"Living with Contradiction"

"I need a God who is with us always, everywhere, in the deepest depths as well as the greatest heights.  It is when things go wrong, when the good things do not happen, when our prayers seem to have been lost, that God is most present....


We need to say 'Thank you' whenever possible, even if we are not able to reconcile the human creature's free will with the Master's working out of the pattern.  Thanks and praise are, I believe, some of the threads with which the pattern is woven.


...Living with contradiction is nothing new to the human being."

                                                                        -Madeleine L'Engle, Two-Part Invention




"Mysticism keeps men sane.  As long as you have mystery you have health; when you create mystery you create morbidity.  The ordinary man has always been sane because the ordinary man has always been a mystic.  He has permitted the twilight.  He has always had one foot in earth and the other in fairyland. He has always left himself free to doubt his gods; but (unlike the agnostic of to-day) free also to believe in them.  He has always cared more for truth than for consistency.  If he saw two truths that seemed to contradict each other, he would take the two truths and the contradiction along with them.  His spiritual sight is stereoscopic, like his physical sight: he sees two different pictures at once and yet sees all the better for that.... The whole secret of mysticism is this: that man can understand everything by the help of what he does not understand.


...The one created thing which we cannot look at is the one thing in the light of which we look at everything.  Like the sun at noonday, mysticism explains everything else by the blaze of its own victorious invisibility."

                                                                      -G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Library Window

(I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and have been too busy to edit and post it. But I think I'm going to just post it anyway.)

Outside, the first fearsome winds of winter

   berate and bully barren trees,

   howl round stolid buildings of brick,

   whip the faces of lonely passers-by.

I am driven in, into the hushed realm of tables and chairs,

   surrounded by stacks upon stacks of books

   emanating scents of old yellowing paper, ink and binding,

   kept company in quiet isolation by coffee, books, and unwritten words.

Finals and ominous, gleaming, tell-tale letters loom ahead,

   mostly ignored, or kept on pretense of such

   (as I wish they did not have such power over me).

And the existential crisis of the culminating three weeks wells within me,

   asking, “why am I here?” and “why do I care?”

   and “what does it matter?”

A bright and glorious sunset is strewn across the sky,

   the skeletons of trees silhouetted against,

   ribbed with the reflections of narrow fluorescent lights,

   transparent towers of commentaries superimposed over brick dorms and purple sky.

The window-scenes dim, fade into thorough darkness;

   the books crowd closer, impel my fingers to type faster,

   hot coffee inspires, enlivens my veins,

   and estrangement from the world enforces productivity.

The Acrobat and the Abyss

  I was on a journey, and had walked for many miles when my travels came to an abrupt halt as I reached the edge of an abyss.  As you can imagine, I found this not a little disappointing, and stood there for a long while wondering how to get across.

To my astonishment, however, I noticed a tightrope stretching out from the cliff edge and, slowly, a man pushing a wheelbarrow across the rope toward me.  In the wheelbarrow sat another performer.  By and by they reached land: the performer jumped out of the wheelbarrow and went on his way.

I stood at the edge of the chasm, and the acrobat smiled at my amazement.  “Don’t you think I can do it again?” he asked.

“Certainly,” I replied with sincere gravity and awe.  “Of course I believe you can.”

The acrobat repeated the question, and when the answer was the same, he pointed to the wheelbarrow and said, “Good!  Get in, then, and I will take you across.”

To be sure, I felt a brief pang of trepidation, but this I took as a child, with the surging thrill of adventure.  “Truly?” I cried, apprehensive and overjoyed.

“Indeed,” he said, smiling to see my eagerness.

Hereupon I leapt into the wheelbarrow and settled myself for the journey.

Time passed and the acrobat pushed me over the tightrope for what seemed endless miles, never varying in speed, never becoming weak or fatigued.  For all this, however, we surely had more than three-quarters of our journey yet to travel.  Infinitely the rope stretched before us—I could see no end near or otherwise.  I twisted my head around to peer behind, and saw that the opposite cliff from whence we’d come had disappeared, too, and there would be no returning.  Below, the dark of the abyss; above, the clouds congregated as for a rainstorm.

Where I had previously felt such peace, the chill of fear crept into my heart.  How terribly alone we seemed.  How awfully long and hard this journey was!  What if I was too heavy and the acrobat grew tired?  After all, he had only finished pushing someone else when I came along.  I felt as though I ought to help, but I had no skill or experience and the chasm fell so dreadfully far below.

