A Change of Location

To all who might happen upon this page again after such a long silence....due to a certain event, and its subsequent change upon my name, I've decided to start afresh with a new-ish blog. Nothing is on the page yet, but I thought I'd post something here to make it semi-official. Maybe it'll force me to write something again. 

http://gracevwright.blogspot.com/

Much love,

-Grace

Covenant

Our hidden bundle of selves

 is being woven into a three-chord strand

 round eyes, heart, and hand

 slowly unknotted, plucked, and wound

 tethered now, to you I am bound

 alive, waiting not on shelves.

'But [she] treasured all these things in her heart.'

'The Lord has done this,

     and it is marvelous in our eyes.

This is the day the Lord has made;

     let us rejoice and be glad in it.'

Hope Deferred.

'The shore you left is just as distant, and there is no going back; there is only the decision to paddle in place or stop, slide out of the hatch and sink into the sea. Maybe there's another story at the bottom of the sea. Maybe you don't have to be in this story anymore.

It's been like this with all my crossings....I think this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids and change the way people buy office supplies. But they get into the middle and discover it was harder than they thought. They can't see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting bigger. They take it out on their spouses, and they look for an easier story....

It's like this with every crossing, and with nearly every story too. You paddle until you no longer believe you can go any farther. And then suddenly, well after you thought it would happen, the other shore starts to grow, and it grows fast. The trees get taller and you can make out the crags in the cliffs, and then the shore reaches out to you, to welcome you home, almost pulling your boat to the sand.' 

(Donald Miller, Million Miles in a Thousand Years)

Tonight, I'm finding it hard to trust. Faith is drained and joy has run off with the sun. I want to shout out, 'SERIOUSLY???!?!?! Seriously.' I'm tired of hope deferred. I'm tired of tears. Please, I beg, can this fight be over?

Do you ever feel like there's a shore you've been trying to reach for a long time - months, maybe years? Does it seem to be alluding your every attempt? Yeah. I'm with you. 

I read verses like this in the morning, yet by evening their encouragement seems to have departed, 'Keep me safe, O God, for in You I take refuge....Lord, You have assigned me my portion and my cup; You have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.' (Psalm 16)....

Then I force myself to look up to the face, from which the gentle voice is emanating. And I see the nail scarred hands reaching out to me....speaking of Your capacity to love, your ability to hold steadfast.  

You, Jesus, are my inheritance, and that is why it's delightful. Not because my life is working out how I think it should, not because I'm getting married this year, not because the sun has been out in Edinburgh. And that is why it can be delightful when the promises You've spoken seem to be delayed, when the hope is deferred, when the light seems dim, when my own inadequacies feel great. 

'I will praise the Lord, who counsels me;

even at night my heart instructs me.

I have set the Lord always before me.

Because He is at my right hand,

I will not be shaken.'

(Psalm 16)

My future is secure in His hands. 

Before All Ages.

'To Him who is able to keep you from stumbling 

       and to present you before His glorious presence 

    without fault and with great joy - to the only God our Saviour 

  be glory, majesty, power, and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, 

        before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.'

                                             Jude 1:25-6

I think God's grace is a lot bigger than I make it out to be. 

A Story's End.

Well, my week long plunge into the world of daily blogging has drawn to a close. It's been....a challenge. A challenge to actually write down (in a semi-public place) what goes on in this wee head of mine. Instead of just squirreling it away in the pages of my journal. So thanks for taking all these trains with me! :)

It always amazes me the paths of thought that God takes me on, through my days. Marriage. A wedding feast. I recently read this incredible article on marriage. It's short, and well worth the read. And it got me thinking....

In the beginning was a wedding, for God determined that it was not good for us to be alone. That we, as the very pictures of His being, should be joined together as one - just as He is One. 

The end of The Story? A wedding feast. 

'Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting: 

"Hallelujah!

For our Lord God Almighty reigns.

   Let us rejoice and be glad

   and give Him glory!

