There are some places you come to where you simply need no shoes. They are simply not needed. They don't fit. The are uncomfortable. Not in marked size of a narrow heel, but in a manner of being. Every once in a while, you come upon a place that is so authentic, so real, that you want to soak it in as much as possible - and somehow.....shoes get in the way. Shoes most always get in the way, I think. Barefoot is simply best.
So I am here - in the midst of genuineness, trust, quiet, and surrender. Barefoot and Bare and Brave. Walking around in beauty and running my toes through the earth as if to say,
"Good Morning. Thank you for letting me share your presence."
It is a peaceful presence. I could hide away here. I think I will - if only for today.
"Good Morning, Lord. Good Morning."
There is an ant crawling on my bible.....he is an active one. I think I shall call him Charlie. Charlie the ant. I look up from Charlie the ant to see a lady who has also come to be at rest. She comes with her book in hand and is walking out to the cliff overlooking the edge of the mountains. I look down for a second and look up again to see her in movement. Twirling slowly. Truly. She is around 50 years old. Some sort of Yoga mixed with a surrendering stance. She reaches her hands in the air as if to welcome all the morning will bring to her. Her hands come closer to her heart in prayer. Twirling now again. She knows I am here. She must know I am watching her. No one else is around for many spaces. But she
~Is~Not~Ashamed~
In her mind, it is she and her God. Together. Alone. One.
Her need to twirl outweighs her fear of judgement, and it is beautiful, I think. Somehow maybe that is what it means to be as a child. To love like a child. To believe like a child. Vulnerability.
It surfaces the most sacred form of Love.......and the scariest. A sense of loosing self. Maybe that's the point.
Father God of all of the beauty that is surrounding me. I pray a surrendered spirit. That you, above all, will be my God and I will be your servant. That my need to twirl to dance to simply Love you will never outweigh my level of embarrassment. Embarrassment. Father, my Lord. What oh what is there to be embarrassed of? That I love you? Embarrassed that a child loves her father? How could I?
May it never be so. May I ever and continue to remain:
Barefoot and Twirling.
Yours, b
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
In The Middle
I am in the middle of this place of conviction in the midst of a village of community in the middle of this nest of surrender in the midst of these clouds of stillness. And I am still. I worshipped tonight in a chapel in a convent among women who have given their heart and soul to a God whom they have never seen nor heard nor touched. Yet they have surrendered - all. A L L.
Tucked away at end of a long gravel road in the middle of the woods, I drove in anticipation and my heart began to race a bit. I am rarely nervous. Rarely intimidated. I was - both. I had put on my best headscarf and wore my longest dress. And, yes, I was even early. I was told that the sisters were on retreat, but they were opening up their chapel time to the community. Given my surroundings, I anticipated being the only "community member" there. I was. I was told that the worship would be in silence. I am not good with silent, but wanted to learn. Passing by a quaint and remote cemetery....... then a garden of wildflowers.......then a garden of vegetables.....and then their home.......and then the chapel. I have been in awe of this lifestyle for quiet some time. Being drawn to the great minds of old monks and mothers, there is a certain kind of freedom that comes with surrender that intrigues me. It seems once one is able to give up the life of sexual intimacy or marital coupleship - there comes a freedom of thought that allows you to pour your soul into God at a deeper level. Somehow purpose becomes clearer and the understandings of the Creator less tainted. Or so it seems.
Coming in, I was greeted with great surprise. I believe they are not used to having visitors. Especially somewhat younger visitors with strange headscarfs and big smiles of wonderment. The chapel was small and silent and facing a window that seemed to proudly announce: "We are at the top of the top of a tall green tree flourishing Tennessee Mountain" without saying a word. The sisters were dressed even more casually than I - in pants and t-shirts and in simplicity. I was quickly greeted in whispers and instructed on the hymnal and worship schedule. I was then given three books - then told there would be another one underneath me. Being raised the daughter of a Church of Christ preacher, I felt a bit out of my element. But wanting to learn. And I did.
Chapel began. I think I soaked in my surroundings much more than I actually worshipped. My mind drifted to the last time I worshipped amidst the cloth. Amsterdam. Psalms 23. Wow - I hadn't thought of that in a long long time. As the sisters began to sing a psalm, I listened.
"Where are you oh, Lord. Do you hear their cry. Do you hear the moans of your people in the darkness?"
The answer:
"Does the one who created the ear not hear. Does he who created the heart not hear their cry?"
Thinking about the nine year old girl that I read about today who had been gang raped in Congo. Telling the journalist that she was 15 because, somehow, 15 and being raped seems somehow less tragic than nine. It is tragic. Regardless.
He who created her ear hears her words. He who created her heart hears her cry.
I return to Amsterdam in my mind. At a Catholic service. It was a stop on the way back from Sudan and Uganda. I had opted to spend a few extra days there to take some shots. It was cold. So cold. I was sitting in a pew in the back of the church. Not understanding word one of what was being said or sang, so I opened up my bible. Psalms 23.
I had not cried. Not really. In Uganda I had heard horrific stories. Horrific. Stories that I have only repeated once. Stories so evil that they would have to be told by an eye witness to believe them to be true. They were. True. As I read Psalms 23, I remember strangely beginning singing Jesus Loves Me in my head. My mind was stuck on one part. One part. Over and Over and Over.
"Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong"
Stories and stories of children being captured and tortured and forced to do horrific acts of evil. I sat on that pew. reading........
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death................
i w i l l f e a r n o e v i l"
For the first time since entering Uganda. Feeling a calling on my heart so strong it overwhelmed me. and i cried. and i cried. and i cried. silently. sitting in that pew in one of the most beautiful cathedrals that I had worshipped. I cried for them.
Looking out of the window over the tops of all of the mountains I had driven up to get here - my mind comes back to my surroundings. I look down and the sister in front of me is looking over her shoulder at me to make sure I am turned to the right page. I am not. But I smile back and shake my head and turn my page. Looking to my right, the sister who first welcomed me lifted her book to show me I was holding the wrong one. I smile. She smiles back. I reach down to get the right hymnal. We sit in silence for some time, and I am grateful. For the silence. It is finished and we all leave. In silence. The sweet sister in front of me winks at me as she leaves. I like winks. My greeter walked out with me and whispered....
