Shaddai in the Mist

“Stop. . . Mom. . . we’re not 5 anymore,” said a boy growing up.

Can one really be too old to be excited about a cloud falling from the sky and splatting itself all over your home on a mountain?

I guess 16 is a stuffy age where falling clouds spilling everywhere are replaced with more grown up words like fog.

There’s something about raising children that wrings the stuffiness out of you – and fills it with an appreciation for

. . . .for pulling good things out of the daily like the the relief felt in a thorn pulled from the tender pad of a foot and the more-than-whimsy of things like mists and fogs.

Stuffiness can’t find God in the in the coolness of a milk-box morning, an imperfect parenting moment, a turtle dove calling on a roof ridge, a holy spirit message in a summer storm, the broken rebel’s anger, the steeping of tea leaves, salting chicken soup, the prodigal’s imperfect walk homeward, the routine of dinner dishes – the every day ordinary where an extraordinary God meets us.

He doesn’t just meet us in the parting-of-a-dead-sea-moment or a lame-man-walking moment but in the everyday comfortable and uncomfortable moments of an ordinary man’s ordinary day.

In the ordinary of our day, God spills his grace over us in our imperfect living – like a cloud falling from the sky, spilling over my little mountain.

Driving up the hill homeward into the mist always makes me feel like I’m entering a shield of protection (not when I’m on the interstate, only when I’m homeward bound).

That cloud fallen down reminds me of God’s protection – how He paid the price to offer me that protection.

“I have swept away your sins like a cloud. I have scattered your offenses like the morning mist. Oh, return to me, for I have paid the price to set you free” (Isaiah 44:22).

In a world where up seems down and right is viewed wrong, I need a place of refuge. He’s created a safe haven, a sanctuary where I can go – and in the midst of all this non-stop pouring rain in saturated Tennessee red clay, I needed that reminder that when I am in Him, I am there.

“Be gracious to me, O God, be gracious to me, For my soul takes refuge in You; And in the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge Until destruction passes by” (Psalm 57:1)

What a gracious God we have, a real-knight-in-shining armor – who has the power to bestow sanctuary right where we are when we are with Him, who desires to conceal us from the things we were not created for.

“He has made My mouth like a sharp sword, In the shadow of His hand He has concealed Me; And He has also made Me a select arrow, He has hidden Me in His quiver” (Isaiah 49:2).

“A weapon even keener than a sword, smoothed and polished, so as to make it pierce the deeper, and kept hid in God’s quiver until the time came when it could be launched with most effect against the hearts of ungodly men” (Pulpit Commentary).

There’s much more to the ordinary things in the daily and things like clouds falling from the sky to spill over a mountain home – so much more!

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The Storehouse of Snow

not just re-posted but re-vitalized – kind of like an old piece of furniture that you just don’t want to throw out – but an overhaul giving it new life:

“Hast thou entered into the storehouse of the snow?” (Job 38:22)

Rumor has it, there’s a big snow coming. Some in its path are pulling in the welcome mat, and some, like me, are rolling it out.

The in-house boys are rolling it out. School will be cancelled – it’s a home and hot chocolate day. My out-of-the-house boy – all grown up said, “I still have to go to work” – and my heart saddened at the growing up – when snow days aren’t holidays anymore.

Whether it’s a scorching hot summer day, a torrential down-pour – or snow – snowman-deep – I find myself looking for the message God is sending in it – a love note just for me. I bet He has one in there for you, too.

I’ll be at work if it comes -but I don’t want to lose the holiday of it. The holiday of it is still there.

When the BIG SNOW comes, I will be hauling as much as I can – into the Storehouse of the Snow.

“Snow is here represented as something which is laid up like treasure, and kept in reserve for use when God shall require it. . . . like the weapons of war, to be called forth when God should please,” (Barnes’ Notes on the Bible)

What have I laid up in the storehouse of my soul? A treasure? Weapons of War? Snow? I admit, that when times toughen, and the little foxes tear at me, it is what I have stored up that sustains, strengthens, gives hope and sees me to a good result, a peace result, a joy result, a content result. In the midst of battle, it is the storehouses that tip to victory.

My Spirit has grieved to not see
Snow for the storehouse
Snow for the ground
For the pin oaks and fir
when all along
the snow for the storehouse was in me

The hurricane of snow’s icy taste,
feathery-feather falling flakes
melting into dripping
water
at warm finger touches and cheek kisses
as the wind blows into swirling
metallic smells mercury cold
rabbit, opossum and wild coyote tracks
size little boy sevens and men elevens
crunch in the wild loud quiet
snow is nature preaching raucous simplicity lessons
of God’s mighty weapons, tools pulled
from His word, of His faith, about His love
stored up in my heart
working out my fingers,
voiced in the faith ballad
walked out in my snow boots
God-Words heard, read, stored
in the Storehouse of the Snow

the snow today was just for reminding
to inventory this storehouse
of my soul
these miniature crystals, dazzling Holy Spirit light
from the inside out
Like God in me
Hast thou entered to inventory
the storehouse of the snow?

I grew up on small town Main Street USA – before the big city creeped closer and closer, and suddenly boon-dock citizens were big town city folk. I grew up to back yard and front-porch greetings, after schools walks to say hi to my mom at work and sit with my aunt a spell, kick around Fall leaves on sidewalk trails, traffic noise. Until I married farm boy – and this can-do girl went everywhere with him – to feed the cows, to bale hay, to strip tobacco. If he hung out with his family, I did, too – in the house, on the farm, in the barn – I was all in – at being with him. Now – before you think I’m now a bona-fide farm girl – my mother-in-law is probably laughing incredulously here – I only helped bale hay and strip tobacco once. Not because I gave up though – but hay baling became rolling and they stopped growing tobacco.

I’ve been in a barn a time or two, owned one. I love photographing them – so I thought, with my poem on God’s Storehouses of Snow – we ought to talk about what’s inside those barns:

Inventory in the Storehouse of Snow

20 sticks of faith stories hung on rails in the rafters, curing, seasoning to share, remind and encourage when challenges come either to you or a neighbor?

15 bushels of humility from wrongs handed out and graceless moments, whether intentionally or not, cored into forgiveness, ready for sharing

Unending bails of God love so that you can love more than you need

10 Faith, hope and love seed bags, for open-handed sowing to feed those hungry for the bread of life?

1 Storehouse Manuel filled with the Word of God, the most important item in the Storehouse of the Snow, the most powerful weapon, the greatest treasure, without which all the rest means nothing.

Everything  – everything – contains the opportunity for good. Make sure you are not missing the blessing offered in things like dead twigs, vanilla beans – and snow.

Let the snow fall. Let it fill up the yards. Let it fill the Storehouse of the Snow.

Click here to see original, “Store House of Snow and Other Blessings”

 

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