...Dead flies putrefy the perfumer's ointment, and cause it to give off a foul odor; so does a little folly to one respected for wisdom and honor. Eccl. 10:1
Seems like a little folly is trying to get a grip on my thinking--destroy the aroma of any wisdom and honor that have been planted within me.
In fact, I feel like this has been a year of skimming dead flies out of what is supposed to be beautiful ointment, God. And lately, the perfume that is turned sour-smelling is even Your very word. Why should I be pegged for such a desert temptation? The bowl of ointment is set in that book of Ecclesiastes.
I see this:
"One [upright] man among a thousand I have found, but a woman among all these I have not found."
(and the dead fly says: you are a woman, so there no chance for you to be pleasing to God.)
and this:
"The labor of fools wearies them"
(and the dead fly says, you've done much complaining about being sick and weary in your labor this year, so you are that fool.)
and this:
"through idleness of hands the house leaks"
(and the dead fly says, your house leaked this winter, so even as I slap you on one side of the face for being weary in a labor that is foolish, I'll also remind you with a slap on the other cheek that signs are in place to tell that you're not working hard enough.)
and this:
"Do not curse the king, even in your thought; do not curse the rich even in your bedroom."
(and the dead fly reminds how just last night lying in bed, my husband and I shared thoughts on the observations of my eldest during his recent visit with his aunt and uncle. These relatives of his are ones who use Your name as a means for accumulating wealth--promoting what I've read is a philosophy of life called the "deuteronomic formula" [although they don't call it this, they call it having the faith to live in the favor of God.] Living by faith will bring prosperity, always--[they say] just look at us! What is this philosophy? A law of cause and effect that permits God to have no higher wisdom than what makes His children worldly rich and the golf buddies of world leaders. But I am poor and suffer a lot lately. Am I therefore evil? What's more, I am shocked and offended by the fact that this is way of believing is nothing but a law of cause and effect rather than a relationship of growing intimacy and love between two beings, one of whom is the creator. Should I not be offended at the loss of that relationship? But the dead fly says, are they not rich? This counts as cursing the rich.)
So many flies, God--all showing up at once. Dead ones, not the singular live one that is to come at Your whistle.
So what is my response, as I pick up my skimmer and consider the work at hand?
First tears, and self-loathing. Particularly now, as that dead fly has put much time and effort into making this point: I will not be able to fulfill my side of God's covenant with me. First, tears; then confession and requests for prayer. Finally, an answer from God. One of those single sentences from a voice that is so large. "All has not yet been revealed." And I was quiet for a while after that answer was given. Then I read again.
"Whoever breaks through a wall will be bitten by a serpent." So I wonder why I should be surprised that in my efforts to break through a wall, I'd come upon the biting serpent--even this wall that You've shown me in dreams You'd have me break. What are the verses that I'd set out for reflection as I stand before that hissing beast?
How about this:
"For the living know that they will die; but the dead know nothing. And they have no more reward, for the memory of them is forgotten. Also their love, their hatred, and their envy have now perished; nevermore will they have a share in anything done under the sun. (and I say to the dead fly--I have seen the place for these dead ones. It is indeed coming to be the time for that evaporation of love, hatred and envy among those for whom these things can make no difference. This is grace.)
"Go eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart; (and I think, is this not a scene of holy Communion with the Christ?) For God has already accepted your works." (it is settled before it is even begun.)
and this:
"The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to men of understanding, nor favor to men of skill; but time and chance happen to them all." (and I say to that last fly as I skim it off the rainbow-ed surface of the perfume, "Your reckoning is wrong because all along you've measured with the wrong tool. Who can with accuracy measure all that is to be in time and chance? Thus, who can measure God? And even more clearly ring those words now: 'All has not yet been revealed.' ")
The flies are removed; and all is ready. Breathe deeply after God mixes in those last spices.
How's the bouquet now? (smile)
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
On building walls
A tragic wall:
My three sons, sitting against a wall. This picture was taken at a Christmas reunion for my family, but not the one held this last Christmas. Christmas 2006 another wall was built, no extended family Christmas found fruition and the wall's framework grew more solid. Then that wall took on a more finished state with the occurrence of a child's birthday, forgotten by that same extended family. His tears--how could they not serve as mortar? How do I pray about this wall? What would You have spoken over it?
A multi-purpose wall:
Friday was a big day at my school--moving day. All last year we saw blueprints. All this year, we've watched workmen build the expanding facility. Delays, (minor) natural disasters--so many things postponing this day. By Christmas, they said last fall, we'll be in the new facilities. But not until April was the actual Exodus. It even came down to the Thursday inspections approving the already-announced Friday move-in.
But delays still waited in the wings! At first, all looked well, and excitement filled the air as the move was made. Everyone helped all morning, kids carried desks and trashcans, clocks and totes from one side of campus to the other, trekking back and forth out in the beautiful spring sun--but wait! The inspectors are back and up in arms. Why? When we had the move completed and the rooms ready for use, (this just after the lunch feast) we immediately occupied the space and began having classes.
But apparently, this was not as the inspectors intended. The rooms could be furnished, and people milling about to that end, but these rooms were not yet approved for occupation. The inspectors returned and began their assessments anew.
So where are the classes? Well, they're not sitting in those just-moved desks, smelling fresh paint, studying equations against the gleam of new white boards. Ah, there they are--sitting along an old wall in an old hallway just outside the old school office. Their books are in their laps, their gaze lifted high from that ground-level perch to study what their teacher stands and writes on the window that exists between the office and the hallway. The secretary within fields frantic calls while seeing backwards algebra equations magically appear on that glass just above her desk.
Final inspections are completed, and the last word is: classes can finally occupy the new space on Monday. I think about how this place has "re-lived" the story of Your people from the days of Moses through the Pentecost of Acts over the last two years, and how we are now walking parts of the story of Your relationship with Your people that are yet to be, and I am again in awe of Your sovereignty. I myself anticipated this move to be a predictor of what is to come when the great reunion of God's people or rapture or something happens in the days yet to be. As I look on these events in that context, I have to wonder what this unwitting pre-mature occupation is saying. But for the moment, I only ponder it in my heart as I proofread and pray over the words of the day that is. How do I pray about this wall, God? What revelation of Your "manifold wisdom" do You offer through these events in this part of Your church? May Your purposes be fulfilled as You reveal the church's mystery to the "powers and principalities in the heavens" who will learn and then serve You through what they learn.
A wall of warning:
I notice that in my Bible reading today, warning is given about walls that don't really function as walls. These are the walls that are bricks neatly piled, but not secured with mortar. Their lack of support and cohesion is hidden by a "perfect" front of plaster--all looks well until conditions (floods, hail, winds) test the walls. The warning of the wall is given to a church whose "structure" is based on little more than image, whose strength is no strength at all. Then I think of the many places of worship I've attended where such a judgment could easily be made over the walls that contain the congregants. In fact, the walls are crumbling away even now and the churches are disbanding as they realize the powerlessness of the walls that were once falsely called a protection for them. How do I pray about this wall? Do I ask You to send the storm? Is it time for such a prayer? Has the false wall served its purpose fully yet, exposing the folly of all who falsely profess its strength? Is it finished? Certainly, I pray for all who were led to believe this a solid wall, those who never saw its inner workings and have only the exterior from which to form their beliefs. Give such as these vision to search the depths.
A wall revisited:
Now as I look at the family picture again, I see the wall is not a wall at all, but a garage door for a large barn-garage. That's hopeful, I think.
We laughed yesterday. My husband, his visiting friend and I. We sat as I did the bills and lamented the fact that every month some new woe hits our finances--this month it was a combination of taxes, car repair bills and college application fees for our eldest. We wondered at our ever present tendency to look to the next month as the one in which we'll "catch up." Our ever-present cling to hope, it is one of the things that seems to perpetually define us as a family. We laughed because we wondered: is this a thing of beauty or of stupidity?
When that garage door ever opens, I guess we'll know the answer.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Prayer and Prophetic dreaming...the next installment
Quotes that have caught my eye:
What is life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?
W. H. Davies
(and the first thing that pops into my mind is that if someone is caught standing and staring, that person will be diagnosed with some ailment. But I hardly believe my time spent standing and staring lately is a sign of mental illness nor an indication of long unrecognized birth defects.)
But more significant lately is this quote:
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Albert Camus
Leave it to a real writer to say in 16 words what I needed volumes of words and days of blogging to express.
So what images are dancing in my head when I stare, when I contemplate that invincible summer? Ones like this picture:
A child on a horse, a child whose eyes are as deep as the cosmos and whose skin appears as a silver mist floating around his skull, this almost-man yet to be born looks at his mother and says, "Don't be afraid, Mother," then rides away. And the King looks at the mother and asks, "Will you give him to me?" Upon her acceptance of this offer, He says, "Then it is time for our relationship to become public." Taking her hand, they begin to walk.
