Monday, December 20, 2010

peace isn't always found in the silence

I lay in the still early morning quiet, listening for the few birds that stuck around for the winter, and watching through the haze of my pile of blankets for the first frosty bits of light to soak through my windows. The morning is as seamless as the lake in my memories, buried deep in the mountains without a single ripple to disturb the surface.

And then footsteps.
Then a door slams.
Next a baby screams.
A few minutes later another door is slamming.

Soon there are multiple sets of feet stomping around on the floor with no awareness of what the word 'quiet' might mean. Dishes are clanking; pots and pans making an early morning racket-song as the voices begin in the un-silence and build in energy the longer they carry on.

Pretty soon there's music coming from the living room, seeping into my bedroom through the paper-thin walls, and I am awake whether or not I want to be or am ready to be. On a good day I grab my smile and my mandolin and prance into the living room to join the festivities. On a better day I am the one awake before everyone else, and I therefore assume responsibility for the musical joys of the morning, and wait for others to join in.

So I lay there, under the pile of blankets, thinking back to the previous night. We gather in the living room, wonderful smells, a room just full enough of people, smiles and adopted family. I can see the invisible glow emitting from the room, it's crawling through the cracks in the wall, leaking outside into the darkness. We share food and laughter and life. These are pieces of things I've wanted for so long, these are answers to prayer, and parts of Jesus walking around with skin on. I blink multiple times to make sure this is really happening, like the times you pinch yourself to make certain you aren't dreaming.

And then I make a sleeping attempt around eleven (pm). That's a reasonable time, isn't it? I lay in bed with headphones on, music or an audio-book as my attempt at sleep; my attempt at sanity and at quiet. stillness. silence.
It's now one a.m. and I am laying, frustrated, in my bed as I listen to sound-clones of what will be in the morning.
Feet walking, stomping.
The occasional door slamming.
Bang.
stomp. stomp. slam. loud laughter. stomp.
talking, more talking, with insertions of laughter, sometimes far too loud, it seems, at one in the morning. And I lay there trying to decide exactly how much I can suck it up, and how selfish it would be to go tell people they are being too loud.
I get out of bed and do the latter.


I was thinking about all this on the bus ride to work this morning. I was in a bit of a hurry when trying to leave, nothing too rushed, but I still really dislike being rushed. It makes me feel disgruntled. It makes me feel grumpy. It makes me feel like everyone is getting in the way, and that no one realizes what it means to have to go to work on time.
No, I don't have time to talk to you, Hope.
No, I actually need to use the bathroom right now.
etc.
I will spare anyone reading this the rest of the description and my messed-up line of reasoning and cut straight to the bone of the issue.



Community, it sounds all fluffy and nice.
And parts of it are.
Seeing Jesus show up, praying and worshiping together, sharing food and stories and music, it's all pretty amazing. It's kind of astonishing that this sort of thing can happen. It really is. Like I said, sometimes I have to blink.

And then there's the other side. The side I'm pretty sure Jesus wants to happen, the side I'm pretty sure frustrates the hell out of me sometimes (yes, people, contrary to popular belief, I get frustrated, angry even. And selfishly so).
We go through at least a roll of toilet paper a day, and even more when anyone has a cold.
Milk and butter are a commodity, especially when it's organic.
Sleep is also, more so for me.
Dishes are a constant chore for everyone. I'm not sure how this works when it seems like the dishes are disproportionate to the amount of people living here...? you tell me.
There are kids screaming. loudly. 'nough said.

And I realized while sitting on the bus that maybe Jesus gave us community and gave us each other so that we would learn what it really meant to look to others good before our own.
And that is not something I really want to hear when I understand what it means. Yeah, I like the pretty words, like all those beautiful fairy tales coming to life out of poetry books..... until I actually know what the words mean.

But it's then that Jesus steps in and puts on flesh. It's then that he tells me that he carried a cross and my sin on his back, it's then that he tells me we are to follow in his footsteps.

Community is about not always having the time to do the things you want, or the silence you need to remain sane, or the space to keep your own privacy. Because it reminds you that Jesus gave all of his life for us, and he called us to put others' good before our own.
And it also reminds you that there's no way on earth any of this is going to happen unless you continually look at him.
I can pretty much guarantee that without him you are going to lose your sanity as well as your temper.

But the amazing and exhausting thing is being given this gift, this chance to see Jesus and be constantly reminded of how much we all need him.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Have you ever sat next to Jesus?

I work this part-time job out in the mall. It consists of wearing all black... even black socks, of selling photos, and of stifling my creativity. The mall also really weirds me out. (not the store, just the mall) Something about being around crowds of rabid holiday shoppers out for the latest deal, dragging their kids around as though they are on leashes, and subjecting anyone they encounter to their selfish ideal of being in such a big hurry, something about all that just doesn't rub me the right way.
Anyway, I'm showing some folks pictures of their kids so they can choose what they want to buy.
They're pretty nice, actually, most everyone I had to 'sell' to yesterday was pretty nice. So here I am, Ms. "sales person" all in black.... and corporate says we need to hit such-and-such a number. And a few co-workers are all for the upselling, they tell me what to compliment, what sly lines to insert, etc.... No different from most other places wanting selling done. And I must say, their deals really aren't too bad. Here was my reasoning: I'm not pushy and I refuse to be, I'm not fake and I'm not going to give fake compliments, if they get one, it'll be real. And the thoughts continued in this progression when I first started working there. Thing is, they haven't changed. But yesterday something different happened.

