Leaves

“It is better to go into the house of mourning than the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men, and the living shall lay it to his heart.”
Ecclesiastes 7:2

Oh, the different paths life takes us on. The divergence of ways…the relationships that fade or break… It is bittersweet to look back and compare the past with the present.

I went to a memorial service over the weekend. The person was not close to me; in fact, I have surprisingly few memories of them. I do not share what I am going to share to minimize the bitterness of grief the family is going through. I only share it because it touched me in a different, though still impactful way. They were part of the circle in which I grew up, and the service was like a reunion. A surreal reunion…an uncanny trip down memory lane… and a shock to see once little kids being my height & taller. 

The setting was outdoors in the mountains, & it was raining yellow leaves as the breeze blew them down. The first whispers of Fall amid the full heat of Summer. What is this life but a breath, where we are here for a little while, and then slip away like a leaf off a tree?

And yet it was good. The past few months have been turbulent for me. Last week was nearly downright miserable. And getting perspective by stepping back to realize we all die, and what is therefore most important, was helpful to put my small problems into focus. What do I want people to say at my funeral? What kind of person am I? What do I value most? How should I handle these brief conflicts in light of the fact we’re not going to be around in this life forever, and are each bound for eternity? 

O God, who suffuses the world with beauty and goodness despite the bitterness of our sufferings, draw us to you, the Source where true Joy and comfort are to be found–joy more poignant than grief.
And just as without you, the goodness seeps out of this world leaving it empty and meaningless, so, with you, nothing can be meaningless.
For in the end, joy will swallow up grief and yet retain grief’s poignancy.
This I know: even though I can’t taste it now, I have tasted it, and know I will taste it again.

On top of that layer of perspective was being able to catch up with people I care about whom I haven’t seen in years. It took me out of my small world and back into the wider picture of things, bringing courage and comfort back to my heart.

One conversation, especially, was a gift. I didn’t even know this person was going to be there, and was so surprised to see them I wanted to cry. They’re in a long, hard season, & I’ve felt utterly helpless to reach out to them in it. But there they were. I could only try to engage in conversation, & it went so much better than I expected! 

The wistful past and turbulent present wove together with a ray of hope for the future for a moment of tranquility. 

This life is such a mingling of different threads and seasons. Like falling leaves it can seem pointless and haphazard, fleeting yet fraught with longing for permanency. It is a comfort to know I can trust the skill and care of the Artist who knows every detail, and puts beauty even into the falling paths of the leaves.

Writing Light

I’ve heard it said that it’s much easier to write stories about dark, painful things than good things. The pain is what drives the plot forward, what develops the characters. I’ve heard it said that “goodness writes white”, as in, there’s no contrast, you can’t see it on the paper…it makes for a boring story.

I think this is because of how difficult it is to see the goodness of God in this life when the dark is so pervasive. But there are glimpses…times when we see beyond the dark to something so good it moves us in our very soul, and we struggle for words to describe the experience. In this instance, Goodness writes white. I have discovered it’s easy to forget about some of these times.

But if we keep pondering the Good–if we set our minds and imaginations on what we can’t see anymore but know we saw, and hold onto the hope of it through the dark, and refuse to forget, I think we will eventually become able to write something that is more than white on white: Goodness writes Light.

I know this because I’ve encountered it in the writings of C S Lewis, JRR Tolkien, George MacDonald, and GK Chesterton. They saw something I cannot yet. And they wrote light.

I want to write Light someday.

Chastening. Or, Loss I Dare Count as Gain

May 21st.

I borrowed my mom’s car to go to work this morning. My car is totalled and it’s taken me an agonizing eleven days to decide whether to repair it or search for a new one. (Currently now searching.)

I’ve been sick since April 6th, having relapsed twice and probably caught something that makes you cough for weeks. I’m leaving the country for the summer in less than three weeks. Yet another special hen has died. (Chickens have such short life spans! 😥 ) My room is a perfect mess, and work and obligations keep me from being able to rest, think and make decisions.

I’ve never handled stress or decision-making well, and amidst all of this I feel like God is putting the pressure on me, to temper me to be able to bear stress. I’m sure it’s a blessing in disguise, but it sure is hard to go through. I’m tired of being sick and stressed. I can summon energy to get through whatever I need to do and feel alright, but as soon as I can rest I feel worse. I’m breaking down and crying every two days or so. God feels distant, and I don’t know how to draw near to him. When I read Scripture my mind wanders; when I pray I complain until I feel worse than ever. My friends have been supportive, and I feel loved to have had two friends drive 2+ hours to visit me. Yet I still feel my outlook on life turning inwards, becoming pessimistic and plaintive. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me! Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation, and uphold me with thy free spirit!” (Ps. 51:12)

This morning when I borrowed my mom’s car, she had left the radio on at a station that played hymns. After listening awhile, I began to sing along, and the words such as these brought me to tears:

“All the way my savior leads me,/ What have I to ask beside?/Can I doubt his tender mercy/who through life has been my guide?…All the way my Savior leads me/ cheers each winding path I tread,

gives me grace for every trial/ feeds me with the living bread.
Though my weary steps may falter/ and my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me/ Lo! a spring of joy I see!…
For I know, whate’er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well.”

and

“Because He lives, I can face tomorrow… Because I know He holds the future,
and life is worth the living, just because He lives.”

Why is it so easy to forget? The reminder, through music, of the promises and hope I have in the love and faithfulness of God amidst these stresses reached deeper into my soul than anything else has been able to penetrate. Why don’t we sing these rich, poetic hymns anymore? I need them. I need them to remember these deep truths by. They help me shift my perspective. They make me dare to hope that all this will be worth it–that the losses might count toward eternity if I yield them to God, who does all things well. I vaguely thought of Hebrews 12:5, and the more I look at it, the more it sums up everything I’ve been going through.

“And you have forgotten the exhortation that addresses you as sons: “My son, do not take lightly the discipline of the Lord, and do not lose heart when He rebukes you., for whom the Lord loves he chastens…’ Furthermore, we have all had earthly fathers who disciplined us, and we respected them. Should we not much more submit to the Father of our spirits and live? Our fathers disciplined us for a short time as they thought best, but God disciplines us for our good, so that we may share in His holiness. No discipline seems enjoyable at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it yields a peaceful harvest of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” (Heb 12:5-6, 9-11)

I do believe this is His chastening. I need to submit with meekness and stop complaining and griping…especially toward my family. Oh, That I would take it to heart, and not just move on with life in the same old habits! When I think of it this way I feel a small chill and am glad it was just a car I lost.       

The choir program I play for just had their spring concert. The theme was about dreams. Now, it got me thinking, and I have quite a collection of buried dreams I should probably dust off. But I remembered a literal dream I had years ago, where I fell into the lake where King Arthur acquires Excalibur. I kept sinking, and fighting it, trying to swim for the surface. But I was too far under. In my dream it made sense to use my last bit of strength to dive for the bottom of the lake–and I found I could breathe there; and I could see mermaid cities. It was a wondrous dream. I very much enjoyed it.

After the turbulent event today of saying goodbye to my first car, which I drove for almost exactly three years, and remembering Whom I put my hope in, I feel like all the weight of the last month and a half has been pressing me down, down, down, and it finally became too much to bear, and I finally stopped struggling upwards (towards happy, comfortable feelings) and dove to the bottom (where I faced the problems). And I found I can breathe.

“For I know, whate’er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well.”

Goodbye, car.

School Days

Take a trip down memory lane with me. When I was a child, probably around six years old, my family was driving across the country on a vacation of some sort. It was a long drive, and hot, and boring. Who knows what got into me, but I was fussy. I slid nearly off my seat next to the wall of the car and began to whine and fake-cry and claim I was stuck, and “somebody pleease heeeelp me!” My sister tried to pull me back into my seat a few times, but what I really wanted was for my parents to do something (although what I don’t know). I must’ve kept this up for at least half an hour. We were in the middle of nowhere, and my parents were really frustrated by this time. My dad turned his head around to give me a sharp reprimand, and I remember my mom looking ahead of the car and shrieking. We hit a sheep. Suddenly quite “unstuck” and subdued, I meekly slid back into my seat and remained quiet the rest of the drive (I assume).

Back in the present, I knew I’d been complaining and whining a lot lately, but I’ve just realized how pathetic it all was. For the past three years and more, My Lord has been gently wooing me various places, and making me feel loved, and then introducing new and exciting things. So many gifts, just for me! I was previously so paralyzed with fear I couldn’t be moved except by coaxing. But now…I’m feeling quite comfortable—things don’t terrify me so much now because I’ve had to do them a lot. I have energy to spare. I may have gotten a wee bit spoiled.

When summer came, we went off together to work among a whole lot of people for nine weeks. The effect of everything there in that new situation was so overwhelming I began asking for my Lord to come close and let me feel him and talk to him as we were wont to do. But I was so tired and busy from the work and so stimulated from the newness of everything that I kept looking around for exciting things to perk me up. I especially missed laughter—its fountain was almost dead within me. I was so tired and distracted I couldn’t keep still, so I didn’t feel or see God, even though I knew he was around.

During and after that time (but not the whole time, certainly!), I began to sink into loneliness. I began to complain and sigh. Much of the loneliness has been quite real, but a lot of extra grumbling was thrown in for good measure, in spite of the good times of fellowship I’ve had. My goodness, it’s like I’m back to my bratty childhood! Because life is good! Fun and friends are still to be had—but the overarching theme of my thoughts has been complaint about loneliness. And the more I focus on my complaints the more of them I have. Part of the problem is that I want certain friends, but I don’t actually try to love the people right next to me (and I have a sneaky suspicion that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing). So I say I have no friends to my friends who are far away. Silly, isn’t it? The more I focus on friends the less they satisfy me and the more I need them, but the satisfaction doesn’t last because it’s all draining away in ungratefulness.

The past few months, I have gradually given up the hope of feeling satisfied and loved, lowering my expectations to keep myself safe from disappointment. I’ve stopped praying for things, wondering if it even does anything. “What’s the point?” I’ve stopped looking for His face because every time I try I can’t see it. I tried to arrange meetings with friends only to have God deliberately keep them from working out. That made me upset enough to demand, “Who are you?! What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” A thought brushes my mind that something’s shifted, but I can’t tell what. It’s like maybe He’s changed roles, or something… because I’m looking for my Lover and I’m not finding him.

All this quite put me out of sorts. “Lord, I know you’re here, but where are you? I can’t see you, I can’t feel you. Please let me feel you. I don’t feel loved. I feel so lonely. Why did you shut the door so I can’t see my far-away friends? What are you doing? You give me this assignment that requires another person and you’re not sending me anyone! It’s all so hard. It’s like you’re making things hard on purpose! Just give me a hug. Pleeeeeaaasse….!”

And with that I put my head on my desk and moan and groan and refuse to change my attitude when I do get to go outside and play with my friends. I’ll have fun with them and then come right back into the schoolroom with a whine back in my voice and a frown on my face. I’m Teacher’s favorite, and Teacher isn’t giving me special attention. He is very patient and kind, and gives me lessons to help me grow and learn—questions that probe and make me wrestle and think and think to get the answers. We even have long talks and He explains things to help me understand. And I do learn things and feel good about successfully completing my assignments, but I still have a bad attitude because He won’t give me a hug. One of the lesson topics is how important good community and relationships are. Friendship is one of the most special gifts God gives us humans. And by contrast I feel isolated and far from everyone I want to visit with. My eyes rove every which where but at the Teacher and I distract myself from the emptiness I feel. It’s like I don’t see Him at all. Petulant tears come and go. I always was a bad student when I wanted something I wasn’t getting. I knew how to make everybody know how unhappy I was. But He’s not having it.

