Where Are We to Buy Bread...

...that these may eat? John 6:5
Si Johnston spurs me on to write this:

The church and it's mother Israel has only lay dormant in the face of injustice because it refused to listen and act upon the words of her prophets.
We must strive for justice right where we find ourselves. The story of the paralytics healing reflects lives that are connected to real people. The Emergant Village has it's own. Let them attend to it, without being overwhelmed. The main hurdle now is our western pride that says we should save some third world when we do not even attend to our neighbor. Let's be careful not to tie our hands numb with however a well meaning pity or righteous cause.

Is there an ebb and flow in the sowing of justice? I just read from Nouwen something about a withdrawing from community that can serve it as well as participation. For the nurture of the soul in solitude also cultivates what can be gifted to the whole upon reunion. Namely prayer. God is at work as Jesus asks us to trust. (John 5:17)
Anytime you find something for your hand to do, do it with all your might. I cannot serve justice in my endless talk of it. But in my active listening. Jesus living among you asks that the ears who would hear, let them hear.
Only self-deception dulls our ear to the prophet. The call for justice never ceases. Guard the well-spring of your life. Serve out of the abundant life that can only come from Christ.

My heart, for one, can only bear the capacity of my neighbor. God lets me know who my neighbor is by the compassion that flows through me; His life.

New Thoughts on Christ the Lord

Thoughts of a Regular Guy: The Historical Jesus Of The Gospels
Some interesting conversations about my new favorite book and it's controversial believing author. I am a new fan, savoring every word of this book that paints a picture of how the young life of Jesus Christ may have looked. It's or about how it may have felt. And that's what art is all about.

Appreciation

We have this strange day in November. Right in the middle of the week comes this Holiday every year. So we stop whatever we're doing and scramble to find some family and sit and eat this traditional meal together. And we're giving thanks.

I love it, I really do. It's my favorite meal of the year. But it will never be as good as my mother made it, and I will never be served like I was when I was a child and the house will never feel as full as on that particular day in November.
So I get caught in the remembering and the moving forward. And I cling to the word that is spoken around me.

We all went to church the evening before. I knew of some very grievous hardship with a few families. I gave thanks, but felt none of it. I gave thanks some more and acknowledged that the point was to give thanks.

For far too long I have connected the idea of giving thanks with appreciation.
We are all taught to say thank you from an early age. It's right to say thank you. It's the mark of graciousness and goodness. Somewhere along the line I've misunderstood that I must feel it too.
It has been a very confusing couple of weeks for me. This time of year brings along hard memories. I don't appreciate that. But I am thankful for a day where we stop everything and think about it for a while. It has called my attention to it and asked for a response.
And as my mother said, "Say thank you!"
I say Thank You to God.
Thank you for Tim and Joel and Karin and Matthew. Thank you the we are together and have all that we need. Thank you for new friends. Thank you that we are all healthy. Thank you for work and a house and a town. Thank you.
Now, having said that, I realize I really appreciate it too.

Christmas Kickoff

I let some dear people into my family last night with the annual screening of The Christmas Story. The great leveler of stories. The story about how families aren't perfect. That the most humerous things come out of the most tender and painful things.
We had a Good Day on Thanksgiving. I practiced giving thanks in all circumstances and experienced the protection around my heart growing. Thank You for the day.

It Was a Simple Poem

I wrote a poem today about my father and something broke open in me. I wrote it and then I went back to bed, crying; emotions that are never done in me. It's kicked up in me, because of Jay dying and Merrick coming into our life. It's because of Thanksgiving and falling leaves and the endings.
I could let Dad rest if he really was resting, but he's out there. Out there and unavailable to me. I can make many choices, but I cannot go to him. There is a frightening place I can never enter. I cannot be rejected again. And though I know it's more complicated than any of my thoughts can hold, I face the terrible reality of the loss. The loss of what he is to me and what he's not. The loss of trying to understand. The loss of forgiving and and having it give me nothing but the loss.

I have had such a wonderful cycle of happiness, I can take this standing. I can let the blow meet my head. I'm cut loose in it, but I don't want to stop what the truth will mean. I end here.
I have skin and a heartbeat and they have an ending.
I have sadness and eyes open and they have an ending.
I have questions and frustration and they have an ending.
I have words and breath and they have an ending. Selah.
The ending came before me and now I'm here.
The ending is a puzzle and I move the pieces.
The ending I can't touch and You see me.
The ending is Holy and hope treacherously leads me to face it. Selah.

Anticipation

Looking forward......aren't you??

Christ the Lord

Latest read...... one word....... Amazing.
I'm savoring every word.
I started by reading the Author's Note at the back of the book first. I trust Anne Rice. I'm taking it at face value.
I dreamed the story last night.

Obsession vs Creativity

I''m wondering if the best way to deal with the latest groove being dug into my brain would be to just work with it and write. A book of sorts entitled "My Specific Subject" Write a journal where any and all emotion, reasoning, prayers or schizophrenic thought might find it's resting place. But I wonder if it will do any good. Can I trust myself to stay upright as I ruminate? I take a great risk. I usually write with a reader in mind. But for this subject, I must cut all harbor lines and let it take me where it will. That's what the Subject seems to be demanding of me. But will I return with my eye intact?
I'm thinking of how the eye sees upside down, our brains job to interpret as it is designed to do. My brain and my eye have not let me down so far. So yes, I think I shall go ahead. I've been brave before and it's brought me to some wonderful places.

A Discussion of the Charismatic..

Blogotional
"The gifts must be rooted in an almost overwhelming sense of humility"
......I liked what I see here. The searching.

Can we have grace for each other? In my own searching, I trusted that the experiences I had in the charismatic were there to teach me things about people, about me, about God. I think if we ourselves are not willing to let God have his way, whatever that means, than we can hardly criticize those who are allowing a type of surrender to come into their lives. Many who have never desired to have all the gifts come at the "emotive" gifts as if they are humiliating and unintelligent. That's precisely what they are. They make messes, because people are messy. And the needs of men and women to communicate and experience God are as varied as the design of their faces. Scripture leaves room for this fleshing out. We are right to stay in the relationship with our Spiritual Siblings all the while guiding each other and listening, not with the intention to cease their growth, but to bring us all into the fullness of Christ.
There are unique experiences. Christ was unique with his spit. We don't demand that others follow that way of healing, nor would we blame Him for operating in that fashion.

New Horizens

It's time to move on. I have been running a theme for many months about opening up my circle of influence and letting people into my life.
But I'm seeing that I have not been as comfortable with being alone any more. I have to cycle through the trust and let peole love me this time. To step back and see what comes. Henri Nouwen speaks of a love that survives solitude. I am going to touch that.
There are new fears in me that must be confronted. I'm not okay with the passage of time. I'm not okay with a life where I grow old. And I am about to discover what that means for me.
I'll have lots of time to think on this as I piece the graduation quilt for my daughter.

And You Thought the Labor Ended

I'm going through a cycle of mothering which began long before the missed period. What I long suspected is now being confirmed. I am in this family for the duration. It's my whole world and the window from which I view my idea of life.
What's got me mixed up, pensive and clandestine is my teen-age daughter. We're staring at the beginning of her future. She doesn't really know it yet, but from where I stand, I am looking out at the distance over her head.
I'm not sure why my older son hasn't evoked this intense watchfulness. I'm guessing because he doesn't share my chromosomes albeit my personality.
Simply put, the girl is dragging me back through high school. I get to feel that anxiety of my self-worth and whether or not I'll go to Homecoming. She has a new crush, I have a new crush. She's got her own faith and her own intuition that dazzles me. It's hard to keep up. But aside from retro feelings, I'm seeing the second half of my life tied up neatly in a girl two-thirds my age and three quarter of my wisdom. I'm dreaming dreams about her like I've never done before. It's the expecting all over again. I can't tell as yet how long the gestation period, but in the end we're talking grandchildren, Christmas' apart and the children for me that did not come from my blood.
I can get myself pretty worked up about all this. It's always on my mind these days. I remember the intensity of fearing my toddler's fall. Just the thought could make me wince. This empathy proves she's mine.
As I pray to settle my nerves, all these thoughts tumble out of me during this quiet morning.

I realize that I have built a long motherhood. A long influence I started in the earliest of mornings. This is what it's for, those sleepless hours. It's for a life that is bigger than frustration over the last diaper used at 11:15 PM. It's stronger than the special odor lingering on the shoulder someone spit up on. These children have crafted in me more than how to make the books more appealing than the Barbie dolls and discovering creative ways with peanut butter. I still have the advantage of being the oldest. With all it's rights and responsibility, I get to see it all. I'll have been there from the beginning. It brings with it an authority that I can hand to her, if I choose, in a way that can go down easy. I love her, after all, and I can make sure she understands that.
So I dream about her future and mine. I dream about her happiness and my future son. I see her with a youth more successful and a marriage inspired by commitment and companionship. Together we can have what we build together. She just doesn't know it yet.

TOWARD YOU
You're growing no doubt
though you don't see it.
You're stronger, but not
strong enough - you feel it

I will be the extra
I like to be the stand-in.
There are secret things to know
behind here, I like it.

You in your becoming
allow me to be complete.
The birth I thought was over
is still keeping me in labour.
I'll show you how to be old
I'll show you how to grieve
I'll show you how to worship
leaning on your staff.