Do You See What I See?

Do you see? 
The WalMart world of dirty floors and cheap plastic and people who walk around in slippers with their pants falling off?
Their teeth, and families and lives broken and worn by cares and worries they can't manage.
Do you smell the thick haze of stale tobacco and heart-ache as they breathe in your face, their cynical, bitterness barely disguising their panic, causing you to gag,

Do you see ?
 The beautiful people whose lives consist of selfies and whatever they can grab on their way out. The sun-glassed, glossed and tanned hipsters with their tats and pierced cartilage and pierced hearts.
They promise everything and deliver nothing; using you and enslaving your children to feed their souls and pocketbooks.
They'll take all that you have and leave you for dead. Do you see their heart of corruption and feel the death of usury?

Do you see?
The family that is broken. everyone gone their separate ways, the love and sacrifice and laughter forgotten and mocked. Hardened hearts and hurt fed by lies and rumors and gossip and the bitter relative who didn't get their own way. They leave you broken and battered, smug with self-satisfaction.

Do you see the putrid stench and quivering rot and dirty filth that permeates everything?
It's disgusting. Really. 

Way off. There in the distance. There's a pin-point of light.
Do you see it?  The light. A path. A narrow way?
I look and see and the light compels me. The path is clear. I follow. 
And the light becomes bigger, blinding. My fears and prejudices and despair and haughtiness are burned away.
I want only what's ahead.
The smell of rottenness is replaced by clover and hay, the clean smell of sheep and scratchy wool. 

That light, it leads to a humble place where the lowly live. The rush and pushing and striving are gone.
 It's just the shepherds and the sheep and the hay. 
And there, amidst the light that makes all things clear, is a place of peace.
There is a man and a woman, young and strong, and a baby.
Innocent and sweet, he smells of fresh hay and hope. 

And I look at Him and see. 
And he sees me.
He is a baby, young and innocent, but also old and wise.
He is Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God, the Everlasting Father, 
the Prince of Peace.

Do you see? Do you see who has come? 
God with us. 
Emmanuel.

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. ~Isaiah 11:6-9

http://i1297.photobucket.com/albums/ag30/Lisa_Nehring/siggywithflower_zps2ffa66ba.png @Golden Grasses 2008-2013. All photographs, artwork and text are the property of the owner unless otherwise stated. Don't miss a thing! Subscribe to Golden Grasses and get our articles right to your inbox!

Jars Of Clay - Jealous Kind

"Jealous Kind"

I built another temple to a stranger
I gave away my heart to the rushing wind
I set my course to run right into danger
Sought the company of fools instead of friends

You know I've been unfaithful
Lovers in lines
While you're turning over tables with the rage of a jealous kind
I chose the gallows to the aisle
Thought that love would never find
Hanging ropes will never keep you
And your love of a jealous kind
Love of a jealous kind

Trying to jump away from rock that keeps on spreading
For solace in the shift of the sinking sand
I'd rather feel the pain all too familiar
Than to be broken by a lover I don't understand
'Cause I don't understand

One hundred other lovers, more, one hundred other altars
If I should slow my pace and finally subject me to grace
And love that shames the wise, betrays the heart's deceit and lies
And breaks the back of foolish pride

@Golden Grasses 2008-2013. All photographs, artwork and text are the property of the owner unless otherwise stated. Don't miss a thing! Subscribe to Golden Grasses and get our articles right to your inbox!

Do You See What I See

Do you see?
The WalMart world of dirty floors and cheap plastic and people who walk around in slippers with their pants falling off?
Their teeth, and families and lives broken and worn by cares and worries they can't manage.
Do you smell the thick haze of stale tobacco and heart-ache as they breathe in your face, their cynical, bitterness barely disguising their panic, causing you to gag,

Do you see ?
 The beautiful people whose lives consist of selfies and whatever they can grab on their way out. The sun-glassed, glossed and tanned hipsters with their tats and pierced cartilage and pierced hearts.
They promise everything and deliver nothing; using you and enslaving your children to feed their souls and pocketbooks.
They'll take all that you have and leave you for dead. Do you see their heart of corruption and feel the death of usury?

Do you see?
The family that is broken. everyone gone their separate ways, the love and sacrifice and laughter forgotten and mocked. Hardened hearts and hurt fed by lies and rumors and gossip and the bitter relative who didn't get their own way. They leave you broken and battered, smug with self-satisfaction.

