I chuckled when I opened my bible this morning and found my familiar, folded sheets laying out the reading plan I’ve been working through.
And by working through, I really mean barely moving through.
It’s supposed to take a year.
I’m likely going to at least double that time line.
It was not my snail’s pace however, that caused me amusement.
It was that I started this literary journey per a recommendation from a friend.
Who happened to be a boy.
Said boy is still a boy/friend, just not mine.
In fact, there have been...er....several boys in and out since this read through began.
And yet, I read on, ever so slowly.
Thinking of my confounded romantic escapades over the last year and a half in relation to my reading gave light to truth.
Despite the instability in the relationship department, there is stability.
In the Word.
His word.
All of that truth is there. Just waiting for me to read it.
The words on the page don’t change.
My life will change, but the book won’t.
He won’t.
God. Won’t. Change.
He’s the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.
“Slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love” [Psalm 86:15]
Some times when I look at how long I have to go before I finish this dad-gum reading plan, I get a bit discouraged.
But now, I’m glad it has taken me this long.
By stretching over several places and seasons and heartbreaks, God could remind me [yet again] of His steadfastness. His sameness. His with-me-through-it-all-ness.
Maybe if I start taking a few more things slow and steady, I might just win this race.
Or at least not trip over my own two feet.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
The Sustaining Question
It seems that when the going gets tough, I get writing.
After, of course, I eat half a chocolate cake. By myself. In less than 24 hours.
And so it begins. With a bit of chocolate lingering on the corners of my mouth.
I’m not sure why I seem to write more when I’m doing a bit of wrestling.
It irritates me a bit that my writing is sosituational...emotional? Honestly, it feels silly. Keeping this blog feels silly.
But I think, it really does help. It settles me down. Makes me hone in. Organizes the chaos.
It helps to trim the fat.
Unlike the cake eating. That does the exact opposite.
So, I’m encouraging myself to write again.
About what I’m learning, to that I make sure I’m learning. About what I’m seeing, to make sure that I’m really seeing. About where God is, to make sure I’m looking for Him.
Tonight a dear friend and I went to a presentation of sorts where a couple talked about their backyard “farm". Where they ignore the city rules about keeping livestock on the premises and “un-school” their children-whatever that means.
We agreed that while this kind of information is inspiring, it is also overwhelming.
I begin running rampant with new crazy ideas about giant compost piles and brewing batches of fermented bacteria. I have a million and one ideas and what feels like one millionth the amount of time [/follow through?] required to bring these ideas to fruition.
The question is, what do you want your life to be about?
And this my friends, is a very good question.
A very good question I am on a continual, daunting, harried and current quest to answer.
I want to be responsible. Sustainable. Thoughtful. Intentional. Healthy. Holistic. Whole.
There are a lot of ways to accomplish those things.
I often get lost in a sea of bees, home grown tomatoes, re-usable bags and natural beauty products.
These are all great things. Honey. Homemade salsa. Not adding to the HUGE piles of trash we produce. As well as keeping toxins from seeping into the biggest organ you posses.
But it is so easy to follow the god of “green”.
I could always be more sustainable. Make less of an impact. And I want to work toward that.
At the end of my day, will all the more and less be enough?
Okay. Wait, this wasn’t supposed to end up as a philosophical rant about sustainability. I think the real fruit of this evening, what I really wanted to pull out, was the prompt to bring me to this question yet again...
What do I want my life to be about?
What do you want your life to be about?
I know one thing, I don’t want it to be about eating copious of chocolate cake.
At least not on a regular basis.
After, of course, I eat half a chocolate cake. By myself. In less than 24 hours.
And so it begins. With a bit of chocolate lingering on the corners of my mouth.
I’m not sure why I seem to write more when I’m doing a bit of wrestling.
It irritates me a bit that my writing is so
But I think, it really does help. It settles me down. Makes me hone in. Organizes the chaos.
It helps to trim the fat.
Unlike the cake eating. That does the exact opposite.
So, I’m encouraging myself to write again.
About what I’m learning, to that I make sure I’m learning. About what I’m seeing, to make sure that I’m really seeing. About where God is, to make sure I’m looking for Him.
Tonight a dear friend and I went to a presentation of sorts where a couple talked about their backyard “farm". Where they ignore the city rules about keeping livestock on the premises and “un-school” their children-whatever that means.
We agreed that while this kind of information is inspiring, it is also overwhelming.
I begin running rampant with new crazy ideas about giant compost piles and brewing batches of fermented bacteria. I have a million and one ideas and what feels like one millionth the amount of time [/follow through?] required to bring these ideas to fruition.
The question is, what do you want your life to be about?
And this my friends, is a very good question.
A very good question I am on a continual, daunting, harried and current quest to answer.
I want to be responsible. Sustainable. Thoughtful. Intentional. Healthy. Holistic. Whole.
There are a lot of ways to accomplish those things.
I often get lost in a sea of bees, home grown tomatoes, re-usable bags and natural beauty products.
These are all great things. Honey. Homemade salsa. Not adding to the HUGE piles of trash we produce. As well as keeping toxins from seeping into the biggest organ you posses.
But it is so easy to follow the god of “green”.
I could always be more sustainable. Make less of an impact. And I want to work toward that.
At the end of my day, will all the more and less be enough?
Okay. Wait, this wasn’t supposed to end up as a philosophical rant about sustainability. I think the real fruit of this evening, what I really wanted to pull out, was the prompt to bring me to this question yet again...
What do I want my life to be about?
What do you want your life to be about?
I know one thing, I don’t want it to be about eating copious of chocolate cake.
At least not on a regular basis.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Because You Did It!
I have a lot of ideas.
More than you can shake a stick at.
Which is great.
Mostly.
Except I often feel like a hyper dog in a squirrel filled forest.
And so I’ve taken to making lists.
To-do lists.
"Carpe Some Diem" lists.
And most recently a “better-ment” list.
Wanna join?
When I moved back to Grand Rapids, my roommate and I sat out on our porch and made lists of things we wanted to do in the coming months. ----->
It feels really good when I cross things off.
Even if it’s just making a snow man.
Because the check mark means I accomplished something.
Along with this head full of dreams comes the constant desire to be wiser, kinder, smarter, more balanced, learn-ed, and well-traveled.
You know...bigger, faster, stronger. [just wait for it. weird but awesome]
The problem is that despite this constant desire to grow, it’s hard to do.
Especially with all these squirrels running around.
So, I’ve made a list.
For the next week, I’ve established some things that will challenge me, encourage me, and help to set me up to actually accomplish those first two goals.
Example:
Step 2:Wake up early so that I have enough time to read [instead of snooze-ing] before starting my day.
Step 1: Go to bed early so that I can wake up early.
By including Step 1, achieving Step 2 will be more realistic. And I’ll get to cross another thing off which will enhance my placebo effect of feeling success through box checking.
Things like taking walks, drinking enough water and a keeping thankful record are on my list for the week.
Do I wish I was just so disciplined and awesome that I became a better person without having to check little boxes? Yes.
Am I still going to love checking the little boxes? Yes.
Am I greatly anticipating the fruit which this ritual will bear? Yes.
So, I encourage you to make a list.
It could be one or a handful of things.
Maybe it will be writing a letter to a friend once a week like my friend Rori is doing.
Perhaps it’s praying when you start and finish your work day.
You could memorize the Word, pack your lunch every day, brush your teeth for a whole two minutes, complete a craft project once a month, do 10 push-ups every morning, eat more carrots or chocolate candy bars.
Just make sure you set yourself up to get yourself somewhere.
Somewhere that takes a little effort to get there.
And to win. Definitely set yourself up to win.
Throw in some easy tasks and some doozies.
And enjoy that feeling of satisfaction when you cross it off.
Because you did it.
And that feels good.
More than you can shake a stick at.
Which is great.
Mostly.
Except I often feel like a hyper dog in a squirrel filled forest.
And so I’ve taken to making lists.
To-do lists.
"Carpe Some Diem" lists.
And most recently a “better-ment” list.
Wanna join?
When I moved back to Grand Rapids, my roommate and I sat out on our porch and made lists of things we wanted to do in the coming months. ----->It feels really good when I cross things off.
Even if it’s just making a snow man.
