A tidbit
The wind, like the arms of a big God they said. Those alley kids, just riding their bikes, with all the wisdom in the world. Lean into it they yelled and you’re held steady, planted into the moment when all around leaves are swirling, lives are swirling up into the chaos.
Lean into it, the wind.
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings
There is a place for me where my wounded soul heals faster than anywhere else in the world. It’s the city. The hundreds of people, strangers, who brush up against me as I go about my daily life, they have stories to share.
I don’t know their stories, and for most, I never will. But I do know mine– and I know that it is full of pain and sorrow, but sometimes, often, it is also filled with joy. And each step I take against the tar-patched streets, I know that somewhere in their stories is joy, too. The vision of God’s redemption is a living city, full of people who are awake to the glories around them. This is the hope I have when I walk through my city– that God’s kingdom might be here and now.
Summer Breaking (Part Three: It will)
It happened eight years ago, but I can’t stop thinking about it. One moment, melted into forever, into my eternity. It’s become that which I look for in my life: that one breath, sigh of relief, of burdens being lifted and the true meaning of his words. Come to me all you who are weary and heavy-laden for my burden is easy and my yoke is light. Come to me, full of grief, of sorrow, of hopes unanswered. Come to me, full of anxiety, of pride, of an empty desire to control.
Eight years ago I sat on a beach in North Africa. It was hotter than hot and we sat– the foreigners and the locals alike, heavy with sweat and stiff muscles, the way we craned our necks to reach out to the breeze that wasn’t there.
Children tucked in at their mother’s feet not daring to run to the water’s edge– too hot anyway for jolly. The birds would flitter across the slow, short waves, the waves themselves too tired to roll.
And then it happened. Slowly the hair on the back of our necks lifted, unmatted from the skin. Women’s veils, the ones with fringe on the end, started to tussle.
The breeze. Summer’s chains clanging against fall’s relief; summer breaking. That’s what they call it.
When a season breaks, everything right in the world matters ten thousand times more than everything wrong. The children stretch, cool wind breathing life into their lungs, and they shout for joy, for the hope that is the breeze–no longer stranger, but friend.
Women start to laugh again. These sometimes women, sometimes product to be used, purchased for a time being and worn hard– they have life coursing through their veins again. Tomorrow seems closer, seems sweeter and softer than ever before. They lay back and float on the sand, their bodies light with the expectancy of a birth easier than they have ever known.
Tomorrow is sweet, but the shadows on the horizon dance, a harbinger of the coming pain. The next day? Not as sweet. Heavy. Sticky with pain. A cruel desert.
But again, God will bring the wind. He leads us out of our deserts, our skins hardened and wind-blasted. The wind polishes away the sand, the weight of the heat. He breaks them, those chains of ours. Those seasons of never-ending heavy grief.
And so we follow, through the desert.
Following Jesus– First Week of Lent Links
You know that I’m taking part in the Lenten synchroblog series on: Following Jesus, what difference does it make. Here are the other bloggers that have taken part in the series– take some time to enjoy their reflections as you journey through Lent.
A prayer for the Second Sunday of Lent
Eugene Cho – Giving Up Coffee or My Life
Tim Dalton – Following Jesus What Difference Does it Make
Paula Mitchell – The Grace to Trust
Jeff Johnson – Christ Has Walked this Path A Lenten video
Christine Sine – Where is God in the Midst of Disaster?
Keith Giles – Nobody Follows Jesus So Why Should You?
Ron Cole – Leaving to Find Church
Jon Stevens – You Do Not Need To Go To Seminary to Follow Jesus
Christine Sine – Earthquake In Japan How Do We Pray?
John Van de Laar – Into The Desert
Lynne Baab – Freedom From Fear of Death
It doesn’t. But it should. (Part One)
This post is part of the Lenten synchroblog series on: Following Jesus: What Difference Does it Make? You can read more over on http://www.godspace.wordpress.com.
Come back to me with all your heart.
I don’t often find comfort in church marquee signs, except, routinely in one. It sits at the south end of my city, a place I don’t generally find myself as I live 30 minutes northeast. Every once in awhile, though, I pass it, and sometimes the weight of the sign on my soul requires me to pull over to the side of the road and wait— this most recent time was no exception.
Come back to me with all your heart.
I used to be known as the woman who showed grace under fire. The one whose peace was contagious because it emanated from a much higher peace, a much higher grace and mercy.
But this week, I’ve been unpleasant, irritable— angry, even. I am fearful about today and fearful about tomorrow. I have lost sight of God, whose abundant peace used to pour over my own heart, a soothing balm in the midst of traumatic years.
Come back to me with all your heart.
Nothing major has happened in my life, just small things, creeping in little by little that cause sorrow and stress. And little by little my ability to tap into God’s grace crept out. My heart stopped beating in synch with my Creator’s.
Come back to me with all your heart.
Today, right now, following Jesus doesn’t make much of a difference. But it should. And I have hope that it does (and will), and that I passed the marquee at the right time, when my heart was tender from the pain, from the fear, and the anxiety— but open and willing to accept God’s love— to let him in, again, to do the work of Lent.
For Japan with Love
Finite Forgiveness
But 7 x 70 isn’t infinite.
That’s the response I gave to a friend of mine as we talked about forgiveness.
Am I completely missing the point? Probably. But I’ve grown weary of forgiveness. I’ve grown weary of saying yes to love while I’m being punched in the stomach.
It’s a hard thing to do, to continue loving someone in the midst of their continual betrayal. To love them, and forgive them even more than 490 times.
Sometimes, I like to go to the internet and see what ‘answers’ show up on yahoo or the like, so I typed in 7 x70. Do you know what the answer said? That Jesus required of us to forgive even more than was ever possible to offend. While I understand what the responder was saying, here’s the thing: The number of offenses against me were that high. Probably double or triple.
It’s not infinite. I don’t think that means that I can get away with forgiving 490 times and then stopping. I really don’t. I think it means that I have a Savior who has to forgive me so much more than that, and 490 is just a start. I have to say though, sometimes, in some of my darker days, I want it to be finite. I want forgiveness to be finite. But not my forgiveness.
And there’s the rub. I’m so much more willing to be forgiven than to forgive. Because I know I will hurt God somewhere along the lines of 490 times this month. Maybe even this week.
Growing weary, wanting to stop, I am reminded that Jesus forgave infinitely more on the cross. Infinitely. And so I keep forgiving, no matter how far it takes me beyond 7×70.