Wonder, amazement, the beauty of this one moment, this very moment you are in.
Thinking of that, inhaling it and savouring it, I thought this quote said it perfectly:
Every experience of genuine pleasure is fully tasted, not with the connoisseur's boredom born of sampling a dozen wines to know what's best, but instead with the delight that makes this glass the most enjoyable".
Emilie Griffin, Clinging: The Experience of Prayer
Friday, October 29, 2004
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Tell Me A Story
Something I adore – being read to. I close my eyes and listen and am carried away by what I hear.
Story time at the library was an event very important to my sister-in-law. Her kids loved it, they are still addicted to books, and she had quiet time across the room on her own. They sat cross-legged on the floor, elbows on their knees and chin in their hands, eyes wide open, enthralled by what was unfolding word by word, page by page. Sinking into their minds were events, truths, facts, and details that will affect their thinking and in effect their lives. They love real life stories at bedtime with their Dad.
What is so important about our own story? In telling my story I find my voice, I begin to see more clearly what the story has been about and it makes my heart more open. Like a tapestry, the telling of story unfolds the tapestry to reveal the beauty of it. It isn’t the perfection of the tapestry, it is the story that is revealed by the telling or unfolding, with the good, bad and the ugly. The story involves the whole person. These are truth stories.
I have been reading Matthew 13 over in this last week. The disciples asked Jesus why He was telling stories. He explains that it gives insight, Kingdom insight. It has to do with readiness in the heart, and understanding that can flow freely because the heart is ready. Jesus says That’s why I tell stories: to create readiness, to nudge the people toward receptive insight. Then Jesus tells the harvest story, and another story, and another, and another. All Jesus did that day was tell stories – a long storytelling afternoon. His storytelling fulfilled the prophecy: I will open my mouth and tell stories; I will bring out into the open things hidden since the world’s first day.
The sharing of your story, and mine, brings things out into the open and, like cleaning out a wound, it is a cleansing that fosters healing. Our stories are Kingdom stories about battles and victories, pain and healing, planting and harvesting, finding thistles in the wheat, of learning, of conquering, of surrendering and letting go, of falling back then standing up and moving forward. Your story gives courage to others, to me. I love the beauty of Eugene Peterson’s words – creating readiness and nudging us toward receptive insight.
Recently I have observed people sit down and share their stories, and seen the power of God at work. I have felt the power and seen the freedom gained. Many stories are shared in the blog world and I see readiness created and people being given insight and understanding flowing freely. That is just what Jesus wants. Somewhere in today is story time.
Story time at the library was an event very important to my sister-in-law. Her kids loved it, they are still addicted to books, and she had quiet time across the room on her own. They sat cross-legged on the floor, elbows on their knees and chin in their hands, eyes wide open, enthralled by what was unfolding word by word, page by page. Sinking into their minds were events, truths, facts, and details that will affect their thinking and in effect their lives. They love real life stories at bedtime with their Dad.
What is so important about our own story? In telling my story I find my voice, I begin to see more clearly what the story has been about and it makes my heart more open. Like a tapestry, the telling of story unfolds the tapestry to reveal the beauty of it. It isn’t the perfection of the tapestry, it is the story that is revealed by the telling or unfolding, with the good, bad and the ugly. The story involves the whole person. These are truth stories.
I have been reading Matthew 13 over in this last week. The disciples asked Jesus why He was telling stories. He explains that it gives insight, Kingdom insight. It has to do with readiness in the heart, and understanding that can flow freely because the heart is ready. Jesus says That’s why I tell stories: to create readiness, to nudge the people toward receptive insight. Then Jesus tells the harvest story, and another story, and another, and another. All Jesus did that day was tell stories – a long storytelling afternoon. His storytelling fulfilled the prophecy: I will open my mouth and tell stories; I will bring out into the open things hidden since the world’s first day.
The sharing of your story, and mine, brings things out into the open and, like cleaning out a wound, it is a cleansing that fosters healing. Our stories are Kingdom stories about battles and victories, pain and healing, planting and harvesting, finding thistles in the wheat, of learning, of conquering, of surrendering and letting go, of falling back then standing up and moving forward. Your story gives courage to others, to me. I love the beauty of Eugene Peterson’s words – creating readiness and nudging us toward receptive insight.
Recently I have observed people sit down and share their stories, and seen the power of God at work. I have felt the power and seen the freedom gained. Many stories are shared in the blog world and I see readiness created and people being given insight and understanding flowing freely. That is just what Jesus wants. Somewhere in today is story time.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Invitation to Tea
The Tea Party
We were rushing to get to the ferry on time, and still be able to stop by and visit a friend on the way. There was only 30 minutes available so it would be a quick exchange of hellos and then be on our way. Pulling into the driveway I left the car parked at an odd angle not worrying about it because we would soon be heading out. Rush, rush, rush, busy, busy, not really listening with my heart, instead I was concentrating on the time factor. Ringing the doorbell I could hear the children dashing down the stairs to come and greet us. We stepped inside and headed up the stairs…
The children’s table was set with teacups and saucers, fresh scones had been baked, the tea was brewing and orange juice was ready. We had come to chit chat and instead sank into the wonder of stopping, stepping aside, sitting together on the floor ,3 adults and 5 children, and having a tea party. It wasn’t that the time was extended but it invited me to be fully present and savour every one of those 30 minutes. When friends come to visit you must have a tea party my friend said. Tea parties mean wearing a hat, feather boas and knowing that this is reality, not pretend! I had stepped out of my put together world and invited out the bohemian who lives inside to enjoy the serendipity that only God can present. Sitting on the floor, at the same level as the children in their yellow, and pink plastic chairs we all giggled in between drinking our “tea”. Oh I loved the beauty of feeling so free, letting the child within dance, be amazed at the wide-eyed wonder in each one, to forget the rush and be fully present. I didn’t know I had been invited to this party until I arrived. I am always amazed at the knowledge these children of tender years have accumulated inside, at the delight I feel when they reach out to touch and in turn let me embrace them. Freedom from expectations is gone, freedom to be alive, with abandon. No wonder we are reminded by Jesus to be like little children – there is a freedom we need to be reminded of.
Two quotes come to mind as I see this picture again. Words that tug and pull at the longing to be so alive, to inhale everything I can about living with abandon and then to really live that way.
The tragedy of life is not the fact of death, but in what dies inside while we live
Norman Cousins
Isn’t it better to feel young somewhere than to feel old everywhere
Mrs. Fischer in Enchanted April
Living from the center of a heart that’s free the song -This is The Life
Oh yes I had been wasting time with my sister-in-law and little niece for a week and our tea party let me linger just a little longer at wasting time with people I love!
