Tag: life

Reclamation

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Hello friends! It’s a Sunday afternoon and I am here sitting on the porch of EQ wondering what I shall write. Is it 2022? Well perhaps not. But I do sit here now and reflect how fascinating it is looking back through the years and realizing how many hours I’ve spent in various places (like this coffeeshop!) and how I’ve changed and grown as my God has continued to work mightily in me. Sometimes I forget such and can only see the parts of me that seem to sit stagnant and still in the light of the fall. Yet it is good to sit back and reflect and look at my life as a whole and glorify my God as I realize that I am not the same man I was even a year ago! Praise be to God for his glorious grace and the many mercies he’s poured out upon me, his undeserving child! Sometimes I look at my outward circumstances and meditate on how they may or may not have changed. Same job, check. Same (close enough) living situation. Same attire (Pascal’s t-shirt, yup!) But then I look to my right and see Dani and my heart smiles and my eyes fill. Some things are not quite the same after all.

It is all too easy to let our hearts linger over those things that bring us anxiety and pain. And we cannot deny that there is sadness and suffering in this world and even in my heart, a reality that I am all too familiar with. But does the existence of such mean there is not also beauty, that perfection is necessarily impossible in this existence in which we find our minds moving? I would say not, though there are philosophical frameworks which would assert such. Instead, I would point out that the presence of an ill thing does not imply the impossibility of a good. Instead, the very fact that we recognize something as wrong means that in our frame of knowledge we seem to believe in the possibility of something being right. But what is true? That is a good question, one which it would do one good to ponder. I believe truth is not entirely relative, that though we may be shaped and formed by the environment and the historical moment in which we now exist, still yet there are solid realities that are firmer beneath our feet than we sometimes dare to think. This world is not all shadow and dust, though there is plenty of both. Instead, I look for the glimmer of that true light that I catch at the corner of my eye. I long to rest my hand upon an oaken pillar that testifies to roots deeper than these eyes can see. What is truth? That is a good question. As for me, I believe in the existence of a God who has revealed himself to us in a written word that has been passed down these many centuries. Some would call me foolish, some would call me fraud. I simply rest in that settled conviction that within me rests the spirit of God who has in actuality changed my heart and called me to be known and loved. I do believe that not that many years ago (as we count time) God himself walked upon this earth and spoke true words and then died so that I might be no longer blind but see. My eyes do not see as far as I would like at times. But no longer do I grope forward through the clammy fog of sneering unbelief. I bow my knees and look to heaven and with tears on my face I sing praises to my God who knows my name.

Beyond the Point

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At times it is tempting to slip into the same habits that you fit into so well yesterday and exclaim as you look in the mirror – it’s a new me! When it is of course true that in fact you are wearing something that is quite well used and perhaps even adorned with a new stain or two. Such it is when we get a bit too comfortable with patterns in our life that are not quite advantageous for the life that we so eagerly proclaim we wish for. But this is normal. Most of us have our blind spots and most of us have those hidden reefs that cause peril when we are not carefully navigating by those precious charts we should be more closely paying attention to. Is that not why we ought live with others who can see us as we are and point out those moments when we slip and stumble and laughing through our tears exclaim that we’re all right and say no perhaps not. Perhaps you’re not alright. And that’s alright. Or it’s not, but yet it is, for we walk not alone. Instead we walk through these valleys together looking to the west towards setting sun and though eagerly we look for the next way stop, we still sigh a bit knowing it’s not home.

And so if you have muddled through these mixed metaphors and deciphered anything of use therein, then I am grateful. But really I just want to speak plainly now and state how good it is that we need not live this life in solitary fashion. Of course it’s fashionable to proclaim oneself as self sufficient and capable and independent in all things. But alone we tend to wither and finally crack under the pressure of the burdens of this life. We need each other for we were not designed to live a life in which there was no communion with any other soul. We need a helper or a friend. We need someone with whom we can steadily share eye contact and it not be weird. We need someone to lift us up from life’s muddles when we veer a bit off track. And yet.

This need for a person beyond our own self existence points to a deeper truth that within us speaks to a void that cries out to be filled. What can fill this seemingly infinite hollow that nothing on this earth can fill? There goes that classic question which of course you know the answer to. If nothing on this earth can satisfy that longing in our soul it must mean we need look elsewhere beyond the setting sun. Even your closest companion or partner is not sufficient to satisfy that existential longing, is that not true? Eternity beckons. My heart aches with the knowledge that I was made for more than this finite life. All the history and poetry and philosophy I read testify in a thousand voices that in myself I’m missing something and there is nothing in the created order that can make me whole. Yet there is a voice calling, calling me to come. I know that voice. Do you hear it too?

