Eternal Sighs

It's the not knowing or understanding that makes waiting hard

2012-04-16T15:19:00.000-04:00

We are never safer than when resting in God's care, waiting for Him to lead our lives into flight.

Wait by EternalSighs
Poster printing from zazzle

Scripture describes The Eternal One and His work. Nature echos His words that called it to existence. Humanity exhales His breath that awakened its soul. These, the sighs of eternity, remnants of glory, hints of truth, Invite us to recognize, receive, and reciprocate Redemption through the Resurrected Word of Life. Are you compelled to whisper life to someone today? I'd be honoured to join you with an eternal sigh greeting card now available to you here..

The Trees are Falling

2011-11-01T15:00:00.000-04:00

EN002 by EternalSighs

The trees are coming down around us this week. The neighbour's property is so close, and it is being logged. It is such a sight to watch these pillars fall, gracefully they lay down and the ground shakes. I think I'll not spend too much time in the back yard during working hours. And I am glad those men know how to do this. A tree so tall, so close to my house, I shudder and change my thoughts. Stand tall friends, and remember: "God's power is at our disposal when we recognize how far above us is His wisdom"

2011-10-26T15:55:00.000-04:00

Through french doors of the great room, assisted by a few strong men, she comes in spring. I hover near, dust cloth in hand. Does she welcome this rescue from the tiny room where she was trapped, collecting dust, quilt patches, and stowed away canine treasures? Regardless, I intend to discover her potential. Read More Here

Hoping to make this blog better. . . posts here will be similar to the previous post, centred around a new venture: selling greeting cards. I welcome your interest in it, but if you prefer a subscription to my other writing without the greeting card posts, do that over here. I will continue posting little introductions like this to my other writing for your convenience. Bless you for your understanding. - EM

Happy Anniversary Us!

2011-09-14T16:02:00.000-04:00

AN001 by EternalSighs
Purchase as a card on Zazzle

When our love's loyalty is to each other and together to Christ,
it leaves divine imprints in the lives of everyone we encounter.

Sept Blooms

2011-09-08T16:22:00.000-04:00

Rather than highway robbery it is more aptly coined garden thievery. The loss not as dramatic as my mother’s, whose prized heritage peonies were dug up and divided mid-day by plantlifters out on a country drive, is in my garden of few blooms, most traumatic.

A new homemaker, uncertain at what height to set my expectations of my gardening, I doubted I possessed the interest or genes necessary for compatible gardening conditions, and especially not for a beach lost in a pine forest, now my home in cottage country. But after winter’s heap of snow melted from our yard on schedule, the last of the neighbourhood, I needed a reason to be outdoors. And where I lack gardening interest and genes, an interest and eye for design tolerated our barren property for a mere few spring weeks before the need for curb appeal compelled me to experiment.

A few plant sale acquisitions now huddle together in little plots across the front yard. The lilac bush bloomed profusely in early summer, blue sage has been offering colour all season, and yarrow is giving a vibrant show of pink at present. What was labeled rudbeckia is blooming as obedient. Sparse though the collection is, they are my pride and joy. Perhaps I possess the necessary genes after all. Certainly I have developed the interest. Sand, acid, and deer have not defeated me, only the garden phlox. And it has battled valiantly. It has not been bothered by dry sand and an acidic environment. Its buds however have been a midnight snack for some creature.

Early in the season I noticed a few nipped stems on the plant. The flowerbed site is too sheltered for them to have just broken in a breeze. After an application of homemade repellent discovered in a magazine, I watched as the plant grew, maturing beyond its previous development. The plucked stems motivated full foliage growth and that garden phlox is lush and healthy. Eventually a delightful big bud sent greetings from the top of the plant. Smugly I anticipated its unveiling. The deer had not touched their favourite: hostas lining the front window; therefore the phlox was destined to bloom. Inevitably, the dry summer welcomed rain, washing away pest deterrent. To my dismay all that remained of the garden phlox bloom one morning, was a nipped stem. Despite no noticeable tracks nearby, I blame the deer which have yet to be glimpsed on our property.

With summer moving quickly toward autumn, I resigned to wait until next year for garden phlox blooms, sure this is all valuable lessons for a beginner to hasten my gardening expertise. Nevertheless I felt mocked. I bent down to inspect the damage, reached out and touched the rough stem. Suddenly it is I rooted fast in earth, looking up at my Lord, soul gardener. His eyes survey me knowingly. In the bushes behind me I hear shuffling and hasty gulps from envy’s insecurities, doubt’s anxieties, and bitterness’ mistrust; soul thieves. With expectation I wait for Him to apply some pest repellent. Heart raw, brokenness exposed, weary from fighting thieves alone in dark, I whisper, “I want to bloom for you.” In His gaze I find assurance, the buds will return.

