Still Waters

Launching out before sunrise at Cunningham Pond.

"Where morning dawns and evening fades, You call forth songs of joy." (Psalm 65:8)

If you “put in” at Cunningham before the sun comes up on a Sunday morning, you can forget for a moment that a usually noisy state highway is right nearby. Nothing but the honk of geese doing a fly-over and bullfrogs in the shore weeds to break the stillness. Not a soul in sight—check that…thought it was a bird splashing, but there’s this one guy out in the middle of the pond quietly doing laps.

The cool, late summer mist over the warm water seems to announce the arrival of the sun finally peeking over Pack Monadnock. On morning’s like this, you can’t help but see and think clearly. Any anxious thoughts disappear. You’re especially aware and grateful for the start of a new day, leaving yesterday and the week behind. And all within you is filled with quiet "songs of joy."

And here, on a morning like this, a familiar Psalm takes on a life of its own:

"He leads me beside quiet waters; He restores my soul.”

(Psalm 23:2-3)

Amen to that…What a blessing to have such a refuge so close to town and home.

And as those good medicine labels say, and the Lord might heartily agree, “take as often as needed.”

Moon Gaze

Night hands off to day at Cunningham Pond.

“His kingdom will last before Me like the sun. It will continue forever, like the moon, like a dependable, reliable, faithful witness in the sky.”—Psalm 89:36-37

A favorite local author from childhood, the late Elizabeth Yates, once said of the early morning: “The silence is so intense that the striking of a distant clock comes into it like sounds from another world. How bright the stars are! How still the trees! Neither branches nor leaves are in motion. Everything seems to be waiting for something to happen. It is a time when the veil between the worlds is thin…”

If you’ve ever gotten up that early, you feel those words as your own. Because no matter what the season, one of the best things about waking up early is to be in that moment of intense stillness when night hands off the baton to day. Dark becomes light again. Another relay race is on! And there to cheer on the moment every time is the moon. Sometimes, it’s right in your face. Sometimes, it's a fingernail way up high. And sometimes, it’s to the left or to the right of where it was a few days ago, but it’s always, always there, making its comforting presence known.

The psalmist, who spent a lot of time outdoors, tells us something more—that God Himself is faithful, just like that moon. And it doesn’t have to be night becoming morning to see and receive that truth. Because on this new day, whether cloudy or sunny, it’s good to know that the Creator of heaven and earth is a type-and-shadow of that “dependable, reliable, faithful witness in the sky” whose kingdom still reigns beyond the blue or gray or storminess of all that we can see or feel. He’s got this.

Because just like the moon shines in winter, spring, summer and fall, faithful means God never goes away on vacation or leaves us to figure things out for ourselves. Better still, seeing the moon up there is a constant reminder that though we stumble often, doubt frequently, and rebel without even realizing it, God remains faithful to His Almightyness, His promises, and His name, without a hint of wavering...

His love toward us never quits, whether we feel it or not. It’s always reaching out, like a beam across the pond.

...And like the moon—sometimes appearing to be full in our heart, sometimes feeling distant and thin, but always present regardless of circumstance—God is tirelessly, joyfully, faithfully reflecting the goodness of all that He is in a world gone mad. His love. His mercy. His compassion. His grace… to any and all who will simply look Up and believe that the beautiful moon in the sky is much more than just a faithful moon. To be still and know that…

“He is perfectly faithful, because God is never partly anything.”—A. W. Tozer

Beauty In the Routine

Just before sunrise this morning at Cunningham Pond.

On a morning like this, I will look at my praying hands clasped around a coffee mug.
Praying…among other things, to see the beauty in the routine of things.
Celebrating fullness of life and activity, yes,

But remembering to celebrate chill-out simplicity, too.

Because it is often here where God speaks loudest, and where it is easier to listen.

Like today, before sunrise at a nearby lake when the world was still asleep.

But all of Creation—loons, songbirds, a gentle breeze making new leaves dance—was full-throated in being thankful for a new day.

And so should I.

And so I did.

And to also remember those praying hands clasped around a coffee mug—

That God had planned to put things in our hands since before the beginning of time that would bring pleasure to both of us, and others.

Even (and maybe especially) in the routine...

A camera…to see new angles of Creation and reflections of the "Maker of heaven and earth" (Psalm 121:1) in everyday faces and places.

Two different kinds of keyboards with the same purpose…to find words and notes that encourage and point Up.

A kayak paddle…to “be still and know” (Psalm 46:10) when all around is 24/7 noise.

