Heather Holleman's Blog, page 244

Crown of Thorns

I’m down by the creek, wandering and wondering. I’m hoping to find something–some nest, some egg, some fantastic creature. I peer deep into the rushing water, wanting. I feel like the naturalist E.O. Wilson when he writes from the water’s edge, “I also hoped for more. . . what exactly I could not say: something to enchant the rest of my life.”

Something to enchant the rest of my life. 

Defeated in the search, I make my way back to civilization. As I push away branches and tall shoots, looking one last time for something, anything, I come upon the strangest tree I’ve ever seen in my life. From the trunk, enormous thorns protrude; they jut out longer than my arm.

It’s some kind of locust–a honey locust or black locust–that grows in marshy areas. But I’ve never seen one in Pennsylvania.

I stand there, after all my searching and wandering, and I see Jesus’ crown of thorns. I stand there, suddenly in awe as I consider this particular Easter moment. I stand there, satisfied that in all of creation, I consider nothing more beautiful, astonishing, enchanting, and fulfilling as this reality of Jesus crucified and resurrected.

I stand there, enchanted for the rest of my life.

The Rain!

I’m so thankful for the rain last night. So thankful. Before, I complained all about the rain! In March, in rained so much, and I found myself ready for sun and warmth. April has delivered on both accounts. But with my allergies flaring and pollen floating about, stagnating, through our valley, I longed for rain again to wash through and settle all that pollen down.

The rain came last night. And I loved it for what it was doing to the pollen. I remember this blog’s theme that what I often most resent becomes an avenue for blessing. What I often resist is what I most need because of what God sees that I don’t see. This thing I don’t want last month becomes the very thing I rejoice over now.

What Destabilizes Identity?

I immensely dislike the verb destabilize. I seek stability; I don’t want anything to mess with my calm, inner world where I know who I am, what I stand for, and what I’m doing. But when an experience comes along that destabilizes me, I don’t know how to recover. I feel immediately disordered. I feel lost at sea, unsure and confused.

What unmoors us like this? I’ve been thinking of a few things:

When our work changes (we believe we are what we do)

When our health changes (we believe we are just bodies)

When our relationships change (we only know ourselves in relation to others)

When our location changes (we form identity based on geography)

When our impact changes (we see ourselves as valuable based on influence)

When our expectations are not met (we live in our future selves)

These dependent variables often change, and we cannot control them. But what endures? What stays unchanging and independent of our circumstances?

I think about God. I think about being made to worship and to become more like Christ. This unchanging position—as a worshipper and someone being sanctified—offers a permanency when everything else changes.

A Biblical Definition of Flourishing

I read in Psalm 53 how David contrasts a flourishing person to someone who instead boasts, deceives others, trusts in wealth, and uses power to bring others down. But then, David writes:

But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever. I will praise you forever for what you have done; in your name I will hope, for your name is good. I will praise you in the presence of your saints. 

I note the flourishing state of trusting God, praising God, and hoping in God. 

May we flourish today! More and more, may we grow up into trust, praise, and hope in God. 

Speaking Purpose Into Situations

Today my friend explains a translation of Jesus as “Wonderful Counselor” in Isaiah 9:6. Instead of thinking of counselor in the sense of giving advice or direction, the Hebrew words approach more closely the sense of “speaking purpose into” something. 

God speaks purpose into everything. He’s the Wonderful Counselor of directing meaning into what seems meaningless, random, unfair, or unnecessarily painful. 

I think about every situation and how God can bring Purpose no matter what. 

How wonderful!

Making Home More Homey

Today I remember my mother’s advice about engaging all the five senses to create a beautiful, restful space. She always talked about what people feel, taste, see, hear, and smell when they enter any room. Certain rooms had tinkling water fountains, treats arranged to enjoy, beautifully matched fabrics and artwork on the walls, soft textures on seats, and fragrant smells of fresh flowers.

I think about each space, and I especially enjoy the aspect of smelling and hearing. I think about music to play and new scents to spread around to help people enjoy every space.

