The words won't shake lose. For several days now, I've felt the weight of some words stirring restless here at the bottom of my heart, where I cannot quite reach them.
To tip myself upside down, I need time and space and who has those things these days?
I had an open window and spring poured through it, in the evening and something unseen was rustling in the woods behind the fence. Whatever it was, it didn't disturb the singing of newly awoken things in the grass and bushes, so it didn't disturb me.
I have one hour before the baby wakes; maybe less. Then I'll be creating something else, but that's slow, slow work and disappears down into her life and when it returns, it will be something different- whatever she made of it.
Do you see the pines? He whispered. Do you see how they are scarred and broken? That is also My face, Myself.
It's so scandalous- that God should be scarred. Don't we want Him perfect? Shouldn't He be?
It's Lent and for the first time, I am marking it. I have done the obvious thing and have gone off facebook. There's a lot of quiet now, and focus.
"You're not like I thought You'd be," I told Him- the Son of God!
How dare I even speak to Him, let alone question Him?
He has to teach me all over again.
"I thought You'd be on Your throne."
That would terrify you, to see that.
Just to know that I am seeing Him can be awful- in the oldest sense of that word: solemnly impressive; inspiring awe: the awful majesty of alpine peaks. Full of awe; reverential.
Do you know Me as King?
He is, but I do not know Him that way. That is not the way He comes to me.
The Christ, the Son of God, comes to me as a six month old infant girl, sitting on my arm, leaning against my heart. He comes to me as a scarred pine, as my husband whispering, "I love that you love me." He comes like spring through the window.
It leaves me breathless all over again; the way God makes Himself vulnerable, how willing He is to be born again and again into this world. Hasn't He enough scars?
He emptied Himself- I read that phrase this morning, and thought again about it- how the manifest glory, the living wisdom, the Holy One having all the fullness of the Eternal, held in the heart of the invisible God, the only begotten- He emptied Himself and became human.
Either I do not understand what it is to be human, or I do not understand what it is to be God. Very likely both.
We are living at the heart of a breakable and awful mystery every single day. We walk in it. We talk to it. We touch it.
It's so scandalous- that we should touch God.
I think of Him sometimes, clothed in dignity: a man in a Middle Eastern, patriarchal culture of honor and shame, a traveling sage, a teacher of the law and a prophet. He holds the whole Torah and hundreds of years of their interpretation and tradition easily in His mind and He can weave with them, debate with them, parry and thrust and pierce, laying bare the heart.
He wears the simple long and layered robes and the tallit and He is tired and being shoved, pressed in on, and the racket of shouts echoing off the sun baked stone and His rabble of disciples- the zealot and the collaborator with Rome and the traitor, and the passionate boys eager for positions at His right hand, eager to call down retribution when their Master is rejected.
And there is this one woman- unclean all her life and impoverished by it in every way. The very part of her meant to bring life is destroying any hope of a life of her own.
Just to be out of the house brings her shame and just being near to the Rabbi brings Him shame and yet she hopes to do worse; she is determined to touch His clothing.
How dare she?
She does dare and He calls her daughter.
It's all too much to believe. The whole thing.
I read a story based in the gospels the other day, it described Jesus as exuding an air of majesty, calm, collected and dignified, always in control of Himself and the situation.
I had a hard time recognizing this Jesus.
"But You are Lord of lords," I have insisted.
Yes, of course I am- this said as if I had just told Him the sky was blue.
When I was a senior at a Southern Baptist private school, I sat in the auditorium and listened one morning to the principal speak. He told the story of the determined, desperate and faith filled woman and he waxed fervent. He declared that if we could only strive for a perfect, holy life in every way- in all we did and wore and said and thought and listened to and looked at and touched, we might also strain to reach the hem of Jesus' robe.
The look on his face was ecstatic but I went away puzzled and never forgot it. How could we long only for the hem? And who by patching together all the rags of their self righteousness could dare to touch even that?
Does the King's family, in His own house, call Him by His name or by His title?
"Well, I suppose if they were at the breakfast table or something like that, it might be a little silly and excessive for them to call Him by His title..."
This afternoon I was driven by my loving soldier in uniform through the glare of pollen season to the P/X for my eye exam. He waited with our daughter while I tried to read letters. My eye sight, I was told, is terrible. I could tell from their solicitousness alone that something must be wrong. I have eyes bent like footballs as well as nearsightedness and so I can neither see straight nor far away. It's a wonder I can see the computer screen.
"Will You teach me?" I asked Jesus a few days ago. "Will You teach me everything when I'm fully there?"
I already am.
"Again, again, You say this- I already am!" I cried, laughing. "Can't You just for once say, Yes! Yes I will! I will teach you everything once you are here.?"
Fine! He cried, as full of laughter as I was. Yes! I will- I will teach you everything once you are here, because...
And He waited, looking down at me with those dancing eyes and I had to give in. I threw my hands up. "Oh, just go on and say it!" I told Jesus, laughing.
Because I already am!
"But I don't understand how that's possible," I said, seriously. "How could You be teaching me everything right now, when I can't begin to understand it, or see it, or grasp it?"
Because, He told me, the seeds of everything we need to know are planted here and we are growing into them each day of our lives. Our lives are wound around lessons so large we can't even see them, but we are learning all along.
Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Friday, February 21, 2014
February 21st
There are only two windows in this house that capture the morning light, and one is by my desk. It looks out across the neighbor's side yard and it's so close to their house that if I stand and look out the window directly, I can see only their beige siding. If I want to see the sky, I have to stand at an angle.
At night, my husband closes the blinds so that no one can see in. In the morning, I wait until I see blue light glowing between the blinds before I open them. This has become a ritual.
I gravitate toward rituals. In the old house, I would throw open the French doors of our bedroom and stand on the threshold and look at the sky, glowing with light between the trees.
The first time I did it, it was a spontaneous gesture of love and joy, evoked by the presence of God. Eventually, this sequence was reversed and it became something I did to try to cause the love and joy to return.
There's quite a difference, but it took me months and a bad fall to figure this out- to learn that I cannot call God to me in the way that I want Him to appear, to learn that I remained my small and human self despite the demonstrations of His love and presence that I had begun to assume I was earning and could control.
I gave it up. I had become like a fallow field and I ceased to deny this, though it was painful and felt like spiritual failure. I began to let myself be exactly as I was, no more and no less. It was only after this- months after this- that my inner life blossomed out in the way it is now.
It is very easy to make a religion out of one's experiences. In fact, I think it may be an inevitable and necessary stage in the journey, and it's not a lesson that I have ever completely learned- I continue to be reminded that God is always greater, deeper and far beyond the way in which I know Him. This is what I mean when I say that I let Him be God.
There's a meditation I enjoy doing these days; it's simple and easy to do. I lay down on the carpet, open my arms and give up. I enjoy the carpet and the fact that the floor and the ground and gravity is holding me without any effort on my part. I watch the ceiling fan and I listen to the dryer and I notice that I am breathing without any effort on my part.
Sometimes I cannot make my thoughts quiet and they rattle around and I am compassionate with myself- the point of this meditation is to fail- to give up and know that I am still held, despite myself, despite everything. I can give up and rest.
This sharing of my inner life, when I was looking at it from a distance- when months ago He first made it clear, again and again, that this was what He wanted from me- it seemed smooth. Now that I'm on it, this road has unexpected turns and destinations.
Sometimes I just feel so strange.
Why is my inner life the way that it is? Sometimes I feel as if I would be better suited to the Middle Ages, to the Catholic religion and a nunnery. Then I might make sense.
I feel like my inner life is an affront to all kinds of sensibilities- it's centered around Jesus Christ, but it's shockingly unorthodox. In this way, I sometimes feel as if I please no one and fit in no where.
I was right in the middle of writing this post and paused, and checked my blog reader, mostly as a way to distract myself. A new one had popped up, from a blog called Illuminate, by Jamal Jivanjee. I have followed this blog for some time now, as he frequently has vivid, powerful and out of the box ways of presenting the love of Christ expressed within and to the organic church.
This blog was called "Divine Love and Raw Sewage" and he wrote about Jesus being outside the camp, in a place considered unclean:
"Brothers and sisters, I do not write these things to discourage you, but to encourage you. Much time and discouraging effort is spent trying to live above reproach inside the camp. I want to encourage you to openly accept the reproach (outside the camp) that comes with the giving and receiving of His extravagant divine love. The greater the love you live by, the greater the reproach. You will even notice this reproach within yourself. To live in the reproach of the world (including the religious world) is to live above reproach in His sight."
I simply sat there, staring at the screen, dumbfounded.
Reading that blog is not the first time that I have been hearing about the reproach that comes from being outside the camp- this has been a recurring theme lately.
Recently I ordered two books, both of them commentaries on the Song of Songs, one by Watchman Nee, a Chinese church leader and teacher born in 1903, and one by Madam Guyon, a French mystic born in 1648.
I devoured both of these relatively small books in about forty eight hours; I even read while I was standing by the stove cooking. I had so many "aha!" moments I wanted to raise my hands to the ceiling and shout.
These books explained so much to me! These are quotes from Madame Guyon's commentary:
"While thus asleep, the soul hears clearly the voice of the Well-beloved, who knocks at the door. He desires to make Himself heard...
"Reflect that My head is fitted with what I suffered for thee during the darkness of My mortal life, and that for thy sake I have been saturated with the drops of the night of most cruel persecutions. I come now to thee, to make thee partaker of My reproaches, My ignominy, and My confusion. (25)"
Footnote 25:
"There are many persons who abandon themselves to certain crosses, but not to all; who can never prevail upon themselves to be willing that their reputation in the sight of men should be taken away; this the very point God here is aiming at. The soul, too, feels an extreme repugnance to obeying the command of God to apply herself without; she has become fond of her inward retreat. Nevertheless, it is quite certain that she will not have to bear these crosses unless she leave her solitude. When God intends that a soul shall really die to self, He sometimes permits in it certain apparent, but not real, false steps, by the effect of which its reputation among men is destroyed."
-Commentary on chapter 5, verse 2
*
"Those who judge by the outward appearance alone would believe them very ordinary persons, through they are the delight of God.
"God hides them for Himself, and is so jealous of them that He will not expose them to the eyes of men, but, on the contrary, He seals them with His seal, as He Himself declares that His bride is a fountain sealed, whereof He Himself is the seal...
"I shall be reminded, perhaps, that this soul cannot be so hidden, inasmuch as she is a help to her neighbor. But I reply, that this is the very thing that most subjects her to humiliation, God making use of it to render the soul more contemptible because of the contradictions which she must experience...
"These souls frequently, in their simplicity, offend those who are rather attached to legal forms than to the simplicity of the Gospel..."
-Commentary on chapter 6, verse 7
*
And then from Watchman Nee:
"Children" is translated "sons" in the American Standard Version. "Sons" signifies something objective. These sons of the mother are strong in doctrine and in objective things and they are somewhat authoritative. Because of the maiden's love for God and the discipline of the chambers, there is a change in her work. Her mother's sons begin to despise her and even become angry with her."
-The Initial Pursuit and Satisfaction, The Revelation in the Inner Chambers (1:5-7)
"The call in verse 2 is beyond many believers' expectation. They do not realize that there is an aspect of shame to the cross. They are not inexperienced as to the cross. They may have had deep experiences of the cross already. Although they have suffered a little for the cross and met some persecution and shame, they have always felt the cross was their glory, their life and their power. It never occurred to them that the cross would become their shame, that they would not only lose worldly fame, but also their spiritual renown, that others would consider that God has rejected them, and that God would put them through trials and strip them of comfort and sympathy from those whom they know, who would think them smitten of God. They may have suffered shame from the world, but spiritual shame is something new to them."
-The Cross After the Resurrection and the Maiden's Failure, Excuses (5:3)
*
In addition to these books, I have been devouring books by Kenneth Bailey- Jesus through Middle Eastern Eyes, The Poet and Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes: A Literary-Cultural Approach to the Parables in Luke.
I was introduced to him through Lois Tverberg's book Walking in the Dust of Rabbi Jesus, which is also an excellent book.
Dr. Kenneth Bailey's books, though full of scholarly research, are easy to understand. He sheds so much light on the parables of Jesus through his experience of living for twenty years amid Christians in the Middle East- add to that all his studies and his clear language and it has had a huge impact on my understanding of the Gospels.
As a simple example, consider the parable of the eye full of light vs the eye being full of darkness. This parable always scared the crap out of me. It was so mysterious! What could Jesus be saying? What if what I thought was light in myself was actually darkness? What could be more frightening?
However, this phrase is a Hebrew idiom. If a person had an "eye full of light," or "a good eye," it meant that they saw the poverty and need around them and did something about it. If they saw the need and did nothing, they had a dark eye or an unhealthy eye.
In any case, amid the many excellent things I learned, Dr. Bailey's work on the Parable of the Pounds (Talents), has remained with me lately.
He points out:
"As Westerners, one of our lenses is capitalism. Does the parable of the pounds need to be liberated from the presuppositions of capitalism that perhaps have unconsciously influenced our translations and interpretations of this story?"
He goes on to say:
"The master commends both servants for being faithful, not successful."
-Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes: Cultural Studies in the Gospels, Part 6: Parables of Jesus, 31. The Parable of the Pounds
This is one small sentence in the midst of Dr. Bailey's entire chapter on this parable, but that sentence helped me understand what I am doing. Because why is Jesus asking me to share these things on my tiny blog that very few people read? And at the same time, thank goodness that is all He is asking me to do!
I am asked to be faithful, taking one step at a time, because I am walking with Him, leaning on Him, being held up. Being with Jesus means that I am with Him where He is- outside the camp, bearing with Him His reproach, giving and receiving His extravagant love.
Being faithful is simply to take the next step.
At night, my husband closes the blinds so that no one can see in. In the morning, I wait until I see blue light glowing between the blinds before I open them. This has become a ritual.
I gravitate toward rituals. In the old house, I would throw open the French doors of our bedroom and stand on the threshold and look at the sky, glowing with light between the trees.
The first time I did it, it was a spontaneous gesture of love and joy, evoked by the presence of God. Eventually, this sequence was reversed and it became something I did to try to cause the love and joy to return.
There's quite a difference, but it took me months and a bad fall to figure this out- to learn that I cannot call God to me in the way that I want Him to appear, to learn that I remained my small and human self despite the demonstrations of His love and presence that I had begun to assume I was earning and could control.
I gave it up. I had become like a fallow field and I ceased to deny this, though it was painful and felt like spiritual failure. I began to let myself be exactly as I was, no more and no less. It was only after this- months after this- that my inner life blossomed out in the way it is now.
It is very easy to make a religion out of one's experiences. In fact, I think it may be an inevitable and necessary stage in the journey, and it's not a lesson that I have ever completely learned- I continue to be reminded that God is always greater, deeper and far beyond the way in which I know Him. This is what I mean when I say that I let Him be God.
There's a meditation I enjoy doing these days; it's simple and easy to do. I lay down on the carpet, open my arms and give up. I enjoy the carpet and the fact that the floor and the ground and gravity is holding me without any effort on my part. I watch the ceiling fan and I listen to the dryer and I notice that I am breathing without any effort on my part.
Sometimes I cannot make my thoughts quiet and they rattle around and I am compassionate with myself- the point of this meditation is to fail- to give up and know that I am still held, despite myself, despite everything. I can give up and rest.
This sharing of my inner life, when I was looking at it from a distance- when months ago He first made it clear, again and again, that this was what He wanted from me- it seemed smooth. Now that I'm on it, this road has unexpected turns and destinations.
Sometimes I just feel so strange.
Why is my inner life the way that it is? Sometimes I feel as if I would be better suited to the Middle Ages, to the Catholic religion and a nunnery. Then I might make sense.
I feel like my inner life is an affront to all kinds of sensibilities- it's centered around Jesus Christ, but it's shockingly unorthodox. In this way, I sometimes feel as if I please no one and fit in no where.