Monday, October 25, 2004
Parker Palmer on Solitude
This quote from The Active Life, by Parker Palmer, gives such strength, power and confidence to solitude.
Solitude is not simply physical isolation. It is easy to be alone and yet continue to be in the crowd, to be governed by collective values; and it is possible to be physically in the midst of a crowd and yet be in solitude. To be in solitude means to be in possession of my heart, my identity, my integrity. It means to refuse to let my life and my meanings be dictated by other people or by an impersonal culture. To be in solitude is to claim my birthright of aliveness on its own terms, terms that respect the life around me but do not demean my own. The solitary is someone who, to paraphrase Merton, is able to give her heart away because it is her possession to give - a possession not possible when we are caught in the silent conspiracy of collective illusions.
Solitude is not simply physical isolation. It is easy to be alone and yet continue to be in the crowd, to be governed by collective values; and it is possible to be physically in the midst of a crowd and yet be in solitude. To be in solitude means to be in possession of my heart, my identity, my integrity. It means to refuse to let my life and my meanings be dictated by other people or by an impersonal culture. To be in solitude is to claim my birthright of aliveness on its own terms, terms that respect the life around me but do not demean my own. The solitary is someone who, to paraphrase Merton, is able to give her heart away because it is her possession to give - a possession not possible when we are caught in the silent conspiracy of collective illusions.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
The Refining
Our lives are in his hands, and he keeps our feet from stumbling.
You have tested us, O God; you have purified us like silver melted in a crucible.
Psalm 66: 9,10
There are days when my Divine Maestro brings this student into His silversmith studio. Each workroom is a place of learning, and every step of learning also requires some “unlearning”. The hands are firm and steady in the white-hot heat of the flame as the refining of the soul silver takes place. The flames hit the tender, still healing wounds in the heart and soul, which feel pain more than the hardened calloused areas. All of me must face the cleaning, refining, purifying process to become strong in the beauty and value that this soul silver is to reflect. He breathes upon the work to impart the necessary alloy for strength – God’s Spirit, the breath of soul life. Silver is valued for its malleability and resistance to corrosive effects of the elements. My soul silver needs to be more malleable through His infused grace and able to resist the corrosive effects the Liar unceasingly seems to send my way.
When the pain of this refining process seem unbearable, and I want to rail against my Maestro, He reminds me that when He holds me in the flames it is His hands that take the fire first. His hands cover the tender wounded soul in the knowing that the silver is there as much as where the calluses have formed.
Melting, surrendered, humbled, trusting my Maestro, I breath in for strength, breath out to let go a little bit more and become more tractable. His hands are the heat-resisting crucible in this refining process and they are the hands that continue to fill the chalice of my soul with extra – ordinary life!
Remove impurities from the silver and the silversmith can craft a fine chalice
Proverbs 25:4
You have tested us, O God; you have purified us like silver melted in a crucible.
Psalm 66: 9,10
There are days when my Divine Maestro brings this student into His silversmith studio. Each workroom is a place of learning, and every step of learning also requires some “unlearning”. The hands are firm and steady in the white-hot heat of the flame as the refining of the soul silver takes place. The flames hit the tender, still healing wounds in the heart and soul, which feel pain more than the hardened calloused areas. All of me must face the cleaning, refining, purifying process to become strong in the beauty and value that this soul silver is to reflect. He breathes upon the work to impart the necessary alloy for strength – God’s Spirit, the breath of soul life. Silver is valued for its malleability and resistance to corrosive effects of the elements. My soul silver needs to be more malleable through His infused grace and able to resist the corrosive effects the Liar unceasingly seems to send my way.
When the pain of this refining process seem unbearable, and I want to rail against my Maestro, He reminds me that when He holds me in the flames it is His hands that take the fire first. His hands cover the tender wounded soul in the knowing that the silver is there as much as where the calluses have formed.
Melting, surrendered, humbled, trusting my Maestro, I breath in for strength, breath out to let go a little bit more and become more tractable. His hands are the heat-resisting crucible in this refining process and they are the hands that continue to fill the chalice of my soul with extra – ordinary life!
Remove impurities from the silver and the silversmith can craft a fine chalice
Proverbs 25:4
Friday, October 22, 2004
The Bird Cage
There is a birdcage that attracts attention in my living room. People will often ask if I plan to put a bird in it.
No I do not.
Why does a birdcage hang there if it isn’t going to ever hold a bird?
It is a fairly large wooden cage, not elaborate, but that is the point of it. Inside it is an envelope that has remained unopened for 4 years. Will it ever be opened again? I don’t really know.
Coming out of a dark period of my life a counselor said to me that to make an altar marking points on the journey is important. I pondered that for a while wondering what symbol would reflect the darkness, the bondage, the hopelessness, the dying of the inner music and then the slow gentle reviving. Sparrows had played a life giving role in singing me back to life, literally. This birdcage became the altar, or marking of a change. The door of the cage is never closed. Birds were meant to fly, to sing, to be free, to feel the wind and move into it. They were never created to be caged and kept away as ornamental. Neither are you or I. We are designed to feel the wind of life, to push through in, and wrestle in the adventure of it. We are designed to know the whisper of The Spirit of God and to step into that wind and go where it takes us.
The letter in the cage is life giving Words from my Abba.
When I moved a couple of years ago from the prairies to the coast, the birdcage was once again hung in the corner. Curled up in my “prayer chair” one morning I looked at the birdcage and spoke to Abba about parts of the journey it represented. He whispered that the birdcage was to have an additional meaning. Writing about it I understand that the expanded symbolism of my altar of marking the journey was the redemptive part of it. It had symbolized the bondage, the voicelessness and the insignificance that my soul had felt for a long time. Now that place of emptiness was to symbolize a place of refuge. Abba explained that this cage also represented His heart, and His arms. The door was always open and I could run to it, into the safety of it at any time. It was not a prison, it was to represent the safe place He offers me, the refuge. I choose to go there when I need the safety of His arms, but I am free to fly whenever I wish, to sing any song written inside and let the wind of His Spirit be the arms that lead me into life's dance.
Somehow, with infinite tenderness, an exchange took place. The darkness was exchanged for the healing Light of God’s presence. It was an exchange of an internal dying for the dance of Life. It represents my mik-dawsh (Hebrew for consecrated place or thing).
Thank you Bobbie for your birdcage today, that reminded me of my own, for the reminder of sanctuary. And Elizabeth, thank you for your reminder of sacred space. Daily time in our own mik-dawsh has me saying again to Abba - “draw me into the intimacy with You. Into-me-see Abba so I can love you more oh Lover of my soul”.
No I do not.
