The deep bones inside these cabins are groaning to breathe again. Broken, they have been left to linger alone but I visit them often and I hear their whispers. I think they are beautiful and I want to dig them out of the ground and take them home because I don't want them to be finished yet. I believe there should be more.
And there are deep God bones in the trees and fields and mountains and sky of this place that lasso's 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 babies...just give me the babies, Lord. Did you know that certain wood has a crisp golden skin that pops off of it in the Fall?
These quiet beautiful things settle in my spirit and sooth my soul. And in those quiet moments, everything is right in the world.
In this place I know the majesty and glory and truth of God inside the marrow of my own fragile 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...
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 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 felt his words. 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? The light was amazing. And if you can, look inside the windows where ragged lace curtains hang shredded but loved. Where peeling wallpaper and dusty old broken things are stunning with their story.
when I walk I often think about my childhood. Of toad hopping contests and fireflies in a Miracle Whip 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 glass jars of raw cows milk and fresh eggs, was set on porches by a delivery man wearing a white suit and hat. And while he did, little cowboys and Indian's used sticks for guns and arrows and their mail man walked and waved.
That life, so quiet, so simple, so full of wonder, it simply strips me bare. It's so pure and I want it. But do I?
Would I really be happy in the days of old? Just a simple life in the country with with sky and cow fields with furry babies? Where mountains and sunsets are not just seen on occasion, but sat with every day behind barbed-wire gates made out of logs?
What if I had to chose? Those days or these?
In this place I know the majesty and glory and truth of God inside the marrow of my own fragile 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...
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 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 felt his words. 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? The light was amazing. And if you can, look inside the windows where ragged lace curtains hang shredded but loved. Where peeling wallpaper and dusty old broken things are stunning with their story.
when I walk I often think about my childhood. Of toad hopping contests and fireflies in a Miracle Whip 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 glass jars of raw cows milk and fresh eggs, was set on porches by a delivery man wearing a white suit and hat. And while he did, little cowboys and Indian's used sticks for guns and arrows and their mail man walked and waved.
That life, so quiet, so simple, so full of wonder, it simply strips me bare. It's so pure and I want it. But do I?
Would I really be happy in the days of old? Just a simple life in the country with with sky and cow fields with furry babies? Where mountains and sunsets are not just seen on occasion, but sat with every day behind barbed-wire gates made out of logs?
What if I had to chose? Those days or these?
Please don't make me. Life without the comforts of this new world I find myself in would be hard and frustrating. I would not be easy to live with, and my company would not have been good.
But cattails covered with snow 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 I know the beautiful bones of my quiet country roads, deep and rich with the stories of a different life 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. But I will never stop walking my country roads and I will always see the beauty of the bones buried there.
But cattails covered with snow 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 I know the beautiful bones of my quiet country roads, deep and rich with the stories of a different life 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. But I will never stop walking my country roads and I will always see the beauty of the bones buried there.
And I will too dream of other roads I want to walk down. I'd love to park in a quiet place by the home of the bride of "the farmer" who writes about 1000 gifts with words that make me weep. I want her voice read me stories and see her pictures, because they will be beautiful.
And for the Bible teacher in Texas who moved to the country and might be my kindred...with two daughters and a long husband she loves greatly and a beautiful life redeemed. Her heart like mine has exploded in the new love of grand-babies in her arms and she had a son named Michael just like me.
And for the Bible teacher in Texas who moved to the country and might be my kindred...with two daughters and a long husband she loves greatly and a beautiful life redeemed. Her heart like mine has exploded in the new love of grand-babies in her arms and she had a son named Michael just like me.
This woman changed me deeply, and I'd love to sit on her porch and hold her hand and say nothing because it will say everything.
So now, go find yourself a country road and look for it's beautiful bones. There are some buried on every quiet corner under Heaven. And when you take the time to follow it, listen for your whispered name because it might tell you all it's secrets. If you're lucky, it will have a mountain on one side and a barbed-wire gate opened to a setting sun throwing shadows over a pasture with babies on the other. And then the moon will come out and you will smile.
And another day...you'll go again because the secrets inside the beautiful bones buried there will already live inside you and you wont be able to stop yourself.
And another day...you'll go again because the secrets inside the beautiful bones buried there will already live inside you and you wont be able to stop yourself.
So go. I don't want you to miss it.
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