Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Galaxy Crafter

How great is our God.  He holds time in His hands, and so much more than just the beginning and the end, He holds the parts we can't see or feel, the beyond, the inside, the over and under and all that... is.  That we can't describe.  I'm pleading for wisdom to connect, to weave webs of grace and to leave traces of Jesus on every life I touch.  It's not something I can do alone.  I must commune with the Star-Flinger, the Master of time, the crafter of antiquity and all things glorious as well as of my own heart.

Tonight the air tastes heavy with the world, as if ten-thousand hopes have been laid on it.  How I long to be a part of the gift of answers so that our deepest questions might win with our sure hope.  So many hopeless hearts clang with the noise of unforgiveness, of broken promises.  Yet He longs to sing the purest song in their weary souls. I hear that song whispered behind the crying of my own heart, behind my feeble attempts to reach stars myself.

And so I gently succumb to His work, and see beauty slowly crafted, so that my fingerprints look more and more like His.  Because the morning does come and there is a glorious sunrise yet, filled with the sweetness of birdsong, and so many more hearts have the opportunity to sing with them.  And there is yet opportunity to rest in His goodness.  For me.  For so many more.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Heart Cord

I think there are days when I forget to see the beauty.  I forget to feel the rain.  My inner, swirling world surrounds me from the inside out, and all I can see is the wetness of the hard ground beneath my feet.  My feet, moving forward robotically, taking me from one task to the next.  But then in the midst of the dankness of a thankless soul, fresh mist begins to fall, outside first, but then slowly seeping into the deeper parts of my being.

In the softness of the night I succumb to the tenderness of my Saviour as He shows me this scarlet cord wrapped around my thirsty heart.  That pulsing, red, life-giving cord is scarlet with His blood, a lifeline to my soul.  It's a cord of love, three-stranded, strong, with vessel walls of strength for me to hold upon and be rescued from my self-created despair.  In that moment when I turn from my cold, hard streets and hold upon that cord of life, my spirit is lifted, my gaze turns to those beautiful things which He has given and is giving, and new hope begins to build.

That gentle mist now covers my enraptured face and my eyes catch glimpses of beauty on the rain-streaked branches, reflecting the evening light gladly.  The music drifts through me.  There is much yet to mend, but my heart is healed.  My purpose set and joyous once more as I change my song to sing of the Life I've found again.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

A Little Letter from my Heart to the World

After a long afternoon of studying and with a heart and mind bursting with all sorts of lovely things and nothing but wound care and measurement conversions to occupy my head, I find myself turning to this almost-forgotten,
strange little pastime of writing to the world at large.

That world keeps growing, swelling with all the joy and terror of the lives lived inside them, and I find myself caught in the middle.  I'm learning, learning so very much, and yet I'm hard pressed to find a moment to actually think.  All my thinking these days seems to be so planned, so pre-orchestrated, and even my time with my Saviour has pre-defined borders much of the time.  Yet in these tiny in-between spaces I breathe deeply of the joys that seep down through the cracks and invade from paradise above.

Our lives, ultimately, are to be lives lived in service to others, for the edification and growth of our brothers and sisters in Christ and for the drawing into eternal joy of those not yet family.  That thought is underscored by every gleam of morning sunlight, every branch reaching out for the air a little further, every dying petal fluttering silently, its perfume having lit up the world with beauty already.  As my petals fall throughout life, may their fragrance have been put to good use!

Though my heart may not always soar, and some days it genuinely crashes in so many pieces at the bottom of the darkest cavern, yet will I strive for the glory of my King.  So my immediate purpose may not be thunderous glory, but here it is while I am in the little things, in the aligning of margins in unfriendly documents, in the laughter found in taping shut a drawn-on wound on a sad-faced manikin, or in smiling at those on whom I'm privileged enough to learn my career.

The little girl with bouncing curls who dances past me, that's the song of my heart, and she reminds me of my purpose, how the King wants my delight fixed in him, how my breathing is for Him, how my thinking of myself must be for Him, how my delights and my sorrows must be for Him.

And in Him I rest.

Sheila

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Almost there

I feel a little like a crazy woman.  6 more days.  2 more days of classes.  3 days of exams.  6 exams.  Home soon.  Miss home!  Will miss BJ!  So much to take in and spill out and work through and, as always, so little time.

Philosophy is good for me.  I think I've always been a philosopher and never really realized it.  All my workings through of the hilarity, insanity, and beauty of life, all entwine into a perfect philosophical knot, each part of which has a name I never knew before this semester.

But you know, this afternoon I was walking back to my dorm after a class on Sartre and his rather anti-biblical ideologies, and it struck me: The human being is very interesting concept.

I mean really.  A being, made in the image of the Divine Creator, fully capable of choosing.  That is rather a shocking idea.

So me, this little human being, is going to rush around with a lot of doing for the next few days and then it's on to the next thing for a few months.  Then back to the craziness.  :-)

Happy being human!
Sheila

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Thoughts of a RISEN LORD

So. Many. Thoughts.

I'm all a-flurry with thoughts of gratitude and prayers of wishfulness, dreams of delight and fears of the unknown.  I serve a God I can talk to, a Creator who cares, and that is the most beautiful blessing of all.  I only wish I could know His heart more in this moment.  So much is unclear, and I need to learn to live with that.

It seems that the longer I live, the more opportunity I have for experience after experience, and the more complicated I become.  How life is going to work out from here on in, I have no idea whatsoever.  Maybe my tiny heart will stop beating before I have a chance to see it all work out, but I can't live expecting that, I must plan for tomorrow, but I don't know what tomorrow will bring!

...

Inspiration is so ridiculously fleeting and some moments it comes and then it's gone and it seems with all the worlds and whirls of things to do and places to be I barely find time to revel in imagination and the sense of beauty falling softly all around me, like ten thousand tiny pieces of sparkle dust in slow motion.  But then it is in the odd moments, the study-for-test moments, where my mind is shot, the neurons just aren't firing, and there, in the middle of that hard work, I find myself inspired, I find myself grateful I find myself alive.

Phenomenal: I'm filtering the world through my understanding - I don't like Kant, but he's got that right, we're all filtering the world through our eyes, our ears, our hearts.  But then there's this noumenal, this existence independent of our minds, we don't need to dream up God or some sense of truth that is comforting to a frightened soul, for Truth does really exist, it lives, it reaches down, and as it reaches down I realize it is not an it at all, but a Sovereign God who loves me desperately and wants me to see, through all the filthy muck of life, that He is Good, Gracious, Loving, Compassionate, and Just.

He is Jesus.  And this week, this passion week, we look forward to His death.  We celebrate it, knowing that He rose again and is not dead.

So we spread palm branches for him in every corner of our hearts, shouting with the multitudes, "Hosanna!!!"  For He is King, and He is conqueror of sin.

So we bear our crosses, trudging up the hill to that place where He was beaten and pierced and gaze with drooping jaws as He bears our sin and then blackness covers all.  It is finished.  Forever.  For eternity.  So it is in this time, where I am still filtering reality myself, that I must live like I believe, for I do!

Serve Him!  Proclaim Him!  Teach Him!

It may be only Tuesday... but HE IS ALIVE!!!  HE IS RISEN!!!

Praising Him,
Sheila