A basketball and a baseball bat…to run free, to jump, to remember joy, and to know that celebration and life mission are always better with teammates.

Freshly tilled soil after a long winter…maybe as a subconscious assurance that no matter how things look, "the whole earth is still full of His glory." (Isaiah 6:3)

Like today, like before sunrise at a nearby lake when the world was still asleep.

But to also remember to then loosen the grip of those praying hands around my coffee mug,

And ask them a daily question:

“Are there different ways to do what you’ve always done to help someone—even yourself—see or feel the goodness of God, even on a routine kind of day?”

And to know that there is only one good answer.

“Morning is had hand. Light will soon come flowing over the edge of the world, bringing with it the day. What a gift! Whether wrapped in streams of color or folded in tissues of mist, it will be mine to use in ways that I can foresee and in those that are unexpected. The day will make its own revelation, bring its own challenge; my part will be to respond with joy and readiness.”—Elizabeth Yates, “A Book of Hours”

Checkout Line Awakening

Last night’s thunder and lightning have been replaced by this morning’s mighty rushing wind that is making the trees roar and setting the two ship’s bells in the backyard to dancing. Their joyful clanging is almost church-bell-like while reading an ancient Hebrew invitation on this first day of Holy Week: “I was glad when they said to me, ‘let us go to the house of the Lord!’” (Psalm 122:1) But their joyful clanging triggers another reminder: More than 2,000 years ago, Jesus showed up not just at synagogue but wherever His followers happened to be in their normal everyday life.

It's good to remember that He still loves to do that...

...Preoccupied with life and a bunch of to-dos on a rainy Good Friday morning not long ago, and wondering if anyone (including myself) had grasped the meaning of this day in history, something wonderfully jolting happened while standing, of all places, in the grocery store checkout line. It began with a rugged-looking workman in front of me who was carrying the surprising combination of a balloon presumably destined to be given to his child, and a pot of springtime for someone special in his life. But none of it was as surprising as his reply to the cheerful cashier's "Happy Friday, sir!"

"Thank you, and happy Good Friday to you...if you believe in all of that."

"Oh, I do! Happy Good Friday to you as well, sir."

Wow, people were actually talking Gospel things in public? In a grocery store, no less. And that was that, or so I thought. Until it was my turn to check out, and the cashier continued her train of thought as she scanned my items, then looking out the window at the dreary weather: "You know, I was just telling my husband this morning, every Good Friday, it seems to be like this. I don't think that's a coincidence, do you?"

Wait. Was this cashier opening the door to further conversation about the Good Friday I had nearly forgotten in all my preoccupation? And here? Where anyone and everyone could listen in, in a grocery store checkout line? How cool! And the door was opened, and the uplifting conversation went public. It’s easy to look for Jesus on Sunday mornings in “the house of the Lord” when God's people gather together. Easier still is to forget that...

... just as He burst forth from the tomb on that most glorious of mornings, Jesus still shows up in unlikely places by bursting in to our preoccupied everyday lives.

This was not the first time Jesus showed up at a grocery store checkout line. Something similar happened several years earlier during a different holiday....

Everyone was in a kind and festive mood, even though the line was long, and remarkably patient for day before Thanksgiving. The line seemed to be moving at a snail's pace—make that a frozen snail. Stores seem to love this. It's why they often display some of their most tempting goodies nearest the cash register, so that you check it all out while you're waiting for the snail to move. The marketing scheme worked. I scanned it all, because there was nothing else to do. But then looking up one of the shelves by the window, my eye caught a jolly figure standing outside the store with a red collection bucket and bell. 'Tis the season, after all, and I purposed to stop by on my way home. 

Fortunately, the people in front of me had only a couple of items, so I was out of the store faster than expected. As I headed to the bearded fellow with the red bucket and bell, I noticed a sign and easel had been set up next to the collection pot. Today was a special collection for a young local guy who had been seriously wounded while serving in Iraq. Instead of emptying my pocket of loose change as usual, without hesitation, I went to my billfold and pulled out dollar bills and stuffed them as best I could into the bucket. 

The jolly bearded gentleman handed out remembrance pins with a photo of the soldier on it, and as I started walking away, pinning the pin to my fleece, I suddenly—out of nowhere—felt a wave of tears trying to rise up. For sure, part of it was the emotion of being a dad, and thinking: "If it was my son, I'd give anything to make his world right again. Anything!" But then Divine revelation while, of all places, walking downtown: As I was making my way back to my car and asking God aloud about this strange reaction, almost immediately, I sensed Him speak in so many words: "This is how I feel about you, and for everyone you see around you right now, and in that grocery line. I have looked upon My kids, gravely wounded by sin, and I determined that I would give anything to make it right again. And I did.”

