i walked alone through the drifting snow this evening, it's lamp-lit journey seeming so simple and innocent. flakes resting on my nose, the whiteness sat and disappear momentarily. we see the snow so romantically, the journey that gravity and wind defined as a gentle flutter. We forget the darkness of the height, the slow breaking from the cloud, The uncertainty of the destination, and the majority who are barely noticed, simply to melt unseen. How many conversations of Jesus were just such, never remembered, never recorded, how many saints acts have been ignored, overlooked, how many ideas have fallen by the wayside. And yet, the grace snow has fallen, and no matter how many streets and pathways we clear, how much we pollute and reshape, we can not cease the sky turning our outlook white.
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i got to that place again, that place where i lose myself and i no longer know who the independent is. That place where i felt lost in obligation, but it was easier to serve than make a decision. I know it may sound absurd, considering all the wars that have been fought for freedom, but i think the need to serve can be almost as strong in our hearts. i tried to turn my attention back to myself and yet i felt more whole and complete when i freely let others dictate. In the end service centers me, it frees my soul, when it is given within boundaries, it is given freely and without obligation. It shines a light that re-illuminates the darkness of burnout moments. And once you step back, once you stop being dictated and start listening to the dictation, then you realize how little you needed to give, how much you will receive, and how vast the world is. So i step forward again, everyday looking for a way to serve, and some days, like today, i get glimpses of bigger pictures, glimpses of how i may possibly change the future and see the need divinely highlighted and fulfill it. What makes this frame of mind remarkable is that I'm off color, under the weather, feeling groggy and dwelling in phrases that really have very little logic. I've basically been in bed for two days. I'm frustrated because I had a real chance to do some children's work that would benefit a community in Novi Sad and I had to take a rain check. Valentines love was more making a cuppa and putting up with me than anything strikingly romantic. Howvever, I am perfectly content. I am realizing the art of waiting. Perhaps it's something to do with my age. This summer i turn thirty. An age that hold just a touch of significance in religious circles. I'm realizing how much God' prepares you, how much time is spent inactive before events happen. i was drawn back to Josiah again in the last fortnight, While I love the idea of an eight year old king, Though one mustn't overlook that he waited 18 years before he started to reform his nation. I also stumbled once again across St Basil, another person who's first 25 years left little mark but who's latter life is revered by both eastern and western churches. I found myself reading St Paul and thinking of how much experience he had before his conversion, how different it was from the other 12, and how hard it must have been when people compared them. How God had left him for so long to give him the tools he would need. When life gets low you can feel like you spend all your time waiting, but even that time is preparation. Somehow i know that this busy week won't be lost because I'm too dizzy to attend. Joy is a funny and beautiful thing, delicate as cobweb lace and tough as granite. It's waves pass over you, refreshing the most tired days and breaking forth upon your shores as you kick the waters into the air and watch the sunlight catch the multitude of drops. Joy shimmers, it never ceases to amaze and it cleanses you from hardship. My joy abounds, five months have passed and i am delighted in my name, enchanted by the prospect of another Abbott wedding this July, and thrilled by the news that yet another one close to me will marry in the autumn. Through days of darkness i vow i will try and recapture this feeling, to remember that this joy is a fleeting memory, but it can shape me as much as the worries and fears. It is a blessing, and though it may be escapism, for now, i will kick of my shoes, throw back my head and dive into the deep sea of smiles. It's all gone, all the coherency, the certainty, the pennies, the minutes and the seconds. They have all gone, ticked off the great clock and passed away. it's more than rose tinted glasses, it's a feeling of wholeness and we are left in pieces, wondering how to rebuild ourselves. But we can rebuild, find new norms, new routines, and adapt ourselves. Things will never be the same, some aspects will be stronger, some more well designed, some more tenuous, others abandoned altogether, or re-purposed. Questions are left to be asked, hope left to be kindled, our work is not yet complete. Life must be built, the calling is not over, my mission not finished, and i must just find out how it can be regrown. And I will bring back the exiles of My people Israel,
and they shall build the waste cities and inhabit them; and they shall plant vineyards and drink the wine from them; they shall also make gardens and eat the fruit of them. Amos 9:14 We live in a world of permissions, for me the various intricacies, especially the costs, of visa's have been much discussed over the past few days. We mark the movement of people, track the various passages of life. Form paperwork, schematics, statistics, jobs, money and make an industry of controlling. I know the profundity of the statement may be lost, but; I can't begin to thank God enough that we get to join his family without adoption papers, to enter heaven without visa's and to be welcomed into his church without applying for a position. How simple it seems, that like the prodigal we can just enter, be greeted with wide open arms, and all we need to do is know that we are home. I sit on the bus most days, traveling along the same streets, go to the same places. Think similar thought, some mundane, others more emotional. Some days something happens. Yesterday, it was an old thing, a chance to hear the 'give me your eyes' (Brandon Heath) lyrics play out of the radio after such a long time. It was the song of the detaching project and it struck me, wobbled my world and left me exposed to how comfortable I'm becoming. I'm far from peace, far from knowing the answers, but far from putting the grace i know and love into radical practice either. In my daily journeys, upon my bus excursions, i normally pass a shop with a name that niggles my conscious - it's called 'Change me'. Perhaps that is my prayer, to be changed, not by the outward clothing's, nor by the relieving of struggles, but by the growth of acceptance of insufficient. Change my quiet into questions, change my hiding into loud hallelujahs, change my guardedness into lavish acts of grace, and change my eyes for the eyes of revelation. Give me your eyes for just one second Give me your eyes so I can see Everything that I keep missing Give me your love for humanity Give me your arms for the broken-hearted The ones that are far beyond my reach Give me your heart for the ones forgotten Give me your eyes so I can see Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven (Matthew 5:14-16, The Message).