For the wedding of the Lamb has come,

   and His bride has made herself ready.

Fine linen, bright and clean,

   was given her to wear."

Then the angel said to me, "Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!" And he added, "These are the true words of God."'

(Revelation 19:6-9)

'The Bible ends with a wedding ceremony.....the story of God culminates in Jesus bringing his Bride, the church, home to live with Him permanently. Those who have trusted in Christ for salvation throughout history, whether anticipating His coming or looking back to when He came, will live with Him forever. The marriage supper of the Lamb proves that the covenant-keeping God honours His promises. That is your Hope, and will always be the Hope of the Bride of Christ.' 

I've had quite a few 'wedding stress dreams' so far. Some of them involving me being forced to marry a complete stranger. NIGHTMARE! Others, have to do with my dress.....something going wrong, it not being what I've chosen....Silly things like that. Except it isn't silly.

For at the beginning of our stories, we are all born with the wrong clothing. We go through life, dressed in rags of false righteousness. But Jesus came and found us, in our floundering and dirty state. He took off his robe of white and fashioned it into the most stunning of wedding clothes. And took upon Himself our muddied and ripped clothing....

But my dear brother and sister, He didn't stop there. He took us away from our life of slavery, and has set our feet inside His own palace. To dwell, abide, and rule there with Him.....And even after all of this, I still pick up the broom to serve Him. It's as if I was a bride who insisted on serving the meal to all her guests in order to repay the bridegroom for his love.

When all He longs to do, is place me at His table and eat with me. At the wedding feast. Shall I not revel in this grace and love, instead of working to repay it? To rest in the act that makes my soul complete and whole.

Donald Miller writes, 'What I love about the true gospel of Jesus, though, is that it offers hope. Paul has hope our souls will be made complete. It will happen in heaven, where there will be a wedding and a feast. I wonder if that's why so many happy stories end in weddings and feasts. Paul says Jesus is the hope that will not disappoint. I find that comforting. That helps me get through the day, to be honest. It even makes me content somehow. Maybe that's what Paul meant when he said he'd learned the secret of contentment.....Do I still think there will be a day when all wrongs are made right, when our souls find the completion they are looking for? I do. But when all things are made right, it won't be because of some preacher or stake-oil salesman or politician or writer making promises in his book. I think, instead, this will be done by Jesus. And it will be at a wedding. And there will be a feast.'

'Come, come, we are friends: let's have a dance ere

we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts

and our wives' heels.' 

(Much Ado About Nothing)

'Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,

With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.'

(As You Like It)

Love is?

Love.

Love is graciously 

patient with another soul,

kindhearted in all 

the movements of its hands 

and words.

The green root 

of envious feeling

does not colour its deeds.

Empty phrases of forecful validation,

proof of self's worth,

never burn within.

The heart of love is not only gentle,

but also humble;

seeking the other,

not its own pursuits.

It longs

always reaching out;

not expecting to be sought,

but to seek.

Love is not unneccessarily

harsh or brash,

with the precious closeness

of another being.

The spark of anger 

is always 

quenched

before the setting of the sun.

The record of past wrongs

does not trouble

the thoughts of Love,

they are buried deep

within the waters

of forgetfulness.

Love's eyes are full

of Truth.

And it is delighted in this holiness.

The vulnerable are protected

withing Love's strong

and steady

shelter.

Open-armed embrace.

It trusts

in the strenght of joy

which fills its being

with Hope,

and the faithful perseverence

of grace.

Love is gloriously triumphant.

          He never fails.

P.S. In a follow up thought from yesterday's post, check out this article if you've got the time. Seriously one of the best things I've read on marriage: http://theresurgence.com/2011/04/07/marriage-in-gods-story.

Covenant.

Noun. 

To come; a coming together; a meeting or agreement of minds.

A mutual consent or agreement of two or more persons, to do or to forebear some act or thing; a contract; stipulation.

In theology, the covenant of works, is that implied in the commands, prohibitions, and promises of God; the promise of God to man, that man's perfect obedience should entitle him to happiness. This do, and live; that do, and die.