I was right in the middle of writing this post and paused, and checked my blog reader, mostly as a way to distract myself. A new one had popped up, from a blog called Illuminate, by Jamal Jivanjee. I have followed this blog for some time now, as he frequently has vivid, powerful and out of the box ways of presenting the love of Christ expressed within and to the organic church.
This blog was called "Divine Love and Raw Sewage" and he wrote about Jesus being outside the camp, in a place considered unclean:
"Brothers and sisters, I do not write these things to discourage you, but to encourage you. Much time and discouraging effort is spent trying to live above reproach inside the camp. I want to encourage you to openly accept the reproach (outside the camp) that comes with the giving and receiving of His extravagant divine love. The greater the love you live by, the greater the reproach. You will even notice this reproach within yourself. To live in the reproach of the world (including the religious world) is to live above reproach in His sight."
I simply sat there, staring at the screen, dumbfounded.
Reading that blog is not the first time that I have been hearing about the reproach that comes from being outside the camp- this has been a recurring theme lately.
Recently I ordered two books, both of them commentaries on the Song of Songs, one by Watchman Nee, a Chinese church leader and teacher born in 1903, and one by Madam Guyon, a French mystic born in 1648.
I devoured both of these relatively small books in about forty eight hours; I even read while I was standing by the stove cooking. I had so many "aha!" moments I wanted to raise my hands to the ceiling and shout.
These books explained so much to me! These are quotes from Madame Guyon's commentary:
"While thus asleep, the soul hears clearly the voice of the Well-beloved, who knocks at the door. He desires to make Himself heard...
"Reflect that My head is fitted with what I suffered for thee during the darkness of My mortal life, and that for thy sake I have been saturated with the drops of the night of most cruel persecutions. I come now to thee, to make thee partaker of My reproaches, My ignominy, and My confusion. (25)"
Footnote 25:
"There are many persons who abandon themselves to certain crosses, but not to all; who can never prevail upon themselves to be willing that their reputation in the sight of men should be taken away; this the very point God here is aiming at. The soul, too, feels an extreme repugnance to obeying the command of God to apply herself without; she has become fond of her inward retreat. Nevertheless, it is quite certain that she will not have to bear these crosses unless she leave her solitude. When God intends that a soul shall really die to self, He sometimes permits in it certain apparent, but not real, false steps, by the effect of which its reputation among men is destroyed."
-Commentary on chapter 5, verse 2
*
"Those who judge by the outward appearance alone would believe them very ordinary persons, through they are the delight of God.
"God hides them for Himself, and is so jealous of them that He will not expose them to the eyes of men, but, on the contrary, He seals them with His seal, as He Himself declares that His bride is a fountain sealed, whereof He Himself is the seal...
"I shall be reminded, perhaps, that this soul cannot be so hidden, inasmuch as she is a help to her neighbor. But I reply, that this is the very thing that most subjects her to humiliation, God making use of it to render the soul more contemptible because of the contradictions which she must experience...
"These souls frequently, in their simplicity, offend those who are rather attached to legal forms than to the simplicity of the Gospel..."
-Commentary on chapter 6, verse 7
*
And then from Watchman Nee:
"Children" is translated "sons" in the American Standard Version. "Sons" signifies something objective. These sons of the mother are strong in doctrine and in objective things and they are somewhat authoritative. Because of the maiden's love for God and the discipline of the chambers, there is a change in her work. Her mother's sons begin to despise her and even become angry with her."
-The Initial Pursuit and Satisfaction, The Revelation in the Inner Chambers (1:5-7)
"The call in verse 2 is beyond many believers' expectation. They do not realize that there is an aspect of shame to the cross. They are not inexperienced as to the cross. They may have had deep experiences of the cross already. Although they have suffered a little for the cross and met some persecution and shame, they have always felt the cross was their glory, their life and their power. It never occurred to them that the cross would become their shame, that they would not only lose worldly fame, but also their spiritual renown, that others would consider that God has rejected them, and that God would put them through trials and strip them of comfort and sympathy from those whom they know, who would think them smitten of God. They may have suffered shame from the world, but spiritual shame is something new to them."
-The Cross After the Resurrection and the Maiden's Failure, Excuses (5:3)
*
In addition to these books, I have been devouring books by Kenneth Bailey- Jesus through Middle Eastern Eyes, The Poet and Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes: A Literary-Cultural Approach to the Parables in Luke.
I was introduced to him through Lois Tverberg's book Walking in the Dust of Rabbi Jesus, which is also an excellent book.
Dr. Kenneth Bailey's books, though full of scholarly research, are easy to understand. He sheds so much light on the parables of Jesus through his experience of living for twenty years amid Christians in the Middle East- add to that all his studies and his clear language and it has had a huge impact on my understanding of the Gospels.
As a simple example, consider the parable of the eye full of light vs the eye being full of darkness. This parable always scared the crap out of me. It was so mysterious! What could Jesus be saying? What if what I thought was light in myself was actually darkness? What could be more frightening?
However, this phrase is a Hebrew idiom. If a person had an "eye full of light," or "a good eye," it meant that they saw the poverty and need around them and did something about it. If they saw the need and did nothing, they had a dark eye or an unhealthy eye.
In any case, amid the many excellent things I learned, Dr. Bailey's work on the Parable of the Pounds (Talents), has remained with me lately.
He points out:
"As Westerners, one of our lenses is capitalism. Does the parable of the pounds need to be liberated from the presuppositions of capitalism that perhaps have unconsciously influenced our translations and interpretations of this story?"
He goes on to say:
"The master commends both servants for being faithful, not successful."
-Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes: Cultural Studies in the Gospels, Part 6: Parables of Jesus, 31. The Parable of the Pounds
This is one small sentence in the midst of Dr. Bailey's entire chapter on this parable, but that sentence helped me understand what I am doing. Because why is Jesus asking me to share these things on my tiny blog that very few people read? And at the same time, thank goodness that is all He is asking me to do!
I am asked to be faithful, taking one step at a time, because I am walking with Him, leaning on Him, being held up. Being with Jesus means that I am with Him where He is- outside the camp, bearing with Him His reproach, giving and receiving His extravagant love.
Being faithful is simply to take the next step.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
August 14th
Some of the leaves on the trees, bushes and vines down here in the South have begun to turn color, a phenomenon that always amazes me, seeing as how it is still stifling hot down here.
This was the week we were supposed to be moving into the new house and still we are here, amid boxes, waiting day and night for a call that could come at any time.
More and more things get packed away, including things that I should have saved out- like salt and orange drink mix and our steak knives, but we get by.
Keith and I fall into bed each night exhausted just by the extra emotional energy it takes to navigate this period in our life. Not to mention navigating all the clutter everywhere.
Yesterday, I said, Screw it, I'm packing no more! and instead, watched "Call the Midwife" on Netflix. That is a great show.
Way back in the days of our optimistic innocence, we thought we would need only six boxes or so, because the house loan would be closed! We would have weeks to move in! I could move stuff during the day, packing and unpacking boxes one room at a time, all leisurely-like!
Ha.
"So," asked one of Keith's friends- a full bird colonel, a man that in the normal course of Keith's professional career he would hardly get a glimpse of, let alone be friends with- "When is all this happening? When are you officially going on leave?"
This was a phone conversation- Keith had his phone on speaker. He gave me a wry look across the dinner table.
"At any time- they've had to stop her from going into labor three times already," I answered.
"So... Wow. How are you going to manage the move then?" the officer asked, confused.
"Indeed," I answered, amused.
Fortunately, my sense of humor is still intact. This is good, because I think I will need it.
We do have several plans in place- they are all slightly different, extremely complicated and alter by date. We hope like hell not to have to use any of them and that Baby remains in place until her due date, but no one thinks that will happen, at this point.
We have a scheduled conference call with our adoption specialist to help prepare us for the up coming visit and the time spent in the hospital.
Everyone is being generous and accommodating- even the bank and all their loan officers and inspectors. The loan is already out of underwriting and the final walk through is scheduled- it might even be today. That's record speed, right there.
In the meantime, I try to keep up with the laundry so we have all the clothing ready to pack at any moment and I pack one or two boxes a day.
I do think, in the years to come, that I will look back at this period of my life and wonder how on earth we made it through, but that happens so often in my life.
I thought the entire domestic infant adoption process would be impossible for me to manage! I thought it about completing the home study, the home inspection, the interviews, completing the pamphlet and the first phone call with the birth parents.
And yet I did manage those things and I continue to do so. And not just to manage them, but to live deeply in the process and sometimes even be creative in the midst of it.
That last poem I wrote, I love the best of anything I've written. I think those metaphors must be self explanatory, but there was one that puzzled me even as I wrote it. That is, I had no idea why I was writing it that way.
I talked about blown glass goblets and letting them shatter into a pathway like light on water. I loved those lines as I was writing them, and it felt powerful to write it out, but I had no idea why I was writing it or what it meant.
It took me a little while, but I figured out what it meant- the goblets are the things I do and believe that I might think makes me worthy of God- what I think of as my "good works and right thoughts," putting my best face forward, so to speak.
Throwing those small self created things down in the face of the mystery- letting those things shatter in the face of His presence- that's what I was writing about.
I guess it's a way of acknowledging one's humility and it made a beautiful path for Him to come to me. Instead, I lay my whole heart out on the table. It's not as pretty, it's not dainty- it's raw, but it's real, unadorned and all His.
And the thing is, He makes Himself vulnerable as well. In fact, He offered Himself this way first, and because He makes Himself vulnerable in love, I can follow suit. So the brokenness turns to heady sweetness, in the end.
This was the week we were supposed to be moving into the new house and still we are here, amid boxes, waiting day and night for a call that could come at any time.
More and more things get packed away, including things that I should have saved out- like salt and orange drink mix and our steak knives, but we get by.
Keith and I fall into bed each night exhausted just by the extra emotional energy it takes to navigate this period in our life. Not to mention navigating all the clutter everywhere.
Yesterday, I said, Screw it, I'm packing no more! and instead, watched "Call the Midwife" on Netflix. That is a great show.
Way back in the days of our optimistic innocence, we thought we would need only six boxes or so, because the house loan would be closed! We would have weeks to move in! I could move stuff during the day, packing and unpacking boxes one room at a time, all leisurely-like!
Ha.
"So," asked one of Keith's friends- a full bird colonel, a man that in the normal course of Keith's professional career he would hardly get a glimpse of, let alone be friends with- "When is all this happening? When are you officially going on leave?"
This was a phone conversation- Keith had his phone on speaker. He gave me a wry look across the dinner table.
"At any time- they've had to stop her from going into labor three times already," I answered.
"So... Wow. How are you going to manage the move then?" the officer asked, confused.
"Indeed," I answered, amused.
Fortunately, my sense of humor is still intact. This is good, because I think I will need it.
We do have several plans in place- they are all slightly different, extremely complicated and alter by date. We hope like hell not to have to use any of them and that Baby remains in place until her due date, but no one thinks that will happen, at this point.
We have a scheduled conference call with our adoption specialist to help prepare us for the up coming visit and the time spent in the hospital.
Everyone is being generous and accommodating- even the bank and all their loan officers and inspectors. The loan is already out of underwriting and the final walk through is scheduled- it might even be today. That's record speed, right there.
In the meantime, I try to keep up with the laundry so we have all the clothing ready to pack at any moment and I pack one or two boxes a day.
I do think, in the years to come, that I will look back at this period of my life and wonder how on earth we made it through, but that happens so often in my life.
I thought the entire domestic infant adoption process would be impossible for me to manage! I thought it about completing the home study, the home inspection, the interviews, completing the pamphlet and the first phone call with the birth parents.
And yet I did manage those things and I continue to do so. And not just to manage them, but to live deeply in the process and sometimes even be creative in the midst of it.
That last poem I wrote, I love the best of anything I've written. I think those metaphors must be self explanatory, but there was one that puzzled me even as I wrote it. That is, I had no idea why I was writing it that way.
I talked about blown glass goblets and letting them shatter into a pathway like light on water. I loved those lines as I was writing them, and it felt powerful to write it out, but I had no idea why I was writing it or what it meant.
It took me a little while, but I figured out what it meant- the goblets are the things I do and believe that I might think makes me worthy of God- what I think of as my "good works and right thoughts," putting my best face forward, so to speak.
Throwing those small self created things down in the face of the mystery- letting those things shatter in the face of His presence- that's what I was writing about.
I guess it's a way of acknowledging one's humility and it made a beautiful path for Him to come to me. Instead, I lay my whole heart out on the table. It's not as pretty, it's not dainty- it's raw, but it's real, unadorned and all His.
And the thing is, He makes Himself vulnerable as well. In fact, He offered Himself this way first, and because He makes Himself vulnerable in love, I can follow suit. So the brokenness turns to heady sweetness, in the end.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
August 11th
I usually never explain my poems- I guess because I keep thinking it's too pompous, considering they aren't that good. It was really difficult for me to merely post them, when I first started, let alone talk about them.
However, now I think they are good, in their own way, and whoever is reading this blog might be interested in how I write them and why they're written the way they are. I know many of you are creative- writers and artists- so I bet you can relate to a lot of this.
Yesterday evening, I just felt creative. It's almost a longing. When I have this feeling, if I can, I put everything else that I'm doing aside, so I can focus on it.
I put my headphones on- Keith was watching TV in the same room- and opened a blank page in my journal.
Then I just sit there. I guess you could say that I remain present in the longing- the longing to write, which is almost always tied up with my longing and love for God- which is my usual subject these days.
I begin to write down phrases and words and eventually, one phrase will ring true and other phrases will be flung off that one and the poem will begin to write itself.
Then I have to go back and cut a lot of stuff out. That's the key, right there. Well- other than being quiet enough to begin in the first place.
I use metaphor a lot- in fact, I don't think I ever simply describe the thing I writing about. I always hide it under metaphor. I wonder if I baldly wrote out the thing I wanted to, I might end up writing the poem that I wanted. The poem that I want to write remains out of reach.
In any case, in the last poem, I begin describing visual memories of my inner life- but in fragments too small for the reader to see the whole picture. Then I use movement to describe the impact on me.
If you've ever laid back in the grass and thought about how the earth was swinging through space at incredible speeds and that the weight of it was holding you firmly in place, it's sort of that feeling.
As I wrote, I remembered when I was younger- my longing for God, for beauty beyond reach, so I used a metaphor of a winter fields and the cloud shadows passing over, the light breaking out over the horizon, but too far away for any real warmth. But the fields are set for a late harvest- a promise of something to come.
I use the metaphor of marks to describe my longing- it's telling me that I came from Divine Love and I am returning to Divine Love. It's the desire itself that first tells me I'm His.
Then I talk about distractions along the way home, as it were- that's pretty obvious, and how some paths in life can leave us caged and always hungry, following empty performances not natural to who we are and that insult our soul- but for a while we think maybe this is the only way to be fed or fulfilled, or to receive attention or meaning.
I get stuck in a holding pattern- the parking lot for several years, homeless and waiting, feeling discarded, until I figure out that I don't need the highway to find my way back home- that is, I don't need to follow the same route everyone else is- its actually a sort of barrier in and of itself.
So I go over those large walls meant to block out the sound of the highway- like denial of one's need for connection to what the city represents- false fulfillment, the surrendering of one's true self, the giving up of freedom for a role in the show.
I go through the lanes of bumper to bumper traffic- stalled, never getting anywhere, and through the internal defenses set up because of past hurt- but having those defenses prevents us from accepting love and being cherished and seen in those deep places, so I leave the bunker behind.
And past the power plant, which is the need to control the flow of love, of life- like a grid that we control, instead of being surrendered to the river of Divine Love- the greater Flow that always sustains and holds us.
So I am making my way through these obstacles looking upward, up beyond these temporal things, and this takes me all the way back home.
This looking back and remembering my journey home gives me even more clarity about what home means to me, so I let go of a lot of unnecessary things- like an inward spring cleaning. Because all I really need is Him.
That's what the poem means to me, or what I was thinking about, as I was writing it.
In the meantime, Baby remains on the verge of arrival, which leaves Keith and I very much on call, day and night. I can go nowhere without the phone.