Evidently, "public relationship" translates to be prophetic unction, a sign of heart-intimacy with God, on the plane of human expression. It rises like a rain storm, with small droplets striking and indeed proving wet as they strike places formerly bone dry. One here, one there, nothing that impressive. But in time larger ones come. And eventually a steady rain, with the promise of a coming deluge.
Things yet to be make visitation in dreamscapes, given in riddles and visual parables. And then those riddles define themselves as events unfurl that prove these prophecies grounded in truth. The steady rain continues such that rain no longer seems a change of weather.
But, now one large thundercloud looms on the horizon--one given in dreams to multiple recipients. For my part, a dream spoke of a terrible crash, a fall of one Powerful and not so very human. It was a series of dreams that seemed to reveal key figures in my little world, some figures evident, some not so much yet. They spoke of key times, this month being particularly featured. Finally, they begged themselves to be shared. So I shared them. One in particular, back when I had it in November. And in that sharing, I learned the commonality of my dream with revelations given to others. But then a dry spell. Many months of strain and no particular vision, prayer and waiting, then days of barely hanging on through times so fraught with hardship that the dream seemed quite distant. There was the corporate wondering, what sort of faith walk is this? None of us are of such a background as to be "spooky" types in our spirituality. The idea comes: why not just let it go. These dreams, maybe the ones that prove true may just be coincidence. And as the month progresses, the letting go seems easier every day.
But last night much came rushing back as I had a flashback to a time in the deep of winter, a time when one student faltered and was suspended for the remainder of the school year. After a month, this boy and his father begged that the boy be allowed to return early, professing that the boy's only hope of retaining his faith hung on his being given this second change.
At the time, the image that came into my mind was one used by ancient prophets: drink the cup of judgment until the very last dregs are drunk. At the time, the verse that popped into my mind was a prophetic one stating that in latter days, a dark Power would try to change laws and times in his power play against the Law of God. This boy's request seemed to mimic that prophecy, changing the law and the timing. To be honest, such a harsh response is unusual for me, as I am often a "softie" about disciplining kids. Just ask my husband. At first, the principle was inclined to refuse to change his position about the boy's return to school, but after much prayer, he decided that God wanted him to offer the boy that second chance. And to support him is the proverb that goes, "As the churning of milk produces butter, so the forcing of wrath produces strife." Who knows what strife was avoided by permitting this second chance?
The morning meeting in which the principle was to announce his decision, he was late to school due to car trouble. He handed the message off to be delivered by another, and that one asked me to read the scripture passage that motivated the principle to such extravagant grace. I wonder if any of them know how very much that series of events revealed a larger story, a larger and divine plan? We say--often without appropriate fervor--that all is going according to God's sovereign will, but do we really understand how minutely He can work circumstances to speak His wisdom to the powers and principalities of the heavens? In any case, the boy returned. But is he part of the April crisis I "saw" in my dream? I still don't know.
But this I do know. Something happened this weekend, and now my original dream and its telling are back on the front burner of my mind again. Last night, I dreamed I drank a cup of liquid laced with a strange metallic grit, like tiny beads, the size of pin-heads. And as I lifted the cup to take the last of it, the concentration of those beads grew so thick, I scrunched up my face and wondered if I could swallow the stuff. But because I knew I must drink, I did drink. And something in me knew it was a sign. Events were transpiring that would trigger the inevitable drinking to the dregs of that cup of judgment. And though it was not for any of us to command that judgment, judgment would come nonetheless. It would come by the hand of God Himself.
As for a prophetess being established in all these things. It may be a while before she is known by more than a handful of people. The next school year starts August 16. I think it will be then that a larger group of people called to recognize her may say that a prophet has been among them.
But when I consider all the dreams, and how their imagery is supposed to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, I feel so very small and inadequate. To have a Mind so beautiful, so poetic, so rich fashion images for you, images by which you are to share His nature with the world, it is daunting almost to the point of paralysis. How does one share such a thing of beauty?
How does one give a deaf man the concept of a symphony? Particularly if that deaf man doubts the existence of sound. How does one keep from ruining his witness by laughing at doubters; for to hear the doubter say he questions the existence of sound, how ridiculous it seems to one who has heard a lion's roar?
Oh, God, between You and me, I'd say that I know important things are happening in Your world, and I know You are elated to share the goodness of them with every hearing ear. Plant hearing ears, O God. And along with them, plant minds bright to interpret those Words when they are heard!
What is life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?
W. H. Davies
(and the first thing that pops into my mind is that if someone is caught standing and staring, that person will be diagnosed with some ailment. But I hardly believe my time spent standing and staring lately is a sign of mental illness nor an indication of long unrecognized birth defects.)
But more significant lately is this quote:
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Albert Camus
Leave it to a real writer to say in 16 words what I needed volumes of words and days of blogging to express.
So what images are dancing in my head when I stare, when I contemplate that invincible summer? Ones like this picture:
A child on a horse, a child whose eyes are as deep as the cosmos and whose skin appears as a silver mist floating around his skull, this almost-man yet to be born looks at his mother and says, "Don't be afraid, Mother," then rides away. And the King looks at the mother and asks, "Will you give him to me?" Upon her acceptance of this offer, He says, "Then it is time for our relationship to become public." Taking her hand, they begin to walk.
Evidently, "public relationship" translates to be prophetic unction, a sign of heart-intimacy with God, on the plane of human expression. It rises like a rain storm, with small droplets striking and indeed proving wet as they strike places formerly bone dry. One here, one there, nothing that impressive. But in time larger ones come. And eventually a steady rain, with the promise of a coming deluge.
Things yet to be make visitation in dreamscapes, given in riddles and visual parables. And then those riddles define themselves as events unfurl that prove these prophecies grounded in truth. The steady rain continues such that rain no longer seems a change of weather.
But, now one large thundercloud looms on the horizon--one given in dreams to multiple recipients. For my part, a dream spoke of a terrible crash, a fall of one Powerful and not so very human. It was a series of dreams that seemed to reveal key figures in my little world, some figures evident, some not so much yet. They spoke of key times, this month being particularly featured. Finally, they begged themselves to be shared. So I shared them. One in particular, back when I had it in November. And in that sharing, I learned the commonality of my dream with revelations given to others. But then a dry spell. Many months of strain and no particular vision, prayer and waiting, then days of barely hanging on through times so fraught with hardship that the dream seemed quite distant. There was the corporate wondering, what sort of faith walk is this? None of us are of such a background as to be "spooky" types in our spirituality. The idea comes: why not just let it go. These dreams, maybe the ones that prove true may just be coincidence. And as the month progresses, the letting go seems easier every day.
But last night much came rushing back as I had a flashback to a time in the deep of winter, a time when one student faltered and was suspended for the remainder of the school year. After a month, this boy and his father begged that the boy be allowed to return early, professing that the boy's only hope of retaining his faith hung on his being given this second change.
At the time, the image that came into my mind was one used by ancient prophets: drink the cup of judgment until the very last dregs are drunk. At the time, the verse that popped into my mind was a prophetic one stating that in latter days, a dark Power would try to change laws and times in his power play against the Law of God. This boy's request seemed to mimic that prophecy, changing the law and the timing. To be honest, such a harsh response is unusual for me, as I am often a "softie" about disciplining kids. Just ask my husband. At first, the principle was inclined to refuse to change his position about the boy's return to school, but after much prayer, he decided that God wanted him to offer the boy that second chance. And to support him is the proverb that goes, "As the churning of milk produces butter, so the forcing of wrath produces strife." Who knows what strife was avoided by permitting this second chance?
The morning meeting in which the principle was to announce his decision, he was late to school due to car trouble. He handed the message off to be delivered by another, and that one asked me to read the scripture passage that motivated the principle to such extravagant grace. I wonder if any of them know how very much that series of events revealed a larger story, a larger and divine plan? We say--often without appropriate fervor--that all is going according to God's sovereign will, but do we really understand how minutely He can work circumstances to speak His wisdom to the powers and principalities of the heavens? In any case, the boy returned. But is he part of the April crisis I "saw" in my dream? I still don't know.
But this I do know. Something happened this weekend, and now my original dream and its telling are back on the front burner of my mind again. Last night, I dreamed I drank a cup of liquid laced with a strange metallic grit, like tiny beads, the size of pin-heads. And as I lifted the cup to take the last of it, the concentration of those beads grew so thick, I scrunched up my face and wondered if I could swallow the stuff. But because I knew I must drink, I did drink. And something in me knew it was a sign. Events were transpiring that would trigger the inevitable drinking to the dregs of that cup of judgment. And though it was not for any of us to command that judgment, judgment would come nonetheless. It would come by the hand of God Himself.
