Death is a monster
Jagged scrawls on a ragged page
Relentless
Consuming
Tearing apart
Brokenness
and
Agony
But he said to me,
"My grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness"... (2 Cor 12:9 NIV)
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
The rugged pathways...
I heard this song on the radio for the first time today and thought I would post it here.
I am thankful today for people stepping out from the fog. For new friendships and opportunities that step into life unexpectedly. They are welcome surprises.
Life can be hard, but it has its blessings, too. And as I look at all the changes that have happened here in the past few weeks, the past few months, I am grateful. And as I know others who are in the opening days of their new struggle, I am reminded of the verse in 2nd Corinthians that says we are comforted so we in turn can go and comfort others. If we didn't walk that dark road, if we didn't learn and grow and receive from God in the midst of it, we would be unable to relate, unable to give what we have gained by going through it.
There was a time several years ago where I asked God for a quick fix, but I am seeing now that walking the road has allowed me to gain so very much more.
I can't say I have the answers. I can't say I'm ready to run heedlessly up ahead into whatever may be waiting. No, I can't rush the process or what any of us are facing. It's one day at a time. That day's struggles. That day's blessings. That day of whatever we see as the fog is lifting. And to those for whom the fog has suddenly dropped, the opportunity to perhaps be a hand to remind them they're not alone, a reminder that eventually they will begin to see their way through it. That sometimes, at the beginning, all you can do is simply hold on... and when you feel your grip weakening, you can let someone else reach out and take hold of you.
I am thankful today for people stepping out from the fog. For new friendships and opportunities that step into life unexpectedly. They are welcome surprises.
Life can be hard, but it has its blessings, too. And as I look at all the changes that have happened here in the past few weeks, the past few months, I am grateful. And as I know others who are in the opening days of their new struggle, I am reminded of the verse in 2nd Corinthians that says we are comforted so we in turn can go and comfort others. If we didn't walk that dark road, if we didn't learn and grow and receive from God in the midst of it, we would be unable to relate, unable to give what we have gained by going through it.
There was a time several years ago where I asked God for a quick fix, but I am seeing now that walking the road has allowed me to gain so very much more.
I can't say I have the answers. I can't say I'm ready to run heedlessly up ahead into whatever may be waiting. No, I can't rush the process or what any of us are facing. It's one day at a time. That day's struggles. That day's blessings. That day of whatever we see as the fog is lifting. And to those for whom the fog has suddenly dropped, the opportunity to perhaps be a hand to remind them they're not alone, a reminder that eventually they will begin to see their way through it. That sometimes, at the beginning, all you can do is simply hold on... and when you feel your grip weakening, you can let someone else reach out and take hold of you.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Contentment and Melancholy
It has come to my attention that contentment is in perspective, in seeing what is actually happening, in not being discouraged because the entire picture is not visible right now.
When we first moved to Utah, there was a heavy fog that shrouded the mountains. For the first few days, we could not see them there at all. It would have been easy to say the mountains were not there, except for the slope of the road near our house and knowing that we lived in a valley in the Wasatch Mountains.
When the Mormon missionaries greeted us, their bikes emerged suddenly from the very dense fog. And when they rode away again, they quickly disappeared from sight.
Fog is strange like that, changing our perception of distance as life is happening.
I remember waiting at a bus stop in elementary school, our neighborhood shrouded in a very dense fog. This, combined with the early morning hour, transformed our everyday corner into a magical wonderland. Students vanished as they stepped away to venture into the wild unknowns of the distant next stop. People emerged from the clouds as if from nowhere.
Perhaps transitions have something in common with this murkiness.
I, personally, have been feeling recently as if I am coming out of a fog, but strangely enough, it takes the emotions time to catch up from their previous state. It's as if the emotions are still clinging to what could be seen amidst the fog. Meanwhile, little by little, mountain peaks are emerging as the cloud cover weakens. The outline of the street is once more becoming clear. And with it comes the realization that life is not the way I thought it once was.
For within the fog, I had one way of seeing...but as the sun emerges, I begin to see another.
Only this time it's as if I left one place where the sun shone, drove though a dense fog, and am now driving into a landscape entirely new. And I won't know what the landscape contains until it comes fully into view. As it is now, it is still hidden, though bits and pieces here and there give promise of more on the horizon.
