"Black"
The colorless shade like the dead of night
with drapes of dark silk made
banishing the night;
It creeps in by a shadow
the candles lose their flame
turning dark the meadow
Silencing the victim's claim.
(Written by Jill Leppert)
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Of Hunger and Thirst
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness for they will be satisfied." (Jesus, the Christ)
I imagine my sleeping child, how utterly peaceful; bathed in quiet calm, her features at rest.
Simply beholding a sleeping child, simply remembering the sight of my own children slumbering as infants draws a calm across my soul like a blanket gently laid over tired, aching limbs.
The day is young yet. The morning sunlight still hasn't reached its peak. My children sleep in, of course; now they are teenagers. I don't mind. They are good kids, and they have been working hard. There's time for such rest.
What does this have to do with hunger and thirst? And righteousness?And satisfaction.
A lot.
Rest speaks of fulfillment. It's what occurs when our bodies are full or have done their work and can do no more. It's what occurs when our souls are filled, properly.
Hunger and thirst settles into our bones like marrow. Without them, we would die.
And to not know fulfillment is to sorrow. Are you sorrowing in any way? In a lot of ways? To know quality satisfaction is to discover a place of rest, and it is a very real, literal place, if but for a time. Allow me to explain.
The meaning implied in this scripture, to hunger, tells us how we live best. That is we are "the hungering ones," or those who receive, expend and then hunger afresh. That's definitive of our lives, or at least it ought to be.
We know what occurs when a person loses their appetite for food, for life.
We know this like we know we need air to breathe, water to drink, and food for energy.
But there's something more to be seen. There is an appropriateness to our desire and the object deserving of it, one that truly fulfills. Jesus called it "righteousness."
We know that in this world not all air is fit to breathe. Not all water is potable. Not all food is healthy. Nor are all things that glitter, gold. So, perhaps if we are wise and over time through trial and error, we come to understand that not all things we stretch our hands out to touch properly satisfies longing, or desire, or our inner craving for something more. Whatever that is.
I suggest to you that it is righteousness.
We are blessed if we hunger and thirst for that ... but what exactly is righteousness? As he says it here, at least. (Matthew 5, The Sermon on the Mount)
This is something worth thinking about. Won't you join me?
Here's a place I'm going to go for help: 1 Corinthians 1:30
I imagine my sleeping child, how utterly peaceful; bathed in quiet calm, her features at rest.
Simply beholding a sleeping child, simply remembering the sight of my own children slumbering as infants draws a calm across my soul like a blanket gently laid over tired, aching limbs.
The day is young yet. The morning sunlight still hasn't reached its peak. My children sleep in, of course; now they are teenagers. I don't mind. They are good kids, and they have been working hard. There's time for such rest.
What does this have to do with hunger and thirst? And righteousness?And satisfaction.
A lot.
Rest speaks of fulfillment. It's what occurs when our bodies are full or have done their work and can do no more. It's what occurs when our souls are filled, properly.
Hunger and thirst settles into our bones like marrow. Without them, we would die.
And to not know fulfillment is to sorrow. Are you sorrowing in any way? In a lot of ways? To know quality satisfaction is to discover a place of rest, and it is a very real, literal place, if but for a time. Allow me to explain.
The meaning implied in this scripture, to hunger, tells us how we live best. That is we are "the hungering ones," or those who receive, expend and then hunger afresh. That's definitive of our lives, or at least it ought to be.
We know what occurs when a person loses their appetite for food, for life.
We know this like we know we need air to breathe, water to drink, and food for energy.
But there's something more to be seen. There is an appropriateness to our desire and the object deserving of it, one that truly fulfills. Jesus called it "righteousness."
We know that in this world not all air is fit to breathe. Not all water is potable. Not all food is healthy. Nor are all things that glitter, gold. So, perhaps if we are wise and over time through trial and error, we come to understand that not all things we stretch our hands out to touch properly satisfies longing, or desire, or our inner craving for something more. Whatever that is.
I suggest to you that it is righteousness.
We are blessed if we hunger and thirst for that ... but what exactly is righteousness? As he says it here, at least. (Matthew 5, The Sermon on the Mount)
This is something worth thinking about. Won't you join me?
Here's a place I'm going to go for help: 1 Corinthians 1:30
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Grace Falls
Have you ever wished you could go back to a particular situation? Or a moment in time?
When everything seemed good. Really good.
Deeply good. (Or not, and then, "course correct"?)
I wonder what we would do differently, if anything.
If we would still end up where we are today.
I wonder.
How about you?
So, I am having a conversation with myself today. It goes like this:
It does no good to think about going back when it is not possible. Even if I look back and try to learn from the situation or event, everything about it becomes unfamiliar in the present tense, because people have changed. Physical places - altered. The sun rises and sets, repeatedly, and the earth spins me into another time.
