lilysnow

(interspersed lyrics: "More than Ashes," Tim Reimherr)

Winter is hard for me. I wish I associated the season with cozy fires and cocoa and so on, but to me cold is the breath of DEATH, and hell is not fiery but frozen, windy, and slushy. The whole world becomes a barren wasteland, and even the blueness of the sky is sucked up into white nothingness.

That's where I'm coming from. I guess it's weather depression, and the continual occurrence of really crappy things during winter doesn't help. Also, this is only my second true winter in... oh, since I was ten.

I'm more than what these ashes say

they will fade away

when he comes for me

But it feels more fundamental than that--in winter one must realize that the world is not always going to be covered in snow. Cold and death do not have the final word: there's hope!

For spring is already shifting the depths and will reclaim its own.

By grace through faith in Christ I'm saved

I am not the same

when he looks at me

I haven't learned that quite yet.

I am the rose

the joy for which you died

and this I know--I move you with delight

But tonight there was grace for it--

I went to a Furnace prayer meeting Sunday night and, courtesy of the widescreen-view of the World Prayer Center, watched the snow fall. From one angle I almost couldn't believe that it was snow: it looked EXACTLY like the fake snow (translation: soap flakes) used around Christmastime in Singapore! Big, frothy flakes.

and when my heart condemns on every side

I take refuge in the truth: I am the rose to you.

My life is more than meets the eye

I'm hidden now in Christ

and I'm one with him

As worship and intercession wafted through the room, I kept thinking of that passage in Isaiah (58 I think) about how as the rain and snow come down from the earth... so the word of the LORD will not return to Him void... It snowed harder.

my love is real before his eyes

He's ravished by the sight

of one glance from me

There was so much motion and energy in the sky--it mirrored the spirit of intercession: they reflected each other. The snow became the picture of spiritual blessings and prayers--falling steadily, even furiously, filling up the sky and transforming the world.

Like the fullness of God filling everything in every way. Like his immeasurably great power for those who believe.... that falls with such gentleness upon feeble us.

I am the rose, the joy for which you died

and this I know-- I move you with delight

the knowledge of the glory of God will cover the earth as waters cover the seas (Hab 2:14)--

I've always been drawn to nautical imagery and beaches and the SEA and miss it--terribly, sometimes. And can't imagine not ever having seen the vast ocean.

and when my heart condemns on every side

I take refuge in the truth

But snow has its place--creating pictures of what was happening in reality. what prayers were doing, what God is raining down.

I am the rose to you

I am the rose

I am the lily

I am yours

I'm your beauty

I am the rose

I am the lily

I am yours

I'm your beauty

As I was walking home I looked at the snow and even stood still for a few moments (precious few... my feet were cold). And realized that at least for me, this season requires more time to be enjoyed.

more time for the mundane, awful tasks of scraping ice and cautiously testing clumsier brakes.

But once you have thick socks and sweaters that don't make you feel too frumpy and a good coat and hot tea.... then you can start to appreciate this harsher, cleaner beauty.

I am the rose

I am the lily

I am yours

I'm your beauty

I am the rose

I am the lily

I am yours

I'm your beauty

The sprouting, flagrantly colorful JOY of summer (especially an eternal tropical summer) makes winter seem so subdued. You have to search. Everything is either dead or very well-hidden.

There's gonna be a wedding

It's the reason that I'm living

To marry the Lamb

I feel like that somewhat describes where I am spiritually... kind of. Yes and no. Because I'm in a garden but am also very hidden; well, a garden enclosed. Hidden with Christ in God, not doing anything big, not in any kind of leadership role, not going on a missions trip, staying, praying, storing up, being hidden.

And I really like it. Of course, I certainly have my moments... such as when I think of what my life is coming to and I'm already twenty-three, and I'm not where I thought I would be.

There's gonna be a wedding

It's the reason that I'm living

To marry the Lamb

But I feel like I'm where I should be. And it's comforting to be storing up in certain ways... realizing that this will not last forever, but that every minute is precious.

I'm more than what these ashes say

They will fade away

When he comes for me

I've been in leadership since I was pretty little, and honestly that has made for some stressful and hard circumstances. It's so nice to not have that kind of public influence right now. I know that the millisecond a position presents itself, pride tries its best to slither in. And knowledge of your influence increases pressure on everything... not necessarily in a bad way, but it's like turning up the volume on a stereo.

It's easier when you're flying under the radar, so to speak.

My love is real before his eyes

He's ravished by the sight

of one glance from me

So now it's time for a long winter's nap (this season also requires more SLEEP... or at least my schedule does). But I needed to write this to remind me that there was an evening when I enjoyed winter!

And this song is beautiful--to me, it fits this post. Listen to and buy it if you can.

There's gonna be a wedding

It's the reason that I'm living

To marry the Lamb

To marry the Lamb.

patterns

Patterns.

doing the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over

and again

I'm beginning to pay attention to the beauty of repetition. If you knit one stitch and it's a knot. But if you do that 50,000 times and purl some too, you end up with art that you can wear or warm yourself with.

If you play a sour chord once, it's a mistake. But do it a couple times over eight measures and it's jazz.

The sun rises every single day, rain or shine, heart breaking or soaring, in failure or triumph.

Humans may not be very skilled at consistency, but we certainly need it more than we let on.

I think we have a couple of different reasons for undervaluing repetition, such as:

~"the definition of an idiot is someone who does the same thing over again and expects different results." (Einstein? someone smart)

we fear destructive ruts. as well we should.

Addiction exists, and that in itself can make the thought of any repetition frightening.

~Our hearts restlessly look for new things, and our minds need to feast on new concepts, ideas, hopes, dreams

but I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

(U2... and the whole human race. Even if we search after God, we are still in the shadowlands and long for Jesus and His Kingdom to fully come.)

we all long.

I guess more than anything, patterns are powerful. They can destroy or transform a life and the world--for the patterns of our lives always intertwine, either in painful knots or in something truly lovely.

Growing up is a process of realizing that there are powerful patterns in place--call them laws or grace or music--and something does hold the stars apart and the planets in harmony.

At first, we children don't quite trust the pattern of days and months, and Christmas may never EVER EVER come. If a parent leaves the room they may not ever come back.

And so we cry.

As we grow older we (at least presume to) get a handle on time and days, and can focus our energies on breaking OUT of the pattern in which we find ourselves. Then, upon success, we try to figure out how the heck one creates a new pattern!

Maybe eventually we come full circle, realizing that the patterns of life are constantly being created, and nothing is for certain.

Sometimes Christmas won't come for your loved one that died in the fall. Sometimes parents don't come back.

Then living consciously becomes what it always has been-- a gift that requires oceans of courage and grace and love--

none of it our own.

sometimes in the dead of winter we need more of it--love--grace--God--to sustain even the simple ongoing patterns of life.

even if Jesus was born in the summer, I'm glad that Christmas is in the bleak midwinter.

in the bleak midwinter

frosty winds made moan

earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone

snow had fallen,

snow on snow

snow on snow.

In the bleak midwinter

long ago.

what can I give him,

poor as I am

if I were a shepard, I would give a lamb.

if I were a wise man I would do my part

yet what can I give him: give my heart.

(In the Bleak Midwinter)