Tag: musings

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?

Discovery

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She tripped down the path deeper into the leafy gorge. Where did it go she didn’t know but wasn’t that half the fun? The sunflowers soared high above her head here at the top of the path but as she descended she noticed the light wasn’t able to make its way quite as easily to the rocky path. Still though there was enough light to see by, a kind of golden green light that is only present in places such as this where sunlight is filtered down by the kind beneficence of the still green leaves of late summer. The girl looked up at the patches of blue above her head and smiled. She couldn’t feel the sun on her skin anymore and that was counted as a minor relief as these things go. The hike to this gorge had been a long one and through a vale where few trees stood. The midday sun had beat down upon her and though she had enough water for the journey, it had not been an easy walk in this sub-tropical clime. And so now in this little side excursion? She counted it a blessing to feel the delights of shade. But this path – where did it lead? Clearly it had been walked before though perhaps not for a fortnight or two. Little creepers stretched across the path in places and weeds were starting to grow high for true. Yet this path was placed here it seemed of purpose and the rocks were not natural to this place. Who had come here before her? And where were their past ghosts leading her to? A place of rest assuredly, but would it be more akin to a graveyard or a pleasant grove? She hoped the latter, though surely graveyards were not a bad place to wander through now and then. Still though she had a vision of a bower where perhaps someone had placed a thoughtful few rocks to perch. She had a book in her backpack she’d been saving for just such. But as she descended the path in its mild dancing fashion she noted now a new scent rose to her nose. Her skin tingled as she imagined a garden of wild roses, however improbably that seemed. But hark now what was that. There was a trickle of smoke before her, perhaps as from a cookfire. Had someone else come before her to claim the graces of this sacred place? How dared they? She had been oh so eager for a quiet place to walk and think and pray. And now around the bend her slowing steps brought her and there afore her she saw a face. The last she had expected to see though it was the face that burned glory in her dreams. What is this madness? That last rose to her lips and she blushed to hear her voice. Then her shame fled and along with it her fear and she felt the calm that came with being known. Oh dear child welcome. Sit down with me and let’s feast together as we talk of many things. The girl felt tears run down her cheeks but it was not for sadness that she wept. She walked forward to where the man sat by the fire and she looked in wonder all around. There was a bower true and a little stream and then of course the fire over which a fowl roasted. And a loaf of bread sliced and ready for toasting and even yes, a bottle of wine which seemed as if it was meant for sharing. She looked in awe again at the face of the one who had spoken and said my lord i came seeking but didn’t know i’d find you. And he said surely those who seek find and to those who ask will it be given. Sit at my feet and learn from me and lay down your burden and rest. And so it was in that gorge that day whereupon that girl learned what it meant to discover the pearl of great price. And so it was and so it ever shall be and so someday shall our joy be made full when we upon that same face gaze.

Rhymes in Red

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I walked up to the solitary tree and lifted my hand up high. Even with all my effort, my fingers came a little shy of the apple that I craved. Yet what did I answer back when my friend asked me if I was giving up? Not yet I shouted. Not yet! Instead I stretched my toes and wavered higher and bit my lip as I focused my eyes on the prize. Yet with all that I was barely closer. Perhaps two inches, perhaps a foot. I’m really not that good at judging distances I said. And there we come to my problem, my greedy eyes and my foolish pride and that auburn fruit that taunted me that I would not give up for all the world though its riches offered. So I leaped again and still yet I seemed no nearer. What is this madness I muttered to myself. And my friend she offered a hint less than helpful. Something like try harder although possibly in language more of poetry than prose. And I laughed and told her that she might have a go herself if she thought she’d do better. She walked over and gave me a quick hug and then glared at the apple with all the fierceness her brown eyes could muster. And what do you know but that the apple quailed before her and with barely a whisper of a breeze the bough dipped and bounced once and twice and the third time her hand closed upon it and pulled firmly. In astonishment I looked at the fruit within her hand. What devilry is this I whispered. Nothing to do with devils she smiled. More of angels I should say. But how? I tried and tried and tried. I gave it all my effort! And there you go she said her eyebrow quirking in that amused fashion she has. With this tree your effort will avail you not. Instead you must simply look and plead. And see? She lifted up the apple to her lips and took a bite. This fruit tastes good. It tastes old and new all at once as if it was the fruit all other fruit wishes it could be. It’s the original model and yet untainted. Taste and see.