Yes, there eludes a permanence that would be necessary to re-invent.
Does this sound discouraging? I am tempted here to be sad - to wear sadness like a shirt and pants, my feet trimmed in its matching sandals, like name-brand sorrow. But I think it is only truly so if our means to permanence is fixated upon the transient stuff of a world passing us by - people, places, events: children, parents, friends; momentary laughter, fleeting hugs, conversations like snapshots in time or memory.
But, oh, not discouraging when we behold something lasting:
Grace and her family, oh, eternal relevance - permanence.
Do you see them?
Grace and her twin, Mercy, pour down over our heads like rain water cascading from a cliff.
Have you stepped into it lately? Have you stood there, letting them massage and pound the sore out of your soul? Are you soaked to the bone, hopeful, again, now offering hope unreservedly as you step forward into the new day.
Oh, but where do these, Grace and Mercy, dwell? And from where do they cascade? You may ask. It is important to ask, important to know.
To discover, yes.
Here is a good place to go, to know:
- The Gospel of John -
Yes, John knew about permanence and transience.
He knew what it was to be loved - permanently, perfectly, beyond sin and error.
May you be richly blessed as you discover.
When everything seemed good. Really good.
Deeply good. (Or not, and then, "course correct"?)
I wonder what we would do differently, if anything.
If we would still end up where we are today.
I wonder.
How about you?
So, I am having a conversation with myself today. It goes like this:
It does no good to think about going back when it is not possible. Even if I look back and try to learn from the situation or event, everything about it becomes unfamiliar in the present tense, because people have changed. Physical places - altered. The sun rises and sets, repeatedly, and the earth spins me into another time.
Yes, there eludes a permanence that would be necessary to re-invent.
Does this sound discouraging? I am tempted here to be sad - to wear sadness like a shirt and pants, my feet trimmed in its matching sandals, like name-brand sorrow. But I think it is only truly so if our means to permanence is fixated upon the transient stuff of a world passing us by - people, places, events: children, parents, friends; momentary laughter, fleeting hugs, conversations like snapshots in time or memory.
But, oh, not discouraging when we behold something lasting:
Grace and her family, oh, eternal relevance - permanence.
Do you see them?
Grace and her twin, Mercy, pour down over our heads like rain water cascading from a cliff.
Have you stepped into it lately? Have you stood there, letting them massage and pound the sore out of your soul? Are you soaked to the bone, hopeful, again, now offering hope unreservedly as you step forward into the new day.
Oh, but where do these, Grace and Mercy, dwell? And from where do they cascade? You may ask. It is important to ask, important to know.
To discover, yes.
Here is a good place to go, to know:
- The Gospel of John -
Yes, John knew about permanence and transience.
He knew what it was to be loved - permanently, perfectly, beyond sin and error.
May you be richly blessed as you discover.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Confident!
"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." (Psalm 46)
I'm living in a continually vulnerable state (estate). I tremble that it is so.
My nervous system is awake now. Alert.
To be so aware of vulnerability highly arouses my bodily senses.
Vulnerability and Longing,
Trembling translucent garments
flowing off my shoulders,
silhouetted against a twilight sky.
Oh, how to live, to dwell like this ...in the gale.
Recalling, remembering
Whose I am
Who regards me as His own child, daughter.
I'm living in a physical world between
the now
and
not yet.
By remembering God my Father
and
Christ my Lord, my Brother,
by
doing this together, one
brave
step
one confident
stride
in front of
the other,
risking
This exposure to life's elements that hail and rain
around and
upon me.
Calling life's biggest bluffs - recalling
there's a grace and a longing that
endures to the end
with hope,
and a permanence that's firm like an oak and hard like crystal and diamonds
Transcending.
"Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way." (Psalm 46)
I'm living in a continually vulnerable state (estate). I tremble that it is so.
My nervous system is awake now. Alert.
To be so aware of vulnerability highly arouses my bodily senses.
Vulnerability and Longing,
Trembling translucent garments
flowing off my shoulders,
silhouetted against a twilight sky.
Oh, how to live, to dwell like this ...in the gale.
Recalling, remembering
Whose I am
Who regards me as His own child, daughter.
I'm living in a physical world between
the now
and
not yet.
By remembering God my Father
and
Christ my Lord, my Brother,
by
doing this together, one
brave
step
one confident
stride
in front of
the other,
risking
This exposure to life's elements that hail and rain
around and
upon me.
Calling life's biggest bluffs - recalling
there's a grace and a longing that
endures to the end
with hope,
and a permanence that's firm like an oak and hard like crystal and diamonds
Transcending.
"Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way." (Psalm 46)
Sunday, May 26, 2013
In the Garden & Beholding
It's in the beholding.
It's in the seeing.