Do you see the putrid stench and quivering rot and dirty filth that permeates everything?
It's disgusting. Really.

Way off. There in the distance. There's a pin-point of light.
Do you see it?  The light. A path. A narrow way?
I look and see and the light compels me. The path is clear. I follow.
And the light becomes bigger, blinding. My fears and prejudices and despair and haughtiness are burned away.
I want only what's ahead.
The smell of rottenness is replaced by clover and hay, the clean smell of sheep and scratchy wool.

That light, it leads to a humble place where the lowly live. The rush and pushing and striving are gone.
 It's just the shepherds and the sheep and the hay.
And there, amidst the light that makes all things clear, is a place of peace.
There is a man and a woman, young and strong, and a baby.
Innocent and sweet, he smells of fresh hay and hope.

And I look at Him and see.
And he sees me.
He is a baby, young and innocent, but also old and wise.
He is Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God, the Everlasting Father,
the Prince of Peace.

Do you see? Do you see who has come?
God with us.
Emmanuel.


Parroquia Nuestra Señora de Belén: noviembre 2011

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. ~Isaiah 11:6-9


@Golden Grasses 2008-2013. All photographs, artwork and text are the property of the owner unless otherwise stated. Don't miss a thing! Subscribe to Golden Grasses and get our articles right to your inbox!

Be Not Afraid

Be Not Afraid

You shall cross the barren desert,
but you shall not die of thirst.
You shall wander far in safety
though you do not know the way.
You shall speak your words in foreign lands
and all will understand.
You shall see the face of God and live.

If you pass through raging waters
in the sea you shall not drown.
If you walk amid the burning flames,
you shall not be harmed.
If you stand before the power of hell
 and death is at your side,
know that I am with you through it all.

Be not afraid.
I go before you always.
Come follow me,
and I will give you rest.

Blessed are your poor
for the kingdom shall be theirs.
Blest are you that weep and mourn,
for one day you shall laugh.
And if wicked tongues insult and hate you
all because of me, blessed, blessed are you.

Be not afraid.
I go before you always.
Come follow me,
and I will give you rest.

@ Bob Dufford, SJ (Isaiah 43: 2-3, Luke 6:20)

@Golden Grasses 2008-2013. All photographs, artwork and text are the property of the owner unless otherwise stated. Don't miss a thing! Subscribe to Golden Grasses and get our articles right to your inbox!

Winter Toast

Today
Feeche made pie-crust
Cub boiled eggs
Flower made a cheese ball
and I composed an Apple Pie
which we will consume with gusto on Christmas Day.

We played Risk, which is what Life is really all about.
Venerable husband took over 1/2 the world and then upstart son conquered the universe
while we ate olives and pickles and clementines-
an odd but lovely snack to go with world domination.
We read out loud Mara, Daughter of the Nile and talked about slavery and freedom and ancient, dusty times and places where false gods rule and destinies were determined at birth.
Cub read me his book on Military k-9ers and we listened to the dogs bark on the back porch and laughed in delight at doogles.
The sun shone on the glittering snow, in the cold
and we toasted winter weather snug inside.


 

The Rock

Mired in sinking sand

Guilt,shame, loneliness,

Burdens.

Quick sand consuming my self,

Head above water, barely breathing,

The rest of me drowned

In mire.

And then, a rock.

I am lifted up

Despite the sins that threaten me

The accusations

I don't even know if they are true

But I hear them.

Ringing in my ears.

Deeds done. Left undone. Half done. Poorly done. Over done.

Disappointing those I've tried so desperately to please.

My feet on a rock.

 In desperation I cried out and it appeared.

Salvation.

Saved by grace

and that not of myself

And now, so many years later,

I feel the drowning again.

Accusations again

Disappointment again

Words that are difficult to distinguish as truth.

Noise. In my head

Cacophony.

My head hurts. My feet stuck. My ears ring.

Through the noise I try to hear the rock.

That holds my feet.

That won't separate itself from me

No matter how deep the mire pulls me down.

The rock that says

Hold fast.

And the noises rush at me

Accusations flood around,

The bog that grabs hold and demands justification

For what I am

What I'm not.

And the rock says,

I am firm

I am steady

I will not fail you

But the promises seem faint and distant.
I am tired of the bog and the mire.

That has settled itself,

The sticky stench that pulls and drags and threatens me

That brings confusion instead of clarity.

Senselessness

instead of sense.

