where have all the people gone?

I am trying to find people, real people.  But I’m having trouble coming up with any. 

All I see are personas, preferred impressions of individuals who are pre-approved for public use.  What makes us show off these card-board pearly-whites in sports, in academics, in professional positions, and conceal our tarnished and dented gold? 

We jog in the dark, circling desperately, chasing a transient ideal that isn’t even related to who we are!  Why in the dark?  This is just sticking with me, are we so ashamed of the life we are that we can’t or don’t want to find out who we really are?  We would rather just keep circling, circling ourselves, trying to outrun and shed our life as we see it? 

Do we even see that who we are is not something to be worked out or built up?  Who we are is a treasure that only we can hold, our exact place in life is completely unique. 

God designed eternity around you!  All of history wrapped around your very existence, every moment crafted to bring you to the purposes, relationships, and experiences that weave your life together, beginning to end!  He loves us, loves YOU that much!

I bet God wishes His boys and girls would stop hiding from the truth of all they are!  Just open up to Him, run up the blinds in your den, turn off the ball game and i-pod, walk away from the diet books, cancel your daily trip to the gym. 

Get to know who God created.  They are some pretty cool people out here, ready to change the world; get acquainted!

Faithful

Ok, so I’ve forgotten how to be a Christian.  Gasp!  No, really, I did.  I’ve been caught up in a lot of stuff these past few weeks.  They were all “really important” too.  I had to go to the grocery store, had to take my friend to Karate lessons, had to co-write and teach a Bible lesson for 75+ middle school girls in county schools, had to buy another friend a coffee just because she couldn’t, I have to get together a fundraiser for another girl who needs help financially, I have to meet with all my family at least 4 hours each when I go home for break.  On and on and on…!!  But is all this necessary?  I’m not writing all this to blow my own horn (or am I??!) but to make a point:

I’ve been so busy, I forgot about God!  A couple of days ago, I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I had talked to God about my thought-life, about my grocery bill, about how grateful I was for another day; I had just been packing those days full of, lets be honest, crap! (Christians can say crap sometimes too!)  I’ve been “enjoying the fruits of God’s blessings” in my life, but I’ve made God sit in a separate buggy on this carnival ride!  How dumb is that!

So I skipped church.  Over the past weekends, I realized I’ve been carting people, catering, and focusing on “spiritual fellowship” with others more than the one Person, the only Reason we gather together!  Don’t get me wrong, we are called to come together, worship our King together and build each other up with prayer and thanksgiving.  But my wheels have been spinning in youthful relationships and prayer groups and share-time circles and accountability hours.

I had to get alone, quiet, still before my Creator.  He, the God of the Angel Armies, is completely infatuated with me, and I’ve been walking away, swinging the pearls of “righteousness” His blood bought!  I had to soak in wonder at His feet, drink in His words of wisdom, compassion and mercy. 

1st Corinthians 13:4-7 confronted me with God’s character: Love.  The way He sees me, the way He feels toward me, and every one of His children.  He sees everything I do, and yet He doesn’t keep track, doesn’t hold on to them to use against me later, when I’m asking for forgivness. 

He will never reject or abandon me.  He sings when I do choose right ways, and cries when I hurt Him with my foolish wrongs. He just lets it all go, and opens His arms to me in pure love. 

He has confidence in me!  He has confidence that I can do the things He asks me to.  What a feeling!  God has faith in me!  Puny little me.  What a reason to praise Him continually, to ask His advice, to keep up a running dialogue of all the things in my life; He placed them there to begin with, created them inside of me for a purpose! 

He’s just so big!  How else could I continue to grow in relationship with Him if I didn’t take time to just sit, and think about how incredible it is that this mighty, awesome, omnitient God finds me facinating, and irresitable!  I just couldn’t hear all of that in the middle of my “schedule” and good deeds.  I had to be quiet and worship by being still, by not doing, not serving for a moment.

It’s funny how often I realize that I am wearing a mask, disguising deeper motivations and thoughts from those around me.  I don’t mean to, in fact, it has been one of my “goals” this year to be more transparent in all of my relationships. 

