A Perfect Proposal

Our day started early, Chris picked my up a little after 7:00 so that we could carpool into Wilmore together. As we traveled the newly paved Harrodsburg Road, he excitedly announced some good news. “We get to go see Stella tonight.” Stella is a golden retriever that we let out when her people are gone and I beamed at the thought of getting to visit the softest dog in town. After dropping me off at my office, he meandered over to the seminary with the ring stuffed in his pocket. Eight hours of clients, classes and a midterm later, we reunited for the trek back into Lexington.

Our scheduled event for the evening was to join a birthday celebration for one of our friends that we met through the Room In The Inn program. (Chris and I served in this ministry at two separate locations last winter, but eagerly anticipate the opportunity to work side-by-side this season.) With the cake being cut and tradition song being sung, we moved into a bible study time where salt and light became the central topic of conversation (Matthew 5:13-15). Towards the end of that discussion, the host said something along the lines of: “I know that this is going to embarrass him, but I’d like to point out that Chris is light…” He went on to give examples and warmth flooded my heart with the acknowledgement that God had placed such a man of humility and beauty into my life. As a community we took communion, worshiped and prayed over the each other. Much to my surprise, Chris stood quickly and began putting away his guitar after the final “Amen” was offered. If you know Chris well, he is the type that will sit and linger after a service to soak in presence of what has been shared. Puzzled, I looked to him for some sign of what was going on, to which he reminded me that there was a furry creature on the other side of town that requested our presence.

We conversed about the uniqueness of the family that just hosted us and affirmed that we wanted our own future home to offer the same hospitality. Upon arriving at the Ridd’s home (proud owners of Stella), Chris and I entered through the side door. As I made my way to the dog holding zone, I noted the aroma of burning candles. Fearful that the Ridd’s had accidently left something lit, I let Stella out quickly and returned to point out my sensory observation to Chris. “Do you hear something?” he asked. I did, a faint hint of music was playing from the front room. “My family leaves music on for our dogs all the time so they don’t get lonely.” I reported to him. He persisted, “I wonder where it is coming from?” (Believe it or not, I still hadn’t caught on yet what was taking place.) Following the music into the sitting room, a fireplace filled with candles mesmerized me. Then, tucked safely between two arm chairs sat a table adorned in gifts. A black and white picture of us (the first ever taken), two charcoal drawling of our favorite trees, an opened bible, and a scrapbook ornamented with a lily. “What is this?” He asked, I squeaked out, “I don’t know.” He asked again and with my same dumbfounded response, he suggested that we read through the book he’d created. Page by page, Chris had documented through words, photography and other craftiness, some of the pivotal moments in our relationship. Each entry included the phrasing, “one simple thing.” And upon each entry, he got closer and closer to asking me one simple thing. When there were no more pages to turn, he was on his knee. I gratefully accepted his gift and invitation into a shared life and future. We then turned to his opened bible and read together Ephesians 3:14-19 as a prayer. Personal prayers of thanksgiving and hope were offered and we launched into sharing our good news with family.

My sister remarked, “You have like a billion friends, how on earth do you plan on telling everyone?” Little did I know that Chris had already done most of that work for me. To abbreviate an already long story, he had planned a surprise engagement party the next afternoon. Among the distinguished guest of my closest friends and family, his parents had traveled from Oklahoma to partner with the celebration.

As I have shared with most of you, I am blessed beyond measure. Chris is more then I had ever dreamed to pray for. Thank you so much for joining us in our excitement. We continue to covet your prayers as we move closer to the Love that initially brought us together.

Mirrors

The desolate wasteland images that I had conjured up in my mind's eye dissolved after crossing the Oklahoma state boarder. While it can be said that its landscape is not nearly as lush as my old Kentucky home, it has a unique beauty. Oklahoma is rich in pockets of standing water. As timing would have it, our entrance into the state was synchronized with the setting of the sun. Though the hues were relatively muted, the warm orange glow seemed fitting with the inner peace I had sensed throughout the 10 hour trip. Easing deeper into the comfort of my seat, my eyes settled on a field of cow ponds. One after another these still waters acted as mirrors for the dusk sky. The magnificence was multiplied. I giggled to myself in affirmation of the sight. "Something that pretty should be reflected with precision."