"Thank you so much for coming.......it is good for us."
"Thank you for letting me join you"
I am humbled by them. At their reverence. At their surrender.
I am here now on the porch of the local community nightly hang out. Rain pouring around me. The smell of dampness in the air. Lightening making its presence known. Grateful for this day, Lord. Grateful for your presence in mountaintops, in hymns, in forgotten memories, in raindrops on my computer screen. Simply -
I am grateful.
and I am, forever and completely,
Yours, b
Tucked away at end of a long gravel road in the middle of the woods, I drove in anticipation and my heart began to race a bit. I am rarely nervous. Rarely intimidated. I was - both. I had put on my best headscarf and wore my longest dress. And, yes, I was even early. I was told that the sisters were on retreat, but they were opening up their chapel time to the community. Given my surroundings, I anticipated being the only "community member" there. I was. I was told that the worship would be in silence. I am not good with silent, but wanted to learn. Passing by a quaint and remote cemetery....... then a garden of wildflowers.......then a garden of vegetables.....and then their home.......and then the chapel. I have been in awe of this lifestyle for quiet some time. Being drawn to the great minds of old monks and mothers, there is a certain kind of freedom that comes with surrender that intrigues me. It seems once one is able to give up the life of sexual intimacy or marital coupleship - there comes a freedom of thought that allows you to pour your soul into God at a deeper level. Somehow purpose becomes clearer and the understandings of the Creator less tainted. Or so it seems.
Coming in, I was greeted with great surprise. I believe they are not used to having visitors. Especially somewhat younger visitors with strange headscarfs and big smiles of wonderment. The chapel was small and silent and facing a window that seemed to proudly announce: "We are at the top of the top of a tall green tree flourishing Tennessee Mountain" without saying a word. The sisters were dressed even more casually than I - in pants and t-shirts and in simplicity. I was quickly greeted in whispers and instructed on the hymnal and worship schedule. I was then given three books - then told there would be another one underneath me. Being raised the daughter of a Church of Christ preacher, I felt a bit out of my element. But wanting to learn. And I did.
Chapel began. I think I soaked in my surroundings much more than I actually worshipped. My mind drifted to the last time I worshipped amidst the cloth. Amsterdam. Psalms 23. Wow - I hadn't thought of that in a long long time. As the sisters began to sing a psalm, I listened.
"Where are you oh, Lord. Do you hear their cry. Do you hear the moans of your people in the darkness?"
The answer:
"Does the one who created the ear not hear. Does he who created the heart not hear their cry?"
Thinking about the nine year old girl that I read about today who had been gang raped in Congo. Telling the journalist that she was 15 because, somehow, 15 and being raped seems somehow less tragic than nine. It is tragic. Regardless.
He who created her ear hears her words. He who created her heart hears her cry.
I return to Amsterdam in my mind. At a Catholic service. It was a stop on the way back from Sudan and Uganda. I had opted to spend a few extra days there to take some shots. It was cold. So cold. I was sitting in a pew in the back of the church. Not understanding word one of what was being said or sang, so I opened up my bible. Psalms 23.
I had not cried. Not really. In Uganda I had heard horrific stories. Horrific. Stories that I have only repeated once. Stories so evil that they would have to be told by an eye witness to believe them to be true. They were. True. As I read Psalms 23, I remember strangely beginning singing Jesus Loves Me in my head. My mind was stuck on one part. One part. Over and Over and Over.
"Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong"
Stories and stories of children being captured and tortured and forced to do horrific acts of evil. I sat on that pew. reading........
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death................
i w i l l f e a r n o e v i l"
For the first time since entering Uganda. Feeling a calling on my heart so strong it overwhelmed me. and i cried. and i cried. and i cried. silently. sitting in that pew in one of the most beautiful cathedrals that I had worshipped. I cried for them.
Looking out of the window over the tops of all of the mountains I had driven up to get here - my mind comes back to my surroundings. I look down and the sister in front of me is looking over her shoulder at me to make sure I am turned to the right page. I am not. But I smile back and shake my head and turn my page. Looking to my right, the sister who first welcomed me lifted her book to show me I was holding the wrong one. I smile. She smiles back. I reach down to get the right hymnal. We sit in silence for some time, and I am grateful. For the silence. It is finished and we all leave. In silence. The sweet sister in front of me winks at me as she leaves. I like winks. My greeter walked out with me and whispered....
"Thank you so much for coming.......it is good for us."
"Thank you for letting me join you"
I am humbled by them. At their reverence. At their surrender.
I am here now on the porch of the local community nightly hang out. Rain pouring around me. The smell of dampness in the air. Lightening making its presence known. Grateful for this day, Lord. Grateful for your presence in mountaintops, in hymns, in forgotten memories, in raindrops on my computer screen. Simply -
I am grateful.
and I am, forever and completely,
Yours, b
Friday, August 7, 2009
Where Are You?
Birthday Week. Wow, we have had a great one – and it’s still not over! Three more days (and a few more stories). Our team has been full of inspiration and marketing ideas and benefit planning and wheels turning and as for me?……Reflection. I find myself in that place a lot. This week – I have found myself in Lietnom, Sudan. Where the villagers tell time by hand motions mimicking the position of the sun and goats and cows are used as the going exchange rate. Where you go to bed when the sun sleeps and wake up when sunlight gives way to the moon. Where the middle of no-where takes on a whole new meaning, and you never dreamed “no-where” could be so incredibly authentic in every way.
I remembered this week that the children rarely, if ever, celebrate birthdays. Most don’t even know their ages because they don’t know the day or even the year they were born. Even if they DO know their date of birth, I would scarcely say they remember it and, simply, do not celebrate it. Seems a bit self-absorbed to some. Personally, I’m a fan. But there are times when celebration gives way to necessity. When you are fighting to survive – some things get thrown by the wayside. Like the day you were born. Makes it even sweeter to think the Lord never forgets : )
Thinking of being under the tree in the village in Lietnom doing art therapy with children of various ages who were as dusty and dirty as I had ever seen. I remember stopping half way through our time and laughing and thinking;
“Seriously, Beth…..what the heck are you doing?”