It seems to be the little things about myself that I try to cover up, the habits, quirks and whims that I think might be confusing, or disagreeable to others.  I guess it is the little things, imperfections and inconsistencies that bother me most for others; measuring myself against those invisible standards of perfection “normal” or “popular.”  As much as I “claim” freedom from the “standards of this world,” I hang on to them pretty tightly in my private ways. 

I’m looking at this facade I’ve been holding in front of me, like a tissue in a rainstorm, and I’m ashamed; ashamed that I don’t treat myself better, like God does.  Why can’t I see the way He loves me?  The way He accepts me?  The way He smiles at me through allof my moods and quirks?  He designed me this way, every oddity and humor, to be just Me.  If He created me, all those things that I don’t like about me are in me for a reason, either to be worked out of me, or to keep me humble.  Regardless of why they are there, I’ve got to stop covering up who I am.  I’m afraid that if I keep hiding it from everyone, I’m rejecting the lessons God wants to teach me, rejecting His understanding of the beauty of my life.  That sounds vain, but that is the way God sees me (I’m learning.) 

“Unique” really does mean “different” no matter how much I try not to look like it, that’s what I am.  Just  Me.

take a moment

I just wanted to share these songs with you, their amazing anointing and message of God’s love. Listen to them twice, and close your eyes the second (or 4th or 6th time) and soak up the word of God.

   How He Loves Us – Kim Walker / Jesus Culture  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoC1ec-lYps

   christ for the nations – my beloved  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZ0AdeQJ3Rc

satisfying or advertising?

(You might see this post twice, but I decided it needed to be on the front page too)

Ok, so if Christians are supposed to be content, and full in Christ, finding our All in All in Him, completely satisfied and at peace, and all the other stuff that we throw at situations, what is up with all the “Christian Singles” networks?  I’m serious, and am interested in this and opinions. 

www.christianmingle.com, www.eharmony.com, familylife/romance,  on and on!!

Christians are to be focused on Christ, His work, His plan in our lives.  We sing countless songs about how He is enough, He satisfies us, no one can love us like He does.  And yet, websites that are supposed to be “Christian” communication sites are plastered with singles’ adds, blind-date fun opportunities and compatibility tests. 

Is it just me, or are we missing something???

oppinion

I have a friend whohappens to have Cerebral Palsy, C.P. Her name is Joy.  We spend at least 2 afternoons a week together, usually sometime during the work-week and Sundays at church.  Joy is a petite woman who makes her way through life with deliberation and a fiery independence.  Her sometimes rebellious body is supported at all times either by her hot pink walker, her manual or motorized wheelchairs or her arm-brace crutches.  Joy lives on her own, is enrolled in U.T.C.’s graduate program for computer technology, takes Karatélessons, works with several ministries in different area churches, and councils via her undergrad degree in pastoral ministry, and speaks at any opportunity across the region on topics from handycap etiquette to spiritual warfare. 

I am struck by 2 things when I am with Joy.  The first is the absolute drive that stems from her spiritual depth, her relationship with and complete trust in Christ. She is confident that with rest and careful perseverance, she CAN do anything through the power of Jesus in her life.  The second thing is theinsatiable appetite for a life saturated in Christ, doing His work, loving the way He wants her to, giving and sharing whatever He wants her to at the first opportunity.  She truly lives her life to the full, freely giving her very life into His hands every day.  

She never questions her condition, in fact becoming almost offended when well-meaning church members try to approach her to pray for her healing.  “This is the way I am” she tells me in exasperation after visiting churches on speaking engagements.  “They think I need to be healed, when I am whole, and I have work to do.”

Watching her walk through life, I am reminded vividly of the way our walk with Christ is supposed to look.  Each step considered, inspected for the correct direction in the steps He has ordered for us.  The weight of each movement supported wholly by the incorruptible frame of salvation and the word of God.  We must concentrate on our walk, the alignment of our whole body, mind, heart, spirit and flesh, to keep in balance to take the next step toward who we are becoming. 

While leaving a restaurant today after church, several people smiled sweetly at us, holding the doors and murmuring gentle greetings.  I could see the thoughts behind their eyes as they looked at me with sympathetically sweet expressions: “what a good person you are, helping her like that,” as though my driving a friend to eat was an act of heroism.  Joy and I just laughed together inside the car.  I am just grateful to have such a precious and amazing friend in my life.  I just hope to soak up all that I can.

