I discovered this past week how bad I am at dealing with the unexpected. I'm not just bad at it, I react atrociously. I am not just talking about pouting (although I did that) or arguing (yes I did that too) or throwing an all out temper tantrum (which happily I can say I didn't do - I am a little more mature than that). I am talking about an all out rejection of the situation with which I was presented - feeling cornered.
Lets preface all of this with a big congratulations to my brother in law - Spencer, and his fiance Sarah. They are getting married on 12/12/12 (yes you are reading correctly) in Hawaii. Yes. Hawaii. Thus the unexpected. I knew that they wanted to get married there, but they made it official and my in-laws officially made it official that they wanted us to be there (to the extent that they would assist with the costs).
Lets just say that, sometimes, I don't react well when someone says "think about it, we need your response by tomorrow afternoon."
Tomorrow afternoon???
Immediately, my brain goes in seventeen different directions. None of which are very flattering to my own sense of self. I start thinking about how we can't afford it. About how Hawaii isn't even on my list of vacation spots. About how I didn't want to make a decision about December in the middle of July. About how I only have 6 days of paid vacation left and they are asking me to save all 6. It ended with me breaking down about how I want to save money for a house and now I am saving for a vacation that has been forced on me.
Lucky for me, I have a wonderful and patient husband who simply allowed me to freak out for a bit before pointing out the painfully obvious in all of this - we are going to Hawaii on vacation in December. How amazing is that? And you know, once I realized that I really did want to go see Spencer and Sarah get married, and I wouldn't mind snorkeling or hanging out with my other family, I realized I was reacting extraordinarily selfishly.
Even though this wasn't in my carefully laid plans, or my budgeting scheme, I get to experience something that I otherwise wouldn't have experienced and I get to do it while celebrating the marriage of two pretty amazing people.
What I am coming to see in all of this, however, is my potential for allowing my plans for my life eclipse what are opportunities for amazing things to happen. What if I get all bent out of shape again next time something comes up that is out of my realm of "the expected" and instead of ending up with the Hawaiian vacation scenario I end up missing out on the opportunity all together. And what if that opportunity was what God wanted for me? What if the unexpected which I pushed out of my life really pushed away what God's will was for me?
What if next time, I don't take the opportunity, and I miss out on relationship with Christ? Am I really that taken with myself that I think that my budget, my plan for my life is all that matters?
I am pretty sure that God has more than just a Hawaiian vacation in store for me if I devote myself to his plan instead of my own. Now I just need to figure out how to stop thinking of mine and start focusing on his.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Rearranging Furniture on the Titanic
Growing up, my mother frequently used the phrase "I'm just rearranging furniture on the Titanic". She always used it when she was expressing opinions on this or that thing we were doing that ultimately wouldn't really change the outcome of what was going to happen. Just now, I finally looked up the phrase and discovered that it is more commonly put as "rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic" but the essence of the phrase remains the same.
I have found that I have adopted a stance that frequently falls into the category of rearranging the furniture on the Titanic. I have been forming opinions about my life, the direction that I want it to go, the way I want it to work that ultimately will have no effect on what will be. After all, a few years from now, none of it will matter. Who cares whether I had a nice car or a home with five bedrooms or three cats and two dogs. The reality is, all of this is superfluous, all of it is rearranging a life that is figuratively doomed to sink.
So instead of arranging and rearranging my current life, shouldn't I be focused on what really matters? The end result? My relationship with Jesus which will affect so much more than simply what I will be here on earth - but ultimately what I will be forevermore?
For a while now, I have been praying a prayer that asks what God wants me to do with my life, where he wants me to go, what he wants my goals to be. I have come to a realization - not exactly the answers I was looking for - but a realization that should change my life. To an extent, God doesn't care. He just wants us to follow him, love his son, and love his people. All the rest - it's just rearranging furniture on the Titanic.
I have found that I have adopted a stance that frequently falls into the category of rearranging the furniture on the Titanic. I have been forming opinions about my life, the direction that I want it to go, the way I want it to work that ultimately will have no effect on what will be. After all, a few years from now, none of it will matter. Who cares whether I had a nice car or a home with five bedrooms or three cats and two dogs. The reality is, all of this is superfluous, all of it is rearranging a life that is figuratively doomed to sink.
