Some recent conversations have revolved around being what we believe, not telling it but being it. Also around the fact that by building relationships with others I then have permission to talk of what I believe, having first “been” what I believe.
Meditating on Matthew 9 in Eugene Peterson’s wonderful text of The Message there have been some bold words to ponder:
- Jesus is impressed by bold belief. It gets His attention. This blends courage and passion.
- This bold passion involved relationship (paraplegic) and touch (hemorrhaging woman) that brought freedom. Bold belief and courage got Jesus attention
- Jesus said “become what you believe”. Becoming means it is process that is always in the present. It means living, actively living. It is intensely personal because it is what “I” believe. Not the words, but the actions that will take me into relationship with others and not isolation.
- Jesus said “I’m after mercy, not religion. I’m here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders”. This was in response to the Pharisees criticizing his eating with the “riff-raff”. The Pharisees wanted rules and not relationship. Jesus words here are so powerful but His words came after His actions. He was being mercy, He was being in relationship.
Oh Abba, I want that bold belief that blends courage and passion. Abba I want to become, be in constant process of layers of isolation of my heart being removed so that I am in intimate relationship with You. Let this transfer to authentic relationship with community. Abba, may the ruach of Your Spirit be my breath so my words flow from You being in me.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
God Moments
Yesterday some women were sharing their “God Moments”. Each one had amazing moments when they knew the powerful presence of God.
He puts His image in every human being and therefore it only makes sense that no one is excluded from having those experiences of feeling and knowing God, where you get a glimpse of who He is, and know the power of some One beyond yourself. Do they have to reveal Truth? Maybe just knowing it is God is the deepest truth of all.
What are those moments in your lifetime? What did you see? What did you feel? As I write those questions I wonder if it is arrogant of me to even ask them. God moments are impossible to neatly package and present. They are wild and holy and are indelibly fingerprinted on your soul. My eyes will never fully see or understand your God moments just as your eyes and heart can never know all the nuances in mine. They are preciously individual.
It was one of those pristine winter days in Alberta. The temperature was hovering around –20 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, only the unbroken blue and the silence that comes with the absence of wind and traffic. Lake Louise rolls out for a mile from the Chateau, the Rockies rise up on either side of her and at the end of her sits a glacier. Every so often the groaning and cracking of the glaciers’ slow movements forward echo like gunshots across the lake.
The snow crunched beneath my cross-country ski boots as I walked from the parking lot to the lake. Skis over my shoulder, poles in hand, my upper torso kept warm with layers of handknit sweaters that would breath with my body heat. It was cold, my feet and hands quickly became numb so pushing off quickly was essential.
A blanket of fresh snow glistened, fresh, untouched, unmarked, inviting me to be the first to tread across it. Once my skis were on, sunglasses protecting my eyes, I headed out, alone, onto the lake. The depth of the lake covered by another deep layer of snow and ice. God’s love is layers deeper than I can see. The mountains are like the arms of the Almighty stretched wide inviting me to cross the expanse. I found intimacy in the expanse of this one dot in the Universe. Like a doxology rising inside I am whispering “Praise the Lord, O my soul; all that is within me, praise his holy name”. This was my trail to blaze, my path to forge as I headed out and built a steady rhythm. Breath in, cold air, exhale warm air – ice forms on headband. Flexing my feet and hands as I bend and then rise and the blood warms my extremities.
It is impossible to worry when cross-country skiing. I am totally present in that place, focusing on a steady rhythm while being aware of the whiskey jacks singing in the pines, of the deer that quietly step out of the tress, and enjoying the symphony that plays in my heart and head. Then Abba spoke: “this lake is like a valley – it leads to the base of the mountain. Pushing through the valley, forging paths in the unknown and uncharted places leads to the climb of the mountain and then you stand on the mountain top. Push through the valley because a mountain top experience lies ahead. Soak in the mountain top euphoria to gather courage for the next valley. And I will be with you every step of the way.”
God’s love, though is ever and always, eternally present to all who fear him.
Psalm 103:17 Msg
God, my God, how great you are! Beautifully, gloriously robed, dressed up in sunshine, and all heaven stretched out for your tent.
Psalm 104:1-2 Msg
He puts His image in every human being and therefore it only makes sense that no one is excluded from having those experiences of feeling and knowing God, where you get a glimpse of who He is, and know the power of some One beyond yourself. Do they have to reveal Truth? Maybe just knowing it is God is the deepest truth of all.
What are those moments in your lifetime? What did you see? What did you feel? As I write those questions I wonder if it is arrogant of me to even ask them. God moments are impossible to neatly package and present. They are wild and holy and are indelibly fingerprinted on your soul. My eyes will never fully see or understand your God moments just as your eyes and heart can never know all the nuances in mine. They are preciously individual.
It was one of those pristine winter days in Alberta. The temperature was hovering around –20 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, only the unbroken blue and the silence that comes with the absence of wind and traffic. Lake Louise rolls out for a mile from the Chateau, the Rockies rise up on either side of her and at the end of her sits a glacier. Every so often the groaning and cracking of the glaciers’ slow movements forward echo like gunshots across the lake.
The snow crunched beneath my cross-country ski boots as I walked from the parking lot to the lake. Skis over my shoulder, poles in hand, my upper torso kept warm with layers of handknit sweaters that would breath with my body heat. It was cold, my feet and hands quickly became numb so pushing off quickly was essential.
A blanket of fresh snow glistened, fresh, untouched, unmarked, inviting me to be the first to tread across it. Once my skis were on, sunglasses protecting my eyes, I headed out, alone, onto the lake. The depth of the lake covered by another deep layer of snow and ice. God’s love is layers deeper than I can see. The mountains are like the arms of the Almighty stretched wide inviting me to cross the expanse. I found intimacy in the expanse of this one dot in the Universe. Like a doxology rising inside I am whispering “Praise the Lord, O my soul; all that is within me, praise his holy name”. This was my trail to blaze, my path to forge as I headed out and built a steady rhythm. Breath in, cold air, exhale warm air – ice forms on headband. Flexing my feet and hands as I bend and then rise and the blood warms my extremities.
It is impossible to worry when cross-country skiing. I am totally present in that place, focusing on a steady rhythm while being aware of the whiskey jacks singing in the pines, of the deer that quietly step out of the tress, and enjoying the symphony that plays in my heart and head. Then Abba spoke: “this lake is like a valley – it leads to the base of the mountain. Pushing through the valley, forging paths in the unknown and uncharted places leads to the climb of the mountain and then you stand on the mountain top. Push through the valley because a mountain top experience lies ahead. Soak in the mountain top euphoria to gather courage for the next valley. And I will be with you every step of the way.”
God’s love, though is ever and always, eternally present to all who fear him.
Psalm 103:17 Msg
God, my God, how great you are! Beautifully, gloriously robed, dressed up in sunshine, and all heaven stretched out for your tent.
Psalm 104:1-2 Msg
Sunday, September 26, 2004
El Shaddai - The All Sufficient One
As an abundance of sun streams in the window, waking me up today, all I can hear being whispered to me is “El Shaddai – the all sufficient One. I am your El Shaddai”.
It is one of God’s names – El Shaddai.
El Shaddai. Bobbie spoke of more than enough, and Anj has spoken of it too. Neritia found it here.
El Shaddai, the God of more than enough
Abba who is whispering that He has enough strength for the storms.
Maestro who has more than enough patience for the lessons in His art studio where He reveals beauty by brushing away ashes and untying cords of bondage.
El Shaddai has more than enough Light to come into the dark places of the heart, tenderly bathe them in Light and restore life.
There is more than enough love to take the dead or dying heart spaces, redeem them and let the passion flow for the abundant, more than enough, life He promised.
El Shaddai, my God of more than enough: to redeem yesterday, to laugh today and to hold my hands trembling hands open for tomorrow. Oh El Shaddai I love you.
It is one of God’s names – El Shaddai.
El Shaddai. Bobbie spoke of more than enough, and Anj has spoken of it too. Neritia found it here.
El Shaddai, the God of more than enough
Abba who is whispering that He has enough strength for the storms.
Maestro who has more than enough patience for the lessons in His art studio where He reveals beauty by brushing away ashes and untying cords of bondage.
El Shaddai has more than enough Light to come into the dark places of the heart, tenderly bathe them in Light and restore life.
There is more than enough love to take the dead or dying heart spaces, redeem them and let the passion flow for the abundant, more than enough, life He promised.
El Shaddai, my God of more than enough: to redeem yesterday, to laugh today and to hold my hands trembling hands open for tomorrow. Oh El Shaddai I love you.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Front Porch Chat Time
Autumn arrived today and it felt more like winter. Nights arrive earlier and mornings arrive at a later hour. Sitting outside is over for a while now.
The front porch is still a safe and quiet place for sitting, for seeking my Abba and waiting for the time to tell Him things I need to speak of. Today, in my mind, I have been sitting with Him on the front porch. In my lap I hold a box of “things” we need to talk about. He puts His arm around me and holds me close. Quietly, gently, with compassion and grace He tells me I can speak of it when I am ready. He reminds me that He already knows these stories but when I speak of it with Him I will see His heart in them. I need to see His heart in them because right now I cannot.
I think of a friend I spent an evening with this week whose heart is carrying deep pain as she holds observed struggles up to Abba. I have read Rene’s book and it opens up “things” I hold in my lap. Others have written stories, others have shed tears and all of them have opened up “things” I must talk with Abba about as we sit here for our “front porch” visit. But Rene’s book has opened up a lot for me and I need to talk to Him about things I cannot understand, that still hurt. One incident in particular seems to have resurfaced.