At that moment, there were two goats behind me, an armed force person behind the children, at least three dusty naked kiddos running around my legs, and a village lady who just came out of her mud hut (tookle) with a dead chicken in her hands.
And I was supposed to grab these kids attention? To talk to them about their heartaches? Indeed……
Thank God for Emily and David! I had explained to the pastor of the church (which saying that actually makes me smile because the “church” is a large tree overshadowing numerous wooden benches surrounded by a wall of straw).
“We will one day have walls here” said, Abraham – the pastor. I believe him. Though I’m certain I prefer it much as it is – forever : ) I am sure when we get to the Gloryland we will all be worshiping Jesus without walls. Under trees. Yes, I’m sure of it.
Back to what I was saying….I had explained to Abraham that I wanted to break the children down into two groups. The older children the first day and the younger children the second day. I usually have 6 – 11 in one group and 12 and older in another. When I told the translators this, they just looked at me blankly. There where children sitting on the bench in front of me waiting to be divided up into older and younger groups. The translator grabbed one child who was tall and one who was shorter.
“You mean THIS size?” grabbing the shorter one on the shoulder
“Or THIS size?” grabbing the other one.
“Of course,” I thought…. “sizes – not ages, SIZES!”
“Uhhhm maybe this size and taller in one group, and this size and shorter in another…” Sometimes, you have to learn to pull things out from under the curtain on short notice. Or out from somewhere else ; )
We went on to talk of the pain they had been through during the past few months with the tribal fighting, the burning of their huts and the killing of their loved ones. Some had been forced to stay in the bush for days at a time until it was safe to come out. Some had lost loved ones very close to them. Others had just lost.
David, Emily and I handed out crayons and paper for them to draw their saddest memory. Their greatest heartache. And they did.
These children had never even seen a t.v. before, let alone anything “on” t.v. Probably wouldn’t know what one “did’ if they were to see one. But what they did know was how to draw a gun and a dead body and a burning home. That was their reality– and they didn’t need a t.v. show to bring it to life.
Michelle had some extra red hearts left over from an activity she did with the women (who, by the way, had walked up to seven days to get there. Some in water up to their waist). I asked if I could use them. I told them that they could draw God on their heart and asked them to picture their saddest memory. Inviting them to hold that heart up to their own and close their eyes - I asked them to picture God in their memory. Holding their hand. Being beside of them. And they did.
I go through this one part of the program that is my favorite of all. Makes my heart beam, actually. There is a verse that got me through some very dark times in life. IITimothy 1:7
“For God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”
I tell them that there is a strength that lives inside of them that no one can take away. No one. Man can burn their homes, kill their family, or force them to do things they would never ever normally do. But man CANNOT take away the strength that lives inside of them – unless they give it away. You see, I believe with all that lives inside of me that we do not loose hope. Hope can only be lost if we give it away. It’s a choice to believe. I tell them that we believe in them and that God believes in them. And then my favorite moment…….
I ask them to stand and hold each others hands as brothers and sisters in the Lord. As a family. And to repeat this in their native tongue.
“God will never leave me. God will never forsake me. God loves me.”
I wish upon wishes that I could recreate that moment for you. Children of all shapes and sizes and heights standing in Strength and Freedom and Hope.
Why do I ask them to do this? Why these words? Because if there is nothing else that is true. It is this. If our world crumbles down all around us and all that we believe is real fades away. If all those we think we can depend on leave or die or our homes burn and our dreams disappear – there is one thing we can know that will never cease to exist or go away.
Seeing the things I have seen in the past few years, I have had to look into the eyes of my God and ask:
“Lord – where are you in all of this? How can you allow this to happen? How can you not pour out your grace over these children? After Congo it wasn’t asking…..it was screaming. It was looking up to the heavens in utter confusion. As if your best friend just told you the most horrific crime they had committed. It left me dumbfounded and screaming and searching again and again:
G O D W H E R E A R E Y O U?!?
And in the quiet after the storm…..in being alone with my thoughts, I realized His answer:
M Y C H I L D, I A M H E R E……..H O L D I N G T H E I R H A N D C R Y I N G T H E I R T E A R S.
W H E R E A R E Y O U?
join us: http://exileinternational.org
I remembered this week that the children rarely, if ever, celebrate birthdays. Most don’t even know their ages because they don’t know the day or even the year they were born. Even if they DO know their date of birth, I would scarcely say they remember it and, simply, do not celebrate it. Seems a bit self-absorbed to some. Personally, I’m a fan. But there are times when celebration gives way to necessity. When you are fighting to survive – some things get thrown by the wayside. Like the day you were born. Makes it even sweeter to think the Lord never forgets : )
Thinking of being under the tree in the village in Lietnom doing art therapy with children of various ages who were as dusty and dirty as I had ever seen. I remember stopping half way through our time and laughing and thinking;
“Seriously, Beth…..what the heck are you doing?”
At that moment, there were two goats behind me, an armed force person behind the children, at least three dusty naked kiddos running around my legs, and a village lady who just came out of her mud hut (tookle) with a dead chicken in her hands.
And I was supposed to grab these kids attention? To talk to them about their heartaches? Indeed……
Thank God for Emily and David! I had explained to the pastor of the church (which saying that actually makes me smile because the “church” is a large tree overshadowing numerous wooden benches surrounded by a wall of straw).
“We will one day have walls here” said, Abraham – the pastor. I believe him. Though I’m certain I prefer it much as it is – forever : ) I am sure when we get to the Gloryland we will all be worshiping Jesus without walls. Under trees. Yes, I’m sure of it.
Back to what I was saying….I had explained to Abraham that I wanted to break the children down into two groups. The older children the first day and the younger children the second day. I usually have 6 – 11 in one group and 12 and older in another. When I told the translators this, they just looked at me blankly. There where children sitting on the bench in front of me waiting to be divided up into older and younger groups. The translator grabbed one child who was tall and one who was shorter.
“You mean THIS size?” grabbing the shorter one on the shoulder
“Or THIS size?” grabbing the other one.
“Of course,” I thought…. “sizes – not ages, SIZES!”