Seven

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There are mornings that my very soul could sing for delight. This is one such. I am oh so grateful for small pleasures that my God has granted me. This morning, a leisurely lie-in and I didn’t have to leave my bed until after the sun peeked over the horizon and through our window shades. Oh bliss! Following that, a nice hot shower while the water boils in preparation for one of the most important ingredients for a good morning. Coffee. Of course it’s coffee. I was then able to meditatively take part in one of my favourite little rituals and make my aeropress coffee. As I waited for the coffee, a few minutes on the phone with Dad and then I prepared for the remainder of my morning before church time. TV on! But not for what you think – no TV programming or shows. Merely…switch on the youtube and find a suitable musical accompaniment for the day. Hilary Hahn playing Tchaikovsky? Yes please. Let me turn the lamp on next to my armchair and settle in with my Bible and books at hand. A while later, much had been read and much music enjoyed and the strong hot coffee enlivened my body while the readings that I had been walking through did their part in enlivening my soul. Surely I rejoice in the ministries of the Spirit this day. Perhaps I have talked too much of vain things at times. Even now, I name all these little pleasures and routines that are mine with perhaps too much joy. But are these simple things not still beautiful? I say so. And now it is time to go and worship with the people of the Lord. My brother and my sister, come with me. It is good for us to be here and rejoice in the lovingkindess of our Lord.

Timidity

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Hello friends! A bit tired tonight and thinking that perhaps my energy and mood are more suited for reading than writing. Alas as I was hoping tonight would be a night I could really open up a bit and just be random in my creativity (or lack thereof). As it turns out, do I really want to write? Not sure that I do. Or perhaps my energy is a bit sapped and I just need recharging. No walk today, as I have a pot of bolognese simmering and while future me (about 24 hours from now) will be very happy to be eating a lovely dinner of bolognese over pasta, current me is a bit sad that the aforesaid pot simmering situation has kept me in the apartment all afternoon and now evening and so no walk at all. Le sad. I think that when I walk and am surrounded by the glory of the day and various people going about their day, I feel that energy and beauty and it puts me in such a good place for writing. Does this mean that I can’t summon up internal energy and the muse if I do not have something from the external? Apparently this is a thing.

And really, what am I writing now? A lot of nothing. It happens to the best of us I suppose, so I shall not let it dim my mood too much. After all, I have a book I can sink back into, the apartment is lit charmingly with the lamp at the end of the couch, and I have a beautiful classical playlist on the TV just now. This is a night in which I can rest and so can I truly complain? I think not. And who knows? Maybe in a few minutes I’ll pull this laptop back out and finger the keys and see where my thoughts take me. The night is young after all.

Peace and love, my friends. Peace and love.

Pumpkin Time

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Hello friends! Thought I’d write a quick few words this Friday evening. How wonderful it is to get a little bit to rest, I do say! I am also eager at the moment to test out this new laptop which I’m writing on. It’s been eleven years that my previous one lasted and while it is still limping along, I felt it was time to transition to the next generation. It is kind of nice to have a laptop that boots up in mere seconds instead of a minute or two! And the keyboard is glorious. Is it weird that I particularly picked out a laptop that would have a decent keyboard? And didn’t at all consider gaming capabilities? Ah well, I guess I have aged a few years since my last laptop purchase and thus it makes a bit of sense that my priorities would have changed. Now I’m more concerned about how it will feel to type long passages of text than on how capable my graphics card is. Things change. Of course, that change comes with the hopes that I shall at some point type long passages of text that actually have a slight bit of depth or beauty. Praying for such.

