Sky | All is Well

The Things of Earth Shall Grow Strangely Dim….

August 22, 2017 By Shelly Durkee

As I write this, we are traveling through North Carolina, on our way home from Anderson, SC, where we were at to watch the 2017 Eclipse.

Very cool experience.

It was a little disappointing when a very large cloud obscured the sun at the last moment, resulting in not being able to observe the corona. But it was still very amazing to be in the Totality Zone.

The darkness descended quickly–and that was awesome, in and of itself, as the temperature dropped and we could see a “sunset” along the horizon all around us–pinks and purples and rose-colored clouds, just as if the sun was sinking at the end of the day.

Except, it was 2:30pm. And the sunset literally surrounded us.

But, it was the moment leading up to totality, and the moments right after, that struck me the most.

I had read of the “effect” that the eclipse would have on shadows and the relief of the landscape that we would see. But actually seeing it with my own eyes was far more fascinating that I expected. I thought the moment of Totality would be the most striking point–and, it might have been, if not for that pesky cloud covering the sun in that moment.

But the memory I will take away from the Eclipse Event, is the incredible sharpness of all that my eyes could see, even as the light dimmed.

Usually as light dims, the thing that we see around us become fuzzier–harder to see–as they fade into the darkness. This can be frightening and disorienting, even, as we can lose our bearings, when darkness descends.

But what was amazing today was that, as the light faded, instead of the trees, buildings, cards, people, bushes, landscapes becoming harder to see, they were thrown into sharp relief. Everything seemed accented. Punctuated. Outlined, even. Absolutely everything “stood out”–it was as if the trees I had been sitting under all afternoon suddenly looked different–more “real” somehow.

I’ve done a bit of research, and everything I’ve read seems to indicate that the reason for this phenomena lies in the effect that the eclipse has on the shadows of objects, along with the filtering of the sun’s rays. Some people see “shadow bands” rippling across the ground. Others notice that leaves from trees create tiny crescent moon shadows on the ground below.

I don’t want to turn this event into some sort of “preacher sermon illustration”–I’m sure there is plenty of that going on across the nation. John Crist had a very hysterical video, referencing that–and if you’d like a good laugh, I urge you to check it out here: John Crist ~ Eclipse Sermon Illustrations

But I think by writing, so here I am in this dark truck, replaying the day, and thinking how very differently the experience was, than I imagined it would be.

The sky is so important to me. Always has been–which is probably what drove me to make this crazy whirlwind trip this weekend. When I first read about the upcoming solar eclipse over a year ago, I instantly got online and booked hotel rooms. I was determined to be there.

I imagined myself standing there under that dark sky for those 2 minutes and 37 seconds, and being awed by the display of God’s creative power, as the moon cast it’s shadow upon the earth and obliterated the sun momentarily, displaying the sun’s atmosphere and the stars. I have eagerly awaited this day, for a year—-this visual declaration of Psalm 19, in the sky that is and has been so important to me, in so many ways, since from the time I was a young girl. I wanted to be able to pray these words, in those moments–precisely because both the sky and words are deep components of what makes my soul well and at peace:

The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
2 Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge.
3 There is no speech, nor are there words,
whose voice is not heard.
4 Their voice goes out through all the earth,
and their words to the end of the world.
In them he has set a tent for the sun,
5 which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber,
and, like a strong man, runs its course with joy.
6 Its rising is from the end of the heavens,
and its circuit to the end of them,
and there is nothing hidden from its heat.

Oh, my soul, how I love these verses. How I love that God created the sky, and that it proclaims who he is, every day with the brilliance of the sun, and every night with the magnitude of stars and planets and moons. How I love that the Psalmist here references the use of words–speech–being poured at day by day.

And, that there is nothing hidden from the heat of the sun.

And, that there is nothing hidden from my God.

He sees, and knows.

I imagined there would be an adrenaline rush of sorts, as my gaze was fixed upon the sun, and after I could safely remove my eclipse safety glasses, to observe the corona.

But, because that blasted cloud was obscuring the sun in those moments before, during and after totality, I found myself captivated by my surroundings, and how they were “changing” and becoming sharper, even as the light faded.

And, in those moments, the song “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus” came to mind: in particular, the words of the chorus:

Turn you eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face;
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.

