Java Riddles?

Jesus was the Son of God and called a son of a Joseph.

He said, "Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men..."

How long has it taken it for us to figure that riddle out, Jesus, Son of God?

How long to remember there was another son of another Joseph, and he got some press, too.

Jeremiah says, "Behold, I will send for many fishers, saith the LORD, and they shall fish them; and after will I send for many hunters, and they shall hunt them from every mountain, and from every hill, and out of the holes of the rocks...

What's that Jeremiah? There's an after? And what of these hunters that come after the fishermen? (Look away while you still can, sleepy ones.)

They shall come with weeping, and with supplications will I lead them: I will cause them to walk by the rivers of waters in a straight way, wherein they shall not stumble: for I am a father to Israel, and Ephraim [is] my firstborn...[Is] Ephraim my dear son? [is he] a pleasant child? for since I spake against him, I do earnestly remember him still: therefore my bowels are troubled for him; I will surely have mercy upon him, saith the LORD...

Who is that, You say?

So Ezekiel tries to bring an explanation. "It's like this, you see," he says...
Moreover, thou son of man, take thee one stick, and write upon it, For Judah, and for the children of Israel his companions: then take another stick, and write upon it, For Joseph, the stick of Ephraim, and [for] all the house of Israel his companions:
And join them one to another into one stick; and they shall become one in thine hand.
Say unto them, Thus saith the Lord GOD; Behold, I will take the stick of Joseph, which [is] in the hand of Ephraim, and the tribes of Israel his fellows, and will put them with him, [even] with the stick of Judah, and make them one stick, and they shall be one in mine hand.

But who listens to you any more than Jeremiah? We are students not lovers, doers not listeners. So God throws down more, and a flicker shows in embers, an inspiration flames--however small--to dig up the buried books, those dusty at the bottom of the ancient pile, and look at the blessings spoken over this one called Joseph.

But as we look, we remember that son of another Joseph named Jesus who raised a riddle, saying:

How say the scribes that Christ is the Son of David? For David himself said by the Holy Ghost, The LORD said to my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool. David therefore himself calleth him Lord; and whence is he [then] his son? And the common people heard him gladly.

Is it that same You, Jesus, who looks at this other Joseph and offers this riddle also on his parentage (this other Joseph) almost the same? How can the blesser claim that "the blessings of thy father prevail over the blessings of my fathers" when he speaks to his son? Confused yet?
Gen 49:26
The blessings of thy father have prevailed above the blessings of my progenitors unto the utmost bound of the everlasting hills: they shall be on the head of Joseph...

What's more, another birthright-riddle found, on tribal scale now, in the blessing of Moses. You know, this Moses, one called to deliver a people:

And the angel of the LORD appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush [was] not consumed.

And in his dying blessing, he did bless Joseph with the carrying of the torch (no pun intended) from the God of Deliverance who called him:

And for the precious things of the earth and fulness thereof, and [for] the good will of him that dwelt in the bush: let [the blessing] come upon the head of Joseph, and upon the top of the head of him [that was] separated from his brethren.

But it is also written (and repeated much with "knowing nods") that Ephraim's (son of Joseph) pride destroyed his opportunities. Still, the Chronicler says:

For Judah prevailed above his brethren, and of him [came] the chief ruler; (I know that my Redeemer lives) but the birthright [was] Joseph's:) (which to us now means?)

We are like people living in the days before the microscope blissfully ignorant of the germ that could stop our expectations dead in their tracks. We are so sure, aren't we, so sure that we have it all figured out. No more prophets, who needs them? The days of revelation are over. We have it all figured out, I say! So God throws down a little more--point blank, well placed for us to ignore.

Because Amos says, "Seek the Lord and live! Seek good and not evil, that you may live; and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with you. Hate evil, and love good, establish justice in the gate; it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph."

But if we ever gave this thought consideration, we dismissed it quickly. These are not "our people" any more than we were theirs in the day of their visitation. Until now that doubt is so entrenched that we forget it ever even was a point of consideration. But we should remember, and why?

Because Zechariah says: And I will strengthen the house of Judah, (did you hear that Word, O Christian? Do you know when your house is the topic of discussion? Do you even know you're weak?) and I will save the house of Joseph, and I will bring them again to place them; for I have mercy upon them: and they shall be as though I had not cast them off: for I [am] the LORD their God, and will hear them.

So, fill 'er up with another cup of joe, Joe; and save me a spot, there on the leather couch under that potted palm. I plan to be awake and in attendance for the long haul on this one!

Holy Ground...

...and it's all holy ground. It's all living ground, and I don't have to be a "New Age tree-hugger" or a Native American shedding tears in 1970's commercials to know it. I should have learned it almost 2 millennium ago when St. Paul wrote:

19 For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; 21 because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. 22 For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Romans 8:19

Then, again, I should have learned it when modern writers like Walter Wangerin write:

"The spirit of this race is fully capable of the sin that does not love its own environment, but makes itself a god to be satisfied, and makes of the earth a sacrifice the gods devour. The spirit of this race is well able to justify the slaughter--first because it doesn't confess that the earth is alive, so there was no slaughter in the first place...The race, did I say? No, not all the race. Those presently in power, perhaps; but not everyone lacks humility and reverence. Therin is hope." (from the article, The Farmer at Eighty-Eight.)

The earth is alive, the earth has its own longings, its own voice; and we indeed fail to hear--for so long now that we don't even know we ever had the ears to hear. Now it is the voice of cracking ice caps and hurricanes and earthquakes, but even before that. it was a still small voice, and we didn't hear it.

Take the case of the common mallow weed.

This is its season to bloom.

And so we google to see what to do about this weed as it looks to mar the uniformity of our lawns, and we read:

Cultural Practices: Weekly mowing and low mowing heights will help prevent infestations of mallow. Dense turf stands resist mallow invasion, so good turf management is key to controlling this weed.
Herbicide Use: For optimum control make your postemergent herbicide application to mallow that is actively growing and in the seedling to flower stage of growth.

http://www.weedalert.com/weed_pages/wa_common_mallow.htm

But if we were to allow mallow to have its life and its dream and its song, would it say anything worth the loss of our uninterruptedly level and groomed-looking lawns? I saw a t-shirt advertised in a newspaper flier the other day: "I fought the lawn, and I won." The first time I saw that shirt, it followed more closely (and more humorously) the pop song that gave it its form: "I fought the lawn, and the lawn won." I wonder what the lawn thinks when I replace my old version of the t-shirt with the new one as I march out on its dew on a Saturday morning, a warrior looking for a fight. We look for so many of those now...fights. Even the grass under our feet serves for enemy. I'm sure it wonders what it did to inspire such an attitude.

