Keith is feeling better and hopefully will be released from the hospital sometime today. If they don't release him soon, I fear he will make a break for it, I.V. pole in hand, scattering empty wheelchairs and startled health care workers left and right.
I'm surprised they managed to keep him this long; it's evidence of how miserable he's been feeling. But they still don't know exactly what's wrong and he is waiting to hear back from the last couple of tests.
His supervisors have been so understanding and he need not worry about class until Monday; that was a huge weight off his mind and allowed him to actually rest.
I have researched plane tickets, just in case I need to fly down, but at this point, I don't think I will need to. Just in case, I know what airports to fly in and out of, and I guess I would just leave the girls in the back yard with lots of water and food. Keith could call a buddy and have someone come and check on them, if need be.
But I think things will be fine. Yesterday and today have been weird, anxious days. I've just sort of been hanging around, waiting for the next call and the next little bit of information to trickle through.
I'm starting to feel less anxious, but I really wish we knew what had happened. I mean, it's a relief that all his tests are coming back normal, but then what on earth happened?
I will be very glad when he is home again.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
March 29th
I'm worried today, because yesterday, Keith experienced a lot of scary symptoms and his classmates insisted he go to the hospital.
He actually spent the night there, and this morning he is still in the hospital, and the doctors still don't know what is wrong, and are still running all kinds of tests.
Keith can miss three days of classes without it affecting his ability to graduate, but he can't miss any more than that, even if he is in the hospital. If he doesn't pass the class, he will lose his new job.
But worse than this, what is happening to him? What it going on?
I don't know what is wrong, or what will happen, or how it will be resolved. It feels almost surreal.
Earlier this week I was wondering about these two weeks- the last two weeks before officially beginning the adoption process and how Keith and I were separated during this time, and what, if anything, that meant.
I thought, maybe God is using this time to prepare us in some way, so I tried to wonder about in what way. But of course, I had to give this up, because I don't think a person can ever fully know in what way God is using the circumstances of their lives.
So I said to myself, "I don't know," and let it go, and then I knew the presence of Jesus close by me.
But I will be with you, He said.
"That I always know," I told Him gratefully.
Because, by now, I do always know it.
At the time, I thought it was rather a random moment for God to speak to me, and rather a random, wondering thought for Him to address.
I mean, I'm constantly wondering about the meaning of things. If God actually addressed every such thought of mine, there would be no end to the dialogue.
Now, of course, I no longer think it was random.
So I am waiting. I am waiting to hear back from Keith- I cannot call him and he cannot call me very often, because he does not have reception in the hospital room.
I wish I could be with him. It bothers me, that he is alone in a strange hospital, in a different state, without even friends or army buddies. He doesn't know his classmates very well; he didn't have time to get to know them. It's not like they're the guys from his company.
But I know he is not alone, no more than I am. Today is going to be a strange day, I think.
He actually spent the night there, and this morning he is still in the hospital, and the doctors still don't know what is wrong, and are still running all kinds of tests.
Keith can miss three days of classes without it affecting his ability to graduate, but he can't miss any more than that, even if he is in the hospital. If he doesn't pass the class, he will lose his new job.
But worse than this, what is happening to him? What it going on?
I don't know what is wrong, or what will happen, or how it will be resolved. It feels almost surreal.
Earlier this week I was wondering about these two weeks- the last two weeks before officially beginning the adoption process and how Keith and I were separated during this time, and what, if anything, that meant.
I thought, maybe God is using this time to prepare us in some way, so I tried to wonder about in what way. But of course, I had to give this up, because I don't think a person can ever fully know in what way God is using the circumstances of their lives.
So I said to myself, "I don't know," and let it go, and then I knew the presence of Jesus close by me.
But I will be with you, He said.
"That I always know," I told Him gratefully.
Because, by now, I do always know it.
At the time, I thought it was rather a random moment for God to speak to me, and rather a random, wondering thought for Him to address.
I mean, I'm constantly wondering about the meaning of things. If God actually addressed every such thought of mine, there would be no end to the dialogue.
Now, of course, I no longer think it was random.
So I am waiting. I am waiting to hear back from Keith- I cannot call him and he cannot call me very often, because he does not have reception in the hospital room.
I wish I could be with him. It bothers me, that he is alone in a strange hospital, in a different state, without even friends or army buddies. He doesn't know his classmates very well; he didn't have time to get to know them. It's not like they're the guys from his company.
But I know he is not alone, no more than I am. Today is going to be a strange day, I think.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
March 28th
Yesterday I got to work on the overgrown flower bed in the back yard and I filled out the home study application- all but some of Keith's information. There were six pages of it.
The papers are waiting now in the black folder that Keith and I bought a couple weeks ago, just for that purpose.
When he gets back, we'll mail it in and in seventy two hours, we'll know if we were accepted or not, and if we are, we'll begin gathering up all the documents to complete their program.
I've just been resting and slowly moving from one task to another, and thinking.
Last night I was reading in Genesis and I was astonished at the story of the Garden of Eden.
In fact, it makes me think of something Annie Dillard wrote in An American Childhood:
"The adult members of society adverted to the Bible unreasonable often. What arcana! Why did they spread this scandalous document before our eyes? If they had read it, I thought, they would have hid it."
So, I was reading it, and it struck me, suddenly, that Adam and Eve were not allowed to eat of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil.
I suddenly saw this in a new way. It meant they could not tell the difference between good and evil- they did not know good or evil, so they could not classify them.
If you do not know the difference between good and evil, how can you have a conscience? Isn't that the very definition of a conscience?
This was on purpose- in fact, it was the Divine purpose. God Himself forbade them a conscience.
Why? Why would God do this?
So I asked Him. And He reminded me that, even though they did not know good and evil, they knew Him.
They were in intimate relationship with God Himself. There was no shame in their being naked before Him.
They understood the world around them through God, their Creator, their Father, their Friend.
You might even say that God Himself was their conscience. After all, God perfectly understood the difference between good and evil.
But they choose to take this knowledge apart from Him- to take it for themselves.
I think we still do this. We want to be like God and make moral judgments, even if this means we're secretly ashamed of ourselves and lonely, wearing smelling skins and eating our bread by the sweat of our face.
But we tell ourselves- surely it will nourish me, and it looks so attractive, and most of all, it feels so powerful, to be wise!
For some reason, we aren't satisfied to be His child in the garden, and walk with Him in the cool of the day, naked and unashamed, and free to eat of every tree in the garden, but for one.
Because didn't Jesus come to fulfill the law- to absorb it back into Himself, as it were? We are converted, and become, again, as children- His children.
Then God Himself becomes our conscience all over again- we need know nothing more than that we love Him with everything that we are, and we love others as ourselves.
The papers are waiting now in the black folder that Keith and I bought a couple weeks ago, just for that purpose.
When he gets back, we'll mail it in and in seventy two hours, we'll know if we were accepted or not, and if we are, we'll begin gathering up all the documents to complete their program.
I've just been resting and slowly moving from one task to another, and thinking.
Last night I was reading in Genesis and I was astonished at the story of the Garden of Eden.
In fact, it makes me think of something Annie Dillard wrote in An American Childhood:
"The adult members of society adverted to the Bible unreasonable often. What arcana! Why did they spread this scandalous document before our eyes? If they had read it, I thought, they would have hid it."
So, I was reading it, and it struck me, suddenly, that Adam and Eve were not allowed to eat of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil.
I suddenly saw this in a new way. It meant they could not tell the difference between good and evil- they did not know good or evil, so they could not classify them.
If you do not know the difference between good and evil, how can you have a conscience? Isn't that the very definition of a conscience?
This was on purpose- in fact, it was the Divine purpose. God Himself forbade them a conscience.
Why? Why would God do this?
So I asked Him. And He reminded me that, even though they did not know good and evil, they knew Him.
They were in intimate relationship with God Himself. There was no shame in their being naked before Him.
They understood the world around them through God, their Creator, their Father, their Friend.
You might even say that God Himself was their conscience. After all, God perfectly understood the difference between good and evil.
But they choose to take this knowledge apart from Him- to take it for themselves.
I think we still do this. We want to be like God and make moral judgments, even if this means we're secretly ashamed of ourselves and lonely, wearing smelling skins and eating our bread by the sweat of our face.
But we tell ourselves- surely it will nourish me, and it looks so attractive, and most of all, it feels so powerful, to be wise!