The rock is firm

But my knees buckle, literally, and I can not stand.

My weakness

Frailty

Cut off at the knees

Hoping against hope

For different outcomes

Resolutions

Kindness instead of selfishness.

Recognition instead of rejection.

Love instead of narcissism that doesn't see,

Doesn't respond, doesn't hear, doesn't care.

My own and others

I am crying, crying, crying for one to hear who won't

And the rock says

I hear.

And I want the rock's voice to cut through the gauze

That surrounds my heart and the hurt

And make all things new

Make me new

All things new

Revelation 21

He Stands in Victory!

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!

 Alleluia!

People rejoice, nations hear:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!
Stars dance, mountains sing:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!
Forests murmur, winds hum:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!
Seas bow, animals roar:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!
Bees swarm, and the birds sing:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!

Angels stand, triple the song:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!
Sky humble yourself, and elevate the earth:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!
Bells chime, and tell to all:
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!
Glory to You God, everything is possible to You,
Christ is risen, and brings the joy!

(A  Serbean Paschal song)

DemonicMath

For.my.Sistah.Paige

Demonic.Math

little.tiny.pieces.

divided,roughly,torn.

the.body.bloody.dismembered.amputated.and.severed.

Division.

calvinist.armenianist.

old.earth.young.earth.

complimentarian.eglitarian.

protestant.orthodox.

right.wrong.

mine.yours.

the.bride.stumbling.disoriented

wedding.gown.ripped.and.muddied.

mulitplication.turns.to.adding.slowly.

we.end.up.counting.on.our.fingers.

and.still.get.the.product.wrong.

logarithmic.scale.toppled.down.

and.the.division.continues.

the.little.pieces.growing.smaller.

dissention.among.the.ranks.

Atheists.and.agnostics.snicker.

laughing.behind.hands.and.out.in.the.open.

the.headlines.shout."i.told.you.so!"

that.man.from.nazareth.just.a.quack

look.how.his.followers.love.one.another.

NOT!

the.scoffers.heckle.

Division.the.inverse.of.the.plan.

tiny.little.pieces.instead.of.whole.parts,multiplying.

sweeping.

vast.numbers.together.in.love.and.fellowship.

brotherly.affection.

Sufferers.among.the.fold.

And.the.factions.justify.

angy.ugly.words.at.thier.brothers.and.sisters.

those.they.will.spend.eternity.with.

.accuse.and.judge.call.them.names

wolves.in.sheeps.clothing.

spewing.hatred.and.ugly.angry.judgment.

accusing.them.of.leading.little.lambs.astray.

not.looking.at.thier.own..divisive.pov.

that.amputates.the.body.of.Christ.

Lord.have.mercy.

The.body.is.broken.and.bleeding.

wounded.from.within.

i.hear.the.enemy.laughing.

his.evil.cackle.cold.and.calculating.

as.he.escorts.more.of.the.flock.away.

full.of.bitterness.and.resentment.

bloodied.and.battered.by.the.ones.who.are.called.

to.do.justice.

to.love.mercy.

to.walk.humbly.with.our.Lord.

to.mulitiply.

The.enemy.laughs.

his.calculations.correct.

long.division.worked.well.

the.body.brusied.and.battered.and.bleeding.

blood.poured.out.

life.flows.away.

the.healing.in.His.blood.wasted,

flowing.past.us.as.we.claw.and.rip.apart.our.brethren.

more.souls.for.him.

less.for.Righteousness.

bone.chilling.laughter.

Math.class.dismissed.

St. Patrick's Prayer

I took a class on Prayer in seminary a few years ago. The strength of the class was being exposed to scores of beautiful prayers. My very favorite was the Prayer of St. Patrick. In honor of his feast day. Enjoy!

The Prayer of St. Patrick

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.

I arise today

Through God's strength to pilot me;
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's hosts to save me
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a multitude.

Christ shield me today
Against wounding

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through the mighty strength
Of the Lord of creation

Amen.

Mourning: Living a Year of Kaddish

"After the grave is covered by earth, the son takes off his shoes, walks a few steps from the cemetery and says kaddish, for it is a prayer that renews the world."