The covenant of redemption, is the mutual agreement between the Father and Son, respecting the redemption of sinners by Christ.

The covenant of grace, is that by which God engages to bestow salvation on man, upon the condition that man shall believe in Christ and yield obedience to the terms of the Gospel.
In church affairs, a solemn agreement between the members of a church, that they will walk together according to the precepts of the Gospel, in brotherly affection.

I've been thinking about this word quite a bit lately. It's four months and a week until I make the biggest promise of my life. And I'm scared. I'm going to be promising to love when I'm empty, to give when I'm hurting, to see when I'm blind, to hear when I'm deaf, to be strong when I'm weak. The depth and breath of this vow of marriage overwhelms me slightly....I am but slight and frail. I am afraid of failing, of twisting love into some knarled and cracked, dying root. 'What's if there's a drought?', my heart queries in subtle desperation. Or not so subtle desperation, depending on the day.

I place myself under the covenant of works..... 

.....forgetting that my heart has been set free in the redemptive covenant of grace. 

Covenant of grace? The eternal plan of redemption entered into by the three persons of the Godhead.

Fear has no place in this covenant of perfect Love....For Love Himself has promised to be faithful unto me. And in this Love, my weakness is enveloped in His strength. My ears have been awoken to the music of His mercy. My eyes have been pierced by the rays of His light. He has given His very self into my hurting, fearful soul, healing my wounds with every morning. And because of this, I am free to pour out all that He has poured within....Love has called me to Him, to empty my very self....so that I can be filled to overflowing. So that I may walk in the good news. That I might dwell in the promises. That my fragmented being might be pieced back together into the mosaic that Love alone knows how to create. That I might be able to love in return. This is the God I can trust in.

'Let us hold unswervingly to the Hope which we profess, for He who promised is faithful.'

-Hebrews 10:23

A Glorious Reminder.

Today was a beautiful, glorious reminder of what it's all about.

Good news. Jesus.

We, as a wee little family here in this city, got to witness four people being baptised this morning. I was overwhelmed with the majesty of the story in which I find myself. In which we as a church find ourselves. To see these four people, such dear and true friends, stand up and share their journeys - so varied and powerful....was full of heart-deepening beauty.

Jesus? You are present and living and dwelling in our midst. Why do I so often forget this?

Do I live as if You hold all the ages between Your fingertips?

I greatly fear that I do not.

But then I see Your eyes. So full of grace and truth. And I see sights like today....hearing stories of healing and wholeness, of hope and a future. We hear of another thread in Your story-tapestry, all the way from Nepal. We hear of the ministers there, the miracles which abound....and my faith slowly rises - like an engine that's been stuck out in the cold. We open our mouths and sing of Your great deeds.

You are so good. Thank You for not leaving me where I am at, but always and ever calling me 'further up and further in'.

I know this video might be a 'tad' on the pretentious side...but it challenged me a few years ago, and I managed to find it again. What does good news look like to those dwelling amongst us? 

YOUR HOPE from blaine hogan on Vimeo.

P. S. I swear I had this almost finished on time....:)

Unscribable days.

Ah! Forty minutes to write this and I'm so tired. But knowing my incessant and utterly annoying need to stick to my word, I shall post. I will not be defeated!! Though, I regret to inform you that today, I shall only be inscribing a few brief words. I've been up hills all day long....

And I guess there are some days that are best left unsaid....

Even if I wish I could put them into words and remember every last detail.

Days so full of joy and sunlight....and friendship.

And love.

God is so good. And He is present in all of our days....though, I think He's present in a special and unique way during these unscribable days.

'They said, "Rabbi, where are you staying?"

         "Come," He replied, "and you will see" '

                         (John 1: 38-9)

Let's dwell with Him in all of our days.

Communion.

Communion

Brushstrokes on the soul of someone else,

This fearless touch unclothes bodies

Unwinding the knotted ribbons of my thoughts

And permeates the clattering clutter beneath

Late, I have come, drawn to your side

By some unknown force of subtle magnitude.