And to my amazement they do. That one nipped bud has been replaced by three small hopeful buds braving the Sept chill. I rally myself to diligent gardening for the sake of these garden phlox buds, thankful that the tentative, hopeful blooms of my soul are in the care of One with an eternity of soul gardening experience. Turned to Him, my soul will bloom for a season. And as the destinies of these garden phlox buds unfold, I dream of permanent blooms year round, joy spilling into beauty, no longer rooted in sin scorched earth, soul fed by His glory, safe to bloom where Majesty has forever repelled all thieves. Sigh.

------------------------------------------------------ Scripture describes The Eternal One and His work. Nature echos His words that called it to existence. Humanity exhales His breath that awakened its soul. These, the sighs of eternity, remnants of glory, hints of truth, Invite us to recognize, receive, and reciprocate Redemption through the Resurrected Word of Life. Are you compelled to whisper life to someone today? I'd be honoured to join you with an eternal sigh greeting card now available to you here..

Fuel for the Journey

2011-07-14T16:32:00.000-04:00

The interest of 12 year old boys would be piqued by cars. And my distant memory of cars associated with freedom could introduce the underlying message of Galatians 5.

But then I lost my resolve and stuck with the printed text.

In the end, the questions provided fueled our discussion and proved difficult enough without my philosophizing. And I was spared the self doubt sure to haunt me had I voiced my interpretation on broader themes. Now several Sundays past that lesson and 2 sermons wiser on the subject, I dare to post the analogy that began to surface in my thoughts as I made myself presentable to enter a classroom of adolescent boys. Though considered material for a junior Sunday school lesson, I intend no insult to anyone’s intelligence with this parallel. Besides, only those some older than 12, can understand that thrill of the first solo drive after achieving a driver’s license. I remember driving to some event alone the evening after passing my examination. The world was opening to me and suddenly all I saw was endless opportunity.

I had a life to live and by all appearances a driver’s license freed me to live it.

At seventeen I was a product of the age of motion and a family of believers. As a child I rode with my parents many places, but most often to church, in various evolving vehicle models experiencing the phenomenon of combustion engine transportation. I learned God’s Word along with the meaning for the symbols of driving. I saw how dad utilized the vehicle’s mechanisms, of which I understood little more than the need for gasoline. And I learned to recognize poor driving etiquette which he pointed out to us with true transport truck driver expertise.

Mine was a Christian worldview that extended from the church doors, onto the road, into the front door at home.

However, I was no Christian on account of my parent’s examples, my Christian worldview, or my morality.

And though my early exposure to driving coupled with weeks of class instruction, handbook review, and months of accompanied driving, deemed me properly equipped, free to drive, with many places to go, I had no car.

Apparently a driver’s license offered a freedom I couldn’t access on the budget of a seventeen year old. I could only step out of the family vehicle and live God’s plans for me with a vehicle I couldn’t afford.

And this was the thrill that evening this Child of God drove herself to an event: my Father provided me a car!

Jesus passed the driver’s test to God for me. In exchange for His life, God gave me the vehicle of His purposes and plans for me, along with the key of His acceptance, my access to freedom.

But freedom is only accessed, not maintained, by the existence of God’s gift of salvation and acceptance. It continues only with proper and adequate fuel powering my life. One tank of gasoline after my first solo drive and I understood my freedom was tied to the car’s power. Thankfully, the resident fuel tanks were a necessity in the farmyard, and the gasoline was free unless the car use provided me transportation to a job.

Keeping a vehicle fueled does not get more convenient than the farmyard or cheaper than simply reimbursing dad at cost, unless I am navigating life in God’s plans for me, on the fuel of His Spirit.

Then fuel is available everywhere at no cost. Yet I habitually control the gas pedal with little respect or thought for the fuel I’m using. I value the places to go, things to do, and the thrill of the ride more than the fuel.

Were I to value the fuel that powers my journey, I would regularly pause to add fuel to my tank before the need to worry presented itself in indications from the fuel gauge that my journey is in danger of a sputtering stop beside the road. And I would use the gas pedal with consideration for the distance I need to cover until I can add to my fuel tank.

Freedom is directly proportionate to the steady flow of God’s Spirit in my life.

Without it the abundant life promised is continually interrupted by my panic to once again reach a fuel stop or as I discovered as a passenger riding a country road, by an empty fuel tank. Gloriously, dad was only a cell phone call away and willing to come to our aid with a jerry can. The generosities of my Fathers coincide. And I tell myself that I am not careless with their generosity, despite a driving history testifying otherwise.

My frequent heavy accelerations and detours consume fuel for no advantage to the ultimate goal as I try to push God’s plans for me ahead of His schedule and around my carnality. This is the same carelessness that eventually risks an ill timed empty gas tank.

To my shame, my tendency continues to be driving with a perpetually low tank of gasoline.

I do have enough appreciation for the fuel powering a vehicle that I’ve never been found pushing my car down the road with a tank full of gasoline. This is counter productive to the entire purpose of possessing a vehicle.

Freedom in driving and living is only experienced when utilizing the power of fuel and the Holy Spirit.

