Pay Attention: Be Astonished

The first sunrise of 2023 - 7:34 AM, January 1, 2023

Instructions for living a life: 

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

Poet Mary Oliver

 

Mary Oliver likely didn't have a lot in common with me. During her life, she won a Pulitzer Prize for poetry. I sometimes write in verse for my granddaughters, but I'm well aware I won't be collecting prestigious awards for those rhyming verses - or for anything else I write, for that matter. No National Book Award for me either.

Even though she died at the age of 83 in 2019, her poems and observations about life keep getting shared in memes and other social media posts. She grew up in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, not on the plains of Kansas. 

But as we begin the new year, I am still drawn to her observations about life and how to live it. The city girl loved nature like this country girl. Her "Instructions for living a life" came up on Facebook as we turned the calendar page from 2022 to 2023.

For several years, I've taken photos of the last sunset of a year and then the first sunrise of the new year.  Sometimes, the skies are spectacular. Sometimes, they are not. This year was a little bit of both. 

December 31st's sunrise had pretty colors, but not a lot of drama. Because of the sun's position in the winter sky, I decided to use the Zenith branch of the Kanza Co-op for my farewell to 2022 sunset shot. It's as much a part of my "commuting" life as the Brooklyn Bridge is to New Yorkers.

At first, my "chauffeur" drove down the co-op's driveway, trying to get me in a position that the sun was setting between our version of city skyscrapers. That didn't work, so I settled for it landing underneath an auger.

Then we went back to the Zenith Road for a wider angle.

I've taken more dynamic and dramatic photos of the Zenith elevator through the years. But there's a simple beauty in the quiet colors of the setting sun, too. As the sun set on 2022, the co-op seemed a fitting place to say goodbye to a year when we retired from active farming. 

On the way home, we stopped for a snapshot of one of the many deer we have to avoid at dusk and dawn on our Zenith Road journeys.

The next morning, we drove down to my sunrise tree, just a half mile south of our house. With a little more cloud cover, 2023 dawned with a little more drama than the exit of 2022.

With the road illumined by our headlights as we first arrived.

I don't think I'd ever tried a panorama of the view from my sunrise tree. I'm sure it won't be the last time.

In other writings, Mary Oliver said that “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” In her essay "Teach The Children," she reminded us that contemplation of nature’s small wonders and life's simplest things have the power to change us in the deepest ways. In paying attention to our surroundings, we can invite joy to our lives and avoid letting our negative thoughts spiral. She reminds us we have a choice: We can let the world delight us, rather than let it beat us down.

It's a good reminder for me as a new year begins. It may not seem likely to combine quotes from a Pulitzer Prize winning poet with a zany actor. But I also liked a quote from comedian Jim Carrey that ended up in the email in box earlier this week.

I feel that we're all lighthouses, and my job is to shine my light as brightly as I can in the darkness.

Jim Carrey

 

Do you ever feel like God is trying to get your attention? My email devotional from The Upper Room continued the theme:

  

A Time to Think

I believe God embedded the miraculous in the ordinary, and it is our task to discover it and celebrate it.

Kent Nerburn

That's a good goal for 2023, don't you think?

***

On New Year's Eve, we also discovered this message on our dirt road from an unknown correspondent. I posted it to Facebook. So far, no one has claimed authorship, though everyone I've asked wished it had been their idea.

 

 

May it be true for you, too!

 

 

As The Sun Sets on 2020

Sunset, December 21, 2020 (while looking for the Bethlehem star)

Capturing the final sunset of 2020 may go much like the rest of the year has gone. It will likely be a bust.

It's supposed to be overcast tonight, with another winter storm on the horizon in Kansas. So my tradition of taking a photo of the final sunset of the year and the first sunrise of the New Year may not be very compelling. 

Awhile back, I saved a daily email devotional that grabbed my attention and set it aside to consider again. It was from Beth Richardson, a familiar name on my Upper Room devotionals. In her introduction, Richardson wrote:

Celtic Christians acknowledged God’s presence in every aspect of living—from waking to sleeping, from birth to death, from mundane chores to momentous celebrations. They perceived God’s creation as a holy gift. Gratitude characterized their way of being as they affirmed the source of life and gave thanks through blessings.

Beth A. Richardson, Christ Beside Me, Christ Within Me: Celtic Blessings, Upper Room Books, 2016 

As I re-read her words, I thought it was the perfect way for me to usher 2020 firmly out the door and welcome 2021 with new hope - even in the midst of a global pandemic. It's a reminder to consider God's creation as a gift, and to be thankful. 

