“God, You can have all of me...do what you will.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve given God those words as both casual, half-meant promises and full-fledged, heartfelt, thought-out prayers. On either accord I always find myself in a place of frustrated anger. Often directed at my Heavenly Father, the one I love, when I feel like such an offering has left me short. Let down when the results don’t match up to the expectations I was supposed to have just given away. I wonder if I, if we, really know what it means to say “I give You it all...”
Do we know what we say when we give God permission to do what he will? When we give God permission to have his way with our lives? Do we realize what kind of surrender that requires? Are we prepared for the cost? We’re not just giving up our right to air, my friends! It’s our family, our friends, our health, our finances. It’s our dreams, our goals, our hopes, our expectations, our ideas. It’s our plans, our schedules, our decisions, our control. It’s everything. And that...that is dangerous permission...
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
I am the one missing...
I have friends. Friends on campus. Friends that I love. But when I want to spend time with them…very often, I have to make an appointment. So goes life in the world of busy college students. It’s not that they don’t care and that they don’t legitimately desire the friendship as well…they just have insane lives with lots of classes, responsibilities and other friends demanding their time and attention. But, I would love to find them to talk sometimes. I would love to spill my bad day, ask for a hug, share my good news. But, for the most part I no longer try...because when I really need a friend, they just aren’t around. Unless, of course, I had an appointment… So I see her in the hall or pass her on campus and we both bemoan how much we miss the other. At which time we agree it has been too long and we need to plan a time to get together. I’m all about plans. If it’s in the plans, it will for sure be efforted towards taking place. We can make small talk over dinner. Or go for a quick drive. And the time is always well spent. But when the appointment is over I feel like our friendship is on pause. How is it unless I make a date, I always eat alone? How is it I can be the confidant but very rarely the confider? How is it when I really need a friend…I can never find one?
All of which I say not to whine...I truly cherish my friendships and conflicting schedules is really a very small fact of life...but I say it because I wonder if this is how God feels. I wonder if he feels like He’s been shoved into my day planner. Given a moment here or there. I make a date with Him at least once a week! And the appointments are good. Totally worth my time. But it doesn’t beat the “day to day life” friendship. I sometimes wonder if He just wishes that we could hang out. That He could talk to me and I would just listen. He’s always there when I seek him out…how often am I the one missing?
All of which I say not to whine...I truly cherish my friendships and conflicting schedules is really a very small fact of life...but I say it because I wonder if this is how God feels. I wonder if he feels like He’s been shoved into my day planner. Given a moment here or there. I make a date with Him at least once a week! And the appointments are good. Totally worth my time. But it doesn’t beat the “day to day life” friendship. I sometimes wonder if He just wishes that we could hang out. That He could talk to me and I would just listen. He’s always there when I seek him out…how often am I the one missing?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Missed Opportunities
Sometimes I wonder about missed opportunities. And I wonder just how many I’ve missed.
I was driving back to school today and it was a quiet drive. With my traveling companions “Major and Sophie” strapped in the passenger seat next to me, we just drove. I often use my lonely two hour drives as impressive spill sessions. I talk and I pray. I say whatever is on my heart, on my mind. Whatever words I’ve been burning to say have complete safety inside of my little moving box. But today the drive was quiet. I had little to say and despite the profound things that sometimes come from my stuffed bears, their beaded eyes merely stared.
Needless to say, it made me impressively more observant of my surroundings. I noticed the guy in the truck ahead of me wave goodbye as I turned after following him for 20 miles. I noticed the seven dead deer, 4 dead cats, and single dead chicken looking creature. I noticed the tractor plowing his field as the day turned to dusk.
And I noticed the building... “Bruce’s Tack Box”. A little shop stuck on a delta of land between two intersecting roads. As near as anyone could tell, it was a little everything shop and it always intrigued me. For as long as I’ve been driving to Spring Arbor, it has been on my route. I pass it every time I go home and every time I come back...for the last three years. And every time I read the words I vow that some day I’m going to stop and visit. But I never did. I always was eager to get home, had to get back for work, needed to finish homework, and the list went on.