However, God knows I’ve tried to live His plans for me this way, choosing to depend on my own resources rather than God’s Spirit fuel to power my obedience to Him. Moving forward with God’s plans for me depending on my human power is an exhausting, discouraging situation. It is not freedom. It is not liberty in Christ.

It is self-righteousness.

I wish I could say, “And the girl and the car lived happily ever after.”

But the car my dad provided was re-purposed after I couldn’t stop when necessary on an icy road. The insurance company labeled the car “totaled” and abandoned it to the scrap yard.

But with God investing in my life and faith, I’ve been protected through driving mishaps and spiritual wrecks. Thankfully He’s never abandoned the vehicle of His plans for me, though some adjustments may have been necessary.

Freedom is a delicate state to live in.

I’m learning that the laws and guiding structure of roads and signs and Scripture and Spiritual authorities are not restrictions but aids to providing me a safe, successful, even enjoyable journey. When I accept them, I navigate with a wisdom that values the power fueling my journey, and follows the guiding structure with consideration for the conditions of my environment. They are beneficial to the goal of reaching my destination where my arrival is expected.

By God’s grace and the power of His Spirit I will arrive alive in Glory to receive ultimate freedom:
life within the fuel chamber of God’s presence.

I’ll take to the skies and sore in the splendor of His power and wonder! I will be free, eternally.

Sigh.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Scripture describes The Eternal One and His work. Nature echos His words that called it to existence. Humanity exhales His breath that awakened its soul.

These, the sighs of eternity, remnants of glory, hints of truth, Invite us to recognize, receive, and reciprocate Redemption through the Resurrected Word of Life.

Are you compelled to whisper life to someone today? I'd be honoured to join you with an eternal sigh greeting card now available to you here.

What's in a word? - His-story

2011-03-08T19:02:00.000-05:00

Uttered

Those first words of earth

Commanded life that

Made visible truth and

Described their author,

Expressed His heart of

Beauty, Power, and Wonder

Shared

His words invited

Interaction with His heart

And discovery of His glory

Continued the flow

Of His goodness as

Together they began His story.

Whispered

The word war began

With first ever untruth

Exalting death and

Enticing disobedience

Introduced alienation

From the face of life’s Word

Written

His story is recorded

Of all His acts

Preceded by words

But a word without

Its heart housed in a body

Becomes distant

Promised

His heart took a face

Again walked the earth

Made tangible His word

Speaking life from heart pure

And followed the word

Of His Father’s will

Everlasting

His words live on

Expressions of hearts

Changed by His work

Through the word of His gospel

Redeeming words

Back to His glory

Playing along with Random Acts of Poetry at:

2011-03-03T11:45:00.000-05:00

I hear them as I wrestle the frozen morsel: mom instructing every precaution to avoid contamination, the voices on the radio waves discussing the cause for a meatless diet. And I acknowledge as I do dinner preparations, that I am straying from the voice of both.

I do not have bleach to clean up after this exercise, and will be serving beef for dinner.

To this farm nurtured girl, beef was a staple on the table and in the finances. I ate the best, a work of my parents. Now a new bride in cottage country, I understand the lavish previously normal to me, is not typical; even contemptible.

The deeds that strike horror to some are merely part of a process for me.
“Should I be so indifferent?” I wonder as bare hands pry at raw meat. Though some arguments opposed to my diet are reasonable, I know the Creator has designated dominion. And the question of what that dominion was to include is abandoned to preoccupation with recipe and stove. The riddle of what was intended for my consumption, unsolved for the moment.

I cannot imagine myself a vegetarian. Neither can my doctor. Only the other month he encouraged more red meat in my diet on account of anemia. Though difficult to afford, and to obtain in satisfactory quality, beef still feels like a necessity.

One thought I don’t allow myself to dwell on. It is the same one provoking those opposed to my dinner plans; a thought very intimate to the Israelites of old gathered around the family lamb for Passover.

A life was birthed and sacrificed so I can live abundant, eternal.
Dinner is not a ceremonial affair, remembering reserved for communion. Yet, this truth seeps into puddles on my cutting board, into a life insulated from bloody deaths. I’d rather forget, reveling the lavish meal or joining the cause of meatless diets, than participate in reality. I’d rather avoid the necessity of death with attempts to create my own righteousness or deny the sacrifice and the promised splendor, than acknowledge the barbarian I am and sever my portion.

Could this dinner be gratitude for a life-giving sacrifice, honour for the cost of my lavish?
My Father would think so, it is his livelihood.

So today I’m consuming beef for dinner. Another day, when I’m living the lavish of glory beyond the reach of death, where the memory of the sacrifice is etched in the hands I’ll hold not in the carved dinner on my table, I’ll change my diet. It will consist of whatever my Father has prepared. And it will be good, better than all deadness I’ve ever eaten, because there I’ll be eating from the tree of life.

Sigh.

