Psalm 56

"it is no small thing for the God of the universe to be for you"

the wonder of strings

the wonder of strings

i wonder. my heart makes me feel toward you like I can’t have you
but you already gave me the strings to your heart and told me to lift and pull as I please-this is me pleasing to pull you back into me but all I think about are things I shouldn’t think or say or do or hope to say or see or do because I don’t feel safe in you.I wish you were more of my faceless priest that opens and closes window to confessions you thought you wanted me to share. share some not all because all is too much. all is more than I want to handle. you put a cap on things and tell me you’re through with carrying me. I’m so embarrassed at how much i confided in you. I wish i had more primer to cover my face before making the mistake of picking the off-grey shade of paint. this house is older than mosaic table tops can cover. cemented beyond vintage plates shattered on the wall of my heart in hopes of making something old new. old is old. get over the molded walls and move out of this house. it’s too old to live in anymore.

I’m sad. I’m so very sad.

this was such a good home and I loved this home even more than it could love me. There was an end to the home’s love for me, but my love did not end for you. how embarrassing it must be to be you. that’s what I knew you’d say to me in pity looking back from the lens of your new home and love that is better than me. That is sad. It gets more than fingers can roll between the edges of tattered pages that shouldn’t be pages in the book of a world long beyond its time. I tune my strings to the sound of what you used to be, I’ve tuned and re-tuned and wonder how long my fingers will hurt before calloused fingers bleed. I make it my end to callous beyond the point of blood which I knew as exposure to that of a weak faith. who can handle the insanity of blood from my fingers that write stories I swear don’t belong to me. I watch and take what’s yours to the degree that it is mine. at what point do I let this side of me free, at what point do I stuff what they don’t see far enough away before I get labeled an off-shade grey. I wish you were a sliding door that I controlled up and down, up and down, confessions in, confessions out--the faceless girl who confesses infidelities gone wrong, then gone right. am I at the point of insanity or am I simply ok with finding the end of the strings empty and no longer attached to the heart I thought I could pull and lift as I
please ?

It doesn't matter...

Leaves come and go
they change and turn
you left the light on
I left it off.

People live and people die.
simple truths keep me sane
believable lies keep me lame,
we're really all on in the same.

I wish I was more
you wish I was less
monks spend a day to confess
while pretty girls obsess.

Lights surround the buildings
but no one takes time to climb the stairs.
I watch you in your horizon
and you lift me into your grave.

I can't help but listen
silence can be so needy
but she knows how to get herself heard
just take it up, slow it down.

One day we'll see what we've waited to see
fathers with mothers
and pirates with cubs.
You think I'm dumb don't you?

I think what beckons you is what you are.
And what's sad is your beckon
is noise.

"Impression without expression leads to depression..."

I keep coming back to why I don't like this whole blog thing. I think most of the time I'm afraid I'll turn into one of those people that think what they have to say is super profound and that's why they need to carry around a mole skin notebook to jot down all their important thoughts throughout the day. And who do I think I freaking am to offer anything of worth. But then I rebuke my cynicism that prevent me from doing anything and say screw it. I think if I'm going to express something to the world it's going to have to be edited, perfect, and polished for me to write it. I realize how often I do that with people. I want to present myself in a way that is acceptable to all and that's why I live in so much of privateness and pride.

It's scary to let yourself be known. What if people won't actually like me once they know me. Or how quickly do I let myself be known. I mean there is a healthy evolving of when you let people see more and more of you. You don't just give people all your thoughts at once here. That would be weird. I'm thinking though I need to express more of my impressions even if they are stupid and overly analyzed. For some reason when I write it out even into cyber world I feel braver. I like the idea of noticing how futile my thoughts are when I write them down, but how much power there is in speaking of the impressions given by the very Words of God. It takes my futile thoughts and turns them into thoughts that are worthwhile, powerful, profitable, enduring. What an incredible honor to be able to communicate Words that literally have the power to resurrect, mold, cut through the life of a human being.

I think I wrote a post similar to this earlier, voicing my insecurities of writing on a blog, but I guess I just need a little more of a boost. I am seeing how I need more and more to be expressing what God has done, what He is teaching me, what I hope to see in order to scuffle out the depression that sets and concretes down into my feet. I need to constantly be expressing and releasing all that He is to me. I lack so much courage to do that with people and fear being misunderstood, or not being able to communicate clearly. Maybe this will help to boldly proclaim after gaining confidence in writing out my thoughts. I do think I need to be writing more.

Thank you Cyber world for listening.

"The Lord is exalted, for he dwells on high; he will fill Zion with justice and righteousness, and he will be the stability of your times, abundance of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge; the fear of the Lord is Zion's treasure." Is 33:5-6

I love the word "dwell." It is such a deep-rooted, long-suffering, slow etching kind of word. To think of the Lord dwelling. And to know we can dwell as well. Later in the chapter it says...

"the people who dwell there will be forgiven their iniquity." v 24b

It starts with describing a literal dwelling place on earth that is filled with tumultuous noise, nations scattering, spoil, highways of waste. It is a land that mourns and languishes. But there will be a time when the Lord will arise, will lift himself up, and will be exalted. Soon the people of God will see Jerusalem, an untroubled habitation, an immovable tent. And the people who dwell there will be forgiven their iniquity.

Has that time already come? Has it come and is continuing to come? Do we have the first, beginning fruits of the Spirit of God upon us?

How beautiful and incomprehensible it is to think that we have the privilege to dwell in the presence of God? Today I choose where I dwell. I choose where my heart, mind, and soul dwells. I choose what I set my affections on. He is the stability of our times.

