Marianne's FLASH💥DEVOS Podcast

Psalm 25:8-10

God is fair and just;God corrects the misdirected,Sends them in the right direction.

God gives the rejects a hand,And leads them step-by-step.

From now on every road you travelWill take you to God.Follow the Covenant signs;Read the charted directions.

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The literatures of scripture—from laws and rules to history, poetry, letters, and prayers—teach us about the wanderings of humanity.

Like leaves sailing through the air, we may land on unfamiliar ground.

Seek divine intervention alongside the misdirected wanderers of all time.

*Deirdre Purdy is a digital creator in Chloe, West Virginia who posts “Pillion Viewpoint” from the back seat of a BMW regularly on “Adventure Rider” magazine. “I can see all the way down the road, like the driver, and anticipate the curves and traffic. I also ride with the clouds, the farms, barns, and churches, hundred-year-old banks, and county courthouses.” Hop on at advrider.com and enjoy the posts she’s collecting into a new book.

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Romans 16:17-18

I urge you, brothers and sisters, to watch out for those who cause divisions and put obstacles in your way that are contrary to the teaching you have learned. Keep away from them. For such people are not serving our Lord Christ, but their own appetites. By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the minds of naive people. +

Welcoming the viewpoints and beliefs of others can challenge our sense of safety, belonging, and community. Guard your exposure to harmful practices and institutions.

Engage change with wisdom, discernment, and curiosity.

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Genesis 28:15-17

“I’ll stick with you until I’ve done everything I promised you.” Jacob woke up from his sleep. He said, “God is in this place—truly. And I didn’t even know it!” He was terrified. He whispered in awe, “Incredible. Wonderful. Holy. This is God’s House. This is the Gate of Heaven.”

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When we realize God’s promises exist, feelings spill out like luscious fruit and vegetables from the divine cornucopia, beyond metaphor or hyperbole.

Call on the names of Jesus: Seed of the Woman. Bread of Life. Light of the World. Servant. Deliverer.

Today’s Flash💥Devo also appeared on redletterchristians.org daily WakeUp newsletter.

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Exodus 16:12-14

“Now tell them, ‘In the evening you will have meat to eat, and in the morning you will have all the bread you want. Then you will know that I am the Lord your God.’” That evening vast numbers of quail flew in and covered the camp. And the next morning the area around the camp was wet with dew. When the dew evaporated, a flaky substance as fine as frost blanketed the ground.

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People on the move eat unfamiliar foods.

Do you trust the holy nourishment of God’s provisions?

Today’s Flash💥Devo also appeared on redletterchristians.org daily WakeUp newsletter.

“In 2017, JR created a gigantic installation of a toddler named Kikito peeking over the border fence that separates the United States and Mexico. On the final day of the installation, JR organized a picnic that took place across both sides of the fence. It was a joyous occasion as people passed food and tea back and forth and enjoyed the music of a mariachi band––half the ensemble played on each side of the fence. For a few hours, the division disappeared.” https://www.jr-art.net/projects/migrants-picnic-across-the-border

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2 Corinthians 13:3-4

Christ is not weak when he deals with you; he is powerful among you. Although he was crucified in weakness, he now lives by the power of God. We, too, are weak, just as Christ was, but when we deal with you we will be alive with him and will have God’s power.

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May the best reason for living well be that your quiet authority and joy model qualities others desire while acknowledging frailties. Such flourishing is indeed available for everyone.

How you love and who you live for matters.

*Olly Costello writes, “I hope my work can be a small contributing part of creating our new culture, grounded in honoring the inherent sacredness of all beings and pushing us beyond violent cultures.” Discover @ollycostello on Substack and at https://ollycostello.com/

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Matthew 21:21-22

“I tell you the truth, if you have faith and don’t doubt, you can do things like this and much more. You can even say to this mountain, ‘May you be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and it will happen. You can pray for anything, and if you have faith, you will receive it.”

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Withering a fig tree, raising people from the dead, and feeding thousands with bread and fish--these miracles manifested the power Jesus embodied through faith.

Can we overcome difficulties with worry and doubt?

*Jill Hinners searches for peace and inspiration on or near Minnesota’s lakes and smaller waterways. Jill writes, “I collect iPhone images to document all the natural beauty in this place I’m so fortunate to call home.”

