I joined a co-ed soccer league that two of my housemates play on, and I think I sized my cleats wrong (again). But I had a great time - brought back wonderful memories: the smell of grass and sweat, the pull of tight hamstrings, the rush of breath and the courage to combat the enemy. I didn't play my best, but I have hope that muscle memory will bring back the days of high school long gone. I'd forgotten how long a 45-minute half feels on the outside wing, when there's really no chance to stop running.
I killed another toenail tonight - my right big toe. And it hurts real bad.I lost another one also after I got out of the shower. The second toe on my right foot. I think that one's become eternally perverted - oh cross, oh Christ, restore my toenail to the Imago Dei.
I wonder if God has toenails. I sometimes wonder what it means that we were created in His image . . . I wonder if that's literal or figurative or both. The Bible says that we have been given the opportunity to participate in God's own nature again because of the cross -- these are Paul's words:
"His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and goodness. Through these He has given us His very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires" (2 Peter 1:3-4).
That's a pretty radical thing. I want to own that - I want to have faith for that. I can participate in the divine NATURE? What is God's NATURE? He's good - He's faithful - He's loving and kind and merciful and patient. He's forgiving. He's peaceful. He's humble and selfless.
Jesus, can You please help me to own that promise and participate in those things? I need You to help me. I'm sorry for falling so short all the time . . . I really want to live out the life You offered me through the Cross. I want to identify with the Imago Dei. I want to live in the divine nature and not the sin nature. I want even my toenails to be a reflection of the Living God!
Restore me - I am very broken. Thank You for Your grace, precious Lord Jesus!
Amen.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Sunday Eve
I love Sunday evenings.
I love the slowness that belongs to this pocket of the week.
I love my freshly vacuumed floor rug, and lying down on my soft bed with hair still hot from the blow dryer and my toes stretching out against the smooth, tight feeling of cleanness.
I love the way Sunday evenings feel like newness and a sigh. A fresh beginning and a long look ahead.
I bought myself pink peonies last Sunday. (I gave them to my room-mate when I got home, because I wanted to share their softness and their smell and their bosom-ness that makes them seem so motherly. But secretly, I only shared them because I thought she'd leave them on the dining room table, and then she took them up to her bedroom and I never saw them again until this Sunday . . . they were drooped and wrinkly like old age and wreckage, and I felt momentarily frustrated that sharing seemed such a waste.)
A few Sundays before that, I bought myself a card. (It was actually a Friday afternoon when I bought the card, but that doesn't fit with my Sunday theme. It must have meant most to me on the following Sunday evening, because it's definitely a Sunday evening sort of card.) This is what the card says:
"Today a new sun rises for me; everything lives, everything is animated, everything seems to speak to me of my passion, everything invites me to cherish it" (Anne DeLenclos).
And this happens to be the last Sunday evening of the school year . . .
Perhaps my favorite Sunday evening of the whole year.
Lord, bless the work of Your hands. I trust You with this new season. You are Sovereign and very good. Thank You for rest and the Sabbath! Amen.
I love the slowness that belongs to this pocket of the week.
I love my freshly vacuumed floor rug, and lying down on my soft bed with hair still hot from the blow dryer and my toes stretching out against the smooth, tight feeling of cleanness.
I love the way Sunday evenings feel like newness and a sigh. A fresh beginning and a long look ahead.
I bought myself pink peonies last Sunday. (I gave them to my room-mate when I got home, because I wanted to share their softness and their smell and their bosom-ness that makes them seem so motherly. But secretly, I only shared them because I thought she'd leave them on the dining room table, and then she took them up to her bedroom and I never saw them again until this Sunday . . . they were drooped and wrinkly like old age and wreckage, and I felt momentarily frustrated that sharing seemed such a waste.)
A few Sundays before that, I bought myself a card. (It was actually a Friday afternoon when I bought the card, but that doesn't fit with my Sunday theme. It must have meant most to me on the following Sunday evening, because it's definitely a Sunday evening sort of card.) This is what the card says:
"Today a new sun rises for me; everything lives, everything is animated, everything seems to speak to me of my passion, everything invites me to cherish it" (Anne DeLenclos).
And this happens to be the last Sunday evening of the school year . . .
Perhaps my favorite Sunday evening of the whole year.
Lord, bless the work of Your hands. I trust You with this new season. You are Sovereign and very good. Thank You for rest and the Sabbath! Amen.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Church
Dear Mrs. Gambill,
I miss you.
(Sometimes, grief over loss pokes out his noxious head at very unexpected times long after I feel pretty settled on a matter. Mrs. Gambill was my mentor in high-school - such a strong and godly woman. I miss her hugs. And her wisdom. I miss her laughter and her stories. I miss feeling like my world was ok after sitting with her and a tall glass of lemonade.
My beautiful house-mate Mari loves to play blue grass music with her banjo and a jolly crew of friends. Tonight, they were making music towards the end of a party held at our house for the soccer team we play on (I'm only recently joining after breaking my leg in Jan). Part of the chorus of one little ditty was, "Mama, rock me like the wind and the rain,/ Mama, rock me like the South Bound Train,/ Mama, rock me."
My tears surprised me. Sometimes, the recognition of rites-of-passage are quite cruel and jolting. I longed, in that moment, to have a mama that would sit me on her lap, gather me up close, and rock me back and forth while humming something soft and peaceful. I longed to have someone who understood life so much better than I do let me just sit and cry against a strong and still shoulder.
And I realized suddenly that I was past that part of life and couldn't really ever go back. Someday (God willing), it'll be my turn to be the one rocking with the soft hum and the strong, still shoulder. But I don't get to be the little girl anymore. I nostalgically hoped that I could be sure, in those future moments as the mama, to be very aware of their sacredness -- and hold my little daughter so soft and tight. I hope even that I can still hold her when she's 25 and feels like she's floating instead of running.)
