They came in through the front door, busily talking amongst themselves in French. I smiled, handed them the forms to fill out, and pointed where to write their names. One man was writing his date of birth down when he realized that the American way was different, so I took a pen and corrected it for him. They didn't know I understood every single word they said, as they discussed whether to stay for the exam or go to town. They didn't know that replies to their questions were on the tip of my tongue as I tried to revive rusty wheels that barely squeaked, but still moved with the language of my childhood. As they sat in the small waiting room, I inhaled the strong scent of their perfume. Mingled with the familiar sounds, it carried me back over twelve years to even stronger memories.
Maybe you never really say goodbye for good. . .
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy. ~Zeph 3:17
Have you ever tried to sit still and be truly silent? I tried it the other day and it was really difficult! I'm not sure if it's because I'm a sanguine, or because I'm constantly talking, but here's a look at the thoughts running through my head.
"Okay, I want to be silent now, so I can listen for God's voice. I need to stop thinking. Why am I always thinking? Why is my mind always going a million miles a minute and I'm analyzing and deciding and planning ahead and wondering and figuring things out? Okay, I need to stop thinking. . .I wonder what time it is. I wonder how long I've been sitting here. I should have looked at my watch, but this is ridiculous, because it's not about the length of time, but about focusing on God. I need to focus. . .I wonder if I should turn the heater off? Oh, I need to buy more Braggs, we are out of Braggs, and let's see what else I need, oh yes, I need to make a return to Walmart and buy a pair of good walking shoes. Stop Thinking!. . .Maybe I should drink a glass of water now. I wonder when I should eat my breakfast. I really am feeling sleepy as well. Why is it so hard to be silent? I really need to stop thinking. . .I can't stop thinking!"
It took me a good while to stop the frantic pace of thoughts running around the treadmill of my mind and come to a sense of calmness. When I did, I began to think about the value of spending time with God. Now I am a social person and I enjoy spending time with my family and friends. I am also a talker, so often their patience is tried as they get to listen to me talking a lot. I do listen too, though! But one thing I constantly need is that connection with the people who are close to me. I want to talk, to do things, to share experiences, and just to be around them. Isn't it the same with God?
I wonder if God looks forward to the time that we specifically set aside for Him in our day? I wonder if He is excited when we stop to thank Him for an unexpected blessing, or to ask for His guidance in some matter? I wonder if He is eager for us to see all the special ways He is reaching out to say He loves us, through unique gifts that only we understand and fully appreciate because He knows our hearts?
Somehow I think God is even more excited about connecting with me than I am when I connect with others. Now that is a thought almost too amazing to think. . .
"Okay, I want to be silent now, so I can listen for God's voice. I need to stop thinking. Why am I always thinking? Why is my mind always going a million miles a minute and I'm analyzing and deciding and planning ahead and wondering and figuring things out? Okay, I need to stop thinking. . .I wonder what time it is. I wonder how long I've been sitting here. I should have looked at my watch, but this is ridiculous, because it's not about the length of time, but about focusing on God. I need to focus. . .I wonder if I should turn the heater off? Oh, I need to buy more Braggs, we are out of Braggs, and let's see what else I need, oh yes, I need to make a return to Walmart and buy a pair of good walking shoes. Stop Thinking!. . .Maybe I should drink a glass of water now. I wonder when I should eat my breakfast. I really am feeling sleepy as well. Why is it so hard to be silent? I really need to stop thinking. . .I can't stop thinking!"
It took me a good while to stop the frantic pace of thoughts running around the treadmill of my mind and come to a sense of calmness. When I did, I began to think about the value of spending time with God. Now I am a social person and I enjoy spending time with my family and friends. I am also a talker, so often their patience is tried as they get to listen to me talking a lot. I do listen too, though! But one thing I constantly need is that connection with the people who are close to me. I want to talk, to do things, to share experiences, and just to be around them. Isn't it the same with God?
I wonder if God looks forward to the time that we specifically set aside for Him in our day? I wonder if He is excited when we stop to thank Him for an unexpected blessing, or to ask for His guidance in some matter? I wonder if He is eager for us to see all the special ways He is reaching out to say He loves us, through unique gifts that only we understand and fully appreciate because He knows our hearts?
Somehow I think God is even more excited about connecting with me than I am when I connect with others. Now that is a thought almost too amazing to think. . .
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Indescribable
I may have mentioned this before, but one of my strongest desires in life is to understand Who God is and how He views me. There are many ways I catch glimpses of Him and when I do, it just amazes me. It may be through a song, a friend's encouraging words, the beauty of huge snowflakes thickly falling, or someone's kind actions, but every time God speaks, I lean in close to listen.
This morning I caught another glimpse and then I thought, isn't that just how God is? Eagerly waiting, like a little child on the edge of their seat who can hardly sit still, waiting for us to realize He is right there? Isn't He exploding with love for us, excited to show us how much He cares? I'm learning that God is overflowing with blessings and good things for us, not because we deserve it, but because He wants to give us joy. I'm learning that God is a steady Rock in the difficult times, and while He may not keep us from tears, He will hold us through the grief. I'm learning that God is an amazing listener and when we are silent, He speaks comfort, peace and hope to our hearts. I'm learning that God is only good because He is love.
This morning I caught another glimpse and then I thought, isn't that just how God is? Eagerly waiting, like a little child on the edge of their seat who can hardly sit still, waiting for us to realize He is right there? Isn't He exploding with love for us, excited to show us how much He cares? I'm learning that God is overflowing with blessings and good things for us, not because we deserve it, but because He wants to give us joy. I'm learning that God is a steady Rock in the difficult times, and while He may not keep us from tears, He will hold us through the grief. I'm learning that God is an amazing listener and when we are silent, He speaks comfort, peace and hope to our hearts. I'm learning that God is only good because He is love.
"How precious to me are Your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!" ~Psalm 139:17
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Winter's Song
I think I hear the sound of
raindrops falling
one by one
and then all of a sudden
it starts to pour
(c) maria L.
raindrops falling
one by one
and then all of a sudden
it starts to pour
(c) maria L.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Heart Memories
She still remembered the last time she saw him, standing on the station platform, waving bravely as the whistle blew and the doors shut. She sat there, in the small hallway between cars, holding on to her suitcase and duffel bag and stared out the window, watching. He trudged away, step by careful step, making his way to the cobalt blue compact car parked in the disabled spot outside the station. His khaki trousers matched his winter khaki coat and cap and he huddled deep into the upturned collar against a cold wind. The train jerked, then began moving, and quickly, all too quickly, picked up speed and began to fly down the tracks. She sat silently as tears formed and sat there as quiet as she.
It was nine months later and she was up late one night. The words her mother had said earlier that evening still echoed in her ears. He wasn't doing too well; they didn't know how much longer he had. She didn't say much, her heart had not yet processed what her head knew to be true, and she wasn't sure she could handle it anyhow. So she was silent once again.
Till then. She began to remember her visit, and in her mind she rewound the tape that played those final moments. They had arrived much too early, even for Dutch trains, and had dragged her huge black suitcase and red duffel over to a protected area. It was almost summer, but European weather dictated cold winds and a shivery gray sky. She took out her camera and snapped a picture of the two of them as they waited. He smiled this time, which was unusual, and when she showed him the picture on her tiny digital screen, he asked for a copy of it.
That morning she had woken up early and finished her final packing. She'd tried her best to use her remaining food in their tiny refrigerator so they wouldn't have to throw it away. An extra packet of apple juice and six sandwiches in a plastic bag later, she had finished her food preparations. She grabbed her passport and wallet and ran back to her room to make sure she had everything, then as she was zipping up her suitcase, they came knocking on the door, anxious that she make it to the train station on time. They all had a prayer together, and then it was hugs all around and time to go. He was going to drive her to the bus station.
