From My Nature Journal: Consider the Lilies

We never anticipated so many.

Gail and I hit the Ridgeline Trail today outfitted with gear we had not actively hiked with before, at least in this way: an open notepad and pen. In the days prior we had noticed an amazing profusion of wildflowers in bloom, observing newly-opened ones almost every day. Finally, yesterday, we mused that we should bring paper and pen sometime soon and record how many we see. “There must be twenty-five or thirty,” one of us said.

So today we gave ourselves extra time for our regular three-mile circuit, and started recording from the moment we left the trailhead. Astonishingly, we had not even gotten off the feeder path before we had already surpassed the imagined number.

It was quite stunning, a magnificent diversity. In that small distance, we counted eighty-four different blooming wildflowers! Eighty-four! And this was a conservative count, especially because we had not the patience this time around to differentiate the varieties of vetches (at least four) and the plethora of penstemons (at least six); no doubt there were more of these ubiquitous species. Additionally, this count included only those very near the trail, and did not include tiny groundcovers, or the flowers in bud but not bloom. All told, there may well have been far more than a hundred.

Most of the plant names escaped us (an effort for another day), so we recorded them by color, character, and leaf shape, so as not to duplicate. Thirty of the eighty-four were shades of yellow (36%), nineteen purple (23%) and eighteen white (21%). The remaining were pinks, oranges, blues and corals. Many species there were that have been cultivated -- roses, geraniums, orchids, yarrows, asters, alyssums, clovers, forget-me-nots, daisies, alfalfas, lupines, sunflowers, spiderwort, potentillas, mallows, yuccas, sweet peas, larkspurs, harebells, trumpets, wallflowers, dogbanes, paintbrushes, flaxes and phloxes. There were even onions and cherries. But the more undomesticated were well-represented also -- arnicas, holly, other worts, thistles, prairie smoke, knapweeds, prickly poppy, banner flower, cacti, and who-knows-what-else.

…There they were, every one of

them in all their created glory.

Some were so odd as to almost defy description – fern-like, butterfly-shaped, spidery, fringed-clusters, asparagus-leaved. And yet others were so common-looking or plain-seeming that we have very likely typically overlooked them – dandelion-like, dandelion-like #2, and dandelion-like #3. Yet there they were, every one of them in all their created glory.

Glory.

That’s what it was. Inestimable beauty, magnificent, even regal, exceeding the splendor of Solomon.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you? (Matthew 6:28-30)

Oh, the depth of the riches… of God! How… unfathomable are His ways!  (Romans 11:33)

~~ RGM, from an early June entry several

years ago while we lived in Colorado

From My Nature Journal: A Jesus Blessing

OK, I think it’s time for another Celtic-style blessing. I’ve shared some of these blessings before, some I have written and some I’ve found elsewhere, and you can check one out here if you’d like. But this is one I wrote seven years ago during another Eastertide.

My heart is full these days, having come off a rich and reflective Lenten season here in our church. But it has also been an unusually intense and busy Lent, thus my inability to get a new post up at all yet this month. Still, the unusual Lent made me also unusually eager for Easter, to be able to celebrate again the victory of Jesus over sin, death and the devil, what Martin Luther called ‘the unholy trinity.’

So, Jesus be praised! Christ is risen! May you receive the blessing Jesus is able to provide as a result of his victory!

A Celtic Blessing

The love of Christ to win you,

The joy of Christ to keep you.

The peace of Christ to settle you,

The patience of Christ to suffer you.

The kindness of Christ to overwhelm you,

The goodness of Christ to delight you.

The faithfulness of Christ to encourage you,

The gentleness of Christ to heal you.

The hope of Christ to assure you,

The glory of Christ to inspire you.

The purposes of Christ to occupy you,

The rest of Christ to renew you.

The light of Christ to draw you,

The path of Christ to guide you.

The hand of Christ to lead you,

The arms of Christ to surround you.

The absence of Christ to humble you,

The presence of Christ to strengthen you.

The grace of Christ to amaze you,

The touch of Christ to restore you.

The creativity of Christ to enchant you,

The imagination of Christ to form you.

The watchfulness of Christ to protect you,

The serenity of Christ to calm you.

The face of Christ to behold you,

The smile of Christ to warm you.

The mercy of Christ to correct you,

The forgiveness of Christ to cleanse you.

The majesty of Christ to overshadow you,

The breath of Christ to enliven you.

The exhilaration of Christ to thrill you,

The stillness of Christ to quiet you.

The provision of Christ to satisfy you,

The beauty of Christ to be seen in you.

The Spirit of Christ to overtake you,

The word of Christ to hold you.

These blessings of Christ be yours

This day and every day.

In the strong Name, amen. 

~~ RGM, April 20, 2017

From My Nature Journal: Hope Waits

This is our first spring in the state of Washington, and it is an understatement to say that our Pacific Northwest habitat has changed just a bit compared to our former Colorado digs. Here in Cascade land, green is ubiquitous year-round. Back in the Centennial State, winter brown will prevail into April.