And now for what do I hope? I hope for a quiet night in which I am able to truly rest. Grateful for the few minutes I’ve had now reading a lovely and inspiring book – “The Imitation of Christ” and looking forward to a yummy dinner of burritos and avocado/tomato salad. Shall I write a few words now to christen this new laptop keyboard? I’m not sure my mind is settled enough to compose anything suitable. Perhaps I shall attempt nonetheless.

she turns back from the ledge
and smiles at me
reaching out her hand that I might
join her
and then I step forward and take her hand
our eyes meet
in solemn concord
and together we bow our heads and pray
under the sun that blesses
let’s walk forward as pilgrims
bear our crosses as our joy
for nothing else
will satisfy
Christ crucified is our cry
better than life as kings and queens
why do we wail for the want of jeweled crown
when we have one that went before
from whose crown-pierced brow that blood fell
mingled with those tears for us

Mineshaft

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I wanted to dance down to the seashore and look at the moon lit path across the waves. Yet the sky was stormy and thus the moon was hid and so why bother I told myself. But sometimes it’s lovely to walk down the beach in the pouring rain. The tears from heaven testify to a greater love than one has ever known and if I cry no one needs to know. For truly in a day and age such as this sorrow seems to be written on every face and I cannot wait at a bus stop without hearing some sad tale. Is the testimony of the current moment different from all those moments that came before I wonder. Or is it just a fact that all the moments from the past have been piled up in just so a fashion and in a moment when a match has been lit and dropped the bonfire pours smoke towards heaven in living analogue for the ephemeral nature of our collective memory? I think this is close to the truth. And thus I read and write and spend far too much metaphorical ink attempting to memorialize the thoughts and dreams of a single specimen of individuality. For reading links me to the past and present cries of man in ways that pluck the heart strings of my soul and reminds me that my thoughts are not so solitary as I sometimes think. Yes I take pleasure at times in feeling unique in my mode of expressing how I feel. Reading the words of others shakes me up in a way that’s needed and show me that I am not that special after all. Well, I am special. But not at the expense of the beauty of my fellow brothers and sisters. Remember that, remember the sacred witness of my brother who walks past me on the sidewalk and that he too bears the imprint of the divine. Remember that, harken to the true nature of my sister who rings me up at the grocery store, that she too points up to heaven with the very fact of her existence on this plane. I write and I write and I write. Oh I can’t help but write as I feel I burn up when I am not and that these words that pour out of me may be silly posturing, mere leaves on the breeze, yet still they are mine and mine alone. Only one other holds my hand as I write, and his hand is a scarred one. The scars on his hand remind me of divine love. I tremble as I think that this reality we see now is only a shade of the true. Someday we will see in brighter colors and hear in more vivid tones. Someday we will sing in purer voices and as I think on this now I tremble imagining my someday home. I consider those who are my true family, not just those who bear the resemblance because we have a common creator, but those brothers and sisters true who confess the truth of life and death and our resurrected God and cling to that common hope that someday all shall be made new. Why do I sometimes break down in silent tears when I ponder what it is to cross the ford to the other side and read of those brothers and sisters who have done so before me crying in joy at what lies ahead. It is far better than anything here, as has been so often said. Not for the absence of the sorrow that is now ever present in this tainted world in which we live. That is a piece, but only a small one. Rather I look forward to a shared meal with the one who has never stopped holding my hand. One day some day soon I pray I will break bread and drink wine with the one who was broken and bled for the salvation of my soul. Imagine that! I will be with my Lord Jesus and he will hold me even as now he knows me and finally I can truly say I’m home. Some day. Until then, I’ll treasure these walks on the beach in the light of rising sun. When shall the day of consummation be? I do not know. Only one does. But for now I’ll write these words and seal them with a kiss. See how the clouds break. See how the gulls wheel across the sky.

