I Want to Return

 

I want to return to that place—

the comfort and ignorance of childhood,

the rooftops, the trees, haylofts, and attics,

the fast river and railroad tracks that led nowhere and everywhere,

green fields and barbed wire fences, and salt licks for sampling.

Free days.

I remember the scent of my father, the oil and hay, stale manure, and Old Spice.

In church, I explored weathered hands with blackened nails,

sucking Lifesavers while adults thought about Jesus.

I remember mum in floral house dresses with sensible shoes,

baking cookies, tender crusted pies, and fried bologna we thought was a treat,

berry picking and chauffeuring to Jeffrey’s Lake for a muddy swim with leeches.

Free days, happy days—at least for a child.

I want to return to that place before the angry shouts of opposition parties,

the heated debates about border, fentanyl, and sex trafficking,

the hot tears and anger with mass shootings and invasion robberies.

To the place with unlocked doors and no coded security systems,

to the place where every neighbor was a friend and helper and

not suspected of being on some sex offender’s registry.

Free days, ignorant days.

But there is no going back, I guess;

there is no unknowing and unseeing what the world has become,

and we would desperately protect our own,

hold off the darkness as long as possible; but

somehow it seems we have dragged our little ones along to this troubled place.

But I would return if I could.

 

 

The Limping Church Triumphant

L-ife is to be lived with love as our mandate; but too often,

I-maginations are soiled with the cares and constraints of bolstering up this

M-ansion here, rather than the one

P-prepared for us. Wishing to stay and wishing to go

I-s for those closest to heaven’s door and

N-ot for those distracted with position and purpose,

G-rounded, it seems, in earthly things. And we wound each other with

C-areless words; and we

H-arm the weak and disarm the strong, without

U-nderstanding we are servants one of another, chosen not by destiny but

R-edeemed and uniquely

C-hosen by Christ. He is the One we serve—not ourselves—with grace and

H-umility, forgiving one another, seeking each one’s best.

T-herefore, as God’s people, let us clothe ourselves with compassion; let peace

R-ule our hearts, forgiving all grievances, responding

I-n love as Christ has loved us,

U-nfettered by ambition and pride and blind passion.

M-aster of all, Lord of Your church, it would seem our faith

P-aralysis is not a reflection of You but our

H-alf-hearted devotion, our crippling sins.

A-rise in our hearts; revive your chosen ones that we might

N-ot be so earthbound, but set our hearts on

T-hings above. This is my broken prayer.

***

Colossians 3
Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. 2 Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. 3 For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. 4 When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

5 Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. 6 Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. 7 You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. 8 But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips.

9 Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices 10 and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. 11 Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.

12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. 13 Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

14 And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

15 Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. 16 Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. 17 And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Seeing with New Eyes

 

I had cataract surgery done a week and a half ago. I chickened out last year–something about a knife near the eyes bit! But I was getting desperate, so I did not read any contraindications and just went for it. I had not been able to drive at night for over 2 years, and even daily activities were becoming a strain. I probably should have asked more questions, though, because rather than a piece of cake, this “routine” surgery was more like liver and onions–more uncomfortable than I thought it would be.

I am very chemically sensitive, so having gotten through the procedure with fairly minor and endurable hiccups, the worst part became the reaction to the steroid drops which are needed for speedy healing. This is a five-week process, and I have quite some time to go, but I hope the worst is over.

That was the bad and the ugly. The good part is that somebody turned on the lights! Whites are whiter and colors are brighter, not to mention that everything has distinct edges and not fuzzy, ever-changing ones. The green in the traffic light is . . . well, green green! It is almost like a different color. It is not preferred by me to undergo any surgery, but given the positive change in my sight, I think it was worth it!

My eyes are blue blue again. Haven’t been like this since forever! You don’t think about it because the discoloration and hardening happens slowly over time. Even my own photographic work is brighter and more colorful. And I have discovered I am a much better photographer than I thought. 🙂

We don’t become aware of the hardening process that alters so much of what we see because it happens bit by bit, year by year. And only when it cannot be ignored any longer do we even recognize it is something to be dealt with. I am thinking that is kind of like what happens with our hearts. If betrayals and loss, disappointments and disillusionment build up, then over time the hardening becomes something to radically deal with. It interferes with our ability to prosper and see life and mission clearly. But it starts small, and it builds layer upon layer. I am not sure how to prevent that from destroying my joy, but my desire is that I would become aware of the hurts that bind and settle down into my spirit.

May I hold lightly to pain and hold tightly to renewal is my prayer.

Upside-down World

When what was and now is not happens in a wisp of a moment,

when friends become foes, exchanging their trust for biting and isolating words,

then it is plain to see that we are living in an upside-down world.