In a weighty moment a few hours later, I was reminded of how far I have yet to go in order to embody what the created order does so naturally. A dear friend commented on my personal mirror - more directly he was speaking of the lens in which I view myself. While I can't recall phrase for phrase what was communicated, two words stuck out: distorted and broken. There is a high degree of truth is what was said. I don't have a clear picture of what I look like internally or externally. And sadly, in a culture filled with mirrors, I suspect that very few of us actually see who we truly are. I could fill pages with psychological mumbo-jumbo concerning why this is so, but it will suffice to say that our life's experiences throw rocks into our still waters. These ripples and painful agitations alter our ability to see.

The prayers stemming out of this reality continue to change shape. I first asked that He would calm my waters and allow me to see plainly. In His ultimate wisdom, my pond has been made muddy. Old rocks are being dug out and the sludge surrounding them is being dislodged. In response to this, I'm now asking for courage to withstand the transitional mess as He does this work. God is faithful and I anticipate unruffled days in the future. Almost as a promise, while together this morning, He showed me a still water pocket. It was so transparent. As I approached it I expected to be able to see all of myself. Upon closer examination, the reflection was His image. His magnificence was multiplied and I'll tell you, it was beautiful.



"And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." 2 Cor 3:18

Rooting for the Wicked

Recently I had the privilege of traveling to see the Broadway musical Wicked. In preparation for my journey I borrowed the soundtrack from a local library, read the inner leaflet, and memorized a half a dozen songs. For those unfamiliar with the show, it aims to tell the back-story of the Wicked Witch of the West. Roughly 45 seconds into the opening number the people of Oz announce (in song of course) the theme of the whole production: “Goodness knows the wicked’s lives are lonely. Goodness knows the wicked cry alone. Nothing grows for the wicked, they reap only what they’ve sown.” Glinda, the fair creature that transports herself via bubble, chimes in: “Are people born wicked or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?” The character cast as the town ditz is on to something…and the implications of an answer continues to challenge me.

Growing up as a Wizard of Oz fanatic, I had never thought to ask why the Witch ended up with such a bundle of unbecoming characteristics. It is not a bad question. I mean seriously, why did she prefer the company of disfigured primates to that of human beings? What would fuel this green woman to forcefully seek out her sisters red shoes? Did she have a weird fetish? Was it greed? Vengeance? Justice? Stimulated by the possibilities, potential plot lines reeled through my mind: maybe it was childhood abuse, an adolescent accident involving a nuke plant that tainted her skin and attitude, or maybe she kissed too many green frogs looking for her prince. Despite my various versions, nothing I fathomed aligned with the pen of the stories author. As is turns out, this Witch of the West wasn’t wicked at all. She was still emerald in tone, but not jaded towards her existence. Her actions were often attempts to bring life, restore unity and promote love. As a result of her outer shell, the villagers expected the worst and thus spun their interpretations of her behaviors in an unconstructive light. She was misread. So many people are.

Oswald Chambers once said, “The average Christian is the most penetratingly critical individual.” If Chambers is accurate, and from my experience he isn’t far from the truth, one has to ask why. Why are those who are supposed to be laden with love so judgmental? I could be wrong, but I’ve been wondering if the root of judgment is fear. Our “Safety First” mindsets create a desire to rid ourselves of that which is frightening. I can think of few things as unsettling as ambiguity and so we rush to establish categories in which to assign people. “This one is not a threat to me, so he is good. That one makes me uncomfortable, she must be bad.” Once allocated, we can manipulate those around us. For all intensive purposes, it seems easier to control people then to love them. Love always costs us something. Sometimes it is our security.

