Summer Poetry pt 2

control freak:

not afraid to die

just afraid

I won’t know it’s time

chronic doubter:

knowing God’s promise

but still needing

to check and make sure

class A windbag:

convinced I know best

though history

proves otherwise true

cleansed by Christ’s blood:

empowered by the

Holy Spirit

to die to myself

chosen by God:

free from old habits

with liberty 

to live in His truth

control freak,

chronic doubter,

class A windbag,

but then Grace.

And the Valleys

I feel like I start every post the same way these days. “Hey, I swear I had the best intentions to update weekly, but I fell short again, so I’m going to try to cram three weeks into four paragraphs. Thanks for sticking with me! (Has anyone stuck with me?)” To quote my little sister, it’s fine. Really, everything is fine.

June faded into July far too quickly and July began with me on a Montana-bound airplane with Gracie and her cousin Katie. (Quick plug for Glacier Nat’l Park.  You need to go.  If you think creation has made you stand in awe of God before, just wait till you’re standing on a lookout across the peaks of the Rockies. Wow.) Actually, I’m going to continue off that parenthetical statement.  For the entire duration of our trip, I had one overarching question ricocheting from one side of my brain to the other:

Where did the mountains come from?  Did God create them in the very beginning, or are they one of the results of Noah’s flood?

At first this question doesn’t seem like a big deal, right?  It’s like, “Whatever.  They’re awe-inspiring anyway.”  But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to matter.  Here’s why: if God created them in the beginning, they’re just a testament to His creative power.  If, however, they are from the flood, aren’t they then a lasting testament of God’s intolerance for sin and His rightful power to bring terrible judgment?  And what if the answer is both?

For most people the distinction might not be very important, but I’m a mountain-loving kind of girl.  Every time I look across the craggy peaks, my heart swells.  This trip didn’t take that swell away...it just provided the contrasting valley.  It almost said, “Yes, these mountains attest to the glory of God AND how that glory cannot dwell in the presence of sin.”

That was kind of a big deal for me.  In fact, it was such a big deal that I’m going to end this post here.  Think about it.  And I’ll be back before too long.

I Wrote This on a Newspaper

Seriously, I did.  Not for any particular reason, other than I wanted to see how it would look (I’ll attach a picture at the end).  Of course, surrounding circumstances were such that I haven’t updated my blog recently and there was no normal paper at my disposal.  

It strikes me as funny that I have this ridiculous impulse to maintain a significant measure of privacy surrounding my personal life AND YET, here I am, prepairing to bare a portion of my soul to the internet.  What gives? In all honest truth, there are portions I reserve the right to keep personal, at least for now.  It’s only fair.

Rewind. Why don’t you have any other paper to write on, Vivian?  Good question with a simple answer.  I work on a fruit farm and it’s a rainy day.  I have to remain at my post, but if no customers arrive, I am free to fill my time as I wish (i.e. write this blog post).

But, Viv, how do you have customers at a fruit farm? Aren’t you doing field work? What happened there? I’ll tell you. Bohringer’s hired a woman to run their u-pick wagon for the summer, but there was a misunderstanding and she is only available on weekends, while the farm needs her every day.  The solution: yours truly.  Now I do field work from 5 a.m. to 8 a.m., then I run the wagon until 6 p.m. and tell people where to pick strawberries and take their money when they’re done.

Not a bad gig, you say.  And in most cases and many places, that is true.  There’s always a catch, though, and I’m starting to realize God consistently uses the snags in my life to teach me what I need to know.  This snag is my lovely introversion.

Some days the flow of cars is slow and I relish spending time consciously focusing on the needs of each person.  Just now, as I’ve been writing this, I stopped for fifteen minutes to talk to a woman who is extraordinarily passionate about the New York State Museum. I didn’t even know that was a thing!  But I love those moments because I am able to engage with them in God’s love and smile and truly care about what they have to say.

The busy days are, without a doubt, more difficult for me. People scurry in and out of the field like ants on hyperdrive as I try to direct the newcomers and make change for the exiting pickers quickly and concisely.  Those two jobs seem easy enough, but wait until you have six carloads of impatient people waiting on each line and then tell me it isn’t overwhelming and stressful. On our busiest day this season, I held it together until I got home and thought about making dinner. At the very notion of cutting up squash, I burst into tears.

