Category Archives: small things

Studying granular realities, like the material and creation, little discoveries, and words I’ve read that should be shared.

of age

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Today I turn 32. WHAT.

Honestly, at this point it’s mostly just weird. I find it hard to fathom time. If I think too deeply about it, I might grow depressed – only because it all feels too big and hard to understand. I guess it’s a little sad, because I’m that much closer to death, and I wish we had more/older kids by now, and I feel my body being unhappy.

On the other hand, I’m that much closer to my cancer cure date, death means being with God, I have more life experience now as a parent, and our marriage is more solid since we’ve had this forced parental delay.

Age, like any change and transition, means both loss and gain. Grief for sure, and then newness. More discovery, deeper understanding, greater perspective. It means I’ve had more time to spend with Jesus. Also, we’re that much closer to our kids being out of the house, our retirement, and more; apparently internally I’m a much older person. There’s a lot of good stuff that comes with the passage of time.

The sky is now hidden as rainclouds have moved in. Things are changing all the time. When the rain starts I miss the sun. When the sun shines I miss the clouds. I can welcome the rain and then tire of it again. I am constantly grieving change and longing for it. This tension hurts sometimes, this tug at my heart.

I love this world, yet I’m weary of it. I don’t want to leave it, but it just isn’t satisfying. It’s not enough. Only in You can I rest. And You – You are unchanging, always the same forever.

“You cannot change, yet You change everything.” (All Sons & Daughters)

The everlasting arms, the utter foundation of all that exists, of reality. Talk about something hard to fathom. You are fullness; there can never be more than You. Nothing can alter who You are, and no one can make You do anything.

Only in You can I rest, Father. Only in You, Christ, can my tensions resolve – You who are God and man, who used death to defeat itself. Only in You, Spirit, can my grief be comforted and my eyes lifted to beyond myself and my heart resurrected.

Turning 32 without You would be a wholly different experience from what it is; You number my days and determine when it rains. With my life literally in Your hands, every next year matters little as a number. Where I stay is every next moment in Your company.

What else is there? You are Life.

grace on the wind

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I think God’s glory and grace are like a blooming tree in spring.

There’s a tree that’s the source of the palest pink petals, and of otherworldly scent, and everyone knows where all of it’s coming from. But then the petals fly away into the wind, fall to the ground, and cover sidewalks and cars, so that everything else looks like it might be growing those petals too. Everything else looks just a little bit similar to the tree because the petals cover them.

And I think we’re like the covered things. We get to share in God’s grace in this life – we breathe, we love, we give, because of this grace. And we get to share in God’s glory in this life – He made us in His image, and gave us some of His characteristics – passion, creativity, a sense of justice, anger, affection, joy. So sometimes, someone might look at you and think you resemble God, but it’s just because He’s put some of His grace and glory on you and into you.

Without those petals, you’d just be the sidewalk or the grass, and then nobody could mistake you for a cherry tree. Without the petals, I don’t think we actually be breathing right now.

What a sweet gift, to be clothed in grace, to resemble Christ in our lives, so we can show people the source of all this glory. It doesn’t come from or end with us. There’s a tree, from which comes all our life and hope.

Today I found my car sprinkled heavily with these little pink kisses, and when I opened the door, some flew inside, and when I drove, I could see them in the mirror, wafting off behind me to grace other drivers with whimsy and beauty. I smiled; I couldn’t help it. And maybe I could be a little like that – floating lightly through life to give others a glimpse, a bit of grace on the wind.

a prayer to the God of my life

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Lord, while I am overwhelmed moment by moment, you remain in control. You remain fully capable of meeting my needs, of saving me, of healing me. I need such healing. I can’t hold it together, while that’s what you’re doing all the time.¹

I can’t habit myself out of my brokenness. I can’t make myself better by changing my behavior.

You have no shortage of everything I lack. Peace. Grace. Hope. Joy. Perspective. Self-control. Patience. Faithfulness. Understanding. Wellness. Goodness. Holiness. All the ways you call me to be. This all is found only in you. I can only model myself after you.

And yet, I can’t. I’m amazed by how often I feel beyond fixing. Beyond help and healing. And I kind of want to be done having to get up every day and try again.

But you’re showing me: I feel beyond hope most when I’m looking at myself. And that’s when I’m also most right about it, because I don’t have you in my sight. And without you, the picture is grim. But you draw my eyes upward, slowly pulling my gaze out of its fixation on me, and you make me see you, being just right there, right here, eager to bring me to yourself, where there is only shalom.

And with you in it, the picture is grace. With you at the center, and me at the periphery, things finally start to make sense, as you put them in order.

So. This healing. I guess it has to begin with worship. Because if I don’t understand who you are, how can I trust you to manage my chaos, my burden? If I don’t see you as the biggest and awesomest and lovingest person there ever was, why would I waste my time? As it is, I’m wasting my time NOT looking at you. I’m making my back problems worse by hunching in on myself, looking for answers anywhere else. And I’m losing light.

But you. You. You, I can tell, you’re taking me by the shoulders, by way of internal crisis, and shaking me awake to you. You’re straightening me, tilting my head up. It’s really hard to frown when I’m looking up. It’s really hard to purse my lips. My face itself testifies to the internal reality that when I look up, I’m opening up. My eyes open. My mouth opens, as though ready to receive food and a deep breath.

My eyes open, and I get to see you. And I take you in, your glory, your wonder, and my heart beats faster, and you’ve let me love you. You’ve given me my greatest good – to know you and love you.

And my response now is to bend again, but this time, I’m not hunching. I’m bowing. I’m on my knees. I’m on my face, because all I have is nothing, and I have nothing on which to stand. Nothing to prop me up in your sight. I am nothing, Lord.

So if you want nothing, then here I am. Here I am.

Here I am.

Yours.

By day the LORD commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life. [Psalm 42:8]

 

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¹ Colossians 1:17, Hebrews 1:3