As for a prophetess being established in all these things. It may be a while before she is known by more than a handful of people. The next school year starts August 16. I think it will be then that a larger group of people called to recognize her may say that a prophet has been among them.
But when I consider all the dreams, and how their imagery is supposed to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, I feel so very small and inadequate. To have a Mind so beautiful, so poetic, so rich fashion images for you, images by which you are to share His nature with the world, it is daunting almost to the point of paralysis. How does one share such a thing of beauty?
How does one give a deaf man the concept of a symphony? Particularly if that deaf man doubts the existence of sound. How does one keep from ruining his witness by laughing at doubters; for to hear the doubter say he questions the existence of sound, how ridiculous it seems to one who has heard a lion's roar?
Oh, God, between You and me, I'd say that I know important things are happening in Your world, and I know You are elated to share the goodness of them with every hearing ear. Plant hearing ears, O God. And along with them, plant minds bright to interpret those Words when they are heard!
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Thou shalt not covet...
I remember one of my grandfather's favorite jokes upon spying a car or some such thing that he especially admired; he'd say to my grandmother, "I wish I had that one and he had a better one." The joke being that by wishing better for the one you'd rob, you'd found a loophole in the non-covet stipulation imposed on the sanctified soul. Now I am nearly old enough to be a grandparent, and I too can joke about many things that at other points and times made me covet. For instance, I don't really envy someone who drives past me in a Jaguar, or swings a Coach purse, jaunty at the mall, etc. Yes, I figure that over the years I've come a long way in the "thou shalt not covet" department.
But today it strikes me, I still have a long way to go in the thou shalt not covet department. Oh, I don't covet those material objects anymore, true enough. I'm no longer flush with shame when someone sees me driving a junky old van or walking along with holes in my shoes. I don't even wonder anymore whether that lovely, polished lady over there is in some deep-hued, matching satin undergarments, while I'm in a sagging bra and a pair of my husband's cast-off, decades-old bikini underwear. (OK, that's telling way too much.) No. My coveting is not of that nature at all. Hence my failure to recognize it.
So what would I lay out for review in a confessional for those addicted to my sort of coveting? A story that springs from a parable, one that goes something like this:
Once there was to be a wedding amongst a people whose traditions were very different from ours; but in another sense, not that different.
The pre-nuptial nights were spent by those maids slated to be attendants gathered in a house, waiting, listening. Would the bridegroom come soon? If he came, they would go with him to the wedding, and their lamps would be lit and their singing would be divine.
One maiden sat, leaning against the wall. The room had become invisible to her, so long had she spent here, waiting. Too bright, too stark, too awkward--as people gathered for no other reason than to wait will often be awkward. So to pass the time, she closed her eyes and imagined the journey as if it were finally beginning. She imagined moving out into the darkness, the damp smells of cool night, and the quiet insects, and the cooing birds. She imagined the circle of light from her lamp as it floated before her, blanching everything but the path beneath her feet and the nearest singing partners. And then she imagined that singing, the soft soul songs that would make the long journey pass in but one heartbeat of time.
Her imaginings stopped there. She dared not think of the wedding itself, or her impatience would get the best of her. She opened her eyes and turned to her lamp, trimming its wick, checking its oil. Others near her slept or bickered. She couldn't see how they lost their hearts' focus on this night of all nights. She reminded them to keep an eye on their lamps; and often--upon realizing their lack of attention to the condition of their lamps--they would ask for a share of her oil. She knew and they knew, that she was a master of frugality. If anyone could make a little oil go a long way, it was her. So, out of what her heart considered to be compassion, she shared her oil. But eventually, even her oil looked skimpy. She wondered at the ones who still seemed to be at peace with plenty of oil. Why didn't these needy, audacious, desperate ones ever go to pester those peaceful ones for oil? But immediately she was ashamed for even having had the thought. She tried to hide, become a part of the mundane wall. She pretended not to notice when they looked prone to approach her. Finally, she said loudly, "I have no more oil to share!" Then they left her alone for a bit. But she saw a young one wilted on the floor, whimpering; and she knelt down beside her, even though she knew she was only inviting the strain to start all over again.
That fateful moment came, when a whispered word urgently spread like wildfire.
He is on his way.
She knew the ending of stories like this one. She knew the rule: you must have enough oil to light the journey, have enough or be left out. She feared she had failed, missed some divine appointment while doling our her pitiful supply, oh foolish pride! Did she think she was God, able to serve as supply for such a great need? For this alone, she deserved to be left in the empty house, watching through the doorway the disappearing backs of the joyful wedding party.
Then, she did the only thing she knew to do. She began to pray. And a small voice said, "Remember the widow's oil."
The Widow at Zarephath
8 Then the Lord said to Elijah, 9 "Go and live in the village of Zarephath, near the city of Sidon. There is a widow there who will feed you. I have given her my instructions."
10 So he went to Zarephath. As he arrived at the gates of the village, he saw a widow gathering sticks, and he asked her, "Would you please bring me a cup of water?" 11 As she was going to get it, he called to her, "Bring me a bite of bread, too."
12 But she said, "I swear by the Lord your God that I don't have a single piece of bread in the house. And I have only a handful of flour left in the jar and a little cooking oil in the bottom of the jug. I was just gathering a few sticks to cook this last meal, and then my son and I will die."
13 But Elijah said to her, "Don't be afraid! Go ahead and cook that `last meal,' but bake me a little loaf of bread first. Afterward there will still be enough food for you and your son. 14 For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: There will always be plenty of flour and oil left in your containers until the time when the Lord sends rain and the crops grow again!"
15 So she did as Elijah said, and she and Elijah and her son continued to eat from her supply of flour and oil for many days. 16 For no matter how much they used, there was always enough left in the containers, just as the Lord had promised through Elijah.
But today it strikes me, I still have a long way to go in the thou shalt not covet department. Oh, I don't covet those material objects anymore, true enough. I'm no longer flush with shame when someone sees me driving a junky old van or walking along with holes in my shoes. I don't even wonder anymore whether that lovely, polished lady over there is in some deep-hued, matching satin undergarments, while I'm in a sagging bra and a pair of my husband's cast-off, decades-old bikini underwear. (OK, that's telling way too much.) No. My coveting is not of that nature at all. Hence my failure to recognize it.
So what would I lay out for review in a confessional for those addicted to my sort of coveting? A story that springs from a parable, one that goes something like this:
Once there was to be a wedding amongst a people whose traditions were very different from ours; but in another sense, not that different.
The pre-nuptial nights were spent by those maids slated to be attendants gathered in a house, waiting, listening. Would the bridegroom come soon? If he came, they would go with him to the wedding, and their lamps would be lit and their singing would be divine.
One maiden sat, leaning against the wall. The room had become invisible to her, so long had she spent here, waiting. Too bright, too stark, too awkward--as people gathered for no other reason than to wait will often be awkward. So to pass the time, she closed her eyes and imagined the journey as if it were finally beginning. She imagined moving out into the darkness, the damp smells of cool night, and the quiet insects, and the cooing birds. She imagined the circle of light from her lamp as it floated before her, blanching everything but the path beneath her feet and the nearest singing partners. And then she imagined that singing, the soft soul songs that would make the long journey pass in but one heartbeat of time.
Her imaginings stopped there. She dared not think of the wedding itself, or her impatience would get the best of her. She opened her eyes and turned to her lamp, trimming its wick, checking its oil. Others near her slept or bickered. She couldn't see how they lost their hearts' focus on this night of all nights. She reminded them to keep an eye on their lamps; and often--upon realizing their lack of attention to the condition of their lamps--they would ask for a share of her oil. She knew and they knew, that she was a master of frugality. If anyone could make a little oil go a long way, it was her. So, out of what her heart considered to be compassion, she shared her oil. But eventually, even her oil looked skimpy. She wondered at the ones who still seemed to be at peace with plenty of oil. Why didn't these needy, audacious, desperate ones ever go to pester those peaceful ones for oil? But immediately she was ashamed for even having had the thought. She tried to hide, become a part of the mundane wall. She pretended not to notice when they looked prone to approach her. Finally, she said loudly, "I have no more oil to share!" Then they left her alone for a bit. But she saw a young one wilted on the floor, whimpering; and she knelt down beside her, even though she knew she was only inviting the strain to start all over again.
That fateful moment came, when a whispered word urgently spread like wildfire.
He is on his way.
She knew the ending of stories like this one. She knew the rule: you must have enough oil to light the journey, have enough or be left out. She feared she had failed, missed some divine appointment while doling our her pitiful supply, oh foolish pride! Did she think she was God, able to serve as supply for such a great need? For this alone, she deserved to be left in the empty house, watching through the doorway the disappearing backs of the joyful wedding party.
