Thirty-Two

Today I turn thirty-two. Thirty-two years hold a lot of memories, some good, some bad; some incredibly hard and sad. The years hold memories full of laugh-until-you-cry hilarity, of wonder that humbles and hushes one. Some memories are rich with tender sweetness, with glory unspeakable and beauty that can only be felt deep inside.

I marvel at the pressed-down, shaken-together, overflowing gifts I have been given in thirty-two years. They come in a variety of persons and a myriad of heart shapes. They come in funny little packages, wriggling and red all over, crying their first cry. They come in meals and conversations around tables of all sorts and sizes; on dorm-room floors and grassy bowls, under stars and up rocky paths. They come in sacred moments of stillness, in loud hullos and hugs in airports, and in all the vows I've heard spoken before God's altar. They come in overwhelming swells of music that raise one's heart to God, and in unexpected finances taking one across the Ocean. I have been given the gift of two ears and a lot of time to listen to story after story, sigh after sigh, laugh upon laugh, and so many words of truth and encouragement.

To enumerate the gifts, sheer gifts, I have been given would take many trees and all the books they would make. If I look at just one of my family members or friends, I could write pages about all that we have shared, experienced, or thought through together. Each person God has put in my life is a story of their own, and I love that our stories intertwine—even when some of our together-story has had rough parts. God has used even those sharp, painful, unkind things to shape me—and often a repaired relationship is even stronger because we had to work together (under God) to bring about that healing and repair.

Thirty-two has dawned bright with Colorado blue skies. It has dawned with hope—hope that whatever steps God has for me to take this year, they will bring me closer to Him. Whether I stay right where I am and seek to change, or whether the road takes me on a new adventure, change inside is necessary. Ever since my dad had cancer and other unexpected, devastating things have happened in our family, I have been different. But it hasn't been a good different. I have, in fact, been indifferent. Unconcerned. Uncaring. As if all of my joy got eaten up by a different kind of cancer and betrayal.

For a year or two I had friends tell me I was different, not myself, etc. I felt it—felt like I had turned into someone else, someone I didn't like. Someone who didn't have time or energy to be filled with joy, to simply revel in each day. I miss being that person. I miss being full of vivacity. In the process of recovery, I got sidetracked by a couple of relationships that inhibited my healing. I have prolonged my indifference. Because of that, I told a friend the other day how excited I was to turn thirty-two and put the past three or four years behind me. He didn't ask me why, he instead asked me what I loved about the last year. I began jotting down a short list of highlights, which burgeoned into a hefty paragraph or two. Thirty-one was filled with wonderful people, new experiences (cross-country skiing, for one), beautiful views, the weddings of my very best friends, a lot of prayer, growth inside and professionally, lessons learned at great expense, and some really honest moments.

One of those honest times birthed some some healing that is ongoing. It opened my eyes to a truth I didn't know was true about myself—I feel like everyone thinks I am inadequate because I think I'm inadequate. I spent a lot of thirty-one focussing on myself and my needs, because I've been in recovery mode. I still am, but recovery mode doesn't mean focussing on myself. Healing doesn't come from myself. It comes from God. I want to know God and pursue Him single-heartedly, single-mindedly. I have felt warped and drained by passive aggressive people and by work many times in the last year—my mind divided and scattered. I have felt crushed by the mound of paid and unpaid work I had on my plate. I even felt exhausted by my dear friends, when it seemed like every evening was full and I had nothing left to give. My thoughts have been flighty and undisciplined. I have been living without purposefully sought, well-invested margin for far too long. I have been unstructured in my down time because I think I deserve a break.

Freedom doesn't mean a lack of structure or boundaries, however. Freedom means utilising the boundaries I have been given to become more fully who I am. I am created in God's image. How can I be fully myself, or myself well, if I don't know God well? Not knowing more about Him by reading books, per se, but knowing HIM, like I know my family's inside jokes and habits and moods... I want to know God like that, and so much more than that. Socrates said, "Know thyself," and he was right, it is important that we know ourselves. But we cannot possibly know ourselves if we don't know the One whom we image. We image. To say that make the noun a verb. We image. By being, existing, we image God. And yet we image Him even more clearly in certain ways—caring unselfishly, loving what is good, true, and beautiful—and sharing it with others in a variety of ways; by being single-minded, by being truthful and kind.

