Winter Psalm

Winter has unfolded
   in crisp, clean lines
Sharp like the telephone wires
   and bare branches against the sky,
Sharp like the cold stars
   before dawn.

And the world moves and lives on
   in all the bustling human ways,
And in flocks of birds and burning wind.

O sing, you people, and dance;
   hearken, and be still.

For the Lord our God
   who waits for us in stillness
Is a God of stillness but not static;
   He who created our bones to run and dance
Is in the movement as well as the quiet.

His wind burns our hearts like fire,
   with joy, like flocks of birds,
Enduring like the trees
   silent against the sky,
Like stars in the deep before dawn.

A Couple Word-Plays

Hebrews 4

In spite
Of our spite
He is
Respite.



Eternal Mysteries

Inspire
Expire
Holy Fire

Church spire
Funeral pyre
Resurrection higher.

Plans, part two: Dreams in Open Hands

A long time ago, nearly four years ago now, God asked me to relinquish my plans for my life, however grand and enthralling, and trust His, whatever they may be.  I wrote about it here, Plans, part one, and began the long process of obeying.

Mainly for me at the time, it meant giving up my dream of getting married.  "Can you trust that I can still fulfill you and provide for you if you were to remain single?" God asked me.  My first response, as I wrote about it in the poem, was not so certain.  My hands were closed tightly around my plans, I could see them, and I liked them.  God's plans belonged to the scary unknown.

But with some wrestling over the course of a semester or so, I gave up my dreams. I learned to say "if I get married" instead of "when I get married," and learned to be careful about participating, if at all, in the many conversations college girls will have in dorms in which they plan their weddings and pick out names for their children.  (Most of the said girls in these conversations at the time didn't even have boyfriends, which made them particularly unconstructive.)  I assumed, for all intents and purposes, that I would be single for the rest of my life.  It was hard, and it was liberating.

And God smiled at my open hands and, after many unexpected plot twists, I'm getting married this April to a wonderful man of God who loves books and ministry as much as I do and is already close with my family.  So I am learning what it means to dream again, but together, and with open hands.  This too is a process, and has been over the past few years.

So here is the poem of that process, a fitting response and second part to my old "Plans" sketch, a sonnet for my Jonathan and I and the journey before us.


We whispered dreams, you and I:
And so we shall again and again
By candles or cold front stoops.
Yet what are our tremulous dreams but dust?
What are dreams ever but dust, fragile,
     Spun to catch the light like gold?

I am of dust and you are of dust
And He remembers our form--
If we are ignoble it is not of our wind-blown origins.
Spirit is wind-breathing life:
     Illuminate, ennervate, beautify, penetrate.

Spirit-wind, blow into our dreams
Life and hope and fire; illuminate
     Our dust into something more like life or gold.


Allison

Death's Last Stand

This is Death's last lonely stand,

Outpost of pain in the most verdant land:
That Love's deepest unearthly power
Of being faithfully present to all places and men;
The gift of un-self though adversity tower;
Of seeking to better with heart, hands, mind, and then—
To find in oneself a piece of that place, that friend
That growth, separation, or their pain can rend
Into suffering as Love, which love itself cannot mend.

To love truly is fierce joy and pain as one—
Not to love, Death has certainly won—
Nay, Love's last triumph in sore human soul
Shall be Death's last chain broken,

Our hearts made more whole.

Monday Morning Musings: Of Autumn & Death to Self

It is October now, and the trees have begun to transform into their autumn glory.  It is inevitable, observing the world and reading fall poetry, not to think of death as everything appears to lose color and life for the barren beauty of winter.  And as I watch the trees I cannot help but think to myself: If only we could accept our daily, weekly, yearly deaths with such exquisite grace!  If only we could bow and joyfully, humbly give up the adornments of self, our very selves, and whatever else the Lord may ask.

Can we trust that He bares our branches for His greater glory and the triumph of Spring? Can we trust You shall still consent to walk alongside us in our barren state?  O give me grace to die to myself every day, graceful and obedient as the autumn tree!

Fall Poetry: Frost + St. Vincent Millay

Autumn Chant

                       Edna St. Vincent Millay

Now the autumn shudders

  In the rose's root.

Far and wide the ladders

  Lean among the fruit.

Now the autumn clambers

  Up the trellised frame,

And the rose remembers

  The dust from which it came.

A Brief Update

In January, this blog will have been going for four years.  I'd like to think there are still a few people who read it from time to time, even given my sporadic posting this past year.

The past year has been hectic.  I had a seven-year-old define "hectic" for me recently, after which she said thoughtfully, "I think a grocery store could be hectic."  My brain has been the grocery store this year, one on a Saturday afternoon full of people bustling in all directions with different shopping lists, lining up to get out the door with the product of my thoughts.  There are cashiers trying to be generally helpful and serve; workers trying furiously to re-stock the shelves and help the shoppers locate merchandise.  Meanwhile the electricity runs constantly, keeping everything functioning as it ought.