That visit would never come. My intrigue by this little awkwardly-placed country store would never be satisfied. Because today as I drove past I saw a realtor’s “for sale” sign out front and two red “closed” signs in the dirty empty windows. “Bruce’s Tack Box” was just a hollow building. I had missed my chance.
It seems harmless enough. It was just a store; it was just a road; I wouldn’t have bought anything; it probably wasn’t that impressive; it might have been a waste of time. Or it might not have. What about all the other things I keep claiming I’m going to do? How many more excuses will I create before yet another opportunity passes be by? Bruce’s Tack Box probably won’t make a difference in the long run...but how do I not know that the next one will? What opportunities am I being called to notice? And which one’s will I not pay any head until there is a “for sale” sign out front with red “closed” signs in dirty empty windows?
I was driving back to school today and it was a quiet drive. With my traveling companions “Major and Sophie” strapped in the passenger seat next to me, we just drove. I often use my lonely two hour drives as impressive spill sessions. I talk and I pray. I say whatever is on my heart, on my mind. Whatever words I’ve been burning to say have complete safety inside of my little moving box. But today the drive was quiet. I had little to say and despite the profound things that sometimes come from my stuffed bears, their beaded eyes merely stared.
Needless to say, it made me impressively more observant of my surroundings. I noticed the guy in the truck ahead of me wave goodbye as I turned after following him for 20 miles. I noticed the seven dead deer, 4 dead cats, and single dead chicken looking creature. I noticed the tractor plowing his field as the day turned to dusk.
And I noticed the building... “Bruce’s Tack Box”. A little shop stuck on a delta of land between two intersecting roads. As near as anyone could tell, it was a little everything shop and it always intrigued me. For as long as I’ve been driving to Spring Arbor, it has been on my route. I pass it every time I go home and every time I come back...for the last three years. And every time I read the words I vow that some day I’m going to stop and visit. But I never did. I always was eager to get home, had to get back for work, needed to finish homework, and the list went on.
That visit would never come. My intrigue by this little awkwardly-placed country store would never be satisfied. Because today as I drove past I saw a realtor’s “for sale” sign out front and two red “closed” signs in the dirty empty windows. “Bruce’s Tack Box” was just a hollow building. I had missed my chance.
It seems harmless enough. It was just a store; it was just a road; I wouldn’t have bought anything; it probably wasn’t that impressive; it might have been a waste of time. Or it might not have. What about all the other things I keep claiming I’m going to do? How many more excuses will I create before yet another opportunity passes be by? Bruce’s Tack Box probably won’t make a difference in the long run...but how do I not know that the next one will? What opportunities am I being called to notice? And which one’s will I not pay any head until there is a “for sale” sign out front with red “closed” signs in dirty empty windows?
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Just Breathe...
Just Breathe
AK April 2009
The clouds roll over another day
And she wonders...
Wonders if it will always be this way.
Straining hard against the rising gusts
Moving forwards takes all her will
All her trust.
Cold hard rain drops hit her cheek,
The chilling blast makes her knees go weak.
Stinging tears held at bay...
And she wonders...
Wonders what it’s like to be “ok”.
She’s the girl with alabaster skin.
And she holds out against the wind.
Looking for the one place she can be free...
Free to just breathe.
Choking out the breath to take in
The loneliness, the sadness, the pressure,
Where to begin?
But as she feels herself begin to cry,
She lifts her head up to the sky.
One small crack of light shines down,
Just maybe...
Maybe she has enough air not to drown...
She’s the girl with alabaster skin.
And she lets the tears fall in the wind.
Wishing for the place she can be free...
Free to just breathe.
And the sun shines down on her face;
And she knows it’s drying her tear-streaked stains.
And the fresh air fills her lungs.
And a small smile says that life’s not done.
