The transplanted tree

Hi, Readers -- A dear friend recently told me she hadn't been getting updates to my blog. I wanted to make sure all of you who followed my blog here or had subscribed to get email notifications know that my blog has moved: http://theflourishingtree.com.

Please visit my new page, where you can find an easy-to-use email subscription field. (You will need to fill out the new one, as I can't transfer your email subscription for you.) I look forward to seeing you in my new virtual garden!

If you have this page bookmarked, be sure to update your bookmark to the new page, too. Thanks so much for reading.

Fig season is a long way off

From the archives ... my very first post on this blog. As I edit to make the big move mentioned in Wednesday's post, this post somehow decided it wanted to be first in the list again. So here it is. Enjoy, and look for a new post from me next week -- announcing a new home for the blog.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My minister, Ned Hill, spoke this last Sunday about his love of figs ... and his inability to turn down the offer of some fresh figs from a stranger on a park bench in DC. The two of them conversed for a bit, and then, seemingly out of the blue, the stranger said, "My God, you're a preacher!" Turns out the stranger was a Rabbi, and he could recognize one of his own kind.

Well, all of this made me crave figs, and we're still dealing with a frigidly cold winter and the forecast for more of the white stuff coming our way. Dried figs aren't really going to satisfy the craving, and so I'll just have to wait patiently and, instead, fill myself up with stories about fig trees from the Bible.

There are two main reasons I'm talking about craving figs here. One is to tout a great new book by Lysa TerKeurst called Made to Crave, where she invites women (and men, too) to hold on to the truth that "we were made to crave ... God, not food." So while I'll have to wait a few months to satisfy my craving for fresh figs, I can satisfy my need for fig stories and what they say about God's truth for my life by turning to the Bible.

That's the second reason I'm writing about figs in the middle of winter. I want to introduce you to this new blog: Flourishing Tree. I hope you'll read along as I share my journey through the Bible to explore the ways trees spring up as metaphors for how we should live our lives.  Along with Biblical encounters, I'll share with you some other ways my life is flourishing: through writing, running, reading, art, music and more. And I hope you'll do the same -- the seeds you share here may be just what another reader needs to transform into a flourishing tree, too!

Blessings,
Hope

A Valentine's ode to trees

Valentine's day is just around the corner, and I've been reminded in the last few days of a few of the reasons why I love trees.

One reminder came yesterday in The Diane Rehm Show. Rehm invited a panel of experts to discuss the state of the cacao tree -- which provides us those lovely pods filled with beans that, when fermented and roasted, are transformed into a favorite Valentine's gift: chocolate.

Save the chocolate trees
Scientists are hard at work trying to learn more about cacao trees so they can help farmers around the world produce stronger, healthier cacao trees -- ones more resistant to climate change, drought, pests and disease. They're doing this in part by mapping the genome of known varieties of cacao trees, and by exploring the Amazon to find wild, uncultivated strands that may be able to infuse greater genetic diversity to the current pool of cultivated chocolate trees.

Blights have taken out swaths of cacao trees, and changes in climate are currently threatening to shift some of the prime growing regions in Africa. Why is this a big deal? Because 60-70% of the world's chocolate comes from a relatively small region in the African countries of Ghana, Cote d'Ivoire, Nigeria, Liberia and Cameroon. The cacao trees there are not all that genetically diverse and are therefore more vulnerable to the same diseases and pests.

According to the show's panel, 95 percent of the world's cacao farms are small operations, and many of those are family-based. Because cacao trees love shade and thrive well mixed in with other crops, these small farms often grow and sell a variety of fruit, not just cocoa. Their livelihood depends on healthy cacao trees, as well as educational systems in place to help them sustain and improve their trees. If these trees get wiped out, it's not just major farming operations and corporations that will be in trouble.

I don't usually give much thought to where my chocolate comes from, but this show made me stop and think more about trees that I take for granted to give me the chocolate I so adore.

I'm admittedly picky about the kinds of chocolate I'll buy: the darker the better if it's in a bar, and if it's chocolate milk, it has to be Silk brand regular chocolate soy milk. No other brand (I've tried several and been disappointed), no light chocolate Silk (ugh, not worth it) and no dark chocolate almond milk (too sweet and thick). How about you? Do you love chocolate? Do you have a favorite? Or does it simply need to have the word chocolate in it for you to be happy?

Saving lives
Besides being a fan of chocolate, I'm also a fan of World Vision, a relief organization that focuses its efforts on child sponsorship in the most impoverished areas of the world. Its latest magazine arrived this past weekend, with a story that held the other reminder of why I love trees so much. (I had hoped to point you to the issue online, but the latest one doesn't appear to be on the site yet.)

World Vision's president, Rich Stearns, kicked off the magazine with an article called "The Famine That Never Happened," about the ongoing famine in the Horn of Africa. What amazed me was his statement that not one of World Vision's sponsored children in that region has died because of the drought and famine ravaging other parts of that region.