For futher consideration:
What the Earth Gives @ the high calling. . . Ann's quote particularly catches my thoughts, halts my reading...

The Spirit of Food @ amazon . . . this book, on my list to read.

To the Loyal

2011-02-19T17:01:00.002-05:00

You’ve patiently waited for me. Been companions on a halting journey you perhaps understood better than I. You’ve been in the wings eager to lift me when at last I return from distraction to write. Thank you.

I grasp for purpose in this exercise. Flounder with insecurity. Fear ruin. Slowly I’m finding the ground beneath these drifts. I’m committing to the purpose of Truth, to be with no agenda but to exist, a record of His breath. I return to you, the loyal.

Arrived, I have not. Willing to continue the discovery, stretch and change, here I am.

After preoccupation with living, and spending time learning this art at Redeemed Days, I choose Eternal Sighs as my priority.

I now describe this space (labeled “about” on the menu):

Eternity, home of Truth, sighs all delight. Softly invites me out of sighs of despair, frustration, fear, apathy, to discover Him, Truth - large, glorious. I thought He always shouts, mistook His confidence for arrogance, His superiority for coercion.

Though strong, He whispers in sighs of eternity brushing tendrils across my soul. For,

“God is above all things presiding, beneath all things sustaining, outside all things embracing, and inside all things filling.” A. W. Tozer

I slow to listen, to watch, to wait with those who were ready to receive Him when first He came quietly, majestically.

In this place I receive; savor the microscopic dust of His magnified existence. Bedrock theological dissertation and doctrine I reverently defer to those ordained, accept their influence as a microscope powering my ability to see. Though,

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face:

now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. (1Cor 13:12)

I simply anticipate my Saviour’s repeated coming through eternal sighs that breathe life to my living. And, finally when eternity shouts loud and clear from the clouds, when there will be no overlooking Truth’s reign.

How I want you to come with me, to celebrate Truth. You are welcome. You are invited. He will set you free – to see.

Sigh.

ABlaze

2011-01-31T21:09:00.000-05:00

There are coals on the floor of our fireplace and my heart. Remnants of a blaze. The heat lingers but fuel is scant and wet. My love had wood on his mind when the sun was warming our backs in summer, and I couldn’t think of anything more important than furniture and house alterations and wedding details. His attention to our need now keeps us warm and electricity bills manageable. We stacked the wood collection in autumn colour and chill. That wood, wet and limited, then filled the lean-to. But now it’s dwindled to a little pile against the back wall of gaping boards. It’s been months of transferring wood to the fireplace, hours of tearing cardboard for kindling and coaxing flames only to watch the smoke smolder with the addition of moisture rich wood. We improvised and strategized. But nothing can compensate or camouflage our need for dry wood. As I cough my way through the smoke haze of another fire-building exercise to open windows to the frigid air, which we are trying to eradicate from the indoors, I sigh at the apparent futility of the situation and wonder if this fire is serving it’s primary purpose. Is a slow heating, fast cooling blaze worth the time it consumes? Would I save just as much by paying more and turning up the electric heat then I do on my knees blowing on coals, rearranging chunks of wood, and crumpling paper to encourage some lasting flames? Sitting by a well-earned blaze, I discover the rewards of persistence. I bask in the warmth and resolve to keep the fire hot.

But life allows for only so many moments of leisure at the fireside. And when I’m called away by duty and later return, a smoldering fire begs my help from the sitting room corner. As I open the fireplace doors with stifled frustration, He speaks from within, “this is the fuel you provide me for your heart’s fire. You’d burn clean and hot and bright with me as your fuel rather than your inadequate substitutions.” The smoke rolls over me and I smell pride discontent with insignificance, fear of criticism, apathetic efforts of discipline, self-righteous perfectionism, and an endless suffocating, incriminating list of motivations fueling a fire intended for the blazing glory of my Maker and the warmth of my neighbours. I gaze helpless into the smoke swirling in my face and heart. His whisper clears the choking despair, “I’m here. You can burn again.” I feel His breath and a draft of hunger courses through me. Coals hot with memory glow. I join Him in the soul communion of Divine presence and my surrendered worship, and flames begin to flicker.

There will be a blaze again. A trunk full of father-in-law provided wood scraps and the promise of a coming delivery of logs assure us the mail notices of increasing electricity costs will not leave us in the cold. And a persistent Saviour burns with me all of life’s winter long until the spring of eternity brings light and warmth of His blazing glory on the throne as King of kings and Lord of lords. My heart will never be as hot as then when all I am disintegrates in worship for all of Him. Sigh.

Dying to Live

2010-11-15T12:55:00.000-05:00

I thought a November walk in the woods would be less intriguing. But then I stopped to acknowledge the dying around me. And in the decay I smelled future life. Fallen heros of the forest give there last offerings to the life of the woods. Lying in their beds of carpeted foliage, they testify to life sacrificing for the new growth struggling to be strong. And always the bedrock holds the ground from generation to generation.

These are the royalty of the woods, robed in moss and light, spreading life as they die.

How like my earthen wanderings – a royal member, commissioned to cultivate life as I die.

But for me, my life is not lost to the new growth among which I die. It is lost only in the source of the Life I lived. My final death never comes. When I am laid in my earthen bed, I’ll exchange this fleeting work on earth for the product of the eternal work of My Saviour. And while I revel in the glory His work has created, I pray the fading evidence of my earthly days will fertilize His life in the generations to come. Sigh

Smiles

2010-08-11T14:03:00.001-04:00

"Do you remember me?" she asks as she stands before me face all smile and glowing health. I recognize the face and know it doesn't belong here, in my personal life, at my brother's wedding. But I flounder a moment as I try to place her, wishing I could remember her name. Then, Oh! Yes. Just that morning her name called to me while placing name cards on the tables. I dismissed it knowing it would take too long to recall who she was, and where I knew her from. But now here she is, eager to reacquaint years after we saw each other regularly at the reception desk of the chemotherapy treatment clinic. She was the patient, I was the clerk. She brought her stuffed animals, I brought my frantic efforts to keep ahead of the work and an aching heart wanting to help, and we both brought our smiles.

"You were my favourite secretary!" she exclaims. "I was?" I ask, amazed. I always hoped I was making a difference. But I never knew if I did. "You always smiled and were so friendly." she explains. Wonder replaces my words. I remember the stress of those days, the demanding work, the emotional havoc. There was always so much paperwork to manage, appointments to juggle, distressing telephone calls to make, schedule changes to arrange, and patient after patient who exited this life and the cancer torment. But she remembers my smiles. I am reminded of her's too. She was one of my favourite patients because she always smiled despite her looming treatments. I should have told her that. Thankfully she has received her reward for those days - health. And now I received mine, the knowledge that my presence impacted her life. What ecstatic joy this knowledge brings! The wonder of God's grace is extended to me this day in an unexpected meeting. It is a taste of heaven, and His smiles on my life. I will live now so this experience is repeated some day when all sorrow is replaced with joy. In eternity I want to discover that my faith has eternal impact. I want to meet the fruit of my labours, to see the agony of now transformed in the joy of heaven's smiles. sigh.

Onesided Oblivion

2010-06-16T09:13:00.001-04:00

21st century cities don't sleep

Their independent occupants have lives to keep

When all is dark, the lights still shine

While some choose sleep, others pine

The shuttler of people targets each dwelling

With a caress from his spotlight to discern its numbering

In search of a rider whose face is their address

He creeps down the street with a stealth-like presence

A half block away one servant of the ill

Arrives for the night watch despite the air's chill

A return to the vehicle is of utmost importance

To retrieve the forgotten liquid stimulation

Across the road shadows trespass

The darkened lawn of a canine master

Alas the duty of owner to his fur friend

Is a midnight relief break while avoiding disturbance

In curious observance I sit in the window

Of the sick one's prison

Amused that my presence is so unheeded

Yet joined to this community of nighttime motion

I resign my position in the night's activities

With a mental smile to the Keeper of all men's wanderings

Though we live our lives as to ourselves

He sees us all and all is well.

Softened Soles

2010-05-27T15:46:00.011-04:00

Justified by the bumblebee spotted just two days ago, my whitened and softened bare feet dare explore the fresh grass once again. Sensitivities so long clothed ignite, heightening the awareness of the cool softness seeping from my toes to my head. Forgotten springtime pleasures entice me to stroll, across the yard and mindlessly onto the gravel cluttered asphalt. The reward of carefree wanderings is quick and terrible: searing inescapable pain, driving a hasty retreat. I am reminded that mine are yet springtime feet. Weeks of bare footed roaming will be the task master to toughen my soles. By summer's end I may be able to meander across stones with less agony. But by then the pleasure of a grass carpeted stroll will be lost to the hardened soles of my feet.

The journey of my soul is also marked by seasons of protection and freedom. Like my toes aching for some wiggle room in winter, too often my anxious soul wrestles for freedom from limitations and protection, ignorant of the the perils from which it is being kept. In rebellion I seek to shed the layers clothing my soul and staving the harsh elements. Should escape ever be obtained out of season, the result would be devastating and destructive. Like bare feet on a winter trek, my soul would be headed for death. Many hard learned lessens are proving the need of my soul for shelter, rest, and boundaries. As I submit to closed doors, negative responses to prayer, silence of divine whispers, and authoritative reigning of my disobedience, my calloused soul is softened, prepared to again know the joys of spring. Upon it's arrival, I revel in my soul's spring and summer joyous revelations of long unseen or uncomprehended truth. Alas, my human preoccupation causes a neglect in the course of my journey and growing familiarity with new discoveries leads to indifference.