For some reason, we aren't satisfied to be His child in the garden, and walk with Him in the cool of the day, naked and unashamed, and free to eat of every tree in the garden, but for one.
Because didn't Jesus come to fulfill the law- to absorb it back into Himself, as it were? We are converted, and become, again, as children- His children.
Then God Himself becomes our conscience all over again- we need know nothing more than that we love Him with everything that we are, and we love others as ourselves.
Monday, March 26, 2012
March 26th
I have survived the airport and the visit, as you can see.
However, I can tell I'm not going to survive this new key board I'm trying to use. Why must people make the space bar stiff? Do they not realize how darn often a person hits it?
Okay, that's better; apparently it had to get broken in. Also, the keyboard is ergonomic, and so it's higher at the bottom than at the top, and split down the middle at a strange angle that actually does feel comfortable, but throws my typing off.
Anyway, enough minutia of the modern writer. I could just as easy be complaining about the dullness of my quill and the cheap, watered down quality of my ink.
I was so terrified of having to drive at the airport drop-off that my mouth was actually dry. That sort of took me by surprise- it's been a while since I've been that scared.
I managed to kiss Keith, climb into the driver's seat and pull away from the curb.
My verse that day had included the phrase:
"...and all our busy rushing ends in nothing...And so, Lord, where do I put my hope? My only hope is in You." (from psalm 39)
So, I slowed my racing thoughts down, determined not to rush, and focused on one task at a time, the first of which was find to find the highway.
The roads were mostly clear of traffic and the signs were impossible to miss, and before I knew it, I was on the highway. It was so easy that I had to check the road signs to be sure that I was already exactly where I needed to be.
I must say, that Keith, already quite attractive to me, grew only more so as the weekend passed by. He is so tall! And so young! And he stands so endearingly slouched ever so slightly- not as though he is discouraged, but merely because he is easy and confident in his own space.
Which caused me also to want to be in his space, and each time I put myself there, he looked down at me with his twinkling blue eyes and welcomed me in. He likes to have me around.
This weekend he got into the pool. The children could barely be restrained from it, even at nine o'clock on a sunny morning in March. By noon, they were in, with squeals and splashes, and shortly thereafter, my intrepid husband followed them.
He was the only adult that did. In vain he attempted to persuade us that the water was "not that cold." I easily spotted his attempts to lure me toward the edge, so that he could pull me in. I know his potential, pool side treachery, and all his sweet talk could not get me any closer than three feet to the shimmering blue water, and his strong, wet arms.
Keith and I, used to the quietness and order of two adults in the house, were at times bewildered by the maze of noise, energy and motion that was constantly flowing around and in and out of the house, and left its evidence behind in every corner.
In the mornings, there were always at least two or three bodies curled up on the couches, blankets slipping off, bodies soft and loose and unguarded in sleep. And then, the wail of the youngest, a tow headed boy of two who would not be parted from his father at any time.
"Da!" he would holler urgently, his blanket clutched up under his elbow. "Da!"
He used "Yeah," for every other communication necessary.
It was a very laid back, comfortable visit. It reminded me of summer camp- people lined up to use the showers, fresh air blowing through the house, voices calling, damp towels draped over the back of the dining room chairs.
Keith and I have obviously become the stop off point for friends and family traveling further south- a way station, if you will. I like it. Travellers to the sunny shores stop here to catch their breath before tumbling on into Florida.
One of these days we'll have to try and make it down there ourselves.
However, I can tell I'm not going to survive this new key board I'm trying to use. Why must people make the space bar stiff? Do they not realize how darn often a person hits it?
Okay, that's better; apparently it had to get broken in. Also, the keyboard is ergonomic, and so it's higher at the bottom than at the top, and split down the middle at a strange angle that actually does feel comfortable, but throws my typing off.
Anyway, enough minutia of the modern writer. I could just as easy be complaining about the dullness of my quill and the cheap, watered down quality of my ink.
I was so terrified of having to drive at the airport drop-off that my mouth was actually dry. That sort of took me by surprise- it's been a while since I've been that scared.
I managed to kiss Keith, climb into the driver's seat and pull away from the curb.
My verse that day had included the phrase:
"...and all our busy rushing ends in nothing...And so, Lord, where do I put my hope? My only hope is in You." (from psalm 39)
So, I slowed my racing thoughts down, determined not to rush, and focused on one task at a time, the first of which was find to find the highway.
The roads were mostly clear of traffic and the signs were impossible to miss, and before I knew it, I was on the highway. It was so easy that I had to check the road signs to be sure that I was already exactly where I needed to be.
I must say, that Keith, already quite attractive to me, grew only more so as the weekend passed by. He is so tall! And so young! And he stands so endearingly slouched ever so slightly- not as though he is discouraged, but merely because he is easy and confident in his own space.
Which caused me also to want to be in his space, and each time I put myself there, he looked down at me with his twinkling blue eyes and welcomed me in. He likes to have me around.
This weekend he got into the pool. The children could barely be restrained from it, even at nine o'clock on a sunny morning in March. By noon, they were in, with squeals and splashes, and shortly thereafter, my intrepid husband followed them.
He was the only adult that did. In vain he attempted to persuade us that the water was "not that cold." I easily spotted his attempts to lure me toward the edge, so that he could pull me in. I know his potential, pool side treachery, and all his sweet talk could not get me any closer than three feet to the shimmering blue water, and his strong, wet arms.
Keith and I, used to the quietness and order of two adults in the house, were at times bewildered by the maze of noise, energy and motion that was constantly flowing around and in and out of the house, and left its evidence behind in every corner.
In the mornings, there were always at least two or three bodies curled up on the couches, blankets slipping off, bodies soft and loose and unguarded in sleep. And then, the wail of the youngest, a tow headed boy of two who would not be parted from his father at any time.
"Da!" he would holler urgently, his blanket clutched up under his elbow. "Da!"
He used "Yeah," for every other communication necessary.
It was a very laid back, comfortable visit. It reminded me of summer camp- people lined up to use the showers, fresh air blowing through the house, voices calling, damp towels draped over the back of the dining room chairs.
Keith and I have obviously become the stop off point for friends and family traveling further south- a way station, if you will. I like it. Travellers to the sunny shores stop here to catch their breath before tumbling on into Florida.
One of these days we'll have to try and make it down there ourselves.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
March 22nd
I have a busy weekend coming up.
On Friday night, a family of seven people will arrive from points north and will stay until Sunday morning.
In fact, the time of their departure for the Florida shores will coincide perfectly with Keith's, for the airport.
He will drive there, but I must drive back and the dread of this has been like a long, cold shadow lying over my entire week.
I don't like driving; I am not a good driver and airports are the enemy.
Of course, my dozens of flights to and from the Orient did take the edges off my initial and paralyzing terror, but I still don't like driving a car anywhere in their vicinity.
A couple nights ago, another military wife assured me that the airport is on this side of Atlanta and that there are not that many exits and connections- it's pretty much a straight shot.
Keith confirmed this, so my anxiety has decreased considerably.
That military wife had stopped by with her husband, at Keith's eager invitation, to see the progress he's made on his very own electric motor boat, which he made out of two pieces of packing Styrofoam, two helicopter engines (the helicopters themselves having long since been ruined), duct tape and hot gun glue.
It actually works.
I chatted with the wife for a while, leaning against the kitchen counter, while the soldiers dissected their electronic toys in the garage.
This wife has a sleepy, laid back personality and sloe eyes, with tawny, wavy bangs that fall into her face. She wore bicycle shorts with a long tunic over them and a short cardigan over that and a mauve, middle Eastern scarf wound round her neck.
Two minutes after entering the house, she'd kicked her moccasins off and was going comfortably bare foot. I always am, myself. It was our second visit, so we were pretty familiar with each other and our various interests.
Her husband is a thin, wiry chap from the back woods of New England and an avid hunter of any animal, by any sanctioned weapon.
Eventually, we wandered outside and watched the men as they leaned over the apparent wreck of their RC cars- tiny, glittering parts strewn across the open tailgate, plastic bodies removed, to reveal the tangle of wire and rubber tubing that make up the minuscule engines.
We waved away moths, lazily, and talked about keeping our men on a reasonable spending plan, when it came to their vehicular hobbies, and the men grinned and pretended not to listen. They are managed men and they know it and they must pretend not to love it.
When they left, she insisted on giving me a hug, though I am not by nature a hug-able person. She seems to like me. This sort of thing always takes me by surprise.