Penelope For Your Thoughts

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I wish I was better at describing the created world. I love to imagine such things as rushing streams and whispering forests and sunlight streaming through the leaves of early autumn. Yet when my pen is lifted and I tilt my head and think about the words to use to describe the blushing sensations that cause a stillness in the air as one walks through the forest, my mind blanks. What are trees? What are rivers? How does one describe light if one has no frame of mind in which darkness plays a part? Why is my vocabulary so bankrupt that I cannot paint a picture with my words? This drives one to reading. I am stubborn, it becomes apparent. If my mind is not furnished with the proper words to pour out my thoughts, then I simply must fill it. Yet I’m afeared that my acquisition process is a bit akin to wandering through a Goodwill at times. Or maybe a comfy used bookshop is a better metaphor. I wander past many friendly paperbacks and fascinating tomes that I let my hand linger on. Yet how many of these do I pick up and take to the counter? Well, far too many, as it turns out. Yet still, I miss the bulk of what is on offer and seem to only enjoy the bookstore in the moment for the moment as my soul quiets in appreciation for the bountiful treasures all around. This metaphor has run to ground. But I think – or hope rather – you get the point that even as I attempt to feed my mind a proper diet that will enable it to pour forth streams of love-wrought beauty, it seems I am instead allowing myself to linger in the beauty of the moment as I dwell on the written word. I am not properly chewing and digesting – no, I am swallowing whole the sublime that I let my gaze gallop across. To continue with the crude, I am simply eating too fast. Of course my mind does not have the time and leisure to wander through the parlor and shake hands with the fascinating words one sees. Instead it’s a mad dash to the buffet table and a piling of the plate with all the goodies that one has learned to crave. Reading is a pleasure yes. But can it also be a discipline? This is what I seek to learn, even as I distinguish between reading that is merely entertainment and reading that is meditative and pointing ones to higher truths and sweeter climes. As I distinguish such, I do seek to alter the ratio of my consumption so that I do not consume such as would upset my stomach and cause me to get used to fouler fare. Instead, ought I not train myself to enjoy and relish the food that is grown by eternal light? I think so. I must be more deliberate about my reading, I do think. Thank you for letting me wander through my thoughts on this in this stream of consciousness pondering. It has been good to share such. Perhaps now as I shut this laptop and allow myself to pick up my book, I will slow down just a little. Perhaps I can allow myself to pick my way through the meadow appreciating the feel of the grass under my bare feet as I notice the wildflowers in my path and the butterflies fluttering past my face. Perhaps I will tilt my head appreciatively as I smell the scent of jasmine and note the changing light as the sun crosses beyond the tree line and heralds dusk to come. Perhaps I will allow my thoughts to think of heaven and of the eternal one. Perhaps I will allow myself to breathe deep and close my eyes as I stand under the darkening sky and muse on the city that rises in my dreams.

Bedrock

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Devotion to truth and beauty is admirable. But there is a potential for this devotion to sour as one notes a misperception that leads to a devotion improperly placed. In other words, something is called true that is not true. Or something is called beautiful that is not beautiful? Nonsense you may cry. Who are you to define truth or beauty? These are nebulous concepts that cannot truly be nailed down. I agree that I am not infallible and it is very possible – even probable – that my comments stand on sand at times. Yet I am not putting myself forward as the arbiter of beauty or my own poetry held high as the level of truth. No, all I am stating is the statement that there is a standard of truth and beauty and so perhaps this does point to one who may judge such. Is this too far? We may quibble on interpretations and paradigms of course. But is it wrong to posit that there may just possibly be realities that are solid in and of themselves and are far beyond our ability to alter? This is all I say, at this time. Later on, perhaps over a coffee or something more bitterly delicious, I will discuss with you my thoughts on the realities that to me are more truly beautiful than any others I can dare to imagine. And yes of course, these realities are based in the God whom I call my own, the one who is more beautifully true than my mind can truly grasp. It is difficult for the finite to grasp the eternal, yet I try. And so in what I call feeble faithfulness upheld by the infinite united to my soul I lay my head down in sweet peace that I am known by the one of whom nothing greater can be known to be.

Correspondence

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Hello, dear one. I write this now from the back of the wardrobe, hoping somehow it gets to you. You may wonder at the strange paper and perhaps what pen produces ink such as this. Well those are the lesser of the questions you should be asking. Firstly – how did it come to this? Bare three days ago we parted under the oak trees ringing the far field. I left you with a promise and you left me with a kiss. Do you remember the golden light that afternoon as the sun slowly bent down to the earth? In the moment it felt momentous and it felt as if the sun knew it too. And so she curtsied to us two and bathed us with the golden light from her beaming face. And through the rays I looked and saw a rainbow forming in the corners of your eyes. For yes even with my words you could not bring yourself to lie to me that you were happy and I don’t care I said. It’s ok my love to cry. Now I walk under stranger trees and stranger skies and I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. I write this in the hopes that your eyes will brush these papers with the dark fire that blazes forth when your emotions are roused. Please my love forgive me for my tardiness. I’ll forgive you your doubts. For now for certain this has gone far beyond the little matter that we thought it was those three days ago. Or was it four? I can’t be certain anymore. Still please pray for me. I need it, oh I need it. I wish I could say I’ll be with you tomorrow and that we could picnic on the porch. I’d delight to share a few sandwiches with you and some cold iced tea and perhaps a few strawberries. Yet I can’t think on that too much. My focus is demanded here, even writing this taxes me as I let my thoughts drift to kinder climes. Pray for me my love. Always yours.