Extended Intermission

Thank you so very much for your patience, dear reader. I apologize for the continued delay of further installments in "That Which the Locust Has Eaten." I haven't forgotten or disappeared off the face of this planet. Some interesting, unexpected opportunities have kept me rather busy of late. I hope to pick up my train of thought and resume sharing with you soon.

In the meantime, I would be honored to learn what you're learning, experiencing, or contemplating. Do you have any questions or prayer requests? Please share whatever is on your heart!

Waiting Well

www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRQruZ_oX-8

The Ongoing Pageant of Salvation

“I knew something like this would happen,” Alice Wendleken whispered to me. “[Ralph and Imogene] didn’t come at all! We won’t have any Mary and Joseph—and now what are we supposed to do?”

Ralph and Imogene were there all right, only for once they didn’t come through the door pushing each other out of the way. They just stood there for a minute as if they weren’t sure they were in the right place—because of the candles, I guess, and the church being full of people. They looked like the people you see on the six o’clock news—refugees, sent to wait in some strange ugly place, with all their boxes and sacks around them.

It suddenly occurred to me that this was just the way it must have been for the real Holy Family, stuck away in a barn by people who didn’t much care what happened to them. They couldn’t have been very neat and tidy either, but more like this Mary and Joseph (Imogene’s veil was cockeyed as usual and Ralph’s hair stuck out all around his ears). Imogene had the baby doll but she wasn’t carrying it the way she was supposed to, cradled in her arms. She had it slung up over her shoulder, and before she put it in the manger she thumped it twice on the back.

I heard Alice gasp and she poked me. “I don’t think it’s very nice to burp the baby Jesus,” she whispered, “as if he had colic.” Then she poked me again. “Do you suppose he could have had colic?”

I said, “I don’t see why not,” and I didn’t. He could have had colic, or been fussy, or hungry like any other baby. After all, that was the whole point of Jesus—that he didn’t come down on a cloud like something out of “Amazing Comics,” but that he was born and lived…a real person.

Next cam Gladys, from behind the angel choir, pushing people out of the way and stepping on everyone’s feet. Since Gladys was the only one in the pageant who had anything to say she made the most of it: “Hey! Unto you a child is born!” she hollered, as if it was, for sure, the best news in the world. And all the shepherds trembled, sore afraid—of Gladys, mainly, but it looked good anyway.

[Then] everybody in the audience shifted around to watch the Wise Men march up the aisle.

“What have they got?” Alice whispered.

I didn’t know, but whatever it was, it was heavy—Leroy almost dropped it. He didn’t have his frankincense jar either, and Claude and Ollie didn’t have anything, although they were supposed to bring the gold and the myrrh.

“I knew this would happen,” Alice said for the second time. “I bet it’s something awful.”

“Like what?”

“Like…a burnt offering. You know the Herdmans.”

Well, they did burn things, but they hadn’t burned this yet. It was a ham—and right away I knew where it came from. This was the Herdman’s food-basket ham. It still had the ribbon around it, saying Merry Christmas.

“I’ll bet they stole that!” Alice said.

“They did not. It came from their food basket, and if they want to give away their own ham I guess they can do it.” But even if the Herdmans didn’t like ham (that was Alice’s next idea) they had never before in their lives given anything away except lumps on the head. So you had to be impressed.

“They’re ruining the whole thing!” Alice whispered, but they weren’t at all. As a matter of fact, it seemed to me that the Herdmans had improved the pageant a lot, just by doing what came naturally—like burping the baby, for instance, or thinking a ham would make a better present than a lot of perfumed oil.

Usually, by the time we got to “Silent Night,” which was always the last carol, I was fed up with the whole thing and couldn’t wait for it to be over. But I didn’t feel that way this time. I almost wished for the pageant to go on, with the Herdmans in charge, to see what else they would do that was different.

Everyone sang “Silent Night,” including the audience. We sang all the verses too, and when we got to “Son of God, Love’s pure light” I happened to look at Imogene and I almost dropped my hymn book on a baby angel.

Everyone had been waiting all this time for the Herdmans to do something absolutely unexpected. And Sure enough, that was what happened.

Imogene Herdman was crying.

In the candlelight her face was all shiny with tears and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She just sat there—awful old Imogene—in her crookedy veil, crying and crying and crying.

For years, I’d thought about the wonder of Christmas, and the mystery of Jesus’ birth, and never understood it. But now, because of the Herdmans, it didn’t seem so mysterious after all.

When Imogene had asked me what the pageant was about, I told her it was about Jesus, but that was just part of it. It was about a new baby, and his mother and father who were in a lot of trouble—no money, no place to go, no doctor, nobody they knew. And then, arriving from the East (like my uncle from New Jersey) some rich friends.

