The summer is slipping away. I don’t want it to end. Do you?
I like to hold on to every moment of a shifting season. To day by day, notice the small changes. The angle of the sun. Flicks of color in the leaves. The golden hue of autumn creeping in.
Perhaps it’s a manifestation of anxiety? Go slow because the prospect of fast change is too much? Or, settled into the rhythms of one season, there is fear of what the next one will bring?
How can one entirely know? I’m not sure. But as I grow, and continue in this new slow pace though, I am learning how the Lord is gracious with all that’s on our heart, including every fear, and every hope.
With a new season on the horizon—he has reminded me, there will always be new delights along the way. Even if it’s as simple as an unexpected wildflower, the simple joys are there. Sometimes, you may just have to wander off the beaten path or look a little more closely.
I have been amazed to discover new wildflowers blooming in places I never remembered…of a gorgeous fall color palette, soaking up the late summer sun.
I’m grateful for these late summer wildflowers, a show of God’s creativity and provision. I don’t know what this fall will bring, but I know God will be with me—will be with you—in it all.
It’s now officially summer! And it felt like it this weekend with hot and sunny Maryland weather!
Hiking along a favorite trail Saturday evening, my dogs and I came across a forest ridge filled with ferns—after some rain recently, everything is looking so green, lush, and alive!!
Ferns have been on my mind a lot over the past season and as I’ve reflected on the spring, and my hopes for it I wrote about here. It was a different spring for me. A spring without physical pain, where I could walk and explore. A spring where I had more time without a work commute. Yes, much still lurks under the surface, but it’s been a quiet spring.
And so I have gone to the woods. Like I always have over the years, to stay grounded, and connected to reality. To breathe the fresh air, to listen to the sounds of safe solitude. To connect with my Creator.
I’ve walked my favorite paths over and over again, and explored new trails that have become new favorites. I’ve delighted in spring ephemerals like bluebells, and woodland blossoms like mountain laurel. It’s been a beautiful spring—a good spring filled with beauty and newness and hope.
With spending so much time in the woods this spring, and my head and my heart in a much more clear place to take a slow pace, I was so much more keenly aware of the awakening woods and things like… ferns. Yes, simple ferns.
Ferns are fairly ubiquitous in the woods, but I suppose I had never noticed them in the springtime as they are coming up out of the earth, unfurling. But this spring I did! And wow, are they cool!!
Everywhere I turned in the woods this spring, these little fern coils kept jumping out at me—all different types of ferns. Seeing them progress over the weeks brought so much delight and joy! A friend even teased me on a hike for what she considered my over-exuberance for ferns!
But, that is who I’ve been this spring, a woman enthralled with ferns along woodland trails. It’s been a strange path that’s brought me to this place, of noticing and finding joy in unfurling ferns. A complicated one—one of grief and the feeling of missing out on so many other non-fern joys. A path that I wouldn’t choose, yet I’m grateful for how it’s refined me and for who I’ve become in my fern-awareness and appreciation. How to make sense of that? You don’t, you just accept it—while the sorrow can’t be erased, perhaps the hollowed out places can be filled with simple, reliable joy and contentment in the simple delights of this world? If we notice them—like unfurling ferns.
The ferns have also been teaching me about patience. The beauty of a vibrantly green lush fern starts with a little coiled spring, and slowly, slowly, with imperceptible changes each day, those little corkscrews become a woodland of glorious ferns.
Growth and beauty and flourishing take time. It’s hard to notice the movement day by day, but it’s happening. Because that is just how God, the author of beauty and flourishing, works. On the days I doubt, I go back to this truth. On the days it’s hard to go on, I cling to nature’s reminders of redemption.
And now, I think of the unfurling ferns as a reminder too. They will become a glorious forest floor of beautiful ferns, in time. The journey is often hard and confusing, yet there are still the sweet gifts of woodland delights to be found, for simple joy and reminders of truth.
A newly discovered song, an old hymn, God Moves in Mysterious Ways, also speaks to this beauty and the patience in trusting God’s guiding hand:
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense But trust Him for His grace Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face
His purposes will ripen fast Unfolding every hour The bud may have a bitter taste But sweet will be the flower
Gratitude. Delight. Patience. Trust. These are the lessons of unfurling ferns. Enjoy the woodland blankets of them for now, and remember to look for the coils next spring!
A highlight of my spring has been experiencing the wild flowers along the Susquehanna River, particularly the Virginia Bluebells.
I’ve hiked at Susquehanna State Park for several years, and have fond memories of the park as a little girl, but I now realize I had been missing out on the springtime delights found there!!
I first noticed the bluebells at the end of March, as I hiked the ridge line trail, and was intrigued by the tiny purple blossoms I saw sprouting up.
When I returned a few weeks later with my dogs for another hike, I was pleasantly surprised to see that these were beautiful blue wildflowers—Virginia Bluebells—all throughout the park!
