Thursday, April 19, 2007

Sometimes I Wonder . . .

I wonder what it would be like to see clearly, to have the scales peeled from my eyes and to see Jesus face to face . . . and in the next glance I have to praise Him for relentlessly tearing them from my hands that press them so tightly against my face. And I remember that the "would" is a "will" and that "will" will become "is" and I will no longer be afraid of His gaze.

I wonder what it would be like to hear clearly, to have His words to me truly be heard in every part of my being, what it would be like to resonate and vibrate with a perfect tuning to His music . . . and in the next note I have to praise Him for the fragmented harmonies that I am already able to hear with a growing volume, dispite the fingers wedged tightly in my ears. And I remember that the "would" is a "will" and that "will" will become "is" and I will no longer be afraid of His voice, His words to me.

I wonder what it would be like to smell the perfect fragrance of Him, of His offering, the incense that is a sweet-smelling aroma to the Father's nostrils, the offering that we pour at His feet; to truly breathe with healthy lungs the pure air, the life-giving breath of life . . . and in the next breath I have to praise Him for the permeating fragrance that comes my way, for the persistent breath of life that He has not stopped breathing into His Image-bearers from the very dawn of time, dispite my refusal to fill my lungs with His goodness. And I remember that the "would" is a "will" and that "will" will become "is" and I will no longer be afraid of His breath, His fragrance.

I wonder what it would be like to truly "taste and see that the Lord is good", to hunger after Him and be satisfied by Him, to truly be brought to His banqueting table, where His banner over me is love . . . and in the next pang I have to praise Him for nourishing me, for giving me the Bread of Life and the Living Water, dispite my stubborn refusal to open my mouth. And I remember that the "would" is a "will" and that "will" will become "is" and I will no longer be afraid of His hunger and satisfaction.

I wonder what it would be like to truly feel His healing touch, to touch Him, to reach out and feel the hem of His garment, the holes in His hands, the wounds of His feet, to pour out my offerings and tears on His feet, to wash His feet and be washed by Him . . . and in the next touch I have to praise Him for already beginning His work of healing, for touching my heart and upholding it and making it new, for inviting my touch, delighting in my service to Him - all dispite my tightly curled and clenched fists. And I remember that the "would" is a "will" and that "will" will become "is" and I will no longer be afraid of His hands and touch.

I wonder what it would be like . . . and then I remember that the "would" is already an "is" in one sense, and that the "would" in its fullest sense is a "will" and that "will" will become "is" . . .

And then I will no longer be afraid.

When I think of that, the "will" becomes "am".

Posted by Ames at 21:09:37 | Permanent Link | Comments (5) |

Monday, April 16, 2007

New and Improved!

Do your floors never seem clean?  Do you find yourself constantly having to vacuum and sweep with a seeming never-ending  monotony?  Put an end to all the back-breaking work and get yourself a baby!  These handy little creatures delight in doing nothing less than making your life easier by crawling along the floor, scavenging for the tiny particles that frustrate your life.  Pretend not to see their wanderings, avert your eyes when you walk by, and all will be well. 

Posted by Ames at 13:27:59 | Permanent Link | Comments (8) |

Thursday, April 12, 2007

They Say . . .

April showers bring May flowers.

I think I like what they say.

Posted by Ames at 08:03:35 | Permanent Link | Comments (6) |

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Out of Egypt I have called My son . . .

Freedom.
What do you think of when you hear that word?
Is it being able to do what you want, go where your impulses carry you?
Maybe not, in your head. Probably, whether you realize it or not, in your actions.
Is it being the person you want to be, the control over your own destiny?
Maybe not, in your head. Probably, whether you realize it or not, in your actions.

 

"Freedom is the ability to choose your own prison."
 
I read that saying once and, upon reflection, was thrilled with the witiness of it. We all choose our prisons, whether we realize it or not. The thing that we turn to, the thing that we use as a tool in our hands, ends up controlling us sooner or later, just as the ring that Frodo carried to Mordor ended up controlling him and being a burden on him. In the end, he could not get rid of it on his own.
There is only one prison, however, that provides freedom. Ironically, it is also the prison that we consistently fail to choose. It feels too much like a prison to our small minds.
It is the prison of Jesus Christ, and His love.
Why does this feel so much like prison? Because to believe in Jesus is to cease believing in ourselves. To believe in Jesus is to admit that we are not worth believing in. To believe in Jesus is to give up control over our own lives. To believe in Jesus is to rest, broken, in the palm of His hand. To believe in Jesus is to cease feeling strong on our own. To believe in Jesus to to rely on Him alone. To believe in Jesus is to give up your own wants and desires and to rest in His wants and desires for you. To believe in Jesus is to give up your own dreams and start fulfilling His. To believe in Jesus is to give up all that you hold dear over to Him, and to begin holding Him dear.
To believe in Jesus is to be imprisoned by His love.
 
"They answered Him, "We are Abraham's descendants, and have never been in bondage to anyone. How can you say, ' You will be made free'?" Jesus answered and said to them, "Most assuredly I say to you, whoever commits sin is a slave of sin. And a slave does not abide in the house forever, but a son abides forever. Therefore if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.'" -- John 8:33-36
A son.
Abides forever.
Free indeed.
Hosea is such a condemning, comforting book. What a reminder of the sin that we have, commit, and are. What a reminder of the utter hopeless harlotry that we live in every day. Yet, what a reminder of the tender love of the bridegroom we have.
 