So today, in Lenten reverie, I was thinking back to a memorable saunter this time of year. Gail was out of town visiting her folks. I had the day off and was out wandering the newly opened Ridgeline Trail system. It was a weekday morning on a not so nice day, so the paths were empty, the air chilly and the sky gray. At one point I left the trail and wandered back into a draw to see what I could see. In a quiet and secluded spot I crawled back under a scrub oak, lay down on my back and fell asleep. When I awoke, a very light rain had begun to fall, but I was sheltered enough to simply lie there for some time and think about spring and life and death and Lent and resurrection. After a few moments I pulled out a notepad and scribbled a few lines, which came together further later that evening in this:

hope waits

i lie beneath an overwintered scrub oak

            staring up through stark branches

            dead, brittle brown leaves

            clinging, gripping

            beneath leaden sky

death has held tight rein through

            storms and winds of winter

            how? death is strong, tenacious

yet below each stiff leaf stem is life

            life that will soon push out

            push death down, each leaf to earth

            where tree will nourish itself

            nourish its own growth by God’s grace

death is an illusion, mocked

            life triumphs, green

            hope waits

So, that’s where my thoughts have taken me this third week of Lent, and I thought I’d share this little piece with you for your blessing. I pray you might anticipate the life that God is yet to course through whatever dormancy you may be experiencing.

Hope waits!

And, oh, while I’ve got you, let me tell you about the humble Scrub Oak, since I always enjoy sharing a little nature lesson along the way. It’s also called Gambel Oak, Winter Oak, Oak Brush and White Oak, though it’s not the same as the majestic Eastern White Oak. It’s an unpretentious tree of the interior southwest, common to all the ‘Four Corners’ states, and tends to be rather slight, normally 10-30 feet. The Scrub Oak is ubiquitous in arid foothills at 3500-6500 feet elevation, and carries a stunted, gnarly look. Unlike most deciduous trees, it holds most of its dead leaves through the winter, thus the name Winter Oak; spring’s new axillary bud development below each brittle leaf stem finally push the previous year’s leaf right out of its sheath. Though small, the tree is still an important and accessible winter deer browse in any kind of snow, and can produce a prolific mast of acorns each year, a rich and welcome treat for squirrels and bears as well as the deer.

Get outside!

~~ RGM, March 24, 2017

POTM*: Near the Cross

(*Photos of the Month)

Two years ago late in Lent, while we were serving a wonderful church in southern New Mexico, Gail and I became aware of a lovely and lively little woodpecker pair seeming to take more than a casual interest in a large cross in the church’s landscaping. Within a couple days, believe it or not, we realized that they had chosen the cross in which to build their nest. Note: not on which to build their nest, mind you, but in which, adding a whole new meaning to the concept of finding new birth and life within the cross of Jesus Christ! Woodpeckers are cavity nesters, and there, right smack in the middle of the vertical beam and just up from the crossbeam, they had begun their hammering, chipping demolition.

Over the days that followed we kept as close track as we could while being careful not to drive them off with our curiosity. By Easter Sunday the hole was about an inch deep, but the little duo (he with a red cap, she without) really got into it once they went all out. A few days into Eastertide it was five inches deep. (OK, OK, I like things like this, and in their absence I’d check periodically with a ruler!) But then the cavity began heading downward, and soon after, when their presence became constant, I lost the ability to measure.

We researched them and found them to be Ladderback Woodpeckers. Typically these woodies nest in cactus, but this pair seemed to have a different plan that year. And yes, within several weeks time, they fledged several chicks. We even had some fun with the folks at the church and had a naming contest, though I cannot remember the winning entry.

Now, the beams from which the cross was made were solid, not hollow. The cross was sturdily built, and completely painted without so much as a blemish to get the creatures thinking. In other words, this spot was chosen — chosen over cactus, over hollow trees, over snags with holes already started, chosen over countless other available options. Chosen. In the cross! We all should be so smart as to make such a choice.

Which has gotten me to thinking... First, I wonder if the pair or its offspring have returned to the nest in subsequent years. Perhaps we’ll hear from one of our Las Cruces friends to let us know. But the other thing I get to wondering about is this whole idea of staying close to the cross of Christ. In 1869, Fanny Crosby, that prolific, blind, gospel hymn writer, penned a poem that has become one of her most beloved songs, “Jesus Keep Me Near the Cross.” Here it is, and if you need a reminder of the tune, you can hit this YouTube recording while you read:

Jesus, keep me near the cross. There, a precious fountain --

Free to all, a healing stream -- flows from Calvary’s mountain.

In the cross, in the cross, be my glory ever,

‘Til my raptured soul shall find rest beyond the river.

Near the cross! A trembling soul, love and mercy found me.

There the Bright and Morning Star shed His beams around me.

Near the cross! O Lamb of God, bring its scenes before me.

Help me walk from day to day with its shadow o’er me.

Near the cross! I’ll watch and wait, hoping, trusting ever,

‘Til I reach the golden strand just beyond the river.

In the cross, in the cross, be my glory ever,

‘Til my raptured soul shall find rest beyond the river.

This Lent, like a couple of my former avian friends, I am finding my comfort near the cross of Jesus. Join me?

~~ RGM, March 12, 2017