I'm not one to adopt resolutions. (I hate failing.) 

I'm not prone to pick one word as my New Year theme. (Me? Pick ONE word?)

 

But I do hope I can apply "gratitude" freely in my life - whether I'm considering the end to 2020 or as I turn the calendar page ... To find the silver linings. 

One of my favorite sunset photos from 2020 was taken on Palm Sunday. Usually, I would have been busy helping with a community church service, and I might have missed sunset all together that day. But, we were in the midst of a stay-at-home order, and we were feeling cooped up. So we went to watch sunset at Peace Creek. 

I took this photo of ripples, and it ultimately led me on a search for quotes to go with it. I found a couple I particularly like:

From The World According to Mr. Rogers:

Imagine what our real neighborhoods would be like if each of us offered, as a matter of course, just one kind word to another person. There have been so many stories of the lack of courtesy, the impatience of today's world, road rage and even restaurant rage. Sometimes, all it takes is one kind word to nourish another person. Think of the ripple effect that can be created when we nourish someone. One kind, empathetic word has a wonderful way of turning into many.

Fred Rogers

And from Mother Teresa:

I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.

It's something to remember as I turn the calendar page to a new year. 

I've illustrated Richardson's words with sunset photos from my archives:

Final sunset of 2017

Bless, O God, this tender evening,
The trees, branches raised in praise,

The sky, soft glow darkening into dusk,
The homecoming of young and old.

Bless, O God, this sacred moment,
The quiet pause between day and night,

The birds, flying to safety in bush or brush.

The colors of the sunset—

Orange to red to purple to black—
Creeping across the sky.

Bless, O God, this night to come.
The safety of shelter, the supper to nourish.

Hearts of joy or souls bent in sorrow.
Renewing rest and hope for one more day.

Bless, O God. Bless.

—Beth A. Richardson, Christ Beside Me, Christ Within Me: Celtic Blessings (Upper Room Books, 2016)

 More from the devotional:

Today’s Question

How could offering a blessing at sunset help you notice God as the day closes?
  

Today’s Scripture

From the rising of the sun to its setting, the name of the LORD is to be praised.

—Psalm 113:3 (NRSV)

Let's add a sunrise: October 21, 2020

 Prayer for the Week (maybe I'll change it to Prayer for the Year)

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me.
(From a prayer attributed to Saint Patrick)

Harvest sunset

 

Through a Glass Dimly

When the path ahead seems foggy or unclear, 

the only course of action you can take is to step forward.

Anonymous

The first sunrise of the new decade wasn't particularly spectacular. Just a week earlier, the Christmas Eve sunrise had painted the sky, decorating it as brightly as the multi-colored lights on my living room Christmas tree.

December 24, 2019

 Now, that was a sunrise worthy of a new year, a new decade!

But, as is always the case, we don't get to order up sunrises and sunsets like ordering a Diet Dr. Pepper to go from that anonymous voice in the drive-through at McDonald's for the 40-minute drive home.

But, when I bundled up for a sunrise foray to begin the new year, I was certainly hoping for a more spectacular view. Wouldn't a spectacular sunrise translate into a fitting metaphor of a promising new year and a new start?

Every sunrise has its beauty, but this one was less like a glamorous super model and more like comfy-pajama-clad me.

However, as I slipped into the driver's seat and flicked the windshield wipers, the frost stayed in place. And I decided I'd drive the few hundred yards to the backyard silo without taking time to clear it.

While the sky had not exploded with color and personality on the first day of 2020, the intricate ice crystals provided a metaphor ... and a little extra beauty, too.

We don't know what this next year will bring. Honestly, we don't know what the next hour or day will bring. As Type A planners, we might have our to-do lists and our careful plans, but, in reality, that list is just made up of scratches on a piece of paper.

Those plans can be interrupted with things big and small.

 

Life's circumstances may blur our well-planned vision and have us searching "through a glass dimly."

I'm not big on resolutions. They just provide more reasons for me to feel as though I've failed. But maybe my focus should reflect on focusing on the moment - whether it's crystal clear or obscured in some way:

A Time to Think

All the world is an utterance of the Almighty. Its countless beauties, its exquisite adaptations, all speak to you of Him. –Phillips Brooks, clergyman and author

A Time to Act

Open your heart to the beauty that surrounds you.

A Time to Pray

Dear Lord, please help me to see the beauty of every day.

Devotional (in blue) from Guideposts.

