The Blush Is On The Tulips So Why Are You Leaving the Fields

Sunday looked to be the perfect day to visit the tulip fields in the Skagit Valley of Washington State. The sun shone brightly and I could only imagine the endless lines of frustrated drivers clogging the northbound lanes of I-5 north of Seattle. For those who don’t live in Puget Sound, you wouldn’t know that a trip to the tulip fields is tops on the annual spring bucket list for people here in the 32-shades of gray Northwest. In past years, we have avoided the snagged country roads by peddling our bicycles from a church parking lot far from the scene of the tulips. We would smile as we flew past idling engines and backseats filled with cranky kids and grumpy grandmas.

But this year we would do things differently again. Last fall at the Goodwill Discount Center, I discovered a book about photography and lighting. It was a forty-nine cent investment that changed everything on how we tour. Instead of going in the heat of the day, we would wait until crowds diminished and country lanes were free of suburban engines idling while snarling drivers charged like angry steers toward the only available parking spot near fields ripe with color.

We would leisurely drive north when everyone else was texting a change in their dinner reservation while waiting at clogged south-bound intersections in rural Skagit County.

About 4 PM my hubby and I leisurely left home. Forty-five minutes later we came upon a single field of reds and purples. Half a dozen cars were pulling out and we had our pick of parking. The sun was still high in the sky as we headed to find our position in fields still blown out by too much sun.

The first photo shows how overexposed the sky is. Nice but not the best. Most–all–of the photos I’ve shot in the past of the tulip fields were shot in this kind of light.

We passed a couple families shooting portraits with tulip backdrops. With gear over our shoulders, we ambled down the dirt road next to the field. Here we discovered other tractor trails teeing into the one we walked. We picked our way through mucky soil and navigated around standing water. With half a pound of rich Skagit Valley soil clinging to our walking shoes, we clomped right into the middle of tulip envy. Perfect! Now to wait for the sun to dip into the west.

As we waited, only a couple photographers remained thoughtfully busying themselves far off in the distance. Positioned much closer to the main road, they appeared only as tiny blips through my camera lens. The sun began to drop and we owned the field–just the two of us. Working together. Flourishing in one another’s company. Talking f-stops and apertures. Marveling as red tulips became as shiny as lipstick passed through the bunsen burner to set the glow.

Then we worked the scene. Here is a sampling of tulip envy.

Patiently we waited. How do you really capture such beauty in spectacular late afternoon light? You move in closer quivering with excitement as you inspect the camera display, but still the glory of the moment eludes the photo op. You just cannot capture this extravagant display of God’s glory not even with the finest camera! It is elusive. There must be a spiritual aspect to this moment that eludes replicating on a screen.

Oh! Water! What can we do with water? Can you capture this flourishing blush in a reflection?

We played around with some settings to achieve a painterly effect. Maybe this technique would capture the glory of this moment.

I am learning to make pictures that show layering and interesting lines that sweep into the photograph. I am also seeking to look at over-photographed scenes with new perspective. I am studying photography because I want to see better–physically and spiritually.

Today it is the spiritual nature of this tulip experience that I will not soon forget: experiencing the glory of God’s setting sun, the extraordinary light that melts tulip rows into liquid color, the companionship of a faithful and kind man who makes my heart sing. Pinch me! This is the flourishing life!

Capturing soil–soil which is so much a part of the success story of this valley–and so much the story of this trek through the tulips. It is the soil in our lives that brings forth the flourishing, but that is another post for another day.

We held steady watching and waiting. Physical needs threatened our determination. Thankfully, a farm workers’ privy was nearby complete with a hand washing station.

Time marched on. I kept shooting oblivious to my increasing thirst and fumbling fingers.

And then the real action began. I have talked with professional photographers who tell me that there is a five minute window when the sun is sublime! Oh yeah–we found it!

Making the most of a tankful of gasoline, I insist we wait it out to see what twilight offers. My fingers can hardly twist the dials, yet I am learning this time of day has its own glory. Patiently we waited! Surprise! The eastern view did not disappoint!

