...with my eyes closed

…still with Thee in closer, dearer company,

in work that keeps faith sweet and strong ,in trust that triumphs over wrong;

in hope that sends a shining ray far down the future’s broadening way,

in peace that only Thou canst give, with Thee, O Master, let me live.

---Washington Gladden, 1879

Meat, browned. Tomato paste and water. Beef bouillon paste, spices. Red beans. Cook in crockpot, add salt and tomatoes in juice.

In my sleep I made this recipe, stumbling through blurs of soccer seasons, choir seasons, season seasons. With my eyes closed, with one hand tied behind my back, while pretending I understood the math homework. So when middle child texted for the recipe, I sent it off from pure muscle memory. …”Mom? Is there any kind of tomato stuff in there before the ones at the end?” …”Yes. The tomato paste and water at the beginning…” “Ummm, not there. Did you leave it out?”

Well. A little lesson for me on the power of habit, and falling out of it. When I had stopped making chili by the bucketful, the habits that guided my cooking (and the mental index card that held the much-loved recipe) had fallen away too. Walking in the company of Jesus, our teacher and friend, incorporates habits—habits of work, trust, hope, peace. In the daily practice, the repeating rhythm of these habits we exercise walking in the presence of Christ, we find our way to life.

In Christ’s closer company, we become what we practice.

...held like sea water

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,

rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!

Underneath me, all around me is the current of his love,

leading onward, leading homeward to that glorious rest above.

---Samuel Trevor Francis, 1898

Many of us are familiar with President John Kennedy’s quote concerning his deep passion for the sea – “We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came.” Kennedy was famously at home in the frigid waters of his beloved Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, where in times of health and illness the water seemed life-giving and restorative.

The man I saw most in love with the sea was my father. Each summer we would camp (you read that right --- camping at the beach in the summer!) for a week or so, in the heat and humidity. And I would watch my professor father with the perpetual farmer tan float for hours on his back in the briny Gulf water, not paddling, not kicking, not moving at all. He’d tell my brother and me, “This salty water will hold you up. You just have to relax and lie back.” It was a matter of trust, and giving up the need to control the water that supported you.

You know, I never got as good at it as my dad; I never could float for hours, relaxed and committed to the water’s ability to hold me. But for a minute or two, here and there, it sometimes worked. I sometimes let go. And when I trusted that the sea was more capable than I, more powerful than I, more boundless than I’d ever be to meet my need to be held up --- for that moment, I was free.

Oh, to trust that I would be held up like that.

...tearing down our fences

*this writing was tapped into being in the year 2008, but seemed timely when I stumbled across it.
-laca.

So brothers, sisters, praise his name who died to set us free

From sin, division, hate and shame, from spite and enmity!

In Christ there is no east or west --- he breaks all barriers down;

By Christ redeemed, by Christ possessed, in Christ we live as one.

“Good fences make good neighbors,” says the New England neighbor in Robert Frost’s Mending Wall. And probably at some time in all of our lives, we may have been tempted to quote him; when the neighbor’s grass reaches knee-high, when the next-door yard is full of tiny plastic ride-on toys and lots of screaming toddlers falling off them, maybe when your neighbor gardens in a bikini that would have been close-fitting several years and pounds) back. We even like the idea of fences and walls to keep certain groups of folks separated from others; them, and us.

In this text we sing that Christ came to break barriers, to minimize what separates us, to set us free from the things that hold us back from unity. And there is something a little scary about tearing down fences, something a little out-of-control about ending our human-constructed divisions. Jesus says we’ll just have to trust him for that. “Something there is,” Robert Frost said, “that doesn’t love a wall.”

Here’s to a tear-down, coming soon to a neighborhood near you!

...reckless in giving

Take whatever I can offer --- gifts that I have yet to find,

Skills that I am slow to sharpen, talents of the hand and mind,

Things made beautiful for others in the place where I must be;

Take my gifts and let me love You, God who first of all loved me.

---Shirley Erena Murray, 1992

Offering. Giving. $$$. If we are honest, many of us equate “giving” and “offering” with dollars. And there is no doubt about it --- the challenges of the world need your dollars, and mine. But what intangibles do you command that could make this world a better place? What of your own essence can you offer to God?

Is there a skill you can offer? Some expertise you can bring to a situation? What talent could you bring? Could you make the world a more beautiful place with your art, your music? Could you give voice to those without? Shirley Erena Murray, a New Zealand hymnist, imagines offering gifts and skills still “in development” to God; gifts we are still discovering can be offered in trust to God. Can we be reckless in our giving to God, offering up still unformed parts of ourselves in the assurance that utility, even beauty, can be shaped from them? Do we trust God to honor our gifts offered in love?

God. Who first of all loved us.

...hide me

Jesus, Lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly,

while the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high;

hide me, O my Savior hide, till the storm of life is past;

safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last.

Other refuge have I none; hangs my helpless soul on thee;

leave, ah! leave me not alone, still support and comfort me.

All my trust on thee is stayed, all my help from thee I bring;

cover my defenseless head with the shadow of thy wing.

---Charles Wesley, 1738

Sometimes we need to face the difficult circumstances in our lives, to fight the good fight, to stand and deliver. And sometimes we need to hide. This text is about those times. What comfort is present in these images, of Jesus as a lover and nurturer of what is most tender in us! What safety, to fly to the bosom of God, there to be held in the shadow of God’s wing, like a mother bird gathering and protecting her chicks with her very life. What a grace to be in relationship with a God who provides both the courage for living, and refuge for resting.

