Pretty Kitty

Posted on March 6, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography

When I left for a walk yesterday morning, I looked back towards the corral and saw a little black speck over by the sheds. It was Kashka, watching the morning. I walked back – that cat just tugs at my heartstrings – and called her over to me. She came partway, but made me come the rest. For probably ten minutes, I just sat there and watched her, as she watched the morning go by, prowling for little critters in the long grass, stepping daintily, silently, and swiftly, occasionally asking for affection.

What a lovely little creature. God is so good to have given us such delights in something so simple yet precious.

Straying from the Beaten Trail

Posted on March 6, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Scenic, Wildlife, Writing

One can cover a lot of beautiful ground by following a well-worn trail, a path countless feet have beaten down, smoothed and deepened. But there is sometimes something in my heart not quite satisfied with simply following a trail – being bound by miles or hours, not knowing what is over this hill, or what the view looks like from the ridge above. There is something to not following a trail, giving oneself permission to stray to the side, to discovered unseen vistas, or subtle deer trails. There is something delightful about taking the long way around, of creating detours and following one’s sense of curiosity, and allowing oneself to revel in the beauty of the outdoors.

Sometimes that giving in to curiosity and delight comes with simply changing one’s vantage point. Walking along a ravine floor is a completely different view than walking along the rim. The enchantment of rising granite steps, moss covered, and slanting shadows and cool, green lichen contrasts with the beauty of the open sky, the rolling hills, quivering rabbitbrush, and the treelines. A ravine followed from top to bottom, with 5-foot ledges to scramble, looks wholly different when followed from bottom to top. The 5-foot ledges become a different sort of obstacle, when scrambling up instead of down.

A trail taken in the morning, when the air is cool and warming, when frost and dew shimmer in the grass, when the trees are singing with early birds, when the air in the sheltered valleys is damp and cool and rich, yet warm and fragrant on the sunlit hillsides above – it is entirely other than walking the trail in the afternoon or evening, when the birds have quieted, when the dew of morning has been replaced by the frost of evening, when quiet and hush have settled.

In the morning hours, the chickadees and bluebirds were talking to themselves and flitting from branch to shrub to rock. The bluebirds were like little pieces of sky, so bright and blue. And the chickadees, feisty little masked things, were darting and diving in a ravine, drinking ice melt from a little green pool. I clambered up on the ledge and tried quietly to take out my camera. They watched me curiously or indignantly, I wasn’t entirely sure which, and let me take their pictures before disappearing, their little hoarse, laughing calls disappearing with them.

Taking the time to chase down sunbeams on birchbark. Chatting with a sassy squirrel. Watching migrating flocks of geese. Wondering at ancient trees, wizened and hunchbacked. Slipping and sliding down slopes covered in pine needles and loose rocks, crawling up ledges, ducking under deadfall, plunging into the shadow of the trees, where light filters through the deep green needles and glows and flickers on the bark, the earth, and snow white pieces of quartz – They say to take the path of least resistance. But sometimes the path of more resistance is a lot more rewarding. Giving in to the delight of curiosity, straying from the beaten trail, lingering to watch and listen and breathe deeply of the air. Halted by awe. Driven by a question: What’s next?

The Mystery of Old Trees

Posted on March 3, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Scenic, Writing

“It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanates from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.” ~Robert Louis Stevenson

Thunder purred contentedly in the distance from a sky lowering and dark. After a brief, pearly March shower, the damp, rain-washed world was a landscape changed and new and fragrant. The browns were richer, the greens were more alive, the grey of the sky was lowering above the horizon. Scattered tufts of lichen, usually dry and tough, were soft as ferns and green like gems. The rust-colored earth crumbled under our feet, soft and damp. Garnets in the creekbed were redder and glassier, the dust of the summer washed away.

There is a mystery in the trees, a story untold, a winding path still unexplored. There is beauty, yes, but it must be the sense of wild and untamed mystery that calls us back. There is the allure of constant change, as the shadows shift and deepen, as cool breeze dances with warm, as the voice of the woods quiets then sings then quiets again.

The woods are rich with the fragrance of damp earth and musky leaves, and are wealthy with the myriad hidden things, those subtle treasures hidden in the undergrowth, or tucked beneath a fallen limb, or nestled in the knee-high grasses. There is the misty pink of birch bark, or the rainbow hidden in the heart of a snowy crystal. There are the brightly glowing hulls of autumn berries, still clinging to their trees, opened gaily like flowers in the dead of winter.

