What shall we eat the seventh year?

There are so many passages in the Word that remind us to trust. The Lord tells us so many times not to worry. He is leading us. He will take care of us. We're just supposed to listen and do what He says and things will work out for us. And yet, we worry. Which is probably why the Lord tells us SO many times not to.

Be not anxious for your soul, what you shall eat and what you shall drink; nor for your body, what you shall put on. Is not the soul more than food, and the body more than clothing? Matthew 6:25

Come to Me, all ye who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28 

Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Luke 12:32

Let not your heart be disturbed, neither let it be afraid. John 14:27

Cast thy burden on Jehovah, And He shall sustain thee. Psalm 55:22

Yea, though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For Thou art with me. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:4

The day when I fear, I will trust in Thee. Psalm 56:3

And He doesn't just tell us to trust blindly. He also tells us what He will do for us too!

I don't doubt the Lord. I know that what He says is true, but it can be hard to feel it sometimes.

I was reading through Leviticus. Now, I don't know how familiar you are with Leviticus, but I remember as a child starting out at the beginning of the Word with excitement and I was gonna go right through and read it all. Genesis was full of stories and images and familiar things that I loved. Exodus too! Familiar, encouraging! The Ten Commandments! Yeah there are a few "begats" to get through. I remember glazing over for parts. And then I hit Levitcus and wondered what on earth happened to my narrative! Laws? I mean, I love the ten commandments, but these laws are so weird and not really that comprehensible to me. I get some of them, and which laws are still to be observed etc is a whole nother conversation.

So, Leviticus has always been a book to slog through. I gained some appreciation for it in college when I studied the Torah. I still think Leviticus 10 one of the coolest stories in the Word! But that's another blog post too.

Anyhow, this morning I came across the passage "What shall we eat in the seventh year?" and for whatever reason it really struck me!

In Chapter 25 we find more laws. And I'm reading along about when to sew your vineyards and your fields and when you can harvest them and that every 7th year is a sabbath year, which means that you neither gather the harvest nor plant for the following year. When I first started reading the chapter I wasn't really thinking about the fact that they wouldn't have food if they weren't allowed to harvest it. And then along comes verse 20: "What shall we eat the seventh year? behold, we shall not sow, nor gather in our increase."

And for some reason that verse just really struck me and I'm not entirely sure why! And then what follows:  "Then I will command My blessing upon you in the sixth year, and it shall make increase for three years. And you shall sow the eighth year, and eat yet of the old increase until the ninth year; until her increase come in you shall eat of the old."

I hadn't even thought about the fact that one year of no work meant two years without food. No food the current year, and none the year after cause they didn't plant for it.

But the Lord always has a solution.

"My blessing upon you in the sixth year."

I think this is what really struck me in this story. The Lord provides for us. Well duh!

Well duh! And here I'm going off on a limb because this story is talking about a very orderly process where the Lord asks us to take a sabbath and He provides for the future, but He also provides for us when the famine and lack is of our own doing. He is ALWAYS providing for us and trying to help us.

Saying that God allows something to happen does not mean that He wants it to happen but that He cannot prevent it because of His goal, which is our salvation. . . . [Divine providence] is constantly focused on its goal; so that every moment of its work, at every single step of its course, when it notices that we are straying from that goal it leads and turns and adapts us in accord with its laws, leading us away from evil and toward good. . . . This cannot be accomplished without allowing bad things to happen. (Divine Providence 234)

So yeah, I know the story in Leviticus is talking about something a little different, but nevertheless it reminded me of this idea that the Lord is constantly providing for us and leading us and turning us toward good and bringing good out of all the situations!

And here's the thing that was really exciting to me! He doesn't just fix our blunders after we make them, or walk along beside us fixing them as we go. I mean, He does do that. He is right beside us always, helping us course correct, but the point is that He foresaw everything, and prepared us ahead of time for what would come after.

"My blessing upon you in the sixth year."

I remember when my brother got a lacerated spleen it was really upsetting to me. I don't remember why it was so scary even when I knew it would be fine. But I was really upset and a friend said to me "You know that the Lord prepared you for this before it happened, right?"

And it hadn't occurred to me. I know He is always there, and ready to step in and help us overcome anything, but He was there before.

"Before I formed thee in the womb, I knew thee." Jeremiah 1:5 

Stop Running

Worrying, worrying, worrying! A friend brought this passage to my attention a few weeks ago and it hasn't left my head: "They that hate you shall have dominion over you; and you shall flee when none pursues you." Leviticus 26:17

"They that hate you shall have dominion over you." He pointed out that this is like handing over the keys of your house to someone who hates you and saying, "Here are all the things I care about. Have at it!"