Eventually I find myself a calloused soul in autumn. I may boast of my independence and ability to navigate stony paths in bare feet, but my Master knows my peril and graciously begins to surround me in protective clothes. I struggle against the smothering and question the reason and timing. I resent the shrinking range to wander, forgetting that these wanderings have long lost the fresh exuberance known in the spring. Somehow I only remember the pain of the first attempts at crossing the stony way and have come to see my confident self sufficient marches across the same ways as growth and progress. For my own good and even for my own pleasure, my Lord inflicts the limitations of winter upon me to ensure I will again know the wonder of spring through softened soul sensitivities. This earthly life will harden me against the thrills of eternity unless I give myself over to the all knowing care of my Creator.

I am in a constant winter while traversing this earth. My growth is not so much of gaining strength than it is of softening my soul for an eternal spring. The short lived earthly spring and my softened soles here know pleasure and pain. But my progressively softened soul will some day know only complete, uninterrupted, joy and wonder. Pain will not be coupled with the pleasure and I will have no opportunities to forget the wonder I will forever be experiencing and discovering. "[In my Saviour's presence] there [will be] pleasures for evermore" Psalm 16:11. sigh

The Difference

2010-01-18T11:05:00.004-05:00

Catastrophe pressures me to react

With Analysis, Cries for aid,

Gossip, and Passive observation

That leads to critiquing others' reactions.

Catastrophe causes me to wrestle

With human reactions & faith responses,

Calls me to loving, hopeful, war faring prayer

That doubt claims ineffective & insufficient.

Catastrophe tells me that I'm insignificant

And my efforts to care insufficient.

When the devastation is evident in the ruins

What prayer can I pray that will make any difference?

Jesus tells me faith's absolutely effective.

And so I pray for His redemption,

To flood the scenes of gross deprivation

And frustrate opportunities sought by His enemy.

Jesus shows me He's more than sufficient.

So along with my prayers I'll offer assistance,

That seeks to relieve the physical distress

And comfort the grief of a heart in duress.

For dormant faith's

Been paralyzed by attack,

Believing that actions won't impact

A suffering world with the gospel.

I declare that faith will work.

For it's efforts speak the hope

To a broken world,

That at Jesus' return, heaven will reign.

I believe responses in faith

Will never be hopelessly in vain.

For restorative efforts

Give a visual of redemption

That will always end with a hope for heaven.

- Sigh

(C) Eleanor Frey 2010

Headlights in the Dead of Night

2009-12-19T15:42:00.005-05:00

This is the time of darkness. The time for the end of daylight savings time. The time of driving home from work in the dark. The time when my evening activities suddenly seem to classify as a night life. This is also the time of a much more pervading darkness. The time of accelerating departure and decreasing visibility of truth. The time of stumbling around in the present with little indication of what my future holds, unable even to see in which direction it lies. This is the time that requires headlights.

I am not surprised by either of these darknesses, just impacted by their reality. I knew the days were going to get shorter, but when it actually happened it still felt so abrupt. After a day tucked away in an office I stepped out the door and was startled by the dusk that enveloped me. The desire to hibernate by a fire pressed in upon me as I headed toward home. If only my 21st century life allowed for a night on the couch by the fire! Alas, my plans are liable to take me out into the night, and if I'm so unfortunate, also the rain. Despite my aversion to venturing out into darkness, it feels so familiar. If I'm not out socializing after dusk, then I'm conscious of the spiritual darkness that is always eager to obscure my way. As I peer into the invisible black hole of my future, I clamour in frantic impatience fearing what may lie ahead. Somehow I think that if I could only see what lies ahead it would help me make my decisions now. Yet, the harder I stare into the dark looking for clues, the more aware I become of the difficulty to discern God's will and the more surprised I am at the prevalence of deception and ignorance around and, of all horrors, within me. If only the darkness were as benign as the black of night. But spiritual darkness seems to increase it's assault on truth the harder I try to find it. And so, my journey to my destiny is marked by slow speeds, u-turns, some off-roading, a few crashes, and even some times of sleep behind the wheel. I know where I want to go but I sure don't know how to get there or what getting there is going to involve.

But the inconvenience and uncertainty caused by darkness are not reason enough to cancel my involvement with life. As I crest the hill on my way to a social engagement, I am thankful for my headlights that illuminate the road signs marking the curve ahead. If I need to be out in the dark and the rain, at least I can do it from the comfort of an enclosed motorized vehicle with headlights. Though I only see a few feet ahead of me, it is enough to keep me safe in the moment and point me in right direction. I always have enough light for the most immediate circumstance. What comfort this brings to my finite existence! No matter how treacherous the landscape or how indiscernible my future, I have a guide. He tells me He is "the light of the world: [if I] follow [Him, I] shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." (John 8:12) My path is lit by His presence. I do not fear the unknown, neither do I hurry beyond the reach of His beams. I steadily move ahead, directed by the truth He reveals as we journey toward my destination - the home He's preparing for me! What joy, what freedom, what splendor there will be in the radiant presence of my Saviour, Jesus! His light is so intense, His brilliance so pure, His splendor so complete; no shadow of darkness can penetrate! sigh.