Also, we seem to be staring down a collision course of epic proportions- instead of dealing with new house and then Baby, it seems more and more likely that these major events will be occurring nearly simultaneously.
"Shit is gonna get rough," as my husband put it so colorfully, yesterday morning, as we were taking stock.
Consider if Baby were to be born this evening, for example. On Tuesday or Wednesday, adoption paperwork could be signed, leading to a nearly two week period of waiting on interstate approval- which could take a while, as we are still waiting on Kentucky- something our adoption officials assure us will not prevent our adopting Baby, but would, in the worst case scenario, delay the process.
Guess what else happens in two weeks? Moving, that is what. The twenty second of this month is the last day we can live here. That, my friends, is next week.
If only we could begin moving into our completely finished new house now! But no. We cannot, because it takes up to ten days to close a loan, even with everything approved. Guess when those ten days are up? The nineteenth, that's when.
How can we move out of this house and into the next if we are out of state with a newborn while waiting for our adoption to clear?
Indeed, we cannot. Because every single thing appears to be happening at the same time.
So, worst case scenario- Baby is born early. Keith and I drive down for the birth and paperwork. After those two days, he returns to Georgia to move with the help of friends, leaving Baby and me alone in a hotel room/hospital for the next ten days while the adoption paperwork clears.
When it does or when he is done moving, he will either drive back down to get us, or arrange for me to rent a car and drive all the way back home. On my own. With Baby.
That's worst case scenario. Best case is that Baby remains where she is, growing stronger day by day, the loan closes some time this week, we move in like the wind and have the house set up before Baby's born.
That would be awesome. That would be great.
However, Baby's birthmother does not think this likely. She feels that Baby is ready to arrive at any moment, and she would know.
In the meantime, we are just waiting around, packing boxes and doing yard work, but mostly just waiting.
There is so much to consider that I don't have room to consider the possibility of the adoption failing. The more I get to know our birthparents, the less I fear this, though it always remains a possibility.
Early last week, I wandered around Baby's R Us, window shopping and day dreaming about setting up the perfect nursery and having every little accessory and all that. At the time, I thought that might be possible.
"This might be the only baby I ever have," I thought to myself. "I want every little thing perfect."
Lately, I've had to throw that idea right out the window. Life is not perfect. I will not have a lovely, completed, matching nursery when Baby comes home. Instead, I might have mountains of unpacked boxes and bare walls and frozen dinners and bottle paraphernalia and packing tape all over the counters.
But that's okay; that's life. Who cares about the nursery anyway? What does it matter? I'll have Baby in my arms or in the carrier or in the Moby wrap, if I can figure the darn thing out and I'll have my husband and a new house, and when my mom comes, which she will, I'll get some sleep, too! What riches! What more could a person ask?
I'll have everything that matters and everything else can come together later if it has to, including the nursery.
However, now I think they are good, in their own way, and whoever is reading this blog might be interested in how I write them and why they're written the way they are. I know many of you are creative- writers and artists- so I bet you can relate to a lot of this.
Yesterday evening, I just felt creative. It's almost a longing. When I have this feeling, if I can, I put everything else that I'm doing aside, so I can focus on it.
I put my headphones on- Keith was watching TV in the same room- and opened a blank page in my journal.
Then I just sit there. I guess you could say that I remain present in the longing- the longing to write, which is almost always tied up with my longing and love for God- which is my usual subject these days.
I begin to write down phrases and words and eventually, one phrase will ring true and other phrases will be flung off that one and the poem will begin to write itself.
Then I have to go back and cut a lot of stuff out. That's the key, right there. Well- other than being quiet enough to begin in the first place.
I use metaphor a lot- in fact, I don't think I ever simply describe the thing I writing about. I always hide it under metaphor. I wonder if I baldly wrote out the thing I wanted to, I might end up writing the poem that I wanted. The poem that I want to write remains out of reach.
In any case, in the last poem, I begin describing visual memories of my inner life- but in fragments too small for the reader to see the whole picture. Then I use movement to describe the impact on me.
If you've ever laid back in the grass and thought about how the earth was swinging through space at incredible speeds and that the weight of it was holding you firmly in place, it's sort of that feeling.
As I wrote, I remembered when I was younger- my longing for God, for beauty beyond reach, so I used a metaphor of a winter fields and the cloud shadows passing over, the light breaking out over the horizon, but too far away for any real warmth. But the fields are set for a late harvest- a promise of something to come.
I use the metaphor of marks to describe my longing- it's telling me that I came from Divine Love and I am returning to Divine Love. It's the desire itself that first tells me I'm His.
Then I talk about distractions along the way home, as it were- that's pretty obvious, and how some paths in life can leave us caged and always hungry, following empty performances not natural to who we are and that insult our soul- but for a while we think maybe this is the only way to be fed or fulfilled, or to receive attention or meaning.
I get stuck in a holding pattern- the parking lot for several years, homeless and waiting, feeling discarded, until I figure out that I don't need the highway to find my way back home- that is, I don't need to follow the same route everyone else is- its actually a sort of barrier in and of itself.
So I go over those large walls meant to block out the sound of the highway- like denial of one's need for connection to what the city represents- false fulfillment, the surrendering of one's true self, the giving up of freedom for a role in the show.
I go through the lanes of bumper to bumper traffic- stalled, never getting anywhere, and through the internal defenses set up because of past hurt- but having those defenses prevents us from accepting love and being cherished and seen in those deep places, so I leave the bunker behind.
And past the power plant, which is the need to control the flow of love, of life- like a grid that we control, instead of being surrendered to the river of Divine Love- the greater Flow that always sustains and holds us.
So I am making my way through these obstacles looking upward, up beyond these temporal things, and this takes me all the way back home.
This looking back and remembering my journey home gives me even more clarity about what home means to me, so I let go of a lot of unnecessary things- like an inward spring cleaning. Because all I really need is Him.
That's what the poem means to me, or what I was thinking about, as I was writing it.
In the meantime, Baby remains on the verge of arrival, which leaves Keith and I very much on call, day and night. I can go nowhere without the phone.
Also, we seem to be staring down a collision course of epic proportions- instead of dealing with new house and then Baby, it seems more and more likely that these major events will be occurring nearly simultaneously.
"Shit is gonna get rough," as my husband put it so colorfully, yesterday morning, as we were taking stock.
Consider if Baby were to be born this evening, for example. On Tuesday or Wednesday, adoption paperwork could be signed, leading to a nearly two week period of waiting on interstate approval- which could take a while, as we are still waiting on Kentucky- something our adoption officials assure us will not prevent our adopting Baby, but would, in the worst case scenario, delay the process.
Guess what else happens in two weeks? Moving, that is what. The twenty second of this month is the last day we can live here. That, my friends, is next week.
If only we could begin moving into our completely finished new house now! But no. We cannot, because it takes up to ten days to close a loan, even with everything approved. Guess when those ten days are up? The nineteenth, that's when.
How can we move out of this house and into the next if we are out of state with a newborn while waiting for our adoption to clear?
Indeed, we cannot. Because every single thing appears to be happening at the same time.
So, worst case scenario- Baby is born early. Keith and I drive down for the birth and paperwork. After those two days, he returns to Georgia to move with the help of friends, leaving Baby and me alone in a hotel room/hospital for the next ten days while the adoption paperwork clears.
When it does or when he is done moving, he will either drive back down to get us, or arrange for me to rent a car and drive all the way back home. On my own. With Baby.
That's worst case scenario. Best case is that Baby remains where she is, growing stronger day by day, the loan closes some time this week, we move in like the wind and have the house set up before Baby's born.
That would be awesome. That would be great.
However, Baby's birthmother does not think this likely. She feels that Baby is ready to arrive at any moment, and she would know.
In the meantime, we are just waiting around, packing boxes and doing yard work, but mostly just waiting.
There is so much to consider that I don't have room to consider the possibility of the adoption failing. The more I get to know our birthparents, the less I fear this, though it always remains a possibility.
Early last week, I wandered around Baby's R Us, window shopping and day dreaming about setting up the perfect nursery and having every little accessory and all that. At the time, I thought that might be possible.
"This might be the only baby I ever have," I thought to myself. "I want every little thing perfect."
Lately, I've had to throw that idea right out the window. Life is not perfect. I will not have a lovely, completed, matching nursery when Baby comes home. Instead, I might have mountains of unpacked boxes and bare walls and frozen dinners and bottle paraphernalia and packing tape all over the counters.
But that's okay; that's life. Who cares about the nursery anyway? What does it matter? I'll have Baby in my arms or in the carrier or in the Moby wrap, if I can figure the darn thing out and I'll have my husband and a new house, and when my mom comes, which she will, I'll get some sleep, too! What riches! What more could a person ask?
I'll have everything that matters and everything else can come together later if it has to, including the nursery.
Friday, August 9, 2013
August 9th
If I'm going to be able to blog at all in the coming weeks (and then months and who knows, years), I must begin to practice the art of "write and post," which is sort of along the lines of "wash and wear."
This will be in contrast to my usual method, which has been to write and agonize, re-write and agonize. Sleep. Re-read and post. Agonize.
I won't have the energy or the time for all that agonizing- which isn't necessary anyway- and I do want to continue blogging, so I will try this way of doing it. Naturally, this means the quality of my blog posts will go down, this post being case in point, one.
Baby is still right where she should be and growing, and we all have hopes she will remain there for the next week and a half, most importantly. After that, whenever she arrives is fine by us.
I have purchased a Moby Wrap. This is an anaconda sized wrapping that is primarily used to torture aspiring moms who wish to "wear their baby."
Clearly, I am one of these crazy dreamers. I have practiced the art of Moby wrapping with a teddy bear and I remain optimistic that I can at least get myself swaddled- I am not entirely sure about Baby.
Seriously though, I want to spend as much time as possible holding Baby, not just because, at this point, I cannot imagine ever wanting to put her down, but also because I want lots of bonding time.
She's spent all this time getting to know her birth mother- her heartbeat, her voice, her moods and rhythms, but soon after birth will be presented with a completely different woman. I know this will be a jarring and painful experience for Baby to go through, so I want to keep her close so she can get to know me. I want to grieve this loss with her and assure her that I love her, just as she is.
We had our preliminary walk through of the house yesterday. It looks beautiful. The paint needs to be touched up and some of the doors stick. Still, the downstairs is full of light from two huge windows and a glass inset into the back door that all look out into our flat, sunny backyard.
I came down the narrow stairs and saw a glimpse of the landscaping through the oval window set by the front door. I realized that if all goes well, I will be seeing that same view day after day as the seasons change, as I carry Baby down the stairs each morning.
We thought we'd be fully moved in the house by this point, when we were looking ahead, so we are way behind schedule and at any time, we could get that call and drop everything and head out of state for the birth.
It amazes me, sometimes, how well Keith and I are managing everything, considering. It would be easy to turn into the calico cats and tear each other to shreds under the stress, but so far we have managed not to do that.
We did have a major argument a few days ago, where we each thought the other was being ridiculously unreasonable and mule-like. In these cases, I have learned to take my anger into the kitchen, where I can vent my frustration without him knowing it.
My husband's anger has an orbital quality to it- it propels him out of the atmosphere where conversation is possible and into some private place of his own and there he remains, circling the issue and burning up rocket fuel until he begins slowly to re-enter earth's atmosphere.
Then we can talk about it. In the meantime, I've learned to validate my own anger privately- this took some time to learn, but it works out better this way, especially because his anger usually triggers my old flight or fight response and I need some space to tell myself that neither of those options are necessary.
Yesterday, Keith came home for lunch and stole one of the chips off my lunch plate.
"If I were in elementary school, I would have taken them all," he told me.
"And that would have meant that you liked me!" I pointed out.
Keith grinned; he stealthily reached over and pulled my entire plate over to his side of the table and then raised his eyebrows at me. I smiled and batted my eyelashes at him.
He can be thankful that we are, indeed, not in elementary school anymore, because if so, my response would have been to leap from my chair, chase him down and pummel him- that's how I would have shown him just how much I liked him in return, back in the day. I was a war-like and yet dreamy little tomboy in my youthful years.
As I was putting things away, Keith came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. "I don't just like you," he murmured, "I love you, you little kitten."
My mother in law called yesterday. During the conversation, she began to tell me about a beautiful experience she had with the love and presence of Jesus- she felt Him draw close and speak lovingly to her.
"....maybe you think I'm crazy," she finished shyly, her voice trailing off, on the other end of the phone line.
Love and good humor rose up in me in the most delightful way. I thought about all the things I could say in response to this, considering my own inner life.
"No, I don't think you're crazy at all," I assured her, my voice rich and sure. "I completely believe you. He does say the most loving things."
"It was... incredible. That's one of your words," she said, shyly. "You use that word a lot."
I burst out laughing. It's so true; I do- that and the word, extraordinary. But I can't help it. So often life is beautiful and incredible and extraordinary.
I watched a TED talk yesterday about a woman who hears voices. All day long, I avoided watching this talk, for fear that I would hear her story and be forced to come to the awful realization that instead of having a rich, inner life with God, I was simply insane, delusional- not that there's anything simple about that.
In fact, I forced myself to watch it just to face the fear, realizing that it would be the only way to be free of it. Five minutes into her story and relief had already filled me. Her story was moving and inspiring, and I could relate to many aspects of her healing journey, but her way of experiencing herself and the world was nothing like my inner spiritual life with God.
Life is just mysterious, full of beauty and pain, brokenness and healing. But I believe the beauty and the love go deeper- this beautiful and living Love is first and will be last, and sometimes, we are drawn into this beauty, this love that is written right into life. Love can open up like a landscape and take our breath away.
When we were in Indiana, my mother-in-law gave me a long belated birthday card- she hadn't been able to send the package, due to the cost. In the card, she'd written that she was so grateful to have a daughter-in-law who "loved the Lord with all her heart," as she had written in her looping handwriting, inside the page.
"Thank you so much," I said gently, putting the card down. "But I was wondering- how do you know? How did you know that I love Him with all my heart? I hardly ever talk about Him."
She leaned across the small card table in her little apartment, her face earnest. "You don't have to say anything," she said firmly. "I can see it in your eyes. It's just the way you are."
I suppose that is something like Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation:
"We all slowly learn how to live in what Thomas Merton would call the True Self- who you are, and always have been, in God. Who you are in God is who you forever are. In fact, that's all you are, and it is more than enough. Everything else is passing away. Reputations, titles, possessions, and roles do not determine our identity. When I hand out the Eucharistic bread I love to say to the assembly, "You become what you eat. Come and eat who you are- forever!" You access Great Truth by absorption and digestion, almost never by analysis or argumentation."
-Richard Rohr, Adapted from Eucharist as Touchstone
This will be in contrast to my usual method, which has been to write and agonize, re-write and agonize. Sleep. Re-read and post. Agonize.
I won't have the energy or the time for all that agonizing- which isn't necessary anyway- and I do want to continue blogging, so I will try this way of doing it. Naturally, this means the quality of my blog posts will go down, this post being case in point, one.
Baby is still right where she should be and growing, and we all have hopes she will remain there for the next week and a half, most importantly. After that, whenever she arrives is fine by us.
I have purchased a Moby Wrap. This is an anaconda sized wrapping that is primarily used to torture aspiring moms who wish to "wear their baby."
Clearly, I am one of these crazy dreamers. I have practiced the art of Moby wrapping with a teddy bear and I remain optimistic that I can at least get myself swaddled- I am not entirely sure about Baby.
Seriously though, I want to spend as much time as possible holding Baby, not just because, at this point, I cannot imagine ever wanting to put her down, but also because I want lots of bonding time.
She's spent all this time getting to know her birth mother- her heartbeat, her voice, her moods and rhythms, but soon after birth will be presented with a completely different woman. I know this will be a jarring and painful experience for Baby to go through, so I want to keep her close so she can get to know me. I want to grieve this loss with her and assure her that I love her, just as she is.
We had our preliminary walk through of the house yesterday. It looks beautiful. The paint needs to be touched up and some of the doors stick. Still, the downstairs is full of light from two huge windows and a glass inset into the back door that all look out into our flat, sunny backyard.
