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
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
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
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Moment
I had only seen him cry one other time. But he was crying now. And Crying. And Crying. My granddaddy. He was a strong man. A little man. A good man. Even thinking of him now brings tears to my eyes. No nonsense, he was. Cut and dry. Say it as it is. Period.
I remember him in a pair of overalls much more than I don’t. Remember him sitting underneath the oak tree much more than on the sofa – or even in the tobacco patches for that matter. And, oh, how he loved my grandmother. More than I realized – until she was gone.
It's been about seven years now. She wasn’t supposed to go before him. He would say that – a lot. It was sudden. He had been sicker than she had been. Battled cancer. Won. Everyone thought he would go first. Especially him.
I never remember watching him look at her adoringly. Never remember him kissing her. Never remember him even holding her hand. But, oh, how he loved my grandmother. More than I realized – until she was gone.
Years of holding in tears came crashing down when she died. Crying became second nature there for a while. I remember not wanting to leave his side at the funeral. I couldn’t make his tears stop or bring back his Love – but I could be next to him. Sometimes that’s all there is to do.
I don’t remember a lot of it, but there is one moment that I will never forget. Never. It was time. They were getting ready to close the casket. To roll it away. My granddaddy stood up. Suddenly. Forgetting he was feeble, he rushed up to the front. Frantically.
“Don’t let them close that casket. Don’t let them put her in the ground. Don’t let them put her in the ground…..” He bent over the casket and began kissing her. Kissing her. And as family pulled him away, he kept trying to Kiss her. First time I had ever seen him Kiss her. First Time. Last. Time.
Oh, how he loved my grandmother. Never knew. How much he loved her. Ever - Until she was gone.
I have what I call “over the casket moments” that I talk about in session a lot. It’s a moment. A moment imagined in the future when we are looking over the casket of a loved one and we experience: The Moment. That ONE moment of……..something. It could be peace. It could be regret. It could be filled with thoughts of “if only…, did she know…. why didn’t I just…. I wish I would have…. I’m so glad I…… OH, how I loved her…..” The moment.
Helps to imagine what it would be like if we didn’t do anything differently – or if we
Did.
Why am I telling you this? Not sure really.
But I do know this – death has been surrounding me for the past year or so. I have seen it to the moon and back over the past year or so. Death. Life. Hope. Despair. Longing. Hoping. Disappointment. Breath. Suffocation. Survival. I often feel God taking me deeper and deeper into the creavesses of life to show me more of His heart and more of Life’s pains and more of what it’s truly all about. Living as a soul with a body rather than a body with a soul. Mr. C.S. got that one right.
“Have you ever heard of anyone committing suicide in Congo.” Dominique said. I looked at him blankly. We were in the middle of this intense conversation about Congo – why it is the way it is. Why the rapes? Why the darkness? What the answers were…..and what they were not. “No” I said. “Do you know why? Because they survive. Because they are strong” And they are. So. Strong.
D E A T H
Facing it lately. Two teenage girls hung themselves in the past 6 months in a school in Tennessee. One other attempted. Another shot herself and missed. Another man hung himself about a month ago in Nashville. Why? Isn’t that the age old question?
Death as a means of pseudo survival in one mind. Life lived as something undesired in another. Life hated in one heart and ferociously valued in another.
To my granddaddy? A life loved. And lost. Did she know? How much he loved her? I don’t know. I wish she could have seen how much he really did. Or did she? Know?
The bright spot in this dark blog comes here. Emma. Four letters making up one word that is a pumpkin of a little girl. I was with her this past weekend as we all gathered around the table in the center of Macaroni Grill – center of attention we are……as I shake my head and smirk. We get so caught up In To ourselves, enjoying Our Selves, all By ourselves that we forget other people are around. I look up (realizing there are other people around us) and notice that they are watching us. Kinda like being at a zoo and watching the monkeys in the cage as they play and pick bugs off each other. Kinda like that. Hilarious.
SO, in the middle of the monkeys there is me and Emma and Emma and me. She doesn’t know anyone else is around either. Taking my earrings off my ear, necklace off my neck, whispering things in my ear. In our own world. Miss Emma and Me. And I looked at her and thought.
“I love you more than you realize. More that you know.”
Does she know? Will my world stop long enough to make sure she does – today – and not – tomorrow – not until she is - gone.
In an attempt to be less morbid and more real: The fact is that caskets come in all shapes and size. In all stages of life. Death knows no heroes. It is something that will come. Will Come.
My granddaddy…..My sweet granddaddy. I had never seen anyone die before. Not before my eyes. But it was time. He was in the hospital. Emphysema.
“Is it time? Am I going now?” He would say. He was ready – but he wasn’t ready. Are we ever – ready? The nurse came in and told us the day was probably today. I had driven to Kentucky from Nashville for the day –just in case it was my last time. Momma was taking an orange slice and putting it to his mouth to wet his dry lips. So sweetly.
“Just tell him that it’s gonna be ok. Tell him it’s ok to go.” The nurse said.
I was on the outside looking in as I watched my momma love her daddy away to his home. She would stroke his bald head. Swab his mouth. Pat him. Love him.
He would try to breathe. Gasp for breath. Reach for breath. She was holding his hand. “You’ve been a good daddy. We love you. It’s ok, you can go now.”
Another gasp. Another reach. Another breath. “You have fought the good fight. You have finished your race. It’s time to get your crown.”
Gasp. Reach. Breath.
“It’s ok daddy. You can go home now. Go home to be with momma.”
One. More. Gasp. One. Last. Breath.
And he was gone. That’s all he needed to hear. All he needed. I have never experienced such stillness as I did at that - Moment.
Oh, how he loved my grandmother. More than I knew. More than she probably new – until she was gone.
But……I think she knows now.
As I look at my Own reflection - speaking loudly to my Own self I say this: May we tell them now. May we love them boldly. May we forgive just as freely. May we tell them today because we may never get a tomorrow. May that over-the-casket moment be full of peace and anticipation rather than regret and longing. We only get one. L I F E.
May it be full of living. May it be full of love. May it be…..
I remember him in a pair of overalls much more than I don’t. Remember him sitting underneath the oak tree much more than on the sofa – or even in the tobacco patches for that matter. And, oh, how he loved my grandmother. More than I realized – until she was gone.
It's been about seven years now. She wasn’t supposed to go before him. He would say that – a lot. It was sudden. He had been sicker than she had been. Battled cancer. Won. Everyone thought he would go first. Especially him.
I never remember watching him look at her adoringly. Never remember him kissing her. Never remember him even holding her hand. But, oh, how he loved my grandmother. More than I realized – until she was gone.
Years of holding in tears came crashing down when she died. Crying became second nature there for a while. I remember not wanting to leave his side at the funeral. I couldn’t make his tears stop or bring back his Love – but I could be next to him. Sometimes that’s all there is to do.
I don’t remember a lot of it, but there is one moment that I will never forget. Never. It was time. They were getting ready to close the casket. To roll it away. My granddaddy stood up. Suddenly. Forgetting he was feeble, he rushed up to the front. Frantically.
