What defines us…

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I’m observing the passing of the year with a properly raised Spock’s eyebrow. It just hasn’t been logical. And I want to side with the Vulcans and say it all lines up nice and tidy, but I’m only an emotional human. Life has taught me differently. Life has a logic that defines the human senses. Only He knows. Upside down, contradiction, servant not master.

This is the year that I let go and let God. I don’t mean that in the trite cliche it smacks of. It’s just that you can cling to things so tightly, knuckles white, that you don’t realize that those things have fractured and shattered, and your hands are bloody and torn, and the only way to stop the pain is to let go.

Fast away the old year passes…

Time moves differently now. It used to seem lockstep, forward march, onwards, go! to me. I was always facing backwards. Mourning a past I could not fix, gazing over the blackness. Not realizing that the reason I couldn’t see was because I was gazing at a path that no longer existed. God’s time, the kronos, kairos- they seemed other-worldy. I could never grab them, wrap my mind around it. Pain tempers that desire. Time is a river. We ease into it. Sometimes we hold on a Rock in the middle of the rapids, sometimes we float on His love. But we are always in time, never apart from it. To try to hold time in place- I think that’s the call of the dark one, to be frank. Only the Lord can hold time. He is time. Weird how claims like that no longer bother me.

Hail the new, ye lads and lasses…

I won’t ever pretend I know what it’s like to come back from physical war, the death you see, the pain you endure. But I can tell you what spiritual warfare is like, and the thing is, from all I’ve seen and read, the two aren’t much different in the end. I’ve been walking away from the battlefield a while now, and still, looking across the horizon, I can feel the thing, just over that far hill. My memories are filled with the losses. It is a scar that will always be with me.

It make me regard the new with a bit more awe. That each day, we rise again, take a breath, move and have being. It is a grace and a gift we often fail to regard. I don’t want to forget that feeling anytime soon. In fact, learning eucharisteo makes walking every foot of that battlefield worth it. I am less, and He is more. It is as it should be. It’s taken my whole life to finally begin drinking that into my soul. I begin to wonder that it will always be a new discovery, each morning. That first YHWY breath of conciousness as the sun tips the sky each day.

Sing we joyous all together…

The song on my heart as I greet the new year: wild grace. Steadfast mercy. Everlasting compassion. And faith. Faith in the Mystery. In the Things Unseen. In the God I cannot see but Whose imprint is everywhere if I have eyes to see.

I was thinking about the culture that defined me this year, the things that surrounded my thoughts. I’ve long since realized that culture is a powerful thing. For good. For ill. When I think about the culture that cried out to me this year, I think the thing that strikes me the most is that they are all a cry for the Light. I’m not one to stick with overtly Christian things simply because they are labeled such- my favorite band still remains The Dave Matthews Band. (And yes, I realize I have just shown my age.) But this year, everything I loved happened to be labeled Christian. I look more for art. Beauty. Truth. I am so thankful that the Christian community is finally stepping up with some real meaty substance for a change, not watered down. I know it goes in cycles, but I’m so thankful for the change right now. I needed the strong stuff.

The books: Refractions by Makoto Fujimura. Give Them Grace by Elyse Fitzpatrick and Jessie Thompson. One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

The music: Far and away had to be Josh Garrel’s Love & War & The Sea in Between. It is still on repeat. Close second was Gungor’s second album, Ghosts Upon the Earth. Both seem to be imbibing what Micheal Card has been saying for years- excellence matters. Art matters. Faith matters. Forget the label. Play your heart, speak to Christ the longings of your heart, and the rest of us’ll get it. Don’t make the next top 40 hit. Speak Christ.

The movies: I’m about four years behind. I’m always watching stuff after the fact. The entire Harry Potter series (both books and movies) are definitely the defining point for media for me this year. Jeffery Overstreet has made powerful contentions that all stories that point back to the Story are worthy of reading. And I tell ya, this dark series was one of the serious catalysts for pointing me back to the Light. Of course, I advise discernment. (Shouldn’t we always advise our dearests to discernment in all things, labeled Christian or no? Shouldn’t it all be weighed against the Truth, the Word made Flesh?)

And here, the miracle of another year is upon us. A chance to breathe new. Whether they will be labored breaths, or shouts of joy…

Welcome 2012.

When you come full circle…

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She circles in the center of the kitchen table in the middle of the mess. For a few days, I couldn’t even find the candles that belonged- devoid of light, but we moved her anyways. I was fingering Caleb’s beautiful handwork the other day, sitting at the kitchen table. The subtle, sweet scent of the wood. All, so smooth. Tracing the curves. Sipping my steaming coffee. I remember glancing at the coffee, and startling myself with laughter because I was drinking hot coffee. Fresh coffee. Not overwarmed, sat around to long, popped in the microwave, still lukewarm coffee.

Wise ones told me it would be like this. When I’d come out the other side, when the lights came back on, I’d sit stunned. Alive, but different. And perhaps, the strangest feeling: I am more whole now than I was then. How can that be? When so much was taken from me? When the scars and wounds, still fresh, burn? That is the truth of Christ and His Upside down Kingdom…I am less. I barely came through the battle. But in His glory, I am here. Whole. A mystery I won’t pretend to understand, because I can’t fathom it.

And then there is Mary.

I finger the donkey’s tail. Slide my finger over her head, round her belly. She seems as unattainable as the Proverbs 31 woman, so vaunted, so glorified. So trusting. She said yes.

But I wonder, how easy was that yes? I wonder if we’ve so glossed it over that we’ve forgotten what a tremendous struggle that yes must have been. From that point on, her journey would be one of loss. Losing it all, so that we could gain. She’d lose her Son to the darkest deep, so that the whole world would live. The upside down kingdom again.

I remember when it started. I remember in the dark- thinking- this is it, this is all of it, there’s nothing left. The enemy waits. And yet, there was more deep and dark to wade through. More to lose, more to let go. And somehow, the dark did not overcome. It was hard eucharisteo, praise torn from my lips with a cry of pain.  I think of my dear friend, facing loss, knowing the fracture, the claws deep of the Enemy into my heart, the Dementors’ faceless, churlish torment. There are no hallmark moments. There are no easy answers. The only way through is Christ, and it is a journey of loss.

I settle Mary back into the circle, straighten out the table cloth. Walk my empty coffee cup to the sink. I understand it now. I will and have lost it all, but I have gained Christ. And through Him, the whole world. Upside down. May it be to me as you have said…

 

It’s just here…

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I’m listening to Black Nag, played by Vaughn Williams. The lights are low. The fire is burning for the first time this year in the next room. Come sit with me a while? Sip the peppermint tea?

During evening prayers, I was staring hard into the Advent wreath, watching the flame flicker across and back, playing off the potpourri below. Two candles in the dark.

I can tell you much about darkness. I’ve lived in shadowy places too long to not forget. But it’s the Light that I am seeing anew. Advent, despite a tumultuous childhood and a half dozen military moves, always stayed the same. I’ve come to realize why Christmas and the Advent season mean so much to me in adulthood- it was one of few real, true constants. The world could upend itself all year long, and even if my family was fractured and my father on the other side of the world- there was still Advent. Still the slow lighting of the candles. The scriptures. The prayers. The quiet songs. The Story, told again. For a family that traded friendships and fellowship almost yearly, it’s nothing short of amazing, really, that we somehow always took the time out to celebrate each night we could. A testimony to my mother.

And here is the True Thing. Life’s still fractured. The world is still upended. But there was a baby, and a mama, and a daddy, and a God that loved us so much, He couldn’t let us go into the dark and the deep. And so, in the darkest of the year, when the moon and shadows dance, and the cold speaks death, and what good could come of this? There is an Answer that whispers back- Life. Life abundant. A baby cries as the fractured world turns, and we can barely hear that our redemption draws nigh. But we light the candles, and we quiet ourselves, and in the hush, we hear. We speak it aloud, deep into our hearts, from cochlear to arterial- Truth.

Hear King David speak?

