Here's a depressing poem I wrote recently, thinking about how people get bored with me after a while, and about the risks it takes to make new friends. I left off the end because I didn't like the way it was written, but it leaves the rest of this sort of unresolved... oh well, I guess it's more poetic that way. Be assured, I'm not really that depressed. It was just one of those times when I was analyzing my life and relationships, and I write poems to figure things out (which I did at the end of the poem that I left off, so I guess you'll all just have to resolve it in your own way).
Somewhere in my memory is the phrase
"I don't want to be your friend anymore"
etched in unspoken forms
like the new group of girls who finally accepted her
or in the college far away
the call to move to central Asia
or marriage vows to a jealous wife
those things that say "I don't like you anymore"--
or worse "I'll always like you but you aren't worth
the time it takes while I pursue my life"
Make the fear that I'll never really fit in
that I'll always be a back-burner friend
a fear that stays and torments me
every time I try again
Monday, December 18, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Every Little Baby
I think that we're supposed to learn things about God by having our own children. since He's our Father, and He treats us like his kids. My youth pastor said something to us like that on Sunday, so I've been thinking about how helpless babies are and how they can't really do anything for themselves.
Arlene needs me to provide for her needs. She might not know that I'm doing it always, and she can';t say thank you or even smile yet. I guess God looks at us that way, even though we don't always recognize that He's the one supplying things, and that without Him we'd be completely helpless. he still loves us and cares for us.
And right now I feel pretty helpless too. This song has been running through my head for the last three weeks every time I start thinking about this subject. It's always been one of my favorites; now it makes even more sense.
Arlene needs me to provide for her needs. She might not know that I'm doing it always, and she can';t say thank you or even smile yet. I guess God looks at us that way, even though we don't always recognize that He's the one supplying things, and that without Him we'd be completely helpless. he still loves us and cares for us.
And right now I feel pretty helpless too. This song has been running through my head for the last three weeks every time I start thinking about this subject. It's always been one of my favorites; now it makes even more sense.
Hold On - Twila Paris
Every little baby comes into the world
Reaching for an anchor, fingers tightly curled
Grasping for a reason without knowing why
We will cling to anything 'til the day we die
We can hold on to sorrow, hold on to pain
We can hold on to anger when there is nothing to be gained
We can hold to a thread at the end of a rope
But if we hold on to Jesus we are holding on to hope
Hold on, hold on
This is human nature; this is what He planned
When He put our hearts inside, when He made these hands
We are here to reach for Him, never letting go
This is all we need to have, all we need to know
We can hold on to money, hold on to fame
We can hold on to glory and the honor of a name
We can hold to a thread at the end of a rope
But if we hold on to Jesus we are holding on to hope
Hold on, hold on
Go on hold on, hold on
Every little baby comes into the world
Reaching for an anchor, fingers tightly curled
Grasping for a reason without knowing why
We will cling to anything 'til the day we die
We can hold on to sorrow, hold on to pain
We can hold on to anger when there is nothing to be gained
We can hold to a thread at the end of a rope
But if we hold on to Jesus we are holding on to hope
Hold on, hold on
This is human nature; this is what He planned
When He put our hearts inside, when He made these hands
We are here to reach for Him, never letting go
This is all we need to have, all we need to know
We can hold on to money, hold on to fame
We can hold on to glory and the honor of a name
We can hold to a thread at the end of a rope
But if we hold on to Jesus we are holding on to hope
Hold on, hold on
Go on hold on, hold on
p.s. that is not Daniel's hand in the picture with arlene; it's Nathan's. He wanted to take a picture of her perfect fist (she has good genes for fighting crime).
Thursday, September 28, 2006
The Piano
Somewhere around fifty years ago, my grandparents bought a piano from a family down the road in a little white house with red shutters. They moved it from the wall where it had sat for most of its life, and hauled it four miles home to their tiny farm house so their kids could take piano lessons.
That piano sat in that farm house for forty-some years, probably. Long enough for five kids to take lessons, grow up, have children of their own, and move out of the state. It was played--sometimes well, sometimes poorly. Sometimes it sat for a month without being touched. Other times it was pounded upon by inexpereinced fingers who just wanted to make noise. On occasion, an apt cousin of mine would sit and plunk out "Heart and Soul" or "Chopsticks" some other lame piano lesson song that everyone manages to learn in their lifetime. And once in a while--on specal occasions--someone with a little more musical aptitutude would sit for a moment and play a hymn or two using the old music collection from the piano bench.
Five years ago, my grandparents moved out of their farm house, four miles up the road to "town". Ironically, the house they moved into was the little white house with red shutters--the piano's original home. And in the move, while furniture was all squeezed into new places, the piano found its way back to the same place it had sat fifty years ago. Against the same wall. Same keys, same legs, just a little more worn now. And that tired old piano sits there, while new fingers find their way to its keys and play. Sometimes poorly, sometimes well.
I feel like that piano lately. Like I've spent most of my life being played and learned from, got familiar with that life, and then suddenly, I'm back right where I started more tired and worn than I was to begin with. Backed up against a wall, easily overlooked and used as a shelf instead of what my purpose really is. Seemingly nothing to show for all of the pain and trials, all of the pushing and plunking and playing. BUt maybe, like the piano, there are still new things in store. Sure, there will always be the annoying people who have to sit down and play "Heart and Soul", always litle kids who want to make noise. But maybe there are others waiting to play--others who weren't around when I was first in that starting place.
Two years ago in the middle of a snow storm, a visitor stopped over at the little white house with red shutters. He had just moved into one of the onyl other houses in the town and wanted to come say hi. He'd liked the loook of the open Montana prairie, the quietness of few neighbors. He'd found a little school house for sale in Four Buttes with a trailer beside it. And the school house had its own piano. Turns out, this visitor was a professional musician from Idaho, and he had wanted to find a place to work on his music without being interrupted. Our excited relatives urged him to play for us, so he sat down at the tired piano and plunked out some fantastic ragtime tunes--ones he'd written himself, and other composed ones. songs that no one in our family had the talent to play. Songs that that old piano had probably never heard before. songs that could make the old keys jump and dance. I think if that piano were alive, it would have jiggled across the floor in such excitement, thinking "I've waited my whole life for this!"
So maybe that's why I'm back up against this same wall I started at long ago. Maybe I'll go other places before I make it back here again. But some day, the experience and wear from being played through the years will pay off, and I can be used by a master Musician and dance in glee, singing, "I've waited my whole life for this! This is what I was made for."
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Teflon Conspiracy
Many of you may remember my original rant on conspiracies. I've discovered a new one. Teflon. You've heard the old addage "if nothing sticks to teflon, how does teflon stick to the pan?" The true answers is, actually, it doesn't stick to the pan. If comes off in cancer-causing flakes after a few uses. Even if you're careful to only use nylon spatulas and wash it with the nifty little pampered chef scraper, you'll find that eventually, the resilliant material does not adhere.
