centre

I thought it was so interesting, that pocket of supreme comfyness that opened midway through my MRI process.

I didn't want to do the test. (Something was making me irrationally fearful about it.) Even before I arrived I was dreading my first experience of finding my own hospital parking--and then I had the great pleasure of needing to do a parallel park in a relatively small spot. Yum.

For some reason I strongly disliked that I was there alone. The receptionist was friendly enough, I was on time, and parking was a quarter as expensive as I had anticipated. Still there was a weird rock in my stomach. I just didn't want this. I wanted to be small and away.

The waiting room was very weird. Then a tech came to get me. She explained the dressing and the lockers and then she called me into another room where we would fill out a questionnaire. 

She explained more about the tests, the machine, the experience. I found it helpful to be less in the dark and I suspect that is why techs are told to give such explanations.

Eventually I was called in by this same tech though her voice was noticably softer. Maybe my trepidation was plain on my face! Maybe everyone looks like that before their first MRI.

I lay on the weird, narrow bed. I re-positioned as directed. I was given headphones, and a panic button. Then a cage was placed over my head which I took as my cue to start breathing deeply and telling God how great and trustworthy He is.

I was relieved to be told to keep my eyes shut while in the machine. This way I had no idea how small the space was and claustrophobia couldn't find me!

I lay still throughout the thumping and the whirring. I answered affirmatively every time I was asked whether I was OK. My voice did sound small and almost childlike which made me feel silly. (Was I still scared?)

Ten minutes later they let me out and I retraced my steps to the locker, my street clothes, the waiting room, the lobby, and the parallel park with three minutes left on the meter. (Score!)

I drove home and finished my Wednesday; I forget how exactly. 

And in the middle? Probably dead in the middle of my one-hour stint at the General I nestled in soft, secure-feeling comfort. In the room where we did my questionnaire, I was left alone for five or ten minutes to wait my turn. In the fuzziest, warmest hospital garb I've ever worn, I pulled my feet up onto the big chair and sat cross-legged, feeling inexplicably cozy and peaceful. 

It was a poorly lit, cluttered, drably colored hospital "room"; the chair was old and worn; I was still alone and in control of unnervingly little. But I felt well. I felt divinely held and cuddled, if that's a thing. I believe I wiggled my toes with delight as the feeling washed over me.

It was such a thing. I was so soft and sweet and seen and protected and loved that it was like the Lord was letting me glimpse His paternal point-of-view. In retrospect, it's actually shocking that I didn't cringe or flee. I needed it then. I needed to know, and I basked. 

First day back in the office and it's weird. Only one of my coworkers is about. Even the two who are only on for the summer have been raptured away. Two open, lighted offices with backpacks, open laptops, and half-drunk coffees. Why did I expect something more triumphant?? Ha. I wanted this place to be humming when I returned so I would need a running start in order to jump on in. Ah, well. I think I can handle a slower start.

I also think I miss singing. I don't know what's happened but I haven't done it in weeks and it's starting to weigh on me.

Every time I go away--particularly when I visit art galleries and museums (culturriffic things)--I generally come back inspired. I get a ravaging case of the I Could do That!s. I feel a surge. I feel my Gaston-sized lungs inflate and I decide, YES: I will do more. I will do good. I will do better.

Then you emerge from Pearson Airport and the grey industrial area filled with jaded or rude Torontonians somehow doesn't charge you up the same way.

However today, on this fake Monday, I'm still feeling somewhat ambitious. Today can be a good day or a first day or a decisive day. I don't want to say too much just now or I'll start cranking out to-do lists that will soon have me gasping for air. Let's let today be straightforward. But--eyes up, options open, and Spirit-led.

On we go.

This is one of those surreal slices of a life.

Or it's a surreal moment. Or a collection of moments.

My iPhone thinks it's 8.07am but everyone in my immediate vacinity thinks it's just past 1pm. They're all right. I'm in a coffee shop within Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport in London, England. Surreal, it feels, now.

What's surreal is that I'm really here [after all the planning and preparing]

What's surreal is that it feels like home and feels like the five years I've been away are nothing

What's surreal (on a smaller scale) is that I AM GETTING ALONE TIME [oh, thank You, Lord]

What's surreal is feeling less like the non- and actually like one of many [The UK, particularly England, and most certainly London are at least ten or fifteen years ahead of Canada in integrating different nationalities and complexions]

--I can't describe how nice it is to blend once in a while.

Sigh.

I feel worshipful. God is so good. I could have died on that plane. I may die before I publish this post. But He's so good.

