God is in the business of transforming. He doesn't keep things as they are; he changes them and makes them new. He doesn't do this unexpectedly, at least not usually. He lets you know beforehand so that you can remember.
We all know the story: The women came to the tomb, and he wasn't there. There was, instead, a message--don't you remember? He told you that he'd rise on the third day? The implication is, as always, that you should know this. Think! Remember!
The first people that came to find out what had happened were the women who had come to anoint the body for burial. An interesting fact is that two people were not at the tomb: Jesus and Mary, his mother. Are the two linked? Scripture doesn't say. To me, it makes perfect sense that the person who was first shown Jesus' risen body be the same person who first saw Jesus' earthly body. When I think of the grief that Mary must have felt while watching her son die on the cross, it seems only right that her son would visit her first to reassure her that he had risen as he had promised.
Jesus is our resurrected Lord. And he is in the business of redeeming us and given us a resurrected life, first symbolically here then literally in the last days.
I believe with all my heart that I have been redeemed. I also believe with all my heart that I am not the same person that I was 10 years ago, 20 years ago, or when I was five. I honestly believe that God has resurrected the person that was meant to be all those years ago. He has renewed the vision of my youth--given me back dreams that I gave up on years ago. I see myself living a life that would have seemed unbelievable even 10 years ago.
And I am a small example. Think of the girls taken into human trafficking and then rescued. Are they going to live with the stain of that life forever? Some do, yes. Some never seem to be able to get over the life that they once lived. But others--the ones who believe in and worship Christ as their Savior, the ones who are willing to give over all the hurt, the betrayal, the bitterness to him--they are brought into new life. They are allowed grace to use the life that came before as a stepping stone to a new life of freedom and peace in the Lord. No, it's not easy. Nobody ever promised that it would be easy. But it is possible, because Christ arose.
Do you feel dead inside? At worship today, did you sing the song and recite the scripture, but only with your mind, not with your heart and soul? Ask God to bring you into new life. And then wait. And remember what you were told. He arose, and so will you.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Holy Saturday
It is finished!
Into your hands, Father, I commend my spirit.
Up above, the words were quiet,
Spoken by a dying man into the void of a world that did not understand.
But
Down below, the words brought,
for the first time,
hope.
It was finished?
No, it was about to begin.
The Lord of All was dead.
He had been laid in the grave,
The tomb,
And now,
The work was about to begin.
Saving men from sin was one thing,
Freeing them from the power of death is quite another.
So down he went,
To the abode of the righteous--
Paradise.
The souls in hell looked on the Savior--
Amazed.
This was the man that they had heard about--
Now down in the place of the dead with the rest of them.
Into your hands, Father, I commend my spirit.
Up above, the words were quiet,
Spoken by a dying man into the void of a world that did not understand.
But
Down below, the words brought,
for the first time,
hope.
It was finished?
No, it was about to begin.
The Lord of All was dead.
He had been laid in the grave,
The tomb,
And now,
The work was about to begin.
Saving men from sin was one thing,
Freeing them from the power of death is quite another.
So down he went,
To the abode of the righteous--
Paradise.
The souls in hell looked on the Savior--
Amazed.
This was the man that they had heard about--
Now down in the place of the dead with the rest of them.
I am the way, the truth, and the LIFE.
No man comes to the Father but by me!
The gates of hell opened.
Who would accept the call?
Those in Paradise, of course, rushed forth.
They had known him from the beginning,
And they freely took the offered hand.
Bowing before him, they accepted his gift--
Their freedom--
He had given them a Way
And were welcomed by Truth
As they went into the Light.
And those across the chasm?
Did any of them accept the offer of freedom
For the price of allegiance?
We are not told
But we can hope….
Up above,
The world waited without hope.
Down below,
The souls flooded out,
and up
Into the gates of Heaven,
And for the first time,
The created Son of God,
Viewed the Father once again.
There was one day--
An eternity--
To renew relationships,
Be congratulated on a job well done,
Be gratefully received by those who had not followed the fool,
And to look down
Into Hell,
And see the stunned, angry face of death.
Never again would he hold dominion.
The King of Life was now King of Death as well,
For months afterward (or was it centuries?),
Death would sit, stunned, saying,
"He just left! How did he Do that?
Even I can't do that!"
And so the righteous dead were raised first.
For the rest of the world,
Those here below,
They waited
One
Day
More.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Good Friday
He came with the disciples to the garden,
and yet he really came alone.
The time was almost here,
so close that it could be felt.
Death had been introduced in the upper room,
and it followed him to the garden.
If it is your will, Abba,
remove the yoke from me.
He was all man, now.
God made man was begging--
Not for his life--
but for some way
any way
to remove the cup--
the cross--
his Father's well-earned wrath
from being poured out.
He knew from the beginning that it was not to be,
but he was all man
and so he prayed.
He asked his friends,
those who had boasted about who would sit on which side,
to sit with him and pray.
They truly wanted to,
but sorrow overtook them
and they slept instead.
What would have happened had the angels not intervened,
bringing some manna of which we know not?
Death would have won.
If there is no cross, there is no salvation.
And so he prayed, he cried out, he sweated drops like blood,
but then he gave in.
"Not my will, but thine be done."
And he walked forward and faced it all.
Judas, the priests, the judges, the scourging,
the ignominy of a death on a cross.
Death followed him,
whispering into his ear,
"What are you doing?
Do you really believe that this will help?
These people are doomed.
They're not your people,
They're my people.
Raised on high for all to see,
He continued his journey.
"Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."
What? You want God to forgive them? They just crucified God's son! Are you out of your mind?"
"Today you will be with me in paradise"
Paradise? With you? How sweet. Have you forgotten that you will both be dead? You will both be mine! And believe me, I have big plans for you.
"This is your son. This is your mother."
If you get down from there, think of all the suffering that you will spare her. Is this really necessary?
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
Finally, you understand. You are not God. You are not even a man. You are nothing. If you truly are God, as you said, save yourself!
Death tried to chuckle,
but he could hear the rumble of every Jewish heart there.
What had been started continued,
unbidden,
as it came through years and years of worship.
For the first time, they heard the breaths inside the psalm.
For the first time, they realized that the pauses--
natural rests--
were the sounds of a man breathing
struggling
on a cross.
For the first time, Death felt doubt
Could he have misstepped?
No, this was his moment of victory,
and he was determined to savor it.
"I am thirsty."
You will be more than that in a few short hours.
Oh, what I have planned for you…
But the bravado was wearing thin.
"It is finished."
Finished?
What is?
Your wonderful plan of salvation?
But the chill that was creeping over him was not to be ignored.
"Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit."
No longer did Death try to make himself heard.
It was over.
God's Son was dead.
His heart had broken.
For what?
These mice?
Eager to begin the next chapter,
Death went back to Hell,
to wait.
He didn't have to wait long.
Maundy Thursday--when death entered the room
It was the penultimate night.
God in flesh knew his time was running short.
So once more, he gathered his own around him--
His own, and one who was no longer his own--
And as they came,
Death entered them room.
For years, he had taught them,
Through his whole life he had loved them,
And now, one night more to show them
How they could still love, still teach,
still be an example
Even when death enters the room.
He bade them enter,
Removed his robe and washed their feet,
But some still did not understand
How could the king of all be their servant?
Their minds were clouded
Since death had entered the room.
Lesson after lesson had they heard--
Heard but not understood--
And now he was clearly stating his desire for them--
Love one another as I have loved you--
But one refused to hear,
And through him, Death had entered the room.
The bread, commissioned
The wine, commissioned
This is my body, this is my blood.
As often as you do this, do it in memory of me.
And in so saying, he sought them to notice
That death had entered the room.
The one who had come brimming with hate--
So much talk, so little action!--
Decided at this point that he had been right.
His action would create a spark--
force this man to act.
How did he not know that Death had entered the room?
The others still were not fully aware.
They only knew that their leader was once again proclaiming--what?
They weren't sure.
Year after year of masked teaching.
Maybe they were not to be blamed for not realizing
That Death had entered the room.
And now, on to Gesthemene,
On to Golgotha
On to the tomb.
What a mistake he made that night,
Full of pride, feeling he had won--
Yes, Death had entered the room.
God in flesh knew his time was running short.
So once more, he gathered his own around him--
His own, and one who was no longer his own--
And as they came,
Death entered them room.
For years, he had taught them,
Through his whole life he had loved them,
And now, one night more to show them
How they could still love, still teach,
still be an example
Even when death enters the room.
He bade them enter,
Removed his robe and washed their feet,
But some still did not understand
How could the king of all be their servant?
Their minds were clouded
Since death had entered the room.
Lesson after lesson had they heard--
Heard but not understood--
And now he was clearly stating his desire for them--
Love one another as I have loved you--
But one refused to hear,
And through him, Death had entered the room.
The bread, commissioned
The wine, commissioned
This is my body, this is my blood.
As often as you do this, do it in memory of me.
And in so saying, he sought them to notice
That death had entered the room.
The one who had come brimming with hate--
So much talk, so little action!--
Decided at this point that he had been right.
His action would create a spark--
force this man to act.
How did he not know that Death had entered the room?
The others still were not fully aware.
They only knew that their leader was once again proclaiming--what?
They weren't sure.
Year after year of masked teaching.
Maybe they were not to be blamed for not realizing
That Death had entered the room.
And now, on to Gesthemene,
On to Golgotha
On to the tomb.
What a mistake he made that night,
Full of pride, feeling he had won--
Yes, Death had entered the room.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
coming back to life
I woke up this morning to a realization. The weight that is always on my chest was gone! I have lived with this pain for more years than I can remember. It is a normal accompaniment to a life lived in pain and suffering, and I live with it--most days not even consciously remembering that it's there. But this morning, for a blessed change, it was gone! Why? Easy. I went to a retreat and came away changed.
I am thankful that I'm open to change. I know many people who aren't. They are stuck in bitterness. They avoid change. They are certain that the world is out to get them. Anything that challenges views that they learned at their mother's knee is viewed as suspect. Their Jesus, their world view, their moral compass are all set in stone. I used to be like them.