"When Israel was a child,
I loved him,
And out of Egypt (the place of bondage) I have called My son. . .
I taught Ephaim to walk,
Taking them by their arms;
But they did not know that I healed them.
I drew them with gentle cords,
With bands of love,
And I was to them as those who take the yoke from their neck.
I stooped and fed them . . .
My people are bent on backsliding from Me.
Though they call to the Most High,
None at all exalt Him.
How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, Israel? . . .
My heart churns within Me;
My sympathy is stirred.
I will not execute the fierceness of My anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim.
For I am God, and not man,
The Holy One in your midst;
And I will not come with terror.
They shall walk after the LORD . . ."
Hosea 11 (various verses)
 
If the Son has made you a son, you are free indeed!
 
I have always imagined it like this:
You are a little baby, playing in a mud puddle at the bottom of the hill. You are crawling through the mud, wallowing in it, getting stuck in it, and yet you think that you are making great headway on your journey up the hill towards home. In reality, you are slipping backwards constantly in a mud puddle not much bigger than you. You think that the mud puddle is all there is to the journey. You think that because to believe that it is much bigger than what you see is to cease having control over it. So you keep on crawling, getting dirtier and dirtier, choking on the mud that you begin to create.
 
But your daddy won't let you stay that way. He wants you home. He wants to gather you in His arms. He wants to make you clean. He loves you. So, he reaches down and holds out His hands. You ignore them, push them away, determined to crawl on. He persists. He is taking your hands now, and you are resisting, maybe even screaming your defiance at Him, but he continues to hold your hands. He is down in the mud with you, absorbing the mud onto His clean robes, His tears washing you and making you clean. He is lifting you, holding tightly to your hands, setting on your feet on dry ground. Yet you continue to struggle. You are kicking your feet and twisting your body, trying to get back to the safe mud puddle. Your Daddy lets you struggle. He wants you to learn to walk. He lets your feet slip in some mud again - but he never stops holding on to your hands. Slowly and surely, again and again, he pulls you up the hill towards home. There are rocks along the way. Somehow, baby loves to stub her little toes against them - repeatedly. Your flailing produces more mud a times. There are times when you are tired, tired enough to realize just a little of the strength holding you up. There are times when you dare to try to raise your eyes to catch glimpses of your Daddy's face. There are times when you begin to cry out to your Daddy, and these times become more and more frequent. You are learning to walk.
You are learning that to walk is to be held up by the arms of everlasting love.
 
In that is freedom.
Posted by Ames at 10:08:14 | Permanent Link | Comments (6) |

Friday, April 06, 2007

*heart thumping imaginations*

Steve is visiting me this weekend. At least I think he is. I saw him last night, but . . .

Here's the hard truth, guys: it is officially 11:11 and he is not up yet. At least I don't think so. Like I said, I haven't seen him yet this morning. Don't get me wrong, I would LOVE it if he slept in as late as he needs to, especially because the poor guy had a hard day yesterday and went to bed very late. My problem is, I don't know if he's dead or alive.

So the inner battle begins:

Should I open the door and stick my head in to listen if he is breathing or not?

Clay is still in his pajamas and needs some clothes sooner or later. Should I go in there and get some and on the way make sure that Steve's okay?

*(It is now 11:15)*

Should I leave Steve alone, and just trust that he's fine?

How did he not wake up through all the noise of the kids and the machines working outside and the dog barking, and Susan and I talking loudly in the very next room . . .??

Which would he value more: privacy or being rescued?

Well, if he's not up by 11:40, I'm going to make sure he's alive. Wait, that's what I said for 11:00.

Um . . . that's 40 minutes! What if he just hasn't been breathing for hours! The longer I wait . . .

Ahh - my imagination is just scary sometimes . . . Advice anyone?

It is now 11:28. Maybe I should just see if the door will open quietly. Okay, here goes . . .

Wait, Susan just came upstairs . . . getting clothes for Clay . . . he's alive!! Wahoo! Let's all clap and cheer for Steve, the very tired, but alive man!!

(I love you, Steve.)

Aww, he just came out, looking very sleepy and cute. Obviously he needed the rest badly. (He needs to deal with me, after all.)

Posted by Ames at 09:35:21 | Permanent Link | Comments (6) |

"For I know that my Redeemer lives,

And He shall stand at last on the earth;

And after my skin is destroyed, this I know,

That in my flesh I shall see God,

Whom I shall see for myself,

And my eyes shall behold,

and not another.

How my heart yearns within me!"

Job 19:25-27 

Posted by Ames at 08:47:10 | Permanent Link | Comments (2) |

Sunday, April 01, 2007

His Love Can Never Fail

So, my blog appears to be working again . . . weird problems with technology, as usual.  I once heard this argument that technology will never be perfect, since the creators aren't.  I would have to agree, and add my own tagline to that: Neither are the ones working the technology!

So . . . finally I get to post what I've been meaning to for a while.  This is a song that we sing at Liberti a lot.  I think it is an old hymn that lost its tune somewhere through the years and was ressurected and given a chorus - something that Indelible Grace loves to do. :) 

His Love Can Never Fail

I do not ask to see the way, My feet will have to tread;

But only that my soul may feed, Upon the Living Bread.

'Tis better far that I should walk, By faith close to His side;

I may not know the way I go, but oh, I know my Guide.

 

Chorus:

His love can never fail, His love can never fail.

My soul is satisfied to know, His love can never fail.

My soul is satisfied to know, His love can never fail.

 

And if my feet would go astray, They cannot, for I know

That Jesus guides my falt'ring steps, As joyfully I go.

And tho' I may not see His face,  My faith is strong and clear,

That in each hour of sore distress, My Savior will be near.

 

I will fear, tho' darkness come, Abroad o'er all the land,

If I may only feel the touch, Of His own loving hand.

And tho' I tremble when I think, How weak I am and frail,

My soul is satisfied to know, His love can never fail. 

Posted by Ames at 20:54:21 | Permanent Link | Comments (10) |

Hmm

Testing, testing . . . 1, 2, 3 . . .
Posted by Ames at 20:06:33 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |