At Home or Not

He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, 
who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.

So we are always of good courage ... So whether 

we are at home or away, 

we make it our aim to please him. 

2 Corinthians 5

 Disillusioned?

Oh, sorrow: It tastes bitter.

Pours down like hail - some days.

"Vanity, all is vanity."

So said the wisest man ever.  An empty chasing after wind, this thing called life; so in despondency, on really bad days, it can feel like there's not a whole lot of living worth doing. 

(Oh, but maybe it's in the chasing after that things go awry.  After all, we construct our lives carefully, planning, choosing, building around a certain paradigm of importance - even paradigms of important goodness.)

You know the routine (or on groggy days, the grind).  Wake up, dress, toss the laundry into the machine, grab a coffee (toast if you're lucky), out the door with a cell-phone in one hand, and a toddler on a hip.  Buckle him into his car seat.  You look back in the rear-view mirror and the toddler's growing peach fuzz on his upper lip.  His voice has changed, too. Yep, he's morphing as you're driving down the road.

Soon, he's driving.  And you're in the rear-view mirror.  Waving.  Goodbye.  

I wonder how long it took Solomon to get there?  To realize it?  To make such a profound sorrowing statement?  More importantly, I wonder if he ever recovered from the shock? 

Surely, he had to have been intoxicated for a long time.  On women.  Fame.  Fortune.

Oh, wait.  That's not your life.

On diapers, soccer games, pizza, family vacations, root beer floats, chores, birthdays, good friends, love-making with a husband, long chats and meandering talks.  

I must be strange.

I love all those things.

But, they're not enough.

Inside

I

am the Sahara.

Looking for the oasis.

And it's nowhere in view.

At least not externally.

I do well to remember it.  

No, the oasis springs up from inside, from a secret, quiet place where One dwells with me, constantly, as His child.  So, if I am the Sahara inside at this point of my life, if everything is scorched and baked by the heat of day and chilled by the cool of night, I've not been dwelling there, in that secret place. 

Do you ever feel like that?  Do you ever take time to feel it?

The longer I live, the more respect I gain for the old - who have learned to live well. 

It takes courage.

To.

Live.

 Well.  Old.  A certain knowing, a confidence in grace and truth and beauty and love.  

To embrace bodies falling apart.  Or children who bear grandchildren who come when they can, if not at all.

Oh, what brings meaning to your life?

Significance.  Relevance.

For I know that I am given these things (in my head, yes, I know).

But some days are shifting underfoot like sand dunes caught in a hurricane. 

On those days, I can't see my hands.  Or feet.  (No, I'm not pregnant.)

I may feel irrelevant, yet I know that to stay engaged is eternally right.

To breathe is holy.

(Oh, my, yes - een when you're not sure why you're breathing - breathe!)

It brings the God who made you (much) glory.

To love.
To hope.
To cherish.

To embrace.

Maybe I am meant only to live this day in order to hold someone who needs holding.

Maybe I am meant only to live this day in order to smile for someone who needs cheering.

Maybe I am meant only to breathe one more breath in order to type this sentence ...

Yes, maybe.

Tomorrow will come.  And I will hold that someone, and I will smile, too, and I will breathe one more time.

Amen. 

(Here is the rest of the story in 2 Corinthians 5:1-10 ...)

For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.

So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil.

Do You Ever Wonder?

Do you ever wonder
why the soles of your feet
blister
before the day is done?

Or why your soul
yet thirsts
when the wine
runs
dry?

Or why a dark sky
feels foreboding
when the
sun
is
high?


Do you ever wonder
why we
fill
up
with amusements
when they're
done?

Do you ever wonder why?
 

Diamonds in the Mud

Last week I had spent a few hours over a couple of days talking with a "for life and grace" friend.  She is the sort of friend who has over the years listened to my thoughts (like confetti scattered and blown across the landscape of past and present) and says to my confusion, “Here, it’s like this.”  And, so, a picture begins to emerge, a pattern amidst the mess and rubble, and what we behold is a pattern that looks like Grace and the presence of the Father – who has become my Lord; who is my Shepherd.  

