...in our best moments

Like a mother with her children You will comfort us each day,

giving guidance on our journey, as we seek to find our way.

When we walk through fiery trials, You will help us take a stand;

when we pass through troubled waters, You hold out Your tender hand.

---Jann Aldredge-Clanton, 2000

Motherhood is often a balancing act. When to insist on vegetables first at dinner, when to sneak a little dessert in? When to stretch that last bedtime story to two (or three, or…)? When to let the baby cry it out, when to gather her up in your arms and tuck her in beside you? When shorts pants and knickers, when blue jeans and khakis? When to protect, when to challenge? When to comfort, when to brush off? When to support, when to caution? When to hold on, when to let go?

The same could be said of fatherhood, I’m sure (don’t know, never been a father). The thing is, this holy dance of parenthood is a weaving, the weft and warp that colors the character of our children. And God, in whose image we are created, and our pattern in all things, models for us both the compassion and the courage of a mother or a father for us.

For God offers both comfort and guidance, each in appropriate measure and at appropriate time. And when flood waters or trial fires rise around us, God’s hand is reaching out --- ahead of us, to rescue us; or at our backs, to urge us on to our own brave action. Because, in our best moments, that’s what mothers, and fathers, do.

We can hear You gently saying, “Do not worry, do not fear;

for I’ll always go beside you; every moment I am near.”

...red Alabama dirt remembers

The red Alabama dirt remembers, in gashes only now beginning to heal. Five years ago, and it was yesterday, and it was forever ago. 

Where were you when the earth changed? This date always takes me back, and I return to this old post, and add a thought or two. And remember...

...

On this day four years ago, storms of fierce intensity ripped through Alabama, making it one of the largest outbreaks of super-tornadoes in state history. Indeed, the period of April 25-28 marked one of the most violent super-tornado outbreaks in recorded US history. On that day, the earth changed, very literally; but more than that, perhaps, peoples' psychic topography was forever altered. There was a seismic shift that day in the way many of us viewed security, permanence, and the future.

The question, then, becomes, 'Where do we turn when the earth changes?' Apparently circumstances may seem new, but questions are not, for the Psalmist looks up from the ruins of a changed earth and seeks what help may be found, a refuge and strength, a help, in a still-mysterious 'God'. We still may.

I am drawn and re-drawn to Psalm 46 when my earth changes. This post originally appeared on September 11, 2013.

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
though the earth should change...
     ---from Psalm 46

The world of Psalm 46 is fearsome --- full of natural disasters, the man-made disaster of war, and, most of all, 'change'. When has the earth changed for you? Was it tsunami, wildfire? The Gulf War Syndrome or traumatic brain injury that have followed our fighting men and women home from war? The day we remember today, when terrorists flew planes into the twin towers of the World Trade Towers? The day 50 years ago when cowards in Birmingham set off bombs that took the lives of four little girls, and dogs and fire-hoses were unleashed on the youth of the city? Or has your earth changed more privately? Beloved friend or family member wasting away with cancer? A child wandering away from you? A failure at work or in marriage?

Obviously, our belief in God didn't protect us from these disasters of circumstance, of nature, of hatred, of gaps in medical knowledge; nor were we protected from our questions about how these things happen to 'good' people in God's world.

In this 46th chapter of the Psalms, though, God is described as 'refuge', 'strength', 'help', 'presence', 'with us'. Right here, right now, amid our troubles, God is present with us. When the earth changes, God is with us. When the whole world seems to shake with the portent of evils now or yet to come, God is with us.

Be still; acknowledge God's presence. When we need to hide from the changes and be quiet, God is here --- refuge, strength, help. God is here with us.

...what light does

Live Your Light within and through us,

dawn in us eternal day.

Tell us, as we brave the darkness,

when to speak and what to say.

---Terry W. York, 2006

If you learned the song as a child, I bet you’ll have trouble not acting out some of the motions right now, where you sit---

            This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!

            Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine!

            Won’t let Satan {whuff} it out! I’m gonna let it shine!

Did I see you with your finger up, “letting it shine?” There is such a good message for us in this simple song---the message to live our truth boldly in the world, unashamed of the love we profess, refusing to let the not-love quench the flame. I want to live this way, I do; and some days I get closer than others.

But here’s the thing. If the Source of Light is in us (and It is, oh, It is), we. just. shine. Not because we’re shiny every single day. Not because we produce any light in and of ourselves. But because the Source, the Light of the World, is in us, lighting the world through us. All we’ve got to do is get out of the way and let the Light do…what Light does, for Heaven’s sake.

With the light of Christ in you---I dare you not to shine.

