Just another wick

When Lights Go On

2010-04-05T10:48:00.001-06:00

When lights go on
they light one room

out worlds contrived
truth does bloom

And we have our ways,
our thoughts, we say
that under the sun
nothing new ever comes.

And perhaps this be
for the universal we
a message so true
we haven’t got it through.

We each live in a room –
morning, night, and noon –
lights turning on
all singing one song:

This life, it is not
what you thought it to be

in fact, it’s the very
opposite, you see.

What is good?

2010-02-05T14:44:00.001-06:00

The question is: what is good? Do we even know? Can we? Because it seems God must define it a whole lot differently than we do. And, while it seems simple or trivial, our definition of "good" seeps into everything, seeps particularly into our way of entitlement, and as such is of utmost importance. These are instigators of writing of the past couple days. The following is just a snippet.

To the Intelligent of the Western World:
We as a western people are so bad at connecting. We put all our truths in their little compartments and do the same with our feelings, perceptions and expectations – for they all look fine and good on their own. They all seem to have substantial amounts of reason and logic behind them when they stand alone. They can all be “proven” when they stand alone. And isn’t this the way of all philosophy? The hard part is not coming up with an idea that sounds right. The hard part is having an idea that can be proven right in the messy intersects of all other realms of being, reality and thought. In fact, such proof is a virtual impossibility. And how is a human ever to get their thoughts and feelings right when we cannot even see the whole spectrum?

This is where it is amazing to me that choosing to believe in a Creator God makes me unintelligent to the self-acclaimed “intelligent” of the world. I guess it makes a little sense since I am choosing to believe that I can’t possibly know everything – that there is a Being whose thoughts really are higher and much more expansive than my own thoughts. But the place where it doesn’t make sense is that, in my choosing to believe that his thoughts are higher, I open myself to receive this being’s knowledge, wisdom, thoughts, feelings, sight. Instead of trying to make up all my own conjectures and think that I, as one meager, though very active brain, can fathom the thousands upon thousands of centuries of existence, the eons of subjects of study, the experience of millions of cultures throughout just the earth in its time of existence much less the expanse of the universe in such complete understanding so as to come up with what is true, I choose to receive and believe what this creator God says is true and has said to be true throughout all ages to all people. For what was true at the beginning is still true now and will be true in the end. And what is truest is this very Being, for it was the beginning and will be the end (the essence of both which we cannot even begin to wrap our fingers around). And so I, as an extremely unintelligent, brain-washed, robot go about my days – days that are infused with mental ardor as I receive this world and all its gifts, looking for the places of intersect and connection, receiving creative thoughts as the spirit of this Being throws on the lights in my mind and heart. And so I, idiot that I am to believe in such a Being of otherness, release my grasp to walk with hands open, in peace and delighted as gifts come poured out in droves, a waterfall cascading through my fingers – so much more than the small amount that could fit in that white-knuckled grasping space.

So, you of the intelligent world who know something today that will be proven wrong tomorrow (or at least within a few more centuries), I’ll take my dunce cap from you. For as I walk away, I’ll be smiling, delighted at the brightness of the sun, or the clouds, or beauty of falling rain and snow, while you sit on your throne of cynicism, furrowed and frowned, missing the biggest truth and reality of all: that life and all it contains is most joyous as good received, not as a conjured good expected and entitled to.

Presentness

2009-12-10T13:13:00.001-06:00

Life is messy when lived in present,
rather, when lived at all.

I am living today and today
stepping through a minefield – careless –
whose explosions I refuse to fear.
I feel, but walk on
in this moment, now this.

Do you know what you miss?

For we walk gaze ahead, far off.
Seeing grandly though not truly.
But truth be most grand:
for in pain addressed
is beauty most truly seen.

So live now, then again now.
Feel the sorrow; feel the joy.
For present is sunk deep
with the ache of
yesters and morrows.

And sunk deep is our life.
And sunk deep is our now.

Regal

2009-10-03T14:31:00.002-06:00

Dear blog friends,
Sorry I neglect you. Here is a new one from yesterday.
Erin

Regal
All that is gold glimmers,
Shimmers on branches
then departs – arcs
Tumbles, tying
eyes in a jumble
Dances around a ballroom
of asphalt floor,
walls of brick, wood and sky:
Regal.

Who wants to read some poems?

2009-08-10T16:26:00.001-06:00

Alright, friends, here's the deal:

I'm entering a poetry contest come October and thought I'd get some feedback as I'm trying to select which poems I will enter. I can enter up to three poems and only one can be over thirty lines.

From the website: "Several prizes varying from $1,000 up to as much as $25,000 will be awarded for the finest lyric poems celebrating the spirit of life."

So, if you seriously want to read over some poems and let me know what your favorites are, let me know and I will get the spectrum of possible entries to you. And maybe leave me your email if you are not sure that I have it.

Thanks!!!

The Breaking: Part IV

2009-06-30T11:44:00.003-06:00

There is no in between anymore.
Now is all I have, with faces burned
In memory of there – of where
It is dark. Faces in the dark.
Sparked, they need fanning
To flame. But I sit, wait,
An ocean away.

I break:

Sure of one thing.

Light wins.

Unsure of everything.

2009-05-22T08:25:00.004-06:00

III.
“There’s got to be more than this ... ”
it plagues: creates rifts
in thinking, being, dreaming

Breath shallows, hope fallows,
never thought that it would be like this –
that I’d live to miss

But we miss something
through effort contrived, we buy
into this place, scared to face …

Cowards. We are cowards.

We run from the thing
most fearsome to behold,
we hold, it turns out,
nothing at all

So suck it up and make your way
Dry bones can rise –
They may

Part II

2009-05-08T13:00:00.000-06:00

II.
So, what is your work
and is it your job?
Are you doing what you’re
made to do? Can you?

Time whittles away:
The second hand
thrust at days like
a knife to wood.
Chip after chip
fall to the pile
- are burned.

Days go up in smoke.
Were we warmed?
was anyone?

Did we do anything but
capture and release –
oxygen, carbon dioxide -
did we burn in a way
to be remembered,
to leave a phoenix
buried amidst the ashes?

Thanks to my Dad's html codes...Untitled: Part I

2009-04-27T12:23:00.004-06:00

I. To be something,: somewhere,
to somebody -
this is the goal.
To be somebody -: desire engrained
in the DNA of
Soul

of Body
of Human - man
and woman -
engrained in the DNA of a World in a solar system in a galaxy in a universe most unknown small as atoms, respectively, or smaller. But we want,: we need,
to be
Somebody.

New

2009-04-23T10:58:00.002-06:00

Dang formatting. Seriously, blogger sucks for poetic formatting. I have new stuff; if you are to read, hit me up. And does anyone have suggestions of another site that would be more format friendly? Really, I'm just looking for some indent options that don't create a line break every time.

Droplets Calling

2009-03-03T21:47:00.003-06:00

So tired, weary.
Soul dripping. Dreary
like the day. Dripping
like the thick mist
finding its collective on
tips of branches,
falling upon my
head, reminding me
I’m alive.

Droplets
laden with winter
in its birthing.
Were they to hang an hour more –
ice.
But they are weighted
like me,
so drop,
laden, upon me.
With cold that would
refresh, bitter wind burns:
scalding, searing,
marring a soul in darkness.

Droplets
Winter's birthing
Falling upon
Calling:
Alive!

How We Begin

2009-02-26T11:26:00.002-06:00

It starts with a dark tunnel,
so the story goes.
But it starts with dark,
this should tell us something,
though the marvel is that it starts
at all; that we
start at all.

Next there is a gasp,
and a cry.
It is cold and we can feel
and we still can’t quite
see. So we wait – be –
and if we’re normal at all,
we cry til we tire.

We sleep. We wake.
We cry,
then eat and sleep again.
Little bodies require much rest to grow
and we are, all of us,
never much more
than little bodies.

We grow and cry,
for growing pains. We sleep.
We sleep to charge; we sleep to forget;
we sleep to pass the time, to evade the pain.
We sleep
so we won’t cry, then wake –
to tears.

We sleep.

Then

Some of us wake.

Green Horizon

2009-02-25T14:26:00.002-06:00

I rise early
and head east.
It is a short distance
to the coffee shop where I work most mornings,
a short distance of tree-lined street,
branches framing the eastern horizon.
And it is always early.

I drive toward the day’s dawning
Just as the sun begins its murmuring.

Dreams turn wake –
light breaks
upon darkest night
before both eye and soul.
And I am drawn.

There is a color seen
at earliest break of day,
a hue not often deemed
party to the rising ray:
Green.

It is the shade of hope fallowed,
the tinge of darkness alight.
Again, I say, Again! The Voice.
Anew, I say, Anew! It comes.
Here responds the sea-like hue.

I drive as the day is dawning
for the few moments of the sun’s murmuring,

while in this soul, day too dawns,
murmurs itself awake.
The crescent moon, that sliver of constancy,
peeks through brittle limbs,
through the passing of tree-lined street.
And I make fast for the green horizon –
Hue of my longing, dawning of my renewal.

A Brash Glory

2009-01-27T21:29:00.002-06:00

Brash: strong, energetic, or irreverent

Confidence: the feeling or belief that one can rely on someone or something; firm trust
The state of feeling certain about the truth of something.

Brash. Not exactly the descriptor every girl is looking to be. It seems to negate a grace, to dispel a peace. But confidence - this requires a grace, demands a peace. A friend told me recently that I have a “brash confidence”. I furrowed a moment, then grinned.
My confidence has always been something of a mystery to me – how it came to be, where a girl manages to get such a thing. Some recent friends have attributed it to me as faith. I still marvel at such a perspective.
But brash. It feels just as it connotes: harsh, overbearing, demanding. This is never a word I’d desire to be called, especially being the word nerd that I am. But there is a lovely thing about words and the way they play. When paired, words can absorb the meaning of another, creating a new meaning for the phrase. So a confidence that is brash is a confidence that is strong, a confidence that is energetic, and yes, maybe even one that seems a bit irreverent at times (though in actuality, its raw quality may be the most reverent thing there is).
It’s a funny thing about friends, sometimes they see us more truly than we see ourselves and love us well in brute honesty. A “brash confidence”. I didn’t like this at first, but now I rather endear it. And not only for the fact of this definition search and process of thought, but rather because it endears me to a people and a place that are finding a home in my heart.
You see, my friend and I, we were talking about Germany and he was explaining why me in Germany just seems to make sense. It’s the “brash confidence”, he said. And I take it as truth. And I take it as my glory.

But I wonder also about you; and perhaps you should wonder a while, too. What is a piece of you that perhaps many times you care not to don, but which, when tethered to the rest of your lovely bits, is in fact your glory?

2008-12-01T16:13:00.001-06:00

Heart beats. Eyes blink.
Diaphragm bellows – breath in, breath out.
You are awake, or are you?
None of this necessitates awareness, really –
It’s instinct, nature, the trick of life and being.
But we are all of us being,
Or perhaps as much most of us just seeming
To be –
Human.

“We all labor and are heavy laden under the burden of being human or at least of being on the way, we hope, to being human.”

It’s Frederick Buechner
And he’s bold, and he’s right.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
Eyes open – Alert! Awake!
You are awake now, or are you?
You could be, really, if you like
(You could be real, if you like)
But we are none of us
Much of what we are
We are, none of us, much
Human.

New Pieces

2008-11-17T11:45:00.002-06:00

Let me paint for you a picture
Or a few at best
Of a place you’ve seen, not been:
A world, arrest.

Have you ever watched a drop hurled at you, a tree of falling dew? It echoes the world the whole way down and despite your cringing, you see more than perhaps you ever have before. Falling, it lights its surroundings: reflecting, mirroring, expanding its world.

I sat today beneath a tree, ignoring the pervasive moisture penetrating comfort from every direction, seeping past feeble barriers. The world was wet and glistening - gray with mystery - so I lay beneath the tree looking up. It was a day amist, a day dampened.

It was not so much rain as the spray of a sea mist – unsalted, from above. Pervasive, evasive – it coated the world in sheer, lighted the world all clear. Christmas is nearing, the time of year when trees are strung, electrified in an artificial glow, but there was nothing artificial about today, this show of lights comes only by day. It happens just so: from branches water lights by the din of a gray daytime sky. In water the gray turns light, the marred transforms all white. The trees were lighted, all of them.

Into the water and up. Jesus was baptized, a fully grown man and Rabbi at that. The day was dry, as days in the desert often are. He stepped into the water despite opposition, in the face of disbelief. The opposing was humbled to an extent I hope to one day know. Humiliated, he dunked the very one who needed no saving, he dunked Salvation himself. I was seven when first I stepped into the water and all I knew of saving then was a response imparted and learned. What are you saved from? Sin. Blood covers sin, washes crimson all white. Today I am saved again: from myself and its destructive tendencies. Walking, looking, laying, writing: these are the way of my saving, in doing them I step in and the water engulfs me. I am baptized again.
Into the water and up.

It is quite the term, these forms of “save”. I generally despise it for their lack of transcendence and definability. But the essence is definable, simply not quite so teachable. Much of religion is like this, doctrine for certain. We hold sets of beliefs and qualifiable theories that we deem true – so we teach them, teach the “truth”. We give it away, impart it, but truth cannot be imparted by human means; it falls like mist, coats one with a reality pervasive, and lights it til it drips.

Beneath the tree I stared droplets in the face til they splashed my own. It’s an ironic turn and I don’t know quite how to speak of it. You stare up, knowing the plethora waiting to be felled. And gravity fells them, one by one in no particular rhythm or fashion. They fall, hurled by the world, and you focus on the falling form. But this is where the defiance comes. Efforts hone in on moisture not quite suspended for the split second of its travel, but as your eyes focus, the world lights and you, for that instant, become to every element completely aware. Like the flash of a camera the drop lights the world for a moment, storing in the mind a picture that can only be seen in retrospect. Beneath the tree I snapped a few shots; my mind is still trying to develop them. Only one part is currently distinguishable: a world alight.

Today I stepped into my baptism, tread for hours through a world all wet, obeyed the voice from which all things beget. And from hours of vision, this one truth comes received: The world drips coated in Holy; I drip, remade and saved wholly.

Flickr!

2008-11-04T20:29:00.004-06:00

1. I finally have a flickr (or have had it for a few weeks now).
2. I just uploaded photos from today's adventure at the arboretum.

Check it.

Message to a Lord

2008-10-22T21:06:00.002-06:00

I feel as though so many mini-conversations have been going on the last few days – though mostly in the reverie of my subconscious. Which is normally my favorite place, but one of evasive vapors: a place where nothing can be grasped, held, remembered. So I feel I must write.
Sometimes it feels silly – this putting bits of naivety to paper – especially when you do not forget a thing. No, the act is all for me, really, to bolster my memory and point a finger at my pride. Even so, there is not enough time in eternity to write it all (experience inputs faster than it can be put out), so I still need your … reminders.
I wanted to say gentle reminders (a phrase ingrained from years in the church), though I know they come not always in such form and I rather prefer the alternate option. For gentleness speaks more of my state than yours – its message not a positive one. It speaks of an awareness numbed, a being who could not stand to look at the face of creation as it descended from the Mountain of God. It speaks the request to veil the world, or spoke it once – the shame! So now it is, seems always to be, a world seen through glass tear-stained.

And once again, this entry becomes nothing what it was intended to be – the mini-conversations still remain vapors – but you have revealed something of my lack and lit the flaming bush once more. I will return to the mountain to wipe your tears from the glass as you wipe mine from my eyes.

Water

2008-10-16T22:27:00.002-06:00

So, I just finished a first draft of a new essay that I have been working on off and on over the last couple months. I'm freaking excited about it and think it may be my first shot at something publishable. That being said, it's a first draft and I am at the stage of needing literary feedback. Anyone in?

Writer Ramblings

2008-10-07T10:21:00.002-06:00

I don't know how the brilliants do it! How they write such amazing prose day after day and hold it in. Or maybe they don't hold it in. Maybe they too have to run upstairs.

