Our backyard is muddy.

We have some serious drainage issues. Though 60 yards of dirt were installed last fall.

Ever feel like life is muddy too?

On the bottom of your boots type of muddy.

Don’t you dare track it in the house, type of muddy.

A “when will this get all cleaned up” type of messy.

But also full of the potential of the mysteries that lay dormant in the soil.

In the midst of mud…

M mom pointed out that the apple tree is blooming.

There might be a beauty just above the mud.

If we fix our gaze upward.

You see, all things are made right.

In an upward kind of God-centered way.

All of it.

Mud.

Apple Trees.

Our lives.

The End.

The Now (If we notice).

Made right.

That really good news.

May we not get suck in the mud, but rather enjoy the blossoms of our lives.

Fix upward and onward, friends…

KE

 

Giving is an interesting concept.

We are often in awe of people who give.

Without reservation.

With generosity.

With little thought of themselves.

Thankfulness ensues.

Is giving noble?

Something to esteem, publicly?

Something to elevate towards?

Something to verify with a plaque on a building or a logo in our banquet brochure? 

A hope that we would be that thing. Someday?

Or is it natural?

In a “We Were Made For This” type of way?

Like, we are made it give. It. All.

Away?

Ourselves?

Our very lives?

Our time?

Our money?

Our space and place?

Anonymously.

Cheerfully.

Not out of obligation or guilt. But out of sanctification and honor.

May we ponder these things…

KE

 

 

 

39 is the first year where I have felt old.

Not super pumped about it.

Plantar Fascitis (thx spell check).

Nerve impingement (thx again spell check) in C6 and C7.

Chronic pain.

It’s gotten me grumpy. And sad a bit.

I’m learning to do the right things and notice when things are out of whack.

I have stretches and exercises that keep me moving.

It seems that we were made to grow.

To live.

To experience pain and the place where we can no longer fix ourselves.

It is redemptive in a way.

Relying on someone other than myself.

A method of wholeness that I do not possess.

I’d like to learn to live in hope instead of fear.

The hope of a new day. And a body that does not have male pattern baldness and back hair.

The hope of a new day when I keep learning to rely on God more than myself.

A new day is on each of our horizons.

KE

PS – I’m going to lay in my neck traction machine. It brings so much healing and hope!

 

Been to a T Ball game recently?

I have.

Last night.

And it was awesome!

8 kids huddled around the mound. None of them pitching. 3 of them playing in the dirt.

All waiting. Kinda. for the ball to come their way.

All swarming to the big swing of the ball off the bat – that went 13 feet from the Tee.

Wrestling for the chance to grab the slow roller and chuck it to first base.

Most of the time.

I’m struck by the joy of learning something new.

About not caring so much about the rules of the game.

About playing in the dirt.

About every kid getting an at-bat.

The equality is astounding and right.

The joy is real.

The coaching is superb. It’s like herding cats.

And, man, Capri Suns still rule the day.

May we all find joy in where we are. In the dirt, in the crowd, and in the struggle for what is right and good.

Especially when it means giving everyone an at-bat.

KE

 

 

I noticed something about myself the last couple of weeks that is new.

Tulips make me smile.

Like, in a beaming, goofy kinda way.

Ear to ear. Even when no one is looking.

Not only because of the Dutch blood in my veins.

But because I am a human who is learning to SLOW DOWN.

Kinda.

Not flowers in a vase. But ones growing from the ground.

IN MY YARD.

I’m a large fella. With a bald head. Piercing eyes, I’m told.

Though I can wear my heart on my sleeve, verbally, my face has a tendency to be a bit stoic at times.

Sometimes people wonder if I am mad.

I’m not.

I just don’t smile tons.

Sometimes.

My brain is constantly whirling around. In an invigorating kind of way.

Usually.

There are definitely things that make me smile. When the grass is cut, when my kids feel courageous and treat each other with a reasonable amount of respect.

When my wife loves her job, picks up her side of the bed, and puts the cap on the milk the right way.

But, lately, there has been something about those tulips that bring me deep joy. Enough that my face even shows it.

May our joy be deep seeded. May it be new and life-giving. May it surprise us as we walk through our front yards.

May we beam from ear to ear. And maybe even giggle.

When no one is looking, of course.

KE