A Gray Day

 I woke up this morning a little sad. It just felt like the kind of day you stayed in bed and pondered the more serious things in life. Alas, I had laundry to do and a cup of coffee

calling my name, so off I went. My father, usually up at an ungodly hour and annoyingly chipper in the mornings, was grumpy and mumbled under his breath, something about stupid teenage boys and bacon. I knew to stay out of the way. The sky was overcast and made everything seem a little more gray. I even wore gray pants and a gray shirt. Yeah, that kind of a day.

I am not a romantic, by any stretch of the imagination. I do not like romanticizing ideas that were meant to be completely logical. I do not believe in finding a soulmate. I

sometimes hate emotions and the seeming inability to control them. I do not like it at all when a situation that is not extremely important is dramaticized to the point of nausea. But despite all this, after much pondering over my morning coffee, I have come to the conclusion that life is both dramatic and romantic. I don't have any sunset pictures or cutesy quotes to enhance my point, but you'll get the picture soon enough.

I don't know exactly what caused my bout of melancholy, but I have a couple suspicions. Life has changed quite a bit... different as of late. Many important life decisions have to be made soon and a few good friends have been recently absent from my life. While it is not an extremely dramatic situation, when friends are absent, a space is left that cannot, for a time, be filled with anything else. Once in a while I stumble across an empty space or two in my heart, and I am painfully aware of the absence. But this is not what I mean by life being dramatic.

Some mornings you wake up and you feel that your good mood, the reasons you had to be motivated and the confidence that comes from a full life, they have snuck away during the night and burrowed themselves in a hole somewhere, and you really don't feel like expending the energy to go find them. And you feel a bit panicked. "Where am I going?" you say. "I will never be what I want to be!"

And in the midst of that moment, The Lord gently touches that empty spot in your heart and says, "I can fill that." An unearthly peace settles over you. He shows you the course and span of your life and says, "Look and see what things we shall do together!" And then he laughs and touches your nose. "And don't make it about you! It has always been about my Kingdom." In one moment, all the things heavy on your heart are gone, and there is just you and Him. And that, my friend, is a beautiful thing.

It is in moments like this that I am made aware of my need for God. I may be able to pretend for a time, claiming that I need Him but not ever actually seeking to know Him. I may say to my friends, "Isn't He wondrous?" and then go on living life completely on my own terms. I may talk of prayer and reading the Bible until I am blue in the face, but not only do I not do those things, I don't even talk to the One whom I claim to know. This can only go on for so long before eventually my soul, my heart, my very flesh cries out for the Living God! David says, "When will you come and meet with me?" It dawns on me that I must have Him, in all his wonder! Every morning when I wake up to when my eyes close and my mind drifts into sleep each night, I need Him to function, to breathe, to laugh, to live this life He's called me to.

It is when we are aware of our deep personal need for God that our faith in Him grows. I do not mean beating ourselves up because we have fallen short. I am not hungry for God just so I can have my needs met. I did not wake up this morning and say, "Lord, I need you so much today so that I can be a decently happy person and be nice to everyone and do all the stuff I have to get done." I hunger for Him because I know there is a greater destiny than sorrow. I hunger for Him because I know that others before me have experienced Him, and I do not want to miss out. I hunger for Him because I do not want to worry about tomorrow, not today, not ever. I want to savor each day as a beautiful and blessed gift, for that it is. I hunger for Him because there are empty places in my heart where things once stood, and their vacancy only means more room for Him to fit. I am coming to the realization more fully that I can find complete fulfillment in God and God alone. 

I used to wait for God to pursue me. I thought, "Lord, show me open doors and set me up for encounters and use me!" Then I started running into closed doors, and I wasn't finding many encounters or opportunities. I was perturbed at the seeming inadequacy of my request.

Then I saw God, perfect in all his ways, seated on His mighty throne, smiling at me. I immediately knew why. I knew in that moment what He wanted of me: pursuit.

