Red and White Stones

I was going to make this a chapter in my story about the Bride and her Beloved, but doing a little research makes me see I need to stop and record what I found.

My love--you know how you wonder about what leads us. "Maybe you're just psychic, a precog--not particularly involved in something relational with a Creator-being, just wired to be different. maybe that's all our dreams are, psychic stuff." you say. And this statement comes as I give you evidence to support it: dreaming that a friend is in danger of losing her baby, dreaming I become one with the child's mind, being its voice as it say it wants to share life with the mother, and dreaming people/angels stop what they are doing to help in this cause. Then I learn a few days later that even as I dreamed this, that very friend of mine was indeed needing such a dream-prayer, as she was 9 weeks pregnant (which I knew) and was so severely dehydrated that she was hospitalized for three days (which I did not know until after the fact.) She's fine now, but how strange that such things continue to happen in my nocturnal life.
But as to whether such things are guided by a benevolent creator or not, you feel a nagging doubt, for where else do we see evidence of His benelovence in our lives? And I can certainly understand your having questions, not bitterness so much as legitimate questions. How can we know? I think there are other things to consider--ones that tie what I/we "see" in these dreams to Scripture and to life, and do indeed point to a personality that speaks their origins. For example--and I told you about this one yesterday while I was still in my questing stage for an answer to this little riddle: I dreamed of a red gem stone followed by a white gem stone as they "skipped" across my field of vision. This happened a little less than a year ago. I pondered it a while, as despite its brevity, it had that "super-dream" quality to it...but eventually without further revelation, I forgot it. Then yesterday, I did a load of laundry, and as I pulled the clothes out of the washer, at the bottom of the tank I found two little stones--the polished ones that are used in games like mancala, etc. One red one, one white one. The dream came again and hit me full force. Still, though I had no idea what their reference might be. I prayed, "God, what is the point in showing me these little stones, the red one and white one--the blue one, if there is to be no context for them?" (The blue one was another old dream that came back because it became real in my life. I dreamed this one about a year and a half ago(?) In it, I sat down at a new desk at work and as I cleared the drawers of stuff left behind by the previous owner, a blue stone, like a little blue pearl, was in a drawer--a stone that I realized mattered a lot, as it was the missing one from an antiqued-silver figurine I had. I got the figurine and sure enough, the stone fit exactly. Now I just needed glue to make it stay in place. This was the dream. Then last week, I received a different desk for this school year, as mine was accidentally appropriated for another room over the summer break. As I went through the drawers of my "new" desk, one that had belonged to my youngest son's teacher last year, and pulled out her stuff to return it all to her, guess what I found in the drawer? A blue stone...not a pearl exactly, but enough in keeping with the events of the dream and its stone that it all popped back into my mind.) What is the meaning behind the little stones? What are they telling me to do, to pray?

Then I sat down today and began to look for a reference for the next installment in the little poetic work I'm doing here regarding the Bride and the Christ, and as I read the reference I was seeking--seeking for an altogether different reason--I found Narnia, so to speak. I saw the red and white clothing and realized why these references, what I am to pray, and that these are not the things of random psychic flotsam in a cosmic consciousness, but are directed, and have been prearranged, preannounced, and now explained with meticulous care. The main thing that strikes me is that my own daily life again must recede into the realm of "that which doesn't matter as much as I think it does." For a Being awaits the work of prayer to be accomplished, waits to ride out on a white horse; and his robe is dipped in blood, and he is followed by an army robed in white. Like two small stones skipping out, on their way to being at the bottom of a profound cleansing of all other robes. In the language of the One who speaks to me, it is as loud as audible words to my physical self. I can question the significance of my own daily travails to the One who makes such pronouncements, but His existence is irrefutable to me. I pray that we make it through these trials to stand side by side in His strength again soon, my love! I pray that most diligently!
And I pray--with the words of a child and not a wise man--that the red and white stones do indeed go skipping on their way!

The prompt:
Revelation 19:10-14
"...Worship God! For the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy."
Christ on a White Horse
11 Now I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse. And He who sat on him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness He judges and makes war. 12 His eyes were like a flame of fire, and on His head were many crowns. He had a name written that no one knew except Himself. 13 He was clothed with a robe dipped in blood, and His name is called The Word of God. 14 And the armies in heaven, clothed in fine linen, white and clean, followed Him on white horses.

The Beloved and the Bride

When the Bride's Sabbath was ended,
she took up her work
as a Bride of a King.

Sitting beside Him, she packed baskets,
filled with goodies,
each unique, but for one thing:
every basket held a small box:
a velvet-covered frame caked in gold filigree
encrusted with gems:
A rococo masterpiece.