When we fret and worry, we invite evil into our lives. We invite all these bad thoughts in, and turn over our emotional state to someone who hates us.

"I feel awful. Come in, come in! Make me feel worse! Wreck my entire house!"

Do you remember when you were a child and you felt like the world was ending, and then your mom gave you a snack and you felt better? Like instantly? Or maybe you've forgotten, but observed a baby screaming and then food is presented and immediately they're fine.

As a parent you can watch and see that the world is ending for your child. You know that dinner will be ready in ten minutes and your child will be fine. But they can't see that. They can't see that in a matter of minutes whatever they think is horribly wrong with the world won't even matter as soon as they get some food in them. As a parent it's probably pretty easy to dismiss the meltdown.

But if we put ourselves in the place of the child, and the Lord in the place of the parent. Does He ever dismiss out meltdowns? I doubt it. I bet He cares, even if He can see that we'll be fine in a week/month/year/5 years.

A parent can foresee that their child will be fine once they've eaten, slept, or even just obeyed. In the same way, but with infinitely more love and patience, He is looking down at us knowing we'll be okay. It will work out so much better if we obey His Word, obey His loving commandments!

He can foresee that this anxiety I'm having will pass. He can see that this is a minor thing compared to eternity. I can see that too. When I stop to look at my life, I can see that wondering if anyone has ordered gray paint is not that important. And that perspective can remind me not to worry. But the Lord also doesn't want us to feel bad for feeling bad.

Back to the small child tantruming about supper not being ready. Imagine if the child could reflect on its actions. Given enough rationality and thought, maybe the child could reflect and realize that freaking out isn't going to help, in fact it might even delay dinner if mom is distracted by said child.

That's a good use of reflection, but sometimes reflection pushes into a dark place because we have given the keys of our mind over to someone who hates us. More common, I find, is that the child (adult) reflects, realizes they're being a pill about supper (life) and then gets really mad at themselves for tantruming over something so insignificant.

"You will run when none pursues you." We make life way more difficult on ourselves than necessary.

Reflection is good. It stops us from tantruming about dumb things. We should reflect and it helps us to turn and live a better life, but we do not need run when we aren't being pursued. We need to shun evils and live a better life. But a better life doesn't mean one of constant worry and looking over our shoulder for an enemy that isn't there.

Safeguard your home against such invasion. Kick out the evil from your home. Don't give evil spirits free reign on your mind. Don't run away from nothing. Calm down. The Lord is on your side.

Look Up!

The redness is back. It's dark this time. Not the bright throbbing glow that drew me last time. It's a deep beautiful red. Is it even the same?

The redness is back and it's pulling me again.

I flinch when I see it. It hurt so much last time. It hurt when I drew near and it hurt as I pulled away from it. Is it even the same red?

The fiery glow that pulled me in last time nearly hurt my eyes it was so vibrant with life. This redness is deep and soothing. I'm not sure if it should be described as vibrant or not. It's full. I must describe it as full.

I see it now. There is a golden glow beyond the red. Mingling in a flash of light.

There is a pain in my chest as I look at the redness. Is the pain a memory or a real feeling? It hurt so much last time! My throat begins to feel sore with the memory.

"Stop." I say to myself. I turn away from the red, but it is all around me. There is no turning from it. I look down and my feet are bathed in the darkness. I look up and rather than feeling trapped I feel close and safe as I see the wide expanse above me. Suddenly there is a dark, deep blue with a myriad of stars.

This tightness, and yet this broad expanse. I should feel nervous. I should feel scared, but the tightness in my chest begins to release. I am surrounded all around by a dark, warm red and above there is so much deepness and light.

Hands slightly open, I begin to turn slowly on the spot looking up at the stars. Is there a familiar constellation in the heavens or are these not my stars? There are so many more than on an average night that it is filling in the expanse. I cannot tell if I should know this place or not.

But I do. Something about it is familiar. No, not familiar. I've never seen this before, but I recognize it. There is something about this that feels safe. I am at home here. Overwhelmed, I fall back but instead of thudding to the ground I fall gradually. The transition from standing to lying is one I hardly noticed.

But suddenly I feel cold. The pain should come, should it not? It hurt so much last time. I was sure that I would shatter.

