What the Father’s love looks like

“Jesus, tell me some more about the Father,” she requested.

“Well,” He replied, “the Father himself loves you.”

Behold what manner of love, she thought, that we should be called the sons of God.

~jmc 2015

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“Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God” ~ 1 John 3:1a (KJV)

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Author’s note:

Most modern translations render “sons of God” in this verse as “children of God.” This is, of course, completely accurate, as the rest of the New Testament clearly indicates that men and women have equal invitation to and membership in God’s amazing new family.

What this rendering cannot capture, however — in fact, what we do not have adequately simple language to capture in modern English — is the depth of significance that “sons of God” conveys. Many languages use male nouns and pronouns for groups that include both sexes (“man” = “mankind” = all humans). In New Testament usage, this word takes us even deeper than that.

According to ancient custom, the male heirs were the ones that received the inheritance. This did not rule out, of course, fathers who intentionally made their daughters part of their will; but those fathers were the exception, not the rule. In the New Testament usage of “sons” — especially in passages such as the one quoted above — we see that God goes one step farther than those intentional fathers who included their daughters. God calls all of his children “sons.” All of his children are his heirs. He does not see his male children as automatic heirs while making an effort to make sure his female children are named in the parts of the will that belong to them. No. He sees us all as equally inheriting the breadth and depth of his riches. All his children are full legal SONS, with the full access and influence before Him that the title automatically implies.

And if we are honest about our modern cultures, this cuts across the grain for us all. In spite of the changes in male-female equality that have taken place over the centuries in many parts of the world, we see many many signs that this inequity is not gone, just taking different forms as each generation wrestles with the unique strengths, weaknesses, similarities, and differences that each half of humanity brings to the table.

Even in our best moments, our best falls short of God the Father who says “you’re all my sons, coheirs with my firstborn!” That’s a love worth taking a good, long look at for sure!

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*author’s note informed by studies provided through Dr. David Eckman’s Becoming Who God Intended ministries. For more information and further reading, check out his books and courses here:

https://www.whatgodintended.org

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Ye Olde German Spritz — Christmas cookie reflection 11

O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;
Come and behold him, born the King of angels;
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him, 
Christ the Lord.

John Wade’s 18th-Century hymn has become a staple in our annual Christmas celebrations. The “joyful and triumphant” part of the song is easy to understand—anyone who has breathlessly watched the final moments of a tense championship game knows the elation that comes when one’s home team scores the winning point. But as I sit down to write about this song, I find myself wondering who those “faithful” are that the song welcomes to come and adore Christ. 

The Christmas story contains all of the factors by which faithfulness is measured in today’s world. Some religions measure faithfulness by pilgrimages to holy sites. Gift-giving has also long been a measure of faithfulness in many settings—after all, when one is truly committed to a cause, religion, or person the pocketbook reflects this commitment. If we measure faithfulness by this method, the magi from the east would be gold or platinum members of the Faithful List. On the other hand, companies often reward faithful customers and faithful employees by giving them greater benefits in recognition for the length of time they have been with the company. Simeon (see Luke 2) would have earned major perks in this faithfulness program, having waited for a lifetime to see God fulfill His promise of sending a Messiah. 

Where do I fit into this list? I mean, when our local Shakespeare company puts on its free event in the park to kick off each summer, I try to be in the audience. But of course, my faithfulness in attending is eclipsed by the faithfulness of those honored donors listed in the playbill, categorized by the generosity of their contributions. When it comes to God’s kingdom, when it comes to that call to worship, I find myself wondering where I fall in the roll-call of the faithful. Where is my place in the line of worshipers? When the Messiah passes by, do I rate the seats with the best view, or should I take my place back in the nosebleed section?

By sending His amazing angel choir to announce the birth of His Son to shepherds on a hillside, God cut through all of that score-keeping. He went to the commonest of the common people and handed them an invitation to His Son’s arrival in town—front-row seats! They came and saw and went away so happy that they had to tell the news to everyone else and returned to their hillside happier men than when they left. The rich magi, too, experienced the triumphant joy at the end of their pilgrimage. Apparently, faithfulness is not determined by the amount of money one possesses nor is it measured by the distance of one’s journey. It seems to  have more to do with coming. 