Every basket, every time,
she would carefully open the box
and check for the pearl hidden inside.
Oh, some recipients would settle short of the mark;
and
enthralled by the be-jewelled box alone, they
would never think to open its latch.
For these,
the pearl's presence made no difference.
But others would wonder...
and these must find the answer to the mystery of their faith,
the treasure in the velvet depths.

Each time a basket was readied, she would hand it to a soul
awaited commissioning.
And she would speak a destination:
"Barnard's Loop," or
"the Trapezium Cluster..."
and with a smile, she would add the blessing:
"Find Life."
The her Husband would stretch forth His hand
and a flash of light would vanish the basket and its holder
from their presence.

Once, between baskets, she turned
to her Husband, her King,
and she laughed,
"I don't know why I put so much care into these baskets--
--if their carriers don't find You again,
these are just worthless trinkets they carry."

He smiled in return and took her hand,
playing her fingers like harp strings,
and said,
"Ah, but the ones who do find Me--
what amazing things they do with those trinkets."

So she continued in her bequeathing:
a hope here, a dream, a talent there.

Another pause,
and she observed:
"I never knew I'd love my work so much
in this place.
I never dreamed You'd make such responsibility to be
my allotment.."
"No? Did I not tell you I had other sheepfolds?
And in this place, many mansions?
Why should I not trust you with the workings of them?
You chose Whom you would serve; and
in dark adversity, you stood by your choice.
You chose well. And so here,
Love can be love openly,
in work and in rest."

She shook her head,
quoting ancient words,
"What is man that Thou art mindful of him?"
And so she regressed to a former work,
back into the womb of her former self,
pausing in the basket-filling to embrace this other work,
a pre-historic work by her fully-born standards:
she prayed for the world of the womb:

"O Ancient of Days,
O Exalted One,
may Man have such a heart as to never be disgruntled
should You choose to expand love yet again,
encompassing new creation.
May Man retain such knowledge and wisdom
that he would allow his home,
the new heaven and the new earth,
to serve as launchpad
for all things fashioned by
the One known as
Creator.

May Man never question the balance of the scales
those measuring his worth--
--as once before at such a climax
a great star fell,
lightning from a cosmic sky,
a sky that had not known gravity
had not known balanced scales
before that day.
Now,
at such a climax again,
let creation, primed and groomed,
sing Your praise
should Your Dayspring Love's light
diffuse evermore."

A Prayer for My Love...

O God,
My husband prayed for me on here, a prayer given some time ago. I re-read it; and even though he doesn't visit here much anymore, I take comfort every now and then from the words he said in prayer over me. Now he needs someone to pray over him. So I ask some of the same things for him that he asked for me--

He's tired. He needs rest, but he has no corner of time in which to take it. The "sweat of his brow" isn't even affording my husband the fruit that You told Adam he'd harvest--and that was in the context of being cursed! Little wonder Scott begins to doubt that You are real. As he puts it, "I see myself as a pretty resilient guy (and I'd agree) but I've taken so many hits lately that I'm not sure I can get back up after another one."

For example, the fact that even as he is trudging through life not feeling very well ever since the car wreck (and not getting a concrete diagnosis as to why he still doesn't feel "quite right") even now he has to deal with weird things like the IRS making some error that in essence split him into two people. Because we reported his income on our joint return two years ago, the IRS looked at this "other Scott" and classified him as a person who never paid his taxes on the income his work-place reported and therefore this Scott now owes the government $12,000 in taxes and penalties for not filing his income taxes. Who in the world does this sort of thing happen to? Is it common, or is it as fantastic as it seems to me to be? An hour's investment on the phone got him through to someone who could "reportedly" correct this strange split-personality the government tried to lay on his tax-life, but the stress of finding that letter in the mail and knowing that once again a potentially devastating loss lay at our doorstep, and that once again we were at the mercy of others--at most all he could really do was to explain the truth of our situation to the IRS agent and provide documentation of our filed and accepted tax forms and hope for the best. Our own empowerment to make justice prevail was non-existent.

