Why Washing Your Hands is Unimportant

One time, the Pharisees got mad at Jesus (really, what's new?) because His disciples were being slobs. They were eating bread without washing their hands, which was a tradition of the elders (see Matt. 15:2). I imagine the disciples were a ragtag bunch and following the little customs of the religious probably wasn't on the top of their to-do list. I imagine them being smelly, coarse, stand-offish and a little messy. The fact that Jesus was so well-known and yet so close to these unreligious men probably rubbed the leaders the wrong way.

So Jesus tells them that they really have no business pointing the finger at the disciples, because they had twisted more than a few laws away from what the Lord intended them to be (case in point, honoring your father and mother). What had probably started as a little harmless poking-fun turned into a calling-out that drew a multitude. Jesus probably starts to get worked up a little. I guess I would too if someone was picking on my buddies. He said that they had covered up the law of God with their tradition.  But that's another story.

He then says, "Hear and understand: Not what goes into the mouth defiles a man; but what comes out of the mouth, this defiles a man."(vs. 11)

And the Pharisees really get mad then. The New King James says offended. This was utterly against everything they lived for. They had made sure that their lives were full of perfection in this area. And now Jesus was flipping it upside down! But I couldn't help but think that there's a bigger issue here.

"Do you not yet understand that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and is eliminated? But those things which proceed out of the mouth come from the heart, and they defile a man. For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies. These are the things which defile a man, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile a man.”(vs. 17-20)

I was thinking this morning that there is something we can learn from this, despite the fact that we are not first century Pharisees. You see, I think it comes down to trying to control our lives. Let me explain: We obsess. We regulate. We do not touch evil with a ten-foot pole, as if it would taint us. We exercise maniacally and try desperately to control our eating habits, as if having a nice body will make us happy. We attempt to control our thought life. If only we had control over the words and actions of others, for that would make keeping our tempers so much simpler! Even the Christian culture is saturated with self-improvement slogans. Six Biblical Steps to Transforming Your Mind. How to Change Yourself: The Bible Plan for Self Improvement. Saddling Your Emotions: Biblical Counseling. You see, we are just like the Pharisees. Instead of walking with God, we try to frantically control what will eventually leave us dry. We try to control what we put in in order to be pleasing to God with what comes out.

But something about this doesn't sit right with me. If we are responsible for controlling all of this, where does trust come in? Aren't we born again when we believe on the Lord Jesus Christ? Plato in Charmides 157, said, "For all good and evil, whether in the body or in human nature, originates, as he declared, in the soul, and overflows from thence, as from the head into the eyes; and therefore, if the head and body are to be well, you must begin by curing the soul. That is the first thing."

"And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God." (Romans 2:12

"But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord." (1 Cor. 3:18)

"Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” (John 3:3)
So Jesus was the cure. Is the cure. I can control what I put into myself, but all of that is irrelevant if I cannot control what comes out. I am convinced it is only through the power and the Presence of God Himself that we will become transformed from the inside out. By His Spirit. By His Way.

For nothing can satisfy my soul,
Nothing can make me whole,
Nothing but Him.

Walk with Him boldly today,

B

The Losing of Beauty

"The steady discipline of intimate friendship with Jesus results in men becoming like Him."
-Harry Emerson Fosdick

In my mad dash from the car to the house, I catch a glimpse of the stars. Quietly, humbly, the Spirit whispers in my ear to come look again and stay a while. But I am just so tired. And I have to go. He does not rebuke me for my hurry, nor does He shout at me with a loud voice. But a lone tear slips down my cheek when horrified, I realize that I ask Him everyday to change me, and then run by when He asks if I will stay for just a moment. I fill my mind with what I please, and often it is on my terms and my time that I meet with God.