I share this, partly because it’s real life, but mostly because I rejoice that God sustained my “too much people” meter throughout the entire 13 hour day.  He let me smile at each customer and help them graciously. Who cares if I had a meltdown at home?

Another reason to rejoice is that I officially have enough money to pay for my next semester at EBI in full! (Amen, amen!)

And while the work hours are long, my life has had some play in it as well.  Gracie and I were able to take our almost annual lazy day at the beach a couple of weeks ago, and enjoyed a weekend camping trip before that.  Last weekend I enjoyed some really awesome fellowship with Emmie, who is interning with Ethnos360 at Wayumi in PA. 

Now my summer is already beginning to wind down.  I’m excited for the adventures yet to come, but I’m also stoked for everything the next semester will bring.

And I think that’s it!

Summer Poetry

whispering.

rustling.

waving.

who can guess what the grass is

saying?

gusting.

rushing.

blowing.

who can say where the wind is

going?

listening.

watching.

waiting.

i don’t know why but i am

trying.

(Just some thoughts from the strawberry field earlier this week. And below are two of my favorite views recently.)

PS: Life is good.

Weeding the Weeds

(Looking at a field of baby plants that I helped place in the ground is actually a pretty incredible feeling. Featured here: super sweet corn)

(It’s a bad picture, BUT THOSE ARE LITTLE RASPBERRIES!)

(And the first red strawberry I’ve seen this season 💛)

The days are still long and hard.  Every day this week has found me bent over the bushes like an Entwife, but the hours of solitude are a gift in many ways.  People laugh when I say I pass the time talking and singing to the little plants I’m tending...and maybe it is slightly odd. Somehow though, I find the more I speak softly into the silence, the more it becomes a conversation between God and I that has nothing to do with the bushes.  I’m content there, grateful even, as every day the desire of my heart is more firmly established to do this and every other work as unto my God and King.

The First Work Week

(Boxes of strawberry plants.  So far I have helped plant over 20,000)

(One of the older strawberry fields)

(The backend of the tractor we sit in to plant)

(View of Bohringers fruit farm from Vroman’s Nose)

Blueberry Bramble

One week into the summer, I have dirt-stained hands and a sun-baked nose.  Each morning my car flies over the backroads snaking through the low mountains I grew up on until I reach the valley.  From down in the strawberry field, the world is diminished into a circle of farm land fenced in by the same mountains, all of which are encompassed by a bright blue bowl of sky.  The early summer sun smiles down from on high and my heart sings.

Work on a farm isn’t easy.  By noon, the odd breaks in my skin ooze blood as I wash my hands for lunch, but within an hour I won’t be able to see the blood for the dirt caking around the wounds. It is work, though. The labor is honest with visible results; my sense of accomplishment is just as real as the sweat beading down my back.  For the first time in my life, a hard day’s work is just that.  Nothing more, nothing less.

As the summer goes on, I’m sure I will lose my rose-colored glasses and there will be days that I complain about my worn muscles and dust-filled eyes. Today, however, learning how to help living things grow, discovering new ways to be a good steward of the land God has entrusted to us, and...I could go on line after line, gushing unintelligibly about my love for my God and all the good things He has made.

This wouldn’t be a true post by yours truly without a little lesson from the week.  Yesterday morning found me in the blueberry field, clipping away at invasive saplings and grapevines.  I worked my way down the row of bushes until I came to a cluster completely overwhelmed by dried morning glory, young vines, and even ivy.  The blueberries were almost wholly choked out, but as I began to slowly free the bushes from the bramble, I also began to understand something I think might be almost profound. 

 If I were to grab a fistful of the antagonizing plants and pull them out, I would kill the very plant I’m trying to save.  The detangling process takes time and care and effort and I remembered the parable of the good seed choked out by weeds.  Never before have I understood how truly overpowering invasive plants can be.  The anxieties and woes of this world are like that.  God freely gives each of His children a blueberry bush of purposeful joy, of eternal perspective, of desire for His glory. And yet, we have other seeds in the soil of our lives that seek to leech off the good plant, to climb over it to reach better light and support.  We can’t help those seeds being there, but if we are poor caretakers, the blueberries will swiftly be overgrown, unrecognizable for the plants we failed to nip in the bud.  

It’s the beginning of a thought that might, in fact, be beyond basic, but it is also profound. At least, it is profound to me.