So he is worn down. Hit after hit--from the expected to the wildly unlikely--are taking the grit right out of his heart for the future. If he is a tool for the testing of the integrity of others--even to the point of testing the IRS, good grief--then I pray You'd lay him down and let him rest. He's worn down to the nub with all this use in Your hand--by His own estimation. You claim to know us better than we know ourselves, but he is so battered right now that he is struggling to hang on to his belief that You are there at all, let alone that You care about his welfare. O God, love my husband! Love his life! Make him lie down in green pastures and restore his soul!
In the name of my Lord who died to set men free!
Amen

The Bubble and Isaiah 65

I dreamed once of the Bride of Christ walking, and she wore a beautiful gown. The gown had a lining-layer of peachy-gold over which swelled and popped myriads of different bubbles, all glowing warm colors as they rose. Scripture says that the Bride's gown is made of the righteous acts of the saints, so I began to think of each bubble as a righteous saint getting his/her share of space on the gown, or maybe as a particular facet of righteousness being made real by the various saints called to activity in its context. Interestingly, I found this article about our understanding of the formation of bubbles:

Scientists had thought bubbles form when jostling liquid molecules create pockets of low density in the liquid containing relatively fewer molecules than surrounding regions. Most of the time, other molecules will just rush in to fill in these air pockets. However, an exodus of molecules can also occur, causing the pockets, or bubbles, to grow.
David Corti, a chemical engineer at Purdue University in Indiana, compares the process to scaling a mountain. A pocket of air begins at the bottom of one side of the mountain (the liquid phase) and must climb the mountain and reach a destination on the other side (the vapor phase) to become a bubble.
"A small bubble needs to climb up one side of the mountain, cross through a reasonably well-defined mountain pass before it rolls down the other side of the mountain towards forming very large bubbles," Corti explained.
According to the conventional view, once the bubble makes it over the pass, it tumbles down the other side of the mountain like a snowball, picking up more molecules and growing bigger.
The new computer simulation suggests there "is no other side of the mountain," Corti told LiveScience. "Once it gets over the pass, we have found that the mountain just disappears, in a sense."

This is interesting to me in part because of the timing of my exposure to this information--the idea that at the end of the uphill climb comes an easier time than was once understood for anyone "riding a bubble." The question of "life after the hard mountain climb" has been tantamount for me of late, too. I blogged several entries lately lamenting things that need to change and don't as well as things that change disruptively. I've questioned how to understand the role of faith in a world where a God who "can" simply seems like He "won't." The mountain pass seems to go upward without end.

"Why, God?" I've asked several times. How do I hang on to the belief that after this life, peace will prevail? Sunday I stood in church and underneath the song I sang, I prayed for forgiveness because I sang about You as a mighty deliverer, but I felt no assurance of the truth of those words. Our relationship leaves me no doubts about the fact that You love me, so why the hang up in finding peace among the living in this world where You are after all the Overcomer? Why the constant barrage of "bad luck" happenings, year after year? What is the lesson I'm not learning? Strenuously, I asked, where do I hang my hope in this particular phase of life? Can I be sure I haven't missed the boat, leaving You to the re-teaching of the same lesson over and over again, the lesson that I'm too pig-headed to learn? The bubble-mountain swells, now looming large enough that to look to the horizon feels mighty precarious, but belief in what is on the other side of the mountain is still uncertain to all but the eyes of faith. Now this article says there may not be another "side" to that water-molecule mountain that the forming bubble traverses. And this scientific discovery seems to match the spiritual discovery You made available to my grasping soul.

I reasoned with You, like Job, pointing out that even as You send signs of a "blessed inheritance" being ours, nevertheless hardship prevails, delaying that inheritance to the point of its very existence being questionable. And if that inheritance is so important as to be announced to us, then what purpose lies behind all the trouble? "What do we need to figure out so You can relax this hedge of trials around us, God, and bring us out of the maze of this life and bless us? Must we die to receive this inheritance? Is that the end of our faith?" But again, all believers have that hope, and it hardly needs special revelation as to its coming. So what is this inheritance, and when will the peace and nearness of You no longer be compromised by the forces of this world? Is this so hard to accomplish? Are my prayers full of strength and effectiveness in all area but this one? Again, why?

And God was gracious and opened the eyes of my perception. This, too, I dreamed now that I think about it. White, translucent scales fell off my eyes at the touch of Your hand in a prayer-dream once, and I wondered at the time what I wasn't seeing, but I knew I should pray to see. It left me with not a little trepidation. Now the scales have certainly fallen off regarding this particular challenge to my faith. Funny how those dreams come back to mind when their associated prayers come real, because I dreamed that dream of blindness a year ago at least, and haven't thought of it since. But now, it revives, even as my vision is changed. God knew I needed His character clarified for the health of my faith, and He accommodated that need, even teaching me to ask for it ahead of time. Such is His way of working.

Mainly, the larger picture of my situation came to me as two randomly given scriptures came tumbling in on top of each other in my study-life. The first was this:

"God gives wisdom and knowledge and joy to a man who is good in His sight; but
to the sinner He gives the work of gathering and collecting, that he may
give to him who is good before God. This also is vanity and grasping for
the wind." Ecclesiastes 2:26.