The foolish winds of fancy, I have long believed

Fall away, struck down by the silence of love.

My being, a skylark in dawn, rises

From the rubble of plaguing insecurities.

No more through cafe windows do I gaze

But soaring, sailing, scaling, I venture.

Deep delving closeness draws

And the ivory papers of my heart flutter

Your breath warms my salty cheek;

Caressing the breakable mosaic of me.

This red wine, the bread, enfolds me

Within you, you within and without.

The paradox, the oneness of grace

Confounds, perplexes, radiates.

A Pen's Justification.

I'm being forced to pause.

I don't like this.

I have to write now.

Why is it so hard to focus, to make myself do what I love?

I fear I'm riddled with fear.

And then I want to give up altogether and go bake a cake. Or wish for the umptienth time that I didn't have to worry about not being in full-time employment. Or go worry about something else insignificant. Or look at pretty blogs.

I realised, at about 1:00 am this morning (as you do) why so much of my journaling feels fake to me. It's cause I hide. I hide what occupies my brain the most. And most of the time, it's fears. Donald Miller mentions that Jesus commanded us over TWO HUNDRED times 'Do not fear'. And still I succumb to its paralysing voice.

So I check facebook (yup). I wonder what I'll make for dinner. I use the toilet. I doubt that I'm loved. I check my emails. I pop out to run an errand. I fritter away the hours.

My soul shrinks, my faith diffuses into thin air, and I am numbed. 

And then the guilt rises, as I try to justify what I've done with my day.....that never goes over well. I chide myself and I ask, 'What SHOULD I be doing?' I try harder.  

A Pen's Justification

There is a knotted thread

within my hand;

it binds my fingers together.

But my head?

It hurts for all the wool

tangled

mangled.

I try

raging

pulling

to explain, explore, the ache.

The ache of inadequacy

of confused, believed fallacy.

My perception

time and again rebuked

by a sense of duty.

Will my pen ever stop

trying to justify my being?

Do you ever try harder? To cover up, let go, sweep away, forget, to build, to create,....to justify? I look inside me for The Answer, The Meaning.

Inside me....

....and I wonder why fear seems to grip onto my heart and why I can't hear Your voice in amongst my endless babble and fretting.

Inexplicably, this morning (having woken up tense and under-slept) I finally listened to the Voice that had been whispering 'read John' for the past couple of days. And I read these verses....

'In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

He was with God in the beginning.

Through Him all things were made;

without Him nothing was made

that has been made.

In Him was life

and that life was the light of men.

The Light shines in the darkness,

but the darkness has not understood

or overcome

it.'

John 1.

I can't claim to know what this means. What it means intellectually or for my own life....but I read it and my bones feel vigorous again. My heart somehow has courage. Life is seeping back into me. A fight is rising within....I will not stand idly by as the Story is ripped from my life. It will not be stolen from me. For the Light, Jesus, the Word is dwelling with me. Within us.

Challenge for myself? 

Let the Word of Christ dwell RICHLY within me, and then maybe the words that spill from my own pen will feel less like a justification, less of a covering up,....and more of an act of freedom, more of a joy.

The Importance Of Jumping In Rivers.

I had a pause, a breathing space, in my life this past weekend. And it was most glorious. 

I've also felt challenged.....to stop letting my days pass me by as if my life was meaningless. I remember growing up, I would always pretend that I was in a story. Whether that story was in war-time Britain, bombs dropping around me, or in some Victorian field on Prince Edward Island, or in some dimly lit, religiously fraught medieval castle on a cold and wet day. Walking about in the grocery store gathering items for my mum, in the car on the way to piano lessons, or lying in bed at night....I would depart for the Other Lands.

Yes. I was an odd child. 

