(This post is quite long, more like two or three chapters in a book than a blog post, so I have marked them in parts I, II and III.)
I
Five years ago, on November 1, 2010
Keith and I were up in Indiana this weekend and as we were driving it struck me that we had been there exactly one year ago. It all came back, the shorn, golden tilt of farmed hillsides, the black shadows stretching further east, away from the setting sun and the few shards of copper leaves that rimmed the trees.
I
Five years ago, on November 1, 2010
Keith and I were up in Indiana this weekend and as we were driving it struck me that we had been there exactly one year ago. It all came back, the shorn, golden tilt of farmed hillsides, the black shadows stretching further east, away from the setting sun and the few shards of copper leaves that rimmed the trees.
I thought
again how it felt to set out from Colorado, to head East across the state
into the flatland, everything around us brown, tawny and still, the grass lands
and the rolling hills mirroring the endless sky above.
I keep waking
up, as it were, into a greater understanding of life's inherent difficulty and imperfection,
but it's no longer traumatizing to realize how much suffering life holds. I
don't rebel against it or hide from it as I used to.
Instead, I
feel this sense of peace. I feel like a tree that's lost limbs, been partially
burned, but has its roots deep into the earth and its branches all spread to
the sky. God calls us into life not because life is perfect and not because we
are perfect, but because we are meant to grow.
We don't have
to grovel or punish ourselves or push ourselves. We don't have to shy away from
our failures and imperfections. We can trust that in all things, God will call
us out deeper- to encourage growth, to bring us out further and further into
the light.
That is what
He has been doing in my life of late. Of this whole year, in fact. This whole
year has been one of intense, sometimes downright agonizing growth. I've been
called to grow up in a whole new way.
And I did not
want to. I did not want to give up my illusions, the beautiful fantasy that
life could be perfect, perfectly fulfilling in itself. I was incredible angry at
God. Why would God do that to us, to any of us? It isn't fair, it wasn't right.
We strive and strive and strive and yet get knocked down again. Now I see the
beauty.
Last year,
when I looked ahead, I took for granted that by this time I would certainly be
either pregnant or the mother of an infant. I did not grant any weight to the
idea that neither might be true. I just projected this longing into the future,
maybe as a way to guard myself from the truth, the truth that I can’t control
the future.
We were up in
Indiana to receive a truck being delivered to Keith's brother on the same day
that his wife was in the hospital delivering their second girl. I walked into
the house and saw on the table a breast pump and in the living room a bassinet,
newly constructed, standing silent witness to what was happening in a hospital
right then.
I felt
juvenile and gauche; I felt like a small girl that has her nose to the window
of some warmly mysterious and richly natural room that she knows she will never
be invited into, an experience that will never be a part of her life.
I feel like
those fields, rough corn stubble making a golden haze across a gentle valley,
half in the sun and half in shadow, but quiet and still. I feel inside me a
reassuring weight, a strong ballast; God calls me into life to grow. He calls
me out from the things of childhood into adulthood, not because life is safe,
but because my spirit longs to expand through the suffering into what is real.
It's what I was created to express, I am a living expression of the nature of
God; that nature that creates and pours forth new life through the suffering
and redeems the dark.
II
Four years ago, on December 25, 2011
This part of the hymn keeps going through my mind: my Jesus, I love Thee; I know Thou art mine. For Thee, all the follies of sin I resign.
II
Four years ago, on December 25, 2011
This part of the hymn keeps going through my mind: my Jesus, I love Thee; I know Thou art mine. For Thee, all the follies of sin I resign.
But right
now, I find pride, self-reliance and self-righteousness much harder to resign.
So I sang to Jesus: For Thee, all the follies of self-righteousness I resign,
and I felt His delight at my small joke.
He was close
to me all day today, starting in the morning when I got an eyelash in my eye. I
was completely stressed out anyway, worried that I wouldn’t be on time and make
everyone else late to church, so my anxiety reached an unbearable point and I
cried out to Him.
And Jesus put
His arm around my shoulders and held me close and I became quiet and calm. And
the eyelash came out.
I thought, Oh
my goodness. I just called upon God concerning an eyelash. And, He answered
me. I would
venture to say that there is nothing He is not involved in and concerned with.
Even when I
woke and had to get moving so quickly that I didn't even have a moment to rest
in Jesus, I felt all flustered and sent Him a quick, half garbled apology and I
felt Him right beside me. He said, I'm
here. All though
the anxiety- ridden getting ready for church, I felt Him touch me to calm me
down and center me. Just do the next
thing, He kept saying. One thing at a
time. Trust Me.
"One two
three," I said to Jesus, in relief- because saying it centers me back into acceptance of the
present task of love.
I came down,
and I was not late and there were cinnamon rolls and fruit salad for breakfast
and everything was fine. And I adored Jesus. The whole trip to the church, I
rested in His love and I worshiped and adored Him.