About an hour ago I sat in bed with my laptop to read over the bits I had written yesterday. I finally have a handle on what I'm trying to do with this essay and more of its key points and images reveal themselves each day I work, but the crux, the very way of saying what the whole tie of the essay is, I have been utterly puzzled about. So I read a line that came to me yesterday in the car on the way home from hours and hours of writing. That's usually how it goes. The moments of greatest brilliance come from real life, being awake to the every-day. (Remember that, Erin.) So I read the line over and began to expand on it and suddenly, the crux began pouring forth like a perfectly mediocre-sized waterfall. Not to say that the writing is mediocre, I hope, but that it poured forth not with the power and force of Niagra, or even one of the huge waterfalls at Yosemite that I stood before, jaw-dropped and silenced, as a child. Rather, it was one of those waterfalls you come across on a hike - unexpected. The kind that exist merely due to a minor, but abrupt change in altitude. The kind that empty into a swimming hole, creating the perfect ending to an exhausting, but exhilarating and completely unexpected journey.

That is the kind of waterfall that poured forth into mind and through fingers to the page. And upon its "completion" I had to share it. Truly. So I ran upstairs and interrupted my gracious roommate's work. She knew enough small bits and pieces of what I have been working on, though there were so many more ties I have written in since, that I knew wouldn't resound, that made it even more lovely when she loved it and nodded the approval that it is indeed the perfect way to tie it all together. Thanks Amy, for letting me interrupt you. I would have burst otherwise ... I still might.

Welcome to Brilliance

2008-09-30T15:16:00.003-06:00

"Do we need blind men stumbling about, and little flamefaced children, to remind us what God can - and will - do? ...
Yes, in fact, we do. We do need reminding, not of what God can do, but of what he cannot do, or will not, which is to catch time in its free fall and stick a nickel's worth of sense into our days. And we need reminding of what time can do, must only do; churn out enormity at random and beat it, with God's blessing, into our heads: that we are created, created, sojourners in a land we did not make, a land with no meaning of itself and no meaning we can make for it alone. Who are we to demand explanations of God? (And what monsters of perfection should we be if we did not?) We forget ourselves, picnicking: we forget where we are. There is no such thing as a freak accident. 'God is at home,' says Meister Eckhart, 'We are in the far country.'
We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all. We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if we ever wake, to the silence of God. And then, when we wake to the deep shores of light uncreated, then when the dazzling dark breaks over the far slopes of time, then it's time to toss things, like our reason, and our will; then it's time to break our necks for home."

~Annie Dillard - Holy the Firm~

Brilliance, I tell you.

Barista to the Rescue

2008-09-16T14:21:00.004-06:00

What happens when your sister wants a picture of your lovely current appearance and you really want her to see the shoes as well? Or, what do you do when you cannot get your key to turn in the ignition of your car?

I suppose you begin looking around for some help. Should you run over to the grocery store and get one of the baggers to help? Apparently not. Or perhaps the nail technician that just gave you your manicure? Of course not. But the lovely lady who made your delicious caffeinated (or de-caffeinated) beverage appears the perfect prospect. Really? I mean, I am perfectly happy to help you, but would you ask your doctor to take a quick picture of you so your sister can see your cute outfit, then ask for multiple retries until you are quite content with your photographic appearance? Never, and you give him upwards of $15 for a visit, not to mention what your insurance supplements. Or would you ask your tax guy to help you get your key to turn in the ignition? Probably not. But the local barista, the one who helps you stay awake so you can live your American dream - the one to whom you give the pennies that you'd rather not carry - she should be the photographic and automotive genius to come to your rescue.

Sure, it makes sense.

The Color of Need

2008-09-08T16:03:00.001-06:00

The day is gray: the color of my tears as I gaze upon the brokenness of the world. (By “world”, of course, I mean the 50 yards of tree-lined street visible from my upstairs nook in a most literal coffee house.)

For years I have said that “brokenness is beautiful” – the call to myself and to fellow travelers that the Lord’s gaze is enraptured with our seeming fumbles, but brokenness is not all fumbles. In fact, the beauty seen from this window today pulses simply with need. Our need is our brokenness and our need is apparent – at least today, from this window seat. Perhaps it’s the gray.

A man hobbles across the street; the plastic bag that hangs on the wrist of his pocketed hand bobs along with the limp of his left leg. Full beard and overalls, he looks to be Kris Kringle in his younger years - before redemption.

Three women emerge from behind the shadow of the Sheriff’s car headed to the corner brewery. One shrouded, one skirted, and one in a khurta – they are a curious bunch, drawn together by the commonality of humanity, the commonality that allows all walks of life the joy of a sharing a beer.

People ride bikes here, or carry injured tires of the bikes they prefer to ride. I want to be one of them – the riding sort, that is. Whether a lifestyle necessity or decision of conviction, people here ride and walk more than they drive for this is their world and they prefer to take it in.

There are the driving sort as well – the passers through – for whom this segment of street be one tick on the second-hand of the clock, a portion of asphalt just like all the rest. I don't want to be one of them, but fear that I am.

Almost every pair of people that walk these sidewalks seem a curious pair; I like that about this place. Dividing lines have been tread clear into mere memory, not in this city as a whole, but at least in this segment.

People here stop to take pictures. Car pulled to the side of the road applies emergency flashers more to avoid a parking ticket than to apologize for slowing the passers by. There is a beauty here to be captured, after-all. Perhaps the flashing lights and necessitated slow might make one of them take notice.

A man on his bicycle just passed again: cowboy hat and scraggly beard – the entire bicycle framed by all his belongings balanced with ingenuity. He pedals and pedals hard up the street, loaded with a weight (weighted with a load) far less than most of us are brave enough to attempt. Now, he coasts. It feels like I’ve been pedaling uphill a long while. I like to think there’s something up there to be attained, but perhaps the only thing waiting at the top is the pleasure of the coast down. He seems to think it a worthy enough reward.

Birds on the telephone line look fitting against the gray – perhaps more so than against any other state of sky. They seem more content to stay and wait on these days; I could stand to learn this bit of being from them. Gray tends to make me anxious. It flashes with signs that something is coming – or at least that something should be coming, but often nothing comes. The gray comes, stays for a while and then retreats leaving a new weather system in its wake – a new reality to be adjusted to.

But I started with talk of brokenness, of need, and to this let us return. You see, this place isn’t so much broken as it is left wanting. Jesus and His entourage are heading down the street. Cars are being re-routed to avoid the commotion, the inconvenience of these journeymen. But on this street people pour from the brewery, the bakery, and the coffee house – abandoning bikes, brews and nooks to climb trees for a glimpse at the Man. It is these He’ll dine with tonight, for it is these that let Him gaze upon their need.

2008-08-18T13:50:00.002-06:00

So I'm at a new place, which may in fact become my new location to frequent and for that reason, I'm not telling you where I am. It's not that I don't like you, but it's so hard to find places where I don't run into people and can remain focused on the task at hand. (Not that I'm being so diligent right now.)

My mind has been wandering away from me lately - far more entertained by chasing after all the could be's and would be's of life. These days I wonder often about music. Rosie Thomas has a song called "These Friends of Mine" that ends with this telling line, "Maybe I needed this time to be reminded for myself how I love to sing." This lyric comes to mind frequently when I find myself letting loose in the car or at church in worship. There is music in me that honestly wants to come out, but I haven't had the time yet to commit to its pursuit. And I wonder if I ever will.

Writing - we all know this is what I am pursuing these days, but the task encapsulates dissension within itself. How so many authors have managed to write masterpieces in a number of genre's, I haven't a clue, but I think I must begin putting forth the effort to figure it out. Currently, I am attempting to find what my writing is within the realm of creative nonfiction. Poetry has found a bit of home there, so I suppose there's a bit of killing two birds with one stone. However, I have remained in the paths of illusivity in my current writing and I wonder about letting out the natural plain and bold way of my brain. Last night I was reminded of the initial piece of writing during which the ground first turned holy. I do not think much of it besides it being a mess of my mind. It's reflections on Scripture and my own mind's way through a particular passage and lesson. For this reason, I do not think much of it. I do not think it literary or timeless, but a conglomeration of contemplations. But the fact stands to be faced: biblical and theological contemplations of the great thinkers are among my favorite things to read. So this is the elephant in the room each time I sit down to write: am I being faithful to what is in me to write? I don't think the answer a no, but I'm not yet convinced it be entirely a yes, either.

So the distraction goes until I find it to be 3:13pm without a new word set down to the page. There's got to be a better way to wrestle through this stuff!

Bastard Attack

2008-07-29T22:55:00.002-06:00

For those of you who don't know, "bastard" is the name I like to use for satan ... especially when he messes with my friends. And as for the "attack", well, that's 'cause he's freaking messing with my friends!

There have been a few key conversations lately with wonderful and beautiful women who love Jesus very much with a similar thread running through each talk. The thread is the way they talk about God. The person I hear them speak of sounds evasive, untrustworthy and rather like some sadistic joker - but this all comes based on feelings.

One thing I'm not very good with is feelings. I'm the girl who dreads the question, "how does that make you feel?" More times than not, I have been informed that my answers to "feeling questions" are not actually feelings. Apparently my emotional IQ is a bit low, though I think it's been improving. All that to say that I am not anti-feelings and in fact work very hard toward locating them in my own self and life. However, feelings are not truth and on this I will stand firm.

I was thinking today about first impressions and how they are most often wrong. Almost everyone seems to have some story of some dear friend who they didn't like at first and visa versa. It happens all the time - because our feelings about people sometimes deceive us. Now, apply this to God. Sometimes he is hidden and silent and seems to be acting out in constant spite of us and our heart, but that is all feeling - perspective. The truth is what lies in the pages of Scripture and it is this we must trust, cling to and fashion our picture of Him after. Scripture says that he is "tender and compassionate; slow to anger and rich in faithful love; maintaining his faithful love to thousands; forgiving fault, crime and sin, yet letting nothing go unchecked." It says he is a good Father - the best, in fact. It says he is faithful. And yes, if you read the personal accounts, it says he is sometimes hidden and silent, but always present.

So, I suppose the word here is this:

To my dear and precious sisters in the Lord,

Do not give up the fight. Wrestle, even if you're not sure what it is you're wrestling with or for just yet. But beware giving feelings the place of truth - they have never earned that and never will. Capture every thought/feeling about who God is and who you are, making them submissive to Christ and the Word of God. And do the same measuring of the actions you attribute to the Lord. Capture the accusations you have laid against him in your heart and make them submissive. And if you need help fighting, I'd be honored to fight with you.

2008-07-21T16:26:00.002-06:00

You may not know this about me, but I am not very patient. A favorite personal quote of years plays on an adage: "Patience is a virtue ... that I don't have." And it's true.

Today I began reading Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle at the recommendation of another writer friend. In the first chapter she makes the statement: "The artist is a servant who is willing to be a birth-giver." I think I know the truth of this statement. It is the reason I am still a bit shocked each time I set back down to the task and the reason most days I want to swear off ever sitting down to it again. It is an impossible task - this birth-giving - short of a miracle. But isn't that what birth is after all - a miracle?

I have a confession: I turned to this blog in a moment of virtual defeat. In the middle of a second try at an essay, I know it will most likely take at least another 5 complete re-formats and that I have to give a full run at each damn one. I can't seem to pick the bread for the sandwich, but I think it needs to be a sandwich. (I suppose that is a small victory in itself.) I have 3 different jumping-off points - stories that run a course - a course that currently has a ton of gaps. I'm talking a ton! I haven't actually let myself think through yet how very many gaps there are to face - such a mental trail would certainly stop me cold.

The terrifying thing of it all is that this is only the first trimester. Stomach has felt sick all day; if only I could just hurl and be done with it. But that is not how these things work. The sickness will eventually wear off and other ailments and side-effects will surface. There will be the stage of frequent bathroom-breaks, of back-aches, of swollen feet - stages of which many will overlap. And eventually, I'll push out a mother of a first draft - I hope.

One more bit about this servanthood to birthing - the conception most often comes by the immaculate way. Madeleine likens the artist to the situation of Mary at the news of Gabriel. She could have said no, but instead "may it be to me as you have said." And so the artist too has a choice - the choice of obedience to the call, to the creation they were made to be and the creating they were made to do - and yes, the cost will be great.

Each time this sudden seizing of fear comes upon me I have an option. Each time, I know which I will end up choosing, though I know not how long I will first wrestle or lie paralyzed before submitting. Now that I have got it all out, I think this time it will only last til tomorrow. Let's hope...

dictionary.com

2008-07-20T17:26:00.004-06:00

Writing always has plenty of moments of frustration - times when it seems the stars have aligned themselves in complete opposition to you and that which you are trying to achieve with a certain piece of work. However, there are other times - rare and that much more glorious for the fact - when the walls of time are ripped down to affirm the flippant effort of ones' creative mind. I just had one such moment.

It happens sometimes that I "make-up" a word while I write. Most times it proves to not be an actual word in which the decision then comes whether to strike it and place something more normal in its stead or to leave it be and hope readers think it a stroke of genius. Then, there are the few times when the dictionary.com gods smile down their approval on my ballsy, though slightly idiotic, efforts. This time was the latter.

The word: motility. (Sounds legit enough, right? Yeah, they all do.)

The context: "For some reason, in the short span of this walk I have developed for the dead such an affection that I now desire to strip from living things their ownership of action. Birds are one of the living sort that always seem enjoyable to watch for their movements are often unpredictable and in the times when this is not the case, they are still wondrous. But how much better this game of seeing becomes when motility is stripped."

The definition: Biology. moving or capable of moving spontaneously: motile cells; motile spores.

...or motile birds. (No one said it had to be biology.)

And the dictionary.com gods smiled down. :-)

Sometimes

2008-07-03T11:37:00.004-06:00

"Sometimes you just need to get drenched in the rain ... and I need it tonight" - my simple explanation as I burst through the door and into the downpour.

Sometimes you need to let the cleansing water seep over every inch - not just symbolically.

Sometimes you need to trudge and splash your way through streams that form at the road's edge.

Sometimes you need to be the little girl pausing at every flash of lightening because she truly believes it's God wanting to take her picture.

And tonight, I so needed this sometime.

Hello again

2008-06-24T13:04:00.002-06:00

Hey friends,

I know I'm always back and forth on this stuff, but I'm headed back into the not posting stuff I am writing phase ... in case you hadn't already guessed that. It's not that I don't want people reading; I totally want people reading. I just don't want to post...and most the time what I am writing ends up being a bit too long for blog. So, that being said, let me know if you you want me to send you stuff here and there as I get bits "completed" (aka readable). I highly value readership and feedback, so just let me know if you want to be in on that.

Thanks friends! Much love,
Erin

You're right Amy, this is fun!

2008-06-05T19:03:00.003-06:00

The Game:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker.

The Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your Flickr name.
My Answers:
1. Erin
2. Chips and Salsa
3. Fremont Christian
4. Red
5. Tony Hale (aka Buster!)
6. Agua
7. New Zealand
8. Ice Cream
9. Writer
10. Subtlety
11. Mystery
12. emerita (don't have a flicker so I just picked a nickname)

1. Inspired by Blair Waldorf from Gossip Girl, 2. THE CORNER'S SECRET, 3. Foux Hawk, 4. The Photographer, 5. Arrested Development - Buster - A grand romantic gesture., 6. It's raining light, Hallelujah!, 7. One of each, 8. Sister and Brother, 9. Finding Neverland: The Fantasy Within, 10. | lace |, 11. the glowing debutante, 12. _ So già che per un momento sarà pieno inverno_

Holy Fear

2008-06-03T13:50:00.004-06:00

How does one fight inaptitude
Ineptitude
Insufficiency
How does one tarry in cowardice?

The light at the end of the tunnel is a sword. I am just beginning, but already can see that much. Twenty-five. Who takes on the Western Church at twenty-five?! No one in their right mind - no one in their own mind, really. Perhaps that is the thing of it. This must not be my mind forming thoughts, sentences, words; it must be His; I pray it be His.