So instead of arranging and rearranging my current life, shouldn't I be focused on what really matters? The end result? My relationship with Jesus which will affect so much more than simply what I will be here on earth - but ultimately what I will be forevermore?
For a while now, I have been praying a prayer that asks what God wants me to do with my life, where he wants me to go, what he wants my goals to be. I have come to a realization - not exactly the answers I was looking for - but a realization that should change my life. To an extent, God doesn't care. He just wants us to follow him, love his son, and love his people. All the rest - it's just rearranging furniture on the Titanic.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
A Lunch Walk
For my sister Annadele - although this doesn't quite resemble most of our walks, it might resemble one or two.
You were there. And I was there. I don't remember seeing anyone else. But you remember don't you? I remember walking down the street. It was one of those lunches, I had already tied my jacket around my waist and the sweat was starting to gather in the crevice of my spine. You had forgotten your sunglasses and my slacks were bunching at my ankles, right above the tongue of my newly put on tennis shoes. We were laughing at something you said, I think, maybe something I said (although I know I am not that funny). I felt it first, although you must have seen it not long after. It was like the feeling when you think you have a spider in your hair, the softest of touches. Except then your eyes got wide and you motioned for me to feel my head. I did, and then turned around.
Nothing was disturbed, the tree next to us was swaying slightly, but I didn't feel anything on my head and you were shaking yours like you couldn't believe what had just happened. It was then that I saw it. It moved. And I don't mean moved like shook a little in the wind or even like those stories from Disney where the trees creak and groan toward you in some sort of grotesque horror or nightmare scene. I mean full on Fangorn forest moved.
For a second, I didn't say anything. Then it was like three million words at once as you chimed in. 'Oh my gosh did you see that did that f'ing tree freaking move or was I just imagining oh my gosh its doing it again!'.
I truly had my fight or flight moment however, when that first tree stepped its root up onto the sidewalk. To your credit, your brain was like three tenths of a second faster than mine because when I turned to run, you were a couple of yards in front of me and moving quickly. I could hear the cement ripping up as that small little tree ripped huge roots through the middle of the road to swipe at my (hopefully) rapidly disappearing self. But I didn't want to turn around, so I'm not entirely sure what happened. All I know was that I was picturing roots shooting through my body and being devoured like an orc into the ground below the tree.
By this time you were so far in front of me that I was surprised you heard my shouting. Especially seeing as the breath was starting to stop coming in and out of my lungs due to the fact that I do not run. Really, never. You did turn though, your feet turning and quickly peddling past my rapidly slowing ones to follow my directions.
Chain.
Saw.
We needed one and I think you and I both knew where the likliest place was. Although, I had no idea what saying the words out loud would mean. Who would have thought that on a road lined with trees, one chasing after us as if it was hell bent on our destruction (at one point the radar above the speed limit sign actually read 13 mph - I am hoping that it was clocking me, but the truth is, I wasn't near big enough to catch its attention) that the words "chain" and "saw" when put together would produce the sheer disaster that was hundreds of trees ripping up their roots and coming after us?
Okay. So a chainsaw was out of the question. There was no way we were holding at bay a hundred or so trees with just a chainsaw. Or maybe two if the Kingston Yacht Club even had any to begin with. But I could see you were still running, and with purpose, so I kicked up my heels and tried to catch you (which of course I couldn't, but it was the effort that counted I suppose). You headed directly for the ferry dock.
Smart girl.
Except of course that there was no ferry docked.
But you didn't even hesitate, winding your way down to the pier where a few dozen yachts stood, ready for our salvation.
Do you know how to sail a yacht? Do I? These questions are irrelevant when being chased by a couple hundred killer trees. Did I mention hell bent on our destruction? I could even see a couple in the forest behind the neighborhood we were just in starting to move. What were we to do?
I quickly unwound the rope from the dock on the boat you had chosen. It was a fairly large vessel, but it was toward the end of the pier so I figured it would be easier to maneuver out of the actual dock itself. I ran up to where I could see a steering mechanism and sure enough, there was the ignition. No it didn't have keys, but you make it up when you are fleeing from trees and you had better believe it, I hot-wired that boat. Or you did, but regardless, we made it start and then I turned it methodically around and started to rev the engine, getting us out into deeper water.
