Rejoice in Nothing?

Rejoice in nothing. These words hit me today as some students talked about their recent trip to Haiti. "They had nothing in the past and they have no hope for a better future, no matter how hard they work, but they rejoice in nothing."

I think what struck me most was the idea of no hope for the future. Here in America we value hard work, probably in part because we believe if we work hard, we can accomplish (almost) anything. The future is ours.  What would happen to our worldview if this was no longer the case?

We sang a song in church the other day. I don't specifically remember which one, but it contained the sentiment, "I'll follow wherever you lead, Lord. My life is yours to use as you will."  It is an admirable sentiment, and I suppose we even mean it when we sing it most of the time.  Or, at least, we think we mean it.  What we probably really mean is that we are willing to go anywhere and do anything.  "I will even live off of bugs in the jungles of Africa, Lord, if that's what you want," we think, proud of our submission to God's will.  GO and DO are big in our thoughts.  But what if it's God's will for us to STAY and WAIT?  What if His use for our life is for us to be useless (or to feel that way)?  We don't seem to have a place for that in our American theology, and yet I know that I am not the only person to go through what feels like a season of uselessness.

We emphasize verses that say "Go and make disciples" and tend to ignore the verses that say "Be still and know."  I am not sure how to make room in our theology and worldview for failure and uselessness, but I think we need to do so.  God has always used failure, and there may come a time (like in Haiti?) when it is less possible to GO and DO.  What happens to our Christianity when we no longer feel useful?  Can we learn to rejoice in nothing?

Morning Splendor

This morning I was up earlier than normal to see my cousins off as they headed back to Oregon.  With the sun coming up, the moon going down, the freshly fallen snow, and the elk tramping across my back yard, it was a perfect morning for pictures.

As the sun draws closer, the clouds hooding the Bridgers begin to glow pink.

Pink clouds pour themselves over the Brigers

Warm enough for icicles to start melting

Elk purposefully stride across the field to reunite with the rest of the herd

A waning gibbous moon adds a nice touch of ambiance to the scene.  

Yes?

Many elk huddle together under the lightening sky

Fluffy pink clouds gather around these mountains as well

Another icicle

The moon hangs over the Spanish Peaks as the sun makes the snow glisten

The snow is a dramatic contrast to the barren trees under the fully risen sun

The Old Homestead

I think it was some of my great-great grandparents on my dad's side that actually were homesteaders in eastern Montana.  (I think on my mom's side my great-grandparents homesteaded in central Montana).  Most of my Dad's family grew up in these rather barren hills, farming and ranching.  

Dad with his family in '68

Though even in these modern times, common amenities can still be lacking (most notably cell phone service and air conditioning in the summer), our family has gathered here for vacations, reunions, and to help with the branding.  With the death of my grandfather, our family has again congregated here, conscious of the fact that such gatherings may become less common in the coming years as cousins grow up and find less to draw us back here.  We're trying to make the most of the opportunity.

Since we don't know when next we might see it again, Larissa and I took the opportunity to visit the ranch today (even though it is not technically where any of our relatives homesteaded, as far as I know).  

The roads were passable, though quite muddy, with banks of snow still piled on either side.  

 

We made it to the ranch where we admired the new roof on the barn...which matched the red roads pretty well. 

No one had lived in the house since August, but it looked much the same as I remembered it.  Same pictures of family or western themes proudly displayed.

The same furniture in the same arrangements.

I didn't remember seeing this afghan before...but I decided I liked it an needed to figure out how to make it.

We wandered outside a while, admiring the barn some more, inside and out.

Larissa pretended to be a cow

We said hello to some cute little wild horses.  

 And visited the tractor that Granddad bought but never got to see.

Meanwhile, this horse kept a careful eye on that suspicious looking cow.  

We waded through mud, water, and snow.

And said a final farewell to house and barn.

Sunlight

It rather amazes me what a different sunlight makes, especially, I think, at this time of year, this muddy brown season we call "Spring."  Most of the snow has melted but nothing green has yet grown.  It can be a bleak time.  Colors are barely distinguishable.  Even the mountains and sky look dingy and ill favored.

Yet, when the sun comes out, even the dead brown grass the mud-bathed ground seem vibrant and even beautiful.

One can almost hear singing when the sun bursts forth from the clouds.  

One more look at the contrast: 

 Right now, I'm thankful for occasional sunshine.  

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Remember that thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return.  ~Genesis 3:19

Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel.  ~Mark 1:15

These verses are traditionally used on Ash Wednesday with the dispensing of the ashes.  As the countdown to the cross begins we are encouraged to remember the shortness of life and to repent while there is time.  This year I've been given a very poignant reminder of the reality of these verses.

Leroy Reuben Amunrud

February 9, 1929 - March 9, 2011

Today my Granddad died after a short bout with pneumonia.  I am not sure of his spiritual state, but I think he was saved, and I like to believe that he is now with God, discovering all the secrets of the universe.  Physics and Ranching were his two passions in life.  If you sat down to talk to him for more than a minute or two, you could be fairly sure that one or the other (or both) would come up in the conversation.  He grew up in Eastern Montana and spent much of his adult life working to be able to go back to the ranch.  He worked on some of the first computers and taught math at the college level, but always wanted to go back to ranching.  He had a stroke this August and moved to Bozeman to recover, but he was always talking about gaining his strength so he could go back to the ranch in the spring.  Even as he lay on the hospital bed yesterday, sedated and unable to respond, he seemed to improve a little when we talked about the ranch, the spring, the bulls he would buy.  

He was not young and his health had been declining a bit, but it was still rather sudden.  Especially on this day, it reminds me: someday we will all return to dust and ashes, and there is no predicting that day.  Today, while we still have breath, let us use it to confess our sins and return to our savior.

You will be missed, Granddad.