Back Porch Break

Bethlehem Bound

December 22, 2013 by Nancy 10 Comments

I recently read that the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem is being restored after 600 years, and was reminded of this column from a few years ago. Merry Christmas to you, wherever the Lord leads you!

Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened…Luke 2:15

How often we look back on the way God orchestrated something in our lives, something so totally opposite from what we had planned, and say, “But, of course, it had to be just as it was.” Such was the case when Mary and Joseph traveled over rugged trails into Judea to the little town of Bethlehem. Certainly Mary didn’t expect to be having a baby so soon, and definitely not so far from home. But the journey fulfilled prophecy, for it is recorded in Micah 5:2: “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel.”

Surely the shepherds didn’t expect to be visited by a heavenly host that starry night either–nor to travel to Bethlehem to worship a newborn King.

As Christmas comes this year, the question on our hearts needs to be “Where are you leading me, Lord? What plans do you have for me that I don’t even know about yet?” When we ask those questions sincerely, we can celebrate Christmas Bethlehem bound, ready to go where He leads and ready to humbly worship at the feet of our Lord.

My husband and I were privileged to travel to Israel in 1998 and Bethlehem was one of the stops along our way. We were somewhat surprised by what we found there—not the idyllic scene portrayed on greeting cards, but an enormous, ornate Greek Orthodox church, the Church of the Nativity, built over the spot where Jesus was said to have been born. Pilgrims to Bethlehem step down cavernous steps inside this church into a small enclosure made even closer by the many tapestries and incense-burning lamps hanging all around. In turn, each traveler gets down on hands and knees to peer into a grotto of sorts where a 14-pointed star is embedded in the floor to “mark the spot” where Jesus was born. Jewish tradition ensures this spot is accurate, but it’s now so different from what it once was—and from what we expected.

At another stop along our tour, we saw a typical manger from the time of Jesus’ birth. It was not a wooden structure filled with hay, but a chiseled stone watering trough. Thinking of these things now, I realize there’s no better time than Christmas to set aside all our preconceived ideas. Rather than celebrate just as we always have, let’s open our hearts to the plans the Lord has for us this Christmas. Like Mary and Joseph may we be, in heart and spirit, Bethlehem bound.

(Painting shown is “Adoration of the Shepherds” by Rembrandt.)

Hay Fever

November 7, 2013 by Nancy 13 Comments

Some aromas permeate our childhood memories like vanilla in cookie dough or yeast in cinnamon buns. They come to mind as surely and sweetly as secrets sisters share growing up. For me, one of those fragrances is the scent of freshly mowed hay in the fall—the last cutting of the year. Call me a hayseed if you’d like, but from an early age I’ve had the best kind of hay fever.

I grew up on a non-working farm in East Tennessee, meaning that farming wasn’t how our family earned our living. But we lived in a big white farmhouse with a screened-in porch that was surrounded by pastures. We also had a large red barn and a couple of horses, and throughout the years of my childhood owned an assortment of dogs, cats, chickens, rabbits, pigs and one notorious goat named Billy (of course). Billy had to quickly find another home after he ate 12 blossoms off my mother’s prized geranium one Sunday while we were at church!

Even as a tiny girl I remember “hay-cutting day” as a time of excitement in our home. My two sisters and I would hear the big combine lumbering down the two-lane road toward our house before we saw it, but we already knew it was time for the hay to be mowed because of the aromas emanating from the kitchen.

My grandmother lived with us, and on hay-cutting day she took it upon herself to cook a big pot of pinto beans for the workmen to have for lunch—along with cornbread baked in a cast-iron skillet. Once a whiff of those two dishes cooking at the same time wafted upstairs, even the sleepiest heads woke up early on a Saturday morning so as not to miss Granny’s home cooking.

Even now on road trips I never fail to notice baled hay in pastures we pass. The bales we watched roll out of the hay-baler in my childhood were the traditional, rectangular box shape—easy to store in the barn for feeding the horses over the winter. But my favorites now are the big circular bales like the ones above that I photographed on our family property in Tennessee last month. I even spied some in Tuscany when we were there a few years ago. Much to my husband’s amusement, I often want to photograph hay bales. No other sculpture speaks to me the same way.