Sometimes God opens a door for us, but sometimes He wants us to break the door down. Sometimes he could show us revelation, but he waits until we seek so He knows we really want it. Sometimes he showers us with affirmation and encouragement and gifts, then sits back and waits for us to utilize them. Some Christians I know (including myself) have become lazy, expecting God to do all the work and give us everything. I think he waits for the long hours spent in prayer, the worshipper up early in the morning, the broken heart burdened by sorrow, and the heart turned toward Him, asking, "I am waiting for you still. What do you have to say right now?" We lay in bed and say, "Lord, I will never get to where I want to go. I want something more exciting." And He says, "I am exciting. Come and find me." 

So while I do not like romanticizing or dramatizing any situation, I am certain that there is something extremely romantic and dramatic and compelling about the relationship we can have with Christ. I am convinced that I am in desperate need of Him, every hour of every day. I am assured that I must be with Him, or else I shall die. (Well, my soul will die, which I think is a lot worse than bodily death.)It takes work, and like any functional relationship, it is never one-sided. Blood, sweat and tears. Sacrifice. After all, you must lose your life to find Him. Doesn't sound like everything is handed to you. I could make some extended parallel about how Jesus is my boyfriend, but I'll spare you. In Hosea 2, He says, "And it shall be, in that day, that you will call Me 'My Husband,' and no longer call Me 'My Master.'" If that's not romantic, than I don't know what is. 

Just philosophizing,

B

The Kid in Me

O men, grown sick with toil and care,
Leave for awhile the crowded mart;
O women, sinking with despair,
Weary of limb and faint of heart,
Forget your years to-day and come
As children back to childhood's house.

-Phoebe Cary

I often wish I could go back to the summers when I was a kid. There was so much to explore, so much to see, so much to learn. I often lament as a maturing young adult, as I'm sure that many adults do, that life can't be simpler. Work, school, bills, deadlines, children, the list goes on. Dishes pile up, laundry doesn't get done, and you still haven't taken that nap you promised yourself. It has come to my attention that many adults just survive at life...and I'm not sure that I like that. What happened to being a kid? What happened to thriving?

There are a few things that prompted this thought, but I will get to that in a minute. In other news, we got a new stove from Chris the Californian. It's a Turbo-Mega-5000 Kitchenaid wonder that doesn't take 5 hours to boil a pan of water. We are spoiled now. Next thing you know we'll get a normal refrigerator that doesn't freeze your food, or drive (*gasp*) a normal car or two. Speaking of cars, Steve the Ford Tempo has something wrong with him. He is an old geezer of a car, and pants up hills like he's going to have a heart attack. And he uses way more gas than he used to. But no matter how many funny looks I get, I don't have the heart to put him down. Probably the wrong phrase for that analogy. Oh well. In any case, I need to start looking for a new ride.

Our cousin Easton has been here for about a month now, and has acclimated quite well to Parker culture. It probably helps that he is from the backwoods. He and JJ often go fishing, or swimming, or crawdad hunting in the dark. Dangerous stuff. For me, I mean. I tried to fill up my water bottle in the sink yesterday morning and came face to face with about 10 large crustaceans, eyes bulging, claws clacking, still alive and pinching. Yeesh, is nothing sacred?

Grandma and Grandpa are visiting from the Bay Area in California, and we do our best not to hold that against them. They are sleeping in my room for a few days, so I am exiled to the couch, which would not be all that uncomfortable, except I'm not a midget. The household is even more chaotic than normal, if that is possible. The din is never-ending. There are crawdads in the sink, buckets of blackberries waiting to be eaten, muddy footprints all over the floor, and so many cars in the yard it looks like a parking lot. Easton runs around asking for money to buy a Glock (12 years old, c'mon), J.J. elbows Dad in the ribs and makes him angry, Dad asks for someone, anyone, to wash a dish or two. Grandpa talks investing with Mom, Grandma squeezes someone's cheeks and tells them how cute they are (it's not really cute at all, it actually kind of hurts). It's a scramble for who can be the loudest, who can drive each other crazy first. All annoyance aside, it's really a beautiful thing, having a family such as this, but I sometimes, just like Bilbo Baggins, would just like a quiet place to finish my book.

