My dreams are strange ones. The late afternoon light shimmers with a glam only a sultry summer day can summon. And though soon I must dart outside and take the groceries from the driver, for now I rest my hand upon the rim of the perspiring glass and thank the Lord for this cold drink of water. There is little that quenches thirst better on an August day though so many other beverages love to flaunt their wares and tempt one with a solidly executed ad campaign. Yet I know better. Water is what I want and water is what I’ll drink. Of course I do not harbor any silly hopes that this water was dipped from a cold mountain stream and placed in a well insulated thermos simply to be transported two thousand miles to the grocery store down the street. Still yet. It’s water. And it’s pure. Well, relatively. Sometimes it’s best to not interrogate the process. Here now, say now. Where was I? Mentioning my dreams as I recline on the couch and consider the giants that have stepped before. Ah yes. I love to let my eyes play upon the page and eagerly does my mind thrill to the thought of reading of those men and women of the faith and seeing their words of witness will surely never cease to bring me to my knees as I consider and pray and ask for what does my God have for me. Surely not is my fate the fate of giants and not for that do I hope. For with that fate comes a chalice of which one must dare to drink no matter what swirls within. Do not ask what it contains for one may not know before the proper time. And do I ask to drink such? I quail before the throne even though I see even now the coal lifted above my lips in anticipation of this severe proclamation. I say it’s folly to pray for such though very possibly this cup may yet to me be given. Instead of tracing my finger upon the path and nodding that surely such is mine, instead I lift my eyes to heaven and consider the words of heaven and say oh lord make my will as thine. For what do I pray? I know not, yet just ask that the will of God be done. Oh Spirit pray for me. And when all is said and done, may it be said that I was faithful, that I served as heaven’s son. Oh Lord have mercy upon me and let me see thy face. And you respond someday my child. Someday. And I lift the cup to my lips and drink eagerly of the water within. The heat outside is oppressive sure. But for now I turn the page and breathe a prayer. Hear me my Father. And in the pages of the word I see the light of glory reflected in truths divine. Listen my son. Listen.
Tag: musing
Scraps
Sometimes I crave to write about the little things, the forgotten and the alone. Sometimes I feel as if the big and grand have been stretched to death and in the explorations of such it as if the details overtake the whole and thus the whole feels smaller somehow. Surely the universe contains more than my mind can comprehend yet still I seek to understand and perhaps I reach for that deeper knowledge that lurks beyond the veil. And so though I know – or least claim to know – the truths of what was and is and is to come, there are moments when I let go and simply rest in peace that the unknown by me is known by one and this knowing is the comprehensive kind that somehow finds room for me too. Yes, I speak of God. For who else is worthy of all my thoughts, the small and great alike? There is nothing greater that can be thought than the God whom my soul craves to know. And you know, do you know, of that which I speak? There is a whisper that speaks louder than all the screaming voices that flicker along the waves that crash upon the shore over and over again. This whisper comes from a voice that spoke before the world began, a voice that in the beginning spoke so that the world began. This word that existed in this time and space where there was neither is the word which now I lift my eyes to in awestruck love as I consider the love that is mine flowing down the side of him who died, in this word that was and is and is to come and this word that spoke my name and in this quiet moment as I consider the cosmos shaking truth that somehow in a sense i don’t fully understand this word died as lips spoke in simple unshaken faith that all was accomplished in a moment of time upon this earth as space held still in hushed humility to consider the work that was done on that patch of dirt upon that small forsaken hill and so I lift my eyes to the word that was lifted up for me. So long ago and yet not long ago as some would consider time to flow. And so because of what has been done for me, I rest my soul and so I can write about the little things, the quiet moments on the grass, the slowly flickering candle and the whir of the overhead fan and the traffic whirring down the road for even all these things point to a greater whole and a cosmos made and held together by a divine one who now sits upon the right hand of the majesty on high even if this world does not quite know – or rather refuse to know – that the lives of all are held within the hand of the one who created all things and then descended in shocking condescension so that some may behold his face. Now in faith I do behold him and I hope for that day when I shall look upon his face for true. I lift my voice to heaven and praise Father, Spirit, Son. What is it that the Godhead should consider me beloved? My eyes water at the thought and I tremble as I think on that day that blood and water ran out of a body that was given freely for me. And just so as that body died so too did it three days later rise to life upheld by the Father in triumphant resurrection glory and because I am through the work of the Spirit bound to Christ, I know that so too I have died and now in new life rise and in communion with God I live forever even if forever does not always feel that way. In faith I sing joyous praises. In hope I cry oh Lord Jesus come soon. In love I weep for divine favor. And I hear a whisper on the wind and upon the pages. My child, I died for you.
Treasure in a Field
Writing a few words this warm grey day even though in the moment I fear anything I write will be without weight. For my mind flutters here and there, just as that butterfly about to alight from that rain sodden bough in search of a sweeter blossom. In earnest I seek truth that is just now peeking from beyond the horizon yet I wonder if I will have the eyes to see. For too often are my eyes blinded by the lights of nearer storefronts and the phones held aloft by those who flowing walk in syncopated patterns down this cobbled street. Maybe I just need to get outside this city and abandon all that I once held dear. Perhaps I just need to cry aloud to the God my fathers knew. For all I know the truth that will bring me nigh to heaven is written down in this leather bound book that I cannot help but still cling to. Have you ever heard a line in a movie or read a stanza in a poem that when it hits your mind it does more and penetrates your very soul? Some say they feel the goosebumps on their arms or some say they feel their hands tremble. For me I feel the water start to rise in the corners of my eyes and if I speak my voice cracks under the weight of that allusion to ancient myth. Somehow true and yet I question.
Monologue
Isn’t it glorious to let your words run away with themselves and craft a tale of which even you aren’t certain of the denouement? Far too often do I do this I confess to the surprise of no one whatsoever. Once in a while – even under that proverbial blue moon – I actually have a plan and execute or at least more or less. Yet that is rare and often it is only because I’m composing as I’m driving down the roadside and alas have no time to stop and pen my lines. Thus it turns out that I allow myself the severe mercy of crafting a through line in my head before all the little lovely turns of phrase and details get put down. Then I know where I’m going and there I know where I must end. But even that is fine for the best parts are those lines that crop up like Athena full formed and sing so sweetly that their harmonies are the only ones that get commented on by those who read. Ah for the graces to be bestowed more liberally that I might more often produce some such that even I dare marvel at from whence it came. Yet can I take credit – of certain not – for I know my origin and that I’m yet created so my so-called creation can only be attributed to the greater composer who writes all tunes. Still yet that means an earthen vessel can be gazed upon and recognized as something beautiful in and of itself even if the potter is not at that time credited. True? I wonder yes I wonder and am in humble awe that once in a great while my pen scribbles something almost great. I am not worthy no not worthy I to my God proclaim. For now I sit upon this couch and lean back against the pillow and with the fevered intensity that comes with blazing dreams of glory say – fall back and sit and sigh and rest and take in the little moments of beauty that once upon a time fall upon your eyes. Slow down and realize that these moments that point to greater glory are all around us yes even now look for the cracks in this world that point to eternity and cry for dreams of glory that beg us to consider from whence they come.
Last Train from the Northern Isles
Flowers upon the table and a song upon the lips. What shall I say now when I see you looking at me? How did it come to this? Across the room our eyes slowly lock and in that meeting there is a communion deeper than words can tell. For sure there is a history there but also a future that is so richly signified by this moment in which we linger now. I wonder if you see the colours in the flowers and recognize in them the vibrancy that sings of life. I think you do for I still remember when you saw them the sparkles in your eyes. And so of course it happens that our words tangle a bit now and then as words are wont to do. Yet still at the end we pull the threads by opposite ends and tell each other exactly the signification of what we were meaning to. Do you see the candles flickering even now? I walk to the kitchen and stir the bolognese and add just a bit more salt. Almost ready I say to you and I lean around the corner and we share a smile. Here’s to the moments passing that tick on the clock that it cannot quite memorialize. So instead I sit here and write and hope to God that he holds us close even as we look to the western skies. At some points it’s true that our lights will waver and we will dance once more across the kitchen floor. When that happens please do me a favor and remind me of the truths that I so often write in prose. Here it comes and there it withers, so quick does the summertime grass grow. For once I hold my tongue and let the stanzas whirl through the violet twilight and in the moment still I hold my breath. This life I scorn as I look to the promise of what it means to be newborn and I shiver as I await my rest.
A softer silence
“Nothing renders us so like unto God as our love unto Christ Jesus, for he is the principal object of his love;-in him doth his soul rest – in him is he always well pleased.”
-John Owen, The Glory of Christ
Just some brief musings as I read…truly, as difficult as Owen is to read at times, reading his writings on the glories and beauty of Christ is honey to my soul. Ah what longings it arouses in my heart, to read such sweet words on the nature and majesty of Christ and of the Father and of the Spirit and of their divine love and incomprehensible wisdom. As many good books as may be out on the bookshelves of this world, the ones I love reading the most are the ones that stir my passions for Jesus and let me see His face a little clearer. When a book brings me such joy, as to ponder on the ineffable Christ…this is when I know I’m reading the right book.