Then, she did the only thing she knew to do. She began to pray. And a small voice said, "Remember the widow's oil."
The Widow at Zarephath
8 Then the Lord said to Elijah, 9 "Go and live in the village of Zarephath, near the city of Sidon. There is a widow there who will feed you. I have given her my instructions."
10 So he went to Zarephath. As he arrived at the gates of the village, he saw a widow gathering sticks, and he asked her, "Would you please bring me a cup of water?" 11 As she was going to get it, he called to her, "Bring me a bite of bread, too."
12 But she said, "I swear by the Lord your God that I don't have a single piece of bread in the house. And I have only a handful of flour left in the jar and a little cooking oil in the bottom of the jug. I was just gathering a few sticks to cook this last meal, and then my son and I will die."
13 But Elijah said to her, "Don't be afraid! Go ahead and cook that `last meal,' but bake me a little loaf of bread first. Afterward there will still be enough food for you and your son. 14 For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: There will always be plenty of flour and oil left in your containers until the time when the Lord sends rain and the crops grow again!"
15 So she did as Elijah said, and she and Elijah and her son continued to eat from her supply of flour and oil for many days. 16 For no matter how much they used, there was always enough left in the containers, just as the Lord had promised through Elijah.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
On Being a Hummingbird...
My husband just made a job change--not career change per se, but change of employment. Now I am considering the same thing. At first, I was adamant about feeling called to leave the place where I work now. I felt compelled to find something less stressful and less likely to expose me to so many people every day as this year my health took a downward spike due to my "catching" every bug that came anywhere near me, a thing that I find happening a lot since my thyroidectomy and fibromyalgia diagnosis. At the same time, I know my superintendent has been praying heartily that God might open a door for me to stay and continue the band program. It is a position that--until a program is well-established--is hard to fill.
All that is really clear to me now is that no matter what I do, I am supposed to be more singularly focused and slower paced than I've been this year. Currently I teach middle school math, high school drama, elementary school band and middle school computers. The diversity is proving to be stretching me too thin. Preparation for and energy demands during all these classes are stretching me to a snapping point.
What I've learned from a couple of articles that have "randomly" come into my bathroom reading material:
First, quotes from an article called "Direct Your Attention" in Experience Life Magazine, a monthly publication put out by my health club, which is a place I never have time to go anymore, because if I go there, I can't be doing anything else but that. But to this, the article says:
"Forget multitasking. Forget autopilot. The biggest rewards come from skillfully focusing our attention on just one thing at a time...Paying focused attention to one--and only one--thing at a time can yield rich rewards...Attention is like a flashlight. When we use it in the most efficient way, we shine the narrow beam of light on a single object, and we can see it clearly." It goes on to note that "in our fast-paced, high-demand world," our multifaceted brains often feel driven to attention splitting activity. One of the most common ways we split our attention is when we try to do one external focus activity (help a kid with homework) at the same time we do an internal focus one (grade papers and/or make a shopping list, etc.) I am SO guilty of this type of thing! "When we split our attention in this way--giving half our focus over to our own internal landscape, we tend to miss a lot of what is coming at us." What's more "we are less capable of enjoying the beauty around us. We also suffer because our attention gravitates toward the future or past, instead of remaining in the present."
Three large obstacles to retraining our focus: self-preoccupation--andthat being not selfishness so much as "what do I need to do now" type self-preoccupation, passive entertainment, and multi-tasking.
Nice to know I'm not the only one who has these obstacles laying prominently around. But boy, do I have them!
As for the second resource guiding my reflections on change, it is a little meditation book, Everyday Serenity, by David Kundtz. As I delve further into it's text, I'm sure I'll have many more quotes I'd take from it, but for starters, I'll just note one thing he quoted and review his reflection on it. "There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting.--Milan Kundera." Kundtz says of this quote: "My guess is that they are secret because we have not noticed them before. As recently as a generation ago, these bonds were a common, intuitive understanding. People lived their lives with a conscious realization of the balance between slowness and remembering, between speed and forgetting. They knew that leisure was a necessary part of a balanced life. They knew that if you moved too fast you were bound to forget something." Now, to me, that "forgetting" represents lost efficiency, lost joy, lost relationships--not just a lost set of keys, although lost keys do happen a lot at my house.
I remember once reading a book on spiritual discipline by Stephen Foster in which this subject was handled from an economic bent. He proposed that capitalism, by its very nature, demands constant expansion or else as a system it must die. The problem was that we are no longer an expanding country, not in terms of either geography nor population. Therefore, the expansion must occur in each individual life--expand the hours of productivity, expand credit to keep people buying goods to keep pressing the market back into a state of growth. Now I'm no economist, but I can certainly see a change from my parents' lives to mine in terms of an "economy" that invades more and more of my so-called "free" time, more than it did theirs. I remember long summers--open time for both me and my dad, who was a teacher. Now schools are talking about going an extra two hours a day and an extra five weeks a year in response to this "expansion" mind-set. The answer is no longer to look at the quality of instruction, but to simply increase its quantity and make some hopeful assumptions about the outcome of that expansion. And I am noticing this as a teacher. Many believe the teachers would not promote the opinion that the quality of instruction at school needs to go up even as the accountability for a student's good attitude needs to go up at home. But many teachers I know do say these things. Unfortunately, most decisions about most things are driven by the economy. The almighty dollar, as they say. But, everything I'm reading lately about these types of expansion and the double, sometimes triple-duty such expansion requires (how else do you get it all done, for God's sake?) is that any benefits are killed by the costs. Lost health, lost efficiency, lost personal engagement--we deceive ourselves by trying to do what "always worked before." It only works if you have room to grow, and we don't. So now what?
In my little part of the world what does it mean? It means I learn to do with less materially speaking and hope my country's need for that 12-14 hour day from me isn't as desperate as it is presented to me. I will in exchange rediscover what it feels like to be 100% involved in any given moment. To give my all to one thing instead of a little bit to many things. I will get my health back, my peace back, my family back, my desire to wake up and face a new day back. Most of all, I will confirm to myself and to the world that I can and do make a committment of 100% of myself to something, anything.
Years ago, God, You inspired a friend to pray for me, and she prayed that I quit trying to be a hummingbird, that I let You make me an eagle instead. (My husband saw her just today, in fact, and to see her is a rarity for us.) I should call her and thank her again for listening to You, for praying in the face of my need then. Thank You that You are not truly finished with a prayer until it is completely answered. Her prayer is still wafting up to You, for I still need even now. Maybe this time when I try to make a change, it will stick!
All that is really clear to me now is that no matter what I do, I am supposed to be more singularly focused and slower paced than I've been this year. Currently I teach middle school math, high school drama, elementary school band and middle school computers. The diversity is proving to be stretching me too thin. Preparation for and energy demands during all these classes are stretching me to a snapping point.
What I've learned from a couple of articles that have "randomly" come into my bathroom reading material:
First, quotes from an article called "Direct Your Attention" in Experience Life Magazine, a monthly publication put out by my health club, which is a place I never have time to go anymore, because if I go there, I can't be doing anything else but that. But to this, the article says:
"Forget multitasking. Forget autopilot. The biggest rewards come from skillfully focusing our attention on just one thing at a time...Paying focused attention to one--and only one--thing at a time can yield rich rewards...Attention is like a flashlight. When we use it in the most efficient way, we shine the narrow beam of light on a single object, and we can see it clearly." It goes on to note that "in our fast-paced, high-demand world," our multifaceted brains often feel driven to attention splitting activity. One of the most common ways we split our attention is when we try to do one external focus activity (help a kid with homework) at the same time we do an internal focus one (grade papers and/or make a shopping list, etc.) I am SO guilty of this type of thing! "When we split our attention in this way--giving half our focus over to our own internal landscape, we tend to miss a lot of what is coming at us." What's more "we are less capable of enjoying the beauty around us. We also suffer because our attention gravitates toward the future or past, instead of remaining in the present."
Three large obstacles to retraining our focus: self-preoccupation--andthat being not selfishness so much as "what do I need to do now" type self-preoccupation, passive entertainment, and multi-tasking.
Nice to know I'm not the only one who has these obstacles laying prominently around. But boy, do I have them!
As for the second resource guiding my reflections on change, it is a little meditation book, Everyday Serenity, by David Kundtz. As I delve further into it's text, I'm sure I'll have many more quotes I'd take from it, but for starters, I'll just note one thing he quoted and review his reflection on it. "There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting.--Milan Kundera." Kundtz says of this quote: "My guess is that they are secret because we have not noticed them before. As recently as a generation ago, these bonds were a common, intuitive understanding. People lived their lives with a conscious realization of the balance between slowness and remembering, between speed and forgetting. They knew that leisure was a necessary part of a balanced life. They knew that if you moved too fast you were bound to forget something." Now, to me, that "forgetting" represents lost efficiency, lost joy, lost relationships--not just a lost set of keys, although lost keys do happen a lot at my house.