Instead of enjoying my surroundings I was suddenly shivering in fear. Fear of something that might not happen. Indeed, there was a pleasantness in my chest that seemed to be saying "Do not be afraid." But I was sure that the pain would return and I did not trust the feeling. I curled myself up, looking away from the stars. But folded up, with my face pressed into the ground the red still reached through my eyelids, insistent through my avoidance.

There was no pain, only fear. But the fear began to manifest as pain. My eyelids began to hurt. My stomach knotted with worry and my heart started beating too fast.

"Please stop!" I gasped, pushing on the pain in my chest.

"You are creating the pain." I don't know where the voice came from. I knew it was true, but I didn't know how to stop it. I tried to slow my heart beat just by thinking about it. But thinking about it scared me. I felt so cold and though I tried to stop myself from shivering I could feel my teeth chattering.

Slowly I again became aware of how warm and inviting my surroundings were. But I was still afraid.

"Look up." The voice said.

I was afraid. But how much had it hurt last time? Last time. Everything hurt more than words last time. But then there was peace. I knew that. I knew it then and I knew it now, but trust hurt before the initial plunge.

"Get it over with," I told myself. "You're hurting yourself now. You, and you alone are causing this torment. Look up."

"Look up," the voice that was mine repeated.

But as easy as it would have been to turn my head I couldn't. Resolutely I looked inward. Rolled as tightly as I could I was looking in at myself. Trying to protect my feelings. My heart, my lungs.

But I was causing the tightness. I was causing the pain.

"Look up."

In one violent wrench I tore myself out and looked upward. Light was streaming from the sky. The redness around me and the blue above were mingling together in strong waves. Water poured from my eyes as I beheld the striations of light and color. The beads of wet on my eyelashes added another dimension to the light and colors, refracted in my tears.

But I was safe. Again. Just as I had known I would be. I looked about at the mingling colors and down at the purple and white reflecting off my skin and I laughed.

It was relief. I was safe. I had always been safe. I had caused the feelings of fear and anxiety, but the safety had been around me perpetually. I was safe. I had always been safe.

I can write.

I decided (at least for a week) to embrace my writing. A dear friend has encouraged me greatly. Told me repeatedly that I am a good writer. It's feel so much easier to protest and drag up all the things that I don't like about my writing. So, for at least a week I am going to embrace my writing as good writing.

I sometimes mix up aught and ought, or brainlessly use the wrong they're/their/there. But somehow knowing that I do know the correct rules makes me feel better about screwing up. Which is weird because I usually think that ignorance is actually better than knowing what's right and wrong and then just going ahead with what's wrong. Whatever, I think my writing is good.

A friend recently asked me, "What is good writing?" I've been thinking about this. Thinking about what I like about my favorite authors. Do I like certain authors or certain books? Do some authors write consistently good things? I think about JK Rowling. I read all the Harry Potter books and loved them. I guess I haven't tried reading her other books, but I didn't even feel compelled to.

I think I usually get into stories, seldom into authors. I'm trying to think of any author that I just had to read everything he wrote.... I think I read everything by Jane Austen. A lot of stuff by C.S. Lewis. A lot of George Mac Donald and a lot of A.A. Milne. Oh and pretty much everything by Kathryn Worth, Ethel Cook Elliot, Kate Seredy, and Baroness Orczy. Wait, nope. That's not true. I didn't read anything by Orczy except for her Scarlet Pimpernel books. I mean, she wrote like 15 of those and I read them all, but I don't think I read anything else by her.

Woah, that was fun! I didn't realize how many authors I admire! I was thinking it would be like 3. But that was 8! I think I was thinking it wouldn't be that many because I was thinking of generally admired authors where I liked some of their books but wasn't crazy about reading all of them like some people do. So authors like Terry Pratchett, Lousia May Alcott, Lucy Maud Montgomery, JK Rowling, JRR Tolkien etc who people just adore.... I mean, I like some of their novels. Maybe even some of my favorite books, but I didn't care about eating up everything they wrote. And I can also think of several of my favorite books but I didn't care about reading more by that author. M.M. Kaye is a perfect example of that. The Ordinary Princess is one of my favorite books, but it's the only children's book she wrote and I didn't want to read any of her long epics. Ella Enchanted is another great one. Can't remember the author this moment, but I read some of her other books and they were fine but not great. And Elizabeth Pope Osbourne (I think that's her name) who wrote Sherwood Ring. SUCH a good book, but I read another by her and it was, again, fine, but not anywhere as good as Sherwood Ring.

So going back to the aforementioned 8 authors. What makes their writing so good that I will read anything they write including a shopping list?!

