Chasing after the wind

In the fields of Hovander Park near our home, the grasses have become thick and tall. Now, yellowing in the dog days of summer, their stems are more flexible, and they catch even the slightest breeze moving through their thin stalks, creating waves of gold rippling through the green cattails and random weeds that invade their territory.

Walking through those fields in the early morning, alone and with no distraction save the beauty around me, the words of King Solomon in Ecclesiastes weave through my thoughts these days.

Everything is chasing after the wind.

This last year of transitions has kept me from posting new blogs in Epiloguer.  It wasn’t that I was no longer having epiphanies.  But in the uncertainty of where we would live, and how we would heal, and what our path would be, sitting down and writing my way through those epiphanies seemed daunting. At least that’s what I told myself.  My excuse list expanded over time, crowding out any impetus to “write my way to truth.”

Now, however, in my daily walks through these fields, I have been asking all of the tough questions that I think many of us do as we journey through our “third act. "What do we gain from our toil? Why do the oppressors flourish? Why do fools have their way? And I think for people who are creatives, the other question that chews at the corner of our hearts is:

Does any of this matter?

I look for wisdom in the words of Solomon, who reflects that God has set eternity in our hearts, something we will never fathom this side of heaven.  The things that gave us meaning in the past- our work, raising families, our endeavors - decrease in importance as the years pass us by.  And in the spaces left behind, that yearning for eternity, always below the surface of life, begins to seep out.

At least it has for me.

That yearning is not for the end of this life, though.  It is a recognition that nothing here - no experience, no relationship, no earthly beauty will ever approach what is to come. My soul knows that.  And in the absence of an ordered life with externally placed structures and demands, I have only the exposed territory of my heart, hungering to experience the “known and not yet known.”

And so, what to do?

I suppose today is as good a day as any to start anew here, following Solomon's sage advice as I consider the work undone in my own life. Solomon had it all, and I have a little, and yet we share a common future.

So, I do not need to consider the troubled days of my life, for God will keep me occupied and focused on the joys of my heart.

I will find enjoyment in my labors for I have been gifted the ability and the power to rejoice in them.

And I will remember that the tranquility of God dwells within me,

and that if I rest in that place of peace,

a foretaste of the eternity to come is within my grasp.

Waiting for trains

Only a few hardy souls venture out at dawn to walk the DeAnza Trail at Canoa Historic Ranch, especially this time of year. For sun lovers and cravers of warmth, the 49 degree starting temperature requires walking gear more common in a Northwest fall. Thus, we have this become accustomed to walking this trail alone.

But there is another hardy soul, a transplant from Alaska, who comes a little later dressed in little but shorts and a light jacket. For her, this weather is “balmy”, and having clothing that allows freedom of movement is important because of her job as a dog trainer and dog walker.

We can always spot her on the trail as she usually has 2-4 leashes with various dogs tied to them. The leashes tangle and untangle as each, at their own speed, revels in the smells of the desert trail. She calls them to her, always her voice encouraging and filled with gentle humor.

And then there is Ginger. Walking free alongside her.

When we first met Ginger, a rescued pit bull, she was afraid to even get out of the car of her new owner. Greeting anyone was impossible, so scared or scarred she was from her previous experience. Over the year we have been encountering her, we have seen her transform into a friendly, adventurous, confident dog.

Being loved well will have that effect.

Ginger’s confidence shone today as we approached the dog pack. Her entire wide face exploded in a dog grin, tongue flopping out one side. We thought she was happy to see us, but her owner, when she approached, drew attention to the clacking of rail cars cutting through the desert in the distance. Ginger was staring transfixed across the desert landscape.

It’s the train, she says.

Her owner, ever the dog whisperer, has been writing emails to the train company with a simple request. When you pass by the desert alongside Canoa Ranch, will you blow your train horn for my dog. Today, for the first time, the whistle blows, and we watch as Ginger’s grin explodes further.

Because Ginger loves trains more than anything, her owner says she often sits with Ginger by the wash in the distance for up to an hour waiting for a train to pass. Ginger will stare into the distance with an anticipation that is palpable. And she always knows when one is about to appear.

Ginger feels the vibrations of the coming train, she says.