~Rabbi Joesph Caro (in his sixteenth-century code of Jewish law, the Shulchan Aruch)

It's been over 8 months since my sister Sue passed away at the age 48. The shock is gone, but the sorrow catches me by surprise unexpectedly at times, even now. Sue's struggles with MS had changed her personality in many ways, and the way that she dealt with the world, through a veil of chronic illness, didn't always leave her the easiest person to understand or interact with. Her fil took me aside after the funeral and told me I should be relieved at her sudden and painless death. She was beginning to truly become an invalid and he knew that she wouldn't want to live that way. She left this world still walking, talking, laughing and in control of her body and senses. That is a blessing.

I found "Living the Year of Kaddish" almost by accident. I was, as a joke, compiling a list of "Living a Year" memoirs. Seems I'd inadvertently stumbled upon and read several and decided to see just how many had jumped on the intentional living bandwagon. "Living a Year of Kaddish" is thoughtful and poignant and different from the others of this genre in that the author is already living intentionally as an Orthodox Jew. Kaddish is simply an act of intentional worship within that tradition. Kaddish is the Jewish tradition of mourning a close relative; a parent, sibling or child. Goldman, the author, is saying Kaddish for his father. His relationship with his father, like most of ours with our parents, was complex. This has been my problem this past year as well as when my mom passed away. How do we mourn and grieve appropriately those whose death is painful but also, perhaps, because of chronic pain and illness, whether physical or emotional, a relief . Sorrow and guilt get muddled by the relief from obligation.

Kaddish, a prayer offered with regularity during a specific period of time,offers the solution. A Jew prays the prayer of mourning for a year on the Jewish calendar within the community of a minyon (10 men within the Orthodox tradition) each morning, noon and evening. Throughout and at the end of Kaddish, the community resounds with "Amen." Goldman speaks about those he met through praying Kaddish throughout the year. Those praying for their own families, for someone else's family, for the millions who died during the horror of the Holocaust and had no one to pray Kaddish for them. I envy this tradition. A form. Substance. A daily act and ritual that defines and justifies the grief and sorrow one has over a painful loss. A time and sequence. A community that mourns with those who are mourning. Sweet comfort.

Our culture says, far too often, "move on." And yet I know so very many who don't. Those who have lost a child, a parent, a spouse. That loss defines them. Keeps them from appropriately supporting others in their own grief, keeps them from loving healthily and wholeheartedly those among the Land of the Living. Keeps them looking backwards, always hoping for a glimpse, or a dream or a vision of those who have passed away. Perhaps, like Saul, desperately seeking comfort or command from those who have left us, demanding that we do the right thing all on our own, know our own minds, stand for justice rather than ease, demanding that we get over the childish insistence that we get our own way. Our culture lacks substance during the time of important passage; death. Passage for the deceased and passage for those of us left behind. We now navigate through life without them. How can it be that a father continues on beyond a daughter, a sister just 12 months and 1 week younger lives in a world that her big sister no longer contains? Yes, death is an important passage, just as much for those of us still alive. I'm the big sister now, not a middle. My family of origin that not long ago consisted of 5, is now a measly 3.

Goldman writes this, "At a time of great loss, the natural inclination is to question, rebel, reject and diminish God. But the tradition calls on the mourner not merely to praise God, but to lead others in this ancient praise poem, "Yitkadal veyitdakash sh'mei reabah, " it begins. "May His great name grow exalted and sanctified forever and ever." He goes on to say that Kaddish "thrusts the mourner out of his or her home and into the community at a time when it might be easier to withdraw and quietly grieve. Community has therapeutic properties." And finally, in the same section, "Kaddish binds the mourner to the past and the present."

After the year of Kaddish there continues a yearly remembrance of the lost ones lives in the annual yahrtzeit; a child says Kaddish in a minyan and then friends and relatives gather in remembrance. This serves two purposes, to continue the sadness and contemplation over the loss of a close relative and secondly, to sponsor a celebration of the life of the deceased. I love this idea. My two youngest children were born after my mom passed away. A celebration such as this would keep her memories intentionally alive for them. And, again, it binds those of us navigating through life without our loved ones to both the past and the present.

Goldman writes throughout this memoir of the angst he felt as the child of divorce. The angst he felt as the son of a distant father. The angst he feels as an orphan at 50. But the form of his faith traditions give him the ritual and connection to clarify and make sense of the gifts he received from his parents union, his fathers love, his family that has been, once again, through the finality of death, reconfigured.