What I didn't expect was that the trees would follow us. I mean really? What are they going to do?
Except we forgot one very important thing - trees float.
Plans formed without words and I turned our bow to the concrete salvation at hand. Seattle. Or at least where I thought Seattle should be. And maybe we didn't go exactly straight, what with me trying to navigate and you trying to fend off increasingly persistent branches being thrown towards us by some very angry trees. What did we even do? Finally however, we made it to Seattle and I saw no way for us to escape except to beach our boat. So we did, just up the beach from the sculpture park. There were trees in that park too, but apparently this forest did not have the same animosity towards us that the other forest did.
As the trees came up the beach towards us though we knew we needed to keep moving, so I took off after you and we raced towards the nearest skyscraper. Water didn't work, maybe air would.
We took the stairs two at a time, at least for a bit. I didn't know where the elevator was and for some reason we didn't think to ask or look. By the time we got to the roof and looked down, there was a veritable forest standing around us, and more trees were coming all the way across the sound, it was like a greenbelt - across the water.
And now, looking down at this forest that has sprung up around us, I am wondering how we will get home, or even if we will be able to get off this room. But you were there right? I wasn't just dreaming?
You were there. And I was there. I don't remember seeing anyone else. But you remember don't you? I remember walking down the street. It was one of those lunches, I had already tied my jacket around my waist and the sweat was starting to gather in the crevice of my spine. You had forgotten your sunglasses and my slacks were bunching at my ankles, right above the tongue of my newly put on tennis shoes. We were laughing at something you said, I think, maybe something I said (although I know I am not that funny). I felt it first, although you must have seen it not long after. It was like the feeling when you think you have a spider in your hair, the softest of touches. Except then your eyes got wide and you motioned for me to feel my head. I did, and then turned around.
Nothing was disturbed, the tree next to us was swaying slightly, but I didn't feel anything on my head and you were shaking yours like you couldn't believe what had just happened. It was then that I saw it. It moved. And I don't mean moved like shook a little in the wind or even like those stories from Disney where the trees creak and groan toward you in some sort of grotesque horror or nightmare scene. I mean full on Fangorn forest moved.
For a second, I didn't say anything. Then it was like three million words at once as you chimed in. 'Oh my gosh did you see that did that f'ing tree freaking move or was I just imagining oh my gosh its doing it again!'.
I truly had my fight or flight moment however, when that first tree stepped its root up onto the sidewalk. To your credit, your brain was like three tenths of a second faster than mine because when I turned to run, you were a couple of yards in front of me and moving quickly. I could hear the cement ripping up as that small little tree ripped huge roots through the middle of the road to swipe at my (hopefully) rapidly disappearing self. But I didn't want to turn around, so I'm not entirely sure what happened. All I know was that I was picturing roots shooting through my body and being devoured like an orc into the ground below the tree.
By this time you were so far in front of me that I was surprised you heard my shouting. Especially seeing as the breath was starting to stop coming in and out of my lungs due to the fact that I do not run. Really, never. You did turn though, your feet turning and quickly peddling past my rapidly slowing ones to follow my directions.
Chain.
Saw.
We needed one and I think you and I both knew where the likliest place was. Although, I had no idea what saying the words out loud would mean. Who would have thought that on a road lined with trees, one chasing after us as if it was hell bent on our destruction (at one point the radar above the speed limit sign actually read 13 mph - I am hoping that it was clocking me, but the truth is, I wasn't near big enough to catch its attention) that the words "chain" and "saw" when put together would produce the sheer disaster that was hundreds of trees ripping up their roots and coming after us?
Okay. So a chainsaw was out of the question. There was no way we were holding at bay a hundred or so trees with just a chainsaw. Or maybe two if the Kingston Yacht Club even had any to begin with. But I could see you were still running, and with purpose, so I kicked up my heels and tried to catch you (which of course I couldn't, but it was the effort that counted I suppose). You headed directly for the ferry dock.
Smart girl.
Except of course that there was no ferry docked.
