going home

I am sitting next to a pond with only my iPhone in hand. But my mind is so very full of thoughts. I want...no, I need to write them. So here goes...my first post from my iPhone.

I am just wrapping up spring break this week. It has been a beautiful week...so very beautiful. It touched something very deep in me and I've been walking around this pond trying to figure out what that was.

But I know what it was. My holes were filled this week. Somehow, the gaping, aching longings that I've been trying to learn how to live with...somehow, this week, they were filled.

I guess that's what happens when you go home. I would always say nj is my home...and I happen to be sitting in that great state now. So it wasn't the state. No, it was that my soul felt at home this week. Pressures lifted, my soul felt free to rest. And what a beautiful rest it was. And the spaces in me that feel gaping open...they were filled. Quality time with mom, dad, best friend. Time to laugh, cry, be loud, be quiet, time to rest and time to be, knowing that I am not alone. It was beautiful. I can only think that it reminded my heart of what is to come...when my heart will really be home and my soul will really sing.

I had the privilege of hearing a friend of mine preach this morning. He spoke of the hope of the resurrection, that the resurrection speaks to me now of the hope that one day, I and everything in this world will be as it was meant to be. We will live in and we will know fullness. We will see the Lord. We will walk with him with nothing in our way. He'll be as real to us as we are to each other. But my friend also said that the hope of the resurrection touches us today. As I sit next to this pond painstakingly typing away on my small iPhone, I remember that I am a new person, that the resurrected Bethany is continuing to live and take shape even now. That there is hope that I will continue to grow, continue to be changed, continue to be renewed and remade because Jesus went to the cross and rose from the grave. Because he is alive, so am I.

These truths are spiritual, understood by experience, it seems. Too huge for me to try to explain or put words to.  But somehow my heart knows. I know that even in the moments when resurrection seems far away, it's not.  He came so that we might be liberated, transformed new people even now. Praise His name.  What an amazing God who would do this for His people.

My next post might sound a bit more sophisticated.  I've found that it's hard to sound sophisticated when you keep pushing the wrong button on your phone. =) It takes me 5x longer just to type one word!  So this one will just sound real, I suppose.

beautiful collision

My life lately has felt a bit like a collision course.  Seriously... collision after collision.  And I can't seem to stop it.  But I think I'm beginning to understand that this is not a bad thing.

In the process, I am making friends with the words of Rich Mullins' song...
we are frail, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.  forged in the fires of human passion, choking on the fumes of selfish rage.  with these our hells and our heavens so few inches apart, we must be awfully small and not as strong as we think we are.

If you've heard that song, you know it's beautiful.  And I just get it.  Life, lately, has taught me that my hells and my heavens can be just inches apart.  Abrupt moments of bad news, sorrow, or pain, followed on the heels by unexpected joy and provision.  Heaven and hell on the same day.  It's left me with a new understanding of the frailty and smallness of my own life.  It is completely out of my hands to know how many hells or how many heavens I will see in one day, one week, or one lifetime.

But in that place where my head spins and my heart thumps, my eyes also fly open and before me, I see a beautiful collision...

the frailty of human flesh meeting the gentle grace of God.

confusion meeting compassion.

weakness met by the tender infusing of supernatural strength.

darkness clashing with light.
sin buried by the blood of the Lamb.

humanity coming face-to-face with the beauty of the Gospel--

"God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

You were never meant to save yourself, so the Savior has come to you.

Amen!

So let it come.  In my daily life, I learn the process of welcoming the beautiful collision...

In my weakness, Lord, meet me with a fresh awareness of your strength.  In my frailty, Jesus, overwhelm me with your compassion for humanity.  In my need, Lord, let me know how gracious and willing you are to provide.  When I feel stuck in darkness, Lord, I wait for a collision of your light... where Frail meets Divine... and somehow, in your Sovereign grace and plan, I emerge a different girl.  