Weight of Glory

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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.

Oh how Wonderful

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On this day I sit and think and ponder on all the fingers that point at me and signal with their urgency – it is you! And thus do I walk forward now on this path and as the relaxed posture of the flowers show, it is hot outside and so it is not surprising that a drop or two of sweat slowly slides down my brow. To return to the theme, perhaps I am a bit too self centered in my musings so I consider that all I see is concerned with me when in reality I know that this cannot be. For true, if I were the center of this world’s play then would not I perhaps inhabit a more prominent role? Or am I just doomed to be the bit character, the one with a single line in the third act that perhaps isn’t even heard over the shrill whistling of the birds perched overhead on the balcony. Perhaps so. Yet if I have a line and if this line must be said, should I not practice the all important art of elocution to ensure that at least there is a chance the few words I have fall gracefully upon the ears of those still perked towards the stage? That is my attitude and hopefully it is not arrogant to assume such, especially if I have manfully resigned the expectation that the central part is mine. In fact it never was. Grateful for that I am for it means I can rest in the shadow of another.

In fact all my hope for a better life lies not in what I can do for myself for all my own strivings show is – in proven fact – how inept I am at bettering myself in the attributes that have that certain something – oh you know what I mean – that aspect of the infinite, that piercing rhythm of eternity. So my ineptitude points to the fact that I cannot in and of myself contribute anything of lasting value to the novel whose pages so rapidly are flicking flicking towards its close. But why yet does my finite sluggish mind grasp so much for the beauty that it cannot in itself define? If I cannot so define, how do I know that there is such a possibility? This concept has stubbornly embedded itself in my mind and perhaps is an original feature of my soul, that idea that the infinite exists and that it is beautiful beyond compare. Where is this treasure, where is this pearl of great price? Perhaps oh if the infinite would bend down and say a word or two to give me that glimpse for which my soul longs. Oh for this word to come down and in itself give me such life that in comparison to it all else is merely grinning death. Oh for this word to stretch forth a hand and say that which my soul aches to hear. Where is this treasure, where this pearl of great price? Perhaps it truly is found in that song of grace and truth which I so casually dismissed so long ago. Perhaps it truly is found in that old worn story that says that man or god or perhaps both came to bring peace to earth. Where is this treasure, this pearl of great price? I shiver as I say aloud that name that rings redemption in divine majesty. I weep as I sit at the foot of the cross and ponder he who is called Jesus Christ.

Beach House

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It is a wonderful evening to write a few words of thoughts and even praises, although I do not think my mind quite capable of the task. It is common at the end of a finespun weekend to attempt to chronicle the threads that led one to where one now so at peace sits and in glory hums. Yet sometimes the process of telling over one’s own story with all the subtlety of snapping scissors can tend to detract from the beauty of the whole. So why not let my mind sit in graven anticipation of homeward calling, no matter how far from now that time may be. Why not says he? And so let me leap up and carefully procure a candle never used and prepare the wick for the flame. In silence I wait and in silence I muse over one thing over and over. And occasionally might I in silence ponder of that far off land and of the name that gives me a shiver and sets a spark in my frame. So why not let my heart dwell in eager imagination of homeward sailing, no matter how far from now that time may be. Why not says he?

Espresso Thoughts

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Early in the morning I sit here in the office about to plunge into the cold deep pool that is my daily work. Bracing it may be, yet there is no point in putting it off much longer. But as is my wont on a Tuesday morning, I thought of writing a few words of my morning meditation here even without much time to think or craft. I think I just wanted to state how wonderful it is that even with a 30-ish minute commute, I’m blessed to be able to use that time to listen to solid sermons and muse on the Word of God. Often does my poetry well up from such deep springs, even if the words I write are far too shallow to reflect properly these truths that stir my heart so. Ah but it is good to be loved by God, is it not? Even when our heart does not always respond with as much vigor as we would like, those of us who rest in the salvation bought by Christ can rejoice nonetheless in confident faith that we are beloved children loved by our Father. Oh Lord – be near me this day, I pray! Think that the love that the Father has for Jesus is the same love he has for us. Is that not marvelous? Is that not almost too good to be true? Yet it is true! I look now to that far shore and my heart leaps. Soon I shall know fully what now I know only in part. But if this love I know in part is enough to thrill my soul, what will my heart sing then?