Who was this acrobat anyway?  To be sure, it felt as though I had known him forever.  Certainly he kept on most prodigiously.  But no one had told me how vast the tightrope was, how uncomfortable the wheelbarrow’s wood became, nor how the rain and wind could sting.  And there were so many things about the acrobat I did not know.

Despite my deep breaths and rationalizations, I began to tremble, and my fingers gripped the wheelbarrow with all the strength that was in them.

Fog enveloped us.  I was cold, wet, and afraid.  I thought we were still moving, though it was hard to tell, and panic rose in me when I realized the fog obscured my acrobat completely from my sight and all but muffled his quiet voice entirely.  And, shivering, I began to weep.

Could he hear my cries?  Surely if he heard he would he not comfort me?  Or would he be irritated at my lack of confidence and berate me—if not in word, then at least in thought, saying to himself, “What an ungrateful wretch this girl is, when I have promised to bring her across the abyss and am giving myself entirely for her.”

I wanted to be strong and bear the cold and wind and rain with patience.  I wanted to be a child, weak but secure in my daddy’s lap, comforted and loved.  But I was neither of these, and I was helpless and confused.

Every once in a great while I thought I heard whispers that sounded like, “I love you,” or “I am still here.”  But I could never be sure, and was afraid it might be my imagination.

And I sat, huddled and miserable in the bottom of the wheelbarrow.  The acrobat, I think, kept pushing, for we never once wavered on the thin line.  And so we kept on.

(A personalized retelling of the story by Morton Kelsey)

the deep longing

Do you ever feel that deep longing?

Does the yearning of your soul ever fill you until you feel it with all that you are, and it is a pulling, expanding ache within you?

Until you are sure that to glimpse something beautiful or become witness to some sorrow or pain might overwhelm you with wordless emotion?

It is hard to put the longing into words...indeed, it almost seems sacrilege to do so.
But I think this is a holy longing.

I think this is the longing that keeps us coming back to God and hoping and praying for redemption and restoration, for all things to be made right.  How long, O Lord?


This longing keeps us alive. Its pain is a form of hope—it reminds us that there is something more, that this world and its pain are not ends in themselves; that God will restore us to Him, restore our relationships with one another, restore the world to peace free from the cataclysm of drought, hurricane, earthquake, famine, war.

The medieval abbess and mystic Hildegard of Bingen wrote of this longing, and her words are an encouragement to me:

Like billowing clouds,
like the incessant gurgle of the brook,
the longing of the soul can never be
stilled. 

It is this longing with which holy
persons seek their work from God. 

Perhaps God also uses this longing to not only keep us seeking Him, but to bring us into participation in bringing about His work of redemption. Whether through proclaiming truth, creating works of beauty, or working to alleviate suffering, perhaps this longing serves as an impetus toward our personal involvement in God's work.  Perhaps that's part of what the Kingdom is all about....

To the November Moon and Kelley Goewey

The lonely full moon floats

  In an indifferent, all-black sky

  above the busy, purposeless

  to-and-fro of red and yellow

  lights on the expressway.

What are you seeing,

  O wide, wide-eyed Moon?

What are you trying to say, Moon,

  with your round open mouth?

Would you impart whispered secrets,

  lumined slivers of wisdom

  could we but hear your voice?

Are you singing to us, O Moon,

  the lullabies of the cosmos,

  were the deafness of our ears to fall away?

Somewhere, at a lonely desk

  in an indifferent room

  with the moon's full face serenely shining above

A girl catches glimmers of something more

   and silently scribbles poetry.

Monday Morning Musings: Becoming Colorblind

But when will it all be new??

When will it be made right?

Forget to keep asking these questions…

Stop because the question hurts;

The longing for more aches within you and is not satisfied.

Forget the questions because the monotony of unchanging days grows tiresome,

And the days are heavy,

And sometimes the questions multiply faster than the answers

And often there are no answers;

You are met with silence.

So forget the questions and trudge on.

Get lost in the meaningless chaos,

In the details of every hour,

And the stale, gray blandness of routine, everyday life.

You must pretend you are not disappointed

When each day is exactly like the last

Because you expected no difference.

You must not, shall not feel the ache, the weight of wanting more,

Though you lose the chance for glimpses of joy and color--

With the expectation that something could happen,

You shall relinquish the slivers of beauty that do happen.

Though perhaps when you give up expecting God to work,

When you cease to look for him everywhere you go,

You give up the ability to see Him where He is working.

But this way there will be no risk.

Maybe in your ache to see the Kingdom,

In your fierce desire for redemption,

You will miss the Kingdom altogether

For fear it might not look just as you thought;

But now you are not disillusioned,

Though you be neither surprised nor overjoyed.

