May 22, 2015

                                              May 22, 2015

       I always felt indifferent to the person of Christ. I felt that he wouldn't like me very much. I identified with the Pharisees,  whom he was harsh with, but I knew that even they would have shunned me for not fulfilling their requirements. I didn't feel dirty enough to be grouped with the harlots and tax collectors that flocked to him. My sins seemed too small to truly bother about.

         Why did his death matter to me? As the Son of God, didn't he know everything, and by dying for everyone in one fell swoop, wasn't it sort of a package deal, my small bundle of sins just one drop in an enormous bucket of others?        

                                                           

      The pride and hypocrisy  of my own immature thinking makes me reel; professing myself wise,  I was as foolish as everyone I looked down on, and more. Pride insulated me;  it was like a thick, comfortable blanket

between me and everything good and beautiful like humility, compassion, mercy, and righteous judgment. As long as I felt a little bit better than someone else, I thought I was doing okay. And I could always,  always,  find someone to look down on. Someone to despise as a little bit less. 

        It wasn't until some carefully constructed and I thought well-tended walls in my own life fell down that I started to see my own need for redemption. I remember lying in bed, trembling, knowing that what I had on my own wasn't good enough anymore.     God as my Father become real to me, and Jesus as my brother, a man who never sinned against me or anyone,  an innocent, kind man who died to save me.  

      Feeling alone, I tried to picture Christ standing next to me in the memories and flashbacks that pulsated through my mind. I couldn't see Him, and I remember panicking,

my chest heaving with desperate, empty moans. "Where were you? Where were you when this happened?"

Truth came to me, quiet and still;  "I was dying."                        

     This man, who loved sinners, who forgave their sins and selflessly spent himself for others, died in the midst of every sin I've ever committed, and every sin someone else has ever committed against me. His own Father turned His face from his Son, as he died on a cross for me. Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthanei?  My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

                                                              

          He felt every fear and waking nightmare of shame, and He alone has walked uprightly.     I know that now I  must learn to live the way he died; surrendered to the will of our Father.

Arise, shine;

For your light has come!

And the glory of the Lord is risen upon you.

For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth,

And deep darkness the people;

But the Lord will arise over you,

And His glory will be seen upon you.

Isaiah 60 1-2 

May 2015

"Children are the wishing people," Elysia says. I pause, thinking how true this is. I want that.  I want to be one of the Wishing People. 

May 15, 2015

                                           

       Anthony wakes up from his nap, his face flushed with sleep and his gold-brown hair tousled.  He  climbs into our rocking chair next to the window. It is windy today, the tree tops bending low and the lake ruffled with waves.

     He glances out the window-  Look! A sailboat!  A sailboat! !   We watch it float and skim across the sunlit water... it's the first we've seen this season, and it's beautiful;  the fresh white sails against the deep blue water and the clear blue sky.

      For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

  The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come...

          Song of Songs 2: 11-12 

     

May 14 2015

                                                              May 14
    
     Chloe and Elysia are riding round and round on their bicycles, singing madly at the top of their lungs:  

Hark the herald angels sing, 

Glory to the newborn King!     

Peace on earth and mercy mild, 

God and sinners

Reconciled.

It sounds glorious and natural, their innocent singing with the background noise of their wheels on the deck and the summer wind in the tree tops.

They are His children, the same as I am.      I want to live every day with this truth on my lips and in my heart and mind.



      For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee.
                            P s a l m    86:5
     

May 12 2015

                                                              May 12

      Drip. Drip. Drip. The thoughts circle in, one by one at first, but then in dank, dark clouds. They drip with fear, harsh voices chanting pain.

 You aren't enough.  Everything you do is wrong. Everything you've ever done is wrong.
You've failed. You'll fail again. 


I feel waves of anger, self - righteousness exploding outwards, making excuses; excusing myself. Self-soothing words come next.


 You haven't done too badly, considering where you came from. You could be worse. You're actually not too bad. Look around.  Look for someone a little bit more selfish than you are; see? You are going to be okay. Just keep one step ahead and you'll be alright. 


                  A part of me pulls back and watches; the attack, the counter-attack. Studies the tactics. Makes notes. Calculates. This part knows what I really need.    


Surrender. 

To who? 

To the One you're hiding from, in the thin - walled boxes of your mind. 

Surrender? I'm scared... these walls are all I have. 

               All thy strong holds shall be like fig trees with the firstripe figs: if they be shaken, they shall even fall into the mouth of the eater.               N a h u m   3:12

                 It's a promise. Can I live this moment,  surrendered to my Father? I need Him. I know it with my mind and my body and my soul. Can I live this? 

O my Father- let me live like the One you sent to die for me.

May 3 2015

                                                          May 3
            This spring the small, thin leaves on all the birch trees are so beautiful that they look like a thousand thousand new-green blossoms.  The pond has melted at last, and the ice on the lake is almost gone. Grebes call, with their harsh voices, and seagulls wheel high overhead.

             Lie on the dock, lie quiet and still, see the blue of the sky reaching on, blending with the distant mountains.

        Eleanor,  busiest of all, trips hither and yon,  touching, seeing, wondering- her dark eyes more beautiful than anything in the whole world and her sweet round cheeks still made for kissing.      Soft butter dripping down mussels on the barbecue, and two girls learning to ride bicycles together.

        I want to seize the joy, snatch it, wrest it from the moment and save it forever but I can't. Savour this moment. Christ the Lord is Risen today- Today!

    And because of Him I have hope of heaven.