When I light a candle to make my kitchen more comfy, I don’t always follow the directions. Directions? Forcandle–lighting? Yes. According to most candle manufacturers, I should trim the wick before lighting and relighting.
I didn’t understand why until I lit an extra long wick and had a smoking candle putting off black grime into the air. Being an observant person, I decided to comply the next time. But I trimmed the wick too closely, and after that it was nearly impossible to light that candle so the flame would actually stay lit and not just flicker out.
Some people say the way to make room for illumination and true enlightenment is to ignore all thoughts and feelings, to completely empty oneself so that we think of nothing and feel nothing (at least nothing negative, anyway). Doing so will provide room for something higher to inhabit us. We are simply to be and all else will fall into place, perfection eclipsing us in the silence of minimalism and simplicity.
Perhaps my use of the phrase “be illuminated” implies that I agree. Just be and the illumination will come; we have no hand in it, God does it all.
But the irony and contrast in my mind lies in the fact that the illumination process for the follower of Jesus is not a passive “be” but an active one.
We must choose daily to want to be illuminated.
We must choose daily to lay our worries and concerns down at His feet.
We must choose daily to trust Him with our pain and questions and doubts.
We must choose daily to lift up open hands and an open heart to Him so we may receive and reflect His light.
We must choose daily to invite Him in, not so that our thoughts and feelings disappear, but so that they align more with His thoughts and feelings.
We must choose daily to recognize our hate and our limitations so we can humbly request they be cauterized by the flames of Love and Grace.
Do these choices require a stillness and a receiving? Yes. Do they also require an openness and a sense of cooperation? Yes.
Perhaps these are the ways He keeps our wick trimmed to just the right length so we are ready to be lit at anytime.
There is a single-bulb lantern hanging to the left of my garage door. When I bought the place a couple of years ago, it seem like an added bonus to help promote a safer atmosphere. But, intuitive as something like turning on a light may be, there are a number of light switches in my basement, and I haven’t always been successful in turning on that light when I wanted to.
It was only this week, when I happened to mention it to a neighbor, that I figured out with certainty which switch manually controls that light. “If it’s not working for you,” the neighbor added, “be sure to consider changing the bulb. I have had to unscrew the fixture on mine and do that.”
Later, when I went to inspect my own more closely, I found the bulb is currently working. But a spider family seems to have settled in. And it wasn’t until the light was turned on again and I was standing up close that I saw just how cozy the webs seemed to be. I made a mental note about how I would need to clean that soon, so that when I do have to change the bulb, it will be a bit more pleasant of a job.
(Yes, this non-spider-lover admits her intentional procrastination. Why deal with ickiness when I can write an encouraging blog post instead? 🙂)
Illuminating a space can bring comfort or greater ability to see. But it can also reveal things we’d rather not deal with or would rather forget. Continuing with examples in a house, light might reveal crusty grime on dishes that were poorly washed, a thick layer of dust that’s been piling up on the bookshelves, or some previously-unknown roaches skittering away in fear.
This also applies more abstractly to the human life and heart. Why do we fear letting another get too close to us, to know who we truly are and what we have wrestled with–or wrestle with still? Why is it painful when others correct our mistakes, criticize our efforts, and reject our (sometimes imperfect) gifts and attempts? Why can we be inclined to hide from God’s goodness and love when stepping into His light would require us to be fully seen, warts and all?
Being willing to be illuminated, to be completely seen for the sake of being cleaned, is not a venture for the faint of heart. It takes courage. And yet, it is not an endeavor for the self-sufficiently brave. It requires brokenness, humility.
Can God shine His love through us while we are still growing, while we are still human in a hurting world?
Yes, glory, and amen.
But won’t His love be more fully and vibrantly able to shine if we embrace the reality of the gunk we still carry and openly invite Him to sweep away the webs?
Yes, glory, and amen.
And now that my writing task is done, perhaps this humble homeowner should stop procrastinating….
“Listen to your life and what’s on the inside. All the other sound, turn it down, and listen to your life. Let the Spirit flow, and let the Spirit show you all that He was meant to only when you learn to listen to your life.” ~NicholeNordeman
“Mr. Wallace had us read some poems in school. I liked them. They are like songs with no music.” ~Anniein The Voice of Melody
What was I thinking, offering to host a couple of friends overnight while teaching an intensive course? Didn’t I know how exhausted I would be? Yes and no. I knew I’d be tired. But I didn’t realize how tired I actually was until Jayne and Christina arrived. But I also know what I was thinking beforehand: they would need a good, safe place to stay before their very early flight. And I had the heart and space to bless them with exactly that.
My one consoling thought that evening was, “Well, I don’t have to get up and take them to the airport. I can give my weary self a break there and schedule a pick up by Uber.” I did just that before falling into a blissfully deep sleep.
I peeled myself out of bed at 4:10 am to be courteous and say goodbye. About to walk down the steps with horrible bed hair and bleary eyes, I squinted at my phone only to realize that there were no Uber drivers in sight. Ugh. I threw on a beloved old hockey jersey over my pjs and grabbed my shoes. After greeting them at the bottom of the stairs, I summarized the situation and ended with, “I’ll take you.”
Jayne kindly offered to at least drive there, since we were taking her car. But I knew she’d much prefer if I handled the city driving. And I knew that I might go back to sleep if I was just a passenger.
So off we went, cruising through lights still on overnight timers, feeling thankful that an apparently heavy rain had by then pretty much passed. Jayne, who can be incredibly positive and sunny, even at 4:30 in the morning, tried to cheer me up with a little imagining. “I know what will happen,” she declared with a grin I could still hear clearly, though I kept my eyes fixed on the onyx pavement. “We are going walk into the airport after you drop us off and meet a really wonderful, nice looking man who’s just come off of a redeye. He will have [XYZ fitting characteristics] for you, and we will be able to introduce him to you later. He will turn out to be your perfect match! It will be God’s gift to you, and this will all have been worth it!” I laughed loudly (and may have rolled my eyes). “Ok, I am more awake now,” I muttered. “Now you want me to go back home and try to sleep again after THAT prediction??”
She giggled and proceeded to tell me about her cousin’s new writing project for a good chunk of the remaining drive. “Cousin Carrie,” as we always lovingly refer to her, is an amazingly gifted poet who lives many states away. Though I have not met her, I have been deeply moved by her work.
As Jayne brought up the topic, I withdrew a bit inside myself with painful pangs charging through my heart. I thought of the half-completed poetry manuscript sitting on my hard drive, a document I have not touched for several years.
How could I ever dream of finishing and publishing it? Ithought. I don’t have a quarter of the talent that Cousin Carrie has. And when I tried to get feedback on some of the first pieces, they were never good enough. Someone always had a critical remark here and there. Just enough to make me completely doubt my ability to bless others with my attempts.
I came back to the present as Jayne was, ironically, describing a new poem Carrie had developed about the seasons of hope and despair in life: how a cycle between them is normal for us in our humanity, but how the only way to really work through the cycle each time in a healthy way is to turn eyes, ears, and hearts back to God.
The conversation between us continued. At the same time, however, I could clearly hear God whispering, “This, daughter, is my gift to you. This is why you needed to host them and get up so early this morning.” I sighed and whispered back in my heart, “Yes. I receive it.”
I dropped them off at the designated curbside and swung back out into the slightly heavier traffic. As I turned to head back through the one-way streets of downtown, I thought about Jayne’s earlier prediction and smiled. I smiled at the ridiculous odds that such a thing might actually happen. And then I smiled a little sadly to remember all the times that others have tried to feed me variations on a line of lopsided theology. The wording is always a little different, but the thought remains the same…
If I will just have enough faith and self-love to silence my quiet inner desire (to be rightfully pursued by a decent, God-fearing man), then I will somehow be mature enough to actually deserve said man’s attention. And God will magically plant him right in my path so that we can live a perfect life, happily ever after. (Sounds like Joel Osteen and Michael Eisner meeting to plan an epic movie production.)
That’s bologna. There is nothing wrong, immature, or pathetic with a single Christian person, who lives a perfectly responsible and full life of their own, still completely longing to meet and marry a good person. Years of waiting don’t have to be depressing, but a growing desire to marry is not a sign that one is sinfully discontent.
That’s because God’s love and human love are not the same. And while God’s love fills us like nothing else can, there is still a part of our human wiring that was designed for a special connection no other human relationship can quite fill.
I also realized on that surprisingly lucid and mentally productive ride home why presenting my poetry to the world more formally is such a daunting task. It’s because poetry is the song of my soul.
And who would want to present the song of their soul to the world so it could be torn down as cliche, poorly developed, and lacking in proper form?
Likewise, who’s to say when a poem is completely formed and finished? Shouldn’t that be up to the poet and not to those giving critiques?
And, in all honestly, is a poem or song ever really completely finished? I don’t know that it is, because I know the way I write a poem one day will not be the way I would write or revise it another day.
That is the cycle. The cycle of hope and despair. The poem or song of our lives which is actually the song of our soul coming out in whatever we produce or create but are terrified to show to the world.
Because we are not perfect yet. And we hear the criticisms of others far more readily than the voice of our own life.
But we should listen to that life voice when it says, “Look up. Acknowledge that in your humanity which is completely fine and reasonable. And hope for the good things God has yet to give.”
I got home and sleepily spoke some of these musings into my voice recorder before embracing another hour of sleep.
Later, I checked in with Jayne. At the end of her text reply, she added: “That guy we were talking about may have eluded us yet again…rats!”
