Finding Gardens in Unexpected Places *

“If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.” 

     ----Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

I was hoping I’d be able to physically handle a ride via a DART  (Dial a Ride Transport ) bus to downtown Seattle, usually a twenty to thirty  minute drive during non-rush hour traffic from where I live. 

Stops and starts, unexpected turns, and wide scopes of peripheral vision compromise my vertigo condition pretty fast if I am not grounded and doing the driving. 

Nonetheless, a dear friend had invited me out to lunch and wanted to try out the DART bus. She had signed up for this service should she need it.

The hospital where she was undergoing extensive chemotherapy treatments post her ovarian cancer surgery, was featuring an offer - an offer too good to refuse. 

Professional photographers were donating their time and talents over the course of  two days, a time to pamper cancer patients. They’d experience the joy of an attentive team for a portrait sitting. 

The outcome would be a treasured image to cherish.

I had been accompanying my friend to some of her treatments, but this was to be a day of fun. I took my camera to photograph her through the process leading up to her completed portrait. 

First, we had to get to Seattle via the DART bus ride! 

There were other riders to pick up. Bus drivers patiently offered help to those needing assistance getting onto the bus and settled inside. After many twists-twisted, turns navigated, speed bumps bumped and others taken to their destinations, we arrived at ours two hours from the time we stepped onto the bus.

So when did I notice a garden?  

The awareness came slowly as I had been very focused on my own body’s needs, the time with my friend,  and the interactions on the bus. It took my soul a while to recognize the blooms God wanted me to see. That recognition came as I was reflecting a few days after the bus ride.

Here is what emerged! 

With each stop the bus made, a woman brought herself and parts of her life story along with her as she came inside the vehicle. On this particular day, only women were passengers on our buses. 

S. came on her scooter, unable to walk even a few steps without her oxygen. She was going to town to shop at some bargain stores. 

D. arrived in her wheelchair, sporting an artificial leg, an outgoing and cheerful spirit, and was able to transfer to a regular seat on the bus. She was grateful and bubbled over sharing with us her anticipation of soon getting to a specialized yoga class that helps her stay limber. She lives with MS and other neurological challenges.

The bus,  still bumping and twisting along,  was filled with the chatter of these women, wanting to know what my friend and I  were up to and where we were going. 

One by one, after stories were shared, each got dropped off at her destination. 

When our time in town was completed, my friend and I  were delighted to have S. and D. both get back on the same bus during our return trip home.  

Joys were expressed. 

S. showed us the special bargain outfit she got for summer wear. D. was so appreciative of the relaxation and care she had received at her yoga class.  We arrived at a church in north Seattle and welcomed N. who was able to transfer to a bus seat once she and her wheelchair were on board.

She had come about as far geographically as my friend and I had come, to attend a social support group. She was abuzz telling of the fun her group had experienced. 

Blind since birth and dealing with cerebral palsy, N. had a smile that lit up the already sunny day. She told me that she lived in an adult home. 

I asked her if she had made close friends there. She said that she had only one close friend as the other residents were unable to communicate clearly. I realized she had come to where some joy was present, where support and friendship was a given. 

I hugged her as she went to the transfer bus, wondering if she ever got hugs and knowing that she could not see me beaming at her and her tenacity.

I had not expected a garden to show up in a bus!

But the fruits of the Holy Spirit unfolded right before my eyes: 

love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, 

goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. 

(Galatians 5:22-23) 

The garden emerged as I saw women choosing to thrive where they found themselves, using the means they could to get out, to socialize, to meet their challenges with a gusto that left me -  less encumbered - humbly inspired. 

Bus drivers were patient with the logistics of getting the riders onto the bus. 

I observed my friend, courageously confronting cancer with faith and fervor.

S. took in breaths with the help of an oxygen tank and exhaled an acceptance of where life has brought her.

N., having never seen a sunny sky, gave off beams via her beautiful smile that would rival any sunflower.

 D.,  apologized  that she was not good with names yet remembered what had been said during the morning ride and wanted to know all about our individual experiences of the day. 

This garden was alive!

Eugene Peterson, in his paraphrase of the Bible, describes my experience this way.

“God's various gifts are handed out everywhere; but they all originate in God's Spirit. . . . Each person is given something to do that shows who God is: Everyone gets in on it, everyone benefits” (1 Corinthians 12: 4-11 The Message).

I had not expected a garden to show up in a bus,  

but it showed up nonetheless and its fragrance lingers! 

* revised from an earlier posting

Perhaps Love Is . . . !

 Some Thoughts On Love 

My mother used to tell the story of my toddler days and nap times. 

I’d  never awaken crying but lie or sit contentedly singing until she came to get me. One song, popular to her generation in the 40s, poured out of my young lungs.