“Uhhhm maybe this size and taller in one group, and this size and shorter in another…” Sometimes, you have to learn to pull things out from under the curtain on short notice. Or out from somewhere else ; )
We went on to talk of the pain they had been through during the past few months with the tribal fighting, the burning of their huts and the killing of their loved ones. Some had been forced to stay in the bush for days at a time until it was safe to come out. Some had lost loved ones very close to them. Others had just lost.
David, Emily and I handed out crayons and paper for them to draw their saddest memory. Their greatest heartache. And they did.
These children had never even seen a t.v. before, let alone anything “on” t.v. Probably wouldn’t know what one “did’ if they were to see one. But what they did know was how to draw a gun and a dead body and a burning home. That was their reality– and they didn’t need a t.v. show to bring it to life.
Michelle had some extra red hearts left over from an activity she did with the women (who, by the way, had walked up to seven days to get there. Some in water up to their waist). I asked if I could use them. I told them that they could draw God on their heart and asked them to picture their saddest memory. Inviting them to hold that heart up to their own and close their eyes - I asked them to picture God in their memory. Holding their hand. Being beside of them. And they did.
I go through this one part of the program that is my favorite of all. Makes my heart beam, actually. There is a verse that got me through some very dark times in life. IITimothy 1:7
“For God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”
I tell them that there is a strength that lives inside of them that no one can take away. No one. Man can burn their homes, kill their family, or force them to do things they would never ever normally do. But man CANNOT take away the strength that lives inside of them – unless they give it away. You see, I believe with all that lives inside of me that we do not loose hope. Hope can only be lost if we give it away. It’s a choice to believe. I tell them that we believe in them and that God believes in them. And then my favorite moment…….
I ask them to stand and hold each others hands as brothers and sisters in the Lord. As a family. And to repeat this in their native tongue.
“God will never leave me. God will never forsake me. God loves me.”
I wish upon wishes that I could recreate that moment for you. Children of all shapes and sizes and heights standing in Strength and Freedom and Hope.
Why do I ask them to do this? Why these words? Because if there is nothing else that is true. It is this. If our world crumbles down all around us and all that we believe is real fades away. If all those we think we can depend on leave or die or our homes burn and our dreams disappear – there is one thing we can know that will never cease to exist or go away.
Seeing the things I have seen in the past few years, I have had to look into the eyes of my God and ask:
“Lord – where are you in all of this? How can you allow this to happen? How can you not pour out your grace over these children? After Congo it wasn’t asking…..it was screaming. It was looking up to the heavens in utter confusion. As if your best friend just told you the most horrific crime they had committed. It left me dumbfounded and screaming and searching again and again:
G O D W H E R E A R E Y O U?!?
And in the quiet after the storm…..in being alone with my thoughts, I realized His answer:
M Y C H I L D, I A M H E R E……..H O L D I N G T H E I R H A N D C R Y I N G T H E I R T E A R S.
W H E R E A R E Y O U?
join us: http://exileinternational.org
Thursday, August 6, 2009
.....Sweet To Me
So I have to confess that I have a love affair. It’s true. Yes, I am terribly secretive about my love life. Most of the time because there is nothing to be secretive about. But often because I take it so seriously. Love is nothing to be reckoned with. True love earns the grandest of honor and deserves the greatest of faithfulness. I have learned. Honoring it almost to a fault and holding it in the highest respect, I give my heart away only in pieces and rarely. Only when feeling completely valued. In a way my Father would value me. In a way I would value Him. In a way I would return value. Yes. It is rare. But when I do. I do. Loving with all my heart and soul and with a ferocious loyalty. I felt that tonight. And it almost took my breath away.
Driving over Nickajack Lake into a perfect summer night and surrounded by a warm Southern wind, I soaked in everything that moment had to offer. The summer sun gave way to the night as I exited from my drive. And I saw……..
A piercing golden orange perfectly full moon - beckoning to me. So low that if felt as if I could park my jeep, roll down my window, and climb up on top of it. I once told a friend that I fall in love with the moon every night before I go to bed. I can’t say I was exaggerating. There is something about the moon that leaves me breathless. As does the magic that happens just before it appears. It’s almost as if the sunset is the pre-show leading up to the grand event.
I can remember two times in my life that a sunset was so beautiful that it made me teary. Actually that’s not true. I can think if two times in my life that a sunset has made me teary to the point of shedding a few tears – but that sounds a bit weird to cry at a sunset, so I downplayed it a bit : ) Let’s be honest, I can’t even count the times a sunset has made me teary. But shed a few tears? Twice.
Once was on the island of Santorini Greece. I had just come off of a five week trip throughout Turkey with the Rotary Club Professional Exchange Program among three of the finest people ever.
I stayed an extra 10 days to backpack the Greek Isles. Just Me. Just God. Just Me and God. I wouldn’t give a million bucks for those10 days. I was on a journey of the soul. Just coming off of witnessing the eldest of cave churches and the most primitive of church history – I was already conditioned to soak in more and more of what the world had to offer. I rarely understood a word of anything that I heard around me, and I loved every inch of it. It was as if I was in a world all my own – surrounded by beauty and culture and wonderment. There is something that happens when you are alone with your thoughts and truly by yourself. Emotions tweak, Smoke clears, Heart patters, Life is simply……crisper. And in Greece. Well, in Greece, everything is simply more colorful. Especially Sunsets.
I was on a patio of the restaurant I would go to eat crepes at night. Listening to the Cranberries. Watching something unfold that looked like it belonged in heaven, and I was getting a sneak preview. As the colors unraveled and the boldness of the ocean seemed to soak up the sun – it almost seemed overwhelming to me. Like it stole my heart. And, yes, I confess…..there were tears.
Being alone is often like loosing a sense. They say when you loose one of your senses, the others become heightened in order to make up for the lacking. I think being alone is similar. Not having someone there to bounce thoughts off of, share life with, or experience days and nights with – seems to heighten everything else. Especially Sunsets.
