If I never have to start another pull mower in my life, I'll die happy.

Lately, I feel like I can’t make sense of much. I think I may have been waiting for more than a year to “get back to normal” but my “normal” doesn’t exist anymore. I know that normals do and should change but I still seem to be confused. I feel like I’m trying to balance something tall on a flutter-board in a pool. It stands up for a little while but water is never still and I shouldn’t expect it to be.

In the last several months I’ve wondered if it would help me to write. But in the last couple days I’ve been wondering if writing is necessary for me to access certain things. I feel like I can’t think or I can’t think deeply or I can’t figure out what I’m thinking. I know that sounds strange and I think that’s why I’ve dismissed it for so long. But my brain feels stuck and I’m reaching a breaking point with frustration.

The other reason I’ve resisted writing, though, is that I don’t want to come off as pretentious and that’s what everything I’ve planned to write during this season feels like. I suspect (good) writing takes patience and I feel I don’t have enough.

So, I'm going to post this, knowing that it's not very good but that perhaps I need to prime the engine. It's been more than a year since I posted and the longer I wait, the more pressure I feel to write something profound on my return (because the silence has been growing continuously). So here is my little splash.

Ten Minutes: Unbelieveable

Originally written 25 September.

Alternate title: I thought I was having a good day.

It had mostly been a good day, from punctuality, to disciplined spending, to eating with balanced nutrition, to having a productive and pleasant day at my job. Then I had an enjoyable two-ish hours with my boyfriend while we ate dinner, donated blood, and then lounged in his room for a bit

Though it wasn't planned at all, I got to hold a 23-day-old baby (the younger brother of my best gal) for maybe 10 minutes (though it felt like an hour). He is so soft and snuggly and WONDERFUL. Absolutely wonderful. He's a sweet tiny baby and I love enjoying him. I think I like him even more for how much he reminds me of his sister. I miss her so.

About 30 minutes ago, my boyfriend told me in strong language how much and how completely he loved me and I shut down. I retreated from the conversation and told him as such. I just can't have it. I can't stomach bald affection from someone who seems to see and know me well. It's too hard.

My mood continued to dampen and deteriorate to the point where I was so sad that I felt like I would throw up. My face kept falling and falling.

I decided to come write, because I felt I could, but I checked my email first. There were new messages in there highlighting work responsibilities that I wasn't remembering or didn't know about. Sigh. How long this week will be.

On top of this, I'm too tired (surprise) but now that I'm in my room I see how many things I need to do before sleep...or need to cope with putting off again.

I don't mean to be complainful. But I am trying to start building my writing muscles and this is the fodder I have today. Perhaps I will finish with a photo of my best gal. Nothing can be too dismal with her around.

♥♥♥

Ten Minutes: ...yeah, I know.

How interesting that if it's something I don't want to do or something I don't feel like doing, ten minutes seems like a very long time. Over the last couple of days I've had many ideas of things I would like to write (read: to blog) about but when it comes to putting figurative pen to figurative paper, I can't seem to do it.

Moreover, it seems I'm more likely to write about negative things (frustrations, losses, etc.) but I don't want to inaccurately portray my daily life. I think I'm more likely to write about negative things because the expression of them is helpful in terms of coping or working through. Writing about positive things is just more work! (And in this season, ten minutes of hard work writing is daunting!) Writing is not part of how I process positive things. If I write about them, it's usually to celebrate, edify, or even just to have a record of the incident. It's a description from afterward, not a realtime exploration from within, like it is with negative or unpleasant things.

So... if I want to get something on "paper" quickly each day, I end up with more negative and neutral posts. If I want to post something positive (and this is extra important to me presently because the incidence of positive experiences has been growing over the last couple of months to a level I have literally never known), I need to drum up or wait for the wherewithal sit and discipline it out. This simply has not been happening--and ironically, that makes me sad.

Ten Minutes: Third entry, two days later

I'm tired.

Lately it seems like I say that every day and sometimes multiple times in one day. Is it always true? Is it an excuse for being emotionally raw? Is it a deeper problem? I dislike how foggy it makes things seem sometimes. Even more I dislike feeling as if I don't remember what it feels like to be rested.

Perhaps what I feel lately is weary. It's physical tiredness and emotional stretched-thin-ness. (Some days you can add mental disorders to the mix.) They cycle through and impact one another. Generally, if I feel depressed or otherwise overwhelmed by negative emotions, I don't care much about getting good sleep (or nutrition, for that matter).

But... I am known and loved by a God who is refining and guiding me toward wholeness so... I guess I can hope.