I love the LORD, for he heard my voice;
he heard my cry for mercy.
2 Because he turned his ear to me,
I will call on him as long as I live.

3 The cords of death entangled me,
the anguish of the grave came over me;
I was overcome by distress and sorrow.
4 Then I called on the name of the LORD:
“LORD, save me!”

5 The LORD is gracious and righteous;
our God is full of compassion.
6 The LORD protects the unwary;
when I was brought low, he saved me.

7 Return to your rest, my soul,
for the LORD has been good to you.

8 For you, LORD, have delivered me from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling,
9 that I may walk before the LORD
in the land of the living.

{psalm 116}

David’s heart, skin, ripped off, across the page. He understood what it was to live in darkness. But he walked in the Light.

So I heed. The prophet Isaiah whispers back:

Arise, shine, for your light has come,
and the glory of the LORD rises upon you.
2 See, darkness covers the earth
and thick darkness is over the peoples,
but the LORD rises upon you
and his glory appears over you.
3 Nations will come to your light,
and kings to the brightness of your dawn.

4 “Lift up your eyes and look about you:
All assemble and come to you;
your sons come from afar,
and your daughters are carried on the hip.

{Isaiah 60}

The world spins, fractured. But I know, as I gaze long into the flickering candlelight and into your eyes, dear friend- Love has come. And in His love and time, the fractured will turn mosaic beautiful to behold, because the Artist was at work.

It’s here. The Story is being told. Lean in and listen, and hear the wondrous works of the Lord.

A Christmas Daybook…

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Outside my window…

The whine of chainsaws and leaf-blowers. The first tiny windstorm (sans rain or snow) brought trees down all over the neighborhood. Makes me feel so confident about our winter ahead. Ahem. On the other hand, we have plenty of firewood for the fire place.

 Thinking…

That Advent grows dearer to me with each passing year.

I am thankful…

For Grace that breathes through our lives. For the Comforter. My father-in-law has recovered quite a bit- but still we pray for a full recovery.

From the learning rooms…

Faithful pursuit. I can remember so many times that I despaired in teaching Isaiah- would we ever get things to click? Would he ever read? And in this semester we have seen the first fruits of the last four years of labor. It amazes me to just sit down to school, to work, to learn, to pursue without tears and frustration for Isaiah. He has come so far…and I am so proud.

In the kitchen…

Not so much. It’s been a crazy season…we’ve reverted back to ‘ditto’. Absolutely nothing adventurous going on. Except for a killer batch of chocolate chip cookies ala James, which he then hid in the dutch oven on the stovetop- and it did take the kids almost a week to find. Hidden in plain sight…no cookie monster would think to look in a pan.

I am wearing…

Wholeness. I feel like the last few years have been a hard, worn battle. I questioned the Lord, I questioned my faith- and yes- at many times- despaired for lack of light. But I can feel deep in my heart that the time of testing is over, and a time of rejoicing has come. I don’t quite know how to explain it, but I know it is there.

I am creating…

A December Daily album. Just to get into the groove of creating again is gift enough.

I am hearing…

Canadian Brass (Holiday) on Pandora. Warm, orchestral, quiet Christmas music. Lovely.
Around the house…

Decorations here and there. Last year I was far too ill to really do anything. My beloved and my dad did as best they could, but they were guys, you know? And my heart wasn’t in it. I found this year that I used maybe a quarter of all that I had. I’m thinking I may have some things to pass on for someone else to enjoy- some of it hasn’t been used in five years or more.

I am pondering…

I’ve been reading The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis. This in itself is a sign that I am feeling more whole than I have in a long time; for the longest stretch of a few years, I have clung to prayer and relying on years of memorization of the Word to pass through the darkness. I had no “light” to read by, and the simplest things overwhelmed. As a weary soldier fresh from battle, Lewis is ministering to my heart, and I am grateful.

One of my favorite things…

The sound of my Isaiah sounding out words, correctly, over and over. Sweet sound of victory. And you should see the look on his face when he reads and understands the sentence! My favorite is when he giggles at the goofy actions. (Dr. Suess is very popular right now.)

