A Fragile Thing

Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. 
Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 
Ephesians 3:17 (NLT)

Fragile: 

• (of an object) easily broken or damaged, flimsy or insubstantial, easily destroyed
• (of a person) not strong or sturdy, delicate or vulnerable

-Web definition from Google search

We are at chapel. My daughter is wearing her favorite blue dress, the one I bought her for a homecoming dance four years ago. She is excited this morning, and has been telling me about her 'friends' on the short ride over, the chaplains and their wives whose names she has learned in the past few months of attending. She tells me that Cody will be out of town, but his wife, Jenn will be there. She tells me she is a leader; she has a job. She tells me she is a good usher. 

We walk through the door into the back of the sanctuary together. We are early. I watch her look around at the people who have arrived before the service, like us. I see her eyes light up as she spots those she knows. We find a seat. Her friends are spread out, mingling and talking. They are all engaged. I sense her impatience; she wants to say 'hi.' She wants to say 'Happy Father's day'. She wants to mingle and talk.

I tell her that she can't interrupt. She needs to wait. So she sits next to me; she's smiling in anticipation. I'm proud of her; this is social maturity. She is learning. 

I see her favorite chaplain break away from his conversation. She sees him, too. I nod my ok and she jumps up to greet him. She says all the things I expect and more. She asks him if he likes her dress. She tells him her father has a cold. She tells him where we had lunch yesterday. He smiles and nods; I can see he tries very hard to understand her. From my seat, I tell him that yes, we had a great day with lunch out, and no, unfortunately my husband has a cold so will not be at chapel...I want to translate without making her think she's spoken wrong, and without him feeling like a frustrated listener.

This is a fragile thing.

The ushers are called to the front and the plates passed out. My daughter doesn't get a plate. She doesn't understand. I anticipate her confusion even before her arms raise and lower in question. Her friend of the do-you-like-my-dress conversation rescues two more offering plates from behind the pews in the front. He hands one to my daughter. I see her breath of relief. I hear her voice in my head: I am an usher. 

This is a fragile thing.

I think about the responsibility of holding someone's esteem. I think about how it must feel to realize someone has gone out of their way to see you, to speak with you, to listen to you. To be with you. How do you handle the attention? Do you watch what you say, realizing that your words are an influence? Do you want to make sure you listen well? Do you want to rescue them? Teach them? Build a relationship with them? Respect them? 

This is a fragile thing.

It is humbling. It is heavy. I think of depending on, living for, trusting. I think of parents and teachers. I think of friendships. I think of outside influences and pressure. I think of self esteem and confidence.

These are fragile things.

I think of Jesus.  I think of God.  I think of love. 

Love through Christ is not a fragile thing.

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for your mighty love. 

Help us to recognize our fragile things and to cover them with your strength, 
your kindness, your compassion, your righteousness.

Thank you for placing people in our lives who demonstrate how this is done.

You are amazing. 

Linking with Sunday Stillness, and Spiritual Sundays

Snow - Metaphor

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, 

whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, 

whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 

Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. 

And the God of peace will be with you.

Philippians 4:8-9

We knew, when my husband accepted this posting, that we might be in for some cold weather and snow.  Yup.  Halfway through February and the snow totals since October have topped the 90inch mark.  Thankfully not all at once, right?  At the same time, we are about to experience daytime high temperatures that won't crack zero.  Yes, negatives will be our highs.  I smile when I hear the newscasters explain the temperature in thermometer degrees and wind chill.  Those negatives we're expecting by this weekend?  Thermometer degrees.  Wind chill will be colder.  Much colder.

So, having set the stage... I just came back in after shoveling.  Again.  We only got a couple of inches of snow overnight, but when the snowplow runs by, it leaves a mound of slushy, icy, snowy mix at the foot of the driveway.  Knowing the cold that's coming, I thought it a good idea to get rid of that mound while the shovel could still get it.  By tomorrow morning it will be solid ice.  And tomorrow my husband gets home from a month-long training exercise, so I want everything to be, you know, perfect.  Perfect is not driving over an ice mogul.

And therein, lies this post.  Imagine.  I am out in the dusk of morning shoveling snow for the umpteenth time this winter.  I know it could be worse.  I could be in Boston where the snow totals for the winter are less, but the amount they're getting each day is catching them up quickly.  I could be in a more urban setting where I have to dig my car out of snow every day.  So I am, first and foremost, thankful.  I am thankful that I have the get-up-and-go to do what needs to be done.  I am thankful for warm clothes and a warm place to go when I'm done.  I am thankful for the beauty of the white blanket.

But it also causes me to think.  Call it cheesy - but I think of this snow and this shoveling as a metaphor for my Christian life.  It is cheesy; in an I'm-laughing-at-myself-come-along-on-the-journey kind of way, but bear with me.  This kind of thinking gets me through my morning chore, maybe it'll get you through something....