Kaddish is an affirmation of life. A magnificat. The Lord God Almighty gives and takes away and he is worthy of praise at all times. I sorely wish my faith tradition had rituals such as these. Rituals to lean and rely on during times of pain and loss. Still, reading Goldman's book and hearing of his struggles as the son of imperfect parents, who is honoring them with all that he knows how, was good. Relational complexities are allowed and expected, even while honoring the life that is now gone. A beautiful memoir. And soothing balm to others walking a path of sorrow.

Mourners Kaddish

May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified (`Cong: Amen.)

in the world that He created as He willed.

May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days,

and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel,

swiftly and soon. Now say:

(Amen. May His great Name be blessed forever and ever.)

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled,

mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One

Blessed is He.

beyond any blessing and song,

praise and consolation that are uttered in the world. Now say:

Amen

May there be abundant peace from Heaven

and life upon us and upon all Israel. Now say:

Amen

He Who makes peace in His heights, may He make peace,

upon us and upon all Israel. Now say:

Amen

Knit Purl

I learned to knit at my Gramma's knee.
She was always patient. Never yelled. Ever. Just gentle instruction.
And she smelled good.
Warm. Kind. Like yarn, and kittens and coffee and fresh earth and love.
She was a leftie, but such a good teacher and good knitter she could turn the whole thing around to show me the right handed side of things.
My first project was slippers. I was 5. She was 53, petite and beautiful with chestnut brown hair and golden brown eyes that matched. Her hands were delicate but her nails were long and strong.
Knit.
Purl.
Knit.
Purl.
It was pretty easy.
She was proud of me. Told me I was a natural. Let me choose my own yarn.


Unraveled. That's what happens when you go to fast, to far, use the wrong stitch, forget the pattern, mis-read, mis-judge, get knocked off track, distracted, the kittens or the kids get into your project.
Pull yarn, re-wind.
Like life sometimes.
What was I crafting? What was it for? The purpose, intent seem fuzzy. Not sure I like this yarn, color, feel, weight, style, pattern.
Choose again.
Or simply choose. To keep going.
Knit.
Purl.
Knit.
Purl.

Unraveled and distracted. Like working intarsia while chatting on the phone.
Unravel. Re-wind. Back-up. Read the pattern.
Start here.
Knit.
Purl.
Knit.
Purl.
Simple purpose. Simple pattern.

Feeling like a 5 year old some days.
Having missed and overworked stitches yanked out and feeling torn asunder.
Feeling unraveled.
Wishing Gram were here and her love for me, simple but all that mattered, would re-work the pattern.
I could watch.
She would make it right and I could pick it up again, back as good as new.
And I would know I'm good at it, a natural.
And I could see her smiling at me, over her glasses, and know that she was proud of me.
Instead of slogging along. Feeling like mis-matched color and thread weight and wrong sized needles all thrown together in a bag with no pattern and the need for a finished project.
Sigh.
5 was good. Gram's knee was a great place to hang out.
The unravleing was simple then.

I Stand

You stood before creation

Eternity in your hand

you spoke all life into motion

my soul now to stand.

Decades ago, newly born and fresh from salvation, standing because of Him, I dreamed.
Hot fetid breath. I stood and faced a closed door. Blasted open by evil, in my fervor I pursued and the enemy laughed. Blew at me with hate and mockery. I tried to stand. Willed myself. The heat and torment and strength overwhelmed me. I was a baby in the face of an Ancient One, well versed in destruction.
Remember Jimi? How you woke up Sue and prayed for me, even though you were in a different building and it was in the middle of the night? The Spirit of the Living God advocating for me. I was terrified. Too afraid to wake up and consumed by the reality I was dreaming. I was knocked down. Flattened. Mocked.

You stood before my failure

Carried the cross for my shame

My sin weighed upon your shoulder

My soul now to stand.

Time has passed. People have passed. Dreams have passed. Life is a vapor. I grow old.
I grieve at all that I've lost and feel guilt about that too because there is still so much.
I stand in church and sing songs that are beautiful and mouth words that sound simple and are sung fervently all around me.
"My soul Lord to you surrendered, All I have is yours. All I am is yours."
And yet I feel weary, tired, bleak and bleary.
Worn from the race. Used and shriveled up. Victorious saints all around me look and sound good, tanned and svelte, doing enough to serve and never showing signs of wear and tear, beautiful and victorious, monied and privileged.Clear about purpose. Just fine.