The world of gray envelops you, enfolds you in its dreary hues,

And in your fearful faithfulness

You become colorblind.

"think often on God"

Brother Lawrence was a monk who lived in the 1600s and who wrote a collection of letters, notes and conversations published as The Practice of the Presence of God.


Here are a few morsels I found especially helpful or thought-provoking.

 "Accustom yourself, then, by degrees thus to worship Him, to beg His grace, to offer Him your heart from time to time in the midst of your business, even every moment, if you can.  Do not always scrupulously confine yourself to certain rules, or particular forms of devotion, but act with a general confidence in God, with love and humility." (Seventh Letter)

"[He] had no scruples; for, said he, when I fail in my duty, I readily acknowledge it, saying, I am used to do so; I shall never do otherwise if I am left to myself.  If I fail not, then I give God thanks, acknowledging that the strength comes from Him." (Second Conversation)

"[We] might accustom ourselves to a continual conversation with Him [God], with freedom and in simplicity.  [We] need only to recognize God intimately present with us, to address ourselves to Him every moment, that we may beg His assistance for knowing His will in things doubtful, and for rightly performing those which we plainly see He requires of us, offering them to Him before we do them, and giving Him thanks when we have done." (Fourth Conversation)

"There is not in the world a kind of life more sweet and delightful than that of a continual conversation with God..... It is not pleasure which we ought to seek in this exercise; but let us do it from a principle of love, and because God would have us....  Ah! knew we but the want we have of the grace and assistance of God, we should never lose sight of Him—no, not for a moment." (Fifth Letter)

"It is, however, necessary to put our whole trust in God, laying aside all other cares, and even some particular forms of devotion, though very good in themselves, yet such as one often engages in unreasonably, because these devotions are only means to attain to the end.  So when by this exercise of the presence of God we are with Him who is our end, it is then useless to return to the means; but we may continue with Him." (Sixth Letter)

"She seems to me full of good will, but she would go faster than grace.  One does not become holy all at once." (Ninth Letter)

(That last letter could have been written about me, so strongly does it hit me!)

"Pray remember what I have recommended to you, which is, to think often on God, by day, by night, in your business, and even in your diversions.  He is always near you and with you; leave Him not alone.  You would think it rude to leave a friend alone who came to visit you; why, then, must God be neglected?  Do not, then, forget Him, but think on Him often, adore Him continually, live and die with Him; this is the glorious employment of a Christian.  In a word, this is our profession; if we do not know it, we must learn it."  (Tenth Letter) 

autumn fool

I believe I read a book once, in which one of the characters remarked something about all young poets being fools in spring; that they couldn't help themselves but to be overwhelmed with the wonder of the season.  If that is so, I am an autumn fool, for I have been writing poetry about autumn ever since I was a child and am still entranced by this annual yet transient splendor.

That said, here are a few glimpses of the beauty I found last week while home for fall break.

Scribblings in a Notebook During Class

September rain plays percussion

On the window, tree-leaves, rooftop, sidewalk;

Within the glass, all just ignore

To doze, daydream, multitask, talk.

Would that I could be outside,

Feel the drumbeats on my head, my skin;

Let the wind blow me around

Like a lonesome leaf driven by whim.

But noisesome typing on keyboards

Drowns out tumultuous rain;

Warm and secure we stay within

That by white-walled learning we might gain.

O cold, capricious gale

Eagerly swirling autumn's hues

Beneath darkened tow'rs of clouds,

Joy and shadow to singularly fuse—

Sweep me away, wild September wind,

To sail through sombre skies,

Laughing irresponsibly

As you bite tears into my eyes.

One Day

[A long-awaited guest post: a poem written by my talented writer-friend Kelley Goewey.]

One Day

Reflected stars fade on the water.

How can you call me your daughter?

Shadows shift in endless art.

My hands are clean, but not my heart.

“This is love…” your blood for me.

I wait beside the sunrise sea.

“It’s not enough!” my desperate scream.
A shiver breaks my half-formed dream.

My shadow swallowed up in light.

Heavy soul, consumed with blight.
My head bent low against the sun.

I’m drowning dry; I am undone.

My unworthiness, a theme.

The sea sends back the sunset’s gleam.

Why would you have chosen me?

Darkness damps the sparkling sea.

The moon before me and above.

I cringe beneath relentless love.

Motionless beneath the sky,

I know my sin and yearn to die.

I question this, your holy will.

The tide flows out, my soul grows still.