I came down the narrow stairs and saw a glimpse of the landscaping through the oval window set by the front door. I realized that if all goes well, I will be seeing that same view day after day as the seasons change, as I carry Baby down the stairs each morning.
We thought we'd be fully moved in the house by this point, when we were looking ahead, so we are way behind schedule and at any time, we could get that call and drop everything and head out of state for the birth.
It amazes me, sometimes, how well Keith and I are managing everything, considering. It would be easy to turn into the calico cats and tear each other to shreds under the stress, but so far we have managed not to do that.
We did have a major argument a few days ago, where we each thought the other was being ridiculously unreasonable and mule-like. In these cases, I have learned to take my anger into the kitchen, where I can vent my frustration without him knowing it.
My husband's anger has an orbital quality to it- it propels him out of the atmosphere where conversation is possible and into some private place of his own and there he remains, circling the issue and burning up rocket fuel until he begins slowly to re-enter earth's atmosphere.
Then we can talk about it. In the meantime, I've learned to validate my own anger privately- this took some time to learn, but it works out better this way, especially because his anger usually triggers my old flight or fight response and I need some space to tell myself that neither of those options are necessary.
Yesterday, Keith came home for lunch and stole one of the chips off my lunch plate.
"If I were in elementary school, I would have taken them all," he told me.
"And that would have meant that you liked me!" I pointed out.
Keith grinned; he stealthily reached over and pulled my entire plate over to his side of the table and then raised his eyebrows at me. I smiled and batted my eyelashes at him.
He can be thankful that we are, indeed, not in elementary school anymore, because if so, my response would have been to leap from my chair, chase him down and pummel him- that's how I would have shown him just how much I liked him in return, back in the day. I was a war-like and yet dreamy little tomboy in my youthful years.
As I was putting things away, Keith came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. "I don't just like you," he murmured, "I love you, you little kitten."
My mother in law called yesterday. During the conversation, she began to tell me about a beautiful experience she had with the love and presence of Jesus- she felt Him draw close and speak lovingly to her.
"....maybe you think I'm crazy," she finished shyly, her voice trailing off, on the other end of the phone line.
Love and good humor rose up in me in the most delightful way. I thought about all the things I could say in response to this, considering my own inner life.
"No, I don't think you're crazy at all," I assured her, my voice rich and sure. "I completely believe you. He does say the most loving things."
"It was... incredible. That's one of your words," she said, shyly. "You use that word a lot."
I burst out laughing. It's so true; I do- that and the word, extraordinary. But I can't help it. So often life is beautiful and incredible and extraordinary.
I watched a TED talk yesterday about a woman who hears voices. All day long, I avoided watching this talk, for fear that I would hear her story and be forced to come to the awful realization that instead of having a rich, inner life with God, I was simply insane, delusional- not that there's anything simple about that.
In fact, I forced myself to watch it just to face the fear, realizing that it would be the only way to be free of it. Five minutes into her story and relief had already filled me. Her story was moving and inspiring, and I could relate to many aspects of her healing journey, but her way of experiencing herself and the world was nothing like my inner spiritual life with God.
Life is just mysterious, full of beauty and pain, brokenness and healing. But I believe the beauty and the love go deeper- this beautiful and living Love is first and will be last, and sometimes, we are drawn into this beauty, this love that is written right into life. Love can open up like a landscape and take our breath away.
When we were in Indiana, my mother-in-law gave me a long belated birthday card- she hadn't been able to send the package, due to the cost. In the card, she'd written that she was so grateful to have a daughter-in-law who "loved the Lord with all her heart," as she had written in her looping handwriting, inside the page.
"Thank you so much," I said gently, putting the card down. "But I was wondering- how do you know? How did you know that I love Him with all my heart? I hardly ever talk about Him."
She leaned across the small card table in her little apartment, her face earnest. "You don't have to say anything," she said firmly. "I can see it in your eyes. It's just the way you are."
I suppose that is something like Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation:
"We all slowly learn how to live in what Thomas Merton would call the True Self- who you are, and always have been, in God. Who you are in God is who you forever are. In fact, that's all you are, and it is more than enough. Everything else is passing away. Reputations, titles, possessions, and roles do not determine our identity. When I hand out the Eucharistic bread I love to say to the assembly, "You become what you eat. Come and eat who you are- forever!" You access Great Truth by absorption and digestion, almost never by analysis or argumentation."
-Richard Rohr, Adapted from Eucharist as Touchstone
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
August 6th
So, a couple updates.
I went weed whacking.
Guess what it good for stress management? Yes, that is right: waging war on weeds- huge, rotten sweet smelling weeds that had illusions of grandeur and were making themselves into alien trees.
I needed some stress management, because our lives are, in a word, intense right now.
We think that sometime this week we will close on the house, which means the next week we will be moving, which means this week we must get this house back into shape, which is what inspired my frenzied burst of yard maintenance, which, I don't mind admitting, has been sadly neglected this entire summer.
Later that evening, I received word from our birth mother that she went into labor, went to the hospital and received a shot to stop labor and steroids to help strengthen the baby's lungs if she should be born this early.
That was my first taste of the unadulterated panic of parenthood, and I don't even know for sure yet if this is my child.
So. Now I try to remember to keep the phone fully charged and with me at all times. And I have a load of tiny, tiny clothing in the dyer that will get packed into a suitcase that will be added to the Baby-Ready-To-Go pile that is at our front door right now.
That pile includes stroller, baby seat, and pack 'n play and sits amid all the other boxes that are waiting for the move to begin.
However, the stress does not end there. On Friday, just at the close of the business day, we received an e-mail letting us know that our state back ground checks were officially expired and could jeopardize our current match with the birth family.
Wow. Here was the reply I wanted to send:
Dear sweet sender of that e-mail,
Do you have any idea how stressful our lives are right now?
As you must remember, as I included you in that e-mail, I sent off those forms weeks ago and now I, as much or more than you, am waiting for their triumphant and battered return from the dark realms of state.
Also, I really appreciate hearing this right before the weekend, when all state bureaucracy's slow turning wheels grind to a complete stop, so even if I did throw the entire weight of my incredible levels of anxiety and frustrated new and first time mothering instinct into some one's voice mail somewhere, no one would hear it until some time late Monday morning, when someone has had enough cheap coffee to listen to their voice messages, slowly, over the next week, while accidentally hitting delete on a few of them.
You know as well as I do that this would avail me nothing, as they've heard it all before. Policy, policy; all is official policy. One might and well eat, drink and be merry.
In any case, thanks for reminding us of something over which we have absolutely no control. We appreciate that. If you know of any other thing, anything at all over which we have no control that could determine our intimate lives, please do feel free to ominously remind us of it.
Yours sincerely,
what's left of me
I did not send this, because no matter how good it felt to write, I would have felt badly later on. But it feels good to post it here.
When I told Keith this news, he just shook his head. "I can't even respond," he admitted. "I don't have anything left."
I burst into only slightly manic laughter. "I know!" I replied. "I just feel numb."
I did call my home study agent, who had also been included in the e-mail of Officially Ominous News and she said that she had received the state of Colorado's forms but not Kentucky's, but she would try calling and seeing where they were in that process.
So, here's the bottom line: if the baby is born now, she would be a moderately preterm baby, possibly requiring increased hospital time and care and we would not be able to adopt her because of our incomplete home study, and for the next two weeks, our birth mother is on high risk of giving birth early.
So this feels like the adoptive version of the Perfect Storm of terrible timing.
Hopefully the baby will hang in there, hopefully Kentucky's form is on its way. Hopefully we will have enough cash to close on the house. Hopefully we will be moved in before baby arrives.
Hopefully my eye will stop twitching.
In the meantime, when I meditate, I rant and rave to God and if I don't even have that much energy, He takes me outside to the upper meadow, so I can breathe under the stars. I put my head on His chest and I listen to His heartbeat and I remember how these frightening loose ends of my life are dangling not over some emptiness, but are contained within the mystery of His life.
I think this must be why He said that I should keep my heart open. If I can keep my heart open through this, I'll bet I can keep it open as I move forward into the rest of my life. If I can feel this agony now, how much more would I be able to feel the joy that might be coming?
I've already learned this lesson; I just keep learning it deeper- if I close myself off to this, I will close myself off to life. There's no way I can protect myself from pain without impairing my ability to be fully alive.
Anyway, that's what I tell myself. Now I have to go outside and take care of some more weeds.
I went weed whacking.
Guess what it good for stress management? Yes, that is right: waging war on weeds- huge, rotten sweet smelling weeds that had illusions of grandeur and were making themselves into alien trees.
I needed some stress management, because our lives are, in a word, intense right now.
We think that sometime this week we will close on the house, which means the next week we will be moving, which means this week we must get this house back into shape, which is what inspired my frenzied burst of yard maintenance, which, I don't mind admitting, has been sadly neglected this entire summer.
Later that evening, I received word from our birth mother that she went into labor, went to the hospital and received a shot to stop labor and steroids to help strengthen the baby's lungs if she should be born this early.
That was my first taste of the unadulterated panic of parenthood, and I don't even know for sure yet if this is my child.
So. Now I try to remember to keep the phone fully charged and with me at all times. And I have a load of tiny, tiny clothing in the dyer that will get packed into a suitcase that will be added to the Baby-Ready-To-Go pile that is at our front door right now.
That pile includes stroller, baby seat, and pack 'n play and sits amid all the other boxes that are waiting for the move to begin.
However, the stress does not end there. On Friday, just at the close of the business day, we received an e-mail letting us know that our state back ground checks were officially expired and could jeopardize our current match with the birth family.
Wow. Here was the reply I wanted to send:
Dear sweet sender of that e-mail,
Do you have any idea how stressful our lives are right now?
As you must remember, as I included you in that e-mail, I sent off those forms weeks ago and now I, as much or more than you, am waiting for their triumphant and battered return from the dark realms of state.
Also, I really appreciate hearing this right before the weekend, when all state bureaucracy's slow turning wheels grind to a complete stop, so even if I did throw the entire weight of my incredible levels of anxiety and frustrated new and first time mothering instinct into some one's voice mail somewhere, no one would hear it until some time late Monday morning, when someone has had enough cheap coffee to listen to their voice messages, slowly, over the next week, while accidentally hitting delete on a few of them.
You know as well as I do that this would avail me nothing, as they've heard it all before. Policy, policy; all is official policy. One might and well eat, drink and be merry.
In any case, thanks for reminding us of something over which we have absolutely no control. We appreciate that. If you know of any other thing, anything at all over which we have no control that could determine our intimate lives, please do feel free to ominously remind us of it.
Yours sincerely,
what's left of me
I did not send this, because no matter how good it felt to write, I would have felt badly later on. But it feels good to post it here.
When I told Keith this news, he just shook his head. "I can't even respond," he admitted. "I don't have anything left."
I burst into only slightly manic laughter. "I know!" I replied. "I just feel numb."
I did call my home study agent, who had also been included in the e-mail of Officially Ominous News and she said that she had received the state of Colorado's forms but not Kentucky's, but she would try calling and seeing where they were in that process.
So, here's the bottom line: if the baby is born now, she would be a moderately preterm baby, possibly requiring increased hospital time and care and we would not be able to adopt her because of our incomplete home study, and for the next two weeks, our birth mother is on high risk of giving birth early.
So this feels like the adoptive version of the Perfect Storm of terrible timing.
Hopefully the baby will hang in there, hopefully Kentucky's form is on its way. Hopefully we will have enough cash to close on the house. Hopefully we will be moved in before baby arrives.
Hopefully my eye will stop twitching.
In the meantime, when I meditate, I rant and rave to God and if I don't even have that much energy, He takes me outside to the upper meadow, so I can breathe under the stars. I put my head on His chest and I listen to His heartbeat and I remember how these frightening loose ends of my life are dangling not over some emptiness, but are contained within the mystery of His life.
I think this must be why He said that I should keep my heart open. If I can keep my heart open through this, I'll bet I can keep it open as I move forward into the rest of my life. If I can feel this agony now, how much more would I be able to feel the joy that might be coming?
I've already learned this lesson; I just keep learning it deeper- if I close myself off to this, I will close myself off to life. There's no way I can protect myself from pain without impairing my ability to be fully alive.
Anyway, that's what I tell myself. Now I have to go outside and take care of some more weeds.
Monday, July 15, 2013
July 15th
I had such a beautiful meditation last night.
Yesterday evening, I stood by the French doors and looked out at the trees that rise up behind the fence. They were lit with the horizontal bands of falling sunlight and they were moving in the wind. Beyond them, the sky was still blue, with white clouds.
It was beautiful, especially as we haven't seen much of the sunlight lately. I always love that view and that time of day. As I stood looking outside, I realized that it was already the middle of July and that soon I would either become a mother or go through one of the most painful experiences of my life.
The adoption right now seems to be going really well and but who can tell, in the end, how it will go? The emotions are intense and conflicting. I felt impatient with this way that my life is unfolding- as usual in a way that is so far removed from what is normal.
And how does one prepare for either of those possibilities, for what could be coming, in this short space of time?
I knew He was with me as I was looking at the light on the trees, considering these things.
Live deeply in this, He said. He meant, keep my heart wide open and don't hold back from everything that comes up, but to learn from it, to let it shape me and enlarge my heart.
When I went to meditate, even in the inner place, I felt weighed down and exhausted.
We went out to the grass. It was evening and cool. For a long time, all I could do was breathe and let some of the weight come off. As it did, I felt joy seeping into me, like a cool breeze.
I went somersaulting down the grass- effortlessly, three times in a row and collapsed in a laughing, breathless heap down by the trees. I put my face in the grass and breathed in deeply. Jesus came down to where I was and sat down next to me.
Do you want to go down to the sea? He asked.
"We haven't gone there in a long time," I said, thinking about it. Sitting up, I could see the line of trees, dark and shadowy, against the star filled sky; beyond it, I knew was the ocean. I felt suddenly that I did want to go there.
I went running down through the path under the trees to the cliff, where the view opened up to the expanse of ocean below. I went down the crumbling path to the beach that stretched out to either side; it seemed to form a large bay. The waves were calm and quiet, lapping on the shore.
Lifting my arms, I opened them to the sky and was simply and fully present in that place. I let my heart expand out into peace, into mystery. More and more of my burdens were falling off, leaving me feeling limber and light, saturated with that clear life that shines and fills each corner and breath and created thing.
We went into the ocean, swimming down through it, not having to come up for air until we wanted to. Then we floated on our backs and looked up at the sky.
There were so many stars, some bright and near, some like luminous dust. I'm not used to it, because so many get washed out by the electric lights here. Without any artificial light, the stars filled the sky in a way that seemed without depth, countless.
"Like Your promise to Abraham," I said, making the connection.
As many as there are stars in the sky, He said.
"And as countless as there is sand on the shore," I said.
So would all his descendants be, He finished.
"So many," I breathed.
For the first time in my life, those words sunk into me, what they must mean.
What does it mean? He asked gently.
"It must be everyone," I whispered. "It must mean everyone, in the end."
I thought about how everyone was reborn in Him, the second Adam, how that one act remade all creation and everyone in it.
Do you want to go up there? He asked.
"To float in the ocean of stars?" I mused, considering it.
At first, I could not rise up- I couldn't believe it was possible and so I got stuck. Then I was able to let go of my need to make it happen or to control the experience. I let myself simply be in it, to flow through it.
We went rising slowly up together, over the ocean, past the cliff. Looking down, I could see the lighted rooms and the lawn they were set in and the meadows above and below and the forest that stretched away to the back of them. Everything was shadowed blue in the night, starlit.
I closed my eyes as we went higher, but I could feel the light against my face as we passed by things I could not see. When I opened my eyes, we were floating in the depth of space. I let my heart rest and then open up into this space.
It was boundless, intricate, full of vast distances and huge forces at work, interwoven and playing upon each other, from the tiniest dimension to the largest. It was full of fire and heat, light and color and vast, peaceful darkness, full of silence stretching out between things.