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Job 22:27-30

You will pray to him, and he will hear you,

and you will fulfill your vows.

What you decide on will be done,

and light will shine on your ways.

When people are brought low and you say, ‘Lift them up!’

then he will save the downcast.

He will deliver even one who is not innocent,

who will be delivered through the cleanness of your hands.”

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Can people be of benefit to God? When we feel as defeated as Job, think like Job.

If God matters, then yes, people matter.

“Hundreds of asylum-seekers at the San Ysidro Border Crossing in Tijuana, Mexico, on April 25.” Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images. Published 8 November 2024. https://www.nbcnews.com/news/latino/republicans-try-tone-trumps-mass-deportation-threats-rcna179326

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Jeremiah 14:17-18

“Night and day my eyes overflow with tears. I cannot stop weeping,for my virgin daughter—my precious people— has been struck down and lies mortally wounded.

If I go out into the fields, I see the bodies of people slaughtered by the enemy.If I walk the city streets, I see people who have died of starvation.The prophets and priests continue with their work, but they don’t know what they’re doing.”

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Our Lord’s tears still flow over precious lives lost.

Ground your solidarity with suffering communities in eternal love.

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Psalm 138:7-8

Though I am surrounded by troubles,

you will protect me from the anger of my enemies.

You reach out your hand,

and the power of your right hand saves me.

The Lord will work out his plans for my life—

for your faithful love, O Lord, endures forever.

Don’t abandon me, for you made me.

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Faith is complicated. Knowing the power and believing in the Presence can clash. Reconciliation between ourselves, God, and others can bring peace.

Lean in closer to the holy reflection in the mirror.

Heidi Pitre’s series, “A Permanent Record,” features paintings and drawings on vintage library borrower cards, some dating back to the 1920s. “I selected each card by searching through stacks of books that had been cast aside and long forgotten. The titles of these books bring to mind times when we lived inside their worlds for a bit, rooted for their characters, or wished we could be with them or be them,” she writes. “This project intends to open conversations between generations. It provokes discussions of the past, introducing old titles to new readers.” Explore heidipitre.com/library-cards, @heidipitreart, or @apermanentrecord.

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The spiritual life of home and place shifts with the seasons for me. As my Thank-You gift to all of you who have come alongside me for the past two years of Flash💥Devos, I offer my article about the world I encounter on my lawnmower, an unlikely but perfect place to connect with creation. May the ways you tend to the world bring you surprise and insight, too.

Around the Yard in 100 Days

by Marianne Abel-Lipschutz

Spring mowing in Iowa releases the sweet pineapple aroma of chamomile. I discovered this stubborn, single stem plant in our driveway gravel, creeping improbably across compacted zones like it owns this place. Driving from one side of the lawn to mow beyond a building, I trim it so often that it barely tops my toes. Also known as Common Mayweed, this herb defies annual baths of RoundUp, subzero winters, snow plows, and herbicide spills. Green sprouts proliferate even after the grader blade shaves the gravel so flat it pools water like beach sand. Mayweed is a persistent gift that teaches me how to thrive in unlikely places.

Chamomile varieties have been cultivated since the Neolithic. Commercial producers harvest a blue oil and components of the flowers and leaves for pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, and teas. One source claims that people around the world drink more than a million cups of chamomile tea daily. The tiny plant yields bioactive phytochemicals that treat ailments from hay fever and hemorrhoids to insomnia and muscle spasms. Native to northeastern Asia and northwestern US, sources say chamomile was likely brought eastward across America with the Lewis and Clark expedition as they returned to St. Louis in 1806. Rich folklore and traditional healing treatments document its spread westward from Asia.

On our farm, mayweed is a wild companion, my souvenir of our history here. We bought this property from the Federal Land Bank in September 1987 and did not meet the former owners until later. Foreclosed in 1983 during the agricultural crisis, this dairy and general farm had been operated by generations of one family for almost one hundred years. Neighbors declined to buy the land, a common protest strategy, leaving the acreage to the care of renters. The property’s ragged edges showed how quickly vegetation reclaims the spaces people leave behind.

We moved here in late November after most plants and shrubs had withered. I would have liked to walk around the yard with the former owners to learn what grew where. Even if we had met then, they probably would have directed my attention away from the weeds.