A few plans for the rest of the week:

Keep calm and carry on. I know, I know, it’s cliche now. A grain of truth in it though…just understanding that how I act and react flavors how the rest of my family functions- and keeping calm and not giving into stress and worry- a difficult battle- but a worthy opponent. 

More Daybooks here.

One thing remains…

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If there is anything the last few years have taught me, only One remains. When it all falls down, only Christ. When the storm rages, only the Rock. All else will come and go, but the Word does not fail.

As my father-in-law struggles with grave illness, knowing that he is not long for this world, this arrangement from Josh Garrels has been much on my mind. Death has no sting. In Communion, we remember this; that He has conquered death, and that Peace is with us.

A solid foundation…

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Photo: ©MemoriaArts  Quote: J.K. Rowling

A few late nights ago, buried by work and stress, I happened to click on some iTunes extras that come with Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, selecting “J.K. Rowling: A Year in the Life” filmed by James Runcie.

I have been a somewhat passive fan of the series over the years- never having read the books, and (up until last week) have only viewed two of the movies, the very first two- before life took over. As a matter of fact, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was one of the last movies I ever saw in a theater on the big screen, years ago. Harry’s journey was just beginning as I was getting married and having my first children. And now, a decade later, the books and the movies have finally come to their fitting end. I don’t know what inspired my sudden binge upon the movies in the last few weeks- but I have now watched all the way up to almost the end- and am patiently waiting for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 and 2 to arrive via Netflix. I haven’t stalked the mailbox like this in ever so long. Oh, I could easily find out the ending, read the books from the library, but there is some deferred gratification in waiting.

Anyways, James Runcie and JK Rowling. I would never have imagined that a documentary like this would leave me so moved, but it truly did. I don’t know how much of that had to do with having Harry’s adventures so fresh in my mind as I watched; but move me it did. It’s been on my mind ever since. There’s a particular spot where she is sitting in St. Matthews, the Anglican church that she often cleaned as a young girl…Mr. Runcie is asking her some questions regarding Harry and her faith, and I found so much within what she says that truly resonated with my own journey. But perhaps the part of the documentary that affected me the most was her description of the dementors and how they related to her clinical depression- and a few moments later she says the quote above. At this point, I was fighting tears. Not in sadness, but in hope; I am at year three of her twelve, and look, look, where adventure has taken her!

It was a fitting closure to a long three years I have faced, I believe. I could not have chosen a better companion in it than to watch this documentary, to help me close the chapters, move forward. Things are not so dark now, as they were; although I think JK has nailed it well in that the dementors always leave a mark upon you, and you’re never quite the same…things for me will always be colored by the battles I have fought in the last few years. But I hope the true benefit in it all is that I have truly torn back to rock-bottom, learned to build on the Rock…my faith is not a faint thing for me now. It pulses through my veins in a way it had not and perhaps could not before the storms began.

It’s interesting, standing here, looking up. I wonder what my next decade will look like. I used to regret the loss of a near-decade to immaturity and depression; now, I understand it was necessary for the foundation to be rebuilt, and that is a worthy cause, not something to be shunned. In its truest sense, Runcie’s documentary of Mrs. Rowling left within me the question of what I really loved, what I really wanted to pursue, what I keep feeling called to, where my heart turns. It clarified some of the stress I was facing. Noted what was worthwhile, and what was not. It was not all the documentary, I must say- the documentary is a corollary to a lot that has been going on within my interior life, but as sometimes happens, the visual brought to life the thoughts and dreams, and crystallized within me thoughts that needed clarifying.

And now, there is the onwards and upwards. I’ve been crawling towards it, desperate like, and ever so slowly, I’ve found my feet again…and now, to run. May I run well.

The in-between…

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In the what we are, and the what we will be, there is a space between…

The other night I was right tangled, caught upon problems beyond my control. My beloved brought the tea, and Lorelei-girl the knitting, and so, I sat and knit as the dinner time, bed time, twister turn of spilled drink dropped crumbs rocketed its way to splash a bath and tuck a bed marathon, finish well, one more book, I want a drink…and finally, (relative) quiet.

