Short Lived

This past summer, we found this Luna moth late in the evening. The photo doesn't do it justice; the moth was nearly five inches across and was just so different than anything I had ever seen, I immediately started to research it. For some reason, I identified it as a Luna Moth without any hesitation (probably from reading The Girl of the Limberlost countless times in middle school). Interesting fact? They live long enough to mate. About a week. And adults don't even eat food--their sole purpose is to procreate. I had hoped we found the moth at the beginning of its week and not the end; but it didn't matter. That night a monster thunderstorm with driving rain rolled through and the next day the Luna Moth was gone.

Psalm 20, 21/110, 116, 117 [morning/evening]
Genesis 6:9-22
Hebrews 4:1-13
John 2:13-22

Shaking the Earth

I thought I was over indignant reactions to what amounts to crackpot comments from leaders. [Or people who are vociferous enough to be heard...it may very well have nothing to do with leadership.] But for the past several days, I've been unable to get Pat Robertson out of my head! While some friends I've spoken with are amazed I'm shocked at all (after all, what did I expect him to say?), I don't want to become accustomed to the mangled, distorted, misconstrued sides of life.
__________________

I've been writing this blog for over an hour and a half now. I'm stuck. I've started, stopped, backspaced, typed furiously...until I'm just now frustrated with every facile thought that starts its trip across my screen. Without hesitancy, I can say that events like Haiti's earthquake send me reeling into an apathetic coma. My desire for extreme action leads me to complete inaction. What to do? What to do? I honestly considered, on the way home tonight--with my chatty toddler in the backseat--how much I wanted to jump on a plane and head to Haiti. It was the same feeling I had in college when I daydreamed about joining the humanitarian effort in Bosnia. How much of this is some sort of self-aggrandizing fantasy and how much is my genuine heart....I don't know.

But I know this was outside of God's Design. Death, hunger, agony, blame, thirst--these things were not part of the picture when the world began. I mean, we're talking about a God Incarnate who chose to turn water into wine as one of his first demonstrations of his "glory." A God who favored Noah--a needle in a haystack. A Man who went through death, hunger, agony, blame, and thirst. As much as life before the Resurrection exemplified our desperate situation, life after should reflect our Redemption. I mean--believers in Christ are under grace, not the law. The law reflected our separation from God--the extent to which we can't be holy or righteous. Faith in Christ depends upon recognizing our inability to attain righteousness on our own.

And so, I guess I'm in the midst of a theological fog. Do I think God's ways change? No. Neither does his character. But I do think God's story reached a climax when death lost. And this was a turning point. Now, instead of a negotiated religion between men, priests/prophets, and God--it's us and Him. For some reason, this turning point also implies, to me, that God probably doesn't swoop down and wipe out nations anymore. Could he? I can't deny it. But that was a different part of the story.

Psalm 16, 17/22 [morning/evening]
Genesis 6:1-8
Hebrews 3:12-19
John 2:1-12

Beginnings

Psalm 1, 2, 3/5, 7 [morning/evening]
Genesis 2
John 1:1-18
Hebrews 1:1-14

I have to admit some disappointment this morning when I realized the coming weeks of Epiphany readings are sending me back to the beginning. In an effort to read the Bible through from beginning to end, I've read Genesis countless times...usually fizzling out somewhere in Leviticus. But each of these readings pointed toward the beginning of God's story in a different way: John highlights Christ's presence "in the beginning" and Hebrews differentiates that presence from angelic beings. And today, as I read Genesis 2, I reflected on the creation of humanity. Rather than simply speaking us into being, God formed us with his own hands, breathed his life into us, created us in his image.

I need to know that. It seems that lately I've been questioning God's story overall. Somehow it was easier to believe in cosmic significance in my early 20's...and now, as I approach [gulp] 33, I wonder if this is it. I've gone from lofty (but never enacted) plans to assist in humanitarian efforts around the world to a more practical day to day existence. But when I read Psalm 1, which contrasts the firmly planted believer with the unbeliever blown about by the wind, I found this written in the margins: "a heavy life." And I want that heaviness--not in a melancholy, self-absorbed sort of way, but in building a life of depth, deep connection, and beautiful weight.

"Is the Lord among us or not?"

Psalms 121, 122, 123
/131, 132[morning/evening]
Isaiah 45:14-19
Colossians 1:24--2:7
John 8:12-19

When the normal schedule resumes, blogging apparently proves challenging. Time has again become a commodity, and I determine the worth of a task or event by time-spent. In fact, this week, it occurred to me that I don't have an insatiable desire for money--I have an insatiable desire for time. To a fault, I don't care about clothes or make-up or cars; but, I'm greedy with each second of my day--also to a fault. I find myself planning ahead in terms of minutes, gathering seconds for myself whenever possible, and dreading bedtime because it means the end of the day and sleep seems unproductive. When the psalmist compares the length of our lives to the life of grass, I get it. I feel it. I hate it. More often than not, I don't know why I'm here. There's no melancholy attached to that statement; I'm just not sure how packing lunches, cooking dinner, or running like mad from activity to activity is serving the greater good or how it fits into God's story.

I've always wanted God's story to feel like something along the lines of The Lord of the Rings--a little bit of fairy tale, lots of beauty, and some struggle (but just a bit.) The other day I discussed a particularly brutal section of Joel with some friends. We've been reading through the minor prophets together--a task I haven't been excited over just because, to be frank, it's hard to take. And when someone asked, "How do you feel as you read these chapters?" [which are full of destruction, fear, and God's anger and judgment] I blurted out, "That could be me! God could exact that punishment on me...and he loves me?"