A wise woman told me recently that the one thing in which we humans are most like our creator is in our intellect: the place where mind and heart intersect to know and be known. (At least, she is convinced intellect includes both mind and heart and something about that seems rather right to me, though foreign.)

The sword - I can see it, but I know not yet what its task will be. Will it cut me, declaring "Heresy!" or will it cut us, the Body - will it cut our damned western pride and remove our grotesque additions? I hope it's the latter, but am willing to risk the former. I am not naiive enough to think these words tame and perhaps not old enough to speak them, but they must be spoken.

Holy fear - I feel it, see it - it halts my fingers each time the mind again asks "are you sure you want to say that? and in that way?!" Sometimes it changes my course, others it urges me on, but in all moves I feel it deeply. I think it an important thing to feel.

Desert

2008-05-27T15:09:00.005-06:00

I saw the brokenness coming, yet it surprises me. The interplay of light and dark, of seasons converging, is perhaps the most uncomfortable existence of all when it finds life in the soul. Like a vase cracked throughout yet unbroken have I journeyed these last few months. If the glass be clear, the cracks be dark. But, if the glass be stained – colored by travelers, splattered by experience – then the cracks become light, especially if there be a light within. I am not sure which I yet prefer.

This thing, this way, this life I must concede to live is a blazing furnace. It has singed me already – once, twice, three times over, and certainly more – still I have stood ever on this ledge. If I jump it may consume me, or it may make me; perhaps both options are really one and the same. I’ll never know until I plunge.

It seems the insanity is not the heart itself, but rather the way to the heart. It is in the interplay of the two (mind and heart, that is) – the time before they find their balance, then find it again, again, and still again.

Foot is fidgeting. Eyes keep closing. The body is anxious – soul and spirit, too. It is not the end I fear, but the way, the road. I have been preparing a long time now, but today – this first of days – already has me wandering the desert. Desolate, dry, there be no drop of water for the tongue, no morsel to spare for a tear to satisfy this agony, this fear.

Making way, my back dirties, sandals kicking up sand with each harried step, heaping insult upon injury. Miles and miles and miles of rolling dunes of sand: such geography never was very appealing to me. Desolate. Dry. Dead. One can only wander through such a place, aimless and parched. This: the geography of heart. Through it I wander, traversing this dune and that, running from scorpion one moment, hoping the next that it might seize me and end this misery.

Then, in the moment of deepest despair comes the oasis. It may prove upon arrival to be only mirage, but for now it is my only hope, so toward it I tread.

Funny

2008-05-20T21:41:00.003-06:00

I saw two really funny things today:

1. In a house just across from Heartland on Lamar there was a mother walking with her approximately 4-year-old son who was proudly donning a princess hat (train and all) as he explored the new land of Front Yard.

2. I can't for the life of me remember what the second hilarity was. It's rather unfortunate. I'm going to be quite the loopy old bitty.

***
Edit: I was reminded today of #2. Jiggle Jam. Really? Are you allowed to put that on signs all over the city? Is that really a proper name for a family-friendly event? Should we be teaching our children to "jiggle" at such an early age? Lord knows what I would have become had I learned the shimmy earlier than I did. Just some thoughts.

Oh, and I'm still totally going to be a loopy old bitty. 3 days to figure this one out. Seriously!

Surpreso!

2008-05-08T07:49:00.004-06:00

That's "surprise" for you gringos.

Last night we had our final youth group for the semester and we had it at the park to play some games, run around and such - just enjoy ourselves, or so I thought. Turns out, it was a surprise going away party for me. (I don't know if such things should be allowed...you've got to give a girl some emotional prep for these things!) Turns out, it was one of the coolest things ever and an amazing way to send me out knowing well and firmly the good from my last two years and not dwelling as much on the failures and misses.

The guys I work with left it open for people to bring notes and cards and such, one of which I thought I'd share because it's perfection. From one of my sophomore girls who freaking rocks my face off (and whom I introduced to the music of Sufjan Stevens):

I can see a lot of life in you...
Much love,
Val Jo

See, perfection. Let the tears roll!

Raw (first draft of today's thoughts)

2008-05-05T15:14:00.003-06:00

Tonight I sat with two dear friends, fighting back an onslaught of emotion. It was nothing instigated by the conversation or people themselves, simply a matter of timing. Emotions for me come suddenly and give me only one shot to entertain. However, they also come at the most inopportune times, so I generally do push them aside planning to deal with them later – when alone.
Now, I am alone. Now, I am begging the rush to return that I might feel it, let it feel me. But the emotion won’t come, so I struggle to recall the feelings fought back mere hours ago.
Fear – I am certain it was fear. He comes to me these days and I know only fear and trepidation.
These days. The question comes from most every person with whom I speak: “What are your plans?” or “What will you do when this job ends?” Truth is, I have no clue, but I take a stab at it for courtesy’s sake, though each time the response seems feebler than the last. A month of this has left me a frail, fragmentary skeleton – pieces discovered and put together to make a species fictive, pieces of many beings forged into one, not in fact a being ever to exist in reality. But here I am on display, the newest geological discovery. Pull one piece and it will all fall down. Pull a piece, won’t you please? I need it so: to fall down.

Solitude (via the Encarta World English Dictionary): “the state of being alone, separated from other people, whether considered as a welcome freedom from disturbance or as an unhappy loneliness” - to this, I am heading; from this, I am running. Is there any other option?
The wrestling, it seems, is imperative. The only way to wholeness is to muddle through broken pieces. So I sit with scattered fragments of myself, some labeled, others entirely unknown and all but unfound. Spring breaks through the frailty of winter - dormant green bursting forth with a life unseen. What is one to do in times like this? This one stares, into the world and past it, for this is the only way I know to see.
Eyes open. Some see well, even better, with eyes closed, dark of eyelids the perfect canvas of purest vision. I am no such one, closed eyes a state good for hearing only. But the seeing takes intensity – the brief focus on a thing that expands past time and into a spatial eternity.

My new favorite intro:

2008-04-29T20:59:00.002-06:00

Come near and I’ll tell you a tale of the unseen, unknown; a tale of the tethered, thought free to roam. But first, swear not to judge, only to look and to listen, for this is the only way to find what’s gone missing.

PS - You know you're a writer when ... you must stay up and write to make it through a few busy days.

Hope: On Being Pink

2008-04-21T18:41:00.009-06:00

For the first time in months I’ve come to sit near Hope. Wind blowing, its form ever-moving, enrapturing. My gaze mostly stuck, but for brief breaks when the discomfort becomes too great. It is hard to simply gaze upon the thing you have no power to grasp, but I came to sit none-the-less. This fact itself is ironic even to me: that I come near when I most fear the Hope itself, that I reach out when most ardently resigned not to touch. Perhaps because the thing speaks all I am afraid to hope for in its very being – its uniquely fashioned form and sway. So speak, Hope of mine, I'll listen for a while today, until it's no longer safe to stay.

At

2008-04-14T15:58:00.006-06:00

Winter has returned and with it my own confusion. Sun reminds soul of its reprieve, while wind screams of bitter-cold reality. One must fight for the life of the heart; this world never gives it easily. So I sit at my favorite coffee shop, transposed for a time:

Girl in the window, sad-faced and downtrodden: hers the only story I know; hers the only story I fear to tell. She stares at the fire hydrant on the other side of glass – “ATT” it reads. At. Where are you at, little girl? Steel head of red, base and arms of forest green: it’s not Christmas anymore, Easter is gone as well - Holy now departed from Day.

The story would be beautiful, were it told, the teller wounded and broken, not quite so bold. Where are you at, little girl, and when is your day? Where are you going? Have you yet found your way?

Lamp-post darkened, light absent from this path she treads. One foot in front the other, each finished that the other may begin - so it goes again and again. To the right, white caught in rays, teased in course by this: winter’s spring breeze. The dream held since the onset of puberty now shattered, piecemeal – each dandelion in its floating calls to a longing, urging an attempt at a grasp. But knowing not what to wish she sits peaceably by - outside delighted by the glow of the sun on this: spring’s snowflake, insides flailing: an attempt to attract yet another dream.

Take Heart

2008-04-07T14:51:00.003-06:00

Here's the next installment of bits:

It jumps off the page, haunting vibrations to the ear of heart. A phrase that grabs – two words – pawing for attention, a turn at the rub. And rub it does: this way and that, backward and forward, inside and out.

“Take heart.”

The skeptic within sounds: How does one take heart, exactly; Is there a field where one can pluck its growing form from the ground, rerooting in their own soul; What is one to do once it is taken; (and “take”, what a harsh way to put it, as if the taker be a thief); Worse yet, what if I don’t even want it - heart, that is?

But it jumps, haunts, ignoring all uncertainty; it engages in a staring contest of which I always lose. Always lose.

Don't know how this will continue on yet, but it will continue on.

Grandma's Neighborhood

2008-04-02T19:50:00.002-06:00

5 Toms 2 Barbaras
An Elmo and an Ellie
30% just last names
2 include dogs
10% with wife's name first
One with 2 female names (friends, by speculation, not lovers)
Each placard tells a story, some more some less
One leaves more questions than answers - the mystery of these streets:
Three words once hung, now stripped and whited out. On top, one scraggly attempt at a label: "Doug". Perhaps this one tells a story bigger than the rest, perhaps the shortest of all, but either way I'll never know - just a visitor on a walk.

Dusk

2008-03-23T16:58:00.006-06:00

The writing continues. Here's a few sentences to chew on:

Sunset signals its coming - this, my favorite time of day. Brilliant colors light up the moment, but what follows will mesmerize. There are about fifteen minutes each evening, which invite into an alternate plane of existence, if I’ll only pause to give the time. (After all, we do give our time, not take it.) But in these moments, if time be given, time takes me, and I’m caught up in a seeming haze where everything, though fuzzy-fringed, becomes definitively clear.

Blessed Easter, friends!

For the Skeptic (i.e. my own soul)

2008-03-17T16:57:00.004-06:00

I want to write. Nay, as a lovely friend put it so boldly, "You will write". I will write...but what?

Intent. Purpose. Voice.
These are the labyrinthian lands of my days and of my nights. With millions of thoughts and directions for pieces that could be written, I know not which should receive my time and attention - and in what voice? Do I say them or do I send them through another as Khalil Gibran did with "The Prophet"? Do I say them straight out, in a more methodical way of ordered reason - the sane eyes of a logical theologian? Or, do I tell stories and speak in evasive tones, letting the page reek of metaphor? Yes, I will write, but who is the I that will be known by the reader for the I that I know seems to have much disparity and fission all wrapped within itself.

Read. Discipline. Time.
Never before have I known such heady demands on my time. How can one ever master the perpetual tick, that is the very essence of all matter in the revolving world? To steal structure from an old saying: To be bound to time is human; to transcend, Divine. Christ in me; it is the only hope for such meaningful success.

Speaking of.. Success. Failure. And the fear of utter... Mediocrity.
What if I am not good enough? What if people don't want to read what I write? What if publishers don't want to print what I write? What if I give in words all I am and no one picks it up? Or what if I don't give all I am, refusing the bold honesty for which I was handed this mission in the first place? That would be the starkest of failures.

With all these and many more questions and worries that seem to circle my heart like vultures over the wounds of the attacked, words came today to heal and revive. From Gregory Wolfe's essay "The Wound of Beauty":

"Art fails when it merely tells us what we already know in the ways that we already know it. That is why art is so deeply related to the prophetic dimension and the place where it connects to truth. That prophetic shock, that challenge to complacency, that revelatory reconfiguration of the way things are gives us a truer picture of the way that the world is. Truth without beauty is fleshless abstraction, a set of propositions. Only beauty can incarnate truth in concrete, believable, human flesh."

This, my friends (and my own skeptic of a soul), is why I choose the path of creative writing. Not because I am best at it. Indeed, I am certain my current strength is on the side of order and logic, but I forge into these waters in search of training. It seems Glory Himself goes ahead of me, as the deeper I go, the more I discover a world that resonates most deeply with the I that He has made me to be and the very gospel of Christ in which I breathe.

And so, I leave you with one more - the kicker, as it were:
"That is the magic of art. It may spread a huge canvas, it may be bold and baroque, but its essence is to remind us of the everyday and to translate it into a sacrament."

I get to write life and the beautiful luminosity of its humanity into the sacrament this eyes and heart make of it. I could dream of nothing greater.

Song For A Malady

2008-03-10T11:20:00.003-06:00

I cough and things come from whence
I knew not of things to come.

I speak.
A voice once pleasant
Skipped past sexy rasp
To the likes of a smoking
Frog

That's right...
Frog.

I rise
And make it to the bathroom and back
Ready to sleep another 2
hours.

My head
While not pounding
Is propped
Held
Neck too tired
to hold its weight.

(It is heavy
because I am smart)

This song
or poem
or whatever it be called
is pathetic
because I am pathetic
when I am sick.

But I'm totally taking a sick day tomorrow!
Who can refuse when a frog says they need a sick day.
But to make it all worse ...
it's currently my day off, and it's beautiful outside, and I want to go for a walk
But I don't want to fall
So I'll stay here
In my bed.

Cheers friends.

A few things...

2008-03-04T23:10:00.002-06:00

1 + 2 = 3

1 - I have started writing again.
2 - I am trying not to let blogger get too neglected.
3 - I will begin posting favorite sentences.

See, 1 + 2 = 3.

Oh, and here's the first installation of 3:
"It is winter, and the world is rusted over, my eyes drawn to the pale brokenness of tree-lined streets as they mirror back. My soul is rusted over, frozen in time, paralyzed and bleeding, broken and hanging by the bark - reflected back in shades of brown and beige, at once ancient and strangely transcendent."

Cheers.

Faithful Love

2008-02-26T22:59:00.000-06:00

“Better your faithful love than life itself.”
Psalm 63:3

Bring the road up under me. You must bring the road up under me! - this has been my prayer, my deepest plea of recent days. Indeed, it has been my very breath. Inhaling his Spirit, exhaling mine. And it comes.

There is always a twist and a turn and generally an utter upheaval, but up it comes at the last possible moment. Oh, perfect rescue!

It is a beautiful thing – this being saved. The glory of eternity is certainly not overstated, but the wonder of the present most certainly is. Saving grace is the hand of my God - ever working, ever hidden from my sight. I fight and relinquish – clutch and release. I live and fight to be; I die, no longer me, but he. This being saved – it is not from adversaries I used to bemoan, but instead he frees me from my very own.

And it comes. The road comes up to meet trusting, though trembling, foot. Again and again, I cry and it comes. Time after time, I die and he runs. Oh Faithful Love, my life itself. Dreams and visions of a lofty place are replaced by a road turned up by Grace.

Show-Off

2008-02-16T01:11:00.002-06:00

It was one of those days when I couldn't help but remember what an extravagant show-off he is - today, I mean.

After a very late night of bookcase assembly, I awoke not all that early though not as late as hoped, but these things matter not when one has a day off to spend. The temperature was to hover around freezing, but the sun was shining making this wintry day feel like a spring tease - so I wore a skirt, with leggings of course, but a skirt none-the-less. And my mustard yellow coat with the big buttons and boots with big buttons - I take delight in such simplicities.

It was time to meet a friend at a French cafe whose name I can never remember the spelling of; this was in fact my first visit. Such a quaint little place, quite classy. You know how friends seem to form through a number of encounters? Well, this is one of those friends whom I tend to qualify when referring to him by the term. We are two of a kind, really, so it only makes sense that we should be true friends; still, we took our sweet time on the journey and today, it felt a bit like the closer solidifying the need for no more qualifications. There is something precious about those people who speak your language. We sat, speaking in a code that has become as much a part of us in recent months as are the sayings of your parents that emerge years later whether desired or not. There is a comfort in understanding - something of gift and home.

I think I walked taller today. Surer.

It was off to the next coffee rendezvous. The day soaked me in as I fought the urge to roll down the windows. We caught up and discussed our ponderings of the last couple months. We spoke fondly of our communities - of the lives we are graced to lead. Beauty. All beauty.

And so it continued - many people, many smiles, and the utter delight of a Father who decided today the opportune time to really show-off. The pieces are not in place. Indeed I have not even the shape of many, but today the waiting was glorious.

Battle

2008-02-12T23:31:00.003-06:00

I have been thinking lately on nature - our nature - that is, the nature of a disciple of Christ. Truly, the enormity of my thoughts on the subject could fill an entire book already (and perhaps that will come at some point, though it's all in a book already - namely, the Bible). All that to say, this will be short and not-so-sweet.

As disciples of Christ, we are in a battle - a battle of natures. Jesus spoke often of this battle, frequently in the language of "the kingdom". Paul also speaks to this reality; in fact, it is virtually all he writes about, but his language is "flesh" and "spirit". "The old has gone, the new has come" Paul exhorts and reminds the Church over and over again.

Battle. I find nothing wrong with the reality of battle, though I will take issue with our interpretation and use of it in recent times (and likely past times, as well). If we are completely honest, we battle our flesh nature all the time, but that in and of itself is the problem. There is no valor in a game of fisty-cups. You punch, I punch. I punch, it punches. Pound for pound, we come out equally tenderized. For long it has been believed that we knew not our opponent, but these days it seems the reverse is true and we know not who is on our side.

We fight for ourselves and in the end it turns out to be flesh nature vs flesh nature when within is us the power of a one, two punch to a TKO. But we know nothing of power and allow it no room. We fight not for victory, but fight because we are told there should be a fight.

This has all surfaced for me lately in the realm of little things. It is the daily chores and creeping self-righteousness. Simply, it is attitude. All sounds easy enough, but I think many are like me so let us explore a moment. The ugliness in me rises in the frustrations of the day to day grind and I take each one. It is always some basic thing, but my blood begins to boil and I take the hit. So I fight back, with some excuse for my action or lack there of - it's a right hook back. And so it goes each time, for I fight the instance, the frustration. I fight my flesh, by my flesh. No one wins such battles.

But what if the battle were that of attitude, of rights, of heart? What if the one who fought were the spirit of Christ alive in me - the new creation which Scripture says I currently am? This could easily be the case and surely it must be that the battle is in fact, that of pride and the will to submit.

So much for short thoughts. I will end with a benediction:
May we fight the right opponent and allow the life of Christ to expand in us as we submit.

2008-02-08T23:47:00.000-06:00

The Questions We Ask

You are no different than I
And I no different then he
This inquisitive nature
The thing of humanity.

Who am I
And what of that?
My life seems to be
A feeble swing of the bat.

Do I matter
Or even make a difference?
Have I got what it takes
To go the distance?

Calendar pages fan
The blaze of fury
This world always in
Such a tired hurry.

But what is it for
What is all of this about?
And is it true that I
Am the only one to doubt?

If this is all there is
I’d rather not stick around.
But will the day come again
When I stand on holy ground?

Ash Wednesday

2008-02-06T23:00:00.003-06:00

Wilderness. Forbidden. Foreboding. This, the geography of the Lenten season.

Jesus. Tested. Tried. This, the foundation of our Lenten sacrifice.

Jesus. Lord. Desire. This, the way His victorious submission becomes our own.

I sit now in my first Ash Wednesday service. Prayers of a people are a sung melodic heartbeat. The heart of the Father: Scripture read from the mouth of one I highly respect and admire. There is room here - space. It is a shrine in time, apart from time. Hush. Listen. The voice of God speaks.

Conviction. Confession. Mercy. Love. A people sing "Lord, have mercy", so aware of our sin - of one and of all.

Our human condition is our wilderness. Our submission, the spring rain which brings the life of victory.

I sit now, ashen cross on my forehead - I and many others. A substance once live, now dead imposed in a symbol once of death, now of life. It cries and I fight the urge to rub it off.

"By the cross, you belong to Jesus", they declare, finger forming intersecting lines. But the symbol and the ashes, they too cry, though they say it a little different.

"Life in death", the cadence cuts, pierces, beckons. This season I confess the wilderness and turn to ashes that I, and this world, might truly live.

"I am the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin. I love righteousness and justice; I have filled the earth with my unfailing love. By my word were the heavens made, their starry host by the breath of My mouth. I gather the waters of the sea into jars; I put the deep into storehouses. Let all the earth fear me; let all the people of the earth revere me. For I spoke and it came to be; I commanded and it stood firm."
(Exodus 34 and Psalm 33 excerpts)

For my part (first bits...not sure yet what it will turn into)

2008-01-23T23:22:00.001-06:00

For my part…

What should follow completely escapes me at the humble age of twenty-four. Many days I have much to say – too much, rather; today is no such day. Today is about mystery, silence, vacancy – and finally, movement. This day I must not speak what I know, for what do I know?
So many days leading up to this have been spent in search of Know, of Answer, of Hard-and-Fast - hands swiping through the air, grasping at visions of light as after a camera’s startling flash. But visions of light are not light itself and all I caught was my own Tower of Babel.
Step after step I built all the right responses. Teachers were pleased, parents made proud. Higher and higher this tower grew, fueled by each smile and nod.

Elevation pleased me once, as the view from above infuses one with a sense of hugeness. Oh vanity of vanities! I reveled in the view, until one day - or perhaps it were a collection of days. From this height one can see all measure of things, yet nothing in particular. The world turns in motionless lines and shapes, myself motionless with it. And so, distance births delusions of grandeur, but the eye strains to see. These were the days I stood atop my tower, Queen of Know.
Know what?
Know how?
No. Know lines. Know shapes. Know distance and space. These were the days I stood white knuckled around visions of light til I opened this hand at last, only to find there be no Hard-and-Fast, only visions to light the lightning bug’s ass.
Suddenly this tower looked more appealing as a launch pad for perilous descent. The higher you go, the grander you get, but God, it’s hard to breathe up there! Lines no longer enthralled, shapes turned a bore, and damn-it-all, I was about to pass out for lack of air. So I jumped, assuming the position – laid out and resigned: there is no Hard-and-Fast, no Answers, no Know, but I’d like to give this another go.
I’ll shut my mouth this time and keep an open mind. If you’ll just form me from the dirt once more and breathe the breath of life. I’ll leave alone that tower of mine, stay where the breath keeps this heart beating in time. And you – you can reign the Land of Know, and for my part, when you speak, I’ll go.

West meets East

2008-01-20T23:09:00.000-06:00

This afternoon I read an essay by Patricia Hampl called A Week in the Word. It reflects on her experience on retreat at a monastery, highlighting the Divine Offices of prayer and contrasting with the practice of Buddhist monks. The following is one of my favorite nuggets:

"The West murmurs, trying to locate itself; the East breathes, trying to lose itself."

How true this is. I tend to despise the Western way, striving for that which is other, but Ms Hampl takes her reader down the way of balance, highlighting the positive elements discovered in each.

Tonight I led discussion/spoke on being a new creation in Jesus. We dove into the Word to discover that there is no Scripture to back up our pitiful belief that it is just too hard to be like Jesus and thus we never will be able to. Instead, we looked at 3 passages (just a few out of many more) that instead say the exact opposite. They speak of the power of the Spirit alive in us to trump the nature of the flesh. They speak of a transformation that has already occurred. Past tense is the name of the game regarding our sinful nature in such Scriptures and they leave us with no excuse.

How dangerous it becomes when we develop our own ideas on following Jesus without measuring them against the Word itself. But how could we measure it against something that we spend no time in? Perhaps we need a week in the Word - to root us once again - to create space for our Western pattern of striving to be infused with the Eastern way of losing. Or perhaps, we need first learn to breathe.

The Perpetual Conversation

2008-01-16T01:37:00.001-06:00

I am reluctant to post this, but here it is none-the-less:

Ah, relationships - they are the thorn in the flesh of my community.

Tonight, 5 guys and 4 girls sat around discussing the complexity of "dating" in our community of young adults. I could go into detail, rehashing the conversation and continuing it further in my head, but instead, I shall try to simplify what seem to be underlying factors.

*Fear - We are all dominated by fear when it comes to relationships, but we all show it differently. The only chance we've got to succeed in getting out there and actually giving things a shot is to 1)believe we actually have something to offer and 2) stop trying to prove that we have something to offer. Sounds paradoxical...kind of is...but think on it.

*Awkward - Yup, it's awkward. Deal with it and do your best. We're all fumbling through. On that note, give lots of grace - to others as well as yourself.

*Communication - because there are so many differing expectations and ideas of what "dating" "should" or "should not" be, we're going to have to get over the fear and awkwardness and err on the side of communication.

*Pray and invite wise counsel - Perhaps these seem obvious, but there is discernment to be had. Entrust your heart to the Lord, seek Him as the source of all confidence and truly "every good thing", for He is constantly at work and He always knows better than we, what it is we truly need. Make all desires submissive to Him.

And now, a challenge to each gender:
Girls - If a guy asks you out and he's a good guy, give it a shot. Don't play games, but accept the flattering reality that someone thinks you're cool enough to spend some one-on-one time with and leave it at that until he makes it clear that his intentions are more. These things take time to figure out.

Guys - Men, rather. Be men. Seek out women who can and will challenge and build you up. Yes, most of us want a man who we can trust to lead, but Lord knows if you don't pursue a woman who will both encourage you and kick your butt, you will not became the man you are intended to be. (In other words, beware the lure of the rescue; the cost is far too great.)

That is it for now. Boldness and grace be yours.

Pissed

2008-01-14T11:03:00.001-06:00

Today, I sat in our high school Sunday School class, as I do most Sundays. Today, in the course of the half hour I was in there, I became not just sufficiently, but utterly and completely pissed off.

Learning to shut my mouth and see hearts behind form and function of the church has been a lesson invaluable, but I don't think I can shut my mouth much longer. I don't fit here. I never did, but found ways to compromise - to give and take. Perhaps this is one of the places this hounding "bold" word must be lived out.

The fact is, much of it comes down to language. It's not a struggle of right and wrong as the heartbeat is the same, but the words are so very different. Still, I love words and believe diction to be imperative to the reactions we get. The world is changing - its culture, its words. Even more, we are comfortable with our language of the church, too comfortable, so comfortable that we no longer think about them. Meanings are lost, connotations no more than a numbing sensation. We ask good questions, but never answer them. We quote inspired Scripture, but can't put it into different words - meanings evaded.

So how do we find what we've lost? How do we find it for ourselves and for the changing culture around us? Life has meaning. Jesus is meaning. Do we believe it? Do we live it? Do we share it?

Or perhaps the questions are better posed: do we believe him? do we live him? do we share him?

Externally Focused. When we truly become externally focused, we will no longer have tolerance for the term itself.

Tidbits

2008-01-09T23:42:00.000-06:00

So, I'm already doing badly at keeping up on this, but I am finding it a difficult line between rambling on here with pointless and poorly-written tidbits and posting actual writings that I hope to one day fit into a larger publishable piece. That tension being stated, I will err on the former for this post.

New Beginnings: I think my new beginning has been in the mix prior to the new year, still I have a special affection for the reflection and refreshment that the holidays, consummated by the New Year, afford.
Due to said reflection, I am indeed feeling more refreshed and excited about enjoying the coming months of disciplined pursuit of many loves: the Word, music, my students, prayer, etc.
I recently bought The Divine Hours pocket edition by Phyllis Tickle - finally! My goal is to participate in 3 offices of prayer each day. It's been good thus far. It's always good to be in the Word and consequently, the heart of God.
Speaking of the Word ... I happen to read from the New Jerusalem Bible most often, which includes the Apocrypha. I decided to begin my midday prophetic reading with Baruch (since I have read Isaiah, Jeremiah and Lamentations fairly recently). Baruch is part of the Apocrypha, but dang, I'm 2 chapters in and it is beautiful! The heart of God that comes out is so true, pure, and powerful with its simplicity. Not to mention the incredible humility, repentance and resolve with which the people of God approach His throne. I must research the purpose that this book was decided to be part of the Apocrypha and not also the protestant cannon (there is a more official term that I don't recall at the moment).

I will leave this edition of Tidbits here for the evening. Enjoy...and read Baruch if you get the chance.

Homage to Home

2007-12-22T02:07:00.000-06:00

So, I've been "home" for a few days now...and it's nice. Nice. I already miss KC and my "family" there. Seriously...this time of life is so crazy. It's nice to get back here and be with family, see old friends (which I'll be doing more of in coming days) and such, but really...I'd be perfectly happy to be back home in KC.

Most of my time here is spent telling people about my life there. I talk about my friends and can't help but think, "damn, my friends are talented!" Seriously...the mix of wonderful people who are a part of my life in KC is so amazing. You all make my life the glory it is in many ways. How could I ever think of leaving?!

Other random tidbits:
-So..this is vacation right? And what would I want to do more on vacation than anything else: read, write, find a coffee shop and hole up, go on walks, etc. Then why haven't I gotten to do any of those?! I miss writing!
-Ice storms...people here think they are the scariest thing and expect me to be so happy to be here in the warmth of Cali. I want the ice back...and bare trees. They're beautiful.
-How do you update people on your life when it could be completely different in 3 months.
-No, I am not married...no, I am not dating. Yes, I will automatically laugh if you ask me those or any other related questions.
-My echinache (sure I spelled that wrong) tea is done...and I'm beat. Peace out.

Back to the Land of the Living.

2007-12-06T22:53:00.001-06:00

So, I'm thinking I'm going to start writing things here again. Not big things, as the stuff I'm currently writing is just too dang long for something like blogger...

BUT...

Pieces, shorts, quotes or simply bits of what I am writing that I feel like sharing.

We'll start with this...

These are the days when Autumn's glories turn to Winter's pockets.

Power

2007-11-28T15:03:00.001-06:00

There are those who believe in the beauty of word and those who believe in the power of word. The former molds with power and grace and the latter molded and by Power graced.

MIA

2007-11-12T10:00:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the neglect, friends. I have been engulfed in the land of essay-writing and am currently ignoring blogger, though I do check up on you all. Perhaps some snippets will return after the new year.

Ember

2007-09-10T15:12:00.000-06:00

I lost it! Moments before I sit down to inscribe it to memory it floats away. So I begin the search, scouring the page on which it last set. Then the area surrounding the page - the mass of gray duponi silk where I myself lay draped just moments earlier - where I carelessly shut my journal in a rush. And there I lost it. That must be when I lost it.

It came to me earlier today. Plastered against the white of my car as if nature itself magnetized it until the time of my return. A simple gray fuzz of a feather - not even a centimeter in size. How futile an attempt to find such a thing on a sea of gray duponi, but indeed I try. I lower my gaze level to the fabric, scanning intently across the mountainous surface, then resign defeated. Perhaps the floor - this wooden sheet that hasn’t been swept in weeks. I get down lower now, ardently after any possible speck of gray. “Not it. Not it. Gross, I really need to sweep,” I keep myself company. Then He smiled and I found it.

The humor of it is, it’s not even this feather that is the point of it all. It is but and ember of the flame of yesterdays - a message in a bottle, a remembrance of a few days past.

On the surface it was nothing grandiose. I paused from my book a moment for a sip of iced tea. Setting down my cup and glancing up for but a moment, I saw glory raining down. A simple feather - as one found on the softest part of a baby bird - escaped. It cut through the air in most graceful of manner - back and forth, back and forth - gliding. From sunlight to shade it rode its sweeping course, illumined as fire one instant, all but lost the next. Sunlight and shade. Sunlight and shade.

How many a feather must fall from the sky. Why so special, this one? Because I saw it, I suppose. Because in the normalcy of the day heaven touched down and said “Hi”. Because the brilliance of that feather sweeping into the sunlight burned into my mind’s eye and left a mark.

A mark deep enough for me to replay its decent multiple times the past three days. A mark deep enough to keep me still pondering the glory of it all. A mark deep enough to delight me with the remembrance left on my car. A mark deep enough to send me scrambling on hands and knees to find but and ember.