This trip just may be even better than I thought. I'm chuffed and honored to be here for the bride and I do love this land but now that I'm getting time to breathe (and I'll have four more hours alone) I feel I can do it all. Loads of people time and small talk and new faces and whereabouts-in-Canada, no-I-don't know-Michael-from-Vancouver, and an amplification of a heart that's DYING to know where it belongs...

YOGMO, we've coined. YOGMO. You Only Get Married Once.

And if the Lord will help me make this a vacation, if I return to Canada a healthier woman, I'll be ever grateful.

That said, as I headed to the UK/EU Passports queue that was one quarter the length of the International Passports one, I deeply wondered, what is this red passport good for? What unique doors are you opening for me [read: for Kingdom work], Lord? On the plane I had been reading about a missionary who was so deliciously gifted for his work with Mission Aviation Fellowship, that his contributions revolutionised jungle missions. I liked how what simply made sense to him, what he was so naturally drawn to, was how he found his fit-like-a-glove calling. He wrote, regarding his being drawn to the field:

"I pleaded helplessly with my Heavenly Father for the answer that stood between me and the peace that Jesus said should be ours. Now, you've heard about people being spoken to by God. I don't know about the other fellow, but that night I saw things differently . . . BING . . . like that. Just as though a different Kodachrome slide had been tossed onto the screen between my ears. A joy, such as I had never known since the night I accepted Jesus' forgiveness for my sins, seemed to leave me almost weak with gratitude. It was the first time that I had ever really heard that verse: 'Follow me, and I will make you to become fishers of men.' The old life of chasing things that are of a temporal sort seemed absolutely insane."

I want that. I want the BING, the Kodachrome slide, the weakness from gratitude, and the proper view of insanity.

This is the main reason I find vacations so difficult. Who wants to be found sunbathing when the Lord returns??

Alas. I'm praying that rest will work out. Also, YOGMO.

The problem with my job...

...is that it makes it very hard to go very long without being amazed by the Lord. My job has me mired in worship songs and Scripture passages, prayers and trying to think about how to serve others better/help them serve Him better. Rough gig.


I'm just trying to put a set of slides together and the Lord sees fit to ambush me via the second chapter of Hebrews. Here:

"Since the children have flesh and blood, [Jesus] too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death--that is, the devil-- and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death." (14-15)

As I read the text, formatting the font and spacing, I literally shook my head in something like disbelief. Maybe we should say I was incredulous.

I just can't get it. The Lord seems too good to be true. But He's the only one that IS true!

  Jesus, by His death, broke the power of the devil--of the power of death.

  Jesus freed those whose lives were held in slavery--enslaved by their fear of death. He freed them from the grips of death. He did that. He did it. He did it. It is finished.


I can't imagine it. I can't enfold it. I can't encompass it. I can't get it. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!

He really did it.



Moments like this remind me of how important it is for me to learn the Word well. I want to find cause for explosive worship on every page. I know it's there; I just haven't dug it up yet.

Sigh.

Selah

Well... if I can't sing...

Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw them blur past my window. Then I listened for their voices in the hallway. It was them. 

My heart sank a little because I couldn't go out to them and I didn't hear them coming toward me. Unable to process the jot notes on first draft of the intro paragraph to the possibility that they--the boys--have forgotten me, I turn decisively back to my work.

For not the first time I find my hands are typing what they should and "work" appears to be getting done but my mind is becoming more and more engrossed in reconciling how things once were and how they now are (or, are not).

Soon I realise I'm not breathing. It happens two or three times and it's happened before. I'm trying maybe to be so still that my big emotions, like a famished T-rex, won't spot me.

Minutes later a friend comes in and I am grateful for the attention-taker and for an activity (conversation) which obligates me to inhale periodically. 

Then, while we're chatting, one blur goes by my office door. I look after it, hopefully. Ungratified I dive hard back into conversation. I want to choose to be an adult and able to handle sadness and loss better. I feel resolved. 

A moment later, blue eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a giggley grin appear on my threshhold. Attention diverted. 

I question him deep into Shy Grin Squirmdom until he asks to play on my phone. Well, of course, of course, of course! No limits, no caveats, no deliberation. Take my phone. Yes, you can move my bag off that chair. Yes, take a seat. Carry on in cuteness. 

My heart un-sinks more than a little. 

My friend and I continue talking. Nearer the end of our conversation, some other blue eyes expressing a brain set on Explore mode wander in. (I love that they wander right in... Always welcome.)

No pushing to Squirmdom for this one; I know better. He has my attention and my warmth. I let him poke around my office until a question bubbles up. Meanwhile, my friend departs. 

