Heather Holleman's Blog, page 133

The Smallest Little Things

I continue the enormous task of weeding this small garden plot. I discover some teeny-tiny shoots growing in the spots I thought I previously weeded so carefully. Taking my weeding tool, I surround the tiny leaf–only to realize a vast network of thick roots I had overlooked. For this one tiny plant, I simply didn’t weed deep enough or thoroughly.

I think about the task of uprooting sin in our own lives and how the tiniest evidence of sin–attitudes, ways of thinking that seem harmless, things we watch, gossip, etc.–actually represent vast and often deeply rooted networks of unbelief and idolatry. I’ve always been told to examine the “sin beneath the sin” to uproot such things, but when I’m actually gardening, actually digging to see deep and gnarled roots, I can see more clearly the entanglement of sin and the power of images like not having a “root of bitterness” (Hebrews 12:15).

But I also see how I can let good things take root in my heart as I “sow to please the spirit” (Galatians 6:8) and reap a great harvest of joy, peace, and righteousness. I want those roots to go down deep and overtake the entire landscape of my soul.

Deep in Weeds

My weeding continues. I uncover two plants that returned from last year: my Lemon Thyme and German Thyme. Once I remove all the weeds covering them, I enjoy the beauty and fragrance of the lovely Lemon Thyme. I use it all summer when cooking with fish or chicken or in soups, and I have so much of it now that it’s time to harvest.

I decide to freeze most of the thyme, but I keep a bouquet back to fill the kitchen with that wonderful lemon smell.

It’s such a living with flair moment to weed a vegetable garden. It’s such a symbol of the landscape of the heart and what it take to prepare the soil, uncover beauty, foster growth, and then harvest. Each season has its own lesson and rewards. Each step reveals a gift for the soul. Today’s gift:

Sometimes you must pull many things out of your life in order to discover again the beautiful thing growing underneath. You need a season of clearing out, of overturning the soil, and letting some air and sunshine in.

A Little at a Time

My vegetable garden no longer looks like anything but a plot of thick weeds. I glance at the calendar. In two weeks, the overnight frost threat ends, and I’ll plant tomatoes, eggplant, basil, all sorts of beans, and peppers. But first, I must prepare the soil and weed, weed, weed. It’s time. It’s finally warm enough to sit for long periods of time in the garden. It will take time, but I realize the power of plotting the ground and working on a small square each day. When I look at the whole landscape, it’s overwhelming. But if I focus on what’s right before my eyes and hands, it’s manageable.

It’s this way with anything in life.

5 Ways This Has and Is Making Us Grow: Creativity, Perseverance, Spiritual Depth, Positivity, and Adaptability

Yesterday, my husband mentioned to our ministry team all the ways he’s observed what we’ve had to become these past nine weeks. He mentioned these five key traits: creativity, perseverance, spiritual depth, positivity, adaptability.

I’ve grown! You’ve grown! We are growing. Tell your children!

Over the past nine weeks of this pandemic, I think about creativity and innovation: making meals with limited groceries, throwing parties virtually, connecting with family and friends in new ways, and designing course material in online formats.

I think about perseverance. I think about the long, scary, and sad days. I think about the day-after-day fear in the early days. I think about the day I learned about school closures and how the months ahead stretched out into uncertainty and loss. But every day, we woke up. We took showers. We drank coffee. We pressed into the day. We walked every day with our neighbors–probably over 100 miles by now. Day after day.

The spiritual depth I’ve observed in others and see growing now in myself might be the greatest fruit of this pandemic. I’ve never before in my life prayed as I have, read God’s word as eagerly and desperately as I have, and joined with others in daily corporate prayer as I have. I’ve logged in to online church with more zeal. I’ve worshiped with more passion. I cried out to the Lord with more urgency.

I’ve had to enact the command to be joyful in all circumstances as God’s will for me in Christ Jesus (1 Thessalonians 5:16-17). I chose positivity, and it was hard. It was hard. I played music in the kitchen; I pointed out the beauty of springtime; I reported the wonder of what I’d learned in God’s word; I laughed over John Krasinski’s Some Good News; I planned movie nights and delicious treats and practiced hopeful speech. I watched the news and reiterated God’s sovereign control of global events. I lamented while also choosing hope–just like Jeremiah in Lamentations 3. I refused to complain (on most days) and asked the Holy Spirit to help me “do everything without arguing and complaining” (Philippians 2).

And the new me? She’s adaptable. I’m not usually this way. I’m a planner who depends upon future certainties. I don’t like to change my schedule or deviate from the course. That was the old me. Now, I wake up and think that nobody knows what a day will bring. The rigid me now bends and shifts to what the situation invites.