She had called the previous weekend to chat (it had been a while), and she realized as we shared back and forth that it would be helpful to walk with me through the materials of her seminar talk recently given to a group of university women, wives of spiritual leaders; and so we talked through a piece of it one afternoon and then again later, a bit more.  We have one more portion to discuss.   The topic of the seminar was the process of transformation in a Christian's life – how it happens.  (That is, how we walk out the deep and beautiful truths of being "in Christ" in literal experience; how to identify “old life” experiences that wrongly have informed our life before coming to Jesus Christ and being made new in "all things.")  It's about how we are renewed in the spirit of our minds now as God’s dear children - how we are being continually transformed into LIFE.  

Or not.  In other words, it's not a passive, static life; not for the faint-of-heart.  There are choices to be made and Truth to be embodied.

Of this Life:  Think, abundance of grace, the never-runs-dry variety.  Significance, no matter your place in life.  Security, like the love and acceptance that so often eludes relationships in a fallen, messy world.  Yes, all the stuff we seek in this world of impermanence – it is that life, oh my, yes!!  Haha :)  It does exist!

It helps to write it out.   But, it’s much better to live it, walk it out, to breathe it – to stay with the Father.   She said something recently that has been sticking to me like a burr – only a good burr.  How the Word of God is filled with the Spirit of God.  Literally, God’s Spirit inhabits His Word, and He transforms us as we yield ourselves to it, by obeying.    And as we do, we begin to incarnate His very life, indwelling us - hands and feet doing Life.  Jesus’ blood washes us clean, His word cleanses us (John 15), and the more we soak in His presence and bathe in it (through contemplation, choice and obedience), the more it fills our pores, splashing over into newness - into life-giving joy.  (Oh, the power of His Spirit.) 

Parakletos.  It’s the Greek word for the Holy Spirit and it defines His role in our lives.  He is “helper,” “advocate,” “intercessor,” not to mention one who is "succourer."   He is Spirit, yes, but He functions like the physical presence of Jesus to the disciples – only better, because He is not limited by His humanity – as Jesus bore.  It is why Jesus told the disciples it was better for them that He go away so the Comforter could come to them.  And, so, now in the Spirit, Christ dwells in us, unhindered by flesh and bones, and we walk in Him, and not in our flesh ... not dominated by sin.

"I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."  (Galatians 2:20)

So, like an old pair of clothes, we put off those old patterns - thoughts and beliefs and sentiments and sins - that we adorned ourselves with in our old man; having learned, as my friend said, by less-than-helpful experiences and trained by sin; but now - now we embrace the life He meant for us all along.

Redeemed.  Yes.  That is the word. It is what is most real of the Jesus follower.

Over time, as we "experience" renewal by walking in such grace and Truth, we may even begin to comprehend that (YES!) this IS the life we were made to live.  :)

Oh, to God’s glory and our joy – and it’s the holiest of things, to live like this.  It's filled with beauty.  I mean, how can LOVE, JOY, PEACE, PATIENCE, GENTLENESS, KINDNESS, and SELF-Control NOT be beautiful?  I mean, seriously.  They shine like diamonds upon the mud of life. 

I want to BE a diamond.  I want to BE what He has made me to be as a woman, a wife, a mother, a friend, daughter -- a human being.  Made in His image.  Filled with His glory, emanating.  I can't imagine that anything in life can be more exquisite than just this thing.  

Like diamonds in mud, we begin to reflect Life and Light, prisms of grace, pouring life-sustaining truth and comfort and healing out to those near us.  And like a bubbling fountain inside of us, His life overflows, splashing others nearby.  Quenching their thirst; and they come back for more, desiring.   Until He makes His home in them, as well; and so from the fountain grows a Vine and its branches.  Rooted and built up in Christ, we are.  

Overflowing like a river its banks in spring.  And we are new. 

Friends & Loved Ones

Sometimes, I need to trust God with a friend.
Sometimes, I need to trust God for a friend.

Sometimes, I need to trust God with a loved one.
Sometimes, I need to trust God for a loved one.

But, always, I need to trust.

When I fail to trust like this (always)
I will risk harm - harming them,
Clouding their view of God, obscuring
His presence.

The Lord is near. 

(Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of hosts.  The whole earth is filled with His glory.)

A Paper Beach and Penny Candy

A morning mist casts its translucent sheet and it hovers lazily, teasing the rising of a jubilant, summer sun.  The fireball laughs and blazes through the haze.  Its luminance shines through and hurts my eyes to gaze toward it.   Hills and trees and meadows are baptized in light and droplets as they awaken from their slumber, and a song is cast across my world.  The green field-grass lies like a blanket drenched in the awakening of this dawn.  Inside, next to my elbow rests a stack of books for the upcoming school year, and my world suddenly becomes too cramped or crowded.  Dug Down Deep, Growing Up Christian, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Whatever Happened to Penny Candy? sit upon the desk. (By the way, yes, whatever did happen to it!? I still remember going to my grandparent's small country store as a child and sliding the glass door open on the candy case, carefully holding the small brown paper sack, and counting the coins in my hand a second or third time to be sure I had enough money to buy fireballs, tootsie rolls, sugar daddies on sticks, or single-wrapped bubble gum or pixie sticks filled with pure colored sugar.  And then there were the wax sticks filled with pink, blue or green liquid sugar.  Oh, sweet heaven!)  To a kid.  But I'm no longer that kid.  I am a woman.  With stacks of books.  I am many things - but of late, crafting a learning experience for our children has become my wine and bread - oh, this life!  My mind is laden with schedules, menus, how to keep the house clean another year while we do school and live in it continually.  Yes, ours is a busy house and this is our work.  My head does the metaphoric spin until I am intoxicated by the motion.  Drunk and delirious.  On the side of the refrigerator, a magnetic pad of paper did hang.  It's down to one last scrap, the bottom half torn off for who remembers what purpose - a note for something most likely.  What remains of the paper beach shows the tops of palm trees ensconcing a blue background and across the top it reads, "Life's a Beach."  At least half a beach, if I look at it now.  It's a bit skimpy.  But I keep it still, for, Oh, even in the midst of this life where the hills are drenched in misty balm and books pile around me like a barn stacked with square bales, I'm always dreaming.  Yes, the stacks of books and laundry are ever-present, and I realize how small a woman I am to sit here in its midst and to dream; oh, how frail I am to make any of it happen - let alone to happen well.  Especially when the work load itself casts a veil translucent, hard to see through, and makes me feel alone.  But, a friend is sent and draws up near to my own ladened faith, and, so, with literal presence and sometimes words she reminds me what is most real: "Never alone," she says.  The words hug me, hover over me and baptize me.  The scrap of paper beach has an endearment scribbled on it (a bit hastily one day), and it reminds me, too: "It is okay to be frail because God clothes us with His power.  It is okay to need Love, because He loves us."

(Amen)

Holy to be frail, holy to be clothed, holy to be loved.

Holy is our God.   



(I want to give credit where it is due. I think the endearment came from a talk given by one of the good folks over at The Circe Institute. If you are an educator, you will be most glad for having clicked the link to the right of this column and visited their website.) 

As Promised - Part 2

Psalm 23 - reflections

Okay, so here's a little more.  (If you missed Part 1 - please scroll down one post)

He anoints my head with oil.  

May we begin with a confession of sorts? I am only a student of theology in the sense that the Lord has rescued me (literally), and I love to learn about Him and His ways, who he is - in all the ways he, with care and intention, reveals himself to us, primarily in the Bible and secondarily in the physical world and its beauty and order - not in an academic sense with earned degrees from formal study.  I am removed, too, thousands of years from the imagery of ancient Israel where oil and heads at one time meant something hugely significant, only today they seem odd.

But there's a thing here to be grasped.

A Shepherd's Look at Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller helps with this.  He explains how a Shepherd during fly season cares for the vulnerability of his sheep's heads by covering it with a special oil or grease.

Oil or grease, I'm sorry, they just sound really gross.  Like, I would get really upset if someone smeared or poured it over my head.  Seriously, gross.  But pause a moment (sil vous plait).  Just imagine the tender caring. The application of the Shepherd's hands carefully covering the ewes' and rams' and lambs' heads.  I am reminded of the significance of oil in biblical times, how it represented God's presence and his own anointing upon kings or priests.  You see, even the kings needed such anointing.  What were they but mere men otherwise?  Unable and unfit to serve the holiness of a holy God, or to lead his own people.

Yes, David, Israel's king and the one who inscribed these beautiful words of Psalm 23, understood the relationship between the Lord and the oil upon his own head.  Are not these words of tender caring and provision beautiful to us because they speak of something we need?  Yes.  We need greased heads, protection and anointing - His presence upon us where we are most vulnerable.

My cup runs over.  


What more can be said?

Except this:  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. 

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

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, Mercy falls 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."  (from Reflections of Mercy: Psalm 23 - posted June 5, 2012)

I want to back up a wee bit in this beautiful Psalm as we draw our visit here to a close.  It is to here that we go:

He restores my soul. 

