Understanding I Don't Understand

What can take my sin away? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Nothing I do has any power to save me, raise me or earn me the Father's love. No sacrifice or act of self-denial will make me appear more beautiful to the One who sits on the throne of Justice.

I know. But I am just beginning to understand how I don't understand.

Is righteousness really credited to my account in the instant I repent? But I haven't had anytime to show God I'm going to do better. I haven't had time to replace my squandered hour with a hour of Bible study.
Grace. Unearned. Undeserved.

A child of the world who has expended the best years of life for self.
A child of faith who has expended the best years of life in self-denying service.
Grace touches both and they immediately stand on level ground before the cross. Unfair. Beautiful.

If I give up every dream I have held precious, if I go to the darkest parts of the earth, if I fast, pray and meditate...won't God view me with greater love? won't my salvation be more secure?

God loved me incomprehensibly before I existed. Heavens love is unending. How can such love be increase by any earthly deed? Impossible.

My salvation - full and free - was secured for me when Jesus cried "it is finished". It is given to me when I fall before Him empty handed, confess and believe. How can I make such a gift more complete? Impossible.

I will still give up my earthly dreams. I will still go to the darkest parts of the earth. I will still fast, pray and meditate but no merit it earned by it.
Because of the wonder of grace we don't live in a world with good and bad karma points. We don't live in a world where monastic self-torture purges the soul. No amount of good deeds could ever tip any such imagined scales in our favor.

He who knew no sin became sin that we who were sinners might become righteous.

By beholding grace I am changed. I want to spend more time thinking about this grace I don't understand.

Where the wind come sweeping down the plains...

I miss it already.

Happy Moments

Rain pouring down. Mud squishing between my toes and over my ankle as I walk down long rows of corn. The rain is dripping off my nose as I lug my heavy bucket of corn toward the wagon. I start humming "Showers of Blessings".

Its a happy moment.


Standing precariously in the back of a truck. Green rolling fields flash by on either side. The wind is cool and I notice the thunderclouds that are giving us the welcome shade. Thanks to our driver the mud holes and gravel road is that much more exciting.

Its a happy moment.


Bent over tomato plants. Its been a long day and evening is coming on. I slowly stand up and lean a little farther back than needed just to un-kink my back. The sun is low on the horizon. Its orangy light is catching the dust stirred up by a passing truck. I take a look around at the horse pasture, the pond, the silos, and fields of corn.

Happy moments. There have been so many of them. I can't even begin to describe them all.

Quandary of a Domesticated Naturalist

I used to fancy myself as a budding Naturalist, bound for a life in the wilderness, studying nature like Marty Stouffer. This dream was long on fancy and short on follow through. Like it or not, this would-be Naturalist has been domesticated. Thus a tug-of-war often commences between my domesticity and wannabe naturalism. It seems to be that I am neither fully one nor the other.

In a most domestic manner, I have been assisting my Grandfather with a small garden plot in back of the house. It has been most pleasant to watch the corn and zucchini plants double their size from week to week. I enjoy it. One day my Grandfather approached me with an air of great indignation and a hefty portion of foul-humor.
"Half my tomato plants have been decapitated and all my Rattlesnake Beans have been mown down! Those Ground Hogs are destroying our garden!"
I suppose my domestic sensibilities should have risen up in great wrath against such rotty little mammals that would wreak such havoc in our garden. I nodded my head sympathetically and murmured soft exclamations of dismay,but was already hoping my furry friends wouldn't be relocated or worse.

As it has turned out, Grandfather indeed would like to take the Ground Hogs out with his trusty shooter. I would indeed like to feed and observe them. So which should it be - Garden or Ground Hog?

Oh the quandary of being a domesticated naturalist.

Rustic Living

Maybe I was meant to live in a cabin.

Sure was nice for one weekend at least.

The simple life.

Sailing

COME, hoist the sail, the fast let go!
They're seated all aboard.
Wave chases wave in easy flow:
The bay is fair and broad.