But Imogene, I guess, didn’t see it that way. Christmas just came over her all at once, like a case of chills and fever. And so she was crying.

As far as I’m concerned, Mary is always going to look a lot like Imogene Herdman—sort of nervous and bewildered, but ready to clobber anyone who laid a hand on her baby. And the Wise Men are always going to be Leroy and his brothers, bearing ham.

When we came out of the church that night it was cold and clear, with crunchy snow underfoot and bright, bright stars overhead. and I thought about the Angel of the Lord—Gladys, with her skinny legs and her dirty sneakers sticking out from under her robe, yelling at all of us, everywhere:

“Hey! Unto you a child is born!”

(The Best Christmas Pageant Ever; chapter 7, abridged)

~ ~ ~

Thank you so very much for the gift of sharing this space with me. I count it a privilege to walk with you, and an honor that you contribute your time and thoughts. My goodness, friends, it has been quite a year… I don’t know about every one of you, but I can safely say that Jesus has been refining me with a vengeance these twelve months. So many reasons to praise my Lord and Lover! My year was a journey of heartbreak…of farewells and hellos…belly laughs (the kind that leave your eyes watering and your muscles sore)…painful obedience…joy…of desperate tears and determined worship…bubbles…coloring parties…ping pong…of grace and marvelous provision. And all of this becomes part of the beautiful, quirky, upside-down, perfect pageant the God is putting on to display His eternal Glory.

So, my friends, I will wish you a Merry Christmas; but I do not ask you to celebrate “The True Meaning Of Christmas.” Goodness no! That would be silly!

I want you to celebrate much more than that.

“After all, that was the whole point of Jesus—that he didn’t come down on a cloud like something out of 'Amazing Comics,' but that he was born and lived…a real person.” The child narrator of The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is on the right track: Jesus’ birth is only part of what we commemorate with Christmas. The Son of God never sought to glorify himself, but instead to draw our gaze to the Most High God. And just as our Lord’s arrival on this earth is a part of the whole holiday, Christmas itself is only part of the whole.

I want you to celebrate so much more than Christmas.

Christmas—the events of which spanned nearly two years in actuality—is one of countless examples (Unquestionably vital! But still “one of,” not even the penultimate) which draw our gaze toward, and demand our worship of, the One and Only Lord God. Christmas would be meaningless without the thirty years of quiet, obedient, private ministry and the final three years of adamant but unassuming public ministry—all without sinning. Christmas holds little significance without the willing, tortured death of an innocent man atoning the guilt for all humanity past and future…and his triumphant resurrection three days later. Christmas is augmented by his forty-plus days of continued teaching afterwards (such a beautiful affirmation that he is indeed Emmanuel “God With Us”) before returning to his Home in power and glory. The Son’s entire earthly ministry pointed to the Father, as God unfolded the climax of His divine pageant over the course of roughly thirty-three years.

But that’s just the climax. I want us to celebrate so much more than the climax.

The whole Jesus’ earthly ministry serves as the fulfillment and the promise within the grand epic of Time. Thirty-three years preceded by millennia of God’s glory: The creation of this world and mankind. Our unified relationship with the Creator, the Source of Life. Our choice to sin and consequent separation from the Source of Life. The Lord’s gracious promise of reconciliation. And long, generations of deliberate, painful groundwork to gradually prepare humanity for the arrival and sacrifice of a Savior—the double fulfillment of a holy promise by One who is holy, and the presentation of a new promise.

Time continues to unfold. Thirty-three years succeeded by millennia of God’s glory: Continued generations of gathered understanding. Furthering of the larger, corporate relationship—with each other as redeemed brothers and sisters, and with our holy God through the intermediary of His Son by way of the Holy Spirit. The deliberate, painful groundwork continues, preparing humanity for the fulfillment of that last promise.

God’s pageant continues. The play is not played out. And we, as players on this stage, are commanded and privileged to participate in this grand epic of Time created by the Most High to display His glory. But even when this epic ends, the pageant will continue. Into all eternity. Because God will never run out of glory to display.

We are witnesses and participants of more than this epic, more than Time. We need to celebrate much more than that.

Thank you for participating in this pageant with me, dear friends. Let's give the best, most authentic performances we can! “Hey! Unto you a child is born!”

Looking Back to Look Forward

(Carrion Comfort)

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-earth right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer.

Cheer whóm though? The héro whose héaven-handling flúng me, fóot tród
Me? or mé that fóught him? O whích one? is it eách one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

* * *
December: Three

This weariness of mine, may it not come
From something that doth need no setting right?
Shall fruit be blamed if it hang wearily
A day before it perfected drop plumb
To the sad earth from its nursing tree?
Ripeness must always come with loss of might,
The weary evening fall before the resting night.

