The Waiting is Also the Gift

 

This is a poem that I can't write yet,

I find that I don't know this truth—

I only know that it rings true

with all its resonance inside of me

All I know now is the melancholy

of holy waiting—the ache of longing...

Longing to belong to someone,

someone who is mine like no one else

I want to ring all the bells

inside someone else's soul—

to give them my soul and body

for always. I want them to stay...

My biggest fear is that someone

would know me—all of me—

and then leave, taking my soul

and breaking my heart to death

Will I ever learn that

the waiting is also the gift

Or will I simply feel

like it is always the hardest part?

Will I ever get to fully give

someone else my open heart

and have them care for it? Will they stay

when who I am should scare them away?

If waiting is all there is

Lord, help me to know it as gift.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

I wrote this in March 2022. Though quite a few things have shifted in my life since then, I still feel like this is a poem I can't write yet.  —JB

Tears

The candles are crying waxen tears

        from their unseeing eyes—

Their little frames have 

        no hearts to break

no wound to bleed like mine

My own grief pools red and hot,

        or cools upon my cheek,

my waxen heart cannot feel

        unless it is this emptiness—

My loneliness none dares to break

Candles burn bright and

         candles burn low—

Grief and loneliness don't fill me

         they hollow out my feeling,

stealing life, their appetites grow

What can fill grief and sorrow,

          loneliness and death?

Their hunger growls and I diminish,

          their ache digs deep

to ravage my every breath—

Breath! Spirit of God poured out

           like melting wax—

Unlike water in the wilderness

           the Spirit is not swallowed—

He fills and heals each crack

Cracks in my soul that run

            deep and hungry ache,

He finds the bottom and

            fills the deep wells

making a pool of Beauty—a lake

A lake of salty tears

            that now reflects

the Light, the stars, the silver moon—

            and bathes the travellers' weary feet,

a gift, a healing they did not expect.

From the places you've been torn. . .

"There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us, and one should not even attempt to do so. One must simply hold out and endure it. At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort. For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled one remains connected to the other person through it. It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness. God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve—even in pain—the authentic relationship. 

Furthermore, the more beautiful and full the remembrances, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude transforms the torment of memory into silent joy. One bears what was lovely in the past not as a thorn but as a precious gift deep within, a hidden treasure of which one can always be certain.”

—Dietrich Bonhoeffer

______

Emptiness. I have felt its greed in my heart and in my body. There is a permanent hole in my heart while I walk on this side of the Kingdom coming, and God Himself does not fill that emptiness. He is leaving that slow-bleeding hollow right where it is. It is that absence that somehow makes me feel your presence more sharply, Aaron. 

For years there was an Aaron-shaped empty-space where you should have been in my life. You didn't just drift away, as so many friends do when life carries us along. You were sharply cut away from me one winter's day in Alaska. You became a stranger to me over the course of time, and in a particular instant you saw me as a stranger to you from then on. No one understood the ache I carried inside of me from that encounter. I didn't even understand it really. I didn't know how deep the wound went until that parting shaft was ripped out one September day, the barb leaving a gaping hole in its reverse exit. 

No words could fill that hole. No friendship on earth could patch up that wound. But when I read Bonhoeffer's above quotation, it resonated all the way down the path of that still-bleeding laceration. "It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness." He leaves the torn up place to allow us in that empty, painful ache to connect with the one we've lost: "For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled, one remains connected to the other person through it."

How strange. In those five years where even my closest Semester friendships began to wane, I felt a deep connection with you—the friend who had abandoned me. When you ended your precious life, the pain was unbearable precisely because you had already left an empty place, unfilled all those years, where my connection to you was strong. It remains strong. That emptiness makes me curl up in a ball and ache sometimes, because absolutely nothing can fill it except you. And nothing I can do will get me to you. Only God can do that, and this isn't the right time yet. 

"Furthermore, the more beautiful and full the remembrances, the more difficult the separation." I have forgotten so many details, moments, jokes, and sayings of our time together at Semester... Certainly I have forgotten more than the ones I can and do remember. But I treasure what I remember. I treasure your letters. You taught me things while we corresponded, but you have taught me much more through those same words years and years later. And the more I understand what you were saying, the more deeply I value your mind and heart, your self. Thus, the more difficult the separation. The assuaging answer isn't to forget or to stop reading your letters. Though there is intense pain in the separation, there is profound healing in remembering, especially in remembering together with your family or our friends.

