a little thought

I had a thought yesterday as I was walking...

well, first of all I had just finished reading "Out of the Silent Planet," and one phrase stuck out--

the main character, Ransom, said that if he would be killed on the way back to earth it would be because

"life was waiting outside... waiting at any moment to break in, and that, if it killed them, it would kill them by excess of its vitality (146, Lewis)."

death swallowed up by LIFE.

Maybe that's what really happens when we die: the remaining deadness in us, the ashes left of God's refining fire, will be consumed by life.

But the thought! :)

When we're jealous or envious of people we constrict ourselves and our world, even cursing it.

But when we can admire someone we open up ourselves and enable us to love and accept them--and I think we can become what we admire.

If we're big enough to affirm someone, we become what we liked in them.

Cinders and ashes

Egyptian Cinderella's golden slippers

What if all the things we longed for as children are true?

What if the truth is far better than we've ever hoped to dream?

The force holding the cosmos in balance, the Spirit that makes the morning stars sing-- GOD

is love.

There are certain stories that have woven their way into many cultures-- redemption songs.

One is the Cinderella story. I found many versions of this fairy tale when I wrote a paper on it freshman year for Lit. class, and each version had its own crazy details.

There's a Chinese, Egyptian, Mexican, American, Italian, German, Korean, Filipino, Irish, and Persian Cinderella. And those were just the ones I had time to read.

Every story began with an abused girl with something that set her apart (beauty, kindness, unnaturally small feet, or a star mark on her cheek), and ended with her marrying a prince.

Whether she and prince charming met at a ball or in church (Irish and American versions...hmmm beginning of single's groups? man oh man), Cinderella's abuser tried to thwart fate, such as giving the poor girl (or boy, in one version) impossible tasks to finish by ball time.

But Cinderella is magically helped by either animals, a personal fairy godmother, or her deceased mother. Nothing can stop them from being together, not even ugly stepsisters cutting off toes to fit into her pretty little slippers (the Brothers Grimm. lovely).

It's fascinating to see how that story has endured through generations and cultures. The most ancient version is apparently Chinese, being over a thousand years old. I wonder how it started.

Perhaps gospel message has echoed throughout history as rumors of grace, of the poor and abused making it, whispers of magical (insert 'divine') help in the most impossible circumstances.

I think where the story falls short is the explanation of how Cinderella is worthy of the prince's affections. In the stories she is very kindhearted or very beautiful or unique in some other way.

Maybe this plot line is a concession to what humans cannot accept: nothing makes us worthy.

We are dark yet lovely just because Jesus says so, but nothing we do or no beauty we possess ever attracts him to us. We are just his kids.

He loved us when we were covered with cinders and when all our good works are still no more than ashes. He won't let sin and death get in the way, and His Spirit is making us His even as we're still sweeping the fireplace.

He lifts us from the ash heap. (I Sam. 2:8, Ps. 113:7)

He will come and marry His bride. (Rev. 22:12-17)

Sometimes it's good to get out of our heads and think back to what we've most fiercely longed for, far too deeply to ever admit. And read and listen and (with much grace and God's good hope) discover that LOVE is on the throne.

and is taking a wife.

give men more respect

Give men more respect.

Respect them enough to think they can handle a woman in leadership. That they won't be thrown off by a female preacher.

That they aren't all hopelessly messy, in desperate need of a wife to domesticate them.

That men won't scared out of church if there are women there, even if they are leading some things.

That men can, and are, living into their callings and also encouraging women to pursue what God is calling them to do, not as sidekicks but as partners in bringing God's kingdom to all the earth (back to Gen. 1).

That men don't want women to downplay their (women's) strengths and intelligence.

I've heard the opposite of all these things, either in conversation or from a pulpit. Sometimes more times than I can remember throwing up.

It seems that many stereotypes and prototypes that have limited women's roles hurt men just as much.

I'm not saying what I'm not saying (i.e. I'm not implying that men and women don't need each other. Not defining men and women's roles... not even touching that).

Just sayin' --give men more credit.

my life in lyrics...

~mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb... (plus 5 more verses)

~I will sing unto the Lord for He has triumphed gloriously, the horse and rider thrown into the sea! the Lord is God and (CLAP) I will praise him, my father's God and I will exalt him, the Lord is God and (CLAP)...

~Faithful One so unchanging, ageless One I depend on you... you are my rock in times of trouble...

~Shen zhen mei hao, Shen zhen mei hao, Shen zhen mei hao, ta dui wo zhen hao

~Bien bien bien bien bien bien bien, wo yao bien!

~o God you are my God and I will ever praise you

(the nutcracker, Trepak!)

~there's a new way to be human, it's nothin we've ever been

~o gently lay your head upon my chest and I will comfort you like a mother while you rest

~and I don't want the whole world to see me, cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am.

(radesky's march)

~I can't stand to fly, I'm not that naive

I'm just out to find the better part of me

I'm more than a bird, more than a plane

more than some pretty face beside a train

and it's not easy to be me

(les miserables)

~sing to me of the song of the stars

of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again

when it feels like my dreams are so far

sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again

so i lay my head back down...