But that's the rub. We are in a story.....and what kind of story am I in? I've been reading (devouring?) 'A Million Miles in a Thousand Years' by Don Miller. He writes, 'I like the part of the Bible that talks about God speaking the world into existence, as though everything we see and feel were sentences from His mouth, all the wet of the world His spit. I feel written. My skin feels written, and my desires feel written. My sexuality was a word spoken by God, that I would be male, and I would have brown hair and brown eyes and come from a womb. It feels literary, doesn't it, as if we are characters in books....there is a knowing I feel that guides me toward better stories, toward being a better character. I believe there is a writer outside ourselves, plotting a better story for us, interacting with us, even, and whispering a better story into our consciousness.'

Do I live this way? Sometimes it's easier to live in my head. To dream about a life I would desire....to let it slip by me unnoticed, like a beautiful flower growing in the crack of an old stone wall. I think we get scared, and it paralyzes our dreams and desires, our passions....and ultimately our very selves. 

When I think of one thing that scares me, almost above all others....it's being vulnerable in writing. It's so easy to go and read someone else's blog, someone else's book. Instead of picking up the pen myself. 

So this week, I'm going to try something. I am going to attempt to put some writing on the page every day this week. And see what happens. I guess it's like a muscle. Like training for a race you've always wanted to do, actually finding that recipe and making that loaf of bread, like opening that box of photos and beginning to fashion them into a story on a page. 

Here's to the plunge....

Calling Forth Strength.

I was just thinking how tired I am of 'pressing through', of trusting for a job, a flatmate. This desert, this wasteland of postponement. I'm tired of it. I ask, rather tentatively and with a slight angle of self-pity, 'have I learned this lesson yet?' Oh silly girl. And then I read these words of David, a song he wrote at the end of his life....

'The LORD is my Rock, my Fortress, and my Deliverer;

    my God is my Rock in whom I take refuge,

  my Shield and the Horn of my Salvation.

He is my Stronghold, my Refuge, and my Saviour....'

(2 Samuel 22:2-3)

I've read over and over that phrase 'horn of my salvation', and its corresponding footnote: 'horn here symbolises strength'. I thought little about it. But today, it stood out to me....Why is it that a horn symbolises strength? Why is strength tied to salvation, of all things?....And then it reminded me of something. You know in Narnia, when Father Christmas gives Susan the horn, he says that whenever she blows it HELP WILL COME.....'Trust in this horn, Susan.' In battles where one is surrounded, horns call troops together, they call forth the strength inside and out. They call forth salvation.....But I have to trust that when I call out in my utter abandoned need, He - the God of the Ages - will answer.  

For He Himself, in a strange and wonderful twist, IS my Horn of Salvation. Jesus called out with His last breath, 'It is finished'....a call that has reverberated throughout history. A call of overwhelming victorious strength and salvation.

I'm speechless in the face of this revelation. Shall we not trust?

Sparkly.

'In all seriousness, though, if I don't have the ring in time....can I ask you anyway?'

     'As long as you have a bit of string or something, of course,' I replied.

The hopeful (and realist?) side of me was thinking, 'You complete and utter LIAR.' The other half (which tends to hold more sway) was chiding the romantic in me saying, 'Don't get your hopes up, Grace....this is rubbish. I was hoping he had it already.'

But as a girl, one cannot - absolutely cannot - get one's hopes up too high or one shall feel like a very sad, demanding girl. And we cannot have that. Ever. :)

In the course of the evening he said, 'There is somewhere I've discovered in the city that I wanted to take you to. I found it while you were away....but I kinda want it to be a surprise.'

I suggested that I blindfold myself. Bizzare, I know, but kinda fun.

So that exchange happened on Friday night, last.