And so the ember sticks, super glued to the page on which I began to write. And the initial flame, well, it burns in my mind’s eye, perhaps now also in yours. And the mark, it keeps me looking, gazing up with greater frequency to see where else heaven might be touching down. May you be likewise marked.

Suspended in Air

2007-08-31T21:47:00.001-06:00

Only four or five inches in diameter, a perfectly cylindrical post stands erect about twenty feet in the air. Atop are suspended two slightly rectangular sheets of metal with a pattern of gloss and matte that looks like a hundred tiny fans layered in all directions. Each sheet finds itself fastened on opposing sides of the supporting post. They are always positioned exactly across from the other, though one is a couple feet closer to the sky. The entire top section of the post and sheets are fixed to each other in a way that allows freedom for the whole form to rotate to the left and right as the wind pleases to direct its movement. Still the sheets always remain directly across from one another - never closer, never further. But there is one more element to this structure that solidifies its glorious intrigue. While each sheet is fixed that any clockwise or counter-clockwise motion must be made together, they are given their own singular identity in their tilt. As the breeze dances to and fro and they together circle their support post, each takes and angle. Sometimes the wind is consistent and strong enough that they maintain the same angle toward the sky, but most often the breeze is on a course of twists and turns, causing each sheet to take a different position to the sun. Brightly now, one tilts to reflect a piercing light that sends the fans on its surface into a dance. It promptly returns parallel to the post and the other takes its turn at the glory. And so it goes, always the same each time I return.

And indeed I return frequently, if not to gaze at its intriguing mix of fixture and freedom, then to simply sit nearby. There is something about that sculpture that extrapolates truth hidden deep in my heart. There is something of beauty and desire in it for these eyes. I know not what was in the mind and heart of the one who first imagined and fashioned its form, but it is Hope to me.

As my gaze turns upward to watch the dance of wind and sun on sheets of metal, my heart turns inward to gaze upon a deepest longing. You see, those sheets to me are the ideal picture of partnership. Always side by side, they turn to the left and right together, but they are indeed separate - very much their own entities - similar, but different. The wind, while moving them sometimes together moves them separate more often. And as this wind moves their entities, the sun is reflected on each in diverse ways toward a sundry of spaces. But their strength and glory are revealed most brilliantly by their togetherness. The similarities and differences that make this piece so intriguing would never be if there were just one sheet suspended alone in the air. It is the partner that makes each more enrapturing.

Indeed such a partnership is a deepest longing and when I gaze upon this sculpture I know I am one of the sheets. And elsewhere the other sheet walks this earth. Each are being blown by the Spirit, reflecting the Son in these so similar yet gloriously different ways in which we were created to, but the fullness of our glory is yet to be revealed. The match is not yet made, but it will be.

And so, these sheets that stand suspended in the air are my Hope. For though this desire for a match exists in my heart, it is a place most often evaded - usually for fear of its strength. So I find myself returning to a bench nearby this intoxicating structure. I sit and read. I sit and write. I sit and rest. And every once in a while I glance up to see pieces of the sheets peeking through the many trees between us, but mostly I sit, knowing that even if I can’t bear to gaze upon it, Hope is nearby.

Broadway Cafe

2007-08-27T18:05:00.001-06:00

There is a community here
A family of sorts
Some marked by hi’s and bye’s
Others sit and share a while
They know naught of skin, class, or days passed
All are one and one are all
In this time and space.

There is something here that beckons one to stay
Some linger hours, others the entirety of day.

None escape untouched
If not by hand at least by word.
Likeness makes a quicker friend
But all share a bond in the end

And so I return day after day
To see where Truth might be in play

In each corner a different story, different past
Each one in hope raises their mast
From whence this day the wind might roam
Each one hopeful for destination Home

Most know naught where that may be
Closest they’ve come gathered round the tree
They smile and laugh, ignorance aghast
Unaware this place their misshapen cast.

Wounds are nursed round this tree
Behind the thrills, still darkness I see
Pain is thick and never quite gone
Each a mirror for the individual song.

All seem alike - the light on surface lies
Some seem radiant, others dark behind the eyes.

In some a light seems exist from elsewhere first
As if in it be hidden some secret from birth.
And when they smile - they smile as if
They have not the ability to do else if wished.

Still all over this place light appears
Some bright, some dimmed by fears.
There is a yearning for truth in this place
To know the Light - to see the Face.

And surely it shines on all in part
Though most know not the source in heart
In each I see the Face in thine
Hopeful it be seen also in mine.

One Word:

2007-08-13T15:01:00.000-06:00

I was reminded of something last night. As I listened to a friend explain the next stage of life that the Lord is calling him to, I felt a bit jealous. For over a year now I have been asking the Lord to let me dream. He has given me any number of passions, many of them for the world at large. Still, He keeps me here and does not speak any specifics. Meanwhile, I find myself falling in love with my students, with prayer, with things that allow me to live uncomfortably. In this time I have been discovering so much more about how the Lord wired me and the special giftings He has created me with. I am beginning to step out in them more - to stretch myself and seek to learn and grow. But still no dreams - no specific call or direction.

As another pastor was speaking over my friend, he was declaring things about him. He declared that the Lord has been mightily using this man in our little "c" church context, but that God has big plans to use him for the big "C" Church.

This is when I was reminded of something. There is one word the Lord has spoken to me, of me, and over me in the last few years. It is something that I have at times hoped would be a short-term call. Not that it isn't glorious and noteworthy, but so often my heart burns with the desire to be sent out to adventure in the fullest sense I have yet been able to imagine. My mind has run with thoughts of spending the rest of my life with a people group on a remote island somewhere, or with orphans in Africa, or violated girls in Thailand and Cambodia. But I am beginning to think that this word is indeed my call - possibly my forever call. And the more I think about it, the more I am beginning to realize that the possibilities for the carrying out of this call are endless and they hold adventures untold.

"For Yahweh is creating something new on earth,
The Woman sets out to find her Husband again."
Jeremiah 31:22

This Scripture has held my heart for the last number of months. And truly, it makes sense as I remember His call. I have had my times of wanting to run from the church. I have had my times of wanting to scrap the Church. I have had my times of thinking there is no hope. But one thing comes out through all the refining and that is the simple fact that I love the Church. I believe She is His Bride and I believe She is the Hope of the World. Thus, I cannot abandon Her. I cannot hope for another call besides the one I've been given. I must embrace this one word He has given me and give all I am to live it out.

I must Awaken.

Awake, O Sleeper
It is time for you to rise
To get up from this abyss
The state you should despise

Awake, O People
From age to age
Hither and fro
To turn the page.

Awake, O Tired
Weary and heavy laden
The dawn is breaking
This life to be taken.

Awake, O Beloved
Stand up and step forth
Greatly loved and redeemed
Dance in your worth.

Awake, O Nations
Assemble and take part
Love unabashedly
Birth passion and heart.

Awake, O Church
I call to you, Awake!
Sleep no more, this faith you claim.
The dream waits for you to partake.

I penned these words almost 2 years ago. Perhaps it's time to embrace them - to embrace the call. May this remembering birth dreams.

The Duality of God

2007-07-29T21:31:00.001-06:00

“And Yahweh descended in a cloud and stood with him there and pronounced the name Yahweh. Then Yahweh passed before him and called out, ‘Yahweh, Yahweh, God of tenderness and compassion, slow to anger, rich in faithful love and constancy, maintaining his faithful love to thousands, forgiving fault, crime and sin, yet letting nothing go unchecked…’”
Exodus 34:5-7

I cannot seem to leave this passage alone. In it God declares so clearly who He is. In the face of severe frustration and fighting against anger toward His people, He declares who He is. Time and time again He is the God who allows people to interpret Him and then proceeds to exceed all bounds of interpretation. So often we declare the character of God as if he has no choice to be anything other than who He is, but I do not believe this is the way of it. No, He very much has a choice, but He chooses to give Himself no choice. He chooses to be bound to tenderness, compassion, faithful love and constancy. He chooses to limit His anger and He chooses to forgive.

It is in this choosing that His greatness is compounded. A theology that believes God to be limited by nature in His very essence makes Him a small God. It strips away His boundlessness and complete otherness. But a theology that believes He has limitless possibilities of character and nature - this makes Him bigger in our minds - and more fearful. This is a good thing for we must start with His bigness, His otherness, His boundless personality - we must start with a God who must be feared. Then, once we have this God in mind, we can begin to build upon that boundless nature the characteristics to which He chooses to bind Himself. This is the point we find the love of God. When we have a God of love simply because God is love and He really has no other choice that’s nice and gives warm fuzzies, but it doesn’t illicit worship. It is the choice of love in the face of boundless possibilities that makes His self-limited nature of love truly miraculous and awe-inspiring. If we worship a God who loves because He has no choice then we worship a God of little love. But if we worship a God who could choose to be anything but chooses to be love, then we worship a God of unfathomable love - for none of us, if given the same choice, would choose to be bound to faithful love. And this - this choosing - is why we worship.

God is who He is of His own choosing. It is in the characteristics of His choosing that His complete otherness begins to take form in our minds. The otherness is in the choices He makes, for we ourselves would never naturally and of our own power choose that which He does. It is this discovery that begins the journey of realizing just how far above and beyond us are the thoughts of our God as Isaiah 55:9 speaks of, “For the heavens are as high above the earth as my ways are above your ways, my thoughts above your thoughts.”

These thoughts - these thoughts are precious for they bring to us a duality of God that is the very essence of glory itself. In Exodus 33 Moses asks to see God’s glory. God’s answer involves bringing Moses up next to Himself on a rock, and then hiding Moses away while His glory - His otherness - passes by. On one side of this duality, God chooses to come near. He is the God who tries to give His creation as much help as possible in the endeavor of grasping His Person. He enters into intimate relationship with people, becoming small enough to become as tangible as possible - as known as possible. On the other side, He is so completely other from us that the greatest extent of our knowing Him is but a grain of sand on an entire shore of His essence. Every single piece of this God is so full that we could never begin to put a finger on the true character and reality of Him. With each glimpse into His Person, He only gets bigger and bigger. And this is the duality of God.

When we begin to submit to this duality that is both the tangibility and complete otherness of God, then we can begin the journey of discovering God’s character. And in usual fashion, each new discovery will bring us back to this reality of duality. Let us exemplify through a couple of His self-chosen and self-proclaimed characteristics.

Love. God chooses to make his nature love. He equates Himself to love and declares that He is the God of faithful love. This love makes Him tangible as He describes Himself as a husband, father and lover. His love becomes tangible as He hears his people crying in Egypt and comes to their rescue. His love becomes tangible as He parts the Red Sea and provides manna in the desert. And for us, His love becomes tangible as He whispers in the refreshment of the wind or sends an encouraging word through a friend. The ways He draws near in love are endless. Yet, at the same time, His love is completely beyond our understanding. At times, His love is present in our isolation and pain, for He knows that without these we would never become the best possible us. His love looks different than what we would expect and even want. It takes us to the depths of Sheol as David declared time after time, but it is still His love - a love that is completely beyond our understanding. A love that demands our trust.

Constancy. God declares that He is constant. He chooses those characteristics to which He binds Himself and He does not change them. Thus, if He loves once, He loves always. If He forgives once, He forgives always. If He is tender once, He is tender always. If He is compassionate once, He is compassionate always. If He is faithful once, He is faithful always. His character does not change. He is I AM. He always was, always is, and always will be constant. He knows our fear of trust and so He declares Himself to be constant - never-changing. He breaks down who He is and declares His character over and over to us. And He says, “Forever, I AM.” He breaks it down as much as possible into the smallest of pieces that we might be able to crawl into His lap and trust as a little child . Yet, we have never known anyone who is always constant and so this characteristic escapes us and hovers far above us. He is the only one who can claim complete constancy and as such, we have a difficult time grasping this piece of Him - for He is other.

The same process could be done with any of the characteristics of our God - God is light, God is tender, God is compassionate, God is forgiving, and so on. This duality of God is present in every piece of Himself and who He states Himself to be. He becomes as tangible as possible, only for us to discover that He is completely other. But isn’t this why He is the God we serve? And isn’t this why we find ourselves unable to do anything but worship? I challenge you, dwell on a characteristic of His choosing and declaration - they can be found all throughout Scripture. Think on it for a while, and see if it does not make Him closer yet bigger than ever. And see if it turns you to anything but shameless worship.

Beginning Thoughts on Fear

2007-07-18T22:30:00.000-06:00

When did fear cease to be followed by wonder?

The further time carries us from our Jewish roots, the more difficult it seems to become for us to grasp the fear of the Lord. We have existed so long in the doctrine of grace that we fail to remember that the God of the Old Testament is still the God we serve today. How conflicting this truth seems to so many of us. But should it be conflicting? Are fear and grace truly to be set at odds?

To those of us in this time after Jesus, the God we see in the Old Testament seems a God of little grace. We forget that in those days people believed in lots of gods - and they were all angry. Ancients’ lives were dominated by the need to appease the gods in hopes that something might go right in their lives. Into this world God chooses to continually re-introduce himself as the one true God, Yahweh - the God who is completely other. Knowing full well the expectations that will accompany Him in the minds of His people, He allows Himself to be interpreted and then sets about breaking the bounds of those interpretations. Such has been the pattern from the beginning of time until now. He remains the God people continually attempt to bind as well as the God who continually breaks all bounds.

God Himself is constant. It is not that the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament are different in Being, but rather that the descriptions to which we bind Him have changed with time. Those in the Old Testament understood the fear of God, for their paradigm of godness was that of anger. However, for many of us these days, our paradigm of God is that of grace, love and Buddy Jesus - and consequently, we fear no longer. But the reality stands that both are true and Yahweh breaks the bounds of all paradigms.

David said, “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Notice, that statement does not equate the fear of God with wisdom. Instead, it declares such fear the foundation of all wisdom. Many of us have tried to build an understanding of Yahweh without first grasping this God who is so far above us and so powerful over us and so other from us that we fall to the ground and in fearful reverence cry “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty … woe is me for I am unclean”.

Fear of the Lord is not just glimpsing the reality of who He is, but also of owning the reality of who we are not. Without this, one can never begin to grasp grace. Many of us claim the gospel of grace void of fear, but without fear grace is no gospel at all.

One man was declared by Yahweh to be a man after His own heart. That man was David. Even in the days of the old covenant, he was able to declare of Yahweh, “His anger lasts but a moment, his favor through life.” We have claimed grace as a possession of the new covenant, as the result of Christ’s death, but grace existed before and is indeed timeless. Consequently, if God is constant, that which causes us to fear Him must be timeless as well. Time and culture does not change the constancy of God’s character, it just affects which facets of Him are more easy or difficult for us to grasp at a given time. He will always be Yahweh - the God who is completely other.

In the Old Testament, obedience was an act of appeasal for it was mostly out of fear. Now that Jesus has come, it is our great privilege to obey as an act of love. This indeed is the glory of God - that we might catch a glimpse of this God who has the power to obliterate us, only to catch another glimpse of this God who in that power chooses covenantal love. The essence of God is such to be feared, but the action of God is such to be adored. Throughout the ages, the love of God is that He binds Himself to grace. From the days of creation through today, His covenant has always been that of love.

The grace of God is not to be discredited - it is to be reveled in. But it must be rooted in fear - understanding who He is and who we are not. We must wallow before we can revel. Remember, “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”; it is not wisdom itself, but the necessary foundation. Once we begin to grasp the magnitude that makes God so other from ourselves, we can then begin building upon that foundation. Fear is not something to be dreaded; it is not God on a power trip - it is the very gate to intimacy with Him. When I find myself on my face before this God, it is not because I actually think He might strike me dead, but rather because I know He can and I know I deserve it and am in awe that He chooses life for me. This is the otherness of God that I adore. This is the otherness of God that causes me to cry “Holy, holy holy!”