I'm not gonna answer that just now. I'm gonna focus on what I think is NOT good writing for a moment.

Depressing (in and of itself) is not good writing! Adult content is not good writing. It doesn't have to be compelling, dramatic stuff. Ok, the reverse of good writing is getting me no where. I'm really thinking about A.A. Milne, one of my all time favorite authors. I've even read more than just Winnie the Pooh, but Winnie the Pooh is some of my favorite literature. Why?

(Sidenote a couple with a baby just walked into Starbuck and I desperately want to just go ask them if I can hold their baby! Tears. Eyes. Stinging. Agh!)

It is simple and straight to the point. There is no floweriness about the descriptions. It's just so beautifully crafted! It's heart warming and so very real! I'm sure a lot of it is affection for the books read to me in my childhood, but it's so much more than that because I love the word choices and the capitalization of Important Words. It's just so wonderful! And so much of it is the simplicity!

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”

I think this is one of my favorite things in all of literature. Why is it so beautiful? Why does it tug at my heart strings and warm it all at once?

And another perfect description!

“Rabbit's clever," said Pooh thoughtfully.
"Yes," said Piglet, "Rabbit's clever."
"And he has Brain."
"Yes," said Piglet, "Rabbit has Brain."
There was a long silence.
"I suppose," said Pooh, "that that's why he never understands anything.”

I'm sure people have tried to explain the above concept and it takes them entire books and they would never be able to say it that perfectly and concisely.

Winnie the Pooh is full of these one liners that just convey so much truth in one tiny little bite. And it is so endearing and beautiful!

Well, when my friend asked me (I believe after midnight) what makes good writing I didn't have an answer so I asked him right back and he said something like "Someone who writes the truth." I almost wish that I hadn't asked him, because now I feel like I am just stealing his answer. Would I have come up with that on my own? I just came to that conclusion about A.A. Milne without even trying. It's just so obvious.

So, trying to be original and think about what I love about my favorite stories... AH ha! This sentence just discovered something for me. I try too hard to be original! I try to write stories that are new and different and have something new to offer. I want my blog posts to discover some new idea. I want to be original, but original is NOT what makes for good writing. Truth IS what makes for good writing. So if it's true it's gonna be something someone else has said. I don't have to look for originality and saying something in a new and different way. I just need to stick to telling the truth and letting the words come.

"And that's the whole poem," he said. "Do you like it, Piglet?"
"All except the shillings," said Piglet. "I don't think they ought to be there."
"They wanted to come in after the pounds," explained Pooh, " so I let them. It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come."
"Oh, I didn't know," said Piglet.

We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.

Sharing is scary. I think it's the fear that someone will try to piece together who I am from the things I share.

"What's wrong with that?" you ask? Good question. Because I get to choose what I share, just as I get to choose what I share in a face to face conversation, just as I choose how to present myself with my clothing and hair and everything.

So what is the fear? There is always vulnerability in sharing anything with anyone, but that is the only way we are to be known. And we want to be known, don't we? Is it that we want to craft exactly how we share ourselves with others? So that we don't let some false notion of who we are creep in to the other person's understanding of us? Cause that's totally possible (insert sarcastic voice)!

Therefore writing should be a safer way of letting people in than a conversation. Because you have the ability to stop writing... and think for a moment about how you want to put out an idea from your mind. You can stop in conversations too, but when you write something to share you can stop for days and no one will ever know how long it was between this word.... and the next.

In writing you have the ability to really craft yourself and look at just how you want to present yourself and your ideas to others. So is it really fear than that I'm fighting? Or is it something else? Could it be shame?

Conversations should hold plenty of meaning, but the idea of an article is a well crafted and informed opinion. It's like in college when I would sit down to an exam and the teacher would have a list of essay questions to write down in one of those little blue books. You weren't expected to have your argument fully crafted and beautifully written. But if the teacher gave you the questions ahead of time, then if you didn't do well that was your own fault and you should have spent more time on the questions before the exam.

In college I never cared about my grades, but I did care that my teachers respected me and my work. I was lucky enough to go to a college where the teachers cared so much about their students. My favorite day was when I was walking through the hallways and my professor stopped me, ran back into his office and came back with my paper, flipped open to the last page and showed me that I had gotten an A!

I cared so little for the A, but it meant the world to me that he liked my work and not only that, but also that he was so excited to show me. He wanted to be there.