But I still have find so many other questions about this Faithful thing. Does coming just once make me faithful? If it’s a journey of thousands of miles, I suppose that would count for something, but what if it’s just a journey down the street? And what about all the other areas in my life that call for faithfulness? In how many of them must I be faithful—and how long must I keep coming in order to be considered faithful? And does God measure faithfulness this way?

My underlying beliefs on faithfulness are probably best illustrated by a little cookie that always puts in an appearance at our church’s annual International Dinner.**

The International Dinner takes place as part of our fall Missions Conference. Everyone looks forward to it each year, some planning far in advance what sort of international outfit to wear or what menu item to bring. Those church members who were there the year that someone brought Filipino balut still talk about it every so often, shuddering a little to think about their first taste of that particular delicacy so strange to our Midwestern tastes! The dessert table, of course, contains the best part of the meal. This year’s** desserts included carmel-laced brownies (please do not ask me what country those were supposed to be from!), Russian teacakes, gooey butter cake (a St. Louis tradition), and so much more! 

But the table would not have been complete without the German spritz cookies my aunt’s family brings every year. In fact, those spritz cookies are such an important part of the International Dinner that the entire Missions Conference would have been somehow incomplete without them! While these cookies get their name (“spritz”) from the fact that they are often shaped using a cookie press, my aunt’s family spreads the cookie dough flat into a jelly-roll pan to bake, ices them a tasty green, then cuts them into squares that are the perfect size to pop into one’s mouth for a quick and tasty treat! 

Buttery but not too sweet, these cookies did not seem particularly spectacular to me the first time I tried them. However, they were more addicting than I expected. I was living with my aunt’s family at the time and helping to prepare the foods for the International Dinner that year; whenever I passed the plate of spritz cookies I found myself popping another one into my mouth in passing. 

Every year the cookies are the same. The story goes that one of my cousins tried icing them pink one year, just for variety’s sake. For some reason there were more leftovers than there had been in other years, and a friend informed her that somehow the cookies just didn’t taste as good without green frosting. The next year my cousin went back to the green coloring, and the cookies have remained an International Dinner favorite. 

Spritz cookies. Same size, same shape, same color, same addicting taste. Present year after year. Is that not what faithfulness is all about? Reliability. Consistency. Dependability. Safety.

Faithfulness means being someone others can count on, right? And faithfulness cannot be based on those others but on one’s own character and dedication. Otherwise it will shift when those around it shift. It’s easy to love when loved back. It’s easy to give when there’s abundant gratitude for our gifts. It’s easy to fill a need when everyone recognizes the need and recognizes the one that fills the need. But a deeper faithfulness is revealed when the recognition dries up and when the gifts are forgotten. Sometimes faithfulness is even taken for granted. True faithfulness perseveres regardless of response and regardless of outside circumstances. True faithfulness is based upon the one variable we can control in any given situation–ourselves.

But can we trust ourselves to be faithful?

When we take a look around us and think about the news headlines we see pretty much daily (I know, do we even want to take a glance in this direction right now?), we know that in large ways and small, faithfulness is missing in action. It‘s hard for me not to become cynical about it all as countries protest that they are against terrorism and then support terrorist organizations financially behind the scenes. Government officials cheat on their taxes. Employers complain that they cannot find reliable workers. Employees grow tired of hearing the company line about teamwork — from companies that lay people off while making money for CEOs & stockholders. Consumers can no longer expect quality products for the money they spend because products are manufactured to wear out shortly after the one-year warranty expires. And closer to home—when parents are told that they cannot expect their teenagers to be trustworthy, while children learn that it’s too much to ask mom and dad to be there for them (for reasons they can’t understand or grasp)—these are the things that weigh personally on my heart.

If faithfulness is the iron in our blood, we are suffering society-wide anemia.

And let’s be candid: faithfulness is just plain hard, often painful. It requires that we give of ourselves without knowing the outcome–not always knowing whether our love is requited, or whether our gifts will be acknowledged with gratitude. It requires that we give of ourselves in spite of the circumstances. And to do this while we are juggling demands on our time and energy that refuse to play well together, forcing us to pick and choose (and every choice seems wrong). How human of us!

In looking at my own life, I see this same anemia. I grow weary, I find myself weak and faltering. Or I grow discouraged and give in or give up—often when it is most important for me to hang on. How human of me! Yet, knowing these all-too-human weaknesses, I can’t help wondering if I truly count among The Faithful.