Right then and there, on a side street downtown, while walking and talking and doing the supposedly unimportant stuff of life, I celebrated Thanksgiving and Easter together in a moment that seemed far more significant and weighty than the goodness of what happens on any given Sunday morning....

... "You saved four dollars today. Thank you, and happy Easter!" And just as I was on that day several years ago, and thinking of the rugged workman with the balloon and his Good Friday sermon starter, I left the grocery store checkout line on that dreary Good Friday morning grateful all over again for the One who really matters in this life--no matter where I am.

And with it, renewed hope that no matter what kind of mess the world is in right now, God is still speaking to and through His kids today right in the middle of it all—in “the house of the Lord” on Sunday for sure, but perhaps most loudly and urgently in the streets, the daily grind, and in the grocery store checkout lines.

"This is my Father's world...He speaks to me everywhere."

—Hymn, by Maltbie D. Babcock

Always There

"After all, God is God, because He remembers."— Elie Wiesel

For photos on every camera roll, for every audio recording session, for every player on a team, and for every suggestion or good idea proposed to find a solution, the four hardest words to hear are these: “didn’t make the cut.” Unwanted. Not quite as good as something else. Destined to be forgotten. No one cares, really.

And then one day, that idea that was met with silence becomes recognized as “wait, that’s actually brilliant,” the player who gave his all but was cut gets a call and becomes an integral part of the team, that song somewhere on the cutting room floor gets picked up and becomes just what someone needed to hear, and a photo taken but entirely forgotten suddenly speaks like a symphony’s fortissimo.

That empty park bench on a rainy fall day is one of those loud, "forgot I took this one," photos. It looks lonely and forgotten, too. Except look again: someone noticed. A person with a camera walked by and instead of seeing lonely and forgotten saw something beautiful instead. Seeing that B-roll photo this week was a reminder of the amazing way that God looks at us—never unwanted and forgotten, or never accepted, loved and remembered only when our performance is just right. But...

“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord.

    “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.

—Isaiah 55:8

"I have loved you with an everlasting love." — Jeremiah 31:3

We can't be reminded enough that we are known intimately, watched continually, and loved deeply.

“Nah, not me, though. Not today.” Well, yes, actually! 

And, as is the case more often than not, it is His Words that speak louder and better than anything we could think or say or write—but just to reinforce the truth that God's Word always extinguishes the lies, and doubts, and fears of rejection, the sound track for His Words is photos that supposedly “didn’t make the cut,” all beautiful in their own way…

"O Eternal One, You have explored my heart and know exactly who I am;

You even know the small details like when I take a seat and when I stand up again.

    Even when I am far away, You know what I’m thinking.

You observe my wanderings and my sleeping, my waking and my dreaming,

    and You know everything I do in more detail than even I know.

You know what I’m going to say long before I say it.

    It is true, Eternal One, that You know everything and everyone.

You have surrounded me on every side, behind me and before me,

    and You have placed Your hand gently on my shoulder.

It is the most amazing feeling to know how deeply You know me, inside and out;

    the realization of it is so great that I cannot comprehend it.

Can I go anywhere apart from Your Spirit?

    Is there anywhere I can go to escape Your watchful presence?

If I go up into heaven, You are there.

    If I make my bed in the realm of the dead, You are there.

If I ride on the wings of morning,

    if I make my home in the most isolated part of the ocean,

 Even then You will be there to guide me;

    Your right hand will embrace me, for You are always there.

Even if I am afraid and think to myself, “There is no doubt that the darkness will swallow me,

    the light around me will soon be turned to night,”

You can see in the dark, for it is not dark to Your eyes.

    For You the night is just as bright as the day.

    Darkness and light are the same to Your eyes.

For You shaped me, inside and out.

    You knitted me together in my mother’s womb long before I took my first breath.

I will offer You my grateful heart, for I am Your unique creation, filled with wonder and awe."

Whenever whispers of "forgotten" or "not good enough" try to creep in (and they will), it will be good to go back to that park bench photo and see things once more from God's perspective, and be amazed, and grateful, and "filled with wonder and awe." And while there, maybe practice an ancient prayer that's worth carrying in our back pocket wherever we go…

“…Breathe in, ‘You are here, Lord’ and as you breathe out, ‘And I am with You.’” 

[Updated from "Where 'Forgotten' Doesn't Exist," originally published November 2017]

Hope In the Woods

Like Robert Frost’s on a snowy evening, my woods are “lovely dark and deep” Even on a gray early morning like this.

