My Bible was open on my lap. It had flipped open to the 11th chapter of Hosea, and as I glanced down, these words seared into my mind.

¹ “When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and I called my son out of Egypt.
² But the more I called to him,
the farther he moved from me,
offering sacrifices to the images of Baal
and burning incense to idols.
³ I myself taught Israel how to walk,
leading him along by the hand.
But he doesn’t know or even care
that it was I who took care of him.
⁴ I led Israel along
with my ropes of kindness and love.
I lifted the yoke from his neck,
and I myself stooped to feed him.

The disappointment and the yearning seep from every word. He had singled them out, not because they were accomplished, strong or great, but simply because He loved them. They were less than great, actually: they were an exploited people, forced to work at backbreaking, mindless labor.

He saw the awful injustice inflicted on them, and He hurt for them. He set them free, through a series of dramatic, cataclysmic events.

Notice, though, that He called Israel a “child”. Their immaturitywas painfully obvious over the years in the wilderness. The barren, rocky Arabian peninsula is not a friendly environment for an entire nation to camp out for years at a time, and they struggled to trust God for their very survival.

“Fear,” I thought, as I remembered what we have been learning in Old Testament Survey class. “They lived in fear. How did they know that they would be able to eat the next day? How did they know they wouldn’t be crazed with thirst, searching for an oasis? And this God- they hardly knew Him. Although He lived among them, He was terrifying, a ‘consuming fire’. No wonder they lived in immobilizing fear.”

I have a lot more sympathy for them than I used to. I used to think they were wimps. Hadn’t God proved Himself? What was the point of worrying about food or water?

And then I left home. Away from the safety and security of my family, my youth group, my church, and the Kansas plains, fear slapped cold reality into the warm fuzziness of my Faith Builders dream. After apprenticing ended, I went on the mentoring retreat and set ambitious semester intentions, received and paid my bills for the first semester, and received all the syllabi for four classes, choir, a Bible seminar, and ministry practicum.

“Hmmm,” I thought. “And I’m in the easier course at Faith Builders? That’s a bit disturbing. They weren’t kidding when they said it is stretching.”

I kept thinking that over the next few weeks, as I settled into dorm life, and the rhythm of classes. Fear kept niggling at the edges of my mind. Can I really do this? Is this preparing me for service or is it making me more narcissistic than ever? Am I going to be able to maintain this pace? What will happen if I can’t? Why am I stressing out about this?

I began to sympathize with the Israelites. All their settled routines, their food supply, and their ways of worshipping had all been upset. No wonder fear drove them to ingratitude and rebellion.

And yet, God called them out of slavery for Himself. He wanted them to be His very own, His set-apart nation. He yearned from them to trust His love, and only His love. Without all their carefully constructed support structures, He hoped that perhaps they would gratefully depend on Him.

It’s not really trust unless there is some risk involved, is there? How can God find out if we trust Him unless He draws us into the wilderness?

¹⁴ “But then I will win her back once again.
I will lead her into the desert
and speak tenderly to her there.
¹⁵ I will return her vineyards to her
and transform the Valley of Trouble into a gateway of hope.
She will give herself to me there,
as she did long ago when she was young,
when I freed her from her captivity in Egypt.
¹⁶ When that day comes,” says the Lord,
“you will call me ‘my husband’
instead of ‘my master.’
¹⁷ O Israel, I will wipe the many names of Baal from your lips,
and you will never mention them again.
¹⁸ On that day I will make a covenant
with all the wild animals and the birds of the sky
and the animals that scurry along the ground
so they will not harm you.
I will remove all weapons of war from the land,
all swords and bows,
so you can live unafraid
in peace and safety.
¹⁹ I will make you my wife forever,
showing you righteousness and justice,
unfailing love and compassion. (from Hosea 2)

Somehow, He has to knock out all the props from under us, so that we really do learn to trust Him. It is not a pretty process. Just like the Israelites, I run to my safe little idols that I can control, complain about the difficulty of the journey, and worry about how I will get through each day.

