Red Letters

Single-handed Theology: The beginning of wisdom

2012-01-30T09:01:00.000-05:00

“But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him.”
James 1:5

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom,
And the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.”
Proverbs 9:10

“Charm is deceptive and beauty is in vain,
But a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised.”
Proverbs 31:30

Fear is the humility to place oneself before God, acknowledging ignorance. Fear is the tears of frustration that turn to God in prayer, asking for guidance. Fear is knowing Whom to ask when wisdom is lacking.

Fear is the awe of the mystery that is both God’s otherness and nearness, His infinity and His intimacy.

Fear is the heart that trembles at the life given to my care, the heart that must love even while learning love, the heart that lives only because of love that has been poured in by the Holy One.

We know because He loves.

And this love casts out the shadow-fear, the faltering-fear of darkness and doubt.

Fear is knowing I am loved.

This Fear is the beginning of my wisdom.

~lg

Single-handed Theology - And a little child shall lead them

2012-01-15T14:53:00.001-05:00

Maybe being a parent means being less of a grown-up.

Her dependence on me, the me who lacks so much wisdom and experience, is humbling.

It is this humility that gives me the heart of a child, breaks me open enough that I must run to my Father and say “help please!” because I cannot put the pieces together the way they should go.

She looks up with so much eager wonder, with outstretched arms and pleading eyes, with total reliance, and I see myself in her.

She is the little child leading me back to God.

(Isaiah 11:6)

~lg

Epiphany Playlist

2012-01-06T16:53:00.000-05:00

I had so much fun with my Advent playlist that I decided to create one for Epiphany! Epiphany (meaning manifestation, appearance, revelation) is January 6th (after the 12 Days of Christmas), and celebrates the visit of the Magi to the infant Jesus, as well as the Incarnation, the revelation of God's Son in human form.

This playlist is quite short, but I like having a few songs on hand in one place that celebrate the Wise Men, the Star, and Light.

Light of the World - Chris Tomlin feat. Matt Redman (Glory in the Highest)
Good King Wenceslas* - David Francey (Carols for a Christmas Eve)
The Wassail Song/All Through the Night - Yo-Yo Ma (Songs of Joy & Peace)
We Three Kings - David Francey (Carols for a Christmas Eve)
Beautiful Star of Bethlehem - (Stuart McLean The Christmas Concert)
Do You Hear What I Hear? - Connie Scott (25 Songs of Christmas Vol. 2)
Glory in the Highest - Chris Tomlin (Glory in the Highest)

*Good King Wenceslas isn't exactly an Epiphany song, as the Feast of Stephen is celebrated December 26th in the Western church, but I thought it was a nice place to highlight Wenceslas.

~lg

What could have been a dark day

2012-01-06T14:48:00.000-05:00

Today, when the last thing I wanted to do was open up the curtains to the world outside, you gave me light.

Sunrise, another bright and brilliant Christmas morning with the arrival of a package from the north.
Then a little golden glimmer, with the relief of a responsibility shifted off my shoulders.
And a long, warm afternoon sunbeam – a little one napping for over two hours.

Finally, I was ready to pull back the heavy material and acknowledge grace, to understand the revealing of light on a winter’s day.

Epiphany.

~lg

A new year's thought from CS Lewis

2012-01-02T10:00:00.000-05:00

“Aslan,” said Lucy, “you’re bigger.”
“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.
“Not because you are?”
“I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

(CS Lewis, from Prince Caspian)

A good thought for a new year.

~lg

Book List 2011

2011-12-30T15:25:00.000-05:00

Here is my completed book list for this past year! My count is actually up from last year. (I must have taken advantage of Arden's excellent napping routine!) The list includes many "children's" books (some read aloud to Arden), but I happen to think they are written just as much for adults and make up an essential part of any serious reader's library. :)

The tally:
20 fiction
10 theology/Christian life nonfiction
3 general nonfiction
33 Total

Anne of Windy Poplars (LM Montgomery)
Anne’s House of Dreams (LM Montgomery)
The Great Dance (C. Baxter Kruger)
Love the One You’re With (Emily Giffin)
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (Barbara Kingsolver)
Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
Church, World and the Christian Life (Nicholas Healy)
The Abolition of Man (CS Lewis)
The Challenge of Easter (NT Wright)
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (CS Lewis)
The Silver Chair (CS Lewis)
Now We Are Six (AA Milne)- read aloud to Arden
Little House in the Big Woods (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Little House on the Prairie (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Farmer Boy (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Winnie-the-Pooh (AA Milne)- read aloud to Arden
The House at Pooh Corner (AA Milne)- read aloud to Arden
On the Banks of Plum Creek (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Cinderella Ate My Daughter (Peggy Orenstein)
By the Shores of Silver Lake (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
The Long Winter (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
After You Believe (NT Wright)
One Thousand Gifts (Ann Voskamp)
Little Town on the Prairie (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
These Happy Golden Years (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
The First Four Years (Laura Ingalls Wilder)
Habits of a Child’s Heart(Valerie E. Hess & Marti Watson Garlett)
Faith Begins at Home (Mark Holmen)
The Eagle of the Ninth (Rosemary Sutcliff)
Room (Emma Donoghue)
The Wilder Life (Wendy McClure)
On the Incarnation (St. Athanasius)
At the Heart of the Gospel: Suffering in the Earliest Christian Message (L. Ann Jervis)

Various Fairy Tales including:
East O’ the Sun and West O’ the Moon (George Webbe Dasent, illustrated by PJ Lynch)
The Snow Queen (Hans Christian Andersen)
The Twelve Dancing Princesses (illustrated by Kinuko Y. Craft)

And of course countless board books and picture books!

~lg

The Coming Again

2011-12-26T19:55:00.000-05:00

This is miracle – that he comes again.

Now, even while I am running, he comes out of the warm house,
door flung open, running after me,
bare feet, short sleeves in the cold night.
He is smiling, white teeth flashing in the dark, eyes sparkling,
lit up with a strange joy,
all the more shocking when I realize it is joy to see me.

But how can this be?
How can he come again even when the No has just escaped my lips, and I am still escaping him?
How can he be standing here on the icy ground with that grin, stopping me in my tracks with that light in his eyes?
How can grace be so ridiculous?

His feet must be freezing. And the cold squeezing my chest begins to melt.
He is here – no matter where I run, he just keeps running too.
He just keeps coming.
Here, to me, with me.

This is the miracle of Christmas. That he comes again and again.

~lg

The Coming

2011-12-22T21:04:00.000-05:00

You came, and I ran away.
I tried, I tried to say yes, but I’m no Mary.
I don’t know how to make room when everything else is crowding in.

All this waiting, and I was not ready.

And now what?
Will you come again?
And if you do,
will you create the space that can open up to let you in?
Will you make me Mary?

~lg

a time for longing

2011-12-19T22:58:00.000-05:00

Advent.

I put myself in the place of longing. Back to a time before God pulled on the clothes of earth, back to our own nakedness. I remember the cries of a people enslaved – how long, oh Lord? I imagine the dark of the silent shadow, empty ears, blind eyes. I turn back the pages and enter the story that began before my own. I do this to remember where we came from, who we were without Him. I do this so joy will be all the sweeter in the morning.

But the time of longing is not only past. The earth groans still beneath my weary feet, aches with the weight of a laboring world. For glory shone around, but glory also resides in the hidden places – the crook of a musty manger, the splinters of a shameful cross. In this time, sorrow and singing mingle together, yet hope’s song can always be heard above the rest. We are still waiting for another advent, when heaven and earth will be united once and for all in the God-Man.

Oh Emmanuel! Come, come . . .

~lg

The beginning of giving

2011-11-29T10:23:00.000-05:00

No, I’m not against giving to the needy. But I struggle with my own motivations for giving at Christmas.

I know I’m selfish right to the core. I know that selfishness strips me of wealth in the end, till I am wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I know the only way out is to open my hands, to release even the little I am hoarding because I feel it is barely enough for me. Because held too close, gold turns to ashes and fine clothes to rags.

And sometimes Christmas is the thing that pries a few fingers open and lets in some light.

And sometimes Boxing Day is only the return to clenched fists for another year.

Why am I willing to give away Christmas cookies but not make my life bread for others year round? I don’t want to be a hypocrite.

I want to grasp the nature of a servant, the humility of the Incarnation.

I need to remember that I have been the one to say “no room,” to say “no womb,” to God.

But still he comes to closed doors, closed hearts, closed hands and offers himself.

I must be like Mary. How can this be? I do not have the capacity to give. But my yes to this mystery makes a space within, a space for a seed that will grow into a harvest that will become bread to be broken and given away.

So I say, “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord.” Christmas is only the beginning, and who knows how this life within will stretch and overtake me.

“Be it unto me according to Thy Word.”

~lg

Advent Playlist

2011-11-26T10:17:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, I need to wait. I need the anticipation, the longing, the not-yet-here, so I can rejoice fully when fulfillment arrives.

I love Christmas music. Not Rudolph and Chestnuts Roasting so much as the sacred and celebratory songs of Christ. It's just the best music! I can't possibly wait till Christmas Day to turn on the tunes, like some people who celebrate Advent do. But this year I made an Advent playlist. It's for the beginning of Advent, and for the days I want to feel longing instead of celebration. I found it a bit challenging to find Advent specific songs, but here's what I've come up with from my music library.

Messiah: Overture - Handel
Come Thou Long Expected Jesus - Chris Tomlin (Glory In the Highest)
Veni Veni Emmanuel - Hayley Westenra (Winter Magic)
Mao Tzur (Rock of Ages) - Fred Penner (The Season)
Forever Will I Sing (Psalm 89) - John Michael Talbot (25 Songs of Christmas Vol 2)
Messiah: Comfort Ye My People - Handel
Messiah: Every Valley Shall Be Filled - Handel
Messiah: And the Glory of the Lord - Handel
When the Time is Right - Ginny Owens (One Silent Night)
You'll Come - Hillsong Chapel (Yahweh)
Messiah: Behold a Virgin Shall Conceive - Handel
Messiah: O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings to Zion - Handel
He Shall Be Born - Wendy & Mary (25 Songs of Christmas Vol 2)
I Choose You - Rachel Lampa (One Silent Night)
My Soul Magnifies the Lord - Chris Tomlin (Glory in the Highest)
The Magnificat - John Michael Talbot (25 Songs of Christmas Vol 2)
O Come O Come Emmanuel - Instrumental (One Silent Night)
Breath of Heaven - Point of Grace
Messiah: Come Unto Him - Handel, National Philharmonic Orchestra (25 Songs)
Liese Rieselt Der Schnee (Softly Falls the Snow) - Fred Penner (The Season)
Dona Nobis Pacem - Yo-Yo Ma (Songs of Joy and Peace)
Messiah: For Behold a Darkness Shall Cover the Earth - Handel
Messiah: The People That Walked in Darkness - Handel
Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence - Fernando Ortega (Storm)
Emmanuel (Hallowed Manger Ground) - Chris Tomlin (Glory In the Highest)

-Messiah selections recorded by the London Philharmonic Orchestra & Choir unless noted otherwise

Bah Humbug? Challenging Christmas

2011-11-22T13:50:00.001-05:00

Is it just me, or does Christmas seem to be mostly about spending money?

