The Human Jesus…

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By way of Christ’s suffering God became real to me. His human-ness, his longing for life and his longing to help and love others draws me to him. I think sometimes it is easy to shrug off, so to speak, Christ’s God-ness. It is a given right? His Divine nature, the Alpha and Omega in all his glory seems somehow more familiar to one who grew up in a Christian home. It is hard to wrap my head around is this man who is able to sympathize with my weakness, my so very fragile attempts to be good for him. He, as a human being sees my offerings that fall so short compared to what He offers and gives so freely.
One tradition of Lent encourages us to “give up” something for forty days. I was not raised with this tradition so it interests me to hear people say they will give up candy, soda, or a certain food or activity for the Lenten season. This action has caused me to ponder the suffering of Jesus. I have concluded, not for others, but for myself that any offering I make seems so small in comparison to Jesus, who gave up his God-ness and put on human flesh only to have his Father God turn his face away while he bore all the sin for the entire world. Somehow giving up candy or something else seems absurd but I understand why people want to do it. I understand that because they love Jesus they want to honor him in some way even if it seems silly or small. I certainly am not belittling this tradition or the act of giving up something for Lent.
The Lenten season is about honoring the sacrifice Jesus made for me. It is a time to reflect upon whom Jesus is and what he has done for us as well as contemplate our own Christian character or lack of it. Lent should not be a legalistic or showy event. What you give up or don’t give up is between you and God because we who are believers already know there is NOTHING we can give up or do that is worthy of the sacrifice Jesus made for us.
So for me this Lenten season, I continue to reflect on that fact that “once I was blind but now I see” and I am going to reflect and adore the ONE who took my sin and death and gave me life.

Night Swim

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I am a daughter of the Gulf Coast
its deep inside me like the Holy Ghost
from Texas oil to Pensacola Isle
calling me softly to come and sit a while…

 

Have you ever been in the Gulf of Mexico at night? Ever tipped back your head and felt your body rise and sway with the motion of the sea? Looking up into a star filled black sky ions above you. In between that vastness of The Milky Way and all the water below there is a connection. There is the sweet melodious song of God, the Creator that astounds you into an unspeakable romance with Him. You feel you are in a dimension of awareness between antiquity and eternity. There is no fear. There is no dread of this power that you know can take your life in an instant…There is just the sea, the sky, and the smell of brine, and God singing over you…
The surf faithfully sweeps toward the sand dunes that line the shore. You cannot see them in the night but you are sure they are there holding the island together and budding with beautiful golden oats. There is a rhythm to the beach where the days and the nights of your life seem easy and make sense. At least for me it does. There is a canopy of fluid above and below. A heady cup of wine and that cup indeed runneth over…

I can feel my self becoming removed from the conversation…

pexels-photo-326055.jpegI can feel my self becoming removed from the conversation, from the room, from this place. As though I have been here many times before yet am now born into “such a time as this.” It is easier to let my self be free when I realize this story is not about me. I do not have to carry the answer, the load, the laughter, the grief, the joy…I get to experience it but I am not the atonement… but I am worth a telling.
I am the spring day when the daffodils and hyacinth bloom after Winter’s death and fill the world with the heady scent of new life. I am the dark rich dirt that lies thick undercover in the deep forest with moss and fungus growing out of it. I am the bright orange fall leaf that gets to trip and twirl down the city street in front of two lovers taking a walk. They try to run and catch me but they cannot. I am not their love affair.
I am the stark bare trees of Winter’s blast. I dance among the stars and sit upon the moon whenever I feel like it.
It is really not a mystery yet remains mysterious. It is truly not difficult to understand. I do not have answers regarding quantum physics nor the dimensions that I live in, for they are many and some are not of this world. I only know that my heart provides my body and brain with new oxygenated fresh red blood more than one hundred thousand times a day! Imagine such a miracle just for a moment or two.
So then you must tell your story. It may or may not help someone. It most likely will but either way you are worth a telling.
I leave you with this final thought from a writer Hunter Thompson…
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

Marching Season

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For nearly a century she has participated in marching season. Today she will not be there to celebrate the protestant fight in Northern Ireland for religious freedom. She will at last be truly free from all of man’s inhumanity to man. She has seen many a protestant kill a catholic and vice versa.

It has never made any sense to her… She watches her skin float up into the ray of sunlight in the window, like dust particles. She knows her body is disappearing. She hears soft footfalls and whispered conversation. These are the by-product of leaving an old world and arriving into the only new one.