Blended with desire
That we choose. Or decide a course of action or a response.
Foreseeing betrayal, He loved.
John 13
It begins with John saying something profound about Christ - about who He was. Only, it wasn't what others thought. It's what Jesus knew that John writes.
His actions flowed from it, were rooted in it ...
He knew God had given all things to Him
He knew where He came from
He knew where He was going
Even the cross, it's gore, He knew
Even the betrayal of friends, He knew
He was completely secure in the knowing.
So he took off his outer garments, filled the basin, and knelt down at his friends' feet...even Judas' feet. And cleaned them.
Formative.
Act.
Behold.
He knew those whom he washed.
He knew the pain their actions (and omissions) would thrust upon his physical body. And soul.
(Imagine, rejection and betrayal and innocence.)
But He did it securely. He knew where he was going.
That God would be made known - like never-before-known.
In Him.
He in God.
And God in them. Yes, even in them who bore him ill. Them who "knew not what they do."
And he told us to love likewise.
Life batters us. It gets rough. But it matters.
I believe that we can love and live like this, like Jesus did, and still (yes, still) maintain justice. After all, justice is always first on everyone's mind when a wrong or omission is done. It is on everyone's mind for good reason. For Goodness' sake, yes.
Justice, after all, is about one thing in particular: Maintaining righteousness, surely; in the face of sin, in its self-absorbed ill-will we inflict on others, Justice Loves. It sees sin's disregard for another's property or person. Justice - it's about healing the wronged, and arresting the wrong-doer for the same purpose. It's for redemption. It's not about vengeance. Or it's anger. It's about a different anger. And a deeper love. That doesn't excuse. Yes, for Goodness' sake.
There is a time for healing. And we can do that, too. We can heal.
Jesus was betrayed and then the betrayal killed him. And then he rose. It took him three days. (Sometimes, it seems like it takes me years to recover, and I did not suffer as He did, not even close, so I know, because He lives and is wholly well, I shall be, too, in Him.) And in the killing and the dying, yes, he bore justice for all, through bearing injustice. He loved clean through our sin, completely.
Sometimes, in living and loving, in healing from sorrows dealt unjustly, it takes wisdom and trust to know that forgiveness is not one more betrayal (of justice, for self); to know that forgiveness fixes itself upon God, upon knowing what Jesus knew; to know that there is a grace that holds it all together, even when we cannot, and we must rest from the effects of someone's sin. I wonder if maybe Jesus was in some manner "healing forward" in the garden before he took on the world's injustices, its penalties. Because, because He knew. And it was agony to know. There wouldn't be time on the cross to heal. It was all about the breaking, the dying. He was supposed to die. He knew it. But His soul, His spirit needed to be well, his will to forgive, to go through with forgiveness, strong. So, he sweated drops of blood, and he gasped a prayer, "Not my will, but Yours be done, Father."
And the angel came
To the Son of Man,
God in flesh,
And strengthened Him
Who knew us. Mankind. The betrayals we drown in, he knew. (Sin is the betrayal of all that is good and right, yes.) So, He knew His friends.
But he loved completely.
Exposing himself.
Vulnerable, he lived;
Vulnerable he died.
Victorious he rose.
And he invites us to rise like that, with him - in him.
To love each other.
---
Yes, it took me a long time to recover from it.
Maybe I imagine poorly and get it wrong. Maybe, but I just know how this past year and a painful friendship has fallen like residue across the landscape; of how it reminds me of particular things past, of experiences and events (emotively) I'd forgotten - how like a tempest cast from past sorrows.
I am still recovering, it feels like, at least on some days. (I tried to tell her, but she couldn't hear me.)
In myself, in my imagining, I choose a response to her.
I am formed by these two; by imaginings and response.
I am not locked by bitterness, shut up in sorrow. I am free (in Jesus' love) to love.
I am called, in spite of the hurt and the knowing, to serve her - to love her. Yes, Jesus knew his friend. Yet (and) he loved him. Yet (and) he vulnerably washed his dust-covered feet. All 12 of his friends' dirty feet, he scrubbed. And loved.
He knew. It mattered that he do it for them. Yes, it mattered that he love. So he did. Why? How? Because he knew something. He knew from where he had come. And he knew where he was going. And that God (his Father, with whom he was intimately acquainted) had placed all things in his hands.
And, so, because He knew it (and John told us), I know, too. I am in His hands. Safe, careful hands. I am made alive in Him. I can love with my eyes wide open. And if I am worn out and tired or exhausted by the effort or the exchange, there is a garden I can go to, to pray. Where the angels occupy and his own Spirit comes fresh as the dew at dawn. Before the cross. And at the resurrection.
Glory (amen)
It's in the seeing.
Blended with desire
That we choose. Or decide a course of action or a response.