Here’s what I am learning about faithfulness: the biggest promises I make are truly beyond my ability to keep. Even (maybe especially) when they are the most important ones to keep. 

It’s the same for you. Think of the areas in your life that are the most important areas for faithfulness—be the area relational or financial, physical or emotional, you will find that the more important it is, the more difficult it is to be faithful during the tough times. The impossible times. 

Our ability to be faithful, to keep those promises, requires that we have things in our own lives to rely on. Every building is built on a foundation. The most solid wall gives way if the foundation is not solid. That’s why earthquakes are so devastating–they shift the things that have been solid in our lives. They can turn what seemed like solid ground to jelly in a matter of seconds. Seconds is all it takes for the foundation to sink into the liquified ground tilting the house at a crazy angle. Suddenly everything is out of kilter. “If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?” the psalmist wonders, thinking of more than physical foundations. If a physical earthquake can throw us into shock, what happens in our lives when the underlying support systems of our lives are thrown into chaos by some disappointment or loss—loss of a job, loss of health, loss of a person, or loss of faith in someone else’s trustworthiness? We in turn become unstable ourselves, unable to be as faithful as we planned on being. How human of us indeed.

And this is why in God’s economy, faithfulness starts with God Himself. 

God offers Himself as our foundation; He is so faithful that one of His names is Faithful and True! 

His is not vending-machine faithfulness: inanimate with no will of its own. A vending machine—if it is working—supplies exactly the requested item at the requested time. But it provides nothing more, no comfort, no strength, no companionship. We might come to rely on a vending machine, but we’re actually relying on the engineers who designed it and on the maintenance people who maintain it (or so we hope!). We wouldn’t really say that we trust a vending machine. 

No, God’s faithfulness is about a relationship, the kind where someone is personally available to us in good times and in rough. His faithfulness is real and warm and seems to grow the better we know Him.***

 The word “faithful” — in both English and in Greek (the language of the Bible) — comes from the idea of being persuaded of something—being “full of faith.” The more we become persuaded of His constancy and care for us, the more convinced we grow that He keeps His promises, the more faithful we become and the better able we are to demonstrate faithfulness in our responsibilities and relationships.

Simeon (the faithful old man we meet in Luke 2) illustrated this concept very well: he had waited his whole life for the promise that God had given him—that the Messiah would come in his lifetime. He held on because he knew that God would keep His word.

Faithfulness is simple, really, as simple as those Spritz cookies. It begins with knowing and being who we are, no pretensions. It continues with our choice to come, be present and counted. It is continually affirmed each moment we hold on. And the outcome is triumph and joy. (The funny thing is that it can produce triumph and joy within us even before the finale.)

But “easy” is not part of the story. The times it is hardest to trust are the times when everything is falling apart and it looks like God is doing nothing about it. It’s hard at those times to feel certain that God really is looking out for us. 

And I think that’s why God gave us Christmas. To remind us of the kind of person that He is—the kind of person that would give His very heart (His Son) to meet us in our need. The kind of person who would move Heaven and Earth to save the world at the perfect moment. Just as He promised.

The point isn’t our faithfulness but His. And if we look past the title of John Wade’s hymn, we see this clearly. In common poetry fashion, the title is drawn from the first line of the poem, but the whole point of the poem is the same point that keeps Beatles fans collecting memorabilia, the same thing that keeps Taylor Swift or Beyoncè fans attending every concert and following every move she makes — adoration. Groupies follow a band, not because of their own awesomeness but because they feel in their soul that the band or the musician is awesome. Wade’s hymn is all about this — “O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord!” And with such good reason: because Christ is the “word of the Father, now in flesh appearing.” See that? God, keeping His promise (“word of the Father”) to be present with us, so present that He becomes one of us (“now in flesh appearing”). And there’s so much more that could be unpacked from just that one, compact poetic phrase, let alone the whole hymn!

And although faithfulness may demand of us something more stringent than we usually attribute to fandom, John Wade doesn’t want us to forget the sense of sheer delight that defines and inspires fandom. He calls our attention to it throughout the song: we come “joyful and triumphant” (v1) to greet the arrival of our favorite person (v4), wanting Him to have glory and adoration (v4), not because He’s holding a concert or giving a book-and-merchandise signing, but because of something so much more personal: His coming to be with us in our most daily experience (v2). You can’t get more personal than sharing the gestation-to-birth experience every human shares!****

If we could (v3) we would “sing in exultation” like the hosts of heaven. And we do! — every single time we sing this song we have the opportunity to raise the roof with our sheer and utter delight. We’re groupies. Fans. Followers. We come because He is so worth the trip.

