Riding Out The Storm (Reflections on Noah)

Author's Note: Once again, this is still a rough draft and work-in-progress

Sometimes we're asked to go through the flood.  Trouble or sorrow pours from the sky.  I think sometimes its natural for us to wonder if our troubles are a punishment for our actions, even if there is no obvious wrong-doing we can pin-point.  Job asked God to reveal any sin that he had committed to deserve his sufferings even though his end conclusion was that he had not sinned.  (He asked 'why',  what the reason was for his suffering.)  But Noah wasn't being punished.  His struggle in going through the flood was actually an indication of God's approval of him.   He did follow God, He did serve Him faithfully in a world full of perversion and sin.  Noah's reward for faithful service was a safe haven through the storm (which he had to work to build I might add).  He wasn't spared the flood by any means, and a very heavy responsibility was laid of him (the preservation of all human and animal life).  But Noah, unlike the rest of the world around him, survived.  Noah, despite every rain-drop and pitch of the sea, was the one man used to continue God's plan.
Unlike Noah, we are rarely given a set date when the rains would stop, nor always a warning before-hand, though maybe there are signs that we do not see or recognize.

Riding out the storm, being kept afloat.

Noah kept sending out hope for life.  Over and over again he sent out the bird, until FINALLY... a living branch came back.

I would like to believe that in my current flood God is promising me too that He will never put my world through this kind of (financial) devastation, but the truth is, I probably will not know that in so clear a way. --  Even after the flood had passed, I'm sure it wasn't easy trying to rebuild the world.  In fact, in Noah's case, there is clear evidence that it wasn't.  Even after the rainbow of promise.  But, life did go on, the world was rebuilt, and Noah's descendants marked a new beginning not only for his family but for God's restoration plan.

Jeremiah 31:31-34

If you've spent any amount of time at all in the church, you've likely heard the term Law vs. Grace, which is what this passage speaks of. Most of the Old Testament speaks of how God set up the law as His special covenant between His people and Himself.  So... why the change?  Why the need for a new covenant?  It certainly wasn't because the original Law and covenant was bad.  God didn't change it because He had to.  He could have decided to wipe out the entire fallen creation that He had made because we had hurt Him so grievously, and a few times (as with Noah and the Ark) He very nearly did.  But instead, in His love, God saw the frailty of man and His weakness and IN LOVE He made another way.  He saw how difficult it would be for us to keep His perfect law, so in love, He gave us Jesus to cover all our sins, even the ones we have yet to commit.  If held to the true standard of holiness, we would never measure up.  So He made a way in the wilderness.  (Isaiah 43)

We hear this a lot, and we do live now under grace, not the law.  But do we really believe it?  We say it, but so often it seems that we try to attribute a strict, works-based love onto God.  We try to do all kinds of good deeds as though this will somehow make us more worthy of God's love.  We try not to do bad things that might make God angry or ashamed and somehow love us less.  That's not how grace works.  Nothing good we can do will make God love us more, because He can't love us any more than He already does.  Nothing we can do will be so bad that He will love us less.  (which I certainly find encouraging!) We do try to please Him because it is the right thing to do (according to the law), but let us try to respond as God first did to us, with love being the first reason for doing anything.

Jesus Laughter

{Author's Note: As usual, I find that there is still a great deal of room for editing and revising in this short story.  But I laughed as the idea was coming to me in my car on the way home from the grocery store.  As often in my life as I write, only occasionally will I write a song or a story that feels different.  While some of the poetry and other things I write are technically good in a literary sense, its the few that don't come from me at all that feel the best.  Words that I cannot truthfully attribute to myself because... well, I don't write "fluffy stuff".  *sniff*  :) And yet... somehow the ones I might in some sense term "fluffy", that don't come from me at all, turn out the best...  Not that this is perfect yet, but the concept certainly wasn't mine.  The concept was beyond me, and therefore much better than anything I could think to write.  It does remind me a little of 'Footprints', a poem which I have loved since I was a child, but I did not mean at all to replicate it.  This just stands alone.  I will post some pictures to go with it later when I come back for editing.  And anyway... writing it made me smile.  Thank You, Father.  Your timing is perfect.}



One night, a troubled young women struggled to sleep.  Every mistake that she'd made in her life seemed to haunt her now when she needed rest the most, and every worry and shame that had collected in her years of living seemed to pour our into the writhing vessel of her mind.  When sleep finally came, she had a dream.

She opened her eyes and found herself in heaven.  All around her was soft, brilliant light that did not hurt to look at, yet there was no sun.  As she looked around to find the source of the light, she found a man standing next to her.  It was Jesus, and the sight of Him standing there, and even more than that the absolute delight in His eyes to see her, stole her breath away.  She did not know quite what to do.  No words would come, so she found herself sinking into a kneel.  With her eyes downcast, she could not see His smile, but she could feel it as He knelt down and took her hands.  "Come now beloved, rise.  I appreciate the praise, but we have things to talk about."

She rose as His hands gently lifted her and dared to look at His face.  Tears came freely as she realized that the love in His eyes was saying something just to her; He utterly cherished her.  He lifted a hand to wipe the tears away, then took her hand smiling.  "Come."  He invited.

He led her along a gold-paved street beside mansions and dwellings far more fabulous than she had ever imagined and she could only stare around her in awe.  He finally stopped at the gates of a courtyard to one mansion that seemed to be only half-made.  The gate itself was opened wide and as Jesus led her inside to the courtyard beyond, somehow she felt that this place seemed extremely familiar.  The opened gate held her eyes.  Jesus told her warmly,  "You let me in long ago.  And since then we've kept the door open wide."  Not too far away on one side of a grand set of marbled steps leading up, an angel gracefully swept away at what appeared to be ashes.  The ashes were the only dark thing to be seen.  As she wondered at this, she looked up at Jesus.  "What is this place?  Who does this mansion belong to?"

Jesus laughed.  Funny, all the times she had imagined Jesus smiling never once had she imagined the sound of his laugh.  The sound of it sang to her soul.  It sang of joy, but even more of freedom.  "Why beloved, don't you know?  This mansion belongs to you."

A thrill of excitement filled her at once, Though unfinished, the part of the structure that stood was more magnificent than anything she had yet seen.  As she looked around the courtyard, she saw a large, well-tended garden with many sparkling crystalline fountains, latticed arches adorned with roses, and many perfectly constructed statues carved out of pure gold, silver or pearl.  The part of the house that stood had many sparkling pillars and countless turrets and with silken flags of every brilliant color one could imagine.  The sweep of the angel's broom came to her ears and brought her back to that one unpleasant thought, and she looked back at the angel again who was sweeping the ashes.  She gasped.  Where the angel was sweeping, the shimmering shape of a statue had begun to appear.  The more the angel swept, the grander the statue grew and the darker were the ashes that lay at its feet seeming now as discarded shavings.  Jesus had been watching her closely.  "Jesus!"  She said in amazement.

"Yes."  He answered.  "I see."

"What do the ashes and the statue mean?"  She said in wonder.

"The ashes are your past.  As the old remnants of past hurt and despair are swept away, something beautiful is erected from within them."  This pronouncement should have been met with wonder, and at first it was.  But the smile then faded from her face and her eyes were downcast again.  "What is it that saddens you?"  He asked.

"Jesus,"  She sad sadly.  "It hasn't felt lately as though the past has gone away.  The hurt seems to stay with me.   The consequences of my sins from long ago... they seem to follow me with every step and weigh on me so heavily that I can barely breathe."  Jesus said nothing, but listened quietly.  The young woman found that they were sitting on plush cushions now one of the many marble benches in the garden, but now that she had begun speaking with Jesus directly, nothing else seemed to matter except that her thoughts and hurts be poured out to Him.

"I've made so many mistakes in my life."  She said.  "And while I know You've forgiven me, still it seems that the consequences won't let me go.  I feel like I've failed so many people, disappointed so many that I love.  You've given me Godly friends whom I cherish, and they are there for me Lord when I need them, they bless me with so many things.  But I feel that I have nothing left to give them in return.  As others now make my life brighter, I feel as though nothing I have done has made things better for them.  And even though You've saved me, my sins are still so many."  She began to cry again.

Jesus held her hand and allowed her to cry for a while, then finally rose and drew her up with Him.  "Come."  He said very gently.  "See what else I have prepared for you."

He led her into the main entryway of the mansion, then to a ballroom nearby where a marble floor was being laid by many cheerful workers.  "See."  Jesus invited.  "See the sparkle glowing deeply in the marble's polish, the way it reflects My light, the way it reflects the grandness all around us."

"Yes."  She agreed.  "Its unfinished, but still beautiful."  She said, wondering faintly why he had not responded to her words in the garden.

"Unfinished, but beautiful."  He smiled at her in such a loving and knowing way that her lingering tears immediately dried up.  "This floor beloved, began being laid when you lost your job just the other day."

Her brow furrowed in confusion.  "When I lost my job.  But I feel such a failure for that.  Why is there a thing of beauty for something I've lost?"

"It is being laid for tomorrow, when you will trust me anyway despite the uncertainty.  And for the next opportunity that I send your way because of your continued faith.  Of such, beloved, are your treasures here made."

He led her on pointing out other beautiful items, masterwork tapestries and paintings, statuary and glistening things that were half-begun and relating them to her life.  They entered what seemed to be a trophy room.  The plaques on the wall glistened like many-colored stars and she saw things written on them like, 'Cried for the homeless man you saw along the highway.'  'Prayed for the boy that was mean to you at school.'  'Forgave your mother for neglecting you.'  'Rejoiced at seeing a friend come to Me.'  'Kept trying even when you failed.'  Many, many places there were plaques that read simply,  'Loved as I have loved.'  "You have a great capacity for that one."  Jesus said when He saw her counting these.

He gestured for her to look at a glass display case set against the wall.  "Look."  He said.  She did as He bid and inside the velvet-lined case she saw crystal casks filled with the most pure and perfect gems she had ever seen.  And beside each one was the name of one of her friends.  "You feel as though you cannot give anything back to the friends that love you in My name.  These treasures I will give to them in your name.  I store them here.  They will soon receive them for loving you as I do."  Understanding flooded her eyes along with happy tears as she looked up at him in joy.  "All of this that you see is but a taste."

As they continued to look around the half-finished mansion, a thought occurred to her and she asked, "Lord, on the plaques in the trophy room.  I didn't see any that mentioned the time I helped at the food pantry, or sang at church, or baby-sat my friends children.  Weren't those good things?"

"Yes."  He answered.  "They were good deeds.  But the deeds themselves don't make much difference here."  The continued walking and as they did, she thought of her life, of all of the things she felt she had messed up, all the struggles, all the confusion, the pain, the frustration she felt for herself when she messed up, for not being able to serve as fully and often as she felt she should.  She thought of all of her failings and all the little things that kept her up at night worrying, She thought how infinitely small it all was compared to this.  And how those things seemed to disappear entirely with Jesus there walking beside her.  It was impossible to despair with him there.

The two of them walked out into the garden together and to her the light seemed to have melted into all of the vivid, but lovely colors of sunset.  He turned to her one last time now a silhouette against a lavender sky.  "You see beloved, it's not what you do that matters.  Because there's nothing wrong that you do that I have not already covered, and nothing right you do that can earn you more of my love."  The image of Jesus and heaven began to rapidly fade, though His voice did not.  The dream was nearly gone from her sight as His voice carried after her.  "Despite every hurt along the journey, what matters is how you follow...."

Abstract

Abstract world

Not part of body, but of mind

Endless thoughts that are so unkind

A little mind with thoughts too grand

To sort out or to understand

What good the theory or the shame?

Conjecture sours when faced with pain

With broken smile I face the rain

Persistent storm without a name

With open arms I greet its flood

Its waters thicker than my blood

Resolved to meet determined fate

Am I early, am I late?

Surrendered now, or just resigned?

It won't hold back the hands of time

Love was grand in infancy

But left a broken heart is misery

With its raw, consuming power

Its brittle walls become a crumbling tower

Betrayed its friend to the enemy

Till ruin is all that's left of me

Perhaps a day, perhaps infinity

I'm too weary now to care to see

Where the war has left its charge

Too few victories, too many battle scars

Fear Of The Heights

{Author's Note: *sigh*  Wow - it's been so long since I've done this, and my bed-time is now so early that I'm exhausted already, and I wasn't able to finish this.  That's terribly frustrating to me!  I really do want to finish these thoughts... I guess I will later - hopefully tomorrow.  Just fair warning - it is a work in progress.  Just like me. :)}

(Just returned home from a very inspiring prayer meeting - and it is from that beloved time with fellow brothers and sisters discussing how God is moving that I write my current reflections.)