Gifts, parties, decorations, feasts, cards, fancy clothes, photo shoots, more gifts – it all costs money. It’s what we’ve become accustomed to. We anticipate the December stress of stretching our budgets and paying off the excess in January, or February. Consumerism is all around us this time of year, and we all buy into it. There are things you just need in order to have Christmas. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without _______________ (fill in the blank). And the price tag ends up being ___________ (fill in the blank).

Many Christians have become uncomfortable with the hijacking of Christmas by consumerism. And so we try to do something different. Instead of Christmas being all about us and what we get, we want to share some joy with others. This is truly a noble intention. After all, Christmas is about God giving Himself to us, so we want to give something to others.

But what are we giving?

We see others in need at Christmas. The obvious disparity between our lavish celebrations and their lack of means makes us feel especially conflicted, so we want to do something. We want to be better people, we really do.

But it seems to me that we are just giving the “needy” the same consumerist Christmas we ourselves are trying to escape. Now, instead of buying gifts for family and friends already overloaded with stuff, we give the needy stuff. Isn’t it too bad that they don’t have a mountain of toys under their tree? No problem, we’ll supply the mountain of toys. Because that’s what Christmas is all about, right? We can’t have Christmas without the turkey and presents and lights and chocolate and singing, dancing Hallmark toys, and neither can they.

So we’ve traded in one form of spending for another. Instead of spending on our family, we have to give to charities that will spend money for other people. You want to escape your selfish consumerism this year? Easy, just spend more money on _______ noble cause. But it’s still about the money.

I know, I’m sounding Scrooge-like. It sounds like I’m making up excuses for why I don’t want to open my wallet to others. But I honestly feel exhausted thinking about all the money I should be spending on charity to show that I know what Christmas is really all about.

It’s not that giving is bad. It’s not that these charities are bad. But what are we giving and why do we feel the need to give in this way at Christmas in the first place?

I read posts like this by a good friend, and I am truly challenged. Greed, stinginess, selfishness, hoarding – these are all markers of our society, things which should not mark the people of God. This is not what marked the Gift at the manger.

So what is Christmas about anyway? Why do we give gifts in the first place?

We can trace it back to good people like Saint Nicholas, who gave to the poor at this time of year. Of course, our Western Santa and his bulging sack is one bloated mutation. And we say we give to others in honor of God’s gift to us. But maybe sometimes His gift gets a little obscured beneath all the others…

To be honest, I really like giving and receiving gifts. But I’ve never really challenged the practice before in my own life. It’s tradition. It’s a wonderful way to make a connection with family far away and the ones around the tree; it’s one of those ways to show love. And you can get some really cool stuff! But is it necessary to Christmas?

Is gift giving essential to the celebration?

Because celebrate we should. God incarnate come to dwell with us? That’s worth celebrating!

So the question becomes, how do we celebrate this coming of God? How do we celebrate in a way that is fitting to the event we mark?

Is it fitting to plunge ourselves into a pit of spending and consumption and not come out until we are at least 5 pounds heavier and several hundred dollars in debt? Is this the best we can do?

We get many of our ways of celebrating from various traditions all over the world, many of them adapted from pagan and cultural practices surrounding the winter solstice. This is why we have lights and bring various evergreens into our homes. Do I have a problem with that? No, actually. I don’t think culture is something that is thrown away when Christ arrives. Christ redeems culture. Instead of tossing the Christmas tree as a pagan object, the symbolism of the tree is fully realized in Christ, and we can transform this tradition into one which points to Christ as the one who ever lives in the midst of our winters.

There are countless other beautiful traditions and expressions of the season, many meaningful ways to celebrate, to mark this holy day. I'm not saying strip your house bare and sit in silence.

But I think our main approach to Christmas should be found in the pages of the Christmas story itself.

Here’s what I see.

Worship. Proclamation.

Worship – this is our gift to God.

This is the Spirit leaping within us because God is near. This is my soul magnifying the Lord, rejoicing in God my Saviour. This is the music we sing to the Mighty One for His mercy. This is a holy multitude, filling up the horizon, shouting “Glory in the highest!”

This is the outburst of exceeding great joy that comes after seeing His light. We direct our pilgrimage, our finest gifts, our worship to him.

And it can only come after we behold His glory, after we see Him filling up the manger with grace and truth. Worship is the fitting response to what God has done for us in Jesus Christ.

Proclamation – after we have seen, how can we not spread it abroad?

If this is truly wonder-full news, how can we hold it back? The coming of God means the Spirit speaks again through the Word, and through our words. It is the loosing of tongues to proclaim good news of great joy to all people.

It is the telling of the ancient story and its fulfillment. It is giving thanks and speaking of Him to all who are looking for redemption.

It is not a script, it’s a testimony. Proclamation is the fitting response to what God has done for us in Jesus Christ.

This is how we celebrate.

We don’t arrange our stuff to make a magazine spread fit for a king. He must come first, come in His way, the only way.

He comes to the humble. He fills the hungry with good things and sends the rich away empty handed. (Have you ever laid down at the end of it all and felt empty handed?)

His coming is the substance of it all, and out of that our celebrations take on fitting form. Celebration is response, not preparation.

And He can come where there is no feast, no fanfare, no money for presents. He must be able to come there, if at all. Could He come to you this year without ________________?

So I am left thinking of Him. Thinking that worship and proclamation don’t cost anything, at least not in our market economy. That without worship and proclamation we are all bankrupt, and all our celebrations tainted. All our giving tainted.

If even our charitable giving does not come out of our free response to Christ, it is not love. It is only making ourselves feel less guilty on Christmas morning. So you see, we can still give. But if the only giving you ever do is to pass on consumerism to the needy at Christmas, you have not learned from God’s gift. If your Christmas giving is not an extension of your way of life year round, you might as well just buy yourself another luxury, because you have not truly opened your heart. The poor don’t need a nice Christmas with all the trimmings like the rest of us. They need Christ. And they need Him year round. They need the people who get upset over “Merry Xmas” to know that Christ doesn’t live in a neon sign over a store display. You take the Christ out of Christmas all year when you ignore the hungry. So give, but not because it’s Christmas. Give because you are Christ’s.

And celebrate! Celebrate with worship and proclamation and soon the gift that God has placed in your humble heart will pump its life into all you do.

If you have the means, feast! And remember who Jesus invited to His feasts.
If you have the money, give! And let it be out of love not obligation.
If you don’t have the money, give! There are other currencies far more valuable.
You don’t need a thousand LEDs. If you have a single candle, that’s enough to welcome the Light of the world. If you don’t even have that, He will still be your Light.
Above all, rejoice and proclaim Christ.
Make all your celebration fitting to the One we celebrate.

We don’t need to spend money to welcome Christ. And if we can’t imagine how that can be true, maybe it’s time we tried it.

~lg

This moment

2011-11-14T10:10:00.001-05:00

This moment is the thing,
Here, now
This breath, this embrace, this still
This familiar mess, this uncertainty
The pause in this fold of the day
Before time weaves us further along

This moment is the thing
And to be thankful
And just to be

~lg

Letters to Arden – November 7, 2011

2011-11-08T06:53:00.000-05:00

Seasons change again, and you with them. You are running into life and all that it offers, exploring every corner, testing every boundary, wondering at everything new.

Even now I see your fiery spirit as you engage and enlarge your world. Are you growing into your name, or did your name find you when you were still hidden, sensing a fitting recipient?

So many forces are already at work to shape you into the Arden you will become. And I, your mother, fight for safety and virtue and grace to push ahead of all the rest, I fight to discern what we should embrace, I fight to be the shape of Christ against you, not my will but His.

I pray Love’s force will always win in the end, though Love can be fierce as well as gentle. Your fire will burn brightest when it is kindled from His.

And meanwhile, while you grow, so does my heart, so do my arms – and you can always run to them.

Love Mama

~lg

how to seek

2011-11-07T09:39:00.000-05:00

And now, how to seek You with a whole heart?
How to live so that every breath invokes Your name?
How to be so that Christ is over all and through all and in all?

How to gain the reward of faith
Found in You, You found in me?
How to gain the Rewarder?

~lg

November

2011-11-04T08:57:00.002-04:00

Fields lie fallow
Weary old men with frosted whiskers
Settling in for the long nap

Forests robbed of gold and rubies
Stand forlorn, wringing their limbs
And the spruces sigh, there, there

The river’s eye is swollen
Knocked about by a north wind
Muddied and oozing over its banks

But hush,
The battle for the season is almost won
And winter will come with her blankets and gauze
Come with her command to lie still and rest

All will be healed

~lg

Single-handed Theology - Nisi Dominus Frustra

2011-10-31T08:54:00.002-04:00

Nisi Dominus Frustra

(An abbreviation of the Latin words of Psalm 121.)

Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labour in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain.
In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat – for he grants sleep to those he loves.

Quite simply, without the Lord, frustration!!

How many bricks have I laid of my own accord, how many times have I propped open a watchful eye, busy into the night, laboring under the false impression that it is I who must build, guard and provide for my own house?

How many of us have taken up God’s name and affixed it to our title, stomping around in boots to big for us to fill, glorying in the justification of our own exhaustion? How many sleepless nights before it all unravels in vanity and frustration?

We chase the wind, and meanwhile the house crumbles.