Small World After All?

I just finished watching 2 movies, Friday night, what can I say.  Both were stories about “grace”: Amazing Graceabout William Wilberforce, the British lobbyist who essentially gave his life for the abolition of slave-trade in the Commonwealth, and Maria Full of Graceabout Maria Alvaréz, a 17 year old Colombian who sold herself into one of the forms of modern slavery, drug trafficking. 

I was so amazed by the first movie, reminded of the horrible things that the human race has done in order to “get ahead”  all in the name of patriotism, building its individual kingdoms.  Listening to the fiery words and the passion with which W. Wilberforce pursued his convictions to abolish slave-trade was so moving, so inspiring that it made me wish I was alive then to take part in such a cause.  Things are so different now, especially in America, it seems that we don’t have such enormous things to champion.  Or do we?

Maria Alvaréz was only 17 years old, working full-time in a factory in Colombia to try to bring money in to her struggling family – struggling by the standards of “beyond poor” in the U.S.  She became a drug mule to bring in extra money, ended up stranded, ill, saw her friend gutted (pardon the French) for the drugs she was carrying after the drugs themselves killed her, and pregnant.  The story was based on thousands upon thousands of accounts of girls, boys, men, women and children in that country alone. 

This is the glorious and hallowed “21st century” where all are moving toward a bigger, better, brighter tomorrow…?!!  It is?  Really?  I’m sorry, I just can’t sit here on my big, white, American posterior and say how proud I am to live here, or grateful for technology, or gripe about presidential choice or lack thereof when there are still such things going on SO CLOSE TO ME!!??  I can’t even begin to describe the emotions and thoughts that are welling up in me right now. 

I am NOT anti- anything American; I love this country and the blessings we have in it.  But every American is a citizen of this world, and issues like this are not ended when the 7th grade teacher hands out the last quiz paper on them.  I know I’m sounding a little radical on this, but that’s the way I feel about it right now. 

It seems that there are causes, enormous causes, that need a voice, that need persistence action, long after W.W. had his foot in it.  If that’s what the makers of this movie wanted to do, they did; stirred up thought, exposed need and abuse, disturbed and dismayed.  More power to them!  Maybe they and the people they “stir up” are thinking and acting crazy, irrationally moved.  I pray that whoever sees this portrayal and any other situation will be moved beyond the rational, moved to action to somehow begin to affect change in our  world.  Maybe a little more crazy is what is needed??…!!

I recommend both films, especially the second

it is powerful and provoking beyond description.  Watch it, think and share with others, please?

Thoughts?

Done Dating the Fridge (Modern Women of Faith)

 

Dear Ladies of the 21^st Century,  

 

I’m not an especially candid person on this blog; it is easier to write/think/work on others’ injustices, problems, and fears – we do it all the time, right? Of course right! We do it every day, all day, and long into the night. Focusing on “fixing” other’s issues and improving their life-quality is easier than looking honestly at our own irregularities.

 

So, I need to take a moment and say what’s really going on in my brain. Forgive me if I have all the gentleness of a hammer, but this has been chewing on me for some time.

 

Gentlemen are not refrigerators.

(I can hear it now, the collective: What? Hold onto that to-do list.)

 

As a single lady, I do NOT want to be a sad-sap for “the” relationship, pining and wining and burying my sorrows in the numerous tasty treats and carb-o-licious items over the latest romance-flick.

Neither do I want to spend my days in “power-heels and suits” and my dinners alone save for my monthly reports, facts and figures. 

 

I am afraid that, in some ways, we have backed ourselves into a corner by pushing so hard for independence and recognition as equals in relationships with the opposite sex, we have missed the very heart of that God-given relationship.

We are created and loved equally in God’s eyes, but we can’t expect to treat the men in our lives like the refrigerators in our kitchens:   attractive, functional items that match our décor, store only our preferred brands of nourishment, and remain a strong, silent, yet immobile entity in our lives.

Ladies, that’s a utensil, not a man, and certainly not a man of God.

 

I would like to urge women, particularly young, single, Christian women on various career paths:

Do not overlook, or undervalue, the good men in your lives, or the roles that God created them to fill.

