the brunt of these windy or rainytempests, with storms coming in from off the ocean. For us here on Whidbey Island, the winds roll right in off the Pacific through the Strait of Juan de Fuca and hit our island head-on about four miles west of our home. But this one was different: the air pressure would be so low offshore (I think I heard it broke or at least tied the historic record), that the winds came roaring westward down mainland mountainsides heading out to sea to counter and balance the incredibly low pressure offshore. It was quite a thing. Nature is so incredibly dynamic. And east winds are much more problematic here, as our oversized trees are more accustomed to the forces of western winds. Sure enough, thousands upon thousands of trees are down in the most affected areas. And since Gail and I have many enormous Douglas firs on our little acre in easy reach of our home, some a hundred feet tall and four to five feet in diameter, we chose to heed warnings and went to bed last night on the floor of the family room in our basement. We’re a little stiff getting up!

I wax. My apology. But I love this kind of stuff. Nature is so incredibly dynamic. It reminds me of God. 

Now, I know that nature is a system, and that it works the way it works because of the vigorous forces atmospheres create in combination with the complexities of landmasses and their elements. But I also believe that God is the Creator of such things, and that, ultimately, the power we see in nature is a reflection of the power that is God’s. 

The book of Revelation in the Bible (‘Apocalypse’ in some versions) contains images of visions seen by St. John the Apostle late in the 1st Century. John here has foresights of the end times, and among them are visions of all people gathered around the throne of God worshiping him in eternity. My devotions today had me listening to a recording of chapter 4. The wind was still strong outdoors, though the teeth of the storm here had mostly abated; but it was still dark while I was listening, and I had not yet had an opportunity to visually assess things and see if we had lost trees. (We didn’t.) Suddenly I hear of the elders, symbolic of the earth’s peoples, and several mystical creatures falling down and paying homage to God in the words with which I started this post, which I here paraphrase: “WORTHY are you, Lord, to receive ALL glory… and power. For you have not only created all things but have done so for your good pleasure.” I was swept up in their worship. And not only that; I could hear our trees outdoors in the dark whistling and swaying in the wind, and imagined them as the elders bowing down in worship. I wanted to join them, captivated by the vision.

That day will come. For now, I will content myself with joining towering firs in worship, or with joining in the singing of mountains or the clapping of trees’ hands in praise (Isaiah 55:12), or even the shouting out of “Hosanna!” by the stones of the earth (Luke 19:40). 

~~ RGM, November 20, 2024

From My Nature Journal: I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Whatever…

If I hear that song once more this season, I may just shut it off. I first started feeling a low-grade sadness about it a week ago while I sat in a concert, and since then it has amazed me how often it is played. Every single radio or Pandora station that features Christmas music, whether secular or sacred, runs it, and often. Yes, it is certainly way preferred to Christmas Shoes and Santa Baby, but since when did I’ll Be Home for Christmas become so popular that absolutely everyone includes it on their holiday album? Is it the one with the least copyright protection? And while I’m at it, who chooses the on-air playlists where it seems to play every tenth song? Or less?

Or is it that it’s just being played to the country’s somber mood these days? Or mine? Is there some kind of nostalgic ‘home’ we all long for?

By contrast, I think that when it comes time for me to Need a Little Christmas, it’s not I’ll be Home that cheers me, but Joy to the World that would truly raise my hopes.

So, I confess: this is a strange Christmas for us. We are feeling somewhat homeless. Yes, I admit, in a very, very western affluent sort of way, but still, homeless. We’ve relocated to the Pacific Northwest to pursue a new season in life, but it came up quickly enough, and a new ministry call among wonderful people has demanded enough, that we have not yet been able to put a home under our feet. Oh, we’re not ungrateful, by any means: we’re living under the generous and plentiful graces of dear friends who had some lovely space available, and our daughter’s family, time with whom we treasure immensely. But this region has just not yet seemed like home. The culture is yet to be learned, the strangeness of the place has not yet subsided. And then there’s just this gnawing and seeming inhospitality and unwelcomeness caused by the weather.

We’ve been in the Pacific Northwest going on three months now, and I think it has rained for all but about thirty minutes since we arrived. Yes, I exaggerate. But imagine my giddy delight a week or so ago when the weak sun shone so brightly upon my early morning commute that I actually had to put on my sunglasses for what I realized was the very first time!

