Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

Travel

Saturday Smiles: The Sunday (again) edition

I’m not even going to apologize anymore. Saturday, Sunday. At least I’m posting once a weekend.

If I’d posted yesterday, I might have called this “the hiking edition.” Our field trip this week is my No. 1 reason to smile.

We took a family hike on Friday, a sort of early Father’s Day, my husband didn’t have to work, we love hiking and it’s summer kind of trip.

Our destination was this waterfall at Sweetarrow Lake County Park in Schuylkill (sounds sorta like skoo-kill) County, about a 30-minute drive from our house.

I love water. And nature. So this was a spiritually and emotionally refreshing trip for me. The hiking wasn’t rigorous and the views were gorgeous. (And I’ll say that even though we brought home some ticks with us and I’m still a little freaked out by it.)

I want our kids to love the outdoors, or at least be exposed to the outdoors.

Not to worry. Lewis and Clark here are leading the way. Isabelle often takes the role of trailblazer.

Corban, on the other hand, worries about rocks and mulch in his shoes.

Summer sunshine. Not too warm. A new place to explore. What’s not to like?

There’s my family. Don’t worry. It’s not dangerous. Dad’s in charge.

My second smile of the week would be my husband, and in honor of Father’s Day, I have to say how much I appreciate him as a Dad. Sure, he does things differently than I would. And he lets the kids take more risks than I might like.

(For instance, letting our 2-year-old climb the rock wall at the park’s playground. Don’t let the hand fool you. Corban didn’t  need it. He has picked up on this skill much more quickly than his sister.)

But he cares for them. He teaches them about life. He protects them from harm. He plays with them. I call him the fun parent because I’m the serious one. (Rough-housing before bedtime? That’s totally Dad’s department.)

I know not every kid gets to have a Dad around, which is maybe why I’m super glad for the one my kids have.

VBS was a blast this week. I was too busy corralling preschoolers to take pictures, but I’m always impressed by how the church comes together for a week to take extra time to care for kids and teach them about Jesus and His love. (And I’m still singing the songs. SOOOO catchy!)

We had a night out on Saturday thanks to our friend Abbie stepping in to babysit and new friends meeting us for coffee and dessert at this amazing place. If we lived a tad closer to it, it might be my favorite hangout.

God is still working. He’s moving behind the scenes right now but we’re catching glimpses of what’s possible for our future. I wish I had more great news to report where jobs and ministry are concerned. I don’t. But God’s faithfulness makes me smile. He has good plans for us, and that’s not just wishful thinking.

To wrap up our hiking report, I give you Corban’s travelogue. Enjoy!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LE0yB_UHRI&feature=channel&list=UL]

Wait for it

Sometimes, I wonder what God is up to. And why I can’t see it.

Last month, Phil and I took a few days apart from the world, in the woods of Cowans Gap State Park, to celebrate a bunch of  milestones for our family. We drove up to this overlook, expecting a scenic view. Instead, we got fog.

Lots of fog. And the view we had hoped for was hidden from us.

We sat for a bit because we really had nowhere else to be. And as we waited, something happened.

Gradually, we could see green. The rolling mountains I’ve come to love in our region of the world.

We caught a glimpse of what the fog was hiding.

The longer we waited, the more we could see. We pointed to hills as they peeked through the clouds. We identified farms and roads and houses. And although we never saw the whole view clearly, without the cloud covering, we could imagine what we were missing. We saw evidence of what we could not fully see.

So it is when we live by faith. Phil and I are still clueless about where this journey is taking us. We climbed this metaphorical mountain hoping to see something extraordinary only to find the view cloudier than ever. Having an obstructed view of the future can be frustrating. Maddening, really. I have found myself mad at all sorts of people and institutions and God, Himself, for the current state of things in our life. Like Naomi, in the Bible’s book of Ruth, who returns to her homeland a widow and childless with little hope for the future, I want my name to be “bitter” not “pleasant.”

I want to see the view I was promised!

And God, ever gentle, ever patient, says, “Wait.”

“Don’t give up.”

“Don’t trust in only what you can see.”

“Wait for it. It’s coming.”

So, we’re waiting. Waiting for the clouds to clear. To give us a glimpse of what lies ahead.

Waiting so often feels like inaction to me. I want to DO something. I want to act. To fix. To restore. To rebuild. To forge ahead. (And sometimes run over anyone who stands in my way.) And when that doesn’t work I want to retreat. To withdraw. To escape. To close my eyes and hope that whatever trouble we’re facing will go away on its own without me.

And all the time, God is telling me to “wait.”

Waiting. Can you think of anyone who waits well? I’ve imagined what that looks like. I wrote a poem about it, and our local library picked it as one of the winners in its annual contest. Here it is.

Waiting
I showed up on time,
so I thought.
He’s late.
Or is he?
Have a seat.
Get comfortable.
I’m told I’ll have to wait.
How long?
No answer.
I watch the door.
When will it open?
Time passes slowly
as I watch the clock,
tap my foot,
sigh loudly.
How much longer?
Again, no answer.
Someone else comes along.
She’s waiting, too.
She doesn’t watch the clock.
She crochets.
How long do you think it will be?
It doesn’t matter.
Why?
I’ve got crocheting to do.
I’m making a blanket.
And if he doesn’t come?
She shrugs her shoulders.
I’ll have made a blanket.
Waiting might be sitting on a rock until the sun comes out and the clouds clear. Or it might be doing what you’re doing now until you’re led in a different direction.
 
Wait for it, friends.
 
I’m waiting, too.