Who scares you? I’d venture to say that there is always one detail more in every person’s story about which we know nothing. Maybe it is in that one fact that we can empathize with their current tics. After all, “I have never met the man I could despair of after discerning what lies in me apart from the grace of God (Chambers).”

Tick

For a little over a decade the Nave clan has been a two-dog family. Our Boarder Collie, Cinder (also known as Fish Stick on account of her fowl breath) was hand picked on a farm seven counties from our own. She was one of ten in that litter and everything about her adoption into our family was intentional. She arrived to a home newly prepared with a kennel, fluffy pillow, and plush toys…as well as owners who had read a manual on how to care for her unique needs. Our Black Lab, Pearl (also known as Puma, Garbage Disposal, Prewash, Bulldozer, Stealth, Biological Tripping Hazard, and Demon) entered our family under very different circumstances. She was spotted on a bitter cold January day, standing disoriented in the center of a busy intersection. With thoughts of rescuing the puppy only from her current peril, she was whisked into The Loser Cruiser (our mini-van). Not looking to extend our family, multiple attempts were made to find another arrangement…each of which failed miserably. For better or worse, this disoriented mess was ours and she found herself to be a Nave at an extremely chaotic juncture in our lives. We weren’t ready for her and as a result of the abuse she was subjected to by her previous owners, she wasn’t ready for us. A mere few days after her capture, Garrett was scheduled for surgery. Like most surgeries of this nature, the recovery process was grueling. Pearl found safety next to him as she sensed that he had no power to inflict harm on her in his stupor. As providence would have it, these two spent the next week and a half healing together.

Despite our dogs equal treatment henceforth; remnants of their initial days on earth emerge in their personalities. I saw this no clearer then in an incidence last fall. Like most mornings at Mom and Dad’s, I awoke with a black lab stretched out and pressed against the length of my back and a small collie sharing my pillow. A gliding motion of my fingers through their fur stirred a happy tapping of tails welcoming the new day. The gliding was interrupted by a bump on the scruff of Cinder’s neck. After closer examination, the said bump was confirmed to be a tick. I announced my find to her and like any good doctor, explained the removal process. An ideal patient, she followed my instructions verbatim, lying quietly as the extraction ensued. In under a minute the parasite was free of her flesh and flushed promptly down the toilet.

Returning to the originally scheduled affection fest, I happened upon a similar bump on Pearl. The same declaration was made over her and I went about my business of removing the critter. Pearl wanted to help, actually she was insistent. She flung her head over her shoulder and began nibbling at the surgical area. Amused, I pushed her head out of the way and reassured her that I had everything under control. I evidently wasn’t convincing enough because she promptly returned to her self-biting behavior. I fought with her on the issue for a while and but then resolved that neither of us was getting anywhere. I ceased my assistance and verbalized that she was welcome to do it by herself. Five minutes passed, then ten. I watched in pity as she wore herself out. At the fifteen-minute mark, she laid her head down in utter defeat. “Want my help now?” I inquired. Convinced that she understood, Pearl’s body went limp in surrender.

Two dogs, both from intelligent breeds…why the stark difference in behavior? I could be totally wrong in this, but I wonder if Cinder is trusting because she has never had a need that wasn’t met. She has no reason to fear. Contrary to this, Pearl learned to be the lord of her own life. She needed to take control to regulate her own existence under the abusive hand of her previous owner. While there is plenty of evidence in favor of her trusting us, her pattern of behavior is stuck.

I run into Pearl like humans daily. They have been shaped by the hurt in their lives and therefore carry deep-seated attitudes that usher them to orient themselves inward for protection. Much like my lab, they wear themselves out with their tenuous control. I am not absolved from this group.

I have a tick and I’ve known about it for years. It drains me of my peace and joy. It hinders my ability to love fully and thus limits my relationships. God has radically awaken me to the multiple layers of controlling, grasping ‘noise’ in my life that creates a defensive posture through which I attack a problem instead of allow Him to intervene. I’ve been biting at myself senselessly. This life stealing sin still resides and I acknowledge the insufficiency of my own resources and the inadequacy of my ability to maintain order in my life. I am tired, God is not… and so I ask with all the heart I can muster “Free me from care of myself.”