So why the shame or fear? I think it is the worry that nothing is perfect. I can have a conversation because that's still working through ideas. It's the point of conversing. But in an article I feel like I'm supposed to come to a conclusion. I am supposed to have accomplished something. And I only feel ready to share it if it is perfect.

This touches all areas of my life. For 2017, I created a resolution to learn ukulele.  And to record and share a song at least once a month. So far I've posted at least twice a month. In the summer I started a blog (Hello readers!). I believe that this is my 27th post. For September I decided to paint every day. And to share every day. I've never done oil painting before!

This creativity, I believe, is all in order to get over this ridiculous notion that everything I share ought to be perfect. I post ukulele songs where I make mistakes, or just aren't very polished. I share unfinished paintings and free flowing thought. I have this blog, but I have yet to share any posts with more than a few people because it feels like too big a window into mind.

But so often my writing is an exploration of my thoughts. It isn't usually explaining something to others, it's explaining something to myself. It's exploring a topic so that I can understand my own failings and do better. I just came across this quote and I really like it:

I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand. ― Cecil Day-Lewis

I think that's the crux of it. I have a hard time trying to write something in order to prove a point to someone or to enlighten my reader. I write to sharpen my own thoughts. Convincing others of something seldom works anyway. So I just like to share my ideas and I hope that others get something out of it too.

What the blazes?

... right in the middle of a sentence.

I think I like to fight the cliche of beginning a story with "Once upon a time". So I don't know how else to start one except for abruptly.


Wind and sun. Dry heat. I wandered across the bright meadows. It was lovely and unencumbered. Some kind of white flowers dotted the golden field, but my eyes hardly took it in. I followed on toward the redness blazing ahead of me.

It was growing. Or was it shrinking? Frightened, following my impulse, I started running toward it. It wasn't growing. I was just getting closer to it. It was shrinking, but the rate at which I approached it meant that the size didn't change. It gave the illusion that I was running on a treadmill. It seemed too much like I wasn't moving and all of the sudden I became dizzy and had to drop to the ground, breathing heavily. I looked up at the brightness and could now see that it was shrinking away. In a panic I began running again. I couldn't lose it. I had to make it there in time, even though I didn't know what I was running for. I sprinted, gasping for breath as it pulled away from me. I felt the glow of the redness on my skin. I looked down and instead of seeing the expected red, the light reflected as blue on my skin. It was surreal, but I couldn't register the meaning. I had to reach it before it was completely gone.

I reached out my hand. It was just--

"Stop. Don't do it."

I withdrew my hand guiltily. Who had said that? I looked around. About fifteen yards away there was a man. I didn't know his face, but I trusted him. I trusted him, but I still wanted to know why I shouldn't reach for the redness.

"Why not?" I asked.

At this point the redness was not changing in size, but growing in intensity. It made me long to reach for it, but I refrained, waiting for an answer.

"Because you're not supposed to." He wasn't yelling, but it was like his voice was fighting against a strong wind. "Don't reach for it," he warned again.

"But..." I began. Torn between trust and longing. "But... but I want to!" And the intensity of the redness was creating a storm. I felt pulled toward it and at the same time pushed away. It was as if the unknown man and I were pushing toward a wall of wind and shouting to each other to be heard, and yet we weren't shouting and his voice sounded close, and safe, and I believed him.

"Trust me," he said. And he reached his hand toward me. And I felt intense fear and loneliness. I turned toward the red glow. I could feel the warmth. I took a step.

"Please!" he said, and his hand was a gift in the brightness.

"I can't." I apologized. And I took another step toward the glow. And I began to cry.

Maybe he was right. I stopped. I looked at the hand. The kindness he was offering. The love. I thought I should try. One step toward him. And there was gut wrenching pain and I was crippled. I fell to the ground.

It was a sign. I knew that I should have kept toward the glow. My face turned back toward it. The pain receded a little. I crawled a little bit toward the intensifying red.

"Trust me," the man said again. My eyes were burning with tears. I could feel the drips falling whichever way they chose. One hitting the corner of my mouth, one rolling toward my ear, leaving salty trails on my skin. I didn't even want to turn toward the man. It hurt too much.

"I'm going to crawl into the light," I said. Mostly to myself. I didn't care if he heard.

"Trust me," he said a third time. I chanced a look. Such warmth, but my head split.

"Okay," I whispered. And it tore my throat to say it. I reached out my hand and as I did I could feel the ripping in my chest and I wanted to withdraw, but as soon as my hand touched his it was firmly in his grasp and he pulled me away from the glow. I was being pulled toward safety and to him.