But you didn't even hesitate, winding your way down to the pier where a few dozen yachts stood, ready for our salvation.
Do you know how to sail a yacht? Do I? These questions are irrelevant when being chased by a couple hundred killer trees. Did I mention hell bent on our destruction? I could even see a couple in the forest behind the neighborhood we were just in starting to move. What were we to do?
I quickly unwound the rope from the dock on the boat you had chosen. It was a fairly large vessel, but it was toward the end of the pier so I figured it would be easier to maneuver out of the actual dock itself. I ran up to where I could see a steering mechanism and sure enough, there was the ignition. No it didn't have keys, but you make it up when you are fleeing from trees and you had better believe it, I hot-wired that boat. Or you did, but regardless, we made it start and then I turned it methodically around and started to rev the engine, getting us out into deeper water.
What I didn't expect was that the trees would follow us. I mean really? What are they going to do?
Except we forgot one very important thing - trees float.
Plans formed without words and I turned our bow to the concrete salvation at hand. Seattle. Or at least where I thought Seattle should be. And maybe we didn't go exactly straight, what with me trying to navigate and you trying to fend off increasingly persistent branches being thrown towards us by some very angry trees. What did we even do? Finally however, we made it to Seattle and I saw no way for us to escape except to beach our boat. So we did, just up the beach from the sculpture park. There were trees in that park too, but apparently this forest did not have the same animosity towards us that the other forest did.
As the trees came up the beach towards us though we knew we needed to keep moving, so I took off after you and we raced towards the nearest skyscraper. Water didn't work, maybe air would.
We took the stairs two at a time, at least for a bit. I didn't know where the elevator was and for some reason we didn't think to ask or look. By the time we got to the roof and looked down, there was a veritable forest standing around us, and more trees were coming all the way across the sound, it was like a greenbelt - across the water.
And now, looking down at this forest that has sprung up around us, I am wondering how we will get home, or even if we will be able to get off this room. But you were there right? I wasn't just dreaming?
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Of Graduations, Engagements and Fathers Day.
I spent the majority of this weekend celebrating. I celebrated the end of High School for my youngest sister. I celebrated the engagement of my brother-in-law. I celebrated fathers day for not one, but 2 fathers after having gained a wonderful Father-in-law. This weekend was full of celebration.
So I have decided that in celebration of those things I would simply take the time to write a few things that I have noticed about each individual thing.
High School Graduation:
This is a wonderful time in your life when you are utterly naive about everything you are about to step out into. You spend the entirety of it thinking that you have stepped into adulthood and that you "know" something. The reality is, all of us adults and smiling and laughing and saying "Oh remember when we thought that?" Not saying that I have all the answers now, just saying that I used to think I did and now I realize that I don't. High school graduation is that small time in life where you feel like now you can take on life. The next years in your life will prove that nothing is a simple as it looks coming out of high school.
Engagement:
This is a wonderful time in your life when you are utterly naive about everything you are about to step out into. (Wait... haven't I said that already?) You spend your engagement planning for how awesome being married will be. How you will love each other always, and will never fight. You will be the poster children for marriage. She will cook wonderful meals. He'll bring home the bacon and you will both sit down to the dinner table and talk about your days. It will be your "happily ever after". The reality is, all of us married folks are just reveling in your innocence. Smiling and remembering when we used to think like that. Maybe even giving our spouses knowing looks. Not saying that I know all about marriage now. Nor that I have really experienced true hardship yet (jeez its only been 2 years), but I now realize that it is not all princesses and white horse riding knights. Engagement is a time to be wrapped up in all of the romance. The following years will be the true test of your love for one another and God.
Fathers:
This is where the rubber meets the road. High School Graduation and Engagements are looking forward to a flowery future that you expect to be easy and fun. Fathers day brings you back to the reality. The reality of life. Because fathers day is a day to celebrate what our fathers have done and been to us. And we already know that they aren't perfect. We know that they stumble and fall, but its about how they pick themselves back up, and how they remain in our lives to influence it that makes the difference. Not everyone has a great father, but everyone can have a perfect heavenly father. And watching my Dad, and my Father-in-law strive to be great dads by following their heavenly father provides the best example of how to live life. Day by day, on your knees.