Stearns credits that to lessons learned in the Ethiopian famine in the 1980s, when World Vision came in to help local families recover then from the devastation caused by deforestation and drought. His description of the Antsokia Valley in Ethiopia really caught my attention:

     Orange groves, maize, sorghum, and grazing farm animals blanket the valley today.
     In the shadow of the surrounding hills, 20 million trees nourish the soil and bring
     income as farmers sell their fruit. More than 90 percent of the valley's children are in
     school. God has turned the parched ground into flowing springs.

     During a more recent drought in 2000, farmers in Antsokia provided food for other
     regions in Ethiopia. The formerly dry valley became an oasis amid drought. This
     year World vision will phase out its work in the valley. We're no longer needed, as
     the farmers there are reaping "a fruitful harvest." ...

     In World Vision communities, farmers are learning how to conserve water and
     promote rain by planting trees. ... This work is changing the future. Years from
     now, we'll be talking again about the famine that never happened.
     (World Vision Spring 2012: 4.)

I'm heartened by his mention of trees, and the crucial role they play in keeping an environment safe (or at least safer) from drought that leads to famine. His organization is encouraging a life-giving cycle: plant trees to strengthen the environment and use the fruit of those trees for a better livelihood and for protection from drought and famine.

So maybe this Valentine's Day, you'll consider sponsoring a child through World Vision. It costs $35 a month to give a child the gift of hope, a gift lasts a whole lot longer than flowers, or dinner out, or even your favorite chocolates.

I'd love to hear from you if you decide to sponsor a child. But I'd also love to hear about your favorite chocolate treat, too. Happy Valentine's Day a little early!

Running roots

I've mentioned my love of running before, but these days, it takes up a lot of my thoughts. Just a few short weeks ago, I registered to run my first marathon and sat down with my husband (who also happens to make a great unofficial running coach) and mapped out my long runs from now until mid-June, when I'll run the marathon.

I wish I could say I feel completely confident about reaching this new goal, but overly tight muscles and memories of old injuries keep threatening to drag me down. Anyone who has run a marathon will tell you that overcoming the mental hurdles is half (or more) of the battle. And so I know I need to win the mental race before I'll be able to endure the physical one.

That's where patience and discipline come in. Let me be the first to admit that neither of these two virtues is a strength of mine, but I know I'll need to cultivate both to toe the line at that June marathon with a firm hope of finishing.

Running the marathon is a bit like enjoying a fully grown and thriving tree planted in your yard. Trees don't just spring up fully grown overnight, just as humans don't typically wake up one morning and find themselves magically able to run 26.2 miles.

As I look out at three young trees in my own yard and wish for them to grow healthy and tall and strong, I can see parallel lessons for completing the marathon. You may not run, but I share these lessons with you because achieving your own dream may also feel like running a marathon, and some of the insights here may help you achieve that dream.

1. Strong roots = healthy tree.
The three young trees in my yard have been growing underground in ways that I can't see, but their roots are what will sustain them in wind and drought and storms. Similarly, you haven't seen my running log probably haven't seen me out on a training run, but my running roots are getting established. Over the last seven years, I've logged miles and miles that are all part of the preparation to get me to the point where I am now -- optimistic about possibly completing a marathon, despite the rocks and storms that may lie ahead.

You know what else gives my running stronger roots? Lots and lots of prayer. I don't listen to music when I'm out running, and that gives me a lot of time alone to think and pray -- lifting up pleas and praise to God, depending on what's happening in my life on any given day I head out for a run. I like to think of these prayers as an emotional taproot that I've been establishing, one that will sustain me on race day.

What roots are you establishing to achieve your dream? And do you see prayer as an integral part of a healthy root system?

2. Don't underestimate the power of water.
Quite simply, just as trees need water to thrive, so do humans. Runners, especially. I temporarily forgot that essential lesson this past weekend. I was running a half marathon in considerably warmer, more humid conditions than my winter training has provided. Though I carried a bottle of gatorade with me, it was too sugary sweet for me during the race, but because I had it in hand, I skipped past a few too many water stops along the course.

That's when I got cold. No -- it wasn't because a lovely breeze had picked up across the water as I ran over a bridge. No -- it wasn't because of the cloud cover (a blessing from God that kept me from getting into serious trouble and needing an ambulance). I got cold because I wasn't drinking enough water, an early warning sign of heat exhaustion. And because of it, I had to slow down and walk more and drink a lot of water simply to cross the finish line.

For you, actual thirst quenching may not be an integral part of achieving your dream, but I've written before of waterers who can help you quench an emotional or mental thirst through their encouragement of your dream. My husband and other running friends are waterers whose counsel will sustain and encourage me when marathon training gets really tough (which I expect will happen in approximately 10 days when I run farther than I ever have before).

3. Grow a little at a time.
This is where those pesky areas of patience and discipline come in. Those three trees in the yard aren't bogged down by fear. They're doing exactly what they're supposed to -- growing a little bit at a time, not trying to over-reach but simply taking in water and sunlight and good soil nutrients to reach up a little taller each passing season.