The struggle comes in the believing there is more still yet to come. The struggle comes in refusing to believe what can be seen in the fog is all there ever will be.
The fog can cover so much. It can cover a chain of giant, snow-capped mountains.
Transitions can be tricky because so much, at first, is hidden from view. I used to think that, as an adult, life would follow a particular plan. That, like a flower-lined path, it would go straight forward to the horizon. No surprises. No unexpected turns. But instead it's more like the fog-covered bus stop when I was small. The mystery gives a magical excitement to the future, but at the same time, it hides so much of what is coming from view. People appear to disappear when, really, they are only walking to the next corner. We catch up with them again when the bus reaches that stop. We don't know other people are entering our lives until suddenly, with no warning, they emerge several yards in front of us, as if from nowhere, coming towards us from the fog.
So in looking at today, I can see what is revealed for now, but can never claim I know the entire picture.
Perhaps this is part of learning contentment and trusting the future.
When we first moved to Utah, there was a heavy fog that shrouded the mountains. For the first few days, we could not see them there at all. It would have been easy to say the mountains were not there, except for the slope of the road near our house and knowing that we lived in a valley in the Wasatch Mountains.
When the Mormon missionaries greeted us, their bikes emerged suddenly from the very dense fog. And when they rode away again, they quickly disappeared from sight.
Fog is strange like that, changing our perception of distance as life is happening.
I remember waiting at a bus stop in elementary school, our neighborhood shrouded in a very dense fog. This, combined with the early morning hour, transformed our everyday corner into a magical wonderland. Students vanished as they stepped away to venture into the wild unknowns of the distant next stop. People emerged from the clouds as if from nowhere.
Perhaps transitions have something in common with this murkiness.
I, personally, have been feeling recently as if I am coming out of a fog, but strangely enough, it takes the emotions time to catch up from their previous state. It's as if the emotions are still clinging to what could be seen amidst the fog. Meanwhile, little by little, mountain peaks are emerging as the cloud cover weakens. The outline of the street is once more becoming clear. And with it comes the realization that life is not the way I thought it once was.
For within the fog, I had one way of seeing...but as the sun emerges, I begin to see another.
Only this time it's as if I left one place where the sun shone, drove though a dense fog, and am now driving into a landscape entirely new. And I won't know what the landscape contains until it comes fully into view. As it is now, it is still hidden, though bits and pieces here and there give promise of more on the horizon.
The struggle comes in the believing there is more still yet to come. The struggle comes in refusing to believe what can be seen in the fog is all there ever will be.
The fog can cover so much. It can cover a chain of giant, snow-capped mountains.
Transitions can be tricky because so much, at first, is hidden from view. I used to think that, as an adult, life would follow a particular plan. That, like a flower-lined path, it would go straight forward to the horizon. No surprises. No unexpected turns. But instead it's more like the fog-covered bus stop when I was small. The mystery gives a magical excitement to the future, but at the same time, it hides so much of what is coming from view. People appear to disappear when, really, they are only walking to the next corner. We catch up with them again when the bus reaches that stop. We don't know other people are entering our lives until suddenly, with no warning, they emerge several yards in front of us, as if from nowhere, coming towards us from the fog.
So in looking at today, I can see what is revealed for now, but can never claim I know the entire picture.
Perhaps this is part of learning contentment and trusting the future.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Home from the Perspective of Lonely
I was reminded of this movie today, especially the Christmas scene as Lucy sits in this family's living room and looks around at all the "family" going on around her.
Today I had the opportunity to do the same...to soak it in and wonder, "Do they have any idea how lucky they really are?"
I know beneath the surface you'll always find some thorns...
That the best glimpses we have now are merely a hint of what we'll find in our eternal home...
Yet I remember that God puts the lonely in families (or, according to other translations, the desolate in a homeland).
And Ruth found a Boaz...
She who was widowed, childless, and then a foreigner in another land had family restored because
As it turned out, she found herself working in a field belonging to Boaz, who was from the clan of Elimelech...
and
Just then
Just
then...
Boaz arrived from Bethlehem and greeted his workers.
It makes me wonder if, perhaps, even in this temporal world some level of security can perhaps be found. At least for awhile.
