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Friday, March 14, 2014

Beautiful Bones...

      There are beautiful bones buried deep on country roads. The marrow and roots of it, so rich behind gates made of sticks and barbed wire hold life and truth and God and move something deep in me. Sometimes I just want to burrow in and disappear inside the story.

    There are deep strong bones inside these cabins and I hear them groaning to breathe again. Broken, they have been left to linger alone but I visit them and hear their whispers. I think they are beautiful and I want to dig them out of the ground and take them home because I do not think they are finished yet. I believe there should be more.
     Season after season, they draw me back with the hypnotic promise of something. What?

     And there are deep God bones in the trees and fields and mountains and sky of this place that have lasso'd my heart with a knot so tight I will never escape from the lure of their wile. And so I walk and breath and see...

     Wildflowers...sunsets...pastures sprinkled with cows and horses and sheep and babies...just give me the babies, Lord.
    These quiet my spirit and sooth my soul and everything is right in the world
    In this place I know the majesty and glory and truth of God and I feel it in my own fragile beautiful bones and I praise.
     I want it. I want the simple life of barbed wire sticks and keep-out gates and trees and cows and mountains and sky. I want my "road home" in all four seasons.
     Oh... if only it was all like this...

     A tree, huge with roots and trunk, lay on the ground with years of seasons buried inside. It's battered and broken down by the wind. A giant wonder with a horse-shoe and it's story still tangled up in it's roots.
    And a tree with with white bones stuck them out for me to touch. Until that day I did not know that trees had bones.

     Today I pictured Jesus leaning against the giant tree with a smile as my rebellious spirit climbed the fence where the "Keep-out" sign was clearly posted. "Your foot is not really ready for this fence." I heard him say. But I climbed it anyway and I knew He knew I would.
     Does the idea of Jesus meeting me in the, "do-not-enter" zones help my confession that I climb the fences and push through the barb wire anyway and do not care?
    Just look at the pictures I took of the cabin. Is was worth it, don't you think? was it? But the light was amazing.  

    These things remind me of childhood. Of toad hopping contests and fireflies in a jar by my bed. I can hear the sound of our turtles in the cardboard box scratching to get out, our nail polished initials shiny on the back of their shells.
    There was a time when raw cow milk was put on porches in bottles and  chickens laid eggs and roosters crowed and boys played cowboys outside all day and mail men walked and waved.
    That life, so quiet. Stripped and bare and pure. I want it...
        And, yet, I love technology. I fight for it. I sing it's praises for the glory of God.  Blogging, Twitter, Facebook , Instagram.
     I do it all. I was born for this time and this purpose under heaven so could I really imagine this other life?  Would I be happy in simply beautiful country with sky and cow fields with babies and mountains with sunsets and barbed-wire farm field gates made from logs?
     The truth of these things live deep in my heart and sing to my soul. They continue to draw me back to the light and shadow of changing season and new life and furry babies...
But what if I had to choose?
     Don't make without all I've grown accustom to would be hard and frustrating. I would not be easy and my company  would not be good.
     But baby cows and cattails make my breath long and slow and I can not stop the smile that comes. And mountain moons and pop-corn clouds pull my car to the side of the road and when the sky is on fire I can hardly breathe so the beautiful bones of my quiet country, deep and rich with promise will always have their way with me.
     So I straddle this place...I walk the line between new and old knowing the gift and beauty of both. God knew of the juxtaposition between these things in my life and He also knew how they both would pull me.

     So I will walk my country roads with fences of sticks and barb and call them beautiful. And I will dream of other roads in country that I have yet to see because I know deep roots and broken barns with story wait for Paul and I.

     And for my sisters that live on country roads that I long to meet. I want to park in the quiet place by the home of the bride of "the farmer" who writes about 1000 gifts with words that make me weep and I want to walk and see and listen to her voice and see her pictures because they will be beautiful and she gets it.
     And for the sister in Texas who moved to the country somewhere and seriously might be my kindred with daughters and a long husband she loves greatly and pain and a heart that has exploded in the new love of grand-babies in her arms and who has a son named Michael just like me. A woman whose story, written by a Father who greatly loves, was redeemed and anointed and changed my heart. I want to sit on her porch and hold her hand and say nothing because it will say everything.
       So know there's a story with beautiful bones on every quiet country road under heaven. When you take the time to follow one, listen for your name and it will tell you all it's secrets. If you're lucky, it might have a mountain on one side and a barbed-wire gate opened to a setting sun throwing shadows over a pasture with babies. And then the moon will come out and you will smile.
    And then another'll go again because the secrets inside the beautiful bones buried there will already be  in you and you wont be able to stop yourself.