Our Wood Burning Stove

The Wood Burning Stove

It’s twenty-six degrees outside and the blackness of the early winter morning engulfs everything out there. I may as well be in an abyss of darkness with no vision outside my four walls. And yet I am strangely at peace. Well, maybe it isn’t so strange. My back side is being warmed by the raging inferno inside our wood burning stove and my hands are being warmed by the mug of my good morning cup of coffee, which finds its way down my windpipe and warms me to the very depth of my being. I could not be more content. I love it here. My world is still asleep and I am alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my coffee. Alone with my fire. I breathe in the peace and know this is good. There are few places in this world where the demands of my life lose their grip and are forced to take a back seat for even a moment. But this is one of them. There are few places like this but they are worth the search and worth the effort to get there. The top of a mountain, physically exhausted as your eyes take in the views of a thousand miles, your skin feels the chilly breeze generated by the updraft, and your ears hear nothing. So strange that nothing. The middle of a lake or the ocean, sitting in a kayak, swaying gently with the waves and staring at the sky. That moment when the world must let go, when it has no grip and it slowly slips away into oblivion and you are left with nothing but the beauty around you and the peace of God within you. If you know it, you know it well, and you find yourself searching for it, as for water. 

This is me in the morning with my Lord. As I reach for my Bible, I take short, quick sips at first and then as it wakens my soul, I take in bigger gulps. I speak with my Lord, no distractions, no needs, no emergencies, no to-do lists. Just me and my Lord. Just me resting in the peace of his presence and the warmth of his love. Soon I am revived. As I speak to my Lord, I find the strength for this new day. I see my life clearly and through His eyes, with a perspective that shows me it’s all going to be okay, that I can stop striving for perfection and that there are some things that could use a little tweaking. I can actually pray for my friends as I promise I will. And right about the time He says, “Okay, go!” And the sun casts its first lightening rays over the horizon, life around me begins to take shape. First it lights the trees and the mountains in the distance and pretty soon the horses begin neighing. I take one last deep breath of my Lord and change into my stinky clothes and head out the door. The day has begun. The peace is still strong as I play my music and take care of the ranch before my kids are even up.  Chores done, I wash off the stench and now it is finally time for breakfast and my kids and school. And just like that, the day is upon me. I don’t stop until it is over. We lead such busy lives these days. I know my Lord has never left my side but my sense of the peace slowly drains throughout my day. I speak to Him here and there throughout my busy day, but if I am honest, not all that much. My day is fast and distracting. He is quick to respond when I pray with a friend or a kid asks me for advice. That’s how I know He is right by my side, though I certainly don’t feel His presence like in the morning. His presence is just not real in my hustling and bustling. I’m pretty sure He has no need to join me in my business. Sure He is there, He never leaves my side. He even protects me and gives me strength to do each task. But to join me in my self-induced chaos, I think He’d rather wait until my ears are open to really speak a word, and He does. 

By the end of my day, I am exhausted. Get those kids to bed! Brush teeth. Do nothing. Fall asleep while watching TV, I mean ‘watch a show’, or just go to bed early like an old person. Oh the choice is so hard. By this point, my prayers represent the desparate cries of one who barely knows my Lord - “Dear God, please let those kids sleep!” And, “Please restore and revive my body while I rest!” And I’m out. I toss and turn a little more now. I think I’m getting old. My body gets uncomfortable and it even has the power to wake me from my sleep so I will change positions. But I sleep.

The alarm goes off and I can’t even pry one eyelid open. I reach for my phone to shut it off and try to have a single thought. Oh, it’s morning. I’d love to tell you a smile creeps across my face but my face ain’t doing nothing yet. I’m empty. I’m tired. But my soul practically jumps out of that bed. A smile has crept across the very depths of my soul. You wouldn’t know it if you looked at me from the outside. I hate mornings and I hate waking up. My eyes physically do not open and I wander around the house by memory. But I know my coffee and my fire await me. My Bible and my Lord wish to fill me back up. Oh, the reward of getting up will far outweigh the effort of getting there. 