I'd love to be able to go run a marathon next weekend and cross it off my bucket list, but I know that's not practical, and I'm pretty sure that would skip past the lessons of patience and discipline that God wants to teach me over the next few months as I build up my mileage each week. Every long run will be just a little longer than the previous one, training my body in a gentler way that will strengthen me and keep me less likely to get injured by expecting too much from my body.

Are you writing a book? You simply cannot write it all in one go. Are you trying to raise great children? That'll take 18+ years to see to fruition. Are you moving into a scary but exciting new role at work? You will not be perfect at it from the moment you begin (you may never be perfect at it). All dreams come with challenges, and they're going to require daily growth -- sometimes frustratingly slow -- before you can look back and see what you have accomplished.

4. Take rest days.
This is also where those pesky areas of patience and discipline come in. Trees have seasons of rest, seasons when they do not bear fruit or flower or hold green leaves, but even during those seasons of rest, they are still living and strengthening.

When you have set goals, expect some setbacks. Maybe your whole family came down with the flu during a week you had planned to finish a special project. Or maybe you ran a half marathon without drinking enough water and now your quads hurt so much you can barely walk without pain, much less go for a short run (ahem).

Rest days are important, even though you may chafe at them. God rested. And He insisted that His people rest, too. Don't try to outdo God by ignoring the essential need for rest. Rest, renew and recharge -- ready for the next effort.

I'd love to know what dreams you have and whether you see them as the growing tree or the marathon training. What roots have you established? What or who will water your dream and wait with you while it grows? Do you have tips for learning patience and discipline? I'd love to hear from you and run alongside of you as your dream grows toward harvest.

Two lives imitating trees

In last week's post Two trees imitating life?, I wrote about two tree sculptures imitating life, or death, or maybe even tennis balls, depending on how you view the art. I promised to follow up this week with more about the blessed life being like a tree planted by water, and here's a picture of some pretty cool tree roots to get you thinking of what the tree planted by water may look like:

Trees and their roots growing by a creek

The passage I shared with you last week actually describes two lives that are like trees, just very different kinds. One life is blessed, but the other is cursed.

     Thus says the Lord,
     "Cursed is the man who trusts in mankind
     And makes flesh his strength,
     And whose heart turns away from the Lord.
     For he will be like a bush in the desert
     And will not see when prosperity comes,
     But will live in stony wastes in the wilderness,
     A land of salt without inhabitant.
     Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord
     And whose trust is the Lord.
     For he will be like a tree planted by the water,
     That extends its roots by a stream
     And will not fear when the heat comes;
     But its leaves will be green,
     And it will not be anxious in a year of drought
     Nor cease to yield fruit."

     -- Jeremiah 17:5-8 (NASB)

The cursed life imitates a bush in the desert -- relying on entirely wrong things to keep it alive. While the desert bush may fight and scrap and somehow stay alive, it's unlikely to ever thrive. Likewise, when we trust only in our own strength, or the strength of our family, friends, posse or gang, we're going to struggle instead of thriving. And our lives will ultimately become desolate.

The second life Jeremiah mentions is the blessed life, the one compared to a tree living by the water. In the photo, you can see how large the roots have grown as they reach out over and down into the creek. It may be hard in this winter season to imagine drought and heat, but these trees have sent down their roots so that even in the heat of summer, they can continue getting the water they need to thrive.

When the heat comes
Just as roots save a tree and keep it alive, we can cultivate faithful, obedient practices in our walk with God that will prepare us for times of distress and keep us from setting up camp in the desert places we sometimes find ourselves.

Notice that Jeremiah doesn't say the tree planted by the stream will not fear if the heat comes. He says the tree "will not fear when the heat comes" (v. 8, emphasis mine). When.

No one wants that word, "when." When a man comes home and tells his family he has lost his job. When the doctor speaks the word "cancer." When a car accident changes lives. When a spouse of several decades walks out. When a young son dies. When, when, when.

Droughts come into our lives in varied ways -- even to those of us who are Christians. Our faith does not provide a genie in a bottle, ready to grant our every wish and give us perfect lives.

No, instead of waiting for a genie to show up, we Christians have a greater gift, a greater promise to cling to: God is with us and sustains us when the heat comes, and our faith means that we will continue to grow and bear fruit, even after the droughts have done their worst. He has planted us where we will grow best and will always provide for our needs.

Let that truth of God's protection seep into your heart and mind: You have been planted by the water. Be confident that your roots are strong and that He will sustain you and help you bear fruit.

What are some of the ways you feel sustained? For me, it's writing and sharing a weekly message with you, but it's also spending time with family and friends, going for a challenging run, listening to music, or going to a museum.

I'd love to hear your stories of how your life is imitating the green tree and what God has put into your life to sustain you. Or maybe you'd like to share about a time that your life was more like that desert bush and God rescued from that desolate, desperate place. Either way, I'd love to hear your stories. So please share them in the comments below.

A small soap-box moment
Now, I hope you'll forgive me a sudden topic shift and a brief moment on the soap box. But I'd like to tell you about an issue that's important to me as a writer of a blog and as someone who relies on the internet for research, social networking and so much more.

You may have noticed that Google has a black swath across its logo today on its home page. If you click on the black swath, you'll go to this story about proposed legislation that would limit freedom of expression on the Internet.

We hear all the time about oppressive regimes that shut down Google and other sites, but I've always thought I lived in a country that was not one of those regimes. However, there's a vote next Tuesday -- January 24 -- that could considerably weaken our country's ability to get information from sites many of us frequent (Wikipedia, Google, Wordpress, Facebook, Twitter, ...). Who's behind this bill? Big media and the entertainment industry. Here's a video that gives a better summary than I've given.

I was really frustrated this weekend that NBC was able to have a stranglehold on Olympic trials marathon coverage -- reducing those of us who didn't travel to Houston for the event to getting text updates from sites other than NBC. NBC didn't broadcast the event live (I guess Babar cartoons are sacrosanct for them). And they refused to allow video coverage on other sites. It wasn't the most fun way to follow an exceptionally exciting set of races, but for most of us who cared, it was the only way.

This small example points to a greater problem with the monopoly big media would like to have on content. And it simply doesn't sit well with me. If it doesn't sit well with you either, please consider signing the petition against SOPA/PIPA legislation.

Thanks. I'll just go put my box away now.

Two trees imitating life?

I've been working on a book chapter about Jeremiah 17:5-8, in which Jeremiah compares a cursed man to a bush in the desert who will live "in a land of salt without inhabitant" (v. 6).

Well, I had never heard of a land of salt and really couldn't picture what that might look like, and so I googled the phrase just to see what would come up. The Bonneville Salt Flats just outside of Salt Lake City, Utah, showed up in the list of hits.

If you read through the Google hits for the Bonneville Salt Flats, you'll see words like "nothing for miles," "desolate," and "barren." Famous races happen there, by car and on foot, but -- and this is mainly for my sweet husband -- please don't feel like you have to go run the 100-mile race there ... ever. (Even if you could leave your salt tablets at home and still be okay.) Despite the attraction for speed junkies, there's a whole lot of nothing to this desert land.

Now, even if you have never been to such a desolate place, you probably know or can guess how the human mind reacts to nothingness, to vast desert stretches, to a land of salt with no inhabitants.

As artist Karl Momen drove through the salt flats, his mind filled with a vision of a tree -- perhaps out of a desperate need to see something, anything, growing and green out in the salt flats. Momen created an 87' tall sculpture along Highway 80, called "The Tree of Utah (Metaphor)." (Here's a fun blog with photos of the sculpture, and the blogger has been so inspired by it that she's knitting socks to resemble the sculpture.) Other bloggers have less kind things to say about the sculpture.

Yep -- you know me. I can stumble across a tree anywhere, even in the middle of research about miles of nothingness.

As I looked through the images for this sculpture, I thought about art imitating life. I don't particularly like Momen's sculpture, though I do understand the urge to fill up nothingness with something. But his sculpture definitely attempts to suggest flourishing life in the most unlikely of terrains. Near the main sculpture, Momen added pods of concrete, as if the tree has flowered and shed seed pods or leaves.

There's another tree sculpture that I prefer by comparison, though I wouldn't say it suggests flourishing life:

This "tree" greets visitors to the NC Museum of Art: "Askew," by Roxy Paine

I've seen actual birds perch on this stainless steel sculpture of a tree, and so it's a real enough imitation of life for them to accept as a good place to rest, but there's nothing about it to suggest thriving, growing life. And I doubt birds would choose to nest there (certainly not in summer, anyway, when the eggs would be hard-boiled by noon.)

Like them or hate them, both sculptures are art and, in their own ways, attempt to imitate some aspect of living or dying. I guess I simply prefer a different sort of art imitating life.

So tell me, which of the two sculptures do you prefer?

The tree planted by water
By the way, you may be curious about why I'm writing about that passage in Jeremiah. While the cursed man is like the desert bush living in an uninhabited land, there's a blessed man who trusts in the Lord. And I absolutely love and cling to Jeremiah's description of this man:

     For he will be like a tree planted by the water,
     That extends its roots by a stream
     And will not fear when the heat comes;
     But its leaves will be green,
     And it will not be anxious in a year of drought
     Nor cease to yield fruit.
     -- Jeremiah 17:8 (NASB)

It's pouring a cold rain where I am today, and so it's hard to consider heat and drought, but fear and anxiety can be with us in any season of the year. So join me here next week, as I talk about this tree planted by the water ... and how we can cling to the promise of its yield.

The power of hope

Will you bear with me for one last post this season about Christmas trees? I promise it's about more than just the tree that's sitting out on our lawn waiting for the yard pickup tomorrow. It's about the power of hope.

