William, Champion of "Yet".

Since I learned about William Cowper five or six years ago, I have wondered how much we might be kindred spirits. He battled severe depression for many years of his life but wrote the most beautifully arresting poetry in praise of God, and in bold declaration of Jesus' saving work.

He could extol brilliantly and could help stir others to worship, but for most of his life Cowper felt unable to own, or imbibe the truth himself. From what little I've read about him, this seems like torture. But author George M. Ella insists poignantly that, "Cowper kept his Evangelical faith until his dying day, whatever his assurance."

There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel's veins

And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.

I'm hoping in the next little while to learn much more about him, not as if I'm searching for the "secret" to balancing crippling darkness with worshipping God and leading a productive life. I know the secret. It's just nice to see someone else execute, is all. Maybe what I'm describing is "encouragement", ha. As George Ella put it, "Even in 1792 when most of his commentators portray Cowper as being in absolute spiritual darkness, we find Cowper still writing poetry and still doing it to the glory of God." And then he provides a relevant example of the poet's work:

  'Tis judgment shakes him; there’s the fear, 
  That prompts his wish to stay:
  He has incurr’d a long arrear, 
  And must despair to pay.

  Pay!--follow CHRIST, and all is paid:
  His death your peace ensures:
  Think on the grave where he was laid,
  And calm descend to yours. 

William Cowper: the man of God’s stamp: a bicentenary evaluation, vindication, and appreciation.George M. Ella © 2000 by Joshua Press Inc.

If I understand correctly, Cowper thought about death often, looking to it as escape from his turmoil. And in a sense, he's right to long to leave this world. Romans 8 tells us that all of creation is groaning (read: wordlessly grunting its unbearable ache) as it awaits Jesus' return. It's a rotten, scummy world we live in and it's a rotten scummy heart sitting behind my ribcage.

The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day

And there may I, though vile as he, wash all my sins away.

Dear, dying Lamb, Thy precious blood shall never lose its pow'r

Til all the ransomed church of God be saved to sin no more.

But aside from jettisoning his own sin and the sinful world, I suppose Cowper was also longing to be relieved of his inner anguish, the weight of depression and the apparent inability to grasp God's truth and comfort. I understand this, too. How many times I have cried out somewhat angrily, "Why can't I see You?" or, "Where are You?". I know (intellectually) that He's there. But why isn't He (manifest) HERE? It's so painful to know His goodness as only a shadow through a dark glass. Return, Lord Jesus.

 E'er since by faith I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply

Redeeming love has been my theme and shall be til I die.

We stumble through and find a way. We find a way to come back, holding tightly to that wee thread of faith, on a tiny life-raft of grace. We declare that we shall persevere, and it's not true because our cracked, weak voice spoke it but because Redeeming Love has been our theme, and He is our strength.

When this poor lisping, stamm'ring tongue lies silent in the grave,

Then in a nobler, sweeter song I'll sing Thy pow'r to save.

*All names have been changed to protect privacy.

Oh Alex*... I think of you every time I park here, or every time I drive down this small street towards there.

Why wasn't I good enough? Why couldn't I keep you?

We had coffee together late on a Friday evening and we barely broke eye-contact or lost smiles. I very much enjoyed our time. You are exceptionally smart and quite clever. You are very funny, too! You surprised me a couple times and I roared in laughter.

You are more handsome than I remembered... We only met once about two months ago but over the course of our correspondence I have grown to appreciate your non-physical traits. That of course made you more handsome when I saw you next.

I liked the way you looked at me. Sometimes you watched me as I spoke and I liked that. (Am I interesting to you?) Sometimes I got a good joke in and your eyes sparkled as you laughed, almost like you were dazzled. I liked how pretty you made me feel. When you first walked in and saw me you were flustered. You stood as close as possible as we waited in line. You had even brought me a small gift and though you put zero effort into presentation the obvious effort of thinking of me ahead of time was meaningful.

You let me ask you questions about your background and work. You explained to me things about the stock market and about politics that I have never understood. You explained it well and were gracious with me though it was obvious you were surprised I didn't know. I do know that I like listening, and I do know that sometimes I deliberately go to people's wheelhouses so they can wax informative. And if I'm being transparently honest, I was conscious of making my body language show I was listening closely because I wanted you to know how engaged I was. I wanted you to know I could see you. I guess I wanted to flatter you. But I was still genuinely interested in the topics.

The more you showed your intelligence and gentleness, the more handsome and attractive you became.

I shared a small piece of my family background as an example supporting a point I was making about something you had shared... but you carved out the opportunity to extend great sympathy to me. I was struck dumb. You sounded moved and almost wounded as you told me you were sorry and said how hard that must have been for me. For all our playing around, this moment seemed sincere and without an agenda.

We stayed until the coffee shop closed. Then we walked down the small street to the spot where we had each parked our cars. You made fun of my car and I called you out which made you laugh a lot more than I expected. We talked about more serious and more personal things. We stood as close as possible, this time facing one another, not side-by-side. My arms were folded but I was perfectly comfortable. It was late and you had an hour's drive ahead of you but you still weren't making any moves to go.

I started wondering if you would ask me to me to go out again. I wondered how this fun evening would be capped off. I wondered if you'd say you "had a great time". I wondered if you would move to hug me. My fragile heart started daydreaming about how far we could go, today and in the future. I conveniently glossed that you were not a follower of my Lord Jesus Christ. As we stood there talking, somehow the topic of the parting of the Red Sea came up and your alternate explanation of that miracle was ludicrous (and mildly offensive). You really don't get it, eh? You once called the Bible "quasi-fiction". I became excited about continuing the conversation via email because I love evangelism. It lights me up.

But still...my heart wouldn't reconcile your scoffing at God and His Word with my desire to partner with you or at least to fuel your desire to partner with me. The tiny, weak voice which said, "You've been here before--" was stepped on and crushed to fine powder by the snarling, malnourished and deformed, almost inhuman voice which grunted, "NEED."


So, I left my heart with you there. Ever foolishly, I gave you enough of my heart that Friday evening so that when I got home, I was all atwitter as I wrote my own "had a great time" in an email. I was mildly surprised that there wasn't already an email from you there. Then I remembered that you had a long drive, so of course there was no email.

I went to sleep quite pleased with myself that evening. I had made a good impression. I had tricked someone. I had seemed satisfactory and interesting and maybe even attractive. The fine powder sounded like it was murmuring, "Back up. Back up. Back up." But it was crushed powder. The stompy monster held more of my attention. When it crushed the small voice, it also produced some quick-release gratification which numbed me out.