I remember once reading a book on spiritual discipline by Stephen Foster in which this subject was handled from an economic bent. He proposed that capitalism, by its very nature, demands constant expansion or else as a system it must die. The problem was that we are no longer an expanding country, not in terms of either geography nor population. Therefore, the expansion must occur in each individual life--expand the hours of productivity, expand credit to keep people buying goods to keep pressing the market back into a state of growth. Now I'm no economist, but I can certainly see a change from my parents' lives to mine in terms of an "economy" that invades more and more of my so-called "free" time, more than it did theirs. I remember long summers--open time for both me and my dad, who was a teacher. Now schools are talking about going an extra two hours a day and an extra five weeks a year in response to this "expansion" mind-set. The answer is no longer to look at the quality of instruction, but to simply increase its quantity and make some hopeful assumptions about the outcome of that expansion. And I am noticing this as a teacher. Many believe the teachers would not promote the opinion that the quality of instruction at school needs to go up even as the accountability for a student's good attitude needs to go up at home. But many teachers I know do say these things. Unfortunately, most decisions about most things are driven by the economy. The almighty dollar, as they say. But, everything I'm reading lately about these types of expansion and the double, sometimes triple-duty such expansion requires (how else do you get it all done, for God's sake?) is that any benefits are killed by the costs. Lost health, lost efficiency, lost personal engagement--we deceive ourselves by trying to do what "always worked before." It only works if you have room to grow, and we don't. So now what?
In my little part of the world what does it mean? It means I learn to do with less materially speaking and hope my country's need for that 12-14 hour day from me isn't as desperate as it is presented to me. I will in exchange rediscover what it feels like to be 100% involved in any given moment. To give my all to one thing instead of a little bit to many things. I will get my health back, my peace back, my family back, my desire to wake up and face a new day back. Most of all, I will confirm to myself and to the world that I can and do make a committment of 100% of myself to something, anything.
Years ago, God, You inspired a friend to pray for me, and she prayed that I quit trying to be a hummingbird, that I let You make me an eagle instead. (My husband saw her just today, in fact, and to see her is a rarity for us.) I should call her and thank her again for listening to You, for praying in the face of my need then. Thank You that You are not truly finished with a prayer until it is completely answered. Her prayer is still wafting up to You, for I still need even now. Maybe this time when I try to make a change, it will stick!
Sunday, April 08, 2007
A woman of influence
I played my part in the drama this morning. I was permitted to focus on the sponge of my choice--of your choice. I was permitted to enlarge the tent of focus broader than to look solely at the sponge that would deaden Your senses with its anesthetic, but rather on the one that was given in answer to Your thirst. Thank You for that.
It is a difficult thing, to be a woman of redeemed influence. Often times, I expect she appears strange whenever she fulfills her most sincere role in life. The Eldredge's state in the book, Captivating, that "Eve is God's relationship specialist given to the world to keep relationship a priority. Men have a way of letting these things slip. They'll go months without checking in on the health of their relationships. Years, even. And the World simply uses people, then spits them out when they are worn out and no longer 'on top of their game.' Our Enemy despises relationships, hates love in any form, fears its redemptive power. This is why God sent Eve. Women are needed to protect relationships, bring them back to center stage where they belong."
So in retrospect of this little drama and the study it solicited from me I see that I could have turned all my attention to the sponge that represented the threat to Your mission as the Son of God. But I am Eve. So instead I was drawn to the one that represented Your mission as Husband to a Bride.
There is such a delicate balance to it all. Both sponges--whether drugged or not--bore as a base liquid sour wine mixed with water. I have tasted wine that has been too long in the refrigerator. It is indeed quite bitter. So I think of that first sponge when I read these words from Isaiah, for it surely would seem sweet mercy to be given anesthetic elixir, to have that small measure of physical comfort at the onset of such agony as a crucifixion; but He knew better than to submit to that. And, that the Cross happened at all is a large testimony of how very much dark and light, evil and good were confused in the hearts of the powerful:
Isa 5:20
Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!
But I think of the second sponge as I read the words of Solomon. Humbly, I thank You for allowing Yourself to awaken to the full depths of Your hunger, rather than determining that Your soul was full while You were yet alone and while we were yet a sweetness waiting to be tasted. I thank You for being hungry enough for Us that You would see the sweetness hidden in such a bitter thing as the Cross.
Pro 27:7
The full soul loatheth an honeycomb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.
May we learn to return Your humble longing. You are worthy of such adoration, and more.
It is a difficult thing, to be a woman of redeemed influence. Often times, I expect she appears strange whenever she fulfills her most sincere role in life. The Eldredge's state in the book, Captivating, that "Eve is God's relationship specialist given to the world to keep relationship a priority. Men have a way of letting these things slip. They'll go months without checking in on the health of their relationships. Years, even. And the World simply uses people, then spits them out when they are worn out and no longer 'on top of their game.' Our Enemy despises relationships, hates love in any form, fears its redemptive power. This is why God sent Eve. Women are needed to protect relationships, bring them back to center stage where they belong."
So in retrospect of this little drama and the study it solicited from me I see that I could have turned all my attention to the sponge that represented the threat to Your mission as the Son of God. But I am Eve. So instead I was drawn to the one that represented Your mission as Husband to a Bride.
There is such a delicate balance to it all. Both sponges--whether drugged or not--bore as a base liquid sour wine mixed with water. I have tasted wine that has been too long in the refrigerator. It is indeed quite bitter. So I think of that first sponge when I read these words from Isaiah, for it surely would seem sweet mercy to be given anesthetic elixir, to have that small measure of physical comfort at the onset of such agony as a crucifixion; but He knew better than to submit to that. And, that the Cross happened at all is a large testimony of how very much dark and light, evil and good were confused in the hearts of the powerful:
Isa 5:20
Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!
But I think of the second sponge as I read the words of Solomon. Humbly, I thank You for allowing Yourself to awaken to the full depths of Your hunger, rather than determining that Your soul was full while You were yet alone and while we were yet a sweetness waiting to be tasted. I thank You for being hungry enough for Us that You would see the sweetness hidden in such a bitter thing as the Cross.
Pro 27:7
The full soul loatheth an honeycomb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.
May we learn to return Your humble longing. You are worthy of such adoration, and more.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Praise Him All Creatures Here Below
Just the other day, I had a woman ask me, "Do you have a 'word from God' for me? And because I thought I did, I told her what was on my heart, even though for a long time--and even now, to hear such a phrase (a word from God) ruffles my religious feathers a bit. But the phrase is coming to be healed as the answer becomes more often "yes" these days. And now I think I have a word from God for another friend. He hasn't asked for it, but I feel inclined to share it nonetheless. His name is Ben.
Ben is the worship leader at our church, and I have worshipped God under his leadership countless times. If I were to string adjectives together about worship as Ben leads it, I'd use words like deep, cleansing, rich, uplifting, intimate, solicitous of revelation from God. But these are words about me and my feelings, and I am just the messenger. This is more of a message from God to Ben.
This morning, I came across this verse that seems a fitting opening and spurred me on to write:
Jhn 14:21
He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him.
Jhn 14:22
Judas saith unto him, (not Iscariot), Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?
Jhn 14:23
Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.
How will you manifest yourself unto us and not to the world? A valid question. You, Ben, offer one of the ways it is answered.
I have sung under the leadership of many worship leaders in my days. I've sung under the lead of red-faced men in suits standing in a pulpit, one hand holding a hymnal, the other gesturing as they sang. I've sung to young skinny guys who stomp their foot as they play an electric piano or guitar for themselves. All very different, but one thread seems common to them: they lead alone. The back-up singers, if there be any at all, are at best a faint echo of harmony in the speakers that if you lean in and listen very closely, you might catch a whiff of from time to time. That's at best. At worst, these other singers are just mute working mouths--utterly lost behind the cranked lead voice of the worship head. In fact, not that long ago, I happened to be around while a worship band was tearing down after a service. One of the back-up singers was literally shouting with joy about how beautiful the harmony sounded in the monitor. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the monitor was the only place that harmony was heard. Worshippers saw him sing from the depths of his soul, but we heard absolutely nothing.
But then there is the music that Ben calls into being. Ben usually has only one back-up singer, a woman harmonizing in perfect balance with him. Sometimes he sings alone, but her presence is ever known. You can close your eyes in worship, and yet you know she is there--because she plays a vital part, she is heard!
