Do you ever do something that you then chide yourself for hours upon hours afterwards? I tend to do this maybe about 5,396 times daily (give or take a few). On Friday I was out and had to get some cash. So I popped over to one on North Bridge and entered my pin. Fairly standard procedure. When I was in the second hand book shop (getting the fifth Harry Potter book - the reason for getting the cash out, I confess) I went to get the money out of my purse. It wasn't there. Do you know that sense of immediate panic that settles? Yeah. Majorly. So then I checked to make sure I still had my debit card. Oh phew. That was still there. I thankfully had a bit of extra cash (intended for other purposes, but ah well), bought the book, and left the shop to get back on the bus. For the rest of the afternoon I kept telling myself how intolerably stupid I was. I mean, who takes out money, retrieves their card, and then leaves the said money in the cash machine?? Stupid stupid stupid stupid. The only thought that slightly comforted me was this: maybe I was able to give a ten pound note to someone who needed it more than I did. And even if it was picked up by some fresher who spent it getting wasted last night....maybe they were blessed somehow.
Then Saturday morning woke up. And what a terribly depressing morning it was too....I got three pieces of mail. Two were rejections from applications. Thankfully the third was from a dear friend across the Atlantic on a lovely Island in the north. No matter how many of these 'thank you for your application but you've been unsuccessful' letters I get....it doesn't really get any easier to swallow.
So I've caved, I'm going back to work part-time at Starbucks for the time being. At least that's what it feels like I'm doing. I think it's cause I feel like I'm letting myself down. Maybe perfectionist, legalist Grace (yes, I'm aware of the contradiction imbeded in that phrase) needs to learn something about attaching her self-worth to what she does as opposed to who she is in Christ. I've always had such a sense of urgency to DO something, to BE something. Like my time is limited, numbering my days and all that. How is one meant to reconcile that to surrender? My mum had an amazing piece of wisdom for me, 'Sometimes the trial is holding out for your ideal (a job, in this case....a purpose....a validation), and sometimes the trial is holding onto it in the midst of doing something else'.....So back I go to making coffee for a while. I shall choose not to demean myself. Anything He calls us to is a privilage. Oh God give me the strength to keep that attitude.
These episodes are relatively unconnected....but both part of my life this past week. And both have made me think of something....How rarely do things happen the way that we expect. I mean, I really should know this by now. It's funny how little I do know. But I do know this....I shall choose to believe that this bend holds the best. For this bend is where I have been led. Thus in this bend I shall find the Heart of My Purpose. And He is Faithful....and full of grace for my doubting and bewildered heart.
My walks have reminded me a bit from the end of 'Anne of Green Gables' (bear with my slightly romantic tendancies, please). :)
'I shall give life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return. When I left Queen's my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. I don't know what lies around the bend, but I am going to believe the best does. It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla. I wonder how the road beyond it goes - what checkered light and shadows, what new landscapes, what new beauties, what curves and hills and valleys further on'....'The beauty of it all thrilled Anne's heart, and she greatfully opened the gates of her soul it it. "Dear old world", she murmured, "You are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you"....Anne's horizons had closed in since that night she had sat there after coming home from Queen's; but if the path before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joys of sincere work and worthy aspirations and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road! "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world!" whispered Anne softly.'
Amen.
'The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began....'
Oh, and I bought a pumpkin. Wooo hooo. Roll on bread, pies, and soup!
Currently listening to Imogen Heap's 'Wait it Out' and Mutemath's 'Goodbye'. My melancholic tendancies have won out.
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
Of freshly cut grass and burning leaves.
Inverleith Park is my new favourite place in the city. It's like it was hidden from me until tonight. Until this beautiful, gorgeous evening. I walked out of the house with no specific destination in mind at about quarter past six, listening to such songs as this.
'To glory and give oneself to God again'....what greater thing is there in this life? My trials and troubles vanish at the sight of You. It's like, without even knowing You are there or are doing it it, it's like You're breathing life into me again.
As I sat on a bench and overlooked the fields and the city, a whole host of memories flooded me. The field, with kids playing football and people running about, with the most incredible view of the city....the smell. The smell reminded me of going to football practice in the fall with my dad, coaching us in the reminants of his suit, his shirt sleaves rolled up; and Elijah, Becca, Jenn, and I tagging along. Of being hot on a cool night when all the lights of the field come on. It makes me want to put on my shin guards, socks, and cleats. It's overpowering sometimes, when a memory hits you this hard. Especially when I keep memories so locked up tight, sequestered to two different sides of the ocean. Rarely do the two worlds intersect.