And no matter the season, they are a window with a non-stop, open invitation to stop and pause…

And slow down and breathe deeply…

And be still…

And in the stillness, be thrilled to hear this day off in the distance the familiar songs of early spring birds.

The same ones you hear on a warm summer night!

To take time to fill your heart and soul with simple gratitude…

It’s a new day, “let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

To let your mind wander a bit to the day ahead,

And even a bit randomly, but perhaps perfectly, to ballplayers gathering under warm sunshine for spring training—where everyone is hopeful, no one has lost a game, and no matter what happened last year, all begin with a clean slate ready to be filled with dreams and goals.

So good.

But even better to find your thoughts suddenly shift to this:

That no matter how many faults and blemishes you can see in yourself,

No matter how bad your morning breath may be,

The God who made you and formed you for an abundant life loves you incredibly anyway.

(And besides, it is His breath in your lungs, so how can it be bad?)

A time to focus on that sun trying ever-so-hard to break through the cloud cover and remembering some favorite words…

“Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I entrust my life.” (Psalm 143:8)

Amen. Sometimes, simple prayers are the very best.

These woods that are “lovely dark and deep” at 6 a.m., and have an aroma of earth

That’s almost as intoxicating as the smell of cookies in the oven

Will likely be, according to the forecast, like Robert Frost’s later this week.

Such is the tease of late February and March in New England.

But “to everything there is a season,” even this one.

Because through all of its up and downs, this early morning pause is a reminder that life is good.

Because God is still faithful.

He hasn’t left the building.

And though the morning clouds have now covered the sunrise glow in the east,

In the stillness, my woods that are “lovely dark and deep” are nevertheless shouting encouragement:

“May the God of hope fill you with joy and peace in your faith, that by the power of the Holy Spirit, your whole life and outlook may be radiant with hope.” (Romans 15:13)

Here we go!…

Sticking With It

An early morning February fog on Grove Street.

"Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I entrust my life."—Psalm 143:8, NIV

In a classic Monty Python sketch, actor John Cleese explains his uneven cadence upon entering the Ministry of Silly Walks: "Good morning. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I'm afraid my walk has become rather sillier recently, and so it takes me rather longer to get to work. Now then, what was it again?"

It's how a person can feel greeting God during those seasons of the Walk when even though a new sunny day dawns, it is often, like February in New Hampshire, obscured in clouds. Not horrible, but lacking that certain sweetness and clarity.  And like Cleese, not free-falling backwards but nevertheless sometimes feeling stuck in neutral, or for every two steps forward, one step back or even sideways. What's with that? It's called being human. It's called the Walk of faith. And the solution, it seems, can be found by taking what some might consider another kind of silly but beautiful walk: Very early in the morning on a Saturday in the late winter when most sane people are still cozied up in their beds. Walking and observing and remembering...

"Hey, what's that aroma?" It's not the usual wood smokiness accenting a frigid day. It's...it's the fragrance of the south wind! — the same one that hits you in the face during t-shirt and shorts weather. It's coming!

"Hey, what's that sound?" It's not the usual wintertime cackle of a blue jay. Nope, it's a robin! OK, so it's a Canadian Robin, eh? But it's still the same sound that sings in your ear when kayaking on a still lake on a warm evening. Kayak...open water...warmth. It's coming!

"Hey, wait, what's that thing growing in February?" It's not the usual wintertime shrub, like the one right next to it still covered with protective burlap, but a lilac bush with some very fat buds — the same bush that every balmy spring explodes in all-too-short-lived color and fragrance. It's really going to come!

Not just an early morning walk in late February. Instead, one where it was good to remember that whether feeling sunny or in a feels-like-I'm-stuck-in-neutral fog, God's faithfulness and promises for another Spring and for every season of life are unshakeable. And when you don't really know what's going on or feeling a bit "off," it's good to remember that the Walk of faith often means going into a land you do not know, and like millions of saints before you, God will be with you still. It's good to know, too, that occasional forgetfulness of God's faithfulness and goodness every step of your way is not a sin but a frequently off-course rudder that requires an occasional early morning walk of remembrance to get back on track.

And out of His great, unfailing love for us, and how that He knows so very well how we tick, God will use whatever means at His disposal — everyday things like aromas, sounds, and sights from a walk — to remind us that His faithfulness never changes and His promises have no "sell by" date. Most especially, God will often drive it all home with His Word, even one that hit home so hard many days ago that you wrote it down and tucked away for future reference because you knew you'd need re-reminding in the future. Like now...