Thirty-one wasn't horrible. In fact, it wrapped up more perfectly than I could have asked. The week began with dancing, I got to host a couple of dinners with friends, there was a helpful breakfast conversation with my supervisor and co-worker, I caught up all my looming projects, editing is full-but-doable, and I spent last evening in earnest thought and conversation with a friend whose zeal for the Lord and for life breathed fresh insight and life into me. And much tea was drunk yesterday. So. Much. Tea! And all manner of things are well...

And all manner of things shall be made well. Thirty-two is just a number. But I hope and pray it is a number that reminds me of the year in which I became single-minded. The year I began to know God more deeply than I could have dared to ask or dream...and that I get to live the dream.

Resuscitated by the Arts

Does music ever make you see? Does it break your heart, spilling it hot over your lashes? Does music become your voice when you cannot find the words to express your grief, sorrow, or hope? Music paints vistas on the mind—sunsets over mountains, starlight over tawny grasses bent by the breeze, snow on trees, russet leaves kicking up in the dirt lane. Certain songs carry a mood with them—autumn fog and rain, driving under sunny skies, poignant sadness, golden morning light. Music breathes life into weary souls, stands us on our feet, bows our heads—it even gives us earthbound creatures wings. Music heals. Music speaks what we cannot, when we cannot. Music opens the storeroom of our memories. Music flies us beyond ourselves into the great, wide world and the space beyond.

When I see a musician who is intent at his craft, playing for pure pleasure, joy wells up in me—and a bit of envy, too. I wish I could make a heart soar. . . or sing. . .or see. Though I cannot express myself in music, I know the intense concentration, the pleasure in my craft. It happens when I write sometimes. At other times, writing is an exercise and discipline, like musical scales.

Every craft has its learning season, disciplines, and the ability to sweep the craftsman or artist into its heart and flow so deeply that time passes without notice. But what I have noticed is that various crafts and arts influence one another. Music and stories often inspire me to paint, draw, or write. The visual arts encourage poetry or music to flow out of me. Poetry makes me want to be alive, to attend.

I have a deep respect for my friends who are writers, musicians, woodworkers, leather artisans, weavers, gardeners, and embroiderers. Their words and music and crafts all breathe life into my heart, into my veins. They remind me that Beauty comes in many forms and fills life with pleasure. The time poured into a craft is a form of tangible love given to others. 

I treasure my pincushion made from cloth designed and woven by one sweet friend, a wooden box carefully fitted and joined by another, words crafted into letters, stories, and poems by many dear folks, and pen-and-ink drawings of dragons and pictograms by yet another friend. I carry in my heart the deep strains of the cello, the lilting violin, the steady piano, the magical guitar picking I have been privy to over the years. And I delight in my friend’s whimsical illustrations and story of an island of creatures that must be saved again and again by one very patient saviour, who constantly goes unthanked.

My friends are a talented set, whether through the arts mentioned above, or the art of homemaking, hospitality, and keeping beauty in their homes and hearts. The creativity of God overflows in so many directions from people, it is rather amazing. And it breathes, breathes life into others in some way or another. Creativity is constantly begetting, expanding in life and Beauty. Creativity brings wholeness and healing into a world shattered by the Fall. Artisans and craftsmen are healers, then. Agents of God to breathe Beauty and life into others. Creativity gives room for expressing what we feel but cannot name, for expressing love and inclusion. Creativity builds what we all long for so deeply: home.

Wintering Others' Discontent

Dusk is falling all around me, silently painting green leaves a crisp black silhouette against a living grey sky. A planet blinks open its eye, peering at me sitting here in the gathering darkness—alone. Winding down the day with a London Fog, staring at the sky all by one's self may not be ideal for many; yet for me, this is my favourite part of the day. It is cool and quiet, a time of reflection and being.

In the comforting twilight, hiding me from prying eyes—save that of the aforementioned planet—I have time to mull over the conversation I had with a friend recently. He had asked if I was happy where I am, as so many of my friends are transitioning into relationships, moving away from the ministry where I work, or going on adventures. Owl-like, I blinked at the question. Had I given the impression that I was unhappy or dissatisfied with life? No, he simply thought it must get wearing to always be the one plugging along while things happened to everyone else. What did I want more than this 'provincial life?' he questioned.

Should I want something more than enjoying the work of my hands, the leisure I have, the family and friends I have been given, or the home in which I live? Spiritually I want so much more—more holiness, more discipline, more love, more of Jesus. Yet physically and emotionally I am content. Content, not complacent, mind you. My relationships have their ups and downs, there are days I want to run away and get lost in the woods not to find my way out again until starlight—but I still love my life.

Why are people so constantly nagging me to move on, move forward, or to move away? On to what? Away where? What do they think I should be chasing, if not a contented life? What if I like to listen to the footfalls of rain on the leaves or to sit in silence on my front porch? What if I don't want to have someone waiting for me when I get home from my day? I am thankful to come home to a dark, quiet house, ready for me to fill it with soft lights and stillness, or sometimes my friends and family.

Curiosity that must restrain itself from becoming bitterness wells up in me, why do others want to foist their discontentment upon me? I struggle to maintain balance and to have enough solitude in my days and weeks, but my frustration at my lack of discipline does not mean I don't like my job. I might not like how much time it takes away from my mornings, but I like the work that I do. It lies on me to rise earlier so I have more morning to enjoy before tromping to my little mail room. Sometimes I overcommit my evenings, then feel drained or harried because I have not recharged in quiet thanksgiving to the Maker of the stars—but that doesn't mean I need to run off to a new place. I am my own worst enemy—my lack of managing the time I am given frustrates me deeply—but finding a new position at work, moving, or getting married will not fix that. Any of those things would simply sap my time and provide me with a score of more stressful considerations. I must learn discipline and rhythm here and now before I can implement it at any other point in the future.

When I see the source of my frustration—my own failing at discipline—I puzzle over the discontent others have for me. Why hasn't someone snatched you up and married you? they want to know. Maybe because I haven't let them. I enjoy being single, why do I need to pursue something I don't have if I am content with what I do have?

Why don't you try to move up into a different position at work or find a different job? I hear often. Why should I seek a job I'm not suited for—or wouldn't like—when I enjoy the one I have now? More money and benefits are not always worth the mental or emotional strain certain positions bring. I can leave work at work—I can come home without it weighing on my soul. Peace of mind and a flexible schedule that allows me to spend time with those I love are more valuable than the prestige of a bigger title (and the stress such a title brings).

What are you going to do next? someone is always wondering. Live life each day. What are you doing now? I wonder internally.

Don't you want to change the world or go on adventures? That, at least, is a sensible question. I want to influence my sphere of friends and acquaintances with the love and light of Jesus. I want to be hospitable and gracious. I seek to be faithful with the gifts I have been given, whether it is my home, time, words, or material goods. I may not be serving meals to the homeless, but I try to open my front door to my neighbours. Who defines adventures? Does hiking in uncharted snow for miles and seeing an avalanche count? Does scaling a fourteener make the list? How about travelling all over the country because I have friends to visit? And what about the adventures that happen on my front porch? From chasing away black bears to chatting with skunks and squirrels, or watching magnificent lightning storms. I think I have a pretty interesting life.

Maybe I am too easily satisfied. Perhaps the discontentment I hear in the comments others make ought to spur me toward bigger goals, but it does not. I am not inclined to be discontented with life. So many persons have been conditioned by culture to think there is only one way to be content or successful—whether that is always manoeuvring one's way up in the working world, or getting married, or doing new things, or being constantly busy. If those are the things that make one content, why is it that the friends I know who are chasing those goals are so often miserable and dissatisfied?  

I take risks, have friends, go on adventures, enjoy coming home to quiet, and get to sit under a starry sky alone with the night and its Creator. And I like it. The hardest parts of my life are things I inflict upon myself—namely, lack of discipline and love—and the pall of malcontentedness others seem to cast on me in their search for a good and meaningful life. The winter of others' discontent is made glorious by the Son of God—in realising that He does not leave us in the squalor of our sin; in giving thanks for that which is good, even if it is hard. These things bring us to Jesus, shaving off our selves and allowing His likeness to be seen in us.

It can be difficult to meet the discontentment others pour on us with the warmth of the Son's joy. Yet joy is a choice—often in the face of hard, unpleasant, or uncontrollable circumstances. Joy is a choice—even when our fellow Christians are not choosing it, we should. We are free in Jesus to choose to be content in the good we have, rather than to be discontented over what we have not.