He wheeled the duffel bag and she hauled the suitcase along to the small kiosk where he stood outside, hanging onto her luggage while she paid for her final one way ticket to Amsterdam. The ticket agent handed her the small yellow ticket with her change, and she hurried outside to where he was patiently waiting. They walked over to the correct platform and began to wait.
All too soon the 9:45 yellow and blue intercity pulled up. She insisted he not lift the suitcases, even though he wanted to, and she heaved them up into the train, before turning to give him a final hug goodbye. She found her uncomfortable drop-down seat in the hallway. The train began to move, everything became a blur, and through her tears, she realized he was gone.
He would drive home, go upstairs, and rest for a while. Then he would warm up his lunch water, help peel the potatoes and vegetables, and they would sit down to lunch. He would pray, and at the end of his prayer, he would do a double sniff, and then they would eat their simple meal. Then he would spend the afternoon doing crossword puzzles, taking a little nap, going for a walk, and watching the news. He would check the departures to be sure her plane left on time.
Life would go back to its routine, but they would email her to say they missed her and it was strangely quiet now that she was gone. She would busy herself with work, but she would print a copy of the picture and send it to them, along with some other pictures of their time together. And every now and then, she would stop and remember. She would mourn the memories they had never created, wish for the years they had never shared, and grieve the loss of family. The tears would come and then they, too, would leave.
She wished it could have been different. Her family's sacrificial choice to be missionaries had meant that they had had to give up the close ties to extended family. Years later, she still struggled to feel like she belonged, as, rootless, she lived in a country not her own, thousands of miles from those whose bloodline she shared. Fate seemed to echo a cruel laughter as she tried to learn to survive. It mocked her as now one of the few whom she trusted and loved, so far away, was slowly slipping away.
Another memory came to mind. It was a cold November day, probably dreary and overcast as well. She had just read a disturbing email and was sitting beside her mother in the small bedroom, shaking from fear and pain. He came in and saw her tears and without a single word, came over and wrapped his arms around her and held her as tight as he possibly could. Now, twelve years later, she wanted him to hold her again and reassure her that everything would be okay. Somehow, she knew it wouldn't.
She would miss her Opa, her grandfather. She already did. . .
It was nine months later and she was up late one night. The words her mother had said earlier that evening still echoed in her ears. He wasn't doing too well; they didn't know how much longer he had. She didn't say much, her heart had not yet processed what her head knew to be true, and she wasn't sure she could handle it anyhow. So she was silent once again.
Till then. She began to remember her visit, and in her mind she rewound the tape that played those final moments. They had arrived much too early, even for Dutch trains, and had dragged her huge black suitcase and red duffel over to a protected area. It was almost summer, but European weather dictated cold winds and a shivery gray sky. She took out her camera and snapped a picture of the two of them as they waited. He smiled this time, which was unusual, and when she showed him the picture on her tiny digital screen, he asked for a copy of it.
That morning she had woken up early and finished her final packing. She'd tried her best to use her remaining food in their tiny refrigerator so they wouldn't have to throw it away. An extra packet of apple juice and six sandwiches in a plastic bag later, she had finished her food preparations. She grabbed her passport and wallet and ran back to her room to make sure she had everything, then as she was zipping up her suitcase, they came knocking on the door, anxious that she make it to the train station on time. They all had a prayer together, and then it was hugs all around and time to go. He was going to drive her to the bus station.
He wheeled the duffel bag and she hauled the suitcase along to the small kiosk where he stood outside, hanging onto her luggage while she paid for her final one way ticket to Amsterdam. The ticket agent handed her the small yellow ticket with her change, and she hurried outside to where he was patiently waiting. They walked over to the correct platform and began to wait.
All too soon the 9:45 yellow and blue intercity pulled up. She insisted he not lift the suitcases, even though he wanted to, and she heaved them up into the train, before turning to give him a final hug goodbye. She found her uncomfortable drop-down seat in the hallway. The train began to move, everything became a blur, and through her tears, she realized he was gone.
