Exhaustion. I’ve had many opportunities to experience utter physical exhaustion. I bet you have too. My first encounter with this type of weariness was as a young mother with two boys under two. There were plenty of interrupted nights with feedings, fevers, stomach aches, and bad dreams. And then, once I returned to full-time employment and signed up for 12 hour shifts – those often turned into 13 or 14 hour shifts; only to have to be back to do it all over again the next morning. Two or three of those in a row and physical exhaustion creeps over into mental as well.

Because I remember these times, it attests to the declaration that they were significant events for me. But no event kept in my “exhaustion file” stands out as prominently as the time I collided head first with the Epstein Barr virus – better known as mononucleosis. I’m not one to get ill often, but when I do it always hits hard. Dr. Kirven told me my labs looked worse than any he had seen with mono. There were many symptoms that went with this – but none as bad as the total physical exhaustion I experienced for weeks. I had two preschool children that more or less ran wild while I was in bed and their dad was at work. One time a day – usually around 3:00 – I had enough energy to make it from the bedroom to the living room couch and on a good day, I might have been able to wash a few dishes. Friends from work brought us out meals and took up an offering to hire a housekeeper to come clean our ram-shacked house.

Charles Spurgeon describes a comparable exhaustion of the dove that returned to the ark with no olive leaf. I had never thought about this poor bird and the state that it must have been in. But it makes sense – there was no place to light – not a bush or a tree branch or a rock. She likely flew and flew and flew over the expanses of water for hours upon end. Once she had given up, she still had a return trip to make. By the time she saw the ark, she may have felt there was not one more flap to be had in her spent wings. Charles Spurgeon writes, “She has just enough strength to reach the edge of the ark. She can hardly align upon it.” Genesis 8:9 picks up the story….then he (Noah)put forth his hand, and took her, and pulled her in unto him into the ark.

Wow…isnt’ that just beautiful and isn’t that what God does for us….takes us in no matter what our condition? We don’t need to wait until we think we are presentable. His desire is for us to come in our rags, our sins, our mistrust, our doubts, our addictions, our shame….just as we are. When he holds out his arm to us we feel His strength uphold us. With Him, we can once again begin to soar!

Until next time….keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

Early mornings have always been my favorite time. While the noisy world to come is still asleep, the quietness offers my soul a few more minutes of blissful peace and strengthens me for whatever the day might bring. If I could choose my favorite place to have that first cup of pre-dawn coffee, I would imagine myself on the home ranch at the end of the long sandy road. I grab a hot cup and make my way to the patio outside the east door and sit on the bench. Every morning here is a gift, but at certain times it comes wrapped with a beautiful silvery bow. These mornings usually occur in the fall of the year when the air temperature begins to gravitate downward. The stream that twists and turns its way through the meadows, less than a block from the house I grew up in, has not yet given up the warmth it’s absorbed through the hot summer months. On occasion, when the temps of both the air and the water is just right, a trail of damp, eerie mist will hover above the stream. These are the mornings I can trace the hidden river – to the east and to the west – by the mystical ribbon that lingers several feet above the banks.

It seems my senses are sharpened on these special mornings – maybe the humidity plays a part. A pleasant earthy smell encompasses the damp air around me, encouraging me to take in deeper than normal breaths to enjoy the freshness. Extreme clarity is expressed in the cry of a lone mourning dove and the far away bellow of a hungry calf. I am grateful to have this almost sacred, momentary experience as I know it will not last long. Once the sun rises just a little higher and warms the air, the mist will flee as fast as it came.

Isaiah knew the truth of the mist too and used it to beautifully pen God’s response to our repented hearts. I have swept away your sins like the morning mists. I have scattered your offenses like the clouds. Oh, return to me, For I have paid the price to set you free. Isaiah 44:22

What peace comes with repentance and reconciliation! More peace than even an early misty morning.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

oe th

In the center of the state of Georgia is an unincorporated town with the name, “The Rock.” Interesting label, don’t you think? The name is credited to Dr. James Anderson, who lived in the area in the early 1800’s. The mail at this time was delivered by stagecoach. Dr. Anderson, speaking with the stage coach driver and pointing to a nearby cleft in a rock, said, “Put my mail in that hole.” Soon, everyone in the community was riding up by horseback or buggy to retrieve their mail from this protected cavern in the rock. Over the years, it became enough to address mail to a recipient at “The Rock”, Georgia and it would be received.

We don’t hear the word, “cleft” used so much anymore. Probably the most well known use of it is in the popular hymn lyrics – rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee. And there is the mention of it in Exodus 33 when God puts Moses in “the cleft of the rock” and covers him with His hand while he passes by so that His face would not be seen.

My hiding place when I was growing up wasn’t in a rock, but on a log that trans versed the Calamus River (a stream, really) on the other side of the sheep pasture. Anytime I desired to be alone, I would head for the log. One bank of the river kept me hidden from the house; the other from the occasional traveler on the road. Even today, that sweet memory is so strong and comforting in my mind, that when I crave solitude and meditation time, I am drawn to sit on one of several benches that line Spearfish Creek in the City Park. The fast moving, clear water blocks out any park noises from behind me.

Whether our “hiding place” is in a rock or beside a stream, or any number of safe places we might go to, as believers it is really Jesus that is our safe place. Psalm 18:2 says it so well. The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety. We really do not need a place to go to find Him; He’s accessible wherever we are. As I enjoy my senior years, I’m thankful that he’s just as accessible in my recliner as He is on the bench by the creek.

