I fall behind
I get ahead
"There is no 'in-between'" I said
Now I'm alive- soon I'll be dead
So time is how I shape it
In little chunks
In long cool drinks
In running hard- in time to think
Lord, slow the time it takes to blink
And help me feel- not fake it
Filling moments to the top
Bursting til they almost pop
With good and bad
With start and stop
This day is what I make it
In taking in
In soaking up
With mysteries you fill my cup
Don't let the rushing interrupt
For life is how I take it
I jotted that on the back of some scratch paper trashed on my floor board on the way to church one Sunday morning. Kaleb was driving. For whatever reason, on that day, I felt a sense of completion and subsequently a hankering for a new project. For a moment- a very brief moment, I felt "ahead" and almost bored. Who knows- maybe I'd cleaned my house the day before, finished some work projects- I have trouble remembering. But, within minutes, riding in our usual Sunday morning thinking silence, ideas and projects began to flood my mind. More things to do. So quickly I could let myself feel "behind" again. It magnified to me the fine line between behind and ahead. And could I be content on that line? Even more, could I fully absorb the moments- behind OR ahead?
Isn't that what it's about, really? Finding God and stopping to see Him and His graces where we are- at whatever pace we are? That morning, I was somewhere in between late and early, behind and ahead, and realizing the fleetingness of this life. A vapor. We are vanishing. So how do we settle in and "weigh down" moments? (to use the terminology of Ann Voskamp, author of the book One Thousand Gifts) We live them in awareness- full awareness of God and His works.
"With mysteries you fill my cup" is probably the most self-disclosing line, reflecting my daily attempt to receive from God things, events, circumstances I do not understand. To eat and drink of mysteries- to feed on what is given for the day. The children of Israel were given manna to sustain them in the wilderness. Manna- which means "What is it?" Hmmm... in order to live and thrive, they had to partake of mysteries (what is this?) every day. Voskamp also speaks of this idea- though much more eloquently, and her thoughts and words have hovered and swirled in my mind, slowly making their way to my soul. I want that! I want that contentment to partake of what is given without questioning if it is enough or just wanting something altogether different.
So can we slow down or weigh down moments in this fleeting life? I think we can by taking in the bad with the good and not skimming to the next easy thing. "In taking in, in soaking up"- treasuring moments, translating difficulties into tools for molding. Partaking of the mysteries. Taking what He gives and giving thanks. Life is how we take it.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Old Water
I am pretending this isn't the first paragraph ever of my first post ever on my first blog ever- in hopes of not exhausting you or myself by belaboring the obvious "this is why I am writing" prologue. So in attempts to avoid a dramatic exposition of the hearted passion that spurred me to this point and in effort to steer away from a poetically capsuled synopsis, I will just simply begin. Truth is. . .there's not necessarily a hearted passion, and I'm not altogether quite sure yet of the synopsis, and I know my tendencies toward dramatic and poetic expositions are not necessarily interpreted by you (whoever you may be) with the same gusto that I may so vigorously write them. So for everyone's benefit, let's just begin and say that for now, knowing myself and my heart's wanderings and leanings, my prediction is that this blog will have something to do with growth and experiences. Growth that comes from experiencing God through his people, his creation, and His Word. And my hopes are always always to bring Him glory.
There it was. The first paragraph. Glad that's done.
I smelled something awful today. I sat on the couch and kept getting pungent, rotten whiffs that confused me. My house was pretty clean I thought. So it was a mystery. Isn't it funny how smells can take you places? I smell fresh cut grass, and I am back on the softball field playing left center; sweaty leather has a smell too and sweaty girls in the dugout cheering "You get a bat and I get a ball, honey, honey, you get a bat and I get a ball, babe, babe.." (see- all that from fresh cut grass). Then there's Old Spice that sends me straight to "sugar time" after Daddy had shaved his face and was ready for his big ole hug and a kiss on his smooth cheek. Grilled onions and peppers, and I am at the fair watching those gigantic swings swirling overhead or ready to hop on the farris wheel. (Our brains are amazing creations of an Amazing Creator aren't they? What neat tricks they can do!)
Getting on with it, let's just say that this smell to which I am referring today- didn't take me any place good. It was rancid! "What is that?" I kept asking. Just then I glanced at the beautiful spray of gladiolus sitting in our "hole in the wall" (I'll explain later). A tall flock of purple-tipped white blooms happy to make me happy and still very perky after 6 days. Giving no hint that death was trickling in- no hint that within hours, their glory would fade and their stems would bend, their blossoms would wither and their white turn to brown. No hint except. . .the smell. It was hard to believe- but the smell was familiar after I thought about it. People who spend time with people nearing the end of their lives say that death has a smell. Dead flowers have a smell too- but I found it odd because most often, I notice the flowers dying, hope for the best (maybe they'll make it another day or 2?) then, after they are long past their prime and the water is murky- due to either my negligent laziness or just holding out hope, that brownish green water starts to stink- and I mean stink! But today, the water was clear.
The water was still clear, the glads were still glad, so why the smell? Truth is, the water was old- it needed "changing". So do I.
Coming from a line of green thumbs, I knew I'd heard before that cut flowers live longer and stay healthier if you change out the water frequently. But- it's so easy to forget when they look perfectly content. So easy to forget when- on the outside, all seems well. To the common onlooker of my life who doesn't come close enough or stay long enough, all seems well enough. They can't smell it. How I am thankful for those close enough to smell it and brave enough to change it. To help change me.
If those flowers had been in the ground, they would have needed water to grow. Now they needed water to stay alive and healthy. Water grows things and cleanses things.
