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the wonder and beauty of God's unique design in us is amazing, each crafted to make complete what's incomplete. if only we could have it all - but..., we do, in the other. families make this evident - what's lacking in one is exemplified in another. and sometimes there's one that has something uniquely special, uniquely attractive, something all of us wish we possessed.
Families were simply designed to be together. In spite of all the familiarity that is known to breed contempt, there's something comforting about all that stuff just because you're in. We've known it, we've tasted it, we've felt it in our family, and there's no greater moment of such but at the Holiday Season. For us, for me, it's rarely recognized while in the midst of it, but almost always elevated when broken apart. When the whole is no longer whole, all of the sudden you realize there's a hole. Then you have to relearn how to be a family without being complete as a family. And no matter how hard you try, nothing seems to fill the void until you're all together again. Then, once you are, the stuff of families gets elevated again, and you wonder whether the whole really is whole... but it is, and that's the way it is.
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(This may be difficult to read in it's current image, but click on the picture and it will enlarge and become much more readable):
O' those words
They seem like foolishness to the dust
They seem like lies from another man
O' Your book
A cross with a dying soul
A body that's more than man?
You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be
Being saved
Wisdom that is composed
Power has me enclosed, by You
You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be
Your foolishness
Your foolishness is wiser than me
You weakness
Your weakness is stronger than me
Wisdom?
Strength?
Foolishness to the dust
Shaming the wise
Weakness to trust
Shaming the strong
You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be
You have given me eyes
You've given me eyes to clearly see
You have given me life
You've given me life to really be
"there's a spider in my room", says the tired Poppy to her daddy. sleeping in a place with such a creature, even if all the way on the other side and only minuscule in size, is just simply impossible. "let me take care of that for you, Sweetie", says daddy. as if not afraid, but truly so, she takes my hand and walks down the hallway to the bed. not looking, but only pointing in a direction to a dark splotch on the wall, I say as I see her unwelcome guest, "no problem". leaving, I return with tissue in hand while she watched its death, and now at peace.
there's a scent in the air,
We love our old back yard Oak. It's home to squirrels that gleefully play in its branches and depend on its acorns for winter's supply. Blue Jays sit in it and mock their teasing subjects while arrogantly peering down upon them. Thatched rope swings have hung from its reaches, and children have giggled and swung carefree while trusting its strength with utter abandon. It sits next to Grizzly Creek where it's fed copious amounts of H2O, and it's shielded by a hillside on its southeastern exposure. Many years ago someone planted non-indigenous Eucalyptus trees on that hillside to act as a windbreak. Those trees are home to a pair of owls that make it their seasonal nesting place and soothingly hoot at dusk right before they venture for an evening's out. Those trees also serve their purpose and capture the silence of wind that makes it howl while screaming across aromatic leaves. The Oak is crooked, and all bent in every different direction, except on that southeastern side where shaded by another of its species. Limbs have struggled to sprout there and the bark on that half of its trunk is scaled with moss. We're told the tree may be over 150 years old. If only it could talk... the stories it might tell.
Over the last few summers our neighbor has slowly removed some of those Eucalyptus trees, perhaps to improve the view, or perhaps to reduce a fire's fuel. While we were originally saddened to see some of the Eucalyptus forestry felled, our Oak is now seeing the light of day where it's rarely felt it for years gone past. We can already see signs and sighs of relief as it welcomes that long lost nutrient, its warmth and its rays. We know the tree will never fully balance with limbs growing where it originally desired, but in a way we like that because it's shape is a reminder of so many things about ourselves, about our children, about our adoptions. We leave our imagination to venture the similarities, and end here with what cannot possibly be captured by word.
To live under that Oak was a dream, now one come true as we christen a small cottage to welcome our children, our family, our friends and ourselves. The tree was begging for more friendship, or maybe we for its. Perfectly framed by all of the tree's irregularity, the small dwelling sits right under its shade. Now its light source comes not only from above and all around, but also beneath.
We love our old back yard Oak.
