thoughts for the day July 20, 2008

faith for my deliverance is not faith in God. faith means, whether i am visibly delivered or not, i will stick to my belief that God is love.

-oswald chambers

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before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.
-john greenleaf whittier

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the longer i live the more i believe that the overarching longing we feel in this life is that of grief– mourning something we no longer have, wishing that what we have was different, or missing something we never had at all.

the deepest grief, however, is concerning something more than our possessions or circumstances. our deepest grief is wrapped around our very being– mourning who we are, wishing we were different, or often wishing we could be someone else that we might not know at all.

what proof that our possessions, our circumstances, even our identity are not truly our own to achieve or decide! they are solely Christ’s to give, allow and conform. our deepest grief can only truly be abolished when our identity completely rests in the One who not only gave us the desire to know who we are, but above all, to know Him. only in Him can we find the truth about ourselves.

-anon

LOL . . . literally . . . July 19, 2008

came across this while looking at alarm clocks . . . (don’t ask why.) made me laugh so stinkin’ hard, i had to post it.

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(from site)

“bancock alarm forces you to save”

“Banclock is a cubic alarm clock from Japan that has no off switch or snooze button. The only way you can turn it off is by feeding it some coins every morning. It was designed to force you to save a little money every day, but it’s constant beeping would only remind me of how poor I am. Every morning when I couldn’t find any change to give it I’d just lie in bed crying, listening to the beeping of my own failure.”

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and to think . . . i’m already not a morning person . . . 🙂

a mention from a minor (prophet) July 13, 2008

when I fall, I shall rise;
when I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me.

what not to say to say to a girl, take 1 July 12, 2008

the following is based on real events. names have been changed to protect the stupid.

——————————————————————–

(boy, leans into a girl’s space, sniffing)

girl: (slightly backing up) uh, watcha doing?

boy: something smells good. i was wondering if it is you. it smells really good.

(boy leans into girl’s space more.)

boy: it’s you. you smell good.

girl: what do i smell like?

boy: funeral flowers.

sunday school at starbucks July 6, 2008

“this is my place to worship,” i heard a lady say as i walked in the door. this bank-now-coffee-franchise has very few people in it. the workers outnumber the customers. it is obvious however, that these group of attenders are regulars as the baristas confirm their orders before they even walk to the counter.

i sit in a side room alone, listening to beans being ground and a woman giggle as she apologizes for spilling creamer on the counter. the smell of the dark roast is enough to lift my eyelids without my even tasting it. it’s too bitter for me. the coffee, without drinking it, is effective.

(i haven’t been able to sleep lately.)

so, why isn’t this particular church-goer at her typical place of worship this morning? did i decide to skip sunday school for a cup of chai?

no.

i just needed a place to pray.

i needed to get away from my house. from busy-ness. i needed to go somewhere where i wouldn’t be interrupted by anything or anyone. phone calls. chores and burdens. even sermons. does that sound super-unspiritual?

i find myself on a nice leather-looking couch. it is quiet here. it is here that, instead of continuing a sunday school series on daniel, i practice my casting. laying bare all my cares before my Father like a gigantic storyboard. saying, “see this circumstance? see this thought? see this fear? see this weakness? and this one? and this one? see how everyone thinks i’m so strong? they’re wrong. i’m too weak for this . . . it’s too much.”

casting family and friends. and let me tell you, that sounds like only two things, but the layers behind them. . . the two words are much more complex than the arrangement of consonants and vowels can convey, i assure you . . .

i realized something as i prayed this morning. i realize how exceedingly small my faith is. i am praying . . . for everything. and don’t get me wrong, i could list requests upon requests that He has answered– with both clear yeses and nos. but these heavy burdens–these ones that particularly press–are of the ongoing variety. the i’ve-prayed-forever-about-this-are-you-ever-going-to-answer-me kind. i mean, even paul had some form of closure when God directly said to him that the apostle was going to keep his earthly weaknesses. paul knew his answer. could deal with it.

