Imitations

It has struck me lately (again) that for all the very good gifts that God gives, the enemy comes up with a easy but broken imitation. One thing I have been privileged to experience for short periods of my life is the beauty of authentic community. Knowing that you are seen with all your strengths and flaws, and are yet still loved - and being able to see others with all their strengths and flaws and still love them is an incredibly freeing place to be. And I confess that here (and often enough there) in my longing for that community, I find myself surfing facebook, blogs - any site might work to get that feeling of connection. But it is a fake - there are no real conversations happening, no real communi-cation. No exchange, no reality, no seeing, and no really loving. You can only love and be loved in gritty relationship.


I John 1:9 states "But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin." Light, sincerity, fellowship, forgiveness.  The enemy's imitation is to convince us of the need to project an image of who we want to be seen as - hip, funny, sexy, caring, tough, conservative, liberal, religious, cool, etc. etc.... and try to hold that up for all to see and believe. The problem then is that love can only hit the mask, not the heart... so we are left empty and insecure. So I thought about other imitations and here they are. Forgive my Dr. Seuss-ishness.


Come and trade my friends...

co-dependency for commitment

      truth in love that graces and believes

      not fear that enables and deceives

social networking for community

      bared souls and protected lives

      not projected images and vibes

busyness for satisfying work

      the important pursued, hard beauty wrought

      not the hamster wheel of petty battles fought

cheap thrills for real joy

      that comes with giving of your self
      not grasping at pleasure and pelf

spirits for The Spirit

      Life and freedom deep within

      not numbing the pain
             a fleeting win.

lust for true love

      that doesn't walk away. Sharing

      not taking, and willing to stay

      when it hurts, is mundane or at odds,

      when vision is blurred and uncovers flaws.

      That says “you,” not “me,” yet

      calls for respect, the hard, not the easy

      “I'm outta here” check.*

Come, everyone who thirsts,

come to the waters;

and he who has no money,

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,

and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good,

and delight yourselves in rich food.

Isaiah 55:1-2




*Please hear no judgement here. Some of my best friends are divorced for very good reasons. But I venture that what the world calls and proposes as "love" is really selfishness in disguise, a "you for me" mentality and not the "you and I, and I for you" that I see in the Word.

One month away.

I'm not sure how I feel about being torn in two...

...and a gentle reminder comes... isn't this what I was praying for?

A release from the numbness that has been plaguing me for almost 2 years now?

A mother's heart?

I let a foot here send down a few tender shoots, a few aching roots... is this what it means to long for That Land?

Do I love Peru and the people there?

yes.

Am I going to miss Maine and the people here?

Like sneakers miss laces. Or an envelope misses a letter. Or a cactus misses the desert.

In the ache of pulling away and (trying to) let go, I WILL give thanks.

Thank you God for a family that I love enough to miss.

Thank you for Mom and Gram who continue to meet to pray every night,

For old friendships, strengthened and renewed.

For new friendships, tender but cherished.

For the time spent with H and S and teaching me what it means to love fiercely again.

(oh, Lord ... but Your will be done)

For re-opening my eyes to time savored, not just spent.

For the beauty of your creation here, unique with jagged coast, frigid waters, spruce and fir woods, wool-gray clouds, smoky air and salt breezes.

For time, much too short, with the coolest niece and nephews in this wide world.

For early mornings watching the world awaken and late nights, feeling Your care as it sleeps.

For Gulf Hagas, Great Pond Mountain, Schoodic, Fowler Pond, Thurston Pond and the woods behind the house.

For ninja stars, ninja games, and soccer and sledding in the dark.

For night frolicks by the Penobscot, rolling in leaves, drinking peppermint hot chocolate and watching the tide come in.

For Sunday afternoon walks, the Monkeys and apple baseball.

For the Beatles, magical music, incredible (and young) guitarists, the best acapella 11 year old I've ever heard and my friend the rockstar, Kendall.

For healing Rony.

For the trip to VT ... and beyond.

For reminding me that it's not what I do, it's who I am.

For loving me even though I get restless, confused, self-righteous, and deaf to you.

For giving me the grace to be imperfect... and not quitting on me.

For loneliness, fears, doubt, confusion and even mistakes - for nothing drives me better to my knees and to You.

For reminding me that because of Jesus, it's all worth it.

And for Peru... Oh Lord.

Thank you for humbling experiences – and I pray for relationships restored.

For Juan who faithfully took care of my house.

For Isaac who faithfully took care of my bike. Maybe a bit too faithfully.

For Chris.

For the work you have been doing while I've been gone.

For the chance to see Lains and Omar, Patrick and Juan, Junior and Jessica, Miguel and Aymar, Kender and Daniel, Rita and Ruth... and 200 other niños again.

For the chance to see Dannig and Sandra, Darinka and Marlith, Carlos and Peter again.

For the community that I know you will provide.

For the purpose I know you will give.

For the Paluskys and their vision for the Hurarina tribe... and more.

For the knowledge that You are the same God, no matter where I go... and that I am Yours and You are mine.

To a frenetic-ly good cook

Beautiful girl...

Your mind is full of thoughts and frettings of what-ifs and if-onlys a

perpetual cyclone of maybe-I-coulds and why-can't-it-bes that

spin round and round, keeping you awake to wee hours and

even in your silences they continually scream out

your shame and

tell you what you have lost and

what you could've

should have

done.

If you had a thousand hands, perhaps

just then

you could hold everything together.

Or if you had ten thousand words, maybe then

you could say the

right ones.

Sweet girl.

Please.

Let the past be for a while...

quiet your mind

about the future

and just breathe.

And better yet...

Turn it All into the hands of

the Greatest Baker.

Who will knead

the bitter

together with

the sweet.

And let it rise

in His time.

To be cooked to the perfection

of His grace.

And He will make something

that will surprise

even the best

and most productive

of cooks.

Inside/Outside

Your wounds don't show from the outside

Beautiful blue eyes and an angelic face.

Sweet smile and almost always

quiet.

But you don't fool me.

I see you raw and bleeding

unwittingly stabbed

with the daggers of

“made-to-be-used” and

“not-good-enough”

and

“not-worth-it-to-me”

by hands that were created to

hold you instead.

The lies the Liar pours into your heart scald

like boiling oil,

and you are slowly becoming convinced that

ugly

rejectable

too-much

and

wrong

is what you are.

Your problem is

That you still feel.

When so many have shut down and

numbed their pain with

drugs or

sex or

anyeffingthingthatmakesitgoaway.

You still try to swim

lacerated

against the current

of salt water.

Even for that I love you.

And I pray that you will recognize the lies

for what they are.

And I pray that you can see what I see:

a Father who loves you

desperately.

Who stripped and bare

stayed

bleeding on that

rough wood,

to conquer lies, and the liar

and to heal
all the wounds in

your heart.

Because you are

loved

and

wanted

and

longed for

and

delighted in

and

worth it.

Slipping Words

I feel a great gap between

who I want to be

and

who I am.

Surely the entire world sees

and knows

that this face is not

the true one.

Perhaps that

is why I have no

words

for you.

Nor do I believe

the ones you have

for me.

And the ones

in me

slip like water through my fingers.

I am not even sure

what my face

is like

though I am pretty

sure

it doesn't look

like it

should.

In the Beginning was the Word

I feel like I've been without words for a long time.
I think they might be coming back.
Maybe they're hiding around the next bend...
I'll just keep walking.
Just in case.