That all changed after my husband died. My world collapsed, and I collapsed with it. After a time, I reached out for help. That's the first step. The person who came alongside invited me to a Bible study. That was the second step. The Bible study taught me that what I had always believed was wrong. That was the gigantic leap.
When you take a gigantic leap, you have two choices. You fly or you fall. You can fly if the leap leads to truth. You fall when the leap leads you to error. It's up to you to determine that what you've been taught is true and accurate. No proof texts--check out what you've been told by reading in context and making sure it holds up in the Light. It did.
Having taken one leap, I took another. And another. I began to feel less fettered. My God began to change. Better said, my personal understanding of him began to change. He went from taskmaster to Father. I was led into freedom.
Today, I take nothing for granted. I learn new things every day. Some do not stand in the light of Truth, but most do. Each step I take brings me another step closer to freedom. And the weight lifts.
If you want to learn more, email me. meggiev7777@gmail.com. Or include your email in the comments below.
I am thankful that I'm open to change. I know many people who aren't. They are stuck in bitterness. They avoid change. They are certain that the world is out to get them. Anything that challenges views that they learned at their mother's knee is viewed as suspect. Their Jesus, their world view, their moral compass are all set in stone. I used to be like them.
That all changed after my husband died. My world collapsed, and I collapsed with it. After a time, I reached out for help. That's the first step. The person who came alongside invited me to a Bible study. That was the second step. The Bible study taught me that what I had always believed was wrong. That was the gigantic leap.
When you take a gigantic leap, you have two choices. You fly or you fall. You can fly if the leap leads to truth. You fall when the leap leads you to error. It's up to you to determine that what you've been taught is true and accurate. No proof texts--check out what you've been told by reading in context and making sure it holds up in the Light. It did.
Having taken one leap, I took another. And another. I began to feel less fettered. My God began to change. Better said, my personal understanding of him began to change. He went from taskmaster to Father. I was led into freedom.
Today, I take nothing for granted. I learn new things every day. Some do not stand in the light of Truth, but most do. Each step I take brings me another step closer to freedom. And the weight lifts.
If you want to learn more, email me. meggiev7777@gmail.com. Or include your email in the comments below.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Mary, did you know
O holy mother
Most blessed
We know all about the Christmas story.
We know about the road to Bethlehem,
The shepherds, angels, wise men
We know about the night in the manger and the trip afterwards to Egypt.
But Mary,
we don't know anything about the road leading up to Easter.
Did you grieve Joseph when he died?
Did your other children (or perhaps nieces and nephews)
step in and give you shelter and peace?
And how closely did you follow Jesus?
You always seemed to be there--
Did you follow close enough to be at the Last Supper?
Did you see the famous kiss?
And did it break your heart?
Mary, I remember you during Holy Week.
I hope you were among the crowd
with a palm frond in your hand.
I know that you were at the cross-
and I hope it gave you a certain pleasure to know
that even then He thought of you.
You are with him now, rejoicing in Heaven with him.
God bless you, Holy Lady.
Most blessed
We know all about the Christmas story.
We know about the road to Bethlehem,
The shepherds, angels, wise men
We know about the night in the manger and the trip afterwards to Egypt.
But Mary,
we don't know anything about the road leading up to Easter.
Did you grieve Joseph when he died?
Did your other children (or perhaps nieces and nephews)
step in and give you shelter and peace?
And how closely did you follow Jesus?
You always seemed to be there--
Did you follow close enough to be at the Last Supper?
Did you see the famous kiss?
And did it break your heart?
Mary, I remember you during Holy Week.
I hope you were among the crowd
with a palm frond in your hand.
I know that you were at the cross-
and I hope it gave you a certain pleasure to know
that even then He thought of you.
You are with him now, rejoicing in Heaven with him.
God bless you, Holy Lady.
Monday, March 25, 2013
I don't understand
When I look around me at the chaos
--lives unraveling everywhere and not one person noticing--
I don't understand.
I don't understand why children are still dying
when we have so much understanding of disease.
I don't understand why there is still starvation
when farmers agree to let fields lie dormant.
I don't understand.
Why can't we work together
to bring healing to those that need it?
Why can't we encourage people to work
instead of paying them to stay home?
Why can't we let people be
and mind our own business?
Honestly
I just don't understand.
--lives unraveling everywhere and not one person noticing--
I don't understand.
I don't understand why children are still dying
when we have so much understanding of disease.
I don't understand why there is still starvation
when farmers agree to let fields lie dormant.
I don't understand.
Why can't we work together
to bring healing to those that need it?
Why can't we encourage people to work
instead of paying them to stay home?
Why can't we let people be
and mind our own business?
Honestly
I just don't understand.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
kairos
You say beautiful wordsto me--
but i don't believe them.
They can't be true.
Because they don't reflect me
As i see myself.
Once, I might have treasured them
as an affirmation of who I am.
But too much time has passed
Too many words have been spoken
Too much pain has been endured.
But
I look at your eyes as you speak--
I see nothing but love there.
There is no deceit,
No spark of contempt,
No sting of sarcasm.
Could your words,
perhaps
be true?
Can it be that I see myself
incorrectly?
Perhaps it's time to let go of the pain
the doubt
the anguish.
Perhaps it's time
at last
to embrace your words
and consider them
Truth.
but i don't believe them.
They can't be true.
Because they don't reflect me
As i see myself.
Once, I might have treasured them
as an affirmation of who I am.
But too much time has passed
Too many words have been spoken
Too much pain has been endured.
But
I look at your eyes as you speak--
I see nothing but love there.
There is no deceit,
No spark of contempt,
No sting of sarcasm.
Could your words,
perhaps
be true?
Can it be that I see myself
incorrectly?
Perhaps it's time to let go of the pain
the doubt
the anguish.
Perhaps it's time
at last
to embrace your words
and consider them
Truth.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
The Lenten Road
Walking the Lenten road,
Turning down the volume,
So as to listen more easily
To the still small voice.
Walking the path quietly,
Slowly,
So that I can better understand
The puzzle of your love.
Taking time when none exists,
Making sure not to make excuses,
Walking slowly in the rush of day,
So that your secrets might be shared.
You are the Lord of the Universe,
Yet you came to earth as a man--
One of us--
The perfect sacrifice for sin.
During these days set apart for you,
Let us remember to listen,
To think,
To contemplate your mysteries,
So that we can learn to love you more.
Amen.
Turning down the volume,
So as to listen more easily
To the still small voice.
Walking the path quietly,
Slowly,
So that I can better understand
The puzzle of your love.
Taking time when none exists,
Making sure not to make excuses,
Walking slowly in the rush of day,
So that your secrets might be shared.
You are the Lord of the Universe,
Yet you came to earth as a man--
One of us--
The perfect sacrifice for sin.
During these days set apart for you,
Let us remember to listen,
To think,
To contemplate your mysteries,
So that we can learn to love you more.
Amen.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Goodbye
It had been a month--the longest month in her life.
One month of empty arms,
Of phantom pains,
Of first seeing the empty cradle,
and then the blank spot
where the cradle used to be.
No baby.
The house was a mess.
The rest of the family was forgotten,
All that mattered was that she went to the hospital pregnant
And came back home empty.
Time ticked on, minute by minute,
Each one longer than the last.
Nothing was ever going to change.
The hole in her heart,
The ache in her arms
The seizing pain in her heart,
She was sure these would stay with her forever.
She knew she should get up.
She did have other children,
a family,
And they needed her, too.
But she couldn't.
She simply couldn't.
And so she sat in the chair,
Staring at nothing,
Until her husband took her hand
And led her to bed.
Where they lay
Two statues
Unable to come together in their grief.
Until one day…
It started prosaically enough.
She had to go to the bathroom.
To get to the bathroom, she had to pass through the dining room.
And so she did,
And suddenly she was enveloped in love.
It was electric, alive, and full of joy.
When it happened, she wasn't sure what to think.
Had she really experienced that?
Had she been--just for a moment--
more totally alive than she had been since this happened--
perhaps
since she was born?
She wasn't sure
So she tried it again.
And again.
Back and forth for nearly an hour, it seemed.
And then,
just like that
it went away.
Gone, but not fully.
Not completely.
The stillness of her heart,
The death of her soul
Was gone,
Replaced by a tiny echo of the enormity of that experience.
She began to heal.
She started cleaning her house.
She went to the kitchen and made dinner.
She took the children in her arms,
And she took her husband to her bed.
Life would return--
if not to normal--
then at least to livable.
Later, friends would ask about the change,
and she would try to explain,
but she'd always end by simply shaking her head.
How could she make them understand?
What could help them comprehend that her baby,
in that electric moment
was saying "goodbye".
Such a hard word, goodbye,
but how important to hear.
For this goodbye, she came to understand,
Was not a goodbye into the nothingness of death,
The stillness of the grave.
It was a goodbye for now,
a passage from life into new life,
And it was a promise as well.
I have said "goodbye", but someday
I will see you again,
And then I will tell you
"Hello!"
I will wait for you.
This was a promise that she instinctively believed.
And though her arms were still empty,
Her soul,
Finally,
Was full.
One month of empty arms,
Of phantom pains,
Of first seeing the empty cradle,
and then the blank spot
where the cradle used to be.
No baby.
The house was a mess.
The rest of the family was forgotten,
All that mattered was that she went to the hospital pregnant
And came back home empty.
Time ticked on, minute by minute,
Each one longer than the last.
Nothing was ever going to change.
The hole in her heart,
The ache in her arms
The seizing pain in her heart,
She was sure these would stay with her forever.
She knew she should get up.
She did have other children,
a family,
And they needed her, too.
But she couldn't.
She simply couldn't.
And so she sat in the chair,
Staring at nothing,
Until her husband took her hand
And led her to bed.
Where they lay
Two statues
Unable to come together in their grief.