He didn't write when he got home. He didn't write the next morning. He didn't write that afternoon. Am I checking my email properly? Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. OK Saturdays are busy so maybe Sunday. How is it possible that some woman as amazing as me who made an impression like that, who made you feel like that, who gave fairly clear signals of interest...how are you not emailing her? Calling? Texting? Did you forget about me already? Were you pretending to be interested? What was that? She must not be so amazing a woman. The chilling image of my heart sitting on the floor of his car, having rolled off the back seat where he tossed it, was one I kept trying to push away. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. Refresh, refresh. I poked the monster to see if it had any of that quick-release stuff left so I could duck these feelings.


Too many days went by. The heart (which needs to be attached to a life source) was slowly shriveling and being obscured by fallen fast food bags and gym clothes. Some moments I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was too hurt and too mystified. WHY HASN'T HE CALLED?? I thought I had it. I thought I had done it. Played the part and won the prize. WHERE ARE YOU??

Too many days have passed for me to be who I thought I was to him. Not beautiful, not interesting, not worth seeing again, not enough. Not liked. Just not anything. You're not anything. I have forgotten about you. The monster was angry at having been teased. It spewed poison in its rage.

I can't believe it. And I can't believe this hurts so much. How often.


By the time the next Friday rolled around, the monster had tired itself out and the weak voice could be heard again. It said that the One who cradles my heart and died to win it, He may have interfered here. It was as if the Father had gone to the slimy teenage boy's house and told him forcefully, "Stay away from my daughter." It was like that. It was like the Father knew about the greedy, needy, deformed monster, and that His daughter needed outside protection before He could work on subduing and slaying the beast.

Picking the boy up by his collar, the man said with great control and low volume, "Stay away from my daughter," with eyes so fierce that they filled in the "or else" blanks for him. He tracks away from the house and finds the boy's locked car. Tearing the roof off as if it's paper, he pushes the passenger seat out of the way effortlessly, flinging it onto the neighbour's lawn. He finds the discarded organ and picks it up tenderly. Slowly, some colour returns.

He turns to the boy (whose leg is now wet) and states, "This is mine," as if explaining why he had the right to total a car. The boy trips over himself scrambling back into the house.


The monster puts its tail between its legs and whimpers. The small, weak voice is too kind to say, "I told you so."

Rich readings

I started reading a book on my vacation week that I have been wanting to read for years. I don't think I realised how large it towers in literature and in Christian literature. And it was first published in 1678! I love texts that endure over centuries. Its full title:

THE

Pilgrim's Progress

FROM 

THIS WORLD, 

TO

That which is to come: 

Delivered under the Similitude of a 

DREAM

Wherein is Discovered,

The manner of his setting out,

His Dangerous Journey; And safe 

Arrival at the Desired Country

By John Bunyan

I'm really enjoying it so far. I love (read: LOVE, LOVE) a good allegory. And I love good allegories for things in Christendom, like The Chronicles of Narnia for example. By this point in my life, I firmly believe that allegories, metaphors, parables are a gift from God as a means of seeing Him better, of appreciating (that is, loving) Him more, of learning great truths, and of seeing greater depths to the truths we know, which actually all means worshipping Him more accurately and more passionately.

It's good. A good metaphor does not merely say, "A is like B," but rather it reveals something new about A through the lens of our knowledge of B.


The characters in Bunyan's book are all named after that which they personify. So, our protagonist's name is Christian. We have also met characters like Evangelist, Mr Worldy Wiseman, Obstinate, and Help. I wanted to write a bit about Christian's exchange with characters named Formalist and Hypocrisy. (I might suggest you read John 10 first, to help undergird the brilliance of this passage.)

After Formalist and Hypocrisy have criticised Christian fairly harshly, Christian says this:

  Chr. I walk by the rule of my master, you walk by the rude working of your fancies. You are counted thieves already, by the Lord of the way, therefore I doubt you will not be found true men at the end of the way. You come in by your selves, without his direction, and shall go out by your selves, without his mercy.
  To this they made him but little answer; only they bid him to look to himself. Then I saw that they went on; every man in his way, without much conference with one another; save that these men told Christian, That, as to Laws and Ordinances, they doubted not but they should as conscientiously do them as he. Therefore, said they, We see not wherein thou differest from us, but by the coat that is on thy back, which was as we tro, given thee by some of thy neighbours, to hide the shame of thy nakedness.
   Chr. By Laws and Ordinances you will not be saved, since you came not in by the door. And as for this coat that is on my back, it was given me by the Lord of the place whither I go; and that, as you say, to cover my nakedness with. And I take it as a token of kindness to me, for I had nothing but rags before; and besides, thus I comfort my self as I go; surely, think I, when I come to the gate of the City, the Lord thereof will know me for good, since I have his coat on my back! A coat that he gave me freely in the day that he stripped me of my rags. (44-45)


Perhaps there's nothing at all for me to tease out. I thought it was beautiful how Christian described the Lord knowing us because we wear His coat. And wonderful that he didn't deny the coat was given to cover his nakedness and shame. It was! How naked and ashamed we all were in that Garden...and then the Lord--the one wronged--He makes for us garments out of animal skin (cf. Genesis 3:21). He clothes us. It's beautiful. And even more: by His Son's clothing on our backs, He knows us!

The passage made me think of the chorus of a song which I very much appreciate.

Your majesty, I can but bow;
I lay it all before you now.
In royal robes I don't deserve,
I live to serve Your majesty.

Let's continue, for good measure.

King of kings, Majesty,
God of heaven living in me.
Mighty Saviour, precious Friend,
Strong Deliverer, Beginning and End.
All within me falls at Your throne...

   Your majesty, I can but bow;
   I lay it all before you now.
   In royal robes I don't deserve,
   I live to serve Your majesty.

Earth and heav'n worship You:
Love eternal, faithful, and true,
Who bought the nations, ransomed souls,
brought this sinner near to Your throne.
All within me cries out in praise...

   Your majesty, I can but bow;
   I lay it all before you now.
   In royal robes I don't deserve,
   I live to serve Your majesty.

King of Kings, Majesty" Words and Music by Jarrod Cooper © 1996 Sovereign Lifestyle Music

You have no idea.

You have no idea how much joy you bring me, just to see you and be near you. You have no idea, my tiny ward, how much I care for you and think of you when we're apart. You are a gem in my life.

Today I asked you to do more than I normally do, more than was really easy for you. You were in the car for a thirty-minute drive to a nearby town, to drop a friend off, and in the car again for the thirty minutes back. We stopped on the way there to be sure you wouldn't be sick, I made sure you had your afternoon snack, and gave you a few toys to play with.

But on the way back, because you were so chipper on the way there, I thought we might make the whole trip without stopping. Around 20 minutes you started to sound annoyed and frustrated, maybe because you were bored now. We were only 10 minutes from home! But five minutes later you were close to tears and because these were abnormal expectations I had put on you and not a matter of you being disobedient or learning discipline, we pulled over.

How happy you were by the time I got to your side of the car! How happy you were. Your little eyes sparkled and your fantastic grin beamed at me. Out you came and it seemed the grumpies stayed inside the car.

I held you like I usually do, high up on my left side so that we are almost eye-to-eye. I'm watching your face and periodically smooching your cheek and shoulder. You're looking out across a mostly empty parking lot, rather serious, trying to take it in. Then you point at something (the tree? the wood chips? the car? I have no idea) and make your little high-pitched attempt at talking. I don't know what you mean or want but I'm happy that you're happy.

Then we slip into the store and buy some apple juice because I have no other water, juice, or milk left in the car and it's hot out and I want something to soothe you for the last ten minutes.

You're so happy to hold the Minute Maid bottle (because it's something new and I was holding it) but I don't even know if you realise what it contains. I wonder if it's too soon to return you to your car seat, if you will decide this break is too short and then throw a proper tantrum. So..we sit in the driver's seat and you love it! I love watching your face light up with new discoveries. I love watching your face light up when you're allowed to have something you really want but didn't think you'd get. Lots of buttons to press or just touch, and plenty of things to point at and coo about. Hoping to soon transition you to the back seat, I remove the lid of the apple juice bottle and try to help you drink but you're not familiar with the format and mostly spill on your dress or just cover the entire opening of the bottle with your mouth but don't actually drink.

I find your empty bottle in the back seat and you watch each step of me removing its lid, filling it with juice, and then replacing the lid, and add your approving high-pitched "yeah" and a nod with each step. Good for you, little lady! You understand the sequence of events and are anticipating what this means for you!

When I'm done and it's in your hands it goes directly into your mouth and your whole body relaxes. You lean back into the crook of my arm and I'm worried about the air bags deploying because of how far my heart is bursting from my chest. You have no idea how much I love you. You have no idea how much I cherish these little moments together. If we didn't have somewhere to be, I would have sat there with you longer, the sun and the breeze reaching us through the open door, and your tiny little adorable legs comfortably propped up on mine. You're happy. I'm happy. I love you. You are my sunshine.

Sad things

Alternate title: Confessions

(1) I am more likely to ask others to pray for something than I am to pray for it myself.

(2) Sometimes I ask for prayer for things motivated by the desire to share something about myself/my life.

(3) When in public I judge others pretty harshly, thinking that, from the few pieces of information I can pick up, I have them pegged.

(4) Sometimes my choice to pick up my phone (or some other book, or a snack, or to flip on the TV) instead of my Bible is not unconscious and not unthinking. It's like I square off with the Holy Spirit as if I'm some teenager who doesn't care what relationship damage her defiance and disrespect might do.

(5) Sometimes I say in my head, "I don't want the Bible, I want to be entertained." Lately I've noticed that I don't trust God to make me feel better so I find things that will. It is hard for me to remember (believe?)  that the way I feel is not exactly priority.

It is hard to understand how God tolerates me. I'm so vile and so unlike Him in many ways. Today I was reading Exodus, the instructions given for priestly garments and ordinations. Before that were details (and I mean details) for the building of the tabernacle. Trying for the umpteenth time to jump into the brain of a Jewish person a few millenia ago (more importantly, a Jewish person under the old covenants) I wondered what they would think about the cords of gold, the embroidered pomegranates, the curtains this many cubits long, the wave offerings, the sin offerings, the hundredteen other kinds of offerings, the incense, this and that made without yeast, this long lobe of the liver, that outside the camp, this kind of undergarment... Did they roll their eyes? Did they grumble among themselves? Did they love the precision and ritual? Was it a lot to keep up with or was it more manageable in their context than it is for a Gentile Canadian in 2016?

Then a tiny light bulb flickered: an idea of how I might speak about these passages to a perhaps confused non-believer. I think the bulb came after I thought to myself, "Even though I don't understand how these things work, I am grateful that God told us what would work." It's very hard for us sinners to worship Him and to be near Him but God is explaining the hoops which need jumping through so that we can worship and draw near. (This must mean He wants us to, if He's telling us how!)


I thought.... If you cheated on your spouse...If I slept with a man who wasn't my husband...and my husband found out ..and I was truly deeply sorry, grieved, contrite, repentant, etc. and my husband said, "If you want to stay married, if you want me to trust you again, I'm going to need you to do a few things, which will show me your fidelity..."

If I had cheated and then was truly sorry in my heart of hearts and wanted to stay married to my husband--and he knew that was true--, I would do whatever he put on that list, however nit-picky... Never be alone in a room with another man. Don't talk to other men for longer than 30 minutes at a time. If it's thirty-one minutes I will know you aren't serious. On the first day of every month, re-read our marriage vows. Share everything with me. Listen when I speak. Never take your ring off except for when you're washing your hands. Forget your maiden name. Let me show love to you!

I would do it all. I would do it all gladly and I would be so overjoyed that my husband had told me what I could do so that we had a shot at reconciliation.


Now...I must say that an important difference between this situation and the one between God and man, is that marriage partners are equal but man is far, far, far, far, far below God. We are not equal. So commands and ordinances are very different coming from Creator God to His chosen people, instead of from a sinful, broken human to another human.

That said, I think the analogy still stands. If you understand that you are in your partner's debt, the way you think about what is required of you changes drastically. It can seem like you've been shown mercy.



But then there's the New Covenant. That delightful all-fulfilling gem that changed everything. In the New Covenant, Jesus the Son of God assumed responsibility for me having an affair, and then jumped flawlessly through every hoop a seething, cuckolded husband could establish...and made me a perfect wife. He satisfied the husband and purified the wife. He paid the debt and restored the relationship. Restored and renewed. He is amazing, that Jesus. He reconciled the sinners to the One sinned against, thus fulfilling ALL the old covenant stipulations. (You spend some time in the Pentateuch and you will appreciate just how much He has done.)

