The world has turned

This is the day that the world changed.

It happens every year, and I look forward to it with anticipation.  But it's not something that the weatherman can announce (or more accurately, the weather app I use to check the weather).  It has to be felt.  There is a golden day, a subtle thing where sunlight turns to shadow and Autumn is upon us.  It is felt by stepping outside.  Not just a cool in the air, but a change in the earth: a turn of sorts.  The world has turned.

It always has and always will.

Today was delicious.  I've been wrapped up: first in my duvet cover this morning as I awoke 30 minutes before my alarm, then in my work, then in morning prayer...and the best of all, in my Beloved's arms as he held me close in the blanket he brought to keep me warm on our picnic.  How could he know the world would be chilly for me?  How could he know the world would change, today?


There are many mysteries in the world.  Some I'm okay with just experiencing.  Fall brings those beautiful golden red mysteries forth and displays them with pride.  The world is changing.  I'm changing.  Jesus has me wrapped up, safely in His arms.  He's displaying me with pride close to His heart.  Let the world change: it is delicious and good and I am at peace.

Secondhand Handmaid

He lingered upon thy lips, I think, just to give His handmaid a second hand holy kiss.

And oh...oh

What a kiss. I'll give You my sin, again.

Swan Dive

When he finally arrived, she was tired of waiting.


"Edward!" she exclaimed, not trying to hide the indigence in her voice. "Where have you been? I've grown so tired of waiting. I don't think I can bear the years I've spent in sadness."


His eyes beheld her tears, and he answered with trembling honestly.

"It was very far. I ran the whole way, and I didn't know what you looked like.

But my heart did."





(retrieved from April 2013)

Lamps

Shall that little light be burning when our day is done? When the shadows and the voices play on hither walls Form themselves into dread familiar figures Who have kindly walked into the night, here To bring a nuptial treaty forth Forgetting why we waited We felt the cold and sleep’s wooing call We laughed ourselves silly And mercifully slept beneath the banded stars And the clear half moon While our sisters eschewed frivolity

And now His face is barely lit With scant lamp-glow and adoring eyes From our lovelorn sisters Who dance on with perfumed feet and holy hearts But ‘twas just a little sleep, just giggles Which faded into the night, into the stars.

They waited; we forgot. Dawn stings more than not.

They are shooting people

Who is "they"?

"They" is always someone else, someone who doesn't represent "us", of course.


Unless the person is a victim then he represents "us". Why is this? Who says that a victim gets to always be passed around and worn like the Traveling Pants. It seems too convenient.

Forgive me for not making much sense.
They are shooting people.
They are shooting people in my hometown, down the road from me.
They are shooting people who were there to protect them.
Whoever "they" is. "

They" need to go home.
"They" aren't me.
"They" don't represent me.
"They" sure showed us.


 I am angry. I am unsettled. I am not okay with "they".

Open hands, wounded heart

The hardest thing is to open my hands to Jesus.

I know that I must come with empty hands to get anything from Him.  He only gives good things to me.  But to have empty hands, I have to let go of things I don't want to.

To put my heart out there to Jesus knowing that my heart is basically held together with Scotch tape in places, others places in slivers, still other places crumbling to dust.  How can I give Jesus my heart when it is so broken?  How do I know that He won't break it even more?

I guess because His heart looks like this:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

A present help in times of trouble

     Today was very ordinary.  I went to the gym to do one of my favorite things: take a group dance class from one of my favorite instructors, and talk to my friends at the gym who are also regulars.  Though I don't know them as well, they are dear to me and I look forward to the mutual encouragement we share about our fitness goals.

     Right between the two classes, one of my friends got a text that a high school friend of hers had been shot yesterday and had died.  Of course this was terribly shocking news and my friend burst into tears right there in the group X room.  Another friend and I shuffled her out into the hallway and sat with her as she cried a bit and tried to process this terrible shock.  We listened as she talked about her friend, the kind of person she was, and how felt guilty for not getting together with her more.

     As a person uncomfortable with conflict or distressing situations, this would have been really hard for me to do a few years ago.  But now, as I come to know Jesus more, I saw it in a different way.  I feel it is a privilege to be witness to another's suffering.  I used to be very into things being the "right way", things going just as planned, everything being perfect, how people should act was almost scripted in my expectations.  I got awfully upset if people veered away from how I thought they should act.  I lived in almost constant disappointment.

     But life isn't like that, is it?  We aren't perfect.  Situations are messy.  People are messy.  Terrible things happen.  Plans get ruined.  Life is interrupted.  It's all a part of the beautiful mess that is humanity.

     And into such a mess stepped Jesus, the Perfect One.

     Talk about broken dreams and ruined plans!  Jesus, the King, left His heavenly court where everything was perfect.  He willingly plunged head-first into this awkward and annoyingly common thing known as human life.  He had trouble meeting deadlines.  He got yelled at by people who were having a bad day.  He stubbed his toes.  He had family members and friends die and wept awkward, inconvenient tears, knowing the pain of loss.  He was well acquainted with our grief.

     My thinking was on Him today as I sat with my friend against the steel wall at the gym.  What a privilege to be with another person as she experiences pain.  What an absolute honor to witness suffering.  I feel that Jesus feels honored when we let Him into our naked suffering.  He's not ashamed when we cry.  He's not ashamed when snot is dripping off our noses and onto our pillows when someone hurts us.  He is there with us and feels our suffering with us.  It isn't awkward to Him.

     I like to picture Him with me, placing his hands on my head, wiping away my tears as they drip off my nose.  Because I believe He really is doing that.  Not in a distant, metaphorical way, but as someone actually sitting there doing it.  There is no shame in crying with Him.  He's honored.  There is no "right way" to grieve.  Just grieve with Him, and He's got it covered.


Psalm 46: 1
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble.