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Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

Spring Creek Prairie

How Doxology Can Change Everything

September 12, 2018 By Michelle

Recently I talked to a friend who was having a hard day. It was nothing catastrophic; simply that the mounting demands of her work had taken their toll, and anxiety had gotten the best of her, leaving her feeling overwhelmed and stressed.

My advice to her was twofold. One: get outside; and two: practice doxology.

A few years ago I learned about a Japanese practice called shinrin-yoku, which roughly translates as “forest-bathing.” In Japan, whole forests are set apart for the sole purpose of inviting visitors to be present to the sights, sounds and scents of nature.

Studies show that spending even a few minutes outside each day in any kind of natural space – forested or otherwise — can have a profound impact on our physical health by lowering blood pressure, decreasing cortisol levels and increasing immune function.

But I’ve also found that “forest bathing” – or what we Nebraskans might more accurately call “plains bathing” – can also have a dramatic effect on our spiritual life and the state of our souls, especially when combined with doxology.

Earlier this summer I attended a women’s supper at a local Lutheran church, and at the close of the event, the host suggested we all sing the doxology together before going our separate ways.

“Huh? The what-ology?” I thought to myself, as the women around me began to sing:

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise him all creatures here below. Praise him above ye heavenly host. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

After fake lip-syncing my way through the unfamiliar hymn that evening, I later learned that the word “doxology” comes from the Greek doxa, translated as “glory,” and logia, translated as “saying.” There are a number of different iterations, but in short, doxology is a fancy word for the simple practice of giving praise.

Since learning about the doxology, I now often sing it quietly to myself while I walk my dog (lucky for me, Josie makes sure I get my daily shinrin-yoku in). As we meander along the path, I notice and give thanks to God for the vibrant black-eyed Susans dotting the meadow, for the melodious call of the Oriole hidden amid the oak leaves, for the sleek fox I spot darting into the underbrush across the ravine.

Giving thanks to God while immersed in his creation not only settles my racing mind and brings me a measure of peace, it also offers much-needed perspective.

Photo by Noah Johnson

There is something deeply comforting in acknowledging and accepting my smallness in the face of nature’s breadth and depth. Noticing the intricate design of the blossoming Queen Anne’s lace at my feet and the vastness of the sky over my head reminds me of how fleeting and inconsequential most of my anxieties and concerns really are.

Singing the Christian doxology while I practice the Japanese shinrin-yoku under the wide Nebraska sky is a somewhat strange and unlikely spiritual discipline, but it’s become a favorite, near-daily personal routine. I’m always amazed that two simple practices – noticing and giving thanks – can make such a profound difference in my mental, physical and spiritual health.

Turns out, shinrin-yoku doxology worked for my friend too. A few hours after I’d talked to her, she reported back that she’d taken my advice. After a quiet walk around the lake and a few minutes spent gratefully cuddling a newborn kitten in the barn, she had returned to her desk with a lighter heart, a less frantic mind and a replenished soul.

This post first appeared in the Lincoln Journal Star on September 8, 2018.

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Filed Under: gratitude, slow, small moments, Spring Creek Prairie Tagged With: doxology, shinrin-yoku

Twilight in the Tallgrass {or, How I Wake to the Moment}

September 21, 2012 By Michelle

Boys with bug nets and rubber boots.

Burning sumac.

Silken threads.

Hands releasing milkweed fluff.

Hair a halo of gold.

It’s twilight out here in the tallgrass, and I’m remembering Ann Voskamp’s words as the sun sinks behind the cottonwood:

“Make every moment a cathedral giving glory…And it is eucharisteo curving the moment into a cupola of grace, an architecture of holiness — a place for God. Thanks makes now a sanctuary. And I take my vows: I will not desecrate this moment with ignorant hurry or sordid ingratitude. I will be Jacob, and I will name this moment the ‘house of God.'” (One Thousand Gifts)


For I have seen God face to face… (Genesis 32:30)

Blessings to you this weekend, dear friends. And may you see Him face to face.
Stop. Breath in, breath out. And look. He is there.
 

 


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Filed Under: 1000 gifts, slow, small moments, Spring Creek Prairie

Graceful Summer: A Day of Small Things

June 15, 2012 By Michelle


It’s blowing so hard dust swirls in a cloud across the gravel lot, raining grit on the windshield and coating the van. The sign says the nature center doesn’t open until noon, but the kids beg and plead and we’ve driven 25 minutes from town, the wracking wind bullying us across the yellow dotted line.

I say yes, let’s stay. The building itself may be closed, but the prairie is always open.

Open.

I stand on the rise, hair tangled across my eyes, and I shake my head, laughing, because it was exactly this – this wide open land, this vast space I called “nothingness” – that I’d dreaded so much. I didn’t cry when I first heard I’d be moving to Nebraska. I was simply quiet with a sick dread. I had deemed Nebraska among my top five worst places to live – third behind only North Dakota and Nevada. How would I survive life in a giant rectangular state filled with nothing but corn and cattle?

And now? Now I can’t get enough of these huge skies and low clouds, rippling grass, flash of gold wing, hot wind.

The boys skip, each with a bag of baby carrots in his hand. Noah spots scarlet on black, and a red-winged blackbird trills from the willow. Rowan crouches, tall grass itching his calves, to watch a caterpillar on a balance beam blade. I tip my head back far to glimpse a dipping, soaring, wheeling hawk, graceful daredevil of the plains.

We sit out of the wind on the wooden bridge, dangle our feet over a chartreuse marsh, spy on the still frog.

He doesn’t move. Neither do we. I resist the urge to hurry the boys along. A hot summer day on the prairie seems like the perfect time to break a bad habit.

“Who despises the day of small things?”
Zechariah 4:10
{Pictures from Spring Creek Prairie Audubon Center, near Denton, Nebraska.}
What’s your favorite way to spend a day of small things?
Welcome to Graceful Summer, a new link-up community here on Fridays through the end of August. We’re sharing stories about the smaller, quieter moments of summer – will you share yours, too?
1. Write your post and link it up here on Fridays.
2. Visit someone else and leave a little comment love  – you might get a new creatively quiet idea!
3. Please include the Graceful Summer button or a link in your post, so people can find us if they want to join in.

 

Filed Under: graceful summer, Great Plains, Nebraska, quiet, small moments, Spring Creek Prairie

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a Triple Type A, “make it happen” (my dad’s favorite mantra) striver and achiever (I’m a 3 on the Enneagram, which tells you everything you need to know), but these days my striving looks more like sitting in silence on a park bench, my dog at my feet, as I slowly learn to let go of the false selves that have formed my identity for decades and lean toward uncovering who God created me to be.

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