The smell of autumn is definitely here. The clouds were tinged with that golden, pinky-blue that so often overtakes them....and the music reworked things, weaving things in to my heart that had been missing and fraying for the past wee while. It's like a deep breath. Like turning one's face upwards to see the ever so faintly colouring leaves rustle against the pale blue of the evening sky. It's like the smell of freshly cut grass mingled with burning leaves. It's grace.
I've been finishing off books that I've been meaning to finish off for a while, tying off loose ends, a multitude of thoughts and ideas rushing through my head. But in that moment on the bench, oddly, there were no particular thoughts that came. Slightly frustrating, slightly freeing. It was when I stopped trying to think of what I should be thinking about, that it came. Your voice, Jesus. 'I did this for you, my love....'
I get frustrated with myself that I don't seem to love Him as I should. I never seem to 'feel' correctly. But He showed me something on that bench. He showed me that I do love Him....because He has chosen to speak to me, come for me. I love You, Lord, with that quiet kind of love that comes from years of knowing You. Sure, You are my Great Love....but for the most part, I love You with the 'for better or for worse' kind of love. The quiet kind that doesn't make too much of a fuss. And though I know I've got years ahead of me to learn and grow, I can find comfort in the fact that He has awoken my heart to love. And I am not dead, even if I can convince myself out of self-pity that I am, at times. He has placed this love in me, this desire for Him to be first, not second best....even when (especially when) I forget it.
And just to encourage you....He loves you. Oh how much He loves you. His grace is like your favourite smell, a reminder of home. A reminder of the beauty that calls from beyond the lights. The beauty of His grace. Just be still. And know. That HE is God.
And just to encourage you....He loves you. Oh how much He loves you. His grace is like your favourite smell, a reminder of home. A reminder of the beauty that calls from beyond the lights. The beauty of His grace. Just be still. And know. That HE is God.
Oh, and one other thing and then I'll shut up. I have finally caved in and admited to myself after many, many years of self denial that I have an overactive imagination. I have argued with God many times in my life, convinced He got the date of my birth wrong, 'Are you sure, God, that you meant for me to be born in this decade (or even this century)?'.....Ah well. My imagination shall have to content me.
I leave you with another's, much more eloquent, purposeful and concise words....
'I walked out onto the hill just now. It is exalting, delicious, to stand embraced by the shadows of a friendly tree with the wind tugging at your coattails and the heavens hailing your heart, to gaze and glory and give oneself to God - what more could a man ask? Oh the fulness, pleasure, shear excitment of knowing God on earth! I care not if I never raise my voice again for Him, if only I may love Him, please Him. Mayhap in mercy He shall give me a host of children that I may lead them through the vast starfields to explore His delicacies whose finger ends set them to burning. But if not, if only I may see Him, touch His garments, and smile into His eyes - ah then, not stars nor children shall matter, only Himself. O Jesus, Master and Centre and End of all, how long before that Glory is Thine which has so long awaited Thee? Now there is no thought of Thee among men; then there shall be thought for nothing else. Now other men are praised; then, none shall care for any other's merits. Hasten, hasten Glory of Heaven, take Thy crown, subdue Thy kingdom, enthrall Thy creatures.' (Jim Elliot).
God is gain. God is gain. God is gain. (John Piper).
'Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in You.
Show me the way that I should go,
for to You I lift up my soul.'
(Psalm 143:8).Tuesday, 25 August 2009
The Silence and Uncertainty of a Heart's Sifting.
Loneliness. Where did it come from? I feel like it has jumped out from some shrub on Ferry Road and latched itself onto me, invading the flat and permeating my being. The silence it brings with it rings and echoes. I never really expected things to happen this way. I never expected His silence now. 'Any time but now, Lord,' I cry out, 'Now when I need your guidance so very deeply.'
Amy Carmichel once wrote, 'Bare heights of loneliness....a wilderness whose burning winds sweep over glowing sands, what are they to Him? Even there He can refresh us, even there He can renew us.'
I have been reading Passion and Purity again (by Elizabeth Elliot). I had read it when I was seventeen, but thought I'd pick it up again. See if my views on it had changed. :) Was this book written for me? Seriously. I thought that the first time and I am thinking it now. When all in my life - my purpose, my worth, my abilities - all seem uncertain and unclear....to have someone else recount their own struggles and doubts has given my soul something to cling to. Something Better. Here are some of the things she has to say....