Are you a person who freezes others with your discontentment about their life's progress? How can you choose to encourage them where they are instead? Perhaps you are like me, prone to get bitter when someone asks me yet again why I have not moved up the corporate ladder or why I am not married. What do we need to do in order to halt frosty replies with genuinely warm contentment? Most often the answer for me is very simple—though hard to practise: to choose to hold my tongue, to pray for kindness, and to enjoy where I am, even if it confuses others. Now then, this evening, I’m going to enjoy nightfall, cricket songs, and the blesséd silence the slower-by-choice single life permits.

Ring Out!

O God, You know my foolishness;
And my sins are not hidden from You.

Let not those who wait for You, O Lord GOD of hosts, be ashamed because of me;

Let not those who seek You be confounded because of me, O God of Israel.

~ Psalm 69:5-6

 Let not those who wait for You...be ashamed because of me. These words lodged in my mind and heart when I read them several weeks past. Several phrases from Scripture are giving me pause to consider my actions this summer, but this was the first. As I read this section of Psalms, I questioned whether my actions made other Christians ashamed. I know for a fact that the ignorance, ingratitude, and thoughtless words of many other Christians makes me cringe to be numbered among them. Little wonder that those who do not know Jesus think Christians are wacky and ignorant! Yet... Am I numbered among those who confound non-believers, or shame fellow believers?

The on-line etymology dictionary defines confounded thus: an intensive execration, "odious, detestable, damned..." Our actions, flowing from our ideas, have consequences. Our actions can be either life or death to others. My attitude about many things this summer has proved odious and detestable - is it possible that my attitude, my words, my actions have turned someone away from seeing Jesus? Have my actions made anyone 'an enemy of the cross'?

Attitudes and actions do not simply 'fall upon' a person. They are conscious choices. Sometimes factors beyond our control do push certain buttons inside of us. However, our re-actions to those circumstances, hormones, people, and so forth determine where our minds and hearts really are. Are we marinating our minds in the word of God? Are we daily asking the Holy Spirit to lead us out of sin and into right-wise (the Old English meaning of righteousness) living? 

I, for one, know that I am often undisciplined. At various times I lack discipline in going to bed before midnight, or getting up when my alarum sounds, or in eating healthfully, or making time before work to meditate on God's word, or a number of other things. Yet I always have time to check my e-mail (though I do not always reply to it very quickly), eat food, or do something I want to do. However, without discipline, we lack freedom. Put positively, when we live disciplined lives we are made free.

As I sit here in the window of this cottage I can see a sailboat skimming silently along the horizon. It is a beautiful, image of freedom. But the freedom of the sailboat to move so swiftly and beautifully is the result of obedience to laws. 

The builder of the boat had to know the proper ratio of beam to keel and mast. The one who sails the boat obeys the rules of sailing. A ship tacking against the wind moves deviously, but when she runs with a strong tide or a following wind she takes, to herself the power of tide and wind and they become her own. She is doing the thing she was made for. She is free not by disobeying the rules but by obeying them.

~ Elisabeth Elliot, Let Me Be A Woman

 If you read nothing else of this post, read, re-read, that bit by Elisabeth Elliot. We are made free by obedience to our design, to our Designer. A sailboat is no more free to sail down the street than I am free to be fit if I do not eat well and exercise often. 

I am free to have a right heart to direct my thoughts and attitude only if I make wise choices to be disciplined. I am free to respond graciously if I have spent time meditating on the forgiveness and kindness Jesus has shown me. I am free to think of others as persons, not objects, when I have spent time in prayer for them as individuals. I am free to love others only by being willing to give up some of my own time or other resources to listen to them. Doing one thing means the exclusion of doing all other things. Are the things I am doing worth giving up time to listen to others, time alone in thought or prayer, time spent reading or writing?

Are my actions, are your actions, as stumbling block, a damnation to others? Or are our actions, in public and in private, an aroma of life to others, a sweet smelling offering to our good and kind Father? Is our love for God and for others (in the form or kindness, graciousness, right-wise living, etc.) a beacon for others to see by? Is it a clarion call to them to come further up and further in?