Ten Minutes: A belated second entry

Originally written Monday, 4 September.

Well... I obviously haven't had much self-discipline with this exercise. This disappoints me but I'm not giving up yet. Now I see how wise it was for my friend to do a ten-minute challenge with someone else who is expecting to see their work posted on social media every day before 10pm.

My super-relaxed gams.

This weekend, I tried to organise a pseudo-vacation, something as relaxing as possible before I go (back) to full-time work tomorrow. So far it has been good, with tiny pockets of frustration but BIG pockets of surprise delight.


I booked a room at an inn in a small town an hour away from where I live and didn't plan many activities at all. (The idea was to do things that are NOT work.) The room had a soaking tub with whirlpool jets. I couldn't believe how relaxing and utterly delightful it was. I think I grinned for just about the entire 40+ minutes I was in there. Then I used a bathrobe for the first time and sat in it pamperfully, in the minimum amount of clothing, on my plush queen bed for well over an hour (maybe three?) watching cable TV (read: lame content, random gems) and working on a jigsaw puzzle.


In the interest of keeping posts un-daunting, I will save future installments of this tale for tomorrow, and days following.

Ten Minutes: Intro and First Entry

A friend of mine has begun a fun challenge or project to help keep her skills and love for visual art alive. She and a friend each draw for ten minutes (at the minimum) before 10pm every day. They post their work on Instagram with a joint account called "@10minuteclub".

I think I want to "join" the club but with the discipline of writing. Ten minutes is not daunting and unpolished sketches seem to be par for the exercise. (Anything to end the drought.)

---

Originally written on 28/07/17.

I feel an expanding sadness that's laced with weary anger. I'm frustrated by a tense situation. In the last month I've noticed a muscle or tendon on the left side of my neck that experiences sharp pain when I feel hurt by someone dear. It's the kind of hurt that I can't blunt or mitigate with other knowledge or considerations, and so it just sits and presses rottenly on my heart.

I hate feeling those pangs in the side of my neck. I hate feeling hurt by people I love and who love me. Life is hard.

It's not insurmountable and I'm not being passive. But while we wade, I'm sad and it hurts.

The Mill

Ask Me

Ask me again how I'm doing. Ask me again how you can help. Ask me again to tell you what's going on and how I'm coping. I need you to ask again, now that some time has passed--now that I have hesitated--because I need to know you meant it. I need to know you truly wanted to know and that you still want to know. You could have asked the first time because of politeness. You could have asked the first time because I forced you, because I indirectly communicated that I was burdened and needed to be asked. I'm sorry I did it. I wanted a pure ask. I want to know that you mean it. That you're here. That you care. I want to know you care without me telling you I want to know that you care.

Tell Me

Tell me you like me. Tell me I mean something. Tell me you like me as I am, for who I am. Tell me again those nice things you said. I want to hear them again. The first time can be politeness. Things may have changed since the first time, mightn't they? Tell me what you see. Tell me THAT you see. Tell me you care. Don't make me ask.

Pursue Me

Come! Come find me! Come after me. Seek me out. Show me by your initiating that I am worth knowing, worth coming after, worth finding, worth your time. Don't make me lead. Don't make me bargain or try to add to myself so that you will come for me. Wonder about me. Ask me what I'm like. Show me I'm worth fighting for, that you wouldn't be satisfied with probably getting to know me eventually, but that you must get to know me more and that you will make every effort to ensure it. Pursue me as just me.

Why Dory is now my hero.

This week has contained many pockets of deep unhappiness and/or deep sadness (not the same thing). I'm struggling with a couple of things and longing for a break or a way out. I'm reading I Chronicles right now but I wish I was reading the New Testament. I WANT TO SEE GOD. I want to see Him, I want to see Him, I want to see Him. 

I know the whole canon of Scripture is inspired and that the LORD is in I Chronicles. But at this point in my faith journey, with my heavy heart, with the thick grey clouds that obscure His face, I'm gagging to read the New Testament. And I want it to leap off the page in new clarity this time. 

It's been a hard week. Lots of stress, not enough sleep, a bunch of tears, not enough open conversations. But then.... but then there's my dear sweet two-year-old ward who can brighten any, any day. A couple months ago she would fall asleep to my singing "You are my Sunshine" and I often wondered if she would let me sing it to her because she knew how I meant it.

This week we went swimming for the first time. She's been before but never with me. I don't remember how many years it's been since I last swum but it seems my hydrophilia has not diminished one bit. It was really a wonderful time and a gem in my difficult week. It's nice that I can enjoy something which is good for me and relatively inexpensive. 

We actually went twice this week and the first time she was not nearly as cooperative as the second. In fact, when I tried to take her shirt off to get the bathing suit on, she protested and cried so much that I had to stop and just hold and comfort her. It wasn't that she screamed or that there were MANY tears but that she cried because I was doing something she didn't want me to, and it very quickly became that kind of silent crying where the kid seems to have forgotten to breathe. I can't look into that face for very long. I just can't. I don't want her to have any traumatic memories of having her will overruled in a callous or gratuitous way. So we stopped, I held her and tried to think of ways to make the prospect of changing clothes (to swim) more attractive.

After about 20 seconds she said "veh" which could mean a few things in her language. She seemed to be pointed behind me so I looked and saw that she had said "fish" because she'd spied her swim diaper. I picked it up to show her more closely and asked something like, "do you like the fish?" or "do you see the fish?" or "is that a fish on your diaper?" to sorta feel out her emotional state. And calloo-callay, a smile broke through. Oh, what a wonderful smile to see as she half-laughed saying, "yeah" because she liked the fish on her diaper. There was something about it that she enjoyed. The smile came through tears but within a few more seconds the tears stopped. B was ready to don the diaper. And she let me change her shirt as well. Thank you, Dory! (Rather, thank You, Lord!)

There were a handful of fleeting moments this week in which I saw and appreciated that we truly are growing closer, I suppose as she grows more cognitively and emotionally complex/able. This brings great joy to me. It's like we're good friends. I like to think that she knows I love her. I like to think she is getting (in spades!) what I didn't get as a child. This child is so well cherished, loved, valued by her parents and grandparents (and myself) that it's a great blessing to witness. It's nice when human relationships aren't 100% awful.

And three other incidents in which I took delight...

--When she was eating raspberries, she put each one on the end of her finger and looked at it or showed it to me before eating it. (This is extra cute because the berries are a perfect fit for her wee finger.) 

--I did some kind of strange shuffle-walk (for a reason I don't remember) when leaving her room and I turn around to catch her copying the way I was walking as she came out of the room behind me. Then she sees herself in the mirror and laughs at herself copying me. I almost died. I love that she's growing so much to appreciate quirky, funny things.

--This last one defies words. She pulled out this book (right) and told me that the big bear on the cover was me and the wee bear was her! ♥ ♥ ♥

You are my sunshine,

my only sunshine.

You make me happy 

when skies are grey.

You'll never know, dear, 

how much I love you

so please don't take

my sunshine away!

My dearest wee friend.

How wonderful you are. How utterly wonderful you are and how you have blessed, lightened, and enriched my life.

In the last couple of weeks as we've been in the middle of the umpteenth repetition of some song, game, or sound, I've thought about what I might feel when when you stop asking for them.

In the last couple of weeks, I am singing you to sleep more often than not. It's usually "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep". Every time I finish you say "more". And then the "more" gets softer and softer as you fade away. Then you ask to switch positions so that you can rest your head on my shoulder.

When the "more" gets soft enough I start cutting out one of the repeated stanzas so that the song loops tightly and you don't have space to ask for more. Then you don't have any reason to wake up again.

I tried counting the iterations one day but lost count after about 30. It's so interesting me that I just don't care. I just don't care how many times she asks for it. I love that she likes me to sing to her and that she can fall asleep to the sound of my voice and with our bodies heart-to-heart.


Some days I come close to being annoyed about how often she asks me to pick her up or the very inconvenient timing of when she wants to be picked up. Most of the time I'm happy to hold her and talk closely or smooch her cheeks/chin/nose repeatedly. But what about that day when she no longer lets me pick her up, nevermind stops asking to be picked up? My heart will certainly break at least a little. Every stage has its unique gems (and unique challenges) so what has God designed to replace being able to hold our children? Or have them sit on our laps while we read a book? Does anything compare? I guess we settle for hugs.


As you grow and develop your personality, I very much enjoy seeing your silliness and absurd ideas come out in how you play and how you use toys and non-toys.

This week and last, you've taken hold of your large birthday balloon (which has no helium but because of its very long stick, can float high off the ground), and marched through the living room and kitchen in a circle over and over while listening to the "hamster dance" techno music coming from a birthday card you were given. Yes, with everyone who's cared for you the last two weeks (grandparents, parents, yours truly) you've marched around that loop. The adult holds the card and holds your hand, you march deliberately, never looking back or looking up and with a firm grip on that ever-important balloon. What goes on in that little mind of yours? You're so weird. I love you so much.

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.