Personally, I think this weed does have a song worth the loss of lawn-control.

Here is how it sings:

"The leaves of the mallow weed, as those of many other plants, follow the movement of the sun's light, turning with it as it moves across the sky. More unusual is the mallow weed's reaction at sundown. As soon as the sun sets, all the mallow weed's leaves turn around and face the east, where the sun will rise in the morning." (from Isaac Asimov's Book of Facts.)

If we were to allow mallow to have its life and its dream and its song, if we "remembered" its story and gave it reverence above our own infernal desires to subdue (even a small patch of ground if that's what it takes) and show that reverence to our children, we would learn that the earth is not our enemy, but is surprisingly a wise and beneficial teacher, but we must be so attentative and caring and sacrificial to hear its lessons. For a living metaphor of all creation's patience is locked up in this one little plant.

And what would that story be?

Hope and its answer from God, retold to the world, every single day.

Where is the Bride on Her Sabbath...

...and how spends she the days of her secret thrones?

These are days when and where she is prepared and adorned for procession,

knowing one day her hand will rest lightly

ceremonially

on the hand of her prince;

knowing one day she will be robed in a gown, brocade

shot through with thread

scarlet

sapphire

and golden.

These are days when and where she is draped and then embraced

by the hands of her bridegroom-prince

draped in supple white:

a mantle of feathers under which she will fly

but are they feathers? Or the hands of others?

Hands, reaching

believing,

hoping.

These are days when and where she sits in a midnight garden

and the glow of her gown is lilac

as is its scent

whenever the soft wind flutters it.

Here she sits by her prince whose hands are folded in repose,

whose eyes are closed.

Here she wonders what he thinks,

what he prays.

And she is quiet beside him.

These are the days when and where she hides,

(for she is not immune to the storm)

but she is protected.

With her prince she sits

under a vaulted ceiling of feathers.

And there

in the quiet,

restful,

subdued lighting

she sinks into her softest throne

--his as Eiderdown, black and silver

hers black and gold--

where they put their feet upon footstools

--his confidently on the earth,

hers hesitantly on the moon.

He lays his hand across the emptiness between and

She laces her fingers into his.

Take note,

this is the purest sabbath throne of all.

Time on the Greenway

We rode today,
my sons and I,
our bikes along the Greenway.

Down the path along the route the river ran
waters hidden
behind a rank of trees,
--a slip of promise through their branches--
we rode
along the boxy corn fields,
we rode
and then shot into the woods.

And I--
I remembered
a poem I wrote
years ago.
I remembered;
when the sun broke the canopy
fell piebald over the ground's ferny spread,
I remembered--
a similar scene years before.
One that drew my gaze upward--
So I looked yet again,
--all these years gone between--
looked for evidence of
the effects of time.

I looked up and found
I still echoed the words
written so long ago:

"I saw the patterns of sun upon the leaves
leaves upon the sky
and I wondered that in all those patterns
none were boxes."

Twice the age of that young poet, I see
what I already knew:
leaves though seasonal
are, in this, ageless.
I must go deeper if I'm to see
the evidence of
the effects of time.

So I cross hoary hill and dale, peering
avid to uncover the secret hid;
how did I sense its draw?

Here the land is unique.
Here the land is...
Time-scoffing;
a place infused with a mysterious power
to make the common and dying
throb
with beauty.

Where some places
a river, muddy,
sludges along its bed;
Here, the sun kisses it thick bronze,
its shadowed places
edged in rainbow ripples,
heavy, it glides.

Where some places
the old man is just another fisherman;
Here, the sun likewise transfigures.
His white shirt and cap sing
a fiery glow of fused-color oneness,
his line a silver thread,
strong where it plunges into the depths.

Where some places
the trees are musty dying,
prone to hollow trunks:
Here, the sun anoints them,
seals them to officiate
--rife with dignity,
robed in moss
stoled in ivy--
appoints them
to lean down and hear the secrets
of the river.

But deeper still, I would go
to see the greatest effect of time.
Its dirge is presumed by most
but for false reasons, I think,
In some places.

For when the river cries,
and the sun pleads,
and the trees moan,
Here,
it is not inspired by any loss
within them.
Their highest honor revealed,
they cry:
"Sit and reflect!
Without your pause,
your look,
your sigh--
We are to you,
but a muddy ditch,
and sour trees,
and an old man, lessening,
If you pause, will you see
There is so much more?"

But the people walk on.
Most are happy, smiling and nodding,
suffering
this faint, subliminal knowledge:
they walk a domain of secret grace.
But none go so far as to stop.
None sit.
None stare at nothing in particular,
(except maybe the children who ride in wagons.)

Should I make a promise to this earth,
so old
Here in this place?

Next time I come--
now I've discovered your charms--
Will I bring
a sketchpad and some watercolors,
a tall cool bottle of lemonade?
Will I listen to your stories--
The ones no one wanders down your banks to hear anymore?

A Catalog of Rocks upon Rocks

Gen 49:24
But his bow abode in strength, and the arms of his hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty [God] of Jacob; (from thence [is] the shepherd, the stone of Israel:)Such is the promise of a stone, but in the inheritance-blessing of Joseph and not only that given to Judah? Yet, we forget what matters, even to the one we love best.

1Sa 7:12
Then Samuel took a stone, and set [it] between Mizpeh and Shen, and called the name of it Ebenezer, saying, Hitherto hath the LORD helped us.
Such is the stone of help, placed by Samuel, the prophet whose words God never allowed to fall to the ground.


1Sa 17:49
And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang [it], and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth. So David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him; but [there was] no sword in the hand of David.
Such is the stone unexpected, hidden in the bag of a boy, that nevertheless fells a giant who cast fear in the hearts of many warriors for 40 days.



