Autumn Glory or Gloom?

Five years ago today my brother flew into Kansas City to drive my moving truck with me and all my stuff in it to the Southwest. It was my desire to live closer to family and to leave behind bitterly cold, gray winters. I haven't missed the winters at all, but I have missed my autumn loving friends (the other friends too) and autumn. I had been living in my new hometown for about a month when a box arrived in the mail. My thoughtful friends and coworkers (sorry I do not remember all who were involved): Kimberly, Melissa, Danielle, and Virginia sent me a box full of autumn leaves. Among the leaves they included a handmade card by Virginia, a Starbucks gift card and a bag of orange and purple Skittles, handpicked especially for me. It was such a lovely treat!

Having spent most of my life in the Midwest, I get an incredible yearning for autumn every year; it has always been my favorite season. There are those who find autumn depressing as summer's beauty tarnishes, turning brittle and letting go of its hold on life. From his book, Let Your Life Speak, Parker Palmer wrestles past his own dark thoughts of autumn.

“In my own experience of autumn, I am rarely aware that seeds are being planted. . . . But as I explore autumn's paradox of dying and seeding, I feel the power of metaphor. In the autumnal events of my own life experience, I am easily fixated on surface appearances—on the decline of meaning, the decay of relationships, the death of a work. And yet if I look more deeply, I may see the myriad possibilities being planted to bear fruit in some season yet to come. . . . This hopeful notion that living is hidden within dying is surely enhanced by the visual glories of autumn. . . . Autumn constantly reminds me that my daily dyings are necessary precursors to new life.”

How does the letting go, the “daily dyings” of your life effect you? Jesus taught in order to have life, we must lose our lives. It is a beautiful mess this dying, letting go and losing the self in order to have life and be whole. Not so unlike autumn. The leaves glow in glorious red, orange and yellow. Sometime after the color begins to fade and the leaves start to get crackly, a big, blustery wind tears the last of them from the branches leaving the trees standing stark naked against the gray sky. The leaves eventually turn into compost for the soil making it rich and healthy, all the while seeds fall from dead blossoms to reseed and multiply in preparation for glorious new life to burst forth come spring. Can the letting go in our lives create a rich purpose and beauty? I think so.

There are times in our lives when the letting go, the dying to something in our lives, plunges us into a dark place for awhile. Have you been there? I have. I am amazed when I look back and remember some of the darkest seasons of change for me, at the treasures buried among the decay and hurt. Those surprising nuggets show their true colors on the bright side of grieving. Those were times God used to release me to become more truly who I am, freeing me from fears and dysfunctional thinking and doing, and from myself. I am transformed and made new. It is hard to admit, but in the dying, life is released. Death is not all doom and gloom, autumn is one proof of it.

Here are some of the highlights of my childhood autumn days:

• After a storm shaking branches from the trees, grandma would bribe us to help clean up the wooded pasture with a promised bonfire. We stacked all the branches against a large tree stump that stood in a small clearing. Later we invited neighborhood friends and cousins to roast hot dogs and marshmallows. All provided by grandma. It was such fun.
• Burning leaves. Oh what a haunting smell.
• Trick or treat in the small village nearby. Everyone knew us and we knew them. Mable made popcorn balls and always saved one for my mom.
• Homecoming, football and the school bonfire.
• Going back to school. I loved it!
• Burning candles and the first fire in the fireplace.
• Walking in the woods and the crunching of leaves beneath my feet.
• The cool crisp air carrying with it the scent of autumn. Can't explain it and no candle scent is a true copy.

Things Aren't Quite As They Seem

Sometimes things are just not what they seem. Recently I held the hand of a small child as we walked across a parking lot. The sun was bright and the day hot and our shadows short. I pointed out to my little friend his shadow and showed him how to step on it. Shadows are intriguing, but not quite like the real thing; my shadow is either tall and thin or short and chunky. My shadow doesn't represent my exact build, it is a caricature of me. Of course if it duplicated me exactly, I would choose the tall thin shadow laid out before me in the evening light.

Our Stapelia plant is blooming now. Up close this blossom might make you think you are looking at a starfish, but it is a succulent in full bloom. This unique blossom smells like rotting meat and attracts flies. It isn't quite what it seems at first glance or sniff.