I first became interested in the concept of "watering through the word" when my husband, Kaleb, and I were only dating (somewhere in those 6 and 1/2 years). Conversations of how marriage should look and the role of a husband led to further study into the idea of watering.
Since the ring in the water and the water through the word proposal, up through the two of us saying "I do" in the middle of a hurricane- a literal downpour, the watering has never stopped. And as much as I sometimes dislike it, how glad I am that he can smell the water getting old sometimes even before I can. The watering comes through his words. They cleanse and purify me, holding me to higher standards, teaching me truth that reminds me of who I am- who God's says I am.
And even before a husband, Christ was watering me, as He does us all. He wants to present us as radiant church! His bride! Purified without stain or blemish- washed through His Word. So I thank God for watering me. And I thank Kaleb for letting God water me through him.
After I replaced their water, those flowers lived to see another day and to please me. As I am cleansed, purified, washed by the water through the word, how I pray I am pleasing to my Father.
There it was. The first paragraph. Glad that's done.
I smelled something awful today. I sat on the couch and kept getting pungent, rotten whiffs that confused me. My house was pretty clean I thought. So it was a mystery. Isn't it funny how smells can take you places? I smell fresh cut grass, and I am back on the softball field playing left center; sweaty leather has a smell too and sweaty girls in the dugout cheering "You get a bat and I get a ball, honey, honey, you get a bat and I get a ball, babe, babe.." (see- all that from fresh cut grass). Then there's Old Spice that sends me straight to "sugar time" after Daddy had shaved his face and was ready for his big ole hug and a kiss on his smooth cheek. Grilled onions and peppers, and I am at the fair watching those gigantic swings swirling overhead or ready to hop on the farris wheel. (Our brains are amazing creations of an Amazing Creator aren't they? What neat tricks they can do!)
Getting on with it, let's just say that this smell to which I am referring today- didn't take me any place good. It was rancid! "What is that?" I kept asking. Just then I glanced at the beautiful spray of gladiolus sitting in our "hole in the wall" (I'll explain later). A tall flock of purple-tipped white blooms happy to make me happy and still very perky after 6 days. Giving no hint that death was trickling in- no hint that within hours, their glory would fade and their stems would bend, their blossoms would wither and their white turn to brown. No hint except. . .the smell. It was hard to believe- but the smell was familiar after I thought about it. People who spend time with people nearing the end of their lives say that death has a smell. Dead flowers have a smell too- but I found it odd because most often, I notice the flowers dying, hope for the best (maybe they'll make it another day or 2?) then, after they are long past their prime and the water is murky- due to either my negligent laziness or just holding out hope, that brownish green water starts to stink- and I mean stink! But today, the water was clear.
The water was still clear, the glads were still glad, so why the smell? Truth is, the water was old- it needed "changing". So do I.
Coming from a line of green thumbs, I knew I'd heard before that cut flowers live longer and stay healthier if you change out the water frequently. But- it's so easy to forget when they look perfectly content. So easy to forget when- on the outside, all seems well. To the common onlooker of my life who doesn't come close enough or stay long enough, all seems well enough. They can't smell it. How I am thankful for those close enough to smell it and brave enough to change it. To help change me.
If those flowers had been in the ground, they would have needed water to grow. Now they needed water to stay alive and healthy. Water grows things and cleanses things.
"Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless." Ephesians 5:25-27It seemed at first an unusual way to phrase it. An interesting use of words. Water through the word. THE Word. God's Word. So near the end of a 6 and 1/2 year courtship, way back in the woods, I found a diamond ring tied to the end of a fishing line floating in a clear stream of water. Well, I didn't just find it. He led me to it and had placed it there with purpose. Washing with water through the word. . .the husband's role. Soon to be MY husband's role. After a brief distraction and laughter over an unplanned spreading of our campfire and many tears that could have put it out if needed, he quoted those familiar lines to me from Ephesians. It began as late hours that turned into early morning hours over phone lines that were as dependable as the man on the other end. Heart to hearts, heart exploring heart, hearts exploring together the Heart of God and His plan for a man and a wife. We had been learning and seeking. Now we would be starting.
Since the ring in the water and the water through the word proposal, up through the two of us saying "I do" in the middle of a hurricane- a literal downpour, the watering has never stopped. And as much as I sometimes dislike it, how glad I am that he can smell the water getting old sometimes even before I can. The watering comes through his words. They cleanse and purify me, holding me to higher standards, teaching me truth that reminds me of who I am- who God's says I am.
And even before a husband, Christ was watering me, as He does us all. He wants to present us as radiant church! His bride! Purified without stain or blemish- washed through His Word. So I thank God for watering me. And I thank Kaleb for letting God water me through him.
After I replaced their water, those flowers lived to see another day and to please me. As I am cleansed, purified, washed by the water through the word, how I pray I am pleasing to my Father.
The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." Isaiah 58:11So that is where my first blog begins... somewhere near the beginning. You saw the beginning of my days as a Deese- under a new name. Thus- DeeseDays. I hope we enjoy Him many more days together.
- Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole;
I want Thee forever to live in my soul;
Break down every idol, cast out every foe—
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. - Refrain:
Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow,
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. - Lord Jesus, let nothing unholy remain,
Apply Thine own blood and extract every stain;
To get this blest cleansing, I all things forego—
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. - Lord Jesus, look down from Thy throne in the skies,
And help me to make a complete sacrifice;
I give up myself, and whatever I know—
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. - Lord Jesus, for this I most humbly entreat,
I wait, blessed Lord, at Thy crucified feet,
By faith for my cleansing, I see thy blood flow—
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
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