Three in a Week

I thought only death, broken appliances and bad news came in threes.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe good news triples up too…

First off, last week Looking for God made a short list at the online Christian magazine and community, The High Calling. Along with nine other posts, my Why I Like Blue Jeans made it into Great Posts from Around the High Calling Network. This is a big honor and one I keep jumping around the house about! The High Calling community consists of  1,800 bloggers, an editorial staff and top-notch articles and resources for Christians looking for God in their “work, family and broader culture.” Pop in, be blessed and if you blog, do join.

Secondly, I’ve been invited to work temporarily for a previous employer, First Presbyterian of Maple Plain. I served almost three years there as an administrative assistant and am looking forward to serving again. Clerical skills brush-up, great staff moments and serving God’s people with pencil-in-hand are some of the things I’m most excited about.

Most recently, I’ve been nominated for the Versatile Blogger Award by Jonathan at 237blessed. I am thrilled and honored to receive this peer-to-peer nomination! Jonathan “loves the spirit” of Looking for God and says it has “something truly important to declare concerning the Kingdom of Heaven.” It doesn’t get any better than that! Thank you so much, Jonathan!

At 237blessed, Jonathan brings hope and blessing through his use of Scripture, spiritual insight and sensitivity to the Spirit. If you desire a blessing or want to hear from God, visit 237blessed. Grateful I get to be your Sister, Jonathan, and your blog friend.

Of course, with nominations there are rules…

THE RULES TO FOLLOW FOR THE VERSATILE BLOGGER AWARD:

1. Add a picture of the award to your blog post.

2. Thank the blogger who nominated you and include a link to their blog.

3. Share 7 random facts about yourself.

4. Nominate 15 other Bloggers and inform those 15 they have been nominated.

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Seven random facts about me

1. Cemeteries are cool.

2. I read, write and never spit.

3. Some people call me charismatic, others contemplative.

4. I say “Woosh” too often, people wonder.

5. My 1992 Honda has 223,000 miles on it.

6. I suffer most when I can’t find Jesus.

7. Migraines come and go, but God is forever.

The nominees are, in no particular order:

1.Quirky, compelling and insightful, Nori takes you into her life and lets you sit awhile at Rambling on Regardless. Lucky me, I’ve slogged through bogs, danced in a kitchen and savored raspberry chocolate with Eleanor. She’s a keeper I call friend.

2. Joyce at Joyce de Vivre has a knack for creating Christian community and has created Featured Scribbles to foster Christian blog community. Tireless and passionate, she reminds me to stay rooted and reach high.

3. A-Musing is a newly birthed blog written by an old family friend. Jim shares his heart and always points to Jesus. Glad I get to share him here with you.

4. Bernie at Daily Light uses Scripture, practical insight and prayers to bless his readers. His devotions help me lean a little longer on my Lord. I’ve studied, prayed and joked with Bernie. He’s a Brother I call friend.

5. Brother James came to Looking for God with encouragement and profound presence. When he’s around I breathe easier.  His site, Domini Canes, is beautiful and his words never fail to make me pause and reflect. A new blog friend I sense kinship with.

6. A dear old blog friend who once spent hours interpreting one of my dreams, Cindy at  Anyone’s Guess write wonderful poetry and prose and is soon to have a baby. Her heart is fixed on Jesus, and that means everything.

7. Another long-time blog friend who nominated me for the Sweet Friend Award, blogs at So Much, So Little Time. Kate is, among a few dozen other things, a devoted Catholic, a prolific writer and a published author. Oh, and she just gave birth to her fourth child.

8. Dan at The-Fatalistic-Smile writes deep, mythic poetry that rattles your unconscious and steals your heart. Back in 2010 he guest blogged here, at Looking for God: Into the forest he wanders. He’s a wise soul who has been known to climb rock walls, even with me.

9. Claire is a stay-at-home-mother and blogger from New Zealand. Her One Passion One Devotion says it all. She’s all about one thing and one thing only. More times than not, I leave her site lifted, closer to God.

10. Lizy, at Follow Lizy, is on adventure in Glasgow. She’s a brilliant writer who takes you with her and makes you smile. For a sure-to-delight-you peek into Scottish university life from the perspective of a college student from my home church, stop in and stay a spell.

