To be useful in affliction...

The chronic pain of RAD, with it's unpredictable tidal waves of intensity, has opened my eyes to the deceptive power of addiction - and for that I am grateful. It's all too easy to condemn what I do not understand or cannot see.

God has graced me with a cheerful disposition; I was shocked when my doctor once asked if I was depressed. Chronic pain does that to you, you know, she added, and I had to admit that she was right. Not that I was clinically or chronically depressed, but that there have been moments when unrelenting pain wears down my resolve and dark clouds circle overhead. I begin adding up the lifestyle changes I've been forced to accept, the ways my disability has affected my relationships with those I love, and a way out begins to look attractive. Consequences are overshadowed by the promise of relief. Only  the sovereign grace of God, the will to persevere, to lean into Christ and push through pain, keeps me from falling into a trap where the grasp of addiction would be beyond my physical or emotional strength to escape.

So I throw no stones. No. Stones. I understand your pain. Take my hand and we'll hold onto Christ, for though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

I was grieved for my friend, a young mother and sister in Christ, when she messaged me last week to say she's been diagnosed with RAD, but she was relieved to know that someone understands what she is going through and encouraged that I will walk through this with her. To know that my suffering is useful - that though I'm not able to do what I've done in the past - there is a purpose that brings me joy.

I thought of this yesterday as I read Piper's No Blessing Like Health — With the Exception of Sickness. Piper identifies suffering as something that in God's sovereignty pastors must endure to be useful to their people, but I believe it's true for each of us - and to be useful in my affliction is grace. It brings joy and cheerfulness that strengthens my resolve and keeps those dark clouds away.  

{Photos: this week from my swing under the sweetgum trees in my Pollywog Creek backyard}

Sweet Shot Tuesday::Through the Screen...

The bird population has been way down on Pollywog Creek this winter, and I suspect that our unseasonably warm weather is to blame. I've seen several male painted buntings, but no juveniles or females, and only a handful of goldfinches and warblers. 

Most of the time, I'm inside the house when I see them, so many of the photos I've taken have been either through a window or the screen porch. Such was the case of my photo of this blue jay in the deciduous sweet gum tree taken last Friday. 

It's not as obvious in this photo as it is in some of my other ones, but while the photo isn't as sharp as it would be without the screen filter, the screen adds a softness or texture to the photo that I like. 

Week{ending}...

I don't know about the feathery friends who call Pollywog Creek home {or maybe we're just the local aviary diner}, but the rest of us have left the nest for a weekend of celebrating Emily's 21st birthday.

I have no idea how that happened. Except, of course, that there's one birthday after another until there are 21.

All that to say, I'd love to know what YOU are doing this weekend, my posts are scheduled today and tomorrow, and it will be at least Tuesday {or whenever I recover} before I can respond.

Have a great week{end} y'all!

{Photos - this past week on Pollywog Creek from my backyard swing}

Linking with sweet Sandra's "Still Saturday"...

Before it freezes again...

Much to the surprise of friends and family alike, we cheerfully escorted Emily to the airport last week and with goodbye hugs and kisses let her fly off to Washington DC - for four days and nights without us.

Sure, I stepped up my prayers a notch or two or three, but goodness...we had no doubts that she would make wise decisions. Remember Rwanda? Because of a scheduling oversight, all the other ladies on the team flew out of Rwanda together a day before Emily, leaving her behind with a handful of men on the team for one night in Rwanda and another night in Amsterdam by herself. The frequency and intensity of my prayers were raised multiple notches that trip, but if Emily could handle that scenario with maturity and grace, then surely she could fly just up the east coast without us. And so she did.

Rosemary Barnes, granddaughter of Dr. R.A. Torrey, recently spoke on "hope" at a winter retreat for the ladies in our community. Women from several local churches led praise and worship, sang, danced and conducted workshops on a variety of topics. The church that planned and sponsored the event offered hospitality par excellence - from the floral decorations to the fabulous quiche brunch. It was a joy to be in fellowship and to worship in unity with many Christian women from our little community that I have come to know and love over the twenty years we have been living on Pollywog Creek.

The painted buntings have been spectacular this winter - coming to the feeders 3 males and 3 greens at a time.

Gavin spent the afternoon with me yesterday. We watched the buntings and cardinals and bluejays from the porch, and glanced through the bird books I keep within his easy reach. Gavin loves to help me fill the feeders and appears just as interested in the birds as I am.

Three year old boys can be so cute. At dinner, Kristin asked him what he was doing when he kept turning around in his chair. "I'm looking for something. I can't see them," he answered. "See what, Gavin?" "The birds. I can't see the birds." Gavin is likely to always associate me with birds (remember this) - a legacy I never could have imagined even five years ago. I suppose there are worse things. I'm blaming the painted buntings.

We had a squirrel crisis yesterday while Gavin was here. One of the gray squirrels, who prefers to eat from the bird feeders rather than the very same feed plus peanuts that I leave out in a dish for all the squirrels, managed to get his back leg caught in heavy wire while sliding down to one of the feeders. He twisted and turned and gnawed at the wire in an attempt to free himself, but nothing seemed to work. There didn't appear to be any way that we could safely help him either. Emily's thoughts were "if he got his leg in, then he can get his leg out". At first, he growled at Emily when she approached for a closer look, but then he hung from the wire and whimpered. About the time I thought we might have to put the poor thing out of his misery, he managed to break free.

Maybe now he'll eat out of the dish. Some of us just seem to learn things the hard way.

When Louis asked this morning what my plans were for the day, I told him I intended to begin spring cleaning. He wisely advised me to wait a couple of weeks. The pine pollen is the thickest we've seen in years, and efforts to remove the layer of yellow dust from every horizontal surface is a never ending task. "There's a little yellow flower growing between the pine trees by the shed." Louis informed me a little later. Having abandoned any thoughts of spring cleaning, I headed outside with the camera, in search of the little yellow flower. Yellow flowers, white flowers, pink flowers, purple flowers, two black snakes...and dozens of photographs later I was grateful for the gritty pollen dust that put spring cleaning on hold and the little yellow flower that inspired me to explore...before it freezes again.

Conversational photography and glimpses of glory...

My photographs are not for sale, as some of you have wondered. I am at best an amateur - with an amateur's camera. A real photographer would likely snicker at my unprofessional, unconventional methods.
My photography begins with a conversation.



"Lord, open my eyes and the lens of my camera and please let me capture the wonder and beauty of Your creation - sunlight and rivers and flowers and bees and birds and vines and frogs and leaves and clouds and lizards and dew drops and dragonfly wings and wild berries and cicada and.....wonders that never cease."


And He does, and it is grace and worship and wonder and awe. Pure and simple. It's God's creation, not mine. What more could I possibly receive than the joy of catching a glimpse of His glory and passing it on to you?
So my photographs are not for sale, but I'd be delighted to give one to you. Just ask.
Photos: A Sunday morning sunrise over the Caloosahatchee River; a tangle of vines, wildflowers and berries in the thickets by the creek; a little green heron hiding in the branches of a cypress tree by the pond; a pilated woodpecker (I saw four of them that day) in the shadow of a tree trunk; a bluejay perched on a pine tree branch and a mockingbird atop the eucalyptus tree; the sun rising over a dying orange grove.