 Amen. Not just any amen but the sort of amen that rolls deep like Bach's suite no. 1 for cello through a canyon at sunrise.  Yes, He restores my soul.  Amen.

And here:

He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. 

Can we be okay with this?  I mean, really okay?

Paths.
of.
Righteousness.

Do we have any idea what this means?  I'm not sure that I do, not totally, but is it possible to assume that it's a place where our feet walk and our lungs breathe in right things?  Can we assume it's a really, really good place to be walking?

Have you ever gone walking on a path and experienced so much joy in the walking?  An eagle suddenly lifts from the tree tops overhead, wings spread as he glides across the lake.  An otter slides off the embankment and dips into the cool water as the sun slides behind shadowed mountains.   And you take a breath and notice the crisp air slip into your own lungs - and you realize you're on the perfect path.

But sometimes, well, often if you are me, the experience goes more akin to this:

"Uh oh, there goes little lamb off into the bush country again.  Aw, look at her go, how cute, oops, stuck in the briars."

Here comes the Shepherd.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.

And this:

Be not like a horse or a mule, without understanding, which must be curbed with bit and bridle,
or it will not stay near you.   (Psalm 32)

And so the Shepherd lovingly calls her back - or rescues her if needed.   

You see, upon these paths of righteousness, no briars harm lamb-soul.  Not on such paths.  Not if she's fixing her attention on the Shepherd.  Yes, lamb-soul may run into troubles and walk through dark valleys, but never alone.  And the darkness cannot harm her, not really. Not when her response is to the Shepherd, not to the bewildering of her senses as she walks through darkness.  

Remember the table? Yes. Literal table, friend.  If you are like me (human), you often fail to realize that in the middle of dark valleys His presence remains constant.  It's dark.   You cannot see him.  But, if you pause and be still, can you hear him?  Have you known his presence?  Maybe through a friend.  Maybe through a nurse or a doctor.  Or a policeman.  Or a judge who works justice.  But, it's a ministry of the Shepherd on our behalf.  Or maybe all those human hands and feet of mercy have scattered, and so you are still walking a lonely path.  Then reach out for His hand.  In the dark.  I promise you, he's near.  Enough.  To touch.

Have you noticed?  It's okay, all it takes is a whispered prayer.  "Lord, help me."  It is his presence that he first brings to your situation.  Isn't that kind?  After all, it's the thing we most need.  We need Him.  More than we need something fixed or altered.  Yes, we need Him.  

One last thought.

For His name's sake.  

I'm not sure what the terrain under your foot is at present, how rocky or how unfamiliar.

But I'm hearing an echo in my own memory that reels back at the phrase: For His name's sake.  Maybe YOU are a saint and totally get that as a good thing, or maybe you feel something like this, a twang of embitterment.  Or maybe a pool of it is where you are swimming.  It sometimes will sound like this:  "But you don't know what it's like to be ripped apart from your family."  And, "You don't know what it's like to be betrayed."  Or, "I've suffered from disease for 10 years, and I'm done, can't handle more."  Or, something more grievous than words can express, "I've lost my son to a dumb war and politicians."

The Shepherd weeps for you, with you.  But here's the thing:  For his name's sake. 

"How egotistical of this Shepherd."  No friend.

We bear His name.

We do so if we are following Him and identifying with Him through faith in Christ Jesus.  So, yes, for His name's sake. It's for beauty's sake, it's how He loves.  And it's why he dare not let us alone in our sin or with our sorrow, and why we are led daily in paths of righteousness.

It's also why he prepares that table before us in the presence of our enemies.  And it's why we must pause in our journeys.  For his name's sake.  We are part of that name - as heirs adopted, because of Christ Jesus. 

Turn to the table with your sorrow.  And see the Shepherd spreading it.  It's for you, from His hands. And ask, see what He would have you do with the things you carry silently.  And partake of His care. It is a costly care pierced through and through with particular love.

We bear His name.

(Bowing. Amen.)

Thank you for joining me.

And for your enjoyment:  Bach Suite no. 1 in G for Cello

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=wk8QNzkzwYg

Of tables, enemies and oil - Part 1

Psalm 23 - more reflections 

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.  You anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over."

Oh, can you see the lamb-soul who walks through the valley of the shadow of death, and fears no evil?  'Shepherd' guides this one through the valley of deep darkness.