It’s the Spritz cookie thing — irresistable! Like the way I couldn’t help but snag one every time I passed the plate of them, when we taste the goodness of this gift, we can’t help but come and adore.

If you are feeling full of doubt in yourself and your ability to be faithful, let this Christmas be a time of reflecting on God’s faithfulness to you. He kept His promise to the world; He kept His promise to His people; He kept His promise to Simeon. He will keep His promise to you—to be with you in even the most basic and human bits of your life, to bring delight and goodness that makes your heart sing (even in places as common and unlikely as a manger!). Your faithfulness rests on His faithfulness. Let it draw you in, hold you close, bring you joy. Even if for you it’s a season where sorrow abounds and exuberance is beyond you, the invitation still applies: come anyway, be a quiet groupie, and allow yourself to feel the whisper of joy in your heart that coming brings.^^

“He that hath received His testimony hath set to his seal that God is true.” John 3:33

God of God, light of light,
Lo, he abhors not the Virgin's womb;
Very God, begotten, not created:
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

Sing, choirs of angels, sing in exultation,
Sing, all ye citizens of Heaven above!
Glory to God, glory in the highest:
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

Yea, Lord, we greet thee, born this happy morning;
Jesus, to thee be glory given;
Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing;
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

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jmc 2010 + 2022

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**This post was originally written in 2010 when I was a member of Grace Baptist Church in St. Louis, Missouri. The story elements reflect the way things were at that point in time. You’ll have to visit the church yourself today to find out how things are in the present!

***In Prince Caspian by C. S. Lewis, when she sees Aslan Lucy is surprised to find him bigger than when she had seen him last (a year before, according to her timeline). Aslan’s response is that He hasn’t actually done any growing; she’s the one who’s grown. I have found this to be true in my life where knowing God is concerned.

****Regarding our common gestation-to-birth experience: I hear Shakepeare’s Macduff in my head saying that he (Macduff) was not “born of woman” but “from his mother’s womb / Untimely ripp’d.” To Macduff I say, “yes, such a birth does indeed count against Macbeth in the witches’ prophecy; but not even you, Macduff, are exempt from such commonplace experiences as having been conceived and developing in your mother’s womb and making an entrance into this world from said womb (an entrance you clearly survived, seeing as you’ve grown up to correct Macbeth on some important details).”

^^I have often found that coming with my “mourning clothes on”—the emotions my spirit is currently clothed with—brings this whisper of joy with it. Seems so counter-intuitive, but we see it throughout the psalms, too: the psalmist brings his honest painful emotions to God and receives comfort in them. For me, it’s not the “all better” kind of comfort, it’s something better. It’s usually that sense of being seen and welcomed in my sorrow, and I never cease to be surprised by how sustaining it is. The best way I can describe it is that it’s a “whisper of joy” within the sorrow, not in spite of it.

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A Time to Write, and a Time to Lie Fallow

I’m feeling a nudge to write again. Or at least a nudge to put things up on my blog again.

The thing is that I quite often feel a nudge to write. There’s almost always some big topic (or three!) a-simmer on the back burner of my mind, and it’s a rare week that I’m not drawing out a ladleful and mentally sampling how it would present as a full blog post.

I used to think this was because of my own writerly tendencies. But after years of working with and learning from writers of all ages and stripes + years of observing how social media brings out the writer in all of us, I know I’m not the only one! I may be thinking more of my blog and thinking more in essay form, but it’s really not different at all from my friends who share weekly or daily on their social media pages! We all have writerly tendencies of one kind or another.

One difference, though, might be my times of lying fallow.

We all have them.

Like plots of land that grow different crops and therefore have different soil depletions, our needs for lying fallow may each look a little different. Or perhaps it has more to do with how heavily we’ve been working our land . . . ok, so clearly my meager gardening experience and my agricultural ignorance limit my grasp of the actual details of fallowness! And I guess that’s not all that surprising given how un-agrarian our general society is here in America. Not to mention that modern agricultural experience in general is all about ways of avoiding lying fallow: trying to replenish the soil without having to give the land a break.

