There is an ache in God’s Glory

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There are mornings when my quiet time pushes me to the limits of my imagination. It is not every morning. It is not every season. But when it comes, I can see God alive in all of creation – in every creak of steps as boys come down in the morning, in the birds whose songs fill the room through a cracked window, in the heart that still beats in my chest after all these years.

My chest fills with an awareness of the divine-saturated beauty of all things and of the human ignorance of its participation within it. I feel surrounded, overwhelmed, saturated in the Divine Life. Yesterday morning, I continued reading Richard Rohr’s latest, The Universal Christ, and I was struck again by the glory of God – an understanding of the ridiculously extravagant presence of the divine that is just within reach enough to knock me to my knees.

If life really is this rich, it is nearly too decadent. The glory of God can feel like a decadent chocolate cake that cannot be consumed in one sitting. Continue reading

This Is the Self God Loves

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IMG_4576I breathe and let the pressure release –
deflating the overblown self until it is only the
real, true, small, mortal self.

This is the self God loves.
This is the self that is able to love.
This is the self who can love another.

This is the self that is finite in its form
but infinite in Your glory

For this small, mortal self is Yours –

Yours, for You originated it with your creative force
Yours, for You have and will continue to redeem it
Yours, for You breathe meaningful life into it.

In our vast world where human beings chase after immortality, this small, mortal self is my greatest gift. It is the greatest privilege. It is the vessel for Your glory – a technicolor beauty unable to behold without covering our eyes or looking away in discomfort.

So as the morning sun rises and a full day awaits,
I breathe Your air
and I release all the pressure.

I am Yours again,
and I am alive
for another day in Your world.

I pause.
I give thanks.
I go forward to bless the world.

This Technicolor Life

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9B1A219A-F033-4EFD-A81E-CB1A1F3B9D19.jpgThe calendar on our refrigerator needs updating. To update it, I need time to cull all of our schedules and bring them into harmony – a harmony that will dance in front our eyes every time I gather food or fill my water cup this month.  The paper calendar looks empty right now, but it is far from it.  Soon, it will bleed technicolor. It will tell of all the many stories to be lived in the coming weeks –

Light Blue for baseball games, children’s choir performance, and end of year festivities
Green for church events and night-time meetings
Dark Blue for time with friends
Red for travel, graduation, birthdays
Orange for miles run
Black for meals to make

To live amongst it all is to ask our inner lives to line up within the designated tasks of the day. To live this technicolor life is to transition quickly from workday to family time. Child of God to Servant of God. Mother to Minister, and back again. Rising One to Settling One. Human Working to Human Being. Continue reading

Patience: Temporary and Abundant

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“Lord, let me know my end,
and what is the measure of my days;
let me know how fleeting my life is.

You have made my days a few handbreadths,
and my lifetime is as nothing in your sight.
Surely everyone stands as a mere breath.
Surely everyone goes about like a shadow.
Surely for nothing, they are in turmoil,
they heap up and do not know who will gather.

And now what do I wait for?
My hope is in you…

Hear my prayer, O Lord:
and give ear to my cry;
do not hold your peace to my tears.
For I am your passing guest,
an alien, like all my forebearers.”

– Psalm 39

I have been reading Eugene Peterson’s Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places: A Conversation in Spiritual Theology and I just finished the long chapter on “Christ Plays in Creation.” His thoughts on Sabbath have me reeling and wondering many things. “We inhabit a mystery. We must not pretend to know too much.” Reading Psalm 39 on Monday led me to wonder about how often we think of time as either guaranteed (not cherishing what is, forgetting that it is a gift) or too scarce (angry at how “little” of it we have).

With a window, propped to hear the birds singing and conversing, I ignore the ticking clock and name for me to remember…

Patience requires nothing of me. I am awed to wait and wonder at all that grows not at my own initiative. I take in all the beauty that emerges due to Another’s design.

Patience requires everything of me. I am asked to wait and wonder at all that I wish to actively tend and nurture, produce and share – but I must wait my turn in Life’s Timing that I cannot control but I can submit to in frustration and joy, confusion and gratitude.

Patience says that all is temporary, so do not miss this moment and all that cannot last within it. Do not assume the moment needs MORE – missing that it is already brimming with more than we could ever take in, even if we tried.

Patience says that all is abundant, so be content with missing some of the moments or being unable to take it all in. There is more than enough. Patience says that life’s plentitude does not fade but extravagantly, almost arrogantly continues. Do not assume the moment needs CAPTURING – missing that the glory witnessed continues and cannot ever be erased.

Patience allows the eternal to exist right now – abundantly in the temporary.

Its power lingers as children come in and climb into my lap, asking for nutella with bread and if they woke early enough to have their 30 minutes of computer time. Then patience begins to interact with the ticking of the clock and I am beckoned back into the world of timed minutes. Already I am late in getting ready, but I just could not help myself. I could not help but believe that it is all true – that the birds singing, the cool air coming in the window, and the abundance of life was asking to be noticed and remembered.

But the school bell rings in an hour and 15 minutes. The house must wake, move, and have its begin in order to make it on time.