I’m in the middle of working through a question, about Hope. Many times when I work through these questions I get depressed and discouraged. “Why should I have Hope? What do I hope for? What do I hope in?” I begin to whimper again. “I’ve been so disappointed lately, I keep myself from hoping. So many things feel hopeless…especially God. I can’t even ask him for things anymore…I don’t know what He’s doing anymore… What meaning does the Gospel have in my life? For me, personally?!”

Here, the muffled words of the Teacher penetrate my turbulent mind, saying, “What do you know to be true and solid?” As I write out the answer to that question, it comes out in Names of Him I know I love and Who I know loves me even though I can’t feel it: Gardener, Shepherd, Teacher, Counsellor, Father, Brother, Prince, King; Lover… Crafter, Creator, Artist; Love, Light, Life.

 

• Because He is Gardener, He prunes off certain branches so that others will grow. He digs the soil and buries seeds that will die
• and rise again. He cultivates and tends plants to bear fruit.
• Because He is Shepherd, He cares about my pitiful bleating and silly wanderings. He knows I don’t know much and am pretty helpless, so He comes after me and takes care of me.
• Because He is Teacher and Father, He puts lessons before me again and again so that I may learn and grow. He shows me insights, explains problems, makes me do exercises and studies; trains me in order to build strength and endurance. . . –ooh!

The Teacher’s voice rings through the room. I hear my name, clear as a bell.

I freeze, pen poised over paper. It’s as if a wind blew all the noise in my head clear out the window. My eyes go big and I suddenly know that I’ve been behaving like a spoiled child. I’ve barely registered a thing he’s said these past several weeks—I’ve been so busy with the storm going on in my head! This is my Teacher, my King! I owe him respect, even if He does give me lots of gifts and makes me feel special as a Beloved! At the same time, in the utterance of my name, I hear him remind me that I am a lady, and can act like one. My actions matter.

I slowly lift my gaze to his. In them I see no condemnation; only expectation for my attention. Then His eyes soften into a smile. He knows I finally see Him.

It Has Been a Merry Time

It has been a merry time!

We walked and talked in the glade that moonlit night, My Lord and I. Time stood still—or maybe it moved more quickly—but however it passed, it passed unnoticed. And then it was quite dark, and the chill became that of winter. Snow was on the ground and our breath turned hoary in the frosty air.

I hadn’t noticed whither our feet took us until we came upon a section of the forest that was all lit up in the night. Lanterns and candle holders of all shapes and kinds were hung in the tree branches or scattered between the trees on the forest floor. The snow and ice-drop diamonds shimmered and sparkled in all exotic colors, and bright splashes of red berries, deep green of their leaves, and brown of the tree trunks added more substantial, earthy color. Even ornaments and ribbons hung from the trees! And there in the center of all the trees was a sturdy wooden table piled high with festive fare and candles and decorations! I gasped and covered my mouth with a delighted squeal.

We were in a winter wonderland!

All this was grand enough, but it turned out only to be the necessary arrangements for a party! People came out of the woods to join us! People! Friends! And they were real! I was a child again, giggling, talking, and excitedly running this way and that with friends at this winter forest Christmas party.

 (This picture is from the American Girl Doll story, “Samantha’s Winter Party”. I used to love gazing at this picture and imagining all the trees decorated so.)

There was dancing, and conversations, and a song that made me cry, and gifts! Presents and packages were set at each place on the table. Mine seemed so numerous! In all the excitement I frequently seemed to forget about the One who, although he joined in with us, was behind the scenes taking care of so many of the details while I didn’t even notice. But I know he didn’t mind—I think he rather enjoyed watching all of us. And, somehow, I knew that my friends couldn’t even be there without Him there, too—that His presence was the only reason they could also have proper form and substance. Otherwise they would all be like the birds or shadows back in the Underground.

One special gift was one I got to make myself—like the models or cross-stitch projects I used to enjoy. It turned out to be harder than it at first appeared but I relished the making of it! We told a story together to all my friends, He and I. Normally such a thing would have stressed me, but such was the atmosphere of the whole festive night that the energy bubbled up in me and I jumped in whole-heartedly. Finally completing it on the Seventh day of Christmastide was a crowning moment, like He was lifting me up to place the star high a-top the Christmas tree. Yet when it was done, the star wasn’t as important as the rest of all that happened at that Christmas party—it was the friends, and the joy and merriment that shine most brightly in my memory.

For, after all that time in the underground halls, all that time in the desert, my heart finally got lonely enough to appreciate and cherish the friends I have. It finally learned to care. I didn’t used to know how to do that, for I always wanted to fix people and make sure they were doing the right things. I still struggle with that tendency with the people closest to me, but I hope I am learning to love without fear. The whole Forest Wonderland occasion seemed to be a lesson in balancing the time invested in a project versus making time for people. And it was worth it.

As for the other gifts, there were many on Christmas Day, and then more to unwrap–one for each of the Twelve Days of Christmas!

~~

As soon as the crowning moment of completing that story passed, the party began to disperse and my friends gradually left. The New Year came. The approaching dawn began to glow on the horizon, and the glimmering lights in the woods didn’t shine out quite so brightly. I’m sure I was tired, and there were moments I behaved like a peevish child toward Him who made everything so wonderful. I am so thankful He understands and doesn’t condemn me for that childishness as I would have done. He said to me, “Gather your things together. We’re going on a trip.” My stomach jumped a little and I frantically and scatterbrainedly began preparations.

It was still quite dark when I was finally ready, all bundled up and toting three bags. I sat down by Him in the dark and just breathed. It was good to be quiet again.

As the sun began to creep closer we took off on a train. A train! Through the snowy mountains and deserts we went. Oh, joy! What fun that was! Day arrived in full as we revisited the hometown of my childhood. It seemed so familiar, yet so…not. I find that the scenery of my adulthood has become dearer to me than that of my childhood, because I know it better. Yet being there stirred up troubled thoughts. I had left that place when I was eleven. I do not feel old, yet the gap in years between me and many of my friends is only increasing. I cannot help but see it. My soul is not content. “In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength. (Isa. 30:15)” He whispered to me.

