The Frog Prince, continued

And so, they lived happily ever after.

Right? After the princess kissed the frog and he turned into a prince and they got married, they were always happy.

I picked up my cousin from school today since his mom is out of town, and in the car on the way home he told me about the story he is performing in his Speech & Debate tournament tomorrow. It's the sequel to The Frog Prince, and in it we discover that the prince wishes he were still a frog, a life where he had no responsibilities and could do as he pleased.

"He doesn't like being a prince," my cousin told me. "When he was a frog he could swim all day, but now he has princely duties, dragons to slay, and the princess to take care of. He has to do things to please her -- he has to listen to her! The fairy tales lie to us," he went on. "They tell us we will be happy forever, but no relationship is perfect."

I was struck by this young boy-man's perceptiveness about contentment, and I worked to steer the conversation from cynicism to hope. I heartily agreed with him on one thing: no relationship or situation is perfect, and if you are looking to circumstances to bring you happiness, you will never be happy. The question then becomes, is happiness impossible?

"That is why people commit suicide," he continued. They realize they have been deceived, and that nothing around them is capable of providing happiness.

But what if happiness were a choice, not a set of circumstances or a particular relationship? Not a choice to to manhandle my heart towards gladness through all the dark and disappointing days life may bring, but a choice to look to beyond the dark days we experience under the sun. A choice to be grateful for what is instead of gloomy about what isn't; a choice to set our hearts on God's glory instead of our comfort; a choice to embrace the desire for eternity that has been planted in our hearts instead of wrestling to imbue these fleeting days with lasting meaning.

Paul put it this way: "For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. Therefore, we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

The Light

El Greco sky last night as I walked home from work in the dark, the moon shining bright behind the wild clouds. Out of the darkness, one light shone across the field, then a second: two headlights, making a way along the road. I made my way along the edge of the field and through the lawn by feel, in the dark.

A head cold had me up in the night last week, making a midnight trip to the outhouse and looking for a spoonful of honey to soothe my cough. The full moon, almost too brilliant to look at, yet so different from the golden light of day, made my shadow crisp, and I felt like a wood nymph, a fairy, as I frolicked down my stairs, out to the outhouse, to the cold room for the honey, and up the stairs again.

Smoke mushroomed up from the Icy Creek Fire again a few days back; on the dining room tables at the Ranch the sun's window-shaped patterns were sunset-red at two in the afternoon, and when I looked out above Tolo Mountain, the sun itself was a fiery red orb behind billows of smoke.

I didn't want to wait till sunrise to run this morning, so I left in the glow and shadow of early morning moonshine. I walked along the field by feel, knowing the path, recognizing the shadows of the gate, the horses, a branch here and there. Behind me, the horizon was pink above the Ranch; before me, the moon was still shining in all her glory, and the stars were out. The gravel road was grey between the dark trees on either hand, and my feet did not stumble. My nose took the lead, picking out a whiff of smoke on the breeze, the scent of fresh-cut pine as I approached the tree Colter cut out of the road last week. Then there were no more stars. Then the deep, beautiful blue of the night gave way to the uncertain grey of dawn. Then the moon was not a living, pulsing ball of light but a see-through scrap. Then I turned around to run home and the sky was almost white and by the time I got home, the sun was golden on the high rim of Sisi Ridge.

"In Him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." John 1:4,9,14

"The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For God, who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ." II Corinthians 4:4,6

Used

When he came in fuming, I didn't even think about defending myself or being upset that he was unjustly angry with me. I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner; he was a guest at the Ranch, checking on his horses before bed.

"Where's the horse wrangler? There's no water at the corrals!" he said, and I started to answer him but he escaped out the door before I had a chance to figure out exactly what the problem was and how to help him. I guess he saw that I was just the dinner cook and didn't have a ready answer, and he went to work on the problem himself, but he was soon back for more.

"There's no water, and my horses have ridden 20 miles today. They need to have water. I'm not going to be passive about this!"

I didn't know anything about the faucet for the troughs at the corral, or where someone was who could look into the problem. But I saw that there were actually two problems: one was a plumbing issue, the other was a matter of the heart. The man was so worked up I could hardly get a word in edgewise to ask clarifying questions or suggest what he might do or how I could help him. At last he said, "If you can't fix the problem, at least give me a couple of five gallon buckets so I can water my horses myself." Well, there was something I could do, so I found two buckets for him and he went on his way.