Why does a birdcage hang there if it isn’t going to ever hold a bird?
It is a fairly large wooden cage, not elaborate, but that is the point of it. Inside it is an envelope that has remained unopened for 4 years. Will it ever be opened again? I don’t really know.
Coming out of a dark period of my life a counselor said to me that to make an altar marking points on the journey is important. I pondered that for a while wondering what symbol would reflect the darkness, the bondage, the hopelessness, the dying of the inner music and then the slow gentle reviving. Sparrows had played a life giving role in singing me back to life, literally. This birdcage became the altar, or marking of a change. The door of the cage is never closed. Birds were meant to fly, to sing, to be free, to feel the wind and move into it. They were never created to be caged and kept away as ornamental. Neither are you or I. We are designed to feel the wind of life, to push through in, and wrestle in the adventure of it. We are designed to know the whisper of The Spirit of God and to step into that wind and go where it takes us.
The letter in the cage is life giving Words from my Abba.
When I moved a couple of years ago from the prairies to the coast, the birdcage was once again hung in the corner. Curled up in my “prayer chair” one morning I looked at the birdcage and spoke to Abba about parts of the journey it represented. He whispered that the birdcage was to have an additional meaning. Writing about it I understand that the expanded symbolism of my altar of marking the journey was the redemptive part of it. It had symbolized the bondage, the voicelessness and the insignificance that my soul had felt for a long time. Now that place of emptiness was to symbolize a place of refuge. Abba explained that this cage also represented His heart, and His arms. The door was always open and I could run to it, into the safety of it at any time. It was not a prison, it was to represent the safe place He offers me, the refuge. I choose to go there when I need the safety of His arms, but I am free to fly whenever I wish, to sing any song written inside and let the wind of His Spirit be the arms that lead me into life's dance.
Somehow, with infinite tenderness, an exchange took place. The darkness was exchanged for the healing Light of God’s presence. It was an exchange of an internal dying for the dance of Life. It represents my mik-dawsh (Hebrew for consecrated place or thing).
Thank you Bobbie for your birdcage today, that reminded me of my own, for the reminder of sanctuary. And Elizabeth, thank you for your reminder of sacred space. Daily time in our own mik-dawsh has me saying again to Abba - “draw me into the intimacy with You. Into-me-see Abba so I can love you more oh Lover of my soul”.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Epicurean Odyssey #2 - Brokenness
This morning at work I was preparing brunch for a group of 12 women. While I worked they were sharing of their stories, shedding tears, sharing their brokenness and in it finding healing from Jesus. Part way through the morning they shared communion together. The words “This is My body broken for you” were whispered to me in the kitchen. Perhaps the group of women in another room heard them too.
There was an immediate connection in my thoughts between the broken body of Jesus, offered for our freedom, and food addictions. Let me explain my thoughts so this doesn’t sound totally absurd. Part of this connection started with the article Bobbie wrote in remembrance of Me here.
Jesus took a loaf of bread and asked God’s blessing on it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, “Take it and eat it, for this is my body."
· Jesus body was “broken” in death, to give us life
· Through Jesus brokenness comes our wholeness
· Jesus broken body is symbolized in the bread in communion, and when we accept His brokenness for us, beginning a relationship with Jesus is the beginning of our journey to healing, wholeness and freedom.
· Our accepting of His brokenness is where we begin to fill the empty spaces in our lives.
In our brokenness we have internal empty spaces that long to be filled. Unable to find a safe place to share our brokenness, to be real about it, we pretend to be whole only enlarging the dark cavern of the soul. In this pretending the internal fragmentation continues and often the medication of choice is food. There are many ways to try and assuage this hunger and thirst of the soul; some of them considered socially unacceptable while others such a food are acceptable. In the Church food is very acceptable! Using destructive things to fill our hunger, satiate our thirst leaves a deeper hunger that continues to disguise our true brokenness. It is like “natural flavoring” in food. (Food was given to us for nutrition, for healing and for enjoyment. Food can also be destructive. Again I go to the authentic and unreal areas of food. Monosodium glutamate has no nutritional value whatsoever and it has highly addictive ingredients in it, being described as the nicotine of food and addictive. The label natural flavouring is in fact an MSG product. The Sapore Masquerade is another subject that Epicurean Odyssey will address in future.)
In the Beatitudes it says “God blesses those who are hungry and thirsty for justice, for they will receive it in full” Matt 5:6 NLT. What do we receive in full? For one thing I believe He gives us His presence in the empty spaces, removing the dark and replacing it with light. His presence that tells us He knows every injustice we have suffered. Hunger and thirst, like pain, make us vulnerable, and leave us broken. The soul longs for love, significance, meaning of life and the ability to participate deeply and passionately in it. Jesus offers life, abundant life to us but if I can’t see Him, touch Him, feel Him – is He tangible.
Food involves all the senses and so does Jesus offer of abundant life. When God seems to be intangible to fill the spaces, we reach for something tangible. Very often that is food, the easy to reach food that has little or no health value to it. In my own personal journey as I am becoming broken and vulnerable with God I am beginning to experience love, His love, with all my senses. This is what I am learning right now, where I am in my journey – experiencing God – as Abba, as my Beloved, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, with all my senses! It is an amazing adventure of discovery.
Jesus body, symbolized in the broken bread of communion, offers us freedom. It releases us to experience food as good, healthy, tasty, artistic, beautiful, and something to be experienced in community with others. His brokenness invites us to acknowledge our own brokenness. In the acknowledging and humility Jesus comes with His offer of freedom, of living water, and bread of life for our internal vacant spaces. In that place of openness and vulnerability comes the freedom to walk with an honest open heart. This is the love that sets us free.
Jesus today I open myself to You, allow You even more access to the empty places inside of me. Let me hunger and thirst for what is life, not masking anything, but being open and honest with You. Prepare safe places for us to come with our brokenness, letting go of any façade. Bring humbleness and brokenness in Your Church so we accept Your brokenness as the food of life, and as our example to live by. Create safe places in Your Church so this Body on earth becomes that safe place and sanctuary and house of healing You have called it to be. Thank You Jesus for the reminder today of LIFE. Amen.
There was an immediate connection in my thoughts between the broken body of Jesus, offered for our freedom, and food addictions. Let me explain my thoughts so this doesn’t sound totally absurd. Part of this connection started with the article Bobbie wrote in remembrance of Me here.
Jesus took a loaf of bread and asked God’s blessing on it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, “Take it and eat it, for this is my body."
· Jesus body was “broken” in death, to give us life
· Through Jesus brokenness comes our wholeness
· Jesus broken body is symbolized in the bread in communion, and when we accept His brokenness for us, beginning a relationship with Jesus is the beginning of our journey to healing, wholeness and freedom.
