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Mizrach: The Place of the Rising Sun

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“Where sky and water meet, Where the waves grow sweet, Doubt not, Reepicheep, To find all you seek, There is the utter East.” ― C.S. Lewis

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. 

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 3 Comments

Just because I’m unique, doesn’t mean I’m different

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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

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 1 Comment

egomaniacal abyss

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“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.

 

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 8 Comments

Solid Rock

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“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.

 

 

 

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 5 Comments

When Faith Becomes Art

 

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Up against the wall of my own limitations, I stop and wait.  Barren soul yearning for full deliverance.

Yet just as a pregnant woman is enlarged in the waiting, I, too, am enlarged in the waiting.  The longer the wait, the larger I become & the more joyful the expectation. 

Patient productivity in the waiting.  It’s a bit mysterious, but I’m learning.  I wait it out.

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It takes faith, writing does.  And in the higher realm of creativity and faith, I encounter the Spirit of the Living God, and we talk.

I always ask the same question …

“Good morning, God.  How are you today?”

Always the same reply…

“Good morning, daughter. 

I AM gracious & compassionate,

Slow to anger & abounding in love.”

Choosing to start with the outcome of Who God Is rather than Who I Am, my mindset takes a turn from frustration and negativity to freedom and creativity.  His words of life crown & I push. 

And something is born.  Something with spirit.  Something with life.

My soul is delivered & faith becomes art.

 

 

Author’s Note:  Writing for me becomes a dialogue with the Spirit of God.  This dialogue flows from John 6:63, “…the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.”  May the dialogue continue in you… Love & Peace.

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 11 Comments

Exceptional in the Ordinary

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“It is ingrained in us that we have to do exceptional things for God—but we do not.  We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things of life, and holy on the ordinary streets, among ordinary people—and this is not learned in five minutes.”  Oswald Chambers

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The Writer’s Inkhorn

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Six men came from the way

of the higher gate

One among them clothed in linen.

A writer’s inkhorn by his side

A slaughter-weapon placed in his hand.*

My faith affects my writing.  And my writing affects my faith.  Writing brings me joy & strength.  It breaks & restores.

Most times the ink falls in pleasant places.  But occasionally, it falls into the not-so-pleasant.  Into the shadowy self, wherein hides the insecurities & failures of life.

Yet if it were not for the shadow experiences of life, there would be no beauty.  For in the shadows, the Beauty of Holiness wields the pen.

In the shadows, the pen becomes a slaughtering weapon.  Wielded not with anger and wrath but with God’s Holy Passion. 

In the shadows, Passion takes up the pen.  Flesh piercing.  Soul & spirit dividing.  Purging  whatever stands in the way between me and Perfect Love.

Six men came from the way

of the higher gate

One among them clothed in linen.

A writer’s inkhorn by his side

A weapon-pen placed in his hand.

 

He draws from the inkhorn

His Spirit-Ink

And marks me with Mercy & Grace.

Fears & failures utterly destroyed

I am delivered by Love’s Mighty Pen.

 

*Inspired by Ezekiel Chapter 9 of The Holy Bible, King James Version.

Daily Prompt:  Mercy

 

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 3 Comments

A Walk In The Woods


“I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least–and it is commonly more than that–sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements.”  Henry David Thoreau.

Today I walk towards the west.  Not my usual starting-out direction.  But the west seems to be calling me today—a subtle magnetism.  My heart compass follows.

I leave the road and venture into the woods and the meadows and the fields.  A yellow-marked trail points the way.  Whether I follow the trail, God only knows.  My needle trumps yellow-marked trails.  Always seeming to settle on my true north.

In the walking, I ascend deep into the heights of communion with God.  (The beauty of nature is always meant to be a means of connection.)   Minutes turn into quarter hours; half hours into hours.  I am lost in prayerful thought—a comfortable place for me.

I descend.  No yellow-marked trail.  In fact, no trail at all.  I had come to an intersection at some point in my prayer journey.  A one-road crossroad—the trail before me and the wild to the left and right of me.  Needle took me off the trail.  Go figure.

Peering through the trees, a paved road appears at a distance.  I make my way to it.  Surely, I can’t be too far from home.  I must have been on this road before.  Yet, the familiar things I search for to give me my bearings are not there.  I left the path and now I am lost.  And I am not good with lost.

No choice but to start walking.  Just keep walking.

Faith—the certainty that what we hope for is waiting for us, even though we cannot see it up ahead—whispers into my fears.

All those who wander are not lost.  There is a purpose in your wanderings.  Trust God.  He is with you on your sojourn. 

Sometimes you must wander but soon enough, you will discover that you are on your destiny path.  Just keep wandering, one step at a time, until your path becomes clear.

And then … I see it up ahead.

The familiar in the midst of the unfamiliar. 

I am almost home.

One more destiny path blazed in the untamed wild of my soul.

 

 

 

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 3 Comments

It All Becomes Clear on the Mountain

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“You are a prophet of caves, rocks and deserts”, she states wittingly—my poetic, thought-provoking teacher of all things spiritual.  The one who uses extraordinary words like “coruscate” and “obfuscate” and “mercurial” in our ordinary, every-day chats.

Standing still inside myself, I reckon, “It takes one to know one”.

Wilderness wanderers eating the locust and wild honey of life—the revelation of creation that declares the Majesty of God.  We give thanks and eat.  Our spirits strengthened with each taste.

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We reach the top of Maine’s Little Kineo Mountain.  Spectacular scene.  Bathed in the glorious sunlight above the treetops.  Free of a shadowed view.  We eat the vision.

And then…something happens.

Although the air is still, a thunderous roar comes from the sky.  An intense sound—like that of a jumbo jet engine.  Like the sound of a mighty rushing wind.  We stand motionless in holy fear as what can only be described as the very presence of God moves upon the mountaintop.  Both feel it.  Both experience it.  Both awe-struck.

Next morning, I search, and He reveals.  Kineo, a Greek word meaning to move; to set in motion.  Where we get our English word kinetics. 

“For in Him we live, and move (kineo) and have our being… “.  I recall the Apostle’s words.

Something moved upon us on Mount Kineo that day.   Someone moved upon us and within us, and we were moved.

A mountaintop experience–not meant to teach but to transform.

It all becomes clear on the mountain.

Standing still inside myself, I know who I am.  Yes, I am a prophet of caves, rocks and deserts.   And the mountains.  

My iPhone signals.   A text message awaits.  It’s her.  “Have you been to the mountains lately?”

The mountains call and I run.

 

Posted on by Lois Stephens · 8 Comments

Tribute to My Dad

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My dear father crossed the gossamer veil into eternity on Saturday.  The day after I posted “The Wings of the Dawn“.

Somehow I believe the penning of the words, inspired by a sunrise the day before, was my divine preparation for his final bow.  Prophetic catharsis.

With every sunrise, a sunset; with every sunset, a sunrise.  I swap out the photo and change the words slightly, and re-post in his memory.

Love you, dad.  Rest in peace and rise in glory.  Until we meet again …

Harvest moon emerges center stage

As daylight ebbs out of sight

Caught up in a twilight moment in time

He peers through the gossamer veil.

Sun departs into the west with fiery passion

His body surrounded by Light’s embrace

God breathes into him His tender compassions

Carried home upon the wings of the night.