“I don’t know why I love you like I do. . . I don’t know why, I just do.”

Through my mother’s influence, all kinds of music became an important part of my growing up years. When my brothers and I reached our teen years and beyond, she flowed with interest into the music we loved. 

Music. Such a key love in my life.

In my late 20s, I learned to play the guitar and loved having its ready access for use in my classroom. I passed along many notes from my songbook to my students. Among them were songs made popular by John Denver.

He knew his way with many a song that mirrored the human condition. He promoted the need to honor God’s creation. How far we have roamed from the original Garden and all it contained for us in relating to God and the blooms of his pure Love. In our original Home, love was a known.

“Perhaps Love”  ranks high on my list of John Denver’s songs. 

To listen to its lyrics one gets the impression that 

he was confused about love. Well, aren’t we all? 

I am led to another John, the Apostle who walked with Christ and wrote Gospel accounts of that time. In John 17, we read a communion of words that Christ offers to his Father. 

In the chapter’s context it is placed prior to the day leading to Christ’s Crucifixion, the completion of his earthly mission, and his return Home. He prays from his heart of love on our behalf. 

I compiled a duet between the words of the two men named, John, and within lie some answers about love.  

Introduction 

“In the beginning the Word already existed. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God. God created everything through him, and nothing was created except through him. The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone” (John 1: 1-4 NLT).

The Duet

Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm.

It exists to give you comfort; it is there to keep you warm.

And in those times of trouble when you are most alone, the 

memory of love will bring you home.

“Father, I want these whom you have given me to be with me where I am. Then they can see all the glory you gave me because you loved me even before the world began” (John 17: 24 NLT).

Perhaps love is like a window, perhaps an open door.

It invites you to come closer, it wants to show you more

And even if you lose yourself and don't know what to do.

The memory of love will see you thru.

“O righteous Father, the world doesn’t know you, but I do; and these disciples know you sent me. I have revealed you to them, and I will continue to do so. Then your love for me will be in them, and I will be in them” (verses 25-26 ).

O love to some is like a cloud; to some as strong as steel.

For some a way of living, for some a way to feel.

And some say love is holding on and some say letting go

And some say love is everything;some say they don't know

“I have given them the glory you gave me, so they may be one as we are one. I am in them and you are in me. May they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me and that you love them as much as you love me” ( verses 22-23).

Perhaps love is like the oceanfull of conflict full of change; 

Like a fire when it is  cold outside, a thunder when it rains,

If I should live forever and all my dreams come true,

my memories of love will be of you.

"Make them holy by your truth; teach them your word, which is truth. Just as you sent me into the world, I am sending them into the world. And I give myself as a holy sacrifice for them so they can be made holy by your truth” ( verses 17-19).

If I should live forever and all my dreams come true,

my memories of love will be of you.

Bridge

And what of that toddler in her crib, singing, 

“I don’t know why I love you like I do. . . 

I don’t know why, I just do”? 

That song remains deep in my heart of memories and 

was pulled out a bit over a decade ago.

 I sat on the bed in a hospice room where my Mom lie in a deep sleep - a nap of a kind -  one from which she would awaken and know the perfection of Love, choruses of love promised because of the Love the Father sent, not a “perhaps love”.  

I sang to her. 

I sang my toddler song but I was able to add on “the whys”. During this rendition of the song, both tears and words fell out of my heart. 

Perhaps love is simply that -- all the pieces in our hearts that cannot be contained but need to flow out and become known. 

It  is the “why of God “ poured into us, his defining of us, his gift to us of himself to extravagantly lavish on those we meet. In following His lead, we come to understand many of the whys and the ways that love becomes real.

If I should live forever and all my dreams come true,

my memories of love will be of you.

“This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you. There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”

 (John 15: 12-13 NLT).

Listen to John Denver’s song! 

Silver Lining Heart

Mixed Media

by my friend, Mary Peterson

Serendipity Moments - A Giving Sampler

A Giving Sampler

When I posted my first Serendipity Moments, I was going through a box marked: “Lynn’s Writings and Art Designs”. Today I am sharing another item found during that time. 

I simply loved creating it and it was joyous to watch God guide me in the process!

First, here is the background.

The end of January, 1993, the  women’s ministry at the church I attended was to have a weekend retreat. I had been retired for 6 months from teaching. I no longer had the outlet for creating all those bulletin boards and other joy-filled items for my elementary aged students! I longed to stay active in these artistic ways.

I offered to make the gifts given at junctures during the upcoming two day retreat - favors at tables and “something” after each of the talks. 

The challenge was that the woman heading the retreat had no real direction from the Lord what the retreat theme would be as these preparations had to be begun. Her only nudging was that it would be on  Forgiveness. 

