Thursday, August 7, 2014

A Light of Surpassing Greatness

Not uncommon for me to see, hear, feel supernatural encouragement from the Holy Spirit, I believe with all my heart in the scripture that says, "If you seek Me, you will find Me when you search for Me with all your heart." (Jeremiah 29:13).  With eyes wide open, this summer I delve into the memory, the words, the sights and sounds of my story and God is along for every sentence. Writing a memoir of the grief and healing I've experienced in God's amazing grace, He continues to reveal His unrelenting Holy Spirit of comfort and affirm all He is guiding me to be as a minister in the faith. 

 About 15,000 words in, I've reached THE "chapter"--pathway where the trees breathe promise, where my mourning dawns anew, a chapter about butterfly angels on a mercy mission. 


~View to Heaven~







I am just finishing the chapter when the hard-working man comes home, ready to set himself up to view another world on a not so flat screen and sit for the evening in a worn, so worn and tired love seat. 

The blinds need adjusting; a filter to move the rays where they need to be, so we can see. He makes that move, ready to settle in. 

Are we blind to what needs to be seen? 

...And I am finishing up the chapter in the lowered light of the summer day, on the dining room table where the bread is served, where the cup is filled. 

I'm back there, back to those days of the unrelenting heaves of grief. I'm back to the worn tennis shoes, the overplayed music and the dark park with its illuminated spider webs and shadowy trees in the pre-sun, star fading mourning of mornings. 

The words finish up and I know this miracle once again, so wanting to capture the Truth of His Love, the end story that never ends. My heart is full and it feels glorious. 

The living room is quiet as the hard-working man showers off the day's labor and I stretch up to saunter into life in the evening with him. Looking up, I see into the living space, the light filtering in a perspective unseen before. 

I call out to the hard-working man, "come take a look at what is happening...hurry, before it changes."




The light is streaming in and hitting the wall across the room, the wall where a shelf holds the earthen vessel of ashes of our first born, the shelf that holds the sanctuary of his life. 

The light dances, filtered through the jasmine vines outside and the blinds. 

But I am not blind, for I see the trees, I see the butterflies, the sunflowers, the hummingbirds...

I see and know the Cross, where we can see the Light and Eternity coming together to make Perfect Sense. 

I've seen the dead, and I've seen lives arise from the dead and live with a new found purpose. 



I watch as the light shifts and paints on the canvas of my shelf-holding wall of love and I grab my cell phone. 



I capture the lit up heart, a heart-light. 





and wings of angels...


II Corinthians 3:6-7 the Apostle Paul tells us, "For God, who said, 'Light shall shine out of darkness,' is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing greatness of the power may be of God and not from ourselves."

I am moved to tears of gratitude, of worship in that very moment. 

The hard-working man comes down the stairs one painful step at a time and he sees my excitement over...light and shadows and walls,  ...and says, "cool!"

The light, still moving, turns the corner and pierces the space where my thoughts come to rest , where my head bows frequently. It spills onto the chair I sit and read His Word, basking in His inspiration and promises throughout my day, where hearts in friendship bonded for eternity. 








 The light brings Love, an affirmation, for the Holy Spirit whispers to me that God is the Light of this moment, and He is the light for all moments. 

What do we see in His light?  A revelation of His eternal love for us, as unworthy as we are, He came to be our Light and remove all of our darkness. 

Amen. 

I saw the Light, I accepted it into my own darkness and I know the Light is Good. 

II Corinthians 4:18 ...While we look not at things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal. 

The sun set, yet the Light in my soul, in my son's soul shines for eternity, of that I am sure without any shifting shadow of doubt. 

The hard-working man calls me the next day and wants to talk about the light,  --and the wall and the shelf, as he is thinking about it in his hard-working days upon days.  

God stirs up a heart to want more of Him and again I am warmed by a new sunrise. 

My memoir continues...and I am in awe of His goodness to me, overwhelmed by the Light. 

Psalm 27:1 The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? 

John 8:12  Again therefore Jesus spoke to them, saying, "I am the light of the world; he who follows Me shall not walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life." 

Amen. 


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

For the House in the Woods on Another Coast




A best friend resides on the opposite coast, in a house in the woods.  We talk often, not often enough. Our conversations are lengthy, two, three hours. This last time I really think we set the record, over 3, possibly 4 hours.

 I hold her heart in these calls. I see through her eyes, at her surroundings, her circumstances.  Detail oriented, she is an articulate designer of everything, including her sentences. We talk about life, the hard stuff, the dreams we still have, and the hopes of tomorrow, the fears still lingering from our yesterdays. We even talk about the weather, history and nature. (They have REAL weather where she lives). We've cried and laughed and loved each other through separation.  Distance DOES make a heart grow fonder. 

Friends from high school and college, it's been a long journey together.

She lives in the country, co-habitating with the foraging creatures of the forest,  her many feathered and furry friends.

She describes the colorful birds swooping in to her suet cakes and feeders in the dusky evening.

The robin, the blue jays, the woodpeckers, the yellow-bellied finches.

The cardinal!







I’ve never seen a cardinal.


I picture this beautiful bright red bird coming into the yard to enjoy that which I prepared in a feeder, so I can catch a glimpse of him in what I offered up. 




Squirrels enjoy birdseed too, stealing all  they can and making a mess while they're at it.   Let’s devise a plan to keep the clever thieves away.

The branches get a pruning back, should shorten their launch pads.  

Barriers go up, obstacles they couldn’t possibly get around.

Let's slick things up so they can’t get a grip. 


Yet these relentless rodents, these bottomless pit, pesky perseveres, continue to sneak in, fly up and around, flinging themselves at all we’ve worked so hard to prepare.

Tarzan! 

It’s discouraging.




Yet, we come every evening for a glimpse, for the hope of a red cardinal.

We can persevere too. 

And don’t we want more than just a glimpse?  I want to know about the cardinal, its habits, its character, what I can expect, what I need to give to receive the joy and hope of relishing their presence in my life.  

I find it’s not much of a sacrifice in comparison. I acknowledge their beautiful gift to me in daylight moments of life's crimson blessings as well as  the fading moments of light spread across a strawberry sunset.  I am humbled and in awe.  I believe in their arrival more than I do the squirrel’s threat. The bread and the cup await the flight of a red winged Spirit and I light the candles of hope. 

Gratitude. I swallow the bread and drink from the cup, promised a refill for tomorrow. I seek and see the flash of red in the dark forest. 

And moments become worship.

Worship becomes a suet cake for my own soul. 

Robbers will try and steal the joy, but I know of the cardinal’s faithfulness.

Give me more than a glimpse Lord, for I need to see all of You.



And a red petal falls from my sunflowers, feather-shaped, and a mocking bird nest chirps loud with new life.  I pray for more than a glimpse, for the whole of the truth as I send prayers on wings of eagles and love in words of hope to the house in the woods on another coast.

Swoop in red cardinal, let us get a good look at you. 




 I love you and long for you my friend; a filled cup and endless seed of His continued and renewed strength, for the stealers of joy to begin an early hybernation;  for you to capture the full view of all His Glory in your lives. 

Jeremiah 29:13 "And you will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart."

Considerably yours, 

Coleene 







Sunday, June 15, 2014

Vogelzaad Kaf, The Birdseed Chaff



Vogelzaad Kaf
The Birdseed Chaff 



The hours of the day move slowly now.
Morning mist fogs the vision of yesterday.


Maybe I saw you.
Maybe we talked.

Strength drained away somewhere.
It must be in the tears that well up,
Fall without warning,
Not knowing.

Cardboard boxes lie in my path.
Can I get from here to there?
And what’s in that box?
Is it what I lost;
Can I find it again?

My son is here;
One of my sons is here today.

I watch as he gathers the tools;
And I remember the boy I taught
To hold a hammer right.
Hold my hand tight.

Steady me, son.

   The birds, I had a lot once
Raised them up to sing.
They’re gone now, their cages still,
I recall their trill.





I smell them, they are close;

Nesting for spring.

Standing, leaning on a truck
Watching my son, listening…

Must do the birdcage chores,
The work day doors;

I hang, close by 
We’re going to work now, my son and I.

Shiny, loose in the truck bed,
My hand naturally closes around them;
But not too tight for
They fall through my purple fingers.
I grab another handful of these shiny, sharp…



Their name?...Their name?

Birdseed chaff flies up
From the box dropped down,
Captured by the wind.

We’re working; he marks the box “storage.”
And they stack in neatly, to go…
But I can’t, I don’t have a car today.
How will we get to work this day?
Let’s look again, in the garage.

And I am teaching him to put in a door,
So it opens and closes well.

It opens and closes well.

Tomorrow must be work again.
It will be a good day, it must.
I’m crying again, but I don’t know why.
The doors are all hung.
They swing in.
They swing out.
Lock ‘em up son, sweep up the dust.

We put in forty this week.
I’ve got overtime.
The day is long
And we are strong.
The truck gate shuts,
Dinner’s ready.

The food of our lives, the love of our lives…

Standing in the doorway,
My Grandson carries more;
Each measure counts,









It’s all in a finish carpenter’s toolbox,

History on the floor.
“It’s a good day to build stuff, I’m not finished quiet yet.
Got to feed the birds, and have a beer,
Watch a little soccer on the set.” 




Considerably yours,  Coleene VanTilburg
Thoughtfully, for Johannes. 


The inspiration for this poem came from my husband Ted, whose parents are both in the throws of dementia. We moved Dad and Mom closer to us last winter, and my husband shared how his dad watched him loading boxes from the garage. While standing near his tailgate, Dad picked up screws and nails in his hands, Sifting and sorting.  I imagined he was thinking of the days these two went to work together, side by side, and that this was just another work day;  two men heading off to take care of business. When we unloaded the boxes, birdseed chaff flew out of each one and I could smell the birds, the one's he'd raised and bred as a hobby for so many years.