And he wasn't the only one on edge that night. All afternoon the prep cook had been finding one thing after another that the breakfast and lunch cook had left undone. Butter, mayonnaise, tomatoes, and hamburger buns not stocked; the grill left crusty and greasy. When the offending employee came in as we were cleaning up, the prep cook brought up these short comings. The conversation started out fine -- one coworker approaching another with issues relating to how their jobs overlapped. But suddenly, while I was around the corner in the back of the kitchen, it became personal -- "I didn't know you expected me to do your work for you," and "I can cut my own tomatoes! I just don't like finding empty containers five minutes before dinner." Defensive. They were talking about mayonnaise and hamburger buns, but the real topic was Self. Long after the discussion had ceased to be profitable, I intervened. "It's not a big deal. I think the expectation was that each of you would leave the things you both use stocked for the other one, but it's really not a big deal." They quieted, went on their way.

And instead of feeling like everyone was irritable and I was tired of people, I felt like this was what I was made for. Jesus says we are the light of the world, and where does the light shine but in the darkness? Circumstances of late have pushed me close into Jesus, and I saw the result last night: when I am bumped, Jesus is what overflows. I marveled as I walked home along the picket fence in the light of the rising moon at how fixing my eyes on Jesus completely changed the way I looked at the people around me. They became transparent, and I saw through to their hearts, to their hurts. Nothing looks the same when I have been gazing at Him.

The next morning at church, I was sitting in my pew praying and thinking about a Psalm I had read earlier and preparing for worship. The door opened and someone walked in. Suddenly there was a voice at my shoulder, a man greeting me. It was Mr. Horse Waterer from the night before. "Hey, good morning. We talked last night, remember? I'm actually not all that bad, see?" He was obviously a little uncomfortable to see me in church. I smiled, and said something like, "It's okay; it's fine," and he sat down with his two friends. During testimony time he shared that he had been studying Hebrews. "Hebrews 11:6 says that without faith it is impossible to come to God, but that He rewards those who believe that He is and who diligently seek Him. This young lady over here [gesturing towards me] saw last night that I got a bit irritable about something, but really what I want to do is to seek God." It was a public apology. I was so glad for him that he was able to come before God and also before witnesses and clear his heart. After the service he approached me again. "Good to see you this morning," I said. "We can worship God together, right?" he said. "Yes," I answered firmly, looking into his eyes. He continued: "God has been showing me lately that I can get a bit snippy in certain situations. It just happened recently at a fair we were at, too, and I asked Him to work on me because I don't want to be that way -- I don't like it. And now it has happened again. I guess He needs to keep working on me." "And He is faithful -- He will do it," I answered.

There was something very special about this glimpse into the heart of a stranger, this bird's eye view into his heart. (Or perhaps a God's eye view.) Anyone can walk into church on a Sunday morning wearing his Promise Keeper's shirt and talking about the faith, but it is a rare and beautiful thing to see the conviction of the Holy Spirit in action, to see humility and honesty and a hunger for God.

And so, I will continue to pray a little prayer I have uttered countless times in the past years: "Use me for Your glory." This summer, at times, I have felt like He used me up. But there is a cycle: when I get empty, I am forced closer in to Jesus to get filled up. The closer I am, the more He can use me, and the more I see people as He sees them, and the greater my love is for them, and the more vulnerable I am to being used and used up. And then the closer to Jesus I have to go.

Now We Are Two?

The sun was not yet shining in the valley when I woke yesterday morning, but the sky above the mountains was pale and clear. I enjoyed sweet time in the Word before getting up and dressed for the day -- my 30th birthday. It was not to be a running morning - Mistaya had plans for a birthday breakfast down at the lake, and I had to get the grocery order in before we left. So I headed over to the Ranch about 6:20 (exchanging good mornings with Mark in the yard and receiving a birthday hug from him), joining Gordy in the kitchen as he prepared breakfast and I took inventory and decided what we needed for the week ahead. I always enjoy tidying up the kitchen corners and taking stock of what needs to be used, so it was a pleasant hour and a half. The first birthday card arrived from one of my co-workers, and I had already received my first birthday email from my brother-in-law, who was working late and thus awake for the inaugural moments of August first.

