It seems to me that this year has been far too full of crisis. The family has vaccillated between medical emergencies and financial emergencies, sometimes throwing in both at once for good measure. Less than a year after our last move, we are considering moving yet again. Some days, I feel like a puppet being jounced about on a string. People, governments, and circumstances outside of my control seem to be running the show, and it's really, really scary!
But that's only a 'seems like'- and seemings are nothing!
Here is the reality:
Psalm 18:28,30-36
"You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light." " As for God, His way is perfect; the word of the Lord is flawless. He is a shield for all who take refuge in him. For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God? It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he enables me to stand on the heights. He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze. You give me your shield of victory and your right hand sustains me; you stoop down and make me great. You broaden the path beneath me, so that my ankles do not turn."
Psalm 31:8-9a
"You have not handed me over to the enemy but have set my feet in a spacious place. Be merciful to me, O Lord, for I am in distress;..."
Psalm 33:9-11, 13-22
"For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded and it stood firm. The Lord foils the plans of the nations; he thwarts the purposes of the peoples. But the plans of the Lord stand firm forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations." "From heaven the Lord looks down and sees all mankind; from his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth- he who forms the hearts of all, who considers everything they do. No king is saved by the size of his army; no warrior escapes by his great strength. A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength it cannot save. But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love, to deliver them from death and famine.
We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name. May your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord, even as we put our hope in you."
Have I put my hope in Him?
If I have, is there any earthly reason to give stress and worry a foothold in my life? Faith doesn't say "LORD???? What are you THINKING??? How could you let these things happen to us? Where is this going? Why? Why? Why?" Amy Carmichael summed it up neatly: "Faith never questions why."
Faith is not fearful, nor resentful, nor rebellious.
Sometimes it appears to me that the world is a total mess. Completely crazy, completely rotten. Out of control.
And we DO live in a fallen world, full of messed up people doing messed up things and making stupid decisions. But NEVER out of control! He who 'forms the hearts of all' and 'considers everything they do' is Sovereign. All things are working together for His glory. He is the Deliverer, and His love is unfailing.
It's just that sometimes, deliverance seems far away, or, when it comes, is nothing like my expectations. Oswald Chambers wrote:
"The things that happen do not happen by chance- they happen entirely by the decree of God. God is sovereignly working out His own purposes. If we are in fellowship and oneness wih God... we will no longer strive to find out what His purposes are. As we grow in the Christian life... we are less inclined to say, "I wonder why God allowed this or that?" And we begin to see that the compelling purpose of God lies behind everything in life, and that God is divinely shaping us into oneness with that purpose. A Christian is someone who trusts in the knowledge and wisdom of God, not in his own abilities."
It's true- but sometimes I forget, or at least, drift away. Then I find myself where I was this morning- drooping Mondayishly in math class, battling the throbbing beginnings of yet another headache, and scribbling sub-par poetry in the margins of my notebook.
Here is this morning's effort:
'Time placed a chain of silence on my tongue
Binding my weary thoughts with rings of steel;
A weight of leaden armoring which hung
Massive and grim, too dense to fear or feel
beyond- Tomorrows writhed throughout the cell-
Whose heavy doors shut out the clear Today;
Only three scattered bars of sunlight fell
From miles above, to waver, not to stay.
Dizzy, I heard the rushing far below
Of angry waters- ringing in my ears
Came doubt, and pain; futility also-
The torrents grew, and were the roar of years.
My God- I cannot see beyond this wall
The window, too, is high and out of sight.
No key of mine can turn the lock at all
No flame of mine could penetrate this night..."
Here, I stopped, wondering dully what I was trying to say- and suddenly realized that I did not need to find an ending for my poem, because Amy Carmichael has written it already:
But "...a light shined in the cell.
----And there was not any wall
----And there was no dark at all
----Only Thou, Emannuel!"
There IS not any wall! Nor is there any darkness! Nor is there any prison of Despair, save in my own fevered brain. There is only Him.
My friend and teaching partner, Maggie, shared this with me yesterday:
"Our anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, but only empties today of its strength.” - Charles H. Spurgeon
Do fear and worry accomplish anything? If they are, as they were this morning and last night, undermining my confidence in God rather that driving me to Him for comfort, they are destructive, and should have no place in my life. We can say with the Psalmist 'my times are in Your hands' because He is ABLE to keep our 'times'- our dreams and our tomorrows.
So, contrary to the ferment of 'what if...' and 'it seems like...' thoughts attacking our brains, we should maintain this attitude:
"I have set the Lord always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure." (Psalm 16:8-9)
And may 'the God of peace' give us His peace!
Amen.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
If this is love...
She stood in the doorway, fingers rattling nervously over the keys of her phone as she typed a text message, face tense, a few mascara streaked tears wandering down the soft brown of her cheek. She wasn't talking to me, but to her best friend who was in the other room.
"I just don't get it", the girl choked. "It didn't used to be this way with him and me. I never thought this would happen to us."
I'd never seen her so subdued. The girl talking is one of my suitemates- her best friend is the other. Usually, Kiki is brazen, brassy, carefree- impossible to embarrass or disconcert. She laughs at things which would offend or grieve anyone else- I would have said that NOTHING was sacred to her- yet here she was, weeping all over her carefully applied makeup, convulsively toying with her phone, arms folded as though to shield herself from hurt- or to hide a wound. Maybe the coarseness, the shrillness are a front- a bold face against all the inexplicable terror and cruelty of life? Perhaps that hardened exterior is really a protective shell enfolding a sensitivity I was too dull to guess at? Perhaps...
Do we ever really know anyone? Even the people we live with?
But she was still standing there, stammering out through pauses a rather hysterical jumble about the issues she is having with her boyfriend. Then, at the end, as I was leaving for class, she said something that I don't think I'll ever forget.
"Love aint s'posed to be like this. He say he love me. Well, I say, if this is love, I DON'T WANT IT!"
And something in me, which had been hard and unforgiving towards them both, melted in a rush of anguished pity. I longed to jump into the conversation and tell her all that was burning in my heart. But, instead, afraid of 'meddling', afraid of 'offending', afraid of being rejected yet again, I walked out the door, and off to class. I don't know quite what else I could have done, and yet, there is so much which I desperately wanted to say to her at that moment. I don't know if I even have words for the feeling, but I will write it here:
" 'If this is love...', you said. Do you know what love is? Have you ever felt it? Ever seen it? You know about shootings. About abuse. About discrimination and betrayal, about drug dealing, and streets where no grass grows, and skies without stars. But love- love? Do you know about that? Would you even recognise it if you saw it?
'If this is love...' But, oh, Kierra, Kierra, that isn't. I don't know what's gone wrong for you, I don't know why you're upset, but I can tell you that what you're describing isn't love. Not that I'm an expert- and yet, I KNOW Love- and He is nothing like that. May I, can I show you what LOVE has to say for Himself?
Exodus 24:6 '...The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin.'
1 Chronicles 16:34 'Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.'
2 Corinthians 13:11 '...And the God of love and peace will be with you.'
1John 4:8 'God IS love'
So who is Love? HE is love!
But WHAT is love?
'This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us....' (1 John 3:16)
'Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.' (John 15:13)
'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails... (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)
'...Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up....' (1 Corinthians 8:1)
Kierra, does that sound like any 'love' you have ever experienced before? I know I'VE never received it, not from the dearest people in the world- but it overflows from Him! It's His nature, His identity!
Maybe you don't think you deserve it, and of course you don't. No more do I. Yet, still, He gives anyway, and gives, and gives!
'THIS is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.' (John 4:10)
'But God demonstrates his own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.'
'If this is love...' you said. If you had any idea what love is, and where it comes from, such a statement would be ridiculous. Perhaps what you're embroiled in is 'romance'. It might be 'relationship', or 'admiration', even 'friendship' after a fashion, but love? No! Never!
Of course, romance, admiration, and friendships can be remarkably pleasant. You know that as well as anyone. They have ups and downs, though- sometimes, even fall completely apart! Where do you go then? What can you cling to? Who stays near you?
