Sister Eva

I call her every month or so, but it should be every day or so. If I were really practical, and wanted to win this whole life-battle, I would call her every time my faith so much as trembled.
I didn't know it was possible to be so one with God and remain in a body. I am almost convinced that when she leaves her body will burn to dust at the fire of her spirit breaking its bonds. (Like Feanor, but with holy fire, for anyone who read the Silmarillion.)
It's strange to talk to someone who only needs me to give her a reason to speak. The more I learn of her, the more I open myself to take in what she says. I pretend I'm a thirsty plant opening itself to her words, words that are not hers, but the Spirit's.
I've wondered many times who it is that waters her, and by now I'm pretty sure she gets everything direct delivered from the Father. She sees Him in everything, and one of her favorite things is to see growth in her "children". Growth and romance, which are sometimes the same thing.
Despite her own incredibly difficult marriage, she loves romance.
"God is in everything you do. If you are married, to love your husband is to love God," she says. When she says simple things like that, I think,
I knew that. But it is so good to hear her say it. 
I know she lives in God like a baby in its mother's womb. Sometimes I think she's the closest thing I can get to God. And yet, "Life is a journey. You keep moving, keep looking forward. I'm not satisfied with the depth I'm at," she says, lapsing into a wild, childish cackle.
She will never be satisfied until she sees His face, touches His hands. I never want to be, either.
"Don't magnify yourself in no kind of way. It's all God, all for His glory."
My point in all this is to thank God before you all that I have the blessing of knowing this woman so full of Him. It's the Him inside her that is so beautiful and strong. I pray that everyone who reads this will find their own Sister Eva(or rediscover her) and take in all the glimpses of Christ they can.

The Grand and Glorious Mercy

After June has showered its way into July, and the bemused sun stumbles out each morning, startled to be able to see past the clouds, I know summer is here.
Mom's hibiscus are coral shouts of joy. The lawn is lush and beautiful, the trees hold deep secrets, and I love Ohio.
These beautiful things made me think of beauty and its myriad of manifestations. I opened my Rosetti  this morning and read this:

Passing and Glassing

All things that pass
Are woman's looking-glass
They show her how her bloom must fade,
And she herself be laid
With withered roses in the shade;
With withered roses and the fallen peach,
Unlovely, out of reach
Of summer joy that was.

All things that pass
Are woman's tiring-glass;
The faded lavender is sweet,
Sweet the dead violet
Culled and laid by and cared for yet;
The dried-up violets and dried lavender 
Still sweet, may comfort her,
Nor need she cry Alas!

All things that pass
Are wisdom's looking-glass;
Being full of hope and fear, and still
Brimful of good or ill,
According to our work and will;
For there is nothing new beneath the sun;
Our doings have been done,
And that which shall be was.

I first thought, Rosetti, that is depressing. Why do you have to know so much about life?
But then, No, what she's saying is that what we have here, our bodies, are not the end of beauty. Beauty lives on, in its fullest form, in our souls. It will never die here, with our bodies. We carry this soul-beauty to Heaven, where all beauty meets its Maker.

What a grand and glorious mercy, though severe at times.

It's startling to walk around and think, My best beauty is inside me. This body is only one part of how it will be manifested.

I love to think that the best is yet to come. (I save my favorite foods to eat last, and when I get to a good part in a book, I pause for a while. That's why it takes so long for me to read O'Brien, because it's all so good.)

He gave us these bodies to use, to live in beautifully. But in His great mercy, He does not allow the beauty to stop here. We do try to make it stop. I am guilty of this. I don't always see the eternal. I think, If I can make my body look like that, or this, I would be perfect. I try to do what has already been done, convincing myself that it's new.
It's the ultimate idiot moment, because I know God is wringing His hands, saying, No, no, no! There is so much more to you. I have endless beauty to offer, if you will only accept it.

I'm not sure how to learn to accept it, but I'll begin by thinking about it and asking Him to help me.

This kind of beauty is a fascinating subject to me, so if anyone has thoughts, discussion questions, please comment below. I'd like to know what you think.

Rainbows in the pensieve

Three things:
1. Pale pink peonies are angels in flowers.
2. Candy tastes best right before lunch when you've been resisting the urge to eat it for several hours.(Lunch was still good too. So ha.)
3. Clothes shopping for people who aren't expecting it is a beautiful thing.

