Wolf Moon

Posted on January 2, 2018 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Writing

A gorgeous supermoon has graced our first night of the New Year. And God blessed us with clear skies to be able to marvel at it, hauntingly beautiful, as it rose up like an angel over the snow covered hills, casting long, blue shadows, lighting the landscape silver. The sky, velvety dark, sparkled with the light of what few stars could be seen through the veil of moonlight. Orion leaned into the moon’s glow, and the Great Bear climbed the steep-tilted northern sky. The moon was blinding. The snow-covered trees, the snowpacked road, the rolling white hills, the mysterious shadows – they somehow softened the sub-zero chill. The half-mile walk down from Grandma’s in the moonlight was enchanting.And God said, “Let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens to separate the day from the night. And let them be for signs and for seasons, and for days and years, and let them be lights in the expanse of the heavens to give light upon the earth.” And it was so. And God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. And God set them in the expanse of the heavens to give light on the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. (Genesis 1:14-18)

All that God created was good. So good. And on the night of this beautiful Wolf Moon, the nearest supermoon of 2018, marking the beginning of this fresh New Year, I catch a glimpse of what that original goodness must have been like.

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Warmth

Posted on December 30, 2017 by Laura Lindblom under country life, Writing

What a miracle fire is. I know there is a scientific explanation for the how and why of fire, but my mind can’t see it as anything other than a miracle brought about by the mind and will of a creative God. This miracle, which is intangible and without substance yet injures terribly if touched, provides so many of our most basic needs. This deadly, destructive miracle of energy is necessary to our survival. We’ve figured out other ways to harness heat, but fire is still the most basic form, and not too long ago was alone what provided light and warmth, a way to cook food, a way to power trains and to test the air deep in mine shafts. Imagine a life without it and what it provides.

And how beautiful it is. The dance of fire, the glow, the heat – they’re spell-binding. The tiniest flame of a candle, or a crackling fire in a wood stove – what beauty. The tinselly rustle as a log slides into the embers, the golden lights dancing on the ragged edges of the bark, the deep, mesmerizing glow in the hot spot beneath the logs…I could watch the flames for hours.

With the cold weather we’ve had lately, our cove heating has really been struggling. When daytime temperatures are around 25 degrees, the cove heating does fine, but when we’ve got temps of zero and below, that’s another story. Even with the temp set at 70 degrees during the day, it hardly would get above 62 degrees inside. But with Dad’s help we checked the stove for safety issues (since it hasn’t been used in probably a decade), got a load of firewood and pine cones brought down, and as I type I’m feeling the delightful warmth radiate from the stove. For the first time in awhile, it is actually too warm in the cabin, and I’m comfortable without layers and layers of clothing and blankets! How wonderful to be warm indoors with winter running wild just beyond the walls.

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Out of Deep Darkness

Posted on December 22, 2017 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Writing

God had promised a Savior. And for centuries, the Jewish people waited for this Messiah, a mighty king who would storm this earth and defeat their enemies and right all wrongs. Prophets, with words from God, gave glimpses, signs, of what this Savior would look like, what He would do, where He would come from. The Jews waited for this Savior, for a man of stature, of importance, of status and fame. They wanted a king. And they waited. And waited. And waited. But the dimming years trickled by, and the glorious prophesies ceased. For those who waited and hoped, the time must have seemed so long, the years must have seemed so dark, and hope must have seemed so faint. But the Promise remained.

And finally, into this broken, darkened world, God began to speak once more. Into the darkness, His light burst forth. In the glorious, heavenly brilliance of angels and stars, God relayed this message: “Do not fear.”

“Do not be afraid, Mary. Do not be afraid, Joseph. Do not be afraid, humble Shepherds. Magi, draw near. I bring you good news of great joy.”

The story began to unfold. And as the story unfolded, it was not the story that was expected. This isn’t the story that the Jewish people would have written. This isn’t the story that I would have written. This isn’t how a king is supposed to come. But God is not bound by human prejudice or expectation. To a young woman, a carpenter, and shepherds, angels appeared, ushering them into the glories of God’s plan to rescue this lost and hurting world, and He began to reveal the Savior, His glory.

We live in a land of deep darkness. The hearts of all of us are black with sin. We need hope. And there is hope, in the Light of the World, the Son of God, God Incarnate.

Christmas approaches during the darkest, coldest time of the year. The days are shortest, the nights are longest, and into this deepest darkness comes the celebration of Christ’s coming, a meditation on the glory of Christ and the beauty of God’s redemptive plan that is still being worked out upon this world. He is the one who opens blind eyes and softens hard hearts and whispers truth into deaf ears. He is our Hope, our Light, and our Salvation. And He was poised to descend upon this dark world in a way the world hasn’t been able to forget.