When conversations meant to break down barriers instead erect the worst kind of walls,

when what I see and what you see suddenly are

oddly at odds

to the vision once shared,

then it is pain to see that we are as much a part of this upside-down world as everyone we have observed from afar. Tut, tut, what a shame it was. And is.

We are in it, of it, and yearning for all to be made right.

What makes it worse is that the reflection is somewhat like what we hope for; but

in its rippling distortion and everchanging color, what’s hoped for seems like some cruel illusion.

Far off, unattainable, yet present enough to hunger the soul.

======================

Proverbs 13:12 (NLT)

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

3-24-18

Have Mercy

Oh, Lord of the broken and heartsick,

of the world weary and tumult tossed,

have mercy.

Oh, Lord of the fractured and failing,

of the wounded and flailing,

have mercy on us.

May our beliefs align with Your truths,

and may our weakness not hinder Your kingdom work

here in this battleground

between earth and heaven,

between the cross and the crown.

Oh, Lord of the blind and beleaguered,

the willing but wanting,

have mercy on us here below.

May our hearts break for the living lost

and our hands be quick to holy tasks

here on this hallowed ground

between world and wonder,

between sacrifice and song.

Oh, Lord, have mercy on us here below we pray.

Once Again

These witchy trees, bare and lifeless, cold and leafless:

One might wonder where life has gone and if all hope is gone,

receded into the dark earth. But

in one moment, that gifted second,

a nub of green sprouts, a speck of promise appears, and the sleeper rises,

stretches to the sky. Renewal happens once again—

from death to life.

That these dormant praises in me would rise again, unchained.

That these sleeping sermons once more would reach my mouth that I may speak of Your wonder,

once again.

These Carnal Threads

I look down at my hands and know that within those tissues and cells, blood is coursing,

coming from,

going to,

minute after minute, circuit upon circuit. But where is my soul in this pink, freckled flesh? Where is my spirit in this troubled, pondering life?

Is the soul hitching a ride on red blood cells as they careen by the white?

Is my spirit holed up in one of my vital organs? My brain, maybe? Concentrated in a command center, overseeing all my worldly cognition. 

Perhaps soul and spirit share space, intertwined in the four chambers of my pulsing heart.

But when the soul is gone, the hands are still there, and even the blood; but what stops really when we say life is gone? As the flesh cools, lying motionless, is the me-part that is really me immediately absent,

or hovering, waiting for further instructions?

It is said to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord, but I am wondering when the absent happens. What changes in that one fragile second to another when what was thought alive is now

dead

and these carnal threads release their hold?

3-9-18

Surrender

Surrender feels like failure.

It feels depressing, like giving up.

There is a darkness to it, a weight to it—the unwilling outmanned, outmaneuvered, surrounded, and pressed to defeat.

Surrender feels like exhaustion.

It feels compressing, like yielding up the last breathless bits of me.  

And yet You call me to this laying down of arms jazz

in exchange for Your loving arms.

And I find that surrender to You is not as much giving up as over—not as much failing as falling into a tender pull,

deference to one more wise and able, after all my best ideas have faltered and failed,

after all my excuses have dried in my mouth,

after all my tears have washed away nothing.

It is the unclenching of a fist, the unmasking of a façade.

It is the baring of a war-torn will, the stripping of all that chokes and hinders.

And I find that surrender to You is not as much like crying “uncle,”

but more like a hallelujah.

Willing To Be Defeated

I used to be cocksure,

willing to trample fragile souls for the sake of being right. And

it hurts to think I was so unlike Your sacrificial kindness, so unlike Your bleeding, selfless truth.

May I be willing to be defeated to win one. May I grow accustomed to embarrassment to at least appear humble as the pride prickles are chiseled away—one by one, by weary one.

My kingdom looks ever dim in the bright hues of Your shining presence—and may all see You

in spite of me.

If I would feed on Your words more than I feed on my need, I would be so much more nourished

with life to give.

A Limping Life

I heard your whisper in the wind, and

I leaned to listen; but

my lisping voice rose rough and rasping, replaying all the shame moments,

the named moments—over and over,

owning their bite.

I glimpsed your face in the green breeze of spring, and

I opened my eyes wide to see and be seen, but

the haze of doubt drifted down like a curtain, so I was unsure of what was there; and

blinking long and hard only tired my eyes,

my heart,

my will.

I put my knee to ground in weakness,

convinced that my limping life would never be anything more than this,

that tears would ever flow; but

you met me there

where

words are soft and

light is clear and

belief is birthed from unbelief.