Why does this matter? If our worship is a reflection, then God looks down on Ben and sees the reflection of His Son glorifying His name. That Son has a counterpart, a Bride--as He calls her--in the church. It has been much on my mind lately--this idea of our expectations as we look at our lives in heaven. So often we anticipate it as a place where many individuals will experience blissful existence, but to see ourselves as Christ's ezer kenegdo, His Eve, His Bride this is a rare focus. And the rarity gives evidence that the full incarnation of that Bride is not yet ready. She is not yet mature; she is still self-absorbed. For contemporary singers to sing only into their own monitors matches this premature view of our significance in heaven. We want to be there, but, our expectation is that Christ will be all that is really heard. We don't believe His love for us goes deep enough to offer us an opportunity to sing in balanced harmony with Him.
On the flip side, some will sing of the excellence of God in intricate blended harmony, but to the underlying effect of saying, "You people should love the skill within me, put on display in the context that I sing about God." This, too, is still self-absorbed and falls short of the mark.
Christ speaks of us as joint-heirs, and I don't think by that He means "I'll put a mike in your hands, but to no effect. You can look good, but my voice is the only one to be heard." Nor does He say, "I'll give you a voice so beautiful that I will fall into the background and your beauty and talent will become the primary focus." (If that were to be the case, then Lucifer's designs that brought his own fall would have been justified.)
Christ doesn't fall off the edge of the sword of truth in either direction, nor do you, Ben; and in that way you give a purer reflection of heavenly worship than most. God is pleased and Christ has certainly made His abode with you!
Ben is the worship leader at our church, and I have worshipped God under his leadership countless times. If I were to string adjectives together about worship as Ben leads it, I'd use words like deep, cleansing, rich, uplifting, intimate, solicitous of revelation from God. But these are words about me and my feelings, and I am just the messenger. This is more of a message from God to Ben.
This morning, I came across this verse that seems a fitting opening and spurred me on to write:
Jhn 14:21
He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him.
Jhn 14:22
Judas saith unto him, (not Iscariot), Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?
Jhn 14:23
Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.
How will you manifest yourself unto us and not to the world? A valid question. You, Ben, offer one of the ways it is answered.
I have sung under the leadership of many worship leaders in my days. I've sung under the lead of red-faced men in suits standing in a pulpit, one hand holding a hymnal, the other gesturing as they sang. I've sung to young skinny guys who stomp their foot as they play an electric piano or guitar for themselves. All very different, but one thread seems common to them: they lead alone. The back-up singers, if there be any at all, are at best a faint echo of harmony in the speakers that if you lean in and listen very closely, you might catch a whiff of from time to time. That's at best. At worst, these other singers are just mute working mouths--utterly lost behind the cranked lead voice of the worship head. In fact, not that long ago, I happened to be around while a worship band was tearing down after a service. One of the back-up singers was literally shouting with joy about how beautiful the harmony sounded in the monitor. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the monitor was the only place that harmony was heard. Worshippers saw him sing from the depths of his soul, but we heard absolutely nothing.
But then there is the music that Ben calls into being. Ben usually has only one back-up singer, a woman harmonizing in perfect balance with him. Sometimes he sings alone, but her presence is ever known. You can close your eyes in worship, and yet you know she is there--because she plays a vital part, she is heard!
Why does this matter? If our worship is a reflection, then God looks down on Ben and sees the reflection of His Son glorifying His name. That Son has a counterpart, a Bride--as He calls her--in the church. It has been much on my mind lately--this idea of our expectations as we look at our lives in heaven. So often we anticipate it as a place where many individuals will experience blissful existence, but to see ourselves as Christ's ezer kenegdo, His Eve, His Bride this is a rare focus. And the rarity gives evidence that the full incarnation of that Bride is not yet ready. She is not yet mature; she is still self-absorbed. For contemporary singers to sing only into their own monitors matches this premature view of our significance in heaven. We want to be there, but, our expectation is that Christ will be all that is really heard. We don't believe His love for us goes deep enough to offer us an opportunity to sing in balanced harmony with Him.
On the flip side, some will sing of the excellence of God in intricate blended harmony, but to the underlying effect of saying, "You people should love the skill within me, put on display in the context that I sing about God." This, too, is still self-absorbed and falls short of the mark.
Christ speaks of us as joint-heirs, and I don't think by that He means "I'll put a mike in your hands, but to no effect. You can look good, but my voice is the only one to be heard." Nor does He say, "I'll give you a voice so beautiful that I will fall into the background and your beauty and talent will become the primary focus." (If that were to be the case, then Lucifer's designs that brought his own fall would have been justified.)
Christ doesn't fall off the edge of the sword of truth in either direction, nor do you, Ben; and in that way you give a purer reflection of heavenly worship than most. God is pleased and Christ has certainly made His abode with you!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Eyes that See, Ears that Hear
Approaching Easter, I am looking at the writing of my script about the offering of the sponge. And, I hit a minor crisis. Because I identified myself (and all the Bride-Church along with me) as like the sponge in the prayer-scenario I mentioned previously, I hit a very personal distress when a verse from another Gospel was brought to my attention:
Mat 27:33-35
And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull,
They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted [thereof], he would not drink.
And they crucified him...
This seemed to contradict what I read in John, where He almost seemed to be asking for a drink--"I thirst," He said in that Gospel. Furthermore, my personal anthropomorphization of the sponge naturally ran me toward a new self-perception of one reaching the apex of self- rejection. (This temptation was easily presented to me, considering the thoughts I blogged yesterday--ugly self-images I'd fanned back to life so I could deal with them.) How easy to make me think that I was foolishly believing things that, though they seemed so "real" and "interactive" between Thee and me, were really just so much pomposity on my part. Again, I fell shame-faced at Your feet and begging wisdom, for I would never want to dishonor You.
But I felt compelled to persevere in my reading. (In fact it was a thing I felt prompted to pray in this very morning's prayer time: ask for knowledge.) Now, wonder of wonders, I find the story of the sponge was not finished in that verse.
How many times have I read the story of the Crucifixion? Many!
How many times have I noticed that the sponge is offered twice and accepted only on the second, purer offering? None!
But it is in plain print. (Text given below.)
In fact, looking back I see that the drugged sponge might very well have been offered before He was even nailed to that cross. An anesthetic sponge is offered to lessen His pain--and thus once more Satan needs to be told to get behind Him. He tastes it to discern what is on it, but this one He rejects. Afterward, the Pharisees mock Him, the sign calling Him King of the Jews is posted above His head, the thieves are mentioned, darkness falls over the land from the 6th hour to the 9th hour,...then at last He cries out that quote that begins Psalm 22, and to starts a series of events that make that Psalm almost an exact pre-telling of the events of the Cross. But the people around Him did not understand.
Mat 27:46
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Mat 27:47
Some of them that stood there, when they heard [that], said, This [man] calleth for Elias.
Mat 27:48
And straightway one of them ran, and took a spunge, and filled [it] with vinegar, and put [it] on a reed, and gave him to drink.
Mat 27:49
The rest said, Let be, let us see whether Elias will come to save him.
Mat 27:50
Jesus, when he had cried again with a loud voice, yielded up the ghost.
So how did I miss this second sponge for these last 43 years that I have been present in this world to hear this story of the Cross? That sponge that carried only the sour wine/vinegar, and not the drug, gall; this second one lifted on hyssop, said John (and hyssop was a branch used symbolically for things involving purification.)
But more startling is my discovery of some of the rest of that pre-telling Psalm.
I've already mentioned the common references:
His quote right before receiving the sponge:
Psa 22:1
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? [why art thou so] far from helping me, [and from] the words of my roaring?
The words of the Pharisees, foreshadowed centuries earlier:
Psa 22:8
He trusted on the LORD [that] he would deliver him: let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him.
The one He fulfilled in speaking of His thirst:
Psa 22:15
My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.
And this:
Psa 22:18
They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture.
But because of the sponge-thing, I can hardly condemn the Pharisees for missing all these ways that He fulfilled all these things prophesied about His death.
And I must ask, are we missing things still?
For now I come to the part that makes me tremble as I read over with new eyes even more things that I haven't noticed before today, things new that should not be new, for my eyes have traveled over these verses time and time again.
As preface, I must review that I dreamed (and have blogged here about the dream) that dogs chased me to the gate of a special garden, a holy place where He fed me the fruit of wisdom and life. I dreamed that the dogs could not reach me in that place--and this was the point of the dream. I already connected that dream with imagery in Revelation, and I already recovered from the shock of "dreaming scripture images."
Now I must add that the other night, I had another dog dream...actually the creature was a cross between a bulldog and a horse. It was spotted, black and white, with a black mane and nose like a horse, but the shoulders and build of a bulldog.