My sister-in-law Mary, since deceased, was an excellent horsewoman and the only person I’ve ever known who was a hay connoisseur. If we were stuck behind a truck full of hay on the highway I might be frustrated wondering how to get around it, but Mary would be assessing the quality of the hay on the truck and whether she would feed it to the horses in her care.

So now seeing hay reminds me of a cherished sister-in-law as well as my childhood home in Tennessee. No wonder I have hay fever.

Falling for Fall

September 26, 2013 by Nancy 18 Comments

Fall is here in all its glory. With each leaf that swirls and floats toward the ground, I’m reminded of what a wonderful time of year this is to make a change. Whether the change is monumental or so small only you know the difference, it can have lasting benefits. Here are some fall-inspired ideas to get you started:

Fall in to a recliner and just relax for a change! Watch some football. Make sure there’s a big bowl of popcorn within reach. If you really must feel more productive, add a holiday craft project to the game plan. But if you just want to sit and watch football, do it guiltlessly. Football has value beyond the entertainment it provides; the NFL donates a lot of money to charity!

Fall out of bed a half hour earlier and take a walk around the block. Soon you’ll be buried under a comforter listening to announcements of wind chill factors and school closings. Take advantage of the cool, crisp mornings to clear your head…and work off some of the popcorn you ate watching football.

Fall in to a huge pile of leaves and just lie there looking up at the blue sky and cloud formations. No leaves in your yard? Show up at a friend’s house with a rake and volunteer to help for the pure joy of having a pile of leaves all to yourself. (Don’t pick your over-achieving friends. They won’t understand.)

Fall in love. If you’re married, fall in love with your spouse all over again. Taking five minutes to make a list of things that first attracted you to him or her is a great place to start. Focus only on those things for a week, and before you know it, you’re head over heels again. No love interest at the moment? Fall in love with an adopted kitten or puppy. Their love is unconditional, and they’ll always be around for a snuggle on a blustery evening.

Fall out of line. I’m not recommending anything illegal or immoral, just out of the ordinary. Take a new route to work. Shop at a different grocery store. Read a book by an unknown author. Be less predictable. No one will really care, and you may find out you’ve been in the wrong line anyway.

Fall in over your head. Immerse yourself in something you’ve only dipped a toe into until now. Maybe it’s a dream, a relationship, a foreign language, or a career you’ve wanted to pursue. Fall is a great time to dive in fearlessly.

Fall out of your comfort zone. Reach out to those less fortunate, less recognized, less socially desirable, than most of the people you know. Do at least one thing to make the world a better place.
It’s fall…time to make a change for all seasons.

Consider the Lilies

September 6, 2013 by Nancy 18 Comments

Each week I have the pleasure of walking around this lake with two good friends. Recently our vistas have been brightened by the appearance of wild Black-eyed Susans. I haven’t been in Israel when the wild lilies of the field are in bloom, but I can’t imagine they could be more beautiful than this, our Colorado version.

When those yellow faces start appearing in August, I’m always reminded of August, 1977, when I first moved to Colorado. We lived just to the right of this lake, but none of the area behind the lake was developed then so there were open fields near our house. I took a whole roll of film (remember film?) of my two boys and our golden retriever running through the Black-eyed Susans in those fields.

Of course, I also thought we were all going to die in Colorado that August, because, coming from Tennessee, I didn’t know about the way the wind swept across the plains. One day the wind was blowing so hard that it was lifting my drapes straight out and off the hooks. I closed all the windows to keep the wind out, but it was hot and we didn’t have air-conditioning. That’s when I was just sure we were all going to suffocate! But I’ve adapted well to the creative Colorado weather in 36 years, and would miss it if I lived anywhere else.

The appearance of the Black-eyed Susans also always reminds me of Jesus’ teaching on simplifying life. In Matthew 6:28-29 (KJV) we read His words: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” I love this so much I used it as the theme verse for a chapter titled “Simply Consider” in the book I wrote about my own simplification journey, Simply the Savior.