Neh 4:1
But it came to pass, that when Sanballat heard that we builded the wall, he was wroth, and took great indignation, and mocked the Jews. And he spake before his brethren and the army of Samaria, and said, What do these feeble Jews? will they fortify themselves? will they sacrifice? will they make an end in a day? will they revive the stones out of the heaps of the rubbish which are burned? Now Tobiah the Ammonite [was] by him, and he said, Even that which they build, if a fox go up, he shall even break down their stone wall. Hear, O our God; for we are despised: and turn their reproach upon their own head, and give them for a prey in the land of captivity: And cover not their iniquity, and let not their sin be blotted out from before thee: for they have provoked [thee] to anger before the builders. So built we the wall; and all the wall was joined together unto the half thereof: for the people had a mind to work.
And so goes the story of the interplay: opposition leads to prayer leads to boldness and success leads to more opposition...until the builders grow accustomed to working with a tool in one hand and a sword in the other. Such is durability of the stone.


Job 28:2
Iron is taken out of the earth, and brass [is] molten [out of] the stone.
Job 38:6
Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner stone thereof;
From stone to fire to brass for the fastenings of the foundations of all that is created. Who is responsible?(Aa large question, indeed.) It is another progression given secret prominence in the visions of the prophets. Such is another story of the stone.


Psa 91:12
They shall bear thee up in [their] hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.
Mat 4:6
And saith unto him, If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee: and in [their] hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.
Psa 118:22
The stone [which] the builders refused is become the head [stone] of the corner.
Mat 21:42
Jesus saith unto them, Did ye never read in the scriptures, The stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner: this is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes?
Such is the nature of the stone as the fulfillment of the words of the prophets, and as the twisting of these words. Such is the diverse power of the stone.


Isa 8:14
And he shall be for a sanctuary; but for a stone of stumbling and for a rock of offence to both the houses of Israel, for a gin and for a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

But the fulfillment verse of this stone of prophecy waits for the second house of Israel to take offence.


Pro 17:8
A gift [is as] a precious stone in the eyes of him that hath it: whithersoever it turneth, it prospereth.
Such is the representative value of a stone, and the promise of its future when it is given away.



Isa 28:16
Therefore thus saith the Lord GOD, Behold, I lay in Zion for a foundation a stone, a tried stone, a precious corner [stone], a sure foundation: he that believeth shall not make haste.
Such is the nature of God's timing when He works with the stone. It falls into place by the perfect work of patience.



Jos 4:5
And Joshua said unto them, Pass over before the ark of the LORD your God into the midst of Jordan, [when the waters were miraculously held back for their crossing] and take ye up every man of you a stone upon his shoulder, according unto the number of the tribes of the children of Israel:
Jer 51:63
And it shall be, when thou hast made an end of reading this book, [that] thou shalt bind a stone to it, and cast it into the midst of Euphrates:

Such is the nature of the stone--for revealing what is in the depths, and for hiding the same.


Lam 3:9
He hath inclosed my ways with hewn stone, he hath made my paths crooked.
Lam 3:53
They have cut off my life in the dungeon, and cast a stone upon me.
Such is the power of the stone to judge beneficially and to protect through chastening.


Exd 24:10
And they saw the God of Israel: and [there was] under his feet as it were a paved work of a sapphire stone, and as it were the body of heaven in [his] clearness.
Eze 1:26
And above the firmament that [was] over their heads [was] the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone: and upon the likeness of the throne [was] the likeness as the appearance of a man above upon it.
Sapphire is the stone God Himself sees when He casts His eye upon the firmament He made for Himself. Such is the most noble work of stone.




Eze 28:13
Thou hast been in Eden the garden of God; every precious stone [was] thy covering, the sardius, topaz, and the diamond, the beryl, the onyx, and the jasper, the sapphire, the emerald, and the carbuncle, and gold: the workmanship of thy tabrets and of thy pipes was prepared in thee in the day that thou wast created.
Hab 2:19
Woe unto him that saith to the wood, Awake; to the dumb stone, Arise, it shall teach! Behold, it [is] laid over with gold and silver, and [there is] no breath at all in the midst of it.
Luk 4:3
And the devil said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, command this stone that it be made bread.
Rev 18:21
And a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone, and cast [it] into the sea, saying, Thus with violence shall that great city Babylon be thrown down, and shall be found no more at all.
Such is the nature of the stone turned to greed, to commerce for personal gain alone, the stone lost;
it cloaked and identified Lucifer through the days when he was still an archangel and marked his fall,
it carried no words of life, despite the deception of its overlay,
it failed to tempt Christ, even on a level we do not understand
And so it was redeemed to be thrown for judgment: given to mark the end of the days allotted for decision-making and personal revelation amongst men.


Dan 2:34
Thou sawest till that a stone was cut out without hands, which smote the image upon his feet [that were] of iron and clay, and brake them to pieces. Then was the iron, the clay, the brass, the silver, and the gold, broken to pieces together, and became like the chaff of the summer threshingfloors; and the wind carried them away, that no place was found for them: and the stone that smote the image became a great mountain, and filled the whole earth. Forasmuch as thou sawest that the stone was cut out of the mountain without hands, and that it brake in pieces the iron, the brass, the clay, the silver, and the gold; the great God hath made known to the king what shall come to pass hereafter: and the dream [is] certain, and the interpretation thereof sure. Such is the fore-telling power of the stone's image when it visits even the dreams of a pagan king in days of old, that he might see the ending of things.



Zec 3:8
Hear now, O Joshua the high priest, thou, and thy fellows that sit before thee: for they [are] men wondered at: for, behold, I will bring forth my servant the BRANCH. For behold the stone that I have laid before Joshua; upon one stone [shall be] seven eyes: behold, I will engrave the graving thereof, saith the LORD of hosts, and I will remove the iniquity of that land in one day. In that day, saith the LORD of hosts, shall ye call every man his neighbour under the vine and under the fig tree.
Such is the stone that remembers because it sees with the seven eyes of God. As it was in the early days of Solomon, so shall it be again. For it was to the second king to call the people to sit beneath vine and fig-tree; and while we know well the vine, we have long forgotten the fig tree. But all is not lost, for the stone shall revive our remembrance and the vine will smile, having known all along that we would remember.



Mat 7:9
Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
Such is the whimsical nature of the stone, the clever side that looks to see who knows to chuckle with him.



Mat 21:44
And whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder.
This is the stone I speak over my husband, as I dreamed him to be the ground-stone powder infusing the sweet silvery waters of glacial streams. This is the running water's favored state of being.



Luk 22:41
And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed...
Luk 23:53
And he took it down, and wrapped it in linen, and laid it in a sepulchre that was hewn in stone, wherein never man before was laid.
Luk 24:2
And they found the stone rolled away from the sepulchre.
Such is the nature of the stone as marker, given to highlight the start, progression and finish of the work of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Rev 2:17
He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth [it].
Rev 21:9
And there came unto me one of the seven angels which had the seven vials full of the seven last plagues, and talked with me, saying, Come hither, I will shew thee the bride, the Lamb's wife.
Rev 21:10
And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God,
Rev 21:11
Having the glory of God: and her light [was] like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal;

Such is the destiny of the stone when that which is hidden is revealed, when that for which the patient ones wait is given. And so we say, "Hosanna in the Highest, Come!"

The Sanctuary of the Dream Giver

This morning I think I found the capstone to this series of stone stories, the one that tops the memorial we've been building. It is in our line of sight, but first we must finish our time in the place I've learned to call Sanctuary.

I'm reading a book by Wilkinson (author of the bestselling Prayer of Jabez books) called The Dream Giver. The book tells the story of the common journey taken by all people called ordinary who accept an out-of-the-ordinary, God-given dream. We have a God-given dream, and we recognize ourselves in various phases of its coming to fruition. My love and I chatted about it. We spoke of the various places we think we might be walking in the book's parable landscape: in the wastelands of disillusionment and faith-growth? Battling bullies who are afraid and stand to lose a comfort of their own if we pursue the dream? Are we even each other's bullies in it? But actually, as I read on, I think we are in the place he called Sanctuary, even while moving to the Land of Giants.

Here is sanctuary. It is the place where God says, "Come to the water" where we are cleansed. This has happened. It is the place where God says, "Come into the light" where deeper communion with Him becomes apparent. We've also seen that happening. We've experienced its benefits and challenges. Finally, it is the place where God says, "Come higher." It is here that He asks us to abandon our dream to Him. Let it go--but because we love Him.

"One plants and one waters, but it is the Lord who gives the increase..." I read in my Bible study the other day. This verse can only prove true in our lives if we have genuinely let the Dream go--not in resignation that we aren't strong enough, good enough, wise enough, etc. to make it happen, but let it go as an act of will and commitment to Him above all else.

I remember that dream in which He asked me, "Would you be her?" about a certain woman. It was not "would you accomplish the tasks she represents?" but "would you be her?" He then asked me later "Would you give Him to Me?" about a certain Child. And I wonder whether I am coming to the place of finishing my answer to these questions even now. I hadn't put significance to the wording before; but "give" means more today than it did yesterday. Give says "Surrender on a higher level--prove the DreamGiver to be more significant than the Dream."

"If you don't surrender your Dream, you will be placing it higher on your priority list than God...Your Dream will become your idol," says Wilkinson. I realize that this is the very fundamental shift of focus that I have been going through lately. I have been seeing more about who I am above what I am called to do. Many little things remind me to continue holding this being above doing. It is one of the ways of being a child, for what can a child really "do" to make him/herself of value to others? Yet this deceptive lie has haunted me since childhood: your value is found in what you do, not in who you are. I was taught this in childhood as I was forced to care for my infant sister when I myself was only 6-7 and very aware of my woeful inadequacy for the task. I re-teach it to myself every day when life circumstances whisper, "What you do is the key to success or failure in this thing, and in most things."

Still, You come to remind me to reject this lie about my value. Just the other day, Elijah was reading in a Highlights magazine the following question: How are a fork and spoon alike? My first thought: you eat with them both. His first comment: they are both made of silver. Oh, that I might have again the mind of my child. Help me, Lord, to release this death-grip I have on the "doings" of life that are so prominent in this mid-life stage.

A Child's Memorial

For many days, the air has been temperate.
Not too hot, not too cold.
But today a hot wind blows.
A strong, hot wind.

And the grasses flicker under it;
And the trees dance.
Their big branches bow and their little ones whip
while their leaves froth and erupt with light and shadow.
All flora reacts as if a great storm is coming,
But no storm comes--
Only the hot winds.
The sky knows, for it does not turn dark and ominous.
It does,
however,
allow the blue to be blown right out of it,
Replaced by the lavender-silver
given for days like this one.
And I stand on my porch,
listening,
while the windchimes down the whole neighborhood,
clatter frantically.

I consider how it is fitting
that this be the day I am shown
my youngest son's memorial stones.

He has collected them on his little dresser
--the eighth stone only this morning.
He introduced me to them, told me their stories.
"I call this one Ball. It is shaped like a ball, see?"
He demonstrated a pitch.
"And I call this one Ship;
you know, because it's shaped like one.
But I haven't named the others yet."
He handled them lightly.
He'd collected them with care from the upturned soil of the garden,
washed them and brought them into his very room.
Every little story tells a bigger one, and
I was honored to share in this one.

I smiled, and in my heart thought
how we've been given a privilege,
this knowing of our sons' memorial markers.
All the more sad how we stand,
hand in hand,
staring at the backs of our own fathers
--both yours and mine, my love--
Staring in mystified wonder
because our fathers do not ever cast their eyes
on the piles that we stand near.
Other things consume their eyes.
And the verse comes to mind again:
Pro 22:28Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set.
Pro 23:10Remove not the old landmark; and enter not into the fields of the fatherless.

And, resigned, I think:
This is the price to be paid.
For when we become as fatherless,
Our field is shielded by the hand of God Himself,
and the landmark is protected that He has hidden there.
So say the ancients.

I look across the rustling trees again,
and I am at peace.
For though no storm rides its currents,
This wind is nevertheless a powerful thing.
And today is a good day
for the power of a dry, hot wind.

A Mother's Prayer for Her Grown Child

One more rock
for the pile
I've been building.

My eldest son
graduated from high school
yesterday:
June 3, 2007.

The gift his class chose to give
to the school that groomed them
was a stone
for remembering.

How interesting.
So I pray

That the gift of things remembered
--the stories that might have died
in the hands of those who count themselves wise
but were instead preserved by the very hand of God--
may these stories be to your strength
in the future,
My son!

Where's Waldo?

Though they've been around a long time, polka dots are evidently seeing a resurgence in popularity in the world at large, but also in my private world. It began--for me at least--some time ago with a dream about a white horse with small black spots like measles, a black nose and dusky mane. It was trying to break out of its corral, and I was given a tool to keep it where it belonged. Ever since that dream, I've been seeing a swell in my experience of...the polka dot.

