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...