Until one day…
It started prosaically enough.
She had to go to the bathroom.
To get to the bathroom, she had to pass through the dining room.
And so she did,
And suddenly she was enveloped in love.
It was electric, alive, and full of joy.
When it happened, she wasn't sure what to think.
Had she really experienced that?
Had she been--just for a moment--
more totally alive than she had been since this happened--
perhaps
since she was born?
She wasn't sure
So she tried it again.
And again.
Back and forth for nearly an hour, it seemed.
And then,
just like that
it went away.
Gone, but not fully.
Not completely.
The stillness of her heart,
The death of her soul
Was gone,
Replaced by a tiny echo of the enormity of that experience.
She began to heal.
She started cleaning her house.
She went to the kitchen and made dinner.
She took the children in her arms,
And she took her husband to her bed.
Life would return--
if not to normal--
then at least to livable.
Later, friends would ask about the change,
and she would try to explain,
but she'd always end by simply shaking her head.
How could she make them understand?
What could help them comprehend that her baby,
in that electric moment
was saying "goodbye".
Such a hard word, goodbye,
but how important to hear.
For this goodbye, she came to understand,
Was not a goodbye into the nothingness of death,
The stillness of the grave.
It was a goodbye for now,
a passage from life into new life,
And it was a promise as well.
I have said "goodbye", but someday
I will see you again,
And then I will tell you
"Hello!"
I will wait for you.
This was a promise that she instinctively believed.
And though her arms were still empty,
Her soul,
Finally,
Was full.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Child of the desert
I was born in the desert.
Sand, clay, bare mountains
These were the playgrounds of my youth.
I grew up in the desert
and all my life I dreamed of green.
I longed for green trees, emerald mountains, lush grass
and hated the barren land around me--
land that refused to yield a single lilac--
so much as a petunia.
I lived for years in the desert
Until, at least, I was able to move
I asked God for wisdom,
I asked him to guide me.
And so, following God's lead,
I obediently moved
To another desert.
I was devastated,
Yet somewhere, I knew
There was a lesson to be learned.
I looked at the cactus,
Squat, bulging,
Bare and spiny.
I asked it--
Wouldn't you rather be a pine tree?
Wouldn't you rather be tall, beautiful
and green?
I saw the jagged brown mountains--
Majestic, yes,
I had to agree to that
But so bare.
So brown.
Wouldn't you rather be ablaze with the beauty of the Spring?
I demanded.
Wouldn't you rather go from green grass to a rainbow of flowers?
Wouldn't you love to be covered in snow?
Wouldn't you rather be anything
Besides what you are?
That night, I dreamt of the desert.
I saw the cactus,
squat and bulging
Bare and spiny
But green!
I saw it through the lens of years
Saw it bloom
Saw it grow
Saw it reach arms to the heavens
Praising God in the midst of its barrenness.
I saw the bare mountains--
Rugged and jutting
Blazing forth the truth of God--
Unadorned, unornamented,
But there for all to see--
A testament to God's majesty.
In my dream,
I heard them speak to me.
The cactus wondered why I judged--
The mountain was quizzical.
Why didn't I appreciate what I saw?
I knew in a moment that they spoke not of themselves--
They gloried in what they had been given,
What God had seen fit for them to be.
They wondered why I was unappreciative
of what God had planted
within me.
They wondered why I chose to judge myself--
my form, my shape, my very being--
and find myself wanting.
I heard them chuckle.
"Here she is, made in the very image of God
and yet she wants more!"
I woke from my dream with a new understanding.
I am a child of the desert.
I have been chosen to walk in sand
and to learn to admire the handiwork of God in all things,
Not just those things that come easily for me.
In the same way,
I must learn to accept this truth:
God made me who I am.
He made me with a form,
a figure,
a design that was carefully crafted
and beautifully blessed.
All of us were.
It is only when we stop trying to change ourselves--
be who we are not--
That we can finally learn to appreciate God's handiwork
In ourselves.
I am a child of the desert,
and I love the mountains' breathtaking glory.
I love the glimpses of green that come for brief moments
and then are gone once again.
I know that it is because I live here,
In a land that has little water
That I am so grateful for the smell of salt air,
The scent of pine in the dewy breeze.
And so, God,
although I know it is long in coming,
I thank you for making me not only who I am,
But where I am.
Sand, clay, bare mountains
These were the playgrounds of my youth.
I grew up in the desert
and all my life I dreamed of green.
I longed for green trees, emerald mountains, lush grass
and hated the barren land around me--
land that refused to yield a single lilac--
so much as a petunia.
I lived for years in the desert
Until, at least, I was able to move
I asked God for wisdom,
I asked him to guide me.
And so, following God's lead,
I obediently moved
To another desert.
I was devastated,
Yet somewhere, I knew
There was a lesson to be learned.
I looked at the cactus,
Squat, bulging,
Bare and spiny.
I asked it--
Wouldn't you rather be a pine tree?
Wouldn't you rather be tall, beautiful
and green?
I saw the jagged brown mountains--
Majestic, yes,
I had to agree to that
But so bare.
So brown.
Wouldn't you rather be ablaze with the beauty of the Spring?
I demanded.
Wouldn't you rather go from green grass to a rainbow of flowers?
Wouldn't you love to be covered in snow?
Wouldn't you rather be anything
Besides what you are?
That night, I dreamt of the desert.
I saw the cactus,
squat and bulging
Bare and spiny
But green!
I saw it through the lens of years
Saw it bloom
Saw it grow
Saw it reach arms to the heavens
Praising God in the midst of its barrenness.
I saw the bare mountains--
Rugged and jutting
Blazing forth the truth of God--
Unadorned, unornamented,
But there for all to see--
A testament to God's majesty.
In my dream,
I heard them speak to me.
The cactus wondered why I judged--
The mountain was quizzical.
Why didn't I appreciate what I saw?
I knew in a moment that they spoke not of themselves--
They gloried in what they had been given,
What God had seen fit for them to be.
They wondered why I was unappreciative
of what God had planted
within me.
They wondered why I chose to judge myself--
my form, my shape, my very being--
and find myself wanting.
I heard them chuckle.
"Here she is, made in the very image of God
and yet she wants more!"
I woke from my dream with a new understanding.
I am a child of the desert.
I have been chosen to walk in sand
and to learn to admire the handiwork of God in all things,
Not just those things that come easily for me.
In the same way,
I must learn to accept this truth:
God made me who I am.
He made me with a form,
a figure,
a design that was carefully crafted
and beautifully blessed.
All of us were.
It is only when we stop trying to change ourselves--
be who we are not--
That we can finally learn to appreciate God's handiwork
In ourselves.
I am a child of the desert,
and I love the mountains' breathtaking glory.
I love the glimpses of green that come for brief moments
and then are gone once again.
I know that it is because I live here,
In a land that has little water
That I am so grateful for the smell of salt air,
The scent of pine in the dewy breeze.
And so, God,
although I know it is long in coming,
I thank you for making me not only who I am,
But where I am.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Today is one of those days when I'm pretty much writing because I've promised myself that I will write every day. Some really cool things have happened today, though. I have received word that my son Val will come and visit during Easter, I will be able to be there for the whole Kairos retreat, we saw Guys and Dolls today, and tomorrow I go to my very first writer's workshop.
I think that the most noteworthy thing about today is the passage of time. I saw my students perform this play--the same play that I saw with my children in their high school back almost 15 years ago. Everyone seems so young--but I also distinctly remembered being in high school production myself--we felt so old.
Times change, seasons pass, and we grow in grace and in the sight of God. One day I will be in his presence--until then, I will thank Him for the times he's given me here.
I think that the most noteworthy thing about today is the passage of time. I saw my students perform this play--the same play that I saw with my children in their high school back almost 15 years ago. Everyone seems so young--but I also distinctly remembered being in high school production myself--we felt so old.
Times change, seasons pass, and we grow in grace and in the sight of God. One day I will be in his presence--until then, I will thank Him for the times he's given me here.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
buffeted by imaginary storms
I sometimes catch a picture of myself as I walk through life. I see a little girl (sort of like the girl in the cartoon "Nancy", clothed in protective raingear--hat, coat, galoshes, umbrella--pushing valiantly through the most horrible of rain and windstorms. Head down, trudging forward, one hand clutching the umbrella and the other out in front of her to stave off the ferocious wind, she bravely battles onward, a heroic little figure in the storm. Thing is--it's sunny and lovely outside. There is no wind. There is a nice little breeze, perhaps, but she can't feel it, bundled as she is against the perceived threat.
That's me at times: all dressed up against the storm in my mind. That was certainly me getting ready for my meeting at church. All day, I bravely battened down the hatches, refusing to think about the appointment looming ahead. As the time approached, I got in the car, gritting my teeth against the ordeal to come. I prayed all the way there, steeling myself for whatever might come.
What came was a picture of a smiling priest ushering me into the office, another smiling priest seated at the table. I thanked them for allowing me this time to discuss my ministry options. I sat, and ---nothing! They waited for me to begin! It wasn't their meeting, it was mine! I told them my concerns about starting a new ministry and then having to leave for the summer. Nobody questioned my meaning, they simply listened and helped me to find ways to be what I wanted to be. I left with the agreement that I would come after church on Sunday to find a convenient time to begin a group training for LEM--Lay Eucharistic Minister. Another dream was coming to pass--a dream of ministry (I'm reminded once again of that morning in my room, hearing the Lord say that he was going to redeem what was lost.) What was I so afraid of, anyway?
As I drove home, it finally dawned on me. This was a reversal of an earlier time, an earlier meeting. So many years ago, I had been called to another meeting at the same church by a different priest. I had expected to receive understanding and help; instead, I received an ultimatum--one that made me realize that I couldn't stay. I had not been fearful for no reason. I had every reason in the world to distrust. But once again, God had brought his healing hand to my situation. I now have another memory of another meeting with priests and concerns, but this one is a memory of loving priests caring about my needs and wishing only the best for me. I know now that I am truly in God's home for me.