11. New to the blog scene and fresh to my world, forthefrustratedchristian give me encouragement and helps realign me when I’m ready to scream. Thank you and welcome Sid!

12. Estherlou at Estherlou’s Blog has been around the block and is refreshingly herself. She also runs a bakery and sometimes posts photos that makes mouths water. As a new blog friend, I look forward to getting to know her better.

13. Antigone’s Clamor is well written, often takes a stand and makes you think. Sometimes I find myself cheering. Lara has a way with words and loves her Lord. Visit and see.

14.  Jocelyn at Celine is a Filipino living in the U.S. who is sold out for Christ. She’s a bright light in a dark world and helps keep my head where it belongs, in the heart of God. She’s a blog friend who gives great encouragement.

15. Jessica at  booshy makes the mundane delightful and humorous. She’s got dogs, runs marathons, oh and she’s about to give birth to her first child. Never a dull moment by a gifted writer. Glad to call her a long-time blog friend.

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Those are my three and they all happened in one week! As I look for God, I see Him everywhere! Thanks for your presence, prayers and praise. May God bless you because…

No-Man’s-Land

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OK.  It is time.  Here is an update.

Since Who is Responsible?–a post where I shared inner struggles and my desire for God to show up, take responsibility and lead me through a treacherous no-man’s-land–much has changed.

(Quick aside: Who is Responsible?, to my delight and surprise, is highlighted on The High Calling’s, Articles about Faith webpage. THC is a fabulous network of Christian leaders and  bloggers).

It began when a dear friend invited me to visit her while she was staying with her mother in England.  My husband’s frequent flier miles came into view, my calendar was free–the trip was possible.  I wasn’t sure, I kept it in prayer.  Having recently gussied up my resume, I was starting to send it to possible employers–there was momentum in that direction.  Going on vacation felt like a cop-out.  The thought came, though, that if I went, maybe I could tack on a week at a remotely located Christian community in the United Kingdom, as a visitor.  I brought my “find work vs visit-my-friend” dilemma to my counselor, where I mentioned, in passing, a pop in at the community. Surprisingly, she honed in on the community and we spent time discerning whether I should look for work or visit the community. Visiting the community was discerned, we both heard God leading me there.

So, I Googled the community, found their website and inquired about coming for a week, maybe two. Timing-wise what they had available didn’t work out with the time I would be visiting my friend.  The discernment seemed like a complete bomb, like I’d stepped on a land mine.  Once again, I figured, I’d heard God wrong. I’d surrendered responsibility for my life to Him and He was playing cat and mouse with me. I wondered if I’d always live like this…if psychic storm would be the new norm.

Rooting around on the community’s website, I found they took volunteers for weeks at a time.  I swiftly filled out an application, forwarded them my resume and inquired if there were any last-minute openings. A day later, at the end of February, they responded. They had an opening and I needed to set things in motion quickly.

Suddenly I had tunnel vision–everything was about or geared toward getting to the community. The biggest hurdle was a UK work visa. The bureaucratic process was a time hog.  Brits in New York City needed forms, applications, money, passport-sized photos, fingerprinting (which one fine bureaucrat moved me to the front of the line for, overriding my fiv- day- later fingerprinting appointment!), documents and…yes, and…my passport–my ticket out of the country.  Mailing my passport felt like I was surrendering my freedom to British bureaucrats.  It was unnerving. I hesitated. Standing at the shipping counter I wondered if I’d ever see my passport again.  Time was short, I feared sending it would mean I’d miss visiting my friend while she was in Britain….

I overnighted it.

Day after day passed waiting to hear whether they’d grant me a visa. Day after day passed wondering when they’d grant me a visa. Day after day passed wondering why they hadn’t granted me a visa.  I planned nothing, not even a flight. Again, I wondered what God was up to.  Was this part of the cat and mouse game I felt He’d been playing with me?  I wondered would I, in the end, completely miss hopping the pond (you know, the big one between North America and Europe)?  Was all this just a carrot on a stick, leaving me nothing but exhausted and hungry, completely carrot-less, in the end?

Two weeks, bureaucratically speaking, is not  long, I know.  But when they note 2-5 days for processing, it is.

Word finally came.  In an utterly ordinary email, the British Consulate announced that I’d been granted permission. My passport and visa arrived at my doorstep the very next day, St Patrick’s Day.