In gleeful abandon,
There's a fairly good chunk of my life where I've asked, "Show me Yourself, God!", when all the while He's shown all around. But what I'm really asking for are signs, you know, the kind Jonah wanted? I never really believe He's going to do it, at least not in the ways that I expect. But then again, there's hope, right?, - that word sandwiched right in the middle of the great Pauline love letter (I Corinthians 13), "faith, hope, and love...".
the day's new rise,
Before posting, I read what was written on the back by someone unknown to me:
God Danced
On the day I was born, God danced.
Did you really, God?
Was it a ritualistic, dignified,
bow from the waist kind of dance?
Or was it just possibly a wild and crazy
arm-flinging kind of thing?
Did you pronounce somberly
that here was another 'good girl' ('good boy')
that you created?
Or did you yell and holler and
grab the guy on the corner
to let him know that this time
you had really done it!
This time you created a winner --
This one was going to go all the way!
I hope you did, God --
I really hope you did.
~ Unknown
God danced,
Seven words…. that’s all. Short, simple and straightforward, yet profound, poignant and penetrating. I think my little six year old Poppy could read them, but I’m not sure that even Einstein himself could fully decipher them. This declaration spoken from Jesus’ lifelong relative (and “friend of the bridegroom”) thousands of years ago has mystified me from the day I first breathed divine air. Even today, dozens of years later, I cannot read these words without them stopping me dead in my tracks. Their meaning, their applicability… what are they for me?
This guy (John the Baptist) was seemingly impetuous. He had “fire-in-his-belly”, fueling “fire” from his mouth. John called it like he saw it, he didn’t mince words. He was considered an enigma, a freak, eating strange food and wearing odd clothing, yet multitudes flocked to him. Why some even said, “He has a demon!” (Matthew 11:18b) On the other hand, John was a servant, humble, self-effacing, honorable, and merely saw himself as a needle that pointed away and toward another. His courage, passion and conviction landed him in prison, leading to his head being dished up on a platter. Contrastingly, the guilty hands stained by his blood represented everything John did not.
Just before his gruesome death, and right at the climax of his truncated "career", the tables turned for John. The throngs that were magnetized by him ricochet to another. It just so happened to be toward the one John called "... the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29b) the one John was all along straight up about. John was always adamant about making it crystal clear that it was never about him, that he was not the Christ – not even close. So it only seems natural in one sense that John would simply say (when Jesus showed up on the scene) that the time had come for the one he’d been talking about all this time to rise up and for him to step aside.
Part of me sort of just wants to stop there and say to myself, “Oh, I get it. Of course Jesus the Christ must increase and John the trumpeter must decrease”, and leave it at that. But ripples still pulsate in the glassy pools of my heart. Could it be that some greater relevance is accessible for me? Can John’s desire also be mine even though I'm not the one “crying in the wilderness” (John 1:23)? “Please God, let it be so.”
We're separated now by space and time but, as radical and stanch as John was, we still share much alike. Our spiritual heritage is identical, and our godly ancestral position equal (cf. Ephesians 2:1-3, Galatians 3:26). He doubted as I do, but is loved as I am (cf. Luke 7:20, John 3:16). His temptations were common, with his hope and belief the same as mine (cf. I Corinthians 10:13, Romans 4:23-25). And the ultimate need to be rescued from his nature, like mine, remains unchanged today. His innate desire to be for himself what only Jesus could appease was (and is) identical for all mankind - to elevate and honor himself above his Creator. This is why and what John bellowed from the riverbanks. What he hearkened unto the crowds he hearkened unto himself, and then he symbolically cleansed with water those who recognized their need to be brought low that a Savior might be high.
Sound all too familiar? Probably, especially if you’ve been a follower of Jesus for quite some time. This is the essence of what we call good, great news, and we Christians talk about it all the time. But I sometimes get discouraged after all these years because my desire to be prominent and renowned can still take precedence over lauding Jesus. It happens when I want to be first in a competition that others might see my prowess, or when I advance in my vocation to be held in superior status, or when I have more facebook friends than another that my popularity might be on display, or when I worship with exuberance that my passion might be distinguished, or when I raise three children and adopt three others that my sacrifice might be flattered, or even when I write this blog post so that others might think I'm profound. These inklings stream through my veins. I want to increase, even though I know all too well that what John said earlier is right, “A man can receive nothing, unless it has been given him from heaven.” (John 3:27) Crazy thing is I sometimes don’t even know how to shift the honor due Him toward Him. Please don’t tell me I’m alone.