I have been asked the question before several times.  "Are you afraid of heights?"  "No, not at all."  I will readily reply.  "In fact, since I was a little girl, I've always dreamed of flying."  (I am, however, frightfully afraid of heights and water put together - waterfalls for example :p But that's another matter entirely.)  And I think of my amazing pet guinea pig too, Kobi.  Kobi has an incredibly strong personality, amazing in a creature so small.  He is VERY articulate about letting us know when he needs something and will loudly 'wheek' and run around his cage until we give it to him.  He even rings the little bell in his cage to let us know that he is out of hay.  And so, as one might expect, when Kobi wants attention, Kobi lets us know by standing against the side of his cage and 'wheeking' as loudly as he possibly can.  However, when we go to pick him up, he will very often jump in fright and scramble madly as we lift him up.  He wants (and needs) the love and attention, but he hates the process of getting there to our loving arms.  Is my piggy afraid of heights too?  

Well, tonight at the prayer meeting, we talked about the Israelites being in the desert, and some inmates being in prison, and how sometimes the 'desert' (whatever form that might take for each of us) is exactly where we need to be.  And while we may need to walk through that desert to get there, it may be an invitation from God for us to walk forward through that desert and then enter into a better place.  My mind, as always, is trying to put the pieces together.  A few years ago, after a very sweet 'rest' period and a time of healing (from the painful consequences of past mistakes), I actually braved the prayer, "God... please change me.  Change my life and my heart to where You have always planned for it to be.  Make me the person You want me to be."  And I identified all kinds of personal goals that I wanted to meet to achieve God's will and give me an idea of what I might want that life-change to look like - which is sort of a laughable method of discerning God's will anyway.  God responded... with the desert.  Within a few weeks of that prayer, I had lost a mentor (who was a strong presence in my life), my job (the longest I'd ever been with) and my only source of income aside from a small monthly child support allowance.  And almost instantly, my life was in transition mode, another word for 'the desert'.  Transition/the desert has now stretched into a period of several years.  And all the while I have found myself inwardly scrambling and worrying and wondering what in the world God is doing.  You see, I DO want the goal, the lofty height of finding the life God has planned for me, and I know someday I'll be happy and safe there, but I'm terribly afraid of the journey.  

One of the main goals that I had set was to stop allowing my past to control who I am today and influence the decisions I make and how I live.  Still, I CONSTANTLY struggle with that, and I guess to be fair with myself, that may be because there's A LOT of muck for me to slog through on that back path.   But as I've been trying to put that completely behind me and trudge through this desert, I've also been very blessed to have some amazing people walk with me and offer a hand, sometimes several, and to have discovered some gifts that I have that I didn't know about, and for God to start putting all these little pieces together for me to give me a tiny glimpse of what may lie ahead in that 'better place'.  I do have some idea in my head of what I think 'the good purposeful Godly life' will look like, but I need to remember too that what I have in mind may pale in comparison to what God has in store.  There are things that I must keep repeating to myself over, and over, and over, and over again.  Yes, He does have a very powerful plan for my life, yes He will continue to work on me towards that goal, yes I am smart and talented and loving, yes He has given me good gifts and a lot of love to share, and YES, He WILL continue to take care of my son, even when I can't in my own strength.  So why the constant concern?  After all, I did ASK for the change, just as the Israelites prayed for over 400 YEARS for their deliverance.  But like the Israelites, as God begins the process of deliverance, as He walks me through the desert, I begin to complain and focus solely on the prize instead of resting and learning in the journey.  The desert is what makes the promised land so precious in the end.

I recall to mind a moment in time - about 10 years ago - when I was walking through the first devastating mile of a different desert.  It was just after my break-up with my son's father and while I won't go into all of the details and circumstances here, it was so far the most difficult period of my life.  I was just coming back from my prodigal journey and clinging desperately to God begging Him to bring my son and I out of the horrible situation we were in.  I lay in bed one night crying myself to sleep and pouring out my anguish to God.  And, quite distinctly, with that inner ear only God can tap in us, I heard Him say,  "Stop struggling in my hands.  Let me carry you." 