Yet the remaining days of Christmastide were filled with peace and delight as I re-met new friends and learned to play games—when was the last time I enjoyed games?! I could also hear music, music with strains sweet and gentle, yet full of strength. It put me at rest, with a feeling of rejuvenation. With that music still in my ears, My Lord took my hand and led me away from the town and people of my childhood, and it all faded away.

~~ “It Is Time.”

I heard the sound of a door latch opening, and scrunched my eyes as the soft light hit my eyes. We were in my old “Rupunzel Tower”, where I used to spend so much time making projects and studying and doing all sorts of things!

“What?” I blinked in confusion. “Why are we here?” I asked, but even as I said the words, I knew the answer.

“It’s time to start doing things again. But this time, I’ll be here to help you,” He answered.

I looked around. The window shutters blocked most of the light out, and in the dimness I could see that the room was in a sorry state of disarray. Dust and cobwebs covered everything from cluttered items on shelves and furniture to the curtains to the floor, and books and random things lay piled on the table and floor, as well as being stacked on the bookshelf.

“You need to clean your room,” He commented, and I quite agreed! I stepped into the room and picked up a scarf from the back of a chair and coughed as dust flew everywhere. My goodness! How did I get so messy? I used to have a place for everything and everything in its place! And, look, there are my school books I never finished! Looking around for a dust rag I began to tidy things up a little, but came to a stop when I reached the bookshelf. Fairy tales! “Some of these books are new—they weren’t here before!” I commented, and pulling one out, opened it and began to read.

Hours—or was it days?—later, I looked up from the floor where I had slumped down while reading. “I have not been so caught up into a story in—I don’t know how long! Months and months—maybe even years! “It was so nice to read again!” I announced with a happy sigh, and then glanced around the still-messy room with a twinge of guilt. “I….I guess I’d better get up and do something. But I’ll come back to reading for teatime, for sure!”

Grey and Silver

November 2017

The mists rise from the stream, creeping up and rising into a chill fog. The westering sun hides behind a cloud, and every color is muted. The temperature drops.

And I, seated in my corner of the mountain enclave, wrapped in blankets, cannot be still inside. “I’m better now, I can get up and move around without pain: therefore I ought to be doing something! What am I doing here?” Yet I don’t want to do anything. The old apathy is back upon me, coating every desire in an impenetrable listless feeling. Well, maybe I do want to do something—I want to make myself feel better! Coffee works, occasionally, but I don’t like to depend on it, because it’s not a real, lasting, “feel better”.

The fog continues to rise and thicken; the far bank and glade are gradually lost to vision.

“What am I doing with my life? Oughtn’t I to be out and doing something like everybody else my age—and younger? Shouldn’t I at least appear to be productive and busy instead of sitting here? Why am I so slow at everything?!” I grab for a bit of mending at my side and begin to work at it, jabbing the needle in and out impatiently. I am forcing myself to do this out of guilt, but not because I want to.

It’s cold. The daylight is fading. I toss the mending aside and stand up to get some warm food and tea, then return to my little spot. I began to eat and drink mechanically without tasting of it. “If I didn’t have to eat I wouldn’t. So inconvenient!” I grumble to myself.

I think back to the summer…it was so strange, my summer. I still don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know how to describe it. The memories are turned bitter.

With a sigh I turn to my table and take up the sheets of paper I have tried to record my journeyings on. Skipping over the enigma of the summer, I pause at the section right after the trip to England and before the Halloween Forest: I had been in a small cave, which turned out to be and ante chamber. I felt like callouses on my soul had been softened by being away from the daily friction, and I could hear and feel more acutely. One night soon after returning, coming together to the sound of music, all the verses and themes from my year were touched on in succession. I felt that that was a sign, and that there must be a message for me. And then I had seen a picture in my mind, and afterward scratched out on a bit of paper what I titled, “A Quiet Place”, describing what happened after England.

   I am in a quiet place.

   I cannot begin to describe it where I am now, I only know that it is The Present, and it is rather dim and dark. It is, as I said, a quiet place. The unruly mists of anxiety and bothersome happenings swirl all about, trying to confuse me and take away the peace. They needn’t succeed so often as they do, but at least they are not strong enough to actually remove me from this place of Presence—not yet.

  They talked about ‘Calling’ tonight, which was also the conference theme in England. They quoted “Come unto me, all you who are weak and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” During a song called “I Am”, I saw myself in the Hall of Memories, where I had danced, but had also looked up at the walls and shouted “Where are you?!” a dozen times and more over the months. I saw myself go through the doorway to the Room of Tomorrow with the shock of an Earthquake (that one Sunday—I’ll explain someday). I saw myself in the Room of Tomorrow—but it was now the Room of Today—fretting and trying to focus and be present in each moment, but glancing frantically around at the drab walls and ceiling, wondering what I was missing. People were all around—but they were there, yet not there. They were more like ghosts—shadows. I couldn’t speak to them. I longed to, but felt powerless to try. Yet a few points of contact were made, when God gave them. The stress overflowed into tears and I cried and fretted alternately. After each storm of tears I felt a step closer to reality. In each step forward I called and searched for You. You said to me, “I am right here. Ssshhh, be still now.” Yet I couldn’t see nor feel You.

   As through a whirling time vortex I saw this picture of my summer, and at the end of it You were standing, arms outstretched, calling. Calling my name: “Diligence.” And as the song around me swelled to its climax, you were saying, “I am here”, and folded me into your embrace. I could feel you again…”

“And I knew I was loved.” My thoughts carried on the narrative as the writing came to an end on the paper. “He then put His hands on my shoulders, faced me around forward and said in my ear, ‘Now go and bear fruit. Be faithful right where you are.’

