Beauty...

"To possess true beauty, we must be willing to suffer...if Christ himself was perfected through his sufferings, why would I believe God would not do the same with me? Women who are stunningly beautiful are women who have had their hearts enlarged by suffering. By saying, 'Yes' when the world says, 'No.' By paying the price of loving truly and honestly without demanding that they be loved in return. And by refusing to numb their pain in the myriad of ways available. They have come to know that when everyone and everything has left them, God is there. They have learned, along with David, that those who go through the desolate valley will find it a place of springs (Ps. 84:6)" (Eldridge).

Deep Breaths of Navy

There is nothing quite like my prarie sky - I know it may seem odd that I have claimed ownership of something so immeasurable, but I feel as though it truly is mine. There is something intimate between the vastness of its expanse and my heart, the way one lover simple knows and understands the other with one look - so too, my sky understands me.

Tonight I stood underneath it - an old, oversized, flannel jacket which belongs to my father wrapped around me. I stood and I looked into my sky, its enigmatic navy depth stared back at me, accentuated by small twinklings of light, stoic as I silently whispered my secrets.

Perhaps this is a form of prayer - I don't know. I am struggling with the truth that the more I strive to grasp ahold of God; the more intangible He becomes. In an strange way it seems to make sense that a Holy, boundless Creator would pour peace upon me through the serenity of my prairie sky.

I am not sure what I feel or am learning from God at this moment - but I do know that when the deep navy presses against me in the openess of the plains, I breathe it in. As deep and hard as I physically can - I breath - attmepting to lock the pure, cool comfort of the air into my soul.

And in those breaths every bit of the choas, joy and saddness - every pressing doubt and worry - is gently absorbed by my sky. They are put into the perspective of a greater timeline. There is nothing quite like my prairie sky.

A 'new' thought

I have a new thought. And reader beware, it is not just any old 'new' thought. This thought is quite substantial. It is a big, wild, scary new thought. This new thought completely amazes me, it fits in my brain like a perfect puzzle piece, and no amount of over looking or ignoring seems to be dislodging it. I find my new thought - well, terrifying. It is the type of thought I feel will be shut down, and/or swept under the rug by others and so with my emotionally stunted logic, I am attempting to shut it down and/or sweep it under the rug before anyone else can.

But today - casually as I was doing dishes the new thought started to make noise inside its perfectly fitted place in the back of my brain. The more I ignored new thought, the louder it became. So I did the unthinkable - the unwise, I spent some time pondering the new thought. I thought about it, I turned it to the left, to the right, even upside down. And in this small amount of time new thought started to grow. It grew and grew until I realized new thought had worked its way down into my heart. And this can only mean one thing - trouble.

Really, the truth about this new thought is it is daring and fragile all at the same time. It requires both courage and humility - two things which I am usually in want of. But, whenever I dare to think about this new thought, it makes my heart race, my blood pumps a little faster, my stomach dances with butterflies. This new thought tickles my soul.

And thats it. That is as far as I am with new thought. My dishes are still dripping in the sink. I am not sure if I should take this wonderfully frightening new thought and hide it under my pillow - only to be thought of in the darkness of a sleepless night. Or if I should ponder it some more and let it grow into some sort of action within me.

I don't know - I know what I would tell others in this situation - but I am not others, I am me. And personal advice from your own person never seems to have the same effect.

So I will leave now, possibly to wrestle with new thought and finish those dishes...

***

There are minutes which last for hours,

where have I been - - where did I go...
I am running
not along side, but alone

I called you and you didn't know my name
I wasn't yours
I was mine

And in truth I wonder if hurt is undoable
there is hurt, and there is harm...one heals and one endures
how can one so insignificant wound one so great

I called you and you didn't know my name
I wasn't yours
I was mine.

There are minute which last for hours

****

Have you ever traveled a familiar path and forgotten how you arrived at your destination? You arrived, and in one peice none the less, but you can't remember driving past the bend in the road, the sign post which you know by heart seems to have completely escaped you today. You tap the break, look around you and have no idea how you have gotten where you have gotten--but you are here, in that familiar place yet again.

That is where I am today - - my arrival is obvious, I just don't remember getting here.

Who exactly do I think I am?

