more the patient.

it's almost like I can touch it -
this intangible grace,
as my hands run up and out and over the traces of the good He is

fingertip glancing the softest touch - for oh, how the softest one both thrills and humbles me
over this life-abundant, swollen with Him
doing worship as I look, and see, and love
and song burst from the heart, out to His glory to Everlasting

I think of how
there has been no ease, but there is rest
there has been no momentary quench, but deep satisfaction grows
and a more genuine smile, a more understanding ear,
a more broken and healing heart, more the patient than ever anything else.

   Enjoying Psalm 63 - inviting you to share.

the way we should talk about women's bodies.

(Mmmmm.  Below you will have a chance to watch the beautiful documentary that spurred this post on. Enjoy)

If you are a woman, and anything like myself, you hit points in your life when you look in the mirror - or over the muffin-top at your belt line (if those pants still button up...) and feel frustrated and exhausted.  Or those faint lines creeping across my forehead - the marks of two years, part time and grad education - but not clearly having it together at the gym.  Or in life.

I feel imperfect.  Unmotivated. A failure.  An apathetic steward.  The antithesis of health in health care professional.

I feel downright discouraged! Angry even.  Haven't  I been hard at work?  Hasn't my work been pleasing and diligent?
  How is this my reward?

The tummy that's never quite flat, the hair that's always 'too' flat or wind-swept or humidified, a chest that defies cute, teeny bathing suits, the thighs that are 'child-bearing' in appearance.

Here's the deal with how I'm thinking.  It's wrong.  All wrong.  Very wrong.

I misunderstand my body -

        and the marks of trail over it telling where I've been.  Where Christ has been - and etched His mark.

I have worry lines.  I went through a really terrible depression.  I could have lost my mind or my life.

I might not have had breath to pinken my skin, nor the

   creases, where Christ came and dwelt and saved me.

I have laugh lines too.  Where I learned the names of new friends, and gained and appreciation for red wine, and learned that life was not all about school. 

I have laugh lines,

           because God expanded the stretch of my understanding.

I have flabby arms.  Perfect for resting on a tabletop for hours as I tapped away at keys, letting the fingers be nimble without complaint,

          because God helped me focus on the tasks before me, without thought to the consequence.

I have a tummy.  Where I leaned against the back of a chair, when I wasn't lifting and turning human bodies or leaning into a hug,

         because God taught me to lean on something other than myself.

I have breasts and a bottom that with great certainty, prove the existence of gravity.  And they are just there really.  The comfort factor of the bottom came in handy, all of those long hours studying and writing,

          because God taught me that purpose is revealed in the fullness of His time.

I have the teeth and the tremor that mark me a coffee 'addict'.  And I swore I'd never be one, or possibly enjoy such a little cup of zippy pleasure,

          because God knows our frailties, and how hard it is for me vacate my cozy bed in the morning, or stay alert and oriented through a department meeting.

Sure, I have goals to shape up.  But the motivation changes, right - when we look at our bodies this way.  This film reminded me of the gift it is to be marked.  To be stretched.  To have the gift of holding life within and before us.

  Vessels, frail and imperfect, but used for good, good work, to the glory of God.

jump. right. in.

I am not one prone to rash decision.

No, I tend to be the level-headed, calm, planner.

It serves me oh, so well,

against the fear of unknown.

What planning can't afford though is change.

I'd always wanted a rabbit, and I was missing a little creature to come home to.

Longing for close, after so much loss.

So, on a whim, I went to a friend's barn in search for

a ginger and cream bundle of bunny-affection.

If you knew her you could imagine the disappointment

when I brought home Nutmeg instead.

Orange, white and ornery. Unleashing a fury I was not aware such a small thing could possess.

caring for Nutmeg demanded my heart be changed,

my actions become deliberately compassionate:

subdueing with love rather than rigidity -

slowing enough to learn to care rightly.

a friend and I were recently talking about wanting to discern the will of God in our lives -

not wanting to chance a misaligned step toward Him:

fearing the trouble and potential all around, losing faith.

Meanwhile, the boat was far out to sea when the wind came up against them
and they were battered by the waves. At about four o'clock in the morning, Jesus
came toward them walking on the water.

They were scared out of their wits. "A ghost!" they said, crying out in terror.

But Jesus was quick to comfort them. "Courage, it's me. Don't
be afraid."
Peter suddenly bold, said, "Master, if it's really you, call me to come to
you on the water."
He said, "Come ahead."
Jumping out of the boat, Peter walked on the water to Jesus. But
when he looked down at the waves churning beneath his feet, he lost
his nerve and started to sink. He cried, "Master, save me!"
Jesus didn't hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his
hand. Then he said, "Faintheart, what got into you?"
The two of them climbed into the board and the wind died down. The
disciples in the boat, having watched the whole thing, worshiped Jesus, saying,
"This is it! You are God's Son for sure!"

- Matthew 14:26-34, MSG

Faith might invite that you feel the sting of the storms, or a rabbit's generous bite.
But to change - to come close, you have to jump.right.in.

hearts&tales.

In the romantic dream of a sage who teaches you the world's and better ways
is where I often live.
With an honest, in-the-chest yearning for oldness,
history, wrinkles to tell their tales
to speak of human life. To draw me to a warm hearth - and tell me desperate stories.

I have no such formal sage.
Though I searched, and beat my breast when there was none to be found:
a bit like an orphan - wondering what daily life in Christ looks like.

No, but I am in the company of many,
and in the economy of mercy - I am one, with them.
The night of my conversion, the speaker spoke to us on the ground,
"get up, and turn around - welcome to the family of God".

I have read Lewis, Augustine, Keirgkegaard.
Theresa, my Mother of faith, Nouwen,
and His tracings scrawl across the lives of the enlivened and upon the rocks that call.
The stories, yes - desperate. The telling of them unique, human-voiced: loud, boisterous, crying, painful, laughing; and heart felt.
Mmmm, that He might make our hearts the listening hearth upon which His stories tell and resound.

You sooner

sooner, rather than later. I need You.
help me where I ramble before running into Your arms,
and looking to Your face.

God of 'not choas'; of might, strength and compassion; of faithfulness and all true:
make us humble-low
lifters up of Your name.


Not usually a fan of pop, but! Lights brought this out in an acoustic version - so now I can listen to lyrics I like, with simple strums.
peace to you in your listen.




Thank you:

• that You forgive
• that grace is apparent if you show it up
• that my fears are fears, and not always true
• for finally giving into djembe... hallelujah! ;)
• sweet, sweet August
• burning flames

overcoming winning-over

John the Baptiser’s prayer is mine.
More of You,
Less of me.

So that Your love is my work.
So that Your love is my life.
So that I am me, and my actions.
So that I forgive - and know, myself.
So that I take up the mantle.
So that I don't withold a thing, as offering to you.

So that I don’t buckle under burden not my own,
But flourish in Yours.

Lord this day, I cast my cares,
For I am afraid of a torrent I can't control.

But I can take me, and give me to You.

Giving thanks for:

• organization :)
• food for the day.
• Nutmeg bouncing over for apples - so happy

Him & sisters

Just looking back at what I've written down here the last few months is sort of interesting. What started with complete thoughts, and structured paragraphs has changed - into dips of sharing:
heart-hymn,
axiom,
fragment,
aphorism...
I'd like to thank You,
piecer of all things together; author and perfector of faith;
holder of me in the dark and light places.

I'd like to thank you.
Sisters, who wonder and wander and write together -
those who don't write at all.
I am humbled as I am shaped - and He has meant us to meet. to sharpen. to share.
your words are His beauty to me,
your struggles are often mine to as I learn to be
in God's Maker-hands,
and I am so blessed by your acquaintance.

more of His peace.
more of Him for us.

growing. older.

near 100 days of thanking Him

learning to thank

seeing how unthankful I can be.



I am overwhelmed in the multitude,

like I was;

like we always are in His riches.



and He makes me appreciate and love them

rest and trust and wait in His all,

because on my flowery-own I cannot.



All things in Christ.



Peace on your weekend: I'm heading home for yep, more wedding!!!

uncontrolled anticipation.

like a little kid,
spunky and enerved, ready to pounce on deep Holy-cultivated desire.
and I see how I have much room for more risk,
more hope,
more space to anticipate more of Him.

Perhaps, you like me, don't know right now where He will take you -
He's giving you glimmers that you couldn't hang a hat on, and He's calling you to lay your life down.
Oh my God.
That's just it -- my God.
The One and Only for shady doubters.

my hands are loosed in greater grip,
and soft feather-breaths of hope come to rest on Him:
the Strong and Kind, the Hallowed and Near One,
willing us up from amidst the desert's thousand grains of sand -
in His way of wooing us to fall soft in Him.

In talking about plans,
dreaming dreams,
and telling Him about them.
in praying for things to for things to come,
wanting "Thy will be done".

About learning new shades and signs,
choosing ways,
taking a path
to follow Him on.
Trust in His hands known gentle,
with holy lips speaking God-life into all of me.