He would drive home, go upstairs, and rest for a while. Then he would warm up his lunch water, help peel the potatoes and vegetables, and they would sit down to lunch. He would pray, and at the end of his prayer, he would do a double sniff, and then they would eat their simple meal. Then he would spend the afternoon doing crossword puzzles, taking a little nap, going for a walk, and watching the news. He would check the departures to be sure her plane left on time.
Life would go back to its routine, but they would email her to say they missed her and it was strangely quiet now that she was gone. She would busy herself with work, but she would print a copy of the picture and send it to them, along with some other pictures of their time together. And every now and then, she would stop and remember. She would mourn the memories they had never created, wish for the years they had never shared, and grieve the loss of family. The tears would come and then they, too, would leave.
She wished it could have been different. Her family's sacrificial choice to be missionaries had meant that they had had to give up the close ties to extended family. Years later, she still struggled to feel like she belonged, as, rootless, she lived in a country not her own, thousands of miles from those whose bloodline she shared. Fate seemed to echo a cruel laughter as she tried to learn to survive. It mocked her as now one of the few whom she trusted and loved, so far away, was slowly slipping away.
Another memory came to mind. It was a cold November day, probably dreary and overcast as well. She had just read a disturbing email and was sitting beside her mother in the small bedroom, shaking from fear and pain. He came in and saw her tears and without a single word, came over and wrapped his arms around her and held her as tight as he possibly could. Now, twelve years later, she wanted him to hold her again and reassure her that everything would be okay. Somehow, she knew it wouldn't.
She would miss her Opa, her grandfather. She already did. . .
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
the whole trip
Was reading The Second Summer of the Sisterhood today, and came across this amazing quotation.
". . .you can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. E. L. Doctorow"
It's been one of those headlights-only weeks. You know how it goes, everyone has one of those, oh, I'd say at least once a month, or maybe every other month. You start out going real great, and then you make some resolutions and decide you're going to improve your life and suddenly nothing is going right. Coming across that encouraging thought, though, made me smile.
Ever been driving down the freeway and noticed how far ahead your headlights lit the way? Perhaps you've been caught in cotton-wool-fog and you kept your lights low and wondered if you dimmed them how far ahead you would be able to see? Some nights even the moon decided it was too much effort to shine as your headlights pierced the blackness for what seemed like miles. Other nights you peered through sheets of rain as you made your way home and hoped the deer and other wildlife had decided to find a nice dry place and wouldn't t try to suddenly cross the freeway.
I am a worrier, and when I start to think about driving at night, I usually think about how I really can't see that far ahead and if I'm flying down the freeway at 70 miles an hour, how am I going to see a plank of plywood, a lone buck crossing, or someone's garbage scattered across three lanes in time to avoid an accident? It's times like these when I have to trust that God will protect me. . .and take my foot just a little off the gas!
Even with just a few feet of light, though, there is still enough illumination to make it home. Perhaps that is what the Christian's walk is like. We know God is leading us, but often we don't have a bright fog-light shining thousands of lumens onto the path ahead of us so we can see exactly where we are going. God does say He will provide a light for our feet, but He doesn't add "and it will be a light that will shine so brightly you can see the next 60 years of your light"! There's just enough light to know where to put our feet to take the next step or two. Enough light to make it home. . .
". . .you can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. E. L. Doctorow"
It's been one of those headlights-only weeks. You know how it goes, everyone has one of those, oh, I'd say at least once a month, or maybe every other month. You start out going real great, and then you make some resolutions and decide you're going to improve your life and suddenly nothing is going right. Coming across that encouraging thought, though, made me smile.
Ever been driving down the freeway and noticed how far ahead your headlights lit the way? Perhaps you've been caught in cotton-wool-fog and you kept your lights low and wondered if you dimmed them how far ahead you would be able to see? Some nights even the moon decided it was too much effort to shine as your headlights pierced the blackness for what seemed like miles. Other nights you peered through sheets of rain as you made your way home and hoped the deer and other wildlife had decided to find a nice dry place and wouldn't t try to suddenly cross the freeway.