I have been considering my life in the light of true lordship (what ever that may look like) and am always surprised at my sense of entitlement and pride. Who exactly to I think I am???

The apostle Paul's words spoke to my wounded and prideful spirit this morning:

But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everthing a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I might gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ - the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings become like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.

Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do Forgetting what is behind and strainging toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

Sigh, I have quite a long journey ahead of me.

Trust, Faithlessness & Unbelief

Everyone has certain memories or perceptions of themselves; both past and present. Sometimes those memories/perceptions are accurate, sometimes they are less than accurate. For instance I like to recall myself as somewhat of a darling when I was a child. Though I lacked the adorable dimples and ringlets which my two siblings were blessed with, I had always considered my 'sweet' disposition the trade off, not necissarily one I was happy with, but a trade off none the less. When my siblings and I tease each other or rassle I am always the first to shout out 'Be nice to me, I'm the gentle one.' And it was during one of these moments where my now burly older brother was threatening to twist me into a pretzel that I shouted out my defence tatic, "Don't hurt me! I'm the gentle one!" That my mother took the time to remind me that I was never as sweet or gentle as my select memories led me to believe.

She brought me back to one occassion in particular where my 'sweetness' had devasting results. Are you familiar with the game called 'trust? It was a childhood favourite of mine. I think I savored the challenge of convincing another person to crawl upon the highest ledge I could find and then fall back into my scrawny eight year old arms. I mean if you could negociate someone on to that high of a ledge, you really had accomplished something. Now, in this particular forgotten memory the half-convinced particpant was my five year old sister. I had spoken with great eloquence that she could trust me and with all the the sweetness God gave me I promised I would absolutely, under no circumstances drop her. So picture the cutest child; with blonde riglets and dimples that could hold water (so obviously not me) standing on an impressivly high ledge. And underneath her, another blonde with stringy straight hair, a potbelly and skinny legs and arms discussing with her friend and accomplice, how these limbs were going to catch her trusting little sister - when in the midst of their conversation - "WHOMP" - The tiny ringlet child hits the ground -the 'sweet' child stares and her wheezing sister - and forces her to promise not to tell anyone. The ringlet tells and trust on both sides is lost....

Not exactly the actions of a child with a sweetheart disposition. And while I will save the indepth examination of my 'sweet' character for another time - this moment in my past did force me to ponder the subject of trust. My trust in myself, in others and most importantly God. I realized, that God has never negociated with me, not that I didn't try...He has never forced me anywhere with smooth words and He most definately has not dropped me. And yet to trust Him....fully, completely with every atom of my person - this task with great honesty is one that I struggle with.

Here are two quotes that came from a man named Peter Wolfe who preached last Sunday:

"Trust is a peaceful place."

and...

"Faithlessness is not unbelief, it is an unwillingness to trust."

Sometimes I weigh truth against my human expereince, my memories and perceptions which in many ways are skewed rather than my holy expereince which is always washed in grace and resonates with the truth with which I struggle to trust.

To Live Life Well

Throughout my entire life I have been acceptable but expendable - I wouldn't call myself a doormat by any means but I have certainly been a stepping stone; adequate, even necessary, but valued only until the next step up becomes available. In many, though not in all, of my relationships, friendships and family ties I am underscored - my stories are never finished because it doesn't occur to others to listen for their conclusion. My dreams and ambitions are damped by reminders of my many limitations. I smile politely and play the role of the 'punch line'. I am the do-gooder, the gopher and quite simply the nice girl.

During my holiday visit home I was hurt by three different people on three different occasions. And the reality is that I don't hold it against them, I doubt they are even aware that in their careless battering of words and/or actions they bruised me. And I have no intention of telling them because the hurt that I felt has spurred me towards a powerful realization. Tonight as I laid awake in my bed it occurred to me that I view myself through their eyes, I truly believe that I am acceptable, yet expendable. And THAT is simply not acceptable.

I have been evaluating life a great deal lately. I have spent this holiday watching how a disease(s) is changing a man I love dearly - as he ages, the life that he defines himself with and person that he is falls away. I am aware more than ever that the blood which flows through his veins in the same blood that flows through mine. I very well could find myself battling his battle in the years to come. Life then becomes a fragile treasure and I am struck with the momentous craving to live life well. I want to live life well - when I look back whether it is tomorrow, in ten years or in a life time I want to know that I lived life well. Frighteningly enough that begins with me...and nowhere in that ambitions thought is their room for acceptable, satisfactory, or passable.

