Unquenchable

I seek solitude. Time to be alone with my thoughts. Time to think, to slow down, to see more of life than the physical.

Our physical bodies get in the way. Aren’t we more than joints and flesh and marrow and bone? Surely there is more to us than can be touched and seen.

We are a compilation of experiences. We’re running on hay bales in summertime, first kisses, wading the creek at camp, harsh words from adolescent friends, and the sum of our parents and children and the wind through the ages.

It’s so easy to hide. To duck behind skin and bones and never be seen, never see ourselves — to never really know another human being.

But all of this solitude, it can become empty. What is life if not lived with another? What is the purpose of all this pondering if it cannot be shared? Is it possible to get so wrapped up inside my own head that I go mad?

Because who sits at a restaurant and listens to fountains trickle and traffic buzz and jazz play and wonders what the person at the next table looks like under their skin?

We’re bound by these bodies. We’re bound by form and substance and the need for sustenance and connection. Wouldn’t it be easier if we were only matter taking up space and passing time?

But we are not. We long to transcend the physical.

The pragmatic part of me calls it a foolish waste of energy, thinking and writing of things that barely exist. But there are thoughts to be thought and words to be said that are mine alone. I’ve fought them back with work and responsibility and pragmatism and yet they will not relent. So, here I am talking crazy on a Monday about images that can only be seen in shadow.

A battle rages between tangible and intangible, the physical and spiritual, the visible and the invisible. The soul longs to make peace with them both, to relinquish this bifurcated life.

We are more than physical organisms. We cannot be defined by an elegant arrangement of molecules. We are relational beings with a creative nature made in the image of One who is worthy. We have a longing deep inside that only One can fill — an unquenchable fire that only He can ignite and fuel with His perfect oil.

And if we are going to be whole, if we are going to be at peace with who we were made to be, then we must say ‘Yes’ to the fire and accept the burning to see things not only as they are but as the one day will be. We must seek to merge the seen with the unseen and to know and be known, not only by the great Source but also by one another.

for our God is a consuming fire. a

If I say, “I will not mention him,
or speak any more in his name,”
there is in my heart as it were a burning fire
shut up in my bones,
and I am weary with holding it in,
and I cannot. b

Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. c


Photo Credit

Linking today with Imperfect Prose:

Author name:
Eyvonne
Publish date:
May 16th, 2012
Discussion:
9 Comments

Memories of a Mother

I know you wonder if you did enough. We talked about it in the strawberry patch just the other day. I told you about the crazy things in my head and I saw you wondering. Did you really do enough….

Memories of a Mother

This mothering thing is hard. We make thousands of decisions every day. Some of them are little but seem big and some of them seem little but are really huge and they change the course of everything.

As my kids get older and they tip-toe into deeper waters, I’m beginning to understand why you said it’s easier when they’re little.

When we talk about it now you say, “There are lots of things I would do different.” And I know. I know how it feels to want to change some of those little decisions that have left big footprints. You talk about the changes you would make and I’m so glad you do. I’m glad I can learn from the wisdom of what you did right and what you think you did wrong.

We all make mistakes because mothering is an impossible job.

But Mom, it’s an impossible job that you did well.

There are things I remember with a child’s eyes:

I remember making candy at Christmas. You, standing by the stove melting chocolate and painting the molds just so. I still love the smell of peppermint.

I remember shopping trips, and fitting rooms, and how you made sure it was all just right.

I remember the rattle of the pressure cooker and pork roast and cooked potatoes on the table.

I remember you in that tiny back yard wearing your summer shorts and cleaning green scum out of the plastic pool.

I remember watching you fall asleep on the couch while studying for college exams.

I remember your lovely handwriting and that dreaded red pen on my school papers. I owe my love of writing to you.

I remember how unaware I was that you had a life of your own completely independent from mine.

I remember church on Sundays.

I remember sitting in Dr. Fulkerson’s waiting room for hours on end.

I remember how you’d watch my baby sister struggle to breath and how you slept in a chair for days while she was in the hospital.

I remember standing in a hospital room 20 years later watching my own girl fight for every breath. I knew exactly what to do because I’d seen you do it a hundred times. You were right there with me, still sleeping in a chair.

And through all of it, I remember how hard you tried.

I knew that whatever came,

no matter how bad or unexpected,

you would handle it.

