To support themselves, the first Christian monks spent their days weaving palm branches into baskets and ropes they could sell. And as they worked, they prayed. The steady rhythm of the work helped the monks memorize the psalms and the Gospels, which was a necessity in the fourth-century desert, as books were expensive and rare. But the monks regarded this work and prayer as their way to God, hoping that over time the "straw" of mundane tasks could become the "gold" of ceaseless prayer. (From A Marriage, Monks, and A Writer's Life Acedia and Me by Kathleen Norris)
I sit here at one of my favorite spots this New Year's Eve--the page. I look down to see what I'm hearing on Pandora. The title of the song is Time. How fitting, as I reflect on the past year. I think, too, of a beloved metaphor. Doors. One of my favorite couples, trusted friends, gave me a jigsaw puzzle for Christmas. The image includes multiple doors. How did they know I'd been wanting to work a puzzle over the holidays? I'd been looking in stores, but couldn't find a picture I'd want to piece together. But there in the package was the image I'd been searching out, door after door, some bright orange or turquoise, others weathered, paint peeling, some with knockers and intricate iron work. A few open.
As I think about the "doors" of 2017, I realize some doors were circumstancial, doors I had to walk through and figure out what lay on the other side. We all have them over a year. These portals must be opened, and often, at the end of the year, we're relieved to firmly close them. Perhaps locking them, cementing them over so that we never have to walk through again. Other doors were those we walked in and out of daily--our work and relationships, making our beds (or not), cooking meals, washing dishes, mowing lawns, walks or runs in our neighborhoods, dusting shelves, showering and haircuts. I often fail to appreciate these dependable, sturdy doors that offer a steady rhythm for the days and seasons of the year. Then there were those doors we chose to open, that we made up our minds to open. For me, these doors can sometimes feel too difficult to open--grown over with moss and lack of care. Why bother now? Besides they could be locked. Yet when I remember the occasions I've been brave enough to give those doors a push, many times they do creak open. And what waits on the other side is surprisingly wonderful. A rough draft gets written. A new language becomes more familiar. Faith blossoms in a desert place.
As you walk over the threshold into 2018, may you find comfort in those "quotidian" doors, the ones that you move in and out of day to day--the ones that bring stability and routine to your lives. May you appreciate their faithful hinges that allow you safe entries and exits. And may you face those circumstancial doors that you have no choice but to move through with hope, courage and strength. And those doors that wait for you...don't wait too long to push them open. If you have, though, don't despair. They still wait. Opportunity waits there for you. Let 2018 be that year. And may the God who so loves you, cares for you, believes in you and gives you those very desires to open the door, provide all you need to twist the knob . May you open your hearts and palms to His grace, His Spirit and light in 2018. May your steady rhythms and fearless courage throughout this new year be as spun gold.
He guards you when you leave and when you return, He guards you now, He guards you always.
She stood on the platform alone, waiting for the train. She'd come before to catch the Majestic Express, but had never been brave enough to board. The train's final destination was not tangible, really. All she'd heard was that the final stop was unbelievably beautiful--unbelievable being the prime descriptor. She felt a lot more comfortable knowing what she could expect. Here, in this place, she could count on leaden skies, the gray landscape--bare trees, with their dark branches blanketed in snow. This quiet beauty was not unbearable. And she had a warm coat, a red scarf she wrapped around her neck, a woolen cap and gloves. She could bear the cold just fine. But was there more? She'd lived in the same climate for so long, she didn't know if she could risk to explore some place different, some place warmer...
She peered down the track and saw the chugging train as it neared the station. Its headlights penetrated the misty atmosphere, and her heart seemed to beat just slightly faster seeing that glow in the weak daylight. She could feel the ambivalence warring inside her mind. "If I leave, it will be difficult to get back. And what if I want to come back--what If I'm homesick? What if I hate where this train might take me? But then, what if it's the best decision of my life?" Even on the snowy day, she felt her brow break out in beads of anxious perspiration. She swiped the hat from her head and felt the brisk wind glance her skin, a prickle of cold coursing through her body. She shivered.
The train slowed and came to a stop right in front of her. The door swished open, and she could hear the murmur of joyful laughter inside. She caught sight of the conductor standing in the open door, raising his hand to her. "Won't you come aboard?" he asked. He was tall, youthful--with a headful of shiny brown curls. Gallant. He extended his hand to her. She hesitated, hovered there. Then the promise of what she might discover in a new place drew her, beckoned her, and she placed her foot on the first step and grabbed the conductor's hand. She could feel the warmth of his flesh through her gloved hand. "Let me show you where you can store your backpack. I know it must be heavy. You've been carrying it for many miles. But now, rest and enjoy the view as we travel to our next stop. You're going to love the Majestic Express. And I'm delighted you're onboard. You're in for some brilliant stops along the way..."