When our hearts yearn for a simpler way of life than the one the world seems to demand that we live, there is perhaps no better way for us to begin the simplification process than to consider the lilies. Author and theologian Richard J. Foster, in his book Freedom of Simplicity, refers to Matthew 6 as “the most radiant passage on Christian simplicity in all the Bible.” It’s impossible to overstate the effect that taking these verses in Matthew’s Gospel to heart can have on our ability to simplify our lives.

If we simply consider the lilies, suddenly we feel the pressure to attain and achieve being lifted from our shoulders and our hearts. If they don’t toil and spin, why should we? It’s easier to draw lines through many of the tasks on our to-do lists after we consider the lilies. And it’s easier to exchange worrying for trusting.

So simply consider the lilies. And if you live in Colorado, get out and walk among them!

First Day of School

August 23, 2013 by Nancy 11 Comments

Years ago I wrote this column about our oldest grandchild starting first grade. I blinked, and this year she’s a senior in college! May the first day of school be a good start for all kids everywhere.

Is there anything more exciting than the first day of school? This is the excitement born of freshly sharpened pencils, crisp paper in a shiny new notebook, and a backpack of possibilities. As parents and grandparents we send our children out the door so equipped and hope and pray that this year all their teachers will see their lovable qualities and overlook the rest.

I shared in the excitement last year because my oldest granddaughter was beginning first grade. I was so excited for her I could hardly sleep the night before her first day of school. As I tossed and turned, I tried to think of just the right words to use when I called to encourage her the next morning. I wanted to say something that would give her confidence and build her self-esteem without putting undue pressure on her.

Finally, it was time to get up and place the call. Even though I called at 7 a.m., Francesca was already dressed and waiting for the school bus.

“Hi, Francesca,” I began. “I bet you’re excited this morning!” She said she was, so I launched into my premeditated words of encouragement.

“I know you’re going to do well,” I said. “You’re bright, you’re talented, and you’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”

“And,” Francesca responded excitedly, “I’m wearing bright yellow socks!”

“That should clench it then,” I said as I realized that from her six-year-old perspective she had absolutely everything she needed. My husband and I had a good laugh when I repeated her comment to him, but later I started thinking more seriously about those bright yellow socks.

How little it takes to encourage children, and how sad it is when kids have to go to school without breakfast or a pat on the back, not to mention new socks.

Francesca has a chance to get off on the right foot for her coming 16 years of education because she has two parents who love her, believe in her, and will do all they can to make sure she has whatever she needs. That just isn’t the case for so many kids in America today.

Clothes don’t make the man, the woman, or the first-grader, but shouldn’t every child know the excitement of new school clothes at least once? Hand me downs are fine for the rest of the year, but not for the first day of school.

I made a vow to contribute to the next charity collecting funds to buy coats for school children, and decided to buy more lottery tickets. After all, if I won all that money, I could go out and buy bright yellow socks for everyone!

(Photo is of grandsons Liam and Peter in 2011.)

Driveways of Life

June 4, 2013 by Nancy 23 Comments

Writers are always waxing poetic about the highways and byways of life. I’ve decided most of life is actually lived out in the driveways.

Think about it. Where did you first learn to pedal a tricycle all by yourself? In the driveway, of course. (Just like grandson, Liam, shown here in April.) And I can still remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach the day I stood next to my dad and watched him take the training wheels off my first bike. By the end of the afternoon I was making my wobbly way from one end of the driveway to the other, skinned knees shining in the sunlight.

That same driveway later became the setting for conquests of a different kind. One of my first boyfriends, let’s just call him Harold since that was his name, came over to see me on his new red Moped. He thought he was really cool, and I was at least impressed enough to spend all afternoon standing next to him in the driveway as he straddled his bike and we both tried to think of something to say.

