Monday, July 31, 2023
He Who Began
When God creates--a soul, a work, or a brings a process to life--it is His like nothing else could be. He loves it, cares for it, protects it, redeems it, carries it through. It is like a child to Him. Dear to His heart, and there is a sense that it is dear to His heart in a way nothing else is--like a child to a parent. Yet, also like a jealous lover. I know that God has begun this kind of a work in me. But it has been a very painful thing to stay in the work He has done in my life. Ive lost part of myself in the process and Im not even sure who I am sometimes. The truth is, my way of coping with this, and not losing God, is that for a while I had to separate the two. And God gave me some leeway. A time to heal.
Poems and Prayers
I've been thinking a bit about compiling the prayers and poems that I've written over the years together. It's interesting for me to think about what I was feeling or seeing when I wrote them and recognize how my journey has ebbed and evolved and my perspective has been enlightened since those times. I don't know how other authors feel about their writings, but mine are sacred to me. Stephen James wrote once that writers are not born, they are made. That was certainly true in my case. Most all of my writings came from what I was experiencing at the moment, or what I observed in the life of another person at the time. But even when we write about someone else, we can only write well when we draw from the wells of our own soul's revelations, questions, and experiences.
But the nature of pen and paper is different than speaking. Especially when it comes to poems and prayers or pieces of literature that capture a story or a feeling or a question. They are never written in a vaccum. When we speak about experiences we've gone through, we can talk about them through the rearview mirror, we have the video camera still playing forward. A painting is the artist's interpretation of a scene in a given season, a camera captures an image of a moment, and a poem can be a culmination of an artist's experiences emotions and questions about a specific circumstance.
But the question that tends to arise is this...are your poems and prayers still a reflection of your heart?
Are they true in the same way that they used to be?
Or is there a greater truth in them that lives beyond what birthed them?
Is there a greater truth in them that lives beyond even the author?
Those are important things to ask when you look at a body of writings. I have most of Amy Carmichael's writings and they span over a half century of her life. I am able to look at her poems, her prose, her journals, her life, and the testimony of others and understand from a much larger perspective what meaning they have. But my guess is that there is much she never shared.
But the nature of pen and paper is different than speaking. Especially when it comes to poems and prayers or pieces of literature that capture a story or a feeling or a question. They are never written in a vaccum. When we speak about experiences we've gone through, we can talk about them through the rearview mirror, we have the video camera still playing forward. A painting is the artist's interpretation of a scene in a given season, a camera captures an image of a moment, and a poem can be a culmination of an artist's experiences emotions and questions about a specific circumstance.
But the question that tends to arise is this...are your poems and prayers still a reflection of your heart?
Are they true in the same way that they used to be?
Or is there a greater truth in them that lives beyond what birthed them?
Is there a greater truth in them that lives beyond even the author?
Those are important things to ask when you look at a body of writings. I have most of Amy Carmichael's writings and they span over a half century of her life. I am able to look at her poems, her prose, her journals, her life, and the testimony of others and understand from a much larger perspective what meaning they have. But my guess is that there is much she never shared.
The Great Humbling...
I spent some time with a woman named Mary last week. The first time I met Rev.Mary was last year, through a mutual friend. She was leading a very special memorial service. I was there to be an encouragement to a friend. I was told Mary had the gift of prophecy, and I was curious, and also a bit wary. Not that I don’t believe in the gift of prophecy. I believe that today the gift of prophecy does exist in order to bring encouragement, comfort, and strength to others, and often for the purposes of giving confirmation to individuals or communities of what the Lord has already been telling them. Prophets are are first and foremost listeners. They listen and hear from God, and then speak when He leads them to. But I was wary because I have learned two things over the past couple years. First, not everyone who prophecies does so by the Spirit of God—and thus, at best their prophecies can be confused; at worst they can be false. Second, even those who prophecy by the Spirit of God are often not doing so with a pure heart. So what they speak may be coming from their own soul. Third, those who may have this gift are absolutely bound to use it in love. For if it is not used in love it is completely inadequate to give any help. It is, as Paul says in I Cor. 13, “a sounding gong.” Whenever we represent God with our words, we must speak with the voice of our Shepherd. If we don’t, there is evidence of impurity in our own hearts that contaminates our ability to hear what God is saying and thus what we are sharing.
There are a number of things that I evaluate when I determine whether or not to receive a word of prophecy or a prophetic prayer. Again, in John 10, we read that the sheep know the Shepherd’s voice. I, as a sheep, am responsible to my Heavenly Shepherd. So I always ask myself, does what this person say resonate with the Spirit of God in me? If there is a conflict, then I must seek and wait before the Lord until He gives me clarity as to whether the unrest comes from an inability on my part to receive what the Lord is saying, or if the unrest is because the “word” is not from God. It is only when there is a receptiveness in my spirit as it submits to His Spirit that I receive that word.
The second lesson comes from James 3 and 4. It is very simple and yet so often ignored in the church—perhaps because we trust our leaders so much, or perhaps because we are so easily swayed by a good argument instead of evaluating things by God’s methods.
James 3:13-18 says this, “Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such wisdom does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, thee you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peaceloving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial, and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness.”
There is so much help as to discerning whether wisdom comes from heaven or not packed in these verses. Here are the things that I think most speak to the topic at hand. First, true wisdom shows itself through humility. Not pride, not arrogance, or condescension, and certainly not contempt. Second, true wisdom comes from the pure in heart—those who are emptied of themselves and their own desires so that they have made room in their souls for God’s desires to come forth in purity. No selfish ambition, pride, partiality, or insincerity taints their words. Their words sow peace because there is nothing contrary to God’s Word or will in their message. And thus what they speak brings forth a harvest. It brings LIFE.
So as I observed Mary interact with those in the memorial service, I watched for those things. I was very moved by the fruit of the Spirit I saw in her. After the memorial service, Mary approached me. She did not know me other than my first name. She didn’t even know the person I came with. But she told me that she had a word for me from the Lord if I would like to receive it. I sensed that the Lord had been preparing me for this and that He wanted me to hear her. Mary recorded the prayer she prayed over me so that I could take it with me. She felt a little sheepish doing so, but I was so glad that she did. Her prayer was over five minutes long, and if you have ever had this type of experience, you understand that the prayer itself is so powerful that your ability to recall the words of it are minimal at best. The Spirit’s work through her prayer was very powerful, almost overwhelming. And if a prayer is truly is a word of prophecy about your life the words are priceless treasures. So I am very glad to have a record of her words so that I can go back to them.
At that time, Mary’s prayer was used by God to do an enormous work of healing in my spirit, and God spoke of some special things through her about my life. It was a very precious time. But though I had many questions I sensed that the Lord did not want me to initiate any more contact with her. I saw her once more a few months later with a group of people, and sensed that at some point we would speak again, but there was a stay on my spirit…until two weeks ago.
It was interesting when I called her. She had been waiting for me. I tried to warn her that my journey was a bit unusual, but she reassured me that when the Holy Spirit introduces you to someone it is different. She shared with me some of the things that the Lord had revealed to her about my calling and asked me if I sensed the same things from the Lord and I told her yes. So we met.