Hide me.

...just details

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;

I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.

---Edward Mote, 1834

We pin our hopes on many things --- the stock market, savings, a spouse or parent, hard work, luck, the list goes on. As Christians we may put our hope in a minister or ministry, a local church, or a denomination. We may even hope in a particular interpretation of scripture, or a certain way of reading the Bible.

This hymn reminds me that there is one rock solid enough for the construction of my hopes, and that is no human institution, religious or secular. That rock is the person of Jesus---his life, sacrifice, and triumph over the powers that were in the world.

Everything else is just details. Sinking sand. Christ is the solid Rock.

...are we God's people?

We are God’s people, the chosen of the Lord,

born of his Spirit, established by his Word;

our cornerstone is Christ alone, and strong in him we stand:

O let us live transparently, and walk heart to heart and hand in hand.

---Bryan Jeffrey Leech, 1976

Bryan Jeffrey Leech presents, in this text, a beautiful vision of what the family of God can be. The ideal presented to us here is one worth aiming for, a glimpse of what heaven might be like. So much truth is bound up in the last line of this first verse: “Let us live transparently, and walk heart to heart and hand in hand.” The combination of these three aspirations would invigorate any church, and are worthy goals.

To walk heart to heart is to act with unity of motivation (different from a uniformity of action), to be guided by a similar vision of Christ’s call to love the world for his sake. To walk hand in hand is to meet others where they are, and to journey with them as we all grow in faith, without leaving anyone behind.

Ah, but how then would we live transparently? This would require the courage and trust to believe that others were capable of dealing with knowing your life --- your failures and fears, your hopes and dreams, your darknesses and your shinings --- and accepting you with love.

Can we dare to bare that much of ourselves? Can we care for others who do the same? Are we God’s people, or are we not?

...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.

...on reckless giving

Take whatever I can offer --- gifts that I have yet to find,

Skills that I am slow to sharpen, talents of the hand and mind,

Things made beautiful for others in the place where I must be;

Take my gifts and let me love you, God who first of all loved me.

---Shirley Erena Murray, 1992

Offering. Giving. $$$. If we are honest, many of us equate “giving” and “offering” with dollars. And there is no doubt about it --- the challenges of the world need your dollars, and mine. But what intangibles do you command that could make this world a better place? What of your own essence can you offer to God?

Is there a skill you can offer? Some expertise you can bring to a situation? What talent could you bring? Could you make the world a more beautiful place with your art, your music? Could you give voice to those without? Shirley Erena Murray, a New Zealand hymnist, imagines offering gifts and skills still “in development” to God; gifts we are still discovering can be offered in trust to God. Can we be reckless in our giving to God, offering up still unformed parts of ourselves in the assurance that utility, even beauty, can be shaped from them? Do we trust God to honor our gifts offered in love?

God. Who first of all loved us.

...let go of 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.

...the ocean's arms

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,

rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!

Underneath me, all around me is the current of His love,

leading onward, leading homeward to that glorious rest above.

---Samuel Trevor Francis, 1898

Many of us are familiar with President John Kennedy’s quote concerning his deep passion for the sea – “We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came.” Kennedy was famously at home in the frigid waters of his beloved Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, where in times of health and illness the water seemed life-giving and restorative.

The man I saw most in love with the sea was my father. Each summer we would camp (you read that right --- camping at the beach in the summer!) for a week or so, in the heat and humidity. And I would watch my professor father with the perpetual farmer tan float for hours on his back in the briny Gulf water, not paddling, not kicking, not moving at all. He’d tell my brother and me, “This salty water will hold you up. You just have to relax and lie back.” It was a matter of trust, and giving up the need to control the water that supported you.

You know, I never did get as good at it as my dad; I never could float for hours, relaxed and committed to the water’s ability to hold me. But for a minute or two, here and there, it sometimes worked. I sometimes let go. And when I trusted that the sea was more capable, more powerful, more boundless than I’d ever be to meet my need to be held up --- for that moment, I was free.

Oh, to trust that I would be held up like that.

...the turning

The solstice moon is like a pearl suspended in the lake
Frozen underneath a spell no human hand can break.
We turn our backs against the wind that drives the bitter cold,
And celebrate the wonders that a new year will unfold.
We turn to friends and family, and mourn the loved ones gone,
And gather them around us as we raise our voice in song.
We turn to feed the fading fire, dream deeply through the night,
And cherish songs that carry us from darkness into light.
We turn to ask forgiveness, and with gratefulness of heart
Turn once again to welcome in the new year as it starts.
And we will sing at the turning of the year,
Knowing we are a short time here.
And so we'll sing at the dancing, spinning, turning of the year.
--- Anne Hills, 2000

The cusp. The edge. A thin place. The turning. Although from living most of my life in an academic setting and a college town I will forever set my true New Year's clock by 'back to school' calendars and new backpacks, there is a certain magic about the clean slate feeling of a brand new calendar year.

One second, 2014. The next, a whole other thing. Just another second, really. But a whole new year, 2015. It stretches out before us, beckoning. What will you do with it? Who will you be? What will you carry with you? What will you leave behind? Is there forgiveness you must grant, bitterness you must let loose, shame you must release? Is there a softness, with yourself or with others, you must pick up for the journey ahead? Steadfastness? Assurance? Do you need trust to be reborn in you this year?

From shadow to sun, then. From the cold, to the rebirth of warmth. From year to year.

The turning.