Choosing Light

What happens when you decide to choose joy, and your week starts off horribly wrong?

Somehow I manage to wake up more tired than when I went to bed. There’s no milk in the house to put in my coffee.

Arden wakes up sobbing because she didn’t see the red moon last night. She “stayed up” in a chair by the window, and we promised to wake her up when the moon was red. We did. We brought her out to the chilly porch, and talked to her, and turned her around, and keep talking, and she mumbled a bit and opened her eyes and kept falling back asleep. She doesn’t remember. Now, all she knows this morning is that she didn’t get to see the red moon. She’s crying bitter tears of disappointment, I’m crying too, then the two-year old starts.

Two of out two pigs are supposed to be on their way to the butcher today. After wrestling, wrangling, multiple escapes, stepped on toes, and general pig stubbornness, there’s only one pig in the trailer. Jack’s apple fell in the pig muck, and he’s more upset about that than the fact that he nearly got plowed over by an animal eight times his weight. At the end of it all I’ve got pig poop smeared up my legs and there are a dozen burs stuck to the back pockets of my jeans. I need another coffee.

It’s going to be a long day.

How do you choose joy when Monday morning brings everyone to tears?

At the Rend Collective concert on Saturday night, amid riotous singing and dancing, they paused to say joy was a spiritual discipline. It’s something we need to cultivate. It’s a choice. I knew I needed to choose it again. For too long this giant of discouragement has been looming large over what I thought was going to be a happy season. I’ve been living in a shadow, where I know the light exists but somehow it just can’t get to me. I’ve been eclipsed.

I was given a beautiful painting earlier this year. It’s called “Choosing Light.”* It meant something then, at the beginning of the year. And now on this wearisome Monday, I go into the living room, pull back the curtains, and stand before it. The sun isn’t immediately visible in the brush strokes. But it’s there, behind the clouds. And if I look closely, I can see its golden presence, the promise that if I reach out for it, it will shine back.

So I determine, again, to choose joy.

As the kids are waiting in the car to go on the ride to the butcher with Daddy, with just one pig in the trailer, I make funny faces at the window. I press my face right up on the glass, squishing it into all kinds of contortions which little children find hilarious. There could be bird poop on this window for all I know, but I don’t care. I’m going to make myself a little ridiculous if it means putting a smile on their faces. I stand back to wipe the drool off the glass. I can see my reflection. Sure, a little tried, maybe a little harried. But I’m smiling.

I can do this, even when the week starts off all wrong. I won’t be eclipsed. I’m choosing light. I’m choosing joy.

~lg

* "Choosing Light" by Katy Rose. See more of her beautiful work and the goodwill living it supports on her website. 

Time to Sow

When life looms large and my efforts are not enough, you whisper it quiet:

Make yourself small.

Make yourself as a seed, curled in the dark earth, invisible but for the Father’s eye.

Make yourself sown, hurled by another’s hand and abandoned to the death of this dry husk.

Make yourself soft, able to receive the water of your germination.

When life looms large, make yourself small.

From this hiddenness, something radicle emerges.

From this burial, life will swell and root, a life that is stronger than the push of the world, as strong in this small place as any of the forces of nature. Here is the secret of the kingdom of heaven, the mystery of the cross, and the origin of being.

Do you feel it? Futility? Emptiness? The rattle of lifeless limbs? Then lean in close, leave all this striving, place yourself there between finger and thumb.

You whisper:

It is time to sow.

~lg

A great change

The sap is flowing! The geese are returning! The world is shifting and a great change is about to come.

Now the dead will be shown for what they are. In the winter, all the branches look the same. But spring reveals the hidden reality.

All those who abide in the vine have sap in their veins. 

They will swell with buds and stretch to the sun.
They will not break when the tempest comes, nor wither in the heat.
They will bleed sweet water should the pruning knife wound.
The life is in the blood, and they are rooted and established in the heart of the universe.

They will not fear the change. They will clap their hands and wave their palms when the monarch of spring arrives, and their green laurels will be his crown. Their fruit will be his triumph, and when the grapes are trod they will cast their boughs before him as the wine is poured out for all the earth to drink.