Three hours later, my fingers could barely wiggle they were so cold. We picked our way down the muddy road and out of the field wiping mucky soil from our shoes on any grass we could find. My husband promises next time he will bring the thermos of hot tea!

The lines heading south are long gone; the roadside tulip stands are tightly shut; lights are twinkling across the valley and we own the night.

Thank you, sweetheart! It was a beautiful evening–and the blush is still on this bride even as we approach our personal sunset! Thank you for buying this camera to celebrate our 35th anniversary! Thank you for being the wonderful man you are! Thank you for staying by my side even out in the muck of a bone-chilling tulip field when everyone else has gone home.

Marlee Huber ~ Your Flourishing Life!

Sunset over a Quonset Hut

On this rainy spring day, it is nice to reflect on a sunset from another day here in my Northwest.

We had traveled to Wenatchee to remember the life of my cousin, Albert E. Anderson, Jr. Later in the day, we found our way up to the East Wenatchee plateau that overlooks the Wenatchee River and the city below. The scene was breathtaking as the sun began to dip behind the Cascades.

A blue-hued quonset hut from a by-gone era squatted proudly by the main road. Beyond, view-inspired mini-mansions danced dangerously close to the edge of the grass-covered cliffs. Far to the West, painterly colors worked their way over the Cascade Range.

The picture I shot makes me recall how my daddy used to sing

“Sunrise tomorrow, Sunrise tomorrow. Sunrise in glory is waiting for me…Sunrise with Jesus for eternity!”

While Clark and I were admiring the gorgeous sunset, I wonder if my daddy wasn’t singing these bountiful words over my cousin. I can see the scene with my cousin Albert joining in. Uncle and Nephew singing about a sunrise I have yet to witness. I chuckle. If God didn’t wipe away tears in heaven, all my aunts would be huddled together dabbing with lacy-edged handkerchiefs at the corners of their eyes.

I wonder if life on this earth isn’t much like that quonset hut. It’s adequate; it’s serviceable, but there is so much more beyond the sunrise.

Oh Glorious Day!

Marlee Huber ~ For Your Flourishing Life!

Albert E. Anderson, Jr. Celebration Day!

When the old year faded and this New Year began, I heard faint rustling like the swish of rayon and taffeta in the next room. Immediately, I recognized the flutter of anticipation and knew its source. I imagined that amidst eager chatter, bits of laughter and some last minute decisions, about which dress gloves best matched their ensembles, Aunt Ada and Aunt Mildred were preparing for Cousin Albert’s homecoming. Aunt Mildred was so excited I worried that if he tarried too long she would be sorely disappointed that the party had to be put on hold.

When I was a child my aunts, Ada and Mildred, had been guests in our home when a grand occasion was about to be celebrated. Whether dressing for a wedding, graduation, or a funeral, my two aunts twittered and swished about like teenagers! Maybe that is why their siblings always called them, “The girls.” Born and bred in the Midwest, they gave their hearts, lives and futures to Jesus Christ. Neither married nor grew dull with age; both retained that girlish desire to look pretty, proper, and tasteful, fitting for their time in history and their call to kingdom service. One thing about them, they knew how to dress for a state occasion—okay so it was a family occasion, but they easily conveyed family events into state occasions complete with hats boasting a whisper of veil, gloves both in summer and winter, and appropriate shoes.

Aunt Ada, my daddy’s next older sibling, the pretty blond at the end of a string of five girls, had a smile as broad as her angular face. When a young man came courting, she told him she was called to the ministry; Jesus held her heart. So he married Aunt Ruby instead. Aunt Mildred, my mother’s older sister also received a call into ministry and never married. She was completely and totally devoted to Jesus Christ, proper hats and ice cream!

Thankfully, Ada Blick and Mildred Horton became friends at North Central Bible College in Minneapolis. It was through their friendship that my dad met my mom, and as their only child, I was the only one who by birth could legitimately call these two my aunts. But on both sides of the family—to the Blicks and the Hortons, they were both beloved aunties. They went together like two peas in a pod. Both were ordained ministers in the Assemblies of God Church and together served tiny rural churches throughout North and South Dakota.