The conspiracy? I think that they knew about this when they invnented the first teflon pan. But they decided to do it anyway. They even let the FDA or whoever it was discover the carsinigans present in the chemicals. That way, people who carefully guard their healthy lifestyles and watch for chipping materials will throw out their teflon pans and replace them. At least for a few years. More money for the Teflon-using companies. More money for doctors and drug companies. Everyone's happy.
Until I expose their evil exploits and everyone starts buying stainless steel and using steel wool to clean. It's really not that difficult. And think of all the benefits. You can worry about other, less obvious health risks instead of thinking about cancer every time you want a pan of stir-fry.
The conspiracy? I think that they knew about this when they invnented the first teflon pan. But they decided to do it anyway. They even let the FDA or whoever it was discover the carsinigans present in the chemicals. That way, people who carefully guard their healthy lifestyles and watch for chipping materials will throw out their teflon pans and replace them. At least for a few years. More money for the Teflon-using companies. More money for doctors and drug companies. Everyone's happy.
Until I expose their evil exploits and everyone starts buying stainless steel and using steel wool to clean. It's really not that difficult. And think of all the benefits. You can worry about other, less obvious health risks instead of thinking about cancer every time you want a pan of stir-fry.
Critisms v. Christianity
I'm going to take a few minutes to vent my raw thoughts on some things I've been reading lately. Forgive me if they'[re incoherant or disagreeable (I expect they might be disagreed with). Here's what I've been noticing in blogs and conversations from people in the gen-x and whatever generation I am in: We're bored with church so we feel the need to critisize it.
I've heard a lot of cynical remarks about the American church and how materialistic, self-centered, unfocused, etc it is. These arguments range from blaming "relevance" and "emergent" to embracing the postmodern mindset and everything in between. I especially get annoyed when I hear people picking at the American church in general... as if it can be distinguished as worse than the African churches that preach the prosperity gospel, or the sparse European churches filled with folks who go out of obligation. Or Soviet churches that still apply communistic principles (corruption) to the way their church operates. Or the Asian churches that are so isolated that the pastors have to come up with their own theology which may or may not be heretical. Sheesh. What are you complaining abbout? At least in America you can find another church... or turn on the radio and listen to a credible preacher.
While it's necessary to evaluate our standing and operations, I'm not certain critisizing it will do much to help. And comparing it to other countries? That's the stupidest thing I've heard. I get sooooo angry when I read or listen to people whining about how pathetic the American church is when nearly every other country in the world is filled with pagan religions, persecution, political corruption, and misguided docterine.
Don't sit around analyzing society and how it's affecting the Church and whining about how no one understands. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Start serving Jesus. I think that when we stop thinking about everything that's wrong and trying to fix it in our philisophical discussions, and start worshipping Christ and working out His principles, there is a shift in perspective that would do everyone good. But maybe I'm naieve. I do have a really good church. And I did do the whole Christian college thing, where everyone is so satisfied and comfortable with their faith that they actually become dissatisfied (I know it's paradoxal, but it's true). And I'm probably pretty conservative... But people really should try visiting a Russian or African church before complaining about the American ones.
I've heard a lot of cynical remarks about the American church and how materialistic, self-centered, unfocused, etc it is. These arguments range from blaming "relevance" and "emergent" to embracing the postmodern mindset and everything in between. I especially get annoyed when I hear people picking at the American church in general... as if it can be distinguished as worse than the African churches that preach the prosperity gospel, or the sparse European churches filled with folks who go out of obligation. Or Soviet churches that still apply communistic principles (corruption) to the way their church operates. Or the Asian churches that are so isolated that the pastors have to come up with their own theology which may or may not be heretical. Sheesh. What are you complaining abbout? At least in America you can find another church... or turn on the radio and listen to a credible preacher.
While it's necessary to evaluate our standing and operations, I'm not certain critisizing it will do much to help. And comparing it to other countries? That's the stupidest thing I've heard. I get sooooo angry when I read or listen to people whining about how pathetic the American church is when nearly every other country in the world is filled with pagan religions, persecution, political corruption, and misguided docterine.
Don't sit around analyzing society and how it's affecting the Church and whining about how no one understands. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Start serving Jesus. I think that when we stop thinking about everything that's wrong and trying to fix it in our philisophical discussions, and start worshipping Christ and working out His principles, there is a shift in perspective that would do everyone good. But maybe I'm naieve. I do have a really good church. And I did do the whole Christian college thing, where everyone is so satisfied and comfortable with their faith that they actually become dissatisfied (I know it's paradoxal, but it's true). And I'm probably pretty conservative... But people really should try visiting a Russian or African church before complaining about the American ones.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Sheep's Clothing ~ A Parable that I didn't cut and paste from another website or copy from a book
Larry dressed in a suit coat, wore glasses, and had neatly combed hair. He was not like other wolves that had tried to enter the flock, who shouted obscene things, talked like they knew more than the sheep, and always got caught by Shepherd. Larry was flashy and neat, and said all the right things. He was such a sneaky, well-disguised wolf that none of the sheep were alarmed when, instead of awakening to the shepherd’s call, they heard the smooth, soothing voice of the wolf. “Shepherd’s sent me to take care of you while he’s away.”
“Where did he go?” Ben asked. “He didn’t say he was going anywhere.” Ben was a smart sheep, and the oldest of the flock. He knew his Shepherd well. “Something came up at the last minute.” Larry smiled convincingly, but Ben wasn’t sure about Larry. He dressed fancy, and looked a little like a shepherd, but there was something else familiar about him. Something dangerous.
None of the sheep recognized Larry as a wolf. They went on grazing and flocking, and being generally content. Larry was a lot like the Shepherd. He listened to the sheep’s needs. He gave them advice on what to eat. He made promises about leading them to better meadows with fresher water and greener grass. And he always had an answer for any of their questions.
After a few weeks, the flock trusted Larry so much, that they followed him away from their pen to a new meadow. “We shouldn’t leave. The Shepherd will be back soon,” Ben warned. But no one listened to him, so he followed them to the new stream. The water didn’t look as clear as the other places the flock had used, but they trusted Larry, so they carefully climbed the rocks to drink the murky water.
Ben only took one drink of the water. It tasted terrible, and dried his mouth out. It was not the kind of water Shepherd took them to. While Ben watched the other sheep, he caught a reflection in the water that troubled him deeply. It was Larry’s, but in the water, without the clothes and glasses, Larry looked a lot like a wolf.
That night, after Larry had gone to bed, Ben shared his concerns. “He said the shepherd sent him, but he doesn’t talk like the shepherd. And he led us to bad water that left us thirstier.”
“Larry said it’s better,” Deacon insisted.
“What about Shepherd!”
“Larry said if he cared about us, he would have found us by now.”
“He’ll be looking for us until he finds us. Larry is a wolf. He’ll eat us in the night if we don’t find Shepherd!”
“Why should we listen to you?” one sheep asked defiantly.
