The $600 Dogwood tree & the little shovel.

Soon, we will place our home on the market. It's been the plan for about six years now, since we brought the horses home from my niece's forty acres. I simply longed to breathe them in everyday. I'm pretty sure it brings my blood pressure down a few points. We have never been in a hurry, waiting on the real estate market to improve. People say, "you haven't built that house yet?" Which begs the question, why are we always in a hurry?

I'm excited about the prospect of building another home. I will trade my view of the lake in the morning, still and calm, for a view of the horses against the backdrop of the woods where we ride. There are homes there and neighbors we look forward to getting to know better.
Still, it will be a little sad.  Our grandchildren know this house, it will be their early memories of us.  The Easter egg hunts, hide-and-seek among the trees, running in the sprinklers and sitting on the screen porch reading while summer rains fall.  I'm a smidge sentimental. [For Sale - Coming Soon]

While living in the first home we built when our children were small, I begged for a sweet dogwood tree to be saved from the middle of the lot before the basement was dug. It was a beautiful little dogwood, about eight feet with lovely bark and crooked branches. After much begging, Don prepped the corner of the yard. It needed to catch water runoff better, it sloped too quickly. He lay a partial brick wall in a nice half circle and I amended the soil to the perfect mix. [Mama helped oversee this project and helped me plant the Irises]
He moved that tree to the front yard with a rented bobcat. For the duration of the time we lived there, I adored that beautiful tree. Each spring it's white blooms showed out with irises from our childhood home all around it, beaming like a proud child at their mothers feet.
I drive by that tree occasionally, some thirty years later, now in it's senior years with it's large, draping branches still beautifully sets off the corner of the yard, just as I envisioned.  Don sarcastically refers to it as "the $600 tree".

I love forsythia, yellow bells we call them in the South. They came from my grandfathers property originally and grew at our childhood home. I moved several to each home we've built through the years. When my husband gazes out at the yard after it's edged and cut, I know he's thinking about those shrubs he will have to move.  ... and he will.  He always does.
I can't think about the shrubs and flowers without thinking of mama, she always carried a small shovel in the trunk of her car. Just in case, she found herself in the presence of something fabulous in her travels. She once brought me the most beautiful little Hemlock tree from Tennessee. It was about three feet tall and Don planted it for me.  I believe it was about six feet or more when he carefully moved it. [NO, you cannot take it in the back of the truck, the wind will beat it to death]
I tell you this man loves me. He set it in the edge of the woods next to the spot we chose for our home, on the point, overlooking the Warrior River. I would be able to see it out the nine foot expanse of windows in the bedroom, gazing west around the bend in the big river.  Sadly, It was not to be though. A power truck feeding our power up the mountain backed over it and completely destroyed the tree, now well over eight feet tall. The man apologized and told us to turn it in to Alabama Power and they would pay for another tree. Another tree?!  I cried like a baby.
I'm already planning what I will move to the farm- has to be out of reach of the horses and protected while we build. There are Forsythia, Sweet William and Almond shrubs. Don't forget the Irises! There's an ongoing argument between Don and I about the Japanese maple he paid a pretty penny for and the Mock Orange (Philadelphus or English Dogwood) dug up from outside my childhood bedroom. You can probably guess which one I value and will be moved.
My daughters home has shrubs taken from her grandmothers and I am choosing something to move in the spring to our son's new home for his three children.

I believe we had the best world, shielded from adult thoughts, actions and problems, we were allowed to be children. The world is often cruel but there is also beauty everywhere and a need to carry parts of the past forward. The telling of childhood memories and laughter, of perseverance and determination, of hard work and rewards, of love and forgiveness. It flows through the blood of those children as it does in my brothers and I. 

I will make sure they have a piece of the past as they go into the future. They all have a weird, quirky sense of humor and are easily amused. From my mothers little carved wooden box daddy gave her to the wooden dough bowl that was my husbands grandmother's. Our children will carry the past with them, I owe it to them.

Now, I need a little shovel.

Salt. Sprinkle a little over your friends.

This is something I jotted down on a February morning.
I hear the birds sing as the rain falls softly outside my bedroom window. I watch as the drops break the surface of the lake, there's a crisp chill in the air. Will you look at that? The Yellow Bells (Forsythia) are starting to bloom.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and visions of hot coffee began to flood my head. I hate to admit, I have turned into one of those people- I choose not to function until I've had my coffee. Then, before my first sip, God gave me something. Salt. Yes, just salt. "What?" The thought leaves me as I shuffle out of bed... 

  SHUFFLE verb shuf·fle \ˈshə-fəl\  : to slide your feet along the ground or back and forth without lifting them completely. [It's what happens as you get older and especially before coffee.]

I'm ashamed to say I discounted those words at first, so much to do today.  As I go about my morning I ponder, "was that from God or simply a word of my own choosing?" We over-thinkers do that, you know. We run things through our head front and back, back and front...
I find myself in the front yard as the puppy does his business and I keep feeling this word.  Salt.

I keep hearing, "salt". [Are we out of salt? Do I need to buy salt, what?] I half expect to see a text message that says simply, Salt. God.

As my brain absorbs more coffee and I'm able to enjoy my morning devotion, which by the way, is NOT about salt. 

Or is it? 

I begin reading about that "salt" thing, because honestly it's not going away until I do.  I open my Bible and without reference checking or anything, I find myself in Matthew.  I've read this at least one hundred times but today in the fifth chapter it SMACKS me in the head! (13)You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men. (14)You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden…

On to the gospel of Mark. 9:50
"Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can you make it salty again? Have salt among yourselves, and be at peace with each other."
Then from the same book of Leviticus, the subject of today's devotion comes,

Leviticus 2:13 And every oblation of your meat offering shall you season with salt…  While the sacrifices of Leviticus [Thank you Lysa Terkeurst] do not apply to me today, the message still does.

By now we are all loathing this election year,right?
If I could move into the dark recesses of the world and not hear all the mud slinging, the bickering, divisiveness, the lies and half truths, promises and deceptions, tension with friends approaching from a different viewpoint..   well, I would.
I would rather simply avoid the unpleasant things of life these days and move on. I think to myself. Politicians, what a horrible, selfish lot.  Wait..   [stillness & silence surround me. Tears well and overflow.] 

Oh Father.. when did it happen? When did I give up? When did I become so calloused and tasteless?  At some point along the way, I allowed myself  to become every "less" I can think of. . .  "trampled underfoot by men."
It's so tiring Lord, there's so much evil in the world, so much disdain for you. I can't even watch the news most nights. I can't read about another teacher having sex with a student, I just can't!
Instead of allowing you to heal me, I shut down, closed myself off... became tasteless.

You saved me, rescued me long ago, I was 9 years old. You should by all accounts these days, throw me aside based on my actions. But just as my earthly daddy would scoop me up and hold me tight, make my world right again and assure me I was going to be fine- You God, hold me upright, gently correct and assure me.   Your desire to hold me close is palpable.

"Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails." Proverbs 19:21  Wow..  Abba Father, just wow. It is a profoundly humbling feeling to know I am so important to You. In all my imperfection You love me right where I am. I'm feeling the salt.

Several months ago and after I had this experience, someone helped me see myself more clearly and helped me see myself as God sees me. [Thank you Kinsley. God is using you in a mighty way]
I have released all the fear, all the failures, all the disappointments to Him. I feel His love and caressing touch all day. There is indeed, a song in my heart. I pray I never become complacent again.
Today, this day the Lord has made. Today, I'm salty.