The beginning is at hand

The beginning is at hand. Cool air sneaks in around the door with a twinge of sadness. The fall is always a time of sadness mingled with expectation. The fall is a time of promises made and promises harvested.  Tomorrow is Halloween. With Halloween begins the season of festivities.  This season is full.

Some seasons are seasons of singleness, times of going out. This season though is one of togetherness, times of gathering in warm safe places. Times of togetherness are times to remember those who are no longer with us.

My grandfather strides along the walls of my memory. Lately, I see him frequently. He is playing his guitar with one strand of hair falling down in his eye. He is sitting in his truck, cigarette dangling, hat cocked just so. He is walking across the pasture, jeans ruffled at the tops of his boots.

My nephew’s bright eyes dance along the walls of my memory. I work to remember the feel of his warm skin in my arms. His little fingers wrapped around mine as the much too old baby rocked and drank his bottle. His sly grin as he reached for the ornaments on the “no-no” tree. His joy as he reached deep into the bags to get his presents.

My grandmother sits in her chair. She is kind and makes a million pies that stretch through her backroom like a memory of a time gone long before we came.

My red headed Ukrainian daughter, who marveled at candy canes and requested crabs for Christmas, smiles at me from pictures on the computer.

They are all no longer here where I can see them and touch them. The season of remembrance and gathering together comes and I’m forced to confront the ghosts.  I miss them. I miss them and so many others.  This next few weeks will be fast. We will run from event to event and group to group.  We will sometimes embrace the cold and other times duck quickly out of the chilly wind.  We will thank God for our blessings. Somewhere during the nights we will hear that we have not done enough. We will hear that the to-do list should have been different than we made it. We will see expectations not met.

Over all of that though, we will feel the joy of being in the embrace of the ones we love. We will see the excitement of the children leaking and filling the hearts of those who almost forgot. We will hear the songs that remind us that death is not the end. Death has lost its victory because our Christ is born.  In the deep night when memories haunt us, we will know that soon we will see those we have lost. Soon, we will hold them once again.  

What is It?

Fear sneaks in and threatens to swallow the moment. The question though is not what do I fear but “what is it?” What is it that litters the ground making my bare feet step so gingerly across the room? What is it that causes my heart to beat in an unsteady rhythm like a fragile falsetto against a deep night sky? Deep breath in and then a word in explanation.

This is the fear that drives: what if, what if my Jesus was here now in human form asking me for a drink? Would I recognize him? Would I recognize the one I claim to speak to daily, hourly even? Would I recognize my Jesus in the alarming cry of a baby? Would I recognize my Jesus in the infuriating slowness of my child? Would I see my Savior or would I see only the troubles of my own annoyance?

And, if I could answer “yes” I can see him, what then?

What does it mean to know Jesus? Does it mean that I can move about in this world of deadlines and bills and real, hard awful facts wrapped in a blanket of faith?  Some take drugs to alter the mind and reach a place where the real, hard, awful facts don’t reach them. Do I take my Savior and swallow all this sadness and not feel it?

No, the feeling of it is still there and still real. The taste of it is bitter and chalky and coats the tongue. The pain is real and the Savior is real.

Think for a moment about that pain. That one pain that wrapped you, squeezed you so tight that breathing felt like knives. Then think about the moment after it was gone. Think about how the air took on a quietness that made you realize your mind was screaming just seconds before. In the pain, you couldn’t hear the screams but in their absence you realize just how loud they were. In their absence you feel the peace but the peace is deepened by the knowledge of the pain.

My friend is hurting now. I could feel her pain from across the room. I could see in her shaking leg well hidden from the rest of the room the fight that she was not winning. In reaching out to her, I had to find my strength. I had to say “yes I know your pain and now you know my secret”. My secret is that we are all the same. We all hurt. We all know what three o’clock in the morning tears feel like, even if we pretend we don’t. We all need the love that is above all loves to come in and wrap us up.

 We need our Jesus to remind us that we are beloved, to remind us that now is not forever, to remind us we are never alone. Sometimes we entertain angels unknowingly. Sometimes we don’t recognize our dearest friends. Sometimes in the midst of our hurry we miss the chance to gaze in wonder on our Lord’s face. Sometimes we hide our eyes from the pain for fear that the pain is more than we can bear but pain is real.