Sometimes we need storms, even if they're only in our mind. They give us understanding and strengthen us for the coming battles. I am exhausted from worrying about this one; now that it's past, though, I can bask in God's sunshine and thank him for sunny days and answered prayer. And being, finally, home.
That's me at times: all dressed up against the storm in my mind. That was certainly me getting ready for my meeting at church. All day, I bravely battened down the hatches, refusing to think about the appointment looming ahead. As the time approached, I got in the car, gritting my teeth against the ordeal to come. I prayed all the way there, steeling myself for whatever might come.
What came was a picture of a smiling priest ushering me into the office, another smiling priest seated at the table. I thanked them for allowing me this time to discuss my ministry options. I sat, and ---nothing! They waited for me to begin! It wasn't their meeting, it was mine! I told them my concerns about starting a new ministry and then having to leave for the summer. Nobody questioned my meaning, they simply listened and helped me to find ways to be what I wanted to be. I left with the agreement that I would come after church on Sunday to find a convenient time to begin a group training for LEM--Lay Eucharistic Minister. Another dream was coming to pass--a dream of ministry (I'm reminded once again of that morning in my room, hearing the Lord say that he was going to redeem what was lost.) What was I so afraid of, anyway?
As I drove home, it finally dawned on me. This was a reversal of an earlier time, an earlier meeting. So many years ago, I had been called to another meeting at the same church by a different priest. I had expected to receive understanding and help; instead, I received an ultimatum--one that made me realize that I couldn't stay. I had not been fearful for no reason. I had every reason in the world to distrust. But once again, God had brought his healing hand to my situation. I now have another memory of another meeting with priests and concerns, but this one is a memory of loving priests caring about my needs and wishing only the best for me. I know now that I am truly in God's home for me.
Sometimes we need storms, even if they're only in our mind. They give us understanding and strengthen us for the coming battles. I am exhausted from worrying about this one; now that it's past, though, I can bask in God's sunshine and thank him for sunny days and answered prayer. And being, finally, home.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
anger--
I have a medical problem. I get mad sometimes. It is not because I want to, but because I have various imbalances that work together to fill me with frustrated anger that wells over into tears. I control this anger with various medicines, but sometimes something sparks it and off I go, medicine or not.
I don't like being angry. Angry means out of control. Anger means fear--I can't stand facing the person that I'm angry with, so I have to fight myself not to run. Eventually I get there, but sometimes that right moment that we all talk about is past, and when I approach the person, they honestly can't believe that I'm still angry about that.
Anger is really hard for me to deal with. It keeps me up at night--one of the very few things that does. It makes me fear retaliation, even when there is no logical reason to do so. If I feel angry at someone, often it's someone in a position of control, and I worry that confronting that person will result in my losing the freedom to keep on doing what I'm doing. So I determine that I'm going to tough it out, let it go, and walk on as if nothing has happened. And that's when the tears come. Wonderful. So now I am in a state of helplessness that I can't control, and everyone is wondering what on earth is the matter with me.
Anger is not my friend. But I will learn to make anger my companion, not my master. I'm just not quite sure how. Any suggestions?
I don't like being angry. Angry means out of control. Anger means fear--I can't stand facing the person that I'm angry with, so I have to fight myself not to run. Eventually I get there, but sometimes that right moment that we all talk about is past, and when I approach the person, they honestly can't believe that I'm still angry about that.
Anger is really hard for me to deal with. It keeps me up at night--one of the very few things that does. It makes me fear retaliation, even when there is no logical reason to do so. If I feel angry at someone, often it's someone in a position of control, and I worry that confronting that person will result in my losing the freedom to keep on doing what I'm doing. So I determine that I'm going to tough it out, let it go, and walk on as if nothing has happened. And that's when the tears come. Wonderful. So now I am in a state of helplessness that I can't control, and everyone is wondering what on earth is the matter with me.
Anger is not my friend. But I will learn to make anger my companion, not my master. I'm just not quite sure how. Any suggestions?
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
rePENT!!
New day, new prayer. This time the scripture was very short--Jesus saying, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand."
1. Metanoeo. This is a compound word. “Meta” means change “noeo” means thinking.
How that takes me back. Raised in Assemblies, I heard lots of talk about repentance. Not sure I really had much to repent of back then (I accepted the Lord at the age of five), I was terrified that I would die with sin on my soul and go straight to hell. I had heard that if you thought bad thoughts, disobeyed your parents, cursed, or did any number of other bad things and then died without repenting, you would go straight to hell. Therefore, I felt that I was always one small step away from hell.
How different my beliefs are today! Jesus is my friend, my bridegroom, my covering. God is my loving father, my comfort in times of trouble. I understand that I am loved and that I never need fear--Jesus will always keep my free from the punishment that otherwise would have been mine.
When thinking about the Bible reading today, short as it is, I have to say that it's always better to keep things in context. When you read the entire section (Matthew 4), you see that this happened right after Jesus came back from the wilderness. Soon after, he heard that John was in prison, so he went to heaven, stopping on the way so that this prophecy could be fulfilled:
The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light,
And upon those who sat in the region and shadow of death
Light has dawned.”[f]
And upon those who sat in the region and shadow of death
Light has dawned.”[f]
That's why he said "repent"--a new light had dawned upon those sitting in the region and shadow of death. Doesn't that description sound like descriptions of beggars and the lame of the time? They weren't able to leave--but now light has come into their very darkness. This light, according to Jesus, was at hand.
And what do we have to do? Repent. But what does that mean, exactly? I found this explanation of the Greek. Basically, it don't mean what we think it means.
There are two greek words used in this context:
This word is derived from “nous” which means mind. So, metanoeo means to “change your mind”
2. Metamellamai. This is also a compound word. “Meta” means change
“mellamai” means emotions. It means to have a “change of emotions”.
“mellamai” means emotions. It means to have a “change of emotions”.
So in the original Greek, to repent meant to change your mind and change your emotions. That I can do.
I do believe that the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. In some mystical sense, it is, in a way, already here. Where Christ is, to my way of thinking, Heaven is also. And St Theresa of Avila states that Christ has no body now on earth but ours. So when we look in our brother's eyes, yes, we can see Christ in him.
I don't mean that we are living in a new world's heaven where the universe is somehow giving us new freedoms and new beings. But I do believe that God has given us a special measure of grace that allows us to partake of the Son of God and his grace. That, to me, is heaven.
So, yes. Repent. Change your thinking. Change your emotions. Embrace the day that Christ has made and fully--completely--rejoice in it!
Monday, March 11, 2013
prayer in the seat of pain
Well, I thought that I could avoid this. I thought that if I just let things go, I would be fine. I should have known better. Pain, sharp and piercing, is breaking my heart. I have allowed myself to feel, and now I'm paying the price. I allowed myself to put my trust in someone else, and now that person has slapped-not me--my son. I would rather he had wounded me. My son is in the other room, laughing. He is getting over it. I am not.
I feel like I am losing my world. I made the decision to trust in someone, and now I am paying the price for that decision. Oh God! I know that these are words out of anger, but you understand anger. You hear the cry of my heart; you capture every angry, hurt tear that is shed. You understand the feeling of being betrayed. Only you.
I don't know where this will end, Lord. I don't know why this happened or what is going to happen next. I was so looking forward to this ministry, this opportunity; now it is dust. I can't imagine continuing the way I am. But you understand; you know how it's supposed to end.
I put my trust in you. I cry my hurt and pain unto you. Hear the cry of my bitterness and hurt, Lord, and turn it into something good. I don't know how, but I trust in you.
Amen
I feel like I am losing my world. I made the decision to trust in someone, and now I am paying the price for that decision. Oh God! I know that these are words out of anger, but you understand anger. You hear the cry of my heart; you capture every angry, hurt tear that is shed. You understand the feeling of being betrayed. Only you.
I don't know where this will end, Lord. I don't know why this happened or what is going to happen next. I was so looking forward to this ministry, this opportunity; now it is dust. I can't imagine continuing the way I am. But you understand; you know how it's supposed to end.
I put my trust in you. I cry my hurt and pain unto you. Hear the cry of my bitterness and hurt, Lord, and turn it into something good. I don't know how, but I trust in you.
Amen
Sunday, March 10, 2013
The prodigal, the elder son, and the loving father
You've heard it before. You know the story. But have you seen it through the filter of the Middle East?
The very idea is ludicrous. A son wishes his inheritance, having the audacity to go to the father and ask for that inheritance, is absurd. It is telling the father that you wish him dead. No son in his right mind would do it. No father in his right mind would grant it. Yet in the parable, both did.
That's what parables are all about. You start of with a premise that is so unthinkable that it's laughable. This gets the audience's attention. And then you proceed to your lesson.
Throughout, it's clear that this boy is foolish. He does the unthinkable, is given the impossible, and wastes no time in going to a far-off land and squandering the money. Notice that the father didn't send him off--he chose the path to take. The father stays home and the son makes stupid decision after stupid decision. Soon the money is gone and the son is in desperate straights. He goes so far as to ask a Gentile for work--absolutely unheard of among the Jews. The farmer, when asked, says that the only job he has available is caring for pigs. This wasn't a job offer. It was a polite way to tell the boy to go away. The farmer understood very well that the Jews consider pigs unclean. Offering the boy a job tending unclean animals was giving him an option that it was clear that he couldn't take advantage of. But he does--another marvel. More than that, the boy is starving and resorts to eating what even the pigs won't touch.
As the boy is living his miserable life, the parable goes on, he finally comes to his senses. Ever done that? Ever get into a mess that's so bad that you forget that there's a different way? Ask anyone who's been in an abusive relationship--they'll tell you that it gets to be so hopeless that unless a miracle happens and their eyes are opened, they will continue in the relationship until they are literally abused to death. But then one day, something happens--sometimes something as insignificant as reading the paper and seeing a story that could easily be your story--and you suddenly realize that of course there's a way out. And you take it. And you're saved. So it was with this young man. Could it be that he saw someone who wore clothing similar to that worn by his father's servants? Could it be that he looked at the slop that he was eating and realized that this would never happen in his home? Whatever the cause, he came back to himself and realized that a servant in his father's house lived better than this. Having realized that, he then makes the decision to go back and ask forgiveness. He knows, none better, that he has committed an unpardonable offense against his father and expects nothing but to be treated as a servant. But he hopes that his father will do at least that much for him.