Aunt Ada and her siblings grew up on Hillview Farm in rural Clark County, SD. My granddad homesteaded the place, and when five girls were born, he despaired of having a son to take over the farm. Surprisingly, my dad arrived when Ada, the youngest, was eight years old. My dad did not farm. Like Ada, daddy heard the call to the ministry and followed his sister to North Central Bible College never to return to the land.

The second oldest daughter, Hazel and her husband, Albert Anderson, farmed the land when my grandparents retired. My Granddad and Grandma moved into the little house on the property while the Anderson brood took over the big stone house. Here three children were born, the youngest being Albert, Jr. or “Little Albert” as he was commonly called.

In each picture, Albert is the little blond boy. The little girl is his sister Cynthia and Given is his big brother. In the middle picture they are with an older Anderson cousin.

Like his Aunt Ada and Uncle Tomey, Albert, Jr. received the call into full time ministry. Unlike them, he would settle for nothing less than Central Bible College in Springfield, MO. Like my dad, he did not marry someone at college!

And the Anderson and Blick offspring say, “Thank you, Jesus!”

Both uncle and nephew married a farmer’s daughter.

My mother hailed from Nebraska and she and my dad moved out west with most of the Blick family in tow—that is except for Aunt Ada and Aunt Mildred who staunchly remained in the Midwest and Uncle Albert and Aunt Hazel who continued to farm the land.

Cousin Albert, fresh from Bible College migrated west along with the majority of the Blick family to Walla Walla, WA. There he met his bride, Aimee Filan.

My dad and mom dearly loved Cousin Albert. He often came and held evangelistic meetings at whatever church my dad served. In this picture, Cousin Albert is to the left, with our Grandmother Blick to his right. At the end of the table is Anita Filan, Aimee’s older sister who nursed at the hospital in Pomeroy, Washington where we lived. To the far right is my mother and I am the little blonde girl covering her mouth. It appears to be my 6^th birthday dinner!

About this time, Albert married Aimee—and as a pair they were seldom apart. Theirs was a love affair made in heaven!

Aunt Ada and Aunt Mildred doted on all their collective nieces and nephews. They kept scrapbooks filled with photo Christmas cards and school pictures received from their siblings’ offspring.  Today when I peeked into these weathered books, I found more photos of Cousin Albert and his family than of anyone else. I think Cousin Albert held court in a reserved corner in both their hearts.

In my aunts’ picture albums, I found this photo of Cousin Albert and his bride practicing a “special” to sing at the church in Fairfield, MT. The date is February, 1955.

Cousin Albert, like my dad, could sing! I mean these two could SING! They both boasted a set of lungs born of the prairie where you could belt out a song and let the wind carry it to the next county. My dad’s tenor voice was strong and straightforward, but Albert possessed a timbre that resembled how black velvet feels! When he sang, your spirit, soul and body resonated with the anointing that he carried. It simply sent heavenly chills up and down your spine!

“Oh love of God, how rich and pure, how measureless and strong! It shall forevermore endure the saints’ and angels’ song.” I can hear him yet.

So this past Saturday evening was home coming for Cousin Albert. There it goes again—the rustle of heavenly fabrics as Aunts Ada and Mildred dress for the occasion. In earthly time, they have had a couple months to really pull off a big welcome home party!

The Blick family always knew how to celebrate and loved being together as you can see from this picnic held in Walla Walla in 1950. Albert is all smiles in the white shirt on the far left.

So I’m sure Aunt Ada and Aunt Mildred were in on the planning for his arrival, both rustling and bustling, creating a stir in heaven! I’m guessing, even though heaven is outside time, the preparations for Young Albert have been underway for awhile! He was that kind of man. Heaven wouldn’t just casually receive him one day with little notice or fanfare. No, Cousin Albert was the kind of man that heaven would prepare for in a big, bold way.

“Why?” You might ask.