Free Write

Hollowed out in long, patient moments

A potter scooping out the clay

Over time, over years

Digging into the fragile layers of our souls

Content to be, content to change

Content to be amorphous we

Content to submit, to resign from captaincy

Letting the craft drift without direction

Becoming and dissolving into fog on the water

Forgive the sorry wind for stealing our breath

For tearing our eyes, turning our vision to stars

For pushing us forward into the unknown

Refusing to let us stay behind our veil of complacency

Spinning in the void of the depths

Diamond dust in our eyes silver streaks in the dark

Water and sky blurring together

Like shadow into sea, sea into night

All into darkness

Breath trapped behind broken bars

Ribs of shattered dreams

Pressed down beneath the teeth of indecision

Do you remember when dreaming was fun?

When air was free?

When hours cost nothing?

When lazy moments wasted?

Forgotten when today ends and tomorrow begins

When love began and when it was lost

When friends became memory

Suddenly, somehow taking every day at a time

Became years with a forgotten beginning

And only filled with the end

Hello's passed so swiftly into goodbyes

Knowing far too much
And never enough
Left to question what has no answers
Imagine what may be real
Stand on what may be dreams
Like walking on a cloud and not finding the sun
For the tears consuming the air
 

Aging

Note: I don't suppose I can truthfully say that I'm 'old' at 34.  But I have a lot of friends who are taking care of aging parents and my neighbor/land-lady is in her 80's and struggling with dementia.  I spent some time with her the other day, and I really felt for her.  She talks about things from years ago, things that probably only she is left to remember, calls her friends and kids other names from her childhood... she does a lot of crying and she's very frail.  It just got me to thinking about the experience of aging and how the long life we live will one day seem nearly lost, if not gone completely, and there will be few who will understand or share many of those memories with us... It doesn't necessarily make me sad, as bad as I feel for this sweet lady.  It just makes me reflect on how time affects lives and the hearts of the best, and worst, of us.  Maybe its a reminder to truly appreciate each day and each memory, each person that touches our lives and makes them a bit brighter.  I thought of childhood memories as I wrote, and also of my grandmother(s).  Comforting memories of a childhood that seems long ago.  I wonder what I will remember when I reach their age.

So, as such, this poem I started writing is NOT intended to be disrespectful or sad or make any reader sad, it's just... an expression of what I felt coming from this sweet lady who memory is slipping away... Its not particularly long, and I do plan to add to it later.

Flaccid skin and memories

Wilting in the high noon sun

Youth long flown away on departed autumn wings

So impertinent and unkind time has become

Leaving me far behind in winter's unforgiving glare

Gone and lost the vitality I once ignored

Forgotten to all but this tired mind

What began in innocence, the clock has wound back again full circle

Is yesterday today?  Or today lost in yesterday?

The moments blur and fade

Then surface from the deep waters and flare

Sudden bursts of clarity...

Then all recedes again like tides in the mist

How fleeting new flames flicker and waver in life's unrelenting gale

*     *     *

So my mind seeks to think of finer things

Finer times and a kinder world

Like the fresh blush of early morning as the red dawn stains the grass

How the nightingale sings

And the soft flap of barn owl's wings...

Amber fields of fireflies

Laughing and dancing in their flickering light

Sun-ripened grass drifting fragrant vines of scent across the air

Hickory-smoke and cherry-wood from a lazy-embered pipe

Ornamental dishes lined up like ancient knights

Fluttering shadows strobe their faces

Cast through open windows and billowing lace curtains

Old perfume, antiquated but loved

Like rose-petals tucked inside a scroll-top desk

Blue gas flames whooshing to kiss a cast-iron skillet

Still warm from last tea-kettle

Flour and buttermilk being washed from wizened hands

Hands that felt like tissue-paper and sugar

As my own now, blue-veined and white

Eyes that once looked on me with love

Admired my youth and my innocence

They are now reflected in, now become my own

As I gaze upon little faces that smile back at me

As I once smiled up at hers