Because the check mark means I accomplished something.
Along with this head full of dreams comes the constant desire to be wiser, kinder, smarter, more balanced, learn-ed, and well-traveled.
You know...bigger, faster, stronger. [just wait for it. weird but awesome]
The problem is that despite this constant desire to grow, it’s hard to do.
Especially with all these squirrels running around.
So, I’ve made a list.
For the next week, I’ve established some things that will challenge me, encourage me, and help to set me up to actually accomplish those first two goals.
Example:
Step 2:Wake up early so that I have enough time to read [instead of snooze-ing] before starting my day.
Step 1: Go to bed early so that I can wake up early.
By including Step 1, achieving Step 2 will be more realistic. And I’ll get to cross another thing off which will enhance my placebo effect of feeling success through box checking.
Things like taking walks, drinking enough water and a keeping thankful record are on my list for the week.
Do I wish I was just so disciplined and awesome that I became a better person without having to check little boxes? Yes.
Am I still going to love checking the little boxes? Yes.
Am I greatly anticipating the fruit which this ritual will bear? Yes.
So, I encourage you to make a list.
It could be one or a handful of things.
Maybe it will be writing a letter to a friend once a week like my friend Rori is doing.
Perhaps it’s praying when you start and finish your work day.
You could memorize the Word, pack your lunch every day, brush your teeth for a whole two minutes, complete a craft project once a month, do 10 push-ups every morning, eat more carrots or chocolate candy bars.
Just make sure you set yourself up to get yourself somewhere.
Somewhere that takes a little effort to get there.
And to win. Definitely set yourself up to win.
Throw in some easy tasks and some doozies.
And enjoy that feeling of satisfaction when you cross it off.
Because you did it.
And that feels good.
Monday, February 11, 2013
I Need A Subaru.
It is not good for Jen to be alone.
And yet I keep doing it.
Only to find myself in some precarious situations.
This time it happened to be wedged in deep, heavy snow. Alone. With no cell phone service. In the middle of the woods.
Last spring, I attempted to paddle my way up the coast of lake michigan on a kayak that was a few lengths short of being long enough. Again, alone. Bouncing precariously between huge icy waves, every muscle tense, chanting a mix of, “omanomanomandon’ttipdon’ttipdon’ttip.”
It always happens with that first stupid decision.
I hesitated at the end of the long, snow drift of a drive way and thought, “You know, maybe this isn’t a good idea.” And of course I answered myself, “Naahhh. It’ll be fine.”
I barreled through the snow. Hands at ten and two chanting, “okayokayokay”
And all was well...
Until I paused to survey where I should park and began to turn the corner at the top of the turn around.
Then, things were not so well.
I pulled out all the stops. I kept my wheels straight. I tromped through the fluff to find a stick. [Because obviously I didn’t have a shovel in the back of my car.] So I sticked the snow out from under the wheels. Did the old rock back and fourth. I even tried the neutral plus brute strength method. After some time, I managed to work myself loose.
Only to get stuck again.
This was going to be a long afternoon.
The owners of the only sign of life, a stout Subaru, came tromping back with their snow shoes. At about the same time two ladies in a car, even less stout than my Jetta wagon, wedged themselves into my original place of peril. [Remind me to buy a car with better clearance if I’m going to keep this up.] With a little help, we freed all cars and I finally enjoyed a nice quite walk in the woods.
Last spring, after turning around on the lake, I made it back and ended up enjoying my final destination in one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time.
I seem to find happy endings despite things being a little touch and go.
I shake my head after times like these and think, “Typical.”
And although Jen being alone might lead to some ridiculous and potential life threatening situations, I have to admit, I really like it.
I like trying to get myself out of something.
Trying to right that first dumb decision.
To think and reason and figure and come out alive and mostly in one piece.
It’s not good for Jen to be alone.
But it makes for a good story.
And yet I keep doing it.
Only to find myself in some precarious situations.
This time it happened to be wedged in deep, heavy snow. Alone. With no cell phone service. In the middle of the woods.
Last spring, I attempted to paddle my way up the coast of lake michigan on a kayak that was a few lengths short of being long enough. Again, alone. Bouncing precariously between huge icy waves, every muscle tense, chanting a mix of, “omanomanomandon’ttipdon’ttipdon’ttip.”
It always happens with that first stupid decision.
I hesitated at the end of the long, snow drift of a drive way and thought, “You know, maybe this isn’t a good idea.” And of course I answered myself, “Naahhh. It’ll be fine.”
I barreled through the snow. Hands at ten and two chanting, “okayokayokay”
And all was well...
Until I paused to survey where I should park and began to turn the corner at the top of the turn around.
Then, things were not so well.
I pulled out all the stops. I kept my wheels straight. I tromped through the fluff to find a stick. [Because obviously I didn’t have a shovel in the back of my car.] So I sticked the snow out from under the wheels. Did the old rock back and fourth. I even tried the neutral plus brute strength method. After some time, I managed to work myself loose.
Only to get stuck again.
This was going to be a long afternoon.
The owners of the only sign of life, a stout Subaru, came tromping back with their snow shoes. At about the same time two ladies in a car, even less stout than my Jetta wagon, wedged themselves into my original place of peril. [Remind me to buy a car with better clearance if I’m going to keep this up.] With a little help, we freed all cars and I finally enjoyed a nice quite walk in the woods.
Last spring, after turning around on the lake, I made it back and ended up enjoying my final destination in one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time.
I seem to find happy endings despite things being a little touch and go.I shake my head after times like these and think, “Typical.”
And although Jen being alone might lead to some ridiculous and potential life threatening situations, I have to admit, I really like it.
I like trying to get myself out of something.
Trying to right that first dumb decision.
To think and reason and figure and come out alive and mostly in one piece.
It’s not good for Jen to be alone.
But it makes for a good story.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Despite Discontent
I have some advice.
It’s short and sweet:
I’ve been wrestling with something for the last long while. And it goes a little something like this:
"God, WHAT do you want me to DO?!"
And the wrestling has more to do with the answer than the question I suppose.
Because the answer is most often this:
?
I trust God.
I know He has a plan.
I know that He will be faithful to carry it onto completion.
I know that He will withhold no good thing.
I [kind of] understand that I need to wait. Patiently.
I understand that the most important thing is my heart.
I understand that I can glorify Him in many different ways.
But.
I.
Would.
Just.
Like.
An.
ANSWER.
And I’ve been frustrated, to put it mildly, that I’m not hearing anything specific.
"I’m doing something wrong" is my obvious explanation.
Maybe I don’t really want to know?
But I DO. I honest to goodness want, not my will but yours be done.
Do I need to read more? Sit for hours more and just listen? Confess some unknown sin?
[and that could very well be the case]
I discovered however, despite my discontent, I just need to keep going.
Just keep listening.
Even when I feel like it’s a lost cause and I want to throw in the towel on this whole listening business.
Because,
God.
Shows.
Up.
I read and journaled recently despite all my whinny baby resistance. And you know what?
I heard something.
I heard something that actually had nothing to do with what I was currently reading.
And that’s when you know it’s good.
Now, it wasn’t a laminated five year life plan, mind you.
BUT.
It was something.
Something that was good and I would have missed it, had I given up.
So, sometimes, you are frustrated.
You want to throw in the towel.
Your tired. And spent.
And your present stinks.
JUST
KEEP
GOING
Trust me on this one.
It’s short and sweet:
Sometimes, your present stinks.Someone, somewhere probably expressed this same sentiment much more eloquently than I, but who needs eloquence when you’ve got honesty?
Just keep going.
I’ve been wrestling with something for the last long while. And it goes a little something like this:
"God, WHAT do you want me to DO?!"
And the wrestling has more to do with the answer than the question I suppose.
Because the answer is most often this:
?
I trust God.
I know He has a plan.
I know that He will be faithful to carry it onto completion.
I know that He will withhold no good thing.
I [kind of] understand that I need to wait. Patiently.
I understand that the most important thing is my heart.
I understand that I can glorify Him in many different ways.
But.
I.
Would.
Just.
Like.
An.
ANSWER.
And I’ve been frustrated, to put it mildly, that I’m not hearing anything specific.
"I’m doing something wrong" is my obvious explanation.
