A Sunflower's Glory

Kabowd. Every time I pass by the sunflowers in my yard, this word comes to mind. For a time, the giant sunflowers towered 12’ over the ground. Now as summer turns to fall, their lanky stalks are bent from flowerheads full of tightly-packed seeds weighing them down.

It looks like they’re bowing.

Kabowd. It’s a Hebrew word from the Old Testament; Hebrew words can be so multi-faceted compared to our simple English language and are worth diving into when reading scripture. Kabowd means glory or honor with weight and can also infer splendor and copiousness. In a sense, the word indicates God’s heavy presence, the fullness – or heaviness - of his glory. It was used to indicate a tangible feeling of God’s manifestation on earth. It is used in the Exodus story when Moses asked to see God and God shielded him with his hand as the weight of his glory passed by. It left Moses so radiant he was forced to veil his face for the sake of not blinding those with him.

The sunflowers were planted by my husband in honor of my dear friend who went to heaven this past May. Sunflowers had a special meaning to her throughout her cancer journey and often spoke encouragement. Her own life was full of planting not just seeds in her gardens, but spiritual seeds in the lives of many be they friend or stranger. She was a woman of intercessory prayer and belief in God’s loving power. She was bold in her prayer life, regularly seeking out opportunities to engage with people and pray for or encourage them.

This summer as our tiny garden seeds grew into sprouts and quickly into lofty large blooms, I marveled at how something so small had so soon grown into something so big. In just no time at all. God’s nature encouraged me: we too can plant tiny seeds for God’s kingdom and not even know or always see how they will grow, how big they can grow or how much they will spread. He encouraged me to be diligent in planting seeds for his kingdom, as my friend had been.

Now that fall has come the flowers’ beauty is fading. It’s time for them to surrender their seeds. This can’t happen when they’re standing upright and full of life. As they die, they begin to loose their seeds. Hundreds from just one tiny seed. Each 12” flowerhead full of new potential life soon be able to become their own towering plant. Or maybe some seeds will nourish animals. Each will serve some sort of purpose, no matter whether it lives on or not.

As we mourned my friend, this was the picture we kept getting. A woman who planted seeds for the kingdom. Who planted in obedience and in compassion, to see God move in the people around her. A woman who spent much of her life bowed in prayer. We would get to watch the seeds she planted live on.

Kabowd. A life lived in the weighty presence of the Lord. A lowly posture, not haughty and “in control” but stooped in submission.

What purpose does a flower have, but to yield its beauty for a while then to fade away, bowed in glory, yielding seeds to harvest. “It produces a crop, yielding a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.”

I watch the flower fading away, its once glorious golden yellow leaves shriveling into dark, dull, brittle strands. I watched my dear friend’s life and beauty fade away, her once beautiful golden yellow hair the victim to another cancer diagnoses.

“What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a while and then vanishes.”

Part of God’s mercy is the time he has given us here. He continues to give us time but let us not take it for granted. In this time, will we be compelled by His will or by our own? Will we submit to His plans or forge our own way? Our will is a precious thing God has given. We have freedom to choose. What seeds will continue on after we are no longer here? One day the time he’s given us here will run out. Will our lives yield a hundred, sixty or thirty times what God has planted in us?

The Deep End

Our kids can teach us so much about God’s love and our relationship with him. Sometimes I see life situations and how God’s trying to provide encouragement and direction more clearly when I’m trying to parent my own child through his struggles and fears.

This week my 7-year-old had swim lessons. As the week progressed, he grew more and more distressed at the thought of jumping into the water. Especially the deep end. The lesson only lasted 45 minutes, but he would worry and wallow for the 2 hours leading up to the lesson. My husband and I tried talking him through some things. Breathing to manage anxiety. Reasoning to calm fears. Praying for peace. Memorizing “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” Redirecting him with helpful chores. Nothing seemed to work. He was stuck in a loop of fearful thoughts in his mind, like a carousel going round and round with no end.

I thought about it logically, knowing what I know about the pool. Knowing that his instructors were there right beside him. These things didn’t calm him. He couldn’t voice what exactly he was scared about, what could possibly go wrong. He just didn’t like it, didn’t want to do it, didn’t like how the water felt in his face, didn’t want to subject himself to feeling uncomfortable. Why doesn’t he get it? I kept pondering – not out of frustration as times in the past, but out of genuine love, wanting to help him see that there was truly nothing to be afraid of.

When I realized nothing was pulling him from the loop of anxious thoughts, I cranked up the worship music to divert and drown out negativity. No more talking about the pool or the thoughts swirling in his mind. After an hour it was time to go and he still didn’t seem calm. I suppose at least I can be calm for him, I reasoned. After all – when I’m in those “swirling” thoughts of anxiety, what pulls me out? Someone simply telling me not to worry, someone reasoning with me? Not usually. Often, it is getting quiet and alone with God, listening to music, worshipping and praying.

I thought of how God must think of me when I’m scared to do something. Something (a certain thing) He’s told me to do but I overthink it or am to scared of the unknown. The deep end – how deep is it compared to me, how far above my head? Will it hurt, will I get lost down there? Will anyone really help me if I go under, will I come back up? All these questions make me just want to avoid doing that thing. If I don’t do it, I won’t fail or get hurt. People won’t see me fail or get hurt. People won’t laugh at me, I won’t be a failure. Right?