It is the minute I take my eyes, my mind off Jesus that I am immediately swept up in myself, giving heed to other distractions, other voices in my head. And how easy it is to listen to things that are not the Spirit, for they shout and clamor for our attention, ready to fill in the gaps with trash and trivial things. We let first come be first served, and forget that the best things in life do not crowd. We listen to the first things that come our way, forgetting that wisdom does not seek, but must be sought. So easily we can be sucked into futile thinking that is not of the Kingdom. We get distraught so easily! Into vanity, lust, anger, the list goes on. And one day we wake up and think, "How did this get here?" There is a dead feeling. We ask, "Lord, where did you go?" Our best life with Him is being lost by being crowded out. We do not deliberately lose beauty from our lives-- we are just busy.

I am extremely grateful for a warm bed to sleep in, especially with my latest adventure on the South Sister. Being up on the mountain makes you think about what's important to you, especially when you get caught in an ice storm unprepared. Sometimes all you want is an unplanned trip. We drove Brutus the Jeep Wagoneer. He doesn't have a speedometer on him, but you can tell you're going 55 if the wind whistles through the windows and 60 if the engine makes an unusual, grinding sound. We hiked for what seemed like forever, contentedly munching on prunes and jerky. Eventually we found ourselves huddled by a fire, contentedly sipping Irish coffee (we had let most of the grounds settle to the bottom. Yes, it was gross, but oh so good...) The fog lifted away from the mountain, and one could see the stars, moon, and distant mountaintops poking through the clouds. It reminded me slightly of the peaks of Caradhras in Tolkein's novels, like I was in another world. I imagined myself reaching up and touching the face of God, hovering above me.
Then it started to ice and gust winds at 60 mph. We were saved from the brunt of the wind by a tree we had camped by, but were not saved from little pieces of ice sticking to our sleeping bags, clothes, and backpacks.

Just when we thought we couldn't stand it one more minute and we were burning our last bit of firewood, the glow of the morning shone and revealed the treacherous work of the mountain around us. Ice an inch thick covered every tree and rock, white and treacherously beautiful. It was a slow climb down. The trail was slick, and there was something other-worldly about it.

There really is no moral to that story.

I think I just needed something rugged, something out of the box, something that would make me feel alive. I needed to get away from all the other things, the things that were tormenting my mind. We all have them. Not one of us wants them. How have we missed the simplest necessity of rooting out the things in our hearts that are hindering us from Him? Of throwing everything out of the way, the sin that entangles us and running after Him? He may be everywhere, but sometimes other things shout over His ever-sweet voice.

Blaise Pascal was a French scientist and philosopher. He invented the syringe, developed the theory of vacuum and suggested that it was prudent for us to accept a belief in God. His argument, called "Pascal's Wager," goes something like this: If you embrace a belief in God, and God exists, then you are rewarded for your belief. If God does not exist, well, you haven't really lost anything important. On the other hand, if you reject a belief in God and God DOES exist, then the consequences of your unbelief could be very unpleasant. In short, if you want to play the odds, embrace a belief in God. Of course, this approach to God is completely unsatisfying. It is highly cynical, and assumes that God will reward those that make the safe bet. It assumes that God does not want a relationship with us and only a contract. Most hauntingly, it sounds like the faith of many people I know--dead.

But the plot thickens when Pascal was 31, less than eight years before his death. He had a dramatic experience of God's presence. He jotted down these notes:

In the year of Grace, 1654,
on Monday, 23 November, Feast of St. Clement, Pope and Martyr,
and others in the martyrology.
Eve of St. Chrysogonous, Martyr, and others,
from about half past ten in the evening until half past midnight

FIRE!
God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob
not of philosophers and savants
Certitude. Certitude. Joy. Feeling. Joy. Peace.
God of Jesus Christ.
"Thy God and my God..."
Grandeur of the human soul
Righteous Father, the world has not known you, but I have known you.
Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy.