The second reference encompassed practically the whole chapter of Isaiah 65, the chapter about the righteousness of God's judgment. God spoke to the future of those who prepared a table for "Fortune" and a drink offering for "Number, or Destiny" (both these names in quotes are the literal translations of the names of the pagan deities mentioned in this prophecy, but I can't help but think of the contemporary emphasis on prosperity in off-shoots of Christianity and the concurrent emphasis on gematra in off-shoots of Judaism, even I myself have found You speak to me in numbers, but not to the point that I deify the numbers as the prophets of my fortune, nor do I look to the wealth of this world as a sign of Your approval of me.) As to what was to come for those who are so inclined in their worship, Isaiah claims God says the following:

Therefore thus says the Lord God:

"Behold, My servants shall eat,
But you shall be hungry;
Behold, My
servants shall drink,
But you shall be thirsty;
Behold, My servants shall
rejoice,
But you shall be ashamed;
14
Behold, My servants shall sing for joy of heart,
But you shall cry for sorrow
of heart,
And wail for grief of spirit.
15
You shall leave your name as a curse to My chosen;
For the Lord God will slay
you,
And call His servants by another name;
16
So that he who blesses himself in the earth
Shall bless himself in the God of
truth;
And he who swears in the earth
Shall swear by the God of
truth;
Because the former troubles are forgotten,
And because they are
hidden from My eyes."

Both of these references remind me of the balance that my self-focus is primed to ignore. Strangely, seeing that my life is caught in this balance actually increases my significance (instead of lessening it as a surface glance might incline me to believe) to the God who will ultimately deliver me. So often You answer questions with questions, Jesus. The one You put to me: will my current level of faith accept the delay in the "blessing of me" as being a good thing for others in the sight of God? Eventually, there will be people living--and appear likely to be on earth even now--for whom it is true that when the "former troubles" are no more, it will be because those troubles are hidden from Your eyes, forgotten entirely. When Your divine balancing act occurs, the price I pay now will flip over to being a cost to those who have it easy, easy at the exclusion of You from their lives. I've known this tenet of the faith before, but never quite so deeply as it strikes me now.

And You ask me to look in that same chapter, where You say:

"As the new wine is found in the cluster,
And one says, 'Do not destroy
it,
For a blessing is in it,'
So will I do for My servants' sake,
That
I may not destroy them all.
9
I will bring forth descendants from Jacob,
And from Judah an heir of My
mountains;
My elect shall inherit it,
And My servants shall dwell there."

You show me those grapes. You ask, "What do you have to say about My omniscience in sight of those grapes when they are put in the lap of your current life?" I want to say that if my patience, perseverance and willingness to wait for that inheritance in any way protect that new wine that hides in the cluster on the vine, then help me endure these days until You reap, help me remember Your purposes.

So once more I am reassured of Your power to prevail, and of the why behind Your hesitancy to set me/us free. Somehow, it seems, when I break free of the bondages of this life, in those days when Your elect and Your true servants receive what waits in Your hand, bigger change is in the offing than just an easement and a small blessing on our daily burdens. This time, it is going to be different.

So again, I will believe and anticipate that world You have in the palm of Your hand; the world You hold loosely, not yet scattering it at the feet of Your people, but nevertheless moving Your cupped hand nearer to their famished hearts, giving them a peek at what You hold there for them.

The Glorious New Creation
17
"For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth;
And the former shall not
be remembered or come to mind.
18
But be glad and rejoice forever in what I create;
For behold, I create
Jerusalem as a rejoicing,
And her people a joy.
19
I will rejoice in Jerusalem,
And joy in My people;
The voice of weeping
shall no longer be heard in her,
Nor the voice of crying.
20
"No more shall an infant from there live but a few days,
Nor an old man who
has not fulfilled his days;
For the child shall die one hundred years
old,
But the sinner being one hundred years old shall be accursed.
21
They shall build houses and inhabit them;
They shall plant vineyards and eat
their fruit.
22
They shall not build and another inhabit;
They shall not plant and another
eat;
For as the days of a tree, so shall be the days of My people,
And My
elect shall long enjoy the work of their hands.
23
They shall not labor in vain,
Nor bring forth children for trouble;
For
they shall be the descendants of the blessed of the Lord,
And their offspring
with them.
24
"It shall come to pass
That before they call, I will answer;
And while
they are still speaking, I will hear.
25
The wolf and the lamb shall feed together,
The lion shall eat straw like the
ox,
And dust shall be the serpent's food.
They shall not hurt nor destroy
in all My holy mountain,"
Says the Lord.

I can hardly read those words without my vision going tear-blurred, God. If the picture You painted weren't so beautiful, it would be so much easier to wait.

Nevertheless, thanks be to God for the vision.