In church, my emotions moved between grief, joy and exhaustion. I had forgotten how much emphasis
the church places on doing things and not on being, on relationship. It seemed strange to me. It was like
taking a core sample of an entire landmass and saying, all the date in this core
sample is what we know and do, when the entire landmass is their home and
belongs to them.
It made me
think of this passage:
"So
don’t boast about following a particular human leader. For everything belongs
to you— whether Paul or Apollos or Peter, or the world, or life and death, or
the present and the future. Everything belongs to you, and you belong to
Christ, and Christ belongs to God.
-I
Corinthians 3:21-23
During the
service, everything happened so quickly that there was no time to ponder or
consider and everything had to do with the surface. Guilt was employed as a
motivator for behavior at every turn.
Every time I
thought about how this imperfect and incomplete knowledge will fall off of us
in eternity, and how brightly we will shine and how completely we will love and
be loved, living entirely in the compassion and knowledge and the love of God,
I felt comforted.
In the
meantime, some people just seem to prefer to live in these small containers.
But I have hope- everyone grows at their own rate and in their own path, and
Jesus cares deeply about and is involved in their faith and their relationship to Him.
Later, I heard or read something and I thought, oh, how will I convey enough love to this person to heal them?
Later, I heard or read something and I thought, oh, how will I convey enough love to this person to heal them?
And Jesus
said, I do that. That is what I do.
I said, "Right! Of course, that is what You do. What do I do?"
You are a mirror, He said.
I thought, oh
my goodness! Of course. I mirror His love and what I see in Him to other
people. The better I see Him, the better I can reflect Him. The better and
deeper I let Him love me, the brighter will be the love that I can reflect.
But it's His
work in the heart of the person that matters the most. Jesus doesn't need a
mirror, He just likes to use one if I'm available for the work, because it's
good for me.
December 26,
2011
So we are
home.
On Christmas,
I learned that my sister in law is pregnant again. It’s an unexpected pregnancy,
and my other sister in law just recently gave birth to her second after ten
years. The house of my parents in law was a jumble of babies and pregnancies and
small children underfoot and Christmas decorations.
I didn’t talk
to Jesus about this for a long while, trying to prevent myself from being angry
at Him. I didn’t want to go through all that right then, but when I was
upstairs wrapping presents, I was able to speak to Him.
"Why?"
I asked Jesus. "Why are You making me a barren woman?"
His response
was layered and hard to grasp. It was as though He were saying that I wasn't
barren in the spiritual sense. It was almost as though He were saying that I
was full of His life instead. But I still don't understand that, and it seemed
so weird.
When Jesus
begins to teach me something, I usually have a hard time grasping it at first.
He always returns to the idea, again and again, to explain and expound on the
original lesson. He does this in many different ways, and sooner or later I get it, so I
didn’t worry too much about not understanding it right then.
But the one part
I truly understood was that He was with me; I had Jesus. This caused me so much
joy that my spirit went up in flames.
"You,
You, You!" I cried, with joy. "I choose You, every time, over
everything. Let my life be what it must and let me have You. So be it."
When I
returned to the living room, my pain had been consumed by comfort and joy. I
took my little nephew and rocked him in my arms and smelled his delicious baby
smell and just enjoyed the little guy.
But he was
suffering with a cold! So tiny and already suffering. It didn't seem right. I
reached out for Christ, without words, and I felt both the baby and myself
enveloped in His love. I felt Jesus standing behind me, His arms around myself
and my nephew. We were bathed in love and peace.
I understood
that right in that moment; Jesus was with that little baby, suffering with him, just as Jesus had always been with me in mine. Jesus did not hold Himself aloof, but entered into it so that He can transform it. His cross encompasses everything and His resurrection always has the last word.
I thought about how Jesus Himself was born human- was as helpless and humble as an infant. To be honest, I couldn't actually wrap my mind around it. I think there can be no greater courage or love and humility than His.
I thought about how Jesus Himself was born human- was as helpless and humble as an infant. To be honest, I couldn't actually wrap my mind around it. I think there can be no greater courage or love and humility than His.
We stopped by
Keith's mother's house in the morning before getting on the interstate.
His mother is
a kindred spirit, and I had the pleasure of talking out loud about the things I
normally simply write about. I have two mothers with whom I can actually talk
out loud about my inner life.
When she
hugged me goodbye, she squeezed me tight and prayed a blessing, half under her
breath. I didn't catch what she was saying, but as she prayed, I felt my spirit
flare up. So did hers.
She pulled an
arm's length away and looked at me, her eyes shining. "The Lord is using
you, sister," she said, with a grin.