~lg

For All the Good Christian Girls Gone Wrong

We good Christian girls are doomed to live in the messes of our own making, because we know better. Deserving of our doom – yes, this is our self-judgment. And so there is no choice but to buckle down and bear it, to accept our lot, all the while denying our deep suffering for fear the truth will bring us shame.

Better to soldier on than face the shame.

Choices have consequences, and we have no one to blame but ourselves for our imperfect choices. Thus, we bear the responsibility of the imperfect consequences.

We adjust. Expectations, the deep desires of our hearts – all adjusted to fit our present circumstances so we don’t feel the discrepancy. We cannot feel the discrepancy, for then we would feel our failure, and our Father’s disappointment, and there is nothing worse.

If we let ourselves feel the pain, we make sure the pronouncement of our deserving it is quick to follow.

And this, this we turn into our twisted sacrifice, our cross to bear. We have failed – failed ourselves, our family, our God, and the sense of it smolders. It smolders and smothers and we think we are dying to self.

We could not be more wrong.

Self could not be more alive.

We have failed, but not in the way we first thought. We have failed to grasp grace.

This sense that we deserve it? Deserve to lie crippled in these beds we have made because these are the rules? One. big. lie.

Oh, if we are talking about the way the world works, the way human nature works, the way the Law works, we are correct.

Correct, but not right.

For the right way has been shown by God, and it is not our way.

God is most correct to condemn us. But we good Christian girls get stuck here. And what’s worse, we stay and build our lives here.

God’s rightness was shown in Jesus on the cross, taking full responsibility for every imperfect choice and the consequences thereof, even those made by good Christian girls who tell themselves they should have known better.

And our smoldering heaps of disappointed martyrdom? Just another disguise for self-righteousness. Just another way we try to prove ourselves to God.

So afraid of shame, we forfeit our freedom.

So afraid to hope, we dare not pray.

Our sacrifices are not enough, and never will be. Our silent suffering will never atone for our shortcomings.

Oh, come to the cross and bury your damnation in His death! Throw your failures onto His finished work and be free! Receive freely what you’ve been trying to deserve all along – grace.

There is grace for the good girls who do not feel good enough. We don’t need to feel good enough, but we can be made right. Right here, right now.

All our disappointments, self-doubt, and despair – finished. All our suffocating striving and self-made shackles – finished. All our fear of failure and faithlessness – finished.

Let go and live.

Live out of His love and let fear be cast out.

Live out of His delight and let the desires of your heart come to life again.

Live out of His faithfulness and let faith arise.

Let go of the mess and see yet what God may make of it. Rise out of that bed and walk. Restoration . . . healing . . . hope – no, not what you deserve, but what God desires. This is the gospel, and it is for good Christian girls, too. 

life

Last night I held a baby chick in my hand, one that hatched here in Wheatley River, part silkie. So soft, so fragile, clinging to life by a dropper of sugar water and a heating lamp. It had been too cold yesterday afternoon. The day before was sweltering near 30. But then a shift, a sudden drop, and this little one was overtaken by shivers. I marveled at the delicate intricacy of its emerging feathers, of the warmth of its faltering heart – one of God’s creatures. It died before morning, and our eyes leaked salty water.  

This morning we found the first strawberries down by the chicken coop. We had unearthed the patch quite by surprise, clearing out brush early this spring. Arden brought one in to me, perfectly red, perfectly ripe, as if timed to my breakfast. Fruit in season – what could be sweeter? You can’t buy that life on a shelf.

Today I thinned the carrots and turnips. Too many, too close, and the harvest will be thin and twisted. So I pulled up the tiny roots, already veggies in miniature. I marveled at the faint purple of the turnip roots, the hearty green of suncatcher leaves, the very life of these seed babies. I tossed them in the compost pile. Maybe I’ll eat them next year.