So I pray,

Teach me Your builder’s craft, so every stone I lay is part of Your plan.
Teach me to align my work with Yours, so my energy is not wasted.
Teach me to trust, resting in Your provision.
Teach me to rest, trusting Your eye never sleeps,
and that Your love is at work all through the night.

You are the Builder, Watchman and Provider of this house.

Nisi Dominus Frustra.

~lg

small seeds

2011-10-15T08:37:00.002-04:00

These seeds are small and out of season
Leaves are falling, yet I scatter, scatter
Sowing hopes too slight to name
Tossing them out to the mercy of the elements
With a tiny whisper to the four winds
Breathe, oh breathe on these fallen
That they may live

~lg

Just breathe

2011-09-21T19:06:00.000-04:00

Take a deep breath.

When it’s the end of a long day and there are still so many things to do, when you are tired and feeling guilty about being tired, when you just don’t have the mental fortitude to finish what you’ve begun, just breathe.

Breathe.

And turn that breath into a prayer, exhaling all the depleted energy you cannot transform, offering the only thing you can at the moment, which is your weakness. Then inhale, invoking the sacred Name that can only be whispered by the poor in spirit, and feel your lungs expand with life that is not your own.

Breathe until you remember this life is your own, given for this moment and the ones to come. This is the Spirit-Breath of God, by which all things are once again possible.

Just breathe.

~lg

This My Salvation

2011-09-11T08:28:00.000-04:00

Driving home on a country road, the moon hangs, suspended glow over the trees and I remember how I have found saving grace in its light. And I begin to think about this my salvation.

My salvation has been a matter of preservation. How can the faith of a five year old be kept fresh all these years? How does it keep from going stale?

Only because God has sent his daily bread, manna from heaven, each morning and evening. It is only the mystery of grace, falling from the sky. Last year’s bread is long gone, and even yesterday’s will not be enough for today. He has renewed me constantly, opening his hand and providing food in season.

It has drifted down in the mercy of snow. It has been the moon, a silver wafer offered to unclean lips. It has been every word proceeding from his mouth, plucked from the fields of Scripture. It has been gathered on my blistered knees, searching desperately for just the crumbs from his table.

This is bread I have not baked. This preservation is not of my doing. I have only opened my hands, my mouth willingly, to receive what he gives.

Oh I have at times been seated at the table of fools, eating the cake of deception, frosting gone to dust and ashes on my tongue. I have tried to hoard and hide, stubbornly feasting on my own fermentation. I have nearly starved on self-reliance because I would not get up and gather his provision. I have turned his grace aside, only to find there is nothing else.

Nothing but manna, and what is it? and some days I cannot tell, I cannot taste, I cannot know how what has fallen can be what is good. I can only eat, and yet I can testify that brokenness has become wholeness, because all manna is from the mystery of the one loaf, broken for all.

He is bread and bread is life, and I must eat or die. And this is how I live. This is how I am saved, this is how he saves me even now.

And falling grace leaves rainbow trails in the rain clouds and rises bigger than the moon on a September night, reminders that this His salvation is all around.

~lg

The Heavens Declare

2011-09-10T08:25:00.001-04:00

The way the early autumn light is bounding and resounding around the world this morning is a marvelous thing.

Those particle-waves are racing through the atmosphere, gathering every shade of cerulean and azure in the spectrum, spreading them wide over my horizon.

Every photosynthesizing leaf is practically bursting with new energy, gathering our faded breath and exploding into songs of oxygen green.

Rich rusty red oozes out of the pores of the earth, a super-saturation of organic overflow, making decomposition a thing of beauty.

Even brown reveals its subtle personalities in the mown hay fields, the cud-chewing creatures across the road, the flash of feather in the air.

And, marvel of marvels, it my eye that is able to catch what this kinetic spectacle flings out, to render the nuclear language of the sun into these colourful phrases.

Me, praying with eyes to see, spherical windows washed clean by the light, till I can feel the glory of God pierce my soul at 300 million metres per second.

~lg

late summer praise

2011-09-03T08:33:00.000-04:00

Six sunflowers stand tall in a vase on the middle of the table, saluting the morning. They are stretching from night’s slumber, waking to the light, turning, turning. Bowed heads lift and faces open in bold yellow praise as they find their Creator.

We bought them at Hope River farm last night as the evening light cast long shadows on our way home from the beach. We bought honey too, and met the chickens, and saw how raw wool was brought into line with steady hands and a spinning wheel. But the sunflowers, acres of them, were top billing last night. Hundreds and hundreds in straight rows, all facing the same direction, a congregation of sun worshipers.

This is what sunflowers do, and I can’t help but wonder if they were created to do just this, to remind us to turn to the Sun, that our fitting posture is one which stands tall in bright worship, showing others the way. As the Countenance shines down, we lift ours up, and it is right to give our thanks and praise.

~lg

Honestly

2011-08-23T21:52:00.000-04:00

Heritage isn’t enough to keep faith alive
We assent to textbook beliefs
Without seeing proof of their existence
And are supposed to teach what we have never touched
No wonder we go looking elsewhere
For ideas to make sense of life as we actually live it

Do we box up the old time religion as a relic of the past?
Do we drag out dead puppets and make them dance?
Or do we acknowledge our decay
And pray for the miracle of resurrection?

~lg

Rich Mullins - Calling Out Your Name

2011-07-18T09:18:00.002-04:00

~lg

Thunder

2011-07-18T08:40:00.000-04:00

Thunder rumbles me out of my bed
To stand at the windowpane, watching
Feeling the absence of the wind that signals the coming tempest,
The atmosphere’s vacuum, drawing me out of my skin and into the grey gathering clouds

Thunder rumbles and Arden looks to the window, wondering
Not afraid, just curious, looking to me to explain, to make safe
How do I wrap the words around thunder?
How do I tell her it is deep calling to deep,
All the ancient longings galloping over the plains to throw themselves off the cliff,
The shaking of everything that can be shaken,
The roll of the drums vibrating with a resonance that awakens the taut skins within
Till hearts skip beats to join in the dance of the Sky King?

Thunder rumbles and I wrap my arms around her
And we stand together at the window, waiting
I can never make it safe
Only make it welcome

~lg

"The Real Work"

2011-07-11T09:31:00.000-04:00

by Wendell Berry

"It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings."

~lg

Letters to Arden - July 11, 2011

2011-07-11T09:26:00.000-04:00

Dear Arden,

Will I remember these moments?

The way our noses touch after your bath, you all but hidden in a towel, soft skin, downy hair, bright eyes, our terry cloth cuddles.

The way your head falls on my shoulder, turning in toward the hollow of my neck on our way up the stairs, sharing our lullaby, your little smile and wave as you pull the blanket close.

The pure glee that escapes your lips as you step outside on Daddy’s shoulders, delighted by wind and trees and sea, arms outstretched to welcome it all.

A thousand little moments that take my breath away and replace it with something better – love.

~ mama

Hawk Tag

2011-07-08T15:54:00.003-04:00

And then I see a little bird, sparrow or swallow I cannot tell, chasing a hawk through the great blue sky. My eyes are drawn up in amusement as the little one flits and darts, circling the powerful strokes of the bird of prey. Is it a game? Is it an argument? The little one dives straight for the hawk’s head and gets away with a playful peck, and the hawk gives her the eye – annoyance? bemusement? – and shifts his flight path. Still she follows, short wing bursts in contrast to the steady soaring, disappearing now behind the trees. I am laughing at nature’s joke, thankful to be lifted out of my valley into the mirth of the heavens.

I know I am but small, not used to thin air, but oh how I want to follow! Will you let me tag along? Will I ever grow wings big and strong? You turn your eye and laugh, tilt your head and turn into the breeze . . . but you take me into your current and the joke’s on me, for now I am rising on your wings.

~lg

a wing and a prayer

2011-06-29T21:48:00.000-04:00

A surprise
Graced by the presence, magnificent,
of two bald eagles
Strength and beauty circling each other
in playful dignity over the river

Oh, for such a wingspan to take in the world, to embrace the globe's rippling breath, to see the straightest line between two points and yet take the scenic route

They call to each other, to me
Come up here
And I want to fly away

Where?
Deeper into this earthbound spirit-ache and then perhaps out the other side
...

level ground

2011-06-25T10:29:00.000-04:00

Isaiah 40:3-5

You fill the valley of the lowly, shaping firm steps upward, raising the downcast up to where they can see the sun again. You are a swollen river, rushing, flooding, filling us with faith till we walk on water, walk on up this liquid escalator of joy.

You demolish the mountain of the proud, shaking the steps of the haughty till self-sufficiency crumbles in the quake. You are a sweeping torrent, rushing, a rapid wave that sweeps us over the falls and down to the exalted plain of humility.

Where the horizons meet, we see each other face to face, and there meet Grace. We are all on level ground.

~lg

Pilgrim Song (Psalm 121)

2011-06-22T09:40:00.000-04:00

I look up into the crags as the storm approaches,
fearful of the slippery steps, aching feet weary already.
Will you help me over them?
Your ways are high, too high for us . . .

Yet as the wind blows fierce in my face,
I am reminded that you made the wind and the crags,
you made these feet.

If it all seems too much, I know you will build a strength in me I have never known.
The steeper the crag, the stronger my foot will be.

You, my Strength, are my Keeper
You will keep me on your path
Sheltering me from the driving rain
Creating moments of refuge beneath your wings

Your breath is at my back, and it is stronger than the gale.

And when I am weary and worn, I will sing
For your joy is my strength and your strength is my song

Your presence is a Pilgrim with me.

~lg

Radio

2011-06-10T08:27:00.000-04:00

A grown man cries on the evening radio, reliving 9 year old horrors, and I want to turn it off, turn to a country station, anything. I am not used to this kind of emotion, springing from this kind of description. There is too much evil in the world, I think, scrubbing a pot fiercely in the kitchen sink. How we excel at breaking each other, building a junk pile of lives smashed to pieces so we can climb on top and play king of the hill.

I am grateful, so grateful, for my own safety, for the peace of my family, the security of our home. But the contrast is stark. How many mothers and children will die before they can ever wash the supper dishes without fear?

I stare across what seems a great divide. Do they resent me? Envy me? Pity me? I look into their eyes, willing my heart to leave a place open for them, even though all that rushes in may be a sense of helplessness. I will mourn with those who mourn, and leave the radio on.

