Active Solitude

The other night I discovered that solitude can be just as friendly shared with a dog, depending, of course, on one's mood and the type of solitude sought.  Mine was a slightly adventurous solitude; thus my canine's company was welcome.

At any rate, I went for a long walk Wednesday night in the forest preserve looking for quiet. And it was perfect, due, I think, to several reasons:

1) I came with hardly any expectations. I knew my soul needed quieting and I was hungry for beauty. But instead of looking for it, I just kept my eyes open.
2) I left technology and other distractions at home, including my phone, camera and notebook. I debated for a bit about the notebook, but was glad I didn't bring it. Sometimes there is powerful, inexplicable beauty in the small things, and sometimes, to carry a camera or notebook would cheapen it, somehow.  Plus, in looking at it afterward, it never has the same effect and can even look silly or inconsequential.

The sky, at any given moment, was about twelve shades of blue (though I didn't count).  Periodically I saw other people were biking or running on the path, but they were few and decreased over time.
Birds and crickets were making music, and the wind moved the long grasses and flowers gently while monarch butterflies danced above brightly.  The grasses were rich hues of light and dark green, and the flowers added white, yellow, gold and pink.

None of this sounds terribly exciting, I know, but each tiny part struck me with its beauty almost as deeply as if I had never seen any of it before.

I realized at one point that the moments I was enjoying would never be replicated.  The sky would never be these exact colors with the clouds in exactly these shapes and formations with the grass blowing exactly as it did and those birds flying just so across the sinking arc of the sun and the smell of green life and flowers' fragrance drifting through the air.  There will be other, similar nights. But it will never be exactly the same again.  I don't mind, of course, because that's how life works, but I never think about it in those terms.  Then I realized I was the only person there to witness this transient artwork in all its glory, and I felt a bit honored to witness and enjoy it.

I smelled the perfume of a Queen Anne's lace, a brown-eyed Susan, and a white flower whose identity I don't know.  Out of a field of hundreds upon thousands of practically identical flowers, I might be the only person to accept their humble invitation and sniff the fragrance of those particular flowers.  And maybe it sounds funny, but I was glad I did, even if my dreadfully prosaic sinuses did complain the next morning.

Finally, I wandered off the path and lay on my back in a little clearing.  I let my eyes rest for a while on the curved branches of some bare tree against the sky, admiring the architecture.  I watched a hawk swoop into the shelter of an evergreen, and watched the long grasses and wildflowers sway in the wind.  And I thought about how God had made each part: how He'd designed the elaborate curvature of that dead tree, and engineered those wildflowers with xylem and phloem as their lifeblood flowing up and down, and different cells for the different parts and chlorophyll to turn sunlight to food and keep them green while keeping our lungs rightly inflated.  Then He made them supple, to spring back against the wind's laughter as well as its fury, and hardy to spring back anew each year.

It's been several years since I've taken a science course of any sort, and I normally pass by and regard the long grass simply as grass, and the wildflowers simply as such, though I admire their beauty from time to time.  But even these green plants are remarkably complex.  And they are only plants!

I felt a little like the disciples in Matthew six.  God made the wild grass this elaborate, I thought. Why do I worry about my life and His plans for me?

I tried to think about God literally designing the earth and all that comes with it, but my mind is insufficient and what little I could fathom filled me with awe.  Why do I have such trouble trusting God?

On the walk home, I saw the beginning of the sunset.  The neighborhood was drawing nearer on my left, with the sunset before me, slightly to the right.  Suddenly I noticed on a certain house every window was orange.  That seemed odd--really, matching orange curtains throughout the entire house?  Then I realized it was just a reflection of the sunset, but that seemed odd, too, for when I turned toward the sky, the sun was a smallish, orange disc.  It didn't seem nearly big enough, when I saw mostly blue sky and only the little sun and inklings of approaching sunset, but brilliant orange was all the windows reflected.  Then when I was about parallel with the house, the reflection was gone and I saw white curtains upstairs and someone watching television in the living room.


I went for a walk in need of quiet.  Not only was my soul quieted, but I was filled with wonder and delight.  Solitude needs to happen in my life more often, I think.  And God is good :).

¡Gloria a Dios!

The Sanctuary

I enter our quiet sanctuary:
   a refuge, a place of love.
But I huddle in the corner near the door,
   too aware of my inner imperfections, impurities,
   hidden blemishes.
We are the only two in the room, He and I.
   I long to run, hide in His arms,
   listen to Him, and simply be.
But He is so holy and good,
   and I know He loves me
   but I am flawed
"Cleanse me," I whisper,
   for I know He grants me mercy and grace,
   but I cannot feel it--should I?
My eyes hold tears of shame,
   but He comes close
   and takes my hand to help me up.
"Come," He says.  "I am making you a new heart.
   I am turning the stone to flesh. It hurts sometimes,
   but in the end you shall be glad."
And I hold tightly to His hands
   and let the salty tears roll down.
   "I want to trust You, to live for You, and do right.
"But it's so hard sometimes,
   and I become busy and confused.
   I'm like two people sometimes;
"Sometimes I want You and the things of the world.
   I can't do it right."
He brings me nearer.
   "I know it's hard.
   But I am with you, and I am making all things right.
"I am making your heart of stone
   into a human heart,
   one that is pure, whole and holy.
"I am making you fully beautiful,
   and you are starting, even now,
   to bring glory to my name.
"For I love you, and I am
   great above all.  I am working
   even when you cannot see.
"One day, all will be complete,
   and your heart will be clean, alive
   and truly real,
"And of the stone and dirt there will be no trace.
   I promise."

The sanctuary is quiet,
   but I am with Him.
And while I am filled with wonder,
   and my shame is yet close by,
Still I yearn for Him,
   and His love is stronger.

When Death Still Stings

As Christians, we have the incredible joy to speak of death with hope.  And while it hurts, we have a peace, too.
I am young, and blessed.  Just about all the experiences with death I can remember have been related to believers, and believers who have been sick for such time that we rejoiced to see their pain ended and their joy and love complete as they are with God.

But what do you do when someone dies who wasn't a Christian?
I'm working day camps with the park district this summer, and this morning at work I was greeted with the terrible news that our camp director died last night.
He wasn't even twenty-three yet.  He was talking about getting married and having kids with the girl he's dated for the past three years, had graduated, and wanted to teach special-needs kids.  Of course, I could be mistaken--after all, who am I to judge another's heart?--but I don't think he knew Christ.
I feel so frustrated when life takes an illogical, ugly turn, clearly revealing the effects of sin's destruction once again; when it just doesn't make sense.

All this hasn't sunk in yet...it's not real.  I ended up leaving work early because of the holiday (too few kids with parents off work), but tomorrow will be here soon, and somehow we'll have to tell the kids without traumatizing them.  I suspect it will be a rough week, and feel more real starting tomorrow morning.

What do you even say, when a non-Christian dies?
How do you comfort someone who was close to them; show compassion without lying?
How do you react when the enemy wins a small victory? Though we know the battle's final outcome, don't the small losses still matter greatly if each life is precious and each human being made in the image of God?

I hate living in a marred, twisted, contaminated world.
What do we do when death wins a victory, and we still feel its sting?

Being busy versus disobeying

Sometimes the truth becomes a good excuse, and instead of letting my life fill with good things, or rather important things, I need to change the facts, and stick to the best, most important things.

My life is busy, but I need to stop using that as an excuse for neglecting commitments and the Lord's gentle prompting.

I am supposed to be blogging more, and in the past month or so, there have been several topics I could have written about as I've been learning and thinking, even in the midst of all I'm doing.  But I've been disobedient.  I'm supposed to be writing more, too, toward the story I've been working with, on and off, for the past few years.  And I've opened up that old binder more frequently the past few weeks, but as you can tell, my efforts toward blogging have been minimal at best.

Part of the problem, I suspect, is pride.  Part of me doesn't want to write about something important that's on my mind until I've fully thought it through and decided my opinion at least vaguely, point of view, or the resulting course of action.  But perhaps my unfinished musings will help you think, too.  After all, it is better to mention an idea to provoke thought, even if I present more questions than answers, than never to write at all for the confusion in my little brain.  And I always forget how it helps me to "think on paper." Somehow writing helps me process, and if I took the trouble of making time to blog, perhaps even introducing an idea or line of thought would help me round it out, consider or see it more fully.  Instead I've been ignoring the quiet tug.

The other issue involves my need to prioritize and difficulty in doing so.  This applies to my life in general right now.  There are so many ways to fill my time already limited by work--and to risk sounding arrogant, I'm pretty sure I fill it with good things.  Most of them I still need to keep in my life, but perhaps the quantities need to change.  I've begun by cutting out an extra part-time job that was becoming stressful atop my steadier, more-hours-per-week job.  That was a hard decision, with money a little tight anyway, but at this point I guess I'm supposed to learn to trust God and realize that rest is important, too. And by "rest" I mean a productive, active rest (though the extra job was interfering with sleep, too) which includes alone time, writing, reading, and wholesome time with family and friends.  I guess the sum is I must pray more diligently for discernment in time.

I am feeling with particular force lately the peculiar inbetween or transition state I am in right now in terms of my life.  I have a vague idea of what I want to do with my life, but not enough specifics to declare a major and start pursuing it directly quite yet.  This, I might add, is frustrating, but I'm trying to be patient.  There are issues that come to my attention and bother me, but I don't have the money, time, knowledge or resources to actually do anything about them, or so it seems.  I'm trying to learn how to be critical without being cynical, and realistic without being pessimistic, but that's pretty much in God's hands as I have no idea how to find that balance.


I guess right now is my time to, as always, keep seeking God wholeheartedly, learn and think and gain knowledge and understanding, and live my life as best I can for God and in Him, inconsequential though my everday actions seem oftentimes.

Well, there are my musings, rambling and self-consumed as they seem.  Here is my confession of disobedience to the call, inexplicable though it generally seems, to write, and my prayer for strength to listen next time and the time after that.

Praise Him for His infinite love and abounding grace, that while we must bear the consequences of our sin, He still picks us up when we fall!

To Him be all glory and honor and praise forever and ever!