We had never lived west of the Mississippi or on a farm, and though many common plants and trees were familiar in this northern climate zone, many were new to us. We’d come from West Virginia where eroded, hillside soils formed from decayed woodlands over rock and clay. Iowa offered a new nature with lush prairie sods and soils created by glacial drift layered over ancient marine sedimentation.

Our first year here presented a calendar of outdoor surprises. Perennial onions, hyacinths, and tulips appeared after the snow melted. Rhubarb emerged like an organism coming out of hibernation. Asparagus fingers poked through like Rip Van Winkle calling out to meet the newcomers. Rangy willows waved their yellow catkins at us when we looked out the kitchen window. A solitary cherry tree by the road, exposed to harsh northwest winds for countless winters, finally exhaled some blooms after much effort. Peony fists shook in the wind along the west ditch. I would have enjoyed a crowd of white or lavender lilacs, even a few hollyhocks. It’s just as well that this place had few frills. Roses and fussy ornamentals would have perished from my neglect.

I feel at home with seemingly insignificant plants like chamomile that blend in as part of the scheme of things. Pineapple Weed is another popular name for this miniature cousin of the daffodil. It sprouts above the grit with a lime-green stalk topped by a yellow, cone-shaped, button flower stuffed with potential. Thousands of its seeds weigh a fraction of an ounce, an abacus of years counting forward into the future. We notice mayweed in northeast Iowa at the beginning of June when that unmistakable sweetness rises again.

The area where mayweed grows best now was the site of the property’s original house. This small, clapboard structure had been used as a garage and metal-working shop after the family moved into the big house across the driveway, built in 1924. By the time we bought the place, the shop was a multi-generational mix of wasp nests, spiders, parts, nails, oil slicks, and metal paraphernalia that outbuildings accumulate as if by magnetism. We salvaged odd tools and dimensional lumber, and bulldozed the rest to expand the driveway for maneuvering large equipment.

The demolition exposed that patch of ground to daylight and rain, activating a botanical legacy that hosted the mayweed. The tropical smell enchanted me, an unexpected scent in the driveway when I crushed the flower buds and leaves while walking. Mayweed thrives in cut-over plots and waste ground such as former construction sites. Iowa is a well-manicured state where tiny mayweed can go unnoticed. Still, the plant lives intentionally: one hundred days from seed to seed. Millions of seeds spread everywhere every year, scattered by mowers, blown by the wind, and walked someplace else on the bottoms of our shoes.

As new owners of this property and newcomers to Iowa, we had a pick-and-choose loyalty to the farm’s many components. We offended some people and delighted others when we destroyed the original small house, sold and dismantled the concrete silo, torched the chicken house, and allowed a small grove of unkempt walnut trees to be harvested. Some of the adults who’d grown up here feared we would tear down the dairy barn, a safe deposit box of summers spent filling and emptying the hay mows, playing hide and seek, and tending to livestock chores before breakfast. To them and to us, the emblematic structures seem permanent although we all know they are not. What is necessary to one generation may be tossed in the burn pile by the next.

It seemed a neighborly thing to do when we agreed to sell the dilapidated township schoolhouse on our property’s northeast corner to Jim Grupp. He wanted to gift it to his sister as a surprise 65th birthday and retirement present the following year. Their home place is a half-mile north, they’d attended the school, and both had become educators. He moved it 33 miles south to Reinbeck where she lived and refurbished it as an antique store on Main Street. On our corner, the absence of what was once a township landmark has been restored as a quarter acre of good farmland with a similar but different cultural value.

I see the plants and trees as iconic elements of the local landscape, much like a red livestock barn or a utility tractor by the machine shed. Wild and domesticated plants and trees add to the dignity of our immediate environment and define it as a place where families work and live. In April, you can smell the impenetrably frozen ground come alive out of winter’s darkness. The land itself is a breathing organism so complex and so generative that just paying attention to it feeds a deep place that renews our souls.

The co-creation of landscapes through crop farming initially unsettled me. We leaped from backyard scale to industrial volume in one season, upending my notion of being part of a bigger picture that meanders over time to one that, like chamomile, lives from seed to seed in a hundred days. Each Iowa season measures out three months of specific characteristics that disappear when the next one phases in, emphasizing the now of a vivid present. Each farm owner’s time on a pro…