Saturday morning rolled around and consisted of porridge, Miranda, rugby highlights, and coffee (ohhhh yes). I didn't notice anything strange....I thought I would, seeing as Gordon has a semi-irrational fear of losing things from pockets, not locking doors, and leaving lights on. I only noticed he seemed strange once, when he was delaying going. But come half past two in the afternoon, we started off in the First Choice van filled to the brim with boxes and bits and bobs. Me blindfolded, listening to BBC radio 1, in all its dance-tune glory. It was only a short, twenty minute drive. If you've never been blindfolded in a car before, I can highly recommend it. It's rather fun to not know where you're going, to feel the lay of the roads. I remember as a kid, I would lay down in the back seat of our car and close my eyes, trying to make myself disoriented so that I'd be surprised when we got home (did you ever do that?). It never really worked, seeing as I usually did it on the way home from church.....and we did that drive far to frequently for any part of the road to be unfamiliar. But I digress.

We parked, and he led me - still blindfolded - to the entrance of our walk. Now you have to know, that that day was a no-make-up-waterproof-jacket-kinda-day. It was overcast and gray. When he took off the blindfold (much to my relief as my overdeveloped sense of self-consciousness was seriously kicking in), I saw we were in a deep, forested vale. I instantly guessed we were in one of three places in the city (Crammond, Morningside, or Blackford Hill)....though I kept those guesses to myself, of course. We sallied forth onto the muddy path, passing dogs and their humans along the way. There was a hermitage, an old dove coat, and some lovely bridges over streams. As soon as we began the ascent, I knew we must be near Blackford Hill. Then I saw the top and it was for certain. I said, 'Do you remember the last time we were here? It was during the height of awkwardness before you asked me out last January.' He replied, 'Yeahhh....I thought I'd redeem it.' :) I had been thinking during the walk, 'I wonder if he'll ask me today?' But that cynic again quickly quieted the romantic and said, 'SHHH. Don't be silly, of course he won't.' And that was that.

We sat on the edge. Eating apples. Then we walked closer to the cliff, overlooking the whole of Edinburgh, including Arthur's Seat, the Firth, and behind us was the Pentlands. Unfortunately, one could see Appleton Tower as well. :) He apologised saying, 'Last time I was here, it was lovely and frosty and golden.' That day, it was cold, windy, and I couldn't really feel my hands anymore - so we agreed to go. As we turned, Gordon bent down to tie his shoe laces. Now, you must understand, that as avid Office fans, Gordon had been doing this to me for the past wee while (year?) as we walked in the city.....bending down on one knee and then tying his shoes. Fortunately he actually did need to tie his shoes in this moment.

So being the good girlfriend that I was, I turned with my back to him to survey the Pentlands (they are so beautiful.....) and thought no more of it. Until....I heard from behind me, 'Uhhh....Grace?' I turned around.

And there he was, bent on one knee, holding a wee green box.

I don't quite know what my face looked like in that moment, but the first words out of my mouth were, 'You loser!' Poor man. We just froze there for a moment, and then he said, 'Would you like to be my wife?'

I somehow temporarily lost the ability to speak.

But in my shock and unbelief, I managed to fumble out, 'Yes. Yes I would!' He instantly stood up and as he was trying to open the box, said, 'I've got a ring too. Would you like to see it?' Again, I answered, 'Yes!' He opened the box and I saw, before me, the perfectest ring ever. 'Where....when?' I asked how old it was, because it looked like an antique ring. He said, 'That's the only thing, it isn't an antique....but the diamond is....' And then I realised that I totally recognised the diamond - it was my mum's.

By this point I was utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude and beauty of it all. 'How? Why? God....' Were the thoughts rushing through my head. I put out my hand and he asked, 'Is this the right hand?' As he slipped it on my left ring finger. 'Yes', I somehow managed to say. 

After dinner and drinks and celebrationings....In the quiet, the overwhelmingness of it all kept  me awake. So I baked. Sad, I know. Oh well!

And that was it folks. I wish I had words to describe how I feel, but I don't. Let me just say one thing, though....The wait was worth it. And I'm not just talking about the wait to kiss, though that was nice too. :) But I'm talking about the wait for the fulfillment of the promises. We called Nana the next night and she said the most beautiful things....'God's save a special one for you, Grace. He's so full of joy!' And it's true. I could say so much more about the goodness of God in this. His faithfulness to me in my doubting and bewilderment and moaning for those two years. He knew the end of the matter before the beginning. He knew. But He didn't tell me in my tears. He waited....because the journey, the story, is the most beautiful part of all.

