Poem for Advent

Advent is speaking to me.
This waiting with hope.
This waiting in ache.
Still and silent, but listening.

In days past
they long-awaited the Messiah;
we long-await His return.
At times it feels too heavy to bear. 

My soul thirsts and pants for the living God to come
and blanket me with His ten-times over fulness.
Like the silent, constant snow falling,
fall on me.
Cover me.
Coat me
with the everlasting love of God
while I wait.

For true salvation,
and broad in every way,
comes only from You.

I wait.
I pay attention.
I seek.
I hope.
I pine for His peace.
I wait more.

I hold on to Bonhoeffer's words,
“...the door is shut,
and can only be opened from the outside.”

Advent, though painful,
is necessary to refine and produce,
like soon-sprouting seeds,
the internal parts of me.

And one day,
in the waiting,
a light will
dawn.
The door will open.

My Idols are Killing Me...

There is a deep well in me, a place that I often fear will not fill up. I keep running to broken jars that can’t hold the water I’m so thirsty for. Let me drink from You, like the woman at the well who went in circles to find a morsel of comfort and finally found You who would be her freedom, hope and security. My first movement is to repent, to say, “I am deeply sorry that over and over and over again I seek life outside of You and the promises You have made to be my companion, joy and satisfaction.” As the years have gone on I realize that this is a daily, moment by moment unfolding. It is in time that I fill up; it is not immediate but rather a daily process of trust and obedience. I have found that each time I test You out with obedience I find my faith increases and I am more calm and content. That is consistent. I gain the perspective, peace and understanding that You are FOR me, aware of me, and moving my life in a direction of purpose. Learning that there is a huge plan and such engaging mystery to keep me hooked to You for on and on. I get to be part of the big narrative of redemption instead of the small tale of self-absorption.

My mess becomes more obvious as I first confess that I have denied You; I have rejected the very food You offer and then get angry that I am wandering around hungry. I confess that I have looked You in the face and told You boldly that You are not enough and yet somehow think that broken things will be able to bolster me up. In so many ways, as I stop and reflect, it is like a certain level of insanity. It’s as if I am building my house out of paper cards, hoping it can withstand the guaranteed storms of life. When I pull back and look at the bigger picture, I can see how crazy it is; but while I wander, I keep thinking it is rational to drink from dirty water in a cracked container. Without much thought, I drink from this tainted source and always get sick. What’s most crazy, I go back to drink two seconds after I throw up.

So You call me to come...to You...the Living water, so that I will not have to drink from this unsatisfying well anymore. The key is for me to be reminded of who You are. “Truth sets you free” is what You say. So I will retrieve truth:

You know my steps, You have a particular plan unfolding that will be useful and meaningful as I follow You. When I attach to these idols, I become small and useless. When I attach to You, I am less selfish, less anxious, more willing to sacrifice, less afraid, more passionate, less demanding, more free, more surrendered, less chaotic. When I reflect on the fact that You are committed to me, I do not fall into perfectionism because You do what I cannot. When I realize that You are never-ending in Your forgiveness, like the power and rush of the Niagara Falls, and it just keeps swelling over me, it just keeps cleansing me, it is a surplus of ongoing, non-stop “I have paid, I have let it go, it no longer owns you,” I can rest. I don’t have to pay for it. I don’t have to get You to come back. I don’t have to beg You to still love me because it is actually Your delight to show me mercy...this is calming. This is what reminds me that You are enough.

Your Word says You are “slow to anger and abounding in love.” In the parables it’s clear that You keep chasing after the one who is sick. You lift the head of the one who feels so condemned, lost and trapped in a cycle of idolatry, and You look me in the eye and say, “I will stick around, and I will be strong FOR you and I will dust you off, pay your dues and bring you home. Do not fear and do not be despaired, I will fight for you when you have no fight left.” This is the voice I hear. I have never heard anyone else say this to me. I have never had anyone promise such things. I have never had anyone come near me, and literally sit with me in the cesspool of my crap. You do this and You say You actually want to. This is motivating to me. At the end of the day I want all that I love to always be second and third and fourth to You. When You sit in the front, all else takes their rightful places. If I drink from the source that is able to handle me, I release others from demands they are unable to fulfill. It’s why I love when the author of Hebrews says, “So fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of your faith...”

No one else can do that.

The Trees are Not So Demanding.

I feel more comfortable around trees. They pour out water to my empty places.

Thirsty, I wander these sidewalks and streets, measuring myself against the bar. Everywhere I look there are standards to meet, fashions to fashion myself to, lists of things I don’t have, an image out of my grasp, a hopeless mountain to climb and no ropes holding me secure as I trip and fall. Or so it seems...