I was so enthralled by the beauty of these flowers, I was drawn back to them several times. I particularly wanted to see the the bluebells with different types of lighting, so I visited for both a sunrise and sunset—both were lovely in their own way!
The sunrise experience was my favorite. It was a perfect April Saturday morning with glorious sunshine for several hours before turning cloudy. The bluebells in the morning light were stunning—I truly encourage anyone local to visit next year—it’s hard to describe how dense the flowers are along the river, making for an absolutely breathtaking scene. And with the chorus of birdsong throughout the early morning hours, my sunrise experience with the bluebells of the Susquehanna filled my heart with so much joy!
A few days later, I rushed off to the park after work to try and make the sunset. There is one spot on the ridge line trail where there is a dense portion of bluebells, right where the sun would be setting, and I was hoping to be there for the moment those setting rays of light would be hitting the hillside. As I arrived at the spot, my heart sunk as it seemed like I had just missed it. I paused, with some disappointment settling in, and reminded myself to just change my perspective. Sure enough, as I moved further up the trail, I was greeted with the beams of the setting sun lighting up those bunches of delicate blue flowers! The picture (of course) does not do it justice.
How wonderful it has been to discover this natural beauty so close to home. It’s reminded me of the simple delights that come with nature. Sometimes life can get into a pattern of monotony that can feel hard—and then a new joy from an old place is discovered. On the other hand, just like the seasons, life can feel like it’s always changing and never certain—which sparks gratitude for the comforting familiarity of favorite places. And whatever is happening, there is always the constancy of light. There may be cloudy days, but the sun is always there. Just like God’s love, guiding, leading, and making life beautiful.
Life is hard. But there is beauty. There is light. There are bluebells along the Susquehanna River…and I can’t wait to visit them every spring for wildflower delight.
It’s been a lovely spring so far! I have been soaking up lots of glorious sights – blooms, blossoms, and beautiful scenery.
I’ve also been blessed to be very active – with lots of hiking and adventures with my dogs. We’ve discovered new trails, along with the joy of favorite trails re-discovered.
With the weather getting warmer, we’ve also enjoyed swimming! Well, the dogs have enjoyed the swimming, and I greatly enjoy watching them and attempting to capture videos of their hilarious antics.
We’ve visited our favorite spot a number of times as the sun is fading. Last weekend was a stunning sunset. It was the dogs’ first time back swimming in the Bay since last October (?) and they didn’t miss a beat. Their swimming ability always amazes me.
It occurred to me this week that it’s been exactly four years since Hunter got hit by a car. And yet, on Saturday he hiked over 6 miles with me, and on Sunday he swam, and swam, and swam. I am so incredibly grateful he recovered from the accident and injury!
A remembrance like that, brings a flood of gratitude. Life has been quite difficult in those four years since, and my dogs, Hunter and Scout, have been some of my greatest blessings.
It’s hard to understand our trials, suffering, challenges. I believe God wants us to ask the questions, but to remember not to “lean on our own understanding.” I certainly can’t make sense of it all, and am continually learning to lean into “trusting the Lord with all my heart.”
But what I do know – is that God is with us in our trials. He is always present and will never leave us. Nothing can separate his love from us. That love has been the rock that has kept me afloat.
He also provides. And for me, these precious dogs have been an incredible provision that have brought me so much love and comfort when all else has been dark and lonely. And they have provided so much joy, fun, and laughter!
So today, I am grateful for a pup that survived a car accident, and for the joy that my two pups bring me, that has helped me survive the trials of life.
Gratitude doesn’t take away challenges, but it sure feels good, and gives perspective. In this season of new life and blossoming, may we all be filled with gratitude and the grace to go on!
Family time in the mountains is always a good thing. As the year mark passed on COVID, I could not be more thankful for time spent in the woods my loved ones. There’s something about the mountains, especially at springtime, when new life is ready to burst.
Mountains surround me
I breathe in air, crisp and clear
My gaze lifts, upwards
The first blooms begin
Tree buds are ready to burst
Life renews, again
Clouds and fog roll along
Sunshine breaks, painting the sky
Peace flows from above
May spring continue to abound in beauty, whether you’re on a mountain top or not!
It’s been a beautiful winter…as I wrote about last week. This first week of March in Maryland was still quite cold! And yet, there was a feel of spring in the air, with the upcoming week having a forecast of temperatures in the low 60s!
It was a weekend of more snow geese, on a frigid Saturday evening in Pennsylvania, still with snow on the ground. It was definitely representative of my gratitude for what this winter has been in discovering new pursuits and delight in nature.
A Sunday hike with sunshine brought thoughts of spring. I’ve also been starting to see daffodils shoot up in my neighborhood! The first sighting stirred something within me—my longing for spring. It’s felt especially poignant after a year of hardship, not only with COVID, but personally, after a year of back pain and surgery, which prevented me from experiencing spring last year.