I wonder how long the moment will last. They're both happily occupied and just as I turn back to my work (the only way I can keep from smothering them, leaping across the room and aggressively enfolding them) it's time for them to go. 

It's OK. We had our nanoseconds. It seems a few strands of relationship and familiarity remain. I almost wish you were older so I could tell you. I hope for more. I love you both. 

Just as He said.

On the 31st of March I developed a severe headache around noon. It is throbbing as I type.

My health these past three weeks has cost me an unexpected $170 and kept me from much of my normal activity, including (deep) thinking and (good) sleep. 

But I don't even care.

Today is the most magnificent day. 

I have been so excited about Easter. I have been so looking forward to celebrating Easter with my family. And today we did. This morning we sang and shouted and clapped because of how good the Lord is and how perfect and powerful and needed the Resurrection is.

Oh. So good.

The sermon delicately and beautifully opened the Great Commission like a time-lapsed bloom. I saw Jesus in a way I haven't before. 

Three believers were baptised. It stirred my heart to witness my brothers and sister in the Lord make a public declaration of their allegiance to Christ and of their putting their whole faith in Him. Staking their whole life on Him. Just mesmerising. So glorious. I felt privileged to be present. 

What more can I say? What can I add? How much fun we had as a music team? How much fun it is to do good work and to work hard as a music team? How liberating and expressive it was to dress up because today is the specialest of all special occasions?

Even the fellowship before and after service, good friends and new friends. We smile big because He is risen indeed. I should write more later but I think there's still a lot of day yet to live.

May I?

Today is the day to give thanks for freedom--freedom from sin--from death--freedom to live in Christ--freedom to live for Christ--freedom complete.

Freedom complete--

Freedom should be a good thing---.

I can't believe the Atonement worked. 

I can't believe it's finished.

(O the bliss of this glorious thought!)

And today is a day to be thankful for forgiveness. Thankful for forgiveness. Thank-filled for forgiveness. 

Forgiven so that I even have eyes to see that forgiveness is something for which to be thankful. Forgiven so that my lungs inflate for the first time. 

I'm forgiven! How is that??!

Today is also a great day to give thanks for mercy which is renewed each time the sun crests our horizon. New, new, new. 

Mercy makes me able. Mercy makes a way. Mercy gives me the go. (Or the keep going.) Mercy is good. So rich!

And love. How does love go? Can I show my gratitude? Can I step inside and shout my thanks? Could I knock politely and gesture wildly? (Behold! What manner...!)

One day.

One day!

I started this post last night for a different occassion. This may be the first time I was glad I fell asleep and had to post the following (very Good) day.

I wish I could blog more but my head hurts.

Every now and then we still go on Princess Dates.

Now they're warmer, cosier, more intimately relaxed. It's less that I'm being dragged and spend the whole time tugging at puffy sleeves and refusing to sip pinky-up. Maybe we're OK. Maybe things are calmer.

How are we doing? How's my worship? What are You like, Lord?

Mathematics Fun with newly elected Snail President

[Disclaimer: Vagueness is for privacy, not for scaring. I'm fine.]

Since Monday:

three doctors 

two needles (one injection, one withdrawl)

two prescriptions

two ER visits

three calls to Telehealth Ontario

three knights in shining armor (read: friends)

a million cubes of ice 

ten electrodes

one (mild) diagnosis

one persistent weird-non-agnosis

three nights of elusive sleep

prayers like a persistent widow

+

something greater than the temple

= 

perfect rest

Je te vois.

I see you.

I see you. I see that rip, that funny tear in the night sky...or this dome as dark as the night. 

It looks like an astronomical delight. It looks awe-inspiring: random to our limited minds but precise and deliberate to a mind that could grasp more.

I don't know if it's light exactly that's behind. And I don't know if it's light that's breaking through. But there is a tear, and splinters or fractures are spreading and spreading like limbs or tendrils. It's alive. It's moving outward, ripping and tearing.

I can see it. Today I can see it. Today--tonight--I looked up and I saw this tear, this mega contrast and today I kinda liked it. It gripped me, to say the least. I know it is moving but I hold it as a snapshot in my mind, a still. We'll see. 

Is ... waiting and thinking things through better??

Who can tell??


I'm going to do a knee-jerk blog post because I want to get rid of the scrap of paper on which I jotted the idea.

In Matthew 26:47-50 I read this:

  While he was still speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, arrived. With him was a large crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests and the elders of the people. Now the betrayer had arranged a signal with them: "The one I kiss is the man; arrest him." Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, "Greetings, Rabbi!" and kissed him.
  Jesus replied, "Friend, do what you came for."

