The sky is soft and gray, like a cashmere sweater wrapped around this last day of the year. I sit and enjoy the Christmas lights strung along the edges of the piano for a bit longer, their delicate brilliance in peaceful contrast to the subtle dreariness outside my window. I am home from work, recuperating from a flu-like illness that has stalked so many over these last weeks. I am grateful to feel better, on the mend. To have a quiet home to rest and contemplate. I've been thinking a lot about another of my favorite metaphors. Geography. I love the image that life experience can be compared with exploring new landscapes. This concept especially intrigues me as we sit on the cusp of a New Year. I see myself as an explorer in new territory. I face forward, my chin up, poised for new mindsets and new perspectives as I engage with this land. I feel excited.
I am asking, too, a bold question: What can I expect from God in this new territory? This seems almost brazen--overly presumptuous. I am bold. "God, I expect your affection, comfort, wisdom, provision, creativity, joy, contentment, strength, health and wholeness, a sound mind, grace, favor, abundance and peace.
And then I realize that He has already promised me these things and generously fills my life with lavish gifts. My response is to receive, to stay fixed on practicing viewing every circumstance in my life, every corner of my geography through His lens, practicing Kingdom perspectives, becoming more fluent in Kingdom language.
I love that God has provided this wonderful geography for the year ahead. I love that I am a woman leaning against grand oaks that grace this land, peering up through vast branches at blue sky overhead. I am enthusiastic that I can travel at my own pace. Walking some days. Running at times. Happy to follow trails that take me to overlooks where I can view the horizon, admiring the beauty of mountain landscapes, powerful images that remind me of God's majesty in my life. I am grateful for wooden benches along the way. Rest a way of life in this location. Wide meadows stretch before me where I can set up a picnic and feast on what God provides. I listen to a rushing brook, flowing with pure refreshment. Birdsong is ever present. This land is filled with His gentleness and mercy toward me, and when it rains and thunder growls, He creates dry shelter, a fire to warm my hands, the comfort of His presence, the glow of His affection. A beautiful silence, His extravagant peace.
And you, beloved? What are your expectations of our kind Father in 2019?
I stood in line to pay for my groceries at Walmart, the items already on the black belt that would send the eggs and baby spinach and balsamic vinegar to the cashier. I sensed someone behind me and turned around. A brown-skinned man held the smallest bike I'd ever seen--a pink and white Minnie Mouse bow nestled between the handle bars. Petite training wheels were attached to each side of the back tire. The man beamed, his smile as bright as the little white bike seat. I smiled back and motioned for him to go in front of me. He hesitated, then put the minuscule bike on the floor and rolled it down to the cashier. As he passed me, he said, "For my daughter." The man reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet and paid cash. I couldn't help but overhear the cost. It was more than I'd have guessed. But this gift was perfect and gloriously pink. Worth every penny. The man picked up the bike and cradled it in his arms. He then turned to me, and we looked at each other for a brief moment. I was close enough to his face so that I could see smile lines etched around his shining eyes. He said, "Thank you." I replied, "Merry Christmas."
Later in the week, I sat with another man in my counseling office. A professional man, with an expensive haircut. I could see lines around his eyes too--worry lines. Words and tears spilled simultaneously. For the first time in his life, the man spoke of a father who had neglected him, been absent from the home. The man looked at me and asked, "How can I still be so emotional about my father decades later?" We processed many of his feelings, and he'd never considered the perspective of that brave boy who survived the pain--the resilience of s little boy who'd had to muster enough strength to make it to adulthood. "I guess I just never looked at my childhood that way," he said. "This changes everything. It wasn't about me. It wasn't that I was unlovable. It was more about my dad than me." I could almost see the light bulb blinking in his head. The man smiled through his tears. "This is great. This is great. But, Priscilla, what if I get stuck? Start going backward and blaming myself for the mess in my life?" I said, "I know you are a man of faith in God, so when you get stuck, think of crossing the border into a new territory. It is a safe place, the place of laughter and remembering. It's a location where God is laughing and smiling because He is so delighted with you. He's remembering all your milestones and rejoicing over you, his beloved boy. The new thought when you are stuck is to remember that you are the much-loved child."
It is difficult to believe that 2019 is around the corner. That wide open space of a New Year opens before me. Before you, dear readers. May we receive courage to explore that territory, anticipating that this new landscape is dotted with signs of God's presence in our lives. May we remember the man holding the pink bicycle and know that the heavenly Father takes great pleasure in giving to us. And when we are stuck, when the world throws us painful curveballs, may we step acorss the border into the geography of laughter and remembering, knowing that we are much-loved children.
