Jesus Brings The Sabbath To Me In Some Unnamed Field {An Abstraction on Altar}

On Saturday morning, from where I sit, on the white wooden-planked porch of our nearly one hundred year old home, it surely looks like the Sabbath. Little pots sit around here and there, one of them an antique rusty old kettle. Through the slatted railing, azalea bushes creep up, shooting up haphazard, their trim much overdue. The earth is baptized in sunlight, the ground is drenched with grace like rain, the yellow and white daffodils have begun to peek out, reminding me there are new beginnings and His mercies fall fresh every morning. Swing low, sweet chariot, Coming forth to carry me home... --it wafts beautifully from my neighbor's home across the street.

It's reminiscent of rides with my grandfather as a child, and listening to my grandmother's gorgeous voice at her old piano, the warm, ambient glow of afternoon light filtering in through the window.

Worship happens anytime my heart opens to acknowledge God, and an altar is anywhere I choose to remember, and Sabbath can be kept on a porch swing, friends, sun-drenched in Heaven's light, bathed in grace, the words of an old hymn finding their way to me on the breeze. Are these things coincidental?

I don't believe so.

God made all that is in the earth and everything he made was for man, and he gave Jacob a dream in an unknown place. It happened out of nowhere, in a place of nowhere, and yet Jacob knew surely God had been there. He awoke, and felt the air still stirring with his presence.

And when I, sitting on my porch swing, by the over-turned flower pot, dry wintered soil spilled out, hear those soul-awakening words, is it by chance?

Or, have I met God, and is this place, indeed an altar?

What if I decided to not be so busy today that I couldn't appreciate the sunshine I'm baptized in? What if I purposed to not blindly go about the responsibilities of life, and not be able to see the daffodils blooming for what it really is--seeds of hope and restoration and a reminder of God's good mercy to me after a harsh winter?

What if I listened intentionally to the breeze, to my neighbor calling a friendly Good morning and the whir of bike spokes and giggles as the children play--and call it what it is--the Divine Here With Me.

What if I pay close attention to the moments now, and see God in all of it, instead of waiting for a church service on Sunday morning, rushing through the preacher's sermon, struggling to listen, because my belly is empty and the words even emptier to my well-worn, preached-out ears?

What if I chose to be confident that Jesus brings the Sabbath to me, wherever I am, as he did with the disciples in some unnamed field?

I believe in a God of mercy, one who doesn't keep time the same way we do. And so why should it bother him if for a time in my life, it is a season of healing? Should I be surprised that he said, if one man chooses this day to set aside as holy, and another man, a different day, neither is wrong, and both have good reasons?

God is not so weak that He can't handle my woundedness and the time it takes for me to heal. I know He has it under control, and that my soul will not somehow wander off the narrow path and accidentally jump onto the pathway to hell. He holds me in His hands, and none can pluck me out.

I am grateful that God is a wild man, for whom time, and space, mathematical equations, science and modern theology does not matter in the face of his grandness and durability. And none of the things that we think are so important can dictate to him.

He goes His own way. And I follow. I am curious about this mysterious God, and I have more questions than answers. So, like a child intrigued, I follow Him to see what He will do next, what he will show me next.

Where and when He moves, there is a quiet stirring, and I want to listen for it. To know when He is here, when and where I've met God, on a Saturday, in a field, the sage brush waving praises to Him--

in the gentle lull of a song escaping through the windows of my neighbor, a welcoming entreaty to come inside and commune--

in a grocery store, in a clerk's weary eyes, as I beg a smile--

and this wild God, He's also present as my lover and I lie down and I tell him he's the only one I have ever wanted and will ever want--that he is the only man I want to touch me.

I feel the peace cover us like a thick winter blanket. Night's dew falls on the daffodils as he gently lays me back on the pillow, and my long hair splays out. The daffodils will bud even more tomorrow, they will spread, ever so gently, spreading wide open, a reminder of His promises that He would never leave.