But I am coming apart at the seams. Body fails and doesn't obey and is worn and aged, even though technically not, and fatigued.
And apathetic.
Worn out from disappointments and balancing all that I have with all that I'd hoped and all that won't manifest.
Tired of tears and grieving and giving and giving up.
Tired, do you hear? Could we just pause for a minute and S.I.T.?

"All that I have, All that I am is yours."
Well, yeah, except all that you've taken. I mean, really, could ya slow down a bit?
I'm having a hard time keeping up with the toll demanded, extracted, expected.
I mean, I sing those words, but really, I'd like to choose more what it is you'll have, what of me you'll want.
Choked on tears of gratitude that He would have me still and aware of failure and guilty about what I resent and don't want to be taken.
Failure, cause I don't truly mean what I sing.
Cause I want to want to offer this heart, all that I am, completely to Him. But I am frail.
I am weak and rely heavily on certain things to be o.k.
Don't take my kids. Don't take my legs, or my breathe, or my house or my stuff or my money, or my future. Just take the extra. The disposable income. The disposable beauty. The disposable brain cells.
Cause I'm feeling a little desperate to hang on to what little it looks like I have left.

Self, hopes, dreams, relationships, things. Muddled, befuddled. I feel hot dry fetid breath blowing towards me still. The enemy prowls. Apathy blinds, but a wise woman sees and reminds me that the battle is raging, that the good God calls into being the evil one seeks to destroy, will fight and rage against, will take out helpless bystanders in the process and leave them burned to a crisp at the wayside; collateral damage.

I have nothing but what's been given. Which, o.k. I knew that already. But I get so complacent, thinking what I have is really my own. The deception of "mine" is seductive.
I walk in His saving Grace, despite myself. I stand, only because I've been given the courage, the will, the weapons to do so.

I'll walk upon salvation.
Your spirit alive in me.

This life to declare your promise

My soul now to stand.

His spirit, even when mine feels hollow and wilted and burned by intensity. Him. He fights for me. The battle is raging. I hear the weapons clashing, I feel the hit against my breastplate of righteousness.
Are my deeds enough for you, Lord? Is my hope enough?

So what can I say?

What can I do?
But offer this heart O God,

completely to you.

My faith is in Him, the One True, Living God. Not a God of wood and stone.
Breathing, live, living, Creator, Master of the Universe. El-Shaddai. Righteousness. You are my shield.
The fiery darts of the wicked one come in a flurry and come in apathy.
Be my protector.
That I may be able to withstand in the evil days and having done all, to stand.


"The Stand", Hillsong United.
Ephesians 6: 10-13

Heavenly Treasures

I offer my mite
and know that I've given enough.
It seems so much
compared to what I have.

My Lord smiles at me.
Lovingly, His deep resonate voice speaks
One Word.
More.

More?
I've given so much, more than enough.

He smiles. Pure love.
For me.
And breathes.
One Word
More.

I protest.
Do you not see the others?
In their finery and pride.
What they've given is left overs. They won't even miss it.
It's not a sacrifice. It's not from what they need.

He smiles.
Pure Love.
This story is all yours. Why compare?
He shows me another.
With less. Giving More.
and I know the question.
Would He compare me to her?

No, I slowly shake my head.
But I'm tired. I've worked hard. Certainly I deserve a rest.
No more worries. No more stress.
No more giving this when that demands a payment.
I plead.
Whine. Cry.

He smiles.
Pure love.
For me.
Despite what I give.
Despite how I whine.
No demands.

His holy presence, though, is question enough.
I can not breathe. Sleep. Go about my day.
What more?
He breathes the answer.
Wind words touch the air around me, convey to my heart His answer;
Everything. All that you have. All that you are.
Nothing held back.

I gasp. Too much, Lord. Too much. You demand too much.
You can't mean my ideas, hopes, dreams, stuff, family, kids?
You can't mean that.
What will be left?
Who will I be.

He smiles. Pure Love.
And I know. He won't take what I won't give.
His love is steadfast and true. He is reliable.

He invites me deeper in to His adventure.
Unfathomable mysteries await
Where hidden manna is served
And new names, written on pure white stones, are given.

But my hands on my stuff hold me back. My heart with my treasure ground me.

He waits. Patient and Sure.
Pure Love.
For me.
And smiles.
He is compelling.
Beautiful.
Beauty itself.
I am dazzled. Suddenly sure.

More of you Lord.
Your Righteousness.
Your goodness.
Your mercy.
Your beauty.
You.

Wind words lovingly unclench my fingers.
Those that gripped too tightly are gently removed.
People, stuff, hopes- released.