Another brief rainshower blustered up while we were walking Battle Creek, a wall of red rock, pocketed with hollowed-out places, towering beside us. The rain came down like beads of glass, and the sun broke through the clouds, making the rocks glow. I don’t think I’d weary of these trails if I hiked the same ones for 100 years. There is always something I never saw before, air I never breathed before, perfumes I never smelt before. And each time there is a renewing. The sort of renewing that comes from peering closely at little things of beauty. The sort of renewing that comes from listening to the silence. The sort of renewing that comes from welcoming the dirt and the mud. The sort of renewing that comes from taking the time to wonder. The sort of renewing that comes from breathing deep of the clean, moist air.

That is the mystery found among old trees.

The First Year

Posted on March 1, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

A year ago today, we drove across South Dakota with our belongings and each other, eagerly seeing the miles slip away behind us, each mile bringing us one mile closer to home. The closer we got, the more eager we became. Finally, Rapid City’s lights were appearing and disappearing on the horizon, finally we were headed south down Hwy. 79. Finally, we were turning west onto Hwy. 40, with the little town of Hermosa flickering sleepily in the night. Finally, bend after bend after bend of Hwy. 40 brought us up to the Adrian family mailbox, the most important landmark in that neck of the woods. We rattled down the red dirt road, and rattled up the hill to Grandma’s.

We were home.

And here we have been, for a year. And how much has happened in that year! What a year it has been! In some ways, it feels like just yesterday that we were unloading the moving truck, setting up our cabin, and vising Southern Hills Bible Church. In other ways, it feels like…well, like exactly a year. And in other ways, it feels like eternity since we moved here.

This place has so long been lodged in my imagination, in my heart, that the transition here seems almost to have never happened.

There was no need for transition. This was always home.

Creatures Great and Small

Posted on February 27, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Animals are, I believe, a wonderful gift from God. Created to beautify Creation, to be companions, to provide various necessities of life, and for us as humans to steward well and to enjoy. And God is glorified. Genesis 1 recounts God’s forming of the earth and filling of the earth with creatures:

²⁴And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures according to their kinds—livestock and creeping things and beasts of the earth according to their kinds.” And it was so. ²⁵And God made the beasts of the earth according to their kinds and the livestock according to their kinds, and everything that creeps on the ground according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.

And it was good. Good. Good. When a good and wonderful God calls something good, it must be good. Of course, the earth now is fallen and corrupt, but God’s fingerprints are still all over His Creation. His love and creativity and glory are still wonderfully evident. Imagine what earth must have been like in perfection, before sin and death and decay! How beautiful it must have been.

When I am just sitting stroking Kashka or laughing at Luna’s antics, my little heart just wells with mirth – That God would pour so much uniqueness and loveliness and humor and fun and personality into these insignificant little creatures just amazes me. They each have their habits, their quirks. They have their ways of asking for and receiving and giving affection.

Time and again, when the cats are being darling or strange or comical or affectionate, I find myself asking out loud to whomever happens to be within earshot, “How could I ever think this little creature is the result of evolution? How could I think anything other than that God created and loves this little creature?”

Kashka likes to sit at the window and squeak her paw on the glass, the charming cat version of fingernails on a blackboard. She does that to ask to come inside. Or she jumps up on the windowsill of the Miner’s Cabin and looks at me with her big green eyes. She has a white patch of fur on her belly, and will roll over on her back to have the white patch rubbed. She can’t meow properly, but breathily chirps. She is delicate, graceful, and a pretty capable hunter.

Luna, on the other hand, is big, beautiful, clumsy, and talks to himself while hunting. Doesn’t catch a thing, as far as we can tell. He has a huge voice and a huge personality. He likes to stretch and walk at the same time, and looks really goofy while doing it. He knocks stuff over, rolls on the floor like a dog, and runs chaotically around the yard. I think he got dropped on his head while a kitten. Or God just gave him an extra dose of personality. Something like that.

Anna’s beautiful cats, such simple and ordinary creatures, are daily humorous or tender reminders that God cares deeply about His Creation, even the tiny and seemingly unremarkable. He didn’t forget to infuse evidence of His glory and creative power into even the tiniest of creatures. They were created by God, so they must be remarkable. Humanity was the crowning glory of the Creation, but I can’t help but believe that God enjoyed the process of creating all of His many creatures, from the smallest and least significant to the pinnacle of His Creation, from creatures great, to creatures small. The Lord God made them all.