The skies are fair and the valleys are green here in Oregon. The temperature hovers around 90 degrees and the river is just cold enough to give you a shock when you jump in. We've been canoeing and hiking and swimming all over the countryside, and I can't help but be taken back in time to when summer meant only blackberry picking, smoothie-making, and jumping off of the diving log into Grandma's swimming hole. It can't always be quite that carefree as you enter adulthood, of course. Things are more complicated, I guess. But no matter how many hours I work, no matter how many kids are screaming in my house, and no matter how many dirty dishes are in the sink, I think being a kid is an attitude of the heart. Of course I don't miss the spankings or the limited dessert, but no matter if you're Bill Gates or the poorest sucker in Poverty Flatts, you need that carefree love and uninhibited imagination in your life.

A grownup is a child with layers on.  ~Woody Harrelson

Jesus said once that unless you become like a child, you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven. I think Jesus wants us to enjoy life. Funny concept, I know. He doesn't want us to just get by, he wants us to thrive. Some would make it a hard command to keep, and perhaps it is for some. There are some conditions to being a child at heart. One must not be grumpy. One must eat lots of cookies when not supposed to. One must cry sometimes, but then stop and go on with life and be happy about it.  Instead of moping about with my head hung low, complaining about how many things I have to do, I'd much rather go play in the sunshine (or in the rain, it really doesn't matter). Instead of approaching Him thinking of how sorry and sinful I am, I would much rather approach my Father with laughter and ask him for his help, knowing that he is a loving Father and will answer me. It doesn't seem like there is a contest to me, the latter seems infinitely better in every situation. In fact, I'm going to live life with blackberry smoothies, swimming holes, and crawdad feeds in my heart, ready to give them out freely to whoever needs one. And I think I'll have a cookie too.

The soul of a child is the loveliest flower
That grows in the garden of God.
Its climb is from weakness to knowledge and power,
To the sky from the clay and the clod.
To beauty and sweetness it grows under care-
Neglected, 'tis ragged and wild,
'Tis a plant that is tender but wondrously rare-
The sweet, wistful soul of a child.

Be tender, Oh gardner, and give it its share
Of moisture, of warmth and of light,
And let it not lack for the painstaking care
To protect it from frost and from blight.
A glad day shall come when its bloom shall unfold;
It will seem that an angel has smiled,
Reflecting a beauty and sweetness untold

In the sensitive soul of a child.                                              
-Author Unknown

The Best Life: The Farm Life

There's something about being back on the farm that brings life to my soul. Yesterday was a beautiful day. Beautiful land, the beautiful smell of harvest, and beautiful people. The sun was behind the clouds and the heat was bearable. 

I miss working on this farm. Everything has pretty much remained the same. The rumble of gigantic machines that you get to drive and name weird names. The funny inside jokes you have with your co-workers over the short-wave radios.The dust and the seed that gets everywhere- in your cab, in your clothes, in your food. The lunchbox full of goodies that you wait to eat until the lunchtime traffic update comes on. The Country Top-40 that you know by heart. 

Zap, with his respectable handlebar mustache, is still one of the nicest men I have ever met, and he still drives around in his fix-it truck with the uncanny ability to immobilize any possible conflicting situations with his gentle spirit. He still brings his two little girls with him from time to time, who aren't as little anymore. Hans is now the supervisor of the harvest crew, and walks around the field with his new black lab puppy, Widget. He specializes in the sarcastic. Casey stopped by with a new grass seed truck and talked for a while, even though he had to get on a windrower at 3am the next morning to work night crew. Although he is not as sarcastic as Hans, he is still the Master of Making Fun. Oh, and then there's Stefan. First summer on the farm, he's doing pretty darn good driving truck and learning everything in a language that's not German. With his dry wit and ready laugh, he fits right in.

Elle's still driving the bank-out wagon, and drives that thing better than anybody. Donald did do some adjustments this past winter, so it now is not quite as bouncy but only goes a whopping 2 miles per hour at top road speed. She laments about now being the slowest piece of machinery on the road, but I can tell she wouldn't trade it for anything. Emma no longer drives a combine and has now been promoted to truck driver status. In honor for "Trucker Tuesday," she even dressed the part, complete with a Kenworth hat and cowboy boots. All she's missing is the beer belly and 3 ex-wives. 