~lg

Holymotion

2011-06-07T07:30:00.000-04:00

God is motion

He is the heart that ever beats, the dance of three-in-one
The breath that creates, renews, recreates within his lungs
The mouth that forms the word that flings the light

He is the will that moves to send the Spirit to overshadow to put on flesh and blood

He is life laying down, over and over
Love lifted up on a cross
And in that eternal moment all things hold together

He is the hand that reaches out and draws us up through the wound in his side
Up through his veins and into the life of God
Into the circulation of Spirit, Son, Father

And in him we live and move and have our being

~lg

a word from the wild

2011-06-06T07:47:00.000-04:00

There’s a wildness in God’s mercy
He is a fire, a storm, a flood
the roaring rapids that tear at your spirit
making your heart ache to be swept away
by thoughts higher, too high
by love deeper, too deep
by a current swifter than your stagnation
and stinking pools of complacency
He is the Spirit

Be of courage, quivering heart
Jump,
jump,
jump…
Don’t fight the river,
clinging to slippery rocks of false security
In the centre of the whirlpool
you will find the peace you crave

~lg

planting beauty

2011-06-02T11:42:00.000-04:00

It’s not the way I usually would have done it

The apple tree sat waiting

In its plastic pot

Roots circling round and round

Without any room to breathe

I wanted ideal ground

But our “back 40” was less than so

Ground ridged by rocks and weeds

A pile of twisted rusty metal

neglected museum of days gone by

A heap of brush sprawled and sticky

like a shock of unkempt giant’s hair

A collection of broken glass, old medicine bottles

and the evidence of beer drunk in secret

A jumble of dirty plastic, torn and tattered

but never decomposing

I wanted to clear away all the ugliness first

Prepare a perfect environment for our darling sapling

A smooth lawn, a clear view, a clean start

But that was more than a few weeks’ worth of work away

I was almost loathe to do it

Behind the brush heap I pulled up weeds and grass

Collected more fragments of the last few decades

We dug a hole in the middle of it all

Sharp spade cutting into red clay

Filled it with rich, dark dirt harvested from the sea

And there

Surrounded by the brackish heaps

of our pioneer work in progress

We planted beauty

And there it blossoms even now

Unfurling roots and leaves, deep and high

Peeking over the giant’s mop top

Waving to the kitchen window

Happy only to be given a place

Yes, I will give up my stifling idealism

And give beauty a place to grow

~lg

Letters to Arden - May 6, 2010

2011-05-16T14:41:00.000-04:00

Written eleven days before Arden's birth

Dear baby,

Today was the first warm rain of the season! I went out to run some errands in preparation for your arrival, just as the first gentle drops started to fall. There was a light, fresh breeze, mingling earth and sky in a delicious springy smell. You would have loved it! I can’t wait for you to experience the wonderful world and all its simple joys. The leaves should be out on the trees by the time you arrive. You’ll learn that green makes such a difference in the look of things.

We’re buying a new house just after you arrive too. It’s a big old house in Wheatley River. I’m excited for you because you’ll get to discover life beside a river. Rivers have their own music. So do oceans and streams . . . what fun we’ll have learning all their songs!

God has created such delightful things. If you look closely, you’ll be able to see glimpses of God’s face in the flowers, His nature in nature. He loves us so much! The best thing about living in the world is meeting its Creator. It’s only through Him that you will understand life and find fulfillment. He knows you already, more than I do or ever will. But I hope I will do a good job of introducing you to him, of helping you know Him as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Jesus has made our humanity such a grace filled existence. I’m so thankful He has entrusted you to your Father and I. We love you already!

~lg

the hidden root

2011-05-16T14:00:00.000-04:00

There was something growing in my heart
Almost hidden in a corner
It had been pruned and trimmed many times
But I secretly watered it
Its sharp and twisted roots took hold
Till I couldn’t imagine living without it

It imitated nobler plants
At times flowering with pleasing petals
But when I peeled back the bark
It was rotten at the core

And so when spring came
I took a walk with the Gardener
And he helped me understand
That it was not rooted in love
That it had never born fruit
That I must pull it out with my bare hands

And oh how it hurt
But I grabbed hold of that thorny stump
And pulled with all my might
I fought those stubborn roots with blood and tears
Till I felt his calloused hands close around mine
And with the strength of two thousand springs
We uprooted it

Now all that remains is a fragile plot of earth
Loose, broken, empty
Ready for something beautiful

~lg

momentary prayer

2011-05-04T16:13:00.002-04:00

Today I don’t have time for a long conversation
Just moments when you are on my mind and in my breath
I open the windows and let your breezes blow in
Noting your beauty in the sun’s pattern on the floor
I scrub baby toes and musty cupboards
And this work is my worship
This peace in my heart is prayer
These are the moments of our communion

~lg

Letters to Arden - April 23, 2011

2011-04-25T16:07:00.003-04:00

Dear Arden,

Today is Holy Saturday. You are too little to know what this weekend is all about, that today was the day the world fell silent as the grave. It is a busy weekend of worship and presentations and cleaning and reflection. But all that is on hold this afternoon as I take you in my arms. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you are inconsolable. Are you teething? Do you have a tummy ache? Are you getting sick? I try nursing, I try bouncing, I try distracting you with toys, I try a nap, I try cookies, I try funny faces, I try Tylenol, I try giving you to Daddy and leaving the room, but nothing works. You cry and contort in pain and discomfort.

Finally I scoop you up and take you to the kitchen, where the washing machine is spinning and the floors still haven’t been mopped. I turn on the little stereo and its glowing blue light grabs your attention. I put the iPod on the Passion week playlist and turn it up. The music begins – Come and Mourn with Me Awhile, How Deep the Father’s Love For Us, Sing to Jesus. I dance and sing and rock and your sobs turn to whimpers. You couldn’t possibly know what these words mean, yet as I sing the story of the cross over you, you soften in my arms. I sing them by heart and with all my heart, embracing these moments of broken worship, soothing you somehow with Christ’s sorrow. You settle into quiet rest, and still I sing, praying these words will find their way into your bones and blood, that they will grow with you till one Holy Saturday they will spill out of your own mouth like tears of praise.

love Mommy

The graspable God

2011-04-20T13:52:00.000-04:00

Jesus
You were a real flesh-and-blood man
With carpenter’s hands and dusty feet
Who ate and slept and cried
The graspable God

I find myself longing to touch you,
The human-God you
Even just the hem of your garment

I get how people want to be near the places you were
God-touched places, where physical and spiritual fused together
To touch someone who touched someone who touched Peter who touched you

You embraced the ones you loved
Washed their feet
Let them wash your feet with their hair

Now we cannot cling to you
The closest we can come is a piece of bread, a sip of wine
To remind us that the living bread once lived on earth
By your invisible Spirit and by faith we hold on

But one day
One day I will have eyes to see you
Hands to touch you
And lips to kiss your feet

~lg

a Narnian moon

2011-04-18T08:33:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when the moon shines through our open window
And the wind blows across the fields
Playing the dry stalks of last fall like so many wooden flutes
We hear Susan’s horn in the distance
And smell the salt spray against Cair Paravel
Then turning to you I catch Magnificence in your eyes
And the squeeze of your hand stirs a gentle valiance within
For a brief moment our hearts beat with the blood of a far off country
And our eyes turn with longing to the closet door

~lg

Single-Handed Theology - Where Are the Children?

2011-04-10T16:34:00.006-04:00

Single-Handed Theology: one hand in motherhood, one hand in theology, each inspiring the other.

Tonight, while nursing Arden before bed, all the while humming old hymns and drinking hot lemon tea, I was considering the relationship between Christ and the church. In a sacred mystery I am not sure I understand, the apostle Paul identifies Christ as the husband and the church as the wife. That got me thinking – where are the children?

We’ve got all sorts of relationships pictured in the Bible, relationships that exist among God and between God and humanity. There’s God the Father, and His Son, with the Spirit as the bond of love between them (to use Augustine's analogy). There’s Christ the bridegroom, winning a bride for Himself, the Church. The Spirit may also be seen as the chemistry, or divine electricity that draws and binds each to the other. (Of course the Spirit is also a person, not simply a force, with whom we have a relationship with as well, though He is always handing us off to Christ.)

Surely the greatest romance of all time would find fulfillment in the natural outcome of marriage, that is, offspring. We are God’s children, but the Church as she is now has borne no children.

But of course. The marriage has yet to happen. The Great Wedding is an eschatological event, and we are still the betrothed, not yet a wife, not yet a mother.

When I thought of this, a little tingle of excitement ran through me, and it wasn't the lemon tea. Sometimes when we think about the end of this world, or life after death, or eternity in heaven, we struggle to imagine what on earth we’ll be doing. (And yes, there will be a new earth too, as well as a new heaven.) Getting to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb seems like a pretty ultimate arrival in and of itself. But just think, we will be marrying Jesus, the One by whom and through whom all things were created! With such a creative husband, I wouldn’t be surprised if our union brings about some kind of new life. I’m not thinking of more human children, or a race of demi-gods, but something alive nonetheless, something that will recreate the church anew as baby recreates a woman from the inside out.

Perhaps we will experience a glorious motherhood, perhaps there will be things that need our nourishment and our love, love which has been made perfect through the fires of tribulation and resurrection. Perhaps we will be the co-creators we were meant to be. Perhaps the Spirit will birth new life in us as a surprise wedding gift. Who knows?

There is a reason a veil hangs over our faces as we look past the future into eternity. But you know what they say. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes . . .

~lg

Empty Me

2011-04-07T09:51:00.001-04:00

A song for Lent.

Hunger

2011-04-07T09:35:00.002-04:00

In fasting
I am stripped down to hunger,
to desire, raw need.
What are these cravings that gnaw at the pit of my stomach,
directing my heart and mind and hands,
eating into my dreams,
demanding to be fed?

In fasting
I must face hunger,
look into its greedy eyes,
and deny it,
deny myself.

In fasting
my soul growls at God,
honest in doubt, honest in need,
empty
with no bread or wine in sight,
only an invitation to "Follow Me."

~lg

Secrets of the woods

2011-03-17T10:26:00.001-04:00

Do you wish to hear a secret?

