Reflections of Mercy: Psalm 23

"Surely Goodness and Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."  (Ps. 23)

Goodness and Mercy are literal things, like sunshine falling unexpectedly across the living room floor.  Like the brush of a kiss on a sleeping face.  Like silk wrapped around a sorrowing wound.  Goodness and Mercy, waters from God, rush in us, through us, around us.  Gathering droplets, Mercyfalls down like rain. It covers the morning earth, and we step onto the grass, leaving barefooted prints.  Fears, regrets and sorrows of sins grown old, wash from our skin. Their voices blend into a harmony, calling, softly, then loudly, like rolling foam beneath the falls, laughing, joyfully speaking, "Yes, my Dear, the water's clear and it's clean; take a plunge, and when you step away, let its Beauty flow from your soul."

The Lady rose - a young maiden regaled in gowns that now lay aside upon the bank of  dense laurel.  She stood in silence.  Her head bare and hair unfurled, with dark, bright eyes she looked deeply into an azure sky. Translucent silk falling, cascading around her shoulders, down to her knees, swayed softly against the water's surface.  She stepped further, carefully into the fresh natural pool, until her waist grew dim.  The pale gown rippled gently, swirling downward with the tension of a sequenced bodice, jewels glittering in the morning light.  She stirred slightly and then dipped beneath the dark water's surface; upon her rising, the water broke apart, rushing-baptizing, and returning into the emerald calm.  She stood calmly, watching once more.  Turning a hidden face toward the earthen jar upon the bank, she waded back, and kneeling, she lifted and dipped it into the pool, raised it over her head and let fall the spring-tide stream upon her lightly clothed skin. Silence enshrouded her bathing ritual and hung upon the morning air like honeysuckle.  She preferred the stillness of early morning, the mists rising from the hidden pools of the forest.  The seclusion of the hemlocks and the wildness of delicate blossoms and tender ferns drew her there repeatedly.

Malformed?

"But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, “Why have you made me like this?" (Romans 9:20)

I have been thinking this week about sin and its function in our lives; of how sin creates malformations within our souls.  Yes, we know the scripture which aptly tells us what sin does to us - it slays us.  So, I guess we could agree that Death is Sin's ultimate malformation? 

If I have read the biblical narrative correctly, the spiritual death of humanity occurred summarily, instantly, leaving the body with no other recourse; the Tree of Life banned, and for good reason, for then we would have become the eternally-perpetually living dead.

Why is this so significant?  Our spirits deadened to what once beat as a holy rhythm within our breasts long-long ago in Eden, are we shocked by the decay of our souls? 

Is it not the great denial of the human condition?  Are we not striving against it continually? As the wear and tear shows up visibly in our bodies, we join the great sea-wave of humanity's relentless push to have slimmer bodies, younger faces, and strive to arrange our worlds to achieve long, satisfied lives. (Whatever that means.) Some of us put off the inevitable as long as possible, though, sometimes, we give up and in resignation plod out the remainder of our days, wondering if we were ever meant to dream at all, or meant to feel beauty or if we are just plain silly.  School girl stuff, really.  Let it rest, after all, we're grown now.

And our souls pant in the desert.  The river, dry in drought, the loveliness of a beautiful creation faded, choked by untimely death - leaves deep fissures in the landscape.  And the sun sets while shadows fill up the emptiness.

I am wondering how such malformations induce us to behave toward one another.

I have lived and loved long enough to know what occurs when we fail to delight first in God (as did Eve), allowing His divine order to invade our disordered lives.  And this is what I have beheld:  As a matter of course, we hurt one another. 

It makes me physically feel ill when contemplating it.  It cuts so close to the core of sorrow of a disordered world - and life.  But it's simply what occurs when we, a people whose very souls and beings were created for worship of a good and holy God walk in the death and decay of a fallen inheritance.  When we fail to be the people we were created to be, in the first place.

He knows this about us - oh, how he knows and how he loves us.  We were not meant to live disordered lives; the sort that ignores "no other Gods before me" and flaunts every blessing as if it were something it were not (i.e., the thing itself we most desire - who is God).  And, so, we cause more harm still.  In contrast, to it all, He - Jesus Christ, the eternal, magnificent One, redeems and he restores.

Have we beheld him closely? Can we?

