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.