Winged

 

Somehow I landed on the documentary about Mark Bittner and his care of a wild flock of cherry-headed conures on Telegraph Hill in San Francisco, California. I watched and I wondered. Mark had been homeless for many years. At the time he began feeding this flock, he was a property caretaker. He's obviously intelligent, is highly articulate and completely sane. These traits are fully incongruous with the fact that he lived on the street for many, many years. It seems to me that there was a restless wandering inside him that would not allow the confinement of a regular routine for very long. He described bits and bobs of odd jobs. Nothing that would point in the direction of a career. Nothing that would yield the professional and financial stability and/or trajectory that the rest of us scurry about grasping for. I was particularly confounded by him and, yet, I understood him on some level to his very core. 

If I did not have Jesus as the anchor of my soul, my heart would break free and wander untethered, too. I would look under every bush and in every back alley for that thing, that something that would fill me up. I have the soul of an artist and I, like Mark, need a spark. I need passion in my life. As I watched the beautiful birds bobbing and weaving as they interacted with Mark, I saw the essence of life. God made us to need the beauty, intricacy and joy of nature. He expresses Himself perfectly in all of his creation. He also made us to wander and to wonder what exactly it is that we are to do here on this planet. We each have unique gifts, talents and passions. They were hard-wired into us for His purposes and we must suss them out. The good news is that God will help us do just that! I keep, as I have mentioned before in this blog, a cross-stitched picture with the words "My sheep hear my voice" embroidered on it.  (John 10:27) It's displayed in the room pictured above, the place where I seek His face, look expectantly at Him in prayer, ask a million questions and cry a billion tears. It's my private cathedral and I am so thankful for it. Guess what my calling is? It's this. This very thing I do tonight. I write and I write and I cry (sometimes) and I write some more. I go away from this computer spent and happy and not at all concerned how many of you read what it is I have managed to spew. 

If God were the only one who saw these things I express, that would be enough. You see, I believe just being and doing who we are created to be and do is an act of worship and, as much fun as it is for us, it is a holy thing. I believe God gets the same joy from it as we used to when our small children built forts or drew pictures, completely absorbed in the joy of living.

By the way, the wild parrots of Telegraph Hill were once domestic pets. But you can't keep a bird from flying. Not for long, anyway.

Everywhere

 We know that spring is very nearly here. We can hear the birds singing, their songs an effusion of colors on the wind. There is joy in the sound. Many dread the heat of summer, which follows the spring as swiftly as an antelope its herd around the brambles of the desert. I don't. I love the endless parade of sunny days the hot season cranks out. The reds, yellows, pinks, blues of summer flowers, a profusion of love and joy sent by the Father of Lights. Speaking of lights...what about the fireflies that illumine the night just beyond my candle glow on the porch? They are magic and they are creativity and they are, also, love. The Father's love extends to us on every whistling breeze. We need not climb a majestic mountain to experience it, though He is there in the heights as well.

He is in the newborn baby's cry, the litter of kittens mewling like a living, moving, bouquet of flowers beckoning us on the journey of ownership. A journey to last fifteen years of companionship and understanding the unique personality of the creature, which reveals to us, yet again, another layer of our Creator's mind. He speaks in the love of our family and friends. Their kindness, their generosity, their faithfulness.

Where can I possibly go where Jesus is not speaking to my heart? Even in the darkest, most sin-ridden place, God would certainly whisper to my spirit, helping me to hold on until I see His deliverance from it. Even in their evil I would see the sharp contrast of His goodness, know His comfort, understand his strength as I stood in firm opposition by His power.

I absolutely love to hear thunder. I know it brings rain and, with it, refreshment for all living things. I like to read while the gale pounds. However, the thing I most love to do when the wind is tearing at anything frail, is to sleep. I know God is holding my home in His loving hands and I enjoy the peace of my shelter in His unfailing love.

I just noticed that the March winds have blown out my candle here on the screened porch. I'll light it again. And again. And again.

Writers Write. (It's what they do. And DON'T do.)

