Tuesday, April 24, 2012

April 24th

You know you're a writer when you're leaving blood smears on the keyboard, but go on typing anyway. My friend wasn't kidding when he observed that I write because I must write.

I just can not process my life the way I need to if I can't process it with the written word.

Today I'm not leaking on the keyboard because I'm sporting the very latest in band aid technology.

I woke up today feeling melancholy. Probably because I still can't take a shower or go for a walk, or wash dishes or lift heavy things.

As one is going down in a fall, there is a split second moment when one's brain realizes that one has reached the point of no return.

In that moment, there is sudden, unusual freedom- the body switches from conscious control to unconscious.

I can remember that moment; I can remember going completely loose. Despite the certainty that physical damage and pain were now unavoidable, it was a wonderful sensation.

I wonder if that's why people parachute jump out of airplanes.

Last night, Keith said, "Honey, I didn't realize just how much you do. You keep me going- you are the fly wheel to the big wheel."

That's what sweet talk sounds like from a Tank Commander from Indiana. It just so happens that the fly wheel on his ATV is currently broken. Without that little gear, the rest of the engine doesn't start.

I saw this poem on Facebook the other day:

-Keeping Watch-

In the morning
When I began to wake,
It happened again--

That feeling
That you, Beloved,
Had stood over me all night
Keeping watch,

That feeling
That as soon as I began to stir

You put Your lips on my forehead
And lit a Holy lamp
Inside my heart.


After more then six months of blogging about my personal experience of God, my perspective on it has changed. I'm still processing this change.

At the beginning, the wonder of it just swept me off my feet. I wanted to hold on to the experience itself- every day, every moment.

However, over time, I began to understand, in a way which is beyond words, that God is deeper, more vibrant, more real, more present than I could ever possibly know or understand.

In Him, we live and move and have our being. This truth transcends any momentary experience of His presence or His love; it's the unchanging context for how we experience Him in the moment.

Yesterday, as I was walking through the kitchen, I saw a pattern of morning light against the wall, and through the window, the wash of light and green leaves outside.

This sight filled me with joy, and in the next breath, my joy deepened, or expanded into the understanding that He was there, that in His light do we see light, and that He is the source of all joy. His life is the light of men, and that light shines out, always.

There are no words for the tenderness of His love for us. It surrounds us and upholds us all the time.

There is so much mystery and beauty in life, and Jesus Himself- the Living Word of God, our Creator and our Lover, is at the heart of it.

"I will honor You as long as I live,
Lifting up my hands to You in prayer.
You satisfy me more than the richest of foods.
I will praise You with songs of joy."

-Psalm 63:4-5, NLT