Pray for me today as I pray for my friend. Pray for me that I will not miss my Savior’s face. I will pray for you blessings and strength and peace.

Bridge Between Time

Time comes and time goes. Time winds itself around our days and unravels the breaths of our lives. Sitting here on the back porch of my home in August 2012, I read the words written in 1560. They are the words closest to a man’s heart. The words that describe the most intimate relationship of a man and his God. This is more tenderly written than any love letter pinned to describe the blushing love of a young heart. These words were tenderly and carefully crafted to hold infinite mystery. Like the baby Jesus held in his virgin mother’s arms, a mystery incapable of being held swaddled in dirty rags.

I see a great chasm of years. I see the picture of John Knox. I see him bent over his task of putting into words that which is indescribable but must be described. I see him there and I see me here. I, a woman, in the Texas heat reading these words. He looks up and a moment opens between the years.  What would he make of me? What would I make of him?

My God is present here and there. My God is present before the beginning and in each moment between then and the end to come. How then do I grasp this thought? One fleeting moment and time unwinds just enough to catch a glimpse of one of the saints. One fleeting moment and through the break in the sky the cloud of witnesses is seen. One fleeting moment and the dog barks and the mosquito buzzes and there is no more bridge.

The words on the page fall back into their archaic cadence. Only the glory of the one who transcends and inhabits every moment, only that bit of glory is left at the back of my eyes, an aftershock of light.  But the memory rests on the tip of my tongue, a word searched for but not found- a memory of a speck of time that did not happen but will.

Time comes and time goes. Time twists and rolls throughout hours and days. It can be held but only for a breath and then it is gone.  Time is short and our gifts are meant to be shared across the bridges

From the past

How strange to see the past decorating the present. Like rediscovered diamonds, the learning from years before shines now. Some say that our God has plan A and plan B for our lives. That our decisions change our path like the “Choose Your Own Adventure” stories I loved so much in middle school. The books would have a beginning but at decisive points the reader was give options. If you chose A, then you would go to one ending. If B, your path would wind down to another ending. So many options lay out before you. Your decisions impacted everything.  Others say that God has ordered every steps and knows the choices we will make before we make them. Our lives read like a traditional novel. The author has conceived of every twist and turn and knows the ending.

I have no idea which way our God works. Some days I want to think that God, in control of every breath has ordered everything from time before beginning to time after end. That in each choice and decision I make, my God has preordained what I will choose and the outcome will be as God desires. Then, I run into my selfish, angry self and make choices that hurt me and others.  Choices that lure me far away from the loving hand of my God and in despair I cry out “Oh Lord, come to my rescue”

I do know that our God loves us. When I look at the impact of my past on my future, I see the hand of God. How else to explain a book that impacted me in a philosophy class in 1994 coming again into my life in a church service in 2012? It could be mere coincident if all the supporting details were left unexplored. But taken in the totality of experience it is easy to see that what was begun so many years ago is being redeveloped now.

All the pain and challenges that I have walked through since that first reading have added beauty and depth to the picture it paints now. All the joy that I have felt and tasted brings fullness to each thought. Who else but a God of love could take each wandering step and bring it into a delightful tapestry capable of impacting not just one but the community of believers?  The mysteries of my God are beyond my ability to comprehend. The grace/truth continuum is enough to hold my brain hostage for months. Add in the problem of love and holiness and I’m pondering for years. But in the end it comes down to the faith of a child. It is this way because it is this way. In the end we will have answers but the answers may not matter in the face of our awesome God who will wipe away our tears and restore us to our home.

Yoda

Throughout my life I’ve pictured my inner self in different ways. One of my favorite alter egos was a black jazz singer from the late 30s. I imagined myself in a red fringe lined dress in some smoky night club singing to drown out the sorrow of a love gone wrong.  Another favorite is the warrior angel riding a white horse loping off the heads of those who dared defy my God and King. These imagined avatars are not created consciously.  They just kind of appear on the outskirts of my imagination and take on a life of their own superimposed on the much more mundane reality.

Now, the fertile field of my imagination has me in the form of Yoda.  Something has changed the warrior into the wizard. Could it just be the result of age? I’m not sure that age alone would cause such a shift. Yoda had all the power. He was so attuned to the Force that he could do anything. Yet, he chose to do very little. His focus was on the development of his relationship with the Force and the mentoring of the others.