Breaks get in the way of always-on assembly-line efficiency — and we expect this even more since the 21st century tech revolution has moved us beyond the Henry Ford club’s wildest efficiency dreams. [I don’t think he actually had a club. He wasn’t the only one, in his era, to be enamored with this kind of efficiency, though.]

But honestly, we humans have never been fans of fallowness. The Hebrew people were given pretty specific instructions about letting their land lie fallow — in a regular-enough pattern that they could plan for those fallow years! Yet they, too, worked their land ragged, skipping all those fallow years. Working over their weekly sabbaths.

Me, too. There’s always some good reason why fallowness should be skipped.

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I began this blog in 2006, and the friend who urged me to start blogging was right: I have loved it. It suits me and the way my writing works.

I was surprised recently to look back and see how prolific I was in posting during my first several years of blogging!

But. (You knew one was coming, didn’t you?)

I developed Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (often known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) mid-2008, and by 2012, each subsequent ME/CFS flare was bigger than the last, leaving me trying to manage lower levels of functioning than before. In classic ME/CFS fashion, I’ve never quite been able to regain the previous levels of functioning that I had. Like a phone with a worn-out battery, my energy levels give me only about 50% of the oomph they once did (during a bad flare, this can be far less!).

And since, for me, ME/CFS manifests itself in sensitivity to light and sound and activity — screen time is a huge drain on my battery. Not to mention how brain fog makes it hard for me to hold together all the complex threads needed to weave an essay. And keeping up with comments has its own set of energy and brain-power demands.

And because ME/CFS has ups and downs that change with every variable, I never know for sure when my energy levels will drop. None of which fits the gold standard for any kind of public-facing writing.

ME/CFS manifests differently for different people. This is one thing that has made it difficult for the medical world to accept and be willing to help manage it. Laura Heldenbrand researched and wrote a bestselling non-fiction book via computer when she had ME/CFS. I stopped blogging and dropped social media altogether.

Fallowness.

I didn’t want it. Often feared it (still do!), but I’ve needed it (and hopefully I am more willing to be open to it and to fear it less).

I’m certainly not done learning about it and from it. Seasons of fallowness are here to stay.

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So I’m feeling a nudge to start posting again. And the truth is that such nudges are often strongest shortly before a “crash” (as people with ME or other autoimmune diseases affectionately call our flare-ups).

This time around I have a gift I did not have before — someone coming alongside me to help me maintain a bit more regularity in my posting schedule in case of a flare-up. Bookphoenix has already been helping behind-the-scenes, and will be helping with some regular feature posts and occasionally guest posting.

And I’ve been able to get more clarity on ways that other friends of this blog (and this blogger!) can come alongside to help as they feel a nudge in their own hearts.

So perhaps this fallowness I’m learning is getting a little structure — like crop rotation. Or (hopefully) more like the wise way the Hebrews were given to do things.

It’s all definitely still a work in progress!!

jmc 2022/12/06

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Rescued from Cynicism

Cynicism is my Word of the Year.

I know, I know! The Word of the Year is something that’s supposed to be inspirational, aspirational, or at the very least some kind of reminder of my values, right? Leave it to me to have one that’s basically the opposite of all that! Well, I guess it does fall into the category of reminding me of my values, I’ll say that for my Word of the Year!

I don’t normally go in for a Word of the Year; some years there’s a theme or motif, but the whole Word of the Year thing hasn’t really resonated with me and with my own rhythms. However, this year the word Cynicism has cropped up often enough and provided so much food for thought, that it’s earned the title. (Full disclosure: the previous word to hold that title was “Complicity,” but that’s another story for another time.) Honestly, it’s been a really good word to ponder and recognize this year.

One of the things I’m coming to notice about Cynicism is its close ties to Optimism.

Basically, Cynicism is the other side of the same coin as Optimism. When our Grand Hopes for a thing have met the Grand Disappointment of Reality, our original feeling of Optimism has to go somewhere. In my experience, it either turns into Denial or it turns into Cynicism. (Feel free to let me know any others that you’ve seen it turn into!) For me it mostly turns into Cynicism. I go from the sense of the future being bright to the sense that I was completely stupid to ever have thought that the future could be bright at all.

