point the way

I would like to point the way to a God I am still seeking out, still trying to understand fully.
I would like to point the way to real hope, instead of more of the same.

Lining up to buy a chicken sandwich to prove a point? More of the same.

Demanding that stressed employees tell us Merry Christmas and fostering a culture of fear toward anyone who doesn't do things our way? More of the same.

Blaming a senseless tragedy on a lack of forced prayer in schools, never considering that we would not want our own children to have to pray a certain way against their will, or even more that God cannot be kept out of anything by humans? More of the same.

Counting ourselves as recipients of wild, ridiculously generous grace and then withholding it, or measuring it out cautiously, not wanting to overdo it? More of the same.

In my own heart, being so frustrated with these things that I run the risk of overlooking my own great sin? More of the same.

I am hopeful, and I am sad.

I want to point the way to something better, something I am seeking and finding in places I would not have looked ten years ago. This has been a year of speaking out for me. A year that began with tearing down, and progressed into a hard season of refining and shaping. My paradigm has shifted, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it shifted some time ago, but this year I've been able to acknowledge and work with this shift. Something beautiful has happened: I can see the beauty of God once again. It is good news, and I would share it gladly. That "more of the same" gospel that I was trying to hold on to, thought I needed to fight for--it was death to my soul.

Now, I can whisper to my God, and I don't feel anger from Him, or disappointment. Just overwhelming love and grace, and when I fail, a sense that He believes I can do better, that He is cheering me on. Love, not fear. It is a delicate, precious thing and I will fight for it. I will fight to not misunderstand Him again.

It's not a way of easy answers (or any answers, at times). Sometimes giving an answer, an explanation, is the cruelest thing you can do to another human being who is in sorrow. It takes bravery to just sit, and be.

He has rescued me from my own perceptions. I believe change is coming, and I am hopeful because I see it everywhere. God is bigger than all of this, though. I will continue to be surprised by Him, to shift my perceptions.

              And we are put on earth a little space,

              That we may learn to bear the beams of love.

              -William Blake

mystic

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes--
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Lately I see this gorgeous bit of verse everywhere.

I listened to a sermon about beauty yesterday; about how the Wise Men didn't know they were looking for Jesus specifically, but they followed beauty and so they found him, eventually. The point was this: if you follow beauty all the way back to its original source, you will find Jesus, because anything and everything beautiful is from Him.

I love this. God seems more beautiful than ever when I think of Him this way.

I suppose it was the exact thing I needed to hear, because I just stopped what I was doing and built a pile of stones right there. I prayed, curled up on the couch while Silas tinkered, about beauty and seeing, really seeing, and melancholy and anger and making decisions that are fear-based, about my heart-dreams and my sins against my own heart. About love and regret and persistent pain. I leaned against my dearest Friend, and wondered why at times I cannot trace all this beauty back to it's Source. Why I am satisfied with  enough beauty to last the day but tiptoe around these burning bushes. In the ordinary of our lives, there is such loveliness. There are whispers of what could be, of the true potential of all of us made in the image of the One who transcends it all. I need to remember this, in all of my interactions. I need to ask more people what they are dreaming of and where they see beauty.

Fear is strange because we fear our deepest desires sometimes. I fear becoming real, like the Skin Horse, because it means being worn down, but I'm worn down to exhaustion from retreat and withdrawal. Could there be anything more wonderful than being real? When you meet such a person, you remember. I sometimes think heaviness is my own personal thorn; I can't comprehend all this energy and lightness around me except for the brief moments when it flickers over my head. I don't seem to have many answers, but I recognize beauty, and I can give thanks for it.

Looking around is a good starting point.

I may never understand my own holding back. I may never deem myself worthy of such wild, limitless love. Oh, but may I continue to know it anyway. May I somehow point the way to the Source, gasping alongside the rest of creation at the glory all around us. May I be brave enough to believe it all matters.

I invite it. I want to be a mystic, taking my shoes off in ordinary places.

learning a person

We sat up late a few nights ago after the kids were tucked away and talked about our teenage years. Ir was after a long day for both of us; me still in my scrubs and him leaning back into the chair and drinking a tall glass of cold water. He was deep into some old memories, and we shook our heads, and had our silences, and laughed a bit too. I joined in, re-examining some things that have gotten clearer over the years, and some things that haven't yet. I don't know how you turned out the way you did, I tell him, again. Some stories are familiar, and some are new, but we keep remembering to tell each other more. I'm starting to understand how you can spend a lifetime learning a person.

I'm so grateful for the man who sits across from me--for his softness with our children and his ability to push back against ideas, for how he makes me brave, for the understanding we've grown into over the years. One thing I never knew--people can be honest and real and loved all the more for it. I used to think love, in part, was about hiding. Protecting feelings, protecting from the ugliness in me. We've put so much out on the table, and I love him more than ever.

August 2005