 

Ladies, this man you’ve hoped and prayed for, this Warrior Poet*, is not someone who comes pre-programmed with only the wonderful and perfect things to say and do for you. He is human, and someone who God has and is bringing on a journey of refinement just as He is developing you.  He is full of faults, flaws, short tempers, and less-than-your-ideal-responses to your every idea and issue.

But…

Those things that would seem different, frustrating even, are most likely to be the things that God desires to use to shape and teach us about who He is and how He wants us, and our relationship, to reflect Him.

 

Am I suggesting that we accept any opinion, or reaction that we encounter in our relationships as gospel and that we yield to every confrontation as some manifestation of God’s will? NO! I am not advocating abuse or codependence.

Neither am I advocating that we should expect him to accept every mood, craving, and/or viewpoint that we throw at him. 

 

I am suggesting that we can be whole, holy, and courageous women of faith and that we let the men of God be men of God in our lives, equally valued, equally called, equally loved.  We shouldn’t be afraid that we will somehow become devalued when God brings strong men into our lives. We need them to challenge us, to push back and help us press into that precious Refiner, the Holy Spirit, and seek the Lord’s wisdom and guidance instead of relying solely on our gifts and talents instead of on Him. And, I might add, they need us for the same reason; we are to be united as one.

 

“Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the Church,…” in this ultimate, self-sacrificing, ever pressing beyond human limits and into the Divine resources of grace and mercy and love, so we must take up the challenge to sacrifice, fight for, pray for, receive from, and participate with these men in passionate resolve and commitment. From the minute chores to the life-altering choices of calling, we need to engage each other in experiencing life on God’s terms, in His great adventure with us. There is no such thing as “the winning side of an argument” in a relationship; you are both on the same team.

 

So, you want to be a Modern Woman of Faith, “equally yoked” with a strong man of faith? Good.

Accept the challenges that come with the man that God brings into your life; he is an ambassador of Christ, full of the Holy Spirit and the wisdom of God’s heart, His convicting and empowering Word. He is not an appliance.

 

“Then, Jesus said to him (Peter), ‘Do you love me?’”  ~  John 21:17

 

 

 

*John Eldridge, “Wild at Heart”.

 

~~~

I’m sorry. No post tonight; I have to gather a few facts for the next section of the story, but that’s not the real reason.

I am in the middle edge of some relational issues and this original blog-topic, beautiful antique love story, is difficult at the moment.
Is that bad blogging? Do we soldier on and credit it to fuel and fodder? Or do we take a moment, try to process, and come back?

I think I must just leave this rain check on the board. Better luck Sunday night all my readers.

Your love is pure, Your love is precious

Your love is all I need.

Your love surrounds me, Your love astounds me,

Your love is everything!

I run to You when my heart is weak, I cling to You, You are all I seek!

It’s my heart’s desire to be close to You, here in Your arms I’ll find my strength.

You’re everything I want, everything I hope in; You’re everything my heart cries out for!

~~~ Kari Jobe

“Go out and stand before me on the mountain,” the Lord told him. And as Elijah stood there, the Lord passed by, and mighty windstorm hit the mountain. …but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood…” 

- 1Kings 19:11-13

Chocolate & New Shoes

I need to interject our little saga for a moment. I think that my many select readers won’t mind, since I sort of missed my Friday deadline anyway (can’t interrupt a Batman marathon) I can’t really write my usual Friday post. I would like instead to address a different kind of love.

__________________________

I am not sure agape is the wordfor it; I think its motives are a little more self-centered than that. Friendship is a title we commonly use for this love, a special kind of friendship. This isn’t just sharing comic-strip jokes about the boss over cubicle walls, or swapping coffee and play-dates for “adult” time among the children. This isn’t the kind of friendship that brings toasty, stale nostalgia with its family picture Christmas card. This is a deep and abiding love for a close-knit weave between goals, dreams, past and present that we want to share and continue sharing.