“After that, I took a step forward, and the small ante-chamber opened into a grand room. The mists cleared, the daylight sifted in—and suddenly I gasped and clapped my hand to my mouth. I could see at last! This was a holy place, a chapel—an Underground Cathedral! The walls and ceiling all carved with intricate and beautiful detail. Such joy filled my soul, and a sense of renewed purpose. I don’t remember if I danced then, but I turned back to look at Him standing behind me, and so much love for him filled my heart such as I hadn’t felt before…

”—And then”, I thought bitterly, throwing down the papers, “When I turned forward again it seemed the lovely chapel was gone. And it was dark. And as I kept trying to take steps forward I found myself in that miserable, dark, Halloween forest.”

I sat with my teacup clenched in my hand, the tea cold and forgotten as I stared ahead without seeing. The mists thickened, drifting in closer toward me, into the enclave. The cold quietly, gradually crept close and touched me, and then clamped onto my bones. And I could not move. The mists also wafted near, and began to blur my vision, getting into my head. “Everything is meaningless”, they whisper.

“Oh, Silly, silly me!” The thoughts in my mind tumble agitatedly, “How foolish and silly it was to pretend my life could be like a fairy tale. How embarrassing. I’m glad I didn’t tell people about it. Who even am I? I can’t do anything. I can’t succeed. I can’t even try.”  

“Oh, oh, oh!” Cries my heart, directing its cry outward in hopes that Someone might hear, “I can’t move. I am full of complaint. I have no strength.  Why is the memory of drinking eclipsed by the thirsting? Replace the complaining with something—this can’t be right!” I catch hold onto a straw of a phrase and start repeating it over and over:

Hear me, O Lord, for thy lovingkindness is good. Turn unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies. And hide not thy face from thy servant, for I am in trouble; hear me speedily. Draw nigh unto my soul, and redeem it. Deliver me because of my enemies. For thou hast known my shame, and my reproach, and my dishonor; all mine adversaries are before thee. And I looked for some to take pity, but there was none, and for comforters, but I found none… (Ps. 69:16-20)

I can see myself huddled there, wrapped in a blanket, but also wrapped in dimming light and mist and cold, my hands still clutching the chilled teacup, my glazed eyes staring out into nothing, unable to rest, struggling inside as the last vestiges of the sunset faded from the clouds in the distant west.

“Find me. Find me!” I finally manage to croak out, as if in a dream.

~~

I jerk awake with a cry. It is night. A warm hand is on my shoulder. I spin around, and there He is. Oh, there He is! I collapse into His arms, sobbing and delighted and comforted all at once.  “It’s you! You’re here! You’re really here!” Is all I can manage to cry amid tears.

He helps me stand and we walk out of the enclave and down across the stream to the clearing in front of the glade of trees. And He tells me things, things I longed to hear…that it’s ok that I’m slow, that He loves that I want to be with Him… “And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own! And the joy we share as we tarry there none other has ever known.”

And as we walk out there in the glade on that Autumn night, the clouds part and a shaft of bright moonlight gleams down upon us, turning the whole night scene into silver and glass and crystal. The few remaining leaves on the trees glimmer and glint in the pale light as the breeze moves them with a rustle. The stream sparkles and shines as it continues to murmur along. All is right with the world again.

 

The Autumn Glade

 

September/October 2017

I take a deep breath and look around. I am sitting in a deep enclave in the mountain wall. A ways to the east on my right is the passage that goes back into the mountain, where I came out from—inside is the Thorns and Darkness,  and beyond that the Chapel, and beyond that the Hall of Memories. A stream flows out of the passage, falls into a pool below, and then meanders off in a stream, disappearing round a western corner of the rock wall. To the north before me is the sheltered glade, with the mountain rising behind the trees to the west and north, and extending east out of sight. My enclave of the mountain is on the south, and wide, shallow sandstone steps descend unevenly down toward the stream and forest. The woods are somewhat sparse, but are garbed in their glorious autumn raiment, raining down a carpet of orange, yellow, and brown on the earth beneath them. Gentle mists drift from the waters in and out amid the trees. It is altogether a lovely place, a perfect Autumn scene, conducive to thought, and rest.

I have thought about the summer, after I left the Hall of Memories. I haven’t told you about it yet. I probably will though, someday. Yet I don’t want to think about it now, for there were hoped-for moments which seemed to cheat me in their passing. Not that the whole trip was disappointing—not at all—for there were important things happening, and I’m sure I’ve yet to realize their full import. But it was the little things I missed, the small moments which I love to delight in so much…I felt dead to them. Some memories are tinged with disappointment—and yet they didn’t turn actually bitter until three weeks after everything was over, when everything went Dark.

Before that happened, though, I had caught a glimpse of where I was, and that glimpse took my breath away. I was in an Underground Cathedral, and the walls were exquisitely carved! It made me want to dance again! I knew that God was here, and I delighted to know it. In this Chapel the daylight filtered in, creating a lovely suffused glow during the day—but the nights were pitch black. During these days and nights I could see and rejoice by day, but the nights were long, dark, and cold as I kept a lonely vigil.

And then there was no more Day, no more beautiful Chapel. Instead there was darkness and thorn trees snagging my clothes, scratching me. In my hands I held a sword and I thrashed blindly about, crying out, trying to clear a way through and keep from getting hurt. But the thorns seemed to reach out and slash me on their own. And was that me imagining that a ninja darted just past the corner of my eye?

Here’s an impression I had during those days: That my Lord had been Calling, calling Diligence from time and times past—from when He first told me to dig in the desert, from when I danced down the Hall of Memories—and now Diligence had finally reported for duty, but it was Louise who leapt into action, that Warrior Maiden who has a lot of fight in her. And it was so, that Diligence must now learn to work like Emily—winsomely—and not like Louise, who pokes and prods and fights.