· Our accepting of His brokenness is where we begin to fill the empty spaces in our lives.
In our brokenness we have internal empty spaces that long to be filled. Unable to find a safe place to share our brokenness, to be real about it, we pretend to be whole only enlarging the dark cavern of the soul. In this pretending the internal fragmentation continues and often the medication of choice is food. There are many ways to try and assuage this hunger and thirst of the soul; some of them considered socially unacceptable while others such a food are acceptable. In the Church food is very acceptable! Using destructive things to fill our hunger, satiate our thirst leaves a deeper hunger that continues to disguise our true brokenness. It is like “natural flavoring” in food. (Food was given to us for nutrition, for healing and for enjoyment. Food can also be destructive. Again I go to the authentic and unreal areas of food. Monosodium glutamate has no nutritional value whatsoever and it has highly addictive ingredients in it, being described as the nicotine of food and addictive. The label natural flavouring is in fact an MSG product. The Sapore Masquerade is another subject that Epicurean Odyssey will address in future.)
In the Beatitudes it says “God blesses those who are hungry and thirsty for justice, for they will receive it in full” Matt 5:6 NLT. What do we receive in full? For one thing I believe He gives us His presence in the empty spaces, removing the dark and replacing it with light. His presence that tells us He knows every injustice we have suffered. Hunger and thirst, like pain, make us vulnerable, and leave us broken. The soul longs for love, significance, meaning of life and the ability to participate deeply and passionately in it. Jesus offers life, abundant life to us but if I can’t see Him, touch Him, feel Him – is He tangible.
Food involves all the senses and so does Jesus offer of abundant life. When God seems to be intangible to fill the spaces, we reach for something tangible. Very often that is food, the easy to reach food that has little or no health value to it. In my own personal journey as I am becoming broken and vulnerable with God I am beginning to experience love, His love, with all my senses. This is what I am learning right now, where I am in my journey – experiencing God – as Abba, as my Beloved, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, with all my senses! It is an amazing adventure of discovery.
Jesus body, symbolized in the broken bread of communion, offers us freedom. It releases us to experience food as good, healthy, tasty, artistic, beautiful, and something to be experienced in community with others. His brokenness invites us to acknowledge our own brokenness. In the acknowledging and humility Jesus comes with His offer of freedom, of living water, and bread of life for our internal vacant spaces. In that place of openness and vulnerability comes the freedom to walk with an honest open heart. This is the love that sets us free.
Jesus today I open myself to You, allow You even more access to the empty places inside of me. Let me hunger and thirst for what is life, not masking anything, but being open and honest with You. Prepare safe places for us to come with our brokenness, letting go of any façade. Bring humbleness and brokenness in Your Church so we accept Your brokenness as the food of life, and as our example to live by. Create safe places in Your Church so this Body on earth becomes that safe place and sanctuary and house of healing You have called it to be. Thank You Jesus for the reminder today of LIFE. Amen.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
these caught my eye
We write to taste our life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.
Anais Nin
Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.
Cyril Connolly
Anais Nin
Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.
Cyril Connolly
Thursday, October 14, 2004
The Concert
Every four years an International Piano Competition is held in Calgary. Hopeful pianist arrive from around the world, and, like Olympic athletes, their mind, body and spirits are intensely focused on winning the $50,000 cash prize as well as the chance to tour and play with the top Maestros in their concert hall.
We made our way through the “glitter” in the foyer and quietly found our seats. It was as if this concert hall was sacred space and we dare not disturb it by speaking. Each of us had a deep love of Classical Music. Our little trio found the front, right, third row seats and settled in. Tonight was the final evening of the competition and the two pianists were an Italian playing Chopin’s Piano Concerto #2 (one of my favorite concertos) and a Russian playing the emotionally and physically challenging “Rach Three”, his countryman Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #3.
One by one the orchestra arrived. I watched the lead oboe player arrive at his seat – he was a business contact of mine when I was in the financial services industry. The violin section began to fill up, the woodwinds, the brass, the percussion and the balance of the string section; base and cellos. Gleaming shoes, pressed tuxedos, white shirts, black skirts, instruments that had been polished – each was settling into place. He came in from the right, cello on hand, and found his seat right in my line of vision. Stocky with gray hair that looked as if his fingers had recently been run through it in nervousness, his tuxedo was getting threadbare and his spreading girth meant the jacket no longer met across his middle. His facial expression was one of great intensity. Scuffed shoes, with soft soles, had seen better days but looked far too comfortable to discard. His cello no longer had a highly polished surface but rather had nicks and scratches that made one think it had been on a long voyage and was wishing this would be the last mile. His hands were rough, yet strong and sinewy and made me wonder if he was Eastern European. Hard work, hard times, cold winters and a generally harsh life was what crossed my mind. A life of want, not of plenty, a life of rules and regulations, not freedom. As separate entities, the cello and the man seemed to suffer from life’s voyage, but looking at the instrument held in his left hand it was patently clear that this gentle grip was one of love. His left hand gently held the neck of the scarred and battered instrument, like the gentle but intimate touch of a love that has weathered the storms and runs deep.
The tuning of the instruments created a cacophony of sound until…the Concert Master strode across the stage and the room fell silent. It was time for the dueling pianists to begin. First the Italian and then the Russian.
Every piano note of the Maestoso, Larghetto and Allegro vivace filled the senses, but the cellist had my unwavering attention, my gaze steadfastly upon this duo. Chopin’s masterpiece surrounded me with its energy as the majestic melody, the blend of every instrument complimented the notes that were emitted. I was lost, lost in the scene played out before me. The majesty of the music and the scene of a musician and his instrument intimately entwined. The cellist caressed his instrument, held so close to his chest, and their passion together exuded their love of music. The body of wood and the body of human flesh were works of art. Their music blended with the entire orchestra yet it was this lone musician who played with such abandon that drew me into these Concertos. I felt the music deep within. The angst and madness of Rachmaninoff echoed from the gleaming black Bossendorfer concert grand piano cavity. The agony of Mother Russia in conflict, starvation, and madness, yearning for freedom thundered through the hall. Yet liberation was theirs – freedom found in the release of the music of the soul, written by another, created by yet another Maestro, about a freedom that no hardship can suffocate. Music that allows the soul to soar above its imprisonment.
When the last note echoed through the hall I finally closed my eyes savouring this incredible feast of the senses. The cheering for the Russian winner roared on and on. My cheering was for one disheveled cellist that drew me into his world for one short but glorious evening.
Scarred and battered, this cello was passionately loved and tenderly caressed to bring the rich soul strains from the body of one cello at the hands of one musician.