I know I will not find enlightenment in any worldly thing. Not in drink, or in beauty, or in riches. Not in any man or woman or child. Not in security or adventure or comfort. None of those things can save. But you can be certain that all of these are found in the heart of Father God. There can be no other way to feel whole again, no. Let's go back to the start, to the foundation. I don't want to survive. I want to thrive. A day without God with me is empty, it is dead. Each and every heart longs for Him. Every nation, every tongue. What is it that binds humanity together? Desperation. A frantic hope, grasping for something worth living for. And what is this hope, this life that I have found? A treasure greater than all else, a treasure a man would give everything to posses. And yet it is given freely, something so costly. 

I want to crowd everything but Him out.

God of grace and God of glory,
On Thy people pour Thy power.
Crown Thine ancient church’s story,
Bring her bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
For the facing of this hour,
For the facing of this hour.
Lo! the hosts of evil ’round us,
Scorn Thy Christ, assail His ways.
From the fears that long have bound us,
Free our hearts to faith and praise.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
For the living of these days,
For the living of these days.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
Lest we miss Thy kingdom’s goal,
Lest we miss Thy kingdom’s goal.

Walk in love today.

Love,
B

A Tribute to Penny the Lucky Cow

I’m going to tell you a story.

Nine years ago, a little girl with two pigtails and worn out boots walked onto a dairy farm to pick out her new show cow, one that she could use in 4-H. She was excited! She had some money in her pocket and a big grin on her face. The old farmer showed her around the barn and she looked at all the different calves that she could choose from. There were a lot. It was like trying to pick out a puppy from a litter of 200. There was just too much cuteness in the room to even start narrowing any sort of decision down.

I don’t know what it was about the little calf that drew me to her. Maybe it was her one cloudy eye as she tilted her head to look at me. Maybe it’s that my family has a history of having compassion on animals that are sickly looking. Maybe it was that I knew where she would end up if I didn’t take her. Maybe I just felt a connection with the strange creature. 

For whatever reason, I picked the saddest looking calf out of the whole bunch: a little blind Jersey named Penny.

We went through a good many years together. I know that sound strange. To make it easier on yourself, imagine that she was to me as a dog would be to a normal person. She was rather like a dog too. She practically rolled on her belly if you scratched her under her chin. She would follow me wherever I went, or as far as fences would allow. 

I started middle school, and just when the world seemed to be falling all apart (and believe me, as a middle school girl, it does that a lot), Penny would be the shoulder I would cry on, be it a hairy, semi-smelly shoulder. 

She was the luckiest little cow anybody had ever seen. The little cow that could, if you will. We defied all

odds, my cow and I. County fair proved to be a stressful time. All my peers showed top-of-the-line Holsteins. Despite their disdain at my little Jersey cow and even the cynical smirk from the cute boy from the Beef Barn every time he walked by, I stood up straight and tall (all of 5 feet), gritted my teeth, and acted like I was showing the finest cow in all the world. It was probably quite comical to watch me show my 800-lb. Jersey next to the other massive creatures, but like any good Reams, I didn’t let it get to me. I don’t think the judges even realized my cow was blind; they remained in a constant state of awe at how well-behaved she was. One judge said, “I’m just amazed at how this young lady and her cow float around the ring.” I think we ended up winning Grand Champion Showman one year. 

She had a calf in 2006, and I got off of school early. Dakota McBeth and I pulled and pulled until the calf finally popped out. It was gross. And beautiful. I was disgusted. And kind of in awe. It was a boy, and I was sad. I milked her for a total of 8 brutal months after that, morning and night lugging the 20-lb. milking machine out to the dark and cold barn. Besides instilling some form of work ethic in me, the only good thing about it was the unending supply of cheese we had, which Mother was so good at making. I remember missing a lot of late-night social events to sit by a cow’s udder, but perhaps in the end that was my parent’s evil plot… to keep me from getting into trouble. 