“Yeah. We want to stay with Larry,” the other sheep agreed.
“I know the shepherd, and he wouldn’t lead us to bad water. He wouldn’t take us so far away from the safe places! We need to find him!”
“Baaa,” the sheep said, and plugged their ears.
Ben kept trying to argue, but no one would listen. Pretty soon, the sheep got tired of hearing him. They demanded that he leave the flock. Ben knew there was no way to make them listen except to find Shepherd, so he left them.
After days of looking, Ben found Shepherd at the murky stream. None of the other sheep were with him. Shepherd was sitting alone on a rock, crying. When Ben came near, Shepherd grabbed him and held him tightly. “I tried to warn them,” Ben said weakly.
Shepherd nodded his head. “If only they had known me as well as you do. Then they could have been saved.”
“Where did he go?” Ben asked. “He didn’t say he was going anywhere.” Ben was a smart sheep, and the oldest of the flock. He knew his Shepherd well. “Something came up at the last minute.” Larry smiled convincingly, but Ben wasn’t sure about Larry. He dressed fancy, and looked a little like a shepherd, but there was something else familiar about him. Something dangerous.
None of the sheep recognized Larry as a wolf. They went on grazing and flocking, and being generally content. Larry was a lot like the Shepherd. He listened to the sheep’s needs. He gave them advice on what to eat. He made promises about leading them to better meadows with fresher water and greener grass. And he always had an answer for any of their questions.
After a few weeks, the flock trusted Larry so much, that they followed him away from their pen to a new meadow. “We shouldn’t leave. The Shepherd will be back soon,” Ben warned. But no one listened to him, so he followed them to the new stream. The water didn’t look as clear as the other places the flock had used, but they trusted Larry, so they carefully climbed the rocks to drink the murky water.
Ben only took one drink of the water. It tasted terrible, and dried his mouth out. It was not the kind of water Shepherd took them to. While Ben watched the other sheep, he caught a reflection in the water that troubled him deeply. It was Larry’s, but in the water, without the clothes and glasses, Larry looked a lot like a wolf.
That night, after Larry had gone to bed, Ben shared his concerns. “He said the shepherd sent him, but he doesn’t talk like the shepherd. And he led us to bad water that left us thirstier.”
“Larry said it’s better,” Deacon insisted.
“What about Shepherd!”
“Larry said if he cared about us, he would have found us by now.”
“He’ll be looking for us until he finds us. Larry is a wolf. He’ll eat us in the night if we don’t find Shepherd!”
“Why should we listen to you?” one sheep asked defiantly.
“Yeah. We want to stay with Larry,” the other sheep agreed.
“I know the shepherd, and he wouldn’t lead us to bad water. He wouldn’t take us so far away from the safe places! We need to find him!”
“Baaa,” the sheep said, and plugged their ears.
Ben kept trying to argue, but no one would listen. Pretty soon, the sheep got tired of hearing him. They demanded that he leave the flock. Ben knew there was no way to make them listen except to find Shepherd, so he left them.
After days of looking, Ben found Shepherd at the murky stream. None of the other sheep were with him. Shepherd was sitting alone on a rock, crying. When Ben came near, Shepherd grabbed him and held him tightly. “I tried to warn them,” Ben said weakly.
Shepherd nodded his head. “If only they had known me as well as you do. Then they could have been saved.”
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Adding to The Beauty
"Sit with me and tell me once again/of the story that's been told us/of the power that will hold us/of the beauty/of the beauty. Why it matters.
Sit with me until I understand/why our thinking/and creating/and our efforts of mirrating/of the beauty, of th ebeauty/ why it matters."
~ sara Groves "Why it Matters" 2005
The first time I heard this song (which you should all download if you enjoy good music with a fabulous message), I was captured by it. Musically, it drew me in. Lyrically, I was intrigued. I listened to it six times. I pulled out the liner notes and read the lyrics carfully. It's a song about art, and why, out of all the things we do in life, it matters.
I'm not a fantastic artist, nor will I ever claim to be. but I love art. I love the beauty it creates, the beauty it reveals, and the power that draws you in, calling you closer and closer to the Creator. I love being able to use the finite abilities I have to create. Obviously for those of you who know me, I spend most of my creative energy creating stories and elaborate worlds in which my characters exsist. BUt, as I've said before in previous ways, I'm discovering that being an artist is more than enjoying art, or being able to create it. A Christian artist has a call--to emphasize and add to the beauty of God. I'm understanding that in new ways as I listen to artists I respect elaborate on their theories about it, and as God begins to show me that creativity is inborn and useful, because He uses it in a way that no spoken word or piece of theology can be used. As my writing curriculum states: "[It] create[s] a world filled with light and life. a world that mirros and interprets for our readers God's creation, that explains and organizes meaning, insight, and emotion--that points the way." It speaks to a part of our soul that is unreachable by intellect and rationale and logic. It moves beyond the tendancy to analyze and disect, and pulls out the parts of us that are daily shoved aside and forced to hide, the parts of us that were created in God's image.
In orther words, it matters.
Sit with me until I understand/why our thinking/and creating/and our efforts of mirrating/of the beauty, of th ebeauty/ why it matters."
~ sara Groves "Why it Matters" 2005
The first time I heard this song (which you should all download if you enjoy good music with a fabulous message), I was captured by it. Musically, it drew me in. Lyrically, I was intrigued. I listened to it six times. I pulled out the liner notes and read the lyrics carfully. It's a song about art, and why, out of all the things we do in life, it matters.
I'm not a fantastic artist, nor will I ever claim to be. but I love art. I love the beauty it creates, the beauty it reveals, and the power that draws you in, calling you closer and closer to the Creator. I love being able to use the finite abilities I have to create. Obviously for those of you who know me, I spend most of my creative energy creating stories and elaborate worlds in which my characters exsist. BUt, as I've said before in previous ways, I'm discovering that being an artist is more than enjoying art, or being able to create it. A Christian artist has a call--to emphasize and add to the beauty of God. I'm understanding that in new ways as I listen to artists I respect elaborate on their theories about it, and as God begins to show me that creativity is inborn and useful, because He uses it in a way that no spoken word or piece of theology can be used. As my writing curriculum states: "[It] create[s] a world filled with light and life. a world that mirros and interprets for our readers God's creation, that explains and organizes meaning, insight, and emotion--that points the way." It speaks to a part of our soul that is unreachable by intellect and rationale and logic. It moves beyond the tendancy to analyze and disect, and pulls out the parts of us that are daily shoved aside and forced to hide, the parts of us that were created in God's image.
