Dust

I was just recently reading over bits and pieces of a journal I've kept sporadically over the past couple of years. It's my overflow, my space where I can talk with our Father about things that aren't really bloggable.

It's been quite the couple of years.

I'm not really going to share much (hence it being written in a journal in the first place and not on here).

I've learned of crucibles, and I've learned of fire. I've tried God, and He has tried me. I've wrestled with the lesson of finding contentment that exists outside of circumstance, joy that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the One Who gives it. I've asked to be brought to a fork in the road, only to get there and find that the paths I had to choose between had different names than I was expecting. I've longed to be an instrument of peace, one who seeks justice, and loves mercy, and walks with God humbly. I've been given good friends and good conversations. I've been given pain, cracks in my heart that I don't always know what to do with.

This past September I had a dream.

I don't often remember my dreams, but this one was vivid, real. I woke up crying. In my dream, I had cancer. I had watched my own funeral, I had heard my own words read to those I'd left behind. I grieved in my bed even after I'd awoken, crying for those who hadn't wanted me to leave. I couldn't fall back asleep, so I opened God's book and read, only to find Him speaking words that were of a piece with my dream.

Like as a Father pitieth His children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him. For He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust. As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. 

But then, Bless the Lord, O my soul.

And Thou openest Thy hand, they are filled with good. Thou hidest Thy face, they are troubled: Thou takest away their breath, they die, and return to their dust. 

But again, Thou sendest forth Thy Spirit, and they are created: and Thou renewest the face of the earth. The glory of the Lord shall endure forever: the Lord shall rejoice in His works. 

And further, My meditation of Him shall be sweet: I will be glad in the Lord.

I felt as though I were being told something important, but I couldn't quite decipher it. And so I was reminded of my own mortality, reminded to let the spiritual pervade so that the temporal would not sway me.

The last thing I read before I drifted off to sleep was a little bit cryptic, but somehow very important.

Until the time that his word came, the word of the Lord tried him. 

Two months after that dream, Dad died. I didn't write in my journal again until December.

This afternoon everything seems fresh. Not just Dad, but all of those other things I never shared here. Everything is raw.

I trust God, deeply, but I do not always understand Him.

And yet there is hope. Beauty can rise from these burned-down husks.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

God's Country

It was one of those days when your soul seems to outstrip your body, and the only way to keep from tearing apart is for your body to walk miles and miles just to keep up.

I left my to-do list at home and set off.

Everywhere vestiges of winter were being beaten back by newborn spring.

I went to the state forest about 20 minutes away from my apartment for this hike. I haven't been back there since two summers ago, when I stumbled my way to this very field hidden away in the middle of the woods. It was covered with blueberry bushes then, and I ate my fill of berries for lunch. It looks a bit different now, but I found my way back easily enough. I think this field is one God's favorite places to meet with His own. I found Him there two years ago; I found Him there again today. Much has changed between then and now, but He has not. 

I stared at the clouds for a while, and brought some back to share so you could enjoy them with me.

There was no one there but me, and I had acres and acres all to myself. So many secret places, so much space to be.

I--being me--brought some books along. I didn't even think about how very fitting this one was until I pulled it out.

Days like this are necessary if one is to breathe deep and live well. And so I welcome spring. I welcome life, I welcome newness, I welcome the hope of resurrection. 

A Wide Open Window...

...and a little bit of light...

...make for a lovely evening.

Loom

His was the hand 

that wove me into you 

and you into me.

We are all 

so many branches

so many winds

so many ripples 

spreading out.

I do not know how 

to unravel these tangles

 in which we are caught,  

I do not know

why you were placed here

and not there,

how this mess of color 

in the middle 

is somehow we and us 

and where we are.

All I know is the movement 

of the shuttle

as it winds in and out,

beneath you

and over me,

knitting together

and pulling apart, 

how it is in this hand

that we 

live 

move

have being

consist

and are held together.