Jesus, Light, Michigan

It’s All in Your Perspective

Final conversation from True Detective, which I’ve never seen, season 1 finale. Thanks to Brad Jersak:

Marty: “Didn’t you tell me one time, dinner once, maybe, about how you used to … you used to make up stories about the stars?”
Rust: “Yeah, that was in Alaska, under the night skies.”
Marty: “Yeah, you used to lay there and look up, at the stars?”
Rust: “Yeah, I think you remember how I never watched the TV until I was 17, so there wasn’t much to do up there but walk around, explore, and…”
Marty: “And look up at the stars and make up stories. Like what?”
Rust: “I tell you Marty I been up in that room looking out those windows every night here just thinking, it’s just one story. The oldest.”
Marty: “What’s that?”
Rust: “Light versus dark.”
Marty: “Well, I know we ain’t in Alaska, but it appears to me that the dark has a lot more territory.”
Rust: “Yeah, you’re right about that.”
Rust insists that Marty help him leave the hospital, Marty agrees. As they head to the car, Rust makes one final point to his former partner.
Rust: “You’re looking at it wrong, the sky thing.”
Marty: “How’s that?”
Rust: “Well, once there was only dark. You ask me, the light’s winning.”

Amen, the Light’s winning. Glory, glory, hallelujah, His truth is marching on.

I came upon the same sentiment on a stroll through Traverse City.

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Darkness isn’t everything.

#perspectiveinthecity

Speaking of perspective, you should read this: Love Wins When We Let God Be God, if you haven’t already.  It’s pretty brill.

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life

Little Things

It’s the little things that thrill me and it’s the little things that sometimes bug me.

Yesterday, while making a brine for the turkey, I went out to my garden, brushed aside six inches of snow and snipped a few sprigs of rosemary and a tangled swirl of thyme.

I brushed aside more snow and peaked into the little pop up tent that is protecting the parsley. It is doing just fine. I climbed over a drift and unzipped the cover on the lettuce trug. The lettuce is happy and healthy.

Walking back into the house with my handful of herbs, two rosy cheeks, joy in my heart and a smile on my face, I felt kinda’ like a pioneer woman braving the cold and snow to collect Thanksgiving herbs from the good earth.

Instead of the suburbanite that I am.

It just doesn’t seem right when EVERY ingredient comes from the supermarket.

So that little thing made me happy.

Knowing that there is a whole turkey and a turkey breast brining in the downstairs refrigerator makes me happy, too.

The hub is cleaning the whole house today while I cook. That’s a BIG thing.

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The little beagle woke me up at 6:45 am. “Where’s dad,” I asked. Her harness was on so I knew she had already been outside. I followed her downstairs. The friends had been fed, the percolator was plugged in but there was no sign of the hub.

A smile dawned on me.

I settled onto the sofa with my good friend Joe, the little beagle pressed against me, and took the first glorious sip. Soon the back door opened and in came the hub.

“That’s a beautiful box you’re carrying.”

It was a plain white cardboard box. One that I recognized fondly.

Anyone who knows anything about me and doughnuts knows that the little things in that box made me very happy.

But sometimes little things bug me, too.

As I was doing the dishes this morning, I was thinking, for about the fourth time this week, about a little thing that happened in Bible study last Thursday. As I was saying goodbye to the ladies I said, “I have to get home and clean out my refrigerator to make room for my Thanksgiving groceries.”

One of the women said, under her breath, “I wish I had that problem.”

I walked to my car puzzled. She wishes she had what problem? A fridge full of half empty jars of expired condiments?

I really don’t think she was lamenting an empty fridge. There are a couple of ladies in that class who are on a tight budget, but she is not one of them.  Most of the women in that group have a second home in Naples and a third home up North, I’m not one of them. She might be. She comes every Thursday perfectly coiffed in expensive clothes. I usually show up in jeans and a sweatshirt.

Was she trying to tell me that she hates me? I shrugged it off.

But it kept coming up like cud. And then this morning it occurred to me that maybe it wasn’t a lack of food she was lamenting, perhaps it was a lack of company.

And I wished that I had asked her what she meant. So she could share her tale of woe and I could sympathize.

I don’t know whether she hates me or whether she was just trying to unload her heart, but I’m going with door number two.

Because little adjustments in my perspective always make me happy.

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