but as i prayed, the story about the woman with the issue of blood kept coming to mind. here was this thing– a burden, her own personal plague– that she had for twelve years going on forever. trying everything else, the rumored-Messiah was her last attempt. she reached out and found herself healed.

now, don’t get me wrong. i am not promoting the idea of health/wealth– the “you do not have _____________ because you haven’t been able to manufacture enough faith” or “you don’t have good things happening to you because you aren’t good enough” mentality is not what i’m talking about. unfortunately, this Christianized version of kharma is becoming more and more mainstream. there’s no recognition in that belief that maybe, even if the hem of His garment is touched and nothing happens, that is Him . . . speaking. glorifying Himself in a different way than we expect or might even want.

i realized this morning while i was praying that i’m not sure that i am even trying to get ahold of His hem anymore. do i believe He has power? yes. not just a head knowledge– it has trickled from my brain to my heart. but i flirt with His garment, hand out, but not grabbing hold, because i am afraid. i’m afraid that instead of feeling the instantaneous relief of my prayers being answered, i will find the burden even more painful and aching because they, somehow in God’s providence, are meant to remain.

i don’t feel that i’m strong enough, smart enough, courageous enough to have these things be a permanent fixture on my shoulders. i don’t feel that i’m even strong enough to consider the possibility of them staying indefinitely. so, instead of hearing something i don’t want, i never grab hold.

my faith is so weak. it’s not that i don’t believe that He can heal . . . i find that i struggle in trusting that He can and will sustain me if He chooses not to. i’m afraid, like so many other people have, that He’ll fail me. and that thought– that somehow has slipped in my thinking, affected my attitude towards life, caused false thoughts about my Father– sickens me.

so, i grab hold today. and i will hang on. and even if i don’t hear “daughter, your faith has healed you,” hanging on to His hem unhealed is somehow better. He will console me there. provide for me there. love me there, weaknesses and all.

“this is my place of worship . . . ” lady, sitting at the counter, sipping whatever $4 drink you ordered, this starbucks, at least for this peculiar sunday, apparently is my place of worship, too.

i glance down at my phone and realize it’s 10:18. sunday school is officially over.

it’s time to go to church.

our prayer of thanks July 4, 2008

For the gladness here where the sun is shining at
evening on the weeds at the river,
Our prayer of thanks.

For the laughter of children who tumble barefooted and
bareheaded in the summer grass,
Our prayer of thanks.

For the sunset and the stars, the women and the white
arms that hold us,
Our prayer of thanks.

God,
If you are deaf and blind, if this is all lost to you,
God, if the dead in their coffins amid the silver handles
on the edge of town, or the reckless dead of war
days thrown unknown in pits, if these dead are
forever deaf and blind and lost,
Our prayer of thanks.

God,
The game is all your way, the secrets and the signals and
the system; and so for the break of the game and
the first play and the last.
Our prayer of thanks.

carl sandburg

mighty wings of grace . . . June 21, 2008

oh wondrous love that will not let me go–

i cling to you, with all my strength and soul.

yet if my hope should ever fail

this wondrous love will never let me go . . .

oh wondrous love that comes to dwell in me–

Lord, who am I that I should come to know

your tender voice assuring me

your wondrous love will never let me go.

i rest in you, the everlasting arms, in the ever faithful heart, the shepherd of my life.

you carry me on your mighty wings of grace keeping me until the day I look into your eyes.

oh wondrous love, oh wondrous love, wondrous love, oh wondrous love . . .

oh wondrous love that sings of Calvary–

the sweetest song this sinner’s ever known–

the song of your redeeming Son,

whose wondrous love will never let me go.

oh wondrous love that rushes over me,

i can’t escape this river’s glorious flow!

you overwhelm my days oh Lord.

your wondrous love will never let me go.

will never let me go . . .

verbal blunders at the beach June 18, 2008

first of all, i would like to thank my sister for . . . well . . . just being herself. without her, this post would not be possible. 🙂 (melissa, you know i love you.)