Maybe I don’t really want to know?
But I DO. I honest to goodness want, not my will but yours be done.
Do I need to read more? Sit for hours more and just listen? Confess some unknown sin?
[and that could very well be the case]
I discovered however, despite my discontent, I just need to keep going.
Just keep listening.
Even when I feel like it’s a lost cause and I want to throw in the towel on this whole listening business.
Because,
God.
Shows.
Up.
I read and journaled recently despite all my whinny baby resistance. And you know what?
I heard something.
I heard something that actually had nothing to do with what I was currently reading.
And that’s when you know it’s good.
Now, it wasn’t a laminated five year life plan, mind you.
BUT.
It was something.
Something that was good and I would have missed it, had I given up.
So, sometimes, you are frustrated.
You want to throw in the towel.
Your tired. And spent.
And your present stinks.
JUST
KEEP
GOING
Trust me on this one.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Balmy Reality.
It hit me.
More oppressively than this sticky September heat.
I felt my lungs tighten and my heart seize.
And this wasn’t just because I crested the top of a minimal incline whilst running.
It started building as I drove through the south side of town.
Another world altogether from the hipster-dom where I currently reside.
It came to a head as I jogged past two twenty-somethings on a walk.
I started my usual game: who were they? how do they know one another? where are they going? what do they do?
And that’s when it hit me.
Building slowly, subconsciously, under stoplights on hot pavement.
Coming to a head wondering the life story of a red head and a blonde walking down the street.
Fear.
Overwhelming, balmy fear.
The wholy-crap-how-am-I-ever-going-to-do-this-? fear.
The “this” that feels so heavy, isn’t even related to the new job I will start tomorrow.
The this is all of it. Life.
What started building on my drive back from an airport drop-off was the realization of the state of things.
Reality in the city. This city.
Families. And lack thereof. Heartbreak. Brokenness. Abandonment. Abuse. Neglect. Pennilessness. Hardship. Strife. Turmoil.
The how-can-I-see-and-hear-and-experience-and-process-all-of-this-and-try-to-do-something-about-it-while-the-weight-of-the-reality-that-I-can’t-even-scratch-the-surface-sinks-in-and-not-go-completely-crazy panic.
Then this refrain plays in my head and hangs on my wall:
More oppressively than this sticky September heat.
I felt my lungs tighten and my heart seize.
And this wasn’t just because I crested the top of a minimal incline whilst running.
It started building as I drove through the south side of town.
Another world altogether from the hipster-dom where I currently reside.
It came to a head as I jogged past two twenty-somethings on a walk.
I started my usual game: who were they? how do they know one another? where are they going? what do they do?
And that’s when it hit me.
Building slowly, subconsciously, under stoplights on hot pavement.
Coming to a head wondering the life story of a red head and a blonde walking down the street.
Fear.
Overwhelming, balmy fear.
The wholy-crap-how-am-I-ever-going-to-do-this-? fear.
The “this” that feels so heavy, isn’t even related to the new job I will start tomorrow.
The this is all of it. Life.
What started building on my drive back from an airport drop-off was the realization of the state of things.
Reality in the city. This city.
Families. And lack thereof. Heartbreak. Brokenness. Abandonment. Abuse. Neglect. Pennilessness. Hardship. Strife. Turmoil.
The how-can-I-see-and-hear-and-experience-and-process-all-of-this-and-try-to-do-something-about-it-while-the-weight-of-the-reality-that-I-can’t-even-scratch-the-surface-sinks-in-and-not-go-completely-crazy panic.
Then this refrain plays in my head and hangs on my wall:
So we do not lose heart.
The darkness in the world is heavy. Heavier still is that which is amiss in my own back yard.
Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart.
So we do not lose heart.
[2 Corinthians 4:1,16]
It would be easier to not engage.
Easier to drive seventy on the highway and miss the humanity.
Easier to not ask questions about the lives of others. Their state of being.
Keeping your eyes closed reduces fear.
But we are not of those who shrink back.
We have this ministry by the mercy of God.
So we do not lose heart.
[Hebrews 10:39]
I quickened my pace and set my jaw while this song coursed through my veins.
Not because it’s full of truth or uplifting.
But because it’s aggressive. Because it drives.
Because it makes me grit my teeth, batten down the hatches, and get after it.
It’s an amping-up-for-white-water kind of jam.
But I think I’m going to need to listen to it to keep my edge here too.
On the sidewalks. In a concrete jungle. Facing the beauty and the chaos that a city engulfs you with.
So we do not lose heart...
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Following the Cloud.
So it was always: the cloud covered it by day and the appearance of fire by night. And whenever the cloud lifted from over the tent, after that the people of Israel set out, and in the place where the cloud settled down, there the people of Israel camped. At the command of the LORD the people of Israel set out, and at the command of the LORD they camped. As long as the cloud rested over the tabernacle, they remained in camp. Even when the cloud continued over the tabernacle many days, that people of Israel kept the charge of the LORD and did not set out. Sometimes the cloud was a few days over the tabernacle and according to the command of the LORD they remained in camp; then to the command of the LORD they set out. And sometimes the cloud remained from evening until morning. And when the cloud lifted in the morning, they set out, or if it continued for a day and a night, when the cloud lifted they set out. Whether it was two days, or a month, or a longer time, that the cloud continued over the tabernacle, abiding there, the people of Israel remained in camp and did not set out but when it lifted they set out. At the command of the LORD they camped, and at the command of the LORD they set out. [Number 9:16-23]
Where is my cloud?
That’s all I want to know. I read this repetitive passage, finished, and sat there yearning for something this concrete to tell me when to go and when to stay. When to remain in camp and when to set out. It sounds so cut and dry for the Israelites. They just had to obediently follow the cloud.
So where is my cloud?
I’d love for a cloud to hover around and direct my next decisions.
I was relaying all of this to my dear friend E. She looked over at me mid-stride and said, “You are the temple now.”
Well.
That changes things, eh?
So tabernacle means “residence” or “dwelling place”. It’s where God lived. Among the Israelites the tabernacle was the center. The Holy of Holies. And in the center of the center, only the High priest was allowed past the curtain into the inner tent where the Arc of the Covenant was held.
But this is what I forgot: we have a new covenant.
Now the point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, a minister in the holy places, in the true tent that the Lord set up, not man. [Heb. 8:1-2]
Since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new a living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God...[Heb. 10:19-22]
The new temple is Jesus. I’ve heard people say that Jesus is God “tabernacling” with us. Dwelling with us. I’ve also heard it said that God "moved into the neighborhood" when Jesus resided here on earth. He is our High Priest who enters into the Holy of Holies and opens the curtain.
Are you ready for the crazy part? Not only is Jesus now our High Priest and our tabernacle, He lives in us. So essentially we too take on His identity!
Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?
For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.
For we are the temple of the living God; as God said,
I will make my dwelling among them and walk among them, I will be their God, and they shall be my people.
God abides in us and his love is perfected in us. By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Sprit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. Whoever confesses that Jesus ins the Son of God, God abides in him and he in God.
[1 Cor. 3:16, 2 Cor. 6:16, 1 John 4:13-15]
The tabernacle is inside of me. God dwells in me. Resides with me.
Those statements hold so much weight. I am nearly giddy with even scratching the surface of what this means and how this changes my life. How it changes me.
Part of what it means is that, the cloud I’ve been looking for isn’t hovering over God’s presence in a tent somewhere. Because God’s presence is in me.
I am that temple.
The cloud is over me. Maybe that realization is all I needed to find and follow.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Heal[e]d Pond.
Healing is a slow process.
I wrecked my knee. Perhaps a few times. Which has resulted in an inconclusive doctor’s appointment and walking around like a drunken pirate. And I do a lot of walking around here, giving my co-workers and visiting strangers ample opportunities to point and laugh or ask me what happened.
I’ve been bracing.
I’ve been icing.
I’ve been eating ibuprofen for breakfast.
Or rather with breakfast, but that made me feel tougher and less like a ninny for nursing an unknown injury.
I’d just like it to heal. Now. Or more like yesterday.
I also sliced a portion of my finger nail off recently. Tucking the fingertips is day one stuff. [Unfortunately, I cycle back to day one more often than I’d like to admit.] After this flub, my finger had a heartbeat. It hurt like the dickens.