That was just the beginning of driveway romances. Hasn’t it been the same for generations? The car pulls into the driveway. The young couple inside takes advantage of being alone in the dark to steal a kiss…or two…or three…until the porch light starts flashing off and on and the girl knows it’s time to come in.

My dad went beyond flashing the light. Some time during my high school years we bought an electric organ, and Dad chose curfew time to sit down and try to play some of the hymns in the booklet that came with it. Nothing got me into the house faster than hearing the first few chords of his screechy rendition of “Bringing in the Sheaves” wafting through the living room windows.

Of course, learning to drive a car began in the driveway for most of us. Back and forth. Back and forth. When I first laid eyes on my first car, a used, white Chevy II with blue interior, it was sitting in the driveway in front of our house. A dream-come-true on wheels.

Once when I was on a radio talk show I began exchanging driveway memories with callers. An older man reminisced about helping his dad work on Buicks in the driveway. The two of them had their most significant conversations between “pass me the wrench” and “OK, give it some gas.” Somehow it’s easier to talk about touchy subjects like the “birds and bees” when you’re busy working at the same time. (Sort of like the kind of conversation moms and daughters used to have drying dishes together before dishwashers.)

Our photo albums are peppered with various driveway good-bye scenes. I imagine myself wearing a college sweatshirt and waving a pompon or two as each of my boys left for college for the first time, but the photos seem to show I was in a bathrobe with a bit of pancake batter smeared down the front. Look closely enough and you can also see the tracks of my tears. Those were wrenching good-byes.

The photos of my married sons on my desk now were both taken in driveways. In each one, a grinning young man is accompanied by his smiling bride as, vehicles packed, the newlyweds prepare to drive away together. “Bye, Mom!” they seem to say. “We’re off!”

Not everything that happens in the driveway is worth remembering. I once had a wreck in mine. As I was ready to pull out on my way to work, a car rolled down a steep driveway across the street from us. By the time I realized there wasn’t a driver inside, it was too late to get out of the way, and the runaway car smashed right into mine. “You aren’t going to believe this,” I said to my husband as he emerged from his shower moments later. “I just had a wreck, and I never left the driveway.”

Bringing new babies home, posing for prom pictures, visiting with neighbors…all of life can be lived out in the driveway. Proceed with caution.

Just Enough

May 9, 2013 by Nancy 10 Comments

This week’s rain reminded me of a 2011 column…

It began as a misty feeling in the air. Soon the first distinct drops began to fall. All day long we were bathed in gentle, soaking rain. After months of no precipitation at all, the very sound of it soothed our souls as it danced on the rooftops, collected in the gutters and trickled down the windowpanes. By afternoon, when it was still raining, we could almost begin to see the grass turn greener. Kids splashed and laughed their way through puddles and birds frolicked wherever pools collected. Glorious, glorious rain.

Yet as happy as we were to receive some moisture in parched Colorado, where the threat of wildfire hangs heavy in the dry, windy air, I know other parts of the country are praying the rain will stop. Grim images of flooded towns along the Mississippi River appear on TV as devastated residents strive to save themselves and anything else they can from the rising waters. As if the flooding isn’t bad enough, they also have to be aware of water moccasins slithering into their flooded basements. Farmers in the heartland can only watch helplessly as crops are destroyed by rising waters.

It is ‘just enough’ that we desire, isn’t it? Neither too little nor too much, but just enough. (Especially in the Waldo Canyon Fire area of Colorado Springs.) In the unlikely event that the rain continues in Colorado day after day, even we would no doubt complain, “When will it stop?” We want the moisture, but we want just enough.

This principle permeates our entire human experience. Lord, I ask, give me just enough patience to deal with this situation, but don’t let it drag on forever. Give me just enough wealth to meet my needs, not so much that it becomes a burden, or so little that it becomes a challenge, but just enough. Just enough hope, just enough well-being, just enough wisdom, the list goes on.