In all the dark, distressing thrashing in the Halloween-like forest, a Voice behind me called out, “This is the way, walk in it!” and I knew that He was reminding me to be faithful. Two or three things were impressed on my mind that I knew I must do.

After that it’s all very fuzzy. I think I must have been wounded, for I lost sight of my dreams, hopes, longings. I forgot what purpose I had in life. I didn’t know what decisions to make, for all options seemed alike meaningless and unappealing—even the ones that had previously excited me. A certain thing I had thought there was no question about doing now dimmed entirely in significance as I struggled, and I dropped it by the wayside. What reason did I have to get up in the morning? I didn’t want to do anything.

In all the blurry haze of apathy, a figure appeared before me. This is actually something terribly important, as I hadn’t seen anyone in person since before I went into the desert. Inwardly my heart leaped and marveled, but just then a fresh burst of wind blew the thorns and buffeted me afresh.

I tripped. The shadowy figure reached out a kind hand to my shoulder, stabilizing me, and then handed me something. It was a missive and a token—a confirmation that, yes, I must keep being faithful: I have some assignments to see through. After studying it I looked back up, hoping for a fellowship from the friendly face, but the figure was gone.

“I have to keep going,” I tell myself, “I have to find a reason to keep going…”

. . .

And then I found myself here. My feet and knees hurt terribly and were so swollen I couldn’t get around much for three weeks. During the forced rest I started reading books again. Ah, story books! Those companions of my youth! As I read and gazed out on the Autumn glade, I began to remember. I remembered who I had wanted to be: A Lady, a daughter of the King; and what I had wanted to do: Help people to touch, taste, see, feel, know, and long for the goodness of God. But…how to do any of that here?

I also didn’t know if I would get well again. I could barely walk: I definitely couldn’t dance. What if this new-found joy were taken away from me? Is this pain what it is like to feel old? Is this a taste of what it feels like to have illness crash into the plans you took for granted for your life? What do you do when your dreams are taken—not just kept, but taken—away from you by circumstances beyond your control? What do you do when even the little you envisioned for your life is cut into by death, loss, or serious illness? What do you do when something very precious is taken from you forever? In my dreams I wrestled with these questions, and awoke to find myself weeping.

I just want to cry. I feel like all the longings and expectations and struggling of the past months have knotted themselves together all stiff and cold, and now I just want to let it out, cry, be warm again, and let the tension untangle itself. “Teach us, dear Lord, to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” “The present is the moment at which time touches eternity.” Let go. Enjoy the moments. Rest. Ah, the promised rest of Matthew 11:28-19. I will rest…if I can.

Yet I have moments of panic: Here I am just sitting, doing nothing. What am I doing with my life? What if I miss out on something important?!

I recall to mind what He told me at the beginning of this year, “Come unto me…and I will give you rest”, and more recently, “Stand in the ways and see, and ask for the old paths, what is the good way, and walk therein, and you shall find rest for your soul.”  I think back, back to ten years ago. Ah, ten years ago is important, for that is when I first met Him! What are the old ways? …Well, I used to be diligent. But every time I try again, it is in my own strength, and the old legalism rises up and the stress of it is enough to make me tear at my hair and I’m back in the Room of Pride again! It is misery to go it alone! I CANNOT DO IT!! …I cannot… I don’t want to do this on my own…

And then He said, “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing.”

I pause in my worrying and feeling guilty and I wonder if… maybe there is hope. I cannot will myself to do what He wants, but perhaps if He did something about it…if we could walk together…  After all, He did say, “Take my yoke upon you and learn of me”…

I peer at the golden of the leaves, the silver of the mists, and the jewel tones of the evening sunbeams.

And I remember Fairy Tales. They were prominent in the Hall of Memories, for I loved them as a child and would read every one I could lay my hands on. A thought has struck my fancy: What if my life were a fairy tale? Full of waiting, developing character, learning faithfulness, kindness, courage, strength, patience, and love? What if it were? I doubt this notion will last long in my conscious thought, yet it may be worth entertaining, for it gives me a desire to live life fully and be faithful in the mundane while also making me imagine I see a bit of magic in the air.

 

 

Fearful Control

January 2017

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; because fear has torment.
He that fears is not made perfect in love.”
1 John 4:18

What causes fear?

Lots of different things, I suppose. But I have just come to realize that there is something within me that becomes afraid and reacts by automatically throwing a guard up and coating my brain with Teflon so that certain pieces of information will not stick. Why don’t I want the information to stick? Because I’m afraid that if I face it and examine it, it will shake my tidy defenses and rattle my imagined control of things. And that part of my mind is right: It would reveal where I am weak and unable to maintain control and keep things, and people, in line with what I wish they would be.

Now, of course, I have the best intentions when I want to keep control. I want to help. I love helping! I also love details and I like it when things go according to the rules—God’s rules! His are the best, of course! So surely if I just try to help people stay in God’s rules then things will go beautifully, right?

Hhhhmmmmmm!

My heart is deceitful, and also presumptuous. It wants to help, and so it goes and starts wanting to fix other people, and justifies itself because its intentions are in the right place. All is done in the name of love. But things never go quite right in this life, do they? People never perfectly follow God’s ways—even if they want to! And so my heart, for all its good intentions, begins to fret and worry and fear and hurt, and say, “Oh, but see what this will lead to! Oh, don’t you want this good thing instead? Don’t go down that road! Please!”

And thus I become afraid. I end up focusing on the small, bad things and missing the small, good things. I forget to pay attention when there’s a golden opportunity to listen and understand. I miss things that are important, the little details that would help me love better. I forget to love. Instead, fear of things going wrong begins to pervade my entire focus and outlook. My focus becomes my reality. And then I begin to think ill of people: “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear if so and so ended up doing such and such. It would hurt terribly, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” Oh, so love “thinks no evil,” does it? (1 Cor. 13:5)

And then another element of evil begins to creep in–granted, it may be but a tiny seed, but it is still capable of growing into something ugly: a twisted, melodramatic, insidious selfishness which would enjoy the experience of hurting because it could then cast the blame for it on another person and say, “See what you are putting me through?” and then take a warped satisfaction in considering itself a righteous martyr. Why? Because we like to feel important, and martyrs are terribly important.