About 10 years ago I went to Australia. Some friends had been deeply wounded by a church division and although I “belonged” to the side where legalism had wounded them, I clearly heard the Spirit tell me to go, with oil and wine to pour into the wounds. I loved them, and I just wanted to be with them in this painful time. My journey took me to Sydney for a few days and then on to Melbourne where I would be meeting up with my wounded friend who lived near by. I had by passed my church in the first stop for various reason, one of them being I felt unsafe as a woman in the presence of the one man in the gathering. In a town near to Melbourne I met him at another church meeting and he was furious that I had refused to visit the “one true representation” of the church in the city! Believe me when I say it didn’t represent Jesus at all! Nevertheless in the middle of a crowd of people (all known to me) he loudly expressed his displeasure and questioned that I heard from God at all. He was quite certain a woman could never be called to be a “priest”. I bit my lip, held in the tears and physically trembled. That evening I was called to meet with three “brothers” who drove up to the hotel where I was staying and suggested that I go to the room of one of them for a discussion. I flatly refused to enter any room with them and therefore our meeting took place in a car in a dark hotel parking lot. For two hours I was grilled as I why I thought I, a woman, could think I could go against their judgment of shunning my friend. How could I think I had any spiritual authority to meet these wicked people? (Their ‘wicked’ act had been to stand up for the way Jesus would have handled the situation) When asked for my “scriptural basis” for going I felt God had called me. They scoffed at this and one replied, “Oh you THOUGHT it was God?” I was asked to repent of my wickedness or be refused communion in the morning. Being refused communion would mean that I would need to leave Australia and be shunned there and at home. As this was the worst thing – being denied communion – I relented. I had no one stand with me, no one who came to my defense, no one who dared to put their arm around me and stop the trembling. I allowed myself to be bullied into changing my plans. I never did see my friend, whom I had been asked by Abba to go and be with, and I wounded her deeply. We have since spoken of it and she knew all of it – and loves me unconditionally, she shows me Jesus in all of her communications. But I sit with it tonight and want to revisit it with Him so I can let Him place His hand upon my heart and help me understand why Rene’s book, Stumbling Toward Faith reopened this one up again. Why I feel so sick when I remember it?
The front porch is still a safe and quiet place for sitting, for seeking my Abba and waiting for the time to tell Him things I need to speak of. Today, in my mind, I have been sitting with Him on the front porch. In my lap I hold a box of “things” we need to talk about. He puts His arm around me and holds me close. Quietly, gently, with compassion and grace He tells me I can speak of it when I am ready. He reminds me that He already knows these stories but when I speak of it with Him I will see His heart in them. I need to see His heart in them because right now I cannot.
I think of a friend I spent an evening with this week whose heart is carrying deep pain as she holds observed struggles up to Abba. I have read Rene’s book and it opens up “things” I hold in my lap. Others have written stories, others have shed tears and all of them have opened up “things” I must talk with Abba about as we sit here for our “front porch” visit. But Rene’s book has opened up a lot for me and I need to talk to Him about things I cannot understand, that still hurt. One incident in particular seems to have resurfaced.
About 10 years ago I went to Australia. Some friends had been deeply wounded by a church division and although I “belonged” to the side where legalism had wounded them, I clearly heard the Spirit tell me to go, with oil and wine to pour into the wounds. I loved them, and I just wanted to be with them in this painful time. My journey took me to Sydney for a few days and then on to Melbourne where I would be meeting up with my wounded friend who lived near by. I had by passed my church in the first stop for various reason, one of them being I felt unsafe as a woman in the presence of the one man in the gathering. In a town near to Melbourne I met him at another church meeting and he was furious that I had refused to visit the “one true representation” of the church in the city! Believe me when I say it didn’t represent Jesus at all! Nevertheless in the middle of a crowd of people (all known to me) he loudly expressed his displeasure and questioned that I heard from God at all. He was quite certain a woman could never be called to be a “priest”. I bit my lip, held in the tears and physically trembled. That evening I was called to meet with three “brothers” who drove up to the hotel where I was staying and suggested that I go to the room of one of them for a discussion. I flatly refused to enter any room with them and therefore our meeting took place in a car in a dark hotel parking lot. For two hours I was grilled as I why I thought I, a woman, could think I could go against their judgment of shunning my friend. How could I think I had any spiritual authority to meet these wicked people? (Their ‘wicked’ act had been to stand up for the way Jesus would have handled the situation) When asked for my “scriptural basis” for going I felt God had called me. They scoffed at this and one replied, “Oh you THOUGHT it was God?” I was asked to repent of my wickedness or be refused communion in the morning. Being refused communion would mean that I would need to leave Australia and be shunned there and at home. As this was the worst thing – being denied communion – I relented. I had no one stand with me, no one who came to my defense, no one who dared to put their arm around me and stop the trembling. I allowed myself to be bullied into changing my plans. I never did see my friend, whom I had been asked by Abba to go and be with, and I wounded her deeply. We have since spoken of it and she knew all of it – and loves me unconditionally, she shows me Jesus in all of her communications. But I sit with it tonight and want to revisit it with Him so I can let Him place His hand upon my heart and help me understand why Rene’s book, Stumbling Toward Faith reopened this one up again. Why I feel so sick when I remember it?
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
What is Home?
Josh Groban sings “mi mancherai” and the richness of this language, my adopted language floats around me like a piece of fine silk. Light and gentle it touches me and yet I feel it deep within me. “mi mancherai” – I miss you Italia.
Idelette has written about “home” where she was born and where she is visiting yet it isn’t home at all now. Anj talks about coming home to freedom.
I was born is a small town in eastern Canada. The place I spent the first 14 years of my life. I remember; there are happy memories and deeply painful ones, but it isn’t home.
Home for the next 28 years was in a city close to the Rocky Mountains. A place of cold winters, incredibly sunny skies, and the most sunshine hours anywhere in Canada. Family are still there and I need to go and visit them again. The etchings on my soul have left wonderful memories and some deep gouges. My Divine Maestro and I are working on those memories and deep gouges to release and redeem them. That place isn’t home.
There was 6 months living in Britain, working in a fishing village on the North Sea. I would never choose to live there because it never wedged it’s way into my heart. There were long vacations in Australia and New Zealand and I wondered if I was destined to live there but it wasn’t so.
Then I went to Italy and she holds a huge part of my heart, but it isn’t home. Jen has a photo on her blog today that so describes how my heart felt in that country of colour, of flavours, of passion and richness and how she seduced me. She speaks a language of love but she also speaks of harshness. Traditions are rich yet at the same time hold freedom hostage. I saw women broken by the men who rigidly hold to those traditions. Yet in that environment I felt freer than I ever had in my life. The woman in me was alive and enjoyed simply “being”. For the first time I let myself “be” who was hidden inside and delighted in the chance to breath so freely. When asked what I was doing I replied, “I am on a sabbatical”! How else can you find a socially acceptable way to say “I am being” to a church culture, and an employment culture that is so highly performance oriented? Never before had watching the world go by held such fascination, or been so energizing! Never before had the colours of life seemed so vibrant, or the music of daily living seemed so unpredictable and so enchanting. Never before had savouring new tastes and textures, along with well known ones been such a sweet occupation. And the language – oh this deeply romantic passionate language has indeed captured me and refuses to leave me. Wild winter storms that destroyed the coastline, where the wind and rain penetrated through my wooden shutters and old window casings. Hot summer days and sultry summer evenings where the dinner began after 10PM were decadent. Where going slow was how one sauntered along with the crowd on clear summer evenings and streets were filled with music, laughter and the ever-present Vespa. She continues to call to my heart, but she, Italia, isn’t home.
Home must be that place where one lives generously (Matthew 5), lives out your God-created identity, where there is no pretending, you live in pure grace and from the center of who you are in Christ (Romans 12), and where placing your life before God as an offering isn’t about losing life – it is about receiving it and the One who gifts it to us.(all quoted from The Message) Home can be anywhere if I know “how” to live. I think my heart is standing at the front gate of home and Abba is waiting for me to walk on in.
As I write that last line I am laughing – I hope He has a great kitchen in this heart home! My heart dances in the kitchen.
Idelette has written about “home” where she was born and where she is visiting yet it isn’t home at all now. Anj talks about coming home to freedom.
I was born is a small town in eastern Canada. The place I spent the first 14 years of my life. I remember; there are happy memories and deeply painful ones, but it isn’t home.
Home for the next 28 years was in a city close to the Rocky Mountains. A place of cold winters, incredibly sunny skies, and the most sunshine hours anywhere in Canada. Family are still there and I need to go and visit them again. The etchings on my soul have left wonderful memories and some deep gouges. My Divine Maestro and I are working on those memories and deep gouges to release and redeem them. That place isn’t home.
There was 6 months living in Britain, working in a fishing village on the North Sea. I would never choose to live there because it never wedged it’s way into my heart. There were long vacations in Australia and New Zealand and I wondered if I was destined to live there but it wasn’t so.
Then I went to Italy and she holds a huge part of my heart, but it isn’t home. Jen has a photo on her blog today that so describes how my heart felt in that country of colour, of flavours, of passion and richness and how she seduced me. She speaks a language of love but she also speaks of harshness. Traditions are rich yet at the same time hold freedom hostage. I saw women broken by the men who rigidly hold to those traditions. Yet in that environment I felt freer than I ever had in my life. The woman in me was alive and enjoyed simply “being”. For the first time I let myself “be” who was hidden inside and delighted in the chance to breath so freely. When asked what I was doing I replied, “I am on a sabbatical”! How else can you find a socially acceptable way to say “I am being” to a church culture, and an employment culture that is so highly performance oriented? Never before had watching the world go by held such fascination, or been so energizing! Never before had the colours of life seemed so vibrant, or the music of daily living seemed so unpredictable and so enchanting. Never before had savouring new tastes and textures, along with well known ones been such a sweet occupation. And the language – oh this deeply romantic passionate language has indeed captured me and refuses to leave me. Wild winter storms that destroyed the coastline, where the wind and rain penetrated through my wooden shutters and old window casings. Hot summer days and sultry summer evenings where the dinner began after 10PM were decadent. Where going slow was how one sauntered along with the crowd on clear summer evenings and streets were filled with music, laughter and the ever-present Vespa. She continues to call to my heart, but she, Italia, isn’t home.