In orther words, it matters.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Ministry Wear
I'm wondering today, in the wake of a weekend retreat with eight teens, what elements are necessary in a person of ministry to be effective. Does one need to have a completely wholesome attitude at all times? Do you have to want to do it all the time, or is there a place for duty and commitment to play its part? I ask this becuase, lately I haven't really felt like doing much of anything. I'm involved in two ministries right now. Younglife and childcare at church. To be honest, neither one of them is something I spend the week looking forward to. Childcare is OK, but I spend a lot of time with kids, and something about church kids kind of annoys me (that's another subject all together). Young Life has been good up until now, but lately I've been wondering what my position there should be. I am not an attractive personality. I'm easily annoyed, especially when it invovles respect or lack thereof. I hate the music they listen to, and on top of that I don't think that my "work" is effective or useful. I wonder if I'm not trying hard enough or doing enough, but the idea of doing more exhausts me.
And then there's the whole question of my motives. It's so easy, when working with "at risk" teens, to want to solve their social, economic and spiritual problems, but really they just need to know Christ. But once they know HIm, I feel like they get left hanging. And that's where they want to be. I haven't seen a thirst for knowing Him better in any of the girls. I haven't noticed a desire to change their lives. It's like they see the leaders' lives, and they want them, but they can't conclude that if they don't make some changes, their life is headed the same way their parents' was... they're used to things. And breaking a cycle or changing a lifestyle is not something anyone wants to do because of the work involved. And it seems like no matter what I say, they aren't realizing that. (I've come to this revelation after the retreat).
I don't know where the answers are. People can sit around and analyze their ministries and reorganize and try new spins, but I haven't seen that doing a lto of good. And this emerging church stuff seems to only encourage the lifestyle that is the very barrier we're trying to break down. I guess I'm just frustrated. That the work and prayer and planning doesn't amount to anything at the end of the day. Probably tomorrow I'll feel beter about it. I'm sure some prayer and Bible-searching will take care of it all.
And then there's the whole question of my motives. It's so easy, when working with "at risk" teens, to want to solve their social, economic and spiritual problems, but really they just need to know Christ. But once they know HIm, I feel like they get left hanging. And that's where they want to be. I haven't seen a thirst for knowing Him better in any of the girls. I haven't noticed a desire to change their lives. It's like they see the leaders' lives, and they want them, but they can't conclude that if they don't make some changes, their life is headed the same way their parents' was... they're used to things. And breaking a cycle or changing a lifestyle is not something anyone wants to do because of the work involved. And it seems like no matter what I say, they aren't realizing that. (I've come to this revelation after the retreat).
I don't know where the answers are. People can sit around and analyze their ministries and reorganize and try new spins, but I haven't seen that doing a lto of good. And this emerging church stuff seems to only encourage the lifestyle that is the very barrier we're trying to break down. I guess I'm just frustrated. That the work and prayer and planning doesn't amount to anything at the end of the day. Probably tomorrow I'll feel beter about it. I'm sure some prayer and Bible-searching will take care of it all.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Family to Be
There's a commercial on the radio for Northwestern College distance ed. It's this guy who says something to this effect: "So you wanna go to college? I know what you're thinking. You can't go to college! Live in teh dorms! Eat six-day-old pizza from a box. Wear your hat backwards, upsideodwn and inside-out. but the desire is still there." I've been feeling like that tone of voice lately. "You can't be a mom. Raise a family. Walk around with a stroller and a baby on board sign. Wake up every three hours in the middle of the night."
BUt maybe there is a desire there still anyway. I've had time to get past a lot of the initial fears. And I don't doubt God's ability to make me into a parent. In fact, I definately have a head start over a lot of people because I had fantastic parents (and I've been exposed to hundreds of terrible parents at daycare). BUt there are little parts of me that still think this is the most ridiculuos thing that's ever happened, and I'm definately the last person who should be doing this. Really, the hardest part for me to deal with is the whole baby phase. I like toddler and preschool. I've had a lot of exposure to that age. Babies aren't as fun to me. BUt it's OK.
Anyway, I wrote all of that so I could share a poem that someone left in our church mailbox. It was left anonymously, but I inadvertadly found out who had put it there because the youth adults pastor had seen it and asked me if I was actually pregnant. But that's a side note. And I don't know whether or not this particular person wrote the poem or if he just found it somewhere. It's pithy. It's trite. It's sappy. But it's true, and it was special at the same time. (And we all know that I'm the least sappy person alive).
BUt maybe there is a desire there still anyway. I've had time to get past a lot of the initial fears. And I don't doubt God's ability to make me into a parent. In fact, I definately have a head start over a lot of people because I had fantastic parents (and I've been exposed to hundreds of terrible parents at daycare). BUt there are little parts of me that still think this is the most ridiculuos thing that's ever happened, and I'm definately the last person who should be doing this. Really, the hardest part for me to deal with is the whole baby phase. I like toddler and preschool. I've had a lot of exposure to that age. Babies aren't as fun to me. BUt it's OK.
Anyway, I wrote all of that so I could share a poem that someone left in our church mailbox. It was left anonymously, but I inadvertadly found out who had put it there because the youth adults pastor had seen it and asked me if I was actually pregnant. But that's a side note. And I don't know whether or not this particular person wrote the poem or if he just found it somewhere. It's pithy. It's trite. It's sappy. But it's true, and it was special at the same time. (And we all know that I'm the least sappy person alive).
New Baby
The love between a man and wife
is a mystery so sweet
But it seems without a child to love
'tis somehow incomplete
So God looked down from heaven,
to choose whom he could trust
with His special little bundle
Created from the dust.
He knew He could trust you;
He chose you and you alone,
to raise this lovely baby
in your happy, loving home.
--Author Unknown
Friday, March 24, 2006
Frail
A lot of you have already heard that Daniel's youngest brother, ELliot was in a car accident a few weeks ago. There were a lot of ways he could have died, but fortunately, he made it out with seven broken bones and a punctured skull. I think it's ironic that Elliot, who home-schools, lives in Iowa, and is only twelve years old, is the one who just had a life-scraping experience when Wyatt is a medic in Iraq and is daily exposed to the dangers of war.
My younger brother is also getting fired at, but he's in basic training so it's a little more controlled. Ironically, still, though, it was my older brother who nearly died a couple of months ago when he slipped and fell down a waterfall, hitting his body against some jagged rocks. He works on a cruise ship and gets to do vacationy things all the time.
I think it makes an interesting point, though. If you had to choose who was more prone to death: a soldier in Iraq or a twelve-year-old homeschooler; a training private at Fort Benning or a light technician for Carnival cruises, who would you choose? I'd more than likely go with both of the former choices (I actually heard of two people who died at Benning a couple of years ago when one of my friends was there).
My point is that we are all frail. And we don't know when our life will end. Nearly everything we do is a risk. So I guess we should take more chances.
My younger brother is also getting fired at, but he's in basic training so it's a little more controlled. Ironically, still, though, it was my older brother who nearly died a couple of months ago when he slipped and fell down a waterfall, hitting his body against some jagged rocks. He works on a cruise ship and gets to do vacationy things all the time.
I think it makes an interesting point, though. If you had to choose who was more prone to death: a soldier in Iraq or a twelve-year-old homeschooler; a training private at Fort Benning or a light technician for Carnival cruises, who would you choose? I'd more than likely go with both of the former choices (I actually heard of two people who died at Benning a couple of years ago when one of my friends was there).