As a little girl she would sit in the sunlight in her bedroom and try to catch floating dust particles. Now she realizes perhaps this was a lesson in leaving. It is very easy. She would like to tell her loved ones so but they have not learned the floating lesson.

I am every blue on the color wheel…

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I am the girl in the dream, the girl in the hour-glass.
I am every blue on the color wheel.
I rise on a great floating bubble that a child just blew out of a plastic jar of soap.
The bubble is robin egg blue and I am continually moving toward you.
I am the girl in the dream, the girl clasping turquoise ribbons attached to the moon. My skin looks silver blue like the moon. My heart is an open door and the door is deep blue like a navy school uniform blazer. I turn the glacier blue door knob and I am permanently moving toward you. I am the girl in the dream, the girl who is every blue on the color wheel. I am soaring up toward the baby powder blue stars, the blue-gray fog is lifted and my blue gray eyes finally see you and my Faith has been made sight.

I just feel a little lost to be honest…I’m okay with that…

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So my youngest daughter (I have two daughters) had her first baby on March 6th…can I just tell you to say it is surreal is an understatement.  This young woman, Allison, is my baby…life has come full circle once again. I know it happens every day and this cycle makes the world go around but honestly it overwhelms me. I sit and watch her hold her baby boy, Collin, and I think in my head, “did you know I held you just that way? Did you know I remember that feeling of what do I do now? I can see you with your thumb in your mouth. I can remember the color of your eyes, your distress cry, and most of all your smile.

I can tell you it is a full-heart yet empty nest feeling when your children have their own families. It is harder than the empty nest of college. This empty nest is for the rest of your life. I know it is a good thing and all is as it should be. They have good men who love them, children who are masterpieces, and they have many family and friends who  love them.

 I just feel a little lost to be honest.

It is not self pity. It has a mourning/grief component. The reality is distorted sometimes because obviously they are still my daughters and always will be. Their children will always be my grandchildren, yet each are a family unit in and of themselves and I am not part of that intimacy. I am in the next best intimate position however and for that I am eternally grateful. So why the sadness at times? I don’t think there is any other answer but that it is part of life. My life ‘s scope is narrowing and my daughter’s and their families are racing off to  catch up with their dreams! My life is slower and the sphere is smaller now. I have more time to remember, think, and ponder life than I did twenty years ago. Those years have flown by as everyone who has ever lived will tell you.

As a true empty nester I find I must stay in the joy when I am able to have my sweet family around me. I cherish each time a grandchild is with me, even if it is for just a couple of hours or a vacation together. I love seeing my daughter’s text on my phone or getting a call to come over or go to lunch.

When it is  just my husband and I there is a quietness that honestly makes us sad at times. At other times the kids have worn us out and we are glad for a  rest but always looking forward to the next time.

Some may respond to me by saying, “get a life!” My response to that is that I have a life but it is not the same. One thing that younger people don’t know yet is that core friendships had in your twenties, thirties, forties, and fifties can get lost or changed for a myriad of reasons and building new relationships as you age becomes much more difficult. It is not as if we now go to bars and parties to meet new people. Oh yes we can join clubs and churches and hope to find new friends but the cultural climate makes this difficult. We have tried this and continue to try.

It is different and now that I am in my sixties I am searching for what my life will be. So I guess my point is we never stop developing and growing our life. It takes work to persevere and serve and fulfill but I think it is perfectly okay for me to say it feels hard some days and I am okay with that.

This stage in my life also confirms to me even more that there is something innate in us that knows there is something more…there is a unity the can’t be broken but there is a unity that does become more distant, as it must.

I have no complaints. I am grateful to God for all of his gifts and I will journey on to see what lies ahead. Here is to all of you true empty nesters that know what I am attempting to say…journey on! Peace.

Guest post from Dr. Hud McWilliams: The Role of Grief

pexels-photo-276349.jpegI am sharing today a blog post from my friend, counselor, and mentor Dr. Hud McWilliams. Please go to his link for more wisdom…I love this man’s heart for people. You will too.

I frequently muse about the role that grief plays in our lives.  Losses are inevitable and even necessary.  If we learn how to grieve and mourn them well, we will come to experience a kind of spiritual freedom only available through letting go.

I’m troubled when I see how often we as believers walk away from the giant resource grief provides us in our journeys to become more mature and more like Christ.  Instead, we avoid grief by attempting to get the world to fit into our mold, or attempting to escape the normal movement of life, or seeking peace and safety at the expense of reality. It is often only through loss, suffering and grief that we have access to the central and massive comfort and freedom that Jesus died to provide us, in the here and now.

