A Change of Plans

Snow Storm Coming

I had already run around in short sleeves.

I had already let my daughter frolic outside in flip-flops with butterflies on them.

I had already pulled out the spring clothes and encouraged my children to splash in puddles of warm melted snow. 

The weather report said a huge snow storm was coming, but I refused to believe it.   They said 7 inches.  They said even the University would shut down for the morning. 

Snow on the Winterberry

I look out the kitchen window, and it's here, right on my winterberry bush.  We have no choice but to stay inside.
 

The girls build elaborate block castles--not out of boredom, but of opportunity. 

It's not every day that you're snowed in.  I learn that the oldest has built a "Cloister Portal," and the little one has made her own "Observation Tower."


I take pictures of the structures.  I'm fascinated by the designs.  A Cloister Portal represents a beautiful concept.  A cloister refers to a place of seclusion, for spiritual purposes, and a portal refers to the grand entrance into this location. 

As I sit secluded indoors (not even making it to the skating rink), I remember this:  When nothing in my life looks like it's supposed to, and when my world doesn't follow the expected course, perhaps I'm to think of this time as my own God-given cloister portal, my own observation tower.  From up here, the seclusion teaches me how a beautiful winter storm (when it's nearly Spring) actually blesses.

It's a portal--my grand entrance--into the life God has for me.  

I snuggle into the rocking chair and realize it's not too bad to be snowed in.  There's beauty in this cozy room, too.  There's opportunity here. I look down, and I realize that Jack has stretched a paw out in my direction as he sleeps by the heater.  I love that little paw. 

Jack's Paw While it Snows Outside

Living with flair means I walk through that cloister portal when God wants me to.  




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Journal:  How can I learn to see opportunity instead of delay or disaster? 

Our Uncommon Uses

While cleaning my home today, I notice two of my favorite objects: a flowerpot and a serving dish.   We received them as wedding gifts over ten years ago, and they were both too beautiful not to use.  
But I don't grow flowers inside in pots, and I rarely transfer our dinner onto serving platters (and this one seemed too small for my family).  I couldn't keep these things hidden away!  Instead, I found uncommon uses for both the pot and the platter.

The pot became my cooking utensil holder.

The platter became our key tray. 

I realized that the pot can hold more than soil; the platter can carry more than a meal.

As I think about all my specific plans and dreams--the things I know I was made for--I have to pause and ask about the uncommon uses for my skills.   

Over the years, I have been so busy telling the Potter what I am really made for, and He's already using me for broader, more interesting and more useful things. Things I hadn't imagined.  Immeasurably more! 

Sometimes we emerge into the world on usual paths, using our gifts and talents in uncommon but wonderful ways.  Living with flair means I allow it.  We are too beautiful--too loved--to be kept hidden away. 


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Journal:  Our wedding theme verse was from Ephesians 3:20:  "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us. . . "  As I look at my wedding objects today, I think about the unsual paths our lives take.  How have I seen God do "immeasurably more" with the plans and dreams of my heart?

A Mistake We Make

Our acorn stockpile wasn't such a great idea after all.  A few days ago, I learned that acorns contain bitter tannins that interfere with a squirrel's ability to metabolize protein.  That's why they bury them! 

Burying acorns and letting them sit underground allows moisture to percolate through them to "leach out" the tannins.

Our stockpile circumvented this process.  We'll have to bury them or let them sit in groundwater for days.

How could I not think of ways I seek short-cuts, of ways I stockpile and fret, when all along, I'm preventing a much needed process?   When my plans rest dormant underground, might I see them as percolating in the moisture needed to make them nourishing and not destructive?

God is leaching out the bitter thing--the thing that might harm me. 

Squirrels surrender to the process.  They don't resist the truth of their circumstances.  They gather, bury, and then feast only after that secret underground process completes.  Might living with flair mean we watch the squirrels and understand something about our own journey with God?

I can't circumvent what needs to happen.