'I do know that waiting on God requires the willingness to bear uncertainty, to carry within oneself the unanswered question, lifting our heart to God about it whenever it intrudes upon one's thoughts. It is easy to talk oneself into a decision that has no permanence - easier sometimes than to wait patiently.' 'Silence begins to drag on my soul. It is a kind of waiting which hears no voice, no footstep, sees no sign. I feel that I could wait ten years if it were not this waiting, this silence.'
'Waiting silently is the hardest thing of all.' 'When you are lonely, too much stillness is exactly the thing that seems to be laying waste your soul. Use that stillness to quiet your heart before God. Get to know Him. If He is God, He is still in charge.'
When it seems like all others have places to go and things to do, my prayer has been, 'Help me, my Lord, to shoulder this loneliness. To bear up under your sifting and burning that I might develop perseverence, character, and my hope might be proved a solid thing. For my Hope is in You. Christ in me, the Hope of Glory.' I feel like this is such an unworthy thing to lay at His feet. Such a small trial in comparison. Why has it been this hard for me? But He does not reject our sacrifices. He does not scorn them. No matter how pitiful, no matter how small. When I ask 'Why?' (which I have done countless times these past couple of weeks), He gently reminds me that He wants all of me. Whole and Holy. And He does not ask needlessly of me. He will not despise the perfume on His feet. It says in Proverbs that 'Each heart knows its own bitterness. No one else can share its joy' (4:10). But we have a Great High Priest who is not distant and who shares in all our bitterness and all our joy. Not only that, He takes our bitterness and gives us his joy in return.
There is something equally powerful that surfaces in the loneliness and silence, though. And that is longing. It is now this longing, deep within me and bursting to come out, that threatens to take over. This longing for there to finally be an answer, finally be a someone, finally be a definition for my life. It is in the painful beauty of longing that our hearts reach out for the eternal. In this we are not alone. He, Love, has entered into our world. Our hearts. And He has understood. Because of this, we can call out to Him, 'Abba, Father.'
She continues, 'My heart was saying "Lord, take away this longing, or give me that for which I long." The Lord was answering, "I must teach you to long for something better."'
It is this Truth that wreaks havoc on my soul. This Truth that He is better. He is better. He is better. Let this sink in, Lord....Day by day. I am not alone. And the loneliness, though now a weight, will be far outweighed by glory. That is His promise. And He who promises is Faithful.
As Jim Elliot said, 'Let not our longing slay the appetite of our living.' 'Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God.'
It is this challange of living the eternal in the present that I am now confronted with. I have to look past the doubt that there is nothing for me to sink my hands into, look past it to the better that He is....
Let's join in this dance of His grace, shall we?
'I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord's great love
we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for Him.'
The Lord is good to those whose
hope is in Him,
to the one who seeks Him;
It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord...
....Let her sit alone in silence,
for the Lord has laid it on her....'
(Lamantations 3)
Amy Carmichel once wrote, 'Bare heights of loneliness....a wilderness whose burning winds sweep over glowing sands, what are they to Him? Even there He can refresh us, even there He can renew us.'
I have been reading Passion and Purity again (by Elizabeth Elliot). I had read it when I was seventeen, but thought I'd pick it up again. See if my views on it had changed. :) Was this book written for me? Seriously. I thought that the first time and I am thinking it now. When all in my life - my purpose, my worth, my abilities - all seem uncertain and unclear....to have someone else recount their own struggles and doubts has given my soul something to cling to. Something Better. Here are some of the things she has to say....
'I do know that waiting on God requires the willingness to bear uncertainty, to carry within oneself the unanswered question, lifting our heart to God about it whenever it intrudes upon one's thoughts. It is easy to talk oneself into a decision that has no permanence - easier sometimes than to wait patiently.' 'Silence begins to drag on my soul. It is a kind of waiting which hears no voice, no footstep, sees no sign. I feel that I could wait ten years if it were not this waiting, this silence.'
'Waiting silently is the hardest thing of all.' 'When you are lonely, too much stillness is exactly the thing that seems to be laying waste your soul. Use that stillness to quiet your heart before God. Get to know Him. If He is God, He is still in charge.'