Now I must prepare for another visit, one of an entirely different sort. I'll think of it like a water slide; I just have to take a deep breath, tuck my elbows in and go with the flow. It might even be fun, who knows.
On Friday night, a family of seven people will arrive from points north and will stay until Sunday morning.
In fact, the time of their departure for the Florida shores will coincide perfectly with Keith's, for the airport.
He will drive there, but I must drive back and the dread of this has been like a long, cold shadow lying over my entire week.
I don't like driving; I am not a good driver and airports are the enemy.
Of course, my dozens of flights to and from the Orient did take the edges off my initial and paralyzing terror, but I still don't like driving a car anywhere in their vicinity.
A couple nights ago, another military wife assured me that the airport is on this side of Atlanta and that there are not that many exits and connections- it's pretty much a straight shot.
Keith confirmed this, so my anxiety has decreased considerably.
That military wife had stopped by with her husband, at Keith's eager invitation, to see the progress he's made on his very own electric motor boat, which he made out of two pieces of packing Styrofoam, two helicopter engines (the helicopters themselves having long since been ruined), duct tape and hot gun glue.
It actually works.
I chatted with the wife for a while, leaning against the kitchen counter, while the soldiers dissected their electronic toys in the garage.
This wife has a sleepy, laid back personality and sloe eyes, with tawny, wavy bangs that fall into her face. She wore bicycle shorts with a long tunic over them and a short cardigan over that and a mauve, middle Eastern scarf wound round her neck.
Two minutes after entering the house, she'd kicked her moccasins off and was going comfortably bare foot. I always am, myself. It was our second visit, so we were pretty familiar with each other and our various interests.
Her husband is a thin, wiry chap from the back woods of New England and an avid hunter of any animal, by any sanctioned weapon.
Eventually, we wandered outside and watched the men as they leaned over the apparent wreck of their RC cars- tiny, glittering parts strewn across the open tailgate, plastic bodies removed, to reveal the tangle of wire and rubber tubing that make up the minuscule engines.
We waved away moths, lazily, and talked about keeping our men on a reasonable spending plan, when it came to their vehicular hobbies, and the men grinned and pretended not to listen. They are managed men and they know it and they must pretend not to love it.
When they left, she insisted on giving me a hug, though I am not by nature a hug-able person. She seems to like me. This sort of thing always takes me by surprise.
Now I must prepare for another visit, one of an entirely different sort. I'll think of it like a water slide; I just have to take a deep breath, tuck my elbows in and go with the flow. It might even be fun, who knows.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
March 20th
Lately, Richard Rohr's Daily Meditations have been about the temptations of Jesus in the wilderness, and I must admit, I wasn't really getting the connections Rohr was pointing out.
Yesterday, he talked about the temptation to turn stones into bread, and last night, I found that I happened to be at that exact spot in Luke.
I thought, "Hm," and read on.
Immediately, I was struck by all sorts of things I had never noticed before.
The first thing I noticed was the word "if":
"If you are the Son the God..."
Wow, did that ever leap out at me!
Jesus was being asked to do something immediate to prove His identity. Now, does that sound familiar, or what?
How often do I feel the same temptation, the need to prove that I am the daughter of God, by some immediate transformation- usually of myself.
I feel the need to turn something in my life that seems unfinished and worthless- like a stone- into something that seems good and acceptable- like bread.
Furthermore, Jesus was being asked to alleviate His suffering- He was starving, after all.
The temptation was to say, if I am a son or daughter of God, I shouldn't have to suffer! All these things that are hurting my feet should be things that feed my belly.
But what does Jesus say?
First of all, He quotes a Scriptures that begins: "Man..."
I was dumb struck at that. Here Jesus is being asked to prove His identity as a Son of God- as the Holy One of Israel, and what does He do? He emphasizes His humanity.
"It is written: Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word of God."
He is so supremely confident of His identity in His Father that He apparently doesn't even bother to address it.
He throws it away, you might even say. You might say that He empties Himself of all claims to it. Jesus knows His place in His Father can't be revoked, so He doesn't feel the need to grasp at it.
This astonished me. I'd never seen that before, but of course, it makes me think of this passage:
"Who, although being essentially one with God and in the form of God [possessing the fullness of the attributes which make God God], did not think this equality with God was a thing to be eagerly grasped or retained,
But stripped Himself [of all privileges and rightful dignity], so as to assume the guise of a servant (slave), in that He became like men and was born a human being.
And after He had appeared in human form, He abased and humbled Himself [still further] and carried His obedience to the extreme of death, even the death of the cross!
Therefore [because He stooped so low] God has highly exalted Him and has freely bestowed on Him the name that is above every name,
That in (at) the name of Jesus every knee should (must) bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
And every tongue [frankly and openly] confess and acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."
-Philippians 2:6-11, Amplified Bible
Not only did Jesus refuse to prove His identity as the Son of God, but He refused to alleviate His suffering.
Sometimes, suffering is a greater gift than immediate gratification, but this is a truth that's lived by faith, in the Word of God, because we know that our Father gives life to the dead, and calls those things that do not exist as though they did.
I wonder if that's why, when we lie down with a stone for a pillow, we can sometimes see heaven.
Yesterday, he talked about the temptation to turn stones into bread, and last night, I found that I happened to be at that exact spot in Luke.
I thought, "Hm," and read on.
Immediately, I was struck by all sorts of things I had never noticed before.
The first thing I noticed was the word "if":
"If you are the Son the God..."
Wow, did that ever leap out at me!
Jesus was being asked to do something immediate to prove His identity. Now, does that sound familiar, or what?
How often do I feel the same temptation, the need to prove that I am the daughter of God, by some immediate transformation- usually of myself.
I feel the need to turn something in my life that seems unfinished and worthless- like a stone- into something that seems good and acceptable- like bread.
Furthermore, Jesus was being asked to alleviate His suffering- He was starving, after all.
The temptation was to say, if I am a son or daughter of God, I shouldn't have to suffer! All these things that are hurting my feet should be things that feed my belly.
But what does Jesus say?
First of all, He quotes a Scriptures that begins: "Man..."
I was dumb struck at that. Here Jesus is being asked to prove His identity as a Son of God- as the Holy One of Israel, and what does He do? He emphasizes His humanity.
"It is written: Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word of God."
He is so supremely confident of His identity in His Father that He apparently doesn't even bother to address it.
He throws it away, you might even say. You might say that He empties Himself of all claims to it. Jesus knows His place in His Father can't be revoked, so He doesn't feel the need to grasp at it.
This astonished me. I'd never seen that before, but of course, it makes me think of this passage:
"Who, although being essentially one with God and in the form of God [possessing the fullness of the attributes which make God God], did not think this equality with God was a thing to be eagerly grasped or retained,
But stripped Himself [of all privileges and rightful dignity], so as to assume the guise of a servant (slave), in that He became like men and was born a human being.
And after He had appeared in human form, He abased and humbled Himself [still further] and carried His obedience to the extreme of death, even the death of the cross!
Therefore [because He stooped so low] God has highly exalted Him and has freely bestowed on Him the name that is above every name,
That in (at) the name of Jesus every knee should (must) bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
And every tongue [frankly and openly] confess and acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."
-Philippians 2:6-11, Amplified Bible
Not only did Jesus refuse to prove His identity as the Son of God, but He refused to alleviate His suffering.
Sometimes, suffering is a greater gift than immediate gratification, but this is a truth that's lived by faith, in the Word of God, because we know that our Father gives life to the dead, and calls those things that do not exist as though they did.
I wonder if that's why, when we lie down with a stone for a pillow, we can sometimes see heaven.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
March 17th
I finished The Weight of Glory. It took me a while to work out C.S. Lewis' meaning in some passages, but it was well worth the effort. I kept turning down the corners of pages, so I could go back and read them again:
"May we not, by a reasonable analogy, suppose likewise that there is no experience of the spirit so transcendent and supernatural, no vision of Deity Himself so close and so far beyond all images and emotions, that to it also there cannot be an appropriate correspondence on the sensory level? Not by a new sense but by the incredible flooding of those very sensations we now have with a meaning, a transvaluation, of which we have here no faintest guess?"
I do so suppose.
