and in the marvelous ways of Almighty God
within moments of my posting the previous note
a friend who is staying with me
and who knew nothing of what I had just written
shared her morning reading
thanking me for touching her ...........
Touch, yes touch, speaks the wordless words of love.
We receive so much touch when we are babies and so little when we are adults.
Still in friendship, touch often gives more life than words.
A friend's hand stroking our back, a friend's arms resting on our shoulder, a friend's fingers wiping our tears away, a friend's lips kissing our forehead - these bring true consolation.
These moments of touch are truly sacred.
They restore, they reconcile, they reassure, they forgive, they heal.
Everyone who touched Jesus and everyone whom Jesus touched were healed.
God's love and power went out from him (Luke 6:19)
When a friend touches us with free. nonpossessive love, it is God's incarnate love that touches us and God's power that heals us.
Henri Nouwen
Saturday, December 31, 2005
reflecting moments
it has been said,
by one much wiser than I,
that the glory of God is seen
when we learn how to touch one another
and so, these are some memories of being touched over these past twelve months -
these are chronologically listed -
each one no more important or less important -
each touch producing life.
a pastor and his wife -
leaving everything in their obedience to God -
paying the cost
Gordon - who so bravely fought, who so graciously brought me alongside and inside as he traveled the shadowy path of dying, who taught me so much about living, whose life was a song too beautiful to be heard for too long.
I miss you Gordon.
I can only imagine your song now
the first feel of my hours old newest grandson
the seventy-four year-old crusty Austrian who grabbed my hand with tears running down his cheeks insisting I tell him of Jesus
the hug of my son just moments before he said "I do"
another pastor, this one harvesting in the middle of nowhere -
a flock of 40 -
so wise -
so gentle
the One who spoke my name aloud while I was "alone" in the woods
an unsure lonely little boy dressed in a man's body
a friend living on the other side of the mountains
insisting I blog
saying my stumbling words and pondering thoughts are important to him
and there are some others .........
and yet I feel the need to let my words be few
you know
thank you for touching me
and for touching me safely
peace
life
in abundance
I love you
by one much wiser than I,
that the glory of God is seen
when we learn how to touch one another
and so, these are some memories of being touched over these past twelve months -
these are chronologically listed -
each one no more important or less important -
each touch producing life.
a pastor and his wife -
leaving everything in their obedience to God -
paying the cost
Gordon - who so bravely fought, who so graciously brought me alongside and inside as he traveled the shadowy path of dying, who taught me so much about living, whose life was a song too beautiful to be heard for too long.
I miss you Gordon.
I can only imagine your song now
the first feel of my hours old newest grandson
the seventy-four year-old crusty Austrian who grabbed my hand with tears running down his cheeks insisting I tell him of Jesus
the hug of my son just moments before he said "I do"
another pastor, this one harvesting in the middle of nowhere -
a flock of 40 -
so wise -
so gentle
the One who spoke my name aloud while I was "alone" in the woods
an unsure lonely little boy dressed in a man's body
a friend living on the other side of the mountains
insisting I blog
saying my stumbling words and pondering thoughts are important to him
and there are some others .........
and yet I feel the need to let my words be few
you know
thank you for touching me
and for touching me safely
peace
life
in abundance
I love you
Thursday, December 29, 2005
choosing moments
It was tough a season or two ago when it seemed that man was putting to death one of God’s dreams. This was painful to watch and harder to understand. It was during this time the Lord spoke to me through an experience from my past.
While pregnant with my daughter I was given the tender privilege of accepting another’s new born baby boy into my home. It was clearly explained and painfully heard that I would never be able to keep this boy – this new born simply needed arms and love to nurture him through the time until a permanent home was readied. This babe’s mother had conceived him, birthed him, named him, loved him enough to realize she simply could not care for him and so early one morning I was presented with this little one day old bundle – a beautiful bundle of life, all dressed in blue. Immediately he was in my arms, he entered deep into my heart. I rested this little one in the crib that had been prepared for my yet to be born babe. His language was easy to learn. His needs were easy to fill. His care was so natural. Soon he opened his eyes but even with his eyes closed, he was grabbing onto my finger and holding tight. I completely forgot that he was not to be with me forever, that I would never see his first step, never hear his first words. I just loved him and loved him deeper every moment. The feel of his face nuzzling my neck, his after bath freshness, his full tummy burp – all became part of my life. Around the three month anniversary of his arrival suddenly the life of my yet to be born baby was at risk. I was told I could not continue to care for the one who was already born without compromising the life of the one waiting to be born. I could not continue to hold both the one in my arms and the one in my womb. I had to make a choice. Both babies were loved. Both babies were wanted. And yet I had to choose. Agonizingly I chose to give up the one already born to save the one not yet born. Even knowing he would have a new safe permanent forever home the grief remains with me to this day. It is a strange grief – the joy, the treasure and the beauty of the life of my safely born daughter is immense, beyond words really – and yet still all these years I wonder about my momentary baby boy, what has become of him, is he happy, is he well, is he loved, is he loving?
Sometimes we are asked to give up something that has been born for something not yet born – something tangible for something not yet seen – the known for the unknown - our own hopes and dreams for another's. I find myself in that season again.
And it is no easier this time – hour after hour the choice silently screams – grief waits – but I can only consider the One who is asking me to make this choice and I must trust that there will be much beauty, much joy, much comfort in that which is not yet born. And because it is He who asks, I will choose again.
While pregnant with my daughter I was given the tender privilege of accepting another’s new born baby boy into my home. It was clearly explained and painfully heard that I would never be able to keep this boy – this new born simply needed arms and love to nurture him through the time until a permanent home was readied. This babe’s mother had conceived him, birthed him, named him, loved him enough to realize she simply could not care for him and so early one morning I was presented with this little one day old bundle – a beautiful bundle of life, all dressed in blue. Immediately he was in my arms, he entered deep into my heart. I rested this little one in the crib that had been prepared for my yet to be born babe. His language was easy to learn. His needs were easy to fill. His care was so natural. Soon he opened his eyes but even with his eyes closed, he was grabbing onto my finger and holding tight. I completely forgot that he was not to be with me forever, that I would never see his first step, never hear his first words. I just loved him and loved him deeper every moment. The feel of his face nuzzling my neck, his after bath freshness, his full tummy burp – all became part of my life. Around the three month anniversary of his arrival suddenly the life of my yet to be born baby was at risk. I was told I could not continue to care for the one who was already born without compromising the life of the one waiting to be born. I could not continue to hold both the one in my arms and the one in my womb. I had to make a choice. Both babies were loved. Both babies were wanted. And yet I had to choose. Agonizingly I chose to give up the one already born to save the one not yet born. Even knowing he would have a new safe permanent forever home the grief remains with me to this day. It is a strange grief – the joy, the treasure and the beauty of the life of my safely born daughter is immense, beyond words really – and yet still all these years I wonder about my momentary baby boy, what has become of him, is he happy, is he well, is he loved, is he loving?
Sometimes we are asked to give up something that has been born for something not yet born – something tangible for something not yet seen – the known for the unknown - our own hopes and dreams for another's. I find myself in that season again.
And it is no easier this time – hour after hour the choice silently screams – grief waits – but I can only consider the One who is asking me to make this choice and I must trust that there will be much beauty, much joy, much comfort in that which is not yet born. And because it is He who asks, I will choose again.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
seeing moment
this summer I was introduced to the heart
of an emerging worship leader
his name is Godfrey Birtill
the words below belong to one of his songs
and this season of looking to the Babe
I am reminded again and again
that you cannot see the manger
without also seeing the cross
and so I share these words
I proclaim these words
I sing these words
over my family
over my friends
over this land
over the church
When I look at the Cross,
All I see is love, love, love
When I stop at the cross,
I can see the love of God.
But I can’t see competition
I can’t see hierarchy
I can’t see pride or prejudice
Or the abuse of authority
I can’t see lust for power
I can’t see manipulation
I can’t see rage or anger
Or selfish ambition.
But I can’t see unforgiveness
I can’t see hate or envy
I can’t see stupid fighting
Or bitterness or jealousy
I can’t see empire-building
I can’t see self-importance
I can’t see back-stabbing
Or vanity or arrogance
I see Surrender, Sacrifice
Salvation, Humility
Righteousness, Faithfulness
Grace, Forgiveness
Love, love, love (x 12)
When I stop at the cross,
I can see the love of God.