I knew that because everything exists in Him and that in Him, everything finds a place, that this space was Him- that I was resting in Him and expanding out with Him. It was one expression of who He was.
We began to sink slowly back through the stars until below me, I could see the rooms and the blue green lawns. But across from me, a vast distance and as high as we were, I saw another layer- a layer of gold, amber and rose clouds that seemed to be spilling into many layers from a white light that was greater than the sun.
We hung there, in the sky and I could see into the light, gradually. I could see over the white city to a vast building that was set on white steps into the light- the light poured through the vast doorway and on either side were the beautiful, winged creatures, tall and joyful and fierce.
I could see further into the light. Inside, the light was gold, shimmering. Huge pillars rose up into the ceiling that was hidden under clouds of white. The floor was gold and amber. Great chairs were set in two semi circles facing each other and between them was a path that rose up stairs into the heart of the light that poured forth from the throne there, filling the room and spilling out from the doors and windows and pouring out over the clouds and out further. Everything was dazzling with the light.
I drew my gaze back out and could see the white stairs that fell down from the vast doorway with the light to a courtyard and rising up from the courtyard were two ancient living trees, full of green leaves and rising branches and strong roots. There seemed to be more trees there; an entire park of trees and greenery interwoven, but I couldn't see it very well.
Lifting my gaze, I could see a figure standing in the doorway, radiating light, surrounded by light and His arms were wide open in loving, joyous and eager welcome that poured from Him with the light. I could not see anything but His form, for He was radiant. But I knew He was smiling ear to ear.
You're His, Jesus whispered to me.
We were still hanging in the night sky; I could see the golden white clouds spilling out with the light at the same time that I could see further into the light, to where Papa was standing on the threshold. I had my arm around Jesus' shoulder, He had His arm around my waist.
"I know," I admitted. "Because everything that is Yours is His and everything that is Papa's is Yours, so I belong to God. But it's too much to consider, being His. I will tuck that away and deeply consider that, but for now, I want to think of myself mainly as Yours."
This was fine with Him, since they are One and things are flowing between them continuously. We went sinking slowing down until my feet touched the grass and I sank down on to it, my legs folding up under me. My eyes were dazzled from the light that I had been looking into; I blinked a few times, adjusting.
I looked up at Jesus and focused on His face for the first time that evening and I saw, all over again and with this incredible awe, how He was also fully human; His face was dear, familiar and marked with laugh lines and incredible suffering, by joy and labor- by human life.
Everything that I had seen, everything that I had understood all came together- and it all came together in Him.
"And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us," I whispered, in awe.
He lifted His scarred, calloused hand and brushed the side of my face with His fingers.
And why was that? He asked tenderly.
"Because You were in love," I answered simply.
Yesterday evening, I stood by the French doors and looked out at the trees that rise up behind the fence. They were lit with the horizontal bands of falling sunlight and they were moving in the wind. Beyond them, the sky was still blue, with white clouds.
It was beautiful, especially as we haven't seen much of the sunlight lately. I always love that view and that time of day. As I stood looking outside, I realized that it was already the middle of July and that soon I would either become a mother or go through one of the most painful experiences of my life.
The adoption right now seems to be going really well and but who can tell, in the end, how it will go? The emotions are intense and conflicting. I felt impatient with this way that my life is unfolding- as usual in a way that is so far removed from what is normal.
And how does one prepare for either of those possibilities, for what could be coming, in this short space of time?
I knew He was with me as I was looking at the light on the trees, considering these things.
Live deeply in this, He said. He meant, keep my heart wide open and don't hold back from everything that comes up, but to learn from it, to let it shape me and enlarge my heart.
When I went to meditate, even in the inner place, I felt weighed down and exhausted.
We went out to the grass. It was evening and cool. For a long time, all I could do was breathe and let some of the weight come off. As it did, I felt joy seeping into me, like a cool breeze.
I went somersaulting down the grass- effortlessly, three times in a row and collapsed in a laughing, breathless heap down by the trees. I put my face in the grass and breathed in deeply. Jesus came down to where I was and sat down next to me.
Do you want to go down to the sea? He asked.
"We haven't gone there in a long time," I said, thinking about it. Sitting up, I could see the line of trees, dark and shadowy, against the star filled sky; beyond it, I knew was the ocean. I felt suddenly that I did want to go there.
I went running down through the path under the trees to the cliff, where the view opened up to the expanse of ocean below. I went down the crumbling path to the beach that stretched out to either side; it seemed to form a large bay. The waves were calm and quiet, lapping on the shore.
Lifting my arms, I opened them to the sky and was simply and fully present in that place. I let my heart expand out into peace, into mystery. More and more of my burdens were falling off, leaving me feeling limber and light, saturated with that clear life that shines and fills each corner and breath and created thing.
We went into the ocean, swimming down through it, not having to come up for air until we wanted to. Then we floated on our backs and looked up at the sky.
There were so many stars, some bright and near, some like luminous dust. I'm not used to it, because so many get washed out by the electric lights here. Without any artificial light, the stars filled the sky in a way that seemed without depth, countless.
"Like Your promise to Abraham," I said, making the connection.
As many as there are stars in the sky, He said.
"And as countless as there is sand on the shore," I said.
So would all his descendants be, He finished.
"So many," I breathed.
For the first time in my life, those words sunk into me, what they must mean.
What does it mean? He asked gently.
"It must be everyone," I whispered. "It must mean everyone, in the end."
I thought about how everyone was reborn in Him, the second Adam, how that one act remade all creation and everyone in it.
Do you want to go up there? He asked.
"To float in the ocean of stars?" I mused, considering it.
At first, I could not rise up- I couldn't believe it was possible and so I got stuck. Then I was able to let go of my need to make it happen or to control the experience. I let myself simply be in it, to flow through it.
We went rising slowly up together, over the ocean, past the cliff. Looking down, I could see the lighted rooms and the lawn they were set in and the meadows above and below and the forest that stretched away to the back of them. Everything was shadowed blue in the night, starlit.
I closed my eyes as we went higher, but I could feel the light against my face as we passed by things I could not see. When I opened my eyes, we were floating in the depth of space. I let my heart rest and then open up into this space.
It was boundless, intricate, full of vast distances and huge forces at work, interwoven and playing upon each other, from the tiniest dimension to the largest. It was full of fire and heat, light and color and vast, peaceful darkness, full of silence stretching out between things.
I knew that because everything exists in Him and that in Him, everything finds a place, that this space was Him- that I was resting in Him and expanding out with Him. It was one expression of who He was.
We began to sink slowly back through the stars until below me, I could see the rooms and the blue green lawns. But across from me, a vast distance and as high as we were, I saw another layer- a layer of gold, amber and rose clouds that seemed to be spilling into many layers from a white light that was greater than the sun.
We hung there, in the sky and I could see into the light, gradually. I could see over the white city to a vast building that was set on white steps into the light- the light poured through the vast doorway and on either side were the beautiful, winged creatures, tall and joyful and fierce.
I could see further into the light. Inside, the light was gold, shimmering. Huge pillars rose up into the ceiling that was hidden under clouds of white. The floor was gold and amber. Great chairs were set in two semi circles facing each other and between them was a path that rose up stairs into the heart of the light that poured forth from the throne there, filling the room and spilling out from the doors and windows and pouring out over the clouds and out further. Everything was dazzling with the light.
I drew my gaze back out and could see the white stairs that fell down from the vast doorway with the light to a courtyard and rising up from the courtyard were two ancient living trees, full of green leaves and rising branches and strong roots. There seemed to be more trees there; an entire park of trees and greenery interwoven, but I couldn't see it very well.
Lifting my gaze, I could see a figure standing in the doorway, radiating light, surrounded by light and His arms were wide open in loving, joyous and eager welcome that poured from Him with the light. I could not see anything but His form, for He was radiant. But I knew He was smiling ear to ear.
You're His, Jesus whispered to me.
We were still hanging in the night sky; I could see the golden white clouds spilling out with the light at the same time that I could see further into the light, to where Papa was standing on the threshold. I had my arm around Jesus' shoulder, He had His arm around my waist.
"I know," I admitted. "Because everything that is Yours is His and everything that is Papa's is Yours, so I belong to God. But it's too much to consider, being His. I will tuck that away and deeply consider that, but for now, I want to think of myself mainly as Yours."
This was fine with Him, since they are One and things are flowing between them continuously. We went sinking slowing down until my feet touched the grass and I sank down on to it, my legs folding up under me. My eyes were dazzled from the light that I had been looking into; I blinked a few times, adjusting.
I looked up at Jesus and focused on His face for the first time that evening and I saw, all over again and with this incredible awe, how He was also fully human; His face was dear, familiar and marked with laugh lines and incredible suffering, by joy and labor- by human life.
Everything that I had seen, everything that I had understood all came together- and it all came together in Him.
"And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us," I whispered, in awe.
He lifted His scarred, calloused hand and brushed the side of my face with His fingers.
And why was that? He asked tenderly.
"Because You were in love," I answered simply.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
June 25th
We've had guests over this weekend and so I've been too tired to spend much time meditating- I will use this word- I'm tired of using the word "experiences."
Perhaps, as you read my blog, you are noticing that God's love seems to be almost undignified. I find it unsettling myself, and it still takes me by surprise sometimes.
I have far more regard for His dignity than He does. Of course, we can see a picture of this undignified love in His parables, the classic example being the father running down the road, and falling on the son's neck.
Oddly enough, one of the most difficult things I've had to learn has been simply to accept His love, but I've been getting better this.
On Monday night, when I opened my heart in the quietness and saw Him in the room, I felt as if I hadn't seen Him in a while. I went walking to Him and looked up into His face, so quiet and receptive.
"How are You?" I asked.
Missing you, He replied. It's not the same without you. I miss My little place of rest.
He meant, from this verse:
"The Eternal your God is standing right here among you,
and He is the champion who will rescue you.
He will joyfully celebrate over you;
He will rest in His love for you; He will joyfully sing because of you like a new husband."
(Zephaniah 3:17)
This is exactly the sort of statement from Him that used to drive me crazy- it's sounds so heretical. Why does God want to rest? He doesn't get tired. And aren't we always together, in one sense, so how can He miss me?
This is where I get to practice letting God be God- I must accept Him as He is, or else I'm just hitting my head against something far too large to understand.
Also, I keep worrying that my head is going into explode into a massive ego balloon if He keeps saying lovely things to me. So, for a long time, whenever Jesus happened to say something lovely, instead of swooning with love, I got angry and upset at Him.
I talked with Him about this recently- about a week ago.
"There's something else..." I told Him, reluctantly. He was, as usual, quietly and completely listening, so I just went on working through it.
"As I grow into You, and begin to accept this way of being with You, and my inherent, created identity in You; as I begin to accept Your love and to let the things You say sink deeply into me, instead of resisting them.... I feel... Sweetheart, I guess that is Your business and I won't deny whatever You are doing with my life, but it makes it so difficult for my ego not to go ape crazy with it and I feel so burdened with this fear that ego will completely take over and I'll become a kind of manic, arrogant, prideful ass."
You've worried about this before, He gently reminded me.
"Yes, that's true..."
And what did I say then?
"You said... Goodness! I guess it is applicable..." I replied, remembering it all over again. "You said that You wanted me always to be thinking of myself in the way that You think of me..."
Keeping one's mind on things above, He said, emphatically, on your lasting, whole identity in Me, not constantly self judging, weighing yourself in the balance and coming up short. You are a part of the Kingdom of God on earth- you are a living piece of My love on earth. Think this way. And what else did I say?
"You said that my character is Your work..."
That is My work, He insisted, almost before I had finished my thought. You are My workmanship. I am the One that produces the good fruits in you- the love, joy, peace, self control- all that makes your character. Apart from Me, you can do nothing. Rest in Me.
"That's so scary!" I protested. "I don't want to let go control over my own character! What if I turn into a horrible monster of arrogance, lack of self control and conceited? I don't want to let go control."
It's difficult to trust that deeply, to trust Me with your complete self, He affirmed.
"Help," I whispered, leaning into Him and wrapping my arms around His waist.
He bent down to me and spoke softly. I have- I am, He said.
At the beginning of this month, I was talking to Him about obedience. I always think of myself as being a disobedient person- that I am incapable of obedience, so I never use the word. For me, it's a word loaded with failure, guilt and shame.
But I had realized, just then, that I had been naturally and completely obedient, with hardly any thought or effort at all- even if it was in a small thing.
"That was obedience!' I told Him, delighted with myself.
Part of obedience, He said, tenderly.
"What's the rest, the other part?" I asked, curious.
As obedience is the stairway to pleasure, He replied and it sounded familiar and as if He were quoting something.
I burst out laughing and turned around again. "Jesus!" I said, full of love. "Only You would say something like that- to link obedience so inextricably to pleasure."
Later, I looked that phrase up- it is a quote. In fact, it's a quote from That Hideous Strength, by C.S. Lewis. The quote is incomplete even in the book.
I first read this series, the Space Trilogy, when I was in third grade. At that young age, I managed to make my way through the first two books, but I could only get the first chapter of That Hideous Strength before I gave up on it.
Perhaps, as you read my blog, you are noticing that God's love seems to be almost undignified. I find it unsettling myself, and it still takes me by surprise sometimes.
I have far more regard for His dignity than He does. Of course, we can see a picture of this undignified love in His parables, the classic example being the father running down the road, and falling on the son's neck.
Oddly enough, one of the most difficult things I've had to learn has been simply to accept His love, but I've been getting better this.
On Monday night, when I opened my heart in the quietness and saw Him in the room, I felt as if I hadn't seen Him in a while. I went walking to Him and looked up into His face, so quiet and receptive.
"How are You?" I asked.
Missing you, He replied. It's not the same without you. I miss My little place of rest.
He meant, from this verse:
"The Eternal your God is standing right here among you,
and He is the champion who will rescue you.
He will joyfully celebrate over you;
He will rest in His love for you; He will joyfully sing because of you like a new husband."
(Zephaniah 3:17)
This is exactly the sort of statement from Him that used to drive me crazy- it's sounds so heretical. Why does God want to rest? He doesn't get tired. And aren't we always together, in one sense, so how can He miss me?
This is where I get to practice letting God be God- I must accept Him as He is, or else I'm just hitting my head against something far too large to understand.
Also, I keep worrying that my head is going into explode into a massive ego balloon if He keeps saying lovely things to me. So, for a long time, whenever Jesus happened to say something lovely, instead of swooning with love, I got angry and upset at Him.
I talked with Him about this recently- about a week ago.
"There's something else..." I told Him, reluctantly. He was, as usual, quietly and completely listening, so I just went on working through it.
"As I grow into You, and begin to accept this way of being with You, and my inherent, created identity in You; as I begin to accept Your love and to let the things You say sink deeply into me, instead of resisting them.... I feel... Sweetheart, I guess that is Your business and I won't deny whatever You are doing with my life, but it makes it so difficult for my ego not to go ape crazy with it and I feel so burdened with this fear that ego will completely take over and I'll become a kind of manic, arrogant, prideful ass."
You've worried about this before, He gently reminded me.
"Yes, that's true..."
And what did I say then?
"You said... Goodness! I guess it is applicable..." I replied, remembering it all over again. "You said that You wanted me always to be thinking of myself in the way that You think of me..."
Keeping one's mind on things above, He said, emphatically, on your lasting, whole identity in Me, not constantly self judging, weighing yourself in the balance and coming up short. You are a part of the Kingdom of God on earth- you are a living piece of My love on earth. Think this way. And what else did I say?
"You said that my character is Your work..."
That is My work, He insisted, almost before I had finished my thought. You are My workmanship. I am the One that produces the good fruits in you- the love, joy, peace, self control- all that makes your character. Apart from Me, you can do nothing. Rest in Me.
"That's so scary!" I protested. "I don't want to let go control over my own character! What if I turn into a horrible monster of arrogance, lack of self control and conceited? I don't want to let go control."
It's difficult to trust that deeply, to trust Me with your complete self, He affirmed.