'Let them give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love

  and His wonderful deeds for men,

for He satisfies the thirsty

  and fills the hungry with good things.'

(Psalm 107)

Wednesday Morning Musings.

    Oh what a sunrise this morning. And what a morning it has been. I groggly woke up and instantly realised it was unnervingly light outside. Between opening my eyes and reaching for my phone to see the time, my stomach seemed to disappear. 7:40, it read. And I won't repeat the next word that came out of my mouth. You see, that is the time that I need to leave the house.

    Thanks to the wonder of lighting speed showers and wonderfully efficient mothers, I was out of the house at 7:58. Coffee in hand.

    This whole time, I was muttering to myself, 'I can't believe I forgot to set my alarm last night....God, why? You know I love waking up and having time to get ready....And read with You over breakfast' (that last comment might have been my foolish attempt to guilt trip God....bad move, even if it is true). Cause you see, I do love it. Especially when I'm stressed and lacking sleep.

    It was as my face hit the frosty air with a snap and I saw the breathtaking sunrise that He began to speak. First, it was a whisper of His delight in delighting me with beauty. Then, as I walked (ran) to the station, the tones became more distinct....'I'm faithful.' As I stood on the platform, I remembered what I had prayed the night before. The stress was illogically creeping up on me again, closing my thoughts and making my heart do odd things, my whole body tensing up. As I was about to turn off my light, I had cried out, 'Lord, You know how hard it's been for me to fall asleep lately....please, You are faithful. Remind me? Please, I know I can't make this go away, so I'm just going to have to choose to trust in You. Please help.'

I asked to be reminded of His faithfulness.

   So, as I am sitting in a crowded, commuter-filled train on a normal Wednesday morning, the God of universe, space, and time, has chosen to draw near to me and remind me of His goodness and faithfulness towards this fumbling daughter. He woke me up. God was my alarm clock today. So the answer to my queries about why He'd take away my usual time with Him? A smile. A smile comes from His face as He says, 'I wanted to reveal my nearness in a new way. I've got you. Safe and secure.'

    The knowledge of His love towards me is too great for 8:38 am. He never changes and He never fails. Great is His love and faithfulness. My doubting, anxious heart has been quelled and calmed. Quieted in the sea of stillness, trusting once again....on that journey of trust....it is constant, yet full of beautiful sunrises of God's unchanging, never ending loving-kindness.

Incarnation

Incarnation

The cloak of flesh upon Him came,

Corporeal wholeness of perfection.

Slipping through the gates of earth,

His otherness enters time, diminished.

The glory of His eyes are dimmed,

His feet leadened, dust clinging on.

Constrained vastness of presence,

Holiness heard in the cry of a babe.

With heights of favour and depths of scorn,

He'll grow in wisdom, eternal and sure.

Picking up His father's iron and wood,

The carvings of His path will begin.

Hands of splinters and eyes of salt,

He speaks and loves and hears.

Not ease nor comfort shall He know,

Longing and pain haunt Him ever.

This crownless Prince will carry

The load of humanity's shame,

From east to west He'll rend the curtain;

Bringing home the lost and broken.

The paradox of body and soul,

In humble majesty shall endure.

History's fabric rewoven with grace,

In the oneness of God and Man.

Yet for now, the whispers take form,

As the Great Coming is heralded.

Almighty dwells here, Emmanuel,

And the universe reverberates resurrection.

Our King - our glorious, majestic, humble, tangible, King - overflowing with love and grace for us all.....has arrived. What a cause to rejoice.....

Safety.

