Farther in Farther Up

I am revisiting CS Lewis in Narnia again.  Yes, again.  I have been here before, it seems to be a circular journey as Christmas and Easter often are.  Every so often they are back and each time they are the same and entirely different.  Every Christmas that has ever come has left images and memories, but each is still uniquely new and stands apart.  It is not the stuff or the circumstance exactly, though of course stuff and circumstance contribute.  It is the me who shows up each year, exactly the same as last year and entirely different.  Somehow the same things mean more or less, I appreciate more or less, I need more or less.  I  hear things differently, sometimes grieving that they do not sound the same way, sometimes celebrating that they don't. 

I started reading The Last Battle three months ago and I finished listening to it on my ipod yesterday.   I am glad I heard it, though I must say that the gentleman who was reading it made the experience slightly more challenging as I found myself over and over missing the point of what he was reading because I felt the need to critique his delivery and pronunciation.  (Yes, truly some things never do change.)  There I was back at the stable again, listening to the profound theology of CS Lewis and trying it on with new eyes.  Is the Kingdom of God truly like an onion, with layers and layers, only the layer within begin much bigger than the layer without?  Do our fears and prejudices blind us to the color and texture and smells and tastes of the delightful kingdom around us?  Am I joyfully living the great adventure that Aslan has prepared for me?  How do I reconcile the battle, and the pain, and the fear, and the darkness with the doorway that leads to light, and life,and joy, and delight?  Am I clinging so hard to the half gods, the half world, the half truths that I cannot step through to the genuine thing?  When do I miss that defeat is the first step to victory?

My first journey to Lewis' stable was as a young mother with two small boys.  There the images of the dwarfs gathered in a tight circle, blind to the possibilities spoke to me as a mom who was never able to see light.  I felt paralyzed by the clutter and mess, unable to find a way to begin eating the elephant.  Where would you take your first bite?!  As I read I connected and realized that I too was missing out on the beauty and joy, the colors and textures of life as a mom, and a wife, and a friend, because all I could see was laundry, and dishes. and toys. and dust.  So, I kept the dwarfs in my thoughts every day and I was intentional in reminding myself about the miracles that were a day to day occurrence in my life.  There were so many blessings I had missed!  It took practice but in time I no longer had to prompt myself, I was already noticing how wonderful my kids were, how cute my house was, how clever all of my friends were, how faithful my husband was. 

The second time I was deeply embattled with the struggles of life.  It was a 'dark night of the soul' time for me and I wrestled with who God was, what would it mean if He really didn't love me, as I feared.  There was the darkness and despair that spoke volumes, I found it almost too painful to read.  The hopelessness of the end of the world as we know it was too real for me.  Then it was the doorway that captivated me.  I began to look for the doorway that would end this time of blackness, death and destruction and lead me to the place where the colors were vibrant and real.  It was forever in coming, but gradually a doorway appeared and with great fear and trepidation, I allowed the world as I knew it to end and embraced the world within that was love, light, truth.

This time it is the farther up and farther in that calls to me.  I am eager to push on to more, only I do not know what that is, or how to go, or who one travels with.  I am captivated by running and not growing weary and soaring into bright blue skies.  I understand the Lewis was referring to the ultimate homecoming, and yet, there is within me a conviction that in this life there is the ability for the soul to do what the body cannot.  I want to go farther up, farther in.  I can still see the doorway though I know that the other side is gone to me forever.  I would like to live in expectation of meeting Jesus around every corner, of comfort in the garden of the King, of being unable to be afraid again.  Wouldn't the ability to live fearless be amazing?!  Perfect love drives out fear, I know.  I see often how imperfect my love is. 

Farther up, farther in!  Letting go of all that holds us back, we run on to take hold of that which Christ has already taken hold  for us.  Perfect love, where we run and not grow weary, where a table has been prepared for us.  The Kingdom within the kingdom, so much more than we dream.  Farther up, farther in!

A New Day

Every day is a new day.  I have a great deal of fondness for Ann of Green Gables who said "each day is new with no mistakes in it".  I like this way of living.  I find that I make too many mistakes to let them bleed over into the next day, it is important to cut them off and wipe the slate clean.  I believe truly, if one could do this, one would be living life in the Kingdom. 

Thomas Keating, one of those people who make me feel calmer just reading what he writes, says we should look at our strengths and our weaknesses, our successes and our failures and say, 'oh well'.  Just dream for a moment with me: what if we could do this?!  What if we could do this for ourselves, and for others.  Oh well.  What kind of freedom would we find in an 'oh well' world?

