Miserere Mei, Deus {Have Mercy on Me, O God}

 

I remember exactly where I first heard the piercing note at the 2:00 minute mark in the above song. Surrounded by chilly stone and tile, and later by rich warm wood and angels overhead. That first moment I was just outside the chapel, overhearing the New College Choir practise for Ash Wednesday evensong.

The piece was even more stunning when I was sitting in the pew a few hours later and those notes rang out from every stone and surface, as if the angels high above were giving voice to the Creator. . .

. . .Let me explain that when I say there were angels overhead, I mean there were really angels above me.

Ever since that day, I love to listen to the haunting Miserere Mei, Deus on Ash Wednesday (and throughout Lent). Though I had been attending an Anglican church for a while before spending four months in Oxford, I don't think I knew then that Psalm 51 was specifically associated with Ash Wednesday. 

Have mercy on me, O God,

    according to Your steadfast love;

according to Your abundant mercy

    blot out my transgressions.

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

    and cleanse me from my sin!

For I know my transgressions,

    and my sin is ever before me.

Against You, You only, have I sinned

    and done what is evil in Your sight

. . . 

Behold, You delight in truth in the inward being,

    and You teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

    wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

. . .

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

    and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from Your presence,

    and take not Your Holy Spirit from me.

(Psalm 51.1-4a, 6-7, 10-11 ESV UK)

This Ash Wednesday has been grey with great white flakes of snow sifting o'er the valley like powdered sugar. They came more and more rapidly, until a fluffy almost-four-inches of snow crunched underfoot and buried the roads. My sweet boyfriend offered to come pick me up for evensong in his four-wheel-drive truck, but it was not to be. After quite a harrowing afternoon that ended with his work truck being towed, we both decided that staying home was best. 

In the gathering dusk I put the kettle on, lit three candles, and streamed our Ash Wednesday service. I even crushed my blackened match so I could join in the receiving the sign of death on my forehead whilst saying, "Remember that thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return." And though I couldn't receive the physical Eucharist with the congregation, I prayed the Prayer of Spiritual Communion, receiving the sign of death that leads to Eternal Life. 

It was not the way I would prefer to step into Lent—separated from my physical church family—but there was still a sacred space, a sacred time that I was able to step into, perhaps in a deeper way than if I had been physically present with other believers. Still, I look forward to gathering in person as we continue this Lenten journey.

I also look forward to removing some noise in my life (the car radio, shows, certain foods) in order to listen to the call of the Father. I can only say I sense that He is moving, that He wants to speak something to me that I have not had the quiet or space to hear before this season. So I ask for an open, hearing, obedient heart. I ask for eyes to see. And I give thanks for all the ways I have experienced His kindness today—from beautiful, much-needed snow and Nick's safety, to the quiet darkness, lit by a trio of beeswax candles and warmed by a mug of tea. 

O Lord our God, grant us grace 

to desire You with our whole heart,
that desiring You we may seek You;

and that seeking You we may find You,
and that finding You we may love You;
and loving You we may hate those sins
from which You have redeemed us;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

—St Anselm

August is the Cruelest Month...

...to paraphrase T. S. Eliot. 

I rather hate the month of August. I'm physically, emotionally, and soulishly drained by this hot and crazy month. It is the hardest month at work. It is freakishly hot (making sleep difficult). And I'm out of people energy. Every summer. Then there's the added sorrow of September 3, already looming. 

But God.  God is kind to surround me with His love. With generous friends and family. 

Did you know that kindness makes hard days and weeks brighter? 

It does. 

So. Much!

A box of sunshine (sweet words, creative-cute cards, and lemon-flavoured everything) from my creative, thoughtful sister... Sent after being rather heart-disappointed.

Flowers, chocolate, and cheese from a good friend after the same hard week.

I love the colours of these flowers! Plus, they lasted two weeks. 

Surprisingly, the cheese and chocolate have lasted longer.

A thank you gift from my sweet co-worker for assisting her in shipping a lot of packages this summer. 

Here is a close-up of the necklace. . .