And yet, I know that He is the one who is holding my hands and teaching me to walk. My feet keep going out from under me, and He bends down to pick me up.

He stoops down to feed me, pushing the spoon into my pinched lips. He sustains me even when I don’t realize it.

It took the Israelites forty years to mature into the battle-ready army capable of felling Canaanite forces. I don’t know how two years at Faith Builders will change me. Yet if all I learn is that God can really be trusted, that He loves me, and that He wants to make me His own forever, it will be enough.

 ²⁰ I will be faithful to you and make you mine,
and you will finally know me as the Lord. (from Hosea 2)

He promised, after all, that I could learn this.

the earth was formless and empty, in darkness. . .

and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

Miles and miles of rolling waves cover a blank and empty clump of rock,

hiding a molten center of flaming metals.

Sing me a song of creation –

on the first day

God said, ‘Let there be light’ -

He called it ‘day’ and the darkness. . . ‘night’.

Pulsating waves of color.  . luminescence spring into being.

Darkness is  gone before the sound of the words dies away

(light travels faster than sound)

Sing me a song of creation –

on the second day

God said, ‘Let there be an expanse between the waters’

God called the expanse ‘sky’

Clouds holding condensed water droplets, the restless, rushing wind–

the atmosphere, with the stratosphere, the ozone layer,

the magnetic field of the earth–

all find their places.

Sing me a song of creation –

on the third day

God said, ‘Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place –

let dry land appear.

. . .the gathered waters He called ‘seas’.

(Over and over, he names his work, validating its worth and beauty–

‘day’, ‘night’, ‘seas’, ‘sky’.)

Water runs off as shuddering heaps of earth heave up into continents.

Mountains, valleys, plateaus, canyons, plains–

were they all there?

God said, ‘Let the land produce. . . seed-bearing plants and trees. . .

Tendrils and shoots of grass wave in the newly-created breeze

while fruit trees stretch quickly, growing,

as their leaves sprout from half-formed branches

Photosynthesis, chlorophyll, transpiration, pollination

– these processes begin immediately.

Sing me a song of creation –

on the fourth day

God said,

(always it was at that voice that life began)

‘Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky. . .

let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years.’

God made two great lights — to govern the day… night.

A flaming ball of gas appears,

shooting great fiery fingers of explosions from chemical reactions

and

a cold, lifeless planet spins into orbit, reflecting the glow of the huge star

that now warms the earth.

Summer and winter solstices, tidal gravity, sunrise and sunset all begin.

He also made the stars.

Cursory observation,

to describe the design and variety of billions of balls of flaming gas

that stretch through vast reaches of the cosmos

perfectly placed to form the patterns of the ancient constellations.

Sing me a song of creation –

on the fifth day

God said, ‘Let the water teem with living creatures,

and let birds fly above the earth in the expanse of the sky.’

Coral, with polyps and anemones, brilliantly colored, attach to the ocean floor.

Plankton, dolphins, sailfish, whales, trout, bass, salmon–

salt-water and fresh-water fish– fill the seas and rivers.

Above, storks, eagles, sparrows, parakeets, penguins, scissor-tailed flycatchers

 flap, glide, wheel,

those in flight using intricately-designed wings –

interlocking feathers on hollow frames of bone.

Sing me a song of creation –

on the sixth day

God said, ‘Let the land produce living creatures, according to kind. . .

livestock, creatures that move along the ground, and wild animals. . .

The various body systems within these creatures

form in an instant

digestive systems for unique needs of both carnivores and herbivores

unique skeletons, for the creatures fleet of foot or

for the ponderous, lumbering heavy creatures–

colorful and varied hides for camouflage, protection, warmth, or ventilation.

Each animal is perfectly suited to thrive in each habitat, to find food, to produce young.