recently, my family and i spent some time at good ol’ myrtle beach. besides the 7 hour trip (which was supposed to take 4), a beach house filled to the brim with 19 people (a great source of activity, not so much with personal space), and it being senior week (i think every high school graduate was at the beach that weekend), we really did have a good time.

here are some verbal blunders and funny quotations that i particularly enjoyed in our three day stay.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

melissa (while chewing a rather large chunk of beef jerky): “mmm . . . i love beef jerky! (pause) is it made of ham?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

melissa (while waiting for the elevator with my dad): “so, what room are we in?”

dad: “412.”

melissa: “so, is that on the third floor?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

ben: “okay, that’s it. i’m NEED to find a bathroom . . . or a pier . . .”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

rachel (while running towards her 1.5 year old, who was heading towards the backend of the family yorkie with a strategically-pointed finger): “somebody grab ella! she’s about to give the dog a colonoscopy!”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

hee hee 😀

where the skies are full of promises . . .

augustine, in one of his more well-known prayers, accurately describes the dark places that we all face . . . i’m not talking about the days where we’re late to work, or our printer malfunctions, or we spill something on our shirt. he describes what it feels like when we are so burdened by our responsibilities, our circumstances, our lot, that we feel lost. he describes those “days when the burdens we carry chafe our shoulders and weigh us down; when the road seems dreary and endless, the skies grey and threatening; when our lives have no music in them, and our hearts are lonely, and our souls have lost their courage.”

our eye sight fails. our song is taken away.

we are afraid and alone.

i have sat in dark places. i see my friends sit in these places, putting on brave faces while they blink blindly in a providencially-placed night. but as we sit, the darkness hovering, the darkness covering, we have hope.

for darkness is not dark to Him. the night is bright as the day. the darkness is as light to Him.

it is there, in the dark when my eyes can’t see, that my soul sees the most. it is in the dark that my soul learns what my song should be. it is in the dark that i learn not to fear. where i learn, though i can see no one, that i am never, ever alone.

before the light shines on my circumstances, it shines in my soul.

the darkness teaches us that it is only Christ that can “flood the path with light, run our eyes to where the skies are full of promise; tune our hearts to brave music; give us the sense of comradeship with heroes and saints of every age.” it is Him that must “quicken our spirits that we may be able to encourage the souls of all who journey with us on the road of life.”

so, if just so happen to find yourself sitting in darkness, know that i’ve journeyed there. know that He’s journeyed there. and know that it is there that your soul, knowing nothing but His promises, will learn true rest.

battling against bland. May 31, 2008

“let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt . . .” (esv)

“let your speech at all times be gracious (pleasant and winsome), seasoned [as it were] with salt . . .” (amplified)

“be gracious in your speech. the goal is to bring out the best in others in a conversation, not put them down, not cut them out.” (message)

to “bring out the best.”  that’s the point of salt.  to find the good in food and accentuate it.  to make it taste the best it can.  that– THAT– is the point of our speech.  to use our voices as instruments of grace and as a means of edification.

i just got done reading pages of comments from people who i KNOW know this verse.  in their conversation, feeding on each others’ comments, i had a very hard time seeing grace.  i tried to see it.  i tried to taste any grace that they might be depositing.  but their words–typed weapons posted for people to see– left a very, very poor taste in my mouth.

now, am i of the belief that we shouldn’t talk about problems that we see?  flaws in systems?  mistakes in life?  absolutely not.  don’t cover things that can be improved.  don’t ignore mistakes.  bring them to the surface.  FIX them.  that is a means of grace– constructively deciding to expose in order to build better.  in order to truly edify.  to make grace clearer as the problems are seen and extracted.

this isn’t what i’m seeing.  i’m not reading words that want to invoke change.  i’m not noticing that conversations like these want to build anything.  i’m hearing the clashing brass of graceless speech determining to damage.

it saddens me.  it really does.

generally, i believe the old proverb that speech, truly, is like silver.  it’s a good, precious thing.  but there’s another half to this old saying that i believe applies to this salt-lacking speech situation and others like it and that is that . . .

silence, absolute silence, is golden.