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...
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)