Yes, fearfully and wonderfully made.  Humble, grateful, waiting with eager expectation for you. 

give them a flower

There's a scene in the film Braveheart that haunts me... in a way that is very good and very mysterious.  I watch the scene, tears crowd my eyes, and something within me stirs mightily.  I've come to think of that 'stirring' as a movement of the Holy Spirit.  His Almighty, Gentle Whisper saying, 'yes, Daughter, this is for you.  This is what I have called you to.'  It's a mighty moment.

The scene opens with a broken young William Wallace, a child determined to fight back tears at the funeral of his father and brother.  Oh, the tears.  You know they're there, gathering in his heart even as he determines to hold them back.  William is determined to be a brave boy... already, the warrior's heart is in him.  Standing off to the side is the beautiful, innocent child Murron.  She watches William.  He never leaves her gaze.  She knows the tears in his heart.  You wonder if she hopes to offer him comfort, even if just through her gaze.

The funeral ends. Murron's parents usher her away.  William stands alone.  Murron breaks free from her mother's hand, grabs a prickly, pretty purple flower, and holds it out to William.  William looks at her, reaches for the flower, and as they stand there, his tears flow.

Compassion.  Gentleness.  Beauty.  Understanding.

We all need these things.  How we need to be reminded when we cannot see.

I watch the scene unfold before me and tears flow.  I feel the Holy Spirit stirring, moving, whispering all around me.  'Beth, the heart of Murron--I've put it in you.  Give them a flower.  Remind them.'  Yes, Lord.  Is this a part of the mission that You have for me in this life?

I've certainly seen some flower-less days in my life.  When compassion, hope, beauty, understanding just seemed absent.  When I questioned if they ever existed at all.  When I fought to keep the tears in and tried to trick the world into thinking that I really am okay.  When I stood alone.

I have found that somewhere in the course of those moments--sometimes in the most surprising of ways--a prickly, pretty purple flower emerges.  A voice, perhaps the Voice, tells me, 'There is so much more going on here than meets the eye.  You will be fine.  Stand, grab on to me, let me hold you up.  There is rest for your soul.'  How I've needed that.  How grateful I am for the flower-givers in my life. Those moments have changed me.  Grace and compassion in the moments when I am most needful of it.

And along the way, in receiving that grace and kindness, somehow, in a marvelous mystery, they have become a part of me.  They have been given to me to share and to give.  And the more I receive, the more I give.

So the Spirit blows around me and continues to whisper, 'Receive the flowers, Beth.  I leave them around you, for you.  And give the flowers, Beth.  Offer them kindness, grace, compassion, understanding, beauty.  Offer them me.'

What a high, high calling.  So with all my heart, I long to receive the flowers.  And I long to give the flowers.

the friend of brokenness

You could say that I've been sitting in a pile of brokenness this week.  It's not comfortable... not really at all.  I squirm and kick and try to worm my way out... but it doesn't work.  Makes me wonder if sometimes Jesus orchestrates brokenness... maybe we need it more than we know.

It's Friday and I sit at my desk and try to pick up the pieces of what was a pretty messy week.  Life happened fast this week... I couldn't keep up.  I would have much preferred a slower, gentler process.  I'm a 'sit and soak' person--give me options slowly, let me ponder, go into my closet and talk with the Lord for a little while, and I'll return to you with a pretty great response.

But life doesn't always allow for 'sitting and soaking.'  I live among people.  That's usually something that I love, but sometimes, the reality is that people hurt me and ask things of me that are difficult... sometimes, they don't allow me to go to the closet and come back with a great response.  Sometimes, I am wounded and I am hurt... but I am still required to come out and live among the world.

So this afternoon, I find myself sitting in a pile of brokenness.  I don't think my living this week was the prettiest.  I'm pretty sure I could have done better.  I feel kind of haunted by the moments when I should have done better.  I even went through several whole days this week with puffy eyes and big hair!  Oh, the pile of brokenness.  It can be run from... it can be welcomed.  So I stand here and I stare at it--that messy, beautiful pile that at the present time is me...