So celebrate the milestones in life, the fairy tales and the joy and excitement. But don't forget to take the lessons from those who have been there and done that. I for one am glad that I could celebrate all of these in one weekend - it gives me the opportunity to put it into perspective and to know just how blessed I am.
Monday, June 11, 2012
God's Approval
To Follow.
In the book "Not A Fan" by Kyle Idleman, (A book I am currently in the process of reading with my Bible Study) the question is posed: are you merely a fan of Jesus or are you a true follower?
To be honest, as I am reading through this book and living my life, I cannot answer that question easily. I can tell you who I WANT to be, but I am not sure that I have realized that goal. Do I really know what it means to follow? because all that I think of when I think about what it means to be a follower are the actions that I must take. And although I know that a true follower will act according to their beliefs, I know that my perception of "what must I do?" is the wrong way to think about my relationship with Christ.
So instead of looking at actions, what am I supposed to do?
To Follow.
I have been reading this week through the book of Galatians. I started with the first chapter and read it all the way through to the end. Just like it is supposed to be read. And God knocked me over the head - Hey, hey you, pay attention, listen up.
It seems like this happens any time that I am thinking or dealing with things that are faith threatening. God knows where we need to be and wants our relationships with him to be strong. And as I read through Galatians on my phone (I read the Bible at work whenever I need a few verses of distraction time) I could feel God telling me - this is what you need to hear.
The book of Galatians has some interesting things to say about faith vs works. Or more specifically the saving grace of faith for EVERYONE. Paul is addressing a mixed church of Jews and gentiles and he advises them not to fall into worldly ways of defining their relationship with God.
Isn't that what I am struggling with? Isn't that what I am trying to figure out? How do I then define my own relationship with God?
I am an heir to a promise that started with Abraham. A promise that we would no longer be under the law, but that the free grace of Jesus Christ would be poured out for us. None of us are deserving. And we shouldn't put rules or stipulations on someone's faith in order to define them as a "good" Christian. You cannot automatically label someone as a "better than me" Christian based on their actions.
In the book of Galatians, making the Gentiles follow the law was hindering their ability to recognize the free gift of salvation - and the observing of the law by the Jews was making it hard for the Jews to recognize that the gift of life had been extended to the Gentiles as well.
In today’s world – this is judging the actions of our fellow Christians by their actions and conforming to that measurement of judgment ourselves. How much did you put in the offering plate? How many bible studies are you a part of? How much of your time is spent in volunteer work? Do you ever skip prayer before a meal?
These measurements are the “law” of our modern church. Whether or not we realize it, we are doing the same thing that God is saying – through Paul – that we shouldn’t do.
To Follow.
If following doesn’t equal actions then it is all about the heart. We shouldn’t be creating opportunity to flaunt our actions, our prayer life, or how “great” we follow Jesus. Because that doesn’t mean you are following Jesus – you might be following your pastor, your bible study leader, your idols of praise and pride.
So the question I have for myself then is, whose approval am I seeking? Am I seeking the approval of the church? Or of God? Because as Paul points out, sometimes they are not the same thing.
To Follow.
Have I been seeking God’s approval alone?
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Seeing
Lisa walked by the same park every day from the bus to her workplace, and then back to the bus stop. Her eyes may have tracked upwards to the trees, to catch a calling bird, or even on occaision to look at the various vendors and their delicious smelling food - but she rarely remembered much about the park itself. Oh, she knew, for instance, that it had evergreen trees, but this was Washington - everywhere had evergreen trees. And she knew, for example, that the seagulls liked to eat the french fries sold by the hotdog stand that frequented the park with its tantalizing grill smells. Other than that, however, she couldn't really tell you much about it.
Lisa walked with the same measured pace every day from her bus to her workplace, clicking her heels down, click click click, in the same place on the sidewalk everyday. Three exactly measured steps between cracks, keeping herself even by balancing left foot first and then right. There were exactly 104 different squares of sidewalk between her bus and her work, which meant that she had an even number of steps. One time she found herself counting them quietly under her breath. That was a bit too much for her though, and she stopped when she reached 284. She hadn't really realized it until then.
