I hear the mournful cries…

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A train in the distance heralds impending danger at crossing after crossing,
and just as surely as it comes, it fades into farmland, its mournful call forgotten.
We seldom hear the real harbingers of danger, but deep in our spirit
we feel their impending presence and know the certainty of approaching peril,
despite the lack of sight or sound.
Overshadowing this perfect morning of blue skies, gentle breeze, teeming life,
there is a hollowness, a sadness, that descends as surely as the sun rises.
It is the certain knowledge of children slain by madmen, crazed by ideology
so abhorrent, so base, I scarce can take it in.
The stillness is interrupted once more, but it is the mournful cries
of mothers and fathers ascending to Heaven that I hear,
and I cannot help but ask how long they must endure.
Father of Comfort, my spirit cries, hold them in the shelter of Your embrace.
Father of Life, safeguard their shattered hearts and give them hope.
Father of Mercy, deliver them from darkness to light.

This Holy Hush Within

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There is this holy hush just beyond my window,
as if the earth is waiting for some life-changing event
to take us beyond what we have always known.
I hear the sudden noise of a low-flying plane
whose roar fades as quickly as it comes–and wonder.
The field of corn stands at attention, waiting,
thousands of tassels waving in the early morning breeze,
and I feel in my spirit that another type of harvest is coming
as surely as the mourning doves’ calls that accompany the silence.
A rush of gratefulness overwhelms my spirit, as I remember faithless days
when descended darkness nearly extinguished everything I knew and loved.
I look and listen and know the certain love
of the One who loves me like no other,
the One in whom I find contentment unbelievable,
joy unspeakable, purpose unequalled,
and once more I welcome Him, this Holy Hush Within.
07-30-2014

The Importance of Trust

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Hmm…are we closer? Am I, these two years later?

Sara McKeefer's avatarIn the stillness...

The Importance of Trust

March 25, 2012

If you had a brother or sister growing up, you knew just about everything that went on in their life; and, depending on your relationship with them, I’m pretty sure you sympathized, or maybe even secretly rejoiced at times, when trouble came their way.

My brother Ronnie and I had different parents, but there never was a day that I felt he was anything less than my real brother, in every positive sense of the word.

The reasons were simple. We always ‘had each other’s back’—when things were good and when they were bad. When my brother talked to me, I listened; and when I talked to him, he listened. We understood each other, but the primary bond between us was an unshakeable loyalty built on the solid foundation of trust. He is gone now, but the lessons I learned in our relationship…

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I’ll take this day…

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I can see blue sky beyond the haze that gently kisses earth to leave welcome dew in its silent wake. Gray looms on the horizon where lakers watch for clouds to clear. I remember when I once watched and wondered, but now I leave it there in the past where it belongs. I am here in this place now, this time, when days pass slowly and what I want to do is often left undone. I look out at someone else’s horses in my pasture and turn away from dreams of long ago. I wait in the silence and hear the child laughter of decades removed and smile in tearful thanksgiving of yesterday’s joys and tomorrow’s soon to come.

The Annual Memorial Day Drive-By

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Across my shaggy lawn replete with an army of dandelion stems standing at strict attention, I watched the event unfold at 7 o’clock this morning. I’m referring to the annual Memorial Day Drive-By of my only living uncle, who snags one of his kids every year to chauffeur him the 10 miles north of his lake cottage on Tippy so he can get a good look-see at ‘Sara’s place’ just outside of Syracuse.

As in past years, an unrecognizable car drives by my property very slowly and predictably turns around in my neighbor’s drive two doors down so they can coast by this time at about 3 mph for Look #2. And just as in past years, the action is repeated at my neighbor’s lane to the south, and I see my uncle’s recognizable face plastered to the window of the small black car during Drive-By #3. I wait patiently here on the couch for the minute or less it takes them to turn around again for what turns out to be his final look-see.

I admit I feel sorry for whatever co-conspirator he forces to enable him to satiate his curiosity so he can pass judgment on whether or not the place is being ‘kept up’; but, really, his trip is at least partially pointless nowadays, since Mother, who looked forward to his reports each year, passed away nearly six years ago at 102. Maybe he thinks he will be able to give an accounting to her on the state of the property she purchased and put in trust for my children when he joins her in the Great Beyond someday, but surely he will have better things on his mind then.

