A Mighty Wind


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This morning it is windy.  And that is an understatement.

Because of the cool weather we have had our windows open and the cats love to sit on the sill, with just the screen between them and the great outdoors.  It’s a good view, they can smell everything and their ability to hear the birds is increased ten-fold.

But this morning, the curtains are going everywhere with each gust of wind.  The breeze throughout the house moves things off the tables… and I love it.  It’s refreshing and cool and crisp and just a perfect morning to sit with some coffee and blog.

My cats are not pleased.

I think I spent about half an hour petting Tiki and reassuring him this morning.  We were sitting there in the living room and with every gust of wind, his ears would perk back and he would meow and I think he was a bit overstimulated for a lazy holiday morning.  He didn’t know where to look, or what to do, as this is not a typical occurance inside of our home.  I’ve noticed that since I left his side, he sits in the middle of the room, far away from the windows on both side.  Our other cat… Turbo… the one who likes to sit in the windows the best, has still not made an appearance.

Wind turbines like these have become common over the skies
in Iowa.  You can look out and see hundreds turning and know
that the wind is moving… where you would have forgotten it
was moving before.

The blowing of the wind always leads me to ponder the Holy Spirit.  She blows where she will, she stirs things up and creates a ruckus, and we are either comforted or agitated by her presence.

When we are ready and receptive to her promptings, it is a refreshing change of pace.  I was recently at a training event with some of my leaders and we were exasperated by the lack of movement we had seen with a process we were implementing at church.  We felt stuck and yet we were surrounded by people in prayer and song who had been hearing the Spirit’s beckoning.  And so got through the morning and sat down for lunch together and over food and breaking of bread, the Holy Spirit showed up.  In half an hour, we had completely reinvisioned how we might lead our church through this process and felt energized and moved to go wherever the Spirit sent us.  It was mighty.

But when we are not ready for that change, when we are not looking for the Spirit and she shows up… trouble is brewing.  We tend to isolate ourselves and run away.  We make noises and complaints about how we have never done things that way before.  We run around like chickens with our heads cut off and then when its obvious that the changes are here to stay – that the spirit is moving and there is nothing we can do about it, we plop down and give up.  We get in the way.  We refuse to budge.  That is how I responded (for the most part) to my calling.  I tried to ignore it.  I told myself and others it was never going to happen.  I headed off to do something else all together with my life.

But the Spirit will keep blowing.  And even when you sit down and cross your arms and your legs and refuse to budge the Spirit will gently nudge you to look around and somehow you’ll realize that you are where the Spirit wanted you to be all along.  And maybe at that time you’re just more receptive to seeing it.  And you stand up, and she fills you to the brim.  And you realize, it was a mighty ride.

seasons of change

Photo by Fred KuipersIt’s only sixty degrees outside – the coldest day of September so far.  There is a bite to the air.  The wind whips between the trees and the leaves that have started to turn are ripped off of their branches. Fall may have officially begun a week ago – but today is the first day it actually feels like autumn.
I can feel the cold in my fingers.  I grabbed my wool cardigan off the back of my office chair where it has been draped since last March.  The sleeves are pulled all the way down to my fingertips, like mittens with finger holes cut out of them.

There has been a drastic difference in the landscape in the past week.  The greens of the fields turned a brilliant yellow, but that has faded into the customary brown of beans and corn waiting in the fields for harvest.

And once again we are reminded that our lives are fragile, that we grow and flourish and age and wilt.  Although we are promised life by our God, we still must move through and experience death. One of the community hospice agencies called me this afternoon with news of a member.  We are playing phone-tag, but I’m already preparing in my heart for a funeral.