I think about Ginger’s anticipation…her ability to sense when joy is inching closer. I think about her absolute trust that what she craves will be supplied. And I think about her singular focus on what matters most as she walks this trail:

The train is coming.

Sadly, my focus is often on the dangers in the desert and in life. I am constantly being struck by the venomous behaviors of human beings towards each other. My heart is stabbed by the needles and spikes of human cruelty. There is so much I do not understand.

And sometimes, I lose my capacity to register hope.

But this morning, I thought about Ginger, who like Jay Gatsby, seems to have an “extraordinary gift for hope.” Her hope is not deterred by circumstance or challenged by experience. She knows the train is coming, and she is willing to wait for how ever long it takes until her heart is filled to overflowing with its sound and motion. She is in the moment, feet firmly planted on the ground, eyes ever scanning the landscape beyond her vision.

And so it should become with me.

I need to attune my senses to what thrives in an unseen world and yet is ever present and ever available to me here on the ground on which I walk. I need to remember that the dangers around me are temporal and will never outlast what lives just beyond the horizon. And I need to focus my vision on that which I can not see but which is more real than the needle ridden landscape before me.

I need to attune my heart to the vibrations of hope in the distance.

And in these troubled times, I imagine you do too.

The Woman Who Talks with God

“People are meant to live in an ongoing conversation with God,

speaking and being spoken to.” Dallas Willard

One of my dearest friends is a Woman Who Talks with God. She is not necessarily on her knees in a closet or screaming prayers from a corner sidewalk. She is conversational, I believe, in a way of someone who loves another with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength.

And more importantly, she knows she is loved passionately and without judgement by the One she loves.

Being soaked in this knowledge infuses her with an innate ability to love lavishly. Her metaphorical table is constantly being set with her best plates and drink glasses whenever she meets a new person. She wraps the stranger and the friend in a warm embrace and she listens deeply and comforts richly. To know her is to know love.

When she says in conversation, “I was talking to God,” you can trust she was, in that constant casual way of friends who, because they know each other so well, seek constant communion. The fact that God speaks back should surprise no one.

It never surprises me.

What does surprise me at times, though, is the depth of insight that she receives from the Creator of all things. There are times that the word spoken “just for her” is so profound that it transcends just her own life circumstances.

And I am still reeling from her last communication received in her life of prayer conversation.

My friend has been going through a relational situation for years with someone she loves with all her heart…someone whose life is characterized by issues beyond his own control in many ways. Someone for whom she would willingly give up her life.

Someone for whom she has literally endangered her own health and safety.

Because she has felt so helpless to know what the “right thing” is to do, she has been sharing her heart with God for a decade or more, wanting so badly to discern the best way through. She has not asked for the struggle to be lifted, because she is a woman who never gives up on anyone. A woman of great courage.

But she has sought counsel and direction from an omnipotent Creator.

A few days ago she shared that in her latest time of conversation, she kept asking for help in knowing how to proceed and kept listening for a answer that would help her best serve her commitment to love no matter what the circumstances. And God, as always came through.

You need to let him go, or he will never find his way to Me.

That was it. And that was all that was needed. Because this woman, whose capacity to love is limitless, would never have enough love to equal the love that was waiting in God’s embrace. Because sometimes human love is not enough.

And sometimes, the greatest act of love is to let go.

Ever since our phone call, I have been haunted by that Sacred voice speaking into my own life. Who are the people in my life that I love too much to release to a greater, more redemptive love? What are the situations that I seek to control out of the best intentioned love that need to be released to a universal source whose wisdom has no boundaries?

And what is it in me that is drifting in uncertain, treacherous waters that needs to be released to the One who calls the sea to be still.

As Rilke always reminds me, it is going to have to be enough for right now to love the questions…to let them permeate my heart and cleanse my soul.

But in my wondering, I was reminded of a conversation with an elderly woman of great wisdom years ago who had endured so much in her family. She shared openly of her struggles with various children and a less than perfect husband. I asked her how she handled all of her concerns. Her answer was immediate.

I put ‘em in a box and give ‘em to Jesus.

My friend has been given this insight. And since she shared her wisdom,

I am out searching for a large enough box.