Have you been there? Does your valley fall beneath shadows?  Or can you remember how bewildering to feel or perceive a devastating isolation?

"I will fear no evil, for You are with me."  Oh, literal presence.  Oh, Savior-Shepherd nearest to me. Amen.

Oh, but there is more, yes, keep reading.

You prepare a table before me.  In the presence of my enemies.  

Just imagine for a moment, friends, with me.  If you are the lamb-soul of the Lord's own keeping, and you are surrounded by opposition, where does the Shepherd wish to draw your attention?  Is it to the hoards of things mounting or pressing against you?  Is it to the opposition?  No.  None of these.

Pause for just a moment and let your eye find the Shepherd.  Do you see him?  Where is he and what is he doing - we've all wondered this at one time or another.  But the psalmist knew.  The Shepherd's at the table.  What is He doing?

Ah, yes, preparing.  A table.

Now, why is it here? Does he mean for you to draw near to it or does he mean merely to tease you?  If he's working on this 'table,' then it means you both have stopped for a time in your journey.  And, yes, there a crowd gathering nearby, and it's an unkind-unfriendly and threatening one.  Doesn't he notice? Doesn't he care? But still, you are stopped.  And he's preparing.

Now here's where knowing the Shepherd makes all the difference in the world.  I mean really knowing Him.  The sort of knowing that is rooted not just in declarative statements and facts, but the sort of knowing that remembers all the streams and still waters, all the rescuing he's done with his "rod and staff" that comfort.  It means relying on a very particular sort of Shepherd who cares for you in a very particular sort of way.  And you know it.  (Or maybe not.  Maybe you do not know the Shepherd. Yet.)

Just for a moment, let's think of the 'unfriendlies' who are lurking, watching.  Of Enemies -  two things here: One, our enemy is identified in Ephesians and Corinthians, and it is not as we may assume.  It is not "flesh and blood" but "principalities and powers in high places"; and, Two, and this is so very cool, the fact of the TABLE spread before you in the presence of pending harm assumes the Shepherd is guarding, watching over you in such a way that offers protection.  And you know this - that He is capable of doing so because he is no human shepherd with human limitations.  Otherwise, how could we ever eat and grow strong and be made well?  Is that not the point of the table?

Even in the presence of enemies.

Can you see its contents?  Or are you seeing only the hoards (yet)?  Is it not a feast, spread out; spacious, gracious, lavish with every good thing we need?  What do you see?

It's okay, friend - really it is - to turn for a moment, from observing the hoards. It's okay to turn from those unkind words or betrayals.  (Like, when we are handed betrayals, what are we to do with them?  What CAN we do with them, really?  So, somebody betrayed us, and it hurts for real - deeply.  And we find ourselves in the shadows.  Or we've lost someone dear or something precious and now we are alone.  What can be done, really?)

Yes, turn to the Shepherd. He has something for you.  He does.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of ... . 

Where are you standing in proximity to it?  Come nearer, look closer.  What does the Shepherd prepare and place before you "in the presence of your enemies"?  Is He a kind Shepherd or not?  Maybe he's going to clip your wool, but that's embarrassing, don't think he'll do that before a rogue audience, now do you? Even if we do deserve it.  (Well, yea, Jesus got "clipped" before a hostile group.  But that was for love, for you and for me.  And, yea, the Shepherd will single out sheep for their clipping, but it's always with careful-loving-tender hands.  It's not for harm.  Or to humiliate.  Jesus bore our humiliation. In full.  So, there must be something more the Lord as Shepherd is about doing if it's not for harm or to humiliate, don't you think?  So, like, love is kind and patient, and inviting.  We do dumb things to ourselves, granted, but that's different.)

Okay, so I digress, but here's the point:  I don't really know what's "on the table" for you, but I know His character informs us all we need to understand or how to interpret what's happening to us. Yep, it's bad-really bad, sometimes, those things that happen to us.  But His character is mercy.  His character is kindness.  His character is constancy.  His character is patience.  It is righteous and good and in Him no darkness (or ruin) dwells.  And all of it rests on this: His characters is sovereign.  In other words, we are not. 

So everything is falling apart.  Yep.  Sometimes, it does.  But does it automatically mean that you or I must fall apart with it?  Or can we come to the table in the presence of so much bad?  And even if we do, physically or mentally or emotionally fall apart, does He hold onto us any less? Is his provision lessened?  No. In fact, where sin abounds (our own or another's) grace abounds more.  Whatever YOU need, as His lamb, you can be sure it's there.  Really.