The thing is that neither Optimism nor Cynicism is in touch with Reality to begin with. Optimism tends to be dismissive of the things that can go wrong – maybe in reaction to the overwhelm that comes from facing uncertainty (especially when I’m worn out from dealing with uncertainty in so many other areas of life). I just want one thing that I can feel confident about. But if my Optimism relies on not looking reality in the face, is it truly confidence I am feeling? Cynicism tends to be dismissive of the possibility of goodness in the world. And as author Paul Miller says in his book A Praying Life, Cynicism somehow feels more real, true – authentic. As though I’ve finally discovered Reality and have an actual handle on it, so it can never disappoint me again. I love how one friend put it in his own musings on cynicism: “There is a smugness one is allowed when one has thoroughly accepted the dark state we are in . A feeling that you have finally become all grown up and will no longer be duped by optimistic platitudes” (thank you for this, Peter).

Both of these are rooted in my need to control my world, both are rooted in my fear of uncertainty: basically, both Optimism and Cynicism are me trying not to be hurt. Yet neither one saves me.

Another thing I’m noticing about Cynicism is how it numbs me and makes it hard to connect with my life.

It doesn’t stop me from feeling the pain of disappointment. It may numb that pain, but it also traps me in it. And looking through its lenses, everything turns ugly. And that sense of ugliness isn’t something I can just turn off. Not something I can reason my way out of — in fact, it feels like the most reasonable response of all! No. It’s something I have to be rescued from. Over and over and over again, right?

Just the other day, we were listening to a Josh Groban concert on our local PBS station, and he began singing “Bring Him Home” from Les Miserables and I found myself being rescued by that song.

Unexpectedly: I hadn’t even realized I was in the grip of cynicism that day.

Disarmingly: the song called up in me all the things that I long to be right in the world, hand-in-hand with how wrong they’ve gone. The song let me feel both my hopes and my disappointments.

It’s funny how the cure for Cynicism isn’t Optimism. It’s feeling both my hopes and my disappointments, holding them both in my hands.

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Here’s Josh Groban’s rendition in case you want to take a listen: https://youtu.be/fXnRf3TQcpk

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Letter to a Long-Neglected Blog

Dear Friend,

When you and I first began our partnership, there was so much to say, so much to share! Not every day, of course, but quite often. And as with any new venture, everything was exciting, and everyone was excited, and there were comments to answer (usually about the least-deep things I wrote) and responses to learn (such as how little one finds to say in response to the deep thoughts other share on their own blogs; and that a silent reader may still be a thoughtful reader).

My posting has gone through many periods of boom-and-bust over these many years. Yet no matter the reason for my absence, you have remained, faithfully holding the archives and directing people to the post that probably dropped them there in the first place–often as a detour in their Google search for something else (like actual recipes for Christmas cookies, not essays about Christmas cookies). You’ve probably lost count of the number of people searching for Langston Hughes’s short couplet on dust and rainbows. Well, on second thought, I have lost count, but I realize you probably have a record somewhere of precisely how many visitors have come looking for the poem. You may even be able to hazard a guess as to how many searchers it took to put our site into top billing for the poem on Google’s search engine!*

Please except my thanks for holding up your end so reliably. For greeting each reader with the same calm demeanor and blessing them with the prayer that they always see and recognize the good hand of God in their lives. For keeping track of the site statistics and maintaining the guestbook. For catching and cleaning up the spam that inevitably comes our way.

I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten you, haven’t lost interest. The newness may have worn off long ago, but my appreciation for you has not changed.

What has changed is my energy levels – and I’d like to think my good sense. I don’t have the energy to keep all the plates spinning, and I’ve been working on developing the good sense not to try. I still have times when ideas for posts fill my mind, yet the energy I’d put towards posting is needed for other, more basic things. Things like working, eating, sleeping, interacting with those around me, even doing dishes.

Perhaps, too, my views have changed a bit regarding what is most important in life. Books and written material have made such an impact on me that I used to long for that kind of influence in the lives of others. I used to think of the written word as the most important avenue to influence others for good, and I used to see a broad and probably-unknown audience as my greatest legacy. I do still believe in the power of the written word, and I do still love the flow of language; but I have come to see my relationships with those around me – particularly those closest to me – as my greatest legacy. I can understand a little better, I think, what the Apostle Paul meant when he told the Corinthian believers that they themselves were his letter to the world, written not with pen and ink on paper but written in their hearts. I don’t want to be a prolific writer whose relationships are cold and distant, whose devotion to Art leaves neglect in its wake.