Foreseeing betrayal, He loved.
John 13
It begins with John saying something profound about Christ - about who He was. Only, it wasn't what others thought. It's what Jesus knew that John writes.
His actions flowed from it, were rooted in it ...
He knew God had given all things to Him
He knew where He came from
He knew where He was going
Even the cross, it's gore, He knew
Even the betrayal of friends, He knew
He was completely secure in the knowing.
So he took off his outer garments, filled the basin, and knelt down at his friends' feet...even Judas' feet. And cleaned them.
Formative.
Act.
Behold.
He knew those whom he washed.
He knew the pain their actions (and omissions) would thrust upon his physical body. And soul.
(Imagine, rejection and betrayal and innocence.)
But He did it securely. He knew where he was going.
That God would be made known - like never-before-known.
In Him.
He in God.
And God in them. Yes, even in them who bore him ill. Them who "knew not what they do."
And he told us to love likewise.
Life batters us. It gets rough. But it matters.
I believe that we can love and live like this, like Jesus did, and still (yes, still) maintain justice. After all, justice is always first on everyone's mind when a wrong or omission is done. It is on everyone's mind for good reason. For Goodness' sake, yes.
Justice, after all, is about one thing in particular: Maintaining righteousness, surely; in the face of sin, in its self-absorbed ill-will we inflict on others, Justice Loves. It sees sin's disregard for another's property or person. Justice - it's about healing the wronged, and arresting the wrong-doer for the same purpose. It's for redemption. It's not about vengeance. Or it's anger. It's about a different anger. And a deeper love. That doesn't excuse. Yes, for Goodness' sake.
There is a time for healing. And we can do that, too. We can heal.
Jesus was betrayed and then the betrayal killed him. And then he rose. It took him three days. (Sometimes, it seems like it takes me years to recover, and I did not suffer as He did, not even close, so I know, because He lives and is wholly well, I shall be, too, in Him.) And in the killing and the dying, yes, he bore justice for all, through bearing injustice. He loved clean through our sin, completely.
Sometimes, in living and loving, in healing from sorrows dealt unjustly, it takes wisdom and trust to know that forgiveness is not one more betrayal (of justice, for self); to know that forgiveness fixes itself upon God, upon knowing what Jesus knew; to know that there is a grace that holds it all together, even when we cannot, and we must rest from the effects of someone's sin. I wonder if maybe Jesus was in some manner "healing forward" in the garden before he took on the world's injustices, its penalties. Because, because He knew. And it was agony to know. There wouldn't be time on the cross to heal. It was all about the breaking, the dying. He was supposed to die. He knew it. But His soul, His spirit needed to be well, his will to forgive, to go through with forgiveness, strong. So, he sweated drops of blood, and he gasped a prayer, "Not my will, but Yours be done, Father."
And the angel came
To the Son of Man,
God in flesh,
And strengthened Him
Who knew us. Mankind. The betrayals we drown in, he knew. (Sin is the betrayal of all that is good and right, yes.) So, He knew His friends.
But he loved completely.
Exposing himself.
Vulnerable, he lived;
Vulnerable he died.
Victorious he rose.
And he invites us to rise like that, with him - in him.
To love each other.
---
Yes, it took me a long time to recover from it.
Maybe I imagine poorly and get it wrong. Maybe, but I just know how this past year and a painful friendship has fallen like residue across the landscape; of how it reminds me of particular things past, of experiences and events (emotively) I'd forgotten - how like a tempest cast from past sorrows.
I am still recovering, it feels like, at least on some days. (I tried to tell her, but she couldn't hear me.)
In myself, in my imagining, I choose a response to her.
I am formed by these two; by imaginings and response.
I am not locked by bitterness, shut up in sorrow. I am free (in Jesus' love) to love.
I am called, in spite of the hurt and the knowing, to serve her - to love her. Yes, Jesus knew his friend. Yet (and) he loved him. Yet (and) he vulnerably washed his dust-covered feet. All 12 of his friends' dirty feet, he scrubbed. And loved.
He knew. It mattered that he do it for them. Yes, it mattered that he love. So he did. Why? How? Because he knew something. He knew from where he had come. And he knew where he was going. And that God (his Father, with whom he was intimately acquainted) had placed all things in his hands.
And, so, because He knew it (and John told us), I know, too. I am in His hands. Safe, careful hands. I am made alive in Him. I can love with my eyes wide open. And if I am worn out and tired or exhausted by the effort or the exchange, there is a garden I can go to, to pray. Where the angels occupy and his own Spirit comes fresh as the dew at dawn. Before the cross. And at the resurrection.
Glory (amen)
At Home or Not
He who has prepared us for this very thing is God,
who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.
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.
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?
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?
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
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.
"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.
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.
Overflowing like a river its banks in spring. And we are new.
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