And though I have read this passage several times, one word leaped off the page at me for the first time. "Friend, do what you came for"??

I read it and immediately thought, with all the indignation, self-aggrandisement, and ignorance of a Pharisee, "How can Jesus call him friend?!" I was legitimately annoyed and bewildered.


Jesus--don't you see how thoroughly You've been stabbed in the back? Do you see that You were betrayed by someone who should have been a close friend? Don't You see You're being arrested on bogus charges because a sneaky embezzler sold You out?

Don't you see it???


Furthest thing from friend. I searched the page for a footnote that might have said "Messianic sarcasm" but couldn't find it. Maybe that's in the updated NIV.

I understand that the word could be lined with rebuke, as it is in the two other Matthean uses but I also understand it can be translated as "table-companion", which would remind Judas of his place at the supper that evening.* I understand it's not completely buddy-buddy but the term is still somewhat soft, if Jesus is not the kind to be snarky, passive-aggressive, or convoluted. 

*I must give credit where it's due. I'm not this clever. France, R. T. Tyndale New Testament Commentaries. Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1985. Print.

All of that reaction transpired in a moment and of course the very next moment (thank You, Holy Spirit, who never misses an opportunity to point out my blindness or hypocrisy), I was completely humbled by the knowledge that I'm the sell-out and I'm called friend.

I'm the sell-out and I'm called friend.

I am the one who sold Him out (sold out the innocent guy who came to point me to the Father)

and

I am the one He is calling a friend (friend as well as co-heir, co-laborer, ambassador, image bearer, sister, His people, loved, and dearly loved)

The one that probably would have done it for twenty or twenty-five pieces of silver (or maybe just for a laugh!), that's the one that gets to inherit eternal life--precisely because the Messiah died at the hands of sinners.


 .

     .

         .


What is this??!? It's upside-down.

When I'm called "Friend", it should be lined with rebuke as well--at least on one side of the Cross. (I think this is the first time I've had a glimmer of understanding in why Peter would have blurted, "Never, Lord!" upon hearing that Jesus needed to suffer and die. Maybe I get it, if indeed he had the same THATDOESN'TMAKEANYSENSE in his heart that I have right now.)

And Peter would have understood, in that chilling, soul-shriveling moment when Jesus' prediction of Peter's denial proved accurate, that yes, of course it needed to happen this way. That doesn't make it any less tragic or scandalous. It doesn't. And I'm grateful, truly.


But right now it's a little hard to stomach.
That You should call me friend???

I'm afraid I'm going to lose myself.

(I'm sad that this means I don't trust the Lord enough. If only He were gracious and compassionate enough to stay with me still.)

(because I can't tweet it.)

Twice today I have used the word "theology" without thinking about it. As in, it has descended to third-level vocabulary. (Second-level is where I've studied the definition, some example uses, and I'm on the prowl for opps to use it.) It is oddly encouraging. I have found that word a cruel enigma for too long and now it seems to know me. Well, I will call it probationary third-level because I have yet to use it in conversation with anyone who could correct me! But unconscious word retrieval, I'll take it.

In other news, what's it like to have a life where you can sit down and read a fiction book?

This morning,

in the time surrounding and throughout the worship service with [our] Church,

-two people said, "I love you," to me (sounding uncannily like a brother or sister in Christ might)

-one person insisted on sitting with me, fully aware that I prefer a lone pew (largely so I can focus on listening but critically so I can persist in isolation)

-one person said they missed spending time with me (which warred against my understanding that they had grown fed up or bored with me)

-one person asked if I was in a place to receive hugs (and I said yes because I was so blessed by the framing of the question).

Others looked at me like they couldn't see how detestable I am. No one appeared offended that I hadn't shown up with a bag over my head.

I wonder about you, dark tunnel. I wonder a lot.

It would be incredibly awkward if God stopped being awe-some.

Yesterday when I got home, I very quickly grew very frustrated that I hadn't done enough that day. It was 8pm and I was tired. I was tired enough to sleep but there was too much more to be done. And I wouldn't get through it. And we all know that unless you work your hardest, every waking moment, you're worthless. So... I was frustrated.

I got on with my daily reading in the Word and started preparing dinner. It felt forced and not as rich and lively as it usually does because I was feeling quite closed toward God. I even said aloud, "I don't wanna talk to You," a couple of times when it felt like He was bugging me. Makes no sense... I sit to read His Word because I know it's important and I want it, but I say I don't want to talk to Him. I told Him I didn't believe He was going to make it better. I eventually said aloud that I didn't trust Him because I thought admitting overtly what my choices were implying would be helpful in jolting me onto the right path.