This was part of the theme of the summer. Have grit. Determination, yes. But also, the grit that feels like its rhyming counterpart. . . The irritation produces the substance that covers the grit with beauty. Without the irritation, the disruption, the foreign object, no pearl can be formed. But from that little grain comes something beautiful. How much more beauty might be born from this gritty season in which we are living?

August is in many ways the cruelest month. But it has many pockets of kindness and love and beauty.

Thanks be to God!

What If. . . ?

What if I weep for you?
You, who can weep no longer,
your eyes fixed on the Author
and Finisher of our faith,
not upon the mounded grave. . .

What if I ache for you?
The ache of separation you don't feel,
you, who are with the Father,
who are here no longer,
yet who dwell in thin places. . .

What if I rejoice for you?
You, who have stepped off
this mortal coil into the Kingdom
coming, to meet in the Kingdom
to come, under Spirit, Father, and Son. . .

What if I reach for you?
Reach out my hand, to empty air
for you, whom I can't touch
until the Kingdom comes, fully
and wholly, Heaven and Earth, together. . .

What if I miss you?
You, who have my heart, still,
though I didn't know it until
too late, when you passed the gate
between here and where I can't be yet. . .

What if I say your name?
Will you come back again,
my dear poet-friend, whom I miss so
fiercely? Will you teach me to see,
show me the ways of the Kingdom coming. . .

What if I love you?
You, bell-ringer, song-singer,
hope-bringer, who quietly gave
all of yourself away—all of your mind
away—all of your life away,
                                             what if. . . ?



I do. . .
              and I will.

Unmerited

Kindness
flowing out
in wine and chocolate chip cookies,
in smiles and eyes, in words and hidden acts

Grace
flowing down
in water and wine and blood
over dark soul nights, to unworthy us

Love
flowing over
from hearts and hands, eyes and lips
in forgiveness again, and again—every time

Gifts
ever flowing
that we cannot earn, cannot repay,
we humbly receive with open, empty hands

Full
over flowing
hands and hearts, eyes and lives—
Lord teach us to receive with gladness and joy!

What If...

What if freedom's price is higher than I want to pay down the road?

What if the investments of the years, of the now, come up hollow?

What if I am not ready for love until all my chances have passed me by?


What if fear doesn't own me?

What if I am strong in Someone else's strength?

What if that Someone is more faithful than any man I know?


What if all of my friends forget me?

What if there is One who sticks closer than a brother?

What if friendship's price is a high stakes sacrifice?

What if the wounds of a friend are the faithful sort?

What loss, if my heart were not shared with those I have been gifted...


What if all the unknowns crash in on me?

What if the future is darker than I know?

Then I'm glad I can't see it.


I'm glad I know the Faithful One.

I'm grateful that Someone knows what I need and when.

I'm glad my timing is not what matters.

I'm glad this life of mine isn't about me.


I'm thankful for Love Eternal.

Thankful for deep calling out to deep.

Grateful that I am not alone.


I am grateful that the price of my freedom has been paid.

That I know the Light of the world.

That He was wounded for my transgressions.

That I need no longer bear the marks of sin in my body.


I am free.

Free to give.

Free to live.

Free to love.

Free to be fearless.

Free to face the unknown.

Free to be known—and still loved.

Free to drink deep of the waters of Life.


What if...

                                                    ...I am free?

Gratitude

Here is the Body

and

Here is the Blood

and

I cannot save myself

and

I cannot heal myself—

so,

I bow in thanksgiving.

Splendour in Every Crack and Crevice

The night skies sing the glory of God!

Dark and light, clouds and constellations are crafted by His deft hands.

Daily they declaim, night upon night they raise a chorus of praise.

Even though our ears cannot hear their speeches and symphonies,

Still their message of God's glory and splendour has filled

Every crevice and crack in all of the cosmos.

Thus I paraphrased the opening verses of Psalm nineteen a few weeks ago. I was out on a snowy tramp in the mountains, seeking some solitude under the night sky. The Milky Way was so thick with stars that it was more like seeing specks of black space in a sky of silver light. My heart responded with the opening lines of Psalm nineteen and the Doxology. 

In my life I find that Beauty leads me to worship. Beauty soothes the wounds inflicted on various fronts. No, let me rather say that Beauty heals our wounded souls. It enriches our lives. This is because Beauty is not an end in itself, but is a reflection of God's holiness. Beauty heals our hearts by leading us to worship and thank the Almighty One.

This giving thanks (eucharisteo in Greek) is our connection to life in Christ Himself. Think for a moment of what various church traditions call the Lord's Supper—the Eucharist. Growing up in a more evangelical set of churches, I thought that the Lord's Supper was a time for seeing how wicked I was and for repenting. Earnestly I would examine myself, tell God I was sorry, eat the bread, drink the juice, and go home. 

Years of conversations and reading Scripture more deeply have reshaped my understanding of the Eucharist. Yes, I examine my heart, I agree with God that the things I have done or left undone are sin, and I ask to walk in newness of life—the spiritual life of Christ received in the bread and the wine of the common cup. My response to His sacrifice and His life is spoken by the chalice bearer: "Take this in remembrance that Christ died for you and be thankful." 

God, Who is good (eu), offers me grace (charis) through Christ. My response is to give thanks (eucharisteo). It is a daily rhythm, like the steady beating of my heart, or breathing in and out. Every day I am greeted with Beauty in various places, ways, and individuals. I am offered the healing and grace of God, if I will keep my eyes and heart open to see and receive His gifts. In response, I breathe out my thanks, my praise of His goodness and holiness and Beauty. 

I am learning that healing and thanksgiving do not come in one fell swoop. They are an everyday process. As it is an existential request to be emptied of myself and filled afresh with God's Spirit, so it is with practising eucharisteo. Only Jesus can accomplish something "once for all", whilst we must take daily steps toward Him and His completeness. 

Stars have never put a scrap of silver in my pocket, but I am richer for their beauty shining into my eyes and heart. The person I am, fragmented by the Fall, is becoming more like Jesus, made whole by Beauty that leads to worship—by grace flowing in, thanksgiving flowing out. Every crevice and crack in me is being filled with the splendour of God. Like the stars in the heavens, I shine out with the glory of God. Yet unlike those silver spheres, my words of praise to God can be heard by my fellow men, if only I will speak them.

Being Italian for a Day

Today I stepped back in time and took life at a slower pace. For nearly seven hours I was given the gift of being Italian. 

It all began about a year ago when our (then) new accountant kept telling those of us in the office about "tomato day". She and her husband would go to the fields and pick bushels of tomatoes. They would save them for a week to make sure they were really ripe. Then began the process of turning those tomatoes into a year's worth of pasta sauce. Many a time I have sampled minestrone, Italian vegetable soup, and so forth imbued in the goodness of this homemade sauce. Today I was given the opportunity to join in the labour of the fruits.

Three of us from the village arrived at Sue and Blake's house around nine in the morning. We petted the dog, washed our hands, met some family, and jumped in to the fray. Soon we were slicing onions in great big quarter chunks and learning how to peel garlic by shaking it inside two metal bowls (this actually works, you should try it). I also encountered a wooden spoon longer than my leg, which is impressive, because my legs are the longest part of me. When all was said, sliced, and done, we had four bushels of tomatoes, six onions, two bulbs of garlic, and two large containers of basil simmering over the camp stove in a collective eighty quarts. If you have never seen a twenty quart pot, you may not realise how massive it is compared to whatever normal persons use for cooking. However, the twenty quart pot was significantly dwarfed by the sixty quart pot and the spoon the size of Reepicheep's coracle paddle. Perhaps a photo will help illustrate my point:

See, doesn't the twenty quart pot look like your everyday sort of soup pot? Unless you normally feed an army, however, that pot was by no means everyday-ish. 

We stirred and squashed tomatoes for a few hours. We ate lunch. We petted Verona some more. Finally, the tomatoes began to boil into a rich red, aromatic fervour. We washed our hands, set up the press, gathered pots and buckets, and formed an assembly-line. Blake said "go!" and we began. Amanda poured the boiling hot tomato mixture into the wide funnel, I pressed it down with the plunger, and Sue cleared the skins and debris as they filled the flat "catcher". Those skins and onions and basil leaves went back into the press's funnel—we wanted all that flavour! Then they were removed to the rubbish. Various splatterings and eruptions left us with orangey splotches on our arms, feet, jeans, and shirts. Blake kept bringing pots and pans to catch the juices and thick sauce. We filled four different containers with that crimson, delicious-smelling sauce. Then back into those huge pots it went for an hour to boil out any bacteria. 

We stirred continuously to prevent burning the sauce. We set up the table with jar after jar—over sixty of them. Blake boiled the lids to ensure a good seal. Sue took soundings with the thermometer—we had to hit 180º. We let the sauce "percolate" there for about half an hour. Out came the silver funnel for filling small mouth jars. Out came ladles and glass measuring cups with pour spouts. Next came the empty boxes to put the finished jars in for safe-keeping. Over came the neighbour girl to help wipe around the jar tops to make sure they sealed well. All was set... Then Blake said, "Go!" and we were in full swing. Clear jar after clear jar was filled with hot, pungent, tomato sauce. Red jar after red jar was passed to me to put in the empty boxes. In a matter of minutes sixty-two empty jars were full and sitting in their cardboard casings on the counter.

The dishes were washed and drip-drying; the delightful "pop!" of the seals was beginning; and four tired persons were grinning at the success of the day. We had made legitimate Sicilian tomato sauce with a recipe and process passed down from Blake's grandparents. We had been swashed in hot red juices and remained standing. We had picked up nearly all the parts and pieces... And it wasn't even four o'clock yet.

It felt good to stir hot sauce on a cool Autumn day. It was rewarding to slow down and make the year's supply of sauce, rather than buying that processed stuff from the grocery. I was reminded of all those times growing up when my mother, sisters, and I cut, cooked, mashed,  pressed, and strained apples for applesauce. I remember crisp days, sweet smells, and very tired arms from hand cranking that machine. But the satisfaction at the end of the day in making one's own food with one's own produce and labours was just the same. There is something to be said for making things rather than buying them.

There is a sweet satisfaction a a job well-done. There is camaraderie, fellowship, and working together in the process. You get to know stories you might never have heard were you not using an oar to paddle red sauce over open flames. You learn more about your friends and family, your skills and others', by working together. And you have to take life slowly when you're watching a sixty quart pot of tomatoes boiling. I'm glad I was allowed to be Italian for the day.

~ Johanna

Eucharistia

How about Thanksgiving in July? Don't mind if I do...

I am thankful for friends, a beautiful symphony, picnicking in the park, and enough rain to permit fireworks in the Springs this 4th of July. 

Loved having the weekend to clean my house a little, to write letters, and drink copious pots of tea.

  

Reading The Little Prince aloud with Tyler whilst drinking tea and eating lemon bars. 

“Here is my secret. It is very simple: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

 

 

 

 Finding a new Summertime song that I want to listen to over and over again... for FREE!  Listen to the first one called Ordinary Day.

Making mango salsa... And eating nearly an entire bag of chips with it in less than two days. :)

Ephesians 1-3 this morning:  "And this is the plan: At the right time He will bring everything together under the authority of Christ—everything in heaven and on earth. Furthermore, because we are united with Christ, we have received an inheritance from God,  for He chose us in advance, and He makes everything work out according to His plan." (Ephesians 1:10-11)

God is the master Director - letting the actors on the stage ad lib and still having the story go the direction He has for it.

Thought-provoking discussion about evil from Peter Kreeft (digested whilst making zucchini pancakes this morning): Ten Uncommon Insights Into Evil From LOTR. He could have used Harry Potter for his insights as well. 

"Here is evil's weakness: it is limited to power, it cannot use weakness. It is limited to pride, it cannot use humility. It is limited to inflicting suffering and death, it cannot use suffering and death. It is limited to selfishness, it cannot use selflessness... Evil can only destroy and give death, it cannot create and give birth." ~ Peter Kreeft

Talking to Jacob before bed... Just because.

And life's 'daily-ness' is thanks-giving. Eucharistia. To breathe and talk, to walk and smell damp pine, to see colours and to hear our immortal neighbour children squeal with delight (or whine at naptime), to just be for the hour at dawn over a mug of tea... Yes, this life is good.

Marriage

In case you thought I was going to expostulate about marriage, I am not. If you thought I was going to extol the benefits of singleness, I am not.

The fact is that today, 7 March, my parents have been married for 43 years. Forty-three years. Forty-three years!! Now that is something you do not hear about very often in this epoch. But it can be done, by God's grace and kindness, it can be done.

Today I am thankful for parents who have worked through hard times, who love one another, who still flirt with each other, and who have loved us girls. I am grateful that I grew up in a peaceful home, where my parents worked through their disagreements without a lot of yelling and name-calling. I am thankful for the examples my parents have set in honesty, love, wisdom, knowledge, teaching, giving, forgiving, and much more.

I love you Dad and Mom!

~ Johanna

Giving Thanks...

I want to say profound things about gratitude for all that God is and has done. My poet's soul cannot find words to capture the picture of thankfulness I desire to paint.

I want to compose my thoughts about being thankful even in the face of sorrow and loss... But I do not know enough about that in my own life. And I do not want to. Yet one day I will know gratitude in the midst of painfully hard things.

Until I can share my own words in regards to giving thanks, I will share the ones that have wrapped my mind and heart in their Beauty and Truth.

Thank you for the way you make the showers fall
Like a blanket on the valley when the flowers call
Thank you for creating and sustaining it all
Thank you from my heart and my soul

Thank you for the way you make the music play
In between the quiet on a beautiful day
Thank you for the meaning in the things we say
Thank you from my heart, thank you from my heart

Thank you for the way you make the flowers grow
Up through the cracks in my fractured soul
Thank you for the way the healing waters flow
Thank you from my heart and my soul

Thank you for the way you make the moonlight shine
Between me and the horizon there's a perfect line
Like a love upon the ocean anybody can find
Thank you from my heart and my mind 

~ Ben Kyle

On the Way

Near the end of the year I like to flip back through my journal to see what I have thought and prayed about over the year. Sometimes I wonder at the profound things I have jotted down and promptly forgotten. Other times I cringe at my juvenile attitude or way of handling relationships, et cetera. Last week I found an entry that ended with these words, "You never know what is already on its way from God."

What is already on its way from God? I cannot determine the events of the upcoming days of the year. I cannot see whether great gladness or great sorrow await me. Yet coming to the end of something often makes room for new beginnings. It is good look back to see what God has done, how He has provided and walked alongside us. 

We stand upon the cusp of a new year, realising that we do not know what is already on its way from God. It might be blessings from His hand, His hand holding ours through hard times, or His hand lifting us upon His shoulders during the hardest seasons of all.

I am glad that I cannot see what is ahead. I do not wish to live in dread of hard things to come, or in impatience for the good things. How kind of God to give us the strange and wonder-full place of living in the present. I do not know what God has already set in motion for this year, but I am thankful that He is good, come what may.

~ Johanna

 
*This post is a little late in being posted due to our internet connection being wonky last night, so I back-dated it. The 2 January post will be up soon.

An Empty Page

Sometimes I walk through life giving thanks for the obvious blessings God has given. Other days, I stare at the empty page before me and think how it mirrors life... Empty. Dull. Meaningless. I am afraid to love, because if I love someone or something, it can be taken away from me, it can cause me pain.

Love often goes hand-in-hand with pain, sorrow, and loss. I feel the depths of sorrow and suffering in love because I have felt its heights of joy and goodness. Just like I hate death because I know what it means to live. 