Put on your boots and go into the woods

Go as a child would

Running and skipping with eyes full of wonder

There you will find a certain grove of trees

And a little patch of moss in the centre

Plant your feet into the earth and

Stretch your arms up to the patch of blue

Now close your eyes and breathe

If you stand very still, very patiently

Your eight year old ears will open

And you will hear once again the murmurs of the forest

The trees are speaking

Telling the story of the deepest mystery

The rising of sap in the spring

And the origin of the colour green

~lg

eyes of faith

2011-02-26T21:50:00.001-05:00

I met a man in the grocery store with the face of a wanderer
And a cart full of hot dogs
He stopped me to tell me he saw faith in my daughter’s eyes
The faith he needed to keep going
I almost brushed him off
Too busy to talk to an old drunk
Too busy to talk to Jesus

~lg

Aurora

2011-02-26T09:24:00.003-05:00

Aurora
I close my eyes and create your contours
Relive our last slow dance beneath the stars
That night we said farewell

I saw your true colours
The reward for my insomnia
But you are a shape-shifter
And my feet too clumsy to follow

You are too easy to love
But too quick to leave me

You left a magnet in my chest
An image burned in my mind
I can still feel your movement
Though you dance a thousand miles from me

One day your music will draw me back
I will succumb to your cold breath
Your fingers of fire
If only for one night

Oh Aurora!
You are too easy to love
But too quick to leave me

~lg

*photo by Karl Johnston, Fort Smith, NWT

Ode to Winter Camp

2011-02-25T19:17:00.004-05:00

This is a poem I wrote years ago in honour of our winter camp at PWK High School in Fort Smith, NWT. Every February, my thoughts inevitably turn back to the happy days spent in the bush. And so for a little fun, here is my Ode to Winter Camp.

It's winter at PWK
And every student knows
The boldest campers will set forth
To brave the ice and snow

In the light of February's dawn
Their silhouettes appear
Framed with furry parkas
And ski-doos piled high with gear

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We will brave the northern bush
At twenty-two below!

Doucette and Ransom, fearless leaders
Forge the trail ahead
We follow in their snowshoe prints
To Louie's trapper shed

We make our beds on boughs of spruce
We shiver through the night
We chop down trees at midnight's stroke
To keep the fire bright

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We survive the northern bush
At thirty-two below!

We set our nets beneath the ice
To catch our fill of fish
We trap and snare for furry beasts
To fill our supper dish

We skin the bloated caribou
On Piers Lake's floor of ice
We revel in the blood and guts
And my those steaks taste nice!

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We will thrive in northern bush
At forty-two below!

We cut a path through barren lands
Our topo maps to guide
We sweat and toil to find our way
With compass at our side

We do not fear the howling wolves
Nor trees lit from a spark
We do not shrink from frozen toes
Nor outhouse in the dark

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We have conquered northern bush
At fifty-two below!

We have danced with northern lights
Around the campfire's glow
We know the secrets of the bush
And how to pee in snow

We are a strong but stinky crew
Adventurers at heart
We love to tell our stories
And embellish every part

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We will camp in northern bush
When none else dare to go!

~lg

Drunk

2011-02-23T10:19:00.001-05:00

If I were strong enough, I could bear this pleasure. But I am a mere mortal, and my vanities incline me to drink too deeply. The sweet drop, fitting in its place, swells to drown me. I fumble the gift, stumble overboard and promptly sink to the bottom of the sea. The great fish saves me, and I am left three days to sober up and consider my shame. When I am spit out, I lay this pleasure in the hot sand, and turn my back till it dries out like a stranded starfish.

~lg

one morning

2011-02-15T18:59:00.002-05:00

One morning I woke up to discover the Trinity had a pillow fight the night before. Giant feathery flakes were floating from the heavens, the overflow of some secret joy. I wonder who won. Did the Father strong arm Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Did Jesus fake an injury only to jump up and whack the other two in the face? Did the Spirit distract his opponents by blowing down into their eyes? Did they declare a truce after realizing they were equally matched? It is a quiet morning, so they must be resting now, but close your eyes and you can hear the echoes of midnight laughter.

Are you surprised by this undignified display? Perhaps a game of chess seems a more appropriate activity for such important persons, if such a thing were possible with three players. Or perhaps a stirring rendition of the Hallelujah chorus, accompanied by winged harps, of course. Maybe they are debating the merits of one creed’s wording over another. Or perhaps all their time is consumed by gravely counting out souls into one pile or another.

But this descending beauty erases all notions of a gloomy gathering of Greek terms. This beauty did not appear out of thin air. Everything wonderful about this morning was laughed into existence by the God of all joy, joy that is meant to be shared, joy that bursts out of the seams and explodes over creation. It is not a secret after all. This delight is over you and over me, and we are invited to the next pillow fight.

~lg

Letters to Arden – January 10, 2011

2011-02-15T07:21:00.000-05:00

Arden,

There is a beautiful moment when your eyes close and you fall asleep in my arms. These days you are usually too busy and aware to shut the rest of the world out, unless you are curled up in your own crib. But this morning you gave me the gift of your sleep, your weight, your warmth.

By this gift you tell me all is right in your world. You tell me you have received the love I strive to show you in so many ways. I feel your heart send its morse code signals to my own, little words beat out in a gentle rhythm – love, peace, safety.

Who teaches us how to love in this mother-daughter way? I did not have to read a book, or follow four parental laws. You did not need lessons from the nurses or other experts. Somehow in birth we are both given the language, a special revelation. We are taught by God Himself.

It’s no surprise, really, although it is a thing of holy wonder and grace. God, who is Love, is the One who gives us breath, makes and sustains our beating hearts. He cannot give of Himself without giving love. This reality is in our lungs and veins. It is all around us, sighing in the trees, falling with the snow, murmuring in the sea.

We are His children first. We have been made so by Christ, and we are both His sisters. When He leads us to the Father, He throws open the door and pours His very Spirit, Love Itself, into our hearts. By this Spirit we cry “Abba,” settling into His arms. This is how we know what love is. This is the Embrace that surrounds us as we sit here now the Embrace that strengthens my arms and lulls you to sleep. Sleep sweetly, little one. You are loved.

Mama

January Experiment: Follow-Up

2011-02-09T10:30:00.002-05:00

Mornings are longer and lighter when I look out the windows instead of staring into a screen.

The urge for quick access to information strikes a surprising number of times throughout the day. My brain has been trained to digest many small meals instead of ruminating on a five course meal. Both approaches have their benefits and drawbacks.

It is usually worth the time and effort to create my own approach to something, instead of looking for a stranger’s quick fix or opinion.

The Joy of Cooking not only has thousands of recipes, it teaches the hows and whys of cookery. I discovered how to make delicious stock from scratch, reduce stock into a gel for long-term preservation, master a stew, and create my own mushroom sauce base.

The amount of time spent surfing the internet is inversely proportionate to the cleanliness of the house.

It is quicker to look up information on the internet compared to finding it in the Yellowpages and then making a phone call . . . but only if I don’t get distracted with other things online!

The mechanics of friendship have changed with social networking. I really do make meaningful connections with friends on Facebook, and I missed them!

Fifty-nine cents is worth the smile on the other end of the mailbox.

I have learned to create through computer keys, and I found it more difficult to write with pen and paper.

It is more satisfying to spend half an hour reading one book than browsing through half a dozen websites. I read 5 books in January.

Thoughts are better preserved in a journal than in a status update. Not all thoughts are suitable for public consumption.

The internet screams NEWER! FASTER! UPDATED! It has no secrets, no mystery. It conditions for discontent. Nature invites reflection, investigation, appreciation. It ties you to its seasons and rhythms and rewards patience.

Computer time is best approached with intention, purpose and discipline. Just because it is available doesn’t mean it is beneficial. Anything I allow into my home should be subject to the rules and rhythms of the life we are creating.

The computer is a useful servant, but a brutal master. I am responsible to teach it its place.

winter grace

2011-02-05T22:30:00.003-05:00

grace
tiptoeing through the snow
peering through the back window
breathing on the glass

you trace a heart in the fog
drawing us into your signature

grace
you leave your secret notes for us to find

so when the night falls,
and we look into darkness,
pressing our faces to the cold glass with a prayer
and a sigh,

..... our breath reveals your invisible ink
..... and we see our initials enclosed with yours

suddenly you are falling all around us
filling up the night
filling up our hearts
with a quiet flurry
grace

~lg

January Experiment

2011-01-01T12:34:00.001-05:00

I used to boast that I could easily live without a computer. Now, I’m not so sure.

In fact, there are some days I find myself almost enslaved to my laptop. The glowing invitation for more information, more communication, more entertainment is a steady presence throughout my days. It’s all there, right at my fingertips, anytime the thought strikes me. It’s not an issue of whether this technology is good or bad. It can be pretty fun, and for my life, it’s downright necessary at times. But it’s become an issue of the master-slave relationship, and I think my computer has started to master me. When I can’t walk by it without just checking something out, I think I have a problem!

So I’ve decided to embark on an experiment this January. I’m going computer-less. Well, not completely. But in as many ways as I can, I’m going to intentionally shut down my screen. Recipes? I have cookbooks. Weather? The radio. You tube? My husband and daughter are far more amusing than double rainbow guy. Blogs I like reading? I have lots of books on my shelves. Facebook? That’s a tough one. It seems so normal to check facebook several times a day, but it’s not really necessary. How did I ever live 5 years ago without knowing what my friends were eating for lunch??

What about communicating with friends and family? I don’t want to turn into a hermit. But I will try to use the phone instead of email. Or write a real letter, you know, the kind you write on paper and send in the mail. Instant communication isn’t always the best.

There are some things I will need to stay connected to. Email, for instance. That’s the only way I have of communicating with some people, and some emails are necessary for work or other social functions. And that will also include some facebook messages, because that has become basically like email. And online banking. The bills must be paid!

The other big thing is word processing. I’ll still need to do some of that for work. But for my own personal writing – including blogging, poetry and journaling – I’m going to go old fashioned. Paper and pen. It will be fun to see how my thoughts flow at a slower pace, when I have to commit to each word I write or risk an ugly scribble-out.

Once I had decided to do this, my first thought was, I should blog about it as I go! Um… nope. Before this experiment is shared with anyone else, it needs to be my experiment. Maybe I’ll keep a paper record as I go and let you know later how it went.

And so all of that means – no blogging in January! I am a little bit sad about this. But I’m going to keep writing. And when January is over, I’ll see what I have that’s worthwhile posting. In the meantime, you can check out the archives if you like.