"Help," I whispered, leaning into Him and wrapping my arms around His waist.
He bent down to me and spoke softly. I have- I am, He said.
At the beginning of this month, I was talking to Him about obedience. I always think of myself as being a disobedient person- that I am incapable of obedience, so I never use the word. For me, it's a word loaded with failure, guilt and shame.
But I had realized, just then, that I had been naturally and completely obedient, with hardly any thought or effort at all- even if it was in a small thing.
"That was obedience!' I told Him, delighted with myself.
Part of obedience, He said, tenderly.
"What's the rest, the other part?" I asked, curious.
As obedience is the stairway to pleasure, He replied and it sounded familiar and as if He were quoting something.
I burst out laughing and turned around again. "Jesus!" I said, full of love. "Only You would say something like that- to link obedience so inextricably to pleasure."
Later, I looked that phrase up- it is a quote. In fact, it's a quote from That Hideous Strength, by C.S. Lewis. The quote is incomplete even in the book.
I first read this series, the Space Trilogy, when I was in third grade. At that young age, I managed to make my way through the first two books, but I could only get the first chapter of That Hideous Strength before I gave up on it.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
June 22th
So now I will begin to share more, or share more deeply, or whatever, about my inner life. However, it is important to me that I make as clear as possible two points before hand.
One, is that I know these experiences are sort of mind blowing and I apologize. I'm not trying to be disconcerting on purpose. I'm a shy, ordinary person.
Attention makes me uncomfortable, which is why I do not advertise my blog or open comments or link my blog anywhere. It's not that those things are bad- not at all- it's just that, personally speaking, it's hard enough to share these things even here, in this tiny, quiet little corner of the internet.
Second, and this is more important, is that I believe, with all my heart, that the reason I have these experiences is because Divine Love feels this way about us all.
If there is anything at all to "being chosen" it is merely to demonstrate it, in order for others to begin to believe it as well- so then, we are all like light bearers in the dark of this mysterious, beautiful, present life, passing on the torch of His love to those around us. Because we are all chosen in God- it's just that some of us have grasped hold of it and some of us haven't yet.
So, please think of these experiences as a kind of creative expression- like a story that you read and you think, my goodness, now I want to write- but of course, you want to write your own story- the one that's living in your heart, waiting to be expressed, to be brought into being, day by day, in your own language.
Recently, I had been reading- I had been reading almost all day and it was late in the afternoon and I got to this phrase:
“Father, I want those you have given to me to be with me, to be where I am..."
(John 17:24 GW version.)
The verse goes on, but my attention stopped right there. I sat at my desk with my hand over my mouth, while that phrase just went on and on in my head.
In case you might be wondering, as I sometimes wonder, who are those that the Father has given Him, here is a verse that begins to answer that question, in my personal opinion:
"God was pleased to have all of himself live in Christ. God was also pleased to bring everything on earth and in heaven back to himself through Christ. He did this by making peace through Christ’s blood sacrificed on the cross." (Colossians 1:18)
As I was sitting there, I felt His longing simply pour through me. It was as if He were simply pouring His heart out.
I believe Jesus does live in longing; He lives in it every day. He is stretched out between enduring and bearing all things, and hoping and believing all things. He is stretched out between the chaos, violence and pain now and His perfect faith- He knows that love never fails.
In the meantime, He is hanging here, because His name is God with us, and even He was perfected through suffering.
Brennan Manning wrote this in his book, The Furious Longing of God:
“The gospel is absurd and the life of Jesus is meaningless unless we believe that He lived, died, and rose again with but one purpose in mind: to make brand-new creation. Not to make people with better morals but to create a community of prophets and professional lovers, men and women who would surrender to the mystery of the fire of the Spirit that burns within, who would live in ever greater fidelity to the omnipresent Word of God, who would enter into the center of it all, the very heart and mystery of Christ, into the center of the flame that consumes, purifies, and sets everything aglow with peace, joy, boldness, and extravagant, furious love. This, my friend, is what it really means to be a Christian.”
That night, whatever I was doing, I felt His love pouring out toward me and my love was pouring out toward Him. It was intoxicating, and I hadn't even entered the heart of it- the center of the flame, as Brennan puts it.
As soon as I did, the first thing I saw clearly was Jesus standing in the room, with His arms outstretched, hands open, reaching toward me, His face lit up with joy, with eagerness.
Did you hear Me? He cried.
He who has ears to hear, let him hear, flashed through my mind, and how often He says this.
I went running straight into His arms; I don't think my feet even touched the floor. I threw my arms around His shoulders and held on tight and it was as if my entire spirit was going up in flames. I could hardly speak; I wanted to speak, to tell Him how much I loved Him, but the words wouldn't get past my throat.
The knowledge that I was with Jesus was going over me in waves. I just kept remembering how He stood in front of those envious or callous authorities, caught up in tense verbal sparring and how He had spoken with them, again and again, trying to make them see, though they couldn't hear Him through their own assumptions, their self righteousness.
I thought of how He had stood in the temple and cried out to the crowd- words that probably sounded like nonsense. But He had to say the words the Father gave Him to speak, the words that burned in His passionate heart, the heart that He wore on His sleeve.
I thought of how His purpose had driven Him along so urgently- He had to be going to the next place, doing the Father's work and how it shook Him, in His spirit- the coming agony, weeks and then days and then the night before, when the agony was so great it felt to Him as if He might die from it, but He went through it, each time, successfully, given over to the will of the Father and His own burning love.
Because He wanted us with Him. He loved us before we could offer Him anything. This is the beautiful thing about the heart of Jesus.
I was clutching His robe in my fists and trying to catch my breath, which was difficult to do with all that emotion.
"Thank You," I managed to say into His ear. "Thank You."
Of course, I meant for everything, but also, for me in that moment, I had to speak those words because of the love and wonder that was rising up in me, that I should have the chance to love on Him in person, to be with Him then and there.
All this time, He was calling me by name and saying that He loved me, and it made my head swim so badly I couldn't stand. My legs were like noodles.
"I'm going to fall!" I told Him.
He took tighter hold of me and swung me back up and set me on my toes and held me up, but I wasn't very steady. It was all I could do to hold on.
Didn't it help? Do you understand better now? Didn't I open My teaching up to you like you asked? He was asking, His voice full of love.
"Yes! Yes, I heard You!" I cried, amazed all over again to remember it. "I do understand more!"
(Because I had told Him, a while back, that I didn't understand half the things He was talking about and that it was frustrating and I wanted to know.
"I don't know what the Kingdom of God is!" I had complained and confessed, all at once. "You're always talking about it! It seems very important, but I have no idea what it really is- it's here, it's there, it's like this, it's like that- but I don't know what it is!")
However, just that day, I had read this in The Voice version:
"The focus for Jesus is not on the kinds of sophisticated arguments preferred by the religious scholar; for Jesus the kingdom of God is about living life, and in particular, living a life of love for God and for neighbor—whoever that neighbor may be." Luke 10:37, explanatory note in The Voice
Remembering this, I was laughing, because He answered that request in such a practical way- through a different translation. Sometimes He is just practical and it's not what I expected, sometimes.
"You Teacher, You," I murmured, but He was much more interested in another, much more personal title at that moment.
Here is something to consider, if you wish: consider that Jesus does what He sees the Father doing- His deep desire is to please His Father. And what does the Father do? The Father holds the Son in His arms- the Son is in the intimate presence of the Father. That is a repeated metaphor given to us to illustrate their relationship.
So wouldn't it make sense then, that the Son also has a deep and burning desire to hold us in His arms, to express the love He learned from the Father, to complete the circle, as it were?
I wonder about this, myself. It might be possible that everything sprang into being for this very purpose; to be brought into the arms of God, because their love was so great it could not be contained only in themselves.
Of course, there are many different metaphors for spiritual intimacy and it is important, in my opinion, not to get too caught up in any one of them, because they all are, I believe, basically inadequate to describe the whole of Divine Love.
Still, they are beautiful ways to express love- like instruments with which to create love and express loving relationship. In my experience, His heart is wide open to the sound of these instruments- it seems to move through Him in a way that is beyond words. It's almost as if He has no defenses against it and if one decides to pour out love on Him with abandon, He will give Himself in return, in greater measure.
But if we are continually caught up in thinking about how miserable we are and how much we are failing and how we are full of sin and wrong thoughts, how will we ever feel confident enough be able to come close to God?
On the other hand, if we are full of our own works and self-satisfied, how will we ever feel or surrender to the deep yearning for completeness, for union, that waits in God?
I'm beginning to think there's a narrow way between these perceptions- it has to do with the things that Jesus praised: meekness, a desire to make peace- which, I believe, is tied into forgiveness, a heart focused on Divine Love- which, I believe, is tied into love of God and others, and a recognition of one's spiritual poverty- a hunger and thirst for Him, for more of Him.
I can't help but think that these things lead one further and further into His heart; certainly, I can see how this had operated in my own life, no matter how imperfectly I am able to live into it, and I live into it very imperfectly indeed.
Last night, I was too full of anxiety and guilt to rest in Him and I withdrew, feeling miserable. Several times I felt Him tugging on my heart, but I turned His invitation down.
Jenny! He said, His voice so full of yearning, of love.
It took a moment for me to realize that I was hearing my own name expand out into my heart and when I realized this, I opened my heart again to Him and I first thing I knew was that He had caught me up in His arms.
"I'm all broken up, confused, and getting it wrong," I whispered to Him.
How many times have you been through that in My presence? He asked tenderly.
"So many times," I confessed, remembering.
And didn't I stay with you, all through it?
"Yes," I confessed.
Then stay with Me now, He whispered.
If this, then, is the heart of God- that He wants us to stay, to remain in His love always- what shall we say to this?
What stories will we tell, what pictures will we paint with our lives? What poems will we breathe in the quietness?
What will we cry out in the pain? How shall we pound out our anger when we are broken?
Knowing that the only sacrifice He wants is that of our unadorned hearts and the fire, His passionate, consuming love and the alter, His arms, what things would we speak?
Or, there might be a kind of silence that is more eloquent than any words.
One, is that I know these experiences are sort of mind blowing and I apologize. I'm not trying to be disconcerting on purpose. I'm a shy, ordinary person.
Attention makes me uncomfortable, which is why I do not advertise my blog or open comments or link my blog anywhere. It's not that those things are bad- not at all- it's just that, personally speaking, it's hard enough to share these things even here, in this tiny, quiet little corner of the internet.
Second, and this is more important, is that I believe, with all my heart, that the reason I have these experiences is because Divine Love feels this way about us all.
If there is anything at all to "being chosen" it is merely to demonstrate it, in order for others to begin to believe it as well- so then, we are all like light bearers in the dark of this mysterious, beautiful, present life, passing on the torch of His love to those around us. Because we are all chosen in God- it's just that some of us have grasped hold of it and some of us haven't yet.
So, please think of these experiences as a kind of creative expression- like a story that you read and you think, my goodness, now I want to write- but of course, you want to write your own story- the one that's living in your heart, waiting to be expressed, to be brought into being, day by day, in your own language.
Recently, I had been reading- I had been reading almost all day and it was late in the afternoon and I got to this phrase:
“Father, I want those you have given to me to be with me, to be where I am..."
(John 17:24 GW version.)
The verse goes on, but my attention stopped right there. I sat at my desk with my hand over my mouth, while that phrase just went on and on in my head.
In case you might be wondering, as I sometimes wonder, who are those that the Father has given Him, here is a verse that begins to answer that question, in my personal opinion:
"God was pleased to have all of himself live in Christ. God was also pleased to bring everything on earth and in heaven back to himself through Christ. He did this by making peace through Christ’s blood sacrificed on the cross." (Colossians 1:18)
As I was sitting there, I felt His longing simply pour through me. It was as if He were simply pouring His heart out.
I believe Jesus does live in longing; He lives in it every day. He is stretched out between enduring and bearing all things, and hoping and believing all things. He is stretched out between the chaos, violence and pain now and His perfect faith- He knows that love never fails.
In the meantime, He is hanging here, because His name is God with us, and even He was perfected through suffering.
Brennan Manning wrote this in his book, The Furious Longing of God:
“The gospel is absurd and the life of Jesus is meaningless unless we believe that He lived, died, and rose again with but one purpose in mind: to make brand-new creation. Not to make people with better morals but to create a community of prophets and professional lovers, men and women who would surrender to the mystery of the fire of the Spirit that burns within, who would live in ever greater fidelity to the omnipresent Word of God, who would enter into the center of it all, the very heart and mystery of Christ, into the center of the flame that consumes, purifies, and sets everything aglow with peace, joy, boldness, and extravagant, furious love. This, my friend, is what it really means to be a Christian.”
That night, whatever I was doing, I felt His love pouring out toward me and my love was pouring out toward Him. It was intoxicating, and I hadn't even entered the heart of it- the center of the flame, as Brennan puts it.
As soon as I did, the first thing I saw clearly was Jesus standing in the room, with His arms outstretched, hands open, reaching toward me, His face lit up with joy, with eagerness.
Did you hear Me? He cried.
He who has ears to hear, let him hear, flashed through my mind, and how often He says this.
I went running straight into His arms; I don't think my feet even touched the floor. I threw my arms around His shoulders and held on tight and it was as if my entire spirit was going up in flames. I could hardly speak; I wanted to speak, to tell Him how much I loved Him, but the words wouldn't get past my throat.
The knowledge that I was with Jesus was going over me in waves. I just kept remembering how He stood in front of those envious or callous authorities, caught up in tense verbal sparring and how He had spoken with them, again and again, trying to make them see, though they couldn't hear Him through their own assumptions, their self righteousness.
I thought of how He had stood in the temple and cried out to the crowd- words that probably sounded like nonsense. But He had to say the words the Father gave Him to speak, the words that burned in His passionate heart, the heart that He wore on His sleeve.
I thought of how His purpose had driven Him along so urgently- He had to be going to the next place, doing the Father's work and how it shook Him, in His spirit- the coming agony, weeks and then days and then the night before, when the agony was so great it felt to Him as if He might die from it, but He went through it, each time, successfully, given over to the will of the Father and His own burning love.
Because He wanted us with Him. He loved us before we could offer Him anything. This is the beautiful thing about the heart of Jesus.
I was clutching His robe in my fists and trying to catch my breath, which was difficult to do with all that emotion.
"Thank You," I managed to say into His ear. "Thank You."
Of course, I meant for everything, but also, for me in that moment, I had to speak those words because of the love and wonder that was rising up in me, that I should have the chance to love on Him in person, to be with Him then and there.
All this time, He was calling me by name and saying that He loved me, and it made my head swim so badly I couldn't stand. My legs were like noodles.
"I'm going to fall!" I told Him.
He took tighter hold of me and swung me back up and set me on my toes and held me up, but I wasn't very steady. It was all I could do to hold on.
Didn't it help? Do you understand better now? Didn't I open My teaching up to you like you asked? He was asking, His voice full of love.
"Yes! Yes, I heard You!" I cried, amazed all over again to remember it. "I do understand more!"
(Because I had told Him, a while back, that I didn't understand half the things He was talking about and that it was frustrating and I wanted to know.
"I don't know what the Kingdom of God is!" I had complained and confessed, all at once. "You're always talking about it! It seems very important, but I have no idea what it really is- it's here, it's there, it's like this, it's like that- but I don't know what it is!")
However, just that day, I had read this in The Voice version:
"The focus for Jesus is not on the kinds of sophisticated arguments preferred by the religious scholar; for Jesus the kingdom of God is about living life, and in particular, living a life of love for God and for neighbor—whoever that neighbor may be." Luke 10:37, explanatory note in The Voice
Remembering this, I was laughing, because He answered that request in such a practical way- through a different translation. Sometimes He is just practical and it's not what I expected, sometimes.
"You Teacher, You," I murmured, but He was much more interested in another, much more personal title at that moment.
Here is something to consider, if you wish: consider that Jesus does what He sees the Father doing- His deep desire is to please His Father. And what does the Father do? The Father holds the Son in His arms- the Son is in the intimate presence of the Father. That is a repeated metaphor given to us to illustrate their relationship.