Maybe you’ve heard one person say to another person, “Just stop and listen! Do you hear what you’re saying?”
I had such a conversation with myself the other day. It was a wake up call when I had an onslaught of negative thoughts pound through my head and I realized it was easier to just give up and listen to the negative thoughts than to actually pay attention to what I was saying to myself… to what I was believing in my heart as a result.
When I really stopped to pay attention, however, I recognized it was a little bit like the warning light that flashes on my dehumidifier when the machine is telling me that the filter needs to be cleaned.
But even though I was starting to pay attention and hear more clearly, I knew I needed help with cleaning the filter. And I knew it couldn’t be a one time deal. Just as the filter on the dehumidifier needs to be cleaned every certain number of working hours, the filter of my mind and heart need to be cleaned on a regular basis too.
It’s vital, if I want to maintain a healthy perspective.
So I wrote this short prayer that I want to start reading every morning, as a way to reset my mind for each day ahead. And I’m praying that the power in God’s response will help me to hear and catch those negative thoughts more quickly in the future, so that they don’t become such a snare for my heart as each day rolls along.
“Lord, thank You for every need You’ll fill today and every good gift waiting for me. Even the ones I can’t see. I receive them in advance with gratitude. Thank You for the protective filter You’ve set over me. If anything hard comes, You’ve approved it for a reason You know. I trust You and Your wisdom. Please clean the filter of my heart and mind so that I can see and choose to respond to those hard things in life-giving ways. Teach me how to see and how to choose. Today is good because You are good. No matter what, You are good.”
I am myopic. Have been nearly all my life. I can barely recall what it is to not see only extreme fuzziness without glasses.
And I am not alone. According to an article by Fabian Yii on The Fab Vision blog, based on reliable statistics and projections, by next year 34% of the world’s population will be short-sighted. (Full article at: https://www.thefabvision.com/2018/04/03/countries-myopia-short-sighted-world-prevalence/ )
Myopia of the eyes, however, is not the only – nor indeed the most serious – form of the condition. We cannot always clearly see how:
Our habits may be harming us…and others
Some choices in this moment will likely affect us negatively in the long run
The hardships and struggles we face today could very well be resolved in the near future
The kindness we show to others really does brighten the world and change things for the better, one day and one person at a time
This year, we have already explored how we can be fully known and learn from that experience to more rightly know ourselves and others. And we have also considered what it means to be loved first so that we can more effectively love. When we have been seen — in all our greatness and strength…and in all our brokenness and pain — we learn to see.
To see God, self, neighbors, and the world differently.
It’s like having myopia and getting fitted for corrective lenses.
I don’t remember exactly what caused me to know I could no longer see as clearly as before. Perhaps it was something my kindergarten teacher noticed and mentioned to my parents. At any rate, I only know that it wasn’t until the eye doctor first set the “right” prescription of test lenses over my eyes that I became aware of just how fuzzy the world had started to become.
And when I began to see more accurately, the world was both clearer and brighter.
In the next few weeks, we’ll explore together how we can handle both the positive things and the hard things when we see them with corrected vision.
Language changes with time. Sometimes the language itself…and sometimes our usage or cultural understanding of it.
Take the ways in which Americans have spoken of those who are not average or normal in a mental, physical, or developmental sense. Generations ago, such people might have been labeled as simple, infirm, mad, or pitiful. When I was young, the term retarded was used interchangeably as a psychological label for certain children and adults and also informally to describe something that was foolish or dumb. Shortly after this, I often heard the word handicapped used to describe people who had a wide variety of conditions; we just stuck another adjective in front (such as physically or mentally) to specify which category of abnormality we were describing.
And now, the term I heard thrown around in every direction, especially for children and young adults is specialneeds. We don’t want to speak of people with limitations and possibly problematic conditions in a way that sounds remotely demeaning or negative. So we label them as special.
I am not poking fun at anyone; I write this in all seriousness. And I am not trying to say people with certain limitations should be denied needed assistance; yes, let we who are on the more average and normal end of the spectrum have understanding and compassion for them (and their caregivers).
What I am saying is: I find it ironic that we would now use the term special needs to refer to such individuals when we are all special in God’s sight and we all have needs in God’s sight. Only God sees each one of us with so much individual love and intimate understanding. And only God sees the needs we have that no one else knows about — or knows the depths of. (Arguably, even those people who are extremely dramatic and open about their needs often have even deeper needs that only God really understands and can fill.)
But being seen can be scary. Especially for those of us who are labeled as normal or average in our society, who are not listed as special needs individuals, and who try to hold it together for the sake of sticking out as admirable instead of sticking out as special.
And yet, for whatever cosmetics we may put on, fences we may put up, and virtual posts we may put out, we are still special, needy, frail, and limited.
Sometimes we need the reminder to stop running, hiding, purchasing, glossing, binging, or denying…and to stand still and openly before the One from whom we cannot hide.
And know that when we are seen by Him, we are truly and rightly seen.
Is this a tear of sorrow with a pleading prayer for what can be?
Or is it a tear of joy for small yet important steps that ARE being taken in a better direction?
Isn’t this a simple picture of what delights the heart of the Father when the children let go of their predispositions and take hold of the two most fundamental commandments?
Today, may I choose to love my neighbor and strive for peace with my neighbor — no matter what my neighbor may look like.
Comparatively speaking, I haven’t heard too many sermons from the Song of Solomon in my lifetime. And of those few, I can’t ever remember hearing one about chapter 5, verse 7: the violent assault of a woman who is simply looking for the man she loves…
It’s something we (in the church) don’t usually talk about, something we rarely know how to understand or name or deal with. But it is one of the deepest cancers of the Fall, one of the hardest wounds to heal.
In fact, I would argue that there is no greater pain, loss, or shame for a woman than some sort of grief or trauma to her womb or her womanhood. And I would argue that level of suffering cannot be fully understood by another woman unless she has somehow known it herself.
(I am not ignoring the men who have also suffered deeply in similar traumas, nor the good men who have valiantly loved, or tried to love, women who carried such loads of grief and hidden scars. For the sake of today’s meditation I am simply focusing on two women in the Scriptures.)
…And yet, just a few verses later, the woman knows where that man she loves is, and as she runs to him, she declares her delight in the firm knowledge of her true identity – she belongs to her beloved and he belongs to her.
(Why did I never notice until yesterday that the only difference between the affectionate title beloved and the verb phrase beloved is space?)
Going ahead about 900 years, we find a sweet young girl held in her mother’s arms while that mother sings these words of the ancient song in a soulful, earthy tone. And the girl drifts off to peaceful sleep, dreaming that one day she will be loved the way her father loves her mother.
We move forward again, perhaps thirty years, to the next chapter, later captured in Luke’s gospel. We don’t know what has transpired in between, but now we see the girl-turned-woman who has been bleeding continually – and by extension continually swimming in shame – for 12 years.
She is exhausted physically from lack of iron, exhausted financially from no lack of dead-end-medical fees, and exhausted emotionally from trying to hold on to the dream that the suffering can end and she can somehow be renewed.
That’s when she sees the Man she loves. And though contact with the very edge of His garment striking the final remnants of her faith is all it takes to immediately stop the bleeding – and begin the untwisting of her broken identity – He does not stop there. He has to identify her, call her forward in the huge crowd, and publically declare who she is to Him.
He does not call her “person.”
He does not call her “woman.”
He calls her “daughter.”
And He tells her to go in peace.
Any act of God is said to be a miracle. And in our human thinking, some miracles seem bigger or more impressive than others.
What is the bigger miracle in these two stories…and perhaps the biggest miracle, apart from basic salvation, that can come upon a woman bruised from within?
It is the reopening of her soul to really know as deep as her scars run – and even deeper still – that she is loved. And when she knows it, that she can delight in it.
Why are we so relieved when someone we trust listens to our awkward confession and still “gets” us without judgement…yet we are often fearful to say what we really think/feel to people we are unsure of?
Why do we feel at home with people who know our quirks…and feel we must put on a mask with those who don’t know us well, lest they should find us quirky (or worse)?
Why do we repeatedly attempt to hide from God just like our earliest ancestors did, even when we will always be as unsuccessful at it as they were?
For a hundred different reasons at different times, we do not want to be known – at least, not really. And yet, if we could listen to the nearly-suffocated voice of the core deep inside us, we might hear it whisper, “Who would really want to know me here? And if they did, would they love me still?”
Ironically, this being known so intimately by God and others with the knowing coated in fear-abolishing love: this is the most important desire of the human heart.
(I guess that’s why I had to write about being loved before I could write about being known. I would be petrified of the knowledge that God knows me fully if I could not hold onto the promise that He loves me even more.)
This month and next month, I will continue my weekend posts, further exploring what it means to be known intimately and to know intimately. But I am going to take it one step further.
Lent begins this week. Upon reflection, this year I have decided not to abstain from something. Instead, I am choosing to feast, to immerse myself in this idea of being known – and not just being known, but being delighted in.
I know deep in my gut that God knows me. But what really boggles my mind is the thought that He, knowing me, would actually and always, delight in me.
And He, the master of the universe, asks me to know Him. And to delight in Him.
Breathtaking.
So, I hope you will join me on a journey. Starting daily, from March 6 through the Lenten season, I will post a picture of a new, simple piece of word art reflecting some aspect of this wonderful mystery: God’s delight in us and our delight in Him.
Most days there will be no commentary. But I hope that pausing to see each image will give your soul a sip of nectar, sweetness to brighten your being from the inside out. Please drink deeply with me and share with others who may need to see the images too.
