A bright flash of colour was seen when the bird flew overhead. It landed in a nearby tree and quite effectively disappeared from sight.
Although I knew the bird was there, it now blended into the drab brown of the leafless branches.
The bright plumage was hidden. Only when wings were spread in flight could colour be seen.
I thought of the times I have also caused myself to disappear in plain sight. When I deny the unique attributes that make me who I am; my drab exterior blends in with my surroundings. No distinguishing characteristics are visible to set me apart.
God has gifted each of us with our own combination of talents and abilities. These are not to be hidden, but to be gratefully acknowledged and used for His glory.
I know this but it still seems risky to leave my safe perch and attempt to fly. I am more like a frightened baby bird than an exotic tropical one. Who am I to think I could possibly soar? It’s probably better to blend in than to draw attention to myself.
I remember hearing there are two things that can happen if I step out in faith to test my wings. One is that God will catch me if I fall. The other is that He will teach me to fly.
Either way, trusting God and following His leading will not be a mistake. Where I can only see my uninspiring, drab plumage, God sees the beauty He has instilled in me.
When, in faith, I embrace the opportunity to spread my wings and fly, the bright colours of His love will be visible to others and point them upwards to the glory of God.
“The heavens tell of the glory of God. The skies display His marvelous craftsmanship.” (Psalm 19:1 NLT)
From the third floor deck of our condo in Mexico, I look down on a palm tree. Normally I am on the ground looking up at these trees. This is a new point of view for me.
The tree itself hasn’t changed but my perspective certainly has.
I see bunches of what appear to be berries. From the ground I see the reddish purple ones. From above I see many more of these clusters and they are all green. Also are bouquets of tiny yellow flowers, in the same type of grouping as the berries. I wonder if the flowers mature to berries.
These are high up in the tree and couldn’t be viewed from my previous vantage point. Neither could the bees buzzing around the flowers or the humming bird hovering nearby.
There was much more going on in this tree than the swaying palm fronds and few clumps of berries I had seen from the ground.
Sometimes all I need is a different perspective to see what was there all along.
I have found life to be far more fulfilling when I take the time to look past my limited first impressions. A different perspective is able to help me change my point of view.
I’ve heard it said you only see what you’re looking for. In that case, I need to look past the obvious to be able to create value in all things. There is no telling what I may discover.
He sits perched on the floating branch fallen from one of the maple trees that line the river bank. I watch from my own perch, where I’ve come to be in a place where I often come, to slow a mind that has got caught up in its own whirl of thoughts like a river eddy.
But decisions and worries continue to swirl through my mind. Then I gaze at the Jay’s presence, see it’s still wings while it sits upon its perch. And my mind finally stills.
I watch and wait, light sounds of the river’s water and the rustling of tree branches above me, from winds unseen grace my senses.
My eyes follow the Jay as it takes it flight, flies from its perch that has become unsteady in the moving waters. The Jay flies up and up, finally resting in a Manitoba Maple tree’s branch that, I see, points west attached to a trunk that is sturdy and steady.
I rise from my own perch, steadying myself on the uneven turf with the help of reaching a hand against the sturdy tree that resides beside me.
I steady with the knowing that no matter when life seems as unstable as a branch on rushing river waters, I can find even ground again. I just need to take responsibility for my life and fly.
Lynn J Simpson is a writer who is rarely without camera in hand, capturing Breathing Spaces moments to share. She’s published two journals to help people create healthy mind-sets and is a Certified Professional Life Coach. A mom, a grandma, and explorer, Lynn loves to capture life’s journeys through writing and photography. You can find her at InspiringHopeInYou.com
I turned the corner onto my street and saw one of our neighbourhood jackrabbits hopping across the road. When it heard my car approaching, the rabbit stopped right where it was – in the middle of the road. It held perfectly still as I slowly drove past.
Often I see one of these rabbits in my yard and instead of hopping away when I come close, it will freeze in position, as if to blend into the surroundings and become invisible. Such was the case when I took the picture included in this post. Some places are easier to blend into than others.
To be fair, this can be an effective survival tactic. If the rabbit can’t be seen, there will be no danger of harm.
Although this may be useful for animals, the behaviour doesn’t work the same way for people.
Someone once told me she had observed me making myself invisible when I was out of my comfort zone. I was like the rabbit on the road. I thought no one could see me but I was wrong.
My desire is to feel like I belong, that I’m part of what is going on. When it feels like this is a bigger challenge than I can handle, I withdraw to protect myself from rejection. This makes me appear aloof and unapproachable. The result is I am not drawn into the group.
In essence, what I have just done is to create the exact opposite of what I wanted. I know I’m not alone in this type of behaviour. Does it affect you, too? Let’s step out in confidence to create the lives we want and not those we fear.