Just He and I now. Unfettered by all that I brought.
My mite has grown, consuming dross.

I offer it up.
He smiles.
Pure Love.
For me.
And on His breathe the words, "Well done."

~

And He looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the treasury, and He saw also a certain poor widow putting in two mites. So He said, Truly I say to you that this poor widow has put in more than all, for all these out of their abundance have put in offering for God, but she out of her poverty put in all the livelihood that she had. Luke 21: 1-4

He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes I will give some for the hidden manna to eat. And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it. Revelation 2:17

His Lord said to him, Well done, good and faithful servant you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your Lord. Matthew 25:23

I am a refugee living in the lap of luxury.

Seriously.

Free laundry, pool, hot breakfasts, stove, refrigerator, clean linens, towels and

hot, running water.

And we are sad, grieving, feeling a profound sense of loss.

House burned and charred.

Stuff thrown out.

Season change.

But I've been wondering a lot.
(cause Justice rears its head and demands to be reckoned with)

About other mothers and their crying children

whose homes have been burned by war, terror, hatred;

things more profound and chilling than bad wiring.

That are homeless and wandering.

Hungry, shoeless. Dirty. Cold. Illiterate.

And we talk insurance numbers into the thousands of dollars,

maybe even higher

and worry about what was lost.

When others have nothing and no hope of reclaiming or restoring.

I'm humbled.

As I ride the elevator.

And clean my clothes with designer detergent.

And brush my teeth in running water.

And soothe aches with hot tubs.

And cry, with soft white tissue in hand.

And eat hot food, made with love, by those who care.

And I wonder.

At other mothers.

Whose children cry.

But have no blanket to cover them.

Or new toy to snuggle with.

Or nourishing food to feed them.

Or good book to enrich their souls.

I wonder.

At their burden.

And mine seems...pretty shallow.

Not so much.

.

What's to come.

More of what we had.

Enough. More than enough.

And there are so many that live with nothing.

And we have so much.

So much.

I am humbled.

Humbled.

Puddleglum and Life's Purpose

I cry and grieve and heave trash bags full of life's stuff to the front yard.
Awaiting a bigger dumpster to haul it away, where it will live unceremoniously as land-fill.

Stuff, after all, is what there is too much of.
Getting in the way of people, vision, callings.
But, true confessions, I have doubts. I question. I want comfort. I want a place of rest. I want beauty, if only in a couch these days.

I watch idealistic children, those we've raised, who have plans and purposes way beyond comfy couches, challenge me.
But I'm middle aged enough to question. Have we chosen well?
Did we really follow a greater calling?
Or are we lunatics?
If I blame him, am I off the hook? Do I have to participate in owning the crazy part of how we've lived and why?
Banking on ideas and prayer that sounds like we are people of the corn instead of mature, educated, thoughtful and deliberate.

doubts and questions. Yes. And my man answers that it's all about Puddleglum. How's that for an educated repsonse? The hope of what we live for beats all hollow the reality others have. Truly. I'm spared my own melancholiness by a children's story that is part of the DNA of our family so much that we all know the reference and refer to the character as a beloved member of the family.

And I'm comforted. I can rest. I'm assured. The reality is that I'm too timid to be a pragmatist. I need more. I need hope and beauty and comfort and the assurance that I'll see those I've loved again who have died. That there is a greater purpose than the mundane. That the stuff is secondary to the hopes and plans my God has for me.

Me and Puddleglum and my idealistic Man and our idealistic children and C.S. Yep. My people. Our hope.

Roaring Banners

His banner
His banner over me.
A roar
Lion of Judah roars.
The whole earth trembles.


Hears from the greatest to the least.
Small, infinitesimal particles and out beyond the heavens.
I breathe.
Not do, say, think, hear, know, understand.
Breathe.

The Roar.
The Lion.
My banner.
Over Me.


The demons flee
banished to outer darkness.
And then.
Life for death.
Healing for ill.
Joy for tears.
Beauty for ashes.


The roar drowns out the doubt.
Fills the void and then,
Light grows. Warm, vibrant. Beauty unspeakable.
A banner.
A banner over me.
Love. Perfected Love.

Jesus.
His Name.
His banner.
His roar.
His banner over me.
I breathe.


Isa 59:19
So shall they fear The name of the LORD from the west, And His glory from the rising of the sun; When the enemy comes in like a flood, The Spirit of the LORD will lift up a standard against him.

