Sunday, April 23, 2017

Jane Eyre, March 8

Happy Women's Day. I am up and awake at the Citadel Bank, by the skin of my teeth, you might say. I budged by the grace of God, not my alarm.
The day is looking beautiful. Sunny with long, combed-wool clouds, and sparkling puddles. Not very cold.
Five years ago we arrived in Rome. Yellow flowers were the city motif.
Oh, there is so much I want. Part of what I want is that sharp sensitivity to the world, that tenderness and wonder. The irrepressible hopefulness of the beloved.
Lord, help me not be nervous and brutal. Elisabeth knew how to be graciously blunt. So did Maya Angelou. I'm still learning.

There is this absolutely gorgeous tree across the road, at a house down a long driveway. It's large and fantastically curved, as if it journeyed from some other world. It comforts and terrifies me to find such beauties unexpectedly. How little I know of my own planet. Of my own body, even!
The blush of red at the tops of the trees is so lovely against the blue. I want there to be a word that combines tender, passionate, subtle, and shy. That's what it is. Very Jane Eyre. That gray bird with a bleeding heart. I think we would have been friends. So fiercely friends that we might have died for each other. Funny how we can make our lives so remote that no one touches us this way at all. Not funny - tragic.
But tragedies are often what shake us from our deadly complacency and cool independence.
Don't let me learn the hard way.

Jesus. Please help me know my identity in You. To be truly at peace, at rest, secure. Growing, but not frantic. Conscientious, but not hypersensitive. Confident and quiet and bold. Give me again that whole trust in You, that surrendered helplessness and joy. That janeyre.

Surrender, March 6

It's not as if I expect to be healed in a moment, but I expect to be healed. 
And I want to decide to surrender everything before I'm asked. Before the gypsy asks for my shawl, or the homeless ask for dignity and money. You haven't let me off easy. I'm not even a nun, with a habit and rule and the protection of manifest surrender. But You are always with me. And your Spirit will lead. 

Reconciled, March 6

Yesterday morning, the perfect opportunity came up for talking with J, and we made pax. He was very gracious. I'm so grateful. And relieved that You like reconciliation better than bland avoidance and dismissal. 

Balanced, March 3

Oh, I always need You. I can't keep myself right or strong or "healthy" or "balanced". I wonder if I should even try. But I can leap into Your arms, ride on Your shoulders, even stand on them, and it won't matter how "balanced" I am, because You won't let me fall.
Let there be nothing and no one reigning before You in my heart, especially myself. 

Complaint, March 1

I want to complain about how horrible I am at life, and how distractible and unsteady and neurotic and forgetful, but You already know all that, and You blessed me like crazy in spite of it all.
How can You assure my heart that I am safe here, with You?
However it can be done, please do it.

Judas, Feb 28

Yesterday, when I got up in the morning, I had swift opposition: a pouting concern for Judas. At least, cynicism about how he really died. I was ready to base my attitude toward God for the whole day on whether he hanged himself or tripped in a field, whether he bought the field or his filthy money was requisitioned. Finally I read both accounts and decided I was stupid; they offered me more confidence than doubt, if I could accept it.
Christ called you "Friend" to the very last.

What God Will Do, Feb. 28

You can't really guess what God will do, or how He'll change you.
Camp reminded me that I still have to offer up everything and agree to be changed. It doesn't matter how old I am or how much experience I've had.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Touchy, February 26

It's hard to see, sometimes, the attitudes that still emerge in me. It's difficult to love like You, Jesus, and not keep score, not be touchy. Yesterday I painting that painting of us (more or less), in flame, and when M came in and immediately said, "Is that Jesus and His daughter?" I was offended. OFFENDED.
I'm still trying to figure out why. I think it was in part because it was a vulnerable painting. An amateur one. A personal one, like a journal entry (we know how private I am with those...). I still have this stubborn obsession with being "deep". Save me.
Give me the simplicity of a child, and the honest humility of a beggar who needs to survive, and knows there's no other way. 

Hundreds of Roses, February 22

Please pace me with my headstrong ideas. I'm loving the little changes, and yet I'm afraid of myself. Guide and temper me in all this. Take charge of me.
I chose You, I choose You, but most importantly You are choosing and have chosen me. Hallelujah.

Humble me, gently, surely. Help me to desire You first. To want Your ways.
To live for You, in that fashion that doesn't make sense without You.
Please take my hands. Form my mind and dreams and affections most carefully. I know You can, You of the hundreds of roses. Make me a blessing. Help me be brave and faithful, and leave the rest up to You. 

Eggs in Alaska, February 21

Who is this? It is my Lord, the Prophet from Nazareth, Messiah.
It's just after 9:30, a good sign. It's nice to be awake this...early. Though I do feel stiff and groggy. I've been collecting eggs in the snow around a plane crash in Alaska. And standing up to a cruel teacher who wanted me and my classmates to read the abridged version of Anne of Green Gables. And sewing flour sacks with subliminal messages. And climbing big old broken trees.
It is so bright outside. I love the light.
And I am eager to work today.