What the silence speaks

I'm going to put this in writing. Because I trust that someone out there has felt this way, needs to read this, needs to hear that someone else is in the same lonely place. Because writing it somehow brings the breath back into lungs spasming and the light back into eyes behind those squeezed-tight eyelids. Because I know somewhere someone else is crying out for help from Jesus as they put brick upon brick, slap mortar, build build build walls and hope they're invisible walls, walls nobody can see and will keep you safe in here forever. Because, if you read that I am right here, where you are feeling all alone, then you will know the truth - you who are like me, and not alone - and the truth will set you free. (John 8:32)

Don’t let your bones turn to stone

Cause you’re feeling so alone

Just keep on walking

Don’t count the miles

That you’ve climbed

Make you go blind

Cause baby there’s something to find

Let it cover you with grace

Let it take you from this place

~from Oasis, Grace Potter~

Grace. Grace. Grace. The name of my favorite singer at the moment. The name of my favorite blogger at the moment. The name of the book on my nightstand. You get the picture: it's showing up everywhere. Except I don't understand grace, I don't often offer it, I can't wrap my arms around it.

Part of me just wants to say what I'm saying out loud to everyone: I'm fine. I'm alright (that's a Wisconsin favorite). Nope, nothing's wrong.

I've worked my whole life to have a serene face. (A college professor who worked on a reservation for decades called it "typical Native American stoicism".) Is it really worth it to let it crumble now? I vacillate. I can't decide. If I worked at it, I know I could stop that one cheek muscle from twitching when I want to cry, and turn the flesh back into stone, and probably someday I'd even be able to cover up the pain again with quirky stories and sarcastic jokes. I know, because I already tried that method of dealing with what's boiling up inside right now.

What if I don't talk because the words just don't come. I don't have a name for the emotions I'm feeling these days anyway, I don't have a word for this mood, I can't explain why I feel the way I feel. I don't know if it's right or wrong to feel this way.

Looking up into hope.
An ordinary silo turns sunlight into turquoise.

Everything feels wrong.

I think it just boils down to being in too vulnerable a place, too weak a place, to put things out there into this world. For now I just need to hold it in my heart where just God and I can see it, and He can speak truth. Everything I hear and see and do just feels tainted. Like it might all just go up in smoke if I even recognize it's presence. Like it's all lies. Like I can't distinguish, in those spoken words, what is true and what is false.

If I didn't have kids, I'd run away to the mountains and get my head straight in a big pile of snow and some very thin air. But I do have kids.

If I didn't have a husband, I'd probably stay up all night and zone out in front of a couple of movies. Or finish that 300 page book on my bedside table. But I do have a husband.

If I didn't have things that needed accomplishing, I'd probably crawl into bed and stay there with my eyes shut for a few days. But I do have things to accomplish.

If I didn't...didn't...didn't.

But I do, I do, I do. You have hedged me behind and before, And laid Your hand upon me. (Psalm 139:5) He has walled me in so I cannot escape; he has weighed me down with chains. (Lamentations 3:7)

I look back and I can't go back there. I look forward and I have no idea which path to choose.

And yet...a glimmer now and then. I drove home tonight with the music blaring until my eardrums hurt, and I did hear truth and, just for a moment, hope bled through the black.

What will come of us today?

What we need we cannot say

It’s been a long long time since I’ve been so afraid

And as we all fall down it’s hard

to see a brighter day, but

I see a tiny light

Like a flashbulb sparkle in the night

I see a tiny light

Telling everyone to hold on tight

What will come of all our pride?

This house of stone is crumbled from the inside

It’s been a long long war, now the battle’s drawing near

Closer and closer ’til it whispers in my ear.

Bring me back to the streets of gold,

Give me something warm to hold

Give me love and only love

And you will see it shining from above

I see a tiny light

But it’s not gonna shine without a fight

The flame lit by the Consuming Fire

Note: All the photos in today's post are courtesy of my husband,

who is much better at pausing for beauty than I. He captures the skies.

And I look at his photos in awe. Miss you, honey!

Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket,

but on a stand, and it gives great light to all in the house.

In the same way, let your light shine before others,

that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father

who is in heaven. (Matthew 5:15-16)

It is tempting, at times, to listen to the hushing voices that would have you question your walk with God or authenticity of your faith. But He is not a quiet God who listens to other voices. He lights our skies day and night with the most fantastic, ever-changing display of color, light, and even sound and fury, for all men to see...and even enjoy.

I cannot stay silent or pretend God isn't amazing me every single day. Tying down your faith with the words and choices of others is like trying to hogtie a slippery pig in a muddy pen. God escapes us, emanates from our pores, oozes into our conversations and is found in the most desperate, desolate reaches of my soul.

I have never been nominal about anything. If I like a certain way of cooking my spaghetti sauce, my friends hear about it. If I discover something that works for me - a Phiten for my migraines or an herb for postpartum bleeding - you'll know about it if you spend time with me. I can't pretend my faith isn't devouring me whole and leaving no trace. I can't pretend about who I am, who God created to me. I have to come to grips with the fact that there is no putting a bushel (marked "nominal Christian" or anything else) over the light He lit in me. I'll never again be a Sunday-only church goer. I'll always be the geek in the back corner of every classroom - and Sunday service - sitting on her hands every time they ask for volunteers, for fear my enthusiasm will betray me when that hand flies up before the speaker is finished asking.

You spread out the skies over empty space

Said "let there be light"

Into a dark and formless world Your light

was born

You spread out Your arms over empty hearts

Said "let there be light"

Into a dark and hopeless world Your Son

was born

You made the world and saw that it was good

You sent Your only son for You are good

What a wonderful Maker

What a wonderful Savior

How majestic Your whispers

And how humble Your love

With a strength like no other

And the heart of a Father

How majestic Your whispers

What a wonderful God

No eye has fully seen, how beautiful the cross

And we have only heard

The faintest whispers of how great You are

~ Wonderful Maker, Chris Tomlin ~





Linked to Ann Voskamp

and Bonnie Gray

The wisdom of the red letters

Remember me on my bathroom floor, curled up in a ball

and not wanting to come out.

Not ever?

I started to wonder.

What would Jesus do in this situation?

How does forgiveness look,

when you are right in the heat of the battle?

In the dark hours after Gethsemane,

did He speak at all?

I heard a preacher preachin' it in the rhymes of his rap,

Jesus came to earth so He could say, "Me, too!"

When I am tempted.

When I am lonely.

When I am weary.

When I'm despairing.

Jesus says, "Me, too. I've been there. I know."

He went before the high priest - his religious leader - 

and Pilate - the government official.

Came in shackles before His accusers.

Just a glance down at John 18 and 19 tells a story of few words.

Powerful ones.

The red letters stand out like flags in the sea of other words.

The words that came right out of His mouth.

In the garden, He said to His captors,

"I told you that I am he. So, if you seek me, let these men go."

To the high priest, He said,

"I have spoken openly to the world.

I have said nothing in secret.

Why do you ask me?

Ask those who have heard me what I said to them; 

they know what I said."

"If what I said is wrong, bear witness about the wrong,

but if what I said is right, why do you strike me?"

Confronted by Pilate, He asked,

"Do you say this of your own accord, or did others say it to you about me?"

And He pointed out that He wasn't fighting.

That He was born to bear witness to the truth.

That's how Jesus would do it.

This is how I have to be, if I am to imitate Christ.

Spare friends.

Defend for speaking openly.

There are witnesses to ask.

Invite the trial.

Ask the accuser who is really doing the accusing.

Refrain from fighting.

Bear witness to the truth.

Silence

For what words carry any weight into eternity except the ones quietly lived? The ones spoken with hands and the silent scars of sacrifice.  There is a time to be silent and a time to speak and we must pray to know the order of things; I can lose track of seasons.  I beg forgiveness for the many words with the many sins... And pray for knees that will bow lower and a face that will touch the ground in hiddenness --- for a heart that will forget itself and all its stream of words --- so it can simply drink of His. ~Ann Voskamp at Holy Experience

The worn edge of Grandma's tablecloth flits in the breeze among the pines on our last day camping last weekend.  The week that followed is like this sunshine strained through cloth, a glimpse of glory clouded by the weight of a world full of sin and sinners.  There are some things in life best left unsaid, and this week is one of them.  This much I know - and will share: Satan loves to attack us.  His most fervent, frequent, and fierce attacks come when we are already at our weakest.  The attacks that hurt the worst come from those we love the most.  A verse - put to song by my mama - keeps flowing through my heart this week: let the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, my Strength and my Redeemer (Psalm 19:14).  That is the cry of my heart this week.  And so I, silently, prayerfully fix my eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (II Corinthians 4:18).

Muddled

Yesterday was a hard day.  I am bereft of words.

Today: Mayo and the home of old friends.

The silent embrace

I found this on Zach Nielsen's blog the other day, while I was preparing to post my latest cancer news.

Perfect.

from the blog of Chris Brauns:

If you aren’t suffering terribly right now, you know someone who is. John Piper (12/27/09) preached on suffering and Romans 8:15-25 at the Village Church who recently learned that their young senior pastor, Matt Chandler, has a malignant brain tumor. (See these posts on suffering).

Piper introduced his sermon by stating that the first thing believers should do do with those who are suffering is hug them. No words. Just silent hugs. But, Piper also noted that those who are hugging must have a place to stand. That is, if we are going to make it through the suffering in this life apart from anger and bitterness, then we must know sound doctrine and how suffering fits with the plan of God.

If you can only listen to a few minutes of this sermon, it will be a wonderful investment of your time.

Listen here.