Swelling Waves, Responsive Faith

2009-10-14T18:06:00.004-04:00

Looking into the horizon, listening to the waves break on the beach, and lingering as the wind tousled my hair, compelled me to consider The Creator who's breath I felt in the wind and whose heart I felt beating in the waves. It was a beautiful day and a brilliant idea to visit the lake. The temperature was comfortable, the wind favourable to sailing, and the people scarce, but present. To have so much space unoccupied around me revealed the extent of its reach. As the seascape disappeared into the horizon before me, there was a sense of no boundaries; an endlessness to its expanse. Such vastness was humbling as it emphasized my finiteness. What lay beyond what I could see, I knew existed, but only by faith in what the maps claim. And likewise, the whispers of divinity seemed elusive and just beyond my mental grasp. Not so much because there was not enough evidence of Divine presence, but rather because there was too much; too much that spoke to the character of my God. He felt so near, so tangible, and yet so uncontainable and indescribable. This is the paradox of Infinite Greatness seeking involvement with Its creation, which summons from it a response that begs release and reciprocation.

At the lake to relax, I happily observed the peaceful surroundings that extended into the distance with little disruption, releasing my mind from the grip of the petty urgencies of life. I drank in the refreshing perspective that only an awareness of things and Someone so much bigger, better, and more capable than myself could infuse. However, amidst the pleasure, a longing and discontent seemingly counterproductive to the purpose of my visit seeped into my consciousness. After hours of leisure shared with someone significant, the restlessness was unanticipated and incongruous with the setting. Yet, my visit to the beach was incomprehensive considering the opportunities the spaciousness represented. While I sat amid the grass on a bluff, a seagull bobbed on the waves. Where I only waded in the water, a lady many years my senior braved the chilly water and went for a swim, twice. As I navigated over the stones fringing a pier, sailboats gracefully carried their occupants across the horizon. And, as I walked along the sand, a family busily constructed a sandcastle. Put into perspective, my involvement with the presented wonder was meager and my restlessness, obvious. For any exposure to God’s majesty is as unsatisfying as it is satisfying. There is no culmination to discovering Him and each encounter with His character amplifies the yearning to experience Him. Since the moment that Eternal Life breathed humanity into existence, a tension between peace and unrest wrestles within each soul. The ache, which existence incites and sin isolates from its reprieve, is a result of the fleeting life inherited. This temporary existence is a testament to the eternal life God offers, compelling a search for life that will outlive the fragile breaths of time. Created to discover, to experience, and to love my Maker, I am empty until I involve myself in the quest. The infinite opportunity God presents through His Son in His persistent redemption, calls me to surrender myself into the waves of His heart that wash into my life like the waves that roll to shore.

Yet, my habitually finite responses lead me elsewhere for completion or into Him only to the extent that my comfort allows. This insufficient response to the steady call of God’s heart to revel in the purpose He’s poured Himself out to make accessible for me, intensifies the hunger to experience the greater reality to which the remnants of glory around me allude. Consequently, I grapple with the desperate longing brought on by my day at the lake. My discontent induces me to consider what status or response of mine is its current source. Am I a rock on the pier, hardened against the hunger within me, rebuffing the waves washing over me? Am I an indifferent wanderer absent because of the inconvenience of making a visit to the beach? Am I my feet, daring only to test the water temperature, venturing no further than my personal comfort is prepared to tolerate? Am I a sandcastle builder, self absorbed and content to play on the shore listening to the steady beat of the waves and simply satisfied with their spray? Am I strolling the beach willing to observe, to contemplate, or even to appreciate the wonder surrounding me, but unwilling to respond to its invitation with personal involvement and the sure sacrifices it will require? Am I the shifting sand, easily moved by the effect of the movement of the waves, but always settling back into uncommitted mediocrity that the shoreline allows? Am I a seagull merrily trusting the swells and ignorantly using them merely for the pleasure that the thrill of contact with their power brings? Am I the elderly swimmer, courageously choosing a chilly swim realizing its benefits will outweigh the struggle and risks the waves present, knowing it will strengthen me, but never able to swim beyond the distance that my strength endures? I cycle through the possibilities seeing my inconsistent faith making me a participant of each scene.