I gritted my teeth and just squinted at it for a minute.
Then I slathered it with antibiotic ointment.
Bandaid-ed it.
And waited for it to heal.
There are things you can do to speed up the process. Keep it clean. Stay off it. Wrap it. RICE it. Walk it off. Write it down. Find some place quiet. Pick up the pieces. Let someone else help you pick up the pieces. Talk it over. Shake it off.
But most importantly, just give it time.
This summer I’m living on Heald Pond.
Pronounced healed.
Despite my laundry list of injuries thus far, is this a coincidence?
I think not.
I wrecked my knee. Perhaps a few times. Which has resulted in an inconclusive doctor’s appointment and walking around like a drunken pirate. And I do a lot of walking around here, giving my co-workers and visiting strangers ample opportunities to point and laugh or ask me what happened.
I’ve been bracing.
I’ve been icing.
I’ve been eating ibuprofen for breakfast.
Or rather with breakfast, but that made me feel tougher and less like a ninny for nursing an unknown injury.
I’d just like it to heal. Now. Or more like yesterday.
I also sliced a portion of my finger nail off recently. Tucking the fingertips is day one stuff. [Unfortunately, I cycle back to day one more often than I’d like to admit.] After this flub, my finger had a heartbeat. It hurt like the dickens.
I gritted my teeth and just squinted at it for a minute.
Then I slathered it with antibiotic ointment.
Bandaid-ed it.
And waited for it to heal.
There are things you can do to speed up the process. Keep it clean. Stay off it. Wrap it. RICE it. Walk it off. Write it down. Find some place quiet. Pick up the pieces. Let someone else help you pick up the pieces. Talk it over. Shake it off.
But most importantly, just give it time.
This summer I’m living on Heald Pond.
Pronounced healed.
Despite my laundry list of injuries thus far, is this a coincidence?
I think not.
I stole this photo from the owner of the couch that I have been glued to all day.
Many thanks Michelle for your photography and your home. And a million other things.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
It’s Arduous and I Like It.
Arduous.
ar·du·ous/ˈärjo͞oÉ™s/
It’s my new word.
It’s fun to say. Go ahead, try it.
ar·du·ous/ˈärjo͞oÉ™s/
Simultaneously tough and intelligent sounding.
I want arduous.
That’s why I like hiking and camping and running. Activities where you wonder, “Why in the world am I choosing to subject myself to this kind of pain?” at least once, maybe more.
But I know there is a reward.
After clambering up bolders you get to see this...
...you then realize it was totally worth it. [You also feel a little BA, which helps.]
And yet, I don’t want arduous.
The kind of arduous I’m okay with is strenuous physically. Let’s be honest, my office-chair-butt needs it.
It’s in the intangible tough that I’m content with a little jiggle. Wrangling my pride, taming my tongue or taking captive every thought leave my lungs heaving much harder than running hills.
But I know there is a reward.
Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. [james 1:2-4]
Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. [james 1:12]
For God is not so unjust as to overlook your work and the love that you showed for his sake in serving the saints as you still do. And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises. [hebrews 6:10-11]
[And there are A LOT of promises. I’d love to inherit a few.]
I want to press on. Persevere. Rejoice in the burn. Toil and strive. And like it.
For while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.
The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance.
For to this end we toil and strive, because we have our hope set on the living God, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe. [1 timothy 4:8-10]
Now I’m at the end of this post feeling a little sheepish.
After all that, I’m not totally sure I know how to get there. Or do I?
Nine times out of ten physically pushing through something is actually a mental game. In the fight to die to self and claim grace, it might just be mental too. Choosing to set our hope.
set
[set] Show IPA verb, set, set·ting, noun,adjective, interjection
verb (used with object)
1.
to put (something or someone) in a particular place: to set a vase on a table.
2.
to place in a particular position or posture: Set the baby on his feet.
3.
to place in some relation to something or someone: We set a supervisor over the new workers.
4.
to put into some condition: to set a house on fire.
5.
to put or apply: to set fire to a house.
Place it.
Posture it.
Appoint it.
Start it.
Apply our hope not on less junk-in-our-trunk or a killer view at the peak, but to set our hope on the living God.
Man, that packs a little more punch eh?
The LIVING. GOD.
It doesn’t make the arduous less arduous.
But with a hope like that, the adrenaline starts pumping a little harder.
And the consistent, conscious choice to set, it might just get me over that next mountain.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Call It Like It Is.
I closed my eyes to better feel the drum beat reverberating in my chest.
The throng of voices resonating off the warehouse walls, hundreds of hearts vibrating to the same rhythm.
I smiled to myself as I thought of the quiet worship of last week. So different, both rich.
Rich also, the comforting smell of strong coffee, this time from the cups of friends on left and right.
Between the coffee, music, poignant sermon, and Eucharist, there was a whole bunch of awesome. But one thing in particular stuck with me.
A few words from Paul in the book of Acts.
Yet he did not leave himself without witness.
This kept reverberating off the walls of my heart long after the music stopped.
It didn’t matter that they used names like Demeter or Apollo to give credit. It didn’t matter that they were getting the name wrong. At the end of the day; rain and bounty and satisfaction and joy came from I AM.
When I don’t have the language. The times I don’t take notice, He is still giving testament. Witness of his love. His good-doing. He is forever giving evidence.
I took the dog for a walk to spend some time listening, desperate to hear. Instead I found myself barking to stop the barking and hopelessly day dreaming. [Which is where I usually find myself. Not the barking, but the day dreaming part.] I wasn’t hearing anything, my mind too busy running around frantic and starry eyed like the dog at the end of the leash.
Until, I saw it.
Witness.
Fresh green leaves. Twisting in the breeze and evening sun.
There was one of those slow motion movie moments and I felt the vibration in my ribs.
Yet he did not leave himself without witness.
Even if I wouldn’t have seen it. The Beauty would have still occurred.
It was by the kisses of my nephew and the heavy eyelids of my little niece.
It was across the sun lit sidewalk over a cup of peachy-tea with pen in hand.
It was in the sharing of vulnerable lessons and freckling cheeks.
It was on the beige table holding sandwiches and pickles and long overdue catching up.
It was through live melody and poems of hope and healing accompanied by guitar.
It was under huge maps and late night laughter in chairs and a purple couch.
It was God.
Bearing witness.
I want to Name this.
I want to call it like it is.
Let’s not miss the witness.
The throng of voices resonating off the warehouse walls, hundreds of hearts vibrating to the same rhythm.
I smiled to myself as I thought of the quiet worship of last week. So different, both rich.
Rich also, the comforting smell of strong coffee, this time from the cups of friends on left and right.
Between the coffee, music, poignant sermon, and Eucharist, there was a whole bunch of awesome. But one thing in particular stuck with me.
A few words from Paul in the book of Acts.
“Yet he did not leave himself without witness, for he did good by giving you rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, satisfying your hearts with food and gladness.”He said this to the people of Lystra. A people who named the Giver of Good with titles like Hermes and Zeus.
Yet he did not leave himself without witness.
This kept reverberating off the walls of my heart long after the music stopped.
It didn’t matter that they used names like Demeter or Apollo to give credit. It didn’t matter that they were getting the name wrong. At the end of the day; rain and bounty and satisfaction and joy came from I AM.
When I don’t have the language. The times I don’t take notice, He is still giving testament. Witness of his love. His good-doing. He is forever giving evidence.
I took the dog for a walk to spend some time listening, desperate to hear. Instead I found myself barking to stop the barking and hopelessly day dreaming. [Which is where I usually find myself. Not the barking, but the day dreaming part.] I wasn’t hearing anything, my mind too busy running around frantic and starry eyed like the dog at the end of the leash.
Until, I saw it.
Witness.
Fresh green leaves. Twisting in the breeze and evening sun.
There was one of those slow motion movie moments and I felt the vibration in my ribs.
Yet he did not leave himself without witness.
Even if I wouldn’t have seen it. The Beauty would have still occurred.
It was by the kisses of my nephew and the heavy eyelids of my little niece.
It was across the sun lit sidewalk over a cup of peachy-tea with pen in hand.
It was in the sharing of vulnerable lessons and freckling cheeks.