For years I have felt that all I had to offer God was emptiness. Empty hands. An empty heart. Empty desires. Empty relationships. Empty arms. An empty shell. The times I've been the wisest (though they felt the most foolish) were the ones where all I had was emptiness to offer on the altar to God. Now I begin to learn that the very empty places are the ones where I find connection to the person or dream or thing that is missing. It's not the connection I would choose. The ache can be debilitating sometimes. I would give much to reach out and wrap you in a hug once again, my arms full rather than empty.

Until the Kingdom comes in its fullness and we run to the Supper of the Lamb together, I will try to remember that God isn't filling the hole, He isn't fixing the ache, and He isn't covering over the emptiness...so that I am still able to feel connected to you. Not in an idealised or idolised way, but in a  way that beckons me "Further up and further in! "

Love always,
Johanna

_____

Title: 

This is the hole

Where most of your soul

Comes ripping out

From the places you've been torn

(From"Always" by Switchfoot)

Rivulets

It is said that grief makes our hearts break;
this is both figurative and literal truth—
because when I cry, I quiver and shake,
my heart splintering with a violent ache

Not merely beating, there is actual pain—
my broken heart spills out of my eyes,
a white-hot, cleansing sort of soul-rain,
wracking my worn body again and again

Breaking comes quickly, mending is slow,
impetuous thoughts voiced in an instant
take years to root out, for truth to re-grow,
and in their stead, for healing waters to flow

Healing water dripping at the tip of my nose,
all freckled and snuffly—as my soul mends,
my physical heart shudders, its beat slows
into rhythm, works its way into lyrical prose

Weeping may endure for the soul's dark night,
but the tears do not write our story for us,
our deep Joy dawns with the morning's light—
we yearn for all manner of things to be made right

Intimate with Brokenness

show me who i am and who i could be.
initiate the heart within me
until it opens properly.

slow down, start again from the beginning.
i can’t keep my head from spinning out of control.
is this what being vulnerable feels like?
. . .
i’ll run the risk
of being intimate with brokenness.

—Ryan O'Neal
{Sleeping at Last—Son}

Is this what being vulnerable feels like?

Did I need to be broken in the same way—yet different than before—to initiate, to resuscitate, my heart? Does numbness have a deep wound at its root and as the cause for its flight? So often healing begins with kindness or conviction, never with condemnation. It is condemnation that inflicts some of the deepest scars, the broken places I can't heal myself. But conviction is the breath of the Spirit blowing on me, making my stone heart flesh again—like Aslan breathing a stone creature alive.

Conviction is a tearing apart from what I have conformed to, grown around like a vine about a tree, as flesh around shrapnel. It hurts like hell to unwrap from that lie, that action, that cover I've let become part of myself.

Conviction is a tearing-up over my brokenness, my sin, how I have wounded the Father who loves me. The kindness of conviction comes in humbly seeing anew my Lover, Who does not divorce me—put me away from Him—but Who calls me by His name. . . Who calls me Belovéd, though I have played the whore, chasing other gods.

If the broken things have to be healed at the root—have to be met in the brokenness—then I'll run the risk of being intimate with my brokenness. Growth germinates in the ground of healing, in the soil of holiness. Healing takes time. Holiness is a process. Just when I think I'm finally learning, I find that my brokenness is deeper than I ever knew or suspected. I find the healing just beginning in places where I think I should have healed long ago. I get frustrated at all the tiny shoots popping up where there should be at least slender birch trees—if not a steadily-growing oak or two.

Why have I made so little progress in the span of my thirty-some years? I should be so much farther along by now. But I'm not.

I could stomp and be angry that all I have are these little shoots. . .Certainly I am disappointed that my crop is so immature. But I will choose to be glad, to give thanks that growth is happening at all. I will give thanks and offer up these tender shoots to the LORD as a firstfruits offering. I will let Him do the pruning and the nurturing of these habits that He is reordering to help me image Him. I will take joy in the work He is doing, not dwell on the years the locusts have eaten.

I'll run the risk of being intimate with my brokenness. . .

A Slow Heal

Sometimes I catch myself smiling wide,
catch myself laughing at my sister's puns,
being glad to greet family and friends,
sometimes I catch myself not
thinking of you. . .

Then the smile freezes, the laugh cuts short—
Gladness still wells up over loved ones,
but there is an undercurrent of sorrow—pain
slices my heart all over—I bleed—
thinking of you. . .

The aching loss burns at my blue-green eyes,
eyes you looked into my soul through—
this is the Fall, this searing streaming that runs
heart-deep when I catch myself
thinking of you. . .

Sometimes I catch my breath over Beauty,
catch myself missing so much of you—
but sometimes I find that Beauty begins to heal,
I learn to live life, even when
thinking of you. . .

Lent Week 5: Judica—Veiling Sunday

Judica: Veiling Sunday

{Lent: Week Five}

Veiled, all veiled

around the sanctuary,

from the cross

to the icons,

to the spiritual

Body and Blood:

bread and wine

Veiled, all veiled

inside my self,

from my heart

 to my mind,

will, and emotions;

behind the mask

of "All's well!"

Veiled, all veiled

within the Disciples'

understanding and hearts—

the Master among

them as they

argue which of

them is greatest

Veiled, all veiled

in holiest Sanctuary,

a thick curtain

to separate man

from Holy God

because of sin—

a Sacrifice needed

Unveiled! Christ Unveiled!

Upon the mountain,

Behold His glory!

Upon the Cross,

Behold the Man...

Unto His mother,

Behold your Son...

Unto the world:

Behold the Lamb!

*This is the missing poem in a cycle of Lenten poems I wrote last year. All of the others were written on the Sundays of Lent (usually after church), but this one eluded me as I had a guest in town. It came to me today, and so I am adding it in to complete the collection.

Helen

A silver sycamore stands sentinel,
Watches while my soul drips sore
With grief unwonted, unlooked for;
Ache unmended upended my core
This night, all things but one went well...

The Eve had melted to Holy Day,
When I stood for the last time
This visit, the candlelight sublime
Still burned bright on eye's mind,
As I blinked hard, keeping tears at bay...

Two short years ago I was not alone
This night—I walked down the aisle,
By my side a tiny woman with a smile,
Proud to have her family here a while
Nodded to all around—now she is gone...

Gone from slippery wooden pew,
From the lips and the minds of men,
Who are so quick to carry on again—
But a grandchild starts weeping when
Memories come in waves not a few...

Perhaps Christmas Eve must start
With this wretched, Fall-tainted scar
To remind me of that blazing star
Leading the lowly and wise from afar
To seek the Healer of each man's heart.

Illumine

Spark!

A shock in the dark—

Light

Running along wire,

Along rivers

and spires,

Down city streets

in taillights, headlights,

Reflected in

eyes

of passers-by

Who turn and shine

on the world at large;

the world is large,

and dark,

in need of

Light—

Splaying out from

a single Star,

a single

Man,

A river of bright

running along edges

of hearts, and

reflected in

eyes

gazing on

men afire

with the light

of

Love.

The Telltale Heart

Do You Listen to Your Heart, or Does it Listen to You?

Have you ever realised that Disney princess films and pop love songs have the same mantra? Think about it, they all whisper the same line: listen to your heart. There is even a classic 80's song by that name. Some of the lines are as follows:

Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile
The precious moments are all lost in the tide, yeah
They're swept away and nothing is what it seems,
the feeling of belonging to your dreams

Listen to your heart
when he's calling for you 
Listen to your heart
there's nothing else you can do...

 There is nothing else you can do... Really? Are we simply trapped in the dichotomy of listening to our hearts or listening to outside opinions? As with most dichotomies presented to us, this one is false. We do not have to listen to our hearts to be happy (happiness is temporary, anyway), nor do we have to live under someone else's idea of success. When life does not go as planned, when we feel the pressure of needing to achieve the American dream, or we feel miserable because we have not achieved some idea of love, success, and affluence, we absolutely should not listen to our hearts. We should not listen to the world, or even well-meaning Christians breathing out 'feel better' pop psychology.

What other option do we have, if we ought not listen to the world or to our hearts? We need to tell our hearts. We need to speak Truth to our hearts and minds, even when we feel miserable.  The most oft quoted reason for unhappiness I hear from my friends is, "I don't have a boyfriend!" Is a spouse your idea of success? Have you made a good thing an idol? Do not wallow in the misery of what you have not. Speak Truth to your heart, "He who finds a wife finds a good thing," says the writer of Proverbs. Marriage is good. But if you are not married, then singleness is your garment of glory. 

