Category: Artistic Design

The Dance of Surrendered Faith…

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Sometimes living feels like a bit of a tightrope walk, doesn’t it? There are so many keys to staying the course and living life well. We need to be strong, but not hard or callous. We should be fun and relaxed, but also hard-working and disciplined. Flexibility is a must, but so is holding to and protecting our boundaries. There are rules that must be followed and those that, at least on occasion, appear to be made to be broken. Our culture sends us a whole slew of confusing messages on a daily basis, something that feels especially true for women. 

A friend said to me recently, “What a crazy dance life is.” She’s right, at least based on my experience–there is a great deal of craziness that keeps us spinning. But if it’s a dance, then there’s beauty in that, for dancing involves music, steps, rhythm, and hopefully, a fun partner who gently leads. Dancing can be a celebration. Entering in means embracing it for what it is, choosing to be led, choosing to be joyful in it.

Of all the crazy dances or tightrope walks in this world, one that I find the most challenging is the balance between faith and surrender. Jesus tells us that if we have faith as small as a mustard seed, we can tell a mountain to move and it will. He also tells us, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find…” (Matthew 7:7). Paul and other apostles applauded men like Abraham who, “…human reason for hope being gone, hoped in faith.. as he had been promised” (Romans 4:18). So, for example, I can pray in faith for God to heal me, believing that He can at any moment, but I must also walk in complete surrender, trusting Him to do His will. No matter how things appear, I believe that He is always at work for my good and for His glory.

Jesus tells us that as His followers we must take up our crosses daily and follow Him, that whoever desires to keep his life must lose it. Brother Lawrence, a saint of old, encourages us, “Complete surrender to God’s will is the only sure road to follow. In it, there is always enough light to assure safe travel.” We are told in the first chapter of Ephesians that we are seated with Christ in the heavenly realms and that, “…God placed all things under His feet and appointed Him to be head over everything for the church.” He has given us authority over all the things that trouble and plague us here on this earth, yet we’re also told that for a little while we must suffer. What a crazy dance life is.

In her book, When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chödrön expresses it this way, “…We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together and they fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all this to happen, room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy…. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all” (p. 9). 

Christ holds out His hand and asks, “May I have this dance?” I accept His invitation and embrace the journey. I surrender and make space, that I may be open for all that comes next, however unknown it may be.

*Photo Credits: lovedoes.org

“Just As I Am…”

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Mistakes and failure seem to be a part of venturing bravely and wholeheartedly into this great big world, or just staying at home. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it. Over and over again, I come to the feet of God, the plea of Charlotte Elliott’s old hymn on my lips:

 

“Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me.

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee.

O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”

 

As many times as I think I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to make a million mistakes in this human adventure, the ugliness of failure hits me anew each time like running into a brick wall. Like author Anne Lamott, I must tape Hillel’s line on my wall, “I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

 

Nelson Mandela said, “The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing…but in rising every time we fall.” And I have this blessed hope. As I pick myself up and dust myself off, my loving Father greets me with His arms wide open. He looks at me tenderly, telling me without words that all is well, and all manner of things shall be well. He whispers that He has loved me with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 33:3) and I am completely right with Him through the blood of His Son (II Corinthians 5:21).

 

I walked yesterday, a few things troubling my spirit, the weather windy as a storm rolled in. As I rounded the corner to my house, a warm sunset greeted me. Pastel purples, pinks, and yellows stretched thin across the western sky. Just then, a small wren landed on top of my wind chimes and sat there bouncing joyfully in the wind. As he began his song, accompanied by both the stormy breeze and the chimes, silhouetted by the mellow evening sky, part of a favorite song came to me: “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

 

That night I read a portion of Bill Holm’s poem Ann Lamott quoted in her book BIRD BY BIRD called “August in Waterton, Alberta,” and it connected these musings on failure and songs in storm:

 

“Above me, wind does its best

To blow leaves off

The aspen tree a month too soon.

No use wind. All you succeed

In doing is making music, the noise

Of failure growing beautiful.”

 

Though perhaps my time for success in certain realms has not yet come, if it ever shall, and the wind may blow all the while, my roots grow deep and my colors turn bright and beautiful. “Meanwhile, I keep dancing” (Hillel).