I pause to remember that my uncle is almost 89, still actively farming and calling the shots of his and his grandson’s successful seed corn business. Furthermore, last Thanksgiving when I dropped by his home place, it was surprisingly apparent that he had mellowed way more than I ever thought was possible.

“Give him a good day with his kids and grandkids,” I say to the only One whose opinion about my life matters. “And next year, would it be too much to ask to prompt him to call me beforehand and say he wants to drop by for a visit? I’ll make sure the lawn is freshly mowed and the coffee on.”

It’s all or nothing with Jesus.

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There will always be those whose intention it is to make fun of Jesus, and the favorite way of the world to do that is by portraying His people as foolish and unwise. (The snake-handler preacher who died last week, case in point.) In these times when many believers feel that they must reflect society at least a little to attract unbelievers, being a standard has become as old-fashioned as the words “being a standard.” And in many churches the desire to “avoid even the appearance of evil” has all but disappeared from the lexicon in the church’s quest to ‘keep it relevant’.

I think we sometimes forget that we serve a Holy God, and we should be as protective of His reputation as He is of ours. In these times when the world is looking for a scapegoat, believers are increasingly targeted as uneducated fanatics who can be whipped into a frenzy at the drop of a hat, which, unfortunately, invites ridicule instead of reverence, disdain instead of devotion. Just as God IS Love, the Enemy IS Hatred. He hates everyone, those that follow him and those who follow Christ. But there’s something the Enemy does love–portraying Christ-followers as man-on-the-street fools.

If we are really serious about making Jesus not just Saviour but Lord of our life, we must examine our hearts constantly to make sure our words and our motives are pure “as silver tried in the furnace of the Lord, purified seven times.” That’s a tall order for those who take seriously what the Word says about being accountable for every word we have ever spoken. I think what we sometimes prefer to forget is that we also will be held accountable for what we did not say, especially when we knew the nudge to speak came straight from the Holy Spirit .

It’s all or nothing with Jesus. He won`t have it any other way. The hardest thing God has ever called me to do went something like this. “I screwed up, God–totally blew it. I need You to help me turn it around.”

And He did… He turned it around for good–for His glory and His glory alone, He said. And all I got out of it was this peace, this incredible peace–the peace that comes only from a broken and cleansed heart.

Looking beyond what is…

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Yes, we have had a winter of snow, snow and more snow; and according to the weather guy, we’re going to have a bunch more. It’s not that I mind. I’m just glad the precip is coming down in frozen form. In my opinion, there’s nothing more depressing than dull, rainy winter days.

One thing for certain, this weather has given us a lot to talk about: the blizzard with 40 mph winds leaving huge drifts in its wake; school cancelled day after day after day; counties under states of emergency; workplaces closed; college classes canceled; snowplows taking out mailboxes; wind-driven ice missiles finding your already-frozen face; horizontal snow, vertical snow, melting snow, drifting snow, snow potholes, black ice, icicles, ice-coated windshields, and frozen car locks and doors; the scrolling banner of closings and delays every morning and night; and the endless speculation about what it’s going to do weather-wise tomorrow or next week.

I have to confess I’m getting kind of tired of hearing the phrase “I am so done with this snow.” Every time I read it or hear it, I want to very quietly respond “No, you’re not, because it. will. snow. period.” It is, after all, only February!

There is no doubt that weather like we’ve been going through brings hardships into a lot of lives. Heating bills are skyrocketing (mine tripled this month), and there seems to be no end in sight to the frigid temperatures. This is a good time to remind ourselves that while we’re complaining about snow, the UK is dealing with awful floods, and wars and persecution continue in such places as Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, India and North Korea.

This string of snowy days has held a blessing that I became aware of just today as I sat here writing. Glancing up and out, I saw fluffy flakes drifting slowly down–more slowly than I think I’ve ever seen snow fall. Hour after hour, it continued, and hour after hour I watched. And then toward evening, I looked out to see my usual view of woods and field totally concealed in a white-out so unexpected I just stood and stared.