I didn't feel too differently after my admission but had that sadly familiar sneaking suspicion that He was going to win me over VERY soon.

So I read through James and First Peter. I didn't hear all of it but I read it and He poked at my heart here and there. When I was washing my dishes, strains from a song I would have listened to heavily in the years 2000 and 2001 were getting louder in my head. The song had come up a couple weeks ago and also surprised me, what with the huge amount of years that have passed since I listened to it. In fact, I lost the CD before I owned a copy of iTunes so though I occasionally still listen to albums/songs from more than a decade ago, thanks to the magic of the iPod, this album doesn't make it into the rotation.

But the song popped up and I had to listen because the Lord works songs into my subconscious to speak to me. Yes, He does. He does it with Church music and not-Church music. He surprises me. He gets a song into my mind and I just sing along with it before I know it's from Him. It would be incredibly awkward if the Lord stopped being awesome.

I ran the words through a bit but because I was still in peaking-anger mode, it wasn't working on me too much. [I was so angry! I don't think anyone in real life has seen me when I'm like that. Picture Harry (played by the inimitable Joe Pesci) from Home Alone. That. Angry and spewing angry sounds and pacing about and unsettled and bleh.]

So then I remembered that music is a vehicle. I admitted that because the recording isn't as pristine in my head as it once was, I may need to make a trip to YouTube to help me out.

I listened, but I first prayed that the Lord would speak to me whatever He had in that song for me. Because it's not Church music, there would of course be some filtering necessary, but more than that I really wanted to know what specifically the Holy Spirit had for me right then.

Below, I've pulled out the most connective bits. He didn't have the message I expected. I didn't think I was in this spot. But... reading the New Testament these past few weeks has reminded me that love is a big deal, whether I like it or not. So is grace, but that's too big for now.

--

Not sure what else to think. The rest of the evening was a familiar experience, being buffeted by waves of reality-distorting anxiety. It was the cruellest pressing between the most unyielding rock and the most granite-shaming hard place. I wanted rest so badly but I couldn't stop working. It wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I'm never enough. I couldn't stop but I was exhausted. I cried and I prayed and I questioned. I worked and I stopped to borrow David's tone from the thirteenth psalm.

My housemate came home and I couldn't talk. Brief hellos and small talk and I went to my bedroom. She let me. I cried more. Inwardly I'm screaming, "OF COURSE I WANT TO TALK!" but not a word comes out.

I worked until I grew too exhausted to think well. Then I used the excuse that my work wouldn't be very good anyways so sleep made more sense. I was ready for bed--I was in bed--and I thought I would pick up the book I want to finish by Friday but somehow, because I really had completed many important and time-sensitive tasks, and because the waves had stilled, I thought I was allowed to stop.

Somehow I felt I could stop without feeling guilty. And when I stopped I didn't feel guilty. I should have thanked the Lord more. I guess I just didn't expect the stillness to linger. I was afraid to stop working while my eyes were open because when there's no distraction left, that's when the biggest monsters come. What I can ignore all day will snap and growl at nighttime all of its displeasure over being locked up. Like an abused rottweiler, starved, caged, teased, and beaten all day, when the door is finally opened there is much pent up and much to repay...

Sigh. I'm not ready for it. Here's a steak! Look over there! Nice doggy...

Then the morning comes and I snap the cage's lock in place as quietly as I can (the dog is now the exhausted one trying to sleep) and I leave, thinking today MUST be the day Animal Control is coming. They said they'd come.

--

The song, entitled "This I Promise You":

I've loved you forever
in lifetimes before

"For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will." (Ephesians 1:4-5)

and I promise you never
will you hurt anymore.

"But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one." (II Thessalonians 3:3)

I give you my word,
I give you my heart;
this is the battle we've* won.
*I'll consider this plural to include the Godhead because it certainly doesn't include me.

"When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins, having canceled the charge of our legal indebtedness, which stood against us and condemned us; he has taken it away, nailing it to the cross. And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross." (Colossians 2:13-5)

And with this vow,
forever has now begun.

"As for you, see that what you have heard from the beginning remains in you. If it does, you also will remain in the Son and the Father. And this is what he promised us--eternal life." (I John 2:24-5)

I will take you in my arms
and hold you right where you belong;
every word I say is true,
this I promise you.

"In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, in order that we, who were the first to put our hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory. And you also were included in Christ when you heard the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation. When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession--to the praise of his glory." (Ephesians 1:11-4)