The year I started high school she fell into the river. We were walking back from the swimming hole on a day in early June when our horse, Indio, came rampaging across the field, almost trampling us where we stood. Indio and Penny were buddies. The closest of friends. Whenever we went out riding, Indio would strain at the bit to race back home to Penny. They were like Bonnie and Clyde. Abbott and Costello. Except, you know, they were a horse and a cow. 

Anyway, he led us over to the edge of the field, where Penny was floundering in the water. Because the field was much higher than the river, and there was no way to get her out of the muck. She had to wait until the morning, tied to an old stump. They pulled her out with a backhoe. It was really a community effort. Lee Davis, the local cattleman was there, offering vague instructions and making smart-ass comments. Phillip the old deaf farmer ran the backhoe, calmly disregarding the fact that he teetered on the edge of falling in too. Uncle Brady… well, he was just there. You know how men are.

She survived the ordeal, but was never quite the same. She couldn’t have any more calves. It was hard for her to walk up hills. I realized I couldn’t take her to fair anymore. It was saddening.  None of us had the heart to send her to the butcher, but she was a liability to the farm. So we retired her to a green pasture where she could graze peacefully. There would be no more hooking a piece of rope on her halter and letting Chad and Chase or Diana ride her across the field. No more walking her into the show ring, no more getting up early every morning  to milk her. But she remained on the farm, and the question asked me by many a houseguest we had during that time is, “Do you still have Penny?” I said yes.

Well, today I had to say goodbye to Penny. It is not an easy thing, but life is full of things that are hard. You learn growing up on a farm to expect the unexpected. Animals die, the cows eat the entire bean patch, and the hay gets rained on. Probably most influential, little girls grow up. I do not like getting attached to animals. I think they are generally for eating, but Penny will leave a little hole in my heart. Perhaps it’s because I see the transition between the little girl I was and the woman I’m becoming. 

I hope you can relate to this story. The reality is, you probably can’t, unless you shared in one of these memories or had a pet cow of your own, which is highly unlikely. Those who know of this tale already know that it is not meant to make you laugh or cry. It is simply a tribute to a legend and a season that has now passed on, something I will tell my children someday. It’s a story of a strange and unlikely friendship. And best of all, it is true.

After all we’ve been through,
Goodbye, my Penny, I will miss you.

Ponderings about Old Cigars, Being in a Hurry, and Jumping off Roofs

Due to my family's sad lack of an automatic coffee machine, we are subjected to using a ceramic, single-drip, extremely inefficient contraption, great for one person and an utter wreck of an idea when there are four people addicted to caffeine in the same household. My aunt Karen, who is visiting for an indefinite number of days, is accustomed to making coffee in a large metal kettle, dumping in half a gallon of Folgers, letting all the grounds settle to the bottom, and then drinking it. We have been forced to watch our coffee supply dwindle rapidly, and even Dad's indomitable digestive system cannot withstand the syrupy mixture.

Other than that small curse, life is chugging along quite nicely. Dad's Jeep is broken, and you can often find him under the hood on a hot summer's day, covered in engine oil, mumbling curses under his breath and throwing random parts over his shoulder as he deems fit. He took it upon himself to cut his own hair, and since he couldn't see the back to cut it, the result is a scary, adult version of a mullet from the 90's. Since Mom is working overtime, our diet has consisted mostly of hamburgers and ice cream. Since I am exiled to sleeping on the couch while my relatives are here to visit, my patience is even shorter than normal, (and it's already pretty short). I often find myself in ridiculous situations as a result.

Why, just the other night, I became so frustrated that I went upstairs and sat on the roof. It was supposed to function as an act of independence, but soon the bugs started biting me and I got cold and my iron resolve started to rust a little bit. However, my pride would not allow me to return downstairs and let the other person feel the satisfaction of being right. I felt trapped and started to panick a little, for there was nowhere to go, no way to escape humility by trudging dejectedly back downstairs.

But where there's a will and a Reams' ingenuity, there's a way.

