It always amazes me how the trivial can seem so big. In myself, in others-- these matters of the utmost mundaneness, spark arguments not worth their weight. Their voices rising while I turned the next page of This Voice in My Heart- a book of truly tragic proportions-- genocide, cruelty I can not imagine (and the gentle forgiveness only Jesus brings.) If only we remembered, this life is just a vapor... There is no place in my life for violence- either in action or word. And within the church, I think many of us are guilty of the later. Violent words that wound, tear, and scar-- sometimes deeper than an action would. There is no room for unkindness, for harm, for tearing down. Every man is capable of the worst atrocities- and only through the innocent offered blood of Jesus are we freed from our own evil. Only from following his example of humility, of preferring others above Himself, of coming as a servant, taking the form of a man...How sweet the Name of Jesus sounds
In a believer's ear!
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.
It makes the wounded spirit whole,
And calms the troubled breast;
'Tis manna to the hungry soul,
And to the weary, rest.
..Weak is the effort of my heart,
And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see Thee as Thou art,
I'll praise Thee as I ought.
Till then I would Thy love proclam
With every fleeting breath,
And may the music of Thy Name
Refresh my soul in death!
There is an unopened email in my inbox, it arrived around noon today but I am too nervous to open it as it would mean either a closed or open door of the future. I don't know when I'll open it, but I don't feel ready yet. It probably has less to say then I suppose, but I believe God has more to speak before I see the plan.
I've begun learning French and am thankful for my Latin training as it makes sense of the conjugations and forms. My kitchen counter is littered with note-cards and the air is filled with snippets of French conversation and my repetitions.
Lately, I've been studying the Bible with a renewed hunger, particularly Genesis, its stories draw me in and seem always full of new applications and new life.
For one accustomed to finding comfort in words, lately I find them evasive- hanging on the peripheral, just out of grasp. Yet I taste them lingering on my tongue as they melt before the breath that would birth them audibly. Ancient words which return with the sweetest memories, redemption, justification, calvary. I wish I could explain to someone what I can only feel shifting inside me, a cavern being hollowed out, a canyon carved deep inside.
The answer to the question I'm always asked seems to deflat people, I am greeted with disinterest since I've become unimpressive, my travels momentarily ceased (at least on the outside.) But, the current is changing and as Amanda so aptly said, "everyone our age is at a crossroads." I've went on a hunt today for The Journals of Jim Elliot and Keith Green's No Compromise- I find myself, or at least my longings, scribbled between the pages. "I ask not for a long life, but a full one."
I want silence lately, every time I turn on music it irritates me. I'm in a sensitive state- a hard decision before me.
weary hands
fold this map again and again
till the creases form new mountian ranges
in the paper and my skin
a pause, a moment of stillness
threatens to undo me
I belong to the trees
though You possess me
evasive, invasive as
the storms
that wrap around
my lungs and break them
till I inhale, swallowing
the waters and lightening
let it rage inside me
though it carve out
the hollows till a canyon
emboldened floods with fury
weary eyes
search the signs
till the scraggly forests rise in oceans
and the oceans sputter into dust
a step, a fraction of a distance
offers to unglue me
I belong to twilights
where only You obsess me