And she twirls around in the springtime breeze
And she is able, finally,
To just breathe...
She’s the girl with alabaster skin
And she dances softly in the wind
The only place where she’s completely free...
Free to just breathe...
AK April 2009
The clouds roll over another day
And she wonders...
Wonders if it will always be this way.
Straining hard against the rising gusts
Moving forwards takes all her will
All her trust.
Cold hard rain drops hit her cheek,
The chilling blast makes her knees go weak.
Stinging tears held at bay...
And she wonders...
Wonders what it’s like to be “ok”.
She’s the girl with alabaster skin.
And she holds out against the wind.
Looking for the one place she can be free...
Free to just breathe.
Choking out the breath to take in
The loneliness, the sadness, the pressure,
Where to begin?
But as she feels herself begin to cry,
She lifts her head up to the sky.
One small crack of light shines down,
Just maybe...
Maybe she has enough air not to drown...
She’s the girl with alabaster skin.
And she lets the tears fall in the wind.
Wishing for the place she can be free...
Free to just breathe.
And the sun shines down on her face;
And she knows it’s drying her tear-streaked stains.
And the fresh air fills her lungs.
And a small smile says that life’s not done.
And she twirls around in the springtime breeze
And she is able, finally,
To just breathe...
She’s the girl with alabaster skin
And she dances softly in the wind
The only place where she’s completely free...
Free to just breathe...
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Be Thou My Vision...
“Open the eyes of my heart Lord, open the eyes of my heart...I want to see you.” The lyrics of a contemporary praise song seem basic enough, genuine enough, straightforward enough. I need to see Jesus. Furthermore I need to see Him praised, glorified and claiming the rightful spot in the world and my life. A simple cry, a meaningful plea “Open the eyes of my heart...I want to see you.”
So why is it I feel as if the proverbial eyes of my pleading heart are indeed open...but yet I do not see?
I know what it feels like to have my eyes open...they certainly are. And I know I’ve seen before...blindness seems highly unlikely. Why is it my open eyes are still searching through what seems to be a cloudy mixture of dark fog?
Unless of course something is in front of my eyes...
Unless of course something is getting in the way of clear sight.
My grandmother...a few years before she died...had cataract surgery. A hard coating had developed over her eyes – making her unable to see although her vision had never before been extensively deficient. It was necessary for a skilled eye surgeon to go in with a special precision tool and break these clouded lenses of her eyes. When the cataracts were gone then, finally, my grandma could see like never before.
And here I am wondering if my lack of sight, my inability to exalt the God I love is related to my own heart cataracts. If I’ve let life harden over the eyes which used to so freely seek out my Saviour in everyday life. To see Jesus was breathing...He was in everything. He was everything. And I am desperate for these eyes which are open – with a heart begging to glorify – to see like never before. Father, come and chip away all that keeps me from seeing you.
“Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.”
So why is it I feel as if the proverbial eyes of my pleading heart are indeed open...but yet I do not see?
I know what it feels like to have my eyes open...they certainly are. And I know I’ve seen before...blindness seems highly unlikely. Why is it my open eyes are still searching through what seems to be a cloudy mixture of dark fog?
Unless of course something is in front of my eyes...
Unless of course something is getting in the way of clear sight.
My grandmother...a few years before she died...had cataract surgery. A hard coating had developed over her eyes – making her unable to see although her vision had never before been extensively deficient. It was necessary for a skilled eye surgeon to go in with a special precision tool and break these clouded lenses of her eyes. When the cataracts were gone then, finally, my grandma could see like never before.
And here I am wondering if my lack of sight, my inability to exalt the God I love is related to my own heart cataracts. If I’ve let life harden over the eyes which used to so freely seek out my Saviour in everyday life. To see Jesus was breathing...He was in everything. He was everything. And I am desperate for these eyes which are open – with a heart begging to glorify – to see like never before. Father, come and chip away all that keeps me from seeing you.
“Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.
Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.”
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