And then it dawned on me. All of this time that I’ve been lamenting the forecasts, I’ve also been looking outside–beyond the sameness of my house, drawn to an ever-changing vista of trees that seems to be getting shorter as drifts grow taller, flocks of robins hopping from branch to branch to feast on crab apples, fluffed-out feathered friends at and under the feeders, gray snow bands on the horizon, freezing fog rolling across the orchard and pasture, blue skies and blinding sun, and snowplows rumbling by, spraying huge walls of snow with each pass.

There is something freeing about looking beyond what we know by rote to anticipate the unexpected, whether it’s gently falling snow or perhaps direction for our lives. Kudos to the simple joys that take us beyond what is to what will be yet enable us to enjoy today, no matter what.

How many are 56 million?

Aside

Fifty-six million lives were snuffed out before they had a chance to begin, all because prideful people ‘rewrote’ the Word of God. So how many is that? After researching the populations of individual countries, here is a glimpse:

What if everyone in Canada, Israel, and Switzerland–or Spain and Switzerland–were suddenly killed? Would that be more of a tragedy than the 56 million Americans who met an equally, if not more horrendous fate in the U.S. since Roe vs Wade?

What if the lives of every man, woman and child in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Austria, Switzerland, Israel, Ireland, New Zealand and Greece were snuffed out? Would those 55 million lives be mourned simply because they have names?

I am sad for the children, sad for the parents, sad for our country–that we are prejudiced against babies that God did not have time to ‘fashion in their mother’s womb’ before He had to take them home.

What might our country have accomplished with those 56 million lives? Would one of those children perhaps have grown up to discover a cure for cancer? Would one of them have been inspired by great men of God to take up the mantle and lead hundreds of thousands more into a living relationship with Jesus Christ? Would one of them have been a great politician with the kind of values that would have united this country rather than divide it?

No one knows but God, but someday I think we will know just what our self-centered society has robbed our country of. We should all be ashamed and on our face before a Holy God, asking Him to forgive our wayward nation that for a time was accurately portrayed as a Shining City on a Hill.

In his farewell address to the nation on January 11, 1989, President Ronald Reagan said, “I’ve spoken of the shining hill all my political life…. And how stands the city on this winter night? … After 200 years, two centuries she still stands strong and true to the granite ridge, and her glow has held, no matter what storm. And she’s still a beacon, still a magnet for all who must have freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places, who are hurtling through the darkness, toward home.”

Oh, to believe it once more.

Waiting for the Storm

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The wind is calm, permitting the softly falling snow
to reach the bosom of mother earth,
thickly veiled in purest white.
Every twig, every shriveled leaf, every pine needle
becomes a perch for snowflakes,
fashioned by the very Breath of God
to fall with sweet abandon just beyond this warm room
where Peka and Boo sleep in the near silence,
broken only by ticking clock and the heater’s gentle whir.
I rejoice in the peace–and breathe a heartfelt thank you
for days that begin and end with You.
The snowplow rumbles by, indication of the coming storm
that has been in the forecast for days.
I am reminded that few of the storms of this life
come with a forecast but almost always
descend upon us with fury’s speed; and
with an unexpected blast that chills our very soul
and leaves us exposed, we are left
fighting for our very lives with no thought of anything
save survival.
I breathe in the relief that it was He who fashioned me
in the womb of a mother I have never known
only to place me in the arms of another,
who led me to the One who loves me like no other.
Because I have found my real home in Him,
there is no consternation when the blizzards of this life
threaten–or descend.
I am, instead, secure in the warmth of His love,
listening for the still, small Voice within to say,
“This is the way, walk ye in it.”

There are those times…

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There are those times

When distant memories

Lay just beyond my reach,

Unremembered by choice.

My head turns to anything

Except the shadowed reality,

Of necessity kept just out of sight,

Then, as now, in the darkened place

That veiled my heart,

Concealing the dawn of a distant day.

Out of fear, others encircled me,

And by fear, I deferred,

Avoiding the revelation

Of who I might have been.

Today I see only dusky silhouette

Of the girl I really was,

Before illumination came

And blinded me from truth.