It was on the beige table holding sandwiches and pickles and long overdue catching up.
It was through live melody and poems of hope and healing accompanied by guitar.
It was under huge maps and late night laughter in chairs and a purple couch.
It was God.
Bearing witness.
“Even with these words they [Paul and Barnabas] scarcely restrained the people from offering sacrifice to them."After explaining that all the good was from The God, the Lyconians still attributed the miracles to the names of Hermes and Zeus. They were given the language, given name. And they missed it.
I want to Name this.
I want to call it like it is.
Let’s not miss the witness.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
More To What More.
The announcements were just starting as the musicians ambled back to their seats.
The smell of dark, black coffee in hand drifted up to my nose and I found a seat.
I ran out the door five minutes prior, in a last minute decision to return to a church I had visited a few weeks earlier. As I settled down into my chair and rummaged through my purse to find my bible I could not have been happier with my frantic choice. The sweet routine of Sunday morning.
Ritual and routine is something I want to pretend that I don’t unabashedly love. Crazy religious nuts do that; love that meaningless, going through the motions stuff. Part of the reason I thought I wouldn’t come back here. It was so foreign. Robes. Chanting. Readings.
But, who am I kidding?
I love routine.
The comfort of the leather in my hands. The familiar words spilling from the mouths of my neighbors. The standing and the sitting. Okay, I still don’t like shaking hands with people around me with only enough time for an awkward "Good Morning", but I admittedly adore the comfort of sameness on the morning of the sabbath. [And this probably deserves a post of it’s own...]
Thankfully this morning I was able to look past the white robes and sash to hear something interesting. It’s a little more on What More? I wrote not long ago.
“Faith equals evidence plus the willingness to believe”
John 20:24-25
Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”
Thomas was told by the disciples, [notice plural] -people with whom he’d lived and journeyed with for months. Trusted comrades told Thomas that they had seen Christ return. Just as Jesus promised. And yet, that wasn’t enough. Thomas wanted more. He had the evidence, the word of many bystanders from several different occasions. [Let’s not forget the Mary’s sighting at the tomb.] He just couldn’t take the words for truth until his own hands and eyes could prove it.
And then Christ appears to Thomas.
“Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.”
See you idiot. Didn’t I tell you I was coming back? Why didn’t you believe?
No, no. That’s not what he says.
He says, “Do not disbelieve, but believe.”
Jesus doesn’t ground our doubting Thomas into the ground, but calls him up. Up to belief.
Jesus goes onto say that the blessed are those who believe when they haven’t put their fingers in wounds. I don’t think this calls us to be ignorant. Thomas wasn’t informed that Jesus had risen from the dead only by the town loony. He was informed by reliable sources. He did have evidence. Blessed are those who have evidence, even if it might not feel like quite enough, and choose to believe. If I’m honest with my doubting self, there will never be quite enough. And so continues my wrestling. I have accumulated a pretty overwhelming amount of evidence in my short life. And am amassing more with the passing days. Am I willing to really step into the mess of all of it?
What more do you need? What more?
John 20:30-31
Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.
The smell of dark, black coffee in hand drifted up to my nose and I found a seat.
I ran out the door five minutes prior, in a last minute decision to return to a church I had visited a few weeks earlier. As I settled down into my chair and rummaged through my purse to find my bible I could not have been happier with my frantic choice. The sweet routine of Sunday morning.
Ritual and routine is something I want to pretend that I don’t unabashedly love. Crazy religious nuts do that; love that meaningless, going through the motions stuff. Part of the reason I thought I wouldn’t come back here. It was so foreign. Robes. Chanting. Readings.
But, who am I kidding?
I love routine.
The comfort of the leather in my hands. The familiar words spilling from the mouths of my neighbors. The standing and the sitting. Okay, I still don’t like shaking hands with people around me with only enough time for an awkward "Good Morning", but I admittedly adore the comfort of sameness on the morning of the sabbath. [And this probably deserves a post of it’s own...]
Thankfully this morning I was able to look past the white robes and sash to hear something interesting. It’s a little more on What More? I wrote not long ago.
“Faith equals evidence plus the willingness to believe”
John 20:24-25
Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”
Thomas was told by the disciples, [notice plural] -people with whom he’d lived and journeyed with for months. Trusted comrades told Thomas that they had seen Christ return. Just as Jesus promised. And yet, that wasn’t enough. Thomas wanted more. He had the evidence, the word of many bystanders from several different occasions. [Let’s not forget the Mary’s sighting at the tomb.] He just couldn’t take the words for truth until his own hands and eyes could prove it.
And then Christ appears to Thomas.
“Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.”
See you idiot. Didn’t I tell you I was coming back? Why didn’t you believe?
No, no. That’s not what he says.
He says, “Do not disbelieve, but believe.”
Jesus doesn’t ground our doubting Thomas into the ground, but calls him up. Up to belief.
Jesus goes onto say that the blessed are those who believe when they haven’t put their fingers in wounds. I don’t think this calls us to be ignorant. Thomas wasn’t informed that Jesus had risen from the dead only by the town loony. He was informed by reliable sources. He did have evidence. Blessed are those who have evidence, even if it might not feel like quite enough, and choose to believe. If I’m honest with my doubting self, there will never be quite enough. And so continues my wrestling. I have accumulated a pretty overwhelming amount of evidence in my short life. And am amassing more with the passing days. Am I willing to really step into the mess of all of it?
What more do you need? What more?
John 20:30-31
Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Relentless Assurance.
Sometimes I really need words of hope. Okay, all the time I really need words of hope. There are a lot of dark, heavy things going on out there and over here. And sometimes when it seems like too much, I run across something that gives me strength and courage and comfort.
The words of Jesus as recorded by John:
Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.
In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? and if I go and prepare a place for you I will com again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.
Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.
Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it.
And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of truth,
You know him, for he dwells with you and will be with you.
I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.
Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live..
If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.
But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whome the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your rememberance all that I have said to you.
Peace I leave you, my peace I give to you.
Let not your heats be troubled, neither let them be afraid.
These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be full.
No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends.
You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.
Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you.
You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy. When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.
So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.
Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full.
I thought about trying to edit this down, as it seemed like a lot to read.
But why cut short relentless appeals to step out of despair and into hope?
May you know His relentless assurance. His relentless presence. His relentless love.
And may it strengthen and renew your weary soul.
And for more words on hope read this.
It’s like she took the words right out of my mouth. Except for they were better than what would have come out. :)
The words of Jesus as recorded by John:
Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.
In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? and if I go and prepare a place for you I will com again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.
Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.
Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it.
And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of truth,
You know him, for he dwells with you and will be with you.
I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.
Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live..
If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.
But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whome the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your rememberance all that I have said to you.
Peace I leave you, my peace I give to you.
Let not your heats be troubled, neither let them be afraid.
These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be full.
No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends.
You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.
Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you.
You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy. When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.
So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.
Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full.
I thought about trying to edit this down, as it seemed like a lot to read.
But why cut short relentless appeals to step out of despair and into hope?
May you know His relentless assurance. His relentless presence. His relentless love.
And may it strengthen and renew your weary soul.
And for more words on hope read this.
It’s like she took the words right out of my mouth. Except for they were better than what would have come out. :)
Pack It Up, Pack It In. Let Me Begin.
Packing.
I’ve been packing all my life.
In boxes. Duffle bags. Suitcases. Plastic totes. Paper bags. Lunch bags. Hiking packs and backpacks. Purses and pockets. Trash bags, trailers and trunks.
It started first with sleep overs.
Escalated with every other weekend and Wednesday nights.
I pulled things together for vacations and trips.
For school and dance class.
In the fall and again in the spring.
From cabin to cabin and house to house.
From tent to mountaintop.
Across the country and over the oceans.
In fact, packing has become my permanent.
I’m quite proficient at this routine.
Choose versatile combinations.
At least one good book.
Quickly run through your possible activities. Choose shoes accordingly.
Just keep all personal hygiene products forever in one bag. And on the off chance that you happen to leave your deodorant on the sink, you’ll only smell bad for a time. Unless of course you keep your lavender oil in that toiletry bag and your sandalwood in your purse. Which of course you do, so no worries.
Always pack extra underwear. You just never know.
Dental floss and a little toothpaste can cover a multitude of forgetting that toothbrush after a last minute brushing.