~he leadeth me o blessed thought o words with heavenly comfort fraught

~come back to find you tell you I need you don't know how lovely you are...

(clair de lune-- arr. for orchestra)

~when you try your best but you don't succeed---when you get what you want but not what you need--when you feel so tired but you can't sleep---stuck in reverse--and the tears come streaming down your face--when you lose something you can't replace--when you love someone but it goes to waste--what could be worse?

~no woman no cry

~BIcycle BIcycle BIcycle ... o so much more Queen...

~make you banana pancakes, pretend like it's the weekend now

~honey you are a rock upon which I stand... green eyes, yeah the spotlight shines upon you...

(jeux d'eau)

~grace-- she carries the world on her hips, champagne flute for her lips

~baum baum baum baum baum ba baum I feel free...

~and the truth is

I miss you

and the truth is

I need you

I should not have let you go

~you turned me into somebody loved

~don't you dare speak for someone you don't know, I feel it in the back of the throat, you know I can't construct a poem cuz words like girls get bored and run,

c 'est la vie...

~when clouds veil sun and disaster comes, o my soul o my soul

~I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me, I play pretend between the trees...

~I go to Coney, the beach is divine, I go to ball games, the bleachers are fine...

~I've got a scar for every song and blood left still to bleed, but I don't want to waste your time with music you don't need

~once there was a way to get back homeward

once there was a way to back home

sleep pretty darlin, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby

~you hem me in with skin all around me

~my love is real before your eyes, He's ravished by the sight of one glance from me

got to stop this foolish mission..

keep remembered more songs that changed me!

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.

parades and make-believe

(this pic looks a little like the street of our apartment in Taiwan)

Wow, first blog of 2010. I've been busy and internet-less.

I've got to sleep soon, but quickly-- Taiwan memory that I had forgotten about.

I remember our Taipei apartment best, on the fifth floor with an unpredictable elevator (we would escort our guests down to the front door just in case it would get stuck). We had a tiny balcony with a few hardy plants that the monsoon season didn't drown. It overlooked a narrow street, and all was concrete and dark gray. But if you leaned out the balcony and look right, you could see lush mountains overrun with rainforest... on a clear day.

There my baby sister took her first steps, there my brother broke his leg, there we played elaborate make-believes and transformed our living room into houses and tepees and islands interspersed with lava. We had an amazing stash of make-believe clothes, from furry vests to bright scarves, and I would wrap Micala into a shawl and protect her from imminent lava-induced death, and Aaron would turn into a jaguar. And we would face-paint everyone and everything... my Mom woke up from a nap once to find black fingertips all over everything, and my friend and I marveling at our beautiful new black baby--none other than a COMPLETELY black Micala.

BUT what I wanted to write about was the view from the apartment looking down at the street. We'd see the garbage truck come along--hear it, actually. It was my childhood's version of the ice-cream man; the garbage truck had a cheerful, repetitive tune and would slowly thread its way through the streets, stopping as each tai tai (married woman) hurried out with her bags of garbage. It was a cool view--hundreds of multicolored bags, a strong metal lever flattening everything as need, and more being piled on as people would toss up their garbage to a man sitting on top of the tall heap.

And we'd see people walking...I would always try to see them without them seeing me, like a cat, because I loathed the extra attention caused by my ethnicity.

Every so often we'd hear distinctive bells jingling and loud opera music, and peered out to see a funeral procession passing by. Lots of bright yellow and orange flowers--chrysanthemums, I think--framing large pictures. This memory is blurred with another procession--what I was reminded of today--so I'm sure this isn't entirely accurate. Part of me wishes I had lived there when I was a bit older, so I could better articulate the many things that have affected me, but that I have forgotten.

Around ghost month (and maybe Chinese New Year or if something bad happened? maybe?), loud trucks with a massive dragon head and brightly uniformed men holding the body of the dragon, making it dance, would trail through the streets. The music was loud, and it sounded strident and scary to me, because I knew what they were doing. People had hired them to march down this particular street to appease a certain god. They were parading their gods down the street.

At theWall today we talked a little about how political Jesus' kingdom is--how it encompasses the political as well as everything else, and how so much of Paul's language had massive, dangerous political implications--'Jesus is Lord', 'gospel'--and that to the Roman world, the word 'evangelize'... its Greek equivalent... signified processions celebrating their gods/Caesar, parading them in the streets. (and this is my memory of the conversation... blame me if I am butchering the cultural context).

It still happens... in the West, there are lots of parades, and I guess you could say that they are parading their gods, such as Santa Claus. My Mom has a long and detailed vendetta against Santa Claus, mainly because everywhere in Taiwan people thought that he was the god Christians worshiped around Christmastime.

BUT that could be stretching it. I don't know. I do think that in the West it is incredibly easy to forget that we all are worshiping something.

We don't have the incense, the idol shelves, the food sacrificed to idols, the children prayed over and blessed by/dedicated to gods.

But we parade ourselves. And oh, so many other things.

ANYHOW here's the verse that we ended with this morning--it's awesome...and how amazing it is that it was culturally relevant in Paul's day and today:

But thanks be to God who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and who makes known through us the fragrance that consists of the knowledge of him in every place. (2 Corinthians 2:14 NET)

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)