I mentioned just the other day the Bible story wherein God spoke of such dappled things: of the streaked, speckled and gray-spotted rams that theoretically belonged to Jacob while he was under the harsh and unfair authority of his uncle Laban. God drew attention to these animals as His sovereignly-given and previously designated inheritance to Jacob. "I have seen all that Laban is doing to you." God told Jacob to claim what was rightfully his, and said. "Now arise, get out of this land, and return to the land of your family." He said, "I am the God of Bethel, where you anointed the pillar (another rock pile for remembrance, taken from a place Jacob designated the Gate to Heaven) and where you made a vow to me."

What of that vow? It was made after Jacob had his dream of seeing angels ascending and descending a ladder or ramp between heaven and earth. God promised He would not leave Jacob. " 'Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have spoken to you.' Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it!' " Genesis 28:14-16. In fact, last night we found ourselves in a place where such an observation of Your unexpected presence, God, could be made.

Scott won tickets to a jazz and comedy club, so we went out on a date for the evening--something we rarely have the opportunity to do any more. Now I know a lot of people who are not prone to play "Where's Waldo?" with God in unlikely arenas like the one we visited last night. Many of these folks shelter themselves on the dirt of the promised land; and even if that dirt hasn't born any fruit associated with that promise in years--dirt that in fact now sprouts a thriving crop of thorns--still, they feel safe simply based on their geography. A calling out would fall on deaf ears if it were made to them. In fact, we left two tickets unused in the package we won all because within our circle of friends we had only a few that we were sure wouldn't be offended by the potential ramblings of the comics, and those few were all busy due to the short notice of the invite. We went alone.

As for me, I love to play "Where's Waldo/Where's God?" in such an environ. I started right away, even as I made my first observations of the room while the jazz part of the evening droned seductively along. The setting was typical. Small tables, uniform in rank across the floor, were graced with common centerpieces. Like a nipple of light on the swell of a blood red breast were the candles in their glowing votives, a quiet presence on the glossy black tables. These were flanked by glittering crystal ashtrays--mostly empty in this day and age. Tall, curvy glasses were filled with frothy creams, and neglected cherries swam their depths. I turned my eyes back to the light.

There, on the small stage, the quartet worked their magic. The drummer seemed to sit at a toy kit...so small and unimpressive it was...until that drummer began to play, that is. The keyboard man was like two men in one. He had a classic look about him: tall, thin, short dred locks and a pencil-thin moustache, thick glasses and black shoes like mirrors. When he played, his right-half man was for the keyboard, and long fingers danced across it. His left-half man pulled the bass part out of a little red keyboard-box, as no real man was available to play real bass. But the sound was satisfying. The sax player's improv was engaging, and his interplay with the singer showed their unity under music over time--a mysterious thing revered by musicians, although I don't know how others perceive it. And as for the singer, the lone female in the group, she moved comfortably to the music, and my eyes were drawn to the bold and glistening rhinestone cross nestled in her cleavage. Are you here, Waldo?

All this was encompassed by portraits of comedians, hung on every wall. We made a game of naming them all. Like the Biblical cloud of witnesses, they watched in frozen black and white imagery, as their comic descendants attempted to ply the trade. One comic gave his quirky and unwitting nod to the Sermon on the Mount. "Everything's small, until its in your eye," he said, and rang his little bell that was our sign to laugh, in lieu of any inspiration the humor itself might offer. I looked at the dark ceiling, and asked again, "Are you here Waldo?" And then You showed me what I was looking for.

Polka dots were everywhere. The roving spotlights sported colored gels filtered to send polka dots of light arcing across the room's sky. Turquoise dots on navy shot through space to the left of the stage followed by yellow on violet flashing to the right of it. Green on black, lavender on red--over and over new colors splashed spots across the heavens of that room. And as I meditated on this strange firmament, I remembered two gifts I received lately, both from different people but adorned in almost identical gift bags of multi-color polka-dots. One contained coffee and a mug--a long-time symbol of grace for me, as has been outlined here before--and the other a small, modest statue of an angel whose thematic label was that it was an "angel of thanks." Grace and appreciation were extended to me under the mantle of the polka dots. Once again, You spoke and I heard in a place unexpected, a place where there were certainly no pews. Oh, I hear You in church, too, always! But I must confess, it is almost more fun to hear You in a nightclub, because so few look for You there.

So back to the vow between God and Jacob. Before we leave the topic, we must consider Jacob's side of it, as that would be our own position in a reprise playing of the story. What are its instructive purposes? Like Jacob, we went out from that Promised Land, and continue to roam, wondering when this thing comes full circle. God promised care to him. So what was Jacob's response?

" 'If God will be with me, and keep me in this way that I am going, and give me bread to eat and clothing to put on, so that I come back to my father's house in peace, then the Lord shall be my God. And this stone (the one that served for a pillow while he dreamed of the angels on the ladder to heaven) which I have set as a pillar shall be God's house, and of all that You give me I will surely give a tenth to You.' " Genesis 28:22

Lately, of this particular list of Jacob's expectations of God, we ourselves might laugh at the idea that the spots represent such a covenant offer being made to us. We can easily point to a lack on every specific item, even to the point of the anger you, my husband, felt last night at your father's unexplained refusal to visit you--even as he has written off other relatives--ones you met at a funeral. These relatives seemed genuinely sad that he chooses to be a man who shreds relationships beyond repair. And maybe it is because you reached out to them that he rejects you now, leaving it to your mother to come to visit us alone. In any case, if the spots are speaking, a covenant offered to you in the past is at this very time being affirmed to you--one arranged by a higher Father, a changeless one, one who can be found anywhere and in any circumstance. May you find the courage and faith and hope to walk into this ratification of relationship, my love.

Father's Day is coming soon, and that could be a very good thing!

More Rock Piles and Dying Stories

We ended school last week with the story of one rock pile built to commemorate a covenant of peace. And I wrote about that. Then on Sunday, another rock pile--rather two--figured into the sermon. I put the Scripture text below--but in essence this rock pile was invisible to the human eye until a miracle of God brought the rocks to visibility, to accessibility. It is one of my favorite "pile of rocks" stories in the Bible. Has been for a couple of years now.