Simplify. See the first piece of advice. And notice the quantity of bag in line four. Add small to that.
Roll. Not fold, roll.
Don’t neglect the power of the extra pockets. Use them wisely.
Despite my perceived packing prowess, I have come to loathe this routine. It is a necessary evil in the game of life. True, it doesn’t usually take me very long, but I despise it all the same. My least favorite part of the travel process to be sure.
I’ve spent way to many late nights stuffing bags and boxes. I’m getting better at preemptively packing, which may really speak of my mastery of this routine, as I am often a procrastinator. Add that to the list: Don’t wait until the last minute. Packing sucks anytime you do it, but the suckfest is only magnified when you feel exhausted and rushed.
Packing represents the end. The end of a week. A party with friends. A vacation. A semester. A job. The end of a season. The end of relationships. The end of something.
As I tucked the last corner under the first, I thought about the loss. The end.
And also the beginning. Because while packing represents the end, it also represents a beginning. The beginning of the next week. A different party. A new adventure. Another semester. A new job. The start of a new season. The beginning of relationships. The start of something.
The box I just taped up isn’t going to sit closed forever. It’s going to get hoisted down after a time. Tape ripped open and contents sorted through. The bag will get emptied and filled again soon. It’s a continuous action. A perpetual movement, a continual metamorphosis.
Because the contents of bag I packed for that first sleep over doesn’t look the same these days. Those footie pajamas wouldn’t fit anymore. And it’s a different bag anyway, if we’re getting into specifics.
As time goes on, some things get carried over, some left behind. I happen to pick up a new shirt and leave an old pair of tennis shoes. Some sand or a rock or two hop on board and a million socks and a billion hair ties seem to get lost along the way.
Sure, the transition is sometimes tiresome, but I need to learn to love packing.
For one thing, it keeps me from ending up with a bunch of useless crap.
But it also helps me sift and sort. Reorder and reorganize. It forces me to evaluate what I really need and what I could and should do without. See what I’ve gained and recognize what I’ve shed.
Packing allows things to end, in order that new things can begin.
I’ve been packing all my life.
In boxes. Duffle bags. Suitcases. Plastic totes. Paper bags. Lunch bags. Hiking packs and backpacks. Purses and pockets. Trash bags, trailers and trunks.
It started first with sleep overs.
Escalated with every other weekend and Wednesday nights.
I pulled things together for vacations and trips.
For school and dance class.
In the fall and again in the spring.
From cabin to cabin and house to house.
From tent to mountaintop.
Across the country and over the oceans.
In fact, packing has become my permanent.
I’m quite proficient at this routine.
Choose versatile combinations.
At least one good book.
Quickly run through your possible activities. Choose shoes accordingly.
Just keep all personal hygiene products forever in one bag. And on the off chance that you happen to leave your deodorant on the sink, you’ll only smell bad for a time. Unless of course you keep your lavender oil in that toiletry bag and your sandalwood in your purse. Which of course you do, so no worries.
Always pack extra underwear. You just never know.
Dental floss and a little toothpaste can cover a multitude of forgetting that toothbrush after a last minute brushing.
Simplify. See the first piece of advice. And notice the quantity of bag in line four. Add small to that.
Roll. Not fold, roll.
Don’t neglect the power of the extra pockets. Use them wisely.
Despite my perceived packing prowess, I have come to loathe this routine. It is a necessary evil in the game of life. True, it doesn’t usually take me very long, but I despise it all the same. My least favorite part of the travel process to be sure.
I’ve spent way to many late nights stuffing bags and boxes. I’m getting better at preemptively packing, which may really speak of my mastery of this routine, as I am often a procrastinator. Add that to the list: Don’t wait until the last minute. Packing sucks anytime you do it, but the suckfest is only magnified when you feel exhausted and rushed.
Packing represents the end. The end of a week. A party with friends. A vacation. A semester. A job. The end of a season. The end of relationships. The end of something.
As I tucked the last corner under the first, I thought about the loss. The end.
And also the beginning. Because while packing represents the end, it also represents a beginning. The beginning of the next week. A different party. A new adventure. Another semester. A new job. The start of a new season. The beginning of relationships. The start of something.
The box I just taped up isn’t going to sit closed forever. It’s going to get hoisted down after a time. Tape ripped open and contents sorted through. The bag will get emptied and filled again soon. It’s a continuous action. A perpetual movement, a continual metamorphosis.
Because the contents of bag I packed for that first sleep over doesn’t look the same these days. Those footie pajamas wouldn’t fit anymore. And it’s a different bag anyway, if we’re getting into specifics.
As time goes on, some things get carried over, some left behind. I happen to pick up a new shirt and leave an old pair of tennis shoes. Some sand or a rock or two hop on board and a million socks and a billion hair ties seem to get lost along the way.
Sure, the transition is sometimes tiresome, but I need to learn to love packing.
For one thing, it keeps me from ending up with a bunch of useless crap.
But it also helps me sift and sort. Reorder and reorganize. It forces me to evaluate what I really need and what I could and should do without. See what I’ve gained and recognize what I’ve shed.
Packing allows things to end, in order that new things can begin.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
The Proverbial Snack.
Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but he who hates reproof is stupid.
I may or may not have laughed out loud when I came across this verse.
And cried at the same time.
Proverbs does a great job of cutting to the heart and creatively using language to paint a picture. And in this case, to cut right to the chase. For some reason the use of ‘stupid' shook me awake from the metaphors and analogies strewn throughout the verses.
After reading a few chapters however, the art of written word is not what sticks with me. It’s the cutting part. The part that feels like a cup of cold water to the face. The chapters feel like one tall order after another.
Whoever belittles his neighbor lacks sense, but a man of understanding remains silent.
Unfortunately, I have not always been a "man of understanding" in remaining silent...
Whoever is steadfast in righteousness will live, but he who pursues evil will die.
Steadfast in righteousness probably not on my top five list of self-descriptors...
Whoever guards his mouth preserves his life; he who opens wide his lips comes to ruin.
Proverbs is a great road map. Except for it’s more like a trail map. Through the AT’s hundred mile wilderness. It’s all laid out for you, but it’s going to take some serious sweat to get from point A to point B.I was born with a big mouth?
The great news is that there are a lot of really incredible promises laid right beside those charges. One of my favorites:
I love those who love me, and those who seek me diligently will find me.Promises that are the pat on the back after the slap on the shoulder. That all the hard work involved with developing habits of righteousness and corralling tendencies to behave rashly leads to something good. Things like finding that for which you search.
With the humble is wisdom.And there are also just some beautiful truths about life.
The righteous will never be moved.
A gracious woman gets honor.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.And so there is a little nibble of Proverbs. You’ll encounter some things to look forward to like honor and security and wisdom. And you’ll also get knocked around a little bit on issues of being lazy, speaking when you shouldn’t or ignoring what you know is right.
The heart knows its own bitterness, and no stranger shares its joy.
Anxiety in a mans heart weighs him down, but a good word makes him glad.
I highly recommend digesting some more of this, even if some parts are kind of hard to swallow. I hear if you can’t take a little reproof your stupid...so there’s that.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
The Ship: Part II
The sun beats down on your sea-weathered face,
A smile plays at your lips.
You feel the soft wooden handles of the wheel beneath your fingers,
Rejoice in the calm of a fresh day.
You breathe deep.
The air, crisp and sweet,
It fills your weary lungs.
So to, the gleaming sails now taut and full, as well.
It stirs up your hair and brushes past your face.
The bow cutting through the blue green swells forward and onward, once again.
You think back to the night before.
Hunkered beneath the creaking deck.
You squint your eyes and gaze about and that is when you see.
The place that you find your self on this new morning,
It’s right where you ought to be.
These aren’t the coordinates you had set before the squall kicked up.
It wasn’t your original plan.
Strangely, wonderfully, you find that what lies upon the horizon,
Is what you set out for from the start.
Your smile widens and you realize a new and profound truth.
Your ship was not unmanned last night, while you hid out down far below.
The ship is a trusty one.
It’s weathered storms before,
Ever carrying you through.
A tear rolls down your freckled cheek.
Now finally you know.
You know the reason you’ve made it through the wind and driving rain.