I had a hard time undecorating from Christmas this past weekend. I mean a pouting, near tears, really surprisingly difficult time. Only reluctantly did I take off the ornaments and pack them away, knowing that the tree couldn't stay up much longer without starting to shed its needles. But for some reason, I didn't want to let go.

There were actually several reasons. One -- this tree was the quite simply the best tree we've ever had. We picked it out at a Christmas tree farm in the North Carolina mountains, where signs were plastered everywhere thanking us for participating in NC's agritourism business. That was a new term for us, but we embraced it as a suitable description for marching around a hillside full of trees trying to pick the perfect one. Once we picked this one and the guys brought it down the hill for us, they called it a "fat boy." It was really, really fat. I worried it would swallow up the room we were putting it in.

When we finally got it in the stand (mostly through sheer will and ingenuity on my husband's part), we knew we'd have to put more lights and more ornaments on than usual:

In all its glory

The second reason I had a hard time taking down the tree was the pang of guilt I felt about having it cut in the first place. It's one thing to go to a farmer's market or roadside stand selling trees that have already been cut, but another entirely different matter to go have one cut from the spot where it has stood growing for years. This is only the second year we have picked a tree from a tree farm, and I'm not sure whether I'll be able to participate in this sort of agritourism again. I really think our tree had plans to grow up to grace the governor's mansion or maybe even the White House. But it gave its life to cheer our house instead.

The guilt only intensified when we dragged it out to the curb Monday night, where I cannot ignore it:

Cast away

My desire to keep the tree couldn't trump the practicality of needing to get it out of the house, though, and thinking through the struggle made me realize the third reason I was struggling with letting it go: it had symbolized my hopes for the season.

This was the first year we hosted my brother and his family for Christmas, instead of us driving over to visit with them while they stayed at my parents' house. I wanted everything about this Christmas and their stay with us to be wonderful, including the tree. Its fragrance inviting family into Christmas celebrations, its lights twinkling a warm welcome and its decorations helping to recall fond memories of Christmases past.

Once I recognized that it was about hope, I could let the tree itself go more easily. . . because hope is a thing with feathers, and it cannot be tamed. It cannot be kept tied to a dying Christmas tree. It does not look back at the past. It faces the future with an uncageable freedom, and perches on any ready branch and sings to those who will hear it.

That's what many of us celebrate most about the coming of a new year: an uncageable hope. Hope that -- no matter how fabulous or miserable our past year has been -- our year ahead is filled with promise and wonderful moments and goals achieved. Even my tree sitting on the curb offered a small bit of hope today, as I noticed that nature was already redecorating it:

Nature decorates with sweetgum ornaments

I met hope in two other, especially beautiful places today that I want to leave you with:

• My friend Jerel Law writes of the power of hope after a year of grieving his wife's death.
• I heard this podcast of author Andrew Solomon describing his journey to find artists in Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban. (It's long, but I hope you'll take the time to listen.) One of the men he met there said he was glad Solomon would bring this story back to share, because of "the moment of hope when ... we were all so joyful and had such belief in what we thought was going to come" (Andrew Solomon, The Moth podcast).

I think that statement perfectly captures the power of hope: the moment when we're joyful and have such a belief about what is coming. What do you hope is coming for you in the year ahead?

The Christmas tree psalm

                                                                   ^
                                                                < * >
                                                                   v 
                                                                 The
                                                             LORD is
                                                          my shepherd,
                                                        I shall not want.
                                                  He makes me lie down
                                                in green pastures; He leads
                                          me beside still waters. He restores
                                         my soul; He guides me in the paths
                                       of righteousness for His name's sake.
                                     Even though I walk through the valley of
                                    the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for
                                You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they
                              comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the
                           presence of my enemies; You have anointed my head
                          with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy
                        will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the
                                                               house
                                                               of the
                                                               LORD
                                                              forever.
                                                             Psalm 23

'Tis the season to feel stressed out, to feel that Time cares little whether we have crossed off our to-do items for the day and definitely won't slow down to let us catch up. We can't tackle Time and make him give us more hours in each day. So instead, what if we focus on what we can change: our mindset.

I've shaped Psalm 23 into a Christmas tree here to help you think of it in a new way this season. The psalm tells me that because the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. In this season of so much want (both real and fabricated), the promise is true and bears repeating again until it sinks in: I shall not want. I shall not want. As we hurry about our Christmas preparations, let's cling to this Christmas tree psalm in the coming days. It promises much.

Because of His promise to give me rest in green pastures and beside quiet waters, I shall not want.

Because He is with me always, whether I am in the valley or in the presence of enemies, I shall not want.

There's a feast prepared and a dazzling home promised, and, therefore, I shall not want.

Remember these promises, my friends. Repeat the truth of this psalm to yourself during the long wait at the traffic signal that you always seem to catch as it's turning red, or the security line at the airport when the elderly couple in front of you has clearly not traveled since 9/11, or the line at the cash register that doesn't budge as fast lines around you disappear quickly.