See you in February!

new year

2011-01-01T11:52:00.001-05:00

The world is a white slate, ready for our footprints. Where will we dance? What will we explore first? The sun opens its heart to us once more, greeting us a little earlier every day. We awake to life, and this is the simple gift that demands our whole being.

Happy new year!

~lg

Book List 2010

2011-01-01T11:50:00.001-05:00

Completed books:

What to Expect When You’re Expecting (Heidi Murkoff)
The Blythes are Quoted (L.M. Montgomery)
Anne of Avonlea (L.M. Montgomery)
Anne of the Island (L.M. Montgomery)
Impossible (Nancy Werlin)
Committed (Elizabeth Gilbert)
The Giver (Lois Lowry)
The Meaning of Tradition (Yves Congar)
Mr. Darcy Broke My Heart (Beth Pattillo)
Churched (Matthew Paul Turner)
The Wednesday Letters (Jason F. Wright)
Fever Crumb (Phillip Pullman)
Selected Columns from Canadian Living (Peter Gzowski)
When We Were Very Young (A. A. Milne)
Mockingjay (Suzanne Collins)
Beyond Belfast (Will Ferguson)
What French Women Know (Debra Ollivier)
The Church, World and the Christian Life (Nicholas M. Healy)
The Bishop’s Man (Linden MacIntyre)

Books in progress:

Hospitality and the Other (Amos Yong)
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (Barbara Kingsolver)
Miracles (C. S. Lewis)
The Sunny Side (A.A. Milne)

Single-handed Theology - Baby Talk

2010-12-28T09:07:00.002-05:00

I’ve got a little babbler on my hands. Arden is at the stage where she’s stringing syllables together, mostly “ba-ba-ba” or “da-da-da.” At this point they are random sounds, not associated with a particular concept, but they are words in an infant stage. Her favourite “word” by far is dada, and I’m trying to get her to match the sound with the reality of her Daddy.

In any language, a baby’s words for Mother and Father are simple ones – mamma, papa, dada. In Aramaic the word for Daddy is abba. Jesus taught us to speak to God as Father (pater in Greek), but we are also taught to call Him Dad, a tender term of intimacy.

Now I learned this a long time ago, but it was just this past week that I made the connection to baby talk. “Ah-ba” is something Arden says all the time. It’s one of the easiest vowel-consonant combinations there is. Before babies string consonant sounds together like “ba-ba-ba”, they will usually start with some vowel-consonant combo. Arden’s first such combo was “ah-goo”, followed closely by “ah-ba.” There’s a good reason that the Aramaic word for Daddy sounds like it does. Abba is baby talk. Anyone can say it.

The word is used 3 times in the New Testament. Jesus doesn’t use it in the presence of his disciples, at least not that we are aware of. He uses it in Mark 14:36 at a time and place of great loneliness and grief. We hear it first in Gethsemane, as he struggles to accept his Father’s will. It escapes his lips as he falls to the ground in prayer, an instinctual cry, simple syllables uttered in sorrow. It is amazing that when Jesus’ relationship with his Father is at its most strained, he uses the most intimate name he knows. It is a sound that returns to an almost pre-linguistic stage of being. This is the bond between eternal Father and only begotten Son.

We hear it again from Paul in Romans 8:15 and Galatians 4:6. It appears as a word we learn from the Spirit of adoption, spoken within us before it is spoken by us. We are born again as sons and daughters of Jesus’ Father, and the first word we learn in this new creation is Abba. This is the basis of our relationship with God. We are His children, sharing by adoption the same bond Jesus enjoyed by nature.

"Ah-ba." Just a simple vowel-consonant combination. It sounds like babble till we associate it with the intimate reality of our Father. In this relationship, we don’t have to learn elaborate titles or complicated means of address. A vowel-less tetragrammaton is well and good for a reverent subject, but not for a child. The Unspeakable Name has been revealed, and we are to speak it with the delight and confidence of a 7 month old in Dada’s arms. When we don’t have any other words, Abba is enough.

~lg

Letters to Arden - December 25, 2010

2010-12-25T19:36:00.001-05:00

Dear Arden,

It’s the evening of your first Christmas Day, and you are tucked in bed after a full day of festivities. We woke up to green fields and stuffed stockings. Santa found us in Wheatley River! I’m not sure you really knew what was going on under the tree . . . but you sure loved all the wrapping paper and ribbon! All those presents tired you out, and I’ve never seen you curl up so quickly with your blanket for a nap, thumb in your mouth.

The snow began to fall as we drove to our friends’ house for Christmas dinner. You enjoyed every spoonful – potatoes, gravy, turnip, sweet potato, carrot, green beans, parsnips, and plum pudding sauce. We couldn’t get the food in your mouth fast enough!

Back home we talked with family and friends on Skype who were happy to see you in your darling red dress. There are people who love you spread all over the world. Isn’t that a lovely thought? At the end of the day you sat content, surrounded by a little pile of toys, trying each one to see what it tasted like.

When you were too sleepy to stay up any longer, Daddy read the Christmas story while I held you close. I showed you Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus from our nativity set, and you wanted to eat baby Jesus too! We put both of you to bed, you with your new woolen rabbit and him with his tiny blanket. Baby Jesus is sleeping up in your room tonight. You are both safe and warm. One day you will understand who Jesus is and why he came, but for now all you need to know is that he'll stay by your cradle till morning is nigh.

Quiet night has fallen on the island and the green fields are now covered in wonderful white, a gift from the heavens. And I feel content. Content because we are together as a family in our warm house with too many blessings to count. Content because I don’t need gifts to have Christmas. I just need you, Daddy and baby Jesus.

Oh, I hear a cry coming from upstairs. I guess you wanted Christmas to last just a bit longer! Time for one more lullaby. Away in a manger . . .

~lg

The fifth candle

2010-12-24T08:41:00.002-05:00

We awake to pure, white light. It streams in through the windows yet seems also to shine from somewhere within the house. Is it morning? Is midnight? All the candles are burning brightly – the beckoning flicker of hope, love’s steady flame, joy’s merry blaze and the comforting glow of peace. Their flames surround us, holding us in their circle, but they pale in comparison to this fifth candle. We see now it is the source of their light.

Is it a candle or is it the sun? We rise in wonder to behold this glory. Truly, we have never seen light till this moment. This is true Light, the Light that gives life to all. The Dayspring from on high has visited us, and our eyes are open for the first time to the infinite spectrum of grace.

We search for the centre of this light, but at every turn it is just as bright. And then we are aware of a pulsing warmth, and it is radiating out of us. We look down at our chests and see that our hearts are on fire. It is the Christ-candle.

We have been led to this place, not merely to find a refuge from the weather, but so that God might make his home in us. This overwhelming dawn will be with us always. We need not fear the cold. As we step out into a world of dazzling white, we carry the Light with us.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.

~lg

An Advent prayer from the Northumbria Community

2010-12-22T08:02:00.003-05:00

An evening prayer for blessing during Advent

God of the watching ones,
give us Your benediction.

God of the waiting ones,
give us Your good word for our souls.

God of the watching ones,
the waiting ones,
the slow and suffering ones,
give us Your benediction,
Your good word for our souls,
that we might rest.

God of the watching ones,
the waiting ones,
the slow and suffering ones,

and of the angels in heaven,

and of the child in the womb,

give us Your benediction,
Your good word for our souls,
that we might rest and rise
in the kindness of Your company.

~ from Celtic Daily Prayer From the Northumbria Community

winter solstice

2010-12-21T22:06:00.002-05:00

A nor’easter blows across our island this winter solstice as the heavens converge in a full moon eclipse. We cannot see the blood moon for the raging storm, and if we went out, we might get blown over by banshee winds. By morning the heavy rains and surging sea have overpowered our little river and forced it backwards, past its banks and almost over the bridge. The willows wave, waist high in surrender, but the water keeps rising. We are drawn to our windows all day, to watch and wonder, glad to be looking down from our hillside situation. When night falls again the tide tugs the water back toward the ocean, and we go to bed hoping our neighbours’ basement has seen the worst of the flooding. The seasons are at a turning point, and it is as if all the dark forces of nature are fighting against the return of light. But they will not, they can not win. The sea may be falling from the sky, the shadow may gobble up the moon, but all will be put to right. The darkness will not overpower us.

~lg

The Wexford Carol

2010-12-21T14:02:00.000-05:00

The fourth candle

2010-12-19T20:53:00.004-05:00

Lift up your eyes and see the fourth candle. Peace is the moon, gentle and bright. When the carols fade and we fall contented into bed, its countenance shines full upon us, a steady nightlight over the whole earth. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid, it whispers. It whispers to those who are far off, drawing them nigh, into this snug house. It settles over our hearts like falling snow, blanketing us with a comfort beyond comprehension.

Peace is what remains when the party is over, guiding us all through the silent night. Sleep my child and peace attend thee . . .

~lg

down at the pond

2010-12-15T11:57:00.002-05:00

On this green December day, a warm wind blows a blue hole in the clouds. Down at the pond, the water runs swift and brown, rushing with yesterday’s rain. A blue jay darts across the pond and into the secrecy of the trees, winking as he goes by. A crow is practicing his solo for the Christmas choir, trying to smooth out the squawks. We sit on the dock, listening, watching. The sun spreads a golden tint on the rippling waves. It’s not the usual winter scene. The ground is fragrant with new clover, taking advantage of the warmth to poke smiling leaves out into the open. It’s all a little strange, but I can’t help but smile back.

~lg

The third candle

2010-12-12T20:41:00.003-05:00

The third candle is lit, now twinkling merrily on the mantle. Joy is a diamond, refracting and reflecting a sparkling pink light. It spreads over the room like stardust, glittering in every corner.

How is it possible for light to have the quality of music? All the colours of dawn are dancing, drawing me up out of the chair with a lightness my feet have never felt, right into some divine kitchen party. Invisible hands whirl me around the bright flame, and I am surprised to hear my own laughter after so long.

A flash of the aurora borealis answers through the window, joy calling to joy, and I am struck by the beauty of the winter night. The heavens are telling an inexpressible and glorious joy, and I am lit from within.