The ship is strong and sturdy, true.
But the Captain, the real Captain, it is He who has carried you through.
While you waited out the storm, unable to set the course.
The Navigator was there all the time.
Setting the path.
Guiding you on.
His strong calloused hands, took control of the spinning wheel.
Set the course in the blackest of nights.
He knew just where you were going, even when you could not see.
You look down at your hands.
They know this wheel so well.
The salted tear, it hits your lips as they curl up once again.
You open your fingers, drop your hands to the side.
And turn over the wheel.
[click here for part one]
A smile plays at your lips.
You feel the soft wooden handles of the wheel beneath your fingers,
Rejoice in the calm of a fresh day.
You breathe deep.
The air, crisp and sweet,
It fills your weary lungs.
So to, the gleaming sails now taut and full, as well.
It stirs up your hair and brushes past your face.
The bow cutting through the blue green swells forward and onward, once again.
You think back to the night before.
Hunkered beneath the creaking deck.
You squint your eyes and gaze about and that is when you see.
The place that you find your self on this new morning,
It’s right where you ought to be.
These aren’t the coordinates you had set before the squall kicked up.
It wasn’t your original plan.
Strangely, wonderfully, you find that what lies upon the horizon,
Is what you set out for from the start.
Your smile widens and you realize a new and profound truth.
Your ship was not unmanned last night, while you hid out down far below.
The ship is a trusty one.
It’s weathered storms before,
Ever carrying you through.
A tear rolls down your freckled cheek.
Now finally you know.
You know the reason you’ve made it through the wind and driving rain.
The ship is strong and sturdy, true.
But the Captain, the real Captain, it is He who has carried you through.
While you waited out the storm, unable to set the course.
The Navigator was there all the time.
Setting the path.
Guiding you on.
His strong calloused hands, took control of the spinning wheel.
Set the course in the blackest of nights.
He knew just where you were going, even when you could not see.
You look down at your hands.
They know this wheel so well.
The salted tear, it hits your lips as they curl up once again.
You open your fingers, drop your hands to the side.
And turn over the wheel.
[click here for part one]
Saturday, March 31, 2012
What More?
Really guys. Come on.
Was that really necessary?
The hail and locusts.
The exodus.
The parting of the Red Sea.
The pillar of cloud and fire.
The manna. The quail. The water.
The thundering of the presence of God on the mountain that greets you each morning when you rise from your tent.
Then Moses meets with God up there for a bit.
Apparently a bit too long.
And you beg Aaron for a god to worship.
What?
What more do you need?
What more could God possibly do to show you his God-ness and it be enough?
It just seems preposterous. Ludicrous in fact.
And then as always I realize I need to ask myself the same question.
What more do you need, Jen?
Reading stories of the Israelites. Hearing and living the stories, of your faithfulness and provision and with-ness. It’s weaved through all of Your Story.
What more do I need to see and hear to trust you?
To fully surrender?
What more do you need?
Was that really necessary?
The hail and locusts.
The exodus.
The parting of the Red Sea.
The pillar of cloud and fire.
The manna. The quail. The water.
The thundering of the presence of God on the mountain that greets you each morning when you rise from your tent.
Then Moses meets with God up there for a bit.
Apparently a bit too long.
And you beg Aaron for a god to worship.
What?
What more do you need?
What more could God possibly do to show you his God-ness and it be enough?
It just seems preposterous. Ludicrous in fact.
And then as always I realize I need to ask myself the same question.
What more do you need, Jen?
Reading stories of the Israelites. Hearing and living the stories, of your faithfulness and provision and with-ness. It’s weaved through all of Your Story.
What more do I need to see and hear to trust you?
To fully surrender?
What more do you need?
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Shut Up And Pedal.
I have a second set of parents.
They are an incredible blessing. I can't even begin to explain. But, one of them shared this poem with me as we sat talking about a life of faith. And by it, may you be encouraged to just shut up. And pedal.
They are an incredible blessing. I can't even begin to explain. But, one of them shared this poem with me as we sat talking about a life of faith. And by it, may you be encouraged to just shut up. And pedal.
The Road of Life
At first, I saw God as my observer,
my judge,
keeping track of the things I did wrong,
so as to know whether I merited heaven
or hell when I die.
He was out there sort of like a president.
I recognized His picture when I saw it,
but I really didn't know Him.
But later on
when I met Christ,
it seemed as though life was rather like a bike ride,
but it was a tandem bike,
and I noticed that Christ
was in the back helping me pedal.
I don't know just when it was
that He suggested we change places,
but life has not been the same since.
When I had control,
I knew the way.
It was rather boring,
but predictable . . .
It was the shortest distance between two points.
But when He took the lead,
He knew delightful long cuts,
up mountains,
and through rocky places
at breakneck speeds,
it was all I could do to hang on!
Even though it looked like madness,
He said, "Pedal!"
I worried and was anxious
and asked,
"Where are you taking me?"
He laughed and didn't answer,
and I started to learn to trust.
I forgot my boring life
and entered into the adventure.
And when I'd say, "I'm scared,"
He'd lean back and touch my hand.
He took me to people with gifts that I needed,
gifts of healing,
acceptance
and joy.
They gave me gifts to take on my journey,
my Lord's and mine.
And we were off again.
He said, "Give the gifts away;
they're extra baggage, too much weight."
So I did,
to the people we met,
and I found that in giving I received,
and still our burden was light.
I did not trust Him,
at first,
in control of my life.
I thought He'd wreck it;
but He knows bike secrets,
knows how to make it bend to take sharp corners,
knows how to jump to clear high rocks,
knows how to fly to shorten scary passages.
And I am learning to shut up
and pedal
in the strangest places,
and I'm beginning to enjoy the view
and the cool breeze on my face
with my delightful constant companion, Jesus Christ.
And when I'm sure I just can't do anymore,
He just smiles and says . . . "Pedal."
-- author unknownSee. My adopted parents have great taste. And a lot of wisdom.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Different Sides Of The Mountain.
It is unseasonably warm. Record high temperatures for Michigan in March. Definitely not the norm. I’m beginning to wonder what isn’t unseasonable in this life. Everything in my neck of the woods seems to be a little out of the ordinary. Mostly because there doesn’t seem to be an ordinary. Maybe I just haven’t lived enough seasons yet to notice a pattern...? But alas, I digress. Let’s get back to the fact that:
I spent the evening at the BEACH.
In MARCH.
In a tee-shirt.
After some scribbling in my notebook and line reading, I decided to stretch my legs. And the muscles in my toes and the arches of my feet. Sand will do all of that, very well.
Due to the fact that it is still early in the season the hard packed sand is exposed it many areas and found in large fluffy mounds in others. Rocks have become little towers unto themselves as the wind carves away the sand around them.
I was taking all this in-which actually means I was mostly trying not to let my mind run off in a million different directions. A good long walk usually helps with this, but it’s a bit of a fight in the beginning until rhythm sets in and my crazy brain loses steam. So, I was taking this in... when all of a sudden, I was ankle deep in wet sand! I quickly pulled my foot up and continued, my tread sinking an inch or two, only to loose my foot a few steps later. I continued on, my mind now pondering the quicksand.
The same event can elicit different reactions depending on which side of the mountain you are on.
I’m not sure if you've understood even a bit of all that.
It felt profound. When finding myself startled and later delighted after discovering quicksand. Perhaps it’s profundity depends on whether or not your are on my side of the mountain.
There’s a good chance that I’m just a little nutters as well. And for me, that’s not really unseasonable.
I spent the evening at the BEACH.
In MARCH.
In a tee-shirt.
After some scribbling in my notebook and line reading, I decided to stretch my legs. And the muscles in my toes and the arches of my feet. Sand will do all of that, very well.
Due to the fact that it is still early in the season the hard packed sand is exposed it many areas and found in large fluffy mounds in others. Rocks have become little towers unto themselves as the wind carves away the sand around them.
I was taking all this in-which actually means I was mostly trying not to let my mind run off in a million different directions. A good long walk usually helps with this, but it’s a bit of a fight in the beginning until rhythm sets in and my crazy brain loses steam. So, I was taking this in... when all of a sudden, I was ankle deep in wet sand! I quickly pulled my foot up and continued, my tread sinking an inch or two, only to loose my foot a few steps later. I continued on, my mind now pondering the quicksand.