Have you ever noticed how people in different regions of the country have these key, local phrases that make light of their absolutely horrible weather? Think about it. In Phoenix, they say, “Oh, but it’s DRY heat.” By contrast, in Atlanta they say, “Oh, but I LOVE the humidity!” In New England, “Oh, nevermind the weather, just wait three (or ten, or sixty) minutes and it will change.” (Chicago says the same thing. Of course, Chicago also says, “Yes, but we have the CUBS!”) In Minneapolis, it’s “Oh, but the SUMMERS are so wonderful.” (Apparently no one here is taking the mosquitos into consideration.) Denverites say, “Oh, but the snow is always GONE in three days.” (We even said that a lot ourselves while we lived there.) But here in Seattle, the key phrase of weather denial is, “Oh, there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad gear.”

Again, whatever…

As if good gear can substitute for the good feel of God’s good sunshine on one’s good, bare skin. Yes, one is outside. No, one cannot hear the birds due to the layers and the Gore-tex over one’s ears. Latent in all these regional phrases is the need a person has to make peace with the things about home that one does not like, or that actually may even be quite miserable, but must be lived with anyway.

I’m sorry. The weather here is Bad with a capital B. It’s absolutely gorgeous in some other ways. And we adore the people we are working and living with. But the climate has caused us to ask occasionally why people would want to live here! Perry Como’s local booster tune says, “The bluest skies you’ve ever seen are in Seattle.” I think I would beg to differ. Maybe they’re thinking of the cobalt blue from hiking up near magnificent Mount Rainier fifty miles away. Or maybe the skies just seem the bluest to Seattleites because the hue so rarely presents itself. Along the way this fall, many have told us it has been an unusually cloudy, wet and dark winter. Curiously, they started saying that to us in mid-October, so perhaps we should have taken that as a clue.

So I’m overstating my case, to be sure. (Overstatement IS a communication form, you know. Truly.) But the rain is getting old. Commuting is getting old. Living out of suitcases is getting old. And in spite of the  fact that Gail and I are pretty positive people, we both have been feeling a bit melancholy, not yet sensing like we’ve come home in the way we would like by now. Which brings me back to the overplayed Christmas song that a lot of other people may be enjoying this year more than me.

Today I woke long before dawn, walked to the farmhouse living room window and surveyed the advent of the last day of Advent. Disappointedly, I found that the sight matched my homeless mood. It was wet, cold and foggy, and I could barely see the road sixty feet away. Where am I? Why again am I here? I slipped on my feeble non-Gore-tex raincoat and took a long, long walk. By the time I was finished, the sun was beginning to burn through the fog, and as the fog lifted so did my spirit, just a bit. But it was also something else that happened, something timely for my need today. While walking through the dense fog, I had the chance to hear (but not see) great throngs of migrating, homeless trumpeter swans off feeding in a field to my left. And then to hear (but not see) even greater, more massive throngs of migrating, homeless snow geese off feeding in another field to my right. Lifting fog and contemplations of migrations brought some semblance of peace to my restless and homeless soul.

Maybe, in the grander scheme, we’re all still just migrating. Maybe that’s all we can do this side of things. The writer of the Bible passage puts it profoundly:

It was by faith that Abraham obeyed to go out to a place… in complete ignorance of his destination. It was faith that kept him journeying… For his eyes were looking forward to that city with solid foundations of which God Himself is designer and builder. (Hebrews 11:8-10)

I guess Abraham never made it home for Christmas either.

So, on we go. We all want a true home. This isn’t it.

~~ Migrating Heavenward, Weather Notwithstanding,

RGM, Christmas Eve 2016

Blowin’ in the Wind: Guest Columnist John Kiemele and “Selah Reflections”

("Blowin’ in the Wind" is a regular feature on my blog consisting of an assortment of nature writings – hymns, songs, excerpts, prayers, Bible readings, poems or other things – pieces I may not have written but that inspire me or have given me joy. I trust they will do the same for you.)

Many of us are weather watchers, though I confess mild puzzlement with those who can watch Weather Channel all day long. When Gail and I are in the Northwoods with very little radio reception, no internet access or television signal, and even limited cellphone coverage, we are glad for faithful access to a trusty little weather radio my sister gave us that tunes in without fail to NOAA whenever we want it. And though we joke about the three computerized voices on the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s station, whom we lovingly call Oley, Lena and George (one male and one female voice sound amazingly Scandinavian), we’re always grateful we can know routine weather for our possible outdoor activities, let alone be apprised of stormy or dangerous weather conditions headed our way.