And, it struck me—when I turn to Jesus–when I rip my focus from the nightmares and challenges and griefs of this world (and, truthfully, when I rip my focus from the very “good” things, too, because even “good” things can distort our view of God and give us a false sense of self-reliance)–when I return my gaze to Him through prayer and scripture reading/study, and spiritual disciplines, a strange thing happens.

The things of this earth grow dim, but strangely so. They do not grow dim in a frightening, disorienting way. Instead, they grow dim in a sharp relief, similar to how the landscape around me grew dim today during the eclipse. I begin to see the heartaches, griefs, challenges–and even the joyful things–with a much more settled sense of God’s sovereignty. He allows all things, for His glory. Therefore nothing that comes my way, does so without passing through His hands.

And the knowledge of that brings more focus to the things around me, even as they dim into the background as my gaze turns toward my Savior.

And, there will be a day, when all of the cares of this earth will fade away, and we will see Him face-to-face: no more sadness, no more grief, no more longing for home, no more sinful pride.

And in those moments, the words of 1 Corinthians 13:12 will become reality, for what we know in part now, we will know fully then, as we stand in His presence, declaring His glory as the heavens did today.

That Which Can Be Known, Made Plain

January 30, 2016 By Shelly Durkee

One of the reasons I have come to love walking early in the mornings, after study and prayer and before the work day formally begins, is the stillness of the early dawn.

It’s pretty much the same route, every single day….down my street, around the Methodist Church parking lot, down Back Creek Road, to the end of the Cul de Sac of Landing Drive. I pass the same houses, the same fire department, the same refinery, the same docks on the water, the same dogs, the same kids getting on the school buses, the same boarded up old post office–every single day.

But, somehow, some way–it always looks differently.

Sometimes I can figure out why or what makes it look different. Maybe it is stormy on my walk. Or maybe the angle of the rising sun is different. Sometimes the sunset is a striking pink; other times it is made of muted yellows and blues. Sometimes there is snow. Sometimes there are puddles. Sometimes there are red and yellow leaves. Sometimes there are flowers blooming. Sometimes, there has been tidal flooding, and debris is strewn across the roads.

But, always and forever, it always looks differently.

This week has been particularly amazing, in the realm of this “different-ness.” The day after the snowstorm that raced through our area, I found this perfectly spiraled ice flow, as I walked down my street:

Then, just a couple of days later–I saw something I have never seen below. Through the sporadic rain drops that were falling, I saw a Sunrise Rainbow. I did some research, apparently it is fairly rare to get to see such a thing:

And, today, I’m holed up in Roanoke, working from a hotel, and will be staying in the area for a Writer’s Conference tomorrow. This morning’s early morning adventure brought views of mountains in the distance, and a goldenpink fire that settled that set the city ablaze, as the sun rose:

These are not nothing sights. They are, in a word, incredible.

You know, until I really started contemplating whether God was real, or whether scripture was truth, I never saw such things as “proof” of his existence. They were amazing, wonderful–particularly the sky–but my mind did not naturally make the connection between such things, and God.

Or, maybe it did.

There is something that some theologians refer to as “general revelation of God”. I don’t completely understand it all, but it is the knowledge that God places of Himself, in all of mankind, regardless of whether they believe that revelation to be that of truth, or of untruth. Or, whether they believe that revelation to be about God, by God Himself, or if instead they believe it to be something else, though they may struggle to define what that “something” is.

John Calvin, in his Institutes of Christian Religion, had this to say:

The final goal of the blessed life, moreover, rests in the knowledge of God. Lest anyone, then, be excluded from access to happiness, he not only sowed in men’s minds that seed of religion of which we have spoken, but revealed himself and daily discloses himself in the whole workmanship of the universe. As a consequence, men cannot open their eyes without being compelled to see him (Institutes, I.5.1).

And, we see evidence of the truth of this statement–that God both sowed in our minds the seeds of religion, while also revealing Himself through nature–when we stand in awe gazing into the sky at the stars and planets, and we read this scripture in Psalms 19:

The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
²Day to day pours out speech,
and night to night reveals knowledge.

The heavens–truly, they do declare the glory of God, as asteroids tumble and comets streak and black holes collapse and planets spin and as suns burn. And as the sky’s expanse draws our eyes to a brilliant deep blue.

For the longest time, though, I struggled with Romans 1:19-21:

¹⁹For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. ²⁰For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. ²¹For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened.