We’re walking along in life, on what looks like hard, wet sand. Our minds are a thousand miles away and we are just going about our business paying little mind to the ‘predictable’ surface upon which we tread. Then suddenly, we are caught off-gaurd. It startles us, throws us off our balance. We might even roll and ankle, who knows? We have to re-steady ourself after this unforeseen obstacle and try to move forward without trepidation after receiving a curve ball.
And sometimes, all we want is to fall in. The flat hard surface feels desolate and monotonous and we want something deeper. Something more and other than this routine. As we press on, we are begging for anything that will refresh our weary feet. The sudden loss of our foot is like a breath of fresh air, a joyous ‘awakening’. It brings smile to our face, and we bound forward hoping for another thrill, another taste of something messy and intimate.
The same event can elicit different reactions depending on which side of the mountain you are on.
I’m not sure if you've understood even a bit of all that.
It felt profound. When finding myself startled and later delighted after discovering quicksand. Perhaps it’s profundity depends on whether or not your are on my side of the mountain.
There’s a good chance that I’m just a little nutters as well. And for me, that’s not really unseasonable.
Friday, March 9, 2012
The Ship.
Sometimes, you find yourself on a large ship.
A sturdy ship.
Wooden and worn.
The sun bleached deck beneath your feet telling stories much older, much bigger, than your own.
It’s sails large and billowing, catching the salty breeze, carrying you ever forward.
It’s weathered storms. Big storms.
Like the one you currently find yourself in.
The wind picks up.
Sails flailing wildly in the forceful gusts.
Menacing swells tossing you back and forth like a toy boat.
The rain coming down in torrents, in cold heavy sheets.
Tops of waves covering the weathered deck with icy water.
The wheel spinning unrestrained, the rudder useless.
And even if it were operable, it would be of no matter.
For even your hands disappear in front of your face into the inky blackness and driving rain.
You can’t steer the vessel.
And even if you could you wouldn’t be able to set a course.
This is when you hunker down. Wait it out.
This ship is a trusty one.
It’s weathered storms before. Big storms.
Just like the one you currently find yourself in.
For the time being, you can’t steer the vessel. You can’t set the course.
But this ship is a trusty one.
It will carry you through this.
And before long the clouds will break.
The sun will creep up on the horizon and wake the day,
Lighting the settled waters.
A soft breeze will fill the faithful sails.
Your course will again be clear.
Grasping the wheel in your calloused hands, you will smile.
Maybe even sing.
A sturdy ship.
Wooden and worn.
The sun bleached deck beneath your feet telling stories much older, much bigger, than your own.
It’s sails large and billowing, catching the salty breeze, carrying you ever forward.
It’s weathered storms. Big storms.
Like the one you currently find yourself in.
The wind picks up.
Sails flailing wildly in the forceful gusts.
Menacing swells tossing you back and forth like a toy boat.
The rain coming down in torrents, in cold heavy sheets.
Tops of waves covering the weathered deck with icy water.
The wheel spinning unrestrained, the rudder useless.
And even if it were operable, it would be of no matter.
For even your hands disappear in front of your face into the inky blackness and driving rain.
You can’t steer the vessel.
And even if you could you wouldn’t be able to set a course.
This is when you hunker down. Wait it out.
This ship is a trusty one.
It’s weathered storms before. Big storms.
Just like the one you currently find yourself in.
For the time being, you can’t steer the vessel. You can’t set the course.
But this ship is a trusty one.
It will carry you through this.
And before long the clouds will break.
The sun will creep up on the horizon and wake the day,
Lighting the settled waters.
A soft breeze will fill the faithful sails.
Your course will again be clear.
Grasping the wheel in your calloused hands, you will smile.
Maybe even sing.
Just Another Question.
So, I’ve been thinking; why the wilderness?
I made it through the Israelite’s flight from the oppressive hand of Egypt.
Pillars of cloud and fire as a guide. Which has become my most recent prayer. I’d take a firefly for pete’s sake, as long as I could follow it somewhere.
The parting of the Red Sea. It’s a massive body of water. Split. They bustled right through a water-walled corridor with Pharaoh’s entourage nipping at their heels.
Filling their bellies. Cleaning bad water with a log and sending food in the form of glutinous frost. And let’s not forget hitting a rock with a stick to get water too.
Defeating the army of Amalek. With God, and the help of some good friends.
Some father-in-law-ly advice. Which I’ve written about before...
The presence of God. Enough said.
The Ten Commandments. A semi-pivotal part in the story.
All of these things could be a page or two on their own.
But through all this, I can’t shake it; why the wilderness?
I do know for certain that there have been a few times in the wilderness where I’ve thought, “Why the heck am I choosing to subject myself to this right now?” A few trips across insanely windy lakes and sleeping on roots and rocks after hiking all day come to mind.
And the Israelites ended up 'changing their minds' in the wilderness anyway. Many times wanting their [comfortable] lives of slavery back.
So why the wilderness God?
You had to have known that your people are prone to these changes of feeling. One minute they are crying out to you because of their oppression and the next they’re begging to go back. Just lead them through the war, let them change their minds, save and provide over and over again, and get them to the promised land a little quicker.
There has to be something else going on here.
Did you have to deprogram your people?
Deconstruct their identity as slaves instead of sons and daughters?
Break down the influences of a culture with many gods but devoid of the real deal?
Did you need to show them your glory?
Remind them that the Lord their God is one, the one?
And that He is freaking powerful, compassionate and amazing?
Did they just need time?
Time and distance before they entered the promised land, a new life?
Did they need to experience your ceaseless faithfulness for forty years before they would really understand?
Were you doing all of the above God?
And something really cool that I don’t even know about?
And after all that, my questions remains.
Why the wilderness?
Why.
The.
Wilderness.
If anyone has any insight. Please, do share.
I love sharing.
I made it through the Israelite’s flight from the oppressive hand of Egypt.
Pillars of cloud and fire as a guide. Which has become my most recent prayer. I’d take a firefly for pete’s sake, as long as I could follow it somewhere.
The parting of the Red Sea. It’s a massive body of water. Split. They bustled right through a water-walled corridor with Pharaoh’s entourage nipping at their heels.
Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the LORD, which he will work for you today...The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to be silent. Exodus 14:13-14Moses drops a praise jam. Sing it.
Filling their bellies. Cleaning bad water with a log and sending food in the form of glutinous frost. And let’s not forget hitting a rock with a stick to get water too.
Defeating the army of Amalek. With God, and the help of some good friends.
Some father-in-law-ly advice. Which I’ve written about before...
The presence of God. Enough said.
The Ten Commandments. A semi-pivotal part in the story.
All of these things could be a page or two on their own.
But through all this, I can’t shake it; why the wilderness?
When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was near. For God said, “Lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt.” But God led the people around by the way of the wilderness toward the Red Sea. Exodus 13:17-18War. I’m not certain, but I can see why something like war might make you change your mind.
I do know for certain that there have been a few times in the wilderness where I’ve thought, “Why the heck am I choosing to subject myself to this right now?” A few trips across insanely windy lakes and sleeping on roots and rocks after hiking all day come to mind.
And the Israelites ended up 'changing their minds' in the wilderness anyway. Many times wanting their [comfortable] lives of slavery back.
So why the wilderness God?
You had to have known that your people are prone to these changes of feeling. One minute they are crying out to you because of their oppression and the next they’re begging to go back. Just lead them through the war, let them change their minds, save and provide over and over again, and get them to the promised land a little quicker.
There has to be something else going on here.
Did you have to deprogram your people?
Deconstruct their identity as slaves instead of sons and daughters?
Break down the influences of a culture with many gods but devoid of the real deal?
Did you need to show them your glory?
Remind them that the Lord their God is one, the one?
And that He is freaking powerful, compassionate and amazing?
Did they just need time?
Time and distance before they entered the promised land, a new life?
Did they need to experience your ceaseless faithfulness for forty years before they would really understand?
Were you doing all of the above God?
And something really cool that I don’t even know about?
And after all that, my questions remains.
Why the wilderness?
Why.
The.
Wilderness.
If anyone has any insight. Please, do share.
I love sharing.
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