Even a name doesn't always represent to whom we belong. Three generations in a family I know share the same last name of Rutherford*. A long time ago an unwed divorcee discovered she was pregnant. Being more concerned with her image than the truth, her parent's insisted she give the child the last name of her ex-husband. In a moment of curious questioning generations later the truth was revealed. Imagine how misconstrued the genealogy search would be without this little known fact: the family bloodline isn't tied to the current last name.

Wednesday was the first day of Autumn. Wikipedia states, “Before the 16th century, harvest was the term usually used to refer to the season, as it is common in other West Germanic languages to this day (cf. Dutch herfst, German Herbst and Scots hairst).” But as the towns became more populated and farming began to diminish “harvest” became Fall. Harvesting isn't obsolete; fewer people are farming in order to raise the vast amounts of produce we consume without a thought from whence it came.

I digress. Here we are in the first days of Autumn; the calendar says so. We are in between the hot days of summer and the cooler, or much colder depending on where you live, days of winter. As often is the case, nothing about the weather indicates it is Autumn. It is hot and muggy; people grumble and are wearing down from the long summer filled over the top with steamy weather. It may say Autumn on our calendars and Starbucks' may boast the return of the Pumpkin Spiced Latte to their menu, but the sweaters are still packed away and the thought of a scarf around my neck makes me sweat. This is what I mean when I say, “Things are not as they seem.”

The first cool days of fall I feel more alive; I love the crisp air. So what do I do in the meantime? I join others in frustrated conversations about the hot days; I collect fall photos on Pinterest to fuel my hope, even though I do live in an area where Autumn is quite subtle; and I read poems and verses trumpeting the glorious beauty and cozy delights of Autumn. Though I believe there is beauty in all the seasons God created these lines best represent how I feel about the fall of the year:

“Delicious autumn!

My very soul is wedded to it,

and if I were a bird

I would fly about the earth

seeking successive autumns.”

– George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans)

Next time I might just write about the gloriously infused Autumn days of my childhood. Until then I would love to hear what you love about Autumn.

P. S. Did you catch my big hint at something else that is not quite as it seems?

*Name has been changed to protect the family whose story I have taken the liberty to tell.

The Sweet in Bittersweet

“You can endure change by pondering His permanence.” --Max Lucado

A mom recently said to me, “No one tells us when it will be the last time she will want to wear her Disney princess dress.” While we run about trying to do all we can with the time we have, lives are changing and it seems as if it happens overnight. The bitter sweetness of the way things are meant to evolve still leaves us with a longing to go back and relive, to pay closer attention in case this is to be the last time.

For a number of years I carried remnants of my girls' childhoods in a trunk and a few plastic tubs. I still have a few bits and pieces but they have taken the treasures they want as reminders. Many of us don't truly want to go back and relive it all, but we certainly would like to pick and choose the best of our younger years, slow them down and memorize each detail.

When we look back over photos longings can push in on our emotions, longings to see someone again and to relive the joy with total awareness. Several weeks ago I looked through the alumni magazine of the university I attended. An article featured in the magazine included photos of my college pastor and his wife receiving an award. They have clearly grown older. It made me both sad and reminiscent of the ways they influenced and encouraged me. I can't say I wish nothing had ever changed because a lot of wonderful experiences were lived after leaving that college community, but I certainly carry sweet memories of these two people and many others who were significant to that particular season in life.

A longing to hang on, to never let go creeps over me when I sense a change is ahead but so many changes can take us by surprise. Even though we know our kids are going to grow up like every other kid, it still surprises us. And the longing, the ache to hold tight grabs us and nearly squeezes the breath from our lungs. Our hearts ache with an indescribable pain. And yet I can say I enjoyed watching my girls grow up.

Here is the catch-22. We can miss today's moments by longing for what has passed. And we can miss the rich growth change stirs into the mix of who we are becoming by pressing our heels into the ground and resisting change and the possibility it may bring great good in our lives. God means for us to be our better selves and we were made to come out on top, not be destroyed by change.