I felt
unexpectedly and hugely shy, and ducked my head. It was as though a veil had
been lifted, and she had a glimpse of something that normally is seen only by
Christ, because it belongs only to Him. My spirit is all liquid warm and flares
up easily like that because I'm held in His arms all the time; my spirit
belongs to Him. He delights in me, He actually tells me so. He
carries me under the shadow of His wings. I am the apple of His eye and His
dove hidden in the rock.
The entire
trip back down to Georgia, I felt His love poured out on me. Half way down, we
stopped for an early dinner and I was idly reading through the psalms, and I
found this:
"As for me, I shall behold Your face in righteousness;
"As for me, I shall behold Your face in righteousness;
I will be
satisfied with Your likeness when I awake."
Psalm
17:15
III
III
December 27,
2011
(Note on
Facebook, written to my mother)
I have to
write about something so astonishing that just happened. So, I'm pretty sure it
was on the trip home that it began. I was talking with Jesus like I normally
do. He was with me closely that entire time, just flooding me with His love and
care of me.
Jesus held me
in His arms and cradled my head against His shoulder. I felt as if I were
cradled deep down within layers- layers of light and even of wings curved around
me and it was as though I were tucked deep, deep in with Him, safe and sound
and cherished. He kept taking my face in His hands.
I remembered
how at first, this perception of His presence and His love had shocked me and I
had kept turning away, but He kept returning. Now I accept Jesus with joy and
faith. I have no idea why He’s like this with me, but I accept.
It was so
moving that I frequently found myself on the verge of tears. Especially when
this one song came on:
I remember how
it used to feel
Ridin' down
ol' two mile hill
Tennis shoes
up on the handlebars
Payin' no
mind to them passin' cars
No doubts no
fears
Just like
when you are here
Chorus:
No chains, no
strings
No fences, no
walls
No net, just
you
To catch me
when I fall
Look heart,
no hands
Took a little
time to get up to speed
To find the
confidence and strength I'd need
To just let
go and reach for the sky
You know,
sometimes it felt I could fly
No doubts, no
fears
Just like
when you are here
Chorus:
It doesn't
take much
Just a smile
of a touch
And I'm a kid
again
I can almost
feel that wind
-Randy
Travis, Look Heart, No Hands
And I was sitting
there in the car, just overwhelmed by love, tears tricking down my cheek- my
heart was so full. At one point, I cried out to Jesus, “No more
love! I’m only a mortal girl; I can’t hold anymore love, my heart is going to
burst! I can’t hold anymore!”
Then, later
on, I was thinking about a picture I'd seen on a Bible, of Jesus knocking at
the door. I thought about how dolorous Jesus looked in that picture, how calm
and pale and somehow almost disinterested.
He said in my
heart, that is not who I am. He said
this with tender humor. He didn’t mind the picture, not one bit. He was just
letting me know that it did not capture who He truly was.
I said, “Yes,
Jesus.”
I remembered
how the verse read, Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with them and they with Me.
The verse
lingered with me. I thought, surely there’s no way He’s not in with me, after
everything lately! But still, it kept lingering in my mind, so finally, I said,
with joyful abandon, okay, sure, I’ll ask Him in. I surely want Him in, if He
isn’t in already and it can’t hurt to invite Him many times. I would love to
eat with Him.
So I threw
the arms of my spirit wide open with love and joy and I said, “Come, come,
come!”
And He filled
my spirit like fire; it took my breath away. For a moment, I felt myself
absolutely filled and flooded with Him. I relished this sensation and marveled
and then it faded peacefully away, and I was as I normally am.
That night, I
was talking with Jesus as I normally do, and I was thinking about how certain
things were sacred. And I remembered that I was sacred, because I was the
temple of the Holy Spirit.
So I said to
Him with a kind of childlike joy, “I’m sacred!” And I imagined myself as a
building, with columns and doors and walls.
And He said
with loving humor and with love, you’re
no building to Me, and He reached out and pulled me into His arms.
And I felt as
if His presence became more intense, as though it had more force and density
and it was as though there was a veil in my mind and I kept wanting to hide
behind the veil.
And Jesus kept
gently asking me to let it go and finally I said, okay, and tore the veil away
and I was confronted with the overwhelming reality that I was talking to Jesus.
To Jesus. To
God. To the Son of God. This knowledge that went through me like fire. I was
terrified. It was an awe-filled terror. I couldn’t speak. I was completely
overwhelmed.
The holy
terror was so great that I started to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but as soon as
I said, “Our Father,” peace began to spread out from my spirit and it calmed me.
But the awe, in the incredible awe was still all through me.
I just
couldn’t speak. Finally, I said His name, I said, “Jesus, Jesus!” And I felt
His answering joy and love like flames flare up all through me, from my spirit
outward. I could physically feel the rush of the energy all through me like a burning fire, but without any pain.
I said, "It’s
really You! You’re Jesus! You’re the Son of the Living God! You’re Jesus who
was crucified! The first born of all creation. You're my Redeemer and my
Creator!”