O, Fie! For shame! Truly “the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked! Who can know it”?! God searches the heart. He gives to every person according to their ways. (Jeremiah 17:9). It’s not so much that God pays us back, but that He has set up the world to work a certain way and He has given us the instruction book, and if we refuse to listen and choose our own way, then the results themselves will come back and slap us in the face—and hopefully we’ll wake up!

And so the fear, the fear of things not going right, the fear of losing control, begins to strangle me and twist my thinking without my noticing it –

         until everything that goes wrong makes me unhappy,

         until I think that I have a right to put up a fuss,

         until I work myself up, thinking my emotions are justified, and then lash out,

         until everything blows up in my face.

I have fallen to temptation, O Lord, I have fallen.  “Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; Save me and I shall be saved: For you are my praise…” (Jer. 17:14)

“There is no fear in love, because fear has torment.”  It is torment to be able to see only the bad that could happen and anticipate the pain of something still in the future.

And now I see the vicious cycle. I see that when I try to control, lack of control causes fear, and fear makes me try harder to control. All of this can be neatly summed up in a quote by Francois Fenelon:

“The crosses which we make for ourselves by a restless anxiety as to the future, are not crosses which come from God… The crosses of the present moment always bring their grace, and their comfort with them; But the crosses of anxious foreboding are seen out of the dispensation of God; we see them without grace to bear them; we see them indeed through a faithless spirit which banishes grace.”[i]

Some burdens, or crosses, are just not mine to bear. Some may be legitimate, but others are unnecessary. I have my burdens to bear, but to take on another that God has not given me is simply foolish and incapacitates me from effectually carrying my present burden.

I have been chastened. I will let go. I will be free

          to be attentive and understanding,

          to not be obsessed with things that go wrong,

          to step back and not be afraid of what will happen when another person has room to grow,

          to look on with wonder as I watch other people’s stories unfold,

          to love again.

God is the one writing all the stories anyway. Do I trust Him?

Let it go. Let go the burden of worry, the chain of fear, the compulsion to “help” and “fix” things, the bondage to having to “do things right”. It’s not my job. Take a deep breath. Take a step back. All things are so securely in God’s capable hands. What does fretting do to affect that? Absolutely nothing: it only brings more hurt.

And, in fact, I am not so important as I may wish to think.

Who can understand his errors? Cleanse thou me from secret faults.
Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me:
then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression.
Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight,
O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.
Psalm 19:12-14

 

 

[i]               From Selections from Fenelon.  See here.

Whirling

Light and colors whirl around me like a misty kaleidoscope, the light playing and dancing as if the surface above was water. I am happy. My swirling ride seems gently jolting at times, but rushing adrenaline makes me not care. I’m sinking into the misty whirl. Things may not be exactly how I want them right now, but at least I’m not getting mad at myself for failing—and that’s unusual! I see beautiful patterns being woven around me—colors, threads, ribbons of light. They bring delight. I love seeing the pattern of things: They are wondrous, created by a skilled hand. I smile. I am excited. I think back over the months and wonder at what God has wrought, having called me out to be with Him, and brought me to this place, teaching me what I need to do to enjoy what He has given me. He had told me to dig…

–Wait…I haven’t remembered that in a while now…it’s like the message has faded away, the urgency is gone out of it. Have I been digging then? Have I reached water? The uncertainty of the answer is troubling. Is it time to move on to planting trees and flowers and tending them, creating a beautiful spot here in the wilderness? Ah, perhaps so! “Plant a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come,” says a Chinese proverb. I like the idea of making a beautiful place here.

And so I float in the whirling colors; but I notice it is not as gentle now.  Turbulence sets in as certain choices I make have repercussions that come back and hit me. But…it’s not so bad…I just whirl faster.

But, if the message to dig has faded, what am I doing now? Why is there no new thing for me to do? Why has it simply faded? I guiltily try to think back on the past weeks…I think I was being faithful for a time…but now, I’m just going with the flow…

The swirl closes in again. I am very busy! People are visiting! I have lots of things to talk about with lots of people. That is something I did not have while wandering in the desert. It is exciting! It is exhilarating! I have missed having friends. Is my “desert” time over? I relax. This is fun. I haven’t had this much fun in, like, two years or more.

Two years… I’ve noticed that there are several threads in the swirl around me that are specifically from two years ago, and they are being taken and rewoven back into the present, creating a pattern! I do not understand it, but it is beautiful and I wait in anticipation as the pattern continues to unfold…

Wait, something is wrong. He had told me to dig! That meant being faithful. He was teaching me about his Ways, beautiful Ways, that caused me such delight to learn them!—Why am I not doing them? Why am I losing focus?  And why, oh why, do I yet feel happy??

I give up trying to think: It takes too much effort. Rest. Relax. It doesn’t matter. I sink, slowly, down, down. Suddenly a message flashes across my mind: a picture from C.S.Lewis’ The Silver Chair, where sweetly burning herbs intoxicate the children’s wits, make them feel secure and submissive, causing them to succumb to lies. I feebly gasp for air. What?! Am I being lulled into sleep by colorful distractions?

I have ceased floating. The swirl above slows its movement, as water does, languidly. I have gently landed on the ground. It is calmer here, darker. I shouldn’t be able to breathe, yet I can…it is like an underwater dream. As the colors fade and the motion slows, my head clears, but only slightly.

I had wanted to be a better pianist for my work, so I was going to practice every day I was home….I had wanted to get out more and exercise so that I would be loving the Lord my God with all my strength… I was going to pray faithfully for my country…what has happened?! I have felt close to God and yet not cared about reading His Word. A realization slowly sinks in: I am sleeping.