As I watched my son struggle with this mental battle of fear and anxiety, I wondered what God thinks of me when I do that. How I shut out His reason and His words of peace over a situation. When I’m staring at “the deep end” of something and can only fix my eyes on what I have to do, instead of the realization that I can’t go under because 1) it doesn’t matter how big/capable I am - God is bigger than the deep end, and 2) He’s not asking me to do something that will harm me. It might be uncomfortable. I might look ridiculous doing it. But so what?

There’s a line from a favorite children’s book of ours “You can’t find the fun if you’re afraid of the scary.” We can’t press onto victory in Christ if we’re too afraid to press forward and obey him. To feel uncomfortable. Because that’s where the growth is. That’s where real life is. Not standing on the sidelines watching people swim and jump in the deep end, but braving our fears and jumping in with them.

So here it goes, I’m jumping in.

Lessons From a Butterfly

Much to the delight of my 6-year-old son, we recently had the opportunity to have our very own caterpillar in a jar. A friend had messaged me one morning with the good news that she had found dozens of them just outside her home. It only took one mention to my son, and he was busy preparing a home for the caterpillar, gathering all kinds of outdoor matter and shoving it into a mason jar. Then he eagerly (incessantly) asked for the rest of the day: when can we get my caterpillar?! On and on he asked until the time came.

Honestly, I delighted in this too. It was fun to see my child's eagerness. And it was fun to imagine what the butterfly would look like and when it would make its appearance. Of course, we had to read about butterflies during this time too. We skipped ahead in our homeschool curriculum to "B is for Butterfly: God can make me new." Learning how, just like a caterpillar changes into a beautiful butterfly, we also can change into a "new creation" once we know Jesus.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has gone, the new has come." 2 Cor 5:17

One thing we read about the caterpillar struck me the most: When inside its cocoon, all its parts are rearranged. It becomes somewhat like a "caterpillar soup". If you were to cut it open, liquid would ooze out. What an amazing and strange process when you really think about it: how a worm could turn into some bug soup and emerge a colorful, flittering, flying butterfly.

I was reminded of a bible verse in Psalms (22:6) where David is crying out to God, considering his sovereignty. By contrast, he says "But I am merely a worm...". He compares himself as nothing beside God. Merely a worm. But God can take even a worm and transform it into something beautiful. For the caterpillar, that's a messy process. For us human "worms", it can be both messy and painful too.

I wonder if the caterpillar has any thoughts, if he thinks anything as he's cocooning himself, as he's transforming. If he did, I would think that he might at first say the change is cozy and comfortable. He's got his own warm protective blanket wrapped around him. But then, slowly, he starts to fall apart, every body part gets mixed up, everything "falls apart" until he's nothing but goo for awhile. Maybe then he might think: this is painful, I want out, this isn't what I thought it was going to be like.

There have been times in my life where I felt like I was turned into "caterpillar soup." In those moments, I didn't necessarily focus on the "new creation" God was making me into, but rather the pain of it all.

But honestly, I can look back at those moments now and see how God was with me all through it. Even in the moments when I screamed and cried out to God in anguish, asking where he was in this pain because He felt so very far away. If He was close, then why wasn't he answering? Why was I suffering? Why was everything falling apart?

Just like David in Psalm 22:

My God, my God, why have you deserted me?

Why are you so far away?

Won't you listen to my groans and come to my rescue?

I cry out day and night, but you don't answer, and I can never rest."

Those moments will come in life. But they will go. We don't live in the pain of a trial forever. Even though at times it may drag on for years. If we're a Christian, at some point we'll have our "caterpillar soup" moments, the times of transformation that don't feel like transformation, they just feel painful.

But once the transformation process is complete, this part is key: we must realize when we've grown wings and it's time to fly.

Back to our little caterpillar friend: she made her little cozy chrysalis soon after we put her in the new mason jar home. It wasn't long, not even 2 weeks, and we checked on her the morning that we wrapped up our butterfly lessons. And there she was. My son was thrilled! She was a beautiful black swallowtail: deep black wings with bright white dots, a beautiful bright blue on the bottom of her wings. She was absolutely gorgeous.

When her wings had fully dried and opened, we brought her outside and slowly removed the lid. She tried to climb out, but the glass jar was too slick, she kept sliding down and couldn't get out on her own.

As I keep thinking about

this, I wonder: if our own transformation process has been extra long or extra painful, can we get stuck in it - even if God has now made us into a new creation? He says that "we're seated with Christ in heavenly places" and we can live in this kind of elevated life, above the troubles of this world. That He gives us a "peace beyond understanding" and when trials come, we can still experience that peace. It can be like we're soaring above them (Isaiah 40:31).

But what if we don't realize we've "grown wings"?

What if we stay stuck in the old ways of thinking?

What would happen to that butterfly if she couldn't get out of the jar?

That's what could happen to us too. We live a life, not up to our full potential, not ever experiencing what it's like to soar to

new heights, to see things from an elevated point of view.

Are you a butterfly stuck in a jar? Has God made you into a new creation, but you're stuck inside the old ways of thinking?

God is calling his children to so

mething better. Not just a life of "Christianity" where we casually read our bible and habitually attend church. But a life as a new creation. A life where we, mere humans - simple "worms"- are transformed by the Holy Spirit in us. A life where He will take us on unimaginable journeys.

The question is: are you ready to fly?