 

If I had to choose one activity to spend all day, every day pursuing, it would be this. Writing. Taking words and phrases and bending and shaping them into narratives that describe the never-ending variety posed by the human experience. It's fascinating and hard and mentally sweaty and cathartic and grand, all at the same time. If I had to choose one activity never to do again, it would be writing. Yes, you read that right. It is difficult, mind-bending, soul-wrenching and utterly exhausting. Why is it that whatever it is that you have been placed on earth to do is, while your grand passion, also your nemesis. 

If a writer has social tendencies...said writer never writes. He or she has fragments floating in his or her head, sees potential characters in strong personalities all around him or her, and yet, the page is blank. The page. Is. Blank. Two years ago I started a novel. I wrote 100 pages and landed on stop. Oh, I've done some things since. A few things. But my grand work of creative fiction is moldering in a shared desktop. 

Guess what? All of those intense characters will live again. They shall! I shall begin again. Just like that. As if I have opened a children's pop-up book and, instead of a mass of heavy paper in an assortment of contortions popping up to be understood, a party of people will emerge. I'm getting excited just thinking about it. 

I am so thankful there is something that I love to do. Even if I hate to do it. Even if I have to lock myself away from human society in utter silence for hours to do it (my attention span is as fragile as a robin's eggshell after the baby has kicked it two floors to the forest floor). 

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of a gift. For the gift of work that I love to do. For people who believe in me as I do it. Help me never, ever, ever again take them for granted. 

Not By Might

 

Wow. What a rollercoaster the last forty-eight hours have been! Part of that time span was spent sitting with a dearly loved one in the ER of a large university hospital ( nine-and-a-half hours). While I have entrusted their care to Almighty God and the infinite resources of heaven, I'm still tasked with finding a good specialist to look after them. I've done a lot of praying and texting the person, making sure they understand self-care in the aftermath and asking God for protection. 

In the midst of this, a prayer was answered about a job for that same loved one. My emotions have, to say the very, very least, run a long gambit. As I sat in the ER, plunged deep into a spiritual atmosphere rife with fear and despair, I fought an internal battle. I texted believing friends for prayer and pleaded with the Father for all sorts of things. It did not occur to me until I was home, safely tucked in a warm bed and listening to the rain pour outside, that part of the reason for my anxiety in the ER was the spiritually charged atmosphere of that emergency room.

When I first made my way through the double doors, I was instantly transported into what looked to me like a war zone, or a field hospital in the wilderness. It did not look like the emergency room of a level one trauma hospital in the wealthiest country in the world. There were, in short, people everywhere in all sorts of distress. There were elderly hunched in wheelchairs. There were people already hooked to intravenous lines, their poles and bags blocking aisles. People were coughing, throwing up, A woman whimpered in a corner. At some point a young man angrily cried "I've been assaulted with a deadly weapon!" He was summarily informed that there were a hundred people there waiting for help. It seemed to me staff was working as hard as they could. When, after a total (I got there late) of sixteen-and-a-half  hours after first being admitted, my loved one was finally given a bed, it was in a hallway. I can't be sure of all contributing factors but surmise the pandemic coupled with the location of the hospital (near the city center and a go-to for many people) had lead to the hospital being full. It was an unforgettable experience, to say the very least! We made sure to be as kind as we could to all staff, understanding that they were doing all that they possibly could. I was concerned for them.

Within those walls, a battle was raging. While I berated myself for not operating in faith, I failed to understand the waters I was treading. Satan and his battalion of spirits designed to crush body, soul and spirit were running amok in that waiting area. Demonic forces of fear, despair, infirmity, selfishness and rage roamed the aisles. I am so thankful for Christian friends who prayed for us and encouraged me by text. It was so strengthening. 

While I was there, God brought this passage of scripture to my attention:

 "For this cause everyone who is godly shall pray to You

In a time when You may be found;

Surely in a flood of great waters

They shall not come near him.

You are my hiding place;

You shall preserve me from trouble;

You shall surround me with songs of deliverance."

(Psalm 32:6-7, Holy Bible, New King James Version.)

God has instructed me to pray. I don't have to pray perfect prayers, prayers of just the right duration, or prayers prayed with a bold FEELING of faith. I just have to pray. God will supply the power, preservation and deliverance. 