By 8:00 I was done with my morning duties and ready to head down the road with Jake and Mistaya, who were up visiting for a couple of days and so kindly arranged a little celebration for me. When I went into the house to meet them I found a gift from Monica on the table: a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, a thoughtful card, and a beautiful handmade apron. We loaded into the pick-up cab, and John hopped in the back, and we chatted as we drove to the bakery. There we picked up what Mistaya had ordered: a special quiche and apricot-hazelnut rolls. Samantha and Dawn and her 3 children met us there, and we caravaned down to the lake. McKenna could hardly wait to get out of the car to hand me the sweet card Dawn had written to me. She wondered if I was turning two like she is two. We spilled out onto the log office lawn, pulling chairs into a circle (John found a big king chair for me) and breaking out the bakery treats. The children delighted us with antics and smiles, and we lingered as the sun rose high enough to reach our patch of grass and warm our skin.

At last we broke up our circle -- John had to start working at the bike stand, Jake and Mistaya had to catch the boat, I had to head back up the road to go to work. Before I left the landing, I stopped by the post office and Jonathan handed me a birthday package all the way from Germany.

At home I got ready for work and read my cards and emails. After lunch I put on my new apron and got busy in the kitchen preparing for about 70 dinner guests. Brittany and I chatted as usual as we worked, and the afternoon slipped quickly by. Monica brought us root beer floats on her way home from work, and the cold treat perked us up and made us feel very celebratory. I made a chocolate cake with fresh raspberries squashed into strawberry cream cheese frosting for the filling, and decided it was my birthday cake. The dinner hour came and brought 81 hungry guests, so Brittany and I were kept quite busy trying to fill them all up, especially once we ran out of pot roast (somewhere around guest #64). I think everyone went away satisfied! Then we fed our faithfully hungry and grateful crew, and at last we were able to eat, and there was even a piece of my birthday cake left for me.

John helped us finish cleaning up in the kitchen, and then we walked home together and he gave me a little gift from Dad and Mom and we chatted (and I read more birthday emails) while we waited for Mark and Monica to return home from Bible study. When they arrived we talked about our day and had a sweet time of prayer together. What better gift can I ask for than the heartfelt, sincere prayers of my friends? Though Mark told me there were still 2 1/2 hours of birthday left, we decided it was time for bed, and I tucked into my sheets just as the large, bright moon was slipping out from behind the ridge. I lay counting blessings for a long time before sleep came. Truly, I am richly blessed.

Summer Storm

The sun had warmed our little valley to 80 degrees by the time I walked to work in the middle of the day yesterday. A few clouds floated above the mountains, and the air was muggy. Brittany and I were excited to be preparing dinner for a larger crowd -- about 65 -- and we kept busy in the kitchen putting away groceries from our weekly order and making salads, chicken parmesan, raspberry tarts, and fresh bread. Five thirty arrived and with it our first dinner guests. By 6:15 we had served about 65 guests and the dining room and deck were both full of happy diners. It seemed like an easy night.

About 6:30 I looked out the window and saw a frisky, skittish wind sending leaves sailing around the dinner bus parked in the driveway. The raft guides came in for dinner and said it looked like a storm was blowing in. About ten minutes later, we could look across the pasture and see the rain, coming. The guests outside felt the first drops and grabbed plates and silverware, heading for the cookhouse. And then we heard the song of the rain sheets hitting the tin roof, driving into the dirt, making rivers and puddles and pine needle dams and mud. We could hardly see across the field, and as I served pie I had to raise my voice to ask, "Would you like whipped cream?" so I could be heard above the pounding, pouring rain.

Then the bus driver called on the radio: a tree was down, and he needed someone with a chainsaw to clear the road. Bill arrived close to 7:00 with his bus, unable to go further down valley due to more trees down. Cliff, Nick, and Bethany mobilized to work on road clearing, and we spared Samantha from the dish room to take over the till for Cliff. Two damp hikers off the bus asked if there was any chance they could eat dinner while they waited to go down the road, so I turned the grill back on and Brittany grilled them a steak. Strangers often become friends at the three long tables in the casual dining room at the Ranch, but now everyone was talking to each other. "Look at that rain!" "Glad we made it off the trail before this started." Two little boys became friends in the sawdust under one of the tables as I ate my dinner.

At last Bill rounded up everyone who wanted to head down the valley, and they made a mad dash through the lessening rain to load onto his bus. As the rain continued to die down, the Ranch guests made their way to their cabins, and the cookhouse cleared. Two more rain-drenched souls, Logan and Reed, arrived from the barge with well-roused appetites. Brittany turned on the grill once again; our stragglers had polished off the chicken, so we made hamburgers and heated up leftover roasted potatoes for the boys. We cleaned up the kitchen, but we didn't have to put many leftovers away after serving 71 guests and 10 crew. By the time we were done, the dining room was empty except for Nick and Brandon, playing Cribbage. John and I joined them for a game and then walked across the damp grass under a clear sky. The storm had passed.