Scarred and battered humanity, you and I, are tenderly caressed and passionately loved by the Master Musician. The Divine Maestro takes us in His hands, touches the marks left by the journey in life. He sees only the potential for great and glorious music in a score already written. He knows that true music is soul deep and it calls for every string of the heart and mind to be played upon with firm and loving hands. Leaning into His hands the scars have no bearing on the sweetness and passion of the music we are capable of being, nor can they hinder the range of notes that are written for our own unique concerto. He refuses to abandon us as His instruments. He cannot, He will not, because we are necessary for the Maestro’s concert of a lifetime – the concert of the ages. The concert to last for more than a lifetime.
We made our way through the “glitter” in the foyer and quietly found our seats. It was as if this concert hall was sacred space and we dare not disturb it by speaking. Each of us had a deep love of Classical Music. Our little trio found the front, right, third row seats and settled in. Tonight was the final evening of the competition and the two pianists were an Italian playing Chopin’s Piano Concerto #2 (one of my favorite concertos) and a Russian playing the emotionally and physically challenging “Rach Three”, his countryman Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #3.
One by one the orchestra arrived. I watched the lead oboe player arrive at his seat – he was a business contact of mine when I was in the financial services industry. The violin section began to fill up, the woodwinds, the brass, the percussion and the balance of the string section; base and cellos. Gleaming shoes, pressed tuxedos, white shirts, black skirts, instruments that had been polished – each was settling into place. He came in from the right, cello on hand, and found his seat right in my line of vision. Stocky with gray hair that looked as if his fingers had recently been run through it in nervousness, his tuxedo was getting threadbare and his spreading girth meant the jacket no longer met across his middle. His facial expression was one of great intensity. Scuffed shoes, with soft soles, had seen better days but looked far too comfortable to discard. His cello no longer had a highly polished surface but rather had nicks and scratches that made one think it had been on a long voyage and was wishing this would be the last mile. His hands were rough, yet strong and sinewy and made me wonder if he was Eastern European. Hard work, hard times, cold winters and a generally harsh life was what crossed my mind. A life of want, not of plenty, a life of rules and regulations, not freedom. As separate entities, the cello and the man seemed to suffer from life’s voyage, but looking at the instrument held in his left hand it was patently clear that this gentle grip was one of love. His left hand gently held the neck of the scarred and battered instrument, like the gentle but intimate touch of a love that has weathered the storms and runs deep.
The tuning of the instruments created a cacophony of sound until…the Concert Master strode across the stage and the room fell silent. It was time for the dueling pianists to begin. First the Italian and then the Russian.
Every piano note of the Maestoso, Larghetto and Allegro vivace filled the senses, but the cellist had my unwavering attention, my gaze steadfastly upon this duo. Chopin’s masterpiece surrounded me with its energy as the majestic melody, the blend of every instrument complimented the notes that were emitted. I was lost, lost in the scene played out before me. The majesty of the music and the scene of a musician and his instrument intimately entwined. The cellist caressed his instrument, held so close to his chest, and their passion together exuded their love of music. The body of wood and the body of human flesh were works of art. Their music blended with the entire orchestra yet it was this lone musician who played with such abandon that drew me into these Concertos. I felt the music deep within. The angst and madness of Rachmaninoff echoed from the gleaming black Bossendorfer concert grand piano cavity. The agony of Mother Russia in conflict, starvation, and madness, yearning for freedom thundered through the hall. Yet liberation was theirs – freedom found in the release of the music of the soul, written by another, created by yet another Maestro, about a freedom that no hardship can suffocate. Music that allows the soul to soar above its imprisonment.
When the last note echoed through the hall I finally closed my eyes savouring this incredible feast of the senses. The cheering for the Russian winner roared on and on. My cheering was for one disheveled cellist that drew me into his world for one short but glorious evening.
Scarred and battered, this cello was passionately loved and tenderly caressed to bring the rich soul strains from the body of one cello at the hands of one musician.
Scarred and battered humanity, you and I, are tenderly caressed and passionately loved by the Master Musician. The Divine Maestro takes us in His hands, touches the marks left by the journey in life. He sees only the potential for great and glorious music in a score already written. He knows that true music is soul deep and it calls for every string of the heart and mind to be played upon with firm and loving hands. Leaning into His hands the scars have no bearing on the sweetness and passion of the music we are capable of being, nor can they hinder the range of notes that are written for our own unique concerto. He refuses to abandon us as His instruments. He cannot, He will not, because we are necessary for the Maestro’s concert of a lifetime – the concert of the ages. The concert to last for more than a lifetime.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Music in the Heart
Open the eyes of my heart Lord, I want to see You
How is my heart opened? How do I see Him?
Standing in worship, asking the questions, and receiving this picture:
Let Me hold your heart in my hands. I will spread it open, unfold it, seeing all that is within. Then I will wrap it together, holding it close. I will breathe into every valve of your heart. It will become like My panpipe where I will breathe into you, My own breath, My own tune. Let me put the music in your heart, with every note in My heart and Your heart will then know the notes to sing. This will be your heart of worship for Me. This is your open heart, with eyes to see Me.
Lord God Almighty, play the panpipes of our hearts today, so this world can hear the music from You. Let us know Your breath deep inside as we inhale You and exhale the music of life.
How is my heart opened? How do I see Him?
Standing in worship, asking the questions, and receiving this picture:
Let Me hold your heart in my hands. I will spread it open, unfold it, seeing all that is within. Then I will wrap it together, holding it close. I will breathe into every valve of your heart. It will become like My panpipe where I will breathe into you, My own breath, My own tune. Let me put the music in your heart, with every note in My heart and Your heart will then know the notes to sing. This will be your heart of worship for Me. This is your open heart, with eyes to see Me.
Lord God Almighty, play the panpipes of our hearts today, so this world can hear the music from You. Let us know Your breath deep inside as we inhale You and exhale the music of life.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
from When the Heart Waits
Sue Monk Kidd writes:
I'm discovering that a spiritual journey is a lot like a poem. You don't merely recite a poem or analyze it intellectually. You dance it, sing it, cry it, feel it on your skin and in your bones. You move with it and feel its caress. It falls on you like a teardrop or wraps around you like a smile. It lives in the heart and the body as well as the spirit and the head.