The other one? Tonight. Driving by a restaurant that was oddly on top of a hill in the middle of a not-so-great part of town. But I wondered. Wow- wonder what the sunset would look like from up there. Wow. Yeah. I sat there at one point between picture taking and reading Thomas Keating, and I was mesmerized. It was if I was watching a movie. Slowly revealing itself. Slowly taking different forms and showing off its colorful radiances. And I stopped and thought………….Lord, you are so kind. And then there were, yes, a few tears.
I had a friend once who would talk about how God was sweet to her. I thought that was a perfect way to describe it. The tiny little things He gives us that we often wiz by without noticing. Kinda like a restaurant on top of a hill that has an outside porch perfect for a pre-show. Kinda like an incredible summer night driving over the bridge above Nickajack Lake. Kinda like exiting and witnessing a moon so captivating that you have to pull over to the side of the road just to soak it in because it looks like it, too, belongs in heaven. Or even your blackberry not getting email messages beginning the day that you go on vacation. Kinda like that. He knows me too well. He IS sweet to me. In the purest of forms. Even when I don’t know it or recognize it or even if I forget to see it.
Tonight I am back drinking a cup of coffee at my favorite restaurant in my favorite close-to-home get away. I am at the same outside table that my new friends Danny and Tammy have seated me. They know me as the girl from Nashville who comes up to write and pray : ) I like them so much. Looking into the same window as yester-eve I see a different view. A group of friends seated underneath the same candles. They laugh and then love and they are now hugging each other as they part ways.
I smile as I make clouds in my coffee with my cream. Danny just warmed up my cup. Looking up at the moon – my heart feels just as warm. And, strangely, in love.
Lord- no words. Just thank you……
For being so Sweet : )
Driving over Nickajack Lake into a perfect summer night and surrounded by a warm Southern wind, I soaked in everything that moment had to offer. The summer sun gave way to the night as I exited from my drive. And I saw……..
A piercing golden orange perfectly full moon - beckoning to me. So low that if felt as if I could park my jeep, roll down my window, and climb up on top of it. I once told a friend that I fall in love with the moon every night before I go to bed. I can’t say I was exaggerating. There is something about the moon that leaves me breathless. As does the magic that happens just before it appears. It’s almost as if the sunset is the pre-show leading up to the grand event.
I can remember two times in my life that a sunset was so beautiful that it made me teary. Actually that’s not true. I can think if two times in my life that a sunset has made me teary to the point of shedding a few tears – but that sounds a bit weird to cry at a sunset, so I downplayed it a bit : ) Let’s be honest, I can’t even count the times a sunset has made me teary. But shed a few tears? Twice.
Once was on the island of Santorini Greece. I had just come off of a five week trip throughout Turkey with the Rotary Club Professional Exchange Program among three of the finest people ever.
I stayed an extra 10 days to backpack the Greek Isles. Just Me. Just God. Just Me and God. I wouldn’t give a million bucks for those10 days. I was on a journey of the soul. Just coming off of witnessing the eldest of cave churches and the most primitive of church history – I was already conditioned to soak in more and more of what the world had to offer. I rarely understood a word of anything that I heard around me, and I loved every inch of it. It was as if I was in a world all my own – surrounded by beauty and culture and wonderment. There is something that happens when you are alone with your thoughts and truly by yourself. Emotions tweak, Smoke clears, Heart patters, Life is simply……crisper. And in Greece. Well, in Greece, everything is simply more colorful. Especially Sunsets.
I was on a patio of the restaurant I would go to eat crepes at night. Listening to the Cranberries. Watching something unfold that looked like it belonged in heaven, and I was getting a sneak preview. As the colors unraveled and the boldness of the ocean seemed to soak up the sun – it almost seemed overwhelming to me. Like it stole my heart. And, yes, I confess…..there were tears.
Being alone is often like loosing a sense. They say when you loose one of your senses, the others become heightened in order to make up for the lacking. I think being alone is similar. Not having someone there to bounce thoughts off of, share life with, or experience days and nights with – seems to heighten everything else. Especially Sunsets.
The other one? Tonight. Driving by a restaurant that was oddly on top of a hill in the middle of a not-so-great part of town. But I wondered. Wow- wonder what the sunset would look like from up there. Wow. Yeah. I sat there at one point between picture taking and reading Thomas Keating, and I was mesmerized. It was if I was watching a movie. Slowly revealing itself. Slowly taking different forms and showing off its colorful radiances. And I stopped and thought………….Lord, you are so kind. And then there were, yes, a few tears.
I had a friend once who would talk about how God was sweet to her. I thought that was a perfect way to describe it. The tiny little things He gives us that we often wiz by without noticing. Kinda like a restaurant on top of a hill that has an outside porch perfect for a pre-show. Kinda like an incredible summer night driving over the bridge above Nickajack Lake. Kinda like exiting and witnessing a moon so captivating that you have to pull over to the side of the road just to soak it in because it looks like it, too, belongs in heaven. Or even your blackberry not getting email messages beginning the day that you go on vacation. Kinda like that. He knows me too well. He IS sweet to me. In the purest of forms. Even when I don’t know it or recognize it or even if I forget to see it.
Tonight I am back drinking a cup of coffee at my favorite restaurant in my favorite close-to-home get away. I am at the same outside table that my new friends Danny and Tammy have seated me. They know me as the girl from Nashville who comes up to write and pray : ) I like them so much. Looking into the same window as yester-eve I see a different view. A group of friends seated underneath the same candles. They laugh and then love and they are now hugging each other as they part ways.
I smile as I make clouds in my coffee with my cream. Danny just warmed up my cup. Looking up at the moon – my heart feels just as warm. And, strangely, in love.
Lord- no words. Just thank you……
For being so Sweet : )
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Sense and Sensibility and Simply.......Yours.
I have strange adorations. Simple idiosecrencies that would prove others to find me odd. Some that would cause me to type as if I were Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. And I do wish I was. One of which is taking long hot baths while watching movies on my laptop in the bathroom. But I am out now........and writing. Not in the bathtub.
Marianne is getting married as I type. Half of my screen full of horses, and church bells, and children waving flying banners in the wind. And Sense. and Sensibility. The other half holds my thoughts in the form of words and letters and emotions attempting to find themselves justice in sentences. I long for a simpler time of ribbons and sitting on porches and taking a turns about rooms. I do hope the Lord allows me to play dress up in ball gowns when I get to heaven - and to ride on horses.....in ballgowns : )
There is a line in the first of the movie that simply is this:
"What is it that you wish for?"
