Live with Flair

A Million Ways to Prosper

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 08:05:28 PST

I'm reading Psalm 1 (where it says whatever we do will prosper), and I notice all the things I wanted God to "prosper" in my life. I've scribbled down everything from boyfriends to book contracts in that narrow margin.

This particular Bible was given to me by my great friend, Elizabeth, back in 1995. I therefore have 17 years worth of hopes and dreams written in the margin of this Bible.

I notice something as I look at all the things that didn't ever seem to work out.

The promise in Psalm 1 is this:

Blessed is the man
   who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
   or sit in the seat of mockers.
But his delight is in the law of the LORD,
   and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
   which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
   Whatever he does prospers.

I wonder for the first time what that verb "prosper" really means. Very few of my dreams in the margin came true, but does that mean they did not prosper? In the midst of failure, broken dreams, disappointments, and unanswered prayers, did I nevertheless thrive? Did I nevertheless meet God? Did God not use it somehow?

Whatever I do, God prospers it. He makes it succeed and thrive in a million incomprehensible ways.

I might not see it until 17 years later. I might not ever see it, but the promise in Psalm 1 is that whatever I do prospers.

Whatever we do today will prosper.

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Do you have an instance where something seemed like a failure or a disappointment and God actually used it to prosper you?

Don't Bother Being Fake

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 06:00:12 PST

Yesterday, the neighborhood children run in and out of my house, delighting in the unseasonably warm weather. Some are barefoot and trying to skate on the melting ice, and others are running frenzied circles around the tree. One of my daughters has mud splashed up her legs. One child has found the cat brush and attempts to brush her own hair with it!

"Everybody stop!" I cry. "A mother I haven't met yet is bringing her daughter to play, so could everybody just act normal? I don't want this mother to think we are all crazy wild animals around here!"

One little girl stops running and looks at me with a deep serious shake of her head. She says, "Mrs. Holleman, we shouldn't even bother. She's going to find out the truth anyway."

I burst out laughing, and suddenly, the wild scene in my front yard becomes a source of comical, wonderful joy.

She's right. Why fake it? Living with flair means I don't put on a show. I don't bother; you're going to learn the truth anyway. That poor mother might not ever return, but at least she knows the real me.

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Here's to being real in February!

I Went to Meet a Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 07:39:46 PST

I learn from the Italian Mama about an oak tree in our neighborhood that's over 200 years old. It's a ten minute stroll from my house, and I've never seen it. This is why every neighborhood needs an Italian Mama who knows the secrets. She's the one who told me where to find the hidden vernal pond. She's the one who knows this land.

I'm thinking about the oak tree all morning. I have to see it; I have to touch it; I have to thank it for being here all this time, witnessing lives lived right here. My friend and I see the oak tree's arms raised above the houses, and she takes off running. "There it is! It's right here!" she cheers and points. I run behind her, full of joy and awe. (Every neighborhood also needs the kind of friend who not only agrees to walk with you to meet a tree, but who also runs with joy at the sight of it.)

We're going to meet a tree!

With those wide branches, it feels like the arms of God bestowing a blessing upon my head.

Oak Tree over 200 years old

You have to dance around a bit when you stand next to something this big. You have to step way back to capture the whole thing.

But you also have to lean in close and run your fingers along the veins and wrinkles of its skin.

I love ancient things. I love the physical evidence that time passes and that new generations come and old ones die. In 200 years, another woman and her friend will run and dance around this old oak tree. I'm aware, suddenly, of my own mortality. But I'm equally aware of one thing:

I'm here right now.

Psalm 90 requests, "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." As I touch the old oak, I know my days here are numbered. The tree makes me step back.

I number the days, anticipating and recording the wonder of God, as sturdy and expansive as the oldest oak in our town. I'm full of joy as I stand with my friend, and I can't wait to tell the Italian Mama what it felt like to see the tree.

Once again, I learn that living with flair has nothing to do with fame, prestige, or wealth. It has everything to do with beauty in community.

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Do you know the oldest thing in your town? When you visit it, do you become aware of your own mortality?