Lay Down

Several weeks ago I had the opportunity to watch some of our nations leading trainers showcase their finest companions in the Bluegrass Classic Sheepdog Trails. The objective of both master and beast was to rally a small flock of sheep through a series of obstacles. The communication method for doing so ranged from a succession of whistles to animated hand gestures. While a majority of these cryptic messages were lost to my untrained eyes and ears, the universal cue to stop was unmistakable… “Lay Down!” If you are unfamiliar with the breed, a Boarder Collie is wired to be on the move, therefore watching one of these creatures respond to such a request is comical. While the older dogs were more apt to comply, the less experienced ones simply disregarded the command... after all they were on a mission and lingering for any span of time would be nonsensical. Despite the fact that the puppies were covering more ground, they were often doing so in the wrong direction.

For better or worse, my immediate family is comprised of five Type-A personalities. While most of us have mellowed over the years, it is still counterintuitive for us to remain stationary. The fears linked to non-motion are innumerable. I fear stagnation. I fear appearing lazy. And probably the heavies of which, I fear losing the remaining sense that I have any control over my life. In love, my gentle Master has recently challenged my puppy nature. Sometimes I need only wait a few more minutes, in other instances I sit for days. I have recognized that when I fall short in waiting, I miss the joy of watching Him work things out on my behalf. His fingerprints are so much prettier then the smudging I often leave behind…and so with a deep breath and a few butterflies, I am going to go Lay Down for a while.

Life Without Limbs

I still haven't figured out how to post a link correctly. But until I do....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mu9FPb-TZuk

Enjoy.

Thicker Skin?

I encountered an angry man on Friday. I haven’t the foggiest idea why he was so stirred up, but my mere presence acted as a trigger for his eruption. To the best of my ability I tried to listen, speak slowly and answer with gentleness. Despite my attempt to defuse the situation, his anger continued to spiral upwards. When he had escalated to a point that I felt threatened, he finally began to back off. He swiftly turned, grabbed a briefcase from his car and entered a local business. I remained frozen in the parking lot. Part of me was immobilized by the flood of emotions that were welling up in my core…the other part of me thought that if I was stationary long enough, he would return and we could repair what had transpired over the last few minutes. When it was apparent that he wasn’t going to come back, I retreated to a nearby park.

After I got to the point that I was able to release him back to God, I became rather frustrated with myself. In terms of opposition and attack, my little encounter would barely be a blip on the spectrum scale of what others have endured. And yet, for all intensive purposes, I was rendered useless for the next two hours. While I am aware that my highly wired INFJ personality is a massive contributing factor to this, I found it discouraging that a minor event such as this one could shift my demeanor so dramatically. My analytic side kicked in and I began foreshadowing how much my tendency to be easily moved emotionally would affect any ministry that I partner with. Acknowledging the destructive quality in feeling too much, I reasoned that a need for thicker skin was in order and thus I placed an appeal for before God. His response over the last couple of days has challenged the wisdom of my request and so I retract it. As much as I’d like to avoid the negative baggage that comes with feeling in this world, the cost of callousness is more then I am willing to pay. Let me be moved.

Seeds

I bought some seeds a couple weeks ago. While I posses no ground to plant them in, I like the idea of having them. They are currently fastened to my bathroom mirror, (actually the packet they are contained in is taped there…but you get the point.) Would these small little wonders ever to meet the earth, they would spring up as sunflowers.

I have always been under the impression that the name for these brilliant plants stemmed from their paralleled appearance to the sun. Wikipedia has been so kind as to set the record strait:

“At sunrise, the faces of most sunflowers are turned towards the east. Over the course of the day, they follow the sun from east to west, while at night they return to an eastward orientation.”

This sun following pattern continues for as long as the flower grows. At the end of this stage, the stem will stiffen causing the bloom to always be oriented in the eastward direction.

