A spot of white gleams among the brown leaves and dried branches. Only a few inches from the water’s edge, she sits like a statue. Day after day in the same position.
Other ducks swim past. None stop. Day and night the lone mother contentedly warms her eggs.
Every day, my eyes check on her repeatedly . She calmly sits through the hot sun, darkness, cool nights, and light rain.
Like an expectant grandmother, I wait anxiously for the new arrivals. I look forward to the tiny ducklings waddling behind their mother and swimming to my shoreline.
Apprehension takes over. What if they have the same fate as the four previous ducklings? Within a couple of weeks all disappeared. At least two were snacks for a hungry, brown hawk. Their mother’s valiant attempt to save them failed.
In spite of the terrible odds for tiny creatures in nature, the patient, determined mother duck waits.
Her perseverance, even in tough situations, reminds me to listen and be content when God says to wait.
Psalm 27: 14 Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. (NIV)
Heavenly Father, teach me to listen and wait contentedly. Amen
Monday, March 26, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Easter Reminders in My Garden
A strip of blue streaked across my yard. Two large bluejays chatted and then flew away. In the bright, crisp morning, a melody of tunes, with a frog percussion section, drifted across the lake.
Brilliant spring greens glistened in the emerging light. African irises struggled to open their eyes. A few Mexican petunias showed their purple faces and a solitary, white spidery lily gleamed. Remnants of pink azaleas clung to life.
As the garden awoke, a mallard duo formed a wake along the shoreline. Squirrels scampered from tree to tree. Mrs. Cardinal and Mrs. Wren conversed over breakfast at the feeder. Early risers waited for late arrivals.
Though slivers of spring welcomed me, the pine truly announced that Easter was near. What I saw at the top of one tall pine made me smile. Against the bright blue background, a single cross announced Easter like a Christmas star.
Each year, slash pines develop small crosses. At the end of branches, new growth turns into the unusual reminders of Jesus’ death. His resurrection is signaled by hope in the emerging spring.
Only a few days later, crosses erupted on the pines and blooms burst with color around the garden. I smiled at the beautiful Easter illustration.
John 16: 33 I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. (NIV)
Dear Lord, thank you for the reminders of Easter. Help me remember the incredible gift of Jesus. Amen
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Why???
Not another one? Why did it have to happen?
Last week when a large, white duck waddled to our feeder, I noticed movement by her side. As I peered down the bank, four tiny puffballs skittered after their mother. They imitated her and pecked at fallen seeds. When she scooted into the water, they obediently followed.
Their unique colorings intrigued me. Yellow down with gray/black spots covered three of them. The final one resembled the black, ugly duckling.
Excitedly, I told Alan about our spring present and looked forward to showing them to our granddaughters.
The following day I searched the lake for the new family. On the far shore, the mother ambled up the bank followed by three small ducklings. Sadly, I watched and knew the missing one was gone. Why did the cute, little ones die?
Each day, I scanned the lake looking intently for the special, duck family. Mallards, brown and white mottled ducks, and another white one skimmed the lake but none with ducklings.
Loud squawking and flapping wings startled me. A brown hawk dove for the opposite shore. Like a fighter jet, the mother duck launched herself at him. Too late.
Only two remained. Disheartened, I moaned about the loss. Alan reminded me it was a natural cycle. I still didn’t like it.
The following day, mother duck’s white body gleamed against the brown shore. Through binoculars, I clearly observed the mother and two remaining offspring. Their growth in a week was amazing. Surely, they were big enough to be safe.
A commotion erupted. More squawks and flailing wings. Another fight erupted between the brown hawk and protective mother. Like a determined missile, she headed for the enemy.
My relief was short lived. Alan noticed only one small duck. In disbelief, I grabbed the binoculars again. Two ducks came into sight--one large and one little.
Why couldn’t the hawk eat a pesky squirrel, unhealthy rat, or smelly skunk? Why did it have to be the adorable ducklings?
God doesn’t answer all of my questions. Why do children die? Why do hardworking people lose homes and jobs? Why do accidents take families? Why do loved ones suffer pain? Why do storms devastate communities? Why do cruel leaders kill and starve their people?
As I contemplated my unanswered questions, another thought came to me. Do I ask why for the good things? Why are children healed of injuries and diseases? Why do people have stable homes and jobs? Why is extra money earned to give to others? Why do families have special times together? Why do rain and sunshine enrich the land? Why are there beautiful sunrises? Why are there flocks of birds? Why are people kind to one another? Why am I so blessed?
Only God knows the answers to all of my why’s. I question and rant when I don’t like the outcomes. But am I thankful and offer praise when results are positive?