My husband and I were walking on a path through the woods when we saw some animal scat in front of us. I wondered what kind of animal had preceded us. I hoped it was from a deer and not something more dangerous. In order to confirm this, I took a picture for identification purposes. I needed to know if this was a safe place for future walks.
Our initial guess turned out to be correct and my fears of a dangerous animal were alleviated.
The situation did produce some interesting questions, though. I wondered if I could be identified by the crap I leave behind.
Do my fears and insecurities leave a trail of chaos in my wake? Do my frustrations and anger cause turmoil for others? Does the garbage left behind let you know I was there? Am I walking away and expecting others to clean up my mess?
If that is the case, I need to make some changes. These are not ways I would like to be remembered.
Knowing I can be identified by what I leave behind, I want to leave a legacy of kind words and gestures that showed I cared. Smiles, laughter and stories of memories made together are the best evidence of my footprints in your life. My purpose is to inspire others by sharing from my heart to help them see their true value.
I think I’ll keep that picture of deer scat on my phone as a reminder of what and what not to leave behind.
While in Arizona recently, I learned about a type of cactus called saguaro. While the name (pronounced Sah WAR oh) may not be familiar, its appearance certainly is.
Easily recognized for its height, which can be over twelve meters or forty feet tall, as well as the arms coming out of each side; this tree-like cactus is often depicted in artwork. Many years ago I purchased a wall hanging with a saguaro as part of the design.
I found it fascinating to learn it can take up to fifty years before the plant blossoms and approximately seventy-five years before appendages sprout. After the first one appears, there is no limit to the number it may produce. We counted twenty arms on one!
Looking at the plant, it appears to have accordion-type pleats. These expand as it stores water. This method of self-preservation is able to keep it alive for an incredible two years without moisture.
What have I learned from these facts to apply to my life?
I expect to achieve my goals in a minimal amount of time. In reality, it can take many years to blossom and grow into my full potential. Once I’m mature enough, there is no limit to how productive I can be.
If I store up things that nourish me, such as the beauty of nature, wisdom of those who have gone before me and encouragement from friends and family, I am able to draw on these to keep me going during the dry spells.
When I model my life after these truths I will be committed to do what is necessary to reach for my goals and dreams. Then I will be able to stand tall and proud with outstretched arms to welcome whatever comes my way.
What is that, I wondered? Is it some type of cactus? Or, maybe it’s a tree. In silent awe, I watched as a few of these large plants, scattered through the desert landscape, became an unusual forest of vegetation.
Eventually, I turned to my husband and said, “I’ve never seen anything like those before. I wonder what they are.” He had seen a sign saying we were on the Joshua Forest Parkway and suggested maybe we were looking at Joshua trees.
I took a picture as we drove so I could research them later.
Not only did I confirm that these were indeed Joshua Trees, I also learned some interesting facts. The Joshua tree, also known as a yucca palm, is an evergreen plant belonging to the lily family.
Even more interesting to me was how they got their name. Legend has it that in the mid-nineteenth century, a group of Mormon settlers crossing the Mojave Desert came across these plants. The erect branches reminded them of the biblical story of Joshua, reaching his hands up to the sky in prayer.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were like Joshua trees and our appearance reminded people to lift their hands in prayer and praise? Unlike the trees which only inhabit a specific area, we can move about impacting others with the message of love and hope found in the Bible. So, if you see me with my arms lifted high, you’ll understand why.
“Pray in the Spirit in every situation. Use every kind of prayer and request there is. For the same reason be alert. Use every kind of effort and make every kind of request for all of God’s people.” (Ephesians 6:18 GWT)
A dull grey sky and a cool breeze greeted me when I looked outside. The weather forecast for the next few days didn’t appear any more promising.
However, the view from my window did nothing to dispel the joy in my heart.
My husband and I were nearing the end of our vacation. We had experienced the diversity of God’s creation. From the colourful rocks of windswept canyons to more variety of cacti than I knew existed, we saw beauty displayed.
Friends just met, offered conversation and companionship.
Time spent with distant family staying only an hour away rekindled shared memories.
The bonus of friends from home visiting the same area gave us adventure and laughter that caused tears to run down our cheeks.
An added blessing was the hospitality of a fellow writer who welcomed us into her home for a meal.
Deep contentment as Brian and I walked down the street, hand in hand.
I was able to pick oranges and grapefruit from neighbouring trees and enjoy the fresh, juicy taste.
Challenges presented by new pastors in a much larger church than we were used to gave me a new perspective.
Quiet moments with my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ restored my soul.