In a way, John’s fame was greater than Jesus’ before He “officially” stepped into the foreground. John had just about everyone’s ear – from the commoner to the highest ranking officials. Surely he faced the lure of self-promotion and aggrandizement square in the eyes. Yet he yielded all of who he was to Jesus. And John went even further, wholly surrendering that Jesus “must” increase and, conversely, he “must” decrease. It’s imperative, it’s the quintessence of being Christian, and it’s the consistent message he’d been saying from the beginning. John was never described as desiring anything but that Jesus be amplified and John abridged. He saw himself but as only a voice, just a voice. In fact, John considered himself to be so insignificant he wasn't worthy to perform even the lowliest of all slave labor tasks - loosening the ties of the Master's sandals (cf. Mark 1:7). "But how, John? How?"
In the natural realm, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction (Newton’s Third Law). When a force is exerted upon an object, a counterpart force is exerted in the opposing direction. In the supernatural realm, for every exaltation there is an opposite humiliation. When someone genuinely deflects adulation to another, a counterpart resignation is accepted by that someone. And for anyone to increase and the other to decrease, there simply must be a relative comparison to another, otherwise how would anyone be higher or lower if there wasn’t someone, something to measure against?
Nowhere is it recorded that John measured himself against another human being. On the contrary, it appears he couldn’t have cared less how he stacked up alongside another, and that would be everyone, except one – the One, Jesus. And in this case, John demanded that he himself only be brought lower that Jesus might be brought higher. The irony of it all is that the One John wanted to elevate had to become the lowest that I might be united with the Highest. “… the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” was also “the Lamb that was slain” (Revelation 5:12). And “the Lamb that was slain” descended that He might ascend “far above all the heavens” (Ephesians 4:10), where He is now preparing a high place for me (cf. John 14:2-3).
I've come full circle, and so it is here I must stop, and it is here where I should always stop – at the cross, at the good, great news. All of life always boils down to this. With Jesus now in my foreground, I plainly cannot be focused on two objects at one and the same time. The object of myself or another simply must, and will, decrease as the object of Himself increases.
I loved....
Penelope, I love you more than you'll ever know. You have such a special place in my heart. Thank you for being the sweetest, most wonderful kitty a girl could have ever asked for...Rest in Peace my lovely girl. I love you.
Love,
Annie
I'm riveted by this man, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. His most recent biography by Eric Metaxas attempts to explain someone that is beyond explanation. His passion and conviction seem unprecedented to me, all borne from (seemingly ironically) Jesus' peaceful Sermon on the Mount. I've since gone back and poured over that sermon with a plea for eyes that might see more clearly, ears that might hear more intently, and a spirit that might be moved more completely.
Today Victoria sent me a phone mail message and picture that melted my already gooey heart, stopping me dead in my tracks with a cause to pause. Her message, to quote verbatim, "Poppy's art from today (from kindergarten)... five years ago she didn't have a family... so grateful she's ours!"
This weekend will mark our five-year anniversary ("Gotcha Day") with a heart-broken, uncontrollably weeping and helpless little girl that we didn't have a name for (except her given name, Qing Zu Qiao). Hours later, while we all lay on a hotel bed staring frozen at this bundle of wonder, Victoria looks at me after a little giggle from that same pathetic face just moments before, and says, "This is one of my best days."
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But I learned something invaluable today. I learned something from a weeping Willow, a young sapling, a tender shoot. I learned that devoted love accepts disappointment when love extends beyond yourself. Willow knew that my love stretched beyond herself and that she could love by letting my love touch another. It didn't stop the tears, but it did soften the blow because she knew, even at five years of age, that you cannot hold onto love and hoard it.