“Don’t let them close that casket. Don’t let them put her in the ground. Don’t let them put her in the ground…..” He bent over the casket and began kissing her. Kissing her. And as family pulled him away, he kept trying to Kiss her. First time I had ever seen him Kiss her. First Time. Last. Time.
Oh, how he loved my grandmother. Never knew. How much he loved her. Ever - Until she was gone.
I have what I call “over the casket moments” that I talk about in session a lot. It’s a moment. A moment imagined in the future when we are looking over the casket of a loved one and we experience: The Moment. That ONE moment of……..something. It could be peace. It could be regret. It could be filled with thoughts of “if only…, did she know…. why didn’t I just…. I wish I would have…. I’m so glad I…… OH, how I loved her…..” The moment.
Helps to imagine what it would be like if we didn’t do anything differently – or if we
Did.
Why am I telling you this? Not sure really.
But I do know this – death has been surrounding me for the past year or so. I have seen it to the moon and back over the past year or so. Death. Life. Hope. Despair. Longing. Hoping. Disappointment. Breath. Suffocation. Survival. I often feel God taking me deeper and deeper into the creavesses of life to show me more of His heart and more of Life’s pains and more of what it’s truly all about. Living as a soul with a body rather than a body with a soul. Mr. C.S. got that one right.
“Have you ever heard of anyone committing suicide in Congo.” Dominique said. I looked at him blankly. We were in the middle of this intense conversation about Congo – why it is the way it is. Why the rapes? Why the darkness? What the answers were…..and what they were not. “No” I said. “Do you know why? Because they survive. Because they are strong” And they are. So. Strong.
D E A T H
Facing it lately. Two teenage girls hung themselves in the past 6 months in a school in Tennessee. One other attempted. Another shot herself and missed. Another man hung himself about a month ago in Nashville. Why? Isn’t that the age old question?
Death as a means of pseudo survival in one mind. Life lived as something undesired in another. Life hated in one heart and ferociously valued in another.
To my granddaddy? A life loved. And lost. Did she know? How much he loved her? I don’t know. I wish she could have seen how much he really did. Or did she? Know?
The bright spot in this dark blog comes here. Emma. Four letters making up one word that is a pumpkin of a little girl. I was with her this past weekend as we all gathered around the table in the center of Macaroni Grill – center of attention we are……as I shake my head and smirk. We get so caught up In To ourselves, enjoying Our Selves, all By ourselves that we forget other people are around. I look up (realizing there are other people around us) and notice that they are watching us. Kinda like being at a zoo and watching the monkeys in the cage as they play and pick bugs off each other. Kinda like that. Hilarious.
SO, in the middle of the monkeys there is me and Emma and Emma and me. She doesn’t know anyone else is around either. Taking my earrings off my ear, necklace off my neck, whispering things in my ear. In our own world. Miss Emma and Me. And I looked at her and thought.
“I love you more than you realize. More that you know.”
Does she know? Will my world stop long enough to make sure she does – today – and not – tomorrow – not until she is - gone.
In an attempt to be less morbid and more real: The fact is that caskets come in all shapes and size. In all stages of life. Death knows no heroes. It is something that will come. Will Come.
My granddaddy…..My sweet granddaddy. I had never seen anyone die before. Not before my eyes. But it was time. He was in the hospital. Emphysema.
“Is it time? Am I going now?” He would say. He was ready – but he wasn’t ready. Are we ever – ready? The nurse came in and told us the day was probably today. I had driven to Kentucky from Nashville for the day –just in case it was my last time. Momma was taking an orange slice and putting it to his mouth to wet his dry lips. So sweetly.
“Just tell him that it’s gonna be ok. Tell him it’s ok to go.” The nurse said.
I was on the outside looking in as I watched my momma love her daddy away to his home. She would stroke his bald head. Swab his mouth. Pat him. Love him.
He would try to breathe. Gasp for breath. Reach for breath. She was holding his hand. “You’ve been a good daddy. We love you. It’s ok, you can go now.”
Another gasp. Another reach. Another breath. “You have fought the good fight. You have finished your race. It’s time to get your crown.”
Gasp. Reach. Breath.
“It’s ok daddy. You can go home now. Go home to be with momma.”
One. More. Gasp. One. Last. Breath.
And he was gone. That’s all he needed to hear. All he needed. I have never experienced such stillness as I did at that - Moment.
Oh, how he loved my grandmother. More than I knew. More than she probably new – until she was gone.
But……I think she knows now.
As I look at my Own reflection - speaking loudly to my Own self I say this: May we tell them now. May we love them boldly. May we forgive just as freely. May we tell them today because we may never get a tomorrow. May that over-the-casket moment be full of peace and anticipation rather than regret and longing. We only get one. L I F E.
May it be full of living. May it be full of love. May it be…..
Monday, June 15, 2009
Tears of Stone
So I was there. Knees on the rock. Kneeling. Covered by the shadow of a white stone cross of sixty feet. Seven times the size of our house. Seven. A giant representation of Sacrifice. Of Humility. Hovering over me like a Father protecting His daughter. Demanding respect – Gently……..Quietly. No one was around – save the deer watching me from the woods. Hands opened. Heart bare. So I was there. And He was there. And we were there – together. I looked up and imagined being at the foot of another cross a very long time ago, on a very different day indeed. I blinked and my spirit saw him there. Imagined. Him there. Hanging. There. Just Me. Just Him. Together. My tears started to blur the image I had created, and it began to rain.
Slowly. But Surely. Soft Rain.
And we were there. Together.
The raindrops blended with my teardrops and we were one. He and I. A girl and her God. And His cross.
You see I go to this place sometimes. It is a secret place. Not so far away from home. But far enough. There is a cross there. A huge hovering powerful mighty majestic cross…..overlooking a beautiful valley. Sunset takes on a different meaning. As does life.
I go there to read and to write and to…..pray. I have gone there for years now. I have prayed there for years now. But, strangely, only at the front of the cross. I would kneel outside of the iron fence surrounding it – about twenty feet out from the cross itself. I was always content to pray there – outside of the fence. Until tonight.
Going on a run at sunset after a long day of working and business plans and budgets and email returning and phone calls. I drove to the little cove where the Cross resides. Beautiful sunset. Beautiful run. As I was running back, I saw the cross upcoming in the distance. Three deer to the side ran away as I approached. I am truly in their world. A spectator. I realized I needed three more minutes to get my time in, so I ran around the path that led behind the cross. A discovery. It’s open! The fence has a giant opening on the backside of the cross and rocky stoned steps leading right up….
To the Foot
Of the Cross
I was not bashful. As I approached it, I was simply humbled. I was glad I was humbled. Soaking it in, I begin to kneel. Not unlike what I often do when I am there. But much different this time. It felt as if I was approaching an old friend I had not seen in a very long time. Looking them in eye after being unable to see their face for ages. I was alone there. Strangely, I am usually alone there, but for some reason I did not feel alone – not alone at all. I was....... Together.