The miracles of creation–

think of the kangeroo’s pouch, the giraffe’s neck, the polar bear’s fur, the cow’s stomachs.

God said ‘Let us make man in our image . . .

let him rule over the fish of the sea

over the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth,

and over all the creatures that move along the ground.’

So God created man in His own image

in the image of God created He him;

male and female created He them.

Bearing the stamp of God, eventually worn by centuries,

we live forgetful and blind.

Deoxyribonucleic acid, tightly coiled in each cell;

the rods, cones, retina, lens, and optic nerve combining for the miracle of sight;

the still-puzzling electronic communication in the brain;

the defense of white blood cells in the immune system;

the intricacies of the tendons and ligaments wrapping bone and connecting muscles

for coordination with the nerves, allowing smooth, controlled movement –

all of these formed from the elements of the earth — dust.

what transformation –

transposition.

Sing me a song of creation –

may I always hear, if only feeble echoes

of the one mighty song from the Creator –

that brought life — fragile, stunning, complex –in  living creatures and vegetation

to blanket an empty, black earth with noise and color and beauty.

(I strain to hear that song now, through discordant ugliness of degeneration)

You sang all of this into being –

design that astonishes the most intelligent of the men you created.

The simple words You dictated hardly seem to do justice

to the nearly infinite perfection of systems and cells and planets.

Our eyes are blinded and our ears are deaf –

none of the overwhelming wonder penetrates.

Sing me a song of creation –

on the seventh and final day.

God had finished the work He had been doing, so. . .

He rested.

(Infinite strength ceasing from labor– what a paradox)

And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy –

because on it He rested from all the work of creating He had done

Do we make it holy by looking at His work and our work

and naming what is good?

by singing the songs of creation back to Him?

may it be.

always.

- – - – - – - – - – -

This is one of my only attempts at free verse, and I still am not certain about the form.

That spare, rhythmic Genesis account is brilliant in its economy of words, and parallel form. It’s fascinating to think of all that happened in response to God’s sweeping commands… that’s why I wrote it as I did.

No, I am not a science geek. You may laugh at my attempts to describe nature.

A brief update on my life: I am currently a student in the Christian Ministries program at Faith Builders. The grace of God, I know, is what brought me here. When I look back to where I was when I began blogging, and where I am now, I feel like an entirely new person. What can I say?

God is. God is good. God is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

(if that’s not sacrilegious to say it that way)

]]> http://athousandgems.wordpress.com/2011/10/05/sing-me-a-song-of-creation/feed/ 5 athousandgems http://athousandgems.wordpress.com/2011/03/31/puppy-too-small/ http://athousandgems.wordpress.com/2011/03/31/puppy-too-small/#comments Thu, 31 Mar 2011 23:05:31 +0000 athousandgems http://athousandgems.wordpress.com/?p=801 ]]> My sister Crystal spent nearly a week at home with her little girl that she cares for at New Horizons. I am positive God decided to give us a special gift, because it is very unusual for a nanny to be able to bring her baby home.

Anyway, Crys would always read to her little munchkin before naptime, and she absolutely loved Puppy Too Small. We all loved this book when we were small (like Puppy), and watching her enjoy it was as delightful as  it was when Mom read it to us.

Tthis book says very well what I’ve been learning this past year. “Jewel, don’t let dreams for the future shut your eyes to crying needs right next to you. Small kindnesses and duties are not unimportant!”

(I hope I’m not violating copyright restrictions here. Just go buy the book, ok? The text isn’t half as funny as the pictures.)

Puppy Too Small, by Cindy Szekeres

“I’m too small!” wailed Puppy.  ”I can’t reach the doorknob.”

“But you can reach the cookies on the table,”  said Mouse. “Please share one with me.”

And Puppy did.

“I’m too small!” wailed Puppy. “I can’t pull my toy box!”

“But you can pull my wagon full of dear ones,” Mrs. Bunny said. “Would you?”

And Puppy did.

