The view outside my window is one that is seared on my memory. The way the tall evergreen in the background is partially covered by the pine tree and the pane of the window creates a frame- like a perfect picture. I had dreams of this view, long before I was here. The saffron carpet from just a few weeks ago has given way to naked branches of winter, shuddering in the wind, their canopy of shade lost to the gusts. And today, the first white snowflakes grazed my cheek. I had to pause to make sure I saw them and then to my utter delight, I felt their delicious tingle on my face. For whatever reason though, once I'm past the first snow, winter fills me with bleakness, mourning and reminds me of things dying. (Morbid, right?) Spring fills me with joy, hope and a feeling of well-being, after months of cold, despair and hibernation. It's like my soul goes into hiding after the first snow and then at some point when the sun starts to shine a little stronger and the wind doesn't bluster on so much, I feel a slight thaw. My hearts starts to warm. This happens every year, but this year, after struggling so much to make my life springtime again, the tentacles of winter have grasped me rather ruthlessly. But... as cliche as it sounds, life is so much more beautiful after a long winter of emptiness, of barrenness, of loss, of pain, of nakedness (of the soul).
And now, as the chill closes in, I remember how far I've come and how far I have yet to go. And so, I return to the everlasting arms who know perfect peace, who know strength and can surround and protect from any storm. My faith is the only thing that has remained and so why should I doubt it now? Rebuilding takes the strongest of hearts. Moving on is only challenging when one keeps looking back. Growth is only possibly after a long period of dormancy. So... again, it is time to move forward with small baby steps, knowing that the answers and the change will continue to come if sought after with a pure desire for transformation.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Hemmed In
Hemmed In
Why did God curse Eve with loneliness and heartache, an emptiness that nothing would be able to fill? Wasn't her life going to be hard enough out there in the world, banished from the Garden that was her true home, her only home, never able to return? It seems unkind. Cruel, even.
He did it to save her. For as we all know personally, something in Eve's heart shifted at the fall. Something sent its roots down deep into her soul - and ours - that mistrust of God's heart, that resolution to find life on our own terms. So God has to thwart her. In love, he has to block her attempts until, wounded and aching; she turns to him and him alone for her rescue.
Therefore I will block her path with thorn bushes;
I will wall her in so she cannot find her way.
She will chase after her lovers but not catch them;
she will look for them but not find them.
Hosea 2:6-7
Jesus has to thwart us too - thwart our self-redemptive plans, our controlling and our hiding, thwart the ways we are seeking to fill the ache within us. Otherwise, we would never fully turn to him for our rescue. Oh, we might turn to him for our "salvation," for a ticket to heaven when we die. We might turn to him even in the form of Christian service, regular church attendance, a moral life. But inside, our heart remains broken and captive and far from the One who can help us.
And so you will see the gentle, firm hand of God in a woman's life hemming her in. Wherever it is we have sought life apart from him, he disrupts our plans, our "way of life" which is not life at all.
Captivating- John and Stasi Elderidge
He did it to save her. For as we all know personally, something in Eve's heart shifted at the fall. Something sent its roots down deep into her soul - and ours - that mistrust of God's heart, that resolution to find life on our own terms. So God has to thwart her. In love, he has to block her attempts until, wounded and aching; she turns to him and him alone for her rescue.
Therefore I will block her path with thorn bushes;
I will wall her in so she cannot find her way.
She will chase after her lovers but not catch them;
she will look for them but not find them.
Hosea 2:6-7
Jesus has to thwart us too - thwart our self-redemptive plans, our controlling and our hiding, thwart the ways we are seeking to fill the ache within us. Otherwise, we would never fully turn to him for our rescue. Oh, we might turn to him for our "salvation," for a ticket to heaven when we die. We might turn to him even in the form of Christian service, regular church attendance, a moral life. But inside, our heart remains broken and captive and far from the One who can help us.
And so you will see the gentle, firm hand of God in a woman's life hemming her in. Wherever it is we have sought life apart from him, he disrupts our plans, our "way of life" which is not life at all.