Home must be that place where one lives generously (Matthew 5), lives out your God-created identity, where there is no pretending, you live in pure grace and from the center of who you are in Christ (Romans 12), and where placing your life before God as an offering isn’t about losing life – it is about receiving it and the One who gifts it to us.(all quoted from The Message) Home can be anywhere if I know “how” to live. I think my heart is standing at the front gate of home and Abba is waiting for me to walk on in.
As I write that last line I am laughing – I hope He has a great kitchen in this heart home! My heart dances in the kitchen.
Monday, September 20, 2004
The Spring
“inner wellsprings form deep pools of soul energy within us. For many of us, it has been difficult to allow ourselves to drink from them. We know intuitively that the first sip of intoxicating revelation is bought at very great cost. As if in preparation, the strategic part of our mind has already done a thorough cost-benefit analysis and is advising us not to go through with the bargain.
We kneel, as if by the side of a pool, seeing in one moment not only the fleeting and gossamer reflection of our own face, clouded and disturbed by every passing breath and the lives of all the innumerable creatures that live in its waters, but the hidden depths below, beyond our sight, sustaining and holding everything we comprehend.”
David Whyte
In the south island of New Zealand I have visited a spring out in an obscure place. It is at the end of a narrow dirt pathway, not even a roadway, but less than that. In an opening in a forested area lies a spring that bubbles up and becomes a stream heading towards the sea. This spring rushes to the surface and bubbles forth with such energy! It is a picture that I will never forget. Standing there, isolated from traffic or human noise, only the wind, the birds and the sound of rushing water that came from deep within the earth. An energized spring of water from somewhere unseen but powerfully visible. The word “spring” itself paints a picture of energy.
Wes Roberts has been writing about beauty and in this one he directed me to Romans 12 where again I see this spring. Not just any spring of water from the earth but the spring of ones God given identity that says:
· Take your everyday ordinary life…and place it before God as an offering.
· Deep gratitude for all the God has given me
· God brings it all to you
· Love from the center of who you are
· Live our your God created identity (Matthew 5)
· To find meaning and function as part of His body
This isn’t about what is on the surface, of what I can see. It is what is deep deep within us. From the center of our being, the place where the Divine wants to live and be the source of the spring that comes rushing up to breath, to laugh, to dance, to love, to give, to participate, to worship, to be unique, to function as part of something larger than my own vision or imagination. It is the place where His Spirit breathes into my being. Not to kneel and be intimidated, as David Whyte writes, but rather to acknowledge and grasp that energy from the spring, embrace and be embraced by the One who is the Creator of it, and live from the passion Jesus gives. To drink from this spring in the same way I reach for a full glass of water repeatedly during my waking hours.
We kneel, as if by the side of a pool, seeing in one moment not only the fleeting and gossamer reflection of our own face, clouded and disturbed by every passing breath and the lives of all the innumerable creatures that live in its waters, but the hidden depths below, beyond our sight, sustaining and holding everything we comprehend.”
David Whyte
In the south island of New Zealand I have visited a spring out in an obscure place. It is at the end of a narrow dirt pathway, not even a roadway, but less than that. In an opening in a forested area lies a spring that bubbles up and becomes a stream heading towards the sea. This spring rushes to the surface and bubbles forth with such energy! It is a picture that I will never forget. Standing there, isolated from traffic or human noise, only the wind, the birds and the sound of rushing water that came from deep within the earth. An energized spring of water from somewhere unseen but powerfully visible. The word “spring” itself paints a picture of energy.
Wes Roberts has been writing about beauty and in this one he directed me to Romans 12 where again I see this spring. Not just any spring of water from the earth but the spring of ones God given identity that says:
· Take your everyday ordinary life…and place it before God as an offering.
· Deep gratitude for all the God has given me
· God brings it all to you
· Love from the center of who you are
· Live our your God created identity (Matthew 5)
· To find meaning and function as part of His body
This isn’t about what is on the surface, of what I can see. It is what is deep deep within us. From the center of our being, the place where the Divine wants to live and be the source of the spring that comes rushing up to breath, to laugh, to dance, to love, to give, to participate, to worship, to be unique, to function as part of something larger than my own vision or imagination. It is the place where His Spirit breathes into my being. Not to kneel and be intimidated, as David Whyte writes, but rather to acknowledge and grasp that energy from the spring, embrace and be embraced by the One who is the Creator of it, and live from the passion Jesus gives. To drink from this spring in the same way I reach for a full glass of water repeatedly during my waking hours.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Change of Scenery
A change of scenery is so refreshing! I needed one today and so I hopped on the ferry and headed to the mainland to meet a friend for dinner on the other side.
Waiting at the dock I watched a beautiful sleek classic wooden speedboat sedately drive by. The sound of it was gone by the time the ripples rolled up to the dock. How many people pass through our lives and leave ripples behind? I only thought of the positive ripples as I waited – an elderly couple in New Zealand, my niece who lived 9 months, elderly women I have spent time with gaining from their experience earned wisdom.
A picnic bench at the dock provides a good viewing spot to watch, to get out my journal and write. The other occupant of the bench wanted his own space and isn’t interested in conversation. We are joined by a woman and her two Jack Russell’s – well behaved ones. Pedestrians gather, waiting and ready for the ferry to roll in, unload, reload and sail out again, 7 sailings a day from this end. No one really talks as we stay in our own worlds.
Like sheep we all head down the ramp and onto the ferry, snippets of conversation here and there. Mainly we walk on, find a seat, or head to eat, and 40 minutes later walk off. Where are they going, or where did they come from? Who did they converse with today or who have they said goodbye to? What choices were made today? A mother copes with tired children, and she looks exhausted. Many commuters have their nose in a book or a newspaper. Muted conversations carry on around me. The engine hums and the boat vibrates as we move out. I read my book by Parker Palmer and jot in my journal. The sun came out today and the sailing is fine.
I step off on the mainland and head to a restaurant to meet a good friend and share pieces of the week. The clink of shoes on the ramp. Two friends are off to retreats this weekend and I share my thoughts for them with Abba as I head down the long walkway into the open air. Several other woman are on my heart – the heaviness of what they hold in the Light makes me run to Abba for them, with them. I replay a phone conversation with a special friend who spoke truth. I listened and I trust his words because I know he understands my heart. Sunshine is out this afternoon and its warmth is good on my skin, I inhale the sea air and breath deeply.
Two hours later, after good conversation I stand waiting for the gate to open. Then, like sheep, we walk onto the ferry, find a seat or head to eat. How predictable we all are. Where have they been? I chat with someone I know through work and he shares that his children are with his parents, his wife in another city and he works long hours on the tugboats. Knowing pieces of this family’s story, it has been a long tough road, but he still hopes for healing.
It’s dark when I get to the “home” side. We walk at different paces, and I look into other’s eyes. Some look back, others turn away, some have never looked up. Footsteps, the sound of many footsteps heading to the parking lot. Soft soled shoes have a soft scuff, hard heals echo in the cool evening. The days are getting shorter. Where is Jesus in this crowd? What do His footsteps sound like?
Heading up the long hill, almost home, I think that the change of scenery was so good! Watching people makes one feel alive. I feel alive tonight. It was His breath of extra to the ordinary. Oh it feels good! I felt those unforced rhythms of grace tonight.
“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.” Matthew 5:5 The Message
Waiting at the dock I watched a beautiful sleek classic wooden speedboat sedately drive by. The sound of it was gone by the time the ripples rolled up to the dock. How many people pass through our lives and leave ripples behind? I only thought of the positive ripples as I waited – an elderly couple in New Zealand, my niece who lived 9 months, elderly women I have spent time with gaining from their experience earned wisdom.
A picnic bench at the dock provides a good viewing spot to watch, to get out my journal and write. The other occupant of the bench wanted his own space and isn’t interested in conversation. We are joined by a woman and her two Jack Russell’s – well behaved ones. Pedestrians gather, waiting and ready for the ferry to roll in, unload, reload and sail out again, 7 sailings a day from this end. No one really talks as we stay in our own worlds.
Like sheep we all head down the ramp and onto the ferry, snippets of conversation here and there. Mainly we walk on, find a seat, or head to eat, and 40 minutes later walk off. Where are they going, or where did they come from? Who did they converse with today or who have they said goodbye to? What choices were made today? A mother copes with tired children, and she looks exhausted. Many commuters have their nose in a book or a newspaper. Muted conversations carry on around me. The engine hums and the boat vibrates as we move out. I read my book by Parker Palmer and jot in my journal. The sun came out today and the sailing is fine.
I step off on the mainland and head to a restaurant to meet a good friend and share pieces of the week. The clink of shoes on the ramp. Two friends are off to retreats this weekend and I share my thoughts for them with Abba as I head down the long walkway into the open air. Several other woman are on my heart – the heaviness of what they hold in the Light makes me run to Abba for them, with them. I replay a phone conversation with a special friend who spoke truth. I listened and I trust his words because I know he understands my heart. Sunshine is out this afternoon and its warmth is good on my skin, I inhale the sea air and breath deeply.
Two hours later, after good conversation I stand waiting for the gate to open. Then, like sheep, we walk onto the ferry, find a seat or head to eat. How predictable we all are. Where have they been? I chat with someone I know through work and he shares that his children are with his parents, his wife in another city and he works long hours on the tugboats. Knowing pieces of this family’s story, it has been a long tough road, but he still hopes for healing.
It’s dark when I get to the “home” side. We walk at different paces, and I look into other’s eyes. Some look back, others turn away, some have never looked up. Footsteps, the sound of many footsteps heading to the parking lot. Soft soled shoes have a soft scuff, hard heals echo in the cool evening. The days are getting shorter. Where is Jesus in this crowd? What do His footsteps sound like?
Heading up the long hill, almost home, I think that the change of scenery was so good! Watching people makes one feel alive. I feel alive tonight. It was His breath of extra to the ordinary. Oh it feels good! I felt those unforced rhythms of grace tonight.
“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are – no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.” Matthew 5:5 The Message
Seeking, choosing
"People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we are seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances with our inner-most being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive. That's that it's finally all about..."
