Category: Black Cherry

My very favorite things

Love Like Manure

It’s Valentine’s Day and I couldn’t be more excited! I love this holiday. For a lot of people it’s a messy, pressure filled excuse to be guilted into spending money. For some it’s an anger or depression inducing reminder that they’re alone. For others it’s just one more thing to try and remember in the muddle of kids, work and home responsibilities. For me it is a celebration of glory, mystery, joy and wonder. As the possibility of romantic love seems to slip ever further from my path I find myself cherishing the love around me more and more. I have lit up at all the expressions of love that my friends have posted on social media today. On this day my feeds are full of loving spouses, proud parents and hopeful significant others who are taking a moment to applaud the loves in their lives and I am delighted to be allowed to bask in the glow that love adds to the world. Love truly is a gift from God and I so appreciate seeing it flourishing around me. To horribly misquote Horace Vandergelder and Dolly Levi (who were talking about money)…Love, pardon the expression, is like manure. It’s not worth a thing unless it’s spread around, encouraging young things to grow. Spread it around and see what blooms!

This was my Facebook memory today, from 5 years ago, and it feels appropriate to add it here: I haven’t posted a soapbox rant in a while and figured that today is a good day for one. I’mma let you talk but first…dear fellow single people, today is Valentine’s day. It happens every year. It comes and it goes and will do the same next year. Today is not “single awareness day”, “anti-valentines day”, “extortion day” or any of the other myriad names that float around protesting it. Get over it!!! As a 40-something year old, never been kissed, virgin I consider myself a pro at this being single thing and I have to tell you that I love Valentines day. I don’t get flowers, chocolates or jewelry, in fact, this day solidly excludes me but I still love it. Lemme tell you why I love Valentines Day…in this era of extreme selfishness, misogyny, abuse as entertainment, perversion of all that is sacred, terrorism and other vast and ever darkening evil; we set aside an entire day to celebrate love! All my life I’ve been told that the greatest of these is love and God is love. I’ve also seen that the deepest, blackest darkness cannot hold back even the tiniest flicker of light so who am I to pout, pity party and play poor me when I could add my little flicker to celebrate something so great, beautiful and powerful. I get that today is specifically about romantic love but that gives me all the more reason to want to celebrate and honor it. I want to see my friends being blown away by expressions of love and do everything in my power to see love flourish and blossom because I love them. I’m no more single today than I was yesterday or will be tomorrow so why not celebrate the very thing that I most want to experience. If the day ever comes when love finds me you can bet I’ll be unabashedly celebrating every day but if I don’t practice celebrating love now I won’t be any good at it then. Nothing good has ever been born of self-absorbed, bitter attitudes. Today I will be honoring, celebrating, rejoicing over every pic of red roses, romantic dinners and smooches that show up around me; remembering that for a moment love is pushing back darkness and I will bask in that hopeful light. Happy Valentine’s Day ❤

Bloom

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I love this season of the year. I wander through garden centers and nurseries. I dream of what I could do with unlimited resources and expansive property. I smell all the glorious fragrances and drink in the mix of colors. I pick up a small pack of pansies, pay the bill and I go home. I am content with the mix of riotous color in my hand and full of dreams for springs to come. Contentment blooms!