It struck me. What is it that you wish for? It reminds me of a question not so different asked of me last week by a mentor of mine.
"What do you want to do? What is it that you want to fill your life with, if you felt as if you could choose?"
I paused. Novel to think it is actually up to me. Because - it actually is. Up to me.
My answer? Simple: Reading, Writing, Thinking, Being with my family and my nieces, Traveling, and Fulfilling my dreams in ministry through service to the Lord. It would not be going to coffee more, or answering more emails, or even fulfilling obligations that others place on me. It would actually look very opposite than that. I find that relationships often make up the depth of the marrow of life, yet they can also rob you of joy - if you allow them to. There is a balance. Finding it is difficult, but inevitably necessary to True Living.
I have realized that if those are my wishes, if those are my dreams - then fulfilling them is absolutely up to me. Only I can make that happen and only I can make that not happen.
Lord, in this time of reflection I ask that you grant me with groundedness. Knowing that is not something you actually grant at all. True groundedness must be developed, and granting it would simply be shortchanging me in every way possible. So - I should truly ask for clarity of perspective that would allow me to be grounded.
May I feel the depths of each sense you have placed within heart while holding fast to the sensibility you have placed in my head. May I find balance. May I realize the control I have in creating that. And may I live out of choice.
Love to you on this night, My Lord. Grateful that you are my resting place. Hopeful that you like ballgowns - and horseback riding......in ballgowns : )
For I am
Yours, b
Marianne is getting married as I type. Half of my screen full of horses, and church bells, and children waving flying banners in the wind. And Sense. and Sensibility. The other half holds my thoughts in the form of words and letters and emotions attempting to find themselves justice in sentences. I long for a simpler time of ribbons and sitting on porches and taking a turns about rooms. I do hope the Lord allows me to play dress up in ball gowns when I get to heaven - and to ride on horses.....in ballgowns : )
There is a line in the first of the movie that simply is this:
"What is it that you wish for?"
It struck me. What is it that you wish for? It reminds me of a question not so different asked of me last week by a mentor of mine.
"What do you want to do? What is it that you want to fill your life with, if you felt as if you could choose?"
I paused. Novel to think it is actually up to me. Because - it actually is. Up to me.
My answer? Simple: Reading, Writing, Thinking, Being with my family and my nieces, Traveling, and Fulfilling my dreams in ministry through service to the Lord. It would not be going to coffee more, or answering more emails, or even fulfilling obligations that others place on me. It would actually look very opposite than that. I find that relationships often make up the depth of the marrow of life, yet they can also rob you of joy - if you allow them to. There is a balance. Finding it is difficult, but inevitably necessary to True Living.
I have realized that if those are my wishes, if those are my dreams - then fulfilling them is absolutely up to me. Only I can make that happen and only I can make that not happen.
Lord, in this time of reflection I ask that you grant me with groundedness. Knowing that is not something you actually grant at all. True groundedness must be developed, and granting it would simply be shortchanging me in every way possible. So - I should truly ask for clarity of perspective that would allow me to be grounded.
May I feel the depths of each sense you have placed within heart while holding fast to the sensibility you have placed in my head. May I find balance. May I realize the control I have in creating that. And may I live out of choice.
Love to you on this night, My Lord. Grateful that you are my resting place. Hopeful that you like ballgowns - and horseback riding......in ballgowns : )
For I am
Yours, b
. i wish .
I wish for the wonderment of a child
the boldness of a mare
the wisdom of an elder
the resilience of a mountain
and the grace of the finest leaf in the simplest of winds.
the boldness of a mare
the wisdom of an elder
the resilience of a mountain
and the grace of the finest leaf in the simplest of winds.
To Live and To Learn......
I wonder and I ponder and I imagine and I weep and I laugh and I feel and I seek and I find and I discover and I dance and I dream and I pray and I hide and I seek and I remember and I forget and I live and I learn and I loathe and I love.
And I sit
By Myself
A lot.
It amuses me to watch people pass by me. In wonder. Why is she sitting by herself? What does she find so interesting that she is reading so intently? What is it that she is writing that stirs so much passion? And just why…..is she sitting by herself? Then you always have the few, often older gentlemen or ladies, who feel the need to come up and start a conversation. Maybe feeling sorry for me : ) Maybe just curious. Tonight I didn’t mind. Tonight I welcomed it.
She was elderly. Maybe Eighty. Cane in hand to steady her rambling gait. Slow. She was walking so slow. Slow enough that I could catch her eye. Face covered with age spots. Teeth absent. Mouth puckered. Slow. Walking so slow.
I smiled and I wondered. Of the stories. Oh the stories you could tell me. Oh the wisdom you could share. Strangely hoping she would stop to talk. She did…….
“What is it that you are reading so busily?”
Looking down at the pages and wondering how to describe this book that I am reading “so busily”. Wondering how one actually reads busily. “It’s a book about mindfulness. A book about leaning to be more intentional about living”
She looked blankly as if she wanted to contribute, but she didn’t really understand. I was searching….not wanting her to walk away.
“A book about learning how not to worry”
“Ohhhhh, Well, honey, ya know, we never do. We never really do.” She smiled and I smiled and she shuffled away. Slowly. A short beautiful exchange it was.
And I thought. What has life taught you, dear woman? What, sweet lady, have you learned in this world you have lived in? What stories could you tell?
You see there is this concept that I fear we all miss so often. Myself included. It is a gem of a concept. A jewel of a lesson. It is simple but ferociously difficult.
It is Living and Learning.
Living is inevitable - until we Die. Learning is something that we must choose to do from what Life places before us. Yes, the lessons are ever before us. Almost each minute of each day. As tiny golden flakes of wind that we either recognize and breath in or…………..not. But they are there. Floating by. Slowly. But we, as we live “so busily,” miss them. And so life repeats itself and we find ourselves at the same table reading the same book in the same relationship or having the same fight or feeling the same feelings. Looking in the mirror at the same person fighting the same fears in the same battles.
Walking in the same way with the same shuffle, holding on to the same cane - to steady our rambling gait : )
I am at this moment outside on the patio of my favorite restaurant in my favorite close-to-home getaway. Looking inside the window pane at the couple underneath the candles placed on the wall as they drink their glasses of white wine The are in intent conversation, and I wonder and I ponder and I imagine……He cleans his glasses and holds them up to the light of the candles on the wall to see if they are free of spots. Puts them in his pocket and takes her hand. They lean in. Faces close and he kisses her. She smiles.
Life. It is a blessed thing indeed. Love. It is remarkably magical. Learning to Love well and to Live well through the daily journey of the walk. Allowing God to teach us each day from that Life which He has given us:
Terribly Priceless.
Lord, As this day comes to an end and I sit beneath this blinding moon of full to overflowing - it matches my heart..... and I want to thank you. Surrounded by the beauty of your world. Immersed in your presence. I ask you to teach me. Open my eyes to the golden wind swirling around me of lessons waiting to be learned and understanding waiting to be revealed. If I had one thing to learn from this life, Father - one thing indeed - it would be to learn to Love Well. Knowing I have such a long way to go, yet thankful for this Life of Lessons. Anticipating Learning. I am
Yours, b
And I sit
By Myself
A lot.
It amuses me to watch people pass by me. In wonder. Why is she sitting by herself? What does she find so interesting that she is reading so intently? What is it that she is writing that stirs so much passion? And just why…..is she sitting by herself? Then you always have the few, often older gentlemen or ladies, who feel the need to come up and start a conversation. Maybe feeling sorry for me : ) Maybe just curious. Tonight I didn’t mind. Tonight I welcomed it.
She was elderly. Maybe Eighty. Cane in hand to steady her rambling gait. Slow. She was walking so slow. Slow enough that I could catch her eye. Face covered with age spots. Teeth absent. Mouth puckered. Slow. Walking so slow.
I smiled and I wondered. Of the stories. Oh the stories you could tell me. Oh the wisdom you could share. Strangely hoping she would stop to talk. She did…….
“What is it that you are reading so busily?”
Looking down at the pages and wondering how to describe this book that I am reading “so busily”. Wondering how one actually reads busily. “It’s a book about mindfulness. A book about leaning to be more intentional about living”
She looked blankly as if she wanted to contribute, but she didn’t really understand. I was searching….not wanting her to walk away.
“A book about learning how not to worry”
“Ohhhhh, Well, honey, ya know, we never do. We never really do.” She smiled and I smiled and she shuffled away. Slowly. A short beautiful exchange it was.
And I thought. What has life taught you, dear woman? What, sweet lady, have you learned in this world you have lived in? What stories could you tell?
You see there is this concept that I fear we all miss so often. Myself included. It is a gem of a concept. A jewel of a lesson. It is simple but ferociously difficult.
It is Living and Learning.
Living is inevitable - until we Die. Learning is something that we must choose to do from what Life places before us. Yes, the lessons are ever before us. Almost each minute of each day. As tiny golden flakes of wind that we either recognize and breath in or…………..not. But they are there. Floating by. Slowly. But we, as we live “so busily,” miss them. And so life repeats itself and we find ourselves at the same table reading the same book in the same relationship or having the same fight or feeling the same feelings. Looking in the mirror at the same person fighting the same fears in the same battles.
Walking in the same way with the same shuffle, holding on to the same cane - to steady our rambling gait : )
I am at this moment outside on the patio of my favorite restaurant in my favorite close-to-home getaway. Looking inside the window pane at the couple underneath the candles placed on the wall as they drink their glasses of white wine The are in intent conversation, and I wonder and I ponder and I imagine……He cleans his glasses and holds them up to the light of the candles on the wall to see if they are free of spots. Puts them in his pocket and takes her hand. They lean in. Faces close and he kisses her. She smiles.
Life. It is a blessed thing indeed. Love. It is remarkably magical. Learning to Love well and to Live well through the daily journey of the walk. Allowing God to teach us each day from that Life which He has given us:
Terribly Priceless.
Lord, As this day comes to an end and I sit beneath this blinding moon of full to overflowing - it matches my heart..... and I want to thank you. Surrounded by the beauty of your world. Immersed in your presence. I ask you to teach me. Open my eyes to the golden wind swirling around me of lessons waiting to be learned and understanding waiting to be revealed. If I had one thing to learn from this life, Father - one thing indeed - it would be to learn to Love Well. Knowing I have such a long way to go, yet thankful for this Life of Lessons. Anticipating Learning. I am
Yours, b
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
He. Loves. You.
I am at my keyboard, yet again, typing out stories and more stories. Stories of children with broken hearts and broken lives. Strangely, it is healing for me. Children forced on the front lines of a battle they do not wish to fight in a war they desperately wish to end. But it is not a war at all. Most wars have a beginning and some sort of end. There are rules to a war…..but there are no rules to madness.
Madness.
If you think I am using the word lightly – I pray you will read on……
Sitting in the middle of eXile international’s one year old birthday week, I am taking a step back. Life has certainly changed since returning from Congo. I think about what this last year has held, and I am simply amazed. Not at myself. Not even at our incredible team that has come together in just the last few months –but of God. Of GOD. I am amazed at His calling. Of the fact that He believes in us enough to fulfill His dreams for these children. I could write pages on the providences that have come to pass this last year. I often get overwhelmed at the doors that He has opened and the people he has brought into my path along this past year’s journey. I talk often of seeing the fingerprints of God on what we are doing. Walking in His shadow - as He leads our work…..and there is no place else I would rather be.
Strange to think of the similarities between who we are as a team and those we are fighting for. Founded by two once-broken women being redeemed by a perfect Lord. Pieced together out of threaded heartstrings. Now surrounded by a team of the utmost talent and severe passion. Supported financially by paper beads made by the hands of former child soldiers or formally abducted orphans, selling photography of a chick who has no idea what she is doing, and the donations we get from random Great Samaritans. None of us do this full time – well, not and get paid for it anyway : ) Why? Why do we do it?