Oh, to get following the Son on that level. To rise with Him, track His every movement, and with great enthusiasm return to the starting position so that not a drop of His light is missed the next day.

I am fascinated that a flower in the process of dying turns east. The voice of J.D. Walt rings in my ears, “Look to the east, He’s coming back.” While the theological soundness of this could be questioned…I picture a sea of saints, who spent their living days soaking in the Son, facing east. Waiting, worshiping. He’s coming back. Earth will be restored and they have a front row seat.

As a random side note…and something for your head to play with… a wild sunflower typically does not turn toward the sun and will orient it self in many directions when mature. Despite this, its leaves will flow suit with the tame flowers. Deep down, I wonder if a small part of everyone yearns to become aliened with His order. Just a thought…

Rehearsal

The Nave family’s nomadic lifestyle has offered me the privileged of sitting under a number of remarkable preachers, teachers and mentors. Of all the sermons I’ve heard on the cross and Christ’s resurrection, none have stirred my spirit more then a series Jon Weece taught nearly five summers ago. He prompted me to take a closer look at Feasts of the Hebrew nation. They are drenched in love and promises.

I needed to be reminded of these riches this week. I lamented to a friend this afternoon that I am weary of lent. There is heaviness around campus, particularly in chapel, that I can no longer endure. I’m ready for Easter and my heart can’t wait till Sunday. If you too are feeling weighty, I pray the following snippet will help lop off the gloom. Celebrate my friends. The tomb has been empty for years.

The Feasts functioned in the same way our holidays do. They were used to eat, remember and anticipate something bigger to come. Their word for feast is best translated as a “rehearsal.” Leviticus 23 sets the foundation for explaining some of the larger “rehearsals” practiced by the Israelites. The Feast of Passover, Unleavened Bread and First Fruits were packaged together.

-Passover was to be celebrated on the 14th day of the 7th month (Nisan.) Four pictures can be drawn out of this the first Passover (Exodus 12). First, God was attempting to set His people free from slavery and bondage. Second, God was willing to kill all of the first-born sons of Egypt to accomplish this redemptive plan. Third, God would cover and mark His people with the blood of a lamb to protect them. And fourth, all of this would happen in the darkness of the night as the death angle passed over. By the time Jesus shows up on the scene, Passover had had 1,400 years to develop into a beautiful and significant feast. Josephesus, a Jewish historian, tells us that 250,000 – 400,000 lambs, who had been born and raised in Bethlehem, were sacrificed on the alter during this festival. The smell of burning animals never left the nostrils of the Hebrew people. It was a constant sensory reminder of the smell and stench of death and sin. Visually there was so much blood coming out of the lambs that is was literally ankle deep in the temple courtyards and flowed down into the city streets. There is nothing to be romanticized about the Feast of Passover. One could say that the overarching theme of this Feast is the people asking God for deliverance from death.

- Unleavened Bread was scheduled on the Jewish calendar to take place on the 15th of Nisan. This feast was set up as a way of asking God for bread from the earth. As farmers, the Hebrew people linked bread with life. So what are they really asking is for God to bring life out of the earth.

- The Feast of First Fruits was to be celebrated the next Sunday following the Feast of Unleavened Bread. During this time people would bring the entire yielding of their first harvest to God. They offered it to Him as a sign that they trusted Him to meet their every need. Come hail storm, locus or drought. As Jehovah-jireh, they trusted Him to provide. The theme for this feast would be summarized as “God, keep us alive.”

In the final week of Jesus’ life, the 14th fell on a Friday. Recall that the Hebrew nation measured time by the moon, not the sun. Their days’ ran from sunset to sunset. So for all intensive purposes, Passover began on what we would call Thursday night at 6:00. This means that Friday night beginning at 6:00, marked the beginning of The Feast of Unleavened Bread. The very next Sunday, for which the Feast of First Fruits would have been celebrated, happened to be the very next day. As mentioned previously, the Hebrew nation functioned on a lunar calendar, and therefore lost 11 days a year – meaning that every 4 years they would have a leap month. All this is to say that having these three Feasts lined up back-to-back would only happen once in a lifetime.

