Like a lake

I had originally meant to post about this song the other day as my first response to the devastation in Central Oklahoma. So much information was coming in that was almost impossible to assimilate, or, I feel, respond to completely. I very much trusted the Lord was near to the victims, and very quickly have seen just how eager are all of the neighbors to help their friends in need. So, some gladness has come in to replace the deep crater of grief originally carved. This song was written in reflection upon murder victims in Africa who chose to forgive their enemies. The sentiment and the imagery are very closely linked to the natural disaster suffered by so many. I have noticed, at least on Facebook, an eagerness to gladden things up, and I think this is so good and appropriate. I suppose right now the work being done is just first aid of sorts. The pain will linger and the recovery will take time. When the shock is over, and the media attention diminishes, this is when this song speaks about the way I wish healing would proceed. bring the wind and bring the thunder bring the rain till I am tried when it's over bring me stillness let my face reflect the sky and all the grace and all the wonder of a peace that I can't fake wide open like a lake

Here is what I think

Oh Oklahoma. The news of the storm there came pulsing through the Facebook feed as I was working on collecting information for a high school class reunion here. And my heart was split, and spilt out, dredged by a mighty wind of grief and guilt, hope and mirth submerged beneath the rubble piles. Who can think about this without getting tearful? Who that has lived in central Oklahoma, or has friends there, or has lived through any sort of natural disaster, could rest in the immediate aftermath? Am I the only one who is almost sick at not being able to really do anything? I tell you something awful, and it's something you've probably already thought of. As I looked at those piles of rubble, saw the impossibility of quick hope, a bit of 9/11 came back to haunt me. I had just moved to Oklahoma a few months prior to that attack. And again, the waking nightmare of knowing there were survivors trapped, time running out. Children in schools. Families in interior rooms. Then, as I was watching the live OKC news online, I saw a viewer feed where a debate raged over who caused the storm. "God did this," was followed by the mockery that Obama had done it. This while bodies were still being recovered. Mercifully, it appeared that someone had stopped the feed after awhile. I have tried to ignore this part, but I just can't. And honestly, the more I think about it, the more I feel like that is the heart of the issue. The Pharisees of the New Testament era are the type of frigid-hearted cultural critic who would post such hateful curses, always trying to prove how much more spiritual they were when anyone else, eager to catch someone else in a fall. Attempting to trick Jesus, Matthew 22 records, 5 One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: 36 “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” 37 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[c] 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[d] 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” Here is what I think. I think that the same things that have made Oklahoma a place people want to live, despite the constant weather weirdness, are what will help it rise from these ashes: love for God and man. I am content in my faith that the Lord is very close to the brokenhearted, that none of the devastation is invisible to God, and that He is neither smug nor indifferent. To those who want to finger-point blame at the suffering city, I have one word: Job. This isn't really the direction I meant to go today; I hope I can post about a song tomorrow. Stay strong, Oklahoma. I love you.

Open my hands

I don't think I have time to be posting right now, but I still feel like I should. Here is the scenario: the dishes are washing a few feet away, kids are in their rooms "napping," house is dirty. But I read something this morning that I just can't get out of my head. It was about how God works through Plan B, which is sometimes agonizing and very messy. The case in point was God's deliverance of Paul and the crew of a beleaguered ship onto Malta, which was a place of healing, rest, and welcome. The deliverance came through a shipwreck. "Difficulty does not necessarily mean disaster. Heavy winds and raging seas don't always mean you're on the wrong course. It mean mean you're right on target. Believer, celebrate the fact that you may sometimes 'run aground' on the island of God's will for your life! Perhaps He couldn't get you to your destination any other way..." I've read this exact same study before, and had the same profound sense of wonder, coupled with certainty that that is an accurate interpretation. Meanwhile, I've been reading 1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp, which is a revelation, even though I thoroughly expected it would be. She talks about how we can see God's glory through the rips and tears in the tapestry we thought we were neatly weaving. Her writing is so poignant and painful, yet awe-inducing. I have posted a picture here of my son's handiwork from preschool. He wasn't supposed to be in preschool this early, but because of some developmental delays, he is. My son's difficulties have been a source of genuine bewilderment and vexation for years. I feel badly using the word "vexation," but it's true. It's just a piece of the puzzle that has never quite fit. I've always had this idealistic turn that loved music, art, beauty, and all things inspiring and transcendent. So imagine this type of mama trying to deal with the pain of everyday life and the way the practical things just don't seem to work out, let alone finding time for creativity and beauty-making. It's been very vexing. We thought we were headed one place, and ended up in another. Figuratively, and literally. I've been reminded so many times lately that THIS is where I'm meant to be. The reminders are helpful, because I've struggled to find purpose. I think I've posted on Sara Groves' song "Open My Hands" before, but now I feel like I finally get it. Perhaps Voskamp's perspective is the key. One can believe in all of these abilities of God, and His Providence, and yet, not find it, and yet, still rejoice in what one does find. I'm starting to believe. Oh Lord, please help me keep my hands open.

A reason to sing

I just savored a piece of chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting that my husband and daughter made for me for Mother's Day. It was a nice moment; real and peaceful. Sometimes I have those moments. However, I think I got the impression from Dove chocolate commercials that I should be having a lot more of them. It's been a weirdly difficult season. There have been highlights, but overall, it's just been a surprising drag, and my soul has been a bit parched. I am not here to testify that it is springtime in my soul again, and life is far from a series of Dove moments. But I do have an anchor for my soul, and in the storms, I've dug deep again and found it still holds. I feel the Holy Spirit urging me during this season to just hold on. A few weeks ago I felt the need to come before the Lord and bare my heart. And yet, when He asked me what was on my heart, I couldn't answer. I was just that numb. Around this time I listened to the All Songs and Daughters album Season One and a couple of songs stood out. One is called "A Reason to Sing." As this blog attests, music and lyrics satisfy my soul, and this one really described my relationship to my circumstances. when the pieces seem too shattered to gather off the floor and all that seems to matter is that I can't feel you anymore is that I don't feel you anymore i need a reason to sing i need reason to sing i need to know that you're still holding the whole world in your hands i need a reason to sing These lyrics massaged the callouses off of my heart. I realized I couldn't speak because life just wasn't making sense, and it was hurting. And I realized, too, almost at the same moment, something about that anchor that went so deep. In an instant it was clear, though perhaps not verbally, that I always have a reason to sing, although I may be so weary and worn that I don't have the energy to come up with the words myself. There is a companion reprise track later on the album that I think captures and supports this response, and all it says is, "I will sing, sing sing, to my God and King, you are good and holy Lord, you are always the reason." So I may not have a lot to say for myself right now, and I still feel parched in some ways, but I now know that that river of life is coursing somewhere below the surface, ready to spring forth in praise and refreshment when the right time comes. Maybe that is peace like a river; grace to walk through a desert when the journey is longer than expected.