Sitting down to pray this morning, my mind raced but words failed me. So much in the world, my family, my heart that feels chaotic and in need of healing. "Make something beautiful", I asked..."please come near and give us beauty for ashes...love where there is hate, restoration where there is destruction, resurrection life where there is death." And then I took my iPod and headed out for a walk. And here's what I heard...the echo of my heart's cry this morning.
When I'm at the point of breaking
At the place where I resign
When I'm at the stage of shaking my head
As I look back on my life
When I'm halfway thru the grieving
But not quite thru the ache
When I cannot see the ending
Or which road I'm supposed to take
And all I know to do
Is lift my hands to you
Take all of my life
All of my life
And make something beautiful
I open my hand and trust in your plan
Make something beautiful
So all will see
Your work in me
As you make something beautiful
When I'm tired of pretending
And I can't recall my line
Do I say I'm barely breathing
Or do I say I'm doing fine
I admit there is a yearning
For the hurting to subside
But not at the risk of missing
What you're doing in my life
And all I know to do
Is lift my hands to you
Take all of my life
All of my life
And make something beautiful
I open my hand and trust in your plan
Make something beautiful
So all will see
Your work in me
As you make something beautiful
--Make Something Beautiful, Laura Story
Amen.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Plague of Dust
As I mentioned in a recent post (Under Construction), my landlord at home has started a little construction project in our basement/garage area that has turned into a much bigger ordeal than he imagined. As a result, both of our dwellings have been inundated with what I am now affectionately referring to as "the plague of dust." His initial communication to me that it would be "a little messy" in the garage for "a couple of days" has turned out to be the understatement of the year (I would say century, but I'm trying to curb my dramatic tendencies).
There is dust on the walls, on the upholstery of the furniture, in the cedar closet, under the bathroom sink, on oven burners...you get the picture - it's on pretty much every square inch of the living space. And when you get to the section of the garage where old golf clubs and Christmas decorations are stored, well...let's just say, my landlord has a lot of cleaning to do.
Which brings me to the thought process that this plague of dust has stirred up in my mind and heart. As I mentioned on the earlier post, it has been beyond frustrating to come home to a new layer of dust each night. I've done a couple of passes of initial dusting just so I can put my feet on the coffee table without turning my slippers into dust mops, but there's always a new layer to greet me within a day or two. I can't really communicate in writing how frustrated I have felt to have my home invaded by dust. Dust seems like such a small thing...so seemingly harmless. But like snow, when there is enough of it together, it can create a pretty big mess. And the only way for my home to ultimately be restored to a relatively dust-free state is for me to go through every room in the house and pick up every single thing in that room and either wipe off or vacuum off the dust.
As I've pondered this pending clean-up, I started wondering...does God feel some form of this sadness as He looks at the beauty that He created and sees all of the ways that our original beauty is marred by the dustiness of our choices to live life apart from His care and love? Is the grief Jesus feels as He longs for us to receive the cleansing water of His love almost more than He can bear? Am I willing to invite Him into the dusty mess of my life and give Him access to every room of my heart that needs His healing, transforming work?
Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to the cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress;
helpless, look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.
-Rock of Ages hymn lyrics
There is dust on the walls, on the upholstery of the furniture, in the cedar closet, under the bathroom sink, on oven burners...you get the picture - it's on pretty much every square inch of the living space. And when you get to the section of the garage where old golf clubs and Christmas decorations are stored, well...let's just say, my landlord has a lot of cleaning to do.
Which brings me to the thought process that this plague of dust has stirred up in my mind and heart. As I mentioned on the earlier post, it has been beyond frustrating to come home to a new layer of dust each night. I've done a couple of passes of initial dusting just so I can put my feet on the coffee table without turning my slippers into dust mops, but there's always a new layer to greet me within a day or two. I can't really communicate in writing how frustrated I have felt to have my home invaded by dust. Dust seems like such a small thing...so seemingly harmless. But like snow, when there is enough of it together, it can create a pretty big mess. And the only way for my home to ultimately be restored to a relatively dust-free state is for me to go through every room in the house and pick up every single thing in that room and either wipe off or vacuum off the dust.
As I've pondered this pending clean-up, I started wondering...does God feel some form of this sadness as He looks at the beauty that He created and sees all of the ways that our original beauty is marred by the dustiness of our choices to live life apart from His care and love? Is the grief Jesus feels as He longs for us to receive the cleansing water of His love almost more than He can bear? Am I willing to invite Him into the dusty mess of my life and give Him access to every room of my heart that needs His healing, transforming work?
Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to the cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress;
helpless, look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.
