The Shadow of Your Wings

Several weeks ago we took another trip to the Ozarks. It was hot, humid, and frankly miserable, but one early morning I took advantage of the relative cool and hiked up the mountain. I’d been sitting at the base of that hill for a day or two, staring at it, considering what the Lord has said to me about stepping out and up with Him when I thought that I would “just do it.” Sort of a climb of faith, acting out what I believe to be a prophetic word.

I prayed my way over the rocks, through the woods, until I reached the peak, where I sat for a time in the stillness. There the Lord met with me, showing me some things that I needed to let go of, “release.” I did. At least one of those things. It was a sweet though sad moment. Sad because the letting go involved a person I love. Sweet because I found the sense of peace and a liberty that I longed for.

Once I found my way back to camp I discovered that the dreaded “seed ticks” had infested my being. This happened last year, too, when I dared to wander the piney woods of Louisiana in shorts and sandals. I knew nothing of these nasty little buggers, barely the size of the point of a straight pin. Unlike regular ticks, which you can feel and see easily, there is no way of knowing these little critters have gotten on you until the damage has been done. Now, whether the Arkansas seed tick is less potent than their cousins in Louisiana, or I (blessedly) developed a bit less sensitivity to them after last year’s bout, or just that there were considerably fewer bites, I managed to get through this go-round with relatively little discomfort.

After a serious scrub down in a HOT shower and a liberal dousing in vinegar I returned to my lawn chair in the valley and resumed my pondering of the mountainside. Why, I wondered, did the Lord allow me to be attacked by those vicious little bloodsuckers when I was just doing what He had lead me to do? Dear Husband took a hike up that hill later in the day and returned with nary a scratch (or an itch!) Why, Lord? (Not to wish a tick on him, just wondering why I get chewed on and he doesn’t.) But seriously. of greater import, why was I attacked?

I know there is much said and written by men (and women) of the church about being prepared for an enemy attack when one steps out for God. Can’t say I’m too keen on those observations - my thought being that if God calls God covers. I most truly believe that He’s got my back (which, incidentally, was the area that received the most bites.) In fact, it would be fair to say that I abhor those “warnings” when given - because I think they actually discourage people from doing a thing for the Lord or His Kingdom by creating fear.

Yet, here I sit, safe in the valley, a little afraid of taking another step onto the mountain lest I be eaten up again.

HEY - anyone know a good brand of organic bug spray?

We’ve finally gotten a bit of rain! A wee bit! Four little showers over the past two weeks have yielded a pinch more than ¾ inch (total), but humidity levels are high, which helps hold the moisture in the soil, as does the cloud cover that has kept the relentless heat of sun at bay. What a difference a little outpouring from heaven makes.

Our regular water source ’round here is “city.” It comes from a lake about 50 miles north, passes through one or two “supply” companies, which filtrate, chlorinate, fluoridate, ammoniate, and toss in a few more ‘ates I probably don’t want to think about. We run it through two filters in the house before declaring it “potable.”

Outside, however, the green growing things are exposed to it - as is - on a daily basis as we try to keep a few flowers blooming through the dry heat of a Texas summer. I learned years ago that while this water will keep things alive, they will not thrive. Then the tiniest bit of rain falls and the flora and I rejoice in an abundance of bloom. The grass, usually brown and crunchy as burnt toast this time of year, becomes soft and pliable, a hint of living green flowing through the blades. Mexican petunias flourish - the mounds covered in purple blossom, moss rose suddenly bursts into bright color. Perhaps it is only that the gentle showers have rinsed off the dust, but everything seems to be more vibrant, healthy, alive.

As I admire the beauty of the bloom this morning I am reminded of something the Lord once spoke to my heart about surviving versus thriving. How often do we try to keep our spiritual garden alive with treated water? Pastor So and So’s sermons, Favored Author’s writings, a few minutes of “GodTV” or the music of some Anointed Someone. Truth is, no matter how refreshing it is, or how filling it may seem, it is not the real thing; and sadly, we are often remiss in our filtering (through discernment) of the contents. It may keep us going and perhaps even growing for a while but eventually we will begin to suffer from all the additives of someone else’s opinions/understandings/visions. To thrive we MUST have the pure rain from Heaven! Even the tiniest bit of time in the very presence of God, through His Word, in respectful (rather than request-full) prayer, or simply being “still” before Him will cause our souls to open and the Spirit to blossom forth in abundant beauty and fragrance.

Take a moment today to lay aside the garden hose that connects you to your regular sources, turn off all the exterior faucets, and invite the Presence of the Living God to pour upon your life. Let His reign quench your dusty, thirsty soul ~ cleansing, refreshing, flowing as the sweet sense of His nearness washes over you.

What a difference a little outpouring from heaven can make!

What a blessing to be called “that lady who laughs …” OK, the rest of the quote was “at me,” but hey, it was good for me! (Thanks, Frank.)

Years ago my sister and I were having a disagreement - well, actually it was a down and dirty fight - that finally culminated with her yelling “You’ve GOT to lighten up!!! You’re so deep that nobody understands a word you say!” to which I stammered and stuttered until I could come back with a real zinger - “Well, well, YOU are so shallow people can wade through and never get their toes wet!” Brilliant retort, eh?

We stood there nose to nose until we both cracked up. Truth was (and still is) we were both right. We agreed that we would each try to fix our respective “problems” in relating; and, to a some degree, we have.

Anyway - in an effort to “lighten up” and share a laugh I give you my all time favorite joke. You’ve gotta work with me here. You must follow the directions as they are introduced. To skip ahead (and read the punch line) will cost you a chuckle, or maybe even a guffaw! OK, ready?

MY FAVORITE JOKE

Place your hands on each side of your face. (Yes, you. Just do it, nobody will watch, I promise.)

Now, press in and forward. Feel your lips pucker out? Are your nostrils pinched by cheek chub? Good, that’s the pose.

Now, maintaining the position, repeat after me:

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“Bus driver, bus driver, open the door!”

Give it up, I KNOW you’re laughin’!

Joke courtesy of the shallow sister, circa 6^th grade.