(I am not implying that marriage is always the answer for this. I mean to say, instead, that perhaps God's hand continues to guide others...that perhaps the life of the lonely can become more than stubborn survival, deeply coiled roots, and the battering wind of a rocky plain. Perhaps life can also be sunshine and gentle showers. At times. Or at least the reassuring solidarity of the consistent companionship of just a few others.)
To be able to forget for a moment that this, too, might one day end. And to remember, instead, this is the first day of a better forever. A short glimpse of what we will increasingly look forward to as yet to come...
As it eases the wait time it will take for us to get there.
Today I had the opportunity to do the same...to soak it in and wonder, "Do they have any idea how lucky they really are?"
I know beneath the surface you'll always find some thorns...
That the best glimpses we have now are merely a hint of what we'll find in our eternal home...
Yet I remember that God puts the lonely in families (or, according to other translations, the desolate in a homeland).
And Ruth found a Boaz...
She who was widowed, childless, and then a foreigner in another land had family restored because
As it turned out, she found herself working in a field belonging to Boaz, who was from the clan of Elimelech...
and
Just then
Just
then...
Boaz arrived from Bethlehem and greeted his workers.
It makes me wonder if, perhaps, even in this temporal world some level of security can perhaps be found. At least for awhile.
(I am not implying that marriage is always the answer for this. I mean to say, instead, that perhaps God's hand continues to guide others...that perhaps the life of the lonely can become more than stubborn survival, deeply coiled roots, and the battering wind of a rocky plain. Perhaps life can also be sunshine and gentle showers. At times. Or at least the reassuring solidarity of the consistent companionship of just a few others.)
To be able to forget for a moment that this, too, might one day end. And to remember, instead, this is the first day of a better forever. A short glimpse of what we will increasingly look forward to as yet to come...
As it eases the wait time it will take for us to get there.
Gary Allan
I first heard of Gary Allan a year ago, last Christmas season...as I was pulling out after a visit to a certain, dreaded, parking garage. Right as I pulled out into the street, I turned the radio on and this song started. I found it fitting, the timing impeccable. And so I share it here...
And then, today, I found another song by the same artist. Equally fitting to the time and place in which I heard it. So I post it here, too, in this commemoration of breaking my silence in blog world. Stretching my legs and moving forward...
And then, today, I found another song by the same artist. Equally fitting to the time and place in which I heard it. So I post it here, too, in this commemoration of breaking my silence in blog world. Stretching my legs and moving forward...
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Silence
There is that moment when the world stops spinning
When the storm is passed
When you stand near the graves and listen to wind rustling the leaves on the corn...
And you wait, and are silent.
When the storm is passed
When you stand near the graves and listen to wind rustling the leaves on the corn...
And you wait, and are silent.
Friday, August 10, 2012
A Musical Journey...
Forgive the interlude...without going into the story behind it, I wanted to go on a YouTube journey down memory lane...memories of loved ones and life.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
heaven
I had left my alarm on accidentally, and walking down the hall I heard this song playing softly:
Bless the Lord, oh my soul, oh my soul, worship His holy name
Sing like never before, oh my soul, worship His holy name...
Just that, and I turned the radio off and went about my business to the work at hand.
My cousin had tried calling, which was strange. I think I was beginning to suspect...
So when my dad called some time later, I wasn't really that surprised.
And throughout that weekend at the hospital, this song held with me. Just those two lines I had heard in the morning. As I walked through the corridors to the parking garage where my car was waiting. As held my grandma's hand and looked into her eyes. As I sat in her quiet room and simply watched her sleep.
Not a constant song, but persistent. Just when my mind began to wander, I would find the song was there. Reminding. And comforting.
So I'll share the song with you with a video I found on YouTube.
Bless the Lord, oh my soul, oh my soul, worship His holy name
Sing like never before, oh my soul, worship His holy name...
Just that, and I turned the radio off and went about my business to the work at hand.
My cousin had tried calling, which was strange. I think I was beginning to suspect...
So when my dad called some time later, I wasn't really that surprised.
And throughout that weekend at the hospital, this song held with me. Just those two lines I had heard in the morning. As I walked through the corridors to the parking garage where my car was waiting. As held my grandma's hand and looked into her eyes. As I sat in her quiet room and simply watched her sleep.