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
on them has light shone. (Isaiah 9:2)

Legion Lake Fire Update

Posted on December 13, 2017 by Laura Lindblom under Writing

Overnight, the winds picked up and the Legion Lake Fire is now estimated at 35,000 acres, placing this at #3 of the largest wildfires in Black Hills history since 1910. We’re thankful we’re safe where we are, but the origin of the fire was about 10-15 miles south of us, placing this very close to home. The red on the horizon last night was uncanny, and it feels strange to go about daily activities when hundreds of firefighters are risking their lives to battle the blaze, and hundreds of others are being evacuated. It feels strange to not be affected by something so destructive so few miles away from us, other than having some roads we use be barricaded.

Monitoring the progress of the fire and the evacuation orders last night online, it was so encouraging to see this community come together to help one another, offering places to stay, help moving livestock, places to keep pets, food, transportation…In the Black Hills, there is a strange mix of solidarity and independence. The way I see it is that one reason people choose to live out where we do is because they like the solitude and, in a way, they want to be left alone. But when push comes to shove, the community stands up to help those in need. Very neat to see.

Continuing praying for the continued safety of the firefighters and for safe and speedy evacuations. Also pray for weather changes.

Legion Lake Fire

Posted on December 13, 2017 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Writing

Pray for safety, folks. And snow. There are a lot of people in harm’s way right now, a lot of displaced individuals, and a lot of firefighters battling this blaze. Wind is something we’re used to out here. But we’ve had some abnormally high winds over the last 2 weeks and, combined with the abnormally dry conditions, the Black Hills area is basically a tinder box. Monday morning, a fire started in Custer State Park when likely a falling tree took out a power line. It originated in the Legion Lake area, but has moved south and east, getting into some rough terrain. The winds died down today, for a much-needed reprieve, but picked up again this evening with a vengeance. This afternoon, the report was that the fire has grown to 4000 acres, but within the last few hours the fire blew up and spread rapidly with the increased wind, jumped the Park boundaries, and is headed towards Hwy. 79. There is about 7% containment. Evacuations are in progress and being monitored for specified areas between Hermosa and Maverick Junction. Pray for safety for the firefighting personnel, those forced to evacuate, and favorable firefighting conditions. We took a couple of drives today to watch the fire, and this evening down towards LH Road we watched in stunned amazement as a hilltop erupted in flames, and another a few minutes later. It sure is something, seeing the reaching, grasping flames, the billowing swirls of smoke. The red glow in our sky, even from down in our hollow, is rather eerie, and knowing that evacuations are happening just a few miles away is a little unnerving. Even 15 miles is too close.

Fire is such a paradox. On the one hand, mankind never could survive without it. We need the many things it provides. It is a vital resource. And yet, on the other hand, when out of hand, it is one of the greatest threats to survival.

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The Theology in a Snowflake

Posted on December 6, 2017 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Writing

Do you know the spell of a fresh snowfall? That unmistakable something that is in the air and in the blood, the dazzling beauty, intense and subtle and wild and gentle, transforming the world with tiny feathers of frozen water. I want to stare and stare, and soak in all the delicate magnificence of the silent poetry of a snowfall. It is calming yet exciting, mesmerizing yet energizing. I want to laugh, and run, and dance, and exclaim like a child on Christmas morning. There is a little flame of pure joy in the heart of every snowflake, and millions of them dance through the air at a time, turning our little country hollow into a fairy land. I don’t know what it is about a fresh snowfall, particularly the first couple of the season, but somehow it gets into the blood like a little spark and surge of energy. The cold somehow doesn’t seem as cold. The wind, sweeping up eddies of snow, doesn’t seem as bitter. The blinding white makes me want to open my eyes even wider and take in even more.
“A million feathers falling down, a million stars that touch the ground. / So many secrets to be found amid the falling snow.” Thus reads a line of one of Enya’s songs, which haunts me every winter. Each of those snowflakes is a tiny heavenly mystery, a tiny theology lesson, each attesting to the creative might of our Creator God and His power over all things great and small. Each is obedient to the laws of nature which He set in place, obedient to the freezing point of water and how water molecules align themselves when cooling, obedient to gravity, obedient to updrafts and downdrafts. Not a single snowflake acts outside the will of the Father. Each is unique. Each is a miracle. Each is a masterpiece. Each by their beauty and uniqueness attests to God’s perfect goodness and graciousness. What a glorious “extra” that God wasn’t at all bound to provide! So much glory poured into one perfect snowflake! And what a transformation is brought about by a whole sky full, loosed upon our Hills! So out I ventured this morning into the snowglobe world of whirling, dancing snowflakes, with my camera and the dogs, to wonder and marvel and delight. True to form, the dogs loved it and the cats hated it. The cats sulked while the dogs played. Trixie and Opal snapped and snarled in frisky ferocity, sometimes trotting down the driveway like little first grade girls, then running madcap around the whole yard, out across the dam, tearing around and rolling in the snow.