Monday, December 19, 2005
overwhelming moment
this past Saturday evening
we gathered
for our first Christmas dinner
in the dining room of
the National House of Prayer
once again I was overwhelmed
by the goodness and mercy
of our God Who faithfully provides
out of His abundance
this building
that was a house of prayer
and is again
a House of Prayer
I was aware of the great cloud of witnesses
who joined with us
as we ate, laughed, cried, prayed
and ate some more
there was time for reminiscing
for honoring
for blessing
for prophetic words to be spoken
the significance of being
in the shadow
of the Peace Tower
was not lost on anyone
there was also an awareness
of the heaving of the land
in the throws of its labour
but it was the ticking of the clock
signifying this eleventh hour
that rammed me to my knees
I literally could feel the soil
of this land Canada
shaking, quaking
under the footsteps of the Lord
as I pressed my face
into the freshy waxed floor
now wet with my tears
the wail from deep within
was no longer able to be contained
the fancy clothes forgotten
it was simply a moment to travail
there is a weightiness of these times
and I wonder
in the midst of the partying
will there be found room
in this inn
called Canada
Saturday, December 17, 2005
seed moment
I have been thinking a lot about the Christ child
and how before He was a child
He was one human female reproductive cell
made viable not by another human cell
but by the energizing activity of the Spirit of God
an integration of the human and divine natures -
the infinite eternal Son of God
confined to the potentiality of one cell
God stepped into the very heart of the human processes
He came through the very system which He Himself had created for us
He was not ashamed of us as He identified Himself with us
Emmanuel: God with us
God WITH us
not far away
not unreachable but down here inside the mess
within His callings
experiencing it all
for us
with us
this is the God
who gathers us to worship
this is the God
we are created to worship
this is the God
Who only asks that we love Him
will there be room in the inn this season
Thursday, December 15, 2005
angst moments
this is not neat and tidy
nothing grammatically correct
just laying out some thoughts, wonderings, ponderings and angst
has religion beheaded the church
what is the church
what is church
am I struggling with the wrong questions
should I be replacing all the whats with a simple who
when Jesus starts to press his finger prints on a heart, change starts from the inside
only after the inside is tampered with does the outside reflect that change
when Mary received the visitation from the angel, the change – this Almighty-containing seed – was not visible to anyone else for a bit although she knew that time would come
she simply pondered and carried this seed on the inside
Fiat
only in the fullness of time was the change evident on the outside
only in the fullness of time did the birth happen
and even then, this was just a baby, right?
like any other baby
nothing profound for 12 years
and then only a glimpse causing more pondering, more wondering for another 18 years
the disciples – a slightly odd bunch – like the church of today?
some soft and quiet, some louder and pushy
jockeying for position
Jesus only once asked for help and he asked it of this slightly odd bunch
He simply asked that they would stay awake one night
they listened, waited and fell asleep
not once
but twice
later Jesus asked His friends to stay together, gather in a particular room and wait
some did
most did not
the waiting, the gathering they did not understand
did not quite fit their agendas and so they left, went outside
it is this waiting that seems to be a problem
Mary was willing
Moses built this huge boat in his backyard, took a long time
must have caused him to set aside his own agenda, his own dreams and hopes to build this thing
people laughed but he had heard he was to build
he built
he waited
and the rains came
I am the church
but alone I am not the church
the church is only seen when all the living stones come together accepting their positioning,
their placement by the pierced Hand
this present organization is not the church but it consists of the church
simply because I am in it
could it be that my purest, deepest, truest, worship is simply my submission to this organization, living in the tension of the knowing this organization is not church
but is it a womb from which church could be birthed?
if I close my fist around what I have been gifted with and leave
am I simply saying I know better, I like my dreams, my agenda better than yours
like a sulky child, leaving the game and taking the ball away
and if I stay in this organization that is not the church
will I lose the tension
will the tension become familiar
like an old elastic that loses its elasticity
stretch it and it simply snaps
who influences my decisions
who even influences my wondering
who reveals the tension
who is the tension
have to be so very careful here
who am I aligned with
who am I serving
who am I listening to
who am I submitted to
it has been said the glory of God is seen when we learn how to touch one another
there is favor on the touching this season
it is important, this touching, as one by one lives are being changed
hearts are being softened
hunger is being birthed
Jesus is being seen
all within this organization that is called church but is not church
but does contain the church yet cannot contain the church
Jesus entered our midst from within, from the womb of one of His made
if we all leave and go out how can we assist a birthing from within
I hear the 30 somethings expressing the same hungering angst I expressed years ago, even the old word paradigm has surfaced again
yes, it has been a long wait –
will I be obediently positioned and found in the right room, awake, when the wait is over
will my worship stand the test of the wait
Anna too waited a long time – and she waited in the temple
but the angst is good – just proves the tension of the Promise still holds
even in the wondering if religion has beheaded the church
nothing grammatically correct
just laying out some thoughts, wonderings, ponderings and angst
has religion beheaded the church
what is the church
what is church
am I struggling with the wrong questions
should I be replacing all the whats with a simple who
when Jesus starts to press his finger prints on a heart, change starts from the inside
only after the inside is tampered with does the outside reflect that change
when Mary received the visitation from the angel, the change – this Almighty-containing seed – was not visible to anyone else for a bit although she knew that time would come
she simply pondered and carried this seed on the inside
Fiat
only in the fullness of time was the change evident on the outside
only in the fullness of time did the birth happen
and even then, this was just a baby, right?
like any other baby
nothing profound for 12 years
and then only a glimpse causing more pondering, more wondering for another 18 years
the disciples – a slightly odd bunch – like the church of today?
some soft and quiet, some louder and pushy
jockeying for position
Jesus only once asked for help and he asked it of this slightly odd bunch
He simply asked that they would stay awake one night
they listened, waited and fell asleep
not once
but twice
later Jesus asked His friends to stay together, gather in a particular room and wait
some did
most did not
the waiting, the gathering they did not understand
did not quite fit their agendas and so they left, went outside
it is this waiting that seems to be a problem
Mary was willing
Moses built this huge boat in his backyard, took a long time
must have caused him to set aside his own agenda, his own dreams and hopes to build this thing
people laughed but he had heard he was to build
he built
he waited
and the rains came
I am the church
but alone I am not the church
the church is only seen when all the living stones come together accepting their positioning,
their placement by the pierced Hand
this present organization is not the church but it consists of the church
simply because I am in it
could it be that my purest, deepest, truest, worship is simply my submission to this organization, living in the tension of the knowing this organization is not church
but is it a womb from which church could be birthed?
if I close my fist around what I have been gifted with and leave
am I simply saying I know better, I like my dreams, my agenda better than yours
like a sulky child, leaving the game and taking the ball away
and if I stay in this organization that is not the church
will I lose the tension
will the tension become familiar
like an old elastic that loses its elasticity
stretch it and it simply snaps
who influences my decisions
who even influences my wondering
who reveals the tension
who is the tension
have to be so very careful here
who am I aligned with
who am I serving
who am I listening to
who am I submitted to
it has been said the glory of God is seen when we learn how to touch one another
there is favor on the touching this season
it is important, this touching, as one by one lives are being changed
hearts are being softened
hunger is being birthed
Jesus is being seen
all within this organization that is called church but is not church
but does contain the church yet cannot contain the church
Jesus entered our midst from within, from the womb of one of His made
if we all leave and go out how can we assist a birthing from within
I hear the 30 somethings expressing the same hungering angst I expressed years ago, even the old word paradigm has surfaced again
yes, it has been a long wait –
will I be obediently positioned and found in the right room, awake, when the wait is over
will my worship stand the test of the wait
Anna too waited a long time – and she waited in the temple
but the angst is good – just proves the tension of the Promise still holds
even in the wondering if religion has beheaded the church
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
taken by the hand moment
feeling surrounded lately
by events
people
grief
fear
hard to see
to find
a path through it all
and I suddenly remembered
a moment this past summer
when I had to trust
and take the hand of a stranger
this man who said
he knew a place
there was no trail
no path
and with some trepidation
I allowed him to lead me
because I knew I could not find the way myself
the difference today
is in knowing the Hand
that I must take
it is not a stranger
but my closest Friend
who will lead me
because know I cannot find the way myself
have you found it yet
come, let me show you
his steps were swift and sure
look carefully
learn to read the signs
he led me deeper amongst the trees
down a bit
over the mossy rock
I recognized the sounds
taste
and feel
of a moment
suddenly my eyes saw
that which my heart had been longing to know
bathed in light
serene in its being
a poustinia
drawing near I hesitated
go in he said
opening the door
I entered the voice of my Beloved
I have been waiting for you
Saturday, December 10, 2005
letting go moment
slowly she celebrated the sacrament of letting go
first she surrendered her green
then the orange
yellow
and red
finally she let go her brown
shedding her last leaf she stood
empty and silent
stripped bare
leaning against the winter sky
she began her vigil of trust
standing in silence
wearing the colour of emptiness
her branches wondering
how to give shade with so much gone
and then
the sacrament of waiting began
the sunrise and sunset watched with tenderness
clothing her with silhouettes
they kept her hope alive
they helped her understand
that her vulnerability
her dependence and need
her emptiness
her readiness to receive
were giving her a new kind of beauty
every morning and every evening
they stood in silence
and celebrated together
the sacrament of waiting
yellow
and red
finally she let go her brown
shedding her last leaf she stood
empty and silent
stripped bare
leaning against the winter sky
she began her vigil of trust
standing in silence
wearing the colour of emptiness
her branches wondering
how to give shade with so much gone
and then
the sacrament of waiting began
the sunrise and sunset watched with tenderness
clothing her with silhouettes
they kept her hope alive
they helped her understand
that her vulnerability
her dependence and need
her emptiness
her readiness to receive
were giving her a new kind of beauty
every morning and every evening
they stood in silence
and celebrated together
the sacrament of waiting
few moments
a box
the tiniest body
grief
chokingly
sticking in the throat
palpable
questions
screaming in their silence
God gives
God takes
we easily celebrate the giving
but
can we worship in the taking
a song has been written
to celebrate the moments of this life
this song will be sung this morning
as we gather
to honor
the Giver
Who has chosen
to take
what is this love
that the One who gives
could risk our response
to His taking
the tiniest body
grief
chokingly
sticking in the throat
palpable
questions
screaming in their silence
God gives
God takes
we easily celebrate the giving
but
can we worship in the taking
a song has been written
to celebrate the moments of this life
this song will be sung this morning
as we gather
to honor
the Giver
Who has chosen
to take
what is this love
that the One who gives
could risk our response
to His taking
Friday, December 09, 2005
snowy moments
today it snowed
each flake individually made
falling one by one
gently
silently
released with love
from the Hand
of the Artist
of our life
white
fluffy
clean
as if God shook out a feather-filled comforter
and laid it over the earth
bedding us down for winter
this season
when everything sleeps
into the spring
a quiet gestation
in the womb of creation
a sacrament of waiting
for new life
each flake individually made
falling one by one
gently
silently
released with love
from the Hand
of the Artist
of our life
white
fluffy
clean
as if God shook out a feather-filled comforter
and laid it over the earth
bedding us down for winter
this season
when everything sleeps
into the spring
a quiet gestation
in the womb of creation
a sacrament of waiting
for new life
Thursday, December 08, 2005
a thin line moment
such a thin narrow slippery little line
separating light from dark
good from evil
how many walk
carefully along this line
step by step
one foot
deliberately placed
directly in front of the other foot
toe to heel
toe to heel
doesn’t take much
just a little puff of the winds of life
to cause a stumble
a little slip
an off balance moment
with an immediate plunge deep into darkness
this thin narrow slippery little line
get off it!
