"Feet up! Feet up! Feet up!"

The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.

Deuteronomy 33:27

Be still and know that I am God.  Psalm 46:10

Sometimes life gets complicated and seems to be moving too fast.  In those time, my sister-in-law reminded me in a phone conversation the other day, the thing to remember is:  "Feet up!  Feet up!  Feet up!"  This is the advice given to white water rafters in the event of falling out of the raft.  "Keep your feet up and pointed downstream!  Then let the river carry you."  When we are thrown suddenly into life's turbulent waters and the cold water snatches out breath away, we need to "keep our feet up" and lean back into Jesus, letting him carry us.  He is the Lord of the rapids who knows where the dangerous whirlpools, hidden boulders and safe channels lie, and "underneath are the everlasting arms."

This week I am taking care of a beautiful calico cat named Sadie.  When Sadie and I first met, I was on my hands and knees peeking under the bed where she was hiding.  She was backed as far away from me as she could get, safely out of reach, where she stared at me with feigned disinterest.  In fact, she was scared to death of this new stranger in her domain.  She is the quintessential shy kitty, who jumps and runs at any sudden sound or movement.  Over the years she has lost her fear of me.  Now, when I arrive to feed her, she is right there on the dining room carpet rolling on her back and begging me to pet her.  If someone else comes in with me, however, she immediately runs for cover.  She LOVES to be brushed, and has relaxed enough in my presence that she purrs and rubs against me.  However, if I make a move to pick her up, she thunders up the stairs and dives under the bed.  She knows me.  I think she likes me; but she doesn't fully trust me, even after several years of "wooing" her.

My cat Rusty is another story.  When he is fully rested, he is an irrepressible scallywag, wound for sound, and looking for trouble.  Fortunately (for him), his rapscallion ways amuse me, so he continues to roister through life with a wild abandon that delights me.  When his energy has been sufficiently run off, however, he stretches his paws as far up my leg as he can reach and leans on me, asking to be picked up.  If I don't respond immediately, he gently extends his claws.  If that fails, he begins to climb my leg like a tree, a truly annoying habit of which we are trying to break him.  Once hoisted into my arms his whole body vibrates with his inaudible purr and he begins to go limp.  Settling in deeper, he emits a heavy shuddering sigh and drifts off to sleep.  He trusts me completely.  I carry him with me as I go about my business and he sleeps on.  He is not afraid that I might drop him or get a sudden urge to push him away.  He expects me to carry him, while he is still.  If I attempt to put him down, he half opens his eyes to give me a reproachful look and tried to hang on.

This is the feline demonstration of the rafter's advice, "Feet up!  Feet up! Feet up!"  In life's turbulent waters, all we have to do is position ourselves in God's arms, letting him carry us through to safety.  Do we trust him to carry us?  Are we willing to do whatever it takes to lean back in his arms?  When we are thrown into the river, we need to focus on two things - getting our feet in the right place, and leaning back in the water rather than flailing around in desperation or fighting against it.  Perhaps this is what God meant when he said, "BE STILL and know that I am God."  It means blocking out other unnecessary distractions, keeping our priorities in order and trusting in the sovereignty of God, his love for us, and his power to save us.  Then, perhaps, we can relax enough to enjoy the ride, even though it wasn't the one we had planned on (safe and dry in the raft). 

Here is a sample of the place cards I am making for the head table at Ian and Jessica's wedding.  The flowers are made using "Bloomer" stamps from Coronado Island Designs.  I used Stardreams text weight paper to create the flowers.  The names will be written in italic using sepia gouache.  I have to make 108 flowers.  It took me two hours to complete the first 50, so I have more work ahead of me! 

Getting Lost

I used to think MY sense of direction was bad.  Growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area, I oriented myself in the world based on that topography.  The Bay was east.  The Pacific Ocean was (just about the only thing that was) west.  The coastal range rose up above all the urban sprawl, clearly signaling "west."  Then I moved to rural Iowa where, when the sun isn't shining, I sometimes forget what direction I'm driving, because all the roads in the country kind of look the same - straight pavement flanked by ditches with cornfields/soybean fields beyond, punctuated by the occasional farmstead.

Then Emily got her driver's license.  She found her way to Cedar Falls just fine, but when it came time for her to return home, I got a phone call.  "Mom? I'm at College Square Mall.  How do I get home?"  I started to give her directions, "Go west on University until the signal under the 58 overpass, then . . . "  "Wait!  don't tell me any more.  I'll get confused.  I'll call you when I get there and you can tell me where to go next."  And so it went.  I talked her home via cell phone one turn at a time.  Her directional sense has improved with experience; nevertheless I still razz her about it.