St Patrick’s Day is my personal holy day. Pat and I are buds, we go way back and very deep, and it ain’t because I visit the bar. (If you wanna know more, visit St Patrick’s Day.)  I’m not sure how to interpret this “coincidence”, this timing.  Hmmm…maybe a healing touch from God through St Patrick has something to do with it…the thought of that came just now…oh my, could it be…

My passport and visa arrived on Thursday. I flew out on Sunday (a week ago yesterday) as my friend flew back to the States, we passed each other somewhere over the Atlantic Monday morning.  I’d missed her. It was awful. Yet, I couldn’t shake that somehow, it was okay.  God was responsible, His timing was in this. I arrived at the community on Tuesday.

Yes, I am here and will be here through the end of May.

As I transition into community living (sorry, I’m not allowed to share the community’s name or revealing details in a blog posting) and walk the paths of this beautiful countryside, I have no idea why I’m here.  All I know is that He is responsible for me and, so help me God, I’m gonna hold His hand and let Him lead me through this no-man’s-land.

Who is Responsible?

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As I meander through the week, tripping over bad news and looking for good, a desire for peace, deep peace, pounds inside my chest. Yet, I’m in no-man’s-land, a place difficult to maneuver, a place riddled with land mines–how to move forward is unclear.

It is only Wednesday, yet we’ve endured a full week’s worth of bad news, thank you very much. Today, dollars flew out the window, as the glass guy replaced a broken one.  Yesterday, “close, but no cigar,”  I just missed getting a job interview.  Last night, my husband’s credit card number was stolen.   Perimenopause–a long-term “guest” that throws grown women into a reversal of the hormonal and emotional “joys” of adolescence–sneered as it settled in.  Other things, too private to mention, slapped me hard. I flounder like a fish out of water, wondering if I’ll die like this.

In many ways, I make my bed and lie in it.  I guess we all do.  I choose to persevere when I could run and seek security on my terms; I choose to pause and wait for wisdom and perspective; I seek professional guidance; I choose to move when God says “move.”  Sometimes I hear Him and respond, other times I hear another and miss the mark.  I seek His healing, I refuse to drop and die. I move in fits and starts, it is ugly–onlookers worry and wonder.  Friends listen, support and share opinions, yet each friend’s opinion conflicts with another.  I hug them close, listen and pray.

I take responsibility for my actions, I know what I do matters.  My life is a blip, yet what I do endures and affects those near, far and many who come after. Conflicting emotions compete for power, letting them “be” without letting them control is tricky.

Closer than the fearful thoughts that rumble around in my head, is my Lord.  Sometimes–fleeting moments, really–I see His face in front of me. His beautiful brown eyes brim with kindness and shine with power.  Silently, He reminds me: even when I do not see Him, He sees me.  I am not alone, even in this.  For a moment, I relax and breathe easy.

Something I’m just beginning to realize keeps coming back; like a string around my finger, it keeps coming into view.  Not only am I responsible for my actions but like a good Parent of one still maturing, God is responsible for me.  He’s in charge of ordering my life for my highest good and His glory. I have freedom, I can choose, but I am not independent.  No, as a child of God, I am dependent on Him and He is responsible for me.

Funny, I have no trouble seeing myself before Him, answering to Him, but like sunlight through a dirty window, I struggle seeing Him as my Father, as One responsible for my spiritual growth. I try to carry all the responsibility.  He must smile. Like an attentive father watching his two-year-old struggle to tie her shoe, He must smile…and wait, until she gives up and asks Him to do it.  And then, when she is ready, He shows her the intricacies of loops and knots.  For awhile, they will tie her shoes together, then she will go solo, and then, eventually, it’ll come automatically and she’ll be ready to learn something new.

Yep, He is responsible for teaching me how to do this life thing well, He is responsible for getting me through this time.

Okay God, I can’t maneuver this no-man’s-land.  I give up. You be responsible for my safe passage, for You have the bird’s-eye view and x-ray vision, You see the barbed wire and buried land mines.  Ready when You are.  Please, oh please don’t let go of my hand…

Winter Solace

Image by RunnerJenny via Flickr

A red pick-up just drove in and out of my view.  It is on a lake, a frozen lake.  The driver  is an ice fisherman, for only parka clad, short-poled men cruise lakes on frosty Monday mornings.