*****************

Be still and know that I am God. ~Psalm 46:10a

Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. ~Mark 9:24b

Renewal

Renewal always sounds bright and shiny, like a beautifully restored vintage car or a vibrant blossom in the spring bursting from what had looked like a lifeless branch. But the problem with renewal is that something has decayed in order for it to require a new life. So restoration is a good thing. Right?


But renewal comes with a hitch. What is new is chained to what is old. When I walk in fresh ways, my past self is not dismissed like a cast-off piece of clothing. My past is the chain tied around my ankle, reminding me that whatever lies ahead, whatever bright, polished penny-of-life has brought new life and vision, I am only separated from what has gone before by my willingness to step intentionally onto a new path.


Sure there are helps in people and programs. There is spiritual renewal that comes from the supernatural. But as long as I walk in this skin and bone, my whole story is part of me. Deaths, accidents, betrayals, and sufferings, both physical and mental, do not suddenly and totally disappear in the presence of some mysterious regeneration of self or circumstance. Glass-half-empty does not of its own accord morph into glass-half-full. Renewal is the gritty process of intentionally looking to what is ahead. It is the planting of one foot in front of the other, heading toward a brighter prospect. It is the recognition that what is really real will become actually real when faith becomes sight.


In faith, I may be a new creature and all things may become new in some spiritual sense; but in truth, renewal here requires the commitment to press on in weakness, not forgetting the other chapters of my story, but putting them in the grander perspective of the whole story.


“Now I know in part; then I shall fully know, even as I am fully known.” ~I Cor. 13:12b          

The You That's Me

There is a grieving for opportunities past, opportunities lost. It’s like the world moved on when you just stepped off momentarily to take a quick look—and it’s gone. Not the world,

but the world you thought you knew.

There is a grieving for the identity you had carefully (or maybe not so carefully) nurtured—okay, it kind of just happened,

but the happening seemed real and sure until one day you woke, and you realized you are not important anymore. Well, maybe you weren’t before, but at least you thought you were. Didn’t the world somehow revolve around you?

You are patronized that you can do some things well—and at your age!

When you are young, those things you do well are fuel for an ever expanding future—the first step to a waiting, dazzling world, begging for your grand entrance with its greatest hits.

But those same skills and gifts at 60-something are quaint, anomalies in a fading body and aching mind.

You have had to step aside for all the young, pushing from the rear—

because the utilitarian you is now seen as an impediment to the dreamers closing in.

And you are known more for your aches than your art—

more for your halting step than your racing mind.

Wisdom is underrated by the young; but

for all you have lost, that you have indeed gained,

but there is something muddled in this system when you finally have a substantive message but have lost your audience.

**********************

II Corinthians 4: 7-8, 16-18:

We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.

We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.

 That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. 

For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! 

So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.

Of the Desperate

Brushing the robe, halting hesitant,

two fingers barely touched the hem—

desperation

bleeding pain and disappointment for years and tears.

It was a desperate touch, a face-to-ground, weighted-down touch.

And in the moment He knew, and I knew.

In the jostle of swarming feet, flying dust and flailing pleas,

insignificant me,

me on the fringe,

gripped the fringe of his garment; and in one moment, the tiny thread that held me tethered to life and hope became sacred bonds of the everlasting,

and I was healed. 

    

To Your Loving Life

Posted on May 4, 2012by apronheadlilly

Another morning is here to lay at Your feet–
all the pain and thought traffic of this world.
From weak hands to Your strong loving life,
I unburden myself, unfasten my load.
In my gnawing weakness,
You are strong in me.
In my inability and short-sightedness,
You work creatively to make
all things right.

This is what other people go through . . .

Posted on April 20, 2012by apronheadlilly

This is what other people go through. These are other families’ struggles. You put them on a prayer list, and you fervently pray

. . . at least a few times. Well, maybe once. It’s an obligatory function of faithwalking. But urgency fades with the pressing in of life; alarm is absorbed in the myriad needs that crowd our days.

We don’t mean to be apathetic.

And after all . . . these are people outside our circle. These are other people’s parents, other people’s children, other people’s friends.

They are not as gifted as our own, not as thoroughly instructed, not as thoroughly graced.

This doesn’t happen to people who do things right—who make the sacrifices, who make the tough choices, who sow good seed.                  Does it?

What can relationship be without this reaching out in desperation—this frantic desire for a reversal of hell-breathed decisions?

How will we talk about meaningless things in a meaningful way, and all the while the heart hears scratching nails as on a chalkboard, blood pulsing in the ears?

Do we just give up . . . give in? Surrender?

Does surrender look like truce, abandonment, painful silences—with rock hard parameters placed around the talk that really matters? Or can surrender and warfare comingle?

Indwelling Spirit, left as our guide, our comfort, our power, I’m feeling hopeless here. I need Your presence, Your intrusion, pushing aside my tears and fear. I need You to sigh through me, pray through me, love through me. I need Your gleam of strong hope, because I am unable to conjure up any on my own.

It is easier when it is another’s loss.

Your God is Too Small

Posted on April 15, 2012by apronheadlilly

 

Your god is too small—
this science, this rational-dependent mind, this earthbound philosophy.
Since when did such a god ever come close to redeeming,
ever come close to blessing?
Does DNA love me? Does nuclear fission long for my relationship?
How many prayers has biology answered,
and how many musical compositions have risen unbidden, undirected,
from tectonic activity and volcanic explosions?
Marvelous observations! Yes.
Marvelous discoveries. Certainly.
But if this is all there is, if this is how big your god is,
what a small god.
What a small pitiable god, this science.
Your hungering heart is not just chemicals and firing synapses.
Your weeping eyes are not just lysozome and water.
Open your eyes to the largeness—
to the other.
Beyond the brokenness, beyond the tainted veil, beyond this war zone,
open your eyes to wonder,
to the largeness of Creator.
Listen to the call of Love, wanderer, both bruised and blind:
your god is too small.

 

The Pain of God

Posted on April 6, 2012by apronheadlilly

Blood-red, crimson poured, bruised and slashed,
cross-crisscrossed, tissue, nerve and sinew,
Sacred threads bleeding, “Father, forgive them— ”

Thorn and nail, sin and curse,
opposing timbers track and soak rivulets, tears ruby-red,
dripping, dripping.

Heaving heavy, breaths sucked searing,
rising, falling, out of joint, lots cast, seamless prize,
a Savior’s scream, “My God, my God, why— ”

Creeping clouds, shake the thunder,
separated sun, temple veil top to bottom, human veil rent,
ripping, ripping.

Pale, drained dry,
a Spirit’s surrender: “It is finished.”
____________________
Check out a great Easter weekend post from my friend Joe.
http://joedallas.com/blog/index.php/2012/04/06/random-ramblings-39-tears-of-remembrance-on-good-friday/

Alone . . .

Posted on March 30, 2012by apronheadlilly

 

Today I passed you on the road. Our eyes didn’t meet through the tint, but I caught the outline of your face as you whisked by. What thoughts were you thinking in your shiny new car? Are you a real person like me, blood and bone, or only an actor in a Truman-type world—a prop for the life I think I’m living? Did you go home to your cozy suburban two-story where laundry and dirty dishes await? Just like me? I wonder if you care about me. This “other” that shares your space, approximates your life, almost touching but not.

My house is on a street with about twenty-five others. Every one has a sycamore out front and a dog in the back. My house is in a neighborhood with about two hundred others, in a city of many more, street upon street, warp and woof. We are many but alone. We are community but not communal, living in isolated bubbles, protected from anything real and vital. We share common roads but no common history.

We shop at the same markets and buy the same goods. Our flesh glides by each other granting slight neighborly smiles, but distance is maintained by inches. A force keeps us apart, repelled like same ends of a magnet. How can we be so many, so close, yet so alone?

Once in awhile real contact is made—a brief moment of connection, a fire flicker. But more often than not the circle closes in, the fire extinguishes, and we go our own ways. But what is the value of our own ways if we live our days in Solomon moments, meaningless steps on a treadmill, caring less and less about those around us and more and more about our protected space.

A neighbor almost died last year. I didn’t know. She had alienated us over the years with unkind words and tall fences. When I heard, we had a talk. I took her some homemade bread. Another neighbor tried to commit suicide. I didn’t know. I heard through the rumor mill months after the fact. She still doesn’t know that I know.

We use city water that’s pumped into our homes—a shared resource. But we seem to suck up our own private wells of comfort in times of suffering. I wonder if it’s enough?

In my house, we have a thriving ant community. They mysteriously appear from nowhere to plague me with their sheer numbers. I spray and kill, yet their presence never seems diminished. What’s strange about these ants is that they carry off their dead. What do they do with fragments of bodies?

Sometimes I think they must be cannibals, and in taking home fallen brothers slathered in lemon fresh cleaner, they guarantee a feast for the folks who have kept the home fires burning. Other times, I wonder if with their strong sense of colony and community they take their dead home to honor brave fallen foragers complete with little markers, tears, and eulogies. Do they feel the loss of one as the loss of all?