"And now the word of the Lord is ringing out from you to people everywhere...for wherever we go we find people telling us about your faith in God. We don’t need to tell them about it..."

~ St. Paul (I Thes. 1.8, NLT)

~ Johanna

The Tyranny of Indulgence

"Having the power to indulge your whims can be very dangerous... It borders on tyranny."

~ Robert Timmons (Larkrise to Candleford)

On Monday we will swear in our current president for four more years. Perhaps the leadership of our country (democrats and republicans alike) would do well to learn the above. For their whim has become banning guns until only criminals and the government have them. Their fancy to make an indolent, apathetic culture by punishing hard workers and rewarding the lazy. And their notion has long been to withdraw our freedom of speech. Tyranny has been lurking 'round the corner for some time, what will we do to stop it?

Tyranny skulks about our own souls and selves before it affects a whole country. When we begin to think we deserve good things, merit salvation, have a right to an education  – or any particular good, we must beware. The disease of entitlement has infected us. When we complain rather than give thanks, we become slaves to discontentment. When we are undisciplined in body, habits, mind, and worship, yet still expect a reward, we have every reason to hear, 'Depart from me, I never knew you.'

I speak these things to myself as much as anyone else. If we allow ourselves to be undisciplined, or apathetic, or to believe we are entitled to things, we will be not only under the thumb of our flesh, we will be ensnared more easily by the tyranny of corrupt authorities. What will we do to halt tyrants? Will we pledge our fourtunes, our sacred honour, and our lives to what is right - even if it is not easy?

“They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger?

Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?

Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power.”

~ Patrick Henry, 1775 (emphasis mine)

The Discipline of Beauty

We must hunger after the Beautiful and good.
~ George Eliot

My friend, Sarah, has the above quotation emblazoned across her blog. As I am want to ponder Beauty often, it is no surprise that it is the centre of my current thoughts.

Shall I be bold? Yes. I will assert that Beauty is a tutor, leading us to think higher thoughts. She compels us to ponder that which is above, beyond, outside of our selves. When Scripture counsels us to 'worship the LORD in the Beauty of Holiness' what is it saying? I am persuaded that the Psalmist believes Beauty is a discipline that leads us to Holiness. In fact, Beauty is the Discipler whose being delights her students, imbuing them with God's Holiness. (Alluding to Sir Philip Sidney's idea that poetry teaches [truth] by delighting.)

Sometimes it is the Beauty of nature that raises our thoughts: a snow capped mountain range, a blazing sunset, the seaside cry of gulls, savoury woodsmoke on a crisp afternoon, or the sight and scent of rich earth, freshly ploughed. Nature's Beauty kindles our inner being, imparting to us the depth and riches of God's own Beauty and creativity.

What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wilderness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

Various facets of God are glimpsed by other Beauties. A piece of music can transport our souls to the very courts of Heaven. Evensong in the gloaming settles our hearts and minds. Birdsong commences the morning with verve. A scrap of writing, or a whole book, moves our very selves closer to God. Story and truth lift us out of ourselves, making us more than we were. A journey to a new country awakens our imaginations. Returning to a belovéd place rekindles joy-filled memories.

Recently I have come to delight in one particular Beauty. Rarely did I consider it when making mental lists of Beautiful things. It is the most exquisite of all Beauties, and extremely precious. It is what I have termed the Beautiful Soul. Such Beautiful Souls serve God faithfully without announcing themselves. They are eager beings. They long for more of God. They do not rush stillness and Beauty. They worship God with a depth that only sorrow and loss can cultivate. Their passions stem from an eagerness for God. The things that break their hearts are due to the Fall of man. They nourish their inner self, without neglecting the world of souls (in various states) around them. They are attended by an air of grace and humility.

Just writing about these Beautiful Souls brings joy to my heart. I have been extremely privileged to not only meet some of these persons, but they are some of my closest friends.

Blesséd, blesséd, blesséd be He!

~ Johanna

If you seek Beauty and goodness, read Sarah's blog: Thoroughly Alive. You will see that your soul is impoverished, but it shall be enriched by her thoughts, both fun and reflective.

Reading some of Sarah's reflections upon Beauty, painted in a tranquil, watercolour wash, my own musings soared up to meet the stars dappling the heavens - the above post is the result.