Wake up! Watch and pray, lest ye fall into temptation!

I am being gently shaken awake. I begin to rise, up through the colors, up toward the shimmering light above.

And I open my eyes.

How long have I been asleep?

My body still wrapped in the heaviness of slumber, my eyes wander across the familiar scenery: There is my shovel, my various projects… There is a spring of water! So God has provided water! …I don’t remember digging it though… I give my head a little shake to clear it. The sweet feeling of the dream lingers. I don’t feel like getting back to work.  It is right that I am awake now, but I’m still groggy, weary… I need time to think—sometimes it is nice to wake up slowly, to just think awhile.

It is now November, and in the cooling and greying days I sense a pull toward introspection, of rumination, of not continually striving in my mind to be doing something. Like wrapping a fuzzy, warm blanket about one’self and drinking hot tea. Dreams, they say, are our way of sorting through life’s problems. What if, when my soul was asleep, that delightful sense of ceasing from stress and strife and instead resting and enjoying life, was what I ought to be doing now that it is awake?

What if? I think it is time to make a pot of tea and ponder this awhile, and savor the moments as they come.

“Dig”

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and lead her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her; and I will give her vineyards from thence, and the valley of Achor for a door of hope. And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth…”
(Hosea 2:14,15)

A year and more has gone by since you gave me that verse. So much has happened, and yet… One tends to feel dull and dry when wandering in the desert, I suppose. But recently you told me,

“You’re done walking and wandering. You’re here now. I want you to stop and take a deep breath—take in the scenery! Yes, here may not look much different than all the rest of the desert spreading away in all directions, but it’s time for you to abide awhile. I want you to enjoy the moments fully, to do whatever you do with all your focus and attention. You’ll need to start by digging for Water, so I also have something for you—a shovel: the Time has come for you to dig.”

Desert can become Oasis.

But, I’ve gotten used to this wandering around in the desert… It doesn’t take much of me. I used to have a garden, and lots of projects, but then my eyes began to gaze at the sunsets, and then you took me beyond the sunrise, and let me travel! But, when I got back, I hadn’t the discipline to resume the duties of home, and so I floundered…and then eventually came your call…

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and lead her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her…”
Last Spring I was making plans to travel, because I wanted to, but I wasn’t at ease about them—and then right in the midst of those plans you called me—called me to drop them and come out here with you into this desert, and you promised that it would be just me and you…that I would have to do hard things, but that I would learn and grow and learn to love you more than anything else in the whole world! And so I followed you out here…

And it’s been hot, and dry, and awfully lonely, and…so full of change! Most of the time the thoughts and emotions inside me have been many, many! But they are buried so deep, they are tangled so tight—I couldn’t even begin to express them into words. They wouldn’t even melt themselves into tears and relieve the ache inside me. So I just had to keep plodding on, putting one foot in front of the other. I’ve learned to appreciate seasons of dryness, the beauty of the desert landscape. Its been said that dry seasons produce maturity. You’ve been there the whole time, though, so even when I am completely weary and can’t talk at all, at least I know you are there. But I feel dull. Am I even learning anything?

“…And I will give her vineyards from thence…”
It sounds strange to say it, but out here in this desert, you’ve given me a vineyard. The green leaves and purple grapes may be a total metaphor (even for a metaphorical desert), but you dropped a paying job into my lap that I never would have had the courage to seek out on my own. It’s a livelihood. Along with it have come some tools and a lot of experience! It’s been hard, but the easy kind of hard where I’m motivated by outside sources. I thank you for it.

 “…And the Valley of Achor for a door of hope…”
The Valley of Achor. Achor! Where long ago, in the Bible, Achan decided to steal some of the devoted gold from the destroyed Jericho and hide it in his tent. Because of that, so many men died in the battle at Ai, and when God told Joshua about it he had all the people stone Achan and his whole family! It is the Valley of Trouble. I cannot say I have had trouble, in that sense, but I take the shade of meaning that it is a Valley of Confrontation: of facing of demons. It has been for me a Valley of Identifying with Jesus and his 40 days in the wilderness. When the season of Lent came, I took comfort in the thought of walking along the same road with Jesus in those 40 days—I had so many temptations and struggles to fight. I thought that Easter would be the end, the climax, the culmination that would end in the last part of your promise to me: “And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth!”

I was disappointed. Not to say that Easter was nothing, but it seemed to me that on that day all you did was simply steer me in a different direction from the way which I had been going—a direction which didn’t seem to look much different than all the rest of this vast, open wilderness. There was certainly no breathtaking change of scenery, no sudden discovery of a hidden oasis. But, it wasn’t long after Easter that you said, “It’s time to dig.”

Why would anybody dig in a desert? Water.

Water means life. Water in the desert means an oasis! If that’s what will come of my digging here then I had better get started!

And yet . . .my flesh protests, “I’ve gotten used to this wandering around in the desert… It doesn’t take much of me… I used to have a garden, but…” Digging means sore muscles and stiff hands and sweat and being hotter than the hot you get by just walking. It takes discipline. Diligence. Digging means putting your back into it, and keeping it up, on and on, and not quitting till the job’s done. Digging means being faithful. “I don’t know if I can do that anymore! Maybe a few years ago, but I’ve become quite the wimp nowadays! Haven’t you seen how many things I’ve been failing at?!”

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The rebuttal to my indolence comes instantly. Oooh boy.

“Dig.” And here I am, still staring at the shovel and shifting uneasily as if it were a foreign object which I had no idea how to use. Why haven’t I picked it up and begun to dig like you told me? I’ve wasted weeks camped out here by this place, and I haven’t even done much of anything else either. What in the world have I been doing? Why does it take me so long to obey?

Fine. The time is now. Today’s the Day. I’ll pick up that shovel. God, give me strength to actually keep at it and get a well dug.

“And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth…”
The last phrase of your words echoes through my mind as I stand and take up the handle. Lord, when will the day come when you give me a song? You promised…