And yet the only thing we can be absolutely sure that we will always have just enough of is God’s grace. When the Apostle Paul pleaded with God to take away the thorn in his flesh, God replied, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:9)

God in His goodness sheds His common grace generously over all of His creation but to those who trust in Him, He adds the promise that they will always have just enough grace. Sometimes, in the midst of disaster or a heartbreaking situation, it can feel like a mere trickle. But looking back we realize it was indeed just the grace we needed, just when we needed it. Other times it feels as if God is pouring out an abundance of His grace on us—letting it overflow into every parched portion of our souls. Always, in any circumstance, it is just enough. Let’s not miss God’s grace, whether it’s a sprinkle or a deluge.

Women Running

March 30, 2013 by Nancy 10 Comments

Two accounts in the Gospel of John of women running to share good news always bring tears to my eyes—and leave me breathless. The first is when Jesus encounters the Samaritan woman, and the second is when He reveals himself to Mary Magdalene on that first Easter morning.

You may know the story of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman—how He takes an undesirable route on a journey from Galilee in the north of Israel to Jerusalem in the south just to make sure He meets up with her. She is a woman scorned. Having survived five bad marriages, she is now living with a man she didn’t bother to marry. She goes to gather water at the well in the heat of the day in order to avoid giving the other women in the village another opportunity to gossip about her. Then she “just happens” to run into Jesus.

Reading the full account in John 4:7-29 changes lives today just as the encounter with Jesus changed hers that day so long ago. For Jesus doesn’t condemn her, He simply lets her know that He knows all about her, and cares about her anyway. He discusses theology with her, explains how He is the Source of living water, and then—to this most unlikely of confidantes—reveals that He is the Messiah. John 4:28 states what happens next: Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Christ?”

Ken Gire, in his wonderful book Intimate Moments with the Savior, describes the scene like this: “In that intimate moment of perception, she leaves to tell this good news to the city that has both shared her and shunned her. Behind, left in the sand, is her empty water jar. Stretching before her is a whole new life. And with her heart overflowing with living water she starts to run. Slowly at first. Then as fast as her new legs will take her. “

The second encounter that takes my breath away is found in John 20:10-18. Remember Mary Magdalene? She’s the woman Jesus saved from seven demons. A loyal follower, she stands by Mary, the mother of Jesus, throughout his crucifixion. In her complete devotion, she is last at the cross, first at the tomb. How horrified she is to find the stone rolled away, and the tomb empty! First she runs to tell the disciples what she discovered, then she runs back with them to the tomb. They leave, but she stays.

And we know what happens next. She, too, encounters a man. John 20:15-16 reads: “Woman,” he said, “why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabonni!” (which means Teacher).

Jesus tells Mary Magdalene to go and tell the others that He has risen, and will soon be returning to His father in heaven. John 20:18 tells us: Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!”

I can only imagine how tired she is after crying for two days, not sleeping, and running to the tomb not just once on that first Easter morning, but twice! Yet I’m sure that once she hears the greatest news of all, she doesn’t just saunter into town to tell the others. She runs—her sandals pounding the dirt path as she holds onto her head covering with one hand and wipes away tears with the other.

This Easter, may you also have an intimate encounter with Jesus. May you see Him for who He truly is—then run as fast as you can to tell someone the good news! Have a blessed, joyful Easter.

Molly, the “Quiet Time” Cat

February 28, 2013 by Nancy 22 Comments

Our cat, Molly, has what the local humane society calls the “personal assistant” purr-sonality. This means that whatever you are doing, Molly will be nearby just in case you need some help. Wrapping packages? She’ll gladly chew on the curling ribbon for you. Working on taxes? She’ll happily sprawl out over the paperwork on your desk or push ballpoint pens and paper clips onto the floor to keep you entertained. Just whatever she can do to help.

Unlike her boisterous brother Beau (also a cat), she doesn’t burst into a room demanding attention. Rather, she usually curls up just outside the door—an eavesdropper with whiskers. Whenever we have a group of people over, she’s likely to claim a spot under the coffee table as if she were an invited guest. She rarely gets close enough to anyone to be petted. She just wants to listen in on the conversation and stay nearby to help with any hospitality requirements.