"So it is and so it must be. That is the humiliation of myth into fact, of God into Man; what is everywhere and always, imageless and ineffable, only to be glimpsed in dream and symbol and the acted poetry of ritual becomes small, solid- no bigger than a man who can lie asleep in a rowing boat on the Lake of Galilee. You may say that this, after all, is a still deeper poetry. I will not contradict you."
I tell you what, that deeper poetry will steal your heart and soul away.
"Equality is a quantitative term and therefore love often knows nothing of it. Authority exercised with humility and obedience accepted with delight are the very lines along which our spirits live."
I don't know quite what he is saying here, but it sounds very attractive. In my experience, obedience can be delightful when the authority is humble- usually because because the authority is humble.
And then, just because I haven't thrown enough quotes at you this morning, here is a last one, from Richard Rohr:
"When all of our idols are taken away, all our securities and defense mechanisms, we find out who we really are. We're so little, so poor, so empty—and a shock to ourselves. But God takes away our shame, and we are eventually able to present ourselves in an honest and humble form. Then we find out who we really are and who God is for us—and it is more than enough."
-Radical Grace: Daily Meditations, p. 130, day 140
"May we not, by a reasonable analogy, suppose likewise that there is no experience of the spirit so transcendent and supernatural, no vision of Deity Himself so close and so far beyond all images and emotions, that to it also there cannot be an appropriate correspondence on the sensory level? Not by a new sense but by the incredible flooding of those very sensations we now have with a meaning, a transvaluation, of which we have here no faintest guess?"
I do so suppose.
"So it is and so it must be. That is the humiliation of myth into fact, of God into Man; what is everywhere and always, imageless and ineffable, only to be glimpsed in dream and symbol and the acted poetry of ritual becomes small, solid- no bigger than a man who can lie asleep in a rowing boat on the Lake of Galilee. You may say that this, after all, is a still deeper poetry. I will not contradict you."
I tell you what, that deeper poetry will steal your heart and soul away.
"Equality is a quantitative term and therefore love often knows nothing of it. Authority exercised with humility and obedience accepted with delight are the very lines along which our spirits live."
I don't know quite what he is saying here, but it sounds very attractive. In my experience, obedience can be delightful when the authority is humble- usually because because the authority is humble.
And then, just because I haven't thrown enough quotes at you this morning, here is a last one, from Richard Rohr:
"When all of our idols are taken away, all our securities and defense mechanisms, we find out who we really are. We're so little, so poor, so empty—and a shock to ourselves. But God takes away our shame, and we are eventually able to present ourselves in an honest and humble form. Then we find out who we really are and who God is for us—and it is more than enough."
-Radical Grace: Daily Meditations, p. 130, day 140
Thursday, March 15, 2012
March 15th
Day before yesterday Keith and I went outside in the evening, just to be outside. The clouds had cleared up and the evening was fine and mild.
I played in the front garden bed, using the hose to wash old, crumbling mulch from the stones. I did this happily for over an hour, completely soaking my jeans and carting away buckets fulls of crap. Afterward, the stones gleamed.
Keith tinkered with his old lawn mower, thinking he might fix it and sell it on e-bay. He fixed the starter with a zip strip, and then decided that he couldn't sell it, he had too much work invested in it. It's tucked away under the car trailer, since there is no more room in the garage.
These days, I'm having a hard time just being in the moment. My restlessness keeps projecting me out, into the future. I'm tired of having all this time on my hands.
But if I can't learn to live in this moment, how can I live in any future moment?
Besides, I'm almost near the beginning of the real waiting. In three weeks or so, Keith's classes will be finished, and we will hand in the application for the home study.
And then I will be waiting in earnest. I tell you what, if I think waiting now is uncomfortable, it's nothing compared to the waiting I have yet to do- waiting for papers, waiting for approval, waiting for the home visit, waiting to be chosen by the birth mother, waiting for the birth, waiting to see if the adoption goes through.
I'm just on the edges of waiting.
I read this today in Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation:
"Real holiness doesn’t feel like holiness; it just feels like you’re dying. It feels like you’re losing it. And you are! You are losing the false self, which you foolishly thought was permanent, important, and you!
You know God is doing this in you and with you when you can somehow smile, and trust that what you lost is something you did not need anyway. In fact, it got in the way of what was real."
That really resonated with me this morning.
I read in Mark again about the woman who broke the alabaster flask and poured the oil over Jesus' head. Everyone got so upset with her because she had, in a sense, wasted her best and most valuable resources.
Which sometimes, I feel like I am doing. I feel like I'm not achieving anything that appears to be of practical use or value with my life right now.
My husband would disagree; he would say that I am at the heart of his life and the reason why he goes to work.
When I bring this up to my God (which I do, frequently) I am reminded (again) to wait, and to live deeply in the present moment and to give myself over to those things I have been given to do.
And the deeper secret, the thing Jesus tells my wondering heart, is that He is not interested in using us as if we were His tools, He is interested in our company.
That's what He created us for- for fellowship. Jesus wants us to keep company with Him.
I'm sure that when we do that, when we stay with Him just because He loves us and we love Him, then He ends up using us in ways we don't imagine.
But the love comes first.
And I forget sometimes how much I've grown, because it's not in my own strength or on my own timeline, and I'm always only noticing the things that I want perfected or cleared away right now.
Instead, it really is like noticing fruit growing. Have you ever noticed how slowly that goes? It takes forever, it seems like.
Not to mention, I realized that in order for the fruit to grow at all, the blossom must wither and fall to the ground.
And the growing season is only one season. I realized that recently. The rest of the time the tree is closing down for winter, and then appears to be dead- when they are dormant.
And that's exactly when they get pruned.
So, in the winter they are dormant and pruned. In the spring, they bud and blossom, which is lovely, but then blossoms die.
In the summer, they are slowly producing fruit. This takes all summer. In the autumn, they are harvested and then they begin to close down and turn inward for another winter season.
No wonder I'm getting frustrated with myself! There are no instant results.
So I might as well curl up with Jesus and rest quietly and enjoy Him- and the sunshine and the rain and the quietness.
I played in the front garden bed, using the hose to wash old, crumbling mulch from the stones. I did this happily for over an hour, completely soaking my jeans and carting away buckets fulls of crap. Afterward, the stones gleamed.
Keith tinkered with his old lawn mower, thinking he might fix it and sell it on e-bay. He fixed the starter with a zip strip, and then decided that he couldn't sell it, he had too much work invested in it. It's tucked away under the car trailer, since there is no more room in the garage.
These days, I'm having a hard time just being in the moment. My restlessness keeps projecting me out, into the future. I'm tired of having all this time on my hands.
But if I can't learn to live in this moment, how can I live in any future moment?
Besides, I'm almost near the beginning of the real waiting. In three weeks or so, Keith's classes will be finished, and we will hand in the application for the home study.
And then I will be waiting in earnest. I tell you what, if I think waiting now is uncomfortable, it's nothing compared to the waiting I have yet to do- waiting for papers, waiting for approval, waiting for the home visit, waiting to be chosen by the birth mother, waiting for the birth, waiting to see if the adoption goes through.
I'm just on the edges of waiting.
I read this today in Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation:
"Real holiness doesn’t feel like holiness; it just feels like you’re dying. It feels like you’re losing it. And you are! You are losing the false self, which you foolishly thought was permanent, important, and you!
You know God is doing this in you and with you when you can somehow smile, and trust that what you lost is something you did not need anyway. In fact, it got in the way of what was real."
That really resonated with me this morning.
I read in Mark again about the woman who broke the alabaster flask and poured the oil over Jesus' head. Everyone got so upset with her because she had, in a sense, wasted her best and most valuable resources.
Which sometimes, I feel like I am doing. I feel like I'm not achieving anything that appears to be of practical use or value with my life right now.
My husband would disagree; he would say that I am at the heart of his life and the reason why he goes to work.
When I bring this up to my God (which I do, frequently) I am reminded (again) to wait, and to live deeply in the present moment and to give myself over to those things I have been given to do.
And the deeper secret, the thing Jesus tells my wondering heart, is that He is not interested in using us as if we were His tools, He is interested in our company.
That's what He created us for- for fellowship. Jesus wants us to keep company with Him.
I'm sure that when we do that, when we stay with Him just because He loves us and we love Him, then He ends up using us in ways we don't imagine.
But the love comes first.
And I forget sometimes how much I've grown, because it's not in my own strength or on my own timeline, and I'm always only noticing the things that I want perfected or cleared away right now.