~ George MacDonald

* * *
.sustaineD

I am the
Widow’s jar
Holding only
Enough oil
For one
More
Morn
But
When
You
Pour me
Out the oil continues
Flowing in unending stream of praises

~ n4m 9/22/08

More Than Gravy and Cranberry Glop

We’re rapidly approaching the day set aside for reflection. In the spirit of worship this Thanksgiving, here are a few of the things I find myself thanking the Lord for right now:

• The basics: food…shelter…sleep…clothing…prayer…hugs…chocolate…bubbles. Because when I stop to think about it, these “basics” are not-so-basic for many people.
• Quote boards! And the witty, delightful people who help fill them.
• I have a job I strongly dislike, but through which the Lord blesses me richly. The often-painful manual labor reminds me not to complain, and also affords me plenty of time to pray and worship. The inconsistent hours cause me to lean heavily upon His provision. The negative atmosphere forces me to consciously strive to give my best, and be optimistic. Isn’t it wonderful that His ways are not our ways!
• A mother who walks with the Lord; there’s really no higher compliment to bestow.
• The rare occasions on which I have a full-blown sneeze! (instead of a small, mouse-like one)
• The imminent arrival of another lovely winter of SNOW!!!!
• Accidentally winning a scholarship for drawing/painting lessons in middle school (and yes, it really was rather accidental)—resulting in my younger sister, who has the real talent, also taking lessons. I’m thrilled that the Lord used something so random to encourage her incredible gifts as an artist! The work she produces today is zany and breath-taking, and such a testimony to her relationship with the Lord.
• Lots of “firsts”: first year with a bachelor’s degree…first car…first college loans coming due…first ten mouse carcass removals…first time being asked out, and first date (now that was an interesting experience, let me tell ya)
• Verbal sparring matches. And the slightly imbalanced people who make it possible to have them.
• A best friend, whose strengths highlight my weaknesses, with whom I share the same personality type although we’re very different, and who is often mistaken for my sister (even my twin!) but is in fact the prettier lady by far. She is brilliant, loving, generous in so many ways, thoughtful, bold, and very wise. The best mixture of sweet and salty. It’s an honor to know you, babe!
• Three little sisters—biological and adopted—who continually challenge and bless me. Personifications of the Lord’s fragrance. I love you, dear ones!
• Numerous friends younger and older than myself, through whom the Lord calls me into greater righteousness and surrender, and who somehow manage to believe I have something positive and intelligent to offer. You all humble me. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of learning from you, of sharing your thoughts and hearts.
• Striking up conversations with total strangers…and the interesting results thereof!
• I’m grateful that my parents’ genes have resulted in wild hair, cute ears, and nose hairs that don’t stick out.
• For being allowed such a privilege as to walk in relationship and learn from “Him who holds the seven stars in His right hand and walks among the seven golden lampstands.…who is the First and the Last, who died and came to life again.…who has the sharp, double-edged sword.…the Son of God, whose eyes are like blazing fire and whose feet are like burnished bronze.…who has the sevenfold Spirit of God and the seven stars.…HaKadosh [the Holy One, I AM], the True One, who has the key of David, who, if He opens something, no one else can shut it, and if He closes something, no one else can open it.…the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the Ruler of God’s creation.” (Revelation 2:1, 8, 12, 18; 3:1, 7, 14)
• My mother’s ability to beat me, the “walking dictionary,” at Scrabble (every. single. time.)
• Whether or not tryptophan really induces drowsiness, I appreciate the psychological manifestation: Thanksgiving Day naps!!!

~ ~ ~

So what praises are you offering up to the Lord, dear reader?

That Which the Locust Has Eaten

~The Emporer’s Old Clothes—Part C~

So there I stood: rebelliously freed from my old garment with no replacement garments in sight.

My dear reader, hopefully you are seeking the Lord faithfully enough that He has confronted you with the Truth about some area of your life. If so, I’m sure you can relate to my dilemma in that moment of Truth: realization brought the strong temptation to panic. Instead of waiting quietly before the One who obviously had everything under control, the One who had revealed this lie to me in the first place—instead of asking, “Lord, now that you’ve shown me the Truth, what should I do about this garment? How do you want to fix my problem?”—instead of keeping my eyes and mind focused upon Him, I gave in to the frantic wish to be free of my robe immediately. I had not waited for the Lord, had not sought His solution.

Because of my own haste, I was naked. Completely exposed.

The Lord’s second “knot jerking” session—a far more extensive operation than bringing me to salvation—was under way.

I did not possess the capability of creating my own ideal. I had no concept of how to look like, act like, or dress like “Me.” I discovered that I did not know how to have an opinion; in fact, I did not really know how to think for myself. But I had long believed that I should not ask for help—I would only be a burden, an annoyance. So I could not reason or develop my own thoughts…but would not make any requests of classmates or professors to teach me how. Clearly, this was a recipe for disaster. And because of my own panic, I was still emotionally naked: I had no identity.

So, did I cry out to the Lord, admitting my inability to handle the situation? No. As I mentioned before, I had long believed that I should not burden another with my problems or apparent failure to measure up. Jesus, my Savior and Lord, was not exempt from my prideful fear of being a bother. How arrogant and blind can my human heart possibly be?

Fermatas, Caesuras, and Codas in the Score of Father's Time

Only three or four blank pages remain at the end of my current journal. The frequency of my entries has lessened in the last few months—trying to save open space for the “really important” events and ponderings. It will be difficult to say goodbye and move on to a new set of bound, blank pages. This journal has absorbed so many changing experiences with me. I wrote the very first entry on August 1, 2006, in the summer following my junior year of college. (For some of you, dear readers, the significance of that summer is not yet clear, since we have yet to reach that point in my testimony. In many ways, that summer marked a turning point. It was a time of tremendous growth, and also a respite—storing up strength—before the next gathering storm crashed down on my world.)

I’ve decided to share a few entries from that first year; we can walk down memory lane together.