don’t even try to walk it
move over
well over
miles over
into the light
separating light from dark
good from evil
how many walk
carefully along this line
step by step
one foot
deliberately placed
directly in front of the other foot
toe to heel
toe to heel
doesn’t take much
just a little puff of the winds of life
to cause a stumble
a little slip
an off balance moment
with an immediate plunge deep into darkness
this thin narrow slippery little line
get off it!
don’t even try to walk it
move over
well over
miles over
into the light
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
name moments
I have been pondering names
my name
your name
our names
why are we given our name
is it the meaning behind the name
and when we discover that meaning
do we try and “become” our name
is it because the name holds a comforting memory
of some one
some thing
some time
some place
names given a baby
spoken like a blessing
like a caressing
like a signature
wrapping this new life
in the swaddling clothes of a name
is there a danger
of allowing our name to give us our identity
what if we do not particularly like our name
can we have so many names
they only cause confusion
and I think of Jesus
who was really named Jeshua
over the years we changed His name
to suit our tongue
but His mother named Him
Jeshua
as she was instructed
and I think of how His name is spoken
softly
adoringly
lovingly
with awe
reverently
powerfully
peacefully
and in anger
rage
hate
often the name spoken
in total ignorance
of the man
the person
the child
who yet today lives and bears that name
and I think of Mary
who waited outside the tomb
her eyes clouded by
grief
doubt
fear
I am not sure all the components of her clouding
but this clouding caused her not to see
the One she had come to seek
and it was only in the speaking of her name
that her vision cleared
however it was not simply her name
but the sound
the tone
the love
with which it was spoken
I am coming to understand
it is not our name that is as important
as it is the mouth
that speaks it
the lips
the tongue
that our name falls from
your name
my name
is only safe in the mouth of a friend
our words
the overflow of all that is in our heart
you must be loved in a heart
to be safe in a mouth
whose mouth speaks my name
whose name is in my mouth
my name
your name
our names
why are we given our name
is it the meaning behind the name
and when we discover that meaning
do we try and “become” our name
is it because the name holds a comforting memory
of some one
some thing
some time
some place
names given a baby
spoken like a blessing
like a caressing
like a signature
wrapping this new life
in the swaddling clothes of a name
is there a danger
of allowing our name to give us our identity
what if we do not particularly like our name
can we have so many names
they only cause confusion
and I think of Jesus
who was really named Jeshua
over the years we changed His name
to suit our tongue
but His mother named Him
Jeshua
as she was instructed
and I think of how His name is spoken
softly
adoringly
lovingly
with awe
reverently
powerfully
peacefully
and in anger
rage
hate
often the name spoken
in total ignorance
of the man
the person
the child
who yet today lives and bears that name
and I think of Mary
who waited outside the tomb
her eyes clouded by
grief
doubt
fear
I am not sure all the components of her clouding
but this clouding caused her not to see
the One she had come to seek
and it was only in the speaking of her name
that her vision cleared
however it was not simply her name
but the sound
the tone
the love
with which it was spoken
I am coming to understand
it is not our name that is as important
as it is the mouth
that speaks it
the lips
the tongue
that our name falls from
your name
my name
is only safe in the mouth of a friend
our words
the overflow of all that is in our heart
you must be loved in a heart
to be safe in a mouth
whose mouth speaks my name
whose name is in my mouth
Sunday, December 04, 2005
free moments
the work of the hands of God
is a living person
a human heart
and this human person
can look at God and say
I love You
You are beautiful
this human person can freely enter
into relationship with God
they can speak together
they can rest in one another
they can celebrate together
the Maker and the made
can be in love with one another
Only God
the source of all life
can take this great risk of creation
for the "made" can say yes
but also
no
the fullness of the plan of God
known in its entirety only to God
but each person
generation to generation
is able to say yes
or
no
to the unfolding of this plan
a very little yes
or
no
but freely said
is a living person
a human heart
and this human person
can look at God and say
I love You
You are beautiful
this human person can freely enter
into relationship with God
they can speak together
they can rest in one another
they can celebrate together
the Maker and the made
can be in love with one another
Only God
the source of all life
can take this great risk of creation
for the "made" can say yes
but also
no
the fullness of the plan of God
known in its entirety only to God
but each person
generation to generation
is able to say yes
or
no
to the unfolding of this plan
a very little yes
or
no
but freely said
Saturday, December 03, 2005
best moment
someone asked me last evening
about the best moment of my week -
and I thought about what that meant
would that be a moment that
brought me the greatest pleasure
or happiness
or would it be a moment
when I gave my best
not performing my best
or receiving my best
just being my purest
truest
simplest
offering
the me
of me
and that would have to be
the moment of kneeling
and washing the feet
of those who presently live on the streets
some live there by choice
and some live there because of circumstance
some live there sober
and some numb living there
some live there alone
and some live there in a family of sorts
some live there hard
and some live there relatively easy
but each one is someone's son
or someone's daughter
and each one lives there openly
right in our midst
and yet unseen
sometimes
to ease our conscience
we throw a loonie
or maybe even two
and we throw it
so as not to get too close
so not to have to look
so not to have to see
and it is these sons and daughters
who allow me to kneel before them
and wash their feet
one by one
toe by toe
to soften and ease
the crust of their existing
washing the blood
of life wounds
holding these feet
that walk a road I have never walked
and know very little about
and it is not even the washing of the feet
but the opportunity
to touch
with tenderness
with hope
with acceptance
to look up
directly into eyes
that see
but are seldom seen
to spend time
all the time they wish
touching
and seeing
because of the stuff of their life
we are told to "glove up"
but I just cannot
it would only sterilize the touch
these sons and daughters
rarely
if ever
are touched
it is the touching that makes a difference
and the simple fact
that they allowed me to touch
was the best moment
of my week.
about the best moment of my week -
and I thought about what that meant
would that be a moment that
brought me the greatest pleasure
or happiness
or would it be a moment
when I gave my best
not performing my best
or receiving my best
just being my purest
truest
simplest
offering
the me
of me
and that would have to be
the moment of kneeling
and washing the feet
of those who presently live on the streets
some live there by choice
and some live there because of circumstance
some live there sober
and some numb living there
some live there alone
and some live there in a family of sorts
some live there hard
and some live there relatively easy
but each one is someone's son
or someone's daughter
and each one lives there openly
right in our midst
and yet unseen
sometimes
to ease our conscience
we throw a loonie
or maybe even two
and we throw it
so as not to get too close
so not to have to look
so not to have to see
and it is these sons and daughters
who allow me to kneel before them
and wash their feet
one by one
toe by toe
to soften and ease
the crust of their existing
washing the blood
of life wounds
holding these feet
that walk a road I have never walked
and know very little about
and it is not even the washing of the feet
but the opportunity
to touch
with tenderness
with hope
with acceptance
to look up
directly into eyes
that see
but are seldom seen
to spend time
all the time they wish
touching
and seeing
because of the stuff of their life
we are told to "glove up"
but I just cannot
it would only sterilize the touch
these sons and daughters
rarely
if ever
are touched
it is the touching that makes a difference
and the simple fact
that they allowed me to touch
was the best moment
of my week.