*********

This morning I woke to the same clear sky, and fresh cool air. On my run up to High Bridge I saw the evidence of the wind's frolic the night before, and smelled the sweet, fresh scent where the chain saw cut rounds had been heaved to the side of the road. Mark and Monica had been down the road when the storm hit, so they told stories of a mudslide at Frog Island, water over the road, more trees down. There is something awe-inspiring and incredible about seeing once again the wildness of the weather, of these mountains, of the God who holds them in His hand.

Summer Mornings

I don't set an alarm; I love to be up early but it is especially delightful to wake up to the brightening of the sky and the chattering of the birds instead of the beeping of my alarm clock. I lie in bed and check the sky to see if it is cloudy or clear, and watch the sun bathe the top of Sisi Ridge, across the valley from me. A waterfall rushes down a deep crevice in the steep side of the ridge, directly across from my bedroom windows. The screen door squeaks and thumps shut as Mark heads out to feed the chickens or Monica goes to the cold room to get breakfast makings. Red house finches land on the radio antennae wire that runs in front of my window, cocking their heads at me, still in bed, and flitting away.

I throw off my covers and slide my bare feet to the floor. My running clothes hang on a peg, easy to grab and pull on. I head to the door and pull on my running shoes, lacing them up snug. I throw my hair into a ponytail and am ready to go. Under the clothesline and through the wet grass, through the gate that hangs open, across the plank that bridges the tiny pelton wheel runoff stream, past John's tent in the woods, down a little hill and under low hanging tree branches where the Grosbeaks love to congregate, and then I am in the field. I tromp along the edge, tall plantain seed heads whacking my ankles. The buckwheat is flowering now, and the path is hard packed and barren from horseback riders daily making their way to the barn and back. I think of the seed that is sown along the path, and its small chance of fruitful survival. I reach the corral, usually empty because Bethany has already let the horses into the pasture for their morning feeding. When I reach the corner of the empty barn, my warm-up walk is over and I break into a run. I jog past Bemoo's corral, and she watches me, MOOOOOing impatiently when I go on without feeding her. At the corner of the dirt driveway, I turn onto a little path that cuts through to the road. As I feel the crunch of the gravel, I begin to hit my stride. The air is cool, and there is a barely perceptible breeze that almost gives me goosebumps -- I am not warmed up yet. The sky is so pale it is white, but I can tell it's going to be blue once the sun paints it. The mountains, the trees, are all standing up straight, stretching towards the coming sun. I push to get up the first hill, knowing that once I arrive at the top my legs and lungs will have adjusted to running and be ready for the rest of the journey.

And that's when my mind goes free, too. Sometimes I harness it to quote Scripture, other mornings I just let it be. I sing in my head, pounding the lyrics into my heart as I pound up the road. I pray for my family and my friends and coworkers and whatever comes to mind. I praise God for the day and lay before Him the things on my heart. He speaks to me. In the rush of the river I hear His promise to give peace to those who pursue His ways. In the golden gleam of sun on the clouds I hear his declaration of His own glory and radiance; I remember that He is the true, the only light. In the carefree tumble of a bear cub from a tree trunk I hear his promise to care for the sparrows, and for his own children. As I take the time to listen, He reminds me how temporary are the decisions and responsibilities that sometimes crowd my mind -- how much meat to cook for dinner, which recipes to try, how to speak words of correction or re-direction to my crew. He redirects the affections of my heart, so easily set on self or earthly desires, and fills me with new love for Himself.

I reach High Bridge, tramp across the bridge and back, and run back down the gravel road, reveling in the blueing of the sky and the pumping of healthy legs and heart. By the time I sprint past Bemoo and walk back along the edge of the field, I am warm and wide awake and eager for the day ahead, and for how the Maker of my heart will use me in it.

For the Beauty of This Day

For the beauty of a bed tucked into a little raised niche, creating something between a bird's perch and a window seat;

for a casement window that swings wide open, removing the barrier between me and the seventy-five degree day;

for sun not yet behind the trees, gently warm spring sun;

for a bee that wandered in and back out again, probably not even aware he had left the great outdoors, sounding exactly like summer;

for the end of a Theo's bar, dark chocolate with sea salt, and a bottle filled with our fresh well water;

for a Bible open on the windowsill, a journal and pen in my hands;

for hunger for fellowship with the Lord, for desire holding sway in my heart and being satisfied.

Lord of all to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.