There is a verse in my Bible, marked with a date, and with the still stinging memory of heartbroken tears:
Isaiah 54: 10 'Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you.'
I read that verse now, and I cannot fathom what it was to me at the moment I marked it, and held onto it for dear life. I remember the confidence that swept over me- that the things happening all around, and the things that MIGHT happen, and all the millions of things I don't understand were NOTHING in the face of His unfailing love, and His covenant of peace, and His compassion for me- for my weakness and brokenness, nearsightedness and confusion!
Do you really want to replace the overwhelming peace and comfort of that passage with the temporary 'fix' of a movie or a new dress?
Do you have anything better?
Hosea 6:3-7 'Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth. What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you Judah? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears...I desire mercy [Hebrew 'hesed': right conduct, loyalty.], not sacrifice, and acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings. Like Adam, they have broken the covenant- they were unfaithful to me...'
'If this is love...' But of course, it isn't. A shadow, perhaps. A cheap imitation, at best. It won't ever satisfy you. Won't sustain you. Won't last. His love- the love of the one Who IS love- is entirely different.
The best we have to give of ourselves, either to God, or to the people around us is love that is like the morning mist- which trembles into nothing at a ray of sun or a breath of wind- like dew that is vanishing almost before it is fallen.
That is not the kind of love He is offering you. That is not the kind of love you are hungry for.
Proverbs 19:6 says: 'What a man desires is unfailing love...'
And Psalm 33:5 assures us: 'The Lord loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of his unfailing love.'
Amy Carmichael once wrote:
"It is a safe thing to trust Him to fulfill the desires which He creates."
Do you think the Creator could not know that His creatures desire unfailing love, and cannot be content with less? Do you think He expects that beings created for eternity could settle for love that does not endure forever also?
Nothing of the sort is true. He has given us a gnawing hunger for His kind of love- for the love that only He can give. And He WILL give it, if only you will let Him!
He doesn't want you to go through the motions, to make more effort, to clean up your life. He isn't primarily concerned with your cigarettes, or cussing, or promiscuity. Because you could turn your back on all of that, and still it would mean nothing at all. We've all failed Him, from Adam on down. We've turned our backs on love, TRUE love, even while we were crying out for it, frantically trying to fill up the void.
Kierra, He wants YOU- your heart- pitiful, corroded as it is! Holiness- sanctification- those follow. They're terribly important. But it's not the point. You, your goodness, your badness, are irrelevant. You'll never be good enough to win His approval. You'll never be bad enough to forfeit His love. God isn't primarily concerned with the language you use, or the drugs you put in your body, or who you're sleeping with. Because, until your heart has been opened to a deep, consuming, operative faith in Christ and His atonement, it's irrelevant! He doesn't WANT you to 'clean up your act', or 'get your life back on track'. He wants you to fall before Him, broken, and let HIM do what needs to be done.
And that is love- the continuous pattern of our brokenness, and His redemption.
Are you very, very sure that you don't want it? Anything else will leave you here, right where you started, weeping in anger and disillusionment; forever nursing wounded affections and wounded pride. And that's a pretty miserabe place to dwell in.
So, '...Let us press on to acknowledge Him...'
And someday, I hope you will say to Him:
'Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its ardor unyielding as the grave. It burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.'(SS 8:6-7)
THAT is Love.
'...I pray that you... may have power... to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge- that you... may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.' (Ephesians 3:17-19)
"I just don't get it", the girl choked. "It didn't used to be this way with him and me. I never thought this would happen to us."
I'd never seen her so subdued. The girl talking is one of my suitemates- her best friend is the other. Usually, Kiki is brazen, brassy, carefree- impossible to embarrass or disconcert. She laughs at things which would offend or grieve anyone else- I would have said that NOTHING was sacred to her- yet here she was, weeping all over her carefully applied makeup, convulsively toying with her phone, arms folded as though to shield herself from hurt- or to hide a wound. Maybe the coarseness, the shrillness are a front- a bold face against all the inexplicable terror and cruelty of life? Perhaps that hardened exterior is really a protective shell enfolding a sensitivity I was too dull to guess at? Perhaps...
Do we ever really know anyone? Even the people we live with?
But she was still standing there, stammering out through pauses a rather hysterical jumble about the issues she is having with her boyfriend. Then, at the end, as I was leaving for class, she said something that I don't think I'll ever forget.
"Love aint s'posed to be like this. He say he love me. Well, I say, if this is love, I DON'T WANT IT!"
And something in me, which had been hard and unforgiving towards them both, melted in a rush of anguished pity. I longed to jump into the conversation and tell her all that was burning in my heart. But, instead, afraid of 'meddling', afraid of 'offending', afraid of being rejected yet again, I walked out the door, and off to class. I don't know quite what else I could have done, and yet, there is so much which I desperately wanted to say to her at that moment. I don't know if I even have words for the feeling, but I will write it here:
" 'If this is love...', you said. Do you know what love is? Have you ever felt it? Ever seen it? You know about shootings. About abuse. About discrimination and betrayal, about drug dealing, and streets where no grass grows, and skies without stars. But love- love? Do you know about that? Would you even recognise it if you saw it?
'If this is love...' But, oh, Kierra, Kierra, that isn't. I don't know what's gone wrong for you, I don't know why you're upset, but I can tell you that what you're describing isn't love. Not that I'm an expert- and yet, I KNOW Love- and He is nothing like that. May I, can I show you what LOVE has to say for Himself?
Exodus 24:6 '...The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin.'
1 Chronicles 16:34 'Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.'
2 Corinthians 13:11 '...And the God of love and peace will be with you.'
1John 4:8 'God IS love'
So who is Love? HE is love!
But WHAT is love?
'This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us....' (1 John 3:16)
'Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.' (John 15:13)
'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails... (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)
'...Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up....' (1 Corinthians 8:1)
Kierra, does that sound like any 'love' you have ever experienced before? I know I'VE never received it, not from the dearest people in the world- but it overflows from Him! It's His nature, His identity!
Maybe you don't think you deserve it, and of course you don't. No more do I. Yet, still, He gives anyway, and gives, and gives!
'THIS is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.' (John 4:10)
'But God demonstrates his own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.'
'If this is love...' you said. If you had any idea what love is, and where it comes from, such a statement would be ridiculous. Perhaps what you're embroiled in is 'romance'. It might be 'relationship', or 'admiration', even 'friendship' after a fashion, but love? No! Never!
Of course, romance, admiration, and friendships can be remarkably pleasant. You know that as well as anyone. They have ups and downs, though- sometimes, even fall completely apart! Where do you go then? What can you cling to? Who stays near you?
There is a verse in my Bible, marked with a date, and with the still stinging memory of heartbroken tears:
Isaiah 54: 10 'Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you.'
I read that verse now, and I cannot fathom what it was to me at the moment I marked it, and held onto it for dear life. I remember the confidence that swept over me- that the things happening all around, and the things that MIGHT happen, and all the millions of things I don't understand were NOTHING in the face of His unfailing love, and His covenant of peace, and His compassion for me- for my weakness and brokenness, nearsightedness and confusion!
Do you really want to replace the overwhelming peace and comfort of that passage with the temporary 'fix' of a movie or a new dress?
Do you have anything better?
Hosea 6:3-7 'Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth. What can I do with you, Ephraim? What can I do with you Judah? Your love is like the morning mist, like the early dew that disappears...I desire mercy [Hebrew 'hesed': right conduct, loyalty.], not sacrifice, and acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings. Like Adam, they have broken the covenant- they were unfaithful to me...'
'If this is love...' But of course, it isn't. A shadow, perhaps. A cheap imitation, at best. It won't ever satisfy you. Won't sustain you. Won't last. His love- the love of the one Who IS love- is entirely different.
The best we have to give of ourselves, either to God, or to the people around us is love that is like the morning mist- which trembles into nothing at a ray of sun or a breath of wind- like dew that is vanishing almost before it is fallen.
That is not the kind of love He is offering you. That is not the kind of love you are hungry for.