Friday, December 02, 2005
today's moment
ok
so got all that out
and Monday
the thing comes out
actually slept a bit last night
although in the closing of my eyes
dreams filled my sight
screaming
pounding on a door
no one could hear
or was it
no one wanted to hear
weird scenes
weird people
weird sounds
didn't like it much
still don't
today is a treat
all morning booked
with this lovely man
so gentle
so pure in his seeking of his Lord
had it all
and then
had nothing
starting over
struggling to see
beyond the horizon of his past
understanding now the whys
of his fear of success
today is a treat
I can do this
so got all that out
and Monday
the thing comes out
actually slept a bit last night
although in the closing of my eyes
dreams filled my sight
screaming
pounding on a door
no one could hear
or was it
no one wanted to hear
weird scenes
weird people
weird sounds
didn't like it much
still don't
today is a treat
all morning booked
with this lovely man
so gentle
so pure in his seeking of his Lord
had it all
and then
had nothing
starting over
struggling to see
beyond the horizon of his past
understanding now the whys
of his fear of success
today is a treat
I can do this
Thursday, December 01, 2005
whammo moments
so
regular day, right?
full agenda
one by one
down the list
then whammo
an out of the blue
off the wall
out of all boxes
offer
sounds amazing
seems to fit perfectly
tastes so good
but
is it what it appears
is he who he says
will it change
will he change
will it end
like the other
have I already been here
already done this
and when the cost
gets too high
sizzle
sputter
gone
leaving pieces
shattered
broken
and while pondering all this
whammo # 2
large
does not look good
must come out
immediately
now
not tomorrow
this thing
suddenly there
where it had not been
silent
unbidden
unwelcome
unwanted
is anything what it seems
is anyone who they seem
betrayed
by flesh
once
twice
and the point
of even thinking of a third is .............?
regular day, right?
full agenda
one by one
down the list
then whammo
an out of the blue
off the wall
out of all boxes
offer
sounds amazing
seems to fit perfectly
tastes so good
but
is it what it appears
is he who he says
will it change
will he change
will it end
like the other
have I already been here
already done this
and when the cost
gets too high
sizzle
sputter
gone
leaving pieces
shattered
broken
and while pondering all this
whammo # 2
large
does not look good
must come out
immediately
now
not tomorrow
this thing
suddenly there
where it had not been
silent
unbidden
unwelcome
unwanted
is anything what it seems
is anyone who they seem
betrayed
by flesh
once
twice
and the point
of even thinking of a third is .............?
Thursday, November 24, 2005
an awful moment
death in stalking
stockinged feet
approaching
nearing
touching
silently
from the shadows
this thing named suicide
so powerful
and yet
on its own
completely powerless
cannot succeed
without assistance
and why was the assistance given
what is it that makes
the utter darkness
so dark
it shines
offering some sort of light
the ending
seeming easier
the unknown
more palatable
than the known
and what of the now
what is her now
where is her now
is there regret
I suspect
the despair of the loneliness
is more acute
in the now
after the fact
did I fail her
there is no rest
no peace
no comfort
in the
"how could I have known"
this is an awful moment
certainly not a moment
filled with awe
just an awful moment
stockinged feet
approaching
nearing
touching
silently
from the shadows
this thing named suicide
so powerful
and yet
on its own
completely powerless
cannot succeed
without assistance
and why was the assistance given
what is it that makes
the utter darkness
so dark
it shines
offering some sort of light
the ending
seeming easier
the unknown
more palatable
than the known
and what of the now
what is her now
where is her now
is there regret
I suspect
the despair of the loneliness
is more acute
in the now
after the fact
did I fail her
there is no rest
no peace
no comfort
in the
"how could I have known"
this is an awful moment
certainly not a moment
filled with awe
just an awful moment
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
aaaaaaah moments
I opened the door of my home
to a stranger this week
this gentleman
very quickly evident
a gentle man
weighed down
with the wonderings of the ways of God
a heart broken
feet dusty from the desert
hands emptied of all doing
eyes clouded with pain
his cloak
the brokenness of a pastor
his luggage
rejection
deferred hope
questions
emptiness
and a bruised spirit
the language of his tongue
only French
and mine
only English
our only speech in common
tears
groans
and the touch of our hands
I wondered what I could offer
this servant of the Lord
how could I even speak
so that he would understand
and in the ways of the Spirit
this was all taken care of
immediately
our hearts became one
talking was not necessary
only together kneeling
in the Presence
through words that stumbled a bit
he shared
that his heart
felt the burden in my heart
for him
and he knew his safety
had been assured
through this heart touching
on the evening of the second day
Jesus spoke
into the heart of this gentle man
the language of the Lord
giving revelation
insight
hope
love
the cloak of brokenness
fell from his shoulders
all luggage put down
enabling a standing up
the desire to give up
exchanged for an openness to hope
language is never a barrier
in the things of the Spirit
there is a hearing
a touching
between hearts
making words not necessary
a stranger entered the door of my home
but a brother entered the door of my heart
Jesus met with His son
and so today we will part
this gentle man will return to his home
and I will simply return to the things I do
but there is no leaving of each other
there is no separation
my heart has been enlarged
because I opened the door of my home
to a stranger
to a stranger this week
this gentleman
very quickly evident
a gentle man
weighed down
with the wonderings of the ways of God
a heart broken
feet dusty from the desert
hands emptied of all doing
eyes clouded with pain
his cloak
the brokenness of a pastor
his luggage
rejection
deferred hope
questions
emptiness
and a bruised spirit
the language of his tongue
only French
and mine
only English
our only speech in common
tears
groans
and the touch of our hands
I wondered what I could offer
this servant of the Lord
how could I even speak
so that he would understand
and in the ways of the Spirit
this was all taken care of
immediately
our hearts became one
talking was not necessary
only together kneeling
in the Presence
through words that stumbled a bit
he shared
that his heart
felt the burden in my heart
for him
and he knew his safety
had been assured
through this heart touching
on the evening of the second day
Jesus spoke
into the heart of this gentle man
the language of the Lord
giving revelation
insight
hope
love
the cloak of brokenness
fell from his shoulders
all luggage put down
enabling a standing up
the desire to give up
exchanged for an openness to hope
language is never a barrier
in the things of the Spirit
there is a hearing
a touching
between hearts
making words not necessary
a stranger entered the door of my home
but a brother entered the door of my heart
Jesus met with His son
and so today we will part
this gentle man will return to his home
and I will simply return to the things I do
but there is no leaving of each other
there is no separation
my heart has been enlarged
because I opened the door of my home
to a stranger
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
remembered moments
very aware today
of the whisp of life
here
then gone
in a moment
there was a woman
whose name we are never told
yet I remember her
and there is this wondering
will I be remembered
what perfume am I pouring out
whose head am I pouring my fragrance on
is it costly
of the whisp of life
here
then gone
in a moment
there was a woman
whose name we are never told
yet I remember her
and there is this wondering
will I be remembered
what perfume am I pouring out
whose head am I pouring my fragrance on
is it costly
Monday, November 21, 2005
entering moments
The voice
that was no voice at all
spoke distinctly
although it was not audible
it is a precipitous journey
going into the depths of another's heart
this entering the heart of another
can only be done by identifying with them
and that is excruciating
loving people means ascending the mountain of faith
while touching my own fears
my spirit shudders
causing a silent cry to rise from within
the intimacy of eternal belonging
a place hard to get to
yet one that lives within
and beyond
the very present
that was no voice at all
spoke distinctly
although it was not audible
it is a precipitous journey
going into the depths of another's heart
this entering the heart of another
can only be done by identifying with them
and that is excruciating
loving people means ascending the mountain of faith
while touching my own fears
my spirit shudders
causing a silent cry to rise from within
the intimacy of eternal belonging
a place hard to get to
yet one that lives within
and beyond
the very present
Sunday, November 20, 2005
alabaster moment
stumbling through her blinding tears
feeling such pain
the room grew quiet
as she made her way to Jesus
pierced by the whispers
of the unspoken rage
wrapped in her shame
she knelt at His feet
she did not speak
yet every word was heard
as she poured out her love
from her jar of alabaster
so don't be angry
when I press in
pouring out my praise like Mary's oil
washing His feet with my tears
you weren't there
the night He called my name
you didn't feel what I felt
when He wrapped His love around me
you don't know the cost of the oil
in my alabaster jar
feeling such pain
the room grew quiet
as she made her way to Jesus
pierced by the whispers
of the unspoken rage
wrapped in her shame
she knelt at His feet
she did not speak
yet every word was heard
as she poured out her love
from her jar of alabaster
so don't be angry
when I press in
pouring out my praise like Mary's oil
washing His feet with my tears
you weren't there
the night He called my name
you didn't feel what I felt
when He wrapped His love around me
you don't know the cost of the oil
in my alabaster jar
Saturday, November 19, 2005
outside moments
the clouds
some gray with rain
others of whited fluff
swirling in that leisurely way of clouds
every few minutes
completely changing
the slow movement
seemingly rolling so steadily
yet actually
moving so rapidly
transforming constantly
as is the move of God
seemingly moving in our lives so slowly
but over time
over a year
we see
He was sweeping us along in His breathless pace ...
and we end where we did not foresee
we go where we never expected
we arrive where we never planned
we find ourselves moved ...
within the Move of God
the Holy Breath of God
moving the cloud of God's purpose
blowing and whispering
with gentle power
the wind blows where it wishes
you hear its sound
but you do not know where it comes from
or where it goes
the Holy Spirit
ever aware of Father's mind
all He does in harmony
with what Father has on His mind . . .
which is the end
every stirring breeze of the Spirit
toward that end
God stirs
by His marvelous thoughts.
"God is in cloudless rest about me
unchangeable in the satisfaction
of His boundless thoughts"
J.B. Stoney
some gray with rain
others of whited fluff
swirling in that leisurely way of clouds
every few minutes
completely changing
the slow movement
seemingly rolling so steadily
yet actually
moving so rapidly
transforming constantly
as is the move of God
seemingly moving in our lives so slowly
but over time
over a year
we see
He was sweeping us along in His breathless pace ...
and we end where we did not foresee
we go where we never expected
we arrive where we never planned
we find ourselves moved ...
within the Move of God
the Holy Breath of God
moving the cloud of God's purpose
blowing and whispering
with gentle power
the wind blows where it wishes
you hear its sound
but you do not know where it comes from
or where it goes
the Holy Spirit
ever aware of Father's mind
all He does in harmony
with what Father has on His mind . . .
which is the end
every stirring breeze of the Spirit
toward that end
God stirs
by His marvelous thoughts.