Along comes Alyssa with her recently acquired driver's license.  She made plans to drive to her boyfriend's home in Waverly to meet some of his friends while working on set construction for their school play. Like Emily, she made it there with no problem, thanks to MapQuest.  She left to return home about 5:30 p.m., which should have resulted in her rolling into our driveway about 6:10.  Instead, some time around six, Randy received a phone call from Alyssa.  "Yeah . . . so . . . I'm in Hampton?"  She had headed directly west out of Waverly, instead of due south as she should have done.  Randy replied, "Well, then, turn around and drive back in the direction you came from."

"I don't want to turn around!"  (I'm still not sure why, unless she did not have confidence in executing a 3-point turn on a two-lane highway.)

"Okay, then keep driving until you come to Interstate 35, head south to Interstate 20, go east to the Dike exit at T55 and head south to 175."

More time elapsed.  This time she called MY cell phone.  "Hi Mom!  You didn't tell me there are TWO Highway 20's!  I'm in Fort Dodge."  For those of you who don't know Iowa, Fort Dodge is quite a ways WEST of Interstate 35.  She had gotten off D20 going west instead of east.  She kept driving through tiny towns trying to find one whose name she recognized.  I am thankful that she finally arrived in Fort Dodge, where she was calling me from the gas station where she had stopped.

Rolling my eyes, I said, "Go to the truck and get the Iowa map out of the glove compartment."  A pause while she went to retrieve it . . . "Now, open it up and find Waterloo.  Look about one inch north of Waterloo and you will see Waverly, where you came from.  Now go about TEN inches to the left.  That is where you are!"

She giggled sheepishly.

I told her to ask someone how to get back to Interstate 20, to be sure she was heading EAST when she turned onto it, and to call me when she got to the Dike exit, which she did.  I assumed that would be the last I heard from her until she rolled into the driveway.

I assumed incorrectly.  The phone rang again.

"Okay, so I turned left at the wrong stop sign on T-55.  So, I decided to back around the corner, but I turned too sharp and backed right into the ditch.  Now I'm stuck in the snow."

"Okay, I'll call your dad and see if he can come help you."

After calling Randy, who was NOT happy, I called Alyssa back.  She said several people had already stopped to see if she was okay.  I told her that if anyone stopped and offered to pull her out of the ditch, to take them up on it.  Just as I said this, some guys pulled up in a pickup and offered to pull her out.  I told her to leave her cell phone open on the seat and to let them help (one of the beauties of living in rural America - I wasn't worried about her safety among strangers).  They had her out of the ditch in short order, and she was again on her way home. By the time she arrived home she had been traveling for over four hours!

I was proud and reassured by the manner in which she conducted herself during this adventure. She never lost her cool, she was not afraid to ask for help, she kept in touch with us by phone, and she could laugh at herself.  I hope she has gained a better "mental map" of north central Iowa, so there will not be a repeat performance.

It seems to me that there are some generalized spiritual life lessons to be learned here.  First and foremost, if you realize you are going in the wrong direction, stop immediately and turn around.  It can save you time, money, anxiety, and wear and tear.  Continuing in the wrong direction is not going to get you where you want to go.  Having a map in the glove compartment doesn't do you any good.  Take it out and look at it!  Don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it.  Keep in touch with those who care for you, even when you have to admit you've made a mistake.  

And, finally, there is much truth to the saying, "Blessed are we who can laugh at ourselves, for we shall never cease to be amused."

I left my spinning (cycling) class at 6:30 this morning when a glowing sliver of moon still hung in the eastern sky.  A horizontal layer of fog wafted between the ground and the silhouetted skyline of winter bare trees.  The fields were dusted with frost, and the silver mirrored surface of the standing water in the ditches reflected the roses and lavender that lit up the horizon.  Hot pink and purple striations of clouds backlit the scattered trees and farmsteads anticipating the arrival of the sun. 

As I drove through this pastoral landscape, reveling in the quiet renaissance of a new day, I listened to a report on NPR about the rebel uprising and unrest in Tibet and the violence being meted out to peaceful Tibetan monks.  I am mindful of the need to be actively grateful for this place in which I live, while at the same time in constant prayer for those whose peace is being ripped and torn by ugliness and violence.  My thoughts pause in reflection and intercession.  

My cat, Rusty, was eagerly awaiting me on the porch as I drove up.  Who knows what nightly adventures he could recount if only he spoke English! A tuft of tawny Persian fur belies at least one feline altercation. He now sits in a lacy circle of light on the back of the couch in the sun room.  Annie, my 16-year-old dog, is frisking like a puppy on the front lawn, and the frost has turned into a field of diamonds in the rising sun.  Let me never take it for granted - such beauty - my heart cannot contain it all.