Redeeming Productivity

2007-07-02T15:18:00.001-06:00

Productivity is the herald of the modern world that the majority of post-moderns have come to utterly despise. When I hear the word productive I automatically think of business. Suddenly all the haunting requests to make my ministry “measurable” come flooding in and I begin to hate the entire system. The expectation that every minute of my forty hour work week fit into the standards of quantifiable charts and graphs makes me want to give up sometimes. It is not that measurements are inherently bad, but the emphasis on them definitely makes me feel like an alien in the land. I can only imagine that there are many in this generation like myself. We are the ones who count an hour of conversation more profitable than a day of answered emails and completed forms. We are the ones who feel we can accomplish more at the local coffee shop than in the office. We are the ones that consider an afternoon of reading and reflection not only important, but urgent.

Productivity - these harsh connotations have made this almost a bad word for us post-moderns. But should we disregard the word altogether? Is it possible that productivity is something that can indeed be redeemed for us?
I have an affinity for words and possibly an even greater love for redefining them. It’s not so much that I attempt to give words a whole new meaning, but rather that I strive to reclaim the simplistic base of the word. Journey with me, if you will, through just such a process.

-Things we associate with productivity are: measurements, charts, performance reviews, checklists, paychecks - to name a few.
-Productivity is: the action of producing.
-Producing is: the action of putting forth a product.
-So at its base, productivity is about a product.

This leaves us with the lingering question: What is the product that matters to us? It seems there is no reason for the mention of productivity to cause many of us to run and hide, cower in fear, or feel guilt and shame. In the same way, there is no reason to discard the need for measurements. The base idea of productivity is in no way a bad thing. The trick is, we must be very clear in the definition and communication of what our product is.

This discussion can apply to any number of professions and relationships, but let us for a moment take it in the direction of the Kingdom. If we are living in the greater reality of the Kingdom of God alive on this earth while our feet tread the much smaller reality of the kingdom of this world, then our products are going to be different.

The main product that should be of concern to us in the Kingdom of God is our own person. This sounds selfish at first mention, but the reality is that our person should be ever growing in its reflection of the Light of Yahweh, Christ and Spirit coming alive in us. And how do we get such a product? By fixing our attention on the Lord and giving all we are to go after Him. Silence, solitude, prayer, reading, reflection, spiritual disciplines - these are the heat of the Refiner’s fire. And what of the measurement? How can one measure a person? First John mentions love as a measurement. Jesus prays for unity in John 17. Obedience and likeness to Christ are mentioned time and time again. It may not be as easy to put into a graph, but the growth of a person should indeed be noticeable.

Jesus gives us tangible pictures of the affect people who are becoming like Him have in the kingdom of this world. Salt and light are two prominent analogies from his teaching found in the sermon on the mount. Salt and light - they are both such basic elements of our daily lives, but they both also have complete environment-altering properties. Salt, when added to food infuses flavor into the whole of the dish. Light, when present, completely banishes darkness. Neither can be present and not noticed. Neither can be present and not affect their surroundings. These are the types of measurements the Word gives us. Thus, it appears the measurement of our person is not found within our own person, but in the effect of our presence on our surroundings. Peace, when present, is noticeable. Joy often becomes infectious. A gracious spirit is so rare that it often affects shock in the recipient. And the list could go on and on.

Henry David Thoreau said, “you cannot kill time without injuring eternity”. This is my new mantra for productivity. The product is the person I am becoming. The process is the intake, the time spent in the person of the Trinity, breathing in their reality and allowing them to become greater in me. The measurement is the kingdom reality of my surroundings - which kingdom I am bringing to life around me.

May you embrace productivity, as the light and life of Yahweh, Jesus and Spirit become greater in you.

Something New

2007-06-12T22:22:00.001-06:00

"For Yahweh is creating something new on earth: the Woman sets out to find her Husband again."
Jeremiah 31:22

I hate being comfortable. Truly, the idea of being to be, doing to do, having to have makes my insides cringe. It is almost like the reaction you would imagine in the gospel accounts where demon-possessed people meet Jesus. The demons cause the people to react in extreme ways - to writhe away from the hand of the living God. That is how I feel, but with a reverse of powers. The thing is, I have Christ in me - the Power, the Person, the Kingdom - and that fullness causes me to writhe in the wake of anything that is of darkness.

I have been reflecting on the verse above from Jeremiah for the last couple months. In my initial recent reading of chapter 31, this verse struck me. Now, a couple months later, after reading it possibly a hundred or more times, it is more beautiful than ever.

“Yahweh is creating something new on earth” - this, in and of itself, is cause for hope, great hope. Yahweh, Elohim, Creator of the Universe is creating something new. I think sometimes that we forget what an extravagant statement this is. Yahweh created in the beginning. He set things into motion and gave them the ability to re-create - to multiply and produce. I am not affirming the idea of God as a Watchmaker. He did not set things in motion and then leave, but has indeed been very closely involved in His creation from the very beginning of time until the present. Yet, He did create in the beginning in such a way that things have been re-creating on this earth ever since. And so these words “Yahweh is creating something new on earth” are extremely provocative and exhilarating. He is at it again. Aslan is again walking the hills of Narnia - breathing new life.

Everything is new until it is old - such is the mindset of the cynic. Is there some truth in such a thought? Sure. But is there Life in it? That is more questionable. Another mindset of the cynic is that this world is too far gone. Many Christians are ready to throw in the towel on this whole planet. “Just make us the new earth already”, they cry. But what if this new earth is coming. What if it is indeed already here, in process - being made new by Yahweh - being made new by Yahweh in us.

“The Woman sets out to find her Husband again.” The image of the Bride is one of the most potent in Scripture for me. As a single young woman, I know the longing, the sense of wondering where my partner may be. Currently it is not an impatience as it is a desire not yet realized. However, if I were to fast forward a number of years and imagine that for some reason, my husband were to go missing - there is no doubt that I would spend the entirety of myself on finding him, for the sole experience of simply being with him again. This is the image we are given. Something has caused the Husband - the Bridegroom - to go missing from the awareness of the Woman - the Bride. This is the reality many of us - even in the church, nay, especially in the church - find ourselves in.

The thing is, we are waking up. Our awareness is returning. The breath of Yahweh is warming our senses. Remember? “Yahweh is creating something new“ and this fact is both the instigator and the outcome for the Bride. As instigator, this “something new” is the buds of new life that get us excited and remind our souls that the Bridegroom is out there. It awakens us to the move of Yahweh on this earth. As the outcome, this “something new” is the search that we are a part of - this setting out that Jeremiah speaks of - and indeed the culmination of it. The Church in America is not dead, nor is it sleeping. No, she is set out to find her Husband again.

It is in the midst of this big picture reality that I still find myself writhing. Inside I am screaming for something radical, something undignified, something ridiculous. Everything in me is revolting against that which is comfortable. I want to do something real - to go BIG - but the Lord has not fleshed out dreams for me yet. I can't help but think that Yahweh has some pretty radical ideas for the living of my life and I'm itching to hear them, see them, feel them, live them. He is making something new all around me and it has woken me up - instigated a fire in my heart. In turn, I am becoming the life of this something new - the hands, the feet, the breath. Yahweh is creating something new on the earth, as the Woman sets out to find her Husband again - both this woman and the Bride.

Just another Sabbath ... as a foot model

2007-04-23T18:18:00.000-06:00

I sat on the patio reading my Sabbath book. Interrupting sentences for a sip of my Iced Venti Green Tea and a smirk of observation at the day's Plaza residents. Suddenly a man peeks around the courner and introduces himself.

"I am a student at the art institute," he says, pulling out an album with photos of his work. "Today is my off day and I came here looking to take pictures of women's feet."

Apparently he thought his chances of fimding a simple sandaled foot at the Plaza greater than at the fashion savey art institute.

"I take the pictures, put them into a computer program and creat and abstract design that I then paint," he explains while showing examples in his travelling portfolio. "I noticed your feet there," indicating where they rest on the shingled ledge, "and was wondering if you would mind me taking some pictures of your feet for my project. That is, if you are not busy and wouldn't mind, there is a fountain just around the corner that I would like to use."

Packing up my things, I agreed. Afterall, who am I to pass up a random adventure and chance for a funny story. So, me and my "beautiful feet" walked around the corner and while my feet were busy modeling, I enjoyed observing the perplexed looks of passers by. You see, the poor guy's camera had recently broken and thus the photoshoot was occuring with a camera phone. After some of the pictures he would pause to show me the outcome and I woudl offer and enthused response of "that's cool", "that one turned out neat" or "good idea on that one" - who would have thought that sticks between one's toes could turn out to be a pretty sweet picture.

And so went about twenty minutes of my Sabbath. It just so happens, I learned something new from this adventure: I cannot intertwine my toes. That's right, I am not an ambi-twiner. Perhaps I am not cut out to be a foot model afterall.

Jump

2007-04-21T20:44:00.000-06:00

Little girl with her red shoes on
Click and click, she wonders what went wrong
Tried to be good, tried to do what's right
Never talked back never put up a fight

They all think she's great
They think she's the best
She's the popular one
Always passes the test
And this pedestal on which she sits gets higher each day
She could jump or she could fall, but she’ll do one someday

Little girl dandelion in hand
Wish and wish, then blow as hard as she can
As seeds float through the air her dreams too roam
All she wants is just a place to call home

They all think she's great
They think she's the best
She's the popular one
Always passes the test
But this pedestal on which she sits gets higher each day
She can jump or she can fall, but she'll do one today

Little girl with bloodied knee
Jumped and took the plunge, found out what she could be
Twisted ankle and dirty hands
But finally free from all their demands

They all think she's great
They think she's the best
She's the popular one
Always passes the test
But the pedestal on which she sat sits empty today
Finally took the jump and made her own way.

And the words flow ...

2007-04-14T01:27:00.000-06:00

Last Sunday night I had one of those experiences where the Lord suddenly nudges and you know you must grab paper and pen ... and the words flow ...

My army is rising. Have hope. Take heart. There is more going on than meets the eye.

My children are growing old - still Ephraim, my beloved son - but mature - greater in understanding, in discernment.

I tell you again, My army is rising up. Strong and mighty - yet tender and compassionate. Their hands dirty with toil and their faces stained with tears.

My people are waking up. They are hearing my voice and recognizing me as the One who called forth from the desert their Life.

Come not away with me, but remain ever in me. There the cry will arise. The song of my victory is beating in your heart.

And My army sings out.

This Heart Bleeds White

2007-04-07T01:06:00.000-06:00

Deep inside there lies a chamber
Most too terrified to enter
Tiptoe around contusions
Coming to your own conclusions.

Boiling impurities to the top
Still, that is where we stop
On this journey into the heart
Afraid what we'll find, in part.

Not knowing if we were to dive
The place at which we would arrive
Not that which we would disown
Instead it is His very own.

So cut me, sctratch me, bleed me dead
What comes out be not stained red
Instead you'll find in deepest plight
That indeed, this heart bleeds white.

America the Authentic?

2007-03-31T22:42:00.000-06:00

Authenticity. It’s quite the buzzword these days. But what is it, really? To be authentic. What is it to be authentic?

The most popular definition I have heard is “being true to oneself”. If we were to strip that phrase down as a deep thinker such as myself would like to do, I think I could finally agree with such a statement (with all my added qualifiers, of course). Still, I think my idea of “being true to oneself” and the read of most others are very different. And as such, I am not comfortable with the use of such a phrase as an answer to the definition quest of what it is to be authentic. No, I would be much more apt to agree to the statement of “being true to ones creator”. Still, while that sits well with those of us who believe in a creator, it doesn’t resonate much with those who are on the fence on that subject. I realize most reading this do not fit in the latter category and thus simply don’t care much about how the latter category would or would not resonate, but I do. I care about them very much - possibly more than I care about what you actually think, but that is irrelevant.

So, authenticity - what does it mean? I would like to define it as “being true to truth“. Notice, I did not say to ones truth and that was very intentionally. Truth is bigger than an individual or even a group of individuals. I must believe this or else my only alternative is to believe chaos and destruction are meant to be the order of the world and I simply cannot live my days by such a mantra.

Being true to truth. The first step in such a task is that of growth and becoming. We must be always becoming if we are ever to find authenticity. One must discover ones glory in order to live authentically to oneself. Even more, one must discover the glory of others in order to live authentically in the fullness of ones calling. What I am saying by this is actually quite simple. If one is simply trying to be true to oneself, then the motive is selfish. But authenticity is not for the individual. To live authentically is not to speak ones mind at all times no matter how foul or harmful that which is in the mind may seem to be. Authenticity is to be edifying and if it is not edifying, then it is not authenticity. (This is not to say that sorrow and challenge have no place; I would argue that both are edifying experiences in the life of community.)

Now, the question has been raised recently, “Is it possible to live authentically in America?” For me, the real question is actually “Can one become who they were born to be in the context of America?” I would say it is possible, though extremely difficult, perhaps the most difficult. The problem is, we have too much. Authenticity, if it is to be such, must be a stripped down version of us. But we have too much. We heap things upon ourselves and those around us - belongings, expectations, measurements, judgments - and in the process we cover up the person, their glory. To dig through all of this takes much time, but alas that is another commodity we have stripped away here in America. Therefore, if one is to live authentically in America, one must essentially live as a foreigner. One must refuse to ascribe to the systems of this country and the dross that people are constantly trying to heap upon them. One must essentially choose simplicity in the “land of opportunity” (and what an irony that seems). Such a reality makes many of us want to flee the country. “I can wear a t-shirt and jeans every day in Africa and no one would care”. “I don’t have to do my hair or make-up”, if you’re a girl; or “I don’t have to shave”, if you’re a guy. These are things I have heard, both in my own head and from the mouths of others. Those things simply aren’t important in these other countries where survival is the greatest desire. But in America, such things are commodities of the social system and they matter very much.

So, what happens when one stops caring much about the things most Americans care about? Does one cease becoming an American? For some, that may indeed be just what they are meant to do - to go and live authentically in another land. But for many of us, that is not what we are called to. What if, instead of fleeing, we became a revolution - one that redefined America and what it means to be American?

Honestly, I’d still rather move and live the rest of my days in Mozambique or Ethiopia or Thailand. Erin is a woman who’s heart has been made to be broken for such places and peoples, but it is also a heart in a body that has been placed in America, possibly for the rest of her days and there is no way she is going to waste her days! For me, if America is to be America the Beautiful, if it is to be the land that is blessed in order to bless, then it is not going to be a land known by social systems, Hollywood, and advancement. Instead, it must become a land of people - people who are becoming, discovering their glory and that of others - being true to truth. It must become America the Authentic. Then, and only then will she be truly beautiful.

Awaken

2007-03-12T22:57:00.000-06:00

I got to spend some Sabbath time at Loose Park today and had a very enlighting time of journalling that I thought I'd share:

You have given me a passion - a cry to make far and wide.

Awaken Church.
Awaken Heart.
Awaken Mind.
Awaken Bride.
Walk no more in streets of despair, in the wastelands of injustice.
Awaken salt.
Awaken Light.
Awaken Voice.
Awaken Mine.
It is time to dance in the Street called Freedom, to be the Hope of the World.
So Awaken Sister.
Awaken Brother.
Awaken Warrior.
Awaken Lover.
The time has come and indeed is here; sleep no more - Salvation draw near.

This is my call - to cry out. Perhaps one day You shall let me go, but for now these beats of the heart are not mine to answer - they are for them. You are breaking my heart that this brokenness may infect those I touch. They can do more than I. They will do more than I - when I answer this call to cry.

Good News

2007-03-08T17:34:00.001-06:00

I am in need of a mentor. There is a woman that I have spoken with once, but not kept up with. After months of slacking, I determined this week to sit down and email her. In fact, this morning I decided it must be done today. So, I sat down and took some time this morning asking if we can meet monthly. You must understand, asking for someone’s time to be spent on me is one of the most difficult things for me to do. Within an hour her response was in my inbox beginning with, “The Holy Spirit is working! - Wanna know what I mean?”. The Lord had been putting me on her heart and she had already penciled me into her schedule, planning to email me this morning in order to tell me so. My heart jumped and my mind immediately began to race with “who can I tell?!”