For nothing good have I

Whereby Thy grace to claim;

I'll wash my garments white

In the blood of Calvary's Lamb.

And when before the throne

I stand in Him complete,

"Jesus died, my soul to save,"

My lips shall still repeat.

Jesus paid it all!

All to Him I owe!

Sin had left a crimson stain

He washed it white as snow.

addendum to "Annie Oliver"

On Saturday while I was composing my April post a hymn came to mind. It's not one I know well or have played/sung more than maybe four times. But even before my post had fully taken shape, the Lord put this hymn in my mind so I thought it was only right to post it here.

I Am His And He Is Mine

George Wade Robinson, James Mountain; Words and Music: Public Domain 

Verse 1

Loved with everlasting love,

led by grace that love to know.

Spirit breathing from above,

Thou hast taught me it is so.

O this full and perfect peace,

O this transport all divine,

in a love which cannot cease,

I am His and He is mine.

In a love which cannot cease, 

I am His and He is mine.

Verse 2

Heaven above is softer blue,

earth around is sweeter green,

something lives in every hue

Christless eyes have never seen.

Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,

flowers with deeper beauties shine;

Since I know as now I know,

I am His and He is mine.

Since I know as now I know, 

I am His and He is mine.

Verse 3

His for ever only His;

who the Lord and me shall part?

Ah with what a rest of bliss

Christ can fill the loving heart!

Heaven and earth may fade and flee,

firstborn light in gloom decline.

But while God and I shall be,

I am His and He is mine,

But while God and I shall be,

I am His and He is mine.

Annie Oliver

Within a few days three separate situations tied poignantly together for me.

I'm not sure how I'm going to braid these threads together but because I don't want an entire month without blogging to be in my records, I need to figure something out before midnight.

(1) In my personal Bible reading, I was struck by something in Genesis 29 that I've read dozens of times.

Now Laban had two daughters; the name of the older was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah had weak eyes, but Rachel had a lovely figure and was beautiful. Jacob was in love with Rachel and said, "I’ll work for you seven years in return for your younger daughter Rachel."

Laban said, "It’s better that I give her to you than to some other man. Stay here with me." So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her.

Then Jacob said to Laban, "Give me my wife. My time is completed, and I want to make love to her."

So Laban brought together all the people of the place and gave a feast. But when evening came, he took his daughter Leah and brought her to Jacob, and Jacob made love to her. And Laban gave his servant Zilpah to his daughter as her attendant.

When morning came, there was Leah! So Jacob said to Laban, "What is this you have done to me? I served you for Rachel, didn’t I? Why have you deceived me?"

Laban replied, "It is not our custom here to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one. Finish this daughter’s bridal week; then we will give you the younger one also, in return for another seven years of work."

And Jacob did so. He finished the week with Leah, and then Laban gave him his daughter Rachel to be his wife. Laban gave his servant Bilhah to his daughter Rachel as her attendant. Jacob made love to Rachel also, and his love for Rachel was greater than his love for Leah. And he worked for Laban another seven years.

When the LORD saw that Leah was not loved, he enabled her to conceive, but Rachel remained childless. Leah became pregnant and gave birth to a son.* (vv. 16-32a)
*I will deal with the interesting remainder of the passage later.

I want to be careful not to read too much back into this passage from a very different time in Church history or under a very different covenant. However, it seemed significant to me that the LORD saw that Leah was not loved. I haven't really worked this through yet but I'm inferring from the text that being unloved by your husband is something that God takes notice of and that is not neutral (or at the least is not positive).

Yesterday I was in my counsellor's office for an hour; I talked and fidgeted; she talked and wrote. I don't think I ever said it baldly but I was trying to express my long-held, deep-seated belief that the value of the presence parental love is neutral. Perhaps I mean "parental relationship" but the two are completely intertwined. We didn't stay on the topic long because I wouldn't know what to do if the cage of untamed tigers was ever opened more than a crack: I was not prepared/shielded/safe. Even now I can't type much. But it was new and important for me to articulate aloud such a dominant, controlling belief.

"If you have parents, that's great. If you don't, that's fine," I explained somewhat lightly, shrugging my shoulders. I have an idea of how this would sound to a healthy person's ears...but I needed to say it anyways. I prefer this claim because if the opposite is true, I will be slashed and mauled to a pulp.

I think it matters that God is love and God knows He is love and God could impart His affection to Leah on earth somehow. Maybe that's less true before the cross, but I think my point stands. It matters that God Himself says human relationships matter. A husband should love his wife. Now....I would argue that a husband should have only one wife, and should especially not marry two sisters, and should especially not be tricked into marrying one of them...

But....

...perhaps it matters what I have missed out on. Perhaps my longings, my voids are not asking too much.

(2) In the toddler room of our church building I was caring for/hanging out with the young children of a friend. It has been more than a year (two?) that I have been inching closer to these fawns with berries in my outstretched hand. I think they're so swell and so is their mother and I want very much to be friends with those kids. I want them to be comfortable around me.

I try this and that and often get blank stares or I'm completely ignored. On this particular morning, when I picked up the younger child who didn't particularly want to leave his mother, he wailed and wailed and wailed and wailed and wailed ...but then stopped abruptly once we reached the play room, which he obviously recognised. In my other two caring/hanging out experiences with these two, it took MUCH more for him to calm down.

Months ago I told the mum that one of the coolest Italian names I had recently discovered was Bartolomeo. She quipped that it was their second choice for naming their son. So I've called him "Bart" on and off. I'll do it in this post.

He only has a few words so there was a lot of charades and a lot of guessing. He was generally quite happy throughout our time together and so was his older sister.

Perhaps twenty minutes into our time together Bartolomeo walks up and plops himself directly into my lap and continues investigating the new toy in his hands. (I was cross-legged in the middle of the room while chatting/interacting with Older Sister.) He greatly surprised me and even his sister did a little eyebrow raise at the bold move. But.... it brought me such delight. It meant something that he had decided I was now trustworthy and pleasant enough that he would choose to sit with me. I even got to show him how to operate the toy he was holding, and see his eyes and smile light up with the thrill of discovery.

I know I've written on it before but again I want to say I adore this phenomenon, this freedom to enter someone else's personal space. True freedom. Liberty. It's as if you somehow belong to one another.

Now, I of course don't mean that Bartolomeo and I share a deep bond; we don't. I only mean that he reminded me of the phenomenon and helped me re-appreciate how honest and simple the gesture was.

In that same counsellor's room yesterday I remember asking (with growing exasperation), "Does it matter? Do I need parents? Why should [tragic incident x in my father's life] bother me? He doesn't belong to me."

I meant it. I can't grasp all of this. It's all very sticky in my mind. Sticky and gross and difficult.

(3) In a surprising chance encounter at my work place, a couple commented on what a great deal my mother and her husband had gotten selling their condo at this time. They said things about real estate markets that I don't understand, but I get that there are better and worse times to sell and apparently this was a better time to sell. I nodded and smiled as naturally as I could, trying to be friendly though the conversation was making me uncomfortable.

I mustn't have looked convinced or enthusiastic enough because one of them said, as if nudging me with an elbow, "That's your inheritance, you know," and I felt like all the air had been vacuumed out of my lungs. My reply was only a forced smile.

That's not my inheritance. We aren't family, not by blood nor by relationship. So, I don't know what to say. I don't know what this situation is like.

I'm fighting you.

I'm fighting you, you ruthless wet blanket. Wet large sac that keeps ending up over my head. This day has been really skrumpy! I have barely eaten, I slept a lot and still feel very tired, and I cannot seem to stay focused on my work for more than 3 or 4 minutes at a time. I sound depressed. Intermittent, mild chest pains [anxiety]; throbbing temples [anxiety]; overwhelming urges to cry [anxiety, depression]; thoughts of resorting to poor coping mechanisms [depression + borderline personality disorder]... it's a lot in here. And nothing is good enough. Nothing is working. Nothing is going to work out. I can't do this! Why is there so much/too much to do? Why/how am I still so far behind? BLEH.

Three weekends in a row I have attended/will be attending funeral/memorial services. Saved, unsaved, saved. The unsaved one was mine. The unsaved one was in my bloodline and I'm going to miss him a lot. I haven't thought about it too much since the day after the funeral but come December 26th, I will probably be very upset. It will be the first Boxing Day of my entire life that I don't see my dear granddad -- "Grindy Pop" as we affectionately called him (behind his back). UGH. When people utter well-intentioned "he's in a better place" platitudes, it's like salt in the wound. YOU. DON'T. KNOW. You don't know what happened! There is only ONE "better place" and you don't even understand what it is or how to [through Whom to] get there! Be quiet.



Sigh.

But... one friend wisely quoted Abraham as he spoke to the LORD about whether He would destroy a city full of grievous sin and unspeakable wickedness: "Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?"

Will He not??? He will, He will! He knows. He knows and judges every heart perfectly and we may rest in that.


Another friend mentioned the dying thief, the man who hung on a cross the same day and in the same vicinity as Christ the Lord. He converted. He surrendered his life to Christ's Lordship at the lastest last minute if there ever was one. No "sinner's prayer", no time for baptism, no chance to witness or walk by faith. But he simply recognised that his death was just punishment and Jesus' was not--and that was enough! So, I am forced to concede that I don't know what happened in my granddad's heart during the five days he was in the hospital before he left. I don't know what barriers may have finally dissolved, I don't know who else may have witnessed to him, I don't know what the Holy Spirit came down and said to him directly. I don't know if Grindy heard me as I pleaded with him, holding his almost-lifeless hand and looking into his his seemingly unresponsive face, the day before he passed. I don't know.

Only One knows and He will do right.

Rest.

"How's the new job going?"

I've been asked that many times over the past five weeks and I think I'm somewhat surprised by the question every time. Maybe this is because it doesn't feel like a job most of the time. It does feel like work often, and there are significant and clear expectations but it just isn't like a "job" to me. It is more like my life became more entwined with another family's life. I spend my days with an infant. I dunno.

I can't wait for her full laugh to come in. So far I get a forceful exhale with a delighted grin where a laugh would normally go. It's lovely but it's going to get even lovelier.

I like that she knows who I am and I like learning what she is like. I think it's great when she is silly and when she makes herself laugh.

As with any child, it's fascinating and refreshing to watch her discover the world item by item, experience by experience.

I like when she's in a snuggly mood and I like that she clings to me if we're in public and she's very unsure of something. It's a thing about family or other close relationships when personal space boundaries are very limited or non-existent. The babygirl (or, "Mrs. Magoo" or "Mrs Magoodle" or "Sweetie-pie" or "Gladys" or "Barbara", as I like to call her) does not perceive or honour any physical limits on me and I'm glad. Just this afternoon I had her sitting on the windowsill because she loves looking out the window and I had grown tired of taking countless non-toys away from her. At first she was happy (read: VERY happy) to sit in her little chair which I had put on the sill, while I held it in place. Then she repeatedly awkwardly climbed out of the chair so I took it away. After I put her back on the sill, I realised that more than abandoning the chair, she also wanted to be close to me. She had all the space to play and she had access to the window that she wants to touch and point to aaaaaaaall the time but she kept cuddling up to me as close as possible. Sometimes her arms went around my neck (I was on the floor, so we were actually at eye-level), I think as a means of pulling herself closer; several times she wouldn't be touching me but would turn back and look at me and smile after watching a squirrel or pedestrian or car.. "are you seeing this??" in her eyes; other times, she just leaned back into me, her shoulders at my collar bone and head next to mine. In the latter position she also randomly turned to give me a kiss. (Or, a "kiss" as a one-year-old can give.) So .... speaking of having no discernable physical limits, her "kiss" meant that half of my nose was inside her mouth.

I'm happy that she's still enough of a baby that I can sometimes (though not very often) cradle her. Three or four times now, she's been in just the right mood for me to cradle her and then sing a whole litany of kids songs while bouncing her on my knee. She wasn't indifferent to any elements; she was content in my arms, on my knee, hearing my voice. It's sweet.

So, how's the new job going? How could I possibly put it into words?

 

In many ways, I feel as though my heart is full today, this week. I have seen many encouraging things in the lives of my brothers and sisters, some of whom I have known for a decade and some of whom I have never formally met.

God is doing things sometimes seems like a very silly phrase but it's true and maybe the simplicity represents awe. It's good that He is God and no one else is. He's the best at it.

Respect for privacy limits what I can say on a public blog but maybe that's for the best. Mulling it over now, I realise that the theme is people serving God in a new or novel way. Serving God in a way you have already served or have always served is obviously still valuable but I think the newness has struck me profoundly. He is still working. I forget. I forget, I forget, I forget.

And in a way I feel left in the dust. I feel seated among those standing or running. I feel cowardly.

On the other hand I have felt exhilarated because of some new opportunities this week in my most obvious niche: music.

On Monday and Tuesday, I was composing cello parts for Sunday's set. It's the first week in my almost-six years as Music Director that we've had two stringed instruments on the team at the same time. I realised that most wouldn't care if both violin and cello played the melody. I realised that some even on the music team wouldn't notice the difference. But, things like this are my gargoyles on the roof. Things like this delight me. Let's draw the most beauty out of these instruments in this context that we can.

On Wednesday the band (specially formed with a music set specially tailored) did exceptional work. They really did. Some have grown together over months and years, some are finding new confidence because of in-team comraderie, some are very new to us but eager and drown in welcome, and all desire to use their gift to magnify the Lord and try to lead His people to do the same. The Lord was there with us. He gave us more than a rehearsal. He gave us more than the sum of our parts. After the second song someone asked me cheekily, "Are you having trouble getting that smile off your face?" and only then did I realise I had been grinning nonstop for a while. Two songs in particular I am over-the-moon excited to share with the congregation. It will be beautifully done to point to our beautiful God. I'm so proud of those ladies.

On Thursday (that's tonight), I auditioned a viola player and ended up with far more goosebumps than I bargained for. He played well. He played so very well. The richness of that small wooden instrument, lovingly and carefully played, filled the large room with the life and joy that only music played to the Lord can bring. He astounded me. To say I am excited for what lies ahead (considering all the new changes in the music ministry) is a disturbing understatement. On the pieces where he played to my accompaniment and especially as he played a descant part over my melody, I struggled to not leap off my seat with delight and gladness. If you are not a musician/vocalist, you may not understand that feeling. Music is a great, great, great gift from God. It can only be from Him. I have no earthly explanation for the extent of its goodness. Playing worshipful music with others to the same God we all adore is a wonderful, blessed thing.

A few months ago we had no stringed instruments. Now there is a trio. They are different voices (figurative voices) from guitar and piano. I think I am excited because we can use those different voices to express and intimate different things about God. (If you were a baker, I could say it's like choosing different shaped nozzles for the icing. Or if you were into fashion, I could say it's like choosing different accent pieces: a cherry red clutch purse doesn't change an outfit the same way printed pumps would.)  It's as if praising God is desperate and urgent such that we just need to use anything we can find to do it. More instruments (figurative and literal) mean more praise. Let's do it.

new chapter / new season / new job / new lots of things

I had big ideas about blogging glimpses of each day this week to sort of chronicle the beginning of my new job. But... my spare time this week seemed like a wet bar of soap when I was clutching for it so here I am on Friday evening, trying to do a decent job of looking back.

This week I began my work as a [childcare provider/baby-sitter/Fran Drescher wannabe] for a sweet one-year-old daughter to friends of mine.

Monday:
  In some ways it was a complete blur because so much was new and the gravity of being fully responsible for a precious, vulnerable, small human was a bit overwhelming. In another way, it was dreadfully difficult because I hadn't slept well and had no coffee. But, the day was good and God's grace was [read: always is] great.

Magical moment:
  Upon our return from a coffee shop (where everything was new and colourful and bright and interesting and worth staring/pointing at and cooing about) after a 20-minute walk, the babe was asleep in the stroller. I tried to scoop her out as smoothly as possible and then keep her still and cosy long enough to be sure I could put her down still asleep. I sat on the couch with the floppy girl on my chest and when I finally dared sneak a peek I saw two huge eyes looking very alertly at me. And then there was a huge, silly grin. Like she knew she had played a trick on me.
  I plopped her down on the couch on her back to get the 23 layers of winter clothing off her and apparently that was also funny. The grin got worse. So I snapped a photo. It became the highlight of my day.

Tuesday:
  I come in to this day considerably more confident. I am very impressed to note that she seems to partially understand the getting-dressed process because she easily gives up one limb at a time knowing it will be given back momentarily and she can resume playing/investigating.
On this day we take our first ride on the city bus. When we're parked and locked I nod to the driver and he pulls away. (It's weird being given so much deference because you're pushing a stroller.) I reach into my pocket for a tissue and discover a tiny rubber duck I forgot I had grabbed while leaving the house. Instantly I have a "I've become that guy" moment. You see things in the pockets, purses, or cars of caregivers to children that you don't see with anyone else. I hand it over, and the duck easily makes a friend.

Magical moment:
  We visit a different coffee shop, one near to mom's work for easy pick-up, but one that also happens to be my favourite haunt in the whole city. She's happy in the stroller for longer than usual. (Usually if travel ceases and she's still strapped in, the disapproving wails begin promptly.) I'm able to take off my coat, etc. and get things prepped for her. She sits comfortably on my lap and I put on the table some of her snack, some toys, and my phone to play with. I hold her with my right hand and unstressedly monitor her activity. My left hand brings the coffee in periodically and I find myself staring out the window at the gorgeous snowfall. I add more snacks as she finishes the ones in front of her, I catch what she throws off the table as often as I can, I chat to her a bit, and then I have a profound moment where I realise I'm just here for her. I don't really have my own activities and the majority of how I'm using my body is for her support, help, protection, or nurturing. Our relationship has been building virtually since the day she was born (obviously it was one-sided for the most part) but I was really delighted in that intimate, trusting moment when we were so comfortable together and I was there for her.

Wednesday:
  This day brought unprecedented challenges. I learned that I had previously not actually realised the extent to which I would need to be sacrificial to do this job well. I expected it to not feel like sacrifice because I love her so. Turns out you can still feel it.

Magical moment:
  WHEN SHE FINALLY FELL ASLEEP.

Thursday:
  I reflect on the week and on our patterns more than I thought I would. I decide that I will plan our outings and social activities further in advance, partly because this means they will go more smoothly but more because I realise that she needs more than just me in a day. She should have other influences, other teachers, other interactions, other faces, other voices, other ticklers.
  I also discover on this day (with amazement) that she is starting to understand what I mean when I say, "no," and something inedible is about to go into her mouth. I've said it multiple times every day this week, and pulled her hand/the item away at the same time. But Thursday when I said it she stopped and put it down before I could even get to her. Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe she's a genius.
  On this day I also inaugurate Dance Party. I wonder if it will become a Thursday special. I threw the radio on and since it was an Adele song I knew, I belted the words and cut a rug while looking invitingly into her face. At first she just watched, kind of perplexed, but with a twinkle in her eye. Then a smile broke in and she joined me in dance. (Well... "dance".)

Magical moment:
  I had in no way planned this but every single day this week (including dastardly Wednesday) we have had what I am now going to call "couch time". It typically follows a nap, when she is least active and very OK with being held/cuddled. Somehow I end up lying so that my lower half makes a barrier to the front of the couch and she plays within that little pen for a good amount of time. What makes it special, I guess, is that there aren't any toys on the couch... it's just me and the couch. So we're physically very close, I talk to her a lot, she tries to yank my earrings out, she chews on the drawstring of my sweater, she climbs on me... it's fun.

Friday:

Little Stinker

  In this job I work Monday to Thursday so today I was at home in the morning and at my other job in the afternoon. Around 2.30 I found myself thinking, "I wonder what she is doing today." I didn't expect that. It seems that I miss the little stinker, which makes me quite happy. Monday is going to be great.

Choices

  Now there have been many of those priests, since death prevented them from continuing in office; but because Jesus lives forever, he has a permanent priesthood. Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.
  Such a high priest truly meets our need--one who is holy, blameless, pure, set apart from sinners, exalted above the heavens. Unlike the other high priests, he does not need to offer sacrifices day after day, first for his own sins, and then for the sins of the people. He sacrificed for their sins once for all when he offered himself. For the law appoints as high priests men in all their weakness; but the oath, which came after the law, appointed the Son, who has been made perfect forever.

(Hebrews 7:23-28)

Today has been a weird one. It's like a pseudo-Saturday after another pseudo-Saturday except this one is actually a Saturday. Holiday weeks can really mess with a person's grasp of the calendar.

A few days ago I said to a friend that I was at the point where I was willing to pay money to see the sun. It's just been so grey and after this many days I guess it has started to weigh on me. Whether it's all metaphorical or literal or a mix, I don't know.

This afternoon felt particularly low, and unpleasant thoughts and images kept pulling my brain off the pages of the Bible. With the Spirit, I fought and persevered and managed to find these beauties in the above passage:

  -he is able to save completely
  -he always lives to intercede for those who come to God through him
  -as high priest he truly meets our need

In God's grace it transported my thoughts to a better place. I wondered for the umpteenth time how this gospel can possibly be true. It's staggering. This passage always reminds me of a particular song so this afternoon I put it on and sang Hebrews 7 back to God and it was good. You're welcome to join in.

Before the Throne of God Above

Charitie Lees Bancroft and Vikki Cook (c) 1997 Sovereign Grace Worship

Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea:

[Christ Himself is our plea before God]

A great high priest whose name is Love,
who ever lives and pleads for me.

[our high priest mediates between

sinner and perfect King so that

the sinner can come before the throne]

My name is graven on His hands,
my name is written on His heart;

[we are truly known and

we were earnestly desired/sought/won]

I know that while in Heaven He stands,
no tongue can bid me thence depart,
no tongue can bid me thence depart.

[as long as Jesus stands on our behalf,

no one can eject us from God's presence]

When Satan tempts me to despair
and tells me of my guilt within,
upward I look and see Him there
who made an end of all my sin.

[our righteousness is as sure

as His--and none can remove it]

Because the sinless Saviour died,
my sinful soul is counted free
for God the Just is satisfied
to look on Him and pardon me,
to look on Him and pardon me.

[it is finished!]

Behold Him there, the Risen Lamb,
my perfect, spotless righteousness,

[He is our righteousness. He has

made us permanently, perfectly clean.]

the Great Unchangeable I Am,
the King of Glory and of Grace.

One with Himself I cannot die,

[one with Himself we cannot die!!]

my soul is purchased by His blood;
my life is hid with Christ on high,

[we are inextricable]

with Christ my Saviour and my God,
with Christ my Saviour and my God.

[He is ours and we are His. He is

our God and we are His people.]

I don't write much these days and it bothers me.

I seem to put more care and passion into writing certain kinds of emails (usually vision-casting, or notes of encouragement) than anything else. I enjoy writing those emails for sure. I just don't see them fitting into the dream of earning a living from being a writer.

I jotted down this passage weeks ago thinking I would blog from it:

Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also so see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and believing in him. (John 12:9-11)

The excerpt made me wonder about people who have met the Lord having their lives so profoundly changed that others want to "come and see" them as well as Jesus. I know it has to be different from Lazarus because resuscitation is different from all other life changes. I also know it's different without the Lord being incarnate on earth.

But there can still be a fascination, can't there? I think I've experienced this myself, particularly with co-workers, particularly after they've seen me do something that the world finds big and perplexing--even foolish. They watch to see if you're really real. The watch to see how long this something (this façade?) will last. They watch to try to figure you out. Just recently, on Christmas Eve, I found an extended family member watching me through portions of the evening. As in, she was just staring until I happened to look over. Some of the times, I was addressing several people so looking at me made sense (though not the way she was doing it). Other times I wasn't the focus of any attention at all... I hope this is a start of something God is doing to build bridges between us. I want that so badly. I've had the privilege of giving a few big/perplexing blessings to her and her family over the past couple years, and I've tried to inch us past the small talk level of conversation but that's a little slow going.

I hope she sees that I'm different. I hope she keeps seeing it and that she reaches the point where she can't swallow back the questions any more. So, why are you like this?

That has to be one of my all-time favourite questions to be asked. Maybe it's second only to what do you believe?, what is the good news/the gospel?, or who do you think God is?.

So maybe a modern equivalent to what is recorded in the above passage from John 12 would be when our non-believing friends attend a church service with us and observe us and other believers as much as they observe or listen to the sermon.

I don't know what else to say except thanks be to the God who changes us so that we make Him and His message more attractive. What a miracle and honour if "on account of [us] many [people] were going over to Jesus and believing in him"!!

Good things.

  On another Sabbath he went into the synagogue and was teaching, and a man was there whose right hand was shriveled. The Pharisees and the teachers of the law were looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, so they watched him closely to see if he would heal on the Sabbath. But Jesus knew what they were thinking and said to the man with the shriveled hand, "get up and stand in front of everyone." So he got up and stood there.

  Then Jesus said to them, "I ask you which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or destroy it?" (Luke 6:6-9)

Earlier this week I read this passage and had one of those great moments where I naturally laughed aloud and kinda shook my head as if to say, "Jesus would do that," like He's a close friend of mine, known for a certain kind of antics.

