A woman who is bereft of kindness
from churchy people
is in her
church;
she stands alone.
Couples with young children
And
couples with older children
grown and gone
drift
together
and drift apart
and join a disjointed
circle
before the service.
They clasp hands in
fellowship
over
coffee and tea
and stale cookies.
But she drifts
alone
from couple to couple
who have no idea
how to talk to
her.
She's different.
She's outside the
comfort
zone.
She thinks,
"Here I go again,
another try.
I
sit in church and wonder why.
I wait, and wait
For Bible learning
to begin
But waiting for so much more.
I'm waiting for my soul to
wake up;
A touch from God;
The sure knowledge of His
Presence.
Is anyone listening to me?"
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Thanks
God,
Forgive us please
For slapping Your
Holy name
on our shirtfronts
as if it was some
sticky, pre-printed
nametag.
"Hello, my name is...
whatever I choose to be
when and how it pleases me
regardless of how it pleases You
as long as I am
at peace
and happy
with lots of money and
children who excel in school
and have a good job
and my neighbors
and in-laws like me
and I have lots of friends, and
OH! I belong to God.
My name is Christian."
With all of that,
O God,
I thank you
And ask for more.
Forgive us please
For slapping Your
Holy name
on our shirtfronts
as if it was some
sticky, pre-printed
nametag.
"Hello, my name is...
whatever I choose to be
when and how it pleases me
regardless of how it pleases You
as long as I am
at peace
and happy
with lots of money and
children who excel in school
and have a good job
and my neighbors
and in-laws like me
and I have lots of friends, and
OH! I belong to God.
My name is Christian."
With all of that,
O God,
I thank you
And ask for more.
Roots and Trees
There is a story within this tree.
The several hundred kilometres-long Murray, Australia's largest in scope to the Mississippi in America, is low because of the decade-and more-long drought. As a result, tree roots spread along the banks like bony hands reaching for shallow, warm, muddy water.
A Bible verse came to mind...Jeremiah 17:7-8, "But blessed is the man [woman] who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He [she] will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes, it's leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit."
I took several photos of fascinating trees and roots. But there was one set that caught my creative eye, although I failed to get a good photo...
On a stretch, there were two healthy eucalyptus (gum) trees on top of the riverbank, just on the lip of a cliff. Their roots reached into the river about 10 feet below. Between them was a smaller gum tree that had fallen off the ledge but still lived., even though the tip of its roots were just sipping at water.
What struck me as poignant was that the other, mature trees on each side of the adolescent plant held the weaker, younger tree in their branches. In fact, the older branches were so entwined in the younger, that I couldn't see where one's limbs ended and another's began.
Yet, they all thrived.
I am grateful for my mature, older friends...either in biological or spiritual age...that hold me up and help me to gain the nourishment I need to keep going...
even if I'm hanging on to the lip of a cliff.
This is indeed something to ponder...Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."
Grateful thanks to those who hold me up, keep me warm, keep me from being overwhelmed, and defending me. More thanks than I can say.
The several hundred kilometres-long Murray, Australia's largest in scope to the Mississippi in America, is low because of the decade-and more-long drought. As a result, tree roots spread along the banks like bony hands reaching for shallow, warm, muddy water.
A Bible verse came to mind...Jeremiah 17:7-8, "But blessed is the man [woman] who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He [she] will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes, it's leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit."
I took several photos of fascinating trees and roots. But there was one set that caught my creative eye, although I failed to get a good photo...
On a stretch, there were two healthy eucalyptus (gum) trees on top of the riverbank, just on the lip of a cliff. Their roots reached into the river about 10 feet below. Between them was a smaller gum tree that had fallen off the ledge but still lived., even though the tip of its roots were just sipping at water.
What struck me as poignant was that the other, mature trees on each side of the adolescent plant held the weaker, younger tree in their branches. In fact, the older branches were so entwined in the younger, that I couldn't see where one's limbs ended and another's began.
Yet, they all thrived.