For the last month I’ve been standing over a deep chasm, under one foot I had the certainty of the way I’ve always known. Under the other foot was a different way of conceptualizing the world. In between lies the truth.  I look at the concept of a grace/truth continuum.  Grace is fundamental to our understanding of God. Truth is fundamental to our understanding of God. Even though both are fundamental, the impact of working from one world view or the other has created chasms that separate people. These divisions keep those who love the same things far apart. Sometimes it feels like love is the X-wing fighter sinking in the swamp.

I guess the avatars tell something of who we want to be. I want to exhibit that otherworldly peace of a person who is intimately connected with something so much bigger than themselves. I want to be able to throw off all the cares of the world and do just as I am commanded-no more, no less. I want to watch as those I love become stronger, guiding them but fading deeper into the background as each day passes. I want to be the kind of person who can share whatever I have that is of value and keep only that which holds no good.  So, I imagine myself as a little old alien with no apparent value outside of a deep, abiding relationship with the greatest force imaginable.

Questions and Comfort

 Comfort is a wonderful word reminiscent of an overstuffed recliner upholstered in soft blue fabric in the middle of a warm living room filled with people who love you.  Drowsiness makes my eyes heavy as I breathe in the fragrance of the known and snuggle deeper into the word…comfort. Such peace is found in the comfortable, an understandable peace. But there is a peace that passes understanding and it is found in the questions not the comfort.

I like to think I’m nothing like the Pharisees. After all, I hang out with people the world has despised. Of course the important part of that last sentence is the use of the past tense. These folks have reconciled and been redeemed and live lives now that are beyond reproach. And, even those that haven’t yet reconciled are not that despised.

So we come to the question that comes in the middle of my comfortable chair like a cat pouncing unexpectedly into my lap. Who are the people Jesus would have gone to if He were here today? Who is the church not loving?

My long held beliefs are being challenged. There is no comfort to be found in this light glaring around me. I have despised them too. I have agreed to things that should not have been agreed to because I thought I was holier than they. I too have stood and said “Thank you, Lord that I am not like her”.  In reality, I am like her. I am beloved of the Most High God. I am a sinner saved by grace. I am the delight of my heavenly Father.

My heart aches as I remember the words I have said and the times when my silence was deafening. I see how I have failed to reach out in love to all His sheep. But then, the peace  passes understanding comes.  I see that I really am like her. I am the beloved of the Most High God. I am a sinner saved by grace. Even when  I mess up, He loves me.  He allows me to grow in understanding. He searches my heart and finds the hard places so He can soften them. He creates a comfortable place where I can question. He is the question and the comfort.

The race

  Everything hurts. There doesn't seem to be one place on my physical body that isn't filled with a dull, aching pain. How different this is from the last few days.
A few days ago, nothing hurt. A few days ago, I ran a literal race. My body, though it struggled with breath, moved through the motions and allowed my mind to wander. In my thoughts, I heard time and again that my God is amazing. That each runner in the race was unique and wonderfully made. That each runner was running the race he or she had been assigned. That each of us was on a spiritual path, each at a different point with a different lesson to learn.  During the race, my heart sang praisees.
Now, every joint aches. The memory of that race teases me and I wonder how this body with all its issues had run.
"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God" Ephesians 2:8 (NIV)
The mystery is that God provided the grace for me to run that race. He created a desire in me to try such a thing. Then, He provided a coach and an opportunity. Then, He held me as I ran. Through His great love, I did something I should not have been able to do.
And, not just me. I saw my friend who prefers to hide step boldly into the spotlight. I saw her proclaim God's love in boldness.
And, not just her. I saw a student leave behind her sorrow and dance for the Lord.
And, not just her. I saw many others walking in obedience, overcoming issues and fears, all through the grace of our Father.
But now, everything hurts. It hurts and I'm tired and there is noone here to play praise music for me. Now, I have to call on my Father's grace, not out of strength and excitement, but out of weakness and pain. Remembering that His grace is available is hard. Remembering that is is abundant seems impossible. Until...
Until in the still, small, fleeting moment, I reach outside of myself and feel His love surrounding me. Like running from lightpost to lightpost, I know my goal is to reach one of those moments and that the moment will sustain me until the next moment. And, as I reach each goal, I am able to trust that I will reach the next one. Yes, everything hurts but I know that soon it will not hurt. Soon, there will be a reprieve. Soon