I told my Penn State students to add a line to their resumes to capture what they learned during this pandemic. They might include an entire section called COVID-19 and tell employers how they seamlessly transitioned to online collaborative learning environments. Tell them how they exhibited hourly creativity and innovation, perseverance, spiritual depth, positivity, and adaptability.

This has been hard. This has been life-changing. But look what we have learned.

Keep Raising Your Hand

I’ve been listening to all the graduation advice, and I love what I heard from a teacher recently: Keep raising your hand.

For some reason, the words brought tears to my eyes. I remembered all those times I was too afraid to raise my hand when I needed or wanted something or when I had a question. Then, one day, I stopped caring what the others thought: I raised my hand. I asked questions. I kept asking questions. I kept raising my hand.

I raised my hand: To agree. To volunteer. To vote. To ask another question. To add to the conversation. To dissent. To be counted. To alert others. To offer help. To take on projects bigger than myself.

I raised my hand. In a million ways since graduating–from high school, to college, to graduate school–I raised my hand.

There were a few times I didn’t, and the memories burn in my mind. I wanted to speak up but didn’t. I wanted to nominate myself for a role but didn’t. I wanted to try out for a play but didn’t. I wanted to object but didn’t. I needed help on a math problem but didn’t (to this day, I’m terrible at math). I feared the crowd. I feared shame. Those times you don’t get back.

But mostly–thankfully!– I learned to raise my hand and keep raising my hand.

So I love that graduation advice: Keep raising your hand.

The First Mother’s Day Post on Live with Flair

I enjoyed reading this post from ten years ago. I think of it every single Mother’s Day. I hope you enjoy it too.

Original post on May 9, 2010 called “A Gift for Every Mother You Know.”

Today was chilly, windy (hair in my face no matter which way I pushed it around), and gloomy. We drove out into the country to a far-off nursery to buy some berry bushes for my latest gardening adventure. And when I say country, I mean country. The roads were unmarked, narrow, and tumbling over the landscape like an afterthought. A creek skipped by on the right, and cows fed in fields on the left.  They were so close to my window I thought I might reach out and pat a nose.

Eventually, we arrived at huge nursery.  We left the car, met the wind and cold, and, hunching down and running, we slipped into the first greenhouse. Immediately, warmth.  My daughters sighed with pleasure and stretched their arms.  Everything here seemed abundant: the moist air, the fragrance of blooming things, the tangle of vines and hanging plants overhead. I looked at all the gorgeous flowers and thought of the ripping winds outside. They’d have never made it without this greenhouse. Standing there, seeing that little Eden of beauty set against the gloom and fierce wind, I thought of—not flowers—but people. More specifically, I thought of mothers.

I think of the moms I see that remind me of myself back then. I see the vacant stare, the lifeless smile, the numb conversation of a mom who is just trying to get a warm shower and go to the bathroom without somebody crying. Beneath the exhaustion, the stained t-shirt, and the post-pregnancy figure, there’s a woman in there–vibrant, sassy, powerful.  There’s something in her that wants to bloom. 

If only she had a greenhouse–a little paradise to keep her safe and warm so she could grow too.  If only we could create the conditions that help her put down strong roots, stretch high out, and bloom, bloom, bloom. 

What does a mom need?  She needs to be protected and nourished so she can fully develop into the woman she’s supposed to be.  She needs friends who ask her about her ideas and her dreams; she needs a community who will spur her on and enable her to take risks in any direction she chooses.  A mom needs people who don’t limit her scope, who don’t assume anything about her, and who recognize that she is a growing thing–like a tender vine in a greenhouse.  Our children aren’t the only people that need to grow in our homes.  Babies aren’t the only people that need swaddling. 

If a mom doesn’t grow and ripen, she shrivels.  Moms need communities that value her spiritual, physical, social, emotional, and (if she wishes) her professional growth. 

As I stood in the greenhouse today, I thought of how much I want moms everywhere to live with flair.  A great Mother’s Day gift (that we might give all year to every mom we know) is the mindset that the mother you see wants to grow too.  The roads are unmarked for her; she’s out in a far country.  Motherhood can be her time to shrivel or bloom.  Get her to the greenhouse!

Time to Plant

The Plumcot will go to its home in the garden in the next week or so! It’s a persistent plant. It began to grow in the refrigerator where I had thrown the seed from a Plumcot pit because of the chilling requirement.

I had forgotten about it until its long roots forced my attention as they stretched from the seed out into the cold fridge. Then, I planted it in potting soil left over from my daughter’s succulent garden.