I am grateful for my mature, older friends...either in biological or spiritual age...that hold me up and help me to gain the nourishment I need to keep going...
even if I'm hanging on to the lip of a cliff.
This is indeed something to ponder...Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."
Grateful thanks to those who hold me up, keep me warm, keep me from being overwhelmed, and defending me. More thanks than I can say.
Hens and chicks
Five rectangle-shaped reading glasses, in different colors, were perched on five
different noses, including my own.
That's what I noticed yesterday during Bible study with a group of seven women.
The other two ladies, without glasses, are young mothers and wives, their toddlers (one each) busy in play, the mothers' attention skillfully divided between their children and our study.
Us "oldies" are all about the same age, late 40s to mid-50s, with a wide range of life experiences. We commiserate with the younger, 20-something moms, and remember life at that stage. One of the young women is pregnant with her second child, and her husband is a student at the local university. The other is satisfied for now with her one child, and branching out into designing accessories again, which she did "before."
While we pondered over I Thessalonians, we laughed, shared our stories and experiences based on what we studied, dandled the children on our knees and handed them small, healthy treats.
It's strange to be in that place of being an older woman with 30 years of house-wifing and motherhood behind me. I don't feel that old, likely because I understand that there is still a lot to learn about life, love and other mysteries. My journey isn't over.
Yet I find that I am in a position to be an example, to offer advice, to help answer oh-so-many questions about raising children and living with a husband, in addition to scriptural principles I have learned, and am still learning.
I think of the Bible verse, Titus 2:3-5, "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God."
There are older women I have met that make me cringe with their loud-mouth ways and garish outfits, who belittle their husbands, laugh about it and encourage others to do the same. There are also older women whom I admire and want to emulate with their sense of humor, loving ways to everyone, and honesty. My desire is to be the latter.
When we meet again next Tuesday, I will rejoice to wear my reading glasses, share my story, and bounce children on my knee while I listen and learn from older, and younger, women.
That's what I noticed yesterday during Bible study with a group of seven women.
The other two ladies, without glasses, are young mothers and wives, their toddlers (one each) busy in play, the mothers' attention skillfully divided between their children and our study.
Us "oldies" are all about the same age, late 40s to mid-50s, with a wide range of life experiences. We commiserate with the younger, 20-something moms, and remember life at that stage. One of the young women is pregnant with her second child, and her husband is a student at the local university. The other is satisfied for now with her one child, and branching out into designing accessories again, which she did "before."
While we pondered over I Thessalonians, we laughed, shared our stories and experiences based on what we studied, dandled the children on our knees and handed them small, healthy treats.
It's strange to be in that place of being an older woman with 30 years of house-wifing and motherhood behind me. I don't feel that old, likely because I understand that there is still a lot to learn about life, love and other mysteries. My journey isn't over.
Yet I find that I am in a position to be an example, to offer advice, to help answer oh-so-many questions about raising children and living with a husband, in addition to scriptural principles I have learned, and am still learning.
I think of the Bible verse, Titus 2:3-5, "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God."
There are older women I have met that make me cringe with their loud-mouth ways and garish outfits, who belittle their husbands, laugh about it and encourage others to do the same. There are also older women whom I admire and want to emulate with their sense of humor, loving ways to everyone, and honesty. My desire is to be the latter.
When we meet again next Tuesday, I will rejoice to wear my reading glasses, share my story, and bounce children on my knee while I listen and learn from older, and younger, women.
Conundrum
I have seen a man
A guest at a pulpit,
trembling,
as old men do.
He poured his heart out
honestly
as a Christian man does.
He chastised many
pitilessly
in a voice choked with tears.
There are forlorn people
wandering,
tortured lives without a savior,
he said.
Such tenderness, surprisingly
astonishing
from a man often harsh and critical
toward his brothers and sisters in Christ.
A guest at a pulpit,
trembling,
as old men do.
He poured his heart out
honestly
as a Christian man does.
He chastised many
pitilessly
in a voice choked with tears.
There are forlorn people
wandering,
tortured lives without a savior,
he said.
Such tenderness, surprisingly
astonishing
from a man often harsh and critical
toward his brothers and sisters in Christ.
Hope gained
This summer morning, as I look out onto my
view from my "treehouse office" at parrots flying low and a moon sailing over
pine trees to its rest on the western horizon, I am reminded of Proverbs 13:12,
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of
life."
Perhaps my lighter heart this morning is in response to a number of good events over the last few days. Maybe I'm setting myself up for yet another emotional disaster that hope deferred brings. But this morning, I feel good. Really good.
Getting married and moving to Australia three years ago was a bigger life change than I realized. There were a lot of highly charged emotional things going on at the same time back in the States, and adding to the mix, the marriage wasn't as easy-peasy as I thought it would be. There were also roadblocks and other outside forces to deal with here that I had no idea were lurking around the corner to ambush me...a steady drone for three years.
Yesterday I finally talked to a professional about some of these things. And it felt good to be validated and listened to and understood, and to know there is help available for me without drugs, and most of all hope. I'm done with the guilt of feeling like Jesus should be enough, why isn't He? He is...and sometimes He uses other people as His hands throwing me a life jacket.
Other, smaller things help as well. Keeping a tidy house is important to me. I'm not a clean freak, but I like things in their places, and not filthy. That's been hard to do with a couple of rooms in this house. Recently, Steve re-did our walk-in closet, doubling it's capacity. Last weekend, he overhauled the office, put a wood floor in, moved the furniture around, and now I have a clean workplace (with a view!) that doesn't clutter my mind with its clutter. The spare bedroom has also been transformed into a beautiful sleeping area, not an extra storage space.
And that leads me to the biggest source of joy this week: three week-long visitors! My step-niece Josie and her 1-year-old daughter, Sienna, along with a friend's daughter from the US, Stephanie, are here. They are young, fresh, and interesting in conversation (when we aren't chasing Sienna) and easy, enjoyable companions. For being perfect strangers, the two young women are getting along like a house on fire, and adventures are planned for the week.
When I started writing this morning, Steve had just left for work and in the quiet I felt peace. But now, the household is up, getting coffee, tea, and brekky, Sienna is banging plastic on the floor and squealing, and I realize that to this peace is added a quiet joy.
Maybe this longing fulfilled of a peaceful, hopeful life will become a strong and mighty tree in me.
Perhaps my lighter heart this morning is in response to a number of good events over the last few days. Maybe I'm setting myself up for yet another emotional disaster that hope deferred brings. But this morning, I feel good. Really good.
Getting married and moving to Australia three years ago was a bigger life change than I realized. There were a lot of highly charged emotional things going on at the same time back in the States, and adding to the mix, the marriage wasn't as easy-peasy as I thought it would be. There were also roadblocks and other outside forces to deal with here that I had no idea were lurking around the corner to ambush me...a steady drone for three years.
Yesterday I finally talked to a professional about some of these things. And it felt good to be validated and listened to and understood, and to know there is help available for me without drugs, and most of all hope. I'm done with the guilt of feeling like Jesus should be enough, why isn't He? He is...and sometimes He uses other people as His hands throwing me a life jacket.
Other, smaller things help as well. Keeping a tidy house is important to me. I'm not a clean freak, but I like things in their places, and not filthy. That's been hard to do with a couple of rooms in this house. Recently, Steve re-did our walk-in closet, doubling it's capacity. Last weekend, he overhauled the office, put a wood floor in, moved the furniture around, and now I have a clean workplace (with a view!) that doesn't clutter my mind with its clutter. The spare bedroom has also been transformed into a beautiful sleeping area, not an extra storage space.
And that leads me to the biggest source of joy this week: three week-long visitors! My step-niece Josie and her 1-year-old daughter, Sienna, along with a friend's daughter from the US, Stephanie, are here. They are young, fresh, and interesting in conversation (when we aren't chasing Sienna) and easy, enjoyable companions. For being perfect strangers, the two young women are getting along like a house on fire, and adventures are planned for the week.