It was a very interesting time. We spoke for a number of hours, and then Mary prayed over me for over an hour. I’ve never had an experience quite like it. During Mary’s prayer she started explaining a picture the Lord was giving her about my journey. It was of a period of great humbling. Like a camel stooping down very low, to be able to get though an opening. “Petra,” she said. Then it came together for her. “The camel going through the eye of the needle,” she said. It’s an actual place called Petra. She said, “The last four years have been a time of terrible suffering for you. A great humbling period. It’s been like Auschwitz for you. Many people died there, but you survived. You kept getting beaten down time after time, and when you would receive the wounds the Lord would heal you up, and then you would be wounded again, and the Lord would keep healing you. It is almost impossible for the camel to go through the eye of the needle, but nothing is impossible with God. The Petra is about a period of great humbling.” The sobs racked my body as the truth of her words touched my spirit. And I felt more affirmed in my journey with that one metaphor than in all of the words that I have heard over the last four years…simply because she nailed it. No…the Spirit of God did, and He wanted me to know that He knows. And that in itself was what I needed. No one could possibly understand the past four years of my life but Him. Then Mary said something that blew me away. She spoke very matter of factly, “The Lord says in five days it will be over.” That was a bit much for me and I broke the prayer off momentarily to clarify… “You mean five literal days?” “Yep,” she said without any hesitation. I couldn’t even compute. Seriously. I mean, when you go through a spiritual concentration camp for four years, and suddenly you get your walking papers and in five days you get to turn your back on the gates of such intense torture…it doesn’t really seem real. Or believable. Would something major happen to end that period, or would it simply fade into the past? “Who will I be without it?” I thought to myself.
That was 6 days ago.
Today, I took out my Bible, and found Matthew 19.
Jesus answered, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth. Then Jesus said to his disciples, "I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, "Who then can be saved?" Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible. Peter answered him, "We have left everything to follow you! What then will there be for us?" Jesus said to them, "I tell you the truth, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life .But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first." (Matt. 19:21-30)
Some time, many years ago, I had highlighted verses 21 and 26 and written a note beside it. “Only God can enable us to love Him more than what we treasure here.”
As I think about God’s call on my life, and how necessary that will be, I understand a little as to why I have had to go through the eye of the needle. And I am grateful, honored even. I understand that our suffering, when born in submission to Christ, is our glory. Even when we don’t suffer perfectly. It is through suffering that we are perfected. I don’t know how things will go from here, or what more suffering and humbling will be necessary. But I do know this, God has done the impossible in my life, and whether His work comes through pain or joy, He is enabling me to love Him more than any earthly treasures, and He who began a good work in me, will be faithful to complete it.
There are a number of things that I evaluate when I determine whether or not to receive a word of prophecy or a prophetic prayer. Again, in John 10, we read that the sheep know the Shepherd’s voice. I, as a sheep, am responsible to my Heavenly Shepherd. So I always ask myself, does what this person say resonate with the Spirit of God in me? If there is a conflict, then I must seek and wait before the Lord until He gives me clarity as to whether the unrest comes from an inability on my part to receive what the Lord is saying, or if the unrest is because the “word” is not from God. It is only when there is a receptiveness in my spirit as it submits to His Spirit that I receive that word.
The second lesson comes from James 3 and 4. It is very simple and yet so often ignored in the church—perhaps because we trust our leaders so much, or perhaps because we are so easily swayed by a good argument instead of evaluating things by God’s methods.
James 3:13-18 says this, “Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such wisdom does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, thee you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peaceloving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial, and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness.”
There is so much help as to discerning whether wisdom comes from heaven or not packed in these verses. Here are the things that I think most speak to the topic at hand. First, true wisdom shows itself through humility. Not pride, not arrogance, or condescension, and certainly not contempt. Second, true wisdom comes from the pure in heart—those who are emptied of themselves and their own desires so that they have made room in their souls for God’s desires to come forth in purity. No selfish ambition, pride, partiality, or insincerity taints their words. Their words sow peace because there is nothing contrary to God’s Word or will in their message. And thus what they speak brings forth a harvest. It brings LIFE.
So as I observed Mary interact with those in the memorial service, I watched for those things. I was very moved by the fruit of the Spirit I saw in her. After the memorial service, Mary approached me. She did not know me other than my first name. She didn’t even know the person I came with. But she told me that she had a word for me from the Lord if I would like to receive it. I sensed that the Lord had been preparing me for this and that He wanted me to hear her. Mary recorded the prayer she prayed over me so that I could take it with me. She felt a little sheepish doing so, but I was so glad that she did. Her prayer was over five minutes long, and if you have ever had this type of experience, you understand that the prayer itself is so powerful that your ability to recall the words of it are minimal at best. The Spirit’s work through her prayer was very powerful, almost overwhelming. And if a prayer is truly is a word of prophecy about your life the words are priceless treasures. So I am very glad to have a record of her words so that I can go back to them.
At that time, Mary’s prayer was used by God to do an enormous work of healing in my spirit, and God spoke of some special things through her about my life. It was a very precious time. But though I had many questions I sensed that the Lord did not want me to initiate any more contact with her. I saw her once more a few months later with a group of people, and sensed that at some point we would speak again, but there was a stay on my spirit…until two weeks ago.
It was interesting when I called her. She had been waiting for me. I tried to warn her that my journey was a bit unusual, but she reassured me that when the Holy Spirit introduces you to someone it is different. She shared with me some of the things that the Lord had revealed to her about my calling and asked me if I sensed the same things from the Lord and I told her yes. So we met.
It was a very interesting time. We spoke for a number of hours, and then Mary prayed over me for over an hour. I’ve never had an experience quite like it. During Mary’s prayer she started explaining a picture the Lord was giving her about my journey. It was of a period of great humbling. Like a camel stooping down very low, to be able to get though an opening. “Petra,” she said. Then it came together for her. “The camel going through the eye of the needle,” she said. It’s an actual place called Petra. She said, “The last four years have been a time of terrible suffering for you. A great humbling period. It’s been like Auschwitz for you. Many people died there, but you survived. You kept getting beaten down time after time, and when you would receive the wounds the Lord would heal you up, and then you would be wounded again, and the Lord would keep healing you. It is almost impossible for the camel to go through the eye of the needle, but nothing is impossible with God. The Petra is about a period of great humbling.” The sobs racked my body as the truth of her words touched my spirit. And I felt more affirmed in my journey with that one metaphor than in all of the words that I have heard over the last four years…simply because she nailed it. No…the Spirit of God did, and He wanted me to know that He knows. And that in itself was what I needed. No one could possibly understand the past four years of my life but Him. Then Mary said something that blew me away. She spoke very matter of factly, “The Lord says in five days it will be over.” That was a bit much for me and I broke the prayer off momentarily to clarify… “You mean five literal days?” “Yep,” she said without any hesitation. I couldn’t even compute. Seriously. I mean, when you go through a spiritual concentration camp for four years, and suddenly you get your walking papers and in five days you get to turn your back on the gates of such intense torture…it doesn’t really seem real. Or believable. Would something major happen to end that period, or would it simply fade into the past? “Who will I be without it?” I thought to myself.
That was 6 days ago.
Today, I took out my Bible, and found Matthew 19.
Jesus answered, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth. Then Jesus said to his disciples, "I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, "Who then can be saved?" Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible. Peter answered him, "We have left everything to follow you! What then will there be for us?" Jesus said to them, "I tell you the truth, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life .But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first." (Matt. 19:21-30)
Some time, many years ago, I had highlighted verses 21 and 26 and written a note beside it. “Only God can enable us to love Him more than what we treasure here.”
As I think about God’s call on my life, and how necessary that will be, I understand a little as to why I have had to go through the eye of the needle. And I am grateful, honored even. I understand that our suffering, when born in submission to Christ, is our glory. Even when we don’t suffer perfectly. It is through suffering that we are perfected. I don’t know how things will go from here, or what more suffering and humbling will be necessary. But I do know this, God has done the impossible in my life, and whether His work comes through pain or joy, He is enabling me to love Him more than any earthly treasures, and He who began a good work in me, will be faithful to complete it.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
The Groomsman
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| From Bgrace |
"His eyes followed me all around the room."