The breeze is brisk.  Wind chimes are busy, proclaiming it is so.

Our cat snuggles with his paws on my forearm. He sleeps without care.

A neighbor dog barks a patterned bark with breaks–a bark dogs use when they wanted in, out of the cold.

The furnace kicks in.  Like the low drone of  a far away waterfall, it soothes the soul.

No sun today.  A dull, white sky mimics the snow-covered ground.  White death is all around.

Cross-legged on the love-seat, Grandma’s crocheted afghan blankets my lap.

Coffee cup is empty, first cup consumed.

I look around, listen and hope that one of these things will bring assurance, will silence fear.

A window frames a twenty-foot pine.  Alone it stands, green against a white, lonely landscape.  Birds fly by, none stop to roost.  Suddenly, I see it reach out, raise its chin and trust.  Somehow it knows this season will pass, that growth will come again.  Today, though, it stands and whispers into the winter sky,

“I trust God’s love forever and ever.”
(Psalm 52:8b NCV)

Advent like “everyone else”

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Advent.  A churchy time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, a time of waiting for Jesus’ birth.  Christians crack open Advent devotionals, light candles, say prayers, sing hymns.  Kids count the days on Advent calendars and don donkey costumes for the story’s telling.

It is a time of anticipation, a time of waiting in darkness for the Light to arrive.

Today, a calculated countdown is on, all know the day of His coming.  Sure as Santa on Christmas Eve, Jesus came and comes Christmas Day. Two-thousand years ago, though, only Mary, Joseph and a few others knew of His imminent arrival.  Everyone else sat in darkness, hoping and waiting, not knowing…

This year, I’m experiencing Advent like “everyone else” all those years ago.  I do not see Him, I do not hear Him, I do not know when…  I sit in darkness, without His song, without His words,  without His touch.

Circumstances short-circuit my mind, wring my heart, sneer in my face…I feel abandoned, vulnerable.

In His absence, I scramble.  I grasp.  I weep.  I whimper “Please help me!”.

His Light is beyond my sight, His Word beyond my hearing. I know He is, just isn’t here.

Friends assure me of His coming, they tell me stories of others who’ve waited and seen.  Like many who sit in pews on Sunday mornings, I hear the words and wonder if they apply to me.

The first advent candle–this week’s candle–symbolizes hope.  Hope for what?  That darkness isn’t forever?  That Light will come, does come, has come?  That Someone unseen is forming and will be born?  Even in me?

It all sounds lovely, joyous, downright celebratory, just not personal.

So…I repent, surrender, listen and wait…just in case…

Maybe today, I’ll light a candle…

We Promised a Billion, Not a Cent Sent

 

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No U.S. aid to Haiti. 1.15 billion dollars (yep, BILLION) sitting, stuck in Congress.  Nine months after the catastrophic earthquake that turned Port-au-Prince into a disaster area and sent her grieving, shell-shocked survivors into camps, the U.S. Congress hasn’t sent a cent.   According to Bill Clinton Lobbies for Earthquake Aid to Haiti, not even the former president or hubby of the secretary of state has managed to secure funds from the American people.

I’m embarrassed, yet not surprised.  Haiti?  They must be horrified.  We promised, after all.  We’re their wealthy, known for being generous, neighbor.  Yet, not a dime, no visage of George Washington in their view.  Our congress can’t get it together, so Haitians continue to suffer, needlessly suffer.

Of course, other countries are following our lead and withholding promised aid.  Millions instead of billions of dollars have reached Haitian shores.

Haiti must pop up from the rubble, look around and wonder…with a sinking feeling in her gut, I’m sure she wonders…

I could rant about bureaucracies here, or get all political. Yep, that would be easy…and oh, so tempting!

I’m going to hold my tongue, though, because inept governments only tell part of the story.

Individuals and aid groups already on Haitian soil are laboring quietly.  One by one they came and one by one they grab the hand of the other and exhibit the best of humanity.  They bring hope.  They come alongside the grief-stricken and maimed and minister.  They share their resources, their dollars, their know-how.  They erect make-shift schools, haul potable water, listen to heart-wrenching stories of loss and terror.  They pray for, they pray with, they sing beside.  Miracles happen, I’m sure they do, for God is present.  While governments bicker and stall, God is present and active, people are being helped.