Ask Him.

But here's the thing, as well, if all we can see or heed or give our attention to are the hoards in our presence, and not the Shepherd whose presence is real and is preparing what we need, we won't see what it is he places "before me" in their presence.  His promise is true.  But sometimes our vision is blurred.  How sad to pay heed to our enemies.  And not to the Lord or his care. 


You see, dear Reader, here's what I have learned about the table he prepares.  The table has a place, a setting, and a tending. And it has sheep - and sheep need a particular kind of table.  And the sheep need literal green grass.  And running brooks to quench their thirsts.  And tables. Prepared. 

How much more then, will the Lord, provide what you need - literally?  Do you need rescue?  Or do you need perseverance?  Do you need faith?  Or do you need grace?  Do you need joy?  Do you need hope?  Each of these is a very literal thing, and they are offered literally, not as abstractions.  We live in a world filled with mountains, valleys, trees, flowers, running-gurgling streams.  We live in a world over-flowing with beautiful children, kittens, wild stallions and baseballs and footballs.  With diamonds and silver and gold.  And coal.  (Yuck, but okay, nice to be warm.)

A world of ideas, of thought.

It's a world of God's own thought made literal - incarnated.  He knows we need incarnated rescue.  He knows we need literal grapes and apples and oranges.  Metaphoric food simply won't help our hunger or thirst physically.  Metaphoric justice won't defend a child who needs defended.  Metaphoric grace won't wipe the perspiring brow of a condemned man.  An act of kindness is very real, and it helps us regain our souls, our hopes.  So, Yes, he does know, and it comes "in the fullness of time."

You are cordially invited to the Table.


--

Later this week, I plan to share a few more thoughts on Psalm 23 before moving to other topics. Please join me! :)

Also, in the archives there are a two other articles on which I have shared more reflections on Psalm 23.  It is so beautiful a psalm.  If you have time for nothing else, why not just read it?  Blessings!!!

Wrinkled Wonders

They call her Wonder.  She sneaks around the bushes ready to pounce on her friend. "Boo!"  Giggles erupt.

She stands in a grassy field bent, very, very still.  "Watching babies!" she says, and so she is.  Hundreds of tiny praying mantises hatched.  Crawling about her in the tall grass, she stares, lips pressed firmly then part and spread widely.  "Look!"    

Wonder hangs upside down from a tree branch and lets the blood pulse into her head; her mouth opens and she laughs.

Wonder licks her ice cream cone from the top.  Then she bites a hole and sucks from the bottom.  The cone softens as the ice cream melts.  It runs and drips.  Wonder's fingers turn sticky.  She wipes them on her jeans and grins.

Wonder picks strawberries and stuffs them in her pockets.  Her doll needs a red dress and so she needs some "dye."  Wonder gathers bouquets of daisies and dandelions.  She adorns adobe miniatures with yellow and white petals.

Wonder hangs bed sheets from a clothes line and pretends she's a brave princess banished from her castle.  A wreath of morning glories trails down her shoulders.

Wonder flies down a steep hill upon her two-wheeled bicycle.  Erect she spreads her arms like kite wings while the wind whips against her poised torso, legs pumping, feet swishing round and round.

Wonder falls over, hard.  She rolls.  She looks up at the sky.   She sees clouds and feels her pain.  Her tears fall.  Her face shines wet in the afternoon sunlight.

And for a moment, she wonders if she can stand.  The skin on her leg burns.  Then Grace kneels over her gently, brushes her forehead and looks into Wonder's eyes.  Grace sees something new there.  She sees mingled with pain, fear.

"Your soul shall grow old and brittle, Wonder, wrinkled like the face of that old tree-beard if you lay there too long. Come now, you are not hurt too badly; here's my hand," and Grace pulls up Wonder.  She embraces Wonder as she lets her young friend rest upon her wise breast.  Wonder feels Grace's heart beating.  She turns her face upward.  Her tears leave tracks of smeared dirt drying upon her tanned cheeks.  Wonder smiles.  Grace smiles. 

They walk home together, pushing the broken bicycle. And passing on their way, Grace holds out her hand to a wrinkled man fallen near the path.  There's a lady at his side bent with sorrow.

Wonder looks at her friend.  And Grace nods.  

"Wonder, help her stand again."