Togetherness is one of the sweetest gifts we are given. It is a warming of the soul. We can go through so much more when we are simply, well, …………not alone. My mind goes back to Congo. I am in front of 50 orphans that ALARM had sponsorsed in Goma. I was amazed at their pain, and I was equally amazed at their strength. I had just met the most traumatized little boy I had ever seen. He was around six. He came into the room and was showered with the gifts ALARM had provided for them. His eyes were as blank as his face. Nothingness. Flat. Somewhere far far away in a land of protection that he had not chosen to go willingly. He had gone there out of protection from a heart so broken and pain so unbearable that he simply could not live in it. So he lived detached from the reality around him. Emotional Survival. I was asked to say a few words to the children. I remember just drawing a blank. I was there, but there was nothing coming out. I looked back at the women I was with and when I turned back around, God provided. I told them that even though they were orphans on earth – they were not alone. That God was their heavenly parent. He was their mother. He was their father. He loved them more than they could ever imagine. I had them look around at each other and see the faces of their brothers and sisters. I asked them to hold hands as we prayed together. I told them that they
Were. Not. Alone.
You see going through hell is one thing, but going through hell holding the hand of someone who is there to comfort you is vastly different. Togetherness – such a sweet gift.
My mind drifted back. I was there, on the fifth step from the top of the steps. Kneeling. Soaking in the shower of rain as a covering.
No, I was not alone at all. He and I. Togetherness. I saw the top of the steps at the very bottom of the cross, and I was drawn to go there. So I did. Looking up and up and up to the top. Imagining the crown he would be wearing. Then looking down and down and down. Imagining the nail he would be bearing. I reached up and touched the cross at the very bottom. I was…..bashful. Touching the cold wet stone of the cross, imaging I was touching the feet of my Savior. A powerful moment to say the least. And all that came out was:
“Thank you…. I just want to Thank You”
And so I did.
The rain became stronger. The thunder louder. My tears heavier. And I simply did not want to leave. Feeling as close to my Lord as I had felt in some time. Together. He and I.
Walking away I looked back and my mind’s eye could still see him there. Looking at Me. Me, Looking at Him. It was as if I was leaving my first love. I was. But I wasn’t. He is my first love – and possibly my last. But, as First Loves go – He will ever be etched in my heart. Whether that be at the foot of a massive white stone cross or in the middle of a room full of orphans. We will and will always be
Together. Forever.
And as I write this Mr. McDonald sings…......
“What a beautiful God.” And so He is.
Slowly. But Surely. Soft Rain.
And we were there. Together.
The raindrops blended with my teardrops and we were one. He and I. A girl and her God. And His cross.
You see I go to this place sometimes. It is a secret place. Not so far away from home. But far enough. There is a cross there. A huge hovering powerful mighty majestic cross…..overlooking a beautiful valley. Sunset takes on a different meaning. As does life.
I go there to read and to write and to…..pray. I have gone there for years now. I have prayed there for years now. But, strangely, only at the front of the cross. I would kneel outside of the iron fence surrounding it – about twenty feet out from the cross itself. I was always content to pray there – outside of the fence. Until tonight.
Going on a run at sunset after a long day of working and business plans and budgets and email returning and phone calls. I drove to the little cove where the Cross resides. Beautiful sunset. Beautiful run. As I was running back, I saw the cross upcoming in the distance. Three deer to the side ran away as I approached. I am truly in their world. A spectator. I realized I needed three more minutes to get my time in, so I ran around the path that led behind the cross. A discovery. It’s open! The fence has a giant opening on the backside of the cross and rocky stoned steps leading right up….
To the Foot
Of the Cross
I was not bashful. As I approached it, I was simply humbled. I was glad I was humbled. Soaking it in, I begin to kneel. Not unlike what I often do when I am there. But much different this time. It felt as if I was approaching an old friend I had not seen in a very long time. Looking them in eye after being unable to see their face for ages. I was alone there. Strangely, I am usually alone there, but for some reason I did not feel alone – not alone at all. I was....... Together.
Togetherness is one of the sweetest gifts we are given. It is a warming of the soul. We can go through so much more when we are simply, well, …………not alone. My mind goes back to Congo. I am in front of 50 orphans that ALARM had sponsorsed in Goma. I was amazed at their pain, and I was equally amazed at their strength. I had just met the most traumatized little boy I had ever seen. He was around six. He came into the room and was showered with the gifts ALARM had provided for them. His eyes were as blank as his face. Nothingness. Flat. Somewhere far far away in a land of protection that he had not chosen to go willingly. He had gone there out of protection from a heart so broken and pain so unbearable that he simply could not live in it. So he lived detached from the reality around him. Emotional Survival. I was asked to say a few words to the children. I remember just drawing a blank. I was there, but there was nothing coming out. I looked back at the women I was with and when I turned back around, God provided. I told them that even though they were orphans on earth – they were not alone. That God was their heavenly parent. He was their mother. He was their father. He loved them more than they could ever imagine. I had them look around at each other and see the faces of their brothers and sisters. I asked them to hold hands as we prayed together. I told them that they
Were. Not. Alone.
You see going through hell is one thing, but going through hell holding the hand of someone who is there to comfort you is vastly different. Togetherness – such a sweet gift.
My mind drifted back. I was there, on the fifth step from the top of the steps. Kneeling. Soaking in the shower of rain as a covering.
No, I was not alone at all. He and I. Togetherness. I saw the top of the steps at the very bottom of the cross, and I was drawn to go there. So I did. Looking up and up and up to the top. Imagining the crown he would be wearing. Then looking down and down and down. Imagining the nail he would be bearing. I reached up and touched the cross at the very bottom. I was…..bashful. Touching the cold wet stone of the cross, imaging I was touching the feet of my Savior. A powerful moment to say the least. And all that came out was:
“Thank you…. I just want to Thank You”
And so I did.
The rain became stronger. The thunder louder. My tears heavier. And I simply did not want to leave. Feeling as close to my Lord as I had felt in some time. Together. He and I.
Walking away I looked back and my mind’s eye could still see him there. Looking at Me. Me, Looking at Him. It was as if I was leaving my first love. I was. But I wasn’t. He is my first love – and possibly my last. But, as First Loves go – He will ever be etched in my heart. Whether that be at the foot of a massive white stone cross or in the middle of a room full of orphans. We will and will always be
Together. Forever.
And as I write this Mr. McDonald sings…......
“What a beautiful God.” And so He is.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Painting Sandcastles
I built a sandcastle today. In My Mind. Have you ever done that? Done things in your mind. Pretending them to be real? It’s a rather lazy way to live, actually. It takes the Doing out of Living and replaces it with Imagination and Shadows that have no real Movement - and no real Pain. But.....If Imagination is the next best thing to Living, then it can’t be all that bad. Some say Imagination is actually Magical. I would agree. Wholeheartedly. Especially when it comes to building sandcastles.