 

So, I will appreciate the less spectacular sunrise. And I'll be thankful for the chance to see another one.

(For the record, the final sunset of 2019 wasn't particularly remarkable either. Though, to be fair, I didn't spend much time trying to capture it since it was during the K-State football game. 

Sunset, December 31, 2019

Appreciate every little beautiful moment

 in every day of your life. 

Give it a try 

and you'll see the world from another perspective. 

Thea Christine May

Sunset, December 31, 2019

Goodbye, Hello!

I shoved my feet into Randy's boots, zipped up my heavy coat and ventured out to watch the final sunset of 2017 Sunday evening.

Earlier, I kept lifting the curtain on the front door and peaking out to see if the sunset would be worth leaving my nice warm house and my good book. The thermometer hadn't gotten above 7 degrees all day, and wind chills put the temperature well below zero.

But there's only one time to see the final sunset of a year, so I compromised. I used Randy's boots which were inside the house and, unlike mine, not on the frigid confines of the back porch. And I drove to the corner south to watch the final moments of day transition to night ... and likewise, to begin the transition from 2017 to 2018.

I then decided to use my "sunrise tree" from a different perspective. I drove past it, did a 3-point turn and then turned my camera to the west.

With the end of 2017 documented, I decided I'd also photograph the first sunrise of 2018.  True confessions: I probably should have gotten up a little earlier on New Year's Day. It's not like I'd been partying the night before. In fact, I didn't make it to midnight. But it was a holiday, so I decided not to set my alarm as early as usual.

I looked at the newspaper to find the time for sunrise and set the alarm for 15 minutes before that. My first shot of 2018 was similar to my final one of 2017. My sunrise tree - located to the corner south and just a bit to the east - was my "model" as the sun rose for the first time in 2018 in south central Kansas.

There were fewer clouds than the night before, so the colors painted the horizon without frills and texture.

I drove a little further to the east to another of my favorite sunrise spots - a windmill in a neighbor's pasture.

And then I ended my cold foray into 2018 in my own backyard, taking a photo of our old silo. I watched as a jet painted a streak in the sky, an unexpected symbol of moving forward into the new year.

This morning, I again opened a book I've been reading as part of my Advent devotionals, While We Wait: Living the Questions of Advent by Mary Lou Redding.

A shot of the tree before Christmas 2017

I sat in our living room with the Christmas tree still aglow, knowing that I've put "taking down the Christmas stuff" on my to-do list today. And I read these words:

We do seem in a hurry sometimes to put away Christmas. ... 'When it's over, it's over.' ... We also seem in a hurry after Christmas to box up once again our patience, our tolerance, our generosity and put them back in the attic, as if we can sustain good behavior for a few weeks but wouldn't want to risk making it a way of life. We may also put away our willingness to give a bit more, to be more forgiving, even to be more patient, as we often are during the holidays. Perhaps we even box up our desire to hope and our openness to miracles and mystery, as if the messages of the Christmas stories can't quite survive the rigors of real life the rest of the year. The Magi call us to continue our observance of Christ's coming after December is over.

Mary Lou Redding

Thankfully, the Light of the World came. He doesn't go away when we pack away the treetop angel or try to stuff the greenery and stockings inside the plastic tub of holiday decorations for another year.

And I'm reminded of that truth when I view His magnificent writing on the sky - whether it's the last sunset of the year ... the first sunrise of the year ... or any time in between.

Here's hoping you see the sunrises and sunsets of life in 2018 with new eyes and new hope. Happy New Year from The County Line!

Fresh Start

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! II Corinthians 5:17 (NIV)

A Time to Think

Since the new year will not be any newer than you are,

 make up your mind that you are going to be new.

 –Norman Vincent Peale, pastor and author

As the snow fell, I walked to the road and peered southward, squinting my eyes against the bracing cold and trying to see beyond the snow-obscured horizon.

The new year can be a beautiful blank canvas, like that blanket of white snow that stretched as far as I could see.

I can map out a plan for my days - and I often do - with my first-born attention to detail and to-do lists.

But, despite my best intentions, the days can become as twisted and meandering as the branches of the old cottonwood tree that sits just south of our driveway.

A Time to Act

Remember that detours are opportunities to experience new things.

A Time to Pray

God, thank You for all of the blessings in my life and the vision with which to recognize them.

The quotes in blue were taken from a Guideposts devotional I get in my email inbox every day. They arrived just in time for the new year.

Happy New Year as we get in the swing of 2015! (Now, if I can just remember to write it on my checks!)