-Rock of Ages hymn lyrics
Friday, February 5, 2010
Blessed are the meek
"O the bliss of the man who is always angry at the right time and never angry at the wrong time, who has every instinct, and impulse, and passion under control because he himself is God-controlled, who has the humility to realize his own ignorance and his own weakness, for such a man is a king among men!" --William Barclay's rendering of the third Beatitude
"The man who is truly meek is the one who is truly amazed that God and man can think of him as well as they do and treat him as well as they do." --Dr. Martyn Lloyd Jones
We studied the Beatitudes at the end of 2009 in the Sunday School class I have attended at church, and the person leading us through this section of Matthew's gospel brought these quotes as part of his teaching. Even though I have read the Beatitudes many times throughout my life, I have to admit that I haven't really spent much time reflecting on them. Which is unbelievable, given that they are some of the first words spoken by Jesus as He began His public teaching.
This week I was reminded of this Beatitude as I became indignant in a couple of situations where I felt I wasn't being properly heard or cared for. I argued in my mind that surely I deserved better treatment than this (being ignored in both situations). And as I was coming off of my high horse, I landed with a thud back in the familiar territory of self-protection and a critical spirit concerning the people involved.
As I reasoned with myself that I was totally justified in my attitude, these quotes rose to the surface of my heart. Planted there a couple of months earlier, they reminded me that I was angry about the wrong thing. I wasn't angry because someone else was being injured or because God's name was being dragged through the mud, I was angry that I didn't get what I felt I deserved.
In a culture that worships self-protection and personal rights, it doesn't come naturally to let go of them and choose humility and meekness. But as long as I cling to my own rights, my hands and heart are not free to love and give life to others. So today I am praying for the grace to let go...to embrace meekness...to get back on the path of love.
"The man who is truly meek is the one who is truly amazed that God and man can think of him as well as they do and treat him as well as they do." --Dr. Martyn Lloyd Jones
We studied the Beatitudes at the end of 2009 in the Sunday School class I have attended at church, and the person leading us through this section of Matthew's gospel brought these quotes as part of his teaching. Even though I have read the Beatitudes many times throughout my life, I have to admit that I haven't really spent much time reflecting on them. Which is unbelievable, given that they are some of the first words spoken by Jesus as He began His public teaching.
This week I was reminded of this Beatitude as I became indignant in a couple of situations where I felt I wasn't being properly heard or cared for. I argued in my mind that surely I deserved better treatment than this (being ignored in both situations). And as I was coming off of my high horse, I landed with a thud back in the familiar territory of self-protection and a critical spirit concerning the people involved.
As I reasoned with myself that I was totally justified in my attitude, these quotes rose to the surface of my heart. Planted there a couple of months earlier, they reminded me that I was angry about the wrong thing. I wasn't angry because someone else was being injured or because God's name was being dragged through the mud, I was angry that I didn't get what I felt I deserved.
In a culture that worships self-protection and personal rights, it doesn't come naturally to let go of them and choose humility and meekness. But as long as I cling to my own rights, my hands and heart are not free to love and give life to others. So today I am praying for the grace to let go...to embrace meekness...to get back on the path of love.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Under Construction
Be careful what you pray for. Of course I've heard that warning before in reference to praying for patience. Praying to learn how to love seems so much kinder and gentler, wouldn't you think? Not so much.
Coinciding with my new year's prayer that God would teach me to love, my landlord "coincidentally" started a little renovation project in an unfinished room in the basement. In his usual casual way, the day before the crew was to arrive, he mentioned to me in passing that some construction guys would be hauling out some dirt from that room through my garage for a couple of days and then by the end of the week they would be pouring concrete and turning that unfinished room into a finished storage area. No problem, I say.
I shouldn't be surprised that we are three weeks into this little one-week project with no end in sight, and it's really not even the length of time that has brought me to the point of house rage (the construction-site equivalent of road rage). First there were the fumes that I'm sure someday they will find were filled with toxic substances unfit for anyone to be breathing, let alone living in. Next was the jack hammer. Oh yes. Jack hammer. Evidently they ran into rock that needed hammered away. Lovely. (Did I mention that I now office at home three days each week?!!) But the thing that has thrown me into my fuming frenzy is actually a small thing. Dust. Layers and layers of dust. I have no idea how all that dust made its way onto every exposed space in my house. I closed the heating vents and covered them with towels, hoping to stop the madness. No such luck. Evidently dust can pretty much go wherever it darn well wants to go, even without an open door.
So here I am, asking God to teach me how to love, praying for Him to open my eyes to the world of the poor and oppressed, and getting all bent out of shape with my landlord because his little construction project is getting on my last nerve. Nice.
My mind goes to Haiti where thousands of people would give anything to have a house still standing, clean drinking water, a bed with a mattress, access to transportation, or even a house filled with dust.
My heart is ravenous. I want so much. And it's not the wanting that's really the problem. It's my demand to have it my way. My demand that things stay in order, neat and tidy, under control.