Given all that, you won’t be surprised to hear that for years she has consistently joined me early in the morning during my quiet time. As I sit and read, work on a Bible study, or turn to the Lord in prayer, she just sits on the hassock in front of me purring softly. She’s rarely in the chair with me or on my lap, just right in front of me where she can be ready to help if needed, and where I can give her an occasional pat on the head or a rub behind the ears.

What is surprising is that recently she has come to expect that this shared time with me will happen on schedule—and to be quite demanding if it doesn’t! The coffee is set to perk at 6:30 AM, so if she hears it perking, and sees the sunrise, she knows I need to be in my chair in the living room. If I’m not moving in that direction, she now meows persistently outside the door of our bedroom to get my attention. After I roll out of bed, find my robe and slippers, and open the door, she takes off down the hall to keep our appointment with the Almighty.

Now wouldn’t you think that knowing the Lord of the Universe was willing to spend some time with me would be enough to get me out of bed? Shouldn’t it be enough that He who hung the stars and gives life to everything that has life may have something important to tell me? The answer to both questions is yes. Yet it helps to have a feline alarm clock.

And I don’t mind sharing my quiet time with Molly. After all, Psalm 150:6 says, Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. In this season of my life God is using this sweet little grayish cat to bolster my spiritual discipline. Her faithfulness keeps me faithful, and I’m ever so grateful.

A Winter Beach Vacation

February 7, 2013 by Nancy 14 Comments

This is a classic column just as appropriate this year as the year I wrote it! Recently filed it in The Country Register, too. Come along with me!

When I put the topic for this column on a list of topics weeks ago, I expected to be nursing a sunburn as I wrote it. My husband and I were planning a midwinter beach vacation then.

Priorities being what they are, we didn’t make it. Instead, I keep bumping into other people I know who’ve just gotten back from Mexico or Hawaii. One tan, relaxed-looking friend just returned from Tahiti!

Instead of writing about my beach bummin’ days, I’m bummin’ about not going to the beach. Instead of giving you an account of lazy afternoons spent stretched out on the sand, I’m stretching my imagination to take a seaside vacation to Mexico in my mind. Want to come along?

Are you packed yet? You don’t need much. Put in a couple of bathing suits so you don’t have to pull on a wet one the day after wearing it. Old, faded suits will do.

You need a pair of shorts and a T-shirt for each day we’re there. Add a sweater or sweatshirt for cool nights in salty breezes, a long skirt or sundress for one nice dinner out, a pair of flip-flops and a pair of nicer sandals for shopping excursions, and you’re ready. (Toss in some suntan lotion and block but forget about makeup…this is a vacation!)

At the airport waiting for our flight, you ask if I have my ticket. Of course! (I went back and got it after leaving it on the kitchen counter.) You looked pretty silly arriving in the snow in that straw hat, but I’ll wish I had it when the sun’s beating down on my head.

Comparing books in our carry-on bags as we wait to board, we realize we both brought Beach Music, so I give my copy to an anxious-looking woman next to me on the plane. One decent book and one mindless romance each is all we need—then we’ll swap!

Finally we arrive! As we walk down the steps from the plane onto the tarmac I look at you and we laugh. It’s like we just walked into a steam room. A breeze stirs the palm trees lining the runway and you grab your hat just in time.

After a bumpy bus ride we check into our hotel (sure, I’ll take the bed by the window), change into our suits, and head for the beach. The chairs are all taken, so we stretch out a blanket on the sand and collapse. Ahhh…this is what it’s all about.

You go for a dip in the ocean. I don’t mean to laugh at your hopping across the hot sand—but it’s funny! Soon you’re back and the smell of salt water on suntan lotion fills the air. (Hey, you’re getting wet sand on the blanket!) Tomorrow I’ll swim, too, but today…I’m vacating.

As the sun starts to go down we pull on our T-shirts and get a couple of overly sweet drinks. We claim a couple of abandoned beach chairs and sit watching the orange sunset appear behind the rock formations out in the water. Silently we absorb the soothing sounds of the surf punctuated by the calls of the gulls as they head home for the night.

I feel better. How about you?