Cousin Albert wasn’t famous. He never served large, or prosperous churches. He never sang at great crusades where tens of thousands thronged. He never boasted a nation-wide ministry with websites and webinars. As far as I know, he didn’t tweet. But Cousin Albert knew how to pray. He knew how to talk to God and God listened to him.

As my daughter Suzanne says, “Ministry is the family business,” but behind every attempt at touching another life for Jesus Christ, is prayer, and this family learned how to pray by listening to Granddad.

Every morning before the chores, Granddad was on his knees with his Bible, praying. He died when I was barely two, so I have no memories of his devotion to prayer, but I have heard Albert and his brother tell me about it. Tucked away in my heart is the story I have been told that he prayed that not one of his grand children would miss heaven. So I’m sure Granddad and Grandma are chief among Heaven’s welcoming committee for Cousin Albert.

And that’s why I think Albert lingered so long. Heaven knew his homecoming had to be special. People who make prayer a habit in their lives don’t just sneak into heaven. They get the full processional! The angels, the saints, and the Father himself welcome a prayer warrior like my Cousin Albert. I’m sure the trumpets blasted a full fanfare! I imagine lights and colors and sound and texture and taste and all the senses that earth can’t even duplicate being present to herald Albert’s arrival.

So let the party begin! Another family member has arrived on the golden shores, never to wander, never to roam. His assignment is complete. Well done, Cousin Albert! You leave us an example to follow. There is no higher calling than a life devoted to prayer.

I can see it all now. Aunt Ada beams from ear to ear as she rustles by in her taffeta! Aunt Mildred lifts the veil on her hat so she can enjoy another scoop of heavenly ice cream! Cousin Albert is young and vibrant–rejoicing in a life best spent in serving Jesus. Let the celebration begin!

It’s Albert E. Anderson, Jr’s. Celebration Day!

What is a Welfare Church?

On Facebook, on this day after the election I posted, “Maybe the reason we have a welfare state in America is because we have a welfare church in America. It’s all about WIIFM in both church and state.”

I was challenged with the question “What does a welfare church look like?” and what do I mean by welfare state. I’ll address the first question in this post by telling a story about the Christian poverty mentality of which I speak. Keep in mind–I love the church! She is the bride of Christ! However…

This little mission church in Addy, WA is not what I mean by a welfare church. You really can’t tell the prosperity of a church by its exterior. It’s really all about how a church body has processed Romans 12:1-2. I have a feeling they get it! You don’t work with drug addicts for very long if you don’t get it!

Here’s the story. When I was a little girl, I remember testimony time at church and one woman in particular who would lean forward, grab the back of the pew with her work-weary hands, and let out a groan as she hoisted her heavy body upright to give her testimony. You knew what was coming. It was always the same. She would recite how Jesus helped her make it through the week while detailing all the dismal particulars of raising a pack of kids in the early 60s while living with a man who was not a believer. The conclusion given each and every time was “Pray that I hold out to the end.” – with a special emphasis on “hold out.”

And no, I’m not talking about this little church in the North Cascades of Washington that feeds 25% of the population in the eastern part of their county through their food bank. They just happen to have pews! I chatted with this pastor on our trip across America and watched him discipling a young believer right before my eyes! I heard his heart for awakening in America! This church may be small but it flows from a flourishing and prosperous heart.

Now as an impressionable young girl I tried to picture what holding out to the end looked like. What was I supposed to hold onto? What was I in jeopardy of letting go of? Was there a ropewalk suspended between earth and heaven where I might dizzily fall if I got distracted and did not properly hold on? I may have wondered how many prayers it took to get someone to hold on until she got to the other side. In my adolescent mind, I decided I wasn’t interested in that brand of Christianity. I certainly didn’t want to live like that and I certainly did not want to die like that.

If you’re curious, this is the foot bridge over the Kootenai River in Montana where you’ll want to hold on to the end!