When it seems like all others have places to go and things to do, my prayer has been, 'Help me, my Lord, to shoulder this loneliness. To bear up under your sifting and burning that I might develop perseverence, character, and my hope might be proved a solid thing. For my Hope is in You. Christ in me, the Hope of Glory.' I feel like this is such an unworthy thing to lay at His feet. Such a small trial in comparison. Why has it been this hard for me? But He does not reject our sacrifices. He does not scorn them. No matter how pitiful, no matter how small. When I ask 'Why?' (which I have done countless times these past couple of weeks), He gently reminds me that He wants all of me. Whole and Holy. And He does not ask needlessly of me. He will not despise the perfume on His feet. It says in Proverbs that 'Each heart knows its own bitterness. No one else can share its joy' (4:10). But we have a Great High Priest who is not distant and who shares in all our bitterness and all our joy. Not only that, He takes our bitterness and gives us his joy in return.
There is something equally powerful that surfaces in the loneliness and silence, though. And that is longing. It is now this longing, deep within me and bursting to come out, that threatens to take over. This longing for there to finally be an answer, finally be a someone, finally be a definition for my life. It is in the painful beauty of longing that our hearts reach out for the eternal. In this we are not alone. He, Love, has entered into our world. Our hearts. And He has understood. Because of this, we can call out to Him, 'Abba, Father.'
She continues, 'My heart was saying "Lord, take away this longing, or give me that for which I long." The Lord was answering, "I must teach you to long for something better."'
It is this Truth that wreaks havoc on my soul. This Truth that He is better. He is better. He is better. Let this sink in, Lord....Day by day. I am not alone. And the loneliness, though now a weight, will be far outweighed by glory. That is His promise. And He who promises is Faithful.
As Jim Elliot said, 'Let not our longing slay the appetite of our living.' 'Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God.'
It is this challange of living the eternal in the present that I am now confronted with. I have to look past the doubt that there is nothing for me to sink my hands into, look past it to the better that He is....
Let's join in this dance of His grace, shall we?
'I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord's great love
we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for Him.'
The Lord is good to those whose
hope is in Him,
to the one who seeks Him;
It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord...
....Let her sit alone in silence,
for the Lord has laid it on her....'
(Lamantations 3)
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
'crazy, mad, big Love.'
To glimpse the BIGNESS of Love Himself is the only way we can understand the BIGNESS of the Love that is offered to us, freely. And Love Himself is Big.
'O Lord my God, you are very great;
you are clothed with slendour and majesty.
He wraps Himself in light as with a garment;
He stretches out the heavens like a tend
and lays the beams of His upper chambers
on their waters.
He makes the clouds His chariot
and rides on the wings of the wind.
He makes winds His messangers,
flames of fire his servants.'
(Psalm 104)
You have taken me through the stars, Lord, at a speed I could not imagine yet remained right by my side. Inside and outside time and space all at once. You have taken me through the heavens. Galaxies whirl and rush past Your eyes. Light Incarnate, Your wind has caressed my soul and Your voice has captured my heart.
'I love you.'
Why?
'Because you are my daughter.
Does a Father need a reason
to love His daughter?
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I will never stop saying that. I have plans for you that will
bless and protect, full of hope and life and love and joy. You have
no reason to fear for I AM.
I AM your Father. I AM your Joy.
I AM your Truth. I AM your Ridiculous Asker.
I AM your Means and End.
I AM your Fulfillment. I AM your Tears.
I AM your Joy. I AM your Peace.
I AM your Grace. I AM your Righteousness.
I AM your Future. I AM your Purpose.
I AM your Salvation. I AM your Light.
I AM your Newness. I AM your Restoration.
I AM your Plan. I AM your Reward.
I AM your Worth. I AM your Freedom.
I AM your crazy, mad, big, Love.
I AM your God.'
Your MERCIES are new every morning. And your GRACE is overwhelming. Your FAITHFULNESS is strong and neverending. Your LOVE astounds me all the time. That the God in whose eyes lie all the galaxies calls me His beloved and precious child is the most beautiful, fulfilling, wonderful, captivating, and restful mystery of all time and space.
The unforced rhythms of grace
are falling slowly
into the heart of Beauty Itself,
and in the wake of which
earth's dark shadows flee.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
If Only.
I was running. Running down a non-descript street. The pain was searing in my chest with each breath that I gasped. If only. If only, if only, if only, if only, I stated over and over to myself as I ran until I could run no more, wishing that I had some tangible reason to be hurting this much. Willing there to be some great tragedy in my life to legitimise all of this pain.