However, that same empty page is full of possibility. It may begin as a blank sheet, which has no meaning, but it is ready to receive whatever story the Author sets upon it. An empty page is malleable, ready to be shaped by words of despair and lies, or by words of hope and truth. Sometimes there isn't a whole lot of hope in facts, but I do think there is hope in Truth.

This day finds me staring at the white page, wondering what the Author is about to pen. There are some less than pleasant facts rearing their faces before me. Yet there is hope in Truth. I am a little afraid of finding out how painful love is. Yet I would rather take the pain if it is the price for knowing the greatness of that love.

I find it no 'random coincidence' that in the 12 days of Christmas, today is the day set aside to remember the 'holy innocents' - the young male children killed by Herod when he tried to destroy Jesus. Death is a result of sin; sin is the result of the fall; and it is this very thing that Jesus came to set on its head and turn backwards. Death will be swallowed up in Life. And all manner of things shall be made well.

I am thankful for Life, and for love so deep that it hurts... And for a Love Who was 'hurt' for us by being separated from His Father... So that we might never have to be.

For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.

~ II Corinthians 5:21

~ Johanna

The Best [Satelite] Roomates -- Ever!

Near the close of the year I begin to recall all of the good and hard things from that year. All of the laughter, lessons, tears, prayers, group dinners, inside jokes, travels, and whatnot swirl 'round in my thoughts.

What a hard year 2012 has been for my friends and my community... Several of my close friends lost very dear loved ones this year (mothers, boyfriends, and children). One good friend moved out of the roommate house (and we have gained another dear roommate, but there is still a hole there). There were mass shootings in Colorado and Connecticut. There were many natural disasters, from devastating hurricanes to wildfires that rolled dangerously close to my front door.

Yet what joy and growth have come this year, as well! This has come from many corners this year, but by far I have shared the most life-stuff with my roommates across town. My year began with a surprise visit from my best friend and a sensational birthday party with the roommates. A welcoming haven these roommates have been all year... I especially remember our conversation (and delicious crêpes!!) on Palm Sunday/Easter. I remain eternally grateful to these dear friends taking me in when I was evacuated during the wildfire, and crying and praying with me as our city was threatened with conflagration. I cherish our Christmas celebration, reading parts of Luke 1 and 2 and discussing what things must have been like for Joseph and Mary, and Zacharias and Elizabeth. So much thought went into the gifts given, and work into the delicious brunch, and the day was full of chilling and talking about the things on our hearts. 

 

Those events merely mark the flow of the year; in between were many other mixed happenings: Stacia losing her mom this summer, Lyndi's hip surgery, Lauren's new job celebration (ha, and driver's license debacle), Nicole's going away party, Karen's arrival, birthday parties, coffee house band listening,  tea parties and kleenex, dinners on the patio, family members visiting, and more.

Considering how much joy and pain, new friends and old friends coming and going, and deepening in life and in the LORD has taken place with these women, I would be utterly remiss if I did not say how deeply grateful I am for the LORD placing me with 'The Awesome Ladies' community.

And I am filled with joy.

~ Johanna

Snowy Perspectives

Crack! A thunder clap and thick flakes of snow woke me this morning... A rare combination that can occur in Mid-Western winter storms. Even in my sleepy state I smiled, because I  simply love snowstorms. Swirling snow, heavy grey clouds, and bumps and clumps of white have a way of transforming the world.

Have you ever noticed how snowstorms make things still? They diffuse noise by deadening echoes and swallowing sounds. Familiar objects take on new outlines. I noticed this a few weeks ago at home when it snowed. As I went for a walk down by the creek in Manitou, a walk I have taken a couple hundred times, I noticed things I had not seen before. I looked up a good deal in wonder. I chattered with squirrels (not a new thing, admittedly), seeing at least one dart into his hole - a previously unnoticed hole, despite being directly over the walking path.

Snow gives one a new perspective on old, familiar things. Snowstorms bring that unusual quiet. Perhaps snow is God's tangible reminder for us to have quiet hearts to listen to Him, to see a different facet of Himself or our own lives. Snow makes us slow down, literally and figuratively. Thus, those frozen flakes give us time to re-create with silent contemplation, and in the boisterous joy of snowballs, coasting, and fort-building.