I cannot see, yet stumble on,

And broken, hope for some pale dawn. 

random musing of the week

Lately I've been wondering:

What color eyes did Adam and Eve have?
Did Adam have brown eyes and Eve hazel?  Or did Adam have blue eyes and Eve brown?  In that case, I wonder if they were surprised when one of their children had green eyes, or grey, or hazel?  Or how did it happen?

I am terribly curious about this, which is unfortunate, for I think I shall not have an answer for a long, long time.

Do you ever have itching questions like that?

more thoughts on suffering

A follow-up to my last post:

"The Son of God suffered unto death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like his." -George MacDonald

We are not left alone in our sufferings.  On the contrary, hardship often brings us back to God as we realize just how much we need him, and so we may come to rely on him once more, or more fully.  As we read in 1 Peter 1, suffering purifies our faith while testing our faithfulness.  But instead of merely an inescapable reality, perhaps suffering is important.

We do live in a twisted, broken world, and the pain and discord are tragic.  As followers of a crucified Christ (resurrected, yes, but also crucified!) perhaps we ought to view suffering as vital rather than something to flee from.  Perhaps it is our opportunity to show the power of the hope that we have in the name we carry.  For the power of the resurrection tells us that all our trials are temporary and that God is restoring all things to harmony and beauty and wholeness, and that the pain we experience now brings us closer to the everlasting joy to come.  And the power of the ascension tells us that Christ is on the throne: that he is sovereign and powerful.  And he will return and bring it all to completion.


¡gloria a Dios!

Called to Suffer

I was reading Acts 9 the other day.
Context: Saul (later called Paul), the Jewish religious leader, is on a mission to persecute the early believers when he has a terrifying encounter with Jesus and is struck blind.  He goes to a nearby town, where he will find out what he is to do.  Meanwhile, Ananias has a vision in which God tells him to go to Saul, that God might use him to restore his sight.
Ananias, of course, is disconcerted.  "Lord," he says, "This man is murdering your people left and right, and now he has orders to come here and kill us!"

But the Lord said to him, "Go, for he is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before the Gentiles and kings and the children of Israel. For I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name." (Acts 9:15)

 This really struck me. God clearly called Saul/Paul to preach the Gospel all over the Roman empire; he used him to write most of our New Testament.  But he doesn't use any of those qualifications as the basis for his call here.  Instead, he calls Paul to suffer.
At a time when Christianity was unpopular to say the least, the call to suffer was not an unusual one. Were believers then called to the same basic elements of the Christian life that we are now? Grace. Forgiveness. Adoption as sons and daughters.  Freedom.  Life everlasting.  Perfect love...etc.  Indeed, I certainly believe so.  But they were also called to suffer.

So this made me think.

What about us? Are we called to suffer?  Would we even recognize the call if we heard it?  Suffering is not a popular concept to our culture, and the church in America tends to brush over the topic as well.  Most people I know wouldn't want to be called to suffer. But it certainly did not deter Paul from following Christ and fulfilling his apostolic role.
Or did suffering mean something different then than it does today?  I wonder.

It's fascinating to read the writings of the early martyrs.  For instance, Ignatius in the first century AD wrote that his sufferings would make him a true disciple; he hoped that through them he would become pure, a literally living sacrifice before God (Romans 12:1).  He wrote:

Let fire and the cross; let the crowds of wild beasts; let tearings, breakings and dislocations of bones; let cutting off of members; let shatterings of the whole body; and let all the dreadful tortures of the devil come upon me; only let me get to Jesus Christ….  All the pleasures of the world, and all the kingdoms of this earth, shall profit me nothing…. Him I seek, who died for us; Him I desire, who rose again for our sake.  This is the gain which is laid up for me.  Pardon me, brethren, do not keep me from living, do not wish to keep me in a state of death; while I desire to belong to God, do not give me over to the world. 

What role does (or should) suffering play for us in North America as followers of a crucified and risen Christ?

Ayiti

This poem was written by my sister, Jessica during and after her trip to Haiti this summer.  "Ayiti" is Creole for "Haiti" and "Jezi" is Creole for Jesus.  She'll guest-write a longer prose post later about her experiences, but this was so beautiful I wanted to share it with you.

Ayiti

“When will it end?” the old woman says,

with the weight of water                  

on her back.               

“Jezi, let it end!” begs the mother ahead

with a child on her hip and a

child by the hand.

“When will it start?” says the girl to

the boy as they sit in the

wind in the tents.

And the deep lines of the old woman’s

face, the weary lines and the weary

eyes in the dark face

tell a tale of hunger and thirst

of dust and dirt,        

of pain and poverty in a world without grace.

The mother’s burdens and stoop

of her shoulders and the droop

in her eyes tells of a ceaseless task

and a hopeless future.