Instead, it really is like noticing fruit growing. Have you ever noticed how slowly that goes? It takes forever, it seems like.
Not to mention, I realized that in order for the fruit to grow at all, the blossom must wither and fall to the ground.
And the growing season is only one season. I realized that recently. The rest of the time the tree is closing down for winter, and then appears to be dead- when they are dormant.
And that's exactly when they get pruned.
So, in the winter they are dormant and pruned. In the spring, they bud and blossom, which is lovely, but then blossoms die.
In the summer, they are slowly producing fruit. This takes all summer. In the autumn, they are harvested and then they begin to close down and turn inward for another winter season.
No wonder I'm getting frustrated with myself! There are no instant results.
So I might as well curl up with Jesus and rest quietly and enjoy Him- and the sunshine and the rain and the quietness.
Monday, March 12, 2012
March 12th
A few pictures I took today:
I love these stone stairs set into the bank.
This was a little puddle in a meadow.
These stones march away toward the entrance to the park.
I think this is the beginning of the disc golf course.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
March 11th
I've been restless these days.
Maybe it's spring fever.
I've been keeping the house cleaner than I have in months; a dish barely touches the bottom of the sink before it gets washed and I've almost run out of wood cleaner for the floors.
I keep wanting to buy things- a patio set, with a rug and an umbrella, and plastic glasses with yellow lemons printed on them.
Instead, I gave Keith the green light to buy a new lawn mower; two minutes later his boots were on his feet and he was out the door, on his way to purchase one then and there.
It was the more practical purchase anyway. He had to start his old mower with a pair of pliers, and the lawn was already getting shaggy looking.
He returned with a Toro mower equipped with a Honda engine, which, I was informed, is the cream of the crop in terms of push mowers.
So as you can guess, the lawn looks very nice right now and all yesterday, I could faintly smell cut grass through the open window. I caught him lovingly polishing the engine with a rag.
At Wal Mart, they had a sale on baby items. I stood in front of the stand for the fliers and looked at the cribs and baby seats.
"Look! A sale on baby stuff!" I informed Keith, when he appeared with our cart.
"We don't even know the age of the kid we'll be matched with," Keith cautioned gently- still thinking in terms of international adoption.
"It'll be a newborn," I reminded him. "The birth mother will choose us while she's still pregnant."
When someone chooses us, which is months and months away. It's tempting to start slowly buying stuff for a nursery, just to have it ready- but it's too early to start that.
I can't do any work on Torii until it "settles down" after my last major revisions, so that's just waiting and I have no clear inspiration for another book.
I feel like I'm waiting on everything.
Despite my restlessness, it's clear to me that Jesus wants me to continue on in this quiet waiting place.
I've been in this quiet waiting place now for about a year- longer, if one considers my time in Kentucky to be waiting. I think it was, though I was just then entering into it kicking and wailing and angry.
At that time I could not know it, but God was pulling me into the quietness -that quietness that comes after grief- in order to meet with me in a deeper way than He had before.
I watched a sermon by Henry Nouwen and in it, he said that, like the bread Jesus held in His hands, we are taken, we are blessed, we are broken and we are given.
We are broken before we are given.
Last night, I think it was, I was caught by the line in the last chapter of Matthew: "He has gone ahead of you into Galilee."
I thought of Jesus on that solitary journey, newly resurrected. I wondered if He had been filled with joy at everything He saw as He walked along- freed from the burden of His passion, everything new and fresh and full of light. Almost as though everything that He had declared good at the beginning was so deliciously good all over again.
In that same gospel, the two women see Him and He says to them, "Rejoice!" (Though it's interesting to me that only in the New King James Version does His greeting get translated this way. Others have Him saying "Peace be with you," or simply "Hail!")
I had a dream like that a few days ago. I dreamed of His death and burial. In the dream, I found myself on a path, a grassy path on a hillside.
Earlier in the dream, I had been running down that path, full of shame, and finding torn pieces of my wedding gown along side it. I kept gathering them up in my arms, in horror, hoping against hope that I would still be acceptable, not for the gown, but for the sincerity of my heart.
Now in the dream, I found myself on the path again, only I didn't have time to worry about what I was wearing, because I saw Him, alive, walking down the path. I knew it was Jesus; I knew He had risen from the dead.
I went running to meet Him and He opened His arms to me. He was so full of joy. He knew me.
"Is this My little one?" Jesus said, laughing. It was as though my love of Him brought Him joy.
When I woke, I re-lived that moment in the dream over and over again- that moment of mutual recognition and joy.
It's an astonishing thought, isn't it, that we can bring Him pleasure of any kind? That it is possible for us, as C.S. Lewis puts it:
"To please God... to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness... to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as an artist delights in his work or a father in his son- it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But so it is."
-The Weight of Glory
So it is.
Maybe it's spring fever.
I've been keeping the house cleaner than I have in months; a dish barely touches the bottom of the sink before it gets washed and I've almost run out of wood cleaner for the floors.
I keep wanting to buy things- a patio set, with a rug and an umbrella, and plastic glasses with yellow lemons printed on them.
Instead, I gave Keith the green light to buy a new lawn mower; two minutes later his boots were on his feet and he was out the door, on his way to purchase one then and there.
It was the more practical purchase anyway. He had to start his old mower with a pair of pliers, and the lawn was already getting shaggy looking.
He returned with a Toro mower equipped with a Honda engine, which, I was informed, is the cream of the crop in terms of push mowers.
So as you can guess, the lawn looks very nice right now and all yesterday, I could faintly smell cut grass through the open window. I caught him lovingly polishing the engine with a rag.
At Wal Mart, they had a sale on baby items. I stood in front of the stand for the fliers and looked at the cribs and baby seats.
"Look! A sale on baby stuff!" I informed Keith, when he appeared with our cart.
"We don't even know the age of the kid we'll be matched with," Keith cautioned gently- still thinking in terms of international adoption.
"It'll be a newborn," I reminded him. "The birth mother will choose us while she's still pregnant."
When someone chooses us, which is months and months away. It's tempting to start slowly buying stuff for a nursery, just to have it ready- but it's too early to start that.
I can't do any work on Torii until it "settles down" after my last major revisions, so that's just waiting and I have no clear inspiration for another book.
I feel like I'm waiting on everything.
Despite my restlessness, it's clear to me that Jesus wants me to continue on in this quiet waiting place.
I've been in this quiet waiting place now for about a year- longer, if one considers my time in Kentucky to be waiting. I think it was, though I was just then entering into it kicking and wailing and angry.
At that time I could not know it, but God was pulling me into the quietness -that quietness that comes after grief- in order to meet with me in a deeper way than He had before.
I watched a sermon by Henry Nouwen and in it, he said that, like the bread Jesus held in His hands, we are taken, we are blessed, we are broken and we are given.
We are broken before we are given.
Last night, I think it was, I was caught by the line in the last chapter of Matthew: "He has gone ahead of you into Galilee."
I thought of Jesus on that solitary journey, newly resurrected. I wondered if He had been filled with joy at everything He saw as He walked along- freed from the burden of His passion, everything new and fresh and full of light. Almost as though everything that He had declared good at the beginning was so deliciously good all over again.
In that same gospel, the two women see Him and He says to them, "Rejoice!" (Though it's interesting to me that only in the New King James Version does His greeting get translated this way. Others have Him saying "Peace be with you," or simply "Hail!")
I had a dream like that a few days ago. I dreamed of His death and burial. In the dream, I found myself on a path, a grassy path on a hillside.
Earlier in the dream, I had been running down that path, full of shame, and finding torn pieces of my wedding gown along side it. I kept gathering them up in my arms, in horror, hoping against hope that I would still be acceptable, not for the gown, but for the sincerity of my heart.
Now in the dream, I found myself on the path again, only I didn't have time to worry about what I was wearing, because I saw Him, alive, walking down the path. I knew it was Jesus; I knew He had risen from the dead.
I went running to meet Him and He opened His arms to me. He was so full of joy. He knew me.
"Is this My little one?" Jesus said, laughing. It was as though my love of Him brought Him joy.
When I woke, I re-lived that moment in the dream over and over again- that moment of mutual recognition and joy.
It's an astonishing thought, isn't it, that we can bring Him pleasure of any kind? That it is possible for us, as C.S. Lewis puts it:
"To please God... to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness... to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as an artist delights in his work or a father in his son- it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But so it is."
-The Weight of Glory
So it is.