Isaiah 45: 11-12 This is what the Lord says--the Holy One of Israel, and its Maker; concerning things to come, do you question me about my children, or give me orders about the work of my hands? It is I who made the earth and created mankind upon it. My own hands stretched out the heavens; I marshaled their starry hosts. (NIV)
Psalm 113 4-9 The Lord is exalted over all the nations, his glory above the heavens. Who is like the Lord our God, the One who sits enthroned on high, who stoops down to look on the heavens and the earth? He raises the poor from dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap. He seats them with princes, with the princes of their people. He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the Lord. (NIV)
Dear Lord, thank you for blessings. Help me accept and learn from the trials. Amen
Last week when a large, white duck waddled to our feeder, I noticed movement by her side. As I peered down the bank, four tiny puffballs skittered after their mother. They imitated her and pecked at fallen seeds. When she scooted into the water, they obediently followed.
Their unique colorings intrigued me. Yellow down with gray/black spots covered three of them. The final one resembled the black, ugly duckling.
Excitedly, I told Alan about our spring present and looked forward to showing them to our granddaughters.
The following day I searched the lake for the new family. On the far shore, the mother ambled up the bank followed by three small ducklings. Sadly, I watched and knew the missing one was gone. Why did the cute, little ones die?
Each day, I scanned the lake looking intently for the special, duck family. Mallards, brown and white mottled ducks, and another white one skimmed the lake but none with ducklings.
Loud squawking and flapping wings startled me. A brown hawk dove for the opposite shore. Like a fighter jet, the mother duck launched herself at him. Too late.
Only two remained. Disheartened, I moaned about the loss. Alan reminded me it was a natural cycle. I still didn’t like it.
The following day, mother duck’s white body gleamed against the brown shore. Through binoculars, I clearly observed the mother and two remaining offspring. Their growth in a week was amazing. Surely, they were big enough to be safe.
A commotion erupted. More squawks and flailing wings. Another fight erupted between the brown hawk and protective mother. Like a determined missile, she headed for the enemy.
My relief was short lived. Alan noticed only one small duck. In disbelief, I grabbed the binoculars again. Two ducks came into sight--one large and one little.
Why couldn’t the hawk eat a pesky squirrel, unhealthy rat, or smelly skunk? Why did it have to be the adorable ducklings?
God doesn’t answer all of my questions. Why do children die? Why do hardworking people lose homes and jobs? Why do accidents take families? Why do loved ones suffer pain? Why do storms devastate communities? Why do cruel leaders kill and starve their people?
As I contemplated my unanswered questions, another thought came to me. Do I ask why for the good things? Why are children healed of injuries and diseases? Why do people have stable homes and jobs? Why is extra money earned to give to others? Why do families have special times together? Why do rain and sunshine enrich the land? Why are there beautiful sunrises? Why are there flocks of birds? Why are people kind to one another? Why am I so blessed?
Only God knows the answers to all of my why’s. I question and rant when I don’t like the outcomes. But am I thankful and offer praise when results are positive?
Isaiah 45: 11-12 This is what the Lord says--the Holy One of Israel, and its Maker; concerning things to come, do you question me about my children, or give me orders about the work of my hands? It is I who made the earth and created mankind upon it. My own hands stretched out the heavens; I marshaled their starry hosts. (NIV)
Psalm 113 4-9 The Lord is exalted over all the nations, his glory above the heavens. Who is like the Lord our God, the One who sits enthroned on high, who stoops down to look on the heavens and the earth? He raises the poor from dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap. He seats them with princes, with the princes of their people. He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the Lord. (NIV)
Dear Lord, thank you for blessings. Help me accept and learn from the trials. Amen
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Heartache for Haiti
An opulent retreat emerged at the edge of an impoverished country. Two vastly different worlds connected only by land. Visitors on the floating city were isolated from the reality of Haiti.
Off the ship, a beautiful section of beach, developed by the cruise company, catered to happy guests. Clean restrooms, food venues, a water park, zip lines and hundreds of lounge chairs offered conveniences and relaxation. The oasis of tranquility, entertainment, and luxury delighted visitors.
Each step in the sand, reminded me of the horrible devastation, hunger, and death on the island. Just over the mountains, life was different.
A tiny slice of the real Haiti appeared at the craft market. Fortunately, the cruise line offered local vendors an opportunity to sell their handmade crafts and mass produced tourist items. Stall after stall offered similar t-shirts, jewelry, hats, bags, paintings ...
Neatly dressed, in regulation orange dress shirts, vendors beckoned, called and cajoled as they played flutes, held up hats, and motioned lookers to come inside. Each one hoping to make sales to support families. Would they make enough?