My point is that we are all frail. And we don't know when our life will end. Nearly everything we do is a risk. So I guess we should take more chances.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Life kicking me in the butt
I don't really have anything significant to write right now, but I felt like I should say something. I hate that feeling.
Monday, March 06, 2006
The Integrity of Words
Apparently I can no longer edit my posts. They say there are no posts found. Funny. They're still sitting there on my blog. Whatever. I have more important things to talk about. The integrity of words, namingly.
My college roommate posted her thoughts on this article,which I thought were interesting. It got me to thinking about the way our culture has watered things down to easy, thoughtless statements and sentiments. I've been getting frustrated with my inability to use words like I want to. When I read classic literature-- Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Tennison, Longfellow and so forth-- I discover how richly worded everything is. That is in part to the author's ability and talent. It is also in part to the wealth of vocabulary that exsisted in even the uneducated.
We were talking about family dinners the other night, and my friend Karen said that tey had a small table and never had to ask to have things passed because they could reach everything. Erin said, "that's called boarding room reach," and everyone noded their heads. I hadn't ever heard that phrase used before. And I got annoyed with myself. But it's not totally my fault that I don't hear these things. They arne't used anymore. Granted, if I bothered to look up more words and phrases, I would be more prolific, but there is still a leanness of words. And of their meaning.
I think a major part of the problem is our relativistic mindset. The it-means-what-I-want-it-to mindset. I was on a poetry site where we can comment on each others' poetry. I'd been noticing that one particular poet used the poetic word jaded in nearly every poem (ironically). So I mentioned that. I also quoted Wesley from the Princess Bride when he was talking to Vizzini: "You keep using that word. I'm not sure you know what it means." The poet responded saying, "I like the word. To me, it means darkness and tiredness." Well. Unfortunately Webster doesn't agree. It actually means worn-out, overused, or tired. (Kind of like his very use of the word in his multiple poems). He completely discredited himself (at least to me), by misusing the word. I no longer want to read his poetry. It's left uninterprateable if the words mean what he wants them to mean, even if it has nothing to do with their true definition. They don't mean whatever you want them to. That's all there is to it. (Some words can have connotations, I realize. I'm not arguing against the poetic use of words. but when they're used, they can include the connotation and still be true to their meaning).
Charlie Peacock is a really fantastic person. He recently wrote a book called "New Way to Be Human". In his introduction, he spoke of a college student who was tired and found that the things he ewas being taught were tired and seemed useless. He completed his complaining by saying, "Words just don't mean anything anymore." Charlie replied (regretfully) "In that case I have no idea what you just said." But then he expounded, and said that words are all we have. Words must mean something, or we have no hope of conveying truth. We have no other way to tell our stories. And if words begin to mean "whatever we want them to" then our stories lose their validity, for they are interpreted carelessly with with the listeners own experience and feelings attached. I, for one, don't want that to happen.
My college roommate posted her thoughts on this article,which I thought were interesting. It got me to thinking about the way our culture has watered things down to easy, thoughtless statements and sentiments. I've been getting frustrated with my inability to use words like I want to. When I read classic literature-- Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Tennison, Longfellow and so forth-- I discover how richly worded everything is. That is in part to the author's ability and talent. It is also in part to the wealth of vocabulary that exsisted in even the uneducated.
We were talking about family dinners the other night, and my friend Karen said that tey had a small table and never had to ask to have things passed because they could reach everything. Erin said, "that's called boarding room reach," and everyone noded their heads. I hadn't ever heard that phrase used before. And I got annoyed with myself. But it's not totally my fault that I don't hear these things. They arne't used anymore. Granted, if I bothered to look up more words and phrases, I would be more prolific, but there is still a leanness of words. And of their meaning.
I think a major part of the problem is our relativistic mindset. The it-means-what-I-want-it-to mindset. I was on a poetry site where we can comment on each others' poetry. I'd been noticing that one particular poet used the poetic word jaded in nearly every poem (ironically). So I mentioned that. I also quoted Wesley from the Princess Bride when he was talking to Vizzini: "You keep using that word. I'm not sure you know what it means." The poet responded saying, "I like the word. To me, it means darkness and tiredness." Well. Unfortunately Webster doesn't agree. It actually means worn-out, overused, or tired. (Kind of like his very use of the word in his multiple poems). He completely discredited himself (at least to me), by misusing the word. I no longer want to read his poetry. It's left uninterprateable if the words mean what he wants them to mean, even if it has nothing to do with their true definition. They don't mean whatever you want them to. That's all there is to it. (Some words can have connotations, I realize. I'm not arguing against the poetic use of words. but when they're used, they can include the connotation and still be true to their meaning).
Charlie Peacock is a really fantastic person. He recently wrote a book called "New Way to Be Human". In his introduction, he spoke of a college student who was tired and found that the things he ewas being taught were tired and seemed useless. He completed his complaining by saying, "Words just don't mean anything anymore." Charlie replied (regretfully) "In that case I have no idea what you just said." But then he expounded, and said that words are all we have. Words must mean something, or we have no hope of conveying truth. We have no other way to tell our stories. And if words begin to mean "whatever we want them to" then our stories lose their validity, for they are interpreted carelessly with with the listeners own experience and feelings attached. I, for one, don't want that to happen.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
writing muse
I'm discovering that my writing is half way between discouragment and inspiration. I left the conference with some new ideas and good advice. But having talked with real published people, I also left feeling like everything I've written is inadaquet. The problem is I really love the things I've written. but now I feel like they need to be revamped (and they do in order for an editor to consider it), and I don't have the energy or knowledge to do it right. I can't make words work right now. And that frustrates me so much.
And I guess that's all I have to say right now.
And I guess that's all I have to say right now.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Random Thoughts
I've decided that I don't like reading the blogs that are "devotional" style, where people type out a scripture and talk about what it means to them. Or what they've learned. I don't like the tone they take, mostly. And if I wanted a devotional, i'd read Guideposts. Some people make good application of scripture without taking on that annoying teacher tone. And I guess those are betr than nothing. But I don't like them, that's all.
My husband's grandpa died today. He's really upset about it, and that makes me upset. So far, no one I've known very well has passed away. So I haven't really struggled with the feelings that you have when that happens. It's hard to watch people suffer. And it's hard to see that they get heaven before we do. But I havve a hard time sympatising. I hate that i can't, though.
Uh... I hate how you go out and experience something great (likea writing conference), and then you come home and regular life seems worse than ever. Maybe it's just the contrast of great living, and normal living. But sometimes I think that bad things happen intentionally to make me grounded again. I don't know. But I wish I cou;d have stayed in Colorado a couple extra days and blocked reality from my mind for just a little longer. It's nice to be able to do that.
I don't have anything else to say.