The community of Taize invites the globe to join them in offering a prayer each month for the survivors of Haiti’s January 12th earthquake.  Below is October’s prayer.  I find it interesting that the prayer mentions suffering from the consequences of natural disasters.  Gulping hard it is easy to see that consequences reach beyond nature’s wrath, for in this case they include the neglect of neighboring governments who can help, who promised to help…

Pray with me, if you will:

God, you are light, and you never want anyone to suffer. You remain alongside those who, in Haiti, in Chile, in Pakistan and elsewhere, are suffering so much from the consequences of natural disasters. Enable us to remain courageous in adversity and strengthen each person by your saving presence.

*copyright © Ateliers et Presses de Taizé, 71250 Taizé, France. Permission granted to reprint.  Entire prayer for October 12, 2010 posted at: http://www.taize.fr/en_article10941.html

What Do They See?

[picapp align=”center” wrap=”false” link=”term=autumn+tree+lake&iid=158384″ src=”http://view.picapp.com/pictures.photo/image/158384/trees-and-lake-autumn/trees-and-lake-autumn.jpg?size=500&imageId=158384&#8243; width=”500″ height=”333″ /]On a glorious autumn day (high is 70, trees are turning), I’m in the library, observing the great outdoors through a wall of window.  Perched on the second floor, I look out over a small lake surrounded by trees bursting with red, orange and gold.  The sun shines bright, a blue jay flits from branch to branch.  It is a scene from a Hallmark special presentation or a Disney flick.  I half expect to see Laura Ingalls skipping through the trees with her little dog, Jack, nipping at her heels…

Inside, where I am, though, sniffles and coughs assault–at least six different souls are coughing and sniffling, oh and one baby is crying.

Tis the season of change, tis the season of cold and flu.

In Minnesota, seasons change dramatically.  Winter is a white barren wasteland, a frozen tundra only ice fishermen and hearty skiers and snowmobilers appreciate.  Short days and snow shovels rule.  Spring is winter melt-off season–mud buddies up with bright green buds and tender shoots.  New life asserts itself and claims a win.  Summer shouts “Life” and throws a party replete with long days, warm nights and lush vegetation.  Minnesotans come out to play!  Autumn is bittersweet.  We know the party is ending, that death is winning yet the season splashes us with days like today.  Even when we’re sneezing and coughing, we smile.  Autumn has a short life, yet like fireworks shot into the sky, it goes out with a splashy blast of color and pomp.  We pause, look around and say “awww”; we rake her leaves into piles and jump; we celebrate her final moments, even as we cough and clear our throat.

I don’t know why autumn finds us clutching Kleenex.  I was taught colds and flu had to do with viruses and germs, not weather changes.  Yet we all know, yes, we all know more is afoot than mere germs and bacteria.  Death asserts itself over more than just the landscape.  It knocks at our door too and many of us taste it in the form of sickness.  Since death is the ultimate illness, most of us get off lucky with only congestion or a sore throat.  Some, though, will die this week.  Some have already died this week.  I know of at least three who’ve passed on this week…how about you?

Autumn officially began a week ago yesterday.  The days continue to shorten, cool air overtakes warm, plants die or shed and go dormant, birds shrug and head south, squirrels happily bounce through leaves with their harvest.  We celebrate bringing in the sheaves–we bring them in as we start hunkering down with Nyquil close at hand.  Most of us will survive this round with death, we will win…this time.

One day our autumn will come.  Death will pop in and, one way or another, we’ll slow significantly, we’ll be invited to embrace death.  We’ll shed the mortal, the sensible, and enter the immortal, the ineffable.  Just as surely as leaves turn color, just as surely as milkweed seeds fly, we’ll exit the known and enter the unknown.

Who we are as we pass will be noted by those who, like accident scene gawkers, slow to look.  What will our parting mean to them?  Will they see splashes of God’s glory as we go?  Will they pause and say “awww” at the beauty of our dying?  Will we die with love flowing through us?  Will our death encourage them to live well?

I don’t know, I can’t see my last day.  I suppose it could be today…  What do they see? Is it beautiful like an oak in autumn?  Is it bursting yellow and red with His love and goodness?