Repeat the truth of this psalm during the shark-circling tactics looking for a place to park at the mall and while the screaming baby (yours or someone else's) distracts you from your shopping list.

Repeat the truth of this psalm while you visit the hospital or the graveside, a visit that leaves you feeling cold about celebrations and bells ringing and carols and laughter and merriment.

Repeat the truth, as often as it takes, until it transforms your thinking. And then, perhaps, you will find yourself wanting to repeat the sounding joy.

The power of paper

Back in March, I wrote about why I love paper and real books more than e-readers. In that post, I shared some of the artwork of a book artist, Brian Dettmer, who takes a scalpel to books and transforms them into works of art.

This past weekend, I got to see Dettmer's work in person at Pulse Miami, just one of many art festivals that took place in the Miami area as part of a larger celebration of art, Art Week Miami.

Now, I love art, and experiencing art is one of the ways my life flourishes. But I don't generally love ultra contemporary art, and since Pulse Miami is billed as a contemporary festival, I wasn't sure what to expect. As my husband and I walked through the expo halls, we were wowed by

A different kind of Christmas tree

Tis the season when our thoughts turn to Christmas trees and mistletoe and glittery ornaments and garlands and wreaths and shopping and baking and ... this list could take up the whole page, but you get the idea.

Some of my neighbors already have their Christmas decorations up. I'm usually one who gets around to decorating the second, or sometimes third, week of December, probably because when I was growing up, we usually waited until after my brother's mid-December birthday to buy a tree and put up decorations. Or maybe it's just because I'm a shameless procrastinator.

Which camp are you in: the early decorators or the waiters? Whether you've had your tree up and decorated since before Thanksgiving or are just now starting to ponder whether to go with a real or fake tree this year, I bet you've got Christmas on your mind. And rightfully so, but I hope you're focusing on the best part of Christmas: the gift of Jesus' birth and life sacrificed for us. 

The Christian season of advent started this past Sunday, and my church is all decked out to celebrate: wreaths outside and in, a huge tree in the sanctuary and poinsettias all over the place. For the last several years, our preachers have put together sermon series to build on a particular theme for a few weeks at a time, and this year's advent series is called "The Christmas Tree: Scoundrels, Liars and the Perfect Child." During the weeks that lead up to Christmas, our preachers will tell about the family members who make up Jesus' family tree, based on the genealogy listed in Matthew 1. 

Take some time this week to read Matthew 1 for yourself, and see if it helps prepare your heart better for the season. Then, as you look at your own Christmas trees, think of those people from the Bible who formed the limbs and branches of Jesus' Christmas tree, maybe people who aren't that different from ones you find in your own family tree.

But there's another sort of Christmas tree I'd also like for you to consider, too, especially as you scramble to find the perfect gift for that person who already has everything. Heifer International sends out a catalog each year, usually filled with different animals you can "buy" for struggling villages around the world. This year, they're offering tree seedlings as a gift option, $60 for a a full complement of seedlings or $10 for a share of seedlings. If you have a little more to spend and want to include some animals in your gift, consider the Gardener's Basket, a gift that includes tree seedlings, rabbits, chickens and a bee hive.  The full basket is $170, and a share is $20. For each gift you give through Heifer, you'll receive cards to let family and friends know about this wonderful gift you have given in their honor.

Do you know family or friends who might appreciate a donation in their honor more than a material item under the Christmas tree? Or maybe you and your children can research the gift choices Heifer offers and choose one to buy together as a family.

Many times, the gifts we give at Christmas are forgotten or broken or maybe even exchanged by the end of January. But the gift of a different kind of Christmas tree is one that can change lives forever. Because of that, it will bless both the receiver and the giver.

I hope you'll consider this gift-giving option, and if you do, I hope you'll let me know about your decision here in the comments. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Christmas shopping to do.

Speaking of gifts
I almost forgot to announce the winner of last week's challenge! Thanks so much to all of you who shared your responses to this challenge, and also for those of you who tried to post responses but couldn't (blogspot can be so frustrating at times).

Anyway, I loved reading all of your responses and ended up drawing a name at random to win a copy of Ann Voskamp's book. Bev, you're the lucky winner!

Indescribable gifts

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!" -- 2 Corinthians 9:15 (NKJV)

The Bible verse above is printed at the top of the page in my gratitude journal that I just finished filling in. Back in August, I challenged you to take a journey of gratitude with me and keep track of the blessings in your life for which you are grateful. Though today marks the official end of the challenge, I hope it won't bring an end to your list keeping.

I'm up to #297 in my journal. Much of today's list contains blessings from my adventure at Whole Foods a few hours ago. Yes, I braved a trip there the day before Thanksgiving. My favorite is #294: Whole Foods vegan pumpkin pie. Or maybe it's #295: A quick parking space find at Whole Foods the day before Thanksgiving.