Joseph Campbell from The Active Life
Choosing life
Being unafraid to live, really live
Your inside world is connected to your head and heart and you have eyes to see the outside world and participate in it
Settling into the embrace of the Almighty and letting grace be absorbed
Being and doing flow out of inner living
Joseph Campbell from The Active Life
Choosing life
Being unafraid to live, really live
Your inside world is connected to your head and heart and you have eyes to see the outside world and participate in it
Settling into the embrace of the Almighty and letting grace be absorbed
Being and doing flow out of inner living
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Soul Holes
In a conversation this week with a cyber friend we were talking about those places we feel most alive. There are spaces inside, sometimes-larger spaces that were made to be filled up. With what?
The earth is round, whether I believe it or not. The universe has black holes in it, way out there, whether I believe it or not. Yet if one traveled out into space the facts may well be observed.
In the space of our own hearts, in the dark unexplored places of the soul, there are “black holes”, whether we believe it or not. Space meant to be filled, yet for some reason it remains closed, uncharted and emotionally closed, silenced and immobile. Fear orbits around these places, becoming territorial and giving the illusion that it will forever remain as a void empty space.
What if I were to travel, with the Divine Maestro, into these “black holes” of my soul and let Him place the Light there instead? Let His presence, which is Light, fill this space?
“Your eyes are windows into your body. If you open your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light.” Matthew 6:22 Msg
What then of those moments when we feel most alive, when the passion of our soul is the full orchestra of our most passionate melody of personhood? These are the moments when we feel most present, when we are most present in “hope”. The empty spaces, for those moments, disappear. Being present then seems to bring “hope” into that moment and hope is in the now, not in the future. Being present, fully alive and full of passion for life – there the black holes are filled with Light.
These most alive moments may only be moments and are intimate, solitary moments with the Divine. His fingerprints are left upon me.
I long for, I am seeking more of the moments, fully alive and dancing to the music He sings in the Light. He calls me to join Him there, to believe that He waits for me there. To experience the soul deep rapture.
Maestro has been opening my eyes to some black holes in my soul and placing His Light, His presence there. The song He hums to me is “The Song of the Redeemed”; redeeming the lost pieces, reclaiming hope, restoring the melody.
The earth is round, whether I believe it or not. The universe has black holes in it, way out there, whether I believe it or not. Yet if one traveled out into space the facts may well be observed.
In the space of our own hearts, in the dark unexplored places of the soul, there are “black holes”, whether we believe it or not. Space meant to be filled, yet for some reason it remains closed, uncharted and emotionally closed, silenced and immobile. Fear orbits around these places, becoming territorial and giving the illusion that it will forever remain as a void empty space.
What if I were to travel, with the Divine Maestro, into these “black holes” of my soul and let Him place the Light there instead? Let His presence, which is Light, fill this space?
“Your eyes are windows into your body. If you open your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light.” Matthew 6:22 Msg
What then of those moments when we feel most alive, when the passion of our soul is the full orchestra of our most passionate melody of personhood? These are the moments when we feel most present, when we are most present in “hope”. The empty spaces, for those moments, disappear. Being present then seems to bring “hope” into that moment and hope is in the now, not in the future. Being present, fully alive and full of passion for life – there the black holes are filled with Light.
These most alive moments may only be moments and are intimate, solitary moments with the Divine. His fingerprints are left upon me.
I long for, I am seeking more of the moments, fully alive and dancing to the music He sings in the Light. He calls me to join Him there, to believe that He waits for me there. To experience the soul deep rapture.
Maestro has been opening my eyes to some black holes in my soul and placing His Light, His presence there. The song He hums to me is “The Song of the Redeemed”; redeeming the lost pieces, reclaiming hope, restoring the melody.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
A Celebration
They have come to celebrate their joint anniversaries – 6 couples married the same year, going to the same church and socializing together. Every 5 years they celebrate their wedding anniversary together and this weekend is year 35.
Celebrations, rituals, invitations, preparations.
Jesus invites us to
· Come and change your life
· Come and taste godliness by being salt
· Come and see the God colours of the world by being light
· Come looking for Him and then find Him
· Come and “be” and in that being or stillness know God
Many more invitations to be found from Jesus.
Today I am preparing the meal for this celebration. In this preparation and then presentation I long for them to see “those unforced rhythms of grace” – another invitation from Yeshua.
It started as I read about being here “to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavours of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness?”
Then “You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colours in the world.”
Sitting down to dinner, they will start with a simple salad. The dressing has been marinating for the afternoon so the flavours will be subtle but smooth. Then before them will be placed the platter that is heaped with food, steaming, fragrant and invites them to partake, to eat what they desire, to savour. The aroma will reach them before they come to dinner. Then they will take the prawns in their hands and feel their warmth, remove the shells and taste the melded flavours of the sea, of salt, of onions and garlic. Chicken and spicy sausage that will add yet more taste sensations as the herbs and spices meet and are recognized by their taste buds. The rich deep saffron rice with spices from far off lands, is the underlying bed to this dish. Yet another texture. All seasoned with salt, all full of colours created by the Divine Maestro. There will be laughter, maybe some tears, joy, sharing, community and blessing.
Preparing paella I think about being salt seasoning hidden away in the kitchen. As I passionately pour love into this dish I want the God colours to open their eyes to new things. And most of all at this celebration and informal evening may the unforced rhythms of grace be felt as they partake of a common dish, each taking what they need or desire. My Divine Maestro knows well that preparing paella is a place where I celebrate my artist hand with food, where I celebrate the depth of communication that He meant a dinner invitation to be. All the joy and wonder of my life in Italy and my love of watching hearts open as people linger together around a table. Where He reminds me that one day, one day, I will no longer be in the kitchen but be His guest, at His table, and enjoy a banquet that is out of this world. I will taste, I will touch, I will see, I will hear and I will smell the aroma of Heaven as I never will on earth. Hope is knowing the invitation is there and that I have RSVP’d – I will come. Perhaps the aroma of Heaven is more fragrant now that I had ever realized.
Celebrations, rituals, invitations, preparations.
Jesus invites us to
· Come and change your life
· Come and taste godliness by being salt
· Come and see the God colours of the world by being light
· Come looking for Him and then find Him
· Come and “be” and in that being or stillness know God
Many more invitations to be found from Jesus.
Today I am preparing the meal for this celebration. In this preparation and then presentation I long for them to see “those unforced rhythms of grace” – another invitation from Yeshua.
It started as I read about being here “to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavours of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness?”
Then “You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colours in the world.”
Sitting down to dinner, they will start with a simple salad. The dressing has been marinating for the afternoon so the flavours will be subtle but smooth. Then before them will be placed the platter that is heaped with food, steaming, fragrant and invites them to partake, to eat what they desire, to savour. The aroma will reach them before they come to dinner. Then they will take the prawns in their hands and feel their warmth, remove the shells and taste the melded flavours of the sea, of salt, of onions and garlic. Chicken and spicy sausage that will add yet more taste sensations as the herbs and spices meet and are recognized by their taste buds. The rich deep saffron rice with spices from far off lands, is the underlying bed to this dish. Yet another texture. All seasoned with salt, all full of colours created by the Divine Maestro. There will be laughter, maybe some tears, joy, sharing, community and blessing.
Preparing paella I think about being salt seasoning hidden away in the kitchen. As I passionately pour love into this dish I want the God colours to open their eyes to new things. And most of all at this celebration and informal evening may the unforced rhythms of grace be felt as they partake of a common dish, each taking what they need or desire. My Divine Maestro knows well that preparing paella is a place where I celebrate my artist hand with food, where I celebrate the depth of communication that He meant a dinner invitation to be. All the joy and wonder of my life in Italy and my love of watching hearts open as people linger together around a table. Where He reminds me that one day, one day, I will no longer be in the kitchen but be His guest, at His table, and enjoy a banquet that is out of this world. I will taste, I will touch, I will see, I will hear and I will smell the aroma of Heaven as I never will on earth. Hope is knowing the invitation is there and that I have RSVP’d – I will come. Perhaps the aroma of Heaven is more fragrant now that I had ever realized.
Autumn Knocks
Autumn's cool mornings, and cooler nights, mean she is knocking at the door
Summer has begun to pack her bags and move to the Southern Hemisphere
Winter then will come, soon enough, she'll be here
Summer arrived with hope in her cases, but when she unpacked them, it was gone
Somewhere else, someone else must have that case. Disappointing
Subtle changes in the air, the perfume of Autumn - a shifting, a turning, a retreating
Yet Autumn arrives with her cases full of rich garments, exotic and enchanting all at once
Colours of passion to warm the heart - before those shorter colder days of Winter arrive
She dances on the wind and draws Creation into the dance
Falling leaves leap up to swirl with the rhythm of her song
Autumn is gently suggesting that my heart let go of Summer hopes and dreams
I want to hold on for a while longer; I hesitate to open my hands and let the wind lift them away
Perhaps Autumn is coming to remind me that her rich passionate colours are the colours of my heart, my true colours
She draws me in to remember her bounty of produce and the simmering fragrance it produces
What simmers in the kitchen can warm others hearts, draw them in from the outside and embrace them in the warmth found sitting round the table.
Ah yes, Autumn is knocking at the door
I have always loved her arrival, felt most alive when she visits
But this time, I don't want to let go of Summer, not yet
It seems too soon, too short, or maybe it is just letting go of the dreams I hoped she would bring
Perhaps Autumn has something of hope in her cases
She is a rich one indeed
Summer has begun to pack her bags and move to the Southern Hemisphere
Winter then will come, soon enough, she'll be here
Summer arrived with hope in her cases, but when she unpacked them, it was gone
Somewhere else, someone else must have that case. Disappointing
Subtle changes in the air, the perfume of Autumn - a shifting, a turning, a retreating
Yet Autumn arrives with her cases full of rich garments, exotic and enchanting all at once
Colours of passion to warm the heart - before those shorter colder days of Winter arrive
She dances on the wind and draws Creation into the dance
Falling leaves leap up to swirl with the rhythm of her song
Autumn is gently suggesting that my heart let go of Summer hopes and dreams
I want to hold on for a while longer; I hesitate to open my hands and let the wind lift them away
Perhaps Autumn is coming to remind me that her rich passionate colours are the colours of my heart, my true colours
She draws me in to remember her bounty of produce and the simmering fragrance it produces
What simmers in the kitchen can warm others hearts, draw them in from the outside and embrace them in the warmth found sitting round the table.