Unfortunately, much of the church is like this church member from my childhood. She, the bride of Christ, does not know her identity or her position of being seated in heavenly places in Christ Jesus. She does not know her citizenship is in Heaven. She does not know that Christ has all authority, delegated it to her, and she can use it to disciple nations, baptize them and teach them to obey his commandments. She does not know that being in Christ’s body is all about being committed to the Kingdom of Heaven. Instead she plunges forward hanging on for all she’s worth and when things look particularly bad, she pulls out her get out of earth free –“rapture card.” I know! I have beloved now-deceased family members who did this every time things got rough! That may be part of our problem today! The church did nothing for too many decades and in too many cases did not even bother to vote.

About her local church, if she doesn’t get her needs met at a particular congregation, she’s out the door to find another one that will serve her like a pleasant social club with something satisfying for all ages. I’m a preacher’s kid. I know! I watched them come and I watched them go. Statistically most church growth today is simply the flock rearranging herself around town inquiring who is the biggest Santa Claus in town? You don’t read that in the Bible. Apostle Dutch Sheets says the Jesus said nothing about building a family church. If you can find his messages on Ekklesia you will glean much from this Greek scholar about the governing body of ancient Greece and how it applies to the church today.

The church simply does not realize she is just as much a part of an army as she is part of a family. She’s been called to boot camp—not a Sunday school picnic—and she is invited to step up, decree and declare, “as in Heaven, so on earth.” The Lord’s Prayer is not something to fill time on Sunday Morning. It is a military decree! Oh, did I mention she is to disciple the nations for the Kingdom of Heaven while she loves those who theologically disagree with her pet doctrine. Big order, I know! Don’t forget I chatted with church goers all across America for 90 days this summer! In many cases it was most unpleasant particularly when we discovered a variation in doctrine. Trying to bridge the gap and hang onto the unity was like trying to maneuver two unicycles coming in opposite directions across that swaying bridge without a collision!

This is the short answer on what I mean by a welfare church. More later to show how the one just might be responsible for the other one.

And don’t forget, I LOVE the CHURCH–she is the bride of Christ! I love fellowshipping with other believers. I love worshipping together. I love taking Communion with the Body. But right now I see the words “CLUELESS” on her forehead in big letters! Remember, you have to forgive me!

On the way to Your Flourishing Life in Christ!

October Walks–the macro and the micro!

Last summer, my guy and I escaped for 90 days of exploring America. He rode his bicycle many miles a day while I grabbed my camera and walked exploring the back roads and the small towns of America as we crossed the continent. I had a marvelous time shooting pictures and posting them on Facebook or my blog, http://www.wheresloisandclark.us. But now we were back home and the thrill of sharing my discoveries with friends and families was in the past.

Or was it? Could I now explore some great local spots and share what the casual eye might miss?

So here goes. Come along with me on a humble little trail that skirts along the Snohomish River in Everett, WA. Called the Lowell Riverfront Trail where it leaves Rotary Park, it is a favorite spot to walk dogs, jog and take a quiet stroll. On a clear day, you can catch a glimpse of Mt. Baker to the North or the Cascades to the East. During the warm weather days of July and August, power boats churn up the water creating wake that glistens like a thousands diamonds. Beyond the river,  the rich farm land of Ebey Island spreads out. Immediately across from the park, an old settler’s rustic home long graying with age, has been spruced up with bright yellow paint while the barn got a coat of turquoise. I’m not sure what that’s about! I loved the aging desolation of the place sans paint! Nonetheless, it adds color to the natural pallet, even if it is somewhat reprehensible.

This past Tuesday I set out to find a dry hour for a walk on the trail. Now a Puget Sound afternoon in October can be chancy. Fortunately we don’t generally get tornadoes or thunder and lightening that rockets through the sky cracking and exploding.  Yet, heavy clouds are commonplace and frequently they just can’t hold onto their moisture until they reach the foothills. Too full, they dump over Everett, Washington, my hometown.