I’ve been thinking of that for a few weeks, and working on some words to reflect it. Enjoy, and may the hope of springtime feel strong in your heart!
The sidewalk led me around the familiar neighborhood, Strewn with vestiges of February’s ice and snow. The sun set slowly behind me, While the near full moon shone brightly ahead. I rounded a corner and saw a neighbor’s flower bed, still with a few spots of snow, With shoots of daffodils starting to emerge from the soil. Something stirred in me, seeing those stems, Pushing through the earth, starting their journey above ground. With the sting of the winter winds gone, and birds chirping in the distance, A few deep-seeded tears came to the surface, Reflecting an ache and a hope; A longing for spring, For spaces long dormant to come alive.
I’ve been bundled in sweaters, scarves, and coats for months, a welcome relief from the cold, A blessing I don’t overlook. Home has cocooned me, protecting me from the elements, But the long dark nights keep me inside and isolated. Now I long to shed these layers and let the sun shine on my skin, to relish in a gentle breeze and soak up the warmth of rays of light. To embark outside my four walls and explore the outdoors, Free and unfettered. Alive and attune to the natural world around me.
So intense is this desire, I wonder what’s wrong with me, Or where this is coming from. Is it just my penchant for pretty flowers? The exhaustion from shoveling snow? The lack of sunlight? Perhaps just my seasonal, and otherwise, depression. And… Or… Is there something within our souls that is simply drawn to renewal? Of songbirds, Warm breezes, Blooms, And butterflies?
I don’t want to wish the winter out of existence. There’s great beauty to be found in it; I see this looking at the delicate intricacies of a small snowflake, Or moonlight shining through a frozen forest of snow capped trees. But it’s not just the beauty. Acceptance of the season, and all of the necessary things that are happening, Has allowed me to make peace with the winter. Even in the hibernating, the quiet, the darkness, There are meaningful things taking place; And the rest, is restorative.
The cold cannot go on, though. I am thankful for the wintering, And acknowledge growth gained. But the human heart is wired for winter to end; The hope of spring is deep within. And so, I don’t want these longings to languish; To become numb and frozen, Okay with an endless winter; Because bulbs are no good if they stay buried.
Thus, in this transitioning time, I welcome the gratitude for winter, And the peace that comes with its acceptance, And I also allow my longings for spring to be piqued. I start looking for signs, Harbingers like the daffodils, And the pure happiness of a chorus of cardinals. As they start to appear, and make themselves heard, My spirit lifts and my heart feels lighter. This is hope, in the watching and the waiting for springtime.
Newness and life alive is on the horizon. This is what we were made for; Each season has its place, And the fall and winter will come again, But it’s the regeneration that sings a sweet song to my soul. The hope of springtime fuels the spirit; Without it, how to go on? It’s coming. And so I wait, I watch. I keep walking the path in front of me, Seeing those shoots press further above ground each day. The daffodils will be dancing soon.
God allays our fears in ways we don’t always expect.
Going into this winter, I was worried about the long, cold nights combined with continued COVID cancellations and isolation.
But the Lord brought an unexpected delight in January and especially February—snow!! We received an above average amount of snow in Maryland, making for some beautiful scenery and lots of fun exploring and playtime! Even the cold temperatures kept the snow around, allowing for hikes through the woods with glorious sunshine on the snow!
The freezing temperatures plus the tide created an amazing icy landscape at my favorite place along the Chesapeake Bay.
And then there’s home. It’s hard for me to believe these gorgeous scenes are right in my backyard.
I’m incredibly grateful. Life has been far from pretty, but God has given me natural beauty and the value of home for moments like these.
What a beautiful winter it has been!!!
And now we turn to March, the month of transitioning weather in Maryland. While the winter has been wonderful, I’m feeling hope for spring in my heart.
So here’s to gratitude, for beauty even in the dead, icy seasons. And here’s to newness, springtime, and looking for beauty even in the little places.
I’m not a morning person. Never have been, although I always aspire to be one!
This weekend though, I got up for the sunrise. And it was worth it. But it was more than just the sunrise…
My sister and I did a weekend getaway on the Maryland Eastern Shore; we wanted to explore Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge, a waterfowl sanctuary for birds migrating along the “Atlantic Flyway.” It seemed like a great place to combine hiking, nature, and opportunities for photography. And it did not disappoint!
The sunrise on Sunday morning was incredible (as was the sunset on Saturday evening!).
I am so thankful we pulled ourselves out of bed at 6am not just because of the sunrise, but for the rare sighting of a massive flock of snow geese. It was a beautiful sensory experience of sight and sound! It also happened to be about 30 degrees, so it was definitely freezing – but worth it!