"God is in cloudless rest about me
unchangeable in the satisfaction
of His boundless thoughts"
J.B. Stoney
inside moments
it is interesting
sitting
having a conversation with "adults"
wrapped in big bodies
but hearing
and seeing
only a somewhat frightened
struggling
very unsure
vulnerable
little boy
and feeling
the vulnerable
very unsure
struggling
little seed
within myself
so necessary
to look beyond the wrapping
but
that takes risk
and the desire to be interested
in what one finds
when you untie the ribbons
and take off the fancy paper
and
the willingness
to accept
and love
and treasure
what you find within
and how often
do we take the time
and how often
do we treasure
the gift
of one another
sitting
having a conversation with "adults"
wrapped in big bodies
but hearing
and seeing
only a somewhat frightened
struggling
very unsure
vulnerable
little boy
and feeling
the vulnerable
very unsure
struggling
little seed
within myself
so necessary
to look beyond the wrapping
but
that takes risk
and the desire to be interested
in what one finds
when you untie the ribbons
and take off the fancy paper
and
the willingness
to accept
and love
and treasure
what you find within
and how often
do we take the time
and how often
do we treasure
the gift
of one another
Friday, November 18, 2005
divesting moments
in this season of divesting ……..
I have been looking at each item
with fresh eyes
remembering where it came from
and why it was important enough for me to keep
searching out the meaning of each “thing”
and reliving each memory
and then being very careful
in my method of divesting
something that was meaningful enough for me to keep
some for many many years
has to be treated respectfully, with care
like friendship
friends are a gift from God
and we have a responsibility to hold that gift carefully
when friendship deepens into community
true community
there is an allowing
of your life to be seen
like a crystal goblet
with the hands of that community
holding the goblet with you
helping hands
holding the goblet of your life
high in the Light
sometimes those hands suddenly let go
sometimes they toss the goblet of your life away
and it shatters
along with trust
and hope
and the shattered shards pierce and slice your heart
it takes many seasons
for the shards to come to the surface
so they may be removed
it is a fiercesome thing then
to bring this freshly repaired
not quite solid
goblet
near those hands again
once shattered
now tentatively put back together
there is a deep wondering
if it might be impossible
to repair again
enough to recover and be useable
should there be
a second tossing away
I have been looking at each item
with fresh eyes
remembering where it came from
and why it was important enough for me to keep
searching out the meaning of each “thing”
and reliving each memory
and then being very careful
in my method of divesting
something that was meaningful enough for me to keep
some for many many years
has to be treated respectfully, with care
like friendship
friends are a gift from God
and we have a responsibility to hold that gift carefully
when friendship deepens into community
true community
there is an allowing
of your life to be seen
like a crystal goblet
with the hands of that community
holding the goblet with you
helping hands
holding the goblet of your life
high in the Light
sometimes those hands suddenly let go
sometimes they toss the goblet of your life away
and it shatters
along with trust
and hope
and the shattered shards pierce and slice your heart
it takes many seasons
for the shards to come to the surface
so they may be removed
it is a fiercesome thing then
to bring this freshly repaired
not quite solid
goblet
near those hands again
once shattered
now tentatively put back together
there is a deep wondering
if it might be impossible
to repair again
enough to recover and be useable
should there be
a second tossing away
Thursday, November 17, 2005
truth moment
and the result?
there were moments
of nearing the passing point
and moments of failing miserably
and interestingly
although these were my moments
they were not only my moments
have I failed?
I don't think so
because I am able see each moment
and no longer feel frightened to go there
do I wish the result was different?
not sure -
all in all
I am happy being honest
and content knowing
there were moments
of nearing the passing point
and moments of failing miserably
and interestingly
although these were my moments
they were not only my moments
have I failed?
I don't think so
because I am able see each moment
and no longer feel frightened to go there
do I wish the result was different?
not sure -
all in all
I am happy being honest
and content knowing
testing moments
today I will learn
if I am I what I say
the opportunity to be translucent
will I be able to allow the love of Jesus
to enter into my still open wound
and fill me
so that I can pour His love out
into another's
still open wound
I am wondering
if healing is not so paramount after all
but more the willingness
to allow Jesus to use my wound
however
wherever
for whomever
He chooses
even
for the one who wounded
and didn't Jesus Himself do just that?
maybe we spend way too much time
seeking healing
perhaps we are to simply
seek Jesus in the midst
of our pain
lay our head on His breast
and rest in submission
although not absolutely confident
I have hope
I will pass the test.
if I am I what I say
the opportunity to be translucent
will I be able to allow the love of Jesus
to enter into my still open wound
and fill me
so that I can pour His love out
into another's
still open wound
I am wondering
if healing is not so paramount after all
but more the willingness
to allow Jesus to use my wound
however
wherever
for whomever
He chooses
even
for the one who wounded
and didn't Jesus Himself do just that?
maybe we spend way too much time
seeking healing
perhaps we are to simply
seek Jesus in the midst
of our pain
lay our head on His breast
and rest in submission
although not absolutely confident
I have hope
I will pass the test.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
pulling moments
what a day -
and not over yet
pulled here
and pulled there
pulled to rescue
pulled to speak
pulled to look
pulled to comfort
pulled to war
pulled to affirm
pulled to pray
everyone pulling off little pieces
until now I feel all fragmented
all scattered
wondering if there is anything left
of me
for me
like pouring from an empty vessel
nothing left to come out
but fleshy air
and this is danger zone for me
where it is possible
to learn
to do
ministry
I need a cave
no -
a poustinia
Enough!
tomorrow is lock down day with God
right after my morning meeting
and the noon hour prayer session
and the afternoon counselling session
and dinner with my pastor
and leading the evening prayer meeting
this is crazy
I want off this roller coaster
OK
Thursday is lock down day with God!
because Friday the pace picks up a bit .........
and not over yet
pulled here
and pulled there
pulled to rescue
pulled to speak
pulled to look
pulled to comfort
pulled to war
pulled to affirm
pulled to pray
everyone pulling off little pieces
until now I feel all fragmented
all scattered
wondering if there is anything left
of me
for me
like pouring from an empty vessel
nothing left to come out
but fleshy air
and this is danger zone for me
where it is possible
to learn
to do
ministry
I need a cave
no -
a poustinia
Enough!
tomorrow is lock down day with God
right after my morning meeting
and the noon hour prayer session
and the afternoon counselling session
and dinner with my pastor
and leading the evening prayer meeting
this is crazy
I want off this roller coaster
OK
Thursday is lock down day with God!
because Friday the pace picks up a bit .........
Monday, November 14, 2005
stone moments
while continuing to ponder
the searching
the scattering
the running
the leaving
to find God
there is this realization
this fact
this truth
that
we, the ‘stones’,
are already prepared…
we have been quarried in different locations:
different denominations,
different ethnic backgrounds,
we look different,
we act different,
we talk different,
we even walk different…
but
we have been designed to fit perfectly together!
In whom all the building fitly framed together
grows unto an Holy Temple in the LORD:
In whom ye also are built together
for an habitation of God through the SPIRIT.
Ephesians 2:21-22
by His hand
we are being placed in the same temple
for His glory
the searching
the scattering
the running
the leaving
to find God
there is this realization
this fact
this truth
that
we, the ‘stones’,
are already prepared…
we have been quarried in different locations:
different denominations,
different ethnic backgrounds,
we look different,
we act different,
we talk different,
we even walk different…
but
we have been designed to fit perfectly together!
In whom all the building fitly framed together
grows unto an Holy Temple in the LORD:
In whom ye also are built together
for an habitation of God through the SPIRIT.
Ephesians 2:21-22
by His hand
we are being placed in the same temple
for His glory
Saturday, November 12, 2005
life moments
allow Life itself to be ever present. John 1:4.
life can not be mastered
it has to be given away
life belongs not to man
the ones who take it, break it
life is for the altar
those who dare to leave it there, are the survivors
life springs forth from an altar
to really live
to live truly
to live a rich life
has its root in an invitation of the Cross of Christ
to allow that Cross to do its work
life formulates and expresses structure
organization will never bring life
a life lived with purpose and candor
giving Him the vessel that He brought forth for an eternal purpose
giving Him my time, every hour, every minute.
giving Him my body, my energy to be spent in His way
giving Him my life, living unto Him, spending my life on Him
afterall
He spent His to give me this opportunity
life can not be mastered
it has to be given away
life belongs not to man
the ones who take it, break it
life is for the altar
those who dare to leave it there, are the survivors
life springs forth from an altar
to really live
to live truly
to live a rich life
has its root in an invitation of the Cross of Christ
to allow that Cross to do its work
life formulates and expresses structure
organization will never bring life
a life lived with purpose and candor
giving Him the vessel that He brought forth for an eternal purpose
giving Him my time, every hour, every minute.
giving Him my body, my energy to be spent in His way
giving Him my life, living unto Him, spending my life on Him
afterall
He spent His to give me this opportunity
Friday, November 11, 2005
cutting the cord moment
most of us pass through life umbilically tied to the protection of the familiar.
many good people remain in lifeless churches
simply because they desire the security of familiar faces
more than the truth of Christ
if we are going to become holy,
we must sever the chains and restraints -
the bondage of desiring just an average life,
choose to leave the camp of familiarity
and place our tent in the presence of God.
many good people remain in lifeless churches
simply because they desire the security of familiar faces
more than the truth of Christ
if we are going to become holy,
we must sever the chains and restraints -
the bondage of desiring just an average life,
choose to leave the camp of familiarity
and place our tent in the presence of God.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
desert moments
it was the anguish of the broken body that aroused my anguish
a terrible feeling of confusion
inner agitation
a sense of death and emptiness
the quiet grace of communion with God disappeared
and I wondered if it had only been an illusion
now replaced by an overwhelming inner turmoil and pain,
the discovery of my own terrible brokenness hidden under my capacity to do things,
hidden under my knowledge and intelligence
hidden under my casualness, security and humor
hidden even in times of prayer
I knew I could either run away or discover who I really am
I knew I was very close to learning how to "do" ministry
the very way we have learned how to "do" church
I needed to be born again in Truth
and my gentle guide through all this is the Paraclete
the One who answers my cry
in the embrace of mercy and misery.
the Spirit blows so quietly over my earth, that if I am not attentive
I run the risk of not recognizing the Presence of God -
He is hidden in the cave of my being.