I believe that if we have a lifestyle of prayer, when the floodwaters rise, we will instantly reach for God's hand. In my case, I also reach out for corporate prayer and I am deeply strengthened by it. When the issue touches a dearly loved one, the prayers of our Christian friends and their accompanying faith help so much because we may feel weak or exhausted. 

I didn't mention the warfare in the emergency room in order to shine a spotlight on the enemy. I simply want to remind all that we do not wage war as the world does. Our God, who is our supply, our defense, our healer and our support, is not intimidated by the enemy. Satan was crushed when Jesus defeated death on the cross. We need only to look to that same Jesus who the Bible says is the author and finisher of our faith to fight our battles for us. 

In all things and in every way endeavor to keep in step with the Spirit. Our victory is crystallized in Zechariah 4:6, which reads: "'Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,' says the Lord of hosts." (Holy Bible, New King James Version.)

Rooms of My Heart

 

Today started like so many others. Hopeful that things would change in several rooms of my heart. Off to a prayerful start, followed by a loud crash as I let my flesh take over and the complaining, criticizing and unwholesome talk began to spill out. It's okay. I dusted myself off and here I sit at my laptop, tapping away in another surge of legitimate hope. I read a scripture today that conveys that what we say reflects what is in our hearts. Not real happy with the fruit of my lips so that one smacked me hard. I prayed that my heart would change so that my mouth would follow. It was and is a reminder that it all starts with my thought life. A submitted mind becomes a submitted heart which is then reflected in good speech. I'm a long, long way from where I want to be, but at least my heart is turned toward home.

Have you ever watched a baby try to pick up something fine or delicate? They struggle because their dexterity has not become refined. They have some gross motor skills, and a whole lot of good intentions toward the object of their desire, but they cannot close the deal because their little brains and bodies are not in sync yet. They will get there. One day at a time. I see our spiritual struggles the same way. At first we see the goal. It is wavering in the distance, almost seems like a mirage across the desert of the world, the flesh and the devil. That oasis of peace and righteousness that Jesus longs to seat us before. Then we start to move toward the image and the details become more refined. The goal is ever more lucid until we can smell the water, figuratively taste it on our lips. There is a sound in our ears, the voice of the Savior telling us to press on.  That's where I find myself today. First I was wrecked on the glass of the sin I committed already this morning. Then I was bandaged by grace. Now I am energized at the brook of conviction, repentance and healing. I'm back on my pilgrimage just that fast. Back on the way to growth in Jesus. Straightening my backpack with a smile!

I recently added the above picture to my prayer room. It's one I found while rummaging through the detritus of my well-intentioned life. I don't even know where it was taken, though I suspect it was a playground in Franklin, Tennessee where we lived for nearly a decade. My sons didn't know I was taking their picture. I don't know what they were talking about. Maybe a cartoon they liked, or a video game. Maybe something happening at their elementary school. What struck me hardest about the photo was their innocence. They didn't know how hard life could be. They just didn't know.

Now I look at it when I pray for them every morning. When I ask for healing and restoration. When I ask for the God of the Universe, the maker of the stars, to intervene in their circumstances. (Three concepts outlined in a song I play/pray over them.) It's heartening for me to know that He has them. That He loves them. That there is nothing that they have done or will do that will cancel that tenderness, dim that torch of passionate love. He is for them. He is FOR US! If I am going to pray, believe, ask and expect for them, I'm going to have to do better at forgiving myself and believing God still hears me. That He forgives, heals and restores ME. Being broken doesn't mean that I cannot be used, rather, it means I WILL be used to help those who feel just as shattered. Being broken means that I can feel what the lonely, the hurting and those who have no idea how they will start again are wading through. I can put my hand into that swamp and they will know I have only just brushed the moss from my own shoulders by the power of the Holy Spirit!

May God redeem the rest of this beautiful day!

Chicken, Donuts, Chocolate and Tears.

 

I snapped a picture of a part of my floorboard on the passenger side of my Beetle today. I had pulled into the physical therapy parking lot (bum shoulder), the weight of recent transgressions heavy on my heart. I'd include the photo here, but no need to bring three national brands into the discussion. Suffice it to say the bag furthest from me was a fried chicken joint, the next-closest bag a donut chain, and the wrapper in the foreground represented a chocolate and peanut butter candy I can't live without for very long. You could put me on an 800-calorie diet and I'd work it in. 