I know, it sounds like the beginning of a steamy romance, doesn't it?
But seriously, I was just doing my job, serving the head table. What do you do with all that? When despite all your efforts at blending into the decorations he decides you're the most interesting thing at the wedding? He was extremely polite and respectful. By far the most handsome man I've seen there all season and he was very obviously aware of my presence.
"Maybe it's just my imagination," I thought at first. It's not uncommon for the guests to hit on the servers. Most of them are barely sober and often mistake respectful service for mutual interest. But he was not drinking and the mirrors circling the dining area don't lie. If he only knew how much they were giving him away.
So the question is, in Christ, what do I do in this situation?
I know! I should approach the head table (he was a groomsman) and say, "Excuse me sir, but could you stop admiring me because my cheeks are blushing and my husband would be uncomfortable about all this and if you don't stop making me self-conscious I might spill champagne on the bride."
No--all wisdom would tell me to flee. Runaway from all temptation. Except, that wasn't a very good option. J. always assigns me to the head table. Plus, there was no real temptation. His girlfriend was sitting on the other side of the bride. My minivan was sitting in the parking lot.
Oh, wait! I remember now, from junior high. Be mean. Give him a cold, condescending, aloof stare that says, "You are beneath me, you are offensive, and you probably smell. Get thee behind me." There's a whole lotta' Jesus in that.
Here's the thing. Every one of those strategies is an outward solution. He wasn't doing anything wrong. I can't even say if he caught sight of my wedding band. Don't we want to be noticed? Don't we want people to be nice to us? But his continued attention and a certain chemistry in the air led me to believe he was being pulled by what some might call an attraction.
Ahhh, so the real issue is that sometimes we can perceive, with some level of insight, what is going on inside of each other. And sometimes, to our dismay, we can't hide what is going on inside of us.
What do we do with that? How do we stay within the bounds of appropriate behavior when our emotions refuse to cooperate. That is, assuming he has enough depth of character to care about the fact that he has a girlfriend and I'm married and that should have a significant amount of bearing on the way things go in that situation.
Does setting boundaries mean I need to cut him off?
How often do we use someone's admiration as a springboard for rejection? We punish them for their emotions.
I know, it's crazy, but what if truth in love really worked?
I mean, honestly, what I thought would be great, would be if he walked up to me and told me he was interested and I could say, "You know what, you are really attractive, and it's nice to be admired. Thank you for being so kind. But you came here with a girl who's feelings you need to consider and I have a husband I want to be faithful to. So I'm not going to pretend I didn't notice, but there's other things in my life that are more important, and more lasting than you. Have a great rest of the night."
Wouldn't that be perfect?
But the truth is I find myself battling with a desire to want more. To want him to pay more attention to me, to be more infatuated with me, to be more drawn to me.
BUT WHY?
I mean seriously, he's got a girlfriend, and he may very well have seen my ring so he obviously is dealing with some character issues. (Though we'd tell ourselves it's only because we are SO irresistible, so it's not really his fault.)
And then there's the whole reality check--OK, so who am I kidding, I'm not going to throw away my life on this one, so why do I allow myself to be drawn in?
How do I change so that I am the kind of person who loves Him as a child of God enough to ask that God would AND I could participate with Him to bring His kingdom, His will into this situation so that instead of him being drawn to me and me being drawn to him that we are both able to walk away (and that is a key phrase here) blessed by light and truth and God's love?
I know you think I'm crazy but I really think that is possible. God is MORE than conqueror. He doesn't just make the playing field level--He wants to overwhelm the playing field.
But am I willing to allow God to do that kind of a work in me, and what part do I play in that refining process? I don't know the answers. I DO know that I want attraction--which was invented by God--to work for His glory. When it comes toward me and when I feel it in me. And for that to happen I know it needs to be sanctified in me for God's purposes.
I cannot do that, but I can ask for it, and lean into the refining fire as He brings me through it.
Anyways, girls...have at it, because for now it's just us three here in bgrace land.
Love you.
B
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Words
I have an experiment going on--I'm trying to write a paragraph every day. No pics, just words. Thought you might want a peek.
http://bgracewords.blogspot.com/
http://bgracewords.blogspot.com/
Thursday, September 9, 2010
JEM
It's all summed up in this one idea.
I don't think anybody but me has ever had a friend like you.
Not even David.
Your friendship is one of the eternal treasures that for some reason, I got to experience on this earth.
Thank you.
Happy Birthday.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Reflection
Photo by Bgrace
I love this photo. I love this flight of stairs. I love the man sitting on them.
I love the full length window that bathes the wood in warmth and light. You can't see them from a distance, but there are fleur de lis in the iron railings. I like the black door. It has an authority to it. Like you might need permission to enter into the comings and goings of the inner staircase.
Feels a lot like me.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
A Look Back
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| Photo by Jean |
I remembered some things today as I looked back at my Atlantic City pictures, and I am moved to write about them, though they may not make much sense or feel like good news. It may provide a framework for understanding some things, or it may cause more dissonance. We see through cloudy glass.
I was looking at the photos of me watching the sea with all the seagulls around me. I remember feeling that they were significant at the time but I wasn't sure why, though seagulls have reminded me of angels for some time. Maybe angels are a means of connection. I'm not sure...but I believe they are with me often.
I'm working on a book. Well, sometimes I am--I try to write at least something every day. Sometimes I don't know if it will ever be a book or not. But those are days of low faith. I half-seriously joke that I will call it "The Reluctant Prophetess." Of course that might limit its readership. But it is how I would describe how I often feel about myself, perhaps even more acutely during that time.
When I was walking along the beach that March, I found a huge, beautiful conch shell. I sat down on the nearby rocks. I knew the Lord was going to speak and I was sort of waiting in the way that you wait to hear something that will be hard to listen to.
So basically I said, "OK, Lord, what do you want to tell me."
The first thing He said clearly and simply was this, "You will always be connected."
It came with all the weight of finality.
Before my questions and objections could arise, He quieted my spirit with a sense that I shouldn't ask more than He wanted to reveal. And with that came a sense of peace.
After a while He drew my attention to the shell in my hand. I held it up to my ear. I could hear the sea in it. And He said, "But you will be able to put the shell down or pick it up and listen."
And then He said, "I am going to bless you." And it was like it echoed over and over again in my ear..."Bless you, bless you, bless you, bless you."
And then He said, "Seven years."
The Lord then gave me understanding--there were decisions made even after clarity was given. He gave me a reason why. That explanation was more painful than anything else ever could have been. I knew then that my wound had been chosen. But at least I knew that God had not planned this, though I believe that He did know I would walk it. That has been hard to understand...but the Lord has granted me acceptance.
The Lord gave me many other words over those two days, some of which I have seen come to pass since then. I still don't think I've fully wrapped my mind around all of it.
What I have been wrestling with over the past few months is my choice to pick up the shell or put it down. Putting down the shell feels safer. But it doesn't feel like who I am. It's not who I want to be. It doesn't feel like love. Even though picking it up can get so messy. The other day, I picked it up (I keep it over at Jean's) and sand fell out of it into my ear and all over the place. (Sorry, Jean.) And having sand in your ear is hard to get used to.
I want to listen, to know and be known, and I want to be under the covering of the wings of the Holy Father and protected from any impurity and anything outside of the will of God. And I think it is important to enjoy all the blessings God bestows upon us in this life, and cherish our loved ones. But sometimes I don't know how all of those things can come together in unity. I'd like to try to walk it. I'd like to wait and listen and open myself to the nearness.
Today, when I remembered that He told me about always being connected, I was reminded that it was not my doing. That has greatly settled my spirit from a false sense of responsibility.
