Ponderings from the Pond 5: Empty

This time it’s strange.

Normally. I feel suffocated.  Go outside. To breath.  Feel alive again.  Go out empty. Needing filling.

But, this day, I stroll outside.  Man made walls. With both hands full. Not empty.

Camera in one hand. Disappointment in the other.

Waking up to.  Coffee creamer.  Non-existent.

Settling.  With Chai Tea and light Vanilla Soy Milk.  Instead.

Struggling.  After a week of….no rest.

But, I push away my physical yearning.  For coffee.  And get outside.  Despite myself.

This time.  Not expanding.  But shrinking.  In the sun. And silence.  Piercing through my lungs. After the, “me-rise” rising.  For far too long.

And I love the warmth.  On sunny fall mornings.  The way all earth gets ready to die….and accepts it.  Knows it. Beckons it.  Completely.

Coincidence?  Each time opening.  Bible. I keep seeing. “Humility”.

And though nature seems to shrink ever so willingly….Scripture tells us to consciously…..“Humble ourselves.” (Dan 10:12)

Purposefully.  Willingly.  Despite societies reward to rise.

And I keep walking. Sun peering through the evergreens, touching my Chai tea.  Giving it. Life.  Flavor.  An awakening. All its own.  The way grass gets touched with morning moisture.

From above.

And I refer to what I read earlier.  “Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the heavens.” (Dan 12:3)

But, without humility….how can we shine?  Honestly?  Completely?  Especially in the shadows of our own homes?

And I see them trapped. The feathered ones.  Me. Beckoning them from their home.  But, they. For some reason.  Like their pinned up shelter.

Even when I open the door.  They hunker.  In a corner.  And it takes fear and a sense of danger (as I make loud noises)  to lead them out.  Out into the light.  The light where freedom lies.

And I wonder.  Are we like that?  Shrinking in our pens of self.  When a whole world awaits?  And the sun/Son has so much more for us?

I finally get them out.

Then, keep on walking.

Then, I see dead leaves.  Hanging…
And hanging…
And hanging on.  

Until. 

Finally. 

Symphonies of them fall.  

Upon the earth.  

Somehow knowing that they…..Apart from God…..Have no use.

Trunks of youth not carrying them.  Any longer.  

And it’s o.k.

A friend’s daughter.  Floats through my thoughts.  In labor for days.  Couldn’t deliver her baby.  Apart.  From surgery.

And how I waited.  All day.  All night.  To hear if both mother and baby were o.k.

And they are.

But, how sometimes.  Humility is like that.  It requires.  Laying there.   Still.  Without any effort from our part.  And letting The Doctor remove what is in us.  A sort of C-section of our heart.

And how pushing.  And prying.  And exerting ourselves.  Only hinders.  The doctor.  And His Majesty.

Then, as I am leaving.  I see it.  A ball peaking. Up.  From under the grass.

The grass we left long so deer could make trails to eat apples.  From the trees.  Near our house.

And I am drawn to its texture….not because it is oddly sitting way out in the field.  In silence.  In our pasture.

But, for some other reason.  I can’t quite explain.

And I question.  It’s meaning.

Its texture smooth.  Its shape round.  This ball that the dew of the morning has slipped off of.  Freely.  Tucked in creation as if resting for the evening.

Or a lifetime.

Safe.  As wild grass.  Like a shelter.  Grows around it.

And then, I get it.  That is humility.  “No sharp edges”.  

Being buffered by the Father.  By trials.  

Letting Him speak to us.  Time and time again….

Until we are smooth.  Undone.  Softened so much……that even the rain and the weather just rolls right off of us…..onto the ground that’s beneath us.  The place where creation can absorb it.  Doing with it what it may.

And I want to be like this.  This soccer ball.  Lost out in the wild grass.

And slowly.  Yes, ever so slowly….I am getting it.

Humility…

• Like chickens unleashed.  Molting from childhood.  To maturity.
• Like the roundness of leather. With no rough edges.  Hidden in the grass.
• Like leaves that realize that they (apart from God) are dead. 
• Like the baby that cannot have life and breath.  Separate from God’s hand.
• Like the smallness of self. Realizing and fully comprehending the grandness of His wealth.
• Like the applying and attributing.  Submitting.  And committing.  Ourselves.  To God.

 

Slowly strolling back.  Through the overgrown grass.  Uncut by man’s mower of doubt.  And I want to be like that too.  Wild in the sea of freedom.  Swaying to the sounds of The Father.

My tea.  Tasting ever sweeter.

Mug now empty.

Heart much fuller.

And the fact that the creamer was empty when I looked in the refrigerator this morning….

Doesn’t even matter.  Now.  In the light of the eternal.

Opening the door.

Not wanting to forget.  How small I am.  Trying to hold on.  Holding onto the grandness.  And fullness.  And all consuming power of His love. And goodness.

With my one empty hand.

Forever reaching.

(Linking w/ Shanda, Women Living Well, Emily, Ann @ A Holy Experience )