the still life

I’ve been tip-toeing through my yard snapping shots of this long awaited spring. Photo upon photo locked away and saved for another time & moment. That’s how I write. How I connect with God. I walk thru my little address in this world, the blades of grass that are mine. All the weeds, specs of dirt, each inch of random messiness that we call home. I spend so many hours inside, more time inside the walls of this home than out. There are tasks that never end. The ones we all know too well, like the never ending explosion of toys and clothes and crumbs. There’s food to cook, corners to scrub (I’m pretty sure that never happens here though), and all sorts of attempts at design and rethinking because — it’s who I am. The one part of me that cannot be suppressed.

It’s funny for the girl who never thought she was creative enough or talented in these ways, to call out this gifting. I find the words now though, because I see the God behind them. The One who cultivated creativity in me. And slowly, over the years, as I’ve grown in my faith, I’ve allowed myself to own it. It’s a piece of God in me. The Creator displaying a sliver of his glory in little ole me. So it’s this truth of this that keeps me laughing at my attempts at cooking and cleaning and raising these little ones. My natural tendencies are to design and create, and the rest I have to FIGHT for. They bring me sweet joy though, too. And sometimes it’s sweeter to push into the places we feel we don’t belong because God has a way of showing up there. So ironically, the struggles I have to mother and cook end up balancing this teeter totter of life for me. I would rather make and create, but God whispers for me to STILL. To enjoy my kids. To take walks to the barn. To go to parks and tickle my kids because they’re weird, and they like it. I guess it’s just ironic that I’m finally comfortable in my skin as a designer, seeing God in the gifting, and he’s pushing me into other areas. Still stretching me and asking me to trust and follow and grow.

Now that the sun is finally shining, the long lashed boy is dragging me outside to the back yard in search of adventures I don’t have time for. I’m finding it’s THAT time, the one I don’t have time for, that is the most soul filling somehow. It’s strange how I fight against it. How I would rather NOT. I love the outdoors. I love my son. But I never feel like there’s time for the still life. It accomplishes less. It produces gigs of pictures and a reel of glory I barely have time to digest. I snap the shots and store them away. We squish thru the wet blades of glass with feet bare and wonder at the droplets and the dirt and the weeds that will soon be uprooted and forever gone. And I’m pressed into the un-achieving. The still life. Where the dust bunnies within our walls roll but outside them my heart bursts for God with words and worship and wonder.

It’s where I’m reminded that there are no accidents. Not in the created things. There’s no thing that has been made that isn’t a unique reflection of the beauty and glory of God.

For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. Colossians 1:16

All things. That’s my journey. My heart and soul. And I find it in the every day things. In my unlandscaped, un-finished yard. Today it’s the dandelions. The yellow burst that paints spring and brings the first colors after the long season of winter. And here I am googling and researching and looking up random information about the weed that everybody but our kids has grown to detest.

WHY? Because there’s a purpose. There’s a God behind this little yellow nugget of mischief, and the kid in me wants to come alive and forget about the curated lawn and our attempts at perfection and the pressures to measure up. I want to study the first glimpse of hope in Spring and all its bounty, and to find God there. I believe the seasons, the colors, the processes of this world – the whole of it –  all that we are so accustomed too is pointing to something else. Someone else. ALL OF IT — designed BY and created FOR God. It’s all a glimpse of this God of ours.

Even this little dandelion. And the details in this little forgotten gem, they’re amazing. They inspire me and leave me shaking my head because even that guy Solomon — the one with all the worldly wealth, wisdom, accomplishments — you name it…even he, in all his glory, was still not clothed like one of these. Imagine that. These little wildflowers, the ones we crunch and do our best to wipe out, are cared for with such perfect attention by a Gardener God who laughs at our attempts at lawn maintenance. Imagine the way we, as God’s people, are watched over and cared for. It’s mind-blowing. It takes a long look at the details of a tiny weed and their insignificance to even begin to grasp the love God has for us.

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If THAT is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Matthew 6:28-30 (emphasis mine)

The long cold winter is once again gone, and the growing things are starting to reach for the sun. Spring is a rebirth of sorts, and we get to experience it every year. This year in particular, the winter was a little hard for us. It was one of those long winters, both for the season and the soul. Lots of hurting friends and family. The barren corners were cold and lonely and left a lot of us longing for the warmth of spring. For new beginnings. God knew when He made this world we’d need the hope of Spring.

It’s no mystery to me to see the dandelions popping up in full force. Spring might have came late, but it came spinning still. The dandelions rear their heads, their jagged tooth-like leaves that we can’t help but shake our fists at. But those leaves, they reach out and spread wide and take in the sun. It’s what feeds the roots, strengthens the stem, makes way for the bloom. I can’t help of think of us. Each of us. We think we’re peonies and long to be among the rose gardens — because THAT is beauty. And boy are they ever. I drooled over a bouquet myself last week. But that’s the obvious kind of beauty. I’m sure I could easily find a story or two in each of those. But the dandelion. It reminds me of the forgotten things. And it takes some digging to find beauty in the unwanted. The ones not good enough, not gifted enough, the ones who don’t know their own beauty and strength and purpose.  We steel our yards against it and beg our children not to pluck the heads and send the seeds. We want the glorious obvious beauty, not the deep rooted nuisance of these lowly flowering weeds. But we’re only looking at the surface. Not the depth and purpose and masterpiece of the God behind them.