He starts on the road home. Maybe he is willing to take whatever consequences lie ahead; maybe he isn't thinking clearly. But the father sees him from far off. Obviously, this means that the father has been looking for him. This is not coincidence. More, then father throws pride and self respect aside and runs to the son. This is important, for it's essential that the father reach the son before the community is aware of what's going on. The father has been treated by the son as if he were dead, and the community in turn now sees the son as dead. If the son dared show his face again, thought would become deed. To avoid that, the father sets custom and dignity aside and sprints to the son's side. He calls for a robe (remember Christ is our covering?), the family rings, and sandals to be brought. He then calls for the fatted calf to be slaughtered so that a celebration can begin, for he who was dead is now alive again!
When the elder son--the good son--smells the cooking, he very reasonably wants to know what's going on. He goes to the father, and the father explains. This makes the son furious. He has continued to tend the land while the son squanders his money on prostitutes (how did he know that?), and now his brother is to be celebrated while he, the good son, receives nothing? He makes it clear that it's unfair that he hasn't received so much as a kid so that he could celebrate with his friends.
You know, we're used to looking down our collective nose at the elder brother, but I agree with him in this. At first glance, it's totally unfair. He has remained faithful while little Skeezix goes away, lives it up, blows Daddy's money, and then comes back. What happens now? I'm not surprised that the father's actions seem crazy and biased to the elder son.
But the father doesn't chide. He simply asks the older son to celebrate with him--what was lost is found, he who was dead is now alive again.
We all are the elder son. We see others receive gifts while we have none (or none that we choose to think about at that moment), and it makes us mad. But we are also the prodigal. We wander away and live our own lives until that moment when we realize that life without our Father God is a life devoid of value. In those two, we see ourselves. In the father, though, we see the love of Christ and the mercy of God the Father. He has ransomed us from death--just as the father did the son by putting on the family robes--and he asks us to celebrate His Son in the gifts of life--the gifts of the Eucharist. Bless his holy name!
The very idea is ludicrous. A son wishes his inheritance, having the audacity to go to the father and ask for that inheritance, is absurd. It is telling the father that you wish him dead. No son in his right mind would do it. No father in his right mind would grant it. Yet in the parable, both did.
That's what parables are all about. You start of with a premise that is so unthinkable that it's laughable. This gets the audience's attention. And then you proceed to your lesson.
Throughout, it's clear that this boy is foolish. He does the unthinkable, is given the impossible, and wastes no time in going to a far-off land and squandering the money. Notice that the father didn't send him off--he chose the path to take. The father stays home and the son makes stupid decision after stupid decision. Soon the money is gone and the son is in desperate straights. He goes so far as to ask a Gentile for work--absolutely unheard of among the Jews. The farmer, when asked, says that the only job he has available is caring for pigs. This wasn't a job offer. It was a polite way to tell the boy to go away. The farmer understood very well that the Jews consider pigs unclean. Offering the boy a job tending unclean animals was giving him an option that it was clear that he couldn't take advantage of. But he does--another marvel. More than that, the boy is starving and resorts to eating what even the pigs won't touch.
As the boy is living his miserable life, the parable goes on, he finally comes to his senses. Ever done that? Ever get into a mess that's so bad that you forget that there's a different way? Ask anyone who's been in an abusive relationship--they'll tell you that it gets to be so hopeless that unless a miracle happens and their eyes are opened, they will continue in the relationship until they are literally abused to death. But then one day, something happens--sometimes something as insignificant as reading the paper and seeing a story that could easily be your story--and you suddenly realize that of course there's a way out. And you take it. And you're saved. So it was with this young man. Could it be that he saw someone who wore clothing similar to that worn by his father's servants? Could it be that he looked at the slop that he was eating and realized that this would never happen in his home? Whatever the cause, he came back to himself and realized that a servant in his father's house lived better than this. Having realized that, he then makes the decision to go back and ask forgiveness. He knows, none better, that he has committed an unpardonable offense against his father and expects nothing but to be treated as a servant. But he hopes that his father will do at least that much for him.
He starts on the road home. Maybe he is willing to take whatever consequences lie ahead; maybe he isn't thinking clearly. But the father sees him from far off. Obviously, this means that the father has been looking for him. This is not coincidence. More, then father throws pride and self respect aside and runs to the son. This is important, for it's essential that the father reach the son before the community is aware of what's going on. The father has been treated by the son as if he were dead, and the community in turn now sees the son as dead. If the son dared show his face again, thought would become deed. To avoid that, the father sets custom and dignity aside and sprints to the son's side. He calls for a robe (remember Christ is our covering?), the family rings, and sandals to be brought. He then calls for the fatted calf to be slaughtered so that a celebration can begin, for he who was dead is now alive again!
When the elder son--the good son--smells the cooking, he very reasonably wants to know what's going on. He goes to the father, and the father explains. This makes the son furious. He has continued to tend the land while the son squanders his money on prostitutes (how did he know that?), and now his brother is to be celebrated while he, the good son, receives nothing? He makes it clear that it's unfair that he hasn't received so much as a kid so that he could celebrate with his friends.
You know, we're used to looking down our collective nose at the elder brother, but I agree with him in this. At first glance, it's totally unfair. He has remained faithful while little Skeezix goes away, lives it up, blows Daddy's money, and then comes back. What happens now? I'm not surprised that the father's actions seem crazy and biased to the elder son.
But the father doesn't chide. He simply asks the older son to celebrate with him--what was lost is found, he who was dead is now alive again.
We all are the elder son. We see others receive gifts while we have none (or none that we choose to think about at that moment), and it makes us mad. But we are also the prodigal. We wander away and live our own lives until that moment when we realize that life without our Father God is a life devoid of value. In those two, we see ourselves. In the father, though, we see the love of Christ and the mercy of God the Father. He has ransomed us from death--just as the father did the son by putting on the family robes--and he asks us to celebrate His Son in the gifts of life--the gifts of the Eucharist. Bless his holy name!
Saturday, March 9, 2013
patience--a dying virtue thanks to the internet
I was (and am) confused and sad. My son is upset because of something that happened in a mentoring relationship--something that might be partly his fault but not fully--and I have promised not to interfere. Not to go into details, he forgot about an appointment and his mentor cut off the relationship. I'm not sure why this happened, but I've promised not to interfere, and that's so hard.
Today I had a 4th day meeting, and I came to the coffee shop early, then waited 20 minutes after the meeting was to start, then left. I left a voice mail with one of the people I was supposed to meet with, and so far it hasn't been returned. So basically, the same thing happened to me that happened to my son's mentor. I wouldn't dream of canceling my relationship with my group. I had an appointment last week and couldn't make it (I did let them know at the meeting), and so I assume that they simply forgot to let me know. They have been meeting for a long time, and I just recently joined them; it's not a big deal. I was able to play around with my new Kindle, so that was actually a good thing.
Why is it that we as a nation are so impatient? When I was a girl, we knew how to wait. We had to, after all. If we wanted to make a call, we had to wait until we were home and could use the phone. If we wanted to mail our friends a letter, we had to wait till the mail was received, the response written, the new letter sent, and the carrier dropped the return mail to the house. If we wanted to reheat a meal, we actually had to reheat it and wait. All this has changed, and we have changed with it. We now can make a call whenever we want, and so we get impatient if we are driving and the law forbids us to use the phone. We leave voice mail and get testy if that call isn't answered within the hour. We email our friends or im them on Facebook and consider them angry at us or no longer a friend if the email or IM isn't answered immediately. We can nuke a meal on the microwave in 2 minutes, more or less. So why wouldn't we be impatient?
But some things can't be rushed. Some things have to be thought through and deliberated. For example, everyone gets their feelings hurt from time to time, and it's very healing to write a letter and blow off steam. But the easy availability of email and IM takes away the ability to write the letter, look it over the next hour or day, and then think better of it because we've cooled down. I wonder how many friendships have been damaged or broken beyond repair because of an outburst that was sent without the appropriate "cool down" time?
The saying goes that all things come to him who waits. That might be true, but less and less of us are waiting to find out. If it doesn't come immediately, we give up and go to something else. And that something can even be something as fast as waiting for an app or a movie to download.
God, in this ever-more-rapidly-moving world that we live in, patience is harder and harder to come by. I pray for those people who have been wounded by others who haven't taken the time to slow down and think. I pray that hearts that have been broken can be mended. And I pray for my brothers and sisters to learn to be patient and wait on you.
Today I had a 4th day meeting, and I came to the coffee shop early, then waited 20 minutes after the meeting was to start, then left. I left a voice mail with one of the people I was supposed to meet with, and so far it hasn't been returned. So basically, the same thing happened to me that happened to my son's mentor. I wouldn't dream of canceling my relationship with my group. I had an appointment last week and couldn't make it (I did let them know at the meeting), and so I assume that they simply forgot to let me know. They have been meeting for a long time, and I just recently joined them; it's not a big deal. I was able to play around with my new Kindle, so that was actually a good thing.
Why is it that we as a nation are so impatient? When I was a girl, we knew how to wait. We had to, after all. If we wanted to make a call, we had to wait until we were home and could use the phone. If we wanted to mail our friends a letter, we had to wait till the mail was received, the response written, the new letter sent, and the carrier dropped the return mail to the house. If we wanted to reheat a meal, we actually had to reheat it and wait. All this has changed, and we have changed with it. We now can make a call whenever we want, and so we get impatient if we are driving and the law forbids us to use the phone. We leave voice mail and get testy if that call isn't answered within the hour. We email our friends or im them on Facebook and consider them angry at us or no longer a friend if the email or IM isn't answered immediately. We can nuke a meal on the microwave in 2 minutes, more or less. So why wouldn't we be impatient?