Let me share a few raw stories. Many of you have heard the stories that I've shared from the mouths of babes. But our first intern, Kathryn Campbell, recently returned from Uganda on her first trip to Africa with Sweet Sleep. This is a bit of Topistar’s story from Kathryn:
Topistar (pronounced more like Dopista) is a beautiful, intelligent, 12 year old girl that lives at Africa Greater Life Orphanage. I asked her if she could write her name for me. As she wrote, I asked her to tell me about her life. The following is word for word my letter from Topistar. Hopefully it will give some insight into why my heart is broken, and yet full...
my name is Namusisi Topistar.
i am 12 years old.
my brother is called david.
my mother is died when was sick.
my father is died when bad person killed.
my mother when died i am ever so young. (**here I asked her if she felt sad sometimes and how she felt...to which she wrote in response:**)
i feel bad person see me write on paper.
my father is work in police
my father is have young child the bad man came and kill father's child and father is fight with bad man
the bad man was kill my father
me and my brother david hide my father is left there.
me and david pastor is help us.
think you to help bring beds.
think you. God bless you.
I love you.
Bye Bye
The story goes on….Topistor is afraid the “bad men” are watching her. She saw her father die – but not just die. She watched him as he was decapitated. She was afraid to share her story because she was afraid the “bad men” would hurt her. Kathryn said that she wouldn’t let herself cry, and she kept stopping to do something else to distract herself away.
What do you say? What do you say to that? You say this:
He. Loves. You.
He will NEVER forsake you. Even as she and her brother were hiding from the rebels after seeing their father die a horrible death – He was there. Beside of her. Holding her hand. Feeling it or not – He was there. LOVING her.
What did Kathryn say? “I told her she could talk to God when she was afraid and that he held her so tightly and loved her even more than I did……which was A LOT : )”
There is a part of a story you can take with your camera and make it come to life. There is often an even bigger piece of a story that can come to life in film. But there is part of the experience of watching these children learn to share their hidden dark secrets, talk about their greatest heartache, draw God in the middle of their saddest moment – that, well, you can’t capture except by watching it. They leave with a different kind of lightness in their step. They leave with a different sort of smile. They leave with a different kind of Hope – and a knowing that they are not and never were and will never ever be alone. Ever.
When you feed a child, that which fills their stomach will disappear. Hunger returns. It always does. But if you teach a child to Hope, it will be their greatest companion on a hungry night.
Why do we do what we do? Because it needs to be done. We would love for you to join us…….
Thanks for sharing this Birthday Week with us.
Learn more here: http://exileinternational.org.
His - b
Madness.
If you think I am using the word lightly – I pray you will read on……
Sitting in the middle of eXile international’s one year old birthday week, I am taking a step back. Life has certainly changed since returning from Congo. I think about what this last year has held, and I am simply amazed. Not at myself. Not even at our incredible team that has come together in just the last few months –but of God. Of GOD. I am amazed at His calling. Of the fact that He believes in us enough to fulfill His dreams for these children. I could write pages on the providences that have come to pass this last year. I often get overwhelmed at the doors that He has opened and the people he has brought into my path along this past year’s journey. I talk often of seeing the fingerprints of God on what we are doing. Walking in His shadow - as He leads our work…..and there is no place else I would rather be.
Strange to think of the similarities between who we are as a team and those we are fighting for. Founded by two once-broken women being redeemed by a perfect Lord. Pieced together out of threaded heartstrings. Now surrounded by a team of the utmost talent and severe passion. Supported financially by paper beads made by the hands of former child soldiers or formally abducted orphans, selling photography of a chick who has no idea what she is doing, and the donations we get from random Great Samaritans. None of us do this full time – well, not and get paid for it anyway : ) Why? Why do we do it?
Let me share a few raw stories. Many of you have heard the stories that I've shared from the mouths of babes. But our first intern, Kathryn Campbell, recently returned from Uganda on her first trip to Africa with Sweet Sleep. This is a bit of Topistar’s story from Kathryn:
Topistar (pronounced more like Dopista) is a beautiful, intelligent, 12 year old girl that lives at Africa Greater Life Orphanage. I asked her if she could write her name for me. As she wrote, I asked her to tell me about her life. The following is word for word my letter from Topistar. Hopefully it will give some insight into why my heart is broken, and yet full...
my name is Namusisi Topistar.
i am 12 years old.
my brother is called david.
my mother is died when was sick.
my father is died when bad person killed.
my mother when died i am ever so young. (**here I asked her if she felt sad sometimes and how she felt...to which she wrote in response:**)
i feel bad person see me write on paper.
my father is work in police
my father is have young child the bad man came and kill father's child and father is fight with bad man
the bad man was kill my father
me and my brother david hide my father is left there.
me and david pastor is help us.
think you to help bring beds.
think you. God bless you.
I love you.
Bye Bye
The story goes on….Topistor is afraid the “bad men” are watching her. She saw her father die – but not just die. She watched him as he was decapitated. She was afraid to share her story because she was afraid the “bad men” would hurt her. Kathryn said that she wouldn’t let herself cry, and she kept stopping to do something else to distract herself away.
What do you say? What do you say to that? You say this:
He. Loves. You.
He will NEVER forsake you. Even as she and her brother were hiding from the rebels after seeing their father die a horrible death – He was there. Beside of her. Holding her hand. Feeling it or not – He was there. LOVING her.
What did Kathryn say? “I told her she could talk to God when she was afraid and that he held her so tightly and loved her even more than I did……which was A LOT : )”
There is a part of a story you can take with your camera and make it come to life. There is often an even bigger piece of a story that can come to life in film. But there is part of the experience of watching these children learn to share their hidden dark secrets, talk about their greatest heartache, draw God in the middle of their saddest moment – that, well, you can’t capture except by watching it. They leave with a different kind of lightness in their step. They leave with a different sort of smile. They leave with a different kind of Hope – and a knowing that they are not and never were and will never ever be alone. Ever.
When you feed a child, that which fills their stomach will disappear. Hunger returns. It always does. But if you teach a child to Hope, it will be their greatest companion on a hungry night.
Why do we do what we do? Because it needs to be done. We would love for you to join us…….
Thanks for sharing this Birthday Week with us.
Learn more here: http://exileinternational.org.
His - b
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