My greatest fear is living outside the will of God while believing that I am in it. My next greatest fear is not fully entering into all that God may offer me in this life because somehow I missed it or was afraid of it or because I made a wrong choice. And the tension between those fears can only be settled by a God who promises to be my Shepherd.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Hold on 'Til Dawn
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| Photo by Bgrace |
Sometimes when people talk about how Satan oppresses, they use a lot of generalities and categories. The thing is that when you are being oppressed Satan doesn't exactly carry a neon sign that says, "I am oppressing you, take notice." In fact, he's really good at making it feel like it's coming from YOU.
I know oppression doesn't always look the same. The battles and tactics are different because our enemy is smart enough to point his weapons at our weaknesses. But there are some key elements the enemy employs that I think usually help us to recognize oppression, and there are a few weapons we have that help us survive the onslaught.
One of the things that Satan loves to do is move at me when God is taking me through a period of refinement or purification. It's usually a point at which God is showing me areas in my life that are not what they should be. My heart is at a vulnerable place before God, and I am very open to God showing me the impurities in my heart, and asking Him to direct me. It's a very important time, and one Satan doesn't want me to see clearly in.
So he loves to create confusion. He'll kick up a dust storm around us or cause the bats to swarm. There are a few things that this accomplishes for him. First, we lose a sense of direction. If the source of light is the way we find North, than if he can cut off our visibility, we don't know how to find our bearings. If we truly can't figure out which way truth is, it's more likely we will follow the direction he wants us to take. Usually that direction is not left or right, it is lost. Satan makes us feel like everything we've ever believed about our decisions and God's direction is a lie. He undermines us by pouring doubt into our minds.
The second thing this does is it makes us feel isolated and separated. If we can't find our way through the dust or the bats, we come to the place where we can't feel God's presence and we can begin to think that we are so far gone no one can help us. Because we feel isolated and we don't have our bearings, we feel a loss of control and it makes us feel afraid. Fear can lead to panic. It is very scary to be under a high level of oppression. It's a place you want to get out of as quickly as you can. We ask questions like, what did I do to get to this place? How have I sinned?
And you would think that those would be the right questions to ask during that time. But we need to be careful to identify who is answering our questions.
When we are asking is precisely when we are most vulnerable for the accuser to move in. What he bombards us with may sound like conviction or feel like clarity because it is another way of looking at things, but it is always a lie, a twist, a perversion of the truth. And his tactics are doubt, guilt/shame, and fear. He weakens us with those until he knows he can bring in the big guns of hopelessness and failure.
I used to think that that the best way to deal with those attacks was to fight back with truth about myself. So I would have these battles where I would deal with the attacks by rationalizing (giving reasons), or explaining (why I did or did not), or justifying (why it was right or wrong), or defending myself--my heart, my motives, my actions. But if Satan can get us caught in that web he'll wrap us up before we know it. Because the truth is the accuser is well aware of our imperfections. And he's very good at pointing them out. So in trying to save ourselves we play right into his hands (or web) and eventually he eats us for lunch.
Instead, I've learned that I need to tell myself the truth about God. Especially the truths Satan is trying to undermine in that moment:
First, NOTHING can separate me from the love of God. (Say it as many times as you need to until your spirit knows it is true.)
Second, a few years ago I read in The Book of the Poor in Spirit this truth that has helped me countless times. The only place that we are truly safe from Satan is the ground floor of humility. Satan always comes at us through our pride. So when we recognize that we are truly nothing but for grace, we are standing on nothing but grace, our accuser has no ground left to attack us on.
Third, when the attacks come in full force, sometimes there is nothing we can do but run for shelter. We need sanctuary. Satan is really good at making us feel like if we don't figure it all out immediately we are going to lose it. Instead, I've learned to say, "I am under attack right now and I can't trust that I am seeing clearly. Lord I know that your love is long suffering, that You are patient with me. I don't have to figure this all out tonight. Protect me until the onslaught passes." And usually the worst of the battle seems to come for me at the end of the day, when I'm tired. I've learned that if I can hold on 'til dawn, I can see more clearly.
So what does that look like?
This is what it looked like for me yesterday: I had been seeking the Lord for clarity and affirmation, and so I asked Jean to help me with Sarah for the afternoon. I spent three hours before the Lord bearing my soul to Him. I knew that I had been heard, but I didn't have a response. In the quiet, fear began to creep in. Condemnation. Then doubt. I began to look at all the decisions I had made in the past few weeks and every possible direction I could have taken felt just as wrong as any other. Every path a wrong turn. Confusion. It must all be because of the impurity of my heart. Guilt. I need to confess. But I'm not sure what to confess. I'm trying to find the threads of truth so I can reorient my world in the right direction but I don't know what is true. I can't hear God. Voices coming at me telling me I should have done this and that. But none of it fits. It feels like it must be all up to me to get back to God's presence. But I don't know where to go. Separation. Oh, I'm really lost now. And look at all the people I'm taking with me to hell. It's all my fault. Failure. And because I can't possibly figure out which way is truth, and which way is God, it's hopeless.
Do you see the progression?
The thing is that I've been through this attack enough times to know that even though it seems to be coming from me, I know that it is coming upon me. I can choose to receive the lies or not. But how do I know the difference between conviction (from God) and oppression (from Satan)?
Conviction doesn't make us feel lost. Conviction, though often painful, leads us toward truth and light--toward feeling found. It brings life and hope in the midst of painful recognition. It's a subtle difference, but an important one.
Give yourself time and space to sort through the difference. But Satan isn't always polite as far as timing is concerned. He interrupts us in our busyness. So in the midst of getting the girls dinner and dressed for bed and teeth brushed etc. I couldn't ignore the battle.
Though I am aware of all the lies swarming my spirit, I speak truth--to myself and to the spirits of darkness. I said to myself repeatedly, "Nothing can separate me from the love of Christ"--reminding myself of the truth of this scripture.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: "For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered." No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:35-39 (NIV)
After the girls went to sleep, I walked myself through a few things that I do even if they don't seem to help at first.
I went to my place of prayer.
I lit a candle. (I do this as a visual representation of the Spirit of God. This way I remind myself that He is present even if I can't sense Him.)
Then I had communion. Apple Cider and a cracker. It's the closest thing I had. I remind myself and Satan that I am saved by the sacrifice of Christ. I whispered over and over out loud, "Jesus is my Savior, Jesus is my Savior." (I needed to be rescued.)
Sometimes this will break the oppression. But it didn't. So I listen for what is next. Many times the Lord will direct us if we listen. If the idea that comes to us brings life and is in line with Scripture I go with it. My sense was that this battle was bigger than just me. With the realization I needed help I prayed for the angels to come. Warrior angels to fight, so I prayed for Michael's angels. I needed clarity from God, direction, God's truth to speak louder than the lies so I prayed for Gabriel's angels. Messenger angels. I also sensed the Lord asking me to call my friends to prayer. I named the people He brought to my mind and asked Him to guide them into prayer for me. I didn't know if He would or if they would answer the call, but I knew it was a good prayer to pray.
I was praying in front of The Butterfly Lady, and earlier I had read about cities of refuge, places God commanded the people to build for situations where people needed protection, like when they murdered someone by accident. There they could find sanctuary from their accusers. I recalled Psalm 27 and felt like I needed sanctuary. There are times when I feel like I am supposed to fight the battle head on. There are other times when I realize it is too big for me and I must seek protection and wait until help comes. I asked for sanctuary. It's the place where our spirit connects with God's Spirit directly and nothing else can touch it--Spirit unto spirit communion.