A life inspired by a guy named Keith

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My dad was a guy named Keith. It’s not one of the most common names but if you think about it you probably know at least one.  Keith is a Scottish name but that’s about all you find when you look it up, usually it says “unknown meaning” or simply “place name”. I know all about what Keith means because a Keith gave me my place in this world. I’m not referring merely to the fact that he was my biological father; I’m talking about the way he gave shape to who I am. Along with my precious mother, he gave me roots so deep, we’re talking center of the earth deep, that no matter where I go in this world I can be completely at home, grounded and fully myself. He also gave me a pretty substantial pair of wings that have, many times, lifted me beyond the mundane into realms of fulfilled dreams and amazing visions of futures yet to be visited. My Keith was a teller of story, a spinner of tales. As a very small girl he would play with my brother and I weaving fancies of a brilliant damsel finding her way out of distress and valiant heroes conquering all. He taught me that I could be both a princess and a scrapper. Every evening after dinner he would wrestle with us while Mom cleaned up. We would squeal and giggle and he wouldn’t let go until we’d either cried “Uncle” or fought our way out. He didn’t care if we failed at something as long as we had given it our best and he was quick to help us find ways to tackle the mountain again so that failure wasn’t our hallmark. He taught us to sing and to love music. He taught us to worship because it was our life’s call to worship God. He taught me how to change a tire, frame a wall and measure twice cut once. He watched Jane Austen films with me (he called them “bonnet movies”) and would tear up at the happy ending every time. He was strong but so incredibly gentle and he gave solidity to a fluid world. For what I thought was some inexplicable reason God called me to move home in my late 20’s for what I thought was a going backward. It was an intense internal battle to give up the perceived freedom of my “own” life to move back home but, thanks in no small part to my deep roots, I obeyed and returned to Keith and Bev’s roof. In what was God’s greatest gift to me so far, I had a season of precious time with my dad, the guy who called me “Baby doll” and “Punkin’ seed”. We drove to work together almost every day and talked about everything; life, family, God, hopes, disappointments, fears, faith. We laughed until we cried and cried until we healed. Twelve years ago, today, October 17th he died of a pulmonary embolism which was due to trauma from what the doctor called “one of the worst brain bleeds he’d ever seen”. He spent two weeks in the head trauma unit making miraculous recovery after miraculous recovery. He beat the doctor’s prognosis day after day. He sat up and started talking, he remembered us and, although he wasn’t completely in control of his faculties, he still had his sense of humor. I spent every day for those two weeks sitting by his bed. I would go in the morning before work and just be there. He always knew that I was there, even though I didn’t say anything and he would wake up and tell me he loved me. He reminded me that I had a purpose and that I had to pursue God no matter what. We thought he was going to make a complete miraculous recovery, that God was going to restore him but God had a different plan. He died 10 days before my 29th birthday and one of my most precious possessions is his final signature. He scrawled it for his therapist the day before he died and my beautiful grieving mother taped it into my birthday card so that I wouldn’t have a card unsigned by him on that day.  I still have the last note he ever wrote to me in my office so that I can see it every day. It’s a tiny yellow post-it that says “Have a fantastic day, Punkin’ Seed.” He tucked it into my lunch when I was 28 years old. When I was little he would carry me to bed, kiss my forehead, pray with me and sing me to sleep. The night before he had what would turn out to be a life-ending brain aneurysm he, for the first time in many years, came into my room, tucked me into bed, kissed me on the forehead, prayed for me and sang me to sleep. I still, after a dozen years, don’t understand why he didn’t continue in this life but his fingerprints are all over the framework of my life. I hear him in my brother Jon’s humor. I see him in my brother Joe’s hands. I feel him when my brother Ben leads worship. I know that the reason that I am who I am, the reason that I was able to stand losing him, is because he built me well. Those roots and wings all stretch toward a Heavenly Father that Keith spent his life pointing me to. I am an echo of a man who made a loud sound on this earth but I’m not a diminishing sound. I’m getting louder and stronger the farther out I go and when the sound comes back to where it started from you’ll get an awesome sense of a life inspired by a guy named Keith.

What’s in a name?

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“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet;” or so we’ve been led to believe by the Bard and many imitators. I’ve always disagreed with this thought. I believe that a name is of the utmost importance. There is something very powerful about names. A name gives the framework to an idea and substance to a feeling. When we can’t remember a name we’re left at a bit of a loss. Names indicate value and ascribe place. A name can be endearing or demeaning, can cultivate love or demoralize. Names have power! When we name something we give substance to that name. Our deep honor and responsibility is to determine whether those names bring life or death. (Proverbs 18:21)

I have been thinking a lot about what we name ourselves; about the difference between a description and a definition. If I were to ask you to describe a something or a someone you would tell me about the attributes of the object. For example, here is a description of myself: I am of average height and above average weight with curly brown hair and blue eyes, I am loyal, sarcastic, honest, determined, encouraging, funny, compassionate, cynical, and passionate about my beliefs and the people I love. As you read the above description you should have begun to get a picture of my character and personality. However, if someone asks me about myself my first response is usually about my marital status (single) and my job (admin). Have you ever noticed how quick we are to describe ourselves as though we’re filing tax returns? These words give an impression of me but they are not me. They give form but they are not the whole.

My definition, what lays down my essential nature, is far deeper than my description. You see my description is apt to change. If I color my hair, lose or gain weight, get married, change careers, become more solemn or take up a new hobby my description changes to reflect these differences. My definition is found outside myself, far beyond myself. Here is just a glimpse at my definition: I am God’s, redeemed, called by God’s name, formed by Him and created for His glory (Isaiah 43:1,7), I am known (Jeremiah 1:5), I am treasured (Deuteronomy 7:6), I am holy and dearly loved (Colossians 3:12), I am chosen (I Thessalonians 1:4), I am loved (John 3:16) and on and on. My truest self, what I have been named, is found not in my description but in my definition. The words above are my name…redeemed, loved, known, holy, chosen. I keep using myself as an example but this applies to you as well! We are so much more than how we describe ourselves.