But some things can't be rushed. Some things have to be thought through and deliberated. For example, everyone gets their feelings hurt from time to time, and it's very healing to write a letter and blow off steam. But the easy availability of email and IM takes away the ability to write the letter, look it over the next hour or day, and then think better of it because we've cooled down. I wonder how many friendships have been damaged or broken beyond repair because of an outburst that was sent without the appropriate "cool down" time?
The saying goes that all things come to him who waits. That might be true, but less and less of us are waiting to find out. If it doesn't come immediately, we give up and go to something else. And that something can even be something as fast as waiting for an app or a movie to download.
God, in this ever-more-rapidly-moving world that we live in, patience is harder and harder to come by. I pray for those people who have been wounded by others who haven't taken the time to slow down and think. I pray that hearts that have been broken can be mended. And I pray for my brothers and sisters to learn to be patient and wait on you.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Chronos and Kairos
Time is funny. It didn't always exist, and it exists differently depending on where you are. On Sunday, most of you will be gaining an hour, which means that you will be losing an hour of sleep. Not me--I live in Arizona, where we don't buy in to such foolishness. We always stay at the same time. When I was in Bakersfield, I looked forward to October--standard time--and dreaded March--daylight savings time.
This is chronos. Time is charted, scheduled, and expected to behave. It is so dependable that you can use it to take a pulse, beat music, and be the chart that runs your overscheduled life.
But have you noticed that our understanding of time and experience of time aren't the same? Remember when you were young? There was a year between December 1 and Christmas, and yet Christmas was done in 5 minutes. It took years to finish being grounded, yet your favorite tv show was over almost before it began. You started reading a good book at 8pm, and it seemed like just a few minutes later you looked at the clock and realized that it was 2am! Time doesn't behave!
That's because we don't understand time. That marking of the hours is chronos. We mark hours and measure our day because we are creatures that love to measure. God doesn't live in chronos. God lives in kairos--his own time. Kairos is time-out-of-time, that special moment that is measured qualitatively, not quantitatively. We live our lives in both.
We wake up at 8:00 and know that we have to be at church at 10:00. Chronos. We begin to pray, and as we do, we enter into a conversation with God that seems to take hours. You leave prayer certain that you will be late for church, go to the kitchen, look at the clock--it's 8:15. You've been in kairos. I
God loves to play, and he does his best playing in kairos. I've been in a praise team where we had a set time--20 minutes--to play. Everything was rigidly set in chronos. Announcements take x minutes, worship x minutes and sermon x minutes, and so on. We start our set, and the Holy Spirit moves. We've learned to let it. We play, praise God, are given words, spend time in prayer, and finish a set that should have run well over time in exactly 20 minutes. Kairos.
On the other hand, I've seen God play with chronos, too. One day, I was on the opposite side of town from work and was running late. I knew that I didn't have enough time to arrive, and I asked God to please give me extra time. He didn't. Instead, every light was green, including a light that turned red about 5 seconds before I got there then immediately green again (that's when I knew He was playing). When I got to the freeway, there was absolutely no traffic--unheard of during rush hour. I got to work with minutes to spare.
Whether you're in chronos or kairos, you're in God's time. Take a moment this weekend to relax and enjoy being in God's time--and then try and see how often you end up in kairos!
God's love to you!
This is chronos. Time is charted, scheduled, and expected to behave. It is so dependable that you can use it to take a pulse, beat music, and be the chart that runs your overscheduled life.
But have you noticed that our understanding of time and experience of time aren't the same? Remember when you were young? There was a year between December 1 and Christmas, and yet Christmas was done in 5 minutes. It took years to finish being grounded, yet your favorite tv show was over almost before it began. You started reading a good book at 8pm, and it seemed like just a few minutes later you looked at the clock and realized that it was 2am! Time doesn't behave!
That's because we don't understand time. That marking of the hours is chronos. We mark hours and measure our day because we are creatures that love to measure. God doesn't live in chronos. God lives in kairos--his own time. Kairos is time-out-of-time, that special moment that is measured qualitatively, not quantitatively. We live our lives in both.
We wake up at 8:00 and know that we have to be at church at 10:00. Chronos. We begin to pray, and as we do, we enter into a conversation with God that seems to take hours. You leave prayer certain that you will be late for church, go to the kitchen, look at the clock--it's 8:15. You've been in kairos. I
God loves to play, and he does his best playing in kairos. I've been in a praise team where we had a set time--20 minutes--to play. Everything was rigidly set in chronos. Announcements take x minutes, worship x minutes and sermon x minutes, and so on. We start our set, and the Holy Spirit moves. We've learned to let it. We play, praise God, are given words, spend time in prayer, and finish a set that should have run well over time in exactly 20 minutes. Kairos.
On the other hand, I've seen God play with chronos, too. One day, I was on the opposite side of town from work and was running late. I knew that I didn't have enough time to arrive, and I asked God to please give me extra time. He didn't. Instead, every light was green, including a light that turned red about 5 seconds before I got there then immediately green again (that's when I knew He was playing). When I got to the freeway, there was absolutely no traffic--unheard of during rush hour. I got to work with minutes to spare.
Whether you're in chronos or kairos, you're in God's time. Take a moment this weekend to relax and enjoy being in God's time--and then try and see how often you end up in kairos!
God's love to you!
Thursday, March 7, 2013
in and through his eyes
I seem to always be fascinated by your eyes, Lord
Not by the color or shape or size--
Although I do see them as brown and almond and set deep in a rugged dark face--
But by what they see.
When I look in your eyes,
I see compassion and peace
Hope for the hopeless
and rest for the weary.
But at the same time,
I see the snap of fire that is reserved for those
Who trouble and persecute Your people.
Both your people Israel and your people that have been grafted on through adoption.
People like me.
When I read the Gospels and look through your eyes,
Oh Lord!
The compassion that you felt for the poor
The downtrodden
Those who have come to you for healing
Or salvation.
I see grief--tears for Lazarus your brother,
John your cousin
And the woman caught in adultery.
I see fire for the religious leaders who have dared to distort Your truth
To take away the role of Love
And replace it with a lifetime of rules--
Rules that nobody can ever follow--
All for the sake of religion.
How do you see us today, Lord?
I myself dared to ask you to let me see myself through your eyes.
I was afraid--trembling--
For I knew the wrong that I had done.
I knew how ugly the world saw me to be
And I was horrified at how you must see me.
But I had to know.
Because I had to know if what I believed about you was true,
Or if I was believing a lie.
And so, fearfully, I asked you to show me myself
As You saw me.
And I saw
A woman of beauty,
Dressed in white,
Prepared as a bride for her Husband.
And then I saw the husband's view--
The love, the adoration
Adoration?
That he felt when he looked upon me
And I saw the truth
This is why You died
This is why You came to Earth as a baby
Because you adore us
Love us
Enough to give up your life
To save us.
And during these 40 days of Lent
May I learn
Somehow
To see my brothers and sisters
With your eyes.
Amen.
Not by the color or shape or size--
Although I do see them as brown and almond and set deep in a rugged dark face--
But by what they see.
When I look in your eyes,
I see compassion and peace
Hope for the hopeless
and rest for the weary.
But at the same time,
I see the snap of fire that is reserved for those
Who trouble and persecute Your people.
Both your people Israel and your people that have been grafted on through adoption.
People like me.
When I read the Gospels and look through your eyes,
Oh Lord!
The compassion that you felt for the poor
The downtrodden
Those who have come to you for healing
Or salvation.
I see grief--tears for Lazarus your brother,
John your cousin
And the woman caught in adultery.
I see fire for the religious leaders who have dared to distort Your truth
To take away the role of Love
And replace it with a lifetime of rules--
Rules that nobody can ever follow--
All for the sake of religion.
How do you see us today, Lord?
I myself dared to ask you to let me see myself through your eyes.
I was afraid--trembling--
For I knew the wrong that I had done.
I knew how ugly the world saw me to be
And I was horrified at how you must see me.
But I had to know.
Because I had to know if what I believed about you was true,
Or if I was believing a lie.
And so, fearfully, I asked you to show me myself
As You saw me.
And I saw
A woman of beauty,
Dressed in white,
Prepared as a bride for her Husband.
And then I saw the husband's view--
The love, the adoration
Adoration?
That he felt when he looked upon me
And I saw the truth
This is why You died
This is why You came to Earth as a baby
Because you adore us
Love us
Enough to give up your life
To save us.
And during these 40 days of Lent
May I learn
Somehow
To see my brothers and sisters
With your eyes.
Amen.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
community
We stand in a circle,
Eyes open,
A candle in the center
A cross beside it.
One by one,
We pick up the cross and share.
Some speak of dreams of the future,
Others of sorrows of the past.
All are here to speak to You
While surrounded by community.
You did not mean us to live a life alone.
You called some of us to married life
Others to single life
But you have called all of us to a life in community.
We have brothers and sisters here.
Some are old, some are young,
But all alike are here to praise you
And fellowship with each other.
The isolation of the day is past
As young and old join together
In praise and worship.
We will come away from here richer
Because we have shared the wonderful treasure
Of you
And each other.
Eyes open,
A candle in the center
A cross beside it.
One by one,
We pick up the cross and share.
Some speak of dreams of the future,
Others of sorrows of the past.
All are here to speak to You
While surrounded by community.
You did not mean us to live a life alone.
You called some of us to married life
Others to single life
But you have called all of us to a life in community.
We have brothers and sisters here.
Some are old, some are young,
But all alike are here to praise you
And fellowship with each other.
The isolation of the day is past
As young and old join together
In praise and worship.
We will come away from here richer
Because we have shared the wonderful treasure
Of you
And each other.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
morning conversation
I woke up with you on my mind.
The room seemed to be full of your presence,
As if you had been watching me closely as I slept.