Over these last months, I've felt a little like this woman--hesitant to leave the location that's safe, that I'm familiar with. And I'm talking about a spiritual place now, as you're probably already aware. I listened on-line this week to a favorite teacher of mine, Graham Cooke. He posed this question: If I live inside the heartbeat of God, what does that look like? What does that sound like? I resonated with the gorgeous metaphor, yet I didn't know if I even acknowledged that I lived inside the heartbeat of God. I had to admit that I often was like the woman standing alone on the platform on a snowy day, wrapped in the warmth of my own self-effort, my fear and anxiety--afraid to go anywhere new. Doubt and unbelief more real to me than faith in a God who describes me as His beloved, who desires me to walk in His provision and His majesty. I began to try and answer that question.
For me, being inside the heartbeat of God looks something like this: Daily, stepping onto the warm train, taking His hand and trusting His guidance to take me to the next stop where I trust Him to help me be assured that I am a much loved child, where He supports me in exhibiting the fruit of His spirit to others, with no judgment or comparisons. Where I bask in HIs laughter and joy, His warmth and majesty--where I am more courageous than cowering--where I express hope rather than dread, where I drive away negativity with my confidence in Him. Where I rejoice. Where my intimacy and relationship with HIm is my greatest weapon against the enemy of my soul.
And what does the hearbeat of God sound like? In my mind, it is the rush of a train, the chivalrous conductor shouting to all who will listen, "All aboard!"
Over the week, I fell down a hole. I'd spent too much screen time reading the news--tax reform, sexual harrassment cases--a new one each day. Every bodily symptom I had, leading me to a new article on Web MD--the cancer probably back. It was almost as if I was consumed, touching my phone screen to link after link. I felt the fear and anxiety seeping in, my tendency to "catastrophize" knocking on the door of my heart. Cue to run in the opposite direction. Cue to run toward peace.
One of the ways I choose to run toward peace is to remember coping tools that have helped restore tranquility in my life. I needed restoration, not dysregulation. I headed for the Psalms. My ears are filled with the sounds of promise. Good people will prosper like palm trees, grow tall like Lebanon cedars, transplanted to God's courtyard, they'll grow tall in the presence of God, lithe and green, virile still in old age. (Psalm 92: 13-14~The Message). I connected almost instantaneously with the phrase, My ears are filled with the sounds of promise. I decided to begin a search through my journal over this past year and read the words and promises from God that surfaced on the pages. My journal that I call Morning Pages (inspired to begin writing by one of my favorite authors: Julia Cameron) is not neat and tidy. The pages are hand written and stream of consciousness. There are scratch outs and writing in the margins, sketches and drawings that are not very good. Yet I love what rises up from the ink when I go back and read what's been written. There are prayers and the longings of my heart. Scripture. Enclosed are some of the promises that filled my ears once again over this past week. I invite you to use the words in any way you see fit, praying that they lead you to increased peace. (All Scripture taken from The Message)
So my very dear friends, don't get thrown off course. Every desirable and beneficial gift comes out of heaven. The gifts are rivers of light cascading down from the Father of Light. There is nothing deceitful in God, nothing two-faced, nothing fickle. He brought us to life using the true Word, showing us off as the crown of all His creatures. ~James 1: 16-16-18.
Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life. ~Psalm 23:6
For the Spirit in you is far stronger than anything in the world. ~I John 4:4
This is God's message, the God who made heaven and earth, made it livable and lasting, known everywhere as God: "Call to me and I will answer you. I'll tell you marvelous and wondrous things that you could never figure out on your own." ~Jeremiah 33: 2-3
I will give you a thorough renovation. I will work a true healing inside and out. I will show you life whole, life brimming with blessings. I'll restore everything that was lost." ~ Jeremiah 33: 6-9
Then showing us the way, one foot at a time, the path of peace. ~Luke 1:79
When life gets really difficult, don't jump to the conclusion that God isn't on the job...this is a spiritual refining process, with glory just around the corner.~ I Peter 4: 12
I"m not afraid when you walk by my side. Your trusty Shepherd's crook makes me feel secure. ~Psalm 23:4
You know all my desires and deepest longings. My tears are liquid words, and You can read them all. ~Psalm 38:9 (From The Passion Translation)
God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need Him. We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom, courageous in seastorm and earthquake, before the rush and roar of oceans, the tremors that shift mountains. Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, God of angel-armies protects us. Step out of the traffic! Take a long, loving look at me, your High God, above politics, above everything. Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, God of angel armies protects us. ~Psalm 46; 1-3 and 10-11
Your very hands have held me and made me who I am. Give me more revelation-light so I may learn to please you more...for your words are entwined within my heart ~Psalm 119: 73-74
It seemed as if the verses came spilling out from the pages. Like a river. I was a celebrant, reading each one out loud, declaring the mercy and grace and goodness of God. It was as if the Creator Himself used a paint brush to restore the shadowy places in my life--removing the debris, filling in the empty, fearful spaces with His light and life. His peace.