But there was nothing. Nothing but this emptiness, this lifelessness that consumed me. The utter desolation of my soul pierced the light around me with great shafts of darkness. They began, slowly at first, and then with growing force to devour the day about me until I was lost in the night. In some ways the darkness was more comforting for I was no longer the lifeless, miserable, self-loathing person whose parasite-like being seemed to burn up any ounce of others' happiness in her wake. I was at home in this numb and sightless place where I could linger in my own stinging shame.
And do you know what the worst part about all of this was? I'll tell you. The worst part was that there was nothing, no reason, why I should be this way. No great dysfunction, no great tragedy, no great remorse should be plaguing me. And yet it was. Why was this pain here, then? Why this regret? Why did this shame and darkness fill my very being? I felt deaf to the voices around me, numb to what I touched. Any kind of interaction, a nod or a 'hello', took all my strength and focus. I felt drained simply by brushing my teeth in the morning.
And that is why I had started running. I didn't care where, as long as it took me away from the familiar rooms and corridors. That is why I was standing on this corner looking absently across the street, my sight blinded and my limbs paralysed by the growing darkness. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Self-loathing filled me to the brim. Why can't you manage to get a grip on yourself and stop being so internally focused for just one minute of the day??, I screamed at myself. The expression on my face remained emotionless as the nothingness and pointlessness of existence suddenly swept over me. I laughed dryly in response. Perhaps I had finally come to the end. And this was all there was. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just nothing. Winter had crept into my soul and seemed to be there to stay.
But....
Who was that man staring at me from across the street? His eyes seemed to be piercing through my very being even from that distance. I could not look away. It was not that he was extremely beautiful, but his eyes were the most exquisite things I had ever beheld. I realised I was trembling all over....He was walking towards me....He was standing in front of me.
'Hello', He said. His voice unleashed the torrent inside and around me. I doubled over and my arms wrapped around my stomach, clutching at the void that was threatening to consume me. Oh. Oh this pain. The emptiness, the nothingness, that for the last age I had been trying to forget and keep unnamed and unrecognised in the quiet corner of my heart now burst forth and began to drown me. My silent screams filled the air.
Just as I was sinking into the agony of unconscious grief, something warm and strong grasped my arm, invading my winter. I slowly regained consciousness and realised I was sitting in the middle of a field. He was across from me. And He was smilling. Who was this man?
'It was good I found you when I did. You were remarkably hard to find, you know.'
Was that a smile in His eyes? My incredulousness must have been obvious to Him as His face fell backwards and He laughed out loud. The sound of His laughter penetrated me. I was powerless...and yet somehow I had never felt this full in my life before. The sun was blinding me, and yet I could see so clearly now. the wind's freshness was warming my frozen body and cooling my heated eyes.
The beauty of it, in comparison to the utter desolation of my own self, shook me to the core of my being.
He stopped laughing. His eyes retained all of their warmth, though, as He said, slowly taking His time, 'It's safe to hope again. It will not come crashing down.' His face was full of an unknown pain now, and then reassurance, as He continued, 'You will heal, you know. I have found you. Your quiet masks and defenceless walls are no good against me. You may be sure that I will never let you go.
If only. If only I was good enough to deserve this. I want my eyes to be deep and warm. I want to be loving, patient, gentle, and kind. But I feel the opposite. Why? If only I didn't have to shrink from this light. If only this could be true. My eyes and heart burned with the desire to believe so.
He sat there with the Treasure of the Worlds in His hands, willing me to lay hold of it. He wants to give this to me, when I can give Him nothing - the nothingness - in return. Not only will He give me thse riches, but He offers to me Himself. A Person who knows me, a Person to whom I need not explain myself. And He has promised, promised not to leave me. Forever.
'I have given you a morning. And it's new....Will you ever know how much I love you?'
The soft notes of the piano begin to play again as the rising sun is in my face.
It's called grace. And it leaves me thunderstruck as I stretch out my hand.
The song of the morning.
'Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful.'
(Hebrews 10:23)
(1 Peter 1:3-9)
'My heart is in anguish within me;
the terrors of death assail me.
Fear and trembling have beset me;
horror has overwhelmed me.
I said, 'Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest -
I would flee fare away and stay in the desert;
I would hurry to my place of shelter,
Far from the tempest and the storm.'
....But I call to you God,
and the Lord saves me.