He promises that I will find Him there.
God told me that I had to seek the path where there is no trail
but I am discovering His signposts in the people He brings alongside.
a terrible feeling of confusion
inner agitation
a sense of death and emptiness
the quiet grace of communion with God disappeared
and I wondered if it had only been an illusion
now replaced by an overwhelming inner turmoil and pain,
the discovery of my own terrible brokenness hidden under my capacity to do things,
hidden under my knowledge and intelligence
hidden under my casualness, security and humor
hidden even in times of prayer
I knew I could either run away or discover who I really am
I knew I was very close to learning how to "do" ministry
the very way we have learned how to "do" church
I needed to be born again in Truth
and my gentle guide through all this is the Paraclete
the One who answers my cry
in the embrace of mercy and misery.
the Spirit blows so quietly over my earth, that if I am not attentive
I run the risk of not recognizing the Presence of God -
He is hidden in the cave of my being.
He promises that I will find Him there.
God told me that I had to seek the path where there is no trail
but I am discovering His signposts in the people He brings alongside.
Monday, November 07, 2005
touching moments
when we are not in touch with our own brokenness
our priorities are seldom in personal relationships and acts of love.
we create a false world made up of pretence and appearance
rather than true encounters.
in every person there is a part that is afraid of healing
that does not want change
a brokenness with which one has learned to live
and which seems safer than the unknown.
through our wounds
the power of God can penetrate us
and become like rivers of living water
to irrigate the arid earth within us.
thus we may irrigate the arid earth of others
so that hope and love are reborn.
we must not turn aside from our pain
our anguish and brokenness
our loneliness and emptiness
by pretending we are strong
but go deep within
down the ladder of our own being
until we discover,
like a seed
buried in the broken
ploughed earth of our own vulnerability,
the presence of Jesus,
the light shining in the darkness.
to see the beauty of the tiny flower
emerging in the vulnerable earth of our being
something so deep
so fragile
that if not careful
you can walk on it
crush it
ignore it
or pass it by
this flower that waits
to spring from the source of our being
melting from inside the coating of ice
and coldness
gently dismantling the carefully built barriers
that have been constructed
around the vulnerability of our heart
because of fear.
like the rebirth of the child within
the gentle
tender
vulnerable
fragile child
hidden deep within
that has been clouded over
by the need to prove oneself
to be adult
clever
intelligent
or by the need to defend oneself
against others
and their exaggerated expectations
our priorities are seldom in personal relationships and acts of love.
we create a false world made up of pretence and appearance
rather than true encounters.
in every person there is a part that is afraid of healing
that does not want change
a brokenness with which one has learned to live
and which seems safer than the unknown.
through our wounds
the power of God can penetrate us
and become like rivers of living water
to irrigate the arid earth within us.
thus we may irrigate the arid earth of others
so that hope and love are reborn.
we must not turn aside from our pain
our anguish and brokenness
our loneliness and emptiness
by pretending we are strong
but go deep within
down the ladder of our own being
until we discover,
like a seed
buried in the broken
ploughed earth of our own vulnerability,
the presence of Jesus,
the light shining in the darkness.
to see the beauty of the tiny flower
emerging in the vulnerable earth of our being
something so deep
so fragile
that if not careful
you can walk on it
crush it
ignore it
or pass it by
this flower that waits
to spring from the source of our being
melting from inside the coating of ice
and coldness
gently dismantling the carefully built barriers
that have been constructed
around the vulnerability of our heart
because of fear.
like the rebirth of the child within
the gentle
tender
vulnerable
fragile child
hidden deep within
that has been clouded over
by the need to prove oneself
to be adult
clever
intelligent
or by the need to defend oneself
against others
and their exaggerated expectations
Friday, November 04, 2005
dimmed moments
I find it sadly fascinating that the scientists in this land are talking publicly about the fact that the leaves of the maple trees have lost their brilliance this year -
the colors are dull and dimmed,
dusty browns as opposed to crisp reds -
the scientific community attributes this to the lack of rain this summer
could this be a visible sign of the spiritual dryness in this land,
an unhealthiness of our spiritual soil due the past, recent and forthcoming legislation
Canada's symbol is the red maple leaf
our maple leaf is no longer red
the symbol of our land has been dimmed
like our spiritual atmosphere
our maple trees are dying a premature death
is the country about to follow?
when will we, the church, wake up
and repent for our apathy
so that the reign of the Spirit will once again come
and restore us to life.
the spirit of tolerance that has invaded our churches
that has invaded our parliament
that has invaded our leaders
that has invaded our laws
needs to be addressed,
bound
and cast down.
does anyone else see this?
the colors are dull and dimmed,
dusty browns as opposed to crisp reds -
the scientific community attributes this to the lack of rain this summer
could this be a visible sign of the spiritual dryness in this land,
an unhealthiness of our spiritual soil due the past, recent and forthcoming legislation
Canada's symbol is the red maple leaf
our maple leaf is no longer red
the symbol of our land has been dimmed
like our spiritual atmosphere
our maple trees are dying a premature death
is the country about to follow?
when will we, the church, wake up
and repent for our apathy
so that the reign of the Spirit will once again come
and restore us to life.
the spirit of tolerance that has invaded our churches
that has invaded our parliament
that has invaded our leaders
that has invaded our laws
needs to be addressed,
bound
and cast down.
does anyone else see this?
Thursday, November 03, 2005
who am I moments
the past few days have been filled with unsettling moments
the last piece of family lake property has now been sold -
after 4 generations
no more family toes being dipped into the Rideau
no more gatherings on the shores of that body of water
then 2 deaths, side by side
both neighbours
one always across the street
and the other around the corner
for all the years I lived under the roof my father provided
like part of my past being cut
pulled out
disappearing
erased
a disconnection
feeling adrift a bit
and now
this picture arrives
turns out it is my sister
but I could have sat beside her
without any recognition
these are very very weird
who am I
moments
the last piece of family lake property has now been sold -
after 4 generations
no more family toes being dipped into the Rideau
no more gatherings on the shores of that body of water
then 2 deaths, side by side
both neighbours
one always across the street
and the other around the corner
for all the years I lived under the roof my father provided
like part of my past being cut
pulled out
disappearing
erased
a disconnection
feeling adrift a bit
and now
this picture arrives
turns out it is my sister
but I could have sat beside her
without any recognition
these are very very weird
who am I
moments
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
worship moments
Worship can degenerate into a selfish grabbing for the supernatural
There are those who sing with their mouth
But there are some who worship with their lives.
Worship shapes the human community in response to the living God.
If worship is neglected or perverted
our communities fall into chaos or under tyranny.
The world is hostile to worship.
Some Christians even get killed because they worship.
The world hates worshipers.
Workers murder worshipers
in one form or another .........
There is indeed this thin place,
this tissue paper
separating the material from the spiritual
where one hears the sweet songs of God
and all other sounds
are then simply meaningless
do we sing in response to words on a screen
or do we sing in response to Who we see ........
whose rhythm do we follow
what forges our ability to worship
whatever happened to our worship
are we willing to push beyond our dignity and our fears
do we have an undivided heart
if our worship does not cost everything,
or does not involve brokenness and sacrifice,
is it worship at all
does our worship etch an everlasting mark on God's heart
does God remember the way that we worship
true worship must kill us
and it must bring a sense of brokenness and humility into our body,
soul
and spirit
is there a lingering aroma over our lives that continually fills the throne room of heaven
is our worship like fragrant oil, even when we aren't worshiping any longer --
does the aroma of that sacrifice linger
what if we, in a conscious effort of worship,
were truly in unity with one another
There are those who sing with their mouth
But there are some who worship with their lives.
Worship shapes the human community in response to the living God.
If worship is neglected or perverted
our communities fall into chaos or under tyranny.
The world is hostile to worship.
Some Christians even get killed because they worship.
The world hates worshipers.
Workers murder worshipers
in one form or another .........
