Saturday, December 8, 2012

The Jump from Inertia.

How to point precious children toward Love, God of the Universe?
Without letting blundering, stupid self trip them all up along the way?
How to just keep head lowered, pointing them to The Way?
Apologizing all along the path for mistakes, for harshly spoken words,
for undeserved reprimands...for tired.
For a brain that doesn't always do well with all the noise.
I actually calculated it one day:  my noise limit.
My brain can handle two things at once, music and a chattering child,
head-noise of reading a recipe while gently disciplining the running of feet,
but throw in a third?
And that third hits my overwhelmed button.
How to lasso up the pharisee inside of me, who always wants cut-and-dry,
black and white rules, and to herald flaws?
In my search for a pure Christmas,
I am face to face with my own heart, which can be so ugly.
So in need of washing.
  And even in all my mess,
that baby born in a manger, DIED for me.
I imagine the incredible sacrifice of forgiveness.
Him laying down His very life,
and washing all of my mess away.
And not just my mess,
but the mess of billions just like me.
How to hold all of that mess, but supernatural?
I sit right there, at His feet, pure white.
How undeserved!
Yes, that's the entire reason He came to this wretched, broken earth.
And so I venture to remove stumbling blocks from their little paths,
To not place anything there that glitters temporal, distracts.
To not point them toward idols that woo, stuff that pleasures for a mere breath.
How to find balance of this in a world where stuff takes over?
How to teach LESS, when my basement is clogged?
When I just placed my sixth amazon order?
When my eyes are always roaming.

I desire to teach it,
to learn it myself.

Stuff never satisfies.
And to herald the ancient birthing of miracles, with eyes focused on stuff?
Is missing fulfillment.
Is missing out on the gift that IS fulfilling,
I know the pureness of joy of this filling!
I would trade everything I own just-for-His-soul-filling.
And yet how do I let myself get distracted so easily?
In the words of my favorite author and blogger, Voskamp,
I am plagued,yes, by perpetual soul-amnesia.

I know how easy it is for eyes to fall, for time to rush forth unstoppable,
for the overwhelm to set in.
How easily amnesia can creep into a soul.
It is a deliberate eye-fixation on that baby wrapped in a manger,
that cures.
It seems like, often, the prayers that God answers profoundly for me,
are not the prayers that I word-just-right.
The prayers that He jumps on top of are the ones that I utter in spirit.
Just a few thoughts.
Barely penned.
Just heart.
These weeks, my utterance was my lack-of-brain-power to sit down,
to plan it all out.  This pure Christmas I am seeking --
it is a lot of work and thought to chart a new course and jump from inertia.
Would He just take over, make it clear?
Point the way?
And within a few days, the pointing begins.
My eyes brimming wide with wonder that the God of the Universe,
He hears and He nudges and
the ideas and clarity that have fallen into my tired, overwhelmed lap?
Could not possibly have been my brainchild.
No ~ in my weakness, He always shines bright.

Yes, the conversations between husband and wife here have been divine.
And I can feel my heart swell with Holy Spirit joy,
As each piece tumbles into place.
While I pray.
And wait.

We are late ~ it is the second week of December...
The plans barely unfurled.
I fret.
Others are well on their way of celebrating advents,
And still my printer is whirring and my heart filling.
And I see it there ~ this little 3x5 card at my computer,
the Psalm that I am penning permanent to memory.
Within the lines of my weekly piece,
" not FRET - it leads only to evil."
{ Psalm 37: 8 }

And I picture the "perfect birth" that Mary may have visioned,
And how last minute, she is riding a donkey...
Last minute, she is still on her journey.
She doesn't even know where her journey will end.
Just that it will end with God's perfect plan.
She is led to where Holy would unfurl.
There is no such thing as perfect human planning.
Just divine intermingled with our mess,
Leading us, and showing us glory!

Right there, glory.
Amidst barnyard smells,
and long journeys,
and lack-of-room.


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