Lisa walked with her chin against her chest every day from her bus to her workplace and back, eyes down - almost a forty-five degree angle, chin meeting chest or blouse or coat. Her measured pace and exacting steps met the critique of her eyes with every slight clicking sound humming in her ears. Lisa's no neck gait meant she didn't see the world around her, didn't notice the seasons changing, didn't even notice the hotdog stand changing ownership or the seagulls dive-bombing people with french fries. Lisa couldn't even tell you what color the building were on the left or the right, or what they housed. 104 squares from the bus to the office. 104 squares from the office to the bus. Rain, sleet, snow or sunshine, it didn't matter. Same heels. Same clicking gait. Four years.
Lisa walked, no necked, head down, 97 squares of clicking exactedness on a sunny day in March - and then her left shoe's heel broke. She stopped. Her eyes traced backwards to the forlorn stub of a high heel lying on the sidewalk one exactly measured clicking gait backwards from where she now stood, balancing precariously on her right foot - not entirely sure what to do. She looks down at her left foot, examining the offending shoe with a mystified look, her brown eyes gazing from the broken stub to the sole of the shoe and then back again, each glance causing her more and more frustration.
And then - Lisa looked up.
There, above the ground line, above her physical horizen line where she had spent the last four years of her life, was a park. There were evergreen trees surrounding a small pond where little ducks splashed and cackled and a hotdog stand sold steaming fresh hotdogs to a small group of children playing in a sand box and their parents, standing and talking, espresso's in hand. And a park bench, perfectly positioned only a few small steps away beckoned her to stop staring at her offensive shoe, stop staring at the way that the pathetic heel drooped on the sidewalk, and instead to sit, and watch the small children as they threw sand at one another.
Lisa puts her left foot on the ground, and it doesn't click. She moves, slowly, her fingers outstreched, wobbling slightly every time she rises on her right foot and falls on her left, until she reaches the bench, and curling her fingers around it, holds on. It is like she is drowning, the seagulls calling overhead, the laughter of the children, a million miles away, and yet distinct, natural, normal. She realizes that she has heard them before. She had to have heard them before, she is 97 sidewalk squares in to her 104 square commute. She slides around the park benches edge and sits heavily, her body relaxing against the soft slightly sun-warmed wood, her hands slipping naturally into the pockets of her coat as she tucks her chin into the neckline and watches. The sun is just behind the trees, midmorning yet, and they are silhouetted perfectly against a deep blue sky, each branch a dark exclamation point that declares the beauty of its surroundings. Her phone beeps at her, and she glances down at her watch and standing, she walks, not even noticing how many steps or clicks, the rest of the way to the office.
Lisa walks a length of sidewalk in her tennis shoes, carrying her work shoes, from the bus to the office, smiles and waves at the parents, and buys a hotdog.
Lisa walked with the same measured pace every day from her bus to her workplace, clicking her heels down, click click click, in the same place on the sidewalk everyday. Three exactly measured steps between cracks, keeping herself even by balancing left foot first and then right. There were exactly 104 different squares of sidewalk between her bus and her work, which meant that she had an even number of steps. One time she found herself counting them quietly under her breath. That was a bit too much for her though, and she stopped when she reached 284. She hadn't really realized it until then.
Lisa walked with her chin against her chest every day from her bus to her workplace and back, eyes down - almost a forty-five degree angle, chin meeting chest or blouse or coat. Her measured pace and exacting steps met the critique of her eyes with every slight clicking sound humming in her ears. Lisa's no neck gait meant she didn't see the world around her, didn't notice the seasons changing, didn't even notice the hotdog stand changing ownership or the seagulls dive-bombing people with french fries. Lisa couldn't even tell you what color the building were on the left or the right, or what they housed. 104 squares from the bus to the office. 104 squares from the office to the bus. Rain, sleet, snow or sunshine, it didn't matter. Same heels. Same clicking gait. Four years.