My husband's grandpa died today. He's really upset about it, and that makes me upset. So far, no one I've known very well has passed away. So I haven't really struggled with the feelings that you have when that happens. It's hard to watch people suffer. And it's hard to see that they get heaven before we do. But I havve a hard time sympatising. I hate that i can't, though.
Uh... I hate how you go out and experience something great (likea writing conference), and then you come home and regular life seems worse than ever. Maybe it's just the contrast of great living, and normal living. But sometimes I think that bad things happen intentionally to make me grounded again. I don't know. But I wish I cou;d have stayed in Colorado a couple extra days and blocked reality from my mind for just a little longer. It's nice to be able to do that.
I don't have anything else to say.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Lifechanging Bill
In the forth grade, we had a Pioneer Girls sleepover. We watched all of the McGee and Me shows that exsisted. I stayed up "all night" with Rory and enjoyed the movies that taught us how to make good choices and how the Bible applied to life.
When I was in junior high, I read some books called "Journeys to Fayrah" (now the Imager Chronicles). It was a fantasy series about an awkward twelve-year-old girl who accidently gets taken to another dimention and a land called Fayrah, where she learns about someone named Imager who loves her and has a plan for her life, fights against the Illusionist, and then battles within the world to discover truth and understand the mysteries of Imager's ways.
In high school, after leaving a church whose ways were edging toward New Age, I read through a series of books called "Forbidden Doors" where two teenagers engage in Spiritual Warfare and learn that the powers of darkness are not as unreal and powerless as we thought. But at the same time, there is a greater Power that is able to defeat it.
All three of those media experiences changed my life, primarily by changing my perception of God or helping to expand it. They were comforting characters I related with on a deep level. All three of them, Bill Myers was responsible for. Out of the imagination of this hulking, six-foot-four man with a portruding chin and mischevious smile came McGee, Denise, Listro Q, Fayrah Wally McDoogle, and Forbidden Doors.
And I sat at his table and talked with him this weekend. It was probably the highlight of my writing life, certainly the highlight of the year for me. It was something that I'd wanted to do for a long time. I waited all weekend to elbow my way through the crowds of people who filled the lobby a half hour before dinner, hoping to stake a table with an editor or writer. I watched while others filled the spots of the table I wanted, laughed and chatted. It was me last night. I got that table. (and on top of sitting there with my favorite author, I also got to sit right next to Frank Peretti).
Some day, I want to be responsible for lifechange like that. For showing teenagers who are insecure and unsure of themselves and their faith that GOd is active, real and wonderful. And maybe, if I'm fortunate and blessed, someone will sit at my table at a writing conference and say what I got to say to Mr. Myers last night: "Your books changed my life."
When I was in junior high, I read some books called "Journeys to Fayrah" (now the Imager Chronicles). It was a fantasy series about an awkward twelve-year-old girl who accidently gets taken to another dimention and a land called Fayrah, where she learns about someone named Imager who loves her and has a plan for her life, fights against the Illusionist, and then battles within the world to discover truth and understand the mysteries of Imager's ways.
In high school, after leaving a church whose ways were edging toward New Age, I read through a series of books called "Forbidden Doors" where two teenagers engage in Spiritual Warfare and learn that the powers of darkness are not as unreal and powerless as we thought. But at the same time, there is a greater Power that is able to defeat it.
All three of those media experiences changed my life, primarily by changing my perception of God or helping to expand it. They were comforting characters I related with on a deep level. All three of them, Bill Myers was responsible for. Out of the imagination of this hulking, six-foot-four man with a portruding chin and mischevious smile came McGee, Denise, Listro Q, Fayrah Wally McDoogle, and Forbidden Doors.
And I sat at his table and talked with him this weekend. It was probably the highlight of my writing life, certainly the highlight of the year for me. It was something that I'd wanted to do for a long time. I waited all weekend to elbow my way through the crowds of people who filled the lobby a half hour before dinner, hoping to stake a table with an editor or writer. I watched while others filled the spots of the table I wanted, laughed and chatted. It was me last night. I got that table. (and on top of sitting there with my favorite author, I also got to sit right next to Frank Peretti).
Some day, I want to be responsible for lifechange like that. For showing teenagers who are insecure and unsure of themselves and their faith that GOd is active, real and wonderful. And maybe, if I'm fortunate and blessed, someone will sit at my table at a writing conference and say what I got to say to Mr. Myers last night: "Your books changed my life."
Monday, February 13, 2006
Standing with Doubters
There are things in every religion that don't add up. i could start listing them, but I think I'd just depress myself. While everyone would like to think that their religion is ultimate truth and everything fits together, I'm not so sure that it does. I think that might be part of what makes it religion. It's founded on Supernatural. And because it usually involves some supreme being, there are things that we are not to understand about that being.
Enter God. Christianity. I'd like to tell everyone that my faith is perfect, that the set of values I've established are unshakable and perfect. That they all line up, and when you think hard enough they make sense. But I don't think they do. And I think I'm OK with that. It's strange. I've met a lot of people who doubt their faith, who question it frequently. and I think we all go through phases like that. IT's a scary place to be, when you start wondering if the foundation for your life is suddenly not as true as you once thought it was. You don't know who to turn to, and you don't know how to resolve it. Some people give up. some people change their thinking.
And some choose to believe despite it all. Despite doubts and trials and questions. I guess that's what makes it "faith" instead of "religion", really. Because I can reject religion easily. I don't like establishments. But faith, the relationship I have with God and the trust I put in Him and His word, is something that doesn't go away so easily.
So I stand among the doubters with my hands reached toward heaven, hoping that it's true. Believing that it's true despite my intellect and feelings. And I hope that those who doubt come to the same conclusion I have. Because in the end, it's harder to believe than not to. And I think it's better to take my chances with the claims of ultimate truth and absolutes.
Enter God. Christianity. I'd like to tell everyone that my faith is perfect, that the set of values I've established are unshakable and perfect. That they all line up, and when you think hard enough they make sense. But I don't think they do. And I think I'm OK with that. It's strange. I've met a lot of people who doubt their faith, who question it frequently. and I think we all go through phases like that. IT's a scary place to be, when you start wondering if the foundation for your life is suddenly not as true as you once thought it was. You don't know who to turn to, and you don't know how to resolve it. Some people give up. some people change their thinking.
And some choose to believe despite it all. Despite doubts and trials and questions. I guess that's what makes it "faith" instead of "religion", really. Because I can reject religion easily. I don't like establishments. But faith, the relationship I have with God and the trust I put in Him and His word, is something that doesn't go away so easily.
So I stand among the doubters with my hands reached toward heaven, hoping that it's true. Believing that it's true despite my intellect and feelings. And I hope that those who doubt come to the same conclusion I have. Because in the end, it's harder to believe than not to. And I think it's better to take my chances with the claims of ultimate truth and absolutes.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
My Limitless God
I just finished listening to the 2005 report from Gospel for Asia. It was amazing. Beyond amazing. More than anything I could even explain. It opened my eyes to the fantastic abilities of God. We don't see them here in the US. We've limited Him, and we've civilized Him. But He is on the move with or without our help. Especially in Asia. It's easy for me to say GFA is so awesome, but hearing the founder talk about God and His work through GFA leaves you only wanting to be a part of what God is doing.
