it's probably the light

When I try to picture my faith,
when I try to visualize it,
when I try to capture the invisible,
when I rest in palpable peace,
when I see love at it's brightest,
it's probably experienced, embraced, and understood in the light.

I try to imagine a place where it's so bright, the sun is secondary
I try to dream of a space where it's so brilliant, nothing man-made can imitate it
I try to see, really see God in others and it's when I see light

"The way of the righteous is like the 1st gleam of dawn." proverbs four: eighteen.

"I looked up and there before me was a man dressed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist.  His body was like topaz, his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms like the gleam of burnished bronze, and his voice like the sound of a multitude. " daniel ten: five - seven

"I saw the glory of the God of israel coming from the east.  His voice was like the roar of rushing waters, and the land was radiant with his glory." ezekiel forty-three: one - three

"And the city has no need of the sun or moon, for the glory of God illuminates the city, and the Lamb is it's light." revelation twenty-one: twenty-three

I want to be surrounded, soaked, drenched, and drown in that light.

Amazing God,

Fill me with your light

Surround me with your brilliance

Awaken me to your presence

Soar through me

Amen

fading in fall

August is always amazing and difficult for me.
It's the climax of summer's shortening breath, it's the fading of bright light days into wisps of fall.

It's the hallmark of big days; it's my favorite things:
Birthday.  Anniversary.   The Summit.   State Fair. Weekends away. Garden harvesting.

It's burning hot and chilly cool.
It's unpredictable.
It's steady, steamy days.
It's expectation.

I guess because my world revolves around the anticipation of September, August fills me with so much anxiety.  I hold my breath in August and don't release it until the month passes away.

From the tender age of five until this, my fortieth year, I expect a lot of September.  And I use all my energy in August to build that pressure.
That wonder and hope and dream of September.
August signaled getting ready, ready to fade into fall.

New pencils.
Sharpened and smooth.
Erasers plump and full.
Colored pencils brilliant and new.

And crayons, and markers, and folders and notebooks.  Lined up, arranged, selected and stationed in a backpack ready to go.

New clothes. Folded by color, pressed, and prepared. New image.
New classes, new friends, new teachers, new relationships.

And feelings and emotions, expressions and attitudes lined up, arranged, selected and stationed in a heart ready to go.

Elementary school days and middle school days and high school days and college days and now, so many years of Sunday school days.
New ministry years.
New goals.
New, new, new.

Accomplish, exceed, conquer, preform.

I'm going to jump, again.  Leap into the predictably unpredictable free fall of leading volunteers. Of hopes matched with reality.  Of dreams meeting practicality.  Of struggles colliding with miracles.

As I stand on the doorstep of September, I am whimsically sober and  oh-so-hopeful.

Oh God, come; and Be.
And may I be still and see.

conclusion jumping

I struggled intensely with depression for a few years; I went through the motions of diagnosis, medication, and therapy and what I learned was profound.  Having been introduced to Cognitive Behavior Therapy during this season, I was instructed on the illogic of conclusion jumping. CBT taught me when emotionally and intellectually in a depressed state of mind, I was led to making a lot of assumptions and jumping to a lot of conclusions.  And these results led to chaos, pain, rejection, and sickness.  Mental sickness.  Emotional sickness.  Spiritual sickness. Physical sickness.

My mind would cycle in a process of assumption, conclusion, and depression.  Again and again, I'd whip around this torrent of emotion.  I was a mess.  Often the experience would go something like this. I feel bad.  Someone looks at me.  I think they hate me.  I feel worse.

This would happen again and again.  I'd assess a situation.  I'd wrongly conclude based on limited data.  I would be even worse off than before.

I see this kind of thinking rampant all around us.  We, sinners by nature, take a few pieces of information and conclusion jump. TV Shows are famous for this, it's funny!  Movies and books are written, telling stories of two characters perceiving and concluding and the results are disastrous. Romeo thought Juliet was died.  So he died.  She awoke.  Tragedy!

The less we conclude, the more we ask questions, the less we judge, the more we love...ultimately, that's what God has called us to do.

wonder

It's a life changing, family altering kind of day.
A day of surrender. A day of change.

For six years, we've trained and toiled, loved and developed, nagged and laughed, cuddled and wrinkled our noses at Charlie, our cocker spaniel.

We got him when the kids were 3, 8, and 10.
We've seen him through shots, and kenneling, snowstorms and fireworks.

We've laughed at his endless pursuit of chasing tennis balls and gray squirrels and wild rabbits parading through our yard.  We've taught him tricks, messed with his toys, and cleaned up his piles of pooh.

It's taken days to come to this decision, tears shed, notes written, arguments given.  A weight pressed down on us all in different ways, but we accept it as it is.

Surrender day.

And I awakened to this day with a sense of wonder, not weariness.  Of awe and not sadness.

Expectancy.
Anticipation.

What's new that God is doing?
Where will I see His hand print next?
What new expression of mission will He have for me?

It's not what I thought I'd feel.

A quiet peace.
A release.
And a wonder.

hours of ordinary

Life is filled with hours of ordinary developing our character and then highlighted with brief minutes of magnificence;  and it's in these minutes that character is defined.

Hours of shaping response, of creating habits,
hours of practicing words and actions, thoughts and deeds,
hours of longing and hoping, lusting and pursuing,
hours of worship and reverence, awe and wonder,
hours of waiting, of growing patience, of learning, or living
simply hours of passing time.  And all that time, all those hours translate at the moment of brilliance, magnificence, transcendence, when character is revealed.

Often, these moments sneak up unaware.
At times, these moments are displayed in front of an audience.
Other times, these moments are quiet, unassuming, potent and deadly.
Always, these moments impact.

How are you spending your hours?
What do they reveal about who you are?

dying and living

Sadness abounds; death of a loved one, death of a marriage, death of picturesque parenting, death of a relationship.  In the process of living, there is a parallel process of dying.   Fears reign and darkness fills the day.  It’s bleak & hopeless, there is much to be overwhelmed by.

And then these words come, this picture is painted, this melody of hope sings loudly, this ribbon of truth is woven;

“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you,

I have called you by name, and you are mine.

When you go through deep waters,

I will be with you.

When you go through rivers of difficulty,

You will not drown.

When you walk through the fire of opposition,

You will not be burned up;

The flames will not consume you.

For I am the Lord, your God,

The Holy One of Israel, your savior…

You are precious to me,

You are honored, and

I love you.”

Isaiah 43

Grieving family, you are loved.

Hurting wife, you are precious.

Disillusioned and fearful parent, you are not alone.

And, little girl, you will not be consumed.

You are rescued, you are saved.

Moving from caution to courage....

How do I move from caution to courage? Life in suburbia U.S.A. is clinical, sterile, cautious, carefully planned. Grass grows in neat lawns, trimmed regularly Gardens bloom in carefully placed plots, fences in place, with only one gate Cars sleep in measured out stalls where garage doors close Socks in the sock drawer, Spoons washed and neatly tucked into silver wear bins, Labeled water bottles, labeled coffee mugs, labeled junk drawers, Labels and categories, Lids and containers, Plans and calendars, Inboxes and mailboxes and donation boxes and school paper boxes Life tucked into twenty hour increments. This kind of living leads to caution. Where comes the courage for living when everything is so carefully, cautiously arranged?