And softly, I hear a voice whispering to me, reminding me that brokenness was never meant to stand by itself. A friend was given to brokenness a long time ago.  Jesus named her grace.  The amazing thing is that I think the more I choose to embrace my own pile of brokenness, the more I realize that grace has already befriended my brokenness long before I ever knew it--and the more I see and hear the invitation to run and jump and play and dance with grace.

And today, I meet up with an old friend and we have a heart to heart, and afterwards, I get in my car and I drive for a really long time, and I talk to Jesus and I join that dance.

And I join Rich and sing this song...

Moriah

"You're married.  You have the opportunity to be the single most influential person in someone's life every day. What a blessing..."  I found myself speaking these words to my friend just this week.  I surprised myself when I said them... not because I don't believe them.  I do believe them.  Totally.  Entirely.  I just don't think I have spoken them that way before.  

It took me to a deep longing in my soul, to hold that place... to be the single most influential person in a life, to make life better and more beautiful for someone just because I'm in it.  To be his witness, to remind him that his life matters, all of it, no matter what.  We all need that.  How I've longed to be that person for someone.  How I've longed for someone to be that person for me.

It's a beautiful dream.  A beautiful longing.  The Father of my heart knows it well in me.  I know it well in myself... sometimes, so well that it scares me.  But I do love that dream.

Yet, I often find myself putting on Abraham's sandals and walking up the long dusty road to Mt. Moriah... where I go to lay that dream on the altar.  Not because I want it to die.  More than anything, I want it to live and take real, living form in my life.  I suppose I go to Mt. Moriah in faith... "Lord, here's the dream.  I think it's a dream You gave me."  I remind Him that He's the Giver of dreams, and I ask Him to be the Shepherd of this dream and of the heart that holds it.

I suppose I'm still up on that Mt. Moriah... still preparing the sacrifice, still talking to Him, heart wrenching over the meaning of the sacrifice.

But I remember that He has spoken an end to this story... I know of the ram.  The unexpected provision.  The reconciliation after the sacrifice.  The life in the expectation of death.  The joy in the anguish.

I don't know the end of my story.  And standing on my Moriah, I wonder what He is asking of me.  I ask Him, "What do You want me to do?"  I raise the knife, but He does not ask me to lower it.  Instead, He speaks of the ram.  Provision.  Reconciliation.  Life.  Joy.  These have not come to me in the form of a person... yet... but they do come to me every day, in the form of so many different things.  Lately, it has been the kind smile and flower from a favorite old professor.  The kindness of a friend at just the right time.  Words of truth sent to my heart straight from God.  A sunset the peeks above the trees in my office window and beckons me to run outside and sit and be in it.

He only asks me to believe.  That He is the Giver of good gifts... the Lover of our souls... the Father of our hearts, the Maker of our noses, the Giver of our dreams (thanks, Rich).  Moriah is a hard place to be, but it is a place where He is and where He speaks.

And He tells me this...

No distrust made {Abraham} waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what He had promised.  That is why his faith was "counted to him as righteousness."  But the words "it was counted to him" were not written for his sake alone, but for ours also.  It will be counted to us who believe in Him who raised from the dead Jesus our Lord, who was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification.  (Romans 4)

Blessed be the God who meets with us at Moriah.

unexpected grace

Today, I took a long walk about town.  My town is very old and historic... I love it. There's always something new to explore or find in my wanderings.  I am never disappointed.

So this morning, I left the house and headed out in town in search of some quiet.  Our house is very FULL these days!  Except it was freezing!  Absolutely freezing.  My down vest and mittens were not enough... but I was determined to take this walk.  So I rushed down the street, through the many blocks until I reached our neighborhood coffee shop.  I charged in, ordered my coffee, and received it gratefully.  Coffee in hand, I was in a much better--and warmer--place.