Change and Confession

Too much change in the air:
So much change that I could blog a dozen blogs on that one topic;
So much change I only really have time for one.

I could talk about my son going to college.
I could talk about going back to teaching after summer break.
I could talk about beginning a new "moonlighting" job selling wares at Farmer's Markets, town festivals and hopefully church bazaars. I'm sure I'll blog on this one as I wade deeper into a whole new community of people: the crafters. (smile)

Mostly today though, I need to focus on the one change that appears to be under the spotlight of my spiritual and relational life. My husband has joined a Christian rock band.

Several things strike me about this band:
--It is a ministry band, so it is something my husband has prayed to have in his life for a long time, and now it is being given to him. But...they play music that sounds like a cross between Van Halen and Heart (they have a gal singer.) Because of my own tastes, even in rock music, being quite far removed from this sound, I can't say I draw any affinity-inspiration from hearing them. (By no means am I saying this to be critical, for they are quite good at what they are doing. I'm just stating it as a necessary element in this string of self-reflection.)

--It is a band that has decided to practice in our basement. Because their sound resonates outside the house (particularly the bass and drum parts) I skulk out to the garden to water it of an evening, hoping I don't wind up being the one to take the lashing if any neighbors should decide "enough of this!" And I duck my head when I'm out front and people drive by, turning and staring with a startled look as they pass the house with their car windows open. My problem: I really don't want to get a "reprimand" from the community group. Having always been a quiet, cooperative and accommodating neighborhood member in the past, the thought of this change of personality in the community makes me unsettled, especially if I wind up being the front man should criticism be raised.
--I fear what it will ultimately demand of me personally. The band members are wonderful people, I really like all of them a lot. They are enthusiastic in what they are doing, but sometimes this frightens me in terms of what requirements will unconsciously be laid at my feet based on their priorities. How do I decide what boundary to set about my own time? Am I "supposed" to watch their kids and cook them meals as they practice since they have decided to practice at our house? So far, I've resisted this because of my own personal history. I've been drawn into that type of situation before, and I know how difficult it is to set a boundary after "services rendered" become the norm and the expectation. It is especially frightening because the future is a big unknown as they book gigs and look to grow now that they have a full complement of players/singers. Taxation without representation started a revolution once, and a fear of such a state of being for myself seems to be steeped in my own personal roots. One of the other band member's wives forgot to pick him up after rehearsal last night, so I'm wondering if I'm not the only one in the wings struggling with these feelings, but I can't speak to her feelings definitively.
--Paradoxically, that last point leads me to consider the one non-change that I think is troubling me the most. Minor points of change I could take if it were not for this one thing: the lack of power to positively affect the directional flow of the waters of my own life lo, these many years. This has been really tough for me. Now past years already cast in stone and stony shadows of the future loom as I once again experience things presented to me one way that then pan out to be something different. Somehow this taps some hissing volcano in me, because even in small things, this sense of encroachment prompts me to react badly, as it is all too familiar.

Am I alone when I notice that life seems like a constant uphill battle against manipulation? Is this a female thing? A middle-class Christian woman thing? And how do you fight it without looking like a hag, for none of it is conscious manipulation, it is just everyone pressing against the nearest wall as they seek to make their own priorities the ones that come out on top in a priority scramble. It's the American way, after all. But as has already been noted by contemporary sociologists, there's no vast frontier to launch our dreams across, in fact there's so little space left for "growing" in America now that for someone to grow literally and figuratively means someone else has to give up space. How do we take turns and play nice? And do I as a woman have a turn at all? No wonder the women's and civil rights revolutions happened. Or maybe that's putting the chicken before the egg. But waxing philosophical hardly solves my problem.

So how much space will I give up? For instance, how do I react when this space is invaded: I'm repeatedly told one thing, but then another happens...and not by forces unavoidable, but by some level of choice, and in a way that puts a negative turn on my own life. The first few times this sort of thing is accompanied by an apology, but when that proves too painful or maybe too obviously repetitive to justify, then come the times when I'm presented with the argument that the "change" from the original plan should be seen as justified because it is such a small change after all, or even worse, because I am supposedly mistaken in the way I remember things anyway. That last one makes me want to put a fist through a wall in frustration, because it feels like I am being told to swallow something dishonest, it feels like I no longer warrant the apology--and a fist through a wall seems the only way to make some space and get some oxygenated air. But maybe this is the very place where You, O God, are trying to teach me to quit trying to breathe. We all are called to die daily. Why am I surprised when I find I have trouble sucking in air? Why am I making it about me? So I come back to this:

It is important to remind myself that I am not intending to say all this not as complaining, but as confession. I can't believe that all these self-protective fears and whining are the right way to go.