But the girl, with head on knees,

dirty hands and bare feet,

waits and wonders when the world for her             

will begin, when it will reveal its treasures.

And the land with bitterness

laughs at her thought

and sighs—and remembers when it

cracked, shook, tumbled their homes

like blocks,                             

crushed their bodies like twigs.

an outburst of joy

Inexplicable but undeniable—
Quiet and first, but pouring eventually over;
The pieces askew suddenly set right.

Surely you have turned my mourning to dancing,
taken my rags and clothed me in gladness;
surely you've transformed these doubts to singing
and laughter so easily comes bubbling forth!

Psalm 117

Praise the Lord, all nations!

Extol him, all peoples!

For great is his steadfast love toward us,

and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever.

Praise the Lord!

My questions are yet unanswered;
Life's challenges shall remain;
imperfections persist in me.

But of this he has reassured me;
From this he brings me peace:
His steadfast love and sovereignty
and faithfulness never cease!



[Praise the Lord, O my soul,
Praise the Lord!]

Revelations from the Wilderness

Day 5 in the Boundary Waters
I have been in a dry place spiritually for many months, seeking God and sometimes (more often than I'd like), doubting Him.  On Thursday, the fifth day of our canoeing and camping trip, God encouraged me with this reminder of His faithfulness; to bring me peace and keep me seeking Him faithfully, too.


Each morning, whether or not we see it through the clouds, the sun rises.
Each evening, as it fades past the horizon, I never doubt that it will rise again to bring us dawn.

Each year, summer is followed by autumn, autumn by winter, and, sooner or later, winter by spring.
Though winter may seem interminable, I never doubt the eventual return of warmth and green.

Whether obscured or clear, I never doubt the presence of the stars in the heavens or the moon cycling around.

How, then, can I doubt the faithfulness of the God who carefully created and controls all these things?

Surely He is much greater than His majestic creation!

trapped in suburbia

In my ache for God I also find myself hungry for beauty.

I am impatient with the concrete and glass, siding and metal and shingles of suburbia; tired of sunsets elusive behind man-made structures and stars washed out by our artificial, never-ending daylight; stifled by the noise and commotion that drive away the peace of silence and stillness and nature-noises.  I want to see beyond the rows of edifices that stretch well past the flat horizon.

God seems easier to find amidst the glory--the raw, untempered beauty--of His creation.  I don't mean to imply that Creation didn't fall, too. I'm not really making any theological statements here; just speaking of my own thoughts and tendencies.  Maybe I just see God more easily in what He made directly.


And when I yearn for God so painfully, it becomes easy, perhaps, to feel trapped within the fences and walls of suburbia.

some whimsical nonsense

Maybe, my dear, the world has fallen over;
   perhaps we're sailing through the sky.
Perhaps the stars have all gone hollow
   and eternity is on our side.
It's possible, of course, that everything is over—
   but maybe, my dear, we're finally alive.

summer embers

Summer evening
clouds are lit by gold.


Cool wind
whispers across my ears.


Slender leaves,
  parallel telephone wires,
    rising birds
are darkened against blue and gold
  of summer sky.


Breathe in embers of evening
and daylight.

family game nights

This haiku is a joke, my response to a challenge from my sister.  The story it tells, on the other hand, is more or less true.

The card game golf is

just great. I won by forty.

Strategy is mine.

Or, perhaps, if you'd like a little more context, here's the alternate version:

The card game golf is

just great. I won by forty.

Happy Father's Day!

Belated, I know, but it happens.

On other news, take advantage of that extra sunlight and enjoy the Summer Solstice!

monday morning musings

The chaos: I'm sick.
The cosmos: down time and rest.


One thing (among many) I look forward to about eternity is the fact that we won't have to rush to do anything; won't feel compelled to hurry busily from one place, one thing, to the next.  Granted, I'm not sure we should be so busy all the time in THIS life, but there we won't be limited to our four-score-and-ten, plus or minus a few decades.

Revelation says there will be no sun...still, I wonder sometimes if there will be sunrises and sunsets just the same—or perhaps something better in their place?  Then we would rejoice with each sunrise—even on Monday mornings—filled with joy for yet another day to live in the reign and presence of our King!

Even as I write that I feel a bit like a child dreaming of a fairy-book ever-after, contemplating safety in the King's castle, all well with the world.  No matter.  Perhaps that is only a medieval twist on the truth after all.

The grey sky and wet, green grass and tree-leaves outside might seem dreary, but right now they make me feel cozy to be stuck indoors.