“I’m too small!” wailed Puppy. “I can’t climb the tree.”

“But you can swing from it,” said Squirrel. “Please swing with me.”

And Puppy did.

“I’m too small!” wailed Puppy.  ”I can’t dig a hole big enough to play in.”

Chipmunk said, “This is just right for my acorns. Will you let me use it?”

And Puppy did.

“I’m too small!” wailed Puppy. “I can’t hammer on the workbench.”

“You can fit under it and fix the leg,” Daddy said. “Will you?”

And Puppy did.

“I’m too small!” wailed Puppy. “I can’t carry my chair.”

“But you can carry my sewing basket,” said Grandma. “Please do.”

And Puppy did.

Mama helped Puppy get ready for bed. “Today,” she said, “You have reached a cookie on the table, pulled a wagon full of dear ones, swung on a swing, dug a hole for acorns, fixed a leg on the workbench, and carried a sewing basket. Do you know why?”

“Why?” asked Puppy.

“Because you are just the right size!” said Mama.

And she gave Puppy a hug, a kiss, and a squeeze.

Alvin Yoder, my dad’s father, had a stroke this morning, caused by hemorrhaging on the brain. He died peacefully around ten-thirty.

Just after Sunday school was over, Angela came to me and told me that Grandpa died. It was a shock, because he had a stroke (caused by a blood clot) last year while I was at Bible school, and he recovered quickly. I somehow thought that it would be the same way.

Mom and Dad are in Plain City, Ohio, right now, since Dad was on his way to Faith Builders’ Winter term. She traveled with him, so that he wouldn’t have to drive the  twenty hours alone, and was going to fly back. So they weren’t here to go to the hospital with us.

When we saw Grandpa, he looked like he was peacefully sleeping, just as he always does, with his mouth open, and head back. He could fall asleep anywhere, anytime.  We laughed and reminisced about who he was around his bed. Even with the tears pressing at my grandma’s and my aunts Lois and and Marietta‘s eyes, we had such joy and hope to know that Grandpa is finally home.

¹ “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. ² My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? ³ And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. ⁴ You know the way to the place where I am going.”

The last months Grandpa has lived almost between heaven and earth, his spirit sometimes seeming to see things that the rest of us couldn’t. One time Marietta said that she heard Grandpa say something aloud. . .  she thought perhaps from Psalms 23.

⁴Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

She thought he seemed to actually be talking to someone he saw in front of him. That’s when Grandma said, “I think he sees things we don’t.”

Marietta says, “Isn’t that amazing?” Grandpa was known for his love– no, absolute devotion to the Word of God. He loved it with all his heart and soul, poring over it for hours daily, even though he could hardly see anymore. He loved it. But more than that, He loved the Living Word.

³⁹ You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, ⁴⁰ yet you refuse to come to me to have life.

Grandpa wasn’t like that. One time, he was doing his exercises for physical therapy after his stroke, and Marietta asked him what he’s thinking, because he seemed wrapped in thought. He looked at her, and said with deep reverence, “Jesus Christ is the only way to the Father. “

⁶ Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. ⁷ If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

It has been so amazing to see that as Grandpa became less aware of what was happening around him– his hearing getting progressively less keen, and his sight dimming –that he began to see things with his spirit that we’re dulled, deaf, and blinded to perceive. It was a special gift, that the Spirit of Christ seemed to lead him so gently, as he approached the valley of the shadow of death.

Grandpa, you used to say these words,

⁸For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:

⁹Not of works, lest any man should boast.

¹⁰For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.

Your awe at the grace of God led you to often sing this song,

Not what my hands have done can save my guilty soul;
Not what my toiling flesh has borne can make my spirit whole.
Not what I feel or do can give me peace with God;
Not all my prayers and sighs and tears can bear my awful load.

Your voice alone, O Lord, can speak to me of grace;
Your power alone, O Son of God, can all my sin erase.
No other work but Yours, no other blood will do;
No strength but that which is divine can bear me safely through.