I'm discovering that a spiritual journey is a lot like a poem. You don't merely recite a poem or analyze it intellectually. You dance it, sing it, cry it, feel it on your skin and in your bones. You move with it and feel its caress. It falls on you like a teardrop or wraps around you like a smile. It lives in the heart and the body as well as the spirit and the head.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
I Still Keep Moving
I sit with my hands holding a cup of coffee to keep them warm. I am not really cold, yet inside I feel cold and the unceasing rain outside seems to seep into my soul and make me shiver. Fernando Ortega sings a ballad but something inside me refuses to be soothed. There is anguish and a wrestling that persists. There is a joy and overflowing that runs through it. The two are inextricably joined but there are times when I wish I could hold them apart, like the pulling apart of a curtain, and see beyond them, into a place where I can understand and have answers to all my questions. It is like playing hide and seek with God with this being a moment I want Him to sit with me in the place of being found.
This week has been roller coaster for my heart. I never know when the twists and turns will come, but they do and throw me completely off kilter. I still keep moving towards Him.
A woman who was a strong steady influence in my life has died at age 94. I have not seen her for 3 years since I moved to the West Coast. Going to her funeral would be a way to honor my relationship with her and yet I think that writing a letter to her family would allow me honor what she was to me. Going to her funeral would mean putting myself into a circle that will refuse to eat with me, shake hands with me or hug me because I have chosen to leave it. I weep for the stupidity of religiosity that cannot reflect the love and character of Christ who calls us to be Christians – like Him. I weep for the hypocrisy that I see in the church. I sometimes wonder how I can still want to go to church. Then I remember women like this 94 years old who walked through pain and agony and still could celebrate life. She showed me His heart many times. I still keep moving towards Him.
I read a blog where someone was celebrating their years of waiting for children and then finally it happened and she became a mother. All she ever wanted was to be a wife and mother and … after waiting it happened. She got all she dreamed of.
It’s nice and I should be joyful for her, and I am. But inside I weep a little more. I have dreams too, dreams that I have waited a long long time for, am still waiting for and they are dreams that have not a thread of hope anywhere in the canvas of my life – at least that I can see. A piece of that dream turned out to be an illusion, but for a moment I held it and it felt exquisite. Then someone, who knows me well, tells me that it wasn’t anything at all. My feelings are invalid? My dreams are invalid? So what makes yours something and mine nothing? What do we do to each other in these moments? How do I honor you and you honor me in the moments of joy and the moments of sorrow? My dreams are like grains of sand that forever slip through my fingers. I held them for a moment and felt them brush across my life, but they are gone now. When I hold this pain I wonder why I dare to dream. Yet I still do. I still keep moving towards Him.
I read Freedom on Sacred Space today ponder the bitter sweetness of the words.
Everything has the potential to draw forth from me a fuller love and life. Yet my desires are often fixed, caught, on illusions of fulfillment. I ask that God, through my freedom, may orchestrate my desires in a vibrant loving melody rich in harmony.
Parker Palmer talks about -illusion being the point where illusions are broken and truth is revealed. I don’t like to read that but I know it is truth –illusions are not reality, they are not the place of truth and freedom. Only by pushing beyond the illusion can my heart live in that melody.
Today is like a haunting lament in a minor key. It truly has its own unique harmony and I am picking up those notes. The weeping today is part of the harmony in a minor key. I play the piano by ear. Today this life melody is from the string section of my heart. I not sure I’ve got it, but I still keep moving. He keeps calling me towards Him.
And speaking of moving, I have a Moroccan dinner to prepare for guests that will sit round my dinner table tonight. I will be listening to see when the melody changes from a minor to a major key. God is invited and I know He will sit at the table with us. He is here, so I still keep moving.
This week has been roller coaster for my heart. I never know when the twists and turns will come, but they do and throw me completely off kilter. I still keep moving towards Him.
A woman who was a strong steady influence in my life has died at age 94. I have not seen her for 3 years since I moved to the West Coast. Going to her funeral would be a way to honor my relationship with her and yet I think that writing a letter to her family would allow me honor what she was to me. Going to her funeral would mean putting myself into a circle that will refuse to eat with me, shake hands with me or hug me because I have chosen to leave it. I weep for the stupidity of religiosity that cannot reflect the love and character of Christ who calls us to be Christians – like Him. I weep for the hypocrisy that I see in the church. I sometimes wonder how I can still want to go to church. Then I remember women like this 94 years old who walked through pain and agony and still could celebrate life. She showed me His heart many times. I still keep moving towards Him.
I read a blog where someone was celebrating their years of waiting for children and then finally it happened and she became a mother. All she ever wanted was to be a wife and mother and … after waiting it happened. She got all she dreamed of.
It’s nice and I should be joyful for her, and I am. But inside I weep a little more. I have dreams too, dreams that I have waited a long long time for, am still waiting for and they are dreams that have not a thread of hope anywhere in the canvas of my life – at least that I can see. A piece of that dream turned out to be an illusion, but for a moment I held it and it felt exquisite. Then someone, who knows me well, tells me that it wasn’t anything at all. My feelings are invalid? My dreams are invalid? So what makes yours something and mine nothing? What do we do to each other in these moments? How do I honor you and you honor me in the moments of joy and the moments of sorrow? My dreams are like grains of sand that forever slip through my fingers. I held them for a moment and felt them brush across my life, but they are gone now. When I hold this pain I wonder why I dare to dream. Yet I still do. I still keep moving towards Him.
I read Freedom on Sacred Space today ponder the bitter sweetness of the words.
Everything has the potential to draw forth from me a fuller love and life. Yet my desires are often fixed, caught, on illusions of fulfillment. I ask that God, through my freedom, may orchestrate my desires in a vibrant loving melody rich in harmony.
Parker Palmer talks about -illusion being the point where illusions are broken and truth is revealed. I don’t like to read that but I know it is truth –illusions are not reality, they are not the place of truth and freedom. Only by pushing beyond the illusion can my heart live in that melody.
Today is like a haunting lament in a minor key. It truly has its own unique harmony and I am picking up those notes. The weeping today is part of the harmony in a minor key. I play the piano by ear. Today this life melody is from the string section of my heart. I not sure I’ve got it, but I still keep moving. He keeps calling me towards Him.
And speaking of moving, I have a Moroccan dinner to prepare for guests that will sit round my dinner table tonight. I will be listening to see when the melody changes from a minor to a major key. God is invited and I know He will sit at the table with us. He is here, so I still keep moving.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Epicurean Odyssey #1
When I was a little girl I would pull up a chair beside my Grandmother and have my own piece of dough to make a little loaf of bread. At her side I learned to cook and in her Hamilton kitchen my odyssey with food began. My memories of experimenting with food began when I was 12, when I needed to take responsibility for a large portion of household chores, as the oldest child and only girl in a family of 6 children. I grew up in a church circle where hospitality is taught and practiced (although mainly with those within the circle). The kitchen has been a place of extreme isolation yet a place of delicious comfort. It has been, and is, my art studio. My art room/the kitchen has been a place to express my voice in a world of being silenced. My soul comes alive when I can share my art with others. The kitchen is an incredible art studio.