I am a worrier, and when I start to think about driving at night, I usually think about how I really can't see that far ahead and if I'm flying down the freeway at 70 miles an hour, how am I going to see a plank of plywood, a lone buck crossing, or someone's garbage scattered across three lanes in time to avoid an accident? It's times like these when I have to trust that God will protect me. . .and take my foot just a little off the gas!
Even with just a few feet of light, though, there is still enough illumination to make it home. Perhaps that is what the Christian's walk is like. We know God is leading us, but often we don't have a bright fog-light shining thousands of lumens onto the path ahead of us so we can see exactly where we are going. God does say He will provide a light for our feet, but He doesn't add "and it will be a light that will shine so brightly you can see the next 60 years of your light"! There's just enough light to know where to put our feet to take the next step or two. Enough light to make it home. . .
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Four-Eyed Blonde
I absolutely love Chonda Pierce. I know, you're wondering, who in the world is Chonda Pierce? I had never heard of her before either, until one Friday evening, bored and online, I decided to find clips from Christian comedians on YouTube. I listened to some really great ones, and had some great laughs, but when I found Chonda, I not only laughed but I cried, I listened, and I understood.
Chonda has the ability to take an everyday occurrence and find the humour in it, even after her older sister was killed in a car accident at 20, her younger sister died from leukemia at 15, her father left the ministry, and her parents got divorced. I can't imagine being able to find laughter after surviving two of those types of experiences, let alone all of those. Chonda also has the gift to speak words that go straight to your heart. It's as if God speaks through her when she shares about how much He loves us and as if she's sitting in His presence and she wants us to understand how amazing it is. I need that.
My hardest struggle in life is understanding who God really is and understanding that He loves me and His love for me is unconditional. I have been talking about this a lot lately, with good friends and family, and just this evening I sat down with my mom to watch a Chonda Pierce DVD called Four-Eyed Blonde. The first hour was filled with laughs, but it was the last part that really spoke to me. Chonda told a story about her daughter who had just entered that awkward age, where you get braces and glasses at the same time, and to encourage her, they went to a really fun medieval-themed restaurant where you ate with your hands and cheered on the knights that were fighting down a mud pit. The story goes that they were cheering for the blue knight, who eventually won the battle, and as he came out, he headed straight for their table, went to Chonda's daughter, knelt, took his blue scarf from around his neck, kissed it, and gave it to her. Then he took her by the hand and led her to his horse. Together they rode to a platform where a king stood, who placed a robe around her and a crown on her head. She stood there, beaming, as all her awkwardness fell away and the king pronounced her princess of the day.
Tears were rolling down my cheeks as Chonda quietly told the audience that as she saw her daughter standing up there, she realized that Jesus was like that knight and God was like that king and that we are princesses and princes of God. You see, it's hard for me to believe that God wants to love me. I'm not a horrible person, I haven't committed any major crimes, but I am not perfect either. The older I get, the more I realize how many things I have wrong with me, and the harder I try to do something about them, the more I feel like I can't ever win. Maybe it's because I'm fighting that battle on my own.
Someone said, at a baby's memorial yesterday, that Jesus wasn't afraid in Gethsemane because of the sin that would be placed on Him. He wasn't afraid of the physical pain, of the nails that would be pounded into His gentle hands. He was afraid of something much more. Before us, before Mary and Joseph, before Jeremiah and Isaiah and Ezekiel, before Joseph, before Abraham, before Moses, before Adam and Eve, before the angels, before the creation of this world, there was God, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus. Forever. And Jesus was faced with the thought that He could be separated from His Father forever. Yet that did not stop Him. Jesus made the decision because He knew there was no other hope for us.