It has taken a long time to recover since the last sleepless finals week in May.  In between work and such things there has been much sleep and many good books--maybe I'll tell you about some of those books soon.

Now, slowly, I am beginning to feel my brain working again, to hear thoughts moving through my head of their own accord, and I feel the old writing urge again.  It goes slowly, but it is good.  I hope--and believe--that this return to thoughts and creativity will enable me to resume blogging regularly again, and I pray it is beneficial not only to myself but to any readers who are left.

It's autumn again, which as everyone knows means I will be singularly enthralled yet again by the muse of the season, especially where poetry is concerned.  In that spirit the next post shall include two of my new favorite fall poems.

Starved for the Sacred: Of "high" and "low" church

My fiancé recently posted the following article on Facebook, which I found very interesting, about the number of young Christians who grew up in Evangelical churches and are turning toward "high" church traditions such as Anglicanism, Lutheranism, and Catholicism:

http://thechristianpundit.org/2013/07/17/young-evangelicals-are-getting-high/

I found the article particularly interesting because I have felt some dissatisfaction with evangelicalism myself and been drawn to the sense of timelessness and sacredness inherent in some of the high church liturgy, hymns, and even the arrangement of space.  The article has a definite bias, but it did make me think about some of the strengths of the Evangelical movement and how those churches which teach strong theology and such have singularly equipped young people to deepen and maintain Protestant faith.

My church's sanctuary is a  combined gym-plus-auditorium, and there is something in me that, in the midst of a true, genuine worship service feels starved for the sacred.  As Evangelicals we are great at making God and Christianity accessible through Christ, which I believe allows and compels us to love well and minister effectively in the community and abroad.  But when we sing of God's holiness yet approach Him so casually, sometimes I feel a disconnect.  It is good to "draw near the throne of grace with confidence" (Hebrews 4:16), but what happened to "[offering] God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire"? (Hebrews 12:28-29)  Can the trust that is strengthened through relationship also be strengthened by a sense of His enormous greatness above and beyond our ken?

Cascades of Grace

"Experiencing the present purely is being emptied and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall.

....These are our few live seasons.  Let us live them as purely as we can."

- Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

I love that picture—grace like holding a cup under a waterfall.  Dillard mostly means trying to hold onto the present, I think, but it fits the Biblical idea of grace, too.  It's not something you can catch and hold onto; put your hands around and keep in your fists.  Grace is supposed to flow through you: an enormous power that fills your smallness beyond measure only to pour out, sloshing and spilling all around you.  Experiencing grace for myself means I can't help but leave drips and puddles behind me and splashing a little on everyone I meet.

But alas...I think perhaps too few people keep themselves soaked in the waterfall all the time.  Great God, let me not be a dried-up Christian!

How amazing too that, though God could send His grace crashing through everyone and everything at once as He pleases, He sweetly allows us to carry about our dripping little cups in hopes that the small taste of His goodness and love might bring others to the waterfall in hopes of being drenched themselves.

Cascades of grace.  What a beautiful encouragement—I have an idea Annie Dillard hit the truth much more deeply than she probably realized!

The Form Unformed

That which was from the beginning,

The Form unformed,

Stretched out hand and voice,

Forming thus the formless

Into beauty and life.

That which was formed from formlessness

Committed treason against the Form unformed,

Bethinking itself to be eternal Form unformed.

And that which was formed

Was eternally deformed.

That which was made,

Thought the eternal Form unformed,

Ought to be unmade.

But he wished not to suffer

The destruction to un-form that which was once lovely.

That which was from the beginning,

Eternal Form unformed,

For our sake became one formed.

That which was deformed sought to deform him—

Sought in fact to render him formless.

That which from the beginning loved those he formed

Loved also those now deformed.

Giving himself up unto them,

The Form was unformed and re-formed,

Having no deformity in him.

That which was from the beginning,

The Form unformed, formed and re-formed,

So loved us that, while we were yet deformed

He suffered that we might be, with him,

Eternally transformed.

Puddle Dreams

For Chronicles of Narnia lovers, and a companion to Jessica's poem Puddles:

Two tiny birds, wildflower yellow

perch on the edge of a shining puddle,

Bodies reflected upside-down unbroken.

They have more courage than I:

Courage to chance finding wonder, joy, and new worlds;

Courage to chance bringing the disease of our destruction

On an untainted world.

They have more courage than I:

Courage to chance ruin

On their dreams of the mind;

To chance the world shrinking

By one gleaming possibility.

Why Life is like Violets

The violets have started blooming, as have the daffodils.