Time marches on, but thank God for all that has been and all that remains to be enjoyed.  Surely, even on a Friday morning, there will be enough of it.

Psalm 27: One Thing Worth Asking

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“One thing I asked of the Lord,
that I will seek after:
to live in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the Lord,
and to inquire in God’s temple…

I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong, and
let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord.”
– Psalm 27

Come close and wait. Consider the only task ahead is the permission you must give yourself to let down all the walls that keep you “protected” (the tasks, the identity, the relationships – all that you do to respond to fear and endings).  Give yourself permission to be the true, vulnerable being that you are – the only one who is able to step into the presence of the Lord, the One Who Is.

What will come next when you and I come before the Holy with all the real depth that we can muster?

I sense that this moment is an embrace. It is an overwhelming sense of being known.  It is a wholeness that we had been trying to construct all this time but had failed.  It is the wholeness that God gives and we receive.

This wholeness is a protection we thought we were making but now is bestowed – the kind of protection that does not eradicate danger but sends us back into dangerous situations with an intangible but palpable armor of faith, hope, and love.  Our vulnerable selves are not tempted to fight but ready to rest in a Promise that is more powerful than whatever fear threatened was coming.

In this embrace, now we wait.

Now we are able to wait, for we know that all the “doing” that matters must begin in a posture of dependence upon God and God’s goodness, rather than a mustering of our own worthiness.

God,
who is beyond all that we can imagine,
who is all that we will ever need,
who is saving us, hour by hour,
through the humanity You became in Jesus
and the mystery You continue to be,

One thing we ask,
One thing worth asking,
Hold us close and send us forth
as waiting participants in your created and creating world.

We are Yours.
You are ours.
All is well.

Amen.

Ash Wednesday: But There is More

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Before You, we will gather
in a sanctuary drained of its color.
The saints’ form will show,
but their vitality will seem lost for now.

How tempting it will be
to revel in the darkness,
to taste our bitter mortality,
to consider all we will lose,
to fall into the overwhelming sadness
over the fragility of it all.

But there is more.

There is the call to repentance –
turning our eyes away from self-pity
towards Christ’s pity for a world
aching with injustice and indifference
but filled with people making heroic efforts
to make a change.

See what breaks Jesus’ heart
and let it break my heart.
Let it break.
Let it be.

But there is more.

There is the call to redemption –
tasting despair, we know to ask,
we begin to yearn
for a God who has the power to save —

though that terrifies us
for it is beyond our understanding
(and therefore our control);
though we dismissed the thought of salvation
once we were too educated;
though we gave up on the
swoop-in-and-rescue salvation;
though we foolishly conflated fairy tales’ happily-ever-after
with the gospels.

Fragile, broken-hearted, redemption-hungry people
are the ones ready to begin the long journey.
Even in our standing to follow,
we are already being saved –
in the dark sanctuary, there is air in our lungs;
during the difficult times, there is resilience in our step;
though it will not come in this lifetime, there awaits a forever rest
that will come for all.

Look, there is more.
The Guide bids us follow.
Stand up, O Mortal, and come forward for the ashes.
“Dust you are,
to the dust, you will return,
redeemed and dancing.”

No Matter What Comes Today

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This morning I thumbed through my journal as it has reached its capacity and I move on to a new one. I found this prayer that I wrote on January 18. I was just about to start writing my thesis. I had just begun praying the hours with Thomas Merton’s prayer book – a practice that is changing the nature of my days. I was entering into a season where every hour counts and where my hustle determines whether I can cross the finish line. How much I needed this centering then and now. Before I enter the final week of thesis writing, this is the truth in which I stake my greatest claim.

In the morning before the sun rises
and before I am fully awake,
I remember You and Your mercies.
I recall the news: that no matter what the day holds,
You are the Lord of my life
the Creator of the ends of the earth
and of my interior world,
the Savior of my drowning soul
the Forgiver of my heart who tries to go its own way.

You desire me to live in Your peace.
You call me to dwell
and let all my action come from
this home base.

No matter what comes today,
I am already content with its ending.
I am already at peace.
I am already choosing to rejoice by nightfall.
For the truth of the world –
– the peace that is ours to claim –
depends not on the outcome of the day
but upon a covenant made a long time ago.
A promise that remains even today.

So this day, I go ahead and give You
my soul
devotion
obedience
commitment
for it is a privilege to do so.
It is the most obvious step to take
when salvation has been tasted,
when I consider all that we claim You to be
and I remember the ways You have
guided my life up until now
when I remember that the morning
brings mercies new to be ours –

a fresh start
a forgiven heart
a call new to discover

I remember that Your peace is our dwelling place.
It is a peace that cannot be earned,
no matter what comes of today,
and it is a peace which today’s challenges
may threaten but can never destroy.

In the morning when I rise, grant me devotion.
In the afternoon as I work, grant me commitment.
In the early evening as I play, grant me rest.
By nightfall, grant me a content heart.

All glory to You, the Giver of Days whose endings are already secure.