The sight began as what looked like a giant floating line of white in the crisp blue waters of the marsh. At a closer glance, one could see that it was actually a massive flock of birds floating together on the water. It was beautiful, but after being up so early for the sunrise, we were also ready to get on our way for some coffee and breakfast!
After watching for a few minutes, we started to leave. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted some movement. That’s when the giant wall of snow geese began to take off. And what an incredible sight!
A larger portion of the geese formed a murmuration, a swarming behavior of movement, while other smaller flocks broke away, forming into a V formation and heading off into the rising sun. These beautiful birds breed on the Arctic tundra, and then migrate south to places like Blackwater during the winter, foraging for wood in wetlands and muddy agricultural fields.
Nature is truly amazing!
I’m still thawing out from lots of time outdoors in below freezing temperatures this weekend, but my heart is warm from the natural experience and memories.
The entirety of the morning, waiting and watching for the sun to rise and birds to flock, brought to mind Psalm 130, words that my heart has held closely this past year. Verses 5 and 6 stood out as I shivered on the wetlands’ observation deck, waiting for the sun to peak through the dark morning’s wispy clouds.
5 I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; 6 my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.
Patience and waiting are a discipline. But with them comes gifts. Practice may not bring perfection, but it will bring peace. And maybe even a rare bird sighting!
The thing about lament…is that it is anchored in truth and hope.
“Believers in Jesus are called to walk the path between earthly brokenness and heavenly restoration. Lament is our song for this journey.” – Mark Vroegoep, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy
A lament for our world, for our country, for our community, or for the circumstances of our own life, is anchored in God’s word, in his redemptive plan.
Almost 500 years ago, Martin Luther wrote “A Mighty Fortress is our God.” Singing this (masked, of course) in church this morning, this stanza really struck me:
And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us, we will not fear, for God has willed his truth to triumph through us. The prince of darkness grim, we tremble not for him; his rage we can endure, for lo! his doom is sure; one little word shall fell him.
If anything, this week, and the start of an new year, should call us to to our knees in prayer. God HEARS our prayers—faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains.
Our lament should always lead us to sing out in praise, because while we may weep for brokenness around us, we know the Lord is in control, and that he is working all things for redemptive purpose. No matter what, our God is a “bulwark never failing.”
Nature is such a gift. These are the scenes that centered me and drew me closer to God this weekend! Enjoy!
Exactly a year ago, on a quiet, forgettable November night, I went to the woods for a quick escape before the weekend set in.
Gray clouds hang in the air, low to the shore. The ordinariness of the evening matches the mood of my week.
I don’t mind the cloud cover, or the dampness, or the solitude. The cool air is cleansing, chipping away at the constriction of my chest.
As I allow worries, and work, and deeply buried wants to simmer, the stillness of the waters strikes me. There is depth to this blue bay. It is a place of peace, to release those burdens.
And so I open my hands, and my heart. I surrender my struggle and let go of my longings. I send them out into the sea, because I know the captain of my soul is watching. He is with me. In charge of the wind, the tide, the creatures chirping, and the sun that is setting, He is restoring my soul along these still waters. He most surely can handle the whispers of my soul. He is in control.
He most surely can handle the whispers of my soul. He is in control.
I realize my eyes have closed, in reaction to the restfulness that is flowing from my smiling face to my feet. I slowly open them to see colors emerging in a choreographed dance that begins to take my breath away.
Immersed in waves of the most glorious sunset, everything within me is lifted heavenward. The sun has long left the horizon, lighting up those heavy clouds with every shade of yellow, orange, blue, pink, purple, and red.
Those deep, still waters provide a perfect mirror for the masterpiece overhead, doubling all of its breadth and beauty.
It is absolutely stunning.
I soak it all in. This was not just a sunset but a spiritual experience.
I finally leave the shoreline, reluctantly, knowing that I am seen and loved, and worthy of great beauty.
An attempted photographic capture of each phase:
That sunset sticks with me, a year—a long, hard, painful year—later. Perhaps it even got me through the next terrible twelve months to come? How often my imagination drew on the goodness of the memory!
It was not something for which a screen could suffice, and I see now how it’s timing was perfect. I didn’t orchestrate that evening, I just showed up. I am glad I know the director.
I went back again this weekend, thinking I might see an encore. I find more loveliness and delight, but nothing like last year. But even simple beauty can fill one with wonder.
Another long, cold, and I’m afraid, lonely winter looms ahead.
What are the memories you will draw on?
Where will your imagination take you?
Trust that the quiet hand of providence will take care of you. He is an artist, choreographer, and conductor that we cannot even comprehend.
He turns a gray, bland night of clouds into a glorious blaze of colorful creation. He is continually writing the most beautiful story of redemption. I will keep choosing to let him be the author of my life—I hope you will too.
He turns a gray, bland night of clouds into a glorious blaze of colorful creation. He is continually writing the most beautiful story of redemption.