So today, as I read these pieces of scripture, I found a common theme that took this issue to the mat. In Isaiah, God says, "I have not spoken in secret, from somewhere in a land of darkness; I have not said to Jacob's descendants, 'Seek me in vain.' I, the Lord, speak the truth; I declare what is right." Paul, in Colossians writes of maturing in Christ to understand the mysteries of God. And it occurred to me that in many ways, I don't live as if I acknowledge the immensity of the cross--it revealed the mystery in God's story as much as it redeemed us. And it should reorder my time, or, at the very least change the reason I'm so greedy for it.

In another, unblogged, reading, Exodus 17:7 caught my attention: "Is the Lord among us or not?" The question comes from a place name Moses used after providing water for the wandering Israelites; he was understandably frustrated by their persistent doubt. I should ask the same question...it changes my interpretation of the story.

Turning and Returning

Psalm 66, 67/145 [morning/evening]
Wisdom 7:3-14*
Colossians 3:12-17
John 6:41-47

Tomorrow, I return to work. And really--typing those words just now marks the first time I've verbalized them all day. I've pushed the thoughts aside, focused on the moments, forged ahead as if tomorrow was just another day of vacation. Truly, though, I love my job. I do love teaching; but there are greater loves in my life now...and one that changes at such a pace I find myself doing double-takes.

I say this with all graciousness, but unless you're a mother who's left a child behind at daycare or preschool, witnessed their sad faces, and felt that dull ache coupled with hot tears as you drive away, you can't know the dread some workdays bring. Despite necessity. Despite knowing your children are well cared for. Despite even calling.

Becoming a mother loaded me down with a desire to control; I know God is chipping away at my stoney grasp on life as I know it, which is not life as good as it could be. I worry and fret and wonder if I'm doing the right thing, if I'm doing all I can, if Luke's life is good. But always, I return to a question a friend asked me nearly a decade ago: "Do you really believe God is good?" Psalm 145 tells me He is. Not just because of "awesome works" or "great deeds," but because I need to know that the One whom I've asked to know is "gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love," "trustworthy in all he promises and faithful in all he does," and (for tomorrow) "near to all who call on him."

During a walk in the woods, Cory and I found a single purple mushroom, and I returned hours later to photograph it, searched through leaves to find it, and sat and thought about it. Really? A bright purple mushroom? It was a perfect specimen of detail and exactness to me. I need that God--who knows the details of my heart: "My name is graven on his hands,
My name is written on his heart..." **

*As far as I can determine, Wisdom is a book included in some Anglican Bibles, but not included in most other Bibles--including mine....so I didn't read it.

**"Before the Throne of God," Charitie L. Bancroft, 1863.

Bread

Psalm 34/33 [morning/evening]
1 Kings 19:1-8
Ephesians 4:1-6
John 6:1-14 [be sure to read this passage too!]

Today, I made focaccia. I love baking bread because the transformation from the gluey mass made entirely of flour, water, salt and yeast, becomes a light, crunchy, olive-oiled creation topped with cheese, olives, and sundried tomatoes. A remarkable transformation. And it was good--the only thing I served for dinner (which I initially felt badly about), but it satisfied us. The textures, flavors, and just the experience of eating something we had all witnessed and participated in the preparation of was more than enough.

And so, when I read 1 Kings, and discovered Elijah fleeing Jezebel's murderous wrath, I understood the beauty of God's care for his prophet: Elijah, sure he can't go any farther (and I assume it's a spiritual AND physical struggle), finds himself fed by God--bread baked on stones. He eats, finishes, and then "the angel of the Lord" [Jesus?] urged him to eat more bread in preparation for the journey ahead. The story reads, "Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb..."

Bread baked on stones. It must have been good. It was certainly longed for by Elijah and it sustained and satisfied him. But that bread was also personal--baked by God himself. "Taste...how good God is..."

From Psalm 34:1-9 (The Message):

1 I bless God every chance I get; my lungs expand with his praise.

2 I live and breathe God;
if things aren't going well, hear this and be happy:

3 Join me in spreading the news;
together let's get the word out.

4 God met me more than halfway,
he freed me from my anxious fears.

5 Look at him; give him your warmest smile.
Never hide your feelings from him.

6 When I was desperate, I called out,
and God got me out of a tight spot.

7 God's angel sets up a circle
of protection around us while we pray.

8 Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see—
how good God is.
Blessed are you who run to him.

9 Worship God if you want the best;
worship opens doors to all his goodness.

Psalm 103/148 [morning/evening]
Isaiah 62:1-5, 10-12
Matthew 1:18-25
Revelations 19:11-16


Happy New Year! I've already broken 2 of my nearly 100 (I haven't counted, but it feels that high) new year's resolutions. But there's one I'm holding onto with some ferocity: Pay attention to the moment.

As I read through this morning's readings (to be quite honest, I rarely read the evening Psalm, which could actually be a great way to wrap up the day), I struggled to find a common theme. Or to again be honest, the house distracted me. That post-holiday disaster I find myself managing each year stared me down. Vaguely, as I read through Psalm 103, Isaiah, and Revelations (I have no idea why the New Year's Day reading included an account of the angel announcing the news of Mary's pregnancy to Joseph), I caught a theme of God's pleasure even in the ordinary and flawed. Isaiah describes his redemption of Jerusalem like a wedding, "the desirable place," or "the city no longer forsaken."

Maybe this does connect to Joseph; here's a man who had plans. "Normal" plans even. But God used a situation normally viewed by society as awkward and taboo to bring redemption to the earth. Maybe we sometimes altering our view of the mess gives us better vision.