I know God's love is unconditional, at least, I know that with my head. But I am still learning it with my heart. I know my family and friends love me unconditionally, as far as they are humanly able to, and that they support me in whatever I do. And yet we live in a world where love is conditional and acceptance is based on meeting other people's expectations. Perfection as seen in others' eyes is what we continually strive for and we waste our time, money, and effort just to reach that elusive pinnacle so we can shine. Strangely enough, man's acceptance is not what we should be working for. All we ever do will not be enough to love God because He loves us already. If we can stop battling in our minds to reach a state of perfection where we feel that we can now enter His presence, maybe we'll finally realize He's been with us all along. And maybe then we can begin to grow. When we are confident in God's love and acceptance, we can move forward and do amazing things because we know. . .we are loved.
Chonda has the ability to take an everyday occurrence and find the humour in it, even after her older sister was killed in a car accident at 20, her younger sister died from leukemia at 15, her father left the ministry, and her parents got divorced. I can't imagine being able to find laughter after surviving two of those types of experiences, let alone all of those. Chonda also has the gift to speak words that go straight to your heart. It's as if God speaks through her when she shares about how much He loves us and as if she's sitting in His presence and she wants us to understand how amazing it is. I need that.
My hardest struggle in life is understanding who God really is and understanding that He loves me and His love for me is unconditional. I have been talking about this a lot lately, with good friends and family, and just this evening I sat down with my mom to watch a Chonda Pierce DVD called Four-Eyed Blonde. The first hour was filled with laughs, but it was the last part that really spoke to me. Chonda told a story about her daughter who had just entered that awkward age, where you get braces and glasses at the same time, and to encourage her, they went to a really fun medieval-themed restaurant where you ate with your hands and cheered on the knights that were fighting down a mud pit. The story goes that they were cheering for the blue knight, who eventually won the battle, and as he came out, he headed straight for their table, went to Chonda's daughter, knelt, took his blue scarf from around his neck, kissed it, and gave it to her. Then he took her by the hand and led her to his horse. Together they rode to a platform where a king stood, who placed a robe around her and a crown on her head. She stood there, beaming, as all her awkwardness fell away and the king pronounced her princess of the day.
Tears were rolling down my cheeks as Chonda quietly told the audience that as she saw her daughter standing up there, she realized that Jesus was like that knight and God was like that king and that we are princesses and princes of God. You see, it's hard for me to believe that God wants to love me. I'm not a horrible person, I haven't committed any major crimes, but I am not perfect either. The older I get, the more I realize how many things I have wrong with me, and the harder I try to do something about them, the more I feel like I can't ever win. Maybe it's because I'm fighting that battle on my own.
Someone said, at a baby's memorial yesterday, that Jesus wasn't afraid in Gethsemane because of the sin that would be placed on Him. He wasn't afraid of the physical pain, of the nails that would be pounded into His gentle hands. He was afraid of something much more. Before us, before Mary and Joseph, before Jeremiah and Isaiah and Ezekiel, before Joseph, before Abraham, before Moses, before Adam and Eve, before the angels, before the creation of this world, there was God, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus. Forever. And Jesus was faced with the thought that He could be separated from His Father forever. Yet that did not stop Him. Jesus made the decision because He knew there was no other hope for us.
I know God's love is unconditional, at least, I know that with my head. But I am still learning it with my heart. I know my family and friends love me unconditionally, as far as they are humanly able to, and that they support me in whatever I do. And yet we live in a world where love is conditional and acceptance is based on meeting other people's expectations. Perfection as seen in others' eyes is what we continually strive for and we waste our time, money, and effort just to reach that elusive pinnacle so we can shine. Strangely enough, man's acceptance is not what we should be working for. All we ever do will not be enough to love God because He loves us already. If we can stop battling in our minds to reach a state of perfection where we feel that we can now enter His presence, maybe we'll finally realize He's been with us all along. And maybe then we can begin to grow. When we are confident in God's love and acceptance, we can move forward and do amazing things because we know. . .we are loved.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)