I'm also grateful for getting to sit down for iced green tea with a dear friend yesterday (#286), as she shared with me how her own journey of gratitude has gone this month. She updated her

God's palette

"Aren't you the one who's supposed to be keeping a gratitude journal?" asked my dear friend on Sunday night. Yep, she was chiding me for a generally cranky attitude I had brought along for one of our rare and treasured coffee dates.

She was right to remind me that I needed to look for the positives in a situation that has me struggling. I'm not one who adapts quickly to change, and so when my husband's work travel increased exponentially a few weeks ago, I began struggling to accept what will become the new reality of our life together. But instead of focusing on the positives, I was too busy pouting because I felt like someone pulled a rug out from under me.

So this week, I've dug deeper to add to my gratitude journal and to change my mindset, and I cannot help but see God's blessings all around me. One of my favorite blessings is God's palette in November. And so yesterday, I got out and took some pictures to share with you -- pictures that may help explain why Autumn is my favorite season:

Yesterday's lunchtime view

This beauty is a tree in my backyard. It has leaves of yellow, gold and green -- some leaves with all three colors on them in striking, interesting patterns. Because the weather was warm and

Greater things than these

Last Friday's Candorville comic strip caught my attention. I had just come upstairs to my home office and was reading some comics online before working on chapter four of my book. Chapter four focuses on how simple events can inspire sudden faith, in this case, Jesus recognizing Nathanael from when he had seen him sitting under a fig tree several days earlier. The very same story Lemont is telling to Susan in the strip.

Lemont tells this story as he might tell a joke. And I can understand why, because this story makes me laugh, too. Just not for exactly the same reason as Lemont.

You see, Lemont leaves out what I think is the best line, the last part of Jesus' remark to Nathanael in John 1:50: "Jesus answered and said to him, 'Because I said to you that I saw you under the fig tree, do you believe? You will see greater things than these.'"

I imagine Jesus’ response today would go something like this: “Seriously? You believe in Me just because I saw you sitting under that tree the other day? You ain’t seen nothing yet!” Jesus knew that during the short years of his ministry, He would encounter others with harder hearts who would witness His most miraculous works and still refuse to believe. So it must have refreshed Him – and likely caused him to chuckle to himself – that a person could believe for so little a reason as the fig tree.

You will see greater things than these

Nathanael didn't need to witness spectacular miracles to believe in Jesus. He had come to meet Jesus at the invitation of his trusted friend Philip, who had already proclaimed Jesus to be the Messiah they had been seeking. It was enough that Jesus recognized him -- knew him for a true student of God's Word -- simply from seeing him studying under a fig tree days earlier. Can you imagine believing in Christ for such a simple reason as that?

Most of us experience simple moments of faith, quiet encounters with Christ that transform us in small ways and remind us of who He is. Have you experienced such a moment that further cemented your faith? Maybe God has answered a prayer you desperately flung up to heaven. Or a moment of beauty has taken your breath away -- light streaming through trees of orange and scarlet and gold on a fall morning, or the ocean's lapping at the beach filling you with peace. Or maybe you catch a glimpse of God's presence in the delighted laughter of a child.

For my faith walk, it's daily moments like these that bond me -- again and again -- to God. Each day brings its own wonders, not anything necessarily spectacular or miraculous, but reminders, nonetheless, of God's presence in my life. And each one points to the promise Jesus made to Nathanael: "You will see greater things than these."

I'd love to hear the simply, daily events that inspire you and draw you more closely into experiencing the presence of God. Or maybe God has drawn you to Him with a more miraculous event. Either way, I'd encourage you to share your stories here. Together, they'll tell the story of the greater things we will one day see.

Defeating the green-eyed monster

I promised in last week's post to talk with you about jealousy today. But first, would you mind a quick update? Both twigs of the baby elm tree have already sprouted new leaves, and I'm hopeful the wire cage and the Irish Spring soap, along with the beginnings of some lovely fall weather, will all keep that little tree thriving.

Let's take a look at where that little tree is growing:

^ The little tree is growing right there ...
in the shadow of its much larger parent tree.

You really can't even see the little tree, can you? It's so small and easy to miss. If you get down to the tree's level, here's what you'll see:

The view looking up from the little tree

If trees had thoughts and hopes and dreams, can you imagine that little tree looking up at its parent tree all day, wishing to grow up to be just as strong and beautiful? Do you think it's a little

Time for Irish Spring

No ... Ireland hasn't relocated to the southern hemisphere. It's just entering autumn at this time of year. But this week, I realized it was time ...

What do you remember most about this soap's commercials?

Now, before you get really worried, I do shower regularly, and I use a less pungent soap than Irish Spring. But do you know where Irish Spring can be quite useful? In the garden.

As it turns out, deer can't stand the smell of Irish Spring soap, and its shavings keep the pesky critters away from tender plants. If you are unfamiliar with the smell, then next time you're at a store that carries Irish Spring, pick up a packet and smell it. But keep the shrink wrap on to soften the olfactory blow that Irish Spring delivers. You'll understand why deer stay away from it.

