Slow Motion

In a little bit of love with these lyrics and the sound.

Fresh

"He wrote with the freshness of the presence of Jesus Christ Himself," John Whorall, describing the writings of Thomas Watson.

Sometimes I write that way, but sometimes I don't. I'm currently enjoying a long weekend of solitude and silence. My husband looks forward to this deer hunting trip all year. He and several friends hire a mule team to pack them into the backwoods of the Sierras. They really are far removed from the Valley at this point. I'm happy for him. He is talented at his chosen career and enjoys great successes there. He is loved deeply by family and friends and I know he feels it. But in the wilderness, he is unleashed. He is free.

I wish I could read myself half so well. You see, I'm of an analytical breed. We like to ponder, about ourselves along with everything else in life. I've been encouraged to take personality tests and compare my thoughts about myself to the thoughts of others about me, finding some balance in between the two. As often happens with introverts, the ways in which I see myself vary greatly from the ways in which others see me. It takes a lot of conversation to make the two understandings harmonious. I realize I'm beginning to sound a bit pretentious, and that's ok. For all the thinking, questioning, and breaking down into bits, I still have few real perceptions about who and how I am.

"Know thyself."

"The unexamined life is not worth living."

Quotes such as these have danced in my head for years. I'm sure I'm not alone in that process. It's like I've been going through a midlife crisis since I was 17. Haha. For all the bits and pieces I cannot synthesize them into one homogenous understanding of myself. One that allows me to step forward, embracing my abilities and inabilities alike. I want to be free. I think I might have told you that a person dear to my heart said, "You're like a bud that needs to bloom, but is holding itself shut with all its might." But what is that bond that I'm placing on myself? With what am I holding myself in?

I'm enjoying a study that I've just begun with some ladies from my church. It's a study through experiencing various spiritual disciplines. We started with becoming aware of our desires, because desire leads us to God, in the end. If we stick with the day to day wants and needs, they drive us into awareness of deeper longings, which in turn pull us into our deepest desire - intimacy with God. I completely agree. But trying to apply this to myself gets tricky, especially when I think about how little I actually know about myself in the long run.

I didn't know where to start. I'm not even in tune with the things that I really want. I know what I tell everyone I want. I want to be a mom. "If you were the blind man on the side of the road calling out to Jesus, and He turned to you and asked you "What do you want me to do for you?" what would you want?" So, in the end I just made a list of the things I desire. In the order by which the thoughts came:

I want a job that I enjoy and feel skilled at.
I want my mother in law back.
I want my mom and brother to live close to me.
I want my husband to know how loved he is.
I want to be creative and share my creations with others.

and last...after about 5 minutes of thinking...

I want to know if we're going to have children.

I didn't even say "I want kids" or "I want to be a mom" - I said I want to know if we're going to have kids. Weird.

After praying and asking God to make the necessary things clear to me, He helped me realize that I deeply desire a sense of freedom and value. I want to move through life with an easy grace. I want to love without holding back. To be generous without worrying if I have enough to give (of myself, my time, and so on). To trust that I am enough, even in my imperfections.

Why do I so intensely feel like I need to understand myself? Why can't I just be happy sitting in the presence of God who loves me, and enjoy being known by Him?

Maybe then I will always write with the freshness of the presence of Jesus Christ.

To Be With Us

I often imagine that while I writhe in pain God looks on, sitting quietly near. He says He is with us. I believe Him.

Have you read the verse that says "Rejoice with those who rejoice and cry with those who cry" or something very like it? I had never, until tonight, thought of God crying with me in the midst of my pain. I think I always imagined Him close by with a tissue box, waiting for me to soak up the comfort of His goodness and get over it.

God bless George MacDonald though. What a wordsmith. These words, penned a century or more ago in The Princess and Curdie, brought God to me as a true compatriot from the land of suffering.

"He turned an inquiring look upon the lady, and saw that she was now seated in an ancient chair, the legs of which were crusted with gems, but the upper part like a nest of daisies and moss and green grass.

"Curdie," she said in answer to his eyes, "you have stood more than one trial already, and have stood them well: now I am going to put you to a harder. Do you think you are prepared for it?"

"How can I tell ma'am," he returned, "seeing I do not know what it is, or what preparation it needs? Judge me yourself ma'am."

"It needs only trust and obedience" answered the lady.

"I dare not say anything ma'am. If you think me fit, command me."

"It will hurt you terribly Curdie, but that will be all well, no real hurt but much good will come to you from it."

Curdie made no answer but stood gazing with parted lips into the lady's face.

"Go and thrust both of your hands into that fire," she said quickly, almost hurriedly.

Curdie dared not to stop and think. It was much too terrible to think about. He rushed to the fire and thrust both of his hands right into the middle of the heap of flaming roses, and his arms, halfway up to the elbows. And it did hurt! But he did not draw them back. He held the pain as if it were a thing that would kill him if he let it go - as indeed it would have done. He was in terrible fear lest it should conquer him.

But when it had risen to the pitch that he thought he could bear it no longer, it began to fall again, and went on growing less and less until by contrast with its former severity it had become rather pleasant. At last it ceased altogether, and Curdie thought his hands must be burned to cinders, if not ashes, for he did not feel them at all. The princess told him to take them out and look at them. He did so, and found that all that was gone of them was the rough , hard skin; they were white and smooth like the princess's.

"Come to me," she said.

He obeyed and saw, to his surprise, that her face looked as if she had been weeping.

"Oh Princess! What is the matter?" he cried. "Did I make a noise and vex you?"

"No Curdie," she answered, "but it was very bad."

"Did you feel it too, then?"

"Of course I did. But now it is over and all is well."

I think my beautiful mother in law must have felt like Curdie when she faced a second cancer diagnosis, twelve years after her first. Like God was asking her to thrust her hands in the fire of dying well of a ravaging disease. The fire of dying in way that would bring glory to His name and praise to Christ through the work of the Spirit. Her last times throughout that year and half were painted with grace, truth, love, and honesty in the face of death. And I have no doubt that God cried His way through her pain.

She's the only person I know who died with a smile on her face.

And now, it is over and well, for her.

Now it is my turn (though not just my turn) to thrust my hands into the fire of living without her, knowing that God's tears fall with my own. That He is not just sitting by with tissue. That His comfort is actually going through this pain with me, as a participant. That this trial hurts Him too. And it does hurt.

Alone with You.