I began to feel drowsy and knew that sleep was coming. But I know it is possible for Satan to oppress through dreams and so I wasn't sure if I should try to stay awake or not. I sensed I should go upstairs to bed. Matt had fallen asleep putting Sarah to bed, so I woke him enough to get him to our room. I laid down next to him and waited. I sort of felt like it was open season on my head. I was astonished with all that was coming at my mind, and glad that I was distanced enough from it not to receive it all, but I remember feeling like I had no skull over the top of my mind and was completely open to attack. I laughingly thought, "I need a helmet!"
And then it hit me, OH...I need a covering. So with that thought came a million others which I will not take time to share, but I really had to listen then for what was next. I asked if I should wake Matt and ask him to put his hands on my head and pray over me. I was hesitant because I knew he was exhausted and had to leave for Pittsburgh at 4:30AM. But I wasn't unwilling if the Lord directed. Then the Lord brought to my mind a word He had spoken to me very clearly the March I went to Atlantic city. He said, "I will be your covering." (Read soul stopping pause here.)
So I asked the Lord to cover my head and I literally felt like a blanket was put on top of my head and immediately all the voices were quiet. It was like I had spiritual and mental earplugs.
Then I closed my eyes and slept.
I woke at 3:00AM and realized the onslaught had passed. I asked if I was supposed to get up and pray and start working on that clarity from before, but I didn't sense God was in a hurry.
So I gave myself up back to sleep. I woke with the sun shining through my window. I knew I had made it through the night. The wounds from the battle are still a little sore, but my mind is no longer under a barrage of accusations and I no longer feel the lies pressing in. And I'm OK.
...It's time to play with Sarah.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Back to School
Em and Grace went back to school this morning. Sarah is singing in the tub, and every once in a while she randomly calls out Drew's name, as if he might answer. It's a little weird, but endearing. (She's going to see him again today, they were apart all summer.)
And I am, well...home.
And back to school.
I've been all tied up in knots over Samuel ever since I started teaching it to Em. Does this happen to you? I mean, I expect myself to get that way over Grey's Anatomy, which carries almost as much drama as Samuel. But why be so emotionally entwined in the Scriptures? I feel Penninah's meanness and Hannah's grief and Elkanah's tenderness. I sense the deep reverence that draws Samuel to rest near the Ark and the horrible lack of it in the desecration of Eli's sons. So I've started to study it more in depth. Which means I've started to write about it. I'm not going to structure it all--I don't like structure--but I do like rhythms. I can live with rhythms far better than rigidness.
So I decided there are a few ways I want to study Samuel. I'm going to work my way through a commentary on it. You know--traditional exegesis. I find that there is much to be learned from knowing the facts. But what I'm really excited about is working my way through a literary analysis of it. There is so much richness in the way the text of Samuel was written. So much in it's literary composition. I toyed with the idea of trying to teach myself Hebrew, but decided that wasn't the right path. I'd much rather read the translation of someone who really gets the language. It's about hearing in the Hebrew text all the author wanted to speak. The texts were originally written to be heard, out loud. I think they were supposed to be felt.
For example, we "hear" so much more when we "listen" to some of the storytelling techniques the author uses. I'm working on getting a good literary translation, but even from reading the English version you get an idea. I Sam. 3 starts by saying, "The word of the Lord was rare in those days," "visions were not widespread", and then in the next verse the author points to Eli, "whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see," but "the lamp of God had not yet gone out where Samuel was lying down in the temple." And then in the middle of the night God SPEAKS to Samuel. Do you see the light going out on the house of Eli and the voice awakening Samuel? Do you see the picture the author is painting for us through contrast and comparison? The author of Samuel uses word repetition and other clues to help us understand the meaning of his stories.
So you see I want to feel the text, understand the circumstances (the facts) as best as I can, and listen and look at the word pictures the author is painting and see how the Lord will speak to me and through me as I write.
And I will see what God teaches me through the text and how I see my own story through hearing the story of Saul and David and Samuel.
That's what I'm thinking today...but who knows what tomorrow may bring?
I just know I need to work through the story. The truth of it, the emotions it draws to the surface, the beauty and the difficulty, the tragedy and the triumphs. I would love to work through it together with you, in bits and pieces. Please join me in the journey.
I'm lying here on the floor, curled up with the dog, in golden sanctuary.
I don't want the peace I woke with to leave me.
To fall asleep with a cry on my heart and wake with peace is not answer, but presence.
But whose presence?
And is it OK?
Does this come as an answer to prayer?
Whose prayer?
Did it change my course?
Am I weak, and emotional, and unsteady?
Or is love stronger somehow, than my death?
I don't want my eyes to grow dim like Eli's.
I don't want to desecrate this sanctuary like his sons.
I don't want the enmity of Elkanah's polygamous choice.
I don't want a rivalry.
I don't want to spurn love.
I don't want to cave to my circumstances.
I don't want to take my grief to any but the Lord.
I don't want the priest to think I'm a crazy drunk.
I don't want to forget my covenant with the Lord.
I don't want to give up on my son.
I don't want to bring down the priests you've appointed.
I don't want to be unresponsive to your midnight call.
I don't want to have a narrow vision.
I don't want any of my words to fall to the ground.
Can you hear all the cries?
Sometimes I don't know what I am supposed to want.
I just know what I do want.
And I know that I want to want what You want me to want, My God and Savior.
And I'm scared of choice.
Really scared of choice.
And I am, well...home.
And back to school.
I've been all tied up in knots over Samuel ever since I started teaching it to Em. Does this happen to you? I mean, I expect myself to get that way over Grey's Anatomy, which carries almost as much drama as Samuel. But why be so emotionally entwined in the Scriptures? I feel Penninah's meanness and Hannah's grief and Elkanah's tenderness. I sense the deep reverence that draws Samuel to rest near the Ark and the horrible lack of it in the desecration of Eli's sons. So I've started to study it more in depth. Which means I've started to write about it. I'm not going to structure it all--I don't like structure--but I do like rhythms. I can live with rhythms far better than rigidness.
So I decided there are a few ways I want to study Samuel. I'm going to work my way through a commentary on it. You know--traditional exegesis. I find that there is much to be learned from knowing the facts. But what I'm really excited about is working my way through a literary analysis of it. There is so much richness in the way the text of Samuel was written. So much in it's literary composition. I toyed with the idea of trying to teach myself Hebrew, but decided that wasn't the right path. I'd much rather read the translation of someone who really gets the language. It's about hearing in the Hebrew text all the author wanted to speak. The texts were originally written to be heard, out loud. I think they were supposed to be felt.
For example, we "hear" so much more when we "listen" to some of the storytelling techniques the author uses. I'm working on getting a good literary translation, but even from reading the English version you get an idea. I Sam. 3 starts by saying, "The word of the Lord was rare in those days," "visions were not widespread", and then in the next verse the author points to Eli, "whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see," but "the lamp of God had not yet gone out where Samuel was lying down in the temple." And then in the middle of the night God SPEAKS to Samuel. Do you see the light going out on the house of Eli and the voice awakening Samuel? Do you see the picture the author is painting for us through contrast and comparison? The author of Samuel uses word repetition and other clues to help us understand the meaning of his stories.
So you see I want to feel the text, understand the circumstances (the facts) as best as I can, and listen and look at the word pictures the author is painting and see how the Lord will speak to me and through me as I write.
And I will see what God teaches me through the text and how I see my own story through hearing the story of Saul and David and Samuel.
That's what I'm thinking today...but who knows what tomorrow may bring?
I just know I need to work through the story. The truth of it, the emotions it draws to the surface, the beauty and the difficulty, the tragedy and the triumphs. I would love to work through it together with you, in bits and pieces. Please join me in the journey.
I'm lying here on the floor, curled up with the dog, in golden sanctuary.
I don't want the peace I woke with to leave me.
To fall asleep with a cry on my heart and wake with peace is not answer, but presence.