Thy work alone, O Christ, can ease this weight of sin;
Thy blood alone, O Lamb of God, can give me peace within.
Thy love to me, O God, not mine, O Lord, to Thee,
Can rid me of this dark unrest, And set my spirit free.

I bless the Christ of God; I rest on love divine;
And with unfaltering lip and heart I call this Savior mine.
His cross dispels each doubt; I bury in His tomb
Each thought of unbelief and fear, each lingering shade of gloom.

I praise the God of grace; I trust His truth and might;
He calls me His, I call Him mine, My God, my joy and light.
’Tis He Who saveth me, and freely pardon gives;
I love because He loveth me, I live because He lives.

And you used to talk about Paul, on the road to Damascus, how Jesus called him to turn from his persecution, and follow him:

¹ Meanwhile, Saul was still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples. He went to the high priest ² and asked him for letters to the synagogues in Damascus, so that if he found any there who belonged to the Way, whether men or women, he might take them as prisoners to Jerusalem. ³ As he neared Damascus on his journey, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. ⁴ He fell to the ground and heard a voice say to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”⁵ “Who are you, Lord?” Saul asked.

“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,” he replied. ⁶ “Now get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do.”

⁷ The men traveling with Saul stood there speechless; they heard the sound but did not see anyone.

That scene was so real to you, Grandpa– of Jesus calling out to Saul, revealing himself to him, telling him to change, though no one else could hear Jesus. Just as you could hear the voice of Jesus, when we couldn’t!

Listening to the Messiah as I write this makes me think of the promise of the resurrection, and the worship in heaven, that you’re experiencing right now, Grandpa!

⁵¹ Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— ⁵² in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

⁵³ For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality.

⁵⁴ When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

⁵⁵ “Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”

⁵⁶ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. ⁵⁷ But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

You were so excited about people deciding to believe in Jesus’ power and salvation. My aunts had to sometimes hold you back from giving so much money to missions. You prayed for new believers, and knew many of those believers that your daughters wrote of by name. Now you’re with millions of people from other nations! I can’t imagine how thrilled you are.

Dear, dear Grandpa, go and join that enormous celebration! Go home! Go and praise Jesus, who bought you by his blood, and whose grace you never, ever got tired of talking about!

⁹ And they sang a new song, saying:

“You are worthy to take the scroll
and to open its seals,
because you were slain,
and with your blood you purchased for God
persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.
¹⁰ You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God,
and they will reign on the earth.”

¹¹ Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. ¹² In a loud voice they were saying:

“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
and honor and glory and praise!”

¹³ Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!”

Hallelujah! Amen!

Can’t wait to join you, Grandpa!

Bamboo Structure Project / Pouya Khazaeli Parsa

I get to be in a prayer group with these girls. I have been, in fact, for about two and a half years.

Hannah, Frieda, Tonya, and I

It used to be just Tonya and Frieda and I, but last year when Tonya went to Ghana, we asked Hannah if she wanted to join our group.  She did.

Recently, we had what Hannah called a “blessing and cursing” time. (Well… we didn’t do any cursing.) One of our preachers had talked about how we’re supposed to speak into each other’s lives, since most of say we’re willing to, but are too chicken to actually do it. Well, “chicken” might be a strong word. I’m not close to a lot of people in my church, so I don’t really have a basis to go and tell people if I think they need to change. I think that’s true of a lot of people in our church.

But after having spent hours upon hours with these three girls, I knew they’d know me well enough to give me well-placed counsel. And I knew, too, that if I asked them to give that to me, I’d need to give it to them as well.

We all walked in that night, not knowing what we’d hear. It was scary, and we all held our cups of chai, uncertain of how to start. But we talked about it, and then I prayed, asking God to help us be honest and open to each other and to His Spirit.

We drew names, and guess whose name was picked first? Well. That was my lesson, I thought. Here I had suggested that we do this, and then I had to listen before I would speak.