Friday, March 9, 2012
March 9th
Today I read this in Richard Rohr's daily meditation:
"Struggling with one’s own shadow self, facing interior conflicts and moral failures, undergoing rejections and abandonment, daily humiliations, experiencing any kind of abuse or your own clear limitations, even accepting that some people hate you: All of these are gateways into deeper consciousness and the flowering of the soul. These experiences give us a privileged window into the naked (read “undefendable”) now, because impossible contradictions are staring us in the face. Much-needed healing, forgiving what is, weeping over and accepting one’s interior poverty and contradictions are normally necessary to invite a person into the contemplative mind. (Watch Paul do this in a classic way from the depths of Romans 7:14 to the heights of his mystic poetry in most of Romans 8.)
In facing the contradictions that we ourselves are, we become living icons of both/and. Once we can accept mercy, it is almost natural to hand it on to others. You become a conduit of what you yourself have received."
From The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See, pp. 125-126
That's what I've been struggling with the past few days. I'm learning, little by little, not to struggle at all, but to simply rest my entire self, with all my ragged loose ends, in the hands of Christ.
Doing that is good for the soul.
It makes me think of this passage:
"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden and overburdened, and I will cause you to rest.
[I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls.]
Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest-
(relief and ease and refreshment and recreation and blessed quiet)
for your souls.
For My yoke is wholesome-
(useful, good--not harsh, hard, sharp, or pressing, but comfortable, gracious, and pleasant),
and My burden is light and easy to be borne."
Matthew 11:28-30, Amplified Bible
"Struggling with one’s own shadow self, facing interior conflicts and moral failures, undergoing rejections and abandonment, daily humiliations, experiencing any kind of abuse or your own clear limitations, even accepting that some people hate you: All of these are gateways into deeper consciousness and the flowering of the soul. These experiences give us a privileged window into the naked (read “undefendable”) now, because impossible contradictions are staring us in the face. Much-needed healing, forgiving what is, weeping over and accepting one’s interior poverty and contradictions are normally necessary to invite a person into the contemplative mind. (Watch Paul do this in a classic way from the depths of Romans 7:14 to the heights of his mystic poetry in most of Romans 8.)
In facing the contradictions that we ourselves are, we become living icons of both/and. Once we can accept mercy, it is almost natural to hand it on to others. You become a conduit of what you yourself have received."
From The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See, pp. 125-126
That's what I've been struggling with the past few days. I'm learning, little by little, not to struggle at all, but to simply rest my entire self, with all my ragged loose ends, in the hands of Christ.
Doing that is good for the soul.
It makes me think of this passage:
"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden and overburdened, and I will cause you to rest.
[I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls.]
Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest-
(relief and ease and refreshment and recreation and blessed quiet)
for your souls.
For My yoke is wholesome-
(useful, good--not harsh, hard, sharp, or pressing, but comfortable, gracious, and pleasant),
and My burden is light and easy to be borne."
Matthew 11:28-30, Amplified Bible
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
March 7th
Keith had left his uniform jacket in the garage last night; he brought home a new buddy from work and they had been hanging out back there in the late afternoon, drinking cold beer and talking trucks.
I had to open the garage door to make my way around the gleaming bulk of the HD (we measure each garage before we rent the house- if the truck don't fit, we don't move in). I found his jacket on the four wheeler and turned to go back into the house.
Above the faint tracery of branches, I saw the full moon, white against the dark sky.
"I didn't realize there was a full moon tonight," I told Jesus, with pleasure. I felt Him draw close and we looked up together. I thought of how He made the moon to rule the night; it's such a lovely thought.
The past couple days I have been moving through a lot of condemnation. Every where I turn, I see my shortcomings, my failures, my imperfections. It's exhausting and feels as though it will never end.
Sometimes when I feel this way, I sense Him near and sometimes I do not. The night before last, I did not feel His presence, but this time, I remembered that He is the most faithful when I am the most confused.
I pictured my inner turmoil like the storm that rocked the disciples' boat while Jesus slept.
I could try and wrestle with the storm myself- that's the most tempting option, of course. It's most tempting to stand looking out over all those things I don't like about myself, and command them to change, to lash out at them. However, that just never works for long.
Or I could panic and wake Jesus and beg Him to calm it for me, as the disciples very understandably did, and as I have done, many times. And I knew He would, because of His patience and tender lovingkindness.
But, I realized that night, there was a third choice. I could choose to curl up with Him in the stern of the boat and know the storm is nothing but sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Over and over again, I chose to lie down and rest with Him, and to know that He will finish what He began in my life and that my true identity rests in Him. The storm can rage all it wants; it can't touch me, my life is hidden with Christ.
It doesn't matter if I can sense Him there or not; He always is there. He is faithful in all that He says and He is gracious in all that He does.
Last night, again, I got caught up in the storm of my self condemnation. I was talking with Him about it, about how bewildering it was.
"...and I don't know what it true!" I told Him, wearily.
I am true, He said simply, and the quiet words sank into my spirit and spread out into peace.
I remembered that He is called that; that is one of His names. He is called Faithful and True.
There is a verse from one of the psalms that has been dancing in my head for days now; this morning, when I flipped over my calendar, guess what verse I saw there?
"The steps of the godly are directly by the Lord.
He delights in every detail of their lives.
Though they stumble, they will not fall,
for the Lord holds them by the hand."
-Psalm 37:23-24 NLT
I woke this morning full of energy. I tore the bed clothes off and washed them and went for a grocery trip and paid the bills. I am thinking about shampooing the rugs.
Almost I didn't go for a walk, having so many other things to do, but He called me out, so I went. As I walked, I thought about that verse.
"You must delight in every detail of our lives because, in the end, they will all be to the praise of Your glory," I told Jesus.
And I love you, He pointed out, with His loving humor. As if to say, don't forget the main point!
I actually let myself dwell on the possibility that God might delight Himself in every detail of our lives simply because He loves us. It was awesome, in the truly old fashioned sense of the word. It is a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around.
For one moment, I saw it and laughter rose up out of me, from the joy of it. I was suddenly, acutely aware of myself and for that one moment, I saw myself without any judgement, just as myself, as the woman that I am, as He created me. The perspective was astonishing in its simplicity.
One day, all these shifting layers of perspective will fall away. All our scars, all our pain and brokenness, our confusion and questions, our fear and doubt, all will drop off of us like heavy burdens and we won't carry them ever again. We will see ourselves as He sees us, as we truly are.
What freedom there will be in that moment! Even now, it is possible by faith simply to rest in it. Now the storm rages and we see the surging waves, but if we like, we can curl up with Jesus and rest in Him. We can rest in His perfect work, knowing that even the winds and the waves obey Him and sooner or later, we are going to reach the peaceful shore.
I had to open the garage door to make my way around the gleaming bulk of the HD (we measure each garage before we rent the house- if the truck don't fit, we don't move in). I found his jacket on the four wheeler and turned to go back into the house.
Above the faint tracery of branches, I saw the full moon, white against the dark sky.
"I didn't realize there was a full moon tonight," I told Jesus, with pleasure. I felt Him draw close and we looked up together. I thought of how He made the moon to rule the night; it's such a lovely thought.
The past couple days I have been moving through a lot of condemnation. Every where I turn, I see my shortcomings, my failures, my imperfections. It's exhausting and feels as though it will never end.
Sometimes when I feel this way, I sense Him near and sometimes I do not. The night before last, I did not feel His presence, but this time, I remembered that He is the most faithful when I am the most confused.
I pictured my inner turmoil like the storm that rocked the disciples' boat while Jesus slept.
I could try and wrestle with the storm myself- that's the most tempting option, of course. It's most tempting to stand looking out over all those things I don't like about myself, and command them to change, to lash out at them. However, that just never works for long.
Or I could panic and wake Jesus and beg Him to calm it for me, as the disciples very understandably did, and as I have done, many times. And I knew He would, because of His patience and tender lovingkindness.
But, I realized that night, there was a third choice. I could choose to curl up with Him in the stern of the boat and know the storm is nothing but sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Over and over again, I chose to lie down and rest with Him, and to know that He will finish what He began in my life and that my true identity rests in Him. The storm can rage all it wants; it can't touch me, my life is hidden with Christ.
It doesn't matter if I can sense Him there or not; He always is there. He is faithful in all that He says and He is gracious in all that He does.
Last night, again, I got caught up in the storm of my self condemnation. I was talking with Him about it, about how bewildering it was.
