Abundance

About 3 years ago, I went to hear Annie Downs speak at a women's event with my church.  She had recently released her book Looking for Lovely.  I was also at a turning point.  I was struggling with my job, and seeing God's abundance or any abundance at the time was next to impossible.  Annie was a great speaker, and I remember really enjoying the night, but I don't remember anything she said, except for one verse.  She referenced Psalm 126:5-6.  The idea of the verse is that the one who sows in tears will come back with arms full of blessings.  Being in what felt like a season of tears, that verse was very appealing.  I marked it in my Bible and have referenced it quite a few times since in times of abundance and times in the desert.
This past weekend I was in my yard near where I have my Rose of Sharons planted scouting and measuring the space for a gardening endeavor I am about to undertake.  As I was looking at the space and imagining, I was also looking at the steep hill behind this space that desperately needs to be weeded and cleared.  As I was looking, I noticed a plant blooming in the mess.  Out of curiosity, I waded down through there to see what it was.  It was a Rose of Sharon.  One tiny little plant.  One pure white bloom.  It was lovely, and I was filled with surprise and joy.  I knew it was a gift to me.  The first post I wrote for this blog talked about the Rose of Sharon and how much it has become a symbol of hope and God's goodness to me.  It was just another way He reminded me that He sees me, He loves me, and He is working in my story.
As with any good plant lover, I of course decided to dig it up and move it up the hill to be with the others.  As I prepared to start digging, I looked around, and to my surprise, I realized that I was surrounded by small Rose of Sharon plants.  A few hours and a lot of sweat later, I hiked back up the hill with my arms full of baby Rose of Sharons.  All of which have been potted until I can move them into their permanent home.  Final count on them is right at 40. That's right, 40 plants.  I also still have a few more to get.  I was stunned and giddy.  What was 1 bloom turned into 40 plants.  Talk about abundance.  Psalm 126 came to mind, and I laughed.  I literally had arms full of blessings.  I had done nothing for those plants.  They were a complete gift.
This weekend, I heard God whisper a few things to me.  He reminded me that while I had been so focused on waiting for that one plant to bloom, He had been quietly growing so much more in the background, so much more.  I just have to open my eyes to see it.  He also told me that I am like the plant growing among the weeds where it cannot see the sun, and He is the gardener, lovingly digging me up and moving me to a place where I can grow and bloom in the light, His light.  I don't know what this next season is going to hold, but I have a sense that there will be arms full of blessings.

I'm Not Done Yet

This past weekend, was far busier than I had envisioned when I originally looked at the week to come.  On Wednesday, an old friend messaged me telling me that she was  going to be in town because she was having to evacuate from her university due to hurricane Florence.  She was going to be staying with some other friends of ours, and we decided to try to get together.  That turned into her staying with me Saturday evening through Monday evening, and it was wonderful.  I played tourist in my own city, which I have probably never done, and we got lots of time driving around to chat and catch up.
While any weekend to catch up with an old friend is a special gift, this weekend was more than that.  You see, my friend and I met 9 1/2 years ago when I was on my first of many mission trips to the island of Saba.  She was in fifth grade and the class I was assigned for the week.  We connected that year and tried to catch up every year for the 7 years that I went on that trip.  She was also one of the first ones to reach out to me after my diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes because she too has it.  I loved each and every trip to this island that secured a deep place for itself in my heart.  More importantly, I loved the people, who became like family, over the years I went.  When the day came that I was unable to go back, I was heartbroken.  I had poured much of my heart and life into a place and people, that suddenly seemed like I was never going to see again.  While social media is beautiful in giving us the ability to stay in contact with people near and far, it does not make up for the face to face conversations.  So, for the past few years, I have watched lives play out online, thinking of and praying for the people I loved and working to make peace with my days on that trip being done.  God had closed the door. Or so I thought.  When I got to host my friend this past weekend, spend time with her, continue conversations that were started almost 10 years ago, I realized that God was not done.  While I may never go back to Saba, God is still not done in that story, even when the door looked shut.  
I'll be honest, this year has not gone as I expected.  I truly believed I heard God saying that my life would be going a certain way, and well, life did not go that way.  My heart hurts, and in the pain, I've been asking, "Where are you, God?" and "What on earth are you doing?" As I have sat and tried to listen for His voice, I keep hearing the phrase, "I'm not done yet." I don't know specifically what it is going to mean or how any of this is going to turn out, but what I was reminded of this weekend is that God is not done with any situation until He determines it is time to move on.  I never would have foreseen this weekend coming, but what a beautiful gift it was. I thought the door on those days of my life was shut, but God knew He wasn't done.  He's not done in this part of my story either.  The door may feel closed to me, but if He has said He is not done, then I will choose to believe He is not done, and I will hold hope for what is to come, knowing that it is going to be far better than I can ask or imagine.