I don't know what it was--quite possibly the coffee (or the warmth!)--but I found myself beginning to slow down... slowing my steps, my thoughts, and my soul.  And when that happens, something changes in me--my heart begins to "center", my soul settles.  Quite suddenly, the eyes and ears of my heart fly open... and it's almost as if Jesus appears right in front of me.  That happened this morning.  I heard a voice... not words, but a voice.  I'll try to put words to what He said.

You're hungry.  Walk down a few blocks.  Try out that new bakery.

I don't know, Lord.  That bakery is near the bad side of town.  I never walk there.

Give it a try.  Enjoy.  You won't be disappointed.

So I walked toward the bad side of town, entered the bakery, and emerged with the very last apple streudel that bakery had to offer.  The first apple streudel I've had since my last trip to Germany.  I was transported to another world-- "ich mochte ein apfel streudel bitte."  And while this apple streudel wasn't nearly as good as the real German variety, I took that streudel as a gift from a God who must love me very much.  But He wasn't done... He spoke again.

Leave the main road.  Try some side streets.  It'll be fun.

Yes, I love side streets!... but I'm in the bad part of town.  I sorta think I should stick to the main road.

(meanwhile, Rodney Atkins' "Take a Back Road" is playing in my head) =)

Go for it.  Enjoy.  You won't be disappointed.

So I took the side street.  And before my eyes emerged a great gray steeple... and then a beautiful old stone church-- the Methodist Episcopal Church from 1790.  So old!  Then... next to it was a little red building with a small sign-- "historic one room school house, built 1790."  Of course, it's not in use these days... preserved for posterity, I suppose.  But I love history.  And I love stumbling upon landmarks that I didn't know existed... especially in my own community.  And these two were beautiful.  I stopped and I stared... I was not disappointed.  But then came the Voice again.

Keep going.  There's more.

I'd love to see more, Lord, but I'm in the bad part of town.  And I'm by myself.

You have your coffee.  You'll be fine. (I think He smiled when He said that).  Keep going.  Enjoy.  You won't be disappointed.  

So I kept walking--in the "bad" part of town--and I passed two neighbors.  One a little old man, and the other, a young man.  The old man turned to me, smiled, and said, "You look cold, little lady.  Make sure you warm up soon."  I smiled and said, "I have my coffee.  I'm fine."  (Jesus said it first!). ;)  The young man passed me and with a big smile said, "Merry Christmas!"  (not Happy Holidays)  Unexpected grace and neighborly kindness in the "bad" part of town.  I was not disappointed.  Then, I met Stan and his daughter Carly and their two sheltie dogs, Shilo and Howie.  I even got to pet those big puffs of fur... I loved it.

I love it that we just never know when Jesus will show up in the normalcy of our lives.  I was rushing, cold, and determined to get a cup of coffee before I turned into the female version of Frosty the Snowman... but then Jesus showed up.  And the next thing I know, I have an apple streudel, old church and school house, and friendly new neighbors.  He is so unexpected in His grace sometimes... it's quite beautiful.  He's quite beautiful.  Writing about it draws me to love Him more.  I can't imagine how big His heart must be.

Enjoy... you won't be disappointed.  Thanks, Lord.

peace

My old green sweatpants, Phillies sweatshirt, hair in a pile on the top of my head, reading students' papers, and Handel's Messiah in the background...

and out of nowhere I hear it--
unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon His shoulders... 
and His name shall be call-ed... 
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace

Some music is so beautiful... so beautiful that I don't know what to do with it... except listen and take it in.  It leads me to imagine heaven and all of the angels and every living creature singing around and to and for Jesus.
This is one of those songs.

Praise Jesus.  Tonight, in my room, in my end-of-the-semester exhaustion, as I mark papers... this song speaks peace to me.  For us, Jesus came and is here now as God with us.  That changes everything.

This Christmas, may peace continue to filter through our craziness and touch our hearts.  May we see Him.