• 8/1/06—Dear Father, thank you for prompting me to read Psalm 139 again this morning. (Thank you, Holy Spirit, for beginning to show me how to pray through scripture! Please continue the work you’ve begun in me.)
• 8/7/06—God, I’m scared and tired and worried. At the same time that I’m delighted to obey you, I doubt myself. I want to follow you, to be a faithful handmaiden…but that house is the last place I’d go of my own accord. Please rescue me from my frailty and doubt! Save me from myself and lead me down the path of righteousness for the sake of your name!
• 8/17/06—[I don’t believe this was addressed to anyone specific at the time it was written] Describing my relationship with God for you would be like describing a sunset to a blind person or trying to recreate a symphony for someone who was born deaf: there simply aren’t words. A relationship with the Perfect Father, with the Only Savior, must be experienced to be understood. [cont. 8/30] It’s a knowledge that runs through my marrow, a knowledge that becomes the core of my being: I AM LOVED. In spite of who I am; because of who I am. I am loved—forgiven, purified, and cherished. He’s offering that love to you, too. God wants to show you a love more constant and pure than any you will ever receive from a friend, a lover, or a father. It’s not about rules, or appearances, or control. This relationship is about relinquishing our broken selves to the one and only Creator, and receiving from him all that [we] can become.
• 8/30/06—There are two ways to deal with the “threat” of God: 1)Run in the opposite direction—eschew him; 2)Walk around him—acknowledge him as the holder of your “Life Insurance Policy” and the one to complain to when times get tough; get a “feel” for God and continue on your way; [cont. 11/19] 3)Take up arms and battle your life away
• 10/24/06—Thank you for clarifying the true nature of compliments for me! It never occurred to me that, as your child, a compliment to me is really a compliment to you!
• 12/20/06—Save me from myself, Father! Today when I caught myself questioning if perhaps I was really at fault—if I was in fact “on my high horse”—I realized just how worn out I’ve become. Mon Dieu! Sauvez-moi! You alone are my strength.
• 1/27/07—Adonai-Tzva’ot please teach me “tzav la-tzav; kav la-kav; z’eir sham, z’eir sham (precept by precept; line by line; a little here, a little there)” Isaiah 28:10….Father, I’m still controlling and manipulative sometimes; I abhor it!!! Take this from me, please. “Hope drawn-out wearies the heart” and brings about destruction. Isaiah 43; Psalm 56:9. Oh my Love, you have brought me so far! Please continue to deliver me from my bondages. Please liberate me from any...baggage I’m unknowingly carrying. Jeremiah 33:3
• 1/29/07—The cry of my heart this morning: My Lord, please fill me with your beauty and wisdom; I want to be an adornment for your temple—for your throne room. I long to hear you say, “Oh, look how this one sparkles and shines!” I want to be all that is wise and beautiful, so that I may bring great honor to you, my Love.
• 2/10/07—“The only appropriate war rhetoric is war rhetoric that calls our enemies spirits, and people with flesh the victims of this war….If we could muster a portion of the patriotism we feel toward our earthly nations into a patriotism and bravery in concert with the kingdom of God, the enemy would take fewer casualties to be sure” (Miller, Donald; Searching for God Knows What, pg. 88).
• 2/17/07—“Jesus did not lend Himself to war causes, to tax issues or political campaigns….to raising money for education or stumping for affirmative action. It was as if he did not trust us to build a utopia….’Follow me,’ He said. ‘I have no opinion about what color the paint should be in this prison. Follow Me.’” (Miller; Searching…, pg 194).
• 2/27/07—[a.m.] My Lord, thank you for helping me to love Becky and myself with your own pure love. When she climbed into bed with me Friday, crying and hurt, you gave me wisdom, Holy Spirit—wisdom and the urgent desire to relinquish our plans to you. Last night (Monday) you gave me insight as to how I’ve been hurting her, and gave me the words to begin healing [our relationship]….Holy Spirit, please continue to work in me.
• 3/1/07—Father, right now my head is swimming; there are so many things you’re showing me right now about yourself, about me, about others, and about life. Please speak to me—please make sense of it all.
• [undated poem]—“Wrap your arms ‘round me/ and dance on my feet/ I delight in your laughter/ my daughter so sweet/ Let me enfold you/ come dance on my feet/ Just smile through your tears/ feel my healing so sweet/ You hold me tight and/ let me dance on Your feet/ the heavens rejoice/ in your glory so sweet/ You give me joy/ make my whole life complete/ My Father, my Savior and King
• 4/19/07—My Lord, I know you love me: 1)in the context of a master whose servant desires to glorify him; 2)in the context of a long-distance lover whose beloved is purifying herself for him; 3)as a potter who perfects his vessel by re-sculpting, and by fire. But I just can’t wrap my mind around your love as my Abba—that you desire to lavish me with blessings. I can’t internalize the idea that you don’t desire to give me a boy who’s “not too bad;” you desire to bless me with a Man who is healthy, who hungers after you! It’s beyond imagining!
• 5/12/07—Abba, I want to desire to allure those I encounter to know more of your heart. You desire—and deserve—to be sought.
• 6/25/07—My Lord, I long to be fully and completely yours. Please fill me to overflowing with your spirit. Holy Spirit, bring all your power to bear in me: your mercy, justice, faith, joy, truth, love, righteousness, healing, prophecy… I want as much of you as possible. I want you to be glorified by my every breath.
• 7/2/07—Abba, it’s times like yesterday—when I was offered money in exchange for receiving oral sex—that I really struggle against the lie that I’m only desirable to scum, that $20 is all I’m worth. Help me hold fast to the truth: I am priceless in your eyes. Holy Spirit please keep me from self-pity and despair. In your love, I am complete; I lack nothing.
• 7/17/07—Abba, all I can do is choose you each and every day. But that’s all it takes, isn’t it? Thank you for holding me tight yesterday. Between what Dad did and did not say…I wouldn’t have made it without you. “He likened you to Absalom.” That’s what Mom told me last night—Dad sees me as Absalom. He sees me as trying to “steal the hearts” of his family and friends. Abba, please wipe away the tears bleeding from my heart. “God, how I prize your thoughts! How many of them there are! If I count them, there are more than grains of sand; if I finish the count, I am still with you” (Psalm 139:17-18).
• 8/14/07—“Those ransomed by Adonai will return and come with singing to Tziyon; on their heads will be everlasting joy. They will acquire gladness and joy, while sorrow and sighing will flee. ‘I, yes I, am the one who comforts you! Why are you afraid of a man, who must die; of a human being, who will wither like grass? You have forgotten Adonai, your maker, who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth. Instead you are in constant fear all day because of the oppressor’s rage, as he prepares to destroy. But where is the oppressor’s rage? The captive will soon be set free; he will not die and go down to Sh’ol; on the contrary, his food supply will be secure. For I am Adonai your God, who stirs up the sea, who makes its waves roar—Adonai-Tzva’ot is my name. I have put my words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of my hand, in order to plant the skies [anew], lay the foundations of the earth [anew] and say to Tziyon, “You are my people.”’” Isaiah 51:11-16

It’s bittersweet for me to look back and see what has or has not changed. The quotations still reverberate in my heart. Some of my more specific prayers from that period of time (not shared here, for the sake of individuals’ privacy) have been answered; several of them, quite powerfully. All of the prayers included above are yet on my lips—prayed all the more fervently now, because as I move forward I gain a better view of how very distant I am from the goal. Yet here and there I catch the clear notes of progress. And these honey-sweet tones of growth swell, as deepening chords well up from my heart and ring forth: a hallel of honor, worship, and awe; a maskil of repentance, of lessons partially learned, and of longing for the finish line…for home.