First - I feel like I'm shoveling the same stuff over and over.  The snowpiles by the side of the drive, by the sidewalk, by my porch and patio, by the road are getting deep.  I watch a shovel-ful of white tumble and roll from the top and sides of these winter hills.  Right back to the place I need it the least.  Isn't that what happens to us sometimes?  Don't our best intentions, our well-meaning, well-organized, well-laid-out lives sometimes come tumbling down.  Sometimes the disappointment of goals not met snowballs right to our feet.

So, what to do.  I find I have to work a little harder - take the shovel a little further - find a pile a little lower.  See, it doesn't stop me from doing what needs to be done, I just have to take a different way.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.

1 Corinthians 13:11 (NIV)

Here I am, still shoveling, still thinking about this Christian life, and the snow is starting to fall more heavily.  It's covering all of my good work, the driveway is covered with a gauzy film of white.  But, I think, the biggest task is completed.  The good work is at least begun.   I took the snowplow leavings from the end of the driveway and deposited them across the road, on top of the much-lower-than-mine snow banks.  

In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

Philippians 1:4-6 (NIV)

I really want to feel a sense of accomplishment.  A sense of pride.  So here's the biggest thought I have.  What if the sun came out?  What if it lit up the sky and warmed the air?  What if it came out long enough for some of these snowbanks to melt?  

I have come into the world as a light, 

so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness.

John 12:46 (NIV)

Wouldn't you know, I walked back into the house feeling pretty good about the last hour.  Cheesy as it may seem, I chose joy because I chose him.  You know, I really do try to keep my mind, my thoughts on him.

PS  Ok, so what I forgot to say when I walked back in the house this morning, was that while I was changing out of my shoveling clothes, the snow started coming down in that inch-an-hour-lake-effect way that it can.  By the time my daughter and I left for work, there was another two inches on the driveway and another you-know-what hump at the road.  I have since come home and shoveled again, thinking about this post and my 'lessons' from the snow.  All clear, salted (and oh! that's another thing - kind of like light....get it?  Salt and light?)  AND it's snowing again!  If I didn't know before (and I did, but that's a whole 'nother bunch of stories), I would certainly recognize that God has a GREAT sense of humor!  So, just to make sure it's clear - the 'cheesy' wasn't used in disrespect - it was my weird-sense-of-humor-laughing-at-myself-because-I-keep-seeing-relationship-in-EVERYTHING!  I honestly hope y'all are having fun along with me!

Linking with Lyl on Thought Provoking Thursday

There Will Be Change

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! 

2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV)

Like a breath of mountain rain 

Like birdsong in the trees

Like the phases of the moon

And waves upon the sea

There will be change.

Like thunder's muffled booming

Like a softly sinking sun

Like prairie grasses swaying

And my daughter's morning hugs

There will be change. 

Like fresh-ground coffee brewing

Like someone lullabying

Like spreading rings of water

And a single eagle flying

There will be change

Like a seedling in good soil 

Like a wise and ready bride

Like the shining of a lantern

And the pruning of a vine

There will be change

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, 

the new creation has come: 

The old has gone, 

The new is here!  

There will be change

Linking with 5-Minute Friday

Like the Desert, Rejoice!

The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.

Isaiah 35:1-2

Rain clouds lie low, hugging the land in cool embrace, flattening the light, pushing against the desert, the thirsty desert.  Coaxing out the green.   And the desert complies.  Not shy, not tentative.  Bursting greedily from the rocks, from the shadows, from the hidden places.  Reaching for fullness from the moisture.  Stretching accordion folds to accomodate the gift, the blessing of water.  Life giving, soul sustaining water.

The desert is always beautiful.  Sometimes fiercely so.  In the heat of summer, in the dry, arid oven of June, before the monsoons, before the humidity rides up from the gulf.  Fierce and protective.  With spines and thorns.  With razor rocks and slippery scree.  

"Beware!", it cries.  "Take care!"

There is life here.  A hard life.  A difficult life.  A life of scrimping and saving, of hiding away, of pushing away.  A life of hiding from the light - the harsh, glaring, burning light. 

Above the desert, hanging like a priceless chandelier in the night, are a million crystal stars.  A million million priceless gems, scattered, patterned, lovingly placed in the heavens.  Beauty in the darkness.  In the cool - a daily oasis.  Respite.  Above the desert, the sky - the blue, blue sky - Arizona blue - suspended between mountain horizons on a celestial canvas.  

"Come!", it calls.  "Come and learn of beauty - deadly beauty, life-sustaining beauty, wild beauty."

When rain comes to the desert, it transforms.  It becomes radiant - muted glare bright with color.  Full.    Satiated.  Abundant.  When Christ comes to us, we transform.  Come, he says, Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Like the desert, rejoice!

Heavenly Father, God of the Desert, thank you for your mighty hand of creation.  Thank you for Jesus, who transforms us from desert to abundant life.