(An aside to easily skip:
Even as I proofread this, I remember and look up the story of a vision of the prophet, Zechariah that makes reference to grisled--translate spotted--horses pulling chariots coming to earth from heavenly dwelling places, and this as an event to occur right before the revelation of one called the Branch. This lead me to the little book of Jude which talks in verse 23 of ones saved with fear, pulled out of the fire, their garments "spotted" by the influence of their flesh, which then returns me to another one of the visions Zechariah had of God rebuking Satan for trying to condemn a chosen one, one described as a brand plucked from the fire--whose filthy garments are exchanged by an Angel for rich robes, and this exchange being precursory to the coming of that same one called the Branch. The chase I make through Scripture to track these parallels leads me to realize I've tapped another one of those wells that is larger than a quick read will explain to my mind. I haven't had one of these guided reads for a long time, but I do remember telling God, "Slower please. My mind can't accept where we're going and what You're explaining as quickly as You can offer it." No wonder I prayed for knowledge! Just an aside to record the mechanics of such an interchange.)
But as to my own dream of a spotted horse, this animal and I stood in open fields on either side of a fence. The animal was trying to break through a breach in that chicken wire fence. Somehow, I received a tool that I could use to re-attach the fallen piece of fencing, keeping the animal on its own side of the fence.
Now I read this verse:
Psa 22:12
Many bulls have compassed me: strong [bulls] of Bashan have beset me round.
Psa 22:16
For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet.
and most importantly, this one:
Psa 22:20
Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog.
And I find my prayers and these dreams that I dreamed coming together to take on a meaning that makes me almost stop breathing. Even as I try to minimize, explain away and second guess the motivation and imagery of these moments I share with Thee, You do not permit me to lessen our relationship to something coldly analytical or to mere subconscious reactivity. I cannot speak much to the ways You call Your other elect to walk with Your Word alive within them, but I do see how through the channels of this one small heart of mine, humanity's reach for You can be realized. You prayed for me, even me, and for all who come to this place where I stand.
As I soak in the meaning of that knowledge, I feel flung backward to the OT, when Jezebel is eaten by dogs. Flung forward to the visionary ending of the NT, when the spirit of Jezebel revisits this world, and finally to another "Chapter 22" but this time not in Psalms, but in Revelation where a last reference is made to dogs, protection, a last message is given to the Church involving the root and offspring of David, the bright and morning star. (And as I read this quote, I am reminded that two days ago, we took a spring-break outing, the boys and I. As we drove, we noticed the fact that we kept seeing stars mounted everywhere we went. Metal ones near door posts, ones made of Christmas lights still hung high on barns, even painted ones in the signs set out to advertise mom-and-pop businesses, so many stars that we laughed and commented on its oddity.) Finally, coming full circle, the quote is about the Spirit and the bride saying Come, and--it is about thirsting. How fitting that the bride would say come, with a quenched thirst being what follows.
Rev 22:14
Blessed [are] they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.
Rev 22:15
For without [are] dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.
Rev 22:16
I Jesus have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, [and] the bright and morning star.
Rev 22:17
And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.
Mat 27:33-35
And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull,
They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted [thereof], he would not drink.
And they crucified him...
This seemed to contradict what I read in John, where He almost seemed to be asking for a drink--"I thirst," He said in that Gospel. Furthermore, my personal anthropomorphization of the sponge naturally ran me toward a new self-perception of one reaching the apex of self- rejection. (This temptation was easily presented to me, considering the thoughts I blogged yesterday--ugly self-images I'd fanned back to life so I could deal with them.) How easy to make me think that I was foolishly believing things that, though they seemed so "real" and "interactive" between Thee and me, were really just so much pomposity on my part. Again, I fell shame-faced at Your feet and begging wisdom, for I would never want to dishonor You.
But I felt compelled to persevere in my reading. (In fact it was a thing I felt prompted to pray in this very morning's prayer time: ask for knowledge.) Now, wonder of wonders, I find the story of the sponge was not finished in that verse.
How many times have I read the story of the Crucifixion? Many!
How many times have I noticed that the sponge is offered twice and accepted only on the second, purer offering? None!
But it is in plain print. (Text given below.)
In fact, looking back I see that the drugged sponge might very well have been offered before He was even nailed to that cross. An anesthetic sponge is offered to lessen His pain--and thus once more Satan needs to be told to get behind Him. He tastes it to discern what is on it, but this one He rejects. Afterward, the Pharisees mock Him, the sign calling Him King of the Jews is posted above His head, the thieves are mentioned, darkness falls over the land from the 6th hour to the 9th hour,...then at last He cries out that quote that begins Psalm 22, and to starts a series of events that make that Psalm almost an exact pre-telling of the events of the Cross. But the people around Him did not understand.
Mat 27:46
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Mat 27:47
Some of them that stood there, when they heard [that], said, This [man] calleth for Elias.
Mat 27:48
And straightway one of them ran, and took a spunge, and filled [it] with vinegar, and put [it] on a reed, and gave him to drink.
Mat 27:49
The rest said, Let be, let us see whether Elias will come to save him.
Mat 27:50
Jesus, when he had cried again with a loud voice, yielded up the ghost.
So how did I miss this second sponge for these last 43 years that I have been present in this world to hear this story of the Cross? That sponge that carried only the sour wine/vinegar, and not the drug, gall; this second one lifted on hyssop, said John (and hyssop was a branch used symbolically for things involving purification.)
But more startling is my discovery of some of the rest of that pre-telling Psalm.
I've already mentioned the common references:
His quote right before receiving the sponge:
Psa 22:1
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? [why art thou so] far from helping me, [and from] the words of my roaring?
The words of the Pharisees, foreshadowed centuries earlier:
Psa 22:8
He trusted on the LORD [that] he would deliver him: let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him.
The one He fulfilled in speaking of His thirst:
Psa 22:15
My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.
And this:
Psa 22:18
They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture.
But because of the sponge-thing, I can hardly condemn the Pharisees for missing all these ways that He fulfilled all these things prophesied about His death.
And I must ask, are we missing things still?
For now I come to the part that makes me tremble as I read over with new eyes even more things that I haven't noticed before today, things new that should not be new, for my eyes have traveled over these verses time and time again.
As preface, I must review that I dreamed (and have blogged here about the dream) that dogs chased me to the gate of a special garden, a holy place where He fed me the fruit of wisdom and life. I dreamed that the dogs could not reach me in that place--and this was the point of the dream. I already connected that dream with imagery in Revelation, and I already recovered from the shock of "dreaming scripture images."
Now I must add that the other night, I had another dog dream...actually the creature was a cross between a bulldog and a horse. It was spotted, black and white, with a black mane and nose like a horse, but the shoulders and build of a bulldog.
(An aside to easily skip:
Even as I proofread this, I remember and look up the story of a vision of the prophet, Zechariah that makes reference to grisled--translate spotted--horses pulling chariots coming to earth from heavenly dwelling places, and this as an event to occur right before the revelation of one called the Branch. This lead me to the little book of Jude which talks in verse 23 of ones saved with fear, pulled out of the fire, their garments "spotted" by the influence of their flesh, which then returns me to another one of the visions Zechariah had of God rebuking Satan for trying to condemn a chosen one, one described as a brand plucked from the fire--whose filthy garments are exchanged by an Angel for rich robes, and this exchange being precursory to the coming of that same one called the Branch. The chase I make through Scripture to track these parallels leads me to realize I've tapped another one of those wells that is larger than a quick read will explain to my mind. I haven't had one of these guided reads for a long time, but I do remember telling God, "Slower please. My mind can't accept where we're going and what You're explaining as quickly as You can offer it." No wonder I prayed for knowledge! Just an aside to record the mechanics of such an interchange.)
But as to my own dream of a spotted horse, this animal and I stood in open fields on either side of a fence. The animal was trying to break through a breach in that chicken wire fence. Somehow, I received a tool that I could use to re-attach the fallen piece of fencing, keeping the animal on its own side of the fence.
Now I read this verse:
Psa 22:12
Many bulls have compassed me: strong [bulls] of Bashan have beset me round.
Psa 22:16
For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet.
and most importantly, this one:
Psa 22:20
Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog.
And I find my prayers and these dreams that I dreamed coming together to take on a meaning that makes me almost stop breathing. Even as I try to minimize, explain away and second guess the motivation and imagery of these moments I share with Thee, You do not permit me to lessen our relationship to something coldly analytical or to mere subconscious reactivity. I cannot speak much to the ways You call Your other elect to walk with Your Word alive within them, but I do see how through the channels of this one small heart of mine, humanity's reach for You can be realized. You prayed for me, even me, and for all who come to this place where I stand.
