Bringing in More Sheaves - a Harvest of Thoughts of Gentle Gratitude

in keeping with this month of harvest and Thanksgiving, I am incredibly grateful for...


the free gift of grace, the courage i've seen in one man to preach it regardless of what it costs him personally, the courage i've seen in one church to walk in the revelation of it regardless of what it costs them, the courage i've seen in faithful friends to embrace a pure, New Covenant gospel...knowing full well that it means that satan has declared war upon them.



the overthrow of the tyranny of my own ability to perform. the rule and reign of Jesus Christ who said


It.

Is.

Finished.


the epic drama of the cosmic battle between good and evil, human effort and grace, flesh and spirit...only the God of story could weave such a captivating masterpiece, narrated from genesis to revelation to right this very moment...


seasons of harvest, bare limbs of trees, the aesthetic of winter as the earth reveals her "good bones",


23rd wedding anniversaries, friends in texas and scotland, hearing the voice of a trophy of grace via skype all the way from cambodia just today, the miracle of email, the 'block' feature in facebook, and the blessing of old fashioned pen and paper mail,


hope that maketh not ashamed, chanel purses, the designer barbara berry, the composer schubert, target stores, the kitten heel shoe style, and being a girly-girl.

missionaries in columbia, tim's kind brown eyes, new construction going on at my church, my teacup poodle's smooshy mustache - all crooked and cute at the moment, doctors, nurses, and chiropractors, teachers and engineers, and home makers who are the most brilliant of them all.

whole grain pasta, pine nuts, the revelation of the gospel found in the book of romans, friends with november birthdays, having a house full of musical instruments, and the fact that i still believe in speaking in tongues and that God heals today - even instantly...

...for having been instantly healed of a migraine the first week of august, and never again having another migraine headache since that day.


that we've managed by the grace of God and against great odds to not become cynical and jaded, for my grandma's antique furniture, cute reading glasses, and for still caring whether or not my reading glasses are cute.


books, coffee, and a friend who dearly loves both. sparkly crystals on jewelry but not on my jeans, the knowledge that cute swarovski crystal studs are just as an "authentic material" as diamonds and no one but the inauthentic care about the difference in cost.

a throne of grace to which to run in time of need, knowing my need, having my needs met according to the riches of His glory by Christ Jesus, not by my own education, hard work, or morality...

...that i hold in very high esteem education, hard work, and clean living, because this sort of life beautifully adorns the gospel of the God i serve.

the fact that my husband and son just now got home, and i know both will kiss me hello...

Coming to Harvest Church...

Our college/career age small group begins this comprehensive Biblical curriculum this evening:




Got a gigantic pot of chili on the stove, and the Frito's and sour cream ready. Candles are lit. Small group begins at my house in less than half an hour.

And so the Truth Project, Harvest style, begins.

Underlined Bits

I don't underline and highlight only spiritual books or my Bible. I also underline and highlight any beautiful thought, any well turned phrase, from any good book.

I received four (gleefully count with me...one...two...three...four) books by Glady's Taber for my birthday this year, from someone in North Carolina. I thought I'd gotten three - but another one came in the mail today, and I vocalized my delight.

read: I squealed, ever so briefly.

The writing of Gladys Taber will make you feel as though you have been on a vacation. She is hard to categorize, but she usually is found under the heading of "nature writers". When I read her, I can feel my shoulders relax, and my heart unwind from its cares, as I am transported to a little farmhouse in New England, surrounded by Connecticut countryside and cocker spaniels. Now that I've joined the ranks of dog lovers, I can relate to Taber on that level as well.

Here is the lovely thing. A ministry friend of mine from New Jersey also took the time and effort to send me a blissfully long excerpt from one of Gladys Taber's books...for my birthday, arriving on my birthday.

This is the sort of writing I underline and highlight. I had bought one of Taber's books for someone, way back early-spring, and I put it away to give to them this Christmas, thoughtful friend that I am. But this person has lost touch with me, and so...their loss is your gain.

I gift you, this evening, with an ever-so-brief respite from the stresses of the day. The first person who emails me (email address is on the left side-bar) and does not mind sharing his or her address privately, via my email, gets the book I had saved as a Christmas gift. It shall be your gift, from me. I'll pay to ship it to you wherever you are, even Australia. (hint, hint) If you have ever lived in, or wished to live in a historic, cozy home...if you enjoy dogs...if you enjoy the countryside and creation....if you enjoy great writing...you will love this book.

If you want more where this came from, I can't give you any of my birthday books. But you can go to your favorite used book website and purchase one of Gladys Taber's "Stillmeadow" series of books. Enjoy this excerpt!

"Now in November, the leaves spread cloth of gold and red on the ground.
The open fields take on a cinnamon tone and the wild blackberry canes in the swamp are frosted purple. The colors fade slowly to sober hues. The rain falls with a determination in long leaden lines, and when it stops water drips from the eaves.

The voice of the wind changes, for winds are seasonal too. Summer winds blow soft, musical with leaves, except for thunderstorms. Hurricane winds scream. In blizzard time the sleet-sharp gale has a crackling noise. But now the wind has a mournful sound, marking the rhythm of autumn's end. The first beat of winter is not yet here, and country folk tend to spend extra time doing chores or puttering, just to be out of doors.

When Indian summer comes, nothing indoors seems important. I must carry my breakfast tray to the terrace and eat in the wine-bright sun. There is always a haze on the hills, making them dream-like. Eternal summer shines from a soft sky. Perhaps it is such an enchanted time because it is a promise that another summer will come, after winter goes.

In the evening we go outdoors again to be sure the moon is where she should be. The night is cold, but it is not yet the cold that chills the bones. The stars seem very close, some of them seem to be blossoming in the bare branches of the sugar maples. Night is a vast dark sea with the moon a distant light in a mysterious harbor. Stillmeadow seems a small ship to be in such a limitless ocean, but how steadfast it looks under the tall spars of the giant maples! Light shines through the small-paned windows, and I am extravagant enough to keep the house lighted all over just because it looks, in my eyes, so beautiful glowing in the dark."

~Gladys Taber, The Stillmeadow Road - November

"Where?"

If you're reading this via my blog (as opposed to Facebook) please scroll down and hit the pause button on the music playlist on the left...many thanks.

Where are those pastor's wives...those women? I pray I am counted in their small but powerful ranks - those who stake their entire claim on the Pauline gospel of Jesus Christ. Those who have actually studied the whole counsel of God, and discovered "He who was from the beginning". Those who put no confidence in the flesh. Those pastor's wives whom truth has set free. Those who actually swim upstream, not because they are disagreeable or divisive, but rather because they refuse to water down the gospel. Where are those women?

If it isn't the Sound of Joyful Shouting...What Would You Call It?

Moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength is shown in levity.~GK Chesterton

Sorry to be over-quoting here , but CS Lewis spoke of pride as being the "unsmiling concentration upon self, which is the mark of hell."

Those words...unsmiling concentration upon self...have been lingering in my mind for days, now. Legalism and religion produce exactly this sort of unsmiling self absorption, and I've finally figured out that this is what bothers me about some people.

I have little fondness for those women who dread looking foolish or inappropriate, above all other kinds of dread. This is the gal who is perpetually aware of what she may look like to others. This pride is conscious of image. This sort of person isn't capable of even the moderate strength of "violence"...she is educated past her talent to be normal...too self aware to raise her voice to anyone, much less trounce them. None of that indecorous moderate strength for that sort of woman. Supreme strength? Forget the supreme strength of joy - it might manifest as a holy levity, and pride has no sense of humor.

If the proud ever do laugh, it is a second-hand emotion, not originating from their own heart, but rather it comes to them predigested. Pride is a consumer, not a producer, of humor.

I have done my share of laughing the last month or two, as certain realities about my world and myself have set in, and I make the choice to see things the way they really are. Some of the cackling is likely tinged in the barest sarcasm - which is indeed the lowest form of humor. 'Tis still humor. But most of my giggling is genuine, and medicinal, and in the company of a few dear friends. We guffaw. We have learned this past week, in the immortal words of my father: "No fools, no fun."