It bothered me–deeply–that scripture would declare that God’s invisible attributes and nature, could be found in the things He had created, and therefore man had no excuse. I had no excuse. What about those who have never heard of God, I wondered? Or, what about those who were dead-set certain that such wonders were strictly scientific in scope–nothing more?

And, what about me, before I came to a settled belief, in my Lord and God’s existence as truth? Did I, too, have no excuse, in those pre-salvific days?

Not only did it bother me; it foolishly angered me.

But this week, as day, after day, after day, I bumped right up next to significant phenomenons in nature, that my soul knew for certain revealed God as God, I remembered another time–several years ago now–that I was confronted with such realization–prior to coming to believe in the truth of who He is:

On a secluded, hidden beach.

Before an immense, rolling ocean.

Under a blindingly blue sky.

Sitting upon jagged, sharp black lava rocks.

And on that beach before that ocean under that sky and sitting on those rocks–I sensed something unmistakably real. No, maybe “true” is a better word.

He made it plain to me.

In those moments, I sensed that all that fell within my view–the very vastness of what my eyes could see–pointed to something or someone who not only created what lay before me, but who also created, was who was present with, me.

And, that great big someone, knew my name.

The one who created the tiny grains of sand and the creatures swarming in the sea and the urchins clinging to the lava rocks and that sky–always that sky—

was real, and was truth, and knew me.

So.

Truly the heavens do declare His glory.

And the ice crystals. And the refracted light that creates the rainbows. And the goldpinkfire that shines on the mountains.

And, the mountains themselves.

And, the one who created such awe-striking things, is also the God who created me. And You. And gave His son, as a sacrifice, so that we could be with Him now, and with Him eternally…

..where our eyes will behold wonders even more glorious than these that my eyes have seen this week.

Oh, God. Please make what can be known about you, plain to us.

We are, without excuse.

But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

Isaiah 43:1

Good Stuff; v. 5

November 8, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

linking

Well. I just returned home, from the store. Where I discovered that they have already installed the tacky “lights and tinsel” decorations high up on the parking lot lights–you know the ones, the poinsettia and snowflakes. And just like that, the season is upon us.

And, as predictable as those decorations going up the first week of November is, here also is the predictable posting of Good Stuff, Volume 5: a compendium of interesting items I’ve come across over the past week.

From The Gospel Coalition: The Writings of C.S. Lewis Like You’ve Never Seen Them Before

I am naturally drawn to anything about C.S. Lewis that I can find, so when I saw this post over at The Gospel Coalition, I was all over it. There is a guy who has taken various writings of C.S. Lewis, and created “drawings” or “doodles” to the recording, and the results are fascinating. I probably spent an entire hour going through them. So well done. So creative.

Also From The Gospel Coalition: What is the Relationship between Christianity and Words

Words are hugely important to me. I collect them like some people collect baseball cards. I love how they string together to form sentences and paragraphs and express thoughts. And I love that God chose to reveal Himself, through words. Justin Taylor has a tremendous article that shows the concrete relationship between Christianity and Words. Such good stuff.

From DesiringGod.org: Two Underused Strategies for Addiction

I appreciate the website DesiringGod.org for many reasons; one of which is that they do not shy away from raw honesty. An example of this is this article about two strategies that are underused in the fight against the tremendously strong pull to addiction. Helpful for those who are battling addiction in their own lives, and helpful to those who are trying to help people close to them in the battle.

Videos:

Tonight seems like a good night to spotlight some great videos. First, this beautiful video, sent to me from a friend. The Man in the Moon; goodness, I love the sky and the moon, and I love this video, too:

I think Jimmy Fallon is a comedy genius. He never fails to make me chuckle. Here is a great musical rendition by Jimmy, The Roots, and various music guests–We Are the Champions:

The CMA’s were this week. I didn’t watch them–I’m not huge into “new country”, though I really like the old stuff, so I think that is why I like Chris Stapleton, who apparently swept many of the awards given out this year. Great voice. Here is Stapleton, singing with Justin Timberlake: Tennessee Whisky. That voice. Wow.

And, I’ll leave you with this: What’s not to love about an industrial shredder, that can shew up couches?

The Soul Benefits of Mulching and Mowing and Being Outside

October 25, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

It’s Saturday night, and I’m sitting here with blisters on my hands and my feet, and a couple of tiny thorns stuck in my thumbs. I’m sore, I’m tired, and I am settled.