Such was the case on my Tuesday walk. I had nearly reached the turn around point on the trail when I looked up to behold this cowering beauty! We laughingly tell out-of state company that Seattle kindergartners can identify 32 shades of gray. I do believe they were all mostly represented in this humongous cloud. Not to be bullied out of my walk, I hurried on wondering if I could make it to the end of the trail and then hi-tail it back to my car before being thoroughly drenched. Not being a sissy–you can’t live here very long and be a rainy-day sissy, I pressed on.

No such luck! I ended up drenched, but laughter filled my soul!

It rained and it poured, but some giant force ripped the cloud asunder and the sun shone on me the whole time. I couldn’t help but giggle in the rain. This was a saturating, yet delicious experience that filled my heart with laughter and brought out my inner joyful child. I pulled my hood down over my face. Occasionally I whirled around quickly panning the sky to see if the rainbow had appeared. Nothing. Yet, I knew one had to be nearby.

A few minutes later, I called to a passing runner heading north. “Have you seen the rainbow?”

He pointed beyond. I turned and to my delight gasped at the double rainbow! The second time I had seen a double rainbow in one week! But it wasn’t just the rainbow that caught my attention. The vibrancy of the foliage wet with rain caught the rays and sent my heart dancing.

Thrilled, I hustled to the car where I immediately flipped on the heated seats. Such was my walk on Tuesday.

On Sunday afternoon, we gave it another go hoping for a whole hour’s walk free from such ferocious elements. Where everything had been macro on Tuesday, it was all micro on Sunday.

A colony of snails had taken up residence in fall flower pods trailside. Nesting. Waiting.

Hanging out.

Like someone arriving at a hotel too early for check in, this one appeared to be waiting for a pod to open up. Perhaps the maid was still tidying up, getting the spider webs extracted and such.

Two walks in one week deep in October. One expansive with a voluminous clouds and double rainbows dominating the sky and the second requiring an attentive eye to see the little fellas bedding down for the duration.

Flourishing! That’s all you can say! Open your eyes and behold the beauty of this season as it deepens and winter paces impatiently beyond the near horizon. Grab an umbrella or choose a coat with an ample hood and explore some October beauties–macro or micro!

The Truth is…

Easter services are always memorable. Yesterday at Everett’s New Life Center was no different. For some, it will be memorable because this was the year they arrived late and found chairs awaiting them in front of the monitor in the Courtyard! For others, this is the year they raised their hand for salvation in the 8 o’clock service and returned for water baptism in the 11:30.

My big take-away emerged from a video clip our pastor played highlighting Jesus and Peter in their last recorded conversation. Peter had thought Mary said, “beehives” but then when he got closer realized it was “He lives!” No–that part wasn’t my big a-ha–although that is the glorious message of Easter.

In that last recorded conversation with Peter about the crowing critter and denial and forgiveness, Jesus pressed his wayward disciple with a question and a mandate. “Do you love me?…Feed my sheep.” I have always loved how John writes that Jesus came full of grace and truth. Here these twins emerge up close and personal revealing that in the end…the truth is, it’s all about grace!

Forgetting our utter brokenness, we fall into the arms of grace complete with a life assignment no one else is designed to execute! It’s the down featherbed on the chip and seal of life. It’s grace! Not my truth or your truth, but simply grace as the truth.

Marlee Huber ~ Advocating for Your Flourishing Life!

Quiet here too long!

It’s been quite a while since I have posted. I find that when I write–I write a lot! When I don’t write–I don’t. I haven’t!

Well this time my engineer husband is inspiring me to write because he’s writing! This is new. Clark does math. I write.

But summer beckons and with it Clark and I are embarking on a grand scheme. He will be riding his bicycle from Everett, WA to Arlington, VA–from Washington to Washington. I’ll be driving the rig–truck and trailer!

So we have a website for this adventure. Find us at www.wheresloisandclark.com. That’s right! I’m Lois–you can look at my driver’s license and he’s Clark and we intend to do some sightseeing and 21st century trailblazing in fond remembrance of Lewis and Clark! We’ll check out some of their trails as well!

So check us out at the new site. But don’t abandon me here.

Marlee Huber ~ still advocating for Your Flourishing Life!