"...and I don't know what it true!" I told Him, wearily.
I am true, He said simply, and the quiet words sank into my spirit and spread out into peace.
I remembered that He is called that; that is one of His names. He is called Faithful and True.
There is a verse from one of the psalms that has been dancing in my head for days now; this morning, when I flipped over my calendar, guess what verse I saw there?
"The steps of the godly are directly by the Lord.
He delights in every detail of their lives.
Though they stumble, they will not fall,
for the Lord holds them by the hand."
-Psalm 37:23-24 NLT
I woke this morning full of energy. I tore the bed clothes off and washed them and went for a grocery trip and paid the bills. I am thinking about shampooing the rugs.
Almost I didn't go for a walk, having so many other things to do, but He called me out, so I went. As I walked, I thought about that verse.
"You must delight in every detail of our lives because, in the end, they will all be to the praise of Your glory," I told Jesus.
And I love you, He pointed out, with His loving humor. As if to say, don't forget the main point!
I actually let myself dwell on the possibility that God might delight Himself in every detail of our lives simply because He loves us. It was awesome, in the truly old fashioned sense of the word. It is a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around.
For one moment, I saw it and laughter rose up out of me, from the joy of it. I was suddenly, acutely aware of myself and for that one moment, I saw myself without any judgement, just as myself, as the woman that I am, as He created me. The perspective was astonishing in its simplicity.
One day, all these shifting layers of perspective will fall away. All our scars, all our pain and brokenness, our confusion and questions, our fear and doubt, all will drop off of us like heavy burdens and we won't carry them ever again. We will see ourselves as He sees us, as we truly are.
What freedom there will be in that moment! Even now, it is possible by faith simply to rest in it. Now the storm rages and we see the surging waves, but if we like, we can curl up with Jesus and rest in Him. We can rest in His perfect work, knowing that even the winds and the waves obey Him and sooner or later, we are going to reach the peaceful shore.
Monday, March 5, 2012
March 5th
This was my verse for the day:
"The Lord is faithful in all He says; He is gracious in all He does. The Lord helps the fallen and lifts up those bent beneath their loads."
-Psalm 145:13-14 NLT
Our guests arrived around three in the afternoon on Saturday. The fellow was a gangly farm boy with a baseball cap, large glasses and a wide smile. He rarely spoke, but watched everything quietly.
I was much more interested in his woman. She was older; her face had that faintly worn look of someone in middle age and her hands were roughened. Her hair was thick, tauny and long, and her eyes were large and shy.
Right away I noticed that she had the same quality of social awkwardness as myself. It wasn't glaring; in her case, it was as though she were somewhat off beat- her conversation moved unexpectedly between untaught directness and shyness.
As for myself, I tried to remain in the moment, and not rush on to the next thing and the next thing and the next thing, in the hopes of pushing time along faster, so that I could get through it as fast as possible.
I kept taking deep, slow breaths and settling myself back into the conversation and the setting. It was much more peaceful that way and I was able to even enjoy some of the socializing.
When we were in the kitchen, her demeanor changed. There is something about being in a kitchen, I have noticed, that causes most women to open up. The quiet ones will get chatty and the chatty ones will go nonstop.
This whole time I had been listening with one ear for the voice of Jesus. It's as though I have one foot in what I can see is happening, and one foot somewhere else. I do this because otherwise, I tend to judge and catagorize the people I meet according to my own expectations and understanding, which is incredibly limited.
I'm constantly reminding myself that this person I'm speaking to is a beloved daughter of God- His own creation, with a history and scars and knowledge and experience very different from my own. I don't know her story, so I don't know who she really is. But what I can always know, is that she is beloved of God, as we all are.
So, I was in the kitchen slicing up tomatoes, and I leaned back into Jesus yet again, in order to ground myself, and He whispered to me, Here is another little girl.
He meant, another little girl like myself- someone who survived the ravages of their childhood.
It was true, too. Little pieces of her childhood kept dropping into the conversation, which was becoming more unconventional, as we became more comfortable being ourselves.
I've rarely had such a connection with another person in the same way. It amazed me, looking back, to notice how much of my inner self I had revealed. It wasn't so much what we were saying, it was how we were being.
My conversation with my guest had been full of emotion, vulnerablity and authenticity, no matter what topic we had been discussing. Any other person would have found it strange, with the long, quiet pauses and palpable emotion.
I kept leaning into Jesus and listening, during my conversations with her. Maybe times I wanted to talk about Him with her, but not as though to evangelize- it was perfectly obvious, even with my limited perception, that she was His girl. I wanted to talk about Him simply because I wanted to share my delight in Him, but we didn't have enough time to get to that level of sharing.
It came up once, briefly, when she was telling me about her son's name.
"It's in the Bible," she said to me in her direct way, but her eyes shimmered with a sort of private pleasure.
I looked at her swiftly from the corner of my eye. Everything that I wanted to say was too much to be said, and I couldn't grab a hold of where to begin.
"Indeed it is," I replied instead, my eyes twinkling.
When they left the next day, she came up to my desk, as though she had an important and deliberate message to deliver.
"I enjoyed meeting you," she said simply. As she spoke, her childlike pleasure was balanced by her natural dignity. "I hope that we'll meet again soon."
It was not a social phrase, it was genuine, and thus unvarnished and unstudied. I understood the importance of it as well, because of the things she had shared with me earlier.
I paused to consider. This is the sort of thing I would never do, normally, but that is what I meant by our conversation being unconventional. As I paused, I realized that I also hoped very much that we would meet again. I sat up straight.
"I hope so," I said, my eyes bright with the undisguised pleasure of it.
Her own eyes suddenly shone bright and beautiful and then her shoulders hunched into themselves. Her shyness washed over her and she had to look away. We waved to each other and then they were gone on their way further South.
As they drove away, I felt a wash of fear for her, because of her innocence and childlike nature. She could be hurt so easily- what would happen to her?
I felt Jesus' loving presence; He did not have to say anything. All my fears dissolved at once into a sort of tender humor at myself.
First of all, she'd already been through incredible suffering; her strength was of that shining sort that had been tried in the crucible. But most importantly, Jesus would be with her no matter where her life took her. She would always be in His hands.
And now it is a sunny Monday morning, and I am going to go out and see what is blooming in the park.
"The Lord is faithful in all He says; He is gracious in all He does. The Lord helps the fallen and lifts up those bent beneath their loads."
-Psalm 145:13-14 NLT
Our guests arrived around three in the afternoon on Saturday. The fellow was a gangly farm boy with a baseball cap, large glasses and a wide smile. He rarely spoke, but watched everything quietly.
I was much more interested in his woman. She was older; her face had that faintly worn look of someone in middle age and her hands were roughened. Her hair was thick, tauny and long, and her eyes were large and shy.
Right away I noticed that she had the same quality of social awkwardness as myself. It wasn't glaring; in her case, it was as though she were somewhat off beat- her conversation moved unexpectedly between untaught directness and shyness.
As for myself, I tried to remain in the moment, and not rush on to the next thing and the next thing and the next thing, in the hopes of pushing time along faster, so that I could get through it as fast as possible.
I kept taking deep, slow breaths and settling myself back into the conversation and the setting. It was much more peaceful that way and I was able to even enjoy some of the socializing.
When we were in the kitchen, her demeanor changed. There is something about being in a kitchen, I have noticed, that causes most women to open up. The quiet ones will get chatty and the chatty ones will go nonstop.
This whole time I had been listening with one ear for the voice of Jesus. It's as though I have one foot in what I can see is happening, and one foot somewhere else. I do this because otherwise, I tend to judge and catagorize the people I meet according to my own expectations and understanding, which is incredibly limited.
I'm constantly reminding myself that this person I'm speaking to is a beloved daughter of God- His own creation, with a history and scars and knowledge and experience very different from my own. I don't know her story, so I don't know who she really is. But what I can always know, is that she is beloved of God, as we all are.
So, I was in the kitchen slicing up tomatoes, and I leaned back into Jesus yet again, in order to ground myself, and He whispered to me, Here is another little girl.
He meant, another little girl like myself- someone who survived the ravages of their childhood.
It was true, too. Little pieces of her childhood kept dropping into the conversation, which was becoming more unconventional, as we became more comfortable being ourselves.
I've rarely had such a connection with another person in the same way. It amazed me, looking back, to notice how much of my inner self I had revealed. It wasn't so much what we were saying, it was how we were being.