Taking Time to Wander

Posted on February 27, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Time is a commodity everyone is short on. We live in a rat’s race pace, perpetually scraping for “more time”, but never feeling like we find it. And all for what? A few more dollars in the bank? A few more stamps in the passport? A few more parties, pleasures, possessions? People spend their healthy days working themselves to death in the hopes that they’ll still be healthy enough when they retire to enjoy the things they didn’t enjoy when they were younger.

Now, I don’t for a minute think that the end goal of life is enjoyment or pleasure – I believe God put each of us on this earth with a purpose, that purpose being first and foremost to glorify Him. I believe our lives should be useful lives, seeking to serve and bless other people. This is something I’m still working on myself, trying to figure out. But even while I believe that pleasure isn’t the goal of life, I believe that God made this world beautiful for His glory and our enjoyment, and I don’t think nearly enough people are willing to enjoy it, or give themselves the time to enjoy it, or have the eyes to enjoy it, or to enjoy the deeper significance of the beauty of this world. Our culture has created a mindset towards work and daily life that makes it difficult to enjoy the good things God has created, the things that can’t be bought and paid for.

I think this is ultimately an issue of purpose, of spiritual purpose.

Of course I understand that our culture is far from being Christian anymore – Our culture is actively rejecting any concept that is remotely Christian, but by rejecting God and the Gospel we haven’t just lost our faith or our adherence to some “strict moral code,” as some would like to argue. By losing our Christian worldview and our Christian identity, we’ve lost our purpose, our identity that goes deeper than our job title, the dollar amount on our paycheck, the neighborhood we live in, or the prestigious way we spend our free time. We are forever hungering for something we think we can buy with money, but can only be gained with spiritual eyes and a new heart. We’ve lost the joy of contentment.

We’ve lost the ability to appreciate God’s simple daily gifts and the significance of something as ephemeral as a rainbow, or a flower, or the way the sunlight strikes the mica-encrusted quarts. We’ve lost our appreciation of beauty. And what slim appreciation of true beauty that there is becomes mired in the mindset of meaninglessness, all that there is in this world being the result of complicated and unexplained “natural processes”. Meaningless, everything is meaningless.

We have a nation that is sinking under a burden of vainly spent dollars, under a burden of depression and worry and jealousy and envy and pride and hate. We have a culture of people who live with the constant reminder of what they can do, should do, or want to do, of what the human race can do, has done, will do, wants to do. We have a culture that wakes, eats, works, and sleeps surrounded by the fruit of man’s labors. Our culture is so bent on complicated pleasures, so bent on belongings and material wealth and security, that we as a culture have completely lost sight of the brimful storehouse of God’s goodness, manifested in His wonderful Creation, which are gifts that anyone can enjoy.

There is a whole world that exists outside of the city limits, above the light pollution, beyond the concrete, steel, brick, and glass of our world of industry. What if people could see and understand the significance of beauty? What about the beauty of true and selfless relationships? What if people had a context in which to understand sorrow and grief and pain? What if people could be reminded of what God can do, has done, will do, and could see God’s fingerprints on every hill, rock, tree, flower, pebble, lake, and cloud? What if people could see God’s promises spelled out in His Creation? What if people could revel in the plenty of contentment? What wealth of soul that would produce! These are pleasures that cannot be bought with money, comforts that aren’t material, so to these we all have equal access. Even the poorest among us can be rich indeed, rich of soul. That is a richness that lasts.

This is a richness that begins, first and foremost, at the moment of Salvation. This is also an attitude of the heart that can be cultivated, and doesn’t require straying outside of the city limits (although it is easier to see God’s handiwork outside of man’s world). It is possible to train one’s eyes to see God’s fingerprints in the small and mundane things of life. It is possible for anyone, work-burdened, life-burdened, heart-burdened, or otherwise, to experience the joys of living, whether in the midst of difficulty or not. God gives these gifts. We have to be willing to see them.

How wonderful, then, is taking the time to wander and to wonder, taking the time to stray from the beaten path, to gaze on the obscured, to revel in the majesty of this beautiful world, knowing that this world, beautiful as it is, is just a washed-out, lesser, corrupt version of the wonderful world to come.