As a friend of mine noted, there are many rock piles in Scripture, making it pretty easy to come across such stories with some regularity--but still the thematic nature of of all these rock piles struck me, making me all the more serious about what my pastor recommended: take time to remember the dying stories of life, the ones that shouldn't die. This pile of rocks was placed so that the Hebrews children would ask their fathers, what is this rock pile all about?

"What stories are dying all around you that need to be revived?" he asked us.

A thought-provoking question, especially in this culture that is so driven by that which is immediately urgent, whatever it may be. Who takes time to stop and consider such a question? Still, it is important. He closed by petitioning us to make note of those memorial rock piles, prayed that they inspire us to run the race well that takes us past them. He quoted this verse:

Hbr 12:1
Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset [us], and let us run with patience the race that is set before us...
...and he reminded us to seek that vitality for future purpose so that we might live well this verse from Hebrews 12.

Funny, that word vitality; it is another thing that has come before my eyes multiple times lately. One reference to it was in a health magazine. In it, the author of The Creation Health Breakthrough makes the following observations about vitality: "As a society, we judge our health by what we don't have; so if you don't have high blood pressure or diabetes, we figure you must be healthy." But she adds that what many Americans don't understand is that "if you have clean arteries but have a life without purpose, you're still missing a key ingredient of vitality."

The most significant reminder (aka rock pile) about the beauty of that vitality of life, however, came to me not from anything in my daily life or reading. Rather it came to me in my prayer life. Over the course of the last couple of years, I've walked in a more interactive, intimate experience with You, my Lord. One of the observational results of this to me was an incredible attraction to You that hadn't been a part of me before--an attraction to Your personality that took me a long time to define. It was in part this supreme vitality, but layered with that vitality was something I had a hard time quantifying until I realized--I was experiencing a personality completely devoid of all neuroses, empty of every hang-up, free of any inhibition that was driven by self-consciousness. Such "pure health" would come across as cocky, were it not for the depths of love and outward-interest that completely imbued it. A brush with such a soul can hardly help but leave the recipient so temporarily rich with vitality that the effect is ironically dizzying and weakening. It is this vitality that is--for me--the rock pile hidden under these currents, memorialized in the story of the Jordan Crossing.

It is a story to remember and share: the incredible enjoyment to be found in Your company--David spoke of it when he sang, "Better is one day in your house than a thousand elsewhere." He wasn't just waxing poetic. He was piling memorial rocks. Help me to ever see them, Lord!

Memorials to the Jordan Crossing
When all the people were safely across the river, the Lord said to Joshua, 2 "Now choose twelve men, one from each tribe. 3 Tell the men to take twelve stones from where the priests are standing in the middle of the Jordan and pile them up at the place where you camp tonight."
4 So Joshua called together the twelve men 5 and told them, "Go into the middle of the Jordan, in front of the Ark of the Lord your God. Each of you must pick up one stone and carry it out on your shoulder-twelve stones in all, one for each of the twelve tribes. 6 We will use these stones to build a memorial. In the future, your children will ask, `What do these stones mean to you?' 7 Then you can tell them, `They remind us that the Jordan River stopped flowing when the Ark of the Lord's covenant went across.' These stones will stand as a permanent memorial among the people of Israel."
8 So the men did as Joshua told them. They took twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan River, one for each tribe, just as the Lord had commanded Joshua. They carried them to the place where they camped for the night and constructed the memorial there.
9 Joshua also built another memorial of twelve stones in the middle of the Jordan, at the place where the priests who carried the Ark of the Covenant were standing. The memorial remains there to this day.
10 The priests who were carrying the Ark stood in the middle of the river until all of the Lord's instructions, which Moses had given to Joshua, were carried out. Meanwhile, the people hurried across the riverbed. 11 And when everyone was on the other side, the priests crossed over with the Ark of the Lord. 12 The armed warriors from the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and the half-tribe of Manasseh led the Israelites across the Jordan, just as Moses had directed. 13 These warriors-about forty thousand strong-were ready for battle, and they crossed over to the plains of Jericho in the Lord's presence.
14 That day the Lord made Joshua great in the eyes of all the Israelites, and for the rest of his life they revered him as much as they had revered Moses.
15 The Lord had said to Joshua, 16 "Command the priests carrying the Ark of the Covenant to come up out of the riverbed." 17 So Joshua gave the command. 18 And as soon as the priests carrying the Ark of the Lord's covenant came up out of the riverbed, the Jordan River flooded its banks as before.

Rock Piles & Dying Stories

For three days, God, You have put altar piles before my eyes, so I decided to blog about it.

When I googled altar of stones for a fitting illustration, I found everything from Andy Warhol's rendition of the Rolling Stones tongue-hanging-out logo to a marble bust of Sharon Stone; I found everything from current, poorly-shot photos of people's in-home altars-- where one amateur's knick-knacks are another man's spiritually meaningful symbols--to the carefully crafted shots of altars found in archaeological digs--where experts are busy "...decoding ancient stone monuments."

And none of this was what you'd taken me to the stone piles to see. So I built my altar pile in my own mind, and here is what I see. First, I see that the rocks are gathered for the sake of remembering things that should not be forgotten. This is the most important thing about the pile.

Pro 22:28
Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set.
Pro 23:10
Remove not the old landmark; and enter not into the fields of the fatherless.

I think now of a dream I had, and told of here--my favorite dream. In it, I climbed into a unique upper storey of a house. Clothes instead of stones were what was piled in heaps everywhere in the strange wooden place of this dream. Above this place, via a hidden passage, was a magnificent and spacious apartment, lavish and well-kept despite it's uninhabited status. I was the first to find it, but I knew I was not to be the last.

On Friday, I went to pick my child up from a birthday party held in a refurbished log cabin. The children wanted us to see this unique house--and climbing to view the upper storey gave me a strong impression of being in this life's stage-setting for a re-enactment of that dream. It put me almost to the entrance of that amazing mansion hidden in realms above, and I hold my breath at the thought that this might be a true interpretation.

But for now, I pile stones.

The first stone is formed by the story we heard in chapel on Friday. It was the story from Gen. 31 of the building of a pile of rocks to serve as a reminder between two men who were for 20 years each others' almost enemies. Jacob and Laban were hard-pressed to co-exist, but the rock pile they built was called "witness heap" and "watchtower" as a sign of a final covenant of peace between them.