Evening, morning, and noon
I cry out in distress
And He hears my voice
He ransoms me unharmed
From the battle waged against me,
Even though many oppose me....
....Cast your cares on the Lord
and He will sustain you;
He will never let the righteous fall.'
(Psalm 55)
But there was nothing. Nothing but this emptiness, this lifelessness that consumed me. The utter desolation of my soul pierced the light around me with great shafts of darkness. They began, slowly at first, and then with growing force to devour the day about me until I was lost in the night. In some ways the darkness was more comforting for I was no longer the lifeless, miserable, self-loathing person whose parasite-like being seemed to burn up any ounce of others' happiness in her wake. I was at home in this numb and sightless place where I could linger in my own stinging shame.
And do you know what the worst part about all of this was? I'll tell you. The worst part was that there was nothing, no reason, why I should be this way. No great dysfunction, no great tragedy, no great remorse should be plaguing me. And yet it was. Why was this pain here, then? Why this regret? Why did this shame and darkness fill my very being? I felt deaf to the voices around me, numb to what I touched. Any kind of interaction, a nod or a 'hello', took all my strength and focus. I felt drained simply by brushing my teeth in the morning.
And that is why I had started running. I didn't care where, as long as it took me away from the familiar rooms and corridors. That is why I was standing on this corner looking absently across the street, my sight blinded and my limbs paralysed by the growing darkness. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Self-loathing filled me to the brim. Why can't you manage to get a grip on yourself and stop being so internally focused for just one minute of the day??, I screamed at myself. The expression on my face remained emotionless as the nothingness and pointlessness of existence suddenly swept over me. I laughed dryly in response. Perhaps I had finally come to the end. And this was all there was. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just nothing. Winter had crept into my soul and seemed to be there to stay.
But....
Who was that man staring at me from across the street? His eyes seemed to be piercing through my very being even from that distance. I could not look away. It was not that he was extremely beautiful, but his eyes were the most exquisite things I had ever beheld. I realised I was trembling all over....He was walking towards me....He was standing in front of me.
'Hello', He said. His voice unleashed the torrent inside and around me. I doubled over and my arms wrapped around my stomach, clutching at the void that was threatening to consume me. Oh. Oh this pain. The emptiness, the nothingness, that for the last age I had been trying to forget and keep unnamed and unrecognised in the quiet corner of my heart now burst forth and began to drown me. My silent screams filled the air.
Just as I was sinking into the agony of unconscious grief, something warm and strong grasped my arm, invading my winter. I slowly regained consciousness and realised I was sitting in the middle of a field. He was across from me. And He was smilling. Who was this man?
'It was good I found you when I did. You were remarkably hard to find, you know.'
Was that a smile in His eyes? My incredulousness must have been obvious to Him as His face fell backwards and He laughed out loud. The sound of His laughter penetrated me. I was powerless...and yet somehow I had never felt this full in my life before. The sun was blinding me, and yet I could see so clearly now. the wind's freshness was warming my frozen body and cooling my heated eyes.
The beauty of it, in comparison to the utter desolation of my own self, shook me to the core of my being.
He stopped laughing. His eyes retained all of their warmth, though, as He said, slowly taking His time, 'It's safe to hope again. It will not come crashing down.' His face was full of an unknown pain now, and then reassurance, as He continued, 'You will heal, you know. I have found you. Your quiet masks and defenceless walls are no good against me. You may be sure that I will never let you go.
If only. If only I was good enough to deserve this. I want my eyes to be deep and warm. I want to be loving, patient, gentle, and kind. But I feel the opposite. Why? If only I didn't have to shrink from this light. If only this could be true. My eyes and heart burned with the desire to believe so.
He sat there with the Treasure of the Worlds in His hands, willing me to lay hold of it. He wants to give this to me, when I can give Him nothing - the nothingness - in return. Not only will He give me thse riches, but He offers to me Himself. A Person who knows me, a Person to whom I need not explain myself. And He has promised, promised not to leave me. Forever.
'I have given you a morning. And it's new....Will you ever know how much I love you?'
The soft notes of the piano begin to play again as the rising sun is in my face.
It's called grace. And it leaves me thunderstruck as I stretch out my hand.
The song of the morning.
'Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful.'
(Hebrews 10:23)
(1 Peter 1:3-9)
'My heart is in anguish within me;
the terrors of death assail me.
Fear and trembling have beset me;
horror has overwhelmed me.