A few months ago, Nancy took our grandsons to Body World, a traveling science display in Denver.  Here in the midst of an exhibit displaying the phenomenal physical marvels of being human, she found that the context screamed of hopelessness–no purpose, no future.  Along with the fascinating display of the human body came a number of banners with quotes that seemed to rob the viewer of reasons to live, such as, “When you die, you just lose consciousness.”  In a culture that denies grief and death, it is difficult to hold a biblical view of reality that finds hope in the midst of a broken world and painful circumstances.  Like the display, our culture attempts to soften painful realities with slogans that tout “hope” rooted in nothing. Perhaps, as the exhibit implies, if we simply define man as a biological entity, we can remove the inevitable sting of loss. So the slogan, “when you die you die” is intended to comfort us in an attempt to respond to the reality one only sees.  And it’s designed to eliminate our desperate need for hope.

The Body World display teaches us that without a future vision we must either live in despair or some form of fantasy. The biblical view is quite different.  In 1 Thessalonians 4, Paul tells believers, “…we are not to grieve as the world grieves, as those who have no HOPE.” And in 1 Peter 3:15, Peter says, as believers we are to be ready to give an answer to those who ask, for the HOPE that is in us.  Quite frequently we ignore the scriptures instructing believers to “not lose HOPE!”  Real hope comes when we place our trust in “true truth.”  Why do we so often fail to walk in this freedom, which is given to us who believe? Maybe part of the reason is because we fail to make the necessary adjustments in our thinking that will line us up with the truth we claim.

The truth Christ has given us says that although much of what we experience in this upside down world is not part of the original design, God has given us grief as a major resource to deal with the regular rhythms of transition and loss.  Transition, loss, and the grief of dealing with these allow us to offload distortions of reality. We are essentially double minded, and instead of believing the truth, we believe the distortions the world markets to us: a life that makes sense, and personal peace and affluence.  One good thing about the globalization of our world is that we are less likely to live in isolation from the painful reality of this messed up world. Buried in the middle of this is a view of life that is grounded in facing life as it comes and being able to grapple with the “bad news”.

I’d like to suggest that we define grief like this: to accurately adjust our views of reality by aligning them with the “truth” of God’s creation in its fallen, messed up, mean state!  Grief in this context may be thought of as a healthy concession to the fallen-ness of the present world.  Matthew 5:4 says those who mourn will be comforted. It’s interesting to me that these two ideas are linked in this manner. Few of us seem to get this connection, that grief/mourning gives us access to comfort/freedom. How often our expectations of what life are should be like derived from our culture instead of the “Word” written and incarnate?  Our culture shapes our expectations as well as our desires.  First world individuals are caught in a consumerist environment.  In this environment a desire is never illegitimate, it is only unmet!

Let that sink in for a moment.  What helps shape our desires?  Is it the ‘truth’ we believe from Scripture, or are we formed by the strength of the environment in which we are placed? If this second view is allowed to shape our perceptions, then the basis for our HOPE is skewed!

For consumers, fulfillment of desire is the highest good and the final arbiter in making decisions.  In contrast, Scripture champions freedom, contentment and self-control based in values, not endless pursuit of personal desire. God is not a commodity that exists to make us feel better!

Maybe a thorough sensitizing and awareness of our expectations and their origins is the core work of grief.  The first thing we must do in order to move through the grieving process in a life-giving way is to face the truth about our skewed/distorted beliefs of how life should work.  Most of us see the application in “large” issues, like the death of a loved one or loss of the ability to work or a divorce. It’s the smaller deceptions that keep us from experiencing the freedom we miss.  Let’s examine some of these.

How often are our disappointments in our children or a disagreement with our mate mishandled? Instead of seeing the “matter of fact” of life’s movements, we eschew such for the immediate feeling of control and the satisfaction it seems to provide. Even something as trite as a haircut and color that doesn’t turn out as you expected can rob us of the capacity to celebrate the life that we have in fact been given. Often our view squeezes out the joy that is available because we are restricted by a pinched perspective that prohibits us from seeing the freedom God has for us.  Our culture teaches us to win, not to grieve.  We want to be right, to fight and to be strong. Grieving the loss of some particular disappointment means that we are called to “let go” and move away from a victim posture. Culture teaches the opposite by telling us to find someone or something to blame.

Any “false” view of reality, no matter how small, can and will set us up for useless pain and disappointment.  When we put our hope in a world free of loss and only driven by acquisition, we are committing a form of idolatry.