It is an odyssey because it is a long continuing voyage, the winds and weaves through changes. Food has connections to spiritual, to physical, to emotional and to mental pieces of us. It draws people together or can send them into isolation. It is incredibly sensuous. My journey has taken me to cooking school, it is been the key to a new career in ministry. I have been exploring the whole area of the vegan eating style, which has brought an incredible new awareness of texture and taste and slowly savouring each mouthful of food. How do various foods affect our health? Food can fill empty spaces and become an addiction, yet the church remains largely silent on this addiction. Eating with people has been a way to control others behaviour by withholding or extending invitations to “break bread together” at the meal table. Why? What are the physiological effects of these behaviours? What did Jesus say about food and sharing of it with others? It is an essential piece of our socializing. Why, from my observations, are people with great passion for life adventurous eaters but those with less passion are very picky?
This subject is something I have wanted to write on for a long time. As I explore it I learn more and see the broadness of the subject. So many questions I ask and answers I want to know. It is a fascinating exploratory voyage to me. But I will also say right up front that I don’t want to offend anyone by what I observe and have discovered but there is the chance that I might. In advance I say I will try to season my words with love and grace but…sometimes I just love to throw some cayenne in there!
There is the blending of herbs and spices. What we blend and what we do not and how culture adds another twist to that. Like a twist of lemon that adds colour, flavour and zip! Salty, sour, savory, bitter and sweet are components to great flavours. We have hidden additives in our foods that are harmful and addictive. Textures that you feel with your hands and explore them in your mouth. Various temperatures affect the food and how it tastes. I have been exploring the raw food area and it is amazing to discern the difference. Our eyes, ears, nose, mouth and hands each give messages to our brain.
So from now on you are going to be hearing more of my thoughts on this subject as I explore and ruminate on it. Perhaps at times I will include my own recipes for you to try out.
Till next time with more on the Epicurean Odyssey.
It is an odyssey because it is a long continuing voyage, the winds and weaves through changes. Food has connections to spiritual, to physical, to emotional and to mental pieces of us. It draws people together or can send them into isolation. It is incredibly sensuous. My journey has taken me to cooking school, it is been the key to a new career in ministry. I have been exploring the whole area of the vegan eating style, which has brought an incredible new awareness of texture and taste and slowly savouring each mouthful of food. How do various foods affect our health? Food can fill empty spaces and become an addiction, yet the church remains largely silent on this addiction. Eating with people has been a way to control others behaviour by withholding or extending invitations to “break bread together” at the meal table. Why? What are the physiological effects of these behaviours? What did Jesus say about food and sharing of it with others? It is an essential piece of our socializing. Why, from my observations, are people with great passion for life adventurous eaters but those with less passion are very picky?
This subject is something I have wanted to write on for a long time. As I explore it I learn more and see the broadness of the subject. So many questions I ask and answers I want to know. It is a fascinating exploratory voyage to me. But I will also say right up front that I don’t want to offend anyone by what I observe and have discovered but there is the chance that I might. In advance I say I will try to season my words with love and grace but…sometimes I just love to throw some cayenne in there!
There is the blending of herbs and spices. What we blend and what we do not and how culture adds another twist to that. Like a twist of lemon that adds colour, flavour and zip! Salty, sour, savory, bitter and sweet are components to great flavours. We have hidden additives in our foods that are harmful and addictive. Textures that you feel with your hands and explore them in your mouth. Various temperatures affect the food and how it tastes. I have been exploring the raw food area and it is amazing to discern the difference. Our eyes, ears, nose, mouth and hands each give messages to our brain.
So from now on you are going to be hearing more of my thoughts on this subject as I explore and ruminate on it. Perhaps at times I will include my own recipes for you to try out.
Till next time with more on the Epicurean Odyssey.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Reduced Visibility
It was a glorious autumn day at 5PM when I stepped out the door of work yesterday. Still, clear, bright autumn colours and the fragrance of the season. Not five minutes down the roadway I was enveloped in fog. Where did this come from I wondered? I drove through intermittent patches all the way home. It was clear at my house but I could hear the ferry foghorn in the distance and knew it was not down at the dock. Before long it was fogged in here as well. Yet just now as I closed the blinds to snuggle into home for the evening the sky was dark but clear once again.
Fog can happen in any season, anywhere in the world. It is often referred to as “clouds at ground level” and is usually associated with fair, calm weather. The main reason it forms is the air is so saturated with moisture that the clouds literally fall to ground level. Fog is responsible for over $1million in damage annually in the United States.
Foggy patches in life creep up so subtly, arriving with little or no warning. One minute you are sailing along in the sunny spaces of life and suddenly fog envelops you, mind, heart and soul. Everything goes on high alert in the frantic search for the familiar, for places or things or persons who will help us gain our balance again, gain our sight and perspective once more. Our internal compass swings wildly about when we enter this “fog” patch. Instead of standing still and searching for the Voice of the One who sits above this fog we are in, and sees clearly, we tend to run blindly about, bumping into things we cannot see. In these times I stumble blindly along, uncertain of where I am going, wondering why I am here, or there. Missing my points of reference, I am unable to think clearly enough to grasp them in the fog. I usually try everything I can and as a last resort call out to Abba for direction. Sometimes He must just sit there chuckling while I run about like an idiot! The fog times in my life have left damage in their wake. I think I just get lazy in the fair calm weather and let go of being alert and alive to all around me. My compass conversation times with Abba get left on the back burner- my true North point of reference. As real as this fog is, so also the reality of the clear Light filled periods where direction is restored.
Fog will inevitably be a part of the weather patterns in our seasons of life. It has a beginning and an end. What is it for? Looking at Romans 5:1-5, I know the weather patterns are required to develop that “passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next.”
Thank You Abba for the fog patches on life’s road that slow me down. Thank You for Your voice that penetrates the fog, Your voice this is the compass, Your presence that is the familiar. I release control to You, and ask You to do the driving through those “clouds at ground level”. Again I ask for bold belief to be a risk taker for You. No matter what the weather conditions in my soul, that I will pursue You with all my heart, all my mind, all my strength, and all my soul.
Jesus Saviour pilot me, over life’s tempestuous sea…
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all
Fog can happen in any season, anywhere in the world. It is often referred to as “clouds at ground level” and is usually associated with fair, calm weather. The main reason it forms is the air is so saturated with moisture that the clouds literally fall to ground level. Fog is responsible for over $1million in damage annually in the United States.
