"Showers on the Herb"

This morning during devotions, I read the following Scripture: Deuteronomy 32:3 (New American Standard Bible) "'Let My teaching drop as the rain, My speech distill as the dew, as the droplets on the fresh grass and as the showers on the herb.'"

What a beautiful picture of God's love and mercy. His Word has infinite power to cleanse, heal, mend, refresh, cover with goodness, and beautify. He takes the parched places of our souls and gives eagerly to those who thirst.

Let His holy rain and dew fall.

Am I Too Cautious?

AM I TOO CAUTIOUS?

Crystal J. Ortmann

My morning coffee tastes good – rich, dark and strong. Steam spirals up from the full mug as I revel in the peace and quiet of this early hour.
I love to watch the birds at my feeders. There is a hanging feeder filled with nectar for the hummingbirds. There are also feeders for sparrows, finches and doves. But the one that seems to receive the most attention is filled with peanuts. Crows, jays and squirrels jockey for position and it’s easy to see where the phrase “pecking-order” originated. It’s entertaining to watch.
After a while, I get to know various critters personally. I admit, I talk to them and even name some, such as “Ted,” the House Sparrow, and “Bubba,” the Crow. I recognize them by their looks but also by their personalities.
Crows and jays are by nature noisy, quarrelsome birds. Although they are all afraid of the squirrel, they fight with each other on a regular basis. As soon as the peanuts arrive at the feeder, the show begins.
The adult birds are, for the most part, confident and even pushy. They know their way around the feeders and water dish. The fledglings are pretty much grown by now, although a number of them still want the parent to feed them. They are also less sure of themselves than are the adults. Each surveys the surroundings carefully and then tries to emulate the parents. However, there are two birds that have real difficulty making a decision and acting on it.
One of the almost-grown crows visits often. He walks up the railing and nears the feeder. He looks up, down, around, and then shuffles his feet a little. He walks forward, then looks like he is about to jump at the feeder. Suddenly, he starts walking backwards and stands there longing for the peanuts, but he is too afraid to pass the water dish, which stands between him and the feeder. The whole process starts again . . . and again . . . and again.
I frantically urge him onward. He looks each direction multiple times for enemies. He could eat twenty peanuts in the time it takes him to make up his mind. He starts out again and finally gets the courage to fly at the feeder, but then he falls off. Now he’s really in a tizzy and I’m nearly wild with frustration on his behalf.
“Will you just go up to that feeder and get a peanut!” I almost shout at him. Just as he decides he’ll go for it again, another bird swoops in and takes the peanut. I can’t believe it as I dance in agony, hoping he will soon make a decision.
A Steller ’s jay is also a regular visitor to our feeders, but it takes him forever to make a choice about which and how many peanuts to take. He studies and sorts the peanuts, trying to fit the most and the biggest into his beak. He picks one up and lays it down. Very often, another bird dives down and helps himself and the jay ends up with nothing. This process goes on for what seems like years.

Somehow, these two remind me of myself. Life is painful at times. I get flown at and pecked. I get hurt by my own kind. Someone takes what I want because I delayed too long, trying to check it all out and choose the biggest and best.
I don’t always have the self-confidence to step forward and have encountered obstacles that block me from my desire. God does want me to be cautious, just not so hesitant I can’t function. I need to look for dangers and be wise. However, if I wait too long, or can’t make a decision, I may just lose out.

Contentment

Contentment

By
Crystal J. Ortmann


Drifted snow dazzles as the sun brushes glistening strokes across a canvas of white. Tiny prints create a webbed design in the almost flawless covering. Larger, less aesthetic tracks make deep indentations leading up to the bird feeders.
Deep contentment wells up in me as I lug suet, birdseed and water up the hill. Hushed chirps whispered in the trees above remind me I am being watched. The feathered crowd supervises and I can almost hear them say, “Cool. What a spread!” I move slowly in order not to startle them.
Millet and sunflower seeds drop on the ground for the sparrows and other ground feeders. Someone obviously took a bath in the birdbath and didn’t wash out the tub, so I scrub a little before filling it with clean water.
A low watt heater keeps the bath open in the icy weather. While filling the other feeders the sounds of impatient chirps in the branches above become louder. It’s a very mundane job, but somehow I feel as though I’m doing something very significant—helping those who cannot always care for themselves. It’s an opportunity to provide sustenance when outdoor conditions are adverse.
I like to think I bring joy to a twittering group of unlikely comrades. Although many are normally enemies and the pecking order is strictly followed, there is enough for all and, for the most part, harmony reigns (until the starlings arrive!!! They are the original dysfunctional family of the bird world). Contentment comes knowing that my caring made life a little easier today for those feathered creatures.

Growth Through Life's Blasts

Growth Through Life’s Blasts

by

Crystal J. Ortmann


Read: Psalm 46:1-3


Read: Psalm 46:1 (NASB) “God is our refuge and strength;
A very present help in trouble.”