One of my favorite metaphors is the open gate. As I sit at the computer, I gaze at the collection of pictures on my wall. A black and white photograph shows a long road that leads to an opened gate. An expanse of land lies beyond the filigreed iron doors. I never tire of looking at this image as it evokes the promise of newness and hope. What will I find? What will I discover? The allure of mystery.
I must have the courage to pass through the gates. Sometimes I boldly stride through with confident expectation of what I'll find on the other side. Other times, I hover at the entrance, paralyzed by the uncertainty of that territory. More and more, I am practicing walking through the entry way, for God has opened those portals. He whispers in my ear, "Go on, go on. Good things await. Do not fear."
This Christmas I wish you all the courage, boldness and confidence you need to step across your personal thresholds. His grace encircles you.
And now to Him who can keep you on your feet, standing tall in in His bright presence, fresh and celebrating--to our one God, our only Savior, through Jesus Christ, our Master, be glory, majesty, strength, and rule before all time, and now, and to the end of all time. Yes. (Jude: 24-25~The Message)
~This was the skin that protected you from the world--this loving of another person you shared your life with.--Elizabeth Strout (From Anything Is Possible)
I opened the app on my phone to see a photo I looked at for a time. I observed my husband gently spooning warm broth to his mother who lay in a hospital bed. Giovanni's strong hand gripping the spoon stood in stark contrast with his mother's vulnerable posture. I noted the silver bracelet he wears around his right wrist, his only adornment, like a symbol of royalty.
Giovanni's mother fell. She needed bed rest. His first response was to go to her. He had just returned from a trip to his homeland in Italy. Yet he decided to go back immediately. This response to serve courses through his DNA. I liken this trait to a vast blue sky that lives within him, that inhabits him and drives him to serve others. When I looked at the picture, I felt the brilliance of that sky well up within me too.
I have lost count of the number of times my husband serves me. Frequently, I am witness to a broom or a spatula, a mop, pliers or a rake in his hands as he goes about tasks in our home and on our property. He concocts nutritous meals that appear like clockwork on our table. He arranges flowers from his garden that bring sweet fragrance and beauty to our living areas. He saves us countless dollars with his consistent frugality at the grocery store. I am in awe of this love language I am not fluent.
I gaze at the photo and give thanks for my husband, this person I share life with, this man with that expansive sky within.
The blue, gold, pink and green string of Christmas lights shone in the darkness of my living room. I wanted to feel festive. Surely the display should make me glad, should fill me with joy, this season full of reminders of God's goodness, the celebration of our great King, come in that paradox of humility and majesty. Yet I was not thinking these thoughts I sat on my red-cushioned sofa, a leopard-print throw draped around my shoulders, feeling fear. I felt so well physically, I wondered out loud, "Could this good feeling last? What if the cancer returned?" I couldn't even remember the name of the wretched type of tumor that invaded my body. Stupidly, I got on my phone and found the tumor's name, the memory of experiencing chemotherapy seeming to choke me. Why had I done that? Dredged all that up? Now the grim name seemed to cast shadows in my living room filled with the vintage-colored lights.
Then, like always, the beauty and power of Scripture rescued me. I remembered that each time before I entered the chemo treatments, I read out loud Psalm 18. It is the Psalm that David wrote and sang to God after being saved from all his enemies and Saul. I needed rescue from my enemy. Each time I read David's words, I was revived with courage, with hope, with strength. I got out my Bible, its pages awash with a pink glow from the Christmas lights, and began to read out loud.
~I love you, God, you make me strong.
God is bedrock under my feet,
the castle in which I live,
my recusing knight.
My God--the high crag
where I run for dear life,
hiding behind the boulders,
safe in the granite hideout.
~God made my life complete
when I placed all the pieces before Him.
~God rewrote the text of my life
when I opened the book of my heart to His eyes.
~Is there any god like God?
Are we not at bedrock?
Is not this the God who armed me,
Then aimed me in the right direction?
~You protect me with salvation-armor,
You hold me up with a firm hand,
caress me with your gentle ways.
You cleared the ground under me
so my footing was firm. (Passages taken from Psalm 18, The Message)
Fear now pulverized, the ugly name of the tumor obliterated by the resplendence, efficacy and poetry of His Word. Life-giving, life-changing. Oxygen to my spirit. I had entered the gates of His presence. Safe. Free. Healed. Standing in the light.
And you, kind reader? Do you have Scripture that you go back to time and again? God so enjoys personalizing our experience with Him. He provides us passages that seem to leap off the page. You may want to go back to a passage that is meaningful to you. Or if you do not have a particular Scripture in mind, feel free to use Psalm 18. You may consider sitting in the glow of Christmas lights or a burning candle and reading out loud your passages. Are they not bedrock under your feet?