And these places, they are the altars where He meets me.

linking with friends, Laura, and Heather
***Will you do this with me, friends? Let's explore the practice of listening! This week, before you write, take a walk, in the woods, at the lake or park, down your neighborhood road, ride a bike, play tag, listen for the wind, watch the trees, the sky, pay attention to the small, seemingly unnecessary details of your day. It is here you will find wholeness, here you will find strength, beauty, brokenness, goodness, joy, pain... Here you will find God. THEN write about it-- Our prompt is Altar (next week's is below), but our focus is on the practice of listening and then writing. Excited? We'll connect on twitter and facebook with the hashtag, #listeningtoyourlife and of course as always, #concretewords. Do me a favor and use these on social media and share with friends--invite them?
What this link-up is about: We "write out spirit" by practicing writing about the invisible using concrete words. In case you are going "what in the world is a concrete word?!"--this just means (using the prompt to inspire) write out what's around us--concrete words make the senses come alive, gives place. In every story, there is always an above and beneath, a beside, something tucked away, aromas in the air, something calling in the trees or from the street, notes in our pocket, rocks in our shoes, sand between our toes. Go here to see Amber's take on this. It was very helpful to me--I think it will be beneficial for you, too.

A few simple guidelines:       1. Be sure you link up the URL to your Concrete Words
                                             post and not just your blog home page URL.
                                         2. Put a link to this post on your blog so that others
                                             can find their way back here.
                                         3. Try to visit one or two others and encourage their efforts
                                         4. Please write along with us, using concrete words--
                                             and the prompt--Please no entries with how-to's, advertising,
                                             or sponsored posts
                                         5. We connect on twitter with the hashtag #concretewords--
                                               please share so others can join!

Today's prompt is Altar. GO!

**{This link up will run until next Sunday, the 23rd, 11:59 pm., giving you plenty of time to write and link-up before the next concrete words is posted the following day. Sometime between now & then, I will read your stories and highlight one of them from this link-up on social media. On the 24th, the prompt will be Bend .}


  1. This sings, Nacole. I see in it Spring blooms and I feel in it the wisp of hair across a peach-fuzz cheek. But you've taken it deeper, too, haven't you? You have upended our small gods and turned our eyes to the WILD ONE that will not be confined to the four walls where we usually look for him.

    And even your reference to the word "altar" strikes me as interesting. Wasn't it Jacob who made an altar in the middle of his journey - in his RUNNING AWAY journey, even - to the God who showed up in the midst of it all? (Ah ... I may or may not relate REALLY WELL to that.)

    Thank you for writing out Spirit here. The wind is certainly blowing.

  2. Hi, Nacole. I linked up an old post because the word "altar," takes me back to that of my youth, and I don't feel like I'll ever write it out better than I did in the post I linked. I long for the altar of my youth, which was an oft-visited place; we prayed there every service, and sometimes several times. I'm saying that it was the place where we prayed in that church, not only one where we went when responding to an invitation. I miss this more than I can say.

    Thank you for your beautiful post and the challenge to find/make an altar (please spring, yes), and thank you for continuing the concrete words. Please, if you have time, pray for my mother-in-law (she's very sick) and family.

  3. Nacole, this is truly beautiful. And this... "What if I pay close attention to the moments now, and see God in all of it?" That is what I want...to see God in all the moments. I don't only want Him on Sunday's, I want Him every day...every moment. And all we need to do is seek Him. Invite Him in. He is there in all of it. Love you and your beautiful heart.

  4. Your words are always refreshing and through your always-raw words I was
    inspired to share what was unthinkable to this introvert. It is
    writing like yours that breaks down barriers. I was asked to speak at
    our women's retreat and knew God was asking me to share my darkest
    secret. Your bold writing helped to give me the courage sister. And
    I've been inundated by teary eyed women who let me know they're grateful
    I shared and what a difference it's made.. So keep it up Nacole. I
    know all too well the temptation to hide and I'm thankful that you have
    stepped out and made a way for others. Here's my speech if you have a
    minute: http://inthestillnesshewhispers.wordpress.com/2014/03/02/the-ugly-beautiful-womens-retreat-speech-part-1/



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