Oh my brothers and sisters, rest in peace tonight, knowing that our Savior is with us, always and forever.
A study in cerulean
G’morning! I really don’t have time for a long update today(actually, I *do* have time, but I figure I’ve been at Starbucks quite long enough today, so don’t want to linger too much longer!), but I just noticed I haven’t written in here since December 17th – shocking! I didn’t even get my traditional Christmas update up. Oops. That’s probably partly because my Christmas routine was dramatically thrown off this year, mainly because of the fact that I was here in Scotland instead of home in Florida. A bit different from the norm. Slightly. Anyways, although I could detail my awesome Christmas and New Year’s events here with friends(replete with many games, far too much good traditional Scottish Christmas fare, relaxing to the utmost, reading more than I’ve read in months, and more than just a little coffee…), I will spare you this once. And just say that though I was(and am) saddened not to be home with the fam for Christmas, God my Father has given me so much here to be grateful for. And by not dwelling on the sadness, I can rejoice and be thankful for what I do have here in Scotland!! I’m thinking I probably won’t make it home to Florida until at the earliest May, but I’ll keep you all informed.
And once again, my fingers are out-pacing the best of my intentions to keep this short. And I’ve not really said anything! But maybe that’s alright. Maybe I can just write and let the words pour out of my fingers in a waterfall of muses and songs. Or not. But nonetheless, I’m not going to do a 2011-year-end survey, but know that I was exceedingly blessed. As always!! And for 2012, it’s going to be an amazing year, that I know! While the details are clouded in the mists of the furiously raging river of the future, there is little doubt that this year will be a year to remember. Just saying.
Also, though once my heart was lost in the wars of this age and I was trampled upon like the dust of this earth, and though at times I still feel this is so, I cannot help but marvel at the ever more abundant harvests of love that have been granted to me, a lost one. A sinner. In the past, yea. But even in these current days, I fail and I fall and I weep and I call and yet I rest on the banks of the river of my salvation. A river so full of life, ne’er was anything so beautiful beheld. But from Christ alone, does this river spring. And so do I lift my voice and lift my song and lift my life, always. Always.
Pardon my somewhat emotional musings…at least I will refrain from writing more!
And to you all, peace and love.
Little children
And we know that the
Son of God has come,
and has given us understanding
so that we may know
Him who is true; and we
are in Him who is true, in
His Son Jesus Christ.
This is the true God
and eternal life.
-1 John 5:24
Love. Beauty.
If only our frail minds could grasp the full infinitude of the love of God!! Let our souls be awash in the knowledge of His love. Let our hearts dance and sing and glory!
It is written
Quick thought while I’m making dinner.
Just reading Matthew 21…what does Jesus do as soon as he is acclaimed the King? Does he bask in the adulation of the crowds? No, he goes straight to the temple and drives the money-changers and merchants from the house of God,
“It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you are making it a robbers’ den.”
Tragic. Heartbreaking. The house of worship of the living God had been desecrated by the greed of men. And just makes me think of what Jesus would say of much of the ‘Christian’ world today. Are we so wrapped up in the world of Christianity that we forget we live in a world of fallen people? Are we more excited about momentary worldly gain than we are about being indwelt by the Holy Spirit? Are we satisfied more by the praise of our peers than by the praise of our God? Would we forget the words of Paul that Christ did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped? If Christ could so do, then how could we not lay aside our pride and be servants of all?
How could we place the temporal above the eternal?
How could we place the temporal pleasures of this world above the eternal souls of men?
How could we place the temporal riches of this world above the eternal Christ?
Worship the King.
Seven Pillars
The fear of the LORD is
the beginning of wisdom,
And the knowledge of
the Holy One is understanding.
-Proverbs 9:10
If I could only always remember this!! There is a foolishness that masquerades as cleverness and there is a grave that masks itself with the ever sweeter perfume of piety and there is a well-paved path that leads to the gates of hell. And there is a wisdom that looks as folly and there is a grave that is empty and there is a little-trod path that leads to the presence of God Himself.
Oh, for the love of Jesus, who found us when we could not see! Oh for the love of Jesus, who knew us when we did not know Him! Oh for the love of Jesus, who saved us when we could not live! Oh for the love of Jesus, who lifted us when we could not move! Oh for the love of Jesus, who loved us when we could not love! Oh for the love of Jesus!!
Something Weird 