The passion of my heart beats for people, when I hear their stories I am enthralled, overjoyed and thrown in to sorrow. When I hear their hurts I can almost feel it with my own body and my own heart. And yet somewhere in that I have lost myself - aside from people and my past few years ministering to them and with them I have lost my story. So, I suppose I am making a New Year's resolution, though it feels greater than that, I am going to spend some time getting to know myself this year.

This year I will seek to grow closer to God - not because I want to be a better Pastor for my congregation, but because God desires me on a personal level and I am desperate for Him on that same level. I am going to read Hemingway and Dickens because I love literature. I am going to cook, because the being by myself in a kitchen offers me a sense of serenity. I am going to write more - even if it scares me. I am going to breath deep and listen to the silence valuing the one person in my life who is impossible to evade - myself. And hopefully in this year to come I will gain some insight on what it means to live life well.

Of love and discipline...

I remember this conversation so clearly; 'Erica, there is a difference between punishment and discipline - we want you to discipline.'

That sounded simple enough, I was more than willing to call the consequences of disobedience discipline if it would please my superiors. I was working at camp that summer and had a cabin full of girls who excelled in the area of disobedience, in such a way that you slept with one eye open. Whether I was breaking up fights, discovering hidden beer bottles or addressing an overall lack of respect I was furiously ready to 'discipline.' I even had the method for this 'discipline' in mind - I had decided that these hellions were going to pick rocks by hand in the horse arena in the heat of the day. It was perfect; it would exhaust them and hopefully put a damper on their abundant supply of schemes.

I presented the 'discipline' to the camp director, expecting some praise for my ingenuity and empathy for my ongoing suffering, only to hear that my proposal wasn't discipline. Rather my proposal was punishment and it would not become discipline until I chose to go with them and work along side them. It would be discipline if I endured the consequences with them.

'WHAT!' - this did not fit in my understanding of justice, I had done nothing wrong and now I was sentenced to the same consequences as they were. But, I was challenged in my love for the girls, did I love them in the midst of their hurtful words and actions, in the midst their blatant disrespect to discipline them so they would grow? Did I love them enough to walk along side them experiencing the same consequences of their discipline so they would know that they were loved?

To Adam he said, "Because you listened to your wife and ate from the tree about which I command you, 'You must not eat of it'

Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of you brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.'"...

And the Lord God said, "The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever. So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, He placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life.

I find it completely fascinating that God did not stay in the Garden of Eden, that He did not remain in the heavens. God banished Adam and Eve away from the garden, sealed off all entrances and joined them in the harsh realities of their discipline. God loved them that much - enough to endure the consequences with them so they may grow and ultimately lead to salvation through Christ.

I am currently struggling with God - and have been for a long time. Often during these times I banish myself from His presence. I punish myself, unaware, that God does not punish, but He disciplines - and He walks softly with me through my self imposed exile.

That summer I did discipline my girls. I spent hour upon hour stooped over picking rocks with them. And as I did I loved them more than I thought possible. Ironically they were unable to see my love, for the most part, they saw only the rocks in front of them. Yet, together we persevered, and on the last day, one girl - the hardest heart of all - came to me angry, with her fists flailing dangerously close to my head, and in an outburst of past hurt and tears she told me she loved me too. The sweetness of the moment, still moves my heart - because she was precious to me.

And as I consider that I realize in my moments outside the Garden of Eden, perhaps I am more precious to God than I can understand - in my past hurts and tears, in my ignorance and disobedience, with my fists flailing in childish exasperation I desperately cry out that I love HIM. I am just not always sure what that means, or what that looks like. I am certain, however, regardless of whether I wander the desert or kneel before His throne, He will discipline me with a deep, deep love.

The Question of the Still, Small Voice....

I am not a strong person - I am actually quite weak. There are times and places in life when frailty is good, when you watch the leaves of fall quietly surrender and in their genteel nature flutter softly to the ground. When you see the tears creep in the corners of a father's eyes as his little girl dances her first ballet recital. The weakness in the shaking hand that finally extends itself towards the awaiting embrace of help. These are good weakness.