I said, 'Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest -
I would flee fare away and stay in the desert;
I would hurry to my place of shelter,
Far from the tempest and the storm.'
....But I call to you God,
and the Lord saves me.
Evening, morning, and noon
I cry out in distress
And He hears my voice
He ransoms me unharmed
From the battle waged against me,
Even though many oppose me....
....Cast your cares on the Lord
and He will sustain you;
He will never let the righteous fall.'
(Psalm 55)
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
In love with tragedy.
It's hard to say you satisfy me, Lord, when I'm constantly and consistently looking for affirmation and approval elsewhere. I find that friendship, the deepest and truest (the most holy), can even divide my heart from Yours. I long for You to fill my soul with longing for Your person, with a heart that seeks Your face.
I feel like such a hypocrite at times. I say I want You and then quickly run after others. I fit You neatly into the first and last five minutes of every day and then wonder why I feel so tired. Wonder why my grace has worn thin. Why my love is empty.
'Is it because it is not Thou I see,
But only my poor, blotted fancy of Thee?
Oh! Never till Thyself reveal Thy face,
Shall I be flooded with life's vital grace,
Oh make my mirror-heart Thy shining-place,
And then my soul, awaking with the morn,
Shall be a waking joy, eternally new-born.'
-MacDonald (Diary of an Old Soul, 7 October)
Seek Your face
for the pure in heart
shall see You.
Your face, O Lord,
I will seek.
For that which I seek, I shall most surely find.
Do you ever listen to music which utterly, yet quietly breaks your heart for home, in its final and most true sense? A song in which there is a mute longing for a beauty that will be dawning (and yet has also already set)....it's breathtaking.
'I wish I was a poet
Could write in fine hand
Would write my love a letter
One she'd long understand
I'd send it by the water
Were the islands overflow
And I'd think of pretty Saro wherever I go.'
-Sam Amidon, Saro
Somehow being (semi)coherent on paper helps. even if I still feel like a tragedy at times, I know, in that indefinable and indefinite way, that He loves me. And that even though giving up on myself is a frequent and almost daily affair, He has not. I can still be filled with quiet assurance even when I feel but a shadow of myself that His patience and grace are overwhelmingly everlasting.
'Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, whcih transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is notble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things.' (Philippeans 4:4-8)
'Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and early loved, clothe yourself with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.' (Colossians 3:12-17)
'The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it.' (2 Thess. 5:24)
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
a prayer whispered.
When I least expect, when I least deserve, when I least feel....
....Your freedom has overtaken my soul.
I thank You, Jesus, for the expanse of the cross. For the unending life that it promises. Not only that, but the truth of freedom that it brings and the way of hope it gives. For forgiveness. For You are the way, the truth, and the life.
'He is wooing you from the jaws of distress to a spacious place free from restrictions, to the comfort of your table laden with choice food.' (Job 36:16).
With all the sermons and words that have been flying about, perhaps the child-like faith of one who has been reminded of her Father's heart might finally be restored.
'Don't live in fear of your mistakes. Trust Me.'
I realise that I do this constantly. Waking up in the morning, still with those mistakes I made yesterday clinging to my skin like dirty clothes that should have been taken off the night before. I insist on keeping them by me, like a duty I must pay in order to come inside. When will I ever realise that it isn't the duty He wants....but for some inexpressible reason He wants ME.
It's like He's waiting there, next to an alter. Waiting for me to come and lay down these inexpresible and perhaps insignificant burdens, sins, and shames down at His feet. He helps me to lift them up onto the alter, quietly, and then lights a torch. He hands it to me and I light the fire. As we watch it burn He places His arm about me....I don't even know what the burden was (bitterness and unforgiveness maybe?) but I feel as if this is part of the relearning of what it is to be a daughter: giving it over to Him instead of attempting to figure it out, repair it, or hide it. His faithfulness and tenderness are everlastingly strong.
'When I said, 'my foot is slipping',
Your love, O Lord, supported me.
When anxiety was great within me,
Your consolation brough joy to my soul.'
(Psalm 94:18-9).
As George Macdonald says in his fairy-tale Phantases, 'past tears are present strength' and future joy. 'Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy.' (George Macdonald, Phantases). Our lives are full of beauty and tragedy, of joy and sorrow. And if He is our Deepest Truth, then it most certainly will be the Deepest of all Joys.
'Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a Living Hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil, or fade - kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God's power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith - of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire - may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honour when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen Him, you love Him; and even though you do not see Him now, you believe in Him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.' (1 Peter 1: 3-9).
'Every tragedy of higher order, constructed in Christian times, will correspond more or less to the grand drama of the Bible; wherein the first act opens with a brilliant sunset vision of Paradise, in which childish sense and need are served with all the profusion of the indulgent nurse. But the glory fades off into grey and black, and night settles down upon the heart which, rightly uncontent with the childish, and not having yet learned the childlike, seeks knowledge and manhood as a thing denied by the Maker, and yet to be gained by the creature; so sets forth alone to climb the heavens, and instead of climbing, falls into the abyss. Then follows the long dismal night of feverish efforts and delirious visions, or, it may be, helpless despair; till at length a deeper stratum of the soul is heaved to the surface; and amid the first dawn of morning, the youth says within him, "I have sinned against my Maker-I will arise and go to my Father." More or less, I say, will Christian tragedy correspond to this-a fall and a rising again; not a rising only, but a victory; not a victory merely, but a triumph.' (George Macdonald, 'The Broken Swords').
'Hope is not in what I know. It's not in me, it's in You....I find peace when I'm confused, I find hope when I'm let down. Not in me, it's in You.' (Switchfoot, You).
....Your freedom has overtaken my soul.
I thank You, Jesus, for the expanse of the cross. For the unending life that it promises. Not only that, but the truth of freedom that it brings and the way of hope it gives. For forgiveness. For You are the way, the truth, and the life.
'He is wooing you from the jaws of distress to a spacious place free from restrictions, to the comfort of your table laden with choice food.' (Job 36:16).
With all the sermons and words that have been flying about, perhaps the child-like faith of one who has been reminded of her Father's heart might finally be restored.
'Don't live in fear of your mistakes. Trust Me.'
I realise that I do this constantly. Waking up in the morning, still with those mistakes I made yesterday clinging to my skin like dirty clothes that should have been taken off the night before. I insist on keeping them by me, like a duty I must pay in order to come inside. When will I ever realise that it isn't the duty He wants....but for some inexpressible reason He wants ME.
It's like He's waiting there, next to an alter. Waiting for me to come and lay down these inexpresible and perhaps insignificant burdens, sins, and shames down at His feet. He helps me to lift them up onto the alter, quietly, and then lights a torch. He hands it to me and I light the fire. As we watch it burn He places His arm about me....I don't even know what the burden was (bitterness and unforgiveness maybe?) but I feel as if this is part of the relearning of what it is to be a daughter: giving it over to Him instead of attempting to figure it out, repair it, or hide it. His faithfulness and tenderness are everlastingly strong.
'When I said, 'my foot is slipping',
Your love, O Lord, supported me.
When anxiety was great within me,
Your consolation brough joy to my soul.'
(Psalm 94:18-9).
As George Macdonald says in his fairy-tale Phantases, 'past tears are present strength' and future joy. 'Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy.' (George Macdonald, Phantases). Our lives are full of beauty and tragedy, of joy and sorrow. And if He is our Deepest Truth, then it most certainly will be the Deepest of all Joys.
'Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a Living Hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil, or fade - kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God's power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith - of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire - may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honour when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen Him, you love Him; and even though you do not see Him now, you believe in Him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.' (1 Peter 1: 3-9).
'Every tragedy of higher order, constructed in Christian times, will correspond more or less to the grand drama of the Bible; wherein the first act opens with a brilliant sunset vision of Paradise, in which childish sense and need are served with all the profusion of the indulgent nurse. But the glory fades off into grey and black, and night settles down upon the heart which, rightly uncontent with the childish, and not having yet learned the childlike, seeks knowledge and manhood as a thing denied by the Maker, and yet to be gained by the creature; so sets forth alone to climb the heavens, and instead of climbing, falls into the abyss. Then follows the long dismal night of feverish efforts and delirious visions, or, it may be, helpless despair; till at length a deeper stratum of the soul is heaved to the surface; and amid the first dawn of morning, the youth says within him, "I have sinned against my Maker-I will arise and go to my Father." More or less, I say, will Christian tragedy correspond to this-a fall and a rising again; not a rising only, but a victory; not a victory merely, but a triumph.' (George Macdonald, 'The Broken Swords').
'Hope is not in what I know. It's not in me, it's in You....I find peace when I'm confused, I find hope when I'm let down. Not in me, it's in You.' (Switchfoot, You).
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