But there’s another kind of grief. The kind laid out in the Gospels.  I call it hopeful grief or good grief.  This kind of grief is based on a view of reality that allows us to adjust to what is rather than what we wish was.

See more of Hud’s wisdom at hudmcwilliams.com

joni mitchell and a cup of tea…

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Joni Mitchell and a cup of tea…

I shut the door so no one can see

and dream of something kept underground

when I had to jump off that merry-go-round.

 

I loved the ride and all the pretty horses

I loves what I thought I would be.

I would have sold my blood to be published

so all the work could read.

 

I would wax eloquent and be held in high esteem…

all the other riders would admire me.

They would gaze at me on my grand carousel

marveling at all the wisdom I share.

 

Well now I speak in present tense…

the merry-go-round broken down and spent.

For my profound literature there is no need

I still like Joni and a cup of tea.

sjad

 

more from the preacher’s daughter’s journal

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I am a product or I should say a recovering product of well-meaning but so often damaging Southern Bible belt of the 1960’s-1970’s. I was born on the last day of the year in 1955. I am privileged to have been born into the heritage of Jesus loving, Bible believing parents and grandparents. However, they could not protect me from what I call “being a Church kid” which simply means, as many of you are, one who was at church every time the door was open. One who knew all the right things to say and prayers to pray in order to “appear” to be “all right with my eternal destiny, in other words NOT going to hell.”
The legalism of the Church that distorts truth has always been around. I believe the first distortion presented itself almost immediately after The Church begin. (that will be another subject but is well documented in the book of Acts).
Forwarding my life to about the age of thirty I found that my “sight” and “belief” of GOODNESS was incorrect and empty. My definition of goodness was a distorted view. I thought of goodness in terms of “being” good. Goodness was nice kind people who never got into trouble or had angry or evil thoughts. I thought Goodness was people who didn’t sin a lot, at least not the BIG sins! I got this silent message that said, “yes, Grace if free but now you better teach Sunday School,  join the choir, and Never Never!!! display any outward behavior that looks like sin.  I knew and loved Jesus but I didn’t really believe that God is good. I did not know after all that time of being a Christian and loving Jesus that his goodness was and is supernatural. His goodness is intimate. His goodness is a “way” that He is. It is not just his character it is God’s being.

I finally saw that God is good in his being, he is good in his Word, he is good in his knowledge, he is good in his judgement, he is good in his works, actions and deeds. He is severely good in mercy and kind in grace. I finally know that only His goodness can satisfy my soul.
For any out there who do not know God fully in his goodness I pray today that the Spirit of God will give you eyes to see and ears to hear and a heart to be intimate with Him…as for this girl…“I choose goodness and mercy to follow me all the days of my life and to dwell in the house of the Lord forever!”
girl upon Mercy
riding away
girl upon mercy singing
girl upon mercy
save from all lies
riding to live
a new day
singing…
a merciful hallelujah
singing good are you my Lord
singing mercy, hallelujah
riding on
to sing evermore.

Yep, a Preacher’s Daughter –

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If I had to say what were one or two of the most loved memories I have about being a southern preacher’s daughter I would say foremost I loved and still cherish being the “apple of his eye.” His only daughter, not in a princess-y way at all but just a light in his eye, a sparkle, an honor in his life that I did not deserve nor earn. Never once was there any hint or lack of favor toward me. One learns young in a “fish bowl” that people will believe what they choose and they will misunderstand a man and his heart and they will take it out on him and his family but they can never touch the “apple of his eye”. The second treasure I carry with me as a southern preacher’s daughter is the peace and stillness of the iconic “Sunday afternoon Nap.” We didn’t really have to go to sleep at all but it was a private safe haven when the world stopped turning and my two brothers, my beautiful mother, my dad, and I all took off our Sunday outfits and each lay between our washed cotton bed sheets  and rested our heads on sweet southern smelling pillows and Rested. It was a Sabbath Rest that I did not yet understand at an early age. It was a sturdy parson’s home and all was right with the world. I never knew what lie ahead for us nor that life would not always taste as sweet as those Sunday afternoons. I didn’t know yet that daddy couldn’t fix everything and that my sweet, sweet brothers weren’t men yet. I didn’t know that my mother’s southern beauty hid pain that I had not yet heard of and had no inkling of the hard things that were expected of her. I memorized each one of them and I tasted the ripened rays of childhood and it has stayed on my tongue forever! I love them.