This love is between chocolate and new shoes; it can be shared in moments of sparkling potential, or when sitting on the damp bottom of the barrel. C.S. Lewis called it intimacy of souls without the distractions of “eros” (passionate love), two looking forward together instead of blindly at each other (if you will pardon my clumsy paraphrase of The Four Loves). I think that captures it most beautifully, two looking ahead together; this would imply that the two would also walk and grow together as only these sort of friends can. Maybe the term we use most is best friends, so that is what I  will keep to.

Best friends are like Godiva dark chocolate truffles;I can’t have just one. They are each uniquely exquisite, in humor, preference of cheese, attitude, driving styles, and beliefs. Each remind me of the different parts of my personality, parts that only they can bring out – Lewis’ insight again – and I would not change that for the world and a bag of new purses! The bonds my best friends and I have made over our bags of chocolate and 3 AM work-outs are permanent, the encouraging and sometimes jarring words of advice and raw honesty are indelible.

So, what happens when best friends are silently hurting ?I am not referring to the crush on someone who used them and they refused to see it, nor am I talking about the fight they just had with their parents or sibling for the umpteenth time about their temp-job or career choice. I am talking about a deep hurt, valleys of scars, oceans of tears that just cannot give the agony meaning any longer. What do best friends do when their “kindred spirits” are stuck? Maybe they are in that painful situation not by their own choice, but simply had it happen tothem? Maybe it wasn’t their fault? Yet they feel afraid and embarrassed to say anything, maybe because they have dealt with it for so long they don’t know any other way to be but to live two lives, have two faces, answer to two different names. What can friends do for friends who are hurting like that?

I can only speak as one who wants to be a best friend. Best friends feel when the other is hurting; it painsthem to see the other in such a way; so much hurt that it looks like there should be entrails and bodily fluid all over the place. Best friends don’t back down when they know that their other is teetering between continuing a life-squelching cycle and a small step toward change. The other may not want to see it, may not want to face it because they have been slogging around in the putrid mess they didn’t create for so long that they are afraid to try; it’s so bad now, but maybe silence will keep it from getting worse again.

Silence almost took a best friend from me. I didn’t know how to help, I didn’t get in and stay in contact, I didn’t push, couldn’t say how scared, confused, burdened, and devastated I was for them. So, I just didn’t. I just hoped and skirted around the issue just like my friend asked me to. Yeah, they asked me not to say anything to anyone or make a fuss because it would, all together now, “just make it worse”. For a long time, I didn’t, but it got worse on its own. Best friends don’t keep quiet; they cry out when the other can’t.

Can I tell you what you can do to me, if I tell on your pain? If I may, I would like to speak for the best friends who just might still be a little nervous about confronting you for fear of causing you more pain; yes, you the verbally abused cousin, you the abandoned spouse, you the beaten daughter, you the raped child. We want to help! Please, dear ones, let us?

We love you. Beyond ourselves, our plans, our ambitions, our own “problems”, we love you. There is no joy for us in pursuing a future or living daily hum-drum stuff if we know that you are in such pain. So, we are telling on your agony, exposing the lies that have kept you cowering.

When we tell the right people, authorities, counselors, wise men and women around you who love you too, you can take it out on us. It hurts to have the secrets uncovered – keeping an infection masked seems to prevent it spreading, for a time – it hurts to dig it out and deal instead of coping and shutting out.

              So, take it out on us. If you need someone to be mad at, be angry at us. If you need someone to blame your frustrations on while you are tossing and turning in a safe-house, blame us.

              We are not quitting on you. Love is patient, kind, keeps no score of good or bad choices, it doesn’t shut out, it pushes toward hope when you want to quit. It isn’t afraid to be vulnerable and it will always lift you to God and seek to protect you, no matter how many names you call it.

If you are reading this, please just think about us. Remember we are there next to you, and we are more willing to help than you might think, and we might not flip out as bad as you might guess. We don’t want you hurting without sharing. Just like the last bowl of triple chocolate-chunk ice-cream, or your favorite line-dry shirt outside under a fist of rainclouds you don’t leave best friends to be frozen or stretched out of shape and beyond recognition. Please, talk to us. We are right here. We love  you!

 www.mercyministries.org   www.actabuse.com    www.thehopeline.com    www.ndvh.org    www.safehorizon.org/page.php?page=sheltertour

Deux

So, I began this story upside-down; perhaps the slim listofreaders would like a little background about the characters in this mini saga. Mini saga? No, it needs another name. Any suggestions? I also must add a small disclaimer to this antiquated love story: I have heard parts of this story all of my life, most sections more times than I can count. However, when transcribing this oral account not all of the dates and locations may be precisely correct, although I am trying to be as accurate as possible. I may miss a few of the details of this 64-year-old romance; do forgive me.