So on Friday the 14th, the entire Hebrew nation is gathering together to celebrate Passover. While sacrificing lambs they are asking God to deliver them from death. Meanwhile, as the skies begin to turn dark, Jesus, the first born of all creation, the Bread of Life, the lamb who was born in Bethlehem, is on a cross. Unbeknownst to them, God is listening and responding to their prayers.

The next day, Saturday, is the Feast of Unleavened Bread. The entire Hebrew nation is asking for God to bring life out of the earth. Meanwhile, Jesus is being put into the ground. If you’ll recall, all the gospel writers are clear in telling us that there was a rush to get Him in the ground by sundown. Why? May I suggest that God wanted His Son in the ground by sunset because sunset marked the beginning of a new day, Saturday, and the beginning of a new feast? Don’t make the mistake of saying that Jesus was buried that day. No friend, Jesus was planted that day. Do you remember what Jesus said in His ministry? “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit (John 12).” The entire Hebrew nation is asking for God to bring life out of the earth and God is planting the bread of life into the ground.

Sunday marks the Feast of First Fruits. What day does Jesus walk out of the grave? Sunday. Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 15:20, “But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.”

I case I lost you in any of that, here is the Clift Note Version: Friday, as the people are praying “God deliver us from death,” Jesus is dying. On Saturday, as Jesus is being planted in the ground on Unleavened Bread, the people are praying, “God bring life out of the earth.” And on Sunday the people are praying, “God keep us alive,” and Jesus is walking out of His tomb.

The God we serve renders me speechless.

No Greater Love

Years ago, Kanakuk Kamps created a sub-camp system called Kids Across America. Their vision was to revolutionize inner-city America through empowering their children with the message of Christ. I had the opportunity to spend four months working with urban youth from NYC, Chicago, San Fransisco, and countless other metropolises. Like most volunteer experiences, these youngsters added more to my life than I could have ever offered them. One of their priceless gifts woke me up this morning.

This was the best version of the song I could find on-line. It is a little long, but the meat of it starts at about three minute mark. I pray that the words wash over you. Be refreshed friend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FgpRUhQVKA

Withdraw Your Hand (Part 2)

“Thou art the God of the early mornings, the God of the late at nights, the God of the mountain peaks, and the God of the seas; my God, my soul has further horizons than the early mornings, deeper darkness than the nights of the earth, higher peaks than any mountain peaks, greater depths than any sea in nature – Thou who art the God of all these, be my God. I cannot reach the heights or the depths; there are motives I cannot trace, dreams I cannot get at – my God, search me out.” ~ Chambers rendition of Psalms 139

Last week was an academic rarity….no papers, no tests. As the fallout of my spare time and Urim and Thummim ponderings, I figured it might be helpful to physically label some my abstractions. A trip to a creek and a bath tube lined with dirty rocks later, I have a fuller vision of what I have been gripping so tightly.

Each rock now bears a name, word, or phrase; and each morning I get to decide whether to carry the concern or withdraw my hand and offer it to the Creator of all things. I must say, I’m feeling a lot lighter these days. :)

Withdraw Your Hand

I woke this morning with a line of one of my favorite poems running through my head.

“I'm needing a 'yes,' a go-ahead sign.
or even a 'no,' to which I'll resign."

I chuckled to myself, “Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a set of rocks right now."

During some of the earliest turning points in Israel’s history, the High Priest used gemstones called Urim and Thummim to determine God’s will in “yes” or “no” situations. While the nature and exact usage of these stones aren’t altogether clear… and at first sight the practice appears to be nothing more than hocus-pocus, I really fancy the whole notion.

The rendition of this “system” in 1 Samuel 14:19 is priceless. As the commotion began to rise around them, Saul requested for the priest to “withdraw his hand.” In essence they were taking the decision out of their own grasp and turning it over to God.