But whose presence?
And is it OK?
Does this come as an answer to prayer?
Whose prayer?
Did it change my course?
Am I weak, and emotional, and unsteady?
Or is love stronger somehow, than my death?
I don't want my eyes to grow dim like Eli's.
I don't want to desecrate this sanctuary like his sons.
I don't want the enmity of Elkanah's polygamous choice.
I don't want a rivalry.
I don't want to spurn love.
I don't want to cave to my circumstances.
I don't want to take my grief to any but the Lord.
I don't want the priest to think I'm a crazy drunk.
I don't want to forget my covenant with the Lord.
I don't want to give up on my son.
I don't want to bring down the priests you've appointed.
I don't want to be unresponsive to your midnight call.
I don't want to have a narrow vision.
I don't want any of my words to fall to the ground.
Can you hear all the cries?
Sometimes I don't know what I am supposed to want.
I just know what I do want.
And I know that I want to want what You want me to want, My God and Savior.
And I'm scared of choice.
Really scared of choice.
Sarah and Drew this afternoon.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Layers
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| 30th Street Station Statue Photo by Bgrace |
What is this feeling?
I can't find it's name.
A heart frozen numb, lying limp, laying lame.
The hollow place that waits just past the greatest pain.
Was Christ by his own power raised from the dead?
Or was it the Father who in hell found his bed,
Picked him up from his bloody pool
Gave light, love, life, and power to rule.
How does one know mercy,
Forgiveness in awesome breadth,
If he can't understand the depths of his own darkness.
And how can one heal the wound of another
Until her enemy becomes her brother.
My God who keeps His mercy long
Make mine stretch beyond this wrong.
Open wide the gates, let the enemy in
Somehow, someway, turn him to friend.
I can't raise this heart on my own,
Breathe life into these drying bones.
I can't raise this heart on my own
Send me a Savior to carry me home.
By Bgrace
Written in bits and pieces
over the last few years.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
A Few Lines on Beauty...
Study of a Girl's Head
By Thomas Eakins
Once in Philly we sat in the train station and had coffee and danish. I love 30th Street Station. It's a beautiful building with so much character and texture and light and warmth. Matt humored me and let me take a few pictures. We walked the 20 minutes to the museum in the warm morning sunshine.
We had a little time to walk the museum before we entered the Renoir exhibit. I was so excited to see Mary. I haven't visited her in so long. She was even more mesmerizing than I remembered. I was glad that I was still so drawn to her.
Matt and I went in to the Late Renoir exhibit and I kept waiting to be moved. To be drawn in. To be fascinated by his work. For it to speak to me. It was all very lovely. And yet, I found myself having to agree with Matt's words after we left the exhibit. "That was actually disappointing. I don't think I'm a big Renoir fan." It was true for me too. And I was trying to pinpoint why. Matt did say that he liked the paintings where Renoir had painted his children. But it seemed more like the idea Matt was drawn to than even the actual paintings.
As we walked the museum, I realized that I had grown since my last visit to an Art Museum. I found that I knew which paintings I really liked. I knew which ones I would want on my walls. And I even knew that I was drawn by certain artists for particular reasons. To my surprise I really like Eakins. I found myself drawn to his paintings all through the museum without knowing at first that they were his. There was a special exhibit for The Gross Clinic because it has been recently restored. I wouldn't normally be drawn to that type of scene, but I found myself so drawn to the personalities of his subjects. He painted their character. His subjects were rich with identity. He knew who they were. They seemed to know themselves. I also really loved his wife's painting of him. She knew his lines.
There were a few others that I found myself drawn to. Of the sacred paintings I loved a few that depicted Jesus, the disciples, and Mary in ways that felt poignant. I started to ask myself what was it that awakened that sense of magnetism in me, that made me want to take a picture, that made me want to linger. And as I walked through the museum (which is a work of art in itself), I found that I was drawn to elements in the museum almost as much as the paintings in it.
At about 5 PM Matt and I sat at a table above the great stair room. A live concert was playing below us--a tribute to Nat King Cole--and we ordered something to drink. I began to write out a list of things that moved me, drew me in, made me feel something. Things like arches, high ceilings, domes, and pillars. Stairs--endless repetition with shading and clean lines. Color and Light. Whimsy, the unexpected, things that played tricks on your eyes. Sacred spaces, fireplaces. Beautiful gowns. Curtains, sheers, and beautiful windows. People who speak deeply without using words.
And this simple whisper of truth awakened in me.
There is power in beauty.
In the space of that moment, I felt it was good.
There is a question that's been quietly rising in my thoughts for some time now that sounds a little bit like this...
Can beauty heal?
His Lines
Photo by Bgrace
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Scenic Route
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| From Roaring Brook to Chimney Pond Photo by Bgrace |
A couple nights ago I was getting ready to curl up with my pile of books in bed and Matt comes in and with a half smirk says, "So you're really going to read all of those books?"
"Not going to," I said, "I am reading them."
"These two," I pointed to the books I was referring to, "I read sections that are a couple pages long every day. The A. Carmichael book I read about a Chapter a day because I need a little dose of A.C. to keep things in perspective."
"These two are Bibles," I continued, "and the Siblings book I read a little bit out of every couple of days."
"Why are you reading the Appalachian Trail Guide to Maine?" he asked.
"Well," (I sighed because I wasn't sure if he would think it was weird), "I think there are a lot of correlations between the spiritual journey and hiking on the A.T. So as I read it I see a lot of connections."
Matt came over to me, wrapped his arms around me and tucked my head under his chin. "I think you're really smart," he said.
Just led, I thought happily.
That incident came back to me this morning as I was reading the A.T. guide to Maine. I have been wrestling with God about some things over the past few days. I have felt a bit conflicted at the direction He's taking me in right now. It seems to be going away from where I've been headed and I feel a bit perplexed, somewhat disturbed, and confused about what I am sensing from Him. So I keep checking in, "Is this just me? Am I being drawn away from my destination and just thinking it's you God? I want to be strong, I don't want to give up, I need to see this through...but the things you are showing me don't seem to be a direct route. What if I get sidetracked? What if I get so caught up in things I forget where I'm headed?"
I remembered a few years back when Matt accepted a job offer in Seattle. I had been looking for clarity about my journey through this decision. I asked the Lord to give me an answer by either taking me away or keeping me here. Everything I thought I needed was there. A phenomenal seminary program--I could get an M. Div. with an emphasis in spiritual formation, Ted and Nancy nearby, a good job for Matt...a new life. I desperately wanted a new life but I didn't want to go out of weakness. I only wanted to go if I was led. So Matt accepted the offer, and I prayed to God about it all, and the Lord clearly spoke to me and said, "You can go, but you will miss the blessing."
Funny, I believed that God had spoken, but I wasn't sure that I believed Him. (I wrote more about that in a piece called Lit From Within.) I decided to follow anyway. Matt had asked me what I thought we should do--if we should go or not, and I told him that because I was too confused about what was God and what wasn't, that he needed to make the decision, and I would go along with it no matter what. And once I told the Lord I would rather have the blessing and that I would rather go the route that would bring Him the most glory, I received a knowing from Him that we were not going to go. But I knew that God would have to be the One who intervened to keep us here. I told Jean, and she then shared with me that God had given her the same knowing, even though she had been willing to release me to the Lord's will. I told my Pastor who I had been meeting with at the time as well. But I made every effort to put my house in order so that we were ready to go. I boxed up almost everything. We painted the whole house and put new flooring in. We had a yard sale and sold much of our furniture because it would be cheaper to buy new stuff than move it across the country. I can't really explain it other than it was like Abraham going through all the motions of putting Isaac on the altar even though he believed God would provide the sacrifice in the stead of his son. The day before we were to put our house on the market Matt got a phone call from a company in the area he had not sent a resume to, not interviewed with, and not sought a job with--it was an even better job offer than Seattle. A man who had mentored him at another company asked him to come and work with him.