- – -

The story began in a small town in western Missouri, just outside of Kansas City in the early 1930s. Loretta had decided to return to school after working full-time and at home with her family to further her job opportunites. A slender brunette with striking blue eyes and captivating smile and manner, the twenty-five year old beauty arrived at business college in the same state eager to learn. Although the classes were challenging and the age difference between her and her fellow students was at times baffling, she pushed ahead to reach her goal. She was often comforted by the presence of her younger sister, Marybell, who had recently married and lived close to the campus.  Sisters always seem to have an interesting part to play in romance, no matter what century. Like the quietly scheming aunts and neighboring ladies of the house in classic romances of Jane Austen, this particular newlywed had an intriguing connection for her sister.

Marybell invited Loretta up for a weekend retreat towards the end of her first year of study. She and her husband Bob promised a wonderful weekend of rest, music – which Loretta had a natural gift and passion for – and enjoyment. What they did not tell her was that they had also invited a young man to drop in at the same time. Not long after arriving, unsuspecting Loretta was informed that her devious sister and brother-in-law had invited a young man named Bill over for dinner and that he would be accompanying them to the concert – he was a great singing talent as well.

I have to stop my monologue here (sorry for the sticky details) and give you the reaction of my grandmother in her own words; they are too precious.

Loretta: When I saw him walk through that door I was struck! Well, I thought, he is just the cutest thing I have ever seen! (her hands fly to her cheeks as she laughs). He was so good looking, funny, and charming, and tall! Oh, honey, I was so taken with him! I know that God looks at the heart of a man and so should we, but when you are a tall woman, it really does matter that he’s taller than you(“amens” from my side of the table); it’s just easier to look at him as the head of the house when you have to look up!

So they had dinner, went to the concert with her family, and then went to more dinners, and wrote letters, and took walks, and decided they were “quite taken with each other.” Bill was studying osteopathy at the time and Loretta was finishing her business associates, so they began moving into a more serious stage of their relationship. They were both mature adults in their mid twenties, secure in their faith and desires for raising a family and taking part in their communities, their hearts and minds moving in the same direction. Their courtship was mostly long-distance, through letters, telegrams and phone conversations, a far cry from our current , moment-by-moment contact and constant frantic monitoring of each other’s emotional progress. (It seems now that unless someone knows each meal their love-interest has eaten, how they slept, and an exact play-by-play of their routine – all given in real-time “txt” – and are “Facebook official” they are not considered to be involved in a relationship!) Marriage seemed to be just around the corner, but then the Japanese sent the U.S. army an invitation they could not refuse, and they in turn “requested” Bill’s presence at the engagement overseas.

 It was heart-wrenching, she said, to have to see him go not knowing what might happen to their wedding plans. But country and duty had to be obeyed, so she said goodby and he put on the uniform and boarded the train to boot-camp. She worked as a secretary for the agonizing three months they had to wait to find out his assigned station. When the news arrived (forgive me, I do not know the exact location) they did not have much time to plan or lament; the orders came and he was writing his first letter home from the transport in about a week. Every day, she told me gazing as if trying to see the very beeches he fought on, she would go to work and think about what encouraging news she could write or funny things to tell him in her letters enclosed in the care packages she and thousands of others sent regularly to their loved ones.

I have seen the letters she sent, tucked inside foreign-marked and stained letters of reply, each with its matching answer. They are a fragile yellow, and the spidery handwriting is faded from handling and revisiting the sweet sentiments, earnest hopes, and fervent prayers. I sat with her one afternoon as we talked about their time apart in those intense years of political and social difficulty during the war. She was calm as she recalled waiting anxiously for the next letter or telegram listing his last location, or answering her questions about his health or friends, or yet another assignment delaying his return home. She let me look at the addresses and strange postage markings, but would not let me read all of the contents; some things, she smiled, are just not for anyone to read.

