This picture was taken at the top of Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. Oh, how I wished it were me up there! Love & Peace.
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart …” Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NIV)
Mizrach – a Hebrew word for east. It literally means the place of the rising sun. I have no doubt that my eternal heart compass orients to the east—the place of the rising sun. How about yours?
Up before dawn, we dress in silence and head for the Explorer. We make our way up the winding Summit Road, to the top of Cadillac Mountain—the first place to view sunrise in the United States.
A rock invites me to have a seat (yes, rocks do speak, … well, sort of). So I do, and I wait, with eyes wide-open to sky’s still-dark border at the waters of Frenchman Bay.
Earlier in the week, a friend gives me a gift—a Hebrew tallit, named P’nai by the artisans who designed it. (I am told that the Hebrew word P’nai translates to “the blue points of light” in English.) I lay the tallit across my lap—heart engaged in prayerful meditation, in unison with the heavens above. I am lost in translation—drifting among the morning stars singing in chorus.
In a twinkling, I’m back, just in time to catch sight of the most magnificent fiery-red orb emerging. The tallit upon my lap literally absorbs the chaste white rays and mysteriously glows with the radiance of the sun.
And then, something extraordinary … with sky perfectly clear, and no clouds in sight, a rainbow appears behind me.
Reflected light before me; refracted light behind. I am surrounded in a prism of light: wrapped in Creation’s very own tallit … in Mizrach, the place of the rising sun.
One more mountaintop experience to add to my life journal. An experience not meant to teach but to transform.
Love & Peace,
” …The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” Psalm 19:21
*The photo was taken by my husband, as I was otherwise engaged drifting among the stars and gazing into mysterious glows. He also caught the rainbow behind me, otherwise I would have missed it completely. Thank you, dear husband. You know me so well.
“Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves.” Matthew 21:12 (NIV)
Occasionally we may flip tables in the temple, but this comes only after we’ve spent time weeping over Jerusalem.
Selah.
True righteous resistance is difficult to discern. Yet this one thing I know … it does not come without tears.
It was said of Patrick Henry, one of America’s Founding Fathers, that he was trained in the tradition of righteous resistance, tutored in the principles of higher law.
A higher law–the law above the law–the higher law of love. His name is Yeshua. And His Love is relentless.
Jesus–the epitome of righteous resistance. He overturns the tables of greed to make room for the blind and crippled so that they might be healed.
Maybe we just need to make some room.
True healing comes when hearts are overturned by the Higher Law of Love. And this does not come without brokenness. This does not come without tears.
“We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German theologian and anti-Nazi dissident.
Love & Peace.
“Everybody born comes from the Creator trailing wisps of glory. We come from the Creator with creativity. I think that each one of us is born with creativity.” Maya Angelou
Deep down—way down deep—I am a peripatetic soul. A wandering, roving, drifter of sorts, given to “walking about, especially while teaching”.
No need to even leave the house, this wandering of mine—this wandering of mind. Walking the floors over emerging thoughts and ideas. Walking them into fullness; walking them into the light.
Venturing into new lands within—some made for running and slipping away; some for lying low; others for roaming and exploring.
New lands of creative dreams and wild imaginings, where I co-create with the Spirit of God.
It takes faith—simple child-like faith to create. But, simple does not always mean easy.
“All children are born geniuses and we spend the first six years of their lives degeniusing them,” said American inventor and visionary R. Buckminster Fuller.
And the studies prove him right—98% of kindergarten children score in the genius range for divergent thinking—that innate ability to create.
That means we are hardwired to think and act creatively; it is a part of our DNA—first breathed into mankind in the Garden.
So, I’m going back to the Garden to do some wandering; to roam and explore hand-and-heart with the Creative Genius within. To say “yes” to something bigger than myself; to risk chasing after my creative ideas.
Not for the sake of creativity itself, but for the sake of releasing beauty in extraordinary ways to a broken and hurting world. That is creativity; and that is the heart’s desire of this peripatetic soul.
God spoke to Moses: “See what I’ve done; I’ve personally chosen Bezalel son of Uri, son of Hur of the tribe of Judah. I’ve filled him with the Spirit of God, giving him skill and know-how and expertise in every kind of craft to create designs and work in gold, silver, and bronze; to cut and set gemstones; to carve wood—he’s an all-around craftsman. Exodus 31:1 (MSG)
i am uniquely made, a one-of-a kind design
yet i choose not to believe that i’m different;
the moment i believe i’m different from my brother
i begin separating myself from the world that God loves;
and no one can be a relevant voice in this world
without community & love for one another.
“So God created humankind in his own image; in the image of God he created him: male and female he created them.” Geneses 1:27
“How can it be, not all about me!”
”How can it be, not all about me!”
Over and over and over again,
I hear the vain cry of humanity…
Then suddenly, in the midst
Of this egomaniacal abyss
The sound of Christ’s heart of humility…
“Oh, how can it be, not all about me”?
And I am undone.
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” Ernest Hemingway
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She was a natural-born paradox. Gentle yet tough; loyal yet independent; social yet a bit of a loner.
Remembering the autumn so many years ago when we watched her free-spirit belly grow under her man-size shirt. Surely she is carrying someone’s child, but she denies it for as long as she can. Until one cold day in December, she delivers a baby girl into the waiting arms of the adopting parents.
She has her reasons. Good reasons painfully drawn from the deep waters of a brave girl’s heart. I don’t judge—I know better than that. She shows us the birth certificate with tiny footprints and cries.
A year later, on a snowy night in January, she stands with us at the church altar as her brother and me exchange our wedding vows. We will never see her again after that night. Her gypsy heart and hippie spirit calls her westward where her life comes to a sudden and tragic end a few months later. She was 22 years old, and our hearts broke.
Life goes on; 20 years pass—and then a letter, a phone call, a knock on the door. We embrace through tears, and I whisper, “I always knew you would find us”. And through her daughter’s eyes, she smiles knowingly.
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The death of a young person brings confusion, perhaps even more so to a person of faith. We ride the waves of grief—up & down, down & up—until eventually, somehow, we land upon solid ground. Ground that takes us in—womb-like—and protects. The solid rock of trust in God when there are no answers to the hard questions. Solid ground—placental earth—protecting, revealing & healing. Something that does not happen overnight. Love & Peace.
Gathered around the family table, I am called upon to pray before the evening meal. In a moment of what I can only describe as sheer insanity, my irreverent little ten-year-old self, the same child who blew out her bubblegum upon the big red doors of the First Baptist Church, boldly declares, “Good bread, good meat, good God, let’s eat!”
My father chuckles and tries to cover it with a cough. My mother is not amused, and I am asked to leave the table.
I am a follower of the teachings of Jesus Christ.
I love that Jesus leaves the 99 to go after the 1.
I love the story of the prodigal son’s return, and—while still a long way off—his father runs full tilt with arms wide open to welcome his son home.
And I love that Jesus “…welcomes sinners and eats with them”. I think that may be what I love most.
I mess up more than I’d like; I am far from perfect. Yet, He still welcomes me with arms wide open & eats with me daily. That’s amazing. That’s grace.
A meal with Jesus—a moment of grace; a time of connection and communication, offering “a divine moment, an opportunity … to be seduced by grace into a better life, a truer life, and a more human existence.”*
A meal to be shared with others. Literally. Sharing a meal with friends, or strangers, extends God’s grace and life into the world.
It’s called hospitality: the relationship between guest and host, where the host receives the guest with grace & open arms.
I’ve found that Jesus is the perfect host. He serves up a great meal. He is good bread. He is good meat. He is a good God. And I eat—as often as I can.
Love & Peace.
*Tim Chester, A Meal With Jesus: Discovering Grace, Community, and Mission around the Table.
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