In
Your
Mind
I was lying on the beach. Wind vigorously blowing my hair. Somehow drowning out all sound. Ocean teasing me as the tide came closer and closer. I looked down. Tunneling out all around me as if my eyes were a camera lens zooming in on my fingertips. They began playing with the sand, as if they were not my own.
Rubbing the granules together back and forth in between my fingertips, I drift. My mind takes my back to Santorini, Greece. My Magical Place that I often go to in my mind. There was a beach there. The Red Beach, they called it. Red Sand. Red. You have to climb up and down and across lots of volcanic rock to get to this cove, and then you climb down to actually get to the beach itself. Red. Beach. Surrounded by Volcanic Rock. Dirty. Rugged. Beautiful. Red. Sand.
My Imagination takes me away......there. "THIS cross, beautiful girl! This one is the one for you!" I smile at him, and I agree. That one IS the one for me. "Can I have my picture taken with you? With your cross?" I agree of course.... I was on day seven of backpacking the Greek Islands by myself. 2006. Me and God. A great pair we were back then, I must say. I looked down at the beach and I thought,
You know, I had this sort of vision once of Painting Sandcastles. Not just with paint - but with Gold. Liquid Gold. So many people diligently detailing the sandcastles with their tiny paintbrushes, giving attention to every crevese, delicately placing all jewels in perfect castle edges, blowing away the unneeded sand from the proper places. Proud Looks. Accomplished chests protruding from striving souls. And then she blew. And then it came. And then the teasing was not teasing any longer. In one clean sweep. One turbulous tide. It was......
Gone.
And they were left standing with this befuddled look of "what just happened" on their face. Tiny paintbrushes in hand. Standing on a beautiful Red Beach with a backdrop of towering carved volcanic rock. What was that? It was this:
When Life Meets Forever. That's "What Just Happened". When Life gives way to Forever then all things Living, simply, well.....End. Scary? I would say. When all things things finite meet all things infinite then All Things Forever overshadows All Things Not-Forever. And, well, all the energy we spend into painting Golden, Red, Magical Sandcastles all of a sudden seems.....Meaningless? Under the Sun?
But there are things that are - Forever. What things? Those things that alter the spirit. Those things that mend the heart. Those things that heal the soul. Those things. All things. Forever. Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faith. Hope.....oh, have I said Love? Those things that reach beyond Life and into Forever. Eternal Forever - and the one who created it.
You know why sand is sand? You know what it is really? It is a mixture of Rock and Minerals. Mainly - Quartz. The mineral least likely to be tethered by life's elements.
Seems significant. The mighty strong towers of Africa taught me more than these fingers could ever reveal in words. I remember when we were at our last IDP camp in Congo. The darkest one. The children surrounding us. Nudging in Desire. Desperate in Want. Hungry. Thirsty. Wanting just to Go Home. Crying to GO HOME - literally. Last camp, I will never forget. Most of the children in this camp didn't speak English - but they did know how to beg. I don't fault them at all. If I were born into that camp? I would have been the chief begger. The over-achiever begger. The begger among beggers. But this little boy......this one I will never forget.
All else were wanting money. All else were wanting food. All else were wanting. Something. Some THING. This boy was searching for morsels of a different kind. He came to me as if he was seeking me out. Touched my arm -softly. Looked at me - gently. Broken english he said this:
My eyes drew into his. As if a camera lens zooming in on one thing: His eyes. As if they were not his own.
"In this world of darkness you live in - you are not asking me for food, or drink, or even to go home. You want a bible?" And I had nothing to give him. Save a prayer and a smile and a hug. And a longing to see him in the Forever. One day.
Words I have read all of my life suddenly took on a different meaning. Words of a Savior: "See? ... if you have my living water, you'll never be thirsty again..."
All
Things
Forever
In
Your
Mind
I was lying on the beach. Wind vigorously blowing my hair. Somehow drowning out all sound. Ocean teasing me as the tide came closer and closer. I looked down. Tunneling out all around me as if my eyes were a camera lens zooming in on my fingertips. They began playing with the sand, as if they were not my own.
Rubbing the granules together back and forth in between my fingertips, I drift. My mind takes my back to Santorini, Greece. My Magical Place that I often go to in my mind. There was a beach there. The Red Beach, they called it. Red Sand. Red. You have to climb up and down and across lots of volcanic rock to get to this cove, and then you climb down to actually get to the beach itself. Red. Beach. Surrounded by Volcanic Rock. Dirty. Rugged. Beautiful. Red. Sand.
My Imagination takes me away......there. "THIS cross, beautiful girl! This one is the one for you!" I smile at him, and I agree. That one IS the one for me. "Can I have my picture taken with you? With your cross?" I agree of course.... I was on day seven of backpacking the Greek Islands by myself. 2006. Me and God. A great pair we were back then, I must say. I looked down at the beach and I thought,
"What would it look like to build a sandcastle of Red Sand? A Red Sandcastle"
What would it look like? Purely and Simply - Incredible.
The Sandcastles of all Sandcastles.
You know, I had this sort of vision once of Painting Sandcastles. Not just with paint - but with Gold. Liquid Gold. So many people diligently detailing the sandcastles with their tiny paintbrushes, giving attention to every crevese, delicately placing all jewels in perfect castle edges, blowing away the unneeded sand from the proper places. Proud Looks. Accomplished chests protruding from striving souls. And then she blew. And then it came. And then the teasing was not teasing any longer. In one clean sweep. One turbulous tide. It was......
Gone.
And they were left standing with this befuddled look of "what just happened" on their face. Tiny paintbrushes in hand. Standing on a beautiful Red Beach with a backdrop of towering carved volcanic rock. What was that? It was this:
When Life Meets Forever. That's "What Just Happened". When Life gives way to Forever then all things Living, simply, well.....End. Scary? I would say. When all things things finite meet all things infinite then All Things Forever overshadows All Things Not-Forever. And, well, all the energy we spend into painting Golden, Red, Magical Sandcastles all of a sudden seems.....Meaningless? Under the Sun?
Even if the purest of Time is spent nurturing the most precious of Lives - but does not bleed Love. What does it mean? If we spend our lifetime chasing grand and golden dreams that remove all of the worries of life - but then Life......Ends......... we are faced with the lifelong question from the Beginning of Beginnings:
What Is The Purpose Of Life?
If our purpose of life does not involve something that continues beyond the Living - then can we really call it Purposeful? If the only thing in life that lasts is that which we cannot see, taste, or touch and we put all our energy into mending all things broken on earth - then will it not soon be. washed. away? You See - that Ocean is a killer. It is not Timeless. It is not Forever - and neither are most Sandcastles.... regardless of their Beauty.
But there are things that are - Forever. What things? Those things that alter the spirit. Those things that mend the heart. Those things that heal the soul. Those things. All things. Forever. Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faith. Hope.....oh, have I said Love? Those things that reach beyond Life and into Forever. Eternal Forever - and the one who created it.