There's something about sitting with your best friends in dusty machinery, putting in a hard days work (well, they were, I just sat there) that's good for the soul. Playing catch with some wrenches. Watching the sun go down. Heading in for the day. Talking by the truck. Riding with the windows down and letting the evening air blow your hair on the way back to the house. Helping Dona set the table while Keith Urban blared in the kitchen. It was when we joined hands for dinner and we thanked the Lord for everything that my heart overflowed with the joy of being blessed with friends such as these. The food was hearty and satisfied something deep inside. Donald cracked jokes and we all laughed. The day was done and the day had been good. 

Emma and I walked down the road by the moonlight and talked about dreams and hopes and plans. Some people in your life bring out the best in you. They do not demand of you, but instead remind you of who you really are and flame that passion for life that sometimes gets quenched by everyday life. We talked of travel and adventure, love and true joy. We also hid behind bushes whenever cars went by, though that probably looks a lot stranger than just walking down the road like regular people. Sometimes we get caught up in what life is supposed to look like. What we're supposed to be doing, what we're not doing, how we are failing at this or that. Moral of the story is this: We are made for unending joy. The fruit of a life with Christ is first and foremost joy. Generosity, kindness, excitement, love, an overflow of happiness. We are so very loved by God and we are redeemed! Therefore, let joy flow out of every pore of us, and let all anxiety and feelings of sadness be kept on their knees! We are children of light; let us live transformed lives!

This life is the best life. It's a hard life, full of long days and early mornings, tears and sweat and sometimes blood when a finger or two gets caught in a gear. It's a culture of teamwork, a culture of hard work, and a culture of respect. As Elle puts it, "It's Agriculture."

Signing off,

B

Sweet Summertime

I have a feeling this is going to be a good summer.

I am back from Redding, and my heart feels alive, fresh, and new. I feel ready to conquer the world for Jesus, and at the same time sit with Him and do nothing all day long. He has called every believer to live in the glory that he paid the price for! There is so much that I wish I could explain more, but I will wait until another time when I can go more in depth.

The river is finally warm enough to swim in, and JJ and Easton go down to the swimming hole multiple times a day. The river may be muddy, but there is nothing like the Luckiamute on a hot day. The cows are fat from eating too much green grass, and the garden is flourishing. Dad finally got rid of all the goats, so I don't have to worry about guests being terrorized by the filthy little creatures anymore. The old house stays cool in the day, if you make sure to draw the curtains and not leave any doors open. The railroad tracks stretch on for miles, and the dogs still howl at the passing midnight train.  Angel is the newest addition to our clan of canines, and I suspect she has something to do with the steady decline of the feline population. 

Mom's car is acting up again. Something is wrong with the ignition switch, and I often receive unexpected calls asking for assistance starting the darn thing. I don't know what Reams' have against owning normal, nice cars, but something about us repels that. The following is a poem written by my Aunt Bev about this problem:

How about Them Reams Cars, ain't they unique?

Mufflers burned out and their radiators leak.

Water in their oil pans, two flat tires,

Busted taillights and shortened wires.

Cracks in their windshields, holes in their floors,

Rips in their fenders, dings in their doors.

Got no elegance, got no class,

Stove-in springs and busted glass. 

Lookit Them Reams Cars, ain't they hideous?

Nothin' like a Reams Car, rot is insidious.

Petrified french fries, coffee spills,

Mushy brakes to give you chills.

Front seat ripped and back seats gone,

But plenty of dog fur for sittin' on.

Want to get a Reams Car? Here's how to do it:

Be a Reams, drive a car. Ain't nothin' to it.

Mom's friend from high school, Janine, is coming to visit today with her genius boyfriend. Last time they were here, he fixed Dad's motorcycle, and there were never any complaints about him after that. I don't like visitors that I don't invite. They bother me. They come to the farm and think that it is cute, they get this idea in their heads that they want to move here and set up a little farm operation with cows and chickens and 40 acres. I laugh a little on the inside when I imagine them milking a cow at 5:30am, or shoveling compacted goat poop with the short pitchfork. Does wonders for the lower back.

Nothing much else to report. I tried to run yesterday and almost died from heat stroke. I finally broke down and bought a cowboy hat, right after having a vehement discussion about stewarding money. I am applying to the Linfield School of Nursing to start in the winter. The blackberries are ripe and ready to make pies with. Oh, and an old friend is getting married in August! Life is good here in Parker. Quiet. Steady. Good for the soul.

Here's to the best summer yet!

Love B