Good news. There is something about these moments that makes us want to shout from the mountaintops, even if no one would know what we’re talking about or referring to. I am still trying to figure out who I can call that will actually know enough to know why this is such a grand excitement to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that my heart is still jumping and I simply want to tell everyone, whether they’ll understand or not.

Good News. The Gospel. This very feeling is exactly why the Church grew so exponentially at its birth. People were enraptured. The news of the Messiah, his death and resurrection, was a grand excitement for them and they wanted to shout it from the mountaintops. It didn’t matter if every hearer would understand, they were simply so excited that they had to tell.

Understanding. There is something so perplexing to me about this element. Jesus spoke most often in parables, knowing well that many would not understand. Still, he spoke to the masses. Understanding is not an essential element of a hearer, especially with regards to the Good News. Parables were stories with a deeper meaning. Perhaps it was not even a real life, factual story that happened before it was at first told, but the fact is that they do happen. The prodigal son - happens. The rich fool - happens. The Pharisee and tax collector - happens. The hidden treasure - happens.

Story. The rest of the Gospels and the majority of Scripture are a compilation of stories. It is the grand Story of Yahweh and His people in light of many little stories of their days.

My story is a part of the Story. My good news today is reflective of the Good News. It is a personal story of the Light and the way He shone bright in my life today. It is a personal story of Love and the way I encountered it today.

What good news do you have? What is your story? What happened recently that made you want to shout from the mountaintops and where is the Lord in that story? The Lord is Good. All Good comes from Him. May we not neglect our stories, no matter how seemingly insignificant we may think them to look in the eye of another. May we not go to bed having already forgotten the piece of Glory we were shone. May we shout from the rooftops, the good news we have been given today.

Heavy

2007-03-04T17:28:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: This is not a refined discourse, but rather a state-of-the-heart address.

My heart is a bit heavy as of late. It's not a bad heavy. It has not stripped joy or life away, but it has brought much need for prayer. Outside it seems the sun is beginning to shine more each day, but with each day comes the reality of more pain knocking at the door of my heart. Africa. Each picture I see of those beautiful people makes me want to sell everything and spend my days on them. Thailand. Israel. His heart beats for these. I am not yet released to go, but I can at least spend my heart, my prayers - and that is an honor I shall never relinquish. Closer to home old friends are bringing babies into the world whose very entrance is a miracle, but whose days are an uphill battle. Others are facing cancer of their own or that of their parents. Who would have thought so many would be carrying such a heavy load so early in life.

Yet, isn't this what we are here for? Aren't we to spend ourselves on the other? How much easier it is when they are those who touch our lives directly, but what of the nameless faces that we see every day whether on the street, on the news, or simply in the car next to us - better yet, the car that just cut us off. Compassion. How often Christ's heart was moved to compassion, how much more ours should be doing the same.

I used to think that heaviness of heart was an indicator that something was wrong. More and more I'm beginning to believe it is actually an indicator of things becoming more right - more the way they were intended to be. The more tears that threaten to fall, the more I think that perhaps I'm getting greater pieces of His heart.

I doubt the Lord to be very light of heart, and I doubt mine was meant for much lightness either.

Short Words

2007-02-26T19:25:00.000-06:00

“The long words are not the hard words, it is the short words that are hard.”
G.K. Chesterton

On one hand this statement is comforting as it is cushioned coming from one such as Chesterton who writes with words so long that I know not their definitions. On the other hand, it is a hard statement for one like me to take. It rings true in my soul, but scares me in the realm of reality and application.

The basis is that we hide behind the long words and I know it for myself to be all too true. Just a few hours ago I sat here journaling to the Lord and I danced about the frankness of it all. I justify with the fact that the Lord knows my heart and thus knows that which I allude to in script. But sometimes I think He needs me to be out with it, for my own health and sanity.

Short words. Smallness. Humility. It all strings together. I hide behind the long words for fear of what the short ones might reveal. Most often, at least in situations of my most acute awareness, I am attempting to sidestep areas of thought or heart that I find silly. For most of my life I have tried so hard to not be the silly girl. Is she in me? Well, do I have two x chromosomes? (That’s a yes, for the dense and weary). But the fact remains that I still do everything in my power to emaciate her. Short words - they seem dangerous food. Another reason I fear short words is for the harsh reality they make possible. I can make any thought sound gracious and beautiful with a bit of doctoring, but the stripped down version reveals the initial, un-thought-through response that may often be fairly ugly. And to allow that thought to be expressed is to take more than a mere serving of humble pie.

Come to think of it, having Chesterton as the source to such a statement is no comfort at all. He is a man who has mastered the thought of short words and embellished such thought with the long. I am one who embellishes with the long to evade the short.

Still, there is something more of this topic of words. It reminds us of the importance of our language. As one who was born and raised in the church I can talk justification, redemption, sanctification, predestination, determination and a multitude of other tion’s with the best of them. However, I don’t find that language set anything of bragging rights. I sit in service once a month as the pastor explains the eucharist or communion with words like justification. I sit there and I experience a sense of beauty and awe as I have the history to know the intense meaning those words encapsulate. And in the next moment I am saddened, for it is another reminder that we have failed to be the Church - a place where anyone would feel welcomed and a part.

Lately I have been feeling a great weight as to the language I use. I’m not talking about what we term “profanity”. I am simply talking about being human and realizing that we serve a relatable God. I am not saying that we should strip down His glory by any means, but perhaps we need to simplify a bit, for the good of the other. I think of all the most prominent statements about who the Lord is and most of them are short words: truth, life, light, love, just. We haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of the fullness of any of these words I just listed, but we have attempted to doctor them up already. This is not to say that there is not beauty in the doctored and extravagant versions, but perhaps there is more beauty in the simplicity and shortness. Perhaps the colors are a little brighter and the air a little cleaner and the glory a bit more raw.

I really believe Chesterton is onto something with his challenge to use short words. It is a challenge that I desire to accept and grow in. This does not mean that my manner of writing will necessarily simplify. But my hope is that with each undertaking, the simple truth of the shortest words will take on more meaning from the start to the finish of any dissertation I set down to write.

Separation Anxiety

2007-02-08T21:23:00.000-06:00

My neighbor’s dog has separation anxiety. Seriously. I know when my neighbors are home and when they are not. No barking = home. Incessant barking = not home. Yes incessant. As in, the kind where you keep thinking the dog has got to get tired at some point or loose it’s barker or something (considering it‘s been barking for 5 hours straight), but no, it keeps going and going and going. Yes indeed, just like the energizer rabbit - going and going and going. I know dogs are supposed to be the easy-going, happy-go-lucky friend of man, but this one missed the memo.

Still, as much as the barking can wear on me, it really got me thinking - why don’t I have separation anxiety? Now, I’m not talking about delving into my past and looking for psychological reasons why I should or should not have such a condition; I’m talking about a condition of the soul. In fact, I rather wish that my soul were inflicted with separation anxiety. It is something I am striving for.

One of the pastors of my church in Colorado had a son who had a bit of this separation anxiety as well. He was only one. I remember constantly being so perplexed as to what it was that caused this child to react in such an extreme way. His mom would leave and the crying would begin. Twenty minutes would go by and with the best of efforts we could get him to stop crying for maybe thirty seconds. An hour would go by, still crying. Distraction doesn’t last long with this one-year-old.

Think about it, what if the people of Israel had been stricken with separation anxiety? No substitute for Yahweh would have been accepted. The rampant idolatry that caused Israel to constantly be likened to a whore throughout the prophets would have been avoided. Nothing but Yahweh would have done. But that was not the case then and it is not the case for us now. We accept substitutes far too easily. As G.K. Chesterton put it, “we are far too easily pleased”. We sit playing with our mud pies and pass up the opportunity for a holiday at sea.

We need to become a people stricken with spiritual separation anxiety. It seems strange, but the Kingdom of God is a kingdom of great reversals. What is looked down upon in the kingdom of this earth is glorified in his Kingdom. “But God is everywhere,” you may say. Yes, he is, but what of our awareness? Do we live as if he is always present? I would argue that most often we do not. We are easily satisfied with our own idols - ourselves, our media, our dreams, our goals. I am not saying that any of these things are inherently bad, but the way we put them up on a pedestal, exalting them above the Lord, sure is.

I think back to my pastor’s son. When his parents were gone, he would immediately go into a state of utter upheaval. There was no getting through the child’s mind that he would indeed be okay for just a short while without them. No, in his child’s mind he was completely convinced that the world was falling apart without them [physically there. The only other possibility to stop the crying was for his big sister to play with him. That never seemed quite fair to her, I thought. I wanted her to be able to play with the kids her age and be a kid, not a mother at the age of seven. But she would do it. She would spend all her energy on him to keep him from crying for the entirety of the time his mother was absent.

Jesus did the same for us. He spent everything on us. In a time when the world was not even aware of its own destitution, Yahweh came down as a man, Yeshua, and spent himself on us. He did it when we weren’t even crying, that one day we might realize the magnitude of His love - a realization that might cause us to become a bit more undignified and a bit more like the dog downstairs that incessantly barks for its Master’s return. May it be so.

And a pleasing Sabbath it was...

2007-02-05T22:18:00.000-06:00

So...I'm almost daily reminded how badly I want to move further north. I LOVE Westport!..it's so raw.

Yes...raw. Raw is one of my favorite descriptors of the last couple years.

raw (rô) Pronunciation Key
adj. raw·er, raw·est

Uncooked: raw meat.
1. Being in a natural condition; not processed or refined: raw wool. See Synonyms at crude.
2. Not finished, covered, or coated: raw wood. See Synonyms at rude.
3. Not having been subjected to adjustment, treatment, or analysis: raw data; the raw cost of production.
Untrained and inexperienced: raw recruits.
Recently finished; fresh: raw plaster.
Having subcutaneous tissue exposed: a raw wound.
Inflamed; sore: a raw throat.
Unpleasantly damp and chilly: raw weather.
Cruel and unfair: a raw punishment.
Outspoken; crude: a raw portrayal of truth.
Powerfully impressive; stark: raw beauty; raw talent.
Nude; naked.

I think Jesus was raw. Okay...so maybe not the "uncooked" part, but I think there's some elements of most of the others...especially 2, 10 and 11. Pretty sure that most of the stories I knwo of Jesus from the Gospels show a fairly culturally "unrefined" fellow. Not that he couldn't have been refined, but more that he chose not to be oftentimes because His Kingdom simply looked different. He was the #10 type of raw. "Raw beauty". How fitting.

But I digress...meaning, none of that was intended when this post was begun...

So...back to Westport (the place that I love for it's raw quality)...

There is a used book store that I have seen and tried to visit a few times before, but it was closed at the time of my other attempts. It is out on the West edge of Westport. A small rustic-looking place. I finally got to go today (after about a minute of attempting to open the door. Ya...sounds easy, but just wait til you try it. Even with the instruction signs...still pretty dang tricky). However, once inside I discovered a wonderland of pleasure. The woman gave me a quick run-down of where I would find different categories and then I was off...first to the basement for the "religion" section. There I found a book on the first 3 chapters of Genesis. It was written a while ago, but definately seems to go the direction that I lean toward as far as the interpretation/intention of that passage. Next, it was up to the second floor to peruse the poetry and fiction. I came out with Till We Have Faces by CS Lewis and Trust Me by John Updike. I am always in need of some fictional relief/counterparts for my deep theological/philosophical reading that I like to do so often and figure I came out with two good ones since the guys checking me out (as in ringing up my purchase) made great comments about both books. And again...this is all far too long.

After I went to a Starbucks, where I ended up spilling my first tea...yup, that sucked...but then relaxing with some Relevant Magazine action and Orthodoxy. Good times. Oh ya...and I emailed my first possible submission for relevantmagazine.com today. Here's hoping!

Cheers and good day!

The Kingdom of Winter

2007-01-29T23:19:00.000-06:00

I finally discovered what it is I love about winter. Granted, this is probably the first winter I’ve fully enjoyed. None-the-less, there is something glorious about it. The silhouette of bare branches against a dusk sky or the brilliant colors of sunrise. The way a cardinal stands out so bright in a nearby bush. The way we want to be outside, but are forced indoors by the bitter cold. The way you have to get all bundled up. The way my breath shows as I sing in my car, for the entire ride to work. The way I haven’t mastered the art of warming up the car and don’t really want to because I kind of enjoy scraping the windows with the broken remains of my scraper. It seems most of the brilliance of what I find in winter is quite ironic, but that is what I love so much.

You see, winter is a physical yearly reminder of the kingdom reversal. In this tangible world whose paths we tread, there is a way of operating. The rules of this world are that which we are most prone to. It is as if when we are born, we are innately engrained with the laws of nature of this world in which we are born to. But it just happens to turn out that this set of laws that we find so innate and natural is indeed no set of laws at all, but a set of lies. If we are willing to venture into the depths of our existence, we begin to sense that there is another set of laws that our souls cry out for. But this set of laws does not make any sense because we have been living so long under this other regime. The new set of laws may resonate deep in the soul, but it sure doesn’t add up in the mind. The sets are completely opposed to one another. The laws of the world to which we were born tell us one thing. But the laws of this Christ of whose way we are attempting to live tell us the utter opposite.

These two sets of laws actually represent two kingdoms. One is the kingdom of this world, the world which the deceiver rules. The other is the Kingdom of Yahweh God in whom is all Truth. The problem is, we don’t view the first as a kingdom. We simply see it as our current residence and attempt to bring what we know of the Kingdom of God into our world. But it doesn’t work. A man cannot serve two masters. We are aliens in this land. There are so many places in Scripture where it is trying to tell us about these two kingdoms and the reality it presents us with. We must choose a King and correlating Kingdom. You cannot choose one King and another Kingdom, but that is what so many of us have attempted to do for so long. But they do not mix. For the Kingdom of Yahweh puts a complete reversal on the kingdom of this world. All things are new. Not just some, but all.

Consequently, we live our days fumbling through this thing to find Truth and live in it - to learn a new way of operating. Our eyes attempt to shed their scales, but it seems there are multiple layers. It takes much effort to begin to see clearly. And in the meantime, as we fumble around, we begin to learn the King’s voice.

And so winter comes and goes each year, reminding us of the invisible life that still exists in the face of visible death. At all times we live in this war of worlds. Our natures fight for different kingdoms and we are conflicted. We strive and fail, strive and fail. Our eyes strain in the attempt to see the natural world from the vantage of the spiritual kingdom. But once every year leaves fall, life seems to disappear, and nature becomes the very visible expression of the war of worlds. Everything appears to die that it may come back and thrive once more. In this season, death is life and we get to see it with our very eyes. And in this, winter becomes perhaps the greatest visible expression of the reality of the invisible Kingdom. And this is why I love winter.

Coffee Shop

2007-01-22T22:45:00.000-06:00

All I wanted to do was read in a coffee shop.

80's music fighting through the background, my ears fighting against the dominant conversation to the right. Focus on the words. Chesterton is tough to take on with distractions all around.

Oppression builds around my heart. The cold outside looks so inviting, but I must stay here. To my left two teenage girls snuggle in a search for acceptance - for love. To my right a man takes yet another call from a significant other - arguing for a moment, shutting down the next.

I sit looking from my book to outside, then back to my book again. So aware of my heart as it sinks further into my chest with the weight of it all. In this moment, the weight of the world is on me. In this moment, this coffee shop is my world. I stare at the words to keep the tears from forming and turn the eyes of my heart upward. And in that moment this place of oppression is transported to the throne as I fight the best way I know how.

2007-01-19T17:20:00.000-06:00

Pray for the UK. Crazy storms. Lots of death.

The Nations

2007-01-18T10:08:00.000-06:00

Isaiah 58. I would love to type it all out here, but to save space I'm going to just say please go read it. You want to know how to live? It's all there from sacrifice to Sabbath.

The Lord has exploded my heart with a new passion - the Nations. It's not even one in particular. I want to pray. I want to go. I want to give it all. I have numerous friends who have spent or are currently spending significant time living in other countries. I find myself jealous. It seems so difficult to give it all while still living in America. Granted, that is what I am called to do right now, but man does the process seem illusive!