...the not knowing

Green pastures are before me, which yet I have not seen;

bright skies will soon be o’er me, where the dark clouds have been:

my life I cannot measure, the path of life is free;

my Savior has my treasure, and he will walk with me.

---Anna L. Waring, 1850

The not knowing. Is there a more helpless feeling than not seeing the path that lies ahead of you, not being certain of what the future holds for you? How are we to plan, to plot our course, to steel ourselves against the possibility of future injury or harm without the knowing?

Let go. Let go of knowing. Let go the stress of needing to be in control of a future that was never yours to begin with. Trust that your pathway will wind its way through green pastures, under bright skies. Trust that the Savior holds what is truly treasure for your life.

And know this one thing: the steps you take, wherever your path leads, are walked beside your Savior. Every step, in shadow or sun, through green pasture or shadowed wood---never alone.

...flashlight, not floodlight

Oh, how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way, leaning on the everlasting arms;

oh, how bright the path grows from day to day, leaning on the everlasting arms.

---Elisha A. Hoffman, 1887

Path. Way. Journey. Through the years, these expressions of spiritual life have come to ring truest in my ear, and resonate most soundly in my soul. While I am not always positive about my destination, and my goals change, and sometimes finish lines seem frustratingly movable, feeling called to the journey is a constant. If day breaks, there is a path, and even when I may not be totally sold on the reason, my feet will be on it, because that is what feet, and paths, are for.

In this little bit of late-19^th cent. poetry, the hymnist speaks of the path growing bright from day to day. My mind travels to the memory verse from Bible Drill---“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105) And the thing is, I’ve walked on some dark paths in my life (yep, literal and metaphorical), and I know how lights work. That flashlight? Even a good one, with the batteries you remembered to replace before you packed it up for the campout? It illuminates the path only a few steps ahead.

God’s presence? Right there with us on the path, every step of the way. But that light it throws? It’s a flashlight, not a floodlight. We were always meant to walk leaning on God, steps at a time, waiting for the light to shine up ahead.

Wow. Light for the journey, and an arm to lean on. On the path with Jesus.

...the God-pitched tent

Love divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven to earth come down,

Fix in us thy humble dwelling: all thy faithful mercies crown.

Jesus, thou art all compassion, pure, unbounded love thou art;

Visit us with thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.

---Charles Wesley, 1747

You a camper? I am…was…have been…wouldn’t mind being again. I grew up camping with my folks and brother, both in tents and in a way-cool pop-top VW van camper that seemed in my teen years to have all the comforts of, well, almost-home. For those of you familiar with the groovy contraptions, my sleep spot was the hammock hung over the front seats (because I sleep curled up anyway---perfect). Tim slept in the pop top. We have slept in that van in every sort of weather (including a surprise tropical storm), and even in someone’s front yard by mistake (another story for another day)! Our longest trip was a 5 week jaunt out west, as far as Glacier National Park and back, most of the trip toting a genuine tumbleweed (don’t ask) that took up much of our precious free space. Dad even drove straight through the night to get us from Oklahoma to the AHS parking lot in time for Mr. Goff’s band camp to begin (‘cause didn’t nobody miss band camp).

Shortest camping trip? A bit shorter. Counting car time, it lasted 4 hours. Henry and I were the parents of a toddler, and looking forward to passing on a joy of camping adventure to Sam. The itinerary went something like this: plan, pack, check for approximately 2 days; load up the car with tons of stuff (camping, little kid, pregnant lady, etc.); drive just across the state line to FDR; unload tons of stuff in the dark (yeah, those of you who camp, or have kids, or watch comedy movies, or read Greek tragedies---you know where this is going); set a lit kerosene lantern safely (haha) out of reach on the picnic table while assembling the 347 pieces of the new family-size tent; listen in horror as prized first-born son screams in agony after grasping the hot kerosene lantern; cuddle child, bandage hand, sing songs, hang lantern on tree, mutter under breath, try to continue with the joy of camping adventure; give the whole thing up; do everything in reverse; arrive back home---4 hours later. Even with this less-than-stellar start, we enjoyed some good times in the woods over the years following.

When I read the line in this verse of today’s hymn---‘fix in us thy humble dwelling’---I can’t help but think back to those years of pitching tents in the woods with little kids in tow. There was a time in our faith memory where pitching a tent figures pretty prominently, too. When the people of Israel wandered in the wild places, they packed the ‘tent of meeting’ with them, inviting God’s presence among them even in (or especially in) their wandering.

For us today, the cry of our hearts is that the God of Love would pitch a tent in us---among us, and within us. Imagine the ways we might experience transformation, with the tent of love fixed in our souls.

Visit us with your salvation, Divine Love. Fix your dwelling in us.