Proverbs 19:6 says: 'What a man desires is unfailing love...'
And Psalm 33:5 assures us: 'The Lord loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of his unfailing love.'
Amy Carmichael once wrote:
"It is a safe thing to trust Him to fulfill the desires which He creates."
Do you think the Creator could not know that His creatures desire unfailing love, and cannot be content with less? Do you think He expects that beings created for eternity could settle for love that does not endure forever also?
Nothing of the sort is true. He has given us a gnawing hunger for His kind of love- for the love that only He can give. And He WILL give it, if only you will let Him!
He doesn't want you to go through the motions, to make more effort, to clean up your life. He isn't primarily concerned with your cigarettes, or cussing, or promiscuity. Because you could turn your back on all of that, and still it would mean nothing at all. We've all failed Him, from Adam on down. We've turned our backs on love, TRUE love, even while we were crying out for it, frantically trying to fill up the void.
Kierra, He wants YOU- your heart- pitiful, corroded as it is! Holiness- sanctification- those follow. They're terribly important. But it's not the point. You, your goodness, your badness, are irrelevant. You'll never be good enough to win His approval. You'll never be bad enough to forfeit His love. God isn't primarily concerned with the language you use, or the drugs you put in your body, or who you're sleeping with. Because, until your heart has been opened to a deep, consuming, operative faith in Christ and His atonement, it's irrelevant! He doesn't WANT you to 'clean up your act', or 'get your life back on track'. He wants you to fall before Him, broken, and let HIM do what needs to be done.
And that is love- the continuous pattern of our brokenness, and His redemption.
Are you very, very sure that you don't want it? Anything else will leave you here, right where you started, weeping in anger and disillusionment; forever nursing wounded affections and wounded pride. And that's a pretty miserabe place to dwell in.
So, '...Let us press on to acknowledge Him...'
And someday, I hope you will say to Him:
'Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its ardor unyielding as the grave. It burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.'(SS 8:6-7)
THAT is Love.
'...I pray that you... may have power... to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge- that you... may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.' (Ephesians 3:17-19)
Friday, March 12, 2010
Daisy Chains
"No calamity so touches the common heart of humanity as does the straying of a little child. Their feet are so uncertain and feeble; the ways are so steep and strange." -William Sydney Porter
I guess a lot of people would think it odd that I spent three hours today browsing through the children's section of our University Library.(or, perhaps, as I do, think it odd that a University has a children's section at all! :-) )
I KNOW that a lot of people thought it odd, because I got some extremely strange looks from students at tables, and even passers by. Personally, I maintain that, considering the general eccentricity of your average college student, they should not begrudge me a few hours with Child and Young Adult literature during the peak of mid-term frenzy.
But, be that as it may, to put the concerns of these narrow-minded folk at rest, I will hasten to explain that my hours with Amelia Bedelia, and Bill Peet, and a staggering selection of 'folk tales from around the world', etcetera were for the purpose of completing a mid-term in my TESOL class- I was hunting down read aloud fodder for my 22 imaginary second graders, in order to finish designing a lesson plan on Critical Thinking and Reading strategies.
So, I see nothing to peculiar in the fact that I spent my afternoon with children's books, in the library. Nor in the fact that I enjoyed it. But, even I have to confess that there is something a bit unusual in the fact that a large portion of this time was spent curled up between two aisles of books crying.
There is a certain, rather morbid class of books which people are always writing for children, which probably has some technical name of which I am unaware. Were I going to name it, I think I would title this genre something lke 'A Child's Garden of Coping Strategies'. Maybe you have never seen these books? I will try to explain.
I encountered them for the first time at the age of or seven or eight, in the Lee's Summit library, where I was wandering about after a reading program.
As I crawled blissfully from shelf to shelf, a title caught my eye. I pulled the book out, and began to thumb through it. I was riveted, with a sort of shocked fascination. It was horrible! All about a little girl whose parents fight, and then get divorced, and how she has to live traveling between two houses. Of course I knew, in a sort of vague, theoretical way, what divorce was- but this was just AWFUL! How could things like that happen?
So, trembling, I shoved the 'awful book' away, and pulled something else from the shelf. That's when I discovered the 'coping genre'. Because the next book was supposed to teach children about death, and help them come to terms with it. When I looked more carefully, I found that this whole section of shelf was full of books about children dealing with abuse, divorce, lost pets, grandparents with alzheimers, loneliness, bullying, betrayal, sickness, etcetera.
"Weird." thought I, and moved off in search of fairy tales, and animal stories, pretty pictures, and adventure- REAL children's books.
After that, I nearly forgot about the 'coping books'
Reading to siblings at the library, I occasionally saw them, but we always passed them by.
Until I blundered into the Children's Section today.
It started with a shabby brown book entitled 'No Time for Me', about a little boy named Tim. Tim's parents both work outside the home, and never have time for him and his sister Lydia. But they have promised to take him to a baseball game on his birthday, and he is counting down the days. Until they tell him that they've decided to go on a business trip to Hawaii instead! Tim, unsurprisingly, has a meltdown. The rest of the story chronicles Tim's attempts to deal with the letdown, and his parents' (belated) attempt to make amends. His father (thinks) he (might) be able to eat breakfast with Tim on Wednesdays. His mother agrees to come home an hour earlier (most) Thursdays. Tim takes what he can get.
I think there's supposed to be a happy ending, but I couldn't find it.
The next book was even worse. It's about a little boy who hates Father's day. Why does he hate Father's day? He hasn't got a father. This one is memorable, mainly because so wrenchingly pathetic.
It tells, in first person, the story of a little boy making a Father's Day project in class, for a father who left so long ago he can't remember. By the time I reached the third page, I was crying. The child's teacher is insisting that everyone has a father, and that the little boy should just mail the card he's decorating. And the child points out that he doesn't know where his father lives.
He adds wistfully to himself,
"Of course, everyone has a father. They tell me I have a father. But I wish I had a father I could KNOW."
Everything in my heart was shouting "Oh, but you DO! You do!"
The book ends with the child putting this father's day card away with all the others he's made over the years, concluding,
"Maybe someday he'll see them, and know that I love him."
The moral of the story, according to said 'coping book'?
'It's ok to be different.'
Even as a secular coping strategy, that's pretty lame.
Which is maybe why I couldn't stop crying once I'd started. Because, for that child, and for so many others, there is a well-intentioned but blind author attempting to apply a band-aid to the unmendable depths of the human heart, and no one- NO ONE to open sympathetic arms, to share the miraculous truths of Psalm 68:5 and 1 John 3:1
"A father to the fatherless... is God in his holy dwelling."
"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!"
I continued to read- not just the infamous experiments in applied child psychology, but the ordinary children's books. There were lovely, laughing ones, (Did you know that Tolkein wrote and illustrated an enchantingly ridiculous story called 'Mr. Bliss'?) and sweet ones, and folk tales, and illustrations in everything from watercolor to collage. Many brought back memories- we are an extremely book oriented family, and read EVERYTHING aloud together, so I grew up on a wide variety of children's lit.
Some, too, were just sickening. Like 'Daddy Has A Roomate', about a little boy whose parents get divorced so his Dad can move in with his boyfriend. Worried? Don't be. It's ok (the book tells us) because Mommy and Daddy and the Boyfriend all agree that this new word 'gay' they are trying to explain to the child, means just an 'extra kind of love', and 'love is the best thing in the world.'
By the time I'd reached this point, I was sick and dizzy with a sort of headache-induced nausea. Palmistry, reincarnation, witchcraft, animism, ghosts, idolatry, Humanism, Buddhism- was there ANYTHING not being fed to little minds?
I tried to imagine the confusion facing a child who attempted to find answers about life in such a place. And television, the more common source of information, is even worse!
But, then, where else can they go? To parents who never learned? To teachers? To peers, equally confused? Will no one stand in the gap? No one?