And each
time, I felt His affirmation like fire in my soul and washing over my whole
self. When Jesus spoke, His voice was so strong in my spirit that it was as if they had weight.
I said:
You’re really here!
And Jesus said, I’ve been here all along.
I said,
that’s true! Oh my goodness, it’s been You!
Jesus said, I’ve been with you your entire life.
I said, Yes,
You have. You’ve shown me that. I know that now.
Jesus said, I’ve been your Friend and Shepherd and Counselor, I'm the One speaking to you and teaching you and comforting you.
I said, Yes!
oh my goodness. Oh my goodness.
Jesus said, You’re the girl that longed so desperately
to follow along with Me like one of My apostles.
I heard the
loving smile in His voice, I felt His love and awareness of me, of my whole life- and I
remembered feeling that, so many times in my life. Not because I wanted to be
an apostle- heavens no. But just because I so longed to be that close to Jesus.
Oh, I was so
abashed- just, so shy. I said, oh my goodness, yes that was me. I did want
that.
I was so
overwhelmed that I couldn’t speak. I kept trying to speak, to speak of my love
and my adoration and my need and my longing and I couldn’t. It was so much that
it was as though it were lodged in my throat by the sheer size of it.
Finally, I
got it out. I cried out, in my spirit, “I’ve longed for You! I’ve been longing
for You all my life!” It poured out of me and my spirit went up in flames all
over again.
I said to
Jesus, in a garbled kind of prayer, please don’t leave me, please don’t ever
leave me.
I felt Him
smile. He said, we’ve been through this already. He said it was such tender love.
Awe swept
over me all over again. "We have,” I said with awe. “You did teach me
about that.”
I remembered
Him saying, I will never leave you nor forsake you and awe swept over me again.
I said to Him, “You said that! It was You that said that to them.”
He said
lovingly, I said that to you.
(Obviously, I
remembered this incorrectly and misquoted Jesus, to Jesus, which was something that I didn’t realize until a few
days later, when I was so abashed I thought I was going to curl up on the floor
and wither away slowly, but it was only then that I realized the extent of His
lovingkindness in correcting me- done in such a reassuring way that I didn’t
even know I was being corrected.)
I said,
excitedly, “I’ve been reading all Your words.”
He said
tenderly, I know you have.
Then later, I whispered to Jesus, “But I’m so afraid now
I’ll lose that trusting closeness that I had with You before,
when I knew You through that veil.”
In response,
He took me by the shoulders, pulled me close to Him and kissed my face. Fire
went through me all over again, to such a degree that I could not speak, move
or breathe; there was nothing but the rushing and the power of that fire, and
it ebbed away slowly.
Okay, but it did not end there. I was still confused about the fear, because perfect
love casts out fear, so why was I afraid? I thought, how can that be?
So Jesus
brought to my mind all these verses and situations when other people had been
afraid and trembling before God- it's a normal human response. Abraham felt a
holy terror, Gideon did, David wrote about it in the psalms. Even just the
sight of an angel can fill a human with holy fear.
I understood
then about "the fear of the Lord." It's not a dread, it's a holy awe
that fills a person's entire being. It's part of knowing that one is in the
presence of God. It's part of knowing with absolute certainty that He exists,
that He is. I think that must be why the fear of the Lord is the beginning of
wisdom- because the fear of the Lord is to know absolutely that He exists, and
that He alone is God. It doesn't mean dread or horror or shame. I didn't feel
any of those things. It's not a dark fear.
Then I longed
and longed to leave this brokenness and to go home. But I pulled myself from
the longing. I felt Jesus close by, and loving me, as I worked through the
longing.
I said, I willingly accept
being here. Being here is good for my spirit. I will learn so many wonderful
things. It won't be long- it will be for
just a moment in the light of eternity, and then I get to go home, and with
such a wealth of knowledge and depth of soul!
I'll be
pulled and deepened and I will grow into knowledge of Jesus. Then, when I
return home, I'll be full of good things, things which bring the Father honor! I'll
do this because Jesus does it through me. All I have to do is stay abiding in
Jesus and He produces all the lovely fruits.
It won't be
long. It's okay. Jesus has me safe and sound. He'll
get me through safe and sound. All the dross will get burned away, I won't
carry it forever.
When I woke
in the morning, I was still stunned by everything that I had moved through the
night before. I lay in bed for a while, letting my spirit adjust to
everything.
Jesus was
there, filling my spirit with His quiet love and peace. I felt His presence as
I normally do. I lay back and rested in it. Then I got up and opened the French
doors and stared at the sky. It was all full of white and gold clouds and
layered sun shining through on the eastern horizon.
Wonder flamed
up in my soul all over again, to think that Jesus, Jesus Himself, was with me.