She is taller than me. Her boots are cute and her legs are fit. She has three kids. Her husband carries the car seat with the baby. He is good looking and sports a perfect shirt. His eyes, perfect. The car, nice and rich. Smiles and laughs. Friends upon friends. No concern for money. Clothes are always set just so over the shoulders and the hair never out of place. A purse with a name, a soft face with just the right eyeliner. She drips with sophistication and elegance. She doesn’t worry, she doesn’t fear, she doesn’t lack, she doesn’t ache, she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t want what anyone else wants because she has it all. Every square inch of desire has been filled up with what she has. She envies no one because everyone envies her.

I follow her and chase her, one day I will be her...

Then I go into the woods.

The spinning stops. The anxiety-producing comparisons fade away. My eyes gaze up as high as the trees extend to the skies and I get lost in the wide open spaces and the smell of pine. The tightness fades, the ongoing and suffocating measurements disappear. I can breathe. The trees write a different script. They sing a new song. They erase the power of the image that chokes itself around me. They instruct me in a lesson on genuine beauty and simple existence. They untangle me. No tiring evaluation haunts me in the woods. No “right way” or “wrong way” demands expectations for me. No oppressive portrait hangs over me. The trees redirect me, the crunch of the leaves under foot lighten my mood and bring me to a state of calm.

This is what Creation does. This is part of what it is meant to be: a tool unlocking and reframing. We shift our gaze from an inward, staring-at-ourselves and what we wear, own, carry, drive and build to what is sacred, inspiring, lifting and altogether breath-taking. A small tuft of perfectly smooth moss takes the attention, a patch of purple flowers, huge mushrooms in various ballooned shapes, the smallest birds bounce everywhere to find their tasty snacks, and the endless sounds of the woods showering us with peace. We find respite here. We stop clamoring for the new, the better, the other, the endless list of pointless wants. Our insatiable selves stop and settle down. We are reset.

The treadmill of “keeping up” is a slow death of the soul. Like a twisting of who we are, it  subtly reshapes us into a one-dimensional, hollow person. Be intentional to swim in the opposite direction of the rest of the crowd. Some who have gone before us, said it well...

“Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.”
    -Mark Twain

“Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.”
    -Leo Tolstoy


“I don't imagine you will dispute the fact that at present the stupid people are in an absolutely overwhelming majority all the world over.”
    -Henrik Ibsen

“The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd; indeed in view of the silliness of the majority of mankind, a widely spread belief is more likely to be foolish than sensible.”
    -Bertrand Russell

So swim upstream, right into the woods...

Food for My Worn Out Self. Every Week.

Consistently I am moved by the final twenty minutes of my church service. Every Sabbath we take the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. Every week we confess our sins. And every week we are reminded of the unconditional acceptance of Christ for His people. My pastor will consistently stress that this meal is not for people who have life tied with a bow, rather it is for those who have failed and fallen flat or at times are so hopeless they can’t see two steps in front of them. This supper is not for the ones who have "pleased" Jesus and can come and sit at His table because they are shiny and clean. This table is for the crippled, poor, and blind, for those left starving as a result of misplaced love. It’s the one church I have been to where people actually choose not to take it. They understand they either need to come to Christ first or they have to resolve a festering conflict brewing with someone around them. They stay seated and, thankfully, feel safe enough doing so. Finding a church free from shame and judgment is a feat in itself.

Today I had a bird’s eye view as I sat in the front, available for people to stop and receive prayer if they needed it. Sitting in a chair off to the side, I watched the long lines form. Poor and rich, black and white, young and old, tattooed up and yuppie to the core. Some physically limb and some barely able to lift their heads. The confident and the cowardly. All walk ahead to humbly partake of this transforming tradition. "Do this in remembrance of me," Jesus said. It hits me fresh week to week. We are a mess, a mod-podge of individual lives who are shuffling to the front of the church looking for a windfall of grace to fill our beat-up insides and give us what we need for the week ahead. This is a means of God pouring out on us the gifts of His forgiveness, peace, hope and motivation to endure the darkness. Undeserving, we limp forward with our hands reaching out and open to receive this meal that changes us over time. I cannot help but be reminded over and over again, “You are mangled and bruised by the fall, but you are healed, loved and free.” This is a sermon, a tangible picture each and every Sunday that the deficit I have accrued has been accounted for. I walk forward, slowly, in contemplation...here is my balm. I have been rescued.

“Dawn, this is His body and blood shed for you...”

They say my name, they look me in the eye and I return to my seat, knowing all is well with my soul.