The ripples lightly tap the boat.
Loose!-Give her to the wind!
She flies ahead:-They're all afloat:
The strand is far behind...

~ Richard Henry Dana


Sailing is exhilarating and completely enthralling! Next time I'd like to be on the open ocean.

When Clouds Were Masterpieces...

Suggested Listening: Chopin Piano Concerto 1 2nd movement...listen to all 3 movements if you have time.

_____________________

My backpack hits the tiled floor with a thud and I wearily drop into a chair. The sound of an unknown violinist drifts up the stairwell from a distant practice room. Although I know I should be reaching for my Nursing Folder there is a moment of hesitation. In quietness I turn to survey the trees, soaring bird and cumulus clouds visible through the wall sized window. Without so much as a word of warning, my mind, so often consumed with swirling thoughts of LRC assignments, random medical terminology and case studies, hoists anchor and sails for distant shores. Vivid memories, like old friends, stop by just to remind me they would not like to be forgotten.

In the olden days of yesteryear there were many happy days spent in an era now commonly called the “Home-schooling Years”. Those were simpler days. I recall them with fondness and a hint of wistfulness. How distinctly I recall reading Wordsworth aloud to my dog in the shade of some great tree. Then there was the time I was working on Algebra to the music of Fritz Kreisler and noticed the greenness of the oak leaves against the blueness of the sky. These memories survive in such a vivid form I still almost smell, hear and feel them. I remember sitting cross-legged in front of the stereo and vigorously conducting the Overture to the Marriage of Figaro.
I remember being the "Cloud-Watcher". I loved to study clouds and make impromptu, impassioned speeches on how “every cloud is a masterpiece, never to be reproduced!” It seemed a pity so many people walked about looking down. They missed the exquisite architecture of thunderclouds, the sun-rays gilding their edges and the indescribable hue they turned at twilight. It was a soapbox of mine.


Whether wandering the fields, sitting in my favorite tree or at my school desk, my One Hundred and One Famous Poems book was often my companion. Poetry’s ability to express the deepest, most profound thoughts and feelings imagined fascinated me. Sometimes I was not always sure of its meaning, but the sheer beauty of the words still held me. Often I’d repeat a line or two until the meaning came to me.

Nobility
True worth is in being, not seeming, ---
In doing, each day that goes by,
Some little good—not in dreaming
Of great things to do by and by.
For whatever men say in their blindness,
And spite of the fancies of youth,
There’s nothing so kingly as kindness
And nothing so royal as truth...
~ Alice Cary

Aostrophe to the Ocean
“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar...
~ George Gordon Byron

There are countless others such as the weighty lengths of “The Present Crisis”, “The Day Is Done “ by Longfellow, “If” by Kipling. Then there is “The Daffodils” by Wordsworth (aforementioned piece read to attentively listening puppy dog).

In those homeschooling days I felt our local NPR classical music announcers were my friends. "This is Allan Ellstrom with the afternoon concert..." This unknown yet known friend told me the time, the weather and the history behind Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony. There was much music during those days. I studied to Bach and Handel in the mornings, faithfully practiced piano an hour a day and played in a Piano Trio with some homeschooling friends.
These homeschooling buddies and I would have very fun, spirited discussions regarding music. They continually sought to win me over to Modern music with all its screaching dissonance. I stalwartly defended the grand ole masters. Once Josh worked on me long and hard to listen to Respighi's "Pines of Rome". I'd have none of it. Time does bring changes though. I just recently listened to the Pines of Rome. Its not all that bad after all.


I miss baking bread every week, taking off for bike rides whenever I wish and evenings of reading stories aloud. I miss tending to our small garden, taking extended road trips, exploring historic sites and old libraries. I miss lunch with Paul Harvey. I miss planting Daffodils and being home to see the first blossom.
I miss the slower, simpler life.

Times are different now, but clouds are still masterpieces.