Here's what Amy Carmichael had to say:
"...At my feet a precipice broke sheer down into infinite space. I looked, but saw no bottom... only unfathomable depths... Then I saw forms of people moving single-file along the grass. They were making for the edge. There was a woman with a baby in her arms, and another little child holding on to her dress. She was on the very verge. Then I saw that she was blind. She lifted her foot for the next step... it trod air. She was over, and the children over with her. Oh, the cry as they went over!
Then I saw more streams of people flowing from all quarters. All were blind, stone blind; all made for the precipice edge. There were shrieks as they suddenly knew themselves falling, and a tossing up of helpless arms, catching, clutching at empty air. But some went over quietly, and fell without a sound.
Then I wondered, with a wonder that was simply agony, why no one stopped them at the edge... I saw that along the edge there were sentries set at intervals. But the intervals were far too great; there were wide, unguarded gaps between. And over these gaps the people fell in their blindness, quite unwarned...
Then I saw, like the picture of peace, a group of people under some trees, with their backs turned toward the gulf. They were making daisy chains. Sometimes when a piercing shriek cut the quiet air and reached them, it disturbed them, and they thought it rather a vulgar noise. And if one of their number started up and wanted to go and do something to help, then all the others would pull that one down. "Why should you get so excited about it?...You haven't finished your daisy chains. It would be really selfish," they said, "to leave us to finish the work alone." ...
One child caught at a tuft of grass that grew at the very brink of the gulf; the child clung convulsively, and it called, but nobody seemed to hear. Then the roots of the grass gave way, and with a cry the child went over, its two little hands still holding tight to the torn-off bunch of grass...
Then came another sound like the pain of a million broken hearts wrung out in one full drop, one sob. And a horror of great darkness was on me..." -Amy Carmichael
Daisy Chains... are so many things. Why is it that the Church in the U.S. is, as a whole, more concerned with new carpet, and lighting fixtures, and the latest sound systems, than it is with discipleship, with discipline, with the sacrificial commitment to reach human souls? Why is it that your average Christian is expending so much of his energy agonizing over political battles, and elections won or lost (or even football games won or lost!), yet gives so little of himself to battling principalities and powers, and winning human souls? Why is it that in America, the wealthiest nation in the world, we have money for new cars, exquisite home decor, and namebrand clothing, yet can only spare a few dollars, if that, to support those who DO wish to go out and serve? Why do we have time for televisions, and computers, and magazines, and newspapers, and a staggering range of hobbies, yet only moments to spare for studying God's Word- much less for actually teaching it to others- even less for building the relationships, for investing the interest and affection which make God's love a visible reality?
It's a hard question to ask- and, although sometimes I'm desperately frustrated- long to grab the American church by the shoulders and SHAKE it into wakefulness- the truth is, I'm equally guilty. As sinful people in a broken world, none of us will ever do 'enough'. I'm willing to bet that Peter and Paul and all the rest of the Apostles made mistakes, missed opportunities, lost focus, and got sucked into the seductive pastime of daisy-chain weaving at some points in their lives. And those guys were SOLD OUT to God. So, our chances at perfection are somewhere below nill.
BUT WHY ARE WE SO SATISFIED WITH THAT?
I sat weeping among the children's books because of all of the loose ends in the picture the world was painting, because of the crushing weight of those millions of lives, shattered from their very beginning, because I sit in class with those children every day, and pass them in the halls, and for most of them, it's too late. Oh, I know- it's never over till you're dead. But there is a spiritual deadness and hardness that increases over time. And in so many of the people around me, I see that a window which was open ten, fifteen years ago, when they were facing the world wide open and full of questions, is now tightly shut. Who can say when, if ever, it will open again?
But I was also crying because of the deep, heartbreaking realization, coming yet again, that my own hands, on a day to day basis, are filled with daisies, and my fingers, with the force of long habit, are weaving stems and leaves in and out, in and out, as though nothing on earth were more important! I cried for the thought of that child, falling into endless emptiness with nothing but a grass-tuft to cling to, which, had I been more faithful, might have stood safely on the solid ground of Truth. There is no balm for this kind of ache. But, neither is there any 'if' in God's Kingdom!
There are only the present and the future. What will I make of them? What will you?
It remains to be seen. I pray that God will show us the gaps to stand in, subordinate the thundering, importunate 'WHERE?' to the stern discipline of 'HERE!', wherever 'Here' is.
What terrifying, wonderful responsibility it is to guard the gaps for little folk whose "...feet are so uncertain and feeble...", to stand where "...the ways are so steep and strange.", to serve a God who said: "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children."(Matt 11:25) "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (Mark 10:14) "From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise." (Matt 21:16).
I cannot begin to comprehend it! We follow a King who not only
'clothed Himself in vile man's flesh that so
He might be weak enough to suffer woe." (Donne), but who
"...took the children in his arms..." (Mark 10:16)
Most days, I just feel a huge aching in my heart because MY arms aren't big enough. I can't reach far enough. I want to hold them all, shelter them all, and instead, am constantly letting go, watching their lives brush against mine, and slide away again.
And yet, in Texas, shattered by the pain of 'deserting' a truly special group of kids, and not merely saying goodbye, but of sending them back at the end of the week into brutally abusive and hopeless homes, I realized that even though my arms AREN'T enough, even though I can't protect them, can't train them, can't LOVE them the way I long to, HIS arms are eternal and limitless- His power to protect, His faithfulness to shape and instruct, His love and comfort are an unfailing source.
And even though I only have a week, or five days to impact them, HE has a lifetime!
It seems to me, in this precious moment of clarity, that for a God not merely so mighty, but so tender, we can afford to let go of our 'daisy chains'; the thousand everyday, useless things that fall to ashes, or less, at the least searching glance from Eternity, and hold to- or rather be held BY- the One "in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." (Colossians 2:3) [You will NOT find 'the treasures of wisdom and knowledge in the Children's section of MWSU's library.]
"For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever." (Romans 11:36)
I guess a lot of people would think it odd that I spent three hours today browsing through the children's section of our University Library.(or, perhaps, as I do, think it odd that a University has a children's section at all! :-) )
I KNOW that a lot of people thought it odd, because I got some extremely strange looks from students at tables, and even passers by. Personally, I maintain that, considering the general eccentricity of your average college student, they should not begrudge me a few hours with Child and Young Adult literature during the peak of mid-term frenzy.
But, be that as it may, to put the concerns of these narrow-minded folk at rest, I will hasten to explain that my hours with Amelia Bedelia, and Bill Peet, and a staggering selection of 'folk tales from around the world', etcetera were for the purpose of completing a mid-term in my TESOL class- I was hunting down read aloud fodder for my 22 imaginary second graders, in order to finish designing a lesson plan on Critical Thinking and Reading strategies.
So, I see nothing to peculiar in the fact that I spent my afternoon with children's books, in the library. Nor in the fact that I enjoyed it. But, even I have to confess that there is something a bit unusual in the fact that a large portion of this time was spent curled up between two aisles of books crying.
There is a certain, rather morbid class of books which people are always writing for children, which probably has some technical name of which I am unaware. Were I going to name it, I think I would title this genre something lke 'A Child's Garden of Coping Strategies'. Maybe you have never seen these books? I will try to explain.
I encountered them for the first time at the age of or seven or eight, in the Lee's Summit library, where I was wandering about after a reading program.
As I crawled blissfully from shelf to shelf, a title caught my eye. I pulled the book out, and began to thumb through it. I was riveted, with a sort of shocked fascination. It was horrible! All about a little girl whose parents fight, and then get divorced, and how she has to live traveling between two houses. Of course I knew, in a sort of vague, theoretical way, what divorce was- but this was just AWFUL! How could things like that happen?
So, trembling, I shoved the 'awful book' away, and pulled something else from the shelf. That's when I discovered the 'coping genre'. Because the next book was supposed to teach children about death, and help them come to terms with it. When I looked more carefully, I found that this whole section of shelf was full of books about children dealing with abuse, divorce, lost pets, grandparents with alzheimers, loneliness, bullying, betrayal, sickness, etcetera.