I wish that I weren't so civilized in my Christian thinking. I want to revolt and be the barbarian Erwin Mcmanus describes in "The Barbarian Way". I want to stand with my limitless God and work in His unrefined, unexpected ways. I want to experience His power--the hope of the nations, the grace that accepts and loves and the mercy that saves. I want to be His barbarian and walk the unmarked territory.
Check out GFA on my provided link. It is well-worth your time and investment.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Purposes
I've been thinking about my poetry and how it seems, the ones I really love and feel speak the most of me, are the ones others don't appreciate as much. I'm the kind of personality that doesn't really care about that so much; I'd rather just enjoy writing and express myself.
But it got me thinking about art and music and other forms of expression. And that led to thoughts about motives in general. Why do we do what we do? And more importantly, are those reasons ones that benefit God? Do they even benefit us?
I oten wonder if what I write will help others. I'd like for it to be true. I'd like the things I put on paper to be meaningful, thought-provoking, and life-changing. I suppose all writers have that desire to some extent. But what would happen if that never happened? What if those who read my writing thought it was stupid, or mundane or found themselves indifferent? Would it matter? should it matter?
I think it does (and should) sometimes, but not for the reasons that we would typically site. More because if my work is unnoticed and unappreciated, then my calling would not be being fulfilled. I would not be writing as well as I should be if that is what God has called me to do. WHat I'm trying to say is that if He created me to be one thing and that is truly my desire, He should use it for what He has purposed. Assuming that my motive is the same as His, which isn't always the case.
I wonder about ministry too. What if nothing comes of it? What if my purpose in ministry is salvation of others, but that never happens? I've been thinking about this, and have concluded that our purposes, although they may be pure, may not be the same purposes God has in calling us forth. I know people who would say that, if we aren't in it for the same purpose as God, we aren't following Him or listening to Him like we should be. But why would we have to understand His purpose, as long as we're doing it? That's my question. Maybe sometimes we understand the general purpose, but He has specific ones in mind. Maybe sometimes it isn't always clear. and maybe if it were, it would scare us and we wouldn't be able to do it effectively. Maybe in His soverignty, there's room for us to "mess up" what we thought we were doing, but hit God's purpose square on the head.
Like the prophet Jeremiah. I wonder if he ever wondered why things didn't go like they were supposed to. I wonder if he questioned his purposes and God's. I wonder if what he thought he was doing was different than what he actually was.
What it comes down to for me is showing God. Displaying His beauty to the world in whatever ways He created me to do that. Singing, poetry, ministry. They "add to the beauty" as Sara Groves puts it. I don't know what fruit they bear, and I don't need to, so long as I know God is working in them.
Add To the Beauty by Sara Groves 2005
We come with beautiful secrets
We come with purposes written on our hearts,
written on our souls
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold
Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
It comes in small inspirations
It brings redemption to life and work
To our lives and our work
It comes in loving community
It comes in helping a soul find it's worth
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out our best
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
But it got me thinking about art and music and other forms of expression. And that led to thoughts about motives in general. Why do we do what we do? And more importantly, are those reasons ones that benefit God? Do they even benefit us?
I oten wonder if what I write will help others. I'd like for it to be true. I'd like the things I put on paper to be meaningful, thought-provoking, and life-changing. I suppose all writers have that desire to some extent. But what would happen if that never happened? What if those who read my writing thought it was stupid, or mundane or found themselves indifferent? Would it matter? should it matter?
I think it does (and should) sometimes, but not for the reasons that we would typically site. More because if my work is unnoticed and unappreciated, then my calling would not be being fulfilled. I would not be writing as well as I should be if that is what God has called me to do. WHat I'm trying to say is that if He created me to be one thing and that is truly my desire, He should use it for what He has purposed. Assuming that my motive is the same as His, which isn't always the case.
I wonder about ministry too. What if nothing comes of it? What if my purpose in ministry is salvation of others, but that never happens? I've been thinking about this, and have concluded that our purposes, although they may be pure, may not be the same purposes God has in calling us forth. I know people who would say that, if we aren't in it for the same purpose as God, we aren't following Him or listening to Him like we should be. But why would we have to understand His purpose, as long as we're doing it? That's my question. Maybe sometimes we understand the general purpose, but He has specific ones in mind. Maybe sometimes it isn't always clear. and maybe if it were, it would scare us and we wouldn't be able to do it effectively. Maybe in His soverignty, there's room for us to "mess up" what we thought we were doing, but hit God's purpose square on the head.
Like the prophet Jeremiah. I wonder if he ever wondered why things didn't go like they were supposed to. I wonder if he questioned his purposes and God's. I wonder if what he thought he was doing was different than what he actually was.
What it comes down to for me is showing God. Displaying His beauty to the world in whatever ways He created me to do that. Singing, poetry, ministry. They "add to the beauty" as Sara Groves puts it. I don't know what fruit they bear, and I don't need to, so long as I know God is working in them.
Add To the Beauty by Sara Groves 2005
We come with beautiful secrets
We come with purposes written on our hearts,
written on our souls
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold
Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
It comes in small inspirations
It brings redemption to life and work
To our lives and our work
It comes in loving community
It comes in helping a soul find it's worth
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out our best
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
The Gift to the World
I've been thinking about my poetry and how it seems, the ones I really love and feel speak the most of me, are the ones others don't appreciate as much. I'm the kind of personality that doesn't really care about that so much; I'd rather just enjoy writing and express myself.
But it got me thinking about art and music and other forms of expression. And that led to thoughts about motives in general. Why do we do what we do? And more importantly, are those reasons ones that benefit God? Do they even benefit us?
I oten wonder if what I write will help others. I'd like for it to be true. I'd like the things I put on paper to be meaningful, thought-provoking, and life-changing. I suppose all writers have that desire to some extent. But what would happen if that never happened? What if those who read my writing thought it was stupid, or mundane or found themselves indifferent? Would it matter? should it matter?
I think it does (and should) sometimes, but not for the reasons that we would typically site. More because if my work is unnoticed and unappreciated, then my calling would not be being fulfilled. I would not be writing as well as I should be if that is what God has called me to do. WHat I'm trying to say is that if He created me to be one thing and that is truly my desire, He should use it for what He has purposed. (Assuming that my motive is the same as His).
I wonder about ministry too. What if nothing comes of it? What if my purpose in ministry is salvation of others, but that never happens? I've been thinking about this, and have concluded that our purposes, although they may be pure, may not be the same purposes God has in calling us forth. I know people who would say that, if we aren't in it for the same purpose as God, we aren't following Him or listening to Him like we should be. But why would we have to understand His purpose, as long as we're doing it? That's my question. Maybe sometimes it isn't always clear. and maybe if it were, it would scare us and we wouldn't be able to do it effectively. Maybe in His soverignty, there's room for us to "mess up" what we thought we were doing, but hit God's purpose square on the head.