In the middle of my shift, in the middle of talking to someone, I was all the sudden very aware that Jesus was sitting next to me. He was concerned with how I was treating every single person. He also could care less what corporate said, or my co-workers if it somehow infringed with how he expected me to treat the people or the situation. ....And all the sudden it wasn't about "I'm not any of these things, so I refuse to act this way", even though I may have been very right in those justifications. It was "Jesus is sitting next to me (!!), and what the hell do any other 'opinions' or 'directions' matter compared to my obedience to him???"

Thursday, December 09, 2010

These Resurrection Dreams

I let loose my grip, tossed off these hinder-some shoes,
And went down to sit by the riverside,
open hands to the heavens;
Bare feet digging into the earth, finding my roots.

My eyes caught the wonder, I lay my hand
over my mouth-lost in silence, I repent.
I repent while the giant mythical trees tell me
their story, stretch their limbs to the sky-
the silent prayer they are crying out.

I turned to the end of the book,
got lost in the story
that grew out in front of me.

I walk through the garden, wandering,
must we always lose these child's eyes as we grey?
Must we always cage ourselves in -
with gold and silver and comfort?
Must we become allies with erasers that clear
the danger, adventure and wonder?

Must we rationalize
the ants as they toil, the birds
as they take the air upon their wings,
their spring-song sung back, forth,
echoing in layers and harmonies,
the river, playing it's way somewhere new
with whispers to the shore,
diamonds hidden til the sun
smiles it's blazing gaze on it,
in the warmth of friends who know?

Must we rationalize?

Must we trivialize the words when spoken
out of the void of nothingness
"It is good"

Put on your eyes, oh world

Need we distract, when we can see
through the veil- life
and him?
it is the ache and the goodness that no words hold captive.

Must we really fear life and death,
all in one?
Or,
can we not learn to fear neither
And come awake, live,
in the bits and pieces scattered about
small shadows living on
of a someday whole world,

why shudder we from fear,
when death only stands a door?





re-found this poem I wrote last spring.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

Some days it feels like the whole world is before me, this giant chalk board, scribbles of all colors covering every empty space. And I look at it with a jumbled, distracted eye, and a head that is trying to put together some form of coherence. And maybe I stand there for a few moments trying to decipher it, maybe a few hours...... until something inside me realizes none of this is it. And I throw eraser after eraser at the chalk board until the entire thing is left blank. And then one hand begins writing a story:

Crown Him with many crowns, the Lamb upon His throne.
Hark! How the heavenly anthem drowns all music but its own.
Awake, my soul, and sing of Him who died for thee,
And hail Him as thy matchless King through all eternity.

Crown Him the virgin’s Son, the God incarnate born,
Whose arm those crimson trophies won which now His brow adorn;
Fruit of the mystic rose, as of that rose the stem;
The root whence mercy ever flows, the Babe of Bethlehem.

Crown Him the Son of God, before the worlds began,
And ye who tread where He hath trod, crown Him the Son of Man;
Who every grief hath known that wrings the human breast,
And takes and bears them for His own, that all in Him may rest.

Crown Him the Lord of life, who triumphed over the grave,
And rose victorious in the strife for those He came to save.
His glories now we sing, Who died, and rose on high,
Who died eternal life to bring, and lives that death may die.

Crown Him the Lord of peace, Whose power a scepter sways
From pole to pole, that wars may cease, and all be prayer and praise.
His reign shall know no end, and round His piercèd feet
Fair flowers of paradise extend their fragrance ever sweet.

Crown Him the Lord of love, behold His hands and side,
Those wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified.
No angel in the sky can fully bear that sight,
But downward bends his burning eye at mysteries so bright.

Crown Him the Lord of Heaven, enthroned in worlds above,
Crown Him the King to Whom is given the wondrous name of Love.
Crown Him with many crowns, as thrones before Him fall;
Crown Him, ye kings, with many crowns, for He is King of all.

Crown Him the Lord of lords, who over all doth reign,
Who once on earth, the incarnate Word, for ransomed sinners slain,
Now lives in realms of light, where saints with angels sing
Their songs before Him day and night, their God, Redeemer, King.

Crown Him the Lord of years, the Potentate of time,
Creator of the rolling spheres, ineffably sublime.
All hail, Redeemer, hail! For Thou has died for me;
Thy praise and glory shall not fail throughout eternity."

It's advent and I am sitting here in front of this chalk-board, this heart, waiting for another hand to write one story. Waiting for a hand to wipe away all the indecipherable mess, and to place himself in the emptiness. The whole earth is waiting, and groaning to know him.