Lisa walked, no necked, head down, 97 squares of clicking exactedness on a sunny day in March - and then her left shoe's heel broke. She stopped. Her eyes traced backwards to the forlorn stub of a high heel lying on the sidewalk one exactly measured clicking gait backwards from where she now stood, balancing precariously on her right foot - not entirely sure what to do. She looks down at her left foot, examining the offending shoe with a mystified look, her brown eyes gazing from the broken stub to the sole of the shoe and then back again, each glance causing her more and more frustration.
And then - Lisa looked up.
There, above the ground line, above her physical horizen line where she had spent the last four years of her life, was a park. There were evergreen trees surrounding a small pond where little ducks splashed and cackled and a hotdog stand sold steaming fresh hotdogs to a small group of children playing in a sand box and their parents, standing and talking, espresso's in hand. And a park bench, perfectly positioned only a few small steps away beckoned her to stop staring at her offensive shoe, stop staring at the way that the pathetic heel drooped on the sidewalk, and instead to sit, and watch the small children as they threw sand at one another.
Lisa puts her left foot on the ground, and it doesn't click. She moves, slowly, her fingers outstreched, wobbling slightly every time she rises on her right foot and falls on her left, until she reaches the bench, and curling her fingers around it, holds on. It is like she is drowning, the seagulls calling overhead, the laughter of the children, a million miles away, and yet distinct, natural, normal. She realizes that she has heard them before. She had to have heard them before, she is 97 sidewalk squares in to her 104 square commute. She slides around the park benches edge and sits heavily, her body relaxing against the soft slightly sun-warmed wood, her hands slipping naturally into the pockets of her coat as she tucks her chin into the neckline and watches. The sun is just behind the trees, midmorning yet, and they are silhouetted perfectly against a deep blue sky, each branch a dark exclamation point that declares the beauty of its surroundings. Her phone beeps at her, and she glances down at her watch and standing, she walks, not even noticing how many steps or clicks, the rest of the way to the office.
Lisa walks a length of sidewalk in her tennis shoes, carrying her work shoes, from the bus to the office, smiles and waves at the parents, and buys a hotdog.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
A Moment
It is a moment.
Deeper than music and more profound than lyrics, it is a moment where Soul and Spirit collide, breath matches beat and skin writhes and bumps. The voices of those around you fade into the moment, clarity and joy, perfect worship. Your Soul raises itself, wrapping arms around Spirit, who has never, will never, let go. Harmony, peace, erupting as the music soars into the final chorus...
and then,
with a shuddering gasp of breath,
the music ends.
And you fall. Back into the body that holds you, the nature that eyes you greedily, the mind ever contrary. Joy is replaced with longing and Soul sighs, losing its grip while Spirit, ever steady, whispers "soon my child, soon."
It is a moment where heaven opens and you commune with Him, but it is only a moment, and too soon - your Soul trapped in this body - it is gone.
But now you are addicted. Every thread of your being seeking to glorify Him so that you may one day sit in his presence and find the joy, the peace, the love, that never ends. The feeling that wont go away. And He is deserving. Oh so worthy. Of all that I can give.
Lord help me to glorify you. Raise me up so that I may better see and understand your will, your love, your peace and joy. Give me that hope, remind me daily of your grace.
Thank you father.
Amen.
Deeper than music and more profound than lyrics, it is a moment where Soul and Spirit collide, breath matches beat and skin writhes and bumps. The voices of those around you fade into the moment, clarity and joy, perfect worship. Your Soul raises itself, wrapping arms around Spirit, who has never, will never, let go. Harmony, peace, erupting as the music soars into the final chorus...
and then,
with a shuddering gasp of breath,
the music ends.
And you fall. Back into the body that holds you, the nature that eyes you greedily, the mind ever contrary. Joy is replaced with longing and Soul sighs, losing its grip while Spirit, ever steady, whispers "soon my child, soon."
It is a moment where heaven opens and you commune with Him, but it is only a moment, and too soon - your Soul trapped in this body - it is gone.
But now you are addicted. Every thread of your being seeking to glorify Him so that you may one day sit in his presence and find the joy, the peace, the love, that never ends. The feeling that wont go away. And He is deserving. Oh so worthy. Of all that I can give.
Lord help me to glorify you. Raise me up so that I may better see and understand your will, your love, your peace and joy. Give me that hope, remind me daily of your grace.
Thank you father.
Amen.
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