Scripture says, “A cheerful heart is good medicine” and I have received life-restoring, energizing medicine.
“A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones” (Proverbs 17:22 NIV)
“For the despondent, every day brings trouble; for the happy heart, life is a continual feast. (Proverbs 15:15 NLT)
Please welcome Kim Louise Clarke as my guest blogger today. Kim and I met through Inscribe Christian Writers Fellowship. Her first book came out in 2016, a devotional travel memoir, entitled The French Collection – Moments with God in Paris.
Outside my friends’ house, I waited for her in my car. Across the street, the movement of a swinging birdfeeder suspended from a tree caught my eye. It was a simple design: an open tray suspended by ropes from a branch about a metre above the snowy lawn.
The cause of the movement came, not from a bird, but from a squirrel rummaging around in the feeder. Nearby on the ground, a bird—a magpie as big as the squirrel—seemed to be pacing as if waiting its turn. No sooner had the squirrel hopped off the feeder to scamper down the road, than the magpie jumped up to see what it could find. And no sooner had the magpie flown away, than a tiny bird that had been waiting on its perch high in the tree, darted in to have its turn.
Because I’ve seen how magpies can torment squirrels, with three of them squawking and hounding one poor squirrel fleeing along a fence, this was like a peaceful scene out of Narnia. It was a short animal dramatization of I Corinthians 13, focusing on love. “Love is patient, love is kind. … It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered” (verses 4, 5).
How appropriate for February, the month of love, to see this reminder of how we should treat others. Even doing the little things, like patiently standing in a cafeteria line, waiting your turn, and letting others go first does not go unnoticed by God. It is by our loving behaviour that He is glorified.
My friend arrived and got into my car. We drove away with me chatting about squirrels and magpies. Having been exposed to one sermon, we drove off to church for another.
You can find out more about Kim through her website: www.kimlouiseclarke.com
To contact her email: firstname.lastname@example.org
Please welcome Lynn Simpson as my guest blogger today. After you enjoy her words and her photographs you can find out more about Lynn in the brief bio at the bottom of the post.
Lifeless leaves in colours of blood and coffee on a dusty footpath crush beneath my worn hikers. I pull my wool hat lower over my ears with one mittened hand, the other grips my camera. Ahead, I know, is a low lying
bridge, over a cheerless pond, just four steps wide and seven steps to the other side.
I’ve been here before, on this trail in this national park close to my home. Been here too, during the times of chirping frogs and singing sparrows.
But today, under a silvery sky, the life sounds seem hushed. And this feels right. As my brother of only a few years longer in life than me, was recently stilled and silenced. His path moved now beyond this world.
My downcast eyes wander to lanky, burnt mustard grasses. I halt, grasp my camera in both hands, adjust the dials, kneel and frame the scene. Click. Reframe. Click. Capture a moment. Now. And then gone.
And I wonder, in this moment, what is the point really? A captured moment just changes in time. And is lost. Gone.
Does it make any difference, to do this or that in this moment?
Do I make a difference?
I shake my head, try to clear of it of this melancholy. Fingers seek for tissue in my coat pocket.
Crush of lifeless leaves interrupt, from steps that are not mine.
You must be a pro, he says. I unbend my knees, stand. No, I reply. He is tall, slender, like my brother (my late-brother) with midnight black hair that matches the camera he clutches in bare hands. My friend gave me his camera to try for a day and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing and my pictures look terrible, he tells me, his face crimsoning. Can I see yours? he asks. I show him, am warmed by his delight. How did you capture that from that? He points to the field of littered grasses. It’s about the angles, and the scene, and the light, and the imagination, I tell him. I show him a few tools, a few features and simple ways to set the light, to frame the scene.
He clicks. Reframes. Clicks. Captures a few shots with the new settings.
Wow, he says, his grin infectious. That totally made a difference! Thank you!
There is a wooden bridge that crosses marsh-like waters just up ahead, I tell him. You may want to try there too.
He takes a few steps backwards, on this ginger path, waves a free hand. Great! I want to be able to show my friend later what moments I captured here. Thanks so much! he says.
I watch him turn away and move on. I look down. Auburn and chestnut coloured leaves stir from a light wind. I kneel, position my camera. And click, capturing a new moment.
Lynn J Simpson understands the need for creating spaces for rest, renewal, and transformation both personally and as a Professional Life Coach. Her own journey is rarely without a camera in hand, capturing breathing spaces to share. Her recent publication, Breathing Spaces-a 21 day journal of rest, reflection and renewal is used by individuals and groups to help create healthy mindsets. You can read more of Lynn’s musings on faith, hope and love at Inspiring Hope (lynnjsimpson.com), and connect with her on Facebook and YouTube.