Kristen Strong, writer of Chasing Blue Skies http://chasingblueskies.net/change-scares-even-little/ has written her first book and it comes out today. (It can be purchased on Amazon at Chasing Blues Skies.) In her usual down to earth style Kristen shares how the difficult changes in life have taught her to see change through the eyes of the Father. Heartfelt stories shared from her life and from the lives of others give roots to the truth of how even the most difficult changes can be the very thing God uses to transform us into His likeness and a truer likeness of ourselves. In Kristen's words, “I don't want to just survive change; I want to thrive through it. . . . to thrive means to grow well. And a big part of growing well is seeing change with the eyes of heaven and knowing that God will always, always use it for us.” She does not deny letting go means grieving, but in the end we must embrace the new thing God is doing in our lives in order to thrive. For me, that is the sweet center of the bittersweet in change.

Going Great Heights One Step at a Time

Butterscotch bars filled with toasted walnuts bake in the oven while the sparrows squawk at one another in the background fighting over the food I put out for them. I bake and plan supper while waiting for my husband's return from his Mt Whitney trip. Backpacking to the pinnacle of Mt Whitney with a few friends has been on the horizon since January. Months of preparation: training hikes, making lists of needs, being fitted for and purchasing new hiking shoes, ordering supplies and packing and repacking the backpack until everything fit just right.

And now the week has come and gone. They all made it to the top and back and now he is on his way home. It was a grueling adventure to mark the end of his 60^th year in this life. It is a joy to celebrate his accomplishment and a real blessing to celebrate the man whose shoes I cannot fill.

The breeze tosses the palm leaves about and rustles through the tangerine tree as daylight begins to slink lower in the sky. I wait. I hurried about earlier to water the plants outside and feed the birds, all jobs Jim does when he is home. I kept forgetting plants and having to backtrack, and while writing I looked out the patio door and noticed I forgot to put bird food in the gourd feeder. He has such a fine tuned system and I fall short. But the plants are still living and the birds are still fighting over what I gave them and the butterscotch bars smell great.

It seems as if a lot of time has passed since the morning hours, the time I had begun to worry a little. I knew I might not hear from Jim once they started the hike upward, but I had expected to hear from him last night. Finally late this morning I got the call they were about an hour from the Mt Whitney trailhead; they didn't make it down before dark the day before and had to camp on the mountain another night. He said, “We are a little beat up, but we made it to the top and that is all that matters.”

I am thinking about the difficulties in life I allow to keep me from making it to the top. Sometimes the things holding me back aren't really so tough, but with a little negative thought to blow things out of proportion I am soon overwhelmed and doubting I can reach my goal. A friend and I had a heart-to-heart chat this week about the ways we get overwhelmed and brew up a good dose of doubt as to whether or not we are truly cut out to be the counselors God has called us to be. We were able to talk one another back to a place of truth; we just have to get back to the basics and believe God will make us able to do what He has created us to do.

Brussels Sprouts roast in the oven filling the house with their nutty, bitter scent, and I get a message saying they've gotten caught in traffic and will arrive later. So, I slow down the process and watch the light in the sky soften into a dusky glow and listen as the bamboo wind chimes make their woodwind music. I love this time of evening. No matter how long the delay, my husband will arrive home this night, piling camping gear by the door and throwing a big bear hug around me. The timing will be just right. He will have reached his goal.

Later...

And as you can see he made it home.

Sacrificed Hours Sent in a Box

It came in a box delivered by the postman. It was heavy and required my full embrace to carry it. I love getting things in the mail, don't you? My friend, Terri, had told me several months prior to its arrival she was working on something special for me. Nothing I had imagined could have prepared me for the tremendous, sacrificial gift of love she had created for me. I opened the box. On top was a lovely embroidered drawstring bag and two cute cloth purses. Terri had made all of them. But these items weren't the heavy weight present inside the box. When I saw the cover of the prayer journal I was dumbstruck. Gently I lifted it out and laid it in my lap. I read the letter she had written of how she had prayed for me and my family everyday as she created the 30 beautifully themed pages full of colorful and beautiful details. I slowly turned each page of this interactive artistic prayer journal and found a page dedicated to my husband and one to each of my girls. Terri had learned things about each person and added personalized touched to their pages.

Tears came into my eyes. I could not remember a time when anyone had gone to so much trouble for me. Me, the girl who had spent too many years fearing I was too much for people. This dear friend had been prompted by the Holy Spirit to put hours into creating a beautiful gift for me. Every detail in this love soaked book tells me my friend has taken the time to truly know me. I still can't fully find the words to express how deeply this expression of love has moved me. It is as if I had thought for so long I was just a ragtag girl and found out I am a princess. This wasn't a gift from Terri, though she poured over it with her heart and all the creativity in her fingertips released an imaginative vision in hard copy, but it was a gift from God. He validated my worth in whispered words of grace through this exquisite and dazzling gift. I have added photos to give you tantalizing little glimpses of this precious labor of love.

I am reminded of another friend who received a large box labored over with love. My friend Caity and I follow blogger Kristen Strong, http://chasingblueskies.net, and for her 40^th birthday Kristen sent 40 boxes full of thoughtful gifts for military wives. Caity was blessed to have gotten one of these boxes delivered to her front porch. When she shared with me I was so blessed and thankful someone out there who doesn't know Caity personally blessed her in such a personal way. It was a God-gift processed through a lovely lady full of heart for women making sacrifices while husbands sacrifice and labor long hours here and there for our freedom.

Sometimes the mail delivery brings us heavy things, often the kinds of things to weigh down the heart and drain the bank account. And so much in the mailbox these days is just plain junk. Sometimes I have to order some little fun thing just to get a pleasant surprise in the mail. We don't write letters much anymore and so many of us miss mail: cards, letters and packages. What is the best thing you have had delivered to your home via mail? I would love to hear about it.

FYI: Kristen Strong has a book coming out in September. I am privileged to be promoting it on my blog. Be on the look out for more information.

Mercy Deeds for the Vulnerable

An old-fashioned letter arrived in our mail box; it included an introduction of the author and a polite request to attend our home fellowship. She informed us she lived on our street and thought it would be convenient to attend; she no longer drives. As it turned out we don't meet in our home, but we offered to take her with us each week. The following Friday as we backed the car out of the drive heading west on our street to pick up our neighbor, we noticed her quickly making her way up the sidewalk in our direction pushing her walking ahead of her. She seemed excited to be going with us.

For several months our elderly neighbor joined us on Friday nights, sharing the frustrations of living in a residential home. She wasn't happy. With some encouragement she found another residential home, and though she finds living in small quarters with strangers difficult this has proved to be a better situation. And she still lives close by so we can still pick her up on Friday nights when she is able to go to Bible study. She is enjoying our group; they opened their heart to her and take her concerns and difficulties seriously. It helps her to know we pray for her.

We soon found out our friend has no family living in the area. Her brother who lived a few hours away would come and visit on occasion, but now he is moving to another state. When she asked her brother what she was going to do when he is so far away, as her health is failing, he said, “You are smart, you will figure it out.” She has been weak and unable to come to Bible study for several weeks now. There is no senior ministry at her church. What happens to the elderly who are alone, in a strange house with strangers and losing strength, feeling vulnerable and stuck both mentally and physically? I ask myself this and similar questions several times a week.

I am bothered by all this. We live in a world where people are living longer leaving us with a much larger population of seniors. I am challenged to begin searching for resources and wondering if this is a forgotten group. Does anyone out there care about the elderly the way they did when I was growing up next door to my grandparents.

My grandma worked a full-time job and grandpa worked long hours farming. When my grandpa's mother had one stroke after another it became evident she was going to need someone to care for her. My grandparents took her in and she lived with them for a number of years. While grandma worked during the day, Gail Middleton, who was older than my great grandma, would come and take care of her. While she was living and active, my grandma visited the sick, regularly called shut-ins to check on them, and visited friends and family in the nursing home. She often would take my brother and I along. These were often odd and uncomfortable experiences, but they helped us to value the elderly—full of experience and knowledge—and to see their great need to be remembered. Years later my grandma cared for my grandpa until he passed away, and then her kids hired help and cared for her in her home until her death. I grew up in a family where the elderly were not forgotten and left to figure things out on their own.

When our elderly friend needs our help I often think about what my grandma would do; I feel I have such limited resources for helping her, but I am challenged to consider folks like her as the neighbor Jesus tells us to love as ourselves in Luke 10. Tony Merida writes in his book titled, Ordinary, “Therefore, I would define love something like this: Love involves compassion that leads to action. Jesus' compassion drove Him to wash His disciples feet, to serve others, to weep over the city of Jerusalem, and to die as a substitute for sinners. . . . Again, Jesus' life and death exemplifies such love . . . He loved His neighbors; He loved the least of these; and He loved His enemies. In Jesus, we know what love is; it's the ordinary expression of one neighbor to another.”

Merida writes in another chapter, “Christianity is personal, but it's not individualistic. It's corporate. . . . It is easy to get excited about a cause, but never actually [be] doing anything for a real person. . . . Whose needs are you meeting with deeds of mercy?”

So I am challenged to do what I can to show compassion to a woman, not related to me, but alone and in need of care. Though I do not always know what this looks like, it isn't always convenient and at times I am certain there must be more I can do. It keeps me on my toes and my “knees.” I am not a hero here, it is my call as a believer to attempt to live the way Jesus lived and this is just one way. Also, I am reminded one day I may be an elderly person and there are no promises of the condition I will be in or the circumstances in which I will live. Both my husband and I find ourselves in relationship with elders who are suffering, vulnerable and sometimes afraid. We pray, we visit, we pick up supplies and we give rides. The elderly are only one vulnerable group in our culture in need of deeds of mercy. We all need to ask ourselves, “Whose needs [am I] meeting with deeds of mercy?”

Do you find the elderly being cared for in your community? Who do you know who is caring for an aging parent or frail spouse in their own home? Can you lighten their load in any way? What have you found to be some of the greatest needs of the elderly you befriend? I want to say a big thanks to my maternal grandparents and to my mom for teaching to respect and value the older people who cross my path.

Encouragement, A Gift to be Received

In a world when there is so much hate directed towards Christ followers can any encouragement be found? In a time when many behaviors and choices once considered shameful have morphed into platforms for pride and boasting, can any encouragement be found? In an age of longer lifespans and more conveniences we find life more stressful and more of us feel lost and alone. Can there be any encouragement? In the midst of this storm of darkness brewing around us everyday, I was challenged by the women at http://www.incourage.me/ to write about what encourages me. I am often around folks who spend more time focusing on the doom of our day than the eternal hope. Today I want to share a bit of what encourages me even when all around seems to be falling apart.

Encouragement comes in the mail. It is a big box filled full of a beautifully made prayer journal. My dear friend, Terri, spent weeks pouring her creativity and prayers into this lovely gift. I believe the prayer journal deserves a complete blog post. More on this later.

Encouragement comes as an unexpected benefit from encouraging someone else. I am greatly encouraged when I have been able to lift someone's spirit. My husband calls this a boomerang blessing.

Encouragement is coming home worn thin and finding my husband has prepared a tall glass of ice water for me. I cannot explain it, and he doesn't understand why, but this small, nurturing act is a big encouragement to me.

I am encouraged by nature; all of God's beautiful creation I have ever had the privilege of immersing myself into has always been an encouragement to me. I am calmed by nature and I find myself feeling pulled in closer to the Father while standing in the woods or on the peak of a mountain with a panoramic view below.

Encouragement comes in arms around me. Hugs from those I love is the sweetest kind of encouragement. There are so many hugs of encouragement:

• the tight hug of my husband with his scratchy beard nestled against my neck
• being greeted by hugs from my grownup daughters
• the hug of a friend I haven't seen in a long time, a hug filled with assurance the connection has stayed warm between us
• the trusting hug of a small child

Remembering encourages me. You may wonder how this can be when our thinking can be overwhelmed with the kind of remembering that drives anxiety to unbearably high levels. I do not know how many times the Word of God tells us to remember, and when I take time to journal about how His presence worked through the difficulty of a day or a week, and brought me to a place I could not have imagined, I am encouraged. Listing blessings, the gifts I've been given outweigh what I think is missing, encourages me.

Encouragement surrounds me, but being encouraged is dependent on me opening my heart to the possibility something good is happening in all of this and I am loved. Encouragement happens when I allow my heart to be open to more than the obvious. And when I pay attention, I am encouraged at how well every single detail of this life is carefully planned out and held together personally by the Father who is greater than creation and yet He lives inside such a small and insignificant being such as myself.

Encouragement comes to me everyday when others break open their lives and tell me how God has orchestrated their stories and helped them face and overcome things I am not sure I could handle. I am glad for the many blogs written by courageous women who have made themselves vulnerable to remind the rest of us we are not alone. Encouraging and inspiring! Just before the disciples would be jolted from their worldly view of the kingdom of heaven by the death and resurrection of Jesus, the Son of Man said to them, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) Take heart! Be encouraged! What encourages you? How are you keeping your eyes focusing on eternal hope in this wounded world?

A Rainy Day Shift

Three times in the past few weeks I have started writing a post and now I have three different unfinished posts. I can't seem to get enough focused time, at least that it is my excuse. Today the plan was to finish one of the partially written posts, but it started raining. Now you may wonder what raining has to do with completion of a post. Oh but it does; it changed the course of my day.

It doesn't rain a lot in southern California and it almost never rains in the summer, but today we had a downpour. It's great writing weather! I could hear the kids across the street laughing and playing in the rain; I went to the window to watch one of them riding a board down the street in rushing water. My husband asked, “Do you want to take a walk in the rain with me?” That was when everything changed. I don't see my husband as especially spontaneous so I sure wasn't going to pass up his offer.

We both donned sandals and shorts, him bare-headed and me tucked under the umbrella. We waded up the street splashing and feeling a bit like two kids in a world absent of grown-ups out of doors. It was a joyous little jaunt around 3 blocks. It reminded me of warm, summer rains in Ohio. My brother and I would race outside in the rain to splash in every puddle we could find; sometimes we splashed bare footed and other times we sprayed water riding our bikes through the pooled water. I love rainy days.

To think we were supposed to be camping this weekend with my husband's family. I have camped in the rain and I, for one, can say I am so relieved we decided not to go. Unless you are camping in a trailer it is the worst kind of stuck feeling. At least in my opinion.

Several summers back my family spent a rainy week camping in the Colorado Rockies. I had just finished a challenging master's program and we were planning on celebrating. Fortunately the trip wasn't a total wash out; my mom, step-dad and sister's family had rented a small house with a large porch. So while tents sat dreary and unwelcoming in pools of water, we spent hours huddled together playing games, eating, laughing, talking and reading. We spent more close moments together on that trip than on any other. Rain has a way of huddling everyone together in a relaxed sort of way. I love the rain! What do you like to do on rainy days?

Summer Delights

Summer slipped in day before yesterday and Father's Day came with it. We gathered alfresco to celebrate fathers, our dads. Not all our dads were there. One sister-in-law's father completed his life journey one summer a few years ago. My friend's dad, living on the other side of the country, visited her a few weeks ago. Little one's dad is deployed to the Middle East and my dad was home in Arizona. And yet we celebrated! We celebrated dad's and family and friendship. And we found joy in the curiosity and delight of a toddler.

How the child tests limits. Throw Elmo in the dirt and see what happens. Hand out, inviting an adult to swing her in the hammock. What is the response? Run, crunching gravel under shoes; do it again to hear if it sounds the same. Over and over she does these things to learn what will result from the doing and how the people around her will respond. She tests to determine the limits and she steps out in joy to discover. It makes me want to be the child again; to delight in the simple things and discover anew.

“To lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” - John Lubbock

I heartily agree with John Lubbock. I once made a list of the things making summer days celebratory, and I asked myself how I could bring a few of these into this summer. How can I take hold of the moments and make meaning instead of letting the summer slip through my hands without so much as a nod? Here are some of the bright spots of my childhood summers:

fireflies

Dairy Queen

picking wild flowers

climbing trees

splashing about in water

reading under a tree (or in one)

the county fair

brown cows (my grandma's name for a Pepsi float)

candle light dinner when the power went out after a storm

evenings on the porch swing

snapping beans and pitting cherries

home made ice cream

strawberry shortcake and berry pies

family reunions

picnics

riding bikes

Fireflies do not make an appearance in southern California but I can add twinkly lights on the porch or in the living room around the sliding glass doors. Of course root beer floats and berry pies are easy enough to replicate. It is much harder to quiet the dutiful grown-up voice and slather a few simple pleasures across an hour. Reading a good mystery or two is on my list for the summer. I even enjoy rereading a childhood favorite. Won't you share with me the wonderful ways to bring child-like delight to the summer months for you and your family? Recipes, book suggestions, and lazy day ideas are most welcome. What were some of your favorite summer pastimes?