Then there is weakness that hurts more than offers beauty or healing. It is this weakness that I see in myself - the weakness of a bulimic who fights, kicking and screaming not to become the girl she was 5 years ago, because if she does she knows she may never come back the same way again. The weakness of the shackled man who has bound his entire body with the power of money and greed. The weakness of the proud who hold their heads so high they are completely unable to see those they trample upon.

It is because of these (and many more) weaknesses that I have felt the need to flee, always consoling myself that if I find a way to live away from home, I too can live away from these weakness. If I dedicate myself to another country I can avoid the traps I fall into here. And I am willing to go! I will go! Take me!

And yet...I have been plagued with the soft prodding of this question: What if you are called to North America?

WHAT! Surely I am not called here, there are countless reasons why I am not called to be here. I am willing to go - Now, I do not think everyone is called to live in another country, but I do think think there are many people living in this country who should be answer their soft prodding question of, What if you are called to Pakistan? India? Russia? Japan? Guatemala? And I wonder to myself I am willing to go...why would I be called here and why would I stay if people who are called there and are not willing to go....

And yet I wrestle with the soft persistence of that question.

Please do not automatically assume, because of this post I will not fulfill what I have committed to for this next portion of my life - I am just.... I am just wondering. And praying.

And hoping that you, the few who are reading this will open the ears of your heart and begin struggle with the very question that the still, small voice may be asking of you ....

Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued,is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.

Nathaniel Hawthorne

(Cheezy? Perhpas. Hallmark Material? I suppose....but Mr. Hawthorne is an intelligent wordsmith like no other...)

'OhGodOhGodOhGod'

Yesterday I had a new experience. I drove through the mountains from Banff to Abbotsford, by myself, with only a voice reading Philip Yancey's book on prayer to keep me company. It was quite an amazing 10 hours. I left a brisk autumn Banff morning,the sun was shinning, the ground was brown and the air was vibrant. The mountains were so closely leaning over the road I could feel their breath on my car. Two hours into my drive the mountains disappeared, snow and fog had stolen them from my sight and I drove on, only able to see the car in front of me and the mysterious winter around me . In a few hours I passed through winter and on to a spring, so to speak, here I was met with pelting rain, the return of the jagged mountains and emerald lakes. This took me into a certain summer, filled with sunshine and intriguing valleys that finally led me to the Chiliwack river whose mountainous treescape shared their evening rain with me until I arrived here in Abbotsford.

Quite the trip. During this drive I thought about a great many of things, I listened to the voice from the CD sharing Yancey's thoughts on prayer and considered my own thoughts on prayer. Somewhere along the trip, the words of Yancey's book made me think of a conversation I had had with a friend not too long ago. She was commenting on prayer language. She had noticed that everyone who prays semi-regularly seems to revert back to favourite phrases, praises and pleas. Between them and God there exists a unique dialect of commonly spoken words. And I wondered; what is my dialect, what are my beautiful words?

And it struck me, more than any other prayer God receives from my heart is the 'Oh God.' prayer. But it is more like 'OhGodOhGodOhGod.' This is the prayer I often pray at night. Nearly every night I lie in my warm bed, covered by a cozy quilt and my mind takes me back to wander the streets of East Hastings in Vancouver, the North End of Winnipeg, the alleys of Regina and other dark places my heart has seen. And I curl myself into a ball and the only words of prayer that can spill out of my mouth are 'OhGodOhGodOhGod.'

This is also the prayer I unconsciously pray in dire situations. A few summers ago I can remember driving (way too fast) down a gravel road in the middle of the Southern Saskatchewan prairies, only to feel the rear end of my car start to fishtail. Soon I was being flicked from one side of the gravel road to the other and what prayer fell out of my mouth? Yes, the 'OhGodOhGodOhGod' prayer made another appearance...

Countless times I have prayed this prayer, when holding a wailing friend whom I can do nothing physically to help, God receives an 'OhGodOhGodOhGod' prayer on their behalf. The prairie sunset, the mountain stream view, the new born baby all of these wonders invoke in me a loss of words and I simply pray the 'Oh God' prayer.