Smokestacks

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Another Monday begins. What this week brings who can tell? Or at the least, I can say for certainty not I. A bit of uncertainty, a bit of anxiety as we slide headfirst into April into chaos looming. But is not all of life a bit of chaos, heedlessly unconstrained by the chains that we so meticulously fasten around our plans in order to bring about our own designs? We think at times that if we plan just so and schedule in such and such a fashion that we might then truly have our lives set aright and in smooth and careful steps proceed accordingly to our will. We would be as gods. Yet all of life goes to prove us wrong. We take firm steps and we plan. This is good. Yet on this sea that tosses violently there is only one who can of his own accord calm it. Not I, never I. Is that not a bit reassuring? It is to me and you may wonder why. It is simple – I am every day shown how feeble and frail are my strivings. If the path of my life was up to me alone, I would have good reason to be terrified at the outcome. For I know the deep and lingering darkness in myself as well as the storm that howls round about. It is not a good thing to be left to one’s own devices. And so on this slowly waking morning, I look anew to the horizon grateful for my soul’s own mooring. I trust not in myself for myself, thanks be to God! Instead I trust in the one who never fails and never flees. I trust in Jesus Christ who gave his life for me. This is true and this is real and this actuality of salvation which has occurred is more solid looming in my mind than any imagined pain or hurt. I linger in wondering awe at the foot of this long dreamed hill and watch the flowers grow.

Hike and Bike

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I enjoy watching people’s faces. Before you go and haul me before the local magistrate of common decency, hear me out. People watching, right? We all do it, we all enjoy it. Some more surreptitiously than others. And so when I’m out on a walk and seeing so many walk past me from the other direction…of course I let my glance brush their faces. I’m not prying into their innermost thoughts, though that is what fascinates me so. What are they thinking? What are they pondering? What images kaleidoscope within their minds? For just as my thoughts race to and fro in the frantic tossing of the neurons of my brain, all the people that pass surely have lives just as full and varied and yes even scary as my own. Hence I wonder…how many grocery lists tumble? How many blushing daydreams of crushes blossom? How many replays of cringe moments blare forth? I smile to myself as I think thus and then wonder – how will they interpret such? For yes, surely some of their glances touch me. I fear to live in a place where all fear to look at the face of another, to inhabit a society in which only a cold screen can truly receive our full blooded gaze. I wish to express just a bit of joy that we live in a moment where we all – me and that jogger over there and that mom and stroller ahead of me and that singing biker behind me – walk this small patch of vibrant growing singing earth. (Well perhaps the earth is paved over just here, but you get the point) I smile knowing that I walk with fellow men and women and little children that are souls as full formed and image bearing as myself. It is a wondrous thing to let myself ponder. So yes, next time you’re out and about and surrounded by people? Give it a whirl, watch some people. Don’t be creepy about it. Just be a person. And while you’re at it, say a prayer.

the Table is quite Well Laid she Remarks quietly

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What does one say on a Sunday afternoon when the light fades and it feels that all that can be said has been said? Surely that is untrue, yet sometimes imagination runs away and decides to play in a sandbox in a different place and I am left forlorn and abandoned, unsure of what is true. But perhaps the thought should simply make me dig in towards the center and look for this other place, that land for which my imagination yearns. If I am left alone, perhaps I am not in a position of authority to state that this land which I call my home is in fact the homely house for which my soul desires. But really, my thoughts spiral in on themselves and would collapse if it were not for the green and flowering arrow of reality that pulls my thoughts tight around it and points me towards that higher altar of light blessed truth. And so I turn once more my head and gaze upwards and slightly to the west.