This afternoon I found a chipmunk, dead, in the grass by the old tractor. One of the cats must have got it. I swelled at my cat’s hunting skills while mourning the chipper motion that was halted forever, here on the lawn. I lifted it with the spade and laid its life to gentle rest beneath one of the hedgerow’s rotting logs.

Life – size does not determine its significance. Creation whispers as powerfully as it roars, and I am caught up in its Gloria.

Life – it comes and goes between my fingers, and all I can do is try to catch the joy and cradle the sorrow . . . keep my hands cupped open. 

~lg 

Motherhood Prayer

Prayer.

The God-graced moments in the plain of this life,

where I lift up my eyes,

and my soul is lifted to the mountain of God.

A long, hot shower,

those quiet moments nursing,

the view out the kitchen window over the stack waiting to be washed.

These are my vistas to Zion.

The mountain descends in the midst of the day, and the still, small voice whispers over our domestic noise. I do not always have the luxury of a long ascent. But the grace of this season is that just one step is enough, and He comes running the rest of the way, and He does not despise my dirty dishes.

Motherhood is a constant march to Zion – beautiful, beautiful Zion! – and each step can be worship, and each day can be prayer, and each home can be host to the city of God.

~lg

fleeting thoughts

These days, thoughts seem fleeting and fragmentary. No painted mental landscapes, only quick sketches to capture something of their form. This is how many women have thought, and written – under aprons, under stairs, under stress and the influence of a certain sleepless stupor. I am not ashamed to join their company, and hope that one day these fragments may take shape into something that lives and moves, something with being.

~lg

everything we need

Oh yes, we have everything we need.

A sun-dappled path, a bit of mud for fun, the confidential whispering of trees.

Strong legs and lungs and space to run, and a warm house to run into when our noses are cold.

A cup of tea and a cuddle in the chair, time to sit and not be rushed.

Time to gather up the moments of the day into an armful of praise to our Father.

And love, love, love, that is poured out, covering, binding all together!

Yes, this is life abundant. To have our days filled with meaning because He means for us to really live, in the midst of all these good and perfect gifts.

And so the striving for something other fades away in the light of this living.

Our fires are lit with contentment, and we are rosy in the glow.

~lg

Broken: A Remembrance

People die, and people kill, and everyone dies a little more inside, for aren’t we all the same family? Broken people break people, and how much more can there be till our one giant heart splits right in two and all the red runs dry? And who will put us back together?

“What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don't they come from your desires that battle within you? You want something but don't get it. You kill and covet, but you cannot have what you want. You quarrel and fight. You do not have, because you do not ask God.”*

All, all of this because we want what we have not been given. We believe the serpentine lie, that what comes from God is not enough. That what we need must come from elsewhere. And since God is all and only life, the elsewhere can only be death, the nothingness that is not him.

So we eat and are soon eaten up by this rotten discovery, and the disease spreads to the core. The disease turns us against ourselves, and our diagnosis? – Incurable, terminal cancer. Our enemy is death, but who can kill death? And who will put us back together?

All, all are fallen in battle. One death is the death of all, for aren’t we all the same family?

And the God of life weeps giant tears over this valley of bones, weeps himself dry, till tears take the form of a man and the shape of the cross. And he swallows the bitter pill, drinks death to its dregs, makes it part of him till he lies like one of us.

We did not ask for this! But this is what is given!

And the tide of red turns, and death is taken up into Life. One death is the life of all, for isn’t he now one of us? The broken God invites us into his heart and here puts us back together. And this life is gift, this life is sacrifice, this life is love, and it is the only way to live. To live in what he gives – this is the only way we can be whole.

*James 4:1-2

~lg

Real Life

Don’t be afraid. This is not something other than ordinary life. This is ordinary life as it is meant to be. This is breathing, this is walking with the Spirit. This is living and moving and being in a new way. It is a new way of living in the world – your world.

First, it is seeing your world in a whole new way – through eyes of faith and hope and love; through the eyes of a gracious, glorious Father and a relentlessly redemptive Son and a holy, whole-life-giving Spirit.

Then, it is imagining your world in a whole new way – through seeking the kingdom and righteousness first; through praying “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,” on earth, yes, my little piece of earth.

Finally, it is recreating your world in a whole new way – through the surprising and satisfying partnership of Creator and created; through each step, in step, with Him till you become Him, His nail-pierced feet bringing beautiful news.

Don’t be afraid! This is what you were meant for. This is what your heart longs for when it beats with His. This is your world – your family, your relationships, your home, your community, your career, your life. This is His life breathed into all of that ordinariness, and you, caught up in the current. This is real life. 

~lg

A new year's thought from CS Lewis

“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

don't clear the table

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

called living

And yet, within our ordinary lives, we hold an extraordinary treasure. We have become part of God’s life, God’s story, God’s work in the world. This weight of glory cannot be taken lightly. We each have a role to play, as individuals and as a community. We are part of a new kingdom, under the lordship of Christ, and we are to pray and work for God’s will to be done on earth as in heaven.

We have each been given gifts with which to fulfill our roles. The trick is knowing what they are and how God wants us to use them. There is no self-help book or personality test that can fully reveal your role in the kingdom. This understanding comes through prayer, contemplation, practice and community. This understanding comes through the supernatural wisdom of the Spirit, wisdom which works itself out day to day as we listen to His voice.

Sometimes we can get caught up in “calling anxiety.” (Guilty as charged.) We wonder what our purpose is, whether we’re fulfilling it, whether we’re doing enough. We compare ourselves to our role models, our peers, constantly measuring ourselves by an artificial standard. We define ourselves by all kinds of standards of “success,” often garnered uncritically from pop-culture, or even pop-Christian culture. We may be losing the discipline of spiritual discernment, especially in the context of a Christian community. And so we worry and wonder, burning spiritual and emotional energy, feeling lost and ineffective.

The answer is less an answer than a process. We must be willing to enter an ongoing conversation with ourselves and the Spirit. We must be willing to take an honest look at the gifts, abilities and inclinations God has given us – including our limitations. When we submit ourselves to the Spirit, we open ourselves up to His limitless creativity. He is the one that fits our roles to our circumstances, that opens doors to new possibilities, that inspires us with new ideas. And we do not work alone. God places us in particular communities where He fits us to accomplish more together, where He gives a common vision. We must learn to listen to His voice together. What is the Spirit saying to you? What is the Spirit saying to the church?

There is no need to worry. Listen, trust, obey. It’s going to look different for everybody.

The fun thing about this is that there are no set rules. Our passions are as varied as our personalities, and God loves to ignite them with his purposes. God is a limitless being, and the possibilities are endless.

So we set out to work in the Father’s kingdom, with the Spirit alongside, living out our Lord’s prayer. It is only in this Trinitarian dynamic that we live fully.


~lg

believe in life

I have a feeling motherhood will produce an ontological change in me.

There are certain things I must believe going into this.


I have to believe in the project of life, in its goodness, its purpose, before I can be entrusted to shape one.
I have to believe that the little acts of love and care matter as much as the grandiose academic and ministerial achievements of my peers.
I have to believe that somehow being part of God's creative and nurturing process is a worthy calling in and of itself, because God loves to create life, loves to love the ones He creates, longs to embrace them and thereby transform them into loving, creative, joyful, thankful marvelous individuals.
I have to believe that I can either invite or reject God's kingdom, Christ's lordship, in my own home and relationships, in the way we raise our children.
I have to believe God loves me as much when I'm changing diapers as when I'm preparing Bible studies, and that diapers are as much his agent of transformation as theological debates.
I have to believe the way we live matters, even when that way seems tedious, or monotonous, or tiring.
I have to believe God is active in the sphere of housework, cooking, playing, talking.
I have to believe he is a present at our table, as at the altar, upon my hearth and in my garden, in observing the days and seasons.
I have to believe life is a gift worth celebrating in small ways through small joys, worth living simply because it is from God, worth living well because it is being renewed in a glorious image.
I have to believe the Spirit speaks and directs me as a mother as much as any minister, that His breath blows in my own backyard.
I have to believe in life.

~lg