Seeing the Kingdom of God

"The Kingdom of God is like a Now and Later candy..." This was our youth group lesson on Sunday.  Our youth minister shared that the two were similar in the sense that you get to experience the Kingdom now as we live this life and later with Heaven.  It was a really great lesson, especially for middle school students.  After the lesson, we broke into our groups to discuss.  Being an adult leader, it is always interesting to see how the students will react to different lessons and the questions posed.  One of the questions posed got me thinking.  The question was what are times in your life that you have seen the Kingdom of God here.  Most of our students responded with answers relating to church camp, mission trips, and big moment experiences, but then a question popped into my head, that I asked the students.

So, how do you guys see the Kingdom of God in your everyday moments?

And, as they stared blankly at me (in their defense, class was an hour earlier than normal), I realized that many of us are not actively looking in our everyday moments and lives for the Kingdom of God.  I, as many of us do, tend to rush through my day focusing on what needs to get done, where I need to be, and what demands I need to meet.  Often times, my vision is so laser focused on what is straight ahead, that I miss all of the beauty around me.  I miss the little moments where God's kingdom has already broken through into this hurting world.  I fully believe that God's kingdom shows up in the big moments church camp, mission trips, living into a life long dream, weddings, births, and so many more.   But, surely, it is not just in those.  The times when I have had eyes to see, ears to hear, and a heart to receive, when I have slowed down enough to look around, I can see that the Kingdom of God is all over the place.  It is in the warmth of the sunshine, the chirp of the birds, the whisper of the breeze, the bloom of the flower. It is also in the mom who lovingly holds her screaming child that can be heard rows over in the store, the dad who comforts his kids in grace and love, the smile a stranger gives when she can tell you're having a bad day, the person who doesn't respond in anger when he was wronged, the friend that walks with you in the difficult seasons, and so many more.  The Kingdom of God is so much more than all of these examples too.  I truly believe it is all around us waiting for us to see it, engage it, and help make it more and more of a reality in this world.  Because when we start seeing the Kingdom of God, we start bringing the Kingdom of God to every corner of our worlds.  While our worlds may feel or be small, they still have a place here, and I never want to underestimate the impact that my little world can have on this big one.  And, neither should you.  We all have a point of impact here.  No one is too small.  So, may we be people who look with eyes to see, listen with ears to hear, and open our hearts to receive the Kingdom that is here and now, so that we may continue to bring the Kingdom to our corners of the world here and now.

Bloom

I have always loved flowers.  From childhood, I have been enchanted with watching a flower start to bud and waiting anxiously for it to bloom into what it was made and created to be.  Not to mention the fact that flowers are just beautiful and have a way of bringing joy and brightening a room just by being in it.  Even now, as an adult, when one of the flowering plants in my yard blooms, I get excited to see the new bloom and watch it bring beauty to this world.
 For me, flower blooms have become a symbol of hope, especially those on the Rose of Sharon bush.  Back when I was in high school, Nashville experienced a pretty bad drought.  I don't remember why, but my family had gone to Lowes to get something and I, enjoying flowers, wandered through the garden department.  There on the clearance rack was a small and mostly dead plant, but something about it called to me, and at the cost of $1 it went home with me.  I planted it and hoped it would survive believing that there was something still alive there to be saved. A year later when the flourishing plant bloomed, I found out that it was a Rose of Sharon. Over the years, that one nearly dead bush grew and actually split into multiple bushes.  While the plant in and of itself is nothing spectacular, its blooms came to be a symbol for me, that even in a drought, there is still life and still hope.  Sharing how much a simple little plant meant to me with my family probably would have been a good choice, but I never thought about it.  Only when I was in college, did it come up because my dad unknowingly and out of a misunderstanding trimmed my plant back to a stump.  Had I not been diagnosed with the life-changing chronic medical condition of Type 1 Diabetes and faced a near death experience with that only weeks earlier, I might have handled it better, but I was heartbroken.  In a time where my hope had dried up, a symbol of hope, my symbol of hope was destroyed.  But, that resilient little plant did not give up.  That summer it bloomed again. It may have only been one, but it was there to remind me that if it could survive, so could I.  A few years later my family moved, and as much as I wanted to take the whole bush with me, there was no way.  It was too big.  My aunt and dad kindly took clippings off of it to root and plant at the new house.  We ended up with 2 different plants.  One bloomed the summer after we moved, and the other has been quietly growing.  It finally bloomed last week, a big beautiful white flower.  It was so lovely.
I don't know about you, but for me this season of life has felt in ways like a desert.  I feel like there have been places of my life that God has promised me a bloom is coming soon, but I still don't see it.  There are also places that I have watched as all of my friends have bloomed and stepped into their way of bringing beauty in the world, and I feel like I am still waiting.  Waiting is hard and, frankly, no fun.  But, I was reminded last week watching that flower slowly grow and then beautifully bloom, that our lives are like that too.  In the places of my life that feel dead, there is a bloom developing.  It may just take longer, but that makes it no less significant or beautiful.  I choose to trust and believe that in what looks like a drought, there is still something growing.  I choose to hold to hope.