All Things Forever: Mending Broken Heartaches, Freeing Bonded Spirits, Feeding Hungry Minds, Warming Frozen Hearts. We spend so much time and energy and money in Curing Diseases, Building Bank Accounts, Washing Dishes - but tend to forget that Forever is Forever -and what happens when Today ends and Forever Begins? And
What would it look like if we put as much energy into those things we could not see as those things we become blinded by?
Ever thought about that? When you feed a child, that which fills their stomach will disappear. Hunger returns. It always does. But if you teach a child how to Hope. Wow. Teach a child how to Hope? It will be their greatest companion on a hungry night. You can give a thirsty man water - but if you teach him about Joy. Man, that's where it's at. Joy can Quench a Tired Spirit long after the water runs out. Straight A's without a Strong Spirit means little when death happens or she is date raped or his masculinity is cut to the core in the locker room. Following through on a beautifully planned ornate wedding day is small in comparison to knowing what it means to stay and fight for a marriage when infatuation gives way to reality. Teach her how to tie her shoe -yes, indeed. But teach her how to Run Life's race with a Tenacity and Strength, and she will be able to run barefoot on Field Day and beat all the boys (ok, ok - maybe one beat me : )
Show them the grandest ways to climb the ladder in the finest of suits - but fail to teach them about the vitality of a relationship with a Savior or the overflowing fulfillment felt when the Created knows the Creator, and you will short change them for Eternity. I wonder....what would happen if we used the gifts and talents that lie within each of us for a better forever? To alter the reflection of a soul by showing them a reflection of a Savior to, possibly, alter a reflection of what Forever will look like - Forever. Can you Imagine?
We Paint Our Sandcastles. Not just paint them. We gold plate them. Spend hours traveling to the Greek Islands to find the Grandest sand in the most Glorious places and build the most Elaborate sandcastles in order to paint them with the Finest of gold and the Rarest of jewels and then -
The Tide Comes. The Teasing Ocean Beckons. And then - Sand gives way to Water. Today becomes Forever -and all things that matter will all of a sudden, well, matter. Greatly. Gloriously. In the Grandest Fashion.
I say all of that to raise this question: Five Words:
Where Does Your Treasure Lie?
You know why sand is sand? You know what it is really? It is a mixture of Rock and Minerals. Mainly - Quartz. The mineral least likely to be tethered by life's elements.
Least likely to be Tethered by Life's elements.
Seems significant. The mighty strong towers of Africa taught me more than these fingers could ever reveal in words. I remember when we were at our last IDP camp in Congo. The darkest one. The children surrounding us. Nudging in Desire. Desperate in Want. Hungry. Thirsty. Wanting just to Go Home. Crying to GO HOME - literally. Last camp, I will never forget. Most of the children in this camp didn't speak English - but they did know how to beg. I don't fault them at all. If I were born into that camp? I would have been the chief begger. The over-achiever begger. The begger among beggers. But this little boy......this one I will never forget.
All else were wanting money. All else were wanting food. All else were wanting. Something. Some THING. This boy was searching for morsels of a different kind. He came to me as if he was seeking me out. Touched my arm -softly. Looked at me - gently. Broken english he said this:
"Bible - A bible. Have a bible. Please?"
My eyes drew into his. As if a camera lens zooming in on one thing: His eyes. As if they were not his own.
"In this world of darkness you live in - you are not asking me for food, or drink, or even to go home. You want a bible?" And I had nothing to give him. Save a prayer and a smile and a hug. And a longing to see him in the Forever. One day.
Words I have read all of my life suddenly took on a different meaning. Words of a Savior: "See? ... if you have my living water, you'll never be thirsty again..."
I built a sandcastle today. A Magical Sandcastle. But it was not made of sand......is was made of three things.
Things
Forever
And I am painting it gold : )
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Silent Space
There is something about Silence. Something peaceful. Something mystical. Something uncomfortable. Something fearful. Something beautiful.
It is Spacious. Full. Empty. Barren. Wonderful. Frightful. Real. A Gaping Hole giving us the priceless opportunity to fill it with Complete Fear or Complete Courage. It can be on the other end of the phone after a question. It can be an empty house that reminds us of our alone-ness. It can be the peaceful wonderful quiet after the storm. Maybe the end of Chaos. Maybe the beginning of a New Day. Those few seconds in the morning after turning off our alarm. Those few minutes at night before drifting off to sleep.
Silence. It is not just the absence of sound. It is the filling of space. It is the question of what you fill it with. It is what you hear when you hear nothing at all. What is it? That you hear?
I went running tonight on the beach. Barefoot. One of my favorite things to do in the world. Sunset......Passing Passer-Byes. Some were alone in their Silence. Walking possibly to "clear their heads." Some were hand in hand with their lover. Maybe mumbling. Maybe laughing. Maybe not. All were....Walking. None were......Still. None. I ran and ran and ran. Soaking in the Silence of the Waves. Watching the Life of the Sun surrender to the Calm of the Moon. As it became darker - as it became calmer - as it became silent.
I wonder - is life not so different? We walk and we journey and we run and we search for those things to fill our Space - our Silence. Why? Because often sitting with it - in it - surrounded by it....is too much to bear. It is the place we come to where we are alone with our thoughts, the sounds of reality - to be or not to be. Our thoughts can be our best friends or our worst enemies.....all dependent upon the Source. I have found that it is one of the most Beautiful places to find and to sit and to refuse - to - move - from: STILLNESS. The time of deepest change. The place of greatest revelation.
Silence. That place we all come to late at night - when the house is empty - when the Space is Great and the Quiet is ferociously Loud and
We
Hear
It
Nothing......... Haivng the choice to either fill the space with one of two things. Really. Cutting it all down.
Him or Us.
It is the place we all come to at some point in our lives when we look deep within the mirror and ask ourselves:
Who Are You? Do You Like What You See? Where Are You Going?
Maybe faced with a decision. Maybe many. And we peer deep into our own eyes into life's mirror. Making a choice - do we look away? Do we grab the Paint of Pretending lying beside of us on the counter to hide. to cover. again? Or do we stand there in our rawness and in our realness and be brave. Be Brave. It takes that. Courage.
Courage to face the reality of ourselves in the mirror. Courage to pick up the phone and make that call. Courage to ask forgiveness to forgive to change to reach out. Asking ourselves those questions....Fearing the answers. Looking deep within, often wanting to look away. We do one of two things:
Fill the Space with our Selves or His Spirit.
Sounds a bit strange to cut it down so shallowly. But there is nothing Shallow about it. We can run or we can hide or we can stand. Running entails escaping. Moving. Walking. Running......much like a jog on the beach. Movement is the greatest escape from Reality. Hiding involves Cowering. Eden's Hedge. Leaves can Cover but they cannot hide. Don't look AT me as you might see THROUGH me. And then there is the choice to Stand. Standing. Sitting. Being. STILL.
Refusing to move, refusing to run, refusing to hide. Committing to Stay.....In.....The....Space. In.......The......Silence....and:
LISTEN.