The longing within me threatens to dive into despair. My heart cries to know and worship the Infinite Character stretching beyond my reach. As the sun glints off the mast of a sailboat far out on the horizon, my faith quickens the hope of redemption within me and I remember to whom my destiny has been entrusted. He owns a sailboat on which I ride. He carries me to each encounter with truth, planned for my soul’s filling. Whether I take a swim while anchored at sea, or whether I fish from its brow or dive from its deck for a deep sea snorkeling discovery, or whether I seek its security in the certain storms, or whether I pause to see the overall perspective while docked on shore, the sailboat is the answer to my hunger for more. He is one with the elements, perfectly responding to the will of the waves, the direction of the wind, and the force of my sin – my absence of faith. He’ll continue to take me beyond what I see now and what I’ll see then. Despite my response to my finite vision, whether fear and ignorant assumptions or confident knowledge of truth as contrasted by Columbus and his contemporaries, my future is known to Him. Confident in this, my aching and longing are exchanged with anticipation and hope. My heart soars in the joy of God’s heart’s overflow: eternal life within me shedding my sin until the day The Captain sends His Summons for my voyage to heaven’s shore! There, saturated in the presence of my Maker and my Saviour, my soul will find its substance, and responding in knowledgeable worship, it will be satisfied in fulfilling its purpose. What a wonder. It will never end. Sigh.

"It's Just a Spider" - Tell that to this creepy crawly phobic & the spider's Designer!

2009-09-07T09:21:00.008-04:00

Thanks to E.B. White I have a guilt complex I need to block out every time I kill a spider. Or perhaps I more accurately should blame Julia Roberts, Dakota Fanning, Dominic Scott Kay, Hanna-Barbera Productions, Paramount Pictures, & Sagittarius Productions, and everyone else involved in the making of "Charlotte's Web," the movie. Since watching & re-watching the movie (which I adore) I feel guilty for even shuddering when a spider crosses my line of sight, which has been much more frequent of late.

I do not know the varying characteristics of different spider species, but I have discovered that the ones I've been seeing carrying their developing young with them are not the same species as Charlotte. (That's a relief because I killed one that I saw a few weeks ago!) Unlike Charlotte and the spiders of her kind, these spiders I've seen live to see and nurture their young to maturity. Charlotte and her specie of spider give their lives in exchange for their young. And such is the kind of spider I believe I happened upon the other day.

I was going about the chore of hanging up the laundry to dry outside when I saw her. I was just ready to give a big shiver and mutter some utterance of disgust when I remembered Charlotte. I reminded myself that this spider would not be the one to suddenly drop down my back or scurry up my leg because I was not close enough and it was not active enough. A thought which made me pause long enough to consider the lack of reaction from her when I disrupted her perch, and the sagging shrunken look of her abdomen. As I observed her slow and minimal movements, I became aware that this spider was "languishing."

I thought of Charlotte and tried to quietly go about my business without disrupting her. She was hanging up in a corner and I thought that perhaps there could be a more comfortable place for her to die, but I just couldn't bring myself to bother disturbing her or getting too near myself for my own liking. Eventually though, my business ended up disturbing her and after a fall from her perch I assisted her to the ground to finish her life in peace and comfort. I'm not sure if I over-sentimentalized the moment or if I was just taking time to absorb the reality of creation, but I had a reverential mood come over me which I believe motivated my concern that this spider (of all things) have a peaceful death. I was not troubled or traumatized by the fact that the spider was dying (a dead spider, after all, suits my creepy crawly abhorrence best). I just had a mingling of sadness and respect for her because I realized that like Charlotte she was laying down her life so that her young could live. Suddenly I didn't need to wonder why God would create a creature whose life entailed living long enough to produce thousands of premature spiderlings wrapped in an egg-sac, and then die.

Why wouldn't God create a creature whose central achievement is dying to give life? Why wouldn't God whisper the mission of His Son into the design of a spider? Seems so lowly and unworthy a way of pointing to and glorifying the work and purpose of Jesus, considering how I feel about spiders. Yet, yet, it is the way Jesus has been presented to us all along. My initial response to the spider and to Jesus and His call and will for my life are often parallel; fulfilling God's prophesy in Isaiah 53:2: "For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him. . . he was despised, and we esteemed him not. "

I think my reverence for the languishing spider was fed by my realization that this spider's purpose was bigger than infusing this earth with thousands of spiderlings with which I will coexist (shudder). Her greater purpose was to by living the destiny designed for her, proclaim the work of Jesus for humanity. What a noble purpose. What a lowly messenger. I need to be just like her. And together we still won't offer enough glory that My Saviour deserves. But I do believe God plans to remedy that on that day when the whole world will see Jesus for who He is. And I know that my response on that day will no longer be shudders of despise, but praises of wonder. I will join the angels in their worship proclaiming, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing." (Revelation 5:12) And I will join all remaining created beings in the echoes of "Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever." (Revelation 5:13) Sigh.

Smudged Glass

2009-09-03T21:38:00.006-04:00

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 1 Corinthians 13:12

I tend toward negativity. Maybe recording the inspirations that happen upon me, whether through the most ordinary moments and things, or the unusual occurrences and stuff, will turn my heart and thoughts to interact with truth. Many of these posts will seem the smudgiest of glasses, but I anticipate the thrill of discovering a deeper meaning beyond the obvious. And when the truth seems hidden and vague, I will rest in the certainty of one day seeing and knowing with the same unobstructed view and pure truth with which my Maker sees and knows me. Sigh.