The Pharisees and the teachers of the law were looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, so they watched him closely to see if he would heal on the Sabbath. But Jesus knew what they were thinking and said to the man with the shriveled hand, "Get up and stand in front of everyone." (vv. 7-8)

The Lord knew these awful characters were trying to trap him and He didn't turn away. He walked right into (or up to) the trap. He doesn't fear them, He doesn't submit them, He cannot be trapped, and they cannot even take His life unless He chooses to give it up. I saw that He is bold and strong. I saw that He knows the truth and the law and righteousness so intimately that He can only do good all the time. He's perfectly wise and perfectly aware. Oh, that Jesus.


The story continues:

He looked around at them all, and then said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." He did so and his hand was completely restored. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law were furious and began to discuss with one another what they might do to Jesus. (Luke 6:10-11)

A man stretched out his shriveled (i.e. unusable, work-prohibiting, income-restricting, shame-bringing) hand at another man's command and it was completely restored. And the Pharisees and the teachers of the law were furious. This is the wrong reaction. This is the very wrongest reaction. Whose law are they teaching? What religion do they profess? You see a man receive miraculous healing, you see good done and life saved on the Sabbath and it infuriates you??

I have definitely read this passage and others like it numerous times before but I still found it chilling when I read it last week. Can you be so far gone? Can your heart be so hard? Can you be so opposed to God and so opposed to good that you are furious when you see Him healing, teaching, showing compassion, and fulfilling (not violating or dismissing) the Law?

I wonder about that heart and I wonder if I had the same one before Christ rescued me. I wonder if I would have eventually developed that heart given a few more years without being rescued.

The longer I've been a Christian the more I've been conformed to God's truth, to absolute truth, to objective reality. I seem to "get" Jesus (I mean this almost like grasping His stature or ontology, His Jesus-ness) in such a way that I can be deeply indignant when He is slighted or totally confounded when people (as recorded in Scripture or as I encounter in my daily life) fail to recognise His veracity, nature, and authority. I guess as I notice the transforming or refining I am also forced to realise that it doesn't come from me. I could never self-refine in this way. What an amazing thing. To turn a rebel into a loyal, adoring subject and soldier. To really change someone. To Ezekiel 37 them. Amazing.

---

The following happened a couple of months ago and I've been looking for a good context in which to share it.

Our vacuum cleaner had been giving me grief for several months, leaving behind frustrating piles of things it should be picking up. I cleaned out the canister and lint trap and every normal cloggable spot many times and it never seemed to make a difference.

One day, completely fed up, I asked my housemate to use her engineering brain on the problem. She eventually discovered that a certain hose had a remarkable amount of pine needles stuck in it (from her last Christmas tree). As if crafted by expert beavers, it had formed a magnificent dam for as much dust and hair as you could want. It was disgusting to watch it come out, clump after clump, but it was such a relief to know the problem was being sorted (without needing to replace parts or the entire vacuum).

Ten or fifteen minutes later, it was reassembled and I was happily running it over the living room carpet. After so many months of doing an inadequate job and feeling frustrated that I couldn't fix it, I was very relieved and delighted to have the thing in good working order. I blurted, "Ahh, this is so great!" because I really was glad about getting such a deep clean.

My housemate replies, "Yeah, it's doing what it's supposed to do instead of making messes everywhere!" Without thinking, I added, "Just like we will be in Heaven!"

And there was a little moment of profound, grinning silence as we reflected on that great, great future. It will be nice when we work properly. It will be nice to operate at peak, unhindered performance instead of being inadequate and only making messes.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

The week | The weak

On Wednesday we all got the email. My heart sank and cringed and I stared at the screen with my mouth open. Then (on some kind of autopilot) I turned back to the work I was doing and managed to put the email on ice. My sensible brain knew I didn't have the emotional capacity at that time to engage properly and I'm thankful I was able to defer.

The email was from our manager informing of a coworker being widowed that very evening. I spoke on the phone with my manager a few hours later to make sure the coworker's shifts were covered. Between what could be overheard and the fact that I was pacing (which I didn't realise I was doing), I was giving a lot away. When I got off the phone my housemate was looking at me with the this-is-obviously-serious-so-what-is-going-on? face and so I told her.

For the first few minutes we mostly sat in the "I don't even know" silence with shrugging shoulders and faces screwed up in empathy. I forgot my housemate didn't know whom the widow and the departed both called Lord and Saviour and when I informed her, the conversation became notably less heavy.

The next day at work no one mentioned it and it seemed like we were avoiding eye-contact in the same way answer-less students avoid eye-contact with the teacher. After an hour or so I asked my deskmate, "Did you get [the manager's] email?" and the quick, quiet "yes" came also without eye-contact. For the next couple hours we avoided the word itself, connected words, and connected-to-connected words. We found ourselves using the widow's name to refer to the departed because that name is just so hard to pronounce on Day Two. We talked about "the email" or "the news" or "what happened" or "Wednesday".

The day after, there was a little more levity around the office (I think in part because we had heard a bit about how our coworker was doing) and people spoke a little more freely about their wishes, their condolences, their "I don't know what I would do"s. It seems we really care about her.

On Saturday we heard about the arrangements and more emails were exchanged to coordinate attending the visitation together.

The funeral was yesterday morning and in God's kindness I was able to go. I went with the manager who is also my closest friend of all my coworkers here. She is also the only other believer in our Lord Jesus Christ (the Killer of Death, the Eradicator of Sin & the Curse, the Victor, the Conquering King, the Glorious One). It was hard. Death is hard. But how marvellous that the man leading the service yesterday ALSO knew that same Victor and he spoke passionately as if that mattered!

I kept reflecting during the service and after how differently Christians grieve. It's just night-and-day. When I got back to the office I struggled to know how to describe it to inquiring coworkers. It was of course difficult, but it was truly great because we worshipped God. It was good in a real way. But how to explain that to unbelievers and not seem awkwardly callous or morbid because you only have 30 seconds to answer? In those moments I hope my long-term witness means something.

During the first song (which I had never heard), really listening to the words, I felt a deep, deep yearning to have what the departed now has. The songs--about God being with us through every trial or hardship, about the great riches and wonder of the next life, about His magnificent presence--the songs stirred up an intense desire in me to be with Him fully and real-ly. I envied the dead. I envied, I envied, I envied. I want to be with Christ. This world is too dark, too heavy, too sorrowful, too hard. I just want to be done; I just want to be with Him.

I console myself that God calls each home at the exact right time for His purposes. I then conclude that I am here for November 24th because the Lord willed it, because it is good. And I infer that He has given or will give a way to get through.