It wasn’t so bad, really, since they are all very tactful and gentle, even while giving constructive criticism. But it still caught me right where it hurts, because they know my weak spots. Actually, they know them better than I do!

And I got to thinking about this, after we talked and laughed and prayed (all the way through church, as it turned out). Why was it that I really wanted to change, not after they complimented me, but after they told me where I mess up? Why did that not discourage me, but instead (in a strange way) encourage me?

There’s some mystery about how we change.

It’s strange, how much it takes to make people change. Donald Miller talked about that, how in real life (outside of stories) people have to be forced to change, or they usually will just say the same. He quotes Robert McKee, who thundered, “You put your characters through hell. You put them through hell! That’s the only way we change.”

He’s right– sort of. Actually, the Bible agrees with him. The Apostle James wrote that when our faith is tested, it teaches us to persevere, which brings us to maturity. Difficulty, struggle, and pain shape us irrevocably. If we chose to struggle well, we gain strength and wisdom.

Why is it that only the fire brings the impurities to the top? Anyone who’s suffered learns what they truly believe– not just what they’ve said they believe. Pain has that unique refining power, of burning away frivolous fripperies, leaving you shivering in blackened, blasted streets, staring, searching for reality and meaning to cover the ugliness and rebuild the ruins. Sometimes we run to the glittering lights of downtown, losing ourselves in work, business, entertainment. Sometimes we retreat to the cave, walling up against the pain.

But maybe we need to learn from Elijah. His world fell apart. It was after he won a giant victory for God, calling fire down on his sopping altar, and showing all those bloodied  Baal-worshippers who had knifed themselves who really was God, anyway. Not Baal! Then he slaughtered them.

Yes, he did. Go back and read it.

Anyway, Queen Jezebel got wind of it, and, Baal being her god too, was unimpressed. So she told Elijah she’d slaughter him. And he ran– to the desert. A fugitive now, he felt completely exhausted, alone, and defeated. He fell asleep, waking only when an angel brought him food and water. He ate and slept again. Then finally, he traveled on, finding a cave to shelter him.

But even there, God found him, and asked him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

And Elijah told Him. “I have been very zealous for the LORD God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”

The LORD said,

“Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.”

And he went out– out of the cave– to face the God he knew was about to question him.

And though the wind blasted the rocks, and fire blazed from heaven, he stayed, waiting. Finally, the voice, “a gentle whisper”, came again, with the same question.

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Elijah repeated his answer, but then he listened to God. And his notions of being the only one, heroically standing against the evil, his thoughts of having no more mission to carry out, his exhaustion from speaking the Words of God alone, all dissipated as he faced the One who Is.

God told Him that he was not alone. “Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel—all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him.”

God told him that he had a mission. “Go back the way you came, and go to the Desert of Damascus. When you get there, anoint Hazael king over Aram. ¹⁶ Also, anoint Jehu son of Nimshi king over Israel.”

And God told him that he would have a companion: “Anoint Elisha son of Shaphat from Abel Meholah to succeed you as prophet.”

Often, as we suffer, it is loneliness, loss of purpose, and burnout that drive us to despair. Most of all, we despair when we do not know the Living God.

Robert McKee said that it’s hell that makes us change, but it’s in facing God that we change for the better. We have to have hope that it will end. We have to have a faith to keep us walking. And we have to love the God who tests us. Otherwise, that hell will shrivel our spirits and sour our hearts.

God uses people to help us change for the better, too. He never intended that we’d live our lives alone. Why did he give Elijah a companion? Suffering alone, outside of relationship, will crush us– we suffer heroically when we suffer for some one. We keep grimly walking when we know that we cannot disappoint the ones who are counting on us, cheering for us, praying for us.