I was recently watching a movie where several armies were coming into battle and they knew their foes by the banners that were carried. As soon as they saw the flags hovering over the soldiers they knew their foe by name. I have noticed an alarming tendency for us to allow our descriptors to become our definers, to become our names, our banners. I have friends who, like me, are single but not just on their tax forms. Singleness has become their name. It permeates every facet of their life and looms over them like a banner. Every choice is made through the eye of their singleness. The same could be said about some of my friends who are divorced or married. I have seen descriptions like grumpy or moody become someone’s name. I have seen others who have not allowed themselves the blessing of grief because they have allowed happiness to become their name. All of their choices and attributes are encompassed by a mere description. Every joy is tainted and every sorrow magnified because their name has been changed to something fleeting, temporal and unsteady. The banner over us, our name, should be something far greater and more sure. I love this description from Song of Solomon 2:4b (from the classic amplified version) “his banner over me was love [for love waved as a protecting and comforting banner over my head when I was near him].”.

I have come to love the song Good, Good Fatherª for its powerful declaration of name. The chorus is the essence of simplicity:

“You’re a Good, Good Father
It’s who you are, it’s who you are, it’s who you are
And I’m loved by you
It’s who I am, it’s who I am, it’s who I am”

That is my essential nature. It is my name, my definition. I am loved by God! As I think about it I am even more convinced that Shakespeare was wrong. My character or fragrance will reflect my name because my name defines me. If I allow myself to be defined as a thistle I am going to reflect that definition by developing prickles over time but if I know, absolutely, that my name is rose then it doesn’t matter if you describe me as a skunk-cabbage or thistle. I am a rose and my fragrance will be that of a rose. Over time, you will see that no matter how I am described I can be no less than a rose. It is who I am!

No matter what your tax form, driver’s license or resume says about you, you have a name. Learn to call yourself by that name and you will find that you exude those defining qualities; treasured, chosen, known, holy, loved etc. You’ll find that your description will change too. You may start hearing things like joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful and so on. You’ll probably find yourself beginning to name others with the name that’s been given to you but we’ll delve into that thought next time.

ªAnthony Brown | Pat Barrett
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Whimsy, Wonder and Worship

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When I was little I loved spending summer evenings outside catching lightning bugs (or bug lightnings as my brother, Jon, used to call them). My mom would give us a Mason jar to put them in and my dad would punch holes in the lid so the lightning bugs could breath. I would carefully position grass so that their temporary jar home was soft and so that they could hide but we would still see them. I loved turning off the lights and watching the glow come from the little jar. I remember my dad whispering “guys come see the fireworks” and we would gather on the front porch or the deck of the pool and just watch the lights that filled the trees and fields around our house. I have to say that nature’s little dancing lights are still my favorite fireworks show. My dad also taught me to love the early summer evenings when the frogs would sing. Whenever he heard them he would quiet everyone and we would just sit and listen for as long as we could. The flurry of moving lights coupled with the musical chirps and croaking still stirs my heart with a heady mix of memories and wonder. A few years ago I had the enchanting pleasure of getting to know a wonderful young lady from Northern Ireland. Watching her experience the whimsical dance of fireflies for the first time was one of the great joys of my life. I feel that same joy when my nieces or nephews beg to go outside and catch the little glowing orbs that float through the humid summer air or stop to listen to the rhythm of the frog and bug symphonies. I felt that same joy when I had the delightful honor of seeing some beloved Hawaiian friends experience snow for the first time. There is something precious in noticing the little graces that hover on the edges of our days. Whether it is a snowflake, a glowing insect or some other miniature miracle I encourage you to take time to notice and appreciate how fleeting and glorious these treasures are. What a marvelous God to make snowflakes so delicate, fireflies so luminescent and frog song so melodious. He could have made it all sterile and perfunctory but He gave us beauty instead. Beauty is not a necessity, it is a gift. I hope that wherever you find yourself you see the beauty in the small wonders and are filled with joy, delight, inspiration and praise to the loving Creator who fills our lives with wonder, if only we are willing to see it.