At the same time, my life has changed in monumental ways in just a week. There have been so many things on the fringe of touching my heart for months, if not years. But instead of being completely attentive to them and bent upon action, I have lost them to the fringe in the attempt to do a juggling act. Let's be honest...multi-tasking is simply not one of my better skills. It is amazing how multiple attempts at discipline and a process of spiritual growth can fail, but one day it all clicks. Well, last week it all clicked. And now, I find my prayers and attempts of the past years finally coming to fruition in my heart. I can sense tangible changes and shifts in my thinking and desires.

I want to eat at home more to save money. I want to save money to go to the nations (or give to others). I want to pray more. I want to fast more. I want the Word more. I want Him more and me less. I want discipline. I want brokenness and am beginning to feel twinges of it a little more. I want security and a future plan less. I want to dream more, to do more, to give more. I want to give it all.

If I felt the release to do so, I'd sell everything and move to some remote island to live with and love on the people with the love of Jesus for the rest of my life. But, I don't have that release so I must learn to give it all here in America. Oh, that He would teach me how to do that.

PS - I have sent emails to my friends in foreign lands asking for prayer concerns for their countries. If any of you would like to get in on the honor of praying for any of these lands, let me know. The current list I'm awaiting response on is as follows: Mozambique, Nicaragua, Ireland, Russia, Thailand, Costa Rica, Australia, France, Uzbekistan, Nepal, Uganda, Honduras, Liberia and China.

Tuchal

2006-12-28T00:27:00.000-06:00

"As fire leaves its mark on the body, so Torah leaves its mark on the one who studies." Consider, for instance, the impact on a person who hears, every year of his or her life, the words of Torah our people will be reading this week: "Al tuchal l'hitalem. You must not remain indifferent."

In its original setting, in Deuteronomy (22:3), the words are addressed to a person who finds lost property, property belonging to another. The Torah says you can't ignore someone else's misfortune. As Rashi comments, "You must not hide yourself by hiding your eyes, averting your gaze, pretending you do not see." That is, you can't just walk on by and mind your own business. Someone else's lost property IS your business. You have to get involved, you have to put yourself out, you have to put yourself in the other's place, to do whatever you can to restore lost property to its owner. Lo tuchal l'hitalem - you must not remain indifferent.

Read those words often enough and you'll take them into your soul. Read them all together, millions of you, at the same time, and you will become a people of commitment and engagement, a people who won't be detached from human suffering, a people to whom apathy -- not caring, not doing -- is anathema. A people who cannot remain indifferent.

We are together every Shabbat, every Saturday morning -- we who love to read, who care about the Jewish story and want to take part in the oldest conversation on earth. We are Jews and non-Jews of all ages and every kind of background. We come together around a text. Some of us LOVE the words. Some of us argue with them. Some of us question them endlessly. All of us are uplifted by the act. As we struggle and laugh and enter into the text, we come to know ourselves better, to know one another, to understand our tradition and our place in the world.

Some of us gather around a table in the Beit Kehilla at 9:15 for an hour of study. Some of us come to the sanctuary at 10:30 to share the ritual that has preserved our people for two millennia: words chanted from a parchment scroll in an ancient tongue, then explicated and applied to our lives.

Our book group, unlike some, is open to all. Anyone can join, at any time. Lost property, our tradition says, must be returned to its owner. If you've lost your connection with Torah, or if the connection was never really formed, come and claim what belongs to you. Lo tuchal l'hitalem.

We are together, every Shabbat, every Saturday morning - in Chicago, in St. Louis, in Paris and Jerusalem; in Yuma, Arizona, and here at Beth Am. Where there is a Jewish community, we are reading the book - because wherever we are, the book brings us home.

~Rabbi Marder~

What if we believed this much in Scripture? Or maybe we do and just need to start acting like it.

Smallness

2006-12-25T15:09:00.001-06:00

“A man chooses to have an emotion about the largeness of the world; why should he not choose to have an emotion about its smallness? It happened that I had that emotion. When one is fond of anything one addresses it by diminutives….
These people professed that the universe was one coherent thing; but they were not fond of the universe. But I was frightfully fond of the universe and wanted to address it by a diminutive. I often did so; and it never seemed to mind. Actually and in truth I did feel that these dim dogmas of vitality were better expressed by calling the world small than by calling it large. For about infinity there was a sort of carelessness which was the reverse of the fierce and pious care which I felt touching the pricelessness and the peril of life. They showed only a dreary waste; but I felt a sort of sacred thrift. For economy is far more romantic than extravagance. To them stars were an unending income of halfpence; but I felt about the golden sun and the silver moon as a schoolboy feels if he has one sovereign and one shilling.”
~G.K. Chesterton~

What if smallness were not something of degradation, but of affinity? What if, instead of striving to do more, be more, see more, we simply were enough in the More?

You see, smallness is not as much about making things small as it is about becoming small. There is humility in smallness. There is wonder in smallness. It is about reversing the ageing process. Smallness is the Fountain of Youth.

When things are small, they are precious. They can be grasped, but not fathomed. Take a diamond. Though of rough beginnings and filthy roots, with the proper care, these stones become tiny treasures. Though small, they are sought after and given extremely high value. We can explain, in scientific terms, the make-up of the stone, but such knowledge does not subsidize one second of breathlessness at the beauty of a diamond unveiled.

There is radiance in smallness. - a presence to it. To be small, one must trust. Smallness is about abandon. It is about the Other. To be small, one must believe that there is one who is big - Elohim perhaps. The moon has a special mystery to it. Silver radiance breaks the solid darkness and mystifies onlookers. But, the moon has no light of its own; it is but a reflector. The sun is the source of light. It is a mystery also, but one that cannot be touched - one that is even dangerous to look at. (Reminds me of glory - of YHWH in Exodus 33.) You see, we are the moon. The very essence of our being has been wired to reflect glory. So much smaller than the sun and even substantially smaller than this world, yet we have the capacity to bring a mystifying glow to the darkness. Still, it is our position to the sun that determines how much of our being will be affected - whether a full reflection or just a sliver.

In smallness there is something of being completely present to the moment and all it may entail. To be small one must be completely open. To be small, one must be completely their essence. To be small, one must be completely humbled. And in all of these, one will find themselves completely alive. The more present we are to the moment, the smaller everything becomes - but in that smallness there is also a sense that it is all a bit more grandiose as well.

The Homeland

2006-12-22T12:05:00.000-06:00

I miss KC. It is truly my new home. And you lovelies are my new family. And I miss you.

This is Church (with a big C)

2006-12-14T11:23:00.000-06:00

Colonial teams with a ministry called Harvesters and provides holiday dinners for families in the area. There is bedding and toys and Bibles and books and snacks, plus the actual holiday dinners, all waiting for these people. And we get to smile and talk with them and offer prayer. It's a blessed time. And the whole time I can't help but think - now this is Church.

Get after it

2006-12-13T22:57:00.000-06:00

http://www.mhbcmi.org/listen/index.php

Nov 12. Jesus Wants to Save Christians VIII
Rob Bell

Go listen to it.

Home, Sweet, Home!

2006-12-10T02:12:00.000-06:00

I love that the Lord brought me here!!!

After a week of missing college and the tight friendships/family atmosphere that it held for me, I am again reminded that the Lord has that for me here, too. That doesn't mean it's going to look the same, or even feel the same, but it is indeed Good.

I love The Gathering and its amazing people...my friends. Heck yes...I have friends. It's amazing! They're amazing. And we know how to party! I am thoroughly enjoying getting to see more glimpses of all the sides of these wonderful people. We danced and laughed the night away and it was glorious. Thank you, all you lovlies, for the amazing life that you add to my days.

I go back to California home in 7 days. I haven't been there since last Christmas. One would think I'd be itching to leave, but instead I'm thinking of how dang much I'm going to miss everyone here - my new family. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my family and am so jazzed to see them...but 9 days is a long time to be away from my new home. I will miss you all.

Such Life. Such a Good Shepherd.

Cry, Baby Girl, Just Cry

2006-12-06T15:36:00.000-06:00

Perhaps it's something of beauty
of relationships
of love
of loss
You are here
but your heart is not
Your destination is unknown
dreams hidden
longings muddled
community masked

So you wrestle with the angel
fighting blindly
with tenacity
for something - more.
But the angel reached out
And now you limp
So you move along
walking tall
looking strong
hiding injury.

But your heart - it limps.

Psalm 27 - Erin style

2006-12-05T21:34:00.000-06:00

You are my light and my salvation. I have no need to fear for You are my Rock. The enemy wants to devour me - to shake me up, but he is the one who will fall for You are my Shield. He will come against me from all sides, but my heart will fight fear. Thought it may want to give up and fall, I will cry to my heart to be confident and stand tall. I want to be with Yahweh, in His house, breathing Him in every moment of my life. To see You and seek You. Then, when the enemy attacks, You will surround me. You will hide me and set me on a firm foundation. You will lift me above my enemies and I will become undignified with shouts of joy and songs of gratitude and dances of freedom.

Hear me, O Lord. Turn Your ear to my cry and do not remain silent. I need to hear You speak - even if but a whisper. I cry to my heart to seek You until You are found. Please do not hide for long or turn away in shame at my immaturity. You have always been the help at my side. You have hemmed me in and been my rescue. Don't give up on me now. Extend to this prodigal Your cloak of forgiveness and sonship. Teach me to be like You, to follow in Your steps, to follow in Your heart. Do not let me be overcome by my desires and impatience. Do not let the enemy kill this heart of mine or shut it down yet again. He breathes out lies. Turn my ears to hear Your Truth.

Even so, I am confident in Your promises. I claim that which You have spoken to my heart and will continue to wait in expectation. There is more Life ahead. One day I will see these promises fulfilled and walk Awake in the land of the living. But for now, I will continue to wait. I will cry to my heart and fight for its life and wait on You. For You are faithful.

2006-12-04T00:23:00.000-06:00

I can see a lot of life in you
I can see a lot of bright in you
And I think the dress looks nice on you
I can see a lot of life in you

I can see a bed and make it too
I can see a fireside turn blue
I can see a lot of life in you
Yes, I can see a lot of life in you

When the world looks back
When the face looks after that
I can see a lot of life in you
Yes, I can see a lot of life in you

I can see a lot of life in you
I can see your bed and make it too
And I think the dress looks nice on you
Yes, I can see a lot of life in you.

I can see a lot of life in you
Yes, I can see a lot of life in you
I can see a lot of life in you.

Sufjan Stevens - "The Dress Looks Nice On You"

Things I need sung to my soul.

Drowsy Prayers

2006-12-02T23:35:00.000-06:00

Apparently Jesus knows something big that I don't. Cause He's waking my friends up to pray for it. What an exciting journey it all is.

Both/And

2006-12-01T10:38:00.001-06:00

I watched Grey’s Anatomy with my roommate last night. Toward the end of the show I said, “I can’t watch this show; there’s too much emotion” and my mind turned to how many shows there are on television these days that I feel the same way about. At that moment, I began to think of all the people who watch these many shows and love them. To me, they are just too much - too packed full of gut-wrenching situations.

I never thought of myself as a sensitive soul, if you will. I’m not a stone either, but a main theme in my journey has been the challenge to feel. It is something I’ve requested of the Lord time and time again and run from about the same amount of times, but it has finally begun to take root in my heart. The thing that hit me last night is that I am rare these days as one who feels - deeply. It’s not that I am not strong, as so many would desire to presume, but instead I have found another manifestation of my strength. I used to think strength was the absence of such deep penetration of the soul, but now I am inclined to believe it is the ability to survive and even perhaps thrive when such depth of feeling is reached and lived from.

And so, the realization that hit me last night, as I thought about this shift in media of the last few years with the CSI’s and the Law and Orders and all the like, is that we are not a people obsessed with television as much as we are craving any semblance of feeling and perhaps even of justice - but we want it safe. We are a people desensitized and fearful. But we are still people and we want to know we are alive - it just takes extreme doses to invoke any feeling in us and if for some reason our hearts threaten to break at the thought before us, we can console ourselves with the fact that it is not real; it‘s just tv. And we look around and see all the injustice in the world, if we look at all, but think “what can we possibly do about it”. and so instead of trying to find out, we turn our eyes to situations that work out, albeit fake ones. We’d rather spend our time “vegging” with fake situations that leave us feeling better or that maybe leave us anxious but can be consoled away by their lack of reality, than use that time to look at this world and its pain like it is actually real and maybe even dare to touch it. But we don’t dare. We’re not ready for real - for conclusions that aren’t on a script somewhere, approved for the masses. No, we like our matrix with its small doses of both pain and beauty. We’d rather have diluted versions of both than the chance at the fullness of pain. And we cower.

But I don’t want it. I’m sick of wasting away at the hand of self-preservation. Give me beauty and give me pain. I’m willing to risk it for the chance at Life. I’ll take the terror of pain for the chance at the glory of beauty. And perhaps it is only in the former that the latter can even be glimpsed. Even so, for this life of mine, I want that promise of full abundant life. He never said full abundant beauty, just life. Perhaps that’s because such Life needs both.

Rose-Colored Glasses

2006-12-01T10:37:00.000-06:00

Beauty.

If I had to pick one word to describe me, my life, my vantage point; it would be beauty.

Today was one of the most grandiose days of the more recent past, but for nothing in particular. Reading began my day - stimulation of the mind to get it going. Music captured the middle of the day. Nothing special, just some practice on the keys, but my skills took another step today and I loved every moment of it. Picking away at the guitar strings for the first time in a week; it is amazing how exuberant an experience that can be. Opening my mouth to add more song to the instruments. It is such a blessing and I can’t help but see how wise my Lord was. I am far from being an amazing musician or singer, but He gave me enough - blessed me with some gifting in music because He knew I would meet Him in the glory of soaring notes.

After a solid week of 60+ degree weather (which is my most favorite), November finally decided to close out with a bang - and some ice. I loved it! Driving down Wornall in the early afternoon, it was as if I had put on rose-colored glasses. I have been dreading and fearing the approaching Kansas winter, but today, I reveled in every moment. I learned to love the snow during my years in Colorado, but ice - ice terrifies me. Not today, though. Today it enraptured me. I like snow-covered trees, but ice-covered trees are multiple times better. The light coating over the branches gives everything a bit of a rose-colored tint. And driving down a street lined for miles with ice-coated trees that meet in the middle, it was none short of grandiose. I soaked it all in, watching the trees and looking at all the lovely homes as I passed - and I dreamed.

Beauty is the glass through which I engage this world. It is the experience I am most often enveloped in. It is the signal of Life for me. Perhaps everything does have a bit of a rose-tint for me, but that’s the beauty of the way the Lord put me together. I soak it all in and I feel it all - when I choose Life.

I look at people and see potential. I look at the roads outside and see an opportunity to slow down and drink it in. We all need a little something to make us slow down and give us the extra time that we won’t take for ourselves. School is cancelled. Events of the night are cancelled. Inconvenience wraps on the heart’s door, pleading for some anger to come out to play, but there is beauty to be had. Families have a chance to be home together. There is time for - well, for Life.

The ironic thing is that the tint these rose-colored glasses bleed pain at times. In seeing the fullness of beauty, I am reminded of the fullness of pain that is likely present at that very same moment. The cemetery, lightly dusted with snow turned me to the delight of the lives lived and the serene scene of it all, but some lost loved ones today. For some, this cold gray day was symbolic of the condition of their heart as it broke today. And my rose-colored glasses turned me to prayer.

“Beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.” I think Khalil Gibran had some rose-colored glasses, too.

Beauty was whispered to my soul from the beginning of time. “Fair jewel in a tranquil sea” - even my name screams this essence, this purpose. And in such, I live and move and have my being.

Blogger

2006-12-01T10:35:00.000-06:00

So...I finally broke down and am entering the Blogger world. I've been pretty deep into introspection lately and thought perhaps this would be the best place for my deep...and sometimes not-so-deep thoughts. Enjoy.