Lent — day eleven

Beauty and ache
fill and feel the same
when the world is taken
in with great gulps,
and the more you swallow,
the less you comprehend.
Joy tastes salty, like tears,
like blood, like popcorn.
Sky yawns blue like mountains,
like long hugs, like stillness.
Sometimes silent dreams speak
most profoundly, and the masses
shout nothing, with all that they are.
Wind is wide like the stories
that burrow deep in your bones,
and whisper to you in the night.
Fire consumes – it gives
and takes, ravages, restores.
The ocean won’t ever stop its
crashing, colliding, yet, its peace
surpasses understanding.
Tears choke most days,
and when they don’t, I miss them –
they choke for beauty, choke for ache,
fill and feel the same.

A darkness, a peace – Part ii

It is both dark and peaceful. It is dark because we truly don’t know how the future will play out. We give ourselves to a silent death, death by a slow fire… But this silent flame is hard to perceive. You might not see it. Those who love you might not see it. But God is burning away all you have depended on.  But don’t worry… this slow burning death is not only dark, it is also peaceful. — Let God; Winn Collier

I have great hope
that in all things,
in every stumbling, staggering,
tremble-handed way and thought,
you are drawing near to me –
calling that wilderness heart of mine
what it truly is.
I cleave to great hope,
that my babbling
neverending consonant and vowel
one after the other
after the other –
great hope that in all
through all
I am tripping into surrender;
opening wider my heart to all that you are,
shrinking less,
shedding the fear that
I’m wrong — and you hate wrong.
How could I know, that
the moment I unfurl,
you will cover me?

Petrified.

I am petrified to write.  I am petrified that I will sit down, my fingers will move, and the same words I’ve spoken a thousand times will roll forth again.  I’m petrified that I have nothing of worth to say.  I’m petrified that I have nothing at all to say.
A friend of mine was over the other day – she said she was embracing time with God as it came.  That she was taking the quiet moments in her day and giving them to him, consecrating them for communion.
That petrifies me too.
Because I ache for a life that moves in rhythms of abiding grace.  And abiding comes in the quiet moments of the day.  It comes when sacred bleeds into every breath and every green and brown encountered is holy.  And yet, I am petrified to spend time with God.  I’m petrified that I won’t have anything to say.  That the words I do say will be weightless and empty. I am petrified that he will not have anything to say to me.  That I’m done. That he’s not actually teaching me anything at all – and what, then, will I answer when people ask what I’ve been learning.  Heaven forbid I shouldn’t have an answer.
Fear is a lie allowed to enter when love is not the voice you hear in the stillness.
Love, please do not give up on me. Please do not heed my screaming  – over my own fingers jammed tightly and trembling in my tired ears – screaming that I cannot hear you. Forgive my trembling fingers, forgive my weary eyes. Forgive that I blamed you for my sick heart.  Heart, forgive me for running from the arms you cried for day and night. Forgive me for the lies I let seep in and choke you. Love, please do not give up on me.
I will be still. I will be still and know you. I will be still and let you know me.

 

 

 

The season of singing birds has come

There is a bird singing outside – singing as if it cannot stop.

“Look, the winter is past,and the rains are over and gone,
the flowers are springing up,
the season of singing birds has come!
Their songs fill the air,
and the fragrant grapevines are blossoming.
Rise up, my darling!
Come away with me, my fair one!” — song of solomon 2:11-13

Spring.

It’s not quite here. In fact, the forecast calls for 6-8 inches of snow tomorrow. But, I’ll take the singing birds today. I’ll take the hope they give. There is something about bird songs that make my heart remember resurrection. There is something about bird songs that awaken those tired, run-down parts of me and reminds them that they were made to be alive.

There is promise in a bird song. There is a cry of made new!

My soul swells when I think of all things being made new.

 with every breath you take, I am restoring

New life, real life, being manifested in me and everything around me with every breath I take.

“The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you. And just as he raised Christ from the dead, he will give life to your mortal body by this same Spirit living within you.”— Romans 8:11

The very same power that won over death is living in me – recreating me with every breath.

“Then the LORD reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, “Now, I have put my words in your mouth.See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant.— Jeremiah 1:9-10

I am being made new – and in living into the newness Christ brings, I am bringing the Kingdom (that same recreation) to every person I encounter.

Tearing down lies. Destroying bondage. Overthrowing death – undoing death.
Building Kingdom walls. Planting Eden’s seeds.
Because Jesus lives in me. We move as one.

Bird songs promise spring.

Spring, that call to create. Spring, that call to live out the restoring work of the kingdom. Spring, that life. Spring, those fountains of life again finding their source. Spring, creation’s play of Kingdom come.  Spring that fosters life, fosters life.

Spring lives in me – finds home in me. Spring finds home in you. Spring finds home in everyone.

Redemption, restoration, the undoing of death, the re-writing of life, the hope of glory – lives in you, works in you. You carry it wherever you, to every broken place, to every healing place, to every good place, every hard place, every unknown place – it overcomes, every time.

And that is worth a song.