I have to admit this is not the beautiful dialect of prayer I was hoping to discover. There is no poetry or rhythm to these prayers. Upon first glance they lack the maturity that should be evident in prayer. Or do they? They are simple. They are not over dressed. They are always heartfelt. They are childish. And it softly occurred to me as I breathed those familiar words yet another time as my car rounded a mountain to take in another glorious view, that my prayer dialect is probably the most honest thing about me, and that honesty is what makes it beautiful.

Rain, Lint & Thanksgiving

I am not sure what to write to you right now, I am not sure that you exist and therefore I feel in some ways my indecision about content is wasted. Most times I take great comfort in writing into the internet's abyss today, however I crave a responsive smile, good coffee and a solid embrace.

Perhaps I should put my mood in context, I am in BC. It is raining. It always seems to be raining - which I like. I have jazz music playing, which I also like. In front of me is a creamy cup of hot chocolate, ok a now empty cup, also something I like... and I find myself staring into nothing, watching lint floating from nowhere to nowhere, wondering how much of that lint falls upon me without my consent.

Today is Thanksgiving Sunday - the day of my family's celebration. Today is the day where my sister and I would usually find a quiet moment of indigestion and slip off in a beat up truck. She would drive like a maniac through stubble fields, windows rolled down and heater cranked up because I can't handle the cold. I will have stolen my brother's favourite jean quilt, which always upsets him. I would be wrapped in that quilt, sitting beside my little sister as she whips us through golden fields which now resemble a military haircut, because harvest is finished and the long stalks of grain have be taken. I would lean back, flip through my journal, twirl my pen and imagine what words I might transfer from my brain to those pages.

We would return, much to Gramma's relief, alive....completely wind blown, I would sneak some extra sugar to my entertainingly rowdy little cousins and sit and have a good cup of my mom's coffee. Letting family chat swirl around me, smelling harvest on my own skin and still considering the string of words that I never did write down....my sister would anxiously flounce about- while my father, brother and I would make a concentrated effort to get a rise out of Gramma. My aunt would laugh loudly and my uncle would smile quietly taking in the sound of her voice. My tiny sister in law would eat more food than humanly possible arming everyone with jokes about how someone so small could consume so much and never gain an ounce. My great aunt and uncle would quietly take in the expressions of their family because their hearing has long since left them and I would enjoy dancing about the kitchen with and around my mom - refilling wine glasses and coffee cups. The house would be hot, but few would notice...and I would soak in Thanksgiving.

I am not complaining. I am not even terribly sad. I am seeing the present and the past in one glance. I can smell wheat fields and yet when I look out my window I see streaks of Abbotsford rain. Perhaps I am looking into the future and accepting it will be filled with vivid memories combined with foreign sights and sounds...I don't necessarily need to have the past in my present. What do I need?

hmmmm, like I said a smile, a coffee and an embrace...

Today the sky cried...

Today the sky cried and so did I. This morning I walked out side to see an emotional horizon, grey and sentimental the sky above me slowly squeezed out one tear drop after another. I couldn't help but to join the drizzle.

I have been plagued with questions of self lately: Why am I here? Why am I discontent? Who exactly do I think I am? So often I feel like I am attempting to walk between two lives. The life of Christ, following Him, being obedient to Him alone. And the life of self. And, in my attempt to walk in between two lives, I have a forboding sense of loosing them both.

If I lost Jesus, I would die. I would cease to function, but my home, my old life and old dreams - they cling to me and I to them. The position of in between, in my tear filled eyes is the ultimate betrayal of both worlds. And as I sat miserably contemplating my hearts unfaithfulness I prayed words from Psalm 25:

"Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted..."

And Jesus answered me, what words did He have for me, His traitorous follower?

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness"(II Cor. 12:9).

I don't understand grace - and I feel that I may never understand grace. So often I have looked at this verse, heard Paul's pleading words and assumed that this grace was limited to a 'thorn in the side' inflicted by the outside world - not a self inflicted thorn of weakness. I am the very thorn that inflicts me - I am sinful and selfish and utterly ruined. And yet, my God says to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness." And Lord I am weak.