When I started writing this morning, Steve had just left for work and in the quiet I felt peace. But now, the household is up, getting coffee, tea, and brekky, Sienna is banging plastic on the floor and squealing, and I realize that to this peace is added a quiet joy.
Maybe this longing fulfilled of a peaceful, hopeful life will become a strong and mighty tree in me.
Don’t want to be decadent
I recently stayed by myself in an opulent
condo on the Gold Coast courtesy of family in Australia who are financially
blessed, and in turn are generous.
My nephew, niece and their six-month-old son checked into the empty unit with me, got the keys, and showed me around. On our way downstairs from the 23rd floor we came across two older women. They crowded into the elevator with us.
The lift-mates were jolly old souls, decked out in tropically colored silk blouses, with several glittering, jewelled rings on every finger, and bracelets on each arm up to their pudgy elbows. Their hair was dyed to match their youthful days and perfectly coiffed. Lipstick matched fingernails and toenails peeping out of gold and silver strappy sandals.
Like magpies, they warbled about their visit, then focused their attention on my niece and her son. Such kind, fun women they were who chatted to her in the elevator, following us into the lobby and in the parking lot next to her car.
I smiled, nodded, chuckled at the appropriate times, and basically kept my mouth shut while I edged into the background.
Why?
Well I reckon I’m pretty close in age and girth to them, so that wasn’t a problem. However, I was in a pair of saggy black, saltwater-stained pedal-pushers and an unflattering top ensemble, my hair was seriously gunmetal gray and white for about two inches from the roots, and since it had been a long day, my makeup had melted. My toenails polished with “I’m Not Really a Waitress” red, and fingernails accented with “Grand Central Carnation” pink were badly chipped. AND I’m an American, so my accent nearly always causes a fright. However, I did have black, silver and gold strappy sandals adorning my badly-in-need-of-a-filing feet.
Of course it was a matter of time before someone asked a question, and I answered.
“SO! You’re an American!”
Smiling, I said, “Yes I am.”
“Are you staying here very long?”
“For a lifetime” is what I wanted to say, just to see her horrified response. But instead, I said, “About a week. I’m on holiday.” Then to verify my right to stay there I explained that Jacqui is my niece and I married her uncle.
A suspicious “oh.” Or maybe I imagined the tone. Yanks can be oversensitive, I’ve heard.
In the underground garage I parked my road-dirty silver Mitsubishi Magna Sport next to shiny black, gold and silver Mercedes, BMWs, Lexus SUVs, and other spotless and polished vehicles.
When I traveled outside, I was followed by the same sorts of fancy vehicles, even to the Fisherman’s co-op down the road. Even though I felt a tad out of place at times I was amused at how comfortable I felt in the ritzy, practically-on-the-beach Gold Coast condo, despite realizing that I was so out of my league.
But ya know what? I liked it—feeling like I don’t really belong to this lifestyle.
Perhaps some of these uber-wealthy people don’t know, or may have forgotten what it’s like to struggle to make ends meet. I believe “going without” builds character.
While there, I watched a television program about how the Great Depression in America happened with the stock market crash in October 1929. I hadn’t realized that the people it most affected were middle-class people like me. I also hadn’t realized how close America came to repeating that disaster in the latest economic crisis--some call it a downturn; I think that’s putting cake frosting on dog turd. But I digress.
I moved to Australia just before the global financial crisis hit. My house sold for cash before the bottom fell out of the market. I reaped my profit-sharing funds from my place of employment before the stock market plummeted (my boss relied heavily on Wall Street for profits for employees in his company), and I was able to leave the States with a nice little egg in my nest. Australia slipped through the crisis virtually unscathed.
My husband works hard to make a good living, and we are comfortable. But even if we had gazillions of dollars in the bank and investments, I wouldn’t want to change the way we live. I like nice things, just like anyone, and I like to travel. But I’m not into bangles and baubles and high-rises and the decadent way of life that comes with riches.