During the day, your voice seems small and quiet
It is hard to hear you through the noise.
But here in the quiet of the morning
You can be clearly heard.
Lord, how is it that you,
The Creator of the Universe
Care enough to be with me in this quiet room at this early hour?
For you are with me, I know.
I feel your love so distinctly,
It is as if you are enveloping me--
A blanket of tenderness that seeks nothing more
Than for me to recognize this quiet time together.
I can't see you, of course.
That won't come till later.
But right now, as we share this moment together,
I will share this cup of coffee with you,
And before I turn to mail
And news
And Facebook,
I will say the one thing that I know how to say,
Inadequate as it is,
Good morning, Lord!
I love you.
The room seemed to be full of your presence,
As if you had been watching me closely as I slept.
During the day, your voice seems small and quiet
It is hard to hear you through the noise.
But here in the quiet of the morning
You can be clearly heard.
Lord, how is it that you,
The Creator of the Universe
Care enough to be with me in this quiet room at this early hour?
For you are with me, I know.
I feel your love so distinctly,
It is as if you are enveloping me--
A blanket of tenderness that seeks nothing more
Than for me to recognize this quiet time together.
I can't see you, of course.
That won't come till later.
But right now, as we share this moment together,
I will share this cup of coffee with you,
And before I turn to mail
And news
And Facebook,
I will say the one thing that I know how to say,
Inadequate as it is,
Good morning, Lord!
I love you.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Weight Bias
This post is thanks to a friend, Mike James, who like me is overweight. Like me, he had bypass surgery--his was gastric, mine was intestinal. Like me, he has trouble getting doctors to listen.
Mike wrote today asking for prayers for his doctor's visit. I'm saying this so that you can pray that doctors listen to him and there are answers for his problem. He related the issue of weight bias and included a video, which I'm going to link to at the end of this.
I had no idea that there was a name for the problem that I have had all my life. Weight bias is real, and it occurs all the time. It is especially prevalent in the doctor's office.
I saw my doctor (see earlier post) for the second time in January. Once again, he began to chastise me immediately. Whether or not my weight was involved in the problem, my weight was blamed for the problem. I asked for allergy meds with decongestant. I was given a lecture on how the decongestant could interfere with my high blood pressure and could lead to stroke or heart attack. I reminded him that my blood pressure is well within normal limits. He then looked at the blood pressure, seeming to feel that I was either uninformed about my own pressure (!) or lying (!!). As the exam continued, he chastised me for the results of my blood work. He insinuated that my kidneys are shutting down because of protein in my urine. I reminded him that I was getting over the Norovirus, and I've had earlier experiences of the same thing when getting over an intestinal bug. Not even a reply. He chastised me and threatened to put me on medication because my A1C (I think that's what it's called) was 1 point higher than before. I reminded him that he asked for it in the beginning of January--I do tend to eat unwisely from Thanksgiving to Christmas (as do many others). No reply. He then told me that he needed to start doing blood work every three months instead of every six. I said that we could wait and see. He took that as being argumentative and chastised me yet again.
Please, if you are overweight, don't stand for this foolishness. Do as I did--look for another doctor and don't stop till you find one who will listen to you, not your weight. Refuse to be bullied by your doctor. If we allow this treatment to continue, then continue it will. We have the right to be treated with kindness and care, just like everyone else.
And if you're a doctor, nurse--healthcare worker of any kind--please stop looking at our weight. Look into our eyes--you'll see a person who is forced to rely on you for help. Please don't let us down.
Health care bias in the medical field
Mike wrote today asking for prayers for his doctor's visit. I'm saying this so that you can pray that doctors listen to him and there are answers for his problem. He related the issue of weight bias and included a video, which I'm going to link to at the end of this.
I had no idea that there was a name for the problem that I have had all my life. Weight bias is real, and it occurs all the time. It is especially prevalent in the doctor's office.
I saw my doctor (see earlier post) for the second time in January. Once again, he began to chastise me immediately. Whether or not my weight was involved in the problem, my weight was blamed for the problem. I asked for allergy meds with decongestant. I was given a lecture on how the decongestant could interfere with my high blood pressure and could lead to stroke or heart attack. I reminded him that my blood pressure is well within normal limits. He then looked at the blood pressure, seeming to feel that I was either uninformed about my own pressure (!) or lying (!!). As the exam continued, he chastised me for the results of my blood work. He insinuated that my kidneys are shutting down because of protein in my urine. I reminded him that I was getting over the Norovirus, and I've had earlier experiences of the same thing when getting over an intestinal bug. Not even a reply. He chastised me and threatened to put me on medication because my A1C (I think that's what it's called) was 1 point higher than before. I reminded him that he asked for it in the beginning of January--I do tend to eat unwisely from Thanksgiving to Christmas (as do many others). No reply. He then told me that he needed to start doing blood work every three months instead of every six. I said that we could wait and see. He took that as being argumentative and chastised me yet again.
Please, if you are overweight, don't stand for this foolishness. Do as I did--look for another doctor and don't stop till you find one who will listen to you, not your weight. Refuse to be bullied by your doctor. If we allow this treatment to continue, then continue it will. We have the right to be treated with kindness and care, just like everyone else.
And if you're a doctor, nurse--healthcare worker of any kind--please stop looking at our weight. Look into our eyes--you'll see a person who is forced to rely on you for help. Please don't let us down.
Health care bias in the medical field
Sunday, March 3, 2013
A bruised reed...
He will not cry out, nor raise His voice,
Nor cause His voice to be heard in the street.
3 A bruised reed He will not break,
And smoking flax He will not quench;
He will bring forth justice for truth.
4 He will not fail nor be discouraged,
Till He has established justice in the earth;
And the coastlands shall wait for His law.” Isaiah 42: 2-3
I started this post with the story of the woman caught in adultery. Got pretty far with it, too, before I realized that her story isn't the story that I need to write. Once again, I need to write my story.
I first heard this verse (actually, simply "a bruised reed he will not break") when I was at First Baptist Church. I was a shell at that point, bruised and broken and hurting over the loss of baby, father, husband, and the life I knew. I heard it and it gave me hope. Others heard it and knew immediately that it was a word for me.
It wasn't until much later that I went so far as to look up the context for the verse (never let a verse stand on its own. You always need to make sure of the surrounding verses so that you know what it is actually saying). It begins clarifying that he is speaking of His Servant in whom He delights. He goes on to say that he will neither cry out nor raise his voice. He will not break this bruised reed; he will not quench smoking flax. These two verses bring hope. He will not allow a suffering person to be broken; he will not allow his spark of grace to be quenched even though it is surrounded by corruption.
I think about my pain and the pain of those around me--those whose pain I have observed and whose suffering I have shared in. I have wondered how God could think that they could stand any more--why God doesn't intervene. I think about others who have not been able to withstand their suffering--those people who have gone insane, committed suicide, or who have turned from God in bitterness. I wonder about the truth of the verse in light of these examples. No, I have no easy answers. All I have is the picture of Aslan the Lion in the Chronicles of Narnia: "That is not your story. That is their story. You do not need to understand their story, only your own." Added to that, I think we have to admit that only God understands, and he will let us know in time--if we need to know. If not, he will still comfort us. That is what he does.
As for myself, healing took many years and the help of a faithful friend. It took faith and love, both on my part and on the parts of those around me who knew my turmoil and prayed me through. It took forgiveness and time and patience. But it did happen. I am still here and I can actually look back and say that I'm thankful for the experience.
That is the thing that is so wonderful about God's presence and his love during these times: he does reveal himself. I saw him more clearly after my husband's death than I ever did before. I was able to depend on him more completely than ever, because there really was nobody else left. I went through a lot, yes--so did my children--but I am glad that I did, because it left me stronger.
Every time I write these words, I hear you say, "What? You're glad your husband and child are dead?" Always before I have said that I'm not happy they're dead; I'm happy that God brought me through it as he did. But just this once, I'm going a little further. Yes, I'm glad. I'm glad because they're with God. I'm glad because they're together. But most of all, I'm glad because I know that Tommy would in all likelihood have been severely brain damaged had he lived. I know that Val would have been a vegetable. I know that they would not have wanted to live like that--not compared to the wondrous things that they experience every moment their existence in God's presence. So yes, I'm glad--for them--that they're dead. But oh, how I wish they were here on earth for me. And that's the truth of it.
Are you a bruised reed? Are you suffering under a tremendous burden? Take comfort in the fact that he has promised to be with you. He has promised that his strength is there for you. Reach out to him and he will answer you and show you great and mighty things. Amen.
Nor cause His voice to be heard in the street.
3 A bruised reed He will not break,
And smoking flax He will not quench;
He will bring forth justice for truth.
4 He will not fail nor be discouraged,
Till He has established justice in the earth;
And the coastlands shall wait for His law.” Isaiah 42: 2-3
I started this post with the story of the woman caught in adultery. Got pretty far with it, too, before I realized that her story isn't the story that I need to write. Once again, I need to write my story.
I first heard this verse (actually, simply "a bruised reed he will not break") when I was at First Baptist Church. I was a shell at that point, bruised and broken and hurting over the loss of baby, father, husband, and the life I knew. I heard it and it gave me hope. Others heard it and knew immediately that it was a word for me.
It wasn't until much later that I went so far as to look up the context for the verse (never let a verse stand on its own. You always need to make sure of the surrounding verses so that you know what it is actually saying). It begins clarifying that he is speaking of His Servant in whom He delights. He goes on to say that he will neither cry out nor raise his voice. He will not break this bruised reed; he will not quench smoking flax. These two verses bring hope. He will not allow a suffering person to be broken; he will not allow his spark of grace to be quenched even though it is surrounded by corruption.
I think about my pain and the pain of those around me--those whose pain I have observed and whose suffering I have shared in. I have wondered how God could think that they could stand any more--why God doesn't intervene. I think about others who have not been able to withstand their suffering--those people who have gone insane, committed suicide, or who have turned from God in bitterness. I wonder about the truth of the verse in light of these examples. No, I have no easy answers. All I have is the picture of Aslan the Lion in the Chronicles of Narnia: "That is not your story. That is their story. You do not need to understand their story, only your own." Added to that, I think we have to admit that only God understands, and he will let us know in time--if we need to know. If not, he will still comfort us. That is what he does.
As for myself, healing took many years and the help of a faithful friend. It took faith and love, both on my part and on the parts of those around me who knew my turmoil and prayed me through. It took forgiveness and time and patience. But it did happen. I am still here and I can actually look back and say that I'm thankful for the experience.
That is the thing that is so wonderful about God's presence and his love during these times: he does reveal himself. I saw him more clearly after my husband's death than I ever did before. I was able to depend on him more completely than ever, because there really was nobody else left. I went through a lot, yes--so did my children--but I am glad that I did, because it left me stronger.
Every time I write these words, I hear you say, "What? You're glad your husband and child are dead?" Always before I have said that I'm not happy they're dead; I'm happy that God brought me through it as he did. But just this once, I'm going a little further. Yes, I'm glad. I'm glad because they're with God. I'm glad because they're together. But most of all, I'm glad because I know that Tommy would in all likelihood have been severely brain damaged had he lived. I know that Val would have been a vegetable. I know that they would not have wanted to live like that--not compared to the wondrous things that they experience every moment their existence in God's presence. So yes, I'm glad--for them--that they're dead. But oh, how I wish they were here on earth for me. And that's the truth of it.
Are you a bruised reed? Are you suffering under a tremendous burden? Take comfort in the fact that he has promised to be with you. He has promised that his strength is there for you. Reach out to him and he will answer you and show you great and mighty things. Amen.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
the tree in the glade
It stood alone, branches to the sky. It waited day by day for someone to notice it. It was one of many, but as was the case with all its brothers, they did notice.
Children climbed in its branches. Young lovers took shelter under its leaves, relaxing against its trunk for the stolen kiss. Old people would walk past, look up, and exclaim at how high it was now, remembering days gone by. Dogs would come and…well, they would do what dogs do.
It didn't mind. Each glance, each gesture was a treasure. It felt the sunlight, exulted in the rain, glistened in the moonlight and waited.
One couple came to the tree daily. They were neither young nor old. The tree was special to them because of all they had shared under its canopy. They first met when he helped her get a frisbee that was caught in branches and leaves. The red cheeks and downcast eyes when she thanked him told him what he wanted to hear--she had noticed. He had noticed, too, and the next day they came together--meeting under the tree as if drawn there by some strange energy that neither could explain.
It was under the tree that they had their first picnic together, under the tree that they shared the first kiss. When he decided to ask the question that would change their lives, of course he did it under the tree. She said yes, and at the wedding, bride and groom stood under the tree and said their vows while the couple's friends looked on, familiar with the story and smiling.
Years passed and the couple grew older. Children came and the lover's trysts became family gatherings, full of love and laughter and delight in the beauty of nature. The children didn't see what the couple saw, but they understood that for their parents, the tree was special. They looked at each other with the "you know how they are" look that children reserve for aging parents. But the request that they made took them by surprise.
"When we go, we want to be cremated, and we want our ashes to nourish our tree." The children weren't even sure it could be done. The parents didn't care whether it could or whether or couldn't. They wanted it done and it would be done. The children, by this time, were married themselves and understood the bonds of love. Somehow, some way, it would be done.
The tree went for several years with no sight of the couple. People came and people went, and still the tree waited. It cannot be said that it grieved; it was a tree, and trees don't grieve. But it did notice. Something was amiss. What it could not know was that the wife fell victim to dementia and the husband stayed at her side, unwilling to leave for any reason. Going to their special place was meaningless without her. Just once, the two of them came to the glade. The woman was in a wheelchair, fastened to it with a sort of belt. But what tenderness was shown that day! The husband drove as close as he could, gently carried her from car to chair, and wheeled her as close as possible to their tree. He then stopped and braked the chair, making sure that his wife's unseeing eyes were towards him, just in case. He spread a last picnic for them both, sandwiches and tea for him, baby food and tea for her. When the repast was ready, he tied her bib, loosened the belt with loving hands, and carried her to the blanket, setting her oh-so-gently on the spot he had reserved for her. He kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips, and then shared his meal with her. Even though many would say that she was no longer present in her body, he still saw the beauty that he had met and married and loved and cared for for so many years. What he didn't realize was that she knew it, too. And so did the tree.
The next time the man visited the glade, he was alone. No, not alone. He had a box in his hands, a box which he held every bit as tenderly as he had held the wife that used to be. He knelt down under the tree, said a prayer, and then he let her go. The tree felt the ashes blown by the wind as they permeated the air, the leaves, the branches, and his heart. He let them fly, watching them through eyes dimmed with tears. He never came again.
Not long after, his children came. Another box. The box was held awkwardly, not tenderly, and there was nervous laughter. But they had promised, and they were obedient to the end. Once again the muttered prayer, once again the tears, once again the ashes permeating the atmosphere. Only the tree understood. Only the tree saw the two come together. Only the tree felt the hands clasp within his soul and heard the woman say, lucidly at last, "I'm so glad you've come. Welcome home. I love you."
Children climbed in its branches. Young lovers took shelter under its leaves, relaxing against its trunk for the stolen kiss. Old people would walk past, look up, and exclaim at how high it was now, remembering days gone by. Dogs would come and…well, they would do what dogs do.
It didn't mind. Each glance, each gesture was a treasure. It felt the sunlight, exulted in the rain, glistened in the moonlight and waited.
One couple came to the tree daily. They were neither young nor old. The tree was special to them because of all they had shared under its canopy. They first met when he helped her get a frisbee that was caught in branches and leaves. The red cheeks and downcast eyes when she thanked him told him what he wanted to hear--she had noticed. He had noticed, too, and the next day they came together--meeting under the tree as if drawn there by some strange energy that neither could explain.
It was under the tree that they had their first picnic together, under the tree that they shared the first kiss. When he decided to ask the question that would change their lives, of course he did it under the tree. She said yes, and at the wedding, bride and groom stood under the tree and said their vows while the couple's friends looked on, familiar with the story and smiling.
Years passed and the couple grew older. Children came and the lover's trysts became family gatherings, full of love and laughter and delight in the beauty of nature. The children didn't see what the couple saw, but they understood that for their parents, the tree was special. They looked at each other with the "you know how they are" look that children reserve for aging parents. But the request that they made took them by surprise.
"When we go, we want to be cremated, and we want our ashes to nourish our tree." The children weren't even sure it could be done. The parents didn't care whether it could or whether or couldn't. They wanted it done and it would be done. The children, by this time, were married themselves and understood the bonds of love. Somehow, some way, it would be done.
The tree went for several years with no sight of the couple. People came and people went, and still the tree waited. It cannot be said that it grieved; it was a tree, and trees don't grieve. But it did notice. Something was amiss. What it could not know was that the wife fell victim to dementia and the husband stayed at her side, unwilling to leave for any reason. Going to their special place was meaningless without her. Just once, the two of them came to the glade. The woman was in a wheelchair, fastened to it with a sort of belt. But what tenderness was shown that day! The husband drove as close as he could, gently carried her from car to chair, and wheeled her as close as possible to their tree. He then stopped and braked the chair, making sure that his wife's unseeing eyes were towards him, just in case. He spread a last picnic for them both, sandwiches and tea for him, baby food and tea for her. When the repast was ready, he tied her bib, loosened the belt with loving hands, and carried her to the blanket, setting her oh-so-gently on the spot he had reserved for her. He kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips, and then shared his meal with her. Even though many would say that she was no longer present in her body, he still saw the beauty that he had met and married and loved and cared for for so many years. What he didn't realize was that she knew it, too. And so did the tree.
The next time the man visited the glade, he was alone. No, not alone. He had a box in his hands, a box which he held every bit as tenderly as he had held the wife that used to be. He knelt down under the tree, said a prayer, and then he let her go. The tree felt the ashes blown by the wind as they permeated the air, the leaves, the branches, and his heart. He let them fly, watching them through eyes dimmed with tears. He never came again.
Not long after, his children came. Another box. The box was held awkwardly, not tenderly, and there was nervous laughter. But they had promised, and they were obedient to the end. Once again the muttered prayer, once again the tears, once again the ashes permeating the atmosphere. Only the tree understood. Only the tree saw the two come together. Only the tree felt the hands clasp within his soul and heard the woman say, lucidly at last, "I'm so glad you've come. Welcome home. I love you."
Friday, March 1, 2013
inky darkness
I had no idea
where I was going. The darkness in the corridor behind the gym disoriented me,
and I was completely at a loss. I
had thought that I would go to the bathroom really quick and then come back to
my son's basketball game, but I had no idea that only the basketball area was
lit. As I cautiously felt my way
along the inky hallway, I felt something squish beneath my feet. Immediately my
mind conjured up a rat or mouse as blind to me as I was to it. Too late now. I stumbled on, hoping that whatever now stained my shoe
would rub off before I had to see it. Not much chance of that, seeing as I
could feel the little body sticking to my shoe. At least it hadn’t screamed. I hate it when mice scream.
As I continued
along the corridor, I put my hand out to the side, hoping to encounter a wall
or—please God—a light switch. No such luck. I continued to grope in the dark, blind and too dumb to turn
back. But when you’re over 50,
turning back when you have to go really isn’t an option. I continued groping-- that is, until I
tripped over a body and found myself in the middle of the floor, hands full of
a strange liquid. Oh please, God,
not blood!
Blinding light.
The sound of my son’s cry, “Mom! Where are
you?” I called back, “Here, Ryan!” and just stayed put, eyes shut, waiting for
the crime scene to be discovered.
The sound of my son’s gym shoes hitting the floor was both a blessing
and a misery to me. Now he would
see the body that I had inadvertently fallen over. Would he survive such an ordeal? Would I?
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