And maybe...maybe I'm not supposed to be sure about sunrises and sunsets on the "new earth" in order that I may appreciate them now, each day, rejoicing that I am witnessing another day beginning and ending, secure within God's love, safe in His grace and power, ransomed for all time into the joyous courts of His magnificent dwelling, priviliged—nay blessed—to know Him truly and delight in Him.  Of course there is hardship, but I am His, and freedom will come....

Obscurity

Some shadowy obscurity
Has darkened all I thought I knew;
Where am I,
And where are you?

I know the me of an earlier day—
Recognizing me now?—
It's harder to say.

I am unfaithful,
You are true;
I am broken,
You make things new.

You've seen the tears, the cries, the need,
The empty hands imploring you—
But where am I,
And where are you?

I think I know you pretty well
But the familiar form seems rather vague
And honestly it's hard to tell—
Who am I?
And who are you?

I miss the joy, life, and delight,
And while I know you're near
It's so hard to trust
While full of dark and wretched fears.

I need to know your love
In the very depths of my soul;
To come tenderly in
And make me wonderfully whole.

I am your bride, your love, your child,
You are the Father, the bridegroom, a mystery—
You call me your own,
You vow to be with me.

Still I feel lost and alone,
Imperfect, undone
(nothing is new,
says the cynical sun),

Unimportantly mumbling
To myself and the sky—
Who are you again?—
And who am I?

And if you see fit to answer,
Tell me, too—
Where am I?
And where are you?

Wilkerson: Death & Wisdom

David Wilkerson, author of The Cross and the Switchblade and founder of Teen Challenge and World Challenge, died in a car crash last night.

A friend sent me a link to Rev. Wilkerson's blog and I found his post yesterday, and particularly the day before (April 26) a strong encouragement to persevere in all areas of my life but particularly my faith--especially right now in this stressful time at the end of a hectic semester, and as I am faced with my own shortcomings and failings.  It strikes me too, that his last post spoke of trusting God and finding hope in Him even when facing "the valley of the shadow of death" and that "one day it will all make sense."

I encourage you to peruse his blog and read wisdom from a godly man who lived out the gospel he preached!

http://davidwilkersontoday.blogspot.com/

blurred and weary

The bland gray of monotonous days
trudging along with the heaviness of tired self,
accelerated by challenge of work upon work,
the heavy murmur of failure in disquiet ears.

Singing birds give a pretense of life.
But Spring has regressed,
sunk back into grey, chill Winter,
and any green is lost
beneath dirty snow.



Friday's darkness descends
and heavy clouds obscure all light.
What suffering, O what torment!
We hold our breath in somber expectation.

Glorious dawn of Sunday--
O what joy, O what hope!
People across all the nations
join in celebrating, rejoicing;
we recall life is so much greater than us.



Torrents of April rain
whisper hope of an eventual Spring
while dismal must-piles
demand focus of a weary brain.

O Great God, let there be hope in me
as in the larking, light-hearted air-minstrels;
let there be joy and trust in me
as in the flow'ring boughs.
And let me bring you glory with each trudging day that comes.


[amen]

"For these seeds to come to life, first they must die"

Lately I've been feeling somewhat as though I am losing control of my life.  Likely it's a good thing, albeit scary, and I found this reminder from Elisabeth Elliot encouraging on the importance of letting go of what God has given us and trusting Him:

There is no ongoing spiritual life without this process of letting go.  At the precise moment where we refuse, growth stops.  If we hold tightly to anything given to us, unwilling to let it go when the time comes to let it go or unwilling to allow it to be used as the Giver meant it to be used, we stunt the growth of the soul....

The truth is that it is ours to thank Him for and ours to offer back to Him, ours to relinquish, ours to lose, ours to let go of—if we want to find our true selves, if we want real Life, if our hearts are set on glory.

....The lesson of the seed had not been fully learned.  There must be relinquishment.  There is no way around it.  The seed does not "know" what will happen.  It only knows what is happening—the falling, the darkness, the dying....

We are given the chance to trust Him when He says to us, "...If any man will let himself be lost for my sake, he will find his true self."

When will we find it? we ask.  The answer is, Trust Me.
How will we find it? The answer again is, Trust Me.
Why must I let myself be lost? we persist.  The answer is, Look at the acorn and trust Me.

Or to quote a line of a Jon Foreman song,

For these seeds to come to life
First they must die.

Chains

[Found this on my computer from over a year and a half ago--had completely forgotten about it--and appreciated the encouragement. Thought someone else might, too.]


I can't stand anymore;
it's too heavy.
my whole being is throbbing,
pulsing.