 

"Barricade the road that goes nowhere

I choose the true road to Somewhere

I post Your road signs at every curve and corner

I grasp and cling to whatever You tell me

God, don’t let me down!

I’ll run the course You lay out for me

If you’ll just show me how.”

—Psalm 119:29-32, Message

"The strongest kind of faith is not mountaintop faith but one that says 'I won't quit.'"

— Steve Boyce

Snapshots In the Stands

 That night when the older locals from my youth became me. (Photo: Heather Whipple-Simard)

Back in the day, when I roamed my high school’s gym wide-eyed and full of youthful enthusiasm, the younger me would look up into the stands and shake my head but smile at the older locals—regulars at the games who still enjoyed watching the hometown team’s game like they had watched it or played it many years ago. I imagined them beginning every sentence with “Hey, remember when?….” That younger me would think, “Geez, stop living in the past, you guys. Times have changed.” Because all smart-aleck me could see was a bright future ahead, full of who-knows-what surprises and goodness.

This week, the tables turned.

That once younger me was one of those older locals in the stands cheering on the hometown team. And in between the action, right on cue, one of the guys next to me leaned over and launched into, “Hey remember when?…” And it was beautiful. Because he described a childhood experience of growing up in our small town—a time when grade school kids excitedly raced downtown after school to buy snacks and then raced back up to the athletic fields to watch the big kids play soccer or baseball. A time when every grade was in one sprawling building on High Street and when there was no social media but when little kids really followed and looked up to someone—in awe of being in the same hallway with those huge high school kids on their way to class, and wanting to be like them someday.

A time when your heart raced when you walked into the gym for the first time in your life on a Friday night and saw teachers and classmates and a lot more of those high school heroes, and even the man who sold you the snacks downtown, and neighbors sitting and standing together to root for the hometown team. And out in the hallway, an unforgettable aroma of freshly popped popcorn, stale cigarette smoke on clothing, and a hint of spearmint gum or breath mints in the air. To this day, the aroma of popcorn at a sporting event takes me back like incense to those wonderful Friday nights.

The older me went to bed that night wondering why that is so, and why that “Hey, remember when?…” story had triggered something so deep, something beyond basketball games and growing up in a small town. It was not so much wishing I could go back in time, but it was realizing that it was a marker God had used in a young, impressionable mind to remind me later on in life of something greater and incredibly important—His undying faithfulness love and goodness through the thick and thin of childhood, youth and adulting, and the importance of community. Something so easily taken for granted.

That night in the stands was a marker of remembrance that was not unlike the stones that Joshua’s men pulled from the Jordan River to serve as a monumental reminder of how God had faithfully led His people across it and into safety… 

“Then Joshua explained again the purpose of the stones: ‘In the future,’ he said, “when your children ask you why these stones are here and what they mean, you are to tell them that these stones are a reminder of this amazing miracle—that the nation of Israel crossed the Jordan River on dry ground! Tell them how the Lord our God dried up the river right before our eyes and then kept it dry until we were all across! It is the same thing the Lord did forty years ago at the Red Sea! He did this so that all the nations of the earth will realize that Jehovah is the mighty God, and so that all of you will worship Him forever.’”—Joshua 4:21-24, Living

Markers like that, if only I will notice them, tend to show up in lots of other everyday settings, like basketball games, time and time again to drive a point straight to the heart where it belongs—to, as one pastor has said...

“Remember not to forget…Don’t forget to remember…

Remember to remember!”

Pay attention to the snapshots and photo albums from the past that parade through the memory bank—many fun, but some not. Because these are permanent markers to remind you that you need one another, and of God’s faithfulness in provision, guidance, love, grace, mercy (oh man, lots of that!), and getting through long desert seasons. As author Mark Batterson puts it: “The primary reason we lose faith is because we forget the faithfulness of God. Maybe that's why the word 'remember' is repeated 250 times in Scripture.”

By the way, I still have a something in common with that younger me (hopefully, a lot less snarky) because even though I often sit in the stands now, there is still a bright future ahead—one so bright, in fact, it has no end. But now, what that younger me didn’t know back then but was reminded of after being in the stands the other night, the way ahead while roaming this planet will have many more markers of remembrance that God will use like stones to inspire gratitude for life, and faith-building perseverance, resolve, hope, encouragement and joy for the road ahead. Markers that will shout:

“Just remember, you often won't realize you're making progress on the Journey until you pause to look back at how far you've come.”

Looking back after this week's snow, Old Dublin Road.

[ADAPTED FROM PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED, JANUARY 2020]