Recently, I was walking alongside a beautiful, still lake, and I asked the Lord, "What needs to happen between us between now and Easter? Is there anything you'd like me to do, to offer up, to repent for?" The answer I received, "Lynne, there is nothing I want you to do for me, and there is nothing to be done."
Nothing to be done. It's the line a loved one of a sick or hospitalized relative may dread hearing most.
One thing that we do during the 40 Days is take extra time to consider Jesus Christ's passion, his suffering and sacrifice of his life for us. But what does that mean? In the Lord's response to me, I heard Him say, "My pain? Consider your own."
Sometimes, in my flesh, there is nothing more painful for me that to sit by and watch Him do everything - bring everything into existence, bring me into existence, appear as both man and God, live for me, die for me, and rise again, all for me and the rest of humanity. The pain is contained in my own helplessness and lack of role in the fundamental work of salvation. Dying to self-reliance and pride is painful - truly painful.
But faith in Him can transform this pain into the greatest joy. He can give us the courage and humility to receive His love.
Praise be to Him, for there is nothing to be done; He has done all.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
New poem re: redemption!
New work, a few weeks old.
City Bird
I. Detroit Bird
From street to street
deep within the alley,
a single, fractured brick,
cradles the delicate, shallow nest,
it lays open, waiting, breakable.
What makes a home a home?
my nest-less, long heart walks
damp night streets,
searching for that sparrow’s song,
bright tune: let me find you
singing in the night,
gentle sound, you still the quaking,
hungry, roaring of my fears –
they often know no bounds.
Sweet bird, nesting, resting
in the street beneath its hymn
I curl my body, womb:
every note says, ‘Hush now,
not one falls without My knowing.’
II. Dublin Bird*
In Dublin, on June 16, 1904,
Leopold Bloom grips his cane
more tightly than his life;
Bloom carries the boy Stephen Dedalus
home in his armory arms
because he loves him.
When Bloom loosens his grip on the cane,
I imagine he turns his life over to God;
through his loosening,
I have seen myself,
lost in God’s love for me.
Breathe in, breathe out –
deep, from the diaphragm: what do you feel?
the sparrow’s song rushing with the breeze
over your summer tan, feathers everywhere,
wings do not mean that she will fall,
she will play, she will fly.
III. Hope Bird
.
.
.
fly
for shall
Wait
you
for shall
Walk you
Run
---
There were some formatting issues, and I couldn't paste in the last stanza (though it reads all right without it - the last stanza is, I think, a very nice coda). If you want the full poem, let me know, and I'll send it along.
*Stanzas 4 and 5 reference Ulysses by James Joyce. The scene highlighted in this poem is in "Circe" - Chapter 15. The important thing to know: Leopold Bloom and Stephen are both searching, wrestling with their problems and the meaning of their lives - Bloom is a father, Stephen a son, and their lives intersect, and Bloom is a kind of father to Stephen. Bloom loosening the grip on his cane is like the image we sometimes use when we talk about "letting go of our grip on the steering wheel" of our lives.
City Bird
I. Detroit Bird
From street to street
deep within the alley,
a single, fractured brick,
cradles the delicate, shallow nest,
it lays open, waiting, breakable.
What makes a home a home?
my nest-less, long heart walks
damp night streets,
searching for that sparrow’s song,
bright tune: let me find you
singing in the night,
gentle sound, you still the quaking,
hungry, roaring of my fears –
they often know no bounds.
Sweet bird, nesting, resting
in the street beneath its hymn
I curl my body, womb:
every note says, ‘Hush now,
not one falls without My knowing.’
II. Dublin Bird*
In Dublin, on June 16, 1904,
Leopold Bloom grips his cane
more tightly than his life;
Bloom carries the boy Stephen Dedalus
home in his armory arms
because he loves him.
When Bloom loosens his grip on the cane,
I imagine he turns his life over to God;
through his loosening,
I have seen myself,
lost in God’s love for me.
Breathe in, breathe out –
deep, from the diaphragm: what do you feel?
the sparrow’s song rushing with the breeze
over your summer tan, feathers everywhere,
wings do not mean that she will fall,
she will play, she will fly.
III. Hope Bird
.
.
.
fly
for shall
Wait
you
for shall
Walk you
Run
---
There were some formatting issues, and I couldn't paste in the last stanza (though it reads all right without it - the last stanza is, I think, a very nice coda). If you want the full poem, let me know, and I'll send it along.
*Stanzas 4 and 5 reference Ulysses by James Joyce. The scene highlighted in this poem is in "Circe" - Chapter 15. The important thing to know: Leopold Bloom and Stephen are both searching, wrestling with their problems and the meaning of their lives - Bloom is a father, Stephen a son, and their lives intersect, and Bloom is a kind of father to Stephen. Bloom loosening the grip on his cane is like the image we sometimes use when we talk about "letting go of our grip on the steering wheel" of our lives.
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