I have found that it is in that Space that Magical things can happen. It is in that Space that the Wisdom of God shouts the loudest. It is in that space that Courage is nurtured and Change is discovered. It is when we look in the mirror, past our eyes, In. To. His. that answers are found. They may not be pretty or proper or neat or tidy. They will likely be messy and sticky and hard. But The Will Be Real.
Look Deeply. What do you see? Hope. Newness. Discovery.
Touch Softly. What do you feel? Relief. Breath. Calm.
Listen Loudly. What do you hear? Love. Faith................. Crashing Waves.
I am back now. Sand covering my feet. Sweat covering my clothes. Salt covering by skin. Stillness covering my soul.
Silence Covering My Spirit - and He is there. My God. My Faith. My Hope. My Love. Respectfully accepting my invitation to peer back at me in my own mirror. Welcoming my questions. Sitting with me in my Space. That Space that so quickly changes from a place of Fear to place of Anticipation and Discovery......all because of one thing.
The One I invite to Sit With Me.
He......
".... leadeth me, O blessed thought.
O words with heav’nly comfort fraught
Whate’er I do, where’er I be
Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.
He leadeth me, He leadeth me,
By His own hand He leadeth me;
His faithful foll’wer I would be,
For by His hand He leadeth me.
Sometimes ’mid scenes of deepest gloom,
Sometimes where Eden’s bowers bloom,
By waters still, o’er troubled sea,
Still ’tis His hand that leadeth me.
Lord, I would place my hand in Thine,
Nor ever murmur nor repine;
Content, whatever lot I see,
Since ’tis my God that leadeth me.
And when my task on earth is done,
When by Thy grace the vict’ry’s won,
E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee,
Since God through Jordan leadeth me."
Drifting to sleep to the sound of Your Silence and to the Waves of your mighty ocean......
I am -
Yours, b
It is Spacious. Full. Empty. Barren. Wonderful. Frightful. Real. A Gaping Hole giving us the priceless opportunity to fill it with Complete Fear or Complete Courage. It can be on the other end of the phone after a question. It can be an empty house that reminds us of our alone-ness. It can be the peaceful wonderful quiet after the storm. Maybe the end of Chaos. Maybe the beginning of a New Day. Those few seconds in the morning after turning off our alarm. Those few minutes at night before drifting off to sleep.
Silence. It is not just the absence of sound. It is the filling of space. It is the question of what you fill it with. It is what you hear when you hear nothing at all. What is it? That you hear?
I went running tonight on the beach. Barefoot. One of my favorite things to do in the world. Sunset......Passing Passer-Byes. Some were alone in their Silence. Walking possibly to "clear their heads." Some were hand in hand with their lover. Maybe mumbling. Maybe laughing. Maybe not. All were....Walking. None were......Still. None. I ran and ran and ran. Soaking in the Silence of the Waves. Watching the Life of the Sun surrender to the Calm of the Moon. As it became darker - as it became calmer - as it became silent.
I wonder - is life not so different? We walk and we journey and we run and we search for those things to fill our Space - our Silence. Why? Because often sitting with it - in it - surrounded by it....is too much to bear. It is the place we come to where we are alone with our thoughts, the sounds of reality - to be or not to be. Our thoughts can be our best friends or our worst enemies.....all dependent upon the Source. I have found that it is one of the most Beautiful places to find and to sit and to refuse - to - move - from: STILLNESS. The time of deepest change. The place of greatest revelation.
Silence. That place we all come to late at night - when the house is empty - when the Space is Great and the Quiet is ferociously Loud and
We
Hear
It
Nothing......... Haivng the choice to either fill the space with one of two things. Really. Cutting it all down.
Him or Us.
It is the place we all come to at some point in our lives when we look deep within the mirror and ask ourselves:
Who Are You? Do You Like What You See? Where Are You Going?
Maybe faced with a decision. Maybe many. And we peer deep into our own eyes into life's mirror. Making a choice - do we look away? Do we grab the Paint of Pretending lying beside of us on the counter to hide. to cover. again? Or do we stand there in our rawness and in our realness and be brave. Be Brave. It takes that. Courage.
Courage to face the reality of ourselves in the mirror. Courage to pick up the phone and make that call. Courage to ask forgiveness to forgive to change to reach out. Asking ourselves those questions....Fearing the answers. Looking deep within, often wanting to look away. We do one of two things:
Fill the Space with our Selves or His Spirit.
Sounds a bit strange to cut it down so shallowly. But there is nothing Shallow about it. We can run or we can hide or we can stand. Running entails escaping. Moving. Walking. Running......much like a jog on the beach. Movement is the greatest escape from Reality. Hiding involves Cowering. Eden's Hedge. Leaves can Cover but they cannot hide. Don't look AT me as you might see THROUGH me. And then there is the choice to Stand. Standing. Sitting. Being. STILL.
Refusing to move, refusing to run, refusing to hide. Committing to Stay.....In.....The....Space. In.......The......Silence....and:
LISTEN.
I have found that it is in that Space that Magical things can happen. It is in that Space that the Wisdom of God shouts the loudest. It is in that space that Courage is nurtured and Change is discovered. It is when we look in the mirror, past our eyes, In. To. His. that answers are found. They may not be pretty or proper or neat or tidy. They will likely be messy and sticky and hard. But The Will Be Real.
Look Deeply. What do you see? Hope. Newness. Discovery.
Touch Softly. What do you feel? Relief. Breath. Calm.
Listen Loudly. What do you hear? Love. Faith................. Crashing Waves.
I am back now. Sand covering my feet. Sweat covering my clothes. Salt covering by skin. Stillness covering my soul.
Silence Covering My Spirit - and He is there. My God. My Faith. My Hope. My Love. Respectfully accepting my invitation to peer back at me in my own mirror. Welcoming my questions. Sitting with me in my Space. That Space that so quickly changes from a place of Fear to place of Anticipation and Discovery......all because of one thing.
The One I invite to Sit With Me.
He......
".... leadeth me, O blessed thought.
O words with heav’nly comfort fraught
Whate’er I do, where’er I be
Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.
He leadeth me, He leadeth me,
By His own hand He leadeth me;
His faithful foll’wer I would be,
For by His hand He leadeth me.
Sometimes ’mid scenes of deepest gloom,
Sometimes where Eden’s bowers bloom,
By waters still, o’er troubled sea,
Still ’tis His hand that leadeth me.
Lord, I would place my hand in Thine,
Nor ever murmur nor repine;
Content, whatever lot I see,
Since ’tis my God that leadeth me.
And when my task on earth is done,
When by Thy grace the vict’ry’s won,
E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee,
Since God through Jordan leadeth me."
Drifting to sleep to the sound of Your Silence and to the Waves of your mighty ocean......
I am -
Yours, b
Friday, May 1, 2009
The Look.
There are many looks in an airport. Many. The look you get when you sit down on the weight machine at the counter and hold your legs up just to see how accurate it is. The look you get when you break the hook of your sandals and have to carry them in your hand through the airport as you walk barefoot. The look you get when you are sitting outside by the curb on your luggage with your mac in your lap at "Vehicle Shuttle Number A-44" because you just can't wait until you get to the hotel to write down what's in your heart. Yeah - like now.