"Weird." thought I, and moved off in search of fairy tales, and animal stories, pretty pictures, and adventure- REAL children's books.
After that, I nearly forgot about the 'coping books'
Reading to siblings at the library, I occasionally saw them, but we always passed them by.
Until I blundered into the Children's Section today.
It started with a shabby brown book entitled 'No Time for Me', about a little boy named Tim. Tim's parents both work outside the home, and never have time for him and his sister Lydia. But they have promised to take him to a baseball game on his birthday, and he is counting down the days. Until they tell him that they've decided to go on a business trip to Hawaii instead! Tim, unsurprisingly, has a meltdown. The rest of the story chronicles Tim's attempts to deal with the letdown, and his parents' (belated) attempt to make amends. His father (thinks) he (might) be able to eat breakfast with Tim on Wednesdays. His mother agrees to come home an hour earlier (most) Thursdays. Tim takes what he can get.
I think there's supposed to be a happy ending, but I couldn't find it.
The next book was even worse. It's about a little boy who hates Father's day. Why does he hate Father's day? He hasn't got a father. This one is memorable, mainly because so wrenchingly pathetic.
It tells, in first person, the story of a little boy making a Father's Day project in class, for a father who left so long ago he can't remember. By the time I reached the third page, I was crying. The child's teacher is insisting that everyone has a father, and that the little boy should just mail the card he's decorating. And the child points out that he doesn't know where his father lives.
He adds wistfully to himself,
"Of course, everyone has a father. They tell me I have a father. But I wish I had a father I could KNOW."
Everything in my heart was shouting "Oh, but you DO! You do!"
The book ends with the child putting this father's day card away with all the others he's made over the years, concluding,
"Maybe someday he'll see them, and know that I love him."
The moral of the story, according to said 'coping book'?
'It's ok to be different.'
Even as a secular coping strategy, that's pretty lame.
Which is maybe why I couldn't stop crying once I'd started. Because, for that child, and for so many others, there is a well-intentioned but blind author attempting to apply a band-aid to the unmendable depths of the human heart, and no one- NO ONE to open sympathetic arms, to share the miraculous truths of Psalm 68:5 and 1 John 3:1
"A father to the fatherless... is God in his holy dwelling."
"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!"
I continued to read- not just the infamous experiments in applied child psychology, but the ordinary children's books. There were lovely, laughing ones, (Did you know that Tolkein wrote and illustrated an enchantingly ridiculous story called 'Mr. Bliss'?) and sweet ones, and folk tales, and illustrations in everything from watercolor to collage. Many brought back memories- we are an extremely book oriented family, and read EVERYTHING aloud together, so I grew up on a wide variety of children's lit.
Some, too, were just sickening. Like 'Daddy Has A Roomate', about a little boy whose parents get divorced so his Dad can move in with his boyfriend. Worried? Don't be. It's ok (the book tells us) because Mommy and Daddy and the Boyfriend all agree that this new word 'gay' they are trying to explain to the child, means just an 'extra kind of love', and 'love is the best thing in the world.'
By the time I'd reached this point, I was sick and dizzy with a sort of headache-induced nausea. Palmistry, reincarnation, witchcraft, animism, ghosts, idolatry, Humanism, Buddhism- was there ANYTHING not being fed to little minds?
I tried to imagine the confusion facing a child who attempted to find answers about life in such a place. And television, the more common source of information, is even worse!
But, then, where else can they go? To parents who never learned? To teachers? To peers, equally confused? Will no one stand in the gap? No one?
Here's what Amy Carmichael had to say:
"...At my feet a precipice broke sheer down into infinite space. I looked, but saw no bottom... only unfathomable depths... Then I saw forms of people moving single-file along the grass. They were making for the edge. There was a woman with a baby in her arms, and another little child holding on to her dress. She was on the very verge. Then I saw that she was blind. She lifted her foot for the next step... it trod air. She was over, and the children over with her. Oh, the cry as they went over!
Then I saw more streams of people flowing from all quarters. All were blind, stone blind; all made for the precipice edge. There were shrieks as they suddenly knew themselves falling, and a tossing up of helpless arms, catching, clutching at empty air. But some went over quietly, and fell without a sound.
Then I wondered, with a wonder that was simply agony, why no one stopped them at the edge... I saw that along the edge there were sentries set at intervals. But the intervals were far too great; there were wide, unguarded gaps between. And over these gaps the people fell in their blindness, quite unwarned...
Then I saw, like the picture of peace, a group of people under some trees, with their backs turned toward the gulf. They were making daisy chains. Sometimes when a piercing shriek cut the quiet air and reached them, it disturbed them, and they thought it rather a vulgar noise. And if one of their number started up and wanted to go and do something to help, then all the others would pull that one down. "Why should you get so excited about it?...You haven't finished your daisy chains. It would be really selfish," they said, "to leave us to finish the work alone." ...
One child caught at a tuft of grass that grew at the very brink of the gulf; the child clung convulsively, and it called, but nobody seemed to hear. Then the roots of the grass gave way, and with a cry the child went over, its two little hands still holding tight to the torn-off bunch of grass...
Then came another sound like the pain of a million broken hearts wrung out in one full drop, one sob. And a horror of great darkness was on me..." -Amy Carmichael
Daisy Chains... are so many things. Why is it that the Church in the U.S. is, as a whole, more concerned with new carpet, and lighting fixtures, and the latest sound systems, than it is with discipleship, with discipline, with the sacrificial commitment to reach human souls? Why is it that your average Christian is expending so much of his energy agonizing over political battles, and elections won or lost (or even football games won or lost!), yet gives so little of himself to battling principalities and powers, and winning human souls? Why is it that in America, the wealthiest nation in the world, we have money for new cars, exquisite home decor, and namebrand clothing, yet can only spare a few dollars, if that, to support those who DO wish to go out and serve? Why do we have time for televisions, and computers, and magazines, and newspapers, and a staggering range of hobbies, yet only moments to spare for studying God's Word- much less for actually teaching it to others- even less for building the relationships, for investing the interest and affection which make God's love a visible reality?
It's a hard question to ask- and, although sometimes I'm desperately frustrated- long to grab the American church by the shoulders and SHAKE it into wakefulness- the truth is, I'm equally guilty. As sinful people in a broken world, none of us will ever do 'enough'. I'm willing to bet that Peter and Paul and all the rest of the Apostles made mistakes, missed opportunities, lost focus, and got sucked into the seductive pastime of daisy-chain weaving at some points in their lives. And those guys were SOLD OUT to God. So, our chances at perfection are somewhere below nill.
BUT WHY ARE WE SO SATISFIED WITH THAT?
I sat weeping among the children's books because of all of the loose ends in the picture the world was painting, because of the crushing weight of those millions of lives, shattered from their very beginning, because I sit in class with those children every day, and pass them in the halls, and for most of them, it's too late. Oh, I know- it's never over till you're dead. But there is a spiritual deadness and hardness that increases over time. And in so many of the people around me, I see that a window which was open ten, fifteen years ago, when they were facing the world wide open and full of questions, is now tightly shut. Who can say when, if ever, it will open again?
But I was also crying because of the deep, heartbreaking realization, coming yet again, that my own hands, on a day to day basis, are filled with daisies, and my fingers, with the force of long habit, are weaving stems and leaves in and out, in and out, as though nothing on earth were more important! I cried for the thought of that child, falling into endless emptiness with nothing but a grass-tuft to cling to, which, had I been more faithful, might have stood safely on the solid ground of Truth. There is no balm for this kind of ache. But, neither is there any 'if' in God's Kingdom!
There are only the present and the future. What will I make of them? What will you?
It remains to be seen. I pray that God will show us the gaps to stand in, subordinate the thundering, importunate 'WHERE?' to the stern discipline of 'HERE!', wherever 'Here' is.
What terrifying, wonderful responsibility it is to guard the gaps for little folk whose "...feet are so uncertain and feeble...", to stand where "...the ways are so steep and strange.", to serve a God who said: "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children."(Matt 11:25) "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (Mark 10:14) "From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise." (Matt 21:16).