There is indeed this thin place,
this tissue paper
separating the material from the spiritual
where one hears the sweet songs of God
and all other sounds
are then simply meaningless
do we sing in response to words on a screen
or do we sing in response to Who we see ........
whose rhythm do we follow
what forges our ability to worship
whatever happened to our worship
are we willing to push beyond our dignity and our fears
do we have an undivided heart
if our worship does not cost everything,
or does not involve brokenness and sacrifice,
is it worship at all
does our worship etch an everlasting mark on God's heart
does God remember the way that we worship
true worship must kill us
and it must bring a sense of brokenness and humility into our body,
soul
and spirit
is there a lingering aroma over our lives that continually fills the throne room of heaven
is our worship like fragrant oil, even when we aren't worshiping any longer --
does the aroma of that sacrifice linger
what if we, in a conscious effort of worship,
were truly in unity with one another
Monday, October 31, 2005
stolen moments
we each have a story
our own story
tidy or messy
light or dark
it is our own
occasionally
not satisfied with their story
someone covets another's
and claim it as their own
piece by piece
word by word
event by event
they wrap it around themselves
it never truly fits
as it is not theirs
but for awhile
they manage to hold it together
however
like a borrowed cloak
either too long, too short
or too small
if one looks carefully
gaps can be found
but for a season
or perhaps only a moment
they try to make it fit
and when it is my story
coveted by another
when it is my moments
stolen
can the weaving
of the tapestry that is my life
ever again be complete
or will there always be a tear
with a ragged edge
mended by
a mismatched thread
our own story
tidy or messy
light or dark
it is our own
occasionally
not satisfied with their story
someone covets another's
and claim it as their own
piece by piece
word by word
event by event
they wrap it around themselves
it never truly fits
as it is not theirs
but for awhile
they manage to hold it together
however
like a borrowed cloak
either too long, too short
or too small
if one looks carefully
gaps can be found
but for a season
or perhaps only a moment
they try to make it fit
and when it is my story
coveted by another
when it is my moments
stolen
can the weaving
of the tapestry that is my life
ever again be complete
or will there always be a tear
with a ragged edge
mended by
a mismatched thread
Sunday, October 30, 2005
altar moments
My bending turns to prostration
when the blinding knowledge of who God is
and who I am
becomes a reality in me.
Not even the tick of time is heard
only the ragged rending of my heart fills the silence.
God always gives me the grace:
the question is, will I accept
and allow Him to tear out by the roots
the shrubs of my own will.
In response to the overwhelming cry of the Holy Spirit living within,
wrapped in the swaddling clothes of trust
I cry
come Lord Jesus, come.
Entering the realm of pure faith
the stones of my emotions are hurled at me by satan
This is a thin place
only a tissue paper
separating the material from the spiritual
where I hear the sweet songs of God.
A very tiny breeze whispers,
Come higher
live within the enclosed garden of My love.
I rest, put my folded hands in my open heart
And allow God to tell me that which He wishes me to know.
when the blinding knowledge of who God is
and who I am
becomes a reality in me.
Not even the tick of time is heard
only the ragged rending of my heart fills the silence.
God always gives me the grace:
the question is, will I accept
and allow Him to tear out by the roots
the shrubs of my own will.
In response to the overwhelming cry of the Holy Spirit living within,
wrapped in the swaddling clothes of trust
I cry
come Lord Jesus, come.
Entering the realm of pure faith
the stones of my emotions are hurled at me by satan
This is a thin place
only a tissue paper
separating the material from the spiritual
where I hear the sweet songs of God.
A very tiny breeze whispers,
Come higher
live within the enclosed garden of My love.
I rest, put my folded hands in my open heart
And allow God to tell me that which He wishes me to know.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Friday night moments
while at a soaking prayer evening last night
I was struck by the diversity
a bit surreal
this place, an office by day,
now carpeted, wall to wall, by bodies
fat, thin, tall, short, old, young
male, female
black, white and several shades in between and around
and in a moment I saw
the only common thread was brokenness
some more
perhaps some less
but all broken nonetheless
we were together
and yet separate
each one alone before our God
fueled by pain
or loneliness
or fear
or love?
I am not sure of the others
only my own
Jesus showed me His side
His wounded side
asking if I would touch that wound
it was through this wound
the "church" was birthed
just as through the wound on Adam's side
his bride was birthed
through the wound on Jesus's side
His bride was birthed
and I knew the only way
to touch that wound
on the side of Jesus
is to touch His church
touch His people
one by one
there is a broken body
we are the broken body
there are moments in the touching of one another
when Jesus is brought into the brokenness
the Wounded entering His wounded.
I was struck by the diversity
a bit surreal
this place, an office by day,
now carpeted, wall to wall, by bodies
fat, thin, tall, short, old, young
male, female
black, white and several shades in between and around
and in a moment I saw
the only common thread was brokenness
some more
perhaps some less
but all broken nonetheless
we were together
and yet separate
each one alone before our God
fueled by pain
or loneliness
or fear
or love?
I am not sure of the others
only my own
Jesus showed me His side
His wounded side
asking if I would touch that wound
it was through this wound
the "church" was birthed
just as through the wound on Adam's side
his bride was birthed
through the wound on Jesus's side
His bride was birthed
and I knew the only way
to touch that wound
on the side of Jesus
is to touch His church
touch His people
one by one
there is a broken body
we are the broken body
there are moments in the touching of one another
when Jesus is brought into the brokenness
the Wounded entering His wounded.
Friday, October 28, 2005
unspoken moments
In the end
we will remember
not the words of our enemies
but the silence of our friends.
Martin Luther King Jr.
discovered the truth of this today
again
on the other hand
I also was offered
and accepted
a "job" today.
a surprise in this season of my life
not sure where it is leading
but I am looking forward to the journey.
we will remember
not the words of our enemies
but the silence of our friends.
Martin Luther King Jr.
discovered the truth of this today
again
on the other hand
I also was offered
and accepted
a "job" today.
a surprise in this season of my life
not sure where it is leading
but I am looking forward to the journey.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
this moment
people rush in
and people rush out
and even when they were there
they were not there
they were in the moment ahead
or the moment behind.
some people who come in for just a moment
are all there
completely
in that moment.
my life goal is
to always
be here
now
and people rush out
and even when they were there
they were not there
they were in the moment ahead
or the moment behind.
some people who come in for just a moment
are all there
completely
in that moment.
my life goal is
to always
be here
now
Monday, October 24, 2005
Sunday moments
It was raining again ........
I was awakened very early this day
An emergency concerning someone with heart pains ...........
At church to pray with my pastor
I felt and tasted his heart pains
The very ones he tries so hard to hide
In the sanctuary
Feeling and tasting the heart pains around me
I reached high in my worship to grab onto the Hand of God
My pastor spoke of the desperation in some
His words releasing a river of hearts
That streamed to the front
Tears rained on the altar
As the Heart of God
Drew us all with powerful tenderness
Deep into the wounded side of Christ
The programme for the morning
Abandoned
Out of preference for the Presence.
Moments of God's heart
And the hearts of His people
Touching
Then the long drive through the rain
To be with another heart
Heavied with sorrow and responsibilities
And yet lightened in hope
There was a stilled body
And although now an empty casing
One could see he had been a handsome man
Now freed
To limp and struggle no more
To dance and jump and laugh
And delight in Jesus
For all eternity
The hip replacement
Replaced by a
Heart replacement
In a moment
Of God's mercy and love
God writing straight
With the crooked lines of a life
As the rain continued to pour down
There were piercing moments of brilliant Son-shine
As my heart
And the heart of my friend
Touched
It rained on the drive home too
Inside and outside the car
Moments of Jesus' tears of intercession
Mingling with mine
It rained all night
Until
Dawn birthed a new day
It is not raining today.
I was awakened very early this day
An emergency concerning someone with heart pains ...........
At church to pray with my pastor
I felt and tasted his heart pains
The very ones he tries so hard to hide
In the sanctuary
Feeling and tasting the heart pains around me
I reached high in my worship to grab onto the Hand of God
My pastor spoke of the desperation in some
His words releasing a river of hearts
That streamed to the front
Tears rained on the altar
As the Heart of God
Drew us all with powerful tenderness
Deep into the wounded side of Christ
The programme for the morning
Abandoned
Out of preference for the Presence.
Moments of God's heart
And the hearts of His people
Touching
Then the long drive through the rain
To be with another heart
Heavied with sorrow and responsibilities
And yet lightened in hope
There was a stilled body
And although now an empty casing
One could see he had been a handsome man
Now freed
To limp and struggle no more
To dance and jump and laugh
And delight in Jesus
For all eternity
The hip replacement
Replaced by a
Heart replacement
In a moment
Of God's mercy and love
God writing straight
With the crooked lines of a life
As the rain continued to pour down
There were piercing moments of brilliant Son-shine
As my heart
And the heart of my friend
Touched
It rained on the drive home too
Inside and outside the car
Moments of Jesus' tears of intercession
Mingling with mine
It rained all night
Until
Dawn birthed a new day
It is not raining today.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
middle of the night moments
The principle of exclusion
Identity or worth is achieved by excluding all but the chosen. The terrible price we pay for keeping all those other people out so that we can savor the sweetness of being insiders is a reduction of reality, a shrinkage of life.
Religion reduces the huge mysteries of God to the respectability of club rules, of shrinking the vast human community to a “membership”. But with God, there are no outsiders.
Christians are never alone before God: we are always united with other human beings, we are an integral part of one another, it is Love that binds us together. Love is a person. Love is God.
We hold each other’s heart, turn to one another and blend with each other in the heart of Christ.
Sadly we often allow unity to pass through our fingers while our hands are lifted in prayer.
Identity or worth is achieved by excluding all but the chosen. The terrible price we pay for keeping all those other people out so that we can savor the sweetness of being insiders is a reduction of reality, a shrinkage of life.
Religion reduces the huge mysteries of God to the respectability of club rules, of shrinking the vast human community to a “membership”. But with God, there are no outsiders.
Christians are never alone before God: we are always united with other human beings, we are an integral part of one another, it is Love that binds us together. Love is a person. Love is God.
We hold each other’s heart, turn to one another and blend with each other in the heart of Christ.
Sadly we often allow unity to pass through our fingers while our hands are lifted in prayer.
Friday, October 21, 2005
cocoon moments
Today I have been thinking, feeling and seeing cocoons – with an acute awareness of the butterfly possibility within but feeling the ever tightening wrapping of the cocoon
Begins with a pupa – some are uglier than others, some are quite fascinating, some fat, some thin, some short, some long, some with hair and some without. Sort of like us?
The pupa crawls around for a season and then attaches itself to something –
And starts to wrap itself up, one strand at a time, until it is completely encased and no longer bears any resemblance to what it was – and can no longer move at all.
A new season arrives and a tiny little opening starts to appear at one end of this sarcophagus. Almost imperceptibly, this tiny little opening enlarges and when the time is right, something starts to emerge. This something also bears absolutely no resemblance to the pupa, the creator of the cocoon. It is a painful, slow emerging, one wriggle at a time, until the escape is complete and a damp, tightly folded multicolored something is seen. During the passing of moments a stretching and unfolding occurs – wings are identified, a body is evident, heads, eyes and colors that take your breath away – there is an acute awareness of the fragility of this thing of beauty – an elegant exquisiteness. Any touch at this moment, damages so intensly that death is the result. Eventually what we see and know as a butterfly shakes itself free of any cocoon residue and flies off, doing exactly what it was designed and created to do, in the shortness of the life it has been given.
And I have been thinking about myself–
Am I in danger of attaching myself to something only to eventually begin wrapping myself up, with strands of religion, legalism, deferred hope, shattered dreams, words given that have been broken, denominationalism, compromise, tolerance, rejection, fear of man (to name a few) – winding each strand around myself so slowly, so carefully that, although I am the wrapper, I am not even aware of the wrapping, until eventually I am completely encased, not recognizable and not able to see.
And then when the season changes and I dare to begin to emerge, will hands touch, trying to shape – or trying to quicken the emerging before the right time – and in this assisted emerging, I die.
I do not want to spend my life as a pupa not fully allowed to develop into what I was created to be.
I do not want to spend my life in a cocoon, wrapped in the dark, imprisoned.
I do not want to have hands shape me in their “assisting”
You see, I have been the pupa, I have barely existed in the cocoon and for very, very brief moments from time to time I have flown free in the shape and colors of my destiny.
But I do feel it all beginning again ……….
A pupa, being asked to attach myself to something ……..
Begins with a pupa – some are uglier than others, some are quite fascinating, some fat, some thin, some short, some long, some with hair and some without. Sort of like us?
The pupa crawls around for a season and then attaches itself to something –
And starts to wrap itself up, one strand at a time, until it is completely encased and no longer bears any resemblance to what it was – and can no longer move at all.
A new season arrives and a tiny little opening starts to appear at one end of this sarcophagus. Almost imperceptibly, this tiny little opening enlarges and when the time is right, something starts to emerge. This something also bears absolutely no resemblance to the pupa, the creator of the cocoon. It is a painful, slow emerging, one wriggle at a time, until the escape is complete and a damp, tightly folded multicolored something is seen. During the passing of moments a stretching and unfolding occurs – wings are identified, a body is evident, heads, eyes and colors that take your breath away – there is an acute awareness of the fragility of this thing of beauty – an elegant exquisiteness. Any touch at this moment, damages so intensly that death is the result. Eventually what we see and know as a butterfly shakes itself free of any cocoon residue and flies off, doing exactly what it was designed and created to do, in the shortness of the life it has been given.
And I have been thinking about myself–
Am I in danger of attaching myself to something only to eventually begin wrapping myself up, with strands of religion, legalism, deferred hope, shattered dreams, words given that have been broken, denominationalism, compromise, tolerance, rejection, fear of man (to name a few) – winding each strand around myself so slowly, so carefully that, although I am the wrapper, I am not even aware of the wrapping, until eventually I am completely encased, not recognizable and not able to see.
And then when the season changes and I dare to begin to emerge, will hands touch, trying to shape – or trying to quicken the emerging before the right time – and in this assisted emerging, I die.
I do not want to spend my life as a pupa not fully allowed to develop into what I was created to be.
I do not want to spend my life in a cocoon, wrapped in the dark, imprisoned.
I do not want to have hands shape me in their “assisting”
You see, I have been the pupa, I have barely existed in the cocoon and for very, very brief moments from time to time I have flown free in the shape and colors of my destiny.
But I do feel it all beginning again ……….
A pupa, being asked to attach myself to something ……..
Thursday, October 20, 2005
first and last moments
I have been thinking about the process of dying
and the process of birthing -
I have friends involved in both processes at the moment ..........
and it seems to me there are contractions involved in both
the contraction enabling arriving
and a contraction enabling leaving
it is no small feat to travel the birth canal
and enter the world
and it is no lesser a struggle
to step from the world
into eternity
the contraction enabling an entry
necessitates pain and hard work
and is it not the same,
the contraction of leaving -
there is pain and hard work for the one leaving
and pain and hard work for the ones left behind
hands are required
someone receives the newborn into their hands
Someone receives the born again into His hands
the hands receiving the newborn should be clean
the Hands receiving the born again must be pierced
the birth canal
and
the valley of death
life emerges from both
a "momentary" life
an eternal life
both these lives
involve Blood
a Cross
and a Death
the womb of our life
can become a tomb
filled with the death and stench of bitterness, offence and unforgiveness
or it can be a womb
filled with life
a life of peace, mercy, grace and joy.
and I know of tombs
that have again become wombs
we have that choice
and today
all I can do is pray
for both my friends
and give thanks
for the two processes
and the two lives
about to emerge
and the process of birthing -
I have friends involved in both processes at the moment ..........
and it seems to me there are contractions involved in both
the contraction enabling arriving
and a contraction enabling leaving
it is no small feat to travel the birth canal
and enter the world
and it is no lesser a struggle
to step from the world
into eternity
the contraction enabling an entry
necessitates pain and hard work
and is it not the same,
the contraction of leaving -
there is pain and hard work for the one leaving
and pain and hard work for the ones left behind
hands are required
someone receives the newborn into their hands
Someone receives the born again into His hands
the hands receiving the newborn should be clean
the Hands receiving the born again must be pierced
the birth canal
and
the valley of death
life emerges from both
a "momentary" life
an eternal life
both these lives
involve Blood
a Cross
and a Death
the womb of our life
can become a tomb
filled with the death and stench of bitterness, offence and unforgiveness
or it can be a womb
filled with life
a life of peace, mercy, grace and joy.
and I know of tombs
that have again become wombs
we have that choice
and today
all I can do is pray
for both my friends
and give thanks
for the two processes
and the two lives
about to emerge
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
salty moments
it is raining today
In response to everything I had seen
I began to cry.
In the silence of God
My tears flowed
Until it seemed they filled the earth.
And I knew that Christ also cried.
Perhaps this crying was a deeper entry into His silence
In the depths of this silence
God opened the eyes of my heart.
The deep silence of God hovered over me
I was deep down in the silence of God.
In this great silence of God
When I could not pray with my lips
The words were pronounced by my heart.
Touching the sky and rooted deeply in this silence of God
Is a cross made out of wood.
The Son of God hung on this wood,
On this cross full of splinters.
On this cross God bleeds.
Finally,
I lay down peacefully in a garden
And the Wind,
Which is part of God's silence,
Passed by whispering,
That was one of the tests
God tested you and did not find you wanting.
is it simply raining
or are the heavens crying
salting and softening the scars of the earth
with the tears of its Creator
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
moments
why blog?
if someone else reads my thoughts
does that validate them?
if there is a truth for me
and someone else disagrees
does that make it no longer a truth?
is it important
that anyone else would read my wonderings
and if so,
to whom is it important -
to me?
and if so,
why?
but for today at least
I will have two journals
one that I will reveal
and still
one that I will not.
and why is that?
re-gifting -
I have heard of this over the past few years
sort of makes sense
certainly brings a few laughs now and again
causes one to wonder 'tho about the giver
and their choosing of the gift
would there be pain in the rejection
and re-giving of their gift
there is one gift that cannot be re-given
the gift of a heart
can be accepted
treasured, valued
held close
or
can be broken
tossed away
trampled upon
rejected
but cannot be re-gifted
ask Jesus.
if someone else reads my thoughts
does that validate them?
if there is a truth for me
and someone else disagrees
does that make it no longer a truth?
is it important
that anyone else would read my wonderings
and if so,
to whom is it important -
to me?
and if so,
why?
but for today at least
I will have two journals
one that I will reveal
and still
one that I will not.
and why is that?
re-gifting -
I have heard of this over the past few years
sort of makes sense
certainly brings a few laughs now and again
causes one to wonder 'tho about the giver
and their choosing of the gift
would there be pain in the rejection
and re-giving of their gift
there is one gift that cannot be re-given
the gift of a heart
can be accepted
treasured, valued
held close
or
can be broken
tossed away
trampled upon
rejected
but cannot be re-gifted
ask Jesus.
Monday, October 17, 2005
wondering moments
and I wonder
why am I doing this
what am I opening up
and who would care
and yet
I take a deep breath
and
publish
why am I doing this
what am I opening up
and who would care
and yet
I take a deep breath
and
publish
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