After everything had panned out, I told Matt that the Lord had told me we wouldn't be going.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he said with a fair amount of exasperation.
"Because you needed to know it was God, and not me," I replied. (For that matter, so did I.)
This morning, as I was reading the A.T. guide to Maine, I learned that there are some hiking points that can be reached by access roads if you wanted to drive there instead of hiking. I was tempted by the thought, Why didn't we drive there? for a few seconds. Then I remembered another incident of a few years back.The light I was wrestling for finally broke through.
I could drive there, but I would miss the blessings along the trail.
This truth has been coming at me so often the past couple of weeks. If I had given up on my job when they cut my salary, I would have missed an enormous blessing--THE WHOLE POINT OF MY BEING THERE! I would not have seen God's words about my ministry bear fruit.
What I'm trying to say is this: there are enormous blessings in store for us when we stay the course, when we stay on the path God puts us on. Often God does not take us on the most direct route. He doesn't drive us there on the easy access roads. Why? Because we'd miss the blessings along the way. And sometimes He takes us on paths where there are no easy access routes. The blessings along those trailsl are ones you don't find yourself taking for granted. Nor are the blessings at the end of those trails.
This morning God was saying to me--I'm not changing your destination, but I'm taking you along the scenic path. Enjoy the journey.
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| Mirror Image at Chimney Pond Photo by Bgrace |
It reminded me of the path to chimney pond--there aren't any access roads there. It's on the way to Cathedral Trail, the path we took to the top of Mount K. The view of the mountain from the campground is aptly named. It inspires a holy awe. Absolutely worth the hike.
Chimney Pond Campground with Cathedral in the background.
Photo by Bgrace
I'll close with an few excerpts from the forewords to Mimosa, Who Was Charmed (A.Carmichael).
First Edition, 1924
It spoke in a clear, glad voice, and it said: "Fear not at all. Where your hands cannot reach and your love cannot help, His hands reach and His love can help. So why are you afraid?"And it said that miles of space and solid walls and locked doors are nothing to Love. Nothing at all.And it said--and we set it down with great hope that it may cheer some other, for it said it very earnestly: "The seed is not your poor little word. The seed is the word of God."
Fifth Edition, 1930
But here in this strip of room..."Take off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." And a new insight, like the sudden flash that sometimes lights the evening sky in these tropical lands and shows kingdoms beyond the clouds, was granted in that moment. I knew, not by faith now, but as it were by sight, that our Lord Jesus Christ can do anything, keep anyone, shine anywhere, succour in spite of all the forces of the enemy, comfort in any circumstances. Verily, circumstances are nothing to Him. He is King of them all. The material is powerless to cramp or to subdue. It is naught. The Spiritual conquers every time.
Sixth Edition, 1935
For her (Star) too, we ask the protection of the Shield, for the powers of darkness are not figments of missionary imagination. They are mighty, they are present. But mightier, far and very present is the Shield of our God.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Pain's Question
Lava Scars
Photo by Bgrace
As I was looking through our photos of Mount Saint Helens, I remember my sense of wonder at the irony of the volcanic site. There's something about the pain of the land that makes it's beauty more striking. The scars carved by lava along the mountainside. The flora that has grown up out of the ashes surrounding the trees that were blown apart in the blast. Their bright colors sing redemption to the overwhelming shades of gray.
I was reading Henri Nouwen (The Dance of Life) the other day and came upon these words.
Our questions, "Do you love me?" and "Do I have to die?" are deeply connected.
How very insightful. Helen is a poignant representation of that question, and there is wisdom to be gleaned from both her pain and her beauty.
Today as I was reading through writings of various authors I felt pain rising to the surface of my spirit, and it was so overwhelming I couldn't push my way through it. I didn't quite know where it was coming from so I decided to sit with it for a while. Nouwen's words came back to me and the thought that formed was this.
"What question is my pain asking?"
How often I look to God to heal my wound without ever identifying the question my pain is asking.
As I thought, my pain formed itself into words.
"How much of me is still confused?"
Something else Nouwen said came back to me. In referring to his near death experience he said this,
"As I live my life in the years ahead of me, the question will be with me always, and I will never be allowed to let that question go completely."
I remember being struck by his willingness to live in the question and learn from the question rather than simply looking for an answer.
Am I willing to walk in the question?
Am I willing to stay in the confusion?
The truth is, I shy away from confusion because exposes my vulnerability. But it is only in vulnerability, in humility, in understanding that I don't fully understand, that I am teachable.
As I look at Helen's scars, I can see that she knows more about the question of pain than most mountains. I can see that her scars speak of wounds most mountains never experience. I can see that the flowers that can only grow from ashes are uniquely beautiful. And they stand out all the more against the gray.
I realize that the questions she asks are filled with wisdom no answers could ever supply.
Me on a tree blown apart by a volcanoe.
Photo by Matt
Monday, August 16, 2010
Storytelling
Bridge Over Troubled Water
Photo by Matt
Elie Weisel
I've been busy this summer. Really busy. And yet I didn't even scratch the surface of all that I wanted to accomplish. There are a few projects I have been working on.
1) My pictures. I have thousands of them from the last couple of years. The short of it is I am trying to help us as a family "remember" through pictures. I have been trying to take one event at at time and take the best of the photos, edit/organize/back up on to a CD, and put them in albums.
I decided to start with Seattle 2008, which was basically where I learned to use my camera (sort of). I was able to whittle the photos down to a little under 600. Which considering Matt wanted a photo of every nook and cranny of Mt. Saint Helens is pretty good. I'm going to start with a smaller project next (maybe cherry picking) before I tackle the Brazil photos.
2) My story. As I was putting together the Seattle photos, the Lord began impressing on me that I should gather my writings together for that year. And that I needed to fill in the blanks. 2008 is sort of the dark ages when it comes to my writing. I went through a very painful time when Satan almost got the best of me. You know the verse in This Little Light of Mine where you blow on your pointer finger and sing "Don't let Satan (poof) it out?" I get that verse now.
My ability to believe God was almost killed and since I was attached so deeply to my belief in Him I almost died with it. The panic attacks began to overtake me and I literally thought my mind was going to crack because I couldn't live with a God who was showing me what I was seeing and I couldn't fathom living without Him. I asked my parents to come back to the States, because I honestly didn't know if I could care for my children. I succumbed to medication for about two weeks until I realized a glass of wine in the evening did the same trick and didn't make me feel like my head was buzzing all day. Then I did the only thing I thought might help--I took Matt to Seattle to visit Ted.
It's interesting, as I look through the Seattle photos now I remember the pain, but even more obvious to me is the beauty in the midst of it. And the significance of all the Lord was saying and doing but that I didn't have the capacity to take in at the time. There are volumes to write about from that trip alone.
So the Lord has been asking me to write and compile from the few months before I closed down Deep Calls through the time where my faith in Him was slowly rebuilt. It's very hard. But I have a lot of writings that can be compiled, including posts from a fairly private blog called Trio Sem Joio (Wheat Without Weeds), and then I can fill in the gaps with journal entries. It's not about telling "the" story, but about my personal journey with God. There are a number of spiritual lessons and applications I have scratched out in my journals that need to be rewritten and most of my writing needs a good dose of editing. It's time to work on that.
It's amazing to me as I look back at where I was almost exactly two years ago when I didn't literally know if I could live and see how much healing has taken place, how much understanding I have, and mostly, how stable I feel in my relationship with the Lord regardless of what the circumstances around me look like. I'm not saying I'm indestructible or anything, just at such a better place than before. Praise God!