The second stone is more personal, but of much the same material as the first. For days now--as blog entries show--at least since Easter, I have had speckled things occupying space in my conscious mind. I dreamed of speckled animals. I was given as a gift a set of seven speckled eggs. They sit in a pottery dish on my dining room table, etc. And in this same chapter of Genesis, Jacob knew it was finally time to be set free of his father-in-law's tyranny and injustice when God sent him a dream telling him it was time to move on, a dream in which God reminded him of the speckled-markings that indicated the animals that were his rightful inheritance, his God-ordained inheritance. Due to the dream, Jacob left, under secrecy, until he was three days gone. At that point, Laban caught him. But God also led Laban through a dream, such that in the end "...they took stones and piled them in a heap, and they ate there by the heap," in a covenant meal of peace.

We followed that Bible story's retelling with a passing of the peace of our own--a sharing of bread. We spoke of many things the sharing of bread might signify, but for me it was this: it was taking that which the Spirit of God has put within me--what is the nature of Christ within me by divine dispensation through grace--and sharing it with another, and receiving that same Christ from him/her. Early Christians described this absorption of each others' new-life-in-Christ essence by the term "communion of the saints." It is a thing destined to be a beautiful part of our communal experience when we enter the next life. Christ prayed "that they may be one even as We are one" in hope that we would know deep soul intimacy not only with Him but with each other. Such is His profound humility and open heart. For me, this bread sharing symbolized that future state of being. Like a foreshadowing of the wedding feast of the Lamb, we became one in the exchange of bread, in the exchange of Him.

The first piece I broke off my roll and shared was with a friend who serves as the Christ figure in the school. And interestingly, we ate our bread in honor of his wife, who is currently estranged both from him and from the faith. Still, he thanked me for making her feel welcome and special and important. And we ate in faith that all would be well with her in the end. The last piece I exchanged with another friend, exchanged interestingly for his own last piece...and this time the prayer was for our children--boys whose own stories are like seedlings, ones that seem to show potential to have their own fruit to bear--fruits that may ripen toward the taste of friendship's bond that was evident in the lives of David and Jonathan. We prayed that such love might be a thing of strength, a thing that would continue to another generation even through the lives of such as these two little ones.

A third stone was piled that day. I sat next to a young woman--I've spoken of her here before. When I exchanged imaginary bread with her (because we were both completely out of bread by the time we found each other) and when I prayed for her, I told her I saw her as a beautiful gemstone set in the foundation of the city of God. This was the picture I saw for her when I prayed. She, too, was part of a pile of stones for remembering. She showed me that a friend of hers had given her a bracelet that morning. It was like a charm bracelet, only it was hung all around with colorful bits of stone and quartz, as well as a hammered silver piece engraved with the words: "...as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord..." a quote taken from the verse that goes: Jos 24:15 And if it seem evil unto you to serve the LORD, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that [were] on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.

And so this girl is a type of an altar within an altar. And that was a beautiful part of the story, too.

And while this book of the Bible that she took me to bridges the gap to another pile of stones that were brought up from the depths for remembering today, stones are nevertheless heavy things that take time to move and consider. These stones are enough for now, and the rest aren't going anywhere. (smile)

Legacy Prayers as the Poppy Grows

An obscure Norwegian theologian recently put the idea of legacy prayers to my mind. These are prayers so constructed that they have a power to live and function beyond the life and/or personal contact between the one doing the praying and the one receiving the blessing of the prayer. Legacy prayers he said are like long gentle rains that offer continuous nourishment to a dry earth.

I know that legacy prayers sprang from my grandparents' lips, the fruits of which I continue to receive. Now as I come to see my days as a praying parent roll toward an eventual but definite end, my own legacy prayers come into the spotlight. What shall I pray for my own, and for other dear ones besides my offspring? What shall I pray such that not only temporal things are given the lingering scent of a loving God, but more importantly that eternal things are bathed in His aroma?

While I do not yet have the words for the prayers themselves, I certainly saw the beauty of evidence that they work. It is said in Scripture: For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, [even] his eternal power and Godhead; Romans 1:20
This day's observations are evidence of this truth.

We took a drive for Mothers' Day
that took us through a town
whose economic collapse
was something sudden
and extreme.

I noticed a common thread
in the landscape there
common to things I've seen
in other such places.

And the thread was spun like this:
tattoo parlors and piercing salons
where crisp barber shops once stood;
liquor stores as frequent
as other towns
--towns with less pain to forget--
might sport the white collar favorite,
Starbucks or
(because there are still children present)
MacDonald's;

What else sits
in that part of town zoned commercial?
The rusty shadows of old retail logos,
long removed from those ghost-town properties;

And in the residential parts
houses--
abandoned or not--
whose first thought-prompt thrown
to a passing viewer says,
"Grant me this dignity:
Imagine my appearance as it was
fifty years ago,
in the days of my glory."
And some viewers will accomodate the request,
and some won't.

These and so many other scenes like them,
these are the signs of land-death
come too sudden and too harsh
to a community.

...But still...
Both everywhere
and nowhere expected
(as these were planned and planted long ago)
the parade of perennials comes forth.

Unperturbed by the rise and fall of an ecomony
they are reborn again and again:
the deep purple iris
the glowing red hollyhock
the aster and the peony
they bud and bloom and dance.

But more than any other right now:
the Bonfire poppy flames.

Though long-days dormant,
(indeed bearing no noticeable foliage
when out of season)
still
like crepe-paper festivals
when the heart most craves a refreshing ornament
--and in those times
when the land lays in startled death
("Is this not the intended season of life?" it cries.)--
Then
then these bold ones bloom and blow,
blow in the winds likewise unchanged
(thought they came and went and came again.)
They dance in the same winds
that blew across the hands that planted them,
many years ago.

Purgatory

None of the churches I've attended have ever contained the doctrine of purgatory, but today's events certainly served as metaphor for such a state of being, should one exist. It was this day that we went to the storage yard of the towing company where the car was taken after your crash.

We went there to retrieve whatever could be retrieved from the remains of your vehicle. The short trip tired you, and so you are napping now, but for a while this afternoon you mustered the strength to ride to that place where nameless insurance companies rent space for the storage of those cars that can no longer serve their masters but whose final fate is not yet established. Some auction will be the final end of most of them--their parts, their scrap metal salvaged for other uses. But for now, their unique identities are not yet lost, only sequestered away in this hidden yard.