Foggy patches in life creep up so subtly, arriving with little or no warning. One minute you are sailing along in the sunny spaces of life and suddenly fog envelops you, mind, heart and soul. Everything goes on high alert in the frantic search for the familiar, for places or things or persons who will help us gain our balance again, gain our sight and perspective once more. Our internal compass swings wildly about when we enter this “fog” patch. Instead of standing still and searching for the Voice of the One who sits above this fog we are in, and sees clearly, we tend to run blindly about, bumping into things we cannot see. In these times I stumble blindly along, uncertain of where I am going, wondering why I am here, or there. Missing my points of reference, I am unable to think clearly enough to grasp them in the fog. I usually try everything I can and as a last resort call out to Abba for direction. Sometimes He must just sit there chuckling while I run about like an idiot! The fog times in my life have left damage in their wake. I think I just get lazy in the fair calm weather and let go of being alert and alive to all around me. My compass conversation times with Abba get left on the back burner- my true North point of reference. As real as this fog is, so also the reality of the clear Light filled periods where direction is restored.
Fog will inevitably be a part of the weather patterns in our seasons of life. It has a beginning and an end. What is it for? Looking at Romans 5:1-5, I know the weather patterns are required to develop that “passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next.”
Thank You Abba for the fog patches on life’s road that slow me down. Thank You for Your voice that penetrates the fog, Your voice this is the compass, Your presence that is the familiar. I release control to You, and ask You to do the driving through those “clouds at ground level”. Again I ask for bold belief to be a risk taker for You. No matter what the weather conditions in my soul, that I will pursue You with all my heart, all my mind, all my strength, and all my soul.
Jesus Saviour pilot me, over life’s tempestuous sea…
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all
A Prayer For Transformation
I Pursue You, Jesus, so that I may be caught by you.
I press in so that I may know your heart.
I stay close so that I may be like you.
Loving Lord, grant me:
purity of heart,
humility of soul
integrity of life,
charity for all.
Amen.
Richard Foster
I press in so that I may know your heart.
I stay close so that I may be like you.
Loving Lord, grant me:
purity of heart,
humility of soul
integrity of life,
charity for all.
Amen.
Richard Foster
Monday, October 04, 2004
Don't Need This Coat
The seasons are changing and so I look at my wardrobe and see what has to be discarded and what I will keep. A trip to the second hand store is on my list for the week – to drop articles off and to see what “new” things I can find. There are some old coats I have had in the closet for a long time and I don’t know whether to hang onto them “in case” I will still wear them, or to pass them along to someone else.
Yesterday as I was driving along the road by the sea I passed the spot where a “God Moment” had taken place, and an old coat was discarded.
Several years ago I was about to leave for my second mission trip to Bulgaria. A good friend emailed me and said she had a strange request for me – take off the coat I didn’t need to wear. She explained that she had no idea what this meant but that as she prayed for my journey this was what she heard. A coat I didn’t need? What was this all about? Asking God to give me a picture was the only way I could know what this was about. The week before we left I was doing the routine trip to the Post Office. The Post Office, a General Store and a few others shops are all that exist in the town. The question to God was like a broken record in my head – what is this coat that I am supposed to take off? Turning off the country road, with a clear view of the sea the answer came – “take off your coat of self-protection”. And so the conversation began:
“My coat of self protection? Abba I have to wear it to protect my heart from all the pain and the rejection, being passed over and the insignificance I feel.”
“No my beloved one, you do not need to wear this coat. It is time to take it off.”
In my mind I saw myself removing this jacket and letting it drop to the ground. The realization that I was naked underneath the jacket of self-protection had me wanting to cover myself up again.
“Ah my beloved. You feel naked without that don’t you. You think I am ashamed of your nakedness? Oh no – I love to see you as you are, nothing hidden. I am not ashamed of who you are, nor am I ashamed of how I made you. Let yourself be open to My love, to my gaze and allow me to protect your heart. Remember I delight in you.”
This morning as I write this I am wondering why God reminded me of our conversation yesterday? What did I need to hear from Him about this discarded old coat? My heart has grieved some losses again recently and I am trying to keep my heart open and not shut it away. Gently, with a large dose of grace and love, Abba reminded me to keep my heart naked, open to His gaze, and know it is protected by Him. Anj’s piece here is another gentle reminder that an open heart is “how we can truly know love without boundaries”.
I am reminded of my request to God after waiting with, and watching, a dear friend die.
Depth of character
Strength of soul
Serenity of spirit
Tenderness of heart
Qualities that can only come with an open heart. It's a journey indeed.
Yesterday as I was driving along the road by the sea I passed the spot where a “God Moment” had taken place, and an old coat was discarded.
Several years ago I was about to leave for my second mission trip to Bulgaria. A good friend emailed me and said she had a strange request for me – take off the coat I didn’t need to wear. She explained that she had no idea what this meant but that as she prayed for my journey this was what she heard. A coat I didn’t need? What was this all about? Asking God to give me a picture was the only way I could know what this was about. The week before we left I was doing the routine trip to the Post Office. The Post Office, a General Store and a few others shops are all that exist in the town. The question to God was like a broken record in my head – what is this coat that I am supposed to take off? Turning off the country road, with a clear view of the sea the answer came – “take off your coat of self-protection”. And so the conversation began:
“My coat of self protection? Abba I have to wear it to protect my heart from all the pain and the rejection, being passed over and the insignificance I feel.”
“No my beloved one, you do not need to wear this coat. It is time to take it off.”
In my mind I saw myself removing this jacket and letting it drop to the ground. The realization that I was naked underneath the jacket of self-protection had me wanting to cover myself up again.
“Ah my beloved. You feel naked without that don’t you. You think I am ashamed of your nakedness? Oh no – I love to see you as you are, nothing hidden. I am not ashamed of who you are, nor am I ashamed of how I made you. Let yourself be open to My love, to my gaze and allow me to protect your heart. Remember I delight in you.”
This morning as I write this I am wondering why God reminded me of our conversation yesterday? What did I need to hear from Him about this discarded old coat? My heart has grieved some losses again recently and I am trying to keep my heart open and not shut it away. Gently, with a large dose of grace and love, Abba reminded me to keep my heart naked, open to His gaze, and know it is protected by Him. Anj’s piece here is another gentle reminder that an open heart is “how we can truly know love without boundaries”.
I am reminded of my request to God after waiting with, and watching, a dear friend die.
Depth of character
Strength of soul
Serenity of spirit
Tenderness of heart
Qualities that can only come with an open heart. It's a journey indeed.
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Breastplate prayer of St Patrick
Christ to protect me to-day
against poison, against burning, against drowning, against wounding,
so that there may come abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ is on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
against poison, against burning, against drowning, against wounding,
so that there may come abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ is on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)