My husband dreamed once that he and I were walking in a fun house; a spotlight over us helped us find our way. But as we went, that spotlight kept shrinking until in the end of the dream, the lighted floorspace was only large enough for the two of us to stand in. Currently, I feel a shrinking on my side of the light. And as I read today's devotions, I came across a pertinent quote: "You husband will never truly be yours until you have first given him back to God. He is yours only when you are willing to let him go wherever God calls him and do what God wants him to do." (Lisa Trotman) I thought I'd done this, but I forgot that in being one flesh with him, this "giving back" feels like cutting off a limb. Oh, God, as You call my love to follow the dream You planted in his heart, am I the one asked to pay the price? Am I the one called to cook everybody pizzas while he is down having fun flailing on the drums? (smile) Is his dream my drudgery, not according to his plan, but according to Yours? So do I wish for him to abandon his dream? Of course not. He's loving this, and I love it for him. But my question is whether I am allowed to dig my heels in and say I won't be a band flunky. I feel guilty because my reactivity seems inordinate. I'm reacting in part through what I've learned over the years as musicians have been everywhere in my world, and almost all of them assume that everything in life is peripheral to the nucleus of their music, and when it is music for You, well I feel ashamed for reflecting even this much on the topic of my "rights"...

You told me, God, that You were going to work on fear in me--that You were going to teach me to be less fearful. I must admit, this one hits right to the quick of me. Without Your strength, there's no way I can help but fear that if You decide to bless my husband's music ministry, it will consume every shred of freedom I have left after the havoc of these last few years. None of this is attitude-stuff to be proud of, so I can certainly understand why You'd roll up Your sleeves and go to work on me.
I read this morning in the Psalms.
"When I kept silent, my bones grew old
Through my groanings all the day long,
For day and night Your hand was heavy upon me;
My vitality was turned into the drought of summer."
This summer has indeed been a summer of drought. Every evening I have to water my garden. If I don't, forgetting to water for even one day, the plants begin to wilt. The garden has produced faithfully, and richly; but it has required much work, some cutting away, some sacrifice. Surely, down in the depths of me, these conditions mean something larger to my soul.

So what does the Psalmist do when he realizes his drought-ridden life?
"I acknowledged my sin to You,
And my iniquity I have not hidden.
I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,'
And You forgave the iniquity of my sin."
In this Psalm, transgression means rebellion, sin means missing the mark, and iniquity means moral crookedness. God's responses are forgiveness, literally lifting; covering, literally hiding away or concealing; and not imputing, literally not counting.
My wrongs are not toward my husband and his band--although I may already be coming across as brittle about being drawn into the life they are building together, and for this I should apologize. My sin is in not believing that You can take my husband into this without at the same time making the "drought of summer" even worse in my own life. Right now, so much of what I come across seems to hammer home the idea that submission to him means I become invisible to You, woman lost yet working hard to support all the glory that You have intended for man. And I am not the originator of this thought. Many would say it is exactly the way You ordered life, but part of me feels like it is a "moral crookedness" that leads to the "rebellion" that is in my heart. Justified or not, my own brick of iniquity has its place in the wall of life's imperfection and needs confession.
Like the Psalmist, I give it to You, God.
I pray that You mold my heart into something that is able to rightfully support my husband without becoming a sad puppet of a human myself as I seek to accomplish this goal. I pray I still have a place in his life as he chases so many dreams that all seem to call out to him. To quote the Psalmist one more time:
Leads us both in the paths of righteousness, for Your name's sake.

Thumbelina...

Who can say what it is that flips the switch in a child's mind such that suddenly she comprehends something new about the colors she sees on the stiff pages in her chubby little hands. This is more than something to chew on or to feel. These swirls and patterns represent the very things in her larger reality. And something magical is borne in her.

Recently, I came across a children's book that may have been the one that tripped my own particular version of this consciousness: this knowing that patterns of color and line can be representational. I had a strange experience with this little picture book when I came across it again, now as an adult. Simultaneously I saw it with both my infant eyes and my adult ones. My infant eyes remembered a picture of a little person floating in a mass of red. The memory is as clear as can be. But my adult eyes now, in seeing this little book again realize that this picture of Thumbelina has her sitting inside a red tulip. I had no context in my infant mind for interpreting the tulip, nor did my mind register it well enough to define its shape now, not until I saw it again. "How very fascinating," I thought. My frame of context is so much larger. But how odd to realize that it was a thing that grew gradually within me: that first came my comprehension of drawn human figures, but later came the richness of meaning in the background scenery.