Not a constant song, but persistent. Just when my mind began to wander, I would find the song was there. Reminding. And comforting.
So I'll share the song with you with a video I found on YouTube.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
A preview of heaven?
Is heaven stiff formality?
Or is it the familiarity of being with friends?
That sense of belonging...
that feeling of home....
Is heaven all of us together before it was all broken...
each death a fissure in that complete, heartwarming ball?
A return to that togetherness with everyone safe and brought back home?
Is it mashed potatoes and company,
Voices and laughter near the heat of the stove...
Too many people at the table
Reaching and passing, talking and eating...
A cluster of mismatched chairs and recognizable voices
Old, familiar jokes
In a place that you know
And you know a place is yours.
When you walk into a room, the people know you
And you're at home
And you don't have to listen to the tick-tocking voices of the passing of time.
Grandpa grinning, in his element, as he pours flour and milk into his specialized concoction bubbling on the stove
Uncle waving a towel in front of the smoke detector as it goes off, yes, once again
And brother at the counter, feeding bread into the toaster, that loaf of bread becoming a veritable tower of golden-brown toast
And the voices, yes the voices
And then the family settles in.
An informal affair, and a seemingly limitless supply of a favorite family food
Grandpa's specialty...white gravy on toast.
And the best part is...this moment can last forever.
Not this particular moment...no, not like Groundhog Day, no, not that.
But the promise of tomorrow, of being able to get together to have that opportunity again, is forever.
And ever and ever.
Because there won't be any dying or watching loved ones around you begin to grow old.
There won't be any overnight catastrophes, visits by policemen, or loved ones left alone.
That, I believe, just might be my view on a little piece of heaven...
Or is it the familiarity of being with friends?
That sense of belonging...
that feeling of home....
Is heaven all of us together before it was all broken...
each death a fissure in that complete, heartwarming ball?
A return to that togetherness with everyone safe and brought back home?
Is it mashed potatoes and company,
Voices and laughter near the heat of the stove...
Too many people at the table
Reaching and passing, talking and eating...
A cluster of mismatched chairs and recognizable voices
Old, familiar jokes
In a place that you know
And you know a place is yours.
When you walk into a room, the people know you
And you're at home
And you don't have to listen to the tick-tocking voices of the passing of time.
Grandpa grinning, in his element, as he pours flour and milk into his specialized concoction bubbling on the stove
Uncle waving a towel in front of the smoke detector as it goes off, yes, once again
And brother at the counter, feeding bread into the toaster, that loaf of bread becoming a veritable tower of golden-brown toast
And the voices, yes the voices
And then the family settles in.
An informal affair, and a seemingly limitless supply of a favorite family food
Grandpa's specialty...white gravy on toast.
And the best part is...this moment can last forever.
Not this particular moment...no, not like Groundhog Day, no, not that.
But the promise of tomorrow, of being able to get together to have that opportunity again, is forever.
And ever and ever.
Because there won't be any dying or watching loved ones around you begin to grow old.
There won't be any overnight catastrophes, visits by policemen, or loved ones left alone.
That, I believe, just might be my view on a little piece of heaven...
A poem for searching
Sometimes I miss the days when life fit neatly inside a bite-sized cardboard box.
It's not that my life ever did,
but other people said it should,
and I automatically assumed that, since
people said it should,
then, without question, it absolutely
would...
I let myself be bound by fear and uncertainty, not wanting to risk getting the formula wrong.
I looked to them...
teeny kitchen tables, tiny wooden drawers...
a dollhouse of mystery, a foundation of sand.
And when there comes shaking, that which is unstable inevitably crumbles.
And what is scary is that, in searching, I am not afraid of offending God
I am only afraid of offending them...
they who purport to have so many answers.
Who never question, who never make mistakes.
A mythical communion of people...made up of thousands and millions of blurred out shaded faces.
Where will I be if I go where this is leading?
I can see it on the horizon, quietly beckoning.
I can see it...but I'm afraid to move forward.
Moving forward would mean turning my back on what I
believed must be
Inherently safe.
And if I leave, that faceless multitude might then decide to judge me.
Though, of course, that probably would never really happen. I don't think....