Charlie, one of the vendors, told me that the surrounding area had only received jolts from the earthquake and not devastation. I knew that none of Haiti is prosperous.
As difficult as it was to be in Haiti and not be able to really help, I realized that ships were providing support to some families with the craft market. Also, fees paid to the government for every ship, gave money to the ailing government. Hopefully, that money is used to benefit the people.
At lunch, I noticed Haitians working in the food pavilions. Normally, only the ship’s crew attended to the passengers. That was another way Haitian residents were supported by the cruise line.
Holding a large tub, an elderly Haitian shuffled from table to table picking up trash and garbage. His tall, bent frame moved in slow but determined motion. I wanted to take the bin and do it for him but sensed a proud man in the worn out body. Several people gathered their trash to help him. In the middle of the picnic din, he worked silently and only occasionally show a half set of teeth. As difficult as the job was for him, he worked diligently.
As I noticed uneaten plates of food, I thought of people over the mountains who would feast on the discarded remnants. How many people could be nourished on what we threw away? Was the old man thinking the same thing? I hurt for the starving and sick.
Fees paid for the zip lines, scuba diving, and jet skis provided entertainment for only minutes or hours. The same amount of money could provide food for days, weeks, or even months for those over the mountains.
Sparkling beaches, turquoise waters, lush mountains formed a barrier against the reality of extreme poverty. Passengers enjoyed the day in the tropical paradise. Did anyone else feel as sad and disheartened as I did?
Officially, I can add Haiti to my list of countries visited. However, I didn’t really experience the true Haiti with all of its suffering, destruction, and plundering.
All passengers didn’t share my thoughts. On the ship’s elevator, one man said, “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
Alan quickly told him about the Haiti he saw on a mission. We tried to spread the word that our stop was not the real story of Haiti.
At first, the world provided compassion and assistance for the desperate country. But time dims faraway disasters. Immediate, personal problems overtake distant ones. Live goes on. Heartache continues.
Off the ship, a beautiful section of beach, developed by the cruise company, catered to happy guests. Clean restrooms, food venues, a water park, zip lines and hundreds of lounge chairs offered conveniences and relaxation. The oasis of tranquility, entertainment, and luxury delighted visitors.
Each step in the sand, reminded me of the horrible devastation, hunger, and death on the island. Just over the mountains, life was different.
A tiny slice of the real Haiti appeared at the craft market. Fortunately, the cruise line offered local vendors an opportunity to sell their handmade crafts and mass produced tourist items. Stall after stall offered similar t-shirts, jewelry, hats, bags, paintings ...
Neatly dressed, in regulation orange dress shirts, vendors beckoned, called and cajoled as they played flutes, held up hats, and motioned lookers to come inside. Each one hoping to make sales to support families. Would they make enough?
Charlie, one of the vendors, told me that the surrounding area had only received jolts from the earthquake and not devastation. I knew that none of Haiti is prosperous.
As difficult as it was to be in Haiti and not be able to really help, I realized that ships were providing support to some families with the craft market. Also, fees paid to the government for every ship, gave money to the ailing government. Hopefully, that money is used to benefit the people.
At lunch, I noticed Haitians working in the food pavilions. Normally, only the ship’s crew attended to the passengers. That was another way Haitian residents were supported by the cruise line.
Holding a large tub, an elderly Haitian shuffled from table to table picking up trash and garbage. His tall, bent frame moved in slow but determined motion. I wanted to take the bin and do it for him but sensed a proud man in the worn out body. Several people gathered their trash to help him. In the middle of the picnic din, he worked silently and only occasionally show a half set of teeth. As difficult as the job was for him, he worked diligently.
As I noticed uneaten plates of food, I thought of people over the mountains who would feast on the discarded remnants. How many people could be nourished on what we threw away? Was the old man thinking the same thing? I hurt for the starving and sick.
Fees paid for the zip lines, scuba diving, and jet skis provided entertainment for only minutes or hours. The same amount of money could provide food for days, weeks, or even months for those over the mountains.
Sparkling beaches, turquoise waters, lush mountains formed a barrier against the reality of extreme poverty. Passengers enjoyed the day in the tropical paradise. Did anyone else feel as sad and disheartened as I did?
Officially, I can add Haiti to my list of countries visited. However, I didn’t really experience the true Haiti with all of its suffering, destruction, and plundering.
All passengers didn’t share my thoughts. On the ship’s elevator, one man said, “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
Alan quickly told him about the Haiti he saw on a mission. We tried to spread the word that our stop was not the real story of Haiti.
At first, the world provided compassion and assistance for the desperate country. But time dims faraway disasters. Immediate, personal problems overtake distant ones. Live goes on. Heartache continues.
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