linger pondering for today...

I remember yesterday...

Sunday begins with worship, yes, as everyday. But Sundays are different. Cooperate worship brings the faithful (and some unfaithful) into the chapels, churches, cathedrals all over the world. Church bells ring, choirs voice songs of tradition and contemporary. Stringed instruments sing, trumpets praise, percussion beats with heart keeping time with shouts and whispers. I lift hands and tilt head upward, fall on repentant knees, and bow in honor of the One and Only, God. I listen to those standing close voice their praise, like me, not always in perfect key, but raised to the One Who hears all beauty in a sincere heart.

I keep my eyes closed...

The worship leader shouts directive, interrupting, "Now, sing!" I wonder, who is she shouting to? Does she see lips unmoving, hearts unstirred?

I open my own eyes.

Music continues...LIghts dim and lift in color keeping rhythm with the piano keys. Screens portray pictures that reach for my attention. And I watch for clues of music direction. I see all smiles, all joy. All sway to movement of (worship?) Distracted.

I close my eyes again...

I wonder about the Cross. The rough hewn wood, the thorn crown, the blood shed. The flesh torn, unrecognized. Death. And I remember the Resurrection, the raising by the power of the Holy Spirit. The same Spirit Who lives and moves freely in me (and in millions of others who have surrendered lives to our risen Christ). And I wonder... What does all of this really mean. Am I living the essence of Truth?

Musical notes ebb and flow, and they are beautiful. Yet I ponder still. Is the new "cross" opposed to authentic worship? Is the Cross, the rough-hewn splintered wood lifted with Jesus remembered in the new worship? I wonder, is this all show? Do I understand that the message of the Cross sometimes makes unpleasant demands of me? The Cross slays completely, all of me.

Abrupt end to song opens my eyes... The congregation sits comfortable.

Announcements come, brusque to my hearing. "I will be teaching a new Bible study..." I cringe. "My ministry..." I swallow hard. Words from one so human. And I remember my own words past, similar, but shaken through the years. The Cross demands more. The Cross Jesus suffered on, the Cross of Sacrifice for all, for me... The rough-hewn splintered wood does not run parallel, but intersects at the very heart of the One who loves deep and eternal. This intersection changes the course of humanity, if we allow it. It is abrupt. It is good.

The gathering of believers ends and with eyes wide open now, I exit the house and give thanks. Today, the message of the man is outweighed by the Message of the Son of Man. I linger, even in the busyness of the day to come, with this pondering. And slips of tears warm my face throughout the day, I laugh, I smile, I work, I eat, I hug, I dance. I love this Sunday, all. It is full of family. And it is full of Truth and Light.

weekend morning

Weekend morning slumber awakens to gentle waking stretches and tender husband kisses. The Lhasa stirs at my feet and morning growls. It's her sweet habit. I wrap my shoulders in the cozy robe and listen to the click of the Lhasa's feet as we make our way slow across the wood floor. Perfect morning cool embraces us as we step across the threshold. Finches skitter from the feeder and the Lhasa wonders at their hurry.

Such is the beginning of my weekend... and all is calm.

Praying your weekend is gentle in spirit and joyful in meaning.

LINGERing in the mess of stress

Sometimes, days are all a mess. Stress digs, scratches from the inside out. Every sense heightens, adrenaline rushes, and the head pounds a rhythm awkward and tempo undefined. Louder, stronger, heavy and deep. It rattles the core.

... and in the middle of the cacophony, I put out a flare. A prayer of "help!" A prayer of, "I know You're here, I just to hear You're here." it's not so much that I need to hear His voice. I need to hear myself speak to Him, to remind myself in the messiness, He's never gone anywhere. He is here. He is... Yes, I hear You, Lord.

... I AM.

... and I breathe steady. Circumstances unchanged. My hands still busy, mind engaged in the chaos of what is today, But I am all changed. A settling of fretful thoughts, the ragged peaks of anxiety ease.

I hide in the shadow of His wings, and I sing whispers of thanks.

Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.(Psalm 63:7)

all today is awe

I am in awe of Him today. In awe of His creation. In awe of His relentless love to the very individual of His creative hand. How does a God Who fashions all existence through the furthest galaxies (yet unknown to humanity) find it in Himself to know and love me intimately? I have no earthly idea... and most likely that is the very foundation of my lack of understanding - of God.

He is Spirit. He is Truth. He is Life. He is Salvation, Redeemer, Counselor, Friend, and Father.

And selah... I must pause and let those truths penetrate deep into my soul again and again.

I offer thanks, whispered.

And more now... He is Healer, Banner, Provider.

And selah...

He loves me with Eternal Love -one that never fails or changes. His Love is, as He is.

These are the thoughts I'm lingering with today. And words are hardly adequate to express them. And if they ask, Father?

And God said to Moses, I AM WHO I AM and WHAT I AM, and I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE; and He said, You shall say this to the Israelites; I AM has sent me to you! (Exodus 3:14 Amplified Bible)

today is all rest, restore, renew

Sometimes, a day is all a blur. And the movement leaves me unsteady on my feet. A sort of vertigo traps life's delicate balance in her web, and I sway. And I reel. And I fall (or do I leap?) into a pit of murk and mire. I wander there, slog there. Wonder how to make my way out of such a bleak, black place. I moan and cry and yes, I take handfuls of murk heavy and press them on my own head. The weight of it, oppressive and choking brings me to my knees (I should have been here in the very first place). Breath labors under the force of mire. Voice struggles to be heard. I strain against the battle (and it is ferocious).

I realize in the bleak, one catalyst spurred my fall/leap. And I ponder my reaction. How human of me. How dare I, really. I whisper, "I'm sorry" to the One who holds the Universe, including the pit of murk and mire. And murk begins to cake hard upon my head. Cracks and breaks in a million pieces and falls far below. Only then, I realize I'm cradled in the palm of His hand. He is lifting me out. Slowly. And there is purpose in the slow. I watch the walls of the pit as they pass by. Each cracked foothold represents the ascent, my ascent. My footprints, at the edge of the pit. And I look further away. Dragging footprints. I see the trap door, how it opened, beckoned. And pulled too.

I watch. And I learn. And I cry. Tears puddle in the hand of my Savior. He receives them, changes them. Like water from the sea, He turns them to clouds, pregnant with grace. Louder than a whisper now, I voice, "I'm sorry."

Tenderly, He sets me on solid ground, far from the slip of the edge of that pit. I watch as He moves earthen dirt, filling the pit of my stronghold. He touches my dusty face, gathering one last tear. And the rain begins! Drops gentle. I tilt my face heavenward. Open my voice in glorious thanks-FULL!

Soaked in warmth of His reign, cleansed from the mire and murk, I bow. He wraps me in garments white. And He says, "Rest now. (Mark 6:31) There will be other battles to fight.(1 Timothy 1:18-19) But I'll always be there. (Hebrews 13:5)"

And today is all rest... all restoration... all renew.