I am not sure how to wrap my brain around this; the very thorn that weakens me, my weak humaness makes God's power perfect. His Grace is beyond sufficient, it is extravagant. And as I process this, I continue to to slowly drizzle with my companion, the sky...we comfort one another as we let our tears fall on the world around us - it seems tears must fall so growth may continue...

Every Good and Perfect Gift

Today I sit and I write fully realizing this blog is completely off the radar - and I am ok with that. I will send my words into the vacuum of cyber space and cherish the catharsis.

One time I wrote that I wished I could have a space in my life that was like a deep, cup of tea. A time for reflection. A time for conversation. A time free of busyness. What a gift that would be? It sounds so perfect doesn't it? And yet whenever the opportunity arrose I would run from it. I would run from my cup of tea. I think because I knew that once I began to partake I would fall apart - and I do not fall apart well. As soon as the warmth of the cup was brought my lips I knew a drastic outpouring of emotion would result.

And if you look at my life - I have done a wonderful job of avoiding such times of refreshment and comfort. No tea for me - I have run from one demanding place to the other avoiding the tea. And with the multple layers and colours of this past summer in my wake I knew there was no way I could emotionally handle slowing down for that space, for that time, for that deep, cup of tea.

Yet, God and I often differ in our opinions and He has handed me the very thing I have been avoiding. Currently I am in a place where my resposibilities have been whittled down to a fraction of what they once were. And my time and attention have opened themselves up to the space God is calling me to.

And - today I finally caved. I took hold of the cup of tea God has offered me. I am entering this a time of richness. A time of warmth. A time of strong scents and smooth taste. A time of greiving. A time of prayer. A time of reflecting and self examination. A time of healing. A time of depth. A hard time - but a caring gift offered to me by my Father.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights who does not change...(James 1:17a)

Every good and perfect gift - even the hard ones....amen.

I don't think I knew what I was getting into....

I am becoming increasingly more aware that I was totally clueless as to what I was getting into when I was 8 years old and innocently made the decision not to go to hell. I sat on the scratchy floor of an old camp cabin and prayed that Jesus would save me from hell - now I will admit that knowing Christ is so much more to me now, than simply not going to hell (though I have to say I'm ok with that part too).

But, what did I get myself into.

I once heard someone say that Christ was wrecking his life.

Christ is not someone who comes into your life and smoothes over the bumps and potholes that frustrate us and cause us to fall. He opens our eyes and hearts so we can see so many more pot holes and our hearts so we can cry when we helplessly watch others stumble amoungst them ~ with their Eyes closed.

And we can't exactly walk away from what Christ does to our souls. Once we have made Him a part of us we are marked...transformed. We can squint away our vision until we return to our darkness, but it is forced because we now know the light.

I don't think I am doing it right. Have you ever thought that? I mean I am walking sometimes eyes open - more times eyes squinted shut. But I am walking on this road and I realize...or re-realize that Christ wants me. All of me. Everything. Open your eyes all they way child because Christ wants all of me.

And I ask myself (not for the first time) what the heck does that exactly look like?

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Does this include me giving - fully giving all my burdens to Christ. I rather like holding on to them and keeping myself up until the wee hours in the morning as I wrestle with them...

Unless the LORD builds the house,
its builders labor in vain.
Unless the LORD watches over the city,
the watchmen stand guard in vain.
In vain you rise early
and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat--
for he grants sleep to those he loves.

Right now my heart is wrestling...I am in the house of the Lord building and watching, but unless I give everything...everything to God it is in vain. Is my half sacrificial life lived in vain....

Quite a big thought to wrestle with...like I said the eight year old in me never saw this coming....

Ok Intellectuals - What are your thots?

"The matter is quite simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But we Christians are a bunch of scheming swindlers. We pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well that the minute we understand, we are obliged to act accordingly. Take any words in the New Testament and forget everything except pledging yourself to act accordingly. My God, you will say, if I do that my whole life will be ruined. How could I ever get on in the world? Herein lies the real place of Christian scholarship. Christian scholarship is the Church's prodigious invention to defend itself against the Bible, to ensure that we can continue to be good Christians without the Bible coming to close. Oh, priceless scholarship, what would we do without you? Dreadful it is to fall into the hands of the living God. Yes, it is even dreadful to be alone with the New Testament."