Ah yes, Autumn is knocking at the door
I have always loved her arrival, felt most alive when she visits
But this time, I don't want to let go of Summer, not yet
It seems too soon, too short, or maybe it is just letting go of the dreams I hoped she would bring
Perhaps Autumn has something of hope in her cases
She is a rich one indeed
Thursday, September 09, 2004
The Sound of Weeping
There was no media to report the tragedy; no radio or newspapers or internet, no journalists running to the scene. Jeremiah predicted it, and Matthew wrote about it. Jesus birth caused it – a King, Herod, so desperate to wipe out any rival for his power that he caused a huge slaughter of innocent little boys. Little girls were considered no threat because they never held power. They were punished through the losses.
We hear their tears through the gospel account:
A sound was heard in Ramah,
Weeping and much lament
Rachel weeping for her children,
Rachel refusing all solace,
Her children gone,
Dead and buried.
The whole world can see and hear the weeping today, and the bottle God holds collecting the tears is enormous right now, but the pain is too deep to describe.
The sound is heard in Russia, in Sudan, in the Middle East, in small towns in North American, in every nation of this earth,
Weeping and much lament, agonized cries
A mother weeping for her children
There is no place of solace, she cannot find it, her pain too deep to search for it.
Her children are gone, no one can find them, no one knows where they are
Dead and buried.
Oh God You saw it all when Your Son came to this world, You see it now. Comfort Your children, comfort Your children. "Comfort, oh comfort my people...speak softly and tenderly"
We hear their tears through the gospel account:
A sound was heard in Ramah,
Weeping and much lament
Rachel weeping for her children,
Rachel refusing all solace,
Her children gone,
Dead and buried.
The whole world can see and hear the weeping today, and the bottle God holds collecting the tears is enormous right now, but the pain is too deep to describe.
The sound is heard in Russia, in Sudan, in the Middle East, in small towns in North American, in every nation of this earth,
Weeping and much lament, agonized cries
A mother weeping for her children
There is no place of solace, she cannot find it, her pain too deep to search for it.
Her children are gone, no one can find them, no one knows where they are
Dead and buried.
Oh God You saw it all when Your Son came to this world, You see it now. Comfort Your children, comfort Your children. "Comfort, oh comfort my people...speak softly and tenderly"
Monday, September 06, 2004
Touching something tender
Step Softly
A sea washed, sun bleached tree truck becomes a lounge chair in the midafternoon. A nippy tinge in the air is the reminder that holidays are over, autumn is on the way. The wind touches anything out in the open, the sea breaths rhythmically upon the shore.
Sitting crossed legged on this bleached trunk, holding thoughts, trying, unsuccessfully, to be still inwardly. The horizon is hazy but the immediate view is the pebbles in very close proximity – just beneath my feet.
Pebbles on the beach snuggled together, touching, overlapping, some overshadowing those of lesser size. Layer upon layer, varieties of colour and shape, layers that go deeper than the eye can see. As the sea exhales upon the shore with every incoming and outgoing tide, it rearranges the setting of these small stones.
Pebbles that I have walked across, barely noticing, hearing their shifting and grinding against each other beneath my feet. How many people have I “walked over” never seeing their inimitable loveliness and the depths of their heart? An enormous wasp gently and tenderly negotiates his way over the stones, more aware of their texture than I, not treading them into the ground as my weight does. I envy his ability to softly wend his way, lightly, slowly, and methodically.
Abba forgive me for rushing over others in the rush to fill the spaces within me. Forgive me for not letting You be my eyes to everything unique around me.
“Let your gentleness be evident to all.” Phil 4:5
“But when the kindness and love of God our Saviour appeared, he saved us …” Titus 3:4
Logs, weathered, peeling, shifted by the waves that they cannot resist. Or are they simply free to move when the tides move in and then retreat every day?
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Faces, Mirrors and Stories
We have often been told that our eyes are a reflection of the soul. That our facial expressions can mirror our thoughts, and our body language reflects an inner story. People can be easy to read, or they can be exceptional poker players and live a façade that disguises their inner life.
Yesterday I had my first “speaking engagement”! This is a huge milestone for me. I have never told my story or spoken at an event in this way before. On every mission trip it was the “unmarried” who remained silent and never told their story. If I may step out here – all too often single women are seen as having nothing to say, no life experience to speak about. Just for the record – that isn’t the truth at all. Okay, now that I have said that and put it out there, I will move on.
When invited to speak my first reaction was to say no but as I took it to my Divine Maestro I knew that I had to say yes, not knowing why. I was asked to talk about woman of life and women of beauty and how my testimony fit into that. Subjects I acknowledge difficulty in accepting from the Divine. Esther was the biblical woman and for 4 days I could see no common ground between Esther and myself. Chatting with a friend on Friday morning and hearing her thoughts on my journey opened the windows and there, finally, I saw what we had in common:
1 – beauty is a process not for men but for the King
2 – finding our voice “for such a time as this”
3 – being women who give life through the way we love life
As I was speaking I was watching the faces of the women in the room. Their faces became mirrors to their hearts, reflecting their own stories. Their faces were not reflecting my story – they were acknowledging their own. The body language of the women in the room showed their inner life – I could see this from where I stood. Tears fell from their eyes as they acknowledged their struggles for beauty, to find their voice and the desire to be life givers. Oh there is so much more beneath the surface and we all long for someone to know our story, to hear our hearts and to feel safe in the telling of our story and to be found beautiful.
Jesus told stories or parables in His three years of ministry work on earth. He told stories that reflected the lives of those He talked to and with. The difference with Jesus was that He already knew their heart, He was just holding up a verbal mirror to them. The stories He told simply let them see their own reflection, if they were willing to look. The woman at the well felt safe to look at her story, her heart. The woman who touched the hem of Jesus garment found her voice to acknowledge her story and to find freedom. The prostitute at Jesus feet felt safe to let her tears fall, but then looked into His eyes to find what love really was. So many more – just look at each one and you will find all these threads
As we look at the reflection of the heart there will also be a reflection of the Divine. We are created in His image. Yes I saw my Divine Maestro reflected in these women. Women in the processes of being beautified, finding their voices and being givers of life. Women, beauty and life – part of the feminine of God’s heart. Part of the heart of the Divine that displays passion for life.
Yesterday I had my first “speaking engagement”! This is a huge milestone for me. I have never told my story or spoken at an event in this way before. On every mission trip it was the “unmarried” who remained silent and never told their story. If I may step out here – all too often single women are seen as having nothing to say, no life experience to speak about. Just for the record – that isn’t the truth at all. Okay, now that I have said that and put it out there, I will move on.
When invited to speak my first reaction was to say no but as I took it to my Divine Maestro I knew that I had to say yes, not knowing why. I was asked to talk about woman of life and women of beauty and how my testimony fit into that. Subjects I acknowledge difficulty in accepting from the Divine. Esther was the biblical woman and for 4 days I could see no common ground between Esther and myself. Chatting with a friend on Friday morning and hearing her thoughts on my journey opened the windows and there, finally, I saw what we had in common:
1 – beauty is a process not for men but for the King
2 – finding our voice “for such a time as this”
3 – being women who give life through the way we love life
As I was speaking I was watching the faces of the women in the room. Their faces became mirrors to their hearts, reflecting their own stories. Their faces were not reflecting my story – they were acknowledging their own. The body language of the women in the room showed their inner life – I could see this from where I stood. Tears fell from their eyes as they acknowledged their struggles for beauty, to find their voice and the desire to be life givers. Oh there is so much more beneath the surface and we all long for someone to know our story, to hear our hearts and to feel safe in the telling of our story and to be found beautiful.
Jesus told stories or parables in His three years of ministry work on earth. He told stories that reflected the lives of those He talked to and with. The difference with Jesus was that He already knew their heart, He was just holding up a verbal mirror to them. The stories He told simply let them see their own reflection, if they were willing to look. The woman at the well felt safe to look at her story, her heart. The woman who touched the hem of Jesus garment found her voice to acknowledge her story and to find freedom. The prostitute at Jesus feet felt safe to let her tears fall, but then looked into His eyes to find what love really was. So many more – just look at each one and you will find all these threads
As we look at the reflection of the heart there will also be a reflection of the Divine. We are created in His image. Yes I saw my Divine Maestro reflected in these women. Women in the processes of being beautified, finding their voices and being givers of life. Women, beauty and life – part of the feminine of God’s heart. Part of the heart of the Divine that displays passion for life.
Held Hostage
Held Hostage
September 5, 2004
I have just finished reading an article from the Canadian Press reporting on how a shaken Russian President is crying out against terrorism, after 2 planes were downed and over 300 children and adults were killed in a horrific hostage taking at a school.
Taken hostage. Held against their will by armed men and woman who know only violence as the way to get their views across. Sounds like the Sudan or many other parts of Africa. Sounds like events that happen regularly in Central and South America, or the Middle East.
We are given the body count of how many hostages are taken, how many receive freedom or how many are brutally killed.
After a while we stop listening when it is heard too many times.
I recently read a book called The Natasha’s about another kind of hostage taking. This hostage taking doesn’t happen at gunpoint, initially. Usually it is with offers of jobs and good income and seems like the dream answer to poverty and oppression. Nevertheless it is a brutal hostage taking with lies, with brutality to the body, mind and soul and almost irreparable scars. These are the young girls in Eastern Europe who are offered jobs when they must leave the orphanages at age 16 or 17. In reality they are quickly taken from Eastern European orphanages and put into the prostitution trade all over Europe, the Middle East and into North America. Their release is almost impossible to negotiate and most of the time authorities turn a blind eye or somehow lose the documentation that comes to their attention on these matters. The United Nations speaks out strongly against it and yet they are the ones who will hush up truth when it is revealed. My recent visit to eastside Vancouver showed me many held hostage to addictions.