My conversation with my guest had been full of emotion, vulnerablity and authenticity, no matter what topic we had been discussing. Any other person would have found it strange, with the long, quiet pauses and palpable emotion.
I kept leaning into Jesus and listening, during my conversations with her. Maybe times I wanted to talk about Him with her, but not as though to evangelize- it was perfectly obvious, even with my limited perception, that she was His girl. I wanted to talk about Him simply because I wanted to share my delight in Him, but we didn't have enough time to get to that level of sharing.
It came up once, briefly, when she was telling me about her son's name.
"It's in the Bible," she said to me in her direct way, but her eyes shimmered with a sort of private pleasure.
I looked at her swiftly from the corner of my eye. Everything that I wanted to say was too much to be said, and I couldn't grab a hold of where to begin.
"Indeed it is," I replied instead, my eyes twinkling.
When they left the next day, she came up to my desk, as though she had an important and deliberate message to deliver.
"I enjoyed meeting you," she said simply. As she spoke, her childlike pleasure was balanced by her natural dignity. "I hope that we'll meet again soon."
It was not a social phrase, it was genuine, and thus unvarnished and unstudied. I understood the importance of it as well, because of the things she had shared with me earlier.
I paused to consider. This is the sort of thing I would never do, normally, but that is what I meant by our conversation being unconventional. As I paused, I realized that I also hoped very much that we would meet again. I sat up straight.
"I hope so," I said, my eyes bright with the undisguised pleasure of it.
Her own eyes suddenly shone bright and beautiful and then her shoulders hunched into themselves. Her shyness washed over her and she had to look away. We waved to each other and then they were gone on their way further South.
As they drove away, I felt a wash of fear for her, because of her innocence and childlike nature. She could be hurt so easily- what would happen to her?
I felt Jesus' loving presence; He did not have to say anything. All my fears dissolved at once into a sort of tender humor at myself.
First of all, she'd already been through incredible suffering; her strength was of that shining sort that had been tried in the crucible. But most importantly, Jesus would be with her no matter where her life took her. She would always be in His hands.
And now it is a sunny Monday morning, and I am going to go out and see what is blooming in the park.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
March 3rd
Yesterday was such a deliciously windy day.
It started out with solid cloud cover, but by ten thirty, the clouds were breaking up and moving fast across the sky. I went out to check on the garden and was immediately enamoured of the weather.
Shortly thereafter, I was out for a walk. Things did not go smoothly though. For one thing, my ankle socks kept creeping down into the heel of my sneakers.
I tell you what, there is no hindrance to a wonderful time of worship so effective as a slipping sock. Eventually, I had to stop and laugh, and retie my sneakers. My hair, by the way, is long enough that when I am bending forward to tie my laces, the ends of it got caught up in the knot.
I cut the walk short and headed home. The house seemed impossibly stuffy and stale; I threw open as many windows as I could. All day long the wind moved sweetly through the house.
Keith came home early. He is so happy these days, now that his job is not driving him to frustration on an hourly basis. He threw on shorts and tee-shirt and disappeared into the garage with Abby, to work on his RC vehicles.
In the evening, I joined him there. We sat on the tailgate of the HD and watched the quiet street, all lit up by orange street lamps, and the quiet sky above. The wind had died down, and almost all the clouds were gone. The sky was that kind of liquid dark blue, the kind of color that suggests impossible depth.
Today I woke to driving rain. I opened the French doors to sheets of it and a frothy pool and a spray covered patio.
The girls froze just moments before heading happily out to do their business; their ears flattened against their heads in dismay. I received a few looks of deep reproach from them. They crept backward, having quickly changed their minds.
We are expecting guests today; a childhood friend of Keith and his fiance are stopping here on their way to a vacation in Florida. The plan is that they will spend the night and then head on to their destination.
Last night I finished Amy Carmichael's devotional. I have a deep and warm appreciation of her, and a sense of recognition.
I have moved on to my next book, The Weight of Glory, by C.S. Lewis, but that is much slower going and sometimes I can't grasp his point. I can only read a small amount, and then must put it down and think it through.
His longing and deep reverence for God come through at every turn. I read this and thought it quite beautiful:
"The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things- the beauty, the memory of our own past- are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they will turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."
-C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory
It started out with solid cloud cover, but by ten thirty, the clouds were breaking up and moving fast across the sky. I went out to check on the garden and was immediately enamoured of the weather.
Shortly thereafter, I was out for a walk. Things did not go smoothly though. For one thing, my ankle socks kept creeping down into the heel of my sneakers.
I tell you what, there is no hindrance to a wonderful time of worship so effective as a slipping sock. Eventually, I had to stop and laugh, and retie my sneakers. My hair, by the way, is long enough that when I am bending forward to tie my laces, the ends of it got caught up in the knot.
I cut the walk short and headed home. The house seemed impossibly stuffy and stale; I threw open as many windows as I could. All day long the wind moved sweetly through the house.
Keith came home early. He is so happy these days, now that his job is not driving him to frustration on an hourly basis. He threw on shorts and tee-shirt and disappeared into the garage with Abby, to work on his RC vehicles.
In the evening, I joined him there. We sat on the tailgate of the HD and watched the quiet street, all lit up by orange street lamps, and the quiet sky above. The wind had died down, and almost all the clouds were gone. The sky was that kind of liquid dark blue, the kind of color that suggests impossible depth.
Today I woke to driving rain. I opened the French doors to sheets of it and a frothy pool and a spray covered patio.
The girls froze just moments before heading happily out to do their business; their ears flattened against their heads in dismay. I received a few looks of deep reproach from them. They crept backward, having quickly changed their minds.
We are expecting guests today; a childhood friend of Keith and his fiance are stopping here on their way to a vacation in Florida. The plan is that they will spend the night and then head on to their destination.
Last night I finished Amy Carmichael's devotional. I have a deep and warm appreciation of her, and a sense of recognition.
I have moved on to my next book, The Weight of Glory, by C.S. Lewis, but that is much slower going and sometimes I can't grasp his point. I can only read a small amount, and then must put it down and think it through.
His longing and deep reverence for God come through at every turn. I read this and thought it quite beautiful:
"The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things- the beauty, the memory of our own past- are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they will turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."
-C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory
Thursday, March 1, 2012
March 1st
It's raining; I can hear the soft sound of it outside the windows.
I love March. When I lived in New England, March was the month when spring was a very private and personal affair. It had to be looked for; a person almost had to believe in it, in order to see it.
Down here in the South, spring goes public in March. In fact, spring has been announcing itself all last month- all through February, if you can believe it. Already, there are purple and yellow blossoms to be seen in the park.
Keith has mowed the back yard already; we're researching patio furniture sets on line and dreaming about the pool. He was unable to resist throwing a pool toy into the cart the last time we went shopping.
I've been thinking about a nursery these days. It's a soft thought, a tendril of hope, like the scent of lilacs that comes drifting through the open windows in late spring.
It's possible that I might need a nursery, might decorate and stock one- with bits of soft clothing, like tiny, striped socks, little stretchy caps and lots and lots of ridiculously small diapers.
Who knows how long before it would be used. There's no telling. Who knows who might choose us as adoptive parents, or why. But it's out there, a possibility.
Whatever happens, I trust the One who keeps and carries me. He is all that I am to receive, and my cup, as David wrote so well.
I love March. When I lived in New England, March was the month when spring was a very private and personal affair. It had to be looked for; a person almost had to believe in it, in order to see it.
Down here in the South, spring goes public in March. In fact, spring has been announcing itself all last month- all through February, if you can believe it. Already, there are purple and yellow blossoms to be seen in the park.
Keith has mowed the back yard already; we're researching patio furniture sets on line and dreaming about the pool. He was unable to resist throwing a pool toy into the cart the last time we went shopping.
I've been thinking about a nursery these days. It's a soft thought, a tendril of hope, like the scent of lilacs that comes drifting through the open windows in late spring.
It's possible that I might need a nursery, might decorate and stock one- with bits of soft clothing, like tiny, striped socks, little stretchy caps and lots and lots of ridiculously small diapers.
Who knows how long before it would be used. There's no telling. Who knows who might choose us as adoptive parents, or why. But it's out there, a possibility.
Whatever happens, I trust the One who keeps and carries me. He is all that I am to receive, and my cup, as David wrote so well.
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