I love what happens when I dwell on the Lord removing all iniquity from me. Pulling every bit of offensiveness, evil intention, slanderousness out of me, away from me and purifying my entire being. He exchanges my iniquity for the perfection, beauty, righteousness of His Son. Dwelling on this truth will never get old to me. It only gets newer over time. Do not forget. Remember. Give testimony.

Thank You Lord. You are New.

revelations

This isn't polished. It's not even chiseled.

Can we mistake a calling from God and then find ourselves screwed because of a wrong interpretation of His will? Is it that we didn't pray enough to begin with or that we lack personal responsibility for our decisions?

Is it WWJD or what would Jesus have me do in the present life he has me in knowing the things I know, living in the city I do, with the privileges I have? Why don't we replicate every Biblical experience we read? If I want to be like Paul do I have to be thrown in jail to fully get it? Am I missing it if I don't die nailed to the cross? How do we decide what is normative and what is unique for the time being? Can we even evaluate experiences as being good or bad? Parables aren't real experiences but they're true. What's the difference between real and true?

These thoughts spurred on from Dr. Kreider's take on the books "Surprised by the voice of God: how God speaks today through dreams, visions, and prophecies" by Deere and "Models of Revelation" by Dulles.

I needed to write these out, before I forget and somehow it releases tensions and agitations of not understanding. If you read this, indulge me. I could use the help.

What if I find myself in another country, in a relationship, down a narrow path and wake up one day and realize I was just mistaken of God's leading me to that place in the first place and so I leave? How terrifying is that? What can we truly rely on that is consistent? Deere goes so far to say even Scripture can be trumped by visions. Woah. But, what of Peter who had been told by God in Scripture to not eat unclean animals and then in a vision is given a tent of unclean animals and told to eat. Ok so now it's ok because of the extension of promises that are fulfilling Scriptures. I understand the picture falls under the expansion of promises to the Gentiles, unclean to Jews, and it's all about the bigger picture of God's plan of redemption. But, unsettling kind of. Can anyone claim a vision to trump what appears to be contradictory to the Word of God? What do we mean when we say Scripture is complete, sufficient, authority?

This is bothering me because it keeps coming up in conversation. "The Lord led me to this. I am going to follow his calling." 3 months later. "Nevermind, I'm not going to follow-through with this, his calling has changed." What is this? Initial wrong interpretations, blame, lack of responsibility, flakiness, God's ambiguity, or a legitimate claim?

How do I decide the truthfulness of an experience if sometimes experiences are real, but not true or true, but not real? I remember the time a wise mentor laid into me after I led a group conflict and I decided it resolved well because people aired out their dirty laundry, tears and hugs happened, and we finally ended it. He on the other hand thought differently. How did I know it was good? We didn't even follow-through with our beginning goal of coming up with a discipline for our group. What if I was actually deceived into believing it ended well just because there were tears when really nothing was accomplished and let it go on for way too long? What if I led that whole experience poorly and stirred up a hornet's nest with no means of handling it once they start to swarm and sting?

I don't understand.

Reeses Pieces

I've been thinking about reeses pieces. I don't know what it is about that lovely combo of chocolate and peanut-butter that always seems to just take over. I've been thinking: why use just three colors? And what's the point for differentiating colors when they all taste the same? What is about these little pieces, even extra-terrestrials like ET know are a good thing?

I just really enjoyed eating those tonight with a fire and good book. Hmmm. And get this-I read for the sake of reading a book. The little reeses reminded me of good things I had forgotten about. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed reading for the sake of reading. I perused among the shelf and found a book with a penguin on the front which normally ends up on Oprah's shelf so I knew it was worthwhile. "At Home in Mitford" was written by Jan Karon who left the fast lane of advertising in the big city and moved away to a quaint town filled with quaint people. She is a personal translator of the secret longings of my soul.

Which reminded me of another piece I indulged in one of those seminary books- ["longing makes the heart deep."] Hmmmm.

For some reason I quiet longings especially after seeing so many recent longings fulfilled. I mean what else do I really have the right to long for? It has been good for recent bits of literature to remind me to long again. It is crystallizing.

I've been sipping on this idea of "longing" as well as orange spice tea with a dash of honey. It's quite a waltz.

Lastly, my fellow Cyberians, I'd like to make a declaration:

A declaration to write. To write in such a way that gives myself the freedom to write again and not just the writings that come from the "potential-sophisticated-correct-profound-me," but the "right-foot-left-foot-everyday-me" writings as well. It's a home-remedy for taking myself too seriously these days.

In my intro to Theology class we had to state, "Hello, my name is (Mandi) and I am a theologian." Whew. It's good to be out.

And one of our responsibilities as theologians is to practice the discipline of humor as a means to remember the futility of our lives. You know, a sort of eat, drink, be merry principle. So this will be a way of ignoring criticism, over-analytical, dissecting motivations that seem to cloud the beauty of the mind. And just maybe there will be less secret sheds of newspaper articles and red marker lines all over the walls of my mind.

Yes. I do declare.

Come now let us reason together

"We must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away from it." Heb 2:1

"Faith...is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods. For moods will change, whatever view your reason takes. I know that by experience. Now that I am a Christian I do have moods in which the whole thing looks very improbable: but when I was an atheist I had moods in which Christianity looked terribly probable...That is why Faith is such a necessary virtue: unless you teach your moods "where they get off," you can never be either a sound Christian or even a sound atheist, but just a creature dithering to and fro, with its beliefs really dependent on the weather and the state of its digestion." --Lewis

"I just hold onto hope and hold onto a hand..then bloom where you're planted" --dad

I've been wrong to study the distortions in hopes of knowing the truth. If I hold onto what is true I'll recognize the counterfeit. Simple enough?