What about when the mind and body are held hostage to abuse and violence within the four walls of home? Being taken hostage, in my opinion, is when someone holds power over you and takes away your ability to make choices in daily life. Just how many hostage takings are there around us? A gun or a bomb is not the only weapon used in “hostage taking”.
The Liar has taken captive so many of us with His lies about our worth, our beauty, and our lovability to Jesus Christ and to each other. This is the most brutal hostage taking of all because it can last forever. Jesus Christ was taken hostage but it was His choice. It will be a lifetime of negotiation Jesus does for my heart, because this freedom doesn’t come easily. God will never give up on these negotiations though!
Held hostage – far beyond what we read or see in the news. Mind and soul hostage takings surround us. How can I be part of the negotiating for freedom process? How can you? How many people will I talk to today who are held hostage somehow? This is a scary thought!
September 5, 2004
I have just finished reading an article from the Canadian Press reporting on how a shaken Russian President is crying out against terrorism, after 2 planes were downed and over 300 children and adults were killed in a horrific hostage taking at a school.
Taken hostage. Held against their will by armed men and woman who know only violence as the way to get their views across. Sounds like the Sudan or many other parts of Africa. Sounds like events that happen regularly in Central and South America, or the Middle East.
We are given the body count of how many hostages are taken, how many receive freedom or how many are brutally killed.
After a while we stop listening when it is heard too many times.
I recently read a book called The Natasha’s about another kind of hostage taking. This hostage taking doesn’t happen at gunpoint, initially. Usually it is with offers of jobs and good income and seems like the dream answer to poverty and oppression. Nevertheless it is a brutal hostage taking with lies, with brutality to the body, mind and soul and almost irreparable scars. These are the young girls in Eastern Europe who are offered jobs when they must leave the orphanages at age 16 or 17. In reality they are quickly taken from Eastern European orphanages and put into the prostitution trade all over Europe, the Middle East and into North America. Their release is almost impossible to negotiate and most of the time authorities turn a blind eye or somehow lose the documentation that comes to their attention on these matters. The United Nations speaks out strongly against it and yet they are the ones who will hush up truth when it is revealed. My recent visit to eastside Vancouver showed me many held hostage to addictions.
What about when the mind and body are held hostage to abuse and violence within the four walls of home? Being taken hostage, in my opinion, is when someone holds power over you and takes away your ability to make choices in daily life. Just how many hostage takings are there around us? A gun or a bomb is not the only weapon used in “hostage taking”.
The Liar has taken captive so many of us with His lies about our worth, our beauty, and our lovability to Jesus Christ and to each other. This is the most brutal hostage taking of all because it can last forever. Jesus Christ was taken hostage but it was His choice. It will be a lifetime of negotiation Jesus does for my heart, because this freedom doesn’t come easily. God will never give up on these negotiations though!
Held hostage – far beyond what we read or see in the news. Mind and soul hostage takings surround us. How can I be part of the negotiating for freedom process? How can you? How many people will I talk to today who are held hostage somehow? This is a scary thought!
Saturday, September 04, 2004
The Church and the Senses
I have read several articles this morning about "Church". There is so much blogging on this subject and it gets confusing.
There are two things this morning that have grabbed my attention and percolating within me:
This quote from Gerald May "I had become a counterfeit evangelist: speaking about my heart's desire instead of speaking from it.
This article by Paul Freemont The "Kama Sutra" of the Emerging Church:Positioning Ourselves to Engage the Senses is well worth reading. Head on over and digest it today.
There are two things this morning that have grabbed my attention and percolating within me:
This quote from Gerald May "I had become a counterfeit evangelist: speaking about my heart's desire instead of speaking from it.
This article by Paul Freemont The "Kama Sutra" of the Emerging Church:Positioning Ourselves to Engage the Senses is well worth reading. Head on over and digest it today.
"Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you your hearts's desires."
Psalm 37:4
"When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I'll listen.
When you come looking for me, you'll find me.
Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else,
I'll make sure you won't be disappointed. God's decree"
Jeremiah 29: 12-14
Psalm 37:4
"When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I'll listen.
When you come looking for me, you'll find me.
Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else,
I'll make sure you won't be disappointed. God's decree"
Jeremiah 29: 12-14
"The truly deep questions of life are to be lived, not answered."
Rainer Maria Rilke
"Love is not a problem, not an answer to a question. Love knows no question. It is the ground of all, and questions arise only insofar as we are divided, absent, estranged, alienated from that ground."
Thomas Merton
"Real desire, the deeper prompting of our hearts, is where hope finds its continual beginning."
a contemplative religious hermit
"Presence - centred awareness is the little interior glance, just a simple recognition of divine presence whenever immediate awareness happens."
Brother Lawrence
Rainer Maria Rilke
"Love is not a problem, not an answer to a question. Love knows no question. It is the ground of all, and questions arise only insofar as we are divided, absent, estranged, alienated from that ground."
Thomas Merton
"Real desire, the deeper prompting of our hearts, is where hope finds its continual beginning."
a contemplative religious hermit
"Presence - centred awareness is the little interior glance, just a simple recognition of divine presence whenever immediate awareness happens."
Brother Lawrence
Thursday, September 02, 2004
Love, Laughter, Hope and Grace
This morning I wrote a piece about laughing and hope, and then grace and love added in. All day today I have been seeing this in people I watch, those I have talked with, and in books I am reading.
Tonight I am trying to write something for a sharing time on Saturday morning – the theme is Esther and how my testimony is an Esther story. What I keep thinking about is love, laughter, hope and grace that I see in Esther.
But I have come across a paragraph in Gerald May’s book, The Awakened Heart – Opening Yourself Up to the Love You Need He talks about recovery and God’s power and purpose. Here we often want the “God of the foxholes, of despair, the God whose only purpose is to rescue us.” Esther was sent to rescue her people.
But God is more than this. God is more than our rescuer. And as I read this next paragraph I thought about God as the God of love, laughter, hope and grace.
“There is certainly nothing wrong with seeing God as saviour; it is just that God is and wants to be so much more than that. Many of us come to an awareness of our desire for love through our need for some kind of healing or recovery. I would never have reclaimed my own search for the divine had I not been driven to it by desperation. But this can only be the beginning of authentic spiritual life. As we grow in love, the source of love becomes more important than anything. Everything, health and recovery included, becomes relative and is even put at risk. Although the holy One continues to be deliverer and sustainer, love calls us beyond using God to satisfy our needs, to heal us, to get us out of trouble, or to enhance our efficiency. Love calls us to gratitude, relinquishment, celebration, service, play, praise, companionship, intimacy, communion and always to deeper yearning. In other words, love calls us to love.”
This is a calling not just for threads in my life, but for a tapestry. For LIFE in capital letters; living, breathing, laughing, hoping, crying, yearning, pursing and running towards the God who yearns to know me and for me to know Him.
Tonight I hear Him, my Divine Maestro, calling to me “In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me in earnest, you will find me when you seek me. I will be found by you, says the Lord. I will end your captivity and restore your fortunes.” The hope is the future God promises in this story in JeremiahThe love is His unwillingness to let go of His plans and His willingness to let me find Him as I search. The laughter is the joy as the captivity ends and the grace is that He chose this story of mine before time began so that He could redeem it so show me His heart as my own Divine Maestro!
Maybe Esther and I have more in common than I first thought.
Tonight I am trying to write something for a sharing time on Saturday morning – the theme is Esther and how my testimony is an Esther story. What I keep thinking about is love, laughter, hope and grace that I see in Esther.
But I have come across a paragraph in Gerald May’s book, The Awakened Heart – Opening Yourself Up to the Love You Need He talks about recovery and God’s power and purpose. Here we often want the “God of the foxholes, of despair, the God whose only purpose is to rescue us.” Esther was sent to rescue her people.
But God is more than this. God is more than our rescuer. And as I read this next paragraph I thought about God as the God of love, laughter, hope and grace.
“There is certainly nothing wrong with seeing God as saviour; it is just that God is and wants to be so much more than that. Many of us come to an awareness of our desire for love through our need for some kind of healing or recovery. I would never have reclaimed my own search for the divine had I not been driven to it by desperation. But this can only be the beginning of authentic spiritual life. As we grow in love, the source of love becomes more important than anything. Everything, health and recovery included, becomes relative and is even put at risk. Although the holy One continues to be deliverer and sustainer, love calls us beyond using God to satisfy our needs, to heal us, to get us out of trouble, or to enhance our efficiency. Love calls us to gratitude, relinquishment, celebration, service, play, praise, companionship, intimacy, communion and always to deeper yearning. In other words, love calls us to love.”
This is a calling not just for threads in my life, but for a tapestry. For LIFE in capital letters; living, breathing, laughing, hoping, crying, yearning, pursing and running towards the God who yearns to know me and for me to know Him.
Tonight I hear Him, my Divine Maestro, calling to me “In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me in earnest, you will find me when you seek me. I will be found by you, says the Lord. I will end your captivity and restore your fortunes.” The hope is the future God promises in this story in JeremiahThe love is His unwillingness to let go of His plans and His willingness to let me find Him as I search. The laughter is the joy as the captivity ends and the grace is that He chose this story of mine before time began so that He could redeem it so show me His heart as my own Divine Maestro!
Maybe Esther and I have more in common than I first thought.
Funny Connections
There are two phrases running through my head this morning (and yes thoughts do regular laps in this brain) and they are “what makes me laugh” and “consecrated hope”. One is funny and the other quite serious. Are they random thoughts passing on this track in my brain mass or are they running juxtaposed to show me something today?
Debbie had a great blog here about getting words mixed up and this had me laughing. I am on holidays and thought I would spend some days vegging out and watching movies and my TV broke which makes me laugh. It means I have more time to read, and to listen to a variety of music. Sitting in a restaurant yesterday and watching people makes me smile. Not in mockery but simply in delight at enjoying the wonder of human beings and how we interact, react and are all different. Last night I put on a CD and danced around the house – something I used to do as a teenager. The freedom of it was wonderful, and it made me laugh.