Others may grumble about snow or call it a mess, but my perspective is different... I am thankful for snow, which gives me new ways to see familiar things, and a quiet place to listen to the One who makes my crimson stains whiter than snow.

~ Johanna

Kneading Rhythm

Sticky potato water and yeast. Mashed potatoes, flour, and butter. This past weekend found me combining these ingredients in a large earthenware bowl. My arms, jeans, and fingers were dusted in flour, or sticky with dough; the perfect picture of a bread-maker. If there is one thing I have learnt about bread-making these past four or five months, it is that you must knead the dough. Otherwise, you will have dense, flat, or crumbly bread. Kneading takes patience, knowing when to let the dough rest, and strength in one's wrists and forearms.

 

Kneading has a rhythm to it, pushing the dough away from you with the heels of your hands. Not too hard, or you will break the gluten strands. Not too softly, or you will not stretch the gluten strands enough, resulting in a flat or crumbly loaf.

Life has a rhythm as well. Over the past few years I have discovered the Church calendar, it keeps me stretched, but not broken. Though I grew up with Christian parents and siblings, we have been more evangelical than liturgical believers. Discovering the cadence of Advent, the twelve days of Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, the Transfiguration, Eastertide, Ascension Day, and so on continues to teach me to walk in the pattern of God's ways, to the glory of His Name. One strand upon another, like the kneading and resting of bread dough, these Church seasons make me stronger. Lent and Advent are like the heels of the Father's hands upon my heart, preparing me to make room for His Son. Christmas and Eastertide are the moments of resting in a comfy, warm (but not hot) oven.

The bread analogy breaks down at some point, of course. Still, I wonder how many times God prepares, kneads, and rests our hearts, allowing us to be baked in the fire of trials. I know that I 'knead' rhythm in my life: seasons; circadian rhythm; sleep cycles; hours in the day; days in the week - some for work, some for rest; night and day; pain and joy; work and play. You need routine and new experiences, too. We all do, whether we realise it or not. 

This post is my first in the Twelve Days of Christmas. I plan to wrap up on January 5th, the eve of Epiphany. I still have a lot to learn about the metre of life, in the Church calendar and otherwise. Over these twelve days I want to share something I'm thankful for, because one strand of life is gratitude. Over and again Scripture speaks of those who had great calamity fall upon them, yet their response was to praise God. Such was Job, when he had everything taken from him he said, "The LORD gives and the LORD takes away, blesséd be the Name of the LORD." And the Apostle Paul reminds us to give thanks in all things, for thanksgiving is God's will for us in Christ Jesus (I Thes 5.18).

“The greatest honour we can give Almighty God is to live gladly because of the knowledge of His love.” ~ Julian of Norwich

Today I am thankful for many, many things. However, I will choose to name the greatest gift ever given which makes even good health, family, freedom, food, unexpected calls from good friends, a job, a community of friends, and a home pale in comparison: I am thankful that God is not 'out there'.  I am humbled, blessed, and grateful beyond words that God is Emmanuel - God [here] with us.

~ Johanna

To the Full!

Stiff fingers peck the keys. My face is rosy from a brisk walk in the nippy Autumn air. A tea kettle is rolling to a boil over blue flame, and the smell of freshly baked bread permeates my home.

Home... How glad I am to have my little cabin to trot back to after a walk in the chill, stiff wind. How gratefully my frigid fingers wrap 'round a mug full of tea.

Tea, the perfect thing to warm the body and the soul -- especially when a pot is shared with a good friend.

Friends! I am thankful for not just one or two close and dear friends, but whole hands full of fingers --and feet full of toes-- on which to count the blessings of kindred souls.

Souls and spirits and bodies, too. I am cheered to know that God made us with depth. He gives us a mind, a will, emotions, a body, and something inside that cannot be seen, but communicates with His Spirit as well.

Well -- all things shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well. Like airline tickets changing and helpful persons getting things put right, long walks and talks, words of wisdom from books, and everything else from today.