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

It has been said that not since biblical Adam, has a human known solitude like Michael Collins. Even though “his” event happened in my lifetime, and more specifically on my birthday, I had to ask, “Who’s Michael Collins?” Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin are names quite familiar to us, but Michael Collins, even though no less important, is less familiar. He piloted the command module for Apollo 11 which carried the men to the moon and allowed Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Aldrin to be the first humans to walk on the lunar surface. While the two astronauts stomped across the moon and planted the first American flag, Mr. Collins circled the moon in the module. As he drifted to the back side, all communication with both his fellow crew members and with those on earth were severed as was expected. In his journal that day he wrote, “I am alone now, truly alone, and absolutely isolated from any known life. I am it. If a count were taken, the score would be three billion plus two over on the other side of the moon, and one plus God knows what on this side.”

I can’t claim anything close to this degree of solitude, but I do remember a time when I was so lonely for my family that I didn’t know if I would survive another day without seeing them. I had just finished up a grueling season of demanding work during my nurse’s training. A mega paper that had required hours of research had at last been handed in. For weeks, my mind had been focused entirely on the paper, my work schedule, my patients, and other “nursing school” details I have long forgotten. No time since have I experienced such an overwhelming relief once that intense month was behind me. I desired nothing more than to have my Mom and Dad visit and give me a hug and take me to dinner.

It didn’t happen. Not to mention it was a five hour trip to Lincoln, NE, but it was also a busy time on the ranch. Ranchers, as you might know, don’t just don’t take off at the drop of a hat or the call of a daughter. I lived through it, but I might have shed some tears.

Fifty years later, I have had many opportunities to “feel” that loneliness again. I have experienced extended periods when I have had long evenings by myself that could have turned into a pity party of major proportions. But, I have been spared the agony. How come, you ask? Why is it different now? I can only credit it to increased spiritual maturity. Back in the 70’s I was still looking for other people (my folks, for example) to fill the void. Today, I rely upon Jesus. He is always with me and there’s no one that can love me more than He does.

So now I live with the confidence that there is nothing in the universe with the power to separate us from God’s love. I’m convinced that his love will triumph over death, life’s troubles, fallen angels, or dark rulers in the heavens. There is nothing in our present or future circumstances that can weaken his love. There is no power above us or beneath us – no power that could ever be found in the universe that can distance us from God’s passionate love, which is lavished upon us through our Lord Jesus, the Anointed One! Romans 8:38-39 (The Passion Bible)

Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

We had weird forms of entertainment when I was a kid. I suppose some of that comes from not having game boxes, cell phones, or even a TV with good reception. But…never the less – we found entertainment in many of our daily activities.

Sometimes, for whatever reason, the family or part of the family would find itself sitting on the concrete steps of our front doorway. It would start with one family member sitting on the step taking a rest from daily chores on the ranch. Another would walk by and plop down beside the first. Mom might hear us from the open kitchen window and not wanting to miss out, she would join the group. Whether it was just a couple of us or the entire family, we always had a ranch dog or two that wanted in on the action. They would nuzzle their way between us – hoping for attention in the form of pats and rubs.

It was typically warm weather when we perched on the porch steps. As we would pacify our canine’s nudges, we would often come across an engorged tick enjoying a satisfying juicy supper. If you’ve never seen an engorged tick it looks completely different than the tick that hasn’t been feeding on a host’s blood supply. Where as a non-eating dog tick is small with a wrinkly appearance, the body of an engorged dog tick can be almost 5/8 of an inch long with a smooth appearance. The color of the two changes from a reddish brown to an almost white or gray/blue body. She (the female is the only one that becomes engorged) buries her head beneath the skin surface. The tick’s mouth has reverse barbs that dig into the skin to hold it in place. But, don’t wince yet- no discomfort is detected by the dog because the tick injects an anesthetic solution into the surrounding area where they choose to get their dinner. (They are still not my heroes by any means, but this did make me feel a little better about ticks.) Hanging on like this, as if it is surely their last meal, they are often difficult to remove.

That’s when Dad would reach into his back bib overall pocket and pull out his pliers. Those little creatures would hold on even tighter when grasped with the jagged edges of the tool. Eventually they were no match for Dad’s strength and they would lose the battle.

Once the tick was off the host, the fun began. Remember, we were three ranch kids that came up with creative ways to have fun. What better way than to see how far we could make that blood fly in that fat tick when smashed beneath our shoe or pinched tight with a second pair of pliers. The whole idea doesn’t sound appealing to me now but it had its charm back in the day. (With all the research that’s been done on tick born or carried diseases, I’m sure parents today wouldn’t allow such behavior.)

When I think back on those days of sitting on the step and dealing with those determined ticks hanging onto their host with all they’ve got, I can’t help but think how great it would be if Christians had that amount of resolve to shine God’s light in this darkened world. If we were all to do that, it might not look dark at all – it might transform everything. We might see the darkness the way God sees it – the night shines like the day because darkness is as light to Him. (Psalm 139:12)

It’s easier to shine our lights during the Christmas season than it is at any other time. Maybe Christmas could be our time to start, with the intent of letting our light shine throughout the entire year. For my New Year’s resolution I think I’ll vow to increase my resolve.

Merry Christmas! Until next time – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.