Some of you are already thinking about how this wouldn't work.  I hear you, and I even sympathize.  I mean where would the joy come from without the victory dance in the end zone?  What about the people who make messing stuff up a way of life?!  Do we just say 'oh well' and clean up time after time?  What about a work of excellence?  What about bringing the best fruits that we have to God?  What about working towards a goal, striving to take hold of that which Christ has taken hold for us?  Yeah, what about all that?!

I don't have lots of answers, I just wonder about this: what if we lived that way?  What if I was loved and accepted, totally and completely, just as I am and you were too?  What if we saw the good stuff and smiled and saw the bad stuff and smiled?  What if we rejoiced together and mourned together without self incrementation or finger pointing, or finding the reason something didn't work.  What if we stopped fixing ourselves and one another, and let God do what God does with us and be content with that?  Would that change the world and make the Kingdom come, on earth as it is in Heaven?

While I am being totally revolutionary here, let's run to the edge of fantasy and imagine what it would mean to live in God's Kingdom now.  If you work hard, can you imagine a state where we are so filled with the love of God and the love of others?  What would we bicker about?  Who would we gossip about if we were filled with love for everyone?  Who would we compete against?  Who's loss would we celebrate?  The dynamics of relationship would change, the priorities in our lives would turn upside and we would live in a world, the opposite of the one described by Winston Church: where all the things of value are priced cheaply, and the things that don't matter at all are the most expensive.   Let me just say this, before I get off the train to Never Never Land, why is it we don't want to live here?

I get the world is not ready to change it's vision, but is the Church?  Surely the Church, the Bride of Christ, would desire at the core and center of its vision and hope to be this Kingdom on Earth.  We pray it every week!  Wonder if this could be the year we mean it and begin to take the intentional and deliberate steps to allow God to create in us clean hearts and the love that makes this possible. 

I am thinking of staying on the train, I like the view from here. I am not sure I am getting any questions answered but I like the view, I like the company, and I think I will enjoy the freedom.  I can hear Tom Hanks yelling "All aboard" in my head!  I think this is definitely the year, and I am sure there is a ticket for you. 

Thanksgiving Eve

Its the lull before the full court press; my feet are up, my house is quiet, the turkey is stuffed and waiting patiently to go into the oven at the crack-o-dawn.  I have been reading thanksgiving quotes and stumbled across on from Erma Bombeck: "Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence."  I think this is worth posting somewhere.

Erma Bombeck takes me back to my late teens and early twenties when I was trying to figure out how to be a wife and an adult all at the same time.  She wrote funny things about house cleaning, something I have never found naturally entertaining.  "Housework, if you do it right, will kill you". How about that for truth?!  I will have to confess the obvious conclusion is correct, I have never done housework right.

Funny that the things I remember most, as nostalgia rolls in with the holiday season, are the things that made me laugh.  There was the time I asked my eldest son what I could do to help him sit still during worship.  He was about four or five years old at the time.  He thought for a few moments and then said, "Well, Mom, church could be shorter."  The moment was lost, how can you correct your child when you have tossed your head back and you are howling with laughter?!   Or the time when we were standing in line at an amusement park waiting our turn to ride.  My middle child, who was paying no attention to me at all, wrapped his arms around a leg wearing jeans, close to where I had been standing.  The gentleman, to whom the leg belong, took it well.  My son however did not!  I got so tickled by that one, I had to apologize to most of the people standing in line.  I giggle over it still today. 

There was the Christmas my brother in law bought my sister underwear.  Now, in fairness to my brother in law, my sister asked for underwear.  He carefully discovered that she wore size 14 jeans so he bought her size 14 underwear.  Those underwear were so large that all of us could have worn them together.  I am not sure, but I think we did. 

Or the time I cooked the pecan pie and forgot to take the wax paper liner out of the pie crust.  The pie filling kept rising and rising and rising.  We began a great count down, knowing that Vesuvius was about to blow!   Or the first time I made homemade chili.  No one told me,nor did I bother to read the directions, that you needed to soak beans over night.  So I put them straight into the crock pot with the rest of the chili fixings.  The beans were hard as rocks.  In fact, we took the beans and started a rock garden.   I will point out here that there are countless stories of my cooking, including the never ending lasagna and my famous turkey pops, but that no one has ever died from my cooking.   At least it has never been a direct correlation.