~lg

birth

2010-12-10T14:43:00.001-05:00

“Be born in us today,” we sing

What is birth?
love and risk and pain
demands my body and soul
turns me inside out till there is nothing left hidden

This is birth
love made flesh
and in a miracle of creation
incarnation
I am reborn

~lg

C.S. Lewis on the Incarnation

2010-12-08T08:21:00.002-05:00

Here is a passage from C.S. Lewis' Miracles. The stunning imagery of this, the grand miracle, has stuck with me over the years and is fitting for our Advent consideration.

"In the Christian story God descends to re-ascend. He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity; down further still, if embryologists are right, to recapitulate in the womb ancient and pre-human phases of life; down to the very roots and sea-bed of the Nature he has created. But He goes down to come up again and bring the whole ruined world up with Him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself underneath some great complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift, he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders. Or one may think of a diver, first reducing himself to nakedness, then glancing in mid-air, then gone with a splash, vanished, rushing down through green and warm water into black and cold water, down through increasing pressure into the death-like region of ooze and slime and old decay; then up again, back to colour and light, his lungs almost bursting, till suddenly he breaks surface again, holding in his hand the dripping, precious thing that he went down to recover. He and it are both coloured now that they have come up into the light: down below, where it lay colourless in the dark, he lost his colour too."

~lg

The second candle

2010-12-07T16:35:00.003-05:00

A second candle now bursts into flame. The winds may howl, the breakers may roar, many waters may threaten to overwhelm, but this light is unquenchable. This blazing fire, this mighty flame – love is its name.

By its light we are welcomed in, beckoned to the overstuffed chair by the hearth, and given a place by the fire. By its light the stains of midnight are banished from our souls. By its light we see that we are home.

Outside, the storm may rage and rattle the window panes, but we are safe within love's glowing radius. Yes, we are home.

~lg

green December

2010-12-03T07:44:00.000-05:00

Green December hills
So eager when you should be sleeping
Stop your striving and let your pigment sink into the earth

I will cover you with a downy blanket
And sing you the Snow Queen’s lullaby
You will find your peace hidden beneath

~lg

The first candle

2010-11-28T21:28:00.003-05:00

As the darkest night approaches, we look for the single candle in the dark. Hope.

We see it faintly on the horizon, beckoning winter weary hearts. We draw near to its bright flame, and though we hobble on frostbitten toes, fingers numb from wrestling in the cold, hope’s warmth begins to thaw us. Hope’s light reminds us the dark night of the soul will not last forever.

And unlike so many vain promises, this hope will not disappoint, because it is lit with an everlasting love, the blessed assurance of One who has descended into the depths of sin’s chilling darkness and has emerged in radiant dawn.

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn . . ."

~lg

don't clear the table

2010-11-18T08:22:00.001-05:00

My first impulse is to clear the table. Things should be a little tidier, don't you think? Last night's dishes, this morning's now cold coffee, the rice cereal splattered all over the table and floor, the camera from taking pictures of Arden's 6 month milestone. But no. I push aside the oven mitts, the paperwork I haven't filed, and I open my Bible. This is where it fits. Because if it doesn't fit in the middle of my messy life, it's not worth opening at all.

~lg

Solomon's echo

2010-11-13T21:54:00.003-05:00

Yahweh be with me,
Uncontainable God, dwell with me.

Let these words rise to open ears,
let them be near to You.

Open Your eyes toward me,
for You have placed Your name within.

Incline my heart to You,
this heart that You alone know,
till it be wholly devoted to You.

Let your eyes and your heart be perpetually here.

~lg

I remember

2010-11-11T20:19:00.001-05:00

Today I remember…

That we cannot pretend there is no such thing as sin,
that it does not grip and destroy hearts and nations.

That the capacity for evil exists within all our hearts,
warring against all that is good and from God.

That war is hell, not glory,
that war will never save us.

Today I remember ….

Only peace will save
Only goodness will deliver
Only Love will look war in the eye and conquer death

~lg

Letters to Arden - November 10, 2010

2010-11-10T09:24:00.001-05:00

Dear Arden,

Today I am struck by the very fact of your existence. It’s crazy to think that not so long ago you didn’t even exist! And now you’re here, a living little creature with your own spin on God’s image. You have your own way of being in the world that is unlike any other. The way you chew your toes, the way you laugh at the cat, the way you stomp your foot, the way you reach your arms out as if to grab the whole wide world and see what it tastes like – your way is truly unique. I think I understand a little bit of what God felt like in Genesis 1. What a marvelous thing to bring something into existence! I’m giddy just thinking of who you’ll become today, tomorrow, and the next day. You’ve turned our existence upside down, that’s for sure. And you’re totally worth it.

~lg

strange hospitality

2010-11-03T09:53:00.001-04:00

Wow, it’s a scorcher Abraham. Have I been here before? And by here I mean now. This day. It just feels familiar – the way the flies are buzzing, the position of the sun in the sky, the drowsy cattle. Those three guys coming toward us . . .

It is rather astonishing, even the second time around. Three strangers, three measures of fine flour, one choice calf, and one outrageous announcement. As they sat to eat beneath the trees, I couldn’t help but feel as if the tables had been turned. I don’t suppose you’ve yet heard the phrase “entertaining angels unawares.” I think you coined it. You bustled them into your home and brought out the best of your hospitality, but it is they who served you. You became the guest of the divine.

Now Sarah is doing the dishes, alternating between silence and nervous laughter. She sweeps up the bread crumbs with wrinkled hands. The air is cooling, and you are gazing into the darkening hills with a kind of glow on your countenance. Their presence still lingers. And I am left to consider the strangers in my own camp. Who will I find in their faces? I know what it is like to feel like a stranger. So I will give the invitation, and perhaps meet Yahweh at my own table.

~lg

The Body – a reflection on totus Christus

2010-11-01T08:51:00.000-04:00

We are His body
We fill Him as He fills us

He fills and we expand
Rushing into many parts
He moves us into action
One body in perpetual motion

We fill and He expands
Limbs full of life and vigour
Open hands, lovely feet
Animated by the Spirit within us

We live and move and have our being
In symbiotic beauty

We are His body
Bruised and broken
Lazy and listless
Divided and diseased
Self-deflating in ignorance and apathy

We stumble and He falls
Sinking breathless to the ground

We are His body
Needing a miracle of surpassing greatness
The mighty power of resuscitation
To quicken this mortal body

We are His body

~lg

Single-handed Theology - Presence

2010-10-29T10:08:00.001-04:00

Arden is lying on the couch beside me, kicking the laptop with her ever stronger feet. She’s getting tired, and it’s time for her morning nap, but she doesn’t want to be in the crib by herself. So she’s hanging out next to me, chewing her teething ring, her rattle bear, her toes. Every so often she looks over to make sure I’m still there, flashes a smile, then goes back to the conversation with her feet. She’s fed and changed. She doesn’t need me for anything in particular. She just needs to know I’m there. She needs my presence.

Presence assures her she is not alone. Presence is my gift of being, the ground of our relationship. Presence is like sonar. When she reaches out to touch me, she knows she is there.

And so amid the tasks of the day, I turn and look for God’s face. I don’t need Him to perform a task or answer a prayer. But I push into Being, and feel myself spring back. With one hand stirring the pot, playing a game, hanging the laundry, reading a book, I stretch out my fingers to Presence. In that Presence I find Father, Comforter, Friend, the assurance of my being and the assurance of my being loved. I smile.

~lg

return to Mamre

2010-10-28T08:13:00.002-04:00

Abraham! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again, but here we are under the oaks. I’ve missed these branches. So much has happened since I saw you last! I’ve travelled a long way and I’ve seen the faces of many promises, some still in the distance, and others in my arms. In the midst of a strange place I’ve found something like home, or at least a spot in the hills to set up my tent and stay awhile. Is this how you felt? When the earth stopped shifting under your feet long enough to plant a garden? When Isaac was born? When God conjured laughter out of thin desert air?

~lg

Intercessions - October 27, 2010

2010-10-27T08:51:00.001-04:00

God of grace and truth,

Draw near to those caught in self-spun webs of deception. In your grace bring them to the end of their lies, cut to the quick with your two-edged sword, rightly divide between light and darkness. Reveal the wages of sin. In your truth look them in the eye and speak reality into their tangled souls, the Word that quickens and restores. Reveal the gift of life. Oh Truth most terribly graceful, reach between the bars and set them free.

Amen

Letters to Arden - October 20, 2010

2010-10-20T09:11:00.002-04:00

Dear Arden,

The seasons are changing, and you are growing! Between the time you were born and the time we brought you home the leaves burst into full spring green on the trees. It seems fitting that you and the leaves arrived at the same time, colouring our world with life. You felt the apple blossom breezes and heard the river’s merry tune. When we counted your age in days the world was new again.
In summer we slept in arms’ reach with the windows open. You discovered blue, the blue of a brilliant sky and the shining sea. You walked with us along the dunes, and even dipped your tiny toes in the salty water. Summer was full to the brim with family and working on our new home and discovering a little more of you each day.
Now we look out the window into a golden world. The trees release their colours into a chilly wind, and we bundle you up again. You love to look at this big old world with blue eyes a little wiser everyday. As the leaves fall, I can’t help but want to slow them down, to show you every shade of your first autumn, to preserve the perfect look on your face, the size of your hands grasping my fingers.
You change with each season, growing, giving us more to love. I can’t pick my favourite season, they are all so beautiful. I think the perfect day will always be “today,” this present moment, the colour of now.

~lg

Northern Thanksgiving

2010-10-11T09:04:00.003-04:00

I remember
The smell of the wood fire in the crisp air and the turkey slowly roasting
Mom making magic in the kitchen to the tune of pots and pans
The guest list of friends and people who didn’t have anywhere else to go
A northern family cobbled together
Stuffing ourselves with turkey, ham and laughter
Always laughter

Then, the walk outdoors in fading light
Naked trees giving us a path of crunchy leaves
Brown grass, cold noses, maybe even snow
Our full stomachs leading the way to the boardwalk
We survey the mighty river and wrap our scarves a little tighter

Back home there is dessert and more dessert
Men in the kitchen doing dishes
Candles burning, fire crackling
Lazy lounging on the couches, the floor
Making our own fun and mischief
Waiting till it’s late enough for hot turkey sandwiches

Mostly I remember that indescribable quality attending the table
The combination, the culmination of things made and passed and shared
The openness of our home, of people to each other
Of bringing all we knew of warmth and abundance into one place
Scattered and gathered on the back of a north wind
And thankful

~lg

I Will Give My Love an Apple

2010-10-09T10:53:00.002-04:00

In honour of our 5th anniversary, which was October 1st, here is a traditional song we had featured as a poem at our wedding reception.