Hope is boundless and palpable,
He perfects my hoping as it's used and I care less about all that's not Him.
We talk of where we are and about hoping for more,
for change and for future.
All satisfied in wanting of Him.

Today, I give thanks for:

• looking and finding.
• open doors.

silence meet Word.

Everytime that I am on the unit or explain my work in conversation, I am surprised.
I work primarily with oncology patients.
I purposely avoided the profession of nursing for years, for the implication that I might work out my frustrations with cancer. And yet, in my job I am brought daily to the ravages of that damned illness. It opens up a wound in me that lies like a broken-hearted little girl over a parent with cancer.
By His grace, this tender spot is transformed into an altar for offering thanks.
For many good reasons, my brother and I weren’t told much about my dad’s illness when we were young, but (and this is a bit of a plea should you know parents undergoing illness, with children) though young, children are so aware. With a lack of conversation and explanation, I experienced the wrecks of a wee mind with daddy’s foreboding diagnosis – I thought I was losing the man I loved.
The cancer was treated, the remission still (and I thank and thank Him) sustained, and life was resumed as normal – trauma avoided?
No. Trauma without an oral tradition, but written deep with gnarled script into heart and soul, and man’s body.

Know that I know
Trust me,
I know.

You think, and we say:
Big for a too small mouth.
Baby girl is tugged to quiet shadows.

But that’s not it.
For from tongue flows heart
Beats big, as He is big.

I know.
I know. But, I don’t understand what.
I never learned the words.

Words now,
With straight backs, and schooled gesture.
Time for Word to take us back to little on lap.

Pitied, yes,
For the brokenness,
Not for the knowing of it.

Still,
Knowing what I know
Makes you cry the tears that would heal you.

We try so hard to shake our hurts rather than live through and with the phantom pains can linger over surgical scars. I try not to fidget at it, but I struggle to trust – creates this cornered sensation in me and I become incensed – frustrated at being as helpless as an angry, helpless, untrusted, quieted seven year-old.
Trusting, is learning to see how God has me here for a purpose. Trusting is living His word in the silences of life.
Each step up the hall and into a room is a memory of away-daddy, lost men, wounded women - with cuts, old and deep. It is communion with the pains of my Brother, and Father. I open my mouth, and out come words – prayers between patient and professional, of stark truth and raw life. Out of the silence of childhood has come the adult passion to draw out words, from others, from myself, from God - to draw out Truth, drawing on His health to cleanse the fester.

submission.

I just started guitar lessons today.
The session was pretty fun - I want to learn what I don't know, and improve my skills.
I have been adamant with myself that with will power, I could teach myself enough - but that initiative began over four years ago, and little progress has been made. Independence can sometimes be a hindrance to better music...

Submission is a choice, an honour given us, an act of will.

So, I've chosen to learn under someone else - to give creative control of my guitar playing skills over to someone who knows how to assess my needs, who sees potential pitfalls and encouraging signs, who offers wisdom and perspective. Submission allows the other to shine in their abilities and character as you grow into your own.

Submitting to the Teacher is an act of trust and hope toward His better music.

Today, I am thankful for:

• villages and their people.
• kinship.
• fresh produce in the market.
• keeping up history.
• trusting in others.

true things.

Truth never gets old. It is.
I used to think of Truth as isolated facts, once learned the lesson is mastered - yep, I liked multiple choice exams ;) a lot.
But, knowing truth is much more about: a deep desire, a penetration of the depths, a discipline and a submitting to hard work, a standing where you don't know the 'how?' or 'when?' or 'where?' with the Truth-teller - letting old notions and presuppositions fall away, making room for new creation and renewal.

Our need of Truth is like our need of water; we need water, or we don't function as we're meant to - from our ability to maintain blood pressure and temperature, to the work of billions of tiny (but fantastic!) neurochemicals flowing throughout our bodies maintaining balance of phsyique, and mind and emotion.
Truth is just the same.
Sometimes I don't remember it, but we need to drink it often, and deep -to replenish our reserves when it's been spent throughout the day, so it can be spent again. God's truth flowing in and out of our lives - again, and again, and again.

I am thankful:

• that seeds are resilient.
• that God pours out His Spirit of counsel and truth.
• for life together.
• for scrubs fresh washed for a weekend of work.
• that God is already in the mysteries when I arrive upon them, having revealed the Truth.
• that Truth is the final, whole Word.

Enjoy a bit of JJ Heller and the truth of the words He is always speaking :)