Despite my own feelings about its smell, I wish I had spread the odiferous green stuff out in the garden sooner this year.

Future tree or deer treat?
A few weeks ago, my husband discovered a volunteer sapling, growing up in the shadow of a larger lacebark elm tree we had planted several years ago. Each fall, the elm sheds seeds

The blazing in of autumn

For those of you who have followed me through the change of seasons, you may remember that I don't totally love summer, despite its gardening wonders, bountiful fruit and golden lining. But autumn? Quite simply ... I love it.

Here's just one of the reasons why:

A favorite tree at one of my favorite spots in the whole world.
Do you know where this is?

All of summer's lovely flowers can't come close to the stirring of my soul when I look on this tree in fall. It's as if I've held my breath to survive the heat and humidity and mosquitoes of summer and, when I see the promise of this tree, I can finally let the breath go.

I can't wait to visit it again soon and see whether this fall will repeat this beautiful image -- the brilliant orange blazing in the sunlight and the calm water reflecting its fire.

Isn't there an app for that?

Confession time, again: I'm addicted to my iPhone. But I don't have a ton of apps. I have exactly 26 apps on my phone, including three game apps (no, Angry Birds isn't one of them), a dictionary app and all of the apps that come preset on the phone.

Apple's web site touts 425,000 apps for iPhone. So no wonder they've trademarked the phrase, "There's an app for that."

I got really excited about one of those 425,000 apps the other day. My Real Simple magazine this month told of a free app called Leafsnap that could help me identify trees using pictures of their leaves. Knowing how I love trees, are you surprised that I'd be happy to download that app?

Worries on the road less traveled

Do you worry a lot? I do. I know, I know -- God tells us over and over again in the Bible not to worry, but I think I was born worried, so worried, in fact, that I came out six weeks early to fit in more worrying.

This past weekend, I had a lot of worries to face on what should have been a blissful outing. My husband, dog and I went for a hike to measure a trail for my husband's web site. My husband has a passion for running and numbers and helping others and sharing his story of faith, and he has combined all of that into a great site with maps and accurate wheel measurements of runnable trails in the northwestern North Carolina mountains.

I've taken wheel in hand to measure a couple of trails for him. And I've accompanied him on other trails as he did the measuring. Until this weekend, the trails were easy ones. Wide, well-maintained, steep at times, but still easy to walk.

This weekend's trail was different, and I knew enough to ask before I agreed to accompany him whether there would be stream crossings. You see, I really don't love stream crossings. I never have. I'm not coordinated, and something about stepping across slippery, wet rocks works on my overactive imagination in the worst kind of way.

My husband told me there would be one creek to cross but assured me it would be an easy crossing. Turns out, I didn't need to worry about that crossing. He was right. There were several stones sitting sturdily up out of the water for me to step across.

What I neglected to ask about, though, was another worry I face on hikes: crossing over downed trees. Somewhere, some wise or possibly mean person filled my little-girl head with fears about snakes and spiders waiting on the other side of downed trees to bite me.

A house as lovely as a tree?

My neighborhood lost another stately oak tree today in the rush to tear down small, old houses and build big, new houses. 

Seeing the stump of the tree reminded me of a poem I love, one which you may think is trite and overused. But I'd like to share it with you anyway:

Trees

by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair; 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

A confession: My own hands aren't completely clean in the matter of tear downs, as I live in a fairly new house that stands on a lot where a teeny old house once stood. My husband bought our house well after it was built. And so I'm more wistful than morally outraged about another tree down. The people making the decision to cut the tree will be my neighbors soon, and the Bible tells us we are to love our neighbor as ourselves.

So, there you have it. An uncomfortable dichotomy in my life. And yet, I can say with confidence that:

I know that I shall never see 

A house as lovely as a tree.

...

Houses are built by fools like me,

But only God can build a tree.

Have an opinion about the loss of trees, perhaps in your own neighborhood or town? Or want to share your own favorite poem about trees? Let's hear it.

"I'm not dead yet"

The title of today's post is best read in a British accent, a la Monty Python and the Holy Grail. In that movie, there's a scene set in the Middle Ages in which men are hauling carts through a village calling, "Bring out your dead. Bring out your dead." The plague has hit, and the men are hauling away the dead. Now, in case you have been hiding under a rock for the last several decades or irreverent, comedic farce isn't your preferred movie genre, you need to understand that nothing about Monty Python is serious. So try to imagine the humor of the scene that ensues:

A man is trying to get his elderly relative onto the cart, despite the fact that the elderly man, though frail, is still very much alive. He keeps protesting, "I'm not dead yet." But the younger man doesn't want to miss the opportunity of the carts coming through the village and have to wait until the next one.

Well, that phrase, "I'm not dead yet" has been running through my head all morning, thanks to a visit from an agricultural extension agent to check out some dead and ailing trees at our place in the mountains.