That's why I missed you tonight, Mrs. Gambill. Because I know you would let me sit next to you with a tall glass of lemonade and just cry.
It's been about a month now since my most recent relationship ended. The man I was in a relationship with previous to that is getting married this weekend. I don't really think I'm feeling sorry for myself, but I am feeling mightily conflicted about a few things that I wish I could just hash out with a really old, godly woman.
Men, marriage, and singleness are some of them - but those all seem to be less pressing matters to me right now.
The most difficult is church. It seems like there are two church camps in my life right now that are in some sort of cold war against one another. I'm so tired of trying to find a healthy church I could pull all my eye-lashes out - I guess I nearly have.
Jesus, I just wish You were here to tell me where to go and what to do. A lot of times I like freedom, but not when I feel broken. I just would love some clear guidance right now. The thing is, I know that Your church is far from perfect - I know that it's marked by Your death and sanctified by Your resurrection. I know that You love Your church steadfastly and You're perfecting her, presenting her as a pure and radiant bride.
So, Jesus, can You just please call me to one specific body and root me there - help me to grow and love and repent and honor You, despite all of the failure of man?
On one side is the open-minded, gray area church that focuses on love more than repentance, believes that the Bible is God's Word within a cultural context, affirms me in my gifts and dreams, and pushes me forward into ministry.
On the other side is the close-minded, black and white church that focuses on repentance more than love, believes the Bible is Spirit inspired quite literally word-for-word even in our culture, lifts high stringent roles of men and women in the church and in marriage, and therefore considers some of my ministerial dreams idols that are the fruit of rebellion against God.
The hard thing is that I know You love both sides of Your church, and both sides are faulty. But my calling looks quite differently in each.
I also know that if You've placed a call on my life, You will fulfill it NO MATTER WHAT. Joseph was in prison and could not escape Your call. In fact, prison was Your Sovereign way of pushing him into his calling. How, then, can I escape Your call because of church?
Lord, just make it clear where You would have me serve. I want to honor You and bless Your people.
And I'm kinda tired of being so intense all the time.
I love You, Jesus. Thanks for all of Your amazing love for me!
I miss you.
(Sometimes, grief over loss pokes out his noxious head at very unexpected times long after I feel pretty settled on a matter. Mrs. Gambill was my mentor in high-school - such a strong and godly woman. I miss her hugs. And her wisdom. I miss her laughter and her stories. I miss feeling like my world was ok after sitting with her and a tall glass of lemonade.
My beautiful house-mate Mari loves to play blue grass music with her banjo and a jolly crew of friends. Tonight, they were making music towards the end of a party held at our house for the soccer team we play on (I'm only recently joining after breaking my leg in Jan). Part of the chorus of one little ditty was, "Mama, rock me like the wind and the rain,/ Mama, rock me like the South Bound Train,/ Mama, rock me."
My tears surprised me. Sometimes, the recognition of rites-of-passage are quite cruel and jolting. I longed, in that moment, to have a mama that would sit me on her lap, gather me up close, and rock me back and forth while humming something soft and peaceful. I longed to have someone who understood life so much better than I do let me just sit and cry against a strong and still shoulder.
And I realized suddenly that I was past that part of life and couldn't really ever go back. Someday (God willing), it'll be my turn to be the one rocking with the soft hum and the strong, still shoulder. But I don't get to be the little girl anymore. I nostalgically hoped that I could be sure, in those future moments as the mama, to be very aware of their sacredness -- and hold my little daughter so soft and tight. I hope even that I can still hold her when she's 25 and feels like she's floating instead of running.)
That's why I missed you tonight, Mrs. Gambill. Because I know you would let me sit next to you with a tall glass of lemonade and just cry.
It's been about a month now since my most recent relationship ended. The man I was in a relationship with previous to that is getting married this weekend. I don't really think I'm feeling sorry for myself, but I am feeling mightily conflicted about a few things that I wish I could just hash out with a really old, godly woman.
Men, marriage, and singleness are some of them - but those all seem to be less pressing matters to me right now.
The most difficult is church. It seems like there are two church camps in my life right now that are in some sort of cold war against one another. I'm so tired of trying to find a healthy church I could pull all my eye-lashes out - I guess I nearly have.
Jesus, I just wish You were here to tell me where to go and what to do. A lot of times I like freedom, but not when I feel broken. I just would love some clear guidance right now. The thing is, I know that Your church is far from perfect - I know that it's marked by Your death and sanctified by Your resurrection. I know that You love Your church steadfastly and You're perfecting her, presenting her as a pure and radiant bride.
So, Jesus, can You just please call me to one specific body and root me there - help me to grow and love and repent and honor You, despite all of the failure of man?
On one side is the open-minded, gray area church that focuses on love more than repentance, believes that the Bible is God's Word within a cultural context, affirms me in my gifts and dreams, and pushes me forward into ministry.
On the other side is the close-minded, black and white church that focuses on repentance more than love, believes the Bible is Spirit inspired quite literally word-for-word even in our culture, lifts high stringent roles of men and women in the church and in marriage, and therefore considers some of my ministerial dreams idols that are the fruit of rebellion against God.
The hard thing is that I know You love both sides of Your church, and both sides are faulty. But my calling looks quite differently in each.
I also know that if You've placed a call on my life, You will fulfill it NO MATTER WHAT. Joseph was in prison and could not escape Your call. In fact, prison was Your Sovereign way of pushing him into his calling. How, then, can I escape Your call because of church?
Lord, just make it clear where You would have me serve. I want to honor You and bless Your people.
And I'm kinda tired of being so intense all the time.
I love You, Jesus. Thanks for all of Your amazing love for me!
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