Up Close and Personal

I love to sit in the window seat on an airplane; I love the birds-eye view. On one trip I looked out the window as the plane descended in preparation for landing and saw beautiful lavender trees dotting a popular southern California city. This was a pleasure trip for me; I would be visiting my daughter. But it was the first time I had visited when these trees were in bloom. I leaned over to ask the man next to me if he was from this city. He was. Did he know the name of that trees with the beautiful lavender blossoms? No. I sent a text message to my new friend (now husband) and asked him what the trees are called. The Jacaranda trees? Yes!

After landing I was relaying the conversation to my daughter and her husband; he said he had never noticed the trees. She had seen them, though. I was stunned! How is it people who live their lives in a beautiful climate surrounded by trees and plants taking turns blooming year round don't recognize or see it? I was captivated by the joyful color distracting me from concrete and traffic. Now it is not my desire to be critical of these two men who didn't notice or recognize the trees; we all are susceptible to being too busy to notice the truer things in life, things of substance.

Richard Louv wrote a book titled, Last Child in the Woods. He quoted Edward Reed's thoughts from, The Necessity of Experience, “There is something wrong with a society that spends so much money, as well as countless hours of human effort—to make the least dregs of processed information available to everyone everywhere and yet does little or nothing to help us explore the world for ourselves.” Louv adds, “According to Reed, we are beginning 'to lose the ability to experience our world directly. What we have come to mean by the term experience is impoverished; what we have of experience in daily life is impoverished as well.'”

Before we get too far and you perhaps assume I am writing only about our disconnect from nature, I am not. Another time maybe. This is more about the disconnect I see and experience all around me. Our experiences with nature, with everyday ordinary life and with people often happen without any awareness. It seems to be getting less and less personal; our senses and our hearts have been muted by over-stimulation and with the artificial.

It happens even in our churches. We can spend years within a church body, appearing to create community, and not be connected – not really knowing one another. As much as it surprised me that a native southern Californian would not be familiar with trees blooming boldly all over the city year after year, dropping delicately scented blossoms upon the sidewalks like flower girls scattering petals in preparation for the bride, many who look belong to a particular group of people aren't personally connected. How can that be? Activities announced fill the Sunday bulletin and spill out all over the days of our lives in churches. But I have to ask: like the world of technology creating impoverished versions of experiences with the natural world, are we relying on impersonal experiences in our churches to give the illusion we are connected as the body we are meant to be?

In The Jesus Way, Eugene Peterson writes, “Jesus is an alternative to the dominant ways of the world, not a supplement to them. We cannot use impersonal means to do or say a personal thing—and the gospel is personal or it is nothing.” Peterson challenges the Church to consider whether or not we are following Jesus the Way and is He transforming the way we live and do church or are we conformed to the way of the culture. We have to be intentional on this battle front for it constantly seeps in around the door frames of our churches and confuses our thinking. Bob Benson puts it this way, “The influence of mass economy—standard operation procedures, checklists, symbols, signs, style, slogans, contests, and other activities—begin to lead the church subtly away from being a place of substance.”

This isn't a witch hunt to discover what groups are cloaked in the cultural facade; the culture has left marks on all of us and it keeps us from being personal. Oh, and if we get personal we might just learn a thing or two about one another. This is certainly a scary idea, so lets just go back to doing and not being with one another. Sadly in my work as a counselor, I have bumped into a lot of lonely Christians. Granted, I challenge them to consider the role they may take in keeping themselves lonely, but there are times when even I feel as if I am riding around in a bumper car version of Christianity. We bump into one another at church or the hospital when in crisis, we do the right things; all the while we have this big padding of bubble wrap around us to keep from being vulnerable, to keep from being personal. Relationships take a lot of energy and sometimes they hurt and sometimes I think I don't really need all this mess. But what about the Way—the way Jesus does relationships?

Being a human means there isn't enough of me to go around; I can't be best friends with everyone but I can be personal and show a genuine interest in those who rub elbows with me in the church pew, in the check-out line, on the bus or anywhere God gives me opportunity to connect with another human being. Being connected means I make time to get to know a few well and to bear each others' burdens and to rejoice in each others' successes. Laura J. Boggess, author of Playdates with God, says, “Research shows that the happiest people are those who invest in experiences and relationships—not status, not stuff.” Happiness isn't my goal, but the plan I have to climb out of the safety of the bumper car and invest in relationships the way Jesus did means I will experience more joy. I encourage to get to know someone better and allow someone to know you better: get connected. In the process you might start noticing the lavender petals scattered about your feet.