Proverbs 30:7-9, “Two things I ask of you, O Lord; do not refuse me before I die: Keep falsehood and lies far from me; give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown You and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal and so dishonor the name of my God.”
Here’s to chipped fingernail polish, outgrown hair color, a functional car, and my God who takes care of my every need.
My nephew, niece and their six-month-old son checked into the empty unit with me, got the keys, and showed me around. On our way downstairs from the 23rd floor we came across two older women. They crowded into the elevator with us.
The lift-mates were jolly old souls, decked out in tropically colored silk blouses, with several glittering, jewelled rings on every finger, and bracelets on each arm up to their pudgy elbows. Their hair was dyed to match their youthful days and perfectly coiffed. Lipstick matched fingernails and toenails peeping out of gold and silver strappy sandals.
Like magpies, they warbled about their visit, then focused their attention on my niece and her son. Such kind, fun women they were who chatted to her in the elevator, following us into the lobby and in the parking lot next to her car.
I smiled, nodded, chuckled at the appropriate times, and basically kept my mouth shut while I edged into the background.
Why?
Well I reckon I’m pretty close in age and girth to them, so that wasn’t a problem. However, I was in a pair of saggy black, saltwater-stained pedal-pushers and an unflattering top ensemble, my hair was seriously gunmetal gray and white for about two inches from the roots, and since it had been a long day, my makeup had melted. My toenails polished with “I’m Not Really a Waitress” red, and fingernails accented with “Grand Central Carnation” pink were badly chipped. AND I’m an American, so my accent nearly always causes a fright. However, I did have black, silver and gold strappy sandals adorning my badly-in-need-of-a-filing feet.
Of course it was a matter of time before someone asked a question, and I answered.
“SO! You’re an American!”
Smiling, I said, “Yes I am.”
“Are you staying here very long?”
“For a lifetime” is what I wanted to say, just to see her horrified response. But instead, I said, “About a week. I’m on holiday.” Then to verify my right to stay there I explained that Jacqui is my niece and I married her uncle.
A suspicious “oh.” Or maybe I imagined the tone. Yanks can be oversensitive, I’ve heard.
In the underground garage I parked my road-dirty silver Mitsubishi Magna Sport next to shiny black, gold and silver Mercedes, BMWs, Lexus SUVs, and other spotless and polished vehicles.
When I traveled outside, I was followed by the same sorts of fancy vehicles, even to the Fisherman’s co-op down the road. Even though I felt a tad out of place at times I was amused at how comfortable I felt in the ritzy, practically-on-the-beach Gold Coast condo, despite realizing that I was so out of my league.
But ya know what? I liked it—feeling like I don’t really belong to this lifestyle.
Perhaps some of these uber-wealthy people don’t know, or may have forgotten what it’s like to struggle to make ends meet. I believe “going without” builds character.
While there, I watched a television program about how the Great Depression in America happened with the stock market crash in October 1929. I hadn’t realized that the people it most affected were middle-class people like me. I also hadn’t realized how close America came to repeating that disaster in the latest economic crisis--some call it a downturn; I think that’s putting cake frosting on dog turd. But I digress.
I moved to Australia just before the global financial crisis hit. My house sold for cash before the bottom fell out of the market. I reaped my profit-sharing funds from my place of employment before the stock market plummeted (my boss relied heavily on Wall Street for profits for employees in his company), and I was able to leave the States with a nice little egg in my nest. Australia slipped through the crisis virtually unscathed.
My husband works hard to make a good living, and we are comfortable. But even if we had gazillions of dollars in the bank and investments, I wouldn’t want to change the way we live. I like nice things, just like anyone, and I like to travel. But I’m not into bangles and baubles and high-rises and the decadent way of life that comes with riches.
Proverbs 30:7-9, “Two things I ask of you, O Lord; do not refuse me before I die: Keep falsehood and lies far from me; give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown You and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal and so dishonor the name of my God.”
Here’s to chipped fingernail polish, outgrown hair color, a functional car, and my God who takes care of my every need.
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