-Soren Kierkegaard

Um...We'll Call This - Sermon Block

Yup. I have Sermon Block. Sermon Block is characterised by me sitting in my little office with the very green, patio carpet. Eating so many smarties that my stomach is aching but I can't stop colour coding and munching...And I turn every thot that comes through my brain into a catchy little diddy...all sung to the tune of 'Spider man, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can.'

Ok, so maybe I should get out more.

This coming Sunday is the 1st Sunday of Advent! (Yes, that deserves an exclamation point). A time to remind ourselves of the deep anticipation each of us has within. I think I am going to talk about the hope of Mary. Mary the Mother of Christ... now, there was a 14 year old girl who had serious faith. I admire that. She knew the trueness of hope...ok maybe my sermon isn't as blocked as my spiderman diddys may lead one to believe.

I just feel...I don't know. Pent up. (This could be the smarties talking).

I have passion.
Deep passion.
I am just wondering what it really looks like.


Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed - not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence - contiunue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose.

A guy named Paul wrote that to a bunch of people living in a city call Philippi. I like it.

To work out my salvation with fear and trembling. With awe, joy and reverence. With pure wonder.

God, who works in me to will and act according to His good purpose. God who works on my passion and actions. God who will use such a weak person for His glory.

Ok - so in summation...I am trying to say that I might be focusing on things that aren't my passions for the sake of passionate discussion. And ultimately above all I need to be strive towards God with fear and trembling.

So essentially nothing concrete was expressed here - just some non practical jargon. (I am a pastor aren't I....).

In my defence Smarties contain both sugar and gluten. (And why isn't Sugar spelled with an 'h'...SHUGAR...? Just wondering).

I apologise for the consistent stream of rubbish that is expelled into cyberspace as a result of this blog.

The Defiance of That Which Glows...

Last night was the blackest night I have seen in a long time. It was so dark that I felt as I was standing underneath it its blackness slowly inked my skin. Nothing around me was left untouched by its deep colour.

And as I looked up into the depths of it, accompanied only by the lone black tree at my side - I was again brougt to a state of breathlessness. My searching eyes found that far beyond the darkness gleamed small gems. Gems untouched, uninked, undarkened. In complete defiance they glowed in the utter darkness. The velvety softness of night couldn't touch them.

Draw whatever symbolism from it that you will. But when I woke in the morning I found myself wishing that I was still standing under that deep night and watching that soft rebellion of light.

God is Holy.

Everyday, I find Him reminding me of that.

God is Holy.

Today I am going on a date with God. I am going to my favourite coffee shop. I am going to sit with my Bible and journal and tell Him I what I saw in His creation last night. I will tell Him how much I treasure Him and how unworthy I am of Him. I will revel in His love and above all I will hold on to that acute awareness that God is Holy.

Thursday

Tonight was wonderful.

Initially when I took this job I made myself four promises.
Promise 1: I must take at least one day off a week.
Promise 2: I will be more committed to practicing the spiritual discipline of silence.
Promise 3: I will take every opportunity to live in joy and laughter.
Promise 4: I will continually look for new expereinces.

Well, Promises 1 & 2 have been difficult to maintain. (Ok so I haven't practiced silence at all this fall....but I will). But Promises 3 & 4 have been really good for my heart.

For instance this Tuesday I learned how to shoot a 22. Now, I am not sure exactly what I will do with this new found knowledge, as I am too much of a wuss to kill anything. I did however, feel rather tough as I lugged my gun accross the feild to shoot at my wooden target. (...'lugged my gun' - never thought I would use those words in a sentance).

And then to night, this Thursday night found my self in another new and joyful situation. I sat at a table with four men playing poker. Oh, yes - I put my five bucks into the pot and lost every penny. They each had their beers, I had my diet pepsi. They talked about hunting, I talked about Youth Group. Life was good.

And initally so was I, apparently four of a kind and the wide eyes of a girl playing dumb pays pretty well! I really had fun...a new expereince but I think I'll add it to my list of good expereinces.

I suppose the moral for my day is simply - Jesus brings us joy in the weirdest ways. I don't deserve it. I don't know my heart like I should. I don't know Jesus' heart like I should. I am not the person I want to be or should be... But He still chooses to bring me joy.