God is messing up my world right now in more ways than some visiting dust mites. Which I know is my own fault. I asked Him to help me to learn how to love.
Coinciding with my new year's prayer that God would teach me to love, my landlord "coincidentally" started a little renovation project in an unfinished room in the basement. In his usual casual way, the day before the crew was to arrive, he mentioned to me in passing that some construction guys would be hauling out some dirt from that room through my garage for a couple of days and then by the end of the week they would be pouring concrete and turning that unfinished room into a finished storage area. No problem, I say.
I shouldn't be surprised that we are three weeks into this little one-week project with no end in sight, and it's really not even the length of time that has brought me to the point of house rage (the construction-site equivalent of road rage). First there were the fumes that I'm sure someday they will find were filled with toxic substances unfit for anyone to be breathing, let alone living in. Next was the jack hammer. Oh yes. Jack hammer. Evidently they ran into rock that needed hammered away. Lovely. (Did I mention that I now office at home three days each week?!!) But the thing that has thrown me into my fuming frenzy is actually a small thing. Dust. Layers and layers of dust. I have no idea how all that dust made its way onto every exposed space in my house. I closed the heating vents and covered them with towels, hoping to stop the madness. No such luck. Evidently dust can pretty much go wherever it darn well wants to go, even without an open door.
So here I am, asking God to teach me how to love, praying for Him to open my eyes to the world of the poor and oppressed, and getting all bent out of shape with my landlord because his little construction project is getting on my last nerve. Nice.
My mind goes to Haiti where thousands of people would give anything to have a house still standing, clean drinking water, a bed with a mattress, access to transportation, or even a house filled with dust.
My heart is ravenous. I want so much. And it's not the wanting that's really the problem. It's my demand to have it my way. My demand that things stay in order, neat and tidy, under control.
God is messing up my world right now in more ways than some visiting dust mites. Which I know is my own fault. I asked Him to help me to learn how to love.
Monday, January 18, 2010
For the Love of God
I'm watching the film Elizabeth as part of the Film School at church, which reminded me that I have a biography about Queen Elizabeth that I decided to go ahead and dive into. So as I'm watching and reading the story of how this woman ascended to the throne in England in 1558, I am struck by the violence of the times. But what is most striking is the people who are involved in doing the violent deeds. It's people who all go to church (or mass) on Sunday and then burn people at the stake by mid-week for believing something different about God (or the church) than they do. People who all are identified as card-carrying members of "the church."
Even though this is not the first time I've heard this story or others like it, I am unsettled all the same. How could people descended from "the Way", that radical group of Christ-followers who "were united and had everything in common" [Acts 2:44], get to the point where burning people at the stake was part of the church calendar for the coming week?
It un-nerves me. I am incensed by the injustice of these crimes. And yet, I wonder where I end up interpreting the story of God in ways that are more about my own agendas than about the real heart of God. (Which reminds me that when I start thinking I have it all figured out or that other people just don't "get it", I am lighting the match for another bonfire. Lord, have mercy.)
I want to know God...the one true God...the God who loves without condition or restraint. The God who loves us so much He would entrust us with the freedom to choose to love Him back or to harden our hearts to the point of unspeakable crimes against each other and Himself. This kind of freedom seems dangerous to me, but evidently it is the only soil from which true love can emerge.
Even though this is not the first time I've heard this story or others like it, I am unsettled all the same. How could people descended from "the Way", that radical group of Christ-followers who "were united and had everything in common" [Acts 2:44], get to the point where burning people at the stake was part of the church calendar for the coming week?
It un-nerves me. I am incensed by the injustice of these crimes. And yet, I wonder where I end up interpreting the story of God in ways that are more about my own agendas than about the real heart of God. (Which reminds me that when I start thinking I have it all figured out or that other people just don't "get it", I am lighting the match for another bonfire. Lord, have mercy.)
I want to know God...the one true God...the God who loves without condition or restraint. The God who loves us so much He would entrust us with the freedom to choose to love Him back or to harden our hearts to the point of unspeakable crimes against each other and Himself. This kind of freedom seems dangerous to me, but evidently it is the only soil from which true love can emerge.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Year of Love
The turning of the calendar to a new year was a joyful experience for me this year. I don't remember being so giddy about the end of a year for quite awhile, but when we bid 2009 goodbye, I found myself dancing a little jig in my friends' kitchen as we prepared our new year's eve fondue feast.
For the past three years, I've had a sense that a certain word would be important for the coming year, and each year the "word" has had a formative affect on my soul throughout the year. In my glee to usher 2009 to the door, though, I hadn't spent much time pondering my word for the new year. Last week, unexpectedly, the words of a friend's prayer whispered the "word" for this year - the year of love.