The Sounds of Silence…

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Recently, I took a course on nature writing that got me writing, thinking, quiet, outdoors, observing, and appreciating in new ways. Here are a few musings that came out of it…the “sounds” of silence:

 

The creek’s water rushes by where I sit in the meadow, slowed by the dam the ranchers have set to divert its course. Snow runoff continues to crawl and creep down our mountains, though there’s far too little of it this year.

 

A bird sounds from a place I cannot see in the tall cottonwoods that flank the trees. Suddenly, he soars, fearlessly diving into the clear blue sunny sky. I see it is a sparrow’s song that lightened the afternoon.

 

The wind stirs everything around me, from the houndstongue flower and milkvetch grass of the meadow to the shrubs and trees. It winds and wanders its way up to the jagged peaks of the Cimarron Range of the San Juans. These foothills of Chimney and Courthouse Peaks are my home. Here, I return to the sound of a heartbeat that is not my own, yet welcomes me into itself.

 

The wind returns to me, settling in the banks of the river and its trees, stirring my soul. I’m reminded of what Wendell Berry said, “Write a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.”

 

*****

 

I journeyed to the lake today in the quiet morning hours.

What a gift to sit on the sunny shore almost alone—

to see the easy morning tide and the ripples on the water,

the light that hits variant colors of stone.

On the rocky banks grow green grasses, weeds, and trees,

mama cottonwoods and their babies. 

I admire those plants that come to thrive 

out of the barren, hard, seemingly lifeless places.

There is life everywhere.

I find one shooting out of both rock and water with baby’s breath flowers,

though my field guide says it is broadleaved pepperweed.

Some “weeds” that grow in our lives seem undesirable at first,

But they bloom and flower and surprise, shading us and others with their leaves.

“Always We Begin Again…”

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As I walked my dogs the other morning, I looked out onto a world made new. The crisp azure sky highlighted jagged mountain peaks covered in a dazzling fresh coat of snow. Cat Stevens’ song rang out in my mind, “Morning has broken, like the first morning. Blackbird has spoken like the first bird. Praise for the singing, praise for the morning….” Creation is continually sustained and remade, just as we are.

 

The new year and decade remind me that no matter where we’re at, whatever regrets we have or roads we may wish we had taken in the past, whatever has us feeling trapped or stuck, it’s always possible to find redemption for the areas in which we fall short and start over. As the great poet Rainer Maria Rilke prompted, “Let us believe in a long year that is given to us new, untouched, full of things that have never been.”

 

Leeana Tankersley writes about the prayer of St. Benedict used to call the saints of old to the holiness of repetition, “Always we begin again.” As an intention for each new year, day, or moment, it reminds us that all of life is about the openness for continual renewal. As Tankersley writes, “…that’s what so much of life is–learning how, and learning how again, over and over.”

 

Colombia has one of the oldest standing guerilla armies in the world and a long-standing internal conflict that has killed hundreds of thousands, affecting over nine million. Executive Jose Miguel Sokoloff and a group of peacemakers led their native country in transformation over several years during the holiday season.* Initially, they covered a path from the jungle where the guerillas hid with Christmas lights and left a message stating, “If Christmas can come to the jungle, you can come home. Demobilize. At Christmas, everything is possible.” The message worked and soldiers began to lay down their arms. The next year, Sokoloff’s group put bouncy balls that lit up into the rivers with personal messages inside from families who had soldiers fighting. Several soldiers a day returned home. Eventually, as many as 17,000 laid down their weapons. 
If this kind of societal transformation is possible, what is conceivable within our own individual stories? Will we allow the things that break our hearts to also crush our spirits? Will paths that fizzle out become dead ends or opportunities to forge a new road? Will each new day be a reminder of the time we’ve lost or of all that awaits? Emily Dickins exhorted, “The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience…DWELL IN POSSIBILITY.” If we are open-hearted and open-minded, willing to embrace a life that will consistently surprise us and a Creator that will continually transform us, the possibilities are endless. We can always begin again.

*(1) Lisa Shipley, “Christmas after Christmas: How a Colombian ad exec helped demobilize guerrillas by advertising peace,” The Bogota Post, December 3, 2017.

“Emmanuel: God With Us…”

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I have a few friends who have nailed the art of being present. When I’m with them, they look at me, listen without interruption or distraction, nod their heads as they actively participate in the conversation, and then offer their hearts and lives in exchange. Because they’re so focused, they have this way of showing others they matter. It’s a gift to receive that kind of love, to have others who are there, ready to celebrate or cry or just sit beside me, willing to offer their strength or joy or compassion. 