Captivating- John and Stasi Elderidge
Thursday, December 2, 2010
A Life I Thought I Knew
So, I went back to a place from my past this past week for Thanksgiving. I was very trepidatious about going back to this place, because it was one that was marred with grief, loss, pain, suffering and a whole slew other chaotic emotions that I still am working through. It was at the request of a nine year old boy that I went and for that reason and that reason alone, I am glad I went. His parents never told him I was coming, so when I showed up on the doorstep, he was amazed that I was there. And that's how it should be. Children should know their dreams can come true in tangible ways. It's something I never really had and always longed for; I vowed the children in my life would be able to dream and gainfully grasp their dreams. But I digress...
While I was at this place, I was careful to not visit places that had painful memories or would make me think of certain people or specific memories. I wanted to make sure this visit was about love, friendship, caring, and new memories- all the things that it hadn't been when I left. And it was. They were some of the sweetest days I've had in the last two years. It was like I had never left. I fit back into this family like I had always been there. There was no awkwardness or confusion- just puzzle pieces finally together after months of searching. If a person ever feels unloved, he or she should spend time with children. They are the truest version of unconditional love one can find on this earth.
I am so glad I went, but coming home to where I now call home has been a difficult transition. And when I say difficult, I mean that I have not felt this much pain or confusion or aching in many months. Today, I finally figured it out. After days of listless misunderstandings in my head and a knot in my stomach, I finally figured it out. My life there is gone. Completely and wholly gone. The person I was when I was there is gone and I'm glad for it, but to know that a life I loved and created was finished, brought a fresh pain and ache to my heart. I'm not sure I'm explaining it well or if I even understand why this concept was the one that brought me to tears when I identified it. But it is simply one more loss that I know I have to accept and shoulder and move on. But oh! What agony! To accept that I have lost so much! I know I have lost a lot and understand that from day to day, but this was a smack upside the head- a painful reminder of just how much is gone from before.
And the thing that is so odd, is that I fit into life there without any trouble. I still knew my way around; I still saw familiar faces; I still felt like life was worth living there. It felt like it was my life. It fit. But then as soon as I arrived home, there was a void for a life I used to have that doesn't exist anymore. Certain pieces of my life are still there- such as the people I knew, but still...
So... I write about it, because that's what I do, knowing that the pain will pass if time is given enough time. I write to try and make sense of it all, because it's the only way that the emotions actually make any sort of sense.
While I was at this place, I was careful to not visit places that had painful memories or would make me think of certain people or specific memories. I wanted to make sure this visit was about love, friendship, caring, and new memories- all the things that it hadn't been when I left. And it was. They were some of the sweetest days I've had in the last two years. It was like I had never left. I fit back into this family like I had always been there. There was no awkwardness or confusion- just puzzle pieces finally together after months of searching. If a person ever feels unloved, he or she should spend time with children. They are the truest version of unconditional love one can find on this earth.
I am so glad I went, but coming home to where I now call home has been a difficult transition. And when I say difficult, I mean that I have not felt this much pain or confusion or aching in many months. Today, I finally figured it out. After days of listless misunderstandings in my head and a knot in my stomach, I finally figured it out. My life there is gone. Completely and wholly gone. The person I was when I was there is gone and I'm glad for it, but to know that a life I loved and created was finished, brought a fresh pain and ache to my heart. I'm not sure I'm explaining it well or if I even understand why this concept was the one that brought me to tears when I identified it. But it is simply one more loss that I know I have to accept and shoulder and move on. But oh! What agony! To accept that I have lost so much! I know I have lost a lot and understand that from day to day, but this was a smack upside the head- a painful reminder of just how much is gone from before.
And the thing that is so odd, is that I fit into life there without any trouble. I still knew my way around; I still saw familiar faces; I still felt like life was worth living there. It felt like it was my life. It fit. But then as soon as I arrived home, there was a void for a life I used to have that doesn't exist anymore. Certain pieces of my life are still there- such as the people I knew, but still...
So... I write about it, because that's what I do, knowing that the pain will pass if time is given enough time. I write to try and make sense of it all, because it's the only way that the emotions actually make any sort of sense.
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