Love is such an overused word, isn't it? I love pizza. I love books. I love vacations at the beach. I love being an aunt. But as this word landed in my heart, I knew it was calling me to a way of life that is less about me and my preferences and more about others. Right after the "word" was spoken last week, I heard a story that has become a picture of what I hope the year of love will bring (literally and metaphorically :)
Some good friends of mine took the plunge and got engaged over the Christmas holiday. But this wasn't just your ordinary engagement with a fancy dinner and roses on the table. No, evidently Mr. Engaged has watched his fair share of Mission Impossible and decided he'd try his hand at the whole mission gig. So while I'm still waiting to hear the "official" version of the story, word on the street is that Mr. Engaged sent a DVD to Ms. Engaged's parents (where she was visiting over Christmas) that laid out step one on her mission. She was to pack her bags and take the plane ticket (evidently included with the DVD...hmmm, I wonder where you get these DVD's?) and head to the airport and fly to New York. Evidently Ms. Engaged thought (logically) she'd probably be seeing Prince Charming at the gate when she arrived. Wrong. Secret Agent A appeared with yet another plane ticket and sent her on the next leg of her mission to Prague (yes, as in Czech Republic). Arriving in Prague, Prince Charming still nowhere to be found, she was greeted by Secret Agent B who guided her safely to her place of lodging. I'm not exactly sure how many secret agents were part of the mission, but the last stop was, happily, Prince Charming who proceeded to ask for her hand in marriage. Mission accomplished.
I don't know about you, but stories like that captivate me. And as I was reflecting on the real-life fairy tale later that day, I found myself in a well of deep longing. So many things I would love to have and receive that seem distant and unlikely. And then I heard a whisper. The love and desire reflected in my friends' mission was not only close and available, the Lover of my Soul was inviting me to step into the adventure of responding to His relentless pursuit. Just like in my friends' story, my hopes for what will happen may often be met with something very different than I imagined, but at every turn, He is inviting me to receive the gift of love He has custom-crafted for my heart so that I can turn around and pour out love to those I encounter along the path.
So as it turns out I'm heading into 2010 on a mission. A mission to grow in my capacity to love...to pay attention to the presence of "secret agents" that appear on the scene with clues and guidance about the journey...to live in wonder and gratitude for this great adventure of love.
For the past three years, I've had a sense that a certain word would be important for the coming year, and each year the "word" has had a formative affect on my soul throughout the year. In my glee to usher 2009 to the door, though, I hadn't spent much time pondering my word for the new year. Last week, unexpectedly, the words of a friend's prayer whispered the "word" for this year - the year of love.
Love is such an overused word, isn't it? I love pizza. I love books. I love vacations at the beach. I love being an aunt. But as this word landed in my heart, I knew it was calling me to a way of life that is less about me and my preferences and more about others. Right after the "word" was spoken last week, I heard a story that has become a picture of what I hope the year of love will bring (literally and metaphorically :)
Some good friends of mine took the plunge and got engaged over the Christmas holiday. But this wasn't just your ordinary engagement with a fancy dinner and roses on the table. No, evidently Mr. Engaged has watched his fair share of Mission Impossible and decided he'd try his hand at the whole mission gig. So while I'm still waiting to hear the "official" version of the story, word on the street is that Mr. Engaged sent a DVD to Ms. Engaged's parents (where she was visiting over Christmas) that laid out step one on her mission. She was to pack her bags and take the plane ticket (evidently included with the DVD...hmmm, I wonder where you get these DVD's?) and head to the airport and fly to New York. Evidently Ms. Engaged thought (logically) she'd probably be seeing Prince Charming at the gate when she arrived. Wrong. Secret Agent A appeared with yet another plane ticket and sent her on the next leg of her mission to Prague (yes, as in Czech Republic). Arriving in Prague, Prince Charming still nowhere to be found, she was greeted by Secret Agent B who guided her safely to her place of lodging. I'm not exactly sure how many secret agents were part of the mission, but the last stop was, happily, Prince Charming who proceeded to ask for her hand in marriage. Mission accomplished.
I don't know about you, but stories like that captivate me. And as I was reflecting on the real-life fairy tale later that day, I found myself in a well of deep longing. So many things I would love to have and receive that seem distant and unlikely. And then I heard a whisper. The love and desire reflected in my friends' mission was not only close and available, the Lover of my Soul was inviting me to step into the adventure of responding to His relentless pursuit. Just like in my friends' story, my hopes for what will happen may often be met with something very different than I imagined, but at every turn, He is inviting me to receive the gift of love He has custom-crafted for my heart so that I can turn around and pour out love to those I encounter along the path.
So as it turns out I'm heading into 2010 on a mission. A mission to grow in my capacity to love...to pay attention to the presence of "secret agents" that appear on the scene with clues and guidance about the journey...to live in wonder and gratitude for this great adventure of love.
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