It is not a snowy day here in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. In twenty years, I think it's snowed twice, and then hardly sticking to the ground--just enough to provide that dusting of white powder that gives us southerners a thrill. I have lived in snowy climes (just outside Chicago), and there's nothing like a fresh snowfall that outlines trees and blankets rooftops. There were times while living there, I'd bundle up and walk amid the flurries, lifting my face to feel the frozen softness on my cheeks, then brush the snow from a park bench and sit amidst the silence.
I imagine sitting there now, even on this sun-filled day, the breeze gentle, my arms bare, feeling the warmth. Both venues are equally delightful. This day I am grateful for life, perhaps even more than last year when I sat reflecting upon 2016 and looking toward a new year. In 2017, I learned there were no ordinary days--each one presenting an opportunity to capture the now and live inside that reality--to take the good and rejoice--to lean into God's supply--not allow circumstances to define me. Miracles, really. Paradox, certaintly, as I've navigated the death of my sister and the diagnosis and treatment of cancer.
At this time of contemplation, I want to thank you, dear readers, for your kindness and support over these many months. You do me such honor when you read the blog posts. I can think of little else that brings me more pleasure than writing. Your readership is a gift, and I humbly thank you. Often, I hear from you, and this, too, is a gift--that you take time to make a comment, send an email, write a review of one of my books--buy one of my books. Thank you. Knowing you are out there in the virtual landscape is comforting and brings encouragement on many levels.
And now, we all take time to recognize the birth of the One who came to our world. Came to us. Initiated. And he continues to initiate with us. Bidding us come to Him to sit at His right side, the enemy a footstool under our feet. Every day He invites us to see ourselves the way He does. No condemnation, but rather as the beloved, the favored, the healed, the redeemed, the joyful ones, the wise, the ones who sing a new song, the ones with shining faces, the laughing ones, the peaceful, the hopeful, the strong ones.
As you enter 2018, let His vision carry you forward. May you experience His presence, His light, His counsel, His mystery and His creativity in ever-expanding ways. No boxes. No ceilings. His fullness. His abundance.
I wasn't quite ready to put away the Thanksgiving wreath, the pumpkin on the front porch. I love autumn--that season that ushers in the colors of amber, ochre and crimson. Pumpkins dot the landscape with their unmistakable orange brilliance. The sun is warm but not hot. Skies are often impossibly blue. "Just one more day," I said. "Then I'll get out the white Christmas lights." And besides, the family would be coming over for a bonfire. The grandchildren would try s'mores for the first time.
The fire blazed in the fire pit, and the moon glowed bright as if we'd pulled a string on an overhead light. Stars gleamed in a sky the color of midnight. I could hear the hum of my family all around me, my grown daughters with their young, talented husbands. My grandchildren. I thought, "This is abundance. Thank you, God, for the beauty of the moment, for giving me so much, for your goodness. For your kindness. Your tenderness toward me. Your warmth.
My grandson didn't really like the s'mores and opted for a plate of shelled pistachios. I sat near him, listening. One of my greatest gifts is that Jonathan enjoys coming to my house, that he feels comfortable talking to me. Jonathan spoke of the stars, smiled and waved at the moon. Flames from the fire lit his face. A toy airplane that I'd given him that night was tucked next to him. "Minou, (my grandmotherly title) I like this toy. Can I take it home?" When I nodded yes, he asked again, "I can?" He expressed some incredulity that I'd said yes. He then put down his plate of nuts and clutched the airplane to his chest. "Thank you, Minou. I get to take this toy home!"
As I pondered being with my grandson, I wondered if perhaps our interaction reflected something God might be hungering for. I do believe He delights in our company and listens intently. He draws near. He gives good gifts and assures us that receiving His gifts bring Him pleasure. He wants us to receive, clutch those gifts to our chests and declare our thanks. I think of my human love, my great affinity for my grandson--so weak and diluted compared with God's affection. I didn't want my time with that little boy to end. I could have sat there with him in the firelight for hours.
Many times, though, I fail to draw near to the One who extends His hand to me. I might allow my own inadequacies or shame or anxiety or busyness to keep me away. If my grandson didn't want to draw near to me, I'd feel saddened. I'd want him to come as he is; I'd want to give him gifts. I'd want to listen.
And what about you, kind reader? Is there anything that holds you back from drawing near? From receiving?
We overflow with thanks, for your name is the "Near One."~Psalm 75:1 (The Passion Translation)