 

God’s like this. He gives Himself fully to each one of us, with the infinite capacity to be present in all of us in life’s ups and downs, in just the ways we need. He pursues us and fills us to overflowing with His individual ministrations and unconditional love. How telling it is that two of His names are “I AM” and “Emmanuel/God With Us.” During the Christmas season, we remember that the Eternal God sent His beloved Son as the long-awaited Saviour. He would dwell as man with us and give His life as an atonement for our sins. 

 

I love that on his Christmas album, accompanied by Yo Yo Ma, James Taylor sings the Beatles’ song, “Here Comes the Sun.”The Son has come, and His arrival changes everything: “Little Darlin’, it’s been a long and lonely winter…but here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say, well, it’s alright.” 

 

Taylor also sings one of my favorite Christmas songs, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” an old English carol based on a Nineteenth-Century poem by Christina Rosetti:

 

“In the bleak midwinter/A stable sufficed;

The Lord God Almighty—Jesus Christ…

What can I give Him/Poor as I am?

If I were a Shepherd/I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man/I would do my part,—

Yet what I can I give Him—Give my heart.”

 

O Come, Emmanuel, be present with us this winter, in each day, as you have in ages past. Thank you for providing us with access to the ultimate gift—the feast of your presence.

Perspective & Gratitude…

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It’s amazing how an unexpected trip to the emergency room and stay in the hospital can provide a new perspective on things. After two intestinal surgeries to remediate the effects of his Crohn’s Disease, my husband is finally beginning to heal, and we are grateful.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned is that marriage worked–we truly are one. As my husband has bravely suffered countless procedures, pokings and proddings, two operations, the night of the drug-induced coma between them, the intense sleepless days in the ICU after, and the indignity of the ileostomy bag he’ll need for several more months, I have felt at least a small share of his pain in it all. Every time I have to leave him or be separated from him or watch them stick something else into him, I physically feel the pain of it and my heart breaks for him. Often it feels as though I’m leaving a part of myself behind. Despite the difficulty of all of this, we know that God is making us stronger and more united, increasing our love for one another day by day. Mikael is loved by all the nurses and providers here for his positive attitude and the way he thanks them for everything they do, even those that are painful or uncomfortable. I come to admire my Mikael more every day too.

Each one of those experiences that’s been hard or humbling or uncomfortable we’re doing our best to bless, knowing that when you bless something it loses its power to hurt you. So we bless the N/G tube in his nose that made him gag and prevented him from turning his head. I bless the nurses that see him naked and get irritated with my questions or requests (though overall, they’ve been wonderful!). We bless each thing as an instrument of God’s healing and growing work in our lives.

We’re learning to give thanks for each small miracle, and we’ve had a lot this week! We got to leave the ICU and get onto a regular ward floor, enabling Mikael to get some better rest. We’ve had good visits from family and friends and feel love and support from those who are far away. Mikael got his N/G tube out and can move his head freely! On other days he got his catheter out, an IV taken out of his left hand, and one out of his right hand. Yesterday, they took off his wound covering and the wound-vac pump that went with it. Then, the miracle of all miracles, I got the first hug I’d had in almost a week because he was free enough of tubes to make it possible!

Mikael’s making some physical strides of progress. He was able to walk all the way down the ward hallway and sit outside on the patio and I don’t think we’ve ever been so grateful to look out at the I-225 traffic on a cloudy day and feel the breeze :). Yesterday, Mikael got his first bite of real food in twelve days and began to weep it tasted so good. Today, he had his first shower in six days and it left him speechless. Both of us may sleep an hour or ninety minutes at a time here at night, but we’re just so thankful to get that much, and that we can be together, and that he’s okay.

We know that our Father is good and that we have never been out of His care. That’s definitely been proven to us by having so many beautiful loved ones in our lives! As well as we may know them, we’re learning again the words of Paul by heart, “Rejoice always; pray without ceasing. In everything, give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus” (I Thessalonians 5:16-18). My favorite author Wendell Berry said it well too, “What we must do is this: ‘Love always, pray continually, in everything give thanks.’ I’m not all the way capable of it, but I know those are the right instructions.” These events that have interrupted the normal events of our life also serve as an invitation to draw even more near to God’s heart–gratitude is one of our paths and we have chosen to take it.

“DO IT AGAIN…”

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Though my family didn’t move to Colorado until I turned eight, having lived here thirty years this year, I consider myself very much a Colorado girl. Filled with more Fourteeners than any other state, Colorado’s high desert tundra, crystal mountain lakes, majestic sunrises and sunsets, alpenglow, and mystical mountains have “filled up my senses” countless times.

 

I’ve often wondered what it is about mountains that’s so captivating. They’re definitely a solid, seemingly immovable presence. They remind us there’s something and someone greater than us, greater than the obstacles we face each day. They invite and beckon to adventure, exploration, and challenge. They call us to see new beauty and summit the heights. And yet, as solid and unchanging as the mountains seem, Jesus tell us we can move them. “…Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you” (Matthew 17:20, NIV).

 

There are a few seasons of life that have been marked journeys of faith for me, times when God called me to believe something that seemed virtually impossible at the time. It required a long wait, a lot of growth, and an attitude of expectancy as I navigated the valleys and summited the peaks. Sometimes, the hoped-for result came. Sometimes not. Most often, the answer looked quite different than I anticipated. But always, always, God proved Himself faithful, and the greatest reward came from His presence on the journey. In reality, it wasn’t my faith that moved mountains. My Father God worked on my behalf to move them for me as I depended on Him.

 

Several things have shifted in my circumstances lately, or burst, perhaps, is a better word. So now, here I am, once again in another season of absolute need, desperate for my God to move. As many times as God’s done the impossible and shown Himself strong in my life, still, it requires more faith for me to believe He’ll do it again. I continue to allow my fear to be bigger than my faith. But as song artist Rita Springer says, “I have to believe that He sees my darkness. I have to believe that He knows my pain…. For He said that He’s forever faithful. He said He’s forever true. He said He can move mountains. He can move my mountains; He can move your mountains too. I have to believe.” Faith simultaneously transforms us and sustains us. In Isaiah, hundreds of years before Jesus came, God assures us, “…I will not forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. Your walls…are ever before me” (Isaiah 49:16). What I face, He faces…He has engraved me on the palms of His hands. He has always been faithful…He will be again. “I believe Lord, help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24).

 

There’s a song by Elevation Worship that’s been speaking to my heart, “DO IT AGAIN.” The lyrics state:

 

“Walking around these walls

I thought by now they’d fall

But You have never failed me yet

Waiting for change to come

Knowing the battle’s won

For You have never failed me yet

 

Your promise still stands

Great is Your faithfulness, faithfulness

I’m still in Your hands

This is my confidence, You’ve never failed me yet

 

I know the night won’t last

Your Word will come to pass

My heart will sing Your praise again

Jesus, You’re still enough

Keep me within Your love

My heart will sing Your praise again

 

I’ve seen You move, come move the mountains

And I believe, I’ll see You do it again

You made a way, where there was no way

And I believe, I’ll see You do it again…”

 

Indeed. I have seen Him move mountains. And I do believe. I will see Him do it again. He has made a way where there was no way. Let’s believe we’ll see Him do it again.

“O Cross that Liftest Up My Head” (George Matheson)…

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The final stanza to George Matheson’s hymn “O Love That Will Not Let Me Go” makes clear the calling each follower of Christ is called to:

 

O Cross that liftest up my head

I do not ask to fly from thee

I lay in dust life’s glory dead

And from the ground there blossoms red

Life that shall ever be.

 

Our earthly lives can be full of blessing, and simultaneously, full of suffering, marked my wounds and scars we’ve received along the way. The apostle Peter speaks to this in I Peter 4:12: “My dear brothers, do not be surprised at the test you are suffering, as though something unusual was happening to you. Rather, rejoice that you are sharing in the suffering of Christ, so that you may be full of joy when His glory is revealed.”

 

We share in the suffering of Christ, who suffered all things for us, and we are promised joy as the end result. When Jesus returned to the disciples after the crucifixion and the apostle Thomas doubted his resurrected identity, Jesus told him to feel the wounds in his side and his hands. Jesus offered Thomas total transparency, knowing this apostle would one day be martyred for his efforts to share the gospel in modern day India.

 

As author Sheila Walsh states in her book It’s Okay Not to Be Okay: Moving Forward One Day At a Time:
“There is no image that displays the love of God more perfectly than the scars of Jesus. The scars tell God’s story. ‘That Sunday evening the disciples were meeting behind locked doors because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders. Suddenly, Jesus was standing there among them! ‘Peace be with you,’ he said. As he spoke, he showed them the wounds in his hands and his side. They were filled with joy when they saw the Lord!’ (John 20:19–20)

But before the joy, there was heartache and questions. Nothing made sense anymore.

We all know we’ll face challenges in life, but sometimes we’re hit by something that feels as if the enemy has won. That’s a frightening place to be. That must have been how the disciples felt that night.

But as the risen Christ held out His nail-pierced hands and wounded side to His friends, they were no longer marks of death, they were signs of victory: declaring that death was overcome by the blood of the Lamb. Christ wears those scars in heaven as glorious trophies of the battle He has won.

The only wound from this earth in eternity will be the scars of Christ (emphasis mine). If Christ has chosen to live eternally with His scars, why would we be ashamed to show ours?

I think that every time God the Father sees the pierced hands and feet of Christ, He sees you and me. The scars tell God’s love story.

The love of God invites us to bring our scars into the light. We don’t have to hide anymore. It really is okay not to be okay.

Our scars are proof that God heals.”

A Spacious Place…

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Just now I’m listening to the song of wind chimes blowing in a gentle summer breeze outside my window. Curtains rustle as the light filters in. The dogs sleep in a mix of sun and shade under a tree where apples ripen in preparation for the autumn harvest. I sit at the table with the extraordinary gift before me of a peaceful, quiet time in which to read and reflect and write. As friends begin teaching children for a new school year, a blessing we once shared, I have a whiff of nostalgia, but breath a deep sigh of relief, for I know it had become too much for my fragile body.

 

A man walks his clomping horse up the dirt road where we live in this one-of-a-kind small mountain town. Though late August, the tundra on the hills has begun to change and the evenings are cooler. I settle into the weekday morning quiet of this world and feel deep gratitude for the season of rest I’ve been granted in this beautiful and spacious place. Studies completed, new paths opened and explored, more adventures and learning await and good work will need to be done. But for now, this day, I rest and give thanks.

 

Many times this was among the things only hoped for and imagined. That being said, it is important that I remember: my Father God and loving friends generously sacrificed and gave to share this with me. Both have been oh so sweet and faithful. As Psalm 18:16-19 proclaims, “He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the LORD was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me.”
As author Ann Voskamp states, the act of remembering re-members us, helping rejoin the broken pieces. A dear friend reminded me today: there have been miracles…. there will be miracles. It’s good to remember. The chimes sound as the winds stir a song of praise.  

Cracks…

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There really isn’t a time in my life when I don’t remember actively walking with the Lord, so one would think that as I begin my thirty-seventh year, I would pretty much have this walk down. Wrong. There are so many days when I feel distant from my Father, so many times when I clearly see my sin and flaws realized in bad behavior. This worn vessel cracks and leaks in ways that make it appear less than ideal for useful service. I hurt those I love most and fall short of God’s glory and my own ambitions every day. At times I am the judgemental older brother, at others, I know myself to be as the wandering and rebellious prodigal son.

 

As RZIM A Slice of Infinity author Jill Carattini pointed out, there’s an easily glanced over phrase in the prodigal son story, “…the prodigal ‘came to himself’ and, at this, he decides to turn back to the father…. The son is one who wakes to health and life again, having been unconscious of his true condition. Standing in a foreign field hungry and alone, the son comes to something more than a good decision. He is waking to an identity he knew in part but never fully realized. He is remembering life in his father’s house again, though for the first time.”

 

How easy it is to lose sight of our identity when we wander away from our Father’s house. How easy it is to forget who God says I am. Lauren Daigle’s recent song, “You Say” beautifully affirms that He sees me cleansed, perfected, and redeemed. He provides acceptance and belonging. No matter what condition I’m in, I can always turn back to the open and waiting arms of my loving Father God.

 

This vessel may be cracked, but may it come to itself, may it come home, and may it be of use. As the apostle Paul said in II Corinthians 5:7-9, “7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8 We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”

 

Canadian poet and songwriter Leonard Cohen also summed it up well in his song “Anthem,”:
“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”