So what do hope, consecrated hope, and laughter have to do with each other? Hope or rather expectations that are not met often come with tears. What does hope feel like? Yesterday hope was wrapped up with “nesting” for me. I went on a search for curtain rods that would be unique so I could hang some curtains that had been in the drawer for a year. I hung a curtain on the wall to hide the fuse box that is in the hallway. Hope is for the future and yet hope is very much for the present too. Yesterday hope felt like a sense of snuggling into my sanctuary.
Maybe the connection of laughter and hope is that both are a stirring inside. One bubbles up and comes out when our eyes crinkle, our shoulders shake and our laughter gets its own voice. One sends air bubbles up as it goes deeper and deeper inside of us stirring our deepest desires and our spirit. Laughter, and hope, comes from promptings – whether they are internal or external. They are both created and come from the Divine. The Divine Maestro has painted them into our very being and wants to see them both active in our lives. When hope is lost and the search for it is intense, the laughter can be lost.
But what is “consecrated hope”? Consecration requires my awareness of and in “the present”. Hope is part of this very moment and in Gerald May says recognizing its presence is my consecration. Hope is therefore very intentional. I don’t always feel hope, but feeling it and recognizing it is there are two different things. I ponder hope as I work with the Divine Maestro to redeem silence, to reveal complete femininity and let both of them be fully alive in me. Consecrating these means to make them sacred.
Gerald May in his book The Awakened Heart puts forward this explanation: “You will need to find the ways of immediate consecration that are authentic for you; they may or may not be like mine. You will find them only by first waking up to the there and now. In the beginning, you may feel there is too much to contend with in the moment. Give it time, asks God for the grace and guidance to help you find your way, and keep trying. Remember that it is not a matter of success or failure. Every attempt you make, however stumbling, is an expression of your care, which is to say, your love.”
Love, laughter, hope and grace. These four are now running together and I think I will sit with them and see how they work together, and where I will find them together in today.
Debbie had a great blog here about getting words mixed up and this had me laughing. I am on holidays and thought I would spend some days vegging out and watching movies and my TV broke which makes me laugh. It means I have more time to read, and to listen to a variety of music. Sitting in a restaurant yesterday and watching people makes me smile. Not in mockery but simply in delight at enjoying the wonder of human beings and how we interact, react and are all different. Last night I put on a CD and danced around the house – something I used to do as a teenager. The freedom of it was wonderful, and it made me laugh.
So what do hope, consecrated hope, and laughter have to do with each other? Hope or rather expectations that are not met often come with tears. What does hope feel like? Yesterday hope was wrapped up with “nesting” for me. I went on a search for curtain rods that would be unique so I could hang some curtains that had been in the drawer for a year. I hung a curtain on the wall to hide the fuse box that is in the hallway. Hope is for the future and yet hope is very much for the present too. Yesterday hope felt like a sense of snuggling into my sanctuary.
Maybe the connection of laughter and hope is that both are a stirring inside. One bubbles up and comes out when our eyes crinkle, our shoulders shake and our laughter gets its own voice. One sends air bubbles up as it goes deeper and deeper inside of us stirring our deepest desires and our spirit. Laughter, and hope, comes from promptings – whether they are internal or external. They are both created and come from the Divine. The Divine Maestro has painted them into our very being and wants to see them both active in our lives. When hope is lost and the search for it is intense, the laughter can be lost.
But what is “consecrated hope”? Consecration requires my awareness of and in “the present”. Hope is part of this very moment and in Gerald May says recognizing its presence is my consecration. Hope is therefore very intentional. I don’t always feel hope, but feeling it and recognizing it is there are two different things. I ponder hope as I work with the Divine Maestro to redeem silence, to reveal complete femininity and let both of them be fully alive in me. Consecrating these means to make them sacred.
Gerald May in his book The Awakened Heart puts forward this explanation: “You will need to find the ways of immediate consecration that are authentic for you; they may or may not be like mine. You will find them only by first waking up to the there and now. In the beginning, you may feel there is too much to contend with in the moment. Give it time, asks God for the grace and guidance to help you find your way, and keep trying. Remember that it is not a matter of success or failure. Every attempt you make, however stumbling, is an expression of your care, which is to say, your love.”
Love, laughter, hope and grace. These four are now running together and I think I will sit with them and see how they work together, and where I will find them together in today.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Re-Posting
A couple of days ago I posted some very honest, raw struggling that has been going on. Finding the woman inside, getting to know her, setting her free and letting her breath. It is like a birthing process and comes with agony, pain and joy.
These two posts reflect the side of the struggle that is not beautiful. And yet it is the struggle to find, to see and to claim the beauty that my heart pushes forward for. And to find the One who is beauty, made beauty, created us for it. Women and beauty were meant to go hand in hand by God’s design but somehow we, the Church, have either religiously and legalistically denied this or freely sold her out. Neither are right – my search is to know Truth and live in it – in the completely feminine design. The Divine Maestro takes is individually through this canal, into the freedom and light He wants to have is living and breathing in.
So I thank each of you who have encouraged me to keep going, those of you who have spoken truth from your heart in honesty. I don’t always like it, but it is necessary on the way to freedom.
These posts are my truth, they are my journey and because of this truth I am not going to hide them away. I know I am being refined and re-defined by my Divine Maestro. This is just part of the process He is taking me through. It is His journey for me and with me, towards living life here and in the Kingdom forever.
These two posts reflect the side of the struggle that is not beautiful. And yet it is the struggle to find, to see and to claim the beauty that my heart pushes forward for. And to find the One who is beauty, made beauty, created us for it. Women and beauty were meant to go hand in hand by God’s design but somehow we, the Church, have either religiously and legalistically denied this or freely sold her out. Neither are right – my search is to know Truth and live in it – in the completely feminine design. The Divine Maestro takes is individually through this canal, into the freedom and light He wants to have is living and breathing in.
So I thank each of you who have encouraged me to keep going, those of you who have spoken truth from your heart in honesty. I don’t always like it, but it is necessary on the way to freedom.
These posts are my truth, they are my journey and because of this truth I am not going to hide them away. I know I am being refined and re-defined by my Divine Maestro. This is just part of the process He is taking me through. It is His journey for me and with me, towards living life here and in the Kingdom forever.
Water Her With Beauty
August 30, 2004
Every flower, every plant must have water to take root, to grow, to bud, to flower, to live and to endure as the glorious exotic individual kind it was designed as. Your garden has plants that need your constant attention and watering. They are your beauties. Every daughter is an exotic – water her with beauty.
In the wrestling, in the silence, in the studio with the Divine Maestro, there is the fact that He refuses to leave, to give up on this process of unveiling; revealing and setting free the beauty within. Tonight He walked me up to the marble statue – the one with no head, one hand missing, hollow inside, no heart and no veins full of blood that fill it with life. In the confusion I have seen only that she be discarded, a shell, that there is no hope of her being redeemed and restored. He knows today I wanted to give up.
Slowly the Divine Maestro approaches her; He holds a huge sledgehammer in His hands. “Is this what you want? Do you really want me to destroy her, smash her to pieces forever?” My eyes are huge, tears have soaked my face and my clothes. “Destroy her forever?” It is all played out before me and I can see the pieces, the dust drifting through the room. That would be total destruction! He takes my hand, steps up with me to the marble statue and lifts me up to look within. She is inside there, I can see her eyes looking at me, steadfastly, earnestly, and silently. When He tells me she is beautiful I cannot believe it. As I look into the eyes of the Divine Maestro for the reason, His heart is breaking. She was taught that to feel beautiful is pride and pride is a sin! Now, He asks, will you give Me permission to break this marble that is holding you captive to lies so I can let you get to know the beauty inside? I only nod, not voice, my consent.
Every daughter is born beautiful. She is beautiful from the inside out. Beginning at that very first breath of life, water her with beauty. Give her sips of this beauty water as she nurses. Give it to her with smiles, with joy, even through the tears – let them be beauty water. Tears are the water of authenticity, vulnerability and reality that are part of the nurturing of this exotic flower. When she starts school she may think differently than others – encourage her to search for her own path and tell her this is beautiful. As she questions the ways of women, answer every question and remind her that her questioning heart is part of her beauty. That she is a wild and wonderful creation. When she learns to dance at school and no one asks her to dance in class, take her out and show her how to dance. Show her how to let her body relax and flow to the inner music, a part of her exotic beauty. Don’t hide her away from life. Is there a way you can show her that life isn’t about performance but about relationships – and one of those relationships is the one she has with herself? There are those growing tentative longings for passion and for love. Water her with acceptance of these feelings and help her honor them as part of who she is. Don’t let her feel that they are shameful and must never be talked about. Water her with beauty as she honors her own exotic beauty. She may struggle with being the one who doesn’t ever get asked out on dates. Share with her the beauty of knowing that a date with her Creator is a place to start liking who she is. Her disappointment can’t be brushed away – honor it for what it is. Don’t keep telling her to be modest – show her how to be wildly feminine with grace and honor and all the chutzpah she has! Pride is putting yourself in the mold of others, living a performance based life, refusing to acknowledge, accept and honor that you are a woman of strength, character, and unique one of a kind beauty. Pride is squelching her beauty. Dishonor is never watering her with beauty, not breathing into her life the perfume of beauty. Dishonor is letting her believe the lies in any way shape or form. Water her with the beauty of Truth. Beauty is a combination of qualities and each is to come to life, in freedom, within her.
Water her with beauty every day of her life. That isn’t pride nor is it sin. It is honoring the Creator, the Divine Maestro and trusting that He has created beauty in her, knowing He wants to unveil it and set her free into womanhood. The Divine Maestro is all about beauty so He sprinkled it into all plant life, into animals, across the horizon and into the wind, and He structured it into every human and breathed them into life.