I have fun making a fool of myself. I'll become even more undignified than this! Others try to be all educated-dy and serious, self contained, smartened up, tense from reading dead guys, and they end up having their greatest fear come upon them - looking foolish. Not on purpose like me, mind you. Oh nonono. Never do they look foolish on purpose. Their antics are religiously intense, they know they are in a class by themselves.

::snort wheeze::

I do. I laugh at my own imaginative take on what life must be like to have "unsmiling concentration upon self."

Some say I laugh too loud. I say it is the sound of joyful shouting, heard in the tents of the righteous.

If a loud laugh isn't a sound of joyful shouting, you tell me...what would you call it?

Note - GK Chesterton is not permitted to reply to the question. We already know what he'd call it:

supreme strength.

Bringing In The Sheaves, a Harvest of Thoughts of Gentle Gratitude

I am so grateful for...



the view right outside the window of this vacation hideaway.



maryland crab cakes. bacon-ey salad with ranch dressing. cheesecake. the strength and vitality to walk it all off.



mango scented soy candles. an indulgent husband who buys them for me.



simple pleasures. the fact that soy candles make me more happy than some women can be with diamonds.



palm-sized slices of sunshine, still clinging to rain-soaked trees. the random chirp of a few, hardy crickets, persevering in song as the November sun sets.



long evenings spent reading GK Chesterton. my beautifully embossed, antique copy of "Weight of Glory" by CS Lewis - one I have owned for many, many years now. short evenings spent reading Gladys Taber. reading Wind in the Willows to children.



lamplight - pink light bulbs, to be precise. (nothing makes a room more beautiful than a pink light bulb under any color or style of lampshade.) generous dollops of red in a home's decorating scheme. toile, in restrained amounts. fresh flowers. antique furniture. the matted-and-framed photo of a loch in Scotland - a gift from a well-loved, wee Scotsman.



copper cookware. the fact that my copper pots shine like mad, with a half a lemon and some salt and elbow grease.



the thought that I planted over 50 spring-flowering bulbs into 2 gigantic planters on my back porch, this past week, before leaving for vacation.



dahlias. my canary, who sings like a dream. my parrotlet, who imitates him.



yo yo ma and his cello, eric clapton and his guitar. handel....and his Messiah.

shooting stars, church life, the way I can make him laugh.

That He loved me first.

quiet moments, busy days, isaac's gigantic smile. sarah's musical laugh, hannah's nose that wrinkles when she smiles, josiah's acoustic guitar playing.

adjectives, back roads, the smell of pine needles and the ocean air.

being convinced that I am deeply loved, cameo jewelry, the color orange, and trying new things.

friends in north carolina. having a professional mathematician in the family. having a professional artist almost in the family. being married to a pastor. having a father who has finally retired. a mother who sits by me in church - two trophies of grace we are, sitting side by side.

a sister who is even funnier than I. a brother who is a war veteran, though younger than I.

choosing to carry no baggage in life, red toenail polish, the way my husband weeps as he prepares a message. (every pastor should. does yours? do you know him well enough to say?)

puppy bellies, the winter sky, cicero's thoughts on growing old, palladian windows, old cantilever barns.

being well educated, so that I am not compelled to be a competitive, conspicuous consumer.

being able to afford it, but still not buy it. marriage. funky socks. lycra. baths. cardamom. whole nutmeg.

the fact I can still blow him a kiss and make him forget what he was about to say...

"On Your Mark...Get Set...GO!"

I'm packing lightly...preparing to leave on a much anticipated getaway, just the two of us, tomorrow, to an unspecified location.

The location is unspecified, not because we think we are rock stars, but because it is more fun to say it that way. Very honeymoonish, no? I can tell you this: there will be hot tubbing. There will be views. Plenty of water in the vicinity. There will be a bit of Christmas shopping. There will be a woman, somewhere in the south, clonking around in her western boots, having the most wonderful time of the year.

So if this blog is quiet for a few days, you know why.