And it’s the daily wear and tear of relationships that refines us. It teaches us to love ordinary people who are sometimes really ugly. It teaches us to constantly lay down our own self-absorption and choose to listen to someone else’s hurts, fears, and dreams, to understand that the world is bigger than our small lives. It’s learning to lay down our lives every day for someone else. And when you’ve been in the presence of Jesus, and you love with His love, it is truly no drudgery.

(for me– that happens about once a month. On a good month.)

There’s something amazing about doing all that for the long haul– it changes from being what you do to being who you are. (That’s why marriage can radically change a person.) Choosing to lay down yourself and serve someone else, for life, will make you another person altogether. God intends this for every relationship! He calls us to be open and honest with each other; calls us to love each other with no conditions; calls us to do this all of our lives.

So it is love that changes us. Yes, pain changes us, but it can destroy as well as refine. When we love someone, we become like God, for God is love. Love, then,  is a terrible thing, for it calls us to holiness. For fallen humans, that means being shattered and remolded. It means walking the path God walked, choosing love that has caused Him heartbreak over and over, and that finally cost Him his life.

I think that’s why this group has helped me change. They have been honest with me. They have laughed and cried. They have prayed. And they have loved me– loved me enough to tell me where I mess up, and they love me even though I still mess up. And they have pushed me to seek God, over and over.

And it is being in His presence, though the rocks shatter and the brush burns, that changes me. It fills me up, draws me in, and drives me to love, and love, and love again.

*        *         *

Why do I always write about the same things? Why don’t you all tell me to just shut up about pain already and write about something happy? I guess between spending a year with my family sporadically doing counseling, and studying Job in Sunday School, and learning to be a sister and daughter who’s livable and Christlike, I’ve had to learn that hard knocks are to be welcomed. (Oh the joy.)

So that’s why I keep circling back to it over and over. If you don’t want to read it, that’s fine. (What do you think my links to other blogs are for?) But I hope I’ll never get over the wonder of a God who makes all things new: the God whose name is Redeemer.

The post below is now edited with that detail. Do consider giving her your business– that is, if you live in Hutchinson, Kansas.

The next day our photographer, Patricia Miller, said her stomach was sore from laughing at us.

(Well, she said she was sore from other things she had done that weekend, too, but this made it worse. . . )

There were other (better) pictures, but I’m not supposed to spoil the surprise you’ll get when we mail you a Christmas letter.

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Oh, yes, you can right-click on it to get a better view of our expressions. . . trust me, it’s worth it.

Christian Writing

March 8, 2010

Selah

“I am the Lord that is my name.” Isaiah 42:8

A spirit hushed into quietness is a rare punctuation mark in a life of run-on sentences. We talk constantly but have lost the art of conversation. Frantically pursuing meaning, we find ourselves left only with activity. But perhaps that is the point of our search.

For we are afraid of stillness. Restless, our spirits pursue something to fulfill us, but we don’t know what it is. We only realize we must keep moving or the silence closes in on us. Terrified of that possibility, we fill the pauses with words.

Why are we afraid, desperate to keep quietness at bay?

Our twisted independence causes us to believe that if we don’t do it ourselves, change won’t happen. But our questions must be answered. Groping at words, we try to clutch the haunting within. Seeking to grasp the intangible, we run to action, books, and people, anything to keep that agony of quietness away. Silence feels like Someone invading our personal space – but nobody is there.

Silence means emptiness and pain.  Loneliness stalks us through silence, leaving us helpless in a place of no control and no answers.  Perhaps silence is painful for us because we do not know its Author.

“I am the Lord, that is my name.”

The Author of silence names Himself. When He tells us His name, He compels us to recognize His authority. This knowledge forces us to stop running, to be quiet before God.

“Be still and know that I am God.”

Trembling, we offer the sacrifice of all that is us and all that is not. Vulnerable, we lie transparent with our pain, fear, questions, brokenness, and need before Almighty Lord. In that surrender infinite tenderness and infinite power embrace us in the silence of God. Our only response in the face of such Love is silent worship.

Words do not reach the deepness of God.

Selah.