I cannot begin to comprehend it! We follow a King who not only
'clothed Himself in vile man's flesh that so
He might be weak enough to suffer woe." (Donne), but who
"...took the children in his arms..." (Mark 10:16)
Most days, I just feel a huge aching in my heart because MY arms aren't big enough. I can't reach far enough. I want to hold them all, shelter them all, and instead, am constantly letting go, watching their lives brush against mine, and slide away again.
And yet, in Texas, shattered by the pain of 'deserting' a truly special group of kids, and not merely saying goodbye, but of sending them back at the end of the week into brutally abusive and hopeless homes, I realized that even though my arms AREN'T enough, even though I can't protect them, can't train them, can't LOVE them the way I long to, HIS arms are eternal and limitless- His power to protect, His faithfulness to shape and instruct, His love and comfort are an unfailing source.
And even though I only have a week, or five days to impact them, HE has a lifetime!
It seems to me, in this precious moment of clarity, that for a God not merely so mighty, but so tender, we can afford to let go of our 'daisy chains'; the thousand everyday, useless things that fall to ashes, or less, at the least searching glance from Eternity, and hold to- or rather be held BY- the One "in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." (Colossians 2:3) [You will NOT find 'the treasures of wisdom and knowledge in the Children's section of MWSU's library.]
"For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever." (Romans 11:36)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Flight And Flame And Melody
When Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer a week or two ago, I asked my mother how Grandma was dealing with it all.
"She seems to be holding together pretty well," Mama replied. "But this is a bittersweet time in her life. Having him with her now- not knowing how much longer she will."
I was struck then, because, had I been describing someone's emotions upon realizing that the person they love most is terminally ill, I think I would have said only bitter, and left out the sweet. And then I thought about it more, and realized, especially as things were shifting wildly about in my own life, that she was right. These are bittersweet times. Not only for Grandma, but for us all.
Of course, when a person is sick, we are immediately reminded of the transience and fragility of life, but the truth is, that element was always there, whether we were noticing or not. Grandma has Grandpa now, but doesn't know how long she will. My family is together now- but a year from now, who can say? Tomorrow isn't a promise, and today, even, is a strange and solemn mystery. So, the times are always, always bittersweet. It is why Shelley wrote:
'...We look before and after
And pine for what is naught
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.',
why Francis Thompson, in describing a chance encounter with a girl commented:
'She went her unremembering way,
She went, and left in me
The pang of all the partings gone,
And partings yet to be.
She left me marvelling why my soul
Could mourn that she was glad.
At all the sadness in the sweet,
The sweetness in the sad.'
Springtime, too, is a bittersweet season- perfectly attuned to the bittersweetness of this season in life. I spent about three hours today hiking around outside (in SHORTS and a T-SHIRT!!! :-) ), and all the world was dim, and fresh, and maddeningly new, but clouded with uncertainty. The sodden turf, dark and rich as an oil painting, the trees bursting and swelling with the very beginnings of leaves.
Geese swung out across the cloud-mottled sky, their lines and formations endlessly crossing and recrossing, stragglers winging in to join the keen heraldry of hoarse, wisful bell-cries. And all I wanted was to join them, and go somewhere, anywhere but here, with the work to be done, and the decisions to be faced. I felt a wrenching hunger for that grace, that beauty, that adventure which geese are on their migrations. To be able to FLY! I ran along the ridge of the hill as far as I could follow, but they were gone, with new flocks sweeping into sight, like a dark, smooth-feathered armada, long necks curved out in purposeful expectancy, black wings beating the air. And then, I could have wept with the frustration of it! Only imagine- to race forever into the long grayness of the sky today- to leave melting snow and muddied earth below like a distant tapestry- questions and confusion and indecision miles beneath, and feel only the sure guidance of an inner compass, and the wind-currents bearing one up! How can one stand to be always earth-bound and ground-crawling?
But as I perched on the log known as the Thinking Place, and watched flock after flock vanishing into the distant cloud-walls of the horizon, awash with the unbearable longing for impossibility which characterizes Springtime, I recalled (and I realize this is an impressive source) a scene from 'The Sound of Music', in which Maria, overwhelmed by confusion has fled back into the Convent. The Mother Superior says to her (and I had always thought this was painfully trite- as it probably is):
"You can't just run away from your problems... You have to face them."
It strikes me now as stingingly true. I can't run away from my problems. Nor can I fly away from them. Somehow, they have to be faced, in spite of my indecision, and second-guessing, and irrational terror of commitment to any course. I am beginning to realize just what terrible responsibility it is to be a woman, rather than a little girl- though I still can't understand which category I fall into.
This is such a transitional, 'middleish' time.
It seems now that even at my most serious I was merely a child playing games- and I shudder to think of what damage that child's happy carelessness might have done.
So, bittersweet.
But even in these mad, yearning Spring moments when I am only a bird without wings, terribly earth confined; a fire without burning- no quick, hot, dancing loveliness of light; a song with no tune, no notes to rise and fall and soar on, in all these times- in the strange, incomprehensible bittersweetness of life, HE is flight, and flame, and melody to me! He, and He alone! Could a God who made Springtime and the burgeoning mysteries of cool wind and reviving life be any less?
"My faith burns low, my hope burns low;
Only my heart's desire cries out in me
By the deep thunder of its want and woe,
Cries out to Thee.
Lord, Thou art life, though I be dead;
Love's fire Thou art, however cold I be:
Nor heaven have I, nor place to lay my head,
Nor home, but Thee." - Christina Rossetti
"In the shadow of His wings
I will sing for joy;
What a God, who out of shade
Nest for singing bird hath made;
Lord, my Might and Melody,
I will sing to Thee.
If the shadow of Thy wings
Be so full of song,
What must be the lighted place
Where Thy bird can see Thy face?
Lord, my Might and Melody,
I will sing to Thee." -Amy Carmichael
"She seems to be holding together pretty well," Mama replied. "But this is a bittersweet time in her life. Having him with her now- not knowing how much longer she will."
I was struck then, because, had I been describing someone's emotions upon realizing that the person they love most is terminally ill, I think I would have said only bitter, and left out the sweet. And then I thought about it more, and realized, especially as things were shifting wildly about in my own life, that she was right. These are bittersweet times. Not only for Grandma, but for us all.
Of course, when a person is sick, we are immediately reminded of the transience and fragility of life, but the truth is, that element was always there, whether we were noticing or not. Grandma has Grandpa now, but doesn't know how long she will. My family is together now- but a year from now, who can say? Tomorrow isn't a promise, and today, even, is a strange and solemn mystery. So, the times are always, always bittersweet. It is why Shelley wrote:
'...We look before and after
And pine for what is naught
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.',
why Francis Thompson, in describing a chance encounter with a girl commented:
'She went her unremembering way,
She went, and left in me
The pang of all the partings gone,
And partings yet to be.
She left me marvelling why my soul
Could mourn that she was glad.
At all the sadness in the sweet,
The sweetness in the sad.'
Springtime, too, is a bittersweet season- perfectly attuned to the bittersweetness of this season in life. I spent about three hours today hiking around outside (in SHORTS and a T-SHIRT!!! :-) ), and all the world was dim, and fresh, and maddeningly new, but clouded with uncertainty. The sodden turf, dark and rich as an oil painting, the trees bursting and swelling with the very beginnings of leaves.
Geese swung out across the cloud-mottled sky, their lines and formations endlessly crossing and recrossing, stragglers winging in to join the keen heraldry of hoarse, wisful bell-cries. And all I wanted was to join them, and go somewhere, anywhere but here, with the work to be done, and the decisions to be faced. I felt a wrenching hunger for that grace, that beauty, that adventure which geese are on their migrations. To be able to FLY! I ran along the ridge of the hill as far as I could follow, but they were gone, with new flocks sweeping into sight, like a dark, smooth-feathered armada, long necks curved out in purposeful expectancy, black wings beating the air. And then, I could have wept with the frustration of it! Only imagine- to race forever into the long grayness of the sky today- to leave melting snow and muddied earth below like a distant tapestry- questions and confusion and indecision miles beneath, and feel only the sure guidance of an inner compass, and the wind-currents bearing one up! How can one stand to be always earth-bound and ground-crawling?