These simple little dandelions are designed to GROW though. To be FED. To produce SEEDS. They are a force, really. Maybe one this world overlooks and is irritated by; these little drops of glory seem to grow without any effort. They pop up in the cracks of life, the bounty of the garden and all the random places they don’t belong. Their roots run deep, especially for the small flower they bear. We cut them back. We pull them out. But if the root system remains, these little suckers will re-bloom. What a thought that is. What a picture of the stability and promise of being rooted.

They FLOWER. The petals and their small attempts at glory fall to the ground, unnoticed really. No one really mourns a faded dandelion. But it’s THEN — when it looks dead and gone, when it’s been stripped down and laid bare — when the seeds starts to mature and take shape. The outer beauty has faded, but the deep inner work is underway. Eventually there are signs of life as they open to magic puffs of whimsy. Then the children are at it yet again, giggling and picking and bouquet-ing their beauty while we cringe. The wind blows the seed, just like Holy Spirit blows wherever it wills us. And each little insignificant dandelion puff contains some 200 seeds. So the one becomes many, just like that. Think of the ripple effect. 200 seeds that cannot be contained blowing for miles or distances only a few feet away. Wherever the wind blows it. Each taking root and blooming to create more and more and more. And there it is, the gospel. That’s the beauty in this little insignificant bud. It’s made to grow and produce and bring a certain beauty to the space it’s roots call home. Amazing.

Today I’m the dandelion. And my sin and my failure and my own ugliness are my jagged leaves. The part of my story that spreads wide and takes in the light and the nourishment of God. And as I bare my need and allow the light to uncover the dark areas, I am filled. I am able. I may be hollow and oozing and bitter to taste, but it’s the light that shines on me that will make me beautiful and useful. And every bit of me is useful, even the jagged parts, just like the dandelion. Parts of the dandelion can be used to sooth illness and bring healing. They feed the bees, are nutrient rich, even edible… and some are used to beautify hillsides, create wonky bouquets and make mommas smile. Some bloom and re-bloom and spread more seeds than others. The kicker is, they are all useful. WE are all useful. We are all meant to bloom in our own time, spread the seeds only we were meant to, and then entrust them to the wind to find the right soil to take root.

So when it’s early spring and the winters been long, I will smile at the dandelions and enjoy them before the mower starts to hum. They pop up early and sing hope into this world that hates them. Their purpose seems futile. Their beauty is hard to see, but it’s glorious when we see them thru the lens of their Creator. Like all things are meant to be seen.

Maybe I’m over-reaching here, because DANDELIONS? Really? I think for us grown ups it takes a slow minute to process what our kids see at first glance. They run wild and free and find beauty everywhere. Nothing holds them back from connecting with God and enjoying the simple things. Their pride isn’t quite in tact yet. No wonder Jesus said,

Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:3

I think I’m going to start paying attention to what my kids find beauty in. The dandelions. Bouquets of weeds. Mud pies, even. The things unwanted and invisible to us that they would never overlook. It reminds me a bit of Jesus. He lived all mixed up like that. He wasn’t chasing down glory for Himself and trying to do the big things, have the big things, be the big things. He made himself small. He gave up a throne for a cross. He didn’t go for the obvious people either. He wasn’t reeling in people we think look the part. He mixed himself in with the hurting, the lost, the ugliest souls who couldn’t even try to hide their jagged edges. That’s where He spent his time. And somehow, we think we understand the gospel as we curate the perfect lives for ourselves. But do we really? Are we concerned with what He was concerned about? I’m asking myself these questions. I’m also asking you. It’s somehow still the peonies and the glory and the beauty and the success we end up after, isn’t it? Those are obvious. Jesus didn’t go rubbing elbows and making life among the obvious choices like the beautiful people, the beautiful homes, the beautiful things. He didn’t give them much attention because he knew they mattered little. He didn’t condemn them either because it wasn’t about them. That’s not where the soul filling LIFE is. It’s with the dandelions. The simple forgotten things.

It’s upside down, this life. We think the glory comes when the yard is groomed and perfectly landscaped and we’re sitting in the perfect chair with a drink in our hand. Again, CURATING. Our attempts at creating our own little Garden of Eden. But what if it’s the other way around. What if the drink in our hand and the perfect yard/setting/existence still leaves us wanting? What if it’s rolling around in the dandelions and dirt and finding God in the mess that’s the most fulfilling? I think as we set our eyes and hearts on the things Jesus does, that’s when we come alive. I’m not so sure Jesus cared about the dust bunnies and all the to do lists. He cared more about the people. The lost ones. So I’m asking myself how much do I care. Where am I focusing my energy? My time? My heart? The answer is humbling, that’s for sure. Am I out for myself and my earthly little kingdom? Or am I considering the small, forgotten things like He did?

***

My husband is big on his yard by the way. He works hard. He enjoys the work, the drink, the chair, the green blades of grass all in a row. And so do I. But at the same time, we’re trying not to fool ourselves. We’re fighting to see the dandelions. The beauty. The glory. The still life. We get mixed up on a daily basis and have to constantly re-direct our hearts. We’re not living the dream over here. We’re messing it all up with the best of them. But we’re fighting for eyes that see God in ALL THE THINGS.