I was always convinced that once I got in the habit of getting up early to have my quiet time, that getting up in the morning would come easier. At the very least, surely my God would be gracious enough to make it easier for me, as a reward for following through with the discipline of spending time with Him. Alas, it is not true. Getting up in the morning continues to be one of the hardest things I do every day. It is a monumental effort of self-discipline to roll out of that bed. But then again, don’t all disciplines take effort? When we exercise, does our body jump for joy and leap in anticipation of working out and pushing hard? When we eat one less serving, does our mouth shout for joy that it doesn’t get to taste even one more bite of that deliciousness? No. Discipline takes will power and determination and is motivated by an end goal. Lose weight. Feel good. Have more energy. These are okay rewards. And I say okay because I know from experience. I have done them all. I have achieved them all at some point and am after them again. But to say they pale in comparison to the reward I get every single day for getting up and spending time with my Lord, falls too far short for what I am after. When my Lord fills me up in the morning, I am like a pitcher, overflowing with inner capacity for the day ahead. I know that He has given me all I need for that day and nothing can empty my soul. 

For the record, it isn’t always like that. I still have phases where I am not totally sure this is worth it. Christmas was like that for me. I was empty and I wasn’t feeling filled after my morning quiet times. But that was me. As I struggled with the loss of my Dad and all the other horrible things that happened in 2016, even though I was up, I began to refuse to listen. When my Lord said, “I love you,” I responded curtly, “It doesn’t feel like it.” When my Lord said, “I will protect you,” I said, “I’m not sure I want your protection.” As resentment built in my heart, my quiet times felt more like an obligation and a discipline, not a joyful reward and a jumpstart for a new day. As I cut Him off from my heart, my Lord spoke only to my head. I began to wonder if this was the end to my joy. Then one morning, right before the end of the year, as I emptied the manure bucket onto the giant pile of manure behind the barn, I looked at the pile and I lifted my fist to heaven and screamed, “See this pile poop!?! This is the year YOU have given me. And You have not redeemed it! All it is is a giant pile of poop and I’m done with it!” And my God said nothing. And I broke. Shocked by my own anger, I sat down (No, not on the pile, but on the path in sight of it). And I wept. I wept over my anger. I wept that I had held a grudge against my Lord. I wept over how hard 2016 was. I wept over the sorrow and grief that were ours. I wept because I was going to have to cry! I wept because the relief of finally letting go of my resentment was palatable. I wept because I know the road ahead is not going to get easier, yet I was about to try it without my Lord. 

We burned stuff from 2016 as we said goodbye. I wore the dress I wore to my Dad’s funeral on the first Sunday of the New Year. I let go of my anger. But I still cry. Probably half my tears are relief. Those angry tears were wearing me out and creating a burden too heavy to bear. Now I’m only angry that I have to cry sad tears over the angry tears. What a waste of time! (Insert rolling eye emoji). So now I’m back. The first few paragraphs apply again. 

When you ask me how my Christmas went, I will tell you, “Terrible. Awful.” And you will nod and say your are sorry, assuming it was just because it was my first Christmas without my Dad and you ask no more questions. But I tell you that Christmas brought to a head the giant pimple of anger and resentment that  I had no idea I was even holding against my God for the year He gave us. I had no idea. But as the pressure of the holidays built over Christmas, I was miserable, sad, and ready to quit. Yet when that same pimple popped over new year, only the level of relief led me to realize how deep it had gone. As I gazed over the precipice, my sorrow built and I find that I may even need to mourn my own reaction to it all.  Thankfully, I know some things about my Lord. He is forgiving and has already forgiven me, thus I must forgive myself. The moment I screamed, He didn’t push me away, He held me in his arms and told me to let it all out. Then HE wept. But He wept tears of joy as he was so excited to have me back in His arms. He had missed me. My God is a good Father. He let me go through it and never left my side even though I gave Him the cold shoulder. And the moment I turned back to Him, He restored my peace. He didn’t put me in a time out to ‘be sure I learned my lesson’. He gave it back. Now my coffee and fire are all the sweeter. My Bible and my Jesus all the more gracious. I am so far from deserving of these gifts yet He gives them freely - each and every day. He is faithful even though I am not. He is love, even when mine is conditional. He is joy, even when this world smells like crap. He is peace, in the midst of the chaos. He is love.