The Ants and Peppermint Oil

Every spring, the ants return to the kitchen. Living so near the forest, we’re used to all kinds of welcomed insects and even an occasional playful field mouse visiting, but ants in the kitchen drive me crazy.

Not in my kitchen! 

I’ve been reading about a quick, pleasant, cost-effective, and natural way to rid your house of ants. I’m a skeptic, normally, but this time, I read of how peppermint oil masks an ant’s trail pheromones and inhibits their social communication, so they leave. They go elsewhere immediately to locations where they can communicate about food.

It sounds like science. It sounds like something I must try.

I can’t believe it.

The ants leave by afternoon. They haven’t returned.

I simply sprayed the peppermint oil and water combination on my counters, around the baseboards, and under my sink. No ants. And, strangely, no ladybugs, no spiders, and no other forest insects.

I think about the wonder of ants and the unseen communication by pheromones. How much else is happening that I cannot see and know nothing about? How much more can I learn in this amazing world?

Meanwhile, my house smells like a candy cane.

And I’m off to read more about trail pheromones.

Explaining the Wonder of a Nest with Eggs

I cannot wait to find all the spring nests. Each year, I track the Robin, Northern Cardinal, Blue Jay, Sparrow, and Mourning Dove, but this year, I’m sure I’ll finally find the Mallard Duck’s nest by the secret vernal pond. What a joy! I can hardly describe it.

My favorite book as a child was The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B. White. I spent so much time alone on the banks of Little Hunting Creek that I felt just like Sam Beaver in the woods of western Canada. I pick up the book again, and I read Sam’s entry in his notebook (I also kept a notebook). He writes:

“I don’t know of anything in the entire world more wonderful to look at than a nest with eggs in it. An egg, because it contains life, is the most perfect thing there is. It is beautiful and mysterious. An egg is a far finer thing than a tennis ball or a cake of soap. A tennis ball will always be just a tennis ball. A cake of soap will always be just a cake of soap–until it gets so small nobody wants it and they throw it away. But an egg will someday be a living creature. A swan’s egg will open and out will come a little swan. A nest is almost as wonderful and mysterious as an egg. . . “

Today, I consider the building of cozy, perfect nests (who knows how they know how to do it?) and the hatching of eggs (how do they know how to hatch?). I consider the mysterious, secret, unseen process. I consider new life, resurrection, and the miracle of transformation of one thing to another—something growing and waiting to break free

and fly.

 

The Joy of Spring

I can hardly describe the joy of anticipation: the Robins hop around the yard; the Northern Cardinals return to build their annual nest in the Winterberry, the Doves scope out the pines for nesting possibilities; the rabbits journey to chomp the backyard weeds and raise their family by the back deck. 

And I lean in, peering into the wonder of pink buds on the Weeping Cherry. 

Oh, this Pennsylvania spring!

When Meeting a Stranger

This morning in the elevator in the parking garage, a complete stranger says, “I could’ve taken the stairs.”

I say, “Well, it’s good to conserve energy!”

She says, “And I need it!”

And I say, “Me too, which is why I’m on the way to get coffee.”

I want to cry out: Come with me! Let’s be friends! I’ll not walk stairs with you! 

I can’t help it. I love people. 

She says, “I don’t drink coffee.”

And my brain does this: 

Why doesn’t she drink coffee? 

How does she have her morning Bible reading plan without coffee? 

Does she read the Bible? 

Oh my goodness! Does she have a Bible? 

What does she do for energy if lacking both coffee and the Holy Spirit? 

And, perhaps peripherally, how will this new friendship work if she doesn’t like coffee? Where will we go to talk about her new Bible and relationship with Jesus if we aren’t in a coffee shop? 

I’m ahead of myself. 

I start laughing at myself the evangelist, the extrovert, the friend to strangers. I realize my own overbearing mind. 

I smile and tell her to have a nice day. 

Maybe tomorrow, if I see her again, I’ll ask more about life without coffee.