Others had offered to speak and we all went on faith and the Holy Spirit’s guidance and later watched it all flow together perfectly - as if we had conferred with each other! 

The Gift of Forgiveness is in the Giving

As I contemplated forgiveness, I wanted to zoom in on the outcome of forgiveness .  I loved doing counted-cross stitch so a "paper sampler" seemed a given to prepare as one of the gifts. 

All creating was done with paper, pens, rulers, scissors, and an electric typewriter. Next  came Kinko’s for copying onto very pale gray toned card stock paper ( that color not evident in how my camera caught the images below) and then individually pinking the edges of the  5”x7” paper copies, coloring, punching holes, and tying each sampler with a pink ribbon ( x 50, the number of women who were to attend our retreat - maybe it was 100?? - there were LOTS of copies that had to be made!)

When the need for forgiveness comes into my life, it becomes a heart issue and a spiritual issue. My heart is affected and my emotions can go all kinds of ways. The place I need to run is to God’s heart - the One whose heart suffered taking on all my sins with his death and suffering on the Cross - so that I am forgiven and, with Him, I am able to forgive another. 

Hearts. The Cross. 

Those are the core needs.  But first, surrounding that freedom I seek, are hearts and crosses askew ( the outer border of the sampler ). A pure heart is one blob of a circle. The cross it more an X - a cross not quite set straight. This is where I dwell while I live in un-forgiveness. 

Seek and Find

The Scriptures I chose to center within the sampler are ones that speak to what I have been given because of God’s forgiving grace.They are within the inner border where his heart and my heart are flowing together. They are reminders of where I want to try and keep living - and where I want to return when I realize that forgiveness is once more a need in my life.



The back of the sampler is one for acknowledgements to those who made our women’s retreat all that it came to be. 

However, I chose to change the outer border from the front of the sampler, to words that are the transforming gifts Christ’s work on the Cross completed so that, as I am forgiven, I can team with Him in offering grace to others.

Heartened.
Faith-Filled.
Released.
Surrendered.
Healed.
Graced.
Redeemed.
Covenanted.
Unburdened.
Forgiven.
Ransomed.
Humbled.   Compassioned.   Tender-Hearted.  Saviored.  Reconciled.   Transformed.   Loved.

Fan Mail for Father Abraham

Faithful Mentors

There are many who have made this journey in life before us and encountered the same emotions, if not always the same experiences each of us has encountered. 

Hebrews 11’s  “Hall of Faith” records those worthy of mention from the Old Testament for their lives can encourage us in ours. Was each of them perfect in the ways they served the Lord? No. But each of them was faithful in learning how to serve Him better - which makes them credible mentors.

Abel. Enoch. Noah. Abraham. Sarah. Issac. Jacob. Joseph. Moses. Joshua. 

Rahab. Gideon. Barak, Samson. Jephthah. David. Samuel.

These are the ones called by name though others are alluded to in the context of what is recorded. 

In reacting to these faithful ones’ stories, I relate most to Abraham: a man who spent time in the wilderness, who believed in God’s promises with no tangible evidence except that God had promised, was willing to go into foreign lands not knowing what he would encounter, and was willing to surrender what God asked of him: dreams, family, even a beloved son.

Because of the encouragement that Abraham’s life gives to me, I decided to write him a letter.

Dear Abe,

It is the year, 2014 A.D...many millenniums past the days you were here on earth and leading your life with faithfulness and trust in God. 

So much has happened since then and among the best of things is that we now have God’s Word written down. Yes, there are still many wonderings and wanderings but a lot is set down in words - no guessing and lots of accountability is spelled out for certain. And you and much of what you experienced in your life is right in that book. It is how I have come to know and admire you. I decided to write you a letter and tell you why.

Well, maybe I should explain the new name I’ve given to you. 

One custom in my day is that folks who are good friends often give each other what is called, “nicknames”. They are often shorter versions of a longer name or a chosen name of endearment. 

Since you are acquainted with having your name changed, 

I did not think you would mind my boldness in giving you this one. 

I think we are kindred souls. That  might just help you smile as you wander up there in the heavens enjoying your eternal reward and understanding more fully all of the trials you faced here on earth.

 One of the things I admire about you, Abe, is that you were called a friend of God. 

God, Himself, told you that! 

 He spoke to you and you listened. Those of us who follow Him all these years later are also called his friends. But I think you were the first to hear Him say that word, “freind”, right to you as He called you into a personal relationship.

I am so grateful that He blessed you and called you righteous just because you believed in Him. You trusted Him, learned to hear His voice, and were willing to follow His guidance as best you could. 

I also love that you did not always get it right. I don’t either. 