Today is all we have, let us enjoy God's blessings great and small, living well and sucking the marrow out of life.

Life! Let us live it to the full...

“Dear old world,” she murmured, “You are very lovely. And I am glad to be alive in you.”
-Anne of Green Gables

~ Johanna

With Our Lives

ALMIGHTY God, Father of all mercies, we, Thine unworthy servants, do give Thee most humble and hearty thanks for all Thy goodness and loving-kindness to us and to all men; We bless Thee for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life; but above all, for Thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ; for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory.

And, we beseech Thee, give us that due sense of all Thy mercies, that our hearts may be unfeignedly thankful; and that we show forth Thy praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives, by giving up our selves to Thy service, and by walking before Thee in holiness and righteousness all our days; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with Thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory, world without end.   Amen.

1928 Book of Common Prayer: The General Thanksgiving

We prayed this prayer during Evensong tonight. Much of the content gave me reason to pause and think, though the service swirled on around me.

"...give us that due sense of all Thy mercies, that our hearts may be unfeignedly thankful..."   

Am I unfeignedly thankful? Without pretence, without contrivance do I thank God for little things? The orange rosebush or purple allium along my morning walk are cause for praise. As are the sweet-scented lilacs, spicy poppies, and soft snowy dogwood petals. May their beauty cause me to bow the knee in worship to the One who is Beauty.

Often I wonder if I am truly grateful for the things most of us take for granted. I certainly appreciate hearing out of both ears clearly now, after having a blocked ear for a few weeks not long ago. And I am often thankful for running water and water pressure in my shower, having had times without both. There is a greater appreciation for  a 'common' thing when I have lost that thing for a time. How sad when the separation of death causes one to realise how much they loved another!

I pondered, too, being thankful in all things - in trials, loss, suffering, and pain. I have been reading some thoughts by Amy Carmichael on her response to a great injury that befell her. The injury caused her to be bed-ridden for the last 20 years of her life. She could have been bitter. She had times of frustration. However, she chose to let God use that loss as a gain - for His glory. She trusted His goodness in all things. Miss Carmichael was able to give thanks as Paul said:

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (I Thessalonians 5:16-18)

~ ~ ~

"...and that we show forth Thy praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives, by giving up our selves to Thy service..."

On my kitchen window I have a line, paraphrased from a prayer written in the front of my Bible. The prayer is this:  

 Lord, I give up all my own plans and purposes, all my own desires and hopes, and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all utterly to Thee, to be Thine forever. Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Use me as Thou wilt. Send me where Thou wilt, and work out Thy whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever.  ~ Betty Scott Stam

That last line is rather frightening. Am I willing for God to send me where He wilt? Am I willing to give God my life at any cost, or are some things, dreams, or persons too dear to really mean that? 

The General Thanksgiving calls for much the same as Mrs. Stam's prayer: that I might show forth God's praise in my whole life, sacrificing myself to His service. Sometimes His service is pure bliss. Sometimes it is weary drudgery. Other times sacrifice is lonely or painful. Often, surrender is freeing, if we would but do it. There's the rub - am I willing to give up myself to God's service, or will I serve my flesh?

~ ~ ~

"...by walking before Thee in holiness and righteousness all our days; through Jesus Christ our Lord..."

Holiness and Righteousness all our days... Does anyone even believe a person can be those things? Many persons in Scripture were called 'righteous' persons, and we know they were not sinless. So it seems that a 'normal' person can be righteous. Further, the Bible commands believers to be holy as God Himself is Holy; and Peter calls Christians 'holy priests'. 

Note how the prayer book says this holiness and righteousness is accomplished: 'through Jesus Christ our Lord'. It is not our own goodness spoken of, or our own efforts that make us holy. It is Jesus Christ working in and through us that brings about change. This is only done when we lay down our wills (now, at any cost), and ask Him to be very present at work in us.

Are YOU unfeignedly thankful?

Is your life showing forth God's praise?

Are you allowing God to purify you with His Holiness, and to make you righteous?

~ Johanna