What is my object in life? I hide away, afraid to step out. I mark and label boxes, and place inside the unacceptable parts of me. They are stacked neatly away. Just in case of a fire. Is my object, then, safety? It certainly is safe to hide away. I can walk quite normally about, unafraid that I might be seen.
Oh dear. To be seen. That would plunge my heart into turmoil. Would I be unacceptable....or worse....Would I be unintelligible? So much of who I am seems to be lost in translation, that it becomes easier to hide away. To forget parts of me. To masquerade as someone else. Some one understandable. Quantifiable.  
But oh what a dead place safety is. What a damp, dark habitat my soul becomes. And oh how tired. To unpack those boxes and remember my self would demand vulnerability, persistence, and freedom. Things I cannot have on my own. 

And maybe that's the point. 

In the act of opening, I must trust in someone greater to love me enough to give me the freedom to be persistently vulnerable. To be able to trust in those who say they love me. Then I can pull out the artifacts from the boxes and set them back in their places. 
Safety. It's dangerous and alluring. Lonely and deadening. Vulnerability and trust? Painful and honest. But beautifully freeing. 

Guest Post

http://www.carolinecollie.com/

: )

Unlovely Love.

Do you ever sometimes feel like the very worst version of yourself? I do. And then I'm reminded....


Unlovely Love
The unlovely parts of me,
    tumbled deep within my soul,
 call from the hidden furrows
    entrenched in cloud and mist.


The unlovely parts of me,
    are dark and twisted things.
 intent on veiled silence,
    yet crying in the cold.


The unlovely parts of me,
    wreathed in fear and shame,
 quieted by failures numbered
    and lost in darkened moors.


The unlovely parts of me,
    first drew your heart to mine
 through the fog of doubt,
    the torch glimmered amongst the trees.


The unlovely parts of me
    collapsed in numb dampness
 I fell, enfolded in your arms.
    the light flickered at our feet.


The unlovely parts of me,
   all broken, shattered, tired,
 sat there, with you, in the glade.
   In stillness. In peace.


The unlovely parts of me,
    began to dissolve in warmth
 icy fingers tingled with sence,
    awoken to movement and touch.


The unlovely parts of me
    breathed in the breath of Life
 my soul, in lyrical freedom,
    became the birdsong of dawn.


I find that my soul, though it is filled with shame, longs to be seen. So intent on being silent, yet crying out with no sound....longing to be heard. And you are heard. You are seen. We are loved. Even the unlovely bits. Jesus has a messy love for us. It doesn't conform, and it is most certainly not convenient. Sometimes it demands that I accept it and believe it, when all I long to do is stay curled up in an over-sized jumper in a cold corner. He loves me at inconvenient times, and in rather inconvenient ways. I want to believe the worst, He speaks the best over me. 


It's taken a long time for me to let myself accept His love, or the beginnings of it. My perfectionist aims starved my soul for the very thing it craved, telling it, 'This is off limits. You don't deserve this. Don't eat of it. Put it to the side, unwrapped, like a longed for and delicious piece of dark chocolate.' I was treating His love like an elaborate French dessert, rather than a warming soup or a sustaining piece of fresh bread. His love is definitely both (it's what we need and it's so much more - a delicacy). But in my twisted and tangled desires to be perfect for myself and all those around me, I starved myself from the very SOURCE I desperately needed. Like I said....twisted and tangled. Is your heart craving love? Is it shriveling up and dying? I found that in telling myself that His love was off limits, that I must strive and DO to earn the right to stand before Him (cause heaven forbid if I came to Him broken and vulnerable!), it was then that the very parts of my soul that made me ME started to die. Without sustainance, we die. 


When I open my hands wide to receive Love....Oh my. The relief and joy my soul feels is akin to one who, after hours of trying to wash a permanent stain out, is handed a clean and vibrant new shirt....of one who climbing the same mountain for years turns a corner that was there all the time and realises that the need to climb is gone....the view is right there before her. 

It is in this act of surrender that I realise afresh how great and beautiful Jesus is. I wish my broken words could describe Him, but they will always fall short. I can't wait until I can see Him face to face. Until then, it's in the quietness and stillness that I'll know and remember....He is Lord. And our Lord is Love. 


My soul rejoices in His unlovely love.