I found myself walking back from church yesterday, walking and skidding and hop skipping the clumps of ice in the latest thaw. The sermon rang in my head, it's intended message, the mud it had slung, and the challenge it had given. It was on forgetting God, and more importantly his promise not to forget us. It was a fine sermon for the church, peppered with biblical references, adding in a little theological history and a couple of modern parables. But, and this is the point that occupied me enough to walk in the cold, it claimed the Jews had forgotten. For they no longer could name their God, but only say YHWH, they could only use four letters. I see the reverence and the respect that the Jews had and have and fully understand why this could sadly be heard in a very offensive light. I understand why the preacher used this example, and i sympathise, though it started me down a path. What is god's name? Do we know it? (ever noticed how Yahweh sounds like breathing, the sound that just is, everywhere you get life?) We talk about the name of Jesus, we cite Philippians 2 and say that it is his name we know, and we call the rest of the trinity by his labels and by their actions. For one day a great call will be heard, on day every knee shall bow before the name of Jesus, for his name holds power and in it we believe. But which name shall be heard: Isus, Jesus, Yeshua there are hundreds of permutations. And they are common names, there was nothing spectacular about them back then, and though it may seem blasphemous i believe there is nothing spectacular about them now. The world holds many Jesus'. But this Jesus was the great 'i am' he clamed the name himself, the YHWH. How scandalous that seems, and yet how fitting for a man with a common name to reveal his divinity in such a way. Is it not his name that holds the power, but his divinity? Will it be the name of Jesus that will cause all of creation to bow or the recognition of his presence? We call him lord, king, master, saviour & redeemer, names constructed by us, for us, for our heierarcical world. We call them father son and spirit, but they can not be contained within one title for they are all three, and each beyond and construct of our feeble letters. i know only five letters JESUS, but i know the legacy, the spirit, and the breath of god in my life. it has no name but i know it. My Jesus, my best friend, my constant companion and my master over all, i do not even know your name, but i know of you, enough to trust and not enough to understand, and so i build a bridge of faith between us. The snow did fall, the whitewashed streets and sugared trees froze to give us not only the Lapland grotto, but also Narnian ice crystal dripping views. I hid in the warmth but also stepped out into the hope. Temperatures dropped into double negative figures and outfits became layered further. The blog sat accidently idle, but the bi-daily blog wasn't supposed to be a chore. As the world continues to freeze about me and finances became almost manageable I've stepped into a lazy but calming routine. The tears seem suddenly redundant and the angst somehow acceptable. The huge chasm of what i wish for, and hope for, and what I live with does not seem any less grand, nor did I stumble upon a reason and a reality that solved anything, but there is a peace in the heartache. I feel carried, by whose prayers I do not know. but I have a few guesses, by whose hands I am sure of, and I'm unsure how long I will be held before i must walk again. Outside the fine branches of the trees are slowly shedding their icicle skin and recognizing they must again face the harsh weather directly. For now I hide in the ice palace, in the arms that don't stop the pain but numb it enough to let me push onwards. |
The other siteWho is GfeefGfeef is the name that my writings have been under for some years. As far as I know it's unique to me. Originally from the UK, I now live in Serbia but continue to have a passion for childrens and youth ministry. Archives
October 2014
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