And so, dear blog, I think of you often, and my hopes and plans for posting and for building our collection are big and bright and myriad; but they are also limited. My energies are not boundless, and my priorities must be for the here and now. I am ever grateful for the moments of overflow when I can work with you again.

Affectionately yours,

Joy 🙂

October 21, 2015

*at the time of the writing of this letter. (As of publishing date, other sites have replaced this at the top of the Google searches.)

The one thing I need most: Christmas reflection 2015

“Thou hast giv’n so much to me
Give one thing more, a gratefull heart”
~George Herbert (“Gratefulnesse”)

“What is genuine Gratitude? 1. I receive a gift. (Grace) 2. I value the gift. (Humility) 3. I appreciate the good intent of the giver of the gift. (Love)”
~Pastor Steve Quen (message 11-22-2015: “Thanks”  http://bacbc.sermon.net/main/main/20543970)

Father,
I need the grace to receive the gifts I am given. Gifts are grace. Undeserved favors from someone else’s heart to mine. Give me the grace and courage to truly receive what is given.

I need the humility to value the gift. Some gifts I can easily see how useful they may be or how immediately they enrich my life, but others are less obvious–or I am far slower to recognize them for what they truly are. I may not ever know what it cost to give the gift. Which is part of the grace in the gift. Give me wise eyes to see the value of each gift.

Give me the heart of a child to enjoy what I am given.

I need a heart of love. Love, shown through appreciation, completes the blessing of the gift. Please help me to see and trust the heart of the giver, for that is the true gift. Give me the love to respond to the giver with delight in who he is beyond his gift.

For all these things I ask in requesting this one thing I need most: a grateful heart.

Haiku of the day 2-7-2011

Reverse haiku

Delicate, intricate flake
Melting on my sleeve:
Can it be nothing’s wasted?

Lately . . .

My Dad sent me the link to this song and I had to laugh because it’s been me lately. The more tired I get, the harder it is to filter out the little things and maintain serenity and sweetness. It was a nice reminder that “this is the stuff” God uses to make me what I really want to be–more like Him =)

Francesca Battistelli’s “This Is the Stuff”

The rain came again last night

The rain came again last night
Not strong and calm—benevolent,
But erratic and terrible
As though the heavens themselves
Were torn with paroxysms
Of grief

The rain came again last night,
Leveling young stalks of corn
In its throes of woe,
Gentle weeping giving way
To wracking sobs, finding
No relief

JMC Thursday, June 3, 2010

A poem for night time

Every time I lay me down to sleep,
I give myself to You, O Lord, to keep;
Your arm my shield while I rest, unaware;
I place into your keeping all my care.

Confidence

Daddy, something isn’t right today.
I’d tell You if I knew just what it was.
If I knew, I’d run to You, sobbing out my woe
Or spread it out before You, talk it over,
Trusting that You’ll fix it,
Taking from You the power, the strength
To live despite the brokenness,
The knowledge and wisdom to live within its sphere.
I’d leave it with You and step out
Confidently–confident in You, confident
In what You’ve told me, confident because
We’ve talked it out.

Daddy, something’s just a little wrong today,
But I can’t put my finger on just what!
A monster ‘neath my bed or in my closet?
A lingering headache, cold, or flu?
A bruise? A broken friendship?
A gaping hole, invisible, in the fabric of space and time?
Am I sensing someone else’s pain?
Or is it mine?
You’re so big and wise, I’m sure You’ve seen
Already what it is–before I even have the words to know.
Please let me snuggle down with You to watch
Until You show me. Your nearness
Gives me confidence in facing the unknown.

2-8-2010

it’s not over yet

Oh, every year hath its winter,
And every year hath its rain—
But a day is always coming
When the birds go north again.

When new leaves swell in the forest,
And grass springs green on the plain,
And alders’ veins turn crimson—
And the birds go north again.

Oh, every heart hath its sorrow,
And every heart hath its pain—
But a day is always coming
When the birds go north again.

‘Tis the sweetest thing to remember,
If courage be on the wane,
When the cold, dark days are over—
Why, the birds go north again.

~ taken from Streams in the Desert (copyright 1925) October 9