So I strapped on a pair of my brother's Tivos and jumped off the roof.

It probably wasn't the wisest idea, and it was a lot farther down than I had suspected in the dark, but in the line of duty to protect one's freedom (pride, ego?) one will do unwise things. I went on a walk and cooled down. Once my parent's realized I had seemingly disappeared into thin air, they did what any normal parent would do: wash the dinner dishes, put Braveheart on VHS, and let me be.

I have no awesome, deep spiritual analogy to go with that story, I just thought someone might relate. Being at this stage of your life is exhausting. You have to simultaneously figure out what you're going to do for a career, what kind of people you should be hanging out with, and the most difficult, who the heck you are. Sometimes you just need to jump off a roof. And that's ok.

After a rather long day at work, I cleaned out my car (long time overdue), and what would be sitting in the back seat but an unopened cigar? I was elated. I shared it with my brother. After all, you must give freely of what you have freely received, and he needed to learn how to puff. I am probably breaking so many rules by saying this, but I am firmly convinced that the Lord knew that I needed a smoke right then. He cares about the little things, and He knows our every need. 

Speaking of little things, (really, I am so sorry for my raging ADHD), I am starting to see the Lord in everything. I realized recently that I am and have been in a hurry for quite some

time, perhaps my whole life. I am always anxious to move onto the next thing and be with the next person and the next place, but after a time of doing that people start to not want to be around you anymore. They know that you are thinking about something you deem as "more important" than they.

Then I started thinking about Jesus, and how he was never in a hurry. He was busy, that much is certain. But he was never hurried enough not to notice the people who needed him. He stopped in his tracks to talk to the Samaritan woman at the well. In a throng of people, his apostles thought he was crazy as he noticed the woman who touched the edge of his robe to be healed. He sat down the night before he was crucified and ate dinner with his beloved friends. He ate dinner with them. I’m pretty sure if he thought being in a hurry all the time was a good idea, he could have justified it. After all, he was on the way to saving the human race. Pretty important deadline, if you ask me. But He was always focused on the task at hand, the person He was with, the place He was at. 

The thought keeps crossing my mind that there may not be a harder thing in the world to do than to not be in a rush, for that is how we miss the character of God. I could go on about how our society’s mentality is to be hurried, that it has classically conditioned us to be always looking forward to the next thing, but I know that it would be dismissed immediately. After all, we’ve heard all that stuff before. I think it's more than that. I think that hurry is slowly killing us. We need to ruthlessly eliminate hurry from our lives. If we were to slow down, to be present with the person we're with, (after all, to really care about someone means first of all to be present with them), radical things would start to happen. When our hearts are at rest, it invites others to come in and to discover the source of rest... the Almighty. It makes people feel like we want to be with them, allows their hearts to be at peace and whispers that everything is ok. The Father's heart is like that, I think. No striving. You don't have to be anyone you're not nor do anything special. Just be. Live.  And it is a wonderful person to be around indeed who has grasped that concept. You start serving the Lord in the small things… and then bigger things start to happen. When you stop and be with His children, you end up stopping to be with Him. You start to find out who He really is, what real love is.

So anyway... I am starting to see God in places I never have before. He's in the simple

things, the seemingly small and insignificant things the world passes by in their rushing about. He's in good food and fellowship, awful coffee, the sunrise, the cigar that you find under the seat of a car, the muddy footprints on the floor, jumping off the roof just because you feel like it, and the chaos at the dinner table. He's in sincere conversation and the giving of your heart and your possessions freely, and in a kind word that touches the coldest parts of the heart. I am humbled by what I see when I slow down and just look at life. I see hurting people that need Jesus and I see the opportunity to speak of him, but even more than that, I often see just how much love is around me that I have ignored in my hurry. 

The air is cool tonight and smells like fresh cut hay. I think I'll just sit for a while.

With all my love,

B

Late night at the Beanery...

Day at the County Fair!

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