Curious to see if the phenomenon would repeat itself, I flipped to another page. Not surprisingly, my recollection of a scene in which a girl and a pair of eyes sat against a background of swirling blue and green, this one turned out to actually be Thumbelina and a frog using a lily pad as a boat while they floated in water. I can hardly describe how strange the sensation was, having these very early memories triggered, even as my adult awareness superimposed the fuller, richer meaning of the illustrations over that infant-view. How strange to re-tap my child-mind so directly, to relive the experience of simply seeing the one thing that mattered or was comprehensible, even though I was in a vague way aware of surrounding colors and shapes.

It is all the more strange because of how familiar those "limited-vision" memories strike me here in my current state of being. Only, now the picture-book is a spiritual thing--and I am but an "infant" in so much of what I see, so limited in what I can comprehend and interpret. When I have these "visionary" experiences and dreams, they are so like the perceptions of the infant-me. Although I "catch" the primary point, still much of the peripheral environment is incomprehensible. I wonder if one day those background images will come clear as I "grow up" into a richer awareness of my spiritual environment and cut loose my fixation on the things that look most familiar in my physical world.

Aside to God--

So strange, but so exciting to hear such a message, such a prediction from You concerning the wisdom that will be mine, regarding the doors of awareness that You'll be opening. Give me the courage to throw off what is of no account, O God, and take me to that next level as I plunge into the depths of Thee.

A Contemplation

Taking a Sabbath is easy when work is a chore and hobbies wait for such a break as this--
But, taking a Sabbath is more challenging when work is a pleasure much like a hobby,
only a hobby done for pay.
I have never conceived of such work until now.
Never...never before has the thought of taking a break, a holiday, a vacation
seemed like a sacrifice of potential-joy and contentment.
What does one do on such a Sabbath? And...
What am I to learn about You, O God, as I come into this new and long-lost awareness
of work and its fallow times, as You originally meant them to be?

Secondary Colors

Thanks be to God for the layers.

For the fugue

For the plaid

For the sauce.

For the baby who sucks at a dry thumb;

For the old woman frail in the sun

who goes riding her bike in the heat,

and her pink kerchief bobs rhythmically.

Both the old and the new layer trying,

trying simply to cover the bone.

The Mantle (part 5)

As time spent in the blossom
for the bee;
so was my time in the mantle.
But when I swarmed in its interior,
I knew I was meant
for more.

Such invested time is not just for this day,
(as the bee knows life)
but for all tomorrows also
(as those know life who await a coming harvest.)

Even though the days of budding vines,
the blooming grape vines,
are the season of love--
there is
nonetheless
that harvest to consider.
And even though I sit amidst these gnarled roots,
a bee for now,
considering how fair and pleasant
is the lily Thou art,
my King,
I know Thou are also
strength.

So I return to my origins:

What can I say of the One who reaches
and grasps the curtain of heaven
to pull its light from the rod where it hangs
to wrap it about Him like a garment;
whose mantle of light flashes
embroidery of honor and majesty
for its insignia?

What do I say when He comes, walking on the wind,
in His perfect knowledge?


I have seen His mantle of light
but I likewise know it hidden;
hidden from the wise and given to babes
to sing its comforts.
He bows the heavens to come to man, but
comes hidden in dark waters.
He bows the heavens to come to man on the wings of the wind, but
so small and seemingly insignificant.
Do I remember that You are the One
who will uncover the foundations of the earth,
one day?
Do I remember Your light, though for now
Your canopy is dark waters?

I will remember, but not because
I am so wise;
I will remember because calamity
makes me know it.
My adversity requires it of me.
The lining that hates me, rubs me.
For in it resides the divided heart of my enemy.
But this is the secret I have learned,
cocooned in this cape,
and I am no longer speechless:

"As the fruit of adversity is given by his hand,
(yes brought by the hand
of my strong enemy)
nevertheless,
he is powerless to stop its transformation
to sweetness
under Thy mantle.
And even now, the moth invades the lining;
it only knows to feed in the dark
and die in the light.
How did he not see the way of the moth?
(After all, this is the law of life.)
As for his harvest, his crop rots,
grown too large for him to manage.
Pestilence: this is his hoe.
But pests, though willing to work for their own bellies' sakes,
still grow unruly.

He is anguished, but he is proud.
Even now, his chin is high as he looks above these fields he took,
where locusts swarm the dying harvest at his feet.
Denial keeps his head high,
his gaze firmly above
the death of his self-ordained inheritance.
His subjects are instinctive;
they know nothing
but to feed
till all is gone.
They have been taught nothing of sacrifice.
(Again this is the law of life for those
he calls to allegiance.
How could he not know the way of it?)

As for me, I understand the thread that binds--
faith
hope
and love--
where moth and rot find no bounty.
I will remember that You send from heaven
to rescue me.
I will remember that I needed You, O Strength.
I will remember even when You bring me to that broad place
where my thirst is slaked.