What do they hear?  Is it a song sweet to the ear?  Does it make a heart sing praises to the One who gives and takes away?

What will they recall when they speak of me?

As I grab a Kleenex and stifle a cough, I wonder…maybe I have more time, maybe I’ll survive this year’s season of dying, maybe God will give me time to surrender the places I cling to, the people I grasp at, the dark corners I keep to myself.  Will I do it, though?  Will I surrender?  Will I say “yes” to all He asks, even when it hurts terribly?  Can He be trusted to make my life sing so my ending is beautiful?  Can He be trusted to use what is so that, after I die, what was creates a glorious what will be?

I’ve been sitting here quite awhile…the shadow of the building is encroaching on the tree line.  Darkness descends, day is ending.  Autumn will give way to winter.  My day is coming, yes, my day is coming…

Compliments and Corrections

[picapp align=”left” wrap=”true” link=”term=jesus&iid=7239568″ src=”http://view4.picapp.com/pictures.photo/image/7239568/jesus-speaking-with-the/jesus-speaking-with-the.jpg?size=500&imageId=7239568&#8243; width=”380″ height=”284″ /]How am I doing?

At one of St Olaf’s workshops on move-in day, a speaker mentioned that St Olaf students are encouraged to be in close relationship with their professors so they know how they’re doing in the class. Unlike high school, homework assignments are rarely turned in for grading, tests are infrequent–usually only a mid-term and final– so to know how they’re progressing, students must be in dialogue with their professors.  Relationship is an important piece in the educational experience at St Olaf.  Communication and relationship are integral parts of the culture.

Does the same concept apply to my life in a spiritual sense?  Am I in regularly checking in with the Teacher of Life to see how I’m doing?  Do I take time to pray, ask and listen for feedback?

When He speaks

When Jesus speaks, do I hear what He says or do I hear what I interpret Him to say?

If He has words of correction, do I hear them or dismiss them?  When warned that I’m not “getting” the coursework, do I shrug and focus elsewhere or do I hunker down, grab the Bible, call a friend wise in His ways and take a close look in the spiritual mirror?

Ugh, I’m a shrugger…no wonder His Hand of correction is so busy in my life.

What about when I get a Divine Thumbs up?  Just like compliments from people, I struggle to receive His “well done”–I don’t believe He is speaking to me.  Instead, I think of how I miss the mark. I do not receive His praise.

What if college students dismiss a professor’s correction or praise, if they do not listen to feedback? Or, instead, what if they interpret it to say what they want to believe (insert “I’m an ‘A’ student, I’m doing fine!” when the prof shakes her head and wags her finger).   Would personal spin win the day instead of what is true? Could trust be established in such a relationship?  Would such students even desire a relationship with their prof?

Tests

By shrugging at praise and correction, I resign myself to knowing how I’m doing only when a test comes along.

Life quizzes happen all the time: where will I let my heart wander in this situation?  Where will my mind meditate?  What will I say?  How will I react?  Will I get defensive or pray for direction?  Will I ask God to use me instead of doing or saying what I think is best?  How will I spend my free time?  How will I respond to this call for help?  Will I ask God to help me see this person as He sees her or will I default into my opinion?

Full blown tests, though, they’re less frequent.  When a big nasty lands in my lap what is my response?  Do I look to God or do I start screaming at another?  Do I ask for heavenly perspective or do I drop into despair?  Do I ask for Divine Direction or do I grab the chain saw and cut down beautiful oaks to forge my way through? Do I pause and pray or do I hammer away with blame or rage?

My response is closely linked with whether I’ve done the coursework, passed the quizzes– whether I’ve learned lessons along the way that prep me for the big exam.

I need to pay closer attention to those daily quizzes if I’m gonna have a shot at passing an exam.  Maybe I should be more grateful for the little daily annoyances.  Maybe I need to see the blessing in them instead of calling them “annoyances”.

And then there is the Quiz Giver, the One trying to help me learn His Way.  Can I muster the courage to visit the Prof and ask how I’m doing?  Am I willing to hear His Evaluation of my progress?  Dare I ask Jesus to help me better prepare for life’s Tests?  Would I be willing to take a pre-Test or engage in more daily lesson work so my heart would reflect His Heart when a blast from hell hits me hard?