I will give my love an apple without e'er a core
I will give my love a house without any door
I will give my love a palace wherein he may be
And he may unlock it without any key

My head is the apple without e'er a core
My mind is the house without any door
My heart is the palace wherein he may be
And he may unlock it without any key

all my love to Micah
~lg

treasures

2010-10-08T07:51:00.000-04:00

I had a dream
where I held something too tightly and it began to strangle me
where I searched for the past and found only this note:

Loosely, loosely hold your treasures
Though they wrap you in comfort and sweeten your dreams
Loosen your grasp, lest you become possessed
Cling only to Christ and he will place the good before you
Cling only to Christ though the separation makes your heart ache
Cling only to Christ till you are bound to him alone
Till all your treasures are hidden in his heart

~lg

A thought from St Julian of Norwich

2010-10-06T09:23:00.000-04:00

"… I saw that God was everything that is good
and encouraging …

God showed me in my palm
a little thing round as a ball
about the size of a hazelnut.

I looked at it with the eye of my understanding
and asked myself:
‘What is this thing?’

And I was answered:
‘It is everything that is created.’
I wondered how it could survive
since it seemed so little
it could suddenly disintegrate into nothing.

The answer came: ‘It endures and ever will endure,
because God loves it.’

And so everything has being
because of God’s love."

St Julian of Norwich

dancers

2010-09-28T10:00:00.002-04:00

Learning the steps of this gospel
Its rhythm and meter
Its lyric and rhyme

The narrow way
The decrescendo into death
The swelling rise and thrilling descant
Into a riotous rondo of life

It invites the eager, the clumsy
Turning two left clods
Into feet made lovely by good news

Drawn by a love of pure movement
Simple steps train the sole
Into a disciplined dance
Made beautiful as burgeoning strength
Gives rise to liberated limbs

We dance together, grasping hands
Swinging, swaying and laughing
Trying not to step on each other’s toes
Picking up the one who tumbles

It is one big pas de deux
Never taking our eyes off the one at center stage
Whose graceful movement has awakened ours
And we move with him, conforming to his body
Till we are dancers

~lg

Letters to Arden - September 17, 2010

2010-09-17T08:59:00.002-04:00

Arden Leigh,

You are four months old this morning! You are napping just now, after having fallen asleep in my arms. In the stillness of a rainy morning, I look at your peaceful face and say your name with a quiet awe.

Your name means passionate, eager, shining. It is a name born of fire. I see it in your eyes, and my heart glows. You have kindled an ardent love within us, and it will only get brighter.

I pray you will love with passion, embrace the life God has given you with eagerness, and that the light from your soul will shine and bring warmth to the world around you.

Your middle name means meadow. A meadow is a place of joyful freedom. With the sun shining down, you can open your arms and run with the wind. You can skip, tumble, twirl and dream. You can sing with the psalmist, “He brought me out into a spacious place! He rescued me because He delighted in me!” I pray you will know God’s freedom and delight.

Your middle name is also a family name. It connects you to the wonderful people who are so happy you have been born. In this family you have a haven of love and a heritage of faith. You are part of our shared life and you will always be welcome.

And more importantly, God knows your name. You are His daughter too, and He rejoices over you with singing. I pray you will always hear when He speaks your name.

Arden Leigh. Your name is a blessing on my lips. I whisper it with wonder and gratitude, I call it with joy. We love you baby girl.

All my love,
Mommy

now

2010-09-15T10:15:00.002-04:00

Now is the day of salvation
Now is favour
Now is help
Now He listens
Now He dwells with us
Now is welcome
All of time converges in this moment
God is giving you now

~lg

unnamable

2010-09-14T08:42:00.004-04:00

This is miracle

The molten nature of God
Pours into my heart

Ardent, compelling

Spirit reshapes spirit
And now I live

This is love

~lg

Christ's Letter

2010-09-09T09:42:00.002-04:00

The Spirit dances in tendrils fluid and red,
the soul of the Word searching for expression,
living and indelible ink.

The human heart opens like a Roman tablet,
revealing a hidden surface,
soft as wax,
ready for the hand of Christ.

The letter lives,
is known and read,
telling a mystery and a pledge,
carved by the weight of glory.

2 Corinthians 2:2-3

~lg

hurricane

2010-09-04T09:28:00.002-04:00

Watching the winds, craving the storm
Running into the atmosphere’s shift
Hoping to be uprooted
Tossed and tumbled
To catch a glimpse of your eye
Through the waves in the sky

~lg

laundry magic

2010-08-30T08:36:00.002-04:00

Here is a lovely thought. Take your stained clothes, the ones you already put through the washing machine with stain remover (to no avail), and hang them on the line. Bring your stains to the sun, step back and watch them disappear. Just a bit of God’s magic for launderers everywhere.

~lg

red letters theology

2010-08-27T08:49:00.001-04:00

New post on red letters theology.

Single-handed Theology - Parenting

2010-08-26T09:57:00.001-04:00

Typing with one hand is a little tricky. Arden sits on my lap and watches me tap this strange little contraption. I was just thinking about God’s mandate to the first humans – He tells them to become parents. There’s a big world that needs to be filled. God could have done it Himself. He could have created a whole human population. But He gives the fun of procreating and the charge of parenting to these two inexperienced creatures. Create more life! He says. See this beautiful world? Fill it up!

Perhaps in parenting we are able to mirror God’s image in a new way. We create something that is of us, yet wholly other. We learn to love someone who will bring us great joy and great pain.

This whole parenting enterprise is part of the plan. In one sense, it is what we were created to do. Create more life. Then love it.

I keep coming back to this question for some reason. Why life at all?

It must be because participating in God’s image is something worthy. It must be because love is better than non-existence.

~lg

Contentment

2010-08-26T09:44:00.001-04:00

Contentment.

Slow down and think about it. Step out of the whirlwind of advertising, which only feeds your covetousness. Silence the inner voices of worry and fear.

In our society, it is a hidden virtue. It does not brand itself with blinking lights or scream for your attention. It reposes in the will of God, holding a simple invitation to peace.

It is the posture of the godly, for they know to whom they belong.

Tear up your wish list. Take a deep breath of trust. Now, here is something worthy of pursuit:

Righteousness
Godliness
Faith
Love
Endurance
Gentleness*

Godliness with contentment is great gain.

*1 Timothy 6:11

~lg

common prayer

2010-08-19T14:52:00.000-04:00

Father,

In the middle of the busiest day, I pause to remember that You are near to all who call on You, all who call on You in truth. In truth, I’m a little stressed and a little worried, a little weak and a little weary. In truth, I know You are in control, always strong and never faint of heart. The truth I find hardest to believe is that You want to be near to me. But here I am, with a hammer, a coffee and a baby and only two hands. I’m calling.

~lg

Letters to Arden - August 17, 2010

2010-08-17T08:49:00.001-04:00

Dear Arden,

You’re three months old and already a thief and a stowaway! You boarded this ship and snuck down the stairs, down into the deepest curves of the hull. You found the treasure chest and stole my gold – my time, my energy, my attention, my love. You moved in and strung up a laundry line of diapers and darling smiles. I know your tricks. And now, you’re sleeping in that big wooden chest, snoring contentedly as the waves sing rock-a-bye baby. You’ve curled up with my heart and I don’t think I’ll be getting it back any time soon. You can have it all little thief. Just promise you’ll never leave.

~lg

Single-handed Theology - I've got a craving . . .

2010-07-28T10:51:00.005-04:00

Single-handed theology: theology inspired by motherhood and often carried out with one hand on the baby.

“Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good." 1 Peter 2:2-3

Ever had a craving? Maybe for chocolate, or Frosty Treat ice cream, or a Big Mac, or that morning cup of coffee . . . mmm, I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.

I have a new appreciation for the word now that I’ve seen a newborn in action. When a newborn is hungry, you’ll know. If not by the frantic rooting and finger sucking, then by the inconsolable screams that are soon to come if you don’t get the milk in her mouth fast enough. A newborn’s craving for milk is not something that can be ignored. It’s all consuming.

So when I read this verse now, I wonder if I have the same sort of craving for soul food. Do I start to get a little crazy when I miss out on spiritual nourishment? Does my mouth water when I think of the Lord’s goodness, and does it make me search desperately for more? Of course, the craving is based in the first taste. Yes, you may have been hungry before that first experience of Jesus, but once you tasted, the pure goodness should keep you coming back for more. Have you tasted, truly drank in His goodness? And if you have, do you have that all consuming desire for more?

Too often I’m guilty of pacifier Christianity. I get a little hungry, a little dissatisfied, but instead of reaching out for the good stuff, I get distracted by something easier, the quick fix. How easily I am soothed by sticky sweet pop-culture, by the endless menu of entertainment paraded before me, and my salty self-rationalization. But it’s only temporary. There’s no long term satisfaction. So why do I keep stuffing myself with empty calories, or even a Christian-flavoured soother, when what I really need is a good long feeding from the source?

It’s time to grow up. Time to get a little frantic and drink deep.

~lg

Plumb - "Me"

2010-07-27T08:53:00.001-04:00

morning

2010-07-27T08:46:00.002-04:00

A quiet morning spent with you
Rocking, reading, singing, feeding
Your smiles set my heart a-beating
Nothing else I'd rather do
Than share this quiet morn with you

~lg

Letters to Arden - July 27, 2010

2010-07-27T08:40:00.002-04:00

Dear Arden,

Sometimes in the early morning, when I strip you down and hold you close, you seem to me the newborn again. Soft skin, bright eyes, fuzzy hair. You fit perfectly in my arms, and we snuggle in a shared warmth.
Sometimes I close my eyes and remember the day of your birth, May 17, 2010. You were born at 8:48 am. I don't remember that moment, but you were the last prayer of my heart in the operating room and the first thought on my mind when I woke up. You were so tiny, a gift from God wrapped in your daddy's shirt. Loving strength and warmth were his first gifts to you.
Now I look in your deep blue eyes and see ten weeks of living. They've gone by so fast! But time stands still when we gaze at each other, and I know somehow you have always been part of my heart. And no matter how big, you always will.

~lg