Like the prophet Jeremiah. I wonder if he ever wondered why things didn't go like they were supposed to. I wonder if he questioned his purposes and God's. I wonder if what he thought he was doing was different than what he actually was.
What it comes down to for me is showing God. Displaying His beauty to the world in whatever ways He created me to do that. Singing, poetry, ministry. They "add to the beauty" as Sara Groves puts it.
Add To the Beauty by Sara Groves 2005
We come with beautiful secrets
We come with purposes written on our hearts,
written on our souls
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold
Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
It comes in small inspirations
It brings redemption to life and work
To our lives and our work
It comes in loving community
It comes in helping a soul find it's worth
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out our best
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
But it got me thinking about art and music and other forms of expression. And that led to thoughts about motives in general. Why do we do what we do? And more importantly, are those reasons ones that benefit God? Do they even benefit us?
I oten wonder if what I write will help others. I'd like for it to be true. I'd like the things I put on paper to be meaningful, thought-provoking, and life-changing. I suppose all writers have that desire to some extent. But what would happen if that never happened? What if those who read my writing thought it was stupid, or mundane or found themselves indifferent? Would it matter? should it matter?
I think it does (and should) sometimes, but not for the reasons that we would typically site. More because if my work is unnoticed and unappreciated, then my calling would not be being fulfilled. I would not be writing as well as I should be if that is what God has called me to do. WHat I'm trying to say is that if He created me to be one thing and that is truly my desire, He should use it for what He has purposed. (Assuming that my motive is the same as His).
I wonder about ministry too. What if nothing comes of it? What if my purpose in ministry is salvation of others, but that never happens? I've been thinking about this, and have concluded that our purposes, although they may be pure, may not be the same purposes God has in calling us forth. I know people who would say that, if we aren't in it for the same purpose as God, we aren't following Him or listening to Him like we should be. But why would we have to understand His purpose, as long as we're doing it? That's my question. Maybe sometimes it isn't always clear. and maybe if it were, it would scare us and we wouldn't be able to do it effectively. Maybe in His soverignty, there's room for us to "mess up" what we thought we were doing, but hit God's purpose square on the head.
Like the prophet Jeremiah. I wonder if he ever wondered why things didn't go like they were supposed to. I wonder if he questioned his purposes and God's. I wonder if what he thought he was doing was different than what he actually was.
What it comes down to for me is showing God. Displaying His beauty to the world in whatever ways He created me to do that. Singing, poetry, ministry. They "add to the beauty" as Sara Groves puts it.
Add To the Beauty by Sara Groves 2005
We come with beautiful secrets
We come with purposes written on our hearts,
written on our souls
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold
Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
It comes in small inspirations
It brings redemption to life and work
To our lives and our work
It comes in loving community
It comes in helping a soul find it's worth
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out our best
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
The Overwhelming Hope of Tomorrow
Tonight I feel like things just aren't going well. MOnday was awesome. I had a great day. I felt good about everything. And it was a good dya, so I had no reason not to feel good. Today, there was something heavy nagging at me most of the day. I can't explain it. A spiritual battle, perhaps. Younglife tonight was fine for me. Everyone else thought it wasn't great, and feels like there are major problems with it.
But the problem with ministry and with working with people in general is that there really isn't a set formula that you can do once and it works forever. No. And especially with youth, there are changing needs, changing lives, and changing relationships. You can't set up a perfect system. I guess there are those who would disagree with me. But the real question is, what are the things that you must do in order for the ministry to be successful (in GOd's eyes)? The obvious answers are prayer and the Bible, and letting the SPiirt lead... but the lines of where that ends and human interaction begins are so hazy. It causes me to wonder if there is a "best" way to do something like ministry? OR if we have to rely on the trial-and-error method? Can we trust that God uses everything for HIs glory? Can we believe that even the things we thought were wrong, were good?
Only when we can know that the things we thought were wrong were still HIs will that we did. And I don't know that I'm at a place where I am seeking HIm enough to be able to say that for certain.
So tonight I'm hoping for tomorrow. Tomorrow morning I'm going to work. And it's going to be fulfilling. And I will walk away and feel like I've done something useful. Eternal, even.
And tomorrow in the figurative sense, I will be in heaven with Jesus and the questions of ministry and perfection and life will no longer be questions.
But the problem with ministry and with working with people in general is that there really isn't a set formula that you can do once and it works forever. No. And especially with youth, there are changing needs, changing lives, and changing relationships. You can't set up a perfect system. I guess there are those who would disagree with me. But the real question is, what are the things that you must do in order for the ministry to be successful (in GOd's eyes)? The obvious answers are prayer and the Bible, and letting the SPiirt lead... but the lines of where that ends and human interaction begins are so hazy. It causes me to wonder if there is a "best" way to do something like ministry? OR if we have to rely on the trial-and-error method? Can we trust that God uses everything for HIs glory? Can we believe that even the things we thought were wrong, were good?
Only when we can know that the things we thought were wrong were still HIs will that we did. And I don't know that I'm at a place where I am seeking HIm enough to be able to say that for certain.
So tonight I'm hoping for tomorrow. Tomorrow morning I'm going to work. And it's going to be fulfilling. And I will walk away and feel like I've done something useful. Eternal, even.
And tomorrow in the figurative sense, I will be in heaven with Jesus and the questions of ministry and perfection and life will no longer be questions.
Friday, January 06, 2006
The Familiar Place
It's not an unusual place for me
when the lost is so familiar
and trying harder leaves me emptier.
But through the blackness
He beckons
calling like the sea
to bring in the tide
like a lover searching
for his bride.
And to be found is to know a splendor
only seen in the dark times
--of restoration and perserverence
to have a hand to hold across the miles
of wasted time and untended paths
to be brought from the familiar place
into the hope of glory
joy of the crown
and greater knowledge of grace.
when the lost is so familiar
and trying harder leaves me emptier.
But through the blackness
He beckons
calling like the sea
to bring in the tide
like a lover searching
for his bride.
And to be found is to know a splendor
only seen in the dark times
--of restoration and perserverence
to have a hand to hold across the miles
of wasted time and untended paths
to be brought from the familiar place
into the hope of glory
joy of the crown
and greater knowledge of grace.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
And then things took a terrible plunge toward mundane...
I guess the title mostly speaks for itself. I think that I need to ask God to put life into my daily activities so it doesn't feel so... boring and routine yet overwhelming at the same time.
Breathe on me, breathe o breath of God
Breathe on me till my heart is new
Breathe on me, breath o breath of God
breath on me till I'm resting in you.
Breathe on me, breathe o breath of God
Breathe on me till my heart is new
Breathe on me, breath o breath of God
breath on me till I'm resting in you.
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