I am grateful that God gives us the gift of laughter.  At the end of the day, when truly the dust has settled and the smoke has cleared, it is the gift of humor that is my prized possession.  I have certainly shed my fair share of tears, but never find them as comforting as I do a good laugh.   I am grateful for those who find the humor in life and giggle.  I am grateful that even in the dark places in my life,  God has often blessed me with someone who would help me find something to laugh over.   I know that much of life is not funny, there have been some very sad moments in mine.   I have had those moments when I couldn't grin for any reason under the sun.  Some of those memories are precious too, for God was especially near and carried me when I could not walk on my own.  I know that we ought to be content in all circumstances,  I just love the ones with laughter best!

May the joy of a good belly laugh be yours this year.  May God bless you with a community of those who will laugh with you. 

 

Riding the Waves

Do you remember the story of the little girl who's mother prompts her to pray before dinner with company?  She shyly responds to her mother, "I don't know what to say".  Her mother prods her a little and says "Honey, say what you have heard me say".  The little girl lowers her head, folds and hands and prays "Dear God, why did I ask these people to dinner?!"  I bet all across the world this week there are people praying this same prayer: Dear God, why did we agree to host Thanksgiving?  Dear God, why did we start this project?  Dear God, what was I thinking?!

I am in the Dear God category myself.  It is not the Thanksgiving dinner part, I am looking forward to that and the company who will join us.  It's not even the projects, I can see them coming to a close.  Its the standing still in the middle of the tornado that is blowing through the church that has caused me to say, Dear God, what was I thinking!  Let me say first and foremost, those who have counseled me through the years and said, " be careful what you pray for, God might just honor your prayers", were spot on!  Wouldn't it be a wonderful thing if I would listen when people talked to me?!

The Church is undergoing some much needed change.  Within the mass of institution and religion and agenda and politics, there comes a soft but driving force for change.  Five years ago it was a whisper, today it is a murmur and there is the sense in my bones that it will become an audible voice in my life time.  There is a call for discipleship, for relationship, for the Kingdom of God and the rule of Christ to be spread now, today, not just in eternity.  There is a hunger in the people God is calling into the faith for more: more love, more connection, more truth and more transformation.  It is the most exciting, exhilarating time and as I watch the little sparks spread to something resembling renewal, I am dancing with anticipation.  I am so grateful to see God move, to be faithful to the nurture and care of His people, even if His people are not all that faithful to Him.  It is just awesome to see hope return, the lights on the hill shine even if the light is small and feeble.

So why the Dear God moment?  Do you know how scary change can be?!  I do!  I can see the prayers I prayed over the years being answered, and while it delights my heart, it causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up!  Someone mentioned the Prayer of Jabez in Sunday School this week and I thought....oh my goodness, I prayed that prayer too!  Oh that God would expand our territories still sounds remarkable, until I think what it might mean for me personally.  I am sitting squarely between being scared of revival not coming, and revival coming very close! 

Do not mistake my fear for regret.  I am so excited that God, who has so many more delightful children who play better with others, loves me this much and allows me to see daily the Kingdom of God on earth.  I will go forward in fear and trepidation, but I am going forward.  I do not know how the road twists and turns ahead, but if the road behind me is any indication, I expect there will be lovely green places to rest and renew.  I know there will be other places where the rocks are almost to big to get around, and there will be potholes you can get lost in.  There will be times when the people who travel with me are delightful and times when one wonders why it is these people can't walk faster, slower or on another part of the road.  Still, I would no sooner stay put than bungee jump!  The hair stands up, the heart beats a little faster, and I remind myself that there is no place any of us will ever go that God has not gone on before.  That He who is in us is greater than he that is in the world.  And that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God.  You know, seems like God must have known what a timid creature I am, to have given me so many promised to cling too!

Dear God, it is a good thing you love me so much and so completely.  You say you have known me from my mother's womb and have counted every hair on my head (and can I just share a good many of them seem to be falling out?) so all these personalities must not come as a surprise to you.  I hope when the transformation is complete the fun personality will remain, the neurotic one is just so hard to take anywhere. 

Packing up a Saddle Bag

Sister Kathleen Flood entertains us beautifully with a story of her mother.  It starts with the years of separation and pain caused by disapproval,and ends with reunion that is incomplete because dementia has robbed them of the resolution one would wish.  She tells of her mother waiting for a horse to ride to meet Jesus and after her death, and then later, Sister Kathleen packing up saddlebags of unresolved issues to send to meet Jesus too.  Trusting in God's time, time beyond time, there will be healing and restoration and redemption for those broken places.  It's a beautiful story!