And it grew and grew and grew.

Some of you out there can’t be stopped. You’re growing no matter what. You’re growing in odd conditions, with little attention. But you’re going to plant yourself in the sure soil and light of God’s love.

And you’ll grow. You’ll grow into a marvelous life.

Ten Times Better

This morning I noted something special as I began the book of Daniel. By the way, I love the book of Daniel because he seems like a graduate student in many ways, and I related to him deeply when I studied this book as a student.

Daniel was, after all, brought in to learn “the language and literature” of the Babylonians. I always chuckled when I read that as a PhD candidate in English literature. I also took seriously this book as a model for how to live and trust God in what felt like a dark valley of graduate school. I felt like Daniel.

As we quickly learn, God gives Daniel and his three friends the “knowledge and understanding of all kinds of literature and learning.” This I wanted. This I needed. I didn’t care about understanding visions and dreams, but I noted that God indeed gave this kind of gift to people. Why not me?

I noticed how, with God’s gift of wisdom and understanding, Daniel and his friends were “ten times better” than those considered wisest in the whole kingdom. I wanted this! Who wouldn’t? I can see my ambition and need to succeed back then.

But what is the ten times better for? What could it mean to live in the power of God who makes things ten times better?

Reading Daniel afresh this morning, I wrote in my journal that idea of being “ten times better” because of God’s presence and gifting into any situation. But I remembered it is never about my self-advancement. It’s about Jesus and what He wants to do. So I wondered: Could God make my marriage, parenting, friendships, and work ten times better? Could God make my humble intervention into the darkest parts of culture ten times better because of the knowledge and wisdom He alone gives? Could I serve ten times better? Love ten times better? Sacrifice ten times better?

And in case you’re wondering about pride, comparison, or even narcissism, Daniel was a man of wisdom and tact (2:14), of persevering prayer (2:18), and of pointing all credit to the Lord. In fact, Daniel reiterates that “no man” can do what only God was doing in the situation into which God called him. He even tells the king that God’s work in Daniel’s life is more about what the king needs than about displaying Daniel’s great wisdom (2:30).

Daniel lives a ten times better kind of life–not for his only glory, but for the Lord’s.

I think of how my youngest daughter often prayed that the day would be “better than expected” since her expectations of school were always so low. What if we thought of the best something could be and then asked God to make it ten times better? What if it’s a situation that’s so despondent that we would have to give glory to God alone?

Let’s ask for ten times better.

Becoming a Generous Shepherd

This morning, I’m leading a devotion on some parts of the book of Jeremiah that have resonated with me. I love, for example, the great promise of how the Lord cares for His people. He says, “I will give you shepherds after my own heart, who will lead you with knowledge and understanding” (Jeremiah 3:15). It occurs to me that, at my age, I’m the shepherd. I’m not the dependent child who must keep searching for shepherds. At some point, we become the shepherd for others.

I think deeply about what it means to let Jesus live out His Good Shepherd nature within me. And today I think about His great generosity. He gives His time and attention to undeserving and even annoying people. He gives His love. He gives His very life.

I ask the Holy Spirit to make me more like Jesus with His shepherd heart for people. Might we lead well, with knowledge and understanding. Might we care for others with a generous heart like Him.

An Infinite Variety of Ways

This morning I read one of my all-time favorite devotions from Hannah Whitall Smith in God is Enough. She describes a way to think about God’s grace because, as she writes, “so few people have any conception of what the grace of God really is.” She contends that “to say it is free unmerited favor expresses only a little of its meaning.”

I couldn’t wait to read more. I’ve always thrown the word “grace” around without realizing the depth of the theology behind it. I cannot possibly grasp the real definition.

Hannah Whitall Smith then defines grace in a way that makes my heart sing, floods my soul with hope, and creates fresh conditions for worship. She writes this:

“[Grace] is the unhindered, wondrous, boundless love of God, poured out on us in an infinite variety of ways, without stint or measure, not according to our deserving, but according to His measureless heart of love.”

Grace is the unhindered, wondrous, boundless love of God, poured out on us in an infinite variety of ways, without stint or measure, not according to our deserving, but according to His measureless heart of love. --Hannah Whitall…
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To help us conceptualize what she means, Hannah Whitall Smith asks us to do this mental exercise: “Put together all the tenderest love you know of. . . the deepest you have ever felt and the strongest that has ever been poured out on you; heap on it all the love of all the loving human hearts in the world; then multiply it by infinity, and you will have a faint glimpse of the love and grace of God!”

I move into the day with clearer vision of a life rooted in the infinite love of God.