But what of the others who have faced cries of heresy?
It's not that my life ever did,
but other people said it should,
and I automatically assumed that, since
people said it should,
then, without question, it absolutely
would...
I let myself be bound by fear and uncertainty, not wanting to risk getting the formula wrong.
I looked to them...
teeny kitchen tables, tiny wooden drawers...
a dollhouse of mystery, a foundation of sand.
And when there comes shaking, that which is unstable inevitably crumbles.
And what is scary is that, in searching, I am not afraid of offending God
I am only afraid of offending them...
they who purport to have so many answers.
Who never question, who never make mistakes.
A mythical communion of people...made up of thousands and millions of blurred out shaded faces.
Where will I be if I go where this is leading?
I can see it on the horizon, quietly beckoning.
I can see it...but I'm afraid to move forward.
Moving forward would mean turning my back on what I
believed must be
Inherently safe.
And if I leave, that faceless multitude might then decide to judge me.
Though, of course, that probably would never really happen. I don't think....
But what of the others who have faced cries of heresy?
Monday, July 23, 2012
Through the Darkness...
I heard a song on the radio the other day that I hadn't heard in quite awhile. A song that meant a lot during a difficult time.
In memorium...
In memorium...
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Like breaking in a pair of shoes...
You know the difference between shiny leather shoes when you see them in the store and the soft shaped leather of a well-worn pair? And the way that leather can pinch when you're getting used to wearing that brand-new pair?
Getting used to living in a new place is just a little like that. Stiff. A little awkward and unfamiliar.
Today I went about making this place more familiar. I drive around, become familiar with different routes.
As the little details become more familiar, it's like the softening of leather molding into my personal pair of shoes. As it becomes familiar, it feels a little more like home.
Getting used to living in a new place is just a little like that. Stiff. A little awkward and unfamiliar.
Today I went about making this place more familiar. I drive around, become familiar with different routes.
As the little details become more familiar, it's like the softening of leather molding into my personal pair of shoes. As it becomes familiar, it feels a little more like home.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Reduced to tears...
Before I begin, I recommend reading this (and take the time to ponder what you have read):
http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/07/the-1-thing-you-really-have-to-know-about-your-family/
A friend recommended this link in a recent blog entry...
I had been meaning to start this blog since my move and struggling with how to begin...
How to describe the complexity of emotions...
The lack of enthusiasm, the ups and downs...
It's not that I don't like it...it's just that it's not necessarily all I was expecting it to be...
My introduction, my beginning living here in my new home...
And here I am now. A blog entry reducing me to tears. And it hit me. In moving here, I had really been thinking it would be about me. This was supposed to be about me and my future. I wasn't supposed to come here and find need.
This isn't how I responded before, when going overseas. There I expected it. And I prepared my heart accordingly, ready to be open. But now coming home I do it with reluctance. I hesitate. I hold my heart close, drawing it back protectively. Loving here would be too hard. I would prefer to find a place where the people are deliriously happy...
And all I can do is let it go with confession. Perhaps not yet ready to truly change my heart within me, but at least to the place where I am ready to ask for such a change to happen.
To accept this time around it's not just about me.
God, forgive me.
http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/07/the-1-thing-you-really-have-to-know-about-your-family/
A friend recommended this link in a recent blog entry...
I had been meaning to start this blog since my move and struggling with how to begin...
How to describe the complexity of emotions...
The lack of enthusiasm, the ups and downs...
It's not that I don't like it...it's just that it's not necessarily all I was expecting it to be...
My introduction, my beginning living here in my new home...
And here I am now. A blog entry reducing me to tears. And it hit me. In moving here, I had really been thinking it would be about me. This was supposed to be about me and my future. I wasn't supposed to come here and find need.
This isn't how I responded before, when going overseas. There I expected it. And I prepared my heart accordingly, ready to be open. But now coming home I do it with reluctance. I hesitate. I hold my heart close, drawing it back protectively. Loving here would be too hard. I would prefer to find a place where the people are deliriously happy...
And all I can do is let it go with confession. Perhaps not yet ready to truly change my heart within me, but at least to the place where I am ready to ask for such a change to happen.
To accept this time around it's not just about me.
God, forgive me.
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