Hearthfires and Hearts Afire

Come in, come in and warm thyself
by the fire of love,
kindled by kindness and
breathing out the incense 
of acceptance

Come, gather 'round
the crackling branches, 
pruned and withered, 
still offering warmth and light
as they fall to ash and truly die

Come toast thy face 
in the warmth of grace and
by the blaze of holiness 
be scoured and cleansed, 
be set to rest

Come out of the wet, the cold, 
the wild wind—to the hearth 
and heart of this home,
wherein Christ dwells in mirth
and tears, in hugs and hands

Come in, come in and sit
thyself beside the fire
of hospitality and glowing embers,
where we laugh and weep
and still remember.

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.

The Fog of Holy Mystery

What do you think of when you hear the phrase 'holy mystery'? Desert mystics wandering in flowing robes? Gilded saints on chapel ceilings? Incense streaming toward Heaven? I confess to having barely a vague knowledge of the mystery of the Divine. Holy mysteries are inchoate ideas at best, dark shadows in my head at most – nothing substantial enough to put into words. 

Today, however, I began to understand that holy mysteries are something akin to the fog filling up the bowl of the valley, pouring in over the lip of the foothills. The veil of mist hides familiar mesas and canyons. I know something of what is behind the veil from seeing the low hills on clear days. Perhaps holy mysteries are something like that, where most days all I see through the fog are blunted edges and shapes fading into grey. Then, for a moment, the clouds swirl up and I can see more clearly what is really there, only to be enveloped again the next minute. Knowing God is like that, moments of clearly seeing beyond the edge of the fog, seeing the substance further in, and then the shade descends again.

In other ways, I know the mystery of the Divine like a solitary bird flying off into the mist, its lone cry echoing back my heart's. Winging its way along it is swallowed by the depths and layers of cloud. I wonder if it will find a flock to join, or a place to rest its weary wings. So, too, I muse whether I will be able to rest my fainting soul, or find a flock with whom I fit. Or will I just fly into the grey and be lost? Is there anything real beyond what I can see? In the swirling moments I believe there is, because I have seen the shapes become solid. Yet, even when the mist o'ershadows the mountains I know by Beauty and by sense that there is more. More than the glimpses. Things more real than I can see or touch. I don't know how I know, but I do. Ah! There it is, the divine mystery: Beauty moves us toward the reality so real that we can only see shadows of it now. One day we shall see it –see Him– face to face.

For a moment the slow-pouring fog shifts and I know that when I want to enter into Beauty itself – when I want to be the sunset, or the symphony swelling, or the seagull on the wing – those aching moments are when the Divine pierces to my heart, like a shaft of sun through a storm cloud. I still cannot see what is to come, but I know the sun is there, and there are solid things beyond the shrouding mist. 

The beauty of this world is like layer upon layer of dark fog and storm clouds, melting the edges of evening into night. But the Beauty of the world beyond, the world to come, the redeemed world will be the crisp lines of leaf edges against a blue sky, of dappling shade, of falling leaves and sifting snow, of a forest of firs, and rocks upon rocks to climb and feel and see. It will be more, different, deeper. It will be like a keen wind in our lungs. We will be wonderstruck, as if seeing silver stars for the very first time. It will be layer upon layer of real... And there will still be those thin stratus clouds all salmon and coral and purple at sunset. The Divine will be fleshed out, walking among us again, and we will be new and able to see. 

~ Johanna

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.