He Provides

I want to be successful.
I am feeble.

I want to be strong.
I ache and hurt.

I want to be wise.
I am addled.

I want to have enough to give generously.
I am living off of the generosity of others.

What I have is gone.
What I want is not to be.
I crawl, like a bleeding, destitute woman to I Am and reach out
to touch the hem of the robe of Him.

He stands. He is clean, strong, creator, Abba, comforter.
I reach, ashamed, weak, crying, afraid.

He knows. Sees. Lifts my head. Gives me Hope.
Joy Unspeakable.
More than I can imagine.
More of You, Lord.
I need more of You.



"We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies."--2 Corinthians 4: 8-10

Paradigm Shift

.

Fellowship, family, children, intellect, faith, laughter, food, friends,

joy in exploring, thinking, capturing thoughts and words.

Playing with expressions, hyperbole, idioms, maxims, proverbs.

words, meaning. Truth.

Old Testament thinking.

.

Modernist self. Me, mine, gadgets, gain.

Shifting from what is to what's excellent.

Re-thinking, re-tooling

.

Waiting, expectant. About to be birthed.

A surprise.

Faith guides. Sight, once trusted, becomes obsolete.

Divinity producing and soon the whole world will sing.

.

My piece- inspired, expected, longed-for.

No more than others. No better, no less. Hands and feet and head cherised.

All who join in welcomed, wanted, waiting, walking True North.

.

Self gone. Greater gained.

Ruach Eloyim Chayim

Formless and void.

Ha- Ruach came and blew galaxy upon galaxy into being.

Embedded deeply

into the fabric of the universe.

Vast expanse of depth and dark.

He placed times and seasons, purposes and people. Precious and hoped for

Loved by Him.

He Created.

Longing for the unfolding of the mysteries,

deep and secret things hidden

but only for a time.

Joy in knowing what's to come.

His beauty revealed.

Diamonds exposed.

The universe trembling and singing,

exuberant with expectations.

.

Expressions of his over-flowing love-

sons of Adam and daughter of Eve

Created to worship.

Fellowship in the garden.

More than knowing.

Fabric of being crying out in want and joy

for Him.

Abba.

Ruach Elohim Chayim.

Thwarted. Times. Seasons. People. Places.

Aborted. Masses of flesh. Beauty torn limb from limb

Sacrilege and sacrifice for nought.

Sin sickness rampant

Sons and Daughters turn away.

Father rejected. King shamed.

Ruach Hakodesh ka'sher dibber denied.

Righteous anger burns

Fire consuming sacrifices offered freely to idols.
Delusion running rampant.

Modern man, divorced from Living God of Old and Times to Come.

Post-modern words without meaning, formless and void.

returning to the beginning with No Shame.

No God. No King. No Ruach Olam.

Mysteries deeply buried exposed and

Ruach Ha Emet comes again.

Fire burning brightly.

Pure. Righteous. Dross consumed.

The vision, speaking

Truth.

Appointed time and times,

Ruach he-Chazon at the ready.

Ha-Ruach- The Spirit
Ruach Eloyim Chayim- Spirit of the Living God.
Ruach Hakodesh ka'sher dibber - Spirit of Promise.
Ruach Olam- Eternal Spirit
Ruach Ha Emet- Spirit of Truth
Ruach he-Chazon - Spirit of Revelation

Holy, Holy is He.

We are caught
between visions and reality.
A Golden City. We saw it once
at sunrise
cresting a ridge in New Mexico
waning star light shimmering on
windswept high prairie
suddenly morphed in to the lushness of the Rio Grande Valley.
A jewel in it's midst- Albuquerque - bathed in the sudden surprise of dawn in the desert
Pale Gold
the rich velvet curtain of night pulled back
sun struck splendor took one's breathe away.
Visions of what's to come.

Visions.
Old and Ancient promises
revealing secrets of deep magic
and magic deeper still
a King and His court
Gathered singing praises. A single note sung by millions to One. Pure. Distinct.
Holy.

Joy in the singing. Breathe stolen by beauty.
His.
Desire for all else stolen
by Him.

Holy.
Holy.
Holy.

We are chosen to gather round.
O, Lord
We are overwhelmed. Heads bowed in awe at the honor.
Joy in the singing.
Holy.

Visions. Bringing us back. Taking us there.
Round the throne of Him who was and is and is to come...