Physically letting go of something concrete seems a lot easier then emotionally letting go of an abstraction. The surrender process is different. In case one, I can recognize when I am picking the “thing” back up. In case two, the boundaries are not as clear. But maybe it is in this not knowing that faith rises.

The poem I mentioned earlier concludes this way:

“He seemed then to kneel and His eyes met with mine
and He tenderly said "I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.

I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.
You'd have what you want, but you wouldn't know Me.
You'd not know the depth of My love for each saint.
You'd not know the power that I give to the faint.

You'd not learn to see through the clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there.
You'd not know the joy of resting in Me
when darkness and silence are all that you can see.

You'd never experience the fullness of love
when the peace of My Spirit descends like a dove.
You would know that I give and I save for a start
but you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.

The glow of My comfort late into the night,
the faith that I give when you walk without sight.
The depth that's beyond getting just what you ask
form and infinite God who makes what you have last.

You'd never know should your pain quickly flees,
what it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
but, oh, the loss, if you missed what I'm doing in you.

So, be silent, my child and in time you will see
that the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.
And though oft My answer seem terribly late,
My most precious answer of all is still wait.”

Purposeful Stillness

Following the opening hymn during Tuesday’s chapel, Dr. Kalas remarked on a unique attribute of our Asbury organist. While this man loves to play, at some point during the song he chooses not to. His generation of silence allows for the “sounds of the people” to be heard. The weight of this organic observation caused me to miss Kalas’ actual sermon (which is regretful to some degree because the number of times I get to sit under this giant are limited). But I began to wonder how often we liken nonmoving with inactivity? Our senses frequently cheat the beauty of what is happening when it appears that nothing is going on. This is unfortunate, as I believe that things grow in these quiet spaces long before they are ever seen.

I must admit that I am often negligent in this process of purposeful stillness. For all of us who struggle with being excessively time-conscious, quietness isn’t easily crossed off a “to do” list. It doesn’t always feel like important work. But may I suggest adding, “hearing Him breath” to our lists tomorrow? Curl up inside of Him and rest knowing that more is being accomplished then countless hours of movement.

Promise

Over the course of my life, I have seen the Disney version of Cinderella upwards of 20 times. Despite my knowledge of how the story ends, I still get a pit in my stomach in the closing act when the mice start their assent up the long staircase. (If you’ve never seen the movie, the goal of the climb was to hand off a key to Cinderella…a key that would open the door to the cell that was keeping her from her prince.) Their task was bigger them and the probability that they will arrive in time is slim.

I respond to the turning of seasons the same way. This past Saturday ice covered central KY again; cold to my core, my heart ached at the thought that spring would never come. In the logical realm this makes about as much sense as fearing the mice won’t make it to the top of the stairs before the shoe-fitter guy disappears. After some pondering, I realize that my problem is not a head issue. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Cinderella will end up in the arms of her prince and that a flood of warmth will return to this town. Often my doubts are deeper then repeated experiences can explain away. And I wonder how often I do this in the spiritual realm. My trust simply doesn’t extend far enough. At least yet.

I do however get a sense of peace knowing that even when my perspectives fails, Gods promises don’t. Here’s to a day of fulfilled hope.

A Name

Naming this blog was almost the demise of it. Four days and thirty-one alternatives later, “Echoing Eden” now has an official .com. Recently, I have been captivated by God’s untamed creativity, His boundless mysteries and the passionate yearnings He’s planted deep in the soul of every human being. Even when life looks like a dark streak of suffering, goodness still stems for Eden. My hope is to use this space as a treasure log of light.

The following is a Celtic prayer that resonates these sentiments.

“In the morning light, O God,
may I glimpse again Your image deep within me
the threads of eternal glory
woven into the fabric of every man and woman.
Again may I catch sight of the mystery of the human soul
fashioned in Your likeness
deeper then knowing
more enduring than time.
And in glimpsing these threads of light
amidst the weakness and distortions of my life
let me be recalled
to the strength and beauty deep in my soul.
Let me be recalled
to the strength and beauty of your image in every living soul.”