I've been  thinking so many things these days; I had to get a few out of the way before I could begin.

If emotions were multicolored clouds, I would have a sky full of rainbows. And I don't understand rainbows, not like the scientists do.
I don't know what God was thinking to unleash women on the world. Or I should say, I don't know what God was thinking to unleash me on the world. Not in a bad way; I know I'm supposed to be here.  but I can't imagine Him thinking this all through and knowing how confused I would be for what seems to be most of my existence. Good thing women can still love and live and make the world beautiful while being confused.
I just thought of what this blog is! It's a pensieve, to hold my extra thoughts while I ponder them one at a time. So please be patient while I jump from one thing to another.

I've been working on my story. I reworked some things, and am ready to send it in to another agent. Somehow I'm not scared anymore. I do love this story. If you want to read it, and haven't yet, leave a comment below and I'll send you it via email. Or if you have it and want the latest version, say so.

This scene with the priest was giving me trouble:

     “It’s all right, dear. You can tell me,” Windson said, crinkling his eyes so his bushy white eyebrows protruded over them.

     “I don’t understand what this place is,” I said.

     “It’s different than everything, isn’t it?” Windson asked. 

And I was feeling desperate. Why couldn't I have William Strunk as my English professor?! I wanted someone to tell me what to do with the monologue that follows that little scene with Father Windson. So I thought about it for barely a minute and I knew how to fix it.
Shocked myself, too. (you'll have to read it to find out what I did; it's nothing earth shattering)
I didn't know I had the answer in my head. I wonder what else is in there?

So, back to the multicolored clouds.
What else is in there besides confusion? I'm nearly convinced the confusion opens me to find such answers. Nearly. Who knows what else swirls around, waiting to be found?
So far, there's been poetry and stories and much amusement. The souls of several friends, especially ones who might leave soon. Many songs.
Oh.
I think it's my heart.

Excuse me. I don't understand what this place is, heart. Why is everything moving so much?

I'm not, says heart. I don't move. Those things aren't holding me, and so I don't move with them.

Oh.

The confusion is like a mist, moving through, but it doesn't hold you up, says heart.

Then what does?

Who holds me holds you, says heart.

Who holds you?

Who did you give me to? asks heart.

The One, the Fire, the Light of Life.

That doesn't move, says heart. And so you won't.

My heart is a lot wiser than I am. I think it's been learning all the lessons while I've been stumbling around, trying to see. God, help me see with my heart, for that is how you show yourself(and my eyes were made for nothing better).

I see you, God.

Will we ever learn to do without?

I look at that sentence and I want to take it apart and find out what "do" is and what "without" is, and whether the rest of the world is beginning to see the lifelessness of without. The pointlessness of do when it stands alone.

I am weary of doing without life. I want to write. I want to let my story out the way I used to, when it would crawl around in my head and flow out my fingers and make me full of finishedness, whether the sky was blue or grey.
I've been doing without because that one Creator, who can be so subtle, took it out from under me, soundlessly. The people in my head were gone. I knew who they were, but now they were like friends of friends, acquaintances, rather than my lifeblood.
I've been doing without peace, because I was a close friend of sorrow, and still am some days. Sorrow is healing, but it is heavy, and it's hard to do anything lively while holding sorrow's hand. I couldn't close my eyes and feel quiet. Sorrow pressed even that away from me.
I've been doing without conversation with the stranger. I've been clutching what words I could find, but the only ones I could see were those spoken and listened to by the ones I know well. I need the stranger, and the one who is unlike me, to help me scrape the deadness off me.
I've done without patience, because I am not like the Waiting Boy. I don't know how to stand at the end of the lane, perfectly still, waiting for a storm to rush in and tell me what to do.

I haven't done without music, or friends, or the beauty of the earth. But that one Creator came one step too close today, and I heard Him. His breath lifted the hair on my neck, and I knew He was there. The clouds drifted like doors, and flocks of birds wheeled in and out of each other, and I knew then.

I see you, God. I know you took all those things away, and I only see it now that you're giving them back, slowly. I am astonished to find that my hands can hold more and my heart doesn't overflow as quickly.
I see. For a moment. Keep my eyes wide open, and those clouds pulled back, and let me see every day that you mean everything.