And so...strong enough to write about it.
Or at least to try.
The last thing I have been intentionally doing is enjoying life. Since I went through a period where pain laced EVERYTHING and it was hard to enjoy ANYTHING I have such a new found love for it. For people, and places, and experiences--food, art, travel...all sorts of blessings. And I want to write about it all. To tell the stories. They are all blessings from God to our family. And so full of meaning. I love sharing these experiences with my kids, with Jean, with my other close friends and family, and especially Matt. Brazil and Bermuda were covered in God's fingerprints, and really, the whole summer has been. Perhaps all of life is, and it is only now I have eyes to see it.
Seriously, I appreciate your prayers as I write, that they would bring glory to God, and light to others as I share my journey.
B
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Beach Day
We love the beach almost as much as we love Aunt Jean!!
(OK, it's not even close, but we DO love the beach.)
*Mom says she'll put pictures up soon, but since she took 500 in one day it's gonna take some time to go through them.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Belated
Last week my brothers celebrated their Birthdays. Randy turned 39 a day before Daren turned 30. Actually my Grandpa's Birthday was last week too. He turned 92. And I was just going to post a few funny pictures and have a few laughs but then I got to thinking...and you know what happens when I do that. (Can anybody say overly introspective?)
See, in the last year I've had more face time with my brothers than all the years in the last decade combined. Make that two decades.
Randy came home on furlough and we climbed Mount Katahdin with my Dad. That was a really big deal for all of us. He was in the States for a year--in Indiana--but still, we got to see each other a couple of times. We spent Thanksgiving together with Cindy and the kids--my favorite holiday to be with extended family.
And then, how do you describe seeing your baby brother for the first time in a decade? Truly there are no words. We had such great talks together and I felt like all the years of distance just faded away. He's all grown up now and I love the feeling of tenderness (carinho) we share for each other. Now he seems to think I'm the one who needs to be taken care of. Daren is sweet with me that way. And to see him being an Uncle...melt my heart. He loves his nieces and they ADORE him. And we got to welcome Aunt Vivi to the family too! She is so lovely. We miss them terribly.
I miss you all terribly and Daren--you said you were coming this year. And I don't think I've seen plane tickets yet!! You know you could make my Thanksgiving EXTRA special and Grace would love to have Uncle Daren and Aunt Vivi see her in the Nutcracker! Do you know what Black Friday is??? Ask Coralie because she is very knowledgeable about the subject.
So instead of making fun I thought I would make nice and post some of my favorite pics from the year of you guys. Miss you all and wish I were there with you.
B
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
609
Fall Reunion
Photo by Bgrace
Meet me in the meadow
At six o' nine
Hear the key change
The strings intertwine
Sweet melody returns
Unlocks the dawn
"Sing with me," you bid
Until I must admit
"Since you've been gone,
I've lost my song"
"Never mind," you say so kind
"I will give you one of mine"
Meet me in the temple
At nine o' six
I hear your footsteps coming
Breaking upon the sticks
Eyes full of sparkle
Your gaze transfixed
Your hands cover mine
With the gentlest touch
I turn them face up
Into communion cups
A sip of sacrifice
For each of us
We'll always come around to this place
Forever be drawn by this time
No matter how far apart we go
We'll be brought back by the chimes
Someday we'll find we can stay
And forever, never go away
*Much of my life has been spent in distance from the ones I love.
This poem is about the pain of being far away,
The joy of reunion,
And the hope of eternity together.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Mosaic
If you could see how I journal, you would understand a bit better the rhyme and reason behind how I post on my blog. Right now, I have 3 journals that I write in. The red one started out as my prayer journal. The black one started out as a place to write the words in it the Lord has been giving me, or to record instances where the Lord showed up. The brown leather bound one was supposed to be for writing lines or poems or phrases that would come to me as I was out and about and needed a place to put them before I forgot them.
Then there are the odd scraps of paper or pieces of torn out notebooks that seem to make their way into piles. Some of them I stick in the pocket of the back of my black journal for safekeeping. Also, there are several journals that I have begun over the last few years and yet haven't used up all the space in them, so from time to time it just feels right to place something I'm writing in the empty pages.
I try to date stuff. But I'm really bad at it. Even when I do there are times when I don't put a year, and because I skip around so much it is hard to have a very good sense of chronology about anything. And then, I'm not real good at structure. OK, the truth is I hate most structure...though I do try to put some in our lives. I like to feel my way through things, especially my writing. So of course prayers end up in the black journal and poems in the red journal and words are all over the place.
So when the Lord and I started to talk about the possibility of compiling my writings, there were a few issues. OK, I'll say it more plainly. There was no way I could even attempt to put all my writings in any sense of order and on top of that, there are so many holes in my story because I know the Lord is not asking me to share all of my journey with the world.
I began to panic every time I would think about the task before me, and finally the Lord told me something very comforting.
He said, "It can be a mosaic."
(Read HUGE Sigh of Relief)
So if you are a bit confused about how I stop and start certain writings and stories, then don't fear. At some point, when it seems right and I feel led to, I'll probably come back around to it.
A mosaic is about taking all the shattered pieces of stained glass and gathering them together into a beautiful design that reflects light through a work of art....in this case my life.
Reminds me of a poem I wrote after Dr. Kempton's funeral called "Fragile".
It was posted on Deep Calls Jan. 16, 2008.
Then there are the odd scraps of paper or pieces of torn out notebooks that seem to make their way into piles. Some of them I stick in the pocket of the back of my black journal for safekeeping. Also, there are several journals that I have begun over the last few years and yet haven't used up all the space in them, so from time to time it just feels right to place something I'm writing in the empty pages.
I try to date stuff. But I'm really bad at it. Even when I do there are times when I don't put a year, and because I skip around so much it is hard to have a very good sense of chronology about anything. And then, I'm not real good at structure. OK, the truth is I hate most structure...though I do try to put some in our lives. I like to feel my way through things, especially my writing. So of course prayers end up in the black journal and poems in the red journal and words are all over the place.
So when the Lord and I started to talk about the possibility of compiling my writings, there were a few issues. OK, I'll say it more plainly. There was no way I could even attempt to put all my writings in any sense of order and on top of that, there are so many holes in my story because I know the Lord is not asking me to share all of my journey with the world.
I began to panic every time I would think about the task before me, and finally the Lord told me something very comforting.
He said, "It can be a mosaic."
(Read HUGE Sigh of Relief)
So if you are a bit confused about how I stop and start certain writings and stories, then don't fear. At some point, when it seems right and I feel led to, I'll probably come back around to it.
A mosaic is about taking all the shattered pieces of stained glass and gathering them together into a beautiful design that reflects light through a work of art....in this case my life.
Reminds me of a poem I wrote after Dr. Kempton's funeral called "Fragile".
It was posted on Deep Calls Jan. 16, 2008.
Grace's Fragments
Photo by Bgrace
Fragile
Like the bucket of seashells the girls and I collected
Pearl-white with purple edges, buffed smooth by sand and wave
Pushed beyond the receding tide and left to adorn the shoreline
Porcelain curves revealing their intimate secrets
and untold stories
Fragile
As the widow’s countenance that broke into smile and tear
At the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the sight of an old friend
Comforted by one as she consoled another in shared grief
Unspoken understanding evoking cherished memories
and unfinished dreams
Fragile
Like the stained-glass pieces of my faith that stare at me
Sometimes green, sometimes red; broken bits with razor sharp edges
Pieced together into a wordless mosaic of confusion and perception
Dull and tilted shapes awaiting rays of light to permeate their transcendent beauty
and unrevealed glory
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