This is where the story intersects with me in my own little reality.  "Saddlebags" was the curse of my existence in elementary school.  This was the recurrent nickname that used to send all kinds of horror into my life and make me feel rejected and worthless and friendless.  I still remember the dreadful day when my mother sent me to school in the olive green, hideous dress.  That day of all days, I was chosen to hold the doors to let everyone back into the building after recess.  A glorious job, by the way.  All of us lived to be chosen to be seen holding the door while the whole student population passed by.  There I was in that hideous dress, everyone is passing me by and seeing me, when one of the multitudes says something ugly ending in calling me "Saddlebags".  Could ever anyone have suffered such humiliation?  Why on earth the bully police did not rush in and arrest the culprit I do not know.  Worse, where were the child protectives service people who should have, at the very least, offered my mother the service of a fashion consultant, not to mention an allowance to purchase something ever so much prettier for me.  Alas, this did not happen, and today the memory remains.  Perhaps I ought to put that away in a saddlebag to ride on to Jesus!

Or the nasty year in six grade when a particularly vicious group of girls identified themselves as popular by identifying others of us as not popular.  The story would have been sad enough had the girls just never invited me in, but they did sometimes.  I was a marginal cool girl in the sixth grade.  Sometimes I was allowed to stay and then thrown out on a whim, usually painfully.  But the very worst part of that story was a girl named Helen.  She was never in the 'in' group and she was always the focus of the nastiness, always.  I remember now Helen opening her valentines and crying because of the ugly notes some of the girls had written her.  I don't think I was ever ugly to Helen, though I might have been.  I know that I never defended Helen to the others, my grasp on coolness was so tenuous and the pain of exclusion so great.  I am sorry Helen, where ever you are.  I hope you have been able to put this in a saddle bag and send it on to meet Jesus.  I am sorry I was too shallow to do the hard stuff of standing up for you, with you.  I am putting this in the saddlebag now, but I am remembering that in the redemption that will follow, God may allow me to have more courage in the future. 

And then there is Jim, who was gentle and kind, and whose family loved me as I have really never been loved.  They loved me enough to help me become a stronger member of my own church, which lead to distance and ignoring Jim, and I ended up hurting Jim and all of his family in my self absorption and very limited vision.  Even today, the horror I feel at my lack of feeling and sensitivity wash over me and I wonder just exactly how far I have grown.  Am I not today sometimes so incredibly self absorbed that others fade into the background and I am not aware of how little I am even thinking of them.  I am asking forgiveness, I am putting this into the saddlebag and I am trusting that for Jim and his family there has been redemption, and blessings for the many blessings they gave me.  I am keeping a little note to remind myself that love is precious and I need to make sure I nurture those I love, and who love me.

I am adding Bruce to my saddlebag.  Bruce was my love struck fellow in college, who betrayed my secrets to my roommate and caused division.  Bruce  loved me until he didn't, and then he was cruel and vicious.  Bruce sent to my mother complaining of my character defects, including that I forced him to visit my parents home against his will.  I remember the absolute fear I felt when my mother read the letter to me, I was so sure it would be believed and my own family would reject me.  How awful that moment was.  I remember my mothers response to Bruce, saying she wished he had told her he was being held against his will, that my parents didn't allow me to kidnap people.  What a relief that was!  A greater relief when, in the next semester, Bruce indicated that he had forgiven me and would like to go again, that I could say no and  walk away without regret.  Sadly, when Bruce told others that he didn't get an RA job, that I had complained to the Administration about him, some of them believed him.  I was told those people weren't real friends, but then how does one know a real friend?  So Bruce and my non-real friends, I am putting you in the saddlebag. I am pretty sure this one has already been redeemed, it is just now being release.

I think saddlebags have limited space, so I am sending this one on.  There will be more stuff, in this emotional purge, but for now, I am satisfied!  There is more room in here for God and less crap that I am forced to climb over or work around.  Way to go, Sister Kathleen.   What a means of grace your mother has been.  Wait, I think I see some redemption!

My father's daughter

November is the month my dad comes to mind most often.  It is the month that he was born, the month that he died and the month when my thoughts turn to family and tradition.  This year the memories have been aided by the discovery of the Red Hot Chili Pipers and the wonderful bagpipe/rock combination.  I drove several hours in the sun a few days ago, thinking of my dad and rocking away to the music, wondering if I should take up the bagpipes...wondering if my dad would approve...wondering if once upon a time, many generations ago, those writing music for bagpipes ever dreamed such a combination was possible.  The piano, the bass, some wicked drum solos, a little lead guitar and the bagpipes adding color and life and unifying melody.  I wonder if the same is true for people.  I wonder if the same truths to a different rhythm, one we haven't thought of yet, is the blessing given as the mantle is passed generation to generation.