But in addition to that, we also pay fairly close attention to the weather in about ten places around the country where family and other loved ones live, one of which is Seattle. We often heard this summer from our kids and other friends who live there, or nearby, that it was hot and dry yet again, with the Washington state motto “The Evergreen State” feeling more and more a misnomer. Even without the personal connections, though, no one who keeps track of the news could have missed knowing of the incredible dry spell experienced in the Pacific Northwest this past season, or of the dozens of fires that were spawned among those lovely western trees blistering in tinder dry conditions. Midwest sunsets, heavy with dispersed smoke and deeply red, constantly told their version of the story as well.

In the midst of it, I received a brief, group email greeting from a friend, John Kiemele, who directs a ministry called Selah Center in the greater Puget Sound area. Selah Center is an intentional community of diverse, contemplative Christians, dedicated to the development of Christlikeness through such things as events, retreats, spiritual direction, courses and prayer experiences. John wrote of the scorching, choking heat as compared to the extravagant, refreshing love of our good God. I desired immediately to share it with you as a part of my “Blowin’ in the Wind” feature. And so, with this post, I’d like to begin to feature from time to time guest columnists who have allowed me to share their writing in this way. John Kiemele, Selah Center, writing to his network:

Dear Companions and Friends,

It’s dry.  Brittle, crunching, flammable dry.

It’s serious dry.  It’s dangerous dry.

A few months ago we scratched our heads as those desperate for rainfall watched neighboring states try to navigate and survive torrential flooding.  Dark, promising clouds gather and yet drift on their drop-less way at the sun’s persistence.  From sea level to mountain top, from coast to coast, it’s dry.

And then there is God’s love.  No matter the season, God’s love is.  Ever-present.  Constant. Thorough. Incarnational. Torrential. And truth be told… Dangerous. It’s God’s love. 

One of our expressed values as the Selah community is that “We affirm God’s initiating love, expressed profoundly in Christ Jesus.”

We recognize that God does not and cannot turn off or cease loving.  Each breath comes from Love and bursts with Love.  All that is is because of God’s Love.  The beloved apostle writes that without Love nothing was made that has been made.

Aaaahh…God’s Love…always initiating, always flowing, always drenching my life with expression and invitation.

Recalling an image from a poem I heard long ago, my prayer today is that I come into this day, stepping into the constant flow of God’s Love, carrying not a thimble but buckets!!

So be it.

Peace and love to you in this good day.

John

Thank you, John!

(John writes regularly and inspirationally in a group email he calls Selah Reflections. Contact the website via the bolded link above for further information about this ministry.)

~~ RGM, October 8 2015

From My Nature Journal: Making Room

So I was just thinking… New weather conditions are usually nothing but climatic influences moving into spaces and openings that have been made by other climatic influences moving out, the latter vacating their former place. In other words, a place is made in one location by a departing influence, allowing, no, even attracting another system to fill the space behind it. This is as true with light breezes as it is with major fronts and pressure systems covering half a continent.

Wouldn’t it be just like God to do something similar in the human spirit…

I visited with a young man yesterday who is struggling over a decision, wrestling with a personal discernment process; he was eager for guidance and welcomed my mentorship. But it seemed he had already made up his mind in a way that, to me, seemed premature. I advised him to slow down a bit and be more reflective on the impact this decision might have on those around him, to even welcome other key and trusted persons into his discernment who would be most affected by his ultimate conclusion.

...God, make a space for him to move

only where you have gone before,

where you invite him forward...

As we prayed together, the above weather image came to mind, and I asked God in regard to this decision that this young man might only move into the spaces and openings God had made for him. My young friend being also something of a nature guy, I prayed, “Just as weather systems move into the spaces made for them by prior weather systems moving out, so, God, make a space for him to move only where you have gone before, where you invite him forward. Let him not create havoc by moving where you have not led.”

Of course, Jesus also had something to say about the danger of prematurely vacated spaces. I imagine him speaking with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, “You may think you’ve cleaned out the junk from your lives and gotten ready for God, but you weren’t hospitable to my Kingdom message, and now all the devils are moving back in! (Matthew 12:45, MSG)” Seems like the spaces left vacantly behind in the human spirit can be filled for good or for naught.

Lord, move for good, please, into the spaces where I have finally taken myself out of Your way. And better yet, allow me ever and always to move only into the places You have opened.

~~RGM, from an earlier journal entry,

adapted for my blog July 30, 2014