I can do nothing

All I know is that without Him, I can do nothing…nothing according to His will, according to what is best. Whether I’ll let Him live within me, move through me, whether I’ll be surrendered enough to get out of the way and let Him work–maybe that is the moment by moment test that enables me to sit through the big exam…

Will my “yes” to Him be perpetual?  Will I listen and follow where He leads?  Will I trust Him even when He leads me into places unsafe?

Real Relationship

This is close communication, real relationship–student receptive to correction and praise, reorienting as He requests, affirmed to the core at Jesus’s pat on the back. Professor and student enjoying each other, in step, together in love, moving forward through all life’s lessons, all life’s exams.

9/11, Haiti–where wind sings

September 11th: 9/11.

September 12th: Haiti earthquake, 9 months later.

Death.  Both dealt death.  Heartache and remembrance lingers.  People pause and honor, people pause and pray.

On a breezy day last week, I stood underneath the chime tower at St Olaf College (click for virtual audio/visual tour).  Then I sat underneath it, then I settled in–the sound was enchanting, soothing.  A girl laid  on her back beneath it, looked up through her camera viewer and took photos.  A man entered its space, held up his cell phone and made an audio recording. People meandered in, slowed and then stopped.  It is holy space, a space for listening, a space where wind sings.

Today, I came across a 3 minute mpr audio recording of the chimes with an explanation that the tower was erected in 2003 in remembrance of students who died while attending St Olaf.  The chimes–tuned to the key of D, the key of Beautiful Savior–are a memorial.  How fitting, how beautiful…

In keeping with the spirit of their making, maybe this weekend we can let them sing across this nation, even across the globe.  As the wind breezes through, come with me and listen.  Listen and remember, listen and pray. Remember those who died 9/11 and 1/12.  Pray for those who remain, who mourn, who suffer.

The community of Taize offers a prayer each month for the survivors of the Haiti earthquake.  Fittingly, this month’s prayer reaches beyond Haiti–it reaches toward all who remember and pray, all who are burdened by loss and chaos.

Jesus, light of our hearts, ever since your resurrection you keep coming to us. Wherever we are, you are always waiting for us. And you tell us: “Come to me, all who are overburdened, and you will find rest.”*

As the wind sings, Jesus waits, Jesus beckons.  Listen and remember, listen and pray, listen and come…

*copyright © Ateliers et Presses de Taizé, 71250 Taizé, France. Permission granted to reprint.  Entire prayer for September 12, 2010 posted at: http://www.taize.fr/en_article10941.html

Adoration Today

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Every Thursday morning I spend an hour in a Catholic chapel, they call it Adoration.  I sit in silence and pray, read, pray, read, pray, pray, pray.  Today, I randomly opened books situated nearby. What I read stuck, so I share it here…

I will restore you to health
and heal your wounds,’
declares the LORD
Jeremiah 30:17 (yep, the Bible)

The prayer-book bookmark sat at March 17th,  St Patrick’s Day.  The brief bio said: Patrick started evangelism of Ireland at my age and in 33 years he converted the entire island–peacefully, no bloodshed.  He died at the age of 77 having brought Jesus Christ to those who ripped him from his homeland as a teenager and made him their slave.  In the Middle Ages, Ireland was known as the Island of Saints as many churches and monasteries bejeweled its landscape–what a tribute to what God can do through one surrendered soul willing to reach toward those who wound his heart, steal his young adulthood. (pic is of the mountain where St Patrick shepherded as a slave)

A devotional book of “words” from God opened to a page that spoke of how God wants families to stay together, how both mothers and fathers are responsible for the well-being of the children, how mothers can’t bring what fathers bring and fathers can’t bring what mothers bring–children need both parents.  Some don’t grow up, some stay children and refuse to take responsibility, they harm their own children.  Parents are responsible for the moral and physical well-being of their kids and when a spouse threatens that, it is permissible to leave the spouse or remove the child from harms way.  Protect your children.

Just before leaving…

A hand on the shoulder from a fellow pray-er, asking how I’m doing.  She knows my struggle–some Thursdays we talk, others we don’t.  “It’s really hard right now” is all I can muster, as tears well up.  She rubs my shoulder and assures me she is praying and that things will get better in God’s time.  I believe her.  She takes her seat, I grab a tissue for the well is spilling over.  I cannot see.