A few years ago I read a wonderful book by Stasi Eldredge of Ransomed Heart Ministries in which she talks about beauty -- a beauty restored.  I've discovered that in our heart of hearts, where silent desires dwell and thoughts and feelings go for refuge, there dwells a fountain.  It's there where the Savior meets us - at the well.  Have you gone there lately?  If you have, then you will know that redemption and restoration (in our disordered souls and among our relationships) still flows through the wastelands, by grace, imbued deeply with the throbbing pulses of life. 

A Beauty restored.

I saw an old man the other day sitting upon a sagging porch, on his rocker, moving it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  Barely audible, as I passed by intrigued by him, he murmured as if to himself this musing:
"I sho cain't remember regretting never sinnin', but Lawdy, yes, Lawdy, I sho do regret a'plenty o'time for doin' so. It be what I regret in de ol' age of my life - my sinnin' be a scribblin' over de Image, over de souls de good Lawd done give us.  Uh huh, de good Lawd done give us. Mmhm."
And so, he said no more, only rocked in silence.

Lack, Want, or Fulfillment?

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
I've been hanging here the past week.
Been coming here like a sheep, looking for something.
Guess, if I follow the analogy through, I must be looking for grass.
Actually, what really happened was I slowed down long enough to pray, "Lord, where should I be reading in the scriptures?"
Psalm 23:1 came immediately into my thoughts.
Okay.  So, here I am.
The cool thing about meditating on a single verse, especially one that introduces an entire passage, is on one hand, it sets the scene or piques curiosity for what follows, but, better still, it positions our souls for contemplation - for attentively perceiving a thing - and for being altered, or changed, in some essential, truth-filled way.  So, I'm hanging here with the idea of "Lord," "my," "shepherd," and "want" that's been met.

Here's what's been seeping into my thoughts this week:
The language itself, the imagery, its metaphor takes time to unfold, but I see that it was written purposefully in the present tense.  "The Lord is ... "
We're talking real time, as in present reality.
And, then, pausing to contemplate "Lord," who he is, his nature - everything about him, and, in particular, that antecedent, shepherd.  
Oh, Shepherd - carefully, faithfully tending, guarding, leading, rescuing - never abandoning his sheep.  Me, little lamb.  (baa)
Yes, Baaaaaa. ;)
It's the nature of sheep to bleat.  Sometimes it's all too comical, sometimes it sounds all too tragic, but what amazing thing ought we really see?  It is this:  A unique relationship exists between shepherd (Lord) and sheep (his own children).  It implies a particular rest, an attachment, a trust and an obedience.  It implies a living, breathing exchange between the keeper and the kept.
And in the midst of that relationship, in the midst of the leading and the following, something astounding occurs:  the lack of want.  
You know, we could take a stoic view here, or a gnostic view, and determine that the wanting (or need) is no friendly aspect and should be barred entrance to the transcendent life - valued only when negated. But I dare say that sheep need literal green grass, and fresh waters and literal protection and guardianship, and, sometimes, even rescuing.  And the shepherd comes through - every time.
It's in the relationship that he does this. It's in the interacting, and it's all about his faithful watch, his pursuit.  
I've been a naughty sheep.  But I've been rescued, once and for good, and, sometimes, time and time again.
My Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
God, keep me today - everyday, as your own.  Amen.

Whispered Remembrances

I was whisked away into an old valley with foothills and secrets last weekend.   Leaf-laden with golden hues, the mountains spoke calm and silence.  No wonder Thomas Jefferson preferred them as his personal retreat.

My husband took me there to remember, to pause, and to give thanks with celebration for our past 18 years as husband and wife.  To be cared for by his thoughtful planning is like hearing a whisper from heaven.  You are loved - enjoy.

 We combined a few favorite things - the actors and architecture of eras past, and books, and we kept everything else low-key and simple, not fussing over elaborate meals, just whatever struck our fancy each time hunger crept into our plans.  We opted for take-out Chinese one night and returned to our room, after a satisfying day of browsing and looking, dreaming.

During our perusal of 100,000 books tucked away in the Shenandoah Valley, I happened across a favorite author and an unfamiliar work: Walking With God by John Eldredge (http://www.walkingwithgod.net/).  Its premise is just the thing that I needed, its encouragement (as remembrance), timely, only I did not realize this until we got home and I opened it to read.  It, too, felt like a whisper from above - I see you; walk with me  - and all that such an invitation brings lit my soul, illuminating something forgotten amid busyness.  God is present, and you are joined to Him. Such is the reality of a life lived in Christ Jesus, such is the blessing, this inheritance, in all of its wild and alarming qualities, if only we dare to draw near, bold and fearless.