But you persevered and walked into many foreign lands not knowing what awaited  you and your family but just because God said to go.  He knew His plan. He trusted you.

 I, too, have wandered through many mysterious times and lands. I  have also learned that God’s grace is present to sustain me and that his actual presence strengthens, as well.

I can view your life looking back upon it. You had to live your life moving forward and, as you know, it was not so clear to see the outcome. 

I know that you sacrificed your son, Ishmael, by sending him away. God brought good out of that and an Arab nation was formed.

I know that you were willing to sacrifice the son of your heart, Isaac, but God intervened, honored your obedience, and spared Isaac. All those descendants He promised you. . . the ones that would number more than the stars He showed you in the sky. . . well, we are here. Jews, Christians, and those descended from Ishmael and all members of these faiths grow day by day. 

I am one of your spiritual descendants. 

So, Abe, fits just fine as far as I am concerned! 

Many, many years after you lived, God Himself sacrificed His only  Son. . . only this was a completed sacrifice and we, His followers, are  now called righteous because of that sacrifice.

That does not make my journey any easier than yours, but both of us have the experience of God’s Presence helping us to listen and learn. 

You have been a good mentor. 

 Thank you for helping me remember the value of believing in God’s promises, of trusting Him, of waiting even when my eyes cannot see and my heart aches for what seems impossible.

Well, Abe, I can be a gabby one when writing to a friend. It is best I get this flung up to the stars so you can read it. You may still be counting them just to try and prove you can number them! 

But I want to end with a little piece of  writing done by another one of God’s friends. I think that he must have also been a kindred soul of yours. He expresses so well more of what I have learned by reading about you. Here is what he said:

“It is your future,

Don’t back into it.

Don’t grope into its mists blindfolded.

Put the hand of your faith into the Hand of God.

Get used to His voice.

He warns you of dangers and strangers.

He leads you to experience His prepared future.

He does not disappoint.

There is always more for those who walk with Him.

He straightens question marks into exclamation points.”*

Okay, Abe, watch those stars. 

Here  comes a letter from one of your fans! 

Find Us Faithful

music/lyrics: Jon Mohr, recorded by: Steve Green

Watercolor Sketch by Dave Peterson

*To the best of my remembrance, the quote I cited can be attributed to Chuck Swindoll. It is on a scrap of paper from a church bulletin I cut out 25+ years ago and keep in my bible ( and heart ).

revised from an earlier posting (5/12)

Serendipity Moments

I think there will be many moments in days ahead when I happen upon something or have some experience that I will record on my blog. They are often called, "serendipity" times - seeming to happen by chance but bringing delight. 

If looked at closely - they may hold more for me to see! 

I am going through some boxes of treasures set aside. You know those kinds of boxes. They are “sort of” organized but ( in my case), they are more by topics with hopes to fine tune later.

The box I took out tonight is marked:

 Lynn’s Writings and Art Designs.

One of the treasures is a letter I wrote and my mother sent to my grandmother “from me” when I was in Kindergarten. 

Apparently, I had quite a sense of style back then. 

Apparently I had a lot to say but not the skills yet 
to create many words.

 I was wanting  to tell my grandmother all about my birthday. 

How wonderful that my mother kept this among her belongings and later passed it along to me or I’d not have it to bring these moments of delight looking back at the beginnings of who I have become.

Also in this box were some words I penned approximately 53 years later in 2001, some months after my mother’s death. I was at a writers’ critique group and we were given an exercise to do. 

Here is what came forth - poured out from a heart in grief but not unlike the Kindergarten younger Lynn who had a lot to say and had to express it in some fashion.

This exercise is to incorporate all of the following words into an article, short story, poem or whatever comes to mind. You must use all of the words ( in any order) to complete the exercise but the context in which they are used is up to you.Think about the words for a few minutes before you start to write and see what pictures come to mind - then see if you can weave them all together into a piece of writing. You have ten minutes.

Powerful. Deep. Change. Spring. Glass. 

Star. Brush. Special. Shaking. Poor

My legs were shaking as I crumpled into the seemingly deep spring grass. It was evening and the deep feelings inside my grief-filled soul were powerful - such a change from a year ago at this time. My spirit seemed poor, robbed of the presence of my Mother with whom my whole life had been shared. Life seemed to be lived and seen as through an opaque glass. . . not quite the clarity I am used to. 

Lifting my eyes to the darkened sky, a brush stroke of stars washed their way across the night and with the twinkling of the view. . . a special stirring flickered within. Perhaps my Mom’s presence, still within me, could be seen 

as the memories in each star light, 
as the twinkle that once lit her eyes,
 in the life her artist’s paint still wanted 
to brush into the life I am yet to live.