As I soak in the meaning of that knowledge, I feel flung backward to the OT, when Jezebel is eaten by dogs. Flung forward to the visionary ending of the NT, when the spirit of Jezebel revisits this world, and finally to another "Chapter 22" but this time not in Psalms, but in Revelation where a last reference is made to dogs, protection, a last message is given to the Church involving the root and offspring of David, the bright and morning star. (And as I read this quote, I am reminded that two days ago, we took a spring-break outing, the boys and I. As we drove, we noticed the fact that we kept seeing stars mounted everywhere we went. Metal ones near door posts, ones made of Christmas lights still hung high on barns, even painted ones in the signs set out to advertise mom-and-pop businesses, so many stars that we laughed and commented on its oddity.) Finally, coming full circle, the quote is about the Spirit and the bride saying Come, and--it is about thirsting. How fitting that the bride would say come, with a quenched thirst being what follows.
Rev 22:14
Blessed [are] they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city.
Rev 22:15
For without [are] dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.
Rev 22:16
I Jesus have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, [and] the bright and morning star.
Rev 22:17
And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Letting You See the Hidden Places
My husband, I write this mostly for me to track my own growth in this thing, but also for you to see what is happening inside me.
A book by the title Love Is a Choice made revolutionary changes in my life when my first marriage was ending...but it didn't go quite far enough to kill the curse bound up in it, too.
The blessing: love is a choice I make, so I am not driven by the tides of emotion and the rawness of desire. I have the power to decide the way I will relate to the significant others in my world. This I understood from the book, and the benefits of this understanding reached larger than my own mind and soul.
The curse: love is a choice others make, and in their choosing with regards to me, I am ever reminded of my second-best status. In one relationship after another, from the time I was my youngest son's age until this very day, it has been "proven" to me over and over that my value is tied up in my acceptance of this role: that I must be ever striving for the benefit of others. This striving is itself the housing for my intrinsic value. When I was young, I learned I am not the "captive princess" so desirable that she must be rescued at all costs. For many young girls, this is not only the fantasy, but also the reality. No, I was taught to be part of the team of rescuers. In this role, I just might receive a medal of honor if I serve valiantly to improve the life of one or the lives of many, those who really matter. And while it is noble to choose this role in the drama of interactive life, it is another thing entirely to be given no choice...others are the choosers. Nevertheless, if I have ever balked at my positioning, I was told that I was being selfish or that this was not really about me anyway.
Now as I read Captivating, I find myself studying these things. Remembering the hard memories, the bittersweet ones. A little at a time goes a long way. Like this one:
As a young child, what princess-fantasies did you have?
All little girls have some type of fantasy of being a beauty, and I was no different. But even at that young age, I had the instinct to remove others from my fantasy world. At least I understood that my imagination was a domain of my own, and that may have been the greatest early gift of grace I ever received. If others would never invite Cinderella out of the kitchen and to the ball, well then they simply weren't in the story. Really, the only place this type of fantasy expressed itself in my life was when I went walking in the woods alone, as I often did when a 'tweener. I'd imagine myself in a elvish castle inhabited by mythical woodland creatures--they were safe enough characters, as they were not human and thus not in competition with me for significance. This was an easy set for the drama given the stone stairs and paths in the state parks near where I lived and given the solitary nature of my walks. Or I imagined I was following a magical woodsman who was taking me to become his bride, the lady of his secret estate, a place hidden deep in the wilds and unknown to all because of its remoteness.
As I look at the things happening in my prayer life now, I am compelled to ask: were my childhood fantasies evidence of that deep-awareness that children seem to have? Was I, even as a child, walking in unspoken prayer-communion with the God who would later put a call on my life that renewed the purpose of these fantasies? Or is my current prayer life just an outgrowth of unresolved childhood pain? I see why You have been so interactive with me through all this, God. Otherwise I probably would dismiss much of what has been our recent relationship as just a sign of "wounded sickness" and the indulgence of a presently-effective defense mechanism.
So now, I will learn how to articulate what You've been trying to show me these last few months. Before I even picked up this book or started along this train of thought, You began weaving Your cocoon around me, made plain that day You reduced me to tears in the grocery store. You drew me toward a sign of a girl holding a rope--so much like that dream You gave me where I swung on a rope--"This is you," You seemed to say of the sign, and how much more fitting now that it was a little girl holding the rope. The text with the picture said, "Let's show her she's beautiful." The ad was selling soap, but that was beside the point for me. Still, even that fits: for a cleansing is indeed happening.
A book by the title Love Is a Choice made revolutionary changes in my life when my first marriage was ending...but it didn't go quite far enough to kill the curse bound up in it, too.
The blessing: love is a choice I make, so I am not driven by the tides of emotion and the rawness of desire. I have the power to decide the way I will relate to the significant others in my world. This I understood from the book, and the benefits of this understanding reached larger than my own mind and soul.
The curse: love is a choice others make, and in their choosing with regards to me, I am ever reminded of my second-best status. In one relationship after another, from the time I was my youngest son's age until this very day, it has been "proven" to me over and over that my value is tied up in my acceptance of this role: that I must be ever striving for the benefit of others. This striving is itself the housing for my intrinsic value. When I was young, I learned I am not the "captive princess" so desirable that she must be rescued at all costs. For many young girls, this is not only the fantasy, but also the reality. No, I was taught to be part of the team of rescuers. In this role, I just might receive a medal of honor if I serve valiantly to improve the life of one or the lives of many, those who really matter. And while it is noble to choose this role in the drama of interactive life, it is another thing entirely to be given no choice...others are the choosers. Nevertheless, if I have ever balked at my positioning, I was told that I was being selfish or that this was not really about me anyway.
Now as I read Captivating, I find myself studying these things. Remembering the hard memories, the bittersweet ones. A little at a time goes a long way. Like this one:
As a young child, what princess-fantasies did you have?
All little girls have some type of fantasy of being a beauty, and I was no different. But even at that young age, I had the instinct to remove others from my fantasy world. At least I understood that my imagination was a domain of my own, and that may have been the greatest early gift of grace I ever received. If others would never invite Cinderella out of the kitchen and to the ball, well then they simply weren't in the story. Really, the only place this type of fantasy expressed itself in my life was when I went walking in the woods alone, as I often did when a 'tweener. I'd imagine myself in a elvish castle inhabited by mythical woodland creatures--they were safe enough characters, as they were not human and thus not in competition with me for significance. This was an easy set for the drama given the stone stairs and paths in the state parks near where I lived and given the solitary nature of my walks. Or I imagined I was following a magical woodsman who was taking me to become his bride, the lady of his secret estate, a place hidden deep in the wilds and unknown to all because of its remoteness.
As I look at the things happening in my prayer life now, I am compelled to ask: were my childhood fantasies evidence of that deep-awareness that children seem to have? Was I, even as a child, walking in unspoken prayer-communion with the God who would later put a call on my life that renewed the purpose of these fantasies? Or is my current prayer life just an outgrowth of unresolved childhood pain? I see why You have been so interactive with me through all this, God. Otherwise I probably would dismiss much of what has been our recent relationship as just a sign of "wounded sickness" and the indulgence of a presently-effective defense mechanism.
So now, I will learn how to articulate what You've been trying to show me these last few months. Before I even picked up this book or started along this train of thought, You began weaving Your cocoon around me, made plain that day You reduced me to tears in the grocery store. You drew me toward a sign of a girl holding a rope--so much like that dream You gave me where I swung on a rope--"This is you," You seemed to say of the sign, and how much more fitting now that it was a little girl holding the rope. The text with the picture said, "Let's show her she's beautiful." The ad was selling soap, but that was beside the point for me. Still, even that fits: for a cleansing is indeed happening.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
When I was younger--(and if I traveled
in the spring)
I would sometimes shun a stop
if it were but to see some odd landmark
or mysterious marker
"off the beaten path."
Shun the stop, that is,
If winter's bite still held the air.
When I was younger--
I wanted my spring
fast and hot.
Let its prelude be brief, if sacred; and
play no overture at all if something less.
A splash of yellow flowers, yellow bushes
buds on the branches
--a day or so is ample--
And finally--
Finally?
--the pass to long days
of shimmering heat waves rising,
while tall grasses sigh and glow
in newborn sheen
under full-gold sunlight.
A "cold snap" in the foreground of such glory?
How should it foster anything gracious and tolerant?
But I am older now,
I will stop for such a sight
(if I travel in the spring.)
I will leave the dry, blowing artificial heat
inside my car.
I get out.
I shiver, and I look.
For some things along the way catch my fancy,
even when spring has its snow on.
I am not old yet,
but I am old enough to wear this wisdom:
heat looses its freshness, quickly
and novelty reverts. Then what?
Another year before another visit.
So I--like everyone--still sigh and raise closed eyes to that first warm breeze, but--
I rarely grieve the return of a chill wind.
When this life's alluring changes
prove more of the past than of the future,
In this place, an early flirtation with deep spring:
It is a good thing made better
by a later underscoring.
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