So wouldn't it make sense then, that the Son also has a deep and burning desire to hold us in His arms, to express the love He learned from the Father, to complete the circle, as it were?
I wonder about this, myself. It might be possible that everything sprang into being for this very purpose; to be brought into the arms of God, because their love was so great it could not be contained only in themselves.
Of course, there are many different metaphors for spiritual intimacy and it is important, in my opinion, not to get too caught up in any one of them, because they all are, I believe, basically inadequate to describe the whole of Divine Love.
Still, they are beautiful ways to express love- like instruments with which to create love and express loving relationship. In my experience, His heart is wide open to the sound of these instruments- it seems to move through Him in a way that is beyond words. It's almost as if He has no defenses against it and if one decides to pour out love on Him with abandon, He will give Himself in return, in greater measure.
But if we are continually caught up in thinking about how miserable we are and how much we are failing and how we are full of sin and wrong thoughts, how will we ever feel confident enough be able to come close to God?
On the other hand, if we are full of our own works and self-satisfied, how will we ever feel or surrender to the deep yearning for completeness, for union, that waits in God?
I'm beginning to think there's a narrow way between these perceptions- it has to do with the things that Jesus praised: meekness, a desire to make peace- which, I believe, is tied into forgiveness, a heart focused on Divine Love- which, I believe, is tied into love of God and others, and a recognition of one's spiritual poverty- a hunger and thirst for Him, for more of Him.
I can't help but think that these things lead one further and further into His heart; certainly, I can see how this had operated in my own life, no matter how imperfectly I am able to live into it, and I live into it very imperfectly indeed.
Last night, I was too full of anxiety and guilt to rest in Him and I withdrew, feeling miserable. Several times I felt Him tugging on my heart, but I turned His invitation down.
Jenny! He said, His voice so full of yearning, of love.
It took a moment for me to realize that I was hearing my own name expand out into my heart and when I realized this, I opened my heart again to Him and I first thing I knew was that He had caught me up in His arms.
"I'm all broken up, confused, and getting it wrong," I whispered to Him.
How many times have you been through that in My presence? He asked tenderly.
"So many times," I confessed, remembering.
And didn't I stay with you, all through it?
"Yes," I confessed.
Then stay with Me now, He whispered.
If this, then, is the heart of God- that He wants us to stay, to remain in His love always- what shall we say to this?
What stories will we tell, what pictures will we paint with our lives? What poems will we breathe in the quietness?
What will we cry out in the pain? How shall we pound out our anger when we are broken?
Knowing that the only sacrifice He wants is that of our unadorned hearts and the fire, His passionate, consuming love and the alter, His arms, what things would we speak?
Or, there might be a kind of silence that is more eloquent than any words.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
June 19th
I'm going to take this blog deeper and will attempt to talk more openly about things that really can't be contained or illustrated in words, so I will fail.
It's good knowing that from the outset. Also, trying to understand these things analytically probably won't work. Think of it as a form of poetry- only it's living or moving poetry.
I'll do this because first of all, He's asking me to and secondly, because sometimes we don't know what we're yearning for until we see it modeled somewhere else, which lets us know that it's possible to reach it- in our own way, on our own time line and in our own inner language.
It might be helpful- possibly or possibly not- for me to talk in somewhat practical terms on the outset. So if you wonder where or in what way I rest in the inner or spiritual life, the answer is, first of all, that I physically rest.
It's always taken me hours to fall asleep, so that is a good time to meditate- I guess I will use this word, though it's not quite the right word.
I have a lot of thoughts and emotions buzzing around my head and those thoughts pull me in again and again, as I go over the day and decisions and regrets and guilt and pleasures that the day contained.
At some point, however, I have to get beyond the tyranny of anxious thought patterns, so I begin to let go of these thoughts bit by bit. When they rise up, I'm tempted to think them through again- what I did, what I should have done, what I will do, but instead, I let them go.
It's almost like a way of dying- that thought wants to live! Thinking it through and planning and regretting feels productive! Surely if I go over it one more time, I'll finally figure it out and all will be right.
Instead, I let it go. Some amount of reflective thought is productive- repetitive, anxious thought patterns are not.
As I let it go, I remember Him and I begin to reflect on Him or on my longing, or on something I learned about Him.
I make myself aware of the weight and warmth of my own physical body as I rest in the bed and I remember that I am a part of the body of Christ. As closely and as naturally as I am knit into and wrapped up in my own body, I am knit into and wrapped up in God. I find that this is a deep, soothing meditation.
I make myself aware of my own breathing, how I am breathing the breath of God and how this breathing goes on, patiently and steadily, even when I am not aware. I do not have to make myself breathe; I breathe naturally, without effort. It's an effortless intimacy with God- I take His breath from His mouth and I give it back to Him.
Also, sometimes but not often, I repeat phrases to myself as another form of meditation. I will say, I'm falling into Love, and let myself do just that. More usually, I will say, Let myself be loved. In my experience, that's quite a beautiful phrase.
Lately, I've used something Jesus said- that when asking for something in prayer, believe that you have it and you will receive it. This has been, by far, the most powerful phrase in terms of opening myself up to His presence. I simply ask for Him and then accept that I have Him, all of Him, right then.
I can sometimes get caught up in intense longing for the full communion that is beyond the veil, without the glass dark as it were- no matter how clearly I see Him in the that inner space, I know that I am not seeing Him as He is, and I want to, very much.
However, this distracts me from the beauty of the present moment and all that it contains, so I try not to fall into that kind of longing too often. I'm with you now, He reminded me once, when I was caught up in thinking about the future.
Usually, by this time, His presence is already all around me and I simply open my heart up to where He is- within me, and I within Him. Usually, at first I am aware that I am breathing, but I'm in His arms and then my awareness opens up from that point.
This being with Him is a dynamic experience- that is, it's subject to change; it's organic. It's never the same way twice, so I let go of attempting control or the need to control and fall deeper into rest- I receive Him as He is coming to me, or I receive Him as He is receiving me- so it's like a dance between Him and I. It requires mutual space, trust and time.
This has gotten easier with time. At first, I was frequently overwhelmed and kept shutting down the experience. Now I'm much better at simply flowing with it, and I think consequently, I see much more clearly and am more expressive and at ease within it.
I spend as much time with Him as I can, until I begin to fall asleep and dream- which can be very disconcerting, because the dreams have a bizarre quality compared to the peaceful inner communion. At that point, I let myself fall into sleep.
Although there are layers of spiritual intimacy, there is no definite line between my "secular" or practical or outer life, and my "spiritual" or inner life. That is a false dichotomy, in my opinion and experience.
I am not cut off from Him while making Keith's breakfast or vacuuming or reading blogs or walking- I'm always aware of Him. It's just that, at night, I can rest much more deeply in Him and focus on Him.
It's very important to me that I never place an incorrect value on "inner spirituality" over practical acts of love and presence in my outer life. For example, it is much more important that I spend time with Keith than it is for me to withdraw and to be "spiritual." I think that would be, for me, a misleading and empty piety.
More than that, I think we are called to express and make manifest the heart of God toward each other, so we open our hearts to His love so that is flows through us toward other people. So withdrawing from the people in our lives, in order to be "spiritual," seems entirely backward.
Once, when Keith's mother was having some health problems, I lay in bed with my arm around a sleeping Keith, praying for him. At first, I prayed that Jesus should pour out His love and care on Keith and then I realized that Jesus is doing this all the time, so it seemed strange to ask for something that was already happening.
So, instead, I prayed that Keith should feel the love and care of Jesus and Jesus said to me: I do that through you. Through you, I demonstrate My love and care of Keith.
And I was all, my goodness! So true! Because we are the body of Christ- we are a part of His presence here and now, in the world, among the people He set us in.
This whole experience requires huge amounts of trust. I just keep handing myself back to Jesus- I keep acknowledging that He is present and that He is loving, faithful and true.
In that inner place, there is nowhere to hide. That is, in my practical life, I can distract myself from Him easily, if I wish. Being busy is a great place to hide.
This is not so in the inner place. There is complete transparency. The only place to hide at all is in denial and it's a not a very convincing denial- it's the equivalent of putting my hands over my face and saying- now You don't see me!
I would be unable to tolerate this level of transparency if He hadn't slowly, over time, proved to me, over and over again, that He saw me completely and was not ashamed of me and that I had nothing to hide and that what He wanted, above anything else, was my authentic self.
Learning this trust took the last two years and more. It was, at points, excruciating. It's so much easier, sometimes, to pretend that God does not completely see me, or that what He wants is my effort- some product, some sacrifice- something I can give Him- something other than me, exactly as I am, right here and now.
I'm still learning all these lessons, by the way. I fail all the time, but there's so much relief to understand that it doesn't matter- it's denial about failure that matters. It's pretending to be something or someone else.
As I've been reading the gospels over again, I can't help but notice how many times Jesus points out hypocrisy- play acting. It seems to frustrate Him very much. This has new meaning for me now, in light of how I have known Him to cherish authenticity and vulnerability.
He is safe- He is the safest Person and the safest place it is possible to imagine. Sometimes I think, if there is only one message I could leave behind, it would be that God is safe. His heart is an open door.
Thinking about all this reminds me of a song I've been really enjoying lately:
It's good knowing that from the outset. Also, trying to understand these things analytically probably won't work. Think of it as a form of poetry- only it's living or moving poetry.
I'll do this because first of all, He's asking me to and secondly, because sometimes we don't know what we're yearning for until we see it modeled somewhere else, which lets us know that it's possible to reach it- in our own way, on our own time line and in our own inner language.
It might be helpful- possibly or possibly not- for me to talk in somewhat practical terms on the outset. So if you wonder where or in what way I rest in the inner or spiritual life, the answer is, first of all, that I physically rest.
It's always taken me hours to fall asleep, so that is a good time to meditate- I guess I will use this word, though it's not quite the right word.
I have a lot of thoughts and emotions buzzing around my head and those thoughts pull me in again and again, as I go over the day and decisions and regrets and guilt and pleasures that the day contained.
At some point, however, I have to get beyond the tyranny of anxious thought patterns, so I begin to let go of these thoughts bit by bit. When they rise up, I'm tempted to think them through again- what I did, what I should have done, what I will do, but instead, I let them go.
It's almost like a way of dying- that thought wants to live! Thinking it through and planning and regretting feels productive! Surely if I go over it one more time, I'll finally figure it out and all will be right.
Instead, I let it go. Some amount of reflective thought is productive- repetitive, anxious thought patterns are not.
As I let it go, I remember Him and I begin to reflect on Him or on my longing, or on something I learned about Him.
I make myself aware of the weight and warmth of my own physical body as I rest in the bed and I remember that I am a part of the body of Christ. As closely and as naturally as I am knit into and wrapped up in my own body, I am knit into and wrapped up in God. I find that this is a deep, soothing meditation.
I make myself aware of my own breathing, how I am breathing the breath of God and how this breathing goes on, patiently and steadily, even when I am not aware. I do not have to make myself breathe; I breathe naturally, without effort. It's an effortless intimacy with God- I take His breath from His mouth and I give it back to Him.
Also, sometimes but not often, I repeat phrases to myself as another form of meditation. I will say, I'm falling into Love, and let myself do just that. More usually, I will say, Let myself be loved. In my experience, that's quite a beautiful phrase.
Lately, I've used something Jesus said- that when asking for something in prayer, believe that you have it and you will receive it. This has been, by far, the most powerful phrase in terms of opening myself up to His presence. I simply ask for Him and then accept that I have Him, all of Him, right then.
I can sometimes get caught up in intense longing for the full communion that is beyond the veil, without the glass dark as it were- no matter how clearly I see Him in the that inner space, I know that I am not seeing Him as He is, and I want to, very much.
However, this distracts me from the beauty of the present moment and all that it contains, so I try not to fall into that kind of longing too often. I'm with you now, He reminded me once, when I was caught up in thinking about the future.
Usually, by this time, His presence is already all around me and I simply open my heart up to where He is- within me, and I within Him. Usually, at first I am aware that I am breathing, but I'm in His arms and then my awareness opens up from that point.
This being with Him is a dynamic experience- that is, it's subject to change; it's organic. It's never the same way twice, so I let go of attempting control or the need to control and fall deeper into rest- I receive Him as He is coming to me, or I receive Him as He is receiving me- so it's like a dance between Him and I. It requires mutual space, trust and time.
This has gotten easier with time. At first, I was frequently overwhelmed and kept shutting down the experience. Now I'm much better at simply flowing with it, and I think consequently, I see much more clearly and am more expressive and at ease within it.
I spend as much time with Him as I can, until I begin to fall asleep and dream- which can be very disconcerting, because the dreams have a bizarre quality compared to the peaceful inner communion. At that point, I let myself fall into sleep.
Although there are layers of spiritual intimacy, there is no definite line between my "secular" or practical or outer life, and my "spiritual" or inner life. That is a false dichotomy, in my opinion and experience.
I am not cut off from Him while making Keith's breakfast or vacuuming or reading blogs or walking- I'm always aware of Him. It's just that, at night, I can rest much more deeply in Him and focus on Him.
It's very important to me that I never place an incorrect value on "inner spirituality" over practical acts of love and presence in my outer life. For example, it is much more important that I spend time with Keith than it is for me to withdraw and to be "spiritual." I think that would be, for me, a misleading and empty piety.
More than that, I think we are called to express and make manifest the heart of God toward each other, so we open our hearts to His love so that is flows through us toward other people. So withdrawing from the people in our lives, in order to be "spiritual," seems entirely backward.
Once, when Keith's mother was having some health problems, I lay in bed with my arm around a sleeping Keith, praying for him. At first, I prayed that Jesus should pour out His love and care on Keith and then I realized that Jesus is doing this all the time, so it seemed strange to ask for something that was already happening.
So, instead, I prayed that Keith should feel the love and care of Jesus and Jesus said to me: I do that through you. Through you, I demonstrate My love and care of Keith.
And I was all, my goodness! So true! Because we are the body of Christ- we are a part of His presence here and now, in the world, among the people He set us in.
This whole experience requires huge amounts of trust. I just keep handing myself back to Jesus- I keep acknowledging that He is present and that He is loving, faithful and true.
In that inner place, there is nowhere to hide. That is, in my practical life, I can distract myself from Him easily, if I wish. Being busy is a great place to hide.
This is not so in the inner place. There is complete transparency. The only place to hide at all is in denial and it's a not a very convincing denial- it's the equivalent of putting my hands over my face and saying- now You don't see me!
I would be unable to tolerate this level of transparency if He hadn't slowly, over time, proved to me, over and over again, that He saw me completely and was not ashamed of me and that I had nothing to hide and that what He wanted, above anything else, was my authentic self.
Learning this trust took the last two years and more. It was, at points, excruciating. It's so much easier, sometimes, to pretend that God does not completely see me, or that what He wants is my effort- some product, some sacrifice- something I can give Him- something other than me, exactly as I am, right here and now.
I'm still learning all these lessons, by the way. I fail all the time, but there's so much relief to understand that it doesn't matter- it's denial about failure that matters. It's pretending to be something or someone else.
As I've been reading the gospels over again, I can't help but notice how many times Jesus points out hypocrisy- play acting. It seems to frustrate Him very much. This has new meaning for me now, in light of how I have known Him to cherish authenticity and vulnerability.
He is safe- He is the safest Person and the safest place it is possible to imagine. Sometimes I think, if there is only one message I could leave behind, it would be that God is safe. His heart is an open door.
Thinking about all this reminds me of a song I've been really enjoying lately:
Monday, June 17, 2013
June 17th
Last night, when I dropped lightly into the inner place, I found that I was alone.
I stood on the stone floor of the front room, the air heavy with light, sparkling like dust motes in the sun. There are ferns hanging between the pillars now and rugs over the stone. The grass was thick and green.
I wandered through the rooms, listening to the silence. Outside, I walked under the terrace hung with grape vines. Plucking a grape, I popped it in my mouth and went through this leafy tunnel to the orchard. The orchard is shady and green and mossy.