And though a wall rises--
broad, black, gleaming--
(who can gaze up its dizzying span?)
still You will make me leap over it,
like a vine that creeps,
a bewilderment
seeing that it comes
from a root that looks
(effectively)
dead.

One day, I will stand at that wall's summit
where this mantle that now hangs from my shoulders,
(limp and a little strange in its rippling folds)
this veil will whip in a strong wind.
And there, no part of it will suffer questions
regarding its crafting.
No, not there.
Then I will look out and see that it is time,
(when the golden blossom fit for bees
becomes a white field fit for harvest.)
And I will raise my hands in adulation, crying:
"You lifted me here. Even me.
Though many were against me,
--and I but a work of mixed clay--
yet You avenge me.
Let the God of my salvation be exalted!"

Chorus:
Job 38:12Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days; [and] caused the dayspring to know his place;

Job 38:13That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, that the wicked might be shaken out of it?

Job 38:14It is turned as clay [to] the seal; and they stand as a garment.

Job 38:15And from the wicked their light is withholden, and the high arm shall be broken

The Mantle (part 4)

Lawlessness,

by choice or ignorance,

makes for a bracing climate;

and love waxed cold

in the days when

the cloak was but a lining and a promise.

So I rolled over

(some would say repented)

and looked up to the layer that was above me:

the white,

the light.

"Be still,

sink deep," said a whisper.

I gazed up for some time,

heard new voices,

and finally,

I understood the rip.



When I crawled out

of that cape, my cave;

I sought the Giver

(as He had planned I should do.)

Still waiting at the base of His Tree,

He'd laid a feast for me, it being

one glittering edible morsel,

sheer life--

rich like bread,

juicy like fruit.

Intimate was our discourse, this time

much like wisdom

though first unspoken, later

gurgles to wash the grasses,

quiet, unobtrusive

as an ancient spring.



"Now, my sister, my wife," He said,

"What do you know of the mantle?"



"I know the answer to the question

we all ask whether we realize it or not--

the question in every heartbeat

in every breath.

The question of the silent part.

The question of the rip.

How can He allow it?"

He nodded.

"Yes, many are the glowing bottles in heaven,

filled with tears

and scented with that question."

But I continued. "There is more, though.

It is this:

What can separate me from the love of God?

That is the courageous heart of the rip, isn't it?

Many faint-hearted will fall at that first doubt.

That first perceived flaw in the fabric.

Few will press on to see the point of it.

Diabolos,

(that "one who casts through")

does indeed cast about

fitfully in that between-place

even now thinking:

there will be a weak spot in the fabric

along some seam,

a place ripe

for greater tearing.

See, O king, and rend your clothes.

What will you say when the women under your rule

are reduced to eating their own children.

See, O priest, and rend your clothes.

What will you say as you perceive a witness of blasphemy

(you are power-drunk beyond discernment)

on the tongue of God Himself

in the flesh.

What witness do we need?

One small, calculated rip.

What rush of power through the ragged edges.



What will you say, O wicked queen who would steal the throne from Judah,

when once she found the rip.

She killed her own offspring, not for food, but for power.

Athaliah, Jezebel:
you are the same:

you who transfuse the blood of the weak,

(even your own blood, just flowing in new wineskins)

to ferment a cup of power.

You drink it down. Does it satisfy?

Athaliah--

Whore of Babylon--

even you will rend your cloak

when you see the boy king, secretly preserved

taking his rightful throne.

But remember,

(and so few do)

that though a woman tried to kill him

a woman also saved him.

And remembered the woman who bled

all those years;

but perceiving wholeness in a cloak,

even the hem,

because of Who wore it,

she became evidence.


"Further witness we do need."

Still said the priest corrupt.

And witness is given:

The witness of a curtain

a flowing wall of separation.

What thought the man who fashioned the loops to hang it:

This is the price

of my unholiness--

this like the heavens--

a curtain between me

and my creator.

Separateness.

Must it always be?

But the curtain one day experienced consummation

with the very flesh it represented--

and it ripped.


The rip, my Lord,

is made of nail scars and a sword

formed by earthquakes and dark skies;

but the rip opens a chamber unseen by ranks of humans

for generations.

Who was the first to dare?

Who was the first to peer into that inner sanctum,

when once light came again

To find it quiet,

covered in dew.

"And so you have the question," said the Giver, "that matters most."

"And if I may be so bold, I think I have the answer;

the answer of the heartbeat and the breath.

There was a tabernacle made, a veil;

but now,

what can separate me from the love of God?

(When the sun was darkened

and the veil was ripped)

What can separate me from Your love?"