But as I perched on the log known as the Thinking Place, and watched flock after flock vanishing into the distant cloud-walls of the horizon, awash with the unbearable longing for impossibility which characterizes Springtime, I recalled (and I realize this is an impressive source) a scene from 'The Sound of Music', in which Maria, overwhelmed by confusion has fled back into the Convent. The Mother Superior says to her (and I had always thought this was painfully trite- as it probably is):
"You can't just run away from your problems... You have to face them."
It strikes me now as stingingly true. I can't run away from my problems. Nor can I fly away from them. Somehow, they have to be faced, in spite of my indecision, and second-guessing, and irrational terror of commitment to any course. I am beginning to realize just what terrible responsibility it is to be a woman, rather than a little girl- though I still can't understand which category I fall into.
This is such a transitional, 'middleish' time.
It seems now that even at my most serious I was merely a child playing games- and I shudder to think of what damage that child's happy carelessness might have done.
So, bittersweet.
But even in these mad, yearning Spring moments when I am only a bird without wings, terribly earth confined; a fire without burning- no quick, hot, dancing loveliness of light; a song with no tune, no notes to rise and fall and soar on, in all these times- in the strange, incomprehensible bittersweetness of life, HE is flight, and flame, and melody to me! He, and He alone! Could a God who made Springtime and the burgeoning mysteries of cool wind and reviving life be any less?
"My faith burns low, my hope burns low;
Only my heart's desire cries out in me
By the deep thunder of its want and woe,
Cries out to Thee.
Lord, Thou art life, though I be dead;
Love's fire Thou art, however cold I be:
Nor heaven have I, nor place to lay my head,
Nor home, but Thee." - Christina Rossetti
"In the shadow of His wings
I will sing for joy;
What a God, who out of shade
Nest for singing bird hath made;
Lord, my Might and Melody,
I will sing to Thee.
If the shadow of Thy wings
Be so full of song,
What must be the lighted place
Where Thy bird can see Thy face?
Lord, my Might and Melody,
I will sing to Thee." -Amy Carmichael
Monday, March 1, 2010
'Wait' Is An Answer
When we taught five day clubs this summer, and we were teaching the children about prayer, we would ask them "Does God ALWAYS answer our prayers?" And sometimes they said yes, and sometimes they said no- but if they said yes, we would often go on to ask: "What if I prayed that God would give me something, or show me something, and NOTHING happened? Did God still answer my prayer?" And, once again, sometimes they said yes, and sometimes they said no. But, hopefully, by the time we had finished teaching, they had all recognized and understood the fact that God DOES always answer, and that His answer might be 'Yes!', and it might be 'No!', or it might be 'Wait!'.
'Yes' is always an exciting answer to receive- and even the finality and clarification of a 'No' can sometimes be a relief, and a way of moving on ahead to something new. But 'Wait' is slippery. It hardly feels like an answer at all in many situations. Fortunately, feelings have nothing to do with it. 'Wait' IS an answer, and God has a right to give whatever answer He knows is best. It is for me to learn to embrace the wild, terrifying liberty of accepting that I DON'T need to know any more than He chooses to show me, or see any further ahead than He illuminates. Simply to 'Wait upon the Lord.'
And even when things seem to be in a desperate muddle, His 'wait' is all the clarification and information we need.
Confusion tightened at my throat:
Should I forbear, or should I gain?
The answers that I gave by rote
Were distant miles away from pain.
They fell upon my anguished ear
As songs the deaf but strain to hear.
I gazed and gazed, with clouding sight-
Once, wept a bitter haze of tears-
Once laughed, although my throat was tight,
And head was dizzied by my fears.
I could not guess, nor could I see
Which way the knots were leading me.
But He who weaves the tangled strands,
And sorts confusion, drew me near.
He took my knotted hopes in hands
Which gently worked the tangle clear.
My answer comes not soon, nor late:
The clarity He gave was, 'Wait!'
Oh, God, when my life seems one mass of desperate tangles, teach me to remember that You, and not I are the weaver. I look about me, and I see only the nearest, shortest sections of thread, seemingly of conflicting colors- of no pattern at all, or of no pattern which makes sense. But I cannot see very far. You have the loom, and the whole tapestry before you, and every thread is in its place. I know that You make all things beautiful in Your time. I am willing to WAIT- to be woven into a place, and in a manner which I cannot understand. It is not for me to squirm out of position, or dictate to You the proper manner of working Your loom.
Be our focus, God.
Not that we are confused, but that You are the Sorter of Confusion.
Not that we are hurting, but that You are the Comforter.
Not that we are harried, or worried, or stressed, but that You are Stillness, the Prince of peace.
Not that we are sinful and weak, but that You are Holy, and a transformer of sinners.
Not that we feel uncertain and directionless, but that You are THE Way.
Not that we are bewildered and conflicted, but that You are unchanging, and eternally in harmony.
'Yes' is always an exciting answer to receive- and even the finality and clarification of a 'No' can sometimes be a relief, and a way of moving on ahead to something new. But 'Wait' is slippery. It hardly feels like an answer at all in many situations. Fortunately, feelings have nothing to do with it. 'Wait' IS an answer, and God has a right to give whatever answer He knows is best. It is for me to learn to embrace the wild, terrifying liberty of accepting that I DON'T need to know any more than He chooses to show me, or see any further ahead than He illuminates. Simply to 'Wait upon the Lord.'
And even when things seem to be in a desperate muddle, His 'wait' is all the clarification and information we need.
Confusion tightened at my throat:
Should I forbear, or should I gain?
The answers that I gave by rote
Were distant miles away from pain.
They fell upon my anguished ear
As songs the deaf but strain to hear.
I gazed and gazed, with clouding sight-
Once, wept a bitter haze of tears-
Once laughed, although my throat was tight,
And head was dizzied by my fears.
I could not guess, nor could I see
Which way the knots were leading me.
But He who weaves the tangled strands,
And sorts confusion, drew me near.
He took my knotted hopes in hands
Which gently worked the tangle clear.
My answer comes not soon, nor late:
The clarity He gave was, 'Wait!'
Oh, God, when my life seems one mass of desperate tangles, teach me to remember that You, and not I are the weaver. I look about me, and I see only the nearest, shortest sections of thread, seemingly of conflicting colors- of no pattern at all, or of no pattern which makes sense. But I cannot see very far. You have the loom, and the whole tapestry before you, and every thread is in its place. I know that You make all things beautiful in Your time. I am willing to WAIT- to be woven into a place, and in a manner which I cannot understand. It is not for me to squirm out of position, or dictate to You the proper manner of working Your loom.
Be our focus, God.
Not that we are confused, but that You are the Sorter of Confusion.
Not that we are hurting, but that You are the Comforter.
Not that we are harried, or worried, or stressed, but that You are Stillness, the Prince of peace.
Not that we are sinful and weak, but that You are Holy, and a transformer of sinners.
Not that we feel uncertain and directionless, but that You are THE Way.
Not that we are bewildered and conflicted, but that You are unchanging, and eternally in harmony.
'Just to love You'
"Sometimes in Dohnavur, we, who dearly love the little children about us... have looked up... to see a child beside us, waiting quietly. And when, with a welcoming hand held out to the Tamil "I have come," we have asked "For what?" thinking, perhaps, of something to be confessed, or wanted, the answer has come back, "Just to love you." So do we come, Lord Jesus; we have no service to offer now; we do not come to ask for anything, not even for guidance. We come just to love Thee." -Amy Carmichael
I read this story in Amy's book, 'Rose from Brier', and passed over it without much thought. But this weekend, at the Laborer's conference, something said (and I cannot even recall what) brought the phrase "I have come...just to love you." forcefully to my mind. Since then, I have been thinking about it constantly.