But THIS look. This look is the Ultimate. You know the one I'm talking about. You get off of the plane, walk past the restaurants, down the escalator, and through the doors of security....and there they stand. The Waiting. The ones who are holding Love in their hands: Flowers, Signs, Presents. They look past you. They look longingly. They look deeply. Even desperately at times. I saw it tonight. The Look.
My sandal strap broke coming off of the plane. No worries. I prefer barefoot over shoes anyday. Reach down. Pick them up and walk, unaware, to the shuttle. Barefoot. Out the doors. Down the Hallway. And I hear.
“There he is. Look, honey, it’s uncle Ray!” I see him on the other side of the wall. Trying to play hide and seek through the clear glass between them. Laughter. Sweet Laughter. His look? One of adoration. The look of "how fast can you get over here so I can give you a hug I've been storing up for weeks now - maybe months." Of course, I think of my own nieces and nephew. I smile. Look down. Look up. And....
Then I pass her. She is oblivious to all else around her except his eyes. She is searching and searching and desperately searching to see, to find, to meet his eyes. She has a look. As if in a maze, her eyes are darting to find the one pair that is the perfect pair. His. And she does. Her smile at that moment? I wouldn’t even attempt to do it justice with letters or words. I look at her. I look down, and I smile. If there is one thing I enjoy soaking in - it is the other side of love. There is a beauty of singleness. There is a bitterness. There is a sweetness. A sweetness of witnessing it as an invisible shadow on the outside looking in. Kinda like watching a movie. But its not – a movie.
And I walk on. Turning the corner. I see him. He is there neslted in a corner waiting as if a bird upon a branch perching in search of…..in search of….Her. He is cradling a cheap vase of flowers that he's obviously and proudly put together himself. Two peach roses. A little greenery. A bit of baby’s breath. And it is perfect. He is nervous. Looking down. Looking up. Looking around. Looking. In. Search. Of. Her. The Look.
And then there is me. On my way to spend a few days with the Lord. Just me and Him and the Sun and the Stars and the Look. I LOOK...... Actually at the moment, I SIT - outside by the curb on my luggage with my mac in my lap at "Vehicle Shuttle Number A-44" because I just can't wait until I get to the hotel to write down what's in my heart.
And that is?
A Look. THE Look. The Look of searching, crying, almost frantically grasping for His Eyes. In Search of Self. In Search of Him. I speak often of the things that come out of my mouth in session. Much of the time I am writing them down after they escape my lips. Why? They are not of me or from me. But they are About me - and you - and them. A few days ago it was this:
"The birthright of kinship that we were given when we were simply created by the King of the Universe and the Savior of the World gives us more worth than a lifetime of striving to prove ourselves could ever touch"
So I am - here. Now in the side room of the lobby of Quality Inn and my mind retreats back to her look. Her frantic, eye-darting, where-are-you-oh-my-love look. And I wonder.......Do I search for Him with such frenzy? Should we?
Wether it is for Him or for Something - we are all searching. These next few days....It is His Eyes. I had a friend tell me something amazing once. Life Changing for me. I asked him how he got through such difficult times? How did he keep such sanity and groundedness in the middle of a world-rocking experience. He said this:
"I Never Look Away From His Eyes."
He went on to explain that during the heartache, pain, chaos, angst, depression, Great Sadness, and despair, he would close his eyes and picture himself looking into the eyes of the Lord - refusing to look away. Distractions were not an option. Sidetracking not available. He and His Maker - His Strength - His Power. He would not look away.
So I sit practically in the dark. My room around the corner. In preparation for about 36 hours of phone-less, prayer-full, Word-filled, Spirit-led time with me and my God - and I pray that the Look in my eye in Search of the deep places of my Soul are as hungry for His Love as were those looks that I passed tonight.
Love. Adoration. Anticipation. Longing.
All of these things I pray for Father. All of these things I wish to find. In your eyes - alone. Looking at you. Looking at me. Looking ahead to what is to come. Looking. Seeing. Hoping.
As if I have entered your Holy of Holies. Humbly, I come. Humbly, I bow. Humbly, I search......for......your....eyes. Flowers in Hand, Peering behind a Glass Wall, Eye-darting desperateness -
I am,
Yours, b
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I took a picture with my eyes.
I took a picture with my eyes today. Framed in my mind. Tucked away in my soul. It was my daddy.
Looking out of my windshield at him looking back at me with teary eyes.
"Love you Boog. More than you know........." He paused. "You're a part Of me."
He stood there with a water sprayer in his hand in preparation to wash off the dogwood blossoms from the hood of my jeep. They had fallen on it from the wind of the spring rain.
"The petals will stain if we don't get them off."
I had my hand on the handle of my open door in preparation to leave. Back to Nashville.
"I love you too daddy......You're a part of me too"
I often say that one of the best gifts my daddy gave me was his tears. One of many. Strong Men Cry. Mighty Men. Men who aren't afraid to feel. Courageous. He taught me not to fear my tears - and I don't. They come freely as of late.
I closed my door and watched him spray off the white blossoms. Giving attention to get every one - rarely giving attention to Anything except maybe where to shoot the buck or the turkey standing in front of him. Apple doesn't fall far......
I watched him in his gentle strength. He is not an overly successful business man - though he has run a business. He is not a world-renowned speaker - though he has Shepherded many churches. He is not a wealthy man -though his wisdom is among great riches. He is........a man.......of God. And in so many ways he has taught me to be a Godly woman. Failing so often along the way.
His deed was done and he looked at me through the windshield - spraying my face as close as he could between water and glass. And he smiled. And I smiled back. I brought my fingers to my lips and kissed them.....waving goodbye. He waved back. Still smiling.
I drive away knowing that there will come a day when my only memories of him will be the ones that I have taken with my eyes and framed in my mind and tucked away in my soul - much like my Heavenly Father. Not so far away.
Unable to touch Him or hug Him or even meet Him with my eyes. And I wonder if he would say much different that what I heard today. If God had a chance to speak words to my ears -
"I love you, Boog. More than you know.......
You are a part Of me."
And I am. And He is.
My daddy taught me that. A gift. One of many.
Looking out of my windshield at him looking back at me with teary eyes.
"Love you Boog. More than you know........." He paused. "You're a part Of me."
He stood there with a water sprayer in his hand in preparation to wash off the dogwood blossoms from the hood of my jeep. They had fallen on it from the wind of the spring rain.
"The petals will stain if we don't get them off."
I had my hand on the handle of my open door in preparation to leave. Back to Nashville.
"I love you too daddy......You're a part of me too"
I often say that one of the best gifts my daddy gave me was his tears. One of many. Strong Men Cry. Mighty Men. Men who aren't afraid to feel. Courageous. He taught me not to fear my tears - and I don't. They come freely as of late.
I closed my door and watched him spray off the white blossoms. Giving attention to get every one - rarely giving attention to Anything except maybe where to shoot the buck or the turkey standing in front of him. Apple doesn't fall far......