She is your daughter, or one you mentor. Tell her today, show her today, and draw out her beautiful heart, mind and soul. From the top of her head to those wonderful toes she is “beauty”. She may not be so young now but she needs to know, as the Divine Maestro’s daughter that she is “beauty”. Maybe she is your Mother – she is beauty.
Who ever you are, wherever you are…”YOU ARE MY BEAUTY”! These are the words you, and I, are to listen to at this very moment, and to believe as the Divine Maestro speaks them. He has no language or communication barriers – can you hear Him telling you?!
You Are My Beauty – Forever!
Maestro is it hard for me but I want to believe these words. Please go easy with that sledgehammer as you break those lies! And Maestro, keep telling me I am Your beauty through the sounds of the breaking of the lies.
Every flower, every plant must have water to take root, to grow, to bud, to flower, to live and to endure as the glorious exotic individual kind it was designed as. Your garden has plants that need your constant attention and watering. They are your beauties. Every daughter is an exotic – water her with beauty.
In the wrestling, in the silence, in the studio with the Divine Maestro, there is the fact that He refuses to leave, to give up on this process of unveiling; revealing and setting free the beauty within. Tonight He walked me up to the marble statue – the one with no head, one hand missing, hollow inside, no heart and no veins full of blood that fill it with life. In the confusion I have seen only that she be discarded, a shell, that there is no hope of her being redeemed and restored. He knows today I wanted to give up.
Slowly the Divine Maestro approaches her; He holds a huge sledgehammer in His hands. “Is this what you want? Do you really want me to destroy her, smash her to pieces forever?” My eyes are huge, tears have soaked my face and my clothes. “Destroy her forever?” It is all played out before me and I can see the pieces, the dust drifting through the room. That would be total destruction! He takes my hand, steps up with me to the marble statue and lifts me up to look within. She is inside there, I can see her eyes looking at me, steadfastly, earnestly, and silently. When He tells me she is beautiful I cannot believe it. As I look into the eyes of the Divine Maestro for the reason, His heart is breaking. She was taught that to feel beautiful is pride and pride is a sin! Now, He asks, will you give Me permission to break this marble that is holding you captive to lies so I can let you get to know the beauty inside? I only nod, not voice, my consent.
Every daughter is born beautiful. She is beautiful from the inside out. Beginning at that very first breath of life, water her with beauty. Give her sips of this beauty water as she nurses. Give it to her with smiles, with joy, even through the tears – let them be beauty water. Tears are the water of authenticity, vulnerability and reality that are part of the nurturing of this exotic flower. When she starts school she may think differently than others – encourage her to search for her own path and tell her this is beautiful. As she questions the ways of women, answer every question and remind her that her questioning heart is part of her beauty. That she is a wild and wonderful creation. When she learns to dance at school and no one asks her to dance in class, take her out and show her how to dance. Show her how to let her body relax and flow to the inner music, a part of her exotic beauty. Don’t hide her away from life. Is there a way you can show her that life isn’t about performance but about relationships – and one of those relationships is the one she has with herself? There are those growing tentative longings for passion and for love. Water her with acceptance of these feelings and help her honor them as part of who she is. Don’t let her feel that they are shameful and must never be talked about. Water her with beauty as she honors her own exotic beauty. She may struggle with being the one who doesn’t ever get asked out on dates. Share with her the beauty of knowing that a date with her Creator is a place to start liking who she is. Her disappointment can’t be brushed away – honor it for what it is. Don’t keep telling her to be modest – show her how to be wildly feminine with grace and honor and all the chutzpah she has! Pride is putting yourself in the mold of others, living a performance based life, refusing to acknowledge, accept and honor that you are a woman of strength, character, and unique one of a kind beauty. Pride is squelching her beauty. Dishonor is never watering her with beauty, not breathing into her life the perfume of beauty. Dishonor is letting her believe the lies in any way shape or form. Water her with the beauty of Truth. Beauty is a combination of qualities and each is to come to life, in freedom, within her.
Water her with beauty every day of her life. That isn’t pride nor is it sin. It is honoring the Creator, the Divine Maestro and trusting that He has created beauty in her, knowing He wants to unveil it and set her free into womanhood. The Divine Maestro is all about beauty so He sprinkled it into all plant life, into animals, across the horizon and into the wind, and He structured it into every human and breathed them into life.
She is your daughter, or one you mentor. Tell her today, show her today, and draw out her beautiful heart, mind and soul. From the top of her head to those wonderful toes she is “beauty”. She may not be so young now but she needs to know, as the Divine Maestro’s daughter that she is “beauty”. Maybe she is your Mother – she is beauty.
Who ever you are, wherever you are…”YOU ARE MY BEAUTY”! These are the words you, and I, are to listen to at this very moment, and to believe as the Divine Maestro speaks them. He has no language or communication barriers – can you hear Him telling you?!
You Are My Beauty – Forever!
Maestro is it hard for me but I want to believe these words. Please go easy with that sledgehammer as you break those lies! And Maestro, keep telling me I am Your beauty through the sounds of the breaking of the lies.
Art Lessons
August 29, 2004
Today I walked along the roadway, in the surprising warmth after a week of rain. Books in hand, wearing a sweater I didn’t need I headed to the park and lake near my parents home. To write, to listen, to wait, to be still – anything, anywhere to get rid of the gnawing agony inside. Walking along the roadway I talked with the Divine Maestro about our work in the studio. Work is at a complete standstill.
All I can see is a hollow marble statue. No head, one hand missing, no heart, no blood in her veins, simply a discarded piece of hollow marble being thrown away. Redeem it? Restore it? I throw my brush and scalpel down in disgust. How the heck can anything be done with this piece of nothing! I cannot begin to work on her, to find out what is underneath because she is hollow and empty. How stupid to think that I could actually do anything in this place. Stomping around, yelling and screaming at the Maestro through my tears.
I am remembering my first attempt at art. Grade 3, grouchy teacher. Art class, like gym class was not fun because I simply was not limber and graceful, nor could I get the pictures in my head to match the futile drawings on the large pieces of paper. The class I remember, the only one I remember is trying to draw something, anything and it just didn’t work. Turning the paper over to hide my failures I discovered how mixing colours could give amazing results! I had never tried this before. In my excitement at my discovery I failed to realize the teacher had observed this. She marched over, yelled at me “what is this stupid thing here?” and sent me off to the principal’s office to be disciplined.
I am remembering the stupid attempts at art and wondering why, in the silence, I have to be in an art studio with the Divine Maestro with only this piece of hollow marble. So much talk of Esther just now and her beauty and preparation. This is no Esther here, simply a discarded useless piece of marble. Doesn’t He know that I cannot create anything that relates to art?
No the “art lessons” are not going well and right now this is the worst place I can think of to be. There is simply nowhere else to go. And I don’t know why the Divine Maestro will simply not leave me alone, see this is useless and move on. He just won’t leave this studio, stays in the silence with me. I mean, how do you fill emptiness? How do you fix brokenness when the pieces have been thrown away? How does anything good come out of this? Too many questions and no answers for them. Another attempt to create something and the utter frustration and not being able to make anything beautiful out of what is in front of me – and worse it is myself I am to be working on. I remember trying to be an artist as a little girl (my family are very artistic) and the complete frustration at being inept at expressing anything through drawing. I feel like the Divine Maestro is asking me to draw and there is nothing but a shell to work with. Today I am paralyzed. I keep waiting for Him to walk away too – He doesn’t seem to want to do that.
Maybe, like Bobbie says, this post isn’t for anyone but me – just getting it out. Sorry but that is how it is today.
Today I walked along the roadway, in the surprising warmth after a week of rain. Books in hand, wearing a sweater I didn’t need I headed to the park and lake near my parents home. To write, to listen, to wait, to be still – anything, anywhere to get rid of the gnawing agony inside. Walking along the roadway I talked with the Divine Maestro about our work in the studio. Work is at a complete standstill.
All I can see is a hollow marble statue. No head, one hand missing, no heart, no blood in her veins, simply a discarded piece of hollow marble being thrown away. Redeem it? Restore it? I throw my brush and scalpel down in disgust. How the heck can anything be done with this piece of nothing! I cannot begin to work on her, to find out what is underneath because she is hollow and empty. How stupid to think that I could actually do anything in this place. Stomping around, yelling and screaming at the Maestro through my tears.
I am remembering my first attempt at art. Grade 3, grouchy teacher. Art class, like gym class was not fun because I simply was not limber and graceful, nor could I get the pictures in my head to match the futile drawings on the large pieces of paper. The class I remember, the only one I remember is trying to draw something, anything and it just didn’t work. Turning the paper over to hide my failures I discovered how mixing colours could give amazing results! I had never tried this before. In my excitement at my discovery I failed to realize the teacher had observed this. She marched over, yelled at me “what is this stupid thing here?” and sent me off to the principal’s office to be disciplined.
I am remembering the stupid attempts at art and wondering why, in the silence, I have to be in an art studio with the Divine Maestro with only this piece of hollow marble. So much talk of Esther just now and her beauty and preparation. This is no Esther here, simply a discarded useless piece of marble. Doesn’t He know that I cannot create anything that relates to art?
No the “art lessons” are not going well and right now this is the worst place I can think of to be. There is simply nowhere else to go. And I don’t know why the Divine Maestro will simply not leave me alone, see this is useless and move on. He just won’t leave this studio, stays in the silence with me. I mean, how do you fill emptiness? How do you fix brokenness when the pieces have been thrown away? How does anything good come out of this? Too many questions and no answers for them. Another attempt to create something and the utter frustration and not being able to make anything beautiful out of what is in front of me – and worse it is myself I am to be working on. I remember trying to be an artist as a little girl (my family are very artistic) and the complete frustration at being inept at expressing anything through drawing. I feel like the Divine Maestro is asking me to draw and there is nothing but a shell to work with. Today I am paralyzed. I keep waiting for Him to walk away too – He doesn’t seem to want to do that.
Maybe, like Bobbie says, this post isn’t for anyone but me – just getting it out. Sorry but that is how it is today.
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