I love it when the Son shines.

life in a dying leaf

There’s a freshness - a newness - about October. A new month, a new season, new colors in the trees, and new spices in my beer.

And yet such paradox is hidden beneath October’s colorful foliage, for the leaves are actually old and dying - not new at all.

So does it all truly boil down to perspective? The crisp breeze, the scent if pumpkin, postseason baseball, a worn-in flannel… These are all aged pieces we have claimed as new, imposing joy, fresh rhetoric, and enthusiasm toward the season.

“Celebrate we will, for life is short, but sweet for certain…” -DMB

Today I remember it’s not solely the leaves, decor, and ales that are made new this season. It is you; it is me; it is us. It’s time to refresh the staleness within you and replace it with the joyful songs of Autumn. So as I inhale the sweet tidings of Fall today, I also breathe in new life, new perspectives, and new seasons.

A Small Piece of Heaven

Many times I find myself sitting in the main shelter at Outpost watching kids be kids out in the field.
Campers run without a care. They fall and get back up. Dogs are chasing after them, taking breaks to roll in the grass. If it’s rainy, that means puddles to jump in. And if it’s sunny, even better. The creek provides an excellent oasis for the hot Georgia days. Sunsets and lightning bugs are a daily wonder. Cicadas and bull frogs are our lullabies. Age, race, disability, sexual orientation, and socioeconomic status are blurred as everyone becomes one family around a fire.

It is a place where laughter is our best medicine, where feet are constantly muddy, and where adventure is always calling.

The mountains surrounding our special retreat provide a sense of security and safety, but invite the excitement of exploration. Hammocks rock in the breeze as it carries a guitar’s chords from across the way. Time is lost as the day is measured in meals cooked and shared together.

And it’s in these peaceful, play-filled moments that I realize what a gift Outpost is, as it is a small glimpse of Heaven.

dancing rivers; joyful puddles

In the words of Martin Luther: “God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone,  but in trees and flowers and clouds and stars”.

What peace it brings me to recognize that such an influential leader in the Protestant church believes the same as I.

In excitement and anticipation for the summer ahead, I figured I’d share some of the beautiful words the LORD has spoken to me - not at church or through prayers or through the Bible, but through rivers and rain and mountains.

Last week I went paddling for three days.  On a lazy bend of the river, I sat quietly in my kayak watching the river cast its dancing reflection on the tree branches above it.  If you’ve never witnessed this, I urge you to stop reading and go find a river to sit by, because it’s beautiful.  Really.
But anyhow, it got me thinking of how selfless a river is.  It’s this strong being, and yet it works to make the things around it more beautiful.  It casts its light to turn the attention to those around it.  How peaceful this world would be if our goal was to make those around us better than ourselves!

And then earlier this week, all the counselors from camp were worshiping in the gym when it suddenly began pouring outside.  My heart, as it often is, was drawn outside despite the thunder and lightning.  I let the rain beat down on my broken self as I danced in its downpour, the roar deafening the guitars and songs being played inside.  Slowly, a few others trickled out into the storm.
It was the words of one of my Outpost counselors that brought my feelings to light:
“I don’t know the words and I don’t know these songs.  But I do know the trees.  And I do know the rain.  And I do know the mountains.  So I’m gonna worship with them.”
Suddenly I realized that there are others who agree with Martin Luther and myself.  And so we began dancing, splashing, and screaming with joyful noise because it’s what we know.  We played in puddles because that’s worship too.

How beautiful it is to have a God that appreciates muddy feet splashing joyfully in puddles.

weaving words into wisdom

Words have been spiraling through my head quite often lately, but have rarely found themselves solidified into writing.  And so instead, there they sit within my mind - stories becoming lines, lines becoming phrases, phrases becoming solitary words - their meanings forever lost,  Forgotten.

So I suppose it’s finally time to weave some of these strings of letters together.

Writer’s block.