In faraway places, there are tribal communities whose lives are interconnected because of their dependence on one another for life itself. Their survival depends on community. They live and move together and share a common story passed down to wee ones. I wonder if our wealth and technological advances are such an improvement to their quality of life. We might have fuller bellies but emptier hearts.

It’s not that they are the noble savages and we should wear loincloths and adopt all their ways. They have other deep dark needs, but their lifestyle imposed upon them by geography and physical poverty has put them in a position of needing one another. Even with our bank accounts and cars and houses, we need one another, too. Just as badly. But in our affluence, we have lost that critical sense of need. There are just too many fences.



Today I passed you in the aisle. Our eyes didn’t meet. You glanced beyond and through me, intent on something else. Are you a real Christian like me, or merely a prop in this body-life I think I’m experiencing? I wonder if you care about me—this “other” that shares your pew, shares your worship, shares a ritualistic hug, almost touching but not. Are you afraid of knowing who I really am? Or are you afraid of being known?

We are called brothers and sisters, family. But it feels like there’s been a divorce. We walk as aliens—not only as aliens in this world, but also as aliens in Christ’s church. We are community without communion. We worship in isolated bubbles, protected from real and vital fellowship. We share a common history but no common roads. We are many but we walk alone. As it is in the neighborhood, so it is in the church. We are alone in a crowd.

People need people. There is a sickness in isolation that infects the mind, the body, and the spirit. There is a weakness, a degeneration, in self-centered individualism. If we have no vital connection to the church, how can we grow in strength of faith and character? How can we embrace the joy that comes with a sense of belonging? If we have no genuine connection to our community how can we love our neighbor as we love ourselves? How can we earn the right to offer them life in Christ except in desperate kamikaze runs that put “spiritual” notches on our belts?

If we continue, out of fear, to build more fences instead of tearing down old ones, if we do not risk rejection by expanding the borders of our lives, we will continue to walk in longing and loss. Alone.

Of Moons and Me

Posted on March 14, 2012by apronheadlilly

 

A bleached disc, pocked and golden,
friend of lovers, harvesters, and sky-watchers,
constant in your silent ascent,
round and round a synchronous path,
you grant the same old singing face.
     Tide-puller and terrestrial-tracker,
     visible by day and dazzling by night,
     second brightest orb in the sky,
     you have no light to call your own
     except what you are given,
     except what you reflect of the noble blazing sun

. . . and thus should I.

God’s Little Helper

Posted on March 13, 2012by apronheadlilly

 

“If you confess your sins, I’ll be faithful and just to relate your sins and proclaim to all your unrighteousness.” Mmm, something doesn’t sound quite right. I should look that up.

I could confess my own sins, but it would be much more beneficial to confess yours. I might be blind to my own tiny wee blind spots, but yours are so glaring, I almost feel compelled to share them. Let me pray about it. Wait. Ooh, I think I feel a peace.

It’s not that I think I’m so much better than you; it’s just that, well you know, when someone is stumbling so horribly, I’m supposed to be there to help pick them up. I’m just trying to help.

I want you to know that I laid out your hardships for the whole Bible Study group so we could uphold you in prayer. And we did indeed do that, after the girls recovered from the shock. I guess they weren’t expecting it from you. After all, up until now you’ve seemed so … well … holy. They promised to put your name on every prayer chain in the area. I know it will be an encouragement to you that so many of the faithful are diligently spreading the news about your desperate need.

I used to have issues a long long time ago, but I learned over the years that if the Lord doesn’t immediately deal with them, miraculously I mean, then you just stuff those babies down further and further and pretty soon they disappear. After a while you never even notice the hardness. It becomes sort of like a firm foundation that the rest of my victorious life rests upon. Thank you, Jesus!

I hope my testimony is a blessing to you. It’s always helpful to have a shining example leading way out in front. As long as you don’t continue to stumble too badly, there’s even a possibility you might catch up some day.

Well, what are we going to do about you? I must say I’m a little shocked that you resent my “interference.” This is my ministry, sister. How dare you label me a backbiter and a gossip? I never gossip. My mission in life is just to declare the truth, and if you are so ashamed of that, then I question whether or not you are really saved. The truth will set you free, you know. Don’t you want to be set free?

Well, I don’t have time for this. I’m late for prayer meeting, and I needed to get there early; I have a very long list this week. Leadership is a great burden, but I accept the responsibility willingly. It is my joy to help spread a little conviction around and love, too, if I have the time. We are His hands and feet after all.
Try to get hold of yourself. Stop sobbing and have a little faith. Maybe, if it’s not too late after I get back, I’ll stop by and we can have another little chat. Would you like that?