It was decidedly out of character for me to do such a thing, to sit still while the family spun by in its characteristic swirl of many kids in small space, loud and happy and well, perhaps, pushing Daddy’s buttons a bit far…I am usually here and there about the end of day routine, or (far worse) stuck working, head in a spreadsheet, trying to concentrate. (And ever bothered by the fact that they were living and I was working and I’ve never liked that feeling…of missing out…even if it was just the ragged frustration of a bedtime hour gone all froggy.)

I sat there, click, knit, click, Elliana babbling beside me, grabbing at the yarn, ever so tantalizing out of reach, listening and smiling and having many an imaginary conversation with her- “did he really say that? can you imagine? do you like the green?” Click, knit, click. Every so often, a long pause in the flow of words and clicking as I sipped long on the tea, and usually a sudden yelp, as Elliana would have just gotten close enough to grab hold the yarn while I was distracted….on our little dance went until daddy came to take her to bed.

And by the time my Beloved himself appeared, a bit bedraggled around the edges, one corner of the shirt untucked, something sticking in his hair (for whomever is putting the kids to bed, we almost always look a bit…undone…afterwards), I was more myself. The problem was still right tangled, but I no longer was. I laughed at myself a bit, that my family knew me better than I knew myself- or perhaps it was that I was not allowing myself the space, and they knew to force it upon me. And I smiled to know that I was finally learning to let go.

I find myself in a transitional space of time, and all that has gone before, all my immaturity, mocking me, challenging me to not get better, to not grow, to not change, to settle for nothing and want for everything, to revert to the ways that bring no joy and no peace…and it is an in between time…a choice to make…a path to follow…and maybe, for right now- I just need to knit. And pray. And sip long on peace.

 

Seasons…

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When the dogwood bloomed blood-dipped white, life bloomed fresh in the house on the hill. Elliana was a wee tiny thing then, barely weeks old, curled often on chest. Babies have this way forming themselves around your body in both comma and question mark; comma- a separation- and question mark of future tense- what this is and what will be seems almost other-worldly in those misted days. You wake and sleep and wake again, drink deep the joy and sometimes-shake-with the responsibility of this new soul, wrapped around yours- and the bloom drifted down, summer snow-fall- and wee girl made her way known in the world, song of old, and the mist fell away.

Our life is but a whispered mist, fog on the morning, breathe out- YHWY breath. I reel at the days that have slipped by, and now she is this long stretched girl, light as air, giggling and crawling, dweller of the carpet and floor. I know I shall blink and she will take unsteady steps, and the crib and cradle, bereft of purpose, will make their way to the attic…but if there is anything six wee ones following like stairsteps have taught me- it is to let the season in. The dogwood has kept me company, silent mother, hen watching over my chicks playing beneath her on slide and in sandbox. She has turned her dresses and let down the hems as the wee girl grows long, and time is marked by her leaves in all their splendor. The winds rustle and I hear the whisper: the beauty comes to those who seek Him first, and if she wild-grace grows, how much more will be given to those who trust? Will I trust? Put on her beauty?

It’s been an insatiable thing, to capture the different light and hue playing across her leaves. Few things I’ve had time for, but somehow I slip out and grab a few shots tracing across the months; finally move from automatic to manual in desperation of wanting to catch her, just-so. Kelly tells of contre-jour, and I turn the camera, and there she is- this friend of the Spirit, ministering to me in her faithful and silent witness. Now the blood-red seed waits its death, and a question before me calls of the sacrifice. Lay it down. Lay it all down. Life will come on an Easter morn, paradox bloom, from death. Will I really live the life of the Dogwood, knarled branch and trunk? Or will I live like grass burned off with the morning mist? Do I go deep into beauty? The older I get, the more beauty calls at me, the more the mist falls, and I fear less and less the free fall of grace, into a mosaic pieced back from the fracture, His blood red, the grout holding us mirrors to the Light.We are not long for this world and my heart longs for Home. Elliana’s spun gold laughter whispers across the way, and I know my answer. The dogwood keeps the remembrance.

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