Daffodils In My Potatoes

Song of Songs 2:12

Flowers appear on the earth;

the season of singing has come,

the cooing of doves is heard in our land.

First, I apologize for being away so long. Life has a way of needing to be lived and sometimes I find myself doing what NEEFDS to be done, rather than what I WANT to do. And for any new readers of my blog, a quick review of my life will help the rest of this post make more sense. I am almost 58 years old, I have been a pastor’s wife for over 35 years, and I have been married to my husband, Cliff, for almost 40 years. I am a recovering alcoholic and have also abused prescription drugs in my past (which makes our pastoral ministry very interesting, to say the least). I went to an inpatient treatment center in January-March of 2011 and have been sober for one year, 1 month and 15 days. Last year was a journey and a half – including not only my treatment and recovery, but also things like open heart surgery for my husband in October; followed by 2 large pulmonary embolisms that almost killed him, complete with a 3 week stay in the hospital, most of it in intensive care; the loss of a cousin to suicide; and the unexpected death of my father 3 days after Christmas. There was more, but those are sort of the highlights.

Today I’m writing about daffodils and potatoes and a lovely lady I’ll call Tina (not her real name). Tina attends my Celebrate Recovery women’s group on Monday evenings. She has been sober for almost two years. Tina simply exudes joy - in a most endearing and childlike manner. We may come to group feeling down, disheartened and discouraged, but we are always cheered when Tina enters the room, flashes her impish grin and opens the discussion with a tale from her week that always makes us smile.

Last night she was so excited, she was bouncing. She shared that last summer she had planted a bunch of potatoes in a container, but they never flourished; instead, they died rather quickly. When she happened by yesterday morning, to her astonishment she found a bunch of wild dwarf daffodils had taken up residence in the middle of her potatoes.  Tina was absolutely delighted. She had always wanted some of those little daffodils, but had never planted any. She was sure her husband had surprised her, but he assured her over and over that he had not. Finally, she decided they were simply a present from God. When her husband scoffed at that idea, suggesting that instead a bird had probably dropped the bulbs, Tina was undeterred. She just clapped her hands in glee and exclaimed – “But God sent that bird to put those daffodils in my potatoes!”

Friends, recently my life has been filled with “potatoes.” When Tina was telling her story, my mind flashed to all the things that have seemed somewhat dull and shapeless lately. There is a mentally challenged woman in my life who is very needy and clingy, and if I’m not careful, she sucks me dry with her myriad of problems. There is a couple I am working with, in the framework of recovery who are mired in the depths of their disease, and it is exhausting to see them wallow in their misery. My own granddaughter is temporarily living with our youth pastor and his wife, because she is so angry at her own parents, who are also recovering from chemical addictions, and the sorrow I feel at that situation often causes me to stumble, as if tripping over another large potato. A co-worker, who is also a friend, constantly stops by my office to complain. And the list just goes on and on. I feel like all I have been doing lately is stooping over and picking up yet another boring or cumbersome potato and trying to heave it away, only to see a larger one in its place.

The vision Tina’s story created for me was one of pure joy. I could just see God instructing birds to drop some small bulbs right in that container of potatoes. Tina was especially overjoyed, because she knew they were there just for her. When I asked her how she could be so sure, she beamed again and exclaimed, “Because—I didn’t want just any old daffodil—I wanted those little short ones. I’ve ALWAYS wanted some of those, so that’s what God gave me.”

I am humbled by Tina’s acceptance of God’s gift into her life. While I have been so focused on all the problems around me and the many demands that threaten to overwhelm me with their subtle minutia, I have a feeling God has been busy planting flowers in the midst of my potatoes, and just waiting for me to notice them. So today, I took the time to leave my office for a half hour walk, trusting that the work on our budget could get by without me for awhile and started searching for those flowers. And what do you know? Right at the edge of the trail I took, peeking up over logs and branches, and pushing their way through the tall grass, reaching for the sun – there were daffodils all along my path. They weren’t there a few days ago, and in my heart of hearts, I believe God placed them there this morning, just hoping I’d notice them.

I challenge you to take the time to find those daffodils that are dancing in your potatoes. It will make you smile and I think it will make God very, very happy.

Isaiah 35:1

The desert and dry land will become happy;

the desert will be glad and will produce flowers.

Thanks for listening. Caro.

In Whose Image?

I suspect most of us are very familiar with the passages in Genesis that talks about God creating us in his image. Genesis 1:27 tells us

So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.

I have been thinking about this for a while now, ever since I heard a snippet of conversation on the radio about being created in God’s image. The person was admonishing his listeners to be better, more righteous, yes, more perfect – because, after all, we were the only image of God some people would ever see, and we needed to be an accurate representation of who God is – and what he expects us to be.

I have to admit; I got fed up with hearing all of this and turned the radio off.  But it got me thinking about God’s image and what that meant to me. Or should mean to me.

Here is what I have decided. I am created in God’s image – the Bible clearly states it. But the image of I now carry with me is not one of the stern and demanding overbearing father. Instead, I see his image as an accurate reflection of who I am.

Now, don’t hear me wrong. I am not saying I am all that wonderful – like God is. Neither am I without flaw or sin – as God most certainly is. But when I think of being created in his image what that means to me is that God has expressed himself in us; in me. I believe God sometimes feels disappointment, as I often do. I think he feels anger and even rage, as I sometimes do. I think he loves to laugh, as I certainly do. And I think he loves me with a love that is beyond comprehension, a love that I can only begin to relate to by comparing it to my mother’s love; and maybe even more to my Nana’s heart.

I am blessed to have two children, both married to fine Christian spouses. Between them, they have given me 6 beautiful grandchildren (was there ever an ugly grandchild)? Sometimes, when I am trying to feel God’s love more fully, he reminds me of a scene from several years ago. Two of my granddaughters are now 13 and 10. When they were just 4 ½ and almost 2, we lived a few miles apart. One sunny afternoon, I heard their van pull up, and I went out onto our deck to wait for them. As soon as the door slid open, Shayla, the oldest, scrambled out and took off at a dead run for me, shouting “Nana!” at the top of her lungs. Her little sister, Shyanne, waited impatiently to be released from her car seat and I could hear her demanding “Down! Down, Daddy. Now!’ As soon as possible, she too wiggled her way out of the van and as fast as her little legs could take her, she charged up the walk and into my waiting arms, crying “Naa! Naa” which was how she pronounced Nana at the time.  To say I was pleased to be greeted like that is a gross understatement.

I have often thought of that day and I think that is how God wants me react to him – with unabashed joy, total abandonment, crying out his name. I think my favorite image of my Abba is him stretching his arms out to me and gathering me close, then swinging me around and around with joy, as I did to my little girls that long ago afternoon.

Colossians 1:15 tells us

The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.

Certainly, Jesus, God’s firstborn, exhibited all kinds of emotions when he walked this earth. And he is the absolute image – and pattern – for my Father. I only hope I can grow more like him – whether that means I cry, laugh or just sigh in exasperation at times.  After all, I AM created in his image. What a relief that is!

Thanks, as always, for listening. Caro