I watched him in his gentle strength. He is not an overly successful business man - though he has run a business. He is not a world-renowned speaker - though he has Shepherded many churches. He is not a wealthy man -though his wisdom is among great riches. He is........a man.......of God. And in so many ways he has taught me to be a Godly woman. Failing so often along the way.
His deed was done and he looked at me through the windshield - spraying my face as close as he could between water and glass. And he smiled. And I smiled back. I brought my fingers to my lips and kissed them.....waving goodbye. He waved back. Still smiling.
I drive away knowing that there will come a day when my only memories of him will be the ones that I have taken with my eyes and framed in my mind and tucked away in my soul - much like my Heavenly Father. Not so far away.
Unable to touch Him or hug Him or even meet Him with my eyes. And I wonder if he would say much different that what I heard today. If God had a chance to speak words to my ears -
"I love you, Boog. More than you know.......
You are a part Of me."
And I am. And He is.
My daddy taught me that. A gift. One of many.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Returning to Life
It is morning. Early morning. Dark actually. Eyes open. Unable to move. Bound by wrappings so tightly that the body seems as one piece of flesh. Senses come to life. The smell of spices, myrrh, and aloe is overtaking. Breath......Deep Breath. And then a smile. Freedom.
This is it. Words spoken for centuries coming to pass. Life.After.Death. The air smells sweeter, the senses more alive, touch is - well, odd, actually. A bit numb. Hands.....Feet.....sore and aching. But it matters not - home is a few days away.
He rises....He Rises. Resurrection. What does it mean - really? It means this: The act of rising from the dead or returning to life. The state of one who has returned to life.
There is something about Returning. Renewal. Something about Newness. Freshness. Second chances. Second lives. This meaning (among so many others) is what this day represents to me. Some say that we all have second chances.....we just have to know when to take them. The problem is - we often don't take them. Maybe because we don't think we deserve them. Maybe because we don't think it will be any different this time. Maybe because we feel - bound. Tied up. Sealed in a cave - stone in place. In bondage. But are we? Really?
If we are surrounded by pure oxygen, but we refuse to breathe - will we not suffocate?
If we are immersed in rainbows, but we never open our eyes - will we not forever live in darkness?
If we are saturated by the grace of the cross..... if we are clothed in the newness of mercy..... if we are surrounded with millions of keys, all of which fit the door to unlock a second, seventh, and seventy-seven chance, but we refuse to reach down and pick them up - will we not live in a barren frozen mummified cave forever?
He is there. I promise. p r o m i s e. He is on the other side of the door. Cave open. Stone rolled away. We have the choice: Lay as dead men....imprisoned in our own rags of self bound shame and hopelessness OR we can lean over and pick up a key, walk out of a dark cave, or take an outstretched scared hand. Sharing in His resurrection: Returning to a life of truly living. We were not created to exist. We were created to live. If we are not truly living then we are existing, and if we are only existing then we are truly dead.
It's worth it. I promise. P R O M I S E.
So today. On an Easter Sunday. May we Rise Up And.....Walk....Run...Dance. Twirling in a newness of repentance. Of all things new - new way of thinking, new way of living, new way of being. N E W.
A L L T H I N G S N E W......
So reach with me for the key. Take that first step out of the cave. The opening may be a little tricky. The light blinding at first. The other side a little scary - but you won't be walking out alone. Especially not today. Not today : )
Much Love to All -
Happy Easter.
b
This is it. Words spoken for centuries coming to pass. Life.After.Death. The air smells sweeter, the senses more alive, touch is - well, odd, actually. A bit numb. Hands.....Feet.....sore and aching. But it matters not - home is a few days away.
He rises....He Rises. Resurrection. What does it mean - really? It means this: The act of rising from the dead or returning to life. The state of one who has returned to life.
There is something about Returning. Renewal. Something about Newness. Freshness. Second chances. Second lives. This meaning (among so many others) is what this day represents to me. Some say that we all have second chances.....we just have to know when to take them. The problem is - we often don't take them. Maybe because we don't think we deserve them. Maybe because we don't think it will be any different this time. Maybe because we feel - bound. Tied up. Sealed in a cave - stone in place. In bondage. But are we? Really?
If we are surrounded by pure oxygen, but we refuse to breathe - will we not suffocate?
If we are immersed in rainbows, but we never open our eyes - will we not forever live in darkness?
If we are saturated by the grace of the cross..... if we are clothed in the newness of mercy..... if we are surrounded with millions of keys, all of which fit the door to unlock a second, seventh, and seventy-seven chance, but we refuse to reach down and pick them up - will we not live in a barren frozen mummified cave forever?
He is there. I promise. p r o m i s e. He is on the other side of the door. Cave open. Stone rolled away. We have the choice: Lay as dead men....imprisoned in our own rags of self bound shame and hopelessness OR we can lean over and pick up a key, walk out of a dark cave, or take an outstretched scared hand. Sharing in His resurrection: Returning to a life of truly living. We were not created to exist. We were created to live. If we are not truly living then we are existing, and if we are only existing then we are truly dead.
It's worth it. I promise. P R O M I S E.
So today. On an Easter Sunday. May we Rise Up And.....Walk....Run...Dance. Twirling in a newness of repentance. Of all things new - new way of thinking, new way of living, new way of being. N E W.
A L L T H I N G S N E W......
So reach with me for the key. Take that first step out of the cave. The opening may be a little tricky. The light blinding at first. The other side a little scary - but you won't be walking out alone. Especially not today. Not today : )
Much Love to All -
Happy Easter.
b
Thursday, April 9, 2009
F A L L
A nail around my neck. A bead around my wrist. A tear in my eye. A pen in my hand. I sit. Looking at a flameless fireplace - the taste of Grey on my tongue - surrounded by an empty hearth. Submerged by a chair of purple velvet... and I listen
"Love is a poor man's fool." He says. Do I believe him?
mmmmmmmmmmmmmm I think not.
What is my life should I not loose it and what is being found should I never fell lost?
And what is lost?
What is lost?
It amazes me to watch how we attempt to fill in the blanks in our lives - in the search for a significance for which we were never intended. I wonder what would happen if we just sat in our own insignificance....letting HIM BE our significance. Embracing our inadequacy instead of fighting against it. Allowing Him to finally make us whole. He Alone.
Some of the most beautiful carvings of my soul - the most painful - were created when I was lost. When I was immersed in my own insignificance, depending more on Him for my soul's value.
And slowly the light began to fade in, slowly. My spiritual eyes adjusted, slowly. And, slowly, I became found. Not because I was ever lost - not really.
Can you be lost when someone always knows where you are?
You can Feel lost - in the depths of your core you can feel lost. But are you......really? Maybe its not that we are lost - maybe it's just that we can't see we have already been found.
Maybe we are just blind.
Remove our scales, Lord - may they fall from our eyes as leaves from your Tree of Life. In the colors of Fall. By the sweetest breeze of your lips. Carried by the grandest wind.
May they fall. And may we....
Fall.
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