Intense pain
               everywhere.

I see his hand, stretched out toward me,
and I turn away in shame
and something like hatred.
But his hand is still there, waiting.

Finally, desperation overcomes;
I reach for him;
put it in his hand.

Everything.

I see the rest of him now;
I see his face twist in aguish,
And the pain in his eyes makes me want to weep.

I see him stagger backward, under the weight;
I see the blood making rivulets down his face.
I hear his agonized, tortured breathing.

And I realize my world has stopped spinning,
the pounding in my head has ceased;
strength creeps back into my bones
and I can stand again.

And I am free.

Yearning

There is a yearning,
elusive,
set deep within my soul:
residing
in the frayed ends;
in the healed
and the untouched places;
aching
for unfulfilled wholeness
and something else.
Unspoken words of the
monsoon
roaring, aching, sweeping
wrecked
and desperate
in the noise of need;
All the unanswered
shouts
and whispers;
even Silence's dreams
spin out to some
empty
equation—though sometimes
You bring a cascading
peace
a potent heartbeat of
joy
...But I still need
more
of You.
You fulfill,
but in this season or lifetime
(I couldn't say which)
every pulse asks
more.

a glimpse

Holy, holy, holy

is the Lord God Almighty

Who was and is and is to come

- In these pure, open voices I hear the nations.

I see a multitude—or have a sense of it

people unending

voices        voices

singing, praising

colors rich, all hues

from all corners of the earth

a swelling fullness of beauty

selves made whole,

all given over to Him

completely, nothing held back
  together lost in worship, adoration to their King.

Our King.    

                           Come, beloved.  Join the dance.            

January Sky

Vivid hues of sunset

Paint life across

Winter's muted tones.

Sing to me, January sky;

Soothe this wakened soul;

And pursuade a fearful heart

to trust

           and to let go.

Journal Excerpts from India

30 Dec 2010 [Thursday]
Chennai

Praise God for keeping us through these few days of travelling!  While long, the 17+ hours in the air, layover time, etc. have gone smoothly and we were blessed with an extra day in Chennai to rest and sightsee before taking the train toward Repalle tomorrow.

There are people everywhere.  We went briefly today to the beach, letting warm water from the Bay of Bengal splash over our feet; to a zoo of sorts ot see the snakes; to the Saint Thomas Basilica and the mount where said apostle first preached.  And inbetween was the adventure that consisted of our driver navigating the crazy traffic....

I hope our time at the school and in the villages will allow or at least help me understand rather than merely seeing to marvel, like a tourist I suppose.

31 Dec [Friday]

Train ride from Chennai

The restlessness in me for now is quelled and replaced by a joyful, active content.  I am a child with wide eyes and wonder, trying all at once to take in everything—sights, sounds, smells and tastes—of this land and people, and wanting so dearly to understand.  If ever I had any doubt about my calling, surely this living, stirring peace would give it away!

IREF school in Repalle, same day

How can I describe the land I saw from the train and van?

I saw a land of rich greens and rice fields where women crouched, harvesting.  I saw towns crowded with people and buildings of cement, thatched huts, and shanties of anything else.  I saw rivers where men and women dere doing laundry; ditches by the railroad tracks full of garbage; sections of land where the dirt is red with clay; desert areas where palm trees and cactus grow side-by-side.  I saw beggars with twisted or missing limbs; water-buffalo and goats roaming around; great bales of rice husks standing aloof in fields like Monet's haystack paintings but against a horizon speckled with palm trees.

They welcomed us at the school like celebrities or royalty.  We emerged from the van and walked up a street lined with men and boys.  They threw flower petals at us (the younger boys often aiming gleefully at our faces) and lit fireworks in our path.  When we turned the corner, the girls and women met us, putting large garlands of flowers round our necks—two each, heavy and fragrant—and they continued to throw petals so our hair, clothes and backpacks were adorned in yellow and orange.  John was given a microphone and asked to pray while photos were snapped in our faces.  And hundreds of children waved and smiled and called hello and "Happy New Year!" to us as we passed.  Some of the brave little boys put out their hands for us to shake and asked hopefully, "How are you?"  I doubt I was the only one so humbled, full of such wonder at this unbelievably loving reception.

1 Jan 2011 [Saturday]
Went to church late morning/early afternoon.
Then the girls on our team got some tubes of henna and brought it to the courtyard with all the nail polish and waited for the girls to come.

Again, it was all remarkably humbling.  It began with only a few girls around each of us, putting the henna tattoos on one hand.  Then more came, so three or four would stay, constant, and another 5-15 would come and go.  They ended up putting designs on both my hands and wrists, feet, painting my nails, braiding my hair, feeding me candy and snacks because I couldn't move or touch anything...