I saw you:

When your youngest girl turned blue in an ambulance because she couldn’t breath

When dad was out-of-town working hard and thieves invaded our home

When grandpa was thrust off the tractor, broke his hip, and was nearly crushed

When things went bad with the family farm and Christmas was hard and awkward

When grandpa almost lost his hand and his life to that terrible corn picker

When that same baby sister fought an even harder battle against and even fiercer foe and won

You were there. You were present for every bit of it.

And even when you think you did it wrong,

you really didn’t.

Because you cared enough to give it your all.

So today, there are no pretty packages or cards or flowers. It’s likely that I won’t even see you. But I want you to know Mom,

you did this mothering thing well.

And I am a better person because of it.

Love,

Eyvonne

Strength and dignity are her clothing,
and she laughs at the time to come.
She opens her mouth with wisdom,
and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.
She looks well to the ways of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children rise up and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
“Many women have done excellently,
but you surpass them all.”
(Proverbs 31:25-29 ESV)

1000 Moms Project

Photo Credit

Author name:
Eyvonne
Publish date:
May 13th, 2012
Discussion:
4 Comments

Do you ever do anything bad?

The question comes as I’m standing in a cubicle with co-workers discussing horror films.  I say I don’t like movies designed to spark fear and celebrate gore.  ”I just don’t want that stuff in my head.  There’s enough bad in there already.” He looks me square in the eye and asks, “Do you ever do anything bad?”

Proverbs says that a word well spoken is like apples of gold in a setting of silver.

How I wish at moments like this I had a word well spoken.  But I can’t come up with two or three sentences that are sufficient.  Instead, I stare at my feet and look right at my inquisitor, “What? Has your cube turned into a confessional now?”

The conversation moves along and I have escaped.

But the question burns.  I can’t escape.

For years I’ve tried to stop keeping a list of everything I do wrong.  The Book says he’s separated my sin from me as far as the East is from the West.  He does not remember it.  If God doesn’t have a list, why should I?

The question won’t leave.  Do I ever do anything bad?  The honest response is a bit too raw for midday cubicle conversation.

What He doesn’t know is that he’s asking the wrong question.  He should be asking, “Do you ever do anything good?”

I look inside and see things the questioner doesn’t.

I am selfish.
I want my own way.
I want to be the master of my universe.
I scream at my kids.
I forget my checkbook, skip my tithe and spend too much money at Bath and Body Works.
I care way too much about what others think and  way too little about what God thinks.
I take advantage of my husband’s selflessness.
I say hurtful things.
I make obligations to myself, to my family, to God that I do not keep.
I care more about my own comfort than the needs of others.
I  constantly fight the desire to hole up in my own cocoon and make my faith, my life, my job all about me.

I am not good…

So, how does someone who has such a low view of themselves get through the day?  Knowing all that I know about me, how do I carry on?

It’s here.  It’s all right here:

God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. a

These words are etched in my memory.  When I hear the crazy lady in my head tell me all the horrible things I am, I fire right back at her:  “He who had no sin became sin for me so that in Him I might become the righteousness of God.”  

It doesn’t matter who I am.  Jesus became sin even though he never sinned.  In Him, I can be right with God.   It’s a great mystery right there in black and white.

The debt is paid.  I have a clean slate.  Not just on the day I believed, but every day.  And I need it — every day.  Not because I deserve it, not because of anything I do, but because of who He is and what He has already done.

To be honest, I don’t understand it.  I don’t understand how God changes the hearts and minds of those who believe in him.  Logic says that if the penalty for everything I could ever do wrong has been paid, I should do exactly what I want.  But that’s the thing, I want God.  He is so good that He is what I want.  I believe him when he tells me:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. b

I want all the good that He is — this God who came here and suffered at the hands of His creation. I think on these things.

I don’t do it well.  I bumble and say things that are hurtful and get caught up in what other people think.  I get selfish.   I fail and flail and fall.  But that’s OK; He knew I would.

God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

Photo credit

 

Linking today with Jennifer

and

Imperfect Prose

Author name:
Eyvonne
Publish date:
May 7th, 2012
Discussion:
11 Comments

The Family Business

The Kids on the Farm, Taken in 2006

I watch the video and feel left out.  My parents talk about their work and then look at each other with eyes that reflect knowing, togetherness, and years of co-labor.  They’ve built something, the two of them.  They’ve built a business, horse barns, and fence but it’s more than that.  They’ve built a community.  They have their own groupies, people who will come and stay from all over the world for a piece of the magic that is Stoner Ridge Farm.

The video fades to a girl riding in slow motion. Her body moves with the 3-beat canter and her auburn hair flows behind her like the train of a wedding gown. She leans, not even moving her hands and the horse moves with her body. When you watch, it’s hard to know who is following whom. Is she moving to the rhythm of the horse’s body or is the horse moving to her? It’s as if they’re both following the cadence of a mystical drummer that only the two of them can hear. She’s so effortless on a horse, this baby sister of mine.

There was a time when that could have been my life. But roads diverge. My mother married a horse trainer before he was a horse trainer. I married a preacher before he was a preacher.

When I talk to Mom about their lives she’s always got a list. She’s so close to the magic that it doesn’t look like magic to her at all. It’s checklists, and shows, and coordination, and clients, and veterinary visits, and phone calls, and people that show up at all hours. Work that never ends.

My husband and I are building something too. It’s hard and messy and uncertain and I have my own list. It’s different and it’s the same: work, kids, weddings, funerals, births, Bible studies, counseling, cookouts, phone calls, and people that show up at all hours. It’s work that never ends. I’m so close that it doesn’t look like magic at all; but this is our lives, and we are building.

I wonder how daddy felt when he left his 20-year job to tend a farm. Did he know then he would be successful, that he was building something great? Because I don’t know if we’re doing this right.

Does anyone ever really know? Can you ever be certain that you’re doing it right? Where do I find the confidence to put one foot in front of the other and keep going? There is only one place that has answers that endure.

I am sure of this, that He who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:6 HCSB)

These words are a reminder. This is not the path I would have chosen. He started it. God stirred in us and made us forever discontent with the pursuit of the American dream. He moved us to this city and he has given us a heart for these people. He has placed us here, in spit of our flaws and failings and inadequacy. Any other choice would be misery. And why choose misery when I can have joy.

Author name:
Eyvonne
Publish date:
May 3rd, 2012
Discussion:
No Comments

For days that seem purposeless

I back the old gold Maxima into my spot in the parking garage. I try to overlook the crumbles of french fries in the floorboard and the single tennis shoe in the back seat. Another day. More meetings, problems, processes, tasks. What’s the purpose? I open the car door and my heel hits the concrete and my thoughts shift. Words come; words that are as much a part of me as the names of my children. “In the beginning was the Word.”

My shoulders relax as I remind myself. Before time, there was the Word.

“And the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.”

The Word — the ultimate communication of truth, love, goodness, hope, mercy and grace. I’ve hidden these words deep inside for days like today.

I say them over and over. “In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.”

“All things were made through him. And without him was not anything made that was made.” The words come easily, more freely than my own thoughts.

Now, it flows. I roll the sentences around in my head.

“In him was life and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness but the darkness has not overcome it.” Another rendering, “the darkness did not comprehend it.” How true this is. The darkness cannot understand the light.

“There was a man sent from God whose name was John.”

John intrudes. In the middle of all this talk about truth, and light, and beginning, and God — is John. He seems out of place.

“He came as a witness to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.”

But he is not out of place. John made the paths straight, prepared the way, told the story. What good is a great story if it’s not told? It’s my job too. To tell.

“The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.”

The world did not know him. It did not know him then and it does not know him now.

“He came to his own and his own people did not receive him.” The very people who were told the signs, who were to be the light-bearers did not recognize him. I’ve done this. I do this still.

“But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name,”

My pace quickens. My heart rate increases in anticipation.

“he gave the right to become children of God.,”

Oh the joy of these words. “To all who did receive him.” That’s me. “Who believed in his name.” That’s me too. “He gave the right to become children of God.” Could it be possible? I have the right to be called a child, the beloved offspring, the direct family of God? It’s not a privilege. It’s a right.

This is joy!

“Who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.”

The words come to a natural crescendo, building to a climax as breathtaking as Handel’s Messiah.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son of the Father full of grace and truth.”

I say it fast and the words run together.

The Word, the truth of the universe, the ultimate communication from God put on skin and lived among us. He was full of grace and truth.

“And from his fullness we all have received, grace upon grace.” Upon grace, upon grace, upon grace. That is what I have.

“For the law was given to Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.”

The hard and rigid law was given. Grace and truth came. It embodied. It ate. It lived. It walked. It wept. It touched. It bled. It died. It lived again.

My shoes go clip-clop on the brick sidewalk with these words whispered to myself and to the Creator who was there in the beginning and who is here now.

There is purpose in it all.

Your word I have treasured in my heart,
That I may not sin against You. — Psalm 119:11

This post is linked with Imperfect Prose

   

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Author name:
Eyvonne
Publish date:
May 1st, 2012
Discussion:
13 Comments
Older entries