I want you to be free from the concerns of this life. An unmarried man can spend his time doing the Lord’s work and thinking how to please him. But a married man has to think about his earthly responsibilities and how to please his wife. His interests are divided. In the same way, a woman who is no longer married or has never been married can be devoted to the Lord and holy in body and in spirit. But a married woman has to think about her earthly responsibilities and how to please her husband. I am saying this for your benefit, not to place restrictions on you. I want you to do whatever will help you serve the Lord best, with as few distractions as possible.

 ~ St. Paul, 1 Corinthians 7

Perhaps you are in true lament, a valid thing for Christians to do. You are not wallowing, you are deeply lamenting the loss of a person, a dream, a good thing, or the way your relationship with God used to be. Speak Truth to your heart in this, too. Lamentation is not a sin, but in the midst of grieving, remind your heart to hope.

The valid lament: 

For I used to go with the multitude;
I went with them to the house of God,
With the voice of joy and praise,
With a multitude that kept a pilgrim feast.

Why are you cast down, O my soul?

And why are you disquieted within me?

 The equally valid Truth spoken to the heart/soul:

Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him
For the help of His countenance.

(Psalm 42:4-5, NKJV)

We may not be yet in the place where we have hope in God, and certainly not in a place of rejoicing. However, we must speak Truth to ourselves: hope in God, for I shall again praise Him, as the English Standard Version words it. The Psalmist is reminding his own heart of how he used to joyfully praise God. Yet it is no longer he who is so full of praise that he is at the head of the people going to God's house. Does he sit down an kick and scream? No, he tells his heart to hope in God, for at some point in the future he will again be able to Praise Him.

Perhaps you are in the midst of many crises all at once. I know many persons who are in that place - health troubles, family frustrations, financial crunches, and cars breaking down are just part of their stress. In that place I am tempted to say, "God, a little kindness, some ray of hope would be great right about now. Look at all I am going through, I deserve a little help." Yet I do not dare to believe that I deserve anything from God. All is gift, as a friend of mine told me recently. It is true, all is gift. I cannot win God's goodness or kindness. I cannot earn my redemption and salvation. I do not deserve any good thing from the hand of God. All He gives is a gift, and all I can do is to receive that gift with an open (not grasping) hand. This I must remind my heart, when it would rather think it was entitled to good things.


Finally, after you tell your heart what is True, do not become myopic. Do not dwell on how right you were and how wrong your friend was in an argument. Do not sit on the couch feeling overwhelmed when there is laundry to do, or dishes to wash. Speak Truth to your heart and then do something. Sometimes that means taking a long walk -- without a friend, phone, or iPod. Sometimes it means cleaning your house. And sometimes it means looking at the trees and the sky, simply listening to the silence.

~ Johanna

 

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

Buried Heart

Here lies the heart of me
Buried with an unmarked gravestone
No name, just the dates it lived and died
Now I want it back

Always finding but never seeing the way
Teach me how not to be afraid
(Teach me to love again, to love again, once again)

Take me down and let me see
The well that’s full of bravery
And baptise me so I’ll be free
To do the things I fear

~ The Well and the Gravestone, by The Vespers

So many of The Vespers's lyrics have arrested my heart this past week. From sweet love songs, to exploring the depths of life and death, and various relationships there has been much to ponder. I could write full posts on at least half of the songs on the album 'Tell Your Mama'.


How about you? Have you ever felt like your heart is dead and buried? Have you ever wondered if you will ever feel again, or love again? Have you ever pleaded with God to restore the years the locusts have eaten? Do you ever find yourself wishing you could feel something, even pain?

If you answered 'yes' to any of the above questions, then it is possible that you, too, have entombed your heart beneath an anonymous stone slab.

I have no easy answers about the resurrection of a buried heart. In fact, I have no answers at all. What I do know is that in the last weeks I have been given the gift of feeling joy, and pain in the face of others's losses. For quite some time I have prayed that God would teach my heart how to feel, how to love and be loved (firstly by Him, as well as others). He is gracious to answer, even though the process is slow.

Perhaps I am at fault in the snail's pace of the healing process. One has to hold still under the Surgeon's scalpel for Him to be able to work - and I wiggle a lot. O God, help me to be still!

How I wish I had more well-formed thoughts on this topic, but I am still being resurrected.

I remain under the Mercy,
~ Johanna