The Notebook, or Love Actually?

Wow! How sad is it that you have to re-read your last few posts to remember when and what you wrote?! Anyhow, I must begin a new semester – for all of those post-graduates, stop looking so smug! – with a new topic, perhaps even a series!  So, to all of my nonexistant readers, you may look forward to (or look away, your choice) being sweapt up in one of the most passionate, daring, heart-wrenching, romantic, and inspiring love stories you have yet encountered! And it is a true story ( this is a blog, people), one I am very closely connected to and am privileged to recount.  “Your own?” the curious reader may inquire. Not hardly.

Since this is being written among the frantic exams, furious term papers and phantasmagorical reading lists, I don’t feel it fair to promise that I will supply daily posts – I am still, after all a starving, hysterically stressed and poorrather taxed college student.  So, I will attempt to be as consistent as I can in my impoverished busy state and submit one new installment each week, probably on Fridays – or possibly Saturday, sometime, or even on some late Sunday evenings.  If you still doubt me, I will note it on the Manuscript of Ever Changing Facial Expressions (FB), so that I am held accountable and not leave my readers hanging!

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I sat on edge of the faded blue armchair, just to the left of the squeaky spring, looking over jovial faces of a young couple, their two round babies and various scrawny pets. The smiles, once radiant, leaned out sweetly from yellowed pages in a captive moment. Loretta touched her glasses and smiled down on them, waving a soft hand lovingly over the pages, “This was in our first home on Magnolia.” Her smile reflected the one in black and white, only deepened by decades of use. “Look how skinny I was there, and Daddy too!” she laughed and we shook our heads over shared patterns of the feminine physique and its uncontrollable predictability. The laughter faded and she looked steadily at a tall, lank figure in army uniform. “My, but he was a fine man,” she said softly, and brushed a fresh tear from her cheek. “All my life, my ninety-one years, I have never met a man like him! I prayed and prayed when I was young for a good man, a hard-working, loving, Christian man, like my own father. And I waited, whooee!” she warbled, laying her head back, laughing and rocking in her tilt-back chair. “I waited a long time! So long I thought that I must have missed him! But then God brought my Bill, and he was everything I could have hoped for.” Loretta fingered her engagement ring, now worn thin with more than half a century of cleaning, cooking, and service. She sighed, and smiling, told me that they would have celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary in a few weeks, had he lived.

I had to sit back to take in the presence of the emotion that hung around her. There she was, 91 years old and as full of love and devotion for this man as if they had jus returned from their honeymoon. It was incredible to see such warmth and gratitude for a covenant relationship that lasted a short 18 years, and to experience the steel of their committment all these years later. I was humbled by her respect and reverence to an institution we presently seem to shrug off at an alarming rate as “old-fashioned.”  Perhaps it was this “old-fashioned” attitude that kept this beautiful, capable woman, my grandmother, in love with one man for 47 years after his death. Where can I find passionate committment like that today?

But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.

the american dream…

God, in stillness waits, watching our effort to push Him farther, grasping, gripping, sliding in doubt and chaos of our own design.  He aches for us, beautiful arms tortuously stretched wide in embrace unmet, unnoticed, ever ready, rejected.

We, stumble in our power suits and heels, strengthened by our bent and crooked reflection, driven by our cold and leaky bank accounts, esteemed by our knowledge of the shallow and perishable. 

Stillness, in rush & hurried mess, we try to catch the card mansion as it falls; doesn’t He care?!  Why so silent when we’re crumbling?! Why not snap and poof, we’re back on top, pushing, scrambling, screaming, lying, hurting, running, anxious hiding who, what, we are not?

Dusty with rubble, we sit, knees in our hands, dazed from crying, still at last.

Hello, He is there.  Too ashamed to say sorry or help, we sink into the dust.

Want out?  I know the way.

     my legs are broken.

I’ll carry you.

     i’m dirty.

Only if you stay down there.

     i don’t have words.

It’s ok, I have so much to tell you, just listen.

He whispers as He carries us through the mess and dust and grime.  His words soft, deep, rhythmic comfort as His heartbeat we hear, strong now through the silence, wrapped in His arms at rest, on the way home.