There is a narrow back door that opens to the woods and two narrow paths winding away into the foliage. One I haven't taken yet, the other leads to a green lake hidden further into the woods.
Instead of taking these paths, I went along the outside of the orchard and to the back of the house, where there's a garden pond surrounded by rhododendron bushes. Water spills down stone steps from the back room and into the pond.
My route took me all the way back to the front room. Closing my eyes, I let the light soak into my skin and bones, and then I knew where He was.
I enjoyed being by myself and I knew, if I wished, that I could be by myself for as long as I wished. His invitation is always open, perfectly free and besides, He was the light and the air and the earth and the growing things.
I went to where He was; He stood at the outer edge of the round courtyard where the olive tree grows in the center, drenched in the sun- that place is always full of light. It was peaceful and quiet.
He took my hand and led me into the stone room, which was deep with blue shade and cool. I sat cross legged on the padded bench, enjoying the cool of the room.
You've been thinking, He said.
"Yes," I said, leaning forward.
Tell Me, He said encouragingly.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, what do I know about these things... But there was this line in that version that I was reading..."
What about that line?
"Well, where You say that no one will be married in heaven, but will be like the messengers in heaven... and they put in an explanatory note, that said something about in heaven, everyone will be doing nothing praising God... I thought that was a somewhat unfortunate way of putting it. I liked the Message's way of putting it better- that all their intimacies and ecstasies will be with God. If I read that heaven was nothing but continuous praise years ago, I would have immediately thought of one long praise service and not ever being able to sit down!
"If heaven is going to be described that way, at lease put in the entire catechism- that man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever. If they are going to bring up the praise, they should also include the enjoying, or it's lopsided. Especially in view of the loss of marriage, which is very important to our current ideas of happiness and satisfaction."
That's a difficult teaching, He said gently.
"Yes," I agreed. "Though it's explained more in letters later on. But in those letters, it's the practical instructions that seem to get all the attention and argued about."
Why do you think that is? He asked me.
I gave Him an exasperated, amused look. "Why are You asking me? You know perfectly well why."
He smiled. But tell Me what you think, He insisted.
I leaned back against the cool stone wall and tried to think about it. He settled back beside me. Through the open stone doorway I could see the sun drenched courtyard, crossed with shade from the pillars.
"Well, because the spiritual things can never be completely understood and mystery is uncomfortable- especially the mysteries of God. They require faith, and faith is much more difficult than clear instructions- faith is about something you don't know completely. Instructions on how to behave are more comfortable that open ended spiritual mysteries that talk about intimacy with God. Sometimes, in the short term, it feels more safe and more rewarding to stake a position on and to follow and to defend one's interpretation than it is to fall into the mystery of an intimate relationship with God."
He didn't say if I was right or wrong about any of this; He just seemed to enjoy talking with me about it. And it's not to say that practical application is not necessary. Jesus was practical so much of the time- He was often giving very specific, practical directions.
I sent this in a letter to my mom yesterday:
I'd been reading the gospels and also some commentary, and I was feeling overwhelmed by everything. We were sitting together in the room- He was eating something- I think they were cherries- and spitting the pits out on the ground.
At one point, I leaned over and looked at the floor- I was all, "Are You really spitting that on the ground?"
He smiled, with His dancing eyes and said, "Don't worry, the mice will eat them."
That was the first I heard of mice in our rooms!
Anyway. He suggested that maybe I shouldn't read the commentaries, that they were weighing me down. (I want to note, by the way, that this is not an absolute, general statement- simply that I might not want to read the ones that I was reading, because they were triggering my legalistic religious background. Commentaries can be very helpful.)
"Why?" I asked.
"They're written from a certain religious point of view," He explained.
"Is that so bad?" I asked.
"Religion did not play a large part in My life," He said- He said this tongue in cheek, by the way! "You need a living connection to Me, not a religious paradigm."
"But You sometimes sent people back to the temple to make the appropriate offering and You celebrated the feasts and whatnot," I said.
"I didn't come for a public revolution," He said. "And that age hadn't come to a close, so I worked within it. But I came to free people from religious bondage, not create a new one. You need a living, intimate connection with Me- to learn from being with Me, not from religious ideas about Me. Stay close to the Source."
(Later on, I thought of this verse: "You have an anointing. You received it from Him, and His anointing remains on you. You do not need any other teacher. But as His anointing instructs you in all the essentials (all the truth uncontaminated by darkness and lies), it teaches you this: “Remain connected to Him.” (I John 2:27, The Voice)
"Yes," I mused, still thinking about religious, "Like how it says, in whatever letter, that true religion is to care for the widows and orphans and to not get entangled in the systems of power, privilege and possessions of the world..."
"Yes! Which is exactly how I lived My life," He pointed out.
And I thought, my goodness, how true! That is exactly how Jesus lived His life- He had so much care for orphans and widows- for the least, the most vulnerable, the poor and He consistently refused power, possessions and privilege.
"Besides," He explains, "those gospels were written for a specific purpose in mind."
"That's true!" I said, catching on.
"What purpose?" He asked, His eyes twinkling. He is sometimes quizzing me like this- not for the purpose of getting the "right" answer, but so that I should think it through.
"Well... they were written by Your disciples for the early church- to prove that You were the Anointed, vindicated by God by Your resurrection..."
"Because...?" He asked.
"So they would believe Your message- Your gospel."
"What is the gospel?" He asked.
"That's such a good question!" I exclaimed. "Sometimes I wonder that, myself. I've heard it so many times that's like it has no meaning and now I'm not sure what it means."
He waited, while I thought about it. In fact, at some point, He put the fruit aside and pulled me onto His lap. I put my head on His shoulder and breathed in deeply of all that peace that suffuses Him.
"Your gospel is all tied up with this phrase, the kingdom of God. You're talking about that all the time. And the kingdom of God means that You are Lord, not Caesar- that we don't belong to the systems of the world anymore..."
"And that sins are forgiven," He reminded me.
"Yes! That's very important. That's what You said at the end- that they should preach the forgiveness of sins- which You were able to do before You even died- You forgave that paralytic man on the mat his sins... Forgiveness is already freely and fully given...
"...and we should repent," I continued, thinking about it, "which means simply changing one's mind- metanoia, leading to a changed life. But the changed mind comes first."
"A change of identity," He reminded me.
"Yes! So the gospel is the good news to help people change their thinking- their identity from slaves of law and sin to children of God, fully forgiven and included within the reign of God, which is lived out by generous acts of love, service, forgiveness... by giving one's life away in love, back to God and others."
"Yes," Jesus said. Then He went back to the gospel's impact on me. "They couldn't include all their experiences with Me in those gospels- they're condensed, focused, because they were written with such a single minded goal. But in their three years of being with Me, there were many, many moments of simply being with Me. So, when you read those gospels and feel overwhelmed, know that it's because of their focused message, not because I am, in Myself, an intense, exhausting Person- which you know perfectly well, from your own personal experience of Me," He pointed out, with His loving good humor.
Another time, we were walking down a grassy hill toward a valley and as we were walking along, I was talking to Him about the three temptations.
It seemed that they had to do with privilege. Essentially, the thought is, if you are the beloved of God, then you won't have to suffer lack, you won't ever get hurt because God will coddle you, and if you just bend a little- yield, bow down to the systems of this world, you will have prestige and power, wealth and position.
And each time, it seemed that Jesus said, in essence- No. That is not how it is and I reject that expectation.
It seemed to be important that He should draw these clear lines just after receiving the Spirit and just before beginning His ministry. He was defining what His life would be about- what the life of the beloved will be like.
"But instead..." I mused, trying to remember, "...one should live by every word of God...What does that mean? I don't know what that means but it seems very powerful... and that one should not relate to the Father as if He were only a high risk insurance policy? Is that what You meant? And that one should serve and worship God only... that I understand."
He swept me up into His arms; I felt His love burning all through Him. You're Mine, He whispered.
I stood on the stone floor of the front room, the air heavy with light, sparkling like dust motes in the sun. There are ferns hanging between the pillars now and rugs over the stone. The grass was thick and green.
I wandered through the rooms, listening to the silence. Outside, I walked under the terrace hung with grape vines. Plucking a grape, I popped it in my mouth and went through this leafy tunnel to the orchard. The orchard is shady and green and mossy.
There is a narrow back door that opens to the woods and two narrow paths winding away into the foliage. One I haven't taken yet, the other leads to a green lake hidden further into the woods.
Instead of taking these paths, I went along the outside of the orchard and to the back of the house, where there's a garden pond surrounded by rhododendron bushes. Water spills down stone steps from the back room and into the pond.
My route took me all the way back to the front room. Closing my eyes, I let the light soak into my skin and bones, and then I knew where He was.
I enjoyed being by myself and I knew, if I wished, that I could be by myself for as long as I wished. His invitation is always open, perfectly free and besides, He was the light and the air and the earth and the growing things.
I went to where He was; He stood at the outer edge of the round courtyard where the olive tree grows in the center, drenched in the sun- that place is always full of light. It was peaceful and quiet.
He took my hand and led me into the stone room, which was deep with blue shade and cool. I sat cross legged on the padded bench, enjoying the cool of the room.
You've been thinking, He said.
"Yes," I said, leaning forward.
Tell Me, He said encouragingly.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, what do I know about these things... But there was this line in that version that I was reading..."
What about that line?
"Well, where You say that no one will be married in heaven, but will be like the messengers in heaven... and they put in an explanatory note, that said something about in heaven, everyone will be doing nothing praising God... I thought that was a somewhat unfortunate way of putting it. I liked the Message's way of putting it better- that all their intimacies and ecstasies will be with God. If I read that heaven was nothing but continuous praise years ago, I would have immediately thought of one long praise service and not ever being able to sit down!
"If heaven is going to be described that way, at lease put in the entire catechism- that man's chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever. If they are going to bring up the praise, they should also include the enjoying, or it's lopsided. Especially in view of the loss of marriage, which is very important to our current ideas of happiness and satisfaction."
That's a difficult teaching, He said gently.
"Yes," I agreed. "Though it's explained more in letters later on. But in those letters, it's the practical instructions that seem to get all the attention and argued about."
Why do you think that is? He asked me.
I gave Him an exasperated, amused look. "Why are You asking me? You know perfectly well why."
He smiled. But tell Me what you think, He insisted.
I leaned back against the cool stone wall and tried to think about it. He settled back beside me. Through the open stone doorway I could see the sun drenched courtyard, crossed with shade from the pillars.
"Well, because the spiritual things can never be completely understood and mystery is uncomfortable- especially the mysteries of God. They require faith, and faith is much more difficult than clear instructions- faith is about something you don't know completely. Instructions on how to behave are more comfortable that open ended spiritual mysteries that talk about intimacy with God. Sometimes, in the short term, it feels more safe and more rewarding to stake a position on and to follow and to defend one's interpretation than it is to fall into the mystery of an intimate relationship with God."
He didn't say if I was right or wrong about any of this; He just seemed to enjoy talking with me about it. And it's not to say that practical application is not necessary. Jesus was practical so much of the time- He was often giving very specific, practical directions.
I sent this in a letter to my mom yesterday:
I'd been reading the gospels and also some commentary, and I was feeling overwhelmed by everything. We were sitting together in the room- He was eating something- I think they were cherries- and spitting the pits out on the ground.
At one point, I leaned over and looked at the floor- I was all, "Are You really spitting that on the ground?"
He smiled, with His dancing eyes and said, "Don't worry, the mice will eat them."
That was the first I heard of mice in our rooms!
Anyway. He suggested that maybe I shouldn't read the commentaries, that they were weighing me down. (I want to note, by the way, that this is not an absolute, general statement- simply that I might not want to read the ones that I was reading, because they were triggering my legalistic religious background. Commentaries can be very helpful.)
"Why?" I asked.
"They're written from a certain religious point of view," He explained.
"Is that so bad?" I asked.
"Religion did not play a large part in My life," He said- He said this tongue in cheek, by the way! "You need a living connection to Me, not a religious paradigm."
"But You sometimes sent people back to the temple to make the appropriate offering and You celebrated the feasts and whatnot," I said.
"I didn't come for a public revolution," He said. "And that age hadn't come to a close, so I worked within it. But I came to free people from religious bondage, not create a new one. You need a living, intimate connection with Me- to learn from being with Me, not from religious ideas about Me. Stay close to the Source."
(Later on, I thought of this verse: "You have an anointing. You received it from Him, and His anointing remains on you. You do not need any other teacher. But as His anointing instructs you in all the essentials (all the truth uncontaminated by darkness and lies), it teaches you this: “Remain connected to Him.” (I John 2:27, The Voice)
"Yes," I mused, still thinking about religious, "Like how it says, in whatever letter, that true religion is to care for the widows and orphans and to not get entangled in the systems of power, privilege and possessions of the world..."
"Yes! Which is exactly how I lived My life," He pointed out.
And I thought, my goodness, how true! That is exactly how Jesus lived His life- He had so much care for orphans and widows- for the least, the most vulnerable, the poor and He consistently refused power, possessions and privilege.
"Besides," He explains, "those gospels were written for a specific purpose in mind."
"That's true!" I said, catching on.
"What purpose?" He asked, His eyes twinkling. He is sometimes quizzing me like this- not for the purpose of getting the "right" answer, but so that I should think it through.
"Well... they were written by Your disciples for the early church- to prove that You were the Anointed, vindicated by God by Your resurrection..."
"Because...?" He asked.
"So they would believe Your message- Your gospel."
"What is the gospel?" He asked.
"That's such a good question!" I exclaimed. "Sometimes I wonder that, myself. I've heard it so many times that's like it has no meaning and now I'm not sure what it means."
He waited, while I thought about it. In fact, at some point, He put the fruit aside and pulled me onto His lap. I put my head on His shoulder and breathed in deeply of all that peace that suffuses Him.
"Your gospel is all tied up with this phrase, the kingdom of God. You're talking about that all the time. And the kingdom of God means that You are Lord, not Caesar- that we don't belong to the systems of the world anymore..."
"And that sins are forgiven," He reminded me.
"Yes! That's very important. That's what You said at the end- that they should preach the forgiveness of sins- which You were able to do before You even died- You forgave that paralytic man on the mat his sins... Forgiveness is already freely and fully given...
"...and we should repent," I continued, thinking about it, "which means simply changing one's mind- metanoia, leading to a changed life. But the changed mind comes first."
"A change of identity," He reminded me.
"Yes! So the gospel is the good news to help people change their thinking- their identity from slaves of law and sin to children of God, fully forgiven and included within the reign of God, which is lived out by generous acts of love, service, forgiveness... by giving one's life away in love, back to God and others."
"Yes," Jesus said. Then He went back to the gospel's impact on me. "They couldn't include all their experiences with Me in those gospels- they're condensed, focused, because they were written with such a single minded goal. But in their three years of being with Me, there were many, many moments of simply being with Me. So, when you read those gospels and feel overwhelmed, know that it's because of their focused message, not because I am, in Myself, an intense, exhausting Person- which you know perfectly well, from your own personal experience of Me," He pointed out, with His loving good humor.
Another time, we were walking down a grassy hill toward a valley and as we were walking along, I was talking to Him about the three temptations.
It seemed that they had to do with privilege. Essentially, the thought is, if you are the beloved of God, then you won't have to suffer lack, you won't ever get hurt because God will coddle you, and if you just bend a little- yield, bow down to the systems of this world, you will have prestige and power, wealth and position.
And each time, it seemed that Jesus said, in essence- No. That is not how it is and I reject that expectation.
It seemed to be important that He should draw these clear lines just after receiving the Spirit and just before beginning His ministry. He was defining what His life would be about- what the life of the beloved will be like.
"But instead..." I mused, trying to remember, "...one should live by every word of God...What does that mean? I don't know what that means but it seems very powerful... and that one should not relate to the Father as if He were only a high risk insurance policy? Is that what You meant? And that one should serve and worship God only... that I understand."
He swept me up into His arms; I felt His love burning all through Him. You're Mine, He whispered.
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