I snapped the picture because it WAS such a picture...a snapshot of my lifelong struggle with food addiction. I've never been more than 40 pounds overweight. Even then, most doctors would argue I was really only 25 or so out of the "healthy" range they assign to someone nearly 5'8". But I digress.  I've lost the same 30-40 pounds at least four times over the last twenty-two years. 

The last time I struggled down from 166 or 167 to 135 (a couple of years ago) I promised myself I'd never do it again. As in, EVER. It was a blooming nightmare. I fought hard for months, foregoing everything with taste and hating life itself until the fat crept away, until that sunshiny day my goal weight finally appeared on the digital scale. 

I snapped the picture of the debris on my floorboard because it was also a snapshot of the last two days of zero discipline. I've regained ten pounds. I am a little out of control, actually. I do what I do because it works for me IN THE MOMENT. I drown my anxiety, my need, my emotions in a sea of sugar and cheese. It only works in the moment. Like the alcoholic who wakes with a headache, I wake to the horror of those blasted bathroom scales. To the favorite dress that does not fit. To a self-loathing that is wholly disproportionate to my culinary crimes (binges). 

Why do I offer this cheesy confessional? I guess to line up my thoughts like little marching soldiers. To array them neatly. To start again. To remember that His mercies are new EVERY day! (Even if the scales' mercies are not.) I am reminded again and again in scripture that Jesus will be all I need if I make room for Him to be. I know what it feels like to let Jesus fill me. I really do. Any time I have been out of touch with that feeling, it was I who moved, not my Saviour! I can take every need to Him in prayer. He will provide. He will offer the fulfillment that nothing in this world can give. He will be my all in all for all time. Praise GOD! It's not my willpower, my discipline, my goodness, my holiness but HIS that saves the day!

I frequently add this disclaimer to my blog: if you have seen me not acting like Jesus: spoiler alert - I'm NOT Jesus. That doesn't mean He is not at work in my life. If I ever do attain a level of spiritual maturity, it will be His work in my life and all credit will go to Him always. None of this is about me, anyway. I am learning more daily exactly what that means.

Bloom

 

Today is the only July 13, 2021 I will ever see. The ONLY one. So many days have slipped through my fingers unloved, unvalued. Some of these I had designated as "full rest" days. Nearly every time I have done that, I ended up feeling unfulfilled, bereft. That's because we were built on purpose, for a purpose. Just like the beautiful flowers in the picture I've posted here, which are languishing on my back porch, we are made to bloom. To grow, to endure, to flower. 

Sometimes our blooming happens unintentionally. We stumble upon a job or a friendship that leads us in all of the right directions. The path is smooth, laden with fragrant flowers, and the sunlight of fellowship guides us on. Other times we are formed, in all of our subtlety of expression and shades of emotion, in the dark, just the lantern of God's hope swinging by our side as we pray, take a step, repeat. 

Other times our lives are like a sinking, swaying ship. Through no fault of our own, or perhaps fully through our own missteps, we find ourselves in the center of chaos. The winds beat mercilessly, the rain pounds and sea creatures rise from the depths of the black abyss to taunt us day and night.  Eager for this "adventure" to end, we search for the key to the door out. 

But the best life, the life well-lived, is a very, very contemplative one. No matter how many storms, how many peace-laden paths, how many dark passages, this life is lived on purpose. I know, from personal experience (and from finally reaching the age that means earlier bedtimes and less energy for sheer folly) that the only way to follow Jesus is to know Him deeply. The only way to know Him deeply is to spend time with Him. Walking, talking and listening. Reading his Word, the Bible. Journaling what He's doing. What He's saying. Making Him the passion and center of my existence. Making Him the reason for everything.

In the end, He is the gift that cannot, will not be taken. He is the sunrise that never darkens. He is the hope that never fails. He is the supply that is never cut off. He is the warmth that never cools, the ardor that never abates, the love that goes on in the face of my failures. My repeated, repeating failures. He is the One my soul craves and He, He alone will make up my lack, heal my gaping wounds, wrap the ice of terror in peace. He is the one. His life is my life and my life depends on Him. From start to finish I am His and He is mine.