That, too, is your inheritance.  Yes. 

If you get the chance, visit John Eldredge's site, and skip over to Ransomed Heart, as well.

P.S.  I will attempt to post an article weekly here at Iridesce.

Eating Candy and the Elven Willow

From a distance, the willow tree looked asleep.  A warm breeze brushed against my skin as I stood upon the hillside overlooking the farmhouse and its sentinel.  Standing twice the height of the old house, it moved not a twig; perceptible to my eyes, at least.  Of its age, I have wondered, yet I know the tree has stood likely just a fraction of the time of its house and the barn.  Of a younger generation, no doubt, still it slept like an old Giant.  Its legs and arms, hung long and limp.  Its leaves folded and sagged like a dress upon some great,  elven lady.

 But why did its personage grab my attention?  Perhaps its size - monumental in the retired farm yard.  Perhaps its unexpected stillness against a breeze.

I wonder, only to recall earlier today the sense that I had of becoming like a restless toddler.  You know the one: he has over-exerted himself as a bundle of energy all day long, and, now, he desperately needs to be silent in his parent's arms, but willfully wrestles against his physical need.  Finally, exhausted, he gives into sleep. That was the "thing" needed, after all.  And I am that child, most days.  I cannot say that sleep was the "thing" I have most needed (although, sometimes it is that simple), but a rest and a satisfaction that comes, and only can come, rather, when one's will is trained to abide within beauty and truth; and to love, and to wisely choose those deeply right, good things of life.  It has taken some time, but I have found those things to be ones directly related to eternity - to Christ.  Is that not from where beauty and truth spring?  

You know, there is something about goodness and beauty, no matter how far your choices or sin have removed you from their touch, which draw you back like a hungry boy to his grandmother's warm buttermilk biscuits and fresh, iced milk.  Or a moth to light-filled windowpanes. Or a woman to her knees before her God who loves far better than she once had allowed herself to hope.

A loving parent does not allow his child to eat all the candy at one sitting, you see, and he even asks his child to eat his "good food" before the desserts.  He does not forbid desserts, generally, but does things orderly and with kind intent.  Why is this?  Is it to be mean or a tease?  Of course not.  Is it not to train their tastes to love that which is good food?  But there is so much in my life, surrounding me daily that I can choose, and like an immature child, untrained and undisciplined in my desires, I fool myself every time, nearly.  Except for God's grace, it's that way.  

The remedy? That I turn to God, once more, and, like a dear friend has told me, "Just show up."  It makes all the difference when its just you and God, the dependent asking the Sovereign to train his own will to love the good, the best.  (The old hymn said it imperatively: Trust and obey, for there's no other way ... ."  How it's true, but I see my heart trips along rather disagreeably, thus, back to the issue of dependence I go, and its remedy.)

So what does the great Elven Lady have to do with any of this?  She struck a pose, of rumpled dress and repose, a friend who rose before me.  A bit of nature helping me to think through these things, perhaps?   I hope you could see her, and I hope you can envision a child resting peacefully as he ought in a setting that allows such peace, upon the breast of a parent who knows well what is needed; and I hope you can find yourself being cared and tended to by a loving God who trains not only as the psalmist said, "my hands for war," but our souls for beauty and rest.

Taking It Easy

This week has been one long, continuous blur, until today.  Today it seemed like everyone just melted into their routines with slack ambition - just enough to get through the essentials, and, then, like rivulets running downhill after a deluge ends, we created little tracks that ran into our own refreshing pools of play and thought.  I felt a bit guilty for it, but I think it is a false impression that rises from sudden breaks in activity.  Anyway, it's what we did - we played!  And rested.  And tonight we attended the Parent-Teen ministry at our church.  I had not really wanted to go anywhere, but experience has taught me that just showing up at church can alter my perspective and renew my soul in ways that other activities cannot do.  It has something to do with God's Word, it's clear instruction.  From it I drink like the porous sand sucking in the ocean.  Even just a few verses flowing like cold water into my being, and I am made well:

"The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul;
"The testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple.
"The precepts of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart;
"The commandment of the Lord is pure; enllightening the eyes.
"The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever;
"The judgments of the Lord are true; they are righteous altogether."  (Psalm 19:7-9)