Bharati (prounounced "Barti") was the primary girl I became friends with; she did most of the henna, stayed the whole time, and gave me her bangle bracelets saying, "This way when you go home, you will see them and remember me," and they match my punjabi.  Then the girls complimented me to no end, excited to make me into an Indian, and started teaching me words in Telugu.  They call me "akka," older sister, and I call each one "chelli": little sister. Sireesha and Rani were two other girls who stuck around; they  are16 like Bharati and Rani's name means "queen."  So I joked with them and told them they made me feel "like Rani."  It was true.

2 Jan [Sunday]
This morning we went to church...for something like the fourth time in the last 3 days. Led a few songs...was struck by the faith and sincerity of the girls at the altar call and during communion.  Only those who have been baptized may take communion.  And those were surprisingly few. The decision to follow Christ is an enormous, life-altering, difficult commitment for the students here, whose families are mostly Hindu and do not understand; they may even cast them out of the family.  So Dee and Emmanuel want to make sure they know what it means to be a Christian.

After lunch we went to a church in a village pastored by Francis, Emmanuel's brother.  Materially the people are poor.  They live in brick or mud huts with roofs of dried palm branches with one room for eating, sleeping, living, no matter how many children they have.  Several of the children were wearing clothes that were torn, holes gaping wide open.
As we entered the courtyard of the church we were greeted once more with flower petals thrown over us and bright garlands of flowers placed around our necks.  The plentiful children, women, and a few men beamed at us in greeting and escorted us to the stage behind the altar.
While the villagers crouched on the floor we were beckoned into chairs.  The children watched hungrily as we were given bananas and crackers to eat and cups of Pepsi to drink.
There was a brief sharing time, as there has been in the church in Repalle.  One woman described how long the rains lasted this year and how bad they were—seven months, if I recall.  They were afraid their homes would wash away.  All their crops were ruined.  Yet with joy she ended by praising God for how He provided amidst these overwhelming troubles when they prayed for help.

When the service had finished, the children crowded up asking for pictures and attention and many of the villagers asked individuals on our team to pray for them by gesturing to their heads, where we would place our hands to pray.
As I was about to leave the courtyard, a pregnant woman in a green sari approached me, pointing to her head earnestly.  Francis's daughter Lydia was nearby, and she explained that this woman has not been able to bear children after trying for ten years.  After praying to God, she is now pregnant.
I saw that her faith was so much greater than my own—and yet she asked me to pray for her?  What could I possibly do for her or give her spiritually when she knows far more of God's love and power than I do?  Still, I thanked God for her and prayed for both she and her child.

Next they took us into a little hut where a man knelt on the dirt floor and we prayed for him.  Dee told us later he has been sick for a while so they took him from hospital to hospital.  He was finally diagnosed with tuberculosis.  His young wife and beautiful little daughters watched quietly with sad eyes as we prayed.
We walked to another hut and sat outside it under the eaves of the surrounding homes.  Dee pointed out water buffalo dung slapped on the walls of a few of these and explained how it is dried and used for fuel.

Again they gave us chairs while they sat on the ground.  Dee kept the woman of the home from giving us rice we couldn't eat and the little girls led the congregation in some songs.  The man of the home told us how last year he had wanted to have everyone over after church but couldn't because he didn't have room.  So he prayed and bought a water buffalo and started making a little money.  But, he said, when he had money in his hand he forgot about prayer.  He got sick, and his children and water buffalo started getting sick.  Then he remembered prayer, and indeed, he had us over to his house as he'd hoped.

Dee pointed to the corner of the "yard" where they go to the bathroom.  A hen and her tiny chicks trotted around.  The man's daughter went on the roof and cut squash off the vines to show us proudly, and flies swarmed around the ground at our feet.  And the people were beautiful.

Once more, what have we done to deserve this special treatment?  To accept hospitality and take gifts of food from people who have nothing?  Why are we honored when it is they, rich in faith amidst their poverty who will be first in the Kingdom of God?

Noise

Noise.

It amplifies to cover everything else.
The  "required"s           musts              ASAP!s
  due dates            schedules
            bustle and hurry
 get me lost in the loud maze of busyness
    where the bright flower petals
                     crumble into colorless dust
    where poetry             remains hidden       in prose
    with no one to   see it   and ravel it out

You say                    Be still     .

I need to breathe but I think the walls are closing in
      and I must find my way out.

Oh, Lord                       Keep me.

    Keep me yearning for you.