at thy birth.
God, coming into the height of your power as a baby.
What does this teach us about humility,willful subjection?
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Lord
at thy birth.
God, coming into the height of your power as a baby.
What does this teach us about humility,willful subjection?
Monday, December 5, 2011
fiel
He's always been faithful.
I keep reading about places in the Bible where significant events went down, and those involved left signposts -- memorials of sorts -- as visual, tangible means to remember how God made his presence and care real among them.
These are structures, usually made of something sturdy, and lasting. They're given names - names with meaning, always indicating something about God's character.
How quick I am to accept God's goodness as general provision, my 'given' share, an expected gift.
This seems devoid of gratitude, or delight, or pleasure.
It's just another day,
meal,
sunset,
breath,
thoughtful note,
phone call,
walk,
breath.
Who am I to think I deserve these things? The moment I stop treasuring them is the moment I forget how much God loves and looks out for me.
He's the one who loved me enough to treasure me first. Can I accept that he loves me enough to evidence it in every tiny treasure he places along my day's path? Maybe it starts with simply having eyes to see them again for what they are; gestures, gifts, reciprocal treasures.
Everything comes from him. It should be enough that he allows us to know him -- but to let us be part of him? To grace us to gain his glory in every detail of our lives?
How should we respond?
With delight.
With pleasure.
With creative thanksgiving.
And maybe we can even find ways to return it.
I keep reading about places in the Bible where significant events went down, and those involved left signposts -- memorials of sorts -- as visual, tangible means to remember how God made his presence and care real among them.
These are structures, usually made of something sturdy, and lasting. They're given names - names with meaning, always indicating something about God's character.
How quick I am to accept God's goodness as general provision, my 'given' share, an expected gift.
This seems devoid of gratitude, or delight, or pleasure.
It's just another day,
meal,
sunset,
breath,
thoughtful note,
phone call,
walk,
breath.
Who am I to think I deserve these things? The moment I stop treasuring them is the moment I forget how much God loves and looks out for me.
He's the one who loved me enough to treasure me first. Can I accept that he loves me enough to evidence it in every tiny treasure he places along my day's path? Maybe it starts with simply having eyes to see them again for what they are; gestures, gifts, reciprocal treasures.
Everything comes from him. It should be enough that he allows us to know him -- but to let us be part of him? To grace us to gain his glory in every detail of our lives?
How should we respond?
With delight.
With pleasure.
With creative thanksgiving.
And maybe we can even find ways to return it.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
hold on
I know
I haven't reason to be
but God I feel so
lonely
lonely
lonely.
The LORD your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing.
Zephaniah 3:17
Please don't let me forget.
I haven't reason to be
but God I feel so
lonely
lonely
lonely.
The LORD your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing.
Zephaniah 3:17
Please don't let me forget.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Giving Love
"He had walked through woods and sat at night beside a campfire. Although he had through the memories learned about the pain of loss and loneliness, now he gained, too, an understanding of solitude and its joy.
What is your favorite? Jonas asked The Giver. You don't have to give it away yet, he added quickly.
Just tell me about it, so I can look forward to it, because I'll have to receive it when your job is done.
The Giver smiled. Lie down, he said. I'm happy to give it to you.
Jonas felt the joy of it as soon as the memory began. Sometimes it took a while for him to get his bearings, to find his place. But this time he fit right in and felt the happiness that pervaded the memory.
He was in a room filled with people, and it was warm, with firelight glowing on a hearth. He could see through a window that outside it was night, and snowing. There were colored lights: red and green and yellow, twinkling from a tree which was, oddly, inside the room. On a table, lighted candles stood in a polished golden holder and cast a soft, flickering glow. He could smell things cooking, and he heard soft laughter. A golden-haired dog lay sleeping on the floor.
On the floor there were packages wrapped in brightly colored paper and tied with gleaming ribbons, As Jonas watched, a small child began to pick up the packages and pass them around the room: to other children, to adults who were obviously parents, and to an older, quiet couple, man and woman, who sat smiling together on a couch.
While Jonas watched, the people began one by one to untie the ribbons on the packages, to unwrap the bright papers, open the boxes and reveal toys and clothing and books. There were cries of delight. They hugged one another.
The small child went and sat on the lap of the old woman, and she rocked him and rubbed her cheek against his.
Jonas opened his eyes and lay contentedly on the bed, still luxuriating in the warm and comforting memory. It had all been there, all the things he had learned to treasure.
What did you perceive? The Giver asked.
Warmth, Jonas replied. And happiness. And -- let me think. Family. That it was a celebration of some sort, a holiday. And something else -- I can't quite get the word for it.
It will come to you.
Who were the old people? Why were they there?
It puzzled Jonas, seeing them in the room. The Old of the community did not ever leave their special place, the House of the Old, where they were so well cared for and respected.
They were called Grandparents.
Grand parents?
Grandparents. It meant parents-of-the-parents, long ago.
Back and back and back? Jonas began to laugh. So actually, there could be parents-of-the-parents-of-the-parents-of-the-parents? The Giver laughed, too.
That's right. It's a little like looking at yourself looking in a mirror looking at yourself looking in a mirror. Jonas frowned.
But my parents must have had parents! I never thought about it before. Who are my parents-of-the-parents? Where are they?
You could go look in the Hall of Open Records. You'd find the names. But think, son. If you apply for children, then who will be their parents-of-the-parents? Who will be their grandparents?
My mother and father, of course.
And where will they be?
Jonas thought. Oh, he said slowly. When I finish my training and become a full adult, I'll be given my own dwelling. And then when Lily does, a few years later, she'll get her own dwelling, and maybe a
spouse, and children if she applies for them, and then Mother and Father ---
That's right.
As long as they're still working and contributing to the community, they'll go and live with the other Childless Adults. And they won't be part of my life anymore. And after that, when the time comes, they'll go to the House of the Old. Jonas went on. He was thinking aloud. And they'll be well cared for, and respected, and when they're released, there will be a celebration.
Which you won't attend, the Giver pointed out.
No, of course not, because I won't even know about it. By then I'll be busy with my own life. And Lily will, too. So our children, if we have them, won't know who their parents-of-parents are, either.It seems to work pretty well that way, doesn't it? The way we do it in our community? Jonas asked. I just didn't realize there was any other way, until I received that memory.
It works, The Giver agreed.
Jonas hesitated. I certainly like the memory, though, I can see why it's your favorite. I couldn't quite get the word for the whole feeling of it, the feeling that was so strong in the room.
Love, The Giver told him."
From The Giver, by Lois Lowry.
What is your favorite? Jonas asked The Giver. You don't have to give it away yet, he added quickly.
Just tell me about it, so I can look forward to it, because I'll have to receive it when your job is done.
The Giver smiled. Lie down, he said. I'm happy to give it to you.
Jonas felt the joy of it as soon as the memory began. Sometimes it took a while for him to get his bearings, to find his place. But this time he fit right in and felt the happiness that pervaded the memory.
He was in a room filled with people, and it was warm, with firelight glowing on a hearth. He could see through a window that outside it was night, and snowing. There were colored lights: red and green and yellow, twinkling from a tree which was, oddly, inside the room. On a table, lighted candles stood in a polished golden holder and cast a soft, flickering glow. He could smell things cooking, and he heard soft laughter. A golden-haired dog lay sleeping on the floor.
On the floor there were packages wrapped in brightly colored paper and tied with gleaming ribbons, As Jonas watched, a small child began to pick up the packages and pass them around the room: to other children, to adults who were obviously parents, and to an older, quiet couple, man and woman, who sat smiling together on a couch.
While Jonas watched, the people began one by one to untie the ribbons on the packages, to unwrap the bright papers, open the boxes and reveal toys and clothing and books. There were cries of delight. They hugged one another.
The small child went and sat on the lap of the old woman, and she rocked him and rubbed her cheek against his.
Jonas opened his eyes and lay contentedly on the bed, still luxuriating in the warm and comforting memory. It had all been there, all the things he had learned to treasure.
What did you perceive? The Giver asked.
Warmth, Jonas replied. And happiness. And -- let me think. Family. That it was a celebration of some sort, a holiday. And something else -- I can't quite get the word for it.
It will come to you.
Who were the old people? Why were they there?
It puzzled Jonas, seeing them in the room. The Old of the community did not ever leave their special place, the House of the Old, where they were so well cared for and respected.
They were called Grandparents.
Grand parents?
Grandparents. It meant parents-of-the-parents, long ago.
Back and back and back? Jonas began to laugh. So actually, there could be parents-of-the-parents-of-the-parents-of-the-parents? The Giver laughed, too.
That's right. It's a little like looking at yourself looking in a mirror looking at yourself looking in a mirror. Jonas frowned.
But my parents must have had parents! I never thought about it before. Who are my parents-of-the-parents? Where are they?
You could go look in the Hall of Open Records. You'd find the names. But think, son. If you apply for children, then who will be their parents-of-the-parents? Who will be their grandparents?
My mother and father, of course.
And where will they be?
Jonas thought. Oh, he said slowly. When I finish my training and become a full adult, I'll be given my own dwelling. And then when Lily does, a few years later, she'll get her own dwelling, and maybe a
spouse, and children if she applies for them, and then Mother and Father ---
That's right.
As long as they're still working and contributing to the community, they'll go and live with the other Childless Adults. And they won't be part of my life anymore. And after that, when the time comes, they'll go to the House of the Old. Jonas went on. He was thinking aloud. And they'll be well cared for, and respected, and when they're released, there will be a celebration.
Which you won't attend, the Giver pointed out.
No, of course not, because I won't even know about it. By then I'll be busy with my own life. And Lily will, too. So our children, if we have them, won't know who their parents-of-parents are, either.It seems to work pretty well that way, doesn't it? The way we do it in our community? Jonas asked. I just didn't realize there was any other way, until I received that memory.
It works, The Giver agreed.
Jonas hesitated. I certainly like the memory, though, I can see why it's your favorite. I couldn't quite get the word for the whole feeling of it, the feeling that was so strong in the room.
Love, The Giver told him."
From The Giver, by Lois Lowry.
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