And I'm trying to make you sing
From inside where you believe
Like it's something that you need
Like it means everything

And I'm trying to make you feel that
This is for real, that life is happening
That it means everything
I'm just trying to make you sing
-David Crowder

Not in a doubting mood

I think Madeleine L'Engle must have read Lewis.

I've been reading A Wrinkle in Time and A Wind in the Door all day, while the weather called no attention to itself outside and the fire was only warm and not necessary for coziness.
So the worlds I've been to during these hours...I can hardly believe that children read this. Well, I can. I just know some adults who would have their minds exploded if they went to these worlds and really believed. As usual, I have no top to my head today.

I've been thinking about how valuable books are, especially this kind. I have learned more. I have more human in me. My mind has gone to places of cherubim and mitochrondia and delightful boys like Charles Wallace(I will never forget him) and ordinary, loving, impatient girls like Meg.

Now it's finally snowing, as if the weather let out its breath, and I am bigger. More human. More Named by the One who calls us all by Name.

It is true that if we know who we are no one can take that away from us. That is why we are safe in Him, because He calls us by our true Names. We rest there, though wars and darkness and cold rage around us.

I have so many books, I am rich with books that need to be read. And they are all humans expressing what they think of God and Naming and Nothingness, all in different ways. Myriad, various ways, like Proginoskes' eyes. Too many do not understand who they really are, who anyone really is.
But enough know. Or begin to.

The strange thing is that it's strange. We find out who we are through Charlies and Janets met on the street, through late-night wonderings about angels, through puzzles, through food, through clothes. I am afraid that every moment God is telling me who I am, and I can only think of what else I should be doing to find out.
I want to learn to shut up and listen.
He knows the stars by Name.
He knows every beautiful word, and what it really means.
He knows the souls on the streets.
He knows us all.
He knows me.

As Mr. Murry said, "I am not in a doubting mood."

Something like:

“The grace of God means something like: 
Here is your life. 
You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. 
Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. 
Don't be afraid. I am with you. 
Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe.
 I love you. 
There's only one catch. 
Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it. 
Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too."
-Frederick Buechner(thank you, my dear friend Abbie, for giving this to me)

As this new year settles upon me, I can hardly find the words to memorialize last year. All that comes to mind is something like:

This is what it is to be emptied. This feeling of euphoria over the tiniest drop of joy, because this empty cup can't create any joy and it finally sees. 

This year I have become the cup, instead of drinking it. I didn't know a cup could lose so much of its insides without falling apart. 

I have seen something of what I am, where I come from, and where I am going. 

Many things, much strength, much joy-they have all left me. I was strong once. I was merciful once. I was loving once. 

Now I have only a knowing, a seeing, a small understanding. A seed planted to grow, watered by sorrow's tears.
It is not me. 
I am only an image-bearer. I do not have the ability to create my own joy, love, grace, peace, or mercy. None. 
But somehow: God and I-we're made from the same stuff. Everything good is made of God, because He is all that there is. 

We are all channels of this Everything-Good-God. That is all, and that is everything. 

So when Jesus says, "Don't be afraid that you won't know what to say when they question you, because the Spirit of God will tell you what to say"...He means, "this is Our deal. Relax. I and my Father, We made good. We are good. The only thing you have to do is stand with Us. We will create good through you." 

Oh, it is not me. I could say it a million times, sing it, tramp it out in snow(if it would ever snow here). Really, truly glorious, those words. 
Now I live to marvel as beauty happens in and around me. His way of working out the Deal is the most perfect and poignant thing I have ever seen.
Music is deeper and sweeter and stronger now. The sun on the tree branches making golden-bronze is something I never deserved. Words from friends are arms around my heart. Hands on my shoulders. The horse wanting to take my finger with the apple makes me laugh. Volleyball, that silly delightful game that can be so exhilarating. Entering the world of story again(working on the second book now) when I wondered if I ever would.  
All this is from Him, and I cannot doubt that because where else would it come from? There is no other origin of good. 
I only pray I will be able to reach out and take more of it every day.
I pray, O Perfect Teacher, teach me perfection. 
It will take all my life and more so please do not stop.