Heavy gray clouds poured down the side of the mountain, as the wind whipped my eyes to tears. A storm was building quickly at the 4,000 foot level of the volcano. It was eerie, yet exhilarating.
Shattered remnants of once proud trees were strewn across the face of the mountain. Almost twenty years after the catastrophic volcanic blast, there seemed hardly any growth. It could have happened yesterday.
Yet, close by, in a sheltered area green bushes grew in profusion. It was
life and death, side-by-side.
The scene spoke to me of life’s experiences. Sometimes there seems to be lush growth, even after times of testing. I feel sheltered through the blasts of life. There is enough and more than enough.
Other times, I seem to stand directly in the path of the cataclysm. My senses numb and I feel as barren as those dead trees coated with sterile dust. I’m unproductive, stunned, immobile and seemingly useless.
As I looked more closely, I saw that there was growth. Perhaps not as lush as the
ones nearby, but growth more heroic, because of the struggle to overcome.
Prayer: Dear Lord, even when I am tucked securely in Your loving arms, the seasons of devastation may come. Help me grow through it and remember, it isn’t the outward appearance, but rather the obstacles overcome that makes the difference. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
Thought for the Day
In the midst of catastrophe, God can give shelter and growth.
Prayer Focus: those who are going through devastating times in their lives.

After the Cataclysm

AFTER THE CATACLYSM

by

Crystal J. Ortmann




Over 1000 feet of mountain exploded in just a few moments. A mere geological finger snap and a large part of a majestic snowcapped peak was reduced to rubble and fine ash. Mount St. Helens had erupted.
After 20+years the devastation still amazes me and the eerie stillness makes me want to whisper.
A proud forest now fills a greater portion of what was once a blue mountain lake. The dead trees are clustered together at one end like so many corpses.
Other skeletal remains of trees stand starkly--gray upon gray from the all-pervading dust. I want to weep.

As if sensing my mood, clouds start spilling over the mountain’s lip and
the wound in its side. The wind blows harder and spits stinging raindrops. It’s August and yet, in the mountains, it still feels like winter, so I hurry back to the protection of the truck.
It’s only an afternoon ride, but I feel I’ve been to the other side of the moon.
The creature comforts of warmth and shelter take on new value. I revel in them as I ride the s-curves back to a more hospitable world.
During the descent, I observe lush ferns and green shrubs with heightened
appreciation and awareness. The scent of fir trees soothes me. It’s raining heavily, yet with softer drops. They gently course down the wind-shield, washing away the grime that once was a mountain.
I am thankful for the way He brings new life and hope out of calamity and destruction.
Psalm 46:1-3 (NASB) “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.”

The Crippled Crow

THE CRIPPLED CROW

by

Crystal J. Ortmann




“Frank, come and look at that crazy crow,” I called to my husband. “He’s trying to hang on the suet feeder by flapping his wings like a hummingbird.” We laughed at the incongruity of this enormous bird trying to act like such a small one.
He flew a short way and tried to land. At that time we noticed that one leg was bent backwards and he didn’t have all his tail feathers. He flapped and teetered, trying to gain his balance. It was comical yet tragic.
“He won’t last long with only one leg working. He’s huge. How will he ever feed himself?
We didn’t expect him to last through the winter and certainly didn’t expect him to become an inspiration to us both.
The poor battered critter showed up sporadically at first. Before long, he was a
regular, taking advantage of the goodies in our birdfeeders.. Each time, he struggled valiantly trying to stand upright. He ended up leaning against the tree for support. His flapping wings brought us running to watch.
Our backyard was a certified wildlife habitat (We have since moved to an apartment). We observed all sorts of birds, but this crow became very special to us. His tremendous struggle to get food left us full of impotent compassion for there was no possibility of getting near enough to help him. He’d have probably pecked us if we tried.
That winter passed and we were sure he would die. Yet, each day, there he was, big as
life, going about the business of getting enough food for the day. What a guy! Admiration mingled with sympathy. He didn’t go off in a corner and whine about his condition. He didn’t decry the fate that left him crippled. This crow simply went about the business of finding food and tending to his daily needs with a bravery I envied.
There are some crippling things in my life too. Things don’t always go my way.
I struggle with problems and defects. It is so easy to give in to self-pity; yet, this crow taught me something very important.
He took each day as it came, getting on with what needed to be done. He didn’t
waste his time feeling sorry for himself. There was no complaining from him about how easy the others had it. He had to find food, regardless of his weakness.
I heard him cawing as I wrote this piece. Yes, he was still alone years after we first noticed him. He’s letting me know he’s on his way. His favorite peanut suet waited for him. I felt I owed it to him.
After all, my crippled crow taught me a lesson about getting through a hard
winter in my life. He showed me that handicaps needn’t prevent me from living a full life.
In fact, I found out HE was a SHE when she arrived one year with
her young. She fed them with no thought of eating first. Her attempts to find food for them and watch out for their welfare were nothing short of heroic. I never dreamed I’d learn such a lesson in courage and perseverance from a crippled crow.