How often do I come to Jesus 'just to love Him'? It seems that I am always coming to complain, or to confess, to share, to question, to thank, to argue, etcetera- but how often to love- to simply adore, wholly, and nothing else?
There is a time and a place for coming and saying "Father, my heart is breaking- oh please, please, give peace, give comfort, or I cannot bear!" There is nothing wrong with coming to Him to say "Lord, give wisdom, give guidance- there are clouds over my path, and I stumble through a dark place, and cannot see where I should go! I am bewildered, God- show me Your direction!" And even, sometimes "Lord, my desires are before Thee- either give me that which I long for so desperately, or give me the strength to go without!"
But, do I always come to tell Him this, and beg Him for that, and never simply for Him, and for nothing else? Am I always the five year old asking incessant questions, rather than Mary, sitting at His feet to listen? Am I the crowds demanding advice, demanding blessings, demanding miracles, demanding healing, and never the woman who came and poured out perfume, who clung to Jesus, not expecting anything, but wanting only Him?
Not nearly often enough, I'm afraid.
Early on in this semester, we discussed at Navigators the difference between following Jesus for what He could give us, rather than for Himself.
I really like what Thomas A Kempis wrote on the subject:
"Many love Jesus as long as they meet with no adversity; many praise Him and bless Him as long as they receive some consolations from Him. But if Jesus hide Himself, and leave them for a little while, they either murmur, or fall into excesive dejection. But they that love Jesus for Jesus' sake and not for the sake of some consolation of their own, bless Him no less in tribulation and anguish of heart than in the greatest consolation. And if He should never give them consolation, yet would they always praise Him and always give Him thanks. Oh, how much is the pure love of Jesus able to do, when it is not mixed with any self-interest or self-love! Are not they all mercenarie who are ver seeking consolations! Do they not prove themselves to be rather lovers of themselves than of Christ who are always thinking of their own advantage and gain? Where shall we find a man that is willing to serve God dsinterestedly?"
Where indeed? In all honestly, I am not that person who is willing and able to serve God with no thought of self. I am far too prone to make my primary concern MY mistakes, and MY challenges; MY uncertainties, and MY needs; MY desires, and MY questions. And yet, I WANT to be different. I want to come to You, Master, not for anything You can show me, and not for anything You can give me, but only for You. 'Just to love You'!
God is reaching out across the world, individual, by individual. I don't have to have all the answers. I don't have to figure out the future or the past. All I need is to keep COMING to Him- for guidance, for conviction, for wisdom, of course- but most of all, before anything else, for Him! At His feet 'Just to love Him'. Not to tear my hair in confusion, but to open myself to His love, and serve Him completely and openly where I am TODAY!
If I will only keep coming, coming, coming to Him, at the proper time He will go through me as He sees fit.
The center of God's will is wherever I am, whenever I am sincerely worshipping Him and glorifying His name. It is safe to rest in His special promise to me ( "I, who made all of these, am perfectly able to direct them in My time"), safe to come to Him 'just to love Him', and for nothing else- not for any of the things I keep thinking that I 'need', or 'need to know'.
If my stresses, and worries, and concerns for the future make me introverted and introspective rather than extroverted, Christ focused, and unselfish, they are destructive, not valuable, and the argument that says 'You have to think about this now so that you'll be ready to make a decision' is merely a Hellish lie!
I want to love Him. I want to be a faithful servant where I am right now, right here, and let my tomorrows rest in His hand, where they have always been.
Lord, teach me to come like a child, wanting nothing, asking nothing, but 'just to love You.'
"If what we call love doesn't take us beyond ourselves, it is not really love. If we have the idea that love is characterized as cautious, wise, sensible, shrewd, and never taken to extremes, we have missed the true meaning. This may describe affection, and it may bring us a warm feeling, but it is not a true and accurate description of love. Have you ever been driven to do something for God, not because you felt that it was useful or your duty to do so, or that there was anything in it for you, but because you love Him?" -Oswald Chambers
I read this story in Amy's book, 'Rose from Brier', and passed over it without much thought. But this weekend, at the Laborer's conference, something said (and I cannot even recall what) brought the phrase "I have come...just to love you." forcefully to my mind. Since then, I have been thinking about it constantly.
How often do I come to Jesus 'just to love Him'? It seems that I am always coming to complain, or to confess, to share, to question, to thank, to argue, etcetera- but how often to love- to simply adore, wholly, and nothing else?
There is a time and a place for coming and saying "Father, my heart is breaking- oh please, please, give peace, give comfort, or I cannot bear!" There is nothing wrong with coming to Him to say "Lord, give wisdom, give guidance- there are clouds over my path, and I stumble through a dark place, and cannot see where I should go! I am bewildered, God- show me Your direction!" And even, sometimes "Lord, my desires are before Thee- either give me that which I long for so desperately, or give me the strength to go without!"
But, do I always come to tell Him this, and beg Him for that, and never simply for Him, and for nothing else? Am I always the five year old asking incessant questions, rather than Mary, sitting at His feet to listen? Am I the crowds demanding advice, demanding blessings, demanding miracles, demanding healing, and never the woman who came and poured out perfume, who clung to Jesus, not expecting anything, but wanting only Him?
Not nearly often enough, I'm afraid.
Early on in this semester, we discussed at Navigators the difference between following Jesus for what He could give us, rather than for Himself.
I really like what Thomas A Kempis wrote on the subject:
"Many love Jesus as long as they meet with no adversity; many praise Him and bless Him as long as they receive some consolations from Him. But if Jesus hide Himself, and leave them for a little while, they either murmur, or fall into excesive dejection. But they that love Jesus for Jesus' sake and not for the sake of some consolation of their own, bless Him no less in tribulation and anguish of heart than in the greatest consolation. And if He should never give them consolation, yet would they always praise Him and always give Him thanks. Oh, how much is the pure love of Jesus able to do, when it is not mixed with any self-interest or self-love! Are not they all mercenarie who are ver seeking consolations! Do they not prove themselves to be rather lovers of themselves than of Christ who are always thinking of their own advantage and gain? Where shall we find a man that is willing to serve God dsinterestedly?"
Where indeed? In all honestly, I am not that person who is willing and able to serve God with no thought of self. I am far too prone to make my primary concern MY mistakes, and MY challenges; MY uncertainties, and MY needs; MY desires, and MY questions. And yet, I WANT to be different. I want to come to You, Master, not for anything You can show me, and not for anything You can give me, but only for You. 'Just to love You'!
God is reaching out across the world, individual, by individual. I don't have to have all the answers. I don't have to figure out the future or the past. All I need is to keep COMING to Him- for guidance, for conviction, for wisdom, of course- but most of all, before anything else, for Him! At His feet 'Just to love Him'. Not to tear my hair in confusion, but to open myself to His love, and serve Him completely and openly where I am TODAY!
If I will only keep coming, coming, coming to Him, at the proper time He will go through me as He sees fit.
The center of God's will is wherever I am, whenever I am sincerely worshipping Him and glorifying His name. It is safe to rest in His special promise to me ( "I, who made all of these, am perfectly able to direct them in My time"), safe to come to Him 'just to love Him', and for nothing else- not for any of the things I keep thinking that I 'need', or 'need to know'.
If my stresses, and worries, and concerns for the future make me introverted and introspective rather than extroverted, Christ focused, and unselfish, they are destructive, not valuable, and the argument that says 'You have to think about this now so that you'll be ready to make a decision' is merely a Hellish lie!
I want to love Him. I want to be a faithful servant where I am right now, right here, and let my tomorrows rest in His hand, where they have always been.
Lord, teach me to come like a child, wanting nothing, asking nothing, but 'just to love You.'
"If what we call love doesn't take us beyond ourselves, it is not really love. If we have the idea that love is characterized as cautious, wise, sensible, shrewd, and never taken to extremes, we have missed the true meaning. This may describe affection, and it may bring us a warm feeling, but it is not a true and accurate description of love. Have you ever been driven to do something for God, not because you felt that it was useful or your duty to do so, or that there was anything in it for you, but because you love Him?" -Oswald Chambers
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