It’s been a bit of a discouraging week. And as the week wound down and we approached Friday, I looked longingly at Saturday and made plans to be a slug. To hide, in my house, and pathetically feel sorry for myself.

How embarrassing.

But we do that, don’t we? When we are exhausted, overwhelmed, discouraged, aching–our first response is so often to sit in a corner and lick our wounds. And whine to God–“Why, God? Don’t you see? Don’t you know? Don’t I deserve to sit here and be discouraged? To sit here and hurt?”

Don’t get me wrong; there are certainly plenty of times, in life, when we do need to hide. When we need to seek quiet and solitude and, o my soul, rest–real rest. But that’s not what I’m talking about here. You know that, and I know that.

No, I’m talking about the inward-facing, retrospective, self-centered, cynical, bitter attitude that we all slip into some time. Unfortunately, I know it well.

But something switched in my brain and soul, this morning. It started with scripture work. It wasn’t earth-shattering. It wasn’t “powerful” (cliché) or comforting, but just the act of working through 5 verses, in Isaiah, was not only settling, but it was motivating.

Which then led to a full day of work. Solid, hard, back-breaking, sweat-producing work. Cleaning the house, doing laundry, cleaning at the church (October is my team’s month to do that), cleaning out a friend’s overgrown flowerbeds, trimming bushes, mulching my flower beds, mowing mowing mowing, and then a very long walk.

It was, oh, so very good. So very good.

All of it was good, even the cleaning inside. But it was the outside work, in the warm fall sun, under the blue October sky, that helped reorient my mind and my soul.

Especially the mindlessness of it all. It doesn’t take a rocket science degree, to pull a bunch of bermuda grass out of a flowerbed. It’s repetitive, dirt-ensconced work. I won’t use a metaphor or analogy here about some ridiculous symbolism that can be found in comparing weeds to sin in our lives, although I suppose a more creative person could. But, to me, they were weeds. They needed to be gone. And so I pulled them out. Over and over and over again. And cleared the flowerbed.

Same with mowing. Row after row after row.

And, at the end of the day, when I dragged my sore self, covered in dirt and twigs and chopped up leaves, into the house, there was a true sense of joy.

I suppose it is the joy that comes, from knowing a job has been completed.

And, beyond that, the joy that comes from being outside, where one can breathe and see that the world is so, so, so much larger than I am.

I am small.

I am seen, and known, by God, but I am also so very small under the big, amazing, awe-striking blue sky.

And, there is comfort in that.

It brings to my mind two verses. The first is found in Colossians 3:23-24 ~

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, ²⁴knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.

I love that phrase, “work heartily”. To me, it means to give everything I’ve got. To go until I can’t go another step. To pull weeds until the job is finished. To do my work tasks with enthusiasm and with excellence, to the best of my ability….as for the Lord, and not for men. Not to earn His “approval” or to earn salvation; rather, out of obedience. We are told to work heartily.

Maybe there is a sense in which hard work is also a type of spiritual discipline.

And then, this verse, in Proverbs 13:4 ~

The soul of the sluggard craves and gets nothing,
while the soul of the diligent is richly supplied.

At first glance, this verse may seem like a pithy little saying–something to spout off to your kid when they are being lazy and not doing their chores.

Oh, but it isn’t a pithy saying. No, it is much more. There is much here.

When I allow myself to sink into slug mode, and into the despondency of self-pity, I find that I crave, and yet those cravings are not met. Cravings for peace, for being settled, for being assured, for being at peace, for so many other things—and yet my soul gets nothing, in those dark slug-like moments, apart from self-loathing. I can even name times when, in selfishly choosing to be a slug, I have craved food, and have eaten far too much, only to find that it did not satisfy. Having the soul of a sluggard is a downward spiral.

But.

When I am diligent to do whatever work is set before me–be it care for others, or my work tasks, or parenting tasks, or responsibilities such as pulling weeds and mowing the grass–O, my soul, it is richly supplied….

….with settled-ness. With joy. With satisfaction of a job well-done. With a good-type of exhaustion, that more readily lends itself to uninterrupted sleep.

And my soul is richly supplied with the peaceful knowledge that the sky is huge, and God is huge, and while I am so small, He knows my name.