We rode to the gate and then walked the rest of the way to the car. It was like walking across a mosaic-tiled plaza as small shards of bluish glass and red and yellow bits of plastic crunched under our feet. In fact, the whole place was like a weirdly serene courtyard, and I could almost picture a fountain in the center of this gravel space encircled by cars just inside a chain link fence.

As I looked at these remains I thought how much they tell things we'd do well to remember, for there next to an old Buick was a fairly new BMW. And just behind a lustreless Olds was the tail end of a Mercedes, pushed back in a corner, as if its presence in this place could be somewhat kept secret, hidden--it couldn't, and how silly to think it mattered here anyway. Who sees them? What difference can they make in this place? And there were sad signs of other things that could no longer make a difference: a jack lying flat on the ground all alone, for what good could a fresh tire do for any of these wrecks? An oil can lying abandoned on a hood. Why open the hood and put oil in an engine that no longer fires and moves? Might as well go dry.

But strangely, there was beauty here, too. The foul smell of exhaust was missing. In fact, a sweet scent of some spring bloom wafted over the fence, coming out of a nearby wood; and the sound of bird songs was everywhere--all the more obvious because no revving engines served for competition.

Thirty dollars a day the insurance paid for a car to sit in this holding place, so no car stayed here long. All go ultimately to auction where that final value of each part is reckoned. We gathered scant armloads of things still undamaged: the garage door opener and a pair of sunglasses strangely un-bothered as they clung to the sun visor; a briefcase, a duffel bag--things that would bend and give space to those other things that would not bend on impact.

Quietly, we chatted with the man who ran the towing service. We stood there in the bright sun, made brighter as the gravel and grey dust and bits of glass reflected it back toward its origin. We shook his hand, before we left. And yet again, I looked at your broad shoulders, watched you walk a stride that becomes less and less strained and more and more familiar as the pain subsides. Once again, I thanked God that you are not yet in some place so much like this one, but made for mankind.

Food Fit for a Pioneer...

There are days when the bodies and minds of my family members
need to remember what it takes to live long and healthy lives--
on those days I broil our fish or steam our chicken, and couple the meat with flavonoid-rich veggies al dente or fresh salad.

But there are other days when it is our hearts that need to remember what it takes to live long and healthy lives--
and on those days I fry up sage sausage, potatoes, apples and onions in a skillet--and offer second helpings. And we savor for hours the lingering aroma and remember the important things of a good life.

Rainbows without Rain

A few years ago, I drove down a small-town street and saw a man walking along the sidewalk. Seeing him made my eyes go misty, made me gasp as if cold water had just been thrown in my face, because this man swung his arms in a unique way as he walked. When I was a child, I remember my grandfather swinging his arms in just the same way: palms open and facing due backward, not in toward his thighs, as is more common. It was a signature walk that never really registered with me as a child, not until I saw it again in that other man years later did it mean anything. And although my grandfather had been dead a good 25 years, nevertheless seeing that one small gesture brought the memory of Grandpa so full in my face that many other memories came along in that same flood, much like a point of breakage that collapses a dam, spewing a sudden rush through long dry channels reserved for memories. And as that mental water line rose, it swelled with the many times I saw grandpa walking. A rare gift was the feeling that came with that flood, a thing richer than just the experience of such "memory-water" when it is contained in the glass bowl of the rational mind, for it is more than just knowing what you remember; it is feeling it again, too.

The same type of liquid rush washed over me last night, but it was more like a rip tide, for it was connected to you, my husband, and you are in a channel still very active and bubbling with life. But circumstances yesterday brought the realization too near: the certainty that one day, the channel of life shared between us could indeed run dry. It happened when I looked over at you on the couch--one of many times I felt compelled to check that you were ok. While I watched, you stretched your arm a certain way that is characteristic of you. Like the swing of my grandpa's arms, it was a gesture that had never really registered with me consciously, but apparently has struck me many times subconsciously, because when you stretched, a knife-thought went through me: "That is so intimately you, and to think, I might have never seen that again." I couldn't help but let myself ponder, "what if...?"

What if instead of all of us sitting here in the living room watching a movie as you lapse in and out of a doze induced by painkillers--what if all of us were here, except you? One second lived differently in the course of your day, one glance in another direction. It really did come down to that. And I've lived through enough deaths of those dear me to know how it feels to run that canal, too. How incredibly fortunate I felt sitting there, hearing you breathe, just breathe, nearby. I must confess, I work very hard not to take anything about you for granted, but I see there is one thing I do take for granted--and that is your very life. I never really think about the day I might have to learn to live without you in my world. I never think about the era of my life when I'll only really "see" flashes of you on rare moments when someone crosses my path who happens to bear some distinctive commonality to you. Or will it be the other way around, as you find you cross paths with some woman who flips her hair or waves her hand in just such a way that you see me in the movement?

I hear you talk about this accident. You tell some people you were lucky. You tell others that you had all but given up thinking God really intervenes in the affairs of men, but that this incident makes you wonder if you should revise this opinion as it certainly seems possible that you were tapped on the shoulder by some guardian spirit. "Look back," says that voice that works like instinct. "React to approaching danger!" And in so doing, you saved not only yourself but maybe the whole family in the car in front of you as you absorbed much of the energy of the crash, and yet had put yourself at such an angle as to receive the least injury to yourself.

You pause and make thoughtful humming sounds as I tell you what Nolan's teacher said about the accident when I picked him up after we finished the long vigil in the ER: she said that your reason for being in this world is obviously not yet finished. Did I tell you that yesterday morning, when the boys and I left for school--about an hour before your accident--a huge rainbow sliced across a brilliant peach and blue sky, although the sidewalks were dry--there had been no rain. And I thought: a rainbow, the Bible tells us they are promise that God will not destroy. And wasn't it just that? Do we not know a God so loving that He'll give a rainbow even without the rain to those who care to get out and see it? He set the sky for me one time when we were on an airplane. I wrote about it. Yesterday, He set the sky for you, my love!

Literally for years now in your dreams you have seen yourself experiencing a shift in position, a change that gives you a new perspective on the larger purpose behind your role in the affairs of mankind. And in every one of these dreams, that new perception led to new activities on your part. So as you've now walked through this--your only encounter with a near-death experience--I wonder if these dreams are beginning to become your reality? I pray that if these are to be days of heightening awareness for you, that you might indeed find that larger perspective, that unfinished reason for being in this world.

And yet again, I am awed to be the woman in your life!

Lord of the dead flies...

...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)

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.