My dad was a wordsmith.  He was witty and wise.  His humor was one of his greatest gifts and when he had been particularly witty, he so enjoyed his own humor that for days he chuckled over it.  I got that gift from him!  I have often tickled myself and had a hard time keeping the amusement to myself.  Quiet often I become giggly in all the wrong places, but it has been the source of tremendous joy.  What a lovely legacy to leave for me.  I hope it has been passed down to one of my children, or surely to one of theirs. 

My dad was a musician.  The last week I spent with him, just a few days prior to his death, he played for me some of his favorite music.  He played it for himself mostly, often in the night I would hear the music and know he was filling the quiet and the darkness with comfort and 'nourishment' for his soul.  He would describe each piece or perhaps collection of pieces, tell me what they meant to him, the history of the piece or the composer.  Haendel's Watermusic is one of the places I still meet with my dad, since this was one of gifts he shared with me this week.  Music is one of the best means of grace for me and has been long before I knew what a means of grace was.  I am often transported to other places in music and in that moment the current reality means little,  another lovely legacy that I have seen in my own sons.  Last Christmas it came full circle for me when my son sang a solo in the Christmas in the Wires concert.  As I listened to him sing  I was fill with great pride and real delight, and I knew that my father was sharing the moment with me.  I wonder today at the previous generations present in the heavenly host , do they gather when the gift is shared again and celebrate with joy?

My dad was a Scotsman.  He was proud of his Scottish heritage and often lost himself in its history and in the family genealogy of those who have gone before.  My introduction to bagpipes came from the Highland Games in Ligonier, Pennsylvania. We would take our lawn chairs, listen to the bagpipe competitions and the grand march when they would all take the field together.  I cried every year, it so moved me to hear them all play together.  Tears come today as I remember the feeling, on the edge of the fairgrounds when the music would start, when my heart will swell and be so full, it overflowed.  They come  now as I remember the very cold bagpiper, playing at the cemetery in the snow, as we laid my father to rest for the last time in the same place so many of his ancestors were buried.    I am grateful for the gift of a genealogy too.  I enjoy my Scottish roots and I am grateful that my parents lived in such a time when remembering who we are and where we came from was the vogue.  How much I would have missed had I not taken the bagpipes into my soul.

The Red Hot Chili Pipers are my hope for being faithful to the generations who have gone  before and leaving a legacy for those who will follow after.  Oh may the gifts we were given be passed on and transformed to suit the time and the season of those yet to come, and may we gather with the

heavenly host to celebrate the glories of God being revealed and reflected again. Then we will share in the blessing our hearts await,"well done, good and faithful servant", the mantle is passed and like Elisha, they will be able to do far more than we ever dreamed.  I am grateful that I am my father's daughter, and my Father's daughter.  And may those who come behind us find us faithful. 

Hollow

I do not know when hollow milk chocolate Easter bunnies were first introduced, but it was a very sad day.  A hollow milk chocolate bunny is just a very sad and pathetic shadow of what a chocolate bunny should be.  It should be thick and deep and leave teeth marks when you bite into.  It should fill you mouth and coat your throat with sweet, delicious, delightful chocolate that  means you can really only eat a bite to two without taking a break.  You have to pity the bunny that is hollow, just a shell of a rabbit really.  There is so much missing.

I am feeling like that poor sad bunny tonight, awfully hollow inside.  Just a shell of a person really.  Not much substances, just a lot of cotton wool and emptiness.  Not much to bite into, there is so much missing.  A very sad, pathetic kind of person today.

I am confident that this is a means of grace.  I am confident that the best part of being hollow is that it has made so much room for God.  All of the overwhelming sadness that has created a barrier that shoved all the stuff that was filling me up before. Now the sadness has created a new God shaped space where grace can be pumped in like insulation.  Maybe exactly like insulation.  Then the next great sadness may have less space to clear, and I may never get as hollow as I have today.  That's the way it is with grace, you know. 

I do not know how long it takes, to allow grace to fill all the hollow places.  I would like for it to be soon, though I do not have the energy to be in too much of a hurry for anything.  I know that it is worth waiting for.  I know that the grace that will flood in will be like light, and warmth and hope and security.  An Easter bunny worth eating. 

Now that is a goal to aspire toward!