Don't get me wrong--I like the daffodils, with their bright rays of sunshine heralding spring amidst a world that still seems a little dubious at times (like snowing all day Friday).

But I really love violets.  I remember even when I was a very little girl getting excited when I found violets in the backyard.  They're tiny, simple flowers, but beautiful in their own right.  You would miss seeing them completely if you weren't looking or didn't keep your eyes open, because they are really just little flecks of purple hidden in the greening grass.  But if you do keep your eyes open, they too are forerunners of spring.  They are small and ordinary but very lovely whenever in bloom, and particularly exciting to find in the first chilly weeks of spring.

Daffodils are impossible to miss--I saw them blooming along the road today and couldn't help but be glad.

But violets, I think, are more like life.  There are nearly always tiny moments of beauty, small things that bring joy and pleasure, hidden throughout everyday existence.  It is easy to walk over them and never know; to pass through a field full of them but be too consumed with my own thoughts, worries, and tasks that I miss them altogether.  It takes keeping your eyes open, paying attention where you step, being willing to be surprised by moments of beauty in the everyday and find joy in the small, simple things.

The little things are important, too, even if they aren't so obvious.  Did you know, for instance, that the common violet is the Illinois state flower?  It's on the state website.

So keep your eyes open and enjoy the blooming of violets in spring :).

Tomorrow's Song

When the quiet of breath

And heartbeats subside,

Peace will remain and love abide.

All that was ever elusive

In flutter of leaf, symphony's soul

Be at last not in part but in glorious whole.

Sojourner will sing, finally home

Where the dream intersects with darkness and light,

And the fearful will rest in speechless delight.

When pain is forgotten

And rainfall subsides—

Peace will remain and love abide.

All the things in the world to learn

There are so many things I want to learn and know, and with so many things in the world, the list could probably reach into infinity--for if God, in His infinite wisdom created the world, it would surely take infinity for created beings to see and know and understand even portions of it, much less the whole.  But here are a few I was thinking of tonight:

To tell a tree by its bark

• I would love to study trees, and to be able to tell even 10 or 20 more by just their leaf or just their bark. I could probably only recognize 7-10 now.
• Birds: to know them by sight or song.
• Languages: there are so many languages in the world and I would love to learn pretty much any of them, and then too I would love to study the etymology of even just English words, because that has to be fascinating as well.  For instance, why are "wonder" and "wonder" the same word?  What does wondering about something have to do with the state of wide-eyed wonder?
• Music: to know even 10-15 composers by their music, much less be familiar with their stories.
• Music: to be able to play more beautiful classics on the piano.
• Clouds: to be able to observe and predict weather patterns without studying meteorology or the internet the way they used to and probably still do in a few places.
• The Bible: memorization is hard for me but having Scripture memorized is unequivocally rewarding and absolutely invaluable.  I would love to have, say 20 Psalms memorized; to have a full book or two in my head and heart to grow in me and shape me.
• Poetry: I want to read more poetry; become familiar with more English-speaking/writing poets and those from other countries too, and to have some of my favorites memorized as well; to be able to recognize a writer by his work.  This could also help me learn to write different types of poetry and to write them better, too!
• To be able to read a book in another language.
• Tea: how do they make it from a plant growing from the ground or the garden?  What makes good tea as well as all the different kinds (red, black, green, white)? I think I would like to learn how to make my own tea.

I'm sure if I kept thinking I could continue coming up with more, but I'd say that's a list substantial enough to start with.

What is the history of tea and how is it made?

What would be on your list?

Obligatory Spring Poem

Spring
    (or, Unlike March, April Presumes No Affectations)

Birdsong heralds dawn;
Tiny, soft green shoots sprout in
Fields of dry brown grass.

Broken Chains

[A testament to the work of God as visible and breaking through walls in me throughout the past week]

I said, "My Lord, why won't you break through my chains and free me from them?"

And He said to me, "Fix your eyes on me, not your sins and shortcomings and failures."

And I saw God was so much greater than my chains and I was ashamed to call His power insufficient.

I said, "You said You have broken my chains, and I see that parts are in pieces, but I can't seem to let go of them—they weigh down my feet as I shuffle along, and my back is bent under the load."

He said, "My child, you are free."

I replied, "I know, but I can't seem to feel this freedom!" And suddenly I saw that the chains were not bound to me but I was grabbing them from the ground and laying them over myself till I groaned from the weight.

Toward this Tremulous Obedience

To a daughter he said,

                                Sing.

She said,

I have no time.

He said—             Sing